Chapter Eleven - The Sleep of Reason  

The sleep of reason brings forth monsters. 

*** 

"I need your help," Sirius Black said. 

Without a word, Snape shut the door firmly in Sirius´ face. 

*** 

It was so clingingly wet in the corridors under the Burrow that Ginny felt as if every breath she took filled lungs with water. She could hear Ron, Hermione and Charlie behind her, splashing through the puddles that became increasingly deep, Ron muttering under his breath as he went. They were talking, but she didn’t join in. She was concentrating on following the very slight, very insistent tugging sensation in the center of her chest, pulling her forward. 

"So what exactly happened to Helga Hufflepuff?" Charlie was asking. He was holding his wand high above their heads, lighting the path in front of them. Of all of them, he was the driest, since his tough dragonhide trousers kept off the water. 

"Slytherin killed her," said Hermione, who had given up trying to stay dry and was splashing through the puddles as if she enjoyed it. "He killed Godric, too. And Rowena, but that wasn´t on purpose. Not," she added hastily, "that that makes it all right. I´m just saying." 

"He seems to have regarded homicide as not just a job, but a hobby," said Ron, still keeping a watchful eye out for spiders. 

"Well, he was a general," said Hermione. "He had his own army. He killed people all the time. I suppose he just," she shuddered, "got a taste for it." 

"Not to mention," put in Charlie, "that when you can flatten entire cities at a whim, a tendency towards quiet reflection and seeing-things-from-the-other-fellow's-point-of-view is seldom necessary." 

"That’s true," Hermione agreed. 

Ginny suddenly paused, and the rest of them paused with her. They were at a place where the corridor split off into a triple-branched fork: left, right, and straight ahead. 

"What’s up Gin?" Ron demanded. 

"I can´t quite feel which way to go," said Ginny, a little anxiously. The tugging feeling seemed to have gone for the moment, and she suddenly felt cold and rather damp. 

"Well, you must have some idea," said Ron, a bit peevishly. 

"Ron," said Charlie, warningly. 

Ginny shook her head. "No, I..." 

"Well, let´s go straight ahead then," announced Ron, walking past her. Ginny hesitated for a moment, and was about to follow after him when, having taken no more than twenty steps down the corridor, Ron suddenly vanished. 

*** 

"And you trust her?" 

Draco rolled his eyes as Harry hissed in his ear. They stood side by side, flattened against the wall of the wide stone corridor outside their erstwhile prison cell. Fleur was down at the end of the corridor, peering anxiously around the corner. 

Harry shivered. Malfoy Manor was old, so was Hogwarts, but this place was ancient; age seemed to seep, like cold, from its very stones. It was dim, too - torches burned in brackets on the wall, but not very many and not bright. He knew now from Fleur that they were at the castle in the forest where Hermione had been held prisoner; Draco had even claimed that he recognized the corridor they were standing in from his previous visit, but then he had stopped, blinked, shaken his head, and announced, "It’s the same castle all right, but it looks...different." 

Harry had decided it was better to ignore him if he wasn´t going to say anything helpful. 

"And you don´t?" Draco hissed back. 

"About as far as I could throw Hagrid. Come on, Malfoy. She´s an airhead, she´s boy-crazy, what makes you think she could formulate such an involved rescue plan?" 

"She was a Triwizard champion," Draco pointed out reasonably. 

"So was I, and you always tell me all my plans are crap." 

"All your plans are crap. You don´t think she might be a blessing in disguise?" 

"Well, if she is, it’s a very good disguise." 

"Any disguise involving a push-up bra is A-okay with me. Unless of course we’re talking about Hagrid in disguise, and I just went to a very dark mental place here... Distract me, Potter. Say something." 

"Fleur´s coming back," said Harry, pushing himself off the wall. 

Fleur smiled at them as she hurried up, her silver hair bouncing in thick waves on her shoulders. "Allons-y," she directed, gesturing that they should follow her. "The 'allway is clear. Come on." 

"What I wouldn’t give for my dad´s Invisibility Cloak," muttered Harry, as they raced along the corridor, sticking close to the wall, dashed around the corner, and followed Fleur as she yanked a large door open, and pelted inside. She closed the door behind them, and leaned against it. 

They were in a narrow stairwell whose stone spiral stairs led down into darkness. It was so dim Harry could only see Draco and Fleur as vague shadowy outlines, both crowned with silver hair that shone like beacons in the darkness. He reached into his pocket and felt for his wand - 

"No," said Fleur urgently, grasping his wrist. "No magic." 

"Why not?"  

"There are wards up all over this castle. We cannot risk setting one off." 

"But it’s dark, Fleur. We´ll break our necks." 

Fleur said something in French that Harry strongly suspected meant that he was a toad-faced worrywart, and marched off down the stairs. Hesitating slightly, Draco and Harry followed. Sure enough after they had made three turns round the stairway they found a torch burning in a bracket high up on the wall. Fleur hoisted it down, and they went down the stairs in a line : Fleur first, then Draco, then Harry, the torch casting their eerily elongated shadows against the stone walls. 

The staircase set Harry´s teeth on edge. There were of course no handrails, and the rough stone was made for tripping on. He was fairly sure that at any moment he´d catch his foot and go careening headfirst into Draco. They were just making their tenth and he hoped final turn around the stairs when Harry heard Fleur give a little gasping scream. He craned his neck but couldn´t see over Draco´s head; Draco exclaimed suddenly, "Fleur, back up!" 

She backed up quickly just as Harry came down the stairs and saw what had startled her. 

They had reached the foot of the stairwell, which ended in a large oak door covered in intricate carvings of leaves, flowers, and twining vines. In the center of the door was a carved face: beaky-nosed and saturnine, with an upturned, narrow mouth. The eyes of the carving were alive, they darted from side to side, alight with sardonic amusement. 

Draco took a step down the stairs. "Ahem," he said. The door looked at him. "Do you talk?" 

The door made a faint creaking sound. It sounded a little like rusty hinges, and a little like "Maybe." 

"So you speak English?" 

"Yes," said the door, looking irritable. "Now what do you want?" 

"I want you to let us out," said Draco, turning back to look at Fleur, who nodded. 

"Are you sure you want to go out there?" the door asked, with soft malice. "It’s not very pleasant out there. Much safer in here." 

"We’re sure," said Harry, who had reached the foot of the stairs now. 

"You do know what you’re getting yourselves into -" began the door, and then Draco moved, intentionally or not Harry couldn´t tell, so that the torchlight fell on the sword buckled at his waist. The door almost seemed to shrink back. "I did not know it was you," it said to Draco, and swung wide. 

Draco´s face had gone blank with surprise, but Harry didn’t pay much attention. Through the open door, he could see a strip of starry night sky and a narrow expanse of grass -outside, he thought, finally. He stepped through the door, and Draco and Fleur followed. 

*** 

Bang. 

Snape heard the door shut behind him and felt a savage satisfaction. As the door had swung shut, he´d seen something change in Sirius´ face, shock moving into incredulity into despair. He had been so sure that Snape would help him with whatever his sordid little problem was. Because Sirius had always one of those to whom everything came easily without struggle or hardship; the sort of person who others fell all over themselves to help. The sort of person to whom the world had been given, no questions asked. 

But of course that wasn´t entirely true. 

Not really focusing on where he was going, Snape walked into his kitchen and stared blindly at the opposite wall. 

Azkaban. 

That had stopped Sirius laughing, had shut up his laughter forever. Sometimes Snape dreamed about Sirius in Azkaban, his laughter shattered forever into screams like bright shards of glass. And there was some pleasure in that imagining, but also a gnawing sort of darkness. It was strange - of all of them he would have said he hated James the most, hated James for what he was rather than what he did, because while Sirius liked to torment Snape, liked to hide his books and distract him during exams by humming rude songs, James just...ignored him. Looked at him as if he were less than nothing, certainly not anyone who mattered. 

And then James had saved his life, and that had been worse. He remembered James dragging him back from the Shrieking Shack, throwing him on the ground, cursing Sirius under his breath, and Snape had thanked him, and it wasn´t like him to thank people but he´d still been shaking with fear and reaction, so he had thanked James for saving his life even though they weren´t friends, and James had looked at him out of cool gray eyes and said, "I would have done the same thing for anyone." 

And he had hated James in that moment more than he had ever hated anyone in the world or would ever hate anyone again. But James was dead; there was no point hating James any more. James was dead, and Lupin was pitiable; there was only Sirius to hate. Sirius, who had never been looked at in a way that told him he just didn’t matter; Sirius, who James had loved in a way that Snape couldn´t even imagine being loved. Not by a friend; not like that. 

The Dark Mark on his left arm was burning as it sometimes did when he was agitated, and his hands were shaking. He sat down at the kitchen table and switched on the radio. The sharp sounds of the WWN announcer filled the room: 

Further news has come from the Ministry regarding the disappearance of Harry Potter. Apparently, there is another boy missing with him, Draco Malfoy, son of the late Lucius Malfoy of the prominent wizarding family. Both boys have now been missing for a day, and the Ministry urges anyone with information regarding either of the boys to come forward as soon as possible. Meanwhile the wizarding world faces the awful possibility, "Have we lost the Boy Who Lived?" In other news -- 

Snape got to his feet, switching the radio off as he did so, and almost before he knew what he was doing he had turned and walked out of the kitchen, had raced down the corridor to the front door and thrown it open, letting in the cold night air. 

And there was Sirius, still standing in front of the door, head bowed, less like someone who was waiting than like someone who had nowhere else to go. His head whipped up as Snape opened the door, his eyes lighting with surprise and anger and - hope. 

Snape clutched the knob of the door hard in his hand and snarled, "All right, Black. Tell me why you’re here in ten words exactly, or I’ll activate the Repulsus Charm that’s on this porch and it´ll hurl you halfway to Hogsmeade." 

Sirius looked as if he were counting to ten and finding it insufficient. "Because I need your help," he ground out, through gritted teeth. 

"That’s five words." 

"Because I need your help, you very smug total bastard," he snapped, losing his temper. "You want me to beg? Is that what you want?" 

"I know you´d rather die than beg me for anything," said Snape. 

"I would," Sirius agreed. "But I´m not the one who´s going to die." 

There was a short silence. Then Snape stepped out onto the porch, and crossed his arms over his chest. "Talk," he said. 

In several short sentences, Sirius told Snape about Lupin, and what had happened to Harry and Draco. "If I can help Remus," he finished, "then he can tell us more about Slytherin - he´s been being Called to a location, he must know where it is. Don´t look skeptical -- I looked it up - no one´s ever been brought back from being Called before. It could work. It might be my only chance to get to Harry before it’s too late. And I can tell by your expression that you don´t believe me," Sirius´ voice climbed several degrees in pitch, "and I´m telling you, Snape, that if you send me away from here without even hearing me out, I swear to you I will hunt you down and I will make sure that you spend the rest of your life sucking all your meals through a straw -" 

"That won´t be necessary," said Snape. 

Sirius paused, and blinked. "What?" 

"I was wrong about you once," Snape said, taking a secret and surprisingly satisfying pleasure in the dumbfounded expression on Sirius´ face. "I´m not wrong often." He swung the door behind him wide. "I´m not planning on being wrong again." 

Sirius looked from Snape, to the door, then back at Snape, as if he couldn´t quite grasp what was happening. Then, with a sharp twitch of his shoulders as if he were shaking off some dark shadow that clung to him, he walked over the threshold and into Snape´s house. 

*** 

Harry felt a keen shock of disappointment as soon as they stepped through the door. They were outside the castle in a sense, but not really outside. He found himself in a space between two very tall walls that rose up and up, making a corridor that ran from where they stood to an open door in the far wall at the opposite end. It was thickly overgrown with long, prickly grass. He craned his neck back and looked up and around - the castle seemed bigger than he remembered, and much less tumbledown - the battlements were hugely forbidding in the darkness, and there were dark shapes ranged along them. 

Guards , he thought, and Draco and Fleur followed his gaze upward, and nodded. Fleur´s face was pale with fear in the moonlight. "We must be very careful of those," she whispered. "Those are shapechangers. They are Slytherin´s creatures. Each possesses several shapes, and one must dispatch them in each shape before they can be killed." Then she pointed across the narrow walkway towards the door in the far wall. "We are going there," she whispered. She looked at Harry. "You go first." 

They went forward in a line: Harry, Fleur, and then Draco. The grass tugged at their clothes. It was prickly, limp, and strangely clingy. Harry shuddered, shook his head, looked up - and nearly yelled out loud. 

Three dementors were looming over him, their black cloaks turned gunmetal gray by the moonlight, their scabbed, rotting hands outstretched. His yell choked itself off in a gasp and he scrabbled backwards on his hands, his heart slamming against his ribcage, his mouth going dry. He glanced around wildly for Fleur and Draco, but saw them nowhere. 

The dementors were advancing slowly towards him. Harry scrambled up to his knees, thinking desperately - happy memory, happy memory. He cast his mind back to the night before, lying on the couch in the Burrow with his head in Hermione´s lap, her hair falling down around them. Listening to her quiet breathing. He shut his eyes. Hermione - and the tight knot of cold around his ribcage eased a little bit - but then he thought of her as he had last been with her, in the Weasleys´ kitchen, her small hand in his, freezing cold with her terror, and a black wave of fear for her swept up and over him like a dizzying tide and - 

Hands came down heavily on his shoulders, pulling him roughly backward. 

The kiss, he thought, they´re going to perform the kiss - 

Kiss you? I hardly know you, came Draco´s amused voice, cutting through the cold fog in his brain like a sharp knife severing a skein of wool. Harry blinked his eyes open, and saw Draco standing over him. 

Get up, Draco told him, sounding less amused this time, and Harry got to his feet. His hands were still shaking but the cold fog seemed to have lessened. Come on, and Draco grabbed him by the shoulder and propelled him forward. Harry took two steps, and the grass twined itself up around his legs and oozed against his skin. He yelled. Draco´s grip on his shoulder tightened. Think about something else, he told Harry urgently, and keep moving forward, and he dragged Harry, hard, by the shoulder, towards the far wall, the grass clinging limply to them both. 

What’s going on? Harry demanded, panting. 

Nightmare Grass, Draco replied shortly. Makes you see whatever you’re most afraid of. Trick is to walk right through it and ignore the pain; it goes away after a little bit. The slower you go, the more nightmares you get. 

And it doesn´t bother you? Harry demanded incredulously, thinking that this seemed unfair. 

That potion Snape gave me helps. Also, I knew what it was. That helps too. 

Don´t tell me. Your dad used to grow it back at the Mansion. 

Got it in one, Draco replied shortly. 

Didn’t your father ever consider putting in maybe a tennis court or a nice gazebo instead? 

Don´t knock it - my Dark Arts background just saved your hide, Potter. But don´t worry, I’ll be sure to call in your expertise as soon as we have to deal with, say, a small box of puppies. 

Harry was about to retort when he caught sight of Fleur, lying in the grass on her back. She seemed to be involved in a battle with her own hair, shrieking and flailing with her arms at nothing. Draco knelt down next to her and touched her shoulder gently. She yelped and hit out at him, screaming in French. 

Draco caught one of her arms and Harry seized the other. It wasn´t easy holding on to her - she was kicking and screaming and seemed inclined to bite as well. They dragged her quickly from the grass to the dirt at the foot of one of the walls. She went instantly quiet, and pulled away from them, gasping and wide-eyed. She stared up at Draco, who was closest to her. "You’re all right?" she said, in a quavering voice. "You're not dead?" 

Draco blinked. "No."  

Fleur took a shuddering breath. "What was that?" 

"Never mind," said Harry, and craned his neck back, pointing up to the dark shapes on the silvery battlements. They were no longer still, but moving slowly, purposefully, torches raised... the guards. 

I think they heard us yelling, he thought.  

You mean they heard you yelling. Draco glanced up, then held out a hand to Fleur and helped her up. You all right? 

She nodded. 

"Then run," he said, and broke into a flat-out run, Fleur and Harry close at his heels, They flew through the Nightmare Grass, reached the far tower, and hurtled through the door, slamming it hard behind them. 

They found themselves in a dimly lit entryway - there was only one window, and it was nearly overgrown with ivy. A long corridor snaked away into darkness to their right. Still shaky from exertion and adrenaline, Harry started off down it at a run, the others behind him. Or so he thought. Having gone no more than a hundred paces, he came up short at a tall wooden door. He grabbed the handle and tugged; it was locked. 

"Fleur, is this the way -" he began, turning. And blinked. Draco was standing behind him, looking curious, but there was no sign of Fleur. "Malfoy? Where´s Fleur?" 

Surprised, Draco turned. "I thought she was behind me." 

Harry lowered his hand from the door. "We´d better go back." 

Draco opened his mouth to say something - and a cry echoed through the corridor, originating back where they had come from. It was a sharp, distressed cry, and the voice was obviously Fleur´s. 

Both boys bolted back down the corridor. They burst out into the entryway, and stopped dead. 

Fleur, holding a thin-bladed knife, was backed against a wall by one of the guards: a tall man in a heavy cloak, a short sword in his hand, his back to them. His shadow, in the pulsing torchlight, clawed at the ceiling. Fleur´s eyes flew wide when she saw her companions, and she gave a little cry of relief. 

A little cry, but it was enough. The guard spun around, raising his sword, and advanced on Draco and Harry. 

*** 

Hermione´s stomach dropped down into her shoes. "Ron?" she shouted, running forward and nearly elbowing Ginny aside. She could hear Charlie right behind her as they approached the spot where Ron had disappeared. "Ron! Where are you?" 

A very irritable voice spoke out of the darkness. "Down here." 

Beside her, Charlie raised his wand, flooding the corridor with light. The uneven walls were suddenly thrown into sharp relief, the muddy floor that stretched in front of them...and ended, rather suddenly, in a gaping, jagged-edged hole. Hermione raced to the edge of the hole and peered down. 

Ron´s pale, annoyed face looked up at her. He seemed completely unharmed. Hermione sagged in relief. "Ron, are you all right?" 

An expression of distaste crossed his face. "Mud," he said succinctly. "And it’s dark." He glanced around him, squinting. "Could somebody toss me down a wand? I think I dropped mine into the mud and I’d like to find it." 

Hermione tossed her wand down to Ron, who caught it. 

"Lumos," he said. 

Bright light burst from the wand, illuminating the space around Ron. Hermione watched as his expression changed to one of gratified amazement. Instead of the disgruntled look of someone who had fallen off his broomstick in the middle of an important game, Ron now looked like someone who had fallen off his broomstick in the middle of an important game, only to land in a hot tub full of veelas. 

"You have got to come down here," he exclaimed. 

Doubtful, Hermione peered over the lip of the hole. Before she could move to do anything, though, Charlie had leaped down beside Ron in the pit, landing on his feet as lightly as a cat. Then he turned around and held his arms up to Hermione. "Your turn. I’ll catch you." 

Taking a deep breath, she jumped. Charlie caught her easily and lowered her gently to the ground. She stifled a smile - the rough feeling of the dragonhide against her skin made her think of Draco. 

She heard the sound as Ginny jumped down after her, but didn’t turn - she was too busy staring around her. The expression on Ron´s face suddenly made sense. 

It looked as if they were in some sort of underground vault. The floor was covered in mud, but stone shelves ranged along the walls held overflowing piles of valuable-looking objects - jewels, gold coins, bolts of tapestry, silver plates, cups and bowls. To be sure, much of it was ruined with age - the cloth rotted through, the silver tarnished - but the majority of it was surprisingly intact. 

Hermione looked over at Ron, who was still staring around himself in shock. She could read the look on his face as clearly as if she were reading a book: All this was down here all these years, and we never knew. 

A sudden burst of sympathy for him propelled her to his side. "Ron..." 

But he was examining something in his hand. "Look at this." He held out a gold coin to her; she took it without much interest--then stared. The face stamped on the coin was ... familiar. "That looks like Harry," she said blankly. 

"It’s Godric Gryffindor," said Ron. "It’s a Gryffindor Galleon. Really old. They´re worth loads." He looked at it a bit wistfully. "I wish we could show it to Harry - he´d think it was hilarious, him on a coin." 

"He´ll get to see it," said Hermione firmly. She slipped it into Ron´s breast pocket, and patted the pocket closed. A gleam at the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she turned and picked up a tiny round mirror, edged with silver. It reminded her strongly of the Mirror of Erised, with a very slight difference - 

"I think we probably shouldn´t take anything from here," said Charlie from behind them. Hermione turned and looked at him. He was wearing an expression of mingled amazement and wariness. He pushed a stray lock of dark red hair back from his eyes, and sighed. "I know it’s tempting, but you never know what kind of spells - Ginny, what are you doing?" 

Hermione and Ron both turned, and saw Ginny. She was standing in a corner of the room, staring quite fixedly at the wall. Exchanging looks, Hermione and Ron hurried over to her. "Gin, what is it?" 

Ginny pointed. She was looking at a wall of even, gray stone bricks - or so it looked from a distance. Up close, it was possible to see that one of the bricks stood out. It was a pale silver color, metallic. All around it the wall was thick with dust, but it was clean, untarnished. Etched across the side of it was a sentence of what looked like poetry in thin, engraved letters: 

To be gold is to be good to be stone is to be nothing to be glass is to be fragile to be cold is to be cruel. 

Ron made a little groaning sound. "Another riddle?" 

"It looks like it," said Charlie, ever the cautious voice of reason. "Anyone want to venture a guess?" 

I know the answer, Hermione thought to herself. But instead of speaking, she looked at Ginny. 

Ginny hesitated. She took a step forward. Then she raised her hand, and with her right index finger drew, in the dust that covered the wall beneath the silver brick like a thick powdering of flour, the shape of a heart. 

Hermione thought she heard a faint chiming noise, as of distant music - and the brick slid out of the wall and toppled into Ginny´s outstretched hands. 

From which it was immediately removed by Charlie, bent on examining it. It turned out not to be a brick at all but a sealed silver casket, rectangular in shape. The top was engraved with a raised emblem: a magical creature with a lion's body, the head of a man, and a scorpion's tail. The tail was curved into the shape of a sideways 8. Infinity. Under its feet stretched a line of words in Latin. 

"What do those mean?" inquired Ron, staring suspiciously at the box. 

"I think it translates roughly as "My hovercraft is full of eels," said Charlie, looking wise. 

"It does not," snapped Hermione, taking the box from Charlie’s hands. "It means 'This belongs to time and the dark places.´ There’s also another word here, which looks, well, a bit like the word for 'death´...but it might not be." 

"Death?" said Ron. "Er...that sounds like the sort of translation one ought to be sure about before..." 

"Accio," interrupted Ginny, firmly. The box soared out of Hermione´s hands and landed in Ginny´s grasp. She glanced up, saw them all staring at her in astonishment, and smiled serenely. "This is mine," she said, with quiet conviction, and touched her hand to the side. The box emitted a single sharp musical note, and opened like a flower, the lid sliding back. Bright light shone from its interior, illuminating Ginny´s pale face as she reached into it and drew out something that dangled and shimmered on the end of a finely wrought gold chain...something shaped like an hourglass, something ornately wrought and carved... 

"Oh," breathed Hermione, looking from the glittering pendant to Ginny´s startled face. "It’s a Time-Turner." 

*** 

As the guard came towards them, Harry saw with shock that it wasn´t human, not a werewolf either, but something else entirely - it had a wrinkled, piglike face with long tusks that protruded from either side of its mouth. It moved towards them swiftly, but before Harry had time to do more than step back, Draco had raised his sword and put the blade through its face. It made a noise like a bucketful of water being poured into a patch of mud, staggered back and collapsed to the ground, blood pouring from its head. 

Draco looked ill. Harry, who had drawn his own sword, took a shaky breath and clapped him on the arm. "Well done, Malfoy." 

"No!" cried Fleur, hurling herself off the wall she had been pressed against, "they are shape-changers, I told you--" 

She was right. As Draco and Harry gazed in horror, the dead-looking guard on the floor wavered and blurred and became a squat, scaly creature that leaped to its feet and charged at Draco again. Looking startled, he dispatched it for the second time, and it became a many-limbed snaky thing. This time Draco chopped off its head, using another fencing move that Harry would have recognized, except by this point Harry had stopped watching, because a second guard had come into the room and leaped straight for him. 

He swung the sword at it and managed to slice open its throat. This did very little good, as it immediately turned into a tall man carrying a longsword, and charged at him. Harry stopped thinking and let the sword in his hand do its work - he had already discovered that if he cleared his mind, it seemed to come to life in his hand, or, more likely, that the undercurrent of knowledge from Draco was able to work its way up and direct his arm. But every time he tried to analyze what he was doing, he lost his footing or missed a stroke, so he stopped trying to plan and let his instincts take over, catching at the unfamiliar names of the motions he was making as they fled under the surface of his mind: bind, double bind, circle parry, riposte. 

He quickly slaughtered the longsword man-shape, which turned into a wolf, which turned into a large, fox-like creature, which turned into a petite beautiful woman in a leather breastplate. This last incarnation startled Harry so much that he staggered back and nearly lost his footing. He had barely a chance to blink when something silver whipped over his head and embedded itself in the shape-changer´s chest. It was Fleur´s knife. 

The creature screamed, blurred, and folded like a rag doll; this time, when it crumpled to the ground, it bled inky green blood and lay still. 

Heart pounding, Harry glanced at Fleur, who was looking down at the dead guard with a dazed expression. "Thanks," he said, and glanced past her to Draco, who was standing over the dead body of the first guard, white-faced, and looking just as shaken as Harry felt. 

Feeling Harry´s gaze on him, he looked up and quickly rearranged his features a look of bland amusement. "So," he said. "Did anything about that strike anyone else as ... unusual?" 

He grinned the smug grin that Harry always wanted to hit. 

"Shut up, Malfoy," said Harry wearily. 

Fleur meanwhile was bending down to retrieve her knife from the guard´s chest. "More of them will be coming," she said, straightening up and turning -- and then quite unexpectedly, she went white and pitched forward onto her hands and knees. 

"Fleur--" Draco covered the distance of the room in a few strides and knelt down next to her. "What is it?"
In response, she clutched at his arm. Normally Harry would have thought this was some sort of ploy, but she really did look distressed - she was paper-white and gasping, her other hand pressed to her chest. Slowly her breathing slowed and she glanced up, her forehead beaded with sweat - and Harry saw the fear in her eyes. 

Draco touched her shoulder. "You all right?" 

She nodded, almost speechless. "Yes - just give me a moment." 

Draco glanced up at Harry. Potter - go and see if you can get that door open. Use magic if you need to. We have to get out of here as soon as possible. 

Harry nodded and headed off down the hall, still ruminating on the odd look of fear in Fleur´s eyes. Well, they were in a very dangerous situation, it made sense to be afraid, but still... something about it troubled him. 

What did she know that they didn’t? 

*** 

Sirius stood in Snape´s workroom, strange smells tickling his nose. They weren´t bad smells, in fact he thought of it as the scent of magic at work: burning pitch, charred stone, mysterious herbs. Thick gray smoke rose from the cauldron over which Snape stood, twining up towards the high-raftered ceiling and smelling strangely of mint and cabbage. Fires burned along the table, crowned with fat-bellied cauldrons, glowing blood red with heat. That, combined with the warmth of the rising smoke, was making Sirius sweat through his clothes. 

Snape, by contrast, was looking almost cold, hunched into his robes and grumbling over his cauldron. "Adjustments will have to be made," he muttered. 

"Adjustments?" 

Snape glanced up and nodded. "The potion as I brew it is for administration to human beings. One of the key ingredients is wolfsbane. Obviously, some replacement for wolfsbane will have to be found in this case, as I doubt it would agree with your friend Lupin." 

"Quite," said Sirius, feeling lost. Potions had never been one of his favorite subjects. He much preferred Transfiguration, at which he had excelled. He thought fondly back to one spring afternoon when he had turned Snape´s cauldron into a fat orange hamster which had bitten Snape on the toe. No, he told himself, mustn´t think about that... 

"But then you always were far more interested in Transfiguration," said Snape, his beady black eyes glancing over Sirius, who jumped. 

"Erm," said Sirius. "yes, yes I was," and he began prowling up and down the room, trying to look preoccupied. It wasn´t hard: there were diversions enough in Snape´s workroom to preoccupy anyone. Cauldrons of all sizes, jars of dragon´s blood too hot to touch, flasks of weeping willow tears, caskets of powdered mandrake, silver jars of powdered unicorn horn. Absently, Sirius paused to examine the books stacked haphazardly on a table. One caught his eye in particular: a heavy burgundy volume with a gold-stamped spine that read Demons, Demons, Demons. He picked it up and flicked it open. Everything You Wanted to Know About Hell´s Denizens, and Several Things You Didn’t, read the flyleaf. 

"What are you looking at, Black?" demanded Snape. 

Sirius brandished the book in the air. "Demons, Demons, Demons - what a title." 

"It’s a book about demons. What would you call it?" 

"The Book of Demons?" Sirius suggested, flicking idly through the pages. 

"A name rife with single entendre." 

"It was just a suggestion -" Sirius broke off, staring down at a page of the book, his eyes wide. He raised his head. "Hey - can I borrow this book?" 

"You want to borrow my book?" 

"Is there an echo in here?" Sirius said, then shut his mouth hurriedly. Something about Snape reduced him to the approximate age of thirteen, try as he might to fight it. He just couldn´t be in the same room with the man without having fantasies about hanging him upside-down by his ankles over the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall with the words "Kiss Me: I´m Irish" magically emblazoned on his shorts. 

Not that Sirius had ever done such a thing. 

Certainly not. 

"I mean, yes, I’d like to borrow it..." 

Snape slammed the beaker he was holding down onto the table with force. "You having a problem with demons?" 

"You might say that." 

"Typical," said Snape shortly, without raising his head. "Take the book if you want it." 

"Thanks," said Sirius. He realized that this was the first time in his life he had ever thanked Snape for anything. It seemed momentous, but Snape apparently hadn´t even noticed. He was leaning back, his gaze fixed on the smoking cauldron before him, a look of satisfaction on his face. "It’s done," he announced. 

Tucking the book under his arm, Sirius strode over to the cauldron. The liquid in it had stopped bubbling, and had settled down into a thick, smooth silvery-gray material, somewhat reflective, like mercury, or moonlight. It was almost pretty. Sirius reached out a hand -- 

"Don´t touch it," said Snape harshly. 

Sirius took his hand back, nettled. "Well, pardon me for living." 

Snape looked up at him from under beetling dark brows, his black eyes flat. "No one gets pardoned for living," he said. "Not even you." 

To that, Sirius found he had nothing to say. He watched Snape as the Potions master filled a glass, copper-bound flask with a measure of the pale-gray liquid from the cauldron. He held it out to Sirius, who reached to take it. As he did, the firelight struck a spark off the red stone in his bracelet. 

"Vivicus charm?" asked Snape, eyebrows high. 

"Harry," said Sirius shortly, taking the flask and stashing it in the inside pocket of his robe. 

"It’s good that you have that," said Snape shortly. 

Good for me? Sirius wondered. Or good for Harry? 

He looked at Snape. Snape looked back at him. Sirius realized that they were done. He felt slightly lost. Now what? 

"Look," he began, haltingly, "do you want to come with me?" 

Snape blinked at him. "What?" 

"I thought," said Sirius, wondering if he might be going mad, "that you might like to see the effects of your potion. To know - that it worked. That’s all." 

"I made it. It will work," said the Potions teacher coolly. 

"Oh." Sirius blinked. "Well, in that case, I should tha--" 

"Don´t thank me," interrupted Snape. "The image of you trying to force that potion down the throat of a half-crazed werewolf is really all the thanks I need." 

Sirius looked down at the potion, and then back at Snape, who wasn´t exactly smiling, but had a smug sort of look around his eyes. "This potion," he said, "it isn´t going to make Lupin sprout bat ears or boils or any other side effects like-" 

"Oh, bugger off, Black," interrupted Snape in exasperation, and Sirius, realizing that he was fighting a losing battle, Disapparated, flask and book in hand. 

*** 

Ron, Ginny and Hermione were sitting in the living room of the Burrow. They were waiting for Charlie to come back from the kitchen, where he was having one of the Aurors who had been guarding the house hex-test the Turner for malicious spells. 

Ginny was waiting impatiently for Charlie, Hermione was reading a copy of From Basilisks to Werewolves: Anglin´s Magical Bestiary, and Ron was busy examining Fred and George´s magazine collection, which had turned up under a paving stone in the cellar. 

Hermione shook her head at him. "I cannot believe you are reading those." 

Ron grinned. "These are quality publications." 

"Ron, nothing you have to read sideways is a quality publication." 

"You know, these magazine are really old," he observed, conversationally. "In fact, I swear that’s Professor McGonagall," he added, holding the magazine up towards Hermione, who glanced at the indicated page without a great deal of interest. 

"It does kind of look like her," Hermione agreed. "Who knew she owned a kimono, or was so strangely fond of marmalade?" 

"Or was ever blonde?" put in Ginny, leaning over. 

Ron hastily yanked the magazine away. "Ginny! You’re not allowed to look at that!" 

"Why not?" 

"Because you’re a girl - and you’re too young." 

"Hermione´s a girl." 

"Yeah, but Hermione´s been hanging around with me and Harry for years. She´s thoroughly corrupted already." 

"Ron, I’ve got six older brothers. I´m thoroughly corrupted as well." 

Hermione giggled. "Ginny, don´t say that, you’ll give Ron an aneurysm." 

Ron grinned at her. Instead of making her want to grin back, though, she felt a wave of sadness. Ron smiling, his dark blue eyes narrowed with amusement - it hurt a little, looking at him, because while she loved having Ron around, even just the sound of his voice threw into painful relief the fact that Harry wasn´t there. So much of her life now it had always been both of them, Ron and Harry, Harry and Ron, flanking her, her constant companions. When she wanted to find Harry in the Great Hall, she would automatically look for Ron, his height and flame-colored hair making him stand out, and there would be Harry next to him. Looking at Ron brought vivid pictures of Harry to her mind: Harry and Ron tearing into their presents Christmas morning, bits of wrapping paper flying around them; Harry and Ron both trying to sneak looks at her notes in the library. She remembered telling them both that someone had written OWL RON WEASLEY FOR A GOOD TIME on the girls´ bathroom wall in foot-high letters, and Harry laughing so hard that Ron had to hold him up. It was as impossible to separate them in any permanent way in her mind as it would be to separate Harry from his scar, or Draco from his acid sense of humor. 

Ron waved a hand in front of her face and she came back to reality with a start. She tried to smile at him, but could feel her mouth being uncooperative. Ron looked curious. "What’s up, Herm? Thinking about your dreams again?" 

"So what if I am? Dreams have meaning," said Hermione firmly. 

"Tell me about it," agreed Ginny from the other side of the table. "The other night I dreamt that Draco and I..." she caught Ron´s look and shrank back. 

Ron used his warning voice. "Ginny. I do not want to know." 

"Here it is," announced Hermione, interrupting. They both look at her blankly, and she smiled, turning the book around so Ginny could see the picture she was looking at. "The engraving on the lid of the box - it’s a manticore." She read out loud: "the fearsome manticore has the body of a lion, the face of a man, and the stinging tail of a scorpion. Its huge jaws, as well, are unique: They hold two rows of razor-sharp teeth, upper and lower, that interlock like the teeth of a comb when the beast closes its mouth. The teeth can slash nearly to ribbons, and the manticore is said to relish feasting on humans. The most dangerous aspect however is its tail. There is no cure for the poison of the manticore, and no help for the victim who is but scratched by its deadly sting." Hermione shut the book and looked over at Ron, who was looking impressed. "See, there are worse things than spiders out there." 

Ginny looked surprised. "Why would that be on the lid of my box?" she demanded. "Do you think that means there’s something bad in there?" 

"Apparently not," said Charlie, coming back into the kitchen holding the Time-Turner. "Clean bill of health, I´m told," he added, although he continued looking at it with suspicion. 

Ginny held out a hand, her eyes lighting up. "Let me have it, then." 

"No," said Charlie firmly. "Not until I’ve talked to Mum and Dad." 

"But there aren´t any hexes on it!" Ginny´s voice came out on a squeak. 

"I know," said Charlie, looking apologetic but firm. "Gin, I just can´t. It might not be safe. After what happened with that diary, if I gave you this without asking them, they would -" 

"Charlie!" Ginny looked aghast. She spun around, looked at Hermione, who was anxiously fingering the Lycanthe around her neck. "Hermione, tell him--" 

"Ginny," said Hermione firmly. "He´s right." 

Ginny´s dark eyes flew wide, and without another word, she leaped from the table, and fled upstairs. Hermione heard her bedroom door bang shut. 

Charlie bit his lip, looking at Ron and Hermione. "You understand, I just can´t -" he began, then sighed, turned and left the room, closing the door behind him. 

There was a short silence. Hermione pushed her chair back from the table. "I think I want to go be by myself for a while," she said, biting her lip. 

Ron looked up at her, his mouth drawn down thoughtfully. "Do you really think the Turner might be dangerous?" 

She didn’t meet his eyes. "Are you willing to let Ginny risk it?" 

Ron looked startled. "When you put it like that...no." 

Hermione passed the back of her hand across her forehead. "I´m tired. I´m going to go lie down." 

She could feel his anxious gaze on her as she left the room, but she didn’t turn around. 

*** 

Draco sat propped against the wall in the entryway, Fleur beside him, leaning against his arm. He had shoved the dead bodies of the guards into a corner, and was trying not to look towards them. Although he had never killed a person before, it wasn´t true that he had never killed anything - he had been hunting with his father many times, and had killed all sorts of animals, both magical and otherwise. But he had never really enjoyed it, never gotten the taste for it that his father had. He didn’t like killing things. He was good at it. But he didn’t like it. 

Perhaps because of the dimness and the knowledge of death around him, he was suddenly visited with an all-to-vivid recollection of the land of the dead; the light too dim to show any color, the shifting shapes, the anxious ghostly voices calling out of the mist. The awfulness of the place struck him more forcibly now than when he was in it, and he felt again a lingering guilt - why should Harry´s parents, who had never harmed a soul, be doomed to something worse than Hell, while he, through no effort and no merit of his own, came back and walked among the living? 

Fleur interrupted his ruminations by rolling her head distractedly against his shoulder. He glanced down at her. Her hair shone like the edge of a silver coin in the half-light, and some of the color had come back into her face. She looked very pretty, although the fact that her hair color was so similar to his own always gave him pause. It was nice enough hair, and looked terrific on him of course, but he preferred darker hair really. 

"Draco," said Fleur softly. 

"Yes?"  

"I´m feeling better now." 

He smiled to himself in the darkness. "Good. Then you can release your death-grip on my leg. I´m losing feeling in my knee." 

"Oh, is that your leg?"  

"Ah, this is where we get into all the fun 'are you happy to see me or is that a broomstick in your pocket?´ banter. Go ahead. Don´t mind me if I just sit here." 

"You are no fun anymore," she complained. 

"Was I ever fun? Remind me of one second when I was fun, because I think I might have missed it." 

"Oh come, you are always fun," she murmured, sliding into his lap; as she reached up her arms, a strand of her silver hair tickled his cheek - and a shooting pain drove through his side. 

"Ow," he yelped, pulling away from her. 

Fleur dropped her arms, looking surprised. "What is it? Are you 'urt?" 

"Yeah, that thing got me in the side with its knife before I killed it. It’s not too bad though." 

"Is it bleeding? Did you tell 'Arry?" 

"Yes on the bleeding, and no on the telling Harry. And don´t you tell him, either. He´ll just whinge, and we’re in a hurry." 

Fleur set her round mouth into a firm disapproving line. "Well, let me see it, then." 

With a resigned sigh Draco leaned back against the wall, pulling his jacket aside and his shirt up to reveal the cut that slashed across his side, just under his ribs. It was shallow, but long, and still bleeding slightly. Fortunately the black shirt he wore had soaked up most of the blood, but it still looked unpleasant. 

"Draco!" Fleur´s eyes were wide. "You 'ave to let me fix it." 

"You said no magic." 

"That does not mean you 'ave to sit here and bleed." With surprising alacrity, she reached down and began tearing at the hem of her robe with her small knife. Within a few moment she had several good-length swathes of fabric. "Lean forward," she told him, and, kneeling with her knees on either side of his legs, began to wind the makeshift bandages around his midsection. She tied the first one tightly at his side, wound another one over it, tied that one as well, and sat back to examine her handiwork. "´Ow do you feel now?" she demanded. 

"Like a giftwrapped birthday present." 

She gave him a sharp look. He had rather thought that once she was done with the bandages, she might get off his lap. But she didn’t seem inclined to do so. Hmm. 

"I meant thank you," he corrected himself, pulling his shirt down. 

"I suppose you did." She put down the knife she had been holding, but didn’t take her other hand off his side. "I think you do appreciate what other people do for you, in your own unappreciative way." 

"You make it sound like people are constantly doing things for me," he said, nettled. 

"Aren´t they?" She looked up at him with wide eyes. "You really don´t know, do you?" 

"Don´t know what?"  

She reached out and put a hand under his chin, tilting up his face; no one had done that to him since he had been a little boy. She gazed down at him, the torchlight reflecting like cloud light off her porcelain skin. He was beginning to feel extremely dizzy and lightheaded, probably from the heavy sweet fragrance that clung to her hair and hands. Or, possibly, it was the blood loss. He rather hoped it was the blood loss. 

She leaned forward, and the sweet scent around her hair intensified. Her arms slid around his neck, sending a sharp bolt of heat up his spine. She tilted her head down and kissed him lightly on the mouth before moving to plant a row of butterfly kisses along the side of his neck. 

He knew it wasn´t on to snog one girl and think about another, but he couldn´t help thinking of Hermione, and the urgency of kissing her in the wardrobe, that feeling that if he didn’t kiss her at that exact moment, he might die. And kissing Ginny, which was like suddenly being in sunlight after a long time of being closed up in the dark. In contrast, Fleur was kissing him as if she were trying to find out something about him. Although what exactly she could find out about him by sticking her tongue in his ear was unclear. 

He tightened his grip on her arms, and with not a little reluctance, pushed her away. "Fleur," he said warningly. "Boom. Remember?" 

She smiled a secretive sort of smile. He stared at her. Her cheeks were flushed, but she was looking at him as dispassionately as if he were something in a petri dish; it was unnerving. 

"You seem... different than you did before," she announced. 

Draco was taken aback. "Different how? Besides taller and better-looking, of course." 

"Draco... is there someone you love?" 

"Someone I love?" The question jarred him slightly, and he was beginning to feel silly sitting there with her hand under his shirt, although having her gaze up at him with huge, admiring eyes was not entirely terrible. "Well, I suppose so." 

"Who?" 

"Me," he said firmly. 

"I mean someone you would die to protect. Someone you couldn't live without." 

"Other than me?" 

"Yes," she said. 

"Not the way you're thinking of it," Draco said carefully, "no." 

"Well," said Fleur. "Maybe there should be." 

"Ahem." A voice spoke out of the shadows. Draco turned his head and saw that Harry had returned, and was looking at them with his eyebrows raised. Draco grinned to himself, realizing how it must look, Fleur plastered against him, her hands up under his shirt. Not that it was any of Harry´s business, but the look on his face, mingled amusement and exasperation, was pretty funny.  

"Ahem," Harry said again. "Sorry to interrupt the gropefest, people, but I got the door open." 

"Really?" Draco drawled, not moving. Fleur didn’t move either. 

"Yes well let´s not all run up and thank me or anything," snapped Harry, looking miffed. 

"Thanks," said Draco. "Now go away and come back in ten minutes." 

Harry looked disgusted. "Okay, remember when you were Draco Malfoy, back before you were Don Juan? And you said, and I quote 'we have to get out of here as quickly as possible´? That was you, wasn´t it?" 

"Calm down Potter, I´m just kidding," grinned Draco, detaching himself from Fleur and standing up. Fleur dropped her hands, a bit reluctantly. She bent to retrieve her knife and moved off gracefully down the corridor, and now that she had sliced off the bottom portion of her robe Draco could see a lot more of her legs, which wasn´t necessarily a completely bad thing - 

"Earth to Malfoy," said Harry, waving a hand in front of his face. Draco raised an eyebrow at him. "Go ahead, stare at her. Take a big steamy gawk. Right. Now, perhaps we might get going?" 

"You know, she´s actually... kind of a special girl." 

"Yeah," grinned Harry. "Especially her--" 

Draco clapped a hand over his mouth. "That’s enough out of you." 

I said especially her - 

"I 'can 'ear you!" sang out Fleur from down the corridor. "I 'can 'ear you, 'Arry Potter!" 

Draco took his hand off Harry´s mouth, smirking. 

"Damn," said Harry. 

*** 

He stood before the stained-glass window, whose illustration of his family crest threw the shadow of a scarlet lion on the stone floor at his feet, and dappled the shoulders of his dark red robes with gold. He had been pacing, but now he stood still, his hands knotted together. She had rarely seen him so overwhelmed. 

"Godric... what is it?" 

He paused, and looked at her. "I have been to the battlefield," he said. "I did not want to tell Rowena but I have seen... terrible things." 

" Battle is terrible, you have always said so. And when Salazar does a thing, he never does it halfway." 

"He has raised up an army of monsters. Neither soldier nor sorcerer can stand against him." Godric paused, pushing a piece of black hair back off his forehead. "I have sent spies after him, but most never returned. Those who have tell me that all signs in heaven and earth spell disaster." He raised his eyes to her. "Is it true that she yet does not want him dead?" 

"She loves him." 

Godric winced. "Still?"  

"These things are not logical." Helga sat forward in her chair. "But it does not matter. I sincerely doubt that he can be killed. He would have to have a heart, for us to stop it beating." 

Godric shook his head. "You know my views." 

"There is another way. We must turn his own powers against him. Godric, you must promise me you will not go after him. Not until we are ready. No matter what he does. Promise me." 

But Godric was looking out the window, at a sunset made more scarlet by the tinted glass. "I would not have thought it, even of him," he said. "Where has he kept so black a hatred these twenty-seven years?" 

"Hate is only the other face of love," she heard herself say, but Godric had turned as if he wanted to hear no more of this, and held out his hand to her. 

"Come," he said. "What time we have to lose, we have lost already." 

Ginny turned over in bed, restlessly, her hands clutching the pillow. Patterns of infinity danced like lightning behind her eyelids. 

*** 

"I can too fight. I killed that guard." 

"Fleur killed that guard." 

"I killed it six times first!" 

"But it wasn´t dead when you were finished with it. Ergo, she killed it." 

Harry, stomping along the corridor after Draco, sulked. 

"Don´t sulk. For someone with all the grace and coordination of a pregnant wildebeest, you did great." 

Harry sulked more. "I killed it." 

"Failure has gone to your head, Potter. You’ve got delusions of adequacy." 

"I wish you two would shut up," said Fleur, in the dreamy sort of hopeful tone of voice of someone saying "I wish I could win a free holiday in Majorca." She shook her silvery head. "You obviously cannot stand each other. Why do you bother talking at all?" 

"Girl´s got a point," said Draco, hopping over a wide gap between two broken paving stones, and turning to watch Harry follow after him. The corridor they had been following was narrowing and narrowing as they went farther on; it was beginning to become claustrophobic. 

"Please. You love talking to me. Who else would put up with you?" 

"You only put up with me because you have absolutely no choice," said Draco, more easily that he felt. There was a stirring sense of uneasiness in his guts, and the worst part was that he wasn´t sure why - he wondered, not idly, how long it had been since he´d taken the Will-strengthening Potion Snape had given him. 

"Shouldn´t we be out of the castle by now?" demanded Harry, glancing around as they turned a corner. The walls were incredibly dusty, as if no one had passed through these corridors in years. 

"We are passing under the gardens," said Fleur, sounding superior. "It is better that way." 

Harry shook his head. "Why is it better this way?" 

'It is better," Fleur said, "because we will emerge in the center of the forest, which will be much safer. Harry! What a rude gesture to make at Draco behind his back. Oh, look, we are here, and -" 

They had come to the end of the corridor, a dank low space that terminated in a large, ironbound oak door with a square iron handle. Fleur took hold of it, pulled it toward her - and paused, a look of horror spreading over her face. She knelt down, running her fingers along the joins where the door met the wall. "Oh, no," she breathed. 

Draco felt a prickle of anxiety race up his spine. "What?" 

Fleur turned to look at them, her face a mask of misery. "Someone 'as sealed the door shut with adamantine." 

"Adamantine?" Draco knelt down next to her to examine the door. She was right. He recognized the sealing around the edges of the door as the now-familiar white-blue glassy substance he was beginning to hate with a vengeance. 

Fleur looked up at him, her blue eyes wide and horrified. "This is the last door," she whispered. "It leads outside - he must have sealed it closed!" She caught at his hand. "What can we do?" 

"Break it down," said Harry from behind them. He was leaning back against the wall, using the side of his sleeve to rub the green bloodstains from his sword. He looked at Draco. "Break it down." 

Draco turned back to Fleur. "Brace yourself," he said, grabbed her, and kissed her hard. She flailed her arms for a moment, and then relaxed into his embrace. He pricked his ears up for any kind of explosion or boom noise, but there was... nothing. He kept up the kiss for few moments longer, generally in the spirit that if a thing was worth doing it was worth doing right, and then released her. She gave a little squeak and stepped back, staring at him. 

"So," said Harry, his eyebrows raised, "anybody want to venture a guess where Slytherin might be?"  

Draco looked over at him. "Not really; why?" 

"Because if my only other choice is to stand here and watch you two kissing, I think I’d like to go spend some quality time with him. You know, I kinda think he liked me." 

'Don´t whine, Potter," said Draco dispiritedly. "What I was trying to do, didn’t work. We´ll have to try something else." He eyed Harry speculatively for a moment. 

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You're not going to kiss me, are you?" 

Draco grinned slowly. "I might." 

"I really think you should," Fleur said. "He's a much more powerful Magid than I am." 

"Desperate times," said Draco, and took a step towards Harry. "Shut your eyes, Potter, it'll all be over in a second." 

"I am not going to shut my eyes," Harry began indignantly. 

"So you like to kiss with your eyes open? Kinky, that," said Draco, cheerfully, and grabbed Harry by the front of the shirt. 

Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh, all right then. Get it over with." 

But Draco had frozen in place. A familiar tingling had begun to spread through his fingers where they touched Harry's shirt. A well-known familiar, dreaded feeling. He released Harry and stepped back abruptly. "We have to get back." 

They both stared at him. 

"We have to go back," he said again, more firmly this time. 

"Back where?" said Harry. "You think there’s another way out?" 

"Back where we started, where else?" Draco snapped. 

"Draco, we can´t," said Fleur, looking desperate. 

"What do you mean, we can´t? You got into the castle once through here. You can get back." 

"No I can´t!" cried Fleur, visibly upset. "Before, I was following that -" and she pointed at the emerald in his sword hilt. "I put a Tracking Charm on my broomstick and left it outside this door, as well, so I could find my way back to it - but Draco, this is a maze. If we 'ead back into it without knowing where we’re going, we could wander until we die. Did you not see all those skeletons in the corridors? What did you think 'appened to them?" 

"Well, have you got a better idea?" Draco demanded. 

"I’ve got one," said Harry. 

Draco raised an eyebrow. "You’ve got a plan? Forgive me if I don´t leap up and down with excitement, but your record in this department is not exactly gold standard. So what is it?"  

"Let´s try to break down the door together - you and me - you know our power is stronger when it’s combined, and it doesn´t matter if we do magic now, we’re so close to getting out. Besides, what other choice do we have?" 

Draco ruminated. The idea of holding hands with Harry did not exactly appeal to him at the moment, given the fact that he was increasingly positive that the Will-Strengthening Potion was wearing off. Once they got outside, Fleur could swiftly remove Harry from the vicinity via her broomstick, but at the moment, trapped together in a very small corridor with no appreciable way out - on the other hand, Harry was right, what other choice did they have? 

Well. There was one other option. But he didn’t want to have to take it. 

Draco stuck his hand out towards Harry. "Let´s do it." 

Fleur watched with raised eyebrows as they locked their hands together. Draco debated asking her to link hands with them as well but dismissed the idea, since they had never tried such an experiment and he was dubious about the side effects. He felt the familiar bolt of cold as Harry´s scar touched his own; then they directed their linked hands towards the door and - 

"Alohomora!" cried Harry. 

A jet of whitish light shot from their hands, struck the door - and bounced off, shooting back towards them like a bullet. Draco threw himself flat as it whipped over his head, nearly singing his hair, and turned to watch in amazement as the bolt of light, making the whistling noise of a teakettle on the boil, erupted down the corridor, ricocheting off the walls as it went and in general making a thundering racket. He sat up slowly and looked at Harry, who was gazing off after the bolt of light, eyes wide and jaw hanging open. 

"Great plan, Potter," he said. "Another world-beater. Congrats." 

Harry looked at him, and, instead of telling to shut up, suddenly grinned instead. He was covered in dirt from the corridor floor, and his green eyes sparkled in his grime-streaked face. "Ha!" he said cheerfully. "You’re just hacked off that it messed up your hair." 

Draco was about to respond when another half-painful jolt of feeling shot up his arm, and he suddenly realized that he was holding his sword again. He didn’t remember picking it up, either. 

He dropped it quickly and stood up, ignoring Fleur´s proffered hand. He glanced down one more time at Harry, who was trying to brush the dust off his shirt - a losing proposition. Then he glanced back at the sealed door, remembering the splintering of the adamantine box in Lupin´s office, shattered by Harry´s anger, and he wished that he could make himself feel that kind of rage, or pain, or grief, or anything that strong, but the emotional control drilled into him by a lifetime of his father’s teachings just could not be dissipated so quickly, no matter how much he wished it could. 

Do it, he said to himself. You have to. There’s no choice. 

"Harry," said Draco, and Harry looked up, his green eyes sparking with amusement, his mouth curving up into a smile. 

"... Draco?" he replied, mimicking both Draco´s use of his first name and his anxious tone. "What?" 

Draco could hear his own blood pounding in his ears. Why is this so hard? he thought to himself, furiously. If there was one thing he was good at, one thing he had been practicing unvaryingly and with great dedication since he was eleven years old, it was getting Harry Potter angry. Maybe he hadn´t gotten much practice at it in the past two months, but all those years of knowing exactly where to hit Harry to hurt him the most - that wasn´t something he could just forget how to do. 

Was it? 

"What?" said Harry again, still smiling, getting to his feet. "Are you going to tell me you slept with Hermione again, just to get me mad? You said yourself that won´t work." 

"No," said Draco. "I´m not going to tell you that." 

Something in Draco´s tone made Harry´s smile slip a notch. "What, then?" 

"When I died," said Draco, "I saw the Founders." 

Harry shrugged. "I know - Hermione told me." 

"They weren´t the only ghosts in that place," said Draco, and waited. Surely Harry would know what he meant. He raised his eyes to Harry, saw his expression, that there was no smile on his face and his green eyes were blank; Draco couldn´t read them. 

Harry shook away the dark hair that had fallen into his eyes. "Malfoy? What do you mean?" 

"I mean I saw your parents, Potter." 

The color went from Harry´s face as if it had been slapped away. "What?" 

"You heard me." 

Very slowly, Harry took the Gryffindor sword and turned to lean it against the wall. Then he turned back to face Draco. His green eyes were dark with confusion and a dawning mistrust. "That’s not funny." 

"I´m not trying to be funny." 

"You’re a liar," said Harry shortly, shaking his head. "You think I don´t know that about you?" 

Draco straightened his shoulders. He was vaguely aware of Fleur, somewhere off to his left, staring at them both with wide eyes, but the world had narrowed down to just him and Harry -- the way it had been for years; just him and Harry and what there was between them - call it opposition or hatred or whatever you like. The desire to hurt Harry as much as possible might have left him, but the ability to do it had not. Had, in fact, only grown stronger. How he would have killed, just last year, to know the things he knew about Harry now - how he felt, how he loved, what were the most important things in the world to him. Hurting Harry had always been hitting out in the dark, but now it could be as precise and explicit as surgery; and he didn’t want to do it, and yet he had to, because his father had always told him to consider every option and then pick the best one, and this might not be the best option, but as far as he could see, it was the only option. 

I´m not lying, Potter. It’s the truth. 

No immediate reply came from Harry, just a shock wave of confusion and hurt and astonishment. Finally, he managed a shaky and very unconvincing smile. "You think I´m going to fall for this twice?" 

Draco stared at him. "You think I´m lying about this?" 

"Of course you are. I know you. You just can´t see a belt without hitting below it, can you Malfoy? But I know what you’re trying to do. Good thought, but you were right before -- it won´t work." 

Draco stared at him. It’s like you told me before, Potter. You can´t lie telepathically. Did you forget? 

Harry went white, and this time seemed to have nothing at all to say. 

Draco didn’t look at him, just went on: When I died, it wasn´t all blackness. I went to a place in between life and death, where the murdered are waiting to be avenged. It’s not a pleasant place. It’s gray and cold, and the ghosts can´t talk to each other, only to living people. I did talk to the Founders. Only when I was in the middle of talking to them someone else came up to me and asked me if I was Lucius Malfoy´s son. It was your father. 

Now Draco did look up, and saw Harry staring at him, his eyes huge in his white face. His mouth moved, soundlessly. No. I don´t believe it. You talked to my father? You? 

Draco nodded. And your mother. 

Harry put his hands behind him and felt for the wall, leaning back as if he was having trouble staying upright. You’re lying. You must be. 

You know I´m not. 

I don´t understand... Harry sounded dazed. Why didn’t you tell me? 

I talked to your mother. She wanted to know what you were like, what your life was like. And Sirius. They asked about Sirius. They think you went to live with him when they died. They don´t know about Azkaban or your aunt and uncle, or anything -- they think you had a happy childhood, all riding on flying motorcycles and running in fields with a big black dog -it’s pathetic, really-- 

Something shattered in Harry´s face, something very basic and very necessary, and that, Draco knew, meant that Harry believed him; he wouldn’t look like that if he didn’t believe him. And now came the hard part. And it was hard. Harder than he had thought it could be - this was what he was good at, after all, and it really should have been easy. But it wasn´t. But he had to go on. They´ve been there all this time, you know... All the time you were growing up and I bet your aunt and uncle told you your parents were in Heaven; well, it wasn´t true, they´ve been waiting all this time for someone to come and avenge them-- 

"Shut up," said Harry out loud, his voice dangerously low. "Just - shut up, Malfoy. You don´t--" 

But that´ll probably never happen because face it, for them to be avenged someone would have to kill the Dark Lord, and that I´m not sure that’s possible now that -- 

"Get out of my head," hissed Harry, and hurled himself off the wall, fists clenched as if he were going to hit Draco. Draco braced himself, but Harry didn’t swing at him. He just stood there, shaking. Draco could feel the anger coming off him in waves, but it was very different than the emotion he had felt coming off Harry when he had gotten him to break the case in Lupin´s office - anger was only a part of what Harry was feeling now: a toxic cocktail of guilt, confusion, frustration, horror, and terrible grief. He´ll never forgive me, Draco thought, and neither will Hermione, not for this, and he pressed down on the thought the way he might have tightened his hand around a shard of glass, driving it into his skin, letting the pain lance up his arm and clear his mind and he heard his father’s voice in his head: Pain will make you stronger. 

"What’s wrong with you, Malfoy?" Harry demanded, his voice coming out on a gasp. "Why the hell didn’t you tell me any of this before? You should have told me right away, you lied to me, you’re a liar--just like you’ve always been--" 

What good would it have done you? If what Wormtail told Hermione was true, and the Dark Lord is dead already, then there’s nothing you can do, there’s no way to avenge them and they´ll be there forever and you’ll never see them again, not even if you die. 

Harry stiffened, glaring at Draco, his eyes wild with fury and something else as well. "I told you to get out of my head," he hissed. "Don´t you listen?" 

And they´ll be there waiting for you to avenge them and wondering why you haven´t - and thinking maybe you’ve forgotten all about them - 

"Shut up!" And now Harry did lunge at Draco, and caught him by the front of his shirt, slamming him hard back against the wall. For a moment, Draco thought the cracking sound he heard was his own head striking against the stone. Then he realized that it wasn´t - the adamantine door behind Harry was splitting and fissuring. Just a little more, he thought. Just a little -- 

Harry´s eyes were inches from his, the pupils so dilated they looked black. "What did you tell them?" he hissed. "What did you say to my parents?" 

"Let go of me, Potter." 

"Were you ever going to tell me? Were you?" 

"Sirius told me not to tell you -" 

"Don´t you blame this on Sirius!" Harry yelled at the top of his lungs, and with an almighty rending crash, the door behind him blew inward. The force of the explosion, like a shock wave, knocked them all flat; Draco felt the ground hit him hard, knocking the wind out of him. He rolled over, slicing his hands on shards of adamantine, and sat up. 

The door hung halfway off its hinges, swaying drunkenly. The floor of the chamber was littered with glittering bits of adamantine, like broken polar ice. Fleur was struggling to her knees, her bright hair powdered with sparkling shards. And Harry - Harry was sitting with his back against the wall, his face buried in his hands. The door gaped open behind him. 

Draco looked at Harry, and heard the voice from his dream in his head. For every profit in one thing, payment in some other thing. 

Draco got to his feet. He nodded at Fleur, and she went over to Harry. Vaguely, Draco could hear her whispering something to him. Harry got to his feet. He took his glasses off and began rubbing them against his shirt, looking down, but Draco could see even from where he was standing that Harry had been crying. 

Draco looked down at his hands, then back up at Harry, who was still staring down at the floor as if it held all the secrets of the universe. 

"We´d better go," he said, and without a word Harry about-faced and walked through the door as if he didn’t remotely care what was on the other side. Grabbing up both the swords, Draco went after him. 

*** 

Hermione glanced up and down the corridor outside Bill´s bedroom. Ginny´s bedroom door was closed; so was Charlie’s and Ron slept upstairs, on the top floor. The hallway was empty. Cautiously, she reached into the pocket of the loose robes she had thrown on over her pajamas, and drew out the Lycanthe. 

Immediately a sharp prickling shot up her arm and shoulder. She had felt the same prickling coming from the Lycanthe earlier that day whenever she had been near the Time-Turner. It was as if the Lycanthe was drawn to the Turner. At least, that was what it seemed like, what Hermione was banking on. It was instinct that was telling her what to do - which was unusual in and of itself, since usually Harry was the one who operated by instinct, while she navigated by the clear light of research and rationality. But with Harry gone, rational thought seemed to have departed. Instinct was left, and she was beginning to find out what a powerful force it was. 

She raised her hand, the Lycanthe in it, and it quivered, almost with excitement. Hermione began following after its tugging, which became more and more pronounced as she neared the stairs. She raced down them at top speed, trying to be as quiet as possible - fortunately her feet were bare - and clattered into the dark living room. It was like being dragged forward by a very energetic and enthusiastic puppy. The Lycanthe did not seem to care whether there was a path for Hermione, as long as the space it had to go through was clear, but she managed to keep to her feet, only banging once and very painfully into the side of the sofa with her arm. She swore, but kept on going as the Lycanthe dragged her into the kitchen, dark except for the steady glow that came from the crackling fire. Hermione followed the tugging over to the fireplace, where she knelt down, heedless of the fact that she was getting soot all over her knees, and glanced up the chimney. 

There was the silver box, stuck halfway up the flue between two bricks. Shoving the Lycanthe, now quivering like a struck tuning fork, into her pocket, she reached up and took hold of the box, lifting it down into her lap. 

"Hermione, what do you think you’re doing?" 

She jumped so violently that she cracked her head on the architrave of the fireplace. It took a second for the pain to wear off; when it did, and she took her hand away from her head, she saw Ron standing in the doorway of the kitchen. And he looked angry. His blue eyes were blazing and his red hair was sticking up around his head in bright red flames. 

Uh-oh, she thought, getting to her feet. She bit her lip, hard, and her voice wobbled as she asked: "Did I wake you up?" Only then realizing that this was a stupid question, since Ron was not in his pajamas but wearing the jeans and blue crewneck sweater he had been wearing earlier that day. His hands were shoved into his pockets, but she could see even from where she was standing that they were balled into fists, which meant that he was more than just angry - he was furious. 

"Hermione," he snapped. "What are you playing at?" He stalked across the room and snatched the box out of her hand. "Well?" 

"I was just -" 

"Sneaking around behind our backs? Going to see if you could figure out how to use the Turner on your own, never mind how dangerous it might be?" 

"Ron, I--" 

"I could tell just from your expression this afternoon that there was something on your mind, that’s why I asked you. But far be it from you to tell me the truth. You didn’t want Charlie to hide it because it might be dangerous, you wanted him to hide it so you could use it yourself!" 

"Stop yelling at me!" 

"Then tell me why you’re bloody acting like this!" 

Hermione had told herself she wasn´t going to cry, but it was no use. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, but they filled up and overflowed. Angry tears scorched her cheeks. "No," she said. "It’s got nothing to do with you, Ron." 

Ron went even paler with anger than he had been before. Furiously, he yanked the box open, and grabbed the Time-Turner out of it. He threw the box aside with a clatter and held the Turner up on its slim gold chain, winking and sparkling in the firelight. "Tell me what you want with this," he said, "or I swear, I’ll throw it in the fire." 

"No!" 

"Yes. I’ll do it." 

She couldn´t doubt his conviction. She raised her head, tasting her own tears in her mouth. "There are two ways you can use a Time-Turner," she said mechanically. "You can turn it over and over until you go as far back as you want to. Or you can set it to a specific time. That one is set." 

"Set?" Ron glanced at the Turner, then back at her. "Set to what?" 

She shrugged. "I don´t know. But I am going to go and find out." 

Ron shook his head. "No. Not you. Us. You think I´m going to let you go by yourself?"  

Hermione raised her chin, tasting her own tears in her mouth. "Ron," she said. "I don´t want you to come with me." 

He set his jaw in a stubborn line. "Why not?" 

She took a shuddering breath. "Professor McGonagall told me - third year -" she said hastily. "Never to go back in time by more than a few days. That the further you go back, the harder is for you ever to ever return." She pointed at the Turner with a shaking hand. "That Turner belonged to the Founders. I saw them making it in my dream. I think it’s set to a thousand years ago. That - that’s what I believe." 

"What?" Ron slowly lowered his hand. "And you were going to use it anyway?" 

"I will do whatever it takes to help Harry. The Founders knew Slytherin was going to come back. And they knew that when he did, their Heirs would have to try to figure out how to defeat him. They couldn´t exactly leave an instruction book around for us because whatever they did, it was powerful, dark magic and they couldn´t risk those spells falling into the wrong hands. So they left this -" and she pointed at the Turner - "locked in a place where only an Heir could find it. And it´ll take me to them and then they can tell me what we need to do." 

"You don´t know that," said Ron, staring at her. 

"No, I don´t," Hermione admitted. "But it’s a chance, so I have to take it." 

"And how are you planning on getting back? Did that figure into your scheme?"  

"I’ll find a way back," she said stubbornly, gesturing with her hand. "I’ll--" 

Ron grabbed her wrist tightly. "You’ll find a way? That sounds like a well-thought out plan. Don´t you even care what happens to you? Do you want to be stuck somewhere forever with no way to come back?" 

"If it will get me back to Harry I will walk back!" she shouted. "You wouldn’t understand! You don´t know how it feels--" she broke off at the look on his face, hurt and anger mixed together. 

"You think you’re the only one?" he shouted right back. "You think you’re the only one who suffers or feels guilty about Harry being gone? You think you own all that pain, and that gives you the right to try to fix this all by yourself? Everything we´ve ever faced, we´ve faced together! Are you going to change that now just because you and Harry are dating? I thought we could do better than that." 

He hurled himself around as if he were going to storm out of the room, and, suddenly afraid, she caught at his sleeve. "It’s not that," she protested quickly. "It’s this." She touched the Lycanthe around her neck, saw his eyes follow the gesture. "This gives me powers, Ron, Magid-level powers. If it didn’t--" 

"Oh, so now this is because I´m not a Magid," he snapped. "If I was Malfoy, you wouldn’t leave me behind." 

"Ron, you’re nothing like Draco." 

"And I bet you wish I was," said, with corrosive bitterness, and a flash of the old hatred in his eyes. "You think you know me so well. Don´t you?" 

"It’s not a question of leaving you behind," she began, and then her voice broke, and she trailed off, looking up at him. She wondered what Draco would do in Ron´s place; probably he would either say something that would make her laugh or he would somehow trick her into bringing him with her. But Ron wouldn’t do that. He didn’t trick people, and unlike Draco everything he was feeling always showed on his face. Even Harry could hide what he was thinking better than Ron could. But then again, both Harry and Draco had grown up hiding what they felt from adults who were at a minimum dangerous and unloving; Ron, on the other hand, had been brought up being nothing but loved and couldn´t have hid a feeling if he´d been paid to. She looked into his eyes now and saw the wreck of her plans, realizing in that moment just how selfish she had been. 

"Of course I know you so well," she said. "You’re my best friend." 

There was a short silence. Ron stood with his hands in his pockets, looking at the floor. Finally, he looked up at her. "Am I?"  

"You know you are," she said. "And I´m yours - I thought - aren´t I?" 

"You are," he said. "But so is Harry. You think I don´t feel guilty? I keep thinking I could have -should have - done something. I should have realized that Charlie wasn´t Charlie earlier. Don´t I know my own brother? But, apparently, I don´t. I was too wound up thinking about how much I hated Malfoy to pay any attention." 

"Why do you still hate Draco so much?"  

"I don´t - so much - any more," said Ron, a little hesitantly. He had the wary expression of someone about to yank off a bandage and anticipating the pain. "But I guess because - I was jealous." 

"Because of Harry?" 

Ron nodded. 

Hermione leaned forward and took him by the shoulders - or tried to. He was too tall, so she ended up gripping his upper arms. "Ron," she said slowly. "Nobody could ever, ever replace you. Not for me. Not for Harry. You are the first friend Harry ever had. He wouldn’t even know what it was like to have a friend if it wasn´t for you. He wouldn’t be who he is - I wouldn’t either -- without you." 

Ron looked down at her. "But you didn’t want me to come with you," he said. "What does that prove?" 

"Only that I didn’t want anything to happen to you," she said truthfully, hoping he believed her. "I just feel so helpless," she added, her words coming out in an angry rush. "I’ve got no control over anything - there’s no one to go to, and worst of all I’ve got no idea what´s really going on and I feel like we’re all hurtling towards some sort of horrible disaster without any way of stopping it. I feel like - like a pawn in some huge game I don´t even understand." She raised her head and looked at him, and saw his expression with surprise. "Why are you smiling?" 

"I was thinking about chess," said Ron. "Did you know that if the pawn can get all the way across the board, it becomes the most powerful player in the game?" 

Hermione sniffled. "You know I´m terrible at chess." She reached out, took his hand. "I was wrong -- I do want you to come with me - not because I feel guilty," she added quickly, seeing his eyes narrow, "but because I could really use your help." 

His shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly. "All right." 

She held out her hand for the Time-Turner, and after a moment, he gave it to her. She looped the chain around her neck, then threw it over his head as well. She was sharply reminded of having done the same thing with Harry three years ago. She looked up at Ron, the chain of the Turner cutting into her neck. "Ready?" 

Nervously, he nodded. 

Hermione took the Turner between her thumb and forefinger, and turned it over. 

Absolutely nothing happened. 

*** 

The first thing he noticed was how quiet it was. He had been so long in darkness and clamorous noise, his extra-sensitive wolf ears picking up every vibration and the endless tinny howling of the Call that the silence came as a greater shock than an explosion would have been. The last human thing he remembered was having been in the dungeon, in the cell with Sirius, telling him he should get out, get out while there was time... 

Lupin´s eyes flew open. He was lying on his back on a stone bench, staring up at a dank stone ceiling. The dungeon. Everything hurt, every part of his body, as if he had been pelted with stones. But he was whole. That he knew. 

He turned his head to the side, slowly, trying to ignore the pain in his neck. 

And saw Sirius. He was sitting on the ground next to the bench, his back against the stonewall, legs outstretched. He looked exhausted, even more than he did the night he´d flown his motorcycle across the Atlantic to get to King´s Cross by the time the Hogwarts Express left, but his eyes were alight. "Moony?" he said. 

Lupin rolled over onto his side, wincing at the pains that drove through his cramped muscles. "Sirius," he tried to say and he heard his own voice come out hoarse and nearly unrecognizable, as if it had been terribly strained. He cleared his throat. That hurt, too, but it didn’t matter. He sat up, and looked down at himself. He was wearing the clothes he had been wearing - yesterday? How long had he been a wolf? 

"Sirius," he said again, louder this time. "What happened...?" 

But Sirius was on his feet. He held out a hand to Lupin, who took it, and helped him to his feet. Then he embraced him, as he had embraced him that day three years ago in the Shrieking Shack, like a brother, although neither Sirius nor Lupin ever had a brother, or anything like one, outside of each other. Each other, and James. 

"You’re all right," said Sirius, pounding his friend on the back. "You’re all right." 

Lupin pulled back, wincing a little. "I am, I´m fine. I hurt all over as if I got steamrollered by a hippogriff, but I´m fine. Sirius, how long was I...?" 

"Two days," said Sirius, and his black eyes darkened further. "Around two days." 

"Did I hurt anyone?" Lupin felt his hand tighten hard on the blanket at his side. "Did I do - anything?"  

"I brought in a doctor to see you," said Sirius, looking somber. "But you ate him." 

Lupin felt his eyes widen, then he laughed, his chest tightening with pain but it was worth it just to laugh. "I suppose that’s a no," he said. "Padfoot -- how could you - how did you bring me back?" 

Sirius hesitated, then reached beside him and picked up a small clear flask banded with copper. "I didn’t. Snape did. He gave me a Will-Strengthening Potion for you." 

Lupin stared. "Really?" 

"Uh-huh." 

"And what did you have to do for him? Sirius. I´m not kidding. He wouldn’t just have done that for you for no reason."  

"Well, I had to agree to run naked through the halls of Hogwarts yelling 'Severus Snape rules!´ at the top of my lungs." 

"Well, it’s a tragedy school isn´t in session then, isn´t it? There will be no one to admire your nude form." 

"Good point." Sirius grinned at Lupin, his eyes lighting up as they so rarely did, and for so few people. Lupin could remember a time when Sirius had smiled at everybody. But that had been a long time ago. He looked down again at the flask in Sirius´ hands, and blinked - Sirius was wearing heavy leather gloves that reached halfway up his forearms. They looked like dragonhide. His left sleeve was ripped through, and bloody. I did that, he thought, his heart sinking. 

"Padfoot, how did you get me to take the Potion?" 

"You were pretty far gone," said Sirius flatly. "It wasn´t that hard. And I borrowed Narcissa´s gardening gloves -" he raised his right hand and grinned - "she usually uses them for trimming the Firetrap plants in the front garden." 

"But I didn’t bite you," said Lupin, anxiously. "Did I?" 

Sirius shook his head. "No. Which begs an interesting question. If you did, would I be a Weredog?" 

Lupin sat down on the bench, more out of exhaustion that anything else, and grinned. "Shut up, Sirius." 

Sirius smiled back. Then his smile faded. "I have to ask you..." He cleared his throat. "Do you remember anything?" 

Lupin shut his eyes. Lightning danced across his field of vision, and pressed against the backs of his eyes. Black night, silver moonlight, forest paths; a castle rearing up out of the darkness, black against a white sky. A voice at the base of his skull. Come. Here. Now. At night, the battlements were the color of liquid mercury. Guards stood ranged along them in robes of black and silver. He saw a familiar face, turned towards him, pale hair and eyes, sensed betrayal, darkness. 

His eyes flew open. "I do remember," he said, raising his eyes to Sirius´. "I remember everything - the Call - everything." 

Sirius leaned forward. "I’d better tell you what´s been going on." 

*** 

The first thing Draco saw on the other side of the doorway was that they were not, in fact, outside. They were in what was probably the most enormous room he had ever seen: bigger than the Great Hall at Hogwarts or the ballroom at Malfoy Manor. The walls were green-veined marble and rose up and up and up - how far underground were they? - terminating in a ceiling so high its detail was lost in darkness, as was the far end of the room. The floor was marble, too, smooth and slippery. The center of the room curved down into a huge circular depression, not deep or large enough to be an amphitheater, although it resembled nothing else. It was empty. 

Harry crossed to the edge of the circular depression and stared down into it, his face still quite blank. Draco looked at him, then turned back towards the door through which they had come. "Fleur -" 

He paused. And stared. 

Fleur wasn´t there. And the door through which they had come had vanished. 

He blinked his eyes shut, then opened them again. 

The wall he faced was as smooth, flat and unmarked as if there had never been a door there at all. 

Draco´s stomach turned over, hard. He didn’t know what was going on, but had a feeling that whatever it was, he wasn´t going to like it. 

He spun around and saw that Harry was still standing where he had been, motionless, staring into space. Gritting his teeth, he walked over to him and held out the Gryffindor sword. Without changing expression, Harry took it. 

"Potter," Draco said. "We appear to have a problem." 

Harry turned and gave him an unnervingly blank look. "I noticed. Fleur´s disappeared and so has the door. We appear to be locked in a room together. Again," he added, as if the concept was distasteful. "I told you we couldn´t trust her." 

"Potter -" Draco reached his hand out. 

Harry hurled himself around, fists clenched. 'Don´t you touch me," he hissed. "Don´t even think about it."  

Draco quickly retracted his hand. 

"I had to do it," he said, in a flat voice. "You know that." 

"Yeah. Whatever." Harry shook his head, looking Draco straight in the eye, and there was something in his expression that Draco hadn´t seen there in months -- contempt. "Just shut up, Malfoy. I really don´t feel like hearing your voice right now." 

"Are you planning on being hacked off about this forever?" Draco snapped. 

"Yes," said Harry flatly. "Yes, that would be the plan as it stands now. Since I discarded the smashing-your-face-in plan as impracticable." 

"Look." Draco swatted down his own rising irritation. "I´m -- sorry." 

Harry looked unimpressed. "Good for you." 

Draco blinked, stunned. Stunned that he had apologized, and more stunned that Harry hadn´t accepted it. Wasn´t that a rule of apologies? Didn’t the other person have to accept them? Wasn´t that the point? 

Apparently not. 

"You just don´t get it, do you," added Harry. "I thought you were my friend," and there was, to Draco´s ears at least, less bitterness in his voice than disgust. 

"I told you yesterday that I wasn´t," said Draco, his own anger suddenly rising to the surface. "Don´t you remember? Why are you acting like I stabbed you in the back? I didn’t." 

"No, you stabbed me in the front. Good for you. Congratulations on not lying for once," Harry spat, "Malfoy." 

The urge to hit Harry very, very hard was suddenly overwhelming. Draco took a breath, trying to still the shaking in his hands. When he was younger, he used to shake with reaction after especially tense Quidditch matches - not just little shivers but prolonged hard tremors that wracked his entire body. He was shaking like that now. If he tried to hit Harry, he would probably miss. Not that that was necessarily such a bad thing, considering - he wished there was some way he could tell the exact level of the Potion left in his blood. He didn’t know what would happen when it wore off. Maybe nothing. Maybe - 

Harry´s voice pierced his thoughts. "Malfoy..." 

Draco didn’t turn around, but he felt his teeth grind together. "What? What do you want me to do, Potter?"  

In answer, Harry´s hand shot out and grabbed the back of his cloak, spinning him around roughly. He heard Harry´s voice say, "Right now, I pretty much want you to panic." 

Panic? 

Draco stared. Something was emerging from the shadows at the far end of the room. Something huge. Something so enormous it was unreal, a monster out of a nightmare, out of legend, something that couldn´t possibly really exist... 

But it did. It was nearly as big as a dragon and the shadow it cast on the wall behind it was twisted and grotesque. It had a lion´s body, only much larger than any lion Draco had ever imagined. Leathery dragon wings were folded along its sides, and its huge, misshapen lion´s head was crowned with a man´s face the size of a giant´s. Foot-long sparkling claws extended from its paws, and its tail was not a tail at all but a long, supple-looking scorpion´s barbed stinger which whipped back and forth with the speed of a striking snake as it advanced slowly towards them. 

For once, Draco could think of absolutely nothing clever to say. 

"What," said Harry very slowly, "the hell...is that?" 

'Manticore," said Draco briefly, and raised his hand. "Accio!" His sword flew into his grasp. Harry was already holding his, but not with a lot of attention. He was staring at the manticore as it advanced on them. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw Harry raise his hand, point it towards the monster - 

"Stupefy!" he shouted. 

The jet of light that shot from his fingers struck the manticore squarely in the chest. It roared and reared back, and as its huge shadow fell over them, Draco realized what the very odd falling sensation in his stomach actually was. Ah. I´m completely terrified. 

He glared at Harry. "Well done, Potter. You’ve managed to piss it off. Did you know that its sting carries the most deadly poison known to man? Just thought I’d mention it." 

Harry ignored him. He was looking at the monster with narrowed eyes. It’s too big for a Hex to kill it, isn´t it. Well, I killed a basilisk with this sword. I can kill this too. 

Draco felt his jaw drop open. Harry, what? 

I´m going to kill it. Harry gave him a final, disgusted look. You can stay here, and with that, he tightened his grip on his sword and raced towards the manticore as if he had completely lost his wits which, Draco pondered, he possibly had. Even the manticore seemed surprised, as if it couldn´t quite believe its eyes either. Draco didn’t blame it. People probably didn’t run towards it with great enthusiasm all that often. This most likely accounted for why it actually allowed Harry to get within striking distance. Draco watched in astonishment as Harry completed his race towards the manticore, and drove his sword into its chest. 

The manticore roared, a terrible, earsplitting howl that sounded like a thousand trains pulling into a thousand stations all at once. It reared back and struck out with its paw, which sent Harry spinning into the air. He crashed into a wall, fell to the floor, and lay still. 

Seizing the hilt of the sword with its teeth, the manticore yanked the blade out of its chest, spit it onto the floor, and advanced on Harry, its barbed stinger swishing furiously. Draco felt a jolt of cold spread up his arm from his own sword. If it could have spoken, he knew what it would say, Let it kill him. 

Harry struggled to sit up; and then Draco couldn´t see his face as the manticore moved to block him... 

Draco raised his hand. "Impedimenta!" 

The Hex struck the monster in the side. It spun around, glaring furiously. Draco waved his arms. "Hey!" he yelled, although his mouth was very dry. "Over here! You big, hairy, uh, overgrown...get away from him!" He paused and blinked. Get away from him? I can´t believe I said that. 

Harry´s voice spoke in the back of his head. And neither can I. 

But the manticore appeared to have no such problem suspending disbelief. It whirled, roared, and plunged towards Draco, its claws skittering along the marble. He stared, too afraid to even really feel any fear. He couldn´t imagine his fencing skills were going to do him any good at all, it was simply too big and too fast and too- 

It struck out at him with a paw. He threw himself flat and felt the claws whistle over his head. The manticore made a low rumbling sound deep in its chest - laughter. It’s playing with me, he thought in disbelief. Bastard. He sat up, and the next swipe knocked him flat again, the claws raking his shirt, drawing blood. Wincing, he rolled onto his back and looked up - to see the huge, poison-barbed tail arch back, and then whip forward towards his prone form with the speed of a striking snake. He had time to throw his arms over his face, time to think two words - deadly poison - and then something swished over his head, and there was a hard thwack as something else struck the ground next to him. 

It missed, he thought. It missed me - and then he heard a bellow of anguish so loud it split his ears. He jerked upright, and saw Harry standing over him, his sword upraised and covered in blood, and behind him the manticore, rearing and spitting in agony, thrashing its tail, which was now jetting blood like a fountain. Harry had sliced it in half on its downward stroke, and the thump that Draco had heard had been the sound of the severed scorpion-tail landing next to him. It lay on the stone floor in a widening pool of viscous red and black liquids, curling and uncurling a little, spasmodically, about a foot long and as thick around as his arm. 

Rolling over, he seized the tail, dropping his sword as he did so, wincing at the slimy touch on his hand, careful not to grasp it near its poisonous barbed end. He sprang to his feet, vaguely aware that he was drenched in manticore blood, vaguely aware of Harry, holding his sword and looking as tiny in front of the rearing monster as a piece of debris in the face of an oncoming wave, shouting something at him, vaguely aware of the manticore´s furious yells as he darted towards it - it lunged, snapping at him and he saw its double row of razor-sharp teeth - he drew his arm back and as hard as he could threw the barbed stinger into the monster´s gaping open mouth. 

Reflexively, its teeth snapped down, its throat working to swallow--then it froze in place, choking and gurgling, lashing its head furiously from side to side as if it could rid itself of its own poison. Its knees began to buckle, and it screamed. Not like an animal might scream, but a human scream of pain and agony. The monster´s screams knifed into Draco´s ears, sending him staggering back, stumbling, and he felt Harry catch him hard around the arm, steadying him. Harry let go almost immediately, and the two boys stood and stared as the manticore gave another, final howl and crashed to the ground like a tree falling, its tail still jetting blood, rolling onto its back, head lolling, limbs rigid as broomsticks. 

"Is it dead?" Harry hissed, his voice hard. 

"Not yet," said Draco, and almost as if it had heard him, its huge dinner-plate eyes snapped wide open and staring. And it spoke. "You," it snarled, and its voice was like gravel running over sandpaper. Its gaze was fixed on Draco, who almost involuntarily took a step forward. The manticore´s scarlet-black eyes followed his movement, glittering. "You," it said again. "I am dying, and so I know you." The beast´s eyes rolled, the whites showing briefly. It seemed to be struggling to move. "Master," it growled. "Why do you slay me? It was you who made me what I am." 

Draco stared, feeling his heart beating in slow, uneven thumps as the adrenaline slowly drained out of his veins, leaving him dizzy and sick. "No," he said, his voice harsh. "Not me." 

"I know you," said the manticore again, and then a great spasm wracked its body; its eyes shut, and it died. 

After the howls and the screaming and the deafening sounds of the fight, the silence that descended on the room once the manticore was dead was profound. Draco turned slowly, and looked at Harry. And got something of a shock. Harry was drenched in blood - a little of his own, probably, but mostly the monster´s. His shirt was soaked scarlet, his hands covered in blood, his hair plastered to his head and scarlet rivulets running down his face and neck. Without looking at Draco, he said, flatly, "Give me your cloak."  

Numbly, Draco took it off and handed it to him. Harry plucked off his glasses, used the edge of the cloak to clean the blood off them, and then handed the cloak back to Draco, sliding his glasses back onto his nose. Through the newly cleaned lenses, he regarded the dead monster with narrowed eyes. His voice, when he spoke, was cold. "I guess we won." 

"It’s dead, if that’s what you mean." Draco glanced down at himself. He was splattered with blood as well, but not nearly as drenched as Harry. He looked up and found the other boy staring at him, his face streaked with blood, eyes burning with an unnerving green fire. 

"It said something to you," said Harry, gesturing at the manticore. "What did it say?" 

Draco blinked in surprise. "You mean you didn’t understand it?" 

Harry shook his head, narrowing his eyes. "No. No, I didn’t." 

It just asked me why I -- 

"Stay out of my head," Harry snapped, backing away as if distance could snap the connection between them. "We’re not okay. Did anything give you the idea that we were okay?" 

"You saved my life," said Draco, too wrung out to dissemble or pretend. 

"I would have done that for anyone," said Harry flatly. 

There was a short, unpleasant silence. Then Draco began, "But I -" 

"Shut up, Malfoy," interrupted Harry with such savagery that Draco did, in fact, shut up. "I think you should just--" and then his eyes went wide and his jaw dropped open and Draco turned around to see what he was looking at, and got such a shock that he felt as if his stomach had caved in. 

Fleur was standing only a few feet from them, a look of curious interest on her face. She was flanked by six tall hooded gray-clad men who could only be guards, their faced half-hidden by the hoods of their robes. And beside her stood Salazar Slytherin. He had one hand on her shoulder, and he was smiling. 

Behind them, the door had reappeared in the wall. 

Draco froze, then went for his sword, but it was too late. "Ligatus," said Slytherin swiftly, raising his hand, and Draco suddenly found his arms snapped behind his back, his wrists bound tightly together with what felt like metal bands. He turned his head and saw the same had happened to Harry; his wrists were bound tightly behind him, and from the blue-white gleam at his back, Draco suspected the cuffs were made of adamantine. 

Having bound them, Slytherin appeared to briefly lose interest in the boys. He walked over to the dead body of the manticore and knelt down, seeming to study it, his eyes dark and unreadable. Finally he raised his head, and looked at Harry and Draco. "You killed it," he said. "Did you not?" 

Neither of them replied. 

"Have you no answer for me?" the Snake Lord demanded. 

"Oh, I’ve got an answer for you all right," said Draco, "only you can´t see it, because my hands are tied behind my back." 

Then Harry spoke. His voice was flat with hatred. "Yes, we killed your monster," he said. "We killed it, and it died horribly, and we are not sorry." 

"As well you should not be," said Slytherin, standing up, a smile beginning on his face. "I brought you here to kill it. Thank you both, very much." 

*** 

"I can´t believe you tried to use it without me." 

"Ginny..." 

"You should have known it wouldn’t work. How thick are you?"  

"Very thick," said Ron fervently. He was sitting on the end of Ginny´s bed, Hermione beside him, both of them looking abashed and sincere. "Very, very thick. Especially Hermione." 

Hermione hit him on the shoulder. "I am not thick." 

"Ow," said Ron. 

Ginny sat up and grinned. She hadn´t been all that surprised when Ron and Hermione had come into her room and woken her up, nor had she been all that surprised when they´d told her what they had tried to do. And she had been particularly unsurprised that it hadn´t worked. The Turner was hers, after all, she´d known that the moment she touched it. She held out her hand for it now, and Hermione placed the tiny sparkling hourglass in her palm. The light struck a sharp gold spark off the Turner that lanced into her eyes. She shut them quickly, but not before the dark red afterimages had begun to form a picture against the back of her eyelids - she saw a huge field when men and beasts strove together, and smoke rising above it, and - 

She opened her eyes with a start, feeling that she was beginning to understand exactly why Hermione thought her own dreams were so important. The man in the dream she had had earlier had looked so much like Harry, even down to the untidy hair so black that it seemed like it should leave marks, like paint or soot, on his face where it brushed his skin. But he hadn´t been Harry...he had been someone very different. She had felt about him the way she felt about her own brothers, her flesh and blood. And she had called him Godric. She raised her eyes and smiled at Hermione and her brother. "Thanks." She looped the chain around her neck, and gestured that they should scoot towards her. 

"Wait a second," said Hermione, indicating Ginny´s lacy white nightdress. "Don´t you want to--change your clothes?" 

Ron hopped up off the bed. "I have to go get something anyway," he said, and left the room. By the time he returned, Ginny was dressed in jeans and a pullover jumper?, and she and Hermione were sitting on the bed, the gold chain of the Turner looped around their necks, looking at him expectantly. 

"What did you go to get?" Hermione asked curiously as he sat down beside them on the bed. 

"Nothing," said Ron, waving his hand airily. "Just something I thought we might need. You know," he added, reaching over to loop the chain around his own neck as well, "It occurs to me that Charlie is going to be furious when he wakes up and finds us gone." 

Hermione smiled. "If it works properly, he´ll never know we were gone at all. We´ll be back when we left." 

"And if it doesn´t work properly?" 

"Then we´ll have way bigger problems than Charlie. Like being stuck in the past forever." 

"It might not be so bad. We can invent the wheel and get rich." 

"Ron. It’s a thousand years ago, not a million. They had the wheel." 

"I knew that." 

"As far as you’re concerned, history class is just something that happens to other people, isn´t it?" 

"This from the girl who´s still bitter than there are only seven years of school." 

"Quit bickering," said Ginny firmly, "and hold on," and she flipped the Time-Turner over. 

The world turned upside down. 

*** 

Harry stared, flabbergasted. Even Draco seemed to be having a slight difficulty controlling his expression. He actually looked surprised for a millisecond, before his usual look of smug amusement returned. "Well, well," he said, looking from Slytherin to Fleur and back again. "This seems to be developing into a distinctly boring situation." 

Harry glared over at him. Didn’t he ever know when to shut up? Ever? He had to admit that at some points he had rather envied Draco´s ability to come up with witty remarks in even the most horrendous circumstances. Now, however, he just wanted to bash in his head and shut him up for good. 

Fleur seemed to be thinking the same thing. "Draco, be quiet," she said, warningly. 

"Be quiet?" burst out Harry, although he privately rather agreed with her. "Be quiet? Is that all you have to say?" 

Fleur raised her chin, her dark-blue eyes wide. "It is not for me to say anything at all," she said, "it is for my Master to say." 

Harry felt as if his jaw were hanging off its hinges. "Your Master?" 

Fleur looked delicately remorseful. "Surely you are not really surprised," she said. "Surely you guessed." She turned to Draco. "When you would not give me a source of power," she said, "I had to find another. I had to. You don´t understand --" 

Draco turned cold gray eyes on her. "Shut up," he said flatly, "you traitorous bitch," and Fleur looked shocked. 

"Now, now," said Slytherin, still smiling his off-kilter smile, "that is no way to talk to my Source." 

"Your Source?" Now even Draco looked shocked, and somewhat thrown. "Her?" 

Slytherin took a step towards him. Draco flinched back almost imperceptibly. "Did you think,´ said the Snake Lord, "that when you refused to serve me, I would not find another to take your place? And she´s almost as cute as you are..." 

Draco said nothing. He stared at the ground. Standing behind him, Harry could see his hands knotted together. He had been pulling against the cuffs, but had stopped. 

"That does not mean that I have no further use for you, Draco," said Slytherin. "You have exceeded my expectations of you. Many have faced the manticore and many have died. You are to be congratulated." 

Draco said nothing, didn’t look towards Harry, didn’t move. Harry had begun to feel like he might as well not have been there since nobody seemed to be paying attention to him. He would have liked to take the opportunity that being ignored offered him to do something brave and heroic, but couldn´t think of a thing, other than running up and kicking Slytherin in the ankles, which seemed ineffectual. It’s not much bloody good being a Magid, he thought bitterly, if you still need your hands to do magic. 

"Nobody else could have done it," said Slytherin. "That is why I had my Source bring you here." He smiled over at Fleur. "I must thank her, and you both," and here his gaze skidded briefly over Harry, for the first time. "My enemies placed that monster here to guard the one object that can return my powers to me. Only an Heir of the Founders could have defeated it. You two seemed like the obvious choices. Especially the Gryffindor heir, since he fancies himself a monster-killer," and his icy gaze darted over Harry. "He murdered my basilisk, tried to destroy my descendant - I thought it only justice that he should kill the manticore for me." His look of hatred faded as his gaze turned back to Draco. "Truly, boy, you did an excellent job. My thanks." 

There was a short silence. Harry rather expected Draco to make some kind of smart remark. Instead, he said, flatly, "I only did what I had to do." 

Harry blinked, wondering what Draco meant by that, exactly. The Snake Lord did not seem at all perplexed, however. He walked up to Draco, and as he had done to Harry in the Weasleys´ kitchen, touched his hand to Draco´s face. Draco didn’t move or flinch away or even acknowledge the gesture. 

Slytherin tilted his head to the side, his dark eyes boring into Draco´s. "As your ancestor, boy, I am proud of you. I wonder what the rest of them would say, if they were alive at this moment?" 

"Probably 'Let me out of this crypt! It’s dark in here!´" Draco suggested. 

Slytherin laughed, something Harry would not have imagined he could do. He must be in a good mood about the manticore being defeated, he realized with a sinking heart. They had been tricked every step of the way, tricked by Fleur, the guards had probably been sent to convince them that they really were escaping instead of just heading deeper into the castle. Fleur had never come in through the adamantine door, either. It must have been sealed that way for centuries, protecting whatever the manticore was guarding. Fleur had simply led them there. And they had been fooled. We are so stupid, thought Harry, such idiots. 

"You have earned yourself a reward. You will come with me now, and we will discuss it. That is," Slytherin added, "if you are willing." 

He gave the word willing an emphasis that made it sound like another word entirely. A word like death. A word like choice. A word like last chance. 

Draco raised his head. His eyes looked dark, nearly black, but perhaps that was only a trick of the light. "I am tired of fighting you," he said. "I ran away from you, and I spilled my blood and I took potions to hide myself from you and I even died, and still you won´t leave me alone." 

"No," said the Snake Lord, dropping his hand from Draco´s face. "And I never will." 

Draco closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he looked determined. "Unbind me," he said. 

Slytherin looked at him. 

"Unbind me," said Draco again. 

Slytherin glanced at Fleur. Then he lifted his hand and extended it towards Draco. "Liberas," he said. 

The cuffs fell from Draco´s wrists to the marble floor with a clatter, and vanished. Slowly, Draco brought his arms forward, and began rubbing the feeling back into his wrists. He looked at Slytherin. "Thank you," he said. 

Harry felt a very odd, very cold feeling begin to spread through his stomach. 

"You are my descendant," said the Snake Lord. "You should not be bound." 

"Oh, I very much agree with that," said Draco, and he grinned, not at anyone in particular. He seemed different than he had a short while ago, his posture tense and coiled, eyes alight with angry energy. He looked like a thoroughbred animal gone feral, an animal you wouldn’t want to approach, for fear of being bitten. "So I have a question," he added, rocking back on his heels. "You’ve untied me. What do you plan to do with Harry?" 

Once again, Slytherin looked over at Harry. His eyes were full of cold fire and hatred. Fleur did not look over, she appeared to be industriously studying the ground. "The Gryffindor heir has served his purpose," said the Snake Lord. "You could not have defeated the Manticore without him. But now that is done, now my full power can be returned; now, he will serve me better dead than alive. Guards," and Slytherin´s mouth quirked into a vicious sort of smile as he glanced up, "Bring the boy here." 

Two guards detached themselves from the group, strode over to Harry, and seized him. He struggled, his feet sliding in manticore blood, but it was no use - they were stronger than he was and without his hands, he was helpless. They dragged him forward until he stood less than a foot from Slytherin, almost face to face with Draco. 

"So," said Slytherin, looking from Draco to Harry and back again. "The Heir of Gryffindor - what shall I do with him?" 

Harry saw Fleur jerk her head up and stare in disbelief; Draco however, didn’t move at all. He stood with his chin raised, his gray eyes unwavering, and he had never looked more than he did that moment like Lucius Malfoy´s son. Even splashed with blood, clothes torn and filthy, he had the same defiant tilt to his chin, the same pride and coldness; he looked as much like his father as Harry had been told that he himself looked like James. Draco´s ice-water gaze slid over Slytherin, over the guard that surrounded the Snake Lord, over Fleur, and then over to Harry himself. Their eyes met for a split second -- there was nothing in Draco´s eyes, no expression- no fear or fury, hatred or despair, passion or compassion. Nothing. He looked at Harry, and then he looked back at Slytherin. 

"Do what you like with him," he said. "It doesn´t matter to me." 

Slytherin´s eyes opened wide with surprise; for a moment, he almost looked human. Then he turned to the guards. "Take the Gryffindor boy back to the adamantine cell," he said, and he looked briefly over at Harry, his black eyes considering. "Chain him up," he added, and the guards moved forward and, surrounding Harry, began to drag him away. He struggled to look back, not knowing why he wanted to, only that he did, and saw Draco and Slytherin standing together by the body of the dead manticore, Fleur a little ways away. From a distance, it was hard to tell which of the two men was Draco, and before Harry could discern the difference, the guards had dragged him through the door and shut it firmly behind them. 

Hmm, that was a rather depressing ending. Of the chapter I mean, not the story, obviously. Next chapter: Has Draco gone all evil, and if so, is he perma-evil or not? Where does the Time-Turner take Ron, Hermione and Ginny? Fleur, Salazar and Draco hang out, proving once and for all that blonds do have more fun; Harry spends a great deal of time chained up and shirtless (okay, kidding about the shirtless but not about the chained up), Sirius and Lupin figure out what that mysterious Key is for and go on a little trip. And Charlie, um, wears leather. Some more. 

References: 

1) "When you can flatten entire cities at a whim, a tendency towards quiet reflection and seeing-things-from-the-other-fellow's-point-of-view is seldom necessary." Terry Pratchett, 'Small Gods.' 

2) Nightmare Grass comes from The Secret Country by Pamela Dean. So does the idea of shapechangers who you have to kill in every shape they can transform into. 

3) "My hovercraft is full of eels." Monty Python. 

4) "Sirius brandished the book in the air. "Demons, Demons, Demons - what a title." "It’s a book about demons. What would you call it?" -- Angel. 

5) "This seems to be developing into a distinctly boring situation." -- Blackadder. 

Chapter 12