Darkness falls.
In the hospital wing, Harry endured a sharp scolding from Madam Pomfrey.
"Twice in such a short time!" she snapped. "Do you think it's normal for a boy to be carried in here like this?"
"I'm sorry, Madam Pomfrey," Harry mumbled.
"Magic may heal injuries, but it doesn't mean there's no toll on your body! You're sleeping here tonight. You need rest."
With a deft flick of her wand, Madam Pomfrey mended Harry's shattered left arm. The bones, twisted at grotesque angles, and the mangled, bloodied flesh knit together effortlessly under her spell. A faint ache lingered as muscles realigned and bones fused, but the repair was flawless.
"We never found out who tampered with that Bludger…" Harry sighed.
"We scoured the stands for anyone suspicious," Zabini said, "but no luck. Thought I saw a redheaded Gryffindor girl, but it was just Weasley's sister."
Zabini, Ron, Hermione, Azrael, and Farkas had come to visit, their voices a mix of admiration and concern.
"Um… Harry?" Hermione ventured, her face etched with worry. "Did you really have to go that far? Chasing the Snitch with a broken arm, flying like that… was it worth it?"
She glanced at his newly healed arm, anxiety clear in her eyes.
"It's not about logic, Hermione," Harry said softly. Explaining Quidditch's allure was impossible. The freedom of flight, the feeling that nothing else mattered in the sky—it was anything but rational.
"You're out tomorrow after a good night's sleep, right?" Ron said, forcing a cheerful tone. "Rest up, shake off the fatigue. We'll meet in the library tomorrow."
"Yeah, thanks, everyone," Harry replied.
The conversation turned to the mysterious Bludger that had targeted Harry. Six pairs of eyes drifted to the curtained bed nearby, where a teacher groaned in pain.
If Quirrell's any precedent, Lockhart's the suspicious one, Harry thought, pointing at the curtain and pressing a finger to his lips. Better not let him know we're onto him.
The group nodded silently.
"I saw a Slytherin upperclassman try to protect Harry," Ron said. "Used Protego."
"It's a strong spell, meant to block most curses," Hermione added gravely. "But it didn't stop the Bludger. Whoever did this used magic on par with Quirrell's—a real curse."
"Maybe… Dobby?" Harry suggested cautiously. "He seems to want to keep me out of danger, so it might not be him. That leaves someone else."
The group glanced at Lockhart's curtain again, swallowing hard. Hermione, conflicted, kept shaking her head, torn between suspicion and doubt.
"I'm staying," Ron declared. "No way I'm leaving Harry alone."
"Zabini alone's not enough," Farkas added. "I'm staying too."
Madam Pomfrey wouldn't hear it. "Don't be ridiculous! This is a hospital wing, not a sleepover! Out, all of you!"
"But, Madam, Harry might be in danger!" Ron protested.
"He was targeted with magic Protego couldn't block!" Zabini added.
"Enough of this nonsense!" Pomfrey barked. "Out, now!"
Despite their pleas, she shooed them away, determined to ensure Harry's rest.
"Here's your potion, Potter," she said sternly. "It'll help you sleep. Stay put."
As punishment for not coming straight to the hospital wing, Harry's arm was braced in a sling, and he was ordered to spend the night quietly. Next to him, Lockhart moaned, his arm boneless from his own botched spell, now regenerating in agony. Harry felt a flicker of pity, but without Karo and Selwyn's intervention, he'd be the one writhing.
Thank you, Karo-senpai, Selwyn-senpai, Harry thought. I'll ask Zabini how to repay them.
If I hadn't spun there… if I'd flown faster… just a bit more… Regret gnawed at him. He couldn't cry in front of Zabini, who'd also failed to make the team. Silent tears soaked his pillow.
The potion blurred his thoughts. Eyes brimming with frustration, Harry drifted into sleep, Lockhart's groans a grim lullaby.
He awoke to an itchy sensation on his face. Blinking, he saw a withered, child-sized hand hovering near his nose.
"What the—?!" Harry jolted, struggling to sit up, his braced arm sluggish. He reached for his wand with his right hand.
"Harry Potter! Oh, you're awake…!" A bandaged house-elf, eyes glistening, stared at him.
"Oh… Dobby," Harry said, masking his unease. "It's been a while. Do you… work here?"
His heart raced. This wasn't a face he wanted to see first thing after waking.
"No, sir, Dobby does not…" Dobby began, then clamped his mouth shut, avoiding mention of his master. Harry's stomach churned.
Breaking in? Well, Sirius did it last year… Suspicion surged. How did he know I was injured?
Harry forced himself to be kind, despite his foggy mind struggling with Occlumency. Angering a house-elf seemed unwise. His politeness was calculated, but Dobby wept with joy.
Then Dobby confessed: he'd stopped the Hogwarts Express and tampered with the Bludger, all to "protect" Harry. The words hit like a curse. In Harry's mind, Dobby's actions overlapped with Colin Creevey's relentless interference, igniting a spark of rage.
You ruined our match?! Harry's anger threatened to consume him. He'd accepted his loss as Slytherin's way, but learning it was for nothing—benefiting no one—felt like a betrayal.
"Dobby," Harry said, voice low, "you should leave. My wand's in my hand. I might burn you."
He wanted to blast Dobby with Incendio, but Lockhart's presence and the hospital wing's sanctity stopped him. Pomfrey would have his head.
This… creature…!
Swallowing his fury, Harry urged Dobby to stop meddling in his life. Dobby nodded, but Harry didn't trust him. Like Colin, Dobby would likely return with new justifications for causing trouble. To Harry, they were equally maddening.
He restrained himself because Dobby's desperate gratitude for even false kindness was pitiful. Harry hesitated, unable to act.
Dobby's final warning chilled him. "Beware, Harry Potter! The Chamber of Secrets has been opened…! Danger comes to Hogwarts!"
"Compared to you—" Harry started, but Dobby vanished before he could finish. Fuming, Harry pondered the cryptic words.
What are they talking about? Gilderoy Lockhart wondered, eavesdropping through the curtain. The pain of regrowing his arm had kept him awake, catching both the group's discussion and Dobby's confession. Something sinister was afoot.
Could something truly terrible be happening at Hogwarts?
Fear gripped him. Was his time finally up? When Karo and Selwyn deflected his spell, he'd wondered if the Defense Against the Dark Arts curse had claimed him. In his youth, Lockhart had aced his OWLs and NEWTs, effortlessly wielding magic. Healing Harry's arm would've been trivial then. But years of complacency had dulled his skills, his magic rusted.
If I'd retrained like Sirius, prepared properly… Pride had blinded him.
Are they after me?! Lockhart's secrets—sins he thought buried—seemed to resurface, targeting him. He'd come to Hogwarts to scout talent: gifted, ambitious students lacking non-magical skills, perfect for his schemes. Build rapport, wait years, then exploit their success.
But his gilded facade was crumbling within a month.
Calm yourself. I'm not done here. This is Hogwarts—Dumbledore's protection is absolute. The Chamber of Secrets is just a Slytherin myth, a childish delusion! Potter's danger is teenage paranoia. I heard nothing!
Raising his wand, Lockhart whispered, "Obliviate."
Why was I pointing my wand at myself? Oh, it must not matter. Smiling serenely, he drifted into a flawless, artificial sleep, his face both strikingly handsome and profoundly warped.
Harry couldn't sleep. What is the Chamber of Secrets? No answers came. Dobby had offered no clarity.
This is Hogwarts. Anything dangerous is possible.
Last year's events—Cerberus, trolls, poisons—were barbaric by Muggle standards but necessary for magical defense, Harry knew. A hidden room with even deadlier magic or artifacts wasn't unthinkable.
As he took deep breaths to calm himself, footsteps approached the hospital wing. Peeking through his blanket, Harry saw Dumbledore in a nightcap, McGonagall, and Pomfrey. They placed a stone figure on an empty bed. Harry's stomach lurched.
Colin Creevey… why you?
McGonagall explained that Colin had come to visit Harry. Guilt stabbed him—despite Harry's harshness, Colin still cared.
The teachers revealed Colin had been petrified, his camera charred. As McGonagall puzzled over the cause, Harry couldn't hold back.
"The Chamber of Secrets has been opened!" he shouted.
"Potter?!" Pomfrey snapped. "Why are you awake? I told you to sleep!"
McGonagall stared, shocked. Even Dumbledore looked startled, stroking his white beard before speaking calmly. "Easy, Pomfrey. Harry, if you know something, will you share?"
"Yes, sir," Harry said, using basic Occlumency to steady himself. He recounted Dobby's visit, meeting Dumbledore's piercing blue gaze with his own green eyes.
"What's the Chamber of Secrets, sir?" Harry asked.
"It's—" Dumbledore began, but McGonagall cut in sternly.
"That's not for you to know, Potter. This is no matter for a second-year. We'll strengthen the castle's wards to prevent further house-elf mischief. As for the Chamber, you will not speak of it—ever. Your job is to rest, as Madam Pomfrey ordered."
Harry nodded reluctantly. When the teachers left, he slipped under the covers. Thinking of Colin made sleep impossible, but Quidditch's exhaustion dragged him into darkness.
The next day, Dumbledore announced to the school that Colin Creevey had been petrified by an unknown force. Tension gripped Hogwarts—Dumbledore himself couldn't undo it.
From then on, non-Slytherin students began avoiding Harry. Many believed he'd petrified Colin to rid himself of a nuisance, their gazes cold and accusing, as if he were a monster.
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