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Since the disastrous episode of the pixies, Professor Lockhart had not brought live creatures to class. What was really odd is that every time Heather was in Lockhart's class, a storm seemed to be brewing outside, lightning flashed and thunder rumbled. Instead of creatures, he read passages from his books to them, and sometimes reenacted some of the more dramatic bits. In many ways, this was worse. He usually picked Heather to help him with these reconstructions; so far, Heather had been asked 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. But she had avoided doing all of that. If Lockhart ever came near her, she bared her fangs at him and growled. That usually repelled him, but not today.
Heather was hauled to the front of the class during their very next Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, this time acting a werewolf. Lockhart thought Heather was perfect for this role.
"Nice loud howl, Heather." Heather glared at the man but decided, to hell with it and howled her loudest, most bone chilling howl. Shivers ran down everyone's spine. That howl could only be described as a death howl. Lockhart carried on with his ridiculous story.
"- exactly - and then, if you'll believe it, I pounced - like this" Lockhart tackled Heather. "- slammed him to the floor"
Slamming a wolf into the floor was not a good idea. Something in Heather's mind finally snapped. With claws sharp and at their full length, she began to pry Lockhart's hand off of her.
"Heather, please don't." Hermione said, looking on worriedly. Most students were watching eagerly or worriedly. Many of the people who despised Lockhart looked on eagerly, excited to watch Heather pound Lockhart to the ground, the people who were worried were worried about Heather getting into trouble, or worried about Heather getting hurt since some of them actually believed in Lockhart's nonexistent skills.
"Oh!" Lockhart looked surprised. "Hee hee, alright Heather, if you want, we can wrestle." And with that, all restraint was gone.
Heather flung Lockhart off her back with surprising ease. He was as weak as a newborn! She quickly got to her feet and took off her robe, which would only hinder her movement. Not even bothering with a wand, Heather ran right up to Lockhart, jumped and delivered an impressive spin kick to the side of her opponent's head. Lockhart supporters gasped in shock and many of Lockhart's haters cheered and whistled. Next, Heather delivered a swift uppercut to Lockhart's chin. The wizard staggered and swayed on his feet. Quite frankly Heather was surprised he could still stand.
"Well I win." Heather said carelessly and turned to go back to her seat. Suddenly she felt Lockhart pin her wrists behind her back.
"Not quite." Lockhart chuckled pompously. He was about to say something else stupid but Heather stopped him when she did an incredibly high, high-kick the hit him right in the center of his forehead. Forced to release her he staggered away. Heather pulled something out of her pocket, the knuckle duster Kiba had given her. She put the gold weapon on her fingers and clutching her fist and gave Lockhart the strongest left-hook she could muster. People stopped cheering when a loud crack filled the room. Heather must have knocked out some of Lockhart's teeth, maybe even broken his jaw. But Heather wasn't finished just yet.
Seizing him by the front of his robes she spun him around, gathering momentum before she threw him into a massive bookcase which fell on top of him.
Snarling, Heather whirled around and people flinched, paled and sunk in their chairs. "I'm leaving and I am never coming back to this class again!"
The bell rang soon after Heather stormed out of the room. She was so angry she had forgotten her robe.
"Heather!" Hermione called shrilly. Heather looked back and saw an angry Hermione with her robe and an exuberant looking Ron. "Why did you do that Heather?!" Hermione asked angrily, giving Heather her robe back.
"I couldn't take it anymore!" Heather said sharply, angrily putting on her robe. "He is the single most annoying, pompous, irritating..." Heather fumed silently as she tried to think of a word to sum up Lockhart. "A word has yet to be invented for that waste of skin, but whatever it is he is one, and the biggest one at that!"
"You are becoming better and better by the minute princess." Only one person called her that. Heather turned and saw Malfoy standing, with his two lackeys on either side of him. He looked down at Heather's hand. "Is that blood?"
"It's Lockhart. I think I knocked out some of his teeth, maybe even broken his jaw." Heather said with a careless shrug.
Malfoy smirked. "Stop being so stubborn Potter. I can help you."
"I'll be as stubborn as I want." Heather said before walking down the hall. "See you on the field tomorrow!" Heather called over her shoulder.
Heather woke early on Saturday morning and lay for a while thinking about the coming Quidditch match. Now that she was up against Malfoy, she had never wanted to beat Slytherin so badly. Surprisingly, no teacher came to her about beating Lockhart up. Heather chalked it up to every teacher hating the DADA professor's guts. After half an hour of lying there she got up, dressed, and went down to breakfast early, where she found the rest of the Gryffindor team huddled at the long, empty table, all looking uptight and not speaking much.
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. Ron and Hermione came hurrying over to wish Heather good luck as she entered the locker rooms. Heather had shown Hermione the list of all Lockhart's lies that she knew of and now hated the git as much as Heather. Hermione could never argue with logic and since there were so many holes in Lockhart's story Hermione couldn't support him anymore. She did not like being proven wrong. The team pulled on their scarlet Gryffindor robes, and then sat down to listen to Wood's usual pre-match pep talk.
"Slytherin has better brooms than us," he began. "No point denying it. But we've got better people on our brooms. We've trained harder than they have, we've been flying in all weathers -" ("Too true," muttered George Weasley. "I haven't been properly dry since August") "- and we're going to make them rue the day they let that little bit of slime, Malfoy, buy his way onto their team."
Chest heaving with emotion, Wood turned to Heather.
"It'll be down to you, Heather, to show them that a Seeker has to have something more than a rich father. Get to that Snitch before Malfoy or die trying, Heather; because we've got to win today, we've got to."
"So no pressure, Heather" said Fred, winking at her. Heather rolled her eyes.
As they walked out onto the pitch, a roar of noise greeted them; mainly cheers, because Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were anxious to see Slytherin beaten, but the Slytherins in the crowd made their boos and hisses heard, too. Heather howled, which caused three fourths of the audience to cheer louder. Madam Hooch, the Quidditch teacher, asked Flint and Wood to shake hands, which they did, giving each other threatening stares and gripping rather harder than was necessary.
"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. Heather flew higher than any of them, squinting around for the Snitch.
"All right there, Princess?" yelled Malfoy, shooting underneath him as though to show off the speed of his broom.
Heather had no time to reply. At that very moment, a heavy black Bludger came pelting toward her; she avoided it so narrowly that she felt it ruffle her hair as it passed.
"Close one, Heather!" said George, streaking past her with his club in his hand, ready to knock the Bludger back toward a Slytherin. Heather saw George give the Bludger a powerful whack in the direction of Adrian Pucey, but the Bludger changed direction in midair and shot straight for Heather again.
Heather dropped quickly to avoid it, and George managed to hit it hard toward Malfoy. Once again, the Bludger swerved like a boomerang and shot at Heather's head.
Heather put on a burst of speed and zoomed toward the other end of the pitch. She could hear the Bludger whistling along behind her. 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...
Fred Weasley was waiting for the Bludger at the other end. Heather ducked as Fred swung at the Bludger with all his might; the Bludger was knocked off course.
"Gotcha!" Fred yelled happily, but he was wrong; as though it was magnetically attracted to Heather, the Bludger pelted after her once more and Heather was forced to fly off at full speed.
It had started to rain; Heather felt heavy drops fall onto her face. She didn't have a clue what was going on in the rest of the game until she heard Lee Jordan, who was commentating, say, "Slytherin lead, sixty points to zero!"
The Slytherins' superior brooms were clearly doing their jobs, and meanwhile the mad Bludger was doing all it could to knock Heather out of the air. Fred and George were now flying so close to her on either side that Heather 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 -" Fred grunted, swinging his bat with all his might at it as it launched a new attack on Heather.
"We need time out," said George, trying to signal to Wood and stop the Bludger breaking Heather's nose at the same time.
Wood had obviously got the message. Madam Hooch's whistle rang out and Heather, Fred, and George dived for the ground, still trying to avoid the mad Bludger.
"What's going on?" said Wood as the Gryffindor team huddled together, while Slytherins in the crowd jeered. "We're being flattened. Fred, George, where were you when that Bludger stopped Angelina scoring?"
"We were twenty feet above her, stopping the other Bludger from murdering Heather, Oliver," said George angrily. "Someone's fixed it - it won't leave Heather alone. It hasn't gone for anyone else all game. The Slytherins must have done something to it."
"But the Bludgers have been locked in Madam Hooch's office since our last practice, and there was nothing wrong with them then . . . ." said Wood, anxiously.
Madam Hooch was walking toward them. Over her shoulder, Heather could see the Slytherin team jeering and pointing in her direction. She growled.
"Listen," growled Heather 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 sleeve. Go back to the rest of the team and let me deal with the rogue one."
"Don't be thick," said Fred. "It'll take your head off."
Wood was looking from Heather to the Weasleys.
"Oliver, this is insane," said Alicia Spinner angrily. "You can't let Heather deal with that thing on her own. Let's ask for an inquiry -"
"If we stop now, we'll have to forfeit the match!" said Heather. "And we're not losing to Slytherin just because of a crazy Bludger! Come on, Oliver; tell them to leave me alone!"
"This is all your fault," George said angrily to Wood. "`Get the Snitch or die trying,' what a stupid thing to tell her -"
Madam Hooch had joined them.
"Ready to resume play?" she asked Wood.
Wood looked at the determined look on Heather's face.
"All right," he said. "Fred, George, you heard Heather -leave her alone and let her deal with the Bludger on her own."
The rain was falling more heavily now. On Madam Hooch's whistle, Heather kicked hard into the air and heard the telltale whoosh of the Bludger behind her. Higher and higher Heather climbed; she looped and swooped, spiraled, zigzagged, and rolled. Slightly dizzy, she nevertheless kept her eyes wide open, rain was speckling her face and ran up her nostrils as she hung upside down, avoiding another fierce dive from the Bludger. She could hear laughter from the crowd; she knew she must look very stupid, but the rogue Bludger was heavy and couldn't change direction as quickly as Heather could; she began a kind of roller-coaster ride around the edges of the stadium, squinting through the silver sheets of rain to the Gryffindor goal posts, where Adrian Pucey was trying to get past Wood.
A whistling in Heather's ear told her the Bludger had just missed her again; she turned right over and sped in the opposite direction.
"Training for the ballet, Princess?" yelled Malfoy as Heather was forced to do a stupid kind of twirl in midair to dodge the Bludger, and she fled, the Bludger trailing a few feet behind her; and then, glaring back at Malfoy in hatred, she saw it - the Golden Snitch. It was hovering inches above Malfoy's left ear - and Malfoy, busy smirking at Heather, hadn't seen it.
For an agonizing moment, Heather hung in midair, not daring to speed toward Malfoy in case he looked up and saw the Snitch.
WHAM.
She had stayed still a second too long. The Bludger had hit her at last, smashed into her elbow, and Heather felt her arm break. A sharp, canine like yelp filled the air. Dimly, dazed by the searing pain in her arm, she slid sideways on her rain-drenched broom, one knee still crooked over it, her right arm dangling useless at her side - the Bludger came pelting back for a second attack, this time aiming at her face - Heather swerved out of the way, one idea firmly lodged in her numb brain: get to Malfoy.
Through a haze of rain and pain she dived for the shimmering, sneering face below her and saw its eyes widen with fear: Malfoy thought Heather was attacking him. She had her fangs bared, ears and tail out and claws ready.
"What the -" he gasped, careening out of Heather's way.
Heather bunched her muscles and sprang forward, turning into a wolf in mid air and clasping the cold golden Snitch in her jaws. There was a yell from the crowd below as she headed straight for the ground, trying hard not to pass out. She knew she couldn't land on three legs, so she just ducked and rolled.
With a splattering thud she hit the mud and rolled. Her foreleg was hanging at a very strange angle; riddled with pain, she heard, as though from a distance, a good deal of whistling and shouting. She focused on the Snitch clutched in her jaws.
"Aha," she said vaguely. "We've won."
Slowly, she tried to get to her paws. Her white paws were now brown, covered in mud and slid around as she tried to stand. Heather dug her claws into the mud, trying to get a firm grip. She heard someone approach her. She saw a glitter of teeth.
"Get away from me!" she growled.
"Doesn't know what she's saying," said Lockhart loudly to the anxious crowd of Gryffindors pressing around them. "Not to worry, Heather. I'm about to fix your arm."
"No!" said Heather. "I'll keep it like this, thanks ...
Her three paws slid in the mud. She heard a familiar clicking noise nearby.
"I don't want a photo of this, Colin," she said loudly.
"Lie back, Heather," said Lockhart soothingly. "It's a simple charm I've used countless times -"
"Why can't I just go to the hospital wing?" said Heather through clenched fangs.
"She should really, Professor," said a muddy Wood, who couldn't help grinning even though his Seeker was injured. "Great capture, Heather, really spectacular, your best yet, I'd say -"
Through the thicket of legs around her, Heather spotted Fred and George Weasley, 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.
"I SAID STAY AWAY FROM ME!" Heather roared.
CRACK! BOOM!
Thunder boomed like a nuclear bomb and lightning suddenly struck the ground. There was a scorch mark where it hit, just in front of Heather, it almost hit Lockhart. Silence filled the arena. Even Lockhart didn't dare speak, as thunder continued to rumble in the dark clouds above. Heather was the first to break the silence.
"I'm heading up to the hospital wing." Heather said and limped up to the castle on three paws.
"This is why I hate Quidditch!" Madam Pomfrey raged, holding up the sad, limp remainder of what, half an hour before, had been a solid arm. "I can mend bones in a second. But I want to monitor you after nearly getting hit by lightning."
Madam Pomfrey threw Heather a pair of pajamas. "You'll have to stay the night ...
Ron waited outside the curtain drawn around Heather's bed while Hermione helped her into her pajamas. They had to carefully maneuver the broken arm through the sleeve.
Madam Pomfrey came around the curtain with her a bottle of green sparkly stuff.
"You won't find this to be too pleasant, a fair warning Potter," she said, pouring out a sparkling beaker-full and handing it to her.
She was right. It had a horrible taste that made her cough and splutter. Still tut-tutting about dangerous sports, Madam Pomfrey retreated, leaving Ron and Hermione to help Heather gulp down some water. Heather could feel her bones shifting in her arm, putting themselves back into place and healing themselves. "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 ..."
The door of the hospital wing burst open at that moment. Filthy and soaking wet, the rest of the Gryffindor team had arrived to see Heather. "Unbelievable flying, Heather," said George. "I've just seen Marcus Flint yelling at 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, meat, and bottles of pumpkin juice; they gathered around Heather's bed and were just getting started on what promised to be a good party when Madam Pomfrey came storming over, shouting, "This girl needs rest, she's just nearly been hit by lightning! Out! OUT!" And Heather was left alone.
Hours and hours later, Heather woke quite suddenly in the pitch blackness and gave a small yelp of shock. She realized that someone was sponging her forehead in the dark.
"Get off!" She snarled, and then, "Dobby!"
The house-elf's goggling tennis ball eyes were peering at Heather through the darkness. A single tear was running down his long, pointed nose.
"Heather Potter came back to school," he whispered miserably. "Dobby warned and warned Heather Potter. Ah ma'am, why didn't you heed Dobby? Why didn't Heather Potter go back home when she missed the train?"
Heather heaved herself up on her pillows and pushed Dobby's sponge away.
"What're you doing here?" She said. "And how did you know I missed the train?"
Dobby's lip trembled and Heather was seized by a sudden suspicion.
"It was you!" She said slowly. She seized Dobby by his pillowcase and brought him closer. Her fangs were barred and she was growling. She was not a happy wolf. "You stopped the barrier from letting us through!"
"Indeed yes, ma'am," said Dobby, nodding his head vigorously, ears flapping. "Dobby hid and watched for Heather Potter and sealed the gateway and Dobby had to iron his hands afterward" - he showed Heather ten long, bandaged fingers - "but Dobby didn't care, ma'am, for he thought Heather Potter was safe, and never did Dobby dream that Heather Potter would get to school another way!"
He was rocking backward and forward, shaking his ugly head.
"Dobby was so shocked when he heard Heather Potter was back at Hogwarts, he let his master's dinner burn! Such a flogging Dobby never had, ma'am. ...
Heather growled angrily at the elf.
"You nearly got Ron expelled," she said fiercely. "You'd better get lost, Dobby, or I might find you alone and eat you." She wasn't about to do that when Madam Pomfrey was in the other room, but had they been alone...
Dobby smiled weakly.
"Dobby is used to death threats, ma'am. 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 Heather felt her anger ebb away in spite of herself.
"Heather Potter must go home! Dobby thought his Bludger would be enough to make -"
"Your Bludger?" said Heather, anger rising once more. "What d'you mean, your Bludger? You made that Bludger try and kill me?"
"Not kill you, ma'am, never kill you!" said Dobby, shocked. "Dobby wants to save Heather Potter's life! Better sent home, grievously injured, than remain here ma'am! Dobby only wanted Heather Potter hurt enough to be sent home!"
"Oh, is that all?" said Heather angrily. "I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you wanted me sent home in pieces?"
"Ah, if Heather Potter only knew!" Dobby groaned, more tears dripping onto his ragged pillowcase. "If she knew what she 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, ma'am! We house-elves were treated like vermin, ma'am! Of course, Dobby is still treated like that, ma'am," he admitted, drying his face on the pillowcase. "But mostly, ma'am, life has improved for my kind since you triumphed over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Heather Potter survived, and the Dark Lord's power was broken, and it was a new dawn, ma'am, and Heather Potter shone like a beacon of hope for those of us who thought the Dark days would never end... And now, at Hogwarts, terrible things are to happen, are perhaps happening already, and Dobby cannot let Heather Potter stay here now that history is to repeat itself, now that the Chamber of Secrets is open once more."
Dobby froze, horror struck, jumped out of Heather's grip, then grabbed Heather'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?" Heather whispered. "And did you say it's been opened before? Tell me, Dobby!"
She 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, ma'am, 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 Heather Potter must not be here when they happen - go home, Heather Potter, go home. Heather Potter must not meddle in this, ma'am, 'tis too dangerous -"
"Who is it, Dobby?" Heather 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, ma'am, Dobby can't, Dobby mustn't tell!" squealed the elf. "Go home, Heather Potter, go home!"
"I'm not going anywhere!" said Heather fiercely. "One of my best friends is Muggle-born; she'll be first in line if the Chamber really has been opened -"
"Heather Potter risks her own life for her friends!" moaned Dobby in a kind of miserable ecstasy. "So noble! So valiant! But she must save herself, she must, Heather Potter must not -"
Dobby suddenly froze, his bat ears quivering. Heather heard it, too. There were footsteps coming down the passageway outside.
"Dobby must go!" breathed the elf, terrified. There was a loud crack, and Heather's fist was suddenly clenched on thin air. She looked up at the door.
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 Heather's bed out of sight. Heather sat there stunned; apparently it was so urgent she wasn't even noticeable. She 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. She heard a sharp intake of breath. Finally, she had to make her presence known
"What happened?" Heather asked clearly, making all of them jump.
"I thought you were asleep Potter." McGonagall said.
"I was." Heather said before shifting into her wolf form and began trotting over to where the others were. "What is it?"
"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 you."
Heather's stomach gave a horrible lurch. Slowly and carefully, she walked over to the bed and put her front paws up on the mattress. 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 -"
Heather gave a little wine and ran her tongue over the petrified boy's cheek. The four 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. Heather wagged her tail and gave a little growl.
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. Heather caught the acrid smell of burnt plastic and nearly gagged.
"Melted," said Madam Pomfrey wonderingly. "All melted..."
"Can you pick up a scent Ms Potter?" Dumbledore asked.
Heather sniffed Collin up and down and the camera just in case. Heather flattened her ears and her tail drooped in disappointment. "I'm sorry. I can pick up a faint scent, like he was in the presence of something but it is still something I am unfamiliar with. It wasn't human though, I can tell you that much." Heather reported.
"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 Heather could see of Professor McGonagall's shadowy face, she didn't understand this any better than she did.