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Harry and Ron initially thought Malfoy had found so incriminating evidence—sothing dangerous, sothing important. Both of them actually brightened a little.
But instead, Malfoy handed them… a newspaper.
The headline read that Mr. Weasley had been fined fifty Galleons for enchanting a Muggle car.
And Lucius Malfoy had publicly demanded that Mr. Weasley resign.
"Go on, laugh. Why aren't you laughing?"
Draco Malfoy looked genuinely confused.
When he first saw this article, he nearly died laughing.
By all logic, Crabbe and Goyle were supposed to adore this kind of thing.
Harry and Ron felt as if their souls were about to leak out of their bodies.
They forced themselves to produce sothing vaguely like a smile.
It looked awful.
Malfoy didn't notice. Crabbe and Goyle always reacted slowly anyway.
"You know what? The Daily Prophet still hasn't reported much about the petrified students at Hogwarts. Father says Dumbledore must be covering everything up.
He's so incompetent. My dad says he's the most irresponsible Headmaster Hogwarts has ever had."
Malfoy's voice grew colder.
"He actually admitted so many Muggle-borns.
Like that filthy little brat Colin—the one who chased Scarhead around like a dog:
'Oh, Potter, let take your picture!'
'Potter, let drink your bathwater!'
'Potter—'"
Malfoy mimicked Colin's voice obnoxiously, complete with exaggerated gestures.
Ron and Harry clenched their fists, but trying to stay in character, they forced out stiff little laughs.
Malfoy gave a satisfied nod.
"That mudblood should've been petrified ages ago. Right? Laugh!"
Ron and Harry made another horrible attempt at laughing.
Malfoy continued, now sounding almost resentful:
"People are saying Darren Porter is the Heir of Slytherin.
As if.
It's impossible."
Harry and Ron perked up slightly.
Was Malfoy about to reveal sothing?
"Holy Father Potter… that stupid little saint." Malfoy rolled his eyes. "What's he even looking for in his room?
As long as I'm not insulting Scarhead, Darren Porter can't complain about .
That's the problem with Potter's saintly little brother—he always believes everyone is good.
Everyone is worth saving.
Even the attacker from last ti—he said it was just a child who strayed off the right path."
Malfoy snorted.
"With that attitude, he'll probably get himself killed soday.
There's no way soone that ridiculously naïve could be the Heir of Slytherin.
And Scarhead? Definitely not.
If only I knew who opened the Chamber—I'd work with them to clear all the mudbloods out of Hogwarts!"
Malfoy actually looked hopeful.
Then he eyed Crabbe and Goyle—Harry and Ron—with deep suspicion.
"You two are even dumber than usual today."
Harry and Ron swallowed their anger and forced matching smiles.
"Heh—maybe we ate too much."
"Yeah… ate too much…"
Malfoy accepted the excuse without question.
He was about to say more when "Darren"—Hermione—ca down the stairs.
"You really don't know who opened the Chamber of Secrets? Not even a little?"
Hermione's tone was sharp, urgent.
Malfoy narrowed his eyes.
"How many tis do you need to say it? I told you—I don't know—"
"You don't know anything?"
Hermione pressed.
"What is with you today?" Malfoy snapped. "Fine. I know one thing.
Fifty years ago soone opened the Chamber. A Muggle-born died.
Father wasn't born yet—he doesn't know the details.
But you should watch yourself.
Running off to Gryffindor every day—aren't you worried soone's going to drag you away one day?
You are a Slytherin, Potter."
He glared.
His brother—his own brother—running around with Gryffindors all day, questioning him constantly…
If he could, Malfoy would drag Darren aside and knock so sense into him.
But he couldn't beat Darren.
A tragedy, in his view.
"You're just jealous of him!" Harry blurted.
Malfoy stared at him like he'd stepped in sothing foul.
"Jealous? ? Who would I be jealous of?
I'm the heir of the Malfoy family. Scarhead is the heir of the Potter family.
And Darren?
Darren has nothing.
Why should I be jealous of him?"
"Well, I didn't say you were jealous…" Hermione interrupted quickly. "I've got sothing to do. Going first."
She shot Harry and Ron a aningful look.
And suddenly—
Their skin, hands, and faces began to ripple.
The Polyjuice Potion was wearing off.
"Let's go spy on him outside!"
"Yes!"
They sprinted from the common room.
Their robes grew loose, shoes dragging as their bodies shrank and reshaped.
"Whew… we made it," Harry gasped.
Hermione ducked into a bathroom stall, changing out of Darren's robes and back into her own.
She tossed her hair back into place.
"Hurry. We need to find Darren—we don't know if he's awake yet."
"Ugh… Crabbe's essence… I didn't know who opened the Chamber of Secrets, and now my stomach hurts." Ron gagged.
"Yeah, and Goyle's sll—ugh. That was definitely stinky socks. No 'jam flavor' at all," Harry muttered.
Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Everyone perceives taste differently! How am I supposed to describe what Crabbe and Goyle taste like?"
"Ha! Well, we know now.
And we know Darren tastes like jam…
But that hasn't helped us find the Heir!"
"That did help!" Hermione huffed. "We at least know Malfoy isn't the one. One suspect eliminated!"
They rushed back toward the dormitory—
And stopped dead.
"Wait," Ron whispered, face draining of color.
"Is Darren… still unconscious?"
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