THE WRITING ON THE WALL
ture on the International Warlock Convention of 1289, looked
amazed.
“Miss — er — ?”
“Granger, Professor. I was wondering if you could tell us any-
thing about the Chamber of Secrets,” said Hermione in a clear
voice.
Dean Thomas, who had been sitting with his mouth hanging
open, gazing out of the window, jerked out of his trance; Lavender
Brown’s head came up off her arms and Neville Longbottom’s el-
bow slipped off his desk.
Professor Binns blinked.
“My subject is History of Magic,” he said in his dry, wheezy
voice. “I deal with, facts, Miss Granger, not myths and legends.” He
cleared his throat with a small noise like chalk snapping and con-
tinued, “In September of that year, a subcommittee of Sardinian
sorcerers —”
He stuttered to a halt. Hermione’s hand was waving in the air
again.
“Miss Grant?”
“Please, sir, don’t legends always have a basis in fact?”
Professor Binns was looking at her in such amazement, Harry
was sure no student had ever interrupted him before, alive or dead.
“Well,” said Professor Binns slowly, “yes, one could argue that, I
suppose.” He peered at Hermione as though he had never seen a
student properly before. “However, the legend of which you speak
is such a very sensational, even ludicrous tale —”
But the whole class was now hanging on Professor Binns’s every
word. He looked dimly at them all, every face turned to his. Harry
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