On the day we stumbled upon the petrified Mrs. Norris, we were already dismissed late. Thanks to my long-winded talk, by the time we returned to our respective dorms, the clock's hands were well past midnight. I had carelessly assumed there was no danger since Dumbledore and the other teachers were in Lockhart's nearby room, but... on the contrary, that meant there was a huge risk of being caught by them. Both I and the Gryffindors managed to get back without being seen, but it was an incredibly reckless act.
Moreover, I had been so engrossed in our conversation that it completely slipped my mind: this time, the enemy might be a monster that kills Muggle-borns. It would be a disaster if we ran into it by accident. But then, why a cat? I couldn't help but think it should have gone directly for Filch, the Squib... Not that I'm particularly fond of Mr. Filch, who threatens and hurts children without reason. Of course, I'm glad he wasn't the first victim.
What makes the situation even more confusing is that the cat isn't dead. Since Dumbledore intends to use a Mandrake Restorative Draught, the cause of the petrification is simply "an extremely powerful spell," which opens up countless possibilities.
Given that Dumbledore doesn't seem to have identified the cause, I'll do what I can to investigate... but I have a bad feeling I won't uncover its true nature. Still, we have to move as quickly as possible, or a Muggle-born could actually be killed. One optimistic theory is that it's just a horribly distasteful prank meant to get revenge on Filch, but the petrification was far too complex a curse to be dismissed so easily.
Honestly, I was at a dead end.
Surprisingly, the four of us who were there weren't immediately seen as suspects by the other students. I found this unnervingly strange, but the reason turned out to be quite simple. Most students in the three dorms, other than Slytherin, had no idea the "Chamber of Secrets" even existed. The disregard for magical history is a serious problem... though I suppose the Chamber's existence is more legend than historical fact. After all, it seems it has never been opened before.
Then, once Professor Binns mentioned the story of the Chamber of Secrets in one of his classes, the rumor spread like wildfire. The target, of course, was me. I had an alibi for the Halloween party—I was in the Great Hall with the Slytherins, and afterward with the Gryffindor trio—but the people spreading rumors don't possess such logical thinking. The fact that Dumbledore awarded me points at the end of last year had made me famous, which only fueled the unwanted attention. As a result, I came to be treated as a dangerous person by many students in the other three houses.
It's incredibly frustrating, but the circumstances point to me as the most suspicious. It can't be helped.
Even within Slytherin, I was treated to quite a spectacle, mainly from Pansy and Zabini. They relentlessly teased me, crowing that I was the Heir of Slytherin who couldn't even tell the difference between a human and a cat. They were putting way too much energy into it, considering they didn't believe for a second that I was the heir. To begin with, while the Malfoy family is a Slytherin line, we have no blood relation to the Gaunts, who are the direct descendants. However, I'd like to flatter myself that I've had some influence, as none of the second-years said anything about wishing for the death of Muggle-borns.
Conversely, such sentiments were not uncommon among the upper years. Higgs, in particular, who had loathed Granger ever since the recent "Mudblood" incident, would boast during every practice that he hoped the monster would get Granger first. He says it for my sake, which makes him incredibly difficult to deal with. No matter how many times I tell him we're on friendly, teasing terms, it's like talking to a wall.
Among pure-blood supremacists, there is a relatively rational stance: "I would never marry someone with a Muggle in their family, but wizards with Muggle blood are necessary for the continuation of the magical world." However, thanks to the older generation's conflict with the pale, bald one and our generation's feud with Gryffindor—a stage set by our Head of House, Snape—extremist ideologies were revered, especially in a place like school where a certain degree of barbarism holds power.
It's considered shameful for adults not to coat their words, to avoid blurting out things like "Mudblood." But in a group structured around adversarial conflict, a moderate is a traitor.
Under these circumstances, I became slightly distant from the Gryffindor trio again. Unlike before, there was no animosity, but they were Gryffindors through and through, and they didn't seem to have time to talk to me. They were probably busy investigating the incident. I wished they would just stay quiet this year, as things seemed far more dangerous, but after a little over a year here, I knew that was a hopeless wish. Wizarding children are already numb to danger, and on top of that, they have protagonist plot armor, making them completely unmanageable.
And so, mid-November arrived, and with it, a season I dreaded. Today was the day of the first Quidditch match of the season: Slytherin versus Gryffindor.
I pleaded with Flint to keep me out of the match, arguing that I was the worst Quaffle handler of the four Chasers and not a great flyer either. I even went so far as to say that if I got knocked off my broom by a Bludger before I got better, my father might become angry. But reality was cruel.
"I've considered Mr. Malfoy's position. Pucey will be on the bench this time. You're playing," was his response.
I went to Pucey to ask him to protest with me, but he demurred, giving excuses about how I was smaller and more agile. The last thing I wanted was to create bad blood over this. This was the worst.
So, on Saturday morning, I headed to the Quidditch pitch feeling more dejected than I ever had in my life. Even the weather seemed to reflect my mood with its overcast sky. In the Slytherin stands hung a ridiculous banner that Pansy and Millicent had made, featuring gray cats dancing in the four corners and the words "The Monster of Slytherin Always Wins." It was apparently a play on the Malfoy family motto, Sanctimonia Vincet Semper—Purity Will Always Conquer. They were enjoying the situation far too much. They might be my biggest enemy today.
Because of the "Chamber of Secrets" rumors, the glares from the Gryffindor team, except for Harry, were painful. Conversely, Harry gave me a small wave, and I was slightly impressed he wasn't being ostracized by his team for it. I suppose that's what you get for being the youngest genius Seeker of the century, I thought, feeling a little bitter.
But Harry looked nervous too. Our entire team having Nimbus 2001s was like playing soccer and the opposing team suddenly shows up with cyborg legs. Of course, he'd be worried about whether they could win. But this sport isn't soccer; a Seeker's performance can change everything. I silently cheered him on in my head.
And then, the match began. I was completely preoccupied with just keeping up with my fellow Chasers. I was terrified that if the Weasley twins aimed a Bludger at me, I'd be knocked out of the sky instantly... but for some reason, the Bludgers barely flew our way. Before I could figure out why, Slytherin was leading 60 to 0.
Just as I finally got used to the game's atmosphere and started to feel that something was wrong, Gryffindor called a timeout. It was then that Higgs told me one of the Bludgers was targeting Harry and only Harry.
This was outrageous. I mean, the whole sport of flying on wooden sticks while iron balls try to knock you down is outrageous, but that wasn't the point. Just like last year, a piece of magical equipment had been cursed to target Harry. Is there a Dumbledore in the house?! I thought, glancing up at the stands, but of course, he wasn't there. If he were, this wouldn't be happening in the first place.
Fortunately, the game was paused. Surely Madam Hooch would declare the match void... or so I thought, but I had completely underestimated the wizarding world's foolish devotion to Quidditch.
Madam Hooch hadn't even noticed the problem. No other teachers requested a stoppage. The Gryffindor team, fearing a forfeit that would hand Slytherin the win, decided to continue the match.
Harry and the entire Gryffindor team were insane, and Madam Hooch was hopelessly incompetent. Normally I would appeal to Professor McGonagall, but she was completely unreliable when it came to Quidditch, especially after a match had already started.
I wanted to cry.
As a Slytherin, I couldn't even suggest forfeiting the match. The whistle blew, and the game resumed.
The Weasley twins, who had been guarding Harry, now started hitting Bludgers into the Quaffle skirmishes, but one Bludger continued to pursue Harry relentlessly. Harry was dodging it by using the strong inertia created by its weight. What kind of inertia acts on an object that completely ignores the laws of physics? You've got to be kidding me. At that speed, it would be impossible to help him from the ground.
I flew cautiously, keeping an eye on Harry above. Still—I'm being poisoned by the magical world's mindset—I thought that since it was Quidditch equipment, it probably wouldn't cause a fatal injury. But was it really okay to cling to such wishful thinking when an iron ball could potentially snap his neck?
However, my options were limited. Even if I tried to cast a spell, fully aware it would be a foul, at that speed, I wasn't sure I could even hit it. Besides, to properly curse a magical object, you need to use a spell of a much higher caliber.
The choice of spell was also a problem. If I carelessly made it explode and the curse didn't break, countless iron fragments of the Bludger would rain down on Harry. It was a nightmare.
I had to think about far too many things while barely having any spare attention during a Quidditch match.
The Vanishing Spell—that was fifth-year Transfiguration material. And I had to hit a flying Bludger while on a broom. On top of that, it required a high level of skill because it was a magical object. It seemed impossible... but if Harry was in real danger, I had no choice.
As I was thinking this, Harry suddenly slowed down in mid-air for some reason. As expected, the Bludger seized the opportunity and slammed into Harry's right arm, breaking it with incredible force. That's it, I'm done, this is the limit.
I changed the direction of my broom, which had been chasing Johnson who held the Quaffle, and raised the wand I had pulled from my robe toward Harry.
"Evanesco!"
The flash of light from my wand barely caught the Bludger—and the Bludger vanished completely. Ah, I committed a foul. I might be sent off. The Slytherin team would surely despise me for trying to protect the rival team's ace. Even though I was absolutely in the right.
But it didn't happen. Before Madam Hooch could blow her whistle, the match was over. When Harry had slowed down, he had already caught the Snitch. He then flew downward as if he were falling.
I managed to follow him, scooping him up just before he crashed into the ground. Nimbus 2001s are the best. His arm looked excruciatingly painful; it was bent the wrong way. As soon as Harry's feet touched the ground, he collapsed, still clutching the Snitch. Please, just quit Quidditch already.
As I hastily laid him on the ground to check if he was okay aside from his arm, someone suddenly pushed me aside and knelt over Harry. The gaudy colors made him instantly recognizable: Lockhart. Seeing his eager expression, I had the most ominous premonition of my life.
"Don't you worry, Harry. I'll fix that arm of yours."
Lockhart rolled up his sleeves with a confidence that seemed to spring from nowhere. Harry, who must have had the same bad feeling as me, feebly tried to refuse Lockhart's help.
"Professor Lockhart, wait. We should take him to Madam Pomfrey. She's the expert—"
The Gryffindor team started to gather around. Why was that camera kid already here? I could see Madam Hooch and Professor McGonagall approaching from a distance... but they were too late.
With a clumsy wave of his wand, Lockhart cast a spell, and Harry's arm went strangely limp, dangling by his side. It lacked any of the shape that the human form has evolved to have in accordance with gravity. In short, the bones had been completely removed from Harry's arm.
I stood there stunned for a moment, then was about to unleash the fury boiling up from the pit of my stomach on Lockhart. But my anger was eclipsed by someone else who expressed a far more intense rage. It was, of course, Professor McGonagall.
"Gilderoy—Lockhart! What have you done! You incompetent fool! Oh, to vanish the bones—even a Hogwarts student rarely makes such a mess! Wood, take Potter to the hospital wing—to not have the sense to think for a second what might happen at the end of that wand—misjudging your own abilities and harming a student is unforgivable behavior for a teacher!"
Last year, when I saw Professor McGonagall get angry at Hagrid, I thought I would never see her like that again, but I was completely wrong. The act of a teacher removing the bones from the arm of a Quidditch player had triggered her wrath twofold.
The scolding was so severe that even though I wasn't the one being yelled at, I stood rooted to the spot. Suddenly, Professor McGonagall turned to me. I flinched involuntarily. Though her tone was firm to suppress her anger at Lockhart, she spoke to me as calmly as she could.
"Malfoy—that was a superb Vanishing Spell. You consistently exceed my expectations. Ten points to Slytherin."
The situation was clearly not a good one, but at least I had received some small reward.
In the end, I couldn't protect Harry completely, and Lockhart might now hold a grudge against me. But the Slytherin team was more forgiving than I had feared. Harry had caught the Snitch right around the time I vanished the Bludger, and the fact that Lockhart had de-boned him became a laughingstock. Furthermore, it helped that McGonagall had scolded Lockhart and given me points. Flint did call me over for a lecture, but I suppose that couldn't be helped. Higgs had missed the Snitch, after all.
In any case, I never want to play Quidditch again. I thought that from the bottom of my heart.
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