It was the Friday following Halloween, and the second-year Gryffindors and Slytherins were busy brewing swelling solutions during their Potions class. As was customary, Harry was paired with Neville Longbottom. Though Neville excelled at preparing ingredients, he seemed to struggle with properly mixing them into the potion.
As Harry turned to select their next ingredient, he noticed with alarm that the potion in their cauldron had changed color and was bubbling ominously, the cauldron vibrating slightly. This was not good...
"Protego!" Harry shouted, instinctively shoving Neville out of his seat just in time. Their unfinished potion erupted from the cauldron, surprisingly targeting Harry instead of Neville. While the shield charm wasn't particularly effective against physical attacks, it fared better against the magical substances of potions, preventing Harry from being doused head to toe in who-knows-what.
"Potter!" Professor Snape's voice sliced through the chaos, ready to make life miserable for the Gryffindor students. "Twenty points from Gryffindor for your inability to brew even the simplest swelling solution—" He was cut off as six cauldrons, each containing potions in various states of readiness, levitated and directed their contents towards Harry. With the shield charm unable to protect him from all sides, Harry ducked under the nearest desk, hoping to shield himself from the incoming liquefied chaos.
Though he managed to avoid the worst of it, the potions' acidic properties began to corrode his workbench at a rapid pace. To Snape's surprise, despite his impassive demeanor, he did nothing to eliminate the hazardous mixture. But as Harry became increasingly aware of the hissing sound coming from above—a telltale sign that the potion was eating through the desk—it was too late. The first drops landed painfully on his shoulder, rapidly dissolving the fabric of his robes.
"Ah!" Harry yelped as the acid made contact. Desperately rolling backward to escape further harm, he unknowingly caught more droplets on his chest and stomach, places he could tend to himself if necessary. Given that Snape had yet to intervene, he had little choice. Fortunately, the acid had mostly spent itself, sparing Harry the trouble of trying to wash away the burns. However, the unpleasant reality of chemical burns was unavoidable, and he hoped Madam Pomfrey could remedy the situation swiftly.
Regrettably, while concentrating on his own injuries, Harry overlooked the fact that the acidic mixture was still dissolving the desk. It reached a tipping point, causing one side to collapse, and a piece of the desk came crashing down on his head, knocking him out cold.
As the commotion settled, Snape deemed it time to act. Though he relished the chance to deduct more points from Harry for seemingly seeking attention, it was clear the incident had not been intentional. Having neglected his duties to the students, he realized he had dug his own grave. Albus Dumbledore, a powerful figure, had limitations, and Snape could ill afford to draw his ire again.
"Longbottom!" Snape barked. "Take Potter to the hospital wing." While Neville hurried to comply, Snape continued, "Is there anyone else who needs medical attention?" Tracey raised her hand, having been splashed by her cauldron's contents. "You can go to the infirmary as well." She nodded and quickly gathered her things before limping out of the classroom. "Class is dismissed. Next week, you'll all be redoing the swelling solution. Be prepared; I won't tolerate any dolts in my class!" With that ultimatum, Snape retreated to his office for a floo call to the headmaster.
~/ *** \~
"Albus, we have a problem!" Severus Snape announced as he stepped into the headmaster's office through the inter-school floo connection. Dumbledore looked up from a stack of paperwork.
"Severus, my boy, you sound as though someone has attempted to assassinate a student! Surely, children can be troublesome, often injuring each other over trivial matters, but I hardly think they would seek to kill," the ancient headmaster replied with a twinkle in his eye.
"You don't comprehend!" It was rare for Severus to raise his voice, especially to the only man who had saved him from Azkaban years prior. "A student was attacked in my classroom. An incomplete swelling solution isn't typically dangerous, but when combined with others in a classroom setting..." He took a deep breath to steady himself. "It created a strong acid, Albus. Madam Pomfrey will inform you of the extent of the injuries later, but I can assure you there will be chemical burns—third degree. We both know those are not easily healed, even with magic!"
"What's worse," Snape continued, his voice lowering, "I have no idea who is behind the attack. I scanned the minds of everyone present, and none seemed to have malicious intent." Dumbledore nodded; he would need to investigate the incident further, though he recognized that with Lady Longbottom growing more active in the Board of Governors, it would be a challenge to contain the fallout.
"Just one question, Severus: who was attacked?" Snape hesitated for a moment before answering.
"Harry Potter."
~/ *** \~
Madam Pomfrey took about an hour to address the burns Harry sustained. Although visible signs of damage had faded, he still felt discomfort where the acidic mixture had touched his skin. As a precaution, the medi-witch insisted he remain in the hospital wing overnight in case complications arose.
Around midnight, a squeaky voice jolted Harry awake—Dobby the house elf stood before him.
"Harry Potter returned to Hogwarts!" Dobby whispered sadly. "Harry Potter ignored Dobby's warnings! Why did Harry Potter not go home when he couldn't get through the barrier? Why didn't Harry Potter leave when he was attacked by those bludgers?"
"You were the one who tried to kill me?" Harry hissed, glaring at the house elf.
"No, Dobby was not trying to harm great Harry Potter!" Dobby insisted, hands raised defensively, his bandaged hands catching Harry's attention. "Dobby thought if he showed Harry Potter how dangerous it is at Hogwarts, Harry Potter would leave before the monster from the Chamber of Secrets could reach him…"
Harry felt his anger cool slightly but couldn't quell his frustration. He was about to chastise Dobby when he overheard approaching voices. Sensing that discovery would lead to trouble, Dobby vanished.
Moments later, Dumbledore appeared, maneuvering a statue onto a bed with Professor McGonagall's assistance.
"Get Madam Pomfrey," Dumbledore instructed quietly. McGonagall hurried to comply. As Harry feigned sleep, he strained to see who had been attacked and quickly recognized Colin Creevey, petrified, with his camera clutched tightly in his hands.
"Petrified?" Madam Pomfrey whispered.
"Yes," McGonagall answered. "I found him on the stairs, but I dread to think... If Albus hadn't been going down for hot chocolate, who knows what might have happened..." The three adults surveyed Colin, and then Dumbledore leaned in and carefully pried the camera from Colin's stiff grip.
"Perhaps he captured a photo of his attacker?" McGonagall speculated eagerly.
Dumbledore remained silent as he opened the camera, only for a jet of purplish steam to burst forth.
"Good gracious!" exclaimed Madam Pomfrey, stepping back. "It's all melted..."
"What does this mean, Albus?" McGonagall asked urgently.
"It means," Dumbledore said after a moment's contemplation, "that the Chamber of Secrets is indeed open again." Shocked, Madam Pomfrey and McGonagall exchanged concerned glances.
"But Albus… who could be behind this?" McGonagall asked.
"The question is not who," Dumbledore replied, his gaze fixed on Colin. "The question is, how…"
The following morning, Madam Pomfrey deemed Harry well enough to leave her care, though she cautioned him against straining his right arm—his shoulder had suffered the worst from the chemical burns.
As Harry exited the hospital wing, he noticed a screen now surrounding Colin's bed, shielding the petrified boy from view. Pausing for a moment, Harry silently hoped the mandrakes would be ready soon so Colin could be revived. With that thought, he made his way to the Great Hall for a late breakfast. He had a serious conversation to have with a certain blonde witch about house elves and their peculiar behaviors...
On his way to the library, Harry heard numerous theories circulating about Colin's attack. Each student seemed determined to concoct at least two wild explanations. As he approached the far corner of the library, he spotted Draconica immersed in a book.
"Good morning," he greeted awkwardly, sitting down across from her.
"Good morning, Potter." She barely looked up from her tome. "It's good to see you've already recovered from yesterday's incident."
"About that incident…" he started, only for her to raise an eyebrow, intrigued but cautious—was he aware of the identity of the perpetrator? After all, Professor Snape had interrogated many of the second-year Slytherins, employing every method available to uncover the truth, and he certainly took offense at anyone attempting to harm Harry, regardless of house rivalry.
"You own a house-elf named Dobby, correct?" Harry asked.
"Yes, that's right." She didn't look up at him, still engrossed in her reading.
"House elves cannot go against their master's direct instructions," he pressed. "Please order him to stop trying to 'save' me—he might just succeed in killing me instead."
Draconica's expression shifted as understanding dawned. 'So Dobby was responsible for the potions mishap—likely behind the strange bludger incidents in Quidditch matches too.' "I will speak to him," she said, a determined look on her face. "But not immediately—later today."
"Thank you," Harry replied, aware that their friendship thrived within the context of their work on Dumbledore's Army and other similar occasions.
~/ *** \~
At the beginning of dinner the next day, a visibly distressed Professor Sprout rushed into the Great Hall and headed straight for the headmaster. Harry couldn't make out the details, but the quick departure of McGonagall, following closely behind, indicated something dire had occurred.
Thanks to the rapid spread of rumors among the Hogwarts community, by curfew, every student knew of another attack: a sixth-year Muggle-born Hufflepuff named Thomas White had been found petrified near the eastern wing of the castle, close to the boys' toilets. Adding to the unease, the boy was discovered in a position suggesting he had been gazing out the window when he was petrified.
The news of Colin's petrification had already raised alarm, but the fate of Thomas sent ripples of panic through the student body. While professors tried to reassure students about the situation, their efforts yielded mixed results—fear was thick in the air, and no one felt fully secure.
Naturally, the sinister happenings at Hogwarts couldn't be contained solely within the castle's walls. The arrival of Lady Longbottom, along with several other members of the Board of Governors, during dinner on Monday was anticipated by some, although others wished it had come sooner.
The group approached the professors' table, demanding explanations from Dumbledore regarding the ongoing attacks. The old man skillfully avoided immediate answers, leading them instead to his office. While the details of their conversation remained unknown, the governors exited the castle two hours later, but with reinforced prefect patrols, there was little else done to address the strange occurrences.
A week passed without further incidents, and while students began to cautiously relax, the uneasiness lingered—no one dared to venture alone.
When Harry, Ron, and Hermione made their way to the Great Hall for lunch, they encountered a considerable gathering around the notice board, all reading a newly posted parchment with keen interest.
"What's going on?" Neville inquired as they joined the throng.
"They're starting a Dueling Club!" Seamus Finnigan, a classmate, announced excitedly. "First meeting tonight! I wouldn't mind some dueling lessons—might come in handy one day..." Ron turned away from the notice, curious.
"You think the Slytherin monster can duel?" he asked. To everyone's surprise, this was one of the more astute observations he had made lately as his conversations usually revolved around food or unfair professors.
"Could still be useful, right?" Seamus countered, and this sparked numerous nods of agreement from the crowd.
"I hope Professor Flitwick is teaching us," a third-year Ravenclaw girl remarked. "He was a dueling champion once—bet he has a few tricks up his sleeve." The consensus suggested that should Flitwick helm the club, it would be worthwhile, and Harry decided he would attend.