The memory continued into the corridor outside McGonagall’s office.
Harry stood facing Lucius Malfoy.
He forced the diary back into the man’s hands, then immediately thrust it into Dobby’s.
The little elf looked down, opened the diary, and froze.
A single sock lay inside.
His eyes widened with dawning, terrified hope.
Lucius Malfoy realised what had just happened a second too late.
Dobby looked up at his former master, trembling but standing straighter than he ever had before.
Harry had just freed him.
Malfoy’s face twisted with rage.
He yanked his wand free and levelled it at the unarmed twelve-year-old boy in front of him.
“Avada—”
He never finished the incantation.
Dobby’s magic erupted.
Lucius Malfoy was hurled backwards down the corridor like a rag doll, slamming into the far wall and sliding to the floor in a stunned heap.
The memory ended.
Memory-Harry reappeared, voice dripping with contempt.
“And there you have Lucius Malfoy in the process of attempting to curse an unarmed twelve-year-old boy with the Killing Curse.” His tone dropped into full sarcastic snark.
“What a naffing hero!” It returned to normal.
“From that, I easily understand how his son turned out to be such a… doofus.”
Real Harry did not need to look into the stands to know Draco Malfoy would be scarlet with fury, but the fear of possibly losing his magic kept both his tongue and his wand still.
Memory-Harry continued.
“Now, a review of the year.
“Dumbledore hires a man clearly incompetent and unqualified for the position as Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts.
Even the Voldemort-possessed Quirrell was a better choice than that.
The idiot teaches us nothing.
Well, what he teaches us has nothing to do with the subject, at any rate.
I don’t think we really needed to know what hair products and teeth-whitening potions the popinjay used.
“Filch’s cat got petrified by, at that point, an unknown assailant.
Because I’m one of the first on the scene, I immediately get the blame.
“That then starts me being bullied by the majority of the school, including the passive-aggressive shit the teaching staff and the caretaker aimed at me, for the next eight months.
“A week later, Creevey is petrified while I have an ironclad alibi being laid up in the Infirmary under Pomfrey’s care.
The same ironclad alibi ignored by both students and staff less than two weeks later.
“Next it’s discovered, even by me, that I’m a Parselmouth.
From that everyone immediately and erroneously assumes I’m evil.
Refer back to Filch’s cat.
“Finch-Fletchley is attacked and I’m blamed for it.
Refer back to Colin Creevey and me simultaneously being in the Infirmary less than two weeks earlier.
“A half-year break.
Hermione and Clearwater are petrified while I’m down at the Quidditch pitch.
This, once again, proves it couldn’t have been me.
However, this time the populace of the castle finally figure that out for themselves.
All the evidence was there conclusively proving I didn’t do it, but it took the petrification of my best friend for them to finally take that bare moment needed to work out it wasn’t me.
“Morons!
“Three weeks after that, Ron and I force Fraudhart down into the entrance to the Chamber.
“We get separated and I go on.
I face, yet again, the spirit of Voldemort trying to come back to life.
I battle a thousand-year-old gi-normous basilisk.
And I save the life of Ginny Weasley.
“Fawkes helps the four of us back up into the school proper.
Before we even get a chance to go see to our injuries in the Infirmary, Dumbledore, McGonagall and Arthur and Molly Weasley begin to interrogate the shit out of us.
“After over an hour, Dumbledore finally states Ginny needs to visit the Infirmary.
Mister and Missus Weasley leave with Ginny to go and do just that and take Ron with them.
In other words—Harry was bitten by a basilisk, which I had only just gotten through telling them about, but according to all the adults there, fuck him!
He doesn’t need to go to the Infirmary.
Nor does the fraud, Lockhart, who managed to almost completely Obliviate himself all the way back to his young childhood.
“Still before I can finally get to the Infirmary, Lucius Malfoy turns up.
I manage to trick the idiot into freeing his house-elf.
So, in return, he tries to hex/curse me with the Killing Curse.
The schmuck gets smacked down by his now ex-house-elf in saving my life.
“That evening those who were petrified, including Mrs Norris, are unpetrified.
“It’s now two weeks to go until the end of term.
Dumbledore decides to cancel exams.
Personally, if I was a fifth or seventh year supposedly about to sit my OWLs or NEWTs, I’d be ropeable.
There was no notice he was going to do this.
He gave no one a chance to disagree.
He just did it.
Talk about an abrogation of his responsibilities to the students!
“Finally, we’re sent home for the summer.
And that brings to a close second year.
“Oh, and just so you know—I never did get sent to the Infirmary to have Madam Pomfrey take a look at the basilisk bite.
Obviously Albus Dumbledore is that brilliant a wizard he never had to take even the apprenticeship for healing to be determined a fully qualified master healer.
And even then, didn’t need to inspect the wound to declare me fit and healed.
“Albus Dumbledore, at the time, claimed himself to be my magical guardian, Madam Bones,” Memory-Harry said, turning as if to face the judges’ box directly.
“That he knew I’d been injured by a bite that kills, and never did anything about it, is a crime.
It’s neglect of a child under your care.
As Professor McGonagall is supposed to be my Head of House, the same charge could be levelled against her.
The same charge could also be levelled against both of them for the professor-student relationship.”
Up in the VIP section, Amelia Bones muttered under her breath, “Already noted, Mister Potter.”
Outside the champions’ tent, but between it and the gate into the arena, Barty Crouch Junior—Polyjuiced as Alastor ‘Mad-Eye’ Moody—shifted uneasily.
Potter was taking his own sweet time.
The anti-poison flask he used to carry Polyjuice was running dangerously low.
He had perhaps ninety minutes left at most.
He couldn’t leave before Potter did without looking suspicious, and he had no idea what the boy was playing at.
Back in the arena, Real Harry continued to lounge on the sun chair, pretending to read while the dragon paced at the far end of the sand.
Memory-Harry was ready to move on.
“It’s now another summer at Durzkaban—where I was worked harder than a house-elf.
When not forced to work I was locked into my room with bars on the window, fed insufficient food to feed a three-year-old through a cat-flap in the bottom of the door and… well… you get the idea.
Vernon’s sister, whom I unlovingly refer to as ‘Marge the Barge’, pays her somewhat annual visit.”
The projection began to shift toward a familiar suburban street.
Memory-Harry’s voice took on a colder edge.
“And that, ladies and gentlemen, is where third year really begins.”