The Rogue Bludger

Somehow, Gabriel convinced Castiel to come out of the hospital wing and, one morning, he joined them at breakfast.

'Morning,' Hermione smiled.

Sherlock was already there, sitting with John.

'You all right?' John asked.

He nodded awkwardly and pulled a bowl towards himself, spooning a small amount of porridge into it. He sat quietly, not particularly listening to anyone until the post came.

Owls and letters fluttered around the room and one winged towards Castiel with a sparkly blue envelope in its beak. He froze, spoon half way out of the bowl, but relaxed as it flew closer and he recognized Gabriel's handwriting. Sherlock went to stand up but Castiel placated him with a hand on his arm.

'It's from Gabriel,' he told him.

'Why is he sending you letters when he could just talk to you?'

'We'll soon find out,' he said patiently.

The owl dropped the letter and it landed neatly in front of them. Castiel picked it up and carefully slit it open. For a moment, nothing happened, but then multi-coloured confetti and streamers flew out of the envelope. They filled the air and then came together to form the number thirteen; floating gently down over Castiel's head and shoulders. Everyone around him hastily moved their breakfast to avoid getting confetti in their food. Castiel smiled and Gabriel bounded over from the Hufflepuff table.

'Happy birthday!' he exclaimed, placing a small, neatly wrapped present in front of him.

'Thank you, Gabriel,' Castiel smiled, gently ripping the paper off. Once the paper came off, he gaped at the sleek, black box that was inside.

'Is- is this what I think it is?' he said, wide-eyed.

'Why don't you open it and find out?'

'Why didn't you tell us it was your birthday?' Hermione asked. Castiel blushed faintly and shrugged. He opened the box to reveal a large, eagle-feather quill decorated black and gold.

'Oh, Gabriel, you shouldn't have,' he said.

'I will get my little brother anything I want to get him on his birthday,' Gabriel said stubbornly.

'But, Gabriel-'

'But nothing. Enjoy your gift and I will see you at lunch.'

Gabriel ruffled Castiel's hair and walked off.

'Happy birthday,' Hermione said belatedly, followed by mumbles of the same words from the four boys.

'Thank you,' he said, closing the lid of his quill carefully.

Soon after, the bell signalled the beginning of lessons.

Sherlock and Castiel left for Transfiguration and the Gryffindors headed for Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Since the disastrous episode with the pixies, Lockhart had not brought any live creatures into the lesson, instead choosing to act out passages from his books; often calling Harry up to the front of the class to demonstrate the magical creatures he had defeated. During this particular lesson, Harry was called upon to be a werewolf. He looked as if he would very much loved to have refused, but he needed to keep Lockhart in a good mood.

'Nice loud howl, Harry – exactly – and then, if you'll believe it, I pounced – like this – slammed him into the floor – thus – with one hand, I managed to hold him down – with the other, I put my wand to his throat – I screwed up my remaining strength and performed the immensely complex Homorphus Charm – he let out a piteous moan – go on, Harry – higher than that – good – the fur vanished – the fangs shrank and he turned back into a man. Simple, yet effective – and another village will remember me forever as the hero who delivered them from the monthly terror of werewolf attacks.'

The bell rang and Lockhart got to his feet.

'Homework: compose a poem about my defeat of the Wagga Wagga werewolf! Signed copies of Magical Me to the author of the best one!'

John snorted softly to himself, thinking about the homework that he would spend exactly zero minutes doing it.

Harry returned to the back of the room where they were waiting for him.

'Ready?' Harry muttered.

'Not yet,' Hermione said nervously. 'All right…'

She approached Lockhart's desk, a piece of paper clutched tightly in her hand; Harry, Ron, and John right behind her.

'Er – Professor Lockhart?' she stammered. 'I want to – to get this book out of the library. Just for background reading.' She held out the piece of paper, her hand shaking slightly. 'But the thing is, it's in the Restricted Section of the library, so I need a teacher to sign for it – I'm sure it would help me understand what you say in Gadding with Ghouls about slow-acting venoms...'

'Ah, Gadding with Ghouls!' said Lockhart, taking the note from Hermione and smiling widely at her. 'Possibly my favourite book. You enjoyed it?'

'Oh, yes,' Hermione said eagerly. 'So clever, the way you trapped that last one with a tea strainer…'

'Well, I'm sure no one will mind me giving the best student in the year a little extra help – although, that Castiel could give you a run for your money,' Lockhart said warmly, and he pulled out an enormous peacock feather-quill. 'Yes, it's nice, isn't it?' he said, misreading the revolted look on Ron's face. 'I usually save it for book signings.'

He scrawled an enormous loopy signature on the note and handed it back to Hermione.

'So, Harry,' said Lockhart, while Hermione folded the note with fumbling fingers and slipped it into her bag, 'tomorrow's the first Quidditch match of the season, I believe? Gryffindor against Slytherin, is it not? I hear you're a useful player. I was a Seeker, too. I was asked to try for the National Squad-'

John made a choking noise to cover his disbelief.

'All right there, Watson? I was asked to try for the National Squad, but preferred to dedicate my life to the eradication of Dark Forces. Still, if you feel the need for a little private training, don't hesitate to ask. Always happy to pass on my experience to less able players…'

Harry made an indistinct noise in his throat and then hurried off with Ron, Hermione, and John.

'"Less able players" eh, Harry?' John teased, cackling in amusement.

'Ha ha, very funny,' Harry said sarcastically.

Hermione pulled the note back out so the four of them could examine the signature.

'I don't believe it,' Harry said, 'he didn't even look at the book we wanted.'

'That's because he's a brainless git,' Ron said.

'Who cares, we've got what we wanted,' said John with a shrug.

'He is not a brainless git,' said Hermione shrilly, as they half-ran towards the library.

'Just because he said you were the best in the year…'

They met Castiel at the doors of the library and dropped their voices as they entered the muffled stillness. Sherlock was already inside, carrying a stack of newspaper. He looked up and stopped as he saw them.

'What are you all doing in here?' he asked, confused.

'We got the note from Lockhart to get the potion book,' John said, looking equally as confused.

'Why? What potion are you brewing?'

John narrowed his eyes.

'The Polyjuice Potion,' he said slowly. Sherlock stared at him blankly for a moment.

'Oh! Yes, of course.'

John picked up the newspaper on the top of the pile and read the headline.

'Sherlock, you've picked up the same stack of newspapers again,' he said, showing the headline to Sherlock. Sherlock took it out of his hands.

'So I have,' he said, putting the paper back on top of the pile and dumping it in their usual table.

Madam Pince, the school librarian, was a thin, harsh woman, who looked vaguely like an underfed vulture.

'Moste Potente Potions?' she repeated suspiciously, trying to take the note from Hermione; but Hermione wouldn't let go.

'I was wondering if I could keep it,' she said breathlessly, earning herself exasperated groans and tutting noises from Ron, Sherlock, and John.

'Come on,' Ron said, wrenching it from her grasp and thrusting it at Madam Pince. 'We'll get you another autograph. Lockhart'll sign anything if it stands still long enough.'

Madam Pince held the note up to the light as though she was determined to find a forgery, but it passed the test. She stalked away between the lofty shelves and returned several minutes later with a large and mouldy-looking book. Hermione carefully put it away in her bag and they left, trying not to walk too quickly or look too guilty.

Five minutes later, they were barricaded in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom once again. Hermione had overridden Ron's objections by pointing out that it was the last place anyone in their right mind would go, so they were guaranteed some privacy. Castiel, too, was uncomfortable with having to spend an extended amount of time in a girls' bathroom, but he saw the logic in it and didn't complain. Moaning Myrtle was crying in her cubicle, but they were ignoring her, and she them.

Hermione opened Moste Potente Potions carefully, and she and Sherlock bent over the damp-spotted pages. Castiel took a glance at it, but looked horrified and disgusted by what he saw, so had to look away. From what he had seen, it was clear why it belonged in the Restricted Section. Some of the potions had effects almost too gruesome to think about, accompanied by some very unpleasant illustrations, which included a man who seemed to be turned inside out and a witch sprouting several extra pairs of arms out of her head.

'Here it is,' Hermione said excitedly, as she found the page headed The Polyjuice Potion. It was decorated with drawings of people half way through transforming into other people. They all sincerely hoped the artist had imagined the looks of intense pain on their faces.

'This is the most complicated potion I've ever seen,' Hermione said, scanning the recipe. 'Lacewing flies, leeches, fluxweed, knotgrass…'

'Well those are easy enough to get, they're in the student store cupboard,' Sherlock murmured. 'These, however, may be slightly more difficult.' He ran his finger down the page. 'I've no idea where we'd get powdered horn of Bicorn or – what is this – shredded skin of Boomslang.'

'Yes, and then we still have to get a bit of whoever we're changing into,' Hermione said thoughtfully.

'Excuse me?' Ron said sharply. 'What d'you mean, a bit of whoever we're changing into? I'm drinking nothing with Crabbe's toenails in it.'

'We don't have to worry about that yet, though, because we add those bits last…'

Harry had another worry.

'D'you realise how much we're going to steal? Shredded skin of Boomslang, that's definitely not in the students' cupboard. What're we going to, break into Snape's private stores?'

Sherlock looked up at him.

'That is exactly what we're going to do,' he said.

'I don't know if this is a good idea….'

Hermione closed the book with a snap.

'Well if you want to chicken out, fine,' she said. 'I don't want to break the rules, you know. I think that threatening Muggle-borns is far worse than brewing up a difficult potion. But if you don't want to find out if it's Malfoy, I'll go straight to Madam Pince now and hand it back in.'

Sherlock smiled briefly.

'I never thought I'd see the day you'd be convincing us to break the rules,' Ron said. 'All right, we'll do it, but no toenails, okay?'

'How long is this going to take, anyway?' Harry asked.

'Well, the fluxweed's got to be picked at the full moon,' Hermione said, reopening the book and squinting at it.

'Yes, and the lacewings have to be stewed for twenty-one days… I make that about a month, what do you think?' Sherlock said.

'I'd say about that too, but that's if we can get all the ingredients.'

'A month?' said Ron. 'Malfoy could have attacked half the Muggle-borns in the school by then!' Hermione's eyes narrowed dangerously and he added swiftly, 'but it's the best plan we've got, so full steam ahead, I say.'

'Wait a minute, a month?' John said. 'It'll be the Christmas holidays; I won't be here.'

'Nor will I,' Castiel said quietly.

'We'll just have to manage with the four of us, then,' Hermione said.

'It might look a little conspicuous with six of us questioning him, anyway,' Sherlock pointed out.

'We'll still help out as much as we can, right, Castiel?'

'Of course.'

While Hermione was checking the coast was clear for them to leave the bathroom, Ron muttered to Harry, 'It'll be a lot less hassle if you just knock Malfoy off his broom tomorrow.'

The next morning, John awoke and found the dormitory empty and he bolted out of bed to throw on some clothes. He ran down to the Great Hall, muttering to himself about being late. He hoped he hadn't missed the start of the match. To his relief, everyone was still at breakfast. The Gryffindor team were huddled together at the table. Sherlock beckoned him over to where he was sitting with Ron, Hermione, and Castiel. As he went to them, he felt a wave of fatigue hit him and he sat down heavily.

'All right?' Sherlock asked.

'Yeah,' John said, rubbing his eyes. 'Why didn't anyone wake me up?'

Ron fidgeted in his seat.

'Well, you looked like you could do with some sleep,' he said.

'What's that supposed to mean? Was I sleepwalking again?'

'The tea is leaving, we should go down to the pitch,' Hermione said in an unnecessarily loud voice.

'Er, right,' Ron mumbled. He, Hermione, and Castiel stood up abruptly.

'What's going on?' John asked Sherlock.

'How should I know?' he said, rising from his seat. John scowled, following them out of the Great Hall. They were definitely hiding something.

As they reached the pitch, they hurried to say good luck to Harry and then made their way to the stands.

'We're not likely to get any interruptions from Malfoy, seeing as he's on the team,' John said, picking a seat towards the back of the stands, near the stairs.

'Just as long as Harry knocks the stuffing out of him, it'll be worth it,' said Ron.

They watched the Gryffindor team walk out onto the pitch and clapped and cheered with the rest of Gryffindor house along with Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, who were also eager to see Slytherin defeated. The Slytherins themselves made their boos and hisses heard. Even from this distance, Wood and the rest of the team looked confident. Madam Hooch made Wood and Flint shake hands and mount their brooms. On her whistle, the two teams sped upwards towards the grey clouds – Harry flying higher than the rest of them to look for the Snitch. Malfoy shot underneath Harry, showing off the speed of his new broom, as Harry was the only one not using a Nimbus Two Thousand and One. Harry, however, was not paying attention, as a heavy black Bludger pelted towards him. He just barely dodged it.

'That was a close one,' John commented, watching George Weasley streak after it. He knocked the Bludger back toward Adrian Pucey, but it changed direction and shot straight back at Harry. John squinted at it.

'Well that can't be right,' he muttered as George hit it hard towards Malfoy and it swerved back towards Harry like a boomerang. He nudged Sherlock, who was watching the progress of the Quaffle, and pointed at the Bludger that was chasing Harry around the pitch.

'That's odd,' Sherlock said. I continued to hurtle after Harry and heavy drops of rain began to fall from the sky. Lee Jordan, who was commentating, announced the score.

'Gryffindor lead, sixty points to forty.'

Clearly the Gryffindors were more skilled on the new brooms. Meanwhile, the mad Bludger was doing all it could to knock Harry out of the air. By this point, Ron, Hermione, and Castiel had noticed it.

'He won't be able to catch the Snitch if they keep crowding around him like that,' Ron muttered, watching Fred and George flying close to Harry.

'Ron!' Hermione exclaimed, appalled.

'What? The sooner he catches the Snitch, the sooner the game is over, right?'

'Nice save,' John muttered to him.

George frantically signalled Wood for a time out and as soon as Madam Hooch's whistle rang out, the three of them dived for the ground.

John felt a shove from behind him and a small, stammering voice that said, 'S-Sorry. Excuse me-'

He looked around and saw a girl swathed in a Hufflepuff scarf and her hair tied in a ponytail.

'Hi, Molly,' he said. She squinted at him and her face lit up as she recognised him.

'Hey, John,' she grinned.

The Gryffindor team were huddled close together on the pitch.

'That Bludger looks like it's been tampered with,' Molly observe as it continued to throw itself at Harry, even while they were on the ground.

'That's just what I was thinking,' Sherlock said. Molly stared at him.

'Oh! Right, sorry,' John said. 'Molly, this is Sherlock, and that's Castiel.'

'Nice to meet you,' she said, stumbling to shake their hands.

Madam Hooch's whistle sounded and the teams shot off to play once again. They watched as Harry began a series of spins, spirals, and rolls in an attempt to avoid the rogue Bludger. Laughter and jeers echoed around the stadium, as he did look rather silly. It was starting to get difficult to see through the rain and everyone in play turned into green and red blurs, until Malfoy slowed to a hover and made his blond hair visible. He seemed to be laughing at Harry, who was doing an odd twirl to avoid the Bludger. Harry also came to a standstill for a second to stare at Malfoy.

'What's he doing?' Ron muttered.

He stayed still a moment too long and the five of them winced as the Bludger smashed painfully into Harry's elbow.

A sympathetic whistle came from Castiel as the arm that had been hit dangled uselessly by Harry's side.

'Looks broken,' he murmured.

And then Harry shot towards Malfoy.

'What's he attacking Malfoy for?' John said.

'He's not. I think he's see the Snitch,' said Sherlock, leaning forward slightly. Malfoy rolled out of Harry's way and Harry took his remaining hand off the handle of his broom. Only now he was gripping the broom with just his knees and ploughed straight into the ground. The crowd gasped and Lee Jordan shouted over them.

'HARRY POTTER CATCHES THE SNITCH! GRYFFINDOR WINS! TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY POINTS TO SIXTY!' he announced to the crowd. The two teams landed, ending the game, and Castiel rose to his feet to hurry down on to the pitch. The rest of them followed.

'See you, Molly,' John sad hurriedly.

On the pitch, many other people were trying to push their way through to see if Harry was okay, but the rest of the team was keeping them back. Wood moved aside to let Castiel through, but Lockhart suddenly appeared and barged past him. With the rain and the Bludger still whizzing around, the curiosity of the crowd dwindled and they began to leave.

Harry appeared to be unconscious and Lockhart leaned over him, still smiling. Harry stirred and groaned softly, then saw Lockhart.

'Oh no, not you,' he moaned. Behind them, Fred and George dove on the Bludger and began trying to wrestle it into its box.

'Doesn't know what he's saying,' Lockhart said loudly to what was left of the crowd. Castiel knelt down beside him, took off his cloak and folded it carefully folded it under his head.

'How do you feel?' he asked quietly.

'Well, my arm hurts.'

'Aside from that,' Castiel smiled.

'Not to worry, Harry, I'll have that fixed in no time,' Lockhart interrupted.

'No!' said Harry. 'I'll keep it like this, thanks…'

He tried to sit up, but Castiel put a hand against his chest.

'Lie still, Harry,' he said firmly. Lockhart continued talking.

'Don't you worry, it's a simple charm I've used countless times.'

'Why can't I just go to the hospital wing? Or Castiel can do it, can't you?' Harry said through clenched teeth. Castiel shook his head.

'That's advanced magic. I can't do it.'

'He really should go to the hospital wing, Professor,' said a muddy Wood, who couldn't help grinning even though his Seeker was injured. 'Great capture, Harry. Really spectacular. Your best yet, I'd say.'

The Bludger was still putting up a terrific fight against Fred and George, attempting to squirm out of their grasp and fly at Harry.

'Stand back,' said Lockhart, who was rolling up his jade-green sleeves.

'No – don't – ' Harry said weakly, but Lockhart was already twirling his wand and a second later had directed it straight at Harry's arm.

Immediately, Castiel knew something was wrong. Harry's arm looked as if it were deflating rather than healing. Castiel, and everyone that was watching, gasped when he was done. Harry's arm now looked as if it were made entirely out of rubber.

'Ah,' said Lockhart. 'Yes. Well, that can sometimes happen. But the point is, the bones are no longer broken. That's the thing to bear in mind. So, Harry, just toddle up to the hospital wing – ah, Mr Edlund, would you escort him? – and Madam Pomfrey will be able to – er – tidy you up a bit.'

Castiel stared at Lockhart incredulously as he helped Harry to his feet. Lockhart hadn't mended his bones. He'd removed them.

Madam Pomfrey was not at all pleased.

'You should have come straight to me!' she raged, holding up Harry's limp, rubbery arm.

'I apologise. I misjudged the situation,' Castiel mumbled.

'Nonsense, it's not your fault,' she said, dropping the arm. 'Would you fetch me the Skele-Gro?'

'Of course,' he said, going to rummage through the potions cabinet.

Madam Pomfrey sighed.

'I can mend bones in a second – but growing them back – '

'You will be able to, won't you?' Harry said desperately.

'I'll be able to, certainly, but it will be painful,' said Madam Pomfrey, throwing Harry a pair of pyjamas. 'You'll have to stay the night…'

Hermione, Sherlock, and John waited outside the curtain while Ron helped Harry into his pyjamas. John rubbed his temples absent-mindedly and caught Sherlock watching him. He shrugged, feeling a slight pressure building in his forehead. It was probably the cold.

'How can you stick up for Lockhart now, eh, Hermione?' Ron called through the curtain. 'If Harry wanted de-boning, he would have asked.'

'Anyone can make a mistake,' said Hermione, 'and it doesn't hurt anymore, does it, Harry?'

'No, but it doesn't do anything else, either.'

Madam Pomfrey returned with a large bottle of Skele-Gro and Castiel with his arms full of extra bedding.

'You're in for a rough night,' Madam Pomfrey said, pouring a steaming beaker full of potion and handing it to him. 'Regrowing bones is a nasty business.'

While Harry choked down the foul tasting potion, Castiel put some extra pillows and blankets on Harry's bed, making sure there was a soft place for him to rest his arm.

'It's best if you stay warm,' he said, drawing a goblet out of the bedside cabinet and pouring Harry a cup of water. Madam Pomfrey walked away muttering about dangerous sports and inept teachers.

'We won, though,' said Ron, a grin breaking across his face. 'That was some catch you made. Malfoy's face… he looked ready to kill.'

'I want to know how he fixed that Bludger,' said John darkly.

'I really don't think he did,' Sherlock said thoughtfully. 'It takes very strong magic to interfere with the charms on Quidditch balls. Even if the thought had occurred to him, he wouldn't have been able to do it.'

'We can add it to the list of questions we'll ask him when we've taken the Polyjuice Potion,' Harry said, sinking back onto his stack of pillows. 'I hope it tastes better than this stuff…'

'If it's got bits of Slytherins in it? You've got to be joking,' said Ron.

At that moment, the door burst open and six people, filthy and soaking wet, walked in. The rest of the Gryffindor team had come to see Harry.

'Unbelievable flying, Harry,' said George. 'I've just seen Marcus Flint yelling at Malfoy. Something about having the Snitch on his head and not noticing. Malfoy didn't seem too happy.'

They had brought cakes, sweets, and bottles of pumpkin juice. They gathered around Harry's bed and were just getting started on what promised to be a good party when Madam Pomfrey came storming over, saying 'This boy needs rest, he's got thirty-three bones to regrow! Out! OUT!'

And Harry was left with a silent Castiel and nothing to distract him from the stabbing pains in his limp arm.

Hours and hours later, Harry awoke, quite suddenly, in the dark. His arm now felt as if it were full of splinters and at first, it was this he thought had woken him up. The he realised that someone was sponging his forehead in the dark.

'Get off!' he said loudly, realising it wasn't Castiel at the sound of the quiet, sad sniffles from the sponger. The sound bounced around the room and Harry heard a soft thump and a patter of bare feet. Castiel appeared at the end of the bed, holding a large, heavy-looking bottle high. He was in his pyjamas, which made him look smaller than usual.

'It's all right!' Harry said quickly. 'It's just Dobby.'

'Dobby?' he repeated. 'The House-elf? The one that broke into your room?'

'That's the one. Dobby, what are you doing here?'

Castiel put the bottle down and sat cross-legged on the end of the bed. He stared at the back of Dobby's head, intrigued.

Dobby's bat-like ears flapped as he sniffed again.

'Harry Potter came back to school,' he whispered miserably. 'Dobby warned and warned Harry Potter. Ah, sir, why didn't you heed Dobby? Why didn't Harry Potter go back home when he missed the train?'

Harry pushed himself up on his pillows.

'How do you know I missed the train?'

Dobby's lips trembled.

'It was you?' he said slowly. 'You stopped the barrier letting us through!'

'Indeed, yes, sir,' said Dobby, nodding his head vigorously. 'Dobby hid and watched for Harry Potter and sealed the gateway. Dobby had to iron his hands afterwards-' he showed them ten, long, bandaged fingers, ' – but Dobby didn't care, sir, for he thought Harry Potter was safe, and never did Dobby dream that Harry Potter would get to school another way!'

Castiel took hold of Dobby's bandaged hands.

'Would you let me heal these?' he asked. Dobby looked at him incredulously and his large, tennis ball eyes welled up.

'Oh, no, sir,' he said, shaking his head. 'Dobby was bad, so Dobby must be punished.'

Castiel bit his lip.

'You are truly kind, sir. House-elves are never healed by wizards. But Dobby knows that Harry Potter is great, so his friends must be too.'

Dobby turned back to Harry.

'Dobby was so shocked when he heard Harry Potter was back at Hogwarts, he let his master's dinner burn! Such a flogging Dobby never had, sir…'

Harry slumped back on his pillows and Castiel rubbed his arm uncomfortably.

'You nearly got Ron and me expelled,' Harry said fiercely. 'You'd better clear off before my bones grow back, Dobby, or I might strangle you.'

'Is that necessary, Harry?' Castiel frowned.

'Dobby is used to death threats, sir. Dobby gets them five times a day at home.'

Castiel looked down at his lap.

'Are you all right?' Harry said to him.

'I'm fine.'

Dobby blew his nose on a corner of the filthy pillowcase he wore.

'Why d'you wear that thing, Dobby?' Harry asked curiously.

'This, sir?' said Dobby, plucking at his 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?' Harry said. 'What d'you mean, your Bludger? You made that Bludger try and kill me?'

'Not kill you, sir, never kill you!' said Dobby, shocked. 'Dobby wants to save Harry Potter's life! Better sent home grievously, injured, than remain here, sir! Dobby only wanted Harry Potter hurt enough to be sent home!'

'Oh, is that all?' Harry said angrily. 'I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you wanted me sent home in pieces?'

'Ah, if Harry Potter only knew!' Dobby groaned, tears dripping onto his ragged pillowcase. 'If he knew what he means to us, to the lowly, the enslaved, us 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-elves were treated like vermin, sir! Of course, Dobby is still treated like that, sir,' he admitted, drying his face on the pillowcase. 'But mostly, sir, life has improved for my kind after you triumphed over He Who Must Not Be Named. Harry Potter survived, and the Dark Lord's power was broken, and it was a new dawn, sir. 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 already happening – and Dobby cannot let Harry Potter stay here now that history is to repeat itself, now that the Chamber of Secrets is open once more-'

Castiel's head snapped up and both he and Harry stared at Dobby in shock. Dobby froze, then grabbed Harry's water jug from his bedside table and cracked it over his own head, toppling out of sight. A second later, he crawled back onto the bed, cross-eyed, muttering, 'Bad Dobby, very bad Dobby…'

'So there is a Chamber of Secrets?' Harry whispered. 'And – did you say it's been opened before? Tell me, Dobby!'

Castiel grabbed Dobby's wrist, seeing it inch towards the water jug again.

'But I'm not a Muggle-born – how can I be in danger from the Chamber?' Harry said.

'Ah, sir, ask no more of poor Dobby,' stammered the elf. 'Dark deeds are planned in this place, but Harry Potter must not be here when they happen. Go home, Harry Potter. Go home. Harry Potter must not meddle, sir, it's too dangerous-'

'Who is it, Dobby?' Harry said.

Castiel tightened his grip on the elf's wrist as it tried to jerk out of his grip towards the water jug.

'Who's opened? Who opened it last time?' Harry pressed.

'Dobby can't, sir, Dobby can't, Dobby mustn't tell!' Dobby squealed. 'Go home, Harry Potter, go home!'

'I'm not going anywhere!' Harry said fiercely. 'Two of my best friends are Muggle-born, they'll be first in line if the Chamber really has been opened-'

'Harry Potter risks his own life for his friends!' moaned Dobby. 'So noble! So valiant! But he must save himself, he must, Harry Potter must not-'

Dobby suddenly froze, his bat ears quivering. Harry and Castiel heard it too. There were footsteps coming down the passageway outside.

'Dobby must go!' breathed the elf. There was a loud crack and Castiel's fist closed around thin air, and then he was moving. The footsteps were close and Castiel knew he would not be able to get back to his bed in time, so, quick as a shot, he grabbed the water jug and went to the sink to fill it. The tap went on and a moment later, Dumbledore was backing into the room wearing a long woolly dressing gown and a nightcap. He was carrying one end of what looked like a statue. Professor McGonagall appeared a second later, carrying its feet. Together, they heaved it onto a bed.

'Get Madam Pomfrey,' Dumbledore whispered to Castiel, who was staring at the statue, wide-eyed and pale. He tore himself away, turning off the tap and leaving the jug in the sink, and hurried off past the end of Harry's bed. Harry heard Castiel and Madam Pomfrey talking in urgent voices; and then they reappeared Madam Pomfrey pulling a cardigan over her nightdress.

'What happened?' Madam Pomfrey gasped as she bent over the statue.

'Another attack,' said Dumbledore. 'Minerva found him on the stairs.'

Castiel flitted around them nervously, fluffing pillows and straightening covers until Madam Pomfrey laid a hand on his shoulder and motioned for him to go back to bed. He took one more look at the statue and reluctantly walked away.

'There was a bunch of grapes next to him,' continued Professor McGonagall. 'We think he was trying to sneak up here to visit Potter.'

Castiel, who had hidden behind a curtain instead of going to bed, frowned, knowing full well that Harry would blame himself now that they had said that. He was also beginning to think that it might not be such a bad idea for Harry to go home. The sight of Colin Creevey's Petrified body gave him the uneasy feeling that this was way bigger and more dangerous than they had originally imagined. Certainly it was beyond Malfoy's petty grudge, but he couldn't be sure.

Dumbledore leaned forward and prised a camera from Colin's stiff fingers.

'You don't think he managed to get a picture of his attacker?' Professor McGonagall said eagerly.

Dumbledore didn't answer, he just pulled open the back of the camera.

'Good gracious!' exclaimed Madam Pomfrey.

A jet of steam hissed out of the camera, along with the acrid smell of burnt plastic.

'Melted,' said Madam Pomfrey, 'all melted.'

'What does this mean, Albus?' Professor McGonagall asked urgently.

'It means,' said Dumbledore, 'that the Chamber of Secrets is indeed open again.'

Madam Pomfrey clapped a hand to her mouth.

'But, Albus… surely… who?'

'The question is not who? The question is, how…'

Castiel quietly lay down on a bed, not quite willing to believe what he had just heard. If Dumbledore couldn't figure it out, who could?

Yes, hello, it's me.

First of all, thanks to Featherfur, mightyBookworm, purrlock, Trapped under Loki's spell, maliha1205 and puffypuffin3 for the wonderful reviews.

Well, where to begin. It's been a while I suppose. It turned out that preparing for university is a lot harder than I'd anticipated, so that's entirely my fault. Also, when I moved into halls of residence, I had no access to a computer whatsoever, so there was that. I've already written the next chapter and half of the one after, so it's really just a matter of computer access at this point, it's not like I haven't done any writing at all, although it may seem like it. Anyway I'm so sorry it took so long and thanks to anyone who's sticking around still :)