Harry Potter and the Great Old Ones

Chapter 127 Rubber Hands

It's the Golden Snitch!
Harry quickly turned his broom and flew towards the golden light, but—

"Boom-"

As Harry chased the Golden Snitch, the ball finally hit him, slamming into his elbow, and Harry felt his arm snap.

A burning pain made Harry feel dizzy, and he slid to one side on the rain-soaked flying broom, one knee still hooked on the broom, his right hand dangling numbly beside his body.

The ball launched a second attack on him, this time aiming for his face.

Harry abruptly veered off course, a single thought firmly occupying his already sluggish mind:

Catch the Golden Thief!

Harry released the broom with his uninjured hand and reached out to grab it fiercely—

He felt his fingers grasp the cold, golden snitch, but since he was now only holding the broom between his legs, he plummeted straight to the ground, struggling to stay conscious. At that moment, he heard a gasp from the crowd below.

With a splash, Harry fell into the mud and tumbled off the broom.

His arm hung there at a very strange angle. Amidst the waves of pain, he heard many whistles and shouts, as if coming from a great distance. He looked closely and saw that the Golden Snitch was firmly gripping his uninjured hand.

"Aha—!" Harry shouted excitedly, but rainwater quickly choked him. "We won! We won!"

Then he lay heavily on the field, rain pouring down on his face.

But the ball clearly had no intention of letting Harry off the hook, and instead slammed down heavily over Harry's head—

Harry dodged it again, and the ball slammed heavily into the muddy ground between Harry's legs, creating a large crater.

Harry felt a chill in his groin.

The ball soared into the air again, then slammed heavily down—

But this time it didn't fall behind, because Tiera arrived just in time.

But Tierra didn't draw her wand; instead, she tossed the black "diary" in her hand into the air—

The "diary" floated in mid-air and automatically turned to a certain page.

Five enormous Chinese characters appeared in the book, forming a devastating bolt of lightning that surged forth and struck the wandering ball—

The lightning flash for a moment seemed to illuminate the entire sports field—

For a fleeting moment—

For a fleeting moment, Harry caught a glimpse of a strange, sinister greed on Lockhart's face as he ran toward them—

Then Harry saw a row of gleaming teeth—

Lockhart was already crouching down next to Harry, drawing his wand—

“Oh! No, no, I don’t want you,” Harry groaned, looking at Tyella in despair.

“He has no idea what he’s talking about,” Lockhart said loudly, as Harry was now surrounded by a circle of anxious Gryffindor students.

“Don’t worry, Harry. I’m going to heal your arm.” Lockhart pressed his wand against Harry’s broken arm.

“No!” Harry cried, “Leave it as it is, thank you…”

He tried to sit up and saw Tyrell running towards him, but she was blocked outside by the Gryffindor wall of men—

Harry saw the panicked look on Tyella's pale face—

Harry was in despair—

He seemed to understand the meaning of the second half of the prophecy.

Lockhart twirled his wand, and a second later, he aimed it at Harry's arm. A strange, very uncomfortable sensation, like lightning, shot from Harry's shoulder to his fingertips.

It was as if his arm was being ripped away. He didn't dare look, so he closed his eyes and turned his face to the side.

But as the people around him gasped and Colin Creevey began frantically taking photos, he realized his worst fears had come true. His arm no longer hurt—

But he couldn't feel his arm at all!
What emerged from Harry's sleeve looked like a thick, flesh-colored rubber glove. He tried to move his fingers, but there was no response.

Lockhart didn't set Harry's bones properly. He removed them all.

"I also saw—your right hand, which was as soft as rubber—"

The second half of Tyrell's prophecy resonated in everyone's hearts at the same time.

Everyone present looked at Tyella, stunned by the accurate prophecy, so much so that they forgot to blame Lockhart.

Harry was carried into the school hospital by Tierra and Ron.

But clearly, Madam Pomfrey was very unhappy to see Harry like this.

“You should have come directly to me!” she said angrily, lifting up the pitiful, lifeless thing that, just half an hour ago, had been a fully functional arm.

I can set bones in a second, but getting them to grow back—"

"You can do it too, right?" Harry asked eagerly.

“Of course I will, but it will hurt a lot,” Madam Pomfrey said sternly, tossing Harry a set of pajamas. “You’ll have to spend the night here—”

Harry drew the curtains around the hospital bed, and Tyella and Ron helped him change into his pajamas and wiped the rain and mud off his body and hair.

Hermione had no choice but to wait outside.

It took them a lot of effort to stuff that rubbery, boneless arm into the sleeve.

After she was dressed, Mrs. Pomfrey walked around the curtain.

Mrs. Pomfrey was holding a large bottle labeled "Bone-Generating Essence".

“This night has been tough,” she said, pouring a large, steaming glass and handing it to Harry. “Growing bones is a very uncomfortable thing.”

Drinking Bone Spirit was bad enough. It burned in Harry's mouth and then burned down his throat, causing him to cough repeatedly and spit out saliva.

Tierra quickly grabbed the water glass from the bedside table and fed Harry a few sips of water.

Mrs. Pomfrey left, still smacking her lips and complaining that the sport was too dangerous and the teachers were too incompetent.

After Madam Pomfrey left, her Gryffindor teammates came in noisily.

Most of the teammates had already washed up. They brought cake, candy, several bottles of pumpkin juice, and a Galleon for each person.

After putting down what they had brought, these teammates began crowding around Tiera, hoping that Tiera would also give them a prophecy.

Clearly, Harry's accident on the pitch and Gilderoy Lockhart's clumsy healing spell have once again cemented Tyrell's reputation as a prophet throughout Gryffindor, with students from other houses even following her around with Galleons, seeking prophecies from her.

“Give us another prophecy, Tiera!” said a tall, thin Hefpatch boy. “Anything will do!”

“Alright—” Tiera shrugged and said with a smile, “If you don’t quiet down—”

Tiera deliberately drew out the sound:
“We’ll soon be kicked out by Madam Pomfrey—”

"What are you doing?!" Before Tierra could finish speaking, Madam Pomfrey rushed out of the adjacent dispensing room, waving a stirring rod. "Get out! All of you get out! The patients need quiet to rest!"

So Harry was left alone in the ward. With nothing to distract him, he only felt his limp arm throbbing with pain, as if it were being cut by a knife.

(End of this chapter)