For the next two weeks, the school could talk of little else but the attack on Mrs. Norris. Filch kept it fresh in everyone's minds by pacing the spot where she had been attacked, as though he thought the attacker might come back. Harry had seen him scrubbing the message on the wall with Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover, but to no effect; the words still gleamed as brightly as ever on the stone. When Filch wasn't guarding the scene of the crime, he was skulking red-eyed through the corridors, lunging out at unsuspecting students, and trying to put them in detention for things like "breathing loudly" and "looking happy."
The situation became even worse when word spread that someone or something had killed all of Hagrid's roosters by quite literally 'tearing them apart.'
The attacks seemed to have a profound impact on several students, however, and more than one teacher seemed to have noticed.
Luna seemed to be taking the attack on Mrs. Norris and the roosters especially hard, and those who knew her best knew the reason for it was due to how much the girl loved animals, and hated to see them hurt. Quite a few of the Weasley clan suspected that she knew more than she was saying, but as always, she would go stubbornly quiet when talked to.
Harry, on the other hand, seemed to have developed a perpetual bad mood, and was far gruffer with his friends and family than usual; oftentimes, Ron, or someone else would catch Harry glaring across the Great Hall at the Slytherin table, but they could never figure out WHO it was that Harry was glaring at with such intensity. Almost all the Weasleys had attempted to get Harry to open up about his attack, only to receive silence and a glare in place of any answer. Fred and George seemed to have taken particular offense at their little brother's attack and doubled down on their pranks upon Slytherin house; on more than one occasion, some unfortunate Slytherin would end up transformed into a large yellow canary before flying around in horror at what had happened to them. Thankfully, the spell seemed to last only a few minutes to an hour, but it had lit an everlasting hatred for the twins from the house of the snakes, and several times, Fred and George would only barely avoid a curse or hex thrown at them from persons unknown.
The attack had also had an effect on Hermione. It was quite usual for Hermione to spend a lot of time reading, but she was now doing almost nothing else. Nor could Harry and Ron get much response from her when they asked what she was up to, and not until the following Wednesday did they find out.
Harry had been held back in Potions, after accidentally melting his cauldron, much to Snape's annoyance. After a hurried lunch, he went upstairs to meet Ron in the library, and saw Justin Finch-Fletchley, a Hufflepuff boy from Herbology that Harry had talked to several times, coming toward him. Harry had just opened his mouth to say hello when Justin caught sight of him, turned abruptly, and sped off in the opposite direction, leaving Harry confused and a little hurt.
Harry found Ron at the back of the library, measuring his History of Magic homework. Professor Binns had asked for a three-foot-long composition on "The Medieval Assembly of European Wizards."
"I don't believe it, I'm still eight inches short…" said Ron furiously, letting go of his parchment, which sprang back into a roll. "And Hermione's done four feet seven inches and her writing's tiny."
Ron, much to everyone's surprise, seemed to actually begin to do well in his classes this year, no doubt thanks to Hermione helping him conquer his dyslexia; he had managed to pull himself up from dead last in Transfiguration, and was even showing some skill in Charms, now that he could actually understand what he was reading.
"Where is she?" asked Harry, grabbing the tape measure and unrolling his own homework.
"Somewhere over there," said Ron, pointing along the shelves. "Looking for another book. I think she's trying to read the whole Library before Christmas Break!"
Seeing his brother's face, Ron immediately asked what was wrong and Harry told him about what had just happened with Justin.
"Dunno why you care. I thought he was a bit of an idiot," said Ron, scribbling away, as he attempted to make his writing as large as possible. "All that junk about Lockhart being so great…"
Harry grimaced as he recalled the conversation that Justin, Ron, and Harry had a few weeks prior during Herbology, in which Justin had all but deified Lockhart as the premier Dark Wizard and Creature hunter; Ron and Harry had both had to fight to keep from laughing in Justin's face at that.
Hermione emerged, then, from between the bookshelves, looking irritable and at last seemed ready to talk to them.
"All the copies of Hogwarts, A History have been taken out," she said, sitting beside Harry and Ron. "And there's a two-week waiting list. I wish I hadn't left my copy at home, but I couldn't fit it in my trunk with all the Lockhart books."
"Why do you want it?" said Harry.
"The same reason everyone else wants it," said Hermione, "To read up on the legend of the Chamber of Secrets."
"What's that?" said Harry quickly.
"That's just it. I can't remember," said Hermione, biting her lip. "And I can't find the story anywhere else…."
"Hermione, let me read your composition," said Ron desperately, checking his watch.
"No, I won't," said Hermione, suddenly severe. "You've had ten days to finish it."
"I only need another two inches, come on…"
The bell rang. Ron and Hermione led the way to History of Magic, bickering.
History of Magic was the dullest subject on their schedule. Professor Binns, who taught it, was their only ghost teacher, and the most exciting thing that ever happened in his classes was his entering the room through the blackboard. Ancient and shriveled, many people said he hadn't noticed he was dead. He had simply got up to teach one day and left his body behind him in an armchair in front of the staffroom fire; his routine had not varied in the slightest since.
Today was as boring as ever. Professor Binns opened his notes and began to read in a flat drone like an old vacuum cleaner until nearly everyone in the class was in a deep stupor, occasionally coming to long enough to copy down a name or date, then falling asleep again. He had been speaking for half an hour when something happened that had never happened before; Hermione put up her hand.
Professor Binns, glancing up in the middle of a deadly dull lecture on the International Warlock Convention of 1289, looked amazed.
"Miss…. er….?"
"Granger, Professor. I was wondering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets," said Hermione in a clear voice.
Dean Thomas, who had been sitting with his mouth hanging open, gazing out of the window, jerked out of his trance; Lavender Brown's head came up off her arms and Neville Longbottom's elbow slipped off his desk.
Professor Binns blinked.
"My subject is History of Magic," he said in his dry, wheezy voice. "I deal with, facts, Miss Granger, not myths and legends." He cleared his throat with a small noise like chalk snapping and continued, "In September of that year, a subcommittee of Sardinian sorcerers…."
He stuttered to a halt. Hermione's hand was waving in the air again.
"Miss Grant?"
"Please, sir, don't legends always have a basis in fact?"
Professor Binns was looking at her in such amazement, Harry was sure no student had ever interrupted him before, alive, or dead.
"Well," said Professor Binns slowly, "yes, one could argue that I suppose." He peered at Hermione as though he had never seen a student properly before. "However, the legend of which you speak is such a very sensational, even ludicrous tale…"
But the whole class was now hanging on Professor Binns's every word. He looked dimly at them all, every face turned to his. Harry could tell he was completely thrown by such an unusual show of interest.
"Oh, very well," he said slowly. "Let me see… the Chamber of Secrets…"
"You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago, the precise date is uncertain, by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age. The four school Houses are named after them: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. They built this castle together, far from prying Muggle eyes, for it was an age when magic was feared by common people, and witches and wizards suffered much persecution."
He paused, gazed blearily around the room, and continued.
"For a few years, the founders worked in harmony together, seeking out youngsters who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated. But then disagreements sprang up between them. A rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more selective about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. He disliked taking students of Muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy. After a while, there was a serious argument on the subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school."
Professor Binns paused again, pursing his lips, looking like a wrinkled old tortoise.
"Reliable historical sources tell us this much," he said. "But these honest facts have been obscured by the fanciful legend of the Chamber of Secrets. The story goes that Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders knew nothing. Slytherin, according to the legend, sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at the school. The heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber of Secrets, unleash the horror within, and use it to purge the school of all who were unworthy to study magic."
There was silence as he finished telling the story, but it wasn't the usual, sleepy silence that filled Professor Binns's classes. There was unease in the air as everyone continued to watch him, hoping for more. Professor Binns looked faintly annoyed.
"The whole thing is arrant nonsense, of course," he said. "Naturally, the school has been searched for evidence of such a chamber, many times, by the most learned witches and wizards. It does not exist. A tale told to frighten the gullible."
Immediately, Hermione's hand was back in the air, causing Harry to snort despite himself.
"Sir, what exactly do you mean by the 'horror within' the Chamber?" Hermione asked, her voice carrying in the silent classroom.
"That is believed to be some sort of monster, which the Heir of Slytherin alone can control," said Professor Binns in his dry, reedy voice.
The class exchanged nervous looks.
"I tell you, the thing does not exist," said Professor Binns, shuffling his notes. "There is no Chamber and no monster."
"But, sir," said Seamus Finnigan, "if the Chamber can only be opened by Slytherin's true heir, no one else would be able to find it, would they?"
"Nonsense, O'Flaherty," said Professor Binns in an aggravated tone. "If a long succession of Hogwarts headmasters and headmistresses haven't found the thing—"
"But, Professor," piped up Parvati Patil, "you'd probably have to use Dark Magic to open it—"
"Just because a wizard doesn't use Dark Magic doesn't mean he can't, Miss Pennyfeather," snapped Professor Binns. "I repeat, if the likes of Dumbledore—"
"But maybe you've got to be related to Slytherin, so Dumbledore couldn't—" began Dean Thomas, but Professor Binns had had enough,
"That will do!" he said sharply. "It is a myth! It does not exist! There is not a shred of evidence that Slytherin ever built so much as a secret broom cupboard! I regret telling you such a foolish story! We will return, if you please, to history, to solid, believable, verifiable fact!"
And within five minutes, the class had sunk back into its usual torpor.
XXXX
"I always knew Salazar Slytherin was a twisted old loony," Ron told Harry and Hermione as they fought their way through the teeming corridors at the end of the lesson to drop off their bags before dinner. "But I never knew he started all this pure-blood stuff. I wouldn't be in his House if you paid me. Honestly, if the Sorting Hat had tried to put me in Slytherin, I'd have got the train straight back home…"
Hermione nodded fervently, as Harry glared at a group of passing Slytherin; his anger over what Blaise Zabini had done to him had not abated in the least, and despite the warning from Sirius and his parents, Harry still intended to even the score with the bastard. The only problem was finding the opportunity to do so, which had become increasingly difficult as Blaise seemed to go out of his way to surround himself with older students, smirking at Harry all the while as Harry seethed.
As they were shunted along in the throng, Colin Creevey went past.
"Hiya, Harry!"
"Hello, Colin," said Harry automatically.
"Harry! A boy in my class has been saying you're—"
But Colin was so small he couldn't fight against the tide of people bearing him toward the Great Hall; they heard him squeak,
"See you, Harry!" and he was gone.
"What's a boy in his class saying about you?" Hermione wondered.
"That I'm Slytherin's heir, I expect," said Harry, his stomach dropping another inch or so as he suddenly remembered the way Justin Finch-Fletchley had run away from him at lunchtime.
"People here'll believe anything," said Ron in disgust.
The crowd thinned, and they were thankfully able to climb the next staircase without difficulty.
"D'you really think there's a Chamber of Secrets?" Ron asked Hermione,
"I don't know," she said, frowning. "Dumbledore couldn't cure Mrs. Norris, and that makes me think that whatever attacked her might not be…. well, human."
As she spoke, they turned a corner and found themselves at the end of the very corridor where the attack had happened. They stopped and looked. The scene was just as it had been that night, except that there was no stiff cat hanging from the torch bracket, and an empty chair stood against the wall bearing the message "The Chamber of Secrets Has Been Opened."
"That's where Filch has been keeping guard," Ron muttered, causing them to look at each other warily; the corridor was deserted, which was a rarity lately, and Harry anxiously worried his lip before coming to a decision.
"Can't hurt to have a poke around," said Harry, dropping his bag and getting to his hands and knees so that he could crawl along, searching for clues.
"Scorch marks!" he said. "Here, and here!"
"Come and look at this!" said Hermione. "This is funny…"
Harry got up and crossed to the window next to the message on the wall. Hermione was pointing at the topmost pane, where around twenty spiders were scuttling, apparently fighting to get through a small crack. A long, silvery thread was dangling like a rope, as though they had all climbed it in their hurry to get outside.
"Have you ever seen spiders act like that?" said Hermione in a soft voice.
"No," said Harry, "have you, Ron? Ron?"
He looked over his shoulder. Ron was standing well back and seemed to be fighting the impulse to run.
"What's up?" said Harry in confusion.
"I don't like spiders, Harry" said Ron tensely, "You know I don't…"
Harry immediately understood what was wrong with his brother and stepped toward him to place a comforting hand n Ron's shoulder, which the boy seemed to appreciate.
"I never knew that," said Hermione, looking at Ron in surprise. "You've used spiders in Potions loads of times…"
"I don't mind them dead," said Ron, who was carefully looking anywhere but at the window. "I just don't like the way they move…"
Hermione giggled, causing both Harry and Ron to shoot a dirty look at her for a moment.
"It's not funny," said Ron, fiercely. "If you must know, when I was three, Fred turned my…. my teddy bear into a great big filthy spider because I broke his toy broomstick… You wouldn't like them either if you'd been holding your bear and suddenly it had too many legs and…"
He broke off, shuddering. Hermione was obviously still trying not to laugh. Feeling they had better get off the subject, Harry said,
"Remember all that water on the floor? Where did that come from? Someone's mopped it up."
"It was about here," said Ron, recovering himself to walk a few paces past Filch's chair and pointing. "Level with this door."
He reached for the brass doorknob but suddenly withdrew his hand as though he'd been burned,
"What's the matter?" said Harry.
"Can't go in there," said Ron gruffly. "That's a girls' toilet."
"Oh, Ron, there won't be anyone in there," said Hermione, standing up and coming over. "That's Moaning Myrtle's place. Come on, let's have a look."
And ignoring the large OUT OF ORDER sign, she opened the door.
It was the gloomiest, most depressing bathroom Harry had ever set foot in. Under a large, cracked, and spotted mirror were a row of chipped sinks. The floor was damp and reflected the dull light given off by the stubs of a few candles, burning low in their holders; the wooden doors to the stalls were flaking and scratched and one of them was dangling off its hinges.
Hermione put her fingers to her lips and set off toward the end stall. When she reached it, she said, "Hello, Myrtle, how are you?"
Harry and Ron went to look and saw the ghost of a young girl, who they suspected was Moaning Myrtle, floating above the tank of the toilet, picking a spot on her chin. The ghost appeared to be that of a teenager; she was squat, with a glum face hidden behind lank hair and thick glasses.
"This is a girls' bathroom," she said, eyeing Ron and Harry suspiciously. "They're not girls."
"No," Hermione agreed. "I just wanted to show them how…. Er…. nice it is in here."
She waved vaguely at the dirty old mirror and the damp floor.
"Ask her if she saw anything," Harry mouthed at Hermione.
"What are you whispering?" said Myrtle, staring at him.
"Nothing," said Harry quickly. "We wanted to ask…."
"I wish people would stop talking behind my back!" said Myrtle, in a voice choked with tears. "I do have feelings, you know, even if I am dead!"
"Myrtle, no one wants to upset you," said Hermione. "Harry only—"
"No one wants to upset me! That's a good one!" howled Myrtle. "My life was nothing but misery at this place and now people come along ruining my death!"
"We wanted to ask you if you've seen anything funny lately," said Hermione quickly. "Because a cat was attacked right outside your front door on Halloween."
"Did you see anyone near here that night?" said Harry.
"I wasn't paying attention," said Myrtle dramatically. "Peeves upset me so much I came in here and tried to kill myself. Then, of course, I remembered that I'm…. that I'm…."
"Already dead," said Ron helpfully.
Myrtle gave a tragic sob, rose up in the air, turned over, and dived headfirst into the toilet, splashing water all over them and vanishing from sight, although from the direction of her muffled sobs, she had come to rest somewhere in the U-bend.
Harry and Ron stood with their mouths open, but Hermione shrugged wearily and said, "Honestly, that was almost cheerful for Myrtle… Come on, let's go."
Harry had barely closed the door on Myrtle's gurgling sobs when a loud voice made all three of them jump.
"RON! HARRY!"
Percy Weasley had stopped dead at the head of the stairs, prefect badge agleam, an expression of complete shock on his face.
"That's a girls' bathroom!" he gasped. "What were you…?"
"Just having a look around," Ron shrugged. "Clues, you know…"
Percy swelled in a manner that reminded Harry forcefully of his mother, and unconsciously took a step back.
"Get—away—from—there!" Percy said, striding toward them and starting to bustle them along, flapping his arms. "Don't you care what this looks like? Coming back here while everyone's at dinner!"
"Why shouldn't we be here?" said Ron hotly, stopping short and glaring at Percy. "Listen, we never laid a finger on that cat! You saw how banged up Harry was that night!"
"That's what I told Ginny!" Percy defended fiercely, "But she still seems to think you and Harry are going to be expelled! Her and Luna are in a right state over this whole matter!"
"You don't care about Luna," Harry growled, his hair turning fiery red to show his anger at his brother using Luna like that, "Or Ginny. You just care about us hurting your chances of becoming Head-Boy."
"Five points from Gryffindor!" Percy said tersely, fingering his prefect badge. "And I hope it teaches you a lesson! No more detective work, or I'll write to Mum!"
And he strode off, the back of his neck as red as Ron's ears, or perhaps Harry's hair.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione chose seats as far as possible from Percy in the common room that night. Ron was still in a very bad temper and kept blotting his Charms homework. When he reached absently for his wand to remove the smudges, it ignited the parchment. Fuming almost as much as his homework, Ron slammed The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 shut. To Harry's surprise, Hermione followed suit.
"Who can it be, though?" she said in a quiet voice, as though continuing a conversation they
had just been having. "Who'd want to frighten all the Squibs and Muggle-borns out of Hogwarts?"
"Let's think," said Ron in mock puzzlement. "Who do we know who thinks Muggle-borns are scum?"
He looked at Hermione. Hermione looked back, unconvinced.
"If you're talking about Malfoy…."
"Draco's not the attacker!" Harry said at once, and causing his two friends to look at him for a moment, "His father might be a right bastard, but Draco isn't like that!"
"Harry, I know you and Draco were friends…" Hermione started before being cut off by Harry,
"Are. Draco and I ARE friends, and one day, he will realize that he doesn't want to be his father. I know it."
Ron and Hermione shared a look before Ron took a deep breath, sighed, and spoke again.
"Ok, so if it's not Draco, then who?"
"What about Zabini?" Harry growled, his eyes turning into slits at the mention of his hated enemy.
"Zabini?" Hermione asked in surprise; she hadn't had much contact with the boy outside of class, but the few encounters she had endured had shown her what kind of person the Pureblood student was.
"Of course!" Ron said at once, pouncing on his brother's idea, "You heard him, 'You'll be next, Mudbloods!' Come on, you've only got to look at his foul rat face to know it's him!"
"Zabini, the Heir of Slytherin?" said Hermione skeptically.
"Look at his family," said Harry, closing his books, too. "The whole lot of them have been in Slytherin; he's always boasting about it. They could easily be Slytherin's descendants. His mother's definitely evil enough."
"They could've had the key to the Chamber of Secrets for centuries!" said Ron. "Handing it down, father to son…"
"Well," said Hermione cautiously, "I suppose it's possible…"
"But how do we prove it?" said Harry darkly; if Zabini were the culprit behind the attack, Harry would love nothing more than to see him caught and thrown out on his ear.
"There might be a way," said Hermione slowly, dropping her voice still further with a quick glance across the room at Percy. "Of course, it would be difficult. And dangerous, very dangerous. We'd be breaking about fifty school rules, I expect."
"If, in a month or so, you feel like explaining, you will let us know, won't you?" said Ron irritably.
"All right," said Hermione coldly. "What we'd need to do is to get inside the Slytherin common room and ask Malfoy a few questions without him realizing it's us."
"But that's impossible," Harry said as Ron laughed.
"No, it's not," said Hermione. "All we'd need would be some Polyjuice Potion."
"What's that?" said Ron, while Harry's mouth dropped open in shock as he began to understand Hermione's plan.
"Snape mentioned it in class a few weeks ago—"
"D'you think we've got nothing better to do in Potions than listen to Snape?" Interrupted Ron.
"It transforms you into somebody else. Think about it! We could change into three of the Slytherins. No one would know it was us. Zabini would probably tell us anything. He's probably boasting about it in the Slytherin common room right now, if only we could hear him."
"This Polyjuice stuff sounds a bit dodgy to me," said Ron, frowning. "What if we were stuck looking like three of the Slytherins forever?"
"It wears off after a while," said Hermione, waving her hand impatiently. "But getting hold of the recipe will be very difficult. Snape said it was in a book called Moste Potente Potions and it's bound to be in the Restricted Section of the library."
There was only one way to get out a book from the Restricted Section: You needed a signed note of permission from a teacher.
"Hard to see why we'd want the book, really," said Ron, "if we weren't going to try and make one of the potions."
"I think," said Hermione, "that if we made it sound as though we were just interested in the theory, we might stand a chance…"
"Or…" Harry said quickly, folding his arms across his chest, "We could avoid the possibility of expulsion altogether by doing something else."
"Such as?" Hermione asked in annoyance as her mind began to race with ideas on how to get the Potions book.
Rather than answer, Harry simply raised an eyebrow; an instant later, Draco Malfoy was sitting where Harry had just been, wearing a Gryffindor robe in place of his traditional Slytherin one, and causing both Ron and Hermione to look at him in shock.
"Of course!" Hermione cried softly, "How could I have forgotten that you're a Metamorphmagus, Harry!"
"Brilliant!" Ron added with a smile, "We just need to get a hold of some Slytherin robes, and Harry could impersonate one of the snakes! He could walk right into their common room and ask Zabini to his face if he's the one responsible!"
"But there's a problem," Hermione interrupted as Harry changed back to himself, "We would have to make sure that Harry changes into someone that Slytherin house knows to be one of them, without the actual person showing up and causing Harry to get caught."
"So, we jump some snake, and lock them in a broom cupboard for a few hours while Harry does his spy thing?" Ron asked with a feral grin, "Sounds like fun."
"We are not attacking anyone!" Hermione hissed at once, "If we're caught, we could be expelled! Or worse!"
"Then what's your idea?" Ron replied with annoyance,
"We wait until Christmas break, when everyone has gone home," Hermione explained, "Zabini will be staying here, and Harry can take the place of someone who's left. He can say that he changed his mind and decided to stay over the holidays."
"How do you know Zabini's staying?" Harry asked, causing Hermione to shrug,
"Daphne told me. According to her, Zabini's mother has found a new man to court, and she's instructed Zabini to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas while she does so. Zabini isn't taking it so well, apparently."
"Poor bastard," Ron said, causing Hermione and Harry to turn to him in surprise, and making him clarify, "I meant the bloke thinking about marrying Zabini's mum! He doesn't realize he's most likely about to die."
"Do you honestly believe those rumors that Zabini's mother killed her last six husbands?" Hermione asked in a small voice.
"Yes," Harry answered at once as a dark look came across his face, "Anyone vile enough to create Blaise Zabini must be even worse by comparison…"
"So, Christmas?" Ron asked, trying to steer the conversation away from the depressing area it had reached.
"Christmas," Harry agreed, "I just hope there aren't any more attacks before then…"
XXXX
Harry woke early on Saturday morning and lay for a while thinking about the coming Quidditch match. Several weeks ago, Wood had taken the team aside after practice and informed them that Lucius Malfoy had bought every single member of the Slytherin team the newest racing broom, the Nimbus 2001. This had made Slytherin a force to be reckoned, and on the few occasions that Fred or George had been able to sneak down to the Quidditch pitch to watch Slytherin practice, they had told the rest of Gryffindor team that it was like watching blurs of Green and Silver fly by.
Added to that, Slytherin had apparently gotten a new seeker, and were going to great lengths to ensure that the new seeker's identity remained anonymous; the upcoming game would be the first time anyone outside of Slytherin actually saw who it was, and Harry couldn't help but be nervous.
Yes, Harry was indeed nervous, mainly at the thought of what Wood would say if Gryffindor lost, but also at the idea of facing a team mounted on the fastest racing brooms gold could buy. He had never wanted to beat Slytherin so badly. After half an hour of lying there with his insides churning, he got up, dressed, and went down to breakfast early, where he found the rest of the Gryffindor team huddled at the long, empty table, all looking uptight and not speaking much.
As eleven o'clock approached, the whole school started to make its way down to the Quidditch stadium. It was a muggy sort of day with a hint of thunder in the air. Ron and Hermione came hurrying over to wish Harry good luck as he entered the locker rooms. The team pulled on their scarlet Gryffindor robes, then sat down to listen to Wood's usual pre-match pep talk.
"Slytherin has better brooms than us," he began. "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 Weasley. "I haven't been properly dry since August") "-And we're going to make them rue the day they challenged our seeker to a fight in the air!"
Chest heaving with emotion, Wood turned to Harry.
"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 Slytherin's mystery seeker or die trying, Harry, because we've got to win today. We've got to."
"So, no pressure, little brother," said Fred, winking at him.
As they walked out onto the field, a roar of noise greeted them; mainly cheers, because Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were anxious to see Slytherin beaten, but the Slytherins in the crowd made their boos and hisses heard, too. Madam Hooch, the Quidditch teacher, asked Flint and Wood to shake hands, which they did, giving each other threatening stares and gripping rather harder than was necessary.
As Harry took his place and waited for the game to begin, his eyes trailed over the Slytherin team that stood across from him, and at the very end, standing in the seeker spot was…
"Draco?" Harry asked in surprise, watching as his friend smiled shyly back at him, "He's the new seeker?"
"Should have known," George sneered from next to Harry, "Only a Malfoy would try and buy his way on, instead of actually trying to get on with talent."
Harry looked darkly at his big brother, but before he could say anything, Madam Hooch stepped into the center between the two teams and blew her whistle for silence.
"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.
"Great day for a game, huh, Potter?" Draco called as he flew up next to Harry and making the boy smile.
"Why didn't you tell me you were the new seeker!" Harry laughed back, "This is brilliant!"
"I wasn't allowed to, for one!" Draco called back, "And we're not friends anymore, for two! So, I'm not required to tell you anything!"
At the last part, Draco looked like it was physically hurting him to say the words, and Harry nodded in understanding before turning his attention back to the field as he looked for the Snitch.
"Well then, may the best man win!" Harry shouted back,
"You don't honestly think you can beat me on this broom, do you?" Draco taunted jovially, as he trailed behind Harry.
Harry had no time to reply. At that very moment, a heavy black Bludger came pelting toward him; he avoided it so narrowly that he felt it ruffle 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 saw George give the Bludger a powerful whack in the direction of Adrian Pucey, but the Bludger changed direction in midair and shot straight for Harry again. 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. What was going on? 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; the Bludger was knocked off course.
"Gotcha!" Fred yelled happily, but 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, who was commentating, say, "Slytherin lead, sixty points to zero!"
The Slytherins' superior brooms were clearly doing their jobs, and 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 going on?" said Wood as the Gryffindor team huddled together while Slytherins in the crowd jeered. "We're being flattened. Fred, George, where were you when that Bludger stopped Angelina from scoring?"
"We were twenty feet above her, stopping the other Bludger from murdering Harry, Oliver," said George angrily. "Someone's fixed it! It won't leave Harry alone! It hasn't gone for anyone else all game; the Slytherins must have done something to it!"
"But the Bludgers have been locked in Madam Hooch's office since our last practice, and there was nothing wrong with them then…" said Wood anxiously.
Madam Hooch was walking toward them. Over her shoulder, Harry could see the Slytherin team jeering and pointing in his direction.
"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 Spinnet 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.
"Ready to resume play?" she asked Wood. Wood looked at the determined look on Harry's face.
"All right," he said. "Fred, George, you heard Harry, leave him alone and let him deal with the Bludger on his own."
"I'm not going to watch my little brother die just so you can win some metal cup, Wood!" Fred snarled, getting dangerously close to the captain, and raising his bat threateningly.
"Agreed," George growled, "A stupid game isn't worth dying over!"
Wood's face turned crimson at that, and he opened his mouth to respond when Harry cut him off.
"Fred, George, that's enough!" Harry cried out, "I can do this!"
"But you shouldn't HAVE to!" Fred spat back, spinning to look at his little brother, "This is wrong! Do you think mum will understand if something happens to you and we have to explain that we could have stopped it?!"
Harry's head dropped at that, and for a moment, he stared at his shoes before his resolve returned, and he looked back at his team.
"I can do this. So, let's not waste any more unnecessary time with you lot trying to dissuade me from it."
"Damn the stubbornness of Weasleys!" Fred growled, swinging his bat carelessly through the air as Madam Hooch watched with a look of interest.
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, spiraled, 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, but the rogue Bludger was heavy and couldn't change direction as quickly as Harry could; he began a kind of roller-coaster ride around the edges of the stadium, squinting through the silver sheets of rain to the Gryffindor goal posts, where Adrian Pucey was trying to get past Wood.
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.
"Harry? What's wrong? Why are you flying like that?" yelled Draco as Harry was forced to do a stupid kind of twirl in midair to dodge the Bludger, and he fled, the Bludger trailing a few feet behind him; and then, turning to respond to Draco's question, Harry saw it. The Golden Snitch. It was hovering inches above Malfoy's left ear, and Malfoy, busy worried about Harry, hadn't seen it.
For an agonizing moment, Harry hung in midair, not daring to speed toward Draco in case he looked up and saw the Snitch.
WHAM.
"Harry!" Draco screamed in shock.
He had stayed still a second too long. The Bludger had hit him at last, smashed into his elbow, and Harry felt his arm break. Dimly, dazed by the searing pain in his arm, he slid sideways on his rain-drenched broom, one knee still crooked over it, his right arm dangling useless at his side, the Bludger came pelting back for a second attack, this time aiming at his face. Harry swerved out of the way; one idea firmly lodged in his numb brain: get to Draco.
Through a haze of rain and pain, he dived for the shimmering face below him and saw its eyes widen with fear: Draco thought Harry was attacking him for some reason.
"What the…?" he gasped, careening out of Harry's way.
Harry 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. He focused on the Snitch clutched in his good hand.
"Aha," he said vaguely. "We've won."
And he fainted.
He came around, rain falling on his face, still lying on the field, with someone 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!"
"Why can't I 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, your best yet, I'd say!"
Through the thicket of legs around him, Harry spotted Fred and George wrestling the rogue Bludger into a box. It was still putting up a terrific fight.
"Stand back," said Lockhart, who was rolling up his jade-green sleeves.
"No! Don't!" said Harry weakly, but Lockhart was twirling his wand and a second later had directed it straight 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, Miss Granger, would you escort him? And Madam Pomfrey will be able to… er…. 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-colored rubber glove. He tried to move his fingers. Nothing happened.
Lockhart hadn't mended Harry's bones. He had removed them; a moment later, to the surprise of all, Rhea Malfoy stormed forward with an angry look on her face and delivered a devastating punch to Lockhart's jaw, knocking the smiling idiot to the ground, unconscious.
Madam Pomfrey wasn't at all pleased, nor for that matter were Harry's parents, who had stormed to Hogwarts immediately after being informed of what had happened. Molly had to be physically restrained by Arthur from attacking the still-unconscious Lockhart after Harry told her what Lockhart had done to him. Afterward, the Weasleys had gone to speak with Dumbledore in his office, leaving Harry alone with Madam Pomfrey and his friends.
"You should have come straight to me!" Madam Pomfrey raged, holding up the sad, limp remainder of what, an hour before, had been a working arm. "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 pajamas. "You'll have to stay the night…"
Hermione waited outside the curtain drawn around Harry's bed while Ron helped him into his pajamas. 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?"
"No," said Harry, getting into bed. "But it doesn't do anything else either."
As he swung himself onto the bed, his arm flapped pointlessly.
Hermione and Madam Pomfrey came around the curtain. Madam Pomfrey was holding a large bottle of something labeled Skele-Gro.
"You're in for a rough night," she 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 retreated, leaving Ron and Hermione to help Harry gulp down some water.
"We won, though," said Ron, a grin breaking across his face. "That was some catch you made. You should have seen Flint's face… he looked ready to kill…"
"I want to know how Slytherin fixed that Bludger," said Hermione darkly.
"We can add that to the list of questions I'll ask Zabini when Christmas comes," said Harry, sinking back onto his pillows. The door of the hospital wing burst open at that moment. 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."
"What about Rhea?" Harry asked anxiously, "She attacked a teacher! Is she okay?"
"Oh yeah," Fred said, waving away Harry's concerns, "I said her old man come storming up the Front entrance on the way here. I'm sure Dumbledore and Malfoy will come to an agreement regarding young Rhea."
"It'll probably help that Lockhart is an idiot…" George added with a smirk.
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, shouting, "This boy needs rest. He's got thirty-three bones to regrow! Out! OUT!"
And Harry was left alone, with nothing to distract him from the stabbing pains in his limp arm.
Hours and hours later, Harry woke quite suddenly in the pitch blackness and gave a small yelp of pain: His arm now felt full of large splinters. For a second, he thought that was what had woken him. Then, with a thrill of horror, he realized that someone was sponging his forehead in the dark.
"Get off!" he said loudly, and then, "Dobby!"
The house-elf's 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 didn't Harry Potter go back home when he missed the train?"
Harry heaved himself up on his pillows and pushed Dobby's sponge away.
"It's Weasley! And what're you doing here?" he said. "And how did you know I missed the train?"
Dobby's lip trembled, and Harry was seized by a sudden suspicion.
"It was you!" he said slowly. "You stopped the barrier from letting us through!"
"Indeed, yes, sir," said Dobby, nodding his head vigorously, ears flapping. "Dobby hid and watched for Harry Potter and sealed the gateway and Dobby had to iron his hands afterward," (he showed Harry 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!"
He was rocking backward and forward, shaking his ugly head.
"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 onto his pillows.
"You'd better get lost before my bones come back, Dobby, or I might strangle you."
Dobby smiled weakly.
"Dobby is used to death threats, sir. Dobby gets them five times a day at home."
He blew his nose on a corner of the filthy pillowcase he wore, looking so pathetic that Harry felt his anger ebb away in spite of himself.
"Why d'you wear that thing, Dobby?" he asked curiously.
"This, sir?" said Dobby, plucking at the pillowcase. "'Tis a mark of the house-elf's enslavement, sir. Dobby can only be freed if his masters present him with clothes, sir. The family is careful not to pass Dobby even a sock, sir, for then he would be free to leave their house forever."
Harry's mind suddenly went back to a few years prior when he had bought a beautiful green dress for Jaya for Christmas, only for her to wail in misery when Harry gave it to her; it had taken well over an hour before Jaya had calmed down enough for Sirius and the other adults to explain to Harry just why Jaya was so upset. As well as explaining to Jaya that Harry was NOT getting rid of her, as she thought he was.
Dobby mopped his bulging eyes and suddenly spoke, bringing Harry's attention back to the diminutive elf, "Harry Potter must go home! Dobby thought his Bludger would be enough to make—"
"Your Bludger?" said Harry, anger rising once more. "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?" said Harry angrily. "I don't suppose you'll tell me why you wanted me sent home in pieces?"
"Ah, if Harry Potter only knew!" Dobby groaned, more tears dripping onto his ragged pillowcase. "If he knew what he means to us, to the lowly, the enslaved, we dregs of the magical world! Dobby remembers how it was when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was at the height of his powers, sir! We house 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? Was it Zabini's dad?"
"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!" said Harry fiercely. "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."
"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 stomach gave a horrible lurch. Slowly and carefully, he raised himself a few inches so he could look at the statue on the bed. A ray of moonlight lay across its staring face.
It was Colin Creevey. His eyes were wide, and his hands were stuck up in front of him, holding his camera.
"Petrified?" whispered Madam Pomfrey.
"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "But I shudder to think… If Albus hadn't been on the way downstairs for hot chocolate, who knows what might have…."
The three of them stared down at Colin. Then Dumbledore leaned 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.
"Zabini…" Harry thought angrily as he stared at the unmoving form of Colin Creevy, "I swear to Merlin, you will pay for this!"