Chapter Eleven - The Bone Cracking Curse
"Harry, Harry!"
Ron called down to his friend from far up in the sky, clearly upset at the current circumstance. Just because Harry couldn't fly the borrowed broom didn't mean that he couldn't fly at all, yet there he was, sitting on the bleachers very much like Hermione usually did whenever she ventured out to spectate: studying. Ron groaned as he willed his voice to travel all the way to the ground.
This was ridiculous. Two weeks on from the discovery of the cursed broom, and Hermione still hadn't managed to lift the spells that seemed so intent on staying firmly imprinted in the wood. Though he and Hermione - along with the rest of Gryffindor, who haphazardly became involved due to Ginny's inability to discuss things with her 'inside voice' - had suggested taking this up with Madam Hooch, Harry adamantly denied them, all too seriously worried that he might be banned from playing altogether. Ron knew that would never happen though, as it was McGonagall who set his friend up with Quidditch from the very beginning, and she wouldn't think anything as foolish as the idea that someone was out to get Harry. That was all over now, anyway.
"Harry!" Ron bellowed furiously, grumbling as he decided that the only way would be to actually fly down there in person.
Really, though, studying? Hermione suggested it as a way to get Harry's mind off of things, but even she didn't expect him to go through with it. Maybe the pressure of N.E.W.T.s was finally getting to him. The intensity of the classes didn't really bother Ron much, but then again, he often found himself curled up with a book late most evenings, knowing that he'd be severely reprimanded by Hermione if he asked her to do another one of his essays for him, and he wanted to stay on her good side. Besides, Harry had other things to deal with.
Poor bloke, Ron thought kindly as he made his descent towards the benches nestled in frost-covered grass. He never gets a break, does he?
It wasn't quite at the point of snowing yet, but the grounds certainly looked a lot paler, almost as if pastels were painted over the top of the scenery in anticipation of the early approach of winter. Ron saw Harry shiver a little as he reached out a bare hand to turn a page on his Potions book.
"Harry," Ron repeated, this time relieved by the return of his gaze by sharp green eyes.
"Ron… shouldn't you be in the sky?" Harry looked a little startled to see his friend on the ground so early into practise.
Ron quirked an eyebrow up questioningly. "Shouldn't you?"
Harry's gaze hardened as he glowered at the red head, but Ron wasn't having any of it.
"Mate, you're Captain, and the game is next week! We need you up there."
"I've already given everyone a rundown of our plays, and they all seem to know what they're doing,' Harry interjected.
"What about you? You haven't had any practise for weeks." Ron lifted a heavily gloved hand and ran it through his messy hair in frustration.
"I don't have a broom to use."
"Use mine!" Ron thrust out the handle of his own broom without any hesitation, but Harry just blinked, his gaze still hard.
"That doesn't solve anything for next week. We need a keeper as much as we need a seeker. Besides, I can't ride your broom. Just think of all the looks people would give me if they knew I'd ridden Ron Weasley's broom." Finally a flicker of a smile threatened to play at Harry's lips, but Ron frowned back.
"Really Harry, this isn't time for innuendos."
"Then leave me to my Potions, and I'll leave you to your flying."
"Fine," Ron sighed, still a little astonished at the fact that Harry was actually keen to study. It was so unlike him… he must be seriously stressed.
He gave one last nervous glance before Harry assured him that everything would be fine, and then went back up to join the rest of the team. He grimaced as he heard Ginny calling out numbers frantically as she hurdled the quaffle through the goal posts as quickly as she shouted.
"Hey, I called time out! Those goals don't count!"
Harry kept his eyes glued to the Potions book, not daring to let them dart up and towards his team. He didn't want them to worry that he himself was concerned about his current predicament, and figured that if he wore a cool exterior then everyone else would just play along.
He wasn't actually paying much attention to the textbook, though he knew he probably should have been, considering his latest marks in the class. Luckily, Professor Slughorn was in charge of Potions again this year; he knew that if Snape was still kicking around he'd have been booted out of class before the train even pulled into the station. Though he wasn't particularly pleased with the special attention he was getting, not to mention how unfair it was that he was receiving E's because it was "simply intriguing how you managed to turn a Headache Draught into the equivalent of malt whiskey, Mr. Potter", he did still want to be an Auror, and it was easier than spending his free time doing revision.
Yet another thing you've gotten because of who you are, not what you can do, a small voice in his head lectured him, and he groaned, wishing that he hadn't been placed in Gryffindor so that his conscience would just leave him alone.
Once a few minutes had passed and he could clearly hear Ron yelling at his sister, he decided it was safe to pull out the scrap of parchment that he had tossed between some pages of the book. It was a letter from Quality Quidditch Supplies, apologising for the late arrival of his new broom and that it would be arriving some time during the next week, due to a regrettable accident in the warehouse that resulted in contamination of all employees after their research department exploded. He'd read it in the paper that morning, and apparently a work experience kid accidentally knocked a vial of extra strength wood varnish into a vat of liquefied vanadium steel, and the whole thing exploded. It went on to mention that everyone in the third floor was sent straight to St. Mungo's for third degree burns and heavy metal poisoning, while all of the other employees with less serious injuries were sent to a makeshift hospice as all of the other beds were taken up. According to the Prophet, steam from the explosion had gotten into the ventilation and some people might have inhaled it, which would probably have been worse in the long run than the burns. Harry summarised that it was just a normal accident involving lots of people, but Hermione assured him it was a much larger deal than that.
He wanted to ask her, back then, what sort of delay that would have on the broom shipments, but he still hadn't told anyone yet that he had eventually decided to invest a heck of a lot of Galleons on the broom. He was surprised that he managed to keep his mouth shut for so long, considering that he had sent out an order for it the day before they left for Hogwarts, along with a letter to Gringotts finalising the purchase. He was so sure that he would be reprimanded for the splurge that he kept putting it off, and now after everything that was going on, he didn't want to say anything and add to the commotion.
Harry shuddered as he thought of all the poor people at the factory, wishing that he could banish those thoughts from his mind, but they kept cropping up. He then tried focusing on how angry he was that his broom still hadn't arrived, and he might not even receive it in time at all! Who cared what his friends thought, so long as he could fly in the match next week. Finally deciding that being upset or angry wasn't any way to solve his problems, he settled down and tried to pay attention to the Potions book. Oh how he tried, resisting the urge to look up at his team with the strongest resolve. He was so grateful when the time came for everyone to drop to the ground and make their way to the change rooms that he didn't even bother giving any motivational speech, especially considering this was their last opportunity to train as a whole team before the match began. Instead, Harry gave a small grunt of approval through hooded eyes and said he'd see them all next Saturday, bright and early.
The others were all too tired or hyped about the game to notice, and Harry hoped that by darting out before they could remember he was there, they wouldn't remember that he was broomless.
The next week dragged on relentlessly, so much so that Harry found himself constantly having to bite his tongue as he began developing urges to lash out verbally at the smallest of things. He realised that it was getting out of hand when he almost called Professor Flitwick a 'pompous old git' when he corrected Harry's technique for a new spell they were learning. The sheer thought of him saying something so out of line to a teacher he respected was what snapped him out of his stupor and back into the real world. As if that wasn't enough, when Harry looked over his shoulder, he realised that Ron and Hermione were sitting a desk back from him, and he was actually sitting awkwardly at the end of a table of Hufflepuffs he didn't even know.
How long have they been avoiding me for? He groaned and cupped his forehead in his hand. It must have been bad if his friends were distancing themselves from him, fearful of copping an earful of nonsensical ravings.
Harry knew that he had to do something to work out the massive knot of tension that seemed to be pulsating on the back of his neck like a parasite, stress that he didn't even know was there until he started thinking about it. All this for a bloody broom! Luckily, he had an ace up his sleeve, something that he could use in dire times. And oh, but this was dire.
After classes finished Harry bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time, secretly glad that he was being dodged by his friends as it allowed him to get back to his room much quicker and he had some time alone before the others returned. At the same time, though, he was most definitely not pleased with himself, or else he probably wouldn't be doing what he was about to. No, this was definitely out of the ordinary.
Ensuring that the door was locked behind him, Harry glanced at a nearby clock and judged that he had about five minutes before his roommates would be testing the handle. It was certainly long enough, but he was still nervous of being walked in on nonetheless. He sat cautiously on his bed, perched in an awkward angle so that his back was facing the door, and pulled out the familiar ring that he carried in his pocket. It still gleamed as menacingly as ever, and he frowned as light hit the tiny emerald set on the head of the carved snake.
Harry knew that he wanted to avoid being near Malfoy at all costs, especially with all of this nonsense about brooms – the Slytherin git had managed to alert every person on the school grounds that the 'Great' Harry Potter couldn't even fly – but he needed something to take his mind off of things, and no one ever wanted to have a serious confrontation with him anymore for fear of being disarmed to death. Apparently Witch Weekly had recently announced that Harry had been declared the strongest wizard since Albus Dumbledore, as well as one of the least stable ones too. None of it was true, but sometimes he was sure that even Ron and Hermione believed the rumours just a little. That didn't matter, as was the case for every other sodding rumour that managed to grace its way into a gossip magazine. Heck, after everything that happened, Harry was sure that he would find more truth in the Quibbler than most publications on the street.
Another reason why that silly rumour didn't matter was because he still had someone willing to challenge him, and even if that person was Draco bloody Malfoy, Harry would do his best to overcome his misgivings and be civil. It wasn't too difficult, though, as every time Harry thought of Malfoy when he wasn't playing the arse that he so deftly was, his mind was carried away to that conversation in the train. And then the one in the dungeons. And finally, Malfoy's crumbling during their duel. There was more to him than met the eye, as if he was playing many different roles in a theatrical production, and Harry was ever the puzzle solver. Maybe if he cracked this case, he'd come to realise just why Malfoy was suck a prick, and maybe the animosity between them would die out.
Not likely.
Realising that he had been staring at the ring for well over a minute, Harry took a quick glance over his shoulder to ensure the door was still firmly shut and then turned back to pick up his wand from his bed. Keeping his concentration as steady as he could manage, he swished his wand and mumbled the appropriate spell. A familiar string of light emerged from his wand, and he wrote in the air with a few ungraceful strokes.
Fancy a duel? Same time, same place.
The words formed elegant loops as had happened the last time, turning Harry's scrawl into something more legible. When he was pleased with what he had written, he took in a great breath of air, holding it in as he tapped the writing. It flew onto the band of the ring and became a permanent engraving, and Harry knew that he couldn't take it back now even if he wanted to. He felt the ring grow warm for a fraction of a moment, and knew that Malfoy had gotten the message. All that was left was to wait for eight o'clock to roll around.
Harry walked into the Great Hall, fellow Gryffindors in tow, and scanned the room before taking his seat. No Malfoy. It wasn't nearly as awkward as it could have been for Harry though, as he had just spent the past half hour apologising to his peers for his atrocious behaviour, blaming it on being anxious about not having a broom, but they all accepted him quicker than he guessed they should have. Hermione had pinned it down to the fact that Harry had a tendency to snap at people when he was royally miffed, bringing up Umbridge as a very good example, but Harry suspected they were all just trying to keep him happy. He remembered his most recent time spent at the Burrow and realised that Hermione, Ron, and Ginny were all well rehearsed when it came to keeping Harry's temper at bay, and he felt a little guilty. But not too much, as he was too busy worrying if his duelling opponent would grace him with the privilege of his time of day.
The group sat in a bunch as usual, keen to keep away from the other seventh years, with the exception of Ginny. She didn't seem to really get along all that well with the people her age and always preferred to hang around with Harry's lot, and as no one made any objections when she first started sitting with them, she decided to stick to it. Sometimes even Luna wandered over to the Gryffindor table, seating herself next to Harry when she did. Everyone liked Luna a great deal, even if she was a little bit loopy, and she always seemed to warm Harry's heart. He felt sorry for the poor girl, who was still being teased by her fellow Ravenclaws despite her great strength and the deadly sharp wit she was showing more and more often. If only the Sorting Hat had known just how much alike she was to the Gryffindors, it might have thought twice about placing her in Ravenclaw.
Instantaneously the food prepared for dinner appeared on the table with a shudder, Ron's gasp alerting most of the people who were sitting about and chatting. Harry chuckled to himself as he saw his friend shovel an ungodly amount of food on his plate as usual, wondering exactly where all of it went after he'd consumed it. This wasn't the case just for dinner; everything he ate was in large proportions, and unless they were in class Ron was almost constantly snacking as well. He had already been kicked out of the library a few times after being caught with a bag of crisps – a snack that Harry had introduced him to – but it was his own fault for trying to sneak in something that had such noisy packaging.
Harry set his eyes on the food and shovelled a helping of baked potatoes onto his own plate, but felt himself lurch forward unwittingly and his shirt pressed into his meal. He forced himself back against the hand that was no longer on the small of his back, and fell abruptly backwards off of the bench. There was a round of laughter from no more than half a dozen voices, and suddenly all sound at the Gryffindor table hung in the air.
"Shove off Malfoy," Ron hissed, as Hermione reached down to tug Harry off of the ground.
The back of his head seared, and Harry must have knocked it against the ground when he fell. Hermione saw him wince in pain and bring his hand to his head, and bent down to help him up.
"We need to get you to Madam Pomfrey," she whispered low into his ear, but he shook his head in rebuttal, causing her to jump back slightly.
"I'm fine, I just wasn't expecting it," Harry mumbled, finally scrambling off of the floor and onto his feet. He stood as tall as he could in an attempt to transcend Malfoy, but he just wasn't tall enough. He ended up getting a close-up sneer tossed right at him.
"Need a bib, Potter?"
Harry looked down and saw that the front of his shirt was covered in bits of potato. Oh well, at least it wasn't my face, or he'd be really laughing, he thought quickly.
"Sod off Malfoy, you're not wanted here." He tried his best to look furious for the spectating audience, but this childish taunting was so pathetic that he didn't even care.
"And what makes you so sure that you're wanted, 'eh Potter?" Malfoy retorted as his eyebrows rose self-approvingly. "Who'd want to be around a wizard that can't even fly?"
"That's not how it is, and you know it! You set Harry up!"
The whole room fell silent, all eyes falling on Ginny Weasley, who had finally snapped. Even Harry turned from his confronting pose with Malfoy to look at her, and he suspected the Slytherin was looking just as shocked as he was. She was standing, her fork crushed in her clenched fist, and she seemed to be shaking with rage.
After a moment, which seemed to be the time needed for him to regain his composure, Malfoy snaked out a mischievous, "And what, pray tell, did I do to set Harry up?"
Another pause settled between them, before Ginny bellowed out, "You cursed his broom! I know it was you, you foul Death Eater! All because you wanted to win a stupid Quidditch game!"
Before anything else was said, Ginny let loose a Bat Bogey Hex that narrowly missed Harry to hit Malfoy square in the face. He doubled over as a large green blob appeared and started attacking him, and Pansy leaped forward from her spot by Malfoy's side.
"How dare you attack him!" she shrieked. "Filthy blood traitor!"
A jet of light rocketed from her wand and whooshed over Ginny's head, crashing into the wall and taking a sizeable chunk out of it and barely missing the Hufflepuff table. Displeased that she missed, Pansy fired again, this time catching Ginny's side as she tried to leap out of the way. Before she even hit the ground a shrill noise enveloped the room, causing everyone's hands to leap up over their ears protectively. It was piercing, so much so that everyone who was standing ended up on the floor, and everyone else slumped over their tables from the pain of it.
The noise left as quickly as it came, though a dull ringing remained in Harry's head for several minutes. Surprisingly it didn't have any impact on how clearly he could hear the voices around him. The one that stood out was shrill and familiarly odd, as he liked to put it.
"WHAT in Merlin's name is going on here!?" Professor Rosewood cried from her place behind the staff table. The other teachers were having a meeting with some Ministry officials, and she had volunteered to take watch over the students during their dinner.
She stomped up the walkway that narrowly divided the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables, a blaze of tangerine robes that grew darker with her mood. She managed to make it to where Harry was trying to pick himself up once again before anyone could get on their feet. She glared at Malfoy, who was whimpering quietly from the onslaught he had just experienced from the Bat Bogey Hex, before doing what Harry thought was the most incredible thing he had seen a teacher do: drag Pansy Parkinson from the ground by the ear.
Pansy screamed as her legs tried to right themselves, but the aftershock of the previous spell had left her too weak to stand properly, so she dangled limply in Rosewood's hand. It seemed like a fitting punishment, but Harry suspected she was playing up on it for dramatic effect and was actually supporting herself quite well.
"Miss Parkinson," Rosewood all but yelled into her aloft ear, loud enough for everyone to hear, "I think there is a need for you to tell me exactly why you shot a Bone Cracking Curse at Miss Weasley. I also need to know exactly where you learned such a horrible spell so I can burn the book, or spell someone's lips closed permanently."
Pansy sobbed, now taking a more stable stance, though Rosewood did not relinquish her grip on the reddening ear. When she didn't say anything, the professor finally let her go as she fell back to the ground.
"Fifty points from Slytherin, and then twenty more, thanks to Mr. Malfoy for starting this whole mess. Miss Parkinson, you'll be serving a week's detention starting tonight. Hagrid needs someone to help him pick mushrooms in the Forbidden Forest." She glowered at the two and shooed them to their seats before turning to her Gryffindors. "Twenty points from Gryffindor for Miss Weasley's outburst. This could have been avoided."
She then quickly made her way to walk around the long Gryffindor table, cursing at the fact that there was no way to walk through the middle, and came to crouch over Ginny, who was splayed on the floor with her limbs violently projected in awkward directions. Glancing over the table, though he couldn't see much, Harry registered that from what he could see, it looked painful.
"Is anyone else in need of the infirmary?" Rosewood called out through the hall.
When no one answered, she stood once more and cast a silent spell that had everyone gobsmacked. Even Harry was surprised to see such a young witch have so much control over the Patronus spell, to the point where she could cast it nonverbally. A small cat appeared in a cloud of silver vapour, not unlike McGonagall's animagus form, and darted through wall like a ghost.
"Harry," she called, "you're coming too. You might have a concussion."
Harry tried to object, but the look in her eyes told him she wasn't willing to take no for an answer, so he sighed and waited for whatever it was that Rosewood was waiting for.
After about a minute, Madam Pomfrey appeared at the door to the Great Hall, accompanied by Headmistress McGonagall, who looked as though she had just been dancing with a Dementor. There was a mad shuffling of feet, and Ginny was levitated off of the ground and out of the hall. Rosewood asked McGonagall to keep watch and that she would go along, possibly being able to provide extra information about the curse, and then urged Harry to follow her. As he walked out of the hall he could feel the sting of staring eyes at the back of his head, though it could have been the fall from the ground, and he knew that dinner would be pretty much left untouched for that night.