If you're reading this, much love. People automatically judge you on appearance, usually starting with your shoes. People also, for some reason, psychologically find the word 'duck' automatically funny, without context. Wanna make someone smile? Wear duck shoes.

Also, kind reminder that the only way I can improve is through feedback. Reviews are the best way to say, "hey, you're doing great, this story great, but I think A.) could've been handled better, or B.) doesn't make sense.

…

As James spent time on his new batch of Replication Potion, Hermione spent her free time hunting down the recipe for the Polyjuice potion. James and Harry felt the strain of their respective Quidditch teams, as their seasons were set to start. Professor Lockhart had abstained from bringing living creatures into his class after the incident that saw the destruction of his classroom. Instead, and to James's absolute delight, he had turned to postulating anecdotes from his heroic past, giving James time to sleep in his class. As an unintended side effect, Harry had been turned into Lockhart's pet against his will, forced to act out scenes from Lockhart's book. James had flat refused Lockhart when he tried to make him do the same and pushed him to use one of the female members of the class to do it instead. It was humiliating for Harry, having to act as a yeti, vampire, werewolf, and banshee, and he was only spared from the endless teasing of his brothers by fact that Ravenclaws didn't have Defense Against the Dark Arts with Gryffindors.

Ginny Weasley, however, was not spared from their teasing wrath. They caught her trying to spy on Harry when he was down at Hagrid's hut one weekend, and dubbed her Secret Agent Weasley, Potter Inspector. Their quips were relentless, and while it never turned into bullying, Percy Weasley had branded it as such and tried to punish them, causing backlash in the form of the Weasley twins taking up the cause and escorting Ginny in between classes, proclaiming her to be the "Head of the Twins Potter Fan Club," proclaiming she was taking applications. Naturally, some clueless people took it seriously, and the first person to ask her to join was the mousy blonde haired First Year Colin Creevey.

Kiara, it seemed, had truly decided to once again become a permanent fixture within their group again. She joined them on a joint prank with the Weasley twins that saw the entirety of the Great Hall painted purple and green. The truly epic evening ended with an all-night party in the kitchens, being served heaps of dessert and pumpkin juice by the friendly house elves working within. Brian and Travis had officially taken her under their wing, and along with James, had started to get her out of her shell, at the very least. She even joined in on their teasing of Harry and Ginny, to an extent.

It was the end of the first week of November when Hermione came up to James, Harry and Ron in tow, as he settled in at the Ravenclaw table to eat dinner. Piling roasted lamb and vegetables on his plate and swapping the disgusting pumpkin juice in his goblet for apple, James barely spared her a glance as she sat across from him. The Ravenclaws were used to the two groups eschewing norms and didn't spare the Gryffindor a second glance. Tucking in, he acknowledged her presence and offered Hermione a bite of meat.

"I found it," she declared, pushing the offered forkful of meat out of her way.

"First of all, rude," James muttered as he shoved the morsel in his mouth. "Second of all, maybe not here, where everyone can hear?"

"Most Potente Potions," she continued, ignoring his request. "Had Lockhart sign off on the request to check it out."

James, Travis and Brian choked on their food, while Ron and Harry laughed.

"I take back what I said," Ron wheezed as a piece of carrot went down the wrong pipe. "There is a professor here that is that thick!"

Hermione, Kiara, and the surrounding females didn't share in their mirth, as they all sighed dreamily at the mentioning of the doltish professor's name. Rolling his eyes, James gulped down his juice. Shaking his head, he kept eating while Hermione continued.

"We're going to the library to check it out now."

James gave her a betrayed look. "Between practice, the workout schedule Travis has me on, and running away from Lockhart, I haven't really had a lotta time to, y'know, eat. You know, the process of fueling the body?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and grabbed his arm, half dragging him across the table and causing him to bump into Morag MacDougal, a tall, broad shouldered, dark brown haired girl in their year. " Stop being grouchy. I know you have connections in the kitchen, come on!"

Giving Morag an apologetic look for spilling her pumpkin juice, James was left with little choice but to follow Hermione to the Library, the rest of the group trailing behind. Begging for help from anyone who would listen and given only laughs or teases in return, James resigned himself to being hauled off on the foolish, idealistic crusade to the library. Hermione told him and the rest to wait outside. She returned ten minutes later to James, nursing his pride and empty stomach while venting to Kiara, while Ron, Travis, Harry and Brian played a game of exploding snap.

"C'mon," Hermione commanded, leading the warpath to somewhere new. Shaking their collective heads, they followed her on her march, and ended up at the second floor girl's bathroom.

Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

James fondly reminisced about Kitteekrak, the feline narcotic he, Fred, and George created and brewed last year. The images of Mrs. Norris, shaved and stuffed into a heinous sweater brought back fond memories of the stupid cat bouncing into walls and stumbling down stairs and being soothed by an angry Filch demanding justice and punishment to a student body dying of laughter. James was brought out of his reverie by the shrieks of Moaning Myrtle, who wasn't all that pleased to see a large group of seven preteens in her sanctuary.

"What are you all doing here," she demanded between angry sobs and hiccups.

James didn't skip a beat. "Shut your mouth, get in the bend of your toilet, and don't listen to anything that is discussed in this room while we are here, or I'll bribe Peeves to harass you daily."

Her face screwed into agony and she loosed a high pitched wail before diving back into her toilet, covering half the bathroom in water. Moving to avoid the wet areas, the group moved in and made themselves at home while Hermione sat on a closed toilet. Setting the large, dusty book on her lap, she started scanning over the pages, wrinkling her nose. Taking a peek, James could understand why. The stained, damp-spotted and yellowed pages featured vile potions with graphic illustrations of their effects. One was a poisonous concoction that made the drinker's hair turn into a venomous spider that attacked them with it's dripping fangs. Another made arms sprout from the drinker's head and beat them, James assumed, to death. As Hermione thumbed through, he found it odd that included in the text was helpful recipes for things like laxatives, burn creams, and dragon venom antidotes.

"Harsh," Harry critiqued, elbowing James and nodding towards Myrtle's toilet. "Who is she, again?"

James shrugged. "Meh, not in the mood to be diplomatic with unruly ghosts. Moaning Myrtle, you remember her from the Deathday Party? She's a ghost of a student who died in this bathroom around fifty years ago. Got to be real chummy with her last year when Fred, George, and myself were brewing Kittiekrack for Mrs. Norris. Myrtle… she, uh… she was murdered, from what I heard."

"I… see," Harry finally said with a quirked eyebrow.

"It was horrible!" Myrtle shrieked from the bend of the toilet she was hiding in, her voice bubbling from talking through water. She popped her head out of the toilet and gave them all a wicked grin, sending even more water splashing to the floor. "Wanna hear about it?"

"No thanks," Ron answered, waving his hands and balking, making Myrtle cry again and retreat back into the plumbing.

Hermione 'aha'd!' when she found the recipe for polyjuice potion, and both her and James's eyes bulged as they read the ingredients. James felt faint as he read further down at the instructions. Hermione wasn't lying when she said it had a long brew time. This would take almost a month!

"How do you suppose we find these ingredients and brew this thing before Christmas break?" James asked incredulously.

"A whole month!" Ron scoffed. "Malfoy-" James shot him a look- "-Or whoever, could have attacked half the school by then!"

Hermione shot him a look of her own, and he held his hands up in defeat. "But this is the best plan we got, so, hey, full steam ahead, I say. Go team."

James shook his head. "Right. So. Again, how do you intend on getting this done before Christmas?"

"That is where you and-" she pointed at Travis, Brian, and Kiara, looking like the mere thought of what she was about to say gave her indigestion. "Them come in. Most of the ingredients are easy to come by, but... I can't believeI'm saying this, but I need you to... steal the more... rareitems we need."

Travis and Brian almost leapt for joy at the thought of raiding Snape's personal stores, while Kiara looked queasy, still new to the whole troublemaking thing. James shook his head. He and the boys were good, great even. Never have they ever pulled something like this off before, though, and he knew Snape from his visit with the professor earlier this year that he kept a tight fist on his stock. He was sure to know how much of everything he had, and this would most assuredly land them on Snape's list. Snape would know exactly who had raided his closet, after all.

"That's a big ask, 'Mione," James protested, shaking his head. "Snape keeps real close track of what he's got, and not many in the student body have the capacity to pull a raid in his lab off. He'd instinctively peg us as the thieves."

"Well, do you have any other suggestions? Because I, for one, don't know where else to find boomslang skin or extra bicorn horn."

James winced; he had used the last bit of bicorn horn he'd stolen from Uncle Remus the other night for his own project.

"How long until we need the rarer ingredients?"

"The sooner, the better," Hermione answered, pointing at the third step. "If I start tonight, I'd need them in at least a week, at the latest. That would give us just enough time to finish it before break. All we would need then is a bit of whoever we're turning into."

A collective roar of disgust filled the loo. Utterances of not wanting to ingest Crabbe and Goyle's toenails or Pansy Parkinson's skin flakes erupted, and Hermione shushed them all. "Seriously, you only need a bit of hair. And keep quiet! Ron, remember the last time Percy caught us in here? You two still aren't speaking to each other!"

Ron turned red in rage and grumbled. Harry patted him on the back soothingly while James paced across the lavatory, deep in thought. He would gladly steal the ingredients they needed from Snape, for the sake of the greater good. However, he wasn't quite so ready to deal with the consequences. Writing home to mom and dad would be a wash. Mom was, for all intents and purposes, a Potions Master in her own right and a goodie-too-shoes to boot; she'd have a good idea of what he was asking for and why and probably wring his neck first chance she got. Dad, on the other hand, knew his trouble-making ways all too well and would assume too much.

Or, worse yet, ask questions.

Uncle Remus had a dedicated, fully stocked lab for experiments at his lab in Sirius's house, as well as a good store with him in his briefcase, which was how James had come into possession of the bit of bicorn horn he had to begin with. The old dog knew its uses as well, and wasn't keen on letting his own stores go for no good reason other than his up-to-no-good nephew and godson asked for it. That only left one other person to go to...

James snapped his fingers decisively. "'Mione, gimme a few days. And I have terms."

She looked at him in shock and horror, knowing what was coming.

"We want in on the operation. We can be in charge of operational security, making sure everything goes to plan and word of it doesn't get out. We too get to turn into Slytherins and infiltrate their common room. I want a vial of the leftover Polyjuice potion. Also, I want to copy some of the recipes, including the Polyjuice, in that book."

"Absolutely not!"

James held his hands up. "Not any of the stupid dangerous ones, just the useful ones."

"Useful to sow chaos!"

"How the heck does magical burn creams sow chaos? Do you want my help, or not?"

"..."

"I'll take that as a yes. Now, if I can't get the ingredients my way, we'll raid Snape's stores and steal all the ingredients your nerdy little heart desires."

Ron snorted. "And here I thought stealing them would'vebeen 'his way.'"

…

That evening, James made his way to the Ravenclaw commons with an envelope and officious looking letter parchment in one hand, Kiara's shoulder in the other. The parchment, stolen from Flitwick's office, was a blank sheet formatted automatically to be used as formal mail correspondence, officious and ornate patterning lining the edges of the page in gold and black. Brian and Travis trailed behind, talking about the scores of the last New York Giants game. Hardly paying the eagle any attention, James muttered a quick answer to its ridiculous riddle and swept into the near empty room. Plopping her down at a desk, he slapped the letter down in front of her, then fishing out and handing her a pen from his bag.

"Why do I have to write this letter? Can't you write your own uncle?"

James shook his head. "I write chicken scratch, and besides, Mom and Dad will recognize ourhandwriting. We need this to be between us and Uncle Sirius, and that means we can't have our parents accidentally reading it if they think its from us. You also have the neatest, best handwriting of all of us."

She sighed and deflated in defeat. Picking up the quill and dipped it into ink, looking at him, expectantly. "I don't have all night, so let's get this over with."

"Alright," James rubbed his hands together. "Start with the letterhead."

Dean Portland

2nd Level, The Chicken Coop, Scotland

Dear Mr. Black,

Long time, no see, old friend. How's life on your end? I sincerely mourn every moment spent away from your beautiful Italian Model; she truly does purr, as you describe. I hope to go for another ride with her soon, if you catch my meaning. Things are going well here in the Institute, our work is going well. Things are looking dire on the safety department, however, as I'm sure you may have heard; we're working hard to get to bottom of these issues, as I'm sure you already know. We have come across a possible chemical solution to the little problem, which is why I'm coming to you and your wealth of resources. If you could provide a parcel of bifurcated horn, and a goodly amount of the skin of that bang-slur creature you are so infatuated with, I would be most obliged. Discretion, is, of course, preferable. If you could send the package to the Owlery with your own deliverer, rather than straight to me or the Chicken Coop, I'd be truly in your debt.

May the Sun forever light your face, Old Friend, Til We See Each Other Again,

Your Dearest Friend, Mr. Portland

P.S. I solemnly swear the items I request will be used for no good.

James folded the letter neatly after blowing the ink dry gently. Stuffing it into the envelope, he stamped it shut.

"Why does it feel like I just wrote a coded message?"

"Cuz you did," James drawled with a shrug, tucking the letter into his bag. "It's how we keep our family correspondences secret if nosy reporters or pesky parents nab letters we don't want them reading."

"So what does all of this even mean? Italian model? That sounds so wrong."

"That's one of his cars," Travis explained, loopy grin on his face. "A '67 Bizzarrini Europa. Thing's a freaking dream..."

…

Sunday was set to be the season opener for Quidditch. Gryffindor was taking on Slytherin and their swanky new Nimbus 2001's, and with the exception of the ever merry Gred and Forge, the Gryffindor team looked sick as they ate breakfast together in silence. The cloudy, storm threatening sky was mirrored by the weather charm in the Great Hall's ceiling, and while Harry was trying to just get himself through the day, James happily munched on toast as he read an odd book about magical cultures in other countries.

By eleven, the entirety of the school had made their way to the pitch, and James was forced by Roger Davies to sit with the rest of the Ravenclaw team with orders to use his observational skills to find the other team's patterns and weaknesses. Rolling his eyes, James begrudgingly agreed and put his book down to watch the opening ceremonies. The stadium was filled with roars from Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw students desperate to see Slytherin beaten, mixed with the utterly ridiculous and cliched hisses and boos of said opposing house.

Madam Hooch marched to the center of the pitch and had to force Wood and Flint shake hands as the two snarled at each other. She was giving them her cliched "good clean game," speech, which even she knew fell on deaf ears, and proceeded to start releasing the balls. The Bludgers flew out of the box and started orbiting the field while the Snitch tore off and disappeared in the gloomy skies. Taking the Quaffle in hand, she motioned for all players to take their positions, and Wood tore off to his goal posts while Angelina Johnson took his place facing off against Flint. Silence befell the pitch as tensions became thick, and with a sharp whistle, the Quaffle was thrown up in the air...

Straight into the hands of Flint, whose broom was infinitely faster than anything the Gryffindors fielded. Tearing off towards the Gryffindor posts, he feinted a shot to the left before tossing the dimpled ball upwards, into the hands of Adrien Pucey, who took his shot to the right before Wood could compensate. Roars and boos filled the stadium as Slytherins hissed in their weird celebratory way.

The game proceeded like this for thirty minutes, as the Slytherins flew circles around the Gryffindor Chasers. Fred and George's play was the only saving grace, as their harmonious and tuned in gameplay created an iron clad defense once they got an idea of the Slytherin's flight patterns, and the game became a defense deadlock with the score 70-10 in Slytherin's favor. Harry and Draco Malfoy had become desperate, searching for the snitch with keen eyes.

Keen eyes, that is, until Fred batted a Bludger hard at Malfoy, and came within feet of hitting the ferret before it suddenly and randomly veered off course from his rat face and barreled towards Harry instead. Bug eyed, the raven haired seeker took off, trying to shake the rogue Bludger and failing as it tore after him. Fred and George tried to bat it away, but each successive hit only seemed to make it redouble it's efforts.

After about a minute, and three more Slytherin goals, Wood became enraged and called a timeout. A heated argument between Wood, Harry, and the twins took place. The Slytherin's, cocksure of their victory, didn't bother huddling up and sat on their brooms, midair, guffawing at the supposed division amongst their opponents. Finally, Hooch called an end to the timeout and ordered all players in the air. Play resumed, and so did Harry's woes.

James marveled at his twin's gutsy evasion, bolting off into the sky and pirouetting, before falling back to the ground in a sort of stall maneuver. What happened next made James, and the collective crowd, cringe. Harry had caught sight of something by Malfoy, who was jeering and insulting Harry instead of doing his job, and the one second Harry had taken resulted in the Bludger hitting his arm right below the elbow. The snap could be heard across the pitch, and Harry's arm whipped back in grotesque fashion towards his back as he was almost swept from his broom mid-flight. He managed to hold on with a leg and his left hand, and before the Bludger could swing around he tore off at Malfoy, who had gone from laughing at Harry to looking frightened. With a valiant leap, Harry jumped over Malfoy as his broom slammed into the hapless Slytherin, catching a signature golden orb and falling to the earth in a crumpled, pain filled heap.

The Bludger, not to be outdone, barreled through Malfoy by way of his broom, shattering the stick into so many splinters, peppering him with shrapnel and slammed him in the crotch on its way to Harry's sprawled out form. Fred was already there in front of Harry, and with a flourish of his wand, bombarded the brigand sphere, causing it to explode much the same way Malfoy's broom had. James had already leapt from his seat, and followed by many, including the Ravenclaw team and Hagrid, tore down the pitch to his brother. Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell were already landed at his side, helping him up as gently as they could despite his wincing at being moved.

"Dude," James hollered, not concerned a bit and shooing everyone back. "That was amazing! You caught the Snitch and owned Malfoy in the 'nads! With one arm literally behind your back!"

"That's great," Harry whimpered, nursing his arm, which was permanently stuck in a backwards angle, wrist almost parallel to his shoulder. The sight of it made more than a few onlookers sick. James guessed the idiots were now probably thinking twice about storming the pitch.

"Ah, don't worry about that," James shushed him, taking his brother from the Chasers and gently putting his around Harry's left shoulder. "Pomfrey'll have it fixed in a New York Minute."

Harry held up the Snitch as they marched, to everyone's cheers and applause. "Ah," he moaned doing so, as they found a low spot in the pitch that jerked his broken arm slightly. "'Least we won, I guess."

"Gryffindor would be nothing without you," James soothed, laughing, before stopping their march and looking on in horror at the gleaming teeth looking down upon them.

"Not him," Harry muttered painfully. "Please, God, anyone but him."

This earned chuckles from the boys and derisive comments from the girl students surrounding them as Lockhart strutted up to them.

"Poor boy doesn't know what he's saying," Lockhart scoffed with a blinding smile, waving his comment off. "He's in such pain! Not to worry, Harry, I'll have you fixed in a jiff."

"Please don't," Harry and James chorused, James using his free hand to draw his wand slowly. A familiar clicking noise started going off that distracted James, who shot a mean look at the culprit.

"Creevey! What the hell, man, nobody wants a photo of this!"

Wood shoved the hapless first year, clueless to the presence of Lockhart, and came up to his star player. "Excellent catch, Harry! Great form and doing so while being chased by a cursed Bludger! Your best performance yet. Let's get you to the infirmary, eh?"

"Great idea, Wood," James praised maniacally, flicking his gaze at Lockhart, trying to get Wood to notice the lavender robed professor.

"Ah, that won't be necessary, Mr. Wood, I'll have your star player fixed up in no time!" Lockhart decreed as he moved forward.

"That won't be necessary," James begged as he tried to shield his twin from the moron's wand. "We really ought to have him evaluated medically for underlying-"

"Hogwash!" Lockhart boasted, pulling James from Harry and pointing his wand at Harry's arm. Before James could react, Lockhart chanted, "Bracchium amendo!"

"No!" James screamed as Harry, left with little choice, turned his head away and squeezed his eyes shut. James watched in fascinated(scholarly) horror as Harry's arm, starting from the shoulder, deflated and started to look like a limp, rubbery noodle. "You idiot! You didn't mend his bones, you hexed them away!"

Harry turned and looked at his arm in sickened interest, He swung his torso back and forth, making his arm flail uselessly back and forth like a perverted form of whip. James took his boneless hand and flipped it backward at the wrist to where it lay flat against his forearm before letting go, watching it spring back and wiggle uselessly.

Turning a venomous glare to Lockhart, who had taken a step back and begun sputtering, "Well, yes,-that-that's been know to happen-couldn't foresee-very rare-See, at least now his bones are very, very clearly… not broken."

"Not broken," Hagrid seethed in his booming voice. "He ain't got any bonesleft!"

"Yes, well-" Lockhart shrugged bashfully, moving to grab Harry.

"Get. Out. Of. Our. FACE!" James thundered, charging at Lockhart with wand in hand. Fred and George held the scrawnier Potter back by his waist and lifted him in the air, causing him to tread his feet uselessly while Lockhart ambled backwards, almost falling if not for the students behind him supporting him. "I'll have your job for this! At the expense of sounding like a Malfoy, but just you wait until my dad hears what you did! You're dead meat, Lockhart!"

At the proclamation of the elder Potter, Lockhart went pale and all but bolted from the pitch. Sneering, James shook off the twins and once again supported Harry, who looked green and close to passing out. Trudging through the now silent crowd, Harry laughed oddly. "'Least it don't hurt anymore."

…

Madam Pomfrey was... less than pleased. James sat by Harry's bed, he and Ron holding his boneless arm up as a makeshift support while the nurse tottered around fitfully looking for slings and supports and potions. Malfoy, who had minor splinters across his chest, legs, and groin, writhed in dramatic fashion and moaned in exquisite but fake pain, playing up his injury to his gang and especially Pansy Parkinson, who fawned over him like a grieving widow. James scoffed and rolled his eyes at the shameless ferret, who mercifully was placed in a bed on the opposite side of the infirmary.

"You should've come straight to me," she admonished Harry, James, Travis, and Brian as she came up to Harry's bed, arms full of medical supplies.

"I tried," Harry insisted. "Lockhart wouldn't take no for an answer."

The old woman scoffed and rolled her eyes. "That dumbling oaf couldn't Charm his way out of a wet paper bag, the over inflated pigiron," she muttered as she started to loop Harry's arm with a triangular bandage. "I can fix a broken arm with a pain potion and snap of my wand, but regrowing bones..."

"You can do it, right!?" the four students chorused desperately.

"Of course I can," she spat as she tied the bandage around his neck, securing Harry's arm into a natural resting position across his chest. "It's just... it's going to be a painful evening for you, dear."

Harry gulped.

"And I can't use a pain potion to help you, it'd interfere with the Skele-Gro, so you're going to be in for a long, hard night."

Harry followed her instructions, and was drinking the acrid, acidic Skele-Gro potion when the rest of the Gryffindor team and their parents arrived. Apparently, McGonagall had gotten a hold of James Sr. and Lily and had informed them of what happened. The Quidditch team tried to bullrush to Harry's bed, but between the looks they received from Pompfrey and James Sr., they deflated and shirked away, giving Harry well wishes and congratulations but keeping their distance. The twins' mother wheeled up to Harry with a sympathetic look while James Sr. motioned to his other twin to follow him before leading the way out of the medical wing.

"Tell me everything," he seethed, fixing James Dean with a withering stare.

…

The entire castle could hear the hollering from Dumbledore's office. James Sr. cursed and decried every decision Dumbledore had made since the start of the term, and every time Dumbledore had responded, he was met with a fresh set of demands to have Lockhart removed from the school. James, Travis, and Brian were perched in the main stairwell closest to the entrance to the Headmaster's office, popping popcorn pilfered from the kitchens with their wands and snickering every time their father unleashed a new torrent of roars. Brian almost fell off the banister when Lockhart tried to stammer a defense and James Sr. unloaded on him, calling him everything under the sun from a completely incompetent moron to the devil incarnate himself, all the way to home-wrecking son of a- OPE SORRY THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE FAMILY FRIENDLY.

"What does he mean by home wrecker?" Brian asked, rubbing his chin. "Does Mom and Dad have a history with Lockhart?"

"It's entirely possible," Travis muttered, shaking his head. "Remember back at the book store before term started? Dad was gassedabout him."

"Yeah," James muttered, as he pulled his school bag up and opened it. Suddenly remembering Snape giving him his mother's old diary, he pulled the leather-bound book and contemplated opening it. The other two looked at it but didn't say anything. James seriously considered giving it to his mother, waiting for their parents to leave Dumbledore's office and just give it back...

But something told him not to. A gut feeling.

"C'mon, lets get back to the common room," James finished, shoving the journal into his bag and squaring his shoulders. "We all know Lockhart's not getting fired anytime soon, so... I have an idea on how to make him look absolutely terrible."

…

Harry slept fitfully and had shaken himself awake in the wee hours of the morning when large, sharp spears of pain started running up and down his arm. Sweat rained from his pores like rain and he jerked himself upright to nurse his regrowing arm. Somebody had been on his chest, however, and was sent tumbling, an 'eep!' ringing out through the empty infirmary, and Harry almost fell out of bed.

"Dobby?" he asked, startled. "You're Dobby, aren't you?"

"Harry Potter!" the small house elf wailed, looking up at him fearfully with goggily, tennis ball eyes. The elf's long, pointed ears whipped back in submission, and the creature shrank into himself, cradling his chest with his twig-like arms. A fat, cloudy tear traced a line down his long nose. "Harry Potter and his brothers came back to school, even when Dobby warned them not to! Why didn't Harry Potter take his brothers home when he missed the train?"

"How did yo-" Harry cut himself off, eyes darting to the elf in suspicion. "You. You did it!"

Dobby nodded with conviction, holding his hands up, showing off bandages. "I hid and waited for the Potter Brothers to come. I sealed the gateway before you could get on! I had to iron my hands for doing so," he explained, wiggling his scarred fingers. "But Dobby doesn't care, sir, because Dobby thought you would then be safe. Dobby didn't even believe the Potter brothers would find some other way..."

The elf rocked back and forth, thinking about what he would say next. "Dobby was so shocked to hear Harry Potter had made it to Hogwarts, Dobby burned Master's dinner and was flogged!"

"You nearly got my Dad fired," Harry seethed. "And Ron's dad is now in big trouble because of what you did. You'd better clear out before my bones-" Harry winced as he had tried to move, causing his arm to erupt into pins and needles. "-Before I bloody strangle you!"

"Dobby is used to threats, sir," Dobby replied tacitly, not fearful in the least. He then blew his snotty, tear brimmed nose on the corner of a pillow case that served as his smock. It looked like rags. "Those are a daily occurrence for Dobby."

Harry scoffed, shaking his head and sneering. "Why do you wear that filthy thing, anyways? Your Master can't afford to but you real clothes?"

"Tis a mark of my people," Dobby explained, dabbing at his eyes with the opposite corner of his pillowcase. "If Dobby was presented with real clothes, Dobby would be freed from servitude. Dobby's family is careful not to so much as pass Dobby a sock, sir."

Harry scoffed, his harsh demeanor softening a bit as pity overtook anger. "Can't believe some people... Treating living beings this way..."

Dobby erupted into wails at his words, mumbling something about Harry's grace and dignity and honestly, Harry blurred out on his words because the elf had crawled up on the bed and had taken hold of his bad arm, burying his face into it, using it as a handkerchief for his tears and sending Harry into ungodly amounts of pain and suffering. As Harry tried to regain control of his senses, Dobby let go and backed off, a rod forming in his spine.

"Harry Potter mustreturn home," he declared. "Dobby thought his Bludger would be-"

"YourBludger!?" Harry thundered, cradling his bad arm. "Are you saying you did this, too? You almost killed me!"

"Not kill, Harry Potter! Never kill! Just injury enough to make Harry Potter leave Hogwarts!"

"That it?" Harry raged, turning his body away from the elf. "Your plan involved sending me home in pieces!"

Dobby refreshed his stream of tears and prattled off on a monologue about what Harry Potter and his brother meant to the Wizarding world, and the downtrodden in the society, but Harry blocked him out as he pondered what to do with this elf that had just admitted to plaguing him since summer. Inflict pain was high on the list of what he wished he could do, but it was obvious he could teleport, so Harry wouldn't be able to physical hurt him. His wand was with his clothes, and Pomfrey had taken them into storage, so that was a bust.

Insults? Wouldn't phase him, as he said himself, his master threatened him daily and would mean little to him.

It dawned on Harry that the only way to get Dobby off his back was... Harry didn't want to go there.

"... Terrible things are about to happen, Harry Potter!" Dobby preached as Harry finally started listening to him again. "History is set to repeat, now that the Chamber of Secrets is open again-"

"The what?" Harry gasped, looking bug eyed at the elf. "So it is real! And it was opened previously! What do you know?"

"Bad Dobby!" he screeched, grabbing Harry's water jug off the bedside table and bashing his face with it. He careened off the side of the bed, and moments later, crawled back up and sat down, cross legged, by Harry's hip. "hic- Harry Potter and his brothers are in danger, he must believe Dobby!"

Harry shook his head. "James and I aren't even muggleborn, Dobby," Harry explained. "If the monster only targets muggleborns, why are we in danger? Who opened it? And why?"

"Please, sir, ask Dobby no more," Dobby murmured, holding his bandaged hands over his ears. "Dobby cannot speak ill of his masters! Dark days are ahead, filled with dark deeds carried out by dark men with dark hearts, and Harry Potter would best not meddle with such things! You must go home!"

"I'm not going anywhere! One of my best friends is muggleborn, which puts her at the top of this thing's list! You have to tell me, who opened-"

"So valiant!" Dobby cried, in odd mixture of ecstasy and misery. Dobby went off again on another monologue about how selfless Harry was, and Harry briefly considered rethinking the whole not strangling plan. The elf was clearly unstable, and Harry pondered if he could even trust the elf's words at all. Harry was shaken from his thoughts, and Dobby from his speech, when the sound of a door banging open and hurried footsteps filled the infirmary. "Dobby must go!"

With a snap of his fingers, he was gone, and Harry quickly pulled his covers back over himself and pretended to be asleep, facing the entrance. Soon, Dumbledore, followed quickly by McGonagall, appeared as they were hefting what looked like a statue of a child holding his hands in front of his face. As they neared his bed, Harry could see it was Colin Creevey, camera in hand, and that he was petrified, much like Mrs. Norris had been. His face, which Harry could see at the angle he was laying, was wrenched in horror, eyes wide and mouthed pulled back in a silent, permanent scream.

Harry's gut twisted as they hauled him three beds away from his.

"Professor," Dumbledore asked quietly, breathlessly. "One of yours?"

"Yes," McGonagall replied, voice just as low as to not disturb Harry's supposed rest, lips pursed in a thin, concerned line. "Colin Creevey, a first year. Muggleborn. Gathered him up before start of term and explained everything to his parents myself... I told them Hogwarts was safe…"

Dumbledore patted her shoulder. "Go get Madam Pomfrey."

As McGonagall hurried off, Dumbledore focused down on Creevey, nose close to his face much like the night of the Mrs. Norris incident. He muttered something to himself, barely audible. He didn't bother using his wand for anything, just looked at Colin and murmured, as if taking mental notes to himself. Within minutes, Pomfrey was led into the infirmary by McGonagall, and Dumbledore looked over at Harry, who had his eyes open just enough to watch, pretending to be asleep. The wizened old headmaster gave him a sly grin and winked as if he knew Harry was awake.

"Madame Pomfrey," he then greeted the grandmotherly nurse gravely. "It would appear we have another petrification. A student."

She nodded mournfully as she swept up to Colin's body, going into full care-mode, looking him over. She swept her wand over his body, casting some kind of diagnosis spell or something, before declaring: "No injuries, no other evidence of any other medical maladies. He's just... suspended. Not dead, but not alive, either..."

"It appears he was trying to take a picture of what was attacking him," Dumbledore pointed out, motioning towards the camera held in front of Colin's face.

"Did he take one?" McGonagall asked hopefully.

"Only one way to find out," Pomfrey surmised, opening the back of the camera to get to the film. As she did, however, the film sparked and fizzed, leaving a smoldering husk and wisps of smoke behind. The infirmary filled with the smell of acrid, burnt plastic and ozone. "Good gracious!" Pomfrey exclaimed, jerking away from Creevey.

"What does this mean, Albus?" McGonagall queried, looking worried. "What kind of magic can petrify a person so totally and permanently?"

"Hmm," Dumbledore breathed, looking pensive. "Not a whole lot of suspects. I wonder... yes. I think I shall continue my quest for that hot chocolate."

The two women deadpanned at him. "Really, Headmaster?" Pomfrey harrumphed, giving him an undignified look.

"Yes, quite serious," Dumbledore replied breezily, tapping a long finger to his forehead. "Helps soothe the greatest of nerves, I assure you. With the Chamber being open again, I'd say we all will need soothing."

Pomfrey clapped a hand over her mouth in shock, and McGonagall, ever tall, ever firm, ever straight backed and lock-shouldered, deflated, looking almost defeated.

"Then it is as we feared... but who could it be, Albus?"

"I fear the greater question isn't who," Dumbledore shifted his eyes from Creevey to Harry, a glimmer of worry in his eyes breaking his carefree facade. "But how."

In the dark, Harry could barely make out McGonagall's face too well, but from the way she tilted her head and shifted, he could tell she was just as clueless as to what the headmaster was talking about as he was.