After much debate, the collective finally decided that Zoey would, indeed, be getting the Lockhart signature. Wanting to get a head start on it, they had Zoey take over and transform before DADA class. This was safe, as Lockhart didn't bring live creatures into class any more after that first debacle with the pixies. Instead he read passages from the books that the collective, Ron, and a few other boys were now pretty sure were a pack of lies, as the darkest creature Lockhart seemed capable of handling was a bowtruckle, and even that was questionable.

Zoey volunteered to help play the part of a werewolf to get him in a good mood, lots of people laughing at her cute “Rawr!” The gambit seemed to pay off, though as Zoey put the permission slip underneath his nose, he seemed hardly to notice what he was signing, with his big peacock-feather quill.

“Well that was super-de-duper easy,” Zoey said, skipping alongside Ron and Hermione. “I think he'll sign anything you give him.”

Ms. Pince was a little harder to convince. She took many minutes trying to find a forgery, but finding none she finally relented and got the book for them, a book called Moste Potente Potions. She seemed very reluctant to let them have it, even after accepting Lockhart's signature, but get it they did.

They adjourned to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, since it was abandoned, and Filch had finally gone back to his usual rounds, giving the horrible place his cat had been attacked a wide berth now. Hermione got out the book and found the pages about the Polyjuice Potion.

I hope those illustrations are artist's creative license and not accurate depictions of the transformation, Al said internally. Because those look very painful.

The potion itself was fiddly, very difficult to make, and would take an entire month to brew. And two of the ingredients were hard to come by: powdered horn of a bicorn, and shredded skin of a boomslang. Ron pointed out that they'd have to steal the ingredients.

Zoey became Al before their eyes, midway through the conversation.

“I don't want to piss off Snape. He'll know we broke in, I just know it. Can't I just owl-order them?”

“First of all, Al,” Hermione started, “we've no idea how long it would take the owl order to come in, we don't know if the apothecary in Diagon Alley carries them, and it's a highly restricted potion, illegal to brew without permission from the Ministry. If you owl-ordered two of the major ingredients for it, especially since we don't know what else these ingredients are used together for, that would look very suspic--”

“Yeah yeah, okay, I get it. We'll have to risk death and dismemberment from Snape to get these ingredients.”

“Good. Because we need to get this started as soon as we can.”

Ron turned to Al. “It'll be a lot less hassle if Iliana can just knock Malfoy off his broom tomorrow.”

~

Iliana felt nervous the next morning, but in a good way. Slytherin had tried wrong-footing them, and she'd turned it around in their favor, leveled the playing field. No cheating from the brooms, anyway; they'd either have to play fairly (HA!) or else cheat some other way. And she was determined not to give them too much opportunity to cheat; she would be finding the snitch as soon as she could.

It didn't help her nerves, though, when she received an owl from Healer Young about her upcoming mind healing session with him. She'd been going to these sessions once every fortnight upon getting to school, but a lot had happened since the last one. No matter how comfortable Healer Young made her feel, there was always the background discomfort of knowing that he would eventually want to go into territory that was still raw and wounded in her mind, and most of the sessions' hours were a tug of war between trying to be comfortable with Healer Young and trying to avoid thinking about those things they were skirting around for now. Because every time she thought too much about... those things... she would have a freakout and end up going into hiding, letting someone else come to the front instead. And she knew running away wasn't going to help anything.

So she shoved the letter away for now, and concentrated on her breakfast, which suddenly tasted like shag carpeting and rubber.

Still struggling with her thoughts and emotions, she finally went down to the pitch and got changed into her Quidditch robes. She barely listened to Wood's pre-game pep talk, either. It wasn't until she was on her broom and in the air that the wonderful sensation of flying filled their shared brain with joy and freedom, that she was able to cast away those thoughts and concentrate on the game.

Madam Hooch counted down, then blew the whistle that started the game. Iliana flew around the rest of the players, sometimes above and sometimes below, looking for that elusive golden ball.

“Alright there, scarhead?” Malfoy taunted as he flew around in his Nimbus 2001. Iliana suspected the fact that she was still using her old Nimbus 2000 was what was giving him this lesser amount of gloating that he was clutching so tightly to. Hers was the only older broom in the whole school's fleet, because she and Harry both loved this broom too much to replace it needlessly.

She didn't have time to say any of this, though, as she barely had time to even think it, due to one of the heavy black Bludgers pelting straight for them. Speeding off in reaction, she felt it whip her hair as it went past.

“Close one, Illiana!” George said, going after the ball to hit it at Slytherin. It flew toward Adrian Pucey at first, then changed direction midair and came for Iliana again.

Not stopping to think about it, she bolted off fast as she could to get away, scared now. That wasn't normal; Bludgers weren't supposed to target any specific player.

For many minutes, Iliana kept trying to get away from the Bludger, making hairpin turns the heavier ball couldn't manage, while Fred and George tried to keep it away from her. And as if that wasn't bad enough, it was raining.

Finally, someone called a time-out. Thankfully, the Bludger didn't pursue her to the ground.

“What's going on?” Wood started. “We're ahead by twenty points, but Slytherin is getting nastier, I don't know how long we can stay ahead. But we'd be doing a lot better if Angelina had been able to score; twice she missed it because of a Bludger. Where have you two been?” he asked the twins.

“We've been concentrating on keeping Iliana alive,” George said angrily. “The other Bludger keeps targeting her, turning in midair. It's been fixed! The Slytherins must figure she had something to do with the school's new brooms,” he said, giving her a knowing look that also looked very concerned.

“But the Bludgers have been locked up in Madam Hooch's office since our last practice, and they were alright then,” Wood pointed out.

“Listen,” Iliana said. “I can't concentrate on finding the snitch with you two buzzing around me. I appreciate you keeping me safe, but I can handle the Bludger.”

In the ensuing argument, one of the twins accused Wood of having told Iliana to catch the snitch or die trying, which Iliana couldn't remember him saying. Then again, she hadn't been listening then, either.

“No, really; I didn't give in when Malfoy cheated his way onto the Slytherin team, I'm not about to let them win this latest volley. Let me handle the rogue Bludger, Oliver. If nothing else, maybe Zoey can turn it into a pillow or something.”

The twins didn't seem pleased by this, but Wood agreed, and soon they were up in the air playing again.

The game became a complicated dance of zigging, zagging, and other tricks for Iliana, anything to get away from the Bludger and give herself time to look for the snitch as well. The crowd, seemingly oblivious to the danger, laughed at her antics, but she barely noticed, being too intent on surviving.

Then, as it whistled past her head once more after a stupid midair twirl to avoid it, she heard Malfoy speak.

“Training for the ballet, Potter?”

She glared at Malfoy in hatred, and as she did, she saw the snitch. It was right by the blond git's left ear, and he was too busy taunting her to notice. Stuck in a moment of indecision, she had paused just a little too –

WHAM!

Someone was screaming. It was her; the Bludger had broken her arm at the elbow. She fought down the pain and rushed Malfoy, who thought she was attacking him.

“What the---”

Iliana took her remaining hand off the broom and made a wild grab for the snitch, grabbing it. She bolted for the ground, trying to get away from the Bludger. She hit the mud with a splat, and passed out.

She came around a bit later, rain in her face, and saw a lot of glittering teeth.

“No, not you!”

“Doesn't know what she's saying,” Lockhart said to the Griffindors pressing around them. “Not to worry, Iliana, I'm about to fix your arm.”

“No. No need. Zoey will fix it. Once I get enough... energy...”

ZOEY! HURRY! BEFORE---

But it was too late. Lockhart pointed his wand at her arm, said an incantation, and suddenly the pain went away. But her arm felt very weird, like rubber.

“You bloody moron!” she screamed at him, punching him in the nose with her remaining arm. He yowled, his nose bleeding, and ran from the scene.

Heh, good one. Now he is a bloody moron, literally, Al thought.

Colin Creevy snapped a photo of her as she lay there, her arm like Jello.

“How many times do I have to tell you I don't like my photo taken, Colin?” she snapped irritably at him. She didn't get to find out his response, though, because he was being moved out of the way by others, who needed to help her get to the hospital wing.

~

Madam Pomfrey was not pleased. “You should have come to me straight away. Mending bones I can do in a trice. Regrowing them, though...”

“It's not our fault. It was that idiot, Lockhart. You will be able to regrow them, won't you?” Iliana wasn't sure Zoey could have mended the break, and was even less sure about regrowing bones.

“Yes, it can be done. But it'll be very painful. You're in for a long night, and because I'm not sure how it will affect things, you should try not to transform.”

“Lovely. An overnight stay, lots of pain, and no transforming. Understood. What do I need to do?”

“Here, drink this,” she said, handing Iliana a dose of something called Skele-Grow.

Iliana drank some, and had to fight the urge to spit it out or vomit, it tasted so foul. She did manage to get it all, though.

“That tastes the way Dudley's sweat socks smelled. Or worse.”

Luckily, she had her friends to distract her from the pain that was starting up in her arm. Ron and Hermione talked about the catch, the Bludger, and Malfoy's face when his team captain berated him for missing the snitch right by his head. It made Iliana feel better. Naturally, it didn't last; Madam Pomfrey eventually made them leave, leaving her with nothing to distract herself but an internal conversation.

I hope that git was in a lot of pain when you broke his nose.

Me too. But did you see him in the other bed earlier? A simple spell and he was alright again. Thank goodness Madam Pomfrey kept him away from us.

I wonder if there's a way to make him feel the pain this potion is causing us?

If there is, I suspect it's illegal.

Oh?

Yes. A curse to cause pain would be a torture spell. I would sure hope that wasn't legal.

Point. Maybe we can just return the favor. I think I heard the spell he used.

Forget it, Al. There's no telling what that spell was intended to do, or that it would work the same way twice. Maybe Zoey can jinx his shoes together later.

The conversation tapered off a little, then. They sent each other images of Lockhart being turned into a slug, or being given feathers, or his beautiful face being hexed with terrible swelling or something, until the pain finally lessened enough that they slid into sleep.

Hours later, they awoke in the dark, their arm hurting. But what woke them instead was giant eyes staring at them. Triggered by this, Iliana tried to scream, but Dobby put his hand on her mouth and tried shushing her. She fought her way away from him, curling her knees up under her, hyperventilating.

“Dobby is sorry for waking Miss, and sorrier still for scaring Miss.”

When she finally started to calm down, she asked shakily, “What are you doing here, Dobby?”

“Dobby is wanting to ask Miss the same question. Dobby warned Miss not to come to Hogwarts, why did Miss not listen?”

“Because, if you recall, the protection of my mother's blood is broken now, and Hogwarts is the safest place to be, with Dumbledore here.”

Dobby flapped his ears, he shook his head so hard. “No, Miss! Miss is wrong. Hogwarts is where the danger is. Miss should be far away from here. Why did Miss not stay away when she is missing the train?”

She glowered at him. “Oh, so we were right about you being the cause of the barrier not working.”

“Indeed, yes. Dobby is hiding and waiting to stop the barrier, thinking this is keeping Miss and company from danger, but later Dobby is hearing you found a way around it. Dobby is so shocked, he let his master's dinner burn. Such a flogging Dobby never had, Miss...”

I can't tell if he's being genuinely miserable or if he's manipulating us. I guess my heart reading doesn't work so well on non-humans, Al said to Iliana. Though I am certain he's genuinely trying to keep us alive.

“That's horrible, Dobby. They shouldn't do that to you.”

“Dobby thought his bludger would be---”

Al seized control of the body but didn't transform it. “Oh, so you're the reason that thing tried to kill me, are you?”

Missing the change in tone to Al entirely, Dobby said, “Not kill you, Miss, never kill you.”

“Just maimed enough to have to go home, is that it? Did it ever occur to you that such might leave me helpless and at someone else's mercy? Even if I had no chance of winning, I'd rather die fighting than just let Voldemort kill me like shooting fish in a barrel.”

Dobby shuddered at the name, of course, and looked about to speak, but paused, thinking a bit, before continuing, “Dobby is not thinking of that, Miss. And for that, Dobby is sorry. Miss is so brave, and Dobby is so sad. But Dobby is sadder if Miss is killed.”

His eyes watered, and he blew his nose on the pillowcase he was wearing. Al/liana pulled a face.

“Why do you wear that disgusting thing, Dobby?”

“This, Miss? Tis a mark of a house elf's enslavement. Dobby can only be freed if his master presents him with proper clothes, Miss, which master will never do.”

“Are you at least going to let me in on why you want me sent home in pieces?”

“Oh, if only you knew, Miss! If only you knew!” Dobby wailed, giant tears going down his front. “If she knew what she means to us, to the lowly, the enslaved, we dregs of the magical world! Dobby remembers how it was when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was at the height of his powers, Miss! We house-elves were treated like vermin, Miss! Of course, Dobby is still treated like that, Miss,” he admitted, drying his face on the pillowcase. “But mostly, Miss, life has improved for my kind since you triumphed over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Harry Potter survived, and the Dark Lord’s power was broken, and it was a new dawn, Miss, and Harry Potter shone like a beacon of hope for those of us who thought the Dark days would never end, Miss, and still you do, even more. … And now, at Hogwarts, terrible things are to happen, are perhaps happening already, and Dobby cannot let the Potters stay here now that history is to repeat itself, now that the Chamber of Secrets is open once more--”

Dobby froze, horror-struck, and grabbed an empty water jug, beating himself about the head with it.

Iliana tried to stop him hitting himself, but Al wouldn't let go control of her arms.

Damn it, Al, let me stop him!

He's responsible for breaking our arm, nearly killing us. Good intentions or not, I'm willing to let him carry on a bit.

This made Iliana so angry at Al that she finally got control of her body back, and rescued Dobby from his self-harming.

Al, he's a SLAVE and he was being magically induced to hurt himself, and you would have had me just stand there and not stop him? Are you really that cruel?

Al didn't respond in words, but she could sense his shame, so she concentrated on Dobby instead.

“So this Chamber of Secrets is real, then? And you say it's been opened before? Tell me, Dobby, please. Forewarned is forearmed, and knowledge is power, after all.”

Dobby struggled against her grip, pleading with her. “Ask no more, Miss, ask no more of poor Dobby! Dark deeds are planned in this place, and you must go anywhere away from here, go abroad, get away from the danger!”

“If you could offer any help on who's planning it or how, that would help us so maybe we could stop it before it got really bad. Honestly, I'm not Muggle-born, so if it's the heir of Slytherin, I should be safe.”

“Dobby can't say, Miss! Dobby can't!”

“Who opened it last time?”

Dobby shook his head violently, still fighting to get out of her grip.

If we're in danger despite being wizard-born, that kind of implies the heir has a grudge against us. Which would suggest Moldywart, but Dobby already said it wasn't him.

No, Harry replied. What he said was it didn't have anything with 'he who must not be named.'

So we're back to 'Voldemort' being a pseudonym? But we don't know who he was before. Do we know anyone who might know his real name?

“Dobby, you said before it wasn't to do with He Who Must Not Be Named. Al thinks you meant that the name he now goes by is fake. Is there some way we can find out his true name?”

“Dobby can't, Miss! Miss must go far away from here!”

“We have friends here, Dobby. One of my best friends is Muggle born. We're not going anywhere. We're not leaving them to this heir of Slytherin, whoever it is. Especially not if it's Voldemort.”

“The Potters risk their own lives for their friends! So noble, so valiant. But they must save themselves! The Potters must not---”

Dobby suddenly froze, his bat ears quivering. Iliana heard it, too. There were footsteps coming down the passageway outside.

“Dobby must go!” breathed the elf, terrified. There was a loud crack, and Iliana's fist was suddenly clenched on thin air. She slumped back into bed, her eyes on the dark doorway to the hospital wing as the footsteps drew nearer.

Next moment, Dumbledore was backing into the dormitory, wearing a long woolly dressing gown and a nightcap. He was carrying one end of what looked like a statue. Professor McGonagall appeared a second later, carrying its feet. Together, they heaved it onto a bed.

Iliana and the others listened as the teachers moved around and spoke in hushed tones. She fought back tears when she found out Colin was the statue, that he'd been attacked while trying to bring her food, that he had apparently forgiven her for her earlier outburst at him. She listened, and heard the hiss of steam from Colin's ruined camera; he had not managed to get a photo of his attacker, then.

“Melted,” said Madam Pomfrey in wonder. “What does this mean?”

“It means,” Dumbledore said, “that the Chamber of Secrets has indeed been opened again.”

“But Albus,” Professor McGonagall asked, “surely... who?”

“The question is not who. The question is how.”

By the sounds Iliana heard them making, none of the other adults knew what he meant. But she did.

He knows it's Voldemort, Al said in their mind. Does he know who Voldy was before? We should ask him.

~

Finding Dumbledore to ask him about Voldemort, however, was more difficult than just needing to. When Iliana left the hospital wing the next morning, she found she had no idea where his office was, and he didn't exactly wander the halls. In fact, aside from mealtimes, nobody in the collective had really seen Dumbledore out of his office. There'd been the Mirror of Erised, the time he'd come to the Quidditch game, the time after... after she saved the Philosopher's Stone, and then twice because of this whole Chamber business.

It wasn't like she could just ask someone either, without a good reason. She would have to explain about Dobby, which might get him into trouble, and explain how they'd worked out what he'd meant, and they weren't even sure they had the right answer despite Dumbledore's words the night before. And the last time they'd tried to talk to Dumbledore about something important, Professor McGonagall had waylaid them.

So it was that she found herself in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom instead, trying to explain to Ron and Hermione what they'd figured out, and trying not to laugh at the sight of a cauldron and a fire inside of a toilet.

“You reckon it's You-Know-Who again?” Ron asked dubiously. “I dunno, Iliana. You already took care of him last year. He can't have found a new... a new person to share a body with already, can he? We've only got one new teacher, too, and Lockhart doesn't even wear a wizard's hat most of the time, it musses his hair. He's so vain, I can't see him risking his good looks to have You-Know-Who sticking out the back of his skull.”

“Yes, well, Dumbledore doesn't know how, either, as I said. I wanted to ask Dumbledore if he knew about Vol--- okay fine, Moldywart's past. But I'm certain his name is fake. In fact... something about Moldywart's nom de guerre sounds familiar. Like I should know its meaning or origin somehow.”

“Nom de guerre?” Ron asked.

“It means 'name of war,'” Hermione explained. “You've heard of 'nom de plume' in reference to writers' pseudonyms, haven't you?”

“Yeah.”

“Same thing, but for battle, for war. To make yourself sound more impressive.”

Ron chuckled. “Yeah, I'll bet You-Know-Who's real name is something stupid, like Thomas Q. Throckwaddle the fourth. Bet he got teased for it all the time, and that's why he's an evil git.”

Hermione shuddered. “You-Know-Who, at school. I can't even imagine.”

“Yeah,” Ron nodded gravely. “You-Know-Who as a kid. Hard to believe he didn't just pop out from under a rock somewhere, fully formed. But he's human, so far as we know, which means he had to have a childhood. Wonder where he went to school?”

“Well if Iliana's right, and he was the one who opened the Chamber before, it had to have been Hogwart's he went to.”

“Bloody Hell. And his name could've been anything.”

“If we're right,” Iliana said, “this takes both of the Malfoys out of the running. We know Mr. Malfoy was one of his followers, and he's a school governor, so it can't have been him. He and Moldy are two different people.”

Hermione paused her stirring and looked pensive.

“That doesn't mean,” she said, “that Malfoy couldn't have sneaked something dangerous into the castle, though. We know You-Know-Who can inhabit living beings, but he doesn't have to. He could've been brought in in a box, and inhabited someone once inside.”

Ron went pale all of a sudden. “What if he's... what if he's inhabiting the monster?”

The other two went pale at this as well.

In a tremulous voice, Iliana finally said, “Well... that would explain how he was controlling it.”

“But how did he control it before? When he was a kid, I mean?”

Ron shrugged. “Maybe he inherited some kind of magical monster-charming flute or something from his parents.”

Iliana opened her mouth to say something, but suddenly Moaning Myrtle flew in, looking like she wanted their attention.

“Sorry to interrupt you, I know you're having a lovely time boiling foul potions in my bathroom and all, but the teachers are looking for Iliana, and they're starting to sound quite alarmed.”

“Shite! My session with Healer Young! I forgot all about it!” Iliana jumped up and bolted out of the room, careful to not get seen by Myrtle's bathroom.

Several minutes later, she ran to the front entrance, out of breath. “Sorry, Healer Young, I forgot about our session in all the hubbub.”

The older man smiled understandingly at her. “Understandable, my dear. I was just speaking with Dumbledore, and he updated me on it all. Which reminds me...” he trailed off, and used his wand to shoot something silvery out of it, something that looked a little like an animal, but they didn't get a good look at it, as it was bolting down the hall at an incredible speed, and they didn't see where it went.

“What was that?”

“Oh, just sending a message to the teachers, so they'll stop worrying about you. Anyway, the same spot as usual again, m'dear.”

The spot he spoke of was an unused classroom on the first floor, that Healer Young charmed to give them privacy as they spoke. She sat down and waited for him to finish the charms. As she did, she couldn't help looking at the back of his head. She was more relieved than she could express that he looked normal. That didn't mean he was entirely out of the running, of course.

She hated these thoughts, because she trusted him. But she had trusted Quirrell, too, and... well, that hadn't worked out so well.

Iliana clenched her teeth, her whole body tensing up. There they were, already, the thoughts she didn't want to think about. The images she didn't want to see again danced on the edges of her consciousness, teasing her like malevolent monkeys. A man screaming in agony, a man falling to the ground, dead. The light in his eyes going out.

As the world went blurry with tears, she dug her fingernails into the palm of her hand. The pain helped focus her thoughts away from things she didn't want to focus on.

“What's the matter, Iliana?” Healer Young asked softly.

“Nothing,” she lied as she dried her eyes out with her sleeve. “Got something in my eye.”

Healer Young didn't look like he believed her, but didn't press the issue. When Iliana got her emotions under control again, she gave him a sign that she was ready. He nodded, and sat down across from her.

Talking with him this time was a lot harder than usual. He asked her questions, and she mostly just sat there, trying to figure out what – if anything – to say. Finally, she settled on talking about things to do with the Chamber.

“The Chamber of Secrets is open,” she said quietly. “I suppose Dumbledore told you that.”

“Yes, he did.”

“So far a cat was attacked. Then last night... last night, Colin Creevy got attacked.”

Sensing something in her tone, he asked, “Did you know Mr. Creevy?”

“Not well. He's starstruck by me. A bit odd, seeing as he's Muggle born, but there we are all the same. He keeps trying to get photos of me. And... did you hear about the Quidditch match?”

“A bludger broke your arm, as I understand.”

“Yes. And Colin took a photo of me after Lockhart accidentally removed all the bones in my arm.”

She paused, not really wanting to go on.

“Would I be correct to guess that you told young Mr. Creevy off?”

She nodded.

Healer Young waited.

“I snapped at him. Asked how many times I had to tell him I don't like my photo taken before he figured it out. That was the last thing I said to him, before... before...”

She wiped her eyes again, and sniffed, looking anywhere but at the Healer.

“And they said he was bringing grapes to the hospital wing. They said he was trying to bring them to me. So he forgave me, I guess.”

“He forgave you for losing your cool in a heated moment. He sounds like a kind young man. I don't know about you, but I think it sounds like he'd want you to forgive yourself, too.”

She glared at empty air, her emotions mixing weirdly; it didn't help, either, that the emotions of the others in the collective were blending in with hers and confusing her. She'd read about MPD before, or Harry had. They thought they'd known what it was like. But this... this was like some strange hybrid between MPD and being normal. The lines between them were blurry, and yet not blurry enough, given their condition. There shouldn't be lines, but there were. And they all knew they didn't want that to change, confusing as it was.

And now, where she was feeling sad before, now she was feeling angry. Angrier than she'd ever felt before. An anger that scared her.

“I DON'T KNOW!” she burst out. “I DON'T KNOW WHAT HE'D WANT ME TO DO, BECAUSE HE ISN'T HERE ANYMORE! HE'S DEAD AND...”

She froze. That isn't what she'd meant to say.

“Mister Creevy isn't dead, he's petrified,” Healer Young said gently. “Once he's given a Mandrake Restorative Draught, he'll be fine again. But you weren't talking about Mr. Creevy, were you?”

Iliana ran for the door, and tried to escape. But the door wouldn't open. She pounded on the door, screaming at it.

“LET ME OUT! LET ME GO! I'M DANGEROUS!”

Healer Young made no move from his seat, just watched her scream and cry at the door. He watched her slump to the ground, to her knees, where what she was saying began to change.

“LET ME IN! LET ME BACK IN! ZOEY POTTER, I'M WARNING YOU! LET ME IN NOW!”

But there was no glow of transformation. There was only more screaming, more frustration, and more tears.

Finally, Healer Young got up and walked over to her. He squatted down to get closer to where she lay, in the fetal position, crying.

“You can't run from your emotions, Iliana. And it sounds like Zoey understands this. She's making you face them, come to terms with them, because bottling up your feelings makes them get worse; it makes them get stronger, the way bottled grape juice becomes wine.”

The rest of the session consisted of Iliana crying, crying until she ran out of tears, and just lay there in a quiet torpor that belied the chaos in her brain. She didn't even have the others, anymore; they'd scurried off to some dark corner of their shared mind to wait out the storm. Knowing they'd be back helped, a little, but she felt more alone now than ever before.

~

It took her two more hours to calm down enough to shakily pull herself up to her feet. Healer Young said something to her about progress and their next session, but she couldn't hear it very well past the rushing sound in her ears. Just standing on her own without holding onto something made her feel dizzy and way too tall. But somehow, she made it to the Great Hall and sat down to lunch.

People tried talking to her, but she didn't respond. She looked so distraught, her eyes still puffy from crying, that they didn't press the issue. They just let her stare at her soup, taking occasional half-hearted bites that more often than not ended up back in the bowl, her hands shook so much.

~

It didn't take long for news of Colin being petrified to spread. And Iliana was not the only one distraught by the news; Ginny Weasley, too, looked just as upset as Iliana, who was still being forced to stay Out by the others. She and Ginny were both doing very good impressions of Moaning Myrtle, an impression that Iliana didn't come out of at all until she caught Fred and George – covered in boils and hair – jumping out at Ginny from behind a statue in an ill-advised attempt to cheer her up. Iliana ended up shouting so loudly at them in her rage that Filch came trumping along to find out what the matter was, and she stormed off before he could give her a detention.

Percy Weasley also yelled at the twins for this, and threatened to write home to their mother and tell her that Ginny was having nightmares. Iliana didn't blame her; she was having her own nightmares. This in itself was nothing new, but now Colin was in them, not just Quirrell. She even had one dream where Colin was sticking out the back of Quirrell's head, shouting about how it was her fault he was dead, and that he was going to get his revenge from beyond the grave. After that one, Iliana didn't sleep at all for the next several nights.

Even Neville was worried; though a pureblood, he was almost a squib, and the heir didn't seem to like squibs any better than they liked Muggles and Muggle-borns.

~

In the second week of December, McGonagall collected the names of the people staying at Hogwarts. Iliana was staying, of course, as she really didn't have anywhere else to go. Ron and Hermione signed the list, too, but the three of them were some of the few to do so, understandably.

Because of the possibility of Draco knowing something, even if it seemed like he wasn't the Heir, they were going ahead with the plan. Iliana was glad for this, as it gave her something to distract herself with.

The potion was only half done, though; they hadn't yet gotten the last ingredients.

“What we need is a diversion,” Hermione said. “Then we can sneak into Snape's office and take what we need.”

Iliana and Ron looked nervously at one another.

“I think I'd better do the actual stealing,” Hermione continued. “Snape pays far too much attention to you two for it to escape his notice you've slipped out. He'd never suspect me of it, though, as I have a clean record. So you two will just have to keep him busy with something for five minutes or so while I grab what we need.”

Iliana nodded mutely, feeling a little ill. Deliberately cause mayhem in Snape's class? She didn't think looking like her mum would save her from his wrath if he found out she'd done that. But she agreed anyway.

That Thursday's Potions lesson, Iliana was so worried about the planned mayhem that she almost melted her cauldron. It didn't help that Zoey and the others were having a discussion Inside without her. A discussion that was also about her.

She's so nervous, she's gonna give us away, argued Al. One of us needs to take her place.

But how? Asked Harry. Snape will spot the glow when we transform. And seizing control of her body might not work well enough.

Hmm... now you mention it, that glow is a tactical disadvantage. What if we needed to transform in a dark room, when an enemy like Moldywart might see us?

Don't worry! I'll give it a try!

Before they could stop her, Zoey pulled Iliana back In, and then concentrated very hard. When Snape was looking away, she did it; there were a couple false starts where a small amount of light came out, but finally – her entire Will focused on the task – the body shrunk without making any light. Zoey sat there, sweating from the effort. Everyone else was so intent on their potions that nobody appeared to have noticed her change.

She nudged Ron to get his attention, then did the same for Hermione. Once she had their attention, she managed to communicate with them about the plan via very subtle mime. They nodded, understanding that it was time.

With Snape's attention still elsewhere, Zoey screwed up her concentration again, using her wandless magic to make Goyle's cauldron explode, showering the whole class with Swelling Solution. People shrieked as splashes of the Swelling Solution hit them. Malfoy got a faceful and his nose began to swell like a balloon; Goyle blundered around, his hands over his eyes, which had expanded to the size of a dinner plate — Snape was trying to restore calm and find out what had happened. Through the confusion, Zoey saw Hermione slip quietly into Snape’s office. Ducking behind something, she switched back to Iliana, whose expression of horror fit perfectly into the chaos.

Snape yelled for silence, vowing to get whoever was responsible, something Iliana didn't hear because Zoey started singing the Piña Colada song at top volume in their head the moment Snape opened his mouth to speak. This so vexed Iliana that her expression remained believable to the situation even when Snape – after having Deflated everyone – stared right into her eyes as though determined to find wrong-doing. Iliana didn't even notice he was staring at her, she was so distracted and confused, though the others did.

Ten minutes later, they were in Myrtle's bathroom again, Hermione adding the ingredients she'd stolen.

“It'll be ready in two weeks,” she said happily.

~

The next week, Hermione, Ron, and Al (the collective had taken pity on Iliana at last) were walking across the entrance hall when they spotted a bunch of people reading a notice on the notice board. They went up to investigate, and saw it was a notice about a new Dueling Club.

“Good idea,” Al said. “Given how much Moldy wants us dead, we could use some dueling practice.”

“Yeah, and being your friends, we should do it, too. You-Know-Who's bound to go after us, too, eventually,” Ron said. “Though I don't know what good it'd do against Slytherin's monster.”

At 8 o'clock that evening, they all congregated in the Great Hall, where the Dueling Club was to be located. The long dining tables were gone, and a golden stage had been set up against one wall.

“I wonder who's teaching us? Someone said Flitwick was a dueling champion in his youth.”

“As long as it isn't... oh Hell.” Al said, groaning. Lockhart had stepped onto the stage, followed by Snape. The man's gaze searched the room and found Al with a grimace of hatred. Al frowned back at the man; though he was sure Snape hadn't suspected them at the time, Snape had been keeping an extra eye on them ever since the day after the cauldron explosion, so he seemed to suspect they'd stolen from his office, somehow.

Well two can play that game, Al thought, deciding to observe Snape as much as he could from now on. The man was so hard to read with his heart-reading ability that it couldn't hurt to see if scientific observation could help. Zoey sent him an image of her dilligently writing notes down on paper, which made the corners of his mouth twitch in response.

Lockhart waved an arm for silence and called, “Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent!

“Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little dueling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions — for full details, see my published works.

“Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape,” said Lockhart, flashing a wide smile. “He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about dueling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don’t want any of you youngsters to worry — you’ll still have your Potions master when I’m through with him, never fear!”

“Hey, maybe Snape will kill Lockhart for us. Wouldn't that be a hoot?” Al whispered at Ron.

Snape's upper lip curled. He looked like he didn't want to wait much longer to kill Lockhart. But Lockhart was, of course, oblivious.

Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed; at least, Lockhart did, with much twirling of his hands, whereas Snape jerked his head irritably. Then they raised their wands like swords in front of them.

“As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position,” Lockhart told the silent crowd. “On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that,” Al murmured, watching Snape baring his teeth.

“One, two, three!”

Both of them swung their wands above their heads and pointed them at their opponent; Snape cried: “Expelliarmus!” There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet: He flew backward off the stage, smashed into the wall, and slid down it to sprawl on the floor.

Some of the Slytherins cheered. Al frowned. It really was hard to decide who to root for. He didn't like either of these men.

“You think he's alright?” Hermione asked.

“Who cares?” Al and Ron said in stereo.

Lockhart bleated on some more like a confused goat, the gist of which was they'd be having the kids pair up to try it. Snape got to Al before he could pair with Ron. The batlike man grimaced the special, extra-hateful grimace always reserved for Al, and then paired Al with Malfoy, and Hermione with a Slytherin girl called Millicent Bulstrode.

Far from being annoyed, though, Al grinned. “Good. Love a good challenge.”

Malfoy strutted over, smirking. Al smirked right back at him. This, along with Al's height, gave the Slytherin boy a slight pause.

“Intimidated, Malfoy?”

“You wish, Potter.”

“Face your partners,” called Lockhart, “and bow.”

Al and Malfoy barely even nodded at one another.

“On the count of three, disarm only. Only to disarm them. We don't want any accidents.”

Al snorted. He already knew Malfoy wouldn't be abiding by that rule. The little twerp never met a rule he wouldn't break if he thought he could get away with it.

“Wands at the ready! When I count to three. One, two--”

Malfoy started at two, something Al had read in his body language, and jumped out of the way just in time. Wasting no time, he shot a 'Rictumsempra' hex at Malfoy, knocking the boy over with silver light, the wind knocked out of him.

“I said disarm only!” shouted Lockhart, as Malfoy sunk to his knees. The Tickling Hex had him laughing so hard he couldn't move. But Al remained wary, just in case.

Gasping for breath, Malfoy tried shooting a spell at Al's knees, but Al jumped aside again and shot another spell at Malfoy, which knocked him onto his back.

“Stop! Stop!”

Snape sneered at Lockhart, and took charge. He undid the Tickling Hex and helped Malfoy to his feet.

The room was full of a haze of green smoke. Ron's old and decrepit wand was the source, and Ron was apologizing to Seamus for whatever it had done. Hermione was being held in a headlock by Millicent; Al went over to pull them apart, but that was difficult; though bigger than his peers in Griffindor, Millicent – also in his year – was the same size as him.

Then the pompous prat Lockhart tried teaching them the shield charm, and did so badly he dropped his wand. But of course, he pretended like his wand had gotten overexcited.

Tis a poor workman who blames his tools, Harry quoted. Al nodded.

Al and Malfoy got paired up to demonstrate this spell further. Al was annoyed; shown how to do it by a competent teacher, he would have had no problem with the shield charm. As it was, there was no way he could do the spell until he saw somebody else do it, and Snape wasn't being so helpful.

In fact, Snape seemed to be helping Malfoy, by whispering something in his ear. Al frowned; he knew this couldn't be good.

They got in place, and Lockhart counted down again. On three, Malfoy raised his wand and shouted, “Serpentsortia.”

The end of his wand exploded, and out came a long black snake, looking poised to strike. Al stared at it, thunderstruck. He knew of only one way to deal with a snake, and he didn't dare do it here.

“Don't move, Potter, I'll get it for you,” Snape said.

“Allow me,” said Lockhart.

As though time were slowing down, Al watched in horror, too slow to stop the idiot, as the man did some spell that threw the snake into the air and made it land with an angry slap on the ground. The snake, frightened and angry, rounded on the closest available person, and Al – without thinking – shouted, 'DOWN!' at the snake, even gesturing downward for emphasis. 'LEAVE HIM BE!'
At his tone, the snake turned to look at him, then slumped down meekly. It made no more move, even as Snape destroyed it with his wand. But now the cat was out of the bag. And by the look of it, his emphatic gesture hadn't helped.

“Well everyone don't thank me for saving Justin's life all at once,” he said.

“What do you think you're playing at?” shouted Justin, looking terrified.

“Gee, I could've sworn that was English that time. I just saved your life, you prat. You're welcome.”

Snape, too, was looking at Al strangely. It was a shrewd and calculating look. Al wanted to return the look, but now he was beginning to notice the ominous muttering.

“Bugger,” he said.

“Come on, let's get out of here,” Ron said in his ear. Al didn't resist. The idiots were going to think whatever they wanted, the truth be buggered.

Ron and Hermione dragged him through the crowd of people who were giving him a wide berth, and didn't stop dragging him until they were all three alone in the Griffindor common room.

“You're a Parselmouth. Why didn't you tell us?”

“Gee, you find out from Dumbledore that Zoey being able to ask a grass snake about its day and get an intelligible answer back means you have a rare gift that makes people think you're evil, wow... I can't think of a single reason why I wouldn't tell anyone about that, can you?” Al said, his words oozing sarcasm.

“You've done it before?”

“Yeah. Remember I told you I set a whole bunch of snakes loose on Dudley's birthday? Well I guess I was doing it then. And we've done it in secret with Aqua.”

“You talk with your pet snake?”

“Uh huh. And before I set all those snakes loose at the zoo, I'd been talking with a boa constrictor about its origins, and it was responding. Well, not with words. Might've done, though, if Dudley hadn't pushed me to the ground. I went a bit mad with power at that, started shouting 'Be free, my pretties' as all the reptiles in the zoo escaped. Sicced them on Dudley and my aunt and uncle, too, before I ran off.”

Ron nodded absent-mindedly, as though unsure what to say to that. Finally, though, he spoke again.

“What did you say to that snake, just now?”

“I said 'DOWN!' and 'LEAVE HIM BE!' And, as you saw, it backed down. But nobody else seemed to notice that. Wait... do tell me you noticed that?”

“Yeah, kinda. But I was a bit distracted by hearing you hiss and spit without drawing breath. That was downright creepy; no wonder Justin panicked.”

Al nodded. “Uh huh. But you know, I wonder why it sounds like that, anyway? Snakes can't hear very well, they mostly hear through their bellies. So that hissing and spitting can't really be their language. It's not what I hear when they speak to me, anyway. Maybe it just sounds that way to humans because it's what we expect it to sound like, and it's more like... magical inter-species telepathy?”

“What's telepathy?”

“It's direct mind-to-mind communication.”

“Oh. Well anyway, is this really the time to dissect Parseltongue? Your secret's out, and now the whole school probably thinks you're the Heir of Slytherin.”

“What? Why's that?”

“You mean you don't know? Slytherin was famous for being a Parselmouth. That's why his house's symbol is a snake.”

“Oh lovely. I... wait a minute... Slytherin was a Parselmouth?”

“That's what I just said, isn't it?”

“Slytherin could speak with snakes?”

“Well yeah.”

“I wonder if the monster is some kind of magical snake monster, then?”

The two of them blinked at him. Then Hermione slapped herself on the head.

“That makes so much sense! Al, didn't you say you lot heard a scary voice? And you were following it when we found Mrs. Norris. What if you were hearing the monster speaking?”

“Or whoever's controlling it,” Ron added.

“That makes sense. Now, do we know of any magical snake creatures?”

At this, Hermione faltered. “Well, no. I mean, there's the ashwinder, a snake that forms in magical fires that have been left to burn unchecked, but it doesn't do anything at all like this creature does. It just lays its eggs and dies. Only the eggs are dangerous; if they hatch, they burn houses down.”

“Well there were scorch marks on the floor by Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.”

“Yes, Al, but nothing else fits. We're going to have to look in the library to try to find it.”

“Okay, guys, great. But Al and the others are still going to be thought of as Slytherin's Heir.”

“But I'm not!”

“You could be. He died a thousand years ago. You'll have an awful hard time proving you're not.”

~

They lay in bed that night, tossing and turning for hours, unable to stop thinking. They didn't want to be related to Slytherin, but if Al had had his way under the Sorting Hat, they would be in Slytherin now.

Al would just have to explain to Justin later in Herbology, if that would do any good, even though any idiot could have seen he'd saved Justin's life, and been grateful.

~

This did not turn out as planned, however; for the next morning they awoke to find there'd been a blizzard so bad that Herbology was cancelled. Al spent a long time by the Griffindor fire angry about Justin's stupidity, everyone's stupidity, and finally Hermione told him to go find Justin to explain. Not wanting to stay there and stew anymore, Al went to the library to look for Justin.

What he found, instead, were a bunch of Hufflepuffs having a secretive discussion. He hid, and eavesdropped.

“So anyway,” a stout boy was saying, “I told Justin to hide up in our dormitory. I mean to say, if Potter’s marked him down as his next victim, it’s best if he keeps a low profile for a while. Of course, Justin’s been waiting for something like this to happen ever since he let slip to Potter he was Muggle-born. Justin actually told him he’d been down for Eton. That’s not the kind of thing you bandy about with Slytherin’s heir on the loose, is it?”

“You definitely think it is Potter, then, Ernie?” said a girl with blonde pigtails anxiously.

“Hannah,” said the stout boy solemnly, “he’s a Parselmouth. Everyone knows that’s the mark of a Dark wizard. Have you ever heard of a decent one who could talk to snakes? They called Slytherin himself Serpent-tongue.”

There was some heavy murmuring at this, and Ernie went on, “Remember what was written on the wall? Enemies of the Heir, Beware. Potter had some sort of run-in with Filch. Next thing we know, Filch’s cat’s attacked. That first year, Creevey, was annoying Iliana at the Quidditch match, taking pictures of her while she was lying in the mud. Next thing we know — Creevey’s been attacked.”

“They always seem so nice, though,” said Hannah uncertainly, “Iliana and Harry, anyway. That Alastair has a bit of a sarcastic mouth on him, but otherwise seems okay. And Iliana was so distraught about Colin.”

“I heard she wasn't crying until later in the day, or looked like she'd been crying. She was in the hospital wing, surely she would have known before anyone else that Colin was in there. So I don't think she was crying about him.”

“Now that's not fair, Ernie. Maybe she was in shock before. Not everyone grieves the same way; I had a cousin who didn't cry for their grandmother until a whole two weeks after she'd died.”

“Hannah, why would she be crying over him anyway? She barely knew the kid.”

Hannah didn't have an answer for this. Instead, she said, “Well, they're the ones who made You-Know-Who disappear. They can’t be all bad, can they?”

Ernie lowered his voice mysteriously, the Hufflepuffs bent closer, and Al edged nearer so that he could catch Ernie’s words.

“No one knows how he survived that attack by You-Know-Who. I mean to say, he was only a baby when it happened. He should have been blasted into smithereens. Only a really powerful Dark wizard could have survived a curse like that.” He dropped his voice until it was barely more than a whisper, and said, “That’s probably why You-Know-Who wanted to kill him in the first place. Didn’t want another Dark Lord competing with him. Then there's that whole thing of transforming into other people. And I've heard some stories about people with multiple personalities. You can't trust them, there's usually an evil one in the mix somewhere. Besides, I wonder what other powers Potter’s been hiding?”

He couldn't take it anymore. Stepping forward, he said, “Actually, it was my mother and father dying to protect me, that saved my life. I don't know all the details myself, but Dumbledore says it's powerful magic, sacrificing yourself for another.”

The way they all looked, you'd think he was a monster shouting Woogedy Boogedy at them.

“First of all,” he said, walking slowly towards them. “That whole 'evil alters' thing is a load of shit. It's just that the whole 'I'm not responsible for murdering that man, it was my evil altar' thing is a popular defense. But it's right up there with 'evil twin,' 'the devil made me do it, and 'it wasn't me, it was the one armed man' as excuses. Meaning that I'm sure at least 95% of the idiots claiming that defense are liars and aren't Multiples at all.

“So whatever you think you know about Multiples is most assuredly rubbish. Especially if you're believing tripe about evil alters. We're people, we're no more or less likely to be evil than anyone else. And less so, given that we can hear one another's thoughts and feel each other's feelings.”

“You were listening to our private conversation, then?”

“Well I was here to speak with Justin Finch-Fletchley, but found you were talking loud enough for anyone to hear, so I decided to eavesdrop a little, yes.”

“W-what do you want with Justin?”

“To explain that I was telling the snake to leave him alone. It was the only thing I could think of to save his life after that prat Lockhart pissed it off. I mean honestly, didn't you see that it moved toward him before I said anything, and that it backed down as soon as I told it to stop?”

“All I saw,” said Ernie stubbornly, though he was trembling as he spoke, “was you speaking Parseltongue and chasing the snake toward Justin.”

“I didn’t chase it at him!” Al said, his voice shaking with anger. “It didn’t even touch him!”

“It was a very near miss,” said Ernie. “And in case you’re getting ideas,” he added hastily, “I might tell you that you can trace my family back through nine generations of witches and warlocks and my blood’s as pure as anyone’s, so —”

“I don’t care what sort of blood you’ve got!” said Al and Harry fiercely, though nobody would have been able to hear Harry with Al's being the body they were using. “Why would I want to attack Muggle-borns? One of my best friends is Muggle born, and the other is a Weasley. Hell, I thought I was a Muggle til Dumbledore told me I was a wizard, my aunt and uncle were so afraid of magic I never knew all the odd stuff I was doing – all the stuff we were doing – was magic!”

“We've heard rumors about your aunt and uncle. They abused you, and that's why you don't live with them anymore. Sounds like motive to hate Muggles to me!”

“Yes, they abused Harry. And us, I think we were there the whole time. But never so badly that we went full-blown MPD with blackouts and all. And anyway, we knew plenty of good Muggles, we're not going to hate all Muggles because we hated our guardians. We're not that kind of people.”

“Yeah? Well...” Ernie said, plainly not wanting to lose this argument, “you're a Parselmouth, so I don't believe a word you say anyway!”

Al felt a sudden, strange calm come over him.

“Fine. Fine, if you're going to not listen to me, if you're going to insist on villifying me for no good reason, then... then... 'Hiss hiss, motherfuckers!'” he ended in Parseltongue, lifting his hands up dramatically, scaring them all so badly that Ms. Pince came over to shush them all.

“No, get off me you old bat! You know what, McMillan? 'Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries!'”

The situation was rapidly breaking down. Ms. Pince was shouting, the Hufflepuffs were shouting, Al was alternating between shouting in English and in Parseltongue, and it was probably the most hubbub the library had seen in its entire lifetime.

Finally, though, Ms. Pince shoved Al out the door and slammed it behind him just after he shouted, 'I FART IN YOUR GENERAL DIRECTION!'

In a huff, grumbling under his voice, trying to ignore Aqua in his robes chuckling at the funny things he'd been saying in Parseltongue, not paying attention to where he was or where he was going, he ran smack into Hagrid, covered in snow and holding two dead roosters.

“Hi Hagrid.”

“Hey Al. Whatcha doin outta class?”

“Class was cancelled. What about you?”

Hagrid held up a limp rooster.

“Second one killed this term,” he explained. “It’s either foxes or a Blood-Suckin’ Bugbear, an’ I need the headmaster’s permission ter put a charm around the hen coop.”
He peered more closely at Al from under his thick, snow-flecked eyebrows.

“Yeh sure yeh’re all righ’? Yeh look all hot an’ bothered —”

Al couldn’t bring himself to repeat what Ernie and the rest of the Hufflepuffs had been saying about him.

“It’s nothing,” he said. “I’d better get going, Hagrid, it’s Transfiguration next and I’ve got to pick up my books.”

He walked off, his mind still full of what Ernie had said about him.

“Justin’s been waiting for something like this to happen ever since he let slip to Potter he was Muggle-born. …”

Al stamped up the stairs and turned along another corridor, which was particularly dark; the torches had been extinguished by a strong, icy draft that was blowing through a loose windowpane. He was halfway down the passage when he tripped headlong over something lying on the floor.

He turned to squint at what he’d fallen over and felt as though his stomach had dissolved.

Justin Finch-Fletchley was lying on the floor, rigid and cold, a look of shock frozen on his face, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. And that wasn’t all. Next to him was another figure, the strangest sight Al had ever seen.

It was Nearly Headless Nick, no longer pearly-white and transparent, but black and smoky, floating immobile and horizontal, six inches off the floor. His head was half off and his face wore an expression of shock identical to Justin’s.

“Nope,” Al said. “Nope, I'm out of here.”

He began to turn around the way he came, but then Peeves appeared. Al broke into a run.

Floating ahead of Al, Peeves said, “Naughty naughty little Potty, no running in the hallsies! What is little Potty running from, any...”

Peeves trailed off, stopping in midair, having noticed Justin and Nick at last. Al ran into Peeves, who was oddly solid for a poltergeist, and fell over backwards.

Grinning, Peeves filled his lungs and, before Al could stop him, screamed, “ATTACK! ATTACK! ANOTHER ATTACK! NO MORTAL OR GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! ATTAAAACK!”

“Damn it all,” Al said, resignedly, as all the doors in the area crashed open and people ran out into the halls, an action that was stupidly dangerous but very human. Then the Hufflepuffs came in from the library, and Ernie McMillain pointed at him and shouted, “Caught in the act!”

Peeves was bobbing overhead, now grinning wickedly, surveying the scene; Peeves always loved chaos. As the teachers bent over Justin and Nearly Headless Nick, examining them, Peeves broke into song:

“Oh, Potter, you rotter, oh, what have you done,
You’re killing off students, you think it’s good fun —”

“That’s enough, Peeves!” barked Professor McGonagall, and Peeves zoomed away backward, with his tongue out at Al.

Justin was carried up to the hospital wing by Professor Flitwick and Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department, but nobody seemed to know what to do for Nearly Headless Nick. In the end, Professor McGonagall conjured a large fan out of thin air, which she gave to Ernie with instructions to waft Nearly Headless Nick up the stairs. This Ernie did, fanning Nick along like a silent black hovercraft. This left Al and Professor McGonagall alone together.

“This way, Potter,” she said.

“Professor,” said Al at once, “we had nothing to do with this!”

“This is out of my hands, Potter,” said Professor McGonagall curtly.

They marched in silence around a corner and she stopped before a large and extremely ugly stone gargoyle.

“Lemon drop!” she said. This was evidently a password, because the gargoyle sprang suddenly to life and hopped aside as the wall behind him split in two. Even full of dread for what was coming, Al couldn’t fail to be amazed; he felt the others' amazement, as well. Behind the wall was a spiral staircase that was moving smoothly upward, like an escalator. As he and Professor McGonagall stepped onto it, Al heard the wall thud closed behind them. They rose upward in circles, higher and higher, until at last, slightly dizzy, Al saw a gleaming oak door ahead, with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin.
He knew now where he was being taken. This must be where Dumbledore lived.

Well that's one way to find him to talk with him.