The pitch buzzed with excitement, but all focus shifted to Harry, who clutched his broken arm, pale and trying to stay upright. The team, Ron, Ginny, Hermione, and Hagrid hurried over as I motioned for us to get him to Madam Pomfrey. Before we could move, Lockhart emerged, robes billowing, surrounded by a gaggle of students eager for a show.
Hermione was first to speak. "Are you okay?"
Harry winced. "No. I think my... I think my arm's broken."
I snorted. "Understatement of the century, Harry."
Lockhart knelt beside him, full of pomp. "Not to worry, Harry. I will fix that arm of yours straight away."
"No. Not you," Harry protested.
"Poor boy. Doesn't know what he's saying," Lockhart said, pulling back Harry's sleeve. "Now, this won't hurt a bit." Ron and Hermione exchanged worried glances at Hagrid, who tried for a reassuring nod. Lockhart raised his wand. "Brackium Emendo!"
A blue light sparked, receded, and Lockhart dropped his wand. He lifted Harry's arm—it hung limp, slushy, boneless. Groans rippled through the crowd. Even Hermione recoiled.
"Yes, well, that can sometimes happen," Lockhart said quickly. "The point is—no more pain! And very clearly, the bones are not broken."
Hagrid huffed. "'Broken'? There's no bones left!"
Lockhart straightened. "Much more flexible, though."
I couldn't help it. "Not gonna lie. That is actually fascinating. Professor, are you willing to help me with a bit of experimentation for a Galleon a spell?"
Lockhart looked torn between horror and intrigue.
In the hospital wing, Malfoy lay in bed moaning, the Slytherin team all occupying beds around him, except for Marcus Flint who was nowhere in sight. Madam Pomfrey swept in. "Oh, Mr. Malfoy. Stop making such a fuss." She turned to Harry's bed, where we all gathered. "Out of my way. Should've been brought straight to me. I can mend bones in a heartbeat, but growing them back...""
Ginny, who had followed the crowd to the hospital wing after hearing about his injury, asked, "You will be able to, won't you?"
"Oh, I'll be able to, certainly. But it'll be painful." She handed Harry a glass of Skele-Gro. He gagged at the taste. "Well, what do you expect, pumpkin juice?"
I smirked. "In hindsight, I don't think it tastes any better."
That night, Harry was jolted awake by noise of footsteps on his bed...
On the bed?
He blinked up to see Dobby perched at the bed's edge, legs crossed with his arm supporting his head.
"Hello," Dobby greeted.
"Dobby?" Harry said, startled.
"Harry Potter should've listened. Should've gone home."
Realization hit Harry. "It was you."
"Indeed, sir. Dobby thought the Bludger would be enough to make you see."
"You made that Bludger chase me?!"
"Dobby feels most aggrieved, sir. I even sat in the time-out corner for three hours."
Harry scowled. "You better clear off before my bones come back, or I might strangle you."
Dobby waved a hand dismissively. "Dobby is used to death threats, sir. Got them five times a day at old master's house."
"Why are you trying to kill me?"
"Not kill, Never kill, Before Harry Potter triumphed over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, we house-elves were treated like vermin. Dobby remembers. Terrible things are about to happen again. Harry Potter must not stay."
"Again? What happened in the first place?"
Dobby paled. "Dobby cannot say. Dobby only wants you safe. There is someone here causing danger. I do not know who, but old master hinted Hogwarts is unsafe."
"Did you tell Sky?"
"I dare not. Anyone who'd deal with old master may not be trusted."
Harry frowned, conflicted. Sky had earned his trust—and a debt Harry couldn't forget. He decided he'd talk to Sky soon, when the time was right.
The next day, after being discharged, Harry returned to the common room to find it buzzing with chatter about the match, the victory, and Lockhart's blunder. But when he asked where I was, no one seemed to know. That, more than anything, made Harry uneasy. He knew about my trunk, so he made his way there, curiosity getting the better of him.
When he opened the lid and stepped inside, what he saw left him speechless. I was in the middle of the room, firing spells at a target. But the spells disappeared just before making contact, fading into nothingness. Stranger still, he was casting the most basic red sparks—some with clear incantations, others without a word at all.
What Harry witnessed next blew his mind. Sky suddenly moved in swift yet graceful motions while letting off a stream of properly incanted red sparks at multiple targets. And then, as if it was nothing, I raised my hand and cast countless red sparks simultaneously, no wand, no words.
The targets in question shouldn't have been damaged by a simple sparks spell, but when hundreds come at you at once, the results are devastating pile of melted armor.
Harry could only stare and mutter as for the first time in his life, he truly appreciated Ron's catchpharse, "Bloody hell."