Harry woke up on Sunday morning to find the dormitory blazing with winter sunlight and his arm reboned but very stiff. He sat up quickly and looked over at Colin's bed, but it had been blocked from view by the high curtains Harry had changed behind yesterday. Seeing that he was awake, Madam Pomfrey came bustling over with a breakfast tray and then began bending and stretching his arm and fingers.

Pomfrey: All in order.

He clumsily fed himself porridge left-handed.

Pomfrey: When you've finished eating, you may leave.

Harry dressed as quickly as he could and hurried off to Gryffindor Tower, desperate to tell Ron, Taylor, Grace, and Hermione about Colin and Dobby, but they weren't there. Harry left to look for them, wondering where they could have got to and feeling slightly hurt that they weren't interested in whether he had his bones back or not. As Harry passed the library, Percy Weasley strolled out of it, looking in far better spirits than last time they'd met.

Percy: Oh, hello, Harry. Excellent flying yesterday, really excellent. Gryffindor has just taken the lead for the House Cup—you earned fifty points!

Harry: You haven't seen Ron, Taylor, Grace, or Hermione, have you?

Percy: No, I haven't. I hope Ron's not in another girls' toilet…

Harry forced a laugh, watched Percy walk out of sight, and then headed straight for Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. He couldn't see why Ron, Taylor, Grace, and Hermione would be in there again, but after making sure that neither Filch nor any prefects were around, he opened the door and heard their voices coming from a locked stall.

Harry: It's me.

He closed the door behind him. There was a clunk, a splash, and a gasp from within the stall and he saw Hermione's eye peering through the keyhole.

Hermione: Harry! You gave us such a fright—come in—how's your arm?

Harry: Fine.

He squeezed into the stall. An old cauldron was perched on the toilet, and a crackling from under the rim told Harry they had lit a fire beneath it. Conjuring up portable, waterproof fires was a specialty of Hermione and Grace's.

Taylor: We'd've come to meet you, but we decided to get started on the Polyjuice Potion. We've decided this is the safest place to hide it.

Harry started to tell them about Colin, but Grace interrupted.

Grace: We already know—we heard Professor McGonagall telling Professor Flitwick this morning. That's why we decided we'd better get going.

Ron: The sooner we get a confession out of Malfoy, the better. D'you know what I think? He was in such a foul temper after the Quidditch match, he took it out on Colin.

Harry: There's something else. Dobby came to visit me in the middle of the night.

Ron, Taylor, Grace, and Hermione looked up, amazed. Harry told them everything Dobby had told him—or hadn't told him. Hermione, Taylor, Grace, and Ron listened with their mouths open.

Grace: The Chamber of Secrets has been opened before?

Taylor: This settles it. Lucius Malfoy must've opened the Chamber when he was at school here and now he's told dear old Draco how to do it. It's obvious. Wish Dobby'd told you what kind of monster is in there, though. I want to know how come nobody's noticed it sneaking around the school.

Grace: Maybe it can make itself invisible. Or maybe it can disguise itself — pretend to be a suit of armor or something — I've read about Chameleon Ghouls…

Ron: You read too much, Grace. So Dobby stopped us from getting on the train and broke your arm… You know what, Harry? If he doesn't stop trying to save your life he's going to kill you.

The news that Colin Creevey had been attacked and was now lying as though dead in the hospital wing had spread through the entire school by Monday morning. The air was suddenly thick with rumor and suspicion. The first years were now moving around the castle in tight-knit groups, as though scared they would be attacked if they ventured forth alone. Ginny Weasley, who sat next to Colin Creevey in Charms, was distraught, but Harry felt that Fred and George were going the wrong way about cheering her up. They were taking turns covering themselves with fur or boils and jumping out at her from behind statues. They only stopped when Percy, apoplectic with rage, told them he was going to write to Mrs. Weasley and tell her Ginny was having nightmares.

Meanwhile, hidden from the teachers, a roaring trade in talismans, amulets, and other protective devices was sweeping the school. Neville Longbottom bought a large, evil-smelling green onion, a pointed purple crystal, and a rotting newt tail before the other Gryffindor boys pointed out that he was in no danger; he was a pureblood, and therefore unlikely to be attacked.

Neville: They went for Filch first. And everyone knows I'm almost a Squib.

In the second week of December Professor McGonagall came around as usual, collecting names of those who would be staying at school for Christmas. Harry, Taylor, Grace, Ron, and Hermione signed her list; they had heard that Draco was staying, which struck them as very suspicious. The holidays would be the perfect time to use the Polyjuice Potion and try to worm a confession out of him.

Unfortunately, the potion was only half finished. They still needed the bicorn horn and the boomslang skin, and the only place they were going to get them was from Snape's private stores. Harry privately felt he'd rather face Slytherin's legendary monster than let Snape catch him robbing his office.

Hermione: What we need is a diversion. Then one of us can sneak into Snape's office and take what we need.

Harry, Taylor, and Ron looked at her nervously.

Hermione: I think Grace or I'd better do the actual stealing. Harry and Ron will be expelled if they get into any more trouble, and Grace and I've got a clean record. So all you need to do is cause enough mayhem to keep Snape busy for five minutes or so.

Harry smiled feebly. Deliberately causing mayhem in Snape's Potions class was about as safe as poking a sleeping dragon in the eye. Potions lessons took place in one of the large dungeons. Thursday afternoon's lesson proceeded in the usual way. Twenty cauldrons stood steaming between the wooden desks, on which stood brass scales and jars of ingredients. Snape prowled through the fumes, making waspish remarks about the Gryffindors' work while the Slytherins sniggered appreciatively. Draco Malfoy, who was Snape's favorite student, kept flicking puffer-fish eyes at Ron and Harry, who knew that if they retaliated they would get detention faster than you could say 'unfair'. Harry's Swelling Solution was far too runny, but he had his mind on more important things. He was waiting for Hermione's signal, and he hardly listened as Snape paused to sneer at his watery potion. When Snape turned and walked off to bully Neville, Hermione caught Harry's eye and nodded. Harry ducked swiftly down behind his cauldron, pulled one of Fred's Filibuster fireworks out of his pocket, and gave it a quick prod with his wand. The firework began to fizz and sputter. Knowing he had only seconds, Harry straightened up, took aim, and lobbed it into the air; it landed right on target in Goyle's cauldron. Goyle's potion exploded, showering the whole class. People shrieked as splashes of the Swelling Solution hit them. Malfoy got a faceful and his nose began to swell like a balloon; Goyle blundered around, his hands over his eyes, which had expanded to the size of a dinner plate — Snape was trying to restore calm and find out what had happened. Through the confusion, Harry saw Hermione slip quietly into Snape's office.

Snape: Silence! SILENCE! Anyone who has been splashed, come here for a Deflating Draught—when I find out who did this…

Harry tried not to laugh as he watched Malfoy hurry forward, his head drooping with the weight of a nose like a small melon. As half the class lumbered up to Snape's desk, some weighted down with arms like clubs, others unable to talk through gigantic puffedup lips, Harry saw Hermione slide back into the dungeon, the front of her robes bulging. When everyone had taken a swig of antidote and the various swellings had subsided, Snape swept over to Goyle's cauldron and scooped out the twisted black remains of the firework. There was a sudden hush.

Snape: If I ever find out who threw this. I shall make sure that person is expelled.

Harry arranged his face into what he hoped was a puzzled expression.

Snape was looking right at him, and the bell that rang ten minutes later could not have been more welcome.

Harry: He knew it was me. I could tell.

Grace threw the new ingredients into the cauldron and began to stir feverishly.

Grace: It'll be ready in two weeks.

Taylor: Snape can't prove it was you. What can he do?

Harry: Knowing Snape, something foul.

A week later, Taylor, Grace, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were walking across the entrance hall when they saw a small knot of people gathered around the notice board, reading a piece of parchment that had just been pinned up. Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas beckoned them over, looking excited.

Seamus: They're starting a Dueling Club! First meeting tonight! I wouldn't mind dueling lessons; they might come in handy one of these days…

Ron: What, you reckon Slytherin's monster can duel? Could be useful. Shall we go?

Ron, Harry, Taylor, Grace, and Hermione were all for it, so at eight o'clock that evening they hurried back to the Great Hall. The long dining tables had vanished and a golden stage had appeared along one wall, lit by thousands of candles floating overhead. The ceiling was velvety black once more and most of the school seemed to be packed beneath it, all carrying their wands and looking excited.

Grace: I wonder who'll be teaching us? Someone told me Flitwick was a dueling champion when he was young—maybe it'll be him.

Taylor: As long as it's not… Oh no.

Gilderoy Lockhart was walking onto the stage, resplendent in robes of deep plum and accompanied by none other than Snape, wearing his usual black. Lockhart waved an arm for silence.

Lockhart: Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent! Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little dueling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions—for full details, see my published works. Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape. He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about dueling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry—you'll still have your Potions master when I'm through with him, never fear!

Ron: Wouldn't it be good if they finished each other off?

Snape's upper lip was curling. Harry wondered why Lockhart was still smiling; if Snape had been looking at him like that he'd have been running as fast as he could in the opposite direction. Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed; at least, Lockhart did, with much twirling of his hands, whereas Snape jerked his head irritably. Then they raised their wands like swords in front of them.

Lockhart: As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position. On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course.

Taylor: I wouldn't bet on that.

Lockhart: One… two… three…

Both of them swung their wands above their heads and pointed them at their opponent.

Snape: Expelliarmus!

There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet. He flew backward off the stage, smashed into the wall, and slid down it to sprawl on the floor. Malfoy and some of the other Slytherins cheered. Hermione and Grace were dancing on their tiptoes.

Hermione: Do you think he's all right?

Taylor, Ron, and Harry: Who cares?

Lockhart was getting unsteadily to his feet. His hat had fallen off and his wavy hair was standing on end.

Lockhart: Well, there you have it! That was a Disarming Charm — as you see, I've lost my wand—ah, thank you, Miss Brown—yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don't mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy — however, I felt it would be instructive to let them see…

Snape was looking murderous. Possibly Lockhart had noticed.

Lockhart: Enough demonstrating! I'm going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you'd like to help me.

They moved through the crowd, matching up partners. Lockhart teamed Neville with Justin Finch-Fletchley, but Snape reached Harry and Ron first.

Snape: Time to split up the dream team, I think Weasley, you can partner Finnigan. Potter…

Harry moved automatically toward Taylor.

Snape: I don't think so. Mr. Malfoy, come over here. Let's see what you make of the famous Mr. Potter. And you, Miss Granger—you can partner Miss Bulstrode. Miss Taylor can partner up with Miss Parkinson. Finally Miss Grace can partner up with Miss Greengrass.

Draco strutted over, smirking. Behind him walked three Slytherin girls.

Lockhart: Face your partners! And bow!

Harry and Draco barely inclined their heads, not taking their eyes off each other.

Lockhart: Wands at the ready! When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponents—only to disarm them—we don't want any accidents—one… two…three…

Harry swung his wand high, but Draco had already started on 'two'. His spell hit Harry so hard he felt as though he'd been hit over the head with a saucepan. He stumbled, but everything still seemed to be working, and wasting no more time, Harry pointed his wand straight at Draco.

Harry: Rictusempra!

A jet of silver light hit Draco in the stomach and he doubled up, wheezing.

Lockhart: I said disarm only!

Draco sank to his knees; Harry had hit him with a Tickling Charm, and he could barely move for laughing. Harry hung back, with a vague feeling it would be unsporting to bewitch Draco while he was on the floor, but this was a mistake; gasping for breath, Draco pointed his wand at Harry's knees.

Draco: Tarantallegra!

Harry's legs began to jerk around out of his control in a kind of quickstep.

Lockhart: Stop! Stop!

Snape took charge.

Snape: Finite Incantatem!

Harry's feet stopped dancing, Draco stopped laughing, and they were able to look up. A haze of greenish smoke was hovering over the scene. Both Neville and Justin were lying on the floor, panting; Ron was holding up an ashen-faced Seamus, apologizing for whatever his broken wand had done; Grace was holding Astoria's wand proudly in her hand; Pansy was holding an angry Taylor's wand in her hand; but Hermione and Millicent Bulstrode were still moving; Millicent had Hermione in a headlock and Hermione was whimpering in pain; both their wands lay forgotten on the floor. Harry leapt forward and pulled Millicent off. It was difficult. She was a lot bigger than he was.

Lockhart: Dear, dear. Up you go, Macmillan. Careful there, Miss Fawcett. Pinch it hard, it'll stop bleeding in a second, Boot—I think I'd better teach you how to block unfriendly spells

He glanced at Snape, whose black eyes glinted, and looked quickly away.

Lockhart: Let's have a volunteer pair — Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you…

Snape: A bad idea, Professor Lockhart. Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest spells. We'll be sending what's left of Finch-Fletchley up to the hospital wing in a matchbox.

Neville's round, pink face went pinker.

Snape: How about Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter?

Lockhart: Excellent idea!

He gestured Harry and Draco into the middle of the hall as the crowd backed away to give them room.

Lockhart: Now, Harry when Draco points his wand at you, you do this.

He raised his own wand, attempted a complicated sort of wiggling action, and dropped it. Snape smirked as Lockhart quickly picked it up.

Lockhart: Whoops—my wand is a little overexcited.

Snape moved closer to Draco, bent down, and whispered something in his ear. Draco smirked, too. Harry looked up nervously at Lockhart.

Harry: Professor, could you show me that blocking thing again?

Draco: Scared?

Harry: You wish.

Lockhart cuffed Harry merrily on the shoulder.

Lockhart: Just do what I did, Harry!

Harry: What, drop my wand?

But Lockhart wasn't listening.

Lockhart: Three… two… one… go!

Draco raised his wand quickly.

Draco: Serpensortia!

The end of his wand exploded. Harry watched, aghast, as a long black snake shot out of it, fell heavily onto the floor between them, and raised itself, ready to strike. There were screams as the crowd backed swiftly away, clearing the floor.

Snape: Don't move, Potter. I'll get rid of it…

Lockhart: Allow me!

He brandished his wand at the snake and there was a loud bang; the snake, instead of vanishing, flew ten feet into the air and fell back to the floor with a loud smack. Enraged, hissing furiously, it slithered straight toward Justin Finch-Fletchley and raised itself again, fangs exposed, poised to strike. Harry wasn't sure what made him do it. He wasn't even aware of deciding to do it. All he knew was that his legs were carrying him forward as though he was on casters and that he had shouted stupidly at the snake.

Harry: Leave him alone!

And miraculously—inexplicably—the snake slumped to the floor, docile as a thick, black garden hose, its eyes now on Harry. Harry felt the fear drain out of him. He knew the snake wouldn't attack anyone now, though how he knew it, he couldn't have explained. He looked up at Justin, grinning, expecting to see Justin looking relieved, or puzzled, or even grateful — but certainly not angry and scared.

Justin: What do you think you're playing at?

Before Harry could say anything, Justin had turned and stormed out of the hall. Snape stepped forward, waved his wand, and the snake vanished in a small puff of black smoke. Snape, too, was looking at Harry in an unexpected way: It was a shrewd and calculating look, and Harry didn't like it. He was also dimly aware of an ominous muttering all around the walls. Then he felt a tugging on the back of his robes.

Ron: Come on. Move—come on…

Ron and Taylor steered him out of the hall, Grace and Hermione hurrying alongside them. As they went through the doors, the people on either side drew away as though they were frightened of catching something. Harry didn't have a clue what was going on, and Taylor, Grace, Ron, or Hermione did not explain anything until they had dragged him all the way up to the empty Gryffindor common room. Then Ron pushed Harry into an armchair.

Taylor: You're a Parselmouth. Why didn't you tell us?

Harry: I'm a what?

Taylor: A Parselmouth! You can talk to snakes!

Harry: I know— I mean, that's only the second time I've ever done it. I accidentally set a boa constrictor on Dudley at the zoo once, it was telling me it had never seen Brazil and I sort of set it free without meaning to—that was before I knew I was a wizard…

Taylor: A boa constrictor told you it had never seen Brazil?

Harry: So? I bet loads of people here can do it.

Grace: Oh, no they can't. It's not a very common gift. Harry, this is bad.

Harry: What's bad? What's wrong with everyone? Listen, if I hadn't told that snake not to attack Justin…

Ron: Oh, that's what you said to it?

Harry: What d'you mean? You were there—you heard me…

Ron: I heard you speaking Parseltongue. Snake language. You could have been saying anything—no wonder Justin panicked, you sounded like you were egging the snake on or something—it was creepy, you know…

Harry gaped at him.

Harry: I spoke a different language? But—I didn't realize—how can I speak a language without knowing I can speak it?

Ron shook his head. Taylor, Ron, Grace, and Hermione were looking as though someone had died. Harry couldn't see what was so terrible.

Harry: D'you want to tell me what's wrong with stopping a massive snake from biting off Justin's head? What does it matter how I did it as long as Justin doesn't have to join the Headless Hunt?

Hermione: It matters because being able to talk to snakes was what Salazar Slytherin was famous for. That's why the symbol of Slytherin House is a serpent.

Harry's mouth fell open.

Ron: Exactly. And now the whole school is going to think you're his great-great-great-great-grandson or something…

Taylor: Oh great that means Amy, Grace, and I are going to be ignored. No one will want to go near us with you being our brother. Poor Amy.

Harry: But I'm not his descendent and neither are you three.

Hermione: You'll find that hard to prove. He lived about a thousand years ago; for all we know, you could be.

Harry lay awake for hours that night. Through a gap in the curtains around his four-poster he watched snow starting to drift past the tower window and wondered… Could he be a descendant of Salazar Slytherin? He didn't know anything about his father's family, after all. The Dursleys had always forbidden questions about his wizarding relatives. Quietly, Harry tried to say something in Parseltongue. The words wouldn't come. It seemed he had to be face-to-face with a snake to do it. But I'm in Gryffindor, Harry thought. The Sorting Hat wouldn't have put me in here if I had Slytherin blood… Ah, said a nasty little voice in his brain, but the Sorting Hat wanted to put you in Slytherin, don't you remember? Harry turned over. He'd see Justin the next day in Herbology and he'd explain that he'd been calling the snake off, not egging it on, which (he thought angrily, pummeling his pillow) any fool should have realized. By next morning, however, the snow that had begun in the night had turned into a blizzard so thick that the last Herbology lesson of the term was canceled: Professor Sprout wanted to fit socks and scarves on the Mandrakes, a tricky operation she would entrust to no one else, now that it was so important for the Mandrakes to grow quickly and revive Mrs. Norris and Colin Creevey. Harry fretted about this next to the fire in the Gryffindor common room, while Ron and Taylor used their time off to play a game of wizard chess.

Taylor: For heaven's sake, Harry

One of Ron's bishops wrestled her knight off his horse and dragged him off the board.

Taylor: Go and find Justin if it's so important to you.

So Harry got up and left through the portrait hole, wondering where Justin might be. The castle was darker than it usually was in daytime because of the thick, swirling gray snow at every window. Shivering, Harry walked past classrooms where lessons were taking place, catching snatches of what was happening within. Professor McGonagall was shouting at someone who, by the sound of it, had turned his friend into a badger. Resisting the urge to take a look, Harry walked on by, thinking that Justin might be using his free time to catch up on some work, and deciding to check the library first. A group of the Hufflepuffs who should have been in Herbology were indeed sitting at the back of the library, but they didn't seem to be working. Between the long lines of high bookshelves, Harry could see that their heads were close together and they were having what looked like an absorbing conversation. He couldn't see whether Justin was among them. He was walking toward them when something of what they were saying met his ears, and he paused to listen, hidden in the Invisibility section.

Boy: So anyway. I told Justin to hide up in our dormitory. I mean to say, if Potter's marked him down as his next victim, it's best if he keeps a low profile for a while. Of course, Justin's been waiting for something like this to happen ever since he let slip to Potter he was Muggle-born. Justin actually told him he'd been down for Eton. That's not the kind of thing you bandy about with Slytherin's heir on the loose, is it?

Girl: You definitely think it is Potter, then, Ernie?

Ernie: Hannah he's a Parselmouth. Everyone knows that's the mark of a Dark wizard. Have you ever heard of a decent one who could talk to snakes? They called Slytherin himself Serpent-tongue.

There was some heavy murmuring at this, and Ernie went on.

Ernie: Remember what was written on the wall? 'Enemies of the Heir, Beware'.

Potter had some sort of run-in with Filch. Next thing we know, Filch's cat's attacked. That first year, Creevey, was annoying Potter at the Quidditch match, taking pictures of him while he was lying in the mud. Next thing we know—Creevey's been attacked.

Hannah: He always seems so nice, though and, well, he's the one who made You-Know-Who disappear. He can't be all bad, can he?

Ernie lowered his voice mysteriously, the Hufflepuffs bent closer, and Harry edged nearer so that he could catch Ernie's words.

Ernie: No one knows how he survived that attack by You-Know-Who.

I mean to say, he was only a baby when it happened. He should have been blasted into smithereens. Only a really powerful Dark wizard could have survived a curse like that. That's probably why You-Know-Who wanted to kill him in the first place. Didn't want another Dark Lord competing with him. I wonder what other powers Potter's been hiding?

Harry couldn't take anymore. Clearing his throat loudly, he stepped out from behind the bookshelves. If he hadn't been feeling so angry, he would have found the sight that greeted him funny. Every one of the Hufflepuffs looked as though the sight of him had petrified them, and the color was draining out of Ernie's face.

Harry: Hello I'm looking for Justin Finch-Fletchley.

The Hufflepuffs' worst fears had clearly been confirmed. They all looked fearfully at Ernie.

Ernie: What do you want with him?

Harry: I wanted to tell him what really happened with that snake at the Dueling Club.

Ernie bit his white lips and then, he took a deep breath.

Ernie: We were all there. We saw what happened.

Harry: Then you noticed that after I spoke to it, the snake backed off?

Ernie: All I saw was you speaking Parseltongue and chasing the snake toward Justin.

Harry: I didn't chase it at him! It didn't even touch him!

Ernie: It was a very near miss. And in case you're getting ideas I might tell you that you can trace my family back through nine generations of witches and warlocks and my blood's as pure as anyone's, so…

Harry: I don't care what sort of blood you've got! Why would I want to attack Muggle-borns?

Ernie: I've heard you hate those Muggles you live with.

Harry: It's not possible to live with the Dursleys and not hate them. I'd like to see you try it.

He turned on his heel and stormed out of the library, earning himself a reproving glare from Madam Pince, who was polishing the gilded cover of a large spellbook. Harry blundered up the corridor, barely noticing where he was going, he was in such a fury. The result was that he walked into something very large and solid, which knocked him backward onto the floor.

Harry: Oh, hello, Hagrid.

Hagrid's face was entirely hidden by a woolly, snow-covered balaclava, but it couldn't possibly be anyone else, as he filled most of the corridor in his moleskin overcoat. A dead rooster was hanging from one of his massive, gloved hands.

Hagrid: All righ', Harry? Why aren't yeh in class?

Harry: Canceled. What're you doing in here?

Hagrid held up the limp rooster.

Hagrid: Second one killed this term. It's either foxes or a Blood-Suckin' Bugbear, an' I need the headmaster's permission ter put a charm around the hen coop.

He peered more closely at Harry from under his thick, snowflecked eyebrows.

Hagrid: Yeh sure yeh're all righ'? Yeh look all hot an' bothered…

Harry couldn't bring himself to repeat what Ernie and the rest of the Hufflepuffs had been saying about him.

Harry: It's nothing. I'd better get going, Hagrid, it's Transfiguration next and I've got to pick up my books.

He walked off, his mind still full of what Ernie had said about him. 'Justin's been waiting for something like this to happen ever since he let slip to Potter he was Muggle-born…'

Harry stamped up the stairs and turned along another corridor, which was particularly dark; the torches had been extinguished by a strong, icy draft that was blowing through a loose windowpane. He was halfway down the passage when he tripped headlong over something lying on the floor. He turned to squint at what he'd fallen over and felt as though his stomach had dissolved. Justin Finch-Fletchley was lying on the floor, rigid and cold, a look of shock frozen on his face, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. And that wasn't all. Next to him was another figure, the strangest sight Harry had ever seen. It was Nearly Headless Nick, no longer pearly-white and transparent, but black and smoky, floating immobile and horizontal, six inches off the floor. His head was half off and his face wore an expression of shock identical to Justin's. Harry got to his feet, his breathing fast and shallow, his heart doing a kind of drumroll against his ribs. He looked wildly up and down the deserted corridor and saw a line of spiders scuttling as fast as they could away from the bodies. The only sounds were the muffled voices of teachers from the classes on either side. He could run, and no one would ever know he had been there. But he couldn't just leave them lying here… He had to get help… Would anyone believe he hadn't had anything to do with this? As he stood there, panicking, a door right next to him opened with a bang. Peeves the Poltergeist came shooting out.

Peeves: Why, it's potty wee Potter! What's Potter up to? Why's Potter lurking…

Peeves stopped, halfway through a midair somersault. Upside down, he spotted Justin and Nearly Headless Nick. He flipped the right way up, filled his lungs and, before Harry could stop him.

Peeves: ATTACK! ATTACK! ANOTHER ATTACK! NO MORTAL OR GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! ATTAAAACK!

Crash—crash—crash—door after door flew open along the corridor and people flooded out. For several long minutes, there was a scene of such confusion that Justin was in danger of being squashed and people kept standing in Nearly Headless Nick. Harry found himself pinned against the wall as the teachers shouted for quiet. Professor McGonagall came running, followed by her own class, one of whom still had black-and-white-striped hair. She used her wand to set off a loud bang, which restored silence, and ordered everyone back into their classes. No sooner had the scene cleared somewhat than Ernie the Hufflepuff arrived, panting, on the scene.

Ernie: Caught in the act!

He pointed his finger dramatically at Harry.

McGonagall: That will do, Macmillan!

Peeves was bobbing overhead, now grinning wickedly, surveying the scene; Peeves always loved chaos. As the teachers bent over Justin and Nearly Headless Nick, examining them, Peeves broke into song.

Peeves: Oh, Potter, you rotter, oh, what have you done, You're killing off students, you think it's good fun…

McGonagall: That's enough, Peeves!

Peeves zoomed away backward, with his tongue out at Harry. Justin was carried up to the hospital wing by Professor Flitwick and Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department, but nobody seemed to know what to do for Nearly Headless Nick. In the end, Professor McGonagall conjured a large fan out of thin air, which she gave to Ernie with instructions to waft Nearly Headless Nick up the stairs. This Ernie did, fanning Nick along like a silent black hovercraft. This left Harry and Professor McGonagall alone together.

McGonagall: This way, Potter.

Harry: Professor, I swear I didn't…

McGonagall: This is out of my hands, Potter.

They marched in silence around a corner and she stopped before a large and extremely ugly stone gargoyle.

McGonagall: Lemon drop!

This was evidently a password, because the gargoyle sprang suddenly to life and hopped aside as the wall behind him split in two. Even full of dread for what was coming, Harry couldn't fail to be amazed. Behind the wall was a spiral staircase that was moving smoothly upward, like an escalator. As he and Professor McGonagall stepped onto it, Harry heard the wall thud closed behind them. They rose upward in circles, higher and higher, until at last, slightly dizzy, Harry saw a gleaming oak door ahead, with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin. He knew now where he was being taken. This must be where Dumbledore lived.