Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (Ch. Seventeen)

 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The Heir of Slytherin

 

He 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 Malfoy?

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. 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 black-robed figure with shimmering blond hair.

“Malfoy.” Harry muttered, sprinting to him and dropping to his knees. “Malfoy — don’t be dead — please don’t be dead — this would be such a huge waste of time if you were.”

He flung his wand aside, grabbed Malfoy’s shoulders, and turned him over. His face was white as marble, and as cold, yet his eyes were closed, so he wasn’t Petrified. But then he must be… “Malfoy, please wake up,” Harry muttered desperately, shaking him. Malfoy’s head lolled hopelessly from side to side.

“He 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, he won’t wake?” Harry said desperately. “He’s not — he’s not —?”

“He’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.

“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 Malfoy’s head again. “We’ve got to get him out of here. There’s a basilisk… I don’t know where it is, but it could be along any moment… Please, help me.”

Riddle didn’t move. Harry, sweating, managed to hoist Malfoy 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 Malfoy’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 Malfoy back onto the floor, unable to hold him 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.

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 Malfoy 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 Draco Malfoy’s like this is because he’s arrogant, greedy, and selfish.”

“That’s not helpful.” Harry replied dryly. “I already knew that.”

“Ah, but what you didn’t know,” Tom continued. “Is that he did not originally have the diary. No, the original owner of the diary was Ginny Weasley. She opened her heart and spilled all her secrets to an invisible stranger.”

“What are you talking about?” said Harry. “What does any of this have to do with Ginny?”

“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 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 two 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 I don’t know how they got there. Dear Tom, I can’t remember what I 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 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 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 Dippet 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 I’d 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 opened, it was Malfoy who was writing to me, not you. Oh yes, Ginny wanted it back, but she couldn’t get it. 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? But alas, she could not retrieve it, you being in Slytherin and she being in Gryffindor. But somebody else knew you were keeping a secret diary, somebody who didn’t quite believe you when you said you were not the Heir.”

“Malfoy.” Harry breathed.

“Yes, Malfoy.” Tom continued. “He stole the diary and opened it, dismayed to find no writing, but thought it amusing to write a cruel note in it for when you opened it again. But instead, he found me.”

Harry was still frozen, on the Chamber floor.

“He wrote, ‘I am the Heir of Slytherin, I am going to kill Granger next.’ Which gave me a clue about his eagerness to help the Heir. I told him he could help me purge the school of mudbloods. He quickly agreed.

“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. So, I had Hermione petrified. And I made Draco do it.”

Harry remembered that Draco was missing from the Quidditch game the same day Hermione and Penelope were petrified.

“And Ginny had told me the whole school was buzzing because you could speak Parseltongue…” Riddle grinned.

“So, I made Malfoy write his own farewell on the wall and come down here to wait. He struggled and cried and became very boring. But there isn’t much life left in him… He was too eager to help the Heir, to help me. Eager 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 speak.

“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. “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. A second later, the bird was flying straight at Harry. It 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 phoenix.” said Riddle, staring shrewdly back at it.

“Fawkes?” Harry breathed, and he felt the bird’s golden claws squeeze his shoulder gently.

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! Do you feel brave, Harry Potter? Do you feel safe now?”

Harry didn’t answer. He might not see what use Fawkes was, 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, who 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 Malfoy… 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 —”

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 weapon Dumbledore can give him…” He cast an amused eye over Fawkes, then walked away. Harry, fear spreading up his numb legs, watched Riddle 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. 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 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 HIM!”

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 great serpent lunged at Harry. Without thinking, Harry screamed. “Stop!”

To Harry’s surprise, the basilisk froze, unmoving, still poised to strike Harry.

“NO!” Riddle screamed. “ATTACK THE BOY!”

“WAIT!” Harry yelled again. “Don’t hurt me! I’m not your enemy! I don’t want to hurt you! He,” Harry pointed at Riddle. “wants to purge the school of muggle-borns, he believes in Pure-blood supremacy, but he’s wrong! And he’s just told me he’s a half-blood!” Harry couldn’t see how the snake would understand this, but tried to press his advantage.

“LIAR!” Riddle shrieks. “LISTEN TO ME!”

“It’s true!” Harry cried as the basilisk swung its head around, unsure of what to do. “He is a half-blood! And look who he’s brought to the chamber to sacrifice for himself!” Harry gestured to Malfoy. “A Pure-blood Slytherin, Draco Malfoy.”

Riddle, now shaking with rage, whispered dangerously. “Listen to me you great idiot snake.”

“Please.” Harry pleaded. “This kid hates me, but I came here to save him!”

And then, the basilisk lunged. Harry dived onto the floor, but the basilisk had not lunged for him, or Riddle, but the diary.

There was a long, dreadful, piercing scream. Ink spurted out of the diary in torrents, 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.

Then came a faint moan from the end of the Chamber. Malfoy was stirring. As Harry turned toward him, he sat up.

“Potter!” He spat. “What are you doing here?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Saving you from that.” Harry nodded to the diary. Malfoy’s scowl quickly changed into a look of fear. “And that.” Harry nodded to the basilisk. Malfoy’s fear turned to terror.

“Potter!” he exclaimed. “You can’t tell anybody what I did- I-”

“I’ll tell Dumbledore what I want.” Harry said sharply. “I know you wanted to help open the Chamber.”

Malfoy looked thoroughly ashamed as Harry turned to the basilisk.

“Thank you.” He hissed.

Suddenly, Fawkes flew up and landed on the basilisk’s head. Tears streamed down the bird’s face and fell onto the basilisk’s damaged eyes.

After a minute, Fawkes flew up, and the basilisk whirled around and fixed Harry with its now healed gaze, Malfoy let out a squeal of terror.

But Harry wasn’t dead, despite looking directly into its eyes. And he understood. Fawkes’ tears had healed the basilisk’s vision, but not its deadly gaze.

“Go now.” Harry hissed again.

The basilisk nodded and slithered back into Slytherin’s mouth.

“C’mon Malfoy.” Harry called to him.

“Potter, when my father hears that I was taken into the Chamber of Secrets, you’ll be in trouble!” Malfoy panted, chasing after Harry.

“What, for saving your life?” Harry asked disbelievingly.

Malfoy opened his mouth but shut it again without saying anything.

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. “Malfoy’s okay! I’ve got him!”

“Oh, shoot!” They heard Ron groan. “That’s too bad.”

They turned the next bend to see his face staring through the sizable gap he had managed to make in the rock fall.

“Malfoy.” Ron glared at him as he scrambled through the hole. “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 Harry.

“He’s Dumbledore’s,” said Harry, squeezing through himself. “I’ll explain when we get out of here,” said Harry with a sideways glance at Malfoy, whose face was reddening, and he looked like he was trying not to cry.

“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 Malfoy, anyway, he might try to murder him if he knew Malfoy had petrified Hermione.

“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.

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. Malfoy, grab Ron’s hand-”

“No.” Malfoy and Ron said at the same time.

“Do as I say!” Harry protested. Malfoy and Ron grudgingly obeyed. “Professor Lockhart —”

“He means you,” said Ron sharply to Lockhart.

“You hold Malfoy’s other hand —”

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.

“Oh, well… I’d 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! Ginny’s got competition. Where now?” said Ron.

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.