Adventures of Harriet Potter

The Writing on the Wall

A/N: Hello lovely readers, now I have one thing to announce before we get into the chapter. Full credit for the fire spell mentioned in the divergence I included in the chapter goes to Slygoddess, which she used in her hopefully just on hold fanfiction A Butterfly Effect — which will be linked at the bottom of the chapter and I highly recommend you read.
"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 Harriet. "You!" he screeched. "You! You've murdered my cat! You've killed her! I'll kill you! I'll —" started Filch. "Argus!" Dumbledore had arrived on the scene, followed by a number of other teachers. In seconds, he had swept past Harriet, Ron, and Hermione and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket.
"Come with me, Argus," he said to Filch. "You, too, Miss Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger." Lockhart stepped forward eagerly. "My office is nearest, Headmaster — just upstairs — please feel free —" Harriet wished he'd just shut the bloody hell up. "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; Harriet 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 laid Mrs. Norris on the polished surface and began to examine her. Harriet, 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 she detested Filch, Harriet couldn't help feeling a bit sorry for him, though not nearly as sorry as she felt for herself. If Dumbledore believed Filch, she 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?" Harriet listened closely, her thirst for knowledge evident. "She has been Petrified," said Dumbledore ("Ah! I thought so!" said Lockhart). "But how, I cannot say. . . ." Harriet was almost relieved, she didn't know any petrification spells that were this powerful. Almost as Filch — "Ask her!" shrieked Filch, turning his blotched and tearstained face to Harriet. "No second year could have done this," said Dumbledore firmly. "It would take Dark Magic of the most advanced —"
"She did it, she did it!" Filch spat, his pouchy face purpling. "You saw what she wrote on the wall! She found — in my office — she knows I'm a — I'm a —" Filch's face worked horribly. "She knows I'm a Squib!" he finished. "I never touched Mrs. Norris!" Harriet said loudly, uncomfortably aware of everyone looking at her, including all the Lockharts on the walls. "And I don't even know what the bloody hell a Squib is." Doing her best to keep her temper reigned in. "Rubbish!" snarled Filch. "She saw my Kwikspell letter!" Harriet didn't deny it, though she didn't know what the letter that had ignited her curiosity weeks ago had anything to do with whatever a Squib was.
"If I might speak, Headmaster," said Snape from the shadows, and Harriet's sense of foreboding increased; she was sure nothing Snape had to say was going to do her any good. "Potter and her 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 she in the upstairs corridor at all? Why wasn't she at the Halloween feast?" Harriet, Ron and Hermione all launched into an explanation about the deathday party. ". . . there were hundreds of ghosts, they'll 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 Harriet. "Because — because —" Harriet said, her heart thumping very fast; something told her it would sound very far-fetched if she told them she had been led there by a bodiless voice no one but she seemed to be able to hear, "because we were tired and wanted to go to bed," she 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." Harriet was about to say she had safe snacks she'd had Fred and George get her from the kitchens up in her dorm, which was true, for nights she studied through dinner. But Ron interjected.
"We weren't hungry," said Ron loudly as his stomach gave a huge rumble. Snape's nasty smile widened. "I suggest, Headmaster, that Potter is not being entirely truthful," he said. "It might be a good idea if she were deprived of certain privileges until she is ready to tell us the whole story. I personally feel she should be taken off the Gryffindor Quidditch team until she is ready to be honest." Harriet glared, realizing how petty Snape was getting. "Really, Severus," said Professor McGonagall sharply, "I see no reason to stop the girl 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 Harriet a searching look. His twinkling light-blue gaze made Harriet feel as though she were being X-rayed. She felt herself remembering the past few moments, as though being led down a corridor. Then she got flashes of memories she didn't have; "Dumbledore, All the less conspicuous rooftops were full then?" a man in grey, white and yellow robes with a bowtie said to what she realized was a younger Dumbledore, who smiled fondly at the wizard. "I do enjoy a view," Dumbledore said "Nebulus." Waving his wand, that looked much different from the one she'd just seen in his hand moments before, and a thick fog blanketed the area. Then the scene shifted, Dumbledore was still in it only his beard and hair were longer but still not the white she was familiar with. He was in the middle of a duel, a barrier appeared in front of him just before a red tinged curse slammed into it. "Incendios grata!" Dumbledore countered, a wave of fire that incinerated or melted everything in its path erupted from the end of his wand. Then she was back in Lockhart's office, staring in wonder at her headmaster who was staring back with concealed shock.
"Innocent until proven guilty, Severus," he said firmly. Hiding what just transpired between himself and Harriet well. Snape looked furious. So did Filch. "My cat has been Petrified!" he shrieked, his eyes popping. "I want to see some punishment!" Harriet trembled and whimpered. "We will be able to cure her, Argus," said Dumbledore patiently. "Professor Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrakes for her usual second year curriculum. As soon as they have reached their full size, I will have a potion made that will revive Mrs. Norris." Harriet was relieved Dumbledore wasn't going to punish her for something she didn't do. "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 Harriet, 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 an empty classroom and closed the door quietly behind them. Harriet squinted at her friends' darkened faces. "D'you think I should have told them about that voice I heard?" she asked, too shaken by what she was sure were some of Dumbledore's memories she'd witnessed — though not sure how — to mention the memories.
"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 Harriet ask, "You do believe me, don't you?" Her voice laced with concern over how her friends would react to her hearing voices. "'Course I do," said Ron quickly. "But — you must admit it's weird. . . ." Hermione nodded in agreement. "I know it's weird," said Harriet. "The whole thing's weird. What was that writing on the wall about? The Chamber Has Been Opened. . . . What's that supposed to mean?"
"You know, it 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. . . ." Harriet felt tugging at her own memory, her mind going to Hogwarts: a History and something mentioned in it. "And what on earth's a Squib?" said Harriet, putting the mystery of the chamber aside for the time being. To her 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." Harriet nodded as it made sense, then a new mystery started in her mind. What happened to descendants of Squibs? A clock chimed somewhere. "Midnight," said Harriet. "We'd better get to bed before Snape comes along and tries to frame us for something else." Quickly leading the way back to Gryffindor tower, where her and Hermione went up the girls stairs and went to bed.