Chapter 151. That Was Close
What a stubborn creature.
However, that is the nature of House-elves.
Once they set their minds on something, no matter how others try to dissuade them, they will cling to it—unless their master tells them not to.
After hearing Dobby's reply, Adrian Wesson couldn't help but knit his brows.
Fortunately, the outside was a clamour, covering Dobby's shriek, and no one noticed the oddity happening in this corner.
"Harry doesn't need your protection, Dobby," Wesson said calmly. "With me here, nothing will happen to Harry. Even if Voldemort were to appear at Hogwarts right now, he wouldn't lay a finger on him."
Voldemort's name landed like a spell, striking Dobby and making him fall silent at once.
For a moment, it was as if the very air froze.
"Y-you… you dare speak That Name?" Dobby looked at Wesson, incredulous.
"Yes—Voldemort," Wesson's tone was unhurried, as if stating an ordinary fact. "Even he won't be harming Harry under my nose."
Of course, Wesson knew in his heart that truly defeating Voldemort would be no easy task.
But if it was only about protecting Harry, he was confident he could do it.
Dobby came back to himself and fixed his eyes on Wesson's, as though confirming whether what he said was true.
A moment later, amid a burst of sobs, he muttered, "Dobby understands… respected sir, Dobby will not act again."
Hearing this, Wesson exhaled—barely noticeably—in relief.
He nodded, flicked his wand, and fully released the chains binding Dobby.
Dobby collapsed to the ground, trembling uncontrollably.
Most of the time, House-elves did not lie; so Dobby's "will not act again" was, generally speaking, trustworthy.
At least, for the moment there was no need to worry he would keep interfering with Harry.
If Dobby kept pestering Harry, that would be a nuisance too.
"Hurry up and lift your magic," Wesson said.
Dobby nodded and pushed himself up from the floor.
Just then, a shout rose from outside.
At first it was only a few scattered cries, but soon the entire stands were boiling over.
"Harry Potter! Harry Potter!"
"He's caught the Golden Snitch!"
Whistles and shouts echoed without end—Wesson even felt the stand he was on give a faint tremble.
By the look of it, even with Dobby's obstruction, Harry had still won the match.
"No need," Wesson spread his hands to Dobby. "Do as you like."
His gaze returned to the pitch.
Harry was lying in the very centre of the Quidditch pitch, his right hand raised high with something golden in it.
Beneath him was a large puddle, soaking him through.
Cold raindrops struck his face, bringing a faint chill, but Harry had no time to care.
Just now, he had caught the Golden Snitch and won the match for Gryffindor.
Although that out-of-control Bludger had caused him a bit of trouble, the result had not changed.
Harry's limbs were numb from the fall—especially his right arm; he was certain it had snapped.
He tried moving his right arm and found he could still grip the Snitch; its tiny wings fluttered feebly between his fingers.
The fact of victory eased the pain a little.
Harry split his mouth in a grin.
By now, a great crowd had surged in from the sidelines, and Harry basked in their cheers.
At the very front, Oliver Wood was charging over, practically sliding to his knees at Harry's side.
"Harry! Are you all right?" he panted, his face alight with barely concealed excitement mingled with worry.
"Absolutely fine!" Harry answered with a smile—but as the words left his mouth, he glanced down at his skewed, oddly shaped right arm. "...Although I don't want to say it, I'd better go to the Hospital Wing before we celebrate."
Seeing this, Fred and George rushed up, one on each side.
"Easy now—the saviour's injured! We've got to get him safe and sound to Madam Pomfrey," said Fred.
Harry hadn't had time to reply when a commotion rose from the other end of the crowd.
"Make way, make way! Please, everyone, make way!"
A voice he knew all too well—a voice that made one want to roll their eyes—rang out loud.
Yes, Gilderoy Lockhart.
Lockhart squeezed out of the crowd, and Harry was startled to find that even in a downpour, his perfectly set blond hair was utterly unaffected.
"Leave it to me—no need to trouble Madam Pomfrey," Lockhart hurried to Harry, dropped to one knee, and spoke as if to Harry and to everyone around them: "Don't be afraid, Harry, I only need a little spell to mend your arm completely."
As he spoke, he turned to the surrounding students, his teeth glinting under the rain.
Hearing Lockhart, Harry immediately struggled to his feet.
Let Lockhart treat him?
What nonsense!
He knew full well what Lockhart's real ability was.
"No need, Professor Lockhart!" he shook his head at once.
"Don't be shy, child," Lockhart pulled Harry, wearing an unseemly smile. "For me it's a very simple bit of magic. It won't hurt."
With that, he stood up at once, drew his wand, muttered something under his breath, and flicked it at Harry's arm.
A crooked spell shot from his wand.
"!"
For some reason, Harry suddenly felt a threat.
When sparring over the summer, he had felt a similar aura from spells Wesson cast.
Without doubt, this was not a normal healing spell.
Harry instinctively twisted aside, narrowly avoiding the spell—just as he had practised.
The spell grazed his right arm and hit the ground, splashing up a spray of muddy water.
Clearly, rather than a healing charm, it was closer to a feeble Exploding Charm.
In an instant, every eye present turned to Lockhart.
"Oh, don't move!" Lockhart frowned, as if blaming Harry for not cooperating, and hurriedly began to wave his wand again.
Seeing another spell about to fly, Wesson—who had silently come up alongside—couldn't help but twitch his eyebrows.
To be honest, not knowing what had happened, he had almost thought Harry was duelling Lockhart!
Enough was enough…
Wesson sighed and finally intervened.
With a light flick of his wand, a spell shot toward Lockhart and struck him squarely on the wrist.
Lockhart's wand flew high from his hand, traced an arc through the air, and landed neatly in Wesson's other hand.
Silence fell at once; Lockhart stood rooted, at a loss.
He stared at his empty hand, looking completely unable to process what had just happened.
Seeing this, Harry let out a long breath.
That was close!
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