October arrived, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into the castle. Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was kept busy by a sudden spate of colds among the staff and students. Her Pepperup potion worked instantly, though it left the drinker smoking at the ears for several hours afterward. Johnny, who had been looking pale, was bullied into taking some by Pansy and his friends. The steam pouring from under his reddened cheeks gave the impression that his whole head was on fire.

Monty, Harry, Ron and Hermione, who had been attending Sir Nicholas' Death Day party on Halloween, were quickly fed up, tired and hungry, especially after a not so nice encounter with Peeves and Moaning Myrtle.

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

"Let's go," Harry agreed.

They backed toward the door, nodding and beaming at anyone who looked at them, and a minute later were hurrying back up the passageway 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 Harry heard it.

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

It was the same voice, the same cold, murderous voice he had heard in Lockhart's office the previous night. He stumbled to a halt, clutching at the stone wall, listening with all his might, looking around, squinting up and down the dimly lit passageway.

"Harry, what're you -?"

"It's that voice again - shut up a minute--"

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

"Listen!" said Harry urgently, and Monty, Ron and Hermione froze, watching him.

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

The voice was growing fainter. Harry was sure it was moving away - moving upward. A mixture of fear and excitement gripped him as he stared at the dark ceiling; how could it be moving upward? Was it a phantom, to whom stone ceilings didn't matter?

"This way," he shouted, and he 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. Harry sprinted up the marble staircase to the first floor, Monty, Ron and Hermione clattering behind him.

"Harry, what're we--"

"SHH!"

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

His stomach lurched--

"It's going to kill someone!" he shouted, and ignoring Monty's, Ron's and Hermione's bewildered faces, he ran up the next flight of steps three at a time, trying to listen over his own pounding footsteps - Harry hurtled around the whole of the second floor, Monty, Ron and Hermione panting behind him, not stopping until they 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..."

But Hermione gave a sudden gasp, pointing down the corridor.

"Look! "

Someone was stood at the far wall, with a red liquid dripping from their fingers. The figure turned and spotted the Golden Quartet, a menacing grin on their face. It was Johnny, all though it seemed he was in a trance. His unearthly red eyes glowed brighter in the candle light as blood dripped from his fingers. Something was shining on the wall ahead too. They approached slowly, squinting through the darkness. Foot-high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches.

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

The Quartet looked at Johnny with fear in their hearts. Johnny raised his wand at them, before he lowered it once more and crept backwards into a dark corner. Harry rushed forward in a sudden surge of confidence, grasped for Johnny's sleeve but he had seemingly disappeared into thin air.

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

As the other three edged nearer, Harry almost slipped - there was a large puddle of water on the floor; Monty and Hermione grabbed him, and they inched toward the message, eyes fixed on a dark shadow beneath it. All four of them realised 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, they didn't move. Then Monty said, "Let's get out of here. We need to report that psycho."

"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, told them that the feast had just ended. From either end of the corridor where they 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. Harry, Monty, Ron, and Hermione stood alone, in the middle of the corridor, as silence fell among the mass of students pressing forward to see the grisly sight. Harry looked around and saw Johnny amongst the crowd, stood with his friends, his eyes the same unearthly red from just moments ago.

Then someone shouted through the quiet.

"Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!"

It was Draco. 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. Harry looked at Johnny nervously once more. His eyes were back to their normal stormy blue and the blood had disappeared from his fingertips.

"What's going on here? What's going on?" Attracted no doubt by Draco's shout, Argus Filch came shouldering his way through the crowd. Then he saw Mrs. Norris and fell back, clutching his face in horror. "My cat! My cat! What's happened to Mrs. Norris?" he shrieked. And his popping eyes fell on 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 Harry, Monty, Ron, and Hermione and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket.

"Come with me, Argus," he said to Filch. "You, too, Mr. Potter, Mr. Lyons, Mr. Weasley, 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 them pass. Lockhart, looking excited and important, hurried after Dumbledore; so did Professors McGonagall and Snape. Johnny watched as Weasley and Granger shot him a fearful look.

As they entered Lockhart's darkened office there was a flurry of movement across the walls; Harry saw several of the Lockharts in the pictures dodging out of sight, their hair in rollers. The real Lockhart lit the candles on his desk and stood back. Dumbledore lay Mrs. Norris on the polished surface and began to examine her. Harry, Monty, Ron, and Hermione exchanged tense looks and sank into chairs outside the pool of candlelight, watching.

The tip of Dumbledore's long, crooked nose was barely an inch from Mrs. Norris's fur. He was looking at her closely through his half-moon spectacles, his long fingers gently prodding and poking. Professor McGonagall was bent almost as close, her eyes narrowed. Snape loomed behind them, half in shadow, wearing a most peculiar expression: It was as though he was trying hard not to smile. And Lockhart was hovering around all of them, making suggestions.

"It was definitely a curse that killed her - probably the Transmogrifian Torture - I've seen it used many times, so unlucky I wasn't there, I know the very countercurse that would have saved her..."

Lockhart's comments were punctuated by Filch's dry, racking sobs. He was slumped in a chair by the desk, unable to look at Mrs. Norris, his face in his hands. Much as he detested Filch, Harry couldn't help feeling a bit sorry for him, though not nearly as sorry as he felt for himself If Dumbledore believed Filch, he would be expelled for sure.

Dumbledore was now muttering strange words under his breath and tapping Mrs. Norris with his wand but nothing happened. She continued to look as though she had been recently stuffed.

"...I remember something very similar happening in Ouagadogou," said Lockhart, "a series of attacks, the full story's in my autobiography, I was able to provide the townsfolk with various amulets, which cleared the matter up at once..."

The photographs of Lockhart on the walls were all nodding in agreement as he talked. One of them had forgotten to remove his hair net.

At last Dumbledore straightened up. "She's not dead, Argus," he said softly.

Lockhart stopped abruptly in the middle of counting the number of murders he had prevented.

"Not dead?" choked Filch, looking through his fingers at Mrs. Norris. "But why's she all - all stiff and frozen?"

"She has been Petrified," said Dumbledore ("Ah! I thought so!" said Lockhart). "But how, I cannot say..."

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

"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!" Harry said loudly, uncomfortably aware of everyone looking at him, 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!"

"It was Johnny, Professor!" Hermione said urgently, looking frightened as she glanced between Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape and Lockhart. "W-we saw him write the message," she added quietly, explaining Johnny's red, unearthly eyes. At this revelation Dumbledore looked fearful and they even saw Snape take an uneven gulp of air.

"Johnathan Grindelwald?" Dumbledore asked, and they nodded.

"If I might speak, Headmaster," said Snape from the shadows, and Harry's sense of foreboding increased; he was sure nothing Snape had to say was going to do him any good. "Johnathan was seen at the feast with Pansy Parkinson, Daphne Greengrass and the rest of his house," Snape turned his cold eyes to the Trio. "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. "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?"

Harry, Monty, Ron and Hermione all launched into an explanation about the deathday party. "...there were hundreds of ghosts, they'll tell you we were there--"

"But why not join the feast afterward?" said Snape, his black eyes glittering in the candlelight. "Why go up to that corridor?"

Monty, Ron and Hermione looked at Harry.

"Because - because -" Harry said, his heart thumping very fast; something told him it would sound very far-fetched if he told them he had been led there by a bodiless voice no one but he could hear, "because we were tired and wanted to go to bed," he 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.

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."

"Really, Severus," said Professor McGonagall sharply, "I see no reason to stop the boy 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."

"Yet Potter and his friends were perfectly fine with dropping another student into the mud, a student of my house," Snape sneered. "How incredibly like your father you are, Potter, he too often blamed others rather than own up to his actions."

"That's enough, Severus," Dumbledore said calmly. Dumbledore was giving Harry a searching look. His twinkling light-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. "I want 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 potion made 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 in my sleep--"

"Excuse me," said Snape icily. "But I believe I am the Potions master at this school."

There was a very awkward pause.

"You may go," Dumbledore said to Harry, Monty, Ron, and Hermione. Once they had left, Dumbledore dismissed McGonagall, Lockhart and turned towards Snape.

"I know what you are thinking, Professor," said Snape, leaning against the table for support. "But Arachna Chrysanthemum hadn't been sited since the Dark Lord fell, it's rumoured she died when he fell."

"Is it possible that she could possess Johnathan?" Dumbledore asked. For once he didn't have the answers. He looked lost.

"No," Snape shook his head. "But they have a common ancestor."

"Ignotus Peverell," Dumbledore said in shock, while Snape nodded.

"However distantly related Johnathan Grindelwald and Arachna Chrysanthemum may be, it's entirely possible Johnathan inherited her Ancient Magic."

"You mean-?"

"Johnathan Grindelwald is more powerful than you, his grandfather, the Dark Lord and any Dark Wizard in time combined," Snape finished with a firm nod.