October arrived, spreading a damp chill over the groundsand into the castle. Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was keptbusy by a sudden spate of colds among the staff and students. HerPepperup Potion worked instantly, though it left the drinker smoking at the ears for several hours afterward. Ginny, who hadbeen looking pale, was bullied into taking some by Percy. Thesteam pouring from under her vivid hair gave the impression thather whole head was on fire. 

Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windowsfor days on end; the lake rose, the flower beds turned into muddystreams, and Hagrid's pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds.Oliver's enthusiasm for regular training sessions, however,was not dampened, which was why Harry was to be found, late onestormy Saturday afternoon a few days before Halloween, returningto Gryffindor Tower, drenched to the skin and splattered with mud.

I usually went to meet him, so he could complain about the rain and what not. As Harry squelched along the deserted corridor me walking much less loudly then he was, we came acrosssomebody who looked just as preoccupied as we were. Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor Tower, was staring morosely outof a window, muttering under his breath, ". . . don't fulfill their requirements . . . half an inch, if that . . .""Hello, Nick,"I said."Hello, hello," said Nearly Headless Nick, starting and lookinground. He wore a dashing, plumed hat on his long curly hair, anda tunic with a ruff, which concealed the fact that his neck was almost completely severed. He was pale as smoke, and Harry and I couldsee right through him to the dark sky and torrential rain outside. 

"You look troubled, young Potter," said Nick, folding a transparent letter as he spoke and tucking it in. "So do you," said Harry. "Ah," Nearly Headless Nick waved an elegant hand, "a matter of no importance. . . . It's not as though I really wanted to join. . . . Thought I'd apply, but apparently I 'don't fulfill requirements' —" In spite of his airy tone, there was a look of great bitterness on his face. "But you would think, wouldn't you," he erupted suddenly, pulling the letter back out of his pocket, "that getting hit forty-five times in the neck with a blunt axe would qualify you to join the Headless Hunt?" "Oh — yes," I said, obviously supposed to agree."I mean, nobody wishes more than I do that it had all beenquick and clean, and my head had come off properly, I mean, itwould have saved me a great deal of pain and ridicule. However —"Nearly Headless Nick shook his letter open and read furiously:

 " 'We can only accept huntsmen whose heads haveparted company with their bodies. You will appreciatethat it would be impossible otherwise for members toparticipate in hunt activities such as Horseback Head-Juggling and Head Polo. It is with the greatest regret,therefore, that I must inform you that you do not fulfill our requirements. With very best wishes, SirPatrick Delaney-Podmore.' " 

Fuming, Nearly Headless Nick stuffed the letter away."Half an inch of skin and sinew holding my neck on!Most people would think that's good and beheaded, but oh, no, it'snot enough for Sir Properly Decapitated-Podmore."Nearly Headless Nick took several deep breaths and then said, ina far calmer tone, "So — what's bothering you? Anything I can do?""No," said Harry. "Not unless you know where we can get sevenfree Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones for our match against Sly —"The rest of Harry's sentence was drowned out by a high-pitchedmewling from somewhere near his ankles. He looked down andfound himself gazing into a pair of lamp-like yellow eyes. 

It wasMrs. Norris, the skeletal gray cat who was used by the caretaker, Argus Filch, as a sort of deputy in his endless battle against students."You'd better get out of here, Potters," said Nick quickly. "Filch isn't in a good mood — he's got the flu and some third years accidentally plastered frog brains all over the ceiling in dungeon five.He's been cleaning all morning, and if he sees you dripping mud allover the place —""Right," I said, backing away from the accusing stare of Mrs.Norris, but not quickly enough. Drawn to the spot by the mysterious power that seemed to connect him with his foul cat, Argus Filchburst suddenly through a tapestry to Harry's right, wheezing andlooking wildly about for the rule-breaker. There was a thick tartanscarf bound around his head, and his nose was unusually purple."Filth!" he shouted, his jowls aquiver, his eyes popping alarmingly as he pointed at the muddy puddle that had dripped fromHarry's Quidditch robes. "Mess and muck everywhere! I've hadenough of it, I tell you! Follow me, Potter!"So Harry waved a gloomy good-bye to Nearly Headless Nick andfollowed Filch back downstairs, doubling the number of muddyfootprints on the floor, I followed him anyway.

 Harry or I had never been inside Filch's office before; it was a placemost students avoided. The room was dingy and windowless, lit bya single oil lamp dangling from the low ceiling. A faint smell of friedfish lingered about the place. Wooden filing cabinets stood aroundthe walls; from their labels, I could see that they contained details of every pupil Filch had ever punished. Fred and GeorgeWeasley had an entire drawer to themselves. A highly polished collection of chains and manacles hung on the wall behind Filch's desk.It was common knowledge that he was always begging Dumbledoreto let him suspend students by their ankles from the ceiling.Filch grabbed a quill from a pot on his desk and began shufflingaround looking for parchment. He retrieved a large roll of parchment from his desk drawer andstretched it out in front of him, dipping his long black quill into theink pot. 

"Name . . . Harry Potter. Crime . . .""It was only a bit of mud!" I said."It's only a bit of mud to you,  but to me it's an extra hourscrubbing!" shouted Filch, a drip shivering unpleasantly at the endof his bulbous nose. "Crime . . . befouling the castle . . . suggestedsentence . . ."Dabbing at his streaming nose, Filch squinted unpleasantly atHarry, who waited with bated breath for his sentence to fall.But as Filch lowered his quill, there was a great BANG! on theceiling of the office, which made the oil lamp rattle. 

"PEEVES!" Filch roared, flinging down his quill in a transport ofrage. "I'll have you this time, I'll have you!"And without a backward glance at Harry or me, Filch ran flat-footedfrom the office, Mrs. Norris streaking alongside him.Peeves was the school poltergeist, a grinning, airborne menacewho lived to cause havoc and distress. I didn't much likePeeves, but couldn't help feeling grateful for his timing. Hopefully, whatever Peeves had done (and it sounded as though he'dwrecked something very big this time) would distract Filch fromHarry.Thinking that we should probably wait for Filch to come back,Harry sank into a moth-eaten chair next to the desk. There was onlyone thing on it apart from his half-completed form: a large, glossy purple envelope with silver lettering on the front. With a quickglance at the door to check that Filch wasn't on his way back, I picked it up and read it out loud:

                                    "KWIKSPELL :A Correspondence Course in Beginners' Magic 

 Feel out of step in the world of modern magic? Find yourself makingexcuses not to perform simple spells? Ever been taunted for your woeful wandwork?There is an answer!Kwikspell is an all-new, fail-safe, quick-result, easy-learn course.Hundreds of witches and wizards have benefited from the Kwikspellmethod!

 Madam Z. Nettles of Topsham writes: 

"I had no memory for incantations and my potions were a family joke!Now, after a Kwikspell course, I am the center of attention at partiesand friends beg for the recipe of my Scintillation Solution!" 

Warlock D. J. Prod of Didsbury says:

 "My wife used to sneer at my feeble charms, but one month into yourfabulous Kwikspell course and I succeeded in turning her into a yak!Thank you, Kwikspell!"

 when shufflingfootsteps outside told us Filch was coming back. Stuffing theparchment back into the envelope, I threw it back onto thedesk just as the door opened.Filch was looking triumphant."That vanishing cabinet was extremely valuable!" he was sayinggleefully to Mrs. Norris. "We'll have Peeves out this time, mysweet —"His eyes fell on Harry and then darted to the Kwikspell envelope, which, I realized too late, was lying two feet away fromwhere it had started.Filch's pasty face went brick red. I braced himself for a tidalwave of fury. Filch hobbled across to his desk, snatched up the envelope, and threw it into a drawer."Have you — did you read — ?" he sputtered."No," I 

lied quickly.Filch's knobbly hands were twisting together."If I thought you'd read my private — not that it's mine — for afriend — be that as it may — however —"Harry and I were staring at him, alarmed; Filch had never looked madder. His eyes were popping, a tic was going in one of his pouchycheeks, and the tartan scarf didn't help."Very well — go — and don't breathe a word — not that —however, if you didn't read — go now, I have to write up Peeves' report — go —" 

Amazed at our luck, Harry and I sped out of the office, up the corridor,and back upstairs. To escape from Filch's office without punishment was probably some kind of school record."Harry! Emma! Did it work?"Nearly Headless Nick came gliding out of a classroom. Behind me, I could see the wreckage of a large black-and-gold cabinet that appeared to have been dropped from a great height."I persuaded Peeves to crash it right over Filch's office," saidNick eagerly. "Thought it might distract him —""Was that you?" said Harry gratefully. "Yeah, it worked, I didn'teven get detention. Thanks, Nick!" I said.

 We set off up the corridor together. Nearly Headless Nick, I noticed, was still holding Sir Patrick's rejection letter."I wish there was something we could do for you about the Headless Hunt," Harry said.Nearly Headless Nick stopped in his tracks and Harry walkedright through him. "But there is something you could do for me," said Nick excitedly. "Harry, Emma — would I be asking too much — but no, youwouldn't want —""What is it?" said Harry."Well, this Halloween will be my five hundredth deathday," saidNearly Headless Nick, drawing himself up and looking dignified."Oh," said Harry,"Right."  I said."I'm holding a party down in one of the roomier dungeons.Friends will be coming from all over the country. It would be such an honor if you would attend. Mr. Weasley and Miss Grangerwould be most welcome, too, of course — but I daresay you'drather go to the school feast?"

 He watched Harry and me on tenterhooks."No," I said quickly, "we'll come —""My dear boy! Harry Potter, at my deathday party! And" —he hesitated, looking excited — "do you think you could possiblymention to Sir Patrick how very frightening and impressive youfind me?" 

"Of — of course," said Harry.Nearly Headless Nick beamed at him.

 "A deathday party?" said Hermione keenly when Harry hadchanged at last and joined her, me and Ron in the common room. "Ibet there aren't many living people who can say they've been to oneof those — it'll be fascinating!""Why would anyone want to celebrate the day they died?"said Ron, who was halfway through his Potions homework andgrumpy. "Sounds dead depressing to me. . . ." Then he spilt ink all over it and cursed loudly. "No need to swear, Ron" I said muttering a spell which cleared up the ink, and handing him my homework.

 Rain was still lashing the windows, which were now inky black,but inside all looked bright and cheerful. The firelight glowed overthe countless squashy armchairs where people sat reading, talking,doing homework or, in the case of Fred and George and myself, tryingto find out what would happen if you fed a Filibuster firework to asalamander. Fred had "rescued" the brilliant orange, fire-dwellinglizard from a Care of Magical Creatures class and it was nowsmoldering gently on a table surrounded by a knot of curiouspeople.Harry was at the point of telling Ron and Hermione about Filch  and the kwikspell letter. the salamander suddenly whizzedinto the air, emitting loud sparks and bangs as it whirled wildlyround the room. The sight of Percy bellowing himself hoarse atFred and George and me, the spectacular display of tangerine stars showering from the salamander's mouth, and its escape into the fire, withaccompanying explosions, "I told you didn't I?" I laughed.

By the time Halloween arrived, Harry was regretting his rashpromise to go to the deathday party. The rest of the school washappily anticipating their Halloween feast; the Great Hall had beendecorated with the usual live bats, Hagrid's vast pumpkins hadbeen carved into lanterns large enough for three men to sit in, andthere were rumors that Dumbledore had booked a troupe of dancing skeletons for the entertainment. 

"A promise is a promise," Hermione reminded Harry bossily."You said you'd go to the deathday party." "Yes, well I didn't" I scowled "he did it for me, I don't have to go.." Of course I was dragged there anyways.

 So at seven o'clock, Harry, me,  Ron, and Hermione walked straightpast the doorway to the packed Great Hall, which was glitteringinvitingly with gold plates and candles, and directed their steps instead toward the dungeons.The passageway leading to Nearly Headless Nick's party hadbeen 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 their own living faces. Thetemperature dropped with every step we took. As I shiveredand drew my robes tightly around me, I heard what sounded likea thousand fingernails scraping an enormous blackboard. "Is that supposed to be music?" Ron whispered.

 We turned acorner and saw Nearly Headless Nick standing at a doorway hungwith black velvet drapes."My dear friends," he said mournfully. "Welcome, welcome . . .so pleased you could come. . . ."He swept off his plumed hat and bowed ua inside.It was an incredible sight. The dungeon was full of hundreds ofpearly-white, translucent people, mostly drifting around a crowdeddance floor, waltzing to the dreadful, quavering sound of thirtymusical 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, I nodded, wanting towarm up my feet."Careful not to walk through anyone," said Ron nervously, and we set off around the edge of the dance floor. we passed a groupof gloomy nuns, a ragged man wearing chains, and the Fat Friar,a cheerful Hufflepuff ghost, who was talking to a knight with anarrow sticking out of his forehead. I wasn't surprised to seethat the Bloody Baron, a gaunt, staring Slytherin ghost coveredin silver bloodstains, was being given a wide berth by the otherghosts. 

"Oh, no," said Hermione, stopping abruptly. "Turn back, turnback, I don't want to talk to Moaning Myrtle —" Damn it.

"Who?" said Harry as they backtracked quickly.

 "She haunts one of the toilets in the girls' bathroom on the firstfloor," I said, nudging them on. 

"She haunts a toilet?"

 "Yes. It's been out-of-order all year because she keeps havingtantrums and flooding the place. I never went in there anyway if Icould avoid it; it's awful trying to have a pee with her wailing atyou —"

 "Look, food!" said Ron.On the other side of the dungeon was a long table, also coveredin black velvet. We approached it eagerly but next moment hadstopped 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 greatmaggoty 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-Porpingtondied 31st October, 1492

 Iwatched, amazed, as a portly ghost approached the table,crouched low, and walked through it, his mouth held wide so thatit passed through one of the stinking salmon."Can you taste it if you walk through it?" Harry asked him."Almost," said the ghost sadly, and he drifted away."I expect they've let it rot to give it a stronger flavor," said Hermione knowledgeably, pinching her nose and leaning closer to lookat the putrid haggis."Can we move? I feel sick," said Ron. 

we had barely turned around, however, when a little manswooped suddenly from under the table and came to a halt inmidair before us. I looked at him cautiously "Hello, Peeves,"  I said, 

Unlike the ghosts around us Peeves the Poltergeist was thevery 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," said Hermione. 

"Heard you talking about poor Myrtle," said Peeves, his eyesdancing. "Rude you was about poor Myrtle." He took a deep breathand bellowed, "OY! MYRTLE!""Oh, no, Peeves, don't tell her what we  she'll be really upset,"Hermione whispered frantically.as I groaned in annoyance. "We didn't mean it,we  don't mindher — er, hello, Myrtle."The squat ghost of a girl had glided over. She had the glummestface I had ever seen, half-hidden behind lank hair and thick,pearly spectacles. 

"What?" she said sulkily. 

"How are you, Myrtle?" said Hermione in a falsely bright voice."It's nice to see you out of the toilet."Myrtle sniffed. 

"Miss Granger was just talking about you —" said Peeves slylyin Myrtle's ear. 

"Just saying — saying — how nice you look tonight," said Hermione, glaring at Peeves.Myrtle eyed Hermione suspiciously."You're making fun of me," she said, silver tears welling rapidlyin her small, see-through eyes.

"No — honestly — didn't I just say how nice Myrtle's looking?"said Hermione, nudging Harry and Ron painfully in the ribs. 

"Oh, yeah —" 

"She did —" 

"Don't lie to me," Myrtle gasped, tears now flooding down herface, while Peeves chuckled happily over her shoulder. "D'youthink I don't know what people call me behind my back? Fat Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle! Miserable, moaning, moping Myrtle!"

"Yes" I snapped, "but maybe if you grow up we wouldn't call you that, and will you stop your howling?" Moaning Myrtle burst into anguished sobs and fled from thedungeon. Peeves shot after her, pelting her with moldy peanuts,yelling, "Pimply! Pimply!" 

"Oh, dear," said Hermione sadly.Then she looked at me reproachfully "you could've been a bit nicer" she said, I rolled my eyes "she's bloody annoying" "your starting to sound like Malfoy" Ron teased nudging me in my ribs.

"Oh, shut up."

Nearly Headless Nick now drifted toward us through thecrowd."Enjoying yourselves?" 

"Oh, yes," we lied. 

"Not a bad turnout," said Nearly Headless Nick proudly. "TheWailing Widow came all the way up from Kent. . . . It's nearly timefor my speech, I'd better go and warn the orchestra. . . ."The orchestra, however, stopped playing at that very moment.They, and everyone else in the dungeon, fell silent, looking aroundin excitement, as a hunting horn sounded."Oh, here we go," said Nearly Headless Nick bitterly.Through the dungeon wall burst a dozen ghost horses, eachridden by a headless horseman. The horses galloped into the middle of the dance floor andhalted, rearing and plunging. At the front of the pack was a largeghost who held his bearded head under his arm, from which position he was blowing the horn. The ghost leapt down, lifted hishead high in the air so he could see over the crowd (everyonelaughed), and strode over to Nearly Headless Nick, squashing hishead 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 onthe shoulder."Welcome, Patrick," said Nick stiffly."Live 'uns!" said Sir Patrick, spotting Harry, me, Ron, and Hermioneand giving a huge, fake jump of astonishment, so that his head felloff again (the crowd howled with laughter). 

"Very amusing," said Nearly Headless Nick darkly."Don't mind Nick!" shouted Sir Patrick's head from the floor."Still upset we won't let him join the Hunt! But I mean to say —look at the fellow —""I think," said Harry hurriedly, at a meaningful look from Nick,"Nick's very — frightening and — er —""Ha!" yelled Sir Patrick's head. "Bet he asked you to say that!""If I could have everyone's attention, it's time for my speech!"said Nearly Headless Nick loudly, striding toward the podium andclimbing into an icy blue spotlight. 

"My late lamented lords, ladies, and gentlemen, it is my greatsorrow . . ."But nobody heard much more. Sir Patrick and the rest of theHeadless Hunt had just started a game of Head Hockey and thecrowd 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 was very cold by now, not to mention hungry. 

"I can't stand much more of this," Ron muttered, his teeth chattering, as the orchestra ground back into action and the ghostsswept back onto the dance floor. 

"Let's go," Harry agreed. We backed toward the door, nodding and beaming at anyonewho looked at us, and a minute later were hurrying back up thepassageway full of black candles."Pudding might not be finished yet," said Ron hopefully, leading the way toward the steps to the entrance hall.And then I heard it. by the look on his Harry did too, a familiar pain shot through my scar, Harry was there before I could even stumbled. It was the same voice I had heard the night me and draco had talked about mudbloods and all.

". . . rip . . . tear . . . kill . . ." 

It was the same voice, the same cold, murderous voice. "We need to go back to the common room" said Harry supporting me. 

"What happenned to her?"

"Tell you both later, Ron could you-"

"No" I shook my head, regaining balance, before ron could come anny closer. "Can you fllow it?" I asked Harry "I can try" said Harry "but-"

"Do it."

". . . soo hungry . . . for so long . . ."  

"Listen!" I said  urgently, and Ron and Hermione froze,watching me. 

". . . kill . . . time to kill . . ." 

The voice was growing fainter.

"This way," harry shouted, and he began to run, up the stairs, intothe entrance hall. It was no good hoping to hear anything here, thebabble of talk from the Halloween feast was echoing out of theGreat Hall. Harry sprinted up the marble staircase to the first floor, me right behind him, stumbling a little.Ron and Hermione clattering behind us. 

"Harry, what're we —" 

"SHH!" 

There came the voice again: . . . I smell blood. . . . ISMELL BLOOD!" Myomach lurched —"It's going to kill someone!" I shouted, and ignoring Ron's andHermione's bewildered faces, he and Iran up the next flight of stepsthree at a time, trying to listen over his own pounding footsteps —Harry and I hurtled around the whole of the second floor, Ron andHermione panting behind him, not stopping until they turned acorner into the last, deserted passage. 

"Emma.w t was that all about?" said Ron, wiping sweat off hisface. "I couldn't hear anything. . . ."But Hermione gave a sudden gasp, pointing down the corridor."Look!"Something was shining on the wall ahead. They approachedslowly, squinting through the darkness. Foot-high words had beendaubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the lightcast by the flaming torches.THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEENOPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE. 

"What's that thing — hanging underneath?" said Ron, a slightquiver in his voice.As they edged nearer, Harry almost slipped — there was a largepuddle of water on the floor; Ron and Hermione grabbed him, andwe inched toward the message, eyes fixed on a dark shadow beneath it. All four of us realized what it was at once, and leaptbackward with a splash. 

Mrs. Norris, the caretaker's cat, was hanging by her tail from thetorch bracket. She was stiff as a board, her eyes wide and staring.For a few seconds, they didn't move. Then Ron said, "Let's getout of here.""Shouldn't we try and help —" Harry began awkwardly."Trust me," said Ron. "We don't want to be found here."But it was too late. A rumble, as though of distant thunder, toldthem that the feast had just ended. From either end of the corridorwhere they stood came the sound of hundreds of feet climbing thestairs, and the loud, happy talk of well-fed people; next moment,students were crashing into the passage from both ends.The chatter, the bustle, the noise died suddenly as the people infront spotted the hanging cat. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stoodalone, in the middle of the corridor, as silence fell among the massof students pressing forward to see the grisly sight.Then someone shouted through the quiet."Enemies of the Heir, beware! What the hell-" It was draco, but something was off.  his usually bloodless face flushed, as he grinnedat the sight of the hanging, immobile cat.

What's going on here? What's going on?"Attracted no doubt by Draco's shout, Argus Filchcame 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 Harry and me. "You!" he screeched. "You! You've murdered my cat! You've killedher! I'll kill you! I'll —" 

"Argus!"Dumbledore had arrived on the scene, followed by a number ofother teachers. In seconds, he had swept past Harry, Me, on, andHermione and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket."Come with me, Argus," he said to Filch. "You, too,Ms Potter, Mr. Potter,Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger."Lockhart stepped forward eagerly.

"My office is nearest, Headmaster — just upstairs — please feelfree —" 

"Thank you, Gilderoy," said Dumbledore. 

The silent crowd parted to let them pass. Lockhart, looking excited and important, hurried after Dumbledore; so did ProfessorsMcGonagall and Snape.As we entered Lockhart's darkened office there was a flurry ofmovement across the walls; I saw several of the Lockharts inthe pictures dodging out of sight, their hair in rollers. 

The realLockhart lit the candles on his desk and stood back. Dumbledorelaid Mrs. Norris on the polished surface and began to examine her.Harry, me, on, and Hermione exchanged tense looks and sank intochairs outside the pool of candlelight, watching.The tip of Dumbledore's long, crooked nose was barely an inchfrom Mrs. Norris's fur. He was looking at her closely through hishalf-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 Iwasn't there, I know the very countercurse that would have savedher. . . ."Lockhart's comments were punctuated by Filch's dry, rackingsobs. He was slumped in a chair by the desk, unable to look at Mrs.Norris, his face in his hands. 

Dumbledore was now muttering strange words under his breathand tapping Mrs. Norris with his wand but nothing happened: Shecontinued 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 myautobiography, I was able to provide the townsfolk with variousamulets, which cleared the matter up at once. . . ."The photographs of Lockhart on the walls were all nodding inagreement as he talked. One of them had forgotten to remove hishair 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?""She has been Petrified," said Dumbledore ("Ah! I thought so!"said Lockhart). "But how, I cannot say. . . .""Ask them!" shrieked Filch, turning his blotched and tearstainedface to Harry and me."No second year could have done this," said Dumbledore firmly."It would take Dark Magic of the most advanced —""They did it, they did it!" Filch spat, his pouchy face purpling. "Yousaw what they wrote on the wall! They found — in my office — they know I'm a — I'm a —" Filch's face worked horribly. "they knowsI'm a Squib!" he finished.

 "we never touched Mrs. Norris!" Harry said loudly. "And we don't even know what a Squib is.""Rubbish!" snarled Filch. "They saw my Kwikspell letter!""If I might speak, Headmaster," said Snape from the shadows,and my sense of foreboding increased; he was sure nothingSnape had to say was going to do him any good."Potter and his friends may have simply been in the wrong placeat the wrong time," he said, a slight sneer curling his mouth asthough he doubted it. "Ms Potter, I believe, is the most sensible of the group. But we do have a set of suspicious circumstances here. Why were they in the upstairs corridor at all? Why were they at the Halloween feast?"Harry, Me,  Ron and Hermione all launched into an explanationabout 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 eyesglittering in the candlelight. "Why go up to that corridor?"Ron and Hermione looked at Harry."Because — because —" I said, my heart thumping veryfast; something told me it would sound very far-fetched if I told them we had been led there by a bodiless voice no one but wecould hear, "because we were tired and wanted to go to bed," I said."Without any supper?" said Snape, a triumphant smile flickering across his gaunt face. "I didn't think ghosts provided food fit forliving people at their parties.""We weren't hungry," said Ron loudly as his stomach gave a hugerumble.Snape's nasty smile widened. 

"I suggest, Headmaster, that Potter is not being entirely truthful," he said. "It might be a good idea if he were deprived of certainprivileges until he is ready to tell us the whole story. I personallyfeel he should be taken off the Gryffindor Quidditch team until heis ready to be honest.""Really, Severus," said Professor McGonagall sharply, "I see noreason to stop the boy playing Quidditch. This cat wasn't hit overthe head with a broomstick. There is no evidence at all that Potterhas done anything wrong."Dumbledore was giving Harry a searching look. His twinklinglight-blue gaze made Harry feel as though he were being X-rayed."Innocent until proven guilty, Severus," he said firmly.Snape looked furious. So did Filch."My cat has been Petrified!" he shrieked, his eyes popping. "Iwant to see some punishment!""We will be able to 

cure her, Argus," said Dumbledore patiently."Professer Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrakes.As soon as they have reached their full size, I will have a potionmade that will revive Mrs. Norris.""I'll make it," Lockhart butted in. "I must have done it a hundred times. I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught inmy sleep —""Excuse me," said Snape icily. "But I believe I am the Potionsmaster at this school."There was a very awkward pause."You may go," Dumbledore said to Harry, Me, 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.Harry and I squinted at our friends' darkened faces. 

"D'you think I should have told them about that voice I heard?" I asked. 

"No," said Ron, without hesitation. "Hearing voices no one elsecan hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world."Something in Ron's voice made Harry ask, "You do believe us,don't you?" 

" 'Course I do," said Ron quickly. "But — you must admit it'sweird. . . ." 

"I know it's weird," said Harry. "The whole thing's weird." I add: "What was that writing on the wall about? 'The Chamber Has BeenOpened'. . . . What's that supposed to mean?" 

"You know, it rings a sort of bell," said Ron slowly. "I thinksomeone told me a story about a secret chamber at Hogwartsonce . . . might've been Bill. . . ." 

"And what on earth's a Squib?" said Harry.To his surprise, Ron stifled a snigger."Well — it's not funny really — but as it's Filch," he said. "ASquib is someone who was born into a wizarding family but hasn'tgot any magic powers. Kind of the opposite of Muggle-born wizards, but Squibs are quite unusual. If Filch's trying to learn magicfrom 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," said Harry. "We'd better get to bed before Snapecomes along and tries to frame us for something else."