Chapter Four - Dragon & Glass  

As they flew, Draco discovered that the Epicyclical Charm worked a bit like a compass. Every twenty miles or so he would have to pause and reattune it, and the others would stop and watch, hovering in midair. 

Because he was the navigator, he flew ahead, with the others following him: Harry second, then Ginny and Ron behind. He was actually quite enjoying the flying. They had been flying low over a thickly wooded area for several hours, just skimming the tops of the trees, and the pull coming from the Epicyclical Charm had been growing stronger and stronger. When, after another hour, he paused and touched the Charm again, images came to him in a surge like a tidal wave: the forest, the burned castle, the round tower. And Hermione. He felt almost sure that the forest in the visions was the same forest they were flying over now. 

He looked over at Harry, Ron and Ginny, who were hovering a little ways away, and felt just a bit smug. There's no way they could do this without me. Not even the great Harry Potter. 

He was about to call out to them that he was sure they were getting close, when a flicker of movement below him caught his eye and he glanced down. And stared in surprise. It was difficult to see through the thick canopy of interwoven branches, but Draco thought he saw a line of dark figures, like a column of ants, wending their way between the trees. Were they people? It looked like much too orderly a column for animals -- but it was hard to tell. 

Draco leaned forward, trying to get a better look. And froze, as a searing wave of cold suddenly washed over him. He jerked upright, but the cold didn't vanish -- it was cold like no cold he had ever experienced, cold that burned and slashed at his insides like knives. Suddenly terrified, he tried to yell out for Harry, but he couldn't hear his own voice over the voices that suddenly began shouting in his head. 

You're not my son. That was his father speaking, of course it was his father. 

I am still young; I can have other children. 

Draco clutched at his broom. I don't care, he said stubbornly to his father, I don't care, but Lucius Malfoy's voice was suddenly swept aside by a rising and howling tide of other voices, voices he didn't know. Voices screaming in pain, choked off in blood, voices he remembered from his dreams, crying out in agony...and a man's voice, rising above them all, hoarse and angry, You lied to me! You lied to me! 

I never lied to you! A woman's voice, shouting her reply: You just believed it because it was what you wanted to believe! 

You'll be sorry you ever said that. Don't think I won't hurt you. Nobody can hurt you like I can. 

No! NO! The unknown woman was screaming now. What have you done to him? Where is he? Salazar, what have you done? 

Draco covered his ears, but the screaming went on inside his head, and worse than the screaming was the terror, pure terror washing over him like a thick black fog. Icy fingers of cold gripped him, prying his hands from the handle of his broomstick, pushing him over backwards. He saw the world turn upside down, the sky at his feet, and then, as he fell, everything went black. 

*** 

"Harry? Harry! Everything all right?" 

Harry glanced up to see Ron looking at him with concern. 

"I think so," said Harry, aware that he probably looked pale and unhappy. "If I didn't know better, I'd swear there were Dementors around." He slowed his broom to a halt, put his hands up to his face, took off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. 

Ron paused beside him, and a moment later, so did Ginny. Harry shuddered. "I feel so - cold," he said. 

Ron shook his head. "I don't feel anything." 

"Neither do I," chipped in Ginny. Harry put his glasses back on. "It's probably -" He broke off, looking surprised. "Malfoy!" he called. "You all right?" 

Both Ron and Ginny turned to follow Harry's gaze, just in time to see Draco, who was bent double over his Firebolt as if he were about to be sick, let go of his broomstick and topple sideways. As they watched in horror, he tumbled downwards, vanishing into the treetops, his broom hurtling after him. Ginny gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, and spun to look at Harry - but Harry was already gone. Pointing his broomstick directly at the ground as if he were diving into the Wronski Feint, he shot downwards through the trees, vanishing from sight. 

Without another thought, Ginny made as if to dive after him, but Ron clamped a hand on her wrist. "Ginny, no-" 

"Ron, we've got to go after them-" 

"Yes," he said patiently, "but neither of us is Harry, we can't fly like Harry. You'll get yourself killed." 

With his hand still gripping her arm, he tilted his broom downward, and she followed. She soon saw what he meant. The trees were so thickly interwoven here that it necessitated some tricky flying to keep from crashing or getting tangled in the branches. She remembered the speed at which Harry had dived down, and shuddered. Please let him be all right, she prayed. 

And Draco. Let him be all right, too. 

*** 

"Let me tell you a story," Salazar Slytherin said. 

Hermione looked at his face as he stared fixedly at the tapestry of the Hogwarts Four hanging on the wall. She couldn't tell if he was looking at Rowena or Godric, or even at the depiction of himself. His jaw was set. 

"Rowena," he said. 

Not knowing if he was talking to her, Hermione didn't move. 

"We were children together," he said. "I knew her from the moment she was born. I saw her in her cradle. I was five years old. I knew her and loved her every moment of her life. I watched her as she grew in power and in wisdom. I had little magical skill myself, to speak of. Until I was fifteen years old, I was the shame of my family. It was then that I told Rowena that I loved her. And she told me she loved me as well." 

Slytherin began to pace. 

"It unlocked something inside me. I discovered that not only was I capable of magic, I was in fact a Magid, of unmatched power and skill. I could speak the language of beasts and animals, I could control the weather, I could perform spells without a wand. But only as long as I was with Rowena." 

He glanced at Hermione, his eyes fierce and sad, and she felt again the same flicker of pity for him that she had felt earlier. They were children together; they loved each other as children. Like Harry and me. 

But he's nothing like Harry. 

"She was my Source," he said. "You might not know what that is. It is magic at its most mysterious. Without Rowena, I was more powerless than an infant. With Rowena by my side, I could have mastered the world." 

"But she didn't want you to master the world," said Hermione slowly. "Did she?" 

"I did everything she asked me to do," said Slytherin hoarsely. "I agreed to start the school she wanted me to start with her. I let her bring in Gryffindor and Hufflepuff as founders, although they were both fools. I did what I could to make myself stronger..." He made a noise like a hiss. "I recruited young wizards of strength and ambition, and among them I looked for one who might be a Source for me, as Rowena was. But there was never anyone, never anyone but her. And the more I needed her, the more she drew away from me. I began to see how she looked at Godric." He stopped pacing and stared at her with furious eyes. "She looked at him as, when we were children, she had looked at me. Filthy Muggle-born fool that he was, I knew why she had turned to him. It was because I was weak, because without her, I could not perform the simplest Summoning charm." 

Hermione very much doubted that this was why Rowena had stopped loving Slytherin, if indeed she had, but she kept her mouth shut. 

"As she withdrew her love from me, so did my strength ebb, and with it, my desperation grew. I could not bear to be weak; that she should see me as weak was intolerable to me. I did everything -- everything I could -- to make myself stronger --" 

"You did Dark magic," said Hermione slowly. 

"I called upon the powers of hell," said Slytherin. "I resolved that I would no longer rely upon her, that I would strengthen my power, so that I might face Godric without her by my side and she might know that I was powerful in my own right. I called upon the powers of hell and they gave me back what she had taken away from me when she left me for Godric." 

"She stopped loving you because you were doing Dark magic, not because of Godric!" snapped Hermione. 

"She should have loved me anyway!" he cried in his hoarse, buzzing voice. "As I would have loved her, regardless of anything she might have done!" 

Shaken by the fury in his face and voice, Hermione took a step backwards. 

"With the power I had gained, I was invincible," Slytherin went on slowly. "I determined to show her that I had become the greatest wizard in the world. I created armies of monsters and the armies of men withered before them. I mastered the lightning and the thunder; I could have cracked the earth in half, had I so chosen. But I would not destroy a world that had her in it. I still loved her, even after all she had done to me. Eventually, I went to find her, to show her what I had made of myself and see her pride in me. But she was with Godric. She no longer loved me. She had chosen Godric over me. She told me to get out and to leave them alone." 

Hermione looked at his face, followed his gaze to the tapestry, and suddenly knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, what must have happened. 

"You killed him," she said, in a voice that squeaked. 

"Of course I killed him." 

Hermione winced, not least because in her mind, Godric Gryffindor looked more than a little like Harry. 

"She must have hated you," she said savagely, and then, with an indrawn breath, "Or did you kill her, too?" 

"I did not kill her," said Slytherin, turning away from the tapestry. "In the end, I could not take her life, even after all she had taken from me. I could not kill her, and yet my own life meant nothing to me. I went into seclusion, performed difficult and dangerous magics. Magics that ensured I would rise again, rise when there was another Rowena in the world, another Source to feed my power..." 

"I'm not Rowena," said Hermione in a trembling voice. "She died a thousand years ago, so did Godric, and so should you have! You should never have come back!" 

Slytherin's dark and empty eyes rested on her for a moment. It almost looked as though he might smile. "But I came back for you," he said. 

"Your power went away when Rowena stopped loving you," said Hermione desperately. "So the Source has to be willing." 

"That's true," said Slytherin. 

"Well, I'm not willing, and nothing you can do can make me willing. Even if you torture me -" 

"Crude and unnecessary," said Slytherin. "And ineffective. It might break you, but it would not make you willing. No. When you become my Source, it will be out of love." 

"Love?" echoed Hermione, nearly gagging. "That's just - disgusting -" 

Now he did smile. "You are so much like her," he said. "And when I am done with you, you will be her. A better Rowena than ever I had, more constant and more true." He raised his head and called out, suddenly, looking past her, "Wormtail!" 

In seconds, Wormtail was at his side, grinning at Hermione, his beady eyes sparkling. 

"Is it time, Master?" 

"Almost," said Slytherin. "Take her back to the room and lock her in. Very soon," he said. "Very soon it will be time." 

*** 

Flying almost entirely by instinct, Harry shot downward, somehow -miraculously - managing to avoid impaling himself violently on a branch or crashing headfirst into a tree. He broke through the last of the branches, saw the ground careening up to meet him, and pulled up so sharply on his Firebolt that he toppled off, a foot from the ground, the broomstick clattering to the earth next to him. 

He was up on his feet in seconds, looking around. He was standing in a small clearing between tall trees. It was nearly dark down here, the dimness pierced only by a few shafts of dusty light filtering down through gaps in the leaves, but Harry's sharp Seeker's eyes immediately picked out Draco's broken broomstick, lying snapped in half in the centre of the clearing. And several feet beyond it, a dark huddled shape on the ground. 

Harry felt something oddly like panic. Maybe it was panic. He forced his feet to move, half-sprinting across the clearing towards Draco's crumpled form. As he got closer, he saw that the other boy was lying on his back, and for a moment, as he dropped down next to him and saw that his eyes were open, he was quite sure that Draco was dead. 

Then the gray eyes flicked sideways towards him, and with a funny hitching breath, Draco said, "Hey, Potter." 

Relief raced over Harry like a wave. "Malfoy - you're all right?" 

"Wind knocked out of me," said Draco. He started to lift himself up on his elbows and winced. "Oh. And my leg's broken." 

"Broken? Are you sure? Does it hurt?" said Harry, feeling that he sounded like a worried grandmother, but unable to help it. 

Draco shot him a look. "No, it feels great," he drawled. "I was hoping you'd snap the other femur for me. Double the fun." 

He really makes it difficult to feel sorry for him, thought Harry irritably. Then again, maybe that was the point. 

"I heard it break," added Draco, with a shudder. "It sounded like a broomstick snapping in half." 

"Speaking of which," said Harry. "Your broomstick's snapped in half." 

Draco looked at him with an expression of complete and utter horror. 

"It's not that bad," said Harry quickly. "You can share with one of us until we-" 

"Potter," said Draco in a strangled voice. He had gone the grayish color of unfired clay. "Look behind you." 

Harry turned. And froze. 

They were still quite a distance away, on the far side of the clearing. But there was no mistaking what they were, twenty or thirty dark-robed, dark-hooded creatures, twelve feet tall, trickling like slow venom out of the gaps between the trees and into the clearing. Coming closer. 

Harry felt his heart turn over. 

Dementors . 

Draco made a choked sort of noise. Harry whipped around and saw that he had clamped both his hands over his face and was jerking and twitching like a fish on the end of a line. 

"Malfoy?" said Harry, in wonder and horror, and then the first wave of cold hit him, nearly knocking him over and into Draco. He sucked in air, trying to clear the gray fog rising in his brain, and struggled to his feet, turning, facing the oncoming Dementors, trying not to stagger in the face of the wall of freezing cold they drove before them like an iceberg. 

Harry was vaguely aware of Draco, still making strangled noises behind him, as he reached for his wand with fingers that felt like a bunch of numb twigs tied to his wrist. The Dementors were halfway across the clearing now, moving towards him like a steady tide of poisoned water. That they were so silent as they moved only added to Harry's sense of being trapped in a nightmare. 

He attempted to steady his wand hand, which was shaking violently. Harry had never felt less able to summon up a happy memory than he did right now. He hadn't conjured a Patronus since his third year, and the happy memories that had served him then -- Quidditch matches and House Cup victories -- suddenly seemed very small and silly. He cast his mind desperately back - and thought of course of Hermione, Hermione telling him she loved him, only right now that caused him more pain than anything else. He forced his mind away from memories of rain and mirrors and Hermione kissing him, and thought suddenly of standing by the lake at school, holding Sirius' letter in his hand and watching Hermione and Draco laughing. And remembered that their laughter had been so infectious that he had laughed himself, especially at Hermione, who laughed often enough, but rarely like that - rarely so hard that she had to sit down, rarely with such bright and uncontrollable happiness. He felt his mouth twitch into a smile as he remembered how she had pulled him down next to her and buried her face in his shoulder, still laughing. 

He raised his wand, and heard his own voice as if it came from far away. "Expecto Patronum!" 

His wand jerked in his hand and the familiar silver-white light burst from its tip. Shaking with relief, Harry fell to his knees as the silver light formed itself into the shape of a stag with antlers like forked lightning, which lunged silently towards the Dementors. In the dim light the silver stag shone like a new moon, and the Dementors withered back before its light, almost seeming to evaporate as they retreated into the shadow of the trees. The stag darted after them, turning at the edge of the clearing to look back around at Harry - Harry raised his hand in a weak salute - and it vanished, plunging into the forest in pursuit. 

Still on his knees, Harry turned and looked at Draco, who had stopped twitching but still had his hands clamped over his face. 

"They're gone," he said. 

"Potter," said Draco, not taking his hands away from his face, "The sword-" 

"What?" 

"Take it off me - please take it off me -" 

Harry reached out and grabbed the hilt of the sword, which Draco had stuck through his belt (and had miraculously failed to impale himself on while falling), and nearly yelled. It was freezing cold to the touch, like ice. He gritted his teeth and closed his hand around the hilt, pulling it away from Draco. He felt the cold that radiated from it with the force of frozen nails being driven into his veins, and yet as he lifted it in his hand he felt suddenly - powerful. 

A small, cold voice spoke in the back of his head. 

Harry Potter? 

The sword was no longer cold. It had assumed the temperature of his skin. It seemed made of his own flesh, only harder, and more smooth. 

Harry , said the voice in his head, again. 

Harry dropped the sword and jumped back as if it had burned him. 

"Harry!" It was Ron's voice. Harry looked up and saw Ron and Ginny coming towards them, looking pale and worried. They were both covered in leaves and twigs were caught in Ginny's hair - they must have gotten stuck in the woods. Both of them were both carrying their broomsticks. "Harry -- was that --?" 

"Patronus spell," said Harry briefly. "Dementors." 

Ron looked gray. "We have to get out of here," he said. 

"Malfoy's leg's broken," said Harry in the same short tone. 

Ron dropped his broomstick and looked from Harry to Draco. Then he turned to Ginny. "Can you fix it?" 

She shook her head. "I did cuts and bruises last year-but bones, no. I don't want to risk it. If I made a mistake, I might end up giving him two bones in his leg instead of one, or making them bendy, or -" 

"Removing them entirely," said Harry, thinking of Lockhart. 

"Right," said Ginny. 

"So that would be a no," said Ron. "Okay. Harry. Come here. I need to talk to you for a minute." 

Harry followed Ron a short distance away and looked at him inquiringly. Ron had his resolute face on, which was sometimes a good thing and sometimes not. Harry admired Ron's determination, but it could be hard to get through to him when he had his mind set on something. 

"You're all right?" said Ron, looking at Harry searchingly. "The Dementors and everything...you're okay?" 

"I'm fine," said Harry. To his surprise, this was the truth. "They affected Malfoy a lot more than they affected me." 

"Which is weird," said Ron. 

"I agree," said Harry. "But I'm not sure it means anything. Scratch that. It means something, but I don't know what." 

"Well, you're going to get some time to find out," said Ron. 

"Meaning?" 

"Meaning I think Ginny and I should go find some help, and you should stay here with Malfoy. We're not leaving him alone in the woods with a broken leg, much as I dislike him, and I'm certainly not leaving him alone here with Ginny while you and I go off-" 

"Even with a broken leg?" grinned Harry. "He couldn't catch her if she ran." 

"What if she doesn't run?" 

"You're paranoid," said Harry. 

In response, Ron's eyes flicked past him. Harry turned, and saw Draco propped up against a tree trunk, Ginny bending over him, looking solicitous. 

"Means nothing," said Harry. 

"I'm not letting her hang around here playing nursemaid to Malfoy. Because ... well, because-" 

"Because playing nursemaid leads to playing naughty stewardess?" 

"Harry," said Ron, indignantly. 

Harry threw up his hands. "You are not sane on this topic." 

Ron shrugged. "I was brought up to hate the name of Malfoy and to look after my little sister. So tell me, what do you think I should do?" 

*** 

"Does that hurt now?" asked Ginny anxiously, pushing a stray tendril of hair out of her eyes. She had been helping Draco sit up against a tree trunk. His broken leg lay stretched out stiffly in front of him and he held Slytherin's sword across his lap. 

"Yes, it hurts," said Draco irritably. "My leg's broken. Of course it hurts. Doesn't anyone know any pain-killing charms? What's wrong with you people?" 

"Do you know any?" said Ginny sharply. 

"No," said Draco without a trace of embarrassment. 

"God, you're annoying, even with a broken leg," she said, but she said it without rancor. "Look, just sit back, will you?" She put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back gently so that he was leaning against the tree trunk. 

"Thanks," he said, and shut his eyes. 

"No problem," said Ginny softly, looking at him. In a way, she was glad he had his eyes shut, because it meant she could look at him without having to look away. He was pale, probably from pain, making the livid cuts where the branches had torn at his face stand out more clearly against his skin. So did his eyelashes, which were long and dark enough to make Lavender Brown desperately jealous. 

"Don't," he said, without opening his eyes. 

"Don't what?" said Ginny, shrinking back guiltily. 

"Look at me. It makes me nervous." He opened his eyes and studied her expression for a moment, then shut them again as if the sight of her pained him, and said flatly, "Forget it. It won't work." 

Ginny was floored. "What won't work?" 

He sighed. "I know what you're thinking," he said. "Same thing you were thinking last night. 'Hey, look at Malfoy, all cute and helpless and kinda nice. He's not mean; he's just wounded and bitter. All he needs is love and he'll be fixed right up.' Well, guess what?" he said, unmoved by her horrified expression. "I'm not nice. And I don't need love and I don't want to be fixed. Especially not by you." 

"I never," spluttered Ginny, lost for words. "I certainly don't--" 

"Good," said Draco. "Put it out of your mind. Because if you want a nice boyfriend, you'd be better off with the one you've got now. Imaginary Harry Potter." 

Ginny was so furious, she wanted to hit him. But he has a broken leg, she told herself. You can't hit someone with a broken leg. She wanted to say something nasty and cutting, something really vicious. She wanted to tell him no wonder your father didn't want you, or Imaginary Harry Potter's better than actual Draco Malfoy any day, just ask Hermione. 

But she couldn't. 

Instead, she just said, as evenly as she could, "Malfoy, have you ever even heard of tact?" 

He opened his eyes and looked at her. She was alarmed to see how dilated his pupils were, whether from shock or pain she wasn't sure. His irises looked black, ringed with only the thinnest band of silver. "Tact is just lying for grown-ups," he said in a level tone. 

"Is that one of your father's famous sayings?" 

"No," he said. "I made that one up myself." 

*** 

"Bagpipes," said Sirius firmly. 

Narcissa shook her head, not looking up from the bridal magazine she was reading. "No bagpipes," she said, reached for a pillow, and put it behind her head. She was sitting up on the bed in their hotel room, surrounded by magazine clippings, books, and pieces of paper on which she had scrawled possible wedding invitation designs. 

"I'm Scottish," said Sirius. "I want to have a Scottish wedding." 

Narcissa's mouth twitched into a smile, but she still didn't look up. "I told you that you could wear a skirt if you wanted," she began. 

"Kilt," interrupted Sirius, but she ignored him. 

"And frankly, I don't care if you wear suspenders and high heels to go with it. And I told you we could serve haggis, and if you want to spend all afternoon tossing the caber in the backyard, that's fine too. But I cannot subject my friends and loved ones to bagpipe music. Think what Draco would say." 

"Think what he'll say when you tell him he has to wear that suit you picked out." 

"That suit is charming," said Narcissa, but she was definitely smiling now. She looked up and grinned at him, and he smiled back at her. Like her son's, Narcissa's hair bleached easily in the sun, and now hung in long salt-white ringlets down her back. She looked like she had when they were at school together, he thought. And she did look a great deal like Draco, only the curves of her face were more rounded than his, her chin not as pointy, but the silver-gray eyes that tilted at the edges were the same. 

"He'll hate it," said Sirius, positively. 

"You don't know that." 

"I do know that." 

Narcissa rolled her eyes. "You must overcome this delusion that Draco is an exact copy of you when you were his age, Sirius," she said. "I agree you would have hated that suit, but Draco likes clothes, he always has, and -" 

"And I'll bet you fifty galleons he sets that suit on fire before he agrees to wear it." 

Narcissa suddenly become very interested in her magazine. 

"Don't want to bet me, do you?" grinned Sirius. "How about, if I win the bet, I get to have bagpipes?" 

"No bagpipes," said Narcissa in a muffled voice. 

"There will be bagpipes, or there will be bloodshed," said Sirius. 

"Then it'll be a lot like my last wedding," said Narcissa with an evil grin. 

When she smiled like that, Sirius thought, she really did look like her son. 

"Er," said a voice - neither Narcissa's nor Sirius' - from the corner of the room, and both Sirius and Narcissa jumped. "I'm sorry to intrude, but -" 

Sirius leaped to his feet, staring at the fireplace. "Remus?" 

"I'm sorry," repeated Lupin, whose head and shoulders were visible in the ornamental fireplace in the corner of the room. He looked extremely unhappy. "I wouldn't bother you if it wasn't important." His eyes flicked over to the bed. "Sorry, Narcissa." 

She pushed the magazines away and looked anxiously from Lupin to Sirius. "Is everything all right?" 

"Harry," said Sirius, dropping down on his knees next to the fireplace. "Has something happened to Harry?" 

"He's gone," said Lupin heavily, and felt even guiltier than he already had as the color drained out of Sirius' face. 

"Gone?" 

"He's gone, his broomstick's gone. My office is destroyed, and the sword I was telling you about - that's gone, too." 

"Draco," said Narcissa quickly. "Have you asked him where Harry is?" 

"I can't," said Lupin. "He's gone, too." 

Narcissa went as white as Sirius had. 

"So they're together," said Sirius. "Are you sure they destroyed your office?" 

"Positive," said Lupin. "Remember that snow globe you gave me, with the redheaded nymph in it? Well, she saw them come in. They took some implements of mine - an Orb of Thessala, some other things. And they took the sword." He winced. "They smashed the case I put it in. It was adamantine. I've no idea how they did that. I couldn't have done it." 

"They're Magids," said Sirius hoarsely. 

"They're children," said Narcissa, standing up. "They took the sword - what does that mean? Will it hurt them?" 

"I honestly don't know," said Lupin. "I've been searching all day in my books for some mention, some idea what might happen. I can't find anything but vaguely worded prophecies." He rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand, and Sirius saw that his fingers were grained with ink. "But if you're asking me whether it might hurt them, the answer is yes. Yes, they might well be in danger." 

"We're coming home," said Sirius. "Right now." 

Lupin's shoulders sagged with relief. "Thanks, Padfoot." 

"Thanks has nothing to do with it," said Sirius, looking anxiously at Lupin. "This is Harry we're talking about. My responsibility. And Draco. My responsibility too. I should have paid more attention to what you said last time we talked, about them being in worse trouble than we could possibly imagine." 

"I really didn't think this would happen," said Lupin, looking defeated. "I've got no idea what I'm going to tell Dumbledore, I don't know if even he knows what the possibilities are--" 

Sirius looked like something had just occurred to him. "Remus," he interrupted. "How long has it been since you've been back to the Forbidden Forest?" 

"The - the Forest?" said Lupin blankly. "God. Ages." 

"If I tell you where to go, could you - could you go there for me and meet someone I think could help us?" 

"Go to the Forbidden Forest and meet someone for you?" Lupin repeated, looking bewildered. 

"Would I ask you if it wasn't important?" 

"Yes," said Lupin, firmly. 

"Moony..." 

"All right, all right," said Lupin. "What do you want me to do?" 

*** 

"Stop that," said Harry irritably. "It's extremely annoying." 

He glared over at Draco, who made a face back at him. In the two hours since Ron and Ginny had been gone, Draco had discovered that if he held out his hand, palm up, towards Slytherin's sword, it would leap off the ground and into his grasp. This had struck him as such a neat trick that he kept tossing the sword several feet away, making it jump towards him, and then repeating the process. It was giving Harry a headache. 

On the other hand, Harry thought, with a twinge of guilt, the pain of having a broken leg must have been awful, and so far Draco hadn't complained. 

"Malfoy," he said. 

Draco looked up. "What?" 

"When the Dementors get near you, what do you hear?" 

Draco looked at him narrowly. "A cappella singing," he said finally. "I hate a cappella singing." 

"Very funny. What do you really hear?" 

Draco was unable to repress a very small shudder. "Horrible things," he said. 

"Well, if you quit flinging that sword around, I'll teach you how to get rid of them." 

Draco hesitated for a moment, then laid the sword down carefully next to him. He looked over at Harry, who got up from where he was sitting, came over, and sat down next to Draco, trying to remember exactly how it was that Lupin had explained the Patronus spell to him three years ago. 

"Okay," said Harry. "First you've got to think of a happy memory." 

Draco blinked. "A what?" 

"A happy memory. It's important. The happiest memory you can think of, and you have to really concentrate on it." 

Draco shut his eyes and thought. And thought. A happy memory. When had he been happy? Not with his parents, certainly. Not at school. He thought of the wardrobe back at Malfoy Manor, of sitting there with Hermione, eating Chocolate Frogs and kissing. He thought of the night that he had prevented his father from killing Harry, how afterward he had lain in the grass with Harry and Sirius and Hermione sitting around him, and Hermione had told him that he had been amazing and brave. But these memories were colored now by the knowledge that she didn't, in fact, love him, and although he knew that and accepted it, probing the memories too much still set off small agonies inside him, like the pain-warnings of a broken tooth. 

He opened his silver eyes and looked at Harry. "I haven't got one," he said. 

Harry looked surprised. "What do you mean?" 

"Just what I said," said Draco. "I haven't got a happy memory." He shrugged. "Don't make a big deal about it, Potter." 

Harry was stunned. "Surely there must be something." 

"Well, there was that time Slytherin won the House Cup my first year. Oh wait, you came along and ruined that one, didn't you? And we've never won a match against you, so that won't work either. What can I say? You've screwed up every happy memory I might ever have had." 

Draco had shut his eyes again. The invisible presence of Hermione sat between them, unmentioned. And for the first time in his life, Harry felt a twinge of guilt for having succeeded somewhere that Draco had failed. "Come on, Malfoy," he said hesitantly, "I mean, you must have won something. A contest. Anything." 

"Well, there was that time my mum entered me into the Handsomest Boy in Chipping Sodbury contest when I was seven, and I had to wear this outfit she made, and I've suddenly realized that no power on this earth is going to get me to tell you the rest of that story, so never mind. No, Potter, I haven't won any contests." Draco shifted his back against the rough bark of the tree. "Guess you'll have to think of some other spell." 

"There is no other spell," said Harry, casting about in his mind for some solution. "Malfoy..." he said slowly. "How's your imagination?" 

"My what?" 

"Your imagination. Can you imagine a happy memory? Make something up? A fantasy." 

"One of those things where I'm sitting on top of a pyramid wearing sun-god robes and being pampered by half-naked temple virgins?" 

"If that makes you happy," said Harry, looking dubious. "May I remind you that we're going for happy here, Malfoy, not, er..." 

"Right," said Draco, opening his eyes and grinning. "Happy. Okay." He screwed his eyes shut again, and concentrated. Harry watched the moonlight playing over Draco's face, making dark semicircles under his eyes, printing the shadow of leaves against his pale skin, and thought, he's going to be my brother. My brother. He willed it to seem real to him, but it didn't. 

"Okay," said Draco, opening his eyes. "Got one." 

"Yeah?" said Harry curiously. "What is it?" 

"If I told you it involved Hermione, a string-quartet rendition of the theme music from 'Brigadoon', and a pair of luminous shorts, would you be angry?" 

"Yes," said Harry. 

"So don't ask," said Draco. He struggled to sit up straighter and without thinking, Harry held out his hand to assist him. Also without thinking, Draco took it, and let Harry help him into a sitting position. "Okay," he said. "I'm ready. Let's try the spell." 

*** 

They practiced the Patronus spell for over an hour, until Draco could conjure up his 'happy memory' so clearly that it nearly seemed real to him, and Harry had begun stifling yawns with such frequency that Draco eventually began to feel rather guilty. 

"Look, Potter," he said. "If you want to sleep for a little while, go ahead and sleep." 

"But the spell-" 

"You're useless like this, anyway," said Draco. "You keep saying "Expecto Patroooooooooonum." He mimicked an enormous yawn. 

"I don't need to sleep," said Harry mulishly. "I just want to lie down for a minute." 

"So lie down," said Draco, and stifled a smile as Harry lay down, buried his face in his arms, and fell instantly asleep. Draco studied him for a moment, curious, and remembered the thin, gawky little boy he'd first met six years ago in the robe shop in Diagon Alley. He'd looked at Harry, seen his raggedly cut hair and his taped glasses, and thought: charity student. He'd nearly dismissed him outright, but something had made him start up a conversation. 

There was something about Harry that made you pay attention to him; Draco couldn't have put a finger on what it was, but knew somehow that it was this, this peculiar and indefinable quality, that he had always envied. Harry had it even when he was exhausted, even when he was asleep, and Draco thought with a relieved and sudden flicker that he no longer felt particularly envious of Harry in that way. It had passed and now, instead of hating Harry for possessing a quality that made people want to be around him, he wanted to be around him, too. He was happier when Harry was around -- he felt stronger, better, a healthier, more content version of himself; when Harry wasn't there he felt snappish and irritable and as if he'd lost something important. He had no idea what that meant -- perhaps it meant that he and Harry were becoming friends? 

What a very strange thought. 

He looked over at Harry again. Harry had shifted slightly, so that he lay on his side, and without really thinking about it, Draco reached over and tugged Harry's cloak up and over his shoulders, covering him against the cold night air. Harry shifted but did not wake up and with a sigh Draco drew his hand back, looked down at the sword in his lap, and then up again quickly. A flicker of movement at the corner of his eye had caught his attention. He glanced again at Harry, who lay still and unmoving, and then, with a feeling of distinct unease, turned and looked behind him. 

Two red eyes, veined with yellow, stared at him out of the darkness. 

Draco jumped violently, and a searing pain shot through his leg. 

"Hello," said the demon. Oh, God, Draco thought hopelessly as the demon moved closer. He looked around wildly, saw Harry still asleep, his arm thrown over his face. 

That sword is evil and I don't want it near me, Malfoy. You're going to get one of us killed. 

Draco looked back at the demon, which was staring at him out of whirling red eyes. I'll just...sit very still, he thought. Maybe it'll just think I can't be bothered to get up. 

He cleared his throat, hoping his voice wouldn't sound squeaky. "You again," he said. "You shouldn't sneak up on people like that." 

"I have come for my other half," replied the demon, looking at the sword in Draco's lap with something that looked unpleasantly like frustrated appetite. 

"Now, I just had this feeling you were going to say that," said Draco. 

"For a thousand years I have sought it, over sea, under earth -" 

"Yes, yes," said Draco, the pain in his leg making him impatient. "I've heard it all before. 'I've sought it for a thousand years, it's my other half, I'm a scary demon, gimme the sword, gimp boy.'" 

The demon's eyes gleamed. "You grasp the essence of my mission." 

"Now correct me if I'm wrong," said Draco. He held his left hand out in front of him, palm up, and Slytherin's sword leaped into his grasp and rested there with ease and precision. The demon's eyes widened. "But I can kill anything with this sword, right? Human...monster..." He jabbed the sword toward the demon, who skittered back. "Demon..." 

"Are you threatening me?" said the demon in a hissing voice. 

"So it can hurt you," said Draco, sounding pleased. 

"You can´t be certain," the demon said, looking shifty. 

"No, it's just a wild stab in the dark. Which is what you'll be getting in about one minute if you don't start being a bit more helpful." 

The demon bared its teeth, but backed away. "A thousand years ago," it said fiercely, "I traded my powers, in the form of that sword, to a wizard who had made a bargain with my people. He used it to become the most powerful sorcerer of his or any other time. That was all part of the bargain. But it was written in the contract he had made that at the end of a certain term, he was to give the sword back." The demon shook his head. "He never did, and vanished from the sight of the world. Vanished, still owing me! Still owing me my other half!" 

"I don't suppose," said Draco, "that anyone involved in this transaction had the forethought to get a receipt?" 

The demon looked at him blankly. Draco sighed. "Didn't think so." 

"That sword will do you no favors," snarled the demon, fixing its parti-colored eyes on Draco's. "You cannot hope to master it, control it, make it serve you. Instead, you will serve it. Surely you have seen in your dreams what awaits those who use this sword unwisely?" 

Draco could feel the sword hilt cold under his hand. "No," he lied. "No dreams." 

The demon stood up. Draco tightened his grip on the sword, not knowing what he would do if the demon lunged at him - he couldn't imagine fighting it off while sitting down. 

"You have no right to the sword," the demon growled. "What right do you claim?" 

Draco thought for a moment. Then he said, very calmly, "I claim the right of inheritance. This sword belonged to my father, and my father's father, and his father before him. Your contract was not with my family, nor with me. Therefore I owe you nothing." 

For a moment, the demon did not reply. Draco was disappointed. He had thought it was rather a good speech. Very Malfoy. 

"You are determined to retain the sword," said the demon, at last. "Your mind is made up?"  

"Yes," said Draco. "It is."  

The demon shrugged. "All right," it said, sounding almost cheerful. "Keep it. May it bring you joy." And it vanished. 

Draco stared aghast at the spot where it had been standing, feeling suddenly and vastly uneasy. He thought, rather randomly, of something his father had said - one of Lucius Malfoy's many useful pieces of advice. If a difficult task suddenly seems far too easy, someone is screwing with you. Be suspicious. 

"Damn," he said, softly. "I've been had." 

His eyes darted around the clearing, searching for any sign of the demon - would it come back? Would it come back, and bring others with it? 

The clearing seemed quite empty, dark and silent, and then, out of the corner of his left eye, he saw a movement in between two trees. He felt his hands starting to shake - this was too much, it was too much. 

With a feeling of total unreality, he saw two dark-robed, dark-hooded figures step into the clearing, moving forward, utterly soundless. He tried to say Harry's name, but no sound came out of his throat. He let the sword slide out of his hand and pressed his back hard against the trunk of the tree. 

The one thought in his mind was that somehow he had to get to his feet. Seizing the hilt of the sword, he turned it upside down, and plunged the tip into the earth. Then slowly, agonizingly, he used it to pull himself upright, trying to put as little weight as possible on his broken leg. He thought he heard the bones grind against each other, and felt his hand so slick with sweat that he nearly lost his grip on the hilt. But he was on his feet now. Leaning hard on the sword, his back against the tree trunk keeping him upright, but on his feet. 

He looked up and through a dizzying swirl of colored spots dancing in front of his eyes, he saw the two dark figures moving closer. Closer to him, and to Harry, who was still asleep. 

He sucked in air through his teeth, and tried to draw his mind back, away from the clearing, the pain in his leg, his shaking hands, and concentrated hard on feeling happy. Happy, he told himself savagely, happy. He shut his eyes, and felt his hand where it rested on the hilt of the sword. It was cold under his palm, cold and full of power. His heartbeat slowed as his grip on the hilt tightened, and when he raised his left hand it had stopped shaking. 

Concentrating as hard as he could on his happy memory, eyes shut tightly, he shouted at the top of his voice: "Expecto Patronum!" 

Something huge, something vast and silvery-white, shot from his fingers like a bolt of summer lightning. The force of it knocked Draco backwards, and for a moment all he saw as he hit the ground was a sheet of white light shattered by black spots of agony. My leg -- it hurts, God, it hurts. "Harry," he tried to say, but his voice disappeared as the whole world seemed to tilt and fade for a moment, everything spinning away into darkness behind his eyes. 

I won't faint. I won't. 

He forced his eyes open. And saw three very pale faces staring down at him. Harry, Ron and Ginny, all of them looking white with shock and surprise. He struggled to raise himself up on his elbows. 

"The Dementors--" 

"Malfoy," said Harry, reaching out and putting a hand on his chest, pushing him back down to the ground. "There weren't any Dementors." 

"But I saw--" 

"That was Ron and Ginny you saw," said Harry, and there was amusement in his voice. "Sorry." 

Draco let his eyes flick from Ron to Ginny. They both nodded. 

"Damn," he said, with feeling. 

"Still, the spell thing was pretty cool," said Ginny. "And you looked very scary and all, at least before you shrieked and fell over and fainted." 

"I think you're mixing up 'shriek' with 'howl of murderous rage'," Draco said, and squinted at her. "Are you two all right?" 

"The Patronus spell is supposed to protect you against threats," said Harry. "Ron and Ginny aren't a threat, so your Patronus just sort of...vanished." 

"And I didn't even get to see it," said Draco mournfully. "Was it cool?" 

"It was." Harry's tired, dirt-streaked face broke into a smile. "You did it, Malfoy," he said. "Whatever your happy memory was, it worked." 

Draco was too tired to smile back at him, but he said, "You know, Potter, it really doesn't involve Hermione, a pair of luminous shorts, and --" 

"I know," Harry cut him off. Ron and Ginny were now looking extremely curious. "I know when you're trying to wind me up, Malfoy. Okay," he added quickly, looking as if he were remembering the destruction of Lupin's office. "Most of the time." 

Ginny was gazing at Draco anxiously. "You're shaking," she said. 

"The shaking is a side effect of the terror," said Draco. "Don't worry about it." 

Harry looked over at Ron. "Did you find anything?" he asked quietly. 

Ron shook his head. "Nothing," he said. "Nobody around for miles. No towns, no houses. We came back because it was getting dark." He and Harry exchanged an anxious glance. "I was thinking," Ron went on in a low voice, "maybe we could make some kind of stretcher or something. Hang it between the broomsticks. We can't stay here, and we've got to do something." 

"It makes me nervous when you carry on about me like I'm not here," said Draco waspishly. 

"An easily solved problem," said Ron. He grabbed Harry by the back of his shirt and dragged him a few feet away, where they commenced talking in hushed whispers. 

Draco raised himself up on his elbows and looked at Ginny. She looked back at him with an indifferent expression. "Weasley --" he began, but she cut him off. 

"It was a dragon," she said. 

"It was what?" said Draco, startled. 

"Your Patronus," she said, dispassionately. "It was a dragon. It was silver. I thought you should know." 

Draco opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by a hoarse shout from Ron, and another shout of surprise from Harry. Ignoring the searing bolt of pain that shot through his leg, he twisted around to see what was going on. He saw Ron and Harry standing with their wands out, and beyond them the dark shape of a tall man. A stranger had Apparated into the clearing. 

*** 

Lupin turned uneasily in the centre of the moonlit grove, his ears pricked, alert for noises. He had not been in the Forbidden Forest for many years, but it had changed surprisingly little, and he had had no trouble following Sirius' directions. Of course, he and Sirius had crisscrossed these paths, four-footed, enough times as children that it was not surprising they were burned into his brain. 

The Forest, being a wild place, spoke not just to his human senses but also to his wolf-sense. Through the narrow corridors of trees, he glimpsed the movements of tiny animals - the skitter of their feet, the pale green jewel-like flash of eyes. He breathed in cold night air and the attendant forest smells of mold and moss and animals, of things growing and things dying. He knew this forest was home not just to deer and dormice, but to giant spiders, vampires, hippogriffs, centaurs and unicorns, all manner of things magical, none of which he would have had cause to fear in his lycanthropic form. 

As a man, though - but of course, he was never quite a man, never quite only a human man. So it was not entirely surprising that he heard the centaur approaching long before it became visible, breaking from the cover of the trees and cantering towards him. It was a male centaur, young looking (although that meant nothing), with pale blond hair and a palomino coat. A satchel was slung over his back and his eyes as he approached Lupin were flinty and suspicious. 

"You summoned me," he said. "But you are not Sirius Black." 

"Sirius Black sent me," said Lupin quickly. "He said you owed him a favour. I am his friend. He sent me to collect the favour in his name." 

The centaur's nostrils flared. "Your kind and my kind are old enemies, werewolf," he said. "You should count it as a favour that I do not trample you to death. If there were more of us here -" 

"Yes," said Lupin, "Where are the rest of you? Sirius told me to ask for Ronin, and Bane --" 

"Gone," said the centaur, with a hoarse laugh. "Fled in terror, all of them." 

"In terror of what?" 

"In terror of He who Rises," said the centaur simply. He looked narrowly at Lupin's blank expression. "Surely you know who he is. Surely you know that he made your kind, as assuredly as he made the vampires and the veela, a thousand years ago." 

Lupin felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. "Salazar Slytherin," he breathed. "So he has come back." 

"He is weak now," said the centaur. "He has only just risen. He does not yet possess his old powers. But that will come. We have seen it in the movements of the planets, have read it in the ancient books." 

"What ancient books?" 

The centaur ignored him. "Now, he retains only enough power to summon his children to him. Already they have begun to travel." 

"The Dementors," Lupin said. "So that's where they've gone." 

The centaur cocked an eyebrow. "Soon, perhaps, you will feel the summons yourself, werewolf. What of the others of your kind?" 

"I am not often with others of my kind," said Lupin. "But I have felt no summons." 

"Not yet," said the centaur. 

"But if he is weak - if he lacks his old powers -" 

"He lacks a Source," said the centaur. "He can do nothing without a Source. But he will find a new one. It is foretold. And when he does-" 

"A Source?" Lupin interrupted, bewildered. 

The centaur sighed. "I do not have the time to instruct ignorant werewolves," he snapped. "I have the whole Forest to keep in order, and I am alone." He reached around and into the satchel slung over his shoulder, withdrawing a ragged and dilapidated-looking book. He tossed it to Lupin, who caught it reflexively, and stared. "Read that," said the centaur. "Then you will know as much as I do." 

"This book," said Lupin, staring down at it, "this will help us?" 

The centaur laughed without mirth. "Nothing will help you," he said, turned and broke into a canter. Lupin watched him go, then looked down at the book. He knew he should leave the forest as quickly as possible, but he couldn't help it - he yanked the book open with frantic fingers, and stared down at the pages. 

They were covered with incomprehensible squiggles. If it was a language, it wasn't one he had ever seen before. 

"Bugger," said Lupin, with feeling. 

*** 

"Ron?" said the stranger, sounding flabbergasted. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?" 

Ron dropped his wand. "Charlie?" 

There was a long, shocked silence. Eventually, Harry had the presence of mind to raise his wand. "Lumos," he said in a shaken sort of voice. 

White light blazed from the wand tip, illuminating the startled-looking figure of Charlie Weasley. To Harry, he looked much as he'd always looked -- dressed in a heavy leather jacket and looking just a bit burnt, as if he'd narrowly escaped being toasted by dragon fire, although the expression of stupefaction on his face as he stared at his younger brother was new. 

"Ron?" he said again. 

Ron made a gurgling sort of noise, paused, and tried again. "I -- what are you doing here, Charlie?" 

"I was -- I came here because -- there was a dragon here, wasn't there?" said Charlie, casting about wildly. "I heard there was a dragon on the loose here - so I Appararated - I saw it for a second but it vanished -- Ron, what the hell are you playing at, hanging about in the woods, miles from home, chasing dragons? Are you deranged?" 

Ron looked furious. Harry stepped in quickly, "There wasn't any dragon, Charlie," he said. "Well, there was, but it wasn't a real dragon. It was a Patronus." 

"A what?" said Charlie, staring. "Scratch that," he added hastily. "I know what a Patronus is, by why would you need to conjure one?" He looked at Harry. "Harry, did you-" 

"No," said Harry firmly. "It wasn't my Patronus." He pointed the beam of wandlight towards the tree where Draco was lying, Ginny beside him. "It was his." 

Charlie's jaw dropped, although he wasn't looking at Draco. "Ginny?" 

"Hallo, Charlie," said Ginny in a small voice. 

Charlie pelted over to the tree, dropped down by his younger sister, and took her by the shoulders. "Ginny! Are you all right?" 

"I'm fine, Charlie, I'm fine, that's just a scratch, really, I-" 

"Ow," said Draco, in a small, pained voice. "Ow. Please don't sit on the broken leg." 

Charlie jumped back, then stared at Draco as if seeing him for the first time. "Who're you?" 

"Draco Malfoy," said Draco. 

Charlie looked shocked. "Lucius Malfoy's son?" 

Draco looked rebellious. "Yes." 

"And that was your Patronus?" 

"Yes," said Draco again. 

Charlie's face broke into a grin. "That was a hell of a dragon." 

"I didn't see it," said Draco, still looking rebellious, although slightly less so. 

Ginny interrupted. "His leg's broken, Charlie," she said. 

Charlie stopped grinning. "How did that happen?" 

"It's kind of a long story," said Ron, looking nervous. 

"Fell off my broomstick," said Draco shortly. 

"Apparently not that long," said Charlie, and dropped down on his knees next to Draco. "Which leg?" 

Draco pointed. While Ron, Harry and Ginny watched -- Ron with surprise, Harry and Ginny with concern -- Charlie took out his wand and touched the tip of it gently to Draco's leg, just below the knee. "Compound fracture," he said briefly. "Looks like you put a right lot of work into messing up this leg, young Malfoy. Broken and twisted. You'd better come back to the camp with me - it’s not far from here. All of you," he added, looking pointedly at Ron. 

"How?" said Harry. "Malfoy can't fly with his leg like that." 

Charlie reached into his breast pocket and removed a small silver box, about the size of a cigarette case, which he flipped open to reveal a hollowed-out square in which rested a small metal orb, about the size of a marble. "Portkey," he said. "We all carry them." 

"And when we get to your camp, you can fix Malfoy's leg?" said Ginny anxiously. 

"When you work with dragons, you get used to dealing with horrible injuries," said Charlie cheerfully. "One of our medic wizards can fix him right up. And in the meantime," he said, giving Ron a hard look, "you can tell me just exactly what you've been up to out here." 

*** 

Hermione, who had been sitting with her back to the stonewall of the tower, looked up as the door opened. To her surprise, it was Wormtail, not Slytherin. He closed the door behind him and turned to face her, and she saw that in his hand he was carrying a carved silver goblet, which was smoking and steaming. 

A cold fist of fear clenched inside her stomach. 

"Hello, Hermione," he said calmly. 

"What do you want?" she said coldly. 

"I just don´t understand," he said in an unpleasant voice, "how a clever girl like you never learned any manners." 

"You know what I don´t understand?" said Hermione. "How Sirius and Harry´s father ever could have been friends with you in the first place. You’re disgusting." 

She thought, but could not be sure, that she saw him flinch. A moment later, though, his smile widened, and he took several more steps towards her. She saw, with a sinking sensation, that in the hand that wasn't holding the goblet, Wormtail was gripping his wand. "My Master has given me permission to hurt you," he said. "Just give me the chance, and I will." 

Hermione was silent. 

"Quiet now, are you?" he said nastily. "Throat dry? Here." He held out the goblet to her. "Have a drink." 

She stared down into the intricately carved cup, which held a bluish-red liquid that swirled and steamed and popped with bubbles. It had a strong smell - not a bad smell, actually, rather a pleasant one, like lemons and roses and freshly baked bread. 

"I'm not thirsty," she said tightly. 

Wormtail grinned. "It's up to you," he shrugged. "You can either drink it, or I can put the Cruciatus Curse on you and torture you until you no longer have the use of your limbs. Then I'll force you to drink it anyway. But if you want to be stupid and brave, I'm all for it. Because I really want to torture you." 

Hermione could feel her heard beating in ugly, pressurized thumps against her ribcage. She remembered how Lucius had used the Cruciatus Curse on her back at Malfoy Manor, trying to get her to tell him where Harry was... remembered wishing she could die. It wasn't something she would ever forget. 

Dully, she held out her hand and let Wormtail put the goblet in it. She considered dashing the contents of it onto the floor, but Wormtail was gazing at her with an expression that looked horribly like hunger. He was itching to hurt her. She could tell. 

She raised the cup to her mouth, and drank. 

It tasted of bitter sugar, sweet and stinging. She coughed, looking up to see Wormtail watching her avariciously as she swallowed. 

The world seemed to tilt around her. Somewhere, Wormtail was giggling, but Hermione barely heard him. A dizzy whirring noise had started in her ears; it sounded like there were a thousand trapped butterflies struggling to get out of her head. She could feel the potion burning its way down into her stomach, as if she had swallowed fire or pure light; she almost expected her skin to start glowing like a torch. She was terrified, and at the same time, felt a strange sort of dizzy and sickening pleasure, which was almost worse. "Was that..." she gasped out, "Was that poison?" 

Wormtail laughed harshly. "Not at all," he said, leaning forward and deftly plucking the cup from her loosening fingers. "That, my dear, was what is commonly termed a love potion." 

Her eyelids were so heavy they felt like stones, but she dragged them open and stared at Wormtail with dimly realized horror. "Love potions...they're not real...they don't work..." 

"Oh, but they are, and they do," said Wormtail. "That was one of the oldest. The use of it is quite illegal, of course. Life sentence in Azkaban. But," he shrugged, "that hardly matters." 

"I can't," gasped Hermione, as the world tilted around her, "I can't stay awake..." 

"That's right," said Wormtail in a singsong voice. "The potion takes a few hours to work. When you awake, the first person before your eyes will be the person you will love from that moment on, desperately and unconditionally and forever. Dark magic," he smiled, showing his little rat teeth. "There's nothing like it. Sleep tight, dear girl," he added, as Hermione sank back into the straw. "And when you awake, the face of Salazar Slytherin will be the first thing that you see." 

*** 

"So, do mum and dad have the least idea where you are?" said Charlie, fixing Ron with a look so terrifying it almost made Harry glad that he had no older brothers. 

When they had arrived at the camp -- and it really was a camp, a collection of tents of various sizes, most of which were occupied by Charlie's dragon-studying colleagues -- the first thing Charlie had done was to call for several medic wizards, who had carted Draco away to the tent that apparently served as an infirmary. 

This left Harry, Ron and Ginny to face the music. The music, in the case, was an extremely irritable Charlie Weasley, who wanted nothing more than to immediately owl both his parents and tell them that Ron and Ginny were in fact, not at home, but wandering at large around some rather distant forests with Lucius Malfoy's son and Harry, both of whom were supposed to be at school. 

"Charlie, don't," said Ron, sounding rather desperate. "They're on vacation in the Lake District...I didn't want to bother them." 

Charlie shook his head. "You're up to something, Ron," he said. "Remember, I'm related to Fred and George as well as you. I know that up-to-something expression." 

"Like you've never been up to anything," said Ron heatedly. "All those times when I was a kid and you swore me to secrecy, I never grassed on you, not once." 

"You're still a kid, Ron," said Charlie. "Your safety is my main concern. Your safety, and Ginny's." 

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here!" snapped Ginny. "And you're being totally unfair to Ron!" 

Charlie looked taken aback. 

"He's not Fred or George," she stormed. "When Ron does things, it's because he's got a good reason. He doesn't take stupid risks. And neither does Harry!" 

"Mum and Dad wouldn't be happy if --" 

Ginny cut Charlie's protest off with a wave of her hand. "I remember when you decided you wanted to work with dragons, and Mum cried for a week," she said sharply. "She was sure you'd be killed. They don't like your job or Bill's hair or Percy being a workaholic either, but they trust us, all of us, and especially Ron. Why don't you?" 

Charlie opened his mouth, with the stunned expression of someone who just knows there’s a loophole in the logic he´s just heard, but can´t quite put a finger on what it is. 

"Ginny..." 

"Just trust us, Charlie," she said. 

Wearily, Charlie raised a hand and rubbed at his bleary eyes. Then he sighed. "Anyone want to come and see the dragons?" he offered, rather abruptly. 

"I do," said Harry and Ginny immediately - Ginny, because she truly liked dragons and Harry because he had a feeling that this was the way to get on Charlie’s good side. Ron, still looking thunderous, agreed more reluctantly. 

They followed Charlie through the camp, casting each other uneasy glances as they went. Despite Charlie’s sudden offer, they had a feeling he was still in a fairly apprehensive mood. 

Several meters past the last tent was a large cleared area, about the size of two Quidditch fields, ringed around with magical barriers. Inside the cleared area were several dragons, none of them as large as the Hungarian Horntail Harry had faced his third year. Harry thought he recognized one of them as a Swedish Short-Snout. Charlie pointed at it. "That's the dragon that told me about Draco's Patronus," he said. 

"Dragons talk?" said Ron, looking startled. 

"Well, you have to learn Dragonish to communicate with them, and even them it's unrewarding," said Charlie. "Mostly it's a lot of reminiscing about the good old days when villagers used to leave girls tied to stakes for them to eat, and complaining about why don't they get to fly more, and wanting to be told how pretty their scales are. But," he added, "every once in a while they've got a useful piece of information. Like tonight." 

"We told you," said Ron. "It wasn't a real dragon. It was a Patronus." 

"Helped me find you, didn't it?" 

Ron looked as if he wasn't sure whether or not this was a good thing. 

"Would you look at that," said a voice behind them. It was Draco, having emerged at last from the infirmary tent. His clothes were as battered and dirty as they had been before, but the cuts and scratches on his arms and face were mostly gone, and his leg, obviously, was back to normal -- although the medic wizards had cut away his left trouser leg below the knee, presumably to get at the broken bone. Draco didn't seem to mind, though. He had a rapt expression on his face as he gazed past them at the dragons. "They're fantastic," he said. 

Charlie suddenly beamed. "Aren't they?" 

"Don't know why we've never done dragons in Care of Magical Creatures," said Draco, still staring upward. 

"Probably the same reason we've never done Certain Death Charms in Flitwick's class," said Ron sourly. "Mortality rate." 

"Malfoy," said Harry, sounding curious, "that dragon is staring at you." 

He was right. The blue Swedish Short-Snout had fixed its enormous dinner-plate eyes on Draco and was gazing at him with a look that could almost be described as fond. Charlie looked amazed. "I think she likes you," he said to Draco. "That hardly ever happens." 

"Maybe he smells like food," muttered Ron. 

Draco approached the barrier, stood as close to it as he could, and gazed up at the dragon, which gazed back, emitting cheerful-looking puffs of smoke. 

"Well, I’ll be," said Charlie, still looking startled. He turned to Draco. "Do you - do you want to help me feed them later?" he asked. "I wouldn’t ask, but it’s so rare that they take to people...I just thought..." 

Draco nodded. "Sure." 

Charlie looked thrilled. As Ron looked on resentfully, he clapped Draco on the back in a brotherly manner and said, "That's great, that's just - great." Then, seeming to notice Draco's rather battered appearance for the first time, he said hastily, "It looks like you might need to borrow some clothes." 

"Trousers," said Draco immediately. "I don't much fancy pioneering the new one-trouser-leg look, even if we are in the middle of nowhere." 

"You can have some of my old clothes," said Charlie amicably. "Come along with me, all of you, you can wash up in the tents." 

"In one second," said Draco. "I want to talk to Harry." 

"We'll meet you over there," said Harry to Ron, who shrugged and walked off with Charlie and Ginny. 

Harry looked at Draco curiously. "What is it, Malfoy?" 

"We're really close," said Draco in a low, excited voice. "The Charm - as soon as we got here, it started, I don't know, vibrating. We can't be more than an hour away from wherever Hermione is." 

Harry looked at Draco hard. "You're sure." 

Draco grinned. "Have I ever let you down?" 

"Do you seriously want me to answer that?" 

"Whatever, Potter," said Draco. "I'm still right. I think we should go immediately -- well as soon as I get some new clothes, but relatively immediately. And I think we should take as few Weasleys with us as possible." 

Harry looked astonished. "Go without Ron and Ginny?" 

Draco nodded. 

"That's ridiculous, Malfoy. Whatever happened to strength in numbers?" 

"Two's a number," said Draco. 

"I'm not going anywhere without Ron," said Harry. 

"Why not? You'll just have to worry about protecting him--" 

"You don't know the first thing about him!" yelled Harry. 

"And you think you do?" 

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

Draco gave him a narrow look. "Nothing, if you don't want to hear it," he said. 

"I don't listen to him when he talks about you," said Harry. "Why should I listen to you when you talk about him?" 

Draco looked startled. Possibly it hadn't occurred to him that Harry might ever stick up for him. 

"I'm tired of you two sniping," said Harry. "I am tired of this stupid family feud of yours. Keep it up if you want, but I plan to ignore you." 

"Sure," said Draco. "When nothing else works, a total pig-headed unwillingness to look facts in the face will always see us through." 

"You're not going to be able to make me angry," said Harry, starting to walk away. "Not this time." 

Draco followed him, still argumentative. "That's right, Potter, scuttle away..." 

"I am not scuttling away. I am storming off. And it doesn't work if you come with me, so sod off, Malfoy, and go bother Charlie. At least he likes you." 

*** 

Charlie's tent was set back from the others and, like many wizarding tents, was much more spacious inside than it appeared from outside. Inside, it was a tidy little bachelor apartment. The door opened onto a small kitchen, in which Draco waited while Charlie went off to get him a change of clothing. Draco could glimpse other rooms leading off a narrow corridor, each decorated with neat wooden furniture pieces that looked as if Charlie had made them by hand. Over the fireplace in the kitchen hung a photograph of the Weasley family, waving and smiling, and next to it was a square silver mirror. 

Draco glanced into it, wincing as he saw just how bloodied, muddied, and battered he looked. 

"Ve-ry interesting," drawled the mirror in a decidedly feminine voice, making him jump. "Lots of promise here. Can't wait to see how you clean up." 

Charlie, who had come back into the room carrying a pile of clothing, snorted with laughter. "Leave him alone, Audrey," he said sternly to the mirror. "He's only sixteen." 

"Seventeen in a month," said Draco automatically, backing away from the mirror. He was used to mirrors that talked, but not necessarily mirrors that talked so frankly. 

"Here," said Charlie, setting the clothes he had brought down on the table. "Some of my clothes, I don't know if they'll fit you, but...I brought you one of my old jackets, too, in case you wanted to come with me to feed the dragons. They really seem to like you. Ever thought of studying dragons, maybe, after you graduate? You could get an internship." 

"Never thought about it," said Draco truthfully, shrugging off his jacket and reaching for the clothes on the table. Charlie whistled. "That," he said, "is a great sword." 

Draco glanced down at Slytherin's sword, which was stuck through his belt. "Thanks," he said. "It's been in my family for a long time." 

"Can I see it?" Charlie asked, reaching out a hand. 

Draco shook his head. "It's enchanted," he said regretfully. "It'd char off your fingers." 

"Well, who wouldn't enchant a sword like that?" said Charlie, with another dazzled look. "Although," he added, "you're carrying it wrong." He grinned at Draco's expression. "There's no point sticking it through your belt where it's going to bang against your leg every time you move. You should carry it over your shoulder, so you can reach back and grab it if you need it, but it'll be out of your way." 

"You seem to know a lot about this," said Draco. 

"I like swords," said Charlie. "It sort of goes with the liking-dragons thing. I've got lots of gear I could lend it to you." 

"Thanks," Draco said. 

"As a matter of fact," said Charlie thoughtfully, "if you're going to be feeding dragons, you're going to need all the right gear. Hold on a minute, I'll be right back." 

*** 

"Your brother seems to like Malfoy," said Harry, as he and Ron washed the dirt off their faces and hands in the tent that Charlie had provided for them."The dragons like Malfoy, so Charlie likes him," said Ron, shrugging. "He'd like the Dark Lord if he got along with the Hungarian Horntails. At least it took his mind off us." 

Harry looked at himself in the mirror over the sink. He'd removed most of the dirt and blood with a washcloth, revealing a very pale, very unhappy face whose green eyes were smudged with exhaustion. He put his glasses back on and straightened up, running a hand through his untidy hair. "Cheer up, love," said the mirror gently. "Nothing's that bad." 

Outside the tent they met Ginny, who, not being as filthy as the boys, had cleaned herself up more quickly. Her red hair, wet from being washed, hung in damp fiery tendrils around her face. She smiled at Ron, then looked anxiously at Harry, "Feeling better?" 

Harry shrugged. "Just tired." 

Ron smiled at his sister, and then his eyes slid sideways and he stared in surprise. "Well, would you look at Malfoy," he said. 

Ginny and Harry turned and glanced where Ron had indicated. Draco was walking towards them across the clearing. Charlie had dressed him in an outfit that was much like his own. It appeared to be standard dragon-keeper wear, if anything about dragon keeping could be considered standard. Draco wore Charlie's jacket of black dragon-hide leather, and black dragonhide trousers. Charlie had also given Draco a pair of sturdy black boots, which were a little too big on him, and a worn dark pullover sporting undarned holes in the sleeves. Against all the black, Draco's silvery hair and pale skin stood out startlingly. He looked older, thought Ginny, and different, and just a little...dangerous. 

"Heavens above," said Ginny, utterly unaware that she was speaking out loud. "Malfoy looks really hot." She clapped a hand over her mouth. "Did you just hear me say that?" 

Ron nodded. 

"Oh, God," said Ginny, with feeling. "Somebody, kill me please. I don't want to live anymore." 

Harry snorted with laughter. 

"Ginny, shut up," said Ron, looking exasperated. "He looks like an idiot." 

"No he doesn't," said Ginny, sounding amazed, "he looks...like a painting I saw once..." 

Harry snorted again, this time in disgust. "I can just see that hanging in the Tate," he said. "'Still Life with Prat in Ridiculous Trousers.'" 

Ginny ignored him, standing with her hand over her mouth as Draco approached them, waving. When he reached them, he looked at her curiously. "Something wrong?" he said. 

Ginny squeaked, turned around, and fled in the opposite direction. 

Draco looked curiously at Ron. "What's bothering her?" 

"Leather," said Harry, looking after Ginny with an expression of mixed amusement and surprise. "She hates leather. She's a vegetarian." 

Draco rolled his eyes. "It's dragon-hide," he said. "Taken from already-dead dragons, might I add. Dragons are way to valuable to kill for their skins." 

Ron made a muffled sort of noise. 

"Do you want me to go and tell her?" said Draco, sounding exasperated. 

"Oh, no," said Ron. "She wants to be alone, with her, uh..." 

"Vegetarianism," said Harry. 

Draco looked at them dispassionately. "You two are the least skilled liars in the world," he said. "And I include Neville Longbottom in that statement." 

"Then you'll know that I'm not lying when I tell that you look completely ridiculous," said Ron. "Leather trousers, Malfoy?" 

"They are flame-retardant dragon hide and extremely useful," said Draco, aiming his nose into the air. "Besides, I look really hot in them." 

"Nausea..." said Ron, weakly. "Building...inside me. Must...be sick in bucket." 

"You have no taste," said Draco, to him, coldly, and turned to Harry. "You think I look hot, don't you?" 

"There is absolutely no way for me to answer that that would not get at least one person angry at me," said Harry diplomatically. 

Draco smiled smugly. "You fear your love for me," he said. "I understand." 

Harry rolled his eyes. "I think I might need that bucket when you're done with it, Ron." 

"Break it up, you lot," said Charlie who had come up behind them, grinning. "Draco's going to help me feed the dragons." 

"No, Draco isn't," said Ron firmly. "We have to go. Now. If you want to prat around feeding dragons, Malfoy, that's fine. Just give us the Charm and we'll go without you." 

Charlie looked from Draco to Ron to Harry. He opened his mouth to say something, but whatever it was he saw in Harry's expression made him shut his mouth. "All right," he said. "All right. I don't know what you boys have gotten yourself mixed up in. Ron, I'm going to put a Tracking Charm on you. If you're not back in three hours, I'm going to Apparate myself to wherever you are. Is that clear?" 

Ron nodded. "Clear," he said. 

"And Ginny stays here," added Charlie. 

"She won't like that," said Harry. 

"I don't care," said Charlie, with a faint grin. "I'd be in enough trouble if Mum knew I was letting Ron go off to do God-knows-what with you two. Add in Ginny, and I might as well never come home again." 

*** 

I won't fall asleep. I won't. 

Hermione lay on the straw in the tower room where Wormtail had left her, her hands clamped firmly over her eyes. The moment he had left the room, she had begun whispering under her breath, chanting a Wakefulness Charm she had often used while studying late into the night. Slowly, very slowly, the fog had begun to recede from her brain, the bright dancing colors behind her eyelids had vanished, and she no longer felt that she was in danger of slipping into unconsciousness. She would have liked to think that since she had conquered the sleeping spell that the love potion would no longer work either, but she had little hope that this would turn out to be true. 

To keep herself from panicking, she tried to think of pleasant things, things that had once made her happy. She shut her eyes tightly, thought of her parents, of school, of Hogsmeade trips with Ron and Harry. And then, just of Harry. The happiest she'd ever been in her life had been those last two weeks with Harry at school. More than anything in the world, she wanted to hear Harry's voice again. She pictured him in her mind, the last week of school, felt her mind pressing down on the memory as if the pressure of wanting could make it real. 

Harry was smiling at her, holding her hand, tugging her down the corridor outside the Gryffindor common room. Harry, I have homework, she was protesting, laughing. Harry, you can't be using the Marauder's Map just to find unattended closets we can make out in. 

Harry laughed, Why not? He consulted the Map. What about this closet? This is a great closet. 

Harry, all closets are pretty much the same. 

Oh, no. This one's exceptional. He picked her up and carried her into the closet, setting her down carefully and kicking the door shut behind him. Okay. Here we are. Nice closet, isn't it? 

Harry...are we in here for a reason? 

We've had exams all week and I feel like all I've been doing is studying and packing and other stuff I don't want to do. I've hardly seen you. I guess I just wanted to be alone with you. I don't care if we do anything else. Really. I just want to look at you. 

Well, I don't stand around in broom closets just for fun. 

Meaning? 

Meaning you better kiss me, Harry Potter, or I'll put the Leg-Locker Hex on you and leave you here until Filch finds you. 

Harry threw the Map up into the air in delight. Finally, something I want to do! 

Her fingers, pressed tightly over her eyes, couldn´t stop the tears from coming. Harry seemed a million miles away; everything seemed a million miles away, as if it had happened a thousand years ago, not just two weeks. 

*** 

Draco had been right; they were very close by. They had been flying barely forty-five minutes (Draco back on his Firebolt, which one of Charlie’s wizard friends had mended with several charms and some Spellotape) when Draco gestured to Ron and Harry that they should descend. 

They found themselves standing in what had probably once been an enormous clearing, although it was now overgrown with trees. The half-ruined walls Draco had seen when he held the Charm loomed darkly over them; inside the walls, half-veiled in shadows, he had recognized the tower and the overgrown gardens that surrounded it as they had descended through the air. 

It was dank, gloomy and mournful under the trees. Harry, Draco and Ron looked at each other uneasily. "I guess we should climb over the walls," said Harry, finally. 

"We could fly over," suggested Ron. 

"Too visible," said Draco. "Might as well just march up to the front door." 

"What if we --" Ron began. 

He was interrupted by a sudden sound that emanated from the opposite side of the wall -- a sound like music. Harry, with a jolt at his heart, first thought it must be phoenix song. It had the same ethereal sweetness, but as he listened, he realized it was higher and sweeter and more piercing still, and it seemed somehow to draw him forward...forward towards the wall... 

"Hey!" said Draco, staring at Harry and Ron, both of whom had flung themselves at the wall and seemed to be attempting to climb it. Reaching out, he seized the two of them by the backs of their robes and yanked them bodily back down. "Snap out of it!" he shouted, dragging them away from the wall. Thankfully, the singing had begun to fade. 'Both of you!" 

Ron wrenched his robe of out Draco's hands and snarled, "Snap out of what?" 

"You were going to climb over the wall," said Draco. 

"No we weren't," protested Ron. 

"Yes we were," said Harry, whose robe was still gripped in Draco's hand. "What was that, Malfoy?" 

"The singing noise? That was veela song," said Draco. "Pretty, wasn't it?" 

"Veela?" repeated Ron, looking astounded. 

"Looks like the place is guarded by veela," said Draco. "Bit of a clever idea, that." 

Ron snorted. "What're they going to do, kiss us to death?" 

Draco gave him a disgusted look. 

"What?" snarled Ron, nettled. 

"You don't know anything about veela, do you Weasley?" Draco said. "True veela have only two uses for human men. Procreation ... and food." 

"Food?" echoed Ron, looking faint. 

"Food," repeated Draco. He grinned. "I read my great-great grandmother's diary once," he said. "There was this passage in there about how this human man invited her over for dinner, only of course he didn't realize that she thought he was going to be dinner, and there she was caught short with no carving knives. Fortunately he had an extensive penknife collection, and I can tell you're going to be a tough audience for this story, so I'll just shut up right now. Suffice it to say, veela are dangerous. They're Dark magic creatures." 

Harry looked horrified. "Lupin," he said. 

"Oh, Fleur's only a fourth veela," said Draco, with equanimity. "The most she'll do is nibble on his earlobe." 

"I could have done without that image," said Ron. 

But Harry was looking at Draco. "What do we do?" he said. 

"Well," said Draco, "either you can go wandering in there and be veela snack food in about ten minutes, or you can wait here while I go in and talk to them." 

"Won't you get eaten?" said Ron, sounding rather hopeful. 

"I'm part veela," said Draco. "They won't bother me." 

Harry looked at him. "Are you sure?" 

Draco took a deep breath. "I'm sure," he said. "Can you lift me over the wall?" 

Harry took his wand out. "Yeah, I can," he said. He took a step back, pointed the wand at Draco. "Wingardium leviosa!" Draco rose up in the air slowly, and landed on the top of the wall on his hands and knees. He looked down at Harry, standing below him with his wand out, his green eyes tense but steady. 

"Malfoy," said Harry. 

"What?" 

"You'll come back, right?" 

"I'll come back," said Draco, and jumped down from the wall into the garden. 

As soon as his feet touched the ground, a wave of frigid air washed over him, redolent with the scent of dust and rotting flower petals. The light seemed to fade, although the sun was still high overhead. It was as if a dim, shimmering curtain had dropped down before his eyes - he saw dusty rows of flowerbeds, interspersed with indistinct hedges starred with pale and withered flowers. In the distance, he could see the gray hulking wall of the tower. 

He could still hear the veela song, although it too was dimmed, as if his ears had been stuffed with cotton wool. When he started to move forward, even the sound of his boots on the gravel came faintly to his ears. Everything was incredibly still, there seemed to be no movement at all - until he caught a the faintest flicker of white light at the corner of his eye, like the glancing wing of a white butterfly, and turned and saw them. 

They evolved out of the shadows between the shrubbery; white on darkness, a half-dozen or so tall, pale, beautiful women with long hair that shimmered like silver in the dim light. For all his talk, Draco had never seen a pureblooded veela up close. He felt as if a chilly fist had squeezed his heart, felt terror and admiration in equal measure. He stood his ground as they came up to him - there seemed little point in running away. 

They approached slowly, not hurrying - it was hard to tell how many of them there actually were they seemed to flit back and forth like butterflies. There was a taller one in the centre of the group who seemed to walk a little ahead. Draco decided she was the head veela, an assumption that seemed to be borne out when they stopped, a mere foot from him, and the tall veela gestured the others to be silent. 

"You have been unwise in coming here, human man," she said to Draco, her red lips parted over her sharp white teeth and she stared at him. 

"Look at me," said Draco, trying to keep his voice steady. "Do I look human to you?" 

The veela blinked. 

One of them said, in a tinselly little voice, "He isn't as ugly as most of them, is he?" 

"His hair is just like ours," said another. 

"I'm awfully hungry," said yet another, a statement that caused Draco to jump back a foot. 

"There is one way to tell for sure," said the head veela, and stepping towards an astonished Draco, she seized him and kissed him firmly on the lips. 

It was more like being caught in a hurricane or some kind of freak meteorological occurrence than any kiss he'd experienced or imagined before. He seemed to hear a raging wind tearing through his head, felt himself spinning, was blinded by whirling streaks of silver. In the back of his mind, he heard Ron saying: what're they going to do, kiss us to death? Chalk one up for Weasley, he thought, and wondered if he might be going to black out. 

The veela released him, and the sickening whirling-howling tempest stopped abruptly. 

She smiled. "He is one of us," she announced, and the other veela, giving shrieks of delight, fell on him like a consortium of mad aunts -- pulling at his hair, stroking the lapels of his leather jacket, pinching at any exposed skin they could reach, and "Ow! Who bit me?" yelled Draco indignantly, trying unsuccessfully to wriggle away from their grasping hands. There must not be many part-veela men, he thought, slapping a hand that was reaching for his belt buckle. Wish somebody'd TOLD me that before. "Hey! Stop that!" His voice, steady for two full years now, chose that moment to rocket up several octaves. "Hands off!" he squeaked warningly. "Ow -okay, that really isn't necessary... Leave my hair alone! Calm down for God's sake, there's plenty of Draco Malfoy to go around, you know -" 

He broke off as the veela released him and stepped back, suddenly silent. The head veela stared at him in surprise. "You're Draco Malfoy?" she said. 

Draco was floored. Of course, he'd always dreamed that there would come a day when he would be so famous that the mere mention of his name would silence a room full of people. He just hadn't realized it had already happened. 

"You should have said so," said the head veela, sounding indignant.  

"I - should have - what?" Draco spluttered inelegantly, but the veela, looking haughty, had already begun stalking away. 

Draco stared after them, his mouth open in shock. I have absolutely no idea what just happened, he thought to himself. No idea whatsoever. One day I’ll find out what that was all about. 

But not right now. 

He began edging away towards the tower walls, half expecting that one of the veela would dash over to try to stop him. But not one of them did. They seemed to have forgotten he was even there. 

He continued to edge until he could no longer see them. The he paused, straightened up, and glanced around. 

And felt his heart thump in surprise. 

He recognized where he was. The gray, tired-looking tower with its burnt, black walls - the dead trees - this was what he had seen in his mind when he had used the Epicyclical charm. He must be very close to where Hermione was. He began to walk more quickly, excited, skirting the wall, turning a corner, and as the familiar-looking half-burned tower came into view he suddenly heard Harry's voice in his head, Malfoy, you will come back? 

Draco began to walk more slowly. Had Harry meant come back in one piece? Or had he meant come back when you've gotten rid of the veela so that we can go on together? He knew, of course. He knew exactly what Harry had meant. Harry wouldn't want to be left out of any part of this, would resent being abandoned to stand outside the walls while Draco went to look for Hermione. Something he had no real right or business doing. 

I should go back, he thought. I should go back and get Ron and Harry. Harry's face swam in front of his eyes suddenly, wan and anxious it he had been the last few days. 

Ouch! 

He had walked into the wall of the castle. He stepped back, rubbing his elbow where he'd banged it against the stone, and looked up. He was standing directly under a tumbledown wall, the north side of which was blackened as if it had been burned in a fire. He felt a thrill of recognition. 

I'm here. 

Halfway up the wall, he could see a square barred window. He could feel the Charm around his neck, pulsing hot and cold against his skin. She was here; she was close by. If he closed his eyes, he could see her face. He could see himself rescuing her, see her looking up at him, telling him he was amazing, brave. 

Forget it, he told himself sharply. She chose Harry. She's not going to be pleased about being rescued, either, especially not by me -- she's far too independent, she's not going to throw her arms around me and tell me I've been brave. She'll probably just kick me in the ankle. 

You'll come back, right? said Harry's voice in his head. 

Who cares what he meant? said another, sharper voice. Harry always gets to be the hero. Wins every game. Gets the girl. It'll always be that way; it'll never change. He won the last round; this won't make any real difference to him. But this is your chance to show you're better. Better or just as good. 

He raised his hand without thinking, pointed at the barred window. 

"Accio!" 

There was a ripping, tearing sound, and the bars wrenched themselves free of the stone that held them and flew at him with such force that he jumped aside, letting them thunk loudly into the grass. He looked around wildly, but the gardens were as empty as before. 

Now climb, he told himself. 

Still, it was another several long moments before he could force his feet to move. 

*** 

Wormtail smiled to himself with satisfaction as he eased the stone door open and stepped into the round room. It was just as he had left it; the darkness, the straw scattered across the floor, and Hermione, lying unconscious on the bed of straw, her cheek pillowed on her hand. He knelt down next to her, checking to make sure her eyes were closed, then pulled a length of material from his pocket and commenced binding it around her eyes, tying it tightly. It wouldn't do for her to see anyone before the person she was intended to see. If, he thought, you could accurately call Salazar Slytherin a person. 

He had just leaned forward to check that the knot behind her head was secure, then out of the corner of his eye, caught a flicker of movement. He turned his head, and to his utter astonishment, saw Hermione's hand emerging from his pocket -- but she'd been unconscious -- clutching it its grip his wand. 

He gasped involuntarily, and saw her shaking hand swing around to point the wand at him. 

"Stupefy!" she hissed. 

*** 

For a moment, Hermione thought the spell hadn't worked. Then she heard the thud as Wormtail collapsed to the floor, landing heavily across her left leg. Revolted, she wriggled violently to the side, still gripping the wand, and staggered to her feet. She took a step forward, and her foot connected with something solid and heavy - Wormtail´s body. 

Feeling nauseated, she staggered backwards, her hands outstretched behind her, until she struck the wall. She began to feel her way along it; her eyes squeezed shut under the blindfold, her fingers skittering over the rough stone. Her ears were pricked for any sound from Wormtail, but the room was utterly silent. 

Her fingers found the smoother wood of the door, slid down it, and found the knob. She wrenched at it, but it was immovable. Desperately, she clawed at the lock, but it was impossible, without being able to see it, for her shaking fingers to make sense of the complex metal configurations. At last she reached up, ripped the blindfold down -- I won't look behind me, I won't -- saw the lock, twisted it sharply, and wrenched the door open. 

And saw Draco, standing astonished on the other side.  

*** 

References: 

1) "No, it's just a wild stab in the dark. Which is what you'll be getting in about one minute if you don't start being a bit more helpful." -- Blackadder. 

2) "It's kind of a long story," said Ron, looking nervous. 

"Fell off my broomstick," said Draco shortly. 

"Apparently not that long." -- I can't even count the amount of movies and TV shows that have used this particular bit of byplay, or a variant thereof. I'll give the credit to Buffy; Oz uses it in the episode 'Phases.' 

1)      "A total pig-headed unwillingness to look facts in the face will always see us through." Blackadder. 

Chapter 5