Chapter 26: The Forbidden Corridor
Disclaimer:
Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
I own nothing but the original characters I make.
"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 26: The Forbidden Corridor
The second week of November brought colder winds and thicker snow.
The Black Lake had begun to freeze around the edges, and thin crusts of ice started crackling like broken glass against the stone banks, while students hurried between classes with their cloaks pulled tight.
Harry had not told anyone about his realisation. The ghost had to be Alistair Parkinson...Pansy's brother. And he had likely drowned in the lake, not lost in the Forbidden Forest like she had been told.
But he had no evidence of any of this, just his own speculation, a ghost that appeared when it chose, and a gut feeling that would not go away.
He did his best to act normal around the others. He laughed at Draco's jokes, helped Pansy with her Transfiguration notes, and even played a few games of Exploding Snap with Crabbe, who won, as usual, without saying a word.
But they had grown close enough to notice some things.
It was Friday evening. The common room was very warm and crowded with older students. Harry managed to secure a spot by the fire and sat there for a while, staring into the flames while thinking about what to do next.
"Harry." Draco dropped onto the sofa beside him. "You've been moping for days. What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Harry said automatically.
"You're a terrible liar," Pansy said, sitting on his other side. "Your left eye twitches."
Harry touched his eye. "It does not."
"It does," Crabbe agreed, looking up from his book. "I've seen it. But I felt rude to point it out."
Harry sighed and looked at them. Despite his complicated circumstances, and without realising it, he had come to consider these three as his true friends, and it hurt him to have to hide something from them.
But he knew this was the right thing to do...at least until he had something concrete to show them.
This was especially the case for Pansy. Harry now knew how delicate the topic of her brother was, and didn't want to hurt her by giving her false information.
"I've just been thinking about the holidays," Harry said, which was not entirely a lie. "The Dursleys are going on a trip because of my uncle's work. They won't be home for Christmas."
Pansy's expression softened. "So you're staying here?"
"I think so. Professor McGonagall said I could."
"That's not so bad," Draco said. "The castle at Christmas must be beautiful. And it will be very quiet."
"Plus, no classes," Crabbe added.
Harry smiled for real, this time. "Yeah, I suppose it won't be too bad."
Although he would miss seeing the Dursleys.
"You could spend Christmas at my house," Pansy offered, then her face fell. "But my uncle… he's not… he wouldn't…"
"It's fine," Harry said quickly. "I'll be okay here… really. Maybe I'll finally get some reading done."
Draco snorted. "Only you would want to spend the holidays reading." He glanced at Crabbe. "Okay… maybe not just you."
They talked for a while longer, about Quidditch, about Professor Snape's latest potion assignment, about the rumours of a secret passage behind a tapestry on the fourth floor. By the time Harry climbed into bed, his chest felt much lighter.
But the questions remained.
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Saturday afternoon was gloomy and cold. Snow fell in spirals, dusting the castle towers with a white layer and muffling the sounds of the grounds.
Most students chose to remain indoors, drinking hot chocolate by their common room fires or finishing homework in the library.
Harry walked alone through the corridors.
He had told Draco he was going to visit Vesper in the owlery. It was not a lie...he did intend to go, but first, he wanted to check something.
There was still a spot in the castle that he had not searched for clues about the ghost.
The third-floor corridor.
The one McGonagall had forbidden on the first day. This was the same corridor that was forbidden in the original story, the one containing that scary giant dog with three heads protecting the trapdoor leading to the Philosopher's Stone.
Of course, Harry didn't expect to find any of those things here. But if the Headmaster didn't want students going in there, he must have had a good reason for it.
Harry had not dared approach it since the start of term, but he was running out of options after a month of searching for the ghost.
The corridor was dim and silent. Torches burned low in their sconces, casting long shadows that seemed to move when he wasn't looking. A suit of armour stood guard at the far end, its visor down, its gauntlets resting on a spear.
Harry tried to stay very vigilant, keeping his eyes out for any painting that could be following his movements, or for that damn black cat that belonged to the caretaker, Mr Filch.
He walked slowly, his footsteps echoing on the stone. He passed a tapestry of a wizard duelling a troll. He passed a portrait of a sleeping knight who snored like a buzzsaw.
Then he reached the door.
It was plain oak, unremarkable, with a simple iron handle. No signs, no warnings. But Harry could feel something on the other side. It was hard to describe, but it felt like something pressing on his skin.
His hand moved closer to the handle.
"Well, well, well. Look who's wandering where he shouldn't be."
Harry spun around.
His face must have gone pale, expecting to find a professor, like McGonagall, staring at him with cold eyes.
However, he found someone else entirely.
Ron Weasley stood at the end of the corridor, flanked by Oliver Rivers and Stephen Runcorn. They wore matching grins...cruel and confident.
Despite all the threats that he had made during their first day, Weasley had yet to make a move against him and had limited himself to some snarky comments during class.
"Weasley," Harry said, keeping his voice steady. "What are you doing here?"
"Potter," Ron said, stepping closer. "I should be the one asking that. This corridor is forbidden. Even a first-year knows that."
"I was just walking around and got lost, that's all…"
"Liar." Ron's grin widened. "You were going to open that door, weren't you? Trying to sneak a peek at the Headmaster's private chambers?" He tutted. "That's against the rules, Potter. Very much against the rules. You could lose all your credit points for this."
"I wasn't going to open anything."
"Doesn't matter what you were going to do, Potter. All that matters is what we say you were going to do." Ron glanced at his cronies. "Rivers, Runcorn… you saw him, didn't you? Hand on the handle. Trying to break in."
"Definitely," Rivers said, cracking his knuckles.
"Absolutely," Runcorn agreed, his small eyes gleaming.
Harry's hand moved towards his pocket...towards his wand.
Ron noticed. "Oh, going to fight, are you? Three against one. Those are bad odds for you, even if you've managed to learn some basic spells."
"I'm not going to fight you," Harry said. "I'm going to leave. And you're going to let me."
"Or what?" Ron pulled out his wand. "You'll tell McGonagall? Go ahead. She'll give us medals for catching you where you shouldn't be. I was actually planning on joining the Junior Inquisitor Squad next year. This will secure me a spot."
Rivers and Runcorn drew their wands as well. The corridor, already cold, seemed to drop another ten degrees.
Harry backed towards the door. There was nowhere to run. The only exit was being blocked by Weasley and his two bodyguards.
"Make sure he doesnt leave, I'm going to..." Ron stopped talking mid-sentence all of a sudden.
Some had changed in the air. The already cold temperature became at least ten degrees colder in an instant. The torches flickered and dimmed, and a mist gathered at the far end of the corridor.
Ron froze. "What is that…?"
They all turned their heads in time to see the mist taking the shape of a humanoid figure, dressed in a black cloak, with long black hair that hung like a shroud, covering its face except for a pair of glowing eyes.
Harry immediately recognised it. This was the ghost he had been looking for for the past month. It looked like it had finally decided to appear again.
And it had chosen a very opportune moment.
The ghost raised one hand, pointing directly at Ron.
Ron's face went white. "W-what is that thing!?"
"It's a ghost," Rivers said, his voice trembling.
"Ghosts aren't… they don't look that scary. Do they?" Runcorn backed away.
The ghost took a step forward. Its mouth opened, and a sound emerged from it...not words, but a low, mournful keen that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
Ron screamed in horror.
"Run!" The boy shoved Rivers aside and fled down the corridor, his footsteps echoing off the walls.
Rivers and Runcorn followed, stumbling over each other, their wands forgotten.
Harry stood there, looking at the figure, his heart pounding.
"Ehm… I don't know if you were actually trying to help me, but thanks."
The ghost turned to him. Its desperate eyes locked onto his. It raised its arm again, but now it was pointing in a different direction, down the corridor, towards the window, towards the castle grounds.
"The lake," Harry understood. "You're pointing at the lake, right?" He already guessed there was a connection.
"P-woter…" The ghost said. "Pwoter… hhe…"
It muttered the same sounds again. "How do you know my nam-… wait…" Harry finally realised something that he had previously missed because of how scared he had been.
The words coming out of the ghost's mouth had sounded a lot like his name, Potter, which had greatly confused him. But now that the ghost was pointing at the lake, something clicked into place.
The ghost wasn't saying, Potter. He was trying to say...water.
"You are inside the water. Is that what you have been trying to tell me?"
The ghost nodded. It was a slow, jerky motion, as if the movement cost it great effort.
Harry swallowed hard. "Is… is your body inside the lake?"
The ghost opened its mouth again. This time, Harry heard a different word...faint and broken, but unmistakable.
"H-help…"
Harry took a step closer to the ghostly figure. "Is your name Alis—"
Before he could ask, the ghost flickered and vanished.
Harry stood alone in the corridor, the torches burning steadily once more, the coldness gone along with the ghost.
'His body is in the lake,' Harry thought. 'And he wants me to find it.'
He let out a shaky breath and leaned against the wall, his heart slowly calming down.
The ghost had saved him from Weasley and his cronies.
He pushed off the wall and started walking back towards the stairs. He needed to get to the owlery...he had told Draco he was going, and if he took too long, his friends might come looking.
Harry had just reached the end of the corridor when a voice rang out from somewhere nearby.
"You there! Stop!"
Harry froze.
Emerging from a shadowed alcove was a man he had hoped never to encounter alone. Mr Filch, the Hogwarts caretaker, was now looking at him with a twisted smile.
His dirty robes smelled of grease and old dust, and his cat, Mrs Norris, peered out from between his legs, her amber eyes fixed on Harry like tiny lanterns.
"I knew it," Filch hissed, shuffling forward. "I knew I'd catch one of you little brats up here sooner or later. The third-floor corridor IS FORBIDDEN! You know the rules! Everyone knows the rules!"
Harry's blood turned cold. "Mr Filch, I can explain—"
"Save your breath, you little troublemaker!" Filch grabbed Harry's arm with a surprisingly strong grip. His fingers were cold and bony, like claws. "The Headmaster doesn't pay me to listen to excuses. He pays me to keep order. And you...you're nothing but trouble."
'I'm done for...' Harry thought. He may have gotten away if only Ron had tried to accuse him of breaking the rules, but now he had been caught by no other than Mister Flich.
The cruel janitor dragged him down the corridor, his limp causing an uneven gait that made Harry stumble to keep up. Mrs Norris trotted alongside, her tail flicking.
Harry's mind was churning...thinking about what cruel fate was waiting for him now.
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