Chapter Seven: Enter Dean Thomas
Harish woke early on the morning of the match. It was going to be Gryffindor verses Slytherin, but the team wasn't all that worried. With their brand-new brooms, to the opposing team all they could look like were seven green blurs, as the brooms were so fast.
Harish went down to breakfast and ate plenty of eggs and bacon. The twins scarfed down their food hungrily. Draco, however, merely picked at his plate. He was paler than usual.
"Eat something, Draco," Harish said, spooning cereal into his own mouth. "You need some protein."
"He's right, you know," Hermione added imperiously. "You'll need your strength to play well today."
"I'm not hungry," Draco muttered.
"Come on," Daphne said. "Eat something."
Draco pouted, but reluctantly served himself some plain cereal.
After breakfast, the team made their way down to the changing room after the others wished them good luck. The sky reflected Draco's mood with the threat of rain, but Harish's heart soared when Daphne told him he'd be great. The twins smirked. Egelbert sat safely on Hermione's shoulders while Harish was down on the field waiting to take off into the air. Madam Hooch's whistle was blown, the Quaffle was released, and the Slytherin team shot into the sky in a blur of green and silver. The Gryffindors rose up and coughed through the dust clouds they had kicked up.
Harish watched as they scored time and time again, but then he remembered he was supposed to be searching for the Snitch. He zoomed off around the stadium with his eyes peeled for the Snitch. It had started to rain and Harish could feel large, heavy drops of water fall on him, soaking through his hair and his robes. Hardly paying attention to the game now as he tried to see through all the rain, he had no idea what was going on until Lee Jordan shouted, "Slytherin lead, sixty points to zero—"
The Seeker's heart soared and he started looking for the tiny golden ball with a renewed vigour. Harish stopped, annoyed as Madam Hooch's whistle rang through the stadium, calling for a time out. Harish landed with a bump, mud splashing up on him and his ankles sunk into the now soft and squishy ground.
"What's going on?" Harish shouted to Flint.
"The Gryffindor team called a timeout."
"They haven't scored—"
"At all so far," the twins informed him.
The teen grinned and leaned around the others to glance at the Gryffindors, who were standing in a red huddle a little ways away. The others on his team turned as well and leered at them. Rain fell even harder and Harish spat water out of his mouth before pulling out his wand.
"Impervious," He said and he was no longer wet or shivering. The raindrops bounced straight off of him.
"Good idea," Flint grunted and the rest of the team copied him.
"Much better," the twins sighed.
Madam Hooch's whistle sounded again and Harish climbed onto his soaked broom and soared into the air. He flew higher and higher, keeping his eyes peeled for the tiny golden ball. Once he got to a height where he could see most of the stadium, but he could still see something as small of the Snitch, he stopped rising and began circling the stadium.
He watched Draco smirk at the new Gryffindor Seeker, and Harish's heart leapt into his mouth when he saw the Golden Snitch hovering by Draco's left ear. He leaned forward and put on a jet of speed so strong that his eyelids peeled back. The other Seeker had seen the Snitch too and was lunging for the youngest Malfoy. Harish was hot on his heels. Luckily the Snitch darted away fast enough to let Harish catch up with the Gryffindor.
As he drew level with the boy, he heard a crack and felt a searing pain in his arm. Someone on the opposite team had hit him with a black bludger. Clinging onto his broom with only his knees, Harish shoved the other boy off his broom through a haze of pain. He fell and landed with a thud, and Harish felt black nothingness closing in on him. He pushed back at it, determined to stay conscious long enough to win the match. The boy leaned forward, his hand outstretched and he felt his fingers close around cold metal.
He was still leaning over, and he slid forward, causing his broom to overturn and he fell off of it. He hit the mud, rolling and sliding several yards before he came to a stop. His arm was sticking out at a strange angle, full of pain. He grasped the Snitch tightly in the other. Distantly he heard George shout, "We won!" and the black closed in on him as he fainted.
Harish came to with rain falling on his face. The teen was still laying on the field, and someone was leaning over him. He saw a glitter of teeth.
"Oh, no, not you," he moaned.
"Doesn't know what he's saying," Lockhart said loudly to the crowd of Slytherins pressing around them. "Not to worry, Blake. I'm about to fix your arm."
"No!" Harish shouted, attempting to scramble backwards, but without his arm to push him, he fell back onto the ground with a flop. "I'll keep it like this, thanks…"
"Lie back, Harish," Lockhart said soothingly. "It's a simple charm I've perform countless times—"
"Why can't I go to the Hospital Wing?" Harish asked through clenched teeth.
"He really should, Professor," Hermione said.
The twins were standing under an umbrella with her. Fred leaned forward. "Great capture, Harish! Your best yet, I'd say—"
"Stand back," Lockhart said, rolling up his sleeves.
"No—don't—" Harish said weakly, but Lockhart was already twirling his wand. A second later it pointed straight at Harish's arm.
A strange and unpleasant sensation started at his 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 he could hear gasps all around him. His arm didn't really hurt anymore—nor did it really feel like an arm.
"Ah," Lockhart was saying. "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, Blake, you just toddle up to the Hospital Wing—ah, Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger, would you escort him?—and Madam Pomfrey will be able to—uh—tidy you up a bit."
As Harish was helped to his feet, he felt strangely lopsided. They passed a group of Gryffindors and there was a flash and a click of a Muggle camera. Taking a deep breath, he looked down at his right side. What he saw nearly made him throw up: Poking out of the end of his robes was what looked like a thick, flesh-coloured rubber glove. He tried to move his fingers. Nothing happened.
Lockhart hadn't mended Harish's bones. He had removed them.
He was so distracted by the fact that he had no bones in his arm, that he didn't try to get Draco to stop helping him. Vaguely, he wondered what his father would do when he found out that the incompetent teacher removed all of his bones in his right arm. The two second years led him straight to Madam Pomfrey, and boy she was not pleased.
"You should have come straight to me!" she raged, bustling him past the Gryffindor Seeker, who was lying on a bed out cold. She held up the limp remainder of his arm. "I can mend bones in a heart-beat—but growing them back—"
"You will be able to?" Draco asked for him, sounding worried.
"Oh, I'll be able to, certainly, but it will be painful," the matron replied grimly, throwing a pair of pyjamas to Harish. He caught them clumsily in his left arm, realising that he still held the Golden Snitch. "You'll have to stay the night…"
Hermione waited outside the curtain while Draco helped Harish get on the pyjamas, much to the older boy's annoyance. It was just impossible to pull on a button down shirt with only one hand. It took a while to the rubbery, boneless arm stuffed into a sleeve, even with three hands trying to force it in.
Once he had gotten fully clothed, the twins came into the infirmary right as Hermione and Madam Pomfrey came around the curtain. Madam Pomfrey was carrying a bottle labelled Skele-Gro.
"You're in for a rough night," she said, pouring out a beakerful and handing it to him. "Regrowing bones is a nasty business."
Harish coughed and spluttered at the potion went searing painfully down his throat. Still tut-tutting about dangerous sports and inept teachers, she bustled off to tend to the Gryffindor lying opposite him. The twins helped Harish gulp down some water.
"We won, though!" Draco said eagerly. "That was some catch you made! I didn't realise the Snitch was there, of course, or I would've kept the other Seeker from going at it."
The door to the Hospital Wing burst open and the rest of the Slytherin team arrived to congratulate him.
"Unbelievable flying, Harish," the Keeper, Marius Bletchley, said with a grin.
Flint grunted in approval.
They had brought cakes, sweets, and bottles of pumpkin juice. They gathered around the foot of Harish's bed and were just getting started on what looked like a great party, when Madam Pomfrey came storming over, shouting, "This boy has thirty-three bones to regrow! He need's rest! Out! OUT!"
And Harish was left alone, with nothing to distract him from the stabbing pains in his limp arm. With nothing better to do, he resigned to sleeping.
Hours later Harish woke up. His arm was now stinging so hard it felt like it was full of splinters. At first he thought this was what woke him, then he could hear footsteps and light spilled into the otherwise dark infirmary as the door opened. Harish opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but the Gryffindor across from him raised a finger to his lips.
Normally Harish would've gotten angry at someone telling him to be quiet, but at that moment, Dumbledore back into the Hospital Wing, wearing a long nightgown and carrying what looked like one end of a statue. Professor McGonagall appeared seconds later holding its feet. Together, they heaved it onto a bed.
"Get Madam Pomfrey," Dumbledore whispered, and McGonagall hurried past Harish's bed and out of sight. Both boys lay perfectly still, pretending to be asleep.
Harish could hear urgent voices, and then McGonagall swept back into view, closely followed by Madam Pomfrey, who was pulling a sweater 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," Dumbledore replied. "Minerva found him on the stairs."
"There was a bunch of grapes next to him," Professor McGonagall said. "We think he was trying to sneak up here to visit Mr. Thomas."
The boy opposite Harish—mostly likely 'Mr. Thomas'—let out a gasp and looked at the statue with guilt. Harish raised himself slightly to see a tiny first year lying on the bed. A ray of moonlight lay across its staring face.
It was the boy from earlier who had been taking pictures of Harish's arm. His eyes were wide and his hands were stuck up in front of him, holding his camera.
"Petrified?" the kindly matron asked.
"Yes," McGonagall replied. "but I shudder to think…If Albus hadn't been on his way downstairs for hot chocolate—who knows what might have—"
The three of them stared down at the boy. Then Dumbledore leaned forward and wrenched the camera out of the Gryffindor's rigid grip.
"You don't think he managed to get a picture of his attacker?" Professor McGonagall asked eagerly.
Dumbledore didn't reply. He opened the back of the camera.
"Good gracious!" Madam Pomfrey exclaimed.
A jet of steam hissed out of the Muggle device. Harish, three beds away, caught the bitter smell of burning plastic.
"Melted," Madam Pomfrey said wonderingly. "All melted…"
"What does this mean, Albus?" McGonagall whispered urgently.
"It means," Dumbledore answered, "that the Chamber of Secrets is indeed open again."
Madam Pomfrey clapped a hand to her mouth. Professor McGonagall stared at him.
"But, Albus…surely…who?"
"The question is not who," Dumbledore said, staring down at the tiny, petrified boy. "The question is how…"
Harish was confused. Did that mean that he already knew who was behind this? Or did he suspect that Harish was behind it as well? The boy couldn't help but think that Dumbledore must think that Voldemort opened the Chamber.
Madam Pomfrey set up curtains around the bed and the three of the headed back to their different rooms to return to sleep. As soon as they were alone, the two boys looked at each other. Harish saw that he looked about Draco's age. The boy asked Harish, "Who are you?"
"Harish Blake. Who are you?" Harish asked in reply.
"Dean Thomas."
There was an awkward pause. The boy looked awful familiar. "I'm sorry for knocking you off your broom."
Dean looked surprised. "Well you had just gotten your arm broken," he reasoned pleasantly.
"Do you know him?" Harish asked, jerking his head toward the curtains around the third boy's bed.
"Yeah, he's in my house. His name is Colin Creevey," Dean replied. "I was rather fond of him."
"It's not really your fault, you know," Harish said.
Dean sighed. "I know…Who do you think is doing these attacks?"
Harish shrugged. Then, he froze before muttering. "…I have a hunch—" then he sat up and called out, "Dobby!"
Dean jumped as Dobby appeared with a crack.
"Young Master Harish!" Dobby squeaked, bowing low. "I's heard about the attacks here at the school! Master was even more furious! The diary still hasn't been found…" he added, tugging nervously at his ears.
"About the diary," Harish said. "Can you tell me if you know if it's behind these attacks?" Dobby opened his mouth and then shook his head furiously. Harish then asked angrily, "Is there anything you can tell me about it?"
Dobby thought a minute. "Master needs it."
"I know that, but why?"
"It's dangerous."
"Dangerous?" Dean asked from opposite him. "Diary? What are you talking about."
Harish motioned for him to be silent and the boy did so.
Then Dobby leaned forward and said, "Last time the Chamber was opened, the diary—" and he promptly began banging his head on the ground.
"Dobby!" Harish exclaimed out of surprise. "Stop!"
"Thank you, sir," Dobby whispered, eyes streaming down his long nose.
"You are dismissed," he finally said when he realized he would get no more out of the house elf.
"What was that all about?" Dean asked.
Both of them were too wide awake to return to sleep any time soon, and Harish could tell that they would know each other pretty well by the time the night ended. He was about to answer when he finally realized who the boy looked like. Other than the dark skin, he looked almost just like Rabastan Lestrange.