A/N: I am so sorry for the delay, I've been up to my eyeballs with medical school end-of-years. Review replies at the end. Thank you to those who do :)
Though Professor Lockhart was still apparently disinclined to use live creatures, he was finding fresh new ways to chase Voldemort on Harry's 'to kill' list. His recollections had evolved from simple storytelling to a far uglier and less appetising format. Lockhart had started making people act out passages from his books. And his target was, more often than not, Harry.
So far, Harry had been forced to play a simple Transylvanian villager whom Lockhart had cured of a Babbling Curse, a yeti with a head cold, and a vampire who had been unable to eat anything except lettuce since Lockhart had dealt with him.
Harry was hauled to the front of the class during their very next Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson, this time acting a werewolf. By this point, he was quite ready to tell the man exactly where he could stuff his books. He'd yet to learn a single useful thing in Lockhart's classes beyond 'Gilderoy Lockhart is an idiot', which he could have guessed beforehand. As such, Lockhart was giving Harry a worse education than a man possessed by Voldemort himself.
Unfortunately, Lockhart was a professor, and neither his Head of House nor the Headmaster were likely to look kindly on Harry assaulting the man. So he bit his tongue and played his part in the ridiculous fairy-tale as he always did. Neville's half-sincere look of sympathy helped more than Ron's barely controlled laughter, but as Lockhart held him down and had him moan out loud, even Harry had to see the funny side.
He was less amused to be set yet another homework on Lockhart's illustrious past. Still, he imagined that a detention with the man would lead anyone to suicide; at least, anyone besides Hermione.
"Back to the library?" said Hermione.
"Why?" said Ron. "You've got everything you need for the essay in your Lockhart shrine."
"Shut up, Ron," said Hermione, turning very pink.
"Wait, you've actually got one?" Ron laughed.
"I'm surprised you even know what a..."
Harry and Neville shared a tired look. The walk to the library was every bit as tedious as they'd expected. And unfortunately, the search for Slytherin's monster was proving a long and difficult one. The strange thing was, Harry was sure they'd had some good leads, but it was as though they were false... like dreams.
Harry jerked awake, his body tingling with the adrenaline flooding his veins. It was the familiar sensation of knowing that he would soon be tested to the very limits of his physical capability, and eighty of his housemates were all counting on him to be faster, smarter and stronger than his opponent. It brought a small, anticipatory smirk to his lips to think that today, that opponent would be Draco Malfoy.
Slytherin might have been mounted on daddy's Nimbus Two Thousand And Ones, but all that power was useless in the wrong hands. And from what Harry had seen of Draco in first year's flying lessons, he was quite sure the boy would be reigning in that big broomstick so as not to risk unseating himself. Or — Harry's smirk grew more pronounced — he would become quite well acquainted with the grass.
Getting up and dressing even as the rest of his dormitory continued to snore, Harry stared at himself in the mirror. Compared with the pampered prince he was up against, he had become quite the machine in the last year or so. He might not be huge, but that would only get in his way as a Seeker. Harry stretched each and every one of his lean, powerful muscles on the way downstairs, easing out every kink. He didn't just want to beat Malfoy. After the stunts he had pulled kitting out the Slytherins and abusing Hermione, Harry wanted to humiliate him.
Wood was already at the table when Harry arrived, and the rest of the team were there soon after.
"Chin up," Harry grinned, looking at Alicia and Angelina's expressions of unsmiling apprehension. "A good broom doesn't make a good player. They've got an advantage, sure, but the brooms are going to cause as many problems as they solve."
"The twins saw them flying," said Wood. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, Harry…"
"They saw them flying fast," said Harry. "But Hermione could fly fast on a Nimbus Two Thousand And One. It's a lot harder to co-ordinate plays at a hundred and twenty miles an hour."
The girls perked up a little at that, but looked almost cautious of becoming overly hopeful.
"And who're the best playmakers at Hogwarts?" Harry smirked.
"Oh stop it, Harry," Angelina laughed. "We're blushing."
"Can't you tell?" said Alicia.
"Oh, the race jokes are coming out again…" Oliver sighed, but he was smiling himself. The tension was broken.
As the rest of the team arrived, their own low moods wore away with the rising spirits of those who had arrived before them. Thus, the rest of Gryffindor entered the Great Hall to find their Quidditch team laughing and joking in a manner they were entirely unaccustomed to on match day.
"So we soaked some tissues with yoghurt…" said Fred.
"Eww!" Katie squealed.
"That's pretty gross," Harry laughed.
"Hey," said George. "There's only so much a Silencing Charm can block out!"
Angelina had dissolved into giggles, and though she seemed to be attempting words nothing was intelligible.
"Who was it?" said Katie.
"We would never divulge the identities of our victims," said Fred with mock-outrage.
"Unwitting participants," George corrected.
"You two are actually terrible," said Wood.
Alicia's head was in her hands. "The worst."
"Quidditch!" said Harry.
His friends all wished him luck as he passed, and Harry would have felt ready to catch the Snitch from the ground if it weren't for one thing. Ginny seemed almost entirely disengaged. Hermione nudged her, and she gave him a smile and a wave, but the sentiment did not reach her eyes. It was as if she wasn't quite with them. But then Angelina made a comment about how much time Malfoy spent polishing his broomstick and none of that mattered anymore.
The typical hisses from the Slytherins and raucous cheers from the rest of the school chased the Gryffindor team out into the dark November morning. Heavy clouds were swirling overhead, with the occasional distant flash on the horizon just barely lighting their faces. A particularly deep thundercrack made Alicia swallow the end of her word, and Harry wondered if lightning might interrupt the game. A small, vindictive part of him rather wished that it would.
As it was, it seemed too far away to interrupt more than conversation, which remained lively all the way to the locker rooms, where they happily changed into their snug Quidditch leathers.
"I think my uniform is still wet from practise," said George.
"I can dry you off if you like," said Harry, summoning forth a little burst of lightning to his fingertips.
George backed off rapidly while the rest of the team sniggered. "You know, I think I like the damp. Never had a good match without a few sniffles."
"How do you do that, Harry?" said Katie, watching his hand with amusement as the lightning fizzled out.
"I honestly have no idea," Harry shrugged.
"If it's wandless magic, then that's pretty awesome," said Alicia.
Angelina grinned at him. "The girlfriend been teaching you a few tricks?"
Harry frowned slightly at the mention of Ginny, but forgot his concern and shrugged it off. "We've all got our talents."
"Right team," said Wood. "Enough of the chitter chatter."
"Ooh, yes captain," said Fred, sitting attentively with his legs together and his hands on his knees.
Alicia threw a glove at him, giggling.
"Thank you, Weasley," said Wood. "You can show the team fifty of your excellent pushups when we win."
Fred batted his eyelashes at Oliver, giving him a simpering little smile.
"Do you want to make it a hundred?" Wood smirked.
The freckled Beater stuck his tongue out and relented, receiving Alicia's other glove for his trouble.
"Right," said Wood. "Slytherin has better brooms than us. No point denying it. But we've got better people on our brooms. We've trained harder than they have, we've been flying in all weathers..."
"Too true," muttered George. "I haven't been properly dry since August"
"And we're going to make them rue the day they let that little bit of slime, Malfoy, buy his way onto their team."
Chest heaving with emotion, Wood turned to Harry amidst the cheers of his team. "It'll be down to you, Harry, to show them that a Seeker has to have something more than a rich father. Get to that Snitch before Malfoy or die trying, Harry, because we've got to win today, we've got to."
"So no pressure, Harry," said Fred, winking at him.
Harry answered his captain with a determined look. He would not fail.
As they walked out onto the field, a roar of noise greeted them. Madam Hooch asked Flint and Wood to shake hands, which they did, giving each other threatening stares and gripping rather harder than was necessary.
"On my whistle," said Madam Hooch. "Three... two... one..."
With a roar from the crowd to speed them upward, the fourteen players rose toward the leaden sky. Harry flew higher than any of them, squinting around for the Snitch.
"All right there, Scarhead?" yelled Malfoy, shooting underneath him as though to show off the speed of his broom.
"Fuck!" Harry exclaimed, jerking sideways and narrowly avoiding a heavy black Bludger. The enchanted iron came so close that it ruffled his hair as it passed.
"Close one, Harry!" said George, streaking past him with his club in his hand, ready to knock the Bludger back toward a Slytherin.
Harry felt a kind of grim satisfaction as he took a moment to watch George give the Bludger a powerful whack in the direction of Adrian Pucey. He had just turned to return to overwatch when he noticed a movement through the corner of his eye. The Bludger had changed direction entirely of its own accord, shooting straight for Harry again. Releasing the footrests, Harry dropped quickly to avoid it, and George managed to hit it hard toward Malfoy.
Once again, the Bludger swerved like a boomerang and shot at Harry's head. Harry put on a burst of speed and zoomed toward the other end of the field. He could hear the Bludger whistling along behind him. A sense of dread filled Harry. Bludgers never concentrated on one player like this; it was their job to try and unseat as many people as possible...
Fred Weasley was waiting for the Bludger at the other end. Harry ducked as Fred swung at the Bludger with all his might. A solid clunk and a "Gotcha!" made Harry believe that his troubles were over. He was wrong. As though it was magnetically attracted to Harry, the Bludger pelted after him once more and Harry was forced to fly off at full speed.
It had started to rain. Harry felt heavy drops fall onto his face, splattering onto his glasses. He didn't have a clue what was going on in the rest of the game until he heard Lee Jordan say, "Slytherin lead, thirty points to ten..."
The Slytherins' superior brooms were clearly doing their jobs, though his teammates seemed to be clinging on somehow. Meanwhile, the mad Bludger was doing all it could to knock Harry out of the air. Fred and George were now flying so close to him on either side that Harry could see nothing at all except their flailing arms and had no chance to look for the Snitch, let alone catch it.
"Someone's – tampered – with – this – Bludger –" Fred grunted, swinging his bat with all his might at it as it launched a new attack on Harry.
"We need time out," said George, trying to signal to Wood and stop the Bludger breaking Harry's nose at the same time.
Wood had obviously got the message. Madam Hooch's whistle rang out and Harry, Fred, and George dived for the ground, still trying to avoid the mad Bludger.
"What's wrong with you two?" said Oliver, annoyed. "Can you not hit the damn thing hard enough to get it away from Harry's face? The girls are getting slaughtered out there."
The twins didn't even bother saying anything.
"How could they have tampered with the Bludger?" Wood muttered. "It's been locked in Madam Hooch's office..."
The woman herself was walking over to them, and Harry could see the Slytherin team pointing and jeering over her shoulder.
"Listen," said Harry as she came nearer and nearer, "with you two flying around me all the time the only way I'm going to catch the Snitch is if it flies up my sleeve. Go back to the rest of the team and let me deal with the rogue one."
"Don't be thick," said Fred. "It'll take your head off."
Wood was looking from Harry to the Weasleys.
"Oliver, this is insane," said Alicia angrily. "You can't let Harry deal with that thing on his own. Let's ask for an inquiry…"
"If we stop now, we'll have to forfeit the match!" said Harry. "And we're not losing to Slytherin just because of a crazy Bludger! Come on, Oliver, tell them to leave me alone!"
"This is all your fault," George said angrily to Wood. "'Get the Snitch or die trying', what a stupid thing to tell him!"
Madam Hooch had joined them. "I presume this is about the erratic behaviour of that Bludger?"
Wood hesitated, but nodded.
"I'm not quite happy to put it down to a hex yet," said Madam Hooch. "After last year, however, I should hardly be surprised. If it hasn't chased another target in the next five minutes I'll call a stop to the game while we investigate."
"Thank you, Madam Hooch," said Wood. He looked at the determined look on Harry's face. "We're ready to go. Fred, George, you heard Harry – leave him alone and let him deal with the Bludger on his own."
The rain was falling more heavily now. On Madam Hooch's whistle, Harry kicked hard into the air and heard the telltale whoosh of the Bludger behind him. Higher and higher Harry climbed; he looped and swooped, spiralled, zigzagged, and rolled. Slightly dizzy, he nevertheless kept his eyes wide open.
Rain was speckling his glasses and ran up his nostrils as he hung upside down, avoiding another fierce dive from the Bludger. He could hear laughter from the crowd; he knew he must look very stupid, pirouetting and dancing around to avoid his tormentor.
Kicking out against one footrest, Harry span the broom on its axis, leaving him practically standing in midair, watching the iron ball accelerate towards him.
"Enough!" Harry yelled.
There was a sound like a bomb going off as he unleashed a blast of blue lightning at the Bludger. Unfortunately, though it hesitated at first, it only seemed more energetic in its pursuit of him, and it took everything Harry had to evade its charge. He almost found himself wishing for a Nimbus 2001 to make it a little easier to keep away from the offending ball.
'Sorry,' Harry said, feeling his broomstick hum in sympathy.
He knew he could always trust his Nimbus. It knew him as well as anyone else — like his wand, it was a part of him. And as the Bludger bore down upon him, it gave him everything it had.
'Cross your fingers.'
Taking a controlled breath, Harry careened to the side, pretending to have seen something. Malfoy apparently fell for the bait, for there was a rushing sound as the 2001 hastened to catch up. Seeing the gap at the edge of the pitch, Harry rolled his broom sharply around the lip, hearing a satisfying thud as the Bludger smashed into the ground behind him. More satisfying was the shriek as Malfoy narrowly avoided a clean knockout from the resurgent Bludger.
Harry had bigger problems. He had been here before, dodging and weaving between the numerous support pillars of the stadium, but it was no easy task at passing one hundred miles per hour. Hearing the enchanted iron smashing through the pillars that he had so deftly been slaloming around, he knew that there was more reason than just the Snitch to leave this maze behind.
Finding the angle, Harry slingshotted around a diagonal beam, propelling himself into the now torrential rain with a desperate hope to find the telltale glint of gold. A whistling in Harry's ear told him the Bludger had just missed him again; he turned right over and sped in the opposite direction.
But there was a murmur, rising in volume now so that even Harry could hear it. The crowd was beginning to notice as well.
"Stop the game!" Neville cried.
"Training for the ballet, Potter?" yelled Malfoy as Harry was forced to do a stupid kind of twirl in mid-air to dodge the Bludger, and he fled, the Bludger trailing a few feet behind him.
"Stop looking at my arse, Malfoy," Harry called, irritated by his trials. The sheer concentration of high speed manoeuvres he was being forced into was starting to make his stomach feel rather unstable...
And then, as he turned to see the effect of his words, he saw it – the Golden Snitch. It was hovering inches above Malfoy's left ear. In other circumstances, Harry might have been more moved by Malfoy's snarling through his tears, a gash in the blond's cheek by which to remember his journey through the pitch's foundations. But Malfoy had evidently not seen his prize. For an agonizing moment, Harry hung in mid-air, not daring to speed toward Malfoy in case he looked up and saw the Snitch.
Danger.
Harry knew it was too late the moment his mind exploded with panic. His eye just caught the slightest glimpse of dark grey...
WHAM.
There was a scream from the crowd. It might have been one person or a hundred; all Harry knew was the pain as he felt bone break and tear through muscle. He couldn't summon the breath to scream. Around him, the world darkened as he clung to his broomstick, shaking and insensate.
Fear pulsed through to him from Ginny, and he knew the Bludger was coming back around. For the briefest of moments, Harry considered letting it hit him. His arm was hanging uselessly at his side, consuming him with such pain that he could barely stay conscious. It would hurt so much to try, why not...
"No!" Harry ground out through his teeth, flattening himself to his Nimbus and throwing them forwards as fast as he could. The broomstick murmured reassuringly, but Harry had only one thought he held onto: get to Malfoy.
Through a haze of rain and pain he dived for the shimmering, sneering face below him and saw its eyes widen with fear: Malfoy thought Harry was attacking him. Lightning crackled spasmodically around his body, arcing out through the water towards the Bludger, the Snitch and, ironically, Malfoy.
"What the –" he gasped, careening out of Harry's way.
He was just barely fast enough, as a surge of pain made Harry explode with blue fury. Both balls lost all powers of locomotion. The Bludger made a graceful arc as it encountered gravity, but the Snitch remained, frozen in place by sheer force of Harry's will.
The youngest Seeker in a century took his remaining hand off his broom and made a wild snatch; he felt his fingers close on the cold Snitch but was now only gripping the broom with his legs, and there was a yell from the crowd below as he headed straight for the ground, trying hard not to pass out. With a splattering thud he hit the mud and rolled off his broom. His arm was hanging at a very strange angle. Riddled with pain, he heard, as though from a distance, a good deal of whistling and shouting. Harry focused on the Snitch clutched in his good hand.
"Aha," he said vaguely. "We've won."
And he fainted.
Harry came around to the feeling of rain falling on his face, still lying on the pitch, with a shadow leaning over him. He saw a glitter of teeth.
"Oh, no, not you," he moaned.
"Doesn't know what he's saying," said Lockhart loudly to the anxious crowd of Gryffindors pressing around them. "Not to worry, Harry. I'm about to fix your arm."
"No!" said Harry. "I'll keep it like this, thanks..."
He tried to sit up, but the pain was terrible. He heard a familiar clicking noise nearby.
"I don't want a photo of this, Colin," he said loudly.
"Lie back, Harry," said Lockhart soothingly. "It's a simple charm I've used countless times."
"Let me just go to the hospital wing!" said Harry through clenched teeth.
"He should really, Professor," said a muddy Wood, who couldn't help grinning even though his Seeker was injured. "Great capture, Harry, really spectacular. I don't know what in Merlin's name you did up there but it made for an excellent show, and Hooch won't hear anything of foul play because you spent the whole game dodging the same Bludger. Great job!"
Through the thicket of legs around him, Harry spotted Fred and George, giving the rogue Bludger rather violent treatment as they returned it to its box. It was just starting to recover, twitching feebly under their ministrations.
"Stand back," said Lockhart, who was rolling up his jade-green sleeves.
"No…" said Harry weakly, but Lockhart was already twirling his wand. A faint pulse of energy burst forth from Harry, but it was lost to the winds, and a second later Lockhart had his wand trained directly at Harry's arm.
A strange and unpleasant sensation started at Harry's shoulder and spread all the way down to his fingertips. It felt as though his arm was being deflated. He didn't dare look at what was happening. He had shut his eyes, his face turned away from his arm, but his worst fears were realized as the people above him gasped and Colin Creevey began clicking away madly. His arm didn't hurt anymore… nor did it feel remotely like an arm.
"Ah," said Lockhart. "Yes. Well, that can sometimes happen. But the point is, the bones are no longer broken. That's the thing to bear in mind. So, Harry, just toddle up to the hospital wing. Ah, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Longbottom, would you escort him? And Madam Pomfrey will be able to, err… tidy you up a bit."
As Harry got to his feet, he felt strangely lopsided. Taking a deep breath he looked down at his right side. What he saw nearly made him pass out again. Poking out of the end of his robes was what looked like a thick, flesh-coloured rubber glove. He tried to move his fingers. Nothing happened. Lockhart hadn't mended Harry's bones. He had removed them.
Ron found his predicament hilarious. Madam Pomfrey was rather less pleased.
"You should have come straight to me!" she raged, holding up the sad, limp remainder of what, half an hour before, had been a working arm.
"Believe me, Madam Pomfrey," Harry sighed, "I was insisting on it."
The healer sighed, holding his hand a little more tenderly. "I can mend bones in a second, but growing them back..."
"You will be able to, won't you?" said Harry desperately.
"I'll be able to, certainly, but it will be painful," said Madam Pomfrey grimly, throwing Harry a pair of pyjamas. "You'll have to stay the night..."
Everyone waited outside the curtain drawn around Harry's bed while Ron helped him into his pyjamas. It took a while to stuff the rubbery, boneless arm into a sleeve.
"How can you stick up for Lockhart now, Hermione, eh?" Ron called through the curtain as he pulled Harry's limp fingers through the cuff. "If Harry had wanted deboning he would have asked."
"Anyone can make a mistake," said Hermione. "And it doesn't hurt anymore, does it, Harry?"
Harry didn't even bother to dignify it with a response. Ginny on the other hand, made a rather disparaging face at the back of Hermione's head as Madam Pomfrey drew back the curtain. The healer was holding a large bottle of something labelled Skele-Gro.
"You're in for a rough night," Madam Pomfrey said, pouring out a steaming beakerful and handing it to him. "Regrowing bones is a nasty business."
So was taking the Skele-Gro. It burned Harry's mouth and throat as it went down, making him cough and splutter. Still tut-tutting about dangerous sports and inept teachers, Madam Pomfrey did her best to ease him through it, rubbing his back in slow circles. This did nothing to soothe Harry's desire to liquefy the bones of Lockhart's face.
"We won, though," said Ron, a grin breaking across his face. "That was some catch you made. Malfoy's face... he looked ready to kill..."
"I want to know how he fixed that Bludger," said Hermione darkly.
"Especially with Professor Lockhart looking on," said Luna. Harry may have been curious about her decision to come, seeing as he generally felt she hung out with them more for Ginny than anyone else, but he was certainly grateful. Ginny herself was holding back a pronounced smirk, while Neville was just barely containing his own mirth.
Just then, the door of the hospital wing burst open. Filthy and soaking wet, the rest of the Gryffindor team had arrived to see Harry.
"Unbelievable flying, Harry," said George. "I've just seen Marcus Flint yelling at Malfoy. Something about having the Snitch on top of his head and not noticing. Malfoy didn't seem too happy."
They had brought cakes, sweets, and bottles of pumpkin juice. But just as Harry was about to respond, Madam Pomfrey turned unforgiving eyes on the team.
"Ah!" she said in a warning tone.
All six stopped dead in their tracks.
"This boy has thirty bones to regrow," said Madam Pomfrey dangerously. "Ignoring the filth you are spreading through a medical facility, what in Merlin's name makes you think I'll let you interrupt the rest he needs?"
Wood just stared at her, a cake in one hand and a case of what was supposedly butterbeer in the other. Meanwhile, Alicia whipped out her wand and hastily began scouring every last one of them with meticulous attention to detail. Harry wouldn't be surprised if the twins had lost a couple of freckles.
"Good girl," said Madam Pomfrey. Her mouth was still set in a hard frown, but Harry could see the amusement in her eyes. "Now clean the floor as well and perhaps you can leave without detention."
"Madam Pomfrey, he's lost all the bones in his arm," said George.
"Surely he could use a bit of good cheer?" said Fred.
"And food," said Katie hopefully past a pile of assorted sweets and small cakes.
"I believe his friends here were providing the former, at least," said Madam Pomfrey drily.
"Oh, go on, Madam Pomfrey," said Harry, grinning.
She turned a dark look on him. "One hour. Else I'll have you strapped to the bed until you're healed."
Harry woke much later, surrounded by evidence of the good time he'd had. However, before he could happily reminisce, he gave a yelp of pain. Lightning crackled and spat in little jumps down his forearms and into the bed frame. His arm now felt full of large splinters. For a second, he thought that was what had woken him. Then, with a great feeling of shock, he realized that someone was sponging his forehead in the dark.
"Get off!" he said loudly, and then, "Dobby!"
The house-elf's goggling tennis ball eyes were peering at Harry through the darkness. A single tear was running down his long, pointed nose.
"Harry Potter came back to school," he whispered miserably. "Dobby warned and warned Harry Potter. Ah sir, why didn't you heed Dobby? Why can't you see? It is too dangerous here for Harry Potter, this year more than ever."
Harry heaved himself up on his pillows and pushed Dobby's sponge away. "What're you doing here?" he said.
"Dobby came to try one last time, sir," said Dobby. "Dobby didn't realise how powerful Miss Wheezy could be. Everything has gone wrong... Harry Potter is too close to the threat..."
In a flash, Harry's left hand was at Dobby's throat. The house-elf's head had only had a chance to twitch in the direction of the bedside table. "Don't you start. Can we get through this conversation without you trying to punish yourself?"
Dobby's lip trembled, but he nodded tremulously.
"Good," said Harry. "Now, start from the beginning. What's gone…?"
Looking at the fearful, sorrowful expression on Dobby's face, Harry was struck by a terrible thought.
"That was you!" Harry hissed. "You messed with the Bludger! That's why you're here, you feel guilty!"
Dobby hung his head.
"That thing could've killed me," Harry spat. Somehow he struggled to put any venom in his words.
"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!"
Harry gaped at the little elf. "I don't suppose you're going to let me in on how I'd survive being broken into pieces?"
"Dobby is a house-elf," said Dobby.
"Oh, well, thank you," said Harry. "That clears that right up, I had no idea."
Dobby just blinked at him slowly. Perhaps house-elves didn't quite understand sarcasm.
"Go on," Harry muttered. "What else have you done?"
Dobby looked rather like he wanted to bolt straight out of the infirmary, but he swallowed thickly and looked down at the bed. "Dobby was being at Platform Nine and Three Quarters this year, Harry Potter, sir…"
"Ginny was more powerful than you thought," Harry muttered. "You made that barrier."
Dobby nodded. "When Dobby couldn't be getting you alone, Dobby started getting desperate, sir. Dobby would have been trying to stop the train, but Dobby's master was calling him."
Harry sighed. The poor thing was truly insane. "Why are you doing all of this, Dobby?"
"Dobby knows, sir," said Dobby sniffed. "Dobby knows Harry Potter is not understanding. If he knew what he means to us, to the lowly, the enslaved, we dregs of the magical world!"
Tears began to pour from Dobby's huge green eyes,, building slowly to a torrent. "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 since you triumphed over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Harry Potter survived, and the Dark Lord's power was broken, and it was a new dawn, sir, and Harry Potter shone like a beacon of hope for those of us who thought the Dark days would never end, 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, now 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 is a Chamber of Secrets?" Harry whispered. "And – did you say it's been opened before? Tell me, Dobby!"
He seized the elf's bony wrist as Dobby's hand inched toward the water jug.
"But I'm not Muggle-born – how can I be in danger from the Chamber?"
"Ah, sir, ask no more, ask no more of poor Dobby," stammered the elf, his eyes huge in the dark. "Dark deeds are planned in this place, but Harry Potter must not be here when they happen – go home, Harry Potter, go home. Harry Potter must not meddle in this, sir, 'tis too dangerous –"
"Who is it, Dobby?" Harry said, keeping a firm hold on Dobby'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 home, Harry Potter, go home!"
"I'm not going anywhere!" Harry growled. "One of my best friends is Muggle-born; she'll be first in line if the Chamber really has been opened –"
"Harry Potter risks his own life for his friends!" moaned Dobby in a kind of miserable ecstasy. "So noble! So valiant! But he must save himself, he must, Harry Potter must not –"
Dobby suddenly froze, his bat ears quivering. Harry heard it, too. There were footsteps coming down the passageway outside.
"Dobby must go!" breathed the elf, terrified.
There was a loud crack, and Harry's fist was suddenly clenched on thin air. He slumped back into bed, his eyes on the dark doorway to the hospital wing as the footsteps drew nearer.
Next moment, Dumbledore was backing into the dormitory, wearing a long woolly dressing gown and a nightcap. He was carrying one end of what looked like a statue. Professor McGonagall appeared a second later, carrying its feet. Together, they heaved it onto a bed.
"Get Madam Pomfrey," whispered Dumbledore, and Professor McGonagall hurried past the end of Harry's bed out of sight.
Harry lay quite still, pretending to be asleep. He heard urgent voices, and then Professor McGonagall swept back into view, closely followed by Madam Pomfrey, who was pulling a cardigan on over her nightdress. He heard a sharp intake of breath.
"What happened?" Madam Pomfrey whispered to Dumbledore, bending over the statue on the bed.
"Another attack," said Dumbledore. "Minerva found him on the stairs."
'Him?' Harry thought, suddenly very anxious. Had the monster attacked a student? He slowly leaned up onto his elbow, feeling a growing sense of dread at what he might see.
"There was a bunch of grapes next to him," said Professor McGonagall. "We think he was trying to sneak up here to visit Potter."
Harry's heart dropped from his mouth straight down to his stomach. "No..."
Within he was screaming, but his throat was constricted so badly he could hardly breathe, let alone talk. Had Neville or Ron been Petrified? Or worse...
When Harry was turned over enough to see the statue laid out on the hospital bed, he almost fell straight back down. A ray of moonlight lay across its staring face. It was Colin Creevey. His eyes were wide and his hands were stuck up in front of him, holding his camera.
"Petrified?" whispered Madam Pomfrey.
"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "But I shudder to think... If Albus hadn't been on the way downstairs for hot chocolate – who knows what might have –"
The three of them stared down at Colin. Then Dumbledore leaned forward and wrenched the camera out of Colin's rigid grip.
"You don't think he managed to get a picture of his attacker?" said Professor McGonagall eagerly.
Dumbledore didn't answer. He opened the back of the camera.
"Good gracious!" said Madam Pomfrey.
A jet of steam had hissed out of the camera. Harry, three beds away, caught the acrid smell of burnt plastic.
"Melted," said Madam Pomfrey wonderingly. "All melted..."
"What does this mean, Albus?" Professor McGonagall asked urgently.
"It means," said Dumbledore, "that the Chamber of Secrets is indeed open again."
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..."
And from what Harry could see of Professor McGonagall's shadowy face, she didn't understand this any better than he did.
Guest: Everyone should find Harry and Ginny's relationship strange. If something seems out of place it is more than likely important to the plot :)
Stars90: Thank you!
Gin110881: I'm not sure about Fictionhunt, but I think the problem might be that it's listed as a crossover? The searches seem separate. I don't want to deceive people into thinking it's a pure HP fanfiction, no matter how HP-centric it is :)
tpx1: Thanks!
Darth Trayus: The pacing problems do stem largely from my having started this when I was 12/13. For this volume, concluding with the end of second year, I'm going to be true to what my childhood self envisioned, but beyond that I plan on crafting a tighter experience. Insofar as the crossover listing is concerned, I didn't want to violate the terms of the site, and as I can't list the last few chapters of the story as a crossover, I thought it less risky to just list the whole thing as a crossover. That might be poor judgment on my part but what is done is done I suppose. Thanks for reviewing :)