Summary of the last chapter:

Harry and his friends make the acquaintance of Moaning Myrtle and make friends with her. Harry gets into trouble with Lockhart when he refuses to act out scenes from his books in front of the entire class. Harry takes refuge in Myrtle's bathroom and later confesses to Professor Snape, who has a talk with Albus about Lockhart's obvious incompetence.

Dangerous Encounters

Harry was not enthused about what his Head of House told him the next day after dinner. He didn't mind the detention – cleaning cauldrons wasn't any worse than doing the dishes – but he strongly objected to apologising for calling Lockhart what he was – a fraud and a disgrace.

"It would be lying to his face, saying that I didn't mean any of it," he said stubbornly. "How can that qualify as an apology?"

Professor Snape shook his head. "You're a Slytherin, Mr. Potter. Surely you can find something that you DO regret about the incident?"

"Good idea," said Tom. "Tell him you regret informing the entire class that he's an idiot."

"Actually, I think I will do exactly that. Just a bit more subtle."

And so Harry went to Lockhart's office straight after talking to Professor Snape, trying his best to look contrite. Professor Lockhart, he noted, looked slightly less sure of himself this evening – he probably had his own one-on-one talk with the headmaster earlier.

"Ah, Harry," he said jovially, although it sounded slightly forced. "I see you've come to bury the hatchet … "

Harry nodded. "I'm sorry for losing my temper," he said earnestly. "I shouldn't have shared my thoughts with the entire class. From now on, I shall act more respectfully and discuss possible concerns with my Head of House first." Harry noticed with satisfaction that Lockhart blanched at that.

"Oh. Well, I don't think that will be necessary! I've decided to move a little ahead in schedule and start teaching spells instead of just the theory first. I hope your classmates won't be too disappointed."

"I'm sure they'll be fine with that."

"Well, then, I'm glad that we have cleared that up and can go back to being friends, Harry!" said Lockhart pompously and put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "We – who are so much in the limelight and under close scrutiny by so many – must stick together, mustn't we?"

Harry gave him a constrained smile. "As I said, I prefer to keep out of the limelight as much as possible. If you'll excuse me now, Professor, I have to go and serve a detention." And how happy was he that he got to serve it with Professor Snape, cleaning cauldrons! Who knew what Lockhart might have him do ... help him answer his fan mail? Harry shuddered, Lockhart smiled and waved him off.

"See you in class, Harry! Cheerio!"

*'*'*'*'*

When the first Quidditch match of the season drew near, no one spoke of the Chamber of Secrets anymore. Everyone – or nearly everyone, as Hermione was as immune to it as Tom – was caught in the fever of the favourite (and only) wizarding sport.

Slytherin was going to play against Gryffindor, and while it seemed that Slytherin was at great advantage because of their brand new brooms, Marcus told them not to take anything for granted. The twins were quite a power with their uncanny ability to synchronize their movements, and the Gryffindor team was well established. They had replaced their seeker last year, but had otherwise played in the same formation before.

Harry and Draco were both inexperienced, and from what Harry had seen, the Slytherin beaters were not very talented, but tried to make up for the lack by brute force. Anything was possible, but Harry was determined not to let his team down.

Unfortunately, the weather for their first match was anything but nice. It was rainy with a threat of a storm hanging in the air. Tom had made Harry practice the 'Arresto Momentum' spell relentlessly. It might be on the third year's syllabus, but that was no reason not to learn how to cast it. Hermione, when she had found him practicing the charm with the twins in the courtyard, had demanded to be shown as well and was now quite proficient in it. Tom was fairly relaxed, knowing that at least two capable people – Hermione and Snape - were looking out for Harry.

Neither Harry nor Tom had seriously considered that it would become necessary for anyone to intervene or that falling off a broom was apparently not the only danger in Quidditch. One of the Bludgers was. For some reason, it seemed to have it out for Harry. He thought he was imagining things at first, but Harry was pursued so relentlessly by it that Markus called for a time-out.

"Something's not right," he said furiously. "That Bludger's been tampered with – this isn't normal behaviour."

"They have to call off the game," said Tom with relief, now that they were back on the ground and wouldn't have to get back on the broom. Being constantly attacked by a ball the size of a canon was worse than falling off a broom – at least the fall could be stopped. Nothing seemed to stop that Bludger.

"If we stop now, we'll have to forfeit the match!' wailed Draco. "Matches are played until the Snitch is caught, come hell or high water, even if it takes days, and even if a hurricane and a tornado come through together."

"And won't they all rejoice if we call it off!" Marcus said grimly. "They'll definitely make us forfeit it. They all want to see us lose."

"Right," agreed Pucey. "Besides, Bludgers are supposed to attack the player closest to them. Madam Hooch obviously hasn't seen anything unusual in its behaviour. It's probably just a stupid coincidence."

"What?" shouted Tom. "They can't be serious! The life of students should count more than a stupid Quidditch match!"

"You heard them," said Harry, remounting his broom. "They can't stop the game without declaring Gryffindor the winner. I won't be the reason for that. Don't worry, the stupid Bludger won't get me. I've successfully avoided it so far, I'll manage."

"Harry, this is insane!" screamed Tom, when the Bludger started coming at them again as soon as they were airborne. "What if that thing hits your skull? And why in heaven's name is nobody wearing a helmet?"

"Please shut up, Tom, I can't concentrate with you having a fit inside my head," said Harry beseechingly, narrowly dodging the Bludger with a daring turn to the right, and following the manoeuvre with a short dive. He wouldn't admit it, but this – the danger notwithstanding – was fun. The Bludger posed a real challenge, and Harry was living up to it. Unfortunately, he couldn't do much else.

"We'll have to catch the Snitch to end the game as soon as possible. Help me out here, Tom. I'll concentrate on the Bludger – you try and find the Snitch!"

Tom didn't like this one bit, but when in need, Harry could rely on him. Besides, he knew just as well that catching the elusive golden ball was the best way to end this quickly.

Finally, Tom spotted the ball while Harry was executing another break-neck manoeuvre to shake off the Bludger. "There, Harry! Close to Draco!" Tom shouted excitedly.

Harry saw it hovering right above his classmate's head. The moment he had found it though, the Bludger had finally found Harry. It crashed into his elbow, sending a blinding pain through his arm.

Afterwards, Harry couldn't have explained how he did it. Hanging on his broom with a broken arm and still evading the Bludger while taking course at Malfoy - he had somehow caught the snitch with his good hand before almost crashing into the ground. He half fell, half rolled off his broom and had to roll in the grass to evade the Bludger which was coming at him again – even while Harry was lying in the mud.

When it rose into the air again to take new aim, a spell landed and pulverized it into tiny pieces which now harmlessly rained down on him.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He was alive! And he had caught the Snitch! For the moment, the adrenalin surge in his body kept the pain at bay, but the effect probably wouldn't last for long.

"Glad you're at least ranking 'survival' before 'catching the Snitch'," Tom commented, exasperated. "You're a menace, Potter! And I stand by my previous conviction: Quidditch is the most idiotic sport ever and should be banned!"

"Hey, don't 'Potter' me now! It's hardly my fault that the Bludger had it out for me," Harry protested. "I wish I knew if it was hexed – but it's not likely we'll find out." He wiped some of the Bludger's debris off his chest with his good hand.

"Harry!" he then heard Hermione scream, who came running at him, worry all over her face. "Are you alright? It looked like that Bludger caught you at least once."

To Harry's horror, the professor close on her heels was Lockhart. Before he could answer Hermione's question or send her for another teacher, he bent over Harry's form and inspected his arm.

"Oh my, that looks like it's broken. But don't you worry, we'll have that fixed in a second. I happen to know just the spell for this …"

"No!" Harry and Tom both shouted in synchrony. Only Harry was heard - but ignored by their teacher. As Harry had no way to move out of the way, Lockhart managed to cast the spell, and at once the pain was gone. Instead, there was a very weird feeling in his arm that Harry couldn't describe. He fearfully looked down athis arm that was oddly shapeless now. A bit like rubber. To his horror, it was exactly like rubber.

Lockhart bent his wrist backward at an impossible angle – except it was possible now. All the bones in his arm had been vanished.

"Oh. Well. That can happen sometimes …"

Hermione cried out in dismay. Harry was too much in shock to say anything. It was altogether too much for him to take in, and his brain short-circuited and decided to take a time-out.

Once more – oh, how he wished he had got rid of that habit! - Harry woke up in the hospital wing. Hermione and Neville were sitting by his bedside. They still looked shaken and were in the same clothes, as was Harry, so he couldn't have been out for long.

From what his friends told him, Professor Snape had arrived on the scene just about two minutes too late, and had been furious. He had called Lockhart an idiot and said that he had half a mind to cast the bone vanishing spell on him, too. Then he had picked Harry up and had taken him to the hospital wing, all the while muttering under his breath that he was sick of constantly having to do this.

"I really think he was very concerned for you, Harry," said Neville in wonder. "He's never been so upset with me as he was with Lockhart, and if he had looked at me like he looked at him, I'd have wet myself."

"Lockhart hurried away in fright. I don't think we'll be seeing much of him outside of classes, as he will try to not cross Professor Snape in the hallways."

That was all well and a tiny bit amusing, but Harry and Tom were really concerned for Harry's arm. It lay next to him like a fake limb the consistency of a rubber duck. Harry felt nauseous just from looking at it.

The matron who hurried to his bed with a bottle of something labelled 'Skele-Gro' once she saw that he was conscious again, eased his worries somewhat.

"Of course I can regrow the bones. You'll be right as rain tomorrow, but I'm afraid you're in for a very uncomfortable night."

She was right in more than one respect. Regrowing bones, Harry found out, was extremely painful. He cursed Lockhart in the most colourful language, wishing him to hell. His misery was not made any better by the sudden appearance of Dobby, the deranged house-elf, who materialized right by his bed, looking at Harry with his huge eyes and wailing once more.

"Why did Harry Potter have to come back to Hogwarts? He promised not to! Why did he not go home when he missed the train? Why didn't he listen to Dobby's warnings?"

"So it was you who closed the barrier!" said Harry, angry at the elf's interference in his life. "Why did you do that?"

"Harry Potter must go home!" Dobby whined. "Dobby hoped that the Bludger would be enough to make him leave …"

"That was you, too?" Harry was beside himself. He was in the hospital wing and in severe pain because the stupid elf had set a Bludger to attack him?

Before he could include Dobby in his curses and rant at him, Tom pointed out that antagonizing the elf would gain him nothing. This was his chance to find out if Dobby was the Malfoys' elf, as he suspected. He just had to be cunning about it.

So Harry took a deep breath, looked at the elf sternly and said: "So I take it Draco commanded you to throw me off my broom so that he could have the seeker position …"

Dobby's eyes grew wide. "No! No! Young Master Draco was not at all involved in the plot! It was all ..." His eyes bulged even further, then he clamped both hands over his mouth and ran headfirst into the wall.

"Dobby mustn't say! Dobby is a bad, bad elf and shall iron his hands in punishment!"

"He's worse than Hagrid," commented Tom, half amused. "Shouldn'ave said that!"

"Why don't you just leave the Malfoys if they are bad people and treat you so abysmally?" Harry asked.

"Dobby can't leave! House-elves are bound in service till they die or are given clothing! Dobby will never receive clothing from his master, even though Dobby is a very bad elf!"

He was sobbing and wailing heavily now, and Harry felt a tiny wave of compassion. But really not that much, given that he was still in very much pain himself because of the deranged, but probably well-meaning creature.

Before Harry could think of anything else to say to him, Dobby suddenly stopped the ruckus he was making and paused to listen. Then, just as suddenly as he had appeared, he snapped his fingers and was gone.

The reason for his sudden vanishing-act was a commotion at the entrance to the hospital wing. Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall were slowly making their way to one of the beds, carrying what looked like a statue between them.

Once they had laid their load onto the bed, however, Harry realized with horror that it was Colin Creevey. He was easy to identify by the large camera still held in front of his eyes. Madam Pomphrey hurried over, and Harry, who pretended to be asleep to better eavesdrop, caught parts of their hushed conversation.

There had been another attack. Dumbledore had found Colin on the stairs leading to the hospital wing, a bunch of grapes by his side. He was petrified, just like Mrs. Norris, and the professors had no idea by what. Petrification seemed to be rather unusual to wizards as well.

"Do you think he managed to get a picture of his attacker?" wondered Professor McGonagall.

They pried the camera out of Colin's hands and opened it, but only smoke and a really pungent smell came out of it.

"I'm afraid," said Dumbledore darkly, "that the Chamber of Secrets has indeed been opened again."