Secrets Like Lies

Raph rubbed his eyes and put his arms on his desk, groaning. He and his brothers had returned to the corridor last night, as Leo had wanted to survey the scene for himself. The spiders had mostly disappeared by then, but there had still been one or two scurrying around. 

Just as the brothers were about to return to their dormitories, they’d heard Filch’s voice and decided to spend the night in the Room of Requirement instead. Mikey’d called the beanbags; Donnie claimed a reclining chair; but Leo and Raph both fought for the couch, Leo kicking Raph off with a smirk. So Raph had spent the night on the floor with only a pillow under his head, hardly getting any sleep at all. 

Luckily for him, since the disastrous episodes of the pixies, Professor Lockhart had not brought any live creatures to the class. Instead, he read passages from his books to them, and sometimes reenacted 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 yeti with a head cold, and a vampire who had been unable to eat anything except lettuce since Lockhart had dealt with him. Raph had watched all of these, amused at Harry’s obvious misery. Better him than me, he thought. 

Raph grinned as Harry was once again hauled to the front of the class, this time acting a werewolf. 

“Nice howl, Harry—exactly—and then, if you’ll believe it, I pounced—like this—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—then I screwed up my remaining strength and performed the immensely complex Homorphus Charm—he let out a piteous moan—go on, Harry—higher than that—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!”

Raph was still grinning as Harry returned to the back of the room, where he, Ron, and Hermione were waiting.

“Not a word,” Harry said darkly to him, turning to the others. “Are we ready?”

“Wait till everyone’s gone,” said Hermione nervously. “All right…”

She approached Lockhart’s desk, a piece of paper clutched tightly in her hand, Harry and Ron right behind her. Raph dawdled a bit in the back, not quite wanting to have to deal with Lockhart, but eventually joined the others by the professor’s desk.

“Er—Professor Lockhart?” Hermione stammered. “I wanted to—to get this book out of the library. Just for background reading.” She held out the piece of paper, her hand shaking slightly. “But the thing is, it’s in the Restricted Section of the library, so I need a teacher to sign for it—I’m sure it would help me understand what you say in Gadding with Ghouls about slow-acting venoms.”

“Ah, Gadding with Ghouls!” said Lockhart, taking the note from Hermione, and Raph had to hand it to her as Lockhart smiled widely. She certainly knew what she was doing. “Possibly my very favorite book. You enjoyed it?”

“Oh, yes,” said Hermione eagerly. “So clever, the way you trapped that last one with the 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, and he pulled out an enormous peacock quill. “Yes, nice, isn’t it?” he said, misreading both the revolted look on Ron’s face and the shocked smile on Raph’s. “I usually save it for book-signings.”

Lucky us, Raph thought as Lockhart 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 first Quidditch match of the season, I believe? Gryffindor against Slytherin, is it not? 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 indistinct noise while Raph tried to pass off a snort as a cough, the both of them hurrying off after Ron and Hermione. 

“I don’t believe it,” Harry said as the four of them examined the signature on the note. “He didn’t even look at the book we wanted.”

“That’s because he’s an idiot,” Raph said.

“And a brainless git,” said Ron. “But who cares, we’ve got what we needed—”

“He is not an idiot, nor a brainless git,” said Hermione shrilly as they half ran toward the library, where Leo, Mikey, and Donnie were waiting for them. 

“Just because he said you were the best student of the year—”

They dropped their voices as they entered the muffled stillness of the library. Madam Pince, the librarian, was a thin, irritable woman who looked like an underfed vulture. 

“Best let Leo handle this,” Ron muttered as Hermione passed the note on to Raph’s older brother. Out of all of them, Leo was the least likely to be questioned. Still, the rest of them held their breath as Leo showed the note to Madam Pince.

“Moste Potente Potions?” she repeated suspiciously, taking the note from Leo. She held it 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 moldy-looking book. Donnie put it carefully in his bag as they left, trying not to walk too quickly or look too guilty. For Raph and his brothers (especially Mikey, who seemed pretty clueless at the moment), that was no big deal, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked as though they were waiting to be stopped at any moment. 

Five minutes later, they were barricaded in Moaning Myrtle’s out-of-order bathroom once more. Hermione 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. And maybe it was selfish of them, but Raph and his brothers had all agreed to keep the Room of Requirement a secret unless the situation absolutely called for it—and so far, nothing had. 

Moaning Myrtle was crying noisily in her stall, but they were all ignoring her, and she them, as Donnie carefully opened Moste Potente Potions. He, Hermione, Leo, and Harry all 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. 

Mikey peered over Leo’s shoulder and laughed. “Hey, Raph,” he said, pointing at a line of illustrations, all of which depicted an animal’s head attached to a man’s body. “Remember when—”

Raph punched Mikey just hard enough to get him to stop talking, shooting a look at Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who were looking at them curiously. Mikey only grinned, and Raph rolled his eyes. Yes, he remembered when he had a turkey-head while they played Mazes and Mutants. It was kind of hard to forget.

“Here it is,” said Hermione as they scanned the recipe. “Lacewing flies, leeches, fluxweed, and knotgrass,” she murmured, running her finger down the list of ingredients. “Well, they’re easy enough, they’re in the student store-cupboard, we can help ourselves…”

“Look,” Donnie said, frowning, “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 drinking nothing with Crabbe’s toenails in it—”

Raph agreed, but 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…”

Ron turned, speechless, to Harry, who had another 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 student’s cupboard. What’re we going to do, break into Snape’s private stores? I don’t know if that’s a good idea…”

“Leave that to us,” Leo said, and he and his brothers all smirked. 

Hermione shut the book with a snap. “Thank you,” she said, turning to Harry and Ron. “I don’t want to break the rules, you know,” she told them. “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 right now and hand the book back in.”

“I never thought I’d see the day when you’d be persuading us to break the rules,” said Ron. “Always figured it’d be Mikey and Raph.” He shrugged. “All right, we’ll do it. But not the toenails, okay?”

“How long will it take to make, anyway?” Leo asked as Hermione, looking happier, opened the book again. But it was Donnie who started to answer.

“Well, considering the fact that the fluxweed has to be picked at the full moon—”

“And the fact that lacewings have got to be stewed for twenty-one days—”

“I’d say it’ll be ready in about a month, if we can get all the ingredients,” Donnie and Hermione said at the same time.

Mikey leaned over to Raph and whispered, “There’s two of them.”

“A month?” said Ron. “Malfoy could have attacked half the Muggle-borns in the school by then!” But Hermione’s eyes narrowed dangerously and Donnie fixed him with a scowl that could have sent others running, and he added swiftly, “But it’s the best plan we’ve got, so full steam ahead, I say.”

While Hermione was checking that the coast was clear for them to leave the bathroom, Raph muttered to Harry, “Just knock Malfoy off his broom tomorrow. That’ll solve the problem.”

Unfortunately for them, Harry did not knock Malfoy off of his broom.

Instead, a Bludger had broken his arm, but even through the haze of the pain and the rain, he still managed to catch the Snitch, much to the others’ amazement. The Bludger had chased him around all game, like a deadly cannonball with target tracking. 

It hadn’t been very fun. 

Promptly after catching the Snitch, Harry had fainted, only to awake with someone leaning over him. He saw a glitter of teeth. 

“Oh, no, not you,” he moaned, miserable as he lay in the mud and the rain. 

“Doesn’t know what he’s saying,” said Lockhart loudly to the anxious crowd of Gryffindors (as well as Leo, Donnie, and Mikey). “Not to worry, Harry. I’m about to fix your arm.”

“No!” said Harry. “I’ll keep it like this, thanks.”

He tried to sit up, but the pain was terrible. 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 of times—”

“Why can’t I just go to the hospital wing?” Harry said through clenched teeth.

“He really should, Professor,” said Oliver Wood, muddy and grinning despite the fact that his Seeker was injured. “Great capture, Harry, really spectacular, your best yet, I’d say—”

Through the thicket of legs around him, Harry spotted Fred, George, Raph, and Mikey wrestling the rogue Bludger into a box. It was still putting up a terrific fight.

“Stand back,” said Lockhart, who was rolling up his jade-green sleeves. 

“No—don’t—” said Harry 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, but before he’d shut his eyes, he’d seen Donnie’s pale face and Leo’s grimace. Harry turned his face away from his arm, but his worst fears were realized as the people around him gasped and Colin Creevey began clicking madly away. His arm didn’t hurt anymore, he supposed. But it also didn’t feel remotely like an arm. 

“Ah,” said Lockhart. “Yes. Well, that can happen sometimes. 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, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, would you escort him?—and Madam Pomfrey will be able to—er—tidy you up a bit.”

As Harry got to his feet, feeling strangely lopsided, he took a breath and looked down at his right side. What he saw nearly made him pass out again. 

Poking out of the end of his robes was what looked like a thick, flesh-colored rubber glove. He tried to move his fingers. Nothing happened.

Lockhart hadn’t mended his 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 reminder of what, half an hour before, had been a working arm. “I can mend bones in a second—but growing them back—”

“You’ll be able to, won’t you?” said Harry desperately. 

“I’ll be able to, certainly, but it will be painful,” said Madam Pomfrey grimly, throwing Harry a pair of pajamas. “You’ll have to stay the night…”

Hermione, Leo, Raph, Mikey, and Donnie waited outside the curtain drawn around Harry’s bed while Ron helped him into his pajamas. It took a while to stuff the rubbery, boneless arm into a sleeve.

“How can you stick up for Lockhart now, Hermione, eh?” Ron called through the curtain as he pulled Harry’s limp fingers through the cuff. “If Harry had wanted deboning, he would have asked.”

“Anyone can make a mistake,” said Hermione. “And it doesn’t hurt anymore, does it, Harry?”

“No,” Harry said, getting into bed. “But it doesn’t do anything else, either.”

As he swung himself onto the bed, his arm flapped pointlessly.

Madam Pomfrey and the others all came around the curtain, Hermione and Donnie bickering about Lockhart (“He’s an idiot, Hermione, you have to admit—”). 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 (Ron and Donnie both sent a pointed look to Hermione at this, but she just looked away and pretended to pull at a thread on her robe), Madam Pomfrey retreated, leaving the others to help Harry gulp down some water.

“We won, though,” said Ron, a grin breaking across his face. “That was some catch you made. Malfoy’s face… he looked ready to kill…”

“I want to know how he fixed that Bludger,” said Hermione darkly. 

“We can add that to the list of questions we’ll ask him when we’ve taken the Polyjuice Potion,” said Harry, sinking back onto his pillows. “I hope it tastes better than this stuff…”

“If it’s got bits of Crabbe and Goyle in it? You’ve got to be joking,” said Ron. 

The door to the hospital wing opened hesitantly, and in walked three Slytherins.  There was a blond one, the tallest, who was grinning as he walked; he carried himself easily, surely, almost swaggering but not quite as he made his way to Harry’s hospital bed. Next to him, a red-head with dimmer hair than Ron’s was frowning, lost in thought as he pushed his rectangle glasses up his nose. On the other side of the blond was a boy with hair the color of rich chocolate, his quick, calculating gaze taking in the details of the hospital wing as they all neared Harry and the others.

Ron tensed and Hermione pursed her lips, but Leo smiled at them and waved tiredly, turning to the rest of the group. 

“These are my roommates,” he said. “They’re cool. You guys know Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley, right?”

The three came to a stop by Leo, and the blond one cocked his head, still grinning. “Not officially. I’m Kristoff Otto,” he said, sticking out his hand. Ron shook it first, almost dumbstruck at what was happening; Hermione’s handshake was quick and terse, but Kristoff hardly seemed bothered. He stuck out his hand to Harry last, but his eyes widened and he quickly put his hand down. “Er—sorry,” he said, laughing lightly. “Forgot about the whole arm thing.”

Harry smiled tensely as Kristoff turned to Leo’s brothers. “We’ve met before, yeah?” he said. “At breakfasts and dinners and whatnot?”

Mikey scoffed. “Uh, duh,” he said, mockingly acting offended. “How could you forget your BFF?”

Kristoff laughed, and the red-head turned to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. “Albert Haze,” he said. He seemed to think for a moment before he said to Harry, “Dude. That was one hell of a catch.”

“And Malfoy’s face was hilarious,” Kristoff chimed in. “He looked constipated.”

Ron snorted, and Harry felt some of the tension between them all ease a bit. “Thanks,” he said. Over Kristoff’s shoulder, he could see Raph and his brothers huddled together, talking quietly among themselves. Harry frowned, wondering what they were talking about, but Albert’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

“And this…” he said, pushing the final, brown-haired boy forward, “is Floyd Pierce.”

Floyd nodded curtly. “How are you feeling?”

It wasn’t a question that Harry had been expecting, but Floyd hadn’t asked it out of concern. No, he seemed more… curious.

“Er—fine, I guess,” Harry said, while Hermione’s brows furrowed. 

“I suppose you can’t really feel anything at all, or at least not in your right arm,” Floyd said. “Is it a strange feeling?”

“Don’t mind him,” Kristoff said. Somehow, he was still smiling, even while Harry wasn’t sure if he was supposed to laugh or not and Ron looked at Floyd in disbelief. “Floyd’s always like this.”

“It’s true,” Floyd agreed, and Albert grinned. 

“So, er, no offense or anything, but why are you guys here?” Ron asked. 

“Uh, we just wanted to make sure you weren’t dead,” Albert said, glancing at Leo. “That was a pretty hard hit.”

“Thanks and all,” Harry said, and he meant it. “But—er, I mean, I don’t really know you.”

Floyd nodded. “Correct,” he said. “Well, technically, you did just meet us, but—”

“But we came here for a different reason, as well,” Kristoff said. “We heard Malfoy talking to Crabbe and Goyle this morning, while Leo was off doing who knows what.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione immediately straightened, and Leo and his brothers all glanced up at Kristoff, Albert, and Floyd. 

“Well?” Donnie said. 

“So here’s what happened: It was a normal morning, right, and I had just woken up. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, yada yada yada, blah, blah, blah, et cetera, right? But then I remembered that I forgot my homework downstairs in the common room last night, and it was early enough that I could go get it without running into anybody I didn’t want to. Leo was already up and out, but Albert and Floyd went with me, too—Albert had forgotten his book, and I guess Floyd just came along for fun.” Kristoff glanced at Floyd, who nodded again.

“Correct.”

“After we went to the common room,” Albert said, picking up where Kristoff left off, “we heard Malfoy talking to Crabbe and Goyle from the stairs. They were talking pretty quietly, but the gist of it is this: Malfoy and his father are planning something big, something that could rattle everything we’ve gotten used to. And get this—it’s not just in Europe, or at Hogwarts. He also mentioned Ilvermorny and America, too. I think Malfoy—or at least his father—is connected to what’s been happening overseas.”

“What did they say about it?” Hermione asked, while Leo and his brothers remained unusually quiet.

“I believe the exact words were ‘They’re not going to know what hit them. Once Father gets what he needs from that sniveling little insect in America, Hogwarts and Ilvermorny will never be the same—and neither will ever have to deal with another whiny, snot-nosed Muggle-born ever again’,” Floyd said. “Except he didn’t say Muggle-born, so I suppose you can imagine his actual words.”

Albert checked his watch, his eyes widening. He cursed. “We have to go, guys,” he said, shooting an apologetic look at Leo. “We promised our friends that we’d watch their cats while they were in detention—you know how snooping cats can be when they’re left unsupervised,” he said. 

Floyd frowned. “Maybe that’s just magical cats,” he said. 

Kristoff chuckled, already heading towards the doors. “Nice meeting you, Harry, Ron, Hermione,” he said, waving at them. “Raph, Donnie, Mikey—it’s been a pleasure. Later, Leo.”

And just as the three of them left the hospital wing, the doors opened once more. Filthy and soaking wet, the rest of the Gryffindor team had arrived to see Harry, but he and the others were still blinking in the wake of that bomb Leo’s roommates had so casually dropped on them all. 

“Unbelievable flying, Harry,” said George, unaware of the others’ astonishment. “I’ve just seen Marcus Flint yelling about Malfoy. Something about having the Snitch on top of his head and not noticing. Malfoy didn’t seem too happy.”

They had brought cakes, sweets, and bottles of pumpkin juice, gathering around Harry’s bed and just getting started on what promised to be a good party when Madam Pomfrey came storming over, shouting, “This boy needs rest, he’s got thirty-three bones to regrow! Out! OUT!”

And Harry was left alone, with nothing to distract him from the stabbing pains in his limp arm. 

Four brothers walked quickly through the castle, seemingly gliding across the floors. None of them dared speak about what they had learned, not yet, not when even the pictures on the walls could be listening. Quickly, quietly, making sure nobody was around, they slipped into the hidden room on the seventh floor. 

As soon as the door clicked shut, the four of them let out a breath.

“Well,” Mikey said after a moment, “that was… helpful.”

Raph scowled. “If by ‘helpful,’ you mean ‘one of the worst things we could have found out,’ then yeah, I agree.”

“At least we now know who’s sort of connected to the trouble in New York,” Donnie said. “Even if that person is an asshole.”

“Are you talking about Malfoy or his father?” Leo said dryly.

“Yes.”

“So now we know we have to beat up a kid,” Raph said. He shrugged. “Maybe Mikey’s right about it being helpful. This is starting to grow on me.”

“Who said anything about beating anyone up?” said Leo. “Look, when Harry, Ron, and Hermione question Crabbe and Goyle, they can ask them a few questions about that, too.”

Mikey frowned. “I still don’t understand why we can’t be the ones to take the potion,” he said. “I mean, doesn’t it make more sense?”

Leo shook his head. “One, I can’t take the potion because Malfoy might recognize me,” he said.

“But you’ll be disguised as one of his friends!” Mikey protested.

“Exactly. I’m good, but I’m not that good,” Leo said. 

“He’s right, Mike,” Donnie said. “It’s possible that Malfoy might recognize Leo’s mannerisms, or at least realize that Crabbe or Goyle doesn’t act like that, normally.”

“Aren’t we giving Malfoy a little too much credit?” Raph asked, crossing his arms. “I mean, you have to admit, he’s a bit of a bone-head.”

“Yeah,” Mikey agreed. “And even if you can’t do it, Leo, why can’t I do it? Or Dee, or Raph?”

Leo sighed through his nose. “Look,” he said, “normally, I would agree with you. But right now, you have to admit that you wouldn’t get carried away with the questions? That you would take Malfoy’s answers for what they were and not push him if he doesn’t give you the one you want? I agree that this is important—which is why it’s extra important to make sure we don’t blow it. Harry, Ron, Hermione—they all want answers, but not as badly as we do. How can they? They don’t know what’s at stake—which makes them the perfect ones for this job. They can get the information we need without risking Malfoy or anyone else finding out what’s going on.”

“But what if—”

“It’s obviously not going to go perfectly,” Leo said, cutting Mikey off. “But if we get caught, we might very well be kicked out of Hogwarts, and what’s worse, we wouldn’t be able to find out what’s happening, either here or in New York. And besides, can each of you honestly say, completely truthful, that you wouldn’t resort back to your usual tactics if Malfoy’s being annoying? Raph, can you promise with absolute certainty that you won’t jump up and start shaking him up? Donnie, what about you, can you tell me that you would pretend to act dumb, that entire time, without using just one fancy word to mess up or confuse Malfoy? And Mikey, would you really be able to resist threatening to destroy everything and everyone that Malfoy loves if he doesn’t wise up and start answering your questions? I mean, do you remember what you did to that sentient pizza?”

“I still don’t know if that was a dream or not,” Mikey said sadly.

“Well?” Leo asked, his hands on his hips. “Can you all promise?”

It was silent for a moment before Raph groaned. He hated when Leo was right.

“Then it’s settled,” Leo said. “We’ll help them prepare the potion, but from then on, they’re on their own.”

Hours and hours later, Harry woke quite suddenly in the pitch blackness and gave a small yelp of pain: His arm now felt full of large splinters. For a second, he thought that was what had woken him. Then, with a thrill of horror, he realized that someone was sponging his forehead in the dark.

“Get off!” he said loudly, and then, “Dobby!”

The house-elf’s goggling tennis ball 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. “What’re you doing here?” he said. “And how did you know I missed the train?” 

Dobby’s lip trembled and Harry was seized by a sudden suspicion. “It was you!” he said slowly. “You stopped the barrier from letting us through!” 

“Indeed, yes, sir,” said Dobby, nodding his head vigorously, ears flapping. “Dobby hid and watched for Harry Potter and sealed the gateway and Dobby had to iron his hands afterward”—he showed Harry ten long, bandaged fingers—“but Dobby didn’t care, sir, for he 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 flogging Dobby never had, sir…” 

Harry slumped back onto his pillows. “You nearly got me and my friends expelled,” he said fiercely. “You’d better get lost before my bones come back, Dobby, or I might strangle you.” 

Dobby smiled weakly. “Dobby is used to death threats, sir. Dobby gets them five times a day at home.” He blew his nose on a corner of the filthy pillowcase he wore, looking so pathetic that Harry felt his anger ebb away in spite of himself. 

“Why d’you wear that thing, Dobby?” he asked curiously.

“This, sir?” said Dobby, plucking at the pillowcase. “‘Tis a mark of the house-elf’s enslavement, sir. Dobby can only be freed if his masters present him with clothes, sir. The family is careful not to pass Dobby even a sock, sir, for then he would be free to leave their house forever.” 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 once more. “What d’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 Harry Potter only knew!” Dobby groaned, more tears dripping onto his ragged pillowcase. “If he knew what he means to us, to the lowly, 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! Of course, Dobby is still treated like that, sir,” he admitted, drying his face on the pillowcase. “But mostly, 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, sit… 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 cracked it over his own head, toppling out of sight. A second later, he crawled back onto the bed, cross eyed, muttering, “Bad Dobby, very bad Dobby…” 

“So there is a Chamber of Secrets?” Harry whispered. “And did you say it’s been opened before? Tell me, Dobby!” He seized the elf’s bony wrist as Dobby’s hand inched toward the water jug. “But I’m not Muggle-born—how can I be in danger from the Chamber?” 

“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, keeping a firm hold on Dobby’s wrist to stop him from hitting himself with the water jug again. “Who’s opened it? Who opened it last time?” 

“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!” said Harry fiercely. “Some of my best friends are Muggle-born; they’ll be first in line if the Chamber really has been opened—” 

“Harry Potter risks his own life for his friends!” moaned Dobby in a kind of miserable ecstasy. “So noble! So valiant! But he must save himself, he must, 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 fist was suddenly clenched on thin air. 

He slumped back into bed, his eyes on the dark doorway to the hospital wing as the footsteps drew nearer. The next moment, Dumbledore was backing into the dormitory, wearing a long wooly 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 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 up here to visit Potter.” 

Harry’s stomach gave a horrible lurch. Slowly and carefully, 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 Creevey. 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 Albus hadn’t been 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!” said Madam Pomfrey. A jet of steam had hissed out of the camera. Harry, three beds away, caught the acrid smell 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.