Capítulo 19: 19
Henry was just walking down the corridor when Lockhart bumped into him.
- Harry! It's good to see you! Will you help me answer the fan mail?
Henry, not thinking long enough, shrieked with all his might.
- Help! They're raping me!
Lockhart turned pale and flinched.
- What's going on here?!
- Rape!!! - Henry kept yelling.
- It doesn't look like much, Potter.
Henry hid behind Snape.
- It's very noticeable. Do you know what that bloke offered me?!
- Lockhart?
- I was just offering Harry to help me answer fan mail. - said Lockhart, confused for once.
Judging by Snape's face - rape would have been better.
- Potter, you're dismissed. Lockhart, if I ever see you around students again with such indecent suggestions...
- What's indecent about them?
- Can you guarantee that all your female admirers only write decent letters?
Henry didn't want to hear the rest of the discussion, so he dashed down the corridor. He stopped at the corner and took a breath. The prank had been brazen enough. But to answer the letters of this peacock!?
Tailed!
Who did he think he was?
And in the next moment, both the letters and Lockhart were forgotten. Because...
It was a voice that cut to the marrow of the bones and took the breath away like icy poison.
- Come...come to me...let me tear you...let me pull you to pieces...let me kill you...
Henry moved away from the wall and eyed it suspiciously. Kind of speakerless.
He put his ear to it again.
- Let me kill you.
Yeah, you got it! I'm on it!
And who would that be, you? Him personally? Because if it's Lockhart, Henry won't mind. He might even salt it. And where is this bubbler located?
Henry honestly walked to the end of the corridor, looked in the empty classrooms, found no one there, and headed for the dormitory.
If someone got eaten...
And anyway, Voldemort was already here, a troll was running around, a Cerberus was sitting... who knows who or what the Headmasters brought to Hogwarts this year? Besides Lockhart?
October came, covering the castle and its grounds in frosty dampness. Nurse Madam Pomfrey had a lot of work due to a sudden outbreak of colds among staff and students. Her Pepper Potion worked immediately, though whoever drank it had steam coming out of their ears for hours afterwards. Ginny Weasley, who looked pale, had been forced to drink it by the Head Girl. The smoke under her fiery hair made it seem like her head was on fire. That wasn't so bad for Henry-at least now he could track the redhead a few dozen metres away and get away in time.
It's annoying, you bastard!
Everything was fine - the faculty was excellent, there were plenty of books, the professors answered all his questions (where could they go?), but this grebe was following you around...
Liz had already suggested a prophylactic laxative, sleeping pills, or both, but Henry had been patient so far. Though he realised, it wouldn't last long.
As Henry squelched down the deserted corridor, he bumped into someone who was as puzzled about something as he was. Almost Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor Tower, looked out the window sadly, muttering under his breath: "...don't meet their requirements...half an inch, for that matter..."
- Hi, Nick," Henry said.
- 'Hello, hello,' said Almost Headless Nick, flinching and turning round. He wore an exquisite plume hat, long curly hair coming down from under it, and a tunic with a stiff collar that hid a nearly severed neck. He was pale as smoke, and Henry could see through him to the dark sky and the rain outside the window.
- You look worried, young Potter," Nick said, folding the transparent letter and tucking it into his camisole.
- 'So do you,' Henry said.
- 'Ah,' Almost Headless Nick waved a dainty pen, 'it doesn't matter... though that doesn't mean I wouldn't like to join... thought about sending in an application, but apparently I 'don't qualify'.'
Despite his light-hearted tone, he had intense bitterness written all over his face.
- But you'd think," he suddenly exploded, pulling the letters out of his pocket, "that when you've been hit in the neck with a blunt axe forty-five times, you'd be eligible for the Headless Hunt.
- Ah... yes," said Henry, who clearly should have agreed.
- After all, no one would like it more than I would like it quicker and smoother, and my head would come off as it should, for it would spare me the pain and humiliation. However... - Almost Headless Nick shook the letter to get it open and angrily read.
- "We can only accept hunters whose heads have had paths with their bodies scattered. You will realise that otherwise it will be impossible for members to take part in events such as Head Juggling at the Rack and Head Polo. It is to my deepest regret that I must inform you that you do not fulfil our requirements. Best wishes, Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore."
Strongly angry, Almost Headless, Nick hid the letter again.
- Half an inch of skin and tendons holding up my neck, Henry! Most would think it's okay, and the head is severed, but no, it's not enough for Sir How Should Decapitated-Podmore.
- Do you want to chop it off?
- Э... Henry, I'm a ghost, aren't I?
- We could find your body and finish you off.
- It could have been decomposed over the centuries.
- It could have been mummified, no?
- Hmm. - Nick was clearly thinking, and Henry hurried away.
***
The second shock awaited him the following evening.
He was on his way back from Snape's, who he'd been terrorising with questions about the use of wormwood in potions and moon wormwood.
And then Henry heard it again.
- ... tear... tear... tear... kill...
It was the same voice, the same icy, murderous voice he'd heard a while ago.
He froze in place, clawed at the stone wall, listening with all his might, looking round, gazing at both ends of the misty passage.
- ... so hungry... so long... to kill... time to kill...
The voice was growing fainter. Henry was sure it was receding ... moving upwards. Fear and excitement gripped him; he looked up at the dark ceiling; how could it move upwards? Was it a ghost for whom stone ceilings played no part?
Henry ran up the stairs to the lobby. He could no longer hope to hear anything here, for a hum of voices came from the Great Hall, but he ran up the marble staircase to the first floor.
In the distance, from the top floor, a faint voice reached him: "...smell blood...smell blood!"
His stomach clenched.
Lockhart was pretty decent. But someone else?!
What do I do?
Henry darted towards the great hall and breathed a sigh of relief.
Flitwick was coming out.
- Professor! I need you so badly!
- What's wrong, Henry?
- It's trying to kill someone!
- It, Henry?
- Come along, please!
Flitwick was surprised but obediently followed Henry to the first floor and explored the nooks and crannies with his student.
During this time, Henry told both about the voice and his sensations. The Professor was silent as if remembering something. Suddenly, strong fingers tightened on the boy's shoulder.
- Henry, get behind me now!
Flitwick snatched up his wand.
Something glittered on the wall ahead. They approached it slowly, peering into the darkness. Words were written in half-metre-high letters in the partition between the two windows, and they glimmered in the light cast by the flaming torches.
THE SECRET CHAMBER IS OPEN.
ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.
- What is that thing... hanging downstairs? - Henry asked with a slight tremor in his voice. The picture needed to add up.
Henry almost slipped When they got closer- a large puddle of water was on the floor. And then, at last, the dark spots made sense-a terrible sense!
Mrs Norris - the caretaker's cat - was hanging on her tail from the torch horn. She was stiff as a board, her eyes wide open and staring ahead.
- Fucking hell! - Henry spoke out unctuously.
Flitwick's goblin translation contained something similar in meaning.
There was no time for them to do anything. A noise that sounded like distant thunder told them that dinner had just ended. From both sides of the corridor came hundreds of feet up the stairs and the loud, contented chatter of well-fed people; the next moment, the students poured into the gallery from both sides.
The chatter, the bustle, and the noise suddenly subsided when those walking ahead noticed the hanging cat. Henry and Flitwick stood alone in the middle of the corridor as silence fell over the crowd of students making their way forward to see the horrible sight.
- What a nightmare!
Ginny Weasley squealed and fell senseless right into a puddle.
- What's going on here?
Argus Filch was making his way through the crowd. And then he saw Mrs Norris and recoiled, a look of horror on his face.
- Argus!
Dumbledore appeared on the scene, accompanied by a group of teachers. He immediately walked past Henry and Flitwick and took Mrs Norris off the torch stand.
- 'Come with me, Argus,' he said to Filch. - 'And you, Mr Potter and Mr Flitwick.
Lockhart stepped forward resolutely.
- 'My office is the closest, Headmaster... right upstairs... please don't be shy...'
- Thank you, Gilderoy," said Dumbledore.
- Wouldn't it be better to go to the hospital? - Henry asked Flitwick.
The half-goblin put a hand on his shoulder.
- People often make bad decisions in critical situations.
- Unless they're Ravenclaws?
- You're right, Mr Potter.
The crowd split in two, letting them through. Clearly feeling important, Lockhart happily hurried after Dumbledore; Professor McGonagall and Snape did the same.
As they entered Lockhart's dark office, movement began along the walls; Henry saw several Lockharts in photographs out of sight because they had curlers in their hair. The honest Lockhart, meanwhile, lit the lamp on the table and stepped back. Dumbledore placed Mrs Norris on the table's polished surface and proceeded to examine her. Henry and Flitwick watched in silence.
The tip of Dumbledore's long, crooked nose was barely an inch from Mrs Norris's fur. He looked at her carefully through his half-moon glasses, and his long fingers were carefully groping the cat. Professor McGonagall leaned quite low over the table, her eyes narrowed. Snape stood behind them, half hidden in the shadows, and he had a strange expression: he seemed to be barely managing to hold back a smile. On the other hand, Lockhart was snooping around and making various suggestions.
- She was definitely killed by a curse... probably Transmogrifian Torture. I've seen it used so many times; it's such a shame I wasn't around; I know the exact counterspell that would have saved her...
Lockhart's comments were interrupted by Filch's dry sobs. He sat in a chair beside the table, unable to look at Mrs Norris, and covered his face with his hands.
Henry felt sorry for the caretaker. But what could he do?
All he could do was trip Lockhart, which he safely missed, slamming right into Snape. It was as good as if the teachers had hugged each other. A second later, of course, Snape threw Lockhart off, but at least he was quiet.
Dumbledore muttered strange words and touched Mrs Norris with his wand, but nothing happened - she continued to look like a stuffed cat.
- ...I remember a very similar incident in Ouagadougou," said the underdog Lockhart, "a series of attacks. The whole story is in my autobiography. Then I equipped the city's entire population with amulets that ended it once and for all ...
Lockhart's pictures on the walls nodded as he spoke. One of them still had a hairnet on her head.
Finally, Dumbledore straightened up.
- She's not dead, Argus," he said softly.
Lockhart immediately stopped counting the number of murders he had prevented.
- Not dead? - Filch wheezed, looking at Mrs Norris through his fingers. - But why is she so... so still and cold?
- 'She's been turned to stone,' said Dumbledore. ('Aha! I thought so!' said Lockhart.) 'But I can't tell you how... Henry? Filius?
- We were on our way to my office," Flitwick replied calmly. - 'And we came across.... this. I could have sworn that neither I nor Henry - right, Henry?
- Yes, sir?
- We didn't do anything to the cat.
- Yes, sir," Henry repeated.
- Clearly, you didn't," Snape said with mild irritation. "It requires a mastery of Dark Magic at the highest level.
- What would it take to cast a spell on her? - Henry asked immediately.
- A mandrake potion. Unfortunately, Hogwarts doesn't have enough mature mandrakes, but we'll make it as soon as they're ripe.
- I'll make it," Lockhart interjected. - I've done it at least a hundred times. I can make a Mandragora Restorative Sip even in my sleep.....
- I'm sorry," Snape said icily. - I thought I was teaching Potions at this school.
- I'm sorry, can't you just buy them? - Henry couldn't resist again.
- ...
- You could go to the board of trustees. For an occasion like this?
Filch's face brightened.
- You may go, Mr Potter," Dumbledore said icily. - Filius...
- I'll see my apprentice off," the half-goblin said coldly.
Henry walked out without saying goodbye. He turned to Flitwick.
- Professor, but why?
- Because, Henry, it's terrible publicity for the school.
- Can't Dumbledore explain it?
- It's not something children are supposed to understand.
- Liz explained the phenomenon to Henry a long time ago. - It's a disease of the uncovered arse. When they smell a kick.
Flitwick grinned.
- 'That's a good way of putting it, Henry.
- And I can write...
- You can. As long as there was no prohibition...
Henry nodded.
His gaze picked out a familiar flaxen lock of hair from the crowd.
- Malfoy. Come here!
- What for?
- We're writing!
In exactly ten minutes, five of which were spent running to the owlery, the letter flew to Lucius Malfoy.
He didn't wait long. Apparently, his "love" for Dumbledore kept him from sitting still because Filch was shining like a clear sunshine the following day. Mrs Norris nuzzled at his feet and purred, squinting her yellow eyes at him. Dumbledore, on the other hand, was not happy.
But...
- Ahem. Dear students. Due to what has happened, I'd like to inform you that the corridor where Mrs Norris was found is now closed. That's one. And two. Walking around the castle is temporarily forbidden. If anyone needs to go out, please do so in groups of at least three - or accompanied by the headmen.
The boys murmured, but there was no choice. Do you want to avoid hanging like Mrs Norris? Sit in silence.
Henry wasn't going to walk around the castle as it was. The library? There are always companions to go there. Snape? No monster would go near him; they don't touch their own. Where else?
There isn't anywhere else.
But Weasley will leave him alone, maybe?
I'm dreaming. Henry was caught up with Ron Weasley on the way out of the hall.
- Gar. Henry, listen, I've got a situation.
- I'm listening.
- Who do you think the Slytherin heir is?
- The devil knows. Why?
- I think it's Malfoy!
- Weasley, have you hit your head?
It was rude, but Henry was just freaking out. Malfoy?! Why?! The Malfoys were never related to a Slytherin; what inheritance? Spiritual?
Bollocks!
- His whole family's in Slytherin!
- What, just him?
- ...
- Weasley, I always knew you were a part, but I didn't think it was to this extent.
Malfoy had appeared out of nowhere and was now glaring at Ron.
- You've probably only got a bone marrow of brains left. Why am I suddenly the heir to Slytherin?
- Who else? Everyone knows your family doesn't like mudbloods!
- Weasley, it's not as important what blood you have as what kind of person you are," Henry rolled his eyes. - 'Better a clever half-blood than such a pureblood.... jackass!
- I completely," Malfoy looked at Ron with disdain, "agree with Potter. Better a muggle-born than a blood traitor.
Weasley turned black and clenched his fists.
- You...
- I didn't betray my blood. Nor did my father.
- You're still scoundrels! - The little Weasley couldn't take it either. - The only reason your father wasn't locked up was because he bribed everyone! He was supporting the One! Everyone knows!
Henry and Malfoy looked at each other. They weren't close friends, but anyone would rally around in the face of such blatant stupidity and rudeness.
- Malfoy," Henry gave the redhead a scornful look, "I suppose arguing with a donkey will bring us down to its level, but it won't convince the animal?
He'd heard it from Liz when she was swearing at the headmaster, and he'd memorised it.
- You're absolutely right, Potter exactly, with a donkey.
The boys turned round and walked away from Ron. The redhead couldn't take it anymore.
- Potter, are you the heir to Slytherin?
- You should go, Weasley. Take a guess. You've got Malfoy as heir; you've got me as heir. Maybe you'll find someone else. Snape, perhaps? Why? He walks, and he hisses. What's not an heir? One thing's for sure, it's not you. They don't take idiots like that as heirs; they expel them.
- Potter, shame on you! - The heavy cavalry arrived in the person of Hermione Granger, the eternal defender of the humiliated and insulted.
There was no shame. But the word was out. And Henry was being eyed suspiciously.
What if he did?
***
Two days went by without incident.
On the third day.
- Henry, you're not listening to me.
Lockhart, strutting around the classroom talking about his Great Victory, noticed that Henry was reading a chemistry textbook under his desk.
- Not listening, Professor.
- Why, Henry?!
- Because you're not telling me any of this. Not what spell you used, not what it looked like, not why or wherefore. And listening to you pick out your mantle before the great battle, I'm not a 60-year-old fan. I'm not interested.
- Two hours of practice!
- Someone adequate?
- Will Professor Snape be all right with you?
- I'll do something useful there.
So Henry was on his way home from detention that evening.
What drew him to the forbidden corridor? Curiosity? Most likely. And he regretted it the moment he saw Colin Creevey.
The petty photographer was hopelessly petrified, his camera lying nearby.
- Fuck...
- Potter?
Of course, who else could have been brought here but Granger? And naturally, before Henry could even say a word, the fool squealed and rushed down the corridor on the third space, screaming that Potter had killed Creevey. Henry stood there like a fool.
Naturally, people came rushing in, teachers pushed in, and Dumbledore stared sternly at Henry.
- Henry, my boy, what's going on here?
- I'm walking, and he's lying there. I didn't even have time to do anything before Granger came rushing in, shouting, and the crowd gathered," Henry reported.
- What about Colin?
- No idea. I didn't even get a chance to kick him.
- Why would you do that?
- What if he's still alive?
Dumbledore rolled his eyes.
- Henry, wait on the sidelines.
Henry obediently waited while Dumbledore extended his wand over Creevey, got some sort of result, and nodded.
- 'He's petrified, too. Like a cat.
- Granger - you're a fool," Malfoy said bluntly. - 'You should at least look before you yell!
Hermione sobbed, but no one sympathised. Everyone imagined themselves in Potter's shoes, and the boys didn't like it for some reason.
Dumbledore hesitated - and reached out for the camera. Opened its back cover.
The crumbling lens and the stench of burning plastic were his answer.
- It's melted," Madame Pomfrey said in disbelief. - Everything melted...
- What does all this mean, Albus? - Professor McGonagall asked emphatically.
- 'It means,' replied Dumbledore, 'that the Chamber of Secrets is open again.
Madam Pomfrey pressed her palm to her lips. Professor McGonagall stared at Dumbledore in silence.
- 'But Albus... have mercy... who is it?
- 'The question is not who,' Dumbledore muttered thoughtfully, 'the question is how...'
As far as Harry could see from the look on Professor McGonagall's face, she didn't understand the whole story any more than he did.
But Henry's own question was different.
- What do you mean, again? Had there been precedents?
They looked at him as if he were a talking wall. But they heard him! The students glanced around, and Henry squinted.
- If I understand the Professor correctly, the Chamber of Secrets has already been opened?
- Mr Potter, go to your room. All dismissed," Dumbledore informed them dryly.
And Henry couldn't help himself.
- 'Professor, of all of us, you're the only one present at both openings. Could it be that you are the heir?
A sagging beard was his answer.
Snape was the first to realise.
- Potter, ten points from Ravenclaw.
- For what?" cried Henry righteously.
- For misplaced suspicion.
And if Snape had wanted to, he could have done no worse. Dumbledore was looked at very, very suspiciously. But slowly, they dispersed.
- Well, Potter, you're a piece of work," Draco commented.
- Malfoy, why can I be suspected and he isn't? In every detective story, the murderer is someone you wouldn't think of in a million years!
- Detectives?
- Malfoy. Get your dad a copy of Conan Doyle's works, eh? Sherlock Holmes.
- Is that Muggle literature?
- So what? So it was written by an aristocrat. They gave him a title for it.
Draco's been thinking.
- 'I'll order it...
- I think I will, too," Milicent Bullstrode supported him.
- Here! Read it, and then we'll talk.
- Potter, you still need to correct it! Suspecting the Headmaster! How is that even possible?
Well, without Granger.
- Gryffindor is a diagnosis. Granger, does our headmaster not eat, drink or go to the loo? Or is he already a saint?
- But...
- When they do, then you'll come. Until then, fuck off.
It came out impolite but understandable. Hermione sniffled and began to whisper something to Neville. He was habitually silent. Henry pondered the situation, and more and more, he didn't like it.
***
- I wish you'd come home for Christmas," Liz said thoughtfully. - There was something wrong with this school! If it was even thrice as magical, it wasn't right!
- The Dursleys would never agree.
- And it wouldn't do any good to shine a light on me, either. We could ask someone to come along.
- I'm afraid I can't do that.
- Shit!
The conversation went on and on, day after day, with one variation or another. Liz was nervous and angry, and Henry was just angry...
There was no time to be nervous. Tentatively he was staying for Christmas for now - it was never too late to leave - and he would find all the information about the secret room in the meantime.
Well, and DO NOT WALK WHERE THEY ARE, lest they get caught!
About a week later, another activity was found.
A week later, walking through the entrance hall, Henry noticed a crowd of schoolchildren gathered around the notice board, reading a notice on a piece of parchment that had just been pinned to the board. Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas called out to him cheerfully.
- The Dueling Club is opening! - Seamus said. - The first meeting is tonight! I wouldn't say no to lessons in duelling. At a time like this, they'd come in handy.....
- A duel? Who's in charge? Lockhart?
- Sort of... why?
- Who's the duel with? Your reflection in the mirror? I'll come for the laughs, but I'm not signing up," Henry said, earning grateful looks from the boys and angry eyes from the girls. He headed out.
Should I go?
At eight o'clock in the evening, he arrived at the Great Hall. The long dining tables had disappeared, but a vast golden platform had appeared along one wall, flooded with the light of the many candles hanging overhead. The ceiling was velvet black again, and most students seemed to be gathered under it, all wand-wielding and excited. Henry watched the affair with irony.
Gilderoy Lockhart ascended the platform, irresistible (mirror squirming and cracking) in his plum-coloured robes and accompanied by Snape, in black as usual.
Lockhart waved his hand, seeking silence, and shouted:
- Come, come! Can everyone see me? Can everyone hear me? Excellent!
Professor Dumbledore has given me permission to start a small Dueling Club to train you properly in case you need to defend yourself as I have done countless times... the details are in my books. Allow me to introduce my assistant, Professor Snape," Lockhart said, flashing a broad smile. - He told me that he knows very little about duelling himself, and for the sake of interest, he agreed to help me with a demonstration before we begin. But I don't want you, my young friends, to worry - don't worry, you'll still have your Potions teacher when I'm done!
Henry grinned maliciously. Then he looked round, saw Fred and George, and made his way over to them. And whispered something to them for a few seconds.
The redheads nodded approvingly.
Lockhart and Snape turned to each other and bowed. At least Lockhart bent with an intricate curve of his arms while Snape jerked his head. Then they raised their wands in front of them like swords.
- As you can see, we are holding our wands in the conventional fighting stance," Lockhart informed the hushed crowd. - On the count of three, we will cast the first spell. Neither of us, of course, intends to kill the other.
- One... two... three...
- DO IT, BLACK CLOAK!!!
The shriek resounded throughout the hall. The twins did not fail. Snape and Lockhart jumped up - and synchronously bellowed... not spells. Something about someone's mother...
But Snape was the first to remember. Lockhart was knocked off his feet by a powerful Expelliarmus. He flew backwards off the platform, smashed into the wall, and slid down it, sprawling on the floor.
- Ura!!! The Formidable Black Cloak!!! - rumbled through the hall.
Snape looked like Lockhart should have crawled away. He'd get himself killed. But his mate just didn't see the danger. His hat fell off, and his wavy hair stood up.
- There you are! - Lockhart said, returning to the platform. - That was the Disarming Spell... as you can see, I lost my wand... thank you, Miss Brown. Yes, it was a great idea to show them that spell, Professor Snape, but I agree, it was too evident that you were about to do it. It would have been too easy if I had wanted to stop you. However, it would be instructive if they saw...
It seemed Snape was about to kill him. Perhaps Lockhart noticed it too because he quickly said:
- Enough showmanship! I will come up to you now and put you all in pairs. Professor Snape, if you'd like to help me, what was that black cloak the kids mentioned?
Now that's something he shouldn't have said.
- Expelliarmus!
Snape turned and walked out of the hall, leaving Lockhart sprawled on the wall in a frog pose.
The writer slowly peeled himself away under the gloating gazes of the students. The redheads shook hands.
- I suggest we start practising. Break into pairs, please!
Henry glanced over at Malfoy.
- Shall we try it?
Draco rubbed his hands together.
- Why not?
- Oh, we have a first pair? - Lockhart came back to his senses suspiciously quickly. - Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy...
- What are you implying? - Henry asked suspiciously. - If anything, I have different tastes.
Lockhart slammed his eyes shut.
-... since you were the first to volunteer, please come to the platform!
Malfoy, grinning, and Henry, figuring out how he could accidentally hit Lockhart and, with what, obediently climbed up.
- Stand facing your partner," Lockhart shouted, returning to the platform, "and bow!
Harry and Malfoy barely bowed their heads, keeping their eyes on each other.
- Wands back to their original positions! - Lockhart shouted. - When I count to three, cast a spell to disarm your partner... just disarm... we don't want any accidents. One... two... three...
- Tarantallegraa!
- Serpentsoria!
Lockhart jumped up on the spot and started tap dancing with glee. Henry got where he was aiming. But a giant black snake flew out of Malfoy's wand, dropped to the floor between them with a clatter, and rose up, ready to attack. The crowd squealed and stepped back.
Lockhart danced, trying to step back to the edge of the platform.
The snake hissed.
Henry himself didn't realise why he had done that. All he knew was that his legs were carrying him forward as if on hinges and that he had just shouted to the snake, "Calm down!" And miraculously - for some unknown reason - the snake dropped to the floor and became like a thick black garden hose, now staring at Henry. Henry felt the fear leave him. He knew for sure that the snake wouldn't attack anyone directly, though how he knew this, he couldn't explain.
- Potter, are you a snake-eater?
- And the snake knows him... Professor?
Lockhart had done the dance, flopping down and twitching under the dais.
Malfoy sighed.
- Finite Incanthem.
The snake dissipated. Everyone looked at Henry as if he had grown a second head. Potter realised - something had to be done urgently. So...
I don't care what he said because the crowd is the one who doesn't say anything. Always!
- Ladies and gentlemen! The duelling club is over for the day. э... snake's tail. I'm off to the library to find out what this is, so whoever wants to join in. If you don't want to, take my pictures and draw tails and fangs.
Someone, I think it was Padma Patil, chuckled.
- Henry, you really don't know?
- What?
- In India, every second person can talk to snakes. It's a skill inherited from the nagas. And if you have a little bit of their blood in you.
- Could it be?
- Why not? There were no visas in those days, so you could crawl anywhere.
- Ugh. Miss, you've saved a kilometre of my nerves!
Henry jumped down from the platform and bowed politely to the girl. The girl blushed.
- What are you...
- Thank you again, Miss Patil.
- You're welcome, Mr Potter.
The people had already come to their senses and were whispering.
- Can anyone do it? - Hermione, of course, couldn't resist. Oh, yes! Something new could be learnt - without her?
- We have to check," Padma shrugged. - 'It's like Henry, he didn't know until he faced the snake...'
- I see.
Malfoy flinched and hid behind Potter.
- Right, let's get out of here. I want to spend only part of the evening creating creepers...
- It's definitely not worth it for free. Padma, will you let me?
The girl accepted the offered hand, Malfoy also invited Milicent - and everyone left the hall. Tangled in the golden cloth, Lockhart continued twitching under the platform.
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