A/N: Hello again! Thank you all for reading this story - makes me feel so happy to see how many hits/faves/follows/reviews I've received! I'm going to try to make a bit more progress on this story, I think year 2 is important for set-up, but we all know how it goes, and year 3 is where things really start to get interesting. I hope none of you are bored yet :/ With this in mind, you'll notice that some "important" scenes are skimmed over with nothing more than a mention, where others change relatively substantially. Anyway, on with the story!
Chapter 8
Rumours were rife over the early days in November, following the petrification of Filch's cat. More people than ever ventured into the library in search of answers, curious to find out more about the Chamber of Secrets.
Hermione, frustrated that she couldn't find any substantial information in her favourite room of the castle, dragged Ron and Harry back to the scene of the crime during dinner to act as sleuth for the evening one night, but they found nothing, except a furious Percy.
Still desperate, the bushy-haired witch even went as far as to interrupt the monotone voice of Professor Binns in their History of Magic class in order to find out more.
Knowledge that it was Salazar Slytherin's secret haven, built to contain a monster which would purge the school of muggle-born witches and wizards caused more than a little fear and animosity between the founder's house and the other three.
"Well it's obviously going to be a Slytherin student," Ron said loudly to his friends as they left the class and headed towards the Great Hall for dinner. "They're probably all in on it. Can't remember seeing any green robes when we found Mrs Norris. They knew to stay away from the scene of the crime."
"There were no Hufflepuffs there either, Ron," Harry replied more quietly as he hitched his bag higher onto his shoulder. "You've seen people from those two houses leave after dinner. They go down into the dungeons or to the basement, so their common rooms must be down there."
Ron opened his mouth to argue but Hermione butted in, "Harry's right. It would have been more suspicious if they had been on the second floor that night."
"Well it's not gonna be a Hufflepuff! They're as good and nice as they come. Wouldn't hurt a fly." Ron had now lowered his voice, but they were still catching the attention of others walking past them. "Slytherins though… they're as evil as they come."
As Ron continued to speak, Harry found himself immensely glad that he had never told anyone where the Hat really wanted to sort him. The House of cunning and ambition had become infamous for its darker ties and outputs.
Was it something that they learnt while studying here? Or was it something that was already innate and encouraged to be developed? Was evilness something that could lie dormant? Was it an action that was done for the right reason? Was murder even something that could be justified?
He was glad that he hadn't told his friends the full story of what happened at the end of last year either.
"…No, Hermione, you don't see it! He's evil! Look at what he called you. He could have done it, I'm telling you."
"He's twelve! No twelve year old is capable of murder, even if he is a bigot."
"His whole family has been in Slytherin as far as you can go back. Both sides, Malfoy and Black, two families which are as dark as they come. Only one of them wasn't a Slytherin, and he was the worst of the lot." Harry, staring blankly ahead, missed the nervous side-long glance that Ron sent his way.
"You met his father, Hermione. He's definitely evil enough. They could've had the key to the Chamber of Secrets for centuries!" said Ron. "Handing it down, father to son…"
"Well," said Hermione cautiously, "I suppose it's possible…"
"But how do we prove it?" They sat down at the Gryffindor table and for the first time, Ron didn't instantly load his plate up with food. Instead, he leaned in closer and lowered his voice even further.
"There might be a way," said Hermione slowly, dropping her voice still further with a quick glance along the table to where Percy sat, though he seemed occupied with trying to get Ginny to eat something. "Of course, it would be difficult. And dangerous, very dangerous. We'd be breaking about fifty school rules, I expect-"
"If, in a month or so, you feel like explaining, you will let us know, won't you?" Ron's tone was irritable as he perched on the edge of the bench.
"Well isn't it obvious," replied Hermione coldly. Harry, returning to give the conversation his full attention, shook his head with Ron. "What we'd need to do is to get inside the Slytherin common room and ask Malfoy a few questions without him realizing it's us."
"But that's impossible," Harry said replied softly. Truth be told, he couldn't believe that Malfoy was the one causing all of this anyway.
"No, it's not," said Hermione. "All we'd need would be some Polyjuice Potion."
"Poly-what now?" pushed Ron as he finally gave into his stomach's loud demands for food and dished out some beef stew and potatoes onto his plate. Harry did the same, though took a much smaller portion, before pouring some pumpkin juice for each of them.
Hermione let out an exasperated sigh. "Honestly, you two. Professor Snape mentioned it in class a few weeks ago. It transforms you into somebody else." The girl took a sip of her drink as she looked at her two friends. "Think about it! We could change into three of the Slytherins. No one would know it was us. Malfoy would probably tell us anything."
"This Polyjuice stuff sounds a bit dodgy to me," said Ron through a mouthful of potatoes. "What if we were stuck looking like three of the Slytherins forever? Merlin, what if it's Crabbe or Goyle?!"
"It wears off after a while," said Hermione, waving her hand impatiently. "But getting hold of the recipe will be very difficult. Snape said it was in a book called Moste Potente Potions and it's bound to be in the Restricted Section of the library."
The three shared dark looks, knowing how difficult it would be to get a teacher to sign a permission slip for them to take a book out of the Restricted Section. Harry also realised that, if something were to go wrong, their names would be traced to the book.
"I'll get it tonight," he murmured as he returned to his meal.
The next morning, just before the Quidditch game, Harry gave the book to Hermione, who perused it hungrily. A small argument broke out between Hermione and Ron over how long the potion would take to brew, as well as how difficult it would be to procure all of the ingredients.
Harry was glad when Oliver Wood summoned him down to eat a big breakfast, just so that he could avoid the bickering of his friends.
To say that the game was a disaster would have been an understatement. Gryffindor won, sure, and the look on Malfoy's face was worth it. But Harry's arm was shattered in the process, before being made completely redundant.
Passing out from the shock of watching his arm bend back on itself, as well as the pain from his muscles when Lockhart contorted his limb in such a fashion, Harry woke up in the Hospital Wing about an hour after the match had ended.
Madam Pomfrey wasn't at all pleased. "You should have come straight to me!" she raged, the second Harry woke up, holding up the sad, limp remainder of what, 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?" Asked Ron, who was sat on the end of Harry's bed, eyes flying in horror at the limp arm and the matron.
"I'll be able to, certainly, but it will be painful," Madam Pomfrey threw a pair of pyjamas onto the bed, which Ron picked up and shook out. "You'll have to stay the night, Potter."
Hermione waited outside the curtain drawn around Harry's bed while Ron helped him into his pyjamas. Harry almost refused to wear the shirt properly, such was the pain when they tried to force his boneless arm through the 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?"
"He removed the bone," said Harry, wincing as the hand finally popped out the other end. He crawled back into bed, exhausted from the effort. "The nerves are still there…" He winced again as he pulled the covers up and rested his arm gentle down on top of them.
"It's only going to get worse, Potter. You're in for a rough night," Madam Pomfrey said as she removed the curtain, holding out a bottle of Skele-Gro and pouring out a steaming cup full and handing it to him. "Re-growing bones is a nasty business."
The liquid 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 returned to her office with the potion, leaving Ron and Hermione to help Harry gulp down some water.
"At least we won," said Ron, a grin breaking across his face. "That was some catch you made. Malfoy's face... he looked ready to kill..."
Harry smiled weakly at his friends as the stabbing pain in his arm increased ever so slightly. Hermione, ever the insightful one, tugged Ron's robe gently. "We'll let you get some rest, Harry."
Hours and hours later, Harry woke quite suddenly. It was dark, with only the moonlight shining down into the large infirmary. Shifting, the boy gave a small yelp of pain as he rolled onto his arm, which he still didn't have complete control over. 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 frantically, batting his arm until it came into contact with something hard and small. Looking over, he exclaimed, "You!"
It was the same hideous creature who had warned him not to go back to school this year. Its ever were wide and almost luminescent against the moonlight. A single tear was running down his long, pointed nose.
"Harry Potter came back to school," he whined 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 gingerly lifted himself up and rearranged his pillows to get a better view of the creature. "What're you doing here?" he asked quietly, his eyes drifting briefly over to where Madam Pomfrey's rooms were. "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 me through! I broke my rib because of you!"
"Dobby is very sorry for hurting Mister Harry Potter, 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, filthy, 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, the threat on his lips about strangling the creature dying with some of his anger as he registered what the creature just said. "Your master? What are you?"
Dobby smiled weakly. "I is a House Elf, Harry Potter. Bound to serve a family forever. It is an honour, sir." The elf grinned a toothy grin at the bed-bound boy.
"Are House Elves often so… poorly dressed?" 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."
Harry nodded, unaffected but absently wondering about the logic of the wizards who thought it was okay to enslave a sentient being.
Dobby mopped his bulging eyes and began to gesture wildly as he insisted, "Harry Potter must go home! Dobby thought his Bludger would be enough to make-"
"Your Bludger?" said Harry sharply, anger rising once more as the filthy creature's eyes grew to the size of oranges. "What d'you mean, your Bludger? You made that Bludger try to kill me?"
"Not kill you, sir, never kill you!" Dobby hastily insisted, apparently shocked that his idol would suggest such a thing. "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?" retorted Harry angrily, the shooting pain in his arm now diminished somewhat with his attention entirely focused on the appalling creature before him. "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 as the pathetic water-works started up again and tears stained his ragged-attire. The bed-ridden Gryffindor found it difficult to muster any sympathy for the illogical creature who had put him in the hospital wing. "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, realising what he had just spoken aloud. For a fee seconds he remained like that, before he grabbed the water jug from Harry's bedside table and started hitting himself over the head with it. "Bad Dobby, very bad Dobby!"
"So there is a Chamber of Secrets?" Harry whispered between hits, but the elf, for the most part, ignored him. "And did you say it's been opened before? Tell me, Dobby!"
But the house elf continued. Harry reached forwards and grabbed the jug, attempting to wrestle it away from the creature with his one good arm. It was a struggle, but he managed it. "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 and luminescent 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, wrapping his good arm tightly around the jug and looping his wrist through its handle to keep the elf from grabbing it and distracting himself through his self-punishing again. "Who's opened it? Who opened it last time?"
"Dobby can't, sir, Dobby can't, Dobby mustn't tell!" squealed the elf, as he took a few steps back, shaking his head fervently. "Go home, Harry Potter, go home!"
"I'm not going anywhere!" said Harry fiercely, extricating his hand from the jug in order to grab Dobby's filthy clothing and drag him closer. "One of my best friends is Muggle-born; she'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 as he turned his head towards the entrance to the infirmary. Harry, taking the elf's cue, strained his ears until he heard the patter of quick footsteps approaching.
"Dobby must go!" breathed the elf, terrified. There was a loud crack, and Harry's fist was suddenly clenched on thin air. For a few moments, he stared blankly at the empty space where the elf used to be. But the footsteps drew ever closer, and he slumped back down onto his pillow and turned, closing his eyes.
The footsteps neared until he was finally able to make out the distinct shuffles or two pairs of feet entering the hospital wing. Cracking his eye open a fraction, he saw the long silvery hair of the Headmaster, who appeared to be carrying one end of what Harry assumed to be a statue. Carrying the other end of the statue was the distinctive tartan of Professor McGonagall. Harry closed his eyes again and listened as 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 still, pretending to be asleep as he strained his ears once more, but could not make out anything distinctive. He heard urgent voices, then he heard another pair of footsteps joining McGonagall as she returned to Dumbledore: presumably Madam Pomfrey.
He heard a sharp intake of breath. "What happened?" Madam Pomfrey whispered to the other two, and Harry shifted in his bed, allowing one ear to be angled better to listen to the hushed voices. The room fell silent and Harry remained still.
"Another attack," said Dumbledore eventually, after making sure that the other patient in the room was asleep. "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; someone had come under risk for his sake… again. Desperately, he wanted to look up, to see who the person on the bed was, but he dared not, under the carefully gaze of three of the most observant staff members at Hogwarts.
"Petrified?" whispered Madam Pomfrey.
"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "But I shudder to think... if I hadn't been returning from the dungeons…" Silence fell again, and Harry worked on keeping his breathing steady as he waited. Finally, more movement happened around the petrified student.
"You don't think he managed to get a picture of his attacker?" said Professor McGonagall eagerly, and Harry's thoughts instantly turned to the annoying first year Gryffindor student. The blond one… what was his name? There was no answer, but Harry heard a click as someone opened the back of the camera.
"Good gracious!" said Madam Pomfrey, over the hiss that the camera released. Even the wizards knew that that was not normal in muggle technology. "Melted," said Madam Pomfrey wonderingly. "All melted..."
"What does this mean, Albus?" Professor McGonagall asked after a few seconds of silence.
"It means," began the Headmaster, who sounded every bit his age, "that the Chamber of Secrets is indeed open again."
A/N2: Okkay so I just wanted to explain that bit about McGonagall returning from the dungeons: in my personal canon, Snape and McGonagall would have a deal on that every time their teams played together, the losing HoH would have to host celebratory drinks. I think that the two were... maybe not quite friends, but I think that McGonagall's no-nonsense attitude would have made her and Snape strong allies with a good, amicable working relationship.
