Disclaimer: I claim no rights to any of the characters contained herewithin, nor do I intend to seek profit from any use of them.
NB: This work is a single point departure from established Harry Potter canon, occurring sometime around the date of 28 October, 1992. Due to this change, events will begin to slowly diverge. In any realistic application, though, small divergence soon snowballs. So there will be an appropriate mix of similar events from the novels (if nothing would have changed their execution), differently timed events, or just situations which use objects or people already in place. Most plot elements up to the sixth book will find their way in, in some form. Of course, they might just be a skeleton from canon. There's no overarching desire to change the overall feel of the series, just to flesh things out a bit more for fun.
There are only slight differences in this first chapter, which expand to a few significant changes in the second. Then, in the third, there is a much more severe change from canon. By that point, things will have begun to be affected a lot more.
31 October, 1992
"This is going to be absolutely fascinating!" gushed Hermione, as the Golden Trio walked deeper into the bowels of Hogwarts, fulfilling a promise Harry now wished he hadn't made. They had just departed from the Great Hall, and all of the Halloween festivities there.
Ron trudged down the hallway with his two friends, a somewhat sceptical look plastered on his face at one of his friend's excitement of the matter. His other friend, Harry Potter, was quite the opposite, seeming to dread the entire situation.
Much of their journey was marked with silence, as the three descended further into a rarely used section of the Hogwart's dungeons. At least, none of the Gryffindors had been down here much, probably.
"I bet the Slytherins practically live down here! Me, well, this is the first time I've been down here besides for Potions." Ron murmured, looking around at the slightly unfamiliar walls.
Harry felt like echoing his friend's sentiment, it certainly was unusual for any of them to be down here, let alone at seven o'clock on a Saturday night. The date fit the atmosphere nicely, though.
As they continued further, an ethereal glow appeared once they rounded the bend. The bright, blue glow from hundreds of candles was thrown against the cold stone walls, casting long shadows and flickering with the numerous drafts that ran through the old castle.
In all, the atmosphere began to degrade further, plunging the three students further into the world of the dead they were entreating upon. The air began to chill, and each of the three pulled their garments tighter to bundle up. As Harry and Ron cast worrying glances towards each other, they saw the horrific visage each projected. The glow made each of them seem to take on the pale, unearthly colour they had seen in the ghosts of Hogwarts.
These thoughts were interrupted when a sound flitted into the air. Looking towards Hermione, she appeared to waver slightly, but trudged onwards with determination.
"Is that supposed to be music?" whispered Ron.
His question went unanswered as they rounded the corner, coming upon the Gryffindor ghost, who was known to most as "'Nearly-Headless' Nick".
With a flourish in one, great arcing motion, the spirit took his hat off of his ghostly head, bowing.
"My dear friends," he said mournfully, "Welcome…. Welcome… so pleased you could come…."
Within the room was an unearthly sight. This dungeon, which Hermione had said hadn't been used in at least three hundred years (according to Hogwarts, A History) was now bristling with life. Or as close to life as the dead could get, at least.
"Are all deathsday parties this… extravagant?" queried Hermione. She was somewhat taken aback at the sheer number of ghosts and ghouls and 'Whatever else they preferred to be called, there's hundreds! I'm sure they have a well-established system of nomenclature for the differences in situations for all the spirits…' she thought.
"No, not usually," pronounced Nick, in the same tone he had greeted them before, cutting off Hermione's musing. "This is quite a big event, I've been dead five hundred years now. In celebration, I invited all you see assembled here. Of course they came, seeing how momentous of an occasion this is."
His gaze flicked over the room of assembled spirits. While Nick had certainly sounded excited when he invited Harry a week ago, he didn't seem to be in quite as good of a mood as before. Though, remembering the day you died would probably take the top off your cheer, Harry figured.
The mass of ghosts, which seemed to blend into one form, swayed to the tune that they had heard down the hallway. In the crowd, Harry spotted two more of the Hogwart's ghosts, the Bloody Baron and the Fat Friar. He pointed them out to Ron, Hermione had apparently drifted off someplace else.
"What is that?" Ron gasped in horror, gesturing towards a table against the wall.
"That appears to be the food they're serving here," answered Harry, "I wonder how they taste it?"
"If you walk through it, you can just almost get a hint of it…" piped up one ghost forlornly.
Harry supposed that was right, he could almost taste the food from here, it was so rotten.
'It's good we skipped the feast to come here, otherwise we would have lost our supper.' thought Harry sarcastically, and mentally rolling his eyes.
Hermione came back, rushing somewhat, trying to hide behind Ron and Harry. At an inquisitive glance from the two, she explained.
"I'm hiding from Myrtle, Moaning Myrtle…"
"Who?" asked Ron loudly.
"Shh! Don't draw attention to us!" Hermione whispered back.
"Who?" Ron mimicked, in somewhat of a stage whisper.
"Myrtle, she's a ghost who haunts the second-floor girls' bathroom, I don't want to talk to her."
Unfortunately, the three living inhabitants were somewhat of a beacon, and the guest Hermione didn't want to meet soon drifted over to them.
"Oh, hello Myrtle." Hermione said in a falsely cheerful tone, ducking out from behind Harry. "It certainly is nice to see you about."
The bespectacled ghost gave Hermione a withering glare, "Why, I do have to get out sometimes, you know." Soon Myrtle's attention was focused on the other two in the group. "Oh! This must be Harry Potter! I would know you anywhere, with how much those girls talk about you…" she trailed off, grinning at Harry.
Feeling discomfort, he shifted around slightly, extending his hand in offering a handshake then quickly remembering he was greeting a ghost. "Er, right. Yes, I am. Myrtle, is it? Nice to meet you… This is my mate Ron, by the way." He elbowed his red-headed friend, looking at him and giving an apologizing glance, trying to deflect some of Myrtle's attention away from him.
Ron, of course, was worse under pressure than Harry, though in a different way, "You haunt a bathroom? Really?" he said it in such an incredulous tone, it was nearly impossible not to take offence.
"Well, yes." Myrtle replied sharply, "I'm rather attached to the place, it's quite lovely once you get used to it, you know. But I guess you wouldn't know anything besides Quidditch and eating, would you?"
Getting a somewhat sheepish grin from Ron only served to spur her on further, as she prepared to rip into him more.
"It's always the same with you boys, no matter how many years pass, no matter what year it is! Honestly, I…" she paused, her gaze settling behind Hermione towards the doorway and Nick. "Oh, there she is..." Myrtle drifted off, distracted.
"What's with her?" Ron asked, sounding offended.
"Honestly, Ronald. How could anyone not taken that badly, the way you said it?"
Ron and Hermione traded a few jibes back and forth before Harry spoke up, "Oh, it's another student, I wonder who they are?"
Turning towards where Myrtle went, they could clearly see the fourth living member now in the dungeon.
"Oh, I think that's Loo… Luna Lovegood, Gin told me about her once." said Ron, knowledgeable on something for the first time in a while.
"She's a first year Ravenclaw, right? I remember when she was sorted."
"Oh, right, me and Ron missed that this year…"
"'Ron and I missed that this year.', Harry." Hermione corrected.
"Right then, you two. I wonder what she's doing here? Myrtle invited her?" Upon seeing nods in confirmation from Harry and Hermione, he continued, "Merlin, I suppose she's Loony enough to come to a deathsday bash. Gin said she was a bit odd, but this much…"
"What does that mean we are then?" Harry chimed in, a mirthful grin playing across his features at Ron's expected reply.
"Oh, well, I suppose it's just… us, y'know? Like last year. We three just sorta do these things. We're nothing like her!"
"Whatever you say, mate."
Looking at Luna, Harry could see why she might be known as a bit odd. She drifted into the crowd of ghosts much like she was one of them, the turnips dangling from her ears in a mockery of earrings swayed as she walked, and her wand was precariously placed above them.
Behind Luna floated in another ghost, who Nick regained some of his fervour to greet. "Welcome, Patrick." By the time he had gotten to the other ghost's name, he lost all of the small cheer in his voice.
"Nick! It's good to see you again." Sir Patrick was very jovial. He scanned the room for a few moments, quickly settling his eyes on Ron, Hermione, and Harry. "Live 'uns!" And after a few moments, it shifted to Luna, "Four live ones-!"
With an exaggerated lurch, his head fell off, tumbled through the air, and continued the sentence, "Oh my! Four live ones, Nick! I thought this was a deathday party!"
The assembled ghosts howled with laughter, amused with Sir Patrick's antics. Soon, he joined the rest of the Headless Hunt who were present, and they began gallivanting.
The remaining time dragged on, Nearly-Headless Nick got up, tried to get attention to begin his speech, but was cut off by the revelry produced by the Headless Hunt attendees. With a somewhat offended look, he mumbled to himself a little and floated back down, sulking.
The cold seemed to intensify, and combined with their empty stomachs, they managed to convince Hermione to leave. The three somehow managed to escape from the dungeon room without anyone noticing, and they hastily made a retreat for the upper levels of the castle.
'rip… tear… kill…'
The same voice Harry had heard earlier, in Lockhart's office, resounded through the halls. Quickly, he made for the side, pressing his ear against the stone.
"What're you—"
"Shh!" he glared, closing his eyes and concentrating on the voice.
'…soo hungry… for so long…'
When a look of understanding flushed across Harry's face, Ron and Hermione's showed confusion. "Can't you two hear it? Listen!"
'kill… time to… kill…'
The voice trailed off, getting too faint to understand, but Harry could still hear the sibilant murmurings. Quickly, he detached his ear from the cold stone, rubbing it a bit to warm it up.
"It's moving! Quick, it sounded like it was going up." He quickly dashed towards the stairs leading to the Entrance Hall, leaving Ron and Hermione to attempt to catch up frantically. Three pairs of footsteps clambered up the stairway, with another, distant set resounding still through the cold dungeon halls. The deathday party's music did not reach to the stairway.
Reaching the ground floor, Harry stopped for a moment, looked around, and hearing nothing over the din coming from the Great Hall, ascended the stairs again, to the first floor. Seeing his two friends lagging behind, he shouted back to them, "This way!"
'I smell blood… I SMELL BLOOD!'
Frantic at the hurried tone of the voice, Harry bounded up the stairs once more, heading to the second floor, winding through and heading a seemingly random direction. His two friends were close behind, with confused looks on their faces. They nearly tripped when they gave one another a questioning look, then Ron and Hermione continued to follow Harry.
Suddenly, he stopped. Once Ron and Hermione had caught up to him, they began panting, somewhat winded and not running off the adrenaline their friend was. "What… was that?" Hermione managed to choke out between breaths.
Receiving no reply, she looked around, and coming across the end of the passageway, she gasped, "Look!" she pointed towards what had caught her eye.
They slowly approached the end of the passage, where the silver glow grew in intensity. It was now Harry who was slightly behind. The paint, or whatever it was on the wall, reflected off of a small puddle of water on the stone floor.
THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN
OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.
"What—" Ron began, before he stopped when he heard the low rumble of students approaching. His gaze was drawn from the petrified Mrs. Norris hanging from the light fixture, and he turned to the source of the noise—the deluge of students leaving the Great Hall at the end of the Halloween feast.
Feebly, they tried to back away as the rumble approached, and the wave stopped, silent at the sight before them. Then, a shout broke through.
"Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!"
Draco Malfoy had placed himself at the fore of the crowd, a triumphant grin plastered across his face at the sight laid before him and the rest of the school. The silence fell back, save for a few, quiet whispers.
"My cat, Mrs. Norris!" Filch pushed his way through the crowd, reaching for his companion, but not willing to touch her. He turned, wheeling upon Harry. "You! What have you done to her? You've killed her, I'll kill you!"
"Argus!"
Dumbledore and a few other teachers swept through the crowd, drawn by the same noise the caretaker was. The Headmaster quickly took Mrs. Norris down from the torch, "Come along, Argus. Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, you three follow as well. I'll have an explanation for this all." He said, all hints of the kindness taken from his words.
A bundle of dirty, blonde hair shoved through the crowd and spoke up, "Headmaster, I was with them before…"
"Very well then," Dumbledore interrupted, "I'll have you along to explain, as well Miss… Lovegood."He paused a moment before he could recall her name.
"My office is very close, Headmaster, if you would like…" Lockhart stepped forward. "It's just upstairs, a short way."
"Thank you, Gilderoy." Dumbledore said congenially, some of his trademark kindness returning, before his expression hardened once more. As he strode forward, towards the stairs, the crowd parted for him, allowing himself, Professors Snape, McGonagall, and Lockhart, Harry, Hermione, Ron, and finally Luna to pass through the crowd.
Everyone rushed to keep up with the spry old man, seemingly energised by tonight's events. They soon found themselves in Lockhart's office, the many photos of the vain man scattered from the light, hiding. The real one buzzed about, lighting his candles and banishing the darkness, as Dumbledore laid Mrs. Norris on the table, and began to examine her. He peered intently, his face close to her, occasionally he would reach out and poke some bit.
McGonagall sat back, worried, casting glares at the three Gryffindors, while Snape looked as pleased as he could be, while still somewhat neutral. Lockhart fluttered about, making odd suggestions as to the feline's ailment. Filch only wept, his sobs the only real noise, sometimes he dared to cry over Lockhart when he was speaking, and earned a glare from the Defence teach for his trouble.
The Golden Trio only sat, looking very wary. The other student, Luna, seemed to be disconnected from reality, dreamily buzzing and glancing all around the room, not at all being concerned.
With a final prod from his index finger, Dumbledore announced, "She is certainly not dead, as I'm you'll be glad to know, Argus."
"Not dead...? She's all..."
"Petrified." Snape interrupted, curling his lip.
"Yes, fortunately, as fortunate as this could be, Mrs. Norris is a victim of Petrification. I cannot, however, understand the method." said Dumbledore.
Filch turned towards Harry, glaring, "Ask him! He must have done it to her! He saw I was... he must have done it!"
"He couldn't have possibly done it, Mr. Filch." Luna said somewhat detached, as if not all there, "I was with him all throughout the feast."
"In any case, any sort of dark magic which would cause such an effect is well beyond the abilities of any second year student." announced Dumbledore with finality.
"Perhaps," Snape began, "Mr. Potter and his friends merely found themselves in the wrong place, at a rather inopportune time. Though, I would not imagine what these four would have been doing away from the feast..."
Harry sighed, somewhat relieved. He never expected to hear any words that would help him coming from Snape of all people. Even though the last sentence definitely didn't sit well.
"Professor, if I may..." Hermione interjected.
"Very well, go on then, Miss Granger."
"Thank you. Last week, Harry was invited..." Hermione began the tale behind the deathday party, with assistance from Harry, and Ron at times. Harry skipped over the voice he had heard, it sounded far too nonsensical
"And so immediately after, you three decided to forgo the remainder of the feast? I can't imagine the ghosts served palatable food..." Snape dug into the story, trying to find some point.
"We weren't hungry... sir." Ron added the last bit in a rush, and it was punctuated by the rumbling of his stomach.
"We all... wanted to go to bed." Harry said, beginning confidently, but he had deflated by the end of the sentence from the Potion Master's glare.
"So Miss Lovegood, you had said you had watched these three throughout the entire feast?" Dumbledore cleared the air, involving the fourth student that had been rushed into this office.
"From around an hour and a half ago, yes, Headmaster." Luna said, then added, "Though, I didn't see them the entire time, they were running quite a bit right before, but I certainly heard them. They definitely couldn't have done this."
Luna's gaze met Dumbledore's, and after a moment, his features softened. "Unfortunately, it seems we have lost the perpetrator. It appears these four are telling the truth."
"I want punishment, Headmaster! My cat has been petrified!" Filch howled, turning his indignant gaze towards Harry.
"Fortunately for Mr. Potter, he is innocent. Though, his reasons for coming upon the spot seem a bit flimsy." There was a pregnant pause. "Do not worry, though, Argus. Professor Sprout will be able to cure Mrs. Norris from her affliction soon. She has just received a load of Mandrakes."
The caretaker softened at this a little, but still looked angrily at the students.
The four students were soon dismissed, and went to bed, fearful of being caught in the hallways past curfew.
"...Remember the water? On the floor here?"
Ron was shuddering, Hermione had just been teasing him about a trail of spiders they had found on the second floor near the location of the attack. The three students had gone there following the most exciting History of Magic class ever—before Binns had grown exasperated with legends and myths and went back to teaching as usual.
"Oh, that was about..." Ron gathered himself, and strode over to a door, away from the wall Mrs. Norris had been found on. "Here. It was about near this door."
"That's Moaning Myrtle's toilet. No one goes in there..." Hermione added.
"Right then." Harry said, extending his hand towards the brass knob, and opening it.
The bathroom was the same design as any other. However, the sign on the door, which had proclaimed this bathroom as "OUT OF ORDER" wasn't far off. Broken tiles, sinks, and mirrors were abound. There were a few doors on the restroom stalls which were hanging by a single hinge.
Stepping forward, since she had been here before, Hermione cried out, "Hello? Myrtle, are you here?"
"Of course I'm here..." The ghost Harry had met for the first time a few nights ago spoke dejectedly, "What's to bring you here? No one ever comes in here..."
"I just wanted to show these two how... interesting of a place this is." Hermione couldn't find a good and truthful word to describe the bathroom.
"They're not girls, but..." Myrtle looked at Harry, "It is nice to have visitors sometimes. There's only been one recently, and a weeping girl isn't very good company." She frowned, but seeing the confused faces, she continued. "That other girl at the party, she came in a few days before the deathday party. She was sobbing and murmuring in that corridor right over there. Poor thing. She wasn't frightened at all when I asked her what was wrong, pretending it was all right. She seemed interested, so I ran and got Nick to invite her to his party... But I don't suppose you all just came here to chat, really, did you?"
Stepping forward, Harry shamefully admitted, "Er, no. Not quite. I was wondering if you had seen anyone unusual, around the time Mrs. Norris was found."
"I was still at the party, you know... but before then, before I went to it, I didn't see anyone anywhere near. The hallway, when I floated through it, was clear."
"Thanks, then." With nothing more to do, Harry left the bathroom, somewhat confused about what to do next. Certainly, whatever it was, it didn't involve the second floor girl's lavatory.
The trio gathered in the common room that night, working on various bits of assignments they had.
"Honestly, who would do that?" Hermione muttered, putting her Charms book down for a moment.
"Do wha?" Ron asked, confused.
"Open the Chamber of Secrets... who would want to do that? I can't find out anything: I left my copy of Hogwarts, A History at home, and the checkout list at the library has a three week wait!"
"Isn't it obvious?" Ron finally had something he had an answer for. "Who was the first one to say anything after we found Mrs. Norris? Malfoy! If it wasn't him, I'm sure one of the Slytherins did it. It has to be them. Maybe he's the one, it makes sense, y'know?"
"Malfoy... the Heir?" Unsure, Hermione added, "Well, I suppose he might be a possible suspect..."
"Anyone might be a possible suspect, besides us, as far as we know. How would we prove anything?" Harry asked.
"I don't..." Hermione paused midsentence, "There is a way." Conspiratorially, she leaned down onto the table, motioning for the other two to come closer so she could whisper. "We'd be breaking about fifty rules... but if we could get inside the Slytherin common room, and ask Malofy questions, in disguise..."
"How's that..." Ron asked in his normal voice, then quieted down, "How's that supposed to be possible? We can't just strut into the Slytherin common room."
"Remember the Polyjuice Potion?" Seeing that they didn't, Hermione continued, "Professor Snape mentioned it a few weeks ago. With a sample of say, someone's hair, it allows you to take their form for up to an hour. But it's probably really difficult to brew. He mentioned what book the recipe it was in, I looked it up: it's in the Restricted Section."
"So we just need to get a teacher to sign a form to let us take a book out that will let us transform into other people? I'll ask Snape next time in Potions, then." Harry added sarcastically.
"Well... if you put it that way..." Hermione withered, "But, suppose you were interested in only the theory, and the teacher didn't know what was in the book, besides just general potions..."
"That'd have to be a really thick teacher..." Realisation dawned over Ron's face.
"Exactly." Hermione grinned.
Soon enough, the topic diverged to their Charms work, and since Hermione soon finished, she headed off towards the girls' dormitory to go to sleep. Meanwhile, Harry and Ron remained behind in the common room, working on a Potions assignment Hermione had finished earlier in the week.
"I wonder what she was doing there..." Harry murmured, more to himself than anything.
"Huh? What who was doing where when?" Ron jumped on the chance to take a break from his essay. Even though he was already far behind schedule.
"What that girl, Luna, was doing in Myrtle's bathroom?"
"Oh, her," Ron waved his hand in the air dismissively, "Probably some loony business or something. She's absolutely nuts. And what more, her father runs The Quibbler!" Ron finished incredulously.
"The Quibbler?"
"Yeah, it's some odd little paper, always talking about some Rotfang conspiracy or Crumple Horned Whatsits or stuff. Nonsense, the lot of it. Gin says the girl's mad, everyone calls her Loony Lovegood, they do."
Harry decided to leave it at that, for now. Apparently Ron was going to be of no assistance in this matter. Soon enough, Harry and Ron finished what work they had left, and were willing to tackle for now.
The next morning found Harry in the Great Hall earlier than usual. There weren't too many students assembled yet. A few owls fluttered about, delivering the bits of mail to the people that were "crazy enough to get up this early", as Ron put it.
That reminded Harry of the conversation last night he had with Ron, about the first year which had contributed to their story on Halloween night. Looking around, he quickly found her, thanking an owl who had just delivered some magazine or something to her, it wasn't the Daily Prophet
As he approached the Ravenclaw table where she was seated, he stared at what she was reading.
'The Quibbler? Ron said he father publishes that... But why is it upside down?'
"Generally, when you walk up to someone, you greet them." Luna's voice shook Harry from his thoughts. While the words might have indicated she was perturbed, she had said them in such an airy tone that she couldn't possibly have been irritated at all.
"Ah... sorry, hullo, then."
Luna was still reading, but she nodded slightly.
"I just wanted to uh," Harry had to think about what he wanted to do, "Yes, I wanted to thank you for the other night... Halloween night, that is. Oh," he stuck out his hand, "It's nice to meet you, you're Luna Lovegood, right?"
She finally put down her magazine, her silver grey eyes swivelled and fixated themselves on his face, then traced down his arm, to the hand he extended. She looked at it warily for a moment, before taking it in one hand, and beginning to trace lines on Harry's palm with the other.
"Excuse me... what exactly are you doing?" The whole situation made him rather uncomfortable, for some reason. 'Probably a good reason.'
"Oh, I'm..." she stopped, and took his hand, shaking it, "Yes, my name's Luna Lovegood, and you're Harry Potter." She let go, and stared at him again, before breaking her gaze, shifting it towards Snape, who was entering the Great Hall and taking his seat at the table, amongst the many others who were beginning to file in. "You're welcome. Though I don't know why you're thanking me for the party, it wasn't mine."
Harry stopped, confused for a moment, "That's... not exactly what I meant. What I had meant was, 'Thank you for telling the Headmaster you had seen me—" he corrected himself," Ron, Hermione, and I that night with Mrs. Norris.'"
"Oh, that." The food had appeared on the tables, signifying the beginning of breakfast, and she began to pick and choose what to eat. "You don't need to thank me for telling the truth."
Luna left him standing there, saying nothing more. After a few moments, he realised how ridiculous he looked, and went back over to the Gryffindor table.
Ron was there, shovelling the multitude of breakfast stuffs onto his plate, before vacuuming them up in a supernatural display of eating prowess. "Hwat tha' 'bou?" he managed to choke out, the word struggling through the food.
"Huh? Oh, I was just trying to thank her for the other night." Harry began gathering food onto his plate as he sat down, in a much more restrained manner than Ron had done.
"Trying? She probably went off about those wrackspurts or somenot. She's barking," Ron animatedly leaned in for the next part, as if he was afraid someone was going to hear, "She's Loony!"
"She's not that bad," Harry relented, "She's just a bit... odd."
Ron looked at Harry like he was the odd one.
"In here," Hermione lead the way back to Myrtle's bathroom, confident they could read the book they had miraculously procured.
Myrtle was off in some corner of the room, and from the sound of it, making a tremendous noise.
"Here it is," Hermione crooned, leaning over the mouldy pages, as the two boys crowded around to get a look at the recipe. "This is an amazingly complicated potion..."
"So it's impossible then?" Ron said somewhat cheerfully, glad to find an excuse.
"No, no. Not quite. I mean, certainly, it will be a challenge to brew, and getting the ingredients will somewhat of a chore, but it's doable. I think." Hermione bit her lip uncertainly, feeling up to the challenge.
"Ingredients? Why would those be hard?" Harry had only looked over a few on the list, he recognised most of them.
"Well, see this? 'Powdered horn of bicorn', 'shredded skin of boomslang', those two will be difficult to get, I'm not entirely sure how we'll get them."
Harry nodded a bit uncertainly, scanning the list over once more, "How long is this going to take?"
"Since the fluxweed has to be picked on the full moon, and the lacewings stirred for twenty-one days... a month."
"There's nothing to do about that, then."
"I'm sure we can find those two other ingredients somewhere, and they aren't added until last, along with the bit of the person you'll transform into."
"Wait, we have to drink part of Malfoy?" Ron was shocked and disgusted. "That's it... I..."
"Oh, come on!" Hermione exclaimed, seeing the look on Harry's face as well, "I certainly don't want to have to go through all of this, especially since the only place to get these ingredients is probably within Professor Snape's private potion stores. Nor am I that enthralled to imbibe part of a Slytherin, but we're doing this to find out who's after the Muggle-Borns. I think doing that is well worth breaking a few rules and feeling a bit squeamish."
"I suss we'll go right on with it, then." Ron announced glumly, and only got nods in confirmation. "Let's go off to dinner now, I'm famished."
The next morning saw the first Quidditch match of the year, between Gryffindor and Slytherin. As expected from every match at Hogwarts, the expected turnout was going to be gigantic. And the fervour of the crowd at this particular match-up was always the most heated.
Harry was a bit nervous about the match. The entire Slytherin team was situated on brooms a model above his own stellar broom. Even though this was true, the fanatical Gryffindor Captain, Oliver Wood, would never forgive a loss, especially one against Slytherin.
The school began to slowly shuffle out of the castle around half past ten, the great migration from the remnants of breakfast to the Quidditch pitch was second only to the massive gathering of people when terms broke or resumed.
The muggy air had a hint of thunder permeating, Harry hoped it would hold until the end of the match. He made his way to the locker room of the Gryffindor team, his other teammates already there. Quickly slipping on his Quidditch robes, he prepared for the always-heated Oliver Wood pre-game pep talk.
"Right then. There's not much to say. They've undoubtedly got better brooms, but we've definitely got better people on our brooms." Wood began, "We'll just have to go out there and kick their arses! We'll show their team that the mark of a good Seeker is something other than having a rich father, right Harry?"
"Right." Harry confirmed, a bit thrown-off.
"No pressure—" George began.
"—at all." finished Fred.
The rest of the team chuckled. Wood went over a quick review of some of the tactics they had practiced in the last weeks, but was fairly confident in his team. They had worked together all of last year, so he was less worried than usual.
The team trudged their way onto the pitch, and the roar that erupted was tremendous. It seemed like three-fourths of the school cheered out.
'It's not surprising, I bet the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws are eager to see Slytherin beat as much as the Gryffindors.'
Harry watched as Wood lined up with Slytherin's Captain, Flint. When Madam Hooch prompted, they shook hands, but their eyes were locked in a gaze, and one could clearly see the tensing of their hands in a brutal handshake. They unclasped their hands and got in position with the rest of their teams.
"On my whistle..." Hooch crowed out, "One... two..."
The fourteen players rose the moment they heard the shrill, metallic sound of the whistle.
"Don't get left behind, Potter!" Malfoy darted under Harry, intent on showing of the difference in their brooms.
He was about to retort, when he swerved to one side to avoid a Bludger. Harry saw one of the twins raise a hand somewhat apologetically. Shrugging it off, Harry ascended more, intent to get a better vantage point, and to get away from the Bludgers and the Chasers.
The Bludger seemed to have other ideas, as it quickly rounded, shooting up and ascending to Harry's level, coming up from underneath him. Once more, he managed to bob out of the way.
The twins, catching sight of this, made their way, one of them swinging a bat and knocking the offending ball far to the other side of the pitch, towards one of the Slytherin Chasers. Unfortunately, it slowed, and like a rubber band, began to accelerate back towards Harry.
At this, the three Gryffindors dealing with the situation were quite flummoxed. It was quite contrary to the nature of a Bludger to behave like this, and each deflected hit by the twins only increased the unlikelihood, and also increased everyone's suspicions.
"—And Angelina misses! Rotten luck, that is."
Harry could hear the announcements of Lee Jordan still, but they were soon drowned out as the sky opened and it began to rain. At first, it was a light drizzle.
"Sly—scores ... fifty" Jordan's voice was now barely discernable over the intensifying barrage, both from the rain and the persistent Bludger.
"This is absurd!" Fred shouted, regaining his balance from a strike.
"Too right you are." George signalled to Wood for a time out, and shortly, Hooch called all the players off their brooms down towards the ground.
"What's going on?" Wood demanded, "Where were you two when that Bludger prevented Angelina from scoring?"
"We were trying to stop the other Bludger from lopping poor Harry's head off!" George shouted back. "That bloody thing's fixated on him, it's not quite right. I bet one of the Slytherins fixed it." He looked over to the Slytherin team, who were gathered and looking quite triumphant with their current sixty point lead.
"That's impossible, the balls have been locked in Hooch's office constantly. No one could have tampered with them."
"Well, there's something wrong with them!"
Hooch began drifting over, probably asking when the Gryffindor team was going to call for the match to resume.
"We can't do anything about it now," said Harry, "Fred, George, please don't worry about me, I'll handle that rogue Bludger on my own."
"You'll get your head bashed in, Harry." Fred declared.
"I'll manage somehow. Besides, I'll never get the snitch with you two buzzing about me like you were." Harry said it with a sense of finality that only Wood could properly disagree.
"I suppose we'll have to do that," Wood sighed, "If we called for an inquiry, we'd have to forfeit the game. Harry," he clasped his Seeker's shoulder encouragingly, "Stay safe."
Wood signalled to Hooch that they were ready to resume play, and on her whistle, once more the fourteen players sailed into the grey clouds, pelted by the cold November rain.
Harry weaved, bobbed, dashed, darted, and made ever sort of manoeuvre and handling he could to attempt to avoid the Bludger which wouldn't give him any room to breathe.
"Training for the ballet?" Malfoy mocked.
Harry turned towards the voice, and saw the glimmer of the snitch above Malfoy's ear. The gleam was subdued by the heavy rain, which probably also drowned out the sound of its wings fluttering, so Malfoy was unaware of its presence.
Standing there is semi-shock at the situation, the Bludger took its chance, careening into Harry's right arm. The pain seared and Harry barely maintained his balance as Draco jeered at Harry, before his face twisted into shock and confusion and Harry began to accelerate towards the blonde boy.
"What are you—" Malfoy barely began as Harry zoomed towards him, and he saw Harry's left hand relinquish its grip on his Nimbus Two-Thousand.
He could barely maintain his balance, as he attempted to reach out in one last, desperate gambit to snatch the snitch. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he was within range of Malfoy, who had turned and was attempting to get out of the way. Triumphantly, Harry's left hand enclosed the snitch, grasping and securing it.
With only his legs securing him to his broom, and leaning forward heavily, he now lost all of his balance, falling towards the wet earth.
He landed as softly as could be expected, and Harry could only feebly look up to the sky as rain dotted his already soaked glasses. Quickly, people came to his assistance, after Hooch's whistle announced the end of the game.
Through his glasses, he could make out Lockhart leaning over him, his grin present as always.
"Don't worry, Harry." Lockhart begun, looking at Harry's arm, "I'll fix this right up for you."
"Don't—" Harry shifted, but leaned on his arm as he tried to sit up, then slumped back onto the ground in pain.
"Nonsense, I've done this hundreds of times. Stand back, you lot." Lockhart motioned for the assembled people to give him some space, as he began to roll up one of his rain-soaked sleeves, seemingly in preparation for a spell.
"He really should—" Wood began, before getting interrupted.
Harry had heard the distinctive click of a camera, as he shouted out, "Please, Colin, no pictures of this."
Lockhart did an unfamiliar series of jabs and swishes with his wand, before it came to rest on Harry's right arm. Suddenly, it didn't hurt anymore.
Of course, it didn't feel like anything he really knew anymore. It felt odd.
"Wobbly. This feels—" Harry deadpanned, not sure what else he could say in this situation. He had suddenly been gifted clarity, now that the throbbing pain didn't exist anymore.
"Certainly, Harry! Your arm is no longer broken," Lockhart lowered his voice a little before adding, "Can't have a broken arm without any bones."
Harry fainted, too tired from battling the pain to care about much else right now.
"This is going to be very painful," Pomfrey began to lecture, "Honestly, I fixing a broken arm is no problem, regrowing thirty-three bones, however, is something else."
"You can do it, though?" Harry asked. He didn't look forward to a life with a right arm that felt like jelly and couldn't do anything.
"I certainly can, Mr. Potter. But it will be very painful," Pomfrey hefted a large jug with a label plastered on the side, 'Skele-Gro'. "You'll be out of here after tomorrow, though. You'll have to spend the night, I'm afraid."
Harry shrugged. He didn't expect much else different. Quidditch, while exhilarating, had an unfortunate tendency to leave him incapacitated in the Hospital Wing after matches.
"You can't certainly say anything nice about that git now, can you?" Ron asked, having just entered the Hospital Wing along with Hermione.
"It... " Hermione tried to retort, being quite unable, "At least it doesn't hurt anymore, right Harry?"
"Right." Harry leaned forward, preparing his stomach for the inevitable.
Pomfrey measured out Harry's dose of Skele-Gro, before he imbibed the concoction, nearly gagging. After it was down, he reached for a glass of water from his bed table as Pomfrey went off somewhere else. After stopping the coughs that were wracking his body, he rested his head on his pillow, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he saw the somewhat concerned faces of Hermione and Ron.
The look faded as the remainder of the Gryffindor team made their way into the Hospital Wing, triumphant but worrying visages painted across them all.
"This is some sort of a post-game retreat for you, isn't it Harry?" George asked good naturedly, knowing Harry wouldn't take offence.
"Certainly," Harry could only reply sarcastically, "I really love this place."
The other twin dashed over towards his bed, exclaiming, "The look on Malfoy's face was priceless! I wonder if Colin got a shot of it? I guess he was miffed him fixing the Bludger didn't do anything."
"I still don't know how he could have done that," Wood added, unsure, "But good flying out there."
At all the fuss, Madame Pomfrey came into the Hospital Wing, shouting at everyone crowded around Harry's bed, "You lot! Get out! Mr. Potter needs all the rest he can get tonight, to regrow that arm of his!"
Silence reigned in over the Hospital Wing once more. Soon enough, Harry fell asleep, exhausted from the day's events.
A light shuffling of fabric woke Harry up. The rain was still continuing, though it was considerably lighter now, if the splattering on the Hospital Wing's windows were any indication.
Luna sat in the chair to the right of Harry's bed, one of the crimson flags clasped in her hands. Obviously, she had been cheering along with most of the school for Gryffindor against the Slytherins. Looking around, he could see that she had probably added the weird charm thing which was now sitting on his bedside table.
Seeing that he was staring at it, trying to divine its purpose, Luna spoke up, "It's to stop the wrackspurts from going through your ears."
Harry looked around, trying to see where these mythical things were. Seeing nothing, he could only chuckle, remembering that Ron had mentioned them before.
Luna pursed her lips a bit at the chuckle, withdrawing somewhat, "They're invisible, you know. So it's no use looking around. They especially like injured people, when they're sleeping. This charm," she motioned to the gaudy decoration on the table, some amalgamation of seemingly random bits of fabric, metal, and other things, "Protects you, well, once it stays in place for long enough. But don't worry, it doesn't take that long, and you're safe from them now."
"How long have you—?"Harry began, before getting cut off.
"Not long at all. Good bye" Luna quickly got up, and strode off. It was still only the late afternoon, but it was dreadfully quiet now.
Harry was somewhat afraid he had offended her. Deciding there was little else he could do at the time, he drifted back, pain from the bone regrowth beginning to grow in intensity.