Year Two: The Secret of Slytherin

Part 10

In a corner in the library, the four were huddled around a large book entitled Most Potente Potions.

"Here it is: The Polyjuice Potion. 'Properly brewed, the Polyjuice Potion allows the drinker to transform themselves temporarily into the physical form of another'." Hermione read out loud.

"Do you mean if Harry and I drink that stuff, we'll turn into Crabbe and Goyle?" asked Ron incredulously.

Anne and Hermione both nodded in reply.

"Wicked. Malfoy'll tell us anything!" cried Ron giddy with excitement.

"Exactly. But this is a tricky complicated potion. A fifth year level," said Anne as she scanned the ingredients that were needed.

"How long will it take to make?" asked Harry.

"A month," Anne answered.

"A month? But, Anne, if Malfoy is the Heir of Slytherin, he could attack half the Muggleborns in the school by then," Harry said impatiently.

"I know. But it's the only plan we've got, unless you have another idea?" Hermione injected.

Anne woke early on Saturday morning. Today was her first Quidditch match against Gryffindor. She was nervous especially since she would be playing against Harry's team. How would he feel if his team lost against hers?

As eleven o'clock approached, the whole school started to descend down toward 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 both Harry and Anne luck as they went to their separate locker rooms.

As they walked out onto the pitch, a roar of noise greeted them; mainly cheers for the Gryffindor team. Madam Hooch asked Flint and Wood to shake hands, which they did, giving each other threatening stares and gripping each other rather harder than necessary.

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. Anne flew up in front of the Quidditch hoops watching as the Quaffle was being thrown around and caught by the Chasers from each team.

"All right there, Scarhead?" yelled Draco, shooting underneath Harry as though to show off the speed of his broom.

Harry had no time to reply. At that very moment, a Bludger came pelting toward him; he avoided it so narrowly that he felt it ruffle his hair as it passed.

Anne was surprised to see the Bludger suddenly change direction in midair, and shoot straight for Harry again. Harry put on a burst of speed and zoomed toward the other end of the pitch. He could hear the Bludger whistling along behind him. 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...

"Training for the ballet, Potter?" yelled Draco as 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; and then, glaring at Draco in hatred, he saw it---the snitch. It was hovering inches above Draco's left ear---and Draco, busy laughing at Harry, hadn't seen it.

As Harry chased the plummeting snitch, Draco followed in hot pursuit. They raced downward, trailing the snitch into the trenches circling the pitch. Shoulder to shoulder, they raced madly, diving and dodging the beams that crisscrossed their paths while being chased by the Bludger.

Anne watched in horror as Draco's broom handle hit a beam and he came spiraling out of the trenches on to the ground. She saw Harry emerge with his arm outstretched when suddenly--WHAM!

The Bludger had smashed into his arm. He fell off the side of his broom, but managed to pull himself up with his good arm. Balancing himself, he focused on the snitch and finally grasped it only to hit the ground.

Harry's relief was short-lived when the Bludger plummeted to the ground toward him. He spun away as it hit the ground missing him. It came down again missing him between the legs.

"Finite Incantatem!" Hermione had hurried onto the pitch, and with her wand, blasted the Bludger to smithereens.

Harry exhaled with relief only to grimace in pain.

Anne jumped off her broom the moment she landed, and rushed over to Harry. "Harry! Oh my gosh, are you all right?"

Harry groaned in pain. "My arm. I think it's broken."

"Let's get you to the hospital wing," Anne said as she grabbed his good arm and tried to help him up.

"That won't be necessary. I'll fix that arm of yours straight away," Lockhart tried to assure him cheerfully.

"No, Professor. Harry needs to be taken to the hospital wing," Anne insisted trying to suppress her annoyance.

"Oh, dear girl, you don't know what you're saying," scoffed Lockhart. He turned his attention to Harry. "Now, this won't hurt a bit. Brackium Emendo!

A strange and unpleasant sensation started at Harry' shoulder and spread all the way down to his fingertips. It felt as though his arm was be deflated. People around him gasped.

"Ah," said Lockhart sheepishly. "Yes. Well, that can sometimes happen. The point is you can no longer feel any pain---the bones are not broken."

Poking out of the end of his robes was what looked like a thick, flesh-colored rubber glove. Harry tried to move his fingers. Nothing happened.

"Broken? There's no bones left!" Hagrid shouted.

Anne sighed shaking her head warily. This idoit whom everyone thinks is so great can't do anything right!

Madam Pomfrey wasn't pleased at all. She could mend bones right away but growing them back was going to be difficult. Harry would have to stay the night to endure the painful process of his bones regrown.