Gwyn Swann and the Chamber of Secrets

by Lady Dawson

Chapter Ten: A Dangerous Match

It was far easier to get the note signed by Lockhart than any of them expected it to be. Of course, Hermione's flattery seemed to help a little bit, but even despite that, Gwyn thought it was better to get out of there before he sensed they were up to something. Harry was incredulous that they managed to get the note sign as they headed off to the library, where the librarian, Madam Pince, was shelving books.

"Moste Potente Potions?" she echoed when they told her which book they were after. She attempted to grab the note from Hermione, but Hermione wasn't letting go of the Lockhart's signature, holding on to it as though her life depended on it.

"I was wondering if I could keep it," she requested, her voice breathless and her brown eyes lit. Ron rolled his eyes as he grabbed it from Hermione and thrust it at the librarian.

"Don't worry, we'll get you another one," Ron said at Hermione's stricken expression. "Lockhart will sign anything if it stands still long enough."

"Isn't that the truth?" Gwyn sighed as Madam Pince inspected the note before heading off to the Restricted Section to retrieve the book. Hermione put it into her bag before heading off to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom to find the potion. The bathroom was the last place anyone would be at, so they were guaranteed some privacy.

"Oh, jeez," Gwyn muttered as she peered over Hermione's shoulder at some of the illustrations. "It's no wonder that this book was in the Restricted Section." She winced at the picture of the wizard who had turned himself inside out as Hermione turned another page, finally finding the page that she was looking for.

"Here is it," she said, delighted. Gwyn frowned down at the potion; she had never seen a more complicated potion, in all of the potions books that she'd read while Madeline was out of the house. She had snuck into her guardian's room when she was out and read some of the potions books that she'd had.

"This is the most complicated potion I've ever seen," Hermione commented, as though she'd read Gwyn's thoughts. "Lacewing flies, leeches, fluxweed, and knotgrass." Her finger trailed down the page. "Those are easy enough, they're in the student store-cupboard, we can just help ourselves . . . but I don't know how we're going to get powdered horn of a bicorn and shredded skin of a boomslang. And of course, we're going to need a bit of whoever we want to change into—"

"Excuse me?" Ron interrupted her, his face stricken. "What do you mean, a bit of whoever we're changing into? I'm not drinking anything that has Crabbe's toenails in it!"

Hermione ignored him as she continued, "We don't have to worry about that yet, though, because we add those bits last. . . ."

"We should at least plan on who we're changing into," Gwyn told her. "I don't know if there are any girls close enough to Malfoy besides Pansy." Inwardly, she shuddered at the thought of turning into the pug-faced Slytherin, but if it meant stopping the Heir of Slytherin, then she'd do it.

"Do you realise how much we're going to have to steal, Hermione?" Harry asked her. "Shredded skin of a boomslang, that's definitely not in the students' cupboards. What are we going to do, break into Snape's private stores? I don't know if this is a good idea . . ."

Gwyn jumped as Hermione slammed the book shut, her eyes dangerous and her cheeks flushed with anger as she turned towards them. "If you three are going to chicken out, fine," she snapped.

"Did I say anything?" Gwyn wondered.

Hermione ignored her. "I don't want to break rules, you know. I think threatening Muggle-borns is far worse than brewing u pa difficult potion. But if you don't want to find out if it's Malfoy, I'll go straight to Madam Pince now and turn the book back in—"

Looking at Harry and Ron incredulously, Gwyn inquired, "Are we sure that this is Hermione Granger? It looks like Hermione and talks like Hermione, but it can't be her, because the Hermione Granger that we know and love would never try and convince us to break rules . . . it's supposed to be the other way around, right?"

Both boys laughed and Hermione's eyes became more dangerous, but the sides of her mouth twitched, revealing that she was trying to fight a smile. "We're gonna do it, Hermione," Gwyn told her, leaning against the wall.

"Just not toenails, okay?" Ron requested.

"It doesn't have to be toenails, Ron," Gwyn assured him. "Just something of Crabbe or Goyle's, like blood or hair or spit or something." She grinned at the expression on Ron's face as Harry looked at Hermione.

"How long will it take to make?"

Hermione consulted the book. "Well, since the fluxweed has to be picked at the full moon and the lacewings have got to be stewed for twenty-one days . . . I'd say that it would be ready in about a month, providing that we're able to get all of the ingredients."

"A month!" Harry echoed in dismay.

"Malfoy could have attacked half the Muggle-borns in the school by then!" Ron added. Hermione's eyes went dangerous again. "But it's the best plan that we've got, so full steam ahead, I say."

Gwyn shook her head as Hermione went to check outside. "I think I preferred it when we were trying to track down Flamel last year," she commented to the boys.

"No kidding," Harry sighed. "At least then we knew what we were up against."

"Yeah, getting our heads chopped off by that three-headed dog of Hagrid's," Ron said dryly. "It'll be a lot less hassle if you can just knock Malfoy off his broom tomorrow."

--

It was early on Saturday when Gwyn woke up, once again from dreams of the man in the skull mask, and went downstairs to the empty common room. Tabby was lying curled up on one of the chairs, but he meowed happily as he jumped off to greet his mistress. Gwyn smiled as she picked up her cat, stroking him tenderly as she glanced out the window.

The weather was muggy and thunder was approaching on the horizon; definitely not the best Quidditch playing weather. She sighed as she released Tabby and headed down to the Great Hall, where she found Harry with the rest of the Gryffindor team. None of them looked exactly determined and eager to play, doubtlessly thinking about the excellent brooms that Slytherin now possessed. Gwyn sighed as she walked towards her best friend, sitting down beside him.

"Ready to play?" she asked him and he gave her a look. "Okay, I think you looked less worried last year before your first game."

"Yeah, well, last year I didn't have to worry about Slytherin's Nimbus 2001's," Harry said darkly. She stared at his sulky mood and crossed her arms, giving him a long look.

"With that kind of attitude, you're not going to last five minutes out there," she told him. Harry glanced at her, surprised. "You listen to me, Harry Potter, you are twice the player that Malfoy is. There's a reason why you're the youngest Quidditch player in a century. So what if Slytherin has better brooms? You're the better player. All of you," she added, looking towards the Gryffindor team. "Sulking isn't going to get you anywhere. You're Gryffindors. Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgement that some things are more important than fear." She looked at each of the Gryffindor team in turn, before looking back at Harry. "Just play like I've seen you at practices. Slytherin hasn't got a chance."

"Hey, Oliver, can she do the pep talks instead of you this year?" Fred asked, looking towards Wood, who actually grinned at Gwyn. "I like her speeches a whole lot better."

Gwyn chuckled as she poured herself some porridge. "Come on, Harry, eat up," she instructed, pouring him a bowl too and pushing it towards him. "Victories aren't achieved with an empty stomach."

Harry smiled at her, the grateful look evident on his face. "Thanks, Gwyn," he told her gratefully as he ate up. Gwyn ate her own porridge as Ron and Hermione joined them, along with the rest of the school as it started getting closer and closer to eleven, when the match was supposed to begin.

Gwyn said goodbye to Harry as he went into the locker rooms with the rest of the team for Wood's pre-match pep talk before she, Ron, and Hermione headed into the stands, managing to get seats in the Gryffindor box. She saw Ginny in the front seat and frowned in worry for her; Ginny had been looking really pale lately and acting strangely, but Gwyn had to admit that she didn't know Ginny well enough to know what was strange behaviour for her.

Still, she decided to keep a watch out for her; Ginny was her friend's little sister, after all.

Turning her attention to the match as Gryffindor and Slytherin came onto the field, Gwyn watched as they took to the air. Almost instantly, one of the Bludgers nearly knocked Harry off of his broom. Granted, that was their job, but it had happened almost too fast for it to be coincidence.

Besides that, it kept trying to attack Harry, as though it were attracted to him like a magnet. "What's going on with that Bludger?" Gwyn asked Ron, who shook his head in bewilderment. "They're not supposed to do that . . ."

"Someone's tampered with it, I think," Ron whispered, his eyes wide as Fred and George, the Gryffindor Beaters, were sticking so close to Harry that he couldn't even see where he was flying at. Slytherin was leading, sixty points to zero when George signalled to Wood for a time out.

"Are they going to ask for an inquiry?" Hermione asked anxiously. Gwyn shook her head as they moved back onto the field.

"Doesn't look like it . . ." She watched in worry as the Weasley twins were forced to leave Harry alone to deal with the Bludger. Harry was flying all over the place to avoid getting hit by the Bludger as rain began to fall down on top of them. Gwyn didn't even bother pulling her hood up; she was too worried about Harry to even notice the rainfall.

Malfoy, high in the air, said something to Harry, who stayed still for a second too long at Malfoy's remark. The Bludger hit him and even from where Gwyn sat, she could hear the bone break. "Harry!" Gwyn shouted, but he couldn't hear her or he wasn't paying attention.

He swerved out of the way and headed straight for Malfoy. For a split second, she thought that he was going to attack the blond Seeker, but then she caught the slight glimpse of gold near Malfoy—the Golden Snitch.

"What's he doing?" Ron demanded.

"The Snitch," Gwyn told him, pointing directly towards it as Malfoy staggered out of the way, flying away from Harry just as Harry lifting his good hand off of his broom and grasped the Snitch. Gwyn let out a sigh of relief as he flew towards the ground, but gasped as he hit the ground with enormous force.

"Let's go!" Gwyn ordered as she pushed her way through the crowd and headed towards the field, where Harry was lying surrounded by spectators, team-mates, and one certain professor that they most certainly didn't want around when he had a broken arm.

"Doesn't know what he's saying," Lockhart said loudly as Gwyn pushed her way through the crowd, squatting beside Harry.

"Are you all right?" she asked anxiously, looking at his pained face. Evidentially, it was a pretty stupid question. Clearly, he was not all right.

"Don't worry about a thing, Miss Swann, I'll fix his arm straightaway," Lockhart assured her. Harry was struggling to sit up as she tried to help him up and would've succeeded if Lockhart hadn't forced him back down. "Lie back, Harry. It's a simple charm. I've used it countless times."

"Why can't I just go to the hospital wing?" Harry demanded.

"He should really, Professor," Wood offered. The Gryffindor captain was grinning happily at the capture that his Seeker had made, despite the injury. "Great capture, Harry, really spectacular, your best yet, I'd say—"

"Stand back," Lockhart told the crowd. Gwyn groaned, looking away; she couldn't watch this . . .

The gasp from the crowd told her that something had gone wrong. Gwyn hadn't needed her Seeing powers to know that something was going to happen as she slowly turned her head back and what she saw nearly made her breakfast resurface. Harry's arm looked like a thick, rubber glove.

"Ah, yes. . . . Well, that can sometimes happen," Lockhart said awkwardly. "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—escort him there, would you, Miss Swann, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger?—and Madam Pomfrey will be able to . . . tidy you up a bit."

Gwyn was ready to strangle Lockhart and might have if Harry hadn't needed help. She helped him to his feet and walked with him, assisting him in staying upright, as he was now slightly lopsided, with no bones in his arm any longer.

When they arrived at the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey wasn't at all pleased with the result.

"You should have come straight to me!" she scolded Harry as she held up what remained of his once-perfectly working arm. It was flopping all over the place. "I can mend bones in a second—but growing them back—" Harry looked at her desperately.

"You will be able to, won't you?" he asked.

"I'll be able to, certainly, but it will be painful," Madam Pomfrey said, her expression grim. She handed him a pair of pyjamas. "You're going to have to stay the night, Potter . . ."

"How can you stick up for Lockhart now, Hermione?" Ron asked as he helped Harry into his pyjamas while the girls stayed outside of the curtain. "If Harry had wanted de-boning, he would have asked."

"Anyone can make a mistake—"

Gwyn wasn't about to get into an argument over Lockhart; if Hermione wanted to be lovesick over an egoistic, self-absorbed wizard, that was her business. "Well, he shouldn't have just leaped into helping, especially since Harry wanted to come to the hospital wing in the first place," she said, rolling her eyes.

Hermione glared at her, but didn't retaliate. "But it doesn't hurt anymore, does it, Harry?"

"No," Harry replied. "But it doesn't do anything else either."

Gwyn came around the curtain when Ron pushed it back, Hermione right behind her. Madam Pomfrey walked towards them, carrying a large bottle labelled Stele-Gro.

"You're in for a rough night," the nurse told Harry, pouring some of the potion into a beaker and handing it him. "Re-growing bones is nasty business."

Apparently, so was taking the Stele-Gro. Gwyn helped him gulp down some water after he was finished taking it while Ron turned the topic to the Quidditch match. "That was some catch you made. Malfoy's face . . . he looked ready to kill."

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

"We can add that to the list of questions we'll ask him when we've taken the Polyjuice Potion," Harry said, leaning back against the pillows. Gwyn looked worriedly at him. "I hope it tastes better than this stuff . . ."

"Don't want to douse your hopes, but I sincerely doubt it," Gwyn said dryly. "Not with bits of Slytherins in it."

At that moment, the rest of the Gryffindor team came in. Fred and George had managed to swipe sweets and other goodies from the kitchens—she would have to ask them where the kitchens were one day—and were about to start a good party when Madam Pomfrey kicked them out. Gwyn was about to leave when she laid some of the remaining sweets on Harry's table, along with one of her extra Charms books. She hoped it would distract Harry from the pain that he was going to be in for much of the night.

When she reached her dormitory that night, she opened up her diary, noticing that every time that she wrote in it, more pages appeared for her to write in, but the diary itself never got any bigger. Madeline must've magicked it before she'd sent it to her last Christmas.

Opening it up, Gwyn dipped her quill into the inkwell before she began scribbling into the pages.

The Heir of Slytherin has returned to Hogwarts and now the place that has turned into my home is no longer safe.

Because now . . . the past has returned.