The rogue Bludger
Since the disastrous episode of the pixies, Professor Lockhart had not brought live creatures to class. Instead, he read passages from his books to them, and sometimes re-enacted some of the more dramatic bits. He usually picked Harry to help him with these reconstructions; So far, Harry had been forced to play a simple Transylvanian villager whom Lockhart had cured of a Babbling Curse, a poor yeti with a head cold, and a vampire who had been unable to eat anything except lettuce since Lockhart had dealt with him.
Harry was hauled to the front of the class during their very next Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson, this time acting a werewolf. If he hadn't had a very good reason for keeping Lockhart in a good mood, he would have refused to do it before it was even asked.
"Nice loud howl, Harry-- exactly-- and then, if you'll believe it, I pounced-- like this, and slammed him to the floor-- thus, with one hand, I managed to hold him down-- with my other, I put my wand to his throat-- I then screwed up my remaining strength and performed the immensely complex Homorphus Charm-- he let out a piteous scream-- go on, Harry, higher pitch than that-- a bit more energy, Harry, really-- right, good-- the fur vanished, the fangs shrank-- and he turned back into a man. Simple, yet effective-- and another village will remember me forever as the hero who delivered them from the monthly terror of werewolf attacks."
The bell rang and Lockhart got to his feet.
"Homework-- compose a poem about my defeat of the Wagga Wagga Werewolf! Signed copies of Magical Me to the author of the best one!"
The class began to leave. Harry returned to the back of the room, where Padma, Hermione, Lisa, and Ron were waiting. Luna hadn't been in a very good mood with them for some reason, but she refused to say what it was, even after they apologised.
"Ready?" Harry muttered.
"Wait till everyone's gone," said Hermione nervously, her face reddening. "Alright..."
She approached Lockhart's desk, a piece of paper clutched tightly in her hand, the rest right behind her.
"Er-- Professor Lockhart?" Hermione stammered. "I wanted to- to get this book out of the library. Just for... er, background studying." She held out the piece of paper, her hand shaking. "B-but the thing is, it's in the Restricted Section of the library, so I need a teacher to sign for it. I-I'm sure it would help me understand what you say in- in Gadding with Ghouls about slow-acting venoms--"
"Ah, Gadding with Ghouls!" said Lockhart, taking the note from Hermione and smiling widely at her. "Possibly my favorite book. You enjoyed it?"
"Oh, yes," said Hermione with a wide smile. Her face got even redder as she spoke faster, "So clever, the way you acted so quickly, and how you trapped the last one with a tea-strainer--"
"Well, I'm sure no one will mind me giving the best student of the year a little extra help," said Lockhart warmly before leaning in to a whisper, "You might want to assist Miss Turpin in the subject. She seems to have little understanding of the importance and greatness of my heroic deeds over the years."
Lisa looked at him in visible disgust as Lockhart pulled out an enormous peacock quill.
"Yes, nice, isn't it?" he said, misreading the revolted look on Ron's face. "I usually save it for book signings."
He scrawled an enormous loopy signature on the note and handed it back to Hermione.
"So, Harry," said Lockhart, while Hermione folded the note with fumbling fingers and slipped it into her bag. "Tomorrow's the second big Quidditch match of the season, I believe? Ravenclaw versus Hufflepuff? I hear you're a useful player. I was a Seeker, too. I was asked to try for the National Squad, but preferred to dedicate my life to the eradication of the Dark Forces. Still, if you ever feel the need for a little private training, don't hesitate to ask. Always happy to pass on my expertise to less able players..."
Harry made an attempt at a smile and hurried off after his friends.
"I don't believe it," he said as the five of them examined the signature on the note. "He didn't even look at the book we wanted. I knew he was too dense to be a professor."
"Well, he's a brainless git," said Ron. "But who cares, we've got what we needed--"
"Be a little more discreet, Ron!" Lisa whispered. "If anyone hears we've used him, who knows what would happen! He's stupid, but his ego is stupid delicate."
They dropped their voices as the entered the muffled stillness of the library. Madam Pince, the librarian, was a thin, irritable woman who looked like an underfed vulture.
"Moste Potente Potions?" she repeated suspiciously, taking the note from Hermione's hand.
Madam Pince held the note up to the light, as though determined to detect a forgery, but it passed the test. She stalked away between the lofty shelves and returned several minutes later carrying a large and mouldy-looking book. Hermione put it carefully into her bag and they left, trying not to walk too quickly or look too guilty.
Five minutes later, they were barricaded in Moaning Myrtle's out-of-order bathroom once again. Padma had overridden Ron's objections by pointing out that it was the last place anyone in their right minds would go, so they were guaranteed some privacy. Moaning Myrtle was crying noisily in her stall, but they were ignoring her, and she ignored them.
Hermione opened Moste Potente Potions carefully, and the five of them bent over the damp-spotted pages. It was clear from a glance why it belonged in the Restricted Section. Some of the potions had effects almost too gruesome to think about, and there were some very unpleasant illustrations, which included a man who seemed to have been turned inside out and a witch sprouting several extra pairs of arms out of her head. Harry found it sickening, and couldn't look at one for even a few moments.
"Here it is," said Hermione excitedly as she found the page headed 'The Polyjuice Potion'. It was decorated with drawings of people halfway through transforming into other people. Harry sincerely hoped the artist had only exaggerated the looks of intense pain on their faces.
"This is the most complicated potion I've ever seen, Lisa! I can't believe you wanted one of these as a first year!" Hermione said as they scanned the recipe. "Lacewing flies, leeches, fluxweed, and knotgrass," she murmured, running her finger down the list on ingredients. "Well, they're easy enough, they're in the student store-cupboard, we can help ourselves to as many as we please... powdered horn of a bicorn, don't know where we're going to get that... shredded skin of a boomslang, that'll be tricky, too... and of course a bit of whoever we want to change into..."
"Excuse me?" said Ron sharply. "What d'you mean, a bit of whoever we're changing into? I'm not drinking anything with Crabbe's toenails in it--"
Hermione continued as though she hadn't heard him.
"We don't have to worry about that yet, though, because we add those bits last, and I'm going to flip the potions around, so you're not... likely to get Crabbe's."
Ron turned, speechless, to Harry, Lisa, and Padma, who had an entirely different worry.
"D'you realize how much we're going to have to steal, Hermione? Shredded skin of a boomslang, that's definitely not in the students' cupboard. What're we going to do, break into Snape's private stores?" Padma said uncertainly. "I doubt my parents 'll let me owl-order those."
"I didn't think the potion took a lot," said Lisa, staring at the page and grimacing.
Hermione shut the book with a snap. She was frowning.
"Well, if you three are going to chicken out, fine," Ron said. "We won't do it."
There were bright red patches on Hermione's cheeks and her eyes were brighter than usual. Her ears were twitching madly.
"I don't want to break rules, you know," she said, and her frown was now strained, "but I think threatening Muggle-borns is far worse than brewing up a difficult potion. But if you don't want to find out if it's Malfoy or not, I'll go straight to Madam Pince now and hand the book back in--"
"No, we didn't say that!" Lisa said quickly. "Well, I mean, I- I meant that it's gonna be a hassle to plan! Can't I want to be a little lazy? God! There's a reason I was asking people to make it for me, you know!"
"I never thought I'd see the day when you'd be persuading us to break rules," said Padma.
"Alright," said Ron, sighing, "We're doing it. But not... toenails, okay?"
"How long will it take to make, anyway?" said Harry as Hermione, looking happier, opened the book again.
"Well, since the fluxweed has got to be picked at the full moon and the lacewings have got to be stewed for twenty-one days... I'd say it'd be ready in about a month, if we can get all the ingredients. And if we're lucky. These potions have got to be made in advance-- I bet even a professional would need a few days. I know there's a way to get the same effect, in a short amount of time... but I couldn't do it. I'm, er..." she paused, and took a breath. "I'm not very good at Potions, so I'd guess it's better to not try... I imagine the results may be, er, poor..."
"A month?" said Ron. "Malfoy could have attacked half the Muggle-borns in the school by then!" But Hermione's eyes narrowed dangerously, and he added swiftly, "B- but it's the best plan we've got, so full steam ahead, I say."
However, while Hermione and Padma were checking that the coast was clear for them to leave the bathroom, Ron muttered to Harry, "It'll be a lot less hassle if you were playing Slytherin tomorrow. He'd be too embarrassed from losing to do anything,"
Harry slapped his hand, saying, "I wouldn't be knocking Malfoy off his broom if it was them we were playing tomorrow anyway."
Harry woke early on Saturday morning and lay for a while thinking about the coming Quidditch match. He was nervous, mainly at the thought of what would happen if Ravenclaw lost, but also at the idea of facing a team when they were the ones with players who had better brooms. He had never wanted to steal from a Slytherin so badly. After half an hour of lying there with his insides churning, he got up, dressed, and went down to breakfast early, where he found the rest of the Ravenclaw team huddled at end of the long, empty table, all looking uptight and not speaking much staring between themselves with nervous, furtive glances. Apparently, they'd all had the same worries.
As eleven o' clock approached, the whole school started to make its way down to the Quidditch stadium. It was a muggy sort of day with a hint of thunder in the air. His friends had came hurrying over to wish Harry good luck before he went out, but for some reason, it made him more anxious. In the locker room, the team pulled on their bluish-indigo Ravenclaw robes, then sat down to listen to Etta's pep talk.
"We... may not have Nimbus two-thousand and ones, and we may not have a plan," she began, looking uncertain. "But we've got good people on our brooms, and on our team. We have trained harder than any team in this school, and we've flown in all weathers--" ("Too true," muttered Steve, "I haven't been properly dry since August,") "-- and we're going to make them rue the day they that they had to face our team."
Ears upright, Etta turned to Harry.
"Remember the spell I taught you incase your broom starts acting funny. It'll be down to you, Harry, to show them that a Seeker is something more than just their team. Try and get to that Snitch before Hufflepuff's Seeker, because we're going to win today. But of course-- no pressure! Just try your best!" assured Etta, suddenly back to her cheery self-- only slightly more jittery than normal, now that she'd spoken.
As they walked out onto the field, a roar of noise greeted them, as per usual since that's how every game went, but the Slytherins in the crowd made their boos and hisses heard, too, and some were screaming, "Slytherin's Heir! Slytherin's Heir!" Madam Hooch, the Quidditch teacher, asked the Hufflepuff Captain and Etta to shake hands, which they did, giving eachother bright smiles.
"On my whistle," said Madam Hooch. "Three... two... one...."
With a roar from the crowd to speed them upward, the fourteen players rose toward the leaden sky. Harry flew higher than any of them, squinting around for the Snitch.
Suddenly, a heavy black Bludger came pelting toward him; He avoided it so narrowly that he felt his hair 'swoosh' as it flew by.
"Close one, Harry!" said Roger, streaking past him with his club in his hand, ready to knock the Bludger back. Harry saw him give the Bludger a powerful whack in the direction of a Hufflepuff, but the Bludger changed direction in midair and shot straight for Harry again.
Harry dropped quickly to avoid it, and Roger managed to hit it hard toward the Hufflepuff Keeper. Once again, the Bludger swerved like a boomerang and shot at Harry's head.
Harry put on a burst of speed and zoomed toward the other end of the field. He could hear the Bludger whistling along behind him. What was going on? Bludgers never concentrated on one player like this-- it was their job to try and unseat as many people as possible.
Edward was waiting for the Bludger at the other end. Harry ducked as he swung at the Bludger with all his might; The Bludger was knocked off course, finally.
"Gotcha!" he yelled happily, but he was wrong, as though it was magnetically attracted to Harry, the Bludger pelted after him once more and Harry was forced to fly off at full speed, screaming.
It had started to rain; Harry felt heavy drops fall onto his face, splattering onto his glasses. He didn't have a clue what was going on in the rest of the game until he heard Lee Jordan, who was commentating, say, "Hufflepuff leading, sixty points to zero--" The mad Bludger was doing all it could to knock Harry out of the air. Roger and Edward were now flying so close to him on either side that Harry could see nothing at all except their flailing arms and had no chance to look for the Snitch, let alone catch it.
"Someone's tampered with this Bludger--!" Roger grunted, swinging his bat with all his might at it as it launched a new attack on Harry.
"Congratulations for noticing, can you make it CHASE SOMEONE ELSE?!" Harry yelled back, making a sharp turn. "We need a time out!" said Edward, trying to signal to Etta and as Roger was trying to stop the Bludger from breaking Harry's nose.
Etta had obviously got the message. Madam Hooch's whistle rang out and Harry, Roger, and Edward dived for the ground, still trying to avoid the mad Bludger.
"What's going on up there?" said Etta as the team huddled together, while Slytherins in the crowd jeered. "We're being flattened-- where were you two when that Bludger stopped Penny from scoring?"
"We were about thirty feet above her, stopping the other Bludger from murdering Harry, Etta," explained Roger. "Someone's fixed it up-- it won't leave Harry alone. It hasn't gone for anyone else all game."
"But the Bludgers have been locked in Madam Hooch's office since our last practice, and there was nothing wrong with them then. We need our Beaters helping the rest of the team! Oh, but we can't just leave Harry..." said Etta, anxiously.
Madam Hooch was walking toward them. Over her shoulder, Harry could see the Slytherins in the stands jeering and pointing in his direction, still screaming: "Slytherin's Heir! Slytherin's Heir!"
"Listen," said Harry as she came nearer and nearer, "With you two flying around me all the time the only way I'm going to catch the Snitch is if it flies up my nose. Go back to the rest of the team and let me deal with the rogue one."
"Don't be daft," said Roger, shocked. "It'll take your head off."
Penelope was looking from Harry to the Beaters, then to Etta, and over Danial, who had been looking quite dazed- the other Bludger must've gotten a hit on his head- to her own arm, where the Bludger had apparently gotten her. "We might have to."
"Harry, this is crazy! You can't really be suggesting this! What'll we do if you do get hurt?! You're our only chance to win, at this point!" Steve said.
"I'll be fine, I'm quicker than I look. The Bludger hasn't hit me yet, and I'll get the Snitch before it does. Etta, tell them-‐ tell them how well I did that first practice, last year,"
"He's..." She paused and groaned. "right. He's right. We're going to leave him alone and let him do it on his own. He's fast, and we're going to have to hope he's able to out-fly the Bludger. I mean-- he is really fast. He's caught a ball thrown the exact opposite direction from him without breaking a sweat. We're going to have to trust him. Madam Hooch! We're ready to resume play!" Etta said quickly.
The rain was falling more heavily now. On Madam Hooch's whistle, Harry kicked hard into the air and heard the tell-tale whoosh of the Bludger behind him. Higher and higher Harry climbed; He looped and swooped, spiralled, zigzagged, and rolled. Slightly dizzy, he nevertheless kept his eyes wide open, rain was speckling his glasses and ran up his nostrils as he hung upside down, avoiding another fierce dive from the Bludger. He could hear laughter from the crowd; He knew he must look very stupid, but the rogue Bludger was heavy and couldn't change direction as quickly as Harry could-- he began a kind of roller-coaster ride around the edges of the stadium, squinting through the silver sheets of rain to the goal posts, where a Chaser in yellow was trying to get the Quaffle past Etta--
A whistling in Harry's ear told him the Bludger had just missed him again; He turned right over and sped in the opposite direction.
"Careful there, Potter!" called the Hufflepuff Seeker, Cedric Diggory, as Harry was forced to do a stupid kind of twirl in midair to dodge the Bludger, and he fled, the Bludger trailing a few feet behind him; and then, glancing back at Diggory before he saw it-- the Snitch. It was hovering inches above Diggory's left ear-- and he was too busy looking everywhere else to see it.
For an agonizing moment, Harry hung in midair, not daring to speed toward him in case he looked up and saw the Snitch.
WHAM.
He had stayed still a second too long. The Bludger had hit him at last, smashed into his elbow, and Harry felt his arm break. Dimly, dazed by the searing pain in his arm, he slid sideways on his rain-drenched broom, one knee still crooked over it, his right arm dangling useless at his side-- the Bludger came pelting back for a second attack, this time aiming at his face-- Harry swerved out of the way, one idea firmly lodged in his brain, which was growing more and more numb by the second:
Get to the Snitch.
If Diggory hadn't got it, it would be on him; If he can't think right, he can't play right-- and that's just not Harry's fault. It would be Diggory's.
Through a haze of rain and pain he dived for the unfocused face and caught Diggory's expression for just a moment: The look on his face was as if he thought Harry was diving to attack him-- he careened out of Harry's way at once.
Harry took his remaining hand off his broom and made a wild snatch; He had gotten the Snitch but was now only gripping the broom with his legs, and then his broom was took slippery to stay on-- he careened sharper than he imagined he could, and in a rush, he was only just hanging onto his broom, which was no longer suspended in the air, but now falling; and he was falling along with it. There was a yell from the crowd below as he headed straight for the ground.
With a splattering thud, he hit the mud and rolled off his broom. His arm was hanging at a very strange angle; Riddled with pain, he heard, as though from a distance, a good deal of whistling and shouting. He focused on the Snitch clutched in his good hand.
"We've won," He said proudly.
And he promptly fainted.
He came around shortly after, rain falling on his face, still lying on the field, with someone leaning over him. He saw a glitter of teeth.
"Oh no, not you,"
"Doesn't know what he's saying," said Lockhart loudly to the anxious crowd of Ravenclaws pressing around them. "Not to worry, Harry. I'm about to fix your arm."
"No, no-- no, no, no!" said Harry, looking at the incredibly painful angle his arm was at. His shoulder was facing the right way, but forearm down, his arm had been bent the incorrect direction and was bruised all the way down. "I'll keep it like this, thanks... think its looks better... sort of..."
He tried to sit up, but the pain was terrible, and he fell back down at once. He heard a familiar clicking noise nearby.
"I don't want a photo of this, Colin," he said loudly.
"Lie back, Harry," said Lockhart soothingly. "It's a simple charm I've used countless times--"
"Why can't I just go to the hospital wing?" Harry said quickly.
"He should really, Professor," said a muddy Etta. "I don't think arms look like that on regular occasions, not even with wily Bludgers... not that I doubt you, but, Madam Pomfrey is a, er, professional--"
"Stand back," said Lockhart, unhearing and rolling up his jade-green sleeves.
"No, I just need to see Madam Pomfrey, she'll have it all good in a moment--" Harry said weakly, but Lockhart was twirling his wand and a second later had directed it straight at Harry's arm.
A strange and unpleasant sensation started at Harry's shoulder and spread all the way down to his fingertips. It felt as though his arm was being deflated. He didn't dare look at what was happening and stayed silent; But his worst fears were realized as the people above him gasped and Colin Creevey began clicking away madly. His arm didn't hurt anymore-- nor did it feel remotely like an arm.
"Ah," said Lockhart. "Yes. Well, that can sometimes happen. But the point is, the bones are no longer broken. That's the thing to bear in mind. So, Harry, just toddle up to the hospital wing-- ah, Miss Turpin, Miss Patil, you two... would you please escort him? And Madam Pomfrey will be able to-- er- tidy you up a bit."
As Harry got to his feet, he felt strangely lopsided. Taking a deep breath he looked down at his right side. What he saw, he couldn't help the shrill scream that escaped his throat.
Poking out of the end of his robes was what looked like a bloody and bruised rubber glove. He tried to move his fingers. Nothing happened.
Lockhart hadn't mended Harry's bones. He had removed them.
Madam Pomfrey wasn't at all pleased.
"You should have come straight to me!" she raged, holding up the sad, limp remainder of what, only half an hour before, had been a working arm. "I can mend bones in a second, but growing them back--!"
"You will be able to, won't you?" said Harry desperately.
"I'll be able to, certainly, but it will be painful," Madam Pomfrey said grimly, throwing Harry a pair of stark white pyjamas. "You'll have to stay the night."
The rest of them waited outside the curtain drawn around Harry's bed while Hermione helped him into his pyjamas. It took a while to stuff the rubbery, boneless arm into a sleeve.
"Can't defend Lockhart now, can you, Mione?" asked Ron, and Hermione scoffed, pulling Harry's fingers rather harshly through the cuff. He was almost glad he couldn't feel it.
"People make mistakes, Ron! And it doesn't hurt now, does it, Harry?"
"Well, no, but there's nothing it can do now,"
"A downside, naturally, but it can be fixed. See, Ron, you don't really have tact, you know," Hermione said, as Harry pulled himself up into bed. Padma, Lisa, Ron, Luna- who'd appeared sometime while the curtain was up- and Madam Pomfrey came around the curtain. Madam Pomfrey was holding a large bottle of something labeled Skele-Gro.
"You're in for a rough night," she said, pouring out a steaming beakerful and handing it to him. "Regrowing bones is a nasty business."
So was taking the Skele-Gro. It burned Harry's mouth and throat as it went down, making him cough and splutter. Still tut-tutting about dangerous sports and inept teachers, Madam Pomfrey retreated, leaving them to help Harry gulp down some water.
"You won it for us, though," said Lisa. "That was some catch you made. Diggory was really scared though. I think he thought he'd be the first-- that he'd done something wrong and was gonna be a special case, or something, you know?"
"First one of what?" Harry asked.
"First one to get caught up in this Chamber of Secrets business." Padma said hesitantly. "He thinks he'll be the first target of 'Slytherin's Heir,' you know, cause everyone thinks it's you... and I'm gonna be totally honest, with how your face is when you're crazy focused on something, I totally get why he was scared."
"I want to know who fixed up that Bludger to only chase you," Ron said.
"We can add that to the list of questions for after we've done the whole deal with the Polyjuice Potion," said Hermione.
"I hope it tastes better than this stuff..." said Harry, sinking back into his pillows.
"If it's got bits of Slytherins in it?" said Ron. "You've got to be joking. It'll probably be even worse."
The door of the hospital wing burst open at that moment. Filthy and soaking wet, the rest of the Ravenclaw team had arrived to see Harry.
"Harry, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have let you deal with that thing on your own!" Etta said, looking miserable.
"I'm the one that told you to let me handle it. And I got the Snitch!" Harry shrugged.
"We got you some chocolate, Harry, you little bad-luck charm," Penelope giggled, handing him a chocolate bar and ruffling his hair. "Etsy's just a little shaken up all that happened. Bad things happening during matches makes her go manic."
Only a moment had passed before Madam Pomfrey came storming over, shouting, "This boy needs rest, he's got thirty-three bones to regrow! Out! OUT!"
And Harry was alone, with nothing to distract him from the pain of his throbbing arm.
Hours and hours later, Harry woke suddenly to an even worser pain in his arm; He would've thought that was what woke him, before he saw someone sponging his head. "Get off me!" he said loudly, and then, "Dobby!"
The house-elf's goggling eyes were peering at Harry through the darkness. A single tear was running down his long, pointed nose. "Harry Potter came back to school," he whispered miserably. "Dobby warned and warned Harry Potter. Ah sir, why didn't you heed Dobby? Why didn't Harry Potter go back home when he missed the train?"
Harry heaved himself up on his pillows and pushed Dobby's sponge away, pulling his glasses up to his face. "What're you doing here?" he said. And hesitantly, he added, "... and why would you stop the barrier from letting us through?"
Dobby's lip trembled and Harry realised his trick question may as well have been a real one.
"So it was you! You are the one who stopped the barrier from letting us through! You little--"
"Indeed yes, sir," said Dobby, nodding his head vigorously, ears flapping. "Dobby hid and watched for Harry Potter and sealed the gateway and thought Harry Potter was safe, and never did Dobby dream that Harry Potter would get to school another way!"
He was rocking backward and forward, shaking his ugly head.
"Dobby was so shocked when he heard Harry Potter was back at Hogwarts, he let his master's dinner burn! Such a scolding Dobby's ever had, sir, since the... Dobby almost thought he'd get beaten again... not for years--"
Harry slumped back onto his pillows. "How terrible, almost getting beaten. You can't imagine what happened when you got me in trouble at the Dursleys-- and speaking of trouble, you know, you nearly got Hermione, Ron, and me expelled. You'd better get lost before my bones regrow, or I might strangle you."
Dobby mopped his bulging eyes and said suddenly, "Harry Potter must go home! Dobby thought his Bludger would be enough to make--"
"Your Bludger?" said Harry, anger rising more. "What do you mean, your Bludger? You made that Bludger try and kill me?"
"Not kill you, sir, never kill you!" said Dobby, shocked. "Dobby wants to save Harry Potter's life! Better sent home, grievously injured, than remain here, sir! Dobby only wanted Harry Potter hurt enough to be sent home!"
"Oh, is that all?" said Harry angrily. "I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you wanted me sent home in pieces?"
"Ah, if only Harry Potter knew!" Dobby groaned, tears dripping onto his black, somewhat ragged suit. "If he knew what he means to us, to the lowly, to the enslaved, we dregs of the magical world! Dobby remembers how it was when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was at the height of his powers, sir! We house-elves were treated like vermin, sir!" he admitted, drying his face on the sleeve. "But sir, life has improved for my kind since you triumphed over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Harry Potter survived, and the Dark Lord's power was broken, and it was a new dawn, sir, and Harry Potter shone like a beacon of hope for those of us who thought the Dark days would never end, sir... and now, at Hogwarts, terrible things are to happen, are perhaps happening already, and Dobby cannot let Harry Potter stay here now that history is to repeat itself, now that the Chamber of Secrets is open once more--"
Dobby froze, horrorstruck, then grabbed Harry's water jug from his bedside table and dropped it over his own head, toppling out of sight. A second later, he crawled back onto the bed, cross-eyes, muttering, "Bad Dobby, very bad Dobby..."
"Dobby, I already know about the Chamber being opened. Everyone does. It's been written on a wall for weeks now," Harry said. "And how would I be in danger if I'm not Muggle-born? They're the ones who were threatened."
"Ah, sir, ask no more, ask no more of poor Dobby," stammered the elf, his eyes huge in the dark. "Dark deeds are planned in this place, but Harry Potter must not be here when they happen-- go home, Harry Potter, go home. Harry Potter must not meddle in this, sir, 'tis too dangerous--"
"Who is it, Dobby?" Harry said, grabbing ahold of Dobby's wrist to stop him from hitting himself with the water jug again. "Tell me who it is,"
"Dobby can't, sir, Dobby can't, Dobby mustn't tell!" squealed the elf. "Go home, Harry Potter, go home!"
"I'm not going anywhere unless I know!" said Harry. "I don't know where you think my home is, but I'm not going back to the Dursleys. And I'm not going to let anyone get hurt by the Heir. Just - tell me - who it is!"
"Harry Potter risks his own life for his friends!" sobbed Dobby in a kind of miserable ecstasy. "So noble! So valiant! But he must save himself, Harry Potter must not--"
Dobby suddenly froze, his bat ears quivering. Harry heard it, too. There were footsteps coming down the passageway outside.
"Dobby must go!" breathed the elf, terrified. There was a loud crack, and Harry's hand was suddenly clenched on thin air. He slumped back into bed, and squinted his eyes on the dark doorway to the hospital wing as the footsteps drew nearer.
Next moment, Dumbledore was backing into the dormitory, wearing a long woolly dressing gown and a nightcap. He was carrying one end of what looked like a statue. Professor McGonagall appeared a second later, carrying its feet. Together, they heaved it onto a bed.
"Get Madam Pomfrey," whispered Dumbledore, and Professor McGonagall hurried past the end of Harry's bed out of sight. Harry lay quite still, pretending to be asleep. He heard urgent voices, and then Professor McGonagall swept back into view, closely followed by Madam Pomfrey, who was pulling a cardigan on over her nightdress. He heard a sharp intake of breath.
"What happened?" Madam Pomfrey whispered to Dumbledore, bending over the statue on the bed.
"Another attack," said Dumbledore. "Minerva found him on the stairs."
"There was a bunch of grapes next to him," said Professor McGonagall. "We think he was trying to sneak down here to visit Potter."
Harry's stomach left a horrible feeling in his throat. Slowly and as quietly as possible, he raised himself a few inches so he could look at the statue on the bed. A ray of moonlight lay across its staring face.
It was Colin. His eyes were wide and his hands were stuck up in front of him, holding his camera.
"Petrified?" whispered Madam Pomfrey.
"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "But I shudder to think.... If I hadn't caught Albus on the way downstairs for hot chocolate... who knows what might have..."
The three of them stared down at Colin. Then Dumbledore leaned forward and wrenched the camera out of Colin's rigid grip.
"You don't think he managed to get a picture of his attacker?" said Professor McGonagall eagerly.
Dumbledore didn't answer. He opened the back of the camera.
"Good gracious!" gasped Madam Pomfrey.
A jet of steam had hissed out of the camera. Harry, three beds away, caught the stench of burnt plastic.
"Melted," said Madam Pomfrey wonderingly. "All melted..."
"What does this mean, Albus?" Professor McGonagall asked urgently.
"It means," said Dumbledore, "That the Chamber of Secrets is indeed open again."
Madam Pomfrey clapped a hand to her mouth. Professor McGonagall stared at Dumbledore.
"But, Albus... surely.... Who?"
"The question is not who," said Dumbledore, his eyes on Colin. "The question is, how...."
And from what Harry could see of Professor McGonagall's shadowy face, she didn't understand this any better than he did.