▂▃▄▅▆▇█▓▒░ Harry's POV ░▒▓█▇▆▅▄▃▂

I let out an exasperated sigh whilst rolling me eyes on what Ron said. "Really, Ron? Our friend is missing and you're here thinking about foods? Besides, I doubt that we'll make it on time, we probably missed the Halloween feast."

"Harry, Lucy is not technically missing," Hermione interjected. "She might be in the Common room right now waiting for us, and if not, perhaps in her dorm, asleep already."

Before I could argue, I heard it again. The same voice, the same cold, raspy, murderous voice I had heard in Lockhart's office.

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

I stumbled to a halt, clutching at the stone wall, listening with all my might, looking around, squinting up and down the dimly lit passageway.

"Harry, what're you - ?"

"It's that voice again - shut up for a minute -" I ordered shakily, adrenaline started to flow through my system.

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

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

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

The voice was growing fainter. I was sure it was moving away - moving upward. I stared at the dark ceiling; how could it be moving upward?

"This way," I shouted, and I began to run, up the stairs, into the entrance hall. It was no good hoping to hear anything here, the babble of talk from the Halloween feast was echoing out of the Great Hall. I sprinted up the marble staircase to the first floor, Ron and Hermione clattering behind me.

"Harry, what're we -"

"SHH!"

I strained my ears. Distantly, from the floor above, and growing fainter still, I heard the voice: ". . . I smell blood. . . . I SMELL BLOOD!"

My stomach lurched. Could it be, no...

"It's going to kill someone!" I shouted, ignoring Ron's and Hermione's bewildered faces, I ran up the next flight of steps three at a time. I hurtled around the whole of the second floor, Ron and Hermione panting behind me, not stopping until we turned a corner into the last, deserted passage.

"Harry, what was that all about?" said Ron, wiping sweat off his face. "I couldn't hear anything. . . ."

They must have thought I'm insane. But Hermione gave a sudden gasp, pointing down the corridor.

"Look!" A figure with a black robe was sprawled on the floor as if she's sleeping, her chocolate brown hair spread untidily on her face so we can't recognize who it is.

We slowly approached the body, then kneel on her side. I reached out my hand to gently

swatted the hair away from her face, and gave a horrified gasp when I saw who it is.

"Lucy! Lucy!" I frantically shook her, her head slightly rolling on her sides. This is so confusing, she was with us earlier at the Deathday Party, then she left without saying goodbye, and now she's here unconscious in the dark corridor, not to mention alone.

Lucy thankfully woke up with a start, her eyes frighteningly scanning the room and breathing heavily. She froze and her eyes widened staring at something behind us.

Confused, we cautiously turn around to see foot-high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches. And it was written using Blood.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

"What's that thing - hanging underneath?" said Ron, a slight quiver in his voice.

As we edged nearer, I almost slipped - there was a large puddle of water on the floor; Ron and Hermione grabbed me, and we inched toward the message, eyes fixed on a dark shadow beneath it. All three of us realized what it was at once, and leapt backward with a splash.

Mrs. Norris, the caretaker'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 as though our feet were glued on the floor. Then Ron said, "Let's get out of here."

Hermione and I instantly agreed, and I whirled around to help Lucy get up only to see her bawling and shaking violently, pale as a ghost, her eyes large and petrified staring at Mrs. Norris. The sight must've been hard for her since she's a cat lover.

I kneel in front of her, cupping her pale face with my hands. "Shh.. Don't worry Lucy, we're not sure if Mrs. Norris is dead or not, but if you want, we can get some help. We just need to get out of here immediately before the feast ended." She nodded numbly, getting on her feet.

"Come on!" I hissed, grabbing Lucy's cold hand and walking toward the great hall. 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 passage from both ends.

The chatter, the bustle, the noise died suddenly as the people in front spotted the hanging cat. Ron, Lucy, Hermione and I stood alone, in the middle of the corridor, as silence fell among the mass of students pressing forward to see the grisly sight.

Now, it looks like we just murdered the cat...

Then someone shouted through the quiet.

"Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!" It was none other than Draco Malfoy, the Slytherin Knobhead.

He had 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. No doubt, he's off his rockers.

Then a voice rang around the room, attracted by Malfoy's shout, the last person I wanna see right now came shouldering his way through the crowd.

"What? What happened here?"

Filch saw Mrs. Norris and fell back, clutching his face in horror.

"My cat! My cat! What's happened to Mrs. Norris?" he shrieked. Even me, with my notorious feud with Mrs. Norris and by extension, Filch, managed to find a small grain of pity for the man since Mrs. Norris seemed like the only companion he had.

Then his popping eyes fell on me. And just like that the pity evaporated.

"You!" he screeched. "You! You've murdered my cat! You've killed her! I'll kill you! I'll -"

"Hey!" Lucy butted in, looking outraged. "That's going a bit far. You haven't even got any absolute proof yet! We're just in the wrong place at the wrong time, besides, staff members can't go around threatening twelve-year-old students."

I smirked a bit when Filch looked abashed, feeling a flicker of pride for Lucy for being logical.

But that didn't stop him from ranting, poor old bloke. "I will kill you! You murdered her-"

"Argus!" Dumbledore had arrived on the scene, followed by a number other teachers.

He swept past Ron, Lucy, Hermione and I and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket.

"Come with me, Argus," he said to Filch. "You, too, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Conner and Miss Granger." Lockhart stepped forward eagerly.

"My office is nearest, Headmaster - just upstairs - please feel free -"

"Thank you, Gilderoy," said Dumbledore. The silent crowd parted to let us pass. Lockhart, looking excited and important, hurried after Dumbledore; so did Professors McGonagall and Snape.

As we entered Lockhart's darkened office there was a flurry of movement across the walls; I can barely hide the disgust when I saw several of the Lockharts in the pictures dodging out of sight, their hair in rollers.

Lucy snickered beside me, grimacing as well. "I'd rather spend one night in the Slytherin Common Room than to be here, honestly. He's everywhere!"

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. The four of us 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.

"Creepy git." I mumbled.

And Lockhart was hovering around all of us, making dumb 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. . . ."

Lucy grumbled and crossed her arms, an irritated expression on her face. "God, can't he just shut up? And as far as I know, there's no such thing as Transmogrifian Torture." Ron snorted but didn't comment.

However, Filch was slumped in a chair by the desk, unable to look at Mrs.Norris, his face in his hands. But I'm worrying about myself, If Dumbledore believed Filch, I 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.

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?"

"Petrified." Lucy answered in a monotone voice while staring blankly at Mrs. Norris, as we all looked at her. "She's petrified."

"How-" McGonagall started but she cut her off with the same emotionless face.

"She's paralysed and unmovable, and seem to be unconscious; it takes careful examination to discern whether a victim is petrified or dead. The difference between petrification and death is that the petrified victim appears to enter rigor mortis instantaneously and remains that way, while a dead person enters, and leaves it, within a normal timeframe."

Everyone's jaw dropped, gobsmacked and astonishment written on our faces, as well as Duumbledore's. But what baffled me is the way she gazed at Mrs. Norris, she looks... Murderous and dissappointed, probably because she's not dead.

I blinked several times, shaking my head, trying to get rid of my thoughts about Lucy. She wouldn't do such a thing, would she?

"That's right, Ms. Conner," spoke Dumbledore once regained his composure. "But how I cannot say..." Uh-oh, that's not good. Not even Dumbledore knows how.

"Ask him!" shrieked Filch, turning his blotched and tearstained face to me.

"No second year could have done this," said Dumbledore firmly. "It would take Dark Magic of the most advanced -"

"He did it, he did it!" Filch spat, his pouchy face purpling. "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 knows I'm a Squib!" he finished.

"I never touched Mrs. Norris!" I said loudly, uncomfortably aware of everyone looking at me, including all the Lockharts on the walls. "And I don't even know what a Squib is."

"Rubbish!" snarled Filch. "He saw my Kwikspell letter!"

"Doesn't mean he knows the word," Lucy retorted madly. "And even if he did, why on earth would Harry care if he could do magic or not? He was raised in the Muggle world! He wasn't taught our prejudices."

Thank you! I glanced at her and flashed her an appreciative smile which she returned with a wink.

"If I might speak, Headmaster," said Snape from the shadows, and my sense of foreboding increased; I was sure nothing Snape had to say was going to do me any good.

"We'd all rather you didn't." Lucy muttered whilst rolling her eyes, though everyone in the room heard it, Snape chose to ignore her. Ron and Hermione are literally trembling in laughter at this point.

"Potter and his 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. Of course, he do.

"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?"

Ron, Lucy, Hermione and I 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?"

My three best friends looked at me.

"Because - because -" I said, my heart thumping very fast; something told me it would sound very far-fetched if I told them I had been led there by a bodiless voice no one but I could 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 for living people at their parties."

"We weren't hungry," said Ron loudly as his stomach gave a huge rumble.

Hermione snapped her eyes shut, sighing sharply; Lucy shove her face on her hands; I face-palmed.

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 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."

WHAT?! This has nothing to do with Quidditch!

"What?" Lucy spluttered, gaping incredulously at him. Nearly everyone else looked rather angry about this suggestion too, especially McGonagall.

"Really, Severus," said Professor McGonagall sharply, "I see no reason to stop the boyplaying Quidditch. This cat wasn't hit over the head with a broomstick. There is no evidence at all that Potter has done anything wrong."

"Hear hear!" Lucy agreed. Dumbledore was giving me a searching look. His twinkling light-blue gaze made me feel as though I were being X-rayed.

"Innocent until proven guilty, Severus," he said firmly. I let out a long sigh of relief I didn't even know i was holding until now. Snape looked furious. So did Filch.

"My cat has been Petrified!" he shrieked, his eyes popping. "I want to see some punishment!"

"Punishment won't do any good if you don't have the right people," Lucy remarked tartly.

"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 potion made that will revive Mrs. Norris."

"I'll make it," Lockhart butted in. I mentally rolled my eyes, what a pompous arsehole.

"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.

I saw Lucy bent down on my ear and whispered jokingly, "Okay, as much as i hate the evil git, you've got to give him points for that one."

I grinned, nodding at her. We're so lucky to have Lucy as a friend, she never fails to make us smile, even in the most awkward and dangerous situation.

"You may go." Dumbledore said to us four. 

We went, as quickly as we could without actually running. When we were a floor up from Lockhart's office, we turned into an empty classroom  and closed the door quietly behind us.

I squinted at my friends' darkenend faces. "D'you think I should have told them about that voice I heard?"

"No," Ron said 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 me ask, "You do believe me, don't you?"

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

"I know it's weird," I said. "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. . . ."

"And what on earth's a Squib?" I asked.

To my 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."

A look of sudden comprehension crossed my face. "That does make a lot of sense."

A clock chimed somewhere.

"Midnight," I said. "We'd better get to bed before Snape comes along and tries to frame us for something else."

~*~

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