CHAPTER TWELVE
Fred and George, however, found all this very funny. They went
out of their way to march ahead of Harry down the corridors,
shouting, “Make way for the Heir of Slytherin, seriously evil wiz-
ard coming through. . . .”
Percy was deeply disapproving of this behavior.
“It is not a laughing matter,” he said coldly.
“Oh, get out of the way, Percy,” said Fred. “Harry’s in a hurry.”
“Yeah, he’s off to the Chamber of Secrets for a cup of tea with his
fanged servant,” said George, chortling.
Ginny didn’t find it amusing either.
“Oh, don’t,” she wailed every time Fred asked Harry loudly who
he was planning to attack next, or when George pretended to ward
Harry off with a large clove of garlic when they met.
Harry didn’t mind; it made him feel better that Fred and
George, at least, thought the idea of his being Slytherin’s heir was
quite ludicrous. But their antics seemed to be aggravating Draco
Malfoy, who looked increasingly sour each time he saw them at it.
“It’s because he’s bursting to say it’s really him,” said Ron know-
ingly. “You know how he hates anyone beating him at anything,
and you’re getting all the credit for his dirty work.”
“Not for long,” said Hermione in a satisfied tone. “The Poly-
juice Potion’s nearly ready. We’ll be getting the truth out of him any
day now.”
At last the term ended, and a silence deep as the snow on the
grounds descended on the castle. Harry found it peaceful, rather
than gloomy, and enjoyed the fact that he, Hermione, and the
Weasleys had the run of Gryffindor Tower, which meant they could
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