Hermione POV
I was reading through the books on Lockhart. He seems to have done so many amazing things. It can't be fake, right? Suddenly I sit up straight as I notice something. I pull out my copy of Wandering with Werewolves and flip through it. Finally, I find what I was looking for. I place it next to Break with the Banshee, the book I was reading. This doesn't make sense. the 2 adventures seem to have taken place near the same time, if not at the same time. And it was in the middle of the novel. That's not possible! Maybe the boys were right about this one. It definitely calls for a trip to the library.
Just as I put my books away, Harry enters the common room. "Hermione, what exactly is a death day party?"
"It's kinda like a birthday party for ghosts. Why do you ask, Harry?" I ask confused.
Harry rubs the back of his neck, in that cute way he does when he is nervous. "Well, I think I just agreed to go to Nearly Headless Nick's party this Halloween."
TIME SKIP~~
By the time the death day party arrived, Harry regretted making his rash promise to Nearly Headless Nick.
"A promise is a promise Harry. You have to go." I reminded him. "Don't worry, Ron and I will be there as well, won't we?" I said looking at Ron.
He looked the other way and started fumbling with his hands. "Actually, I was wondering if I could go to the feast. You know how there is always a huge feast today, I was kinda hoping to go." He mumbled. "If that's okay with you guys of course." He quickly assured.
Harry let out a sigh. " Well I guess. If you really want to, it's not fair for me to stop you because of my promise." I reached over and squeezed his hand. "Don't worry, I'll still go with you Harry."
TIME SKIP ~~
Harry and I started walking back from the death party when we heard it."... rip ... tear ... kill ..." We both froze. "That's the voice." Harry mumbled. "The voice I heard in Lockhart's office" I shushed him and tried to hear it again. Harry stumbled to a halt, clutching at the stone wall, listening with all his might, looking around, squinting up and down the dimly lit passageway.
"You heard that, right Harry?" I asked. Harry looked at me startled. "You can hear it too?" I nodded. ". . . soo hungry . . . for so long . . ." The voice hissed again.". . . kill . . . time to kill . . ."
The voice was growing fainter. I was sure it was moving away - moving upward. I looked around but no one was then. There was no way this thing, whatever it is, is human. I have no idea how it is traveling around though.
"This way," he shouted, dragging me behind him. We run up the stairs, into the entrance hall. It was no good hoping to hear anything here, the babble of talk from the Halloween feast was echoing out of the Great Hall. Harry sprinted up the marble staircase to the first floor, while I followed not far behind him.
"Harry, you're sure this-" I started to ask.
"SHH" Harry cut me off. " It's here. Listen."
I strained my ears. Distantly, from the floor above, and growing fainter still, I heard the voice: ". . . I smell blood. . . . I SMELL BLOOD!"
I gasped in horror. "It's going to kill someone!" he shouted. "I know!" I reply. We shot up the next flight of steps as silently and quickly as we could, straining to listen over the sound of our footsteps. We hurtled around the second floor and turned a corner into the last, deserted passage.
"Harry, can you hear it?" I said, wiping sweat off my face. "I couldn't hear anything anymo-" I cut my self off as I gasped and pointed down the corridor. "Look!"
Something was shining on the wall ahead. We approached slowly, squinting through the darkness. Foot-high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches.
"What's that thing - hanging underneath?" said Harry, a slight quiver in his voice.
As they edged nearer, Harry almost slipped - there was a large puddle of water on the floor; I grabbed him, and they inched toward the message, eyes fixed on a dark shadow beneath it. All three of them realized what it was at once, and leapt backward with a splash..Mrs. Norris,
The caretaker's cat, was hanging by her tail from the torch bracket. She was stiff as a board, her eyes wide and staring. All we could do was stare in horror. My mind started working into overdrive. I looked back to the bloody message written on the wall.
Enemies of the heir beware. The chamber of secrets has opened once more . I wonder what this meant and that noise from earlier, what's happening? Is something out to get Harry, again. Is Voldemort? Who is this heir and what could he possibly want?
A crowd formed around Harry and me. Silence took over as the students took in the grim scene. We both stood alone in the middle of the corridor, no one moving or making any sound.
Abruptly, a voice cut through the silence. "Enemies of the heir, beware," Draco Malfoy shouted, as he grinned at the sight of the hanging, immobile cat, "You'll be next, Mudbloods!" You could hear the glee oozing from his voice as he started particularly at me, his malicious grin growing wider. All I could do was start in horror and disgust at this inbred, bloodthirsty excuse for a human.
All of a sudden, Argus Filch came bursting through the crowd. He was soon followed by Professors Dumbledore, Lockhart , McGonagall and Snape. Soon we were whisked away from the crowd and quickly guided into Lockhart's office.
THIRD PERSON POV
As they entered Lockhart's darkened office there was a flurry of movement across the walls; Harry saw several of the Lockharts in the pictures dodging out of sight, their hair in rollers. The real Lockhart lit the candles on his desk and stood back. Dumbledore lay Mrs. Norris on the polished surface and began to examine her. Harry and Hermione exchanged tense looks and sank into chairs outside the pool of candlelight, watching.
The tip of Dumbledore's long, crooked nose was barely an inch from Mrs. Norris's fur. He was looking at her closely through his half-moon spectacles, his long fingers gently prodding and poking. Professor McGonagall was bent almost as close, her eyes narrowed. Snape loomed behind them, half in shadow, wearing a most peculiar expression: It was as though he was trying hard not to smile. And Lockhart was hovering around all of them, making suggestions.
"It was definitely a curse that killed her - probably the Transmogrifian Torture - I've seen it used many times, so unlucky I wasn't there, I know the very countercurse that would have saved her . ... Lockhart's comments were punctuated by Filch's dry, racking sobs. He was slumped in a chair by the desk, unable to look at Mrs. Norris, his face in his hands. Much as he detested Filch, Harry couldn't help feeling a bit sorry for him, though not nearly as sorry as he felt for himself If Dumbledore believed Filch, he would be expelled for sure.
Dumbledore was now muttering strange words under his breath and tapping Mrs. Norris with his wand but nothing happened: She continued to look as though she had been recently stuffed.
". . . I remember something very similar happening in Ouagadogou," said Lockhart, "a series of attacks, the full story's in my autobiography, I was able to provide the townsfolk with various amulets, which cleared the matter up at once ... The photographs of Lockhart on the walls were all nodding in agreement as he talked. One of them had forgotten to remove his hair net.
At last Dumbledore straightened up."She's not dead, Argus," he said softly.
Lockhart stopped abruptly in the middle of counting the number of murders he had prevented.
"Not dead?" choked Filch, looking through his fingers at Mrs. Norris. "But why's she all - all stiff and frozen?" "She has been Petrified," said Dumbledore ("Ah! I thought so!" said Lockhart). "But how, I cannot say . . . ." "Ask him!" shrieked Filch, turning his blotched and tearstained face to Harry. "No second year could have done this," said Dumbledore firmly. "it would take Dark Magic of the most advanced -" "He did it, he did it!" Filch spat, his pouchy face purpling. "You saw what he wrote on the wall! He found - in my office - he knows I'm a - I'm a -" Filch's face worked horribly. "He knows I'm a Squib!" he finished.
"I never touched Mrs. Norris!" Harry said loudly, uncomfortably aware of everyone looking at him, including all the Lockharts on the walls. "And I don't even know what a Squib is."
"Rubbish!" snarled Filch. "He saw my Kwikspell letter!"
"If I might speak, Headmaster," said Snape from the shadows, and Harry's sense of forboding increased; he was sure nothing Snape had to say was going to do him any good.
"Potter and Granger may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time," he said, a slight sneer curling his mouth as though he doubted it. "But we do have a set of suspicious circumstances here. Why was he in the upstairs corridor at all? Why wasn't he at the Halloween feast?"
Harry and Hermione launched into an explanation about the deathday party. ". . . there were hundreds of ghosts, they'll tell you we were there -" "But why not join the feast afterward?" said Snape, his black eyes glittering in the candlelight. "Why go up to that corridor?"
Hermione looked at Harry. "Because - because -" Harry said, his heart thumping very fast; something told him it would sound very far-fetched if he told them he had been led there by a bodiless voice no one but he could hear, "because we were tired and wanted to go to bed," he said. "Without any supper?" said Snape, a triumphant smile flickering across his gaunt face.
"I didn't think ghosts provided food fit for living people at their parties." "We weren't hungry," Hermione proclaimed.
Snape sneered at her before turning back to the Headmaster. "I suggest, Headmaster, that Potter is not being entirely truthful," he said. "It might be a good idea if he were deprived of certain privileges until he is ready to tell us the whole story. I personally feel he should be taken off the Gryffindor Quidditch team until he is ready to be honest."
"Really, Severus," said Professor McGonagall sharply, "I see no reason to stop the boy playing Quidditch. This cat wasn't hit over the head with a broomstick. There is no evidence at all that Potter has done anything wrong." Dumbledore was giving Harry a searching look. His twinkling light- blue gaze made Harry feel as though he were being X-rayed.
"Innocent until proven guilty, Severus," he said firmly. Snape looked furious. So did Filch. "My cat has been Petrified!" he shrieked, his eyes popping. "I want to see some punishment!"
"We will be able to cure her, Argus," said Dumbledore patiently. "Professer Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrakes. As soon as they have reached their full size, I will have a potion made that will revive Mrs. Norris."
"I'll make it," Lockhart butted in. "I must have done it a hundred times. I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep -"
"Excuse me," said Snape icily. "But I believe I am the Potions master at this school." There was a very awkward pause.
"You may go," Dumbledore said to the duo.
They went, as quickly as they could without actually running. When they were a floor up from Lockhart's office, they turned into an empty classroom and closed the door quietly behind them. Harry squinted at Hermione in the dark.
"D'you think I should have told them about that voice we heard?"
"No." Hermione answer without hesitation. "There's something weird and possibly dangerous going on and for some reason I have a feeling only we could hear those voices," she said gravely.
"Why do you think we can hear this voice, Hermione?" Harry asked. "Honestly Harry, I'm not sure why you could hear it. But I have a hunch as to why I could." Hermione turned to look at Harry in the eye. "I'll tell you later in the common room, but you have to promise me that what ever I tell you remains between the two of us."
"What?" Harry asked startled, "Not even Ron?"
"No! Not without me and my permission. You have to promise me, or we can drop the topic and you can not know. It's your choice Harry." Hermione said. Harry sighed before nodding in agreement. Hermione began filling in Harry about all the things that happened over the summer and answering any questions he asked.
"Wow." Was his only response. "That's really crazy. Thanks for trusting me with this." Harry said with a cute smile. "I promise I won't tell Ron. Not without your say so."
A clock chimed somewhere.
"Midnight," said Harry. "Come on. We'd better get to bed before Snape comes along and tries to frame us for something else." With that the duo raced to the common room.
When we reached, the common room was empty. It seemed like everyone else already turned in for the night. Harry stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned to Hermione to ask one last thing.
"Hermione, why were you able to hear that voice?" Harry finally asked.
She took in a deep breath before answering, " I'm not sure. But I think that it might be a water creature. That's the only reason why I could hear it. I'm not sure what is going on here or what we heard was, but one thing I am sure of," Hermione looked him straight in the eye, "You can always count on me. I will always be there for you."
TIME SKIP~~
THIRD PERSON POV
The bell rang and Lockhart got to his feet. "Homework - compose a poem about my defeat of the Wagga Wagga Werewolf! Signed copies of Magical Me to the author of the best one!"
The class began to leave. Harry returned to the back of the room, where Ron and Hermione were waiting. "Ready?" Harry muttered.
"Wait till everyone's gone," said Hermione nervously.
"All right . . . " She approached Lockhart's desk, a piece of paper clutched tightly in her hand, Harry and Ron right behind her. At this point, Hermione had given up her fantasies of how impressive he was, allowing her to see the bumbling idiot for what he was.
"Er - Professor Lockhart?" Hermione stammered. "I wanted to - to get this book out of the library. Just for background reading." She held out the piece of paper, her hand shaking slightly.
"But the thing is, it's in the Restricted Section of the library, so I need a teacher to sign for it - I'm sure it would help me understand what you say in Gadding with Ghouls about slow-acting venoms "
"Ah, Gadding with Ghouls!" said Lockhart, taking the note from Hermione and smiling widely at her. "Possibly my very favorite book. You enjoyed it?"
"Oh, yes," said Hermione eagerly. "So clever, the way you trapped that last one with the tea-strainer -"
"Well, I'm sure no one will mind me giving the best student of the year a little extra help," said Lockhart warmly, and he pulled out an enormous peacock quill. "Yes, nice, isn't it?" he said, misreading the revolted look on Ron's face. "I usually save it for book-signings." He scrawled an enormous loopy signature on the note and handed it back to Hermione.
"So, Harry," said Lockhart, while Hermione folded the note with fumbling fingers and slipped it into her bag. "Tomorrow's the first Quidditch match of the season, I believe? Gryffindor against Slytherin, is it not? I hear you're a useful player. I was a Seeker, too. I was asked to try for the National Squad, but preferred to dedicate my life to the eradication of the Dark Forces. Still, if ever you feel the need for a little private training, don't hesitate to ask. Always happy to pass on my expertise to less able players ...
Harry made an indistinct noise in his throat and then hurried off after Ron and Hermione. "I don't believe it," he said as the three of them examined the signature on the note. "He didn't even look at the book we wanted."
"That's because he's a brainless git," said Ron. "But who cares, we've got what we needed -"
"I can't believe I'm saying this, but for once Ron is actually right," Hermione agreed
"Hey!" Ron let's out an indignant squeak.
Harry cuts in quickly, "You go ahead to the common room Ron. Hermione and I will get the book and meet you back there." With a nod the trio split up and head their respective ways.
The duo made their way into the muffled stillness of the library. Madam Pince, the librarian, was a thin, irritable woman who looked like an underfed vulture. "Moste Potente Potions?" she repeated suspiciously, trying to take the note from Hermione; but Hermione wouldn't let go.
"I was wondering if I could keep it," she said. "Come on Hermione. You can get another one later." Harry said, gently taking it and handing the slip to Madam Pince. Madam Pince held the note up to the light, as though determined to detect a forgery, but it passed the test. She stalked away between the lofty shelves and returned several minutes later carrying a large and moldy-looking book. Hermione put it carefully into her bag and they left, trying not to walk too quickly or look too guilty.
Before they reached the common room, Harry lead Hermione into an abandoned classroom. "What is it, Harry" Hermione inquired. He shifted and began fumbling with his hands.
"You know what Malfoy said isn't true right?" He asked nervously. "You're incredible Hermione. You always help me out and are super smart and, well I just want to make sure that you didn't let what Malfoy said get to you." Harry said, his face turned various shades of bright red.
Hermione smiled, a light pink blush on her cheeks as well. "Thank you. That means a lot to me. But, I know that anything Malfoy says is a load of hogwash. Including that little Mudblood comment."
Harry smirked in reply. "Hey, Hermione can you imagine Malfoy's face if he ever finds out your father is a God?
"I wish I could see his reaction to that."She grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the room, "Now come on. We can't keep Ron waiting, now can we?" The two hurry back to the common room to begin the next phase of the plan.
TIME SKIP~~
WHAM.
He had stayed still a second too long. The Bludger had hit him at last, smashed into his elbow, and Harry felt his arm break. Dimly, dazed by the searing pain in his arm, he slid sideways on his rain-drenched broom, one knee still crooked over it, his right arm dangling useless at his side - the Bludger came pelting back for a second attack, this time W-ming at his face - Harry swerved out of the way, one idea firmly lodged in his numb brain: get to Malfoy.
Through a haze of rain and pain he dived for the shimmering, sneering face below him and saw its eyes widen with fear: Malfoy thought Harry was attacking him.
"What the -" he gasped, careening out of Harry's way.
Harry took his remaining hand off his broom and made a wild snatch; he felt his fingers close on the cold Snitch but was now onlygripping the broom with his legs, and there was a yell from the crowd below as he headed straight for the ground, trying hard not to pass out.
With a splattering thud he hit the mud and rolled off his broom. His arm was hanging at a very strange angle; riddled with pain, he heard, as though from a distance, a good deal of whistling and shouting. He focused on the Snitch clutched in his good hand.
"Aha," he said vaguely. "We've won." And he fainted. He came around, rain falling on his face, still lying on the field, with someone leaning over him. He saw a glitter of teeth.
"Oh, no, not you," he moaned.
"Doesn't know what he's saying," said Lockhart loudly to the anxious crowd of Gryffindors pressing around them. "Not to worry, Harry. I'm about to fix your arm."
"No!"said Harry. "I'll keep it like this, thanks ... "
He tried to sit up, but the pain was terrible. He heard a familiar clicking noise nearby.
"I don't want a photo of this, Colin," he said loudly.
"Lie back, Harry," said Lockhart soothingly. "It's a simple charm I've used countless times -"
"Harry said no." Hermione said maneuvering between Harry and Lockhart.
"Why can't I just go to the hospital wing?" said Harry through clenched teeth.
"He should really, Professor," said a muddy Wood, who couldn't help grinning even though his Seeker was injured. "Great capture, Harry, really spectacular, your best yet, Id say -"
Through the thicket of legs around him, Harry spotted Fred and George Weasley, wrestling the rogue Bludger into a box. It was still putting up a terrific fight.
"Move aside, miss Granger." said Lockhart, who was rolling up his jade-green sleeves after pushing her aside.
"No - don't -" said Harry weakly, but Lockhart was twirling his wand and a second later had directed it straight at Harry's arm.
A strange and unpleasant sensation started at Harry's shoulder and spread all the way down to his fingertips. It felt as though his arm was being deflated. He didn't dare look at what was happening. He had shut his eyes, his face turned away from his arm, but his worst fears were realized as the people above him gasped and Colin Creevey began clicking away madly. His arm didn't hurt anymore - nor did it feel remotely like an arm.
"Ah," said Lockhart. "Yes. Well, that can sometimes happen. 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 - ah, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, would you escort him? - and Madam Pomfrey will be able to - er - tidy you up a bit."
Hermione silently fumed as she helped Harry to his feet, he felt strangely lopsided. Taking a deep breath he looked down at his right side. What he saw nearly made him pass out again. Poking out of the end of his robes was what looked like a thick, flesh- colored rubber glove. He tried to move his fingers. Nothing happened.
Lockhart hadn't mended Harry's bones. He had removed them.
Madam Pomfrey wasn't at all pleased.
"You should have come straight to me!" she raged, holding up the sad, limp remainder of what, half an hour before, had been a working arm. "I can mend bones in a second - but growing them back - "
"You will be able to, won't you?" said Harry desperately. Hermione stopped pacing in order to hear the patron's verdict.
"I'll be able to, certainly, but it will be painful," said Madam Pomfrey grimly, throwing Harry a pair of pajamas. "You'll have to stay the night ... "
Hermione waited outside the curtain drawn around Harry's bed while Ron helped him into his pajamas. It took a while to stuff the rubbery, boneless arm into a sleeve.
"How do you feel Harry?" Hermione asked worriedly. "It doesn't hurt, does it?"
"No," said Harry, getting into bed. "But it doesn't do anything else either."
As he swung himself onto the bed, his arm flapped pointlessly. Hermione and Madam Pomfrey came around the curtain. Madam Pomfrey was holding a large bottle of something labeled Skele-Gro.
"You're in for a rough night," she said, pouring out a steaming beakerful and handing it to him. "Regrowing bones is a nasty business.
So was taking the Skele-Gro. It burned Harry's mouth and throat as it went down, making him cough and splutter. Still tut-tutting about dangerous sports and inept teachers, Madam Pomfrey retreated, leaving Ron and Hermione to help Harry gulp down some water.
"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 ... "
"I want to know how he fixed that Bludger," said Hermione darkly. "We can add that to the list of questions we'll ask him when we've taken the Polyjuice Potion," said Harry, sinking back onto his pillows. "I hope it tastes better than this stuff ... "
"If it's got bits of Slytherins in it? You've got to be joking," said Ron. 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 Harry. "Unbelievable flying, Harry," 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, and bottles of pumpkin juice; they gathered around Harry's bed and were just getting started on what promised to be a good party when Madam Pomfrey came storming over, shouting, "This boy needs rest, he's got thirty-three bones to regrow! Out! OUT!" And Harry was left alone, with nothing to distract him from the stabbing pains in his limp arm.
Hours and hours later, Harry woke quite suddenly in the pitch blackness and gave a small yelp of pain: His arm now felt full of large splinters. For a second, he thought that was what had woken him. Then, with a thrill of horror, he realized that someone was sponging his forehead in the dark.
"Get off!" he said loudly, and then, "Dobby!" The house-elf's goggling tennis ball eyes were peering at Harry through the darkness. A single tear was running down his long, pointed nose.
"Harry Potter came back to school," he whispered miserably. "Dobby warned and warned Harry Potter. Ah sir, why didn't you heed Dobby? Why didn't Harry Potter go back home when he missed the train?" Harry heaved himself up on his pillows and pushed Dobby's sponge away.
"What're you doing here?" he said. "And how did you know I missed the train?" Dobby's lip trembled and Harry was seized by a sudden suspicion. "It was you!" he said slowly. "You stopped the barrier from letting us through!"
"Indeed yes, sir," said Dobby, nodding his head vigorously, ears flapping. "Dobby hid and watched for Harry Potter and sealed the gateway and Dobby had to iron his hands afterward" - he showed Harry ten long, bandaged fingers - "but Dobby didn't care, sir, for he thought Harry Potter was safe, and never did Dobby dream that Harry Potter would get to school another way!" He was rocking backward and forward, shaking his ugly head. "Dobby was 'so shocked when he heard Harry Potter was back at Hogwarts, he let his master's dinner burn! Such a flogging Dobby never had, sir . ... "
Harry slumped back onto his pillows. "You nearly got Ron and me expelled," he said fiercely. "You'd better get lost before my bones come back, Dobby, or I might strangle you."
Dobby smiled weakly. "Dobby is used to death threats, sir. 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 Harry felt his anger ebb away in spite of himself.
"Why d'you wear that thing, Dobby?" he asked curiously. "This, sir?" said Dobby, plucking at the pillowcase. "'Tis a mark of the house-elf's enslavement, sir. Dobby can only be freed if his masters present him with clothes, sir. The family is careful not to pass Dobby even a sock, sir, for then he would be free to leave their house forever."
Dobby mopped his bulging eyes and said suddenly, "Harry Potter must go home! Dobby thought his Bludger would be enough to make -"
"Your Bludger?" said Harry, anger rising once more. "What d'you mean, your Bludger? You made that Bludger try and kill me?"
"Not kill you, sir, never kill you!" said Dobby, shocked. "Dobby wants to save Harry Potter's life! Better sent home, grievously injured, than remain here sir! Dobby only wanted Harry Potter hurt enough to be sent home!"
"Oh, is that all?" said Harry angrily. "I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you wanted me sent home in pieces?"
"Ah, if Harry Potter only knew!" Dobby groaned, more tears dripping onto his ragged pillowcase. "If he knew what he 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, sir! We house-elfs were treated like vermin, sir! Of course, Dobby is still treated like that, sir," he admitted, drying his face on the pillowcase. "But mostly, sir, life has improved for my kind since you triumphed over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Harry Potter survived, and the Dark Lord's power was broken, and it was a new dawn, sir, and Harry Potter shone like a beacon of hope for those of us who thought the Dark days would never end, sit... And now, at Hogwarts, terrible things are to happen, are perhaps happening already, and Dobby cannot let Harry Potter stay here now that history is to repeat itself, now that the Chamber of Secrets is open once more.
Dobby froze, horror struck, then grabbed Harry'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?" Harry whispered. "And did you say it's been opened before? Tell me, Dobby!"
He 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, sir, 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 Harry Potter must not be here when they happen - go home, Harry Potter, go home. Harry Potter must not meddle in this, sir, 'tis too dangerous -"
"Who is it, Dobby?" Harry said, keeping a firm hold on Dobby'swrist to stop him from hitting himself with the water jug again. "Who's opened it? Who opened it last time?"
"Dobby can't, sir, Dobby can't, Dobby mustn't tell!" squealed the elf. "Go home, Harry Potter, go home!"
"I'm not going anywhere!" said Harry fiercely. "Hermione will be first in line if the chamber has been opened; even if she isn't a muggle born, only we know that. I am not going to leave -
"Harry Potter risks his own life for his friends!" moaned Dobby in a kind of miserable ecstasy. "So noble! So valiant! But he must save himself, he must, Harry Potter must not -"
Dobby suddenly froze, his bat ears quivering. Harry heard it, too. There were footsteps coming down the passageway outside.
"Dobby must go!" breathed the elf, terrified. There was a loud crack, and Harry's fist was suddenly clenched on thin air. He slumped back into bed, his eyes on the dark doorway to the hospital wing as the footsteps drew nearer.
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 Harry's bed out of sight. Harry lay quite still, pretending to be asleep. He 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. He heard a sharp intake of breath.
"What happened?" Madam Pomfrey whispered to Dumbledore, bending over the statue on the bed.
"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 Potter."
Harry's stomach gave a horrible lurch. Slowly and carefully, he raised himself a few inches so he could look at the statue on the bed. 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 -"
The three 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.
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. Harry, three beds away, caught the acrid smell of burnt plastic.
"Melted," said Madam Pomfrey wonderingly. "All melted..."
"What does this mean, Albus?" Professor McGonagall asked urgently.
"It means," said Dumbledore, "that the Chamber of Secrets is indeed open again."
Harry's heart lurched. The only thoughts in his head as he heard that all surrounded Hermione and his resolve to find this so called heir only grew stronger.
