Chapter 25 – The Rogue Bludger
Harry did not want to go to the Quidditch match. He told Blaise that he would rather spend the afternoon in the library researching dangerous beasts. Perhaps he could even take the opportunity to break into the restricted section for books on dark magic. Anything would be better than watching Draco Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherin team soar around on their ill-gained broomsticks.
Blaise managed to convince him in the end, though it took much coaxing. They invited Millie as well, but she had become increasingly difficult to be around after their conversation with Moaning Myrtle. After she turned them down with barely an acknowledgment, they shrugged their shoulders and went to the Quidditch pitch without her.
Harry put on a brave face as they took their places with the other spectators. He considered cheering for Gryffindor, but thought better of it. The Slytherins would not take kindly to a traitor in their midst.
The two teams took to the air, and Harry had to choke back his bile as he was forced to watch Draco rise with the others. To make matters worse, the new brooms were magnificent. Compared to them, the Gryffindor players seemed to fly in slow motion. The outcome of the match seemed decided before the Quaffle was even in play. It would be a sure victory for Slytherin.
Harry, green with envy, should have been proud of his house, but he was only capable of sympathy for the Gryffindors. It really was unfair to let a parent of one of the players out-buy the other team.
As the game progressed, Harry's apathy for the proceedings turned to genuine interest. The Gryffindor team, although outmatched by the brooms, had the upper hand when it came to pure skill. While the Slytherins relied on their speed alone to rack up points, the Gryffindor team performed some truly spectacular plays. Slytherin remained comfortably in the lead, but the point gap was not as large as Harry had expected. If the Gryffindor Seeker was able to spy the Snitch first, then they could still win the match. Thinking this, Harry pulled his focus from the game to scan the skies, searching for the tiny golden ball.
He found it. Even from his spot in the stands, he spied the Snitch, glittering in the sunlight and flying near one of the tall goalposts. He wanted to scream or wave his arms, anything to get the Gryffindor Seeker's attention. In spite of everything, he did want his own house to win, but he'd rather see Slytherin lose than witness Draco catch the Snitch in his first match.
Harry's eyes frantically searched among the players for the two Seekers, wondering if either of them had seen the Snitch as well. But the Gryffindor Seeker was making slow loops above the other players' heads, while Draco was showing off, zipping around the towers that circled the pitch at breakneck speed.
Harry rolled his eyes. He thought about informing Blaise of the stupidity of the two Seekers. In fact, he was on the point of nudging his friend to draw his attention to the Snitch, now fluttering very near the Gryffindor Keeper's head, when one of the Beaters swooped directly over them, pelting a low-flying Bludger in another direction.
Harry and the surrounding students ducked and gave surprised shouts, then laughed as the Beater, in Gryffindor's red robes, did a loop before shooting off again. Their amusement didn't last long. Someone in the back rows shouted, "Look out!" and they were all forced to duck again as the heavy Bludger veered back in their direction, shooting right over their heads.
The ball shot to the back of the covered stands, blasting straight through the tarp cover. The students stared in mute amazement at the near-perfect hole left in its wake. Someone gave a nervous chuckle, then another screamed as the Bludger was seen whipping its way back toward them, returning through the same hole it had just made.
The students flew into a panic. Bludgers were charmed to attack players, but Harry had never heard of them flying into the audience. Clearly, something was wrong.
A few of the players paused in midair to watch the spectacle, trying to make sense of what they were seeing. One of the Beaters, a player named Jefferies, detached himself from the sport and flew to the rescue, swinging his club as hard as he could against the Bludger before it could sweep over their heads again. The ball rocketed away toward Katie Bell, a Gryffindor Chaser in the act of tossing the Quaffle at the goalposts. Harry could tell from its trajectory that it would have been a perfect hit, fully capable of knocking the player from her broom, but in midair the Bludger once again changed direction. Jefferies had only just enough time to shout a confused curse before he dipped low on his broom, barely avoiding the ball before it could crash right though him in its relentless pursuit of the student section.
Harry shouted to his fellow students, directing them all take to the stairs and get to the ground as quickly as possible. His warning was hardly needed, as many students had already set off for the stairs, pelting down the steps as fast as their legs could carry them.
There was no question in Harry's mind now. The Bludger had been tampered with. Not only was it not supposed to attack spectators, but it usually chased after players at random, attacking whoever was closest. This Bludger seemed to have a target in mind, and was going after that unlucky individual at all costs.
Harry did not charge for the stairs like the others. He kept his eye trained on Bludger, ducking it at times, but determined to wait. Part of him wanted to be sure that the other students reached the ground safely, but another part of him was curious to see how this would play out. Already the Weasley twins, both Gryffindor Beaters, had flown in to join Jefferies in his defense of the tower. All three were circling it while taking turns swinging their clubs against the rogue ball. Harry could hear their desperate shouts as they tried to get the referee's attention.
Madame Hooch finally seemed to realize that something was wrong, and Harry heard her sharp whistle. They rest of the players froze, but the Beaters continued their activity, as the Bludger had not ceased its attack. Instead, it appeared to redouble its efforts, plowing past one of the Weasley twins, and shooting straight toward Harry.
Harry was in such a state of shock, he nearly forgot the wand in his hand. Thankfully, reflexes kicked in, and with a cry of "Reducto!" he sent a spell hurling at the ball.
The ball was not only blown back, but blasted into many glittering pieces in a violent flash of light.
Blaise gave a whoop of delight and smacked Harry on the back. "Galloping Gandalf, Harry! That was a nice shot!"
Harry grinned at him. He would have to thank Millie later for teaching him that spell.
He quickly wiped the smile from his face as Madame Hooch swooped down on them, still blowing her whistle in indignation, as if doing so would set everything in order once again.
"What in Merlin's name is going on here?" she asked testily, slightly out of breath from puffing so hard on the whistle.
The students all began speaking at once, some saying that the Bludger had been tampered with, others alleging that it had attacked Harry. Madam Hooch blew furiously on her whistle again, silencing them all. The flying instructor turned her hawk-like eyes on Harry, singling him out of the crowd and demanding, "Well, Mr. Potter. What do you have to say about this?"
"Me?" asked Harry, dumbfounded, "How should I know?"
"These students seem to think it was you who tampered with the ball."
Blaise immediately jumped to Harry's defense, exclaiming that it was he who had been the target. Why would he want to attack himself?
As Blaise continued his protest amid renewed exclamations from the Beaters, the two team captains came shooting forward with complaints of their own.
"What's going on?" shouted Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor captain, "Why has the match stopped? Who called time?"
"This is ridiculous!" screamed Marcus Flint, the veins on his neck popping in anger, "This is sabotage! One of their players must have hexed the Bludger to attack only Slytherin players."
"It wasn't attacking players!" shouted one of the Weasley twins. Harry couldn't tell them apart. His brother nodded his head in agreement and added, "It was attacking students!"
Marcus's lip curled, "Then clearly your spell didn't work as planned."
If they hadn't been seated on their brooms several stories above the ground, Harry was sure the twins would have attacked Marcus for this insinuation. Instead, they renewed their shouts and accusations. Madame Hooch gave another furious blow on her whistle, demanding quiet from them all.
"That is enough! All of you, rejoin your teams on opposite sides of the field. I shall have to consult the headmaster on how to proceed. Mr. Potter, I suggest that you and your friend rejoin your classmates on the ground."
Harry did not need to be told twice. He and Blaise sprinted down the stairs, swapping their own speculations and questions with one another, but still no closer to guessing the truth of what just happened.
By the time they reached the ground, Albus Dumbledore was rising from his seat in the faculty box. A hush fell over the crowd that Madame Hooch could never hope to impose, not with all the whistle-blowing in the world.
Harry squinted up at the little figure far above them in the stands. Blaise handed Harry his opera-style enchanted binoculars to see, and Harry observed through the lenses that the headmaster had his wand raised to his own throat. When he spoke, his voice was magically amplified, echoing around the entire arena.
"Due to concerns of tampering, and the loss of one of our Bludgers, the Gryffindor versus Slytherin match will be postponed indefinitely, pending an investigation."
He waited patiently for the groans to subside, then continued, "If Harry Potter would be kind enough to meet me in my office, I have a few questions for him."
Harry could practically feel the eyes of the entire school boring into him, and he felt sick. Couldn't Dumbledore have summoned him privately? At this rate, the whole school would think he was the one who tampered with the ball.
Harry had no idea where Dumbledore's office was. He was prepared to flee to the relative seclusion of his room, or even to seek comfort and security in Hagrid's cabin. But as soon as Dumbledore's announcement ended, and a background roar erupted from hundreds of students talking and moving at once, Professor Snape appeared, his presence parting the students before him.
"I am here to escort you to the headmaster, Potter," Snape said, unable to suppress the vicious smile on his lips, "And may I just say, I cannot wait to hear your explanation for this one."
"I'm coming, too!" Blaise said courageously.
Snape's eyes flashed in anger. He replied coldly, "The headmaster's instructions were to bring Potter in for questioning alone."
"But Harry doesn't know anything! The rest of us were up there with him, and saw just as much! Dumbledore should question us all."
"And I'm sure he will, Mr. Zabini. But first, I think it prudent that he hear Mr. Potter's explanation before you've had a chance to agree on a story."
Blaise looked prepared to leap at Snape for this last comment, but Harry stopped him with a look and a shake of his head. He didn't want his friend getting detention for defending him.
"I'll see you at Hagrid's, Harry," Blaise said through gritted teeth. Harry gave him a nod. It was usually their habit to visit Hagrid after a Quidditch match, or any Saturday afternoon, and it was the best place for them to talk without being overheard by other students.
He allowed himself to be led away by Professor Snape, and walked with his head high past the glares of the students, both Gryffindor and Slytherin alike.
Snape said nothing to him as they made their way into the castle, but Harry thought he detected a spring in his step, and knew Snape was trying very hard not to break into song and dance at the thought of getting Harry expelled. But Harry wouldn't give him that satisfaction. He had done nothing wrong, and would explain that to the headmaster. He just had to hope that Dumbledore was at least a reasonable man, if a little eccentric.
Snape led Harry to a familiar corridor, and Harry realized he had once followed the headmaster here under his visibility cloak last year. The entrance to Dumbledore's office must be hidden somewhere in the hall, but Harry was at a loss to guess where. Snape finally came to a stop before a large stone gargoyle.
"Cockroach Clusters," he said gleefully.
For a fraction of a second, Harry was confused, thinking that Snape was having a stroke of some sort, but then the gargoyle seemed to come to life, and sprang to one side. Professor Snape motioned Harry to enter the space revealed by the living statue, which contained nothing more than a spiral staircase, rotating slowly in place. Harry rode the stair upward until it stopped at a landing with a simple oak door. Snape rapped his knuckles against the wood once, and a soft voice called from within, beckoning them to enter.
It was the first time Harry had seen the headmaster's office, and he wasn't disappointed at the sight. There were portraits hung over every spare inch of wall, each displaying a witch or wizard who peered out of their frame at Harry, not bothering to hide their curiosity. Those parts of wall not covered by a portrait were concealed by tall shelves. Some housed large leather-bound books crammed in side by side, seemingly without order or arrangement, while others housed strange glittering silver instruments, the purpose for which Harry was at a loss to guess.
Finally, there was the man himself, seated behind a massive desk, piled high with various stacks of parchment. He sat with his long, thin fingers crossed before his face, concealing the expression of his mouth. Harry might have tried to read the intent behind his blue eyes, but his attention was arrested by the sight of a large red bird, seated on a perch behind Dumbledore's right shoulder.
Harry jumped in surprise as the first words out of the headmaster's mouth were not a reprimand, but a question.
"Do you like him?"
He had seen that Harry's attention was drawn to the bird. Harry tried to collect himself, but he wasn't sure what to say. He didn't know how he felt about the bird, or even what kind of bird he was seeing. It was big, perhaps larger than a swan, with the same long, graceful neck. However, it had the beak of a hawk, and long tail feathers like a parrot. He supposed it might have been beautiful at one time, but there was something off about it now. It seemed to be bald in patches, and the feathers that clung feebly to its thin frame were thin, scraggly, and dull, as if covered in a layer of dust.
Harry tried to think of something polite to say about the dismal looking creature, seeing as it was clearly the headmaster's pet, but all he could manage was, "Er...Yeah, he's very... big..."
"Fawkes is a phoenix," Dumbledore explained, "I am sorry you had to see him today. He's molting, you see. Has been looking dreadful for a week. But I suppose it's about time for his combustion."
"His... Sorry, what was that, sir?" Harry asked.
At that moment, the bird suddenly erupted into flames. Harry gave a scream of startled terror and jumped back, falling against Snape and causing the professor to curse loudly and take a step back himself, nearly overturning one of the small tables and the delicate silver instruments it supported.
"There! You see? About time, too," was all Dumbledore had to say about the matter.
Snape shoved Harry away from him and fastidiously brushed off his robes, as if afraid that Harry carried some sort of contaminant. But Harry wasn't paying him any attention. He stared at the pile of ash that had collected on a sort of plate under the bird's perch, dumbfounded by the headmaster's reaction.
Dumbledore could see Harry's bewilderment plainly, and he gave a soft chuckle before saying, "Phoenixes are very fascinating creatures. When they reach the end of their life, they burst into flames, as you have just seen. And from the ashes, they are reborn. Observe."
He pointed one of his long fingers to the pile of ash, and sure enough, Harry saw movement. A small, ugly bird's head poked out of the remains, just a tiny chick.
"Forgive me headmaster," Snape said icily, "I am sure this lesson has been very informative, but I was under the impression you wished to see Mr. Potter for more than a lecture on magical creatures?"
"Of course, you're right Severus," Dumbledore said pleasantly in the face of Snape's rude remark.
The headmaster turned his face toward Harry, a smile still on his lips, and Harry instantly felt reassured. If Dumbledore meant to punish him, then surely he wouldn't smile at him like that.
"Now then, Harry. There seems to be some confusion about the business with the Bludger. The sooner we get it worked out, the sooner we can resume our Quidditch tournament."
He paused, and Harry realized a little late that he was giving Harry a chance to speak. Harry chose his words carefully.
"I'd like to help, sir. But I'm just as confused as everybody else."
"There are some who have said it was you who enchanted the Bludger."
"That's not true," Harry said quickly, adding in a more humble tone, "I wouldn't even know how, sir."
"Relax, Harry. I am not accusing you. The Quidditch supplies are kept locked in Madame Hooch's office and inspected before every match. It is clear they were not tampered with before the game began."
Harry felt his shoulders release the tension he hadn't been aware of holding until that moment.
Snape did not share Harry's feelings of relief. He immediately stepped forward and suggested to the headmaster Harry could have easily manipulated the ball during the match.
"And had the Bludger attack himself, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, an amused smile on his lips.
Snape was silenced, and Harry felt like doing a dance of victory on top of Dumbledore's desk, but he wisely restrained himself. Instead, he asked Dumbledore the question that was now forefront in his mind.
"I'm sorry, sir," Harry said, still trying to sound as humble as possible, "But if you don't think I could have bewitched the Bludger, when why did you ask to speak to me?"
"For the simple reason that the Bludger did appear to be targeting you," said Dumbledore.
Harry remained unconvinced, "There were a lot of people in that tower, sir."
"True, but none of those other students were Harry Potter, were they?" Dumbledore asked.
Harry didn't know what to say.
"Can you think of any reason why someone would be targeting you, Harry?" Dumbledore continued.
Harry could think of one. Just last year Harry had faced-off against Lord Voldemort, the same warlock to had murdered his parents when Harry was only a baby. The teacher he had been parasitically drawing power from died, but Dumbledore believed that Voldemort survived, and continued to bide his time until he could make a full return in his own body. If anyone wanted Harry dead, it would have to be him. But whenever Voldemort's next attack came, Harry was sure it would be something more deadly than a rigged Quidditch game.
After careful consideration, Harry responded to Dumbledore in the negative. He honestly couldn't think of anyone else who would want to seriously hurt him.
Snape began muttering something under his breath about "seeking attention" when the door to Dumbledore's office swung open. Professor McGonagall stood in the doorway, her usually smooth, tight bun looking windswept, as if she'd rushed to Dumbledore's office in a hurry.
"I suppose you have come to accuse my players of sabotaging a game that we were clearly winning?" Snape drawled. "I believe I have more reason than you to accuse the opposition of fowl play."
"What you're saying is completely ridiculous, Severus," McGonagall said, her voice as wispy as her hair, "It's also not why I'm here. Something far more serious has just happened. Headmaster, you're needed immediately."
Dumbledore stood from his chair as Harry's mind began to ponder what exactly could be more important than Quidditch. He was burning with curiosity as Dumbledore drew shoulder to shoulder with Professor McGonagall, their heads together as they conversed quietly. For a moment, Harry felt a strange kinship with Snape, who was hanging back in an attitude of respect, but was obviously no less eager to hear what news the Gryffindor head-of-house brought to the headmaster.
Dumbledore beckoned to Snape, and the three teachers continued in fervent whispers while Harry looked on jealously, trying to catch some of their conversation. Perhaps Dumbledore noticed his prying eyes, as he turned back again with a gracious smile, and quietly asked Harry to wait there for his return. Harry tried to read some clue from the expression on his face, but the look behind his half-moon spectacles was as inscrutable as ever.
Harry agreed to wait patiently, and the three professors quickly, but calmly, exited the room. Harry, left alone in Dumbledore's office, soon became bored of observing the tiny phoenix chick. He cast his eyes around the room for something to interest him, desperately trying to avoid meeting the eyes of any of the moving portraits, when his gaze fell upon something interesting.
Upon one of the shelves behind Dumbledore's desk, resting proudly on a stack of old texts, was the Sorting Hat. Harry hadn't seen the patched item of clothing since his first year at the school, having missed the sorting ceremony at the beginning of the year. Seeing it again in Dumbledore's office did not fill him with fond memories. He distinctly remembered begging the hat to be sorted into Gryffindor, but had been placed in Slytherin instead, his absolute last choice.
Harry stared at the hat for a full minute, listening intently for any sound that one of the teachers was returning to the office. But it was clear that they hadn't merely stepped outside. They were gone entirely. Harry, burning with curiosity and spite, waited only a moment longer before rushing around the desk and pulling the hat from its perch.
Harry placed it on his head and found that it was still rather too large for him. It slipped easily over his eyes once again. Surrounded by the nostalgic darkness under the hat, Harry thought the phrase Hello, Ass-Hat.
Interesting... Said a little voice that seemed to be whispering right behind Harry's ear, If I'm an Ass-Hat, what does that make you?
Very funny, Harry retorted, knowing full well that the Hat could hear his thoughts, So you have a sense of humor. Is that why you decided to sort me into Slytherin?
Are you still going on about that? I told you already, Slytherin will help you on your way to greatness.
I'm already great. Harry thought boldly. Any humility he'd shown before Dumbledore had been blasted away by his desire to prove the hat wrong.
Is that so? Then I see the sorting has already done it's job. I'm surprised Slytherin House produces such quick results.
Disgusted, Harry pulled off the hat and shoved it back on the shelf.
"You're wrong," he said aloud, "Gryffindor... Slytherin... It makes no difference, anyway."
"Who are you talking to, Potter?"
Harry jumped at the sound of Snape's voice and spun around to face the professor. He knew Snape must still be suspicious of his behavior, but he counted himself lucky that the teacher had not caught him with the hat on his head.
"I was talking to Fawkes." Harry said, improvising quickly.
Snape's gaze flickered to the fledgling bird and remained there. He didn't seem to like looking at Harry for very long, and his current preference appeared to be the ugly gray phoenix. He addressed the bird, though his words were for Harry.
"You are to return to your common room immediately. Don't wander, or it will mean house points."
Harry knew better than to question Snape. The potions master was already stealing hateful glances in his direction, and any delays would be met with a harsh remark. He would have better luck asking his fellow students what was going on. Without a word, he slipped past the professor and down the stairs to the ground floor.
It was clear that whatever news had brought McGonagall to Dumbledore's office in such a hurry had quickly spread through the rest of the school. There were little groups of students dotting the halls, talking in quiet whispers to each other. Many of them turned to stare at Harry as he passed, filling him with a sense of foreboding. He toyed with the idea of approaching one of these groups, perhaps the clique of second-year Hufflepuffs he recognized from one of their joint classes, but before he could work up the courage to put his plan in motion, a couple of prefects appeared in the hall, shouting at everyone to return to their common rooms at once.
The two prefects, a boy and a girl from other houses, continued to round up the students amid shouts and protests, but Harry didn't need to be told twice. He broke into a sprint, rushing straight toward the dungeons and the secret entrance to the Slytherin common room. He paid no mind to the curious glances directed at him by the students he passed. His only thought was to get to the common room, where he was sure either Blaise or Millie would fill him in on whatever tragedy had transpired during his brief absence.
He was destined to be disappointed. Blaise was no where to be found when Harry burst into the common room, and Millie was likely still shut up in her dormitory. The rest of Slytherin House gathered in the common room, with everyone talking at once. However, all the chatter stopped as soon as Harry entered the room, and everyone turned to stare at him.
Harry tried to prevent the blush that he could feel rising to his face, but it was impossible. He was used to stares and whispers from students in the other houses, but among his fellow Slytherins, the novelty of his presence had worn away during his first year. Most of the time his housemates paid him no mind. This sudden change in behavior was both strange and unwelcome, and Harry was left wondering what had caused it.
Desperate to flee from the collective piercing gaze, Harry fled to his dormitory, hoping to wait for Blaise's return there. He flung the door open hastily, and was again disappointed by the sight of Malfoy, still dressed in his Quidditch robes and chatting with Crabbe and Goyle. Harry was on the point of diving into this own bed, thinking he would shut himself behind the curtains and pretend his dormmates didn't exist, when Draco spoke up.
"You know, Potter, I didn't think you had it in you."
Perhaps he meant to sound mocking, but his tone was one of awe and respect. Harry paused in the act of pulling his bed curtains shut and glared at him.
"What are you talking about? If it's about the Bludger, I had nothing to do with it."
"Not that," Draco said, his eyes widening, "I'm talking about the Chamber."
"What?" Harry asked again, his tone sharper than he intended.
"You mean you don't know?" Draco asked, seeming unsure if Harry was testing him or not.
"Draco, just tell me what you're talking about or leave me alone."
"It's that Creevy," Crabbe suddenly said, surprising Harry and Draco both by interrupting, "He's been petrified."