“Riddle's diary's gone,” he said in an undertone to Ron.
Harry jerked his head toward the dormitory door and Ron followed him out. They
hurried down to the Gryffindor common
room, which was half-empty, and joined Hermione, who was sitting alone, reading
a book called Ancient Runes Made Easy.
Hermione looked aghast at the news.
“But—only a Gryffindor could have stolen—nobody else knows our password—”
“Exactly,” said Harry.
They woke the next day to brilliant sunshine and a light, refreshing breeze.
“Perfect Quidditch conditions!” said Wood enthusiastically at the Gryffindor
table, loading the team's plates with scrambled eggs. “Harry, buck up there, you
need a decent breakfast.”
Harry had been staring down the packed Gryffindor table, wondering if the new
owner of Riddle's diary was right in front of his eyes. Hermione had been urging
him to report the robbery, but Harry didn't like the idea. He'd have to tell a teacher
all about the diary, and how many people knew why Hagrid had been expelled fifty
years ago? He didn't want to be the one who brought it all up again.
As he left the Great Hall with Ron and Hermione to go and collect his Quidditch
things, another very serious worry was added to Harry's growing list. He had just
set foot on the marble staircase when he heard it yet again
“Kill this time... let me rip... tear...”
He shouted aloud and Ron and Hermione both jumped away from him in alarm.
“The voice!” said Harry, -looking over his shoulder. “I just heard it again—didn't
Ron shook his head, wide-eyed. Hermione, however, clapped a hand to her forehead.
“Harry—I think I've just understood something! I've got to go to the library!”
And she sprinted away, up the stairs.
“What does she understand?” said Harry distractedly, still looking around, trying
to tell where the voice had come from.
“Loads more than I do,” said Ron, shaking his head.
“But why's she got to go to the library?”
“Because that's what Hermione does,” said Ron, shrugging. “When in doubt, go
to the library.”
Harry stood, irresolute, trying to catch the voice again, but people were now
emerging from the Great Hall behind him, talking loudly, exiting through the front
doors on their way to the Quidditch pitch.
“You'd better get moving,” said Ron. “It's nearly eleven—the match—”
Harry raced up to Gryffindor Tower, collected his Nimbus Two Thousand, and joined
the large crowd swarming across the grounds, but his mind was still in the castle
along with the bodiless voice, and as he pulled on his scarlet robes in the locker.
room, his only comfort was that everyone was now outside to watch the game.
The teams walked onto the field to tumultuous applause. Oliver Wood took off
for a warm-up flight around the goal posts; Madam Hooch released the balls. The
Hufflepuffs, who played in canary yellow, were standing in a huddle, having a last-minute
discussion of tactics.
Harry was just mounting his broom when Professor McGonagall came half marching,
half running across the pitch, carrying an enormous purple megaphone.
Harry's heart dropped like a stone.
“This match has been cancelled,” Professor McGonagall called through the megaphone,
addressing the packed stadium. There were boos and shouts. Oliver Wood, looking
devastated, landed and ran toward Professor McGonagall without getting off his broomstick.
“But, Professor!” he shouted. “We've got to play—the cup—Gryffindor—”
Professor McGonagall ignored him and continued to shout through her megaphone:
“All students are to make their way back to the House common rooms, where their
Heads of Houses will give them further information. As quickly as you can, please!”
Then she lowered the megaphone and beckoned Harry over to her.
“Potter, I think you'd better come with me...”
Wondering how she could possibly suspect him this time, Harry saw Ron detach
himself from the complaining crowd; he came running up to them as they set off toward
the castle. To Harry's surprise, Professor McGonagall didn't object.
“Yes, perhaps you'd better come, too, Weasley...”
Some of the students swarming around them were grumbling about the match being
canceled; others looked worried. Harry and Ron followed Professor McGonagall back
into the school and up the marble staircase. But they weren't taken to anybody's
office this time.
“This will be a bit of a shock,” said Professor McGonagall in a surprisingly
gentle voice as they approached the infirmary. “There has been another attack...
another double attack.”
Harry's insides did a horrible somersault. Professor McGonagall pushed the door
open and he and Ron entered.
Madam Pomfrey was bending over a fifth-year girl with long, curly hair. Harry
recognized her as the Ravenclaw they'd accidentally asked for directions to the
Slytherin common room. And on the bed next to her was —
“Hermione!” Ron groaned.
Hermione lay utterly still, her eyes open and glassy.
“They were found near the library,” said Professor McGonagall. “I don't suppose
either of you can explain this? It was on the floor next to them...”
She was holding up a small, circular mirror.
Harry and Ron shook their heads, both staring at Hermione.
“I will escort you back to Gryffindor Tower,” said Professor McGonagall heavily.
“I need to address the students in any case.
“All students will return to their House common rooms by six o'clock in the evening.
No student is to leave the dormitories after that time. You will be escorted to
each lesson by a teacher. No student is to use the bathroom unaccompanied by a teacher.
All further Quidditch training and matches are to be postponed. There will be no
more evening activities.”
The Gryffindors packed inside the common room listened to Professor McGonagall
in silence. She rolled up the parchment
from which she had been reading and said in a somewhat choked voice, “I need
hardly add that I have rarely been so distressed. It is likely that the school will
be closed unless the culprit behind these attacks is caught. I would urge anyone
who thinks they might know anything about them to come forward.”
She climbed somewhat awkwardly out of the portrait hole, and the Gryffindors
began talking immediately.
“That's two Gryffindors down, not counting a Gryffindor ghost, one Ravenclaw,
and one Hufflepuff, “ said the Weasley twins' friend Lee Jordan, counting on his
fingers. “Haven't any of the teachers noticed that the Slytherins are all safe?
Isn't it obvious all this stuff's coming from Slytherin? The Heir of Slytherin,
the monster of Slytherin—why don't they just chuck all the Slytherins out?” he roared,
to nods and scattered applause.
Percy Weasley was sitting in a chair behind Lee, but for once he didn't seem
keen to make his views heard. He was looking pale and stunned.
“Percy's in shock,” George told Harry quietly. “That Ravenclaw girl—Penelope
Clearwater—she's a prefect. I don't think he thought the monster would dare attack
But Harry was only half-listening. He didn't seem to be able to get rid of the
picture of Hermione, lying on the hospital bed as though carved out of stone. And
if the culprit wasn't caught soon, he was looking at a lifetime back with the Dursleys.
Tom Riddle had turned Hagrid in because he was faced with the prospect of a Muggle
orphanage if the school closed. Harry now knew exactly how he had felt.
“What're we going to do?” said Ron quietly in Harry's ear. “D'you think they
“We've got to go and talk to him,” said Harry, making up his mind. “I can't believe
it's him this time, but if he set the monster loose last time he'll know how to
get inside the Chamber of Secrets, and that's a start.”
“But McGonagall said we've got to stay in our tower unless we're in class—”
“I think,” said Harry, more quietly still, “it's time to get my dad's old cloak
Harry had inherited just one thing from his father: a long and silvery Invisibility
Cloak. It was their only chance of sneaking out of the school to visit Hagrid without
anyone knowing about it. They went to bed at the usual time, waited until Neville,
Dean, and Seamus had stopped discussing the Chamber of Secrets and finally fallen
asleep, then got up, dressed again, and threw the cloak over themselves.
The journey through the dark and deserted castle corridors wasn't enjoyable.
Harry, who had wandered the castle at night several times before, had never seen
it so crowded after sunset. Teachers, prefects, and ghosts were marching the corridors
in pairs, staring around for any unusual activity. Their Invisibility Cloak didn't
stop them making any noise, and there was a particularly tense moment when Ron stubbed
his toe only yards from the spot where Snape stood standing guard. Thankfully, Snape
sneezed at almost exactly the moment Ron swore. It was with relief that they reached
the oak front doors and eased them open.
It was a clear, starry night. They hurried toward the lit windows of Hagrid's
house and pulled off the cloak only when they were right outside his front door.
Seconds after they had knocked, Hagrid flung it open. They found themselves face-to-face
with him aiming a crossbow at them. Fang the boarhound barked loudly behind him.
“Oh,” he said, lowering the weapon and staring at them. “What're you two doin'
“What's that for?” said Harry, pointing at the crossbow as they stepped inside.
“Nothin'—nothin'—” Hagrid muttered. “I've bin expectin' doesn' matter—Sit down—I'll
He hardly seemed to know what he was doing. He nearly extinguished the fire,
spilling water from the kettle on it, and then smashed the teapot with a nervous
jerk of his massive hand.
“Are you okay, Hagrid?” said Harry. “Did you hear about Hermione?”
“Oh, I heard, all righ',” said Hagrid, a slight break in his voice.
He kept glancing nervously at the windows. He poured them both large mugs of
boiling water (he had forgotten to add tea bags) and was just putting a slab of
fruitcake on a plate when there was a loud knock on the door.
Hagrid dropped the fruitcake. Harry and Ron exchanged panic-stricken looks, then
threw the Invisibility Cloak back over themselves and retreated into a corner. Hagrid
checked that they were hidden, seized his crossbow, and flung open his door once
“Good evening, Hagrid.”
It was Dumbledore. He entered, looking deadly serious, and was followed by a
second, very odd-looking man.
The stranger had rumpled gray hair and an anxious expression, and was wearing
a strange mixture of clothes: a pinstriped suit, a
scarlet tie, a long black cloak, and pointed purple boots. Under his arm he carried
a lime-green bowler.
“That's Dad's boss!” Ron breathed. “Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic!”
Harry elbowed Ron hard to make him shut up.
Hagrid had gone pale and sweaty. He dropped into one of his chairs and looked
from Dumbledore to Cornelius Fudge.
“Bad business, Hagrid,” said Fudge in rather clipped tones. “Very bad business.
Had to come. Four attacks on Muggle-borns. Things've gone far enough. Ministry's
got to act.”
“I never,” said Hagrid, looking imploringly at Dumbledore. “You know I never,
Professor Dumbledore, sir—”
“I want it understood, Cornelius, that Hagrid has my full confidence,” said Dumbledore,
frowning at Fudge.
“Look, Albus,” said Fudge, uncomfortably. “Hagrid's record's against him. Ministry's
got to do something—the school governors have been in touch—”
“Yet again, Cornelius, I tell you that taking Hagrid away will not help in the
slightest,” said Dumbledore. His blue eyes were full of a fire Harry had never seen
“Look at it from my point of view,” said Fudge, fidgeting with his bowler. “I'm
under a lot of pressure. Got to be seen to be doing something. If it turns out it
wasn't Hagrid, he'll be back and no more said. But I've got to take him. Got to.
Wouldn't be doing my duty—”
“Take me?” said Hagrid, who was trembling. “Take me where?”
“For a short stretch only,” said Fudge, not meeting Hagrid's eyes. “Not a punishment,
Hagrid, more a precaution. If someone else is caught, you'll be let out with a full
“Not Azkaban?” croaked Hagrid.
Before Fudge could answer, there was another loud rap on the door.
Dumbledore answered it. It was Harry's turn for an elbow in the ribs; he'd let
out an audible gasp.
Mr. Lucius Malfoy strode into Hagrid's hut, swathed in a long black traveling
cloak, smiling a cold and satisfied smile. Fang started to growl.
“Already here, Fudge,” he said approvingly. “Good, good...”
“What're you doin' here?” said Hagrid furiously. “Get outta my house!”
“My dear man, please believe me, I have no pleasure at all in being inside your—er—d'you
call this a house?” said Lucius Malfoy, sneering as he looked around the small cabin.
“I simply called at the school and was told that the headmaster was here.”
“And what exactly did you want with me, Lucius?” said Dumbledore. He spoke politely,
but the fire was still blazing in his blue eyes.
“Dreadful thing, Dumbledore,” said Malfoy lazily, taking out a long roll of parchment,
“but the governors feel it's time for you to step aside. This is an Order of Suspension—you'll
find all twelve signatures on it. I'm afraid we feel you're losing your touch. How
many attacks have there been now? Two more this afternoon, wasn't it? At this rate,
there'll be no Muggle-borns left at Hogwarts, and we all know what an awful loss
that would be to the school.”
“Oh, now, see here, Lucius,” said Fudge, looking alarmed, “Dumbledore suspended—no,
no—last thing we want just now...”
“The appointment—or suspension—of the headmaster is a matter for the governors,
Fudge,” said Mr. Malfoy smoothly. “And as Dumbledore has failed to stop these attacks—”
“See here, Malfoy, if Dumbledore can't stop them,” said Fudge, whose upper lip
was sweating now, “I mean to say, who can?”