The Fire You Touch

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Chapter 16: Enemies Of The Heir, Beware

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

Aeryn chafed her frigid arms and nodded vigorously, flinching as Sir Patrick’s head went sailing by her, accompanied by loud cheers. When Harry had first brought the offer to her, she had leapt at the chance to attend the party celebrating the five hundredth anniversary of Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington’s death. Even with Hagrid’s enormous jack-o-lanterns decorating the halls and the arrival of the troupe of dancing skeletons, Aeryn was hardly in a celebratory mood. She wanted to be as far away from the rest of the school as possible this night.

All Saints Day was tomorrow. For the past four days, Aeryn had been living in a state of tortured limbo, a constant ache thudding in the pit of her stomach as Snape’s proposal echoed maddeningly in her ears. She kept praying fervently that either she or the Potions master would drop dead before the sun rose the next morning, but knew there was no hope for such an easy out. She had to make a decision before tomorrow, and the thought dogged her every waking second.

Nearly Headless Nick’s deathday party had started out quite interesting—one of the school’s dungeons had been ghoulishly decked out with black candles, cobwebs, black velvet drapes, and a saw-playing orchestra that sounded like a thousand fingernails scraping an enormous blackboard. Aeryn had almost enjoyed conversing with the hundreds of pearly-white, translucent people packing the room, but after an hour, the temperature and the lack of edible food was straining her nerves to the snapping point.

"Let’s go," Harry agreed. It didn’t look as if their absence would cause too much anguish; the rest of the ghosts were happily enjoying the company of the Headless Hunt. Aeryn, Harry, Hermione, and Ron backed toward the door, nodding and beaming at anyone who looked at them, and a minute later were hurrying back up a passageway lit with flickering black candles.

"It was very rude of Sir Patrick to crash Nick’s deathday party," Hermione said as they walked through the hallway. "After all, Nick wasn’t invited to join the Hunt—there was no need for them to ruin his evening, too."

Aeryn had felt sorry for the Gryffindor ghost, especially after seeing the look of disappointment on his pale face once the Hunt had burst in the dungeon, but not sorry enough to stick around and freeze to the stone floor with a bunch of dead people. Judging from the look on Harry’s face, the young wizard’s sentiments were the same as hers.

"Pudding might not be finished yet," said Ron hopefully, leading the way toward the steps to the entrance hall. Aeryn’s stomach lurched at the thought of eating anything, especially coupled with the possibility of running into Professor Snape at the feast. She idly entertained the notion of curling up in one of Hagrid’s enormous pumpkins for the night and never coming back out.

There was stumbling sound behind her, and Aeryn turned to see Harry Potter clutching at the stone wall, looking around, squinting up and down the dimly lit passageway.

"Harry, what’re you—" she began.

"Shh!" Harry pressed his ear to the wall. "It’s that voice again—the one that I heard in Lockhart’s office—shut up for a minute—"

Voice? Aeryn looked at Hermione, confused. After his detention during the first weekend at Hogwarts, Harry had come back with a story of hearing a cold voice whispering death threats in the walls. Hermione and Ron had taken him somewhat seriously, but Aeryn had personally thought that spending four hours helping Gilderoy Lockhart write notes to adoring fans had caused her friend to hallucinate.

"Listen!" Harry said urgently, and the other three froze, watching him. Anxiety began to crawl down Aeryn’s spine as the boy strained to listen. This didn’t look like a hallucination. After a hesitation, Aeryn closed her eyes and quested outwards, into the walls of Hogwarts. She could hear the distant Halloween celebration—the assembled ghosts downstairs—the whirling minds of her three friends—"

"It’s moving upwards!" Harry shouted suddenly, startling Aeryn. "This way!" He began to run, up the stairs, into the entrance hall. Ron, Hermione, and Aeryn bolted after him, their faces set in masks of confusion. Harry stood where he was for a moment, surrounded by the babble of talk from the Halloween feast echoing out of the Great Hall, and then whirled on his heel and sprinted up the marble staircase to the first floor.

"Harry!" Hermione called, clattering behind him up the staircase. "What’re we—"

"SHH!" Harry cried. And, after a tense moment: "It’s going to kill someone!" He suddenly bolted up the next flight of stairs. The other three followed him, panting as they trailed Harry down the passageways of the second floor. Aeryn, her heart pounding as she raced to keep up with her quicker, younger friends, flung her mind out ahead of them. There was nothing—no one on that floor except for them—dust and decay in the corners of empty rooms—

—wait—

She ran smack into Ron as they turned a corner into the last, deserted passage of the second floor and knocked him to the floor, interrupting her questing for the second time this evening. "Sorry," she murmured to Ron as an afterthought, looking warily around them. She had caught the faintest whiff of another presence on this floor—something unfamiliar, something not human—

"Harry, what was that all about?" said Ron, climbing to his feet and wiping the sweat off his brow. "I couldn’t hear anything…"

Hermione gave a sudden gasp pointing down the corridor. "Look!"

Aeryn squinted into the darkness. Something was shining on the wall ahead, and with a plummeting heart, she approached it. Foot-high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.

ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

A dark shadow was blotched beneath the message. Aeryn, Ron, Harry, and Hermione crept forward apprehensively, nearly slipping on the large puddle of water on the floor. As they realized what it was they leapt backward with a splash.

"Oh my God," Aeryn whispered, feeling the blood drain away from her face.

Mrs. Norris, Mr. Flich’s cat, was hanging by her tail from the torch bracket. She was as stiff as a board, her eyes wide and staring.

"Let’s get out of here," Ron said after a few seconds.

"Shouldn’t we try and help—" Harry began awkwardly.

Aeryn clapped a hand on his arm. "No," she said, trying to keep the quaver from her voice. Mrs. Norris’ glassy eyes looked as if they were fixed right towards her, and she fought back a shudder. "There’s nothing we can do. Ron’s right, let’s get out of here and find someone to help us."

They turned to go, but it was too late. From either end of the corridor where they stood came the sounds of hundreds of feet climbing the stairs, and the loud, happy talk of well-fed people, and students came crashing into the passageway. After a frozen instant, Aeryn leapt to try and cover the sight on the wall, but she was too late. The noise of the students died suddenly as they spotted the hanging cat. The four of them stood alone, as silence fell among the mass of students pressing forward to see the grisly sight.

A familiar voice echoed through the silence. "Enemies of the Heir, beware!" Draco Malfoy pushed to the front of the crowd, grinning widely at the sight of Mrs. Norris. Aeryn shrank back slightly at the ghoulish fire smoldering in the young boy’s eyes. Malfoy pointed a thin finger at Hermione’s nose. "You’ll be next, Mudblood," he sneered.

"What’s going on here?"

Argus Filch, the caretaker, came shouldering through the crowd. "What’s going on—my cat!" he shrieked, falling back and clutching his face in horror. "My cat! What’s happened to Mrs. Norris?" His eyes fell on Harry, and his face bulged with rage. "You!" he shrieked, stepping towards the boy murderously. "You’ve killed my cat! I’ll kill you! I’ll—"

"Argus!"

Aeryn, who had thrown herself in front of Harry to protect him from Filch, looked up as Dumbledore and a number of teachers arrived onto the scene. In seconds, the headmaster had swept into the circle and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket.

"Come with me, Argus," he said to Filch quietly. "You too, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, Miss Blake."

The silent crowd parted to let them pass. As she started hesitantly forward, Aeryn felt her elbow grasped in a familiar hand.

"Good evening, Miss Blake," Professor Snape hissed as he hauled her along the passageway. "I missed you at the feast this evening."

Blood thundered loudly in Aeryn’s ears. "Let me go," she whispered furiously.

"Not a chance," he answered firmly.

The group entered Gilderoy Lockhart’s darkened office. As Lockhart lit the candles on his desk, Dumbledore laid Mrs. Norris on the polished surface and began to examine her. Professor McGonagall bent close, her eyes narrowed as Lockhart hovered around them, making suggestions.

Aeryn fought not to panic as Snape, still holding her arm, dragged her to one side of the office. Filch was slumped in a chair by the desk, his body racked with dry, horrible sobs. Aeryn felt like doing the same as Snape leaned close to her ear, his breath rusting her hair.

"Only a little time left until All Saints Day," he whispered throatily, his fingertips gently caressing her arm. "I assume you’ve chosen the correct answer."

"It’s not Friday yet," she growled, pulling her arm away from him. Her eyes caught Harry’s from across the room, and she drew a deep breath. She must remain calm. She would not let Snape get to her.

In the center of the room, Dumbledore straightened and turned to the caretaker. "She’s not dead, Argus," he said softly.

"Not dead?" Filch choked. "But why’s she all—all stiff and frozen?"

"She’s been Petrified," said Dumbledore.

"Ah! I thought so," said Lockhart rubbing his hands together. "I remember when I was—"

That was all Filch needed to hear. "He did it!" shrieked the caretaker, turning his blotched and tearstained face to Harry. "You saw what he wrote on the wall! He found—in my office—he knows I’m a—a Squib!"

Harry’s face paled. "I never touched Mrs. Norris!" he cried. "And I don’t even know what a Squib is!"

"He saw my Kwikspell letter!" growled Filch, his face terrible. "You little—"

"No second year could have done this," Dumbledore began firmly. "It would take Dark Magic of the most advanced—"

"Not necessarily, Headmaster."

The room fell silent as Professor Snape’s icy voice cut through Dumbledore’s words. Every eye in the office, including those in Gilderoy Lockhart’s framed photographs, turned to the shadows where Aeryn and the Potions master were standing.

"What do you mean, Severus?" Professor McGonagall asked sharply, her eyes flickering over her square-rimmed glasses.

Snape rustled from behind Aeryn and walked over to Lockhart’s desk. He peered intently down at Mrs. Norris and gave her a perfunctory nudge with a long finger. "I’ve seen cases like this before," the Potions master said after a long moment. He turned and stared intently at Dumbledore. "Before I came to teach at Hogwarts."

"As have I," Lockhart said eagerly, cutting into the conversation.

"Please explain yourself, Severus," Dumbledore said, ignoring the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

"We can’t rule out the possibility that this was a mutant attack," Snape murmured.

Aeryn’s heart ground to a screeching halt.

Professor McGonagall looked over at Snape incredulously. "That’s impossible," she scoffed. "There’s no way an intruder could have gotten onto the grounds. Even a trained wizard would have been noticed trying to sneak in—we have alarms, guardians—"

"I’m not saying," Snape interrupted calmly, "that this attack came from the outside." The silence in the room was thick as the Potions master laid a hand on Mrs. Norris’ still head.

"Do you mean—" Lockhart began cautiously.

Snape nodded. "We may have a student here who is a mutant."

Aeryn’s skin cooled as the blood drained from her face.

Dumbledore looked skeptical. "How do you know this, Severus?"

"The aftermath of a mutant attack is something you never forget, Headmaster," Snape said soberly, his black eyes glittering in the candlelight. "Granted, the cat could be Petrified, but I’ve seen similar conditions come from someone who has been blasted by a telepath."

Professor McGonagall did not look convinced. "Certainly you’re not suggesting that Harry Potter is a mutant," she said harshly. "Or Mr. Weasley, or Miss Granger, or Miss Blake, for that matter."

Snape’s gaunt face was expressionless in the flickering shadows. "Of course not, Minerva. But, I suggest that we bring in the Ministry of Magic to check this matter out, just to be on the safe side."

McGonagall turned to Dumbledore. "What do you think of this, Albus?"

Dumbledore’s twinkling blue gaze was solemn. "I can see your point, Severus," he said slowly. "However, at the risk of jumping to conclusions on such a serious charge, I think it best if we peruse this matter in the morning."

Filch looked furious. "My cat has been Petrified!" he shrieked, his eyes popping.

"Or blasted telepathically," Snape added.

"Whatever!" Filch yelled. "I want to see some punishment! Now!"

"We will be able to cure her, Argus," said Dumbledore patiently. "If she is Petrified, Professor Sprout has procured some Mandrakes, and will be able to make a potion that will revive Mrs. Norris once the plants have reached their full size."

"I’ll make it," Lockhart butted in. "I must have done it a hundred times. I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep—"

"Gilderoy," Snape exclaimed icily. "As I have told you before, I am the Potions master at this school."

There was a very awkward pause. Aeryn shrank back against the wall, remembering the first time Snape had spoken those words to Lockhart. But this time, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor merely shrugged and waved a hand.

"You may go," Dumbledore said to Harry, Ron, Aeryn, and Hermione. The four of them leapt for the door as quickly as they could without actually running. As Aeryn reached back for the doorknob, her eyes were caught by the cold gaze of Professor Snape. The barest fraction of a knowing smile flickered across his lips as he looked hungrily at her. Aeryn hurriedly shut the door, feeling the blood freeze in her veins.

When they were a floor up from Lockhart’s office, they turned into an empty classroom and closed the door quietly behind them.

"D’you think I should have told them about the voice I heard?" Harry asked worriedly.

"No," said Ron, without hesitation. "Hearing voices no one else can hear isn’t a good sign, even in the wizarding world." But even Aeryn, in her preoccupied state, could hear the underlying skepticism in Ron’s voice.

"You do believe me, don’t you?" Harry asked

"’Course I do," said Ron, a little too quickly.

"I believe you, Harry," Aeryn said quietly.

"I guess it could make sense," Hermione said slowly, after a moment. "If Mrs. Norris was attacked by a telepath, maybe Harry could have heard the attacker’s thoughts." The girl shrugged, not looking too convinced at her explanation.

"But why would a telepath attack Mrs. Norris?" Aeryn said hurriedly. "I mean, I’m not saying that…mutants…would attack logically …"

Hermione pursed her lips thoughtfully. "If there’s a mutant at school here," she said, "maybe they attacked Mrs. Norris so she wouldn’t go running to find Filch. Because they were doing something…that maybe marked them as non-wizardly…"

"Hermione, that still doesn’t make much sense," Aeryn exclaimed.

Hermione looked even more confused than ever. "It’s very weird, that’s all…"

"I know it’s weird," Harry said. "The whole thing’s weird. What’s that writing on the wall about? The Chamber has been opened…what’s that supposed to mean?"

The friends looked at each other with puzzled eyes.

"And what on earth’s a Squib?" Aeryn asked finally. To her surprise, Ron stifled a snicker.

"Well—it’s not funny really—but it’s Filch. A Squib is someone who was born into a wizarding family but hasn’t got any magical powers. Kind of the opposite of Muggle-born wizards, but Squibs are quite unusual. If Filch’s trying to learn magic from a Kwikspell course, I guess he must be a Squib. It would explain a lot—like why he hates students so much." Rom smiled, looking satisfied. "He’s bitter."

"Oh." So, that’s sort of what she was then. A Squib. Aeryn didn’t find the name very complimentary, but at the moment, she would gladly trade all her mutant powers to be called only a Squib. She didn’t know if Snape had been bluffing about Mrs. Norris—Aeryn had very limited experience with other mutants—but even if he hadn’t been telling the truth, Dumbledore and the other teachers had been alerted to the idea of mutants living at Hogwarts. By tomorrow, the rumor would have spread through the school, and there would be no escaping it.

A clock chimed somewhere; twelve long, sonorous chimes, and Aeryn’s heart twisted inside of her.

"Midnight," Harry whispered. "We’d better get to bed."

* * *

Aeryn slowly unrolled a sheet of parchment as she sat cross-legged on her bed in Gryffindor tower. All the other second year girls were asleep, their faces serene and peaceful in the glow from Aeryn’s sole flickering candle. It was late, well past two in the morning, but Aeryn couldn’t sleep.

After all, she hadn’t yet written her essay for Professor Snape’s class.

The shadows crawling in the corners of the room shifted ominously in the candlelight. Aeryn unstoppered her bottle of ink and took her quill in hand, a great cave yawning in the pit of her stomach. With trembling fingers, she dipped her quill into the ink and slowly wrote two words on the yellowish paper:

I

ACCEPT

The quill slipped from her fingers. In the light of the flickering candle, Aeryn bowed her head over the curl of parchment and began to weep, silently.