The weather outside had grown noticeably colder. Snow had not fallen yet, but in the mornings the windows were already covered with thin patterns of frost. Sometimes they reminded Hermione of a spider's web woven by someone unseen within the castle walls. Someone like the Smiting Hand.
Despite the decision she had made, she still kept putting off starting work on the potion. No new threatening notes had appeared for an unusually long time, and after the incident with Filch's cat no one else had been harmed. She kept telling herself that the lull was a good sign. That everything was over. But the quiet proved deceptive. Everything changed suddenly — and frighteningly fast. And the first victim was her friend, Harry.
The attack happened right in the middle of the match with Slytherin. Gryffindor was losing — the Slytherins' brooms were clearly better, fast new models gifted by Malfoy's father. The team's only real hope rested on Harry's ability to catch the Snitch quickly. Then one of the Bludgers suddenly seemed to go mad. It chased Harry with such fury that it looked almost like a living creature, blinded by rage. Only thanks to Fred and George, who bravely kept flying into its path, was Harry able to dodge it.
Hermione, watching the match from the stands, grabbed Ron's arm so hard that he yelped and quickly pulled it away.
"Oh no…" she murmured, turning pale and ignoring her friend's outcry. "Just like last year —"
She remembered how Quirrell had tried to knock Harry off his broom. Her gaze darted toward the teachers' stand. Who? Who this time?
"What do you mean?" Ron stared at her anxiously, rubbing his arm.
"The Bludger's been bewitched! It's obvious!" she cried, not taking her eyes off the professors.
However closely she studied the teachers' faces, none of them raised any suspicion. None — except… Snape. But he always looked like that. Hermione held her gaze on him a moment longer than she should have, then forced herself to look away.
Meanwhile the Gryffindor team had called a timeout. They exchanged a few quick words and soon took to the air again. Hermione suddenly straightened. She could hardly believe her eyes — Harry was flying alone now. Fred and George had joined the fight against the Slytherins, leaving him one-on-one with the mad Bludger.
"How could they?!" Ron burst out beside her, as if reading her thoughts. "That thing will kill him!"
But there was nothing Hermione could do about that. So she began scanning the faces opposite with renewed intensity. Now her attention shifted to the Slytherin stand. It had to be someone from there.
Suddenly the Gryffindor stand gasped in unison. Hermione looked back at Harry. The Bludger had struck his arm, and it now hung limp and useless at his side.
"No, no, no…" Hermione pressed her hands to her lips, feeling everything inside her tighten. She kept searching — though she already knew it was useless. Too many faces were turned toward Harry.
At that moment another shout rose around them. This time it was triumphant. Harry had caught the Snitch. The game was over. Hermione let out a deep breath, steadied herself, and hurried after the crowd to congratulate him on the victory.
He held himself together as always, though the pain was clear on his face. So the day ended for him in the hospital wing. And for Hermione — with a firm certainty: the threat was real. The danger hung not only over her, but over her friends as well.
And by the very next morning, there were no doubts left.
At breakfast Hermione heard that late the previous evening the teachers had found Colin Creevey. He had been lying on the stone floor in a corridor, stiff as a statue, his eyes wide open. His small fingers were clutching the camera he never parted with. With every detail passed along in whispers, a chill crept down her spine. It was just like with Mrs Norris. Only this time it was a boy, not a cat.
That attack became the final straw for Hermione. They could not wait any longer. Without waiting for Harry to return from the hospital wing, she and Ron got to work.
They chose the old girls' toilet on the third floor as the place to brew the Polyjuice Potion — not the cosiest spot, but secluded and almost always deserted. Few people dared cross the threshold of that damp, gloomy room, where among rusty pipes and cracked tiles lived Moaning Myrtle — a ghost with endless complaints.
They set the cauldron in the farthest stall. Hermione carefully added and stirred the first ingredients. Ron, hunched beside her, kept asking about the recipe again and again, which was already beginning to irritate her. At that moment they heard someone enter the toilet. Both froze, staring at each other with frightened eyes. Hermione let out a muffled gasp when she heard the voice — and only a moment later realised it was Harry.
"You nearly scared us to death!" she exclaimed, letting out a breath. "Come on in, quickly."
She let him inside, keeping a worried eye on the entrance door, and relaxed only a little once she had shut the stall door.
The friends exchanged the latest news, and the discovery Harry had made surprised Hermione the most.
"It was Dobby! He's the one behind the attack during the match. He admitted it himself when he showed up in the middle of the night," Harry said in a half-whisper. "The same elf who came to see me at the Dursleys' house and tried to convince me not to go back to Hogwarts."
"So he's the one who bewitched the Bludger?" Ron stared at him as if he couldn't believe his ears.
"And not just that!" Harry added quickly. "He's the one who stopped us from getting onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters at King's Cross!"
Disbelief flickered across Ron's face at first, but it was almost immediately replaced by a look of triumph. To be honest, Hermione still had her doubts deep down. Of course, she allowed that the boys might really have run into some kind of barrier at the station, but the whole story sounded far too much like their usual way of doing things: ignore the rules, steal a flying car, and make a dramatic entrance at school. Because of those doubts, small arguments had been flaring up between her and Ron on and off since the start of the year. Ron understood the reason perfectly well — which was why he was now looking at her with such a satisfied expression.
Hermione pressed her lips together and, pretending not to notice the look on his face, began peering intently into the cauldron while stirring its contents.
"That was his way of trying to save me," Harry finished.
"Save you?" Ron exclaimed. "He nearly killed you! With rescuers like that, you don't need enemies!"
"According to him, an ancient horror long locked in the Chamber of Secrets has been set loose in the school," Harry went on, still trying to defend the elf. "Someone really has opened it."
"I don't see how he was supposed to help you by killing you with a Bludger," Hermione pointed out reasonably. "And I already told you — that elf is clearly not right in the head. He's mad! Only a lunatic would do something like that to 'save' someone. If you ask me, he needs professional help. For example, at St Mungo's."
"I'm not sure they treat elves there," Ron said doubtfully. "But I'll admit, you've got a point. That elf is definitely not well."
Harry shrugged, still unconvinced, while Hermione drew a simple but important conclusion: even in his confused story, Dobby had confirmed that the threat connected to the Chamber of Secrets was not a fabrication. Everything pointed to it being real and dangerous. So, at least about that, Terry Foster had not lied.
***
A couple more weeks passed. The Christmas holidays were drawing closer, and on the third floor, in the girls' toilet, secret work was in full swing. There, beneath the hollow echo of dripping water and the stench of old mould, Hermione was brewing Polyjuice Potion.
However, sharing the place with Moaning Myrtle was not easy. Myrtle was definitely not pleased when three Gryffindor students invaded her domain. She often interrupted their work on the potion, wailing as she popped up from one of her favourite toilets and darting about the room with a sulky expression.
"What are you plotting in here?! Up to something again, are you?!" she shrieked, folding her arms across her chest. "It's because of rule-breakers like you that I became a ghost!"
She threatened to set Peeves on them — the noisy and quarrelsome poltergeist who, according to her, would quickly deal with them and their brew. However, the trio suspected that Myrtle was a little afraid of Peeves herself. Perhaps that was why her threats, so far, remained only words.
Still, her mood sometimes changed abruptly. As soon as the potion began to bubble, Myrtle would freeze and start circling above the cauldron, fascinated.
"So what are you brewing here?" she asked, smacking her lips. "Mmm… probably something very tasty! Will you share it with me?" she added, sniffing the air with her ghostly nose. "Although of course, who would ask me? I'm only fat and DEAD MYRTLE!"
With that she would plunge back into a toilet and go wailing away through the pipes.
But one day, when the three friends once again went to the toilet on the third floor to check how the Polyjuice Potion was coming along, an unpleasant surprise was waiting for them. Myrtle was already there, slowly swaying above the cauldron. Her face was twisted with hurt, and her eyes were brimming with tears.
"Ah, here you are again!" she drawled, her voice trembling with indignation. "Back to bother me! I've been putting up with it all this time, putting up with it…" She circled above them, peering into each of their faces. "And you didn't even say thank you! This is my toilet! And now there's this awful smell as well."
She jabbed a finger toward the cauldron — the potion inside had grown thick and bubbled with a suspicious hiss. A sweetish, rotten smell drifted from it. Her face twisted into a tragic grimace, and without waiting for either apologies or sympathy, she let out a thin, broken sob and disappeared into one of the stalls with a wail.
"What's wrong with her now?" Ron grumbled, pinching his nose at the sharp smell. "We didn't even do anything!"
"It's Myrtle," Harry reminded him wearily. "She's always unhappy about something."
Hermione, narrowing her eyes and pinching her nose as well, stepped closer to the cauldron to check whether everything was all right. But just as she was about to stir the potion, a deafening gurgle came from the neighbouring stall, and a powerful rush of water suddenly burst out from under the partition, quickly spreading across the floor.
"Ah, how lovely!" Myrtle exclaimed mockingly, sticking her head out of the stall wall. "Now your potion will be floating in a puddle!"
"Myrtle!" Hermione cried, jumping back to avoid the water spreading across the floor. "Why did you do that?!"
"Because you have absolutely no respect for me!" Myrtle shrieked, flying straight through the stall wall. "You just come in here, do whatever you want, and pretend I'm not even here! To you, I'm just empty space!"
"You're not empty space at all, Myrtle —" Harry began.
"And boys shouldn't even be here!" Myrtle cut him off, her eyes flashing. "This is a girls' toilet!"
"Myrtle, we just… we thought you weren't interested," Hermione tried to calm her.
"Not interested? Not interested?!" Myrtle practically swelled with rage. "You're brewing some strange potion, whispering about secrets, and you don't share anything with me. And you're doing it all in my toilet! Maybe I want to take part too!"
Ron, unable to hold back, rolled his eyes.
"But you're not even alive! How can you take part?"
His words set off another wave of hurt. Myrtle burst into sobs so loud that even the walls of the toilet seemed to tremble with her wailing.
"All right, all right, Myrtle!" Hermione quickly raised her hands, trying to talk over the ghost. "Listen! We really are sorry we didn't involve you in our work earlier. We've just been so busy… well, you know, saving the school and the other students. But you're absolutely right."
Myrtle sniffed. Her eyes, full of ghostly tears, fixed on Hermione suspiciously. She slowly drifted forward and hovered above the cauldron — wary, trying to work out whether they were making fun of her again.
"Really?" she asked, narrowing her eyes distrustfully.
"Really," Hermione nodded, doing her best to look as sincere as possible. "You know what? You actually could help us."
"Help?" Myrtle repeated, tilting her head to one side as if she couldn't quite believe what she had heard. "Me?"
Harry and Ron exchanged glances. Ron silently mouthed, "Is she serious?" but Hermione pretended not to notice.
"Yes, help," she went on enthusiastically. "You could be our… er… guard. Keep an eye on the potion. If someone tries to come into the toilet, you could scare them off and drive them away." Hermione paused, then added with a touch of slightly exaggerated excitement, "You'd be the Chief Keeper of the Secret!"
Myrtle hung in the air, biting her lower lip and gently swaying in place. Though she tried not to show it, it was clear Hermione's offer had genuinely thrilled her.
"I… I could do that," she finally said with great importance. "Myrtle — the Chief Keeper of the Secret! Yes… I rather like the sound of that."
"That's wonderful," Hermione smiled. "Agreed?"
"Agreed," Myrtle said, lifting her nose proudly, and for the first time that evening a slightly smug smile flickered across her face.
***
Day by day the potion was getting closer to being ready, and the moment was approaching when they would have to add the rare ingredients. All that time Hermione had been trying, without drawing attention, to find out whether they could be obtained somewhere else. But gradually she had to admit that the original idea, reckless as it seemed, was the only possible one. They would have to steal them from Snape's private stores.
The friends were standing not far from the Potions classroom, going over their plan once again.
"Hermione, maybe I should go in there after all?" Ron said under his breath. "You haven't done anything wrong, of course, but I think even this alone could be enough to get you expelled. Besides," he added with a crooked grin, "I already have some experience breaking rules."
Hermione was sorely tempted to nod. She really was frightened. But she held herself back and, narrowing her eyes, asked quietly, "Do you really want to go? Are you sure you could tell shredded skin of a boomslang from asphodel root?"
Ron frowned.
"I… well…" He gave an awkward shrug. "They're all labelled, aren't they?"
"No doubt," Hermione nodded with exaggerated enthusiasm. "Snape can't recognise his own ingredients by sight, so he labels them. Especially for anyone who comes to steal them."
"I was just trying to help," Ron said sharply. "If not — then not," he muttered.
"Sorry," Hermione said, already regretting her sarcastic words. "I'm just a bit on edge as well. But I'm the one who has to go. We've already discussed that."
Ron shrugged, and Hermione thought she saw a flicker of relief on his face. She turned away — not so much from him as from her own temptation to agree. It would have been so easy to dump that part of the plan on someone else. But from the very beginning she had known: if she had dragged them into this, then at least the hardest part had to be hers.
"Let's go over everything once more," she said to Harry. "Snape said in the last lesson that today we'll be making the Swelling Solution."
Her friends nodded.
"It's harmless," Hermione went on, "but effective enough to cause quite a commotion. When most of the class have finished brewing it, you," she pointed at Harry, "will throw a firework into one of the Slytherins' cauldrons. The firework will explode, the solution will splash everywhere, and it's bound to hit someone. There'll be chaos, and that's when I'll slip out of the classroom. I'll sit closer to the door on purpose."
"What if I miss?" Harry frowned. "I'm better at catching things than hitting a target with them. You know that."
"Don't worry, I've already thought of that," Hermione reassured him. "I've learned an accuracy charm."
She took out her wand, glanced around to make sure no one was watching, and cast the spell.
"Do you feel anything?" Ron asked doubtfully, turning to Harry.
Harry shook his head.
"It definitely works," Hermione assured them. "Trust me."
At that moment her gaze fell on the painting on the wall beside them, and she suddenly giggled.
"What?" Ron asked warily. "What did you see?"
"Have you heard the gossip?" Hermione glanced around again and lowered her voice. "They say Snape is so nasty because of unrequited love." She nodded toward the painting and added, "That's his love," and giggled again.
Harry and Ron stared at the painting, then looked back at Hermione with obvious disbelief.
"That toad?" Ron grimaced. "Even for him that's too much… And anyway, it's just a painting!"
"He's not in love with the painting itself, of course! He's in love with the lady in it — Lady Blackstone," Hermione explained.
Harry looked at her doubtfully.
"So… a lady like that actually exists? She's not just the invention of some deranged artist?"
"Yes, she does," Hermione nodded. "When I first heard the gossip, I checked the Hogwarts archives and found a record of a student named Blackstone. Now she's Lady Blackstone. In real life she's noticeably prettier, though the main features are still recognisable. The painter must not have liked her very much."
Hermione thought for a moment, then added, "As for Snape, I think that's all made up. Though who knows. He's strange."
Then she cast a quick glance at the clock and abruptly changed her tone.
"Time to go. Harry, wait for my signal."
In the classroom she took a seat closer to the door, just as planned. She worked quickly and with focus, not allowing herself to get distracted. Whatever plans she had for the lesson, she fully intended to complete the assignment no worse than anyone else. Ten minutes later her solution already looked exactly as it should. When Snape passed by, he merely gave a gloomy nod.
"Passable, Miss Granger."
From him, that sounded almost like a compliment.
The others kept fussing over their cauldrons for a while longer, but soon the steam above many of them grew thicker — which meant the potions were reaching the proper stage. Hermione glanced around the classroom. The solution in a few Slytherins' cauldrons looked quite ready, and she gave Harry a barely noticeable nod, indicating Goyle's cauldron with a glance. Snape had just passed by it and remarked on the result:
"Good."
That meant it suited their purpose perfectly.
At that moment Snape had turned to one of his favourite activities — tormenting Neville Longbottom. Harry quietly lit the firework and accurately tossed it into Goyle's cauldron. A loud explosion rang out.
A shout and a commotion broke out in the classroom. Everyone stared at Goyle and Malfoy as the Swelling Solution dripped down their faces. Their noses and cheeks began to swell rapidly. Malfoy let out a howl, and Goyle's already large eyes grew even wider. Hermione deftly took advantage of the confusion and slipped out of the classroom without anyone noticing.
Once inside Snape's office, Hermione froze for a moment. The air was cool and smelled of a strange mixture of dampness, dried herbs, and something slightly acrid. All around her, on shelves and in cabinets, hundreds of flasks, bottles, and small boxes were crammed together. From green to amber, from matte black to clear, they glinted in the dim light of her wand like tiny treasures.
For a moment her gaze lingered on a small flask of unicorn milk. It was exactly the ingredient they had needed so badly the year before.
'Ron was right after all,' Hermione thought. 'We could have got it here.'
A loud shout from behind the door snapped her back to reality. She flinched.
"Of all times to start daydreaming," she muttered through clenched teeth. "Right. Now where's the shredded skin of a boomslang?"
A minute later everything she needed was tucked inside her robes, and she slipped quietly out of the office. That was the moment she had feared most — on the way back she might run into someone. But everything went smoothly. And a couple of hours later, in a secluded corner of the abandoned toilet, Harry and Ron were talking over each other, telling her about Malfoy's enormous nose and Goyle's wide-eyed face.
While listening to them, Hermione carefully added the stolen ingredients to the Polyjuice Potion. The liquid in the cauldron grew thicker, darker — the brew was slowly but steadily approaching its final stage.