? — ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED — YOUR FATHER’S FAC- ING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, IT’S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE’LL 8 страница

The rest of Harry’s Christmas presents were far more satisfac- tory. Hagrid had sent him a large tin of treacle toffee, 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 “Pin- head, ” kept asking them all what they were sniggering at. Harry didn’t even care that Draco Malfoy was making loud, snide remarks

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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-factly, 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 Malfoy’s 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 in- terrogating 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 choco- late 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? ”

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“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 Po- tion 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 opera- tion 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, shovel- ing down fourth helpings of trifle. Harry had perched the choco- late 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. Grin- ning 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-

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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.

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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 sep- arate 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, bring- ing 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,

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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 mo- rosely 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

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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 with- out 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

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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? ”

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“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 him- self 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 ex- cited looks.

Malfoy paused by a stretch of bare, damp stone wall.

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“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, green- ish lamps were hanging on chains. A fire was crackling under an elaborately carved mantelpiece ahead of them, and several Slyth- erins 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 Ar- tifacts Office, was today fined fifty Galleons for be- witching a Muggle car.

Mr. Lucius Malfoy, a governor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where the

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enchanted car crashed earlier this year, called today for Mr. Weasley’s resignation.

“Weasley has brought the Ministry into disre- pute, ” Mr. Malfoy told our reporter. “He is clearly unfit to draw up our laws and his ridiculous Mug- gle Protection Act should be scrapped immedi- ately. ”

Mr. Weasley was unavailable for comment, al- though 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 purebloods, 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. ”

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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 sec- onds 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 Cham-

ber 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.

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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

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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 tomor- row 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, sob- bing, her robes pulled up over her head.

“What’s up? ” said Ron uncertainly. “Have you still got Milli- cent’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

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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 ques- tions. . . . ”

It took a long time to persuade Hermione to leave the bath- room. Moaning Myrtle sped them on their way with a hearty guf-

faw. “Wait till everyone finds out you’ve got a tail! ”

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THE VERY SECRET DIARY

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 hol- idays, because of course everyone thought that she had been at- tacked. 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 I’d sprouted whiskers, I’d 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

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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 con- cerned 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 sweep- ing 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 be- fore he finished it. Ron was just saying he wished he had asked Hermione how many rat tails you were supposed to add to a Hair- Raising 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.

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“You don’t think someone else’s been attacked? ” said Ron tensely.

They stood still, their heads inclined toward Filch’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 some- thing else at me? ”

Harry waded across to her stall and said, “Why would I throw something at you? ”

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“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. . . . ”