Chapter 8: "help"
[Dobby. Lockhart. Creevey. I do not think that word means what you think it means…]
Saturday, 7 November 1992
The Great Hall
"I think I'm going to be sick."
Mary was sitting at the Slytherin table with the friendly half of her cohort, picking at her toast. She had not been nervous about the upcoming match until she entered the Great Hall the morning of, which was when she suddenly realized that at least half the school was staring at her, in a way they hadn't done since the very beginning of her first year.
"Don't be stupid, Liz. You'll be fine," Lilian reassured her. "You have to be," she added, shooting a look down the table at the other second-year Slytherin clique. "If you don't play, Malfoy will be seeker, and you'll never live it down."
"You really know how to encourage a girl, don't you, Moon," Blaise commented as Mary let her forehead drop to the table.
"What? It's true!" Lilian insisted. The other second-years sniggered. Even Mary's shoulders shook a bit.
"All right," she said, hauling herself upright, "but I can't deal with all these people staring at me." It was like they couldn't decide whether they expected great things from her, or terrible ones. Their eyes were unnerving. "I'm going to the loo, and then out to the pitch. I'll see you after the match, yeah?"
A chorus of positive responses met her ears and she struggled free of the bench, only to come face-to-lens with one of her least-favorite people in the castle. She groaned internally. Aloud, she only sniped at him as she tried to brush past. "Did your bloody housemates send you over hoping to unsettle me before the match? Step off, Creevey!"
"Hey, Mary," the boy replied, chronically incapable of taking a hint. He had, in fact, left her alone after the incident during the Quidditch trials, but it seemed that he had finally gathered his Gryffindor hard-headedness to approach her again. "I was wondering –"
"If you could have a photo? No! Bugger off!"
"I just think we got off on the wrong foot, and I've done all the Gryffindors – don't you want to remember the day?" the fanboy asked desperately.
"I'm certain the day will be memorable enough without your involvement. Leave me alone!"
She began to walk away, only to be stopped by a small, tentative hand on her arm as she stepped away from the boy. Her eyes narrowed at him. He swallowed hard, but didn't let go. "Please?"
"Oh, that is it!" Mary was fuming. She grabbed the front of his robes and dragged him up to the head table, stopping in front of professors Snape and Sinistra, who had been watching the confrontation with interest. They crossed the sound-dampening wards which stopped professors' conversations from being audible to the entire hall. The astronomy and potions professors were, perhaps unsurprisingly, discussing the cause of the impact of celestial movements in the gathering of certain potions ingredients. Mary waited patiently until her Head of House broke off his conversation and raised an eyebrow at her, her captive mumbling about not meaning anything by it, and trying to squirm out of her grasp.
Everyone in the hall was watching them, now, but then, they had already been watching Mary.
"My apologies for interrupting your breakfast, professors," she said, loudly enough to carry halfway down the length of their table, "But I would like to formally and publically register a complaint against another student with my Head of House."
The look which Professor Snape fixed on the Gryffindor boy would have been disconcerting to Mary, and she was a Slytherin. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to be the recipient of Professor Snape's irritation if he had no reason to like you at all. Creevey cowered, trying to hide behind Mary. "What is the nature of your complaint, Miss Potter?" The potions master's voice was dry and smooth, as usual, though she thought she could detect a hint of amusement, which wasn't always present.
"Mr. Colin Creevey of Gryffindor House," she said, hauling him around to face the professors, "has repeatedly attempted to take my photo against my wishes, molesting me in public, despite my repeated requests for him to stop. He knows my class schedule and follows me around, and he nearly got me killed at my Quidditch trial, blinding me just as I was coming out of a dive, two meters from the ground." The professor's eyes narrowed. "I would like to enter a complaint of stalking, and request that Mr. Creevey be officially banned from my presence."
And then the headmaster swooped down on them. His crimson robes had tiny golden phoenixes embroidered on it. On the day of the Slytherin-Gryffindor match, he might as well have worn a sign proclaiming his support for the lions. Mary was hard-pressed not to sneer at him for his blatant favoritism. "Surely, Mary, my dear, Mr. Creevey hasn't offended so greatly as all that," the old man suggested in a consoling tone. Professor Snape was glaring bloody murder at his boss.
"Nearly. Got. Me. Killed. Sir," she repeated, enunciating clearly. "Draco Malfoy will vouch for my claims. He's the one who said I managed to pull up about a foot from the ground. I couldn't see anything."
"But this was nearly two months ago, dear girl. I fail to see… why now?"
Professor McGonagall approached and hovered, clearly unable to determine whether she should defend her ward or her student. Mary ignored her. It was probably for the best if she just stayed out of it.
She very dearly wanted to take the Headmaster to task over his continual familiarity, insisting on calling her his dear girl. But that would distract from the task at hand. "Because, sir, I yelled at him on that day, and he's left me alone since. But this morning, just now, in fact, he approached me yet again and asked me for another photo, a request I have denied at least three dozen times now."
"Perhaps you should just give the poor boy his photo, then, and let bygones be bygones." Dumbledore had a twinkle in his eye as he suggested Mary simply capitulate to the stupid boy's incessant demand.
"No."
"No, my dear?"
"No, sir. I will not give him what he wants simply because he has been stalking me. That's just bound to make it worse, and I don't give out photos of myself. I'm not a bloody celebrity!"
"Language, Miss Potter!" Dumbledore reprimanded her gently. "And I do believe most of the world would beg to differ in regards to your celebrity status."
Mary glared at the old man, trying desperately to think of an appropriate response, only to receive help from an unexpected quarter.
"Nevertheless, Headmaster, it is not incumbent on any person to bow before the demands of others simply due to their personal notoriety or the frequency with which such demands are made," Professor Sinistra interjected, more smoothly than Mary had thought the astronomy professor capable. "Need I call to mind the circumstances surrounding the most recent appointment of the Minister for Magic?"
Dumbledore actually blushed at that. Professor Snape looked delighted – or at least as close to delighted as Mary suspected it was possible for the professor to look.
"Well, that is… ahem…" the Headmaster blustered.
Professor Snape smoothly talked over him. "Miss Potter, in light of the accusations brought forth today, and given the fact that you share neither house nor year, your request is not unreasonable, pending further investigation by myself and a staff member not affiliated with either student. Professor Sinistra, if you would?" The astronomy professor nodded. "Mr. Creevey, you will refrain from speaking to Miss Potter, you will not attempt to take any photos of her, and you will avoid being within fifty feet of her whenever possible. You will be notified when our investigations have concluded. If you are found to have willfully violated these restrictions before that time, fifty points will be taken from Gryffindor house, and the restrictions will be magically enforced, regardless of the results of the investigation. If the accusation is found to be legitimate, these restrictions will be magically enforced. If the accusation is found to be illegitimate, Miss Potter, you may appeal to the Deputy Headmistress. If the findings are upheld, you will most likely be asked to offer a public apology and accede to Mr. Creevey's demands."
Mary nodded. She had expected as much. "Yes sir. Thank you, sir." She released her hold on the now-furious Creevey.
"You mean I can't even talk to her now?" he questioned the professors in a huff.
"I daresay the young lady has made it clear enough that she never wanted to talk to you in the first place," Professor Sinistra said coolly. "You will be summoned if and when we choose to speak to you regarding your behavior in relation to Miss Potter. You are dismissed."
The boy stomped away, doubtless to go complain to his housemates about Mary.
"Here, now, Aurora," the Headmaster tried to interrupt, but the witch turned on him with a hiss.
"You come perilously close to suggesting that we are to ignore blatantly threatening behavior toward one of our female students, Albus."
"Of course not, Aurora, dear, but –"
"Albus, dear," the professor said scathingly, "The muggles have a lovely little phrase I'm quite fond of: quit while you're behind."
Professor Snape cleared his throat softly. "I believe it's 'quit while you are ahead,' Sinistra."
Professor Sinistra threw a withering look at her employer. "That would be an impossibility in this circumstance, Snape."
The headmaster turned on his heel and returned to his seat, apparently unwilling to start an argument with the two Slytherin professors in the middle of the Great Hall. They saw him off with matching sneers, before turning their attention back to Mary.
Professor Sinistra grumbled something very much like, "Interfering, misogynistic old goat," while Professor Snape assured Mary that their investigation would take place over the two weeks to follow, and she would be apprised of their findings at that time.
"Yes, sir."
"Very well, you are dismissed."
"Thank you again, sir."
Mary turned to go, smiling as she heard Professor Sinistra saying behind her, "Five points to Slytherin for actually knowing and applying the school rules instead of just hexing the little creep's face off."
She did not look back, nor at the student tables, as she left the Hall, mind firmly fixed once again on the upcoming match.
The Quidditch Pitch
The day was overcast, as so many days had been lately. Flint gave the team a pep-talk in the locker-rooms before-hand (which could be summed up as: You all know we're the best, so let's go out and prove it), and charmed Mary's glasses to repel water, just in case it started to rain. Bletchley, their keeper, had done the same for himself. They weren't allowed in practice, because Flint thought it was a good training strategy, to force them to fly half-blind. It would give them a leg up in the actual match.
Lee Jordan announced the team as they trooped onto the pitch. Madam Hooch, with a note of resignation in her tone, declared that she wanted a nice, clean game from all of them. Flint just smirked at her when she gave him a hard look. The captains shook hands – likely harder than necessary, from the look on Wood's face – and then with a whistle, they were off.
"Luck, Potter," Malfoy called as he hurtled into formation with the other chasers.
"Skill, not luck," she called back as she made her first pass through the scrum, causing an unsuspecting Gryffindor to drop the Quaffle. She heard the blonde boy cackling behind her as she peered around for the Snitch. Thorpe, the Gryffindor seeker, seemed to be sticking to the same strategy he had used the year before, circling above the action.
A bludger came out of nowhere, just as the first fat raindrops fell from the sky. Mary dodged, resigning herself to yet another wet, cold afternoon. Montague knocked the bludger toward one of the Gryffindor girls, but it inexplicably turned around mid-flight to target Mary again.
"What in the nine bloody hells?!" she heard Montague exclaim behind her as she shot off, bludger in pursuit. She executed a near-perfect flip-reversal just in front of the Gryffindor goal posts. Wood, their keeper, ducked the bludger, which didn't have her maneuverability, and shouted something incomprehensible at her. She was already off, headed upward, in the hopes that the mad iron ball would be attracted to the scrum if she got far enough away.
No such luck.
She heard a whistling behind her as the ball caught up. It was faster than she was, if not by much. She had to be three-hundred feet up. She had passed Thorpe lurking around the two-fifty mark. He must be farsighted, if he was planning to spot the Snitch from there. There was no "top" of a Quidditch pitch, technically, but the anti-lightning wards were placed at five-hundred feet, and the Snitch hardly ever ventured above the fifty-meter mark.
Mary's hands tightened on the shaft of her broom. If she couldn't outrun it, perhaps she could break it. She pulled another flip-turn, this one sending her straight toward the ground, spiraling slightly to avoid the bludger. She passed it, and watched beneath her arm as it overshot her, then turned, following, two seconds behind and gaining. If her estimations were correct – and she had found she was very good at these estimations after two months of practice – it had overshot by about ten feet. If she could get closer to the ground than that, there was a good chance it would impact, and hopefully be damaged enough that it could be replaced.
These thoughts ran through her mind very quickly – not even fully consciously. She passed Thorpe again, pushing herself faster as the bludger gained ground. It was inches away from her tail as she hit the scrum, diving recklessly through the other players, who scattered in her wake. She distantly heard Madam Hooch's whistle blow, but she could hardly stop – twenty meters to go – ten – five. She tightened her grip and threw herself backward, transferring her downward momentum to forward just in time to avoid both ground and bludger. Mud splattered over her as she was flung across the pitch, nearly out of control, toes skimming the rain-soaked grass.
The whistle blew again, and she slowed, looking around. There was a mass of green robes near their goalposts, on the ground. She joined them, breathing hard.
"What the bloody hell is going on, Potter?" Flint demanded, as soon as she was within earshot.
"No idea! That bludger's been chasing me all game. I haven't seen it go after anyone else at all."
"Right." Flint looked grim, and none of the others looked much better. It would be incredibly difficult to win if their seeker was constantly under attack, though they were, apparently, sixty points up.
Their captain stomped off to talk to the referee. A moment later they heard his raised voice competing with Wood. "The damn thing's been tampered with!"
"It can't have been!"
"Well how else do you explain my seeker pulling a Wronski Feint on a bloody bludger?! It's tracking her!"
"What do you want me to do about it?"
"Agree to a change of equipment, moron!"
The three were slowly approaching the Slytherin team.
"Not having it, Flint! You've probably cursed the spare snitch or some such. Only one equipment substitution per game, isn't it?"
"You… paranoid… git! Can't you see there's something going on here? Madam Hooch, can't you overrule him?"
"Sorry, Mr. Flint, you know the rules." Madam Hooch sounded smug. "Either you both must agree to substitute all the balls, or you may forfeit, if you are so concerned for your seeker's safety."
Flint said nothing, but stomped back to the team at that. "Wood's being a right bastard," he reported. "So we either forfeit, or deal with it. Potter, we can't afford the beaters to be on bodyguard duty. Can you handle it?"
Mary considered for a long moment. She probably could. She certainly was more maneuverable. And there was no reason she couldn't keep using it like she had against Wood in her first attempt to shake it off. It would be harder to spot the snitch, but not too much worse than when she was involved in the plays. "Yeah. I'll make it work," she finally decided, "but I don't think I can dodge it and do my part in the plays."
Flint waved this away. "Break things up when you can, but otherwise focus on finding the damn snitch. Bole, you and I will alternate between the Kappa, Hinkypunk, and Redcap plays. Malfoy, you know the seeker's parts?" The blond nodded. "Fly those, then. We may pass to you on occasion, but we'll avoid it. Warrington, Montague, control the second bludger. With only one of them to worry about, we shouldn't have any unwanted interference. Got it?" The team nodded grimly. A rogue bludger was not one of the many things they had a plan to deal with. "Good. Back in the air."
The team kicked off, and play resumed. The bludger, undaunted by its trip into the mud, picked up where it had left off, trailing Mary around the pitch as she dipped and weaved, jinked and dodged, eyes wide behind her glasses as she peered around for the snitch. She looped and swooped, spiraled and rolled. At one point a Weasley sent the second bludger at her as well, and she was forced to stall her broom, nearly upright, and spin, dropping through the air – a pirouette-turn.
The rain was sheeting down. Another near miss by the bludger as she ducked and flipped, and then – she saw it! It was hovering near the top of the Gryffindor goal-posts. Thorpe was nearer. Mary hesitated for the briefest moment, trying to decide whether he had seen it, and whether she could catch it before he did, if she charged it just then, and trying to hear the commentary over the rain – were they ahead enough that it didn't matter?
The briefest moment was too long – the bludger, denied for what felt like hours, finally made contact. Mary felt her right arm crack, and immediately felt sick. She clung to her broom with her left hand as the evil ball circled around for another pass. There was nothing for it – the game had to end, now. She pelted through the rain, directly at the snitch, tucking her broken arm as close to her body as possible.
Thorpe seemed oblivious, not moving until she sped past him. She thought he might be following, but that didn't matter. He would never catch up. The golden ball flitted away, headed for the ground, and jinking toward the Hufflepuff stands. Mary growled, diving in pursuit. She leaned forward and wrapped her legs around the tail of the broom as Seran had taught her, stretching her left hand out to capture the bloody thing, and kicking down hard with her right foot to push the nose of her broom up, out of its dive. The bludger overshot again, just as she wrapped her left arm back around the broom, steering it awkwardly toward Madam Hooch.
"I've got the snitch," she called, dropping abruptly past the older woman, who had to duck quickly to avoid the rogue bludger.
The referee blew her whistle, and both of the Slytherin beaters came to escort Mary to the ground, whacking the cursed ball away. She hovered lower and lower, until she could just roll off her broom, over her left arm and onto her back. It wasn't until she was safely lying in the mud, snitch in hand, that she truly realized how badly her arm throbbed.
"Alright, Potter?" Warrington asked, his eyes still on the sky.
"I got the snitch," she answered, somewhat nonsensically.
She thought she might have blacked out for a moment, then, because the next thing she remembered was 'professor' Lockhart hovering over her, grinning broadly.
"Aargh!" she shouted, flinching away from the sight of his face so close to her own, and then moaned in pain as she jostled her arm.
"Not to worry, not to worry! I'm just going to fix your arm!"
Mary opened her mouth to object, but Draco of all people got there first. "No you bloody well aren't," he said, hauling Mary up by her left arm. "Come on, Potter. Hospital wing."
She nodded gratefully, but Lockhart seized her shoulder, holding her in place. "Hold still, Mary, I've done this charm countless times –"
"No! I don't want your help. Let go of me! Flint! Fetch!" But the older Slytherins were off arguing about something with Madam Hooch and the Gryffindors – all four of the beaters were attempting to capture the rogue bludger – and Lockhart ignored Draco's objections as easily as Mary's own. He twirled his wand and directed it at Mary's arm.
A strange, unpleasant sensation started at her shoulder and worked its way down, as though her arm was being deflated. Malfoy gawked, and Mary couldn't help but look as well. Her arm – her proper, writing, wand-waving, Quidditch-playing arm – appeared to have been replaced by a thick, flesh-colored rubber glove, perhaps one filled with water, as it jiggled oddly when she moved.
It didn't hurt anymore, but it also felt nothing like an arm, and she couldn't move it at all. "What have you done?!" she shrieked. Malfoy sniggered, though whether at Mary or Lockhart she had no idea. Lilian and Hermione, who had just managed to push their way to the front of the crowd with Blaise and Daphne, gaped at her.
"Ah, yes, well. That can sometimes happen," the 'professor' brushed her off. "The point is, the bones are no longer broken! Now then, you just toddle on up to the Hospital wing, and ask Madam Pomfrey to tidy you up a bit, eh?"
If looks could kill, Mary's glare would have at least made a good attempt at bludgeoning the celebrity author. The Slytherins and Hermione escorted her through the crowd before she could say or do anything truly unfortunate to the idiot masquerading as a professor. They were halfway back to the school before Mary managed to form a coherent sentence.
"Hermione," she requested, her voice unnervingly calm, "Lilian, would you be so kind as to inform the Weasley twins and Morgana Yaxley that I have a joint project for them?"
Blaise and Lilian sniggered as Hermione said, "Erm… Lizzie… are you sure?"
"He's done for. If the curse doesn't get him by the end of the year, I want all of them to help me get him fired, at the very least. Though I wouldn't say no to complete and utter social humiliation, the likes of which he could never recover from. Do be a love and pass that on for me?"
Daphne joined in the giggles at this. Hermione just sighed. "Fine. I'll tell the Weasleys. But I want it on the record that I think this is a bad idea."
"Duly noted."
Mary failed to notice Draco looking at her with something like respect in his eyes.
Hospital Wing
Madam Pomfrey was not pleased when Mary's escort dropped her off outside her domain, the Slytherins convincing Hermione that it was for the better to avoid the mediwitch if at all possible. Hermione and Lilian promised to visit her in the morning.
"You should have come straight to me!" she raged, holding up the floppy remainder of Mary's arm.
"I tried. Blame Lockhart," Mary defended herself.
"That bloody ponce! I can mend bones in a second, but growing them back? You'll have to stay the night."
The Matron allowed Mary to take a shower (trying all the while to avoid looking at the creepy thing which had taken the place of her arm) and helped her dress in hospital robes, which were not, she thought, altogether different from muggle hospital gowns. Once Mary was safely in bed, Madam Pomfrey bustled off, and returned shortly with a bottle labeled Skele-Gro.
"You're in for a rough night, I'm afraid," she said, pouring out a steaming measure and handing it to Mary. "Regrowing bones is a nasty business, and all the standard sleeping and pain potions have tricky reactions with skele-gro."
Mary groaned, then swallowed the potion as quickly as possible. It was wretched, burning as it went down. "Water?" she begged, coughing and spluttering. The matron passed her a glass, muttering to herself about dangerous sports and inept teachers.
Mary's arm began to fill with stabbing pains almost immediately, and it was with great difficulty that she fell asleep. She was woken to eat dinner and then spent several hours trying to fall asleep again, or, failing that, to reach the sort of not-quite-conscious state in which she had spent so many hours in the cupboard under Aunt Petunia's stairs. It was harder than she recalled, but that might have been because her arm bloody hurt.
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Mary woke suddenly, an indeterminate amount of time later. It was dark, and she reached for her wand without thinking, only to whimper when she moved her right arm, which now felt like it was full of large splinters. She thought at first that she must have moved in her sleep, and the pain woken her, but then she realized, to her horror, that someone was sponging her forehead in the dark.
She shrieked, for the second time that day, though this time in terror, rather than rage. An elf-sized creature tumbled off the bed, and Mary realized she could make out his eyes gleaming in the darkness as her eyes adjusted to the low light of the ward. Dobby.
"What do you want?" she asked, heart still racing.
"Mary Potter has come back to Hogwarts," the elf whispered miserably. "Dobby warned and warned, but Miss Mary is not listening to Dobby." He was crying. A single tear was hanging from the point of his long nose.
"Of course I came back to school! I was never not going to come back to school!" She sat up, trying to move her arm as little as possible, and wincing when she failed.
"Mary Potter must go home, miss! Hogwarts is not being safe for Miss Mary. Dobby's bludger was not enough to make Mary Potter go, but –"
Mary didn't particularly care what the elf was going to say next. "Your bludger? You made that bludger try to kill me?"
"Not kill you, miss! Never kill you! Dobby is wanting to save Mary Potter's life! Is beings better sent home grievously injured than to remain here, miss! Dobby only wanted Mary Potter hurt enough to be sent home! Dobby bes trying to help."
Mary narrowed her eyes at the little creature. This was going to have to stop now. The stupid thing was clearly damaged in the head somehow – maybe too many punishments or something. But if he didn't stop trying to 'help' her, she wouldn't make it through Yule. "Cammy!" she called, her voice only slightly desperate.
Cammy appeared with a small pop. "Miss Mary, is miss hurt?" Dobby looked terrified.
"Cammy, stop that elf!" Mary ordered quickly. Cammy looked around, then pounced on Dobby, babbling at him in their high, squeaky elvin language.
They scuffled on the floor for a moment, and then three other Hogwarts elves appeared to help Cammy manage the intruder. Several minutes later, Dobby was pinned to the floor, with the largest of the three new elves sitting on his back. The two others held down his hands and feet as Cammy squeaked at him, angrily, Mary thought. The word 'tweelk' featured prominently. She wondered if it was an Elvish curse word.
Mary was loathe to interrupt, but she did want to know what was going on. "Erm… Cammy?"
The elf broke off her high-pitched tirade. "Yes, miss Mary?"
"What's going on?"
"Dobby is a bad elf!" Cammy declared. "He is not supposed to bes here. His masters dids not send him here. He is being hurting Hogwarts students, and bes trespassing in the halls of Hogwarts, where strange elves is not to go!"
"I don't suppose he said why he's here?" she asked.
Cammy squeaked at Dobby for another moment, and received a response, and a shaken head.
"No, miss. Dobby is being told not to tell of his masters' plans, nor of who they is, nor of what may happen to students, including Mary Potter, if they is to come to Hogwarts."
Dobby squeaked again, trying to buck off his captors.
"What is Miss Mary wantings we Hogwarts elves to have done with the tweelkari intruder?" the large elf asked, as he balanced himself again on top of Dobby.
"Can you just make sure he leaves and can't come back?"
"Of course, Miss!" The three elves holding Dobby vanished with a crack, taking their prisoner with them.
"They is taking him to the elf-hub of the wards," Cammy explained. "He will be marked so that he cans not enter without a Hogwarts elf for safety. And no Hogwarts elf will let tweelkari elf into castle. Bes not safe."
"Oh. Thank you, Cammy. And please thank your friends for me." Mary hesitated. "What is a twilk? Is it a curse word?"
The elf shook her head violently. "No, miss Mary. Tweelks is very bad elf sickness. Makes good elveses become bad elveses who hateses theys families."
Mary took a moment to struggle through that sentence. "So… Dobby, that elf, he was mad? Insane?"
"Is it madness to risk death, and safety of all other elveses for freedom?" Cammy said 'freedom' as though it was a dirty word.
Mary had to consider this for a moment, given that she herself was a proponent of freedom. She knew the elves weren't though, on the whole. It was one of the things Hermione found offputting about Cammy. "Well," she hedged, "his family, the Malfoys, they sound pretty awful. He showed up at the Grangers' house over the summer, and he had to twist his ears and slam his head on the ground every time he even thought something bad about them. And he said he was trying to help me, not get free of them."
The elf shook her head slowly. "Snake-house founder would be so disappointed with Miss Mary."
"What?" Mary must have heard that wrong. Surely Cammy did not just say that Mary was being un-Slytherin. But it seemed she had.
Cammy gave her a pitying look. "Miss Mary is havings be tricked. Why bes Miss Mary trusting strange elf? Shoulds Miss Mary bes trusting any old wizard on the street?" As Mary shook her head, baffled, the elf continued. "Of course not! And why shoulds elveses be different? Bad elf Dobby wantses to save Mary Potter, yes, so Mary Potter would be owings bad elf a debt, and would be findings a way for to free bad elf!"
"But why shouldn't he be freed? He clearly hates them. And they're horrible to him. Even his pillowcase is horrible. He said he would have to iron his fingers! Stick his ears in the oven door!"
"Yes, Dobby says. Is not beings reasons for Dobby to tell Miss Mary true things. Dobby is not elf of House Potter."
Mary considered this, recalling how easily the elf had deceived his master on the train. "But what about when he punished himself in front of me?"
"Oh miss," the elf squeaked with a giggle. "Elveses is as much more stronger and less can be hurt than wizards as wizards is to muggles! For to twist earses is nothing. Is punishment of babes who is speakings out of turn."
"And the pillowcase?"
"Is miss truly thinking that Lord of House Malfoy is wantings any elf out to be seed in that? Is looking bad for Malfoy. Bad elf is wearings tatty rags of uniform to spite masters. Is wantings… clothes," she said, whispering the last word conspiratorially.
Mary shook her head. She wasn't really sure why, but she suddenly felt as though everything she knew about the world had been turned upside down. Elves were so… nice, and helpful, and innocent… or at least that's how they seemed. A sneaky elf who was trying to get fired seemed like it should be a contradiction in terms. "So wait, let me get this straight. Dobby has been lying and trying to 'save' my life so I will help him get freedom. He's also doing things like embarrassing the Malfoys in public in the hopes that they will free him, just to get rid of him. And this means he must be mad?" Cammy nodded. "But why is it mad to want his freedom?"
Cammy gave a very large sigh for such a small creature. "Elves's magic be not like other creatures. Elveses has too much magic. Without the ties of houses, elves…" the elf hesitated for a long moment before continuing, "elves can be blowed up, by theys own magic," she finally whispered. "Is called estimin," she added with a fearful squeak. "Is worst fate of elf. Elveses is needings to bind magics to house and wizards for keepings magic busy."
This was something Mary had never thought to ask before. It had simply never come up. She knew the elves were more or less slaves, but they didn't normally seem to want to talk about it. She was beginning to feel a headache coming on as she delved further into the twilight zone of elf-logic. "So you… you bind yourselves to families, to houses… specifically so that you can't use all your magic? Because that means you won't have enough magic to accidentally kill yourselves. Okay. But… What if your masters are cruel to you? For real, I mean, not like Dobby."
Cammy shrugged. "If bond is true, masters cans not be hurtings elveses, or elveses cans be hurting masters. And is easier for elveses to hurt masters than for masters to hurt elveses. Good elf will not break bond with house or hurt masters, even if masters is cruel, for worst fate of elf is worse."
Mary considered this for a long moment. "So most elves don't want to be free, because they are more afraid of their magic than their masters?"
"Most masters is good wizards, and is kind to elves. Elves and wizards are good for wizards and elves. Is terrible threat, to free an elf. Is terrible too, to force elf to hurt masters. Is only happenings once every two or three hundreds of years. But this is sad subject. Miss must bes tellings Cammy about Missy's summer, and classes and friends."
Mary sighed in turn. She wasn't sure what to think about all this, but the abrupt change of subject was nothing if not a strong hint that Cammy didn't want to talk about it anymore, so she did not insist. She suspected it would be better if she could think about these revelations about the elves before she asked more questions, anyway. "Have you had a chance to talk to Hermione this year? Her mum wanted her to ask about elf magic and wards after, well, Dobby kind of just popped in."
Cammy nodded with a smile. "Cammy is tellings Missy Granger that elves can protect against all other elves, but is difficult if they is not beings bound to the House. When Missy Granger is growed up, she cans bind an elf to the House Granger, and then is no problem to keep other elves away. But is very tricky until then. Elves's magic be not like wizards magic, and is tricky for wizards's to block."
Mary grimaced. Somehow she didn't think Emma would be pleased with that answer. "I don't suppose an elf could bind itself to a muggle family?"
Cammy shook her head violently. "No, Miss Mary. Elves is needings to bind our magics to serve that of wizards. Is not workings with muggles. They is not havings enough magic to keep elves's magic controlled."
Mary very much wanted to ask what the elf meant when she said that muggles didn't have enough magic, but before she could, the elf changed the subject again.
"Was Missy Hermione likings elf Mitsy's cake?"
Mary smiled and settled into catching the little elf up as she had promised to do before Hermione's birthday, and passing along her compliments on both the cake and the Halloween Feast. It was a welcome distraction to the ongoing pain in Mary's arm.
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They were still up talking at five in the morning (and never got back to the topic of whether and how muggles had any magic at all), when the sound of footsteps came down the passageway. Cammy vanished with a pop, saying that she had duties in the kitchens to attend to anyway, and leaving Mary to pretend to sleep as the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall came slowly into the ward, carrying what looked like a statue between them.
They laid it on a bed as Madam Pomfrey appeared, pulling a cardigan over her nightdress.
"What happened?" she whispered to Dumbledore, examining the statue.
"Another attack," the Headmaster said. "Minerva found him on the stairs."
"I can't think what he was doing out so early," she said. "Unless he was hoping to sneak up to speak with Miss Potter about that scene at breakfast."
Mary gave up all pretense of sleeping at that point and sat up to see what had happened.
"Go back to sleep, Miss Potter," the matron said firmly, drawing the curtains closed around them. But it was too late. Mary had already seen the unmistakable figure of Colin Creevey, face half-hidden as usual behind an upraised camera.
"You don't think he managed to get a picture of his attacker?" Professor McGonagall asked eagerly.
There was a wretched smell of burnt plastic, and then Madam Pomfrey said, "Melted… all melted…"
"What does this mean, Albus?" the Professor asked.
There was a long moment of silence before the Headmaster responded. "It means," he said finally, "that the Chamber of Secrets is indeed open again."
"But, Albus… surely… who?" the professor protested.
"The question is not who," Dumbledore said softly, "but how."
And with that, the three adults left the hospital wing. Mary fell, finally, into a fitful and restless sleep, filled with statues and accusing stares.
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Mary woke late on Sunday morning, to find her tiny curtain-cubicle filled with people – Lilian, Hermione, and Fred and George had all crowded in. One of the boys was stealing the bacon from her breakfast tray.
"Hey! Stop that!" she complained.
"It's nearly eleven, you had your chance," he responded, but passed her the plate.
Her right arm appeared to be in proper working order – only a bit stiff. She seemed to recall having been woken up at some point to move it for the matron, before going back to sleep, exhausted after the match, the ordeal with the house elves, and her nightmares about angry, petrified people.
"Glad you're up," the other twin said. Mary really wished she could tell them apart.
"Guess what I've got!" Hermione said, pulling an enormous old book out of her bag. "It's Moste Potent Potions! We heard about Creevey, and decided we shouldn't wait."
"You mean you decided," Lilian glared at her from across Mary's bed. "I still think this is a terrible idea."
Mary speared a cold bit of potato. "Snape's interrogating all the Slytherins. What we really need is a way to question everyone else," she insisted, siding with Lilian.
"We could use the potion more than once," Hermione suggested.
"What is it with you and this potion?" Lilian asked, exasperated.
"I just think we need to be doing something," Hermione insisted.
The twins, who were flipping through the book and making faces at each other (which Mary found a bit worrying), suddenly stopped. "What about this?" they asked together, turning the book to display a recipe.
Veritaserum, the page read, moste potent of truthe potions.
Hermione nibbled her lip thoughtfully, then reached out to take the book back, skimming the instructions carefully. "Well…" she said slowly, "I think it might be more dangerous, on the whole… but we could manage it, if we had space. And some of these ingredients will be hard to come by. But I think we could do it."
"We'll take care of the ingredients and space," one of the twins said.
"And we can split up the task of questioning everyone," the other offered.
"We're going to need more help," Mary sighed.
"I talked to Morgana yesterday," Lilian offered. Apparently she thought this had more potential than the Polyjuice Plan, and Mary had to agree. "She says she and her crew will help you with whatever you need. In her words, anything for the Heir of Slytherin." The girl smirked as Mary rolled her eyes.
"Maybe not the best idea to say that ten feet from the latest victim, Lils?"
Lilian flushed as the boys laughed at her. Hermione was too distracted by the potions text to notice.
Their laughter brought Madam Pomfrey to Mary's cubicle, and her friends were shooed away. Mary was glad, if not to see them go, then at least to see the back of their mad plans to drug the entire school, even if it was only a momentary respite.
[A/N: rant Fuck house elves. I re-wrote this chapter multiple times, and I'm still not happy with the elves. /rant]