Lockhart, the miracle healer

Cyrus looked toward the professors' stand. All the professors, Dumbledore included, watched anxiously, but interestingly enough, not one of them intervened.

By now, surely anyone could see that something was wrong with that Bludger, yet the professors sat there like a bunch of fools, doing nothing.

"Aren't they going to do anything?" Cyrus couldn't help asking.

Ron looked grim, but he still explained, "Of course they can't. You know, unusual things happen all the time in official Quidditch matches. If they interfered with everything, the match couldn't go on. I reckon nobody will step in unless someone's life is actually in danger."

"But what about Harry and the others? Hasn't anyone asked to have the Bludger checked?"

"Of course they can't. What if there's nothing wrong with it? They'd be disqualified! Before the match, Wood even told Harry, 'Catch the Golden Snitch or die on the pitch.'" Ron's face was deathly pale. "We've got to think of something!"

"I can't find whoever's casting the spell!" Hermione said anxiously.

Cyrus knew who was behind it, but he had no intention of doing anything.

His gaze settled on another section of the stands. As the Slytherin Quidditch Team's major financial backer, Lucius Malfoy had naturally come to watch. Partly, he was there to see his son play; partly, he wanted to find out whether the Diary left behind by the Dark Lord really could open the Chamber of Secrets.

The question was, would Lucius Malfoy act as he had in the original story this time?

While Riddle had been controlling Ginny, had he secretly contacted Lucius? Had he told him to find the right moment to drive Dumbledore away?

Cyrus immediately realized that the plan he had in mind might not be so easy to carry out.

At that moment, Lucius Malfoy was watching Draco's match with his full attention. Although he was usually exceptionally strict with Draco and rarely showed him any warmth, he actually loved his child no less than the Weasley family loved theirs.

But he had to be a Malfoy first!

He had to be a Malfoy first! Cyrus silently repeated the words, a plan already forming in his mind.

Regardless of whether Riddle had contacted Lucius, Cyrus now intended to do so. Bearing the Malfoy name, Lucius would not dare object to his orders.

Of course, not right now.

"Oh-!!!"

Suddenly, a tremendous, exuberant cheer jolted him out of his thoughts.

He saw the Gryffindors leap from their seats one after another. Without hesitation, Hermione and Ron dragged him into the packed crowd and jumped down onto the pitch. A great many others surged forward with them, especially after Harry had won the match in such an almost tragically heroic fashion!

He had become a hero to all of Gryffindor.

All Cyrus saw was Harry lying on the ground, looking as though he was about to pass out. Worst of all, his arm was practically twisted into a corkscrew.

"Is he all right?"

"Hard to say. That mad Bludger hit his right arm. I reckon it was already broken then, but afterward he charged straight at Malfoy and scared him stiff," Ron said hurriedly. "Then he caught the Golden Snitch first, but hurt his arm even worse."

The three of them gathered around Harry.

Just then, a bright, cheerful voice rang out from beyond the packed crowd.

"Make way-let me have a look at him!" Lockhart pushed through the crowd and squeezed in. Wearing his trademark smile, he said confidently, "Broken arm? Leave it to me. I've dealt with this sort of thing hundreds of times!"

Hermione hurriedly made room for him.

But Harry was not quite so trusting of him. No,

It could even be called fear. The moment he heard Lockhart's voice, he was jolted awake from his stupor and began to protest weakly. "Oh, no, not you."

His voice was full of both resistance and terror.

"No idea what he's saying," Lockhart announced loudly to the Gryffindor students gathered anxiously around them. "Don't worry, Harry. I'm just going to mend your arm."

"No!" Harry said. "Just leave it as it is, thanks..."

At that moment, war correspondent Colin joined the fray too, once again using his camera to capture Harry in an embarrassing predicament.

Honestly, this kid getting petrified really wasn't undeserved...

"Lie still, Harry," Lockhart said soothingly. "It's a simple spell. I've used it countless times."

"Why can't I just go to the Hospital Wing?" Harry asked through gritted teeth, looking toward Cyrus. "Even letting Ginny do it..."

He remembered how easily Ginny had broken Ron's jinx. Compared with Lockhart, she was far more reliable.

In fact, Cyrus could certainly have healed Harry with ease. But if he didn't let Lockhart, the "miracle healer," show off his skills, how would he get to petrify Colin when he went to visit Harry in the Hospital Wing?

"He really should go to the Hospital Wing," said Wood, covered in mud. Despite his Seeker's injury, he couldn't suppress his grin. "That catch was incredible, Harry. Absolutely brilliant. Never seen you do anything that good."

Through the forest of legs surrounding him, Harry saw Fred and George Weasley struggling to force the rogue Bludger into its box. The Bludger was still fighting viciously.

"Stand back," Lockhart said, rolling up his emerald-green sleeves.

"Don't-please don't-" Harry said weakly, but Lockhart was already twirling his wand. A second later, he pointed it at Harry's arm.

A strange, deeply unpleasant sensation shot like lightning from Harry's shoulder to his fingertips. It felt as though his arm was being emptied out. Afraid to see what was happening, he closed his eyes and turned his face away. But when everyone around him gasped and Colin Creevey began frantically snapping photographs again, he realized that his worst fear had come true: his arm no longer hurt-but it no longer felt remotely like an arm either.

"Ah," Lockhart said flusteredly. "Yes, quite, that does happen sometimes. But the important thing is that he's no longer in pain. You must remember that. Well, Harry, off you stroll to the Hospital Wing-ah, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, could you accompany him?-Madam Pomfrey can-er-make a few more adjustments."

Harry stood up, feeling his body tilt oddly to one side. He drew a deep breath and looked down at his right side. The sight nearly made him faint again.

What protruded from his sleeve looked like a thick, flesh-colored rubber glove. He tried to move his fingers, but nothing happened.

Lockhart had not mended Harry's bones. He had removed them all.

Lockhart: Just tell me, does it still hurt?