HP and the Parseltongue Chronicles - Chapter - 22

Harry sat across from Dobby in his secret base, his mind still reeling from the shocking revelation. The dim lighting in the room cast long shadows, making the atmosphere even more tense. Dobby sat on the chair, wringing his bandaged hands anxiously, his large green eyes darting around as if afraid his master would appear at any moment.

"You enchanted the bludger," Harry said slowly, his voice firm but not unkind. "You tried to kill me."

Dobby flinched, shaking his head violently. "No, no, Harry Potter must not think that! Dobby did not want to kill Harry Potter! Just... just to send him home! Home where he is safe!"

Harry ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "Safe? Dobby, Hogwarts is my home. What are you talking about?"

Dobby hesitated, looking as if he was battling against some invisible force. His lips trembled as he struggled to speak, but the old magic binding him to his master restricted him from revealing too much.

"Hogwarts is dangerous, Harry Potter!" Dobby finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Dark things are happening. Dobby cannot say—Dobby must not say! But terrible things are being planned... for you... for Hogwarts!"

Harry leaned forward, trying to keep his frustration in check. "Dobby, if you can't tell me, why are you trying to warn me? Why go against your master?"

At this, Dobby’s eyes filled with tears, and he sniffled loudly. "Because... because Harry Potter is a good wizard. A kind wizard. Harry Potter ended the Dark Lord! And... and Dobby owes Harry Potter a great debt."

Harry frowned. "A debt? I don't understand, Dobby."

The elf hesitated, clearly torn between speaking and the magical constraints placed on him. Finally, with great difficulty, he whispered, "Dobby's mother... she served the Malfoys too. She was a good elf, but... but she displeased the Dark Lord when he visited Malfoy Manor. He—he was in a dark mood that day. He tortured her... for fun. Then... he killed her."

Harry's stomach twisted at the revelation. He felt a wave of anger and pity swell inside him. "Dobby... I'm sorry."

Dobby shook his head fervently. "No, no! Harry Potter should not be sorry! Harry Potter gave the world hope when he defeated the Dark Lord! Dobby... Dobby only wishes to help. Even if it means punishment."

Harry sighed, leaning back in his chair. "So that's why you tried to get me to leave Hogwarts? You think Malfoy has something planned?"

Dobby nodded vigorously, his ears flapping with the motion. "Yes, Harry Potter. Master has been speaking with dark wizards... whispering of old secrets... secrets of Hogwarts. Dobby heard things... dangerous things. But Dobby cannot speak them!"

Harry pressed on, his voice softer this time. "Dobby, I understand you can't tell me specifics. But can you at least give me a clue? Something to go on?"

Dobby fidgeted, pulling on his ears. "Dobby can only say... Master seeks to open something. Something old. Something that should stay closed."

"Dobby," Harry said urgently, "if there's something Malfoy is planning, you have to help us stop him."

Dobby wrung his hands, visibly distressed. "Dobby wants to help! But Dobby cannot betray Master. The magic... it binds Dobby too tightly."

Harry considered this for a moment, then nodded. "Alright, I understand. But promise me something, Dobby—if you hear anything, anything at all, you come to me immediately. You don't have to say it outright. Just... warn me."

Dobby blinked rapidly, then nodded. "Dobby will try, Harry Potter. Dobby will try his best!"

As Harry sat deep in thought, a memory surfaced—something he had nearly forgotten in the whirlwind of everything happening at Hogwarts. A black diary. The name embossed on its cover in faded gold letters: Tom Riddle.

His heart raced as the realization struck him like a lightning bolt. He turned to Dobby, whose large green eyes blinked at him anxiously. “Dobby,” Harry said carefully, “does Malfoy have anything to do with a black diary? One with the name Tom Riddle written on it?”

Dobby froze, his small frame trembling. His ears quivered as he looked at Harry in utter shock. “How... how does Harry Potter know about the dark diary? Dobby never said! No one knows but Dobby and Master!”

Harry leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. “So it’s true, then? Malfoy’s plan was to plant that diary in someone’s hands?”

Dobby hesitated for a split second, then nodded fervently, his hands twisting together in distress. “Yes, yes! Master sneaked it into Hogwarts! He put it in the trunk of a girl… the youngest Weasley. He said it would... it would make Hogwarts suffer. To open the Chamber once more!”

Harry took a deep breath, feeling an odd sense of satisfaction. The pieces were finally fitting together. “You don’t have to worry about that anymore, Dobby,” he said with a confident smile. “I’ve already taken care of the problem.”

Dobby’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You… you did?” His voice was barely above a whisper, then, after a stunned pause, his face split into a wide, toothy grin. “Great Harry Potter already saved Hogwarts? Oh, Dobby should have known! Harry Potter is a truly great wizard, greater than Dobby imagined!”

Harry chuckled lightly, though inside, he felt relief wash over him. If he hadn’t intercepted the diary when he did—if Fred and George hadn’t found it in Ginny’s things—the situation could have been much worse.

Dobby clapped his hands together, beaming. “Dobby always believed Harry Potter was special! To stop such dark magic... Master will be furious!” He then frowned slightly, wringing his hands again. “But... but Master does not give up easily. He will try again.”

With a grateful smile, Harry glanced at Norky. "Make sure Dobby stays safe and hidden until we figure this out."

Norky, adjusting his tuxedo proudly, nodded. "Of course, Master Harry. This sneaky elf won’t be sneaking anywhere without Norky watching."

Dobby gave Harry one last, longing look before Norky snapped his fingers and transported him to a safer location.

After Dobby left, Harry wasted no time tracking down Fred and George. He found them in the Gryffindor common room, huddled over a parchment filled with what looked like an elaborate prank blueprint, no doubt for Peeves' next great escapade. When Harry approached, they looked up, their grins wide, but that changed the moment he spoke.

“I know who put the diary in Ginny’s trunk,” Harry said in a low voice, making sure no one was listening.

Fred and George instantly straightened up, their expressions shifting from playful to deadly serious. “Who?” Fred asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Lucius Malfoy,” Harry said. “Dobby just confirmed it.”

George’s face darkened, his fists clenching. “That slimy, pompous—”

Fred interrupted with a growl, “We should go hex him into next week! Ginny could have been—”

Harry held up his hands. “I know. I was angry too, but listen—Draco had nothing to do with it.”

Fred and George shared an incredulous look. “Oh, come on, Harry,” George said, “you think the ferret didn’t know? He’s just as rotten as his father.”

“Maybe,” Harry said, “but he didn’t plant it. Lucius did. Draco’s not our target, and if we go after him now, we’ll just tip our hand.”

Fred huffed. “Fine. So what do we do?”

Harry’s lips curled into a smirk. “We make Lucius think the Chamber of Secrets has been opened again. Let him feel the fear he wanted to spread in Hogwarts. Let’s see how he likes it when the tables are turned.”

George’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Oh, I like the sound of that.”

Fred rubbed his hands together. “Prank war on the Malfoys? This is going to be legendary.”

Late one evening, under the cover of darkness, Harry, Fred, and George snuck through the empty corridors of Hogwarts with bottles of red ink clutched tightly in their hands. The castle was eerily silent, the only sounds being the distant hoot of an owl and the occasional creak of the old stone walls.

“Alright,” Fred whispered, surveying the perfect spot—right outside the entrance to the Great Hall. “This will get the attention we want.”

George nodded, dipping his quill into the crimson ink. “Let’s make it dramatic. We need to send a message that’ll rattle their pureblood bones.”

Harry smirked as he took the quill and carefully began to write in large, ominous strokes:

“The Chamber has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, beware.”

Fred took over, adding beneath it:

“Betrayal shall not go unpunished. Blood may not protect you.”

George followed with a finishing touch:

“The Heir remembers those who stood against him… and those who betrayed him.”

Once they were satisfied with their work, they took a step back, admiring the chilling effect of the words. The dim torchlight made the red ink glisten ominously, casting long shadows that made the message even more menacing.

“This will have them shaking in their boots,” George whispered excitedly. “Purebloods hate the idea of being punished for past betrayals.”

Harry nodded. “Especially the ones who turned against Voldemort at the last moment. They’ll think twice about strutting around now.”

Fred grinned. “Can’t wait to see Malfoy’s face when he reads this in the morning.”

After ensuring no one was watching, the trio quietly slipped back to Gryffindor Tower, their hearts pounding with anticipation.

The next morning, Hogwarts was in an uproar.

Students gathered in clusters, whispering furiously and pointing toward the message scrawled across the entrance to the Great Hall. Some of the younger students looked terrified, while others—especially the Muggle-borns—looked wary but skeptical.

Draco Malfoy stood among a group of Slytherins, his usual smug expression replaced with an uneasy frown. Crabbe and Goyle hovered around him, nervously shifting their weight from foot to foot.

“Enemies of the Heir?” Draco read aloud, his voice wavering just slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Pansy Parkinson looked positively pale. “Does this mean someone’s really opened it again?!”

Professor McGonagall arrived at the scene, her face a storm of concern and irritation. “Everyone, remain calm!” she called, her sharp eyes scanning the crowd. “We do not jump to conclusions without evidence.”

Snape, standing beside her, swept his gaze across the writing with a dangerous glint in his eye. He turned to McGonagall and muttered, “This smells like a student prank, Minerva.”

Harry, standing nearby with Fred and George, kept his expression carefully neutral as McGonagall turned to address the students.

“Prefects, escort your housemates to breakfast. We will investigate this matter thoroughly,” she said firmly.

As the crowd began to disperse, whispers continued to ripple through the corridors.

Later that day, the Stars Club gathered in their meeting room, buzzing with excitement over the morning’s events. Blaise Zabini, one of the Slytherin members, smirked as he leaned against the table. “You lot are getting better at theatrics. Whoever did that message knows how to play with fear.”

Daphne Greengrass, her expression more serious, glanced at Harry. “It certainly caused a stir. Half the Slytherins think the Heir of Slytherin is going to start attacking purebloods now.”

Harry shrugged, feigning innocence. “It’s just rumors, right?”

Neville chuckled. “Sure, Harry. Just rumors.”

Fred grinned. “Best part? The purebloods who turned their backs on You-Know-Who are more scared than anyone else. They’re wondering if there’s something—or someone—watching them.”

Terry leaned back in his chair. “Slytherins haven’t been this quiet in ages. Malfoy looked like he was going to wet himself.”

Hermione, who had been quiet, frowned. “I don’t think you should keep this up for too long. It’s one thing to give Malfoy and his lot a scare, but if this keeps up, the professors might start suspecting something.”

Harry nodded. “We’ll let this rumor run its course for now. But it does give us a good cover to keep an eye on things, especially with what we learned from Dobby.”

Daphne tapped her fingers on the table thoughtfully. “If the Malfoys planted that diary, who's to say they don’t have other plans this year?”

“That’s what we need to figure out,” Harry said firmly. “But for now, let them stew. The more they fear, the more they’ll slip up.”

Later that evening, as Harry walked down the corridors with Neville and Hermione, they were intercepted by Draco Malfoy, who was flanked by Crabbe and Goyle as usual. His face was pale, but his sneer remained intact.

“What are you up to, Potter?” Malfoy demanded, trying to sound confident but failing.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about, Malfoy?”

“That message,” Malfoy said, pointing an accusatory finger. “I know you’ve been snooping around Hogwarts, acting all high and mighty. Trying to stir up trouble again?”

Harry smirked. “If I were you, I’d be more worried about whether the Chamber is really open, Malfoy. After all, the Heir of Slytherin might have unfinished business.”

Draco paled further, his grip tightening on his wand. “You—you’ll regret saying that, Potter.”

Harry stepped closer, his voice a low whisper. “We’ll see, Malfoy. We’ll see.”

As Draco stormed away, Hermione sighed. “You’re enjoying this too much, aren’t you?”

Harry grinned. “Maybe a little.”

Later that night, as Harry sat in his dormitory going over some plans for the Stars Club, a soft pop announced the arrival of Norky. The house-elf bowed low before holding out a small, crumpled piece of parchment.

“Dobby sent this, Master Harry,” Norky said.

Harry took the note and unfolded it carefully. It read:

“Master Malfoy is very angry. He is talking to important people. Be careful, Harry Potter, be very careful. The danger is greater than you think.”

Harry’s smile faded slightly. It seemed that Lucius Malfoy was not taking the prank lightly.

As he folded the parchment, he whispered to himself, “Let’s see what you’re up to, Malfoy.”

With that, the game was on.