meant to be (2)

50

I knew the whole mystery might be solved tomorrow without our help, but we weren't about to pass up a chance to speak to Myrtle if it turned up - and to my, delight it did, mid-morning, when we were being led to History of Magic by  Lockhart.

Lockhart, who had so often assured us that all danger had passed, only to be proved wrong straight away, was now whole-heartedly convinced that it was hardly worth the trouble to see us safely down the corridors. His hair wasn't as sleek as usual; it seemed he had been up most of the night, patrolling the fourth floor.

"Mark my words." he said, ushering us around a corner. "the first words out of those poor Petrified people's mouths will be, 'It was Hagrid.' Frankly, I'm astounded Professor McGonagall thinks all these security measures are necessary!"

"I agree, sir." said Harry, making Ron drop his books in surprise, but I understood what he doing.

"Thank you, Harry!" said Lockhart graciously, while we waited for a long line of Hufflepuffs to pass. "I mean, we teachers have quite enough to be getting on with, without walking students to classes and standing guard all night.."

"That's right." said Ron, now also catching on. "Why don't you leave us here, sir, we've only got one more corridor to go!"

"You know, Weasley, I think I will!" said Lockhart happily. "I really should go and prepare my next class!"

And he hurried off.

"Prepare his class!" Ron sneered after him. "Gone to curl his hair, more like."

We let the rest of the Gryffindors draw ahead of us, then darted down a side passage and hurried off towards Moaning Myrtles bathroom. But just as we were congratulating each other on our brilliant scheme...

"Potter! Clarke! Weasley! What are you doing?"
It was Professor McGonagall, and her mouth was the thinnest of thin lines.

"We were- we were-" Ron stammered, 'we were going to- to go and see-"

"Mione!" I said quickly. Harry, Ron and Professor McGonagall all looked at me. "We haven't seen her for ages, Professor." I went on hurriedly, treading on Ron's foot, "and we thought we'd sneak into the hospital wingand tell her the Mandrakes are nearly ready and, not to worry. It's hard without her, we really miss her"

Professor McGonagall was still staring at me, and for a moment, I thought she was going to explode, but when she spoke, it was in a strangely croaky voice.

"Of course." she said, and I, amazed, saw a tear glistening in her beady eye. "Of course, I realise this has all been hardest on the friends of those who have been... I quite understand. Yes, Clarke, of course you may visit Miss Granger. I will inform Professor Binns where you've gone. Tell
Madam Pomfrey I have given my permission."

Harry, Ron and I walked away, hardly daring to believe that we'd avoided detention. As we turned the corner, we distinctly heard Professor McGonagall blow her nose.

"That." said Ron fervently. "was the best story you've ever come up with."

We had no choice now but to go to the hospital wing and tell Madam Pomfrey that we had Professor McGonagalls permission to visit Hermione. Madam Pomfrey let us in, but reluctantly.

"There's just no point talking to a Petrified person." she said, and we had to admit she was right when we'd taken our seats next to Hermione. It was plain that Hermione didn't have the faintest inkling that she had visitors, and that we might just as well tell her bedside cabinet not to worry for all the good it would do.

"Wonder if she did see the attacker, though?" said Ron, looking sadly at Hermione's rigid face. "Because if he sneaked up on them all, no one'll ever know..."

But I wasn't looking at Hermione's face. I was more interested in her right hand. It lay clenched on top of her blankets, and bending closer, I saw that a piece of paper was scrunched inside her fist. Making sure that Madam Pomfrey was nowhere near, I pointed this out to Harry and Ron.

"Try and get it out." Ron whispered, shifting his chair so that he blocked Harry from Madam Pomfrey's view.

It was no easy task. Hermiones hand was clamped so tightly around the paper that I was sure Harry was going to tear it. While Ron and I kept watch he tugged and twisted, and at last, after several tense minutes, the paper came free.

It was a page torn from a very old library book. Harry smoothed it out eagerly and Ron leaned close to read it too.

Of the many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land, there is none more curious or more deadly than the Basilisk, known also as the King of Serpents. This snake, which may reach gigantic size, and live many bundreds of years, is born from a chicken's egg, batched beneath a toad. Its methods of killing are most wondrous, for aside from its deadly and venomous fangs, the Basilisk bas a murderous stare, and all who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall suffer instant death. Spiders flee before the Basilisk, for it is their mortal enemy, and the Basilisk flees only from the crowing of the rooster, which is fatal to it.

And beneath this, a single word had been written, in a hand I recognised as Hermione's.

Pipes.