Saving Us

16 : Year 2

          October finally arrived, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into the castle. After 3 weeks of utter horror, I was finally free. Of course I still haven't told Harry and the others about me being Malfoy's slave. But everything is now back to normal. Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was kept busy by a sudden spate of cold 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 has been looking pale, was bullied into taking some by Percy. The steam pouring from under her vivid hair give the impression that her whole head was on fire, which I thought was awesome. Harry had told us about a deathday party for Nearly Headless Nick, and he invited us to go, of course we said yes. It will be the first deathday party I will be going to and I'm quite excited. It's during the Halloween feast. But by the time Halloween arrived, harry was regretting his rash promise to go to the deathday party. But it was too late for him to cancel on Nick. So at seven o'clock, we all walked straight past the doorway to the packed Great Hall, which was glittering invitingly with gold plates and candles, and directed our steps instead toward the dungeons. 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 our own living faces. The temperature dropped with every step we took. We could hear what sounded like thousand fingernails scraping an enormous blackboard.
"Is that supposed to be music?" Ron whispered. I smiled in excitement. We turned a corner and saw Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, standing at a doorway hung with black velvet drapes.
"My dear friends," He said mournfully.
"Welcome, welcome... so pleased you could come...." He swept of his plumed hat and bowed us inside. As we got inside, it was an incredible sight. The dungeon was full of hundreds of pearly-, 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. Our breath rose in a mist before them; it was like stepping into a freezer.
"Shall we have a look around?" Harry suggested.
"Careful not to walk through anyone." Ron said nervously. I frown. But I want to! We set off around the edge of the dance floor. We 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. I 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.
"Oh, no," Hermione said, stopping abruptly.
"Turn back, turn back, I don't want to talk to Moaning Myrtle -"
"Who?" Harry asked as we backtracked quickly.
"She haunts one of the toilets in the girls' bathroom on the first floor." Hermione said.
"She haunts a toilet!" I asked amazed.
"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 to pee with her wailing at you -"
"Look, food!" Ron said. How come I never heard of this? On the other side of the dungeon was a long table, also covered in black velvet. They approached it eagerly but the next moment has 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. I watched, amazed, as a portly ghost approached the table, crouched low, and walked through it, his held wide so that it passed through one of the stinking salmon.
"Can you taste it if you walk through it?" I asked him.
"Almost." The ghost said sadly, and he drifted away.
"I expect they've let it rot to give it a stronger flavor." Hermione said knowledgeably, pinching her nose and leaning closer to look at the putrid haggis.
"Can we move? I feel sick." Ron said. We had barely turned around, however, when a little man swooped suddenly from under the table and came to a halt in midair before us.
"Hello, Peeves." Harry said cautiously. Unlike the ghost around here, 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 us a bowl of peanuts covered in fungus.
"No thanks." Hermione said.
"Heard you talking about poor Myrtle," Peeves said, his eyes dancing. Here we go. I rolled my eyes.
"Rude you was about poor Myrtle." He took a deep breath.
"Oy! Myrtle!" He bellowed.
"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 -" The squat ghost of a girl had glided over.
"Er, hello, Myrtle." She had the glummest face I had ever seen before, half-hidden behind lank hair and thick, pearly spectacles.
"What?" She said sulkily.
"How are you, Myrtle?" Hermione asked in a falsely bright voice.
"It's nice to see out of the toilet." Myrtle sniffed.
"Miss Granger was just talking about you -" Peeves said slyly in Myrtle's ear.
"Just saying - saying - how nice you look tonight." Hermione said, 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?" Hermione, nudging Harry, Ron and I painfully in the ribs.
"Oh, yeah -"
"She did -"
"Sure -"
"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. Myrtle burst into anguished sobs and fled from the dungeon. Peeves shot after her, pelting her with moldy peanuts. That is so rude!
"Pimply! Pimply!" He yelled.
"Oh, dear." Hermione said sadly. Nearly Headless Nick now drifted toward us through the crowd.
"Enjoying yourselves?" He asked
"Oh, yes." We lied.
"Not a bad turnout." Nearly Headless Nick said 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. Us, and everyone else in the dungeon, fell silent, looking around in excitement, as a hunting horn sounded.
"Oh, here we go." Nick said bitterly. Through the dungeon wall burst a dozen ghost horses, each ridden by a headless horseman. The assembly clapped wildly; we 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 leap 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." Nick said stiffly.
"Live 'uns!" Sir Patrick said, spotting us and giving a huge, fake jump of astonishment, so that his head fell off again (the crowd howled with laughter).
"Very amusing." Nick said darkly.
"Don't mind Nick!" Sir Patrick's head shouted from the floor.
"Still upset we won't let him join the Hunt! But I mean to say - look at the fellow -" That's really rude. I frown at him
"I think," Harry said hurriedly, at a meaningful look from Nick.
"Nick's very - frightening and - er -"
"Ha!" Sir Patrick's head yelled.
"Bet he asked you to say that!"
"If I could have everyone's attention, it's time for my speech!" Nearly Headless Nick said 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 has 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.
"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. I had just noticed that Harry, Ron and Hermione were shaking with cold. It's good thing I brought a jacket with me.
"Let's go." Harry agreed. We backed toward the door, nodding and beaming at anyone who looked at us, and a minute later we were hurrying back up the passageway full of black candles.
"Pudding might not be finished yet." Ron said hopefully, leading the way toward the steps to the entrance hall. I was behind all of them running along. I was really hungry and the rotten food made me even hungrier. Harry stumbled to a halt, almost making me run into him. He was clutching at the stone wall, like he was listening for something. He looked around, and began squinting up and down the dimly let passageway.
"Harry, what are you -?" He cuts me off.
"It's that voice again - shut up a minute -" Voice? What voice? I listened carefully but couldn't hear anything.
"Listen!" Harry said urgently, Ron, Hermione and I froze, watching him. There was only silence.
"This way." Harry shouted, and he began to run up the stairs, into the entrance hall. Now I could hear the babble of talk coming from the Halloween feast out of the Great Hall. Harry sprinted up the marble staircase to the first floor, and us clattering behind him.
"Harry, what're we -"
"Shh!" We looked at each other with confused looks on our faces.
"It's going to kill someone!" Harry shouted. We all looked at him with bewildered faces. He ran up the next flight of steps three at a time. Harry hurtled around the whole of the second floor with us panting behind him, not stopping until we turned a corner into the last, deserted passage.
"Harry, what was that all about?" Ron asked wiping sweat off his face.
"I couldn't hear anything...." I was bending down trying to catch my breath, when Hermione gave a sudden gasp. I look up and see her pointing down the corridor.
"Look!" Something was shining on the wall ahead. We approached slowly, squinting through the darkness. Foot-high words had been written on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light casted by the flaming torches. It read: THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAD BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR BEWARE. I noticed something was hanging underneath the words.
"What's that thing - hanging underneath?" I asked, curious. As we edged nearer, Harry almost slipped - there was a large puddle of water on the floor; We grabbed him, and we inched toward the message, eyes fixed on a dark shadow beneath it. All four of us realized what it was at once, and leapt backward with a splash. Mrs. Norris, Filch'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, we didn't move.
"Let's get out of here." Ron spoke.
"Shouldn't we try and help -" Harry began awkwardly.
"Trust me, we don't want to be found here." Ron said. But it was too late. A rumble, as though of distant thunder, told us that the feast had just ended. From either end of the corridor where we 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 passageway from both ends. The chatter died suddenly as the people in front spotted the hanging cat. We stood alone, in the middle of the corridor, as silence fell among the mass of students pressing forward to see the grisly sight.
"Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next Mudbloods!" Malfoy said, as he 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. I shake my head in disgust.
"What's going on here? What's going on?" Filch's voice ring through the corridor. Filch came shouldering his way through the crowd. Once he saw Mrs. Norris, he fell back, clutching his face in horror.
"My cat! My cat! What happened to Mrs. Norris?" He shrieked. His 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 us and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket.
"Come with me, Argus." He said to Filch.
"You, too, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Backenter, Miss Granger." Oh god, we're in trouble. Lockhart stepped forward eagerly.
"My office is nearest, Headmaster - just upstairs - please feel free -"
"Thank you, Gilderoy." Dumbledore said. The silent crowd parted to let us pass. Lockhart, looking excited and important, hurried after Dumbledore; so did Professors McGonagall and Snape. Snape eyed me and I shake my head no. He nods as we entered Lockhart's darkened office there was flurry of movement across the walls. It was Lockhart portraits dodging out of sight, their hair in rollers. Dumbledore lay Mrs. Norris on the polished surface and began to examine her. We sit down exchanging tense looks and sank into the 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 said sounding sadly. His comment made Filch sob. He was slumped in a chair by the desk, unable to look at Mrs. Norris, his face in his hands. Even though I don't like Filch, I felt a bit sorry for him. 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," 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 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?" Filch choked, looking through his fingers at Mrs. Norris.
"But why's she all - all stiff and frozen?"
"She has been Petrified," Dumbledore said. ("Ah! I thought so!" Lockhart said).
"But how, I cannot say...."
"Ask him!" Filch shrieked, turning his blotched and tearstained face to Harry.
"No second year could have done this," Dumbledore said firmly.
"It would take Dark Magic of the most advanced -"
"He did it, he did it!" Filch spat, his pouchy face purpling. I frown at him. He's acting like a child.
"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 know I'm a Squib!" He finished. I looked at him confused. What in the world is a Squib?
"I never touched Mrs. Norris!" Harry said loudly, as we all looked at him.
"And I don't even know what a Squib is."
"Rubbish!" Filch snarled.
"He saw my Kwikspell letter!"
"If I might speak, Headmaster," Snape said from the shadows.
"Potter and his friends may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time," He said. I smiled, but I noticed a slight neer 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?" We 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?" Snape asked, his black eyes glittering in the candlelight.
"Why go up to that corridor?" Ron, Hermione and I looked at Harry.
"Because - because - because we were tired and wanted to go to bed," Harry said.
"Without any supper?" Snape asked, a triumphant smile flickering across his gaunt face.
"I didn't think ghosts provided food fit for living people at their parties, and if I'm not mistaken the Slytherin house is in the dungeons." Oh, come on, Snape, I thought we were getting along.
"Hermione and I were going to study, and we weren't hungry." I said calmly as Ron stomach gave a huge rumble. Snape's nasty smile widened.
"I suggest, Headmaster, that Potter is not being entirely truthful. 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." Snape said. I shake my head. That's not fair!
"Really, Severus," Professor McGonagall said sharply.
"I see no reason to stop the boy from 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."
"Innocent until proven guilty, Severus." Dumbledore 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," Dumbledore said patiently.
"Professor Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrakes. As soon as they have reached full size, I will have a potion made that will revive Mrs. Norris." I remember learning about Mandrakes. One bite Malfoy's finger. I chuckled quietly to myself.
"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," Snape said icily.
"But I believe I am the Potions master at this school." There was a very awkward pause.
"You may go." Dumbledore said to us. We went, as quickly as we could without actually running. When we were far from Lockhart's office, we turned into an empty classroom and closed the door quietly behind us.
"D'you think I should have told them about that voice I heard?" Harry asked.
"No," Ron said, without hesitation.
"Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world."
"None of you believe me." Harry said.
"No, of course we do," I said quickly.
"But - you have to admit it's a bit weird."
"I know it's weird, the whole thing is weird. What was that writing on the wall about? The Chamber has been opened.... What's that supposed to mean?" Harry asked.
"You know, it rings a sort of bell," Ron said 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?" Harry asked. I looked at Ron, curious as well. 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," Harry said.
"We'd better get to bed before Snape comes along and tries to frame us for something else." Harry said. I shake my head. I honestly thought Snape and I were getting along, I guess I was wrong.

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Please ask me any questions you have about the story, I will answer them here. ~ Poppy