That was the Malfoy family's house-elf, Dobby. Before the school year had even started, he had tried to create trouble for Harry to prevent him from coming to Hogwarts.
This included smashing a pudding on the guests Harry's uncle had invited, and also magically sealing the pillar that was the entrance to the Hogwarts Express platform.
Now, Dobby was at it again during the Quidditch match—he wanted to knock Harry off his broom.
Here, only Marcel vaguely remembered that the house-elf Dobby was only acting out of good intentions, not wanting Harry to be in danger. If nothing unexpected happened, Harry's arm would be broken next, but he had no intention of interfering.
But he could not have foreseen that at this moment, the sight of him holding up his wand to magnify his view was not only seen by Ron, who would occasionally glance his way, but also noticed by Hermione.
And this was the very moment when the rogue Bludger hit Harry, knocking him from the air to the ground.
The match was over. Harry had caught the Golden Snitch in the final second, but right now, everyone was focused on the fact that he had been injured in the fall.
The Quidditch pitch was soon surrounded by people.
"No worry, Harry. I'm about to fix your arm," Lockhart said loudly to the anxious Gryffindor students gathered around.
"No!" said Harry. "I'll keep it like this, thanks..."
He tried to sit up, but the pain in his arm was too great. He heard a familiar click from nearby.
"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."
"Why can't I just go to the hospital wing?" said Harry through gritted teeth.
He looked around, but he didn't see Ron, nor was Hermione here. In fact, they hadn't gone far; they were standing just outside the crowd.
Ron stared remotely at Marcel's retreating back, his expression a tangled mess.
Having always had a bit of an inferiority complex, he had always had very complicated feelings for his friend Marcel.
To be honest, he was actually a little jealous of this good friend of his. But as time went on, the gap between them grew larger and larger, leaving him with no time to even consider whether he should be jealous of Marcel.
At the beginning of the school year, when he learned of Marcel's achievements in Potions, the only emotion left in the depths of his heart was happiness for his dear friend.
Although he himself hadn't noticed this series of psychological changes, it was undoubtedly a qualitative change in their friendship.
So even though he had seen Marcel's back before, he didn't believe his good friend would do such a thing. That kind of evil deed was something only that bastard Malfoy could do.
But just now, when he saw Marcel holding up his wand, when he saw Harry fall from his broom, he smelled a hint of betrayal.
Marcel's behavior this term was undoubtedly abnormal, and this abnormal atmosphere had already spread among his acquaintances.
Not far behind Ron, Hermione was also quietly watching Marcel's figure.
But unlike Ron's thoughts, Hermione, who had a deeper understanding of magic, felt more worry in her heart.
"Is Marcel... being controlled by Dark Magic?"
To be honest, this wasn't the first time she had thought this.
When Marcel's behavior became abnormal, she immediately thought of the Philosopher's Stone incident from last term—she was the only one who had seen Marcel's final expression.
Although she was still puzzled at the time, combined with the situation this term, she believed that the possibility of Marcel being controlled by Dark Magic was very high.
It had to be said that Hermione's guess was already very close to the truth. But no matter how close, it was still wrong.
…
Harry's arm was broken, and then Lockhart cast a spell on it, making it even worse—all the bones in his forearm were gone!
What protruded from his sleeve was like a thick, flesh-colored rubber glove. He tried to wiggle his fingers, but there was no response.
Madam Pomfrey in the hospital wing was clearly not happy.
A bone that could have been mended in a few seconds now had to be regrown with "Skele-Gro." The process of regrowing bones was not pleasant.
"...At least you caught the Snitch," Ron said in a muffled voice, though at least he was trying to comfort Harry.
Hermione, also standing by the bedside, nodded, but she clearly didn't look to be in a good mood either.
"After we drink the Polyjuice Potion, we can ask Malfoy why he did it," Harry said, collapsing onto his pillow. "I hope the Polyjuice Potion tastes better than this stuff..."
"...We don't need to ask."
"Do we really have to ask?"
Ron and Hermione thought almost simultaneously, but the meaning behind their thoughts was worlds apart.
What was the same, however, was that neither of them had any intention of speaking their minds for the time being.
Just then, the door to the hospital wing suddenly opened, and the Gryffindor team members came to see Harry. They were all covered in mud and looked like drowned rats.
"Great flight, Harry," said George. "I've just seen Marcus Flint yelling at Malfoy. Something about having the Snitch on top of his head and not seeing it. Malfoy didn't look too happy."
The team had brought cakes, sweets, and a few bottles of pumpkin juice.
They gathered around Harry's bed, about to have a very happy party, when Madam Pomfrey came roaring in. "This boy needs rest, he has thirty-three bones to regrow! Out! OUT!"
And so, Harry was left alone in the hospital wing, with nothing to distract him. He only felt a sharp, cutting pain in his boneless arm.
After a long time, he finally drifted off to sleep.
But late at night, Harry was startled awake by the house-elf Dobby—the little creature was sponging Harry's forehead.
When Harry found out that it was Dobby who had sealed the barrier, he felt a surge of anger. But when Dobby shook his head, indicating that he was used to such threats, his pitiful appearance made Harry's anger involuntarily subside.
Dobby blew his nose on a corner of the filthy pillowcase he was wearing, but a faint smile appeared on his face.
"Why are you wearing that thing, Dobby?" Harry asked curiously.
"This, sir?" said Dobby, plucking at the pillowcase. "This is a mark of the house-elf's enslavement."
"Dobby can only be freed if his masters present him with clothes, sir. The family is careful not to pass Dobby so much as a sock, sir, for then he would be free to leave their house forever."
Dobby wiped his bulging eyes and suddenly said, "Harry Potter must go home! Dobby thought his Bludger would be enough to make—"
"Your Bludger?" said Harry, his anger flaring up again. "What do you mean, your Bludger? You made that Bludger try to kill me?"
"Not kill you, sir, never kill you!" said Dobby, shocked. "Dobby wants to save Harry Potter's life! Better sent home, grievously injured, than remain here, sir! Dobby only wanted Harry Potter hurt enough to be sent home!"
"Oh, is that all?" said Harry angrily. "I suppose you won't tell me why you wanted me sent home in pieces, will you?"
"Ah, if Harry Potter only knew!" Dobby moaned, more tears rolling down onto his ragged pillowcase. "If he knew what he means to us, to the lowly, the enslaved, we dregs of the magical world!"
"Dobby remembers how it was when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was at the height of his power, sir! We house-elves were treated like vermin, sir! Of course, Dobby is still treated like that, sir," he said, wiping his face on the pillowcase.
"But mostly, life has improved for my kind since you triumphed over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Harry Potter survived, and the Dark Lord's power was broken, and it was a new dawn, sir, and Harry Potter shone like a beacon of hope for those of us who thought the dark days would never end, sir..."
"And now, at Hogwarts, terrible things are to happen, are perhaps happening already, and Dobby cannot let Harry Potter stay here now that history is to repeat itself, now that the Chamber of Secrets is open once more—"
Suddenly, Dobby froze, then grabbed the water jug from the bedside table and started banging it on his own head...
But it wasn't long before there seemed to be some movement outside. Dobby, in a panic, Disapparated.
If Marcel had been here, he would have surely committed this scene to memory. This was Hogwarts. The fact that a creature could Disapparate out of thin air was a very worthy topic of research.
But Marcel was clearly not here. Not long ago, he was observing the second petrification incident.
A moment later, the door to the hospital wing opened, and Dumbledore backed in.
He was wearing a long, woolen dressing gown and a nightcap. He was carrying one end of what looked like a statue. A second later, Professor McGonagall appeared, carrying the feet. Together, they placed it on a bed.
It was Colin Creevey, the first-year who always carried a camera around, Harry's admirer. His eyes were wide open, and his hands were held out in front of him, holding his camera.
"Petrified?" whispered Madam Pomfrey.
"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "I shiver to think... If Albus hadn't been on his way down for a cup of hot chocolate, who knows what might have happened..."
The three of them looked intently at Colin.
"The Chamber of Secrets has indeed been opened again," said Dumbledore slowly.
Madam Pomfrey clapped a hand to her mouth. Professor McGonagall stared blankly at Dumbledore.
"But Albus... surely... you know... who?"
"The question is not who," said Dumbledore, his eyes fixed on Colin. "The question is, how."
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