vegerot · March 10, 2026 03:01
diff --git a/HarryPotter.txt b/HarryPotter.txt
 HARRY POTTER AND THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS
 by J. K. Rowling
 (this is BOOK 2 in the Harry Potter series)
 Original Scanned/OCR: Friday, April 07, 2000 v1.0 (edit where needed, change version number by 0.1)
 CHAPTERONE
 THE WORST BIRTHDAY
 Not for the first time, an argument had broken out over breakfast at number four, Privet Drive. Mr. Vernon Dursley had been woken in the early hours of the morning by a loud, hooting noise from his nephew Harry's room.
 "Third time this week!" he roared across the table. "If you can't control that owl, it'll have to go!"
 Harry tried, yet again, to explain.
 "She's bored," he said. "She's used to flying around outside. If I could just let her out at night -"
 "Do I look stupid?" snarled Uncle Vernon, a bit of fried egg dangling from his bushy mustache. "I know what'll happen if that owl's let out."
 He exchanged dark looks with his wife, Petunia.
 Harry tried to argue back but his words were drowned by a long, loud belch from the Dursleys' son, Dudley.
 1
 "I want more bacon."
 "There's more in the frying pan, sweetums," said Aunt Petunia, turning misty eyes on her massive son. "We must build you up while we've got the chance .... I don't like the sound of that school food ......"
 "Nonsense, Petunia, I never went hungry when I was at Smeltings," said Uncle Vernon heartily. "Dudley gets enough, don't you, son?"
 Dudley, who was so large his bottom drooped over either side of the kitchen chair, grinned and turned to Harry.
 "Pass the frying pan."
 "You've forgotten the magic word," said Harry irritably.
 The effect of this simple sentence on the rest of the family was incredible: Dudley gasped and fell off his chair with a crash that shook the whole kitchen; Mrs. Dursley gave a small scream and clapped her hands to her mouth; Mr. Dursley jumped to his feet, veins throbbing in his temples.
 "I meant please'!" said Harry quickly. "I didn't mean -"
 "WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU," thundered his uncle, spraying spit over the table, "ABOUT SAYING THE M' WORD IN OUR HOUSE?"
 "But I -"
 "HOW DARE YOU THREATEN DUDLEY!" roared Uncle Vernon, pounding the table with his fist.
 "I just -"
 "I WARNED YOU! I WILL NOT TOLERATE MENTION OF YOUR ABNORMALITY UNDER THIS ROOF!"
 Harry stared from his purple-faced uncle to his pale aunt, who was trying to heave Dudley to his feet.
 "All right," said Harry, "all right. . . "
 Uncle Vernon sat back down, breathing like a winded rhinoceros and watching Harry closely out of the corners of his small, sharp eyes.
 Ever since Harry had come home for the summer holidays, Uncle Vernon had been treating him like a bomb that might go off at any moment, because Harry Potter wasn't a normal boy. As a matter of fact, he was as not normal as it is possible to be.
 Harry Potter was a wizard - a wizard fresh from his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And if the Dursleys were unhappy to have him back for the holidays, it was nothing to how Harry felt.
 He missed Hogwarts so much it was like having a constant stomachache. He missed the castle, with its secret passageways and ghosts, his classes (though perhaps not Snape, the Potions master), the mail arriving by owl, eating banquets in the Great Hall, sleeping in his four-poster bed in the tower dormitory, visiting the gamekeeper, Hagrid, in his cabin next to the Forbidden Forest in the grounds, and, especially, Quidditch, the most popular sport in the wizarding world (six tall goal posts, four flying balls, and fourteen players on broomsticks).
 All Harry's spellbooks, his wand, robes, cauldron, and top-of-the-line Nimbus Two Thousand broomstick had been locked in a cupboard under the stairs by Uncle Vernon the instant Harry had come home. What did the Dursleys care if Harry lost his place on the House Quidditch team because he hadn't practiced all summer? What was it to the Dursleys if Harry went back to school without any of his homework done? The Dursleys were what wizards called Muggles (not a drop of magical blood in their veins),
 and as far as they were concerned, having a wizard in the family was a matter of deepest shame. Uncle Vernon had even padlocked Harry's owl, Hedwig, inside her cage, to stop her from carrying messages to anyone in the wizarding world.
 Harry looked nothing like the rest of the family. Uncle Vernon was large and neckless, with an enormous black mustache; Aunt Petunia was horse-faced and bony; Dudley was blond, pink, and porky. Harry, on the other hand, was small and skinny, with brilliant green eyes and jet-black hair that was always untidy. He wore round glasses, and on his forehead was a thin, lightning-shaped scar.
 It was this scar that made Harry so particularly unusual, even for a wizard. This scar was the only hint of Harry's very mysterious past, of the reason he had been left on the Dursleys' doorstep eleven years before.
 At the age of one year old, Harry had somehow survived a curse from the greatest Dark sorcerer of all time, Lord Voldemort, whose name most witches and wizards still feared to speak. Harry's parents had died in Voldemort's attack, but Harry had escaped with his lightning scar, and somehow - nobody understood why Voldemort's powers had been destroyed the instant he had failed to kill Harry.
 So Harry had been brought up by his dead mother's sister and her husband. He had spent ten years with the Dursleys, never understanding why he kept making odd things happen without meaning to, believing the Dursleys' story that he had got his scar in the car crash that had killed his parents.
 And then, exactly a year ago, Hogwarts had written to Harry,
 and the whole story had come out. Harry had taken up his place at wizard school, where he and his scar were famous ... but now the school year was over, and he was back with the Dursleys for the summer, back to being treated like a dog that had rolled in something smelly.
 The Dursleys hadn't even remembered that today happened to be Harry's twelfth birthday. Of course, his hopes hadn't been high; they'd never given him a real present, let alone a cake - but to ignore it completely ...
 At that moment, Uncle Vernon cleared his throat importantly and said, "Now, as we all know, today is a very important day."
 Harry looked up, hardly daring to believe it.
 "This could well be the day I make the biggest deal of my career, " said Uncle Vernon.
 Harry went back to his toast. Of course, he thought bitterly, Un cle Vernon was talking about the stupid dinner party. He'd been talk ing of nothing else for two weeks. Some rich builder and his wife were coming to dinner and Uncle Vernon was hoping to get a huge order from him (Uncle Vernon's company made drills).
 "I think we should run through the schedule one more time," said Uncle Vernon. "We should all be in position at eight o'clock. Petunia, you will be -?"
 "In the lounge," said Aunt Petunia promptly, "waiting to welcome them graciously to our home."
 "Good, good. And Dudley?"
 "I'll be waiting to open the door." Dudley put on a foul, simpering smile. "May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?"
 "They'll love him!" cried Aunt Petunia rapturously.
 "Excellent, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon. Then he rounded on Harry. "And you?"
 "I'll be in my bedroom, making no noise and pretending I'm not there," said Harry tonelessly.
 "Exactly," said Uncle Vernon nastily. "I will lead them into the lounge, introduce you, Petunia, and pour them -drinks. At eight- fifteen -"
 "I'll announce dinner," said Aunt Petunia.
 "And, Dudley, you'll say -"
 "May I take you through to the dining room, Mrs. Mason?" said Dudley, offering his fat arm to an invisible woman.
 "My perfect little gentleman!" sniffed Aunt Petunia.
 "And you?" said Uncle Vernon viciously to Harry.
 "I'll be in my room, making no noise and pretending I'm not there," said Harry dully.
 "Precisely. Now, we should aim to get in a few good compliments at dinner. Petunia, any ideas?"
 "Vernon tells me you're a wonderful golfer, Mr. Mason.... Do tell me where you bought your dress, Mrs. Mason ......
 "Perfect. . . Dudley?"
 "How about -'We had to write an essay about our hero at school, Mr. Mason, and I wrote about you."'
 This was too much for both Aunt Petunia and Harry. Aunt Petunia burst into tears and hugged her son, while Harry ducked under the table so they wouldn't see him laughing.
 "And you, boy?"
 Harry fought to keep his face straight as he emerged.
 "I'll be in my room, making no noise and pretending I'm not there," he said.
 "Too right, you will," said Uncle Vernon forcefully. "The Ma sons don't know anything about you and it's going to stay that way. When dinner's over, you take Mrs. Mason back to the lounge for coffee, Petunia, and I'll bring the subject around to drills. With any luck, I'll have the deal signed and sealed before the news at ten. be shopping for a vacation home in Majorca this time to morrow. Harry couldn't feel too excited about this. He didn't think the Dursleys would like him any better in Majorca than they did on Privet Drive. "Right - I'm off into town to pick up the dinner jackets for Dudley and me. And you," he snarled at Harry. "You stay out of your aunt's way while she's cleaning." Harry left through the back door. It was a brilliant, sunny day. He crossed the lawn, slumped down on the garden bench, and sang under his breath: "Happy birthday to me ... happy birthday to me. . . No cards, no presents, and he would be spending the evening pretending not to exist. He gazed miserably into the hedge. He had never felt so lonely. More than anything else at Hogwarts, more even than playing Quidditch, Harry missed his best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. They, however, didn't seem to be missing him at all. Neither of them had written to him all summer, even though Ron had said he was going to ask Harry to come and stay. Countless times, Harry had been on the point of unlocking Hedwig's cage by magic and sending her to Ron and Hermione with a letter, but it wasn't worth the risk. Underage wizards weren't allowed to use magic outside of school. Harry hadn't told the
 Dursleys this; he knew it was only their terror that he might turn them all into dung beetles that stopped them from locking him in the cupboard under the stairs with his wand and broomstick. For the first couple of weeks back, Harry had enjoyed muttering nonsense words under his breath and watching Dudley tearing out of the room as fast as his fat legs would carry him. But the long silence from Ron and Hermione had made Harry feel so cut off from the magical world that even taunting Dudley had lost its appeal - and now Ron and Hermione had forgotten his birthday.
 What wouldn't he give now for a message from Hogwarts? From any witch or wizard? He'd almost be glad of a sight of his archenemy, Draco Malfoy, just to be sure it hadn't all been a dream ....
 Not that his whole year at Hogwarts had been fun. At the very end of last term, Harry had come face-to-face with none other than Lord Voldemort himself. Voldemort might be a ruin of his former self, but he was still terrifying, still cunning, still determined to regain power. Harry had slipped through Voldemort's clutches for a second time, but it had been a narrow escape, and even now, weeks later, Harry kept waking in the night, drenched in cold sweat, wondering where Voldemort was now, remembering his livid face, his wide, mad eyes
 Harry suddenly sat bolt upright on the garden bench. He had been staring absent-mindedly into the hedge - and the hedge was staring back. Two enormous green eyes had appeared among the leaves.
 Harry jumped to his feet just as a jeering voice floated across the lawn.
 "I know what day it is," sang Dudley, waddling toward him.
 The huge eyes blinked and vanished.
 "What?" said Harry, not taking his eyes off the spot where they had been.
 "I know what day it is," Dudley repeated, coming right up to him.
 "Well done," said Harry. "So you've finally learned the days of the week."
 "Today's your birthday," sneered Dudley. "How come you haven't got any cards? Haven't you even got friends at that freak place?"
 "Better not let your mum hear you talking about my school," said Harry coolly.
 Dudley hitched up his trousers, which were slipping down his fat bottom.
 "Why're you staring at the hedge?" he said suspiciously.
 "I'm trying to decide what would be the best spell to set it on fire," said Harry.
 Dudley stumbled backward at once, a look of panic on his fat face.
 "You c-can't - Dad told you you're not to do m-magic - he said he'll chuck you out of the house - and you haven't got anywhere else to go - you haven't got any friends to take you -"
 "Jiggery pokery!" said Harry in a fierce voice. "Hocus pocus squiggly wiggly -"
 "MUUUUUUM!" howled Dudley, tripping over his feet as he dashed back toward the house. "MUUUUM! He's doing you know what!"
 Harry paid dearly for his moment of fun. As neither Dudley nor
 the hedge was in any way hurt, Aunt Petunia knew he hadn't really done magic, but he still had to duck as she aimed a heavy blow at his head with the soapy frying pan. Then she gave him work to do, with the promise he wouldn't eat again until he'd finished.
 While Dudley lolled around watching and eating ice cream, Harry cleaned the windows, washed the car, mowed the lawn, trimmed the flowerbeds, pruned and watered the roses, and repainted the garden bench. The sun blazed overhead, burning the back of his neck. Harry knew he shouldn't have risen to Dudley's bait, but Dudley had said the very thing Harry had been thinking himself... maybe he didn't have any friends at Hogwarts ....
 Wish they could see famous Harry Potter now, he thought savagely as he spread manure on the flower beds, his back aching, sweat running down his face.
 It was half past seven ,in the evening when at last, exhausted, he heard Aunt Petunia calling him.
 "Get in here! And walk on the newspaper!"
 Harry moved gladly into the shade of the gleaming kitchen. On top of the fridge stood tonight's pudding: a huge mound of whipped cream and sugared violets. A loin of roast pork was sizzling in the oven.
 "Eat quickly! The Masons will be here soon!" snapped Aunt Petunia, pointing to two slices of bread and a lump of cheese on the kitchen table. She was already wearing a salmon-pink cocktail dress.
 Harry washed his hands and bolted down his pitiful supper. The moment he had finished, Aunt Petunia whisked away his plate. "Upstairs! Hurry!"
 As he passed the door to the living room, Harry caught a glimpse of Uncle Vernon and Dudley in bow ties and dinner jack ets. He had only just reached the upstairs landing when the door bell rang and Uncle Vernon's furious face appeared at the foot of the stairs. "Remember, boy - one sound -" Harry crossed to his bedroom on tiptoe slipped inside, closed the door, and turned to collapse on his bed. The trouble was, there was already someone sitting on it.
 CHAPTER TWo
 I
 DOBBY'S WARNING
 arry managed not to shout out, but it was a close thing. The little creature on the bed had large, bat-like ears and bulging green eyes the size of tennis balls. Harry knew instantly that this was what had been watching him out of the garden hedge that morning.
 As they stared at each other, Harry heard Dudley's voice from the hall.
 "May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?"
 The creature slipped off the bed and bowed so low that the end of its long, thin nose touched the carpet. Harry noticed that it was wearing what looked like an old pillowcase, with rips for arm- and leg-holes.
 "Er - hello," said Harry nervously.
 "Harry Potter!" said the creature in a high-pitched voice Harry was sure would carry down the stairs. "So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, sir ... Such an honor it is . . . ."
 "Th-thank you," said Harry, edging along the wall and sinking into his desk chair, next to Hedwig, who was asleep in her large cage. He wanted to ask, "What are you?" but thought it would sound too rude, so instead he said, "Who are you?"
 "Dobby, sir. Just Dobby. Dobby the house-elf," said the creature.
 "Oh - really?" said Harry. "Er - I don't want to be rude or anything, but - this isn't a great time for me to have a house-elf in my bedroom."
 Aunt Petunias high, false laugh sounded from the living room. The elf hung his head.
 "Not that I'm not pleased to meet you," said Harry quickly, "but, er, is there any particular reason you're here?"
 "Oh, yes, sir," said Dobby earnestly. "Dobby has come to tell you, sir ... it is difficult, sir ... Dobby wonders where to begin . . . ."
 "Sit down," said Harry politely, pointing at the bed.
 To his horror, the elf burst into tears - very noisy tears.
 "S-sit down!" he wailed. "Never ... never ever. . . "
 Harry thought he heard the voices downstairs falter.
 "I'm sorry," he whispered, "I didn't mean to offend you or anything -"
 "Offend Dobby!" choked the elf. "Dobby has never been asked to sit down by a wizard - like an equal-"
 Harry, trying to say "Shh!" and look comforting at the same time, ushered Dobby back onto the bed where he sat hiccoughing, looking like a large and very ugly doll. At last he managed to control himself, and sat with his great eyes fixed on Harry in an expression of watery adoration.
 "You can't have met many decent wizards," said Harry, trying to cheer him up.
 Dobby shook his head. Then, without warning, he leapt up and started banging his head furiously on the window, shouting, "Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!"
 "Don't - what are you doing?" Harry hissed, springing up and pulling Dobby back onto the bed - Hedwig had woken up with a particularly loud screech and was beating her wings wildly against the bars of her cage.
 "Dobby had to punish himself, sir," said the elf, who had gone slightly cross-eyed. "Dobby almost spoke ill of his family, sir . . . ."
 "Your family?"
 "The wizard family Dobby serves, sir... DOBBY'S is a houseelf - bound to serve one house and one family forever . .....
 "Do they know you're here?" asked Harry curiously.
 Dobby shuddered.
 "Oh, no, sir, no ... Dobby will have to punish himself most grievously for coming to see you, sir. Dobby will have to shut his ears in the oven door for this. If they ever knew, sir "
 "But won't they notice if you shut your ears in the oven door?"
 "Dobby doubts it, sir. Dobby is always having to punish himself for something, sir. They lets Dobby get on with it, sir. Sometimes they reminds me to do extra punishments ......
 "But why don't you leave? Escape?"
 "A house-elf must be set free, sir. And the family will never set Dobby free ... Dobby will serve the family until he dies, sir . . . ."
 Harry stared.
 "And I thought I had it bad staying here for another four weeks,"
 he said. "This makes the Dursleys sound almost human. Can't anyone help you? Can't I?"
 Almost at once, Harry wished he hadn't spoken. Dobby dissolved again into wails of gratitude.
 "Please," Harry whispered frantically, "please be quiet. If the Dursleys hear anything, if they know you're here -"
 "Harry Potter asks if he can help Dobby ... Dobby has heard of your greatness, sir, but of your goodness, Dobby never knew . .....
 Harry, who was feeling distinctly hot in the face, said, "Whatever you've heard about my greatness is a load of rubbish. I'm not even top of my year at Hogwarts; that's Hermione, she -"
 But he stopped quickly, because thinking about Hermione was painful.
 "I-Tarry Potter is humble and modest," said Dobby reverently, his orb- like eyes aglow. "Harry Potter speaks not of his triumph over He-Who- Must-Not-Be-Named -"
 "Voldemort?" said Harry.
 Dobby clapped his hands over his bat ears and moaned, "Ah, speak not the name, sir! Speak not the name!"
 "Sorry" said Harry quickly. "I know lots of people don't like it. My friend Ron -"
 He stopped again. Thinking about Ron was painful, too.
 Dobby leaned toward Harry, his eyes wide as headlights.
 'Dobby heard tell," he said hoarsely, "that Harry Potter met the Dark Lord for a second time just weeks ago ... that Harry Potter escaped Yet again. "
 Harry nodded and Dobby's eyes suddenly shone with tears.
 ,Ah, sir," he gasped, dabbing his face with a corner of the grubby
 pillowcase he was wearing. "Harry Potter is valiant and bold! He has braved so many dangers already! But Dobby has come to protect Harry Potter, to warn him, even if he does have to shut his ears in the oven door later... Harry Potter must notgo back to Hogwarts."
 There was a silence broken only by the chink of knives and forks from downstairs and the distant rumble of Uncle Vernon's voice.
 "W-what?" Harry stammered. "But I've got to go back - term starts on September first. It's all that's keeping me going. You don't know what it's like here. I don't belong here. I belong in your world - at Hogwarts."
 "No, no, no," squeaked Dobby, shaking his head so hard his ears flapped. "Harry Potter must stay where he is safe. He is too great, too good, to lose. If Harry Potter goes back to Hogwarts, he will be in mortal danger."
 "Why?" said Harry in surprise.
 "There is a plot, Harry Potter. A plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year," whispered Dobby, suddenly trembling all over. "Dobby has known it for months, sir. Harry Potter must not put himself in peril. He is too important, sir!"
 "What terrible things?" said Harry at once. "Who's plotting them?"
 Dobby made a funny choking noise and then banged his head frantically against the wall.
 "All right!" cried Harry, grabbing the elf's arm to stop him. "You can't tell me. I understand. But why are you warning me?" A sudden, unpleasant thought struck him. "Hang on - this hasn't got anything to do with Vol- - sorry - with You-Know-Who, has it?
 You could just shake or nod," he added hastily as Dobby's head tilted worryingly close to the wall again.
 Slowly, Dobby shook his head.
 "Not -not He- Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, sir '
 But Dobby's eyes were wide and he seemed to be trying to give Harry a hint. Harry, however, was completely lost.
 "He hasn't got a brother, has he?"
 Dobby shook his head, his eyes wider than ever.
 "Well then, I can't think who else would have a chance of making horrible things happen at Hogwarts," said Harry. "I mean, there's Dumbledore, for one thing - you know who Dumbledore is, don't you?"
 Dobby bowed his head.
 "Albus Dumbledore is the greatest headmaster Hogwarts has ever had. Dobby knows it, sir. Dobby has heard Dumbledore's powers rival those of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at the height of his strength. But, sir" - Dobby's voice dropped to an urgent whisper - "there are powers Dumbledore doesn't ... powers no decent wizard. . ."
 And before Harry could stop him, Dobby bounded off the bed, seized Harry's desk lamp, and started beating himself around the head with earsplitting yelps.
 A sudden silence fell downstairs. Two seconds later Harry, heart thudding madly, heard Uncle Vernon coming into the hall, calling, "Dudley must have left his television on again, the little tyke!"
 "Quick! In the closet!" hissed Harry, stuffing Dobby in, shutting the door, and flinging himself onto the bed just as the door handle turned.
 "What - the - devil - are - you - doing?" said Uncle Vernon through gritted teeth, his face horribly close to Harry's. "You've just ruined the punch line of my Japanese golfer joke .... One more sound and you'll wish you'd never been born, boy!"
 He stomped flat-footed from the room.
 Shaking, Harry let Dobby out of the closet.
 "See what it's like here?" he said. "See why I've got to go back to Hogwarts? It's the only place I've got -well, I think I've got friends. "
 "Friends who don't even write to Harry Potter?" said Dobby slyly.
 "I expect they've just been - wait a minute," said Harry, frowning. "How do you know my friends haven't been writing to me?"
 Dobby shuffled his feet.
 "Harry Potter mustn't be angry with Dobby. Dobby did it for the best - "
 "Have you been stopping my letters?"
 "Dobby has them here, sir," said the elf. Stepping nimbly out of Harry's reach, he pulled a thick wad of envelopes from the inside of the pillowcase he was wearing. Harry could make out Hermione's neat writing, Ron's untidy scrawl, and even a scribble that looked as though it was from the Hogwarts gamekeeper, Hagrid.
 Dobby blinked anxiously up at Harry.
 "Harry Potter mustn't be angry... Dobby hoped ... if Harry Potter thought his friends had forgotten him ... Harry Potter might not want to go back to school, sir . .....
 Harry wasn't listening. He made a grab for the letters, but Dobby jumped out of reach.
 "Harry Potter will have them, sir, if he gives Dobby his word
 that he will not return to Hogwarts. Ah, sir, this is a danger you must not face! Say you won't go back, sir!"
 "No," said Harry angrily. "Give me my friends' letters!"
 "Then Harry Potter leaves Dobby no choice," said the elf sadly.
 Before Harry could move, Dobby had darted to the bedroom door, pulled it open, and sprinted down the stairs.
 Mouth dry, stomach lurching, Harry sprang after him, trying not to make a sound. He jumped the last six steps, landing catlike on the hall carpet, looking around for Dobby. From the dining room he heard Uncle Vernon saying, ". . . tell Petunia that very funny story about those American plumbers, Mr. Mason. She's been dying to hear. . . "
 Harry ran up the hall into the kitchen and felt his stomach disappear.
 Aunt Petunia's masterpiece of a pudding, the mountain of cream and sugared violets, was floating up near the ceiling. On top of a cupboard in the corner crouched Dobby.
 "No," croaked Harry. "Please ... they'll kill me ......
 "Harry Potter must say he's not going back to school -"
 "Dobby ... please ...
 "Say it, sir -"
 "I can't -"
 Dobby gave him a tragic look.
 "Then Dobby must do it, sir, for Harry Potter's own good."
 The pudding fell to the floor with a heart-stopping crash. Cream splattered the windows and walls as the dish shattered. With a crack like a whip, Dobby vanished.
 There were screams from the dining room and Uncle Vernon
 burst into the kitchen to find Harry, rigid with shock, covered from head to foot in Aunt Petunias pudding.
 At first, it looked as though Uncle Vernon would manage to gloss the whole thing over. ("Just our nephew - very disturbed
 meeting strangers upsets him, so we kept him upstairs) He
 shooed the shocked Masons back into the dining room, promised Harry he would flay him to within an inch of his life when the Ma sons had left, and handed him a mop. Aunt Petunia dug some ice cream out of the freezer and Harry, still shaking, started scrubbing the kitchen clean.
 Uncle Vernon might still have been able to make his deal - if it hadn't been for the owl.
 Aunt Petunia was just passing around a box of after-dinner mints when a huge barn owl swooped through the dining room window, dropped a letter on Mrs. Mason's head, and swooped out again. Mrs. Mason screamed like a banshee and ran from the house shouting about lunatics. Mr. Mason stayed just long enough to tell the Dursleys that his wife was mortally afraid of birds of all shapes and sizes, and to ask whether this was their idea of a joke.
 Harry stood in the kitchen, clutching the mop for support, as Uncle Vernon advanced on him, a demonic glint in his tiny eyes.
 "Read it!" he hissed evilly, brandishing the letter the owl had delivered. "Go on - read it!"
 Harry took it. It did not contain birthday greetings.
 Dear Mr. Potter,
 We have received intelligence that a Hover Charm was used at your place of residence this evening at twelve minutes past nine.
 As you know, underage wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside school, and further spellwork on your part may lead to expulsion from said school (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C).
 We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity that risks notice by members of the non-magical community (Muggles) is a serious offense under section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy.
 Enjoy your holidays! Yours sincerely,
 Mafalda Hopkirk
 IMPROPER USE OF MAGIC OFFICE
 Ministry of Magic
 Harry looked up from the letter and gulped.
 "You didn't tell us you weren't allowed to use magic outside school," said Uncle Vernon, a mad gleam dancing in his eyes. "For got to mention it .... Slipped your mind, I daresay .....
 He was bearing down on Harry like a great bulldog, all his teeth bared. "Well, I've got news for you, boy . ... I'm locking you up .... You're never going back to that school ... never ... and if you try and magic yourself out - they'll expel you!"
 And laughing like a maniac, he dragged Harry back upstairs.
 Uncle Vernon was as bad as his word. The following morning,
 he paid a man to fit bars on Harry's window. He himself fitted a cat- flap in the bedroom door, so that small amounts of food could be pushed inside three times a day. They let Harry out to use the bathroom morning and evening. Otherwise, he was locked in his room around the clock.
 Three days later, the Dursleys were showing no sign of relenting, and Harry couldn't see any way out of his situation. He lay on his bed watching the sun sinking behind the bars on the window and wondered miserably what was going to happen to him.
 What was the good of magicking himself out of his room if Hogwarts would expel him for doing it? Yet life at Privet Drive had reached an all-time low. Now that the Dursleys knew they weren't going to wake up as fruit bats, he had lost his only weapon. Dobby might have saved Harry from horrible happenings at Hogwarts, but the way things were going, he'd probably starve to death anyway.
 The cat-flap rattled and Aunt Petunias hand appeared, pushing a bowl of canned soup into the room. Harry, whose insides were aching with hunger, jumped off his bed and seized it. The soup was stone-cold, but he drank half of it in one gulp. Then he crossed the room to Hedwig's cage and tipped the soggy vegetables at the bottom of the bowl into her empty food tray. She ruffled her feathers and gave him a look of deep disgust.
 "It's no good turning your beak up at it - that's all we've got," said Harry grimly.
 He put the empty bowl back on the floor next to the cat-flap and lay back down on the bed, somehow even hungrier than he had been before the soup.
 Supposing he was still alive in another four weeks, what would happen if he didn't turn up at Hogwarts? Would someone be sent to see why he hadn't come back? Would they be able to make the Dursleys let him go?
 The room was growing dark. Exhausted, stomach rumbling, mind spinning over the same unanswerable questions, Harry fell into an uneasy sleep.
 He dreamed that he was on show in a zoo, with a card reading UNDERAGE WIZARD attached to his cage. People goggled through the bars at him as he lay, starving and weak, on a bed of straw. He saw Dobby's face in the crowd and shouted out, asking for help, but Dobby called, "Harry Potter is safe there, sir!" and vanished. Then the Dursleys appeared and Dudley rattled the bars of the cage, laughing at him.
 "Stop it," Harry muttered as the rattling pounded in his sore head. "Leave me alone ... cut it out ... I'm trying to sleep . . . ."
 He opened his eyes. Moonlight was shining through the bars on the window. And someone was goggling through the bars at him: a freckle- faced, red-haired, long-nosed someone.
 Ron Weasley was outside Harry's window.
 CHAPTER Three
 THE BURROW
 Ron.l" breathed Harry, creeping to the window and pushing it up so they could talk through the bars. "Ron, how did you - What the -?"
 Harry's mouth fell open as the full impact of what he was seeing hit him. Ron was leaning out of the back window of an old turquoise car, which was parked in midair Grinning at Harry from the front seats were Fred and George, Ron's elder twin brothers.
 "All right, Harry?" asked George.
 "What's been going on?" said Ron. "Why haven't you been answering my letters? I've asked you to stay about twelve times, and then Dad came home and said you'd got an official warning for using magic in front of Muggles -"
 "It wasn't me - and how did he know?"
 "He works for the Ministry," said Ron. "You know we're not supposed to do spells outside school -"
 "You should talk," said Harry, staring at the floating car.
 "Oh, this doesn't count," said Ron. "We're only borrowing this. It's Dad's, we didn't enchant it. But doing magic in front of those Muggles you live with -"
 "I told you, I didn't - but it'll take too long to explain now look, can you tell them at Hogwarts that the Dursleys have locked me up and won't let me come back, and obviously I can't magic myself out, because the Ministry'Il think that's the second spell I've done in three days, so -"
 "Stop gibbering," said Ron. "We've come to take you home with us."
 "But you can't magic me out either -"
 "We don't need to," said Ron, jerking his head toward the front seat and grinning. "You forget who I've got with me."
 "Tie that around the bars," said Fred, throwing the end of a rope to Harry.
 "If the Dursleys wake up, I'm dead," said Harry as he tied the rope tightly around a bar and Fred revved up the car.
 "Don't worry," said Fred, "and stand back."
 Harry moved back into the shadows next to Hedwig, who seemed to have realized how important this was and kept still and silent. The car revved louder and louder and suddenly, with a crunching noise, the bars were pulled clean out of the window as Fred drove straight up in the air. Harry ran back to the window to see the bars dangling a few feet above the ground. Panting, Ron hoisted them up into the car. Harry listened anxiously, but there was no sound from the Dursleys' bedroom.
 When the bars were safely in the back seat with Ron, Fred reversed as close as possible to Harry's window.
 "Get in," Ron said.
 "But all my Hogwarts stuff - my wand - my broomstick -"
 "Where is it?"
 "Locked in the cupboard under the stairs, and I can't get out of this room -"
 "No problem," said George from the front passenger seat. "Out of the way, Harry."
 Fred and George climbed catlike through the window into Harry's room. You had to hand it to them, thought Harry, as George took an ordinary hairpin from his pocket and started to pick the lock.
 "A lot of wizards think it's a waste of time, knowing this sort of Muggle trick," said Fred, "but we feel they're skills worth learning, even if they are a bit slow."
 There was a small click and the door swung open.
 "So - we'll get your trunk - you grab anything you need from your room and hand it out to Ron," whispered George.
 "Watch out for the bottom stair - it creaks," Harry whispered back as the twins disappeared onto the dark landing.
 Harry dashed around his room, collecting his things and passing them out of the window to Ron. Then he went to help Fred and George heave his trunk up the stairs. Harry heard Uncle Vernon cough.
 At last, panting, they reached the landing, then carried the trunk through Harry's room to the open window. Fred climbed back into the car to pull with Ron, and Harry and George pushed from the bedroom side. Inch by inch, the trunk slid through the window.
 Uncle Vernon coughed again.
 "A bit more," panted Fred, who was pulling from inside the car. "One good push -"
 Harry and George threw their shoulders against the trunk and it slid out of the window into the back seat of the car.
 "Okay, let's go," George whispered.
 But as Harry climbed onto the windowsill there came a sudden loud screech from behind him, followed immediately by the thunder of Uncle Vernon's voice.
 "THAT RUDDY OWL!"
 "I've forgotten Hedwig!"
 Harry tore back across the room as the landing light clicked on - he snatched up Hedwig's cage, dashed to the window, and passed it out to Ron. He was scrambling back onto the chest of drawers when Uncle Vernon hammered on the unlocked door and it crashed open.
 For a split second, Uncle Vernon stood framed in the doorway; then he let out a bellow like an angry bull and dived at Harry, grabbing him by the ankle.
 Ron, Fred, and George seized Harry's arms and pulled as hard as they could.
 "Petunia!" roared Uncle Vernon. "He's getting away! HE'S GETTING AWAY!"
 But the Weasleys gave a gigantic tug and Harry's leg slid out of Uncle Vernon's grasp - Harry was in the car - he'd slammed the door shut
 "Put your foot down, Fred!" yelled Ron, and the car shot suddenly toward the moon.
 Harry couldn't believe it - he was free. He rolled down the
 window, the night air whipping his hair, and looked back at the shrinking rooftops of Privet Drive. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley were all hanging, dumbstruck, out of Harry's window.
 "See you next summer!" Harry yelled.
 The Weasleys roared with laughter and Harry settled back in his seat, grinning from ear to ear.
 "Let Hedwig out," he told Ron. "She can fly behind us. She hasn't had a chance to stretch her wings for ages."
 George handed the hairpin to Ron and, a moment later, Hedwig soared joyfully out of the window to glide alongside them like a ghost.
 "So - what's the story, Harry?" said Ron impatiently. "What's been happening?"
 Harry told them all about Dobby, the warning he'd given Harry and the fiasco of the violet pudding. There was a long, shocked silence when he had finished.
 "Very fishy," said Fred finally.
 "Definitely dodgy" agreed George. "So he wouldn't even tell you who's supposed to be plotting all this stuff?"
 "I don't think he could," said Harry. "I told you, every time he got close to letting something slip, he started banging his head against the wall."
 He saw Fred and George look at each other.
 "What, you think he was lying to me?" said Harry.
 "Well," said Fred, "put it this way - house-elves have got powerful magic of their own, but they can't usually use it without their master's permission. I reckon old Dobby was sent to stop you com
 ing back to Hogwarts. Someone's idea of a joke. Can you think of anyone at school with a grudge against you?"
 "Yes," said Harry and Ron together, instantly.
 "Draco Malfoy," Harry explained. "He hates me."
 "Draco Malfoy?" said George, turning around. "Not Lucius Malfoy's son?"
 "Must be, it's not a very common name, is it?" said Harry.
 Y.
 "I've heard Dad talking about him," said George. "He was a big supporter of You-Know-Who."
 "And when You-Know-Who disappeared," said Fred, craning around to look at Harry, "Lucius Malfoy came back saying he'd never meant any of it. Load of dung - Dad reckons he was right in You- Know-Who's inner circle."
 Harry had heard these rumors about Malfoy's family before, and they didn't surprise him at all. Malfoy made Dudley Dursley look
 like a kind, thoughtful, and sensitive boy.
 "I don't know whether the Malfoys own a house-elfsaid
 Harry.
 "Well, whoever owns him will be an old wizarding family, and they'll be rich," said Fred.
 "Yeah, Mum's always wishing we had a house-elf to do the ironing," said George. "But all we've got is a lousy old ghoul in the attic and gnomes all over the garden. House-elves come with big old manors and castles and places like that; you wouldn't catch one in our house . . . ."
 Harry was silent. Judging by the fact that Draco Malfoy usually had the best of everything, his family was rolling in wizard gold; he
 could just see Malfoy strutting around a large manor house. Sending the family servant to stop Harry from going back to Hogwarts also sounded exactly like the sort of thing Malfoy would do. Had Harry been stupid to take Dobby seriously?
 "I'm glad we came to get you, anyway," said Ron. "I was getting really worried when you didn't answer any of my letters. I thought it was Errol's fault at first
 -"
 "Who's Errol?"
 "Our owl. He's ancient. It wouldn't be the first time he'd collapsed on a delivery. So then I tried to borrow Hermes -"
 "Who?"
 "The owl Mum and Dad bought Percy when he was made prefect," said Fred from the front.
 "But Percy wouldn't lend him to me," said Ron. "Said he needed him."
 "Percy's been acting very oddly this summer," said George, frowning. "And he has been sending a lot of letters and spending a load of time shut up in his room .... I mean, there's only so many times you can polish a prefect badge .... You're driving too far west, Fred," he added, pointing at a compass on the dashboard. Fred twiddled the steering wheel.
 "So, does your dad know you've got the car?" said Harry, guessing the answer.
 "Er, no," said Ron, "he had to work tonight. Hopefully we'll be able to get it back in the garage without Mum noticing we flew it."
 "What does your dad do at the Ministry of Magic, anyway?"
 "He works in the most boring department," said Ron. "The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office."
 "The what?"
 "It's all to do with bewitching things that are Muggle-made, you know, in case they end up back in a Muggle shop or house. Like, last year, some old witch died and her tea set was sold to an antiques shop. This Muggle woman bought it, took it home, and tried to serve her friends tea in it. It was a nightmare - Dad was working overtime for weeks."
 "What happened?"
 "The teapot went berserk and squirted boiling tea all over the place and one man ended up in the hospital with the sugar tongs clamped to his nose. Dad was going frantic - it's only him and an old warlock called Perkins in the office -and they had to do Memory Charms and all sorts of stuff to cover it up -"
 "But your dad - this car -"
 Fred laughed. "Yeah, Dad's crazy about everything to do with Muggles; our shed's full of Muggle stuff. He takes it apart, puts spells on it, and puts it back together again. If he raided our house he'd have to put himself under arrest. It drives Mum mad."
 "That's the main road," said George, peering down through the windshield. "We'll be there in ten minutes .... Just as well, it's getting light . . . ."
 A faint pinkish glow was visible along the horizon to the east.
 Fred brought the car lower, and Harry saw a dark patchwork of fields and clumps of trees.
 "We're a little way outside the village," said George. "Ottery St. Catchpole."
 Lower and lower went the flying car. The edge of a brilliant red sun was now gleaming through the trees.
 "Touchdown!" said Fred as, with a slight bump, they hit the ground. They had landed next to a tumbledown garage in a small yard, and Harry looked out for the first time at Ron's house.
 It looked as though it had once been a large stone pigpen, but extra rooms had been added here and there until it was several stories high and so crooked it looked as though it were held up by magic (which, Harry reminded himself, it probably was). Four or five chimneys were perched on top of the red roof. A lopsided sign stuck in the ground near the entrance read, THE BuRRow. Around the front door lay a jumble of rubber boots and a very rusty cauldron. Several fat brown chickens were pecking their way around the yard.
 "It's not much," said Ron.
 "It's wonderful," said Harry happily, thinking of Privet Drive.
 They got out of the car.
 "Now, we'll go upstairs really quietly," said Fred, "and wait for Mum to call us for breakfast Then, Ron, you come bounding downstairs going, Mum, look who turned up in the night!' and she'll be all pleased to see Harry and no one need ever know we flew the car."
 "Right," said Ron. "Come on, Harry, I sleep at the - at the top
 Ron had gone a nasty greenish color, his eyes fixed on the house. The other three wheeled around.
 Mrs. Weasley was marching across the yard, scattering chickens, and for a short, plump, kind-faced woman, it was remarkable how much she looked like a saber-toothed tiger.
 "Ah, "said Fred.
 "Oh, dear," said George.
 Mrs. Weasley came to a halt in front of them, her hands on her hips, staring from one guilty face to the next. She was wearing a flowered apron with a wand sticking out of the pocket.
 "So, "she said.
 "Morning, Mum," said George, in what he clearly thought was a jaunty, winning voice.
 "Have you any idea how worried I've been?" said Mrs. Weasley in a deadly whisper.
 "Sorry, Mum, but see, we had to -"
 All three of Mrs. Weasley's sons were taller than she was, but they cowered as her rage broke over them.
 "Beds empty! No note! Cargone - could have crashed - out of my
 mind with worry - did you care? - never, as long as I've lived - you wait until your father gets home, we never had trouble like this from Bill or Charlie or Percy -"
 "Perfect Percy," muttered Fred.
 "YOU COULD DO WITH TAKING A LEAF OUT OF PERCY'S BOOK!" yelled Mrs. Weasley, prodding a finger in Fred's chest. "You could have died, you could have been seen, you could have lost your father his job -"
 It seemed to go on for hours. Mrs. Weasley had shouted herself hoarse before she turned on Harry, who backed away.
 "I'm very pleased to see you, Harry, dear," she said. "Come in and have some breakfast."
 She turned and walked back into the house and Harry, after a nervous glance at Ron, who nodded encouragingly, followed her.
 The kitchen was small and rather cramped. There was a
 scrubbed wooden table and chairs in the middle, and Harry sat down on the edge of his seat, looking around. He had never been in a wizard house before.
 The clock on the wall opposite him had only one hand and no numbers at all. Written around the edge were things like Time to make tea, Time to feed the chickens, and You're late. Books were stacked three deep on the mantelpiece, books with titles like Charm Your Own Cheese, Enchantment in Baking, and One Minute Feasts - It's Magic! And unless Harry's ears were deceiving him, the old radio next to the sink had just announced that coming up was "Witching Hour, with the popular singing sorceress, Celestina Warbeck."
 Mrs. Weasley was clattering around, cooking breakfast a little haphazardly, throwing dirty looks at her sons as she threw sausages into the frying pan. Every now and then she muttered things like "don't know what you were thinking of," and "never would have believed it."
 "I don't blame you, dear," she assured Harry, tipping eight or nine sausages onto his plate. "Arthur and I have been worried about you, too. Just last night we were saying we'd come and get you ourselves if you hadn't written back to Ron by Friday. But really," (she was now adding three fried eggs to his plate) "flying an illegal car halfway across the country - anyone could have seen you -"
 She flicked her wand casually at the dishes in the sink, which began to clean themselves, clinking gently in the background.
 "It was cloudy, Mum!" said Fred.
 "You keep your mouth closed while you're eating!" Mrs. Weasley snapped.
 "They were starving him, Mum!" said George.
 "And you!" said Mrs. Weasley, but it was with a slightly softened expression that she started cutting Harry bread and buttering it for him.
 At that moment there was a diversion in the form of a small, redheaded figure in a long nightdress, who appeared in the kitchen, gave a small squeal, and ran out again.
 "Ginny," said Ron in an undertone to Harry. "My sister. She's been talking about you all summer."
 "Yeah, she'll be wanting your autograph, Harry," Fred said with a grin, but he caught his mother's eye and bent his face over his plate without another word. Nothing more was said until all four plates were clean, which took a surprisingly short time.
 "Blimey, I'm tired," yawned Fred, setting down his knife and fork at last. "I think I'll go to bed and -"
 "You will not," snapped Mrs. Weasley. "It's your own fault you've been up all night. You're going to de-gnome the garden for me; they're getting completely out of hand again -"
 "Oh, Mum -"
 "And you two," she said, glaring at Ron and Fred. "You can go up to bed, dear," she added to Harry. "You didn't ask them to fly that wretched car -"
 But Harry, who felt wide awake, said quickly, "I'll help Ron. I've never seen a de-gnoming -"
 "That's very sweet of you, dear, but it's dull work," said Mrs. Weasley. "Now, let's see what Lockhart's got to say on the subject -"
 And she pulled a heavy book from the stack on the mantelpiece. George groaned.
 "Mum, we know how to de-gnome a garden -"
 Harry looked at the cover of Mrs. Weasley's book. Written across it in fancy gold letters were the words Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests. There was a big photograph on the front of a very good- IOI)king wizard with wavy blond hair and bright blue eyes. As always in the wizarding world, the photograph was moving; the wizard, who Harry supposed was Gilderoy Lockhart, kept winking cheekily up at them all. Mrs. Weasley beamed down at him.
 "Oh, he is marvelous," she said. "He knows his household pests, all right, it's a wonderful book . . . ."
 "Mum fancies him," said Fred, in a very audible whisper.
 "Don't be so ridiculous, Fred," said Mrs. Weasley, her cheeks rather pink. "All right, if you think you know better than Lockhart, you can go and get on with it, and woe betide you if there's a single gnome in that garden when I come out to inspect it."
 Yawning and grumbling, the Weasleys slouched outside with Harry behind them. The garden was large, and in Harry's eyes, exactlY what a garden should be. The Dursleys wouldn't have liked it - there were plenty of weeds, and the grass needed cutting but there were gnarled trees all around the walls, plants Harry had never seen spilling from every flower bed, and a big green pond full of frogs.
 "Muggles have garden gnomes, too, you know," Harry told Ron
 they crossed the lawn.
 "Yeah, I've seen those things they think are gnomes," said Ron, bent double with his head in a peony bush, "like fat little Santa Clauses with fishing rods . . . ."
 There was a violent scuffling noise, the peony bush shuddered, and Ron straightened up. "This is a gnome," he said grimly.
 "Gerroff me! Gerroff me!" squealed the gnome.
 It was certainly nothing like Santa Claus. It was small and leathery looking, with a large, knobby, bald head exactly like a potato. Ron held it at arm's length as it kicked out at him with its horny little feet; he grasped it around the ankles and turned it upside down.
 "This is what you have to do," he said. He raised the gnome above his head ("Gerroff me!") and started to swing it in great circles like a lasso. Seeing the shocked look on Harry's face, Ron added, "It doesn't hurt them - you've just got to make them really dizzy so they can't find their way back to the gnomeholes."
 He let go of the gnome's ankles: It flew twenty feet into the air and landed with a thud in the field over the hedge.
 "Pitiful," said Fred. "I bet I can get mine beyond that stump."
 Harry learned quickly not to feel too sorry for the gnomes. He decided just to drop the first one he caught over the hedge, but the gnome, sensing weakness, sank its razor-sharp teeth into Harry's finger and he had a hard job shaking it off - until
 "Wow, Harry - that must've been fifty feet ......
 The air was soon thick with flying gnomes.
 "See, they're not too bright," said George, seizing five or six gnomes at once. "The moment they know the de-gnoming's going on they storm up to have a look. You'd think they'd have learned by now just to stay put."
 Soon, the crowd of gnomes in the field started walking away in a straggling line, their little shoulders hunched.
 "They'll be back," said Ron as they watched the gnomes disappear into the hedge on the other side of the field. "They love it here .... Dad's too soft with them; he thinks they're funny . . . ."
 Just then, the front door slammed.
 "He's back!" said George. "Dad's home!"
 They hurried through the garden and back into the house.
 Mr. Weasley was slumped in a kitchen chair with his glasses off and his eyes closed. He was a thin man, going bald, but the little hair he had was as red as any of his children's. He was wearing long green robes, which were dusty and travel-worn.
 "What a night," he mumbled, groping for the teapot as they all sat down around him. "Nine raids. Nine! And old Mundungus Fletcher tried to put a hex on me when I had my back turned ......
 Mr. Weasley took a long gulp of tea and sighed.
 "Find anything, Dad?" said Fred eagerly.
 "All I got were a few shrinking door keys and a biting kettle," yawned Mr. Weasley. "There was some pretty nasty stuff that wasn't my department, though. Mortlake was taken away for questioning about some extremely odd ferrets, but that's the Committee on Experimental Charms, thank goodness ......
 "Why would anyone bother making door keys shrink?" said George.
 "Just Muggle-baiting," sighed Mr. Weasley. "Sell them a key that keeps shrinking to nothing so they can never find it when they need it .... Of course, it's very hard to convict anyone because no Muggle would admit their key keeps shrinking - they'll insist they just keep losing it. Bless them, they'll go to any lengths to ignore magic, even if it's staring them in the face .... But the things our lot have taken to enchanting, you wouldn't believe -"
 "LIKE CARS, FOR INSTANCE?"
 Mrs. Weasley had appeared, holding a long poker like a sword. Mr. Weasley's eyes jerked open. He stared guiltily at his wife.
 "C-cars, Molly, dear?"
 "Yes, Arthur, cars," said Mrs. Weasley, her eyes flashing. "Imagine a wizard buying a rusty old car and telling his wife all he wanted to do with it was take it apart to see how it worked, while really he was enchanting it to make it fly."
 Mr. Weasley blinked.
 "Well, dear, I think you'll find that he would be quite within the law to do that, even if - er - he maybe would have done better to, um, tell his wife the truth .... There's a loophole in the law, you'll find .... As long as he wasn't intending to fly the car, the fact that the car could fly wouldn't -"
 "Arthur Weasley, you made sure there was a loophole when you wrote that law!" shouted Mrs. Weasley. "Just so you could carry on tinkering with all that Muggle rubbish in your shed! And for your information, Harry arrived this morning in the car you weren't intending to fly!"
 "Harry?" said Mr. Weasley blankly. "Harry who?"
 He looked around, saw Harry, and jumped.
 "Good lord, is it Harry Potter? Very pleased to meet you, Ron's told us so much about -"
 "Your sons flew that car to Harry's house and back last night."
 shouted Mrs. Weasley. "What have you got to say about that, eh?"
 "Did you really?" said Mr. Weasley eagerly. "Did it go all right? I - I mean," he faltered as sparks flew from Mrs. Weasley's eyes, "that - that was very wrong, boys - very wrong indeed ......
 "Let's leave them to it," Ron muttered to Harry as Mrs. Weasley swelled like a bullfrog. "Come on, I'll show you my bedroom."
 They slipped out of the kitchen and down a narrow passageway to an uneven staircase, which wound its way, zigzagging up
 through the house. On the third landing, a door stood ajar. Harry just caught sight of a pair of bright brown eyes staring at him before it closed with a snap.
 "Ginny," said Ron. "You don't know how weird it is for her to be this shy. She never shuts up normally -"
 They climbed two more flights until they reached a door with peeling paint and a small plaque on it, saying RONALD'S ROOM.
 Harry stepped in, his head almost touching the sloping ceiling, and blinked. It was like walking into a furnace: Nearly everything in Ron's room seemed to be a violent shade of orange: the bedspread, the walls, even the ceiling. Then Harry realized that Ron had covered nearly every inch of the shabby wallpaper with posters of the same seven witches and wizards, all wearing bright orange robes, carrying broomsticks, and waving energetically.
 "Your Quidditch team?" said Harry.
 "The Chudley Cannons," said Ron, pointing at the orange bedspread, which was emblazoned with two giant black C's and a speeding cannonball. "Ninth in the league."
 Ron's school spellbooks were stacked untidily in a corner, next to a pile of comics that all seemed to feature The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle. Ron's magic wand was lying on top of a fish tank full of frog spawn on the windowsill, next to his fat gray rat, Scabbers, who was snoozing in a patch of sun.
 Harry stepped over a pack of Self-Shuffling playing cards on the floor and looked out of the tiny window. In the field far below he could see a gang of gnomes sneaking one by one back through the Weasleys' hedge. Then he turned to look at Ron, who was watching him almost nervously, as though waiting for his opinion.
 "It's a bit small," said Ron quickly. "Not like that room you had with the Muggles. And I'm right underneath the ghoul in the attic; he's always banging on the pipes and groaning ...... But Harry, grinning widely, said, "This is the best house I've ever been in." Ron's ears went pink. .
 CHAPTER FOUR
 AT F L 0 V RR 11 $ H AND BLOTTS
 ife at the Burrow was as different as possible from life on Privet Drive. The Dursleys liked everything neat and ordered; the Weasleys' house burst with the strange and unexpected. Harry got a shock the first time he looked in the mirror over the kitchen mantelpiece and it shouted, "Tuck your shirt in, scruffy!" The ghoul in the attic howled and dropped pipes whenever he felt things were getting too quiet, and small explosions from Fred and George's bedroom were considered perfectly normal. What Harry found most unusual about life at Ron's, however, wasn't the talking mirror or the clanking ghoul: It was the fact that everybody there seemed to like him.
 Mrs. Weasley fussed over the state of his socks and tried to force him to eat fourth helpings at every meal. Mr. Weasley liked Harry to sit next to him at the dinner table so that he could bombard him with questions about life with Muggles, asking him to explain how things like plugs and the postal service worked.
 42
 "Fascinating." he would say as Harry talked him through using a telephone. "Ingenious, really, how many ways Muggles have found of getting along without magic."
 Harry heard from Hogwarts one sunny morning about a week after he had arrived at the Burrow. He and Ron went down to breakfast to find Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Ginny already sitting at the kitchen table. The moment she saw Harry, Ginny accidentally knocked her porridge bowl to the floor with a loud clatter. Ginny seemed very prone to knocking things over whenever Harry entered a room. She dived under the table to retrieve the bowl and emerged with her face glowing like the setting sun. Pretending he hadn't noticed this, Harry sat down and took the toast Mrs. Weasley offered him.
 "Letters from school," said Mr. Weasley, passing Harry and Ron identical envelopes of yellowish parchment, addressed in green ink. "Dumbledore already knows you're here, Harry - doesn't miss a trick, that man. You two've got them, too," he added, as Fred and George ambled in, still in their pajamas.
 For a few minutes there was silence as they all read their letters. Harry's told him to catch the Hogwarts Express as usual from King's Cross station on September first. There was also a list of the new books he'd need for the coming year.
 SECOND-YEAR STUDENTS WILL REQUIRE:
 The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2
 by Miranda Goshawk
 Break with a Banshee by Gilderoy Lockhart Gadding with Ghouls by Gilderoy Lockhart Holidays with Hags by Gilderoy Lockhart
 4 ",3
 Travels with Trolls by Gilderoy Lockhart Voyages with Vampires by Gilderoy Lockhart Wanderings with Werewolves by Gilderoy Lockhart Year with the Yeti by Gilderoy Lockhart
 Fred, who had finished his own list, peered over at Harry's.
 "You've been told to get all Lockhart's books, too!" he said. "The new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher must be a fan - bet it's a witch."
 At this point, Fred caught his mother's eye and quickly busied himself with the marmalade.
 "That lot won't come cheap," said George, with a quick look at his parents. "Lockhart's books are really expensive ......
 "Well, we'll manage," said Mrs. Weasley, but she looked worried. "I expect we'll be able to pick up a lot of Ginny's things secondhand."
 "Oh, are you starting at Hogwarts this year?" Harry asked Ginny.
 She nodded, blushing to the roots of her flaming hair, and put her elbow in the butter dish. Fortunately no one saw this except Harry, because just then Ron's elder brother Percy walked in. He was already dressed, his Hogwarts prefect badge pinned to his sweater vest.
 "Morning, all," said Percy briskly. "Lovely day."
 He sat down in the only remaining chair but leapt up again almost immediately, pulling from underneath him a moulting, gray feather duster - at least, that was what Harry thought it was, until he saw that it was breathing.
 * 44
 "Errol!" said Ron, taking the limp owl from Percy and extracting a letter from under its wing. "Finally - he's got Hermione's answer. I wrote to her saying we were going to try and rescue you from the Dursleys."
 He carried Errol to a perch just inside the back door and tried to stand him on it, but Errol flopped straight off again so Ron lay him on the draining board instead, muttering, "Pathetic." Then he ripped open Hermione's letter and read it out loud:
 "Dear Ron, and Harry if you're there,
 "I hope everything went all right and that Harry is okay and that you didn't do anything illegal to get him out, Ron, because that would get Harry into trouble, too. I've been really worried and if Harry is all right, will you please let me know at once, but perhaps it would be bet ter if you used a different owl because I think another delivery might finish your one off.
 "'I'm very busy with schoolwork, of course'- How can she be?" said Ron in horror. "We're on vacation! - 'and we're going to London next Wednesday to buy my new books. Why don't we meet in Diago n Alley?
 "Let me know what's happening as soon as you can. Love from Hermione. "'
 "Well, that fits in nicely, we can go and get all your things then, too," said Mrs. Weasley, starting to clear the table. "What're you all up to today?"
 Harry, Ron, Fred, and George were planning to go up the hill to a small paddock the Weasleys owned. It was surrounded by trees that blocked it from view of the village below, meaning that they could practice Quidditch there, as long as they didn't fly too high.
 * 4$
 They couldn't use real Quidditch balls, which would have been hard to explain if they had escaped and flown away over the village; instead they threw apples for one another to catch. They took turns riding Harry's Nimbus Two Thousand, which was easily the best broom; Ron's old Shooting Star was often outstripped by passing butterflies.
 Five minutes later they were marching up the hill, broomsticks over their shoulders. They had asked Percy if he wanted to join them, but he had said he was busy. Harry had only seen Percy at mealtimes so far; he stayed shut in his room the rest of the time.
 "Wish I knew what he was up to," said Fred, frowning. "He's not himself. His exam results came the day before you did; twelve O.WL.s and he hardly gloated at all."
 "Ordinary Wizarding Levels," George explained, seeing Harry's puzzled look. "Bill got twelve, too. If we're not careful, we'll have another Head Boy in the family. I don't think I could stand the shame."
 Bill was the oldest Weasley brother. He and the next brother, Charlie, had already left Hogwarts. Harry had never met either of them, but knew that Charlie was in Romania studying dragons and Bill in Egypt working for the wizard's bank, Gringotts.
 "Dunno how Mum and Dad are going to afford all our school stuff this year," said George after a while. "Five sets of Lockhart books! And Ginny needs robes and a wand and everything ......
 Harry said nothing. He felt a bit awkward. Stored in an underground vault at Gringotts in London was a small fortune that his parents had left him. Of course, it was only in the wizarding world that he had money; you couldn't use Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts
 46
 in Muggle shops. He had never mentioned his Gringotts bank account to the Dursleys; he didn't think their horror of anything connected with magic would stretch to a large pile of gold.
 Mrs. Weasley woke them all early the following Wednesday. After a quick half a dozen bacon sandwiches each, they pulled on their coats and Mrs. Weasley took a flowerpot off the kitchen mantelpiece and peered inside.
 "We're running low, Arthur," she sighed. "We'll have to buy some more today... Ah well, guests first! After you, Harry dear!"
 And she offered him the flowerpot.
 Harry stared at them all watching him.
 "W-what am I supposed to do?" he stammered.
 "He's never traveled by Floo powder," said Ron suddenly. "Sorry, Harry, I forgot."
 "Never?" said Mr. Weasley. "But how did you get to Diagon Alley to buy your school things last year?"
 "I went on the Underground -"
 "Really?" said Mr. Weasley eagerly. "Were there escapators? How exactly -"
 "Not now, Arthur," said Mrs. Weasley. "Floo powder's a lot quicker, dear, but goodness me, if you've never used it before -"
 "He'll be all right, Mum," said Fred. "Harry, watch us first."
 He took a pinch of glittering powder out of the flowerpot, stepped up to the fire, and threw the powder into the flames.
 With a roar, the fire turned emerald green and rose higher than Fred, who stepped right into it, shouted, "Diagon Alley!" and vanished.
 * 41
 "You must speak clearly, dear," Mrs. Weasley told Harry as George dipped his hand into the flowerpot. "And be sure to get out at the right grate ......
 "The right what?" said Harry nervously as the fire roared and whipped George out of sight, too.
 "Well, there are an awful lot of wizard fires to choose from, you know, but as long as you've spoken clearly -"
 "He'll be fine, Molly, don't fuss," said Mr. Weasley, helping himself to Floo powder, too.
 "But, dear, if he got lost, how would we ever explain to his aunt and uncle?"
 "They wouldn't mind," Harry reassured her. "Dudley would think it was a brilliant joke if I got lost up a chimney, don't worry about that -"
 "Well ... all right ... you go after Arthur," said Mrs. Weasley. "Now, when you get into the fire, say where you're going
 "And keep your elbows tucked in," Ron advised.
 "And your eyes shut," said Mrs. Weasley. "The soot -"
 "Don't fidget," said Ron. "Or you might well fall out of the wrong fireplace -"
 "But don't panic and get out too early; wait until you see Fred and George."
 Trying hard to bear all this in mind, Harry took a pinch of Floo powder and walked to the edge of the fire. He took a deep breath, scattered the powder into the flames, and stepped forward; the fire felt like a warm breeze; he opened his mouth and immediately swallowed a lot of hot ash.
 "D-Dia-gon Alley," he coughed.
 48
 It felt as though he was being sucked down a giant drain. He seemed to be spinning very fast - the roaring in his ears was deafening -he tried to keep his eyes open but the whirl of green flames made him feel sick - something hard knocked his elbow and he tucked it in tightly, still spinning and spinning - now it felt as though cold hands were slapping his face - squinting through his glasses he saw a blurred stream of fireplaces and snatched glimpses of the rooms beyond - his bacon sandwiches were churning inside him - he closed his eyes again wishing it would stop, and then
 He fell, face forward, onto cold stone and felt the bridge of his glasses snap.
 Dizzy and bruised, covered in soot, he got gingerly to his feet, holding his broken glasses up to his eyes. He was -,cite alone, but where he was, he had no idea. All he could tell was that he was standing in the stone fireplace of what looked like a large, dimly lit wizard's shop - but nothing in here was ever likely to be on a Hogwarts school list.
 A glass case nearby held a withered hand on a cushion, a bloodstained pack of cards, and a staring glass eye. Evil-looking masks stared down from the walls, an assortment of human bones lay upon the counter, and rusty, spiked instruments hung from the ceiling. Even worse, the dark, narrow street Harry could see through the dusty shop window was definitely not Diagon Alley.
 The sooner he got out of here, the better. Nose still stinging where it had hit the hearth, Harry made his way swiftly and silently toward the door, but before he'd got halfway toward it, two people appeared on the other side of the glass - and one of them was the
 49
 very last person Harry wanted to meet when he was lost, covered in soot, and wearing broken glasses: Draco Malfoy.
 Harry looked quickly around and spotted a large black cabinet to his left; he shot inside it and pulled the doors closed, leaving a small crack to peer through. Seconds later, a bell clanged, and Malfoy stepped into the shop.
 The man who followed could only be Draco's father. He had the same pale, pointed face and identical cold, gray eyes. Mr. Malfoy crossed the shop, looking lazily at the items on display, and rang a bell on the counter before turning to his son and saying, "Touch nothing, Draco."
 Malfoy, who had reached for the glass eye, said, "I thought you were going to buy me a present."
 "I said I would buy you a racing broom," said his father, drumming his fingers on the counter.
 "What's the good of that if I'm not on the House team?" said Malfoy, looking sulky and bad-tempered. "Harry Potter got a Nimbus Two Thousand last year. Special permission from Dumbledore so he could play for Gryffindor. He's not even that good, it's just because he's famous ... famous for having a stupid scar on his forehead . . . ."
 Malfoy bent down to examine a shelf full of skulls.
 ". . . everyone thinks he's so smart, wonderful Potter with his scar and his broomstick -"
 "You have told me this at least a dozen times already," said Mr. Malfoy, with a quelling look at his son. "And I would remind you that it is not - prudent - to appear less than fond of Harry Potter, not when most of our kind regard him as the hero who made the Dark Lord disappear - ah, Mr. Borgin."
 50
 A stooping man had appeared behind the counter, smoothing his greasy hair back from his face.
 "Mr. Malfoy, what a pleasure to see you again," said Mr. Borgin in a voice as oily as his hair. "Delighted - and young Master Malfoy, too - charmed. How may I be of assistance? I must show you, just in today, and very reasonably priced -"
 "I'm not buying today, Mr. Borgin, but selling," said Mr. Malfoy.
 "Selling?" The smile faded slightly from Mr. Borgin's face.
 "You have heard, of course, that the Ministry is conducting more raids," said Mr. Malfoy, taking a roll of parchment from his inside pocket and unraveling it for Mr. Borgin to read. "I have a few - ah - items at home that might embarrass me, if the Ministry were to call ......"
 Mr. Borgin fixed a pair of pince-nez to his nose and looked down the list.
 "The Ministry wouldn't presume to trouble you, sir, surely?"
 Mr. Malfoy's lip curled.
 "I have not been visited yet. The name Malfoy still commands a certain respect, yet the Ministry grows ever more meddlesome. There are rumors about a new Muggle Protection Act - no doubt that flea- bitten, Muggle-loving fool Arthur Weasley is behind it
 Harry felt a hot surge of anger.
 "- and as you see, certain of these poisons might make it appear -"
 "I understand, sir, of course," said Mr. Borgin. "Let me see. . ."
 "Can I have that?" interrupted Draco, pointing at the withered hand on its cushion.
 51
 "Ah, the Hand of Glory!" said Mr. Borgin, abandoning Mr. Malfoy's list and scurrying over to Draco. "Insert a candle and it gives light only to the holder! Best friend of thieves and plunderers! Your son has fine taste, sir."
 "I hope my son will amount to more than a thief or a plunderer, Borgin," said Mr. Malfoy coldly, and Mr. Borgin said quickly, "No offense, sir, no offense meant -"
 "Though if his grades don't pick up," said Mr. Malfoy, more coldly still, "that may indeed be all he is fit for -"
 "It's not my fault," retorted Draco. "The teachers all have favorites, that Hermione Granger -"
 "I would have thought you'd be ashamed that a girl of no wizard family beat you in every exam," snapped Mr. Malfoy.
 "Ha!" said Harry under his breath, pleased to see Draco looking both abashed and angry.
 "It's the same all over," said Mr. Borgin, in his oily voice. "Wizard blood is counting for less everywhere -"
 "Not with me," said Mr. Malfoy, his long nostrils flaring.
 "No, sir, nor with me, sir," said Mr. Borgin, with a deep bow.
 "In that case, perhaps we can return to my list," said Mr. Malfoy shortly. "I am in something of a hurry, Borgin, I have important business elsewhere today -"
 They started to haggle. Harry watched nervously as Draco drew nearer and nearer to his hiding place, examining the objects for sale. Draco paused to examine a long coil of hangman's rope and to read, smirking, the card propped on a magnificent necklace of opals, Caution: Do Not Touch. Cursed - Has Claimed the Lives of Nineteen Muggle Owners to Date.
 * 52
 Draco turned away and saw the cabinet right in front of him. He walked forward - he stretched out his hand for the handle
 "Done," said Mr. Malfoy at the counter. "Come, Draco -"
 Harry wiped his forehead on his sleeve as Draco turned away.
 "Good day to you, Mr. Borgin. I'll expect you at the manor tomorrow to pick up the goods."
 The moment the door had closed, Mr. Borgin dropped his oily manner.
 "Good day yourself, Mister Malfoy, and if the stories are true, you haven't sold me half of what's hidden in your manor ......
 Muttering darkly, Mr. Borgin disappeared into a back room. Harry waited for a minute in case he came back, then, quietly as he could, slipped out of the cabinet, past the glass cases, and out of the shop door.
 Clutching his broken glasses to his face, Harry stared around. He had emerged into a dingy alleyway that seemed to be made up entirely of shops devoted to the Dark Arts. The one he'd just left, Borgin and Burkes, looked like the largest, but opposite was a nasty window display of shrunken heads and, two doors down, a large cage was alive with gigantic black spiders. Two shabby-looking wizards were watching him from the shadow of a doorway, muttering to each other. Feeling jumpy, Harry set off, trying to hold his glasses on straight and hoping against hope he'd be able to find a way out of here.
 An old wooden street sign hanging over a shop selling poisonous candles told him he was in Knockturn Alley. This didn't help, as Harry had never heard of such a place. He supposed he hadn't spoken clearly enough through his mouthful of ashes
 back in the Weasleys' fire. Trying to stay calm, he wondered what to do.
 "Not lost are you, my dear?" said a voice in his ear, making him jump.
 An aged witch stood in front of him, holding a tray of what looked horribly like whole human fingernails. She leered at him, showing mossy teeth. Harry backed away.
 "I'm fine, thanks," he said. "I'm just -"
 "HARRY! What d'yeh think yer doin' down there?"
 Harry's heart leapt. So did the witch; a load of fingernails cascaded down over her feet and she cursed as the massive form of Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper, came striding toward them, beetle-black eyes flashing over his great bristling beard.
 "Hagrid!" Harry croaked in relief. "I was lost - Floo powder -"
 Hagrid seized Harry by the scruff of the neck and pulled him away from the witch, knocking the tray right out of her hands. Her shrieks followed them all the way along the twisting alleyway out into bright sunlight. Harry saw a familiar, snow-white marble building in the distance - Gringotts Bank. Hagrid had steered him right into Diagon Alley.
 "Yer a mess!" said Hagrid gruffly, brushing soot off Harry so forcefully he nearly knocked him into a barrel of dragon dung outside an apothecary. "Skulkin' around Knockturn Alley, I dunno dodgy place, Harry - don' want no one ter see yeh down there -"
 "I realized that," said Harry, ducking as Hagrid made to brush him off again. "I told you, I was lost - what were you doing down there, anyway?"
 * 54
 "I was lookin' fer a Flesh-Eatin' Slug Repellent," growled Hagrid. "They're ruinin' the school cabbages. Yer not on yer own?"
 "I'm staying with the Weasleys but we got separated," Harry explained. "I've got to go and find them . . . ."
 They set off together down the street.
 "How come yeh never wrote back ter me?" said Hagrid as Harry jogged alongside him (he had to take three steps to every stride of Hagrid's enormous boots). Harry explained all about Dobby and the Dursleys.
 "Lousy Muggles," growled Hagrid. "If I'd've known -"
 "Harry! Harry! Over here!"
 Harry looked up and saw Hermione Granger standing at the top of the white flight of steps to Gringotts. She ran down to meet them, her bushy brown hair flying behind her.
 "What happened to your glasses? Hello, Hagrid - Oh, it's wonderful to see you two again - Are you coming into Gringotts, Harry?"
 "As soon as I've found the Weasleys," said Harry.
 "Yeh won't have long ter wait," Hagrid said with a grin.
 Harry and Hermione looked around: Sprinting up the crowded street were Ron, Fred, George, Percy, and Mr. Weasley.
 "Harry," Mr. Weasley panted. "We hoped you'd only gone one
 grate too far .He mopped his glistening bald patch. "Molly's
 frantic - she's coming now -"
 "Where did you come out?" Ron asked.
 "Knockturn Alley," said Hagrid grimly.
 "Excellent." said Fred and George together.
 "We've never been allowed in," said Ron enviously.
 *55*
 "I should ruddy well think not," growled Hagrid. Mrs. Weasley now came galloping into view, her handbag swing ing wildly in one hand, Ginny just clinging onto the other. "Oh, Harry - oh, my dear - you could have been any where -" Gasping for breath she pulled a large clothes brush out of her bag and began sweeping off the soot Hagrid hadn't managed to beat away. Mr. Weasley took Harry's glasses, gave them a tap of his wand, and returned them, good as new. "Well, gotta be off," said Hagrid, who was having his hand wrung by Mrs. Weasley ("Knockturn Alley! If you hadn't found him, Hagrid!"). "See yer at Hogwarts!" And he strode away, head and shoulders taller than anyone else in the packed street. "Guess who I saw in Borgin and Burkes?" Harry asked Ron and Hermione as they climbed the Gringotts steps. "Malfoy and his fa ther." "Did Lucius Malfoy buy anything?" said Mr. Weasley sharply behind them. "No, he was selling ' "So he's worried," said Mr. Weasley with grim satisfaction. "Oh, I'd love to get Lucius Malfoy for something ...... "You be careful, Arthur," said Mrs. Weasley sharply as they were bowed into the bank by a goblin at the door. "That family's trou ble. Don't go biting off more than you can chew -" "So you don't think I'm a match for Lucius Malfoy?" said Mr. Weasley indignantly, but he was distracted almost at once by the sight of Hermione's parents, who were standing nervously at the counter that ran all along the great marble hall, waiting for Hermione to introduce them.
 ,5 s
 "But you're Muggles!" said Mr. Weasley delightedly. "We must have a drink! What's that you've got there? Oh, you're changing Muggle money. Molly, look!" He pointed excitedly at the tenpound notes in Mr. Granger's hand.
 "Meet you back here," Ron said to Hermione as the Weasleys and Harry were led off to their underground vaults by another Gringotts goblin.
 The vaults were reached by means of small, goblin-driven carts that sped along miniature train tracks through the bank's underground tunnels. Harry enjoyed the breakneck journey down to the Weasleys' vault, but felt dreadful, far worse than he had in Knockturn Alley, when it was opened. There was a very small pile of silver Sickles inside, and just one gold Galleon. Mrs. Weasley felt right into the corners before sweeping the whole lot into her bag. Harry felt even worse when they reached his vault. He tried to block the contents from view as he hastily shoved handfuls of coins into a leather bag.
 Back outside on the marble steps, they all separated. Percy muttered vaguely about needing a new quill. Fred and George had spotted their friend from Hogwarts, Lee Jordan. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were going to a secondhand robe shop. Mr. Weasley was insisting on taking the Grangers off to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink.
 "We'll all meet at Flourish and Blotts in an hour to buy your schoolbooks," said Mrs. Weasley, setting off with Ginny. "And not one step down Knockturn Alley!" she shouted at the twins' retreating backs.
 Harry, Ron, and Hermione strolled off along the winding, cobbled street. The bag of gold, silver, and bronze jangling cheerfully
 *57*
 in Harry's pocket was clamoring to be spent, so he bought three large strawberry-and-peanut-butter ice creams, which they slurped happily as they wandered up the alley, examining the fascinating shop windows. Ron gazed longingly at a full set of Chudley Can non robes in the windows of Quality Quidditch Supplies until Hermione dragged them off to buy ink and parchment next door. In Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop, they met Fred, George, and Lee Jordan, who were stocking up on Dr. Filibuster's Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks, and in a tiny junk shop full of bro ken wands, lopsided brass scales, and old cloaks covered in potion stains they found Percy, deeply immersed in a small and deeply boring book called Prefects Who Gained Power. A study of Hogwarts prefects and their later careers, " Ron read aloud off the back cover. "That sounds fascinating . . . ."
 "Go away," Percy snapped. "'Course, he's very ambitious, Percy, he's got it all planned out .... He wants to be Minister of Magic. . . " Ron told Harry and Hermione in an undertone as they left Percy to it. An hour later, they headed for Flourish and Blotts. They were by no means the only ones making their way to the bookshop. As they approached it, they saw to their surprise a large crowd jostling out side the doors, trying to get in. The reason for this was proclaimed
 by a large banner stretched across the upper windows:
 GILDEROY LOCKHART will be signing copies of his autobiography MAGICAL ME today 12:30 P.m. to 4:30 P.m.
 "We can actually meet him!" Hermione squealed. "I mean, he's written almost the whole booklist!"
 The crowd seemed to be made up mostly of witches around Mrs. Weasley's age. A harrassed-looking wizard stood at the door, saying, "Calmly, please, ladies .... Don't push, there ... mind the books, now . . . . "
 Harry, Ron, and Hermione squeezed inside. A long line wound right to the back of the shop, where Gilderoy Lockhart was signing his books. They each grabbed a copy of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 and sneaked up the line to where the rest of the Weasleys were standing with Mr. and Mrs. Granger.
 "Oh, there you are, good," said Mrs. Weasley. She sounded breathless and kept patting her hair. "We'll be able to see him in a minute ......
 Gilderoy Lockhart came slowly into view, seated at a table surrounded by large pictures of his own face, all winking and flashing dazzlingly white teeth at the crowd. The real Lockhart was wearing robes of forget-me-not blue that exactly matched his eyes; his pointed wizard's hat was set at a jaunty angle on his wavy hair.
 A short, irritable-looking man was dancing around taking photographs with a large black camera that emitted puffs of purple smoke with every blinding flash.
 "Out of the way, there," he snarled at Ron, moving back to get a better shot. "This is for the Daily Prophet -"
 "Big deal," said Ron, rubbing his foot where the photographer had stepped on it.
 Gilderoy Lockhart heard him. He looked up. He saw Ron
 *59*
 and then he saw Harry. He stared. Then he leapt to his feet and positively shouted, "It can't be Harry Potter?"
 The crowd parted, whispering excitedly; Lockhart dived forward, seized Harry's arm, and pulled him to the front. The crowd burst into applause. Harry's face burned as Lockhart shook his hand for the photographer, who was clicking away madly, wafting thick smoke over the Weasleys.
 "Nice big smile, Harry," said Lockhart, through his own gleaming teeth. "Together, you and I are worth the front page."
 When he finally let go of Harry's hand, Harry could hardly feel his fingers. He tried to sidle back over to the Weasleys, but Lockhart threw an arm around his shoulders and clamped him tightly to his side.
 "Ladies and gentlemen," he said loudly, waving for quiet. "What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I've been sitting on for some time!
 "When young Harry here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, he only wanted to buy my autobiography -which I shall be happy to present him now, free of charge-" The crowd applauded again. "He had no idea," Lockhart continued, giving Harry a little shake that made his glasses slip to the end of his nose, "that he would shortly be getting much, much more than my book, Magical Me. He and his schoolmates will, in fact, be getting the real magical me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"
 The crowd cheered and clapped and Harry found himself being
 60
 presented with the entire works of Gilderoy Lockhart. Staggering slightly under their weight, he managed to make his way out of the limelight to the edge of the room, where Ginny was standing next to her new cauldron.
 "You have these," Harry mumbled to her, tipping the books into the cauldron. "I'll buy my own -"
 "Bet you loved that, didn't you, Potter?" said a voice Harry had no trouble recognizing. He straightened up and found himself face-to-face with Draco Malfoy, who was wearing his usual sneer.
 "Famous Harry Potter," said Malfoy. "Can't even go into a bookshop without making the front page."
 "Leave him alone, he didn't want all that!" said Ginny. It was the first time she had spoken in front of Harry. She was glaring at Malfoy.
 "Potter, you've got yourself a girlfriend!" drawled Malfoy. Ginny went scarlet as Ron and Hermione fought their way over, both clutching stacks of Lockhart's books.
 "Oh, it's you," said Ron, looking at Malfoy as if he were something unpleasant on the sole of his shoe. "Bet you're surprised to see Harry here, eh?"
 "Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley," retorted Malfoy. "I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for all those."
 Ron went as red as Ginny. He dropped his books into the cauldron, too, and started toward Malfoy, but Harry and Hermione grabbed the back of his jacket.
 "Ron!" said Mr. Weasley, struggling over with Fred and George. "What are you doing? It's too crowded in here, let's go outside."
 61
 "Well, well, well - Arthur Weasley."
 It was Mr. Malfoy. He stood with his hand on Draco's shoulder, sneering in just the same way.
 "Lucius," said Mr. Weasley, nodding coldly.
 "Busy time at the Ministry, I hear," said Mr. Malfoy. "All those raids ... I hope they're paying you overtime?"
 He reached into Ginny's cauldron and extracted, from amid the glossy Lockhart books, a very old, very battered copy of A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration.
 "Obviously not," Mr. Malfoy said. "Dear me, what's the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?"
 Mr. Weasley flushed darker than either Ron or Ginny.
 "We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy," he said.
 "Clearly," said Mr. Malfoy, his pale eyes straying to Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who were watching apprehensively. "The company you keep, Weasley ... and I thought your family could sink no lower '
 There was a thud of metal as Ginny's cauldron went flying; Mr. Weasley had thrown himself at Mr. Malfoy, knocking him backward into a bookshelf. Dozens of heavy spellbooks came thundering down on all their heads; there was a yell of, "Get him, Dad!" from Fred or George; Mrs. Weasley was shrieking, "No, Arthur, no!"; the crowd stampeded backward, knocking more shelves over; "Gentlemen, please - please!" cried the assistant, and then, louder than all
 "Break it up, there, gents, break it up -"
 62
 Hagrid was wading toward them through the sea of books. In an instant he had pulled Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy apart. Mr. Weasley had a cut lip and Mr. Malfoy had been hit in the eye by an Encyclopedia of Toadstools. He was still holding Ginny's old Transfiguration book. He thrust it at her, his eyes glittering with malice.
 "Here, girl - take your book - it's the best your father can give you -" Pulling himself out of Hagrid's grip he beckoned to Draco and swept from the shop.
 "Yeh should've ignored him, Arthur," said Hagrid, almost lifting Mr. Weasley off his feet as he straightened his robes. "Rotten ter the core, the whole family, everyone knows that - no Malfoy's worth listenin' ter - bad blood, that's what it is - come on now - let's get outta here."
 The assistant looked as though he wanted to stop them leaving, but he barely came up to Hagrid's waist and seemed to think better of it. They hurried up the street, the Grangers shaking with fright and Mrs. Weasley beside herself with fury.
 "A fine example to set for your children . . . brawling in public . . . what Gilderoy Lockhart must've thought -"
 "He was pleased," said Fred. "Didn't you hear him as we were leaving? He was asking that bloke from the Daily Prophet if he'd be able to work the fight into his report - said it was all publicity -"
 But it was a subdued group that headed back to the fireside in the Leaky Cauldron, where Harry, the Weasleys, and all their shopping would be traveling back to the Burrow using Floo powder. They said good-bye to the Grangers, who were leaving the pub for the Muggle street on the other side; Mr. Weasley started to ask
 63
 them how bus stops worked, but stopped quickly at the look on Mrs. Weasley's face.
 Harry took off his glasses and put them safely in his pocket before helping himself to Floo powder. It definitely wasn't his favorite way to travel.
 CHAPTER F I v E
 THE WHOMPING
 WILLOW
 he end of the summer vacation came too quickly for Harry's liking. He was looking forward to getting back to Hogwarts, but his month at the Burrow had been the happiest of his life. It was difficult not to feel jealous of Ron when he thought of the Dursleys and the sort of welcome he could expect next time he turned up on Privet Drive.
 On their last evening, Mrs. Weasley conjured up a sumptuous dinner that included all of Harry's favorite things, ending with a mouthwatering treacle pudding. Fred and George rounded off the evening with a display of Filibuster fireworks; they fiIled the kitchen with red and blue stars that bounced from ceiling to wall for at least half an hour. Then it was time for a last mug of hot chocolate and bed.
 It took a long while to get started next morning. They were up at dawn, but somehow they still seemed to have a great deal to do.
 65
 Mrs. Weasley dashed about in a bad mood looking for spare socks and quills; people kept colliding on the stairs, half-dressed with bits of toast in their hands; and Mr. Weasley nearly broke his neck, tripping over a stray chicken as he crossed the yard carrying Ginny's trunk to the car.
 Harry couldn't see how eight people, six large trunks, two owls, and a rat were going to fit into one small Ford Anglia. He had reckoned, of course, without the special features that Mr. Weasley had added.
 "Not a word to Molly," he whispered to Harry as he opened the. trunk and showed him how it had been magically expanded so that the luggage fitted easily.
 When at last they were all in the car, Mrs. Weasley glanced into the back seat, where Harry, Ron, Fred, George, and Percy were all sitting comfortably side by side, and said, "Muggles do know more than we give them credit for, don't they?" She and Ginny got into the front seat, which had been stretched so that it resembled a park bench. "I mean, you'd never know it was this roomy from the outside, would you?"
 Mr. Weasley started up the engine and they trundled out of the yard, Harry turning back for a last look at the house. He barely had time to wonder when he'd see it again when they were back George had forgotten his box of Filibuster fireworks. Five minutes after that, they skidded to a halt in the yard so that Fred could run in for his broomstick. They had almost reached the highway when Ginny shrieked that she'd left her diary. By the time she had clambered back into the car, they were running very late, and tempers were running high.
 * 66
 Mr. Weasley glanced at his watch and then at his wife.
 "Molly, dear -"
 "No, Arthur -"
 "No one would see - this little button here is an Invisibility Booster I installed - that'd get us up in the air - then we fly above the clouds. We'd be there in ten minutes and no one would be any the wiser -"
 "I said no, Arthur, not in broad daylight -"
 They reached King's Cross at a quarter to eleven. Mr. Weasley dashed across the road to get trolleys for their trunks and they all hurried into the station.
 Harry had caught the Hogwarts Express the previous year. The tricky part was getting onto platform nine and three-quarters, which wasn't visible to the Muggle eye. What you had to do was walk through the solid barrier dividing platforms nine and ten. It didn't hurt, but it had to be done carefully so that none of the Muggles noticed you vanishing.
 "Percy first," said Mrs. Weasley, looking nervously at the clock overhead, which showed they had only five minutes to disappear casually through the barrier.
 Percy strode briskly forward and vanished. Mr. Weasley went next; Fred and George followed.
 "I'll take Ginny and you two come right after us," Mrs. Weasley told Harry and Ron, grabbing Ginny's hand and setting off. In the blink of an eye they were gone.
 "Let's go together, we've only got a minute," Ron said to Harry.
 Harry made sure that Hedwig's cage was safely wedged on top of his trunk and wheeled his trolley around to face the barrier. He felt
 61
 perfectly confident; this wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as using Floo powder. Both of them bent low over the handles of their trolleys and walked purposefully toward the barrier, gathering speed. A few feet away from it, they broke into a run and
 CRASH.
 Both trolleys hit the barrier and bounced backward; Ron's trunk fell off with a loud thump, Harry was knocked off his feet, and Hedwig's cage bounced onto the shiny floor, and she rolled away, shrieking indignantly; people all around them stared and a guard nearby yelled, "What in blazes d'you think you're doing?"
 "Lost control of the trolley," Harry gasped, clutching his ribs as he got up. Ron ran to pick up Hedwig, who was causing such a scene that there was a lot of muttering about cruelty to animals from the surrounding crowd.
 "Why can't we get through?" Harry hissed to Ron.
 "I dunno -"
 Ron looked wildly around. A dozen curious people were still watching them.
 "We're going to miss the train," Ron whispered. "I don't understand why the gateway's sealed itself -"
 Harry looked up at the giant clock with a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. Ten seconds ... nine seconds ...
 He wheeled his trolley forward cautiously until it was right against the barrier and pushed with all his might. The metal remained solid.
 Three seconds . . . two seconds ... one second ...
 "It's gone," said Ron, sounding stunned. "The train's left. What if Mum and Dad can't get back through to us? Have you got any Muggle money?"
 68
 And they marched off through the crowd of curious Muggles, out of the station and back onto the side road where the old Ford Anglia was parked.
 Ron unlocked the cavernous trunk with a series of taps from his wand. They heaved their luggage back in, put Hedwig on the back seat, and got into the front.
 "Check that no one's watching," said Ron, starting the ignition with another tap of his wand. Harry stuck his head out of the window: Traffic was rumbling along the main road ahead, but their street was empty.
 "Okay," he said.
 Ron pressed a tiny silver button on the dashboard. The car around them vanished - and so did they. Harry could feel the seat vibrating beneath him, hear the engine, feel his hands on his knees and his glasses on his nose, but for all he could see, he had become a pair of eyeballs, floating a few feet above the ground in a dingy street full of parked cars.
 "Let's go," said Ron's voice from his right.
 And the ground and the dirty buildings on either side fell away, dropping out of sight as the car rose; in seconds, the whole of London lay, smoky and glittering, below them.
 Then there was a popping noise and the car, Harry, and Ron reappeared.
 "Uh-oh," said Ron, jabbing at the Invisibility Booster. "It's faulty -"
 Both of them pummeled it. The car vanished. Then it flickered back again.
 "Hold on!" Ron yelled, and he slammed his foot on the acceler
 * 7 0
 ator; they shot straight into the low, woolly clouds and everything turned dull and foggy.
 "Now what?" said Harry, blinking at the solid mass of cloud pressing in on them from all sides.
 "We need to see the train to know what direction to go in," said Ron.
 "Dip back down again - quickly -"
 They dropped back beneath the clouds and twisted around in their seats, squinting at the ground.
 "I can see it!" Harry yelled. "Right ahead - there!"
 The Hogwarts Express was streaking along below them like a scarlet snake.
 "Due north," said Ron, checking the compass on the dashboard. "Okay, we'll just have to check on it every half hour or so - hold on
 And they shot up through the clouds. A minute later, they burst out into a blaze of sunlight.
 It was a different world. The wheels of the car skimmed the sea of fluffy cloud, the sky a bright, endless blue under the blinding white sun.
 "All we've got to worry about now are airplanes," said Ron.
 They looked at each other and started to laugh; for a long time, they couldn't stop.
 It was as though they had been plunged into a fabulous dream. This, thought Harry, was surely the only way to travel - past swirls and turrets of snowy cloud, in a car full of hot, bright sunlight, with a fat pack of toffees in the glove compartment, and the prospect of seeing Fred's and George's jealous faces when they
 * 71
 landed smoothly and spectacularly on the sweeping lawn in front of Hogwarts castle.
 They made regular checks on the train as they flew farther and farther north, each dip beneath the clouds showing them a different view. London was soon far behind them, replaced by neat green fields that gave way in turn to wide, purplish moors, a great city alive with cars like multicolored ants, villages with tiny toy churches.
 Several uneventful hours later, however, Harry had to admit that some of the fun was wearing off. The toffees had made them extremely thirsty and they had nothing to drink. He and Ron had pulled off their sweaters, but Harry's T-shirt was sticking to the back of his seat and his glasses kept sliding down to the end of his sweaty nose. He had stopped noticing the fantastic cloud shapes now and was thinking longingly of the train miles below, where you could buy ice-cold pumpkin juice from a trolley pushed by a plump witch. Why hadn't they been able to get onto platform nine and three-quarters?
 "Can't be much further, can it?" croaked Ron, hours later still, as the sun started to sink into their floor of cloud, staining it a deep pink. "Ready for another check on the train?"
 It was still right below them, winding its way past a snowcapped mountain. It was much darker beneath the canopy of clouds.
 Ron put his foot on the accelerator and drove them upward again, but as he did so, the engine began to whine.
 Harry and Ron exchanged nervous glances.
 "It's probably just tired," said Ron. "It's never been this far before ......
 12
 And they both pretended not to notice the whining growing louder and louder as the sky became steadily darker. Stars were blossoming in the blackness. Harry pulled his sweater back on, try ing to ignore the way the windshield wipers were now waving fee bly, as though in protest. "Not far," said Ron, more to the car than to Harry, "not far now," and he patted the dashboard nervously. When they flew back beneath the clouds a little while later, they had to squint through the darkness for a landmark they knew. "There!" Harry shouted, making Ron and Hedwig jump. "Straight ahead!" Silhouetted on the dark horizon, high on the cliff over the lake, stood the many turrets and towers of Hogwarts castle. But the car had begun to shudder and was losing speed. "Come on," Ron said cajolingly, giving the steering wheel a lit tle shake, "nearly there, come on -" The engine groaned. Narrow jets of steam were issuing from un der the hood. Harry found himself gripping the edges of his seat very hard as they flew toward the lake. The car gave a nasty wobble. Glancing out of his window, Harry saw the smooth, black, glassy surface of the water, a mile below. Ron's knuckles were white on the steering wheel. The car wobbled again. "Come on," Ron muttered. They were over the lake - the castle was right ahead - Ron put his foot down. There was a loud clunk, a splutter, and the engine died com pletely.
 "Uh-oh," said Ron, into the silence.
 The nose of the car dropped. They were falling, gathering speed, heading straight for the solid castle wall.
 "Noooooo!" Ron yelled, swinging the steering wheel around; they missed the dark stone wall by inches as the car turned in a great arc, soaring over the dark greenhouses, then the vegetable patch, and then out over the black lawns, losing altitude all the time.
 Ron let go of the steering wheel completely and pulled his wand out of his back pocket
 "STOP! STOP!" he yelled, whacking the dashboard and the windshield, but they were still plummeting, the ground flying up toward them
 "WATCH OUT FOR THAT TREE!" Harry bellowed, lunging for the steering wheel, but too late.
 CRUNCH.
 With an earsplitting bang of metal on wood, they hit the thick tree trunk and dropped to the ground with a heavy jolt. Steam was billowing from under the crumpled hood; Hedwig was shrieking in terror; a golfball-size lump was throbbing on Harry's head where he had hit the windshield; and to his right, Ron let out a low, despairing groan.
 "Are you okay?" Harry said urgently.
 "My wand," said Ron, in a shaky voice. "Look at my wand -"
 It had snapped, almost in two; the tip was dangling limply, held on by a few splinters.
 Harry opened his mouth to say he was sure they'd be able to mend it up at the school, but he never even got started. At that very moment, something hit his side of the car with the force of a
 * Y4 *
 charging bull, sending him lurching sideways into Ron, just as an equally heavy blow hit the roof.
 "What's happen -?"
 Ron gasped, staring through the windshield, and Harry looked around just in time to see a branch as thick as a python smash into it. The tree they had hit was attacking them. Its trunk was bent almost double, and its gnarled boughs were pummeling every inch of the car it could reach.
 "Aaargh!" said Ron as another twisted limb punched a large dent into his door; the windshield was now trembling under a hail of blows from knuckle-like twigs and a branch as thick as a battering ram was pounding furiously on the roof, which seemed to be caving
 "Run for it!" Ron shouted, throwing his full weight against his door, but next second he had been knocked backward into Harry's lap by a vicious uppercut from another branch.
 "We're done for!" he moaned as the ceiling sagged, but suddenly the floor of the car was vibrating - the engine had restarted.
 "Reverse!" Harry yelled, and the car shot backward; the tree was still trying to hit them; they could hear its roots creaking as it almost ripped itself up, lashing out at them as they sped out of reach.
 "That," panted Ron, "was close. Well done, car -"
 The car, however, had reached the end of its tether. With two sharp clunks, the doors flew open and Harry felt his seat tip sideways: Next thing he knew he was sprawled on the damp ground. Loud thuds told him that the car was ejecting their luggage from the trunk; Hedwig's cage flew through the air and burst open; she rose out of it with an angry screech and sped off toward the castle
 Y5
 without a backward look. Then, dented, scratched, and steaming, the car rumbled off into the darkness, its rear lights blazing angrily.
 "Come back!" Ron yelled after it, brandishing his broken wand. "Dad'll kill me!"
 But the car disappeared from view with one last snort from its exhaust.
 "Can you believe our luck?" said Ron miserably, bending down to pick up Scabbers. "Of all the trees we could've hit, we had to get one that hits back."
 He glanced over his shoulder at the ancient tree, which was still flailing its branches threateningly.
 "Come on," said Harry wearily, "we'd better get up to the school ......
 It wasn't at all the triumphant arrival they had pictured. Stiff, cold, and bruised, they seized the ends of their trunks and began dragging them up the grassy slope, toward the great oak front doors.
 "I think the feast's already started," said Ron, dropping his trunk at the foot of the front steps and crossing quietly to look through a brightly lit window. "Hey - Harry - come and look - it's the Sorting!"
 Harry hurried over and, together, he and Ron peered in at the Great Hall.
 Innumerable candles were hovering in midair over four long, crowded tables, making the golden plates and goblets sparkle. Overhead, the bewitched ceiling, which always mirrored the sky outside, sparkled with stars.
 Through the forest of pointed black Hogwarts hats, Harry saw a long line of scared-looking first years fiIing into the Hall. Ginny
 * 76
 was among them, easily visible because of her vivid Weasley ha-ir. Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall, a bespectacled witch with her hair in a tight bun, was placing the famous Hogwarts Sorting Hat on a stool before the newcomers.
 Every year, this aged old hat, patched, frayed, and dirty, sorted new students into the four Hogwarts houses (Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin). Harry well remembered putting it on, exactly one year ago, and waiting, petrified, for its decision as it muttered aloud in his ear. For a few horrible seconds he had feared that the hat was going to put him in Slytherin, the house that had turned out more Dark witches and wizards than any other -but he had ended up in Gryffindor, along with Ron, Hermione, and the rest of the Weasleys. Last term, Harry and Ron had helped Gryffindor win the House Championship, beating Slytherin for the first time in seven years.
 A very small, mousy-haired boy had been called forward to place the hat on his head. Harry's eyes wandered past him to where Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster, sat watching the Sorting from the staff table, his long silver beard and half-moon glasses shining brightly in the candlelight. Several seats along, Harry saw Gilderoy Lockhart, dressed in robes of aquamarine. And there at the end was Hagrid, huge and hairy, drinking deeply from his goblet.
 "Hang on. . . " Harry muttered to Ron. "There's an empty chair at the staff table .... Where's Snape?"
 Professor Severus Snape was Harry's least favorite teacher. Harry also happened to be Snape's least favorite student. Cruel, sarcastic, and disliked by everybody except the students from his own house (Slytherin), Snape taught Potions.
 "Maybe he's ill!" said Ron hopefully.
 "Maybe he's left," said Ha-rry, "because he missed out on the Defense Against Dark Arts job again!"
 "Or he might have been sacked!" said Ron enthusiastically. "I mean, everyone hates him -"
 "Or maybe," said a very cold voice right behind them, "he's waiting to hear why you two didn't arrive on the school train."
 Harry spun around. There, his black robes rippling in a cold breeze, stood Severus Snape. He was a thin man with sallow skin, a hooked nose, and greasy, shoulder-length black hair, and at this moment, he was smiling in a way that told Harry he and Ron were in very deep trouble.
 "Follow me," said Snape.
 Not daring even to look at each other, Harry and Ron followed Snape up the steps into the vast, echoing entrance hall, which was lit with flaming torches. A delicious smell of food was wafting from the Great Hall, but Snape led them away from the warmth and light, down a narrow stone staircase that led into the dungeons.
 "In!" he said, opening a door halfway down the cold passageway and pointing.
 They entered Snape's office, shivering. The shadowy walls were lined with shelves of large glass) ars, in which floated all manner of revolting things Harry didn't really want to know the name of at the moment. The fireplace was dark and empty. Snape closed the door and turned to look at them.
 "So," he said softly, "the train isn't good enough for the famous Harry Potter and his faithful sidekick Weasley. Wanted to arrive with a bang, did we, boys?"
 "No, sir, it was the barrier at King's Cross, it -"
 78
 "Silence!" said Snape coldly. "What have you done with the car?" Ron gulped. This wasn't the first time Snape had given Harry the impression of being able to read minds. But a moment later, he un derstood, as Snape unrolled today's issue of the Evening Prophet. "You were seen," he hissed, showing them the headline: FLY ING FORD ANGLIA MYSTIFIES MUGGLES. He began to read aloud: "Two Muggles in London, convinced they saw an old car flying over the Post Office tower ... at noon in Norfolk, Mrs. Hetty Bayliss, while hanging out her washing ... Mr. Angus Fleet, of Peebles, reported to police ... Six or seven Muggles in all. I be lieve your father works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office?" he said, looking up at Ron and smiling still more nastily. "Dear, dear ... his own son. . . " Harry felt as though he'd just been walloped in the stomach by one of the mad tree's larger branches. If anyone found out Mr. Weasley had bewitched the car ... he hadn't thought of that .... "I noticed, in my search of the park, that considerable damage seems to have been done to a very valuable Whomping Willow," Snape went on. "That tree did more damage to us than we -" Ron blurted out. "Silence!" snapped Snape again. "Most unfortunately, you are not in my House and the decision to expel you does not rest with me. I shall go and fetch the people who do have that happy power. You will wait here." Harry and Ron stared at each other, white-faced. Harry didn't feel hungry any more. He now felt extremely sick. He tried not to look at a large, slimy something suspended in green liquid on a
 shelf behind Snape's desk. If Snape had gone to fetch Professor McGonagall, head of Gryffindor House, they were hardly any better off. She might be fairer than Snape, but she was still extremely strict.
 Ten minutes later, Snape returned, and sure enough it was Professor McGonagall who accompanied him. Harry had seen Professor McGonagall angry on several occasions, but either he had forgotten just how thin her mouth could go, or he had never seen her this angry before. She raised her wand the moment she entered; Harry and Ron both flinched, but she merely pointed it at the empty fireplace, where flames suddenly erupted.
 "Sit," she said, and they both backed into chairs by the fire.
 "Explain," she said, her glasses glinting ominously.
 Ron launched into the story, starting with the barrier at the station refusing to let them through.
 "
 -so we had no choice, Professor, we couldn't get on the train."
 "Why didn't you send us a letter by owl? I believe you have an owl?" Professor McGonagall said coldly to Harry.
 Harry gaped at her. Now she said it, that seemed the obvious thing to have done.
 "I - I didn't think -"
 "That," said Professor McGonagall, "is obvious."
 There was a knock on the office door and Snape, now looking happier than ever, opened it. There stood the headmaster, Professor Dumbledore.
 Harry's whole body went numb. Dumbledore was looking unusually grave. He stared down his very crooked nose at them, and
 *80*
 Harry suddenly found himself wishing he and Ron were still being beaten up by the Whomping Willow.
 There was a long silence. Then Dumbledore said, "Please explain why you did this."
 It would have been better if he had shouted. Harry hated the disappointment in his voice. For some reason, he was unable to look Dumbledore in the eyes, and spoke instead to his knees. He told Dumbledore everything except that Mr. Weasley owned the bewitched car, making it sound as though he and Ron had happened to find a flying car parked outside the station. He knew Dumbledore would see through this at once, but Dumbledore asked no questions about the car. When Harry had finished, he merely continued to peer at them through his spectacles.
 "We'll go and get our stuff," said Ron in a hopeless sort of voice.
 "What are you talking about, Weasley?" barked Professor McGonagall.
 "Well, you're expelling us, aren't you?" said Ron.
 Harry looked quickly at Dumbledore.
 "Not today, Mr. Weasley," said Dumbledore. "But I must impress upon both of you the seriousness of what you have done. I will be writing to both your families tonight. I must also warn you that if you do anything like this again, I will have no choice but to expel you."
 Snape looked as though Christmas had been canceled. He cleared his throat and said, "Professor Dumbledore, these boys have flouted the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry, caused serious damage to an old and valuable tree - surely acts of this nature -"
 * 8i
 "It will be for Professor McGonagall to decide on these boys' punishments, Severus," said Dumbledore calmly. "They are in her House and are therefore her responsibility." He turned to Professor McGonagall. "I must go back to the feast, Minerva, I've got to give out a few notices. Come, Severus, there's a delicious-looking cus tard tart I want to sample -" Snape shot a look of pure venom at Harry and Ron as he allowed himself to be swept out of his office, leaving them alone with Pro fessor McGonagall, who was still eyeing them like a wrathful eagle. "You'd better get along to the hospital wing, Weasley, you're bleeding." "Not much," said Ron, hastily wiping the cut over his eye with his sleeve. "Professor, I wanted to watch my sister being Sorted -" "The Sorting Ceremony is over," said Professor McGonagall. "Your sister is also in Gryffindor." "Oh, good," said Ron. "And speaking of Gryffindor -" Professor McGonagall said sharply, but Harry cut in: "Professor, when we took the car, term hadn't started, so - so Gryffindor shouldn't really have points taken from it - should it?" he finished, watching her anxiously. Professor McGonagall gave him a piercing look, but he was sure she had almost smiled. Her mouth looked less thin, anyway. "I will not take any points from Gryffindor," she said, and Harry's heart lightened considerably. "But you will both get a de tention." It was better than Harry had expected. As for Dumbledore's writing to the Dursleys, that was nothing. Harry knew perfectly well they'd just be disappointed that the Whomping Willow hadn't squashed him flat.
 82
 Professor McGonagall raised her wand again and pointed it at Snape's desk. A large plate of sandwiches, two silver goblets, and a jug of-iced pumpkin juice appeared with a pop.
 "You will eat in here and then go straight up to your dormitory," she said. "I must also return to the feast."
 When the door had closed behind her, Ron let out a long, low whistle.
 "I thought we'd had it," he said, grabbing a sandwich.
 "So did I," said Harry, taking one, too.
 "Can you believe our luck, though?" said Ron thickly through a mouthful of chicken and ham. "Fred and George must've flown that car five or six times and no Muggle ever saw them." He swallowed and took another huge bite. "Why couldn't we get through the barrier?"
 Harry shrugged. "We'll have to watch our step from now on, though," he said, taking a grateful swig of pumpkin juice. "Wish we could've gone up to the feast ......
 "She didn't want us showing off," said Ron sagely. "Doesn't want people to think it's clever, arriving by flying car."
 When they had eaten as many sandwiches as they could (the plate kept refilling itself) they rose and left the office, treading the familiar path to Gryffindor Tower. The castle was quiet; it seemed that the feast was over. They walked past muttering portraits and creaking suits of armor, and climbed narrow flights of stone stairs, until at last they reached the passage where the secret entrance to Gryffindor Tower was hidden, behind an oil painting of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress.
 "Password?" she said as they approached.
 "Er -" said Harry.
 They didn't know the new year's password, not having met a Gryffindor prefect yet, but help came almost immediately; they heard hurrying feet behind them and turned to see Hermione dashing toward them.
 "There you are! Where have you been? The most ridiculous rumors - someone said you'd been expelled for crashing a flying car
 "Well, we haven't been expelled," Harry assured her.
 "You're not telling me you did fly here?" said Hermione, sounding almost as severe as Professor McGonagall.
 "Skip the lecture," said Ron impatiently, "and tell us the new password."
 "It's wattlebird,"' said Hermione impatiently, "but that's not the point - "
 Her words were cut short, however, as the portrait of the fat lady swung open and there was a sudden storm of clapping. It looked as though the whole of Gryffindor House was still awake, packed into the circular common room, standing on the lopsided tables and squashy armchairs, waiting for them to arrive. Arms reached through the portrait hole to pull Harry and Ron inside, leaving Hermione to scramble in after then-t.
 "Brilliant!" yelled Lee Jordan. "Inspired! What an entrance! Flying a car right into the Whomping Willow, people'll be talking about that one for years -"
 "Good for you," said a fifth year Harry had never spoken to; someone was patting him on the back as though he'd just won a marathon; Fred and George pushed their way to the front of the crowd and said together, "Why couldn't we've come in the car, eh?"
 84
 Ron was scarlet in the face, grinning embarrassedly, but Harry could see one person who didn't look happy at all. Percy was visible over the heads of some excited first years, and he seemed to be trying to get near enough to start telling them off. Harry nudged Ron in the ribs and nodded in Percy's direction. Ron got the point at once.
 "Got to get upstairs - bit tired," he said, and the two of them started pushing their way toward the door on the other side of the room, which led to a spiral staircase and the dormitories.
 "'Night," Harry called back to Hermione, who was wearing a scowl just like Percy's.
 They managed to get to the other side of the common room, still having their backs slapped, and gained the peace of the staircase. They hurried up it, right to the top, and at last reached the door of their old dormitory, which now had a sign on it saying SECOND YEARS. They entered the familiar, circular room, with its five four-posters hung with red velvet and its high, narrow windows. Their trunks had been brought up for them and stood at the ends of their beds.
 Ron grinned guiltily at Harry.
 "I know I shouldn't've enjoyed that or anything, but '
 The dormitory door flew open and in came the other second year Gryffindor boys, Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, and Neville Longbottom.
 "Unbelievable!" beamed Seamus.
 "Cool," said Dean.
 "Amazing," said Neville, awestruck.
 Harry couldn't help it. He grinned, too.
 * 85 *
 CHAPTER Six
 GILDEROY LOCKHART
 he next day, however, Harry barely grinned once. Things started to go downhill from breakfast in the Great Hall. The four long house tables were laden with tureens of porridge, plates of kippers, mountains of toast, and dishes of eggs and bacon, beneath the enchanted ceiling (today, a dull, cloudy gray). Harry and Ron sat down at the Gryffindor table next to Hermione, who had her copy of Voyages with Vampires propped open against a milk jug. There was a slight stiffness in the way she said "Morning," which told Harry that she was still disapproving of the way they had arrived. Neville Longbottom, on the other hand, greeted them cheerfully. Neville was a round-faced and accident-prone boy with the worst memory of anyone Harry had ever met.
 "Mail's due any minute - I think Gran's sending a few things I forgot."
 Harry had only just started his porridge when, sure enough, there was a rushing sound overhead and a hundred or so owls
 86
 streamed in, circling the hall and dropping letters and packages into the chattering crowd. A big, lumpy package bounced off Neville's head and, a second later, something large and gray fell into Hermione's jug, spraying them all with milk and feathers.
 "Enrol!" said Ron, pulling the bedraggled owl out by the feet. Errol slumped, unconscious, onto the table, his legs in the air and a damp red envelope in his beak.
 "Oh, no -" Ron gasped.
 "It's all right, he's still alive," said Hermione, prodding Errol gently with the tip of her finger.
 "It's not that - it's that."
 Ron was pointing at the red envelope. It looked quite ordinary to Harry, but Ron and Neville were both looking at it as though they expected it to explode.
 "What's the matter?" said Harry.
 "She's - she's sent me a Howler," said Ron faintly.
 "You'd better open it, Ron," said Neville in a timid whisper. "It'll be worse if you don't My gran sent me one once, and I ignored it and" - he gulped - "it was horrible."
 Harry looked from their petrified faces to the red envelope.
 "What's a Howler?" he said.
 But Ron's whole attention was fixed on the letter, which had begun to smoke at the corners.
 "Open it," Neville urged. "It'll all be over in a few minutes -"
 Ron stretched out a shaking hand, eased the envelope from Errol's beak, and slit it open. Neville stuffed his fingers in his ears. A split second later, Harry knew why. He thought for a moment it had exploded; a roar of sound fiIled the huge hall, shaking dust from the ceiling.
 "STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY'D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU, I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHERAND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT WAS GONE -"
 Mrs. Weasleys yells, a hundred times louder than usual, made the plates and spoons rattle on the table, and echoed deafeningly off the stone walls. People throughout the hall were swiveling around to see who had received the Howler, and Ron sank so low in his chair that only his crimson forehead could be seen.
 "- LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME, WE DIDN'T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS, YOU AND HARRY COULD BOTH HAVE DIED -"
 Harry had been wondering when his name was going to crop up. He tried very hard to look as though he couldn't hear the voice that was making his eardrums throb.
 "-ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED - YOUR FATHER'S FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, IT'S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME."
 A ringing silence fell. The red envelope, which had dropped from Ron's hand, burst into flames and curled into ashes. Harry and Ron sat stunned, as though a tidal wave had just passed over them. A few people laughed and, gradually, a babble of talk broke out again.
 Hermione closed Voyages with Vampires and looked down at the top of Ron's head.
 * 88
 "Well, I don't know what you expected, Ron, but you -"
 "Don't tell me I deserved it," snapped Ron.
 Harry pushed his porridge away. His insides were burning with guilt. Mr. Weasley was facing an inquiry at work. After all Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had done for him over the summer ...
 But he had no time to dwell on this; Professor McGonagall was moving along the Gryffindor table, handing out course schedules. Harry took his and saw that they had double Herbology with the Hufepuffs first.
 Harry, Ron, and Hermione left the castle together, crossed the vegetable patch, and made for the greenhouses, where the magical plants were kept. At least the Howler had done one good thing: Hermione seemed to think they had now been punished enough and was being perfectly friendly again.
 As they neared the greenhouses they saw the rest of the class standing outside, waiting for Professor Sprout. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had only just joined them when she came striding into view across the lawn, accompanied by Gilderoy Lockhart. Professor Sprout's arms were full of bandages, and with another twinge of guilt, Harry spotted the Whomping Willow in the distance, several of its branches now in slings.
 Professor Sprout was a squat little witch who wore a patched hat over her flyaway hair; there was usually a large amount of earth on her clothes and her fingernails would have made Aunt Petunia faint. Gilderoy Lockhart, however, was immaculate in sweeping robes of turquoise, his golden hair shining under a perfectly positioned turquoise hat with gold trimming.
 "Oh, hello there!" he called, beaming around at the assembled
 89
 students. "Just been showing Professor Sprout the right way to doctor a Whomping Willow! But I don't want you running away with the idea that I'm better at Herbology than she is! I just happen to have met several of these exotic plants on my travels . . ."
 "Greenhouse three today, chaps!" said Professor Sprout, who was looking distinctly disgruntled, not at all her usual cheerful self.
 There was a murmur of interest. They had only ever worked in greenhouse one before - greenhouse three housed far more interesting and dangerous plants. Professor Sprout took a large key from her belt and unlocked the door. Harry caught a whiff of damp earth and fertilizer mingling with the heavy perfume of some giant, umbrella- sized flowers dangling from the ceiling. He was about to follow Ron and Hermione inside when Lockhart's hand shot out.
 "Harry! I've been wanting a word - you don't mind if he's a couple of minutes late, do you, Professor Sprout?"
 Judging by Professor Sprout's scowl, she did mind, but Lockhart said, "That's the ticket," and closed the greenhouse door in her face.
 "Harry," said Lockhart, his large white teeth gleaming in the sunlight as he shook his head. "Harry, Harry, Harry."
 Completely nonplussed, Harry said nothing.
 "When I heard -well, of course, it was all my fault. Could have kicked myself."
 Harry had no idea what he was talking about. He was about to say so when Lockhart went on, "Don't know when I've been more shocked. Flying a car to Hogwarts! Well, of course, I knew at once why you'd done it. Stood out a mile. Harry, Harry, Harry."
 It was remarkable how he could show every one of those brilliant teeth even when he wasn't talking.
 90
 "Gave you a taste for publicity, didn't I?" said Lockhart. "Gave you the bug. You got onto the front page of the paper with me and you couldn't wait to do it again." "Oh, no, Professor, see -" "Harry, Harry, Harry," said Lockhart, reaching out and grasping his shoulder. "I understand. Natural to want a bit more once you've had that first taste - and I blame myself for giving you that, be cause it was bound to go to your head - but see here, young man, you can't start flying cars to try and get yourself noticed. Just calm down, all right? Plenty of time for all that when you're older. Yes, yes, I know what you're thinking! 'It's all right for him, he's an in ternationally famous wizard already!' But when I was twelve, I was just as much of a nobody as you are now. In fact, Id say I was even more of a nobody! I mean, a few people have heard of you, haven't they? All that business with He-"o-Must-Not-Be-Named!" He glanced at the lightning scar on Harry's forehead. "I know, I know - it's not quite as good as winning Witch Weekly's Most Charming-Smile Award five times in a row, as I have - but it's a start, Harry, it's a start." He gave Harry a hearty wink and strode off. Harry stood stunned for a few seconds, then, remembering he was supposed to be in the greenhouse, he opened the door and slid inside. Professor Sprout was standing behind a trestle bench in the cen ter of the greenhouse. About twenty pairs of different-colored ear muffs were lying on the bench. When Harry had taken his place between Ron and Hermione, she said, "We'll be repotting Man drakes today. Now, who can tell me the properties of the Man drake?" To nobody's surprise, Hermione's hand was first into the air.
 s1
 "Mandrake, or Mandragora, is a powerful restorative," said Hermione, sounding as usual as though she had swallowed the textbook. "It is used to return people who have been transfigured or cursed to their original state."
 "Excellent. Ten points to Gryffindor," said Professor Sprout. "The Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes. It is also, however, dangerous. Who can tell me why?"
 Hermione's hand narrowly missed Harry's glasses as it shot up again.
 "The cry of the Mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it," she said promptly.
 "Precisely. Take another ten points," said Professor Sprout. "Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young."
 She pointed to a row of deep trays as she spoke, and everyone shuffled forward for a better look. A hundred or so tufty little plants, purplish green in color, were growing there in rows. They looked quite unremarkable to Harry, who didn't have the slightest idea what Hermione meant by the "cry" of the Mandrake.
 "Everyone take a pair of earmuffs," said Professor Sprout.
 There was a scramble as everyone tried to seize a pair that wasn't pink and fluffy.
 "When I tell you to put them on, make sure your ears are completely covered," said Professor Sprout. "When it is safe to remove them, I will give you the thumbs-up. Right - earmuffs on."
 Harry snapped the earmuffs over his ears. They shut out sound completely. Professor Sprout put the pink, fluffy pair over her own ears, rolled up the sleeves of her robes, grasped one of the tufty plants firmly, and pulled hard.
 *92*
 Harry let out a gasp of surprise that no one could hear.
 Instead of roots, a small, muddy, and extremely ugly baby popped out of the earth. The leaves were growing right out of his head. He had pale green, mottled skin, and was clearly bawling at the top of his lungs.
 Professor Sprout took a large plant pot from under the table and plunged the Mandrake into it, burying him in dark, damp compost until only the tufted leaves were visible. Professor Sprout dusted off her hands, gave them all the thumbs-up, and removed her own earmuffs.
 "As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won't kill yet," she said calmly as though she'd just done nothing more exciting than water a begonia. "However, they will knock you out for several hours, and as I'm sure none of you want to miss your first day back, make sure your earmuffs are securely in place while you work. I will attract your attention when it is time to pack up.
 "Four to a tray - there is a large supply of pots here - compost in the sacks over there - and be careful of the Venemous Tentacula, it's teething."
 She gave a sharp slap to a spiky, dark red plant as she spoke, making it draw in the long feelers that had been inching sneakily over her shoulder.
 Harry, Ron, and Hermione were joined at their tray by a curly-haired Hufflepuff boy Harry knew by sight but had never spoken to.
 "Justin Finch-Fletchley," he said brightly, shaking Harry by the hand. "Know who you are, of course, the famous Harry Potter... And you're Hermione Granger - always top in everything"
 * 9%
 (Hermione beamed as she had her hand shaken too) "- and Ron Weasley. Wasn't that your flying car?"
 Ron didn't smile. The Howler was obviously still on his mind.
 "That Lockhart's something, isn't he?" said Justin happily as they began fiIling their plant pots with dragon dung compost. "Awfully brave chap. Have you read his books? Id have died of fear if Id been cornered in a telephone booth by a werewolf, but he stayed cool and - zap - just fantastic.
 "My name was down for Eton, you know. I can't tell you how glad I am I came here instead. Of course, Mother was slightly disappointed, but since I made her read Lockhart's books I think she's begun to see how useful it'll be to have a fully trained wizard in the family . . . ."
 After that they didn't have much chance to talk. Their earmuffs were back on and they needed to concentrate on the Mandrakes. Professor Sprout had made it look extremely easy, but it wasn't. The Mandrakes didn't like coming out of the earth, but didn't seem to want to go back into it either. They squirmed, kicked, flailed their sharp little fists, and gnashed their teeth; Harry spent ten whole minutes trying to squash a particularly fat one into a pot.
 By the end of the class, Harry, like everyone else, was sweaty, aching, and covered in earth. Everyone traipsed back to the castle for a quick wash and then the Gryffindors hurried off to Transfiguration.
 Professor McGonagall's classes were always hard work, but today was especially difficult. Everything Harry had learned last year seemed to have leaked out of his head during the summer. He was supposed to be turning a beetle into a button, but all he managed
 * 94
 to do was give his beetle a lot of exercise as it scuttled over the desktop avoiding his wand.
 Ron was having far worse problems. He had patched up his wand with some borrowed Spellotape, but it seemed to be damaged beyond repair. It kept crackling and sparking at odd moments, and every time Ron tried to transfigure his beetle it engulfed him in thick gray smoke that smelled of rotten eggs. Unable to see what he was doing, Ron accidentally squashed his beetle with his elbow and had to ask for a new one. Professor McGonagall wasn't pleased.
 Harry was relieved to hear the lunch bell. His brain felt like a wrung sponge. Everyone fiIed out of the classroom except him and Ron, who was whacking his wand furiously on the desk.
 "Stupid - useless - thing -"
 "Write home for another one," Harry suggested as the wand let off a volley of bangs like a firecracker.
 "Oh, yeah, and get another Howler back," said Ron, stuffing the now hissing wand into his bag. " It's your own fault your wand got snapped - '"
 They went down to lunch, where Ron's mood was not improved by Hermione's showing them the handful of perfect coat buttons she had produced in Transfiguration.
 "What've we got this afternoon?" said Harry, hastily changing the subject.
 "Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Hermione at once.
 "Why, "demanded Ron, seizing her schedule, "have you outlined all Lockhart's lessons in little hearts?"
 Hermione snatched the schedule back, blushing furiously.
 * 95 *
 They finished lunch and went outside into the overcast courtyard. Hermione sat down on a stone step and buried her nose in Voyages with Vampires again. Harry and Ron stood talking about Quidditch for several minutes before Harry became aware that he was being closely watched. Looking up, he saw the very small, mousy-haired boy he'd seen trying on the Sorting Hat last night staring at Harry as though transfixed. He was clutching what looked like an ordinary Muggle camera, and the moment Harry looked at him, he went bright red.
 "All right, Harry? I'm -I'm Colin Creevey," he said breathlessly, taking a tentative step forward. "I'm in Gryffindor, too. D'you think - would it be all right if - can I have a picture?" he said, raising the camera hopefully.
 "A picture?" Harry repeated blankly.
 "So I can prove I've met you," said Colin Creevey eagerly, edging further forward. "I know all about you. Everyone's told me. About how you survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill you and how he disappeared and everything and how you've still got a lightning scar on your forehead" (his eyes raked Harry's hairline) "and a boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures'll move." Colin drew a great shuddering breath of excitement and said, "It's amazing here, isn't it? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till I got the letter from Hogwarts. My dad's a milkman, he couldn't believe it either. So I'm taking loads of pictures to send home to him. And it'd be really good if I had one of you" - he looked imploringly at Harry - "maybe your friend could take it and I could stand next to you? And then, could you sign it?"
 96
 "Signed photos? You're giving out signed photos, Potter?"
 Loud and scathing, Draco Malfoy's voice echoed around the courtyard. He had stopped right behind Colin, flanked, as he always was at Hogwarts, by his large and thuggish cronies, Crabbe and Goyle.
 "Everyone line up!" Malfoy roared to the crowd. "Harry Potter's giving out signed photos!"
 "No, I'm not," said Harry angrily, his fists clenching. "Shut up, Malfoy."
 "You're just jealous," piped up Colin, whose entire body was about as thick as Crabbe's neck.
 jealous?"said Malfoy, who didn't need to shout anymore: half the courtyard was listening in. "Of what? I don't want a foul scar right across my head, thanks. I don't think getting your head cut open makes you that special, myself."
 Crabbe and Goyle were sniggering stupidly.
 "Eat slugs, Malfoy," said Ron angrily. Crabbe stopped laughing and started rubbing his knuckles in a menacing way.
 "Be careful, Weasley," sneered Malfoy. "You don't want to start any trouble or your Mommy'll have to come and take you away from school." He put on a shrill, piercing voice. "Ifyou put another toe out of line' - "
 A knot of Slytherin fifth-years nearby laughed loudly at this.
 "Weasley would like a signed photo, Potter," smirked Malfoy. "It'd be worth more than his family's whole house -"
 Ron whipped out his Spellotaped wand, but Hermione shut Voyages with Vampires with a snap and whispered, "Look out!"
 "What's all this, what's all this?" Gilderoy Lockhart was striding
 * 97
 toward them, his turquoise robes swirling behind him. "Who's giv ing out signed photos?" Harry started to speak but he was cut short as Lockhart flung an arm around his shoulders and thundered jovially, "Shouldn't have asked! We meet again, Harry!" Pinned to Lockhart's side and burning with humiliation, Harry saw Malfoy slide smirking back into the crowd. "Come on then, Mr. Creevey," said Lockhart, beaming at Colin. "A double portrait, can't do better than that, and we'll both sign it for you." Colin fumbled for his camera and took the picture as the bell rang behind them, signaling the start of afternoon classes. "Off you go, move along there," Lockhart called to the crowd, and he set off back to the castle with Harry, who was wishing he knew a good Vanishing Spell, still clasped to his side. "A word to the wise, Harry," said Lockhart paternally as they entered the building through a side door. "I covered up for you back there with young Creevey - if he was photographing me, too, your schoolmates won't think you're setting yourself up so much . . . ." Deaf to Harry's stammers, Lockhart swept him down a corridor lined with staring students and up a staircase. "Let me just say that handing out signed pictures at this stage of your career isn't sensible - looks a tad bigheaded, Harry, to be frank. There may well come a time when, like me, you'll need to keep a stack handy wherever you go, but" - he gave a little chor tle - "I don't think you're quite there yet." They had reached Lockhart's classroom and he let Harry go at
 98
 last. Harry yanked his robes straight and headed for a seat at the very back of the class, where he busied himself with piling all seven of Lockhart's books in front of him, so that he could avoid looking at the real thing.
 The rest of the class came clattering in, and Ron and Hermione sat down on either side of Harry.
 "You could've fried an egg on your face" said Ron. "You'd better hope Creevey doesn't meet Ginny, or they'll be starting a Harry Potter fan club."
 "Shut up," snapped Harry. The last thing he needed was for Lockhart to hear the phrase "Harry Potter fan club."
 When the whole class was seated, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly and silence fell. He reached forward, picked up Neville Longbottom's copy of Travels with Trolls, and held it up to show his own, winking portrait on the front.
 "Me," he said, pointing at it and winking as well. "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most- Charming-Smile Award - but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!"
 He waited for them to laugh; a few people smiled weakly.
 "I see you've all bought a complete set of my books -well done. I thought we'd start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about
 just to check how well you've read them, how much you've taken in -"
 When he had handed out the test papers he returned to the front of the class and said, "You have thirty minutes - start - now!"
 Harry looked down at his paper and read:
 1.What is Gilderoy Lockhart 's favorite color?
 2.What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?
 3.What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?
 On and on it went, over three sides of paper, right down to:
 4.When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?
 Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers and rifled through them in front of the class.
 "Tut, tut - hardly any of you remembered that my favorite color is lilac. I say so in Year with the Yeti. And a few of you need to read Wanderings with Werewolves more carefully - I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples - though I wouldn't say no to a large bottle of Ogdeds Old Firewhisky!"
 He gave them another roguish wink. Ron was now staring at Lockhart with an expression of disbelief on his face; Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, who were sitting in front, were shaking with silent laughter. Hermione, on the other hand, was listening to Lockhart with rapt attention and gave a start when he mentioned her name.
 ". . . but Miss Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care potions - good girl! In fact" - he flipped her paper over - "full marks! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?"
 *100*
 Hermione raised a trembling hand.
 "Excellent!" beamed Lockhart. "Quite excellent! Take ten points for Gryffindor! And so - to business -"
 He bent down behind his desk and lifted a large, covered cage onto it.
 "Now - be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm."
 In spite of himself, Harry leaned around his pile of books for a better look at the cage. Lockhart placed a hand on the cover. Dean and Seamus had stopped laughing now. Neville was cowering in his front row seat.
 "I must ask you not to scream," said Lockhart in a low voice. "It might provoke them."
 As the whole class held its breath, Lockhart whipped off the cover.
 "Yes," he said dramatically. "Freshly caught Cornish pixies. "
 Seamus Finnigan couldn't control himself. He let out a snort of laughter that even Lockhart couldn't mistake for a scream of terror.
 "Yes?" He smiled at Seamus.
 "Well, they're not - they're not very - dangerous, are they?" Seamus choked.
 "Don't be so sure!" said Lockhart, waggling a finger annoyingly at Seamus. "Devilish tricky little blighters they can be!"
 The pixies were electric blue and about eight inches high, with pointed faces and voices so shrill it was like listening to a lot of budgies arguing. The moment the cover had been removed, they
 *101*
 had started jabbering and rocketing around, rattling the bars and making bizarre faces at the people nearest them.
 "Right, then," Lockhart said loudly. "Let's see what you make of them!" And he opened the cage.
 It was pandemonium. The pixies shot in every direction like rockets. Two of them seized Neville by the ears and lifted him into the air. Several shot straight through the window, showering the back row with broken glass. The rest proceeded to wreck the classroom more effectively than a rampaging rhino. They grabbed ink bottles and sprayed the class with them, shredded books and papers, tore pictures from the walls, up-ended the waste basket, grabbed bags and books and threw them out of the smashed window; within minutes, half the class was sheltering under desks and Neville was swinging from the iron chandelier in the ceiling.
 "Come on now - round them up, round them up, they're only pixies," Lockhart shouted.
 He rolled up his sleeves, brandished his wand, and bellowed,
 "Peskipiksi Pesternomi!"
 It had absolutely no effect; one of the pixies seized his wand and threw it out of the window, too. Lockhart gulped and dived under his own desk, narrowly avoiding being squashed by Neville, who fell a second later as the chandelier gave way.
 The bell rang and there was a mad rush toward the exit. In the relative calm that followed, Lockhart straightened up, caught sight of Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who were almost at the door, and said, "Well, I'll ask you three to just nip the rest of them back into their cage." He swept past them and shut the door quickly behind him.
 *102*
 "Can you believe him?" roared Ron as one of the remaining pixies bit him painfully on the ear.
 "He just wants to give us some hands-on experience," said Hermione, immobilizing two pixies at once with a clever Freezing Charm and stuffing them back into their cage.
 "Hands on? "said Harry, who was trying to grab a pixie dancing out of reach with its tongue out. "Hermione, he didn't have a clue what he was doing -"
 "Rubbish," said Hermione. "You've read his books - look at all those amazing things he's done -"
 "He says he's done," Ron muttered.
 arry spent a lot of time over the next few days dodging out of sight whenever he saw Gilderoy Lockhart coming down a corridor. Harder to avoid was Colin Creevey, who seemed to have memorized Harry's schedule. Nothing seemed to give Colin a bigger thrill than to say, "All right, Harry?" six or seven times a day and hear, "Hello, Colin," back, however exasperated Harry sounded when he said it.
 Hedwig was still angry with Harry about the disasterous car journey and Ron's wand was still malfunctioning, surpassing itself on Friday morning by shooting out of Ron's hand in Charms and hitting tiny old Professor Flitwick squarely between the eyes, creating a large, throbbing green boil where it had struck. So with one thing and another, Harry was quite glad to reach the weekend. He, Ron, and Hermione were planning to visit Hagrid on Saturday morning. Harry, however, was shaken awake several hours earlier
 *104*
 than he would have liked by Oliver Wood, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.
 "Whassamatter?" said Harry groggily.
 "Quidditch practice!" said Wood. "Come on!"
 Harry squinted at the window. There was a thin mist hanging across the pink-and-gold sky. Now that he was awake, he couldn't understand how he could have slept through the racket the birds were making.
 "Oliver," Harry croaked. "It's the crack of dawn."
 "Exactly," said Wood. He was a tall and burly sixth year and, at the moment, his eyes were gleaming with a crazed enthusiasm. "It's part of our new training program. Come on, grab your broom, and let's go," said Wood heartily. "None of the other teams have started training yet; we're going to be first off the mark this year -"
 Yawning and shivering slightly, Harry climbed out of bed and tried to find his Quidditch robes.
 "Good man," said Wood. "Meet you on the field in fifteen minutes.
 When he'd found his scarlet team robes and pulled on his cloak for warmth, Harry scribbled a note to Ron explaining where he'd gone and went down the spiral staircase to the common room, his Nimbus Two Thousand on his shoulder. He had just reached the portrait hole when there was a clatter behind him and Colin Creevey came dashing down the spiral staircase, his camera swinging madly around his neck and something clutched in his hand.
 "I heard someone saying your name on the stairs, Harry! Look what I've got here! I've had it developed, I wanted to show you -"
 *105*
 Harry looked bemusedly at the photograph Colin was brandishing under his nose.
 A moving, black-and-white Lockhart was tugging hard on an arm Harry recognized as his own. He was pleased to see that his photographic self was putting up a good fight and refusing to be dragged into view. As Harry watched, Lockhart gave up and slumped, panting, against the white edge of the picture.
 "Will you sign it?" said Colin eagerly.
 "No," said Harry flatly, glancing around to check that the room was really deserted. "Sorry, Colin, I'm in a hurry - Quidditch practice -"
 He climbed through the portrait hole.
 "Oh, wow! Wait for me! I've never watched a Quidditch game before!"
 Colin scrambled through the hole after him.
 "It'll be really boring," Harry said quickly, but Colin ignored him, his face shining with excitement.
 "You were the youngest House player in a hundred years, weren't you, Harry? Weren't you?" said Colin, trotting alongside him. "You must be brilliant. I've never flown. Is it easy? Is that your own broom? Is that the best one there is?"
 Harry didn't know how to get rid of him. It was like having an extremely talkative shadow.
 "I don't really understand Quidditch," said Colin breathlessly. "Is it true there are four balls? And two of them fly around trying to knock people off their brooms?"
 "Yes," said Harry heavily, resigned to explaining the complicated rules of Quidditch. "They're called Bludgers. There are two Beaters
 *106*
 on each team who carry clubs to beat the Bludgers away from their side. Fred and George Weasley are the Gryffindor Beaters."
 "And what are the other balls for?" Colin asked, tripping down a couple of steps because he was gazing open-mouthed at Harry.
 "Well, the Quafe - that's the biggish red one - is the one that scores goals. Three Chasers on each team throw the Quaffle to each other and try and get it through the goal posts at the end of the pitch - they're three long poles with hoops on the end."
 "And the fourth ball -"
 "- is the Golden Snitch," said Harry, "and it's very small, very fast, and difficult to catch. But that's what the Seeker's got to do, because a game of Quidditch doesn't end until the Snitch has been caught. And whichever team's Seeker gets the Snitch earns his team an extra hundred and fifty points."
 "And you're the Gryffindor Seeker, aren't you?" said Colin in awe.
 "Yes," said Harry as they left the castle and started across the dew- drenched grass. "And there's the Keeper, too. He guards the goal posts. That's it, really."
 But Colin didn't stop questioning Harry all the way down the sloping lawns to the Quidditch field, and Harry only shook him off when he reached the changing rooms; Colin called after him in a piping voice, "I'll go and get a good seat, Harry!" and hurried off to the stands.
 The rest of the Gryffindor team were already in the changing room. Wood was the only person who looked truly awake. Fred and George Weasley were sitting, puffy-eyed and touslehaired, next to fourth year Alicia Spinnet, who seemed to be nodding off against the wall behind her. Her fellow Chasers, Katie
 *107*
 Bell and Angelina Johnson, were yawning side by side opposite them.
 "There you are, Harry, what kept you?" said Wood briskly. "Now, I wanted a quick talk with you all before we actually get onto the field, because I spent the summer devising a whole new training program, which I really think will make all the difference ....
 Wood was holding up a large diagram of a Quidditch field, on which were drawn many lines, arrows, and crosses in differentcolored inks. He took out his wand, tapped the board, and the arrows began to wiggle over the diagram like caterpillars. As Wood launched into a speech about his new tactics, Fred Weasley's head drooped right onto Alicia Spinnet's shoulder and he began to snore.
 The first board took nearly twenty minutes to explain, but there was another board under that, and a third under that one. Harry sank into a stupor as Wood droned on and on.
 "So," said Wood, at long last, jerking Harry from a wistful fantasy about what he could be eating for breakfast at this very moment up at the castle. "Is that clear? Any questions?"
 "I've got a question, Oliver," said George, who had woken with a start. "Why couldn't you have told us all this yesterday when we were awake?"
 Wood wasn't pleased.
 "Now, listen here, you lot," he said, glowering at them all. "We should have won the Quidditch cup last year. We're easily the best team. But unfortunately -owing to circumstances beyond our control - "
 *108*
 Harry shifted guiltily in his seat. He had been unconscious in the hospital wing for the final match of the previous year, meaning that Gryffindor had been a player short and had suffered their worst defeat in three hundred years.
 Wood took a moment to regain control of himself. Their last defeat was clearly still torturing him.
 "So this year, we train harder than ever before .... Okay, let's go and put our new theories into practice!" Wood shouted, seizing his broomstick and leading the way out of the locker rooms. Stifflegged and still yawning, his team followed.
 They had been in the locker room so long that the sun was up completely now, although remnants of mist hung over the grass in the stadium. As Harry walked onto the field, he saw Ron and Hermione sitting in the stands.
 "Aren't you finished yet?" called Ron incredulously.
 "Haven't even started," said Harry, looking jealously at the toast and marmalade Ron and Hermione had brought out of the Great Hall. "Wood's been teaching us new moves."
 He mounted his broomstick and kicked at the ground, soaring up into the air. The cool morning air whipped his face, waking him far more effectively than Wood's long talk. It felt wonderful to be back on the Quidditch field. He soared right around the stadium at full speed, racing Fred and George.
 "What's that funny clicking noise?" called Fred as they hurtled around the corner.
 Harry looked into the stands. Colin was sitting in one of the highest seats, his camera raised, taking picture after picture, the sound strangely magnified in the deserted stadium.
 *io9*
 "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.
 "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!"
 *110*
 "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."
 Ron and Hermione were crossing the grass to see what was going on.
 *111*
 "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 gaped, open-mouthed, at the seven superb broomsticks in front of him.
 "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 fiIthy little Mudblood," he spat.
 Harry knew at once that Malfoy had said something really bad because there was an instant uproar at his words. 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 Malfoys 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.
 12
 "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 Harry to Hermione, who nodded bravely, and the pair 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, Harry?"
 "Get out of the way, Colin!" said Harry angrily. He 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. Hermione followed, somewhat reluctantly.
 *113* *
 "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 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 -"
 Harry and Hermione supported Ron over the threshold into the one- roomed 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 Harry.
 "What did Lockhart want with you, Hagrid?" Harry asked, scratching Fang's ears.
 "Givin' me advice on gettin' kelpies out of a well," growled
 *114*
 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 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' man for the job," said Hagrid, offering them a Y
 plate of treacle fudge, while Ron coughed squelchily into his basin. "An' I mean the on' one. Gettin' very difficult ter find anyone fer Y
 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."
 "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," gasped Ron, coming back up. "Mudblood's a really foul name for someone who is Muggle-born - you know, non-magic parents. There are
 *115*
 some wizards - like Malfoy's family - who think they're better than everyone else because they're what people call pure-blood." He gave a small burp, and a single slug fell into his outstretched hand. He threw it into the basin and continued, "I mean, the rest of us know it doesn't make any difference at all. Look at Neville Longbottom - he's pure-blood and he can hardly stand a cauldron the right way up."
 "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."
 Harry 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.
 "I have not been giving out signed photos," he said hotly. "If Lockhart's still spreading that around -"
 *116*
 But then he saw that Hagrid was laughing.
 "I'm on'y 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 Id 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 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 Harry 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 -"
 Harry noticed Hagrid's flowery pink umbrella leaning against the back wall of the cabin. Harry 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 Harry had never found out why -any mention of the matter and Hagrid would clear his
 *117*
 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 Harry 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 - Weasley." Professor McGonagall was walking toward them, looking stern. "You will both 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."
 *118*
 Ron gulped. Argus Filch, the caretaker, was loathed by every student in the school.
 "And you, Potter, will be helping Professor Lockhart answer his fan mail," said Professor McGonagall.
 "Oh n - Professor, can't I go and do the trophy room, too?" said Harry desperately.
 "Certainly not," said Professor McGonagall, raising her eyebrows. "Professor Lockhart requested you particularly. Eight o'clock sharp, both 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. Harry didn't enjoy his shepherd's pie as much as he'd thought. Both he and Ron felt they'd got the worse deal.
 "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. He gritted his teeth and knocked.
 The door flew open at once. Lockhart beamed down at him.
 "Ah, here's the scalawag!" he said. "Come in, Harry, come in -"
 Shining brightly on the walls by the light of many candles were countless framed photographs of Lockhart. He had even signed a few of them. Another large pile lay on his desk.
 "You can address the envelopes!" Lockhart told Harry, as though this was a huge treat. "This first one's to Gladys Gudgeon, bless her - huge fan of mine -"
 The minutes snailed by. Harry let Lockhart's voice wash over him, occasionally saying, "Mmm" and "Right" and "Yeah." Now and then he caught a phrase like, "Fame's a fickle friend, Harry," or "Celebrity is as celebrity does, remember that."
 The candles burned lower and lower, making the light dance over the many moving faces of Lockhart watching him. Harry moved his aching hand over what felt like the thousandth envelope, writing out Veronica Smethley's address. It must be nearly time to leave, Harry thought miserably, please let it be nearly time...
 And then he heard something - something quite apart from the spitting of the dying candles and Lockhart's prattle about his fans.
 It was a voice, a voice to chill the bone marrow, a voice of breathtaking, ice-cold venom.
 "Come ... come to me.... Let me rip you.... Let me tear you .... Let me kill you . . . ."
 Harry gave a huge jump and a large lilac blot appeared on Veronica Smethley's street.
 "What?" he said loudly.
 "I know!" said Lockhart. "Six solid months at the top of the best- seller list! Broke all records!"
 "No," said Harry frantically. "That voice!"
 "Sorry?" said Lockhart, looking puzzled. "What voice?"
 "That - that voice that said - didn't you hear it?"
 Lockhart was looking at Harry in high astonishment.
 * 3-2o *
 "What are you talking about, Harry? Perhaps you're getting a litde drowsy? Great Scott - look at the time! We've been here nearly four hours! Id never have believed it - the time's flown, hasn't it?"
 Harry didn't answer. He was straining his ears to hear the voice again, but there was no sound now except for Lockhart telling him he mustn't expect a treat like this every time he got detention. Feeling dazed, Harry left.
 It was so late that the Gryffindor common room was almost empty. Harry went straight up to the dormitory. Ron wasn't back yet. Harry pulled on his pajamas, got into bed, and waited. 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?"
 Keeping his voice low so as not to wake Neville, Dean, and Seamus, Harry told Ron exactly what he had heard.
 "And Lockhart said he couldn't hear it?" said Ron. Harry 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."
 * 12-1 *
 122
 October arrived, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into the castle. Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was kept busy by a sudden spate of colds among the staff and students. Her Pepperup potion worked instantly, though it left the drinker smoking at the ears for several hours afterward. Ginny Weasley, who had been looking pale, was bullied into taking some by Percy. The steam pouring from under her vivid hair gave the impression that her whole head was on fire.
 Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windows for days on end; the lake rose, the flower beds turned into muddy streams, and Hagrid's pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds. Oliver Wood's enthusiasm for regular training sessions, however, was not dampened, which was why Harry was to be found, late one stormy Saturday afternoon a few days before Halloween, returning to Gryffindor Tower, drenched to the skin and splattered with mud..
 123
 Even aside from the rain and wind it hadn't been a happy practice session.
 Fred and George, who had been spying on the Slytherin team, had seen for themselves the speed of those new Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones. They reported that the Slytherin team was no more than seven greenish blurs, shooting through the air like missiles.
 As Harry squelched along the deserted corridor he came across somebody who looked just as preoccupied as he was. Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor Tower, was staring morosely out of a window, muttering under his breath, ". . . don't fulfill their requirements . . . half an inch, if that . . ."
 "Hello, Nick," said Harry.
 "Hello, hello," said Nearly Headless Nick, starting and looking round. He wore a dashing, plumed hat on his long curly hair, and a tunic with a ruff, which concealed the fact that his neck was almost completely severed. He was pale as smoke, and Harry could see right through him to the dark sky and torrential rain outside.
 "You look troubled, young Potter," said Nick, folding a transparent letter as he spoke and tucking it inside his doublet.
 "So do you," said Harry.
 "Ah," Nearly Headless Nick waved an elegant hand, "a matter of no importance. . . . It's not as though I really wanted to join. . . . Thought I'd apply, but apparently I 'don't fulfill requirements' -"
 In spite of his airy tone, there was a look of great bitterness on his face.
 "But you would think, wouldn't you," he erupted suddenly, pulling the letter back out of his pocket, "that getting hit forty-five times in the neck with a blunt axe would qualify you to join the Headless Hunt?"
 124
 "Oh - yes," said Harry, who was obviously supposed to agree.
 "I mean, nobody wishes more than I do that it had all been quick and clean, and my head had come off properly, I mean, it would have saved me a great deal of pain and ridicule. However -" Nearly Headless Nick shook his letter open and read furiously: "'We can only accept huntsmen whose heads have parted company with their bodies. You will appreciate that it would be impossible otherwise for members to participate in hunt activities such as Horseback Head-Juggling and Head Polo. It is with the greatest regret, therefore, that I must inform you that you do not fulfill our requirements.
 With very best wishes, Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore.'"
 Fuming, Nearly Headless Nick stuffed the letter away.
 "Half an inch of skin and sinew holding my neck on, Harry! Most people would think that's good and beheaded, but oh, no, it's not enough for Sir Properly Decapitated-Podmore."
 Nearly Headless Nick took several deep breaths and then said, in a far calmer tone, "So - what's bothering you? Anything I can do?"
 "No," said Harry. "Not unless you know where we can get seven free Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones for our match against Sly -"
 The rest of Harry's sentence was drowned out by a high-pitched mewling from somewhere near his ankles. He looked down and found himself gazing into a pair of lamp-like yellow eyes. It was Mrs. Norris, the skeletal gray cat who was used by the caretaker, Argus Filch, as a sort of deputy in his endless battle against students.
 "You'd better get out of here, Harry," said Nick quickly. "Filch isn't in a good mood - he's got the flu and some third years accidentally plastered frog brains all over the ceiling in dungeon five. He's been cleaning all morning, and if he sees you dripping mud all over the place -"
 .125
 "Right," said Harry, backing away from the accusing stare of Mrs. Norris, but not quickly enough. Drawn to the spot by the mysterious power that seemed to connect him with his foul cat, Argus Filch burst suddenly through a tapestry to Harry's right, wheezing and looking wildly about for the rule-breaker.
 There was a thick tartan scarf bound around his head, and his nose was unusually purple.
 "Filth!" he shouted, his jowls aquiver, his eyes popping alarmingly as he pointed at the muddy puddle that had dripped from Harry's Quidditch robes.
 "Mess and muck everywhere! I've had enough of it, I tell you! Follow me, Potter!"
 So Harry waved a gloomy good-bye to Nearly Headless Nick and followed Filch back downstairs, doubling the number of muddy footprints on the floor.
 Harry had never been inside Filch's office before; it was a place most students avoided. The room was dingy and windowless, lit by a single oil lamp dangling from the low ceiling. A faint smell of fried fish lingered about the place. Wooden filing cabinets stood around the walls; from their labels, Harry could see that they contained details of every pupil Filch had ever punished. Fred and George Weasley had an entire drawer to themselves. A highly polished collection of chains and manacles hung on the wall behind Filch's desk. It was common knowledge that he was always begging Dumbledore to let him suspend students by their ankles from the ceiling.
 Filch grabbed a quill from a pot on his desk and began shuffling around looking for parchment.
 "Dung," he muttered furiously, "great sizzling dragon bogies . . . frog brains . . . rat intestines . . . I've had enough of it . . . make an example . . . where's the form . . . yes . . ."
 .126
 He retrieved a large roll of parchment from his desk drawer and stretched it out in front of him, dipping his long black quill into the ink pot.
 "Name . . . Harry Potter. Crime . . ."
 "It was only a bit of mud!" said Harry.
 "It's only a bit of mud to you, boy, but to me it's an extra hour scrubbing!"
 shouted Filch, a drip shivering unpleasantly at the end of his bulbous nose.
 "Crime . . . befouling the castle . . . suggested sentence . . ."
 Dabbing at his streaming nose, Filch squinted unpleasantly at Harry who waited with bated breath for his sentence to fall.
 But as Filch lowered his quill, there was a great BANG! on the ceiling of the office, which made the oil lamp rattle.
 "PEEVES!" Filch roared, flinging down his quill in a transport of rage. "I'll have you this time, I'll have you!"
 And without a backward glance at Harry, Filch ran flat-footed from the office, Mrs. Norris streaking alongside him.
 Peeves was the school poltergeist, a grinning, airborne menace who lived to cause havoc and distress. Harry didn't much like Peeves, but couldn't help feeling grateful for his timing. Hopefully, whatever Peeves had done (and it sounded as though he'd wrecked something very big this time) would distract Filch from Harry.
 Thinking that he should probably wait for Filch to come back, Harry sank into a moth-eaten chair next to the desk. There was only one thing on it apart from his half-completed form: a large, glossy, purple envelope with silver lettering on the front. With a quick glance at the door to check that Filch wasn't on his way back, Harry picked up the envelope and read: kwikspell A Correspondence Course in Beginners' Magic.
 .127
 Intrigued, Harry flicked the envelope open and pulled out the sheaf of parchment inside. More curly silver writing on the front page said: Feel out of step in the world of modern magic? Find yourself making excuses not to perform simple spells? Ever been taunted for your woeful wandwork? There is an answer! Kwikspell is an all-new, fail-safe, quick-result, easy-learn course. Hundreds of witches and wizards have benefited from the Kwikspell method! Madam Z. Nettles of Topsham writes: "I had no memory for incantations and my potions were a family joke! Now, after a Kwikspell course, I am the center of attention at parties and friends beg for the recipe of my Scintillation Solution!" Warlock D. J. Prod of Didsbury says: "My wife used to sneer at my feeble charms, but one month into your fabulous Kwikspell course and I succeeded in turning her into a yak! Thank you, Kwikspell!"
 Fascinated, Harry thumbed through the rest of the envelope's contents. Why on earth did Filch want a Kwikspell course? Did this mean he wasn't a proper wizard? Harry was just reading "Lesson One: Holding Your Wand (Some Useful Tips)" when shuffling footsteps outside told him Filch was coming back. Stuffing the parchment back into the envelope, Harry threw it back onto the desk just as the door opened.
 Filch was looking triumphant.
 "That vanishing cabinet was extremely valuable!" he was saying gleefully to Mrs. Norris. "We'll have Peeves out this time, my sweet -"
 His eyes fell on Harry and then darted to the Kwikspell envelope, which, Harry realized too late, was lying two feet away from where it had started.
 Filch's pasty face went brick red. Harry braced himself for a tidal wave of fury. Filch hobbled across to his desk, snatched up the envelope, and threw it into a drawer.
 "Have you - did you read -?" he sputtered.
 .128
 "No," Harry lied quickly.
 Filch's knobbly hands were twisting together.
 "If I thought you'd read my private - not that it's mine - for a friend - be that as it may - however -"
 Harry was staring at him, alarmed; Filch had never looked madder. His eyes were popping, a tic was going in one of his pouchy cheeks, and the tartan scarf didn't help.
 "Very well - go - and don't breathe a word - not that - however, if you didn't read - go now, I have to write up Peeves' report - go -"
 Amazed at his luck, Harry sped out of the office, up the corridor, and back upstairs. To escape from Filch's office without punishment was probably some kind of school record.
 "Harry! Harry! Did it work?"
 Nearly Headless Nick came gliding out of a classroom. Behind him, Harry could see the wreckage of a large black-and-gold cabinet that appeared to have been dropped from a great height.
 "I persuaded Peeves to crash it right over Filch's office," said Nick eagerly.
 "Thought it might distract him -"
 "Was that you?" said Harry gratefully. "Yeah, it worked, I didn't even get detention. Thanks, Nick!"
 They set off up the corridor together. Nearly Headless Nick, Harry noticed, was still holding Sir Patrick's rejection letter..
 .129
 "I wish there was something I could do for you about the Headless Hunt,"
 Harry said.
 Nearly Headless Nick stopped in his tracks and Harry walked right through him. He wished he hadn't; it was like stepping through an icy shower.
 "But there is something you could do for me," said Nick excitedly. "Harry - would I be asking too much - but no, you wouldn't want -"
 "What is it?" said Harry.
 "Well, this Halloween will be my five hundredth deathday," said Nearly Headless Nick, drawing himself up and looking dignified.
 "Oh," said Harry, not sure whether he should look sorry or happy about this.
 "Right."
 "I'm holding a party down in one of the roomier dungeons. Friends will be coming from all over the country. It would be such an honor if you would attend. Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger would be most welcome, too, of course - but I daresay you'd rather go to the school feast?" He watched Harry on tenterhooks.
 "No," said Harry quickly, "I'll come -"
 "My dear boy! Harry Potter, at my deathday party! And" - he hesitated, looking excited - "do you think you could possibly mention to Sir Patrick how very frightening and impressive you find me?"
 "Of - of course," said Harry.
 Nearly Headless Nick beamed at him. "A deathday party?" said Hermione keenly when Harry had changed at last and joined her and Ron in the common room. "I bet there aren't many living people who can say they've been to one of those - it'll be fascinating!".
 .130
 "Why would anyone want to celebrate the day they died?" said Ron, who was halfway through his Potions homework and grumpy. "Sounds dead depressing to me. . . ."
 Rain was still lashing the windows, which were now inky black, but inside all looked bright and cheerful. The firelight glowed over the countless squashy armchairs where people sat reading, talking, doing homework or, in the case of Fred and George Weasley, trying to find out what would happen if you fed a Filibuster firework to a salamander. Fred had "rescued" the brilliant orange, fire-dwelling lizard from a Care of Magical Creatures class and it was now smouldering gently on a table surrounded by a knot of curious people.
 Harry was at the point of telling Ron and Hermione about Filch and the Kwikspell course when the salamander suddenly whizzed into the air, emitting loud sparks and bangs as it whirled wildly round the room. The sight of Percy bellowing himself hoarse at Fred and George, the spectacular display of tangerine stars showering from the salamander's mouth, and its escape into the fire, with accompanying explosions, drove both Filch and the Kwikspell envelope from Harry's mind. By the time Halloween arrived, Harry was regretting his rash promise to go to the deathday party. The rest of the school was happily anticipating their Halloween feast; the Great Hall had been decorated with the usual live bats, Hagrid's vast pumpkins had been carved into lanterns large enough for three men to sit in, and there were rumors that Dumbledore had booked a troupe of dancing skeletons for the entertainment.
 "A promise is a promise," Hermione reminded Harry bossily. "You said you'd go to the deathday party."
 So at seven o'clock, Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked straight past the doorway to the packed Great Hall, which was glittering invitingly with gold plates and candles, and directed their steps instead toward the dungeons.
 .131
 The passageway leading to Nearly Headless Nick's party had been lined with candles, too, though the effect was far from cheerful: These were long, thin, jet-black tapers, all burning bright blue, casting a dim, ghostly light even over their own living faces. The temperature dropped with every step they took. As Harry shivered and drew his robes tightly around him, he heard what sounded like a thousand fingernails scraping an enormous blackboard.
 "Is that supposed to be music?" Ron whispered. They turned a corner and saw Nearly Headless Nick standing at a doorway hung with black velvet drapes.
 "My dear friends," he said mournfully. "Welcome, welcome . . . so pleased you could come. . . ."
 He swept off his plumed hat and bowed them inside.
 It was an incredible sight. The dungeon was full of hundreds of pearly-white, translucent people, mostly drifting around a crowded dance floor, waltzing to the dreadful, quavering sound of thirty musical saws, played by an orchestra on a raised, black-draped platform. A chandelier overhead blazed midnight-blue with a thousand more black candles. Their breath rose in a mist before them; it was like stepping into a freezer.
 "Shall we have a look around?" Harry suggested, wanting to warm up his feet.
 "Careful not to walk through anyone," said Ron nervously, and they set off around the edge of the dance floor. They passed a group of gloomy nuns, a ragged man wearing chains, and the Fat Friar, a cheerful Hufflepuff ghost, who was talking to a knight with an arrow sticking out of his forehead. Harry wasn't surprised to see that the Bloody Baron, a gaunt, staring Slytherin ghost covered in silver bloodstains, was being given a wide berth by the other ghosts.
 .132
 "Oh, no," said Hermione, stopping abruptly. "Turn back, turn back, I don't want to talk to Moaning Myrtle -"
 "Who?" said Harry as they backtracked quickly.
 "She haunts one of the toilets in the girls' bathroom on the first floor," said Hermione.
 "She haunts a toilet?"
 "Yes. It's been out-of-order all year because she keeps having tantrums and flooding the place. I never went in there anyway if I could avoid it; it's awful trying to have a pee with her wailing at you -"
 "Look, food!" said Ron.
 On the other side of the dungeon was a long table, also covered in black velvet. They approached it eagerly but next moment had stopped in their tracks, horrified. The smell was quite disgusting. Large, rotten fish were laid on handsome silver platters; cakes, burned charcoal-black, were heaped on salvers; there was a great maggoty haggis, a slab of cheese covered in furry green mold and, in pride of place, an enormous gray cake in the shape of a tombstone, with tar-like icing forming the words, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington died 31st October, 1492 Harry watched, amazed, as a portly ghost approached the table, crouched low, and walked through it, his mouth held wide so that it passed through one of the stinking salmon.
 "Can you taste it if you walk though it?" Harry asked him.
 "Almost," said the ghost sadly, and he drifted away.
 .133
 "I expect they've let it rot to give it a stronger flavor," said Hermione knowledgeably, pinching her nose and leaning closer to look at the putrid haggis.
 "Can we move? I feel sick," said Ron.
 They had barely turned around, however, when a little man swooped suddenly from under the table and came to a halt in midair before them.
 "Hello, Peeves," said Harry cautiously.
 Unlike the ghosts around them, Peeves the Poltergeist was the very reverse of pale and transparent. He was wearing a bright orange party hat, a revolving bow tie, and a broad grin on his wide, wicked face.
 "Nibbles?" he said sweetly, offering them a bowl of peanuts covered in fungus.
 "No thanks," said Hermione.
 "Heard you talking about poor Myrtle," said Peeves, his eyes dancing.
 "Rude you was about poor Myrtle." He took a deep breath and bellowed, "OY! MYRTLE!"
 "Oh, no, Peeves, don't tell her what I said, she'll be really upset," Hermione whispered frantically. "I didn't mean it, I don't mind her - er, hello, Myrtle."
 The squat ghost of a girl had glided over. She had the glummest face Harry had ever seen, half-hidden behind lank hair and thick, pearly spectacles.
 "What?" she said sulkily.
 "How are you, Myrtle?" said Hermione in a falsely bright voice. "It's nice to see you out of the toilet."
 .134
 Myrtle sniffed.
 "Miss Granger was just talking about you -" said Peeves slyly in Myrtle's ear.
 "Just saying - saying - how nice you look tonight," said Hermione, glaring at Peeves.
 Myrtle eyed Hermione suspiciously.
 "You're making fun of me," she said, silver tears welling rapidly in her small, see-through eyes.
 "No - honestly - didn't I just say how nice Myrtle's looking?" said Hermione, nudging Harry and Ron painfully in the ribs.
 "Oh, yeah -"
 "She did -"
 "Don't lie to me," Myrtle gasped, tears now flooding down her face, while Peeves chuckled happily over her shoulder. "D'you think I don't know what people call me behind my back? Fat Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle! Miserable, moaning, moping Myrtle!"
 "You've forgotten pimply," Peeves hissed in her ear.
 Moaning Myrtle burst into anguished sobs and fled from the dungeon.
 Peeves shot after her, pelting her with moldy peanuts, yelling, "Pimply!
 Pimply!"
 "Oh, dear," said Hermione sadly.
 Nearly Headless Nick now drifted toward them through the crowd.
 .135
 "Enjoying yourselves?"
 "Oh, yes," they lied.
 "Not a bad turnout," said Nearly Headless Nick proudly. "The Wailing Widow came all the way up from Kent. . . . It's nearly time for my speech, I'd better go and warn the orchestra. . . ."
 The orchestra, however, stopped playing at that very moment. They, and everyone else in the dungeon, fell silent, looking around in excitement, as a hunting horn sounded.
 "Oh, here we go," said Nearly Headless Nick bitterly.
 Through the dungeon wall burst a dozen ghost horses, each ridden by a headless horseman. The assembly clapped wildly; Harry started to clap, too, but stopped quickly at the sight of Nick's face.
 The horses galloped into the middle of the dance floor and halted, rearing and plunging. At the front of the pack was a large ghost who held his bearded head under his arm, from which position he was blowing the horn.
 The ghost leapt down, lifted his head high in the air so he could see over the crowd (everyone laughed), and strode over to Nearly Headless Nick, squashing his head back onto his neck.
 "Nick!" he roared. "How are you? Head still hanging in there?"
 He gave a hearty guffaw and clapped Nearly Headless Nick on the shoulder.
 "Welcome, Patrick," said Nick stiffly.
 "Live 'uns!" said Sir Patrick, spotting Harry, Ron, and Hermione and giving a huge, fake jump of astonishment, so that his head fell off again (the crowd howled with laughter).
 .136
 "Very amusing," said Nearly Headless Nick darkly.
 "Don't mind Nick!" shouted Sir Patrick's head from the floor. "Still upset we won't let him join the Hunt! But I mean to say - look at the fellow -"
 "I think," said Harry hurriedly, at a meaningful look from Nick, "Nick's very - frightening and - er -"
 "Ha!" yelled Sir Patrick's head. "Bet he asked you to say that!"
 "If I could have everyone's attention, it's time for my speech!" said Nearly Headless Nick loudly, striding toward the podium and climbing into an icy blue spotlight.
 "My late lamented lords, ladies, and gentlemen, it is my great sorrow . . ."
 But nobody heard much more. Sir Patrick and the rest of the Headless Hunt had just started a game of Head Hockey and the crowd were turning to watch. Nearly Headless Nick tried vainly to recapture his audience, but gave up as Sir Patrick's head went sailing past him to loud cheers.
 Harry was very cold by now, not to mention hungry.
 "I can't stand much more of this," Ron muttered, his teeth chattering, as the orchestra ground back into action and the ghosts swept back onto the dance floor.
 "Let's go," Harry agreed.
 They backed toward the door, nodding and beaming at anyone who looked at them, and a minute later were hurrying back up the passageway full of black candles.
 "Pudding might not be finished yet," said Ron hopefully, leading the way toward the steps to the entrance hall.
 .137
 And then Harry heard it.
 ". . . rip . . . tear . . . kill . . ."
 It was the same voice, the same cold, murderous voice he had heard in Lockhart's office.
 He stumbled to a halt, clutching at the stone wall, listening with all his might, looking around, squinting up and down the dimly lit passageway.
 "Harry, what're you -?"
 "It's that voice again - shut up a minute -"
 ". . . soo hungry . . . for so long . . ."
 "Listen!" said Harry urgently, and Ron and Hermione froze, watching him.
 ". . . kill . . . time to kill . . ."
 The voice was growing fainter. Harry was sure it was moving away - moving upward. A mixture of fear and excitement gripped him as he stared at the dark ceiling; how could it be moving upward? Was it a phantom, to whom stone ceilings didn't matter?
 "This way," he shouted, and he began to run, up the stairs, into the entrance hall. It was no good hoping to hear anything here, the babble of talk from the Halloween feast was echoing out of the Great Hall. Harry sprinted up the marble staircase to the first floor, Ron and Hermione clattering behind him.
 "Harry, what're we -"
 "SHH!"
 .138
 Harry strained his ears. Distantly, from the floor above, and growing fainter still, he heard the voice: ". . . I smell blood. . . . I SMELL BLOOD!"
 His stomach lurched - "It's going to kill someone!" he shouted, and ignoring Ron's and Hermione's bewildered faces, he ran up the next flight of steps three at a time, trying to listen over his own pounding footsteps - Harry hurtled around the whole of the second floor, Ron and Hermione panting behind him, not stopping until they turned a corner into the last, deserted passage.
 "Harry, what was that all about?" said Ron, wiping sweat off his face. "I couldn't hear anything. . . ."
 But Hermione gave a sudden gasp, pointing down the corridor.
 "Look!"
 Something was shining on the wall ahead. They approached slowly, squinting through the darkness. Foot-high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches. the chamber of secrets has been opened. enemies of the heir, beware.
 "What's that thing - hanging underneath?" said Ron, a slight quiver in his voice.
 As they edged nearer, Harry almost slipped - there was a large puddle of water on the floor; Ron and Hermione grabbed him, and they inched toward the message, eyes fixed on a dark shadow beneath it. All three of them realized what it was at once, and leapt backward with a splash..Mrs. Norris,
 the caretaker's cat, was hanging by her tail from the torch bracket. She was stiff as a board, her eyes wide and staring.
 For a few seconds, they didn't move. Then Ron said, "Let's get out of here."
 "Shouldn't we try and help -" Harry began awkwardly.
 "Trust me," said Ron. "We don't want to be found here."
 But it was too late. A rumble, as though of distant thunder, told them that the feast had just ended. From either end of the corridor where they stood came the sound of hundreds of feet climbing the stairs, and the loud, happy talk of well-fed people; next moment, students were crashing into the passage from both ends.
 The chatter, the bustle, the noise died suddenly as the people in front spotted the hanging cat. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood alone, in the middle of the corridor, as silence fell among the mass of students pressing forward to see the grisly sight.
 Then someone shouted through the quiet.
 "Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!"
 It was Draco Malfoy. He had pushed to the front of the crowd, his cold eyes alive, his usually bloodless face flushed, as he grinned at the sight of the hanging, immobile cat.
 CHAPTER NINE
 THE WRTITING ON THE WALL
 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.
 And his popping eyes fell on Harry.
 "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. In seconds, he had swept past Harry, Ron, and Hermione and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket.
 "Come with me, Argus," he said to Filch. "You, too, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger."
 Lockhart stepped forward eagerly.
 *140*
 "My office is nearest, Headmaster - just upstairs - please feel free -"
 "Thank you, Gilderoy," said Dumbledore.
 The silent crowd parted to let them pass. 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, Ron, and Hermione 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. 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
 *141*
 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 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 him!" shrieked Filch, turning his blotched and tearstained face to Harry.
 "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.
 142
 "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 Snape from the shadows, and Harry's sense of forboding increased; he was sure nothing Snape had to say was going to do him any good.
 "Potter and his friends may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time," he said, a slight sneer curling his mouth as though he doubted it. "But we do have a set of suspicious circumstances here. Why was he in the upstairs corridor at all? Why wasn't he at the Halloween feast?"
 Harry, Ron and Hermione all launched into an explanation about the deathday party. ". . . there were hundreds of ghosts, theyll tell you we were there -"
 "But why not join the feast afterward?" said Snape, his black eyes glittering in the candlelight. "Why go up to that corridor?"
 Ron 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, "because we were tired and wanted to go to bed," he said.
 "Without any supper?" said Snape, 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," said Ron loudly as his stomach gave a huge rumble.
 Snape's nasty smile widened.
 *143*
 "I suggest, Headmaster, that Potter is not being entirely truthful," he said. "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," said Professor McGonagall sharply, "I see no reason to stop the boy playing Quidditch. This cat wasn't hit over the head with a broomstick. There is no evidence at all that Potter has done anything wrong."
 Dumbledore was giving Harry a searching look. His twinkling light- blue gaze made Harry feel as though he were being X-rayed.
 "Innocent until proven guilty, Severus," he said firmly.
 Snape 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. "Professer 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 Snape icily. "But I believe I am the Potions master at this school."
 There was a very awkward pause.
 "You may go," Dumbledore said to Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
 They went, as quickly as they could without actually running. When they were a floor up from Lockhart's office, they turned into
 *144*
 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 Ron, without hesitation. "Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world."
 Something in Ron's voice made Harry ask, "You do believe me, don't you?"
 "'Course I do," said Ron 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 Cbamber Has Been Opened... What's that supposed to mean?"
 "You know, it rings a sort of bell," said Ron 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?" said Harry.
 To his surprise, Ron 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. Kind of the opposite of Muggle-born 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." Ron gave a satisfied smile. "He's bitter."
 A clock chimed somewhere.
 "Midnight," said Harry. "We'd better get to bed before Snape comes along and tries to frame us for something else."
 *145*
 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."
 Ginny Weasley seemed very disturbed by Mrs. Norris's fate. According to Ron, she was a great cat lover.
 "But you haven't really got to know Mrs. Norris," Ron told her bracingly. "Honestly, we're much better off without her." Ginny's lip trembled. "Stuff like this doesn't often happen at Hogwarts," Ron 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 -" Ron added hastily as Ginny blanched.
 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 Ron 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 Snape had made him stay behind to scrape tubeworms off the desks. After a hurried lunch, he went upstairs to meet Ron in the library, and saw Justin Finch- Fletchley, the Hufflepuff boy from Herbology, coming
 *146*
 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 Ron at the back of the library, measuring his History of Magic homework. Professor Binns had asked for a threefoot-long composition on "The Medieval Assembly of European
 Wizards."
 "I don't believe it, I'm still eight inches shortsaid Ron fu
 riously, 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 Ron, pointing along the shelves. "Looking for another book. I think she's trying to read the whole library before Christmas."
 Harry told Ron about Justin Finch-Fletchley running away from him.
 "Dunno why you care. I thought he was a bit of an idiot," said Ron, 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 next to Harry and Ron. "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?" said Harry.
 *141*
 "The same reason everyone else wants it," said Hermione, "to read up on the legend of the Chamber of Secrets."
 "What's that?" said Harry quickly.
 "That's just it. I can't remember," said Hermione, biting her lip. "And I can't find the story anywhere else -"
 "Hermione, let me read your composition," said Ron desperately, checking his watch.
 "No, I won't," said Hermione, suddenly severe. "You've had ten days to finish it -"
 "I only need another two inches, come on -"
 The bell rang. Ron and Hermione led the way to History of Magic, bickering.
 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 lec
 *148*
 ture 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.
 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 Longbottom'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 s!-ping 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?"
 "Please, sir, 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
 *149*
 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. But then disagreements sprang up between them. A rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more selective about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. He disliked taking students of Muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy. After a while, there was a serious argument on the subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school."
 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 had built a
 *150*
 hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders knew nothing.
 "Slytherin, according to the legend, sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at the school. The heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber of Secrets, unleash the horror within, and use it to purge the school of all who were unworthy to study magic."
 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 do you mean by the horror within' the Chamber?"
 "That 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 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
 *151*
 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
 *152*
 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 reputa
 tion 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 couldnt 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
 * 1,5 % *
 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 . . . ."
 Harry 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 ......
 *154*
 "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 fiIthy 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.
 * -L 5,5
 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.
 * IL 56*
 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
 *157*
 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 Hogwarts?"
 "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."
 *158*
 "They couldve 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
 *159*
 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 . . . ."
 CHAPTER TEN
 THE ROGUE BLUDGER
 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.
 Harry was hauled to the front of the class during their very next Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, this time acting a werewolf If he hadn't had a very good reason for keeping Lockhart in a good mood, he would have refused to do it.
 "Nice loud howl, Harry - exactly - and then, if you'll believe it, I pounced - like this - slammed him to the floor - thus with one hand, I managed to hold him down - with my other, I
 *161*
 put my wand to his throat -I then screwed up my remaining strength and performed the immensely complex Homorphus Charm - he let out a piteous moan - go on, Harry - higher than that - good - the fur vanished - the fangs shrank - and he turned back into a man. Simple, yet effective - and another village will remember me forever as the hero who delivered them from the monthly terror of werewolf attacks."
 The bell rang and Lockhart got to his feet.
 "Homework - compose a poem about my defeat of the Wagga Wagga Werewolf! Signed copies of Magical Me to the author of the best one!"
 The class began to leave. Harry returned to the back of the room, where Ron and Hermione were waiting.
 "Ready?" Harry muttered.
 "Wait till everyone's gone," said Hermione nervously. "All right . . . "
 She approached Lockhart's desk, a piece of paper clutched tightly in her hand, Harry and Ron right behind her.
 "Er - Professor Lockhart?" Hermione stammered. "I wanted to - to get this book out of the library. Just for background reading." She held out the piece of paper, her hand shaking slightly. "But the thing is, it's in the Restricted Section of the library, so I need a teacher to sign for it - I'm sure it would help me understand what you say in Gadding with Ghouls about slow-acting venoms
 "Ah, Gadding with Ghouls!" said Lockhart, taking the note from Hermione and smiling widely at her. "Possibly my very favorite book. You enjoyed it?"
 -162
 "Oh, yes," said Hermione eagerly. "So clever, the way you trapped that last one with the tea-strainer -"
 "Well, I'm sure no one will mind me giving the best student of the year a little extra help," said Lockhart warmly, and he pulled out an enormous peacock quill. "Yes, nice, isn't it?" he said, misreading the revolted look on Ron's face. "I usually save it for book-signings."
 He scrawled an enormous loopy signature on the note and handed it back to Hermione.
 "So, Harry," said Lockhart, while Hermione folded the note with fumbling fingers and slipped it into her bag. "Tomorrow's the first Quidditch match of the season, I believe? Gryffindor against Slytherin, is it not? I hear you're a useful player. I was a Seeker, too. I was asked to try for the National Squad, but preferred to dedicate my life to the eradication of the Dark Forces. Still, if ever you feel the need for a little private training, don't hesitate to ask. Always happy to pass on my expertise to less able players ......
 Harry made an indistinct noise in his throat and then hurried off after Ron and Hermione.
 "I don't believe it," he said as the three of them examined the signature on the note. "He didn't even look at the book we wanted."
 "That's because he's a brainless git," said Ron. "But who cares, we've got what we needed -"
 "He is not a brainless git," said Hermione shrilly as they half ran toward the library.
 "Just because he said you were the best student of the year -"
 They dropped their voices as they entered the muffled stillness of the library. Madam Pince, the librarian, was a thin, irritable woman who looked like an underfed vulture.
 *163*
 "Moste Potente Potions?" she repeated suspiciously, trying to take the note from Hermione; but Hermione wouldn't let go.
 "I was wondering if I could keep it," she said breathlessly.
 "Oh, come on," said Ron, wrenching it from her grasp and thrusting it at Madam Pince. "We'll get you another autograph. Lockhart'll sign anything if it stands still long enough."
 Madam Pince held the note up to the light, as though determined to detect a forgery, but it passed the test. She stalked away between the lofty shelves and returned several minutes later carrying a large and moldy-looking book. Hermione put it carefully into her bag and they left, trying not to walk too quickly or look too guilty.
 Five minutes later, they were barricaded in Moaning Myrtle's out-of- order bathroom once again. Hermione had overridden Ron's objections by pointing out that it was the last place anyone in their right minds would go, so they were guaranteed some privacy. Moaning Myrtle was crying noisily in her stall, but they were ignoring her, and she them.
 Hermione opened Moste Potente Potions carefully, and the three of them bent over the damp-spotted pages. It was clear from a glance why it belonged in the Restricted Section. Some of the potions had effects almost too gruesome to think about, and there were some very unpleasant illustrations, which included a man who seemed to have been turned inside out and a witch sprouting several extra pairs of arms out of her head.
 "Here it is," said Hermione excitedly as she found the page headed The Polyjuice Potion. It was decorated with drawings of people halfway through transforming into other people. Harry sin
 *164*
 cerely hoped the artist had imagined the looks of intense pain on their faces.
 "This is the most complicated potion I've ever seen," said Hermione as they scanned the recipe. "Lacewing flies, leeches, fluxweed, and knotgrass," she murmured, running her finger down the list of ingredients. "Well, they're easy enough, they're in the student store- cupboard, we can help ourselves .... Oooh, look, powdered horn of a bicorn - don't know where we're going to get that - shredded skin of a boomslang -. that'll be tricky, too and of course a bit of whoever we want to change into."
 "Excuse me?" said Ron sharply. "What d'you mean, a bit of whoever we're changing into? I'm drinking nothing with Crabbe's toenails in it -"
 Hermione continued as though she hadn't heard him.
 "We don't have to worry about that yet, though, because we add those bits last ......
 Ron turned, speechless, to Harry, who had another worry.
 "D'you realize how much we're going to have to steal, Hermione? Shredded skin of a boomslang, that's definitely not in the students' cupboard. What're we going to do, break into Snape's private stores? I don't know if this is a good idea ......
 Hermione shut the book with a snap.
 "Well, if you two are going to chicken out, fine," she said. There were bright pink patches on her cheeks and her eyes were brighter than usual. "I don't want to break rules, you know. I think threatening Muggle-borns is far worse than brewing up a difficult potion. But if you don't want to find out if it's Malfoy, I'll go straight to Madam Pince now and hand the book back in '
 *165
 "I never thought Id see the day when you'd be persuading us to break rules," said Ron. "All right, we'll do it. But not toenails, okay?"
 "How long will it take to make, anyway?" said Harry as Hermione, looking happier, opened the book again.
 "Well, since the fluxweed has got to be picked at the full moon and the lacewings have got to be stewed for twenty-one days ... I'd say it'd be ready in about a month, if we can get all the ingredients."
 "A month?" said Ron. "Malfoy could have attacked half the Muggle- borns in the school by then!" But Hermione's eyes narrowed dangerously again, and he added swiftly, "But it's the best plan we've got, so full steam ahead, I say."
 However, while Hermione was checking that the coast was clear for them to leave the bathroom, Ron muttered to Harry, "It'll be a lot less hassle if you can just knock Malfoy off his broom tomorrow.
 Harry woke early on Saturday morning and lay for a while thinking about the coming Quidditch match. He was nervous, mainly at the thought of what Wood would say if Gryffindor lost, but also at the idea of facing a team mounted on the fastest racing brooms gold could buy. He had never wanted to beat Slytherin so badly. After half an hour of lying there with his insides churning, he got up, dressed, and went down to breakfast early, where he found the rest of the Gryffindor team huddled at the long, empty table, all looking uptight and not speaking much.
 As eleven o'clock approached, the whole school started to make its way down to the Quidditch stadium. It was a muggy sort of day
 *166*
 with a hint of thunder in the air. Ron and Hermione came hurrying over to wish Harry good luck as he entered the locker rooms. The team pulled on their scarlet Gryffindor robes, then sat down to listen to Wood's usual pre-match pep talk.
 "Slytherin has better brooms than us," he began. "No point denying it. But we've got better people on our brooms. We've trained harder than they have, we've been flying in all weathers -" ("Too true," muttered George Weasley. "I haven't been properly dry since August") "- and we're going to make them rue the day they let that little bit of slime, Malfoy, buy his way onto their team."
 Chest heaving with emotion, Wood turned to Harry.
 "It'll be down to you, Harry, to show them that a Seeker has to have something more than a rich father. Get to that Snitch before Malfoy or die trying, Harry, because we've got to win today, we've got to."
 "So no pressure, Harry" said Fred, winking at him.
 As they walked out onto the pitch, a roar of noise greeted them; mainly cheers, because Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were anxious to see Slytherin beaten, but the Slytherins in the crowd made their boos and hisses heard, too. Madam Hooch, the Quidditch teacher, asked Flint and Wood to shake hands, which they did, giving each other threatening stares and gripping rather harder than was necessary.
 "On my whistle," said Madam Hooch. "Three ... two ... one. . .
 With a roar from the crowd to speed them upward, the fourteen players rose toward the leaden sky. Harry flew higher than any of them, squinting around for the Snitch.
 *167*
 "All right there, Scarhead?" yelled Malfoy, shooting underneath him as though to show off the speed of his broom.
 Harry had no time to reply. At that very moment, a heavy black Bludger came pelting toward him; he avoided it so narrowly that he felt it ruffle his hair as it passed.
 "Close one, Harry!" said George, streaking past him with his club in his hand, ready to knock the Bludger back toward a Slytherin. Harry saw George give the Bludger a powerful whack in the direction of Adrian Pucey, but the Bludger changed direction in midair and shot straight for Harry again.
 Harry dropped quickly to avoid it, and George managed to hit it hard toward Malfoy. Once again, the Bludger swerved like a boomerang and shot at Harry's head.
 Harry put on a burst of speed and zoomed toward the other end of the pitch. He could hear the Bludger whistling along behind him. What was going on? Bludgers never concentrated on one player like this; it was their job to try and unseat as many people as possible ....
 Fred Weasley was waiting for the Bludger at the other end. Harry ducked as Fred swung at the Bludger with all his might; the Bludger was knocked off course.
 "Gotcha!" Fred yelled happily, but he was wrong; as though it was magnetically attracted to Harry, the Bludger pelted after him once more and Harry was forced to fly off at full speed.
 It had started to rain; Harry felt heavy drops fall onto his face, splattering onto his glasses. He didn't have a clue what was going on in the rest of the game until he heard Lee Jordan, who was commentating, say, "Slytherin lead, sixty points to zero '
 *168*
 The Slytherins' superior brooms were clearly doing their jobs, and meanwhile the mad Bludger was doing all it could to knock Harry out of the air. Fred and George were now flying so close to him on either side that Harry could see nothing at all except their flailing arms and had no chance to look for the Snitch, let alone catch it.
 "Someone's - tampered - with - this - Bludger -" Fred grunted, swinging his bat with all his might at it as it launched a new attack on Harry.
 "We need time out," said George, trying to signal to Wood and stop the Bludger breaking Harry's nose at the same time.
 Wood had obviously got the message. Madam Hooch's whistle rang out and Harry, Fred, and George dived for the ground, still trying to avoid the mad Bludger.
 "What's going on?" said Wood as the Gryffindor team huddled together, while Slytherins in the crowd jeered. "We're being flattened. Fred, George, where were you when that Bludger stopped Angelina scoring?"
 "We were twenty feet above her, stopping the other Bludger from murdering Harry, Oliver," said George angrily. "Someone's fixed it - it won't leave Harry alone. It hasn't gone for anyone else all game. The Slytherins must have done something to it."
 "But the Bludgers have been locked in Madam Hooch's office since our last practice, and there was nothing wrong with them then . . . . " said Wood, anxiously.
 Madam Hooch was walking toward them. Over her shoulder, Harry could see the Slytherin team jeering and pointing in his direction.
 169
 "Listen," said Harry as she came nearer and nearer, "with you two flying around me all the time the only way I'm going to catch the Snitch is if it flies up my sleeve. Go back to the rest of the team and let me deal with the rogue one."
 "Don't be thick," said Fred. "It'll take your head off."
 Wood was looking from Harry to the Weasleys.
 (I Oliver, this is insane," said Alicia Spinner angrily. "You can't let Harry deal with that thing on his own. Let's ask for an inquiry -))
 "If we stop now, we'll have to forfeit the match!" said Harry. "And we're not losing to Slytherin just because of a crazy Bludger! Come on, Oliver, tell them to leave me alone!"
 "This is all your fault," George said angrily to Wood. " Get the Snitch or die trying,' what a stupid thing to tell him -"
 Madam Hooch had joined them.
 "Ready to resume play?" she asked Wood.
 Wood looked at the determined look on Harry's face.
 "All right," he said. "Fred, George, you heard Harry -leave him alone and let him deal with the Bludger on his own."
 The rain was falling more heavily now. On Madam Hooch's whistle, Harry kicked hard into the air and heard the telltale whoosh of the Bludger behind him. Higher and higher Harry climbed; he looped and swooped, spiraled, zigzagged, and rolled. Slightly dizzy, he nevertheless kept his eyes wide open, rain was speckling his glasses and ran up his nostrils as he hung upside down, avoiding another fierce dive from the Bludger. He could hear laughter from the crowd; he knew he must look very stupid, but the rogue Bludger was heavy and couldn't change direction as quickly as Harry could; he began a kind of roller-coaster ride around the
 *170*
 edges of the stadium, squinting through the silver sheets of rain to the Gryffindor goal posts, where Adrian Pucey was trying to get past Wood
 A whistling in Harry's ear told him the Bludger had just missed him again; he turned right over and sped in the opposite direction.
 "Training for the ballet, Potter?" yelled Malfoy as Harry was forced to do a stupid kind of twirl in midair to dodge the Bludger, and he fled, the Bludger trailing a few feet behind him; and then, glaring back at Malfoy in hatred, he saw it - the Golden Snitch. It was hovering inches above Malfoy's left ear - and Malfoy, busy laughing at Harry, hadn't seen it.
 For an agonizing moment, Harry hung in midair, not daring to speed toward Malfoy in case he looked up and saw the Snitch.
 WHAM.
 He had stayed still a second too long. The Bludger had hit him at last, smashed into his elbow, and Harry felt his arm break. Dimly, dazed by the searing pain in his arm, he slid sideways on his rain-drenched broom, one knee still crooked over it, his right arm dangling useless at his side - the Bludger came pelting back for a second attack, this time W-ming at his face - Harry swerved out of the way, one idea firmly lodged in his numb brain: get to Malfoy.
 Through a haze of rain and pain he dived for the shimmering, sneering face below him and saw its eyes widen with fear: Malfoy thought Harry was attacking him.
 "What the -" he gasped, careening out of Harry's way.
 Harry took his remaining hand off his broom and made a wild snatch; he felt his fingers close on the cold Snitch but was now only
 *171*
 gripping the broom with his legs, and there was a yell from the crowd below as he headed straight for the ground, trying hard not to pass out.
 With a splattering thud he hit the mud and rolled off his broom. His arm was hanging at a very strange angle; riddled with pain, he heard, as though from a distance, a good deal of whistling and shouting. He focused on the Snitch clutched in his good hand.
 "Aha," he said vaguely. "We've won."
 And he fainted.
 He came around, rain falling on his face, still lying on the field, with someone leaning over him. He saw a glitter of teeth.
 "Oh, no, not you," he moaned.
 "Doesn't know what he's saying," said Lockhart loudly to the anxious crowd of Gryffindors pressing around them. "Not to worry, Harry. I'm about to fix your arm."
 "No!"said Harry. "I'll keep it like this, thanks ......
 He tried to sit up, but the pain was terrible. He heard a familiar clicking noise nearby.
 "I don't want a photo of this, Colin," he said loudly.
 "Lie back, Harry," said Lockhart soothingly. "It's a simple charm I've used countless times -"
 "Why can't I just go to the hospital wing?" said Harry through clenched teeth.
 "He should really, Professor," said a muddy Wood, who couldn't help grinning even though his Seeker was injured. "Great capture, Harry, really spectacular, your best yet, Id say -"
 Through the thicket of legs around him, Harry spotted Fred and
 *112*
 George Weasley, wrestling the rogue Bludger into a box. It was still putting up a terrific fight.
 "Stand back," said Lockhart, who was rolling up his jade-green sleeves.
 "No - don't -" said Harry weakly, but Lockhart was twirling his wand and a second later had directed it straight at Harry's arm.
 A strange and unpleasant sensation started at Harry's shoulder and spread all the way down to his fingertips. It felt as though his arm was being deflated. He didn't dare look at what was happening. He had shut his eyes, his face turned away from his arm, but his worst fears were realized as the people above him gasped and Colin Creevey began clicking away madly. His arm didn't hurt anymore - nor did it feel remotely like an arm.
 "Ah," said Lockhart. "Yes. Well, that can sometimes happen. But the point is, the bones are no longer broken. That's the thing to bear in mind. So, Harry, just toddle up to the hospital wing - ah, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, would you escort him? - and Madam Pomfrey will be able to - er - tidy you up a bit."
 As Harry got to his feet, he felt strangely lopsided. Taking a deep breath he looked down at his right side. What he saw nearly made him pass out again.
 Poking out of the end of his robes was what looked like a thick, flesh- colored rubber glove. He tried to move his fingers. Nothing happened.
 Lockhart hadn't mended Harry's bones. He had removed them.
 Madam Pomfrey wasn't at all pleased.
 "You should have come straight to me!" she raged, holding up
 *173*
 the sad, limp remainder of what, half an hour before, had been a working arm. "I can mend bones in a second - but growing them back - "
 "You will be able to, won't you?" said Harry desperately.
 "I'll be able to, certainly, but it will be painful," said Madam Pomfrey grimly, throwing Harry a pair of pajamas. "You'll have to stay the night ......
 Hermione waited outside the curtain drawn around Harry's bed while Ron helped him into his pajamas. It took a while to stuff the rubbery, boneless arm into a sleeve.
 "How can you stick up for Lockhart now, Hermione, eh?" Ron called through the curtain as he pulled Harry's limp fingers through the cuff. "If Harry had wanted deboning he would have asked."
 "Anyone can make a mistake," said Hermione. "And it doesn't hurt anymore, does it, Harry?"
 "No," said Harry, getting into bed. "But it doesn't do anything else either."
 As he swung himself onto the bed, his arm flapped pointlessly.
 Hermione and Madam Pomfrey came around the curtain. Madam Pomfrey was holding a large bottle of something labeled Skele-Gro.
 "You're in for a rough night," she said, pouring out a steaming beakerful and handing it to him. "Regrowing bones is a nasty business.
 So was taking the Skele-Gro. It burned Harry's mouth and throat as it went down, making him cough and splutter. Still tut-tutting about dangerous sports and inept teachers, Madam Pomfrey re
 *114*
 treated, leaving Ron and Hermione to help Harry gulp down some water. "We won, though," said Ron, a grin breaking across his face. "That was some catch you made. Malfoy's face ... he looked ready to kill ...... "I want to know how he fixed that Bludger," said Hermione darkly. "We can add that to the list of questions we'll ask him when we've taken the Polyjuice Potion," said Harry, sinking back onto his pillows. "I hope it tastes better than this stuff .....
 "If it's got bits of Slytherins in it? You've got to be joking," said Ron. The door of the hospital wing burst open at that moment. Filthy and soaking wet, the rest of the Gryffindor team had arrived to see Harry. "Unbelievable flying, Harry," said George. "I've just seen Mar cus Flint yelling at Malfoy. Something about having the Snitch on top of his head and not noticing. Malfoy didn't seem too happy." They had brought cakes, sweets, and bottles of pumpkin juice; they gathered around Harry's bed and were just getting started on what promised to be a good party when Madam Pomfrey came storming over, shouting, "This boy needs rest, he's got thirty-three bones to regrow! Out! OUT!" And Harry was left alone, with nothing to distract him from the stabbing pains in his limp arm.
 Hours and hours later, Harry woke quite suddenly in the pitch blackness and gave a small yelp of pain: His arm now felt full of
 large splinters. For a second, he thought that was what had woken him. Then, with a thrill of horror, he realized that someone was sponging his forehead in the dark.
 "Get off!" he said loudly, and then, "Dobby!"
 The house-elf's goggling tennis ball eyes were peering at Harry through the darkness. A single tear was running down his long, pointed nose.
 "Harry Potter came back to school," he whispered miserably. "Dobby warned and warned Harry Potter. Ah sir, why didn't you heed Dobby? Why didn't Harry Potter go back home when he missed the train?"
 Harry heaved himself up on his pillows and pushed Dobby's sponge away.
 "What're you doing here?" he said. "And how did you know I missed the train?"
 Dobby's lip trembled and Harry was seized by a sudden suspicion.
 "It was you!" he said slowly. "You stopped the barrier from letting us through!"
 "Indeed yes, sir," said Dobby, nodding his head vigorously, ears flapping. "Dobby hid and watched for Harry Potter and sealed the gateway and Dobby had to iron his hands afterward" - he showed Harry ten long, bandaged fingers - "but Dobby didn't care, sir, for he thought Harry Potter was safe, and never did Dobby dream that Harry Potter would get to school another way!"
 He was rocking backward and forward, shaking his ugly head.
 "Dobby was 'so shocked when he heard Harry Potter was back at Hogwarts, he let his master's dinner burn! Such a flogging Dobby never had, sir . .....
 *176*
 Harry slumped back onto his pillows.
 "You nearly got Ron and me expelled," he said fiercely. "You'd better get lost before my bones come back, Dobby, or I might strangle you."
 Dobby smiled weakly.
 "Dobby is used to death threats, sir. Dobby gets them five times a day at home."
 He blew his nose on a corner of the filthy pillowcase he wore, looking so pathetic that Harry felt his anger ebb away in spite of himself.
 "Why d'you wear that thing, Dobby?" he asked curiously.
 "This, sir?" said Dobby, plucking at the pillowcase. "'Tis a mark of the house-elf's enslavement, sir. Dobby can only be freed if his masters present him with clothes, sir. The family is careful not to pass Dobby even a sock, sir, for then he would be free to leave their house forever."
 Dobby mopped his bulging eyes and said suddenly, "Harry Potter must go home! Dobby thought his Bludger would be enough to make -"
 "Your Bludger?" said Harry, anger rising once more. "What d'you mean, your Bludger? You made that Bludger try and kill me?"
 "Not kill you, sir, never kill you!" said Dobby, shocked. "Dobby wants to save Harry Potter's life! Better sent home, grievously injured, than remain here sir! Dobby only wanted Harry Potter hurt enough to be sent home!"
 "Oh, is that all?" said Harry angrily. "I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you wanted me sent home in pieces?"
 "Ah, if Harry Potter only knew!" Dobby groaned, more tears dripping onto his ragged pillowcase. "If he knew what he means
 *177*
 to us, to the lowly, the enslaved, we dregs of the magical world! Dobby remembers how it was when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was at the height of his powers, sir! We house-elfs were treated like vermin, sir! Of course, Dobby is still treated like that, sir," he admitted, drying his face on the pillowcase. "But mostly, sir, life has improved for my kind since you triumphed over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Harry Potter survived, and the Dark Lord's power was broken, and it was a new dawn, sir, and Harry Potter shone like a beacon of hope for those of us who thought the Dark days would never end, sit... And now, at Hogwarts, terrible things are to happen, are perhaps happening already, and Dobby cannot let Harry Potter stay here now that history is to repeat itself, now that the Chamber of Secrets is open once more
 Dobby froze, horrorstruck, then grabbed Harry's water jug from his bedside table and cracked it over his own head, toppling out of sight. A second later, he crawled back onto the bed, cross-eyed, muttering, "Bad Dobby, very bad Dobby. . ."
 "So there is a Chamber of Secrets?" Harry whispered. "And did you say it's been opened before? Tell me, Dobby!"
 He seized the elf's bony wrist as Dobby's hand inched toward the water jug. "But I'm not Muggle-born - how can I be in danger from the Chamber?"
 "Ah, sir, ask no more, ask no more of poor Dobby," stammered the elf, his eyes huge in the dark. "Dark deeds are planned in this place, but Harry Potter must not be here when they happen - go home, Harry Potter, go home. Harry Potter must not meddle in this, sir, 'tis too dangerous -"
 "Who is it, Dobby?" Harry said, keeping a firm hold on Dobby's
 *178*
 wrist to stop him from hitting himself with the water jug again. "Who's opened it? Who opened it last time?"
 "Dobby can't, sir, Dobby can't, Dobby mustn't tell!" squealed the elf. "Go home, Harry Potter, go home!"
 "I'm not going anywhere!" said Harry fiercely. "One of my best friends is Muggle-born; she'll be first in line if the Chamber really has been opened -"
 "Harry Potter risks his own life for his friends!" moaned Dobby in a kind of miserable ecstasy. "So noble! So valiant! But he must save himself, he must, Harry Potter must not -"
 Dobby suddenly froze, his bat ears quivering. Harry heard it, too. There were footsteps coming down the passageway outside.
 "Dobby must go!" breathed the elf, terrified. There was a loud crack, and Harry's fist was suddenly clenched on thin air. He slumped back into bed, his eyes on the dark doorway to the hospital wing as the footsteps drew nearer.
 Next moment, Dumbledore was backing into the dormitory, wearing a long woolly dressing gown and a nightcap. He was carrying one end of what looked like a statue. Professor McGonagall appeared a second later, carrying its feet. Together, they heaved it onto a bed.
 "Get Madam Pomfrey," whispered Dumbledore, and Professor McGonagall hurried past the end of Harry's bed out of sight. Harry lay quite still, pretending to be asleep. He heard urgent voices, and then Professor McGonagall swept back into view, closely followed by Madam Pomfrey, who was pulling a cardigan on over her nightdress. He heard a sharp intake of breath.
 "What happened?" Madam Pomfrey whispered to Dumbledore, bending over the statue on the bed.
 *l79*
 "Another attack," said Dumbledore. "Minerva found him on the stairs.
 "There was a bunch of grapes next to him," said Professor McGonagall. "We think he was trying to sneak up here to visit Potter."
 Harry's stomach gave a horrible lurch. Slowly and carefully, he raised himself a few inches so he could look at the statue on the bed. A ray of moonlight lay across its staring face.
 It was Colin Creevey. His eyes were wide and his hands were stuck up in front of him, holding his camera.
 "Petrified?" whispered Madam Pomfrey.
 "Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "But I shudder to think ... If Albus hadn't been on the way downstairs for hot chocolate - who knows what might have -"
 The three of them stared down at Colin. Then Dumbledore leaned forward and wrenched the camera out of Colin's rigid grip.
 "You don't think he managed to get a picture of his attacker?" said Professor McGonagall eagerly.
 Dumbledore didn't answer. He opened the back of the camera.
 "Good gracious!" said Madam Pomfrey.
 A jet of steam had hissed out of the camera. Harry, three beds away, caught the acrid smell of burnt plastic.
 "Melted," said Madam Pomfrey wonderingly. "All melted..."
 "What does this mean, Albus?" Professor McGonagall asked urgently.
 "It means," said Dumbledore, "that the Chamber of Secrets is indeed open again."
 Madam Pomfrey clapped a hand to her mouth. Professor McGonagall stared at Dumbledore.
 *180*
 "But, Albus ... surely ... who?" "The question is not who," said Dumbledore, his eyes on Colin. "The question is, how . . . ." And from what Harry could see of Professor McGonagall's shad owy face, she didn't understand this any better than he did.
 CHAPTER ELEVEN
 THE D-KJELING C-L-IJIB
 Harry woke up on Sunday morning to find the dormitory blazing with winter sunlight and his arm reboned but very stiff. He sat up quickly and looked over at Colin's bed, but it had been blocked from view by the high curtains Harry had changed behind yesterday. Seeing that he was awake, Madam Pomfrey came bustling over with a breakfast tray and then began bending and stretching his arm and fingers.
 "All in order," she said as he clumsily fed himself porridge lefthanded. "When you've finished eating, you may leave."
 Harry dressed as quickly as he could and hurried off to Gryffindor Tower, desperate to tell Ron and Hermione about Colin and Dobby, but they weren't there. Harry left to look for them, wondering where they could have got to and feeling slightly hurt that they weren't interested in whether he had his bones back or not.
 *182*
 As Harry passed the library, Percy Weasley strolled out of it, looking in far better spirits than last time they'd met.
 "Oh, hello, Harry," he said. "Excellent flying yesterday, really excellent. Gryffindor has just taken the lead for the House Cup you earned fifty points!"
 "You haven't seen Ron or Hermione, have you?" said Harry.
 "No, I haven't," said Percy, his smile fading. "I hope Ron's not in another girls' toilet .....
 Harry forced a laugh, watched Percy walk out of sight, and then headed straight for Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. He couldn't see why Ron and Hermione would be in there again, but after making sure that neither Filch nor any prefects were around, he opened the door and heard their voices coming from a locked stall.
 "It's me," he said, closing the door behind him. There was a clunk, a splash, and a gasp from within the stall and he saw Hermione's eye peering through the keyhole.
 Harry!" she said. "You gave us such a fright - come in how's your arm?"
 "Fine," said Harry, squeezing into the stall. An old cauldron was perched on the toilet, and a crackling from under the rim told Harry they had lit a fire beneath it. Conjuring up portable, waterproof fires was a speciality of Hermione's.
 "We'd've come to meet you, but we decided to get started on the Polyjuice Potion," Ron explained as Harry, with difficulty, locked the stall again. "We've decided this is the safest place to hide it."
 Harry started to tell them about Colin, but Hermione interrupted.
 "We already know - we heard Professor McGonagall telling
 Professor Flitwick this morning. That's why we decided we'd better get going -"
 "The sooner we get a confession out of Malfoy, the better," snarled Ron. "D'you know what I think? He was in such a foul temper after the Quidditch match, he took it out on Colin."
 "There's something else," said Harry, watching Hermione tearing bundles of knotgrass and throwing them into the potion. "Dobby came to visit me in the middle of the night."
 Ron and Hermione looked up, amazed. Harry told them everything Dobby had told him - or hadn't told him. Hermione and Ron listened with their mouths open.
 "The Chamber of Secrets has been opened before?" Hermione said.
 "This settles it," said Ron in a triumphant voice. "Lucius Malfoy must've opened the Chamber when he was at school here and now he's told dear old Draco how to do it. It's obvious. Wish Dobby'd told you what kind of monster's in there, though. I want to know how come nobody's noticed it sneaking around the school."
 "Maybe it can make itself invisible," said Hermione, prodding leeches to the bottom of the cauldron. "Or maybe it can disguise itself - pretend to be a suit of armor or something - I've read about Chameleon Ghouls -"
 "You read too much, Hermione," said Ron, pouring dead lacewings on top of the leeches. He crumpled up the empty lacewing bag and looked at Harry.
 "So Dobby stopped us from getting on the train and broke your
 armHe shook his head. "You know what, Harry? If he doesn't
 stop trying to save your life he's going to kill you."
 *184*
 The news that Colin Creevey had been attacked and was now lying as though dead in the hospital wing had spread through the entire school by Monday morning. The air was suddenly thick with rumor and suspicion. The first years were now moving around the castle in tight-knit groups, as though scared they would be attacked if they ventured forth alone.
 Ginny Weasley, who sat next to Colin Creevey in Charms, was distraught, but Harry felt that Fred and George were going the wrong way about cheering her up. They were taking turns covering themselves with fur or boils and jumping out at her from behind statues. They only stopped when Percy, apoplectic with rage, told them he was going to write to Mrs. Weasley and tell her Ginny was having nightmares.
 Meanwhile, hidden from the teachers, a roaring trade in talismans, amulets, and other protective devices was sweeping the school. Neville Longbottom bought a large, evil-smelling green onion, a pointed purple crystal, and a rotting newt tail before the other Gryffindor boys pointed out that he was in no danger; he was a pure- blood, and therefore unlikely to be attacked.
 "They went for Filch first," Neville said, his round face fearful. "And everyone knows I'm almost a Squib."
 In the second week of December Professor McGonagall came around as usual, collecting names of those who would be staying at school for Christmas. Harry, Ron, and Hermione signed her list; they had heard that Malfoy was staying, which struck them as very suspicious. The holidays would be the perfect time to use the Polyjuice Potion and try to worm a confession out of him.
 Unfortunately, the potion was only half finished. They still
 * 3-85*
 needed the bicorn horn and the boomslang skin, and the only place they were going to get them was from Snape's private stores. Harry privately felt he'd rather face Slytherin's legendary monster than let Snape catch him robbing his office.
 "What we need," said Hermione briskly as Thursday afternoon's double Potions lesson loomed nearer, "is a diversion. Then one of us can sneak into Snape's office and take what we need."
 Harry and Ron looked at her nervously.
 "I think Id better do the actual stealing," Hermione continued in a matter-of-fact tone. "You two will be expelled if you get into any more trouble, and I've got a clean record. So all you need to do is cause enough mayhem to keep Snape busy for five minutes or so.
 Harry smiled feebly. Deliberately causing mayhem in Snape's Potions class was about as safe as poking a sleeping dragon in the eye.
 Potions lessons took place in one of the large dungeons. Thursday afternoon's lesson proceeded in the usual way. Twenty cauldrons stood steaming between the wooden desks, on which stood brass scales and jars of ingredients. Snape prowled through the fumes, making waspish remarks about the Gryffindors' work while the Slytherins sniggered appreciatively. Draco Malfoy, who was Snape's favorite student, kept flicking puffer-fish eyes at Ron and Harry, who knew that if they retaliated they would get detention faster than you could say "Unfair."
 Harry's Swelling Solution was far too runny, but he had his mind on more important things. He was waiting for Hermione's signal, and he hardly listened as Snape paused to sneer at his watery
 *186*
 potion. When Snape turned and walked off to bully Neville, Hermione caught Harry's eye and nodded.
 Harry ducked swiftly down behind his cauldron, pulled one of Fred's Filibuster fireworks out of his pocket, and gave it a quick prod with his wand. The firework began to fizz and sputter. Knowing he had only seconds, Harry straightened up, took aim, and lobbed it into the air; it landed right on target in Goyle's cauldron.
 Goyle's potion exploded, showering the whole class. People shrieked as splashes of the Swelling Solution hit them. Malfoy got a faceful and his nose began to swell like a balloon; Goyle blundered around, his hands over his eyes, which had expanded to the size of a dinner plate - Snape was trying to restore calm and find out what had happened. Through the confusion, Harry saw Hermione slip quietly into Snape's office.
 "Silence! SILENCE!" Snape roared. "Anyone who has been splashed, come here for a Deflating Draft - when I find out who did this -"
 Harry tried not to laugh as he watched Malfoy hurry forward, his head drooping with the weight of a nose like a small melon. As half the class lumbered up to Snape's desk, some weighted down with arms like clubs, others unable to talk through gigantic puffedup lips, Harry saw Hermione slide back into the dungeon, the front of her robes bulging.
 When everyone had taken a swig of antidote and the various swellings had subsided, Snape swept over to Goyle's cauldron and scooped out the twisted black remains of the firework. There was a sudden hush.
 *187*
 "If I ever find out who threw this," Snape whispered, "I shall make sure that person is expelled."
 Harry arranged his face into what he hoped was a puzzled expression. Snape was looking right at him, and the bell that rang ten minutes later could not have been more welcome.
 "He knew it was me," Harry told Ron and Hermione as they hurried back to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. "I could tell."
 Hermione threw the new ingredients into the cauldron and began to stir feverishly.
 "It'll be ready in two weeks," she said happily.
 "Snape can't prove it was you," said Ron reassuringly to Harry. "What can he do?"
 "Knowing Snape, something foul," said Harry as the potion frothed and bubbled.
 A week later, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were walking across the entrance hall when they saw a small knot of people gathered around the notice board, reading a piece of parchment that had just been pinned up. Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas beckoned them over, looking excited.
 "They're starting a Dueling Club!" said Seamus. "First meeting tonight! I wouldn't mind dueling lessons; they might come in handy one of these days ......
 "What, you reckon Slytherin's monster can duel?" said Ron, but he, too, read the sign with interest.
 "Could be useful," he said to Harry and Hermione as they went into dinner. "Shall we go?"
 Harry and Hermione were all for it, so at eight o'clock that
 *188*
 evening they hurried back to the Great Hall. The long dining tables had vanished and a golden stage had appeared along one wall, lit by thousands of candles floating overhead. The ceiling was velvety black once more and most of the school seemed to be packed beneath it, all carrying their wands and looking excited.
 "I wonder who'll be teaching us?" said Hermione as they edged into the chattering crowd. "Someone told me Flitwick was a dueling champion when he was young - maybe it'll be him."
 "As long as it's not -" Harry began, but he ended on a groan: Gilderoy Lockhart was walking onto the stage, resplendent in robes of deep plum and accompanied by none other than Snape, wearing his usual black.
 Lockhart waved an arm for silence and called ' "Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent!
 "Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little dueling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions - for full details, see my published works.
 "Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape," said Lockhart, flashing a wide smile. "He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about dueling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry - you'll still have your Potions master when I'm through with him, never fear!"
 "Wouldn't it be good if they finished each other off?" Ron muttered in Harry's ear.
 Snape's upper lip was curling. Harry wondered why Lockhart
 *189*
 was still smiling; if Snape had been looking at him like that he'd have been running as fast as he could in the opposite direction.
 Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed; at least, Lockhart did, with much twirling of his hands, whereas Snape jerked his head irritably. Then they raised their wands like swords in front of them.
 "As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position," Lockhart told the silent crowd. "On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course."
 "I wouldn't bet on that," Harry murmured, watching Snape baring his teeth.
 "One - two - three -"
 Both of them swung their wands above their heads and pointed them at their opponent; Snape cried: "Expelliarmus!" There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet: He flew backward off the stage, smashed into the wall, and slid down it to sprawl on the floor.
 Malfoy and some of the other Slytherins cheered. Hermione was dancing on tiptoes. "Do you think he's all right?" she squealed through her fingers.
 "Who cares?" said Harry and Ron together.
 Lockhart was getting unsteadily to his feet. His hat had fallen off and his wavy hair was standing on end.
 "Well, there you have it!" he said, tottering back onto the platform. "That was a Disarming Charm - as you see, I've lost my wand - ah, thank you, Miss Brown - yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don't mind my saying
 *190*
 so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy - however, I felt it would be instructive to let them see . . ."
 Snape was looking murderous. Possibly Lockhart had noticed, because he said, "Enough demonstrating! I'm going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you'd like to help me -"
 They moved through the crowd, matching up partners. Lockhart teamed Neville with Justin Finch-Fletchley, but Snape reached Harry and Ron first.
 "Time to split up the dream team, I think," he sneered. "Weasley, you can partner Finnigan. Potter -"
 Harry moved automatically toward Hermione.
 "I don't think so," said Snape, smiling coldly. "Mr. Malfoy, come over here. Let's see what you make of the famous Potter. And you, Miss Granger - you can partner Miss Bulstrode."
 Malfoy strutted over, smirking. Behind him walked a Slytherin girl who reminded Harry of a picture he'd seen in Holidays with Hags. She was large and square and her heavy jaw jutted aggressively. Hermione gave her a weak smile that she did not return.
 "Face your partners!" called Lockhart, back on the platform. "And bow!"
 Harry and Malfoy barely inclined their heads, not taking their eyes off each other.
 "Wands at the ready!" shouted Lockhart. "When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponents - only to disarm them - we don't want any accidents - one ... two ... three -"
 *191*
 Harry swung his wand high, but Malfoy had already started on "two": His spell hit Harry so hard he felt as though he'd been hit over the head with a saucepan. He stumbled, but everything still seemed to be working, and wasting no more time, Harry pointed his wand straight at Malfoy and shouted, "Rictusempra!"
 A jet of silver light hit Malfoy in the stomach and he doubled up, wheezing.
 "I said disarm only!" Lockhart shouted in alarm over the heads of the battling crowd, as Malfoy sank to his knees; Harry had hit him with a Tickling Charm, and he could barely move for laughing. Harry hung back, with a vague feeling it would be unsporting to bewitch Malfoy while he was on the floor, but this was a mistake; gasping for breath, Malfoy pointed his wand at Harry's knees, choked, "Tarantallegra!" and the next second Harry's legs began to jerk around out of his control in a kind of quickstep.
 "Stop! Stop!" screamed Lockhart, but Snape took charge.
 "Finite Incantatem!" he shouted; Harry's feet stopped dancing, Malfoy stopped laughing, and they were able to look up.
 A haze of greenish smoke was hovering over the scene. Both Neville and Justin were lying on the floor, panting; Ron was holding up an ashen-faced Seamus, apologizing for whatever his broken wand had done; but Hermione and Millicent Bulstrode were still moving; Millicent had Hermione in a headlock and Hermione was whimpering in pain; both their wands lay forgotten on the floor. Harry leapt forward and pulled Millicent off. It was difficult: She was a lot bigger than he was.
 "Dear, dear," said Lockhart, skittering through the crowd, looking at the aftermath of the duels. "Up you go, Macmillan ....
 *192*
 Careful there, Miss Fawcett .... Pinch it hard, it'll stop bleeding in a second, Boot
 "I think Id better teach you how to block unfriendly spells," said Lockhart, standing flustered in the midst of the hall. He glanced at Snape, whose black eyes glinted, and looked quickly away. "Let's have a volunteer pair - Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you -"
 "A bad idea, Professor Lockhart," said Snape, gliding over like a large and malevolent bat. "Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest spells. We'll be sending what's left of Finch-Fletchley up to the hospital wing in a matchbox." Neville's round, pink face went pinker. "How about Malfoy and Potter?" said Snape with a twisted smile.
 "Excellent idea!" said Lockhart, gesturing Harry and Malfoy into the middle of the hall as the crowd backed away to give them room.
 "Now, Harry," said Lockhart. "When Draco points his wand at you, you do this."
 He raised his own wand, attempted a complicated sort of wiggling action, and dropped it. Snape smirked as Lockhart quickly picked it up, saying, "Whoops -my wand is a little overexcited -"
 Snape moved closer to Malfoy, bent down, and whispered something in his ear. Malfoy smirked, too. Harry looked up nervously at Lockhart and said, "Professor, could you show me that blocking thing again?"
 "Scared?" muttered Malfoy, so that Lockhart couldn't hear him.
 "You wish," said Harry out of the corner of his mouth.
 Lockhart cuffed Harry merrily on the shoulder. "Just do what I did, Harry!"
 "What, drop my wand?"
 But Lockhart wasn't listening.
 "Three - two - one - go!" he shouted.
 Malfoy raised his wand quickly and bellowed, "Serpensortia!"
 The end of his wand exploded. Harry watched, aghast, as a long black snake shot out of it, fell heavily onto the floor between them, and raised itself, ready to strike. There were screams as the crowd backed swiftly away, clearing the floor.
 "Don't move, Potter," said Snape lazily, clearly enjoying the sight of Harry standing motionless, eye to eye with the angry snake. "I'll get rid of it ......
 "Allow me!" shouted Lockhart. He brandished his wand at the snake and there was a loud bang; the snake, instead of vanishing, flew ten feet into the air and fell back to the floor with a loud smack. Enraged, hissing furiously, it slithered straight toward Justin Finch-Fletchley and raised itself again, fangs exposed, poised to strike.
 Harry wasn't sure what made him do it. He wasn't even aware of deciding to do it. All he knew was that his legs were carrying him forward as though he was on casters and that he had shouted stupidly at the snake, "Leave him alone!" And miraculously - inexplicably - the snake slumped to the floor, docile as a thick, black garden hose, its eyes now on Harry. Harry felt the fear drain out of him. He knew the snake wouldn't attack anyone now, though how he knew it, he couldn't have explained.
 He looked up at Justin, grinning, expecting to see Justin looking
 *194*
 relieved, or puzzled, or even grateful - but certainly not angry and scared.
 "What do you think you're playing at?" he shouted, and before Harry could say anything, Justin had turned and stormed out of the hall.
 Snape stepped forward, waved his wand, and the snake vanished in a small puff of black smoke. Snape, too, was looking at Harry in an unexpected way: It was a shrewd and calculating look, and Harry didn't like it. He was also dimly aware of an ominous muttering all around the walls. Then he felt a tugging on the back of his robes.
 "Come on," said Rods voice in his ear. "Move - come on -"
 Ron steered him out of the hall, Hermione hurrying alongside them. As they went through the doors, the people on either side drew away as though they were frightened of catching something. Harry didn't have a clue what was going on, and neither Ron nor Hermione explained anything until they had dragged him all the way up to the empty Gryffindor common room. Then Ron pushed Harry into an armchair and said, "You're a Parselmouth. Why didn't you tell us?"
 "I'm a what?" said Harry.
 A Parselmouth!" said Ron. "You can talk to snakes!"
 "I know," said Harry. "I mean, that's only the second time I've ever done it. I accidentally set a boa constrictor on my cousin Dudley at the zoo once - long story - but it was telling me it had never seen Brazil and I sort of set it free without meaning to that was before I knew I was a wizard -"
 "A boa constrictor told you it had never seen Brazil?" Ron repeated faintly.
 *195*
 "So?" said Harry. "I bet loads of people here can do it."
 "Oh, no they can't," said Ron. "It's not a very common gift. Harry, this is bad."
 "What's bad?" said Harry, starting to feel quite angry. "What's wrong with everyone? Listen, if I hadn't told that snake not to attack Justin -"
 "Oh, that's what you said to it?"
 "What d'you mean? You were there - you heard me -"
 "I heard you speaking Parseltongue," said Ron. "Snake language. You could have been saying anything - no wonder Justin panicked, you sounded like you were egging the snake on or something - it was creepy, you know -"
 Harry gaped at him.
 "I spoke a different language? But - I didn't realize - how can I speak a language without knowing I can speak it?"
 Ron shook his head. Both he and Hermione were looking as though someone had died. Harry couldn't see what was so terrible.
 "D'you want to tell me what's wrong with stopping a massive snake biting off Justin's head?" he said. "What does it matter how I did it as long as Justin doesn't have to join the Headless Hunt?"
 "It matters," said Hermione, speaking at last in a hushed voice, "because being able to talk to snakes was what Salazar Slytherin was famous for. That's why the symbol of Slytherin House is a serpent."
 Harry's mouth fell open.
 "Exactly," said Ron. "And now the whole school's going to think you're his great-great-great-great-grandson or something -"
 "But I'm not," said Harry, with a panic he couldn't quite explain.
 "You'll find that hard to prove," said Hermione. "He lived about a thousand years ago; for all we know, you could be."
 * IL96 *
 Harry lay awake for hours that night. Through a gap in the curtains around his four-poster he watched snow starting to drift past the tower window and wondered . . .
 Could he be a descendant of Salazar Slithering? He didn't know anything about his father's family, after all. The Dursleys had always forbidden questions about his wizarding relatives.
 Quietly, Harry tried to say something in Parseltongue. The words wouldn't come. It seemed he had to be face-to-face with a snake to do it.
 But I'm in Gryffindor, Harry thought. The Sorting Hat wouldn't have put me in here if I had Slytherin blood...
 Ah, said a nasty little voice in his brain, but the Sorting Hat wanted to put you in Slytherin, don't you remember?
 Harry turned over. He'd see Justin the next day in Herbology and he'd explain that he'd been calling the snake off, not egging it on, which (he thought angrily, pummeling his pillow) any fool should have realized.
 By next morning, however, the snow that had begun in the night had turned into a blizzard so thick that the last Herbology lesson of the term was canceled: Professor Sprout wanted to fit socks and scarves on the Mandrakes, a tricky operation she would entrust to no one else, now that it was so important for the Mandrakes to grow quickly and revive Mrs. Norris and Colin Creevey.
 Harry fretted about this next to the fire in the Gryffindor common room, while Ron and Hermione used their time off to play a game of wizard chess.
 "For heaven's sake, Harry," said Hermione, exasperated, as one
 *197*
 of Ron's bishops wrestled her knight off his horse and dragged him off the board. "Go and find Justin if it's so important to you."
 So Harry got up and left through the portrait hole, wondering where Justin might be.
 The castle was darker than it usually was in daytime because of the thick, swirling gray snow at every window. Shivering, Harry walked past classrooms where lessons were taking place, catching snatches of what was happening within. Professor McGonagall was shouting at someone who, by the sound of it, had turned his friend into a badger. Resisting the urge to take a look, Harry walked on by, thinking that Justin might be using his free time to catch up on some work, and deciding to check the library first.
 A group of the Hufliepuffs who should have been in Herbology were indeed sitting at the back of the library, but they didn't seem to be working. Between the long lines of high bookshelves, Harry could see that their heads were close together and they were having what looked like an absorbing conversation. He couldn't see whether Justin was among them. He was walking toward them when something of what they were saying met his ears, and he paused to listen, hidden in the Invisibility section.
 "So anyway," a stout boy was saying, "I told Justin to hide up in our dormitory. I mean to say, if Potter's marked him down as his next victim, it's best if he keeps a low profile for a while. Of course, Justin's been waiting for something like this to happen ever since he let slip to Potter he was Muggle-born. Justin actually told him he'd been down for Eton. That's not the kind of thing you bandy about with Slytherin's heir on the loose, is it?"
 "You definitely think it is Potter, then, Ernie?" said a girl with blonde pigtails anxiously.
 198
 "Hannah," said the stout boy solemnly, "he's a Parselmouth. Everyone knows that's the mark of a Dark wizard. Have you ever heard of a decent one who could talk to snakes? They called Slytherin himself Serpent-tongue."
 There was some heavy murmuring at this, and Ernie went on, "Remember what was written on the wall? Enemies of the Heir, Beware. Potter had some sort of run-in with Filch. Next thing we know, Flich's cat's attacked. That first year, Creevey, was annoying Potter at the Quidditch match, taking pictures of him while he was lying in the mud. Next thing we know - Creevey's been attacked."
 "He always seems so nice, though," said Hannah uncertainly, "and, well, he's the one who made You-Know-Who disappear. He can't be all bad, can he?"
 Ernie lowered his voice mysteriously, the Hufflepuffs bent closer, and Harry edged nearer so that he could catch Ernie's words.
 "No one knows how he survived that attack by You-Know-Who. I mean to say, he was only a baby when it happened. He should have been blasted into smithereens. Only a really powerful Dark wizard could have survived a curse like that." He dropped his voice until it was barely more than a whisper, and said, "That's probably why You- Know-Who wanted to kill him in the first place. Didn't want another Dark Lord competing with him. I wonder what other powers Potter's been hiding?"
 Harry couldn't take anymore. Clearing his throat loudly, he stepped out from behind the bookshelves. If he hadn't been feeling so angry, he would have found the sight that greeted him funny: Every one of the Hufflepuffs looked as though they had been Petrified by the sight of him, and the color was draining out of Ernie's face.
 *199*
 "Hello," said Harry. "I'm looking for Justin Finch-Fletchley."
 The Hufepuffs' worst fears had clearly been confirmed. They all looked fearfully at Ernie.
 "What do you want with him?" said Ernie in a quavering voice.
 "I wanted to tell him what really happened with that snake at the Dueling Club," said Harry.
 Ernie bit his white lips and then, taking a deep breath, said, "We were all there. We saw what happened."
 "Then you noticed that after I spoke to it, the snake backed off?" said Harry.
 "All I saw," said Ernie stubbornly, though he was trembling as he spoke, "was you speaking Parseltongue and chasing the snake toward Justin. "
 "I didn't chase it at him!" Harry said, his voice shaking with anger. "It didn't even touch him!"
 "It was a very near miss," said Ernie. "And in case you're getting ideas," he added hastily, "I might tell you that you can trace my family back through nine generations of witches and warlocks and my blood's as pure as anyone's, so -"
 - cc I don't care what sort of blood you've got!" said Harry fiercely. "Why would I want to attack Muggle-borns?"
 "I've heard you hate those Muggles you live with," said Ernie swiftly.
 "It's not possible to live with the Dursleys and not hate them," said Harry. "Id like to see you try it."
 He turned on his heel and stormed out of the library, earning himself a reproving glare from Madam Pince, who was polishing the gilded cover of a large spellbook.
 *200*
 Harry blundered up the corridor, barely noticing where he was going, he was in such a fury. The result was that he walked into something very large and solid, which knocked him backward onto the floor.
 "Oh, hello, Hagrid," Harry said, looking up.
 Hagrid's face was entirely hidden by a woolly, snow-covered balaclava, but it couldn't possibly be anyone else, as he filled most of the corridor in his moleskin overcoat. A dead rooster was hanging from one of his massive, gloved hands.
 "All righ', Harry?" he said, pulling up the balaclava so he could speak. "Why aren't yeh in class?"
 "Canceled," said Harry, getting up. "What're you doing in here?"
 Hagrid held up the limp rooster.
 "Second one killed this term," he explained. "It's either foxes or a Blood-Suckin Bugbear, an' I need the Headmaster's permission ter put a charm around the hen coop."
 He peered more closely at Harry from under his thick, snowflecked eyebrows.
 "Yeh sure yeh're all righ'? Yeh look all hot an' bothered -"
 Harry couldn't bring himself to repeat what Ernie and the rest of the Hufflepuffs had been saying about him.
 "It's nothing," he said. "Id better get going, Hagrid, it's Transfiguration next and I've got to pick up my books."
 He walked off, his mind still full of what Ernie had said about him.
 "Justin's been waiting for something like this to happen ever since he let slip to Potter he was Muggle-born .....
 * 2 0 IL *
 Harry stamped up the stairs and turned along another corridor, which was particularly dark; the torches had been extinguished by a strong, icy draft that was blowing through a loose windowpane. He was halfway down the passage when he tripped headlong over something lying on the floor.
 He turned to squint at what he'd fallen over and felt as though his stomach had dissolved.
 Justin Finch-Fletchley was lying on the floor, rigid and cold, a look of shock frozen on his face, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. And that wasn't all. Next to him was another figure, the strangest sight Harry had ever seen.
 It was Nearly Headless Nick, no longer pearly-white and transparent, but black and smoky, floating immobile and horizontal, six inches off the floor. His head was half off and his face wore an expression of shock identical to Justin's.
 Harry got to his feet, his breathing fast and shallow, his heart doing a kind of drumroll against his ribs. He looked wildly up and down the deserted corridor and saw a line of spiders scuttling as fast as they could away from the bodies. The only sounds were the muffled voices of teachers from the classes on either side.
 He could run, and no one would ever know he had been there. But he couldn't just leave them lying here .... He had to get help .... Would anyone believe he hadn't had anything to do with this?
 As he stood there, panicking, a door right next to him opened with a bang. Peeves the Poltergeist came shooting out.
 "Why, it's potty wee Potter!" cackled Peeves, knocking Harry's glasses askew as he bounced past him. "What's Potter up to? Why's Potter lurking -"
 *202*
 Peeves stopped, halfway through a midair somersault. Upside down, he spotted Justin and Nearly Headless Nick. He flipped the right way up, filled his lungs and, before Harry could stop him, screamed, "ATTACK! ATTACK! ANOTHER ATTACK! NO MORTAL OR GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! ATTAAAACK!"
 Crash - crash - crash - door after door flew open along the corridor and people flooded out. For several long minutes, there was a scene of such confusion that Justin was in danger of being squashed and people kept standing in Nearly Headless Nick. Harry found himself pinned against the wall as the teachers shouted for quiet. Professor McGonagall came running, followed by her own class, one of whom still had black-and-white-striped hair. She used her wand to set off aloud bang, which restored silence, and ordered everyone back into their classes. No sooner had the scene cleared somewhat than Ernie the Hufflepuff arrived, panting, on the scene.
 "Caught in the act!" Ernie yelled, his face stark white, pointing his finger dramatically at Harry.
 "That will do, Macmillan!" said Professor McGonagall sharply.
 Peeves was bobbing overhead, now grinning wickedly, surveying the scene; Peeves always loved chaos. As the teachers bent over Justin and Nearly Headless Nick, examining them, Peeves broke into song:
 "Oh, Potter, you rotter, oh, what have you done, You're killing off' students, you think it's good fun -"
 "That's enough Peeves!" barked Professor McGonagall, and Peeves zoomed away backward, with his tongue out at Harry.
 *203*
 Justin was carried up to the hospital wing by Professor Flitwick and Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department, but nobody seemed to know what to do for Nearly Headless Nick. In the end, Professor McGonagall conjured a large fan out of thin air, which she gave to Ernie with instructions to waft Nearly Headless Nick up the stairs. This Ernie did, fanning Nick along like a silent black hovercraft. This left Harry and Professor McGonagall alone together.
 "This way, Potter," she said.
 "Professor," said Harry at once, "I swear I didn't -"
 "This is out of my hands, Potter," said Professor McGonagall curtly.
 They marched in silence around a corner and she stopped before a large and extremely ugly stone gargoyle.
 "Lemon drop!" she said. This was evidently a password, because the gargoyle sprang suddenly to life and hopped aside as the wall behind him split in two. Even full of dread for what was coming, Harry couldn't fail to be amazed. Behind the wall was a spiral staircase that was moving smoothly upward, like an escalator. As he and Professor McGonagall stepped onto it, Harry heard the wall thud closed behind them. They rose upward in circles, higher and higher, until at last, slightly dizzy, Harry saw a gleaming oak door ahead, with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin.
 He knew now where he was being taken. This must be where Dumbledore lived.
 *204*
 CHAPTERTWELVE
 THE POLYJUICE POTION
 hey stepped off the stone staircase at the top, and Professor McGonagall rapped on the door. It opened silently and they entered. Professor McGonagall told Harry to wait and left him there, alone.
 Harry looked around. One thing was certain: of all the teachers' offices Harry had visited so far this year, Dumbledore's was by far the most interesting. If he hadn't been scared out of his wits that he was about to be thrown out of school, he would have been very pleased to have a chance to look around it.
 It was a large and beautiful circular room, full of funny little noises. A number of curious silver instruments stood on spindlelegged tables, whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke. The walls were covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom were snoozing gently in their frames. There was also an enormous, claw-footed desk, and, sitting on a shelf behind it, a shabby, tattered wizard's hat - the Sorting Hat.
 *205*
 Harry hesitated. He cast a wary eye around the sleeping witches and wizards on the walls. Surely it couldn't hurt if he took the hat down and tried it on again? Just to see ... just to make sure it had put him in the right House
 He walked quietly around the desk, lifted the hat from its shelf, and lowered it slowly onto his head. It was much too large and slipped down over his eyes, just as it had done the last time he'd put it on. Harry stared at the black inside of the hat, waiting. Then a small voice said in his ear, "Bee in your bonnet, Harry Potter?"
 "Er, yes," Harry muttered. "Er - sorry to bother you - I wanted to ask - "
 "You've been wondering whether I put you in the right House," said the hat smartly. "Yes ... you were particularly difficult to place. But I stand by what I said before" - Harry's heart leapt - "you would have done well in Slytherin -"
 Harry's stomach plummeted. He grabbed the point of the hat and pulled it off. It hung limply in his hand, grubby and faded. Harry pushed it back onto its shelf, feeling sick.
 "You're wrong," he said aloud to the still and silent hat. It didn't move. Harry backed away, watching it. Then a strange, gagging noise behind him made him wheel around.
 He wasn't alone after all. Standing on a golden perch behind the door was a decrepit-looking bird that resembled a half-plucked turkey. Harry stared at it and the bird looked balefully back, making its gagging noise again. Harry thought it looked very ill. Its eyes were dull and, even as Harry watched, a couple more feathers fell out of its tail.
 Harry was just thinking that all he needed was for Dumbledore's
 pet bird to die while he was alone in the office with it, when the bird burst into flames.
 Harry yelled in shock and backed away into the desk. He looked feverishly around in case there was a glass of water somewhere but couldn't see one; the bird, meanwhile, had become a fireball; it gave one loud shriek and next second there was nothing but a smouldering pile of ash on the floor.
 The office door opened. Dumbledore came in, looking very somber.
 "Professor," Harry gasped. "Your bird - I couldn't do anything - he just caught fire -"
 To Harry's astonishment, Dumbledore smiled.
 "About time, too," he said. "He's been looking dreadful for days; I've been telling him to get a move on."
 He chuckled at the stunned look on Harry's face.
 "Fawkes is a phoenix, Harry. Phoenixes burst into flame when it is time for them to die and are reborn from the ashes. Watch him . . ."
 Harry looked down in time to see a tiny, wrinkled, newborn bird poke its head out of the ashes. It was quite as ugly as the old one.
 "It's a shame you had to see him on a Burning Day," said Dumbledore, seating himself behind his desk. "He's really very handsome most of the time, wonderful red and gold plumage. Fascinating creatures, phoenixes. They can carry immensely heavy loads, their tears have healing powers, and they make highly faithful pets."
 In the shock of Fawkes catching fire, Harry had forgotten what he was there for, but it all came back to him as Dumbledore settled
 himself in the high chair behind the desk and fixed Harry with his penetrating, light-blue stare.
 Before Dumbledore could speak another word, however, the door of the office flew open with an almighty bang and Hagrid burst in, a wild look in his eyes, his balaclava perched on top of his shaggy black head and the dead rooster still swinging from his hand.
 "It wasn' Harry, Professor Dumbledore!" said Hagrid urgently. "I was talkin' ter him seconds before that kid was found, he never had time, sir - "
 Dumbledore tried to say something, but Hagrid went ranting on, waving the rooster around in his agitation, sending feathers everywhere.
 "- it can't've bin him, I'll swear it in front o' the Ministry o' Magic if I have to -"
 "Hagrid, I -"
 "- yeh've got the wrong boy, sir, I know Harry never '
 "Hagrid!" said Dumbledore loudly. "I do not think that Harry attacked those people."
 "Oh," said Hagrid, the rooster falling limply at his side. "Right. I'll wait outside then, Headmaster."
 And he stomped out looking embarrassed.
 "You don't think it was me, Professor?" Harry repeated hopefully as Dumbledore brushed rooster feathers off his desk.
 "No, Harry, I don't," said Dumbledore, though his face was somber again. "But I still want to talk to you."
 Harry waited nervously while Dumbledore considered him, the tips of his long fingers together.
 *208*
 "I must ask you, Harry, whether there is anything you'd like to tell me," he said gently. "Anything at all."
 Harry didn't know what to say. He thought of Malfoy shouting, "You'll be next, Mudbloods!" and of the Polyjuice Potion simmering away in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Then he thought of the disembodied voice he had heard twice and remembered what Ron had said: "Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world." He thought, too, about what everyone was saying about him, and his growing dread that he was somehow connected with Salazar Slytherin ....
 "No," said Harry. "There isn't anything, Professor . . . ."
 The double attack on Justin and Nearly Headless Nick turned what had hitherto been nervousness into real panic. Curiously, it was Nearly Headless Nick's fate that seemed to worry people most. What could possibly do that to a ghost? people asked each other; what terrible power could harm someone who was already dead? There was almost a stampede to book seats on the Hogwarts Express so that students could go home for Christmas.
 "At this rate, we'll be the only ones left," Ron told Harry and Hermione. "Us, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. What a jolly holiday it's going to be."
 Crabbe and Goyle, who always did whatever Malfoy did, had signed up to stay over the holidays, too. But Harry was glad that most people were leaving. He was tired of people skirting around him in the corridors, as though he was about to sprout fangs or spit poison; tired of all the muttering, pointing, and hissing as he passed.
 *209*
 Fred and George, however, found all this very funny. They went out of their way to march ahead of Harry down the corridors, shouting, "Make way for the Heir of Slytherin, seriously evil wizard coming through ......
 Percy was deeply disapproving of this behavior.
 "It is not a laughing matter," he said coldly.
 "Oh, get out of the way, Percy," said Fred. "Harry's in a hurry."
 "Yeah, he's off to the Chamber of Secrets for a cup of tea with his fanged servant," said George, chortling.
 Ginny didn't find it amusing either.
 "Oh, don't," she wailed every time Fred asked Harry loudly who he was planning to attack next, or when George pretended to ward Harry off with a large clove of garlic when they met.
 Harry didn't mind; it made him feel better that Fred and George, at least, thought the idea of his being Slytherin's heir was quite ludicrous. But their antics seemed to be aggravating Draco Malfoy, who looked increasingly sour each time he saw them at it.
 "It's because he's bursting to say it's really him," said Ron knowingly. "You know how he hates anyone beating him at anything, and you're getting all the credit for his dirty work."
 "Not for long," said Hermione in a satisfied tone. "The Polyjuice Potion's nearly ready. We'll be getting the truth out of him any day now."
 At last the term ended, and a silence deep as the snow on the grounds descended on the castle. Harry found it peaceful, rather than gloomy, and enjoyed the fact that he, Hermione, and the Weasleys had the run of Gryffindor Tower, which meant they could
 *210*
 play Exploding Snap loudly without bothering anyone, and practice dueling in private. Fred, George, and Ginny had chosen to stay at school rather than visit Bill in Egypt with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Percy, who disapproved of what he termed their childish behavior, didn't spend much time in the Gryffindor common room. He had already told them pompously that he was only staying over Christmas because it was his duty as a prefect to support the teachers during this troubled time.
 Christmas morning dawned, cold and white. Harry and Ron, the only ones left in their dormitory, were woken very early by Hermione, who burst in, fully dressed and carrying presents for them both.
 "Wake up," she said loudly, pulling back the curtains at the window.
 "Hermione - you're not supposed to be in here -" said Ron, shielding his eyes against the light.
 "Merry Christmas to you, too," said Hermione, throwing him his present. "I've been up for nearly an hour, adding more lacewings to the potion. It's ready."
 Harry sat up, suddenly wide awake.
 "Are you sure?"
 "Positive," said Hermione, shifting Scabbers the rat so that she could sit down on the end of Ron's four-poster. "If we're going to do it, I say it should be tonight."
 At that moment, Hedwig swooped into the room, carrying a very small package in her beak.
 "Hello," said Harry happily as she landed on his bed. "Are you speaking to me again?"
 211
 She nibbled his ear in an affectionate sort of way, which was a far better present than the one that she had brought him, which turned out to be from the Dursleys. They had sent Harry a toothpick and a note telling him to find out whether he'd be able to stay at Hogwarts for the summer vacation, too.
 The rest of Harry's Christmas presents were far more satisfactory. Hagrid had sent him a large tin of treacle fudge, which Harry decided to soften by the fire before eating; Ron had given him a book called Flying with the Cannons, a book of interesting facts about his favorite Quidditch team, and Hermione had bought him a luxury eagle-feather quill. Harry opened the last present to find a new, hand-knitted sweater from Mrs. Weasley and a large plum cake. He read her card with a fresh surge of guilt, thinking about Mr. Weasley's car (which hadn't been seen since its crash with the Whomping Willow), and the bout of rule-breaking he and Ron were planning next.
 No one, not even someone dreading taking Polyjuice Potion later, could fail to enjoy Christmas dinner at Hogwarts.
 The Great Hall looked magnificent. Not only were there a dozen frost-covered Christmas trees and thick streamers of holly and mistletoe crisscrossing the ceiling, but enchanted snow was falling, warm and dry, from the ceiling. Dumbledore led them in a few of his favorite carols, Hagrid booming more and more loudly with every goblet of eggnog he consumed. Percy, who hadn't noticed that Fred had bewitched his prefect badge so that it now read "Pinhead," kept asking them all what they were sniggering at. Harry didn't even care that Draco Malfoy was making loud, snide remarks
 * 2:L2 *
 about his new sweater from the Slytherin table. With a bit of luck, Malfoy would be getting his comeuppance in a few hours' time.
 Harry and Ron had barely finished their third helpings of Christmas pudding when Hermione ushered them out of the hall to finalize their plans for the evening.
 "We still need a bit of the people you're changing into," said Hermione matter-of-facdy, as though she were sending them to the supermarket for laundry detergent. "And obviously, it'll be best if you can get something of Crabbe's and Goyle's; they're Malfoys best friends, he'll tell them anything. And we also need to make sure the real Crabbe and Goyle can't burst in on us while we're interrogating him.
 "I've got it all worked out," she went on smoothly, ignoring Harry's and Ron's stupefied faces. She held up two plump chocolate cakes. "I've filled these with a simple Sleeping Draught. All you have to do is make sure Crabbe and Goyle find them. You know how greedy they are, they're bound to eat them. Once they're asleep, pull out a few of their hairs and hide them in a broom closet."
 Harry and Ron looked incredulously at each other.
 "Hermione, I don't think -"
 "That could go seriously wrong -"
 But Hermione had a steely glint in her eye not unlike the one Professor McGonagall sometimes had.
 "The potion will be useless without Crabbe's and Goyle's hair," she said sternly. "You do want to investigate Malfoy, don't you?"
 "Oh, all right, all right," said Harry. "But what about you? Whose hair are you ripping out?"
 *213*
 "I've already got mine!" said Hermione brightly, pulling a tiny bottle out of her pocket and showing them the single hair inside it. "Remember Millicent Bulstrode wrestling with me at the Dueling Club? She left this on my robes when she was trying to strangle me! And she's gone home for Christmas - so I'll just have to tell the Slytherins I've decided to come back."
 When Hermione had bustled off to check on the Polyjuice Potion again, Ron turned to Harry with a doom-laden expression.
 "Have you ever heard of a plan where so many things could go wrong?"
 But to Harry's and Ron's utter amazement, stage one of the operation went just as smoothly as Hermione had said. They lurked in the deserted entrance hall after Christmas tea, waiting for Crabbe and Goyle who had remained alone at the Slytherin table, shoveling down fourth helpings of trifle. Harry had perched the chocolate cakes on the end of the banisters. When they spotted Crabbe and Goyle coming out of the Great Hall, Harry and Ron hid quickly behind a suit of armor next to the front door.
 "How thick can you get?" Ron whispered ecstatically as Crabbe gleefully pointed out the cakes to Goyle and grabbed them. Grinning stupidly, they stuffed the cakes whole into their large mouths. For a moment, both of them chewed greedily, looks of triumph on their faces. Then, without the smallest change of expression, they both keeled over backward onto the floor.
 By far the hardest part was hiding them in the closet across the hall. Once they were safely stowed among the buckets and mops, Harry yanked out a couple of the bristles that covered Goyle's fore
 * 2 14 *
 head and Ron pulled out several of Crabbe's hairs. They also stole their shoes, because their own were far too small for Crabbe- and Goyle-size feet. Then, still stunned at what they had just done, they sprinted up to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.
 They could hardly see for the thick black smoke issuing from the stall in which Hermione was stirring the cauldron. Pulling their robes up over their faces, Harry and Ron knocked softly on the door.
 "Hermione?"
 They heard the scrape of the lock and Hermione emerged, shiny- faced and looking anxious. Behind her they heard the gloop gloop of the bubbling, glutinous potion. Three glass tumblers stood ready on the toilet seat.
 "Did you get them?" Hermione asked breathlessly.
 Harry showed her Goyle's hair.
 "Good. And I sneaked these spare robes out of the laundry," Hermione said, holding up a small sack. "You'll need bigger sizes once you're Crabbe and Goyle."
 The three of them stared into the cauldron. Close up, the potion looked like thick, dark mud, bubbling sluggishly.
 "I'm sure I've done everything right," said Hermione, nervously rereading the splotched page of Moste Potente Potions. "It looks like the book says it should ... once we've drunk it, we'll have exactly an hour before we change back into ourselves."
 "Now what?" Ron whispered.
 "We separate it into three glasses and add the hairs."
 Hermione ladled large dollops of the potion into each of the glasses. Then, her hand trembling, she shook Millicent Bulstrode's hair out of its bottle into the first glass.
 *215*
 The potion hissed loudly like a boiling kettle and frothed madly. A second later, it had turned a sick sort of yellow.
 "Urgh - essence of Millicent Bulstrode," said Ron, eyeing it with loathing. "Bet it tastes disgusting."
 "Add yours, then," said Hermione.
 Harry dropped Goyle's hair into the middle glass and Ron put Crabbe's into the last one. Both glasses hissed and frothed: Goyle's turned the khaki color of a booger, Crabbe's a dark, murky brown.
 "Hang on," said Harry as Ron and Hermione reached for their glasses. "We'd better not all drink them in here .... Once we turn into Crabbe and Goyle we won't fit. And Millicent Bulstrode's no pixie.
 "Good thinking," said Ron, unlocking the door. "We'll take separate stalls."
 Careful not to spill a drop of his Polyjuice Potion, Harry slipped into the middle stall.
 "Ready?" he called.
 "Ready," came Ron's and Hermione's voices.
 "One - two - three -"
 Pinching his nose, Harry drank the potion down in two large gulps. It tasted like overcooked cabbage.
 Immediately, his insides started writhing as though he'd just swallowed live snakes - doubled up, he wondered whether he was going to be sick - then a burning sensation spread rapidly from his stomach to the very ends of his fingers and toes - next, bringing him gasping to all fours, came a horrible melting feeling, as the skin all over his body bubbled like hot wax - and before his eyes, his hands began to grow, the fingers thickened, the nails broadened,
 * 2116 *
 the knuckles were bulging like bolts -his shoulders stretched painfully and a prickling on his forehead told him that hair was creeping down toward his eyebrows - his robes ripped as his chest expanded like a barrel bursting its hoops - his feet were agony in shoes four sizes too small
 As suddenly as it had started, everything stopped. Harry lay facedown on the stone-cold floor, listening to Myrtle gurgling morosely in the end toilet. With difficulty, he kicked off his shoes and stood up. So this was what it felt like, being Goyle. His large hand trembling, he pulled off his old robes, which were hanging a foot above his ankles, pulled on the spare ones, and laced up Goyle's boatlike shoes. He reached up to brush his hair out of his eyes and met only the short growth of wiry bristles, low on his forehead. Then he realized that his glasses were clouding his eyes because Goyle obviously didn't need them - he took them off and called, "Are you two okay?" Goyle's low rasp of a voice issued from his mouth.
 "Yeah," came the deep grunt of Crabbe from his right.
 Harry unlocked his door and stepped in front of the cracked mirror. Goyle stared back at him out of dull, deepset eyes. Harry scratched his ear. So did Goyle.
 Ron's door opened. They stared at each other. Except that he looked pale and shocked, Ron was indistinguishable from Crabbe, from the pudding-bowl haircut to the long, gorilla arms.
 "This is unbelievable," said Ron, approaching the mirror and prodding Crabbe's flat nose. "Unbelievable. "
 "We'd better get going," said Harry, loosening the watch that was cutting into Goyle's thick wrist. "We've still got to find out
 * 217*
 where the Slytherin common room is. I only hope we can find someone to follow. . ."
 Ron, who had been gazing at Harry, said, "You don't know how bizarre it is to see Goyle thinking." He banged on Hermione's door. "C'mon, we need to go -"
 A high-pitched voice answered him.
 "I - I don't think I'm going to come after all. You go on without me.
 "Hermione, we know Millicent Bulstrode's ugly, no one's going to know it's you -"
 "No - really - I don't think I'll come. You two hurry up, you re wasting time
 Harry looked at Ron, bewildered.
 "That looks more like Goyle," said Ron. "That's how he looks every time a teacher asks him a question."
 "Hermione, are you okay?" said Harry through the door.
 "Fine - I'm fine - go on -"
 Harry looked at his watch. Five of their precious sixty minutes had already passed.
 "We'll meet you back here, all right?" he said.
 Harry and Ron opened the door of the bathroom carefully, checked that the coast was clear, and set off.
 "Don't swing your arms like that," Harry muttered to Ron.
 "Eh?"
 "Crabbe holds them sort of stiff . . . ."
 "How's this?"
 "Yeah, that's better . . . ."
 They went down the marble staircase. All they needed now was
 *218*
 a Slytherin that they could follow to the Slytherin common room, but there was nobody around.
 "Any ideas?" muttered Harry.
 "The Slytherins always come up to breakfast from over there," said Ron, nodding at the entrance to the dungeons. The words had barely left his mouth when a girl with long, curly hair emerged from the entrance.
 "Excuse me," said Ron, hurrying up to her. "We've forgotten the way to our common room."
 "I beg your pardon?" said the girl stiffly. "Our common room? I'm a Ravenclaw."
 She walked away, looking suspiciously back at them.
 Harry and Ron hurried down the stone steps into the darkness, their footsteps echoing particularly loudly as Crabbe's and Goyle's huge feet hit the floor, feeling that this wasn't going to be as easy as they had hoped.
 The labyrinthine passages were deserted. They walked deeper and deeper under the school, constantly checking their watches to see how much time they had left. After a quarter of an hour, just when they were getting desperate, they heard a sudden movement ahead.
 "Ha!" said Ron excitedly. "There's one of them now!"
 The figure was emerging from a side room. As they hurried nearer, however, their hearts sank. It wasn't a Slytherin, it was Percy.
 "What're you doing down here?" said Ron in surprise.
 Percy looked affronted.
 "That," he said stiffly, "is none of your business. It's Crabbe, isn't it?"
 2 19
 "Wh - oh, yeah," said Ron.
 "Well, get off to your dormitories," said Percy sternly. "It's not safe to go wandering around dark corridors these days."
 "You are," Ron pointed out.
 "I," said Percy, drawing himself up, "am a prefect. Nothing's about to attack me."
 A voice suddenly echoed behind Harry and Ron. Draco Malfoy was strolling toward them, and for the first time in his life, Harry was pleased to see him.
 "There you are," he drawled, looking at them. "Have you two been pigging out in the Great Hall all this time? I've been looking for you; I want to show you something really funny."
 Malfoy glanced witheringly at Percy.
 "And what're you doing down here, Weasley?" he sneered.
 Percy looked outraged.
 "You want to show a bit more respect to a school prefect!" he said. "I don't like your attitude!"
 Malfoy sneered and motioned for Harry and Ron to follow him. Harry almost said something apologetic to Percy but caught himself just in time. He and Ron hurried after Malfoy, who said as they turned into the next passage, "That Peter Weasley -"
 "Percy," Ron corrected him automatically.
 "Whatever," said Malfoy. "I've noticed him sneaking around a lot lately. And I bet I know what he's up to. He thinks he's going to catch Slytherin's heir single-handed."
 He gave a short, derisive laugh. Harry and Ron exchanged excited looks.
 Malfoy paused by a stretch of bare, damp stone wall.
 * 220 *
 "What's the new password again?" he said to Harry.
 "Er -" said Harry.
 "Oh, yeah -pure-blood!" said Malfoy, not listening, and a stone door concealed in the wall slid open. Malfoy marched through it, and Harry and Ron followed him.
 The Slytherin common room was a long, low underground room with rough stone walls and ceiling from which round, greenish lamps were hanging on chains. A fire was crackling under an elaborately carved mantelpiece ahead of them, and several Slytherins were silhouetted around it in high-backed chairs.
 "Wait here," said Malfoy to Harry and Ron, motioning them to a pair of empty chairs set back from the fire. "I'll go and get it my father's just sent it to me -"
 Wondering what Malfoy was going to show them, Harry and Ron sat down, doing their best to look at home.
 Malfoy came back a minute later, holding what looked like a newspaper clipping. He thrust it under Ron's nose.
 "That'll give you a laugh," he said.
 Harry saw Ron's eyes widen in shock. He read the clipping quickly, gave a very forced laugh, and handed it to Harry.
 It had been clipped out of the Daily Prophet, and it said:
 INQUIRY AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC
 Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, was today fined fifty Galleons for bewitching a Muggle car.
 Mr. Lucius Malfoy, a governor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where the
 221
 enchanted car crashed earlier this year, called today for Mr. Weasley's resignation.
 "Weasley has brought the Ministry into disrepute," Mr. Malfoy told our reporter. "He is clearly unfit to draw up our laws and his ridiculous Muggle Protection Act should be scrapped immediately."
 Mr. Weasley was unavailable for comment, although his wife told reporters to clear off or she'd set the family ghoul on them.
 "Well?" said Malfoy impatiently as Harry handed the clipping back to him. "Don't you think it's funny?"
 "Ha, ha," said Harry bleakly.
 "Arthur Weasley loves Muggles so much he should snap his wand in half and go and join them," said Malfoy scornfully. "You'd never know the Weasleys were pure-bloods, the way they behave."
 Ron's - or rather, Crabbe's - face was contorted with fury.
 "What's up with you, Crabbe?" snapped Malfoy.
 "Stomachache," Ron grunted.
 "Well, go up to the hospital wing and give all those Mudbloods a kick from me," said Malfoy, snickering. "You know, I'm surprised the Daily Prophet hasn't reported all these attacks yet," he went on thoughtfully. "I suppose Dumbledore's trying to hush it all up. He'll be sacked if it doesn't stop soon. Father's always said old Dumbledore's the worst thing that's ever happened to this place. He loves Muggle-borns. A decent headmaster would never've let slime like that Creevey in."
 *222*
 Malfoy started taking pictures with an imaginary camera and did a cruel but accurate impression of Colin: "Potter, can I have your picture, Potter? Can I have your autograph? Can I lick your shoes, please, Potter?"'
 He dropped his hands and looked at Harry and Ron.
 "What's the matter with you two?"
 Far too late, Harry and Ron forced themselves to laugh, but Malfoy seemed satisfied; perhaps Crabbe and Goyle were always slow on the uptake.
 "Saint Potter, the Mudbloods' friend," said Malfoy slowly. "He's another one with no proper wizard feeling, or he wouldn't go around with that jumped up Granger Mudblood. And people think he's Slytherin's heir!"
 Harry and Ron waited with bated breath: Malfoy was surely seconds away from telling them it was him - but then
 "I wish I knew who it is," said Malfoy petulantly. "I could help them."
 Ron's jaw dropped so that Crabbe looked even more clueless than usual. Fortunately, Malfoy didn't notice, and Harry, thinking fast, said, "You must have some idea who's behind it all ......
 "You know I haven't, Goyle, how many times do I have to tell you?" snapped Malfoy. "And Father won't tell me anything about the last time the Chamber was opened either. Of course, it was fifty years ago, so it was before his time, but he knows all about it, and he says that it was all kept quiet and it'll look suspicious if I know too much about it. But I know one thing - last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened, a Mudblood died. So I bet it's a matter of time before one of them's killed this time .... I hope it's Granger," he said with relish.
 Ron was clenching Crabbe's gigantic fists. Feeling that it would be a bit of a giveaway if Ron punched Malfoy, Harry shot him a warning look and said, "D'you know if the person who opened the Chamber last time was caught?"
 "Oh, yeah ... whoever it was was expelled," said Malfoy. "They're probably still in Azkaban."
 "Azkaban?" said Harry, puzzled.
 "Azkaban - the wizard prison, Goyle," said Malfoy, looking at him in disbelief "Honestly, if you were any slower, you'd be going backward."
 He shifted restlessly in his chair and said, "Father says to keep my head down and let the Heir of Slytherin get on with it. He says the school needs ridding of all the Mudblood filth, but not to get mixed up in it. Of course, he's got a lot on his plate at the moment. You know the Ministry of Magic raided our manor last week?"
 Harry tried to force Goyle's dull face into a look of concern.
 "Yeah. . ." said Malfoy. "Luckily, they didn't find much. Father's got some very valuable Dark Arts stuff. But luckily, we've got our own secret chamber under the drawing-room floor -"
 "Ho!" said Ron.
 Malfoy looked at him. So did Harry. Ron blushed. Even his hair was turning red. His nose was also slowly lengthening - their hour was up, Ron was turning back into himself, and from the look of horror he was suddenly giving Harry, he must be, too.
 They both jumped to their feet.
 "Medicine for my stomach," Ron grunted, and without further ado they sprinted the length of the Slytherin common room, hurled themselves at the stone wall, and dashed up the passage, hoping against hope that Malfoy hadn't noticed anything. Harry
 224
 could feel his feet slipping around in Goyle's huge shoes and had to hoist up his robes as he shrank; they crashed up the steps into the dark entrance hall, which was full of a muffled pounding coming from the closet where they'd locked Crabbe and Goyle. Leaving their shoes outside the closet door, they sprinted in their socks up the marble staircase toward Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.
 "Well, it wasn't a complete waste of time," Ron panted, closing the bathroom door behind them. "I know we still haven't found out who's doing the attacks, but I'm going to write to Dad tomorrow and tell him to check under the Malfoys' drawing room."
 Harry checked his face in the cracked mirror. He was back to normal. He put his glasses on as Ron hammered on the door of Hermione's stall.
 "Hermione, come out, we've got loads to tell you -"
 "Go away!" Hermione squeaked.
 Harry and Ron looked at each other.
 "What's the matter?" said Ron. "You must be back to normal by now, we are
 But Moaning Myrtle glided suddenly through the stall door. Harry had never seen her looking so happy.
 "Ooooooh, wait till you see," she said. "It's awful-"
 They heard the lock slide back and Hermione emerged, sobbing, her robes pulled up over her head.
 "What's up?" said Ron uncertainly. "Have you still got Millicent's nose or something?"
 Hermione let her robes fall and Ron backed into the sink.
 Her face was covered in black fur. Her eyes had turned yellow and there were long, pointed ears poking through her hair.
 "It was a c-cat hair!" she howled. "M-Millicent Bulstrode
 *225*
 m-must have a cat! And the p-potion isn't supposed to be used for animal transformations!"
 "Uh-oh," said Ron.
 "You'll be teased something dreadful," said Myrtle happily.
 "It's okay, Hermione," said Harry quickly. "We'll take you up to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey never asks too many questions ......
 It took a long time to persuade Hermione to leave the bathroom. Moaning Myrtle sped them on their way with a hearty guffaw. "Wait till everyone finds out you've got a tail!"
 ermione remained in the hospital wing for several weeks. There was a flurry of rumor about her disappearance when the rest of the school arrived back from their Christmas holidays, because of course everyone thought that she had been attacked. So many students filed past the hospital wing trying to catch a glimpse of her that Madam Pomfrey took out her curtains again and placed them around Hermione's bed, to spare her the shame of being seen with a furry face.
 Harry and Ron went to visit her every evening. When the new term started, they brought her each day's homework.
 "If Id sprouted whiskers, Id take a break from work," said Ron, tipping a stack of books onto Hermione's bedside table one evening.
 "Don't be silly, Ron, I've got to keep up," said Hermione briskly. Her spirits were greatly improved by the fact that all the hair had
 * "21 *
 gone from her face and her eyes were turning slowly back to brown. "I don't suppose you've got any new leads?" she added in a whisper, so that Madam Pomfrey couldn't hear her.
 "Nothing," said Harry gloomily.
 "I was so sure it was Malfoy," said Ron, for about the hundredth time.
 "What's that?" asked Harry, pointing to something gold sticking out from under Hermione's pillow.
 "Just a get well card," said Hermione hastily, trying to poke it out of sight, but Ron was too quick for her. He pulled it out, flicked it open, and read aloud:
 "To Miss Granger, wishing you a speedy recovery, from your concerned teacher, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most- Charming-Smile Award. "
 Ron looked up at Hermione, disgusted.
 "You sleep with this under your pillow?"
 But Hermione was spared answering by Madam Pomfrey sweeping over with her evening dose of medicine.
 "Is Lockhart the smarmiest bloke you've ever met, or what?" Ron said to Harry as they left the infirmary and started up the stairs toward Gryffindor Tower. Snape had given them so much homework, Harry thought he was likely to be in the sixth year before he finished it. Ron was just saying he wished he had asked Hermione how many rat tails you were supposed to add to a HairRaising Potion when an angry outburst from the floor above reached their ears.
 "That's Filch," Harry muttered as they hurried up the stairs and paused, out of sight, listening hard.
 * 228*
 "You don't think someone else's been attacked?" said Ron tensely.
 They stood still, their heads inclined toward Flich's voice, which sounded quite hysterical.
 even more work for me! Mopping all night, like I haven't got enough to do! No, this is the final straw, I'm going to Dumbledore -"
 His footsteps receded along the out-of-sight corridor and they heard a distant door slam.
 They poked their heads around the corner. Filch had clearly been manning his usual lookout post: They were once again on the spot where Mrs. Norris had been attacked. They saw at a glance what Filch 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 Filch had stopped shouting, they could hear Myrtle's wails echoing off the bathroom walls.
 "Now what's up with her?" said Ron.
 "Let's go and see," said Harry, 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 Harry.
 "Who's that?" glugged Myrtle miserably. "Come to throw something else at me?"
 Harry waded across to her stall and said, "Why would I throw something at you?"
 *229*
 "Don't ask me," Myrtle shouted, emerging with a wave of yet more water, which splashed onto the already sopping floor. "Here I am, minding my own business, and someone thinks it's funny to throw a book at me ......
 "But it can't hurt you if someone throws something at you," said Harry, reasonably. "I mean, it'd just go right through you, wouldn't it?"
 He 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!"
 "Who threw it at you, anyway?" asked Harry.
 "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 ......
 Harry and Ron 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. Harry stepped forward to pick it up, but Ron suddenly flung out an arm to hold him back.
 "What?" said Harry.
 "Are you crazy?" said Ron. "It could be dangerous."
 "Dangerous?"said Harry, laughing. "Come off it, how could it be dangerous?"
 "You'd be surprised," said Ron, 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
 *2%0*
 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 -"
 "All right, I've got the point," said Harry.
 The little book lay on the floor, nondescript and soggy.
 "Well, we won't find out unless we look at it," he said, and he ducked around Ron and picked it up off the floor.
 Harry saw at once that it was a diary, and the faded year on the cover told him it was fifty years old. He opened it eagerly. On the first page he could just make out the name "T M. Riddle" in smudged ink.
 "Hang on," said Ron, who had approached cautiously and was looking over Harry's shoulder. "I know that name .... T. M. Riddle got an award for special services to the school fifty years ago."
 "How on earth d'you know that?" said Harry in amazement.
 "Because Filch made me polish his shield about fifty times in detention," said Ron resentfully. "That was the one I burped slugs all over. If you'd wiped slime off a name for an hour, you'd remember it, too."
 Harry peeled the wet pages apart. They were completely blank. There wasn't the faintest trace of writing on any of them, not even Auntie Mabel's birthday, or dentist, half-past three.
 "He never wrote in it," said Harry, disappointed.
 "I wonder why someone wanted to flush it away?" said Ron curiously.
 Harry turned to the back cover of the book and saw the printed name of a variety store on Vauxhall Road, London.
 *231 *
 "He must've been Muggle-born," said Harry thoughtfufly. "To have bought a diary from Vauxhall Road ......
 "Well, it's not much use to you," said Ron. He dropped his voice. "Fifty points if you can get it through Myrtle's nose."
 Harry, however, pocketed it.
 Hermione left the hospital wing, de-whiskered, tail-less, and furfree, at the beginning of February. On her first evening back in Gryffindor Tower, Harry showed her T. M. Riddle's diary and told her the story of how they had found it.
 "Oooh, it might have hidden powers," said Hermione enthusiastically, taking the diary and looking at it closely.
 "If it has, it's hiding them very well," said Ron. "Maybe it's shy. I don't know why you don't chuck it, Harry."
 "I wish I knew why someone did try to chuck it," said Harry. "I wouldn't mind knowing how Riddle got an award for special services to Hogwarts either."
 "Could've been anything," said Ron. "Maybe he got thirty O.WL.s or saved a teacher from the giant squid. Maybe he murdered Myrtle; that would've done everyone a favor .....
 But Harry could tell from the arrested look on Hermione's face that she was thinking what he was thinking.
 "What?" said Ron, looking from one to the other.
 "Well, the Chamber of Secrets was opened fifty years ago, wasn't it?" he said. "That's what Malfoy said."
 "Yeah. . ." said Ron slowly.
 "And this diary is fifty years old," said Hermione, tapping it excitedly.
 *232*
 a so?
 .
 "Oh, Ron, wake up," snapped Hermione. "We know the person who opened the Chamber last time was expelled fifty years ago. We know T. M. Riddle got an award for special services to the school fifty years ago. Well, what if Riddle got his special award for catching the Heir of Slytherin? His diary would probably tell us everything - where the Chamber is, and 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?"
 "That's a brilliant theory, Hermione," said Ron, "with just one tiny little flaw. There's nothing written in his diary."
 But Hermione was pulling her wand out of her bag.
 "It might be invisible ink!" she whispered.
 She tapped the diary three times and said, "Aparecium!"
 Nothing happened. Undaunted, Hermione shoved her hand back into her bag and pulled out what appeared to be a bright red eraser.
 "It's a Revealer, I got it in Diagon Alley," she said.
 She rubbed hard on January first. Nothing happened.
 "I'm telling you, there's nothing to find in there," said Ron. "Riddle just got a diary for Christmas and couldn't be bothered filling it in."
 Harry couldn't explain, even to himself, why he didn't just throw Riddle's diary away. The fact was that even though he knew the diary was blank, he kept absentmindedly picking it up and turning the pages, as though it were a story he wanted to finish. And while Harry was sure he had never heard the name T. M. Riddle before, it still seemed to mean something to him, almost as though
 * 233 *
 Riddle was a friend he'd had when he was very small, and had halfforgotten. But this was absurd. He'd never had friends before Hogwarts, Dudley had made sure of that.
 Nevertheless, Harry was determined to find out more about Riddle, so next day at break, he headed for the trophy room to examine Riddle's special award, accompanied by an interested Hermione and a thoroughly unconvinced Ron, who told them he'd seen enough of the trophy room to last him a lifetime.
 Riddle's burnished gold shield was tucked away in a corner cabinet. It didn't carry details of why it had been given to him ("Good thing, too, or it'd be even bigger and Id still be polishing it," said Ron). However, they did find Riddle's name on an old Medal for Magical Merit, and on a list of old Head Boys.
 "He sounds like Percy," said Ron, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "Prefect, Head Boy ... probably top of every class -"
 "You say that like it's a bad thing," said Hermione in a slightly hurt voice.
 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 Justin and Nearly Headless Nick, and Madam Pomfrey 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," Harry heard her telling Filch kindly one afternoon. "And after that, it won't be long until we're cutting them up and stewing them. You'll have Mrs. Norris back in no time."
 * 243 *
 Perhaps the Heir of Slytherin had lost his or her nerve, thought Harry. It must be getting riskier and riskier to open the Chamber of Secrets, 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 ....
 Ernie Macmillan of Hufflepuff didn't take this cheerful view. He was still convinced that Harry was the guilty one, that he had "given himself away" at the Dueling Club. Peeves wasn't helping matters; he kept popping up in the crowded corridors singing "Oh, Potter, you rotter . . ." now with a dance routine to match.
 Gilderoy Lockhart seemed to think he himself had made the attacks stop. Harry overheard him telling Professor McGonagall so while the Gryffindors were lining up for Transfiguration.
 "I don't think there'll be any more trouble, Minerva," he said, tapping his nose knowingly and winking. "I think the Chamber has been locked for good this time. The culprit must have known it was only a matter of time before I caught him. Rather sensible to stop now, before I came down hard on him.
 "You know, what the school needs now is a morale-booster. Wash away the memories of 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.
 Lockhart's idea of a morale-booster became clear at breakfast time on February fourteenth. Harry hadn't had much sleep because of a late- running Quidditch practice the night before, and he hurried down to the Great Hall, slightly late. He thought, for a moment, that he'd walked through the wrong doors.
 The walls were all covered with large, lurid pink flowers. Worse
 * 235*
 still, heart-shaped confetti was falling from the pale blue ceiling. Harry went over to the Gryffindor table, where Ron was sitting looking sickened, and Hermione seemed to have been overcome with giggles.
 "What's going on?" Harry asked them, sitting down and wiping confetti off his bacon.
 Ron pointed to the teachers' table, apparently too disgusted to speak. Lockhart, 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 he sat, Harry could see a muscle going in Professor McGonagall's cheek. Snape looked as though someone had just fed him a large beaker of Skele-Gro.
 "Happy Valentine's Day!" Lockhart shouted. "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!"
 Lockhart clapped his hands and through the doors to the entrance hall marched a dozen surly-looking dwarfs. Not just any dwarfs, however. Lockhart had them all wearing golden wings and carrying harps.
 "My friendly, card-carrying cupids!" beamed Lockhart. "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! Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion! And while you're at it, Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I've ever met, the sly old dog!"
 Professor Flitwick buried his face in his hands. Snape was look
 * 236
 ing as though the first person to ask him for a Love Potion would be force-fed poison.
 "Please, Hermione, tell me you weren't one of the forty-six, 51 said Ron as they left the Great Hall for their first lesson. Hermione suddenly became very interested in searching her bag for her schedule and didn't answer.
 All day long, the dwarfs kept barging into their classes to deliver valentines, to the annoyance of the teachers, and late that afternoon as the Gryffindors were walking upstairs for Charms, one of the dwarfs caught up with Harry.
 "Oy, you! 'Arty Potter!" shouted a particularly grim-looking dwarf, elbowing people out of the way to get to Harry.
 Hot all over at the thought of being given a valentine in front of a line of first years, which happened to include Ginny Weasley, Harry tried to escape. The dwarf, however, cut his way through the crowd by kicking people's shins, and reached him before he'd gone two paces.
 "I've got a musical message to deliver to 'Arry Potter in person," he said, twanging his harp in a threatening sort of way.
 "Not here," Harry hissed, trying to escape.
 "Stay still!" grunted the dwarf, grabbing hold of Harry's bag and pulling him back.
 "Let me go!" Harry snarled, tugging.
 With a loud ripping noise, his bag split in two. His books, wand, parchment, and quill spilled onto the floor and his ink bottle smashed over everything.
 Harry scrambled around, trying to pick it all up before the dwarf started singing, causing something of a holdup in the corridor.
 *237*
 "What's going on here?" came the cold, drawling voice of Draco Malfoy. Harry started stuffing everything feverishly into his ripped bag, desperate to get away before Malfoy could hear his musical valentine.
 "What's all this commotion?" said another familiar voice as Percy Weasley arrived.
 Losing his head, Harry tried to make a run for it, but the dwarf seized him around the knees and brought him crashing to the floor.
 "Right," he said, sitting on Harry's ankles. "Here is your singing valentine:
 His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,
 His hair is as dark as a blackboard. I wish he was mine, he's really divine, The hero who conquered the Dark Lord
 Harry would have given all the gold in Gringotts to evaporate on the spot. Trying valiantly to laugh along with everyone else, he got up, his feet numb from the weight of the dwarf, as Percy Weasley did his best to disperse the crowd, some of whom were crying with mirth.
 "Off you go, off you go, the bell rang five minutes ago, off to class, now," he said, shooing some of the younger students away. "And you, Malfoy-"
 Harry, glancing over, saw Malfoy stoop and snatch up something. Leering, he showed it to Crabbe and Goyle, and Harry realized that he'd got Riddle's diary.
 "Give that back," said Harry quietly.
 "Wonder what Potter's written in this?" said Malfoy, who obvi
 * 238
 ously hadn't noticed the year on the cover and thought he had Harry's own diary. A hush fell over the onlookers. Ginny was staring from the diary to Harry, looking terrified.
 "Hand it over, Malfoy," said Percy sternly.
 "When I've had a look," said Malfoy, waving the diary tauntingly at Harry.
 Percy said, "As a school prefect -" but Harry had lost his temper. He pulled out his wand and shouted, "Expelliarmus!" and just as Snape had disarmed Lockhart, so Malfoy found the diary shooting out of his hand into the air. Ron, grinning broadly, caught it.
 "Harry!" said Percy loudly. "No magic in the corridors. I'll have to report this, you know!"
 But Harry didn't care, he was one-up on Malfoy, and that was worth five points from Gryffindor any day. Malfoy was looking furious, and as Ginny passed him to enter her classroom, he yelled spitefully after her, "I don't think Potter liked your valentine much!"
 Ginny covered her face with her hands and ran into class. Snarling, Ron pulled out his wand, too, but Harry pulled him away. Ron didn't need to spend the whole of Charms belching slugs.
 It wasn't until they had reached Professor Flitwick's class that Harry noticed something rather odd about Riddle's diary. All his 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. He tried to point this out to Ron, but Ron was having trouble with his wand again; large purple bubbles were blossoming out of the end, and he wasn't much interested in anything else.
 Harry went to bed before anyone else in his dormitory that night. This was partly because he didn't think he could stand Fred and George singing, "His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad" one more time, and partly because he wanted to examine Riddle's diary again, and knew that Ron thought he was wasting his time.
 Harry sat on his four-poster and flicked through the blank pages, not one of which had a trace of scarlet ink on it. Then he pulled a new bottle out of his bedside cabinet, dipped his 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, Harry loaded up his quill a second time and wrote, "My name is Harry Potter."
 The words shone momentarily on the page and they, too, sank without trace. Then, at last, something happened.
 Oozing back out of the page, in his very own ink, came words Harry had never written.
 "Hello, Harry Potter. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my diary?"
 These words, too, faded away, but not before Harry had started to scribble back.
 "Someone tried to flush it down a toilet."
 He waited eagerly for Riddle'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. "
 "What do you mean?" Harry scrawled, blotting the page in his excitement.
 *240*
 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. "
 "That's where I am now," Harry wrote quickly. "I'm at Hogwarts, and horrible stuff's been happening. Do you know anything about the Chamber of Secrets?"
 His heart was hammering. Riddle's reply came quickly, his writing becoming untidier, as though he was hurrying to tell all he knew.
 "Of course I know about the Chamber of Secrets. 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 Chamber was opened and the monster attacked several students, finally killing one. I caught the person whod opened the Chamber and he was expelled. But the Headmaster, Professor Dippet, ashamed that such a thing had happened at Hogwarts, forbade me to tell the truth. A story was given out that thegirl 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. "
 Harry nearly upset his ink bottle in his 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?"
 "I can show you, if you like, "came Riddle's reply. "You don't have
 to take my word for it. I can take you inside my memory of the night when I caught him. "
 Harry hesitated, his quill suspended over the diary. What did Riddle mean? How could he be taken inside somebody else's memory? He glanced nervously at the door to the dormitory, which was
 *241*
 growing dark. When he looked back at the diary, he saw fresh words forming.
 "Let me show you. "
 Harry paused for a fraction of a second and then wrote two letters.
 (40K.55
 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, Harry saw that the little square for June thirteenth seemed to have turned into a miniscule television screen. His hands trembling slightly, he raised the book to press his eye against the little window, and before he knew what was happening, he was tilting forward; the window was widening, he felt his body leave his bed, and he was pitched headfirst through the opening in the page, into a whirl of color and shadow.
 He felt his feet hit solid ground, and stood, shaking, as the blurred shapes around him came suddenly into focus.
 He knew immediately where he was. This circular room with the sleeping portraits was Dumbledore's office - but it wasn't Dumbledore who was sitting behind the desk. A wizened, fraillooking wizard, bald except for a few wisps of white hair, was reading a letter by candlelight. Harry had never seen this man before.
 "I'm sorry," he said shakily. "I didn't mean to butt in -"
 But the wizard didn't look up. He continued to read, frowning slightly. Harry drew nearer to his desk and stammered, "Er - I'll just go, shall I?"
 Still the wizard ignored him. He didn't seem even to have heard him. Thinking that the wizard might be deaf, Harry raised his voice.
 *242*
 "Sorry I disturbed you. I'll go now," he half-shouted.
 The wizard folded up the letter with a sigh, stood up, walked past Harry without glancing at him, and went to draw the curtains at his window.
 The sky outside the window was ruby-red; it seemed to be sunset. The wizard went back to the desk, sat down, and twiddled his thumbs, watching the door.
 Harry looked around the office. No Fawkes the phoenix - no whirring silver contraptions. This was Hogwarts as Riddle had known it, meaning that this unknown wizard was Headmaster, not Dumbledore, and he, Harry, 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 the old wizard in a feeble voice.
 A boy of about sixteen entered, taking off his pointed hat. A silver prefect's badge was glinting on his chest. He was much taller than Harry, but he, too, had jet-black hair.
 "Ah, Riddle," said the Headmaster.
 "You wanted to see me, Professor Dippet?" said Riddle. He looked nervous.
 "Sit down," said Dippet. "I've just been reading the letter you sent me.
 "Oh," said Riddle. He sat down, gripping his hands together very tightly.
 "My dear boy," said Dipper kindly, "I cannot possibly let you stay at school over the summer. Surely you want to go home for the holidays?"
 "No," said Riddle at once. "Id much rather stay at Hogwarts than go back to that - to that -"
 * 243*
 "You live in a Muggle orphanage during the holidays, I believe?" said Dippet curiously.
 "Yes, sir," said Riddle, reddening slightly.
 "You are Muggle-born?"
 "Half-blood, sir," said Riddle. "Muggle father, witch mother."
 "And are both your parents -?"
 "My mother died just after I was born, sir. They told me at the orphanage she lived just long enough to name me - Tom after my father, Marvolo after my grandfather."
 Dipper clucked his tongue sympathetically.
 "The thing is, Tom," he sighed, "Special arrangements might have been made for you, but in the current circumstances . . . ."
 "You mean all these attacks, sir?" said Riddle, and Harry's heart leapt, and he moved closer, scared of missing anything.
 "Precisely," said the headmaster. "My dear boy, you must see how foolish it would be of me to allow you to remain at the castle when 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 . . . ."
 Riddle's eyes had widened.
 "Sir - if the person was caught - if it all stopped -"
 "What do you mean?" said Dippet with a squeak in his voice, sitting up in his chair. "Riddle, do you mean you know something about these attacks?"
 "No, sir," said Riddle quickly.
 But Harry was sure it was the same sort of "no" that he himself had given Dumbledore.
 *244*
 Dippet sank back, looking faintly disappointed.
 "You may go, Tom ......
 Riddle slid off his chair and slouched out of the room. Harry followed him.
 Down the moving spiral staircase they went, emerging next to the gargoyle in the darkening corridor. Riddle stopped, and so did Harry, watching him. Harry could tell that Riddle 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, Harry gliding noiselessly behind him. They didn't see another person until they reached the entrance hall, when a tall wizard with long, sweeping auburn hair and a beard called to Riddle from the marble staircase.
 "What are you doing, wandering around this late, Tom?"
 Harry gaped at the wizard. He was none other than a fifty-year- younger Dumbledore.
 "I had to see the headmaster, sir," said Riddle.
 "Well, hurry off to bed," said Dumbledore, giving Riddle exactly the kind of penetrating stare Harry knew so well. "Best not to roam the corridors these days. Not since . . ."
 He sighed heavily, bade Riddle good night, and strode off. Riddle watched him walk out of sight and then, moving quickly, headed straight down the stone steps to the dungeons, with Harry in hot pursuit.
 But to Harry's disappointment, Riddle led him not into a hidden passageway or a secret tunnel but to the very dungeon in which Harry had Potions with Snape. The torches hadn't been lit, and when Riddle pushed the door almost closed, Harry could only just
 *2 45 *
 see him, standing stock-still by the door, watching the passage outside.
 It felt to Harry that they were there for at least an hour. All he could see was the figure of Riddle at the door, staring through the crack, waiting like a statue. And just when Harry had stopped feeling expectant and tense and started wishing he could return to the present, he heard something move beyond the door.
 Someone was creeping along the passage. He heard whoever it was pass the dungeon where he and Riddle were hidden. Riddle, quiet as a shadow, edged through the door and followed, Harry tiptoeing behind him, forgetting that he couldn't be heard.
 For perhaps five minutes they followed the footsteps, until Riddle stopped suddenly, his head inclined in the direction of new noises. Harry heard a door creak open, and then someone speaking in a hoarse whisper.
 "C'mon ... gotta get yeh outta here .... C'mon now ... in the box. . ."
 There was something familiar about that voice ....
 Riddle suddenly jumped around the corner. Harry stepped out behind him. He could see the dark outline of a huge boy who was crouching in front of an open door, a very large box next to it.
 "Evening, Rubeus," said Riddle sharply.
 The boy slammed the door shut and stood up.
 "What yer doin' down here, Tom?"
 Riddle stepped closer.
 "It's all over," he said. "I'm going to have to turn you in, Rubeus. They're talking about closing Hogwarts if the attacks don't stop."
 4 6
 "N" at d'yeh -"
 "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 -"
 "It never killed no one!" said the large boy, backing against the closed door. From behind him, Harry could hear a funny rustling and clicking.
 "Come on, Rubeus," said Riddle, moving yet closer. "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 ......
 "It wasn't him!" roared the boy, his voice echoing in the dark passage. "He wouldn'! He never!"
 "Stand aside," said Riddle, drawing out his wand.
 His spell lit the corridor with a sudden flaming light. The door behind the large boy flew open with such force it knocked him into the wall opposite. And out of it came something that made Harry 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 - Riddle raised his wand again, but he was too late. The thing bowled him over as it scuttled away, tearing up the corridor and out of sight. Riddle scrambled to his feet, looking after it; he raised his wand, but the huge boy leapt on him, seized his wand, and threw him back down, yelling, "NO000000!"
 The scene whirled, the darkness became complete; Harry felt himself falling and, with a crash, he landed spread-eagled on his four-poster in the Gryffindor dormitory, Riddle's diary lying open on his stomach.
 *24 7*
 Before he had had time to regain his breath, the dormitory door opened and Ron came in.
 "There you are," he said.
 Harry sat up. He was sweating and shaking.
 "What's up?" said Ron, looking at him with concern.
 "It was Hagrid, Ron. Hagrid opened the Chamber of Secrets fifty years ago."
 Harry, Ron, and Hermione had always known that Hagrid had an unfortunate liking for large and monstrous creatures. During their first year at Hogwarts he had tried to raise a dragon in his little wooden house, and it would be a long time before they forgot the giant, three- headed dog he'd christened "Fluffy." And if, as a boy, Hagrid had heard that a monster was hidden somewhere in the castle, Harry was sure he'd have gone to any lengths for a glimpse of it. He'd probably thought it was a shame that the monster had been cooped up so long, and thought it deserved the chance to stretch its many legs; Harry could just imagine the thirteen-year-old Hagrid trying to fit a leash and collar on it. But he was equally certain that Hagrid would never have meant to kill anybody.
 Harry half wished he hadn't found out how to work Riddle's diary. Again and again Ron and Hermione made him recount what
 he'd seen, until he was heartily sick of telling them and sick of the long, circular conversations that followed.
 "Riddle might have got the wrong person," said Hermione. "Maybe it was some other monster that was attacking people . . . ."
 "How many monsters d'you think this place can hold?" Ron asked dully.
 "We always knew Hagrid had been expelled," said Harry miserably. "And the attacks must've stopped after Hagrid was kicked out. Otherwise, Riddle wouldn't have got his award."
 Ron tried a different tack.
 "Riddle does sound like Percy - who asked him to squeal on Hagrid, anyway?"
 "But the monster had killed someone, Ron," said Hermione.
 "And Riddle was going to go back to some Muggle orphanage if they closed Hogwarts," said Harry. "I don't blame him for wanting to stay here ......
 "You met Hagrid down Knockturn Alley, didn't you, Harry?"
 "He was buying a Flesh-Eating Slug Repellent," said Harry quickly.
 The three of them fell silent. After a long pause, Hermione voiced the knottiest question of all in a hesitant voice.
 "Do you think we should go and ask Hagrid about it all?"
 "That'd be a cheerful visit," said Ron. "'Hello, Hagrid. Tell us, have you been setting anything mad and hairy loose in the castle lately?"'
 In the end, they decided that they would not say anything to Hagrid unless there was another attack, and as more and more days went by with no whisper from the disembodied voice, they became
 hopeful that they would never need to talk to him about why he had been expelled. It was now nearly four months since Justin and Nearly Headless Nick had been Petrified, and nearly everybody seemed to think that the attacker, whoever it was, had retired for good. Peeves had finally got bored of his "Oh, Potter, you rotter" song, Ernie Macmillan asked Harry quite politely to pass a bucket of leaping toadstools in Herbology one day, and in March several of the Mandrakes threw a loud and raucous party in greenhouse three. This made Professor Sprout very happy.
 "The moment they start trying to move into each other's pots, we'll know they're fully mature," she told Harry. "Then we'll be able to revive those poor people in the hospital wing."
 The second years were given something new to think about during their Easter holidays. The time had come to choose their subjects for the third year, a matter that Hermione, at least, took very seriously.
 "it could affect our whole future," she told Harry and Ron as they pored over lists of new subjects, marking them with checks.
 "I just want to give up Potions," said Harry.
 "We can't," said Ron gloomily. "We keep all our old subjects, or I'd've ditched Defense Against the Dark Arts."
 "But that's very important!" said Hermione, shocked.
 "Not the way Lockhart teaches it," said Ron. "I haven't learned anything from him except not to set pixies loose."
 Neville Longbottom had been sent letters from all the witches and wizards in his family, all giving him different advice on what to choose. Confused and worried, he sat reading the subject lists with
 his tongue poking out, asking people whether they thought Arithmancy sounded more difficult than the study of Ancient Runes. Dean Thomas, who, like Harry, had grown up with Muggles, ended up closing his eyes and jabbing his wand at the list, then picking the subjects it landed on. Hermione took nobody's advice but signed up for everything.
 Harry smiled grimly to himself at the thought of what Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would say if he tried to discuss his career in wizardry with them. Not that he didn't get any guidance: Percy Weasley was eager to share his experience.
 "Depends where you want to go, Harry," he said. "It's never too early to think about the future, so Id recommend Divination. People say Muggle Studies is a soft option, but I personally think wizards should have a thorough understanding of the non-magical community, particularly if they're thinking of working in close contact with them - look at my father, he has to deal with Muggle business all the time. My brother Charlie was always more of an outdoor type, so he went for Care of Magical Creatures. Play to your strengths, Harry."
 But the only thing Harry felt he was really good at was Quidditch. In the end, he chose the same new subjects as Ron, feeling that if he was lousy at them, at least he'd have someone friendly to help him.
 Gryffindor's next Quidditch match would be against Hufflepuff. Wood was insisting on team practices every night after dinner, so that Harry barely had time for anything but Quidditch and homework. However, the training sessions were getting better, or at least
 drier, and the evening before Saturday's match he went up to his dormitory to drop off his broomstick feeling Gryffindor's chances for the Quidditch cup had never been better.
 But his cheerful mood didn't last long. At the top of the stairs to the dormitory, he met Neville Longbottom, who was looking frantic.
 "Harry - I don't know who did it - I just found -"
 Watching Harry fearfully, Neville pushed open the door.
 The contents of Harry's trunk had been thrown everywhere. His cloak lay ripped on the floor. The bedclothes had been pulled off his four-poster and the drawer had been pulled out of his bedside cabinet, the contents strewn over the mattress.
 Harry walked over to the bed, open-mouthed, treading on a few loose pages of Travels with Trolls. As he and Neville pulled the blankets back onto his bed, Ron, Dean, and Seamus came in. Dean swore loudly.
 "What happened, Harry?"
 "No idea," said Harry. But Ron was examining Harry's robes. All the pockets were hanging out.
 "Someone's been looking for something," said Ron. "Is there anything missing?"
 Harry started to pick up all his things and throw them into his trunk. It was only as he threw the last of the Lockhart books back into it that he realized what wasn't there.
 "Riddle's diary's gone," he said in an undertone to Ron.
 "What?"
 Harry jerked his head toward the dormitory door and Ron followed him out. They hurried down to the Gryffindor common
 room, which was half-empty, and joined Hermione, who was sitting alone, reading a book called Ancient Runes Made Easy.
 Hermione looked aghast at the news.
 "But - only a Gryffindor could have stolen - nobody else knows our password -"
 "Exactly," said Harry.
 They woke the next day to brilliant sunshine and a light, refreshing breeze.
 "Perfect Quidditch conditions!" said Wood enthusiastically at the Gryffindor table, loading the team's plates with scrambled eggs. "Harry, buck up there, you need a decent breakfast."
 Harry had been staring down the packed Gryffindor table, wondering if the new owner of Riddle's diary was right in front of his eyes. Hermione had been urging him to report the robbery, but Harry didn't like the idea. He'd have to tell a teacher all about the diary, and how many people knew why Hagrid had been expelled fifty years ago? He didn't want to be the one who brought it all up again.
 As he left the Great Hall with Ron and Hermione to go and collect his Quidditch things, another very serious worry was added to Harry's growing list. He had just set foot on the marble staircase when he heard it yet again
 "Kill this time ... let me rip ... tear. . ."
 He shouted aloud and Ron and Hermione both jumped away from him in alarm.
 "The voice!" said Harry, -looking over his shoulder. "I just heard it again - didn't you?"
 Ron shook his head, wide-eyed. Hermione, however, clapped a hand to her forehead.
 "Harry - I think I've just understood something! I've got to go to the library!"
 And she sprinted away, up the stairs.
 "What does she understand?" said Harry distractedly, still looking around, trying to tell where the voice had come from.
 "Loads more than I do," said Ron, shaking his head.
 "But why's she got to go to the library?"
 "Because that's what Hermione does," said Ron, shrugging. "When in doubt, go to the library."
 Harry stood, irresolute, trying to catch the voice again, but people were now emerging from the Great Hall behind him, talking loudly, exiting through the front doors on their way to the Quidditch pitch.
 "You'd better get moving," said Ron. "It's nearly eleven - the match - "
 Harry raced up to Gryffindor Tower, collected his Nimbus Two Thousand, and joined the large crowd swarming across the grounds, but his mind was still in the castle along with the bodiless voice, and as he pulled on his scarlet robes in the locker. room, his only comfort was that everyone was now outside to watch the game.
 The teams walked onto the field to tumultuous applause. Oliver Wood took off for a warm-up flight around the goal posts; Madam Hooch released the balls. The Hufflepuffs, who played in canary yellow, were standing in a huddle, having a last-minute discussion of tactics.
 Harry was just mounting his broom when Professor McGonagall came half marching, half running across the pitch, carrying an enormous purple megaphone.
 Harry's heart dropped like a stone.
 "This match has been cancelled," Professor McGonagall called through the megaphone, addressing the packed stadium. There were boos and shouts. Oliver Wood, looking devastated, landed and ran toward Professor McGonagall without getting off his broomstick.
 "But, Professor!" he shouted. "We've got to play - the cup
 Gryffindor -"
 Professor McGonagall ignored him and continued to shout through her megaphone:
 "All students are to make their way back to the House common rooms, where their Heads of Houses will give them further information. As quickly as you can, please!"
 Then she lowered the megaphone and beckoned Harry over to her.
 "Potter, I think you'd better come with me ......
 Wondering how she could possibly suspect him this time, Harry saw Ron detach himself from the complaining crowd; he came running up to them as they set off toward the castle. To Harry's surprise, Professor McGonagall didn't object.
 "Yes, perhaps you'd better come, too, Weasley .....
 Some of the students swarming around them were grumbling about the match being canceled; others looked worried. Harry and Ron followed Professor McGonagall back into the school and up the marble staircase. But they weren't taken to anybody's office this time.
 "This will be a bit of a shock," said Professor McGonagall in a surprisingly gentle voice as they approached the infirmary. "There has been another attack ... another double attack."
 Harry's insides did a horrible somersault. Professor McGonagall pushed the door open and he and Ron entered. .
 Madam Pomfrey was bending over a fifth-year girl with long, curly hair. Harry recognized her as the Ravenclaw they'd accidentally asked for directions to the Slytherin common room. And on the bed next to her was
 "Hermione!" Ron groaned.
 Hermione lay utterly still, her eyes open and glassy.
 "They were found near the library," said Professor McGonagall. "I don't suppose either of you can explain this? It was on the floor next to them ......
 She was holding up a small, circular mirror.
 Harry and Ron shook their heads, both staring at Hermione.
 "I will escort you back to Gryffindor Tower," said Professor McGonagall heavily. "I need to address the students in any case.
 "All students will return to their House common rooms by six o'clock in the evening. No student is to leave the dormitories after that time. You will be escorted to each lesson by a teacher. No student is to use the bathroom unaccompanied by a teacher. All further Quidditch training and matches are to be postponed. There will be no more evening activities."
 The Gryffindors packed inside the common room listened to Professor McGonagall in silence. She rolled up the parchment
 from which she had been reading and said in a somewhat choked voice, "I need hardly add that I have rarely been so distressed. It is likely that the school will be closed unless the culprit behind these attacks is caught. I would urge anyone who thinks they might know anything about them to come forward."
 She climbed somewhat awkwardly out of the portrait hole, and the Gryffindors began talking immediately.
 "That's two Gryffindors down, not counting a Gryffindor ghost, one Ravenclaw, and one Hufflepuff, " said the Weasley twins' friend Lee Jordan, counting on his fingers. "Haven't any of the teachers noticed that the Slytherins are all safe? Isn't it obvious all this stuff's coming from Slytherin? The Heir of Slytherin, the monster of Slytherin - why don't they just chuck all the Slytherins out?" he roared, to nods and scattered applause.
 Percy Weasley was sitting in a chair behind Lee, but for once he didn't seem keen to make his views heard. He was looking pale and stunned.
 "Percy's in shock," George told Harry quietly. "That Ravenclaw girl - Penelope Clearwater - she's a prefect. I don't think he thought the monster would dare attack a prefect."
 But Harry was only half-listening. He didn't seem to be able to get rid of the picture of Hermione, lying on the hospital bed as though carved out of stone. And if the culprit wasn't caught soon, he was looking at a lifetime back with the Dursleys. Tom Riddle had turned Hagrid in because he was faced with the prospect of a Muggle orphanage if the school closed. Harry now knew exactly how he had felt.
 "What're we going to do?" said Ron quietly in Harry's ear. "D'you think they suspect Hagrid?"
 "We've got to go and talk to him," said Harry, making up his mind. "I can't believe it's him this time, but if he set the monster loose last time he'll know how to get inside the Chamber of Secrets, and that's a start." "But McGonagall said we've got to stay in our tower unless we're in class -" "I think," said Harry, more quietly still, "it's time to get my dad's old cloak out again."
 Harry had inherited) ust one thing from his father: a long and sil very Invisibility Cloak. It was their only chance of sneaking out of the school to visit Hagrid without anyone knowing about it. They went to bed at the usual time, waited until Neville, Dean, and Sea mus had stopped discussing the Chamber of Secrets and finally fallen asleep, then got up, dressed again, and threw the cloak over themselves. The journey through the dark and deserted castle corridors wasn't enjoyable. Harry, who had wandered the castle at night sev eral times before, had never seen it so crowded after sunset. Teach ers, prefects, and ghosts were marching the corridors in pairs, staring around for any unusual activity. Their Invisibility Cloak didn't stop them making any noise, and there was a particularly tense moment when Ron stubbed his toe only yards from the spot where Snape stood standing guard. Thankfully, Snape sneezed at almost exactly the moment Ron swore. It was with relief that they reached the oak front doors and eased them open. It was a clear, starry night. They hurried toward the lit windows of Hagrid's house and pulled off the cloak only when they were right outside his front door.
 Seconds after they had knocked, Hagrid flung it open. They found themselves face-to-face with him aiming a crossbow at them. Fang the boarhound barked loudly behind him.
 "Oh," he said, lowering the weapon and staring at them. "What're you two doin' here?"
 "What's that for?" said Harry, pointing at the crossbow as they stepped inside.
 "Nothin' - nothin' - " Hagrid muttered. "I've bin expectin' doesn' matter - Sit down - I'll make tea -"
 He hardly seemed to know what he was doing. He nearly extinguished the fire, spilling water from the kettle on it, and then smashed the teapot with a nervous jerk of his massive hand.
 "Are you okay, Hagrid?" said Harry. "Did you hear about Hermione?"
 "Oh, I heard, all righ'," said Hagrid, a slight break in his voice.
 He kept glancing nervously at the windows. He poured them both large mugs of boiling water (he had forgotten to add tea bags) and was just putting a slab of fruitcake on a plate when there was a loud knock on the door.
 Hagrid dropped the fruitcake. Harry and Ron exchanged panicstricken looks, then threw the Invisibility Cloak back over themselves and retreated into a corner. Hagrid checked that they were hidden, seized his crossbow, and flung open his door once more.
 "Good evening, Hagrid."
 It was Dumbledore. He entered, looking deadly serious, and was followed by a second, very odd-looking man.
 The stranger had rumpled gray hair and an anxious expression, and was wearing a strange mixture of clothes: a pinstriped suit, a
 scarlet tie, a long black cloak, and pointed purple boots. Under his arm he carried a lime-green bowler.
 "That's Dad's boss!" Ron breathed. "Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic!"
 Harry elbowed Ron hard to make him shut up.
 Hagrid had gone pale and sweaty. He dropped into one of his chairs and looked from Dumbledore to Cornelius Fudge.
 "Bad business, Hagrid," said Fudge in rather clipped tones. "Very bad business. Had to come. Four attacks on Muggle-borns. Things've gone far enough. Ministry's got to act."
 "I never," said Hagrid, looking imploringly at Dumbledore. "You know I never, Professor Dumbledore, sir -"
 "I want it understood, Cornelius, that Hagrid has my full confidence," said Dumbledore, frowning at Fudge.
 "Look, Albus," said Fudge, uncomfortably. "Hagrid's record's against him. Ministry's got to do something - the school governors have been in touch -"
 "Yet again, Cornelius, I tell you that taking Hagrid away will not help in the slightest," said Dumbledore. His blue eyes were full of a fire Harry had never seen before.
 "Look at it from my point of view," said Fudge, fidgeting with his bowler. "I'm under a lot of pressure. Got to be seen to be doing something. If it turns out it wasn't Hagrid, he'll be back and no more said. But I've got to take him. Got to. Wouldn't be doing my duty -"
 "Take me?" said Hagrid, who was trembling. "Take me where?"
 "For a short stretch only," said Fudge, not meeting Hagrid's eyes. "Not a punishment, Hagrid, more a precaution. If someone else is caught, you'll be let out with a full apology -"
 "Not Azkaban?" croaked Hagrid.
 Before Fudge could answer, there was another loud rap on the door.
 Dumbledore answered it. It was Harry's turn for an elbow in the ribs; he'd let out an audible gasp.
 Mr. Lucius Malfoy strode into Hagrid's hut, swathed in a long black traveling cloak, smiling a cold and satisfied smile. Fang started to growl.
 "Already here, Fudge," he said approvingly. "Good, good. . ."
 "What're you doin' here?" said Hagrid furiously. "Get outta my house!"
 "My dear man, please believe me, I have no pleasure at all in being inside your - er - d'you call this a house?" said Lucius Malfoy, sneering as he looked around the small cabin. "I simply called at the school and was told that the headmaster was here."
 "And what exactly did you want with me, Lucius?" said Dumbledore. He spoke politely, but the fire was still blazing in his blue eyes.
 "Dreadful thing, Dumbledore," said Malfoy lazily, taking out a long roll of parchment, "but the governors feel it's time for you to step aside. This is an Order of Suspension - you'll find all twelve signatures on it. I'm afraid we feel you're losing your touch. How many attacks have there been now? Two more this afternoon, wasn't it? At this rate, there'll be no Muggle-borns left at Hogwarts, and we all know what an awful loss that would be to the school."
 "Oh, now, see here, Lucius," said Fudge, looking alarmed, "Dumbledore suspended - no, no - last thing we want just now
 262
 "The appointment - or suspension - of the headmaster is a matter for the governors, Fudge," said Mr. Malfoy smoothly. "And as Dumbledore has failed to stop these attacks -"
 "See here, Malfoy, if Dumbledore can't stop them," said Fudge, whose upper lip was sweating now, "I mean to say, who can?"
 "That remains to be seen," said Mr. Malfoy with a nasty smile. "But as all twelve of us have voted -"
 Hagrid leapt to his feet, his shaggy black head grazing the ceiling.
 'An' how many did yeh have ter threaten an' blackmail before they agreed, Malfoy, eh?" he roared.
 "Dear, dear, you know, that temper of yours will lead you into trouble one of these days, Hagrid," said Mr. Malfoy. "I would advise you not to shout at the Azkaban guards like that. They won't like it at all."
 "Yeh can' take Dumbledore!" yelled Hagrid, making Fang the boarhound cower and whimper in his basket. "Take him away, an' the Muggle-borns won' stand a chance! There'll be killin' next!"
 "Calm yourself, Hagrid," said Dumbledore sharply. He looked at Lucius Malfoy.
 "If the governors want my removal, Lucius, I shall of course step aside -"
 "But -" stuttered Fudge.
 "No!"growled Hagrid.
 Dumbledore had not taken his bright blue eyes off Lucius Malfoy's cold gray ones.
 "However," said Dumbledore, speaking very slowly and clearly so that none of them could miss a word, "you will find that I will
 * 26$*
 ummer was creeping over the grounds around the castle; sky and lake alike turned periwinkle blue and flowers large as cabbages burst into bloom in the greenhouses. But with no Hagrid visible from the castle windows, striding the grounds with Fang at his heels, the scene didn't look right to Harry; no better, in fact, than the inside of the castle, where things were so horribly wrong.
 Harry and Ron had tried to visit Hermione, but visitors were now barred from the hospital wing.
 "We're taking no more chances," Madam Pomfrey told them severely through a crack in the infirmary door. "No, I'm sorry, there's every chance the attacker might come back to finish these people off . . ."
 With Dumbledore gone, fear had spread as never before, so that the sun warming the castle walls outside seemed to stop at the mullioned windows. There was barely a face to be seen in the school
 * 265*
 that didn't look worried and tense, and any laughter that rang through the corridors sounded shrill and unnatural and was quickly stifled.
 Harry constantly repeated Dumbledore's final words to himself "I will only truly have left this school when none here are loyal to me... Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it." But what good were these words? Who exactly were they supposed to ask for help, when everyone was just as confused and scared as they were?
 Hagrid's hint about the spiders was far easier to understand the trouble was, there didn't seem to be a single spider left in the castle to follow. Harry looked everywhere he went, helped (rather reluctantly) by Ron. They were hampered, of course, by the fact that they weren't allowed to wander off on their own but had to move around the castle in a pack with the other Gryffindors. Most of their fellow students seemed glad that they were being shepherded from class to class by teachers, but Harry found it very irksome.
 One person, however, seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the atmosphere of terror and suspicion. Draco Malfoy was strutting around the school as though he had just been appointed Head Boy. Harry didn't realize what he was so pleased about until the Potions lesson about two weeks after Dumbledore and Hagrid had left, when, sitting right behind Malfoy, Harry overheard him gloating to Crabbe and Goyle.
 "I always thought Father might be the one who got rid of Dumbledore," he said, not troubling to keep his voice down. "I told you he thinks Dumbledore's the worst headmaster the school's ever
 *266*
 had. Maybe we'll get a decent headmaster now. Someone who won't want the Chamber of Secrets closed. McGonagall won't last long, she's only filling in ......
 Snape swept past Harry, making no comment about Hermione's empty seat and cauldron.
 "Sir," said Malfoy loudly. "Sir, why don't you apply for the headmaster's job?"
 "Now, now, Malfoy," said Snape, though he couldn't suppress a thin- lipped smile. "Professor Dumbledore has only been suspended by the governors. I daresay he'll be back with us soon enough."
 "Yeah, right," said Malfoy, smirking. "I expect you'd have Father's vote, sir, if you wanted to apply for the job - I'll tell Father you're the best teacher here, sir -"
 Snape smirked as he swept off around the dungeon, fortunately not spotting Seamus Finnigan, who was pretending to vomit into his cauldron.
 "I'm quite surprised the Mudbloods haven't all packed their bags by now," Malfoy went on. "Bet you five Galleons the next one dies. Pity it wasn't Granger -"
 The bell rang at that moment, which was lucky; at Malfoy's last words, Ron had leapt off his stool, and in the scramble to collect bags and books, his attempts to reach Malfoy went unnoticed.
 "Let me at him," Ron growled as Harry and Dean hung onto his arms. "I don't care, I don't need my wand, I'm going to kill him with my bare hands -"
 "Hurry up, I've got to take you all to Herbology," barked Snape over the class's heads, and off they marched, with Harry, Ron, and Dean bringing up the rear, Ron still trying to get loose. It was only
 * 261*
 safe to let go of him when Snape had seen them out of the castle and they were making their way across the vegetable patch toward the greenhouses.
 The Herbology class was very subdued; there were now two missing from their number, Justin and Hermione.
 Professor Sprout set them all to work pruning the Abyssinian Shrivelfigs. Harry went to tip an armful of withered stalks onto the compost heap and found himself face-to-face with Ernie Macmillan. Ernie took a deep breath and said, very formally, "I just want to say, Harry, that I'm sorry I ever suspected you. I know you'd never attack Hermione Granger, and I apologize for all the stuff I said. We're all in the same boat now, and, well -"
 He held out a pudgy hand, and Harry shook it.
 Ernie and his friend Hannah came to work at the same Shrivelfig as Harry and Ron.
 "That Draco Malfoy character," said Ernie, breaking off dead twigs, "he seems very pleased about all this, doesn't he? D'you know, I think he might be Slytherin's heir."
 "That's clever of you," said Ron, who didn't seem to have forgiven Ernie as readily as Harry.
 "Do you think it's Malfoy, Harry?" Ernie asked.
 "No," said Harry, so firmly that Ernie and Hannah stared.
 A second later, Harry spotted something.
 Several large spiders were scuttling over the ground on the other side of the glass, moving in an unnaturally straight line as though taking the shortest route to a prearranged meeting. Harry hit Ron over the hand with his pruning shears.
 "Ouch! What're you -"
 268
 Harry pointed out the spiders, following their progress with his eyes screwed up against the sun.
 "Oh, yeah," said Ron, trying, and failing, to look pleased. "But we can't follow them now -"
 Ernie and Hannah were listening curiously.
 Harry's eyes narrowed as he focused on the spiders. If they pursued their fixed course, there could be no doubt about where they would end up.
 "Looks like they're heading for the Forbidden Forest . . . ."
 And Ron looked even unhappier about that.
 At the end of the lesson Professor Sprout escorted the class to their Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson. Harry and Ron lagged behind the others so they could talk out of earshot.
 "We'll have to use the Invisibility Cloak again," Harry told Ron. "We can take Fang with us. He's used to going into the forest with Hagrid, he might be some help."
 "Right," said Ron, who was twirling his wand nervously in his fingers. "Er - aren't there - aren't there supposed to be werewolves in the forest?" he added as they took their usual places at the back of Lockhart's classroom.
 Preferring not to answer that question, Harry said, "There are good things in there, too. The centaurs are all right, and the unicorns ...
 Ron had never been into the Forbidden Forest before. Harry had entered it only once and had hoped never to do so again.
 Lockhart bounded into the room and the class stared at him. Every other teacher in the place was looking grimmer than usual, but Lockhart appeared nothing short of buoyant.
 2 69
 "Come now," he cried, beaming around him. "Why all these long faces?"
 People swapped exasperated looks, but nobody answered.
 "Don't you people realize," said Lockhart, speaking slowly, as though they were all a bit dim, "the danger has passed! The culprit has been taken away -"
 "Says who?" said Dean Thomas loudly.
 "My dear young man, the Minister of Magic wouldn't have taken Hagrid if he hadn't been one hundred percent sure that he was guilty," said Lockhart, in the tone of someone explaining that one and one made two.
 "Oh, yes he would," said Ron, even more loudly than Dean.
 "I flatter myself I know a touch more about Hagrid's arrest than you do, Mr. Weasley," said Lockhart in a self-satisfied tone.
 Ron started to say that he didn't think so, somehow, but stopped in midsentence when Harry kicked him hard under the desk.
 "We weren't there, remember?" Harry muttered.
 But Lockhart's disgusting cheeriness, his hints that he had always thought Hagrid was no good, his confidence that the whole business was now at an end, irritated Harry so much that he yearned to throw Gadding with Ghouls right in Lockhart's stupid face. Instead he contented himself with scrawling a note to Ron: Let's do it tonight.
 Ron read the message, swallowed hard, and looked sideways at the empty seat usually filled by Hermione. The sight seemed to stiffen his resolve, and he nodded.
 The Gryffindor common room was always very crowded these days, because from six o'clock onward the Gryffindors had no -
 *270*
 where else to go. They also had plenty to talk about, with the result that the common room often didn't empty until past midnight.
 Harry went to get the Invisibility Cloak out of his trunk right after dinner, and spent the evening sitting on it, waiting for the room to clear. Fred and George challenged Harry and Ron to a few games of Exploding Snap, and Ginny sat watching them, very subdued in Hermione's usual chair. Harry and Ron kept losing on purpose, trying to finish the games quickly, but even so, it was well past midnight when Fred, George, and Ginny finally went to bed.
 Harry and Ron waited for the distant sounds of two dormitory doors closing before seizing the cloak, throwing it over themselves, and climbing through the portrait hole.
 It was another difficult journey through the castle, dodging all the teachers. At last they reached the entrance hall, slid back the lock on the oak front doors, squeezed between them, trying to stop any creaking, and stepped out into the moonlit grounds.
 "'Course," said Ron abruptly as they strode across the black grass, "we might get to the forest and find there's nothing to follow. Those spiders might not've been going there at all. I know it looked like they were moving in that sort of general direction, but. . ."
 His voice trailed away hopefully.
 They reached Hagrid's house, sad and sorry-looking with its blank windows. When Harry pushed the door open, Fang went mad with joy at the sight of them. Worried he might wake everyone at the castle with his deep, booming barks, they hastily fed him treacle fudge from a tin on the mantelpiece, which glued his teeth together.
 Harry left the Invisibility Cloak on Hagrid's table. There would be no need for it in the pitch-dark forest.
 * 21:L *
 "C'mon, Fang, we're going for a walk," said Harry, patting his leg, and Fang bounded happily out of the house behind them, dashed to the edge of the forest, and lifted his leg against a large sycamore tree.
 Harry took out his wand, murmured, "Lumos!" and a tiny light appeared at the end of it, just enough to let them watch the path for signs of spiders.
 "Good thinking," said Ron. "Id light mine, too, but you know - it'd probably blow up or something ......
 Harry tapped Ron on the shoulder, pointing at the grass. Two solitary spiders were hurrying away from the wandlight into the shade of the trees.
 "Okay," Ron sighed as though resigned to the worst, "I'm ready. Let's go."
 So, with Fang scampering around them, sniffing tree roots and leaves, they entered the forest. By the glow of Harry's wand, they followed the steady trickle of spiders moving along the path. They walked behind them for about twenty minutes, not speaking, listening hard for noises other than breaking twigs and rustling leaves. Then, when the trees had become thicker than ever, so that the stars overhead were no longer visible, and Harry's wand shone alone in the sea of dark, they saw their spider guides leaving the path.
 Harry paused, trying to see where the spiders were going, but everything outside his little sphere of *light was pitch-black. He had never been this deep into the forest before. He could vividly remember Hagrid advising him not to leave the forest path last time he'd been in here. But Hagrid was miles away now, probably sitting in a cell in Azkaban, and he had also said to follow the spiders.
 * 2-V2 *
 Something wet touched Harry's hand and he jumped backward, crushing Rods foot, but it was only Fang's nose.
 "What d'you reckon?" Harry said to Ron, whose eyes he could just make out, reflecting the light from his wand.
 "We've come this far," said Ron.
 So they followed the darting shadows of the spiders into the trees. They couldn't move very quickly now; there were tree roots and stumps in their way, barely visible in the near blackness. Harry could feel Fang's hot breath on his hand. More than once, they had to stop, so that Harry could crouch down and find the spiders in the wandlight.
 They walked for what seemed like at least half an hour, their robes snagging on low-slung branches and brambles. After a while, they noticed that the ground seemed to be sloping downward, though the trees were as thick as ever.
 Then Fang suddenly let loose a great, echoing bark, making both Harry and Ron jump out of their skins.
 "What?" said Ron loudly, looking around into the pitch-dark, and gripping Harry's elbow very hard.
 "There's something moving over there," Harry breathed. "Listen ... sounds like something big ......
 They listened. Some distance to their right, the something big was snapping branches as it carved a path through the trees.
 "Oh, no," said Ron. "Oh, no, oh, no, oh -"
 "Shut up," said Harry frantically. "It'll hear you."
 "Hear me?" said Ron in an unnaturally high voice. "It's already heard Fang!"
 The darkness seemed to be pressing on their eyeballs as they
 * 273*
 stood, terrified, waiting. There was a strange rumbling noise and then silence.
 "What d'you think it's doing?" said Harry.
 "Probably getting ready to pounce," said Ron.
 They waited, shivering, hardly daring to move.
 "D'you think it's gone?" Harry whispered.
 "Dunno -"
 Then, to their right, came a sudden blaze of light, so bright in the darkness that both of them flung up their hands to shield their eyes. Fang yelped and tried to run, but got lodged in a tangle of thorns and yelped even louder.
 "Harry!" Ron shouted, his voice breaking with relief "Harry, it's our car!"
 "What?"
 "Come on!"
 Harry blundered after Ron toward the light, stumbling and tripping, and a moment later they had emerged into a clearing.
 Mr. Weasley's car was standing, empty, in the middle of a circle of thick trees under a roof of dense branches, its headlights ablaze. As Ron walked, open-mouthed, toward it, it moved slowly toward him, exactly like a large, turquoise dog greeting its owner.
 "It's been here all the time!" said Ron delightedly, walking around the car. "Look at it. The forest's turned it wild . . . ."
 The sides of the car were scratched and smeared with mud. Apparently it had taken to trundling around the forest on its own. Fang didn't seem at all keen on it; he kept close to Harry, who could feel him quivering. His breathing slowing down again, Harry stuffed his wand back into his robes.
 *214*
 "And we thought it was going to attack us!" said Ron, leaning against the car and patting it. "I wondered where it had gone!"
 Harry squinted around on the floodlit ground for signs of more spiders, but they had all scuttled away from the glare of the headlights.
 "We've lost the trail," he said. "C'mon, let's go and find them."
 Ron didn't speak. He didn't move. His eyes were fixed on a point some ten feet above the forest floor, right behind Harry. His face was livid with terror.
 Harry didn't even have time to turn around. There was a loud clicking noise and suddenly he felt something long and hairy seize him around the middle and lift him off the ground, so that he was hanging facedown. Struggling, terrified, he heard more clicking, and saw Ron's legs leave the ground, too, heard Fang whimpering and howling - next moment, he was being swept away into the dark trees.
 Head hanging, Harry saw that what had hold of him was marching on six immensely long, hairy legs, the front two clutching him tightly below a pair of shining black pincers. Behind him, he could hear another of the creatures, no doubt carrying Ron. They were moving into the very heart of the forest. Harry could hear Fang fighting to free himself from a third monster, whining loudly, but Harry couldn't have yelled even if he had wanted to; he seemed to have left his voice back with the car in the clearing.
 He never knew how long he was in the creature's clutches; he only knew that the darkness suddenly lifted enough for him to see that the leaf-strewn ground was now swarming with spiders. Craning his neck sideways, he realized that they had reached the ridge of
 *21$*
 a vast hollow, a hollow that had been cleared of trees, so that the stars shone brightly onto the worst scene he had ever laid eyes on.
 Spiders. Not tiny spiders like those surging over the leaves below. Spiders the size of carthorses, eight-eyed, eight-legged, black, hairy, gigantic. The massive specimen that was carrying Harry made its way down the steep slope toward a misty, domed web in the very center of the hollow, while its fellows closed in all around it, clicking their pincers excitedly at the sight of its load.
 Harry fell to the ground on all fours as the spider released him. Ron and Fang thudded down next to him. Fang wasn't howling anymore, but cowering silently on the spot. Ron looked exactly like Harry felt. His mouth was stretched wide in a kind of silent scream and his eyes were popping.
 Harry suddenly realized that the spider that had dropped him was saying something. It had been hard to tell, because he clicked his pincers with every word he spoke.
 "Aragog!" it called. "Aragog!"
 And from the middle of the misty, domed web, a spider the size of a small elephant emerged, very slowly. There was gray in the black of his body and legs, and each of the eyes on his ugly, pincered head was milky white. He was blind.
 "What is it?" he said, clicking his pincers rapidly.
 "Men," clicked the spider who had caught Harry.
 "Is it Hagrid?" said Aragog, moving closer, his eight milky eyes wandering vaguely.
 "Strangers," clicked the spider who had brought Ron.
 "Kill them," clicked Aragog fretfully. "I was sleeping ......
 "We're friends of Hagrid's," Harry shouted. His heart seemed to have left his chest to pound in his throat.
 *216*
 Click, click, click went the pincers of the spiders all around the hollow.
 Aragog paused.
 "Hagrid has never sent men into our hollow before," he said slowly.
 "Hagrid's in trouble," said Harry, breathing very fast. "That's why we've come."
 "In trouble?" said the aged spider, and Harry thought he heard concern beneath the clicking pincers. "But why has he sent you?"
 Harry thought of getting to his feet but decided against it; he didn't think his legs would support him. So he spoke from the ground, as calmly as he could.
 "They think,, up at the school, that Hagrid's been setting a a - something on students. They've taken him to Azkaban."
 Aragog clicked his pincers furiously, and all around the hollow the sound was echoed by the crowd of spiders; it was like applause, except applause didn't usually make Harry feel sick with fear.
 "But that was years ago," said Aragog fretfully. "Years and years ago. I remember it well. That's why they made him leave the school. They believed that I was the monster that dwells in what they call the Chamber of Secrets. They thought that Hagrid had opened the Chamber and set me free."
 "And you ... you didn't come from the Chamber of Secrets?" said Harry, who could feel cold sweat on his forehead.
 "I!" said Aragog, clicking angrily. "I was not born in the castle. I come from a distant land. A traveler gave me to Hagrid when I was an egg. Hagrid was only a boy, but he cared for me, hidden in a cupboard in the castle, feeding me on scraps from the table. Hagrid
 2Y
 is my good friend, and a good man. When I was discovered, and blamed for the death of a girl, he protected me. I have lived here in the forest ever since, where Hagrid still visits me. He even found me a wife, Mosag, and you see how our family has grown, all through Hagrid's goodness ......
 Harry summoned what remained of his courage.
 "So you never - never attacked anyone?"
 "Never," croaked the old spider. "It would have been my instinct, but out of respect for Hagrid, I never harmed a human. The body of the girl who was killed was discovered in a bathroom. I never saw any part of the castle but the cupboard in which I grew up. Our kind like the dark and the quiet ......
 "But then ... Do you know what did kill that girl?" said Harry. "Because whatever it is, it's back and attacking people again -"
 His words were drowned by a loud outbreak of clicking and the rustling of many long legs shifting angrily; large black shapes shifted all around him.
 "The thing that lives in the castle," said Aragog, "is an ancient creature we spiders fear above all others. Well do I remember how I pleaded with Hagrid to let me go, when I sensed the beast moving about the school."
 "What is it?" said Harry urgently.
 More loud clicking, more rustling; the spiders seemed to be closing in.
 "We do not speak of it!" said Aragog fiercely. "We do not name it! I never even told Hagrid the name of that dread creature, though he asked me, many times."
 Harry didn't want to press the subject, not with the spiders
 * 2-V8 *
 pressing closer on all sides. Aragog seemed to be tired of tamng. He was backing slowly into his domed web, but his fellow spiders continued to inch slowly toward Harry and Ron.
 "We'll just go, then," Harry called desperately to Aragog, hearing leaves rustling behind him.
 "Go?" said Aragog slowly. "I think not ......
 "But - but -"
 "My sons and daughters do not harm Hagrid, on my command. But I cannot deny them fresh meat, when it wanders so willingly into our midst. Good-bye, friend of Hagrid."
 Harry spun around. Feet away, towering above him, was a solid wall of spiders, clicking, their many eyes gleaming in their ugly black heads.
 Even as he reached for his wand, Harry knew it was no good, there were too many of them, but as he tried to stand, ready to die fighting, a loud, long note sounded, and a blaze of light flamed through the hollow.
 Mr. Weasley's car was thundering down the slope, headlights glaring, its horn screeching, knocking spiders aside; several were thrown onto their backs, their endless legs waving in the air. The car screeched to a halt in front of Harry and Ron and the doors flew open.
 "Get Fang!" Harry yelled, diving into the front seat; Ron seized the boarhound around the middle and threw him, yelping, into the back of the car - the doors slammed shut - Ron didn't touch the accelerator but the car didn't need him; the engine roared and they were off, hitting more spiders. They sped up the slope, out of the hollow, and they were soon crashing through the forest, branches
 whipping the windows as the car wound its way cleverly through the widest gaps, following a path it obviously knew.
 Harry looked sideways at Ron. His mouth was still open in the silent scream, but his eyes weren't popping anymore.
 "Are you okay?"
 Ron stared straight ahead, unable to speak.
 They smashed their way through the undergrowth, Fang howling loudly in the back seat, and Harry saw the side mirror snap off as they squeezed past a large oak. After ten noisy, rocky minutes, the trees thinned, and Harry could again see patches of sky.
 The car stopped so suddenly that they were nearly thrown into the windshield. They had reached the edge of the forest. Fang flung himself at the window in his anxiety to get out, and when Harry opened the door, he shot off through the trees to Hagrid's house, tail between his legs. Harry got out too, and after a minute or so, Ron seemed to regain the feeling in his limbs and followed, still stiff-necked and staring. Harry gave the car a grateful pat as it reversed back into the forest and disappeared from view.
 Harry went back into Hagrid's cabin to get the Invisibility Cloak. Fang was trembling under a blanket in his basket. When Harry got outside again, he found Ron being violently sick in the pumpkin patch.
 "Follow the spiders," said Ron weakly, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "I'll never forgive Hagrid. We're lucky to be alive."
 "I bet he thought Aragog wouldn't hurt friends of his," said Harry.
 "That's exactly Hagrid's problem!" said Ron, thumping the wall of the cabin. "He always thinks monsters aren't as bad as they're
 *280*
 made out, and look where it's got him! A cell in Azkaban!" He was shivering uncontrollably now. "What was the point of sending us in there? What have we found out, Id like to know?"
 "That Hagrid never opened the Chamber of Secrets," said Harry, throwing the cloak over Ron and prodding him in the arm to make him walk. "He was innocent."
 Ron gave a loud snort. Evidently, hatching Aragog in a cupboard wasn't his idea of being innocent.
 As the castle loomed nearer Harry twitched the cloak to make sure their feet were hidden, then pushed the creaking front doors ajar. They walked carefully back across the entrance hall and up the marble staircase, holding their breath as they passed corridors where watchful sentries were walking. At last they reached the safety of the Gryffindor common room, where the fire had burned itself into glowing ash. They took off the cloak and climbed the winding stair to their dormitory.
 Ron fell onto his bed without bothering to get undressed. Harry, however, didn't feel very sleepy. He sat on the edge of his fourposter, thinking hard about everything Aragog had said.
 The creature that was lurking somewhere in the castle, he thought, sounded like a sort of monster Voldemort - even other monsters didn't want to name it. But he and Ron were no closer to finding out what it was, or how it Petrified its victims. Even Hagrid had never known what was in the Chamber of Secrets.
 Harry swung his legs up onto his bed and leaned back against his pillows, watching the moon glinting at him through the tower window.
 He couldn't see what else they could do. They had hit dead ends
 *281*
 everywhere. Riddle had caught the wrong person, the Heir of Slytherin had got off, and no one could tell whether it was the same person, or a different one, who had opened the Chamber this time. There was nobody else to ask. Harry lay down, still thinking about what Aragog had said.
 He was becoming drowsy when what seemed like their very last hope occurred to him, and he suddenly sat bolt upright.
 "Ron," he hissed through the dark, "Ron -"
 Ron woke with a yelp like Fang's, stared wildly around, and saw Harry.
 "Ron -that girl who died. Aragog said she was found in a bathroom," said Harry, ignoring Neville's snufing snores from the corner. "What if she never left the bathroom? What if she's still there?"
 Ron rubbed his eyes, frowning through the moonlight. And then he understood, too.
 "You don't think - not Moaning Myrtle?"
 A ll those times we were in that bathroom, and she was just
 three toilets away," said Ron bitterly at breakfast next day,
 "and we could've asked her, and now. . ."
 It had been hard enough trying to look for spiders. Escaping their teachers long enough to sneak into a girls' bathroom, the girls' bathroom, moreover, right next to the scene of the first attack, was going to be almost impossible.
 But something happened in their first lesson, Transfiguration, that drove the Chamber of Secrets out of their minds for the first time in weeks. Ten minutes into the class, Professor McGonagall told them that their exams would start on the first of June, one week from today.
 Exams?" howled Seamus Finnigan. "We're still getting exams?"
 There was a loud bang behind Harry as Neville Longbottom's wand slipped, vanishing one of the legs on his desk. Professorr
 *28%*
 McGonagall restored it with a wave of her own wand, and turned, frowning, to Seamus.
 "The whole point of keeping the school open at this time is for you to receive your education," she said sternly. "The exams will therefore take place as usual, and I trust you are all studying hard."
 Studying hard! It had never occurred to Harry that there would be exams with the castle in this state. There was a great deal of mutinous muttering around the room, which made Professor McGonagall scowl even more darkly.
 "Professor Dumbledore's instructions were to keep the school running as normally as possible, she said. "And that, I need hardly point out, means finding out how much you have learned this year.
 Harry looked down at the pair of white rabbits he was supposed to be turning into slippers. What had he learned so far this year? He couldn't seem to think of anything that would be useful in an exam.
 Ron looked as though he'd just been told he had to go and live in the Forbidden Forest.
 "Can you imagine me taking exams with this?" he asked Harry, holding up his wand, which had just started whistling loudly.
 Three days before their first exam, Professor McGonagall made another announcement at breakfast.
 "I have good news," she said, and the Great Hall, instead of falling silent, erupted.
 "Dumbledore's coming back!" several people yelled joyfully.
 "You've caught the Heir of Slytherin!" squealed a girl at the Ravenclaw table.
 284*
 "Quidditch matches are back on!" roared Wood excitedly.
 When the hubbub had subsided, Professor McGonagall said, "Professor Sprout has informed me that the Mandrakes are ready for cutting at last. Tonight, we will be able to revive those people who have been Petrified. I need hardly remind you all that one of them may well be able to tell us who, or what, attacked them. I am hopeful that this dreadful year will end with our catching the culprit."
 There was an explosion of cheering. Harry looked over at the Slytherin table and wasn't at all surprised to see that Draco Malfoy hadn't joined in. Ron, however, was looking happier than he'd looked in days.
 "It won't matter that we never asked Myrtle, then!" he said to Harry. "Hermione'll probably have all the answers when they wake her up! Mind you, she'll go crazy when she finds out we've got exams in three days' time. She hasn't studied. It might be kinder to leave her where she is till they're over."
 Just then, Ginny Weasley came over and sat down next to Ron. She looked tense and nervous, and Harry noticed that her hands were twisting in her lap.
 "What's up?" said Ron, helping himself to more porridge.
 Ginny didn't say anything, but glanced up and down the Gryffindor table with a scared look on her face that reminded Harry of someone, though he couldn't think who.
 "Spit it out," said Ron, watching her.
 Harry suddenly realized who Ginny looked like. She was rocking backward and forward slightly in her chair, exactly like Dobby did when he was teetering on the edge of revealing forbidden information.
 "I've got to tell you something," Ginny mumbled, carefully not looking at Harry.
 "What is it?" said Harry.
 Ginny looked as though she couldn't find the right words.
 "What?"said Ron.
 Ginny opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Harry leaned forward and spoke quietly, so that only Ginny and Ron could hear him.
 "Is it something about the Chamber of Secrets? Have you seen something? Someone acting oddly?"
 Ginny drew a deep breath and, at that precise moment, Percy Weasley appeared, looking tired and wan.
 "If you've finished eating, I'll take that seat, Ginny. I'm starving, I've only just come off patrol duty."
 Ginny jumped up as though her chair had just been electrified, gave Percy a fleeting, frightened look, and scampered away. Percy sat down and grabbed a mug from the center of the table.
 "Percy!" said Ron angrily. "She was just about to tell us some-' thing important!"
 Halfway through a gulp of tea, Percy choked.
 "What sort of thing?" he said, coughing.
 "I just asked her if she'd seen anything odd, and she started to say
 "Oh - that - that's nothing to do with the Chamber of Secrets," said Percy at once.
 "How do you know?" said Ron, his eyebrows raised.
 "Well, er, if you must know, Ginny, er, walked in on me the other day when I was - well, never mind - the point is, she spot
 ted me doing something and I, um, I asked her not to mention it to anybody. I must say, I did think she'd keep her word. It's nothing, really, Id just rather -"
 Harry had never seen Percy look so uncomfortable.
 "What were you doing, Percy?" said Ron, grinning. "Go on, tell us, we won't laugh."
 Percy didn't smile back.
 "Pass me those rolls, Harry, I'm starving."
 Harry knew the whole mystery might be solved tomorrow without their help, but he wasn't about to pass up a chance to speak to Myrtle if it turned up - and to his delight it did, midmorning, when they were being led to History of Magic by Gilderoy Lockhart.
 Lockhart, who had so often assured them that all danger had passed, only to be proved wrong right away, was now wholeheartedly convinced that it was hardly worth the trouble to see them safely down the corridors. His hair wasn't as sleek as usual; it seemed he had been up most of the night, patrolling the fourth floor.
 "Mark my words," he said, ushering them around a corner. "The first words out of those poor Petrified people's mouths will be It was Hagrid.' Frankly, I'm astounded Professor McGonagall thinks all these security measures are necessary."
 (ti agree, sir," said Harry, making Ron drop his books in surprise.
 "Thank you, Harry, said Lockhart graciously while they waited for a long line of Hufflepuffs to pass. "I mean, we teachers have quite enough to be getting on with, without walking students to classes and standing guard all night ......
 "That's right," said Ron, catching on. "Why don't you leave us here, sir, we've only got one more corridor to go -"
 "You know, Weasley, I think I will," said Lockhart. "I really should go and prepare my next class -"
 And he hurried off.
 "Prepare his class," Ron sneered after him. "Gone to curl his hair, more like."
 They let the rest of the Gryffindors draw ahead of them, then darted down a side passage and hurried off toward Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. But just as they were congratulating each other on their brilliant scheme
 "Potter! Weasley! What are you doing?"
 It was Professor McGonagall, and her mouth was the thinnest of thin lines.
 "We were -we were-" Ron stammered. "We were going to - to go and see -"
 "Hermione," said Harry. Ron and Professor McGonagall both looked at him.
 "We haven't seen her for ages, Professor," Harry went on hurriedly, treading on Ron's foot, "and we thought we'd sneak into the hospital wing, you know, and tell her the Mandrakes are nearly ready and, er, not to worry -"
 Professor McGonagall was still staring at him, and for a moment, Harry thought she was going to explode, but when she spoke, it was in a strangely croaky voice.
 "Of course," she said, and Harry, amazed, saw a tear glistening in her beady eye. "Of course, I realize this has all been hardest on the friends of those who have been ... I quite understand. Yes,
 Potter, of course you may visit Miss Granger. I will inform Professor Binns where you've gone. Tell Madam Pomfrey I have given my permission."
 Harry and Ron walked away, hardly daring to believe that they'd avoided detention. As they turned the corner, they distinctly heard Professor McGonagall blow her nose.
 "That," said Ron fervently, "was the best story you've ever come up with."
 They had no choice now but to go to the hospital wing and tell Madam Pomfrey that they had Professor McGonagall's permission to visit Hermione.
 Madam Pomfrey let them in, but reluctantly.
 "There's just no point talking to a Petrified. person," she said, and they had to admit she had a point when they'd taken their seats next to Hermione. It was plain that Hermione didn't have the faintest inkling that she had visitors, and that they might just as well tell her bedside cabinet not to worry for all the good it would do.
 "Wonder if she did see the attacker, though?" said Ron, looking sadly at Hermione's rigid face. "Because if he sneaked up on them all, no one'll ever know . .....
 But Harry wasn't looking at Hermione's face. He was more interested in her right hand. It lay clenched on top of her blankets, and bending closer, he saw that a piece of paper was scrunched inside her fist.
 Making sure that Madam Pomfrey was nowhere near, he pointed this out to Ron.
 "TG and get it out," Ron whispered, shifting his chair so that he blocked Harry from Madam Pomfrey's view.
 It was no easy task. Hermione's hand was clamped so tightly around the paper that Harry was sure he was going to tear it. While Ron kept watch he tugged and twisted, and at last, after several tense minutes, the paper came free.
 It was a page torn from a very old library book. Harry smoothed it out eagerly and Ron leaned close to read it, too.
 Of the many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land, there is none more curious or more deadly than the Basilisk, known also as the King of Serpents. This snake, which may reach gigantic size and live many hundreds of years, is born
 from a chicken's egg, hatched beneath a toad. Its methods of killing are most wondrous, for aside from its deadly and venomous fangs, the Basilisk has a murderous stare, and all who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall suffer instant death. Spiders flee before the Basilisk, for it is their mortal enemy, and the Basilisk flees only from the crowing of the rooster, which is fatal to it.
 And beneath this, a single word had been written, in a hand Harry recognized as Hermione's. Pipes.
 It was as though somebody had just flicked a light on in his brain.
 "Ron," he breathed. "This is it. This is the answer. The monster in the Chamber's a basilisk - a giant serpent! That why I've been hearing that voice all over the place, and nobody else has heard it. It's because I understand Parseltongue . . . ."
 Harry looked up at the beds around him.
 "The basilisk kills people by looking at them. But no one's died - because no one looked it straight in the eye. Colin saw it through his camera. The basilisk burned up all the film inside it, but Colin just got Petrified. Justin . . . Justin must've seen the basilisk through Nearly Headless Nick! Nick got the full blast of it, but he couldn't die again . . . and Hermione and that Ravenclaw prefect were found with a mirror next to them. Hermione had just realized the monster was a basilisk. I bet you anything she warned the first person she met to look around corners with a mirror first! And that girl pulled out her mirror - and -"
 Rods jaw had dropped.
 "And Mrs. Norris?" he whispered eagerly.
 Harry thought hard, picturing the scene on the night of Halloween.
 "The water. . ." he said slowly. "The flood from Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. I bet you Mrs. Norris only saw the reflection . . . ."
 He scanned the page in his hand eagerly. The more he looked at it, the more it made sense.
 : . . The crowing of the rooster . . . is fatal to it"! he read aloud. "Hagrid's roosters were killed! The Heir of Slytherin didn't want one anywhere near the castle once the Chamber was opened! Spidersflee before it.! It all fits!"
 "But how's the basilisk been getting around the place?" said Ron. "A giant snake . . . Someone would've seen. . ."
 Harry, however, pointed at the word Hermione had scribbled at the foot of the page.
 "Pipes," he said. "Pipes . . . Ron, it's been using the plumbing. I've been hearing that voice inside the walls . . . ."
 291*
 Ron suddenly grabbed Harry's arm. "The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets!" he said hoarsely. "What if it's a bathroom? What if it's in -"  Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, "said Harry. They sat there, excitement coursing through them, hardly able to believe it. "This means," said Harry, "I can't be the only Parselmouth in the school. The Heir of Slytherin's one, too. That's how he's been controlling the basilisk." "What're we going to do?" said Ron, whose eyes were flashing. "Should we go straight to McGonagall?" "Let's go to the staff room," said Harry, jumping up. "She'll be there in ten minutes. It's nearly break." They ran downstairs. Not wanting to be discovered hanging around in another corridor, they went straight into the deserted staff room. It was a large, paneled room full of dark, wooden chairs. Harry and Ron paced around it, too excited to sit down. But the bell to signal break never came. Instead, echoing through the corridors came Professor McGon agall's voice, magically magnified. All students to return to their House dormitories at once. All teach ers return to the staff room. Immediately, please. "
 Harry wheeled around to stare at Ron. "Not another attack? Not now?" "What'll we do?" said Ron, aghast. "Go back to the dormitory?" "No," said Harry, glancing around. There was an ugly sort of wardrobe to his left, full of the teachers' cloaks. "In here. Let's hear what it's all about. Then we can tell them what we've found out."
 They hid themselves inside it, listening to the rumbling of hundreds of people moving overhead, and the staff room door banging open. From between the musty folds of the cloaks, they watched the teachers filtering into the room. Some of them were looking puzzled, others downright scared. Then Professor McGonagall arrived.
 "It has happened," she told the silent staff room. "A student has been taken by the monster. Right into the Chamber itself."
 Professor Flitwick let out a squeal. Professor Sprout clapped her hands over her mouth. Snape gripped the back of a chair very hard and said, "How can you be sure?"
 "The Heir of Slytherin," said Professor McGonagall, who was very white, "left another message. Right underneath the first one. Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever. "'
 Professor Flitwick burst into tears.
 "Who is it?" said Madam Hooch, who had sunk, weak-kneed, into a chair. "Which student?"
 "Ginny Weasley," said Professor McGonagall.
 Harry felt Ron slide silently down onto the wardrobe floor beside him.
 "We shall have to send all the students home tomorrow," said Professor McGonagall. "This is the end of Hogwarts. Dumbledore always said. . ."
 The staffroom door banged open again. For one wild moment, Harry was sure it would be Dumbledore. But it was Lockhart, and he was beaming.
 "So sorry - dozed off - what have I missed?"
 He didn't seem to notice that the other teachers were looking at him with something remarkably like hatred. Snape stepped forward.
 "Just the man," he said. "The very man. A girl has been snatched by the monster, Lockhart. Taken into the Chamber of Secrets itself. Your moment has come at last."
 Lockhart blanched.
 "That's right, Gilderoy," chipped in Professor Sprout. "Weren't you saying just last night that you've known all along where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is?"
 "I - well, I -"sputtered Lockhart.
 "Yes, didn't you tell me you were sure you knew what was inside it?" piped up Professor Flitwick.
 "D-did I? I don't recall -"
 "I certainly remember you saying you were sorry you hadn't had a crack at the monster before Hagrid was arrested," said Snape. "Didn't you say that the whole affair had been bungled, and that you should have been given a free rein from the first?"
 Lockhart stared around at his stony-faced colleagues.
 "I - I really never - you may have misunderstood -"
 "We'll leave it to you, then, Gilderoy," said Professor McGonagall. "Tonight will be an excellent time to do it. We'll make sure everyone's out of your way. You'll be able to tackle the monster all by youself. A free rein at last."
 Lockhart gazed desperately around him, but nobody came to the rescue. He didn't look remotely handsome anymore. His lip was trembling, and in the absence of his usually toothy grin, he looked weak-chinned and feeble.
 "V very well," he said. "I'll - I'll be in my office, getting getting ready."
 And he left the room.
 "Right," said Professor McGonagall, whose nostrils were flared,
 "that's got him out from under our feet. The Heads of Houses should go and inform their students what has happened. Tell them the Hogwarts Express will take them home first thing tomorrow. Will the rest of you please make sure no students have been left outside their dormitories."
 The teachers rose and left, one by one.
 It was probably the worst day of Harry's entire life. He, Ron, Fred, and George sat together in a corner of the Gryffindor common room, unable to say anything to each other. Percy wasn't there. He had gone to send an owl to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, then shut himself up in his dormitory.
 No afternoon ever lasted as long as that one, nor had Gryffindor Tower ever been so crowded, yet so quiet. Near sunset, Fred and George went up to bed, unable to sit there any longer.
 "She knew something, Harry," said Ron, speaking for the first time since they had entered the wardrobe in the staff room. "That's why she was taken. It wasn't some stupid thing about Percy at all., She'd found out something about the Chamber of Secrets. That must be why she was -" Ron rubbed his eyes frantically. "I mean, she was a pure- blood. There can't be any other reason."
 Harry could see the sun sinking, blood-red, below the skyline. This was the worst he had ever felt. If only there was something they could do. Anything.
 "Harry" said Ron. "D'you think there's any chance at all she's not - you know "
 Harry didn't know what to say. He couldn't see how Ginny could still be alive.
 "D'you know what?" said Ron. "I think we should go and see
 *295*
 Lockhart. Tell him what we know. He's going to try and get into the Chamber. We can tell him where we think it is, and tell him it's a basilisk in there."
 Because Harry couldn't think of anything else to do, and because he wanted to be doing something, he agreed. The Gryffindors around them were so miserable, and felt so sorry for the Weasleys, that nobody tried to stop them as they got up, crossed the room, and left through the portrait hole.
 Darkness was falling as they walked down to Lockhart's office. There seemed to be a lot of activity going on inside it. They could hear scraping, thumps, and hurried footsteps.
 Harry knocked and there was a sudden silence from inside. Then the door opened the tiniest crack and they saw one of Lockhart's eyes peering through it.
 "Oh - Mr. Potter - Mr. Weasley -" he said, opening the door a bit wider. "I'm rather busy at the moment - if you would be quick -"
 "Professor, we've got some information for you," said Harry. "We think it'll help you."
 "Er - well - it's not terribly -" The side of Lockhart's face that they could see looked very uncomfortable. "I mean - well all right -"
 He opened the door and they entered.
 His office had been almost completely stripped. Two large trunks stood open on the floor. Robes, jade-green, lilac, midnightblue, had been hastily folded into one of them; books were jumbled untidily into the other. The photographs that had covered the walls were now crammed into boxes on the desk.
 *296*
 "Are you going somewhere?" said Harry.
 "Er, well, yes," said Lockhart, ripping a life-size poster of himself from the back of the door as he spoke and starting to roll it up. "Urgent call - unavoidable - got to go -"
 "What about my sister?" said Ron jerkily.
 "Well, as to that - most unfortunate -" said Lockhart, avoiding their eyes as he wrenched open a drawer and started emptying the contents into a bag. "No one regrets more than I -"
 "You're the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher!" said Harry. "You can't go now! Not with all the Dark stuff going on here!"
 "Well - I must say - when I took the job -" Lockhart muttered, now piling socks on top of his robes. "nothing in the job description - didn't expect -"
 "You mean you're running away?" said Harry disbelievingly. "After all that stuff you did in your books -"
 "Books can be misleading," said Lockhart delicately.
 "You wrote them!" Harry shouted.
 "My dear boy," said Lockhart, straightening up and frowning at Harry. "Do use your common sense. My books wouldn't have sold half as well if people didn't think Id done all those things. No one wants to read about some ugly old Armenian warlock, even if he did save a village from werewolves. He'd look dreadful on the front cover. No dress sense at all. And the witch who banished the Bandon Banshee had a harelip. I mean, come on -"
 "So you've just been taking credit for what a load of other people have done?" said Harry incredulously.
 "Harry, Harry," said Lockhart, shaking his head impatiently, "it's not nearly as simple as that. There was work involved. I had
 *297*
 to track these people down. Ask them exactly how they managed to do what they did. Then I had to put a Memory Charm on them so they wouldn't remember doing it. If there's one thing I pride myself on, it's my Memory Charms. No, it's been a lot of work, Harry. It's not all book signings and publicity photos, you know. You want fame, you have to be prepared for a long hard slog."
 He banged the lids of his trunks shut and locked them.
 "Let's see," he said. "I think that's everything. Yes. Only one thing left."
 He pulled out his wand and turned to them.
 "Awfully sorry, boys, but I'll have to put a Memory Charm on you now. Can't have you blabbing my secrets all over the place. Id never sell another book -"
 Harry reached his wand just in time. Lockhart had barely raised his, when Harry bellowed, "Expelliarmus!"
 Lockhart was blasted backward, falling over his trunk; his wand flew high into the air; Ron caught it, and flung it out of the open window.
 "Shouldn't have let Professor Snape teach us that one," said Harry furiously, kicking Lockhart's trunk aside. Lockhart was looking up at him, feeble once more. Harry was still pointing his wand at him.
 "What d'you want me to do?" said Lockhart weakly. "I don't know where the Chamber of Secrets is. There's nothing I can do."
 "You're in luck," said Harry, forcing Lockhart to his feet at wandpoint. "We think we know where it is. And what's inside it. Let's go."
 *298*
 They marched Lockhart out of his office and down the nearest stairs, along the dark corridor where the messages shone on the wall, to the door of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.
 They sent Lockhart in first. Harry was pleased to see that he was shaking.
 Moaning Myrtle was sitting on the tank of the end toilet.
 "Oh, it's you," she said when she saw Harry. "What do you want this time?"
 "To ask you how you died," said Harry.
 Myrtle's whole aspect changed at once. She looked as though she had never been asked such a flattering question.
 "Ooooh, it was dreadful," she said with relish. "It happened right in here. I died in this very stall. I remember it so well. Id hidden because Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses. The door was locked, and I was crying, and then I heard somebody come in. They said something funny. A different language, I think it must have been. Anyway, what really got me was that it was a boy speaking. So I unlocked the door, to tell him to go and use his own toilet, and then -" Myrtle swelled importantly, her face shining. "I died."
 "How?" said Harry.
 "No idea," said Myrtle in hushed tones. "I just remember seeing a pair of great, big, yellow eyes. My whole body sort of seized up, and then I was floating away . . . ." She looked dreamily at Harry. "And then I came back again. I was determined to haunt Olive Hornby, you see. Oh, she was sorry she'd ever laughed at my glasses."
 "Where exactly did you see the eyes?" said Harry.
 *299*
 "Somewhere there," said Myrtle, pointing vaguely toward the sink in front of her toilet.
 Harry and Ron hurried over to it. Lockhart was standing well back, a look of utter terror on his face.
 It looked like an ordinary sink. They examined every inch of it, inside and out, including the pipes below. And then Harry saw it: Scratched on the side of one of the copper taps was a tiny snake.
 "That tap's never worked," said Myrtle brightly as he tried to turn it.
 "Harry," said Ron. "Say something. Something in Parseltongue."
 "But -" Harry thought hard. The only times he'd ever managed to speak Parseltongue were when he'd been faced with a real snake. He stared hard at the tiny- engraving, trying to imagine it was real.
 "Open up," he said.
 He looked at Ron, who shook his head.
 "English," he said.
 Harry looked back at the snake, willing himself to believe it was alive. If he moved his head, the candlelight made it look as though it were moving.
 "Open up," he said.
 Except that the words weren't what he heard; a strange hissing had escaped him, and at once the tap glowed with a brilliant white light and began to spin. Next second, the sink began to move; the sink, in fact, sank, right out of sight, leaving a large pipe exposed, a pipe wide enough for a man to slide into.
 Harry heard Ron gasp and looked up again. He had made up his mind what he was going to do.
 *300*
 "I'm going down there," he said. .
 He couldn't not go, not now they had found the entrance to the Chamber, not if there was even the faintest, slimmest, wildest chance that Ginny might be alive.
 "Me too," said Ron.
 There was a pause.
 "Well, you hardly seem to need me," said Lockhart, with a shadow of his old smile. "I'll just -"
 He put his hand on the door knob, but Ron and Harry both pointed their wands at him.
 "You can go first," Ron snarled.
 White-faced and wandless, Lockhart approached the opening.
 "Boys," he said, his voice feeble. "Boys, what good will it do?"
 Harry jabbed him in the back with his wand. Lockhart slid his legs into the pipe.
 "I really don't think -" he started to say, but Ron gave him a push, and he slid out of sight. Harry followed quickly. He lowered himself slowly into the pipe, then let go.
 It was like rushing down an endless, slimy, dark slide. He could see more pipes branching off in all directions, but none as large as theirs, which twisted and turned, sloping steeply downward, and he knew that he was falling deeper below the school than even the dungeons. Behind him he could hear Ron, thudding slightly at the curves.
 And then, just as he had begun to worry about what would happen when he hit the ground, the pipe leveled out, and he shot out of the end with a wet thud, landing on the damp floor of a dark stone tunnel large enough to stand in. Lockhart was getting to his
 *301
 feet a little ways away, covered in slime and white as a ghost. Harry stood aside as Ron came whizzing out of the pipe, too.
 "We must be miles under the school," said Harry, his voice echoing in the black tunnel.
 "Under the lake, probably," said Ron, squinting around at the dark, slimy walls.
 All three of them turned to stare into the darkness ahead.
 "Lumos!" Harry muttered to his wand and it lit again. "C'mon," he said to Ron and Lockhart, and off they went, their footsteps slapping loudly on the wet floor.
 The tunnel was so dark that they could only see a little distance ahead. Their shadows on the wet walls looked monstrous in the wandlight.
 "Remember," Harry said quietly as they walked cautiously forward, "any sign of movement, close your eyes right away . .....
 But the tunnel was quiet as the grave, and the first unexpected sound they heard was a loud crunch as Ron stepped on what turned out to be a rat's skull. Harry lowered his wand to look at the floor and saw that it was littered with small animal bones. Trying very hard not to imagine what Ginny might look like if they found her, Harry led the way forward, around a dark bend in the tunnel.
 "Harry - there's something up there -" said Ron hoarsely, grabbing Harry's shoulder.
 They froze, watching. Harry could just see the outline of something huge and curved, lying right across the tunnel. It wasn't moving.
 "Maybe it's asleep," he breathed, glancing back at the other two. Lockhart's hands were pressed over his eyes. Harry turned back to look at the thing, his heart beating so fast it hurt.
 * 302 *
 Very slowly, his eyes as narrow as he could make them and still see, Harry edged forward, his wand held high.
 The light slid over a gigantic snake skin, of a vivid, poisonous green, lying curled and empty across the tunnel floor. The creature that had shed it must have been twenty feet long at least.
 "Blimey," said Ron weakly.
 There was a sudden movement behind them. Gilderoy Lockhart's knees had given way.
 "Get up," said Ron sharply, pointing his wand at Lockhart.
 Lockhart got to his feet - then he dived at Ron, knocking him to the ground.
 Harry jumped forward, but too late - Lockhart was straightening up, panting, Ron's wand in his hand and a gleaming smile back on his face.
 "The adventure ends here, boys!" he said. "I shall take a bit of this skin back up to the school, tell them I was too late to save the girl, and that you two tragically lost your minds at the sight of her mangled body - say good-bye to your memories!"
 He raised Ron's Spellotaped wand high over his head and yelled, "Obliviate!"
 The wand exploded with the force of a small bomb. Harry flung his arms over his head and ran, slipping over the coils of snake skin, out of the way of great chunks of tunnel ceiling that were thundering to the floor. Next moment, he was standing alone, gazing at a solid wall of broken rock.
 "Ron!" he shouted. "Are you okay? Ron!"
 "I'm here!" came Ron's muffled voice from behind the rockfall. "I'm okay - this git's not, though - he got blasted by the wand '
 *303*
 There was a dull thud and a loud "ow!" It sounded as though Ron had just kicked Lockhart in the shins.
 "What now?" Ron's voice said, sounding desperate. "We can't get through - it'll take ages ......
 Harry looked up at the tunnel ceiling. Huge cracks had appeared in it. He had never tried to break apart anything as large as these rocks by magic, and now didn't seem a good moment to try - what if the whole tunnel caved in?
 There was another thud and another "ow!" from behind the rocks. They were wasting time. Ginny had already been in the Chamber of Secrets for hours .... Harry knew there was only one thing to do.
 "Wait there," he called to Ron. "Wait with Lockhart. I'll go on.... If I'm not back in an hour. . .
 There was a very pregnant pause,
 "I'll try and shift some of this rock," said Ron, who seemed to be trying to keep his voice steady. "So you can - can get back through. And, Harry -"
 "See you in a bit," said Harry, trying to inject some confidence into his shaking voice.
 And he set off alone past the giant snake skin.
 Soon the distant noise of Ron straining to shift the rocks was gone. The tunnel turned and turned again. Every nerve in Harry's body was tingling unpleasantly. He wanted the tunnel to end, yet dreaded what he'd find when it did. And then, at last, as he crept around yet another bend, he saw a solid wall ahead on which two entwined serpents were carved, their eyes set with great, glinting emeralds.
 *304*
 Harry approached, his throat very dry. There was no need to pretend these stone snakes were real; their eyes looked strangely alive.
 He could guess what he had to do. He cleared his throat, and the emerald eyes seemed to flicker.
 "Open, "said Harry, in a low, faint hiss.
 The serpents parted as the wall cracked open, the halves slid smoothly out of sight, and Harry, shaking from head to foot, walked inside.
 e was standing at the end of a very long, dimly lit chamber. Towering stone pillars entwined with more carved serpents rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness, casting long, black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place.
 His heart beating very fast, Harry stood listening to the chill silence. Could the basilisk be lurking in a shadowy corner, behind a pillar? And where was Ginny?
 He pulled out his wand and moved forward between the serpentine columns. Every careful footstep echoed loudly off the shadowy walls. He kept his eyes narrowed, ready to clamp them shut at the smallest sign of movement. The hollow eye sockets of the stone snakes seemed to be following him. More than once, with a jolt of the stomach, he thought he saw one stir.
 Then, as he drew level with the last pair of pillars, a statue high as the Chamber itself loomed into view, standing against the back wall.
 *306*
 Harry had to crane his neck to look up into the giant face above: It was ancient and monkeyish, with a long, thin beard that fell almost to the bottom of the wizard's sweeping stone robes, where two enormous gray feet stood on the smooth Chamber floor. And between the feet, facedown, lay a small, black-robed figure with flaming-red hair.
 "tinny!" Harry muttered, sprinting to her and dropping to his knees. "tinny - don't be dead - please don't be dead -" He flung his wand aside, grabbed Ginny's shoulders, and turned her over. Her face was white as marble, and as cold, yet her eyes were closed, so she wasn't Petrified. But then she must be
 "Ginny, please wake up," Harry muttered desperately, shaking her. Ginny's head lolled hopelessly from side to side.
 "She won't wake," said a soft voice.
 Harry jumped and spun around on his knees.
 A tall, black-haired boy was leaning against the nearest pillar, watching. He was strangely blurred around the edges, as though Harry were looking at him through a misted window. But there was no mistaking him
 "Tom - Tom Riddle?"
 Riddle nodded, not taking his eyes off Harry's face.
 "What d'you mean, she won't wake?" Harry said desperately. "She's not - she's not -?"
 "She's still alive," said Riddle. "But only just."
 Harry stared at him. Tom Riddle had been at Hogwarts fifty years ago, yet here he stood, a weird, misty light shining about him, not a day older than sixteen.
 "Are you a ghost?" Harry said uncertainly.
 * 30 7*
 "A memory," said Riddle quietly. "Preserved in a diary for fifty years.
 He pointed toward the floor near the statue's giant toes. Lying open there was the little black diary Harry had found in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. For a second, Harry wondered how it had got there - but there were more pressing matters to deal with.
 "You've got to help me, Tom," Harry said, raising Ginny's head again. "We've got to get her out of here. There's a basilisk ... I don't know where it is, but it could be along any moment .... Please, help me -1)
 Riddle didn't move. Harry, sweating, managed to hoist Ginny half off the floor, and bent to pick up his wand again.
 But his wand had gone.
 "Did you see -?"
 He looked up. Riddle was still watching him - twirling Harry's wand between his long fingers.
 "Thanks," said Harry, stretching out his hand for it.
 A smile curled the corners of Riddle's mouth. He continued to stare at Harry, twirling the wand idly.
 "Listen," said Harry urgently, his knees sagging with Ginny's dead weight. "We've got to go! If the basilisk comes -"
 "It won't come until it is called," said Riddle calmly.
 Harry lowered Ginny back onto the floor, unable to hold her up any longer.
 "What d'you mean?" he said. "Look, give me my wand, I might need it -"
 Riddle's smile broadened.
 "You won't be needing it," he said.
 *%08*
 Harry stared at him.
 "What d'you mean, I won't be -?"
 "I've waited a long time for this, Harry Potter," said Riddle. "For the chance to see you. To speak to you."
 "Look," said Harry, losing patience, "I don't think you get it. We're in the Chamber of Secrets. We can talk later -"
 "We're going to talk now," said Riddle, still smiling broadly, and he pocketed Harry's wand.
 Harry stared at him. There was something very funny going on here ....
 "How did Ginny get like this?" he asked slowly.
 "Well, that's an interesting question," said Riddle pleasantly. "And quite a long story. I suppose the real reason Ginny Weasley's like this is because she opened her heart and spilled all her secrets to an invisible stranger."
 "What are you talking about?" said Harry.
 "The diary," said Riddle. My diary. Little Ginny's been writing in it for months and months, telling me all her pitiful worries and woes - how her brothers tease her, how she had to come to school with secondhand robes and books, how" -Riddle's eyes glinted "how she didn't think famous, good, great Harry Potter would ever like her . . . ."
 All the time he spoke, Riddle's eyes never left Harry's face. There was an almost hungry look in them.
 "It's very boring, having to listen to the silly little troubles of an eleven- year-old girl," he went on. "But I was patient. I wrote back. I was sympathetic, I was kind. Ginny simply loved me. No one's ever understood me like you, Tom .... I'm so glad I've got this diary to
 *309*
 confide in .... It's like having a friend I can carry around in my pocket . . . .
 Riddle laughed, a high, cold laugh that didn't suit him. It made the hairs stand up on the back of Harry's neck.
 "If I say it myself, Harry, I've always been able to charm the people I needed. So Ginny poured out her soul to me, and her soul happened to be exactly what I wanted .... I grew stronger and stronger on a diet of her deepest fears, her darkest secrets. I grew powerful, far more powerful than little Miss Weasley. Powerful enough to start feeding Miss Weasley a few of my secrets, to start pouring a little of my soul back into her. . ."
 "What d'you mean?" said Harry, whose mouth had gone very dry.
 " Haven't you guessed yet, Harry Potter?" said Riddle softly. "Ginny Weasley opened the Chamber of Secrets. She strangled the school roosters and daubed threatening messages on the walls. She set the Serpent of Slytherin on four Mudbloods, and the Squib's cat.
 "No," Harry whispered.
 "Yes," said Riddle, calmly. "Of course, she didn't know what she was doing at first. It was very amusing. I wish you could have seen her new diary entries ... far more interesting, they became .... Dear Tom," he recited, watching Harry's horrified face, I think I'm losing my memory. There are rooster feathers all over my robes and 1 don't know how they got there. Dear Tom, l can't remember what 1 did on the night of Halloween, but a cat was attacked and I've got paint all down my front. Dear Tom, Percy keeps telling me I'm pale and I'm not myself. I think he suspects me... There was another attack today
 *310
 and I don't know where I was. Tom, what am I going to do? I think I'm going mad... I think I'm the one attacking everyone, Tom!"
 Harry's fists were clenched, the nails digging deep into his Palms.
 "it took a very long time for stupid little Ginny to stop trusting her diary," said Riddle. "But she finally became suspicious and tried to dispose of it. And that's where you came in, Harry. You found it, and I couldn't have been more delighted. Of all the people who could have picked it up, it was you, the very person I was most anxious to meet . . . ."
 "And why did you want to meet me?" said Harry. Anger was coursing through him, and it was an effort to keep his voice steady.
 "Well, you see, Ginny told me all about you, Harry," said Riddle. "Your whole fascinating history. " His eyes roved over the lightning scar on Harry's forehead, and their expression grew hungrier. "I knew I must find out more about you, talk to you, meet you if I could. So I decided to show you my famous capture of that great oaf, Hagrid, to gain your trust -"
 "Hagrid's my friend," said Harry, his voice now shaking. "And you framed him, didn't you? I thought you made a mistake, but -"
 Riddle laughed his high laugh again.
 "It was my word against Hagrid's, Harry. Well, you can imagine how it looked to old Armando Dippet. On the one hand, Tom Riddle, poor but brilliant, parentless but so brave, school prefect, model student ... on the other hand, big, blundering Hagrid, in trouble every other week, trying to raise werewolf cubs under his bed, sneaking off to the Forbidden Forest to wrestle trolls ... but I
 * 31:L *
 admit, even I was surprised how well the plan worked. I thought someone must realize that Hagrid couldn't possibly be the Heir of Slytherin. It had taken me five whole years to find out everything I could about the Chamber of Secrets and discover the secret entrance ... as though Hagrid had the brains, or the power!
 "Only the Transfiguration teacher, Dumbledore, seemed to think Hagrid was innocent. He persuaded Dipper to keep Hagrid and train him as gamekeeper. Yes, I think Dumbledore might have guessed .... Dumbledore never seemed to like me as much as the other teachers did ......
 "I bet Dumbledore saw right through you," said Harry, his teeth gritted.
 "Well, he certainly kept an annoyingly close watch on me after Hagrid was expelled," said Riddle carelessly. "I knew it wouldn't be safe to open the Chamber again while I was still at school. But I wasn't going to waste those long years Id spent searching for it. I decided to leave behind a diary, preserving my sixteen-year-old self in its pages, so that one day, with luck, I would be able to lead another in my footsteps, and finish Salazar Slytherin's noble work."
 "Well, you haven't finished it," said Harry triumphantly. "No one's died this time, not even the cat. In a few hours the Mandrake Draught will be ready and everyone who was Petrified will be all right again -"
 "Haven't I already told you," said Riddle quietly, "that killing Mudbloods doesn't matter to me anymore? For many months now, my new target has been -you."
 Harry stared at him.
 "Imagine how angry I was when the next time my diary was
 *312*
 opened, it was Ginny who was writing to me, not you. She saw you with the diary, you see, and panicked. "What if you found out how to work it, and I repeated all her secrets to you? What if, even worse, I told you who'd been strangling roosters? So the foolish little brat waited until your dormitory was deserted and stole it back. But I knew what I must do. It was clear to me that you were on the trail of Slytherin's heir. From everything Ginny had told me about you, I knew you would go to any lengths to solve the mystery --
 particularly if one of your best friends was attacked. And Ginny had told me the whole school was buzzing because you could speak Parseltongue ....
 "So I made Ginny write her own farewell on the wall and come down here to wait. She struggled and cried and became very boring. But there isn't much life left in her .... She put too much into the diary, into me. Enough to let me leave its pages at last .... I have been waiting for you to appear since we arrived here. I knew you'd come. I have many questions for you, Harry Potter."
 "Like what?" Harry spat, fists still clenched.
 "Well," said Riddle, smiling pleasantly, "how is it that you a skinny boy with no extraordinary magical talent - managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time? How did you escape with nothing but a scar, while Lord Voldemort's powers were destroyed?"
 There was an odd red gleam in his hungry eyes now.
 "Why do you care how I escaped?" said Harry slowly. "Voldemort was after your time ......
 "Voldemort," said Riddle softly, "is my past, present, and future, Harry Potter . . . ."
 He pulled Harry's wand from his pocket and began to trace it through the air, writing three shimmering words:
 TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE
 Then he waved the wand once, and the letters of his name rearranged themselves:
 I AM LORD VOLDEMORT
 "You see?" he whispered. "It was a name I was already using at Hogwarts, to my most intimate friends only, of course. You think I was going to use my filthy Muggle father's name forever? I, in whose veins runs the blood of Salazar Slytherin himself, through my mother's side? I, keep the name of a foul, common Muggle, who abandoned me even before I was born, just because he found out his wife was a witch? No, Harry - I fashioned myself a new name, a name I knew wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak, when I had become the greatest sorcerer in the world!"
 Harry's brain seemed to have jammed. He stared numbly at Riddle, at the orphaned boy who had grown up to murder Harry's own parents, and so many others .... At last he forced himself to -,peak.
 "You're not," he said, his quiet voice full of hatred.
 "Not what?" snapped Riddle.
 "Not the greatest sorcerer in the world," said Harry, breathing fast. "Sorry to disappoint you and all that, but the greatest wizard in the world is Albus Dumbledore. Everyone says so. Even when you were strong, you didn't dare try and take over at Hogwarts. Dumbledore saw through you when you were at school and he still frightens you now, wherever you're hiding these days -"
 The smile had gone from Riddle's face, to be replaced by a very ugly look.
 *31-4*
 "Dumbledore's been driven out of this castle by the mere memory of me!" he hissed.
 "He's not as gone as you might think!" Harry retorted. He was speaking at random, wanting to scare Riddle, wishing rather than believing it to be true
 Riddle opened his mouth, but froze.
 Music was coming from somewhere. Riddle whirled around to stare down the empty Chamber. The music was growing louder. It was eerie, spine-tingling, unearthly; it lifted the hair on Harry's scalp and made his heart feel as though it was swelling to twice its normal size. Then, as the music reached such a pitch that Harry felt it vibrating inside his own ribs, flames erupted at the top of the nearest pillar.
 A crimson bird the size of a swan had appeared, piping its weird music to the vaulted ceiling. It had a glittering golden tail as long as a peacock's and gleaming golden talons, which were gripping a ragged bundle.
 A second later, the bird was flying straight at Harry. It dropped the ragged thing it was carrying at his feet, then landed heavily on his shoulder. As it folded its great wings, Harry looked up and saw it had a long, sharp golden beak and a beady black eye.
 The bird stopped singing. It sat still and warm next to Harry's cheek, gazing steadily at Riddle.
 "That's a phoenixsaid Riddle, staring shrewdly back at it.
 "Fawkes?" Harry breathed, and he felt the bird's golden claws squeeze his shoulder gently
 "And that -" said Riddle, now eyeing the ragged thing that Fawkes had dropped, "that's the old school Sorting Hat -"
 So it was. Patched, frayed, and dirty, the hat lay motionless at Harry's feet.
 Riddle began to laugh again. He laughed so hard that the dark chamber rang with it, as though ten Riddles were laughing at once
 "This is what Dumbledore sends his defender! A songbird and an old hat! Do you feel brave, Harry Potter? Do you feel safe now?"
 Harry didn't answer. He might not see what use Fawkes or the Sorting Hat were, but he was no longer alone, and he waited for Riddle to stop laughing with his courage mounting.
 "To business, Harry," said Riddle, still smiling broadly. "Twice - in your past, in my future - we have met. And twice I failed to kill you. How did you survive? Tell me everything. The longer you talk," he added softly, "the longer you stay alive."
 Harry was thinking fast, weighing his chances. Riddle had the wand. He, Harry, had Fawkes and the Sorting Hat, neither of which would be much good in a duel. It looked bad, all right ... but the longer Riddle stood there, the more life was dwindling out of Ginny ... and in the meantime, Harry noticed suddenly, Riddle's outline was becoming clearer, more solid .... If it had to be a fight between him and Riddle, better sooner than later.
 "No one knows why you lost your powers when you attacked me," said Harry abruptly. "I don't know myself But I know why you couldn't kill me. Because my mother died to save me. My common Muggle-born mother," he added, shaking with suppressed rage. "She stopped you killing me. And I've seen the real you, I saw you last year. You're a wreck. You're barely alive. That's where all your power got you. You're in hiding. You're ugly, you're foul -"
 *%16*
 Riddle's face contorted. Then he forced it into an awful smile. "So. Your mother died to save you. Yes, that's a powerful countercharm. I can see now ... there is nothing special about you, after all. I wondered, you see. There are strange likenesses between us, after all. Even you must have noticed. Both half-bloods, orphans, raised by Muggles. Probably the only two Parselmouths to come to Hogwarts since the great Slytherin himself We even look something alike ... but after all, it was merely a lucky chance that saved you from me. That's all I wanted to know."
 Harry stood, tense, waiting for Riddle to raise his wand. But Riddle's twisted smile was widening again.
 "Now, Harry, I'm going to teach you a little lesson. Let's match the powers of Lord Voldemort, Heir of Salazar Slytherin, against famous Harry Potter, and the best weapons Dumbledore can give him . . . ."
 He cast an amused eye over Fawkes and the Sorting Hat, then walked away. Harry, fear spreading up his numb legs, watched Ridthe stop between the high pillars and look up into the stone face of Slytherin, high above him in the half-darkness. Riddle opened his mouth wide and hissed - but Harry understood what he was saying ....
 "Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four. "
 Harry wheeled around to look up at the statue, Fawkes swaying on his shoulder.
 Slytherin's gigantic stone face was moving. Horrorstruck, Harry saw his mouth opening, wider and wider, to make a huge black hole.
 And something was stirring inside the statue's mouth. Something was slithering up from its depths. 3 1
 Harry backed away until he hit the dark Chamber wall, and as he shut his eyes tight he felt Fawkes' wing sweep his cheek as he took flight. Harry wanted to shout, "Don't leave me!" but what chance did a phoenix have against the king of serpents?
 Something huge hit the stone floor of the Chamber. Harry felt it shudder - he knew what was happening, he could sense it, could almost see the giant serpent uncoiling itself from Slytherin's mouth. Then he heard Riddle's hissing voice:
 "Kill him. "
 The basilisk was moving toward Harry; he could hear its heavy body slithering heavily across the dusty floor. Eyes still tightly shut, Harry began to run blindly sideways, his hands outstretched, feeling his way - Voldemort was laughing
 Harry tripped. He fell hard onto the stone and tasted blood the serpent was barely feet from him, he could hear it coming
 There was a loud, explosive spitting sound right above him, and then something heavy hit Harry so hard that he was smashed into the wall. Waiting for fangs to sink through his body he heard more mad hissing, something thrashing wildly off the pillars
 He couldn't help it - he opened his eyes wide enough to squint at what was going on.
 The enormous serpent, bright, poisonous green, thick as an oak trunk, had raised itself high in the air and its great blunt head was weaving drunkenly between the pillars. As Harry trembled, ready to close his eyes if it turned, he saw what had distracted the snake.
 Fawkes was soaring around its head, and the basilisk was snapping furiously at him with fangs long and thin as sabers
 Fawkes dived. His long golden beak sank out of sight and a
 *318*
 sudden shower of dark blood spattered the floor. The snake's tail thrashed, narrowly missing Harry, and before Harry could shut his eyes, it turned - Harry looked straight into its face and saw that its eyes, both its great, bulbous yellow eyes, had been punctured by the phoenix; blood was streaming to the floor, and the snake was spitting in agony.
 "NO!" Harry heard Riddle screaming. "LEAVE THE BIRD! LEAVE THE BIRD! THE BOY IS BEHIND YOU. YOU CAN STILL SMELL HIM. KILL HIMI"
 The blinded serpent swayed, confused, still deadly. Fawkes was circling its head, piping his eerie song, jabbing here and there at its scaly nose as the blood poured from its ruined eyes.
 "Help me, help me," Harry muttered wildly, "someone - anyone
 The snake's tail whipped across the floor again. Harry ducked. Something soft hit his face.
 The basilisk had swept the Sorting Hat into Harry's arms. Harry seized it. It was all he had left, his only chance - he rammed it onto his head and threw himself flat onto the floor as the basilisk's tail swung over him again.
 Help me - help me - Harry thought, his eyes screwed tight under the hat. Please help me
 There was no answering voice. Instead, the hat contracted, as though an invisible hand was squeezing it very tightly.
 Something very hard and heavy thudded onto the top of Harry's head, almost knocking him out. Stars winking in front of his eyes, he grabbed the top of the hat to pull it off and felt something long and hard beneath it.
 3 19
 A gleaming silver sword had appeared inside the hat, its handle glittering with rubies the size of eggs.
 "KILL THE BOY! LEAVE THE BIRD! THE BOY IS BEHIND YOU. SNIFF -- SMELL HIM."
 Harry was on his feet, ready. The basilisk's head was falling, its body coiling around, hitting pillars as it twisted to face him. He could see the vast, bloody eye sockets, see the mouth stretching wide, wide enough to swallow him whole, lined with fangs long as his sword, thin, glittering, venomous -
 It lunged blindly -- Harry dodged and it hit the Chamber wall. It lunged again, and its forked tongue lashed Harry's side. He raised the sword in both his hands -
 The basilisk lunged again, and this time its aim was true -- Harry threw his whole weight behind the sword and drove it to the hilt into the roof of the serpent's mouth -
 But as warm blood drenched Harry's arms, he felt a searing pain just above his elbow. One long, poisonous fang was sinking deeper and deeper into his arm and it splintered as the basilisk keeled over sideways and fell, twitching, to the floor.
 Harry slid down the wall. He gripped the fang that was spreading poison through his body and wrenched it out of his arm. But he knew it was too late. White-hot pain was spreading slowly and steadily from the wound. Even as he dropped the fang and watched his own blood soaking his robes, his vision went foggy. The Chamber was dissolving in a whirl of dull color.
 A patch of scarlet swam past, and Harry heard a soft clatter of claws beside him.
 "Fawkes," said Harry thickly. "You were fantastic, Fawkes . . . ."
 1,520
 He felt the bird lay its beautiful head on the spot where the serpent's fang had pierced him.
 He could hear echoing footsteps and then a dark shadow moved in front of him.
 "You're dead, Harry Potter," said Riddle's voice above him. "Dead. Even Dumbledore's bird knows it. Do you see what he's doing, Potter? He's crying."
 Harry blinked. Fawke's head slid in and out of focus. Thick, pearly tears were trickling down the glossy feathers.
 "I'm going to sit here and watch you die, Harry Potter. Take your time. I'm in no hurry."
 Harry felt drowsy. Everything around him seemed to be spinning.
 "So ends the famous Harry Potter," said Riddle's distant voice. "Alone in the Chamber of Secrets, forsaken by his friends, defeated at last by the Dark Lord he so unwisely challenged. You'll be back with your dear Mudblood mother soon, Harry... She bought you twelve years of borrowed time ... but Lord Voldemort got you in the end, as you knew he must . . . ."
 If this is dying, thought Harry, it's not so bad.
 Even the pain was leaving him ....
 But was this dying? Instead of going black, the Chamber seemed to be coming back into focus. Harry gave his head a little shake and there was Fawkes, still resting his head on Harry's arm. A pearly patch of tears was shining all around the wound -- except that there was no wound
 "Get away, bird," said Riddle's voice suddenly. "Get away from him - I said, get away --"
 Harry raised his head. Riddle was pointing Harry's wand at
 Fawkes; there was a bang like a gun, and Fawkes took flight again in a whirl of gold and scarlet.
 "Phoenix tears. - ." said Riddle quietly, staring at Harry's arm. "Of course ... healing powers ... I forgot. . ."
 He looked into Harry's face. "But it makes no difference. In fact, I prefer it this way. Just you and me, Harry Potter ... you and me....
 He raised the wand
 Then, in a rush of wings, Fawkes had soared back overhead and something fell into Harry's lap -- the diary.
 For a split second, both Harry and Riddle, wand still raised, stared at it. Then, without thinking, without considering, as though he had meant to do it all along, Harry seized the basilisk fang on the floor next to him and plunged it straight into the heart of the book.
 There was a long, dreadful, piercing scream. Ink spurted out of the diary in torrents, streaming over Harry's hands, flooding the floor. Riddle was writhing and twisting, screaming and flailing and then
 He had gone. Harry's wand fell to the floor with a clatter and there was silence. Silence except for the steady drip drip of ink still oozing from the diary. The basilisk venom had burned a sizzling hole right through it.
 Shaking all over, Harry pulled himself up. His head was spinning as though he'd just traveled miles by Floo powder. Slowly, he gathered together his wand and the Sorting Hat, and, with a huge tug, retrieved the glittering sword from the roof of the basilisk's mouth.
 Then came a faint moan from the end of the Chamber. Ginny was stirring. As Harry hurried toward her, she sat up. Her bemused
 1,522
 eyes traveled from the huge form of the dead basilisk, over Harry, in his blood-soaked robes, then to the diary in his hand. She drew a great, shuddering gasp and tears began to pour down her face.
 "Harry -- oh, Harry -- I tried to tell you at b-breakfast, but I c-couldn't say it in front of Percy -- it was me, Harry -- but I -- I s-swear I d- diddt mean to -- R-Riddle made me, he t-took me over -- and - how did you kill that -- that thing? W-where's Riddle? The last thing I r- remember is him coming out of the diary --"
 " It's all right," said Harry, holding up the diary, and showing Ginny the fang hole, "Riddle's finished. Look! Him and the basilisk. C'mon, Ginny, let's get out of here --"
 "I'm going to be expelled!" Ginny wept as Harry helped her awkwardly to her feet. "I've looked forward to coming to Hogwarts ever since B-Bill came and n-now I'll have to leave and -- w-what'll Mum and Dad say?"
 Fawkes was waiting for them, hovering in the Chamber entrance. Harry urged Ginny forward; they stepped over the motionless coils of the dead basilisk, through the echoing gloom, and back into the tunnel. Harry heard the stone doors close behind them with a soft hiss.
 After a few minutes' progress up the dark tunnel, a distant sound of slowly shifting rock reached Harry's ears.
 "Ron!" Harry yelled, speeding up. "Ginny's okay! I've got her!"
 He heard Ron give a strangled cheer, and they turned the next bend to see his eager face staring through the sizable gap he had managed to make in the rock fall.
 "Ginny!" Ron thrust an arm through the gap in the rock to pull
 321,3
 her through first. "You're alive! I don't believe it! What happened?" How - what -- where did that bird come from?"
 Fawkes had swooped through the gap after Ginny.
 "He's Dumbledore's," said Harry, squeezing through himself
 "How come you've got a sword?" said Ron, gaping at the glittering weapon in Harry's hand.
 "I'll explain when we get out of here," said Harry with a sideways glance at Ginny, who was crying harder than ever.
 "But --"
 "Later," Harry said shortly. He didn't think it was a good idea to tell Ron yet who'd been opening the Chamber, not in front of Ginny, anyway. "Where's Lockhart?"
 "Back there," said Ron, still looking puzzled but jerking his head up the tunnel toward the pipe. "He's in a bad way. Come and see."
 Led by Fawkes, whose wide scarlet wings emitted a soft golden glow in the darkness, they walked all the way back to the mouth of the pipe. Gilderoy Lockhart was sitting there, humming placidly to himself.
 "His memory's gone," said Ron. "The Memory Charm backfired. Hit him instead of us. Hasn't got a clue who he is, or where he is, or who we are. I told him to come and wait here. He's a danger to himself"
 Lockhart peered good-naturedly up at them all.
 "Hello," he said. "Odd sort of place, this, isn't it? Do you live here?"
 "No," said Ron, raising his eyebrows at Harry.
 Harry bent down and looked up the long, dark pipe.
 "Have you thought how we're going to get back up this?" he said to Ron.
 *324*
 Ron shook his head, but Fawkes the phoenix had swooped past Harry and was now fluttering in front of him, his beady eyes bright in the dark. He was waving his long golden tail feathers. Harry looked uncertainly at him.
 "He looks like he wants you to grab hold. . ." said Ron, looking perplexed. "But you're much too heavy for a bird to pull up there -"
 "Fawkes," said Harry, "isn't an ordinary bird." He turned quickly to the others. "We've got to hold on to each other. Ginny, grab Ron's hand. Professor Lockhart --"
 "He means you," said Ron sharply to Lockhart.
 "You hold Ginny's other hand --"
 Harry tucked the sword and the Sorting Hat into his belt, Ron took hold of the back of Harry's robes, and Harry reached out and took hold of Fawkes's strangely hot tail feathers.
 An extraordinary lightness seemed to spread through his whole body and the next second, in a rush of wings, they were flying upward through the pipe. Harry could hear Lockhart dangling below him, saying, "Amazing! Amazing! This is just like magic!" The chill air was whipping through Harry's hair, and before he'd stopped enjoying the ride, it was over -- all four of them were hitting the wet floor of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, and as Lockhart straightened his hat, the sink that hid the pipe was sliding back into place.
 Myrtle goggled at them.
 "You're alive," she said blankly to Harry.
 "There's no need to sound so disappointed," he said grimly, wiping flecks of blood and slime off his glasses.
 * 325*
 "Oh, well ... Id just been thinking ... if you had died, you'd have been welcome to share my toilet," said Myrtle, blushing silver.
 "Urgh!" said Ron as they left the bathroom for the dark, deserted corridor outside. "Harry! I think Myrtle's grown fond of you! You've got competition, Ginny!"
 But tears were still flooding silently down Ginny's face.
 "Where now?" said Ron, with an anxious look at Ginny. Harry pointed.
 Fawkes was leading the way, glowing gold along the corridor. They strode after him, and moments later, found themselves outside Professor McGonagall's office.
 Harry knocked and pushed the door open.
 G F-I A P T E IR
 k' I G 14 T V V N
 DO
 Y'$ REWARD
 or a moment there was silence as Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Lockhart stood in the doorway, covered in muck and slime and (in Harry's case) blood. Then there was a scream.
 "Ginny!"
 It was Mrs. Weasley, who had been sitting crying in front of the fire. She leapt to her feet, closely followed by Mr. Weasley, and both of them flung themselves on their daughter.
 Harry, however, was looking past them. Professor Dumbledore was standing by the mantelpiece, beaming, next to Professor McGonagall, who was taking great, steadying gasps, clutching her chest. Fawkes went whooshing past Harry's ear and settled on Dumbledore's shoulder, just as Harry found himself and Ron being swept into Mrs. Weasleys tight embrace.
 "You saved her! You saved her! How did you do it?"
 "I think we'd all like to know that," said Professor McGonagall weakly.
 Mrs. Weasley let go of Harry, who hesitated for a moment, then walked over to the desk and laid upon it the Sorting Hat, the rubyencrusted sword, and what remained of Riddle's diary.
 Then he started telling them everything. For nearly a quarter of an hour he spoke into the rapt silence: He told them about hearing the disembodied voice, how Hermione had finally realized that he was hearing a basilisk in the pipes; how he and Ron had followed the spiders into the forest, that Aragog had told them where the last victim of the basilisk had died; how he had guessed that Moaning Myrtle had been the victim, and that the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets might be in her bathroom ....
 "Very well," Professor McGonagall prompted him as he paused, "so you found out where the entrance was -- breaking a hundred school rules into pieces along the way, I might add - but how on earth did you all get out of there alive, Potter?"
 So Harry, his voice now growing hoarse from all this talking, told them about Fawkes's timely arrival and about the Sorting Hat giving him the sword. But then he faltered. He had so far avoided mentioning Riddle's diary -- or Ginny. She was standing with her head against Mrs. Weasley's shoulder, and tears were still coursing silently down her cheeks. What if they expelled her? Harry thought in panic. Riddle's diary didn't work anymore .... How could they prove it had been he who'd made her do it all?
 Instinctively, Harry looked at Dumbledore, who smiled faintly, the firelight glancing off his half-moon spectacles.
 "What interests me most," said Dumbledore gently, "is how Lord Voldemort managed to enchant Ginny, when my sources tell me he is currently in hiding in the forests of Albania."
 *328*
 Relief -- warm, sweeping, glorious relief -- swept over Harry. "W- what's that?" said Mr. Weasley in a stunned voice. "YouKnow-Who? En-enchant Ginny? But Ginny's not ... Ginny hasn't been ... has she?"
 "It was this diary," said Harry quickly, picking it up and showing it to Dumbledore. "Riddle wrote it when he was sixteen . . . ."
 Dumbledore took the diary from Harry and peered keenly down his long, crooked nose at its burnt and soggy pages.
 "Brilliant," he said softly. "Of course, he was probably the most brilliant student Hogwarts has ever seen." He turned around to the Weasleys, who were looking utterly bewildered.
 "Very few people know that Lord Voldemort was once called Tom Riddle. I taught him myself, fifty years ago, at Hogwarts. He disappeared after leaving the school ... traveled far and wide ... sank so deeply into the Dark Arts, consorted with the very worst of our kind, underwent so many dangerous, magical transformations, that when he resurfaced as Lord Voldemort, he was barely recognizable. Hardly anyone connected Lord Voldemort with the clever, handsome boy who was once Head Boy here."
 "But, Ginny," said Mrs. Weasley. "What's our Ginny got to do with - with -- him?"
 "His d-diaryl" Ginny sobbed. "I've b-been writing in it, and he's been w-writing back all year --"
 "tinny!" said Mr. Weasley, flabbergasted. "Haven't I taught you anything. What have I always told you? Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain? Why didn't you show the diary to me, or your mother? A suspicious object like that, it was clearly full of Dark Magic '
 *329*
 "I d-didn't know," sobbed Ginny. "I found it inside one of the books Mum got me. I th-thought someone had just left it in there and forgotten about it --"
 "Miss Weasley should go up to the hospital wing right away," Dumbledore interrupted in a firm voice. "This has been a terrible ordeal for her. There will be no punishment. Older and wiser wizards than she have been hoodwinked by Lord Voldemort." He strode over to the door and opened it. "Bed rest and perhaps a large, steaming mug of hot chocolate. I always find that cheers me up," he added, twinkling kindly down at her. "You will find that Madam Pomfrey is still awake. She's just giving out Mandrake juice -- I daresay the basilisk's victims will be waking up any moment."
 "So Hermione's okay!" said Ron brightly.
 "There has been no lasting harm done, Ginny," said Dumbledore.
 Mrs. Weasley led Ginny out, and Mr. Weasley followed, still looking deeply shaken.
 "You know, Minerva," Professor Dumbledore said thoughtfully to Professor McGonagall, "I think all this merits a good feast. Might I ask you to go and alert the kitchens?"
 "Right," said Professor McGonagall crisply, also moving to the door. "I'll leave you to deal with Potter and Weasley, shall I?"
 "Certainly," said Dumbledore.
 She left, and Harry and Ron gazed uncertainly at Dumbledore. What exactly had Professor McGonagall meant, deal with them? Surely - surely - they weren't about to be punished?
 "I seem to remember telling you both that I would have to expel you if you broke any more school rules, said Dumbledore.
 *%30*
 Ron opened his mouth in horror.
 "Which goes to show that the best of us must sometimes eat our words," Dumbledore went on, smiling. "You will both receive Special Awards for Services to the School and -- let me see - yes, I think two hundred points apiece for Gryffindor."
 Ron went as briglitly pink as Lockhart's valentine flowers and closed his mouth again.
 "But one of us seems to be keeping mightily quiet about his part in this dangerous adventure," Dumbledore added. "Why so modest, Gilderoy?"
 Harry gave a start. He had completely forgotten about Lockhart. He turned and saw that Lockhart was standing in a corner of the room, still wearing his vague smile. When Dumbledore addressed him, Lockhart looked over his shoulder to see who he was talking to.
 "Professor Dumbledore," Ron said quickly, "there was an accident down in the Chamber of Secrets. Professor Lockhart --"
 "Am I a professor?" said Lockhart in mild surprise. "Goodness. I expect I was hopeless, was I?"
 "He tried to do a Memory Charm and the wand backfired," Ron explained quietly to Dumbledore.
 "Dear me," said Dumbledore, shaking his head, his long silver mustache quivering. "Impaled upon your own sword, Gilderoy!"
 "Sword?" said Lockhart dimly. "Haven't got a sword. That boy has, though." He pointed at Harry. "He'll lend you one."
 "Would you mind taking Professor Lockhart up to the infirmary, too?" Dumbledore said to Ron. "Id like a few more words with Harry .....
 Lockhart ambled out. Ron cast a curious look back at Dumbledore and Harry as he closed the door.
 Dumbledore crossed to one of the chairs by the fire.
 "Sit down, Harry," he said, and Harry sat, feeling unaccountably nervous.
 "First of all, Harry, I want to thank you," said Dumbledore, eyes twinkling again. "You must have shown me real loyalty down in the Chamber. Nothing but that could have called Fawkes to you."
 He stroked the phoenix, which had fluttered down onto his knee. Harry grinned awkwardly as Dumbledore watched him.
 "And so you met Tom Riddle," said Dumbledore thoughtfully. "I imagine he was most interested in you . . . . "
 Suddenly, something that was nagging at Harry came tumbling out of his mouth.
 "Professor Dumbledore ... Riddle said I'm like him. Strange likenesses, he said ......
 "Did he, now?" said Dumbledore, looking thoughtfully at Harry from under his thick silver eyebrows. "And what do you think, Harry?"
 "I don't think I'm like him!" said Harry, more loudly than he'd intended. "I mean, I'm -- I'm in Gryffindor, I'm . . ."
 But he fell silent, a lurking doubt resurfacing in his mind.
 "Professor," he started again after a moment. "The Sorting Hat told me Id -- Id have done well in Slytherin. Everyone thought I was Slytherin's heir for a while ... because I can speak Parseltongue ....
 "You can speak Parseltongue, Harry," said Dumbledore calmly, "because Lord Voldemort -- who is the last remaining ancestor
 *$32*
 of Salazar Slytherin -- can speak Parseltongue. Unless I'm much mistaken, he transferred some of his own powers to you the night he gave you that scar. Not something he intended to do, I'm sure ....
 "Voldemort put a bit of himself in me?" Harry said, thunderstruck.
 "It certainly seems so."
 "So I should be in Slytherin," Harry said, looking desperately into Dumbledore's face. "The Sorting Hat could see Slytherin's power in me, and it --"
 "Put you in Gryffindor," said Dumbledore calmly. "Listen to me, Harry. You happen to have many qualities Salazar Slytherin prized in his hand- picked students. His own very rare gift, Parseltongue - resourcefulness - determination -- a certain disregard for rules," he added, his mustache quivering again. "Yet the Sorting Hat placed you in Gryffindor. You know why that was. Think."
 "It only put me in Gryffindor," said Harry in a defeated voice, "because I asked not to go in Slytherin . . . ."
 Exactly, "said Dumbledore, beaming once more. "Which makes you very different from Tom Riddle. It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities." Harry sat motionless in his chair, stunned. "If you want proof, Harry, that you belong in Gryffindor, I suggest you look more closely at this."
 Dumbledore reached across to Professor McGonagall's desk, picked up the blood-stained silver sword, and handed it to Harry. Dully, Harry turned it over, the rubies blazing in the firelight. And then he saw the name engraved just below the hilt.
 Godric Gryffindor
 *333*
 "Only a true Gryffindor could have pulled that out of the hat, Harry," said Dumbledore simply.
 For a minute, neither of them spoke. Then Dumbledore pulled open one of the drawers in Professor McGonagall's desk and took out a quill and a bottle of ink.
 What you need, Harry, is some food and sleep. I suggest you go down to the feast, while I write to Azkaban -- we need our gamekeeper back. And I must draft an advertisement for the Daily Prophet, too," he added thoughtfully. "We'll be needing a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher... Dear me, we do seem to run through them, don't we?"
 Harry got up and crossed to the door. He had just reached for the handle, however, when the door burst open so violently that it bounced back off the wall.
 Lucius Malfoy stood there, fury in his face. And cowering behind his legs, heavily wrapped in bandages, was Dobby.
 "Good evening, Lucius," said Dumbledore pleasantly.
 Mr. Malfoy almost knocked Harry over as he swept into the room. Dobby went scurrying in after him, crouching at the hem of his cloak, a look of abject terror on his face.
 The elf was carrying a stained rag with which he was attempting to finish cleaning Mr. Malfoys shoes. Apparently Mr. Malfoy had set out in a great hurry, for not only were his shoes half-polished, but his usually sleek hair was disheveled. Ignoring the elf bobbing apologetically around his ankles, he fixed his cold eyes upon Dumbledore.
 "So!" he said "You've come back. The governors suspended you, but you still saw fit to return to Hogwarts."
 *%$4*
 "Well, you see, Lucius," said Dumbledore, smiling serenely, "the other eleven governors contacted me today. It was something like being caught in a hailstorm of owls, to tell the truth. They'd heard that Arthur Weasleys daughter had been killed and wanted me back here at once. They seemed to think I was the best man for the job after all. Very strange tales they told me, too .... Several of them seemed to think that you had threatened to curse their families if they didn't agree to suspend me in the first place."
 Mr. Malfoy went even paler than usual, but his eyes were still slits of fury.
 "So -- have you stopped the attacks yet?" he sneered. "Have you caught the culprit?"
 "We have," said Dumbledore, with a smile.
 "Well?"said Mr. Malfoy sharply. "Who is it?"
 "The same person as last time, Lucius," said Dumbledore. "But this time, Lord Voldemort was acting through somebody else. By means of this diary."
 He held up the small black book with the large hole through the center, watching Mr. Malfoy closely. Harry, however, was watching Dobby.
 The elf was doing something very odd. His great eyes fixed meaningfully on Harry, he kept pointing at the diary, then at Mr. Malfoy, and then hitting himself hard on the head with his fist.
 "I see. . . " said Mr. Malfoy slowly to Dumbledore.
 "A clever plan," said Dumbledore in a level voice, still staring Mr. Malfoy straight in the eye. "Because if Harry here" --Mr. Malfoy shot Harry a swift, sharp look -- "and his friend Ron hadn't discovered this book, why -- Ginny Weasley might have taken all
 *335*
 the blame. No one would ever have been able to prove she hadn't acted of her own free will ......
 Mr. Malfoy said nothing. His face was suddenly masklike.
 "And imagine," Dumbledore went on, "what might have happened then .... The Weasleys are one of our most prominent pure-blood families. Imagine the effect on Arthur Weasley and his Muggle Protection Act, if his own daughter was discovered attacking and - killing Muggle-borns .... Very fortunate the diary was discovered, and Riddle's memories wiped from it. "Who knows what the consequences might have been otherwise ......
 Mr. Malfoy forced himself to speak.
 "Very fortunate," he said stiffly.
 And still, behind his back, Dobby was pointing, first to the diary, then to Lucius Malfoy, then punching himself in the head.
 And Harry suddenly understood. He nodded at Dobby, and Dobby backed into a corner, now twisting his ears in punishment.
 "Don't you want to know how Ginny got hold of that diary, Mr. Malfoy?" said Harry.
 Lucius Malfoy rounded on him.
 "How should I know how the stupid little girl got hold of it?" he said.
 "Because you gave it to her," said Harry. "In Flourish and Blotts. You picked up her old Transfiguration book and slipped the diary inside it, didn't you?"
 He saw Mr. Malfoy's white hands clench and unclench.
 "Prove it," he hissed.
 "Oh, no one will be able to do that," said Dumbledore, smiling at Harry. "Not now that Riddle has vanished from the book. On
 *336*
 the other hand, I would advise you, Lucius, not to go giving out any more of Lord Voldemort's old school things. If any more of them find their way into innocent hands, I think Arthur Weasley, for one, will make sure they are traced back to you ......
 Lucius Malfoy stood for a moment, and Harry distinctly saw his right hand twitch as though he was longing to reach for his wand. Instead, he turned to his house-elf
 "We're going, Dobby!"
 He wrenched open the door and as the elf came hurrying up to him, he kicked him right through it. They could hear Dobby squealing with pain all the way along the corridor. Harry stood for a moment, thinking hard. Then it came to him -
 "Professor Dumbledore," he said hurriedly. "Can I give that diary back to Mr. Malfoy, please?"
 "Certainly, Harry," said Dumbledore calmly. "But hurry. The feast, remember ......
 Harry grabbed the diary and dashed out of the office. He could hear Dobby's squeals of pain receding around the corner. Quickly, wondering if this plan could possibly work, Harry took off one of his shoes, pulled off his slimy, filthy sock, and stuffed the diary into it. Then he ran down the dark corridor.
 He caught up with them at the top of the stairs.
 "Mr. Malfoy," he gasped, skidding to a halt, "I've got something for you --"
 And he forced the smelly sock into Lucius Malfoy's hand.
 ")What the --?"
 Mr. Malfoy ripped the sock off the diary, threw it aside, then looked furiously from the ruined book to Harry.
 *',531*
 You'll meet the same sticky end as your parents one of these days, Harry Potter," he said softly. "They were meddlesome fools, too.
 He turned to go.
 "Come, Dobby. I said, come."
 But Dobby didn't move. He was holding up Harry's disgusting, slimy sock, and looking at it as though it were a priceless treasure.
 "Master has given a sock," said the elf in wonderment. "Master gave it to Dobby."
 "What's that?" spat Mr. Malfoy. "What did you say?"
 "Got a sock," said Dobby in disbelief. "Master threw it, and Dobby caught it, and Dobby -- Dobby is free. "
 Lucius Malfoy stood frozen, staring at the elf Then he lunged at Harry.
 "You've lost me my servant, boy!"
 But Dobby shouted, "You shall not harm Harry Potter!"
 There was a loud bang, and Mr. Malfoy was thrown backward. He crashed down the stairs, three at a time, landing in a crumpled heap on the landing below. He got up, his face livid, and pulled out his wand, but Dobby raised a long, threatening finger.
 "You shall go now," he said fiercely, pointing down at Mr. Malfoy. "You shall not touch Harry Potter. You shall go now."
 Lucius Malfoy had no choice. With a last, incensed stare at the pair of them, he swung his cloak around him and hurried out of sight.
 "Harry Potter freed Dobby!" said the elf shrilly, gazing up at Harry, moonlight from the nearest window reflected in his orb-like eyes. "Harry Potter set Dobby free!"
 "Least I could do, Dobby," said Harry, grinning. "Just promise never to try and save my life again."
 The elf's ugly brown face split suddenly into a wide, toothy smile.
 "I've just got one question, Dobby," said Harry as Dobby pulled on Harry's sock with shaking hands. "You told me all this had nothing to do with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, remember? Well --"
 "It was a clue, sir," said Dobby, his eyes widening, as though this was obvious. "Was giving you a clue. The Dark Lord, before he changed his name, could be freely named, you see?"
 "Right," said Harry weakly. "Well, Id better go. There's a feast, and my friend Hermione should be awake by now .....
 Dobby threw his arms around Harry's middle and hugged him.
 "Harry Potter is greater by far than Dobby knew!" he sobbed. "Farewell, Harry Potter!"
 And with a final loud crack, Dobby disappeared.
 Harry had been to several Hogwarts feasts, but never one quite like this. Everybody was in their pajamas, and the celebration lasted all night. Harry didn't know whether the best bit was Hermione running toward him, screaming "You solved it! You solved it!" or Justin hurrying over from the Hufflepuff table to wring. his hand and apologize endlessly for suspecting him, or Hagrid turning up at half past three, cuffing Harry and Ron so hard on the shoulders that they were knocked into their plates of trifle, or his and Ron's four hundred points for Gryffindor securing the House Cup for the second year running, or Professor McGonagall standing up to
 tell them all that the exams had been canceled as a school treat ("Oh, no!" said Hermione), or Dumbledore announcing that, unfortunately, Professor Lockhart would be unable to return next year, owing to the fact that he needed to go away and get his memory back. Quite a few of the teachers joined in the cheering that greeted this news.
 "Shame," said Ron, helping himself to a jam doughnut. "He was starting to grow on me."
 The rest of the final term passed in a haze of blazing sunshine. Hogwarts was back to normal with only a few, small differences - Defense Against the Dark Arts classes were canceled ("but we've had plenty of practice at that anyway," Ron told a disgruntled Hermione) and Lucius Malfoy had been sacked as a school governor. Draco was no longer strutting around the school as though he owned the place. On the contrary, he looked resentful and sulky. On the other hand, Ginny Weasley was perfectly happy again.
 Too soon, it was time for the journey home on the Hogwarts Express. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Ginny got a compartment to themselves. They made the most of the last few hours in which they were allowed to do magic before the holidays. They played Exploding Snap, set off the very last of Fred and George's Filibuster fireworks, and practiced disarming each other by magic. Harry was getting very good at it.
 They were almost at King's Cross when Harry remembered something.
 "Ginny - what did you see Percy doing, that he didn't want you to tell anyone?"
 "Oh, that," said Ginny, giggling. "Well - Percy's got a girlfriend." Fred dropped a stack of books on George's head.
 "What?"
 "It's that Ravenclaw prefect, Penelope Clearwater," said Ginny. "That's who he was writing to all last summer. He's been meeting her all over the school in secret. I walked in on them kissing in an empty classroom one day. He was so upset when she was -- you know - attacked. You won't tease him, will you?" she added anxiously.
 "Wouldn't dream of it," said Fred, who was looking like his birthday had come early.
 "Definitely not," said George, sniggering.
 The Hogwarts Express slowed and finally stopped.
 Harry pulled out his quill and a bit of parchment and turned to Ron and Hermione.
 "This is called a telephone number," he told Ron, scribbling it twice, tearing the parchment in two, and handing it to them. "I told your dad how to use a telephone last summer - he'll know. Call me at the Dursleys', okay? I can't stand another two months with only Dudley to talk to ......
 "Your aunt and uncle will be proud, though, won't they?" said Hermione as they got off the train and joined the crowd thronging toward the enchanted barrier. "When they hear what you did this year?"
 "Proud?" said Harry. "Are you crazy? All those times I could've died, and I didn't manage it? They'll be furious ......
 And together they walked back through the gateway to the Muggle world. '
 Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
 By J. K. Rowling


 Chapter One
 The Dark Lord Ascending


 The two men appeared out of nowhere, a few yards apart in the narrow, moonlit
 lane. For a second they stood quite still, wands directed at each other's chests; then,
 recognizing each other, they stowed their wands beneath their cloaks and started walking
 briskly in the same direction.
 "News?" asked the taller of the two.
 "The best," replied Severus Snape.
 The lane was bordered on the left by wild, low-growing brambles, on the right by a high,
 neatly manicured hedge. The men's long cloaks flapped around their ankles as they
 marched.
 "Thought I might be late," said Yaxley, his blunt features sliding in and out of sight as
 the branches of overhanging trees broke the moonlight. "It was a little trickier than I
 expected. But I hope he will be satisfied. You sound confident that your reception will be
 good?"
 Snape nodded, but did not elaborate. They turned right, into a wide driveway that led
 off the lane. The high hedge curved into them, running off into the distance beyond the
 pair of imposing wrought-iron gates barring the mens way. Neither of them broke step:
 In silence both raised their left arms in a kind of salute and passed straight through, as
 though the dark metal was smoke.

 The yew hedges muffled the sound of the mens footsteps. There was a rustle
 somewhere to their right: Yaxley drew his wand again pointing it over his companions
 head, but the source of the noise proved to be nothing more than a pure-white peacock,
 strutting majestically along the top of the hedge.

 He always did himself well, Lucius. Peacocks  Yaxley thrust his wand back
 under his cloak with a snort.

 A handsome manor house grew out of the darkness at the end of the straight drive,
 lights glinting in the diamond paned downstairs windows. Somewhere in the dark garden
 beyond the hedge a fountain was playing. Gravel crackled beneath their feet as Snape and
 Yaxley sped toward the front door, which swung inward at their approach, though
 nobody had visibly opened it.

 The hallway was large, dimly lit, and sumptuously decorated, with a magnificent
 carpet covering most of the stone floor. The eyes of the pale-faced portraits on the wall
 followed Snape and Yaxley as they strode past. The two men halted at a heavy wooden
 door leading into the next room, hesitated for the space of a heartbeat, then Snape turned
 the bronze handle.

 The drawing room was full of silent people, sitting at a long and ornate table. The
 rooms usual furniture had been pushed carelessly up against the walls. Illumination
 came from a roaring fire beneath a handsome marble mantelpiece surmounted by a gilded
 mirror. Snape and Yaxley lingered for a moment on the threshold. As their eyes grew
 accustomed to the lack of light, they were drawn upward to the strangest feature of the
 scene: an apparently unconscious human figure hanging upside down over the table,
 revolving slowly as if suspended by an invisible rope, and reflected in the mirror and in
 the bare, polished surface of the table below. None of the people seated underneath this


 singular sight were looking at it except for a pale young man sitting almost directly below
 it. He seemed unable to prevent himself from glancing upward every minute or so.

 Yaxley. Snape, said a high, clear voice from the head of the table. You are
 very nearly late.

 The speaker was seated directly in front of the fireplace, so that it was difficult, at
 first, for the new arrivals to make out more than his silhouette. As they drew nearer,
 however, his face shone through the gloom, hairless, snakelike, with slits for nostrils and
 gleaming red eyes whose pupils were vertical. He was so pale that he seemed to emit a
 pearly glow.

 Severus, here, said Voldemort, indicating the seat on his immediate right.
 Yaxley  beside Dolohov.

 The two men took their allotted places. Most of the eyes around the table
 followed Snape, and it was to him that Voldemort spoke first.

 So?

 My Lord, the Order of the Phoenix intends to move Harry Potter from his current
 place of safety on Saturday next, at nightfall.

 The interest around the table sharpened palpably: Some stiffened, others fidgeted,
 all gazing at Snape and Voldemort.

 Saturday  at nightfall, repeated Voldemort. His red eyes fastened upon
 Snapes black ones with such intensity that some of the watchers looked away, apparently
 fearful that they themselves would be scorched by the ferocity of the gaze. Snape,
 however, looked calmly back into Voldemorts face and, after a moment or two,
 Voldemorts lipless mouth curved into something like a smile.

 Good. Very good. And this information comes

   from the source we discussed, said Snape.

 My Lord.

 Yaxley had leaned forward to look down the long table at Voldemort and Snape.
 All faces turned to him.

 My Lord, I have heard differently.

 Yaxley waited, but Voldemort did not speak, so he went on, Dawlish, the Auror,
 let slip that Potter will not be moved until the thirtieth, the night before the boy turns
 seventeen.

 Snape was smiling.

 My source told me that there are plans to lay a false trail; this must be it. No
 doubt a Confundus Charm has been placed upon Dawlish. It would not be the first time;
 he is known to be susceptible.

 I assure you, my Lord, Dawlish seemed quite certain, said Yaxley.

 If he has been Confunded, naturally he is certain, said Snape. I assure you,
 Yaxley, the Auror Office will play no further part in the protection of Harry Potter. The
 Order believes that we have infiltrated the Ministry.

 The Orders got one thing right, then, eh? said a squat man sitting a short
 distance from Yaxley; he gave a wheezy giggle that was echoed here and there along the
 table.

 Voldemort did not laugh. His gaze had wandered upward to the body revolving
 slowly overhead, and he seemed to be lost in thought.


 My Lord, Yaxley went on, Dawlish believes an entire party of Aurors will be
 used to transfer the boy

 Voldemort held up a large white hand, and Yaxley subsided at once, watching
 resentfully as Voldemort turned back to Snape.

 Where are they going to hide the boy next?

 At the home of one of the Order, said Snape. The place, according to the
 source, has been given every protection that the Order and Ministry together could
 provide. I think that there is little chance of taking him once he is there, my Lord, unless,
 of course, the Ministry has fallen before next Saturday, which might give us the
 opportunity to discover and undo enough of the enchantments to break through the rest.

 Well, Yaxley? Voldemort called down the table, the firelight glinting strangely
 in his red eyes. Will the Ministry have fallen by next Saturday?

 Once again, all heads turned. Yaxley squared his shoulders.

 My Lord, I have good news on that score. I have  with difficulty, and after great
 effort  succeeded in placing an Imperius Curse upon Pius Thicknesse.

 Many of those sitting around Yaxley looked impressed; his neighbor, Dolohov, a
 man with a long, twisted face, clapped him on the back.

 It is a start, said Voldemort. But Thicknesse is only one man. Scrimgeour must
 be surrounded by our people before I act. One failed attempt on the Ministers life will
 set me back a long way.

 Yes  my Lord, that is true  but you know, as Head of the Department of
 Magical Law Enforcement, Thicknesse has regular contact not only with the Minister
 himself, but also with the Heads of all the other Ministry departments. It will, I think, be
 easy now that we have such a high-ranking official under our control, to subjugate the
 others, and then they can all work together to bring Scrimgeour down.

 As long as our friend Thicknesse is not discovered before he has converted the
 rest, said Voldemort. At any rate, it remains unlikely that the Ministry will be mine
 before next Saturday. If we cannot touch the boy at his destination, then it must be done
 while he travels.

 We are at an advantage there, my Lord, said Yaxley, who seemed determined to
 receive some portion of approval. We now have several people planted within the
 Department of Magical Transport. If Potter Apparates or uses the Floo Network, we shall
 know immediately.

 He will not do either, said Snape. The Order is eschewing any form of
 transport that is controlled or regulated by the Ministry; they mistrust everything to do
 with the place.

 All the better, said Voldemort. He will have to move in the open. Easier to
 take, by far.

 Again, Voldemort looked up at the slowly revolving body as he went on, I shall
 attend to the boy in person. There have been too many mistakes where Harry Potter is
 concerned. Some of them have been my own. That Potter lives is due more to my errors
 than to his triumphs.

 The company around the table watched Voldemort apprehensively, each of them,
 by his or her expression, afraid that they might be blamed for Harry Potters continued
 existence. Voldemort, however, seemed to be speaking more to himself than to any of
 them, still addressing the unconscious body above him.


 I have been careless, and so have been thwarted by luck and chance, those
 wreckers of all but the best-laid plans. But I know better now. I understand those things
 that I did not understand before. I must be the one to kill Harry Potter, and I shall be.

 At these words, seemingly in response to them, a sudden wail sounded, a terrible,
 drawn-out cry of misery and pain. Many of those at the table looked downward, startled,
 for the sound had seemed to issue from below their feet.

 Wormtail, said Voldemort, with no change in his quiet, thoughtful tone, and
 without removing his eyes from the revolving body above, have I not spoken to you
 about keeping our prisoner quiet?

 Yes, m-my Lord, gasped a small man halfway down the table, who had been
 sitting so low in his chair that it appeared, at first glance, to be unoccupied. Now he
 scrambled from his seat and scurried from the room, leaving nothing behind him but a
 curious gleam of silver.

 As I was saying, continued Voldemort, looking again at the tense faces of his
 followers, I understand better now. I shall need, for instance, to borrow a wand from one
 of you before I go to kill Potter.

 The faces around him displayed nothing but shock; he might have announced that
 he wanted to borrow one of their arms.

 No volunteers? said Voldemort. Lets see  Lucius, I see no reason for you to
 have a wand anymore.

 Lucius Malfoy looked up. His skin appeared yellowish and waxy in the firelight,
 and his eyes were sunken and shadowed. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse.

 My Lord?

 Your wand, Lucius. I require your wand.

 I

 Malfoy glanced sideways at his wife. She was staring straight ahead, quite as pale
 as he was, her long blonde hair hanging down her back, but beneath the table her slim
 fingers closed briefly on his wrist. At her touch, Malfoy put his hand into his robes,
 withdrew a wand, and passed it along to Voldemort, who held it up in front of his red
 eyes, examining it closely.

 What is it?

 Elm, my Lord, whispered Malfoy.

 And the core?

 Dragon  dragon heartstring.

 Good, said Voldemort. He drew out his wand and compared the lengths. Lucius
 Malfoy made an involuntary movement; for a fraction of a second, it seemed he expected
 to receive Voldemorts wand in exchange for his own. The gesture was not missed by
 Voldemort, whose eyes widened maliciously.

 Give you my wand, Lucius? My wand?

 Some of the throng sniggered.

 I have given you your liberty, Lucius, is that not enough for you? But I have
 noticed that you and your family seem less than happy of late  What is it about my
 presence in your home that displaces you, Lucius?

 Nothing  nothing, my Lord!

 Such lies Lucius


 The soft voice seemed to hiss on even after the cruel mouth had stopped moving.
 One or two of the wizards barely repressed a shudder as the hissing grew louder;
 something heavy could be heard sliding across the floor beneath the table.

 The huge snake emerged to climb slowly up Voldemorts chair. It rose, seemingly
 endlessly, and came to rest across Voldemorts shoulders: its neck the thickness of a
 mans thigh; its eyes, with their vertical slits for pupils, unblinking. Voldemort stroked
 the creature absently with long thin fingers, still looking at Lucius Malfoy.

 Why do the Malfoys look so unhappy with their lot? Is my return, my rise to
 power, not the very thing they professed to desire for so many years?

 Of course, my Lord, said Lucius Malfoy. His hand shook as he wiped sweat
 from his upper lip. We did desire it  we do.

 To Malfoys left, his wife made an odd, stiff nod, her eyes averted from
 Voldemort and the snake. To his right, his son, Draco, who had been gazing up at the
 inert body overhead, glanced quickly at Voldemort and away again, terrified to make eye
 contact.

 My Lord, said a dark woman halfway down the table, her voice constricted with
 emotion, it is an honor to have you here, in our familys house. There can be no higher
 pleasure.

 She sat beside her sister, as unlike her in looks, with her dark hair and heavily
 lidded eyes, as she was in bearing and demeanor; where Narcissa sat rigid and impassive,
 Bellatrix leaned toward Voldemort, for mere words could not demonstrate her longing for
 closeness.

 No higher pleasure, repeated Voldemort, his head tilted a little to one side as he
 considered Bellatrix. That means a great deal, Bellatrix, from you.

 Her face flooded with color; her eyes welled with tears of delight.

 My Lord knows I speak nothing but the truth!

 No higher pleasure  even compared with the happy event that, I hear, has
 taken place in your family this week?

 She stared at him, her lips parted, evidently confused.

 I dont know what you mean, my Lord.

 Im talking about your niece, Bellatrix. And yours, Lucius and Narcissa. She has
 just married the werewolf, Remus Lupin. You must be so proud.

 There was an eruption of jeering laughter from around the table. Many leaned
 forward to exchange gleeful looks; a few thumped the table with their fists. The giant
 snake, disliking the disturbance, opened its mouth wide and hissed angrily, but the Death
 Eaters did not hear it, so jubilant were they at Bellatrix and the Malfoys humiliation.
 Bellatrixs face, so recently flushed wit happiness, had turned an ugly, blotchy red.

 She is no niece of ours, my Lord, she cried over the outpouring of mirth. We
 Narcissa and I  have never set eyes on our sister since she married the Mudblood. This
 brat has nothing to do with either of us, nor any beast she marries.

 What say you, Draco? asked Voldemort, and though his voice was quiet, it
 carried clearly through the catcalls and jeers. Will you babysit the cubs?

 The hilarity mounted; Draco Malfoy looked in terror at his father, who was
 staring down into his own lap, then caught his mothers eye. She shook her head almost
 imperceptibly, then resumed her own deadpan stare at the opposite wall.

 Enough, said Voldemort, stroking the angry snake. Enough.


 And the laughter died at once.

 Many of our oldest family trees become a little diseased over time, he said as
 Bellatrix gazed at him, breathless and imploring, You must prune yours, must you not,
 to keep it healthy? Cut away those parts that threaten the health of the rest.

 Yes, my Lord, whispered Bellatrix, and her eyes swam with tears of gratitude
 again. At the first chance!

 You shall have it, said Voldemort. And in your family, so in the world  we
 shall cut away the canker that infects us until only those of the true blood remain

 Voldemort raised Lucius Malfoys wand, pointed it directly at the slowly
 revolving figure suspended over the table, and gave it a tiny flick. The figure came to life
 with a groan and began to struggle against invisible bonds.

 Do you recognize our guest, Severus? asked Voldemort.

 Snape raised his eyes to the upside down face. All of the Death Eaters were
 looking up at the captive now, as though they had been given permission to show
 curiosity. As she revolved to face the firelight, the woman said in a cracked and terrified
 voice, Severus! Help me!

 Ah, yes, said Snape as the prisoner turned slowly away again.

 And you, Draco? asked Voldemort, stroking the snakes snout with his wand-
 free hand. Draco shook his head jerkily. Now that the woman had woken, he seemed
 unable to look at her anymore.

 But you would not have taken her classes, said Voldemort. For those of you
 who do not know, we are joined here tonight by Charity Burbage who, until recently,
 taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

 There were small noises of comprehension around the table. A broad, hunched
 woman with pointed teeth cackled.

 Yes  Professor Burbage taught the children of witches and wizards all about
 Muggles  how they are not so different from us

 One of the Death Eaters spat on the floor. Charity Burbage revolved to face Snape
 again.

 Severus  please  please

 Silence, said Voldemort, with another twitch of Malfoys wand, and Charity fell
 silent as if gagged. Not content with corrupting and polluting the minds of Wizarding
 children, last week Professor Burbage wrote an impassioned defense of Mudbloods in the
 Daily Prophet. Wizards, she says, must accept these thieves of their knowledge and
 magic. The dwindling of the purebloods is, says Professor Burbage, a most desirable
 circumstance  She would have us all mate with Muggles  or, no doubt, werewolves


 Nobody laughed this time. There was no mistaking the anger and contempt in
 Voldemorts voice. For the third time, Charity Burbage revolved to face Snape. Tears
 were pouring from her eyes into her hair. Snape looked back at her, quite impassive, as
 she turned slowly away from him again.

 Avada Kedavra

 The flash of green light illuminated every corner of the room. Charity fell, with a
 resounding crash, onto the table below, which trembled and creaked. Several of the Death
 Eaters leapt back in their chairs. Draco fell out of his onto the floor.


 Dinner, Nagini, said Voldemort softly, and the great snake swayed and slithered
 from his shoulders onto the polished wood.



 Chapter Two

 In Memorandum



 Harry was bleeding. Clutching his right hand in his left and swearing under his
 breath, he shouldered open his bedroom door. There was a crunch of breaking china. He
 had trodden on a cup of cold tea that had been sitting on the floor outside his bedroom
 door.

 "What the --?"

 He looked around, the landing of number four, Privet Drive, was deserted.
 Possibly the cup of tea was Dudley's idea of a clever booby trap. Keeping his bleeding
 hand elevated, Harry scraped the fragments of cup together with the other hand and threw
 them into the already crammed bin just visible inside his bedroom door. Then he tramped
 across to the bathroom to run his finger under the tap.

 It was stupid, pointless, irritating beyond belief that he still had four days left of
 being unable to perform magicbut he had to admit to himself that this jagged cut in his
 finger would have defeated him. He had never learned how to repair wounds, and now he
 came to think of it  particularly in light of his immediate plans  this seemed a serious
 flaw in his magical education. Making a mental note to ask Hermione how it was done,
 he used a large wad of toilet paper to mop up as much of the tea as he could before
 returning to his bedroom and slamming the door behind him.

 Harry had spent the morning completely emptying his school trunk for the first
 time since he had packed it six years ago. At the start of the intervening school years, he
 had merely skimmed off the topmost three quarters of the contents and replaced or
 updated them, leaving a layer of general debris at the bottom  old quills, desiccated
 beetle eyes, single socks that no longer fit. Minutes previously, Harry had plunged his
 hand into this mulch, experienced a stabbing pain in the fourth finger of his right hand,
 and withdrawn it to see a lot of blood.

 He now proceeded a little more cautiously. Kneeling down beside the trunk again,
 he groped around in the bottom and, after retrieving an old badge that flickered feebly
 between SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY and POTTER STINKS, a cracked and worn-out
 Sneakoscope, and a gold locket inside which a note signed R.A.B. had been hidden, he
 finally discovered the sharp edge that had done the damage. He recognized it at once. It
 was a two-inch-long fragment of the enchanted mirror that his dead godfather, Sirius, had
 given him. Harry laid it aside and felt cautiously around the trunk for the rest, but nothing


 more remained of his godfather's last gift except powdered glass, which clung to the
 deepest layer of debris like glittering grit.

 Harry sat up and examined the jagged piece on which he had cut himself, seeing
 nothing but his own bright green eye reflected back at him. Then he placed the fragment
 on top of that morning's Daily prophet, which lay unread on the bed, and attempted to
 stem the sudden upsurge of bitter memories, the stabs of regret and of longing the
 discovery of the broken mirror had occasioned, by attacking the rest of the rubbish in the
 trunk.

 It took another hour to empty it completely, throw away the useless items, and
 sort the remainder in piles according to whether or not he would need them from now on.
 His school and Quidditch robes, cauldron, parchment, quills, and most of his textbooks
 were piled in a corner, to be left behind. He wondered what his aunt and uncle would do
 with them; burn them in the dead of night, probably, as if they were evidence of some
 dreadful crime. His Muggle clothing, Invisibility Cloak, potion-making kit, certain books,
 the photograph album Hagrid had once given him, a stack of letters, and his wand had
 been repacked into an old rucksack. In a front pocket were the Marauder's Map and the
 locket with the note signed R.A.B. inside it. The locket was accorded this place of honor
 not because it was valuable  in all usual senses it was worthless  but because of what it
 had cost to attain it.

 This left a sizable stack of newspapers sitting on his desk beside his snowy owl,
 Hedwig: one for each of the days Harry had spent at Privet Drive this summer.

 He got up off the floor, stretched, and moved across to his desk. Hedwig made no
 movement as he began to flick through newspapers, throwing them into the rubbish pile
 one by one. The owl was asleep or else faking; she was angry with Harry about the
 limited amount of time she was allowed out of her cage at the moment.

 As he neared the bottom of the pile of newspapers, Harry slowed down, searching
 for one particular issue that he knew had arrived shortly after he had returned to Privet
 Drive for the summer; he remembered that there had been a small mention on the front
 about the resignation of Charity Burbage, the Muggle Studies teacher at Hogwarts. At
 last he found it. Turning to page ten, he sank into his desk chair and reread the article he
 had been looking for.



 ALBUS DUMBLEDORE REMEMBERED

 By Elphias Doge

 I met Albus Dumbledore at the age of eleven, on our first day at Hogwarts. Our
 mutual attraction was undoubtedly due to the fact that we both felt ourselves to be
 outsiders. I had contracted dragon pox shortly before arriving at school, and while


 I was no longer contagious, my pock-marked visage and greenish hue did not
 encourage many to approach me. For his part, Albus had arrived at Hogwarts
 under the burden of unwanted notoriety. Scarcely a year previously, his father,
 Percival, had been convicted of a savage and well-publicized attack upon three
 young Muggles.

 Albus never attempted to deny that his father (who was to die in Azkaban) had
 committed this crime; on the contrary, when I plucked up courage to ask him, he
 assured me that he knew his father to be guilty. Beyond that, Dumbledore refused
 to speak of the sad business, though many attempted to make him do so. Some,
 indeed, were disposed to praise his father's action and assumed that Albus too was
 a Muggle-hater. They could not have been more mistaken: As anybody who knew
 Albus would attest, he never revealed the remotest anti-Muggle tendency. Indeed,
 his determined support for Muggle rights gained him many enemies in subsequent
 years.

 In a matter of months, however, Albus's own fame had begun to eclipse that
 of his father. By the end of his first year he would never again be known as the
 son of a Muggle-hater, but as nothing more or less than the most brilliant student
 ever seen at the school. Those of us who were privileged to be his friends
 benefited from his example, not to mention his help and encouragement, with
 which he was always generous. He confessed to me later in life that he knew even
 then that his greatest pleasure lay in teaching.

 He not only won every prize of note that the school offered, he was soon in
 regular correspondence with the most notable magical names of the day, including
 Nicolas Flamel, the celebrated alchemist; Bathilda Bagshot, the noted historian;
 and Adalbert Waffling, the magical theoretician. Several of his papers found their
 way into learned publications such as Transfiguration Today, Challenges in
 Charming, and The Practical Potioneer. Dumbledore's future career seemed
 likely to be meteoric, and the only question that remained was when he would
 become Minister of Magic. Though it was often predicted in later years that he
 was on the point of taking the job, however, he never had Ministerial ambitions.

 Three years after we had started at Hogwarts, Albus's brother, Aberforth,
 arrived at school. They were not alike: Aberforth was never bookish and, unlike
 Albus, preferred to settle arguments by dueling rather than through reasoned
 discussion. However, it is quite wrong to suggest, as some have, that the brothers
 were not friends. They rubbed along as comfortably as two such different boys
 could do. In fairness to Aberforth, it must be admitted that living in Albus's
 shadow cannot have been an altogether comfortable experience. Being continually
 outshone was an occupational hazard of being his friend and cannot have been
 any more pleasurable as a brother. When Albus and I left Hogwarts we intended
 to take the then-traditional tour of the world together, visiting and observing
 foreign wizards, before pursuing our separate careers. However, tragedy
 intervened. On the very eve of our trip, Albus's mother, Kendra, died, leaving


 Albus the head, and sole breadwinner, of the family. I postponed my departure
 long enough to pay my respects at Kendra's funeral, then left for what was now to
 be a solitary journey. With a younger brother and sister to care for, and little gold
 left to them, there could no longer be any question of Albus accompanying me.

 That was the period of our lives when we had least contact. I wrote to Albus,
 describing, perhaps insensitively, the wonders of my journey, from narrow
 escapes from chimaeras in Greece to the experiments of the Egyptian alchemists.
 His letters told me little of his day-to-day life, which I guessed to be frustratingly
 dull for such a brilliant wizard. Immersed in my own experiences, it was with
 horror that I heard, toward the end of my year's travels, that another tragedy had
 struck the Dumbledores: the death of his sister, Ariana.

 Though Ariana had been in poor health for a long time, the blow, coming so
 soon after the loss of their mother, had a profound effect on both of her brothers.
 All those closest to Albus  and I count myself one of that lucky number  agree
 that Ariana's death, and Albus's feeling of personal responsibility for it (though, of
 course, he was guiltless), left their mark upon him forevermore.

 I returned home to find a young man who had experienced a much older
 person's suffering. Albus was more reserved than before, and much less light-
 hearted. To add to his misery, the loss of Ariana had led, not to a renewed
 closeness between Albus and Aberforth, but to an estrangement. (In time this
 would lift  in later years they reestablished, if not a close relationship, then
 certainly a cordial one.) However, he rarely spoke of his parents or of Ariana from
 then on, and his friends learned not to mention them.

 Other quills will describe the triumphs of the following years. Dumbledore's
 innumerable contributions to the store of Wizarding knowledge, including his
 discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, will benefit generations to come,
 as will the wisdom he displayed in the many judgments while Chief Warlock of
 the Wizengamot. They say, still, that no Wizarding duel ever matched that
 between Dumbledore and Grindelwald in 1945. Those who witnessed it have
 written of the terror and the awe they felt as they watched these two extraordinary
 wizards to battle. Dumbledore's triumph, and its consequences for the Wizarding
 world, are considered a turning point in magical history to match the introduction
 of the International Statute of Secrecy or the downfall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-
 Named.

 Albus Dumbledore was never proud or vain; he could find something to value
 in anyone, however apparently insignificant or wretched, and I believe that his
 early losses endowed him with great humanity and sympathy. I shall miss his
 friendship more than I can say, but my loss is nothing compared to the Wizarding
 world's. That he was the most inspiring and best loved of all Hogwarts
 headmasters cannot be in question. He died as he lived: working always for the


 greater good and, to his last hour, as willing to stretch out a hand to a small boy
 with dragon pox as he was on the day I met him.



 Harry finished reading, but continued to gaze at the picture accompanying the
 obituary. Dumbledore was wearing his familiar, kindly smile, but as he peered over the
 top of his half-moon spectacles, he gave the impression, even in newsprint, of X-raying
 Harry, whose sadness mingled with a sense of humiliation.

 He had thought he knew Dumbledore quite well, but ever since reading this
 obituary he had been forced to recognize that he had barely known him at all. Never once
 had he imagined Dumbledore's childhood or youth; it was as though he had sprung into
 being as Harry had known him, venerable and silver-haired and old. The idea of a
 teenage Dumbledore was simply odd, like trying to imagine a stupid Hermione or a
 friendly Blast-Ended Skrewt.

 He had never thought to ask Dumbledore about his past. No doubt it would have
 felt strange, impertinent even, but after all it had been common knowledge that
 Dumbledore had taken part in that legendary duel with Grindelwald, and Harry had not
 thought to ask Dumbledore what that had been like, nor about any of his other famous
 achievements. No, they had always discussed Harry, Harry's past, Harry's future, Harry's
 plans and it seemed to Harry now, despite the fact that his future was so dangerous and
 so uncertain, that he had missed irreplaceable opportunities when he had failed to ask
 Dumbledore more about himself, even though the only personal question he had ever
 asked his headmaster was also the only one he suspected that Dumbledore had not
 answered honestly:

 "What do you see when you look in the mirror?"

 "I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks."

 After several minutes' thought, Harry tore the obituary out of the Prophet, folded
 it carefully, and tucked it inside the first volume of Practical Defensive Magic and its
 Use against the Dark Arts. Then he threw the rest of the newspaper onto the rubbish pile
 and turned to face the room. It was much tidier. The only things left out of place were
 today's Daily Prophet, still lying on the bed, and on top of it, the piece of broken mirror.

 Harry moved across the room, slid the mirror fragment off today's Prophet, and
 unfolded the newspaper. He had merely glanced at the headline when he had taken the
 rolled-up paper from the delivery owl early that morning and thrown it aside, after noting
 that it said nothing about Voldemort. Harry was sure that the Ministry was leaning on the
 Prophet to suppress news about Voldemort. It was only now, therefore, that he saw what
 he had missed.


 Across the bottom half of the front page a smaller headline was set over a picture
 of Dumbledore striding along, looking harried:



 DUMBLEDORE  THE TRUTH AT LAST?

 Coming next week, the shocking story of the flawed genius considered by many
 to be the greatest wizard of his generation. Striping away the popular image of
 serene, silver-bearded wisdom, Rita Skeeter reveals the disturbed childhood, the
 lawless youth, the life-long feuds, and the guilty secrets that Dumbledore carried
 to his grave, WHY was the man tipped to be the Minister of Magic content to
 remain a mere headmaster? WHAT was the real purpose of the secret
 organization known as the Order of the Phoenix? HOW did Dumbledore really
 meet his end?

 The answers to these and many more questions are explored in the
 explosive new biography, The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore, by Rita Skeeter,
 exclusively interviewed by Berry Braithwaite, page 13, inside.



 Harry ripped open the paper and found page thirteen. The article was topped with
 a picture showing another familiar face: a woman wearing jeweled glasses with
 elaborately curled blonde hair, her teeth bared in what was clearly supposed to be a
 winning smile, wiggling her fingers up at him. Doing his best to ignore this nauseating
 image, Harry read on.



 In person, Rita Skeeter is much warmer and softer than her famously
 ferocious quill-portraits might suggest. Greeting me in the hallway of her cozy
 home, she leads me straight into the kitchen for a cup of tea, a slice of pound cake
 and, it goes without saying, a steaming vat of freshest gossip.

 "Well, of course, Dumbledore is a biographer's dream," says Skeeter. "Such a
 long, full life. I'm sure my book will be the first of very, very many."

 Skeeter was certainly quick off the mark. Her nine-hundred-page book was
 completed in a mere four weeks after Dumbledore's mysterious death in June. I
 ask her how she managed this superfast feat.

 "Oh, when you've been a journalist as long as I have, working to a deadline is
 second nature. I knew that the Wizarding world was clamoring for the full story
 and I wanted to be the first to meet that need."


 I mention the recent, widely publicized remarks of Elphias Doge, Special
 Advisor to the Wizengamot and longstanding friend of Albus Dumbledore's, that
 "Skeeter's book contains less fact than a Chocolate Frog card."

 Skeeter throws back her head and laughs.

 "Darling Dodgy! I remember interviewing him a few years back about
 merpeople rights, bless him. Completely gaga, seemed to think we were sitting at
 the bottom of Lake Windermere, kept telling me to watch out for trout."

 And yet Elphias Doge's accusations of inaccuracy have been echoed in many
 places. Does Skeeter really feel that four short weeks have been enough to gain a
 full picture of Dumbledore's long and extraordinary life?

 "Oh, my dear," beams Skeeter, rapping me affectionately across the knuckles,
 "you know as well as I do how much information can be generated by a fat bag of
 Galleons, a refusal to hear the word 'no,' and a nice sharp Quick-Quotes Quill!
 People were queuing to dish the dirt on Dumbledore anyway. Not everyone
 thought he was so wonderful, you know  he trod on an awful lot of important
 toes. But old Dodgy Doge can get off his high hippogriff, because I've had access
 to a source most journalists would swap their wands for, one who has never
 spoken in public before and who was close to Dumbledore during the most
 turbulent and disturbing phase of his youth."

 The advance publicity for Skeeter's biography has certainly suggested that
 there will be shocks in store for those who believe Dumbledore to have led a
 blameless life. What were the biggest surprises she uncovered, I ask?

 "Now, come off it. Betty, I'm not giving away all the highlights before
 anybody's bought the book!" laughs Skeeter. "But I can promise that anybody
 who still thinks Dumbledore was white as his beard is in for a rude awakening!
 Let's just say that nobody hearing him rage against You-Know-Who would have
 dreamed that he dabbled in the Dark Arts himself in his youth! And for a wizard
 who spent his later years pleading for tolerance, he wasn't exactly broad-minded
 when he was younger! Yes, Albus Dumbledore had an extremely murky past, not
 to mention that very fishy family, which he worked so hard to keep hushed up."

 I ask whether Skeeter is referring to Dumbledore's brother, Aberforth, whose
 conviction by the Wizengamot for misuse of magic caused a minor scandal fifteen
 years ago.

 "Oh, Aberforth is just the tip of the dung heap, laughs Skeeter. "No, no, I'm
 talking about much worse than a brother with a fondness for fiddling about with
 goats, worse even than the Muggle-maiming father  Dumbledore couldn't keep
 either of them quiet anyway, they were both charged by the Wizengamot. No, it's
 the mother and the sister that intrigued me, and a little digging uncovered a


 positive nest of nastiness  but, as I say, you'll have to wait for chapters nine to
 twelve for full details. All I can say now is, it's no wonder Dumbledore never
 talked about how his nose got broken."

 Family skeletons notwithstanding, does Skeeter deny the brilliance that led to
 Dumbledore's many magical discoveries?

 "He had brains," she concedes, "although many now question whether he
 could really take full credit for all of his supposed achievements. As I reveal in
 chapter sixteen, Ivor Dillonsby claims he had already discovered eight uses of
 dragon's blood when Dumbledore 'borrowed' his papers."

 But the importance of some of Dumbledore's achievements cannot, I venture,
 be denied. What of his famous defeat of Grindelwald?

 "Oh, now, I'm glad you mentioned Grindelwald," says Skeeter with such a
 tantalizing smile. "I'm afraid those who go dewy-eyed over Dumbledore's
 spectacular victory must brace themselves for a bombshell  or perhaps a
 Dungbomb. Very dirty business indeed. All I'll say is, don't be so sure that there
 really was a spectacular duel of legend. After they've read my book, people may
 be forced to conclude that Grindelwald simply conjured a white handkerchief
 from the end of his wand and came quietly!"

 Skeeter refuses to give any more away on this intriguing subject, so we turn
 instead to the relationship that will undoubtedly fascinate her readers more than
 any other.

 "Oh yes," says Skeeter, nodding briskly, "I devote an entire chapter to the
 whole Potter-Dumbledore relationship. It's been called unhealthy, even sinister.
 Again, your readers will have to buy my book for the whole story, but there is no
 question that Dumbledore took an unnatural interest in Potter from the word go.
 Whether that was really in the boy's best interests  well, we'll see. It's certainly
 an open secret that Potter has had a most troubled adolescence."

 I ask whether Skeeter is still in touch with Harry Potter, whom she so
 famously interviewed last year: a breakthrough piece in which Potter spoke
 exclusively of his conviction that You-Know-Who had returned.

 "Oh, yes, we've developed a closer bond," says Skeeter. "Poor Potter has few
 real friends, and we met at one of the most testing moments of his life  the
 Triwizard Tournament. I am probably one of the only people alive who can say
 that they know the real Harry Potter."

 Which leads us neatly to the many rumors still circulating about Dumbledore's
 final hours. Does Skeeter believe that Potter was there when Dumbledore died?


 "Well, I don't want to say too much  it's all in the book  but eyewitnesses
 inside Hogwarts castle saw Potter running away from the scene moments after
 Dumbledore fell, jumped, or was pushed. Potter later gave evidence against
 Severus Snape, a man against whom he has a notorious grudge. Is everything as it
 seems? That is for the Wizarding community to decide  once they've read my
 book."

 On that intriguing note, I take my leave. There can be no doubt that Skeeter
 has quilled an instant bestseller. Dumbledore's legion of admirers, meanwhile,
 may well be trembling at what is soon to emerge about their hero.



 Harry reached the bottom of the article, but continued to stare blankly at the page.
 Revulsion and fury rose in him like vomit; he balled up the newspaper and threw it, with
 all his force, at the wall, where it joined the rest of the rubbish heaped around his
 overflowing bin.

 He began to stride blindly around the room, opening empty drawers and picking
 up books only to replace them on the same piles, barely conscious of what he was doing,
 as random phrases from Rita's article echoed in his head: An entire chapter to the whole
 Potter-Dumbledore relationship ... It's been called unhealthy, even sinister ... He dabbled
 in the Dark Arts himself in his youth ... I've had access to a source most journalists would
 swap their wands for...

 "Lies!" Harry bellowed, and through the window he saw the next-door neighbor,
 who had paused to restart his lawn mower, look up nervously.

 Harry sat down hard on the bed. The broken bit of mirror danced away from him;
 he picked it up and turned it over in his fingers, thinking, thinking of Dumbledore and the
 lies with which Rita Skeeter was defaming him ...

 A flash of brightest blue. Harry froze, his cut finger slipping on the jagged edge of
 the mirror again. He had imagined it, he must have done. He glanced over his shoulder,
 but the wall was a sickly peach color of Aunt Petunia's choosing: There was nothing blue
 there for the mirror to reflect. He peered into the mirror fragment again, and saw nothing
 but his own bright green eye looking back at him.

 He had imagined it, there was no other explanation; imagined it, because he had
 been thinking of his dead headmaster. If anything was certain, it was that the bright blue
 eyes of Albus Dumbledore would never pierce him again.


 Chapter Three

 The Dursleys Departing

 The sound of the front door slamming echoed up the stairs and a voice roared,
 Oh! You!

 Sixteen years of being addressed thus left Harry in no doubt when his uncle was
 calling, nevertheless, he did not immediately respond. He was still at the narrow fragment
 in which, for a split second, he had thought he saw Dumbledores eye. It was not until his
 uncle bellowed, BOY! that Harry got slowly out of bed and headed for the bedroom
 door, pausing to add the piece of broken mirror to the rucksack filled with things he
 would be taking with him.

 You took you time! roared Vernon Dursley when Harry appeared at the top of
 the stairs, Get down here. I want a word!

 Harry strolled downstairs, his hands deep in his pants pockets. When he searched
 the living room he found all three Dursleys. They were dressed for packing; Uncle
 Vernon in an old ripped-up jacket and Dudley, Harrys, large, blond, muscular cousin, in
 his leather jacket.

 Yes? asked Harry.

 Sit down! said Uncle Vernon. Harry raised his eyebrows. Please! added
 Uncle Vernon, wincing slightly as though the word was sharp in his throat.

 Harry sat. He though he knew what was coming. His uncle began to pace up and down,
 Aunt Petunia and Dudley, following his movement with anxious expressions. Finally, his
 large purple face crumpled with concentration. Uncle Vernon stopped in front of Harry
 and spoke.

 "I've changed my mind, he said.

 "What a surprise," said Harry.

 "Don't you take that tone" began Aunt Petunia in a shrill voice, but Vernon
 Dursley waved her down

 "It's all a lot of claptrap, said Uncle Vernon, glaring at Harry with piggy little
 eyes. "I've decided I don't believe a word of it. Were staying put, were not going
 anywhere.

 Harry looked up at his uncle and felt a mixture of exasperation and amusement.
 Vernon Dursley had been changing his mind every twenty four hours for the past four
 weeks, packing and unpacking and repacking the car with every change of heart. Harrys
 favorite moment had been the one when Uncle Vernon, unaware the Dudley had added
 his dumbbells to his case since the last time it been repacked, had attempted to hoist it
 back into the boot and collapsed with a yelp of pain and much swearing.

 According to you, Vernon Dursley said, now resuming his pacing up and down
 the living room, we  Petunia, Dudley, and I  are in danger. From  from

 Some of my lot right? said Harry

 Well I dont believe it, repeated Uncle Vernon, coming to a halt in front of
 Harry again. "I was awake half the night thinking it all over, and I believe it's a plot to get
 the house."

 "The house?" repeated Harry. "What house?"

 "This house!" shrieked Uncle Vernon, the vein his forehead starting to pulse.
 "Our house! House prices are skyrocketing around here! You want us out of the way and


 then you're going to do a bit of hocus pocus and before we know it the deeds will be in
 your name and "

 Are you out of your mind?" demanded Harry. "A plot to get this house? Are you
 actually as stupid as you look?"

 "Don't you dare --!" squealed Aunt Petunia, but again Vernon waved her
 down. Slights on his personal appearance were it seemed as nothing to the danger he had
 spotted.

 "Just in case you've forgotten," said Harry, "I've already got a house my godfather
 left me one. So why would I want this one? All the happy memories?"

 There was silence. Harry thought he had rather impressed his uncle with this
 argument.

 "You claim," said Uncle Vernon, starting to pace yet again, "that this Lord Thing
 "

 "Voldemort," said Harry impatiently, "and we've been through this about a
 hundred times already. This isn't a claim, it's fact. Dumbledore told you last year, and
 Kingsley and Mr. Weasley "

 Vernon Dursley hunched his shoulders angrily, and Harry guessed that his uncle
 was attempting to ward off recollections of the unannounced visit, a few days into Harry's
 summer holidays, of two fully grown wizards. The arrival on the doorstep of Kingsley
 Shacklebolt and Arthur Weasley had come as a most unpleasant shock to the Dursleys.
 Harry had to admit, however that as Mr. Weasley had once demolished half of the living
 room, his reappearance could not have been expected to delight Uncle Vernon.

 "Kingsley and Mr. Weasley explained it all as well," Harry pressed on
 remorselessly, "Once I'm seventeen, the protective charm that keeps me safe will break,
 and that exposes you as well as me. The Order is sure Voldemort will target you,
 whether to torture you to try and find out where I am, or because he thinks by holding
 you hostage I'd come and try to rescue you."

 Uncle Vernon's and Harry's eyes met. Harry was sure that in that instant they were
 both wondering the same thing. Then Uncle Vernon walked on and Harry resumed,
 "You've got to go into hiding and the Order wants to help. You're being offered serious
 protection, the best there is."

 Uncle Vernon said nothing but continued to pace up and down. Outside the sun
 hung low over the privet hedges. The next door neighbor's lawn mower stalled again.

 "I thought there was a Ministry of Magic?" asked Vernon Dursley abruptly.

 "There is," said Harry, surprised.

 "Well, then, why can't they protect us? It seems to me that, as innocent victims, guilty of
 nothing more than harboring a marked man, we ought to qualify for government
 protection!"

 Harry laughed; he could not help himself. It was so very typical of his uncle to put
 his hopes in the establishment, even within this world that he despised and mistrusted.

 "You heard what Mr. Weasley and Kingsley said," Harry replied.

 "We think the Ministry has been infiltrated."

 Uncle Vernon strode back to the fireplace and back breathing so strongly that his
 great black mustache rippled his face still purple with concentration.


 "All right," he said. Stopping in front of Harry get again. "All right, let's say for
 the sake of argument we accept this protection. I still don't see why we can't have that
 Kingsley bloke."

 Harry managed not to roll his eyes, but with difficulty. This question had also
 been addressed half a dozen times.

 "As I've told you," he said through gritted teeth, "Kingsley is protecting the Mug
 I mean, your Prime Minister."

 "Exactly  he's the best!" said Uncle Vernon, pointing at the blank television
 screen. The Dursleys had spotted Kingsley on the news, walking along the Muggle Prime
 Minister as he visited a hospital. This, and the fact that Kingsley had mastered the knack
 of dressing like a Muggle, not to mention a certain reassuring something in his slow, deep
 voice, had caused the Dursleys to take to Kingsley in a way that they had certainly not
 done with any other wizard, although it was true that they had never seen him with
 earring in.

 "Well, he's taken, said Harry. "But Hestia Jones and Dedalus Diggle are more
 than up to the job "

 "If we'd even seen CVs" began Uncle Vernon, but Harry lost patience. Getting
 to his feet, he advanced on his uncle, not pointing at the TV set himself.

 "These accidents aren't accidents  the crashed and explosions and derailments
 and whatever else has happened since we last watched the news. People are disappearing
 and dying and he's behind it  Voldemort. I've told you this over and over again, he kills
 Muggles for fun. Even the fogs  they're caused by dementors, and if you can't remember
 what they are, ask your son!"

 Dudley's hands jerked upward to tower his mouth. With his parents' and Harry's
 eyes upon him, he slowly lowered them again and asked, "There are more of them?"

 "More?" laughed Harry. "More than the two that attacked us, you mean? Of course there
 are hundreds, maybe thousands by this time, seeing as they feed off fear and despair"

 "All right, all right blustered," blustered Vernon Dursley. "You've made your
 point "

 "I hope so," said Harry, "because once I'm seventeen, all of them  Death Eaters,
 elementors, maybe even Inferi  which means dead bodies enchanted by a Dark wizard
 will be able to find you and will certainly attack you. And if you remember the last time
 you tried to outrun wizards, I think you'll agree you need help."

 There was a brief silence in which the distant echo of Hagrid smashing down a
 wooden front door seemed to reverberate through the intervening years. Aunt Petunia
 was looking at Uncle Vernon; Dudley was staring at Harry. Finally Uncle Vernon
 blurted out, "But what about my work? What about Dudley's school? I don't suppose
 those things matter to a bunch of layabout wizards "

 "Don't you understand?" shouted Harry. "They will torture and kill you like they
 did my parents!"

 "Dad," said Dudley in a loud voice, "Dad  I'm going with these Order people."

 "Dudley," said Harry, "for the first time in your life, you're talking sense."

 He knew the battle was won. If Dudley was frightened enough to accept the Order's help,
 his parents would accompany him. There could be no question of being separated from
 their Duddykins. Harry glanced at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece.


 "They'll be here in about five minutes, he said, and when one of the Dursleys
 replied, he left the room. The prospect of partingprobably forever  from his aunt,
 uncle, and cousin was one that he was able to contemplate quite cheerfully but there was
 nevertheless a certain awkwardness in the air. What did you say to one another at the end
 of sixteen years' solid dislike?

 Back in his bedroom, Harry fiddled aimlessly with his rucksack then poked a
 couple of owl nuts through the bats of Hedwig's cage. They fell with dull thuds to the
 bottom where she ignored them.

 "We're leaving soon, really soon," Harry told her. "And then you'll be able to fly
 again."

 The doorbell rang. Harry hesitated, then headed back out of his room and
 downstairs. It was too much to expect Hestia and Dedalus to cope with the Dursleys on
 their own.

 "Harry Potter!" squeaked an excited voice, the moment Harry had opened the
 door; a small man in a mauve top hat that was sweeping him a deep bow. "An honor as
 ever!"

 "Thanks, Dedalus," said Harry, bestowing a small and embarrassed smile upon
 the dark haired Hestia. "It's really good of you to do this They're through here, my aunt
 and uncle and cousin"

 "Good day to you, Harry Potter's relatives!" said Dedalus happily striding into the
 living room. The Dursleys did not look at all happy to be addressed thus; Harry half
 expected another change of mind. Dudley shrank neared to his mother at the sight of the
 witch and wizard.

 "I see you are packed and ready. Excellent! The plan, as Harry has told you, is a
 simple one," said Dedalus, pulling an immense pocket watch out of his waistcoat and
 examining it. "We shall be leaving before Harry does. Due to the danger of using magic
 in your house Harry being still underage it could provide the Ministry with an excuse to
 arrest him  we shall be driving, say, ten miles or so before Disapparating to the safe
 location we have picked out for you. You know how to drive, I take it?" He asked Uncle
 Vernon politely.

 "Know how to ? Of course I ruddy well know how to drive!" spluttered Uncle
 Vernon.

 "Very clever of you, sir, very clever. I personally would be utterly bamboozled by
 all those buttons and knobs," said Dedalus. He was clearly under the impression that he
 was flattering Vernon Dursley, who was visibly losing confidence in the plan with every
 word Dedalus spoke.

 "Can't even drive," he muttered under his breath, his mustache rippling
 indignantly, but fortunately neither Dedalus nor Hestia seemed to hear him.

 "You, Harry," Dedalus continued, "will wait here for your guard. There has been
 a little change in the arrangements "

 What d'you mean?" said Harry at once. "I thought Mad-Eye was going to come
 and take me by Side Along-Apparition?"

 "Can't do it," said Hestia tersely, "Mad-Eye will explain."

 The Dursleys, who had listened to all of this with looks of utter incomprehension
 on their faces, jumped as a loud voice screeched, "Hurry up!" Harry looked all around the
 room before realizing the voice had issued from Dedalus's pocket watch.


 "Quite right, were operating to a very tight schedule," said Dedalus nodding at his
 watch and tucking it back into his waist coat. "We are attempting to time your departure
 from the house with your family's Disapparition, Harry thus the charm breaks the
 moment you all head for safety." He turned to the Dursleys, "Well, are we all packed and
 ready to go?"

 None of them answered him. Uncle Vernon was still staring appalled at the bulge
 in Dedalus's waistcoat pocket.

 "Perhaps we should wait outside in the hall, Dedalus," murmured Hestia. She
 clearly felt that it would be tactless for them to remain the room while Harry and the
 Dursleys exchanged loving, possibly tearful farewells.

 "There's no need," Harry muttered, but Uncle Vernon made any further
 explanation unnecessary by saying loudly,

 "Well, this is good-bye then boy."

 He swung his right arm upward to shake Harry's hand, but at the last moment
 seemed unable to face it, and merely closed his fist and began swinging it backward and
 forward like a metronome.

 "Ready, Duddy?" asked Petunia, fussily checking the clasp of her handbag so as
 to avoid looking at Harry altogether.

 Dudley did not answer but stood there with his mouth slightly ajar, reminding
 Harry a little of the giant, Grawp.

 "Come along, then," said Uncle Vernon.

 He had already reached the living room door when Dudley mumbled, "I don't
 understand."

 "What don't you understand, popkin?" asked Petunia looking up at her son.

 Dudley raised a large, hamlike hand to point at Harry.

 "Why isn't he coming with us?

 Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia froze when they stood staring at Dudley as
 though he had just expressed a desire to become a ballerina.

 "What?" said Uncle Vernon loudly.

 "Why isn't he coming too?" asked Dudley.

 "Well, hedoesn't want to," said Uncle Vernon, turning to glare at Harry and
 adding, "You don't want to, do you?"

 "Not in the slightest," said Harry.

 "There you are," Uncle Vernon told Dudley. "Now come on we're off."

 He marched out of the room. They heard the front door open, but Dudley did not
 move and after a few faltering steps Aunt Petunia stopped too.

 "What now?" barked Uncle Vernon, reappearing in the doorway.

 It seemed that Dudley was struggling with concepts too difficult to put into words.
 After several moments of apparently painful internal struggle he said, "But where's he
 going to go?"

 Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon looked at each other. It was clear that Dudley
 was frightening them. Hestia Jones broke the silence.

 "But surely you know where your nephew is going?" she asked looking
 bewildered.

 "Certainly we know," said Vernon Dursley. "He's off with some of your lot, isn't
 he? Right, Dudley, let's get in the car, you heard the man, we're in a hurry.


 Again, Vernon Dursley marched as far as the front door, but Dudley did not
 follow.

 "Off with some of our lot?"

 Hestia looked outraged. Harry had met this attitude before Witches and wizards
 seemed stunned that his closed living relatives took so little interest in the famous Harry
 Potter.

 "It's fine," Harry assured her. "It doesn't matter, honestly."

 "Doesn't matter?" repeated Hestia, her voice rising considerably.

 "Don't these people realize what you've been through? What danger you are in?
 The unique position you hold in the hearts of the anti Voldemort movement?"

 "Er no, they don't," said Harry. "They think I'm a waste of space, actually but I'm
 used to "

 "I don't think you're a waste of space"

 If Harry had not seen Dudley's lips move, he might not have believed it. As it was,
 he stared at Dudley for several seconds before accepting that it must have been his cousin
 who had spoken; for one thing, Dudley had turned red. Harry was embarrassed and
 astonished himself.

 "Well... er thanks, Dudley."

 Again, Dudley appeared to grapple with thoughts too unwieldy for expression
 before mumbling, "You saved my life,"

 "Not really," said Harry. "It was your soul the dementor would have taken"

 He looked curiously at his cousin. They had had virtually no contact during this
 summer or last, as Harry had come back to Privet Drive so briefly and kept to his room so
 much. It now dawned on Harry, however, that the cup of cold tea on which he had
 trodden that morning might not have been a booby trap at all. Although rather touched he
 was nevertheless quite relieved that Dudley appeared to have exhausted his ability to
 express his feelings. After opening his mouth once or twice more, Dudley subsided into
 scarlet-faced silence.

 Aunt Petunia burst into tears. Hestia Jones gave her an approving look that
 changed to outrage as Aunt Petunia ran forward and embraced Dudley rather than Harry.

 "S-so sweet, Dudders" she sobbed into his massive chest. "S-such a lovely b-boy s-
 saying thank you"

 "But he hasn't said thank you at all!" said Hestia indignantly. "He only said he
 didn't think Harry was a waste of space!"

 "Yea but coming from Dudley that's like 'I love you,'" said Harry, torn between
 annoyance and a desire to laugh as Aunt Petunia continued to clutch at Dudley as if he
 had just saved Harry from a burning building.

 "Are we going or not?" roared Uncle Vernon, reappearing yet again at the living
 room door. "I thought we were on a tight schedule!"

 "Yes yes, we are," said Dedalus Diggle, who had been watching these exchanged
 with an air of bemusement and now seemed to pull himself together. "We really must be
 off. Harry "

 He tripped forward and wrung Harry's hand with both of his own.

 "good luck. I hope we meet again. The hopes of the Wizarding world rest upon
 your shoulders."

 "Oh," said Harry, "right. Thanks."


 "Farwell, Harry," said Hestia also clasping his hand. "Our thoughts go with you."

 "I hope everything's okay," said Harry with a glance toward Aunt Petunia and
 Dudley.

 "Oh I'm sure we shall end up the best of chums," said Diggle slightly, waving his
 hat as he left the room. Hestia followed him.

 Dudley gently released himself from his mother's clutches and walked toward
 Harry who had to repress an urge to threaten him with magic. Then Dudley held out his
 large, pink hand.

 "Blimey, Dudley," said Harry over Aunt Petunia's renewed sobs, "did the
 dementors blow a different personality into you?"

 "Dunno," muttered Dudley, "See you, Harry."

 "Yea " said Harry, raking Dudley's hand and shaking it. "Maybe. Take care,
 Big D."

 Dudley nearly smiled. They lumbered from the room. Harry heard his heavy
 footfalls on the graveled drive, and then a car door slammed.

 Aunt Petunia whose face had been buried in her handkerchief looked around at
 the sound. She did not seem to have expected to find herself alone with Harry. Hastily
 stowing her wet handkerchief into her pocket, she said, "Well  good-bye" and marched
 towards the door without looking at him.

 "Good-bye" said Harry.

 She stopped and looked back. For a moment Harry had the strangest feeling that
 she wanted to say something to him; She gave him an odd, tremulous look and seemed to
 teeter on the edge of speech, but then, with a little of her head, she hustled out of the
 room after he husband and son.



 Chapter Four

 The Seven Potters



 Harry ran back upstairs to his bedroom, arriving at the window just in time to see
 the Dursleys' car swinging out of the drive and off up the road. Dedaluss top hat was
 visible between Aunt Petunia and Dudley in the backseat. The car turned right at the end
 of Privet Drive, its windows burned scarlet for a moment in the now setting sun, and then
 it was gone.

 Harry picked up Hedwigs cage, his Firebolt, and his rucksack, gave his
 unnaturally tidy bedroom one last sweeping look, and then made his ungainly way back
 downstairs to the hall, where he deposited cage, broomstick, and bag near the foot of the
 stairs. The light was fading rapidly, the hall full of shadows in the evening light. It felt
 most strange to stand here in the silence and know that he was about to leave the house
 for the last time. Long ago, when he had been left alone while the Dursleys went out to
 enjoy themselves, the hours of solitude had been a rare treat. Pausing only to sneak
 something tasty from the fridge, he had rushed upstairs to play on Dudleys computer, or
 put on the television and flicked through the channels to his hearts content. It gave him
 an odd, empty feeling remembering those times; it was like remembering a younger
 brother whom he had lost.


 Dont you want to take a last look at the place? he asked Hedwig, who was still
 sulking with her head under her wing. Well never be here again. Dont you want to
 remember all the good times? I mean, look at this doormat. What memories  Dudley
 sobbed on it after I saved him from the dementors  Turns out he was grateful after all,
 can you believe it?  And last summer, Dumbledore walked through that front door

 Harry lost the thread of his thoughts for a moment and Hedwig did nothing to
 help him retrieve it, but continued to sit with her head under her wing. Harry turned his
 back on the front door.

 And under here, Hedwig  Harry pulled open a door under the stairs  is where
 I used to sleep! You never knew me then  Blimey, its small, Id forgotten

 Harry looked around at the stacked shoes and umbrellas remembering how he
 used to wake every morning looking up at the underside of the staircase, which was more
 often than not adorned with a spider or two. Those had been the days before he had
 known anything about his true identity; before he had found out how his parents had died
 or why such strange things often happened around him. But Harry could still remember
 the dreams that had dogged him, even in those days: confused dreams involving flashes
 of green light and once  Uncle Vernon had nearly crashed the car when Harry had
 recounted it  a flying motorbike

 There was a sudden, deafening roar from somewhere nearby. Harry straightened
 up with a jerk and smacked the top of his head on the low door frame. Pausing only to
 employ a few of Uncle Vernons choicest swear words, he staggered back into the
 kitchen, clutching his head and staring out of the window into the back garden.

 The darkness seemed to be rippling, the air itself quivering. Then, one by one,
 figures began to pop into sight as their Disillusionment Charms lifted. Dominating the
 scene was Hagrid, wearing a helmet and goggles and sitting astride an enormous
 motorbike with a black sidecar attached. All around him other people were dismounting
 from brooms and, in two cases, skeletal, black winged horses.

 Wrenching open the back door, Harry hurtled into their midst. There was a
 general cry of greeting as Hermione flung her arms around him, Ron clapped him on the
 back, and Hagrid said, All righ, Harry? Ready fer the off?

 Definitely, said Harry, beaming around at them all. But I wasnt expecting this
 many of you!

 Change of plan, growled Mad-Eye, who was holding two enormous bulging
 sacks, and whose magical eye was spinning from darkening sky to house to garden with
 dizzying rapidity. Lets get undercover before we talk you through it.

 Harry led them all back into the kitchen where, laughing and chattering, they
 settled on chairs, sat themselves upon Aunt Petunias gleaming work surfaces, or leaned
 up against her spotless appliances; Ron, long and lanky; Hermione, her bushy hair tied
 back in a long plait; Fred and George, grinning identically; Bill, badly scarred and long-
 haired; Mr. Weasley, kind-faced, balding, his spectacles a little awry; Mad-Eye, battle-
 worn, one-legged, his bright blue magical eye whizzing in its socket; Tonks, whose short
 hair was her favorite shade of bright pink; Lupin, grayer, more lined; Fleur, slender and
 beautiful, with her long silvery blonde hair; Kingsley, bald and broad-shouldered; Hagrid,
 with his wild hair and beard, standing hunchbacked to avoid hitting his head on the
 ceiling; and Mundungus Fletcher, small, dirty, and hangdog, with his droopy beady
 hounds eyes and matted hair. Harrys heart seemed to expand and glow at the sight: He


 felt incredibly fond of all of them, even Mundungus, whom he had tried to strangle the
 last time they had met.

 Kingsley, I thought you were looking after the Muggle Prime Minister? he
 called across the room.

 He can get along without me for one night, said Kingsley, Youre more
 important.

 Harry, guess what? said Tonks from her perch on top of the washing machine,
 and she wiggled her left hand at him; a ring glistened there.

 You got married? Harry yelped, looking from her to Lupin.

 Im sorry you couldnt be there, Harry, it was very quiet.

 Thats brilliant, congrat

 All right, all right, well have time for a cozy catch-up later, roared Moody over
 the hubbub, and silence fell in the kitchen. Moody dropped his sacks at his feet and
 turned to Harry. As Dedalus probably told you, we had to abandon Plan A. Pius
 Thicknesse has gone over, which gives us a big problem. Hes made it an imprisonable
 offense to connect this house to the Floo Network, place a Portkey here, or Apparate in or
 out. All done in the name of your protection, to prevent You-Know-Who getting in at you.
 Absolutely pointless, seeing as your mothers charm does that already. What hes really
 done is to stop you getting out of here safely.

 Second problem: Youre underage, which means youve still got the Trace on
 you.

 I dont

 The Trace, the Trace! said Mad-Eye impatiently. The charm that detects
 magical activity around under-seventeens, the way the Ministry finds out about underage
 magic! If you, or anyone around you, casts a spell to get you out of here, Thicknesse is
 going to know about it, and so will the Death Eaters.

 We cant wait for the Trace to break, because the moment you turn seventeen
 youll lose all the protection your mother gave you. In short, Pius Thicknesse thinks hes
 got you cornered good and proper.

 Harry could not help but agree with the unknown Thicknesse.

 So what are we going to do?

 Were going to use the only means of transport left to us, the only ones the Trace
 cant detect, because we dont need to cast spells to use them: brooms, thestrals, and
 Hagrids motorbike.

 Harry could see flaws in this plan; however, he held his tongue to give Mad-Eye
 the chance to address them.

 Now, your mothers charm will only break under two conditions: when you
 come of age, or  Moody gestured around the pristine kitchen  you no longer call this
 place home. You and your aunt and uncle are going your separate ways tonight, in the
 full understanding that youre never going to live together again, correct?

 Harry nodded.

 So this time, when you leave, therell be no going back, and the charm will break
 the moment you get outside its range. Were choosing to break it early, because the
 alternative is waiting for You-Know-Who to come and seize you the moment you turn
 seventeen.


 The one thing weve got on our side is that You-Know-Who doesnt know were
 moving you tonight. Weve leaked a fake trail to the Ministry: They think youre not
 leaving until the thirtieth. However, this is You-Know-Who were dealing with, so we
 cant rely on him getting the date wrong; hes bound to have a couple of Death Eaters
 patrolling the skies in this general area, just in case. So, weve given a dozen different
 houses every protection we can throw at them. They all look like they could be the place
 were going to hide you, theyve all got some connection with the Order: my house,
 Kingsleys place, Mollys Auntie Muriels  you get the idea.

 Yeah, said Harry, not entirely truthfully, because he could still spot a gaping
 hole in the plan.

 Youll be going to Tonkss parents. Once youre within the boundaries of the
 protective enchantments weve put on their house youll be able to use a Portkey to the
 Burrow. Any questions?

 Er  yes, said Harry. Maybe they wont know which of the twelve secure
 houses Im heading for at first, but wont it be sort of obvious once  he performed a
 quick headcount  fourteen of us fly off toward Tonkss parents?

 Ah, said Moody, I forgot to mention the key point. Fourteen of us wont be
 flying to Tonkss parents. There will be seven Harry Potters moving through the skies
 tonight, each of them with a companion, each pair heading for a different safe house.

 From inside his cloak Moody now withdrew a flask of what looked like mud.
 There was no need for him to say another word; Harry understood the rest of the plan
 immediately.

 No! he said loudly, his voice ringing through the kitchen. No way!

 I told them youd take it like this, said Hermione with a hint of complacency.

 If you think Im going to let six people risk their lives -- !

 because its the first time for all of us, said Ron.

 This is different, pretending to be me

 Well, none of us really fancy it, Harry, said Fred earnestly. Imagine if
 something went wrong and we were stuck as specky, scrawny gits forever.

 Harry did not smile.

 You cant do it if I dont cooperate, you need me to give you some hair.

 Well, thats the plan scuppered, said George. Obviously theres no chance at
 all of us getting a bit of your hair unless you cooperate.

 Yeah, thirteen of us against one bloke whos not allowed to use magic; weve
 got no chance, said Fred.

 Funny, said Harry, really amusing.

 If it has to come to force, then it will, growled Moody, his magical eye now
 quivering a little in its socket as he glared at Harry. Everyone heres overage, Potter, and
 theyre all prepared to take the risk.

 Mundungus shrugged and grimaced; the magical eye swerved sideways to glance
 at him out of the side of Moodys head.

 Lets have no more arguments. Times wearing on. I want a few of your hairs,
 boy, now.

 But this is mad, theres no need

 No need! snarled Moody. With You-Know-Who out there and half the
 Ministry on his side? Potter, if were lucky hell have swallowed the fake bait and hell


 be planning to ambush you on the thirtieth, but hed be mad not to have a Death Eater or
 two keeping an eye out, its what Id do. They might not be able to get at you or this
 house while your mothers charm holds, but its about to break and they know the rough
 position of the place. Our only chance is to use decoys. Even You-Know-Who cant split
 himself into seven.

 Harry caught Hermiones eye and looked away at once.

 So, Potter  some of your hair, if you please.

 Harry glanced at Ron, who grimaced at him in a just-do-it sort of way.

 Now! barked Moody.

 With all of their eyes upon him, Harry reached up to the top of his head, grabbed
 a hank of hair, and pulled.

 Good, said Moody, limping forward as he pulled the stopper out of the flask of
 potion. Straight in here, if you please.

 Harry dropped the hair into the mudlike liquid. The moment it made contact with
 its surface, the potion began to froth and smoke, then, all at once, it turned a clear, bright
 gold.

 Ooh, you look much tastier than Crabbe and Goyle, Harry, said Hermione,
 before catching sight of Rons raised eyebrows, blushing slightly, and saying, Oh, you
 know what I mean  Goyles potion tasted like bogies.

 Right then, fake Potters line up over here, please, said Moody.

 Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Fleur lined up in front of Aunt Petunias
 gleaming sink.

 Were one short, said Lupin.

 Here, said Hagrid gruffly, and he lifted Mundungus by the scruff of the neck
 and dropped him down beside Fleur, who wrinkled her nose pointedly and moved along
 to stand between Fred and George instead.

 Im a soldier, Id sooner be a protector, said Mundungus.

 Shut it, growled Moody. As Ive already told you, you spineless worm, any
 Death Eaters we run into will be aiming to capture Potter, not kill him. Dumbledore
 always said You-Know-Who would want to finish Potter in person. Itll be the protectors
 who have got the most to worry about, the Death Eatersll want to kill them.

 Mundungus did not look particularly reassured, but Moody was already pulling
 half a dozen eggcup-sized glasses from inside his cloak, which he handed out, before
 pouring a little Polyjuice Potion into each one.

 Altogether, then

 Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, Fleur, and Mundungus drank. All of them gasped
 and grimaced as the potion hit their throats; At once, their features began to bubble and
 distort like hot wax. Hermione and Mundungus were shooting upward; Ron, Fred, and
 George were shrinking; their hair was darkening, Hermiones and Fleurs appearing to
 shoot backward into their skulls.

 Moody, quite unconcerned, was now loosening the ties of the large sacks he had
 brought with him. When he straightened up again, there were six Harry Potters gasping
 and panting in front of him.

 Fred and George turned to each other and said together, Wow  were identical!

 I dunno, though, I think Im still better-looking, said Fred, examining his
 reflection in the kettle.


 Bah, said Fleur, checking herself in the microwave door, Bill, dont look at me
 Im ideous.

 Those whose clothes are a bit roomy, Ive got smaller here, said Moody,
 indicating the first sack, and vice versa. Dont forget the glasses, theres six pairs in the
 side pocket. And when youre dressed, theres luggage in the other sack.

 The real Harry thought that this might just be the most bizarre thing he had ever
 seen, and he had seen some extremely odd things. He watched as his six doppelgangers
 rummaged in the sacks, pulling out sets of clothes, putting on glasses, stuffing their own
 things away. He felt like asking them to show a little more respect for privacy as they all
 began stripping off with impunity, clearly more at ease with displaying his body than
 they would have been with their own.

 I knew Ginny was lying about that tattoo, said Ron, looking down at his bare
 chest.

 Harry, your eyesight really is awful, said Hermione, as she put on glasses.

 Once dressed, the fake Harrys took rucksacks and owl cages, each containing a
 stuffed snowy owl, from the second sack.

 Good, said Moody, as at last seven dressed, bespectacled, and luggage-laden
 Harrys faced him. The pairs will be as follows: Mundungus will be traveling with me,
 by broom

 Whym I with you? grunted the Harry nearest the back door.

 Because youre the one that needs watching, growled Moody, and sure enough,
 his magical eye did not waver from Mundungus as he continued, Arthur and Fred

 Im George, said the twin at whom Moody was pointing. Cant you even tell
 us apart when were Harry?

 Sorry, George

 Im only yanking your wand, Im Fred really

 Enough messing around! snarled Moody. The other one  George or Fred or
 whoever you are  youre with Remus. Miss Delacour

 Im taking Fleur on a thestral, said Bill. Shes not that fond of brooms.

 Fleur walked over to stand beside him, giving him a soppy, slavish look that
 Harry hoped with all his heart would never appear on his face again.

 Miss Granger with Kingsley, again by thestral

 Hermione looked reassured as she answered Kingsleys smile; Harry knew that
 Hermione too lacked confidence on a broomstick.

 Which leaves you and me, Ron! said Tonks brightly, knocking over a mug tree
 as she waved at him.

 Ron did not look quite as pleased as Hermione.

 An youre with me, Harry. That all righ? said Hagrid, looking a little anxious.
 Well be on the bike, brooms an thestrals cant take me weight, see. Not a lot o room
 on the seat with me on it, though, so youll be in the sidecar.

 Thats great, said Harry, not altogether truthfully.

 We think the Death Eaters will expect you to be on a broom, said Moody, who
 seemed to guess how Harry was feeling. Snapes had plenty of time to tell them
 everything about you hes never mentioned before, so if we do run into any Death Eaters,
 were betting theyll choose one of the Potters who looks at home on a broomstick. All
 right then, he went on, tying up the sack with the fake Potters clothes in it and leading


 the way back to the door, I make it three minutes until were supposed to leave. No
 point locking the back door, it wont keep the Death Eaters out when they come looking.
 Come on

 Harry hurried to gather his rucksack, Firebolt, and Hedwigs cage and followed
 the group to the dark back garden.

 On every side broomsticks were leaping into hands; Hermione had already been
 helped up onto a great black thestral by Kingsley, Fleur onto the other by Bill. Hagrid
 was standing ready beside the motorbike, goggles on.

 Is this it? Is this Siriuss bike?

 The very same, said Hagrid, beaming down at Harry. An the last time yeh
 was on it, Harry, I could fit yeh in one hand!

 Harry could not help but feel a little humiliated as he got into the sidecar. It
 placed him several feet below everybody else: Ron smirked at the sight of him sitting
 there like a child in a bumper car. Harry stuffed his rucksack and broomstick down by his
 feet and rammed Hedwigs cage between his knees. He was extremely uncomfortable.

 Arthurs done a bit o tinkerin, said Hagrid, quite oblivious to Harrys
 discomfort. He settled himself astride the motorcycle, which creaked slightly and sank
 inches into the ground. Its got a few tricks up its sleeves now. Tha one was my idea.
 He pointed a thick finger at a purple button near the speedometer.

 "Please be careful, Hagrid." said Mr. Weasley, who was standing beside them,
 holding his broomstick. "I'm still not sure that was advisable and it's certainly only to be
 used in emergencies."

 "All right, then." said Moody. "Everyone ready, please. I want us all to leave at
 exactly the same time or the whole point of the diversion's lost."

 Everybody motioned their heads.

 "Hold tight now, Ron," said Tonks, and Harry saw Ron throw a forcing, guilty look at
 Lupin before placing his hands on each side of her waist. Hagrid kicked the motorbike
 into life: It roared like a dragon, and the sidecar began to vibrate.

 Good luck, everyone, shouted Moody. See you all in about an hour at the
 Burrow. On the count of three. One  two .. THREE.

 There was a great roar from the motorbike, and Harry felt the sidecar give a nasty
 lurch. He was rising through the air fast, his eyes watering slightly, hair whipped back off
 his face. Around him brooms were soaring upward too; the long black tail of a thestral
 flicked past. His legs, jammed into the sidecar by Hedwigs cage and his rucksack, were
 already sore and starting to go numb. So great was his discomfort that he almost forgot to
 take a last glimpse of number four Privet Drive. By the time he looked over the edge of
 the sidecar he could no longer tell which one it was.

 And then, out of nowhere, out of nothing, they were surrounded. At least thirty
 hooded figures, suspended in midair, formed a vast circle in the middle of which the
 Order members had risen, oblivious

 Screams, a blaze of green light on every side: Hagrid gave a yell and the
 motorbike rolled over. Harry lost any sense of where they were. Streetlights above him,
 yells around him, he was clinging to the sidecar for dear life. Hedwig's cage, the Firebolt,
 and his rucksack slipped from beneath his knees

 "No  HELP!"


 The broomstick spun too, but he just managed to seize the strap of his rucksack
 and the top of the cage as the motorbike swung the right way up again. A second's relief,
 and then another burst of green light. The owl screeched and fell to the floor of the cage.

 "No  NO!"

 The motorbike zoomed forward; Harry glimpsed hooded Death Eaters scattering
 as Hagrid blasted through their circle.

 "Hedwig  Hedwig "

 But the owl lay motionless and pathetic as a toy on the floor of her cage. He could
 not take it in, and his terror for the others was paramount. He glanced over his shoulder
 and saw a mass of people moving, flares of green light, two pairs of people on brooms
 soaring off into the distance, but he could not tell who they were

 "Hagrid, we've got to go back, we've got to go back!" he yelled over the
 thunderous roar of the engine, pulling out his wand, ramming Hedwig's cage into the
 floor, refusing to believe that she was dead. "Hagrid, TURN AROUND!"

 "My job's ter get you there safe, Harry!" bellow Hagrid, and he opened the throttle.

 "Stop  STOP!" Harry shouted, but as he looked back again two jets of green light flew
 past his left ear: Four Death Eaters had broken away from the circle and were pursuing
 them, aiming for Hagrid's broad back. Hagrid swerved, but the Death Eaters were
 keeping up with the bike; more curses shot after them, and Harry had to sink low into the
 sidecar to avoid them. Wriggling around he cried, "Stupefy!" and a red bolt of light shot
 from his own wand, cleaving a gap between the four pursuing Death Eaters as they
 scattered to avoid it.

 "Hold on, Harry, this'll do for 'em!" roared Hagrid, and Harry looked up just in
 time to see Hagrid slamming a thick finger into a green button near the fuel gauge.

 A wall, a solid black wall, erupted out of the exhaust pipe. Craning his neck, Harry saw it
 expand into being in midair. Three of the Death Eaters swerved and avoided it, but the
 fourth was not so lucky; He vanished from view and then dropped like a boulder from
 behind it, his broomstick broken into pieces. One of his fellows slowed up to save him,
 but they and the airborne wall were swallowed by darkness as Hagrid leaned low over the
 handlebars and sped up.

 More Killing Curses flew past Harry's head from the two remaining Death Eaters'
 wands; they were aiming for Hagrid. Harry responded with further Stunning Spells: Red
 and green collided in midair in a shower of multicolored sparks, and Harry thought
 wildly of fireworks, and the Muggles below who would have no idea what was
 happening

 "Here we go again, Harry, hold on!" yelled Hagrid, and he jabbed at a second
 button. This time a great net burst from the bike's exhaust, but the Death Eaters were
 ready for it. Not only did they swerve to avoid it, but the companion who had slowed to
 save their unconscious friend had caught up. He bloomed suddenly out of the darkness
 and now three of them were pursuing the motorbike, all shooting curses after it.

 "This'll do it, Harry, hold on tight!" yelled Hagrid, and Harry saw him slam his
 whole hand onto the purple button beside the speedometer.

 With an unmistakable bellowing roar, dragon fire burst from the exhaust, white-
 hot and blue, and the motorbike shot forward like a bullet with a sound of wrenching
 metal. Harry saw the Death Eaters swerve out of sight to avoid the deadly trail of flame,


 and at the same time felt the sidecar sway ominously: Its metal connections to the bike
 had splintered with the force of acceleration.

 "It's all righ', Harry!" bellowed Hagrid, now thrown flat onto the back by the
 surge of speed; nobody was steering now, and the sidecar was starting to twist violently
 in the bike's slipstream.

 "I'm on it, Harry, don' worry!" Hagrid yelled, and from inside his jacket pocket he
 pulled his flowery pink umbrella.

 "Hagrid! No! Let me!"

 "REPARO!"

 There was a deafening bang and the sidecar broke away from the bike completely.
 Harry sped forward, propelled by the impetus of the bike's flight, then the sidecar began
 to lose height

 In desperation Harry pointed his wand at the sidecar and shouted, "Wingardium
 Leviosa!"

 The sidecar rose like a cork, unsteerable but at least still airborne. He had but a
 split second's relief, however, as more curses streaked past him: The three Death Eaters
 were closing in.

 "I'm comin', Harry!" Hagrid yelled from out of the darkness, but Harry could feel
 the sidecar beginning to sink again: Crouching as low as he could, he pointed at the
 middle of the oncoming figures and yelled, "Impedimenta!"

 The jinx hit the middle Death Eater in the chest; For a moment the man was
 absurdly spread-eagled in midair as though he had hit an invisible barrier: One of his
 fellows almost collided with him

 Then the sidecar began to fall in earnest, and the remaining Death Eater shot a
 curse so close to Harry that he had to duck below the rim of the car, knocking out a tooth
 on the edge of his seat

 "I'm comin', Harry, I'm comin'!"

 A huge hand seized the back of Harry's robes and hoisted him out of the
 plummeting sidecar; Harry pulled his rucksack with him as he dragged himself onto the
 motorbike's seat and found himself back-to-back with Hagrid. As they soared upward,
 away from the two remaining Death Eaters, Harry spat blood out of his mouth, pointed
 his wand at the falling sidecar, and yelled, "Confringo!"

 He knew a dreadful, gut-wrenching pang for Hedwig as it exploded; the Death
 Eater nearest it was blasted off his broom and fell from sight; his companion fell back
 and vanished.

 "Harry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," moaned Hagrid, "I shouldn'ta tried ter repair it
 meself  yeh've got no room "

 "It's not a problem, just keep flying!" Harry shouted back, as two more Death
 Eaters emerged out of the darkness, drawing closer.

 As the curses came shooting across the intervening space again, Hagrid swerved
 and zigzagged: Harry knew that Hagrid did not dare use the dragon-fire button again,
 with Harry seated so insecurely. Harry sent Stunning Spell after Stunning Spell back at
 their pursuers, barely holding them off. He shot another blocking jinx at them: The
 closest Death Eater swerved to avoid it and his hood slipped, and by the red light of his
 next Stunning Spell, Harry saw the strangely blank face of Stanley Shunpike  Stan

 "Expelliarmus!" Harry yelled.


 "That's him, it's him, it's the real one!"

 The hooded Death Eater's shout reached Harry even above the thunder of the
 motorbike's engine: Next moment, both pursuers had fallen back and disappeared from
 view.

 "Harry, what's happened?" bellowed Hagrid. "Where've they gone?"

 "I don't know!"

 But Harry was afraid: The hooded Death Eater had shouted, "It's the real one!";
 how had he known? He gazed around at the apparently empty darkness and felt its
 menace. Where were they?

 He clambered around on the seat to face forward and seized hold of the back of
 Hagrid's jacket.

 "Hagrid, do the dragon-fire thing again, let's get out of here!"

 "Hold on tight, then, Harry!"

 There was a deafening, screeching roar again and the white-blue fire shot from the
 exhaust: Harry felt himself slipping backwards off what little of the seat he had. Hagrid
 flung backward upon him, barely maintaining his grip on the handlebars

 "I think we've lost 'em Harry, I think we've done it!" yelled Hagrid.

 But Harry was not convinced; Fear lapped at him as he looked left and right for
 pursuers he was sure would come. . . . Why had they fallen back? One of them had still
 had a wand. . . . It's him. . . it's the real one. . . . They had said it right after he had tried to
 Disarm Stan. . . .

 "We're nearly there, Harry, we've nearly made it!" shouted Hagrid.

 Harry felt the bike drop a little, though the lights down on the ground still seemed
 remote as stars.

 Then the scar on his forehead burned like fire: as a Death Eater appeared on either
 side of the bike, two Killing Curses missed Harry by millimeters, cast from behind

 And then Harry saw him. Voldemort was flying like smoke on the wind, without
 broomstick or thestral to hold him, his snake-like face gleaming out of the blackness, his
 white fingers raising his wand again

 Hagrid let out a bellow of fear and steered the motorbike into a vertical dive.
 Clinging on for dear life, Harry sent Stunning Spells flying at random into the whirling
 night. He saw a body fly past him and knew he had hit one of them, but then he heard a
 bang and saw sparks from the engine; the motorbike spiraled through the air, completely
 out of control

 Green jets of light shot past them again. Harry had no idea which way was up,
 which down: His scar was still burning; he expected to die at any second. A hooded
 figure on a broomstick was feet from him, he saw it raise its arm

 "NO!"

 With a shout of fury Hagrid launched himself off the bike at the Death Eater; to
 his horror, Harry saw both Hagrid and the Death Eater, falling out of sight, their
 combined weight too much for the broomstick

 Barely gripping the plummeting bike with his knees, Harry heard Voldemort
 scream, "Mine!"

 It was over: He could not see or hear where Voldemort was; he glimpsed another
 Death Eater swooping out of the way and heard, "Avada "


 As the pain from Harry's scar forced his eyes shut, his wand acted of its own
 accord. He felt it drag his hand around like some great magnet, saw a spurt of golden fire
 through his half-closed eyelids, heard a crack and a scream of fury. The remaining Death
 Eater yelled; Voldemort screamed, "NO!" Somehow, Harry found his nose an inch from
 the dragon-fire button. He punched it with his wand-free hand and the bike shot more
 flames into the air, hurtling straight toward the ground.

 "Hagrid!" Harry called, holding on to the bike for dear life. "Hagrid  Accio
 Hagrid!"

 The motorbike sped up, sucked towards the earth. Face level with the handlebars,
 Harry could see nothing but distant lights growing nearer and nearer: He was going to
 crash and there was nothing he could do about it. Behind him came another scream,
 "Your wand, Selwyn, give me your wand!"

 He felt Voldemort before he saw him. Looking sideways, he stared into the red
 eyes and was sure they would be the last thing he ever saw: Voldemort preparing to curse
 him once more

 And then Voldemort vanished. Harry looked down and saw Hagrid spread-eagled
 on the ground below him. He pulled hard at the handlebars to avoid hitting him, groped
 for the brake, but with an earsplitting, ground trembling crash, he smashed into a muddy
 pond.



 Chapter Five

 Fallen Warrior



 "Hagrid?"

 Harry struggled to raise himself out of the debris of metal and leather that
 surrounded him; his hands sank into inches of muddy water as he tried to stand. He could
 not understand where Voldemort had gone and expected him to swoop out of the
 darkness at any moment. Something hot and wet was trickling down his chin and from
 his forehead. He crawled out of the pond and stumbled toward the great dark mass on the
 ground that was Hagrid.

 "Hagrid? Hagrid, talk to me "

 But the dark mass did not stir.

 "Who's there? Is it Potter? Are you Harry Potter?"

 Harry did not recognize the man's voice. Then a woman shouted. "They've
 crashed. Ted! Crashed in the garden!"

 Harry's head was swimming.

 "Hagrid," he repeated stupidly, and his knees buckled.

 The next thing he knew, he was lying on his back on what felt like cushions, with
 a burning sensation in his ribs and right arm. His missing tooth had been regrown. The
 scar on his forehead was still throbbing.

 "Hagrid?"

 He opened his eyes and saw that he was lying on a sofa in an unfamiliar, lamplit
 sitting room. His rucksack lay on the floor a short distance away, wet and muddy. A fair-
 haired, big-bellied man was watching Harry anxiously.


 "Hagrid's fine, son," said the man, "the wife's seeing to him now. How are you
 feeling? Anything else broken? I've fixed your ribs, your tooth, and your arm. I'm Ted, by
 the way, Ted Tonks  Dora's father."

 Harry sat up too quickly. Lights popped in front of his eyes and he felt sick and
 giddy.

 "Voldemort "

 "Easy, now," said Ted Tonks, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder and pushing him
 back against the cushions. "That was a nasty crash you just had. What happened,
 anyway? Something go wrong with the bike? Arthur Weasley overstretch himself again,
 him and his Muggle contraptions?"

 "No," said Harry, as his scar pulsed like an open wound. "Death Eaters, loads of
 them  we were chased "

 "Death Eaters?" said Ted sharply. "What d'you mean, Death Eaters? I thought
 they didn't know you were being moved tonight, I thought "

 "They knew," said Harry.

 Ted Tonks looked up at the ceiling as though he could see through it to the sky
 above.

 "Well, we know our protective charms hold, then, don't we? They shouldn't be
 able to get within a hundred yards of the place in any direction."

 Now Harry understood why Voldemort had vanished; it had been at the point
 when the motorbike crossed the barrier of the Order's charms. He only hoped they would
 continue to work: He imagined Voldemort, a hundred yards above them as they spoke,
 looking for a way to penetrate what Harry visualized as a great transparent bubble.

 He swung his legs off the sofa; he needed to see Hagrid with his own eyes before
 he would believe that he was alive. He had barely stood up, however, when a door
 opened and Hagrid squeezed through it, his face covered in mud and blood, limping a
 little but miraculously alive.

 "Harry!"

 Knocking over two delicate tables and an aspidistra, he covered the floor between
 them in two strides and pulled Harry into a hug that nearly cracked his newly repaired
 ribs. "Blimey, Harry, how did yeh get out o' that? I thought we were both goners."

 "Yeah, me too. I can't believe "

 Harry broke off. He had just noticed the woman who had entered the room behind
 Hagrid.

 "You!" he shouted, and he thrust his hand into his pocket, but it was empty.

 "Your wand's here, son," said Ted, tapping it on Harry's arm. "It fell right beside
 you, I picked it upAnd that's my wife you're shouting at."

 "Oh, I'm  I'm sorry."

 As she moved forward into the room, Mrs. Tonks's resemblance to her sister
 Bellatrix became much less pronounced: Her hair was a lights oft brown and her eyes
 were wider and kinder. Nevertheless, she looked a little haughty after Harry's
 exclamation.

 "What happened to our daughter?" she asked. "Hagrid said you were ambushed;
 where is Nymphadora?"

 "I don't know," said Harry. "We don't know what happened to anyone else."


 She and Ted exchanged looks. A mixture of fear and guilt gripped Harry at the
 sight of their expressions, if any of the others had died, it was his fault, all his fault. He
 had consented to the plan, given them his hair . . .

 "The Portkey," he said, remembering all of a sudden. "We've got to get back to
 the Burrow and find out  then we'll be able to send you word, or  or Tonks will, once
 she's "

 "Dora'll be ok, 'Dromeda," said Ted. "She knows her stuff, she's been in plenty of
 tight spots with the Aurors. The Portkey's through here," he added to Harry. "It's
 supposed to leave in three minutes, if you want to take it."

 "Yeah, we do," said Harry. He seized his rucksack, swung it onto his shoulders. "I
 "

 He looked at Mrs. Tonks, wanting to apologize for the state of fear in which he
 left her and for which he felt so terribly responsible, but no words occurred to him that he
 did not seem hollow and insincere.

 "I'll tell Tonks  Dora  to send word, when she . . . Thanks for patching us up,
 thanks for everything, I "

 He was glad to leave the room and follow Ted Tonks along a short hallway and
 into a bedroom. Hagrid came after them, bending low to avoid hitting his head on the
 door lintel.

 "There you go, son. That's the Portkey."

 Mr. Tonks was pointing to a small, silver-backed hairbrush lying on the dressing
 table.

 "Thanks," said Harry, reaching out to place a finger on it, ready to leave.

 "Wait a moment," said Hagrid, looking around. "Harry, where's Hedwig?"

 "She . . . she got hit," said Harry.

 The realization crashed over him: He felt ashamed of himself as the tears stung
 his eyes. The owl had been his companion, his one great link with the magical world
 whenever he had been forced to return to the Dursleys.

 Hagrid reached out a great hand and patted him painfully on the shoulder.

 "Never mind," he said gruffly, "Never mind. She had a great old life "

 "Hagrid!" said Ted Tonks warningly, as the hairbrush glowed bright blue, and
 Hagrid only just got his forefinger to it in time.

 With a jerk behind the navel as though an invisible hook and line had dragged
 him forward, Harry was pulled into nothingness, spinning uncontrollably, his finger glued
 to the Portkey as he and Hagrid hurtled away from Mr. Tonks. Second later, Harry's feet
 slammed onto hard ground and he fell onto his hands and knees in the yard of the Burrow.
 He heard screams. Throwing aside the no longer glowing hairbrush, Harry stood up,
 swaying slightly, and saw Mrs. Weasley and Ginny running down the steps by the back
 door as Hagrid, who had also collapsed on landing, clambered laboriously to his feet.

 "Harry? You are the real Harry? What happened? Where are the others?" cried
 Mrs. Weasley.

 "What d'you mean? Isn't anyone else back?" Harry panted.

 The answer was clearly etched in Mrs. Weasley's pale face.

 "The Death Eaters were waiting for us," Harry told her, "We were surrounded the
 moment we took off  they knew it was tonight  I don't know what happened to anyone


 else, four of them chased us, it was all we could do to get away, and then Voldemort
 caught up with us "

 He could hear the self-justifying note in his voice, the plea for her to understand
 why he did not know what had happened to her sons, but

 "Thank goodness you're all right," she said, pulling him into a hug he did not feel
 he deserved.

 "Haven't go' any brandy, have yeh, Molly?" asked Hagrid a little shakily, "Fer
 medicinal purposes?"

 She could have summoned it by magic, but as she hurried back toward the
 crooked house, Harry knew that she wanted to hide her face. He turned to Ginny and she
 answered his unspoken plea for information at once.

 "Ron and Tonks should have been back first, but they missed their Portkey, it
 came back without them," she said, pointing at a rusty oil can lying on the ground nearby.
 "And that one," she pointed at an ancient sneaker, "should have been Dad and Fred's,
 they were supposed to be second. You and Hagrid were third and," she checked her
 watch, "if they made it, George and Lupin aught to be back in about a minute."

 Mrs. Weasley reappeared carrying a bottle of brandy, which she handed to Hagrid.
 He uncorked it and drank it straight down in one.

 "Mum!" shouted Ginny pointing to a spot several feet away.

 A blue light had appeared in the darkness: It grew larger and brighter, and Lupin
 and George appeared, spinning and then falling. Harry knew immediately that there was
 something wrong: Lupin was supporting George, who was unconscious and whose face
 was covered in blood.

 Harry ran forward and seized George's legs. Together, he and Lupin carried
 George into the house and through the kitchen to the living room, where they laid him on
 the sofa. As the lamplight fell across George's head, Ginny gasped and Harry's stomach
 lurched: One of George's ears was missing. The side of his head and neck were drenched
 in wet, shockingly scarlet blood.

 No sooner had Mrs. Weasley bent over her son that Lupin grabbed Harry by the
 upper arm and dragged him, none too gently, back into the kitchen, where Hagrid was
 still attempting to ease his bulk through the back door.

 "Oi!" said Hagrid indignantly, "Le' go of him! Le' go of Harry!"

 Lupin ignored him.

 "What creature sat in the corner the first time that Harry Potter visited my office
 at Hogwarts?" he said, giving Harry a small shake. "Answer me!"

 "A  a grindylow in a tank, wasn't it?"

 Lupin released Harry and fell back against a kitchen cupboard.

 "Wha' was tha' about?" roared Hagrid.

 "I'm sorry, Harry, but I had to check," said Lupin tersely. "We've been betrayed.
 Voldemort knew that you were being moved tonight and the only people who could have
 told him were directly involved in the plan. You might have been an impostor."

 "So why aren' you checkin' me?" panted Hagrid, still struggling with the door.

 "You're half-giant," said Lupin, looking up at Hagrid. "The Polyjuice Potion is
 designed for human use only."

 "None of the Order would have told Voldemort we were moving tonight," said
 Harry. The idea was dreadful to him, he could not believe it of any of them. "Voldemort


 only caught up with me toward the end, he didn't know which one I was in the beginning.
 If he'd been in on the plan he'd have known from the start I was the one with Hagrid."

 "Voldemort caught up with you?" said Lupin sharply. "What happened? How did
 you escape?"

 Harry explained how the Death Eaters pursuing them had seemed to recognize
 him as the true Harry, how they had abandoned the chase, how they must have
 summoned Voldemort, who had appeared just before he and Hagrid had reached the
 sanctuary of Tonks's parents.

 "They recognized you? But how? What had you done?"

 "I . . ." Harry tried to remember; the whole journey seemed like a blur of panic
 and confusion. "I saw Stan Shunpike . . . . You know, the bloke who was the conductor
 on the Knight Bus? And I tried to Disarm him instead of  well, he doesn't know what
 he's doing, does he? He must be Imperiused!"

 Lupin looked aghast.

 "Harry, the time for Disarming is past! These people are trying to capture and kill
 you! At least Stun if you aren't prepared to kill!"

 "We were hundreds of feet up! Stan's not himself, and if I Stunned him and he'd
 fallen, he'd have died the same as if I'd used Avada Kedavra! Expelliarmus saved me
 from Voldemort two years ago," Harry added defiantly. Lupin was reminding him of the
 sneering Hufflepuff Zacharias Smith, who had jeered at Harry for wanting to teach
 Dumbledore's Army how to Disarm.

 "Yes, Harry," said Lupin with painful restraint, "and a great number of Death
 Eaters witnessed that happening! Forgive me, but it was a very unusual move then, under
 the imminent threat of death. Repeating it tonight in front of Death Eaters who either
 witnessed or heard about the first occasion was close to suicidal!"

 "So you think I should have killed Stan Shunpike?" said Harry angrily.

 "Of course not," said Lupin, "but the Death Eaters  frankly, most people!
 would have expected you to attack back! Expelliarmus is a useful spell, Harry, but the
 Death Eaters seem to think it is your signature move, and I urge you not to let it become
 so!"

 Lupin was making Harry feel idiotic, and yet there was still a grain of defiance
 inside him.

 "I won't blast people out of my way just because they're there," said Harry, "That's
 Voldemort's job."

 Lupin's retort was lost: Finally succeeding in squeezing through the door, Hagrid
 staggered to a chair and sat down; it collapsed beneath him. Ignoring his mingled oaths
 and apologies, Harry addressed Lupin again.

 "Will George be okay?"

 All Lupin's frustration with Harry seemed to drain away at the question.

 "I think so, although there's no chance of replacing his ear, not when it's been
 cursed off "

 There was a scuffling from outside. Lupin dived for the back door; Harry leapt
 over Hagrid's legs and sprinted into the yard.

 Two figures had appeared in the yard, and as Harry ran toward them he realized
 they were Hermione, now returning to her normal appearance, and Kingsley, both
 clutching a bent coat hanger, Hermione flung herself into Harry's arms, but Kingsley


 showed no pleasure at the sight of any of them. Over Hermione's shoulder Harry saw him
 raise his wand and point it at Lupin's chest.

 "The last words Albus Dumbledore spoke to the pair of us!"

 "'Harry is the best hope we have. Trust him,'" said Lupin calmly.

 Kingsley turned his wand on Harry, but Lupin said, "It's him, I've checked!"

 "All right, all right!" said Kingsley, stowing his wand back beneath his cloak,
 "But somebody betrayed us! They knew, they knew it was tonight!"

 "So it seems," replied Lupin, "but apparently they did not realize that there would
 be seven Harrys."

 "Small comfort!" snarled Kingsley. "Who else is back?"

 "Only Harry, Hagrid, George, and me."

 Hermione stifled a little moan behind her hand.

 "What happened to you?" Lupin asked Kingsley.

 "Followed by five, injured two, might've killed one," Kingsley reeled off, "and we
 saw You-Know-Who as well, he joined the chase halfway through but vanished pretty
 quickly. Remus, he can "

 "Fly," supplied Harry. "I saw him too, he came after Hagrid and me."

 "So that's why he left, to follow you!" said Kingsley, "I couldn't understand why
 he'd vanished. But what made him change targets?"

 "Harry behaved a little too kindly to Stan Shunpike," said Lupin.

 "Stan?" repeated Hermione. "But I thought he was in Azkaban?"

 Kingsley let out a mirthless laugh.

 "Hermione, there's obviously been a mass breakout which the Ministry has
 hushed up. Travers's hood fell off when I cursed him, he's supposed to be inside too. But
 what happened to you, Remus? Where's George?"

 "He lost an ear," said Lupin.

 "lost an -- ?" repeated Hermione in a high voice.

 "Snape's work," said Lupin.

 "Snape?" shouted Harry. "You didn't say "

 "He lost his hood during the chase. Sectumsempra was always a specialty of
 Snape's. I wish I could say I'd paid him back in kind, but it was all I could do to keep
 George on the broom after he was injured, he was losing so much blood."

 Silence fell between the four of them as they looked up at the sky. There was no
 sign of movement; the stars stared back, unblinking, indifferent, unobscured by flying
 friends. Where was Ron? Where were Fred and Mr. Weasley? Where were Bill, Fleur,
 Tonks, Mad-Eye, and Mundungus?

 "Harry, give us a hand!" called Hagrid hoarsely from the door, in which he was
 stuck again. Glad of something to do, Harry pulled him free, the headed through the
 empty kitchen and back into the sitting room, where Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were still
 tending to George. Mrs. Weasley had staunched his bleeding now, and by the lamplight
 Harry saw a clean gaping hole where George's ear had been.

 "How is he?"

 Mrs. Weasley looked around and said, "I can't make it grow back, not when it's
 been removed by Dark Magic. But it could've been so much worse . . . . He's alive."

 "Yeah," said Harry. "Thank God."

 "Did I hear someone else in the yard?" Ginny asked.


 "Hermione and Kingsley," said Harry.

 "Thank goodness," Ginny whispered. They looked at each other; Harry wanted to
 hug her, hold on to her; he did not even care much that Mrs. Weasley was there, but
 before he could act on the impulse, there was a great crash from the kitchen.

 "I'll prove who I am, Kingsley, after I've seen my son, now back off if you know
 what's good for you!"

 Harry had never heard Mr. Weasley shout like that before. He burst into the living
 room, his bald patch gleaming with sweat, his spectacles askew, Fred right behind him,
 both pale but uninjured.

 "Arthur!" sobbed Mrs. Weasley. "Oh thank goodness!"

 "How is he?"

 Mr. Weasley dropped to his knees beside George. For the first time since Harry
 had known him, Fred seemed to be lost for words. He gaped over the back of the sofa at
 his twin's wound as if he could not believe what he was seeing.

 Perhaps roused by the sound of Fred and their father's arrival, George stirred.

 "How do you feel, Georgie?" whispered Mrs. Weasley.

 George's fingers groped for the side of his head.

 "Saintlike," he murmured.

 "What's wrong with him?" croaked Fred, looking terrified. "Is his mind affected?"

 "Saintlike," repeated George, opening his eyes and looking up at his brother.
 "You see. . . I'm holy. Holey, Fred, geddit?"

 Mrs. Weasley sobbed harder than ever. Color flooded Fred's pale face.

 "Pathetic," he told George. "Pathetic! With the whole wide world of ear-related
 humor before you, you go for holey?"

 "Ah well," said George, grinning at his tear-soaked mother. "You'll be able to tell
 us apart now, anyway, Mum."

 He looked around.

 "Hi, Harry  you are Harry, right?"

 "Yeah, I am," said Harry, moving closer to the sofa.

 "Well, at least we got you back okay," said George. "Why aren't Ron and Bill
 huddled round my sickbed?"

 "They're not back yet, George," said Mrs. Weasley. George's grin faded. Harry
 glanced at Ginny and motioned to her to accompany him back outside. As they walked
 through the kitchen she said in a low voice.

 "Ron and Tonks should be back by now. They didn't have a long journey; Auntie
 Muriel's not that far from here."

 Harry said nothing. He had been trying to keep fear at bay ever since reaching the
 Burrow, but now it enveloped him, seeming to crawl over his skin, throbbing in his chest,
 clogging his throat. As they walked down the back steps into the dark yard, Ginny took
 his hand.

 Kingsley was striding backward and forward, glancing up at the sky every time he
 turned. Harry was reminded of Uncle Vernon pacing the living room a million years ago.
 Hagrid, Hermione, and Lupin stood shoulder to shoulder, gazing upward in silence. None
 of them looked around when Harry and Ginny joined their silent vigil.


 The minutes stretched into what might as well have been years. The slightest
 breath of wind made them all jump and turn toward the whispering bush or tree in the
 hope that one of the missing Order members might leap unscathed from its leaves

 And then a broom materialized directly above them and streaked toward the
 ground

 "It's them!" screamed Hermione.

 Tonks landed in a long skid that sent earth and pebbles everywhere.

 "Remus!" Tonks cried as she staggered off the broom into Lupin's arms. His face
 was set and white: He seemed unable to speak, Ron tripped dazedly toward Harry and
 Hermione.

 "You're okay," he mumbled, before Hermione flew at him and hugged him tightly.

 "I thought  I thought "

 "'M all right," said Ron, patting her on the back. "'M fine."

 "Ron was great," said Tonks warmly, relinquishing her hold on Lupin.
 "Wonderful. Stunned one of the Death Eaters, straight to the head, and when you're
 aiming at a moving target from a flying broom "

 "You did?" said Hermione, gazing up at Ron with her arms still around his neck.

 "Always the tone of surprise," he said a little grumpily, breaking free. "Are we the
 last back?"

 "No," said Ginny, "we're still waiting for Bill and Fleur and Mad-Eye and
 Mundungus. I'm going to tell Mum and Dad you're okay, Ron "

 She ran back inside.

 "So what kept you? What happened?" Lupin sounded almost angry at Tonks.

 "Bellatrix," said Tonks. "She wants me quite as much as she wants Harry, Remus,
 She tried very hard to kill me. I just wish I'd got her, I owe Bellatrix. But we definitely
 injured Rodolphus . . . . Then we got to Ron's Auntie Muriel's and we missed our Portkey
 and she was fussing over us "

 A muscle was jumping in Lupin's jaw. He nodded, but seemed unable to say
 anything else.

 "So what happened to you lot?" Tonks asked, turning to Harry, Hermione, and
 Kingsley.

 They recounted the stories of their own journeys, but all the time the continued
 absence of Bill, Fleur, Mad-Eye, and Mundungus seemed to lie upon them like a frost, its
 icy bite harder and harder to ignore.

 "I'm going to have to get back to Downing Street, I should have been there an
 hour ago," said Kingsley finally, after a last sweeping gaze at the sky. "Let me know
 when they're back,."

 Lupin nodded. With a wave to the others, Kingsley walked away into the darkness
 toward the gate. Harry thought he heard the faintest pop as Kingsley Disapparated just
 beyond the Burrow's boundaries.

 Mr. And Mrs. Weasley came racing down the back steps, Ginny behind them.
 Both parents hugged Ron before turning to Lupin and Tonks.

 "Thank you," said Mrs. Weasley, "for our sons."

 "Don't be silly, Molly," said Tonks at once.

 "How's George?" asked Lupin.

 "What's wrong with him?" piped up Ron.


 "He's lost "

 But the end of Mrs. Weasley's sentence was drowned in a general outcry. A
 thestral had just soared into sight and landed a few feet from them. Bill and Fleur slid
 from its back, windswept but unhurt.

 "Bill! Thank God, thank God "

 Mrs. Weasley ran forward, but the hug Bill bestowed upon her was perfunctory.
 Looking directly at his father, he said, "Mad-Eye's dead."

 Nobody spoke, nobody moved. Harry felt as though something inside him was
 falling, falling through the earth, leaving him forever.

 "We saw it," said Bill; Fleur nodded, tear tracks glittering on her cheeks in the
 light from the kitchen window. "It happened just after we broke out of the circle: Mad-
 Eye and Dung were close by us, they were heading north too. Voldemort  he can fly
 went straight for them. Dung panicked, I heard him cry out, Mad-Eye tried to stop him,
 but he Disapparated. Voldemort's curse hit Mad-Eye full in the face, he fell backward off
 his broom and  there was nothing we could do, nothing, we had half a dozen of them on
 our own tail "

 Bill's voice broke.

 "Of course you couldn't have done anything," said Lupin.

 They all stood looking at each other. Harry could not quite comprehend it. Mad-
 Eye dead; it could not be . . . . Mad-Eye, so tough, so brave, the consummate survivor . . .

 At last it seemed to dawn on everyone, though nobody said it, that there was no
 point of waiting in the yard anymore, and in silence they followed Mr. And Mrs. Weasley
 back into the Burrow, and into the living room, where Fred and George were laughing
 together.

 "What's wrong?" said Fred, scanning their faces as they entered, "What's
 happened? Who's --?"

 "Mad-Eye," said Mr. Weasley, "Dead."

 The twins' grins turned to grimaces of shock. Nobody seemed to know what to do.
 Tonks was crying silently into a handkerchief: She had been close to Mad-Eye, Harry
 knew, his favorite and his protge at the Ministry of Magic. Hagrid, who had sat down
 on the floor in the corner where he had most space, was dabbing at his eyes with his
 tablecloth-sized handkerchief.

 Bill walked over to the sideboard and pulled out a bottle of fire-whisky and some
 glasses.

 "Here," he said, and with a wave of his wand, eh sent twelve full glasses soaring
 through the room to each of them, holding the thirteenth aloft. "Mad-Eye."

 "Mad-Eye," they all said, and drank.

 "Mad-Eye," echoed Hagrid, a little late, with a hiccup. The firewhisky seared
 Harry's throat. It seemed to burn feeling back into him, dispelling the numbness and
 sense of unreality firing him with something that was like courage.

 "So Mundungus disappeared?" said Lupin, who had drained his own glass in one.

 The atmosphere changed at once. Everybody looked tense, watching Lupin, both
 wanting him to go on, it seemed to Harry, and slightly afraid of what they might hear.

 "I know what you're thinking," said Bill, "and I wondered that too, on the way
 back here, because they seemed to be expecting us, didn't they? But Mundungus can't
 have betrayed us. They didn't know there would be seven Harrys, that confused them the


 moment we appeared, and in case you've forgotten, it was Mundungus who suggested
 that little bit of skullduggery. Why wouldn't he have told them the essential point? I think
 Dung panicked, it's as simple as that. He didn't want to come in the first place, but Mad-
 Eye made him, and You-Know-Who went straight for them. It was enough to make
 anyone panic."

 "You-Know-Who acted exactly as Mad-Eye expected him to," sniffed Tonks.
 "Mad-Eye said he'd expect the real Harry to be with the toughest, most skilled Aurors. He
 chased Mad-Eye first, and when Mundungus gave them away he switched to
 Kingsley. . . . "

 "Yes, and zat eez all very good," snapped Fleur, "but still eet does not explain 'ow
 zey know we were moving 'Arry tonight, does eet? Somebody must 'ave been careless.
 Somebody let slip ze date to an outsider. It is ze only explanation for zem knowing ze
 date but not ze 'ole plan."

 She glared around at them all, tear tracks still etched on her beautiful face, silently
 daring any of them to contradict her. Nobody did. The only sound to break the silence
 was that of Hagrid hiccupping from behind his handkerchief. Harry glanced at Hagrid,
 who had just risked his own life to save Harry's  Hagrid, whom he loved, whom he
 trusted, who had once been tricked into giving Voldemort crucial information in
 exchange for a dragon's egg. . . .

 "No," Harry said aloud, and they all looked at him, surprised: The firewhisky
 seemed to have amplified his voice. "I mean . . . if somebody made a mistake," Harry
 went on, "and let something slip, I know they didn't mean to do it. It's not their fault," he
 repeated, again a little louder than he would usually have spoken. "We've got to trust each
 other. I trust all of you, I don't think anyone in this room would ever sell me to
 Voldemort."

 More silence followed his words. They were all looking at him; Harry felt a little
 hot again, and drank some more firewhisky for something to do. As he drank, he thought
 of Mad-Eye. Mad-Eye had always been scathing about Dumbledore's willingness to trust
 people.

 "Well said, Harry," said Fred unexpectedly.

 "Year, 'ear, 'ear," said George, with half a glance at Fred, the corner of whose
 mouth twitched.

 Lupin was wearing an odd expression as he looked at Harry. It was close to
 pitying.

 "You think I'm a fool?" demanded Harry.

 "No, I think you're like James," said Lupin, "who would have regarded it as the
 height of dishonor to mistrust his friends."

 Harry knew what Lupin was getting at: that his father had been betrayed by his
 friend Peter Pettigrew. He felt irrationally angry. He wanted to argue, but Lupin had
 turned away from him, set down his glass upon a side table, and addressed Bill, "There's
 work to do. I can ask Kingsley whether "

 "No," said Bill at once, "I'll do it, I'll come."

 "Where are you going?" said Tonks and Fleur together.

 "Mad-Eye's body," said Lupin. "We need to recover it."

 "Can't it -- ?" began Mrs. Weasley with an appealing look at Bill.

 "Wait?" said Bill, "Not unless you'd rather the Death Eaters took it?"


 Nobody spoke. Lupin and Bill said good bye and left.

 The rest of them now dropped into chairs, all except for Harry, who remained
 standing. The suddenness and completeness of death was with them like a presence.

 "I've got to go too," said Harry.

 Ten pairs of startled eyes looked at him.

 "Don't be silly, Harry," said Mrs. Weasley, "What are you talking about?"

 "I can't stay here."

 He rubbed his forehead; it was prickling again, he had not hurt like this for more
 than a year.

 "You're all in danger while I'm here. I don't want "

 "But don't be so silly!" said Mrs. Weasley. "The whole point of tonight was to get
 you here safely, and thank goodness it worked. And Fleur's agreed to get married here
 rather than in France, we've arranged everything so that we can all stay together and look
 after you "

 She did not understand; she was making him feel worse, not better.

 "If Voldemort finds out I'm here "

 "But why should he?" asked Mrs. Weasley.

 "There are a dozen places you might be now, Harry," said Mr. Weasley. "He's got
 no way of knowing which safe house you're in."

 "It's not me I'm worried for!" said Harry.

 "We know that," said Mr. Weasley quietly, but it would make our efforts tonight
 seem rather pointless if you left."

 "Yer not goin' anywhere," growled Hagrid. "Blimey, Harry, after all we wen'
 through ter get you here?"

 "Yeah, what about my bleeding ear?" said George, hoisting himself up on his
 cushions.

 "I know that "

 "Mad-Eye wouldn't want "

 "I KNOW!" Harry bellowed.

 He felt beleaguered and blackmailed: Did they think he did not know what they
 had done for him, didn't they understand that it was for precisely that reason that he
 wanted to go now, before they had to suffer any more on his behalf? There was a long
 and awkward silence in which his scar continued to prickle and throb, and which was
 broken at last by Mrs. Weasley.

 "Where's Hedwig, Harry?" she said coaxingly. "We can put her up with
 Pidwidgeon and give her something to eat."

 His insides clenched like a fist. He could not tell her the truth. He drank the last of
 his firewhisky to avoid answering.

 "Wait till it gets out yeh did it again, Harry," said Hagrid. "Escaped him, fought
 him off when he was right on top of yeh!"

 "It wasn't me," said Harry flatly. "It was my wand. My wand acted of its own
 accord."

 After a few moments, Hermione said gently, "But that's impossible, Harry. You
 mean that you did magic without meaning to; you reacted instinctively."


 "No," said Harry. "The bike was falling, I couldn't have told you where
 Voldemort was, but my wand spun in my hand and found him and shot a spell at him, and
 it wasn't even a spell I recognized. I've never made gold flames appear before."

 "Often," said Mr. Weasley, "when you're in a pressured situation you can produce
 magic you never dreamed of. Small children often find, before they're trained "

 "It wasn't like that," said Harry through gritted teeth. His scar was burning. He felt
 angry and frustrated; he hated the idea that they were all imagining him to have power to
 match Voldemort's.

 No one said anything. He knew that they did not believe him. Now that he came
 to think of it, he had never heard of a wand performing magic on its own before.

 His scar seared with pain, it was all he could do not to moan aloud. Muttering
 about fresh air, he set down his glass and left the room.

 As he crossed the yard, the great skeletal thestral looked up  rustled its enormous
 batlike wings, then resumed its grazing. Harry stopped at the gate into the garden, staring
 out at its overgrown plants, rubbing his pounding forehead and thinking of Dumbledore.

 Dumbledore would have believed him, he knew it. Dumbledore would have
 known how and why Harry's wand had acted independently, because Dumbledore always
 had the answers; he had known about wands, had explained to Harry the strange
 connection that existed between his wand and Voldemort's . . . . But Dumbledore, like
 Mad-Eye, like Sirius, like his parents, like his poor owl, all were gone where Harry could
 never talk to them again. He felt a burning in his throat that had nothing to do with
 firewhisky. . . .

 And then, out of nowhere, the pain in his scar peaked. As he clutched his forehead
 and closed his eyes, a voice screamed inside his head.

 "You told me the problem would be solved by using another's wand!"

 And into his mind burst the vision of an emaciated old man lying in rags upon a
 stone floor, screaming, a horrible drawn-out scream, a scream of unendurable agony. . . .

 "No! No! I beg you, I beg you. . . ."

 "You lied to Lord Voldemort, Ollivander!"

 "I did not. . . . I swear I did not. . . ."

 "You sought to help Potter, to help him escape me!"

 "I swear I did not. . . . I believed a different wand would work. . . ."

 "Explain, then, what happened. Lucius's wand is destroyed!"

 "I cannot understand. . . . The connection . . . exists only . . between your two
 wands. . . ."

 "Lies!"

 "Please . . . I beg you. . . ."

 And Harry saw the white hand raise its wand and felt Voldemort's surge of
 vicious anger, saw the frail old main on the floor writhe in agony

 "Harry?"

 It was over as quickly as it had come: Harry stood shaking in the darkness,
 clutching the gate into the garden, his heart racing, his scar still tingling. It was several
 moments before he realized that Ron and Hermione were at his side.

 "Harry, come back in the house," Hermione whispered, "You aren't still thinking
 of leaving?"

 "Yeah, you've got to stay, mate," said Ron, thumping Harry on the back.


 "Are you all right?" Hermione asked, close enough now to look into Harry's face.
 "You look awful!"

 "Well," said Harry shakily, "I probably look better than Ollivander. . . ."

 When he had finished telling them what he had seen, Ron looked appalled, but
 Hermione downright terrified.

 "But it was supposed to have stopped! Your scar  it wasn't supposed to do this
 anymore! You mustn't let that connection open up again  Dumbledore wanted you to
 close your mind!"

 When he did not reply, she gripped his arm.

 "Harry, he's taking over the Ministry and the newspapers and half the Wizarding
 world! Don't let him inside your head too!"



 Chapter Six

 The Ghoul in Pajamas



 The shock of losing Mad-Eye hung over the house in the days that followed;
 Harry kept expecting to see him stumping in through the back door like the other Order
 members, who passed in and out to relay news. Harry felt that nothing but action would
 assuage his feelings of guilt and grief and that he ought to set out on his mission to find
 and destroy Horcruxes as soon as possible.

 Well, you cant do anything about the  Ron mouthed the word Horcruxes
 till youre seventeen. Youve still got the Trace on you. And we can plan here as well as
 anywhere, cant we? Or, he dropped his voice to a whisper, dyou reckon you already
 know where the You-Know-Whats are?

 No, Harry admitted.

 I think Hermiones been doing a bit of research, said Ron. She said she was
 saving it for when you got here.

 They were sitting at the breakfast table; Mr. Weasley and Bill had just left for
 work. Mrs. Weasley had gone upstairs to wake Hermione and Ginny, while Fleur had
 drifted off to take a bath.

 The Tracell break on the thirty-first, said Harry. That means I only need to
 stay here four days. Then I can

 Five days, Ron corrected him firmly. Weve got to stay for the wedding.
 Theyll kill us if we miss it.

 Harry understood they to mean Fleur and Mrs. Weasley.

 Its one extra day, said Ron, when Harry looked mutinous.

 Dont they realize how important ?

 Course they dont, said Ron. They havent got a clue. And now you mention
 it, I wanted to talk to you about that.

 Ron glanced toward the door into the hall to check that Mrs. Weasley was not
 returning yet, then leaned in closer to Harry.

 Mums been trying to get it out of Hermione and me. What were off to do.
 Shell try you next, so brace yourself. Dad and Lupinve both asked as well, but when we


 said Dumbledore told you not to tell anyone except us, they dropped it. Not Mum, though.
 Shes determined.

 Rons prediction came true within hours. Shortly before lunch, Mrs. Weasley
 detached Harry from the others by asking him to help identify a lone mans sock that she
 thought might have come out of his rucksack. Once she had him cornered in the tiny
 scullery off the kitchen, she started.

 Ron and Hermione seem to think that the three of you are dropping out of
 Hogwarts, she began in a light, casual tone.

 Oh, said Harry. Well, yeah. We are.

 The mangle turned of its own accord in a corner, wringing out what looked like
 one of Mr. Weasleys vests.

 May I ask why you are abandoning your education? said Mrs. Weasley.

 Well, Dumbledore left me . . . stuff to do, mumbled Harry. Ron and Hermione
 know about it, and they want to come too.

 What sort of stuff?

 Im sorry, I cant

 Well, frankly, I think Arthur and I have a right to know, and Im sure Mr. And
 Mrs. Granger would agree! said Mrs. Weasley. Harry had been afraid of the concerned
 parent attack. He forced himself to look directly into her eyes, noticing as he did so that
 they were precisely the same shade of brown as Ginnys. This did not help.

 Dumbledore didnt want anyone else to know, Mrs. Weasley. Im sorry. Ron and
 Hermione dont have to come, its their choice

 I dont see that you have to go either! she snapped, dropping all pretense now.
 Youre barely of age, any of you! Its utter nonsense, if Dumbledore needed work doing,
 he had the whole Order at his command! Harry, you must have misunderstood him.
 Probably he was telling you something he wanted done, and you took it to mean that he
 wanted you

 I didnt misunderstand, said Harry flatly. Its got to be me.

 He handed her back the single sock he was supposed to be identifying, which was
 patterned with golden bulrushes.

 And thats not mine. I dont support Puddlemere United.

 Oh, of course not, said Mrs. Weasley with a sudden and rather unnerving return
 to her casual tone. I should have realized. Well, Harry, while weve still got you here,
 you wont mind helping with the preparations for Bill and Fleurs wedding, will you?
 Theres still so much to do.

 No  I  of course not, said Harry, disconcerted by this sudden change of
 subject.

 Sweet of you, she replied, and she smiled as she left the scullery.

 From that moment on, Mrs. Weasley kept Harry, Ron and Hermione so busy with
 preparations for the wedding that they hardly had any time to think. The kindest
 explanation of this behavior would have been that Mrs. Weasley wanted to distract them
 all from thoughts of Mad-Eye and the terrors of their recent journey. After two days of
 nonstop cutlery cleaning, of color-matching favors, ribbons, and flowers, of de-gnoming
 the garden and helping Mrs. Weasley cook vast batches of canaps, however, Harry
 started to suspect her of a different motive. All the jobs she handed out seemed to keep
 him, Ron, and Hermione away from one another; he had not had a chance to speak to the


 two of them alone since the first night, when he had told them about Voldemort torturing
 Ollivander.

 I think Mum thinks that if she can stop the three of you getting together and
 planning, shell be able to delay you leaving, Ginny told Harry in an undertone, as they
 laid the table for dinner on the third night of his stay.

 And then what does she thinks going to happen? Harry muttered. Someone
 else might kill off Voldemort while shes holding us here making vol-au-vents?

 He had spoken without thinking, and saw Ginnys face whiten.

 So its true? she said. Thats what youre trying to do?

 I  not  I was joking, said Harry evasively.

 They stared at each other, and there was something more than shock in Ginnys
 expression. Suddenly Harry became aware that this was the first time that he had been
 alone with her since those stolen hours in secluded corners of the Hogwarts grounds. He
 was sure she was remembering them too. Both of them jumped as the door opened, and
 Mr. Weasley, Kingsley, and Bill walked in.

 They were often joined by other Order members for dinner now, because the
 Burrow had replaced number twelve, Grimmauld Place as the headquarters. Mr. Weasley
 had explained that after the death of Dumbledore, their Secret-Keeper, each of the people
 to whom Dumbledore had confided Grimmauld Places location had become a Secret-
 Keeper in turn.

 And as there are around twenty of us, that greatly dilutes the power of the
 Fidelius Charm. Twenty times as many opportunities for the Death Eaters to get the
 secret out of somebody. We cant expect it to hold much longer.

 But surely Snape will have told the Death Eaters the address by now? asked
 Harry.

 Well, Mad-Eye set up a couple of curses against Snape in case he turns up there
 again. We hope theyll be strong enough both to keep him out and to bind his tongue if he
 tries to talk about the place, but we cant be sure. It would have been insane to keep using
 the place as headquarters now that its protection has become so shaky.

 The kitchen was so crowded that evening it was difficult to maneuver knives and
 forks. Harry found himself crammed beside Ginny; the unsaid things that had just passed
 between them made him wish they had been separated by a few more people. He was
 trying so hard to avoid brushing her arm he could barely cut his chicken.

 No news about Mad-Eye? Harry asked Bill.

 Nothing, replied Bill.

 They had not been able to hold a funeral for Moody, because Bill and Lupin had
 failed to recover his body. It had been difficult to know where he might have fallen, given
 the darkness and the confusion of the battle.

 The Daily Prophet hasnt said a word about him dying or about finding the
 body, Bill went on. But that doesnt mean much. Its keeping a lot quiet these days.

 And they still havent called a hearing about all the underage magic I used
 escaping the Death Eaters? Harry called across the table to Mr. Weasley, who shook his
 head.

 Because they know I had no choice or because they dont want me to tell the
 world Voldemort attacked me?


 The latter, I think. Scrimgeour doesnt want to admit that You-Know-Who is as
 powerful as he is, nor that Azkabans seen a mass breakout.

 Yeah, why tell the public the truth? said Harry, clenching his knife so tightly
 that the faint scars on the back of his right hand stood out, white against his skin: I must
 not tell lies.

 Isnt anyone at the Ministry prepared to stand up to him? asked Ron angrily.

 Of course, Ron, but people are terrified, Mr. Weasley replied, terrified that
 they will be next to disappear, their children the next to be attacked! There are nasty
 rumors going around; I for one dont believe the Muggle Studies professor at Hogwarts
 resigned. She hasnt been seen for weeks now. Meanwhile Scrimgeour remains shut up in
 his office all day; I just hope hes working on a plan.

 There was a pause in which Mrs. Weasley magicked the empty plates onto the
 work surface and served apple tart.

 We must decide ow you will be disguised, Arry, said Fleur, once everyone
 had pudding. For ze wedding, she added, when he looked confused. Of course, none
 of our guests are Death Eaters, but we cannot guarantee zat zey will not let something
 slip after zey ave ad champagne.

 From this, Harry gathered that she still suspected Hagrid.

 Yes, good point, said Mrs. Weasley from the top of the table where she sat,
 spectacles perched on the end of her nose, scanning an immense list of jobs that she had
 scribbled on a very long piece of parchment. Now, Ron, have you cleaned out your
 room yet?

 Why? exclaimed Ron, slamming his spoon down and glaring at his mother.
 Why does my room have to be cleaned out? Harry and I are fine with it the way it is!

 We are holding your brothers wedding here in a few days time, young man

 And are they getting married in my bedroom? asked Ron furiously. No! So
 why in the name of Merlins saggy left

 Dont talk to your mother like that, said Mr. Weasley firmly. And do as youre
 told.

 Ron scowled at both his parents, then picked up his spoon and attacked the last
 few mouthfuls of his apple tart.

 I can help, some of its my mess. Harry told Ron, but Mrs. Weasley cut across
 him.

 No, Harry, dear, Id much rather you helped Arthur much out the chickens, and
 Hermione, Id be ever so grateful if youd change the sheets for Monsieur and Madame
 Delacour; you know theyre arriving at eleven tomorrow morning.

 But as it turned out, there was very little to do for the chickens. Theres no need
 to, er, mention it to Molly, Mr. Weasley told Harry, blocking his access to the coop, but,
 er, Ted Tonks sent me most of what was left of Siriuss bike and, er, Im hiding  thats
 to say, keeping  it in here. Fantastic stuff: Theres an exhaust gaskin, as I believe its
 called, the most magnificent battery, and itll be a great opportunity to find out how
 brakes work. Im going to try and put it all back together again when Mollys not  I
 mean, when Ive got time.

 When they returned to the house, Mrs. Weasley was nowhere to be seen, so Harry
 slipped upstairs to Rons attic bedroom.


 Im doing it, Im doing  ! Oh, its you, said Ron in relief, as Harry entered the
 room. Ron lay back down on the bed, which he had evidently just vacated. The room was
 just as messy as it had been all week; the only chance was that Hermione was now sitting
 in the far corner, her fluffy ginger cat, Crookshanks, at her feet, sorting books, some of
 which Harry recognized as his own, into two enormous piles.

 Hi, Harry, she said, as he sat down on his camp bed.

 And how did you manage to get away?

 Oh, Rons mum forgot that she asked Ginny and me to change the sheets
 yesterday, said Hermione. She threw Numerology and Grammatica onto one pile and
 The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts onto the other.

 We were just talking about Mad-Eye, Ron told Harry. I reckon he might have
 survived.

 But Bill saw him hit by the Killing Curse, said Harry.

 Yeah, but Bill was under attack too, said Ron. How can he be sure what he
 saw?

 Even if the Killing Curse missed, Mad-Eye still fell about a thousand feet, said
 Hermione, now weight Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland in her hand.

 He could have used a Shield Charm

 Fleur said his wand was blasted out of his hand, said Harry.

 Well, all right, if you want him to be dead, said Ron grumpily, punching his
 pillow into a more comfortable shape.

 Of course we dont want him to be dead! said Hermione, looking shocked. Its
 dreadful that hes dead! But were being realistic!

 For the first time, Harry imagined Mad-Eyes body, broken as Dumbledores had
 been, yet with that one eye still whizzing in its socket. He felt a stab of revulsion mixed
 with a bizarre desire to laugh.

 The Death Eaters probably tidied up after themselves, thats why no ones found
 him, said Ron wisely.

 Yeah, said Harry. Like Barty Crouch, turned into a bone and buried in
 Hagrids front garden. They probably transfigured Moody and stuffed him

 Dont! squealed Hermione. Startled, Harry looked over just in time to see her
 burst into tears over her copy of Spellmans Syllabary.

 Oh no, said Harry, struggling to get up from the old camp bed. Hermione, I
 wasnt trying to upset

 But with a great creaking of rusty bedsprings, Ron bounded off the bed and got
 there first. One arm around Hermione, he fished in his jeans pocket and withdrew a
 revolting-looking handkerchief that he had used to clean out the oven earlier. Hastily
 pulling out his wand, he pointed it at the rag and said, Tergeo.

 The wand siphoned off most of the grease. Looking rather pleased with himself,
 Ron handed the slightly smoking handkerchief to Hermione.

 Oh . . . thanks, Ron. . . . Im sorry. . . . She blew her nose and hiccupped. Its
 just so awf-ful, isnt it? R-right after Dumbledore . . . I j-just n-never imagined Mad-Eye
 dying, somehow, he seemed so tough!

 Yeah, I know, said Ron, giving her a squeeze. But you know what hed say to
 us if he was here?

 C-constant vigilance, said Hermione, mopping her eyes.


 Thats right, said Ron, nodding. Hed tell us to learn from what happened to
 him. And what Ive learned is not to trust that cowardly little squit, Mundungus.

 Hermione gave a shaky laugh and leaned forward to pick up two more books. A
 second later, Ron had snatched his arm back from around her shoulders; she had dropped
 The Monster of Monsters on his foot. The book had broken free from its restraining belt
 and snapped viciously at Rons ankle.

 Im sorry, Im sorry! Hermione cried as Harry wrenched the book from Rons
 leg and retied it shit.

 What are you doing with all those books anyway? Ron asked, limping back to
 his bed.

 Just trying to decide which ones to take with us, said Hermione, When were
 looking for the Horcruxes.

 Oh, of course, said Ron, clapping a hand to his forehead. I forgot well be
 hunting down Voldemort in a mobile library.

 Ha ha, said Hermione, looking down at Spellmans Syllabary. I wonder . . .
 will we need to translate runes? Its possible. . . . I think wed better take it, to be safe.

 She dropped the syllabary onto the larger of the two piles and picked up Hogwarts,
 A History.

 Listen, said Harry.

 He had sat up straight. Ron and Hermione looked at him with similar mixtures of
 resignation and defiance.

 I know you said after Dumbledores funeral that you wanted to come with me,
 Harry began.

 Here he goes, Ron said to Hermione, rolling his eyes.

 As we knew he would, he sighed, turning back to the books. You know, I
 think I will take Hogwarts, A History. Even if were not going back there, I dont think
 Id feel right if I didnt have it with

 Listen! said Harry again.

 No, Harry, you listen, said Hermione. Were coming with you. That was
 decided months ago  years, really.

 But

 Shut up, Ron advised him.

 are you sure youve thought this through? Harry persisted.

 Lets see, said Hermione, slamming Travels with Trolls onto the discarded pile
 with a rather fierce look. Ive been packing for days, so were ready to leave at a
 moments notice, which for your information has included doing some pretty difficult
 magic, not to mention smuggling Mad-Eyes whole stock of Polyjuice Potion right under
 Rons mums nose.

 Ive also modified my parents memories so that theyre convinced theyre really
 called Wendell and Monica Wilkins, and that their lifes ambition is to move to Australia,
 which they have now done. Thats to make it more difficult for Voldemort to track them
 down and interrogate them about me  or you, because unfortunately, Ive told them quite
 a bit about you.

 Assuming I survive our hunt for the Horcruxes, Ill find Mum and Dad and lift
 the enchantment. If I dont  well, I think Ive cast a good enough charm to keep them


 safe and happy. Wendell and Monica Wilkins dont know that theyve got a daughter,
 you see.

 Hermiones eyes were swimming with tears again. Ron got back off the bed, put
 his arm around her once more, and frowned at Harry as though reproaching him for lack
 of tact. Harry could not think of anything to say, not least because it was highly unusual
 for Ron to be teaching anyone else tact.

 I  Hermione, Im sorry  I didnt

 Didnt realize that Ron and I know perfectly well what might happen if we come
 with you? Well, we do. Ron, show Harry what youve done.

 Nah, hes just eaten, said Ron.

 Go on, he needs to know!

 Oh, all right. Harry, come here.

 For the second time Ron withdrew his arm from around Hermione and stumped
 over to the door.

 Cmon.

 Why? Harry asked, following Ron out of the room onto the tiny landing.

 Descendo, muttered Ron, pointing his wand at the low ceiling. A hatch opened
 right over their heads and a ladder slid down to their feet. A horrible, half-sucking, half-
 moaning sound came out of the square hole, along with an unpleasant smell like open
 drains.

 Thats your ghoul, isnt it? asked Harry, who had never actually met the
 creature that sometimes disrupted the nightly silence.

 Yeah, it is, said Ron, climbing the ladder. Come and have a look at him.

 Harry followed Ron up the few short steps into the tiny attic space. His head and
 shoulders were in the room before he caught sight of the creature curled up a few feet
 from him, fast asleep in the gloom with its large mouth wide open.

 But it . . . it looks . . . do ghouls normally wear pajamas?

 No, said Ron. Nor have they usually got red hair or that number of pustules.

 Harry contemplated the thing, slightly revolted. It was human in shape and size,
 and was wearing what, now that Harrys eyes became used to the darkness, was clearly
 an old pair of Rons pajamas. He was also sure that ghouls were generally rather slimy
 and bald, rather than distinctly hairy and covered in angry purple blisters.

 Hes me, see? said Ron.

 No, said Harry. I dont.

 Ill explain it back in my room, the smells getting to me, said Ron. They
 climbed back down the ladder, which Ron returned to the ceiling, and rejoined Hermione,
 who was still sorting books.

 Once weve left, the ghouls going to come and live down here in my room,
 said Ron. I think hes really looking forward to it  well, its hard to tell, because all he
 can do is moan and drool  but he nods a lot when you mention it. Anyway, hes going to
 be me with spattergroit. Good, eh?

 Harry merely looked his confusion.

 It is! said Ron, clearly frustrated that Harry had not grasped the brilliance of the
 plan. Look, when we three dont turn up at Hogwarts again, everyones going to think
 Hermione and I must be with you, right? Which means the Death Eaters will go straight
 for our families to see if theyve got information on where you are.


 But hopefully itll look like Ive gone away with Mum and Dad; a lot of Muggle-
 borns are talking about going into hiding at the moment, said Hermione.

 We cant hide my whole family, itll look too fishy and they cant all leave their
 jobs, said Ron. So were going to put out the story that Im seriously ill with
 spattergroit, which is why I cant go back to school. If anyone comes calling to
 investigate, Mum or Dad can show them the ghoul in my bed, covered in pustules.
 Spattergroits really contagious, so theyre not going to want to go near him. It wont
 matter that he cant say anything, either, because apparently you cant once the fungus
 has spread to your uvula.

 And your mum and dad are in on this plan? asked Harry.

 Dad is. He helped Fred and George transform the ghoul. Mum . . . well, youve
 seen what shes like. She wont accept were going till were gone.

 There was silence in the room, broken only by gentle thuds as Hermione
 continued to throw books onto one pile or the other. Ron sat watching her, and Harry
 looked from one to the other, unable to say anything. The measure they had taken to
 protect their families made him realize, more than anything else could have done, that
 they really were going to come with him and that they knew exactly how dangerous that
 would be. He wanted to tell them what that meant to him, but he simply could not find
 words important enough.

 Through the silence came the muffled sounds of Mrs. Weasley shouting from four
 floors below.

 Ginnys probably left a speck of dust on a poxy napkin ring, said Ron. I dunno
 why the Delacours have got to come two days before the wedding.

 Fleurs sisters a bridesmaid, she needs to be here for the rehearsal, and shes too
 young to come on her own, said Hermione, as she pored indecisively over Break with a
 Banshee.

 Well, guests arent going to help Mums stress levels, said Ron.

 What we really need to decide, said Hermione, tossing Defensive Magical
 Theory into the bin without a second glance and picking up An Appraisal of Magical
 Education in Europe, is where were going after we leave here. I know you said you
 wanted to go to Godrics Hollow first, Harry, and I understand why, but . . . well . . .
 shouldnt we make the Horcruxes our priority?

 If we knew where any of the Horcruxes were, Id agree with you, said Harry,
 who did not believe that Hermione really understood his desire to return to Godrics
 Hollow. His parents graves were only part of the attraction: He had a strong, though
 inexplicable, feeling that the place held answers for him. Perhaps it was simply because it
 was there that he had survived Voldemorts Killing Curse; now that he was facing the
 challenge of repeating the feat, Harry was drawn to the place where it had happened,
 wanting to understand.

 Dont you think theres a possibility that Voldemorts keeping a watch on
 Godrics Hollow? Hermione asked. He might expect you to go back and visit your
 parents graves once youre free to go wherever you like?

 This had not occurred to Harry. While he struggled to find a counterargument,
 Ron spoke up, evidently following his own train of thought.

 This R.A.B. person, he said. You know, the one who stole the real locket?

 Hermione nodded.


 He said in his note he was going to destroy it, didnt he?

 Harry dragged his rucksack toward him and pulled out the fake Horcrux in which
 R.A.B.s note was still folded.

 I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. Harry
 read out.

 Well, what if he did finish it off? said Ron.

 Or she. Interposed Hermione.

 Whichever, said Ron. itd be one less for us to do!

 Yes, but were still going to have to try and trace the real locket, arent we? said
 Hermione, to find out whether or not its destroyed.

 And once we get hold of it, how do you destroy a Horcrux? asked Ron.

 Well, said Hermione, Ive been researching that.

 How? asked Harry. I didnt think there were any books on Horcruxes in the
 library?

 There werent, said Hermione, who had turned pink. Dumbledore removed
 them all, but he  he didnt destroy them.
 Ron sat up straight, wide-eyed.

 How in the name of Merlins pants have you managed to get your hands on those
 Horcrux books?

 It  it wasnt stealing! said Hermione, looking from Harry to Ron with a kind of
 desperation. They were still library books, even if Dumbledore had taken them off the
 shelves. Anyway, if he really didnt want anyone to get at them, Im sure he would have
 made it much harder to

 Get to the point! said Ron.

 Well . . . it was easy, said Hermione in a small voice. I just did a Summoning
 Charm. You know  Accio. And  they zoomed out of Dumbledores study window right
 into the girls dormitory.

 But when did you do this? Harry asked, regarding Hermione with a mixture of
 admiration and incredulity.

 Just after his  Dumbledores  funeral, said Hermione in an even smaller voice.
 Right after we agreed wed leave school and go and look for the Horcruxes. When I
 went back upstairs to get my things it  it just occurred to me that the more we knew
 about them, the better it would be . . . and I was alone in there . . . so I tried . . . and it
 worked. They flew straight in through the open window and I  I packed them.

 She swallowed and then said imploringly, I cant believe Dumbledore would
 have been angry, its not as though were going to use the information to make a Horcrux,
 is it?

 Can you hear us complaining? said Ron. Where are these books anyway?

 Hermione rummaged for a moment and then extracted from the pile a large
 volume, bound in faded black leather. She looked a little nauseated and held it as gingerly
 as if it were something recently dead.

 This is the one that gives explicit instructions on how to make a Horcrux. Secrets
 of the Darkest Art  its a horrible book, really awful, full of evil magic. I wonder when
 Dumbledore removed it from the library. . . . if he didnt do it until he was headmaster, I
 bet Voldemort got all the instruction he needed from here.


 Why did he have to ask Slughorn how to make a Horcrux, then, if hed already
 read that? asked Ron.

 He only approached Slughorn to find out what would happen if you split your
 soul into seven, said Harry. Dumbledore was sure Riddle already knew how to make a
 Horcrux by the time he asked Slughorn about them. I think youre right, Hermione, that
 could easily have been where he got the information.

 And the more Ive read about them, said Hermione, the more horrible they
 seem, and the less I can believe that he actually made six. It warns in this book how
 unstable you make the rest of your soul by ripping it, and thats just by making one
 Horcrux!

 Harry remembered what Dumbledore had said about Voldemort moving beyond
 usual evil.

 Isnt there any way of putting yourself back together? Ron asked.

 Yes, said Hermione with a hollow smile, but it would be excruciatingly
 painful.

 Why? How do you do it? asked Harry.

 Remorse, said Hermione. Youve got to really feel what youve done. Theres
 a footnote. Apparently the pain of it can destroy you. I cant see Voldemort attempting it
 somehow, can you?

 No, said Ron, before Harry could answer. So does it say how to destroy
 Horcruxes in that book?

 Yes, said Hermione, now turning the fragile pages as if examining rotting
 entrails, because it warns Dark wizards how strong they have to make the enchantments
 on them. From all that Ive read, what Harry did to Riddles diary was one of the few
 really foolproof ways of destroying a Horcrux.

 What, stabbing it with a basilisk fang? asked Harry.

 Oh well, lucky weve got such a large supply of basilisk fangs, then, said Ron.
 I was wondering what we were going to do with them.

 It doesnt have to be a basilisk fang, said Hermione patiently. It has to be
 something so destructive that the Horcrux cant repair itself. Basilisk venom only has one
 antidote, and its incredibly rare

 phoenix tears, said Harry, nodding.

 Exactly, said Hermione. Our problem is that there are very few substances as
 destructive as basilisk venom, and theyre all dangerous to carry around with you. Thats
 a problem were going to have to solve, though, because ripping, smashing, or crushing a
 Horcrux wont do the trick. Youve got to put it beyond magical repair.

 But even if we wreck the thing it lives in, said Ron, why cant the bit of soul in
 it just go and live in something else?

 Because a Horcrux is the complete opposite of a human being.

 Seeing that Harry and Ron looked thoroughly confused, Hermione hurried on.
 Look, if I picked up a sword right now, Ron, and ran you through with it, I wouldnt
 damage your soul at all.

 Which would be a real comfort to me, Im sure, said Ron. Harry laughed.

 It should be, actually! But my point is that whatever happens to your body, your
 soul will survive, untouched, said Hermione. But its the other way round with a


 Horcrux. The fragment of soul inside it depends on its container, its enchanted body, for
 survival. It cant exist without it.

 That diary sort of died when I stabbed it, said Harry, remembering ink pouring
 like blood from the punctured pages, and the screams of the piece of Voldemorts soul as
 it vanished.

 And once the diary was properly destroyed, the bit of soul trapped in it could no
 longer exist. Ginny tried to get rid of the diary before you did, flushing it away, but
 obviously it came back good as new.

 Hang on, said Ron, frowning. The bit of soul in that diary was possessing
 Ginny, wasnt it? How does that work, then?

 While the magical container is still intact, the bit of soul inside it can flit in and
 out of someone if they get too close to the object. I dont mean holding it for too long, its
 nothing to do with touching it, she added before Ron could speak. I mean close
 emotionally. Ginny poured her heart out into that diary, she made herself incredibly
 vulnerable. Youre in trouble if you get too fond of or dependent on the Horcrux.

 I wonder how Dumbledore destroyed the ring? said Harry. Why didnt I ask
 him? I never really . . .

 His voice trailed away: He was thinking of all the things he should have asked
 Dumbledore, and of how, since the headmaster had died, it seemed to Harry that he had
 wasted so many opportunities when Dumbledore had been alive, to find out more . . . to
 find out everything. . . .

 The silence was shattered as the bedroom door flew open with a wall-shaking
 crash. Hermione shrieked and dropped Secrets of the Darkest Art; Crookshanks streaked
 under the bed, hissing indignantly; Ron jumped off the bed, skidded on a discarded
 Chocolate Frog wrapper, and smacked his head on the opposite wall; and Harry
 instinctively dived for his wand before realizing that he was looking up at Mrs. Weasley,
 whose hair was disheveled and whose face was contorted with rage.

 Im so sorry to break up this cozy little gathering, she said, her voice trembling.
 Im sure you all need your rest . . . but there are wedding presents stacked in my room
 that need sorting out and I was under the impression that you had agreed to help.

 Oh yes, said Hermione, looking terrified as she leapt to her feet, sending books
 flying in every direction. we will . . . were sorry . . .

 With an anguished look at Harry and Ron, Hermione hurried out of the room after
 Mrs. Weasley.

 its like being a house-elf, complained Ron in an undertone, still massaging his
 head as he and Harry followed. Except without the job satisfaction. The sooner this
 weddings over, the happier, Ill be.

 Yeah, said Harry, then well have nothing to do except find Horcruxes. . . .
 Itll be like a holiday, wont it?

 Ron started to laugh, but at the sight of the enormous pile of wedding presents
 waiting for them in Mrs. Weasleys room, stopped quite abruptly.

 The Delacours arrived the following morning at eleven o clock. Harry, Ron,
 Hermione and Ginny were feeling quite resentful toward Fleurs family by this time; and
 it was with ill grace that Ron stumped back upstairs to put on matching socks, and Harry
 attempted to flatten his hair. Once they had all been deemed smart enough, they trooped
 out into the sunny backyard to await the visitors.


 Harry had never seen the place looking so tidy. The rusty cauldrons and old
 Wellington boots that usually littered the steps by the back door were gone, replaced by
 two new Flutterby bushes standing either side of the door in large pots; though there was
 no breeze, the leaves waved lazily, giving an attractive rippling effect. The chickens had
 been shut away, the yard had been swept, and the nearby garden had been pruned,
 plucked, and generally spruced up, although Harry, who liked it in its overgrown state,
 thought that it looked rather forlorn without its usual contingent of capering gnomes.

 He had lost track of how many security enchantments had been placed upon the
 Burrow by both the Order and the Ministry; all he knew was that it was no longer
 possible for anybody to travel by magic directly into the place. Mr. Weasley had
 therefore gone to meet the Delacours on top of a nearby hill, where they were to arrive by
 Portkey. The first sound of their approach was an unusually high-pitched laugh, which
 turned out to be coming from Mr. Weasley, who appeared at the gate moments later,
 laden with luggage and leading a beautiful blonde woman in long, leaf green robes, who
 could be Fleurs mother.

 Maman! cried Fleur, rushing forward to embrace her. Papa!

 Monsieur Delacour was nowhere near as attractive as his wife; he was a head
 shorter and extremely plumb, with a little, pointed black beard. However, he looked
 good-natured. Bouncing towards Mrs. Weasley on high-heeled boots, he kissed her twice
 on each cheek, leaving her flustered.

 You ave been so much trouble, he said in a deep voice. Fleur tells us you ave
 been working very ard.

 Oh, its been nothing, nothing! trilled Mrs. Weasley. No trouble at all!

 Ron relieved his feelings by aiming a kick at a gnome who was peering out from
 behind one of the new Flutterby bushes.

 Dear lady! said Monsieur Delacour, still holding Mrs. Weasleys hand between
 his own two plump ones and beaming. We are most honored at the approaching union of
 our two families! Let me present my wife, Apolline.

 Madame Delacour glided forward and stooped to kiss Mrs. Weasley too.

 Enchante, she said. Your usband as been telling us such amusing stories!

 Mr. Weasley gave a maniacal laugh; Mrs. Weasley threw him a look, upon which
 he became immediately silent and assumed an expression appropriate to the sickbed of a
 close friend.

 And, of course, you ave met my leetle daughter, Gabrielle! said Monsieur
 Delacour. Gabrielle was Fleur in miniature; eleven years old, with waist-length hair of
 pure, silvery blonde, she gave Mrs. Weasley a dazzling smile and hugged her, then threw
 Harry a glowing look, batting her eyelashes. Ginny cleared her throat loudly.

 Well, come in, do! said Mrs. Weasley brightly, and she ushered the Delacours
 into the house, with many No, please!s and After you!s and Not at all!s.

 The Delacours, it soon transpired, were helpful, pleasant guests. They were
 pleased with everything and keen to assist with the preparations for the wedding.
 Monsieur Delacour pronounced everything from the seating plan to the bridesmaids
 shoes Charmant! Madame Delacour was most accomplished at household spells and
 had the oven properly cleaned in a trice; Gabrielle followed her elder sister around, trying
 to assist in any way she could and jabbering away in rapid French.


 On the downside, the Burrow was not built to accommodate so many people. Mr.
 and Mrs. Weasley were now sleeping in the sitting room, having shouted down Monsieur
 and Madame Delacours protests and insisted they take their bedroom. Gabrielle was
 sleeping with Fleur in Percys old room, and Bill would be sharing with Charlie, his best
 man, once Charlie arrived from Romania. Opportunities to make plans together became
 virtually nonexistent, and it was in desperation that Harry, Ron and Hermione took to
 volunteering to feed the chickens just to escape the overcrowded house.

 But she still wont leave us alone! snarled Ron, and their second attempt at a
 meeting in the yard was foiled by the appearance of Mrs. Weasley carrying a large basket
 of laundry in her arms.

 Oh, good, youve fed the chickens, she called as she approached them. Wed
 better shut them away again before the men arrive tomorrow . . . to put up the tent for the
 wedding, she explained, pausing to lean against the henhouse. She looked exhausted.
 Millamants Magic Marquees . . . theyre very good. Bills escorting them. . . . Youd
 better stay inside while theyre here, Harry. I must say it does complicate organizing a
 wedding, having all these security spells around the place.

 Im sorry, said Harry humbly.

 Oh, dont be silly, dear! said Mrs. Weasley at once. I didnt mean  well, your
 safetys much more important! Actually, Ive been wanting to ask you how you want to
 celebrate your birthday, Harry. Seventeen, after all, its an important day. . . .

 I dont want a fuss, said Harry quickly, envisaging the additional strain this
 would put on them all. Really, Mrs. Weasley, just a normal dinner would be fine. . . . Its
 the day before the wedding. . . .

 Oh, well, if youre sure, dear. Ill invite Remus and Tonks, shall I? And how
 about Hagrid?

 Thatd be great, said Harry. But please, dont go to loads of trouble.

 Not at all, not at all . . . Its no trouble. . . .

 She looked at him, a long, searching look, then smiled a little sadly, straightened
 up, and walked away. Harry watched as she waved her wand near the washing line, and
 the damp clothes rose into the air to hang themselves up, and suddenly he felt a great
 wave of remorse for the inconvenience and the pain he was giving her.





 Chapter Seven

 The Will of Albus Dumbledore



 He was walking along a mountain road in the cool blue light of dawn. Far below,
 swathed in mist, was the shadow of a small town. Was the man he sought down there, the
 man he needed so badly he could think of little else, the man who held the answer, the
 answer to his problem...?

 "Oi, wake up."

 Harry opened his eyes. He was lying again on the camp bed in Ron's dingy attic
 room. The sun had not yet risen and the room was still shadowy. Pigwidgeon was asleep
 with his head under his tiny wing. The scar on Harry's forehead was prickling.


 "You were muttering in your sleep."

 "Was I?"

 "Yeah. 'Gregorovitch.' You kept saying 'Gregorovitch.'"

 Harry was not wearing his glasses; Ron's face appeared slightly blurred.

 "Who's Gregorovitch?"



 "I dunno, do I?" You were the one saying it."

 Harry rubbed his forehead, thinking. He had a vague idea he had heard the name
 before, but he could not think where.

 "I think Voldemort's looking for him."

 "Poor bloke," said Ron fervently.

 Harry sat up, still rubbing his scar, now wide awake. He tried to remember
 exactly what he had seen in the dream, but all that came back was a mountainous horizon
 and the outline of the little village cradled in a deep valley.

 "I think he's abroad."

 "Who, Gregorovitch?"

 "Voldemort. I think he's somewhere abroad, looking for Gregorovitch. It didn't
 look like anywhere in Britain."

 "You reckon you were seeing into his mind again?"

 Ron sounded worried.

 "Do me a favor and don't tell Hermione," said Harry. "Although how she expects
 me to stop seeing stuff in my sleep..."

 He gazed up at little Pigwidgeon's cage, thinking...Why was the name
 "Gregorovitch" familiar?

 "I think," he said slowly, "he's got something to do with Quidditch. There's some
 connection, but I can't--I can't think what it is."

 "Quidditch?" said Ron. "Sure you're not thinking of Gorgovitch?"

 "Who?"

 "Dragomir Gorgovitch, Chaser, transferred to the Chudley Cannons for a record
 fee two years ago. Record holder for most Quaffle drops in a season."

 "No," said Harry. "I'm definitely not thinking of Gorgovitch."



 "I try not to either," said Ron. "Well, happy birthday anyway."

 "Wow -- that's right, I forgot! I'm seventeen!"

 Harry seized the wand lying beside his camp bed, pointed it at the cluttered desk
 where he had left his glasses, and said, "Accio Glasses!" Although they were only around
 a foot away, there was something immensely satisfying about seeing them zoom toward
 him, at least until they poked him in the eye.

 "Slick," snorted Ron.

 Reveling in the removal of his Trace, Harry sent Ron's possessions flying around
 the room, causing Pigwidgeon to wake up and flutter excitedly around his cage. Harry
 also tried tying the laces of his trainers by magic (the resultant knot took several minutes
 to untie by hand) and, purely for the pleasure of it, turned the orange robes on Ron's
 Chudley Cannons posters bright blue.


 "I'd do your fly by hand, though," Ron advised Harry, sniggering when Harry
 immediately checked it. "Here's your present. Unwrap it up here, it's not for my mother's
 eyes."

 "A book?" said Harry as he took the rectangular parcel. "Bit of a departure from
 tradition, isn't it?"

 "This isn't your average book," said Ron. "It'd pure gold: Twelve Fail-Safe Ways
 to Charm Witches. Explains everything you need to know about girls. If only I'd had this
 last year I'd have known exactly how to get rid of Lavender and I would've known how to
 get going with... Well, Fred and George gave me a copy, and I've learned a lot. You'd be
 surprised, it's not all about wandwork, either."

 When they arrived in the kitchen they found a pile of presents waiting on the table.
 Bill and Monsieur Delacour were finishing their breakfasts, while Mrs. Weasley stood
 chatting to them over the frying pan.



 "Arthur told me to wish you a happy seventeenth, Harry," said Mrs. Weasley,
 beaming at him. "He had to leave early for work, but he'll be back for dinner. That's our
 present on top."

 Harry sat down, took the square parcel she had indicated, and unwrapped it.
 Inside was a watch very like the one Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had given Ron for his
 seventeenth; it was gold, with stars circling around the race instead of hands.

 "It's traditional to give a wizard a watch when he comes of age," said Mrs.
 Weasley, watching him anxiously from beside the cooker. "I'm afraid that one isn't new
 like Ron's, it was actually my brother Fabian's and he wasn't terribly careful with his
 possessions, it's a bit dented on the back, but--"

 The rest of her speech was lost; Harry had got up and hugged her. He tried to put
 a lot of unsaid things into the hug and perhaps she understood them, because she patted
 his cheek clumsily when he released her, then waved her wand in a slightly random way,
 causing half a pack of bacon to flop out of the frying pan onto the floor.

 "Happy birthday, Harry!" said Hermione, hurrying into the kitchen and adding her
 own present to the top of the pile. "It's not much, but I hope you like it. What did you get
 him?" she added to Ron, who seemed not to hear her.

 "Come on, then, open Hermione's!" said Ron.

 She had bought him a new Sneakoscope. The other packages contained an
 enchanted razor from Bill and Fleur ("Ah yes, zis will give you ze smoothest shave you
 will ever 'ave," Monsieur Delacour assured him, "but you must tell it clearly what you
 want...ozzerwise you might find you 'ave a leetle less hair zan you would like..."),
 chocolates from the Delacours, and an enormous box of the latest Weasleys' Wizard
 Wheezes merchandise from Fred and George.



 Harry, Ron, and Hermione did not linger at the table, as the arrival of Madame
 Delacour, Fleur, and Gabrielle made the kitchen uncomfortably crowded.

 "I'll pack these for you," Hermione said brightly, taking Harry's presents out of his
 arms as the three of them headed back upstairs. "I'm nearly done, I'm just waiting for the
 rest of your underpants to come out of the wash, Ron--"

 Ron's splutter was interrupted by the opening of a door on the first-floor landing.

 "Harry, will you come in here a moment?"


 It was Ginny. Ron came to an abrupt halt, but Hermione took him by the elbow
 and tugged him on up the stairs. Feeling nervous, Harry followed Ginny into her room.

 He had never been inside it before. It was small, but bright. There was a large
 poster of the Wizarding band the Weird Sisters on one wall, and a picture of Gwenog
 Jones, Captain of the all-witch Quidditch team the Holyhead Harpies, on the other. A
 desk stood facing the open window, which looked out over the orchard where he and
 Ginny had once played a two-a-side Quidditch with Ron and Hermione, and which now
 housed a large, pearly white marquee. The golden flag on top was level with Ginny's
 window.

 Ginny looked up into Harry's face, took a deep breath, and said, "Happy
 seventeenth."

 "Yeah...thanks."

 She was looking at him steadily; he however, found it difficult to look back at her;
 it was like gazing into a brilliant light.

 "Nice view," he said feebly, pointing toward with window.

 She ignored this. He could not blame her.

 "I couldn't think what to get you," she said.



 "You didn't have to get me anything."

 She disregarded this too.

 "I didn't know what would be useful. Nothing too big, because you wouldn't be
 able to take it with you."

 He chanced a glance at her. She was not tearful; that was one of the many
 wonderful things about Ginny, she was rarely weepy. He had sometimes thought that
 having six brothers must have toughened her up.

 She took a step closer to him.

 "So then I thought, I'd like you to have something to remember me by, you know,
 if you meet some veela when you're off doing whatever you're doing."

 "I think dating opportunities are going to be pretty thin on the ground, to be
 honest."

 "There's the silver lining I've been looking for," she whispered, and then she was
 kissing him as she had never kissed him before, and Harry was kissing her back, and it
 was blissful oblivion better than firewhisky; she was the only real thing in the world,
 Ginny, the feel of her, one hand at her back and one in her long, sweet-smelling hair--

 The door banged open behind them and they jumped apart.

 "Oh," said Ron pointedly. "Sorry."

 "Ron!" Hermione was just behind him, slight out of breath. There was a strained
 silence, then Ginny had said in a flat little voice,

 "Well, happy birthday anyway, Harry."

 Ron's ears were scarlet; Hermione looked nervous. Harry wanted to slam the door
 in their faces, but it felt as though a cold draft had entered the room when the door
 opened, and his shining moment had popped like a soap bubble. All the reasons for
 ending his relationship with Ginny, for staying well away from her, seemed to have slunk
 inside the room with Ron, and all happy forgetfulness was gone.


 He looked at Ginny, wanting to say something, though he hardly knew what, but
 she had turned her back on him. He thought that she might have succumbed, for once, to
 tears. He could not do anything to comfort her in front of Ron.

 "I'll see you later," he said, and followed the other two out of the bedroom.

 Ron marched downstairs, though the still-crowded kitchen and into the yard, and
 Harry kept pace with him all the way, Hermione trotting along behind them looking
 scared.

 Once he reached the seclusion of the freshly mown lawn, Ron rounded on Harry.

 "You ditched her. What are you doing now, messing her around?"

 "I'm not messing her around," said Harry, as Hermione caught up with them.

 "Ron--"

 But Ron held up a hand to silence her.

 "She was really cut up when you ended it--"

 "So was I. You know why I stopped it, and it wasn't because I wanted to."

 "Yeah, but you go snogging her now and she's just going to get her hopes up
 again--"

 "She's not an idiot, she knows it can't happen, she's not expecting us to--to end up
 married, or--"

 As he said it, a vivid picture formed in Harry's mind of Ginny in a white dress,
 marrying a tall, faceless, and unpleasant stranger.



 In one spiraling moment it seemed to hit him: Her future was free and
 unencumbered, whereas his...he could see nothing but Voldemort ahead.

 "If you keep groping her every chance you get--"

 "It won't happen again," said Harry harshly. The day was cloudless, but he felt as
 though the sun had gone in. "Okay?"

 Ron looked half resentful, half sheepish; he rocked backward and forward on his
 feet for a moment, then said, "Right then, well, that's...yeah."

 Ginny did not seek another one-to-one meeting with Harry for the rest of the day,
 nor by any look or gesture did she show that they had shared more than polite
 conversation in her room. Nevertheless, Charlie's arrival came as a relief to Harry. It
 provided a distraction, watching Mrs. Weasley force Charlie into a chair, raise her wand
 threateningly, and announce that he was about to get a proper haircut.

 As Harry's birthday dinner would have stretched the Burrow's kitchen to breaking
 point even before the arrival of Charlie, Lupin, Tonks, and Hagrid, several tables were
 placed end to end in the garden. Fred and George bewitched a number of purple lanterns
 all emblazoned with a large number 17, to hang in midair over the guests. Thanks to Mrs.
 Weasley's ministrations, George's wound was neat and clean, but Harry was not yet used
 to the dark hole in the side of his head, despite the twins' many jokes about it.

 Hermione made purple and gold streamers erupt from the end of her wand and
 drape themselves artistically over the trees and bushes.

 "Nice," said Ron, as with one final flourish of her wand, Hermione



 turned the leaves on the crabapple tree to gold. "You've really got an eye for that sort of
 thing."


 "Thank you, Ron!" said Hermione, looking both pleased and a little confused.
 Harry turned away, smiling to himself. He had a funny notion that he would find a
 chapter on compliments when he found time to peruse his copy of Twelve Fail-Safe
 Ways to Charm Witches; he caught Ginny's eye and grinned at her before remembering
 his promise to Ron and hurriedly striking up a conversation with Monsieur Delacour.

 "Out of the way, out of the way!" sang Mrs. Weasley, coming through the gate
 with what appeared to be a giant, beach-ball-sized Snitch floating in front of her. Seconds
 later Harry realized that it was his birthday cake, which Mrs. Weasley was suspending
 with her wand, rather than risk carrying it over the uneven ground. When the cake had
 finally landed in the middle of the table, Harry said,

 "That looks amazing, Mrs. Weasley."

 "Oh, it's nothing, dear," she said fondly. Over her shoulder, Ron gave Harry the
 thumbs-up and mouthed, Good one.

 By seven o'clock all the guests had arrived, led into the house by Fred and George,
 who had waited for them at the end of the lane. Hagrid had honored the occasion by
 wearing his best, and horrible, hairy brown suit. Although Lupin smiled as he shook
 Harry's hand, Harry thought he looked rather unhappy. It was all very odd; Tonks, beside
 him, looked simply radiant.

 "Happy birthday, Harry," she said, hugging him tightly.

 "Seventeen, eh!" said Hagrid as he accepted a bucket-sized glass of wine from
 Fred. "Six years ter the day since we met, Harry, d'yeh remember it?"



 "Vaguely," said Harry, grinning up at him. "Didn't you smash down the front door,
 give Dudley a pig's tail, and tell me I was a wizard?"

 "I forge' the details," Hagrid chortled. "All righ', Ron, Hermione?"

 "We're fine," said Hermione. "How are you?"

 "Ar, not bad. Bin busy, we got some newborn unicorns. I'll show yeh when yeh
 get back--" Harry avoided Ron's and Hermione's gazes as Hagrid rummaged in his pocket.
 "Here. Harry -- couldn't think what ter get teh, but then I remembered this." He pulled out
 a small, slightly furry drawstring pouch with a long string, evidently intended to be worn
 around the neck. "Mokeskin. Hide anythin' in there an' no one but the owner can get it out.
 They're rare, them."

 "Hagrid, thanks!"

 "'S'nothin'," said Hagrid with a wave of a dustbin-lid-sized hand. "An' there's
 Charlie! Always liked him -- hey! Charlie!"

 Charlie approached, running his hand slightly ruefully over his new, brutally short
 haircut. He was shorter than Ron, thickset, with a number of burns and scratches up his
 muscley arms.

 "Hi, Hagrid, how's it going?"

 "Bin meanin' ter write fer ages. How's Norbert doin'?"

 "Norbert?" Charlie laughed. "The Norwegian Ridgeback? We call her Norberta
 now."

 "Wha -- Norbert's a girl?"

 "Oh yeah," said Charlie.

 "How can you tell?" asked Hermione.


 "They're a lot more vicious," said Charlie. He looked over his shoulder and
 dropped his voice. "Wish Dad would hurry up and get here. Mum's getting edgy."



 They all looked over at Mrs. Weasley. She was trying to talk to Madame Delacour
 while glancing repeatedly at the gate.

 "I think we'd better start without Arthur," she called to the garden at large after a
 moment or two. "He must have been held up at -- oh!"

 They all saw it at the same time: a streak of light that came flying across the yard
 and onto the table, where it resolved itself into a bright silver weasel, which stood on its
 hind legs and spoke with Mr. Weasley's voice.

 "Minister of Magic coming with me."

 The Patronus dissolved into thin air, leaving Fleur's family peering in
 astonishment at the place where it had vanished.

 "We shouldn't be here," said Lupin at once. "Harry -- I'm sorry -- I'll explain some
 other time--"

 He seized Tonkss wrist and pulled her away; they reached the fence, climbed
 over it, and vanished from sight. Mrs. Weasley looked bewildered.

 "The Minister -- but why--? I don't understand--"

 But there was no time to discuss the matter; a second later, Mr. Weasley had
 appeared out of thin air at the gate, accompanied by Rufus Scrimgeour, instantly
 recognizable by his mane of grizzled hair.

 The two newcomers marched across the yard toward the garden and the lantern-lit
 table, where everybody sat in silence, watching them draw closer. As Scrimgeour came
 within range of the lantern light. Harry saw that he looked much older than the last time
 that had met, scraggy and grim.

 "Sorry to intrude," said Scrimgeour, as he limped to a halt before the table.
 "Especially as I can see that I am gate-crashing a party."



 His eyes lingered for a moment on the giant Snitch cake.

 "Many happy returns."

 "Thanks," said Harry.

 "I require a private word with you," Scrimgeour went on. "Also with Mr. Ronald
 Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger."

 "Us?" said Ron, sounding surprised. "Why us?"

 "I shall tell you that when we are somewhere more private," said Scrimgeour. "Is
 there such a place?' he demanded of Mr. Weasley.

 "Yes, of course," said Mr. Weasley, who looked nervous. "The, er, sitting room,
 why don't you use that?"

 "You can lead the way," Scrimgeour said to Ron. "There will be no need for you
 to accompany us, Arthur."

 Harry saw Mr. Weasley exchange a worried look with Mrs. Weasley as he, Ron,
 and Hermione stood up. As they led the way back to the house in silence, Harry knew
 that the other two were thinking the same as he was; Scrimgeour must, somehow, had
 learned that the three of them were planning to drop out of Hogwarts.

 Scrimgeour did not speak as they all passed through the messed kitchen and into
 the Burrow's sitting room. Although the garden had been full of soft golden evening light,


 it was already dark in here; Harry flicked his wand at the oil lamps as he entered and they
 illuminated the shabby but cozy room. Scrimgeour sat himself in the sagging armchair
 that Mr. Weasley normally occupied, leaving Harry, Ron, and Hermione to squeeze side
 by side onto the sofa. Once they had done so, Scrimgeour spoke.

 "I have some questions for the three of you, and I think it will be best if we do it
 individually. If you two" -- he pointed at Harry and Hermione -- "can wait upstairs, I will
 start with Ronald."



 "We're not going anywhere," said Harry, while Hermione nodded vigorously.
 "You can speak to us together, or not at all."

 Scrimgeour gave Harry a cold, appraising look. Harry had the impression that the
 Minister was wondering whether it was worthwhile opening hostilities this early.

 "Very well then, together," he said, shrugging. He cleared his throat. "I am here,
 as I'm sure you know, because of Albus Dumbledore's will."

 Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at one another.

 "A surprise, apparently! You were not aware then that Dumbledore had left you
 anything?"

 "A-all of us?" said Ron, "Me and Hermione too?"

 "Yes, all of --"

 But Harry interrupted.

 "Dumbledore died over a month ago. Why has it taken this long to give us what
 he left us?"

 "Isn't it obvious?" said Hermione, before Scrimgeour could answer. "They wanted
 to examine whatever he's left us. You had no right to do that!" she said, and her voice
 trembled slightly.

 "I had every right," said Scrimgeour dismissively. "The Decree for Justifiable
 Confiscation gives the Ministry the power the confiscate the contents of a will--"

 "That law was created to stop wizards passing on Dark artifacts," said Hermione,
 "and the Ministry is supposed to have powerful evidence that the deceased's possessions
 are illegal before seizing them! Are you telling me that you thought Dumbledore was
 trying to pass us something cursed?"

 "Are you planning to follow a career in Magical Law, Miss Granger?" asked
 Scrimgeour.

 "No, I'm not," retorted Hermione. "I'm hoping to do some good in the world!"

 Ron laughed. Scrimgeour's eyes flickered toward him and away again as Harry
 spoke.

 "So why have you decided to let us have our things now? Can't think of a pretext
 to keep them?"

 "No, it'll be because thirty-one days are up," said Hermione at once. "They can't
 keep the objects longer than that unless they can prove they're dangerous. Right?"

 "Would you say you were close to Dumbledore, Ronald?" asked Scrimgeour,
 ignoring Hermione. Ron looked startled.

 "Me? Not -- not really... It was always Harry who..."

 Ron looked around at Harry and Hermione, to see Hermione giving him a stop-
 talking-now! sort of look, but the damage was done; Scrimgeour looked as though he had


 heard exactly what he had expected, and wanted, to hear. He swooped like a bird of prey
 upon Ron's answer.

 "If you were not very close to Dumbledore, how do you account for the fact that
 he remembered you in his will? He made exceptionally few personal bequests. The vast
 majority of his possessions -- his private library, his magical instruments, and other
 personal effects -- were left to Hogwarts. Why do you think you were singled out?"

 "I...dunno," said Ron. "I...when I say we weren't close...I mean, I think he liked
 me..."

 "You're being modest, Ron," said Hermione. "Dumbledore was very fond of you."

 This was stretching the truth to breaking point; as far as Harry knew, Ron and
 Dumbledore had never been alone together, and direct contact between them had been
 negligible. However, Scrimgeour did not seem to be listening. He put his hand inside his
 cloak and drew out a drawstring pouch much larger than the one Hagrid had given Harry.
 From it, he removed a scroll of parchment which he unrolled and read aloud.

 "'The Last Will and Testament of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore'...
 Yes, here we are... 'To Ronald Bilius Weasley, I leave my Deluminator, in the hope that
 he will remember me when he uses it.'"

 Scrimgeour took from the bag an object that Harry had seen before: It looked
 something like a silver cigarette lighter, but it had, he knew, the power to suck all light
 from a place, and restore it, with a simple click. Scrimgeour leaned forward and passed
 the Deluminator to Ron, who took it and turned it over in the fingers looking stunned.

 "That is a valuable object," said Scrimgeour, watching Ron. "It may even be
 unique. Certainly it is of Dumbledore's own design. Why would he have left you and item
 so rare?"

 Ron shook his head, looking bewildered.

 "Dumbledore must have taught thousands of students," Scrimgeour persevered.
 "Yet the only ones he remembered in his will are you three. Why is that? To what use did
 he think you would put to the Deluminator, Mr. Weasley?"

 "Put out lights, I s'pose," mumbled Ron. "What else could I do with it?"

 Evidently Scrimgeour had no suggestions. After squinting at Ron for a moment or
 tow, he turned back to Dumbledore's will.

 "'To Miss Hermione Jean Granger, I leave my copy of The Tales of Beedle the
 Bard, in the hope that she will find it entertaining and instructive.'"

 Scrimgeour now pulled out of the bag a small book that looked as ancient as the
 copy of Secrets of the Darkest Art upstairs. Its binding was stained and peeling in places.
 Hermione took it from Scrimgeour without a word. She held the book in her lap and
 gazed at it. Harry saw that the title was in runes; he had never learned to read them. As he
 looked, a tear splashed onto the embossed symbols.

 "Why do you think Dumbledore left you that book, Miss Granger?" asked
 Scrimgeour.

 "He... he knew I liked books," said Hermione in a thick voice, mopping her eyes
 with her sleeve.

 "But why that particular book?"

 "I don't know. He must have thought I'd enjoy it."

 "Did you ever discuss codes, or any means of passing secret messages, with
 Dumbledore?"


 "No, I didn't," said Hermione, still wiping her eyes on her sleeve. "And if the
 Ministry hasn't found any hidden codes in this book in thirty-one days, I doubt that I
 will."

 She suppressed a sob. They were wedged together so tightly that Ron had
 difficulty extracting his arm to put it around Hermione's shoulders. Scrimgeour turned
 back to the will.

 "'To Harry James Potter,'" he read, and Harry's insides contracted with a sudden
 excitement, "'I leave the Snitch he caught in his first Quidditch match at Hogwarts, as a
 reminder of the rewards of perseverance and skill.'"

 As Scrimgeour pulled out the tiny, walnut-sized golden ball, its silver wings
 fluttered rather feebly, and Harry could not help feeling a definite sense of anticlimax.

 "Why did Dumbledore leave you this Snitch?" asked Scrimgeour.

 "No idea," said Harry. "For the reasons you just read out, I suppose... to remind
 me what you can get if you... persevere and whatever it was."

 "You think this a mere symbolic keepsake, then?"

 "I suppose so," said Harry. "What else could it be?"

 "I'm asking the questions," said Scrimgeour, shifting his chair a little closer to the
 sofa. Dusk was really falling outside now; the marquee beyond the windows towered
 ghostly white over the hedge.

 "I notice that your birthday cake is in the shape of a Snitch," Scrimgeour said to
 Harry. "Why is that?"

 Hermione laughed derisively.

 "Oh, it can't be a reference to the fact Harry's a great Seeker, that's way too
 obvious," she said. "There must be a secret message from Dumbledore hidden in the
 icing!"

 "I don't think there's anything hidden in the icing," said Scrimgeour, "but a Snitch
 would be a very good hiding place for a small object. You know why, I'm sure?"

 Harry shrugged, Hermione, however, answered: Harry thought that answering
 questions correctly was such a deeply ingrained habit she could not suppress the urge.

 "Because Snitches have flesh memories," she said.

 "What?" said Harry and Ron together; both considered Hermione's Quidditch
 knowledge negligible.

 "Correct," said Scrimgeour. "A Snitch is not touched by bare skin before it is
 released, not even by the maker, who wears gloves. It carries an enchantment by which it
 can identify the first human to lay hands upon it, in case of a disputed capture. This
 Snitch" -- he held up the tiny golden ball -- "will remember your touch, Potter.

 It occurs to me that Dumbledore, who had prodigious magical skill, whatever his
 other faults, might have enchanted this Snitch so that it will open only for you."

 Harry's heart was beating rather fast. He was sure that Scrimgeour was right. How
 could he avoid taking the Snitch with his bare hand in front of the Minister?

 "You don't say anything," said Scrimgeour. "Perhaps you already know what the
 Snitch contains?"

 "No," said Harry, still wondering how he could appear to touch the Snitch without
 really doing so. If only he knew Legilimency, really knew it, and could read Hermione's
 mind; he could practically hear her brain whizzing beside him.

 "Take it," said Scrimgeour quietly.


 Harry met the Minister's yellow eyes and knew he had no option but to obey. He
 held out his hand, and Scrimgeour leaned forward again and place the Snitch, slowly and
 deliberately, into Harry's palm.

 Nothing happened. As Harry's fingers closed around the Snitch, its tired wings
 fluttered and were still. Scrimgeour, Ron, and Hermione continued to gaze avidly at the
 now partially concealed ball, as if still hoping it might transform in some way.

 "That was dramatic," said Harry coolly. Both Ron and Hermione laughed.

 "That's all, then, is it?" asked Hermione, making to raise herself off the sofa.

 "Not quite," said Scrimgeour, who looked bad tempered now. "Dumbledore left
 you a second bequest, Potter."

 "What is it?" asked Harry, excitement rekindling.

 Scrimgeour did not bother to read from the will this time.

 "The sword of Godric Gryffindor," he said. Hermione and Ron both stiffened.
 Harry looked around for a sign of the ruby-encrusted hilt, but Scrimgeour did not pull the
 sword from the leather pouch, which in any case looked much too small to contain it.

 "So where is it?" Harry asked suspiciously.

 "Unfortunately," said Scrimgeour, "that sword was not Dumbledore's to give
 away. The sword of Godric Gryffindor is an important historical artifact, and as such,
 belongs--"

 "It belongs to Harry!" said Hermione hotly. "It chose him, he was the one who
 found it, it came to him out of the Sorting Hat--"

 "According to reliable historical sources, the sword may present itself to any
 worthy Gryffindor," said Scrimgeour. "That does not make it the exclusive property of
 Mr. Potter, whatever Dumbledore may have decided." Scrimgeour scratched his badly
 shaven cheek, scrutinizing Harry. "Why do you think--?"

 "--Dumbledore wanted to give me the sword?" said Harry, struggling to keep his
 temper. "Maybe he thought it would look nice on my wall."

 "This is not a joke, Potter!" growled Scrimgeour. "Was it because Dumbledore
 believed that only the sword of Godric Gryffindor could defeat the Heir of Slytherin? Did
 he wish to give you that sword, Potter, because he believed, as do many, that you are the
 one destined to destroy He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

 "Interesting theory," said Harry. "Has anyone ever tried sticking a sword in
 Voldemort? Maybe the Ministry should put some people onto that, instead of wasting
 their time stripping down Deluminators or covering up breakouts from Azkaban. So this
 is what you've been doing, Minister, shut up in your office, trying to break open a Snitch?
 People are dying  I was nearly one of them  Voldemort chased me across three
 countries, he killed Mad-Eye Moody, but there's no word about any of that from the
 Ministry, has there? And you still expect us to cooperate with you!"

 "You go too far!" shouted Scrimgeour, standing up: Harry jumped to his feet too.
 Scrimgeour limped toward Harry and jabbed him hard in the chest with the point of his
 wand; It singed a hole in Harry's T-shirt like a lit cigarette.

 "Oi!" said Ron, jumping up and raising his own wand, but Harry said,

 "No! D'you want to give him an excuse to arrest us?"

 "Remembered you're not at school, have you?" said Scrimgeour breathing hard
 into Harry's face. "Remembered that I am not Dumbledore, who forgave your insolence


 and insubordination? You may wear that scar like a crown, Potter, but it is not up to a
 seventeen-year-old boy to tell me how to do my job! It's time you learned some respect!"

 "It's time you earned it." said Harry.

 The floor trembled; there was a sound of running footsteps, then the door to the
 sitting room burst open and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley ran in.

 "We --- we thought we heard --" began Mr. Weasley, looking thoroughly alarmed
 at the sight of Harry and the Minister virtually nose to nose.

 "raised voices," panted Mrs. Weasley.

 Scrimgeour took a couple of steps back from Harry, glancing at the hole he had
 made in Harry's T-shirt. He seemed to regret his loss of temper.

 "It  it was nothing," he growled. "I  regret your attitude," he said, looking
 Harry full in the face once more. "You seem to think that the Ministry does not desire
 what you  what Dumbledore  desired. We ought to work together."

 "I don't like your methods, Minister," said Harry. "Remember?"

 For the second time, he raised his right fist and displayed to Scrimgeour the scar
 that still showed white on the back of it, spelling I must not tell lies . Scrimgeour's
 expression hardened. He turned away without another word and limped from the room.
 Mrs. Weasley hurried after him; Harry heard her stop at the back door. After a minute or
 so she called, "He's gone!"

 What did he want?" Mr. Weasley asked, looking around at Harry, Ron, and
 Hermione as Mrs. Weasley came hurrying back to them.

 "To give us what Dumbledore left us," said Harry. "They've only just released the
 content of his will."

 Outside in the garden, over the dinner tables, the three objects Scrimgeour had
 given them were passed from hand to hand. Everyone exclaimed over the Deluminator
 and The Tales of Beedle the Bard and lamented the fact that Scrimgeour had refused to
 pass on the sword, but none of them could offer any suggestion as to why Dumbledore
 would have left Harry an old Snitch. As Mr. Weasley examined the Deluminator for the
 third of fourth time, Mrs. Weasley said tentatively, "Harry, dear, everyone's awfully
 hungry we didn't like to start without you Shall I serve dinner now?"

 They all ate rather hurriedly and then after a hasty chorus of "Happy Birthday"
 and much gulping of cake, the party broke up. Hagrid, who was invited to the wedding
 the following day, but was far too bulky to sleep in the overstretched Burrow, left to set
 up a tent for himself in a neighboring field.

 "Meet us upstairs," Harry whispered to Hermione, while they helped Mrs.
 Weasley restore the garden to its normal state. "After everyone's gone to bed."

 Up in the attic room, Ron examined his Deluminator, and Harry filled Hagrid's
 mokeskin purse, not with gold, but with those items he most prized, apparently worthless
 though some of them were the Marauder's Map, the shard of Sirius's enchanted mirror,
 and R.A.B.'s locket. He pulled the string tight and slipped the purse around his neck, then
 sat holding the old Snitch and watching its wings flutter feebly. At last, Hermione tapped
 on the door and tiptoed inside.

 "Muffiato," she whispered, waving her wand in the direction of the stairs.

 "Thought you didn't approve of that spell?" said Ron.

 "Times change," said Hermione. "Now, show us that Deluminator."


 Ron obliged at once. Holding I up in front of him, he clicked it. The solitary lamp
 they had lit went out at once.

 "The thing is," whispered Hermione through the dark, "we could have achieved
 that with Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder."

 There was a small click, and the ball of light from the lamp flew back to the
 ceiling and illuminated them all once more.

 "Still, it's cool," said Ron, a little defensively. "And from what they said,
 Dumbledore invented it himself!"

 "I know but, surely he wouldn't have singled you out in his will just to help us
 turn out the lights!"

 "D'you think he knew the Ministry would confiscate his will and examine
 everything he'd left us?" asked Harry.

 "Definitely," said Hermione. "He couldn't tell us in the will why he was leaving
 us these things, but that will doesn't explain"

 " why he couldn't have given us a hint when he was alive?" asked Ron.

 "Well, exactly," said Hermione, now flicking through The Tales of Beedle the
 Bard. "If these things are important enough to pass on right under the nose of the
 Ministry, you'd think he'd have left us know why unless he thought it was obvious?"

 "Thought wrong, then, didn't he?" said Ron. "I always said he was mental.
 Brilliant and everything, but cracked. Leaving Harry an old Snitch  what the hell was
 that about?"

 "I've no idea," said Hermione. "When Scrimgeour made you take it, Harry, I was
 so sure that something was going to happen!"

 "Yeah, well," said Harry, his pulse quickened as he raised the Snitch in his fingers.
 "I wasn't going to try too hard in front of Scrimgeour was I?"

 "What do you mean?" asked Hermione.

 "The Snitch I caught in my first ever Quidditch match?" said Harry. "Don't you
 remember?"

 Hermione looked simply bemused. Ron, however, gasped, pointing frantically
 from Harry to the Snitch and back again until he found his voice.

 "That was the one you nearly swallowed!"

 "Exactly," said Harry, and with his heart beating fast, he pressed his mouth to the
 Snitch.

 It did not open. Frustration and bitter disappointment welled up inside him: He
 lowered the golden sphere, but then Hermione cried out.

 "Writing! There's writing on it, quick, look!"
 He nearly dropped the Snitch in surprise and excitement. Hermione was quite right.
 Engraved upon the smooth golden surface, where seconds before there had been nothing,
 were five words written in the thin, slanted handwriting that Harry recognized as
 Dumbledore's

 I open at the close.

 He had barely read them when the words vanished again.

 "I open at the close." What's that supposed to mean?"

 Hermione and Ron shook their heads, looking blank.

 "I open at the close at the close I open at the close"


 But no matter how often they repeated the words, with many different inflections,
 they were unable to wring any more meaning from them.

 "And the sword," said Ron finally, when they had at last abandoned their attempts
 to divine meaning in the Snitch's inscription.

 "Why did he want Harry to have the sword?"

 "And why couldn't he just have told me?" Harry said quietly. "I was there, it was
 right there on the wall of his office during all our talks last year! If he wanted me to have
 it, why didn't he just give it to me then?"

 He felt as thought he were sitting in an examination with a question he ought to
 have been able to answer in front of him, his brain slow and unresponsive. Was there
 something he had missed in the long talks with Dumbledore last year? Ought he to know
 what it all meant? Had Dumbledore expected him to understand?

 "And as for this book." Said Hermione, "The Tales of Beedle the Bard  I've
 never even heard of them!"

 "You've never heard of The Tales of Beedle the Bard?" said Ron incredulously.
 "You're kidding, right?"

 "No, I'm not," said Hermione in surprise. "Do you know them then?"

 "Well, of course I do!"

 Harry looked up, diverted. The circumstance of Ron having read a book that
 Hermione had not was unprecedented. Ron, however, looked bemused by their surprise.

 "Oh come on! All the old kids' stories are supposed to be Beedle's aren't they?
 'The Fountain of Fair Fortune'  'The Wizard and the Hopping Pot' 'Babbitty Rabbitty
 and her Cackling Stump'"

 "Excuse me?" said Hermione giggling. "What was the last one?"

 "Come off it!" said Ron, looking in disbelief from Harry to Hermione. "You
 must've heard of Babbitty Rabbitty "

 "Ron, you know full well Harry and I were brought up by Muggles!" said
 Hermione. "We didn't hear stories like that when we were little, we heard 'Snow White
 and the Seven Dwarves' and 'Cinderella' "

 "What's that, an illness?" asked Ron.

 "So these are children's stories?" asked Hermione, bending against over the runes.

 "Yeah." Said Ron uncertainly. "I mean, just what you hear, you know, that all
 these old stories came from Beedle. I dunno what they're like in the original versions."

 "But I wonder why Dumbledore thought I should read them?"

 Something cracked downstairs.

 "Probably just Charlie, now Mum's asleep, sneaking off to regrow his hair," said
 Ron nervously.

 "All the same, we should get to bed," whispered Hermione. "It wouldn't do to
 oversleep tomorrow."

 "No," agreed Ron. "A brutal triple murder by the bridegroom's mother might put a
 bit of damper on the wedding. I'll get the light."

 And he clicked the Deluminator once more as Hermione left the room.


 Chapter Eight

 The Wedding

 Three oclock on the following afternoon found Harry, Ron, Fred and George
 standing outside the great white marquee in the orchard, awaiting the arrival of the
 wedding guests. Harry had taken a large dose of Polyjuice Potion and was now the
 double of a redheaded Muggle boy from the local village, Ottery St. Catchpole, from
 whom Fred had stolen hairs using a Summoning Charm. The plan was to introduce
 Harry as Cousin Barny and trust to the great number of Weasley relatives to
 camouflage him.

 All four of them were clutching seating plans, so that they could help show people
 to the right seats. A host of white-robed waiters had arrived an hour earlier, along with a
 golden jacketed band, and all of these wizards were currently sitting a short distance
 away under a tree. Harry could see a blue haze of pipe smoke issuing from the spot.
 Behind Harry, the entrance to the marquee revealed rows and rows of fragile golden
 chairs set on either side of a long purple carpet. The supporting poles were entwined with
 white and gold flowers. Fred and George had fastened an enormous bunch of golden
 balloons over the exact point where Bill and Fleur would shortly become husband and
 wife. Outside, butterflies and bees were hovering lazily over the grass and hedgerow.
 Harry was rather uncomfortable. The Muggle boy whose appearance he was affecting
 was slightly fatter than him and his dress robes felt hot and tight in the full glare of a
 summers day.

 When I get married, said Fred, tugging at the collar of his own robes, I wont
 be bothering with any of this nonsense. You can all wear what you like, and Ill put a full
 Body Bird Curse on Mum until its all over.

 She wasnt too bad this morning, considering, said George. Cried a bit about
 Percy not being here, but who wants him. Oh blimey, brace yourselves, here they come,
 look.

 Brightly colored figures were appearing, one by one out of nowhere at the distant
 boundary of the yard. Within minutes a procession had formed, which began to snake its
 way up through the garden toward the marquee. Exotic flowers and bewitched birds
 fluttered on the witches hats, while precious gems glittered from many of the wizards
 cravats; a hum of excited chatter grew louder and louder, drowning the sound of the bees
 as the crowd approached the tent.

 Excellent, I think I see a few veela cousins, said George, craning his neck for a
 better look. Theyll need help understanding our English customs, Ill look after
 them.

 Not so fast, Your Holeyness, said Fred, and darting past the gaggle of middle-
 aged witches heading for the procession, he said, Here  permetiez moi to assister
 vous, to a pair of pretty French girls, who giggled and allowed him to escort them inside.
 George was left to deal with the middle-aged witches and Ron took charge of Mr.
 Weasleys old Ministry-colleague Perkins, while a rather deaf old couple fell to Harrys
 lot.

 Wotcher, said a familiar voice as he came out of the marquee again and found
 Tonks and Lupin at the front of the queue. She had turned blonde for the occasion.
 Arthur told us you were the one with the curly hair. Sorry about last night, she added


 in a whisper as Harry led them up the aisle. The Ministrys being very anti-werewolf at
 the museum and we thought our presence might not do you any favors.

 Its fine, I understand, said Harry, speaking more to Lupin than Tonks. Lupin
 gave him a swift smile, but as they turned away Harry saw Lupins face fall again into
 lines of misery. He did not understand it, but there was no time to dwell on the matter.
 Hagrid was causing a certain amount of disruption. Having misunderstood Freds
 directions as he had sat himself, not upon the magically enlarged and reinforced seat set
 aside for him in the back row, but on five sets that now resembled a large pile of golden
 matchsticks.

 While Mr. Weasley repaired the damage and Hagrid shouted apologies to
 anybody who would listen, Harry hurried back to the entrance to find Ron face-to-face
 with a most eccentric-looking wizard. Slightly cross-eyed, with shoulder-length white
 hair the texture of candyfloss, he wore a cap whose tassel dangled in front of his nose and
 robes of an eye-watering shade of egg-yolk yellow. An odd symbol, rather like a
 triangular eye, glistened from a golden chain around his neck.

 Xenophilius Lovegood, he said, extending a hand to Harry, my daughter and I
 live just over the hill, so kind of the good Weasleys to invite us. But I think you know
 my Luna? he added to Ron.

 Yes, said Ron. Isnt she with you?

 She lingered in that charming little garden to say hello to the gnomes, such a
 glorious infestation! How few wizards realize just how much we can learn from the wise
 little gnomes  or, to give them their correct name, the Gernumbli gardensi.

 Ours do know a lot of excellent swear words, said Ron, but I think Fred and
 George taught them those.

 He led a party of warlocks into the marquee as Luna rushed up.

 Hello, Harry! she said.

 Er  my names Barry, said Harry, flummoxed.

 Oh, have you changed that too? she asked brightly.

 How did you know -?

 Oh, just your expression, she said.

 Like her father, Luna was wearing bright yellow robes, which she had
 accessorized with a large sunflower in her hair. Once you get over the brightness of it all,
 the general effect was quite pleasant. At least there were no radishes dangling from her
 ears.

 Xenophilius, who was deep in conversation with an acquaintance, had missed the
 exchange between Luna and Harry. Biding the wizard farewell, he turned to his daughter,
 who held up her finger and said, Daddy, look  one of the gnomes actually bit me.

 How wonderful! Gnome saliva is enormously beneficial. Said Mr. Lovegood,
 seizing Lunas outstretched fingers and examining the bleeding puncture marks. Luna,
 my love, if you should feel any burgeoning talent today  perhaps an unexpected urge to
 sing opera or to declaims in Mermish  do not repress it! You may have been gifted by
 the Gernumblies!

 Ron, passing them in the opposite direction let out a loud snort.

 Ron can laugh, said Luna serenely as Harry led her and Xenophilius toward
 their seats, but my father has done a lot of research on Gernumbli magic.


 Really? said Harry, who had long since decided not to challenge Luna or her
 fathers peculiar views. Are you sure you dont want to put anything on that bite,
 though?

 Oh, its fine, said Luna, sucking her finger in a dreamy fashion and looking
 Harry up and down. You look smart. I told Daddy most people would probably wear
 dress robes, but he believes you ought to wear sun colors to a wedding, for luck, you
 know.

 As she drifted off after her father, Ron reappeared with an elderly witch clutching
 his arm. Her beaky nose, red-rimmed eyes, and leathery pink hat gave her the look of a
 bad-tempered flamingo.

 and your hairs much too long, Ronald, for a moment I thought you were
 Ginevra. Merlins beard, what is Xenophilius Lovegood wearing? He looks like an
 omelet. And who are you? she barked at Harry.

 Oh yeah, Auntie Muriel, this is our cousin Barny.

 Another Weasley? You breed like gnomes. Isnt Harry Potter here? I was
 hoping to meet him. I thought he was a friend of yours, Ronald, or have you merely been
 boasting?

 No  he couldnt come

 Hmm. Made an excuse, did he? Not as gormless as he looks in press
 photographs, then. Ive just been instructing the bride on how best to wear my tiara, she
 shouted at Harry. Goblin-made, you know, and been in my family for centuries. Shes a
 good-looking girl, but still  French. Well, well, find me a good seat, Ronald, I am a
 hundred and seven and I ought not to be on my feet too long.

 Ron gave Harry a meaningful look as he passed and did not reappear for some
 time. When next they met at the entrance, Harry had shown a dozen more people to their
 places. The Marquee was nearly full now and for the first time there was no queue
 outside.

 Nightmare, Muriel is, said Ron, mopping his forehead on his sleeve. She used
 to come for Christmas every year, then, thank God, she took offense because Fred and
 George set off a Dungbomb under her chair at diner. Dad always says shell have written
 them out of her will  like they care, theyre going to end up richer than anyone in the
 family, rate theyre going Wow, he added, blinking rather rapidly as Hermione came
 hurrying toward them. You look great!

 Always the tone of surprise, said Hermione, though she smiled. She was
 wearing a floaty, lilac-colored dress with matching high heels; her hair was sleek and
 shiny. Your Great-Aunt Muriel doesnt agree, I just met her upstairs while she was
 giving Fleur the tiara. She said, Oh dear, is this the Muggle-born? and then, Bad
 posture and skinny ankles.

 Dont take it personally, shes rude to everyone, said Ron.

 Talking about Muriel? inquired George, reemerging from the marquee with
 Fred. Yeah, shes just told me my ears are lopsided. Old bat. I wish old Uncle Bilius
 was still with us, though; he was a right laugh at weddings.

 Wasnt he the one who saw a Grim and died twenty-four hours later? asked
 Hermione.

 Well, yeah, he went a bit odd toward the end, conceded George.


 But before he went loopy he was the life and soul of the party, said Fred. He
 used to down an entire bottle of firewhisky, then run onto the dance floor, hoist up his
 robes, and start pulling bunches of flowers out of his

 Yes, he sounds a real charmer, said Hermione, while Harry roared with laughter.

 Never married, for some reason, said Ron.

 You amaze me, said Hermione.

 They were all laughing so much that none of them noticed the latecomer, a dark-
 haired young man with a large, curved nose and thick black eyebrows, until he held out
 his invitation to Ron and said, with his eyes on Hermione, You look vunderful.

 Viktor! she shrieked, and dropped her small beaded bag, which made a loud
 thump quite disproportionate to its size. As she scrambled, blushing, to pick it up, she
 said I didnt know you were  goodness  its lovely to see  how are you?

 Rons ears had turned bright red again. After glancing at Krums invitation as if
 he did not believe a word of it, he said, much too loudly, how come youre here?

 Fleur invited me, said Krum, eyebrows raised.

 Harry, who had no grudge against Krum, shook hands; then feeling that it would
 be prudent to remove Krum from Rons vicinity, offered to show him his seat.

 Your friend is not pleased to see me, said Krum, as they entered the now
 packed marquee. Or is he a relative? he added with a glance at Harrys red curly hair.

 Cousin. Harry muttered, but Krum was not really listening. His appearance was
 causing a stir, particularly amongst the veela cousins: He was, after all, a famous
 Quidditch player. While people were still craning their necks to get a good look at him,
 Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George came hurrying down the aisle.

 Time to sit down, Fred told Harry, or were going to get run over by the
 bride.

 Harry, Ron and Hermione took their seats in the second row behind Fred and
 George. Hermione looked rather pink and Rons ears were still scarlet. After a few
 moments he muttered to Harry, Did you see hes grown a stupid little beard?

 Harry gave a noncommittal grunt.

 A sense of jittery anticipation had filled the warm tent, the general murmuring
 broken by occasional spurts of excited laughter. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley strolled up the
 aisle, smiling and waving at relatives; Mrs. Weasley was wearing a brand-new set of
 amethyst colored robes with a matching hat.

 A moment later Bill and Charlie stood up at the front of the marquee, both
 wearing dress robes, with larger white roses in their buttonholes; Fred wolf-whistled and
 there was an outbreak of giggling from the veela cousins. Then the crowd fell silent as
 music swelled from what seemed to be the golden balloons.

 Ooooh! said Hermione, swiveling around in her seat to look at the entrance.

 A great collective sigh issued from the assembled witches and wizards as
 Monsieur Delacour and Fleur came walking up the aisle, Fleur gliding, Monsieur
 Delacour bouncing and beaming. Fleur was wearing a very simple white dress and
 seemed to be emitting a strong, silvery glow. While her radiance usually dimmed
 everyone else by comparison, today it beautified everybody it fell upon. Ginny and
 Gabrielle, both wearing golden dresses, looked even prettier than usual and once Fleur
 had reached for him, Bill did not look as though he had ever met Fenrit Greyback.


 Ladies and gentlemen, said a slightly singsong voice, and with a slight shock,
 Harry saw the same small, tufty-hired wizard who had presided at Dumbledores funeral,
 now standing in front of Bill and Fleur. We are gathered here today to celebrate the
 union of two faithful souls

 Yes, my tiara set off the whole thing nicely, said Auntie Muriel in a rather
 carrying whisper. But I must say, Ginevras dress is far too low cut.

 Ginny glanced around, grinning, winked at Harry, then quickly faced the front
 again. Harrys mind wandered a long way from the marquee, back to the afternoons
 spent alone with Ginny in lonely parts of the school grounds. They seemed so long ago;
 they had always seemed too good to be true, as though he had been stealing shining hours
 from a normal persons life, a person without a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.

 Do you, William Arthur, take Fleur Isabelle?

 In the front row, Mrs. Weasley and Madame Delacour were both sobbing quietly
 into scraps of lace. Trumpetlike sounds from the back of the marquee told everyone that
 Hagrid had taken out one of his own tablecloth-sized handkerchiefs. Hermione turned
 around and beamed at Harry; her eyes too were full of tears.

 then I declare you bonded for life.

 The tufty-haired wizard waved his hand high over the heads of Bill and Fleur and
 a shower of silver stars fell upon them, spiraling around their now entwined figures. As
 Fred and George led a round of applause, the golden balloons overhead burst. Birds of
 paradise and tiny golden bells flew and floated out of them, adding their songs and
 chimes to the din.

 Ladies and gentlemen! called the tufty-haired wizard. If you would please
 stand up!

 They all did so, Auntie Muriel grumbling audibly; he waved his wand again. The
 scars on which they had been sitting rose gracefully into the air as the canvas walls of the
 marquee vanished, so that they stood beneath a canopy supported by golden poles, with a
 glorious view of the sunlit orchard and surrounding countryside. Next, a pool of molten
 gold spread from the center of the tent to form a gleaming dance floor; the hovering
 chairs grouped themselves around small, white-clothed tables, which all floated
 gracefully back to earth round it, and the golden-jacketed hand trooped toward a podium.

 Smooth, said Ron approvingly as the waiters popped up on all sides, some
 hearing silver trays of pumpkin juice, butterbeer, and firewhisky, others tottering piles of
 tarts and sandwiches.

 We should go and congratulate them! said Hermione, standing on tiptoe to see
 the place where Bill and Fleur had vanished amid a crowd of well-wishers.

 Well have time later, shrugged Ron, snatching three butterbeers from a passing
 tray and handing one to Harry. Hermione, cop hold, lets grab a table. Not there!
 Nowhere near Muriel

 Ron led the way across the empty dance floor, glancing left and right as he went;
 Harry felt sure that he was keeping an eye out for Krum. By the time they had reached
 the other side of the marquee, most of the tables were occupied: The emptiest was the one
 where Luna sat alone.

 All right if we join you? asked Ron.

 Oh yes, she said happily. Daddys just gone to give Bill and Fleur our
 present.


 What is it, a lifetimes supply of Gurdyroots? asked Ron.

 Hermione aimed a kick at him under the table, but caught Harry instead. Eyes
 watering in pain, Harry lost track of the conversation for a few moments.

 The band had begun to play, Bill and Fleur took to the dance floor first, to great
 applause; after a while, Mr. Weasley led Madame Delacour onto the floor, followed by
 Mr. Weasley and Fleurs father.

 I like this song, said Luna, swaying in time to the waltzlike tune, and a few
 seconds later she stood up and glided onto the dance floor, where she revolved on the
 spot, quite alone, eyes closed and waving her arms.

 Shes great isnt she? said Ron admiringly. Always good value.

 But the smile vanished from his face at once: Viktor Krum had dropped into
 Lunas vacant seat. Hermione looked pleasurably flustered but this time Krum had not
 come to compliment her. With a scowl on his face he said, Who is that man in the
 yellow?

 Thats Xenophilius Lovegood, hes the father of a friend of ours, said Ron. His
 pugnacious tone indicated that they were not about to laugh at Xenophilius, despite the
 clear provocation. Come and dance, he added abruptly to Hermione.

 She looked taken aback, but pleased too, and got up. They vanished together into
 the growing throng on the dance floor.

 Ah, they are together now? asked Krum, momentarily distracted.

 Er  sort of, said Harry.

 Who are you? Krum asked.

 Barny Weasley.

 They shook hands.

 You, Barny  you know this man Lovegood well?

 No, I only met him today. Why?

 Krum glowered over the top of his drink, watching Xenophilius, who was chatting
 to several warlocks on the other side of the dance floor.

 Because, said Krum, If he vus not a guest of Fleurs I vould dud him, here and
 now, for veering that filthy sign upon his chest.

 Sign? said Harry, looking over at Xenophilius too. The strange triangular eye
 was gleaming on his chest. Why? Whats wrong with it?

 Grindelvald. That is Grindelvalds sign.

 Grindelwald the Dark wizard Dumbledore defeated?

 Exactly.

 Krums jaw muscles worked as if he were chewing, then he said, Grindelvald
 killed many people, my grandfather, for instance. Of course, he vos never powerful in
 this country, they said he feared Dumbledore  and rightly, seeing how he vos finished.
 But this  he pointed a finger at Xenophilius  this is his symbol, I recognized it at
 vunce: Grindelvald carved it into a vall at Durmstrang ver he vos a pupil there. Some
 idiots copied it onto their books and clothes thinking to shock, make themselves
 impressive  until those of us who had lost family members to Grindelvald taught them
 better.

 Krum cracked his knuckles menacingly and glowered at Xenophilius. Harry felt
 perplexed. It seemed incredibly unlikely that Lunas father was a supporter of the Dark
 Arts, and nobody else in the tent seemed to have recognized the triangular, finlike shape.


 Are you  er  quite sure its Grindelwalds -?

 I am not mistaken, said Krum coldly. I walked past that sign for several years,
 I know it vell.

 Well, theres a chance, said Harry, that Xenophilius doesnt actually know
 what the symbol means, the Lovegoods are quite unusual. He could have easily picked
 it up somewhere and think its a cross section of the head of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack
 or something.

 The cross section of a vot?

 Well, I dont know what they are, but apparently he and his daughter go on
 holiday looking for them.

 Harry felt he was doing a bad job explaining Luna and her father.

 Thats her, he said, pointing at Luna, who was still dancing alone, waving her
 arms around her head like someone attempting to beat off midges.

 Vy is she doing that? asked Krum.

 Probably trying to get rid of a Wrackspurt, said Harry, who recognized the
 symptoms.

 Krum did not seem to know whether or not Harry was making fun of him. He
 drew his hand from inside his robe and tapped it menacingly on his thighs; sparks flew
 out of the end.

 Gregorovitch! said Harry loudly, and Krum started, but Harry was too excited
 to care; the memory had come back to him at the sight of Krums wand: Ollivander
 taking it and examining it carefully before the Triwizard Tournament.

 Vot about him? asked Krum suspiciously.

 Hes a wandmaker!

 I know that, said Krum.

 He made your wand! Thats why I thought  Quidditch

 Krum was looking more and more suspicious.

 How do you know Gregorovitch made my wand?

 II read it somewhere, I think, said Harry. In a  a fan magazine, he
 improvised wildly and Krum looked mollified.

 I had not realized I ever discussed my vand with fans, he said.

 So er where is Gregorowitch these days?

 Krum looked puzzled.

 He retired several years ago. I was one of the last to purchase a Gregorovitch
 vand. They are the best although I know, of course, that your Britons set much store by
 Ollivander.

 Harry did not answer. He pretended to watch the dancers, like Krum, but he was
 thinking hard. So Voldemort was looking for a celebrated wandmaker and Harry did not
 have to search far for a reason. It was surely because of what Harry wand had done on
 the night that Voldemort pursued him across the skies. The holly and phoenix feather
 wand had conquered the borrowed wand, some thing that Ollivander had not anticipated
 or understood. Would Gregorowitch know better? Was he truly more skilled than
 Ollivander, did he know secrets of wands that Ollivander did not?

 This girl is very nice-looking, Krum said, recalling Harry to his surroundings.
 Krum was pointing at Ginny, who had just joined Luna. She is also a relative of yours?


 Yeah, said Harry, suddenly irritated, and shes seeing someone. Jealous type.
 Big bloke. You wouldnt want to cross him.

 Krum grunted.

 Vot, he said, draining his goblet and getting to his feet again, is the point of
 being an international Quidditch player if all the good-looking girls are taken?

 And he strode off leaving Harry to take a sandwich from a passing waiter and
 make his way around the edge of the crowded dance floor. He wanted to find Ron, to tell
 him about Gregorovitch, but he was dancing with Hermione out in the middle of the floor.
 Harry leaned up against one of the golden pillars and watched Ginny, who was now
 dancing with Fred and Georges friend Lee Jordan, trying not to feel resentful about the
 promise he had given Ron.

 He had never been to a wedding before, so he could not judge how Wizarding
 celebrations differed from Muggle ones, though he was pretty sure that the latter would
 not involve a wedding cake topped with two model phoenixes that took flight when the
 cake was cut, or bottles of champagne that floated unsupported through the crowd. As
 the evening drew in, and moths began to swoop under the canopy, now lit with floating
 golden lanterns, the revelry became more and more uncontained. Fred and George had
 long since disappeared into the darkness with a pair of Fleurs cousins; Charlie, Hagrid,
 and a squat wizard in a purple porkpie hat were singing Odo the Hero in the corner.

 Wandering through the crowd so as to escape a drunken uncle of Rons who
 seemed unsure whether or not Harry was his son, Harry spotted an old wizard sitting
 alone at a table. His cloud of white hair made him look rather like an aged dandelion
 clock and was topped by a moth-eaten fez. He was vaguely familiar: Racking his brains,
 Harry suddenly realized that this was Elphias Doge, member of the Order of the Phoenix
 and the writer of Dumbledores obituary.

 Harry approached him.

 May I sit down?

 Of course, of course, said Doge; he had a rather high-pitched, wheezy voice.

 Harry leaned in.

 Mr. Doge, Im Harry Potter.

 Doge gasped.

 My dear boy! Arthur told me you were here, disguised. I am so glad, so
 honored!

 In a flutter of nervous pleasure Doge poured Harry a goblet of champagne.

 I thought of writing to you, he whispered, after Dumbledore the shock
 and for you, I am sure

 Doges tiny eyes filled with sudden tears.

 I saw the obituary you wrote for the Daily Prophet, said Harry. I didnt realize
 you knew Professor Dumbledore so well.

 As well as anyone, said Doge, dabbing his eyes with a napkin. Certainly I
 knew him longest, if you dont count Aberforth  and somehow, people never do seem to
 count Aberforth.

 Speaking of the Daily Prophet I dont know whether you saw, Mr. Doge -?

 Oh, please call me Elphias, dear boy.

 Elphias, I dont know whether you saw the interview Rita Skeeter gave about
 Dumbledore?


 Doges face flooded with angry color.

 Oh yes, Harry, I saw it. That woman, or vulture might be a more accurate term,
 positively pestered me to talk to her, I am ashamed to say that I became rather rude,
 called her an interfering trout, which resulted, as you my have seen, in aspersions cast
 upon my sanity.

 Well, in that interview, Harry went on, Rita Skeeter hinted that Professor
 Dumbledore was involved in the Dark Arts when he was young.

 Dont believe a word of it! said Doge at once. Not a word, Harry! Let nothing
 tarnish your memories of Albus Dumbledore!

 Harry looked into Doges earnest, pained face, and felt, not reassured, but
 frustrated. Did Doge really think it was that easy, that Harry could simply choose not to
 believe? Didnt Doge understand Harrys need to be sure, to know everything?

 Perhaps Doge suspected Harrys feelings, for he looked concerned and hurried on,
 Harry, Rita Skeeter is a dreadful

 But he was interrupted by a shrill cackle.

 Rita Skeeter? Oh, I love her, always read her!

 Harry and Doge looked up to see Auntie Muriel standing there, the plumes
 dancing on her hair, a goblet of champagne in her hand. Shes written a book about
 Dumbledore, you know!

 Hello, Muriel, said Doge, Yes, we were just discussing

 You there! Give me your chair, Im a hundred and seven!

 Another redheaded Weasley cousin jumped off his seat, looking alarmed, and
 Auntie Muriel swung it around with surprising strength and plopped herself down upon it
 between Doge and Harry.

 Hello again, Barry or whatever your name is, she said to Harry, Now what
 were you saying about Rita Skeeter, Elphias? You know, shes written a biography of
 Dumbledore? I cant wait to read it. I must remember to place an order at Flourish and
 Blotts!

 Doge looked stiff and solemn at this but Auntie Muriel drained her goblet and
 clicked her bony fingers at a passing waiter for a replacement. She took another large
 gulp of champagne, belched and then said, Theres no need to look like a pair of stuffed
 frogs! Before he became so respected and respectable and all that tosh, there were some
 mighty funny rumors about Albus!

 Ill-informed sniping, said Doge, turning radish-colored again.

 You would say that, Elphias, cackled Auntie Muriel. I noticed how you skated
 over the sticky patches in that obituary of yours!

 Im sorry you think so, said Doge, more coldly still. I assure you I was writing
 from the heart.

 Oh, we all know you worshipped Dumbledore; I daresay youll still think he was
 a saint even if it does turn out that he did away with his Squib sister!

 Muriel! exclaimed Doge.

 A chill that had nothing to do with the iced champagne was stealing through
 Harrys chest.

 What do you mean? he asked Muriel. Who said his sister was a Squib? I
 thought she was ill?


 Thought wrong, then, didnt you, Barry! said Auntie Muriel, looking delighted
 at the effect she had produced. Anyway, how could you expect to know anything about
 it! IT all happened years and years before you were even thought of, my dear, and the
 truth is that those of us who were alive then never knew what really happened. Thats
 why I cant wait to find out what Skeeters unearthed! Dumbledore kept that sister of his
 quiet for a long time!

 Untrue! wheezed Doge, Absolutely untrue!

 He never told me his sister as a Squib, said Harry, without thinking, still cold
 inside.

 And why on earth would he tell you? screeched Muriel, swaying a little in her
 seat as she attempted to focus upon Harry.

 The reason Albus never spoke about Ariana, began Elphias in a voice stiff with
 emotion, is, I should have thought, quite clear. He was so devastated by her death

 Why did nobody ever see her, Elphias? squawked Muriel, Why did half of us
 never even know she existed, until they carried the coffin out of the house and held a
 funeral for her? Where was saintly Albus while Ariana was locked in the cellar? Off
 being brilliant at Hogwarts, and never mind what was going on in his own house!

 What dyou mean, locked in the cellar? asked Harry. What is this?

 Doge looked wretched. Auntie Muriel cackled again and answered Harry.

 Dumbledores mother was a terrifying woman, simply terrifying. Muggle-born,
 though I heard she pretended otherwise-

 She never pretended anything of the sort! Kendra was a fine woman, whispered
 Doge miserably, but Auntie Muriel ignored him.

 - proud and very domineering, the sort of witch who would have been mortified
 to produce a Squib-

 Ariana was not a Squib! wheezed Doge.

 So you say, Elphias, but explain, then, why she never attended Hogwarts! said
 Auntie Muriel. She turned back to Harry. In our day, Squibs were often hushed up,
 thought to take it to the extreme of actually imprisoning a little girl in the house and
 pretending she didnt exist

 I tell you, thats not what happened! said Doge, but Auntie Muriel
 steamrollered on, still addressing Harry.

 Squibs were usually shipped off to Muggle schools and encouraged to integrate
 into the Muggle community much kinder than trying to find them a place in the
 Wizarding world, where they must always be second class, but naturally Kendra
 Dumbledore wouldnt have dreamed of letting her daughter go to a Muggle school

 Ariana was delicate! said Doge desperately. Her health was always too poor to
 permit her

 - to permit her to leave the house? cackled Muriel. And yet she was never
 taken to St. Mungos and no Healer was ever summoned to see her!

 Really, Muriel, how can you possibly know whether

 For your information, Elphias, my cousin Lancelot was a Healer at St. Mungos
 at the time, and he told my family in strictest confidence that Ariana had never been seen
 there. All most suspicious, Lancelot thought!

 Doge looked to be on the verge of tears. Auntie Muriel, who seemed to be
 enjoying herself hugely, snapped her fingers for more champagne. Numbly Harry


 thought of how the Dursleys had once shut him up, locked him away, kept him out of
 sight, all for the crime of being a wizard. Had Dumbledores sister suffered the same fate
 in reverse: imprisoned for her lack of magic? And had Dumbledore truly left her to her
 fate while he went off to Hogwarts to prove himself brilliant and talented?

 Now, if Kendra hadnt died first, Muriel resumed, Id have said that it was she
 who finished off Ariana

 How can you, Muriel! groaned Doge. A mother kill her own daughter? Think
 what youre saying!

 If the mother in question was capable of imprisoning her daughter for years on
 end, why not? shrugged Auntie Muriel. But as I say, it doesnt fit, because Kendra died
 before Ariana  of what, nobody ever seemed sure-

 Yes, Ariana might have made a desperate bid for freedom and killed Kendra in
 the struggle, said Auntie Muriel thoughtfully. Shake your head all you like, Elphias.
 You were at Arianas funeral, were you not?

 Yes I was, said Doge, through trembling lips, and a more desperately sad
 occasion I cannot remember. Albus was heartbroken-

 His heart wasnt the only thing. Didnt Aberforth break Albus nose halfway
 through the service?

 If Doge had looked horrified before this, it was nothing to how he looked now.
 Muriel might have stabbed him. She cackled loudly and took another swig of champagne,
 which dribbled down her chin.

 How do you -? croaked Doge.

 My mother was friendly with old Bathilda Bagshot, said Auntie Muriel happily.
 Bathilda described the whole thing to mother while I was listening at the door. A
 coffin-side brawl. The way Bathilda told it, Aberforth shouted that it was all Albus fault
 that Ariana was dead and then punched him in the face. According to Bathilda, Albus did
 not even defend himself, and thats odd enough in itself. Albus could have destroyed
 Aberforth in a duel with both hands tied behind his back.

 Muriel swigged yet more champagne. The recitation of those old scandals
 seemed to elate her as much as they horrified Doge. Harry did not know what to think,
 what to believe. He wanted the truth and yet all Doge did was sit there and bleat feebly
 that Ariana had been ill. Harry could hardly believe that Dumbledore would not have
 intervened if such cruelty was happening inside his own house, and yet there was
 undoubtedly something odd about the story.

 And Ill tell you something else, Muriel said, hiccupping slightly as she lowered
 her goblet. I think Bathilda has spilled the beans to Rita Skeeter. All those hints in
 Skeeters interview about an important source close to the Dumbledores  goodness
 knows she was there all through the Ariana business, and it would fit!

 Bathilda, would never talk to Rita Skeeter! whispered Doge.

 Bathilda Bagshot? Harry said. The author of A History of Magic?

 The name was printed on the front of one of Harrys textbooks, though admittedly
 not one of the ones he had read more attentively.

 Yes, said Doge, clutching at Harrys question like a drowning man at a life heir.
 A most gifted magical historian and an old friend of Albuss.

 Quite gaga these days, Ive heard, said Auntie Muriel cheerfully.


 If that is so, it is even more dishonorable for Skeeter to have taken advantage of
 her, said Doge, and no reliance can be placed on anything Bathilda may have said!

 Oh, there are ways of bringing back memories, and Im sure Rita Skeeter knows
 them all, said Auntie Muriel But even if Bathildas completely cuckoo, Im sure shed
 still have old photographs, maybe even letters. She knew the Dumbledores for years.
 Well worth a trip to Godrics Hollow, Id have thought.

 Harry, who had been taking a sip of butterbeer, choked. Doge banged him on the
 back as Harry coughed, looking at Auntie Muriel through streaming eyes. Once he had
 control of his voice again, he asked, Bathilda Bagshot lives in Godrics Hollow?

 Oh yes, shes been there forever! The Dumbledores moved there after Percival
 was imprisoned, and she was their neighbor.

 The Dumbledores lived in Godrics Hollows?

 Yes, Barry, thats what I just said, said Auntie Muriel testily.

 Harry felt drained, empty. Never once, in six years, had Dumbledore told Harry
 that they had both lived and lost loved ones in Godrics Hollow. Why? Were Lily and
 James buried close to Dumbledores mother and sister? Had Dumbledore visited their
 graves, perhaps walked past Lilys and Jamess to do so? And he had never once told
 Harry  never bothered to say

 And why it was so important, Harry could not explain even to himself, yet he felt
 it had been tantamount to a lie not to tell him that they had this place and these
 experiences in common. He stared ahead of him, barely noticing what was going on
 around him, and did not realize that Hermione had appeared out of the crowd until she
 drew up a chair beside him.

 I simply cant dance anymore, she panted, slipping of one of her shoes and
 rubbing the sole of her foot. Rons gone looking to find more butterbeers. Its a bit odd.
 Ive just seen Viktor storming away from Lunas father, it looked like theyd been
 arguing  She dropped her voice, staring at him. Harry, are you okay?

 Harry did not know where to begin, but it did not matter, at that moment,
 something large and silver came falling through the canopy over the dance floor.
 Graceful and gleaming, the lynx landed lightly in the middle of the astonished dancers.
 Heads turned, as those nearest it froze absurdly in mid-dance. Then the Patronuss mouth
 opened wide and it spoke in the loud, deep, slow voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt.

 The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming.

 Chapter Nine

 A Place to Hide



 Everything seemed fuzzy, slow. Harry and Hermione jumped to their feet and
 drew their wands. Many people were only just realizing that something strange had
 happened; heads were still turning toward the silver cat as it vanished. Silence spread
 outward in cold ripples from the place where the Patronus had landed. Then somebody
 screamed.

 Harry and Hermione threw themselves into the panicking crowd. Guests were
 sprinting in all directions; many were Disapparating; the protective enchantments around
 the Burrow had broken.


 Ron! Hermione cried. Ron, where are you?

 As they pushed their way across the dance floor, Harry saw cloaked and masked
 figures appearing in the crowd; then he saw Lupin and Tonks, their wands raised, and
 heard both of them shout, Protego!, a cry that was echoed on all sides

 Ron! Ron! Hermione called, half sobbing as she and Harry were buffered by
 terrified guests: Harry seized her hand to make sure they werent separated as a streak of
 light whizzed over their heads, whether a protective charm or something more sinister he
 did not know

 And then Ron was there. He caught hold of Hermiones free arm, and Harry felt
 her turn on the spot; sight and sound were extinguished as darkness pressed in upon him;
 all he could feel was Hermiones hand as he was squeezed through space and time, away
 from the Burrow, away from the descending Death Eaters, away, perhaps, from
 Voldemort himself. . . .

 Where are we? said Rons voice.

 Harry opened his eyes. For a moment he thought they had not left the wedding
 after all; They still seemed to be surrounded by people.

 Tottenham Court Road, panted Hermione. Walk, just walk, we need to find
 somewhere for you to change.

 Harry did as she asked. They half walked, half ran up the wide dark street
 thronged with late-night revelers and lined with closed shops, stars twinkling above them.
 A double-decker bus rumbled by and a group of merry pub-goers ogled them as they
 passed; Harry and Ron were still wearing dress robes.

 Hermione, we havent got anything to change into, Ron told her, as a young
 woman burst into raucous giggles at the sight of him.

 Why didnt I make sure I had the Invisibility Cloak with me? said Harry,
 inwardly cursing his own stupidity. All last year I kept it on me and

 Its okay, Ive got the Cloak, Ive got clothes for both of you, said Hermione,
 Just try and act naturally until  this will do.

 She led them down a side street, then into the shelter of a shadowy alleyway.

 When you say youve got the Cloak, and clothes . . . said Harry, frowning at
 Hermione, who was carrying nothing except her small beaded handbag, in which she was
 now rummaging.

 Yes, theyre here, said Hermione, and to Harry and Rons utter astonishment,
 she pulled out a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, some maroon socks, and finally the silvery
 Invisibility Cloak.

 How the ruddy hell  ?

 Undetectable Extension Charm, said Hermione. Tricky, but I think Ive done it
 okay; anyway, I managed to fit everything we need in here. She gave the fragile-looking
 bag a little shake and it echoed like a cargo hold as a number of heavy objects rolled
 around inside it. Oh, damn, thatll be the books, she said, peering into it, and I had
 them all stacked by subject. . . . Oh well. . . . Harry, youd better take the Invisibility
 Cloak. Ron, hurry up and change. . . .

 When did you do all this? Harry asked as Ron stripped off his robes.

 I told you at the Burrow, Ive had the essentials packed for days, you know, in
 case we needed to make a quick getaway. I packed your rucksack this morning, Harry,
 after you changed, and put it in here. . . . I just had a feeling. . . .


 Youre amazing, you are, said Ron, handing her his bundled-up robes.

 Thank you, said Hermione, managing a small smile as she pushed the robes into
 the bag. Please, Harry, get that Cloak on!

 Harry threw his Invisibility Cloak around his shoulders and pulled it up over his
 head, vanishing from sight. He was only just beginning to appreciate what had happened.

 The others  everybody at the wedding

 We cant worry about that now, whispered Hermione. Its you theyre after,
 Harry, and well just put everyone in even more danger by going back.

 Shes right, said Ron, who seemed to know that Harry was about to argue, even
 if he could not see his face. Most of the Order was there, theyll look after everyone.

 Harry nodded, then remembered that they could not see him, and said, Yeah.
 But he thought of Ginny, and fear bubbled like acid in his stomach.

 Come on, I think we ought to keep moving, said Hermione.

 They moved back up the side street and onto the main road again, where a group
 of men on the opposite side was singing and weaving across the pavement.

 Just as a matter of interest, why Tottenham Court Road? Ron asked Hermione.

 Ive no idea, it just popped into my head, but Im sure were safer out in the
 Muggle world, its not where theyll expect us to be.

 True, said Ron, looking around, but dont you feel a bit  exposed?

 Where else is there? asked Hermione, cringing as the men on the other side of
 the road started wolf-whistling at her. We can hardly book rooms at the Leaky Cauldron,
 can we? And Grimmauld Place is out if Snape can get in there. . . . I suppose we could try
 my parents home, though I think theres a chance they might check there. . . . Oh, I wish
 theyd shut up!

 All right, darling? the drunkest of the men on the other pavement was yelling.
 Fancy a drink? Ditch ginger and come and have a pint!

 Lets sit down somewhere, Hermione said hastily as Ron opened his mouth to
 shout back across the road. Look, this will do, in here!

 It was a small and shabby all-night caf. A light layer of grease lay on all the
 Formica-topped tables, but it was at least empty. Harry slipped into a booth first and Ron
 sat next to him opposite Hermione, who had her back to the entrance and did not like it:
 She glanced over her shoulder so frequently she appeared to have a twitch. Harry did not
 like being stationary; walking had given the illusion that they had a goal. Beneath the
 Cloak he could feel the last vestiges of Polyjuice leaving him, his hands returning to their
 usual length and shape. He pulled his glasses out of his pocket and put them on again.

 After a minute or two, Ron said, You know, were not far from the Leaky
 Cauldron here, its only in Charing Cross

 Ron, we cant! said Hermione at once.

 Not to stay there, but to find out whats going on!

 We know whats going on! Voldemorts taken over the Ministry, what else do
 we need to know?

 Okay, okay, it was just an idea!
 They relapsed into a prickly silence. The gum-chewing waitress shuffled over and
 Hermione ordered two cappuccinos: As Harry was invisible, it would have looked odd to
 order him one. A pair of burly workmen entered the caf and squeezed into the next
 booth. Hermione dropped her voice to a whisper.


 I say we find a quiet place to Disapparate and head for the countryside. Once
 were there, we could send a message to the Order.

 Can you do that talking Patronus thing, then? asked Ron.

 Ive been practicing and I think so, said Hermione.

 Well, as long as it doesnt get them into trouble, though they mightve been
 arrested already. God, thats revolting, Ron added after one sip of the foamy, grayish
 coffee. The waitress had heard; she shot Ron a nasty look as she shuffled off to take the
 new customers orders. The larger of the two workmen, who was blond and quite huge,
 now that Harry came to look at him, waved her away. She stared, affronted.

 Lets get going, then, I dont want to drink this muck, said Ron. Hermione,
 have you got Muggle money to pay for this?

 Yes, I took out all my Building Society savings before I came to the Burrow. Ill
 bet all the change is at the bottom, sighed Hermione, reaching for her beaded bag.

 The two workmen made identical movements, and Harry mirrored them without
 conscious thought: All three of them drew their wands. Ron, a few seconds late in
 realizing what was going on, lunged across the table, pushing Hermione sideways onto
 her bench. The force of the Death Eaters spells shattered the tiled wall where Rons head
 had just been, as Harry, still invisible, yelled, Stupefy!

 The great blond Death Eater was hit in the face by a jet of red light: He slumped
 sideways, unconscious. His companion, unable to see who had cast the spell, fired
 another at Ron: Shining black ropes flew from his wand-tip and bound Ron head to foot
 the waitress screamed and ran for the door  Harry sent another Stunning Spell at the
 Death Eater with the twisted face who had tied up Ron, but the spell missed, rebounded
 on the window, and hit the waitress, who collapsed in front of the door.

 Expulso! bellowed the Death Eater, and the table behind which Harry was
 standing blew up: The force of the explosion slammed him into the wall and he felt his
 wand leave his hand as the Cloak slipped off him.

 Petrificus Totalus! screamed Hermione from out of sight, and the Death Eater
 fell forward like a statue to land with a crunching thud on the mess of broken china, table,
 and coffee. Hermione crawled out from underneath the bench, shaking bits of glass
 ashtray out of her hair and trembling all over.

 D-diffindo, she said, pointing her wand at Ron, who roared in pain as she
 slashed open the knee of his jeans, leaving a deep cut. Oh, Im so sorry, Ron, my hands
 shaking! Diffindo!

 The severed ropes fell away. Ron got to his feet, shaking his arms to regain
 feeling in them. Harry picked up his wand and climbed over all the debris to where the
 large blond Death Eater was sprawled across the bench.

 I shouldve recognized him, he was there the night Dumbledore died, he said.
 He turned over the darker Death Eater with his foot; the mans eyes moved rapidly
 between Harry, Ron and Hermione.

 Thats Dolohov, said Ron. I recognize him from the old wanted posters. I think
 the big ones Thorfinn Rowle.

 Never mind what theyre called! said Hermione a little hysterically. How did
 they find us? What are we going to do?

 Somehow her panic seemed to clear Harrys head.

 Lock the door, he told her, and Ron, turn out the lights.


 He looked down at the paralyzed Dolohov, thinking fast as the lock clicked and
 Ron used the Deluminator to plunge the caf into darkness. Harry could hear the men
 who had jeered at Hermione earlier, yelling at another girl in the distance.

 What are we going to do with them? Ron whispered to Harry through the dark;
 then, even more quietly, Kill them? Theyd kill us. They had a good go just now.

 Hermione shuddered and took a step backward. Harry shook his head.

 We just need to wipe their memories, said Harry. Its better like that, itll
 throw them off the scent. If we killed them itd be obvious we were here.

 Youre the boss, said Ron, sounding profoundly relieved. But Ive never down
 a Memory Charm.

 Nor have I, said Hermione, but I know the theory.

 She took a deep, calming breath, then pointed her wand at Dolohovs forehead
 and said, Obliviate.

 At once, Dolohovs eyes became unfocused and dreamy.

 Brilliant! said Harry, clapping her on the back. Take care of the other one and
 the waitress while Ron and I clear up.
 Clear up? said Ron, looking around at the partly destroyed caf. Why?

 Dont you think they might wonder whats happened if they wake up and find
 themselves in a place that looks like its just been bombed?

 Oh right, yeah . . .

 Ron struggled for a moment before managing to extract his wand from his pocket.

 Its no wonder I cant get it out, Hermione, you packed my old jeans, theyre
 tight.

 Oh, Im so sorry, hissed Hermione, and as she dragged the waitress out of sight
 of the windows, Harry heard her mutter a suggestion as to where Ron could stick his
 wand instead.

 Once the caf was restored to its previous condition, they heaved the Death Eaters
 back into their booth and propped them up facing each other. But how did they find us?
 Hermione asked, looking from one inert man to the other. How did they know where we
 were?

 She turned to Harry.

 You  you dont think youve still got your Trace on you, do you, Harry?

 He cant have, said Ron. The Trace breaks at seventeen, thats Wizarding law,
 you cant put it on an adult.

 As far as you know, said Hermione. What if the Death Eaters have found a
 way to put it on a seventeen-year-old?

 But Harry hasnt been near a Death Eater in the last twenty-four hours. Whos
 supposed to have put a Trace back on him?

 Hermione did not reply. Harry felt contaminated, tainted: Was that really how the
 Death Eaters had found them?

 If I cant use magic, and you cant use magic near me, without us giving away
 our position   he began.

 Were not splitting up! said Hermione firmly.

 We need a safe place to hide, said Ron. Give us time to think things through.

 Grimmauld Place, said Harry.

 The other two gaped.


 Dont be silly, Harry, Snape can get in there!

 Rons dad said theyve put up jinxes against him  and even if they havent
 worked, he pressed on as Hermione began to argue so what? I swear, Id like nothing
 better than to meet Snape!

 But

 Hermione, where else is there? Its the best chance weve got. Snapes only one
 Death Eater. If Ive still got the Trace on me, well have whole crowds of them on us
 wherever else we go.

 She could not argue, though she looked as if she would have liked to. While she
 unlocked the caf door, Ron clicked the Deluminator to release the cafs light. Then, on
 Harrys count of three, they reversed the spells upon their three victims, and before the
 waitress or either of the Death Eaters could do more than stir sleepily, Harry, Ron and
 Hermione had turned on the spot and vanished into the compressing darkness once more.

 Seconds later Harrys lungs expanded gratefully and he opened his eyes: They
 were now standing in the middle of a familiar small and shabby square. Tall, dilapidated
 houses looked down on them from every side. Number twelve was visible to them, for
 they had been told of its existence by Dumbledore, its Secret-Keeper, and they rushed
 toward it, checking every few yards that they were not being followed or observed. They
 raced up the stone steps, and Harry tapped the front door once with his wand. They heard
 a series of metallic clicks and the clatter of a chain, then the door swung open with a
 creak and they hurried over the threshold.

 As Harry closed the door behind them, the old-fashioned gas lamps sprang into
 life, casting flickering light along the length of the hallway. It looked just as Harry
 remembered it: eerie, cobwebbed, the outlines of the house-elf heads on the wall
 throwing odd shadows up the staircase. Long dark curtains concealed the portrait of
 Siriuss mother. The only thing that was out of place was the trolls leg umbrella stand,
 which was lying on its side as if Tonks had just knocked it over again.

 I think somebodys been in here, Hermione whispered, pointing toward it.

 That couldve happened as the Order left, Ron murmured back.

 So where are these jinxes they put up against Snape? Harry asked.

 Maybe theyre only activated if he shows up? suggested Ron.

 Yet they remained close together on the doormat, backs against the door, scared
 to move farther into the house.

 Well, we cant stay here forever, said Harry, and he took a step forward.

 Severus Snape?

 Mad-Eye Moodys voice whispered out of the darkness, making all three of them
 jump back in fright. Were not Snape! croaked Harry, before something whooshed over
 him like cold air and his tongue curled backward on itself, making it impossible to speak.
 Before he had time to feel inside his mouth, however, his tongue had unraveled again.

 The other two seemed to have experienced the same unpleasant sensation. Ron
 was making retching noises; Hermione stammered, That m-must have b-been the T-
 Tongue-Tying Curse Mad-Eye set up for Snape!

 Gingerly Harry took another step forward. Something shifted in the shadows at
 the end of the hall, and before any of them could say another word, a figure had risen up
 out of the carpet, tall, dust-colored, and terrible; Hermione screamed and so did Mrs.
 Black, her curtains flying open; the gray figure was gliding toward them, faster and faster,


 its waist-length hair and beard streaming behind it, its face sunken, fleshless, with empty
 eye sockets: Horribly familiar, dreadfully altered, it raised a wasted arm, pointing at
 Harry.

 No! Harry shouted, and though he had raised his wand no spell occurred to him.
 No! It wasnt us! We didnt kill you

 On the word kill, the figure exploded in a great cloud of dust: Coughing, his eyes
 watering, Harry looked around to see Hermione crouched on the floor by the door with
 her arms over her head, and Ron, who was shaking from head to foot, patting her
 clumsily on the shoulder and saying, Its all r-right. . . . Its g-gone. . . .

 Dust swirled around Harry like mist, catching the blue gaslight, as Mrs. Black
 continued to scream.

 Mudbloods, filth, stains of dishonor, taint of shame on the house of my fathers

 SHUT UP! Harry bellowed, directing his wand at her, and with a bang and a
 burst of red sparks, the curtains swung shut again, silencing her.

 That . . . that was . . .  Hermione whimpered, as Ron helped her to her feet.

 Yeah, said Harry, but it wasnt really him, was it? Just something to scare
 Snape.
 Had it worked, Harry wondered, or had Snape already blasted the horror-figure
 aside as casually as he had killed the real Dumbledore? Nerves still tingling, he led the
 other two up the hall, half-expecting some new terror to reveal itself, but nothing moved
 except for a mouse skittering along the skirting board.

 Before we go any farther, I think wed better check, whispered Hermione, and
 she raised her wand and said, Homenum revelio.

 Nothing happened.

 Well, youve just had a big shock, said Ron kindly. What was that supposed to
 do?

 It did what I meant it to do! said Hermione rather crossly. That was a spell to
 reveal human presence, and theres nobody here except us!
 And old Dusty, said Ron, glancing at the patch of carpet from which the corpse-
 figure had risen.

 Lets go up, said Hermione with a frightened look at the same spot, and she led
 the way up the creaking stairs to the drawing room on the first floor.

 Hermione waved her wand to ignite the old gas lamps, then, shivering slightly in
 the drafty room, she perched on the sofa, her arms wrapped tightly around her. Ron
 crossed to the window and moved the heavy velvet curtains aside an inch.

 Cant see anyone out there, he reported. And youd think, if Harry still had a
 Trace on him, theyd have followed us here. I know they cant get in the house, but
 whats up, Harry?

 Harry had given a cry of pain: His scar had burned against as something flashed
 across his mind like a bright light on water. He saw a large shadow and felt a fury that
 was not his own pound through his body, violent and brief as an electric shock.

 What did you see? Ron asked, advancing on Harry. Did you see him at my
 place?

 No, I just felt anger  hes really angry

 But that could be at the Burrow, said Ron loudly. What else? Didnt you see
 anything? Was he cursing someone?


 No, I just felt anger  I couldnt tell

 Harry felt badgered, confused, and Hermione did not help as she said in a
 frightened voice, Your scar, again? But whats going on? I thought that connection had
 closed!

 It did, for a while, muttered Harry; his scar was still painful, which made it hard
 to concentrate. I  I think its started opening again whenever he loses control, thats
 how it used to

 But then youve got to close your mind! said Hermione shrilly. Harry,
 Dumbledore didnt want you to use that connection, he wanted you to shut it down, thats
 why you were supposed to use Occlumency! Otherwise Voldemort can plant false images
 in your mind, remember

 Yeah, I do remember, thanks, said Harry through gritted teeth; he did not need
 Hermione to tell him that Voldemort had once used this selfsame connection between
 them to lead him into a trap, nor that it had resulted in Siriuss death. He wished that he
 had not told them what he had seen and felt; it made Voldemort more threatening, as
 though he were pressing against the window of the room, and still the pain in his scar was
 building and he fought it: It was like resisting the urge to be sick.

 He turned his back on Ron and Hermione, pretending to examine the old tapestry
 of the Black family tree on the wall. Then Hermione shrieked: Harry drew his wand again
 and spun around to see a silver Patronus soar through the drawing room window and land
 upon the floor in front of them, where it solidified into the weasel that spoke with the
 voice of Rons father.

 Family safe, do not reply, we are being watched.

 The Patronus dissolved into nothingness. Ron let out a noise between a whimper
 and a groan and dropped onto the sofa: Hermione joined him, gripping his arm.

 Theyre all right, theyre all right! she whispered, and Ron half laughed and
 hugged her.

 Harry, he said over Hermiones shoulder, I

 Its not a problem, said Harry, sickened by the pain in his head. Its your
 family, course you were worried. Id feel the same way. He thought of Ginny. I do feel
 the same way.

 The pain in his scar was reaching a peak, burning as it had back in the garden of
 the Burrow. Faintly he heard Hermione say I dont want to be on my own. Could we use
 the sleeping bags Ive brought and camp in here tonight?

 He heard Ron agree. He could not fight the pain much longer. He had to succumb.

 Bathroom, he muttered, and he left the room as fast as he could without running.

 He barely made it: Bolting the door behind him with trembling hands, he grasped
 his pounding head and fell to the floor, then in an explosion of agony, he felt the rage that
 did not belong to him possess his soul, saw a long room lit only by firelight, and the giant
 blond Death Eater on the floor, screaming and writhing, and a slighter figure standing
 over him, wand outstretched, while Harry spoke in a high, cold, merciless voice.

 More, Rowle, or shall we end it and feed you to Nagini? Lord Voldemort is not
 sure that he will forgive this time. . . . You called me back for this, to tell me that Harry
 Potter has escaped again? Draco, give Rowle another taste of our displeasure. . . . Do it,
 or feel my wrath yourself!


 A log fell in the fire: Flames reared, their light darting across a terrified, pointed
 white face  with a sense of emerging from deep water, Harry drew heaving breaths and
 opened his eyes.

 He was spread-eagled on the cold black marble floor, his nose inches from one of
 the silver serpent tails that supported the large bathtub. He sat up. Malfoys gaunt,
 petrified face seemed burned on the inside of his eyes. Harry felt sickened by what he had
 seen, by the use to which Draco was now being put by Voldemort.

 There was a sharp rap on the door, and Harry jumped as Hermiones voice rang
 out.

 Harry, do you want your toothbrush? Ive got it here.

 Yeah, great, thanks, he said, fighting to keep his voice casual as he stood up to
 let her in.



 Chapter Ten

 Kreachers Tale

 Harry woke early next morning, wrapped in a sleeping bag on the drawing room
 floor. A chink of sky was visible between the heavy curtains. It was the cool, clear blue
 of watered ink, somewhere between night and dawn, and everything was quiet except for
 Ron and Hermiones slow, deep breathing. Harry glanced over at the dark shapes they
 made on the floor beside him. Ron had had a fit of gallantry and insisted that Hermione
 sleep on the cushions from the sofa, so that her silhouette was raised above his. Her arm
 curved to the floor, her fingers inches from Rons. Harry wondered whether they had
 fallen asleep holding hands. The idea made him feel strangely lonely.

 He looked up at the shadowy ceiling, the cobwebbed chandelier. Less than
 twenty-four house ago, he had been standing in the sunlight at the entrance to the
 marquee, waiting to show in wedding guests. It seemed a lifetime away. What was going
 to happen now? He lay on the floor and he thought of the Horcruxes, of the daunting
 complex mission Dumbledore had left him Dumbledore

 The grief that had possessed him since Dumbledores death felt different now.
 The accusations he had heard from Muriel at the wedding seemed to have nested in his
 brain like diseased things, infecting his memories of the wizard he had idolized. Could
 Dumbledore have let such things happen? Had he been like Dudley, content to watch
 neglect and abuse as long as it did not affect him? Could he have turned his back on a
 sister who was being imprisoned and hidden?

 Harry thought of Godrics Hollow, of graves Dumbledore had never mentioned
 there; he thought of mysterious objects left without explanation in Dumbledores will,
 and resentment swelled in the darkness. Why hadnt Dumbledore told him? Why hadnt
 he explained? Had Dumbledore actually cared about Harry at all? Or had Harry been
 nothing more than a tool to be polished and honed, but not trusted, never confided in?

 Harry could not stand lying there with nothing but bitter thoughts for company.
 Desperate for something to do, for distraction, he slipped out of his sleeping bad, picked
 up his wand, and crept out of the room. On the landing he whispered, Lumos, and
 started to climb the stairs by wandlight.


 On the second landing was the bedroom in which he and Ron had slept last time
 they had been here; he glanced into it. The wardrobe doors stood open and the bedclothes
 had been ripped back. Harry remembered the overturned troll leg downstairs. Somebody
 had searched the house since the Order had left. Snape? Or perhaps Mundungus, who had
 pilfered plenty from this house both before and after Sirius died? Harrys gaze wandered
 to the portrait that sometimes contained Phineas Nigellus Black, Siriuss great-great
 grandfather, but it was empty, showing nothing but a stretch of muddy backdrop. Phineas
 Nigellus was evidently spending the night in the headmasters study at Hogwarts.

 Harry continued up the stairs until he reached the topmost landing where there
 were only two doors. The one facing him bore a nameplate reading Sirius. Harry had
 never entered his godfathers bedroom before. He pushed open the door, holding his
 wand high to cast light as widely as possible. The room was spacious and must once have
 been handsome. There was a large bed with a carved wooden headboard, a tall window
 obscured by long velvet curtains and a chandelier thickly coated in dust with candle
 scrubs still resting in its sockets, solid wax banging in frostlike drips. A fine film of dust
 covered the pictures on the walls and the beds headboard; a spiders web stretched
 between the chandelier and the top of the large wooden wardrobe, and as Harry moved
 deeper into the room, he head a scurrying of disturbed mice.

 The teenage Sirius had plastered the walls with so many posters and pictures that
 little of the walls silvery-gray silk was visible. Harry could only assume that Siriuss
 parents had been unable to remove the Permanent Sticking Charm that kept them on the
 wall because he was sure they would not have appreciated their eldest sons taste in
 decoration. Sirius seemed to have long gone out of his way to annoy his parents. There
 were several large Gryffindor banners, faded scarlet and gold just to underline his
 difference from all the rest of the Slytherin family. There were many pictures of Muggle
 motorcycles, and also (Harry had to admire Siriuss nerve) several posters of bikini-clad
 Muggle girls. Harry could tell that they were Muggles because they remained quite
 stationary within their pictures, faded smiles and glazed eyes frozen on the paper. This
 was in contrast the only Wizarding photograph on the walls which was a picture of four
 Hogwarts students standing arm in arm, laughing at the camera.

 With a leap of pleasure, Harry recognized his father, his untidy black hair stuck
 up at the back like Harrys, and he too wore glasses. Beside him was Sirius, carelessly
 handsome, his slightly arrogant face so much younger and happier than Harry had ever
 seen it alive. To Siriuss right stood Pettigrew, more than a head shorter, plump and
 watery-eyed, flushed with pleasure at his inclusion in this coolest of gangs, with the
 much-admired rebels that James and Sirius had been. On Jamess left was Lupin, even
 then a little shabby-looking, but he had the same air of delighted surprise at finding
 himself liked and included or was it simply because Harry knew how it had been, that he
 saw these things in the picture? He tried to take it from the wall; it was his now, after all,
 Sirius had left him everything, but it would not budge. Sirius had taken no chances in
 preventing his parents from redecorating his room.

 Harry looked around at the floor. The sky outside was growing brightest. A shaft
 of light revealed bits of paper, books, and small objects scattered over the carpet.
 Evidently Siriuss bedroom had been reached too, although its contents seemed to have
 been judged mostly, if not entirely, worthless. A few of the books had been shaken
 roughly enough to part company with the covers and sundry pages littered the floor.


 Harry bent down, picked up a few of the pieces of paper, and examined them. He
 recognized one as a part of an old edition of A History of Magic, by Bathilda Bagshot,
 and another as belonging to a motorcycle maintenance manual. The third was
 handwritten and crumpled. He smoothed it out.



 Dear Padfoot,

 Thank you, thank you, for Harrys birthday present! It was his favorite by
 far. One year old and already zooming along on a toy broomstick, he looked so pleased
 with himself. Im enclosing a picture so you can see. You know it only rises about two feet
 off the ground but he nearly killed the cat and he smashed a horrible vase Petunia sent
 me for Christmas (no complaints there). Of course James thought it was so funny, says
 hes going to be a great Quidditch player but weve had to pack away all the ornaments
 and make sure we dont take our eyes off him when he gets going.

 We had a very quiet birthday tea, just us and old Bathilda who has always been
 sweet to us and who dotes on Garry. We were so sorry you couldnt come, but the
 Orders got to come first, and Harrys not old enough to know its his birthday anyway!
 James is getting a bit frustrated shut up here, he tries not to show it but I can tell  also
 Dumbledores still got his Invisibility Cloak, so no chance of little excursions. If you
 could visit, it would cheer him up so much. Wormy was here last weekend. I thought he
 seemed down, but that was probably the next about the McKinnons; I cried all evening
 when I heard.

 Bathilda drops in most days, shes a fascinating old thing with the most amazing
 stories about Dumbledore. Im not sure hed be pleased if he knew! I dont know how
 much to believe, actually because it seems incredible that Dumbledore



 Harrys extremities seemed to have gone numb. He stood quite still, holding the
 miraculous paper in his nerveless fingers while inside him a kind of quiet eruptions sent
 joy and grief thundering its equal measure through his veins. Lurching to the bed, he sat
 down.

 He read the letter again, but could not take in any more meaning than he had done
 the first time, and was reduced to staring at the handwriting itself. She had made her gs
 the same way he did. He searched through the letter for every one of them, and each felt
 like a friendly little wave glimpsed from behind a veil. The letter was an incredible
 treasure, proof that Lily Potter had lived, really lived, that her warm hand had once
 moved across this parchment, tracing ink into these letters, these words, words about him,
 Harry, her son.

 Impatiently brushing away the wetness in his eyes, he reread the letter, this time
 concentrating on the meaning. It was like listening to a half-remembered voice.

 They had a cat perhaps it had perished, like his parents at Godrics Hollow or
 else fled when there was nobody left to feed it Sirius had bought him his first
 broomstick His parents had known Bathilda Bagshot; had Dumbledore introduced
 them? Dumbledores still got his Invisibility Cloak there was something funny there

 Harry paused, pondering his mothers words. Why had Dumbledore taken
 Jamess Invisibility Cloak? Harry distinctly remembered his headmaster telling him years
 before, I dont need a cloak to become invisible Perhaps some less gifted Order


 member had needed its assistance, and Dumbledore had acted as a carrier? Harry passed
 on

 Wormy was here Pettigrew, the traitor, had seemed down had he? Was he
 aware that he was seeing James and Lily alive for the last time?

 And finally Bathilda again, who told incredible stories about Dumbledore. It
 seems incredible that Dumbledore ---

 That Dumbledore what? But there were any number of things that would seem
 incredible about Dumbledore; that he had once received bottom marks in a
 Transfiguration test, for instance or had taken up goat charming like Aberforth

 Harry got to his feet and scanned the floor: Perhaps the rest of the letter was here
 somewhere. He seized papers, treating them in his eagerness, with as little consideration
 as the original searcher, he pulled open drawers, shook out books, stood on a chair to run
 his hand over the top of the wardrobe, and crawled under the bed and armchair.

 At last, lying facedown on the floor, he spotted what looked like a torn piece of
 paper under the chest of drawers. When he pulled it out, it proved to be most of the
 photograph that Lily had described in her letter. A black-haired baby was zooming in and
 out of the picture on a tiny broom, roaring with laughter, and a pair of legs that must have
 belonged to James was chasing after him. Harry tucked the photograph into his pocket
 with Lilys letter and continued to look for the second sheet.

 After another quarter of an hour, however he was forced to conclude that the rest
 of his mothers letter was gone. Had it simply been lost in the sixteen years that had
 elapsed since it had been written, or had it been taken by whoever had searched the
 room? Harry read the first sheet again, this time looking for clues as to what might have
 made the second sheet valuable. His toy broomstick could hardly be considered
 interesting to the Death Eaters The only potentially useful thing he could see her was
 possible information on Dumbledore. It seems incredible that Dumbledore  what?

 Harry? Harry? Harry!

 Im here! he called, Whats happened?

 There was a clatter of footsteps outside the door, and Hermione burst inside.

 We woke up and didnt know where you were! she said breathlessly. She turned
 and shouted over her shoulder, Ron! Ive found him

 Rons annoyed voice echoed distantly from several floors below.

 Good! Tell him from me hes a git!

 Harry dont just disappear, please, we were terrified! Why did you come up here
 anyway? She gazed around the ransacked room. What have you been doing?

 Look what Ive just found

 He held out his mothers letter. Hermione took it out and read it while Harry
 watched her. When she reached the end of the page she looked up at him.

 Oh Harry
 And theres this too

 He handed her the torn photograph, and Hermione smiled at the baby zooming in
 and out of sight on the toy broom.

 Ive been looking for the rest of the letter, Harry said, but its not here.

 Hermione glanced around.

 Did you make all this mess, or was some of it done when you got here?

 Someone had searched before me, said Harry.


 I thought so. Every room I looked into on the way up had been disturbed. What
 were they after, do you think?

 Information on the Order, if it was Snape.

 But youd think hed already have all he needed. I mean was in the Order, wasnt
 he?

 Well then, said Harry, keen to discuss his theory, what about information on
 Dumbledore? The second page of the letter, for instance. You know this Bathilda my
 mum mentions, you know who she is?

 Who?

 Bathilda Bagshot, the author of

 A History of Magic, said Hermione, looking interested. So your parents knew
 her? She was an incredible magic historian.

 And shes still alive, said Harry, and she lives in Godrics Hollow. Rons
 Auntie Muriel was talking about her at the wedding. She knew Dumbledores family too.
 Be pretty interesting to talk to, wouldnt she? There was a little too much understanding
 in the smile Hermione gave him for Harrys liking. He took back the letter and the
 photograph and tucked them inside the pouch around his neck, so as not to have to look at
 her and give himself away. I understand why youd love to talk to her about your mum
 and dad, and Dumbledore too, said Hermione. But that wouldnt really help us in our
 search for the Horcruxes, would it? Harry did not answer, and she rushed on, Harry, I
 know you really want to go to Godrics Hollow, but Im scared. Im scared at how easily
 those Death Eaters found us yesterday. It just makes me feel more than ever that we
 ought to avoid the place where your parents are buried, Im sure theyd be expecting you
 to visit it.

 Its not just that, Harry said, still avoiding looking at her, Muriel said stuff
 about Dumbledore at the wedding. I want to know the truth

 He told Hermione everything that Muriel had told him. When he had finished,
 Hermione said, Of course, I can see why thats upset you, Harry

 Im not upset, he lied, Id just like to know whether or not its true or

 Harry do you really think youll get the truth from a malicious old woman like
 Muriel, or from Rita Skeeter? How can you believe them? You knew Dumbledore!

 I thought I did, he muttered.

 But you know how much truth there was in everything Rita wrote about you!
 Doge is right, how can you let these people tarnish your memories of Dumbledore?

 He looked away, trying not to betray the resentment he felt. There it was again:
 Choose what to believe. He wanted the truth. Why was everybody so determined that he
 should not get it?

 Shall we go down to the kitchen? Hermione suggested after a little pause. Find
 something for breakfast?

 He agreed, but grudgingly, and followed her out onto the landing and past the
 second door that led off it. There were deep scratch marks in the paintwork below a small
 sign that he had not noticed in the dark. He passed at the top of the stairs to read it. It was
 a pompous little sign, neatly lettered by hand the sort of thing that Percy Weasley might
 have stuck on his bedroom door.



 Do Not Enter


 Without the Express Permission of

 Regulus Arcturus Black



 Excitement trickled through Harry, but he was not immediately sure why. He read the
 sign again. Hermione was already a flight of stairs below him.

 Hermione, he said, and he was surprised that his voice was so calm. Come
 back up here.

 Whats the matter?

 R.A.B. I think Ive found him.

 There was a gasp, and then Hermione ran back up the stairs.

 In your mums letter? But I didnt see

 Harry shook his head, pointing at Reguluss sign. She read it, then clutched
 Harrys arm so tightly that he winced.

 Siriuss brother? she whispered.

 He was a Death Eater, said Harry. Sirius told me about him, he joined up when
 he was really young and then got cold feet and tried to leave  so they killed him.

 That fits! gasped Hermione. If he was a Death Eater he had access to
 Voldemort, and if he became disenchanted, then he would have wanted to bring
 Voldemort down!

 She released Harry, leaned over the banister, and screamed, Ron! RON! Get up
 here, quick!

 Ron appeared, panting, a minute later, his wand ready in his hand.

 Whats up? If its massive spiders again I want breakfast before I

 He frowned at the sign on Reguluss door, in which Hermione was silently
 pointing.

 What? That was Siriuss brother, wasnt it? Regulus Arcturus  Regulus
 R.A.B.! The locket  you dont reckon -- ?

 Lets find out, said Harry. He pushed the door: It was locked. Hermione pointed
 her wand at the handle and said, Alohamora. There was a click, and the door swung
 open.

 They moved over the threshold together, gazing around. Reguluss bedroom was
 slightly smaller than Siriuss, though it had the same sense of former grandeur. Whereas
 Sirius had sought to advertise his diffidence from the rest of the family, Regulus had
 striven to emphasize the opposite. The Slytherin colors of emerald and silver were
 everywhere, draping the bed, the walls, and the windows. The Black family crest was
 painstakingly painted over the bed, along with its motto, TOUJOURS PUR. Beneath this
 was a collection of yellow newspaper cuttings, all stuck together to make a ragged
 collage. Hermione crossed the room to examine them.

 Theyre all about Voldemort, she said. Regulus seems to have been a fan for a
 few years before he joined the Death Eaters

 A little puff of dust rose from the bedcovers as she sat down to read the clippings.
 Harry, meanwhile, had noticed another photograph: a Hogwarts Quidditch team was
 smiling and waving out of the frame. He moved closer and saw the snakes emblazoned
 on their chests: Slytherins. Regulus was instantly recognizable as the boy sitting in the
 middle of the front row: He had the same dark hair and slightly haughty look of his
 brother, though he was smaller, slighter, and rather less handsome than Sirius had been.


 He played Seeker, said Harry.

 What? said Hermione vaguely; she was still immersed in Voldemorts press
 clippings.

 Hes sitting in the middle of the front row, thats where the Seeker  Never
 mind, said Harry, realizing that nobody was listening. Ron was on his hands and knees,
 searching under the wardrobe. Harry looked around the room for likely hiding places and
 approached the desk. Yet again, somebody had searched before them. The drawers
 contents had been turned over recently, the dust disturbed, but there was nothing of value
 there: old quills, out-of-date textbooks that bore evidence of being roughly handled, a
 recently smashed ink bottle, its sticky residue covering the contents of the drawer.

 Theres an easier way, said Hermione, as Harry wiped his inky fingers on his
 jeans. She raised her wand and said, Accio Locket!

 Nothing happened. Ron, who had been searching the folds of the faded curtains,
 looked disappointed.

 Is that it, then? Its not here?

 Oh, it could still be here, but under counter-enchantments, said Hermione.
 Charms to prevent it from being summoned magically, you know.

 Like Voldemort put on the stone basin in the cave, said Harry, remembering
 how he had been unable to Summon the fake locket.

 How are we supposed to find it then? asked Ron.

 We search manually, said Hermione.

 Thats a good idea, said Ron, rolling his eyes, and he resumed his examination
 of the curtains.

 They combed every inch of the room for more than an hour, but were forced,
 finally, to conclude that the locket was not there.

 The sun had risen now; its light dazzled them even through the grimy landing
 windows.

 It could be somewhere else in the house, though, said Hermione in a rallying
 tone as they walked back downstairs. As Harry and Ron had become more discouraged,
 she seemed to have become more determined. Whether hed manage to destroy it or not,
 hed want to keep it hidden from Voldemort, wouldnt he? Remember all those awful
 things we had to get rid of when we were here last time? That clock that shot bolts at
 everyone and those old robes that tried to strangle Ron; Regulus might have put them
 there to protect the lockets hiding place, even though we didnt realize it at  at

 Harry and Ron looked at her. She was standing with one foot in midair, with the
 dumbstruck look of one who had just been Obliviated: her eyes had even drifted out of
 focus.

  at the time, she finished in a whisper.

 Something wrong? asked Ron.

 There was a locket.

 What? said Harry and Ron together.

 In the cabinet in the drawing room. Nobody could open it. And we  we

 Harry felt as though a brick had slid down through his chest into his stomach. He
 remembered. He had even handled the thing as they passed it around, each trying in turn
 to pry it open. It had been tossed into a sack of rubbish, along with the snuffbox of
 Wartcap powder and the music box that had made everyone sleepy


 Kreacher nicked loads of things back from us, said Harry. It was the only
 chance, the only slender hope left to them, and he was going to cling to it until forced to
 let go. He had a whole stash of stuff in his cupboard in the kitchen. Cmon.

 He ran down the stairs taking two steps at a time, the other two thundering along
 in his wake. They made so much noise that they woke the portrait of Siriuss mother as
 they passed through the hall.

 Filth! Mudbloods! Scum! she screamed after them as they dashed down into the
 basement kitchen and slammed the door behind them. Harry ran the length of the room,
 skidded to a halt at the door of Kreachers cupboard, and wrenched it open. There was the
 nest of dirty old blankets in which the house-elf had once slept, but they were not longer
 glittering with the trinkets Kreacher had salvaged. The only thing there was an old copy
 of Natures Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy. Refusing to believe his eyes, Harry
 snatched up the blankets and shook them. A dead mouse fell out and rolled dismally
 across the floor. Ron groaned as he threw himself into a kitchen chair; Hermione closed
 her eyes.

 Its not over yet, said Harry, and he raised his voice and called, Kreacher!

 There was a loud crack and the house elf that Harry had so reluctantly inherited
 from Sirius appeared out of nowhere in front of the cold and empty fireplace: tiny, half
 human-sized, his pale skin hanging off him in folds, white hair sprouting copiously from
 his batlike ears. He was still wearing the filthy rag in which they had first met him, and
 the contemptuous look he bent upon Harry showed that his attitude to his change of
 ownership had altered no more than his outfit.

 Master, croaked Kreacher in his bullfrogs voice, and he bowed low; muttering
 to his knees, back in my Mistresss old house with the blood-traitor Weasley and the
 Mudblood

 I forbid you to call anyone blood traitor or Mudblood, growled Harry. He
 would have found Kreacher, with his snoutlike nose and bloodshot eyes, a distinctively
 unlovable object even if the elf had not betrayed Sirius to Voldemort.

 Ive got a question for you, said Harry, his heart beating rather fast as he looked
 down at the elf, and I order you to answer it truthfully. Understand?

 Yes, Master, said Kreacher, bowing low again. Harry saw his lips moving
 soundlessly, undoubtedly framing the insults he was now forbidden to utter.

 Two years ago, said Harry, his heart now hammering against his ribs, there
 was a big gold locket in the drawing room upstairs. We threw it out. Did you steal it
 back?

 There was a moments silence, during which Kreacher straightened up to look
 Harry full in the face. Then he said, Yes.

 Where is it now? asked Harry jubilantly as Ron and Hermione looked gleeful.

 Kreacher closed his eyes as though he could not bear to see their reactions to his
 next word.

 Gone.

 Gone? echoed Harry, elation floating out of him, What do you mean, its
 gone?

 The elf shivered. He swayed.

 Kreacher, said Harry fiercely, I order you


 Mundungus Fletcher, croaked the elf, his eyes still tight shut. Mundungus
 Fletcher stole it all; Miss Bellas and Miss Cissys pictures, my Mistresss gloves, the
 Order of Merlin, First Class, the goblets with the family crest, and  and

 Kreacher was gulping for air: His hollow chest was rising and falling rapidly, then
 his eyes flew open and he uttered a bloodcurdling scream.

 and the locket, Master Reguluss locket. Kreacher did wrong, Kreacher failed
 in his orders!

 Harry reacted instinctively: As Kreacher lunged for the poker standing in the grate,
 he launched himself upon the elf, flattening him. Hermiones scream mingled with
 Kreachers but Harry bellowed louder than both of them: Kreacher, I order you to stay
 still!

 He felt the elf freeze and released him. Kreacher lay flat on the cold stone floor,
 tears gushing from his sagging eyes.

 Harry, let him up! Hermione whispered.

 So he can beat himself up with the poker? snorted Harry, kneeling beside the elf.
 I dont think so. Right. Kreacher, I want the truth: How do you know Mundungus
 Fletcher stole the locket?

 Kreacher saw him! gasped the elf as tears poured over his snout and into his
 mouth full of graying teeth. Kreacher saw him coming out of Kreachers cupboard with
 his hands full of Kreachers treasures. Kreacher told the sneak thief to stop, but
 Mundungus Fletcher laughed and r-ran

 You called the locket Master Reguluss, said Harry. Why? Where did it
 come from? What did Regulus have to do with it? Kreacher, sit up and tell me everything
 you know about that locket, and everything Regulus had to do with it!

 The elf sat up, curled into a ball, placed his wet face between his knees, and began
 to rock backward and forward. When he spoke, his voice was muffled but quite distinct
 in the silent, echoing kitchen.

 Master Sirius ran away, good riddance, for he was a bad boy and broke my
 Mistresss heart with his lawless ways. But Master Regulus had proper order; he knew
 what was due to the name of Black and the dignity of his pure blood. For years he talked
 of the Dark Lord, who was going to bring the wizards out of hiding to rule the Muggles
 and the Muggle-borns  and when he was sixteen years old, Master Regulus joined the
 Dark Lord. So proud, so proud, so happy to serve

 And one day, a year after he joined, Master Regulus came down to the kitchen to
 see Kreacher. Master Regulus always liked Kreacher. And Master Regulus said  he
 said

 The old elf rocked faster than ever.

  he said that the Dark Lord required an elf.

 Voldemort needed an elf? Harry repeated, looking around at Ron and Hermione,
 who looked just as puzzled as he did.

 Oh yes, moaned Kreacher. And Master Regulus had volunteered Kreacher. It
 was an honor, said Master Regulus, an honor for him and for Kreacher, who must be sure
 to do whatever the Dark Lord ordered him to do  and then to c-come home.

 Kreacher rocked still faster, his breath coming in sobs.


 So Kreacher went to the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord did not tell Kreacher what
 they were to do, but took Kreacher with him to a cave beside the sea. And beyond the
 cave was a cavern, and in the cavern was a great black lake

 The hairs on the back of Harrys neck stood up. Kreachers croaking voice
 seemed to come to him from across the dark water. He saw what had happened as clearly
 as though he had been present.

  There was a boat

 Of course there had been a boat; Harry knew the boat, ghostly green and tiny,
 bewitched so as to carry one wizard and one victim toward the island in the center. This,
 then, was how Voldemort had tested the defenses surrounding the Horcrux, by borrowing
 a disposable creature, a house-elf

 There was a b-basin full of potion on the island. The D-Dark Lord made
 Kreacher drink it

 The elf quaked from head to foot.

 Kreacher drank, and as he drank he saw terrible thing  Kreachers insides
 burned  Kreacher cried for Master Regulus to save him, he cried for his Mistress Black,
 but the Dark Lord only laughed  He made Kreacher drink all the potion  He dropped
 a locket into the empty basin  He filled it with more potion.

 And then the Dark Lord sailed away, leaving Kreacher on the island

 Harry could see it happening. He watched Voldemorts white, snakelike face
 vanishing into darkness, those red eyes fixed pitilessly on the thrashing elf whose death
 would occur within minutes, whenever he succumbed to the desperate thirst that the
 burning poison caused its victim  But here, Harrys imagination could go no further,
 for he could not see how Kreacher had escaped.

 Kreacher needed water, he crawled to the islands edge and he drank from the
 black lake  and hands, dead hands, came out of the water and dragged Kreacher under
 the surface

 How did you get away? Harry asked, and he was not surprised to hear himself
 whispering.

 Kreacher raised his ugly head and looked Harry with his great, bloodshot eyes.

 Master Regulus told Kreacher to come back, he said.

 I know  but how did you escape the Inferi?

 Kreacher did not seem to understand.

 Master Regulus told Kreacher to come back, he repeated.

 I know, but

 Well, its obvious, isnt it, Harry? said Ron. He Disapparated!

 But  you couldnt Apparate in and out of that cave, said Harry, otherwise
 Dumbledore

 Elf magic isnt like wizards magic, is it? said Ron, I mean, they can Apparate
 and Disapparate in and out of Hogwarts when we cant.

 There was a silence as Harry digested this. How could Voldemort have made such
 a mistake? But even as he thought this, Hermione spoke, and her voice was icy.

 Of course, Voldemort would have considered the ways of house-elves far
 beneath his notice  It would never have occurred to him that they might have magic
 that he didnt.


 The house-elfs highest law is his Masters bidding, intoned Kreacher.
 Kreacher was told to come home, so Kreacher came home

 Well, then, you did what you were told, didnt you? said Hermione kindly.
 You didnt disobey orders at all!

 Kreacher shook his head, rocking as fast as ever.

 So what happened when you got back? Harry asked. What did Regulus say
 when you told him what happened?

 Master Regulus was very worried, very worried, croaked Kreacher. Master
 Regulus told Kreacher to stay hidden and not to leave the house. And then  it was a
 little while later  Master Regulus came to find Kreacher in his cupboard one night, and
 Master Regulus was strange, not as he usually was, disturbed in his mind, Kreacher could
 tell  and he asked Kreacher to take him to the cave, the cave where Kreacher had gone
 with the Dark Lord

 And so they had set off. Harry could visualize them quite clearly, the frightened
 old elf and the thin, dark Seeker who had so resembled Sirius  Kreacher knew how to
 open the concealed entrance to the underground cavern, knew how to raise the tiny boat:
 this time it was his beloved Regulus who sailed with him to the island with its basin of
 poison

 And he made you drink the poison? said Harry, disgusted.

 But Kreacher shook his head and wept. Hermiones hands leapt to her mouth: She
 seemed to have understood something.

 M-Master Regulus took from his pocket a locket like the one the Dark Lord
 had, said Kreacher, tears pouring down either side of his snoutlike nose. And he told
 Kreacher to take it and, when the basin was empty, to switch the lockets

 Kreachers sobs came in great rasps now; Harry had to concentrate hard to
 understand him.

 And he order  Kreacher to leave  without him. And he told Kreacher  to go
 home  and never to tell my Mistress  what he had done  but to destroy  the first
 locket. And he drank  all the potion  and Kreacher swapped the lockets  and watched
 as Master Regulus  was dragged beneath the water  and

 Oh, Kreacher! wailed Hermione, who was crying. She dropped to her knees
 beside the elf and tried to hug him. At once he was on his feet, cringing away from her,
 quite obviously repulsed.

 The Mudblood touched Kreacher, he will not allow it, what would his Mistress
 say?

 I told you not to call her Mudblood! snarled Harry, but the elf was already
 punishing himself. He fell to the ground and banged his forehead on the floor.

 Stop him  stop him! Hermione cried. Oh, dont you see now how sick it is,
 the way theyve got to obey?

 Kreacher  stop, stop! shouted Harry.

 The elf lay on the floor, panting and shivering, green mucus glistening around his
 snot, a bruise already blooming on his pallid forehead where he had struck himself, his
 eyes swollen and bloodshot and swimming in tears. Harry had never seen anything so
 pitiful.

 So you brought the locket home, he said relentlessly, for he was determined to
 know the full story. And you tried to destroy it?


 Nothing Kreacher did made any mark upon it, moaned the elf. Kreacher tried
 everything, everything he knew, but nothing, nothing would work  So many powerful
 spells upon the casing, Kreacher was sure the way to destroy it was to get inside it, but it
 would not open  Kreacher punished himself, he tried again, he punished himself, he
 tried again. Kreacher failed to obey orders, Kreacher could not destroy the locket! And
 his mistress was mad with grief, because Master Regulus had disappeared and Kreacher
 could not tell her what had happened, no, because Master Regulus had f-f-forbidden him
 to tell any of the f-f-family what happened in the c-cave

 Kreacher began to sob so hard that there were no more coherent words. Tears
 flowed down Hermiones cheeks as she watched Kreacher, but she did not dare touch
 him again. Even Ron, who was no fan of Kreachers, looked troubled. Harry sat back on
 his heels and shook his head, trying to clear it.

 I dont understand you, Kreacher, he said finally. Voldemort tried to kill you,
 Regulus died to bring Voldemort down, but you were still happy to betray Sirius to
 Voldemort? You were happy to go to Narcissa and Bellatrix, and pass information to
 Voldemort through them

 Harry, Kreacher doesnt think like that, said Hermione, wiping her eyes on the
 back of her hand. Hes a slave; house-elves are used to bad, even brutal treatment; what
 Voldemort did to Kreacher wasnt that far out of the common way. What do wizard wars
 mean to an elf like Kreacher? Hes loyal to people who are kind to him, and Mrs. Black
 must have been, and Regulus certainly was, so he served them willingly and parroted
 their beliefs. I know what youre going to say, she went on as Harry began to protest,
 that Regulus changed his mind  but he doesnt seem to have explained that to
 Kreacher, does he? And I think I know why. Kreacher and Reguluss family were all
 safest if they kept to the old pure-blood line. Regulus was trying to protect them all.

 Sirius

 Sirius was horrible to Kreacher, Harry, and its no good looking like that, you
 know its true. Kreacher had been alone for such a long time when Sirius came to live
 here, and he was probably starving for a bit of affection. Im sure Miss Cissy and Miss
 Bella were perfectly lovely to Kreacher when he turned up, so he did them a favor and
 told them everything they wanted to know. Ive said all along that wizards would pay for
 how they treat house-elves. Well, Voldemort did  and so did Sirius.

 Harry had no retort. As he watched Kreacher sobbing on the floor, he
 remembered what Dumbledore had said to him, mere hours after Siriuss death: I do not
 think Sirius ever saw Kreacher as a being with feelings as acute as a humans

 Kreacher, said Harry after a while, when you feel up to it, er  please sit up.

 It was several minutes before Kreacher hiccupped himself into silence. Then he
 pushed himself into a sitting position again, rubbing his knuckles into his eyes like a
 small child.

 Kreacher, I am going to ask you to do something, said Harry. He glanced at
 Hermione for assistance. He wanted to give the order kindly, but at the same time, he
 could not pretend that it was not an order. However, the change in his tone seemed to
 have gained her approval: She smiled encouragingly.

 Kreacher, I want you, please, to go and find Mundungus Fletcher. We need to
 find out where the locket  where Master Reguluss locket it. Its really important. We


 want to finish the work Master Regulus started, we want to  er  ensure that he didnt
 die in vain.

 Kreacher dropped his fists and looked up at Harry.

 Find Mundungus Fletcher? he croaked.

 And bring him here, to Grimmauld Place, said Harry. Do you think you could
 do that for us?

 As Kreacher nodded and got to his feet, Harry had a sudden inspiration. He pulled
 out Hagrids purse and took out the fake Horcrux, the substitute locket in which Regulus
 had placed the note to Voldemort.

 Kreacher, Id, er, like you to have this, he said, pressing the locket into the elfs
 hand. This belonged to Regulus and Im sure hed want you to have it as a token of
 gratitude for what you

 Overkill, mate, said Ron as the elf took one look at the locket, let out a howl of
 shock and misery, and threw himself back onto the ground.

 It took them nearly half an hour to calm down Kreacher, who was so overcome to
 be presented with a Black family heirloom for his very own that he was too weak at the
 knees to stand properly. When finally he was able to totter a few steps they all
 accompanied him to his cupboard, watched him tuck up the locket safely in his dirty
 blankets, and assured him that they would make its protection their first priority while he
 was away. He then made two low bows to Harry and Ron, and even gave a funny little
 spasm in Hermiones direction that might have been an attempt at a respectful salute,
 before Disapparating with the usual loud crack.



 Chapter Eleven

 The Bribe



 If Kreacher could escape a lake full of Inferi, Harry was confident that the capture
 of Mundungus would take a few hours at most, and he prowled the house all morning in a
 state of high anticipation. However, Kreacher did not return that morning or even that
 afternoon. By nightfall, Harry felt discouraged and anxious, and a supper composed
 largely of moldy bread, upon which Hermione had tried a variety of unsuccessful
 Transfigurations, did nothing to help.

 Kreacher did not return the following day, nor the day after that. However, two
 cloaked men had appeared in the square outside number twelve, and they remained there
 into the night, gazing in the direction of the house that they could not see.

 Death Eaters, for sure, said Ron, as he, Harry, and Hermione watched from the
 drawing room windows. Reckon they know were in here?

 I dont think so, said Hermione, though she looked frightened, or theyd have
 sent Snape in after us, wouldnt they?

 Dyou reckon hes been in here and has his tongue tied by Moodys curse?
 asked Ron.

 Yes, said Hermione, otherwise hed have been able to tell that lot how to get in,
 wouldnt he? But theyre probably watching to see whether we turn up. They know that
 Harry owns the house, after all.


 How do they --? began Harry.

 Wizarding wills are examined by the Ministry, remember? Theyll know Sirius
 left you the place.

 The presence of the Death Eaters outside increased the ominous mood inside
 number twelve. They had not heard a word form anyone beyond Grimmauld Place since
 Mr. Weasleys Patronus, and the strain was starting to tell. Restless and irritable, Ron had
 developed an annoying habit of playing with the Deluminator in his pocket; This
 particularly infuriated Hermione, who was whiling away the wait for Kreacher by
 studying The Tales of Beedle the Bard and did not appreciate the way the lights kept
 flashing on and off.

 Will you stop it! she cried on the third evening of Kreachers absence, as all the
 light was sucked from the drawing room yet again.

 Sorry, sorry! said Ron, clicking the Deluminator and restoring the lights. I
 dont know Im doing it!

 Well, cant you find something useful to occupy yourself?

 What, like reading kids stories?

 Dumbledore left me this book, Ron

 and he left me the Deluminator, maybe Im supposed to use it!

 Unable to stand the bickering, Harry slipped out of the room unnoticed by either
 of them. He headed downstairs toward the kitchen, which he kept visiting because he was
 sure that was where Kreacher was most likely to reappear. Halfway down the flight of
 stairs into the hall, however, he heard a tap on the front door, then metallic clicks and the
 grinding of the chain.

 Every nerve in his body seemed to tauten: He pulled out his wand, moved into the
 shadows beside the decapitated elf heads, and waited. The door opened: He saw a
 glimpse of the lamplit square outside, and a cloaked figure edged into the hall and closed
 the door behind it. The intruder took a step forward, and Moodys voice asked, Severus
 Snape? Then the dust figure rose from the end of the hall and rushed him, raising its
 dead hand.

 It was not I who killed you, Albus, said a quiet voice.

 The jinx broke: The dust-figure exploded again, and it was impossible to make
 out the newcomer through the dense gray cloud it left behind.

 Harry pointed the wand into the middle of it.

 Dont move!

 He had forgotten the portrait of Mrs. Black: At the sound of his yell, the curtains
 hiding her flew open and she began to scream, Mudbloods and filth dishonoring my
 house

 Ron and Hermione came crashing down the stairs behind Harry, wands pointing,
 like his, at the unknown man now standing with his arms raised in the hall below.

 Hold your fire, its me, Remus!

 Oh, thank goodness, said Hermione weakly, pointing her wand at Mrs. Black
 instead; with a bang, the curtains swished shut again and silence fell. Ron too lowered his
 wand, but Harry did not.

 Show yourself! he called back.

 Lupin moved forward into the lamplight, hands still held high in a gesture of
 surrender.


 I am Remus John Lupin, werewolf, sometimes known as Moony, one of the four
 creators of the Marauders Map, married to Nymphadora, usually known as Tonks, and I
 taught you how to produce a Patronus, Harry, which takes the form of a stag.

 Oh, all right, said Harry, lowering his wand, but I had to check, didnt I?

 Speaking as your ex-Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, I quite agree that
 you had to check. Ron, Hermione, you shouldnt be so quick to lower your defenses.

 They ran down the stairs towards him. Wrapped in a thick black traveling cloak,
 he looked exhausted, but pleased to see them.

 No sign of Severus, then? he asked.

 No, said Harry. Whats going on? Is everyone okay?

 Yes, said Lupin, but were all being watched. There are a couple of Death
 Eaters in the square outside

 We know

 I had to Apparate very precisely onto the top step outside the front door to be
 sure that they would not see me. They cant know youre in here or Im sure theyd have
 more people out there; theyre staking out everywhere thats got any connection with you,
 Harry. Lets go downstairs, theres a lot to tell you, and I want to know what happened
 after you left the Burrow.

 They descended into the kitchen, where Hermione pointed her wand at the grate.
 A fire sprang up instantly: It gave the illusion of coziness to the stark stone walls and
 glistened off the long wooden table. Lupin pulled a few butterbeers from beneath his
 traveling cloak and they sat down.

 Id have been here three days ago but I needed to shake off the Death Eater
 tailing me, said Lupin. So, you came straight here after the wedding?

 No, said Harry, only after we ran into a couple of Death Eaters in a caf on
 Tottenham Court Road.

 Lupin slopped most of his butterbeer down his front.

 What?

 They explained what had happened; when they had finished, Lupin looked aghast.

 But how did they find you so quickly? Its impossible to track anyone who
 Apparates, unless you grab hold of them as they disappear.

 And it doesnt seem likely they were just strolling down Tottenham Court Road
 at the time, does it? said Harry.

 We wondered, said Hermione tentatively, whether Harry could still have the
 Trace on him?

 Impossible, said Lupin. Ron looked smug, and Harry felt hugely relieved.
 Apart from anything else, theyd know for sure Harry was here if he still had the Trace
 on him, wouldnt they? But I cant see how they could have tracked you to Tottenham
 Court Road, thats worrying, really worrying.

 He looked disturbed, but as far as Harry was concerned, that question could wait.

 Tell us what happened after we left, we havent heard a thing since Rons dad
 told us the family was safe.

 Well, Kingsley saved us, said Lupin. Thanks to his warning most of the
 wedding guests were able to Disapparate before they arrived.

 Were they Death Eaters or Ministry people? interjected Hermione.


 A mixture; but to all intents and purposes theyre the same thing now, said
 Lupin. There were about a dozen of them, but they didnt know you were there, Harry.
 Arthur heard a rumor that they tried to torture your whereabouts out of Scrimgeour before
 they killed him; if its true, he didnt give you away.

 Harry looked at Ron and Hermione; their expressions reflected the mingled shock
 and gratitude he felt. He had never liked Scrimgeour much, but if what Lupin said was
 true, the mans final act had been to try to protect Harry.

 The Death Eaters searched the Burrow from top to bottom, Lupin went on.
 They found the ghoul, but didnt want to get too close  and then they interrogated those
 of us who remained for hours. They were trying to get information on you, Harry, but of
 course nobody apart from the Order knew that you had been there.

 At the same time that they were smashing up the wedding, more Death Eaters
 were forcing their way into every Order-connected house in the country. No deaths, he
 added quickly, forestalling the question, but they were rough. They burned down
 Dedalus Diggles house, but as you know he wasnt there, and they used the Cruciarus
 Curse on Tonkss family. Again, trying to find out where you went after you visited them.
 Theyre all right  shaken, obviously, but otherwise okay.

 The Death Eaters got through all those protective charms?

 Harry asked, remembering how effective these had been on the night he had
 crashed in Tonkss parents garden.

 What youve got to realize, Harry, is that the Death Eaters have got the full
 might of the Ministry on their side now, said Lupin. Theyve got the power to perform
 brutal spells without fear of identification or arrest. They managed to penetrate every
 defensive spell wed cast against them, and once inside, they were completely open about
 why theyd come.

 And are they bothering to give an excuse for torturing Harrys whereabouts out
 of people? asked Hermione, an edge to her voice.

 Well, Lupin said. He hesitated, then pulled out a folded copy of the Daily
 Prophet.

 Here, he said, pushing it across the table to Harry, youll know sooner or later
 anyway. Thats their pretext for going after you.

 Harry smoothed out the paper. A huge photograph of his own face filled the front
 page. He read the headline over it:



 WANTED FOR QUESTIONING ABOUT

 THE DEATH OF ALBUS DUMBLEDORE



 Ron and Hermione gave roars of outrage, but Harry said nothing. He pushed the
 newspaper away; he did not want to read anymore: He knew what it would say. Nobody
 but those who had been on top of the tower when Dumbledore died knew who had really
 killed him and, as Rita Skeeter had already told the Wizarding world, Harry had been
 seen running from the place moments after Dumbledore had fallen.

 Im sorry, Harry, Lupin said.

 So Death Eaters have taken over the Daily Prophet too? asked Hermione
 furiously.

 Lupin nodded.


 But surely people realize whats going on?

 The coup has been smooth and virtually silent, said Lupin.

 The official version of Scrimgeours murder is that he resigned; he has been
 replaced by Pius Thicknesse, who is under the Imperius Curse.

 Why didnt Voldemort declare himself Minister of Magic? asked Ron.

 Lupin laughed.

 He doesnt need to, Ron. Effectively, he is the Minister, but why should he sit
 behind a desk at the Ministry? His puppet, Thicknesse, is taking care of everyday
 business, leaving Voldemort free to extend his power beyond the Ministry.

 Naturally many people have deduced what has happened: There has been such a
 dramatic change in Ministry policy in the last few days, and many are whispering that
 Voldemort must be behind it. However, that is the point: They whisper. They darent
 confide in each other, not knowing whom to trust; they are scared to speak out, in case
 their suspicions are true and their families are targeted. Yes, Voldemort is playing a very
 clever game. Declaring himself might have provoked open rebellion: Remaining masked
 has created confusion, uncertainty, and fear.

 And this dramatic change in Ministry policy, said Harry, involves warning the
 Wizarding world against me instead of Voldemort?

 Thats certainly a part of it, said Lupin, and it is a masterstroke. Now that
 Dumbledore is dead, you  the Boy Who Lived  were sure to be the symbol and rallying
 point for any resistance to Voldemort. But by suggesting that you had a hand in the old
 hats death, Voldemort has not only set a price upon your head, but sown doubt and fear
 amongst many who would have defended you.

 Meanwhile, the Ministry has started moving against Muggle-borns.

 Lupin pointed at the Daily Prophet.

 Look at page two.

 Hermione turned the pages with much the same expression of distaste she had
 when handling Secrets of the Darkest Art.

 Muggle-born Register! she read aloud. The Ministry of Magic is undertaking
 a survey of so-called Muggle-borns the better to understand how they came to possess
 magical secrets.

 Recent research undertaken by the Department of Mysteries reveals that magic
 can only be passed from person to person when Wizards reproduce. Where no proven
 Wizarding ancestry exists, therefore, the so-called Muggle-born is likely to have obtained
 magical power by theft or force.

 The Ministry is determined to root out such usurpers of magical power, and to
 this end has issued an invitation to every so-called Muggle-born to present themselves for
 interview by the newly appointed Muggle-born Registration Commission.

 People wont let this happen, said Ron.

 It is happening, Ron, said Lupin. Muggle-borns are being rounded up as we
 speak.

 But how are they supposed to have stolen magic? said Ron. Its mental, if
 you could steal magic there wouldnt be any Squibs, would there?

 I know, said Lupin. Nevertheless, unless you can prove that you have at least
 one close Wizarding relative, you are now deemed to have obtained your magical power
 illegally and must suffer the punishment.


 Ron glanced at Hermione, then said, What if purebloods and halfbloods swear a
 Muggle-borns part of their family? Ill tell everyone Hermiones my cousin

 Hermione covered Rons hand with hers and squeezed it.

 Thank you, Ron, but I couldnt let you

 You wont have a choice, said Ron fiercely, gripping her hand back. Ill teach
 you my family tree so you can answer questions on it.

 Hermione gave a shaky laugh.

 Ron, as were on the run with Harry Potter, the most wanted person in the
 country, I dont think it matters. If I was going back to school it would be different.
 Whats Voldemort planning for Hogwarts? she asked Lupin.

 Attendance is now compulsory for every young witch and wizard, he replied.
 That was announced yesterday. Its a change, because it was never obligatory before. Of
 course, nearly every witch and wizard in Britain has been educated at Hogwarts, but their
 parents had the right to teach them at home or send them abroad if they preferred. This
 way, Voldemort will have the whole Wizarding population under his eye from a young
 age. And its also another way of weeding out Muggle-borns, because students must be
 given Blood Status  meaning that they have proven to the Ministry that they are of
 Wizard descent  before they are allowed to attend.

 Harry felt sickened and angry: At this moment, excited eleven-year-olds would be
 poring over stacks of newly purchased spell-books, unaware that they would never see
 Hogwarts, perhaps never see their families again either.

 Its . . . its . . . he muttered, struggling to find words that did justice to the
 horror of his thoughts, but Lupin said quietly,

 I know.

 Lupin hesitated.

 Ill understand if you cant confirm this, Harry, but the Order is under the
 impression that Dumbledore left you a mission.

 He did, Harry replied, and Ron and Hermione are in on it and theyre coming
 with me.

 Can you confide in me what the mission is?

 Harry looked into the prematurely lined face, framed in thick but graying hair,
 and wished that he could return a different answer.

 I cant, Remus, Im sorry. If Dumbledore didnt tell you I dont think I can.

 I thought youd say that, said Lupin, looking disappointed. But I might still be
 of some use to you. You know what I am and what I can do. I could come with you to
 provide protection. There would be no need to tell me exactly what you were up to.

 Harry hesitated. It was a very tempting offer, though how they would be able to
 keep their mission secret from Lupin if he were with them all the time he could not
 imagine.

 Hermione, however, looked puzzled.

 But what about Tonks? she asked.

 What about her? said Lupin.

 Well, said Hermione, frowning, youre married! How does she feel about you
 going away with us?

 Tonks will be perfectly safe, said Lupin, Shell be at her parents house.


 There was something strange in Lupins tone, it was almost cold. There was also
 something odd in the idea of Tonks remaining hidden at her parents house; she was, after
 all, a member of the Order and, as far as Harry knew, was likely to want to be in the thick
 of the action.

 Remus, said Hermione tentatively, is everything all right . . . you know . . .
 between you and

 Everything is fine, thank you, said Lupin pointedly.

 Hermione turned pink. There was another pause, an awkward and embarrassed
 one, and then Lupin said, with an air of forcing himself to admit something unpleasant,
 Tonks is going to have a baby.

 Oh, how wonderful! squealed Hermione.

 Excellent! said Ron enthusiastically.

 Congratulations, said Harry.

 Lupin gave an artificial smile that was more like a grimace, then said, So . . . do
 you accept my offer? Will three become four? I cannot believe that Dumbledore would
 have disapproved, he appointed me your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, after all.
 And I must tell you that I believe we are facing magic many of us have never
 encountered or imagined.

 Ron and Hermione both looked at Harry.

 Just  just to be clear, he said. You want to leave Tonks at her parents house
 and come away with us?

 Shell be perfectly safe there, theyll look after her, said Lupin. He spoke with a
 finality bordering on indifference: Harry, Im sure James would have wanted me to stick
 with you.

 Well, said Harry slowly, Im not. Im pretty sure my father would have wanted
 to know why you arent sticking with your own kid, actually.

 Lupins face drained of color. The temperature in the kitchen might have dropped
 ten degrees. Ron stared around the room as though he had been bidden to memorize it,
 while Hermiones eyes swiveled backward and forward from Harry to Lupin.

 You dont understand, said Lupin at last.

 Explain, then, said Harry.

 Lupin swallowed.

 I  I made a grave mistake in marrying Tonks. I did it against my better
 judgment and have regretted it very much every since.

 I see, said Harry, so youre just going to dump her and the kid and run off with
 us?

 Lupin sprang to his feet: His chair toppled over backward, and he glared at them
 so fiercely that Harry saw, for the first time ever, she shadow of the wolf upon his human
 face.

 Dont you understand what Ive done to my wife and my unborn child? I should
 never have married her, Ive made her an outcast!

 Lupin kicked aside the chair he had overturned.

 You have only ever seen me amongst the Order, or under Dumbledores
 protection at Hogwarts! You dont know how most of the Wizarding world sees creatures
 like me! When they know of my affliction, they can barely talk to me! Dont you see
 what Ive done?


 Even her own family is disgusted by our marriage, what parents want their only
 daughter to marry a werewolf? And the child  the child

 Lupin actually seized handfuls of his own hair; he looked quite deranged.

 My kind dont usually breed! It will be like me, I am convinced of it  how can I
 forgive myself, when I knowingly risked passing on my own condition to an innocent
 child? And if, by some miracle, it is not like me, then it will be better off, a hundred times
 so, without a father of whom it must always be ashamed!

 Remus! whispered Hermione, tears in her eyes. Dont say that  how could
 any child be ashamed of you?

 Oh, I dont know, Hermione, said Harry. Id be pretty ashamed of him.

 Harry did not know where his rage was coming from, but it had propelled him to
 his feet too. Lupin looked as though Harry had hit him.

 If the new regime thinks Muggle-borns are bad, Harry said, what will they do
 to a half-werewolf whose fathers in the Order? My father died trying to protect my
 mother and me, and you reckon hed tell you to abandon your kid to go on an adventure
 with us?

 How  how dare you? said Lupin. This is not about a desire for  for danger or
 personal glory  how dare you suggest such a

 I think youre feeling a bit of a daredevil, Harry said, You fancy stepping into
 Siriuss shoes

 Harry, no! Hermione begged him, but he continued to glare into Lupins livid
 face.

 Id never have believed this, Harry said. The man who taught me to fight
 dementors  a coward.

 Lupin drew his wand so fast that Harry had barely reached for his own; there was
 a loud bang and he felt himself flying backward as if punched; as he slammed into the
 kitchen wall and slid to the floor, he glimpsed the tail of Lupins cloak disappearing
 around the door.

 Remus, Remus, come back! Hermione cried, but Lupin did not respond. A
 moment later they heard the front door slam.

 Harry! wailed Hermione. How could you?

 It was easy, said Harry. He stood up, he could feel a lump swelling where his
 head had hit the wall. He was still so full of anger he was shaking.

 Dont look at me like that! he snapped at Hermione.

 Dont you start on her! snarled Ron.

 No  no  we mustnt fight! said Hermione, launching herself between them.

 You shouldnt have said that stuff to Lupin, Ron told Harry.

 He had it coming to him, said Harry. Broken images were racing each other
 through his mind: Sirius falling through the veil; Dumbledore suspended, broken, in
 midair; a flash of green light and his mothers voice, begging for mercy . . .

 Parents, said Harry, shouldnt leave their kids unless  unless theyve got to.

 Harry  said Hermione, stretching out a consoling hand, but he shrugged it off
 and walked away, his eyes on the fire Hermione had conjured. He had once spoken to
 Lupin out of that fireplace, seeking reassurance about James, and Lupin had consoled
 him. Now Lupins tortured white face seemed to swim in the air before him. He felt a


 sickening surge of remorse. Neither Ron nor Hermione spoke, but Harry felt sure that
 they were looking at each other behind his back, communicating silently.

 He turned around and caught them turning hurriedly away form each other.

 I know I shouldnt have called him a coward.

 No, you shouldnt, said Ron at once.

 But hes acting like one.

 All the same . . . said Hermione.

 I know, said Harry. But if it makes him go back to Tonks, itll be worth it,
 wont it?

 He could not keep the plea out of his voice. Hermione looked sympathetic, Ron
 uncertain. Harry looked down at his feet, thinking of his father. Would James have
 backed Harry in what he had said to Lupin, or would he have been angry at how his son
 had treated his old friend?

 The silent kitchen seemed to hum with the shock of the recent scene and with Ron
 and Hermiones unspoken reproaches. The Daily Prophet Lupin had brought was still
 lying on the table, Harrys own face staring up at the ceiling from the front page. He
 walked over to it and sat down, opened the paper at random, and pretended to read. He
 could not take in the words; his mind was still too full of the encounter with Lupin. He
 was sure that Ron and Hermione had resumed their silent communications on the other
 side of the Prophet. He turned a page loudly, and Dumbledores name leapt out at him. It
 was a moment or two before he took in the meaning of the photograph, which showed a
 family group. Beneath the photograph were the words: The Dumbledore family, left to
 right: Albus; Percival, holding newborn Ariana; Kendra, and Aberforth.

 His attention caught, Harry examined the picture more carefully. Dumbledores
 father, Percival, was a good-looking man with eyes that seemed to twinkle even in this
 faded old photograph. The baby, Ariana, was a little longer than a loaf of bread and no
 more distinctive-looking. The mother, Kendra, had jet black hair pulled into a high bun.
 Her face had a carved quality about it. Harry thought of photos of Native Americans hed
 seen as he studied her dark eyes, high cheekbones, and straight nose, formally composed
 above a high-necked silk gown. Albus and Aberforth wore matching lacy collared jackets
 and had identical, shoulder-length hairstyles. Albus looked several years older, but
 otherwise the two boys looked very alike, for this was before Albuss nose had been
 broken and before he started wearing glasses.

 The family looked quite happy and normal, smiling serenely up out of the
 newspaper. Baby Arianas arm waved vaguely out of her shawl. Harry looked above the
 picture and saw the headline:



 EXCLUSIVE EXTRACT FROM UPCOMING

 BIOGRAPHY OF ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

 by Rita Skeeter



 Thinking it could hardly make him feel any worse than he already did, Harry
 began to read:




 Proud and haughty, Kendra Dumbledore could not bear to remain in Mould-on-the-
 Wold after her husband Percivals well-publicized arrest and imprisonment in
 Azkaban. She therefore decided to uproot the family and relocate to Godrics Hollow,
 the village that was later to gain fame as the scene of Harry Potters strange escape
 from You-Know-Who.

 Like Mould-on-the-Wold, Godrics Hollow was home to a number of Wizarding
 families, but as Kendra knew none of them, she would be spared the curiosity about
 her husbands crime she had faced in her former village. By repeatedly rebuffing the
 friendly advances of her new Wizarding neighbors, she soon ensured that her family
 was left well alone.

 Slammed the door in my face when I went around to welcome her with a batch
 of homemade Cauldron Cakes, says Bathilda Bagshot. The first year they were
 there I only ever saw the two boys. Wouldnt have known there was a daughter if I
 hadnt been picking Plangentines by moonlight the winter after they moved in, and
 saw Kendra leading Ariana out into the back garden. Walked her round the lawn once,
 keeping a firm grip on her, then took her back inside. Didnt know what to make of
 it.

 It seems that Kendra thought the move to Godrics Hollow was the perfect
 opportunity to hide Ariana once and for all, something she had probably been
 planning for years. The timing was significant. Ariana was barely seven years old
 when she vanished from sight, and seven is the age by which most experts agree that
 magic will have revealed itself, if present. Nobody now alive remembers Ariana ever
 demonstrating even the slightest sign of magical ability. It seems clear, therefore, that
 Kendra made a decision to hide her daughters existence rather than suffer the shame
 of admitting that she had produced a Squib. Moving away from the friends and
 neighbors who knew Ariana would, of course, make imprisoning her all the easier.
 The tiny number of people who henceforth knew of Arianas existence could be
 counted upon to keep the secret, including her two brothers, who had deflected
 awkward questions with the answer their mother had taught them. My sister is too
 frail for school.

 Next week: Albus Dumbledore at Hogwarts  the Prizes and the Pretense.



 Harry had been wrong: What he had read had indeed made him feel worse. He
 looked back at the photograph of the apparently happy family. Was it true? How could he
 find out? He wanted to go to Godrics Hollow, even if Bathilda was in no fit state to talk
 to him: he wanted to visit the place where he and Dumbledore had both lost loved ones.
 He was in the process of lowering the newspaper, to ask Rons and Hermiones opinions,
 when a deafening crack echoed around the kitchen.

 For the first time in three days Harry had forgotten all about Kreacher. His
 immediate thought was that Lupin had burst back into the room, and for a split second, he
 did not take in the mass of struggling limbs that had appeared out of thin air right beside
 his chair. He hurried to his feet as Kreacher disentangled himself and, bowing low to
 Harry, croaked, Kreacher has returned with the thief Mundungus Fletcher, Master.

 Mundungus scrambled up and pulled out his wand; Hermione, however, was too
 quick for him.

 Expelliarmus!


 Mundunguss wand soared into the air, and Hermione caught it. Wild-eyed,
 Mundungus dived for the stairs. Ron rugby-tackled him and Mundungus hit the stone
 floor with a muffled crunch.

 What? he bellowed, writhing in his attempts to free himself from Rons grip.
 Whave I done? Setting a bleedin house-elf on me, what are you playing at, whave I
 done, lemme go, lemme go, of

 Youre not in much of a position to make threats, said Harry. He threw aside
 the newspaper, crossed the kitchen in a few strides, and dropped to his knees beside
 Mundungus, who stopped struggling and looked terrified. Ron got up, panting, and
 watched as Harry pointed his wand deliberately at Mundunguss nose. Mundungus stank
 of stale sweat and tobacco smoke. His hair was matted and his robes stained.

 Kreacher apologizes for the delay in bringing the thief, Master, croaked the elf.
 Fletcher knows how to avoid capture, has many hidey-holes and accomplices.
 Nevertheless, Kreacher cornered the thief in the end.

 Youve done really well, Kreacher, said Harry, and the elf bowed low.

 Right, weve got a few questions for you, Harry told Mundungus, who shouted
 at once.

 I panicked, okay? I never wanted to come along, no offense, mate, but I never
 volunteered to die for you, an that was bleedin You-Know-Who come flying at me,
 anyone woulda got outta there. I said all along I didnt wanna do it

 For your information, none of the rest of us Disapparated, said Hermione.

 Well, youre a bunch of bleedin eroes then, arent you, but I never pretended I
 was up for killing meself

 Were not interested in why you ran out on Mad-Eye, said Harry, moving his
 wand a little closer to Mundunguss baggy, bloodshot eyes. We already knew you were
 an unreliable bit of scum.

 Well then, why the ell am I being unted down by ouse-elves? Or is this about
 them goblets again? I aint got none of em left, or you could ave em

 Its not about the goblets either, although youre getting warmer, said Harry.
 Shut up and listen.

 It felt wonderful to have something to do, someone of whom he could demand
 some small portion of truth. Harrys wand was now so close to the bridge of
 Mundunguss nose that Mundungus had gone cross-eyed trying to keep it in view.

 When you cleaned out this house of anything valuable, Harry began, but
 Mundungus interrupted him again.

 Sirius never cared about any of the junk

 There was the sound of pattering fee, a blaze of shining copper, an echoing clang,
 and a shriek of agony; Kreacher had taken a run at Mundungus and hit him over the head
 with a saucepan.

 Call im off, call im off, e should be locked up! screamed Mundungus,
 cowering as Kreacher raised the heavy-bottomed pan again.

 Kreacher, no! shouted Harry.

 Kreachers thin arms trembled with the weight of the pan, still held aloft.

 Perhaps just one more, Master Harry, for luck?

 Ron laughed.


 We need him conscious, Kreacher, but if he needs persuading, you can do the
 honors, said Harry.

 Thank you very much, Master, said Kreacher with a bow, and he retreated a
 short distance, his great pale eyes still fixed upon Mundungus with loathing.

 When you stripped this house of all the valuables you could find, Harry began
 again, you took a bunch of stuff from the kitchen cupboard. There was a locket there.
 Harrys mouth was suddenly dry: He could sense Ron and Hermiones tension and
 excitement too. What did you do with it?

 Why? asked Mundungus. Is it valuable?

 Youve still got it! cried Hermione.

 No, he hasnt, said Ron shrewdly. Hes wondering whether he should have
 asked more money for it.

 More? said Mundungus. That wouldnt have been effing difficult . . .bleedin
 gave it away, din I? No choice.

 What do you mean?

 I was selling in Diagon Alley and she come up to me and asks if Ive got a
 license for trading in magical artifacts. Bleedin snoop. She was gonna fine me, but she
 took a fancy to the locket an told me shed take it and let me off that time, and to fink
 meself lucky.

 Who was this woman? asked Harry.

 I dunno, some Ministry hag.

 Mundungus considered for a moment, brow wrinkled.

 Little woman. Bow on top of er head.

 He frowned and then added, Looked like a toad.

 Harry dropped his wand: It hit Mundungus on the nose and shot red sparks into
 his eyebrows, which ignited.

 Aquamenti! screamed Hermione, and a jet of water streamed from her wand,
 engulfing a spluttering and choking Mundungus.

 Harry looked up and saw his own shock reflected in Rons and Hermiones faces.
 The scars on the back of his right hand seemed to be tingling again.



 Chapter Twelve

 Magic is Might



 As August wore on, the square of unkempt grass in the middle of Grimmauld
 Place shriveled in the sun until it was brittle and brown. The inhabitants of number
 twelve were never seen by anyone in the surrounding houses, and nor was number twelve
 itself. The muggles who lived in Grimmauld Place had long since accepted the amusing
 mistake in the numbering that had caused number eleven to sit beside number thirteen.

 And yet the square was now attracting a trickle of visitors who seemed to find the
 anomaly most intriguing. Barely a day passed without one or two people arriving in
 Grimmauld Place with no other purpose, or so it seemed, than to lean against the railings
 facing numbers eleven and thirteen, watching the join between the two houses. The
 lurkers were never the same two days running, although they all seemed to share a dislike


 for normal clothing. Most of the Londoners who passed them were used to eccentric
 dressers and took little notice, though occasionally one of them might glance back,
 wondering why anyone would wear cloaks in this heat.

 The watchers seemed to be gleaning little satisfaction from their vigil.
 Occasionally one of them started forward excitedly, as if they had seen something
 interesting at last, only to fall back looking disappointed.

 On the first day of September there were more people lurking in the square than
 ever before. Half a dozen men in long cloaks stood silent and watchful, gazing as ever at
 houses eleven and thirteen, but the thing for which they were waiting still appeared
 elusive. As evening drew in, bringing with it an unexpected gust of chilly rain for the first
 time in weeks, there occurred one of those inexplicable moments when they appeared to
 have seen something interesting. The man with the twisted face pointed and his closest
 companion, a podgy, pallid man, started forward, but a moment later they had relaxed
 into their previous state of inactivity, looking frustrated and disappointed.

 Meanwhile, inside number twelve, Harry had just entered the hall. He had nearly
 lost his balance as he Apparated onto the top step just outside the front door, and thought
 that the Death Eaters might have caught a glimpse of his momentarily exposed elbow.
 Shutting the front door carefully behind him, he pulled off the Invisibility Cloak, draped
 it over his arm, and hurried along the gloomy hallway toward the door that led to the
 basement, a stolen copy of the Daily Prophet clutched in his hand.

 The usual low whisper of Severus Snape greeted him, the chill wind swept him,
 and his tongue rolled up for a moment.

 I didnt kill you, he said, once it had unrolled, then held his breath as the dusty
 jinx-figure exploded. He waited until he was halfway down the stairs to the kitchen, out
 of earshot of Mrs. Black and clear of the dust cloud, before calling, Ive got news, and
 you wont like it.

 The kitchen was almost unrecognizable. Every surface now shone; Copper pots
 and pans had been burnished to a rosy glow; the wooden tabletop gleamed; the goblets
 and plates already laid for dinner glinted in the light from a merrily blazing fire, on which
 a cauldron was simmering. Nothing in the room, however, was more dramatically
 different than the house-elf who now came hurrying toward Harry, dressed in a snowy-
 white towel, his ear hair as clean and fluffy as cotton wool, Reguluss locket bouncing on
 his thin chest.

 Shoes off, if you please, Master Harry, and hands washed before dinner,
 croaked Kreacher, seizing the Invisibility Cloak and slouching off to hang it on a hook on
 the wall, beside a number of old-fashioned robes that had been freshly laundered.

 Whats happened? Ron asked apprehensively. He are Hermione had been
 pouring over a sheaf of scribbled notes and hand drawn maps that littered the end of the
 long kitchen table, but now they watched Harry as he strode toward them and threw down
 the newspaper on top of their scattered parchment.

 A large picture of a familiar, hook-nosed, black-haired man stared up at them all,
 beneath a headline that read:



 SEVERUS SNAPE CONFIRMED AS HOGWARTS HEADMASTER



 No! said Ron and Hermione loudly.


 Hermione was quickest; she snatched up the newspaper and began to read the
 accompanying story out loud.

 Severus Snape, long-standing Potions master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft
 and wizardry, was today appointed headmaster in the most important of several staffing
 changes at the ancient school. Following the resignation of the previous Muggle Studies
 teacher, Alecto Carrow will take over the post while her brother, Amycus, fills the
 position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

  I welcome the opportunity to uphold our finest Wizarding traditions and values
 Like committing murder and cutting off peoples ears, I suppose! Snape, headmaster!
 Snape in Dumbledores study  Merlins pants! she shrieked, making both Harry and
 Ron jump. She leapt up from the table and hurtled from the room, shouting as she went,
 Ill be back in a minute!

 Merlins pants? repeated Ron, looking amused. She must be upset. He
 pulled the newspaper toward him and perused the article about Snape.

 The other teachers wont stand for this, McGonagall and Flitwick and Sprout all
 know the truth, they know how Dumbledore died. They wont accept Snape as
 headmaster. And who are these Carrows?

 Death Eaters, said Harry. There are pictures of them inside. They were at the
 top of the tower when Snape killed Dumbledore, so its all friends together. And, Harry
 went on bitterly, drawing up a chair, I cant see that the other teachers have got any
 choice but to stay. If the Ministry and Voldemort are behind Snape itll be a choice
 between staying and teaching, or a nice few years in Azkaban  and thats if theyre
 lucky. I reckon theyll stay to try and protect the students.

 Kreacher came bustling to the table with a large curcen in his hands, and ladled
 out soup into pristine bowls, whistling between his teeth as he did so.

 Thanks, Kreacher, said Harry, flipping over the Prophet so as not to have to
 look at Snapes face. Well, at least we know exactly where Snape is now.

 He began to spoon soup into his mouth. The quality of Kreachers cooking had
 improved dramatically ever since he had been given Reguluss locket: Todays French
 onion was as good as Harry had ever tasted.

 There are still a load of Death Eaters watching this house, he told Ron as he ate,
 more than usual. Its like theyre hoping well march out carrying our school trunks and
 head off for the Hogwarts Express.

 Ron glanced at his watch.

 Ive been thinking about that all day. It left nearly six hours ago. Weird, not
 being on it, isnt it?

 In his minds eye Harry seemed to see the scarlet steam engine as he and Ron had
 once followed it by air, shimmering between fields and hills, a rippling scarlet caterpillar.
 He was sure Ginny, Neville, and Luna were sitting together at this moment, perhaps
 wondering where he, Ron, and Hermione were, or debating how best to undermine
 Snapes new regime.

 They nearly saw me coming back in just now, Harry said, I landed badly on
 the top step, and the Cloak slipped.

 I do that every time. Oh, here she is, Ron added, craning around in his seat to
 watch Hermione reentering the kitchen. And what in the name of Merlins most baggy
 Y Fronts was that about?


 I remembered this, Hermione panted.

 She was carrying a large, framed picture, which she now lowered to the floor
 before seizing her small, beaded bag from the kitchen sideboard. Opening it, she
 proceeded to force the painting inside and despite the fact that it was patently too large to
 fit inside the tiny bag, within a few seconds it had vanished, like so much ease, into the
 bags capacious depths.

 Phineas Nigellus, Hermione explained as she threw the bag onto the kitchen
 table with the usual sonorous, clanking crash.

 Sorry? said Ron, but Harry understood. The painted image of Phineas Nigellus
 Black was able to travel between his portrait in Grimmauld Place and the one that hung in
 the headmasters office at Hogwarts: the circular cower-top room where Snape was no
 doubt sitting right now, in triumphant possession of Dumbledores collection of delicate,
 silver magical instruments, the stone Pensieve, the Sorting Hat and, unless it ad been
 moved elsewhere, the sword of Gryffindor.

 Snape could send Phineas Nigellus to look inside this house for him, Hermione
 explained to Ron as she resumed her seat. But let him try it now, all Phineas Nigellus
 will be able to see is the inside of my handbag.

 Good thinking! said Ron, looking impressed.

 Thank you, smiled Hermione, pulling her soup toward her. So, Harry, what
 else happened today?

 Nothing, said Harry. Watched the Ministry entrance for seven hours. No sign
 of her. Saw your dad though, Ron. He looks fine.

 Ron nodded his appreciation of this news. The had agreed that it was far too
 dangerous to try and communicate with Mr. Weasley while he walked in and out of the
 Ministry, because he was always surrounded by other Ministry workers. It was, however,
 reassuring to catch these glimpses of him, even if he did look very strained and anxious.

 Dad always told us most Ministry people use the Floo Network to get to work,
 Ron said. Thats why we havent seen Umbridge, shed never walk, shed think shes
 too important.

 And what about that funny old witch and that little wizard in the navy robes?
 Hermione asked.

 Oh yeah, the bloke from Magical Maintenance, said Ron.

 How do you know he works for Magical Maintenance? Hermione asked, her
 soupspoon suspended in midair.

 Dad said everyone from Magical Maintenance wears navy blue robes.

 But you never told us that!

 Hermione dropped her spoon and pulled toward her the sheaf of notes and maps
 that she and Ron had been examining when Harry had entered the kitchen.

 Theres nothing in here about navy blue robes, nothing! she said, flipping
 feverishly through the pages.

 Well, dies it really matter?

 Ron, it all matters! If were going to get into the Ministry and not give ourselves
 away when theyre bound to be on the lookout for intruders, every little detail matters!
 Weve been over and over this, I mean, whats the point of all these reconnaissance trips
 if you arent even bothering to tell us

 Blimey, Hermione, I forget one little thing


 You do realize, dont you, that theres probably no more dangerous place in the
 whole world for us to be right now than the Ministry of

 I think we should do it tomorrow, said Harry.

 Hermione stopped dead, her jaw hanging; Ron choked a little over his soup.

 Tomorrow? repeated Hermione. You arent serious, Harry?

 I am, said Harry. I dont think were going to be much better prepared than we
 are now even if we skulk around the Ministry entrance for another month. The longer we
 put it off, the farther away that locket could be. Theres already a good chance Umbridge
 has chucked it away; the thing doesnt open.

 Unless, said Ron, shes found a way of opening it and shes now possessed.

 Wouldnt make any difference to her, she was so evil in the first place, Harry
 shrugged.

 Hermione was biting her lip, deep in thought.

 We know everything important, Harry went on, addressing Hermione. We
 know theyve stopped Apparition in and out of the Ministry; We know only the most
 senior Ministry members are allowed to connect their homes to the Floo Network now,
 because Ron heard those two Unspeakables complaining about it. And we know roughly
 where Umbridges office is, because of what you heard the bearded bloke saying to his
 mate

 Ill be up on level one, Dolores wants to see me, Hermione recited
 immediately.

 Exactly, said Harry. And we know you get in using those funny coins, or
 tokens, or whatever they are, because I saw that witch borrowing one from her friend

 But we havent got any!

 If the plan works, we will have, Harry continued calmly.

 I dont know, Harry, I dont know  There are an awful lot of things that could
 go wrong, so much relies on chance

 Thatll be true even if we spend another three months preparing, said Harry. Its
 time to act.

 He could tell from Rons and Hermiones faces that they were scared; he was not
 particularly confident himself, and yet he was sure the time had come to put their plan
 into operation.

 They had spent the previous four weeks taking it in turns to don the Invisibility
 Cloak and spy on the official entrance to the Ministry, which Ron, thanks to Mr. Weasley,
 had known since childhood. They had tailed Ministry workers on their way in,
 eavesdropped on their conversations, and learned by careful observation which of them
 could be relied upon to appear, alone, at the same time every day. Occasionally there had
 been a chance to sneak a Daily Prophet out of somebodys briefcase. Slowly they had
 built up the sketchy maps and notes now stacked in front of Hermione.

 All right, said Ron slowly, lets say we go for it tomorrow  I think it should
 just be me and Harry.

 Oh, dont start that again! sighed Hermione. I thought wed settled this.

 Its one thing hanging around the entrances under the Cloak, but this is different.
 Hermione, Ron jabbed a finger at a copy of the Daily Prophet dated ten days previously.
 Youre on the list of Muggle-borns who didnt present themselves for interrogation!


 And youre supposed to be dying of spattergroit at the Burrow! If anyone
 shouldnt go, its Harry, hes got a ten-thousand-Galleon price on his head

 Fine, Ill stay here, said Harry. Let me know if you ever defeat Voldemort,
 wont you?

 As Ron and Hermione laughed, pain shot through the scar on Harrys forehead.
 His hand jumped to it. He saw Hermiones eyes narrow, and he tried to pass off the
 movement by brushing his hair out of his eyes.

 Well, if all three of us go well have to Disapparate separately, Ron was saying.
 We cant all fit under the Cloak anymore.

 Harrys scar was becoming more and more painful. He stood up. At once,
 Kreacher hurried forward.

 Master has not finished his soup, would master prefer the savory stew, or else the
 treacle tart to which Master is so partial?

 Thanks, Kreacher, but Ill be back in a minute  er  bathroom.

 Aware that Hermione was watching him suspiciously, Harry hurried up the stairs
 to the hall and then to the first landing, where he dashed into the bathroom and bolted the
 door again. Grunting with pain, he slumped over the black basin with its taps in the form
 of open-mouthed serpents and closed his eyes .

 He was gliding along a twilit street. The buildings on either side of him had high,
 timbered gables; they looked like gingerbread houses. He approached one of them, then
 saw the whiteness of his own long-fingered hand against the door. He knocked. He felt a
 mounting excitement

 The door opened: A laughing woman stood there. Her face fell as she looked into
 Harrys face: humor gone, terror replacing it .

 Gregorovitch? said a high, cold voice.

 She shook her head: She was trying to close the door. A white hand held it steady,
 prevented her shutting him out

 I want Gregorovitch.

 Er wohnt hier nicht mehr! she cried, shaking her head. He no live here! He no
 live here! I know him not!

 Abandoning the attempt to close the door, she began to back away down the dark
 hall, and Harry followed, gliding toward her, and his long-fingered hand had drawn his
 wand.

 where is he?

 Das weiff ich nicht! He move! I know not, I know not!

 He raised his hand. She screamed. Two young children came running into the hall.
 She tried to shield them with her arms. There was a flash of green light

 Harry! HARRY!

 He opened his eyes; he had sunk to the floor. Hermione was pounding on the door
 again.

 Harry, open up!

 He had shouted out, he knew it. He got up and unbolted the door; Hermione
 toppled inside at once, regained her balance, and looked around suspiciously. Ron was
 right behind her, looking unnerved as he pointed his wand into the corners of the chilly
 bathroom.

 What were you doing? asked Hermione sternly.


 What dyou think I was doing? asked Harry with feeble bravado.

 You were yelling your head off! said Ron.

 Oh yeah  I mustve dozed off or

 Harry, please dont insult our intelligence, said Hermione, taking deep breaths.
 We know your scar hurt downstairs, and youre white as a sheet.

 Harry sat down on the edge of the bath.

 Fine. Ive just seen Voldemort murdering a woman. By now hes probably killed
 her whole family. And he didnt need to. It was Cedric all over again, they were just there


 Harry, you arent supposed to let this happen anymore! Hermione cried, her
 voice echoing through the bathroom. Dumbledore wanted you to use Occlumency! HE
 thought the connection was dangerous  Voldemort can use it, Harry! What good is it to
 watch him kill and torture, how can it help?

 Because it means I know what hes doing, said Harry.

 So youre not even going to try to shut him out?

 Hermione, I cant. You know Im lousy at Occlumency. I never got the hang of
 it.

 You never really tried! she said hotly. I dont get it, Harry  do you like having
 this special connection or relationship or what  whatever

 She faltered under the look he gave her as he stood up.

 Like it? he said quietly. Would you like it?

 I  no  Im sorry, Harry. I just didnt mean

 I hate it, I hate the fact that he can get inside me, that I have to watch him when
 hes most dangerous. But Im going to use it.

 Dumbledore

 Forget Dumbledore. This is my choice, nobody elses. I want to know why hes
 after Gregorovitch.

 Who?

 Hes a foreign wandmaker, said Harry. He made Krums wand and Krum
 reckons hes brilliant.

 But according to you, said Ron, Voldemorts got Ollivander locked up
 somewhere. If hes already got a wandmaker, what does he need another one for?

 Maybe he agrees with Krum, maybe he thinks Gregorovitch is better  or else
 he thinks Gregorovitch will be able to explain what my wand did when he was chasing
 me, because Ollivander didnt know.

 Harry glanced into the cracked, dusty mirror and saw Ron and Hermione
 exchanging skeptical looks behind his back.

 Harry, you keep talking about what your wand did, said Hermione, but you
 made it happen! Why are you so determined not to take responsibility for your own
 power?

 Because I know it wasnt me! And so does Voldemort, Hermione! We both
 know what really happened!

 They glared at each other; Harry knew that he had not convinced Hermione and
 that she was marshaling counterarguments, against both his theory on his wand and the
 fact that he was permitting himself to see into Voldemorts mind. To his relief, Ron
 intervened.


 Drop it, he advised her. Its up to him. And if were going to the Ministry
 tomorrow, dont you reckon we should go over the plan?

 Reluctantly, as the other two could tell, Hermione let the matter rest, though
 Harry was quite sure she would attack again at the first opportunity. In the meantime,
 they returned to the basement kitchen, where Kreacher served them all stew and treacle
 tart.

 They did not get to bed until late that night, after spending hours going over and
 over their plan until they could recite it, word perfect, to each other. Harry, who was now
 sleeping in Siriuss room, lay in bed with his wandlight trained on the old photograph of
 his father, Sirius, Lupin, and Pettigrew, and muttered the plan to himself for another ten
 minutes. As he extinguished his wand, however, he was thinking not of Polyjuice Potion,
 Puking Pastilles, or the navy blue robes of Magical Maintenance; he though of
 Gregorovitch the wandmaker, and how long he could hope to remain hidden while
 Voldemort sought him so determinedly.

 Dawn seemed to follow midnight with indecent haste.

 You look terrible, was Rons greeting as he entered the room to wake Harry.

 Not for long, said Harry, yawning.

 They found Hermione downstairs in the kitchen. She was being served coffee and
 hot rolls by Kreacher and wearing the slightly manic expression that Harry associated
 with exam review.

 Robes, she said under her breath, acknowledging their presence with a nervous
 nod and continuing to poke around in her beaded bag, Polyjuice Potion  Invisibiliity
 Cloak  Decoy Detonators  You should each take a couple just in case  Puking
 Pastilles, Nosebleed Norgat, Extendable Ears

 They gulped down their breakfast, then set off upstairs, Kreacher bowing them
 out and promising to have a steak-and-kidney pie ready for them when they returned.

 Bless him, said Ron fondly, and when you think I used to fantasize about
 cutting off his head and sticking it on the wall.

 They made their way onto the front step with immense caution. They could see a
 couple of puffy-eyed Death Eaters watching the house from across the misty square.

 Hermione Disapparated with Ron first, then came back for Harry.

 After the usual brief spell of darkness and near suffocation, Harry found himself
 in the tiny alleyway where the first phase of their plan was scheduled to take place. It was
 as yet deserted, except for a couple of large bins; the first Ministry workers did not
 usually appear here until at least eight oclock.

 Right then, said Hermione, checking her watch. she ought to be here in about
 five minutes. When Ive Stunned her

 Hermione, we know, said Ron sternly. And I thought we were supposed to
 open the door before she got here?

 Hermione squealed.

 I nearly forgot! Stand back

 She pointed her wand at the padlocked and heavily graffitied fire door beside
 them, which burst open with a crash. The dark corridor behind it led, as they knew from
 their careful scouting trips, into an empty theater. Hermione pulled the door back toward
 her, to make it look as thought it was still closed.


 And now, she said, turning, back to face the other two in the alleyway, we put
 on the Cloak again

 and we wait, Ron finished, throwing it over Hermiones head like a blanket
 over a birdcage and rolling his eyes at Harry.

 Little more than a minute later, there was a tiny pop and a little Ministry witch
 with flyaway gray hair Apparated feet from them, blinking a little in the sudden
 brightness: the sun had just come out from behind a cloud. She barely had time to enjoy
 the unexpected warmth, however, before Hermiones silent Stunning Spell hit her in the
 chest and she toppled over.

 Nicely done, Hermione, said Ron, emerging behind a bin beside the theater
 door as Harry took off the Invisibility Cloak. Together they carried the little witch into
 the dark passageway that led backstage. Hermione plucked a few hairs from the witchs
 head and added them to a flask of muddy Polyjuice Potion she had taken from the beaded
 bag. Ron was rummaging through the little witchs handbag.

 Shes Mafalda Hopkirk, he said, reading a small card that identified their victim
 as an assistant in the Improper Use of Magic Office. Youd better take this, Hermione,
 and here are the tokens.

 He passed her several small golden coins, all embossed with the letters M.O.M.,
 which he had taken from the witchs purse.

 Hermione drank the Polyjuice Potion, which was now a pleasant heliotrope color,
 and within seconds stood before them, the double of Mafalda Hopkirk. As she removed
 Mafaldas spectacles and put them on, Harry checked his watch.

 Were running late, Mr. Magical Maintenance will be here any second.

 They hurried to close the door on the real Mafalda; Harry and Ron threw the
 Invisibility Cloak over themselves but Hermione remained in view, waiting. Seconds
 later there was another pop, and a small, ferrety looking wizard appeared before them.

 Oh, hello, Mafalda.

 Hello! said Hermione in a quavery voice, How are you today?

 Not so good, actually, replied the little wizard, who looked thoroughly
 downcast.

 As Hermione and the wizard headed for the main road, Harry and Ron crept along
 behind them.

 Im sorry to hear youre under the weather, said Hermione, talking firmly over
 the little wizard and he tried to expound upon his problems; it was essential to stop him
 from reaching the street. Here, have a sweet.

 Eh? Oh, no thanks

 I insist! said Hermione aggressively, shaking the bag of pastilles in his face.
 Looking rather alarmed, the little wizard took one.

 The effect was instantaneous. The moment the pastille touched his tongue, the
 little wizard started vomiting so hard that he did not even notice as Hermione yanked a
 handful of hairs from the top of his head.

 Oh dear! she said, as he splattered the alley with sick. Perhaps youd better
 take the day off!

 No  no! He choked and retched, trying to continue on his way despite being
 unable to walk straight. I must  today  must go


 But thats just silly! said Hermione, alarmed. You cant go to work in this state
 I think you ought to go to St. Mungos and get them to sort you out.

 The wizard had collapsed, heaving, onto all fours, still trying to crawl toward the
 main street.

 You simply cant go to work like this! cried Hermione.

 At last he seemed to accept the truth of her words. Using a reposed Hermione to
 claw his way back into a standing position, he turned on the spot and vanished, leaving
 nothing behind but the bag Ron had snatched from his hand as he went and some flying
 chunks of vomit.

 Urgh, said Hermione, holding up the skirt of her robe to avoid the puddles of
 sick. It would have made much less mess to Stun him too.

 Yeah, said Ron, emerging from under the cloak holding the wizards bag, but I
 still think a whole pile of unconscious bodies would have drawn more attention. Keen on
 his job, though, isnt he? Chuck us the hair and the potion, then.

 Within two minutes, Ron stood before them, as small and ferrety as the sick
 wizard, and wearing the navy blue robes that had been folded in his bag.

 Weird he wasnt wearing them today, wasnt it, seeing how much he wanted to
 go? Anyway, Im Reg Cattermole, according to the label in the back.

 Now wait here, Hermione told Harry, who was still under the Invisibility Cloak,
 and well be back with some hairs for you.

 He had to wait ten minutes, but it seemed much longer to Harry, skulking alone in
 the sick-splattered alleyway beside the door concealing the Stunned Mafalda. Finally Ron
 and Hermione reappeared.

 We dont know who he is, Hermione said, passing Harry several curly black
 hairs, but hes gone home with a dreadful nosebleed! Here, hes pretty tall, youll need
 bigger robes

 She pulled out a set of the old robes Kreacher had laundered for them, and Harry
 retired to take the potion and change.

 Once the painful transformation was complete he was more than six feet tall and,
 from what he could tell from his well-muscled arms, powerfully built. He also had a
 beard. Stowing the Invisibility Cloak and his glasses inside his new robes, he rejoined the
 other two.

 Blimey, thats scary, said Ron, looking up at Harry, who now towered over him.

 Take one of Mafaldas tokens, Hermione told Harry, and lets go, its nearly
 nine.

 They stepped out of the alleyway together. Fifty yards along the crowded
 pavement there were spiked black railings flanking two flights of stairs, one labeled
 GENTLEMEN, the other LADIES.

 See you in a moment, then, said Hermione nervously, and she tottered off down
 the steps to LADIES. Harry and Ron joined a number of oddly dressed men descending
 into what appeared to be an ordinary underground public toilet, tiled in grimy black and
 white.

 Morning, Reg! called another wizard in navy blue robes as he let himself into a
 cubicle by inserting his golden token into a slot in the door. Blooming pain in the bum,
 this, eh? Forcing us all to get to work this way! Who are they expecting to turn up, Harry
 Potter?


 The wizard roared with laughter at his own wit. Ron gave a forced chuckle.

 Yeah, he said, stupid, isnt it?

 And he and Harry let themselves into adjoining cubicles.

 To Harrys left and right came the sound of flushing. He crouched down and
 peered through the gap at the bottom of the cubicle, just in time to see a pair of booted
 feet climbing into the toilet next door. He looked left and saw Ron blinking at him.

 We have to flush ourselves in? he whispered.

 Looks like it, Harry whispered back; his voice came out deep and gravelly.

 They both stood up. Feeling exceptionally foolish, Harry clambered into the toilet.

 He knew at once that he had done the right thing; thought he appeared to be
 standing in water, his shoes, feet, and robes remained quite dry. He reached up, pulled the
 chain, and next moment had zoomed down a short chute, emerging out of a fireplace into
 the Ministry of Magic.

 He got up clumsily; there was a lot more of his body than he was accustomed to.
 The great Atrium seemed darker than Harry remembered it. Previously a golden fountain
 had filled the center of the hall, casting shimmering spots of light over the polished
 wooden floor and walls. Now a gigantic statue of black stone dominated the scene. It was
 rather frightening, this vast sculpture of a witch and a wizard sitting on ornately carved
 thrones, looking down at the Ministry workers toppling out of fireplaces below them.
 Engraved in foot-high letters at the base of the statue were the words MAGIC IS MIGHT.

 Harry received a heavy blow on the back of the legs. Another wizard had just
 flown out of the fireplace behind him.

 Out of the way, cant y  oh, sorry, Runcorn.

 Clearly frightened, the balding wizard hurried away. Apparently the man who
 Harry was impersonating, Runcorn, was intimidating.

 Psst! said a voice, and he looked around to see a whispy little witch and the
 ferrety wizard from Magical Maintenance gesturing to him from over beside the statue.
 Harry hastened to join them.

 You got in all right, then? Hermione whispered to Harry.

 No, hes still stuck in the hog, said Ron.

 Oh, very funny  Its horrible, isnt it? she said to Harry, who was staring up
 at the statue. Have you seen what theyre sitting on?

 Harry looked more closely and realized that what he had thought were
 decoratively carved thrones were actually mounds of carved humans: hundreds and
 hundreds of naked bodies, men, women, and children, all with rather stupid, ugly faces,
 twisted and pressed together to support the weight of the handsomely robed wizards.

 Muggles, whispered Hermione, In their rightful place. Come on, lets get
 going.

 They joined the stream of witches and wizards moving toward the golden gates at
 the end of the hall, looking around as surreptitiously as possible, but there was no sign of
 the distinctive figure of Dolores Umbridge. They passed through the gates and into a
 smaller hall, where queues were forming in front of twenty golden grilles housing as
 many lifts. They had barely joined the nearest one when a voice said, Cattermole!

 They looked around: Harrys stomach turned over. One of the Death Eaters who
 had witnessed Dumbledores death was striding toward them. The Ministry workers
 beside them fell silent, their eyes downcast; Harry could feel fear rippling through them.


 The mans scowling, slightly brutish face was somehow at odds with his magnificent,
 sweeping robes, which were embroidered with much gold thread. Someone in the crowd
 around the lifts called sycophantically, Morning, Yaxley! Yaxley ignored them.

 I requested somebody from Magical Maintenance to sort out my office,
 Cattermole. Its still raining in there.

 Ron looked around as though hoping somebody else would intervene, but nobody
 spoke.

 Raining  in your office? Thats  thats not good, is it?

 Ron gave a nervous laugh. Yaxleys eyes widened.

 You think its funny, Cattermole, do you?

 A pair of witches broke away from the queue for the lift and bustled off.

 No, said Ron, no, of course

 You realize that I am on my way downstairs to interrogate your wife,
 Cattermole? In fact, Im quite surprised youre not down there holding her hand while
 she waits. Already given her up as a bad job, have you? Probably wise. Be sure and
 marry a pureblood next time.

 Hermione had let out a little squeak of horror. Yaxley looked at her. She cough
 feebly and turned away.

 I  I  stammered Ron.

 But if my wife were accused of being a Mudblood, said Yaxley, not that any
 woman I married would ever be mistaken for such filth  and the Head of Department of
 Magical Law Enforcement needed a job doing, I would make it my priority to do this job,
 Cattermole. Do you understand me?

 Yes, whispered Ron.

 Then attend to it, Cattermole, and if my office is not completely dry within an
 hour, your wifes Blood Status will be in even greater doubt than it is now.

 The golden grille before them clattered open. With a nod and unpleasant smile to
 Harry, who was evidently expected to appreciate this treatment of Cattermole, Yaxley
 swept away toward another lift. Harry, Ron, and Hermione entered theirs, but nobody
 followed them: It was as if they were infectious. The grilles shut with a clang and the lift
 began to move upward.

 What am I going to do? Ron asked the other two at once; he looked stricken. If
 I dont turn up, my wife  I mean, Cattermoles wife

 Well come with you, we should stick together  began Harry, but Ron shook
 his head feverishly.

 Thats mental, we havent got much time. You two find Umbridge, Ill go and
 sort out Yaxleys office  but how do I stop a raining?

 Try Finite Incantatem, said Hermione at once, that should stop the rain if its a
 hex or curse; if it doesnt somethings gone wrong with an Atmospheric Charm, which
 will be more difficult to fix, so as an interim measure try Impervius to protect his
 belongings

 Say it again, slowly   said Ron, searching his pockets desperately for a quill,
 but at that moment the lift juddered to a halt. A disembodied female voice said, Level
 four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating
 Beast, Being, and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office, and Pest Advisory Bureau,


 and the grilles slid open again, admitting a couple of wizards and several pale violet
 paper airplanes that fluttered around the lamp in the ceiling of the lift.

 Morning, Albert, said a bushily whiskered man, smiling at Harry. He glanced
 over at Ron and Hermione as the lift creaked upward once more; Hermione was now
 whispering frantic instructions to Ron. The wizard leaned toward Harry, leering, and
 muttering Dirk Cresswell, eh? From Goblin Liaison? Nice one, Albert. Im pretty
 confident Ill get his job now!

 He winked. Harry smiled back, hoping that this would suffice. The lift stopped;
 the grilles opened once more.

 Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper
 Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services,
 said the disembodied witchs voice.

 Harry saw Hermione give Ron a little push and he hurried out of the lift, followed
 by the other wizards, leaving Harry and Hermione alone. The moment the golden door
 had closed Hermione said, very fast, Actually, Harry, I think Id better go after him, I
 dont think he knows what hes doing and if he gets caught the whole thing

 Level one, Minister of Magic and Support Staff.

 The golden grilles slid apart again and Hermione gasped. Four people stood
 before them, two of them deep in conversation: a long-haired wizard wearing magnificent
 robes of black and gold, and a squat, toadlike witch wearing a velvet bow in her short
 hair and clutching a clipboard to her chest.



 Chapter Thirteen

 The Muggle-Born Registration Commission



 Ah, Mafalda! said Umbridge, looking at Hermione. Travers sent you, did he?

 Y-yes, squeaked Hermione.

 God, youll do perfectly well. Umbridge spoke to the wizard in black and gold.
 Thats that problem solved. Minister, if Mafalda can be spared for record-keeping we
 shall be able to start straightaway. She consulted her clipboard. Ten people today and
 one of them the wife of a Ministry employee! Tut, tut even here, in the heart of the
 Ministry! She stepped into the lift besides Hermione, as did the two wizards who had
 been listening to Umbridges conversation with the Minister. Well go straight down,
 Mafalda, youll find everything you need in the courtroom. Good morning, Albert, arent
 you getting out?

 Yes, of course, said Harry in Runcorns deep voice.

 Harry stepped out of the life. The golden grilles clanged shut behind him.
 Glancing over his shoulder, Harry saw Hermiones anxious face sinking back out of sight,
 a tall wizard on either side of her, Umbridges velvet hair-bow level with her shoulder.

 What brings you here, Runcorn? asked the new Minister of Magic. His long
 black hair and beard were streaked with silver and a great overhanging forehead
 shadowed his glinting eyes, putting Harry in the mind of a crab looking out from beneath
 a rock.


 Needed a quick word with, Harry hesitated for a fraction of a second, Arthur
 Weasley. Someone said he was up on level one.

 Ah, said Plum Thicknesse. Has he been caught having contact with an
 Undesirable?

 No, said Harry, his throat dry. No, nothing like that.

 Ah, well. Its only a matter of time, said Thicknesse. If you ask me, the blood
 traitors are as bad as the Mudbloods. Good day, Runcorn.

 Good day, Minister.

 Harry watched Thicknesse march away along the thickly carpeted corridor. The
 moment the Minister had passed out of sight, Harry tugged the Invisibility Cloak out
 from under his heavy black cloak, threw it over himself, and set off along the corridor in
 the opposite direction. Runcorn was so tall that Harry was forced to stoop to make sure
 his big feet were hidden.

 Panic pulsed in the pit of his stomach. As he passed gleaming wooden door after
 gleaming wooden door, each bearing a small plaque with the owners name and
 occupation upon it, the might of the Ministry, its complexity, its impenetrability, seemed
 to force itself upon him so that the plan he had been carefully concocting with Ron and
 Hermione over the past four weeks seemed laughably childish. They had concentrated all
 their efforts on getting inside without being detected: They had not given a moments
 thought to what they would do if they were forced to separate. Now Hermione was stuck
 in court proceedings, which would undoubtedly last hours; Ron was struggling to do
 magic that Harry was sure was beyond him, a womans liberty possibly depending on the
 outcome, and he, Harry, was wandering around on the top floor when he knew perfectly
 well that his quarry had just gone down in the lift.

 He stopped walking, leaned against a wall, and tried to decide what to do. The
 silence pressed upon him: There was no bustling or talk or swift footsteps here the
 purple-carpeted corridors were as hushed as though the Muffliato charm had been cast
 over the place.

 Her office must be up here, Harry thought.

 It seemed most unlikely that Umbridge would keep her jewelry in her office, but
 on the other hand it seemed foolish not to search it to make sure. He therefore set off
 along the corridor again, passing nobody but a frowning wizard who was murmuring
 instructions to a quill that floated in front of him, scribbling on a trail of parchment.

 Now paying attention to the names on the doors, Harry turned a corner. Halfway
 along the next corridor he emerged into a wide, open space where a dozen witches and
 wizards sat in rows at small desks not unlike school desks, though much more highly
 polished and free from graffiti. Harry paused to watch them, for the effect was quite
 mesmerizing. They were all waving and twiddling their wands in unison, and squares of
 colored paper were flying in every direction like little pink kites. After a few seconds,
 Harry realized that there was a rhythm to the proceedings, that the papers all formed the
 same pattern and after a few more seconds he realized what he was watching was the
 creation of pamphlets  that the paper squares were pages, which, when assembled,
 folded and magicked into place, fell into neat stacks beside each witch or wizard.

 Harry crept closer, although the workers were so intent on what they were doing
 that he doubted they would notice a carpet-muffled footstep, and he slid a completed


 pamphlet from the pile beside a young witch. He examined it beneath the Invisibility
 Cloak. Its pink cover was emblazoned with a golden title:



 Mudbloods

 and the Dangers They Pose to

 a Peaceful Pure-Blood Society



 Beneath the title was a picture of a red rose with a simpering face in the middle of
 its petals, being strangled by a green weed with fangs and a scowl. There was no authors
 name upon the pamphlet, but again, the scars on the back of his right hand seemed to
 tingle as he examined it. Then the young witch beside him confirmed his suspicion as she
 said, still waving and twirling her wand, Will the old hag be interrogating Mudbloods all
 day, does anyone know?

 Careful, said the wizard beside her, glancing around nervously; one of his pages
 slipped and fell to the floor.

 What, has she got magic ears as well as an eye, now?

 The witch glanced toward the shining mahogany door facing the space full of
 pamphlet-makers; Harry looked too, and the rage reared in him like a snake. Where there
 might have been a peephole on a Muggle front door, a large, round eye with a bright blue
 iris had been set into the wood  an eye that was shockingly familiar to anybody who had
 known Alastor Moody.

 For a split second Harry forgot where he was and what he was doing there: He
 even forgot that he was invisible. He strode straight over to the door to examine the eye.
 It was not moving. It gazed blindly upward, frozen. The plaque beneath it read:



 Dolores Umbridge

 Senior Undersecretary to the Minister



 Below that a slightly shinier new plaque read:



 Head of the Muggle-Born

 Registration Commission



 Harry looked back at the dozen pamphlet-makers: Though they were intent upon
 their work, he could hardly suppose that they would not notice if the door of an empty
 office opened in front of them. He therefore withdrew from an inner pocket an odd object
 with little waving legs and a rubber-bulbed horn for a body. Crouching down beneath the
 Cloak, he placed the Decoy Detonator on the ground.

 It scuttled away at once through the legs of the witches and wizards in front of
 him. A few moments later, during which Harry waited with his hand upon the doorknob,
 there came a loud bang and a great deal of acrid smoke billowed from a corner. The
 young witch in the front row shrieked: Pink pages flew everywhere as she and her
 fellows jumped up, looking around for the source of the commotion. Harry turned the
 doorknob, stepped into Umbridges office, and closed the door behind him.


 He felt he had stepped back in time. The room was exactly like Umbridges office
 at Hogwarts: Lace draperies, doilies and dried flowers covered every surface. The walls
 bore the same ornamental plates, each featuring a highly colored, beribboned kitten,
 gamboling and frisking with sickening cuteness. The desk was covered with a flouncy,
 flowered cloth. Behind Mad-eyes eye, a telescopic attachment enabled Umbridge to spy
 on the workers on the other side of the door. Harry took a look through it and saw that
 they were all still gathered around the Decoy Detonator. He wrenched the telescope out
 of the door, leaving a hole behind, pulled the magical eyeball out of it, and placed it in his
 pocket. The he turned to face the room again, raised his wand, and murmured, Accio
 Locker.

 Nothing happened, but he had not expected it to; no doubt Umbridge knew all
 about protective charms and spells. He therefore hurried behind her desk and began
 pulling open all the drawers. He saw quills and notebooks and Spellotape; enchanted
 paper clips that coiled snakelike from their drawer and had be beaten back; a fussy little
 lace box full of spare hair bows and clips; but no sign of a locket.

 There was a filing cabinet behind the desk: Harry set to searching it. Like Filchs
 filing cabinet at Hogwarts, it was full of folders, each labeled with a name. It was not
 until Harry reached the bottommost drawer that he saw something to distract him from
 the search: Mr. Weasleys file.

 He pulled it out and opened it.



 Arthur Weasley

 Blood Status:

 Pureblood, but with unacceptable pro-Muggle
 leanings. Known member of the Order of the
 Phoenix.

 Family:

 Wife (pureblood), seven children, two
 youngest at Hogwarts. NB: Youngest son
 currently at home, seriously ill, Ministry
 inspectors have confirmed.

 Security Status:

 TRACKED. All movements are being
 monitored. Strong likelihood Undesirable No.
 1 will contact (has stayed with Weasley
 family previously)





 Undesirable Number One, Harry muttered under his breath as he replaced Mr.
 Weasleys folder and shut the drawer. He had an idea he knew who that was, and sure
 enough, as he straightened up and glanced around the office for fresh hiding places he
 saw a poster of himself on the wall, with the words UNDESIRABLE NO. 1 emblazoned
 across his chest. A little pink note was stuck to it with a picture of a kitten in the corner.
 Harry moved across to read it and saw that Umbridge had written, To be punished.

 Angrier than ever, he proceeded to grope in the bottoms of the vases and baskets
 of dried flowers, but was not at all surprised that the locket was not there. He gave the
 office one last sweeping look, and his heart skipped a beat. Dumbledore was staring at
 him from a small rectangular mirror, propped up on a bookcase beside the desk.

 Harry crossed the room at a run and snatched it up, but realized that the moment
 he touched it that it was not a mirror at all. Dumbledore was smiling wistfully out of the


 front cover of a glossy book. Harry had not immediately noticed the curly green writing
 across his hat  The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore  nor the slightly smaller writing
 across his chest: by Rita Skeeter, bestselling author of Armando Dippet: Master or
 Moron?

 Harry opened the book at random and saw a full-page photograph of two teenage
 boys, both laughing immoderately with their arms around each others shoulders.
 Dumbledore, now with elbow-length hair, had grown a tiny wispy beard that recalled the
 one on Krums chin that had so annoyed Ron. The boy who roared in silent amusement
 beside Dumbledore had a gleeful, wild look about him. His golden hair fell in curls to his
 shoulders. Harry wondered whether it was a young Doge, but before he could check the
 caption, the door of the office opened.

 If Thicknesse had not been looking over his shoulder as he entered, Harry would
 not have had time to pull the Invisibility Cloak over himself. As it was, he thought
 Thicknesse might have caught a glimpse of movement, because for a moment or two he
 remained quite still, staring curiously at the place where Harry had just vanished. Perhaps
 deciding that that all he had seen was Dumbledore scratching his nose on the front of the
 book, for Harry had hastily replaced it upon the shelf. Thicknesse finally walked to the
 desk and pointed his wand at the quill standing ready in the ink pot. It sprang out and
 began scribbling a note to Umbridge. Very slowly, hardly daring to breathe, Harry
 backed out of the office into the open area beyond.

 The pamphlet-makers were still clustered around the remains of the Decoy
 Detonator, which continued to hoot feebly as it smoked. Harry hurried off up the corridor
 as the young witch said, I bet it sneaked up here from Experimental Charms, theyre so
 careless, remember that poisonous duck?

 Speeding back toward the lifts, Harry reviewed his options. It had never been
 likely that the locket was here at the Ministry, and there was no hope of bewitching its
 whereabouts out of Umbridge while she was sitting in a crowded court. Their priority
 now had to be to leave the Ministry before they were exposed, and try again another day.
 The first thing to do was to find Ron, and then they could work out a way of extracting
 Hermione from the courtroom.

 The lift was empty when it arrived. Harry jumped in and pulled off the Invisibility
 Cloak as it started its descent. To his enormous relief, when it rattled to a halt at level two,
 a soaking-wet and wild-eyed Ron got in.

 M-morning, he stammered to Harry as the lift set off again.

 Ron, its me, Harry!

 Harry! Blimey, I forgot what you looked like  why isnt Hermione with you?

 She had to go down to the courtrooms with Umbridge, she couldnt refuse, and


 But before Harry could finish the lift had stopped again. The doors opened and
 Mr. Weasley walked inside, talking to an elderly witch whose blonde hair was teased so
 high it resembled an anthill.

  I quite understand what youre saying, Wakanda, but Im afraid I cannot be
 party to

 Mr. Weasley broke off; he had noticed Harry. It was very strange to have Mr.
 Weasley glare at him with that much dislike. The lift doors closed and the four of them
 trundled downward once more.


 Oh hello, Reg, said Mr. Weasley, looking around at the sound of steady
 dripping from Rons robes. Isnt your wife in for questioning today? Er  whats
 happened to you? Why are you so wet?

 Yaxleys office is raining, said Ron. He addressed Mr. Weasleys shoulder, and
 Harry felt sure he was scared that his father might recognize him if they looked directly
 into each others eyes. I couldnt stop it, so theyve sent me to get Bernie  Pillsworth, I
 think they said

 Yes, a lot of offices have been raining lately, said Mr. Weasley. Did you try
 Meterolojinx Recanto? It worked for Bletchley.

 Meteolojinx Recanto? whispered Ron. No, I didnt. Thanks, D  I mean,
 thanks, Arthur.

 The lift doors opened; the old witch with the anthill hair left, and Ron darted past
 her out of sight. Harry made to follow him, but found his path blocked as Percy Weasley
 strode into the lift, his nose buried in some papers he was reading.

 Not until the doors had clanged shut again did Percy realize he was in a lit with
 his father. He glanced up, saw Mr. Weasley, turned radish red, and left the lift the
 moment the doors opened again. For the second time, Harry tried to get out, but this time
 found his way blocked by Mr. Weasleys arm.

 One moment, Runcorn.

 The lift doors closed and as they clanked down another floor, Mr. Weasley said,
 I hear you had information about Dirk Cresswell.

 Harry had the impression that Mr. Weasleys anger was no less because of the
 brush with Percy. He decided his best chance was to act stupid.

 Sorry? he said.

 Dont pretend, Runcorn, said Mr. Weasley fiercely. You tracked down the
 wizard who faked his family tree, didnt you?

 I  so what if I did? said Harry.

 So Dirk Cresswell is ten times the wizard you are, said Mr. Weasley quietly, as
 the lift sank ever lower. And if he survives Azkaban, youll have to answer to him, not
 to mention his wife, his sons, and his friends

 Arthur, Harry interrupted, you know youre being tracked, dont you?

 Is that a threat, Runcorn? said Mr. Weasley loudly.

 No, said Harry, its a fact! Theyre watching your every move

 The lift doors opened. They had reached the Atrium. Mr. Weasley gave Harry a
 scathing look and swept from the lift. Harry stood there, shaken. He wished he was
 impersonating somebody other than Runcorn. The lift doors clanged shut.

 Harry pulled out the Invisibility Cloak and put it back on. He would try to
 extricate Hermione on his own while Ron was dealing with the raining office. When the
 doors opened, he stepped out into a torch-lit stone passageway quite different from the
 wood-paneled and carpeted corridors above. As the left rattled away again, Harry
 shivered slightly, looking toward the distant black door that marked the entrance to the
 Department of Mysteries.

 He set off, his destination not the black door, but the doorway he remembered on
 the left hand side, which opened onto the flight of stairs down to the court chambers. His
 mind grappled with possibilities as he crept down them: He still had a couple of Decoy
 Detonators, but perhaps it would be better to simply knock on the courtroom door, enter


 as Runcorn, and ask for a quick word with Mafalda? Of course, he did not know whether
 Runcorn was sufficiently important to get away with this, and even if he managed it,
 Hermiones non-reappearance might trigger a search before they were clear of the
 Ministry.

 Lost in thought, he did not immediately register the unnatural chill that was
 creeping over him, as if he were descending into fog. It was becoming colder and colder
 with every step he took; a cold that reached right down his throat and tore at his lungs.
 And then he felt that stealing sense of despair, or hopelessness, filling him, expanding
 inside him.

 Dementors, he thought.

 And as he reached the foot of the stairs and turned to his right he saw a dreadful
 scene. The dark passage outside the courtrooms was packed with tall, black-hooded
 figures, their faces completely hidden, their ragged breathing the only sound in the place.
 The petrified Muggle-borns brought in for questioning sat huddled and shivering on hard
 wooden benches. Most of them were hiding their faces in their hands, perhaps in an
 instinctive attempt to shield themselves from the dementors greedy mouths. Some were
 accompanied by families, others sat alone. The dementors were gliding up and down in
 front of them, and the cold, and the hopelessness, and the despair of the place laid
 themselves upon Harry like a curse.

 Fight it, he told himself, but he knew that he could not conjure a Patronus here
 without revealing himself instantly. So he moved forward as silently as he could, and
 with every step he took numbness seemed to steal over his brain, but he forced himself to
 think of Hermione and of Ron, who needed him.

 Moving through the towering black figures was terrifying: The eyeless faces
 hidden beneath their hoods turned as he passed, and he felt sure that they sensed him,
 sensed, perhaps, a human presence that still had some hope, some resilience.

 And then, abruptly and shockingly amid the frozen silence, one of the dungeon
 doors on the left of the corridor was flung open and screams echoed out of it.

 No, no, Im half-blood, Im half-blood, I tell you! My father was a wizard, he
 was, look him up, Arkie Alderton, hes a well known broomstick designer, look him up, I
 tell you  get your hands off me, get your hands off

 This is your final warning, said Umbridges soft voice, magically magnified so
 that it sounded clearly over the mans desperate screams. If you struggle, you will be
 subjected to the Dementors Kiss.

 The mans screams subsided, but dry sobs echoed through the corridor.

 Take him away, said Umbridge.

 Two dementors appeared in the doorway of the courtroom, their rotting, scabbed
 hands clutching the upper arms of a wizard who appeared to be fainting. They glided
 away down the corridor with him, and the darkness they trailed behind them swallowed
 him from sight.

 Next  Mary Cattermole, called Umbridge.

 A small woman stood up; she was trembling from head to foot. Her dark hair was
 smoothed back into a bun and she wore long plain robes. Her face was completely
 bloodless. As she passed the dementors, Harry saw her shudder.


 Spare us, spat Yaxley. The brats of Mudbloods do not stir our sympathies.

 Mrs. Cattermoles sobs masked Harrys footsteps as he made his way carefully
 toward the steps that led up to the raised platform. The moment he had passed the place
 where the Patronus cat patrolled, he felt the change in temperature: It was warm and
 comfortable here. The Patronus, he was sure, was Umbridges, and it glowed brightly
 because she was so happy here, in her element, upholding the twisted laws she had
 helped to write. Slowly and very carefully he edged his way along the platform behind
 Umbridge, Yaxley, and Hermione, taking a seat behind the latter. He was worried about
 making Hermione jump. He thought of casting the Muffliato charm upon Umbridge and
 Yaxley, but even murmuring the word might cause Hermione alarm. Then Umbridge
 raised her voice to address Mrs. Cattermole, and Harry seized his chance.

 Im behind you, he whispered into Hermiones ear.

 As he had expected, she jumped so violently she nearly overturned the bottle of
 ink with which she was supposed to be recording the interview, but both Umbridge and
 Yaxley were concentrating upon Mrs. Cattermole, and this went unnoticed.

 A wand was taken from you upon your arrival at the Ministry today, Mrs.
 Cattermole, Umbridge was saying. Eight-and-three-quarter inches, cherry, unicorn-hair
 core. Do you recognize the description?

 Mrs. Cattermole nodded, mopping her eyes on her sleeve.

 Could you please tell us from which witch or wizard you took that wand?

 He did it instinctively, without any sort of plan, because he hated the sight of her
 walking alone into the dungeon: As the door began to swing closed, he slipped into the
 courtroom behind her.

 It was not the same room in which he had once been interrogated for improper use
 of magic. This one was much smaller, though the ceiling was quite as high it gave the
 claustrophobic sense of being stuck at the bottom of a deep well.

 There were more dementors in here, casting their freezing aura over the place;
 they stood like faceless sentinels in the corners farthest from the high, raised platform.
 Here, behind a balustrade, sat Umbridge, with Yaxley on one side of her, and Hermione,
 quite as white-faced as Mrs. Cattermole, on the other. At the foot of the platform, a bight-
 silver, long-haired cat prowled up and down, up and down, and Harry realized that it was
 there to protect the prosecutors from the despair that emanated from the dementors: That
 was for the accused to feel, not the accusers.

 Sit down, said Umbridge in her soft, silky voice.

 Mrs. Cattermole stumbled to the single seat in the middle of the floor beneath the
 raised platform. The moment she had sat down, chains clinked out of the arms of the
 chair and bound her there.

 You are Mary Elizabeth Cattermole? asked Umbridge.

 Mrs. Cattermole gave a single, shaky nod.

 Married to Reginald Cattermole of the Magical Maintenance Department?

 Mrs. Cattermole burst into tears.

 I dont know where he is, he was supposed to meet me here!

 Umbridge ignored her.

 Mother to Maisie, Ellie and Alfred Cattermole?
 Mrs. Cattermole sobbed harder than ever.

 Theyre frightened, they think that I might not come home


 T-took? sobbed Mrs. Cattermole. I didnt t-take it from anybody. I b-bought it
 when I was eleven years old. It  it  it  chose me.

 She cried harder than ever.

 Umbridge laughed a soft girlish laugh that made Harry want to attack her. She
 leaned forward over the barrier, the better to observe her victim, and something gold
 swung forward too, and dangled over the void: the locket.

 Hermione had seen it; she let out a little squeak, but Umbridge and Yaxley, still
 intent upon their prey, were deaf to everything else.

 No, said Umbridge, no, I dont think so, Mrs. Cattermole. Wands only choose
 witches or wizards. You are not a witch. I have your responses to the questionnaire that
 was sent to you here  Mafalda, pass them to me.

 Umbridge held out a small hand: She looked so toadlike at that moment that
 Harry was quite surprised not to see webs between the stubby fingers. Hermiones hands
 were shaking with shock. She fumbled in a pile of documents balanced on the chair
 beside her, finally withdrawing a sheaf of parchment with Mrs. Cattermoles name on it.

 Thats  thats pretty, Dolores, she said, pointing at the pendant gleaming in the
 ruffled folds of Umbridges blouse.

 What? snapped Umbridge, glancing down. Oh yes  an old family heirloom,
 she said, patting the locket lying on her large bosom. The S stands for Selwyn. I am
 related to the Selwyns. Indeed, there are few pure-blood families to whom I am not
 related. A pity, she continued in a louder voice, flicking through Mrs. Cattermoles
 questionnaire, that the same cannot be said for you. Parents professions:
 greengrocers.

 Yaxley laughed jeeringly. Below, the fluffy silver cat patrolled up and down, and
 the dementors stood waiting in the corners.

 It was Umbridges lie that brought the blood surging into Harrys brain and
 obliterated his sense of caution  that the locket she had taken as a bribe from a petty
 criminal was being used to bolster her own pure-blood credentials. He raised his wand,
 not even troubling to keep it concealed beneath the Invisibility Cloak, and said,
 Stupefy!

 There was a flash of red light; Umbridge crumpled and her forehead hit the edge
 of the balustrade: Mrs. Cattermoles papers slid off her lap onto the floor and, down
 below, the prowling silver cat vanished. Ice-cold air hit them like an oncoming wind:
 Yaxley, confused, looked around for the source of the trouble and saw Harrys
 disembodied hand and wand pointing at him. He tried to draw his own wand, but too late:
 Stupefy!

 Yaxley slid to the ground to lie curled on the floor.

 Harry!

 Hermione, if you think I was going to sit here and let her pretend

 Harry, Mrs. Cattermole!

 Harry whirled around, throwing off the Invisibility Cloak; down below, the
 dementors had moved out of their corners; they were gliding toward the woman chained
 to the chair: Whether because the Patronus had vanished or because they sensed that their
 masters were no longer in control, they seemed to have abandoned restraint. Mrs.
 Cattermole let out a terrible scream of fear as a slimy, scabbed hand grasped her chin and
 forced her face back.


 EXPECTO PATRONUM!

 The silver stag soared from the tip of Harrys wand and leaped toward the
 dementors, which fell back and melted into the dark shadows again. The stags light,
 more powerful and more warming than the cats protection, filled the whole dungeon as it
 cantered around the room.

 Get the Horcrux, Harry told Hermione.

 He ran back down the steps, stuffing the Invisibility Cloak into his back, and
 approached Mrs. Cattermole.

 You? she whispered, gazing into his face. But  but Reg said you were the one
 who submitted my name for questioning!

 Did I? muttered Harry, tugging at the chains binding her arms, Well, Ive had
 a change of heart. Diffindo! Nothing happened. Hermione, how do I get rid of these
 chains?
 Wait, Im trying something up here

 Hermione, were surrounded by dementors!

 I know that, Harry, but if she wakes up and the lockets gone  I need to
 duplicate it  Geminio! There That should fool her.

 Hermione came running downstairs.

 Lets see. Relashio!

 The chains clinked and withdrew into the arms of the chair. Mrs. Cattermole
 looked just as frightened as ever before.

 I dont understand, she whispered.

 Youre going to leave here with us, said Harry, pulling her to her feet. Go
 home, grab your children, and get out, get out of the country if youve got to. Disguise
 yourselves and run. Youve seen how it is, you wont get anything like a fair hearing
 here.

 Harry, said Hermione, how are we going to get out of here with all those
 dementors outside the door?

 Patronuses, said Harry, pointing his wand at his own. The stag slowed and
 walked, still gleaming brightly, toward the door. As many as we can muster; do yours,
 Hermione.

 Expec  Expecto patronum, said Hermione. Nothing happened.

 Its the only spell she ever has trouble with, Harry told a completely bemused
 Mrs. Cattermole. Bit unfortunate, really Come on Hermione.

 Expecto patronum!

 A silver otter burst from the end of Hermiones wand and swam gracefully
 through the air to join the stag.

 Cmon, said Harry, and he led Hermione and Mrs. Cattermole to the door.

 When the Patronuses glided out of the dungeon there were cries of shock from the
 people waiting outside. Harry looked around; the dementors were falling back on both
 sides of them, melding into the darkness, scattering before the silver creatures.

 Its been decided that you should all go home and go into hiding with your
 families, Harry told the waiting Muggle-born, who were dazzled by the light of the
 Patronuses and still cowering slightly. Go abroad if you can. Just get well away from the
 Ministry. Thats the  er  new official position. Now, if youll just follow the Patronuses,
 youll be able to leave the Atrium.


 They managed to get up the stone stops without being intercepted, but as they
 approached the lifts Harry started to have misgivings. If they emerged into the Atrium
 with a silver stag, and otter soaring alongside it, and twenty or so people, half of them
 accused Muggle-borns, he could not help feeling that they would attract unwanted
 attention. He had just reached this unwelcome conclusion when the lift clanged to a halt
 in front of them.

 Reg! screamed Mrs. Cattermole, and she threw herself into Rons arms.
 Runcorn let me out, he attacked Umbridge and Yaxley, and hes told all of us to leave
 the country. I think wed better do it, Reg, I really do, lets hurry home and fetch the
 children and  why are you so wet?

 Water, muttered Ron, disengaging himself. Harry, they know there are
 intruders inside the Ministry, something about a hole in Umbridges office door. I reckon
 weve got five minutes if that

 Hermiones Patronus vanished with a pop as she turned a horror struck face to
 Harry.

 Harry, if were trapped here  !

 We wont be if we move fast, said Harry. He addressed the silent group behind
 them, who were all gawping at him.

 Whos got wands?

 About half of them raised their hands.

 Okay, all of you who havent got wands need to attach yourself to somebody
 who has. Well need to be fast before they stop us. Come on.

 They managed to cram themselves into two lifts. Harrys Patronus stood sentinel
 before the golden grilles as they shut and the lifts began to rise.

 Level eight, said the witchs cool voice, Atrium.

 Harry knew at once that they were in trouble. The Atrium was full of people
 moving from fireplace to fireplace, sealing them off.

 Harry! squeaked Hermione. What are we going to  ?

 STOP! Harry thundered, and the powerful voice of Runcorn echoed through the
 Atrium: The wizards sealing the fireplaces froze. Follow me, he whispered to the group
 of terrified Muggle-borns, who moved forward in a huddle, shepherded by Ron and
 Hermione.

 Whats up, Albert? said the same balding wizard who had followed Harry out
 of the fireplace earlier. He looked nervous.

 This lot need to leave before you seal the exits, said Harry with all the authority
 he could muster.

 The group of wizards in front of him looked at one another.

 Weve been told to seal all exits and not let anyone

 Are you contradicting me? Harry blustered. Would you like me to have your
 family tree examined, like I had Dirk Cresswells?

 Sorry! gasped the balding wizard, backing away. I didnt mean nothing, Albert,
 but I thought I thought they were in for questioning and

 Their blood is pure, said Harry, and his deep voice echoed impressively through
 the hall. Purer than many of yours, I daresay. Off you go, he boomed to the Muggle-
 borns, who scurried forward into the fireplaces and began to vanish in pairs. The Ministry
 wizards hung back, some looking confused, others scared and fearful. Then:


 Mary!

 Mrs. Cattermole looked over her shoulder. The real Reg Cattermole, no longer
 vomiting but pale and wan, had just come running out of a lift.

 R- Reg?

 She looked from her husband to Ron, who swore loudly.

 The balding wizard gaped, his head turning ludicrously from one Reg Cattermole
 to the other.

 Hey  whats going on? What is this?

 Seal the exit! SEAL IT!

 Yaxley had burst out of another lift and was running toward the group beside the
 fireplaces, into which all of the Muggle-borns but Mrs. Cattermole had now vanished. As
 the balding wizard lifted his wand, Harry raised an enormous fist and punched him,
 sending him flying through the air.

 Hes been helping Muggle-borns escape, Yaxley! Harry shouted.

 The balding wizards colleagues set up and uproar, under cover of which Ron
 grabbed Mrs. Cattermole, pulled her into the still-open fireplace, and disappeared.
 Confused, Yaxley looked from Harry to the punched wizard, while the real Reg
 Cattermole screamed, My wife! Who was that with my wife? Whats going on?

 Harry saw Yaxleys head turn, saw an inkling of truth dawn on that brutish face.

 Come on! Harry shouted at Hermione; he seized her hand and they jumped into
 the fireplace together as Yaxleys curse sailed over Harrys head. They spun for a few
 seconds before shooting up out of a toilet into a cubicle. Harry flung open the door: Ron
 was standing there beside the sinks, still wrestling with Mrs. Cattermole.

 Reg, I dont understand

 Let go, Im not your husband, youve got to go home!

 There was a noise in the cubicle behind them; Harry looked around; Yaxley had
 just appeared.

 LETS GO! Harry yelled. He seized Hermione by the hand and Ron by the arm
 and turned on the stop.

 Darkness engulfed them, along with the sensation of compressing hands, but
 something was wrong. Hermiones hand seemed to be sliding out of his grip.

 He wondered whether he was going to suffocate; he could not breathe or see and
 the only solid things in the world were Rons arm and Hermiones fingers, which were
 slowly slipping away.

 And then he saw the door to number twelve, Grimmauld Place, with its serpent
 door knocker, but before he could draw breath, there was a scream and a flash of purple
 light: Hermiones hand was suddenly vicelike upon his and everything went dark again.

 Chapter Fourteen

 The Thief



 Harry opened his eyes and was dazzled by gold and green; he had no idea what
 had happened, he only knew that he was lying on what seemed to be leaves and twigs.
 Struggling to draw breath into lungs that felt flattened, he blinked and realized that the
 gaudy glare was sunlight streaming through a canopy of leaves far above him. Then an


 object twitched close to his face. He pushed himself onto his hands and knees, ready to
 face some small, fierce creature, but saw that the object was Rons foot. Looking around,
 Harry saw that they and Hermione were lying on a forest floor, apparently alone.

 Harrys first thought was of the Forbidden Forest, and for a moment, even though
 he knew how foolish and dangerous it would be for them to appear in the grounds of
 Hogwarts, his heart leapt at the thought of sneaking through the trees to Hagrids hut.
 However, in the few moments it took for Ron to give a low groan and Harry to start
 crawling toward him, he realized that this was not the Forbidden Forest; The trees looked
 younger, they were more widely spaced, the ground clearer.

 He met Hermione, also on her hands and knees, at Rons head. The moment his
 eyes fell upon Ron, all other concerns fled Harrys mind, for blood drenched the whole of
 Rons left side and his face stood out, grayish-white, against the leaf-strewn earth. The
 Polyjuice Potion was wearing off now: Ron was halfway between Cattermole and himself
 in appearance, his hair turning redder and redder as his face drained of the little color it
 had left.

 Whats happened to him?

 Splinched, said Hermione, her fingers already busy at Rons sleeve, where the
 blood was wettest and darkest.

 Harry watched, horrified, as she tore open Rons short. He had always thought of
 Splinching as something comical, but this . . . His insides crawled unpleasantly as
 Hermione laid bare Rons upper arm, where a great chunk of flesh was missing, scooped
 cleanly away as though by a knife.

 Harry, quickly, in my bag, theres a small bottle labeled Essence of Dittany

 Bag  right

 Harry sped to the place where Hermione had landed, seized the tiny beaded bag,
 and thrust his hand inside it. At once, object after object began presenting itself to his
 touch: He felt the leather spines of books, woolly sleeves of jumpers, heels of shoes

 Quickly!

 He grabbed his wand from the ground and pointed it into the depths of the
 magical bag.

 Accio Dittany!

 A small brown bottle zoomed out of the bag; he caught it and hastened back to
 Hermione and Ron, whose eyes were now half-closed, strips of white eyeball all that
 were visible between his lids.

 Hes fainted, said Hermione, who was also rather pale; she no longer looked
 like Mafalda, though her hair was still gray in places. Unstopper it for me, Harry, my
 hands are shaking.

 Harry wrenched the stopper off the little bottle, Hermione took it and poured three
 drops of the potion onto the bleeding wound. Greenish smoke billowed upward and when
 it had cleared, Harry saw that the bleeding had stopped. The wound now looked several
 days old; new skin stretched over what had just been open flesh.

 Wow, said Harry.

 Its all I feel safe doing, said Hermione shakily. There are spells that would put
 him completely right, but I darent try in case I do them wrong and cause more
 damage. . . . Hes lost so much blood already. . . .


 How did he get hurt? I mean  Harry shook his head, trying to clear it, to make
 sense of whatever had just taken place  why are we here? I thought we were going back
 to Grimmauld Place?

 Hermione took a deep breath. She looked close to tears.

 Harry, I dont think were going to be able to go back there.

 What dyou  ?

 As we Disapparated, Yaxley caught hold of me and I couldnt get rid of him, he
 was too strong, and he was still holding on when we arrived at Grimmauld Place, and
 then  well, I think he must have seen the door, and thought we were stopping there, so
 he slackened his grip and I managed to sake him off and I brought us here instead!

 But then, wheres he? Hang on. . . . You dont mean hes at Grimmauld Place?
 He cant get in there?

 Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears as she nodded.

 Harry, I think he can. I  I forced him to let go with a Revulsion Jinx, but Id
 already taken him inside the Fidelius Charms protection. Since Dumbledore died, were
 Secret-Keepers, so Ive given him the secret, havent I?

 There was no pretending; Harry was sure she was right. It was a serious blow. If
 Yaxley could now get inside the house, there was no way that they could return. Even
 now, he could be bringing other Death Eaters in there by Apparition. Gloomy and
 oppressive though the house was, it had been their one safe refuge; even, now that
 Kreacher was so much happier and friendlier, a kind of home. With a twinge of regret
 that had nothing to do with food, Harry imagined the house-elf busying himself over the
 steak-and-kidney pie that Harry, Ron, and Hermione would never eat.

 Harry, Im sorry, Im so sorry!

 Dont be stupid, it wasnt your fault! If anything, it was mine. . . .

 Harry put his hand in his pocket and drew out Mad-Eyes eye. Hermione recoiled,
 looking horrified.

 Umbridge had stuck it to her office door, to spy on people. I couldnt leave it
 there . . . but thats how they knew there were intruders.

 Before Hermione could answer, Ron groaned and opened his eyes. He was still
 gray and his face glistened with sweat.

 How dyou feel? Hermione whispered.

 Lousy, croaked Ron, wincing as he felt his injured arm. Where are we?

 In the woods where they held the Quidditch World Cup, said Hermione. I
 wanted somewhere enclosed, undercover, and this was

  the first place you thought of, Harry finished for her, glancing around at the
 apparently deserted glade. He could not help remembering what had happened the last
 time they had Apparated to the first place Hermione had thought of  how Death Eaters
 had found them within minutes. Had it been Legilimency? Did Voldemort or his
 henchmen know, even now, where Hermione had taken them?

 Dyou reckon we should move on? Ron asked Harry, and Harry could tell by
 the look on Rons face that he was thinking the same.

 I dunno.
 Ron still looked pale and clammy. He had made no attempt to sit up and it looked
 as though he was too weak to do so. The prospect of moving him was daunting.

 Lets stay here for now, Harry said.


 Looking relieved, Hermione sprang to her feet.

 Where are you going? asked Ron.

 If were staying, we should put some protective enchantments around the place,
 she replied, and raising her wand, she began to walk in a wide circle around Harry and
 Ron, murmuring incantations as she went. Harry saw little disturbances in the
 surrounding air: It was as if Hermione had cast a heat haze upon their clearing.

 Salvio Hexia . . . Protego Totalum . . . Repello Muggletum . . . Muffliato . . . You
 could get out the tent, Harry. . . .

 Tent?

 In the bag!

 In the . . . of course, said Harry.

 He did not bother to grope inside it this time, but used another Summoning Charm.
 The tent emerged in a lumpy mass of canvas, ropes, and poles. Harry recognized it, partly
 because of the smell of cats, as the same tent in which they had slept on the night of the
 Quidditch World Cup.

 I thought this belonged to that bloke Perkins at the Ministry? he asked, starting
 to disentangle the pent pegs.

 Apparently he didnt want it back, his lumbagos so bad, said Hermione, now
 performing complicated figure-of-eight movements with her wand. so Rons dad said I
 could borrow it. Erecto! she added, pointing her wand at the misshapen canvas, which in
 one fluid motion rose into the air and settled, fully constructed, onto the ground before
 Harry, out of whose startled hands a tent peg soared, to land with a final thud at the end
 of a guy rope.

 Cave Inimicum, Hermione finished with a skyward flourish. Thats as much as
 I can do. At the very least, we should know theyre coming; I cant guarantee it will keep
 out Vol

 Dont say the name! Ron cut across her, his voice harsh.

 Harry and Hermione looked at each other.

 Im sorry, Ron said, moaning a little as he raised himself to look at them, but it
 feels like a  a jinx or something. Cant we call him You-Know-Who  please?

 Dumbledore said fear of a name  began Harry.

 In case you hadnt noticed, mate, calling You-Know-Who by his name didnt do
 Dumbledore much good in the end, Ron snapped back. Just  just show You-Know-
 Who some respect, will you?

 Respect? Harry repeated, but Hermione shot him a warning look; apparently he
 was not to argue with Ron while the latter was in such a weakened condition.

 Harry and Hermione half carried, half dragged Ron through the entrance of the
 tent. The interior was exactly as Harry remembered it; a small flat, complete with
 bathroom and tiny kitchen. He shoved aside an old armchair and lowered Ron carefully
 onto the lower berth of a bunk bed. Even this very short journey had turned Ron whiter
 still, and once they had settled him on the mattress he closed his eyes again and did not
 speak for a while.

 Ill make some tea, said Hermione breathlessly, pulling kettle and mugs from
 the depths of her bag and heading toward the kitchen.


 Harry found the hot drink as welcome as the firewhisky had been on the night that
 Mad-Eye had died; it seemed to burn away a little of the fear fluttering in his chest. After
 a minute or two, Ron broke the silence.

 What dyou reckon happened to the Cattermoles?

 With any luck, theyll have got away, said Hermione, clutching her hot mug for
 comfort. As long as Mr. Cattermole had his wits about him, hell have transported Mrs.
 Cattermole by Side-Along-Apparition and theyll be fleeing the country right now with
 their children. Thats what Harry told her to do.

 Blimey, I hope they escaped, said Ron, leaning back on his pillows. The tea
 seemed to be doing him good; a little of his color had returned. I didnt get the feeling
 Reg Cattermole was all that quick-witted, though, the way everyone was talking to me
 when I was him. God, I hope they made it. . . . If they both end up in Azkaban because of
 us . . .

 Harry looked over at Hermione and the question he had been about to ask  about
 whether Mrs. Cattermoles lack of a wand would prevent her Apparating alongside her
 husband  died in his throat. Hermione was watching Ron fret over the fate of the
 Cattermoles, and there was such tenderness in her expression that Harry felt almost as if
 he had surprised her in the act of kissing him.

 So, have you got it? Harry asked her, partly to remind her that he was there.

 Got  got what? she said with a little start.

 What did we just go through all that for? The locket! Wheres the locket?

 You got it? shouted Ron, raising himself a little higher on his pillows. No one
 tells me anything! Blimey, you could have mentioned it!
 Well, we were running for our lives from the Death Eaters, werent we? said
 Hermione. Here.

 And she pulled the locket out of the pocket of her robes and handed it to Ron.

 It was as large as a chickens egg. An ornate letter S, inlaid with many small green
 stones, glinted dully in the diffused light shining through the tents canvas roof.

 There isnt any chance someones destroyed it since Kreacher had it? asked
 Ron hopefully. I mean, are we sure its still a Horcrux?

 I think so, said Hermione, taking it back from him and looking at it closely.
 Thered be some sign of damage if it had been magically destroyed.

 She passed it to Harry, who turned it over in his fingers. The thing looked perfect,
 pristine. He remembered the mangled remains of the diary, and how the stone in the
 Horcrux ring had been cracked open when Dumbledore destroyed it.

 I reckon Kreachers right, said Harry. Were going to have to work out how to
 open this thing before we can destroy it.

 Sudden awareness of what he was holding, of what lived behind the little golden
 doors, hit Harry as he spoke. Even after all their efforts to find it, he felt a violent urge to
 fling the locket from him. Mastering himself again, he tried to prise the locket apart with
 his fingers, then attempted the charm Hermione had used to open Reguluss bedroom
 door. Neither worked. He handed the locket back to Ron and Hermione, each of whom
 did their best, but were no more successful at opening it than he had been.

 Can you feel it, though? Ron asked in a hushed voice, as he held it tight in his
 clenched fist.


 What dyou mean?
 Ron passed the Horcrux to Harry. After a moment or two, Harry thought he knew
 what Ron meant. Was it his own blood pulsing through his veins that he could feel, or
 was it something beating inside the locket, like a tiny metal heart?

 What are we going to do with it? Hermione asked.

 Keep it safe till we work out how to destroy it. Harry replied, and, little though
 he wanted to, he hung the chain around his own neck, dropping the locket out of sight
 beneath his robes, where it rested against his chest beside the pouch Hagrid had given
 him.

 I think we should take it in turns to keep watch outside the tent, he added to
 Hermione, standing up and stretching. And well need to think about some food as well.
 You stay there, he added sharply, as Ron attempted to sit up and turned a nasty shade of
 green.

 With the Sneakoscope Hermione had given Harry for his birthday set carefully
 upon the table in the tent, Harry and Hermione spent the rest of the day sharing the role
 of lookout. However, the Sneakoscope remained silent and still upon its point all day, and
 whether because of the protective enchantments and Muggle-repelling charms Hermione
 had spread around them, or because people rarely ventured this way, their patch of wood
 remained deserted, apart from occasional birds and squirrels. Evening brought no change;
 Harry lit his wand as he swapped places with Hermione at ten oclock, and looked out
 upon a deserted scene, noting the bats fluttering high above him across the single patch of
 starry sky visible from their protected clearing.

 He felt hungry now, and a little light-headed. Hermione had not packed any food
 in her magical bag, as she had assumed that they would be returning to Grimmauld Place
 that night, so they had had nothing to eat except some wild mushrooms that Hermione
 had collected from amongst the nearest trees and stewed in a Billycan. After a couple of
 mouthfuls Ron had pushed his portion away, looking queasy; Harry had only persevered
 so as to not hurt Hermiones feelings.

 The surrounding silence was broken by odd rustlings and what sounded like
 crackings of twigs: Harry thought that they were caused by animals rather than people,
 yet he kept his wand held tight at the ready. His insides, already uncomfortable due to
 their inadequate helping of rubbery mushrooms, tingled with unease.

 He had though that he would feel elated if they managed to steal back the Horcrux,
 but somehow he did not; all he felt as he sat looking out at the darkness, of which his
 wand lit only a tiny part, was worry about what would happen next. It was as though he
 had been hurtling toward this point for weeks, months, maybe even years, but how he had
 come to an abrupt halt, run out of road.

 There were other Horcruxes out there somewhere, but he did not have the faintest
 idea where they could be. He did not even know what all of them were. Meanwhile he
 was at a loss to know how to destroy the only one that they had found, the Horcrux that
 currently lay against the bare flesh of his chest. Curiously, it had not taken heat from his
 body, but lay so cold against his skin it might just have emerged from icy water. From
 time to time Harry thought, or perhaps imagined, that he could feel the tiny heartbeat
 ticking irregularly alongside his own. Nameless forebodings crept upon him as he sat
 there in the dark. He tried to resist them, push them away, yet they came at him
 relentlessly. Neither can live while the other survives. Ron and Hermione, now talking


 softly behind him in the tent, could walk away if they wanted to: He could not. And it
 seemed to Harry as he sat there trying to master his own fear and exhaustion, that the
 Horcrux against his chest was ticking away the time he had left. . . . Stupid idea, he told
 himself, dont think that. . . .

 His scar was starting to prickle again. He was afraid that he was making it happen
 by having these thoughts, and tried to direct them into another channel. He thought of
 poor Kreacher, who had expected them home and had received Yaxley instead. Would
 the elf keep silent or would he tell the Death Eater everything he knew? Harry wanted to
 believe that Kreacher had changed towards him in the past month, that he would be loyal
 now, but who knew what would happen? What if the Death Eaters tortured the elf? Sick
 images swarmed into Harrys head and he tried to push these away too, for there was
 nothing he could do for Kreacher: He and Hermione had already decided against trying to
 summon him; what if someone from the Ministry came too? They could not count on
 elfish Apparition being free from the same flaw that had taken Yaxley to Grimmauld
 Place on the hem of Hermiones sleeve.

 Harrys scar was burning now. He thought that there was so much they did not
 know: Lupin had been right about magic they had never encountered or imagined. Why
 hadnt Dumbledore explained more? Had he thought that there would be time; that he
 would live for years, for centuries perhaps, like his friend Nicolas Flamel? If so, he had
 been wrong. . . . Snape had seen to that. . . . Snape, the sleeping snake, who had struck at
 the top of the tower . . .

 And Dumbledore had fallen . . . fallen . . .

 Give it to me, Gregorovitch.

 Harrys voice was high, clear, and cold, his wand held in front of him by a long-
 fingered white hand. The man at whom he was pointing was suspended upside down in
 midair, though there were no ropes holding him; he swung there, invisibly and eerily
 bound, his limbs wrapped about him, his terrified face, on a level with Harrys ruddy due
 to the blood that had rushed to his head. He had pure-white hair and a thick, bushy beard:
 a trussed-up Father Christmas.

 I have it not, I have it no more! It was, many years ago, stolen from me!

 Do not lie to Lord Voldemort, Gregorovitch. He knows. . . . He always knows.
 The hanging mans pupils were wide, dilated with fear, and they seemed to swell,
 bigger and bigger until their blackness swallowed Harry whole

 And how Harry was hurrying along a dark corridor in stout little Gregorovitchs
 wake as he held a lantern aloft: Gregorovitch burst into the room at the end of the passage
 and his lantern illuminated what looked like a workshop; wood shavings and gold
 gleamed in the swinging pool of light, and there on the window ledge sat perched, like a
 giant bird, a young man with golden hair. In the split second that the lanterns light
 illuminated him, Harry saw the delight upon his handsome face, then the intruder shot a
 Stunning Spell from his wand and jumped neatly backward out of the window with a
 crow of laughter.

 And Harry was hurtling back out of those wide, tunnellike pupils and
 Gregorovitchs face was stricken with terror.

 Who was the thief, Gregorovitch? said the high cold voice.

 I do not know, I never knew, a young man  no  please  PLEASE!

 A scream that went on and on and then a burst of green light


 Harry!

 He opened his eyes, panting, his forehead throbbing. He had passed out against
 the side of the tent, had slid sideways down the canvas, and was sprawled on the ground.
 He looked up at Hermione, whose bushy hair obscured the tiny patch of sky visible
 through the dark branches high above them.

 Dream, he said, sitting up quickly and attempting to meet Hermiones glower
 with a look of innocence. Mustve dozed off, sorry.

 I know it was your scar! I can tell by the look on your face! You were looking
 into Vol

 Dont say his name! came Rons angry voice from the depths of the tent.

 Fine, retorted Hermione, You-Know-Whos mind, then!
 I didnt mean it to happen! Harry said. It was a dream! Can you control what
 you dream about, Hermione?

 If you just learned to apply Occlumency

 But Harry was not interested in being told off; he wanted to discuss what he had
 just seen.

 Hes found Gregorovitch, Hermione, and I think hes killed him, but before he
 killed him he read Gregorovitchs mind and I saw

 I think Id better take over the watch if youre so tired youre falling sleep, said
 Hermione coldly.

 I can finish the watch!

 No, youre obviously exhausted. Go and lie down.

 She dropped down in the mouth of the tent, looking stubborn. Angry, but wishing
 to avoid a row, Harry ducked back inside.

 Rons still-pale face was poking out from the lower bunk; Harry climbed into the
 one above him, lay down, and looked up at the dark canvas ceiling. After several
 moments, Ron spoke in a voice so low that it would not carry to Hermione, huddle in the
 entrance.

 Whats You-Know-Who doing?

 Harry screwed up his eyes in the effort to remember every detail, then whispered
 into the darkness.

 He found Gregorovitch. He had him tied up, he was torturing him.
 Hows Gregorovitch supposed to make him a new wand if hes tied up?

 I dunno. . . . Its weird, isnt it?

 Harry closed his eyes, thinking of all that he had seen and heard. The more he
 recalled, the less sense it made. . . . Voldemort had said nothing about Harrys wand,
 nothing about the twin cores, nothing about Gregorovitch making a new and more
 powerful wand to beat Harrys. . . .

 He wanted something from Gregorovitch, Harry said, eyes still closed tight.
 He asked him to hand it over, but Gregorovitch said it had been stolen from him . . . and
 then . . . then . . .

 He remembered how he, as Voldemort, had seemed to hurtle through
 Gregorovitchs eyes, into his memories. . . .

 He read Gregorovitchs mind, and I saw this young bloke perched on a
 windowsill, and he fired a curse at Gregorovitch and jumped out of sight. He stole it, he
 stole whatever You-Know-Whos after. And I . . . I think Ive seen him somewhere. . . .


 Harry wished he could have another glimpse of the laughing boys face. The theft
 had happened many years ago, according to Gregorovitch. Why did the young thief look
 familiar?

 The noises of the surrounding woods were muffled inside the tent; all Harry could
 hear was Rons breathing. After a while, Ron whispered, Couldnt you see what the
 thief was holding?

 No . . . it mustve been something small.

 Harry?

 The wooden slats of Rons bunk creaked as he repositioned himself in bed.

 Harry, you dont reckon You-Know-Whos after something else to turn into a
 Horcrux?

 I dont know, said Harry slowly. Maybe. But wouldnt it be dangerous for him
 to make another one? Didnt Hermione say he had pushed his soul to the limit already?

 Yeah, but maybe he doesnt know that.

 Yeah . . .maybe, said Harry.

 He had been sure that Voldemort had been looking for a way around the problem
 of the twin cores, sure that Voldemort sought a solution from the old wandmaker . . . and
 yet he had killed him, apparently without asking him a single question about wandlore.

 What was Voldemort trying to find? Why, with the Ministry of Magic and the
 Wizarding world at his feet, was he far away, intent on the pursuit of an object that
 Gregorovitch had once owned, and which had been stolen by the unknown thief?

 Harry could still see the blond-haired youths face; it was merry, wild; there was a
 Fred and George-ish air of triumphant trickery about him. He had soared from the
 windowsill like a bird, and Harry had seen him before, but he could not think where. . . .

 With Gregorovitch dead, it was the merry-faced thief who was in danger now, and
 it was on him that Harrys thoughts dwelled, as Rons snores began to rumble from the
 lower bunk and as he himself drifted slowly into sleep once more.



 Chapter Fifteen

 The Goblins Revenge



 Early next morning, before the other two were awake, Harry left the tent to search
 the woods around them for the oldest, most gnarled, and resilient-looking tree he could
 find. There in its shadows he buried Mad-Eye Moody's eye and marked the spot by
 gouging a small cross in the bark with his wand. It was not much, but Harry felt that
 Mad-Eye would have much preferred this to being stuck on Dolores Umbridge's door.
 Then he returned to the tent to wait for the others to wake, and discuss what they were
 going to do next.

 Harry and Hermione felt that it was best not to stay anywhere too long, and Ron
 agreed, wit the sole proviso that their next move took them within reach of a bacon
 sandwich. Hermione therefore removed the enchantments she had placed around the
 clearing, while Harry and Ron obliterated all the marks and impressions on the ground
 that might show they had camped there. Then they Disapparated to the outskirts of a
 small market town.


 Once they had pitched the tent in the shelter of a small copse of trees and
 surrounded it with freshly cast defensive enchantments. Harry ventured out under the
 Invisibility Cloak to find sustenance. This, however, did not go as planned. He had barely
 entered the town when an unnatural chill, a descending mist, and a sudden darkening of
 the skies made him freeze where he stood.

 "But you can make a brilliant Patronus!" protested Ron, when Harry arrived back at the
 tent empty handed, out of breath, and mouthing the single word, dementors.

 "I couldn't . . . make one." he panted, clutching the stitch in his side. "Wouldn't . . .
 come."

 Their expressions of consternation and disappointment made Harry feel ashamed. It had
 been a nightmarish experience, seeing the dementors gliding out of the must in the
 distance and realizing, as the paralyzing cold choked his lungs and a distant screaming
 filled his ears, that he was not going to be able to protect himself. It had taken all Harry's
 willpower to uproot himself from the spot and run, leaving the eyeless dementors to glide
 amongst the Muggles who might not be able to see them, but would assuredly feel the
 despair they cast wherever they went.

 "So we still haven't got any food."

 "Shut up, Ron," snapped Hermione. "Harry, what happened? Why do you think
 you couldn't make your Patronus? You managed perfectly yesterday!"

 "I don't know."

 He sat low in one of Perkins's old armchairs, feeling more humiliated by the
 moment. He was afraid that something had gone wrong inside him. Yesterday seemed a
 long time ago: Today me might have been thirteen years old again, the only one who
 collapsed on the Hogwarts Express.

 Ron kicked a chair leg.

 "What?" he snarled at Hermione. "I'm starving! All I've had since I bled half to
 death is a couple of toadstools!"

 "You go and fight your way through the dementors, then," said Harry, stung.

 "I would, but my arm's in a sling, in case you hadn't noticed!"

 "That's convenient."

 "And what's that supposed to  ?"

 "Of course!" cried Hermione, clapping a hand to her forehead and startling both
 of them into silence. "Harry, give me the locket! Come on," she said impatiently, clicking
 her fingers at him when he did not react," to Horcrux, Harry, you're still wearing it!"

 She held out her hands, and Harry lifted the golden chain over his head. The
 moment it parted contact with Harry's skin he free and oddly light. He had not even
 realized that he was clammy or that there was a heavy weight pressing on his stomach
 until both sensations lifted.

 "Better?" asked Hermione.

 "Yeah, loads better!"

 "Harry," she said, crouching down in front of him and using the kind of voice he
 associated with visiting the very sick, "you don't think you've been possessed, do you?"

 "What? No!" he said defensively, "I remember everything we've done while I've
 bee wearing it. I wouldn't know what I'd done if I'd been possessed, would I? Ginny told
 me there were times when she couldn't remember anything."


 "Hmm," said Hermione, looking down at the heavy locket. "Well, maybe we
 ought not to wear it. We can just keep it in the tent."

 "We are not leaving that Horcrux lying around," Harry stated firmly. "If we lose it,
 if it gets stolen"

 "Oh, all right, all right," said Hermione, and she placed it around her own neck
 and tucked it out of sight down the front of her shirt. "But we'll take turns wearing it, so
 nobody keeps it on too long."

 "Great," said Ron irritably, "and now we've sorted that out, can we please get
 some food?"

 "Fine, but we'll go somewhere else to find it," said Hermione with half a glance at
 Harry. "There's no point staying where we know dementors are swooping around."

 In the end they settled down for the night in a far flung field belonging to a lonely
 farm, from which they had managed to obtain eggs and bread.

 "It's not stealing, is it?" asked Hermione in a troubled voice, as they devoured
 scrambled eggs on toast. "Not if I left some money under the chicken coo?"

 Ron rolled his eyes and said, with his cheeks bulging, "Er-my-nee, 'oo worry 'oo
 much. 'Elax!"

 And, indeed, it was much easier to relax when they were comfortably well fed.
 The argument about the dementors was forgotten in laughter that night, and Harry felt
 cheerful, even hopeful, as he took the first of the three night watches.

 This was their first encounter with the fact that a full stomach meant good spirits,
 an empty one, bickering and gloom. Harry was least surprised by this, because be had
 suffered periods of near starvation at the Dursleys. Hermione bore up reasonably well on
 those nights when they managed to scavenge nothing but berries or stale biscuits, her
 temper perhaps a little shorter than usual and her silences dour. Ron, however, had
 always been used to three delicious meals a day, courtesy of his mother or of the
 Hogwarts house-elves, and hunger made him both unreasonable and irascible. Whenever
 lack of food coincided with Ron's turn to wear the Horcrux, he became downright
 unpleasant.

 "So where next?" was his constant refrain. He did not seem to have any ideas
 himself, but expected Harry and Hermione to come up with plans while he sat and
 brooded over the low food supplies. Accordingly Harry and Hermione spent fruitless
 hours trying to decide where they might find the other Horcruxes, and how to destroy the
 one they already got, their conversations becoming increasingly repetitive as they got no
 new information.

 As Dumbledore had told Harry that be believed Voldemort had hidden the
 Horcruxes in places important to him, they kept reciting, in a sort of dreary litany, those
 locations they knew that Voldemort had lived or visited. The orphanage where he had
 been born and raised: Hogwarts, where he had been educated; Borgin and Burks, where
 he had worked after completing school; then Albania, where he had spent his years of
 exile: These formed the basis of their speculations.

 "Yeah, let's go to Albania. Shouldn't take more than an afternoon to search an
 entire country," said Ron sarcastically.

 "There can't be anything there. He'd already made five of his Horcruxes before he
 went into exile, and Dumbledore was certain the snake is the sixth," said Hermione. "We
 know the snake's not in Albania, it's usually with Vol"


 "Didn't I ask you to stop say that?"

 "Fine! The snake is usually with You-Know-Whohappy?"

 "Not particularly."

 "I can't see him hiding anything at Borgin and Burkes." said Harry, who had made
 this point many times before, but said it again simply to break the nasty silence. "Borgin
 and Burke were experts at Dark objects, they would've recognized a Horcrux
 straightaway."

 Ron yawned pointedly. Repressing a strong urge to throw something at him,
 Harry plowed on, "I still reckon he might have hidden something at Hogwarts."

 Hermione sighed.

 "But Dumbledore would have found it, Harry!"

 Harry repeated the argument he kept bringing out in favor of this theory.

 "Dumbledore said in front of me that he never assumed he knew all of Hogwart's
 secrets. I'm telling you, if there was one place Vol"

 "Oi!"

 "YOU-KNOW-WHO, then!" Harry shouted, goaded past endurance. "If there was
 one place that was really important to You-Know-Who, it was Hogwarts!"

 "Oh, come on," scoffed Ron. "His school?"

 "Yeah, his school! It was his first real home, the place that meant he was special:
 it meant everything to him, and even after he left"

 "This is You-Know-Who we're talking about, right? Not you?" inquired Ron. He
 was tugging at the chain of the Horcrux around his neck; Harry was visited by a desire to
 seize it and throttle him.

 "You told us that You-Know-Who asked Dumbledore to give him a job after he
 left," said Hermione.

 "That's right," said Harry.

 "And Dumbledore thought he only wanted to come back to try and find something,
 probably another founder's object, to make into another Horcrux?"

 Yeah, said Harry.

 But he didnt get the job, did he? said Hermione. So he never got the chance to
 find a founders object there and hide it in the school!

 Okay, then, said Harry, defeated. Forget Hogwarts.

 Without any other leads, they traveled into London and, hidden beneath the
 Invisibility Cloak, search for the orphanage in which Voldemort had been raised.
 Hermione stole into a library and discovered from their records that the place had been
 demolished many years before. They visited its site and found a tower block of offices.

 We could try digging in to foundations? Hermione suggested halfheartedly.

 He wouldnt have hidden a Horcrux here, Harry said. He had known it all along.
 The orphanage had been the place Voldemort had been determined to escape; he would
 never have hidden a part of his soul there. Dumbledore had shown Harry that Voldemort
 sought grandeur or mystique in his hiding places; this dismal gray corner of London was
 as far removed as you could imagine from Hogwarts of the Ministry or a building like
 Gringotts, the Wizarding banks, with its gilded doors and marble floors.

 Even without any new idea, they continued to move through the countryside,
 pitching the tent in a different place each night for security. Every morning they made
 sure that they had removed all clues to their presence, then set off to find another lonely


 and secluded spot, traveling by Apparition to more woods, to the shadowy crevices of
 cliffs, to purple moors, gorse-covered mountainsides, and once a sheltered and pebbly
 cove. Every twelve hours or so they passed the Horcrux between them as though they
 were playing some perverse, slow-motion game of pass-the-parcel, where they dreaded
 the music stopping because the reward was twelve hours of increased fear and anxiety.

 Harrys scare kept prickling. It happened most often, he noticed, when he was
 wearing the Horcrux. Sometimes he could not stop himself reacting to the pain.

 What? What did you see? demanded Ron, whenever he noticed Harry wince.

 A face, muttered Harry, every time. The same face. The thief who stole from
 Gregorovitch.

 And Ron would turn away, making no effort to hide his disappointment. Harry
 knew that Ron was hoping to bear news of his family or the rest of the Order of the
 Phoenix, but after
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