Chapter Ten
The Rogue Bludger
Since the disastrous episode of the pixies, Professor Lockhart had not brought live creatures to class. Instead, he read passages from his books to them, and sometimes reenacted some of the more dramatic bits: a simple Transylvanian villager whom Lockhart had cured of a Babbling Curse, a yeti with a head cold, and a vampire who had been unable to eat anything except lettuce since Lockhart had dealt with him.
"exactly — and then, if you'll believe it, I pounced — like this — slammed him to the floor — thus with one hand, I managed to hold him down — with my other, I put my wand to his throat — I then screwed up my remaining strength and performed the immensely complex Homorphus Charm - he let out a piteous moan — the fur vanished — the fangs shrank — and he turned back into a man. Simple, yet effective — and another village will remember me forever as the hero who delivered them from the monthly terror of werewolf attacks."
The bell rang and Lockhart got to his feet.
"Homework — compose a poem about my defeat of the Wagga Wagga Werewolf! Signed copies of Magical Me to the author of the best one!"
The class began to leave. At the back of the room, Ron and Hermione were waiting.
"Wait till everyone's gone," said Hermione nervously. "All right…"
She approached Lockhart's desk, a piece of paper clutched tightly in her hand. Ron stood right behind her.
"Er — Professor Lockhart?" Hermione stammered. "I wanted to — to get this book out of the library. Just for background reading." She held out the piece of paper, her hand shaking slightly.
"But the thing is, it's in the Restricted Section of the library, so I need a teacher to sign for it — I'm sure it would help me understand what you say in Gadding with Ghouls about slow-acting venoms."
"Ah, Gadding with Ghouls!" said Lockhart, taking the note from Hermione and smiling widely at her. "Possibly my very favorite book. You enjoyed it?"
"Oh, yes," said Hermione eagerly. "So clever, the way you trapped that last one with the tea-strainer —"
"Well, I'm sure no one will mind me giving the best student of the year a little extra help," said Lockhart warmly, and he pulled out an enormous peacock quill. "Yes, nice, isn't it?" he said, misreading the revolted look on Ron's face. "I usually save it for book-signings."
He scrawled an enormous loopy signature on the note and handed it back to Hermione.
Hermione folded the note with fumbling fingers and slipped it into her bag. "Tomorrow's the first Quidditch match of the season, I believe? Gryffindor against Slytherin, is it not? I was a Seeker, too. I was asked to try for the National Squad, but preferred to dedicate my life to the eradication of the Dark Forces."
Ron had to pull Hermione out to keep her from being too enamoured with him.
"he's a brainless git," said Ron. "But who cares, we've got what we needed—"
"He is not a brainless git," said Hermione shrilly as they half ran toward the library.
"Just because he said you were the best student of the year —"
They dropped their voices as they entered the muffled stillness of the library. Madam Pince, the librarian, was a thin, irritable woman who looked like an underfed vulture. They did not want to get on her nerves at that moment.
"Moste Potente Potions?" she repeated suspiciously, trying to take the note from Hermione; but Hermione wouldn't let go.
"I was wondering if I could keep it," she said breathlessly.
"Oh, come on," said Ron, wrenching it from her grasp and thrusting it at Madam Pince. "I'll get you another autograph. Lockhart'll sign anything if it stands still long enough."
Madam Pince held the note up to the light, as though determined to detect a forgery, but it passed the test. She stalked away between the lofty shelves and returned several minutes later carrying a large and moldy-looking book. Hermione put it carefully into her bag and they left, trying not to walk too quickly or look too guilty.
Five minutes later, they were barricaded in Moaning Myrtle's out-of-order bathroom once again. Hermione had overridden Ron's objections by pointing out that it was the last place anyone in their right minds would go, so they were guaranteed some privacy. Moaning Myrtle was crying noisily in her stall, but they were ignoring her, and she them.
Hermione opened Moste Potente Potions carefully, and the two of them bent over the damp-spotted pages. It was clear from a glance why it belonged in the Restricted Section. Some of the potions had effects almost too gruesome to think about, and there were some very unpleasant illustrations, which included a man who seemed to have been turned inside out and a witch sprouting several extra pairs of arms out of her head.
"Here it is," said Hermione excitedly as she found the page headed The Polyjuice Potion. It was decorated with drawings of people halfway through transforming into other people. Ron sincerely hoped the artist had imagined the looks of intense pain on their faces.
"This is the most complicated potion I've ever seen," said Hermione as they scanned the recipe.
"Lacewing flies, leeches, fluxweed, and knotgrass," she murmured, running her finger down the list of ingredients. "Well, they're easy enough, they're in the student store-cupboard, we can help ourselves… Oooh, look, powdered horn of a bicorn — don't know where we're going to get that — shredded skin of a boomslang — that'll be tricky, too and of course a bit of whoever we want to change into."
"Excuse me?" said Ron sharply. "What d'you mean, a bit of whoever we're changing into? I'm drinking nothing with Crabbe's toenails in it —"
Hermione continued as though she hadn't heard him.
"We don't have to worry about that yet, though, because we add those bits last…"
Ron turned towards her, speechless.
Hermione shut the book with a snap.
"Well, if you're going to chicken out, fine," she said. There were bright pink patches on her cheeks and her eyes were brighter than usual. "I don't want to break rules, you know. I think threatening Muggle-borns is far worse than brewing up a difficult potion. But if you don't want to find out if it's Malfoy, I'll go straight to Madam Pince now and hand the book back in.'
"I never thought I'd see the day when you'd be persuading us to break rules," said Ron. "All right, I'll do it. But not toenails, okay?"
"Well, since the fluxweed has got to be picked at the full moon and the lacewings have got to be stewed for twenty-one days… I'd say it'd be ready in about a month, if we can get all the ingredients."
"A month?" said Ron. "Malfoy could have attacked half the Muggle-borns in the school by then!" But Hermione's eyes narrowed dangerously again, and he added swiftly, "But it's the best plan we've got, so full steam ahead, I say."
However, while Hermione was checking that the coast was clear for them to leave the bathroom, Ron muttered discouragingly.
Early on Saturday morning down to breakfast early, 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 good luck as the team 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 let that little bit of slime, Malfoy, buy his way onto their team."
Chest heaving with emotion, Wood turned.
"We'll show them that a Seeker has to have something more than a rich father. We've got to win today, we've got to."
"So no pressure" said Fred, winking.
As they walked out onto the pitch, 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.
"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.
Malfoy was shooting around underneath the sky as though to show off the speed of his broom.
At that very moment, a heavy black Bludger came pelting toward the Gryffindors.
"Close one!" said George, streaking past with his club in his hand, ready to knock the Bludger back toward a Slytherin. George give the Bludger a powerful whack in the direction of Adrian Pucey, but the Bludger changed direction in midair and shot straight again for the Gryffindor team. George managed to hit it hard toward Malfoy. Once again, the Bludger swerved like a boomerang and shot back towards his team.
The Bludger whistled along. What was going on? Bludgers never concentrated like this; it was their job to try and unseat as many people from both teamsas possible…
Fred Weasley was waiting for the Bludger at the other end. 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, the Bludger pelted once more towards the Gryffindors at full speed.
It had started to rain. Lee Jordan, who was commentating, said, "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 take Gryffindor out of the game. Fred and George were now flying so on either side of the bludger.
"Someone's — tampered — with — this — Bludger —" Fred grunted, swinging his bat with all his might at it as it launched a new attack.
"We need time out," said George, trying to signal to Wood and stop the Bludger at the same time.
Wood had obviously got the message. Madam Hooch's whistle rang out and 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 scoring?"
"We were twenty feet above her, stopping the other Bludger, Oliver," said George angrily. "Someone's fixed it. It hasn't gone for Slytherin 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, the Slytherin team was jeering and pointing in his direction.
"Don't be thick," said Fred.
Wood was looking to the Weasleys.
"Oliver, this is insane," said Alicia Spinner angrily. "Let's ask for an inquiry…"
"This is all your fault," George said angrily to Wood.
Madam Hooch had joined them.
"Ready to resume play?" she asked Wood.
Wood looked.
"All right," he said. "Fred, George, leave this specific Bludger alone."
The rain was falling more heavily now. On Madam Hooch's whistle, the telltale whoosh of the Bludger from behind him. There was another fierce dive from the Bludger. There was laughter from the crowd; The Bludger roamed the stadium, speeding towards any Gryffindors unlucky enough to be near it. But the rogue Bludger was heavy and couldn't change direction as quickly as the players; a kind of roller-coaster ride ensued around the edges of the stadium. The Bludger bolted towards the Gryffindor goal posts, where Adrian Pucey was trying to get past Wood.
A whistling of the Bludger as it had just missed Wood again.
"Training for the ballet?" yelled Malfoy as he himself dodged the Bludger, the Bludger trailing along the stadium; and then it shot back at Malfoy. The Golden Snitch was hovering inches above Malfoy's left ear — and Malfoy, busy laughing, hadn't seen it.
The shimmering, sneering face below his eyes suddenly widened with fear: Malfoy thought the Bludger was attacking him: a Slytherin.
From a distance, a good deal of whistling and shouting erupted. A muddy Wood couldn't help grinning. Fred and George Weasley were wrestling the rogue Bludger into a box. It was still putting up a terrific fight. The audience gasped and Colin Creevey began clicking away madly.
"We won" said Ron, a grin breaking across his face. "Did you see Malfoy's face… he looked ready to kill…"
"I want to know how he fixed that Bludger," said Hermione darkly.
The door burst open at that moment. Filthy and soaking wet, the Gryffindor team had arrived insode the castle.
"I've just seen Marcus Flint yelling at Malfoy. Something about having the Snitch on top of his head and not noticing. Malfoy didn't seem too happy." They had brought cakes, sweets, and bottles of pumpkin juice; they gathered around and were just getting started on what promised to be a good party.
There were footsteps coming down the passageway outside the hospital wing. 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 out of sight. There were urgent voices, and then Professor McGonagall swept back into view, closely followed by Madam Pomfrey, who was pulling a cardigan on over her nightdress. 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."
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. the acrid smell of burnt plastic filled the air.
"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 she didn't understand this any better than he did.