Not-Ginny didn't seem to want to touch Harriet. She hissed if Harriet brushed too close to her, like she thought Harriet had some deadly, flesh-eating disease. Harriet would have pushed it, but she didn't want to hurt Ginny.
"If you scream for one of the idiot professors," Not-Ginny said calmly, "or think to tip them off in any way, I will make things very hard for poor Ginny."
Her eyes glistened. Harriet said coldly, "Lead on, then."
Not-Ginny's smile flickered onto her face and stayed there, like a shadow on the wall.
Beneath the silvery drape of the Cloak, invisible to everyone else, they sneaked through the common room. Harriet prayed Professor McGonagall might have sealed the portrait with magic, but if she had, Not-Ginny was able to counter it: she pushed open the portrait and they climbed out, unseen and unheard by the quietly talking Weasley brothers and Hermione.
Harriet followed Not-Ginny down the corridors, through the dark, silent castle. She had never heard the castle so quiet, never felt it so cold.
On the grand staircase, they heard voices. Not-Ginny moved nonchalantly to the head of the stairs and looked down, Harriet doing the same. At the bottom stood a clump of professors—Snape, Sprout, Flitwick, Lockhart. Harriet tried to look as if this fact were completely uninteresting. She could feel Not-Ginny turning to look at her, and faked a bored yawn.
" . . . moment has come at last," Snape was saying. Harriet could hear the malicious sneer in his voice.
"S-sorry?" Lockhart stammered in reply.
"Just this morning you were telling me, were you not, Lockhart, that the affair had been deplorably bungled?" Snape said.
"Yes, Gilderoy," said Professor Sprout. "I distinctly remember you saying you knew exactly where the Chamber of Secrets was—don't you, Filius?"
"Yes, yes, certainly, I do."
"W-well—I—" Lockhart sputtered.
"I certainly remember you saying that if you had been on hand when Miss Clearwater was attacked, the whole thing would have been in the bag," Snape said.
"D-did I? I don't recall . . . "
"Well, I think that settles it!" Professor Sprout clapped her hands together. "We'll leave it to you, then, Gilderoy. We'll step right aside and let you at it. You'll have that free rein you've always wanted."
Lockhart gazed desperately at the three of them, but they stared resolutely back. Professors Sprout and Flitwick smiled fake smiles of encouragement, and Snape (whom Harriet could see only in profile) looked nothing so much like a bird of prey observing a small rabbit from on high.
Lockhart didn't look so handsome anymore. He looked suddenly smaller and frightened.
"Shall we follow you now, Gilderoy," Professor Flitwick said after a long silence, one colder than the snow piling against the window panes, "or do you need time to—?"
"Yes." Lockhart's voice came out like a death rattle. "Yes—time, that is—a little time and I'll—I'll be ready."
"We'll come find you in half an hour," Professor Sprout said cheerfully. "Then you can show us how it's done, old boy."
"R-right." Lockhart didn't manage to smile. When he left, it was practically at a run.
"That's taken care of him," Snape said in a voice of disgust so cold, it could have been the signal for a second blizzard.
"Wretched little oik," said Professor Sprout, but she sounded rather depressed.
Professor Flitwick sighed and said, "Let us carry on, then."
They split up, Snape sweeping down the stairs to the dungeon, Sprout heading off along the ground-floor corridor, Fliwtick making his way up toward the girls. Not-Ginny and Harriet backed against the wall, but Flitwick passed them by without noticing a thing.
"Good girl," Not-Ginny said softly to Harriet once all the teachers had gone.
Harriet wanted to punch her in the back of the head. If she hadn't been in Ginny's body—
They reached the bottom of the stairs, but instead of continuing down to the dungeons after Snape, Not-Ginny chose the way Professor Sprout had gone. Harriet would have bet anything that Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets was concealed somewhere in the dungeons, but they were walking away from the dungeon entrance along the ground floor. Well, obviously, it'll be a secret entrance, she thought.
Not-Ginny suddenly stopped and held up her hand. Then Harriet heard it—footsteps, pattering toward them at a run—
Not-Ginny pulled out Ginny's wand.
"What are you doing?" Harriet hissed.
"Just having a little fun," Not-Ginny said. "Don't be so boring, dear Harriet."
She raised her arm, pointing the wand at the junction of the corridor. The person was almost there. "Avada—"
Harriet had no idea what that spell would do, but she wasn't going to find out. She shoved Not-Ginny hard from behind. She stumbled, breaking off the spell, as Lockhart came dashing around the corner. He looked frantic, his hat missing, and was clutching a carpetbag to his chest; without noticing them, he pelted out of sight.
Not-Ginny rounded on Harriet, her teeth bared, her eyes bright scarlet, her face contorted in rage. "Silencio," she spat. Harriet, who had been expecting worse than that—a Silencing Spell?—blinked, but then Not-Ginny's face rippled with cruel satisfaction.
"Crucio," she whispered, almost lovingly.
Harriet's skin caught on fire—no, it was her blood—no, her muscles her bones—everything it was burning it was needles burning needles sliding under her skin stabbing into her brain her eyes her mouth she opened her mouth to scream but she couldn't hear anything—
She could hear laughter.
The pain ebbed away, like water flowing back down the seashore. Harriet realized she was sobbing, but no sound was coming out because Not-Ginny had Silenced her. She'd fallen flat on the floor without realizing, still underneath the drape of her Cloak, and Not-Ginny was standing over her and laughing like this was the most fun she'd had in years.
"Was he worth it, then?" she asked. "That stupid, brainless excuse for a wizard? Was he worth the pains?"
Breathing hard, feeling like she'd been slammed by dozens of Bludgers, Harriet managed to raise her arm and give a two-fingered salute.
Not-Ginny's face hardened. Before Harriet could do anything—though what it could have been, she didn't know, not even much later, when it was all over—the pain returned like a fire trap opened over a charcoal pit, scorching her—
"Enough," Not-Ginny said, shutting the pain off again. "If I do much more, you won't be good for anything. Get up, you stupid brat." She kicked at Harriet's ankle, hard.
Harriet's legs didn't really want to support her, but she made them. She wasn't going to crawl after this sick freak, she wasn't going to let her know how much it hurt. She was actually grateful for that Silencing Spell because then Not-Ginny couldn't have heard her say please or stop it or cry for her mum. She didn't know if she had, but it had hurt so much she could have believed it.
"That was your first time under the Cruciatus Curse, wasn't it?" Not-Ginny asked mockingly as Harriet lurched after her, breathing hard. "Most who endure it once learned to behave themselves with me, but you really do seem to be thicker than most, even than the other Gryffindors I've killed. Ah, here we are."
They were at the door of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Not-Ginny pushed it open and gestured Harriet lazily inside. The words Gryffindors I've killed ached inside Harriet's head, because she knew that Not-Ginny wasn't like Lockhart, wasn't just making it up.
Myrtle was floating above the sinks, picking at a spot on her chin. When Harriet pulled off her Cloak, Myrtle sat up straight.
"What are you doing in here now?" Myrtle asked them.
"It's a pity only my pet can kill ghosts," said Not-Ginny, moving toward the sink. Myrtle flitted higher into the air, looking alarmed, like she knew there was something up with Ginny that she didn't want to mess with. "And even then it doesn't last.
"Come, Harriet." She crooked a finger at Harriet, splitting her face in a smile again. "Watch and learn."
She bent until her eyes were level with the tap, pulled her lips back from her teeth, and hissed, "Open."
That time, Harriet heard that it was Parseltongue, even as she understood the words. The sound made the hair on the back of her neck stand up and the skin under her fingernails prickle. That's what everyone else always heard? No wonder they looked at her like that . . .
The bathroom, the whole room, shuddered from floor to ceiling, bits of old tile and dust shaking loose; Myrtle squealed and dived down into a toilet with a splash. The floor ground away from the wall, the row of sinks sank into the gap in the floor, and the mirrors pulled up—exposing a dark, cavernous opening that stank like old, rotting water and ancient slime.
Not-Ginny turned that smile on her, like she was waiting for some words of praise. Harriet worked her jaw.
"Oh, that's right," Not-Ginny said, although Harriet bet she'd remembered all along about the Silencing Spell.
"This surely wasn't a girl's loo when Slytherin built it," Harriet said. Her voice sounded hoarse, like—well, like she'd been screaming.
"Of course not, idiot," said Not-Ginny.
"Not very theatrical, a girl's loo," said Harriet.
Not-Ginny looked disgusted. She swung her wand up and hit Harriet square in the chest with a bolt of mercury-colored light; it felt like being smashed in the windpipe with a hammer, and it flung Harriet straight into the dark, slimy opening. She slammed into the floor of the chute and plummeted down head-first, her cheek scraping on the slippery stone, unable to right herself, so winded she couldn't suck in breath. She'd lost her glasses and she couldn't see, only flashes of light flickering in the blackness.
She crashed into a pile of old bones, choking and wheezing, trying to breathe. Don't cry, don't crydon'tcry—
There was a slick hssssssht and a crunch; Not-Ginny had landed. "Rather a good ride, don't you think?" she asked, giving Harriet a kick in the ribs. "What's the matter, dear Harriet? Didn't have a good time?"
Harriet couldn't speak, only wheeze and cough.
"Well, get up off the floor," said Not-Ginny. "And stop being so pathetic. I'm starting to regret bringing you along."
"Really?" Harriet managed. "I'm—loving it."
Not-Ginny dealt her a casual slap that knocked her back into the bones. "Get up," she said casually.
Harriet couldn't see very well; her glasses were who-knew-where now. All she could make out was a lot of blurry darkness. She tried to follow Ginny and "Ow!" cracked her head on something sharp and rocky.
"Stalactites," said Not-Ginny, unconcerned. "Do watch your head."
Harriet wound up pushing her hands in front of her face to feel out the stalactites, but this left her slipping and stumbling on the uneven ground. Not-Ginny mocked and hectored her the whole way. Every part of her was throbbing, fiery with pain.
"What's that light?" she croaked after what seemed like ages, squinting ahead, where a kind of greenish gloom had bled into the blackness.
Not-Ginny didn't reply, but the speed of her footsteps picked up. Consoling herself with visions of what she would do to the crazy bitch once she got her out of Ginny, Harriet picked her way along behind, until she at last waded out of the black tunnel and into the eerie green light.
It was like being at the bottom of a really deep lake among the black grass, staring up through the algae at the sun. It smelled even less nice, though. When Harriet got close and squinted, she saw the door, set with a raised relief of writhing snakes, their eyes emeralds the size of her fist.
Not-Ginny ran her hand over the door like she was touching something precious. "Open," she hissed.
"Your passwords aren't too creative," Harriet said, knowing it was stupid, but hating the Not-Ginny so much she didn't care.
The snakes writhed on the door, pulling their heads back, their emerald eyes glinting, and the latch clunked open. Not-Ginny sighed.
"I'm going to kill you, dear Harriet," Not-Ginny said as she climbed up through the now open door. "Did I mention that? I always intended to, you understand, but now I know I shall really enjoy it."
"Funny thing," Harriet grit out. "I've been thinking the exact same thing."
Not-Ginny smiled. It was a bit different from the others, like it was a bit of an effort, maybe because what she really wanted to do was bleed Harriet's brain out her ears.
"I know how to value bravery," she said. "But you . . . you're just a stupid, pathetic, immeasurable fool."
"And you're just a—" Harriet was going to say murdering psycho, but the sight of the room beyond the door stopped her.
It was grander than a room; chamber really wasn't a bad word for it. Black, motionless water lay like long mirrors to either side of a glistening walkway that stretched past stone pillars entwined with snakes, their hollow eye sockets pitted with shadows. The ceiling disappeared into the blackness overhead, and that odd, algaed light emanated from nowhere Harriet could see, as if the air itself were that color. Ginny's hair looked like oxidized copper.
She was picking up her pace, striding toward the end of the path. Harriet followed, wiping at the slime on her face, only smearing at it more with her slimy palms. At the end of the path she could see . . . feet? An enormous set of feet . . .
Her eyes followed the feet to the sweeping robes, over the long, thin beard, up to the towering face carved in stone. It must be Slytherin. He didn't look like Harriet had been expecting, although she hadn't realized until then, looking at Salazar's ancient face, that she'd been picturing him as Snape, only with a beard.
Not-Ginny dropped to her knees in front of the statue, and was bowing her head, like she was praying.
"Oh, please," Harriet croaked scathingly.
But something was happening . . .
Ginny's hair rippled, like she was facing into a light wind. She hunched her shoulders down. Harriet thought she might be shaking.
Then Ginny's head snapped back, back so far that Harriet could see her inverted face. Her eyes rolled back in her head, only the whites showing. Her mouth opened, wider and wider as Harriet watched, like she was trying to scream louder and louder but had no voice.
She was clutching something to her chest.
The black diary.
For a moment, Harriet was too bewildered and stunned and frightened to move. But then, as if hearing a command that she didn't, her body darted forward, toward Ginny. She would grab that book, throw it in the water and drown it—
A burst of wind erupted from nowhere, catching her in the chest, shoving her back. She staggered as the wind unfurled. It blackened like a cloud of chimney smoke, charcoal lashed with color, red and pale pink and yellow swirling like paint in dirty water; rising in a twisting tunnel all the way up to the ceiling, whistling and keening. A terrible roar, like the scream of something so that the power of its voice split her eardrums apart, knocked her painfully to the floor.
When she raised her head, the black mass was shrinking . . . it was the height of a giraffe now . . . and now a man . . . it was turning vaguely person-shaped . . . there was the head, the arms and legs . . . Harriet plunged her shaking hand into her pocket and pulled out her wand, and stuffed it up her sleeve so she could hold it without looking like she was.
Like a camera suddenly brought into focus, with a final jerk the bubbling cloud solidified into a young man. He had wavy dark hair, and his Hogwarts robes had a Slytherin crest on them. He stood as perfect and immaculate as if he was meeting the Minister for Magic.
Behind him, on the floor, Ginny lay motionless, her hair spread across her face like Penelope Clearwater's, the diary beside her.
Harriet pushed herself upright. The Heir of Slytherin, whoever the bloody hell he really was, was stroking his hands across his arms and face like they were some interesting Christmas gift he hadn't been expecting. Then he looked down at Harriet and smiled.
She had been expecting it to be like that smile on Not-Ginny's face, mad and evil, making your blood crawl. But it was a handsome, pleased smile, almost charming.
It was even worse than the other one.
"So, Harriet Potter," he said softly. "We meet at last."