Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets hp-2

by J. K. Rowling

  “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 just one thing from his father: a long and silvery 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 Seamus 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 several times before, had never seen it so crowded after sunset. Teachers, 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 panic stricken 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 looke
d 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 . . .”

  “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 only truly have left this school when none here are loyal to me. You will also find that help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.”

  For a second, Harry was almost sure Dumbledore’s eyes flickered towards the corner where he and Ron stood hidden.

  “Admirable sentiments,” said Malfoy, bowing. “We shall all miss your—er—highly individual way of running things, Albus, and only hope that your successor will manage to prevent any—ah—‘killin’s.’”

  He strode to the cabin door, opened it and bowed Dumbledore out. Fudge, fiddling with his bowler, waited for Hagrid to go ahead of him, but Hagrid stood his ground, took a deep breath and said carefully, “If anyone wanted ter find out some stuff, all they’d have ter do would be ter follow the spiders. That’d lead ’em right! That’s all I’m sayin’.”

  Fudge stared at him in amazement.

  “All right, I’m comin’,” said Hagrid, pulling on his moleskin overcoat. But as he was about to follow Fudge through the door, he stopped again and said loudly, “An’ someone’ll need ter feed Fang while I’m away.” The door banged shut and Ron pulled the Invisibility Cloak off.

  “We’re in trouble now,” he said hoarsely. “No Dumbledore. They might as well close the school tonight. There’ll be an attack a day with him gone.”

  Fang started howling, scratching at the closed door.

  15. ARAGOG

  Summer 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 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 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 thinlipped 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 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 Shriv
elfigs. 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—”

  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.”