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, impossibly sharp needles. For a moment, he thought that's what had woken him. Then, with another yelp, this one 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 buggy eyes were peering at Harry through the darkness. A lone tear was traveling its way down Dobby's nose.
"Harry Potter stayed at school," Dobby whispered sadly. "Dobby warned and warned Harry Potter. Ah sir, why didn't you heed Dobby? Why didn't you stay home when you were portkeyed there?"
Harry sat up quickly and pushed Dobby's sponge away. "What are you doing here? How do you know I was portkeyed to the Dursleys'?"
Dobby's lip trembled and Harry narrowed his eyes. "You! You portkeyed me there! I told you! That is not my home!"
Dobby shrunk himself down. "Dobby is sorry, Harry Potter. Dobby knows that Harry Potter is safer when he is at his home."
"Yes," Harry said. "Harry Potter is safer when he is at home. And Harry Potter is at home. So leave Harry Potter be."
"But Harry Potter does not understand! Harry Potter is not safe here! Harry Potter would be safe with his aunt and uncle!"
"Clearly," Harry growled, "Harry Potter and Dobby have different opinions on what is considered safe."
Dobby was shaking, rocking back and forth, shaking his ugly head.
"Dobby was so shocked when he heard Harry Potter was still at Hogwarts, he let his master's dinner burn! Such a flogging Dobby never had, sir…."
Harry slumped back into his pillows. "You worried my friends, you unwittingly informed the Dursleys of my existence, and you worried my professors. You better leave before my bones grow back, Dobby," he said fiercely, staring angrily at the ceiling. "Or I just 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 do you wear that thing, Dobby?" he asked.
"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 do 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!"
"Well, then, Dobby, I guess it's too bad that I live here, right!" said Harry angrily. "If I was grievously injured, I'd just be confined to Professor Snape's quarters! Can I ask why Dobby wanted me all pent up while grievously injured?"
"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, usually, 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-Made. 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, sir…. 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, not that the Chamber of Secrets is open once more—"
Dobby froze, horrorstruck, 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 definitely is a Chamber of Secrets?" Harry whispered. "And—it's definitely been open 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 away, Harry Potter, go far away. Harry Potter must not meddle in thin, sir, 'tis too dangerous—"
"Who is it, Dobby? Harry said, keeping a firm hold on Dobby's wrist 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 away, Harry Potter, away!"
"I'm not going anywhere," Harry said. "One of my closest friends is Muggle-born and another is half-blood; they'll be first in line if the Chamber is opened—"
Dobby shook his head fiercely. "Harry Potter must not worry about his half-blood, she is an heir—"
Dobby suddenly froze, his bat ears quivering. Harry heard it, too. There were footsteps coming down the passageway outside.
"Dobby must go!" breath the elf, terrified.
"NO! What do you mean, Vanella's an—"
But the elf was gone. He slumped back into bed, watching the doorway to the hospital wing as the footsteps grew nearer.
Next moment, Dumbledore was backing into the dormitory, looking very silly wearing a long woolly dressing gown and a nightcap, yet very serious. 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 disappeared out of Harry's sight, past the end of his bed. Harry lay still, pretending to sleep, watching and listening. He could hear 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."
"He had a bunch of grapes with him," said Professor McGonagall. "We think he was trying to sneak up here to visit Potter."
Harry's stomach gave a terrible 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 down 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. "All melted…"
"What does this mean, Albus?" Professor McGonagall asked urgently.
"It mean," said Dumbledore, "that the Chamber of Secrets is open again."
Madam Pomfrey clapped a hand to her mouth. Professor McGonagall stared at Dumbledore.
"But, Albus…surely….Who?"
"The question is not who," said Dumbledore, his eyes on Colin. "The question is, how…"
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The next day Harry's bones were regrown and he was released from the hospital wing. He went back to the Slytherin dormitories, thoroughly confused and planning on telling Vanella and Draco about Dobby and the attack on Colin Creevey.
They were in the common room, writing a Potions essay at the back table. Harry slid into the empty seat he always sat in and looked at them in turn.
They looked up. "Hello, Harry, feeling better?" Vanella asked with a small smile.
Harry flexed the fingers on his right arm and set his arms on the table. "You'd never guess what happened last night."
Draco put a finger to his lips and mock-thought. "Hmm…. I do believe your bones grew back."
Harry waved it away. "That's not what I meant."
Vanella set her quill down. "Okay. Do tell, Harry."
They all leaned in for privacy, even though there were few other people in the room. "I didn't tell you, but during the summer a house elf came and warned me about staying here, saying it was dangerous, and that I should go home. I didn't think much of it, since stranger things have happened. I figured it was just a crazy house-elf from the kitchens." Harry shook his head. "But he came again last night, and he said that his family treated him badly, so I thought it couldn't possibly be one of Dumbledore's elves. He said he was the one that portkeyed me back to the Dursleys' and jinxed the Bludger yesterday." Harry paused, taking a breath. "He told me that the Chamber of Secrets is open again, and that I'm in danger."
Vanella frowned. "How are you in danger? You're not a Muggle-born, or a half-blood."
Harry nodded. "That's what I asked him. He said he could say no more, but that I must leave Hogwarts. I told him that I wasn't leaving, because one of my closest friends is a Muggle-born, and another is a half-blood. You're grandfather on—uh—you're father's side was a Muggle, wasn't he?"Vanella nodded slightly. "What did he say?" she said slowly.
"He said not to worry about my half-blood. He said 'she is an heir'."
Vanella whispered, "I'm an heir? Might you have heard him wrong?"
Harry shook his head. "I know what I heard."
Draco swallowed. "It would make sense. Fifty years ago, your father must have opened the chamber." Suddenly he looked at her. "Who was your father? I never heard anything about an Incendie in Hogwarts."
Vanella shook her head. "My father wasn't an Incendie," she said.
"He wasn't," Draco said slowly.
She shook her head again. "My father was—my father is—Voldemort."
Draco's eyes widened. "Voldemort had a child?"
"Not intentionally."
Draco continued to stare at her. "Voldemort's the heir of Slytherin…"
Harry nodded. "That would explain the Parseltongue." He added, "For both of us. I can't believe we hadn't thought of that."
Vanella bit her lip. "Dumbledore knows I'm his daughter. If he knows also that Voldemort was the heir of Slytherin, then he'll think I opened it."
"I haven't told you the whole story yet," Harry whispered as a couple happily chattering Slytherin first years walked by.
They looked at him. "There's also been another attack. This time on a person. Colin Creevey's been Petrified."
Vanella whispered, "What if they suspect me?"
Harry shook his head. "They couldn't—"
Snape suddenly burst through the common room door. "Vanella Incendie," he said loudly, announcing. "You're wanted by the Headmaster."
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Author's Notes: Dun, dun, dun. I'm just having too much fun…. Anyways, this was a quick one because I got six reviews overnight. Thanks much!
Okay, I have to answer "Darak":
Harry did not use his wandless magic against Lockhart (that is the bumbling git, right?) because he was in a fragile mental state and probably didn't think of it. Remember, he was drifting in and out of consciousness. Sorry it bothered you, though.
'Til next time….