Daughter of a Criminal

The Rogue Bludger

Since the disastrous episode of the pixies, Professor Lockhart had not brought live creatures to class. Instead, he read passages from his books to them, and sometimes reenacted some of the more dramatic bits. He usually picked Harry to help him with these reconstructions; so far, Harry had been forced to play a simple Transylvanian villager whom Lockhart had cured of a Babbling Curse, a yeti with a head cold, and a vampire who had been unable to eat anything except lettuce since Lockhart had dealt with him. Harry was hauled to the front of the class during their very next Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, this time acting a werewolf. If he hadn't had a very good reason for keeping Lockhart in a good mood, he would have refused to do it.
"Nice loud howl, Harry â€" exactly â€" and then, if you'll believe it, I pounced â€" like this â€" slammed him to the floor â€" thus with one hand, I managed to hold him down â€" with my other, I put my wand to his throat â€" I then screwed up my remaining strength and performed the immensely complex Homorphus Charm - he let out a piteous moan â€" go on, Harry â€" higher than that â€" good â€" the fur vanished â€" the fangs shrank â€" and he turned back into a man. Simple, yet effective â€" and another village will remember me forever as the hero who delivered them from the monthly terror of werewolf attacks." The bell rang and Lockhart got to his feet. "Homework â€" compose a poem about my defeat of the Wagga Wagga Werewolf! Signed copies of Magical Me to the author of the best one!" The class began to leave. Harry returned to the back of the room, where Ann, Ron, and Hermione were waiting.
"Ready?" Harry muttered.
"Wait till everyone's gone," said Hermione nervously. "All right…" She approached Lockhart's desk, a piece of paper clutched tightly in her hand, Ann, Harry, and Ron right behind her. "Er â€" Professor Lockhart?" Hermione stammered. "I wanted to â€" to get this book out of the library. Just for background reading." She held out the piece of paper, her hand shaking slightly. "But the thing is, it's in the Restricted Section of the library, so I need a teacher to sign for it â€" I'm sure it would help me understand what you say in Gadding with Ghouls about slow-acting venoms."
"Ah, Gadding with Ghouls!" said Lockhart, taking the note from Hermione and smiling widely at her. "Possibly my very favorite book. You enjoyed it?"
"Oh, yes," said Hermione eagerly. "So clever, the way you trapped that last one with the tea strainer â€""
"Well, I'm sure no one will mind me giving the best student of the year a little extra help," said Lockhart warmly, and he pulled out an enormous peacock quill. "Yes, nice, isn't it?" he said, misreading the revolted look on Ron's face as Ann tried to cover her laugh.
"I usually save it for book-signings." He scrawled an enormous loopy signature on the note and handed it back to Hermione. "So, Harry, uh Miss Black" said Lockhart, while Hermione folded the note with fumbling fingers and slipped it into her bag. "Tomorrow's the first Quidditch match of the season, I believe? Gryffindor against Slytherin, is it not? I hear you're both useful players. I was a Seeker, too. Could never have been a Chaser, I mean I'm way too beautiful to share the glory. I was asked to try for the National Squad, but preferred to dedicate my life to the eradication of the Dark Forces. Still, if ever you feel the need for a little private training, don't hesitate to ask. Always happy to pass on my expertise to less able players…" Harry made an indistinct noise in his throat and then he and Ann hurried off after Ron and Hermione.
"I don't believe it, 'too beautiful to share the glory' I mean really?" Ann said as the four of them examined the signature on the note.
"He didn't even look at the book we wanted." Harry said trying to change the subject
"That's because he's a brainless git," said Ron. "But who cares, we've got what we neededâ€"" "He is not a brainless git," said Hermione shrilly as they half ran toward the library. "Just because he said you were the best student of the year â€""
"Oh really he basically called Ann ugly" Harry said as Ann nodded.
"Yep I'm not good enough to be a Seeke-" They dropped their voices as they entered the muffled stillness of the library. Madam Pince, the librarian, was a thin, irritable woman who looked like an underfed vulture.
"Moste Potente Potions?" she repeated suspiciously, trying to take the note from Hermione; but Hermione wouldn't let go.
"I was wondering if I could keep it," she said breathlessly.
"Oh, come on," said Ann, wrenching it from her grasp and thrusting it at Madam Pince. "We'll get you another autograph. Lockhart'll sign anything if it stands still long enough." Ron added. Madam Pince held the note up to the light, as though determined to detect a forgery, but it passed the test. She stalked away between the lofty shelves and returned several minutes later carrying a large and moldy-looking book. Hermione put it carefully into her bag and they left, trying not to walk too quickly or look too guilty. Five minutes later, they were barricaded in Moaning Myrtle's out-of-order bathroom once again. Hermione and Ann had overridden Ron's objections by pointing out that it was the last place anyone in their right minds would go, so they were guaranteed some privacy. Moaning Myrtle was crying noisily in her stall, but they were ignoring her, and she them. Hermione opened Moste Potente Potions carefully, and the four of them bent over the damp spotted pages, but Ann was keeping her distance from Hermoine, so she sat next to Harry. It was clear from a glance why it belonged in the Restricted Section. Some of the potions had effects almost too gruesome to think about, and there were some very unpleasant illustrations, which included a man who seemed to have been turned inside out and a witch sprouting several extra pairs of arms out of her head. "Here it is," said Hermione excitedly as she found the page headed "The Polyjuice Potion". It was decorated with drawings of people halfway through transforming into other people. Ann sincerely hoped the artist had imagined the looks of intense pain on their faces and grabbed Harry's hand out of freight.
"This is the most complicated potion I've ever seen," said Hermione as they scanned the recipe. "Lacewing flies, leeches, fluxweed, and knotgrass," she murmured, running her finger down the list of ingredients. "Well, they're easy enough, they're in the student store-cupboard, we can help ourselves… Oooh, look, powdered horn of a bicorn â€" don't know where we're going to get that â€" shredded skin of a boomslang â€" that'll be tricky, too and of course a bit of whoever we want to change into."
"Excuse me?" said Ron sharply. "What d'you mean, a bit of whoever we're changing into? I'm drinking nothing with Crabbe's toenails in it â€"" Hermione continued as though she hadn't heard him.
"We don't have to worry about that yet, though, because we add those bits last…" Ron turned, speechless, to Harry, who had another worry.
"D'you realize how much we're going to have to steal, Hermione? Shredded skin of a boomslang, that's definitely not in the students' cupboard. What're we going to do, break into Snape's private stores? I don't know if this is a good idea…" Hermione shut the book with a snap.
"Well, if you two are going to chicken out, fine we'll do it," Ann said, finally forgiving Hermoine because of the bright pink patches on her cheeks and her eyes were brighter than usual.
"I don't want to break rules, you know. I think threatening Muggle-borns is far worse than brewing up a difficult potion. But if you don't want to find out if it's Malfoy, I'll go straight to Madam Pince now and hand the book back in."
"I never thought I'd see the day when you'd be persuading us to break rules," said Ron. "All right, we'll do it. But not toenails, okay?"
"How long will it take to make, anyway?" said Harry as Hermione, looking happier, opened the book again.
"Well, since the fluxweed has got to be picked at the full moon and the lacewings have got to be stewed for twenty-one days… I'd say it'd be ready in about a month, if we can get all the ingredients."
"A month?" said Ron. "Malfoy could have attacked half the Muggle-borns in the school by then!" But Hermione and Ann's eyes narrowed dangerously again, and he added swiftly, "But it's the best plan we've got, so full steam ahead, I say." However, while Hermione was checking that the coast was clear for them to leave the bathroom, Ron muttered to Harry, and Ann
"It'll be a lot less hassle if you can just knock Malfoy off his broom tomorrow."
Ann woke early on Saturday morning and lay for a while thinking about the coming Quidditch match. She was nervous, mainly at the thought of what Wood would say if Gryffindor lost, but also at the idea of facing a team mounted on the fastest racing brooms gold could buy. She had never wanted to beat Slytherin so badly. After half an hour of lying there with her insides churning, she got up, dressed, and went down to breakfast early, where she found the rest of the Gryffindor team huddled at the long, empty table, all looking uptight and not speaking much. Ann took a seat next to Harry who looked exhausted. It seemed that both of them had had a long night. As eleven o'clock approached, the whole school started to make its way down to the Quidditch stadium. It was a muggy sort of day with a hint of thunder in the air. Ron and Hermione came hurrying over to wish Harry and Ann good luck as they entered the locker rooms. The team pulled on their scarlet Gryffindor robes, then sat down to listen to Wood's usual pre-match pep talk.
"Slytherin has better brooms than us," he began. "No point denying it. But we've got better people on our brooms. We've trained harder than they have, we've been flying in all weathers â€" "("Too true," muttered George Weasley. "I haven't been properly dry since August") "â€" and we're going to make them rue the day they let that little bit of slime, Malfoy, buy his way onto their team." Chest heaving with emotion, Wood turned to Harry. "It'll be down to you, Harry, to show them that a Seeker has to have something more than a rich father. Get to that Snitch before Malfoy or die trying, Harry, because we've got to win today, we've got to."
"So no pressure, Harry" said Fred, winking at him. As they walked out onto the pitch, a roar of noise greeted them; mainly cheers, because Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were anxious to see Slytherin beaten, but the Slytherins in the crowd made their boos and hisses heard, too. Madam Hooch, the Quidditch teacher, asked Flint and Wood to shake hands, which they did, giving each other threatening stares and gripping rather harder than was necessary. "On my whistle," said Madam Hooch. "Three… two… one…" With a roar from the crowd to speed them upward, the fourteen players rose toward the leaden sky. Harry flew higher than any of them, squinting around for the Snitch. Suddenly a heavy black Bludger came pelting toward him; he avoided it so narrowly that he felt it ruffle his hair as it passed. "Close one, Harry!" said George, streaking past him with his club in his hand, ready to knock the Bludger back toward a Slytherin. Ann saw George give the Bludger a powerful whack in the direction of Adrian Pucey, but the Bludger changed direction in midair and shot straight for Harry again. Harry dropped quickly to avoid it, and George managed to hit it hard toward Malfoy. Ann focused on the quaffle as much as possible. But once again, the Bludger swerved like a boomerang and shot at Harry's head. Harry put on a burst of speed and zoomed toward the other end of the pitch. What was going on? Bludgers never concentrated on one player like this; it was their job to try and unseat as many people as possible… Fred Weasley was waiting for the Bludger at the other end. Harry ducked as Fred swung at the Bludger with all his might; the Bludger was knocked off course.
"Gotcha!" Fred yelled happily, but he was wrong; as though it was magnetically attracted to Harry, the Bludger pelted after him once more and Harry was forced to fly off at full speed. It had started to rain; Ann felt heavy drops fall onto her face.
"Slytherin lead, sixty points to zero.' The Slytherins' superior brooms were clearly doing their jobs, and meanwhile the mad Bludger was doing all it could to knock Harry out of the air.
"We need time out," said George, trying to signal to Wood and stop the Bludger breaking Harry's nose at the same time. Wood had obviously got the message. Madam Hooch's whistle rang out and Harry, Fred, and George dived for the ground, still trying to avoid the mad Bludger.
"What's going on?" said Wood as the Gryffindor team huddled together, while Slytherins in the crowd jeered. "We're being flattened. Fred, George, where were you when that Bludger stopped Ann from scoring?"
"We were twenty feet above her, stopping the other Bludger from murdering Harry, Oliver," said George angrily. "Someone's fixed it â€" it won't leave Harry alone. It hasn't gone for anyone else all game. The Slytherins must have done something to it."
"But the Bludgers have been locked in Madam Hooch's office since our last practice, and there was nothing wrong with them then…" said Wood, anxiously. Madam Hooch was walking toward them. Over her shoulder, Ann could see the Slytherin team jeering and pointing in Harry's direction.
"Listen," said Harry as she came nearer and nearer, "with you two flying around me all the time the only way I'm going to catch the Snitch is if it flies up my sleeve. Go back to the rest of the team and let me deal with the rogue one."
"Don't be thick," said Fred. "It'll take your head off." Wood was looking from Harry to the Weasleys.
"Oliver, this is insane," said Ann angrily. "You can't let Harry deal with that thing on his own."
"If we stop now, we'll have to forfeit the match!" said Harry. "And we're not losing to Slytherin just because of a crazy Bludger! Come on, Oliver, tell them to leave me alone!" "This is all your fault," George said angrily to Wood. "'Get the Snitch or die trying,' what a stupid thing to tell him â€"" Madam Hooch had joined them.
"Ready to resume play?" she asked Wood. Wood looked at the determined look on Harry's face.
"All right," he said. "Fred, George, you heard Harry â€" leave him alone and let him deal with the Bludger on his own." The rain was falling more heavily now. On Madam Hooch's whistle, Harry kicked hard into the air and heard the telltale whoosh of the Bludger behind him. Higher and higher Harry climbed; he looped and swooped, spiraled, zigzagged, and rolled. Slightly dizzy, Harry was avoiding another fierce dive from the Bludger. You could hear laughter from the crowd; the rogue Bludger was heavy and couldn't change direction as quickly as Harry could; he began a kind of roller-coaster ride around the edges of the stadium, squinting through the silver sheets of rain to the Gryffindor goal posts, where Adrian Pucey was trying to get past Wood. Harry was forced to do a stupid kind of twirl in midair to dodge the Bludger, and he fled, the Bludger trailing a few feet behind him when WHAM. He had stayed still a second too long. The Bludger had hit him at last, smashed into his elbow, and Harry slid sideways on his rain-drenched broom, one knee still crooked over it, his right arm dangling useless at his side â€" the Bludger came pelting back for a second attack, this time zooming at his face â€" Harry swerved out of the way. Through a haze of rain and pain he dived for the shimmering, sneering face below him. Harry took his remaining hand off his broom and made a wild snatch; he felt his fingers close on the cold Snitch but was now only gripping the broom with his legs, and there was a yell from the crowd below as he headed straight for the ground, trying hard not to pass out. With a splattering thud he hit the mud and rolled off his broom. His arm was hanging at a very strange angle; riddled with pain, he heard, as though from a distance, a good deal of whistling and shouting. He focused on the Snitch clutched in his good hand.
"Aha," he said vaguely. "We've won." And he fainted. He came around, rain falling on his face, still lying on the field, with someone leaning over him. He saw a glitter of teeth.
"Oh, no, not you," he moaned.
"Doesn't know what he's saying," said Lockhart loudly to the anxious crowd of Gryffindors pressing around them. "Not to worry, Harry. I'm about to fix your arm."
"No!" said Harry. "I'll keep it like this, thanks…" He tried to sit up.
"I don't want a photo of this, Colin," he said loudly.
"Lie back, Harry," said Lockhart soothingly. "It's a simple charm I've used countless times â€"" "Why can't I just go to the hospital wing?" said Harry through clenched teeth.
"He should really, Professor," said a muddy Wood, who couldn't help grinning even though his Seeker was injured. "Great capture, Harry, really spectacular, your best yet, I'd say â€"" Through the thicket of legs around him, Harry spotted Fred and George Weasley, wrestling the rogue Bludger into a box. It was still putting up a terrific fight.
"Stand back," said Lockhart, who was rolling up his jade-green sleeves.
"No â€" don't â€"" said Harry weakly, but Lockhart was twirling his wand and a second later had directed it straight at Harry's arm. Ann dove in front of Harry on instinct and put up a shield charm, or tried but Lockhearts spell hit Harry square in the arm. Ann shoved Lockheart away.
"Ah," said Lockhart. "Yes. Well, that can sometimes happen. But the point is, the bones are no longer broken. That's the thing to bear in mind. So, Harry, just toddle up to the hospital wing â€" ah, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, would you escort him? â€" and Madam Pomfrey will be able to â€" er â€" tidy you up a bit." Ann started on Lockheart but Ron held her back as she spewed insults at the git.
"You idiot-you don't even know a simple fixing spell?!!," Ann's roars followed Harry all the way to the hospital room. Ann finally gave up and followed the others into the castle. Madam Pomfrey wasn't at all pleased.
"You should have come straight to me!" she raged, holding up the sad, limp remainder of what, half an hour before, had been a working arm.
"I can mend bones in a second â€" but growing them back â€""
"You will be able to, won't you?" said Harry desperately.
"I'll be able to, certainly, but it will be painful," said Madam Pomfrey grimly, throwing Harry a pair of pajamas.
"You'll have to stay the night…" Hermione and Ann waited outside the curtain drawn around Harry's bed while Ron helped him into his pajamas. It took a while to stuff the rubbery, boneless arm into a sleeve.
"How can you stick up for Lockhart now, Hermione, eh?" Ron called through the curtain as he pulled Harry's limp fingers through the cuff. "If Harry had wanted deboning he would have asked."
"Anyone can make a mist-," said Hermione.
"Oh my god! Hermione stop it, he's a ruddy git whos insulated me twice, and destroyed Harry's arm!" Ann yelled annoyed.
"But it doesn't hurt anymore, does it, Harry?" Hermoine said ignoring Ann
"No," said Harry, getting into bed. "But it doesn't do anything else either." As he swung himself onto the bed, his arm flapped pointlessly. Hermione, Ann, and Madam Pomfrey came around the curtain. Madam Pomfrey was holding a large bottle of something labeled Skele-Gro.
"You're in for a rough night," she said, pouring out a steaming beakerful and handing it to him. "Regrowing bones is a nasty business." The potion made Harry cough and splutter. Still tut-tutting about dangerous sports and inept teachers, Madam Pomfrey retreated, leaving Ann, Ron, and Hermione to help Harry gulp down some water.
"We won, though," said Ron, a grin breaking across his face. "That was some catch you made. Malfoy's face… he looked ready to kill…"
"I want to know how he fixed that Bludger," said Hermione darkly.
"We can add that to the list of questions we'll ask him when we've taken the Polyjuice Potion," said Harry, sinking back onto his pillows. "I hope it tastes better than this stuff…"
"If it's got bits of Slytherins in it? You've got to be joking," said Ann. The door of the hospital wing burst open at that moment. Filthy and soaking wet, the rest of the Gryffindor team had arrived to see Harry.
"Unbelievable flying, Harry," said George. "I've just seen Marcus Flint yelling at Malfoy. Something about having the Snitch on top of his head and not noticing. Malfoy didn't seem too happy." They had brought cakes, sweets, and bottles of pumpkin juice; they gathered around Harry's bed and were just getting started on what promised to be a good party when Madam Pomfrey came storming over, shouting,
"This boy needs rest, he's got thirty-three bones to regrow! Out! OUT!" And Harry was left alone, with nothing to distract him from the stabbing pains in his limp arm. Ann and Hermoine didn't talk at all the rest of the night, making a very awkward situation for Ron. But by morning Ann had forgiven Hermoine for whatever reason. But either way Ron was happy to no longer be stuck in the middle of their petty fight.