Harry had not been to the hospital wing, before now. Even during his late-night explorations of the castle all last year, he would always keep walking (or flying) when he passed the entrance, thinking it wrong to invade the privacy of any Hogwarts students who might be receiving treatment. As he sat back on his hospital bed now, he realized that he need not have worried. There was already very little privacy to begin with. Madam Pomfrey had drawn the thin curtains around his bed when he had first come into the hospital wing, cursing under his breath and shoving off anyone who attempted to help him walk, but the curtains had rarely been drawn again since, owing to the fact that Harry was the only person currently under her care.
Madam Pomfrey did not hold back in her criticism of Lockhart's ineptitude, which was the only highlight of Harry's stay. Despite his healing factor, there was no way for his arm to regrow the thirty-three completely missing bones in his right arm without taking Skele-Grow, a potion Harry had no intention of ever ingesting again, if he could help it. It was a nasty potion that burned on its way down, causing Harry to cough and splutter. Hermione patted him gently on the back as she and Ron sat with him.
"We won, though," said Ron, a grin breaking across his face. "That was some catch you made. You should have seen Flint arguing with Madam Hooch after you got hauled away, trying to tell her your move with the Bludger was illegal. After Snape started backing him up, she got out the official rule book to show them the section giving you the clearance for what you did. I don't know who's face I enjoyed seeing more, Snape or Malfoy."
"I want to know how he fixed that Bludger," said Hermione darkly.
"You mean Malfoy?" Harry asked. Hermione nodded. "I was wondering the same thing, but I can't think of how he could have."
Ron shook his head. "I hate to say it, but I wish I could be a Slytherin for just one day so I could see what they're all saying about this and all of the Chamber of Secrets business."
Harry nodded. He had been thinking the same thing, wondering if he would be able to follow a Slytherin sometime, under his Invisibility Cloak, to find out where their common room entrance was and how to get into it. Even if he figured that out, however, he would still have to worry about staying in their common room undetected, not to mention finding out any useful information.
Hermione said nothing, the only hint that she was paying attention to their conversation at all being a somewhat quizzical look on her face that Harry recognized as what she did when she was considering a new option.
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."
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!"
So, Harry was left alone with nothing to distract him from the stabbing pains in his limp arm. Finding the sensation incredibly annoying, he decided to meditate deeply until he was able to fall asleep.
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.
"Because I didn't miss the train!" he whisper-screamed. "You don't decide what I do in life, no matter how pure your intentions!" The pain was making Harry irritable, but he didn't care.
Dobby was now rocking backward and forward, shaking his 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, his anger dissolving at such a pathetic statement. He had many questions for Dobby, but if the house-elf responded truthfully, it was clear of what the consequences would be. What he needed was a way to end Dobby's interference, as well as the jeopardy the house-elf was putting himself in.
"You belong to the Malfoys," Harry said flatly, looking into Dobby's eyes.
Dobby froze. His eyes began to quiver, and he said suddenly, "Harry Potter must go home! Dobby thought his Bludger would be enough to make —"
"Your Bludger?" said Harry, anger rising once more. Before he was even done saying the words, however, Harry had recognized Dobby's ploy. Harry had guessed correctly about his bonded family, and this was Dobby's attempt to derail the conversation — even if it clearly was true that Dobby was responsible for the rogue Bludger.
Harry closed his already-open mouth, and nodded, avoiding looking at Dobby.
"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!"
"Dobby…" Harry worked hard to keep his temper down. "There is absolutely nothing you can do to get me to leave Hogwarts."
"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, horror-struck, then grabbed Harry's water jug from his bedside table. Harry reached across with his left hand to intervene before Dobby was able to crack it over his own head. The little elf looked about wildly for some other form of punishment, but Harry had tossed the jog back onto the table and grabbed Dobby's arm to keep him from doing anything else.
"Bad Dobby, very bad Dobby…" the elf whispered, barely struggling to get free.
"So the Chamber of Secrets has been opened before…" Harry whispered. He looked into Dobby's eyes. "When?"
"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."
For a fleeting moment, Harry considered summoning one of the large needles he had seen coming into the hospital wing earlier. He could have Dobby try to stab him with it, which he knew would not be able to break the skin. It might convince Dobby that Harry was in no danger, but it would also give him valuable information about Harry's strength that he did not want getting into the hands of the elf's family, whom Harry now knew was almost certainly the Malfoys.
Then, 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 onto 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 and 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…"
From what Harry could see of Professor McGonagall's shadowy face, she didn't understand this any better than he did. He had half a mind right then to sit up and question Dumbledore on what he meant by all of it, including the idea that the Chamber of Secrets had been opened again, something he had never implied while telling Harry about the legend, and that Harry had learned instead from a mad house-elf. Reason got the better of his urge for confrontation, however, and he stayed in bed, continuing to feign sleep as the others had further whispered conversation. They spoke mostly of procedures and communicating what had happened to all invested parties, and then Dumbledore and McGonagall left.
Once Madam Pomfrey went back to bed, Harry sat up and tested his arm. While it had previously felt like stinging needles inside a useless sack of flesh, it now felt like a million kernels of popcorn popping inside a useless sack of flesh. He peered at it for a while, wondering, if he were able to see inside of it, whether it would look like popping corn as well. He sighed then, aware that he was trying to distract himself from what Dobby had accurately described as "dark deeds."
There could have been a number of circumstances in which Mrs. Norris had become petrified, so while the act was clearly related to the Chamber of Secrets and the snake Harry was hearing, a direct correlation had not been certain. Now, it appeared to be so. Something — likely the monster from within the Chamber of Secrets, was somehow petrifying those in the castle. Harry wracked his brain for a magical snake that could do something like this, but came up with nothing. With yet another sigh — this one out of frustration — Harry admitted to himself that there was no more he could do to try to unravel this mystery until his arm was healed. With some difficulty, he yet again worked to calm himself enough until he was able to fall asleep.
Harry woke up on Sunday morning to find the dormitory blazing with winter sunlight and his arm re-boned but very stiff. He sat up quickly and looked over at Colin's bed, but it had been blocked from view by the high curtains Harry had changed behind yesterday. Seeing that he was awake, Madam Pomfrey came bustling over with a breakfast tray and then began bending and stretching his arm and fingers.
"All in order," she said as he fed himself porridge lefthanded.
"When you've finished eating, you may leave."
Harry dressed as quickly as he could and hurried off to Gryffindor Tower, stretching and flexing his arm until it started to feel normal again along the way. He had wanted to get to Ron and Hermione to talk to them about Colin and Dobby, but they weren't there. He changed his clothes before heading out to try and find them. Just before he left the common room, he spotted the top of Ginny's head peeking out from the sofa. He was about to head over to see if she knew where Ron and Hermione might be when a little voice in his head told him that it was probably better to just leave her alone.
Harry had better luck when he passed by the library later, which Percy Weasley had just strolled out of, looking in far better spirits than the last time Harry had seen him, when Percy had caught them in a girls' toilet.
"Oh, hello, Harry," Percy said. "Excellent flying yesterday, really excellent. Gryffindor has just taken the lead for the House Cup — you earned fifty points!"
"That's great. You haven't seen Ron or Hermione, have you?" said Harry.
"Oh — yes, as a matter of fact. The both of them are in there, towards the back corner." He pointed over his shoulder and continued walking, a spring in his step.
Ignoring that, Harry hurried inside the library and quickly found Ron and Hermione, sitting at a table with books and parchment scattered around. They were very nearly the only people in the whole place, the only other student being a Ravenclaw prefect named Penelope Clearwater, whose carefree humming had been shushed into submission by the librarian, Madam Pince, as Harry walked in. Penelope had left immediately.
"Oh Harry — oh no! We weren't there to see you when you got out!" Hermione lamented when she saw him walking their way. "We must have lost track of the time!"
"Yeah, we," Ron said, rolling his eyes so only Harry could see. "All right then?" Ron asked, looking at Harry's arm.
Harry nodded, holding out his arm and flexing his fingers. "Good as new." His eyes darted over the book titles and notes they had taken. "Are you…" He looked between the both of them.
Hermione nodded. "Trying to trace Slytherin's bloodline," she confirmed in a whisper. "It's really fascinating, but it's also turning out to be much more difficult than we imagined."
"Yeah, we," Ron said again, this time earning him a glare from Hermione, who was looking a little harried.
"I " she said heavily, "underestimated the number of generations there are going back that far, and the ramifications that has for just how many ancestors anyone alive now could claim."
"Over a billion," Harry said.
"Well yes, and…" Hermione stopped, her head giving a little jerk. "Hang on. How do you know that?"
Harry pointed at her notes, where he could see the math problems that had led her to this number.
"Oh," Hermione said, and Harry was glad to have seen the scribbles so he would not have to explain that he had actually done the math in his head just now.
"Tell me you backtracked and decided to focus on one particularfamily to check for a link to Slytherin," Harry said, sitting down and leaning towards them.
"We just started that now, if you mean who we think you mean," Ron said.
Harry nodded and proceeded to tell them about Dobby all but admitting that he worked for the Malfoys, and the news that Colin and now also been petrified. With a renewed energy, they dove back into the research together, agreeing to keep at it until lunch, after which Harry would schedule a meeting with Dumbledore to share what he had learned from Dobby. Regardless, they ended up stopping after only an hour, all of them agreeing that the effort was turning out to be futile.
"It'd be easier to just walk up to Malfoy and ask him about it, to be honest," Ron said, rubbing his face. "But seriously, if he is the heir of Slytherin, you can bet that he's bragging about it to the rest of them, idiot that he is."
"Well," said Hermione cautiously, "I suppose it's possible…"
"We best not go throwing around accusations unless we can prove it, though," Harry said darkly.
"There might be a way," said Hermione slowly, clearly no longer listening to Harry and Ron, and dropping her voice still further with a quick glance across the room at Madam Pince. "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," Ron said as Harry raised his eyebrows at the wild idea.
"No, it's not," said Hermione. "All we'd need would be some Polyjuice Potion."
"What's that?" said Ron.
"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?" muttered Ron.
Harry laughed, but his mind was flashing through everything he knew about Polyjuice Potion.
"It transforms you into somebody else," Hermione explained. "Think about it! We could change into three of the Slytherins. No one would know it was us. Malfoy would probably tell us anything. Like Harry said, 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 we're 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…"
She trailed off at the grin on Harry's face.
"No!" she said loudly enough to earn a shush from Madam Pince.
Harry nodded. "I haven't read the whole thing, and didn't look at the part about Polyjuice, but I know I have it. It's just at home. I'll get it tonight, and then we can start looking at it."
"Well that's excellent," Hermione said with a smile of surprise.
"So then can we please leave now?" Ron asked loudly, and Madam Pince swooped in to force them to do just that.
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 re-enacted some of the more dramatic bits. He tried again and again to pick Harry to help him with these reconstructions; so far, Harry had been forced to play 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. Still angry about his bones being removed, Harry was not a cooperative participant for any of these.
For the babbling villager, Harry kept inserting swear words into the nonsense jabbering Lockhart was having him portray, spouting things like, "Eeshoodah arsehole fluddgery!" and "Resshen motherfucker quickenen!"
When Lockhart did not seem to catch on (although the class definitely did, leading to some incredibly embarrassing moments when Lockhart thought it was his entertaining re-enactments leading to the class's amusement), Harry was chosen again the next week for the ailing yeti. Claiming falsely later that he had simply been trying to get into character, Harry-as-the-yeti let out a gigantic sneeze right before the climax of Lockhart's story, using his wand to produce an explosion of snotty-goo so large and so fast that it knocked Lockhart off of his feet. For days afterwards, students of all ages would burst into laughter whenever they saw Harry in the hallways, as the tale had become an instant legend.
When he was chosen to portray the vampire Lockhart had supposedly vanquished, it was easy and quick. Shortly after Lockhart had begged Harry to join him yet again, Harry simply said, "This is good, actually. Then I can warn Professor Trocar about whatever you did to the other vampire, so he won't have to worry."
"Oh… erm… You know what? You make a good point, Harry," Lockhart said with a plastered smile. "Perhaps it might actually be in poor professional taste to act this one out. Back you go then!"
Lockhart was perhaps the last person in the castle to figure out that Harry was ruining his stories on purpose, or perhaps a fellow staff member took pity on him and let him know he was the butt of an ongoing joke, but he finally stopped enlisting Harry's assistance. This coincided well with Harry feeling as though he had by now achieved adequate revenge over Lockhart.
Getting Harry's copy of Moste Potente Potions took slightly longer than anticipated, owing to new restrictions and protections being placed on the castle once Harry had told Dumbledore about the visit from Dobby. The only house-elves who could move about within Hogwarts now were those who were bound with the headmaster and deputy headmistress, and no house-elf at all could cross the Hogwarts grounds' boundary without explicit permission from Dumbledore.
Harry could have used the Lord Ring to jump back home and grab the book, but Ron and Hermione thought that doing so would be asking for trouble from Dobby. Even though Harry could see no possible way Dobby could interfere, he grudgingly wrote a letter to Toory and Zeely, sent it off with Hedwig, and then sat around with a refreshed motivation for finding a better way for wizardkind to communicate.
Once they did get the book, there was still no jumping right into things. It had arrived at breakfast, but it was not until evening that they could look at it in private, with Hermione making Harry swear that he would wait for her before he did. There had been some debate on where they might all be able to not only look at the instructions but to also brew the potion away from prying eyes, ears, and noses. At first, Harry had offered his trunk, about which Hermione apparently had thought him exaggerating regarding its size. Only after he and Ron had snuck Hermione to their dorm to show her that it had an actual staircase with literal rooms in one compartment did she fully appreciate its attributes. After Fred and George gave Ron, Harry, and an invisible Hermione a long, suspicious look passing them afterwards on the staircase, however, they decided that sneaking a girl into their dorm repeatedly was not a wise option.
Harry would have gladly brewed the potion himself, but Hermione simply could not handle that arrangement. In the end, Harry and Hermione convinced Ron that Hermione's idea was the best choice: Moaning Myrtle's out-of-order bathroom, which was surely the last place anyone in their right minds would go, so they were guaranteed some privacy. Sneaking down after curfew, they even found a large stall with a missing toilet in which to work.
Hermione opened Moste Potente Potions carefully, and the three of them bent over the damp-spotted pages. It was clear from a glance why Hogwarts kept its copy 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. Harry sincerely hoped the artist had imagined the looks of intense pain on their faces. While it was difficult for anything to harm him from the outside, the discomfort he had felt inside his arm was enough of a reminder that his body could still feel pain.
"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, speechless, to Harry, who was preoccupied by the checklist he was referencing in his head.
"D'you realize how much we're going to have to steal, Hermione?" Ron asked. "Shredded skin of a boomslang, that's definitely not in the students' cupboard. What're we going to do, break into Snape's private stores? I don't know if this is a good idea…"
Hermione shut the book with a snap, apparently about to snap at Ron as well, but she stopped when she saw the look on Harry's face — the same grin his face has slid into when they were discussing how to get a hold of Moste Potente Potions.
"Do you have these ingredients, as well?" she asked incredulously.
"Some of them," Harry said. "But I can get all of them — no problem."
"Nice!" Ron said, and Harry was glad to have the mood in the stall lightened.
"How long will it take to make, anyway?" said Harry as Hermione, looking happier, opened the book again.
"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 soon."
"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."
The kept busy working on the potion for the next few weeks, the ingredients coming in from Toory and Zeely one at a time so as not to raise suspicion. Harry kept an ear out for any sign of Dumbledore placing any kind of protection or inspection on incoming packages, but so far things seemed the same as usual.
The news that Colin Creevey had been attacked and was now lying as though dead in the hospital wing had not taken long to spread throughout the castle. Since then, the air had stayed thick with rumour and suspicion. The first years were now moving around the castle in tight-knit groups, as though scared they would be attacked if they ventured forth alone.
Ginny Weasley, who sat next to Colin Creevey in Charms, was distraught, but Harry felt that Fred and George were going the wrong way about cheering her up, taking turns covering themselves with fur or boils and jumping out at her from behind statues. They only stopped when Percy, apoplectic with rage, told them he was going to write to Mrs. Weasley and tell her Ginny was having nightmares.
In the second week of December Professor McGonagall came around as usual, collecting names of those who would be staying at school for Christmas. Harry, Ron, and Hermione signed her list; they had heard that Malfoy was staying, which struck them as very suspicious. The holidays would be the perfect time to use the Polyjuice Potion and try to worm a confession out of him.
They were just barely on schedule to have the Polyjuice potion ready in time, thanks to some extreme and predictable efforts by Toory and Zeely to gather and send the ingredients Harry had asked for. When the last ingredient, boomslang skin, had arrived at breakfast in an envelope covered in stickers marking several foreign nations, Neville took note.
"You sure are getting a lot of —"
He was cut off when the pumpkin juice in his full glass flew into his face, sending him flying backwards off of his seat, choking and spluttering. Harry winced, having not meant for his spell to have been so forceful; it was a kneejerk reaction to Neville almost airing his suspicions. Regardless, it had the intended effect of distracting him and anyone else from the delivery, which Harry, Ron, and Hermione brought to Myrtle's bathroom at their earliest opportunity.
Hermione threw the boomslang skin into the cauldron and began to stir feverishly.
"It'll be ready in two weeks," she said happily. "All that's left is to wait for the lacewing flies to finish stewing."
A week later, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were walking across the entrance hall when they saw a small knot of people gathered around the notice board, reading a piece of parchment that had just been pinned up. Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas beckoned them over, looking excited.
"They're starting a Duelling Club!" said Seamus. "First meeting tonight! I wouldn't mind duelling lessons; they might come in handy one of these days…"
"What, you reckon Slytherin's monster can duel?" said Ron, but he, too, read the sign with interest.
"Could be useful," he said to Harry and Hermione as they went into dinner. "Is Flitwick leading it?" he added to Harry.
"Dunno," Harry said, shrugging.
"No one talked to you about it?" Ron asked.
Harry shook his head. He hated to admit it, but it bothered him just as much as it appeared to do for Ron, who had looked at Harry rather aghast before attempting to hide it, likely after Hermione had given him a look over Harry's shoulder. Harry was the current English Duelling Champion, and yet none of the staff members organizing this club had even mentioned it to him?
He tried to set aside his pride, and agreed to go tonight with the others, who were quite eager to check it out. So at eight o'clock that evening they hurried back to the Great Hall. The long dining tables had vanished and a golden stage had appeared along one wall, lit by thousands of candles floating overhead. The ceiling was velvety black once more and most of the school seemed to be packed beneath it, all carrying their wands and looking excited.
"I wonder who'll be teaching us?" said Hermione as they edged into the chattering crowd. "Surely it'll be Flitwick, but can you imagine if it was Dumbledore?"
"As long as it's not —" Harry began, but he ended on a groan: Gilderoy Lockhart was walking onto the stage, resplendent in robes of deep plum and accompanied by none other than Snape, wearing his usual black.
Lockhart waved an arm for silence and called, "Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent! Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little duelling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions — for full details, see my published works."
"Jesus Christ…" Harry could not help but to mutter under his breath. A group of sixth-year boys in front of him snickered.
"Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape," said Lockhart, flashing a wide smile. "He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about duelling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry — you'll still have your Potions master when I'm through with him, never fear!"
"Wouldn't it be good if they finished each other off?" Ron whispered in Harry's ear.
Snape's upper lip was curling. Harry wondered why Lockhart was still smiling; if Snape had been looking at him like that, he'd have already had his wand drawn and ready.
Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed; at least, Lockhart did, with much twirling of his hands, whereas Snape jerked his head irritably. Then they raised their wands like swords in front of them.
"As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position," Lockhart told the silent crowd as Harry noted the incorrect positioning in which Lockhart's wand was held. "On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course."
"I wouldn't bet on that," Harry murmured, watching Snape baring his teeth.
"One — two — three —"
Both of them swung their wands above their heads and pointed them at their opponent; Snape cried: "Expelliarmus!" There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet: He flew backward off the stage, smashed into the wall, and slid down it to sprawl on the floor.
Malfoy and some of the other Slytherins cheered. Hermione was dancing on tiptoes. "Do you think he's all right?" she squealed through her fingers.
"Who cares?" said Harry and Ron together.
Lockhart was getting unsteadily to his feet. His hat had fallen off and his wavy hair was standing on end.
"Well, there you have it!" he said, tottering back onto the platform. "That was a Disarming Charm — as you see, I've lost my wand — ah, thank you, Miss Brown — yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don't mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy — however, I felt it would be instructive to let them see…"
Snape was looking murderous. Possibly Lockhart had noticed, because he said, "Enough demonstrating! I'm going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you'd like to help me —"
They moved through the crowd, matching up partners. Lockhart teamed Neville with Justin Finch-Fletchley, but Snape reached Harry and Ron first.
"Time to split up the dream team, I think," he sneered.
"Weasley, you can partner Finnigan. Potter —"
Harry moved automatically toward Hermione.
"I don't think so," said Snape, smiling coldly. "Mr. Malfoy, come over here. Let's see what you make of the famous Potter. And you, Miss Granger — you can partner Miss Bulstrode."
Malfoy strutted over, smirking. Behind him walked a Slytherin girl who reminded Harry of a picture he'd seen in Holidays with Hags. She was large and square and her heavy jaw jutted aggressively. Hermione gave her a weak smile that she did not return.
"Face your partners!" called Lockhart, back on the platform. "And bow!"
Harry and Malfoy barely inclined their heads, not taking their eyes off each other. There was a lot of bluster behind Malfoy's eyes and, despite knowing how arrogant Draco was, Harry was surprised to get the impression that Malfoy actually thought he could beat Harry. While the self-confidence might be admirable in anyone else, it only made Harry want to embarrass Malfoy even more.
"Wands at the ready!" shouted Lockhart. "When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponents — only to disarm them — we don't want any accidents — one… two… three —"
Harry maneuvered his wand, but Malfoy had already started on "two": Harry simply moved a foot to his right to avoid the cluster of sparks Malfoy had sent at him. Even if it had hit him, Harry doubted it would have had any effect. He pointed his wand straight at Malfoy and shouted, "Rictusempra!"
A jet of silver light hit Malfoy in the stomach, and he doubled up, wheezing.
"I said disarm only!" Lockhart shouted in alarm over the heads of the battling crowd, as Malfoy sank to his knees; Harry had hit him with a Tickling Charm, and he could barely move for laughing.
Among the continued shouts of "Expelliarmus!" echoing around the Great Hall, various other spells were being thrown around as well. Distracted by the danger this posed to everyone present, Harry considered whether or not he should do anything about it, and almost missed Malfoy pointing his wand at Harry's knees, choking, "Tarantallegra!" through his continued laughter. Once again, Harry sidestepped the spell rather than block it, this time because he knew Goyle was right behind him. Malfoy's spell hit Goyle, whose legs began to jerk around out of his control in a kind of quickstep.
"Stop! Stop!" screamed Lockhart, but Snape took charge.
"Finite Incantatem!" he shouted; Goyle's feet stopped dancing, and Malfoy stopped laughing.
A haze of brownish smoke was hovering over the entire scene. Both Neville and Justin were lying on the floor, panting; Ron was holding up an ashen-faced Seamus, apologizing for hitting him directly in the face with his spell; but Hermione and Millicent Bulstrode were still moving; Millicent had Hermione in a headlock and Hermione was whimpering in pain; both their wands lay forgotten on the floor.
Harry leapt forward and pulled Millicent off, throwing her backwards several feet, but making sure she did not land on her head.
"Dear, dear," said Lockhart, skittering through the crowd, looking at the aftermath of the duels. "Up you go, Macmillan… Careful there, Miss Fawcett… Pinch it hard, it'll stop bleeding in a second, Boot —
"I think I'd better teach you how to block unfriendly spells," said Lockhart, standing flustered in the midst of the hall. He glanced at Snape, whose black eyes glinted, and looked quickly away. "Let's have a volunteer pair — Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you —"
"A bad idea, Professor Lockhart," said Snape, gliding over like a large and malevolent bat. "Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest spells. We'll be sending what's left of Finch-Fletchley up to the hospital wing in a matchbox." Neville's round, pink face went pinker. "How about Malfoy and Potter?" said Snape with a twisted smile.
"Excellent idea!" said Lockhart, gesturing Harry and Malfoy into the middle of the hall and onto the platform as the crowd backed away to give them room.
"Now, Harry," said Lockhart. "When Draco points his wand at you, you do this."
He raised his own wand, attempted a complicated sort of wiggling action, and dropped it. Snape smirked as Lockhart quickly picked it up, saying, "Whoops — my wand is a little overexcited…"
Snape moved closer to Malfoy, bent down, and whispered in his ear. Harry listened.
"He'll avoid any direct spell, so try the conjuring I showed you the other day."
Malfoy smirked. Harry was not sure what Snape meant by that, but tried to mentally prepare himself for what he felt could be the possibilities.
"Scared?" muttered Malfoy, so that Lockhart couldn't hear him.
Harry furrowed his brow in a sincere show of confusion. "What?" he responded incredulously, and was rewarded with Malfoy's look of annoyed failure to intimidate Harry.
Lockhart cuffed Harry merrily on the shoulder, thinking Harry's question was for him. "Just do what I did, Harry!"
"What, drop my wand?"
But Lockhart wasn't listening.
"Three — two — one — go!" he shouted.
Malfoy raised his wand quickly and bellowed, "Serpensortia!"
The end of his wand exploded in light and smoke. Harry watched as a long black snake shot out of it, fell heavily onto the platform between them, and raised itself, ready to strike. There were screams as the crowd backed swiftly away, clearing the floor.
"Don't move, Potter," said Snape lazily, clearly enjoying the sight of Harry standing motionless, eye to eye with the angry snake. "I'll get rid of it…"
"Allow me!" shouted Lockhart. He brandished his wand at the snake and there was a loud bang; the snake, instead of vanishing, flew ten feet into the air and fell back to the floor with a loud smack. Enraged, hissing furiously, it slithered straight toward Justin Finch-Fletchley and raised itself again, fangs exposed, poised to strike.
Harry stepped forward, shouting "STOP!" at the snake, which froze, and then slumped to the floor, docile as a thick, black garden hose, its eyes now on Harry. Harry knew the snake wouldn't attack anyone now, but he also knew that no one else would be aware of that. So, he waved his wand, and the snake vanished in a small puff of black smoke.
He looked at Justin, expecting to see him looking relieved, or puzzled, or even grateful — but certainly not angry and scared.
"What do you think you're playing at?" he shouted, and before Harry could say anything, Justin had turned and stormed out of the hall.
Snape, too, was looking at Harry in an unexpected way: It was a shrewd and calculating look, and Harry didn't like it. He was also dimly aware of an ominous muttering all around the walls. Then he felt a tugging on the back of his robes.
"Come on," said Ron's voice in his ear. "Move — come on —"
Ron attempted to pull Harry away, but he resisted, standing his ground long enough for Ron to give up and retreat back to stand next to Hermione. Harry spun in a slow circle, taking in the looks and utterings of everyone in attendance.
"I suppose this would be a good time to point out," Harry said in a clear, piercing voice. "That I'm a Parselmouth, which I always thought was just a fun little ability, until recently." He caught Hermione's vehement shaking of her head at him, and ignored it.
"I guess that might be because I am, as it turns out, related to Salazar Slytherin…" He tried to not let the gasps of atrocious shock bother him. "But there have been a lot more Parselmouths born over the years, and there's nothing evil about snakes. Malfoy just did a shitty job of conjuring his, so it was rather deranged, as snakes go. Just so we're clear, I am also related to Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor, which I only found out a few years ago. But really — who cares?" He threw up his arms in exasperation at this statement.
"Can you imagine anyone pathetic enough to worry about the ideology of people who have been dead for a thousand years? I don't care what my ancestors may or may not have thought or done! Blood status means jack shit to me, as it should to all of you. Only a pathetic, insecure, lowlife would think they were better than everyone else because of who their family is." Harry made a point to look straight at Malfoy as he said this. "My mother was Muggle-born, and I may as well have been after my Muggle family took me in after my parents died fighting against Voldemort."
Gasps at hearing the name rang out through the hall, reminding Harry of how terrified wizarding society still was of anyone even saying the Dark Lord's name.
"So anyway," Harry said, turning to Lockhart. "Are you going to teach them anything actually useful, or do you just want me to do it?"
Lockhart was white as a sheet, popping his mouth like a fish out of water. Snape had looked rather shocked, but recovered in the face of Harry's challenge.
"First of all, ten points from Gryffindor for your cheek, Potter," he said, stepping forward.
There were groans from a couple of the Gryffindors in attendance, but Harry had actually been expecting to lose even more points, so this did not bother him. He was pretty sure that Snape had only showed leniency because it was Lockhart that Harry was calling out.
"The headmaster approved this club in the hopes that it would lead to a sense of safety and confidence of well-being amongst the students," Snape said silkily, turning to stand face-to-face with Lockhart. "We have thus far failed in that regard. Considering Mr. Potter's status as the reigning English Duelling Champion, and your own well-documented achievements in the art, I suggest a demonstration of true duelling skill between you and Mr. Potter."
Harry could not help but smile at the panic that played across Lockhart's face at that suggestion. Snape looked at Harry and faltered at the small, sly smile on Harry's face. It was as though, just for a moment, he and Harry were conniving together, and the realization seemed to disgust the Potions master.
"Back up!" he barked unnecessarily at the students surrounding the duelling area.
A few students attempted to comply, but if anything the crowd moved slightly closer as everyone vied for a good view of whatever was about to happen. Lockhart took several seconds to slip back into his usual, haughty demeanour.
"Yes yes, gather 'round!" he now said boisterously, not seeming to notice that he was contradicting Snape. "You at that end, Harry, and I'll begin here, but remember, footwork is key in duelling, so don't freeze up!"
Harry wondered how anyone was supposed to remember as much when Lockhart had never said it, but he let the suggestion influence his plan of strategy. When he and Lockhart were in place, they bowed and raised their wands, Harry cringing inwardly at how much he likely had resembled Snape with his own, curt movements. Snape himself was standing between the pair of them, several feet back from the line of fire, and when he spoke, the rest of the hall grew dead silent.
"You will begin on three. One — two — three!"
Lockhart leapt theatrically to the left, then to the right, anticipating spells from Harry that never came. Instead, Harry stood stock still, his wand now at his side and all of his senses trained on Lockhart, which was rather overwhelming considering the amount of movement and grunting the man was demonstrating. After a few seconds, Lockhart decided to shift strategies and went on the offensive, still skipping around but now flourishing his wand in grand movements. Still, Harry just stood, watching.
"Expelliarmus!" Lockhart finally bellowed, and the spellcasting was not entirely terrible, to Harry's surprise.
The jet of red light would have hit the left side of Harry's hip, but just before it did, Harry put up a Shield Charm, making a point to yell, "Protego!" for the sake of any students who had never heard the incantation. Lockhart's spell ricocheted harmlessly into the floor between him and Harry.
"Aha!" Lockhart yelled with vigour, again anticipating and dancing away from the return spell from Harry that never came. After several seconds of this, he juked from side to side and once again thrust his wand towards Harry, this time attempting an Impediment Jinx.
Harry blocked this in the same fashion — with one flowing movement of his wand arm, this time doing so non-verbally, as he was having to hold in a laugh at Lockhart casting that particular spell at an opponent who was already standing perfectly still.
It went on this way for some time. Harry kept expecting Lockhart to change strategies, as what he was doing was clearly not working, but the man just kept repeating the same thing over and over. A wave of mild restlessness and second-hand embarrassment began moving over the crowd. Harry had meant to make a point to everyone watching that footwork was indeed important, but not disproportionately effective compared to other aspects of duelling, anticipating only one or two offensive spells from Lockhart before Harry would have to reply with his own, but Lockhart just would not stop.
To Harry's astonishment, it got to the point where Lockhart was gasping for breath, so fatigued by his own ministrations that when he tripped, landing hard on his knees, he was unable to stand back up. Harry walked casually forward, not even bothering to block the one weak Stunning Spell Lockhart barely managed to cast before Harry got within reach of him, taking Lockhart's wand out of his hand with no effort, and then somewhat gently kicking the man over. Lockhart lay on his back, breathing deeply and looking up at the enchanted ceiling, clearly exhausted.
A few students offered a smattering of applause, but the majority of the crowd maintained their disappointment and discomfort at what they had just witnessed. A piercing outlier presented itself in the form of the Weasley twins, whose boisterous cheering had crescendoed from the moment Lockhart had fallen to his knees, and only started dying out after Harry tossed Lockhart's wand back onto the man's chest. From the corner of his eye, Harry saw Snape starting forward.
"The nice thing about the Shield Charm," Harry called out to the crowd before Snape could say anything, "is that it protects against physical attacks as well as spells. When cast with the proper effort, it will stay up for an extended period, giving you time to evaluate whatever it was that caused you to cast it. If you were looking for your go-to, knee-jerk-reaction spell, this would be at the top of my list of recommendations. The incantation is Protego, and the wand movement is like this… He demonstrated it three times, turning his body different directions so that everyone had a chance to see.
"Some of the older students are going to be comfortable with this one already, in which case you can take turns with your partner casting the spell and trying to break through it with the Disarming Spell, so you'll get both defensive and offensive practice. Feel free to help the younger students if you feel like it, who don't need to partner up, but just find a spot on their own to practice putting up a shield. Just make sure everyone spreads out and is mindful of those around you."
With rejuvenated interest, everyone did what he suggested. Harry made a point to not turn around to gauge how angry Snape might be at Harry having essentially taken over, walking through the students and observing until he got to where Ron and Hermione were facing a window, attempting to raise shields.
"What's Snape doing?" Harry whispered between them.
Ron looked over his shoulder. "He just walked out of the hall," he said with a grin.
Harry turned to look, his own smug smile forming, but it fell when he saw that a good amount of students were leaving as well. The expressions on their faces, and the fearful looks some of them cast back at Harry as they exited left no doubt in his mind that, despite his attempts to downplay what had happened with the snake, his revelation at being Slytherin's heir was going to have lasting effects.