THE VERY SECRET DIARY
Perhaps the Heir of Slytherin had lost his or her nerve, thought
Harry. It must be getting riskier and riskier to open the Chamber
of Secrets, with the school so alert and suspicious. Perhaps the
monster, whatever it was, was even now settling itself down to hi-
bernate for another fifty years. . . .
Ernie Macmillan of Hufflepuff didn’t take this cheerful view. He
was still convinced that Harry was the guilty one, that he had
“given himself away” at the Dueling Club. Peeves wasn’t helping
matters; he kept popping up in the crowded corridors singing “Oh,
Potter, you rotter . . .” now with a dance routine to match.
Gilderoy Lockhart seemed to think he himself had made the at-
tacks stop. Harry overheard him telling Professor McGonagall so
while the Gryffindors were lining up for Transfiguration.
“I don’t think there’ll be any more trouble, Minerva,” he said,
tapping his nose knowingly and winking. “I think the Chamber
has been locked for good this time. The culprit must have known
it was only a matter of time before I caught him. Rather sensible to
stop now, before I came down hard on him.
“You know, what the school needs now is a morale-booster.
Wash away the memories of last term! I won’t say any more just
now, but I think I know just the thing. . . .”
He tapped his nose again and strode off.
Lockhart’s idea of a morale-booster became clear at breakfast
time on February fourteenth. Harry hadn’t had much sleep because
of a late-running Quidditch practice the night before, and he hur-
ried down to the Great Hall, slightly late. He thought, for a mo-
ment, that he’d walked through the wrong doors.
The walls were all covered with large, lurid pink flowers. Worse
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