Emma woke to a loud crack!
"Dobby?" She heard Harry's astonished whisper. Slowly, she opened her eyes to see her brother sitting up in his bed with a small hunched over figure standing at the end of his bed. Her sleepy eyes floated to where Malfoy had been lying but it was empty. Well, she hoped he can shut his mouth about his minor injury.
"Harry and Emma Potter should have listened to Dobby!" Dobby sounded distressed and Emma sat up, squinting through the dark.
"Harry and Emma Potter should have gone home when they missed the train!"
"I know but-" Emma broke off and looked closely at Dobby. "It was you..." She whispered.
"You stopped the barrier from letting Emma, Ron and me through," Harry was also staring at Dobby.
Dobby nodded solemnly. "Indeed. Yes sir."
"You nearly got Ron and I expelled…"
"At least you two would be away from here. Harry and Emma Potter must go home! Dobby thought his Bludger would be enough to make Harry Potter see that—"
Harry stopped Dobby from saying anything else. "Your Bludger? You made that Bludger chase after us?"
"Uhuh," Dobby gave him a small smile. "Dobby feels most aggrieved, sir." Emma slid out of bed, ignoring the pain in her chest as she stumbled over to where her brother was sleeping and took a seat on the end of his bed where Dobby was standing as Dobby said, "Dobby had to iron his hands."
Emma's eyes widened as Dobby held out his bandaged fingers and she reached out to wrap her own hands around his. "Dobby," She felt a rush of sadness for the house elf.
"You'd better clear off before my bones grow back, Dobby, or I might strangle you!" Harry lunged forward but Emma pushed her brother back, purposely pressing her hand against his hurt arm.
"Ow!" He yelped. "Emma!"
"No, no, it's alright Miss Potter. Dobby is used to death threats sir. Dobby gets them five times a day at home."
Harry breathed in sharply. "I don't suppose you could tell us why you're trying to kill us?"
"No kill you, sir, never kill you!" Dobby protested. "Dobby remembers how it was before Harry Potter triumphed over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. We house elves were treated like vermin, sir. Of course, Dobby is still treated like vermin..." Dobby grabbed onto a Skele-Grow bottle which was sitting on Harry's side table and began to hit himself on the head with it until Harry pulled it out of his hands.
Dobby blew his nose on his clothing as Harry dropped the Skele-Grow bottle onto the sheets of his bed.
"Why do you wear that thing Dobby?" Harry asked in disgust and Emma whispered, "Harry!" which was followed by a scolding look.
"This, sir? This is a mark of the house-elves' enslavement. Dobby can only be freed if his master presents him with clothes." He looked around for a moment. "Terrible thing are about to happen at Hogwarts. Harry and Emma Potter must not stay here, now that history is to repeat itself."
"Repeat itself?" Harry repeated. "You mean this has happened before?" Harry carried on.
"Ah! I shouldn't have said that!" Dobby gripped the Skele-Grow bottle again and began to whack himself in the head with the brass goblet until Emma snatched it from him and threw it across the room. It hit the wall then fell to the ground. "Stop doing that Dobby!" She scolded.
Harry reached out and held Dobby at bay by his arms. "Tell me—Dobby, when did this happen before? Who's doing it now?"
"Dobby cannot say, sir. Dobby only wants Harry and Emma Potter to be safe."
"No, Dobby," Harry answered in a fierce voice. "Tell me. Who is it?" Dobby didn't answer but just snapped his fingers and vanished, leaving Harry clutching thin air. Voices suddenly sounded in the hallway and Emma jumped up and raced back to her bed, both hands placed on her side as a deep pain seared through her.
She had just thrown herself down on the bed and struggled under the comforter just as three figures rushed into the Hospital Wing carrying a small figure.
"Put him here. What happened?" That was Madame Pomfrey.
"There's been another attack." Dumbledore was also here. Emma tried hard not to breathe loudly and slowly.
"I think—I think he's been Petrified, Madame Pomfrey." There was a pause. "Look! Perhaps he managed to take a picture of his attacker." Emma suddenly heard the loud sound of hissing and suddenly she smelled something burning.
"What can this mean, Albus?" Professor McGonagall actually sounded scared.
"It means..." Professor Dumbledore trailed off for a moment before saying, "That our students are in great danger."
"What should I tell the staff?"
"The truth," Dumbledore's answer was simple. "Tell them Hogwarts is no longer safe. It is as we feared, Minerva. The Chamber of Secrets has indeed been opened again."
Emma waited until the voices and footsteps of the professors faded away before slowly turning over to look at the stiff figure on the bed. In the stream of moonlight from the window above the bed, she could see the face of the victim clearly. It was Colin Creevy.
The news that Colin Creevey had been attacked and was now lying as though dead in the hospital wing had spread through the entire school by Monday morning. The air was suddenly thick with rumour and suspicion. The first years were now moving around the castle in tight-knit groups, as though scared they would be attacked if they ventured forth alone.
Ginny Weasley who sat next to Colin Creevey in Charms was distraught and Emma was feeling rather sad about her albeit suspicious, but Harry felt that Fred and George were going the wrong way about cheering her up. They were taking turns covering themselves with fur or boils and jumping out at her from behind statues. They only stopped when Percy, apoplectic with rage, told them he was going to write to Mrs. Weasley and tell her Ginny was having nightmares.
Meanwhile, hidden from the teachers, a roaring trade in talismans, amulets, and other protective devices was sweeping the school. Neville Longbottom bought a large, evil-smelling green onion, a pointed purple crystal, and a rotting newt tail before the other Gryffindor boys pointed out that he was in no danger; he was a pureblood, and therefore unlikely to be attacked.
"They went for Filch first," Neville said, his round face fearful. "And everyone knows I'm almost a Squib."
In the second week of December Professor McGonagall came around as usual, collecting names of those who would be staying at school for Christmas. Emma, Harry, Ron, and Hermione signed their list; they had heard that Malfoy was staying, which struck them as very suspicious. And Emma keen on doing research in every book that Hogwarts had to know more about 'The Chamber of Secret' and the history of Hogwarts and the Wizarding World.
A week later, Emma, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were walking across the entrance hall when they saw a small knot of people gathered around the notice board, reading a piece of parchment that had just been pinned up. Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas beckoned them over, looking excited.
"They're starting a Dueling Club!" said Seamus. "First meeting tonight! I wouldn't mind duelling lessons; they might come in handy one of these days. . . ."
"What, you reckon Slytherin's monster can duel?" said Ron, but he, too, read the sign with interest.
"Could be useful," he said to Emma, Harry and Hermione as they went into dinner. "Shall we go?"
Emma, Harry and Hermione were all for it, so at eight o'clock that evening they hurried back to the Great Hall. The long dining tables had vanished and a golden stage had appeared along one wall, lit by thousands of candles floating overhead. The ceiling was velvety black once more and most of the school seemed to be packed beneath it, all carrying their wands and looking excited.
"I wonder who'll be teaching us?" said Hermione as they edged into the chattering crowd. "Someone told me Flitwick was a duelling champion when he was young — maybe it'll be him."
"As long as it's not —" Harry began, but he ended on a groan:
Gilderoy Lockhart was walking onto the stage, resplendent in robes of deep plum and accompanied by none other than Snape, wearing his usual black.
Lockhart waved an arm for silence and called, "Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent!"
"Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little duelling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions — for full details, see my published works." Emma eyes twitch at these.
"Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape," said Lockhart, flashing a wide smile. "He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about duelling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry — you'll still have your Potions master when I'm through with him, never fear!"
"Wouldn't it be good if they finished each other off?" Ron muttered in Harry's ear.
Snape's upper lip was curling. Harry wondered why Lockhart was still smiling; if Snape had been looking at him like that he'd have been running as fast as he could in the opposite direction.
Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed; at least, Lockhart did, with much twirling of his hands, whereas Snape jerked his head irritably. Then they raised their wands like swords in front of them.
"As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position," Lockhart told the silent crowd. "On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course."
"I wouldn't bet on that," Harry murmured, watching Snape baring his teeth. And Emma smiled wide at that.
"One — two — three —"
Both of them swung their wands above their heads and pointed them at their opponent; Snape cried: "Expelliarmus!" There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet:
He flew backward off the stage, smashed into the wall, and slid down it to sprawl on the floor.
Malfoy and some of the other Slytherins cheered. Emma broke into a wide grin. Hermione was dancing on tiptoes. "Do you think he's all right?" she squealed through her fingers.
"Who cares?" said Harry and Ron together.
Lockhart was getting unsteadily to his feet. His hat had fallen off and his wavy hair was standing on end.
"Well, there you have it!" he said, tottering back onto the platform.
"That was a Disarming Charm — as you see, I've lost my wand — ah, thank you, Miss Brown — yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don't mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy — however, I felt it would be instructive to let them see . . ."
Snape was looking murderous. Possibly Lockhart had noticed, because he said, "Enough demonstrating! I'm going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you'd like to help me —"
They moved through the crowd, matching up partners. Lockhart teamed Neville with Justin Finch-Fletchley, but Snape reached Harry and Ron first.
"Time to split up the dream team, I think," he sneered.
"Weasley, you can partner Finnigan. Potter —"
Harry moved automatically toward Hermione.
"I don't think so," said Snape, smiling coldly. "Mr. Malfoy, come over here. Let's see what you make of the famous Potter. Miss Granger — you can partner Miss Bulstrode. And you Miss Potter can partner Miss Parkinson."
Malfoy strutted over, smirking. Behind him walked a Slytherin girl who reminded Harry of a picture he'd seen in Holidays with Hags. She was large and square and her heavy jaw jutted aggressively. Hermione gave her a weak smile that she did not return.
"Face your partners!" called Lockhart, back on the platform.
"And bow!" Harry and Malfoy barely inclined their heads, not taking their eyes off each other.
"Wands at the ready!" shouted Lockhart. "When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponents — only to disarm them — we don't want any accidents — one . . . two . . . three —"
Harry swung his wand high, but Malfoy had already started on "two": His spell hit Harry so hard he felt as though he'd been hit over the head with a saucepan. He stumbled, but everything still seemed to be working, and wasting no more time, Harry pointed his wand straight at Malfoy and shouted, "Rictusempra!"
A jet of silver light hit Malfoy in the stomach and he doubled up, wheezing.
"I said disarm only!" Lockhart shouted in alarm over the heads of the battling crowd, as Malfoy sank to his knees; Harry had hit him with a Tickling Charm, and he could barely move for laughing.
Harry hung back, with a vague feeling it would be unsporting to bewitch Malfoy while he was on the floor, but this was a mistake; gasping for breath, Malfoy pointed his wand at Harry's knees, choked, "Tarantallegra!" and the next second Harry's legs began to jerk around out of his control in a kind of quickstep.
"Stop! Stop!" screamed Lockhart, but Snape took charge.
"Finite Incantatem!" he shouted; Harry's feet stopped dancing, Malfoy stopped laughing, and they were able to look up.
A haze of greenish smoke was hovering over the scene. Both Neville and Justin were lying on the floor, panting; Ron was holding up an ashen-faced Seamus, apologizing for whatever his broken wand had done; Hermione and Millicent Bulstrode were still moving; Millicent had Hermione in a headlock and Hermione was whimpering in pain; both their wands lay forgotten on the floor. Pansy Parkinson was drenched in water but soon frozen and Emma stood with a bored face.
Harry leapt forward and pulled Millicent off. It was difficult: She was a lot bigger than he was.
"Dear, dear," said Lockhart, skittering through the crowd, looking at the aftermath of the duels. "Up you go, Macmillan. . . . Careful there, Miss Fawcett. . . . Pinch it hard, it'll stop bleeding in a second, Boot —
"I think I'd better teach you how to block unfriendly spells," said Lockhart, standing flustered in the midst of the hall. He glanced at Snape, whose black eyes glinted, and looked quickly away. "Let's have a volunteer pair — Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you —"
"A bad idea, Professor Lockhart," said Snape, gliding over like a large and malevolent bat. "Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest spells. We'll be sending what's left of Finch-Fletchley up to the hospital wing in a matchbox." Neville's round, pink face went pinker. "How about Malfoy and Potter?" said Snape with a twisted smile.
"Excellent idea!" said Lockhart, gesturing Harry and Malfoy into the middle of the hall as the crowd backed away to give them room.
"Now, Harry," said Lockhart. "When Draco points his wand at you, you do this."
He raised his own wand, attempted a complicated sort of wiggling action, and dropped it. Snape smirked as Lockhart quickly picked it up, saying, "Whoops — my wand is a little overexcited—"
Snape moved closer to Malfoy, bent down, and whispered something in his ear. Malfoy smirked, too. Harry looked up nervously at Lockhart and said, "Professor, could you show me that blocking thing again?"
"Scared?" muttered Malfoy, so that Lockhart couldn't hear him.
"You wish," said Harry out of the corner of his mouth.
Lockhart cuffed Harry merrily on the shoulder. "Just do what I did, Harry!"
"What, drop my wand?" But Lockhart wasn't listening.
"Three — two — one — go!" he shouted.
Malfoy raised his wand quickly and bellowed, "Serpensortia!" The end of his wand exploded. Harry watched, aghast, as a long black snake shot out of it, fell heavily onto the floor between them, and raised itself, ready to strike. There were screams as the crowd backed swiftly away, clearing the floor.
"Don't move, Potter," said Snape lazily, clearly enjoying the sight of Harry standing motionless, eye to eye with the angry snake. "I'll get rid of it. . . ."
"Allow me!" shouted Lockhart. He brandished his wand at the snake and there was a loud bang; the snake, instead of vanishing, flew ten feet into the air and fell back to the floor with a loud smack. Enraged, hissing furiously, it slithered straight toward Justin Finch-Fletchley and raised itself again, fangs exposed, poised to strike. Emma stood in front of Justin, blocking the snake from him.
Harry wasn't sure what made him do it. He wasn't even aware of deciding to do it. All he knew was that his legs were carrying him forward as though he was on casters and that he had shouted stupidly at the snake, "Leave him alone!" And miraculously — inexplicably — the snake slumped to the floor, docile as a thick, black garden hose, its eyes now on Harry. Harry felt the fear drain out of him. He knew the snake wouldn't attack anyone now, though how he knew it, he couldn't have explained.
He looked up at Justin, expecting to see Justin looking relieved, or puzzled, or even grateful — but certainly not angry and scared.
"What do you think you're playing at?" he shouted, and before Harry could say anything, Justin had turned and stormed out of the hall.
Snape stepped forward, waved his wand, and the snake vanished in a small puff of black smoke. Snape, too, was looking at Harry in an unexpected way: It was a shrewd and calculating look, and Harry didn't like it. He was also dimly aware of an ominous muttering all around the walls. Then he felt a tugging on the back of his robes.
"Come on," said Ron's voice in his ear. "Move — come on —" Ron steered him out of the hall, Hermione and Emma hurrying alongside them. As they went through the doors, the people on either side drew away as though they were frightened of catching something.
Harry didn't have a clue what was going on, and neither Ron nor Hermione explained anything until they had dragged him all the way up to the empty Gryffindor common room. Then Ron pushed Harry into an armchair and said, "You two are Parselmouth. Why didn't you tell us?"
"I'm a what?" said Harry.
"A Parselmouth!" said Ron. "You can talk to snakes!" said Hermione.
"I know," said Harry. "I mean, that's only the second time I've ever done it. I accidentally set a boa constrictor on my cousin Dudley at the zoo once." He paused to look at the other three. "o-once. But so what? I bet loads of people here can do it. Emma can too."
"I can't though. That one time, the only sound I heard was a hissing." Emma piped up. Harry made unbelievable face at her.
"No they can't," said Hermione. "It's not a very common gift. Harry, this is bad."
"What's bad?" said Harry, starting to feel quite angry. "What's wrong with everyone? Listen, if I hadn't told that snake not to attack Justin —"
"Oh, that's what you said to it?"
"What d'you mean? You were there — you heard me —"
"I heard you speaking Parseltongue, Snake language." said Ron.
Harry gaped at him. "I spoke a different language? But — I didn't realize — how can I speak a language without knowing I can speak it?"
Ron shook his head. Both he and Hermione were looking as though someone had died. Harry couldn't see what was so terrible, and Emma was confused.
"I don't know, Harry. You sounded like you were egging the snake on or something." Hermione said. "Harry, listen to me. There's a reason the symbol of Slytherin House is a serpent. Salazar Slytherin was a Parselmouth. He could talk to snake too."
"Exactly," said Ron. "And now the whole school's going to think you're his great-great-great-great-grandson or something —"
"But I'm not," said Harry, with a panic he couldn't quite explain. "I can't be."
"He lived about a thousand years ago; for all we know, you could be." said Hermione.