No Turning Back Now.

Since the disastrous episode of the pixies, Professor Lockhart had not brought live creatures to class. Instead, he read passages from his books to us, and sometimes re-enacted some of the more dramatic bits. He usually picked Harry to help him with these reconstructions.

Harry was hauled to the front of the class during our very next Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson, this time acting a werewolf.

“Nice loud howl, Harry – exactly – and then, if you’ll believe it, I pounced - like this – with one hand, I slammed him to the floor – thus – with my other, I put my wand to his throat –“

My head dropped onto my desk silently, as Lockhart’s pointless words flooded over me. Defence Against the Dark Art’s had become one of my least favourite subjects this year, just because of Lockhart. I closed my eyes, and soon the bell rand.

“Homework: 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 Ron, Hermione and I waited.

“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, Harry, Ron and I right behind her.

“Er – Professor Lockhart?” Hermione stammered. “I wanted to – 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 – 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 favourite book. You enjoyed it?”

“Oh, yes,” said Hermione eagerly. “So clever, the way you trapped that last one with the tea-strainer...”

“Well, I’m sure no one will mind me giving the best student in the year a little extra help,” said Lockhart warmly, and pulled out an enormous peacock quill. “Yes, nice, isn’t it?” he said, misreading the revolted look on my face. “I usually save it for book-signings.”

He scrawled an enormous loopy signature on the note and handed it back to Hermione.
“So, Harry,” 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 a useful player. I was a Seeker too. 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...”

I heard Harry make an indistinct noise in him throat back in the class room, which Ron, Hermione and I had left. However, Lockhart’s boasting had travelled out the door.

“I don’t believe it,” I said, once we were all standing around the piece of paper. “He didn’t even look at the book we wanted.”

“That’s because he’s a brainless git,” said Ron. “But who cares, we’ve got what we needed.”

“He is not a brainless git,” said Hermione shrilly, as we half ran towards the library.

“Just because he said you were the best student in the year...” I muttered.

We dropped out voices as we 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 Ron, 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.”

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 mouldy-looking book. Hermione put it carefully into her bag, and we left, trying not to walk too quickly or look too guilty.

Five minutes later, we were barricaded in Moaning Myrtle’s out-of-order bathroom once again. I had overridden Ron’s objections by pointing out that it was the last place anyone in their right minds would go, so we were guaranteed some privacy. Moaning Myrtle was crying noisily in her cubicle, but we were ignoring her, and she us.

Hermione opened Moste Potente Potions carefully, and the four of us bent over the damp-spotted pages. 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. I sincerely hoped the artist had imagined the looks of intense pain on their faces.

“This is the most complicated potion I’ve ever seen,” said Hermione, as we 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 hor og a Bicorn – don’t know where we’re going to get that... Shredded skin of a Boomslang – 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...”

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...”

I, however, had a totally different worry.

“D’you realise how much we’re going to have to steal, Hermione? Shredded skin of 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 three are going to chicken out, fine,” she said. There were 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 back 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, OK?”

“How long will it take to make, anyway?” said Harry, as Hermione, looking happier, opened the book again.

“Well, as 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?” I said. “Malfoy could have attacked bald the Muggle-borns in the school by then!” But Hermione’s eyes narrowed dangerously again, and I added swiftly, “But it’s the best plan we’ve got, so full steam ahead, I say.”

However, while Hermione was checking the coast was clear for the boys to leave the bathroom, I muttered to Harry, “It’ll be a lot less hassle if you can just knock Malfoy off his broom tomorrow.”

---

At eleven o’clock the next morning, 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. Hermione, Ron and I hurried up to Harry to wish him luck before he entered the changing rooms. We then made our way up into the stands.

Three-quarters of the stadium was going to be cheering for Gryffindor, as Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were anxious to see Slytherin beaten. As the team walked onto the pitch, a roar of noise began, mainly cheers, but the Slytherins in the crows made their boos and hisses heard, too.

Madam Hooch, the Quidditch teacher, asked Flint and Wood to shake hands, which they did, giving ever other threatening stares and probably gripping rather harder than was necessary.

With a roar from the crowd to speed them upwards, the fourteen players rose towards the leaden sky, Harry flying higher than any of them, squinting around for the Snitch. Malfoy shot underneath him, as though showing off the speed of his broom. A Bludger came pelting his way, which he avoided narrowly.

George streaked past him with his club in his hand, ready to knock the Bludger back towards a Slytherin. He gave the Bludger a powerful whack in the direction of Adrian Pucey, but the Bludger changed direction in mid-air and shot for Harry again.

All my attention was on the Bludger, as Harry quickly dropped to avoid it, and George managed to hit it hard towards Malfoy. Once again, the Bludger swerved like a boomerang and shot at Harry’s head. Harry zoomed towards the other end of the pitch, the Bludger whistling along behind him. There was something not right about that Bludger; they never concentrated on one player like this, t was their job to try and unseat as many people as possible...

Fred was waiting for the Bludger at the other end. Harry ducked as Fred swing at the Bludger with all his might; the Bludger was knocked off course. He said something, and looked happy about himself, that was, until the Bludger pelted after Harry again, like it was magnetically attracted towards him.

It had started to rain; heavy drops feel from the sky, hitting hard against my cold skin. I wasn’t paying attention to the rest of the game, but I heard Lee Jordan, who was commentating, say, ‘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. Fred and George were now flying so close to him on either side that you could hardly see Harry at all. They swung their bats with all their might as it launched again and again at Harry.

George was signalling madly at Wood and trying to stop the Bludger at the same time. Wood got the message and Madam Hooch’s whistle rand out. Fred, George and Harry dived for the ground, still avoiding the mad Bludger.

The Gryffindor huddled together, and soon the whistle rang out again. The rain was falling harder now, and I couldn’t see what was happening. After a while I could finally see what was happening again. The Bludger had just hit Harry, smashing his elbow. I winched as it bounced off his arm. He slid sideways on his rain-drenched broom, one knew still crooked over it, his right arm dangling useless at his side. The Bludger came pelting back for a second attack, this time aiming at his face.

Harry swerved out of the way. He then zoomed at Malfoy; his remaining hand off his broom and made a wild snatch, his fingers closing around a sparkle of gold. He was now only gripping his broom with his legs, and people in the stands yelled as he headed straight for the ground.

I stood up and pushed my way onto the muddy pitch. I ran up to Harry, who was now lying in the mud; he had obviously fainted from the pain. There was a noise above me and a loud whack; one of the twins had hit the Bludger away, as it still tried to get to Harry.

Harry was soon surrounded by more people, and I moved to help Fred and George put the rogue Bludger into a box. It was still putting up a terrific fight, as I held the box open for them, ready to close it. There were some noises from the group around Harry, and it sounded like people were gasping; the noise of Colin clicking away madly at his camera.

The twins finally managed to wrestle the Bludger into the box, and we joined the crowd. I, too, gasped as I saw what had happened. Harry’s arm now looked like a thick, flesh-coloured rubber glove, his fingers unable to move. It was clear to see that Lockhart had tried to mend Harry’s bones, but had, instead, removed them.

---

Hermione and I waited outside the curtains of Harry’s bed in the hospital. Seeing as Harry would have to stay the night, Ron was helping Harry into a pair of pyjamas.

“How can you stick up for Lockhart now, Hermione, eh?” Ron called through the curtain. “If Harry had wanted de-boning he would have asked.”

“Anyone can make a mistake,” said Hermione, “And it doesn’t hut any more does it, Harry?”

I have her an are-you-serious look.

“No,” said Harry, “but it doesn’t do anything else, either.”

Hermione and I followed Madam Pomfrey around the curtain. She was holding a large bottle of something labelled ‘Skele-Gro’.

“You’re in for a rough night,” said Madam Pomfrey, pouring out a steaming beakerful and handing it to Harry.

Madam Pomfrey retreated, leaving us to help Harry gulp down some water, as he coughed and spluttered over the Skele-Gro.

“We won, though,” I said, a grin breaking across my 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 into 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,” I said.

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; we gathered around Harry’s bed and were just getting started on what promised to be a good arty when Madam Pomfrey came storming over, shouting, “This boy needs rest, he’s got thirty-three bones to regrow! Out! OUT!”

We all walked out of the hospital wing, leaving Harry totally alone.

“Well, we’ve got all this food, and pumpkin juice...” I said. “Why not go up to the common-room and celebrate a victory?”