Where are my Bones?

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"I've got a really bad feeling about this…" Ron muttered under his breath, his fingers nervously tapping against the railing of the grandstand.

Hermione looked up from Quidditch Through the Ages, her brows drawing together in mild exasperation. "Again? Last year it was because of Quirrell secretly messing things up. This year, there's no one—"

Her words were drowned out by the sudden eruption of noise from the crowd.

Both teams had just marched onto the field in formation. A shrill wave of boos burst forth from the green-and-silver ranks of Slytherin supporters, only to be drowned out in turn by thunderous cheers from the students of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff — clearly, everyone was rooting for Slytherin to lose.

"Captains, shake hands!"

Flint and Wood grasped each other's hands in a grip that looked more like a test of strength than a greeting. Their knuckles turned pale from the force of it. And then, with the shrill blast of Madam Hooch's whistle, fourteen broomsticks shot into the sky at once.

Harry dove straight down in a beautiful arc, shaking Malfoy off his tail with practiced ease. Behind the lenses of his glasses, his green eyes darted across the pitch, scanning every inch. Surprisingly, Malfoy — usually so eager to run his mouth — was also uncharacteristically focused today. The two of them passed each other several times, flying so close their robes almost brushed, yet neither said a word of provocation.

"This isn't good," Ron muttered, gripping the binoculars so tightly his knuckles turned white. "Those Nimbus 2001s are way too fast!"

Almost as if to confirm his fears, a Slytherin Chaser pulled off a sharp feint that sent the defenders scattering, and with a clean shot, the Quaffle soared through the hoop.

Before the cheers had even died down, the stands suddenly exploded with startled cries. A Bludger, pitch-black and gleaming, had just come hurtling toward Harry's back at a bizarre and dangerous angle.

At the last possible second, Harry twisted into a sideways roll. The Bludger screamed past him, missing his hair by mere inches.

People barely had time to breathe a sigh of relief when, in midair, that very same Bludger made a vicious turn and came tearing back, its movement filled with an eerie, almost sentient rage.

From afar, the Weasley twins were circling Harry at top speed, their mouths moving rapidly as they talked to him in quick bursts. But whatever they were saying was swallowed up by the howling wind — they were too far for anyone in the stands to hear.

That rogue Bludger seemed possessed, as though cursed with dark magic. It locked onto Harry with relentless determination, refusing to chase anyone else. It carved one dangerous arc after another through the sky, its path wild and erratic like a frenzied serpent, striking again and again with lethal precision. Harry was forced to twist and dive in increasingly high-speed evasive dangerous maneuvers, barely staying ahead of it.

"This is definitely not normal!" Hermione shot to her feet, her voice sharp with alarm. The book slid off her knees and thumped to the ground, but she didn't even notice. "A Bludger's never supposed to go after just one player like that!"

"It's Malfoy! It has to be!" Ron growled through clenched teeth, slamming his fist against the railing with frustration. "They've definitely tampered with the ball, I know it!"

Down on the pitch, Fred and George were flying like twin walls of defense, throwing themselves in the Bludger's path over and over again, doing everything they could to shield Harry. But no matter how hard they tried, that wild thing always managed to twist and curve around them in unnatural ways, continuing its relentless chase after him.

In the end, the twins had no choice but to call for a timeout. Wood signaled the halt, and the Gryffindor team descended toward the muddy field, quickly huddling together in a tight circle, their faces drawn and voices low as they launched into an urgent discussion.

Cold rain began pouring from the sky in sheets, and umbrellas popped open across the stands as students scrambled to shield themselves from the downpour.

Ron and Hermione stood watching anxiously from the stands, their eyes locked on the cluster of red-clad players gathered below. But all they saw, in the end, was the team shaking their heads and rising back into the sky… clearly, they hadn't found a solution.

The match resumed, and the Bludger came back even more aggressive than before. It tore through the air with savage speed, and more than once, it clipped the edge of Harry's robes, coming dangerously close to hitting him outright.

Then, during one particularly sharp and risky turn, Harry caught a fleeting glimpse of Malfoy's face… just for a second… but what he saw wasn't smugness or triumph. It was confusion. Genuine confusion.

And then, in that exact moment when they brushed past each other midair, a sudden glint of gold flashed just by Malfoy's ear.

The Golden Snitch!

Harry didn't hesitate. Instinct took over in an instant. He leaned forward and rocketed straight toward Malfoy, flying full-speed at him. Malfoy, startled by the sudden charge, flinched in panic, clearly convinced that Harry was trying to ram him right off his broom.

"Are you mental—?"

Malfoy pulled up sharply, barely dodging the collision.

But Harry himself wasn't so lucky.

The crazed Bludger, still tearing through the air like a missile, slammed straight into him from the side.

And yet — at the exact moment of impact — Harry's other hand shot out, stretching as far as it could go. With a final surge of effort, he managed to clutch the Golden Snitch in his palm, trapping it firmly in his fingers.

His entire body, which had been straining like a coiled spring, finally relaxed. The tension drained from his muscles all at once, and it was only then that he truly felt the searing pain in his arm. The shock hit him an instant later, and everything went dark.

The next thing anyone saw… was Harry tumbling from his broomstick, unconscious, falling fast toward the muddy ground below.

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When Harry finally came to, he realized he was still lying in the mud, the rain having soaked through his clothes. A circle of red surrounded him — his teammates from Gryffindor had gathered around. In one hand, he was still clutching the Golden Snitch with a death grip. His other arm, however, hung at a strange angle, limp and unmoving.

"We won!" Harry raised the hand holding the Snitch and smiled at the circle of familiar faces around him. "But I think my arm might be broken…" he added through a grimace, his face twisting with pain.

Oliver Wood leaned down and gave Harry's arm a reassuring pat. "That was brilliant, Harry. You actually did it!" His face was glowing with pride and delight. "But don't move just yet. Yeah, looks like your arm's broken. Not too bad though, just a clean break…"

Still smiling, he pulled out his wand. "We've been practicing healing spells in lessons lately. An injury like this? I've got it covered!"

He waved his wand with a bit of a flourish and pointed it at Harry's arm. "Brackium Emendo!"

A clear, shimmering green light flashed briefly — and in the next moment, Harry felt the bones in his arm shift and knit themselves back together. The pain vanished instantly, and his arm was as good as new.

"Haha! All fixed. You're amazing, Wood!"

Even the twins clapped Oliver on the back in surprise. "Well, look at you! Who knew you had that kind of skill?"

"Learned it during practical lessons…" Wood said with a sheepish grin, tucking his wand back into his belt.

Just as Harry started to sit up, a sudden glint of white flashed in front of his eyes — an obnoxiously bright smile, beaming with far too many teeth, swept into view.

"Don't move, Harry! Your arm's broken!"

Professor Lockhart darted forward like a showman stepping into the spotlight, his jewel-studded boots stamping right down on the edge of Harry's rain-soaked robe. Without waiting for any explanation, he reached out and firmly pressed down on Harry's freshly healed arm.

"I'm fine, Professor Lockhart! I'm completely fine now!" Harry said in alarm, flailing his arm to show it was working just as it should. "It's already healed!"

"Lie back, Harry!" Lockhart seized Harry's waving arm, holding it steady with what he probably thought was a calming tone. "What you're feeling is just an illusion. Your arm is most definitely broken. But don't worry, I know exactly how to fix it right up — all it takes is one simple little spell…"

As he spoke, he reached dramatically into his robes and pulled out his wand.

"No need to trouble yourself, Professor, I can just go to the hospital wing," Harry said quickly, practically begging at this point. "Really, it's fine just the way it is." Right now, he honestly felt like dodging that rogue Bludger had been easier than avoiding Lockhart. He was nearly desperate enough to hop back on his broomstick and fly straight off the pitch.

But Lockhart wasn't paying the slightest attention to anything he said. He rolled up his sleeves with great ceremony, then lifted his wand and shouted, "Stand back, everyone!"

The students crowding around didn't move an inch — but that didn't seem to matter to Lockhart. He looked perfectly content performing for himself. Meanwhile, Harry's expression turned even more grim.

"Why can't I just go to the hospital wing?" he asked again, making one final, miserable attempt to escape.

"Relax, Harry, it'll all be over in a second. I've done this sort of thing dozens of times!" Lockhart flashed his signature, gleaming smile and even turned to strike a pose for Colin Creevey, who had somehow materialized nearby and was snapping pictures with eager delight.

Then, with an unnecessarily dramatic flourish, Lockhart began to twirl his wand in wide, theatrical circles. "Watch closely, everyone…" he called out to the onlooking crowd. "I am about to demonstrate the fine art of nonverbal spellcasting—"

"I really just want to go to the hospital wing!" Harry tried once more, his voice half pleading, half panicked, hoping against hope that someone—anyone—might step in and stop this madness.

"Almost there, Harry, just be patient…" murmured Lockhart as he finally pointed his wand sharply at Harry's arm.

For a brief moment, the entire pitch seemed to fall silent.

Harry felt something strange ripple through his arm, a cold, unnatural sensation that ran from shoulder to fingertip. And then, to his horror, the Golden Snitch slipped right out of his hand and dropped to the ground, rolling away in the wet grass.

"I think you healed the wrong arm, Professor," George said helpfully from the sidelines, raising his voice just enough to be heard.

Harry's worst fear had come true.

The arm that had been perfectly fine just moments ago was now completely numb, as though it had turned into a boneless rope of flesh. It hung at his side, limp and useless, so soft and lifeless he couldn't even lift it off the ground.

"Ahaha! There you go! Gilderoy Lockhart never lets an injury go untreated," Lockhart said proudly, patting Harry on the shoulder like he'd just saved his life.

Then he stood up, flashing that blinding smile once more. "You were wanting to visit the hospital wing, weren't you, Potter? Well, now's your chance. I've already done the bulk of the work, and it wouldn't be fair to leave Madam Pomfrey with absolutely nothing to do…"

Turning cheerfully toward Hermione and Ron, he spoke with the relaxed tone of someone casually chatting about the weather. "Take him to the hospital wing, will you? Madam Pomfrey will handle the finishing touches."

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[Chapter End's]

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