The Tenth Weasley - CH - 70

The library was bathed in a soft golden glow, with the late afternoon sun slanting through the high windows. Most students were still lingering in the Great Hall after lunch, and the library was almost empty — just the way Hermione Granger liked it.

She sat hunched over a table near the back, surrounded by towering piles of books. Each title was more obscure than the last: Mythical Beasts of the Deep, Forgotten Magic of the Ancient World, Secrets of Hogwarts Hidden Chambers. The books had been suggested by Tom Riddle’s diary, a "helpful friend" in her quest to understand the Chamber of Secrets.

Hermione ran her fingers through her messy curls in frustration as she scribbled down a few notes. Every lead seemed to hit a dead end. Tom had been encouraging, telling her to keep digging, but her eyes were sore from reading, and her back ached from sitting for hours.

She leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples. Maybe a short break—

When she glanced toward her bag, her blood ran cold.

The diary was gone.

Heart hammering in her chest, Hermione frantically searched the table, pushing aside her textbooks and parchment. She dropped to her knees, checking beneath the chair, beneath the table.

Gone.

"No, no, no!" she whispered, panic rising. She clutched the edge of the table, trying to think clearly. She had it just a moment ago. No one had been near her — she was sure of it — except—

Her head snapped up.

Across the library, at a table tucked between two dusty shelves, Harry Weasley sat, flipping through a large volume on magical creatures, scribbling a few notes.

Hermione's eyes narrowed dangerously.

She grabbed her bag and stormed across the library.

"Harry!" she snapped, slamming her hands on his table.

Harry jumped, startled, nearly dropping his quill. "What—?"

"Where is it?" she hissed.

He blinked. "Where’s what?"

"My diary!" Hermione's voice rose, drawing the attention of Madam Pince, who shushed them furiously from her desk. Hermione lowered her voice to a furious whisper. "The black diary. It was right beside me. Now it’s gone. And you’re the only one here!"

Harry stared at her like she’d grown two heads. "You think I stole your diary?"

"Who else could it be?" Hermione demanded. "There’s no one else in the library!"

Harry stood up, his chair scraping harshly against the floor. "I don’t even know what diary you’re talking about! Why would I steal your stupid journal?"

Hermione's face flushed red. "Maybe you thought it would be funny! Maybe you wanted to embarrass me!"

"That’s ridiculous!" Harry snapped, feeling anger bubbling inside him. "You think I’ve got nothing better to do than steal your homework diary? Grow up, Hermione!"

Without warning, Hermione snatched up Harry’s bag and started rifling through it.

"Hey!" Harry tried to grab it back, but she was surprisingly quick, tossing aside textbooks, parchment, ink bottles — but no diary.

"See?" Harry growled, jerking his bag out of her hands. "Nothing! You owe me an apology."

Hermione glared at him, chest heaving with frustration and humiliation. "You're hiding it somewhere," she said stubbornly. "I know you are."

"You’re paranoid," Harry muttered, stuffing his things back into his bag. "Maybe you should look somewhere else. Maybe the bloody library ghosts took it."

Hermione’s lips trembled slightly, but she refused to back down. "Stay away from me," she hissed.

"Gladly," Harry shot back, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

The tension between them was like a live wire, and for a moment, Harry wondered how things had gotten this bad. They had been friends once — real friends. But ever since the Chamber of Secrets opened, it felt like everyone was turning on him, Hermione included.

Without another word, Hermione gathered her books and stormed out of the library, her head held high.

Harry stood there for a long moment, feeling oddly hollow.

He hadn’t stolen her diary.

But someone had.

And deep down, Harry knew — whoever had it, nothing good would come of it.


The cold January wind howled through the grounds of Hogwarts as Charlie Potter pulled his cloak tighter around himself. Beside him, Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom trudged along the muddy path, their boots sinking slightly into the slush from a recent snowfall. Hermione Granger walked ahead of them, her head bowed and her arms crossed tightly, the ever-present dark circles beneath her eyes even more pronounced than usual.

They were heading toward Hagrid’s hut — an oddly-shaped little house on the very edge of the Forbidden Forest, with smoke curling lazily from the crooked chimney.

"Are you sure about this?" Neville asked nervously, glancing over his shoulder as if expecting some monster to leap from the shadows.

Hermione nodded grimly. "I have to be sure. We have to be sure. If what Tom — if what I read was true, we can’t just ignore it."

Charlie slowed his steps to walk beside her. "Look, Hermione. We all like Hagrid. He’s…well, he’s Hagrid. But if there’s even a chance he knows something, we need to hear it from him."

Ron grumbled, "Doesn't feel right though. I mean, Hagrid? Seriously?"

Hermione didn’t answer. She just marched on, her determination firm.

They reached the hut a few minutes later. A large boarhound, Fang, barked loudly and threw himself at the door in excitement as he heard them approaching.

Charlie knocked hard.

"One moment!" Hagrid’s booming voice called from inside, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps and the rattling of chains.

The door swung open, and Hagrid's massive frame filled the doorway. His beetle-black eyes widened in surprise when he saw the four students gathered outside.

"Charlie! Ron! Neville! Hermione! What're yeh doin' here?" Hagrid asked, stepping aside to let them in. Fang bounded out, barking joyfully, before curling up near the fireplace again.

The hut was warm, with the smell of stew bubbling away in a large iron pot. Crossbows, giant boots, and assorted magical creature paraphernalia littered the corners.

"Come in, come in! Freezin' out there, it is."

They entered awkwardly, shuffling inside and finding seats on the massive, squashy chairs scattered around the hut.

Hagrid ladled stew into large wooden bowls and handed them around, but nobody touched it.

After a few moments of silence, Charlie cleared his throat. "Hagrid...we came here to ask you something."

Hagrid looked puzzled. "Ask me somethin'? About what?"

Ron shifted uneasily in his seat. Hermione clutched her bowl tightly, staring into the stew as if searching for courage.

Finally, it was Hermione who spoke, her voice low but steady. "About the Chamber of Secrets, Hagrid."

At once, Hagrid froze.

The spoon he was holding clattered to the floor with a loud clang.

For a long moment, the only sound in the hut was the crackling of the fire.

"I don't know nothin' about that," Hagrid said roughly, avoiding their eyes. His massive hands trembled slightly as he picked up the spoon.

"Hagrid," Charlie said gently. "We know… we know you were expelled fifty years ago. Something happened."

Hagrid's face reddened. "I — I didn't open the Chamber," he said fiercely. "I never did! I was set up, I was!"

"Then tell us," Hermione pressed, her voice softer now. "We believe you. But we need to know the truth."

Hagrid heaved a great sigh and sank into his chair, rubbing his hands over his face.

"I was in my third year," he began, his voice low and rough. "There were attacks — like now. People were scared. Everyone thought it had somethin' to do with Slytherin’s monster. And..."

He hesitated.

"And I had a... a pet," he confessed. "A creature I'd been raisin' in secret."

"A pet?" Neville repeated, eyes wide.

"A spider," Hagrid muttered. "A big one. Aragog. Found him as an egg in the forest. Raised 'im meself."

Ron shuddered and glanced at Charlie. "You mean... the monster was a spider?"

Hagrid shook his head violently. "No! Aragog never hurt no one! Never killed no one! But when they found out about 'im... they thought he was the monster. Dumbledore believed me, but he couldn't stop me bein' expelled."

He gazed into the fire for a long moment.

"They said I set the monster on the students. Said it killed a girl. But it weren't true."

Hermione leaned forward. "Then what was the real monster?"

"I dunno," Hagrid said, voice heavy with old pain. "Never knew. No one did."

The room fell silent again.

Charlie exchanged a look with Ron, Neville, and Hermione. None of them quite knew what to say.

Finally, Hermione whispered, "I'm sorry, Hagrid."

Hagrid gave her a small, sad smile.

"It's not yer fault," he said gruffly. "But be careful, all of yeh. Whatever's in that castle... it's back."


Hermione leaned forward, clutching the edge of her seat so hard her knuckles went white. Her voice was a tight whisper.

"Hagrid... do you remember the name of the girl who died?"

Hagrid blinked, his thick eyebrows drawing together. He ran a hand through his wild hair and gave a deep sigh.

"Course I remember," he said heavily. "How could I forget? It was 'cause of her that I was expelled... blamed by the parents, blamed by the school. Even though I didn't have nothin' to do with it."

He looked away, his great shoulders drooping.

"Her name was Myrtle. Myrtle Warren."

There was a heavy silence inside the hut.

Charlie stiffened. Ron gaped. Neville's mouth fell open. And Hermione — Hermione gasped so sharply it sounded like she had been hit.

"Myrtle Warren?" she repeated, her voice barely more than a breath.

Hagrid nodded, unaware of the rising tension among the students.

Hermione turned to Charlie, Ron, and Neville, her eyes wide as saucers.

"That's Moaning Myrtle," she whispered fiercely. "The ghost — the one who haunts the second-floor girls' bathroom!"

Ron paled. "You mean that Myrtle? The one who screams and floods the bathroom whenever she gets upset?"

Neville looked utterly horrified. "She’s the girl who died when the Chamber was opened?"

Hermione nodded quickly. "It all makes sense now. We've been using her bathroom for months, and we never thought to ask her about it!"

Charlie stood up so fast he nearly knocked over his chair. "We have to go. We have to ask her!"

Hermione turned back to Hagrid, giving him a grateful but hurried smile. "Thank you, Hagrid. You've been... you've been very helpful."

Hagrid looked puzzled, scratching his head. "You're leavin' already?"

"Yeah," Charlie said quickly. "Er... homework. Loads of homework."

Ron and Neville stumbled after Charlie and Hermione, making excuses as they practically ran out of the hut.

Hagrid shook his head as he watched them leave. "Kids these days. Always in a rush."

They sprinted across the dark grounds of Hogwarts, their breath puffing in clouds before them. Once they were safely inside the castle, Hermione pulled them into an empty corridor.

"We have to find Myrtle. Now," she said urgently.

"How are we supposed to get into the girls' bathroom without getting caught?" Neville asked nervously.

Charlie smirked. "At this point, getting into trouble is basically part of the plan."

Hermione led the way, her mind whirling. They climbed the marble staircase two at a time, making sure no prefects or teachers were around.

When they reached the second floor, they found the door to the infamous girls’ bathroom slightly ajar. The sound of low, mournful sobbing floated out.

"She's in there," Hermione said.

Charlie pushed open the door cautiously.

The bathroom was as grimy and dismal as ever. Water pooled on the cracked tiles. The sinks along the wall were chipped and stained. And there, floating miserably near one of the toilets, was Myrtle Warren — Moaning Myrtle.

She looked up at the sound of the door creaking open, her transparent face blotchy from ghostly tears.

"What do you want?" Myrtle wailed. "Come to throw something at me? Come to laugh at me?"

"No, no!" Hermione said quickly, stepping forward. "We just... we wanted to ask you something. Something important."

Myrtle sniffled loudly, peering at them suspiciously.

"Really?" she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "What could you possibly want from me?"

"We wanted to know..." Charlie said carefully, "how you... how you died, Myrtle."

The ghost blinked at him, startled.

"You want to know about me?" she said, a little less hostile now.

Hermione nodded. "Please, Myrtle. It's really important."

Myrtle floated a little higher, looking pleased with the attention.

"Well," she said, preening slightly. "If you must know... I died right here. In this very bathroom."

She floated dramatically above a cracked sink.

"I was crying in the stall," Myrtle sniffled. "Olive Hornby had been teasing me about my glasses. I was hiding and crying, and then... I heard someone come in. A boy."

"A boy?" Ron asked, frowning.

Myrtle nodded.

"He was speaking a strange language. I didn't understand it. I opened the door to tell him to go away — and then... I saw these big, yellow eyes. Over there." She pointed to a spot near the sinks.

"And then... I died."

Silence fell among the four students.

Hermione exchanged a wide-eyed look with Charlie.

"Yellow eyes," Neville whispered. "Speaking a strange language. That sounds like a snake."

"Parseltongue," Charlie muttered.

Hermione’s mind raced. "Thank you, Myrtle. Thank you so much."

Myrtle beamed at them — for once, looking actually happy.

"Nobody's ever asked me before," she said brightly. "Nobody ever cared."

Charlie smiled awkwardly. "Er... well, we care."

They made their way out of the bathroom, their heads buzzing.

"At least we know now," Ron muttered as they hurried away. "The monster’s a snake."

Hermione nodded, her mind spinning. But one question still gnawed at her:
How would they find the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets?

And worse yet — where was the monster now?