Harry Potter 02 - Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

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    ‘Hermione, I don’t think –’
    ‘That could go seriously wrong –’
    But Hermione had a steely glint in her eye not unlike the one Professor McGonagall sometimes had.
    ‘The Potion will be useless without Crabbe and Goyle’s hair,’ she said sternly. ‘You do want to investigate Malfoy, don’t you?’
    ‘Oh, all right, all right,’ said Harry. ‘But what about you? Whose hair are you ripping out?’
    ‘I’ve already got mine!’ said Hermione brightly, pulling a tiny bottle out of her pocket and showing them the single hair inside it. ‘Remember Millicent Bulstrode wrestling with me at the Duelling Club? She left this on my robes when she was trying to strangle me! And she’s gone home for Christmas – so I’ll just have to tell the Slytherins I’ve decided to come back.’
    When Hermione had bustled off to check on the Polyjuice Potion again, Ron turned to Harry with a doom-laden expression.
    ‘Have you ever heard of a plan where so many things could go wrong?’
    *
    But to Harry and Ron’s utter amazement, stage one of the operation went just as smoothly as Hermione had said. They lurked in the deserted Entrance Hall after Christmas tea, waiting for Crabbe and Goyle, who had remained alone at the Slytherin table, shovelling down fourth helpings of trifle. Harry had perched the chocolate cakes on the end of the banisters. When they spotted Crabbe and Goyle coming out of the Great Hall, Harry and Ron hid quickly behind a suit of armour next to the front door.
    ‘How thick can you get?’ Ron whispered ecstatically, as Crabbe gleefully pointed out the cakes to Goyle and grabbed them. Grinning stupidly, they stuffed the cakes whole into their large mouths. For a moment, both of them chewed greedily, looks of triumph on their faces. Then, without the smallest change of expression, they both keeled over backwards onto the floor.
    Much the most difficult bit was hiding them in the cupboard across the hall. Once they were safely stowed amongst the buckets and mops, Harry yanked out a couple of the bristles that covered Goyle’s forehead and Ron pulled out several of Crabbe’s hairs. They also stole their shoes, because their own were far too small for Crabbe- and Goyle-sized feet. Then, still stunned at what they had just done, they sprinted up to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.
    They could hardly see for the thick black smoke issuing from the cubicle in which Hermione was stirring the cauldron. Pulling their robes up over their faces, Harry and Ron knocked softly on the door.
    ‘Hermione?’
    They heard the scrape of the lock and Hermione emerged, shiny-faced and looking anxious. Behind her they heard the gloop gloop of the bubbling, treacle-thick Potion. Three glass tumblers stood ready on the toilet seat.
    ‘Did you get them?’ Hermione asked breathlessly.
    Harry showed her Goyle’s hair.
    ‘Good. And I sneaked these spare robes out of the laundry,’ Hermione said, holding up a small sack. ‘You’ll need bigger sizes once you’re Crabbe and Goyle.’
    The three of them stared into the cauldron. Close up, the Potion looked like thick, dark mud, bubbling sluggishly.
    ‘I’m sure I’ve done everything right,’ said Hermione, nervously re-reading the splotched page of Moste Potente Potions. ‘It looks like the book says it should … Once we’ve drunk it, we’ll have exactly an hour before we change back into ourselves.’
    ‘Now what?’ Ron whispered.
    ‘We separate it into three glasses and add the hairs.’
    Hermione ladled large dollops of the Potion into each of the glasses. Then, her hand trembling, she shook Millicent Bulstrode’s hair out of its bottle into the first glass.
    The Potion hissed loudly like a boiling kettle and frothed madly. A second later, it had turned a sick sort of yellow.
    ‘Urgh – essence of Millicent Bulstrode,’ said Ron, eyeing it with loathing. ‘Bet it tastes disgusting.’
    ‘Add yours, then,’ said Hermione.
    Harry dropped Goyle’s hair into the middle glass and Ron put Crabbe’s into the last one. Both glasses hissed and frothed: Goyle’s turned the khaki colour of a bogey, Crabbe’s a dark, murky brown.
    ‘Hang on,’ said Harry, as Ron and Hermione reached for their glasses. ‘We’d better not all drink them in here: once we turn into Crabbe and Goyle we won’t fit. And Millicent Bulstrode’s no pixie.’
    ‘Good thinking,’ said Ron, unlocking the door. ‘We’ll take separate cubicles.’
    Careful not to spill a