The hospital wing smelled of antiseptic, lavender, and the faint, underlying scent of magical ozone. When the floating procession finally arrived, Harry felt a wave of relief so intense it almost eclipsed the throbbing in his arm. Mia was already there, her silver-trimmed robes shimmering under the enchanted lanterns. She was surrounded by a sea of green-clad trainees, all of whom looked at Harry with an expression he could only describe as "predatory enthusiasm."
Madam Pomfrey, the matron of the wing, didn't bother with pleasantries. She swooped in like a giant, white-capped hawk, shooing the gawking Quidditch players and the tail of curious first-years out the doors.
"Out! All of you! This is a hospital, not a stadium!" she barked. The doors slammed shut, leaving Harry in the center of a very large, very quiet circle of St. Mungo's trainees.
Harry lay back on the stiff white sheets, his eyes darting from face to face. Beside him, Hermione was looking at Mia with an expression of intense academic hunger. She had her quill out and a fresh roll of parchment ready.
Don't look at me like that, Hermione, Harry thought desperately. I'm a person, not a textbook.
Mia stepped forward, her face softening for a split second as she checked Harry's pulse, before turning back to her students with the cool, detached air of a professional Healer.
"Alright, everyone, focus," Mia said, her voice cutting through the trainees' whispers. "We have a classic impact fracture. Falling from a broom after a Bludger hit. Now, I know some of you are eager to jump straight to the bone-mending, but what is the first rule of emergency healing?"
"Vitality scan!" the trainees shouted in unison.
"Exactly," Mia nodded. "Never assume the most obvious injury is the only one. A patient can have a broken arm and a ruptured spleen simultaneously. If you fix the arm and ignore the internal bleeding, you've just healed a corpse."
Harry felt a cold shiver go down his spine. Thanks for the imagery, Aunt Mia.
Mia performed a series of intricate sweeps with her wand. A soft, amber glow washed over Harry's torso, highlighting his ribs and organs in a shimmering 3D map above his bed. "Lungs are clear. Ribs are intact. No intracranial pressure. The primary trauma is restricted to the right humerus."
She turned back to the students, gesturing to Harry's arm. "Now, the Bone-Mending Charm—Brackium Emendo. It's an advanced spell, not because the incantation is difficult, but because the intent must be surgical. You aren't just 'fixing' a bone; you are knitting living tissue back together in a specific alignment. If your mind wanders for even a second, you could end up turning the bone into jelly, or worse, fusing it to the muscle."
Harry's eyes widened. He tried to sit up. "Wait, jelly? Aunt Mia, maybe we should just use a splint? Or a potion?"
"Don't worry, Harry," Mia said, ruffling his hair with a reassuring smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm doing the demonstration. You're in perfectly safe hands."
She took a deep breath, her wand tip glowing with a focused, sapphire light. She pointed it directly at the break in Harry's arm. "Brackium Emendo!"
Harry felt a sensation like a warm, electric current flowing through his shoulder. There was a dull thud sound from within his arm—the sound of the two ends of the bone snapping back into perfect alignment. The burning pain vanished instantly, replaced by a soothing coolness.
"Incredible," Hermione whispered, her quill scratching furiously.
"Now," Mia said, looking at her eager students. "I've performed the demonstration. Now it's your turn to practice."
Harry froze. He looked at the twenty students, all of whom were now gripping their wands and looking at his arm with renewed interest.
"Practice?" Harry croaked. "On me? You're going to break it again twenty times?"
The trainees actually looked disappointed when Mia laughed. "No, Harry. I'm not a monster. We don't use human guinea pigs for initial training." She gestured to the back of the room, where several large cages of white mice had been brought in. "Each of you will take a mouse. You will perform a minor fracture on the hind leg and then use the charm to mend it. If you fail, I will be right there to fix the mouse. Harry, on the other hand, needs rest."
She applied a thick, pungent green paste to Harry's arm—Swelling Ointment—and wrapped it in a light bandage. "By tomorrow morning, the bruising will be gone. You'll be fit for the match against Durmstrang the day after. Now, go back to your dorm. The walk will help your circulation."
Later that night, the Gryffindor dormitory was silent save for the rhythmic snoring of Neville and the soft whistling of the wind against the tower windows. Harry lay awake, his mind replaying the moment the Bludger turned in mid-air. It hadn't been a mistake. It hadn't been a malfunction. It had been an assassination attempt.
He was just drifting off into a fitful sleep when he felt a tug on his bedsheets. Then a shake.
"Stop it, Ron..." Harry mumbled, pulling the duvet over his head. "I already told you, I'm not going to the kitchens..."
The shaking continued, more insistent this time. Harry groaned and fumbled for his glasses. As the world snapped into focus, he didn't see Ron. He saw a small, pathetic creature with ears like bat wings and eyes the size of tennis balls. It was wearing a tattered, filthy pillowcase and was trembling so violently that its teeth were chattering.
"Harry Potter..." the creature whispered, its voice a high-pitched squeak. "Harry Potter has come back to Hogwarts. Dobby is so worried!"
Harry sat up, his heart hammering against his ribs. This wasn't Jeff, the well-groomed elf from Sebastian's manor. This elf looked like it had been dragged through a briar patch and then beaten with a rug.
"Who are you? What are you doing in my room?" Harry whispered, glancing nervously at the other beds.
"Dobby, sir! Dobby the House-elf!" The creature began to wail softly, fat tears leaking from its bulging eyes. "Dobby tried to stop you! Dobby blocked the barrier at the station! Dobby tried to scare you away! But the Great Harry Potter is too brave! Too strong!"
"You blocked the barrier?" Harry's eyes narrowed. "And the Bludger today? Was that you too?"
Dobby hung his head, looking utterly miserable. "Dobby had to! Dobby thought if Harry Potter was hurt, if Harry Potter was sent home to the Muggles, then Harry Potter would be safe! Dobby only meant to crack your arm, sir! Dobby didn't want to kill! Dobby has already punished himself!" He showed Harry his bandaged fingers. "Dobby had to iron his hands for being so naughty!"
Harry felt a flash of white-hot anger. "You nearly killed me! You almost let that Bludger smash my head in, and you think breaking my arm is 'saving' me? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't call Professor Swann right now!"
"No! No Swann! The Powerful Wizard must not know!" Dobby shrieked, then quickly slapped his hands over his mouth. "There is a plot, Harry Potter! A plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts! The Chamber of Secrets has been opened again!"
Harry froze. "Again? What do you mean again?"
"Dobby cannot say!" The elf began to beat his head against the bedpost with a series of dull thuds. "Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!"
"Stop it! You'll wake everyone up!" Harry hissed, grabbing the elf by the ears to stop him. "If you want me to leave, you have to tell me why. Who opened it? Is it Malfoy?"
Dobby shook his head so hard his ears flopped against his face. "Not the Malfoy boy, no... But the danger is real! The Heir is walking the halls! Please, Harry Potter, go home! Go quickly, before the monster finds you!"
"I'm not going anywhere," Harry said firmly. "My friends are here. My life is here. And if there's a monster, we have teachers who can handle it. We have Dumbledore. We have Sebastian."
"Dumbledore cannot stop what is coming!" Dobby cried. "Even the Great Albus Dumbledore does not know the depth of the darkness! Harry Potter must promise to leave!"
"I won't promise that," Harry said. "Now, give me my letters. I know you have them."
Dobby reached into the folds of his pillowcase and pulled out a thick stack of envelopes tied with a dirty string. Harry recognized Ron's messy scrawl and Hermione's neat, slanted script.
"Dobby thought... Dobby thought if Harry Potter felt his friends had forgotten him, he wouldn't want to stay," the elf whispered, looking heartbroken.
"You thought wrong," Harry said, snatching the letters. "Now get out. Before I lose my temper."
Dobby looked at Harry one last time, his eyes swimming with tears. "Harry Potter is a great wizard... but he is too stubborn. Dobby will keep trying. Dobby must save him, even if Harry Potter hates him for it."
With a sharp CRACK, the elf vanished.
Harry sat in the darkness, clutching his letters to his chest. His arm didn't hurt anymore, but his mind was racing. The Chamber had been opened again. That meant there was a precedent. There was a history.
He looked over at Ron's bed just as the curtains parted. Ron stood there, blinking sleepily, his hair standing up in every direction.
"Harry? You okay? I thought I heard a... a popping sound."
"Just a dream, Ron," Harry said, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him. "Just a weird dream. Go back to sleep."
Ron grunted and collapsed back onto his pillow. Harry lay back down, but he didn't close his eyes. He stared at the ceiling, thinking about Dobby's warning. Mortal danger. A plot. The Heir.
He realized that Sebastian was right. The 'weakness' of the cat attack was a distraction. The real game was much bigger, and it was moving through the shadows of the castle like a predator. But Harry wasn't a mouse in a cage anymore. He had his friends, he had his letters, and he had a lead.
The investigation was no longer just a school project for the Auror class. It was a race. And as Harry finally drifted into a light sleep, his last thought wasn't about the Snitch or the match against Durmstrang. It was about a black diary he had seen in the hands of a red-haired girl, and the cold, whispering voice that lived in the walls.
Tomorrow, he would talk to Sebastian. Tomorrow, the hunt would truly begin. For now, the castle slept, unaware that the guardian of the secrets was already planning his next move.