CHAPTER TWELVE THE POLYJUICE POTION

T

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE POLYJUICE POTION

hey stepped off the stone staircase at the top, and Professor

McGonagall rapped on the door. It opened silently and they entered.

Professor McGonagall told Harry to wait and left him there, alone.

Harry looked around. One thing was certain: of all the teachers' offices

Harry had visited so far this year, Dumbledore's was by far the most

interesting. If he hadn't been scared out of his wits that he was about to be

thrown out of school, he would have been very pleased to have a chance to

look around it.

It was a large and beautiful circular room, full of funny little noises. A

number of curious silver instruments stood on spindle-legged tables,

whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke. The walls were covered with

portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom were

snoozing gently in their frames. There was also an enormous, claw-footed

desk, and, sitting on a shelf behind it, a shabby, tattered wizard's hat — the

Sorting Hat.

Harry hesitated. He cast a wary eye around the sleeping witches and

wizards on the walls. Surely it couldn't hurt if he took the hat down and

tried it on again? Just to see . . . just to make sure it had put him in the

right House —

He walked quietly around the desk, lifted the hat from its shelf, and

lowered it slowly onto his head. It was much too large and slipped down

over his eyes, just as it had done the last time he'd put it on. Harry stared

at the black inside of the hat, waiting. Then a small voice said in his ear,

"Bee in your bonnet, Harry Potter?"

"Er, yes," Harry muttered. "Er — sorry to bother you — I wanted to ask

—"

"You've been wondering whether I put you in the right House," said the

hat smartly. "Yes . . . you were particularly difficult to place. But I stand

by what I said before" — Harry's heart leapt — "you would have done

well in Slytherin —"

Harry's stomach plummeted. He grabbed the point of the hat and pulled

it off. It hung limply in his hand, grubby and faded. Harry pushed it back

onto its shelf, feeling sick.

"You're wrong," he said aloud to the still and silent hat. It didn't move.

Harry backed away, watching it. Then a strange, gagging noise behind him

made him wheel around.

He wasn't alone after all. Standing on a golden perch behind the door

was a decrepit-looking bird that resembled a half-plucked turkey. Harry

stared at it and the bird looked balefully back, making its gagging noise

again. Harry thought it looked very ill. Its eyes were dull and, even as

Harry watched, a couple more feathers fell out of its tail.

Harry was just thinking that all he needed was for Dumbledore's pet

bird to die while he was alone in the office with it, when the bird burst into

flames.

Harry yelled in shock and backed away into the desk. He looked

feverishly around in case there was a glass of water somewhere but

couldn't see one; the bird, meanwhile, had become a fireball; it gave one

loud shriek and next second there was nothing but a smoldering pile of ash

on the floor.

The office door opened. Dumbledore came in, looking very somber.

"Professor," Harry gasped. "Your bird — I couldn't do anything — he

just caught fire —"

To Harry's astonishment, Dumbledore smiled.

"About time, too," he said. "He's been looking dreadful for days; I've

been telling him to get a move on."

He chuckled at the stunned look on Harry's face.

"Fawkes is a phoenix, Harry. Phoenixes burst into flame when it is time

for them to die and are reborn from the ashes. Watch him . . ."

Harry looked down in time to see a tiny, wrinkled, newborn bird poke its

head out of the ashes. It was quite as ugly as the old one.

"It's a shame you had to see him on a Burning Day," said Dumbledore,

seating himself behind his desk. "He's really very handsome most of the

time, wonderful red and gold plumage. Fascinating creatures, phoenixes.

They can carry immensely heavy loads, their tears have healing powers,

and they make highly faithful pets."

In the shock of Fawkes catching fire, Harry had forgotten what he was

there for, but it all came back to him as Dumbledore settled himself in the

high chair behind the desk and fixed Harry with his penetrating, light-blue

stare.

Before Dumbledore could speak another word, however, the door of the

office flew open with an almighty bang and Hagrid burst in, a wild look in

his eyes, his balaclava perched on top of his shaggy black head and the

dead rooster still swinging from his hand.

"It wasn' Harry, Professor Dumbledore!" said Hagrid urgently. "I was

talkin' ter him seconds before that kid was found, he never had time, sir

—"

Dumbledore tried to say something, but Hagrid went ranting on, waving

the rooster around in his agitation, sending feathers everywhere.

"— it can't've bin him, I'll swear it in front o' the Ministry o' Magic if

I have to —"

"Hagrid, I —"

"— yeh've got the wrong boy, sir, I know Harry never —"

"Hagrid!" said Dumbledore loudly. "I do not think that Harry attacked

those people."

"Oh," said Hagrid, the rooster falling limply at his side. "Right. I'll wait

outside then, Headmaster."

And he stomped out looking embarrassed.

"You don't think it was me, Professor?" Harry repeated hopefully as

Dumbledore brushed rooster feathers off his desk.

"No, Harry, I don't," said Dumbledore, though his face was somber

again. "But I still want to talk to you."

Harry waited nervously while Dumbledore considered him, the tips of

his long fingers together.

"I must ask you, Harry, whether there is anything you'd like to tell me,"

he said gently. "Anything at all."

Harry didn't know what to say. He thought of Malfoy shouting, "You'll

be next, Mudbloods!" and of the Polyjuice Potion simmering away in

Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Then he thought of the disembodied voice he

had heard twice and remembered what Ron had said: "Hearing voices no

one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the Wizarding world." He

thought, too, about what everyone was saying about him, and his growing

dread that he was somehow connected with Salazar Slytherin. . . .

"No," said Harry. "There isn't anything, Professor. . . ."

The double attack on Justin and Nearly Headless Nick turned what had

hitherto been nervousness into real panic. Curiously, it was Nearly

Headless Nick's fate that seemed to worry people most. What could

possibly do that to a ghost? people asked each other; what terrible power

could harm someone who was already dead? There was almost a stampede

to book seats on the Hogwarts Express so that students could go home for

Christmas.

"At this rate, we'll be the only ones left," Ron told Harry and Hermione.

"Us, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. What a jolly holiday it's going to be."

Crabbe and Goyle, who always did whatever Malfoy did, had signed up

to stay over the holidays, too. But Harry was glad that most people were

leaving. He was tired of people skirting around him in the corridors, as

though he were about to sprout fangs or spit poison; tired of all the

muttering, pointing, and hissing as he passed.

Fred and George, however, found all this very funny. They went out of

their way to march ahead of Harry down the corridors, shouting, "Make

way for the Heir of Slytherin, seriously evil wizard coming through. . . ."

Percy was deeply disapproving of this behavior.

"It is not a laughing matter," he said coldly.

"Oh, get out of the way, Percy," said Fred. "Harry's in a hurry."

"Yeah, he's off to the Chamber of Secrets for a cup of tea with his

fanged servant," said George, chortling.

Ginny didn't find it amusing either.

"Oh, don't," she wailed every time Fred asked Harry loudly who he was

planning to attack next, or when George pretended to ward Harry off with

a large clove of garlic when they met.

Harry didn't mind; it made him feel better that Fred and George, at

least, thought the idea of his being Slytherin's heir was quite ludicrous.

But their antics seemed to be aggravating Draco Malfoy, who looked

increasingly sour each time he saw them at it.

"It's because he's bursting to say it's really him," said Ron knowingly.

"You know how he hates anyone beating him at anything, and you're

getting all the credit for his dirty work."

"Not for long," said Hermione in a satisfied tone. "The Polyjuice

Potion's nearly ready. We'll be getting the truth out of him any day now."

At last the term ended, and a silence deep as the snow on the grounds

descended on the castle. Harry found it peaceful, rather than gloomy, and

enjoyed the fact that he, Hermione, and the Weasleys had the run of

Gryffindor Tower, which meant they could play Exploding Snap loudly

without bothering anyone, and practice dueling in private. Fred, George,

and Ginny had chosen to stay at school rather than visit Bill in Egypt with

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Percy, who disapproved of what he termed their

childish behavior, didn't spend much time in the Gryffindor common

room. He had already told them pompously that he was only staying over

Christmas because it was his duty as a prefect to support the teachers

during this troubled time.

Christmas morning dawned, cold and white. Harry and Ron, the only

ones left in their dormitory, were woken very early by Hermione, who

burst in, fully dressed and carrying presents for them both.

"Wake up," she said loudly, pulling back the curtains at the window.

"Hermione — you're not supposed to be in here —" said Ron, shielding

his eyes against the light.

"Merry Christmas to you, too," said Hermione, throwing him his

present. "I've been up for nearly an hour, adding more lacewings to the

potion. It's ready."

Harry sat up, suddenly wide awake.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," said Hermione, shifting Scabbers the rat so that she could sit

down on the end of Ron's four-poster. "If we're going to do it, I say it

should be tonight."

At that moment, Hedwig swooped into the room, carrying a very small

package in her beak.

"Hello," said Harry happily as she landed on his bed. "Are you speaking

to me again?"

She nibbled his ear in an affectionate sort of way, which was a far better

present than the one that she had brought him, which turned out to be from

the Dursleys. They had sent Harry a toothpick and a note telling him to

find out whether he'd be able to stay at Hogwarts for the summer vacation,

too.

The rest of Harry's Christmas presents were far more satisfactory.

Hagrid had sent him a large tin of treacle toffee, which Harry decided to

soften by the fire before eating; Ron had given him a book called Flying

with the Cannons, a book of interesting facts about his favorite Quidditch

team, and Hermione had bought him a luxury eagle-feather quill. Harry

opened the last present to find a new, hand-knitted sweater from Mrs.

Weasley and a large plum cake. He read her card with a fresh surge of

guilt, thinking about Mr. Weasley's car (which hadn't been seen since its

crash with the Whomping Willow), and the bout of rule-breaking he and

Ron were planning next.

No one, not even someone dreading taking Polyjuice Potion later, could

fail to enjoy Christmas dinner at Hogwarts.

The Great Hall looked magnificent. Not only were there a dozen frost-

covered Christmas trees and thick streamers of holly and mistletoe

crisscrossing the ceiling, but enchanted snow was falling, warm and dry,

from the ceiling. Dumbledore led them in a few of his favorite carols,

Hagrid booming more and more loudly with every goblet of eggnog he

consumed. Percy, who hadn't noticed that Fred had bewitched his prefect

badge so that it now read "Pinhead," kept asking them all what they were

sniggering at. Harry didn't even care that Draco Malfoy was making loud,

snide remarks about his new sweater from the Slytherin table. With a bit

of luck, Malfoy would be getting his comeuppance in a few hours' time.

Harry and Ron had barely finished their third helpings of Christmas

pudding when Hermione ushered them out of the hall to finalize their

plans for the evening.

"We still need a bit of the people you're changing into," said Hermione

matter-of-factly, as though she were sending them to the supermarket for

laundry detergent. "And obviously, it'll be best if you can get something of

Crabbe's and Goyle's; they're Malfoy's best friends, he'll tell them

anything. And we also need to make sure the real Crabbe and Goyle can't

burst in on us while we're interrogating him.

"I've got it all worked out," she went on smoothly, ignoring Harry's and

Ron's stupefied faces. She held up two plump chocolate cakes. "I've filled

these with a simple Sleeping Draught. All you have to do is make sure

Crabbe and Goyle find them. You know how greedy they are, they're

bound to eat them. Once they're asleep, pull out a few of their hairs and

hide them in a broom closet."

Harry and Ron looked incredulously at each other.

"Hermione, I don't think —"

"That could go seriously wrong —"

But Hermione had a steely glint in her eye not unlike the one Professor

McGonagall sometimes had.

"The potion will be useless without Crabbe's and Goyle's hair," she said

sternly. "You do want to investigate Malfoy, don't you?"

"Oh, all right, all right," said Harry. "But what about you? Whose hair

are you ripping out?"

"I've already got mine!" said Hermione brightly, pulling a tiny bottle

out of her pocket and showing them the single hair inside it. "Remember

Millicent Bulstrode wrestling with me at the Dueling Club? She left this

on my robes when she was trying to strangle me! And she's gone home for

Christmas — so I'll just have to tell the Slytherins I've decided to come

back."

When Hermione had bustled off to check on the Polyjuice Potion again,

Ron turned to Harry with a doom-laden expression.

"Have you ever heard of a plan where so many things could go wrong?"

But to Harry's and Ron's utter amazement, stage one of the operation went

just as smoothly as Hermione had said. They lurked in the deserted

entrance hall after Christmas tea, waiting for Crabbe and Goyle who had

remained alone at the Slytherin table, shoveling down fourth helpings of

trifle. Harry had perched the chocolate cakes on the end of the banisters.

When they spotted Crabbe and Goyle coming out of the Great Hall, Harry

and Ron hid quickly behind a suit of armor next to the front door.

"How thick can you get?" Ron whispered ecstatically as Crabbe

gleefully pointed out the cakes to Goyle and grabbed them. Grinning

stupidly, they stuffed the cakes whole into their large mouths. For a

moment, both of them chewed greedily, looks of triumph on their faces.

Then, without the smallest change of expression, they both keeled over

backward onto the floor.

By far the hardest part was hiding them in the closet across the hall.

Once they were safely stowed among the buckets and mops, Harry yanked

out a couple of the bristles that covered Goyle's forehead and Ron pulled

out several of Crabbe's hairs. They also stole their shoes, because their

own were far too small for Crabbe- and Goyle-size feet. Then, still stunned

at what they had just done, they sprinted up to Moaning Myrtle's

bathroom.

They could hardly see for the thick black smoke issuing from the stall in

which Hermione was stirring the cauldron. Pulling their robes up over

their faces, Harry and Ron knocked softly on the door.

"Hermione?"

They heard the scrape of the lock and Hermione emerged, shiny-faced

and looking anxious. Behind her they heard the gloop gloop of the

bubbling, glutinous potion. Three glass tumblers stood ready on the toilet

seat.

"Did you get them?" Hermione asked breathlessly.

Harry showed her Goyle's hair.

"Good. And I sneaked these spare robes out of the laundry," Hermione

said, holding up a small sack. "You'll need bigger sizes once you're

Crabbe and Goyle."

The three of them stared into the cauldron. Close up, the potion looked

like thick, dark mud, bubbling sluggishly.

"I'm sure I've done everything right," said Hermione, nervously

rereading the splotched page of Moste Potente Potions. "It looks like the

book says it should . . . once we've drunk it, we'll have exactly an hour

before we change back into ourselves."

"Now what?" Ron whispered.

"We separate it into three glasses and add the hairs."

Hermione ladled large dollops of the potion into each of the glasses.

Then, her hand trembling, she shook Millicent Bulstrode's hair out of its

bottle into the first glass.

The potion hissed loudly like a boiling kettle and frothed madly. A

second later, it had turned a sick sort of yellow.

"Urgh — essence of Millicent Bulstrode," said Ron, eyeing it with

loathing. "Bet it tastes disgusting."

"Add yours, then," said Hermione.

Harry dropped Goyle's hair into the middle glass and Ron put Crabbe's

into the last one. Both glasses hissed and frothed: Goyle's turned the khaki

color of a booger, Crabbe's a dark, murky brown.

"Hang on," said Harry as Ron and Hermione reached for their glasses.

"We'd better not all drink them in here. . . . Once we turn into Crabbe and

Goyle we won't fit. And Millicent Bulstrode's no pixie."

"Good thinking," said Ron, unlocking the door. "We'll take separate

stalls."

Careful not to spill a drop of his Polyjuice Potion, Harry slipped into the

middle stall.

"Ready?" he called.

"Ready," came Ron's and Hermione's voices.

"One — two — three —"

Pinching his nose, Harry drank the potion down in two large gulps. It

tasted like overcooked cabbage.

Immediately, his insides started writhing as though he'd just swallowed

live snakes — doubled up, he wondered whether he was going to be sick

— then a burning sensation spread rapidly from his stomach to the very

ends of his fingers and toes — next, bringing him gasping to all fours,

came a horrible melting feeling, as the skin all over his body bubbled like

hot wax — and before his eyes, his hands began to grow, the fingers

thickened, the nails broadened, the knuckles were bulging like bolts — his

shoulders stretched painfully and a prickling on his forehead told him that

hair was creeping down toward his eyebrows — his robes ripped as his

chest expanded like a barrel bursting its hoops — his feet were agony in

shoes four sizes too small —

As suddenly as it had started, everything stopped. Harry lay facedown

on the stone-cold floor, listening to Myrtle gurgling morosely in the end

toilet. With difficulty, he kicked off his shoes and stood up. So this was

what it felt like, being Goyle. His large hand trembling, he pulled off his

old robes, which were hanging a foot above his ankles, pulled on the spare

ones, and laced up Goyle's boatlike shoes. He reached up to brush his hair

out of his eyes and met only the short growth of wiry bristles, low on his

forehead. Then he realized that his glasses were clouding his eyes because

Goyle obviously didn't need them — he took them off and called, "Are

you two okay?" Goyle's low rasp of a voice issued from his mouth.

"Yeah," came the deep grunt of Crabbe from his right.

Harry unlocked his door and stepped in front of the cracked mirror.

Goyle stared back at him out of dull, deepset eyes. Harry scratched his ear.

So did Goyle.

Ron's door opened. They stared at each other. Except that he looked pale

and shocked, Ron was indistinguishable from Crabbe, from the pudding-

bowl haircut to the long, gorilla arms.

"This is unbelievable," said Ron, approaching the mirror and prodding

Crabbe's flat nose. "Unbelievable."

"We'd better get going," said Harry, loosening the watch that was

cutting into Goyle's thick wrist. "We've still got to find out where the

Slytherin common room is. I only hope we can find someone to

follow . . ."

Ron, who had been gazing at Harry, said, "You don't know how bizarre

it is to see Goyle thinking." He banged on Hermione's door. "C'mon, we

need to go —"

A high-pitched voice answered him.

"I — I don't think I'm going to come after all. You go on without me."

"Hermione, we know Millicent Bulstrode's ugly, no one's going to know

it's you —"

"No — really — I don't think I'll come. You two hurry up, you're

wasting time —"

Harry looked at Ron, bewildered.

"That looks more like Goyle," said Ron. "That's how he looks every

time a teacher asks him a question."

"Hermione, are you okay?" said Harry through the door.

"Fine — I'm fine — go on —"

Harry looked at his watch. Five of their precious sixty minutes had

already passed.

"We'll meet you back here, all right?" he said.

Harry and Ron opened the door of the bathroom carefully, checked that

the coast was clear, and set off.

"Don't swing your arms like that," Harry muttered to Ron.

"Eh?"

"Crabbe holds them sort of stiff. . . ."

"How's this?"

"Yeah, that's better. . . ."

They went down the marble staircase. All they needed now was a

Slytherin that they could follow to the Slytherin common room, but there

was nobody around.

"Any ideas?" muttered Harry.

"The Slytherins always come up to breakfast from over there," said

Ron, nodding at the entrance to the dungeons. The words had barely left

his mouth when a girl with long, curly hair emerged from the entrance.

"Excuse me," said Ron, hurrying up to her. "We've forgotten the way to

our common room."

"I beg your pardon?" said the girl stiffly. "Our common room? I'm a

Ravenclaw."

She walked away, looking suspiciously back at them.

Harry and Ron hurried down the stone steps into the darkness, their

footsteps echoing particularly loudly as Crabbe's and Goyle's huge feet hit

the floor, feeling that this wasn't going to be as easy as they had hoped.

The labyrinthine passages were deserted. They walked deeper and

deeper under the school, constantly checking their watches to see how

much time they had left. After a quarter of an hour, just when they were

getting desperate, they heard a sudden movement ahead.

"Ha!" said Ron excitedly. "There's one of them now!"

The figure was emerging from a side room. As they hurried nearer,

however, their hearts sank. It wasn't a Slytherin, it was Percy.

"What're you doing down here?" said Ron in surprise.

Percy looked affronted.

"That," he said stiffly, "is none of your business. It's Crabbe, isn't it?"

"Wh — oh, yeah," said Ron.

"Well, get off to your dormitories," said Percy sternly. "It's not safe to

go wandering around dark corridors these days."

"You are," Ron pointed out.

"I," said Percy, drawing himself up, "am a prefect. Nothing's about to

attack me."

A voice suddenly echoed behind Harry and Ron. Draco Malfoy was

strolling toward them, and for the first time in his life, Harry was pleased

to see him.

"There you are," he drawled, looking at them. "Have you two been

pigging out in the Great Hall all this time? I've been looking for you; I

want to show you something really funny."

Malfoy glanced witheringly at Percy.

"And what're you doing down here, Weasley?" he sneered.

Percy looked outraged.

"You want to show a bit more respect to a school prefect!" he said. "I

don't like your attitude!"

Malfoy sneered and motioned for Harry and Ron to follow him. Harry

almost said something apologetic to Percy but caught himself just in time.

He and Ron hurried after Malfoy, who said as they turned into the next

passage, "That Peter Weasley —"

"Percy," Ron corrected him automatically.

"Whatever," said Malfoy. "I've noticed him sneaking around a lot lately.

And I bet I know what he's up to. He thinks he's going to catch Slytherin's

heir single-handed."

He gave a short, derisive laugh. Harry and Ron exchanged excited looks.

Malfoy paused by a stretch of bare, damp stone wall.

"What's the new password again?" he said to Harry.

"Er —" said Harry.

"Oh, yeah — pure-blood!" said Malfoy, not listening, and a stone door

concealed in the wall slid open. Malfoy marched through it, and Harry and

Ron followed him.

The Slytherin common room was a long, low underground room with

rough stone walls and ceiling from which round, greenish lamps were

hanging on chains. A fire was crackling under an elaborately carved

mantelpiece ahead of them, and several Slytherins were silhouetted around

it in high-backed chairs.

"Wait here," said Malfoy to Harry and Ron, motioning them to a pair of

empty chairs set back from the fire. "I'll go and get it — my father's just

sent it to me —"

Wondering what Malfoy was going to show them, Harry and Ron sat

down, doing their best to look at home.

Malfoy came back a minute later, holding what looked like a newspaper

clipping. He thrust it under Ron's nose.

"That'll give you a laugh," he said.

Harry saw Ron's eyes widen in shock. He read the clipping quickly, gave

a very forced laugh, and handed it to Harry.

It had been clipped out of the Daily Prophet, and it said:

INQUIRY AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC

Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, was

today fined fifty Galleons for bewitching a Muggle car.

Mr. Lucius Malfoy, a governor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft

and Wizardry, where the enchanted car crashed earlier this year,

called today for Mr. Weasley's resignation.

"Weasley has brought the Ministry into disrepute," Mr. Malfoy told

our reporter. "He is clearly unfit to draw up our laws and his

ridiculous Muggle Protection Act should be scrapped immediately."

Mr. Weasley was unavailable for comment, although his wife told

reporters to clear off or she'd set the family ghoul on them.

"Well?" said Malfoy impatiently as Harry handed the clipping back to

him. "Don't you think it's funny?"

"Ha, ha," said Harry bleakly.

"Arthur Weasley loves Muggles so much he should snap his wand in

half and go and join them," said Malfoy scornfully. "You'd never know the

Weasleys were purebloods, the way they behave."

Ron's — or rather, Crabbe's — face was contorted with fury.

"What's up with you, Crabbe?" snapped Malfoy.

"Stomachache," Ron grunted.

"Well, go up to the hospital wing and give all those Mudbloods a kick

from me," said Malfoy, snickering. "You know, I'm surprised the Daily

Prophet hasn't reported all these attacks yet," he went on thoughtfully. "I

suppose Dumbledore's trying to hush it all up. He'll be sacked if it doesn't

stop soon. Father's always said old Dumbledore's the worst thing that's

ever happened to this place. He loves Muggle-borns. A decent headmaster

would never've let slime like that Creevey in."

Malfoy started taking pictures with an imaginary camera and did a cruel

but accurate impression of Colin: "'Potter, can I have your picture, Potter?

Can I have your autograph? Can I lick your shoes, please, Potter?'"

He dropped his hands and looked at Harry and Ron.

"What's the matter with you two?"

Far too late, Harry and Ron forced themselves to laugh, but Malfoy

seemed satisfied; perhaps Crabbe and Goyle were always slow on the

uptake.

"Saint Potter, the Mudbloods' friend," said Malfoy slowly. "He's

another one with no proper wizard feeling, or he wouldn't go around with

that jumped-up Granger Mudblood. And people think he's Slytherin's

heir!"

Harry and Ron waited with bated breath: Malfoy was surely seconds

away from telling them it was him — but then —

"I wish I knew who it is," said Malfoy petulantly. "I could help them."

Ron's jaw dropped so that Crabbe looked even more clueless than usual.

Fortunately, Malfoy didn't notice, and Harry, thinking fast, said, "You

must have some idea who's behind it all. . . ."

"You know I haven't, Goyle, how many times do I have to tell you?"

snapped Malfoy. "And Father won't tell me anything about the last time

the Chamber was opened either. Of course, it was fifty years ago, so it was

before his time, but he knows all about it, and he says that it was all kept

quiet and it'll look suspicious if I know too much about it. But I know one

thing — last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened, a Mudblood died.

So I bet it's a matter of time before one of them's killed this time. . . . I

hope it's Granger," he said with relish.

Ron was clenching Crabbe's gigantic fists. Feeling that it would be a bit

of a giveaway if Ron punched Malfoy, Harry shot him a warning look and

said, "D'you know if the person who opened the Chamber last time was

caught?"

"Oh, yeah . . . whoever it was was expelled," said Malfoy. "They're

probably still in Azkaban."

"Azkaban?" said Harry, puzzled.

"Azkaban — the wizard prison, Goyle," said Malfoy, looking at him in

disbelief. "Honestly, if you were any slower, you'd be going backward."

He shifted restlessly in his chair and said, "Father says to keep my head

down and let the Heir of Slytherin get on with it. He says the school needs

ridding of all the Mudblood filth, but not to get mixed up in it. Of course,

he's got a lot on his plate at the moment. You know the Ministry of Magic

raided our manor last week?"

Harry tried to force Goyle's dull face into a look of concern.

"Yeah . . ." said Malfoy. "Luckily, they didn't find much. Father's got

some very valuable Dark Arts stuff. But luckily, we've got our own secret

chamber under the drawing-room floor —"

"Ho!" said Ron.

Malfoy looked at him. So did Harry. Ron blushed. Even his hair was

turning red. His nose was also slowly lengthening — their hour was up,

Ron was turning back into himself, and from the look of horror he was

suddenly giving Harry, he must be, too.

They both jumped to their feet.

"Medicine for my stomach," Ron grunted, and without further ado they

sprinted the length of the Slytherin common room, hurled themselves at

the stone wall, and dashed up the passage, hoping against hope that Malfoy

hadn't noticed anything. Harry could feel his feet slipping around in

Goyle's huge shoes and had to hoist up his robes as he shrank; they

crashed up the steps into the dark entrance hall, which was full of a

muffled pounding coming from the closet where they'd locked Crabbe and

Goyle. Leaving their shoes outside the closet door, they sprinted in their

socks up the marble staircase toward Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

"Well, it wasn't a complete waste of time," Ron panted, closing the

bathroom door behind them. "I know we still haven't found out who's

doing the attacks, but I'm going to write to Dad tomorrow and tell him to

check under the Malfoys' drawing room."

Harry checked his face in the cracked mirror. He was back to normal. He

put his glasses on as Ron hammered on the door of Hermione's stall.

"Hermione, come out, we've got loads to tell you —"

"Go away!" Hermione squeaked.

Harry and Ron looked at each other.

"What's the matter?" said Ron. "You must be back to normal by now, we

are —"

But Moaning Myrtle glided suddenly through the stall door. Harry had

never seen her looking so happy.

"Ooooooh, wait till you see," she said. "It's awful —"

They heard the lock slide back and Hermione emerged, sobbing, her

robes pulled up over her head.

"What's up?" said Ron uncertainly. "Have you still got Millicent's nose

or something?"

Hermione let her robes fall and Ron backed into the sink.

Her face was covered in black fur. Her eyes had turned yellow and there

were long, pointed ears poking through her hair.

"It was a c-cat hair!" she howled. "M-Millicent Bulstrode m-must have

a cat! And the p-potion isn't supposed to be used for animal

transformations!"

"Uh-oh," said Ron.

"You'll be teased something dreadful," said Myrtle happily.

"It's okay, Hermione," said Harry quickly. "We'll take you up to the

hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey never asks too many questions. . . ."

It took a long time to persuade Hermione to leave the bathroom.

Moaning Myrtle sped them on their way with a hearty guffaw. "Wait till

everyone finds out you've got a tail!"