Rating:
R
House:
Schnoogle
Characters:
Draco Malfoy Harry Potter Nymphadora Tonks
Genres:
Action Angst
Era:
Multiple Eras
Spoilers:
Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire Order of the Phoenix Quidditch Through the Ages Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
Stats:
Published: 07/23/2003
Updated: 07/23/2003
Words: 19,012
Chapters: 1
Hits: 4,286

Angel Dark, Demon Bright

Al

Story Summary:
In a world that has changed violently beyond all recognition, Harry Potter still has a lot to learn as the fight continues. A Sixth Year fic.

Chapter 01

Posted:
07/23/2003
Hits:
4,286
Author's Note:
Thanks to Lucy, Rave and David for a fantastic, speedy beta. Special thanks to Kaz for the plot-wrangling.

ANGEL DARK, DEMON BRIGHT.

CHAPTER ONE.

THE SUMMER AFTER THE YEAR BEFORE.

It was shaping up to be a gentle summer: warm and sunny, but never too hot; occasionally raining, but not for very long. The skies above the North Downs were studded with wraith-like, wispy clouds drifting slowly on slight breezes. And, contrary to how Harry Potter thought it should be, life in Little Whinging, a pleasant, unobtrusive dormitory suburb of solid, Nineteen-Thirties stockbroker belt residences, continued as it had done for so many years - in a blaze of normality.

If, the previous summer, Harry had found himself caught in the turmoil of mid-adolescence, suddenly blasé about everything, standing up to the Dursleys and pounding the streets of Little Whinging at twilight, affecting the airs of Marlon Brando in Rebel Without A Cause; this summer, he found he was keeping himself to himself. Of course, Harry was very much a rebel with a cause, and had been for some time.

The Dursleys themselves weren't around much. Alastor Moody had succeeded in scaring them witless, barely two weeks before, on the concourse at Kings Cross Station, with thinly veiled threats about what might happen to them if Harry was treated badly. The Dursleys did not want a troupe of witches and wizards (especially not ones got up like Nymphadora Tonks: with strangely patterned tights and multicooured, ever-changing hair) coming up their garden path to rescue Harry from their abuse. Such a breach of the status quo would completely fail to endear them to any of their neighbours, and as far as Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were concerned, abnormality meant a painful social death. For this reason, then, they left Harry largely to his own devices. They kept him supplied with adequate meals and didn't raise a fuss if he raided the fridge or the biscuit tin, much to Dudley's consternation. Usually, they found excuses to be out of the house. Aunt Petunia spent much of her time visiting friends in the locality, or organising Women's Institute meetings. Uncle Vernon was trying to push through a merger and was working overtime at the office in London, and as for Dudley - well, nobody seemed to care where Dudley went or what sort of trouble he got into, and, as long as he never came home in the back of a police car, he was allowed to range as he liked.

Harry tried very hard not to let the feelings of loneliness and despair get to him. He kept in touch with the Order of the Phoenix, writing to them every three days, regularly, as he had agreed with Moody. Periodically Ron and Hermione - who, from the sound of their letters, were once again back at Grimmauld Place - wrote back to him, but this was not very often and, like last summer, they told him very little.

His whole body felt numb and overcome with a terrible sickness that he wasn't sure whether or not to put down to hunger, for he had not bothered to eat all day. At night, he slept fitfully, if at all. The dreams he had had about the long corridor and the doors in the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic had long gone, to be replaced with something far, far worse. Night after night, Harry revisited the amphitheatre-like room where he had encountered the crumbling, ancient archway with its fluttering veil - the room where Sirius had died. Night after night he watched Sirius' body, stunned by Bellatrix Lestrange, arcing backwards through the air, falling beyond the veil and out of the earthly plane of existence. Night after night Harry fought against Remus Lupin as he tried to save his Godfather. He cursed and swore and struggled until he was panting, out of breath, and tears ran down his face. Sirius had to be behind there, and Harry believed it ... wanted to believe it, with all of his heart.

Harry was now well aware of the reason why he had always been forced to go back to Privet Drive for his summer holidays, thanks to Albus Dumbledore, a man whose name he cursed under his breath as he lay on his bed. He obsessed over the horrible events of the previous twelve months over and over and over again until his head ached and his eyes puffed up with tears and he could stand it no longer. He knew that as long as he called Privet Drive his home, Voldemort would be unable to harm him there - it was the result of some complicated magic that Dumbledore had attempted to explain, but that Harry did not fully understand. However, nobody had ever bothered to tell him how safe it was to leave the confines of Number 4, and so Harry made sure never to go very far, and always made it very obvious when he went out. He wasn't sure if the Order of the Phoenix had him guarded or not, although once or twice, he thought he heard the faint pop of someone Disapparating, or spotted Mrs Figg's favourite cat lurking underneath a parked car. For safety's sake, he tried not to go beyond the playground or the little parade of shops.

After the gates had been locked and the little children had all gone home for tea, Harry spent many hours in the playground, swinging gently back and forth, scraping the heels of his battered trainers in the gravel traps, or perched on top of the roundabout. The other teenagers who lived nearby - Harry knew there were some, for he saw them occasionally - didn't bother with him, mainly thanks to Dudley, and he was never invited along on their missions to acquire bottles of White Lightning or Strongbow to drink in the woods. By whatever unwritten laws existed, it seemed to be acknowledged that the playground was Harry's territory, and so nobody ever disturbed him there. He lost himself in thought. He took to buying cigarettes from a newsagent who wasn't too fussy about asking to see his identification and, although he didn't much care for the taste, smoked them.

One night he lay on the roundabout as it revolved slowly and the sun sank below the treetops. His grubby t-shirt lay discarded on the compacted earth, and the wood was pleasantly warm against the skin of his back. The air was thick with the smell of freshly mown grass - the council lawnmowers had been out on the recreation ground next door. From a line of houses nearby, Harry could hear music. There was a Marlboro Light clenched between his lips, and he was trying not to cough.

"You've lost weight, Harry."

Harry sat up with a start, the cigarette falling from his mouth to the ground, where it burned itself out.

"And if you absolutely must smoke," Nymphadora Tonks went on, "then do at least try not to smoke some proprietary Muggle brand. They're so bad for you."

Harry could feel a blush spreading across his face. His ears burned. Tonks reached out, stopped the roundabout, and hoisted her small frame up to sit beside him. Then she offered him a packet, labelled 'Bertie Botts' Every Flavour Fags.'

"These are much nicer."

"Thanks," Harry said. He slid one of the proffered cigarettes out, and took it between his lips. Tonks lit it for him with her wand, and then helped herself to one as well.

"There you go," she said.

They sat in silence for a minute. Tonks began to bang her heels against the side of the roundabout. Harry removed the cigarette from his mouth. It was menthol flavoured.

"I don't usually," he began, "it's just ..."

"Hey, it's okay," she said, looking down at the cigarette she was holding between her fingers. "The good thing about these is that if you want to give up, you buy the ones that taste of crap."

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked at length.

"You didn't write to us," Tonks said. "So we came to rescue you."

Harry felt a jolt in his stomach. "Shit," he said. It was the fourth day. He was supposed to have written the previous day. "I'm sorry ... I don't think I need rescuing."

"Moody was in a state last night," Tonks went on, "but we talked him out of sending an armed guard to blow up the Dursleys once and for all. Molly said she hoped you'd only forgotten to owl us."

"I'm really sorry, I'm really sorry," Harry said.

"Hey, don't fret about me, I needed the exercise," Tonks said. "It's Moody's wrath you're going to have to worry about."

"Did you all come? I mean ... I don't need any help really ..."

"Kingsley, Remus and me," Tonks said shortly. "We found you weren't at the house straight away, of course. Remus stayed to watch out in case you came home, and Kingsley's checking out the streets round Wisteria Walk. And I came to see if you were here."

"How did you know I might be here?" Harry began.

"I spent half of last summer tailing you around Little Whinging," Tonks said chummily. "I know this town like the back of my hand."

"Bit of a shit hole, isn't it?" Harry said aggressively.

"A bit," Tonks replied. "Jesus, that reminds me." She raised her wand to the sky and sent out a shower of red sparks. "Better call the others."

Harry stubbed out the cigarette and reached for his t-shirt. "Better not let Remus see me with this." He pulled his top over his head and tried, in vain, to straighten out his hair a bit. Seconds later, Remus Lupin and Kingsley Shacklebolt had Apparated into the playground.

"You've got him then, Tonks," Kingsley said, with a look of relief on his face.

Tonks smiled. "All in one piece, I'm very happy to say."

Remus smiled at Harry affectionately. "I'm very glad to hear it," he said. "You gave old Mad-Eye quite a scare, Harry."

Harry shuffled his feet and looked down at the ground, feeling ridiculous. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself and to have inadvertently called out half the Order of the Phoenix because of his own foolishness made him feel totally useless. Whilst Remus, Tonks and Kingsley had been out looking for him, something dreadful could be happening somewhere else and they were all too busy searching for stupid Harry Potter who couldn't even keep a simple arrangement to be of any use.

"I'm really, really ..." he began, but Remus cut him off.

"It's okay, Harry. You forgot to write to us. It happens. It wouldn't be the first time someone's made a tiny mistake like that."

"I'm sorry anyway," Harry said.

Tonks put an arm around him. "Hey, now don't be," she said. "We know you're a bit fucked up these days ..."

Harry shrugged off Tonks' arm aggressively. They were treating him like a little kid again.

"I am not fucked up," he snorted. "How dare you try and tell me what I'm feeling!"

"Jesus, sorry, Harry."

Harry sniffed. His nose was beginning to run from all the pollen in the air. His eyes were itchy and he felt wretched. He wiped away the snot on the back of his hand and sniffed again, instantly regretting it. They would think he was crying.

"Come on, Harry," Remus said momentarily. "Let's get you home."

Harry realised that he was going to cry. He rubbed his eyes but that only made the itching worse. He had a headache.

"Can I come back with you guys?" he sniffed.

"We're working on it," Remus said. "We should be able to ... well ... it's difficult." He tried to reach out to touch Harry on the shoulder, but Harry did not want to be touched or comforted by anybody, least of all Remus, and he sidestepped hurriedly.

"What Remus wants to say," Tonks said. "Is that Sirius' funeral is ... well ... it's going to be on the 28th ... not this weekend but the next and ..."

"We'd love ... like it if you'd come, Harry," Remus said.

Harry turned to look at him. It was becoming harder to make out Remus' features in the gathering darkness. "So if there's a funeral, you've found a body, right?" he said. "I always thought you couldn't have a funeral without an actual body, so you've got a body, right? Where is the body? Can I see it?"

Tonks shook her head.

"Harry, there's no body," Remus said. "And there never will be. It'll just be a simple memorial service for Sirius. I'm reading the eulogy and I thought, maybe, but only if you wanted to, of course, it might be nice for you to read one of the lessons."

"Read a lesson?" Harry asked. "Out loud, you mean? In public?"

Remus nodded. "Well, hardly public, Harry. Only a few of us are going to be there, Sirius' name is still mud with the Ministry of Magic, after all ..."

"I don't think I want to read anything, thank you," Harry said firmly. He would botch it up, for sure; make a complete arse of himself and then everybody would laugh at him. Stupid Harry Potter

"It's what Sirius would have wanted," Remus said.

This was the last straw. Harry flew at Remus, shouting so loud flecks of spittle landed on Remus' shabby robes. "YOU DON'T BLOODY WELL KNOW WHAT HE WANTED. HE NEVER WANTED THIS! HE NEVER WANTED TO FUCKING DIE SO DON'T FUCKING TRY AND TELL ME WHAT HE WOULD HAVE WANTED, ALL RIGHT?"

Kingsley and Tonks seized Harry by the back of his t-shirt to prevent him from hitting Remus.

"Hey, Harry, calm down ..."

"I WON'T CALM DOWN! HOW CAN YOU STAND THERE AND ... WHEN I DID IT! I FUCKING KILLED HIM!"

Remus grabbed Harry by the shoulders and shook him so hard that his glasses became dislodged. "Harry, look at me! Look at me! He was my friend, too. He was my friend and he was the best friend I've ever had. I'm feeling everything you're feeling ..."

"No, no, you're not," Harry was insistent. "You didn't ... you didn't think you could save Sirius because of some stupid dream. You didn't fall for some stupid trick. I did and look where it got Sirius. You'd all be better off without me."

Remus shook him violently again. "Never," he hissed through gritted teeth; clearly he was having to restrain himself from becoming physically violent, "ever say that again, Harry. It was not your fault. This was nobody's fault and we would all be dead if you weren't alive, so never ever say anything like that again."

"I wish I was dead!" Harry thundered. His face exploded with pain. Remus had hit him. Tonks and Kingsley let go of the back of his shirt and he stumbled backwards, clutching at his jaw. He could taste blood. He clutched at the roundabout for support and looked up.

Remus was breathing heavily, like he had just run a race. Tonks and Kingsley were watching him, aghast.

"Oh shit," Tonks breathed.

Remus' mouth was wide. "Harry. Harry, please. I'm ... I didn't mean ..."

Harry found himself crying. He had not yet cried for Sirius, but now, on that summer's evening, in the deserted playground, with Remus and the others looking on, he found the tears came freely, mingling with the blood from his split lip. He had not yet been able to find the tears. It was so bitterly, bitterly unfair. He could hear their voices, and the crunch of Remus' footsteps on the gravel and touch of his hands on Harry's shoulders.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Remus said, holding him. "He was one of ours, too."

"I'm sorry," Harry gulped in between sobs. "I'm sorry."

"I loved him, too, Harry," Remus continued. "I'll miss him with all my heart. For ever."

***

Tonks was sitting at the kitchen table in the basement of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, with a bowl of Molly Weasley's game soup and a hunk of bread that was going stale. Nobody else was about to eat it, and so she had taken it upon herself to finish the damn thing off. It was about twenty past one in the morning, and the rest of the house was sleeping.

The kitchen looked a lot more lived in these days. Tonks could well remember the days when the Order had first moved into Sirius Black's ancestral home, how draughty it had been, how dank and smelly the rooms and how everything had been covered in a fine film of dust. There had been mould and mildew in every room. It had been most unhealthy, but in a little over twelve months, the Order had made it their own. The Dark Arts memorabilia had been largely removed and destroyed, although a few artefacts, including the stubborn portrait of Sirius' mother that adorned the hallway, remained intact. Still other items had been removed to the Ministry of Magic for further investigation.

It was an enormous help, of course, that Kreacher, the long-suffering and much maligned house elf, who for a decade had occupied Grimmauld Place on his own, had expired of old age a couple of days prior to the end of the Hogwarts term. In the scant three weeks since his burial, at Hermione's insistence, in the garden, Molly Weasley's mission to clean and render the house habitable, which had suffered in the absence of Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and the twins, had come on a treat. The majority of the rooms had been opened and cleaned thoroughly. Tonks and the other members of the Order had been astonished at the progress she'd made, although Ron was beginning to complain of repetitive strain injury from all the polishing he'd been made to do. "Prefects shouldn't be made to do this kind of work," he had muttered darkly whenever he thought nobody was listening.

She broke off another hunk of bread, dipped it in the warm soup and was about to eat it when she heard footsteps on the stairs, and looked up to find Remus coming down.

"Wotcha," she said, brightly. Remus was wearing an old dressing gown and faded Burberry carpet slippers. In one hand he carried a small notebook and a Muggle ink pen.

"Hey."

"You look glum," Tonks said, as he shuffled across the kitchen and into the light of the single lamp that burned in the middle of the table.

"I am glum," agreed Remus. "I've been up two nights trying to write this bloody eulogy for Sirius and nothing's coming."

"You've got writer's block," Tonks observed.

"And don't I know it. I bet the sorry bastard's up there now, laughing at me. He knew I'd be the one who had to write a speech. Now I don't know what I ought to say. I can't make light of it, can I?" His eye caught Tonks' bowl of soup. "Are you having a midnight feast?"

Tonks looked from her soup to Remus, and back to the soup again. "Yes," she said after a slight deliberation. "I suppose I am, actually."

"I think I'll join you," Remus said, "that is if you don't mind."

"Not at all, pull up a pew," Tonks said. "I think there's some salt beef left."

"There's always salt beef left," Remus said dryly. He whipped out his wand and summoned the breadboard, a hunk of double Gloucester cheese and a big knife.

"Is that the eulogy there?" Tonks asked inquisitively, as Remus sawed thick slices of bread off the end of Tonks' loaf.

"Yes, but if you think I'm going to read it to you you've got another thing coming," Remus said.

"Oh, go on," Tonks said. "I'll steal it and read it anyway."

Remus groaned. "I've got two words," he said, "and they are: 'Sirius was'."

"Sirius was a what?"

"I don't know," Remus said, "good, brave, honest, decent to a fault, unpredictable, capable of astonishing acts of stupidity, purple, good in bed. I could say any one of those things but I don't seriously think it would mean anything."

"I understand," Tonks said. "You're still grieving. "It's very understandable."

"Don't patronise me," Remus growled sourly.

Tonks changed the subject delicately. She thought back to her father's funeral, many years before. "Have we decided on a running order?" she asked.

"A running order for what?" Remus said.

"You know, the service."

Remus took a big bite out of his bread and cheese. "Not really," he said. "Do we have any of those marinated anchovies left? I was very fond of those."

"All gone, I'm afraid," Tonks said, looking at the book. "You must have some idea what hymns you want sung."

"Not really," Remus said. "Sirius was never a great one for organised religion. I dare say this'll be the first time he's actually even been in a church. And even then he won't actually be in the church."

"Well," Tonks began, "you could maybe ask yourself what kind of songs did he like? Or just pick a few stalwart favourites. 'All Things Bright And Beautiful' maybe ... everyone likes that song ..."

"I rather suspect you'll find 'God Save The Queen' hard to play on an organ," Remus said dolefully.

"Oh, I don't know," Tonks said. "Was Sirius very patriotic?"

"I was talking about the Sex Pistols," Remus said quietly.

"Yes, yes, of course you were," Tonks said. "Sorry."

"It's quite all right," Remus said, finishing the last of his bread. "It might be quite funny, actually. Maybe we could play something he liked," he broke off. "Damn, I wish I could ask him myself."

"I think that'd rather defeat the point of having a funeral in the first place," Tonks said. She mimed holding a telephone to her ear. "Hey, Sirius, we need to ask you a few questions for your funeral, so if you can find time in your very busy schedule, say when you pop out to get some more ambrosia and nectar, give us a bell."

Remus smiled despite himself.

"We could hold a séance, of course," he said. "But that would involve ... I'm just not in the right frame of mind to go contacting the Dead."

"Done it before, have you?"

Remus nodded. "Several times," he said. "The problem is, you can never get through to the right person. There are some remarkably persistent people in the afterlife, and they're all mainly interested in finding a ghost-writer for their autobiographies."

"Not predisposed to help with funeral arrangements?" Tonks said.

Remus shook his head. "Not in the least," he said. "The Dead seem to regard funerals as frivolous. I've never yet encountered one who enjoyed his own."

"Well, they're for the living, really," Tonks said. "It's comforting."

"The Dead don't see it that way," Remus sighed. "They're having a grand old time."

"Doing what?"

"I don't know, they won't say," Remus said.

"Fuckers," Tonks said.

Remus agreed.

***

The days passed without much event. The Friday before Sirius' funeral was much like any other. It dawned bright and sunny and Grimmauld Place was, as usual, a hive of activity, with those members of the Order who had been off on overnight missions returning just in time for a fry up. Molly Weasley, much to Hermione's disgust, had hired a new House Elf to help her with the cooking. At Grimmauld Place, you never quite knew how many people would be stopping by for breakfast, or just how long they would choose to stay, and so the kitchen was filled with the smell of frying bacon from six a.m. until well after twelve.

By one o'clock, however, it was starting to cloud over, and as Molly and Dingwall the Elf started work on lunch, a tossed salad with some baked potatoes, the first drops of rain began to fall. Hermione, who was sitting in the back garden doing some preliminary reading for her Sixth Year courses, cast a quick water-repelling charm on the lines of laundry blowing in the gathering wind, and hurried inside before she got completely soaked.

The rain did not let up all afternoon. In fact, it became steadily heavier. The sky grew menacing and dark, and the distant cracking of thunderclaps could be heard. The wind gusted harder and harder, coming in violent squalls that threw sheets of rain against the windows.

"Well," Molly Weasley, who had planned to spend the afternoon in the garden with a strawberry daiquiri and a good book, said. "No sense in wasting a chance like this. There're chizpurfles in one of the upstairs bedrooms. Merlin alone knows how they got into the house - I thought we'd cleaned upstairs thoroughly - but we'd better deal with them before they eat anything important."

Chizpurfles - small crablike parasites - were easily dispatched with a batch of potion. This particular infestation was a bad one and had spread to several of the second floor bedrooms, including Ron's.

"Better dunk your wand in the potion as well, Ron," Molly said as she scoured the skirting boards for further evidence of the chizpurfles. "And mind you do it thoroughly. If they eat their way down to the core you've had it, and I'm not buying you another one this time ..."

She was cut off by the sound of the doorbell ringing, and the accompanying wails and shrieks from the portrait of Sirius' mother

Molly, Ron, Hermione and Ginny hurried from the room. Remus pushed past them. "I'll deal with the painting, Molly, you get the door," he snapped in an irritated tone. The noise had interrupted his eulogy, and he was not best pleased.

"We're not expecting anybody back till at least six," Molly said. "I hope nothing's gone wrong."

They followed her downstairs to the hallway, where Remus was wrestling with the curtains that usually obscured Sirius' mother from view. "Wretched beasts," she screamed, "blood traitors. The werewolf is the sty of all pestilential filth that has infected this earth. Why do they desecrate my home?"

Molly opened the door just as lightning struck one of the trees in the centre of the square. The bright light illuminated briefly two hooded figures, silhouetted against the darkened afternoon sky. One was tall, a woman, wearing expensive furs, and the other was a young man, probably of about sixteen years.

"You must be Mrs Black's housemaid," the woman said in an imperious tone. She thrust several large and expensive looking pieces of luggage at Molly. "See that these are taken up to our rooms immediately."

"Your ... rooms?" Molly stammered.

"Yes, our rooms, cretinous woman. I trust you did get our owl informing Mrs Black we would be coming to stay."

Remus had finally forced the curtains shut. "Is there a problem, Molly?" he asked, stepping into the hall light.

The young man gave a start that might have been recognition.

"Silence!" the woman snapped. "I see the owl did not reach you. No matter, it must have been held up in the storm. Will you take my bags, for Merlin's sake, woman? See to it that beds are turned down and warmed. I shall take a bath immediately and you will serve dinner at eight precisely, not a minute later. If Mrs Black is at home, then you may inform her ..."

"Now see here," Remus began. "I don't know who the bloody hell you think you are, but this is ... this is not a hotel. Just how did you find us?"

"Such rudeness," the woman snapped. "I hope your mistress will have you fired for your impertinence to her blood relatives ..."

"Blood relatives?" Remus choked. "For your information, Mrs Black has been dead for some time, and as far as I'm aware, all her living relatives are in cahoots with You-Know-Who himself..."

"My name," the woman said in a voice like ice, "is Narcissa Malfoy. This is my son, Draco. I am Mrs Black's niece and I have to say, I expected better treatment than this."

Draco lowered his hood. He looked quite unlike his usual self - as if he was recovering from an illness. His skin was even paler than normal and his cheekbones more defined; he seemed to have lost a lot of weight in a very short space of time.

"Mother," he said. "This is Remus Lupin, he was our Hogwarts Professor in Defence Against The Dark Arts, back in Third Year. He's no servant ... that's for sure. He's in league with Potter."

"Lupin," Narcissa sneered. "Yes, I know that name well of old. Lucius often spoke of you. What are you doing here? You're nothing more than a treacherous half-breed ..."

"Well, since we're introducing ourselves," Remus said in an amazingly calm voice. "I am Remus Lupin, ex-Hogwarts Professor, as your son has so rightly pointed out. This is Molly Weasley."

Narcissa gave a start.

"She cooks for us here," Remus said, "as well as being a jack-of-all-trades. She's fantastic."

Molly blushed.

"I suspect Draco here may have told you about Ron, Hermione and Ginny," Remus said. "Ron and Hermione are in the same year as Draco at Hogwarts."

"Charmed," Hermione said bitingly. Draco's bottom lip had curled upwards into an ugly sneer.

Narcissa had set her bags down on the porch. She diligently removed her white leather kid gloves and tucked them into one of the pockets of her fur-lined over-cloak. "And, Mr Lupin," she expectorated with undisguised loathing. "You tell me ... tell me Mrs Black is dead?"

Molly threw her hands up in despair. "She's been dead for ten years, Mrs Malfoy. Only it seems," she went on, in satisfied tones, "that nobody bothered to tell you, did they?"

Narcissa rounded on Molly. "Silence, you pathetic blood-traitor. I was talking to the werewolf."

Molly flushed bright scarlet. "Well, of all the things," she stammered.

Narcissa sighed and turned back to Remus. "Mrs Black and I were not close," she said. "There was an argument over an inheritance which I had hoped to lay to rest before she herself died ... however I see I am many years too late. This is a pity but it cannot be helped. As we have nowhere else to go, and saddened as we are to see Mrs Black's home occupied by treacherous filth, lowlife half-breeds and," she turned to Hermione, "Mudblood scum, Draco and I have decided we will both be staying ..."

Draco was tugging on his mother's sleeve.

"What is it, my little Pumpkin Pie?"

Draco's voice was weak and quavering. "Mother, I think I'd really rather not stay here with t...t...them. Can't we get a hotel? The Magick Metropolitan on Diagon Alley ... d...do you remember where we used to go with father?"

Narcissa let out a long-suffering sigh and remonstrated with Draco in a whisper that they all heard anyway. "What part of 'the Ministry has requisitioned our assets' do you not understand, Draco?"

"I was following right up until the part about there not being any money left, mother," Draco said, hanging his head weakly.

Narcissa's face burned scarlet with embarrassment in the porch light. She withdrew her kid gloves, and slapped Draco round the face with them. "You are embarrassing me in front of half-breeds and Mudbloods, Draco. We will discuss your behaviour later."

"Yes, mother. Sorry, mother."

"Look at me, Draco. What do you say?"

Draco looked up; his face too was scarlet. "Thank you, mother," he said in a half-whisper, half-whimper.

Narcissa turned back to Remus and the others. "Have someone show us to adequate rooms," she said.

Molly threw her hands in the air. "I am not going to cope with this. I refuse to deal with these people! Remus Lupin, be it on your own head if you let that lowlife into this house, I will have nothing more to do with the whole pack of them! I'll be in the kitchen. Baking!" This was generally a bad sign. Molly Weasley only baked when she was deep in crisis. The previous summer, after Percy had disowned the entire Weasley clan, she had produced so many scones that Moody was forced to lock away her supplies of flour until she calmed down.

Remus, caught on the horns of a sudden, very real dilemma, looked at Ron and Hermione for help. Ron shook his head vehemently. "Let them in and you might as well have sent a stamped, addressed return owl to You-Know-Who!"

Hermione just shrugged. Remus knew what the Malfoys were capable of, and what crimes Lucius Malfoy himself had committed in the past. But apart from Molly, he was the only member of the Order of the Phoenix present and he knew that there would be trouble if he so much as admitted to letting Malfoys stand on the doorstep of 12, Grimmauld Place. Nevertheless, he had read the reports in the Daily Prophet about how the assets and homes of those men and women, the Death Eaters caught by the Order in the Department of Mysteries, barely a month previously, were being systematically seized up and down the land. He read about how their families were being turned out with not a Knut to their name. And it was not in his nature to refuse succour to the homeless. Remus had spent so much of his as an outcast, shunned by wizard and Muggle alike, that these days he could not even pass a beggar outside a tube station without dropping fifty pence or so into his hands.

He let out an irritated sigh, and reached down to pick up the Malfoys' bags.

"Hermione. Give me a hand here. Come on, Ron."

Ron, however, snorted in disgust, turned tail and disappeared up to his room. Ginny followed, the stomping of her feet on the stairs making it quite plain just what she thought of Remus' decision.

"Mrs Malfoy, we're going to put you and your son on the fourth floor," Remus said. "There are some large, furnished bedrooms up there which should be to your taste."

"They may yet suffice," Narcissa said, stepping over the threshold. Draco reluctantly followed. "This place has changed a great deal."

"Yes," Remus said, as he and Hermione picked up the bags. "We've done some renovation since we ... er ... came into the property rights."

"Of course," Narcissa said. "Well, I daresay it is for the best. Mrs Black always did have exceedingly conservative tastes. Draco, don't allow that Mudblood to carry all your belongings. You may take your own cases."

Draco snarled, and snatched his bags away from Hermione's grasp. "I'll manage fine, thank you, Granger," he snapped. Spittle flew from his mouth and landed on Hermione's summer dress.

***

Hermione was helping Molly Weasley make pastry, sprinkling flour onto the work surface in between each roll of the pin in order to prevent it from sticking, when Remus came back down to the kitchen.

"Mad Eye will never forgive you, Remus," Hermione said as he sat down.

"I doubt Ron and Ginny will, either," he said sadly.

Molly said absolutely nothing. She merely attacked the pastry with renewed vigour.

"I'll make tea," Hermione said, filling the kettle.

"How do you know," Molly began, after a couple of minutes of martyred silence during which the only sound was the crackling of the fire, "that they're not going to turn tail and, oh, I don't know, burn this place to the ground, or run straight to Voldemort?"

Remus cupped his head in his hands. "Oh, Molly, I consider both those eventualities highly unlikely. For one thing, Draco is a Hogwarts student and wouldn't dare do magic outside of school. He'd be risking his entire future. And as for that Narcissa ... thing ... I very much doubt she's ever learned magic more advanced than that needed to fix her make-up in the mornings."

The kettle began to whistle. Hermione took it off the stove and poured out three large mugs of tea.

"Desperate people," Molly said, as she flung more flour onto the worktop, "do desperate things, Remus. You yourself should know that."

"Well, then I'll eat my robes if they try and trick us," Remus said. "I for one don't consider the Malfoys a threat. Narcissa is a shallow, society belle dame. She may act like an impenetrable ice queen, but she doesn't have the intelligence to work for Voldemort, and Draco is a snivelling little brat ..."

"Be it on your head, Remus Lupin," Molly warned. Hermione poured milk into the mugs and handed them round. "If you wake up in the morning and find Death Eaters hammering on the door, then be it on your head."

Remus rolled his eyes. "I have put them where they can do us no harm," he said. "The fourth floor rooms are warded off against magic ..."

"You can do that?" Hermione asked. "I mean, I've heard ... read about such things, obviously, but I never knew there were any rooms like that here."

Remus nodded. "Of course," he said. "The old, pureblood families usually kept several such rooms in their houses, for use as guest rooms. That way they could have a cast-iron guarantee that people they didn't trust couldn't use magic against them. Of course, the Blacks, being as pure blooded and, thankfully as paranoid as the rest of the wizarding world, had just such a set of rooms built when they moved into Grimmauld Place. It meant they could invite their worst enemies over for dinner and backgammon, and be completely sure that they weren't going to get hexed. After all, it pays to keep your enemies closer than your friends, as they say."

Hermione sipped her tea. "And what if they leave the rooms?"

"They can't," Remus said. "These doors open only from the outside. The only way they can talk to us is to ring one of the bells." He pointed to a set of little bells mounted on the wall. Hermione had seen them before, obviously - they were to be found in most old English homes where servants were kept. Each one was labelled with a different part of the house; Drawing Room, Banqueting Room, Smoking Room, Conservatory and so on.

"Well, I'm glad you're so sure of yourself," Molly sniffed. She appeared to be making little individual mince pies, despite the fact that Christmas was still five whole months away.

As if following a cue, the little bell indicating the 4th Floor Guest Suite wanted service began to ring. Remus got to his feet. "There's nothing to worry about. They're our prisoners. I'm going to see what they want."

***

As Molly had predicted, Moody and the other members of the Order of the Phoenix were slightly less than impressed to discover that Remus had taken to providing board and lodging for the enemy.

"You should have killed them on the spot!" Moody roared, banging his fist on the kitchen table. "There is no excuse, no excuse whatsoever for this ridiculous stupidity. Remus Lupin, if I didn't know you better and value you as a member of the war effort, I would have you expelled from the Order of the Phoenix under pain of death! Do I make myself quite clear?"

Ron, Hermione and Ginny, who were crouched on the second floor landing outside Ron's room, dangling one of Fred and George's Extendable Ears over the banisters, recoiled in horror.

"They won't throw Remus out, surely," Ginny whispered.

"They'd be justified," Hermione said. "It was an extremely stupid thing he did."

"Good laugh, though," Ron said, "having Malfoy locked up upstairs. I've been sitting outside his door taunting him. You should hear the thing's he's been calling me ..."

"Ron," Hermione exclaimed.

"Stop arguing, you two," Ginny snapped. "They're talking again."

"But of course," Moody's voice, still angry, went on, "we don't know how they managed to find this place, either."

"My first thought was that, being relatives of the Blacks'," Remus tried to explain, patiently, "they would naturally know where their family was living ..."

Moody spluttered. "Have you quite forgotten, Remus, that we are under the protection of the Fidelius Charm? This location is secret. Dumbledore himself is our Secret Keeper. Can you see Dumbledore giving away our location to the Malfoys, of all people?"

"Humph," went Tonks. "Seems unlikely, Remus."

"Of course I hadn't bloody well forgotten!" Remus snapped, irritated. "I'm stumped. I don't know what's happened."

"Precisely," Moody said. "Is the charm broken? We do not know, we can't get in touch with Dumbledore at the minute. Has something gone wrong? Very probably. Now, did they give any indication whatsoever that they knew this house is being used in the war effort against Voldemort?" Moody said. "Did they give the slightest hint that they had even heard of the Order of the Phoenix?"

"Oh, I'm sure they've heard of it, Alastor," Tonks' voice. "By all accounts Lucius kept Narcissa well abreast of the latest developments, and as we all already know, Draco has a talent for hearing and seeing things he shouldn't ... the irksome little shit."

"They gave no indication that they knew of any of the activities going on at Grimmauld Place," Remus said, "and of course, I kept it that way."

"You said nothing incriminatory?"

"I should hope not," Remus scoffed. "What do you think I am, stupid?"

"Yes, as it happens, I do," Moody growled.

"Look," Remus said condescendingly. "They were extremely surprised to see us here. They thought we were servants of Mrs Black's, or something like that. If there was any hint of them knowing, I didn't catch it."

"So you didn't catch it," Moody went on. "Maybe they're just very good actors. I smell a rat."

"With all due respect, you always smell something," Molly said.

"If you can't add anything useful to this discussion, then please keep your mouth shut, Molly," Moody snapped back at her. "Remus, I want you to give me one good reason why I shouldn't go up there and Avada Kedavra Narcissa Malfoy and that brat child of hers. Because Merlin help me, I'll fucking do it!"

There was uproar in the kitchen at this suggestion. "We can't kill them, Moody," Kingsley Shacklebolt was saying. "It would be contrary to everything the Order stands for."

"Whilst Draco is a valued student of mine," another voice cut in. "I have to say I agree with Moody. We should have them killed."

Ron went goggle eyed. "That was Snape."

"Well, he's on our side, you moron," Hermione snapped. "Shush, I'm trying to listen to what they're saying."

"But Snape!"

"He's always been on our side," Ginny said. "It's just you're too bloody thick to notice it, now shut up, Ron."

Ron rubbed his hands together gleefully. "I don't fucking believe this," he beamed. "Snape wants Malfoy dead!"

"I disagree," Tonks was saying. They appeared to have missed a substantial chunk of the argument. "They might know something. We should interrogate them."

"I agree," Bill Weasley said.

"So do I," said Shacklebolt.

Moody growled. "I'm not convinced. They probably know nothing of any import that we do not know already for ourselves. Interrogation would be a complete waste of time and Veritaserum."

"Nevertheless ..." Arthur Weasley began, only to be shouted down by a host of other voices all trying to talk at once.

"If the Order is indeed against Moody's eminently sensible suggestion, then I have stocks of Veritaserum at Hogwarts," Snape said. "I could bring the potion to you by ten in the morning if I leave now."

"Seeing as how the Order is clearly intent on jumping straight into its own grave," Moody said, "I will on this occasion go with the majority decision."

"Oh, tish-tosh and old wet fish, Moody," Arthur Weasley exclaimed. "The grave isn't even dug yet. You're being paranoid, as usual."

"No harm in being paranoid," Moody said. "No harm in it at all. What do I keep reminding you?"

"Constant vigilance," the Order of the Phoenix chanted like a reluctant Hogwarts class.

"Exactly," Moody said. "I will, on this occasion, go with the majority decision, so I suggest we put it to the vote. Show your hands if, like me, you believe that Narcissa and Draco Malfoy must be summarily executed to preserve the security of the Order of the Phoenix."

There were a few coughs.

"Now, show your hands if you believe that we should continue to hold the Malfoys at Grimmauld Place, and interrogate them, potentially compromising the security of the Order of the Phoenix and causing the deaths of those people vital to the continued security of the wizarding world." The tone in Moody's voice suggested that very few people had shown their hands the first time round. There was some more coughing.

"I wonder what they'll decide," Ron said to nobody in particular.

"That settles it, then," snapped Moody. "You have chosen to risk all of our necks because you are too cowardly to deal with a threat in our midst. Let nobody say I never warned you."

"Oh, come on now, Alastor," Tonks began, only to be shouted down.

"There is also," Moody went on, "the matter of what has happened to Dumbledore. It is obvious that the Fidelius Charm has been broken in some way - obvious that the day we all feared would arrive has done so. Our security has been compromised. Am I right to say Dumbledore is not responding to any forms of communication, Hestia?"

Hestia Jones, another member of the Order of the Phoenix, was considered one of the foremost experts on various forms of communication. "I've been trying everything," she said. "He's not at Hogwarts, and according to Professor Dippet, to whom I spoke in his absence, he hasn't been there for a couple of days."

"This is a source of grave concern," Moody said. "I should like to send some men to Hogwarts later this evening ..."

"We can't do that! What are we going to do about Harry?" Shacklebolt cut in. "It's all already been arranged."

There was a brief silence.

"Harry will be taken from Privet Drive and brought here as per the schedule we previously agreed," Moody said at length. "The Advance Guard will consist of Remus, Tonks, Shacklebolt and I, with you two providing back-up from a safe distance, should it be needed. This mission is our top priority."

"And what about Dumbledore?" Charlie Weasley asked.

"He'll have to take his chances," Moody went on. "We're understaffed here as it is. All of you remaining behind tonight are to listen up. We do not know what might be out there. We do know that we may well be facing a potentially fatal breach in the security of our headquarters, therefore until such time as we arrive back with Harry Potter ... what is it, Severus?"

None of them heard what Snape said.

"Very well, then," Moody replied. "Proceed directly to the Ministry of Magic as soon as the meeting is closed. The rest of you will be keeping watch, that's you, Molly and Arthur, Vance, Diggle, Fletcher and Doge. Hestia, you must continue to attempt to open any channels of communication you can with Albus Dumbledore. Should this building be attacked you are to retreat. Leave the prisoners behind and do not stop for anything. Do not attempt to fight the Death Eaters and do not attempt to resist them. Leave Grimmauld Place by any means necessary. I hope that it won't come to that, but there is no harm in being prepared. Are there any questions?"

"What about the children?" Molly asked. "They don't know how to fight ..."

"The children are to be considered expendable," Moody said. "If attempting to leave with them compromises your own security, then you are to treat them as you would anyone not enrolled in the Order and leave them behind. I'm sorry, Molly, don't look at me like that. You know full well of the risks involved. This is a war, not a teddy bears' picnic. Now, does anybody have anything constructive to add?"

There was another silence.

"Right, then. This meeting of the Order of the Phoenix is adjourned!"

"Quick!" squeaked Ginny, leaping to her feet. Hermione hoisted the Extendable Ear back up as quickly as she could as the kitchen door opened and a few people began to file out. They watched over the banister as Snape, with a look as black as thunder on his face, stalked out of the front door, slamming it shut with a bang that set Sirius' mother off again.

"Half-breed vermin. Treacherous scum. How dare you befoul the house of my fathers!"

Moody stopped at the foot of the stairs, looked up, and caught sight of Ron, Hermione and Ginny. All three of them stepped back.

"Your dinner will be ready soon," he said, somehow making it clear that he was well aware they had been eavesdropping. "I suggest you get yourselves cleaned up. And Ron, make up the extra bed in your room for Harry. He arrives tonight at midnight."

***

At that moment, miles away from Grimmauld Place, Harry was lying face down on his bed, listening to the inane studio audience laughter echoing from downstairs. The Dursleys were watching an absurdly dire sitcom and he felt no particular desire to go downstairs and join them.

The thunderstorm of earlier had passed, but it was still raining heavily, and the air outside was oppressively humid. Harry was doing his best to keep cool by lying perfectly still and not moving a muscle. He had a lot of time to practice - as it was the summer immediately following the OWL exams, none of his Hogwarts teachers had set any holiday homework beyond reading some set texts for the Sixth Form courses - so Harry was at a very loose end.

It was very dark outside, and he had not bothered to switch on the light, and so when the entire room was bathed with a sudden flash of green light, he let out a sudden yell and sprang from the bed, muscles tensed.

"What the hell was that ruddy noise?" Harry could hear Uncle Vernon's enraged voice from downstairs. "Harry! Get down here!"

But Harry did not move. He was suddenly hyperaware of every flicker of movement in his room. The green light had now faded. He slipped his bare feet into his trainers, and walked over to the window. There was no movement in the rain-sodden back garden. He could hear Uncle Vernon's footsteps on the staircase.

"Harry! Harry! What the ruddy hell was that noise?" Uncle Vernon barged his way into Harry's room.

"Shut up," Harry said, facing the window and holding up his hand to stop Uncle Vernon's approach. His wand was gripped tight in his other hand.

The second flash was a lot closer, and it came from in the woods, a street or two away.

"What in blazes ... does this have something to do with your lot?" Uncle Vernon snapped.

"Shut up, will you!" Harry hissed. "I'm trying to listen."

At that moment, red sparks shot into the air, and Harry could've sworn he saw dark shapes on broomsticks flitting in the air above Privet Drive. There was definitely something happening nearby.

"I may have to leave," Harry said. "Very soon."

"The sooner the better," Uncle Vernon said distractedly, still looking fixedly out of Harry's bedroom window. "What were those sparks?"

"I think they might have been a distress signal," Harry said. He toyed with the idea of readying his trunk, just in case, but decided against it. Hedwig was off delivering a letter to Ron and Hermione, and he only really needed his wand. He was ready for whatever ... whoever was coming to ...

An explosion tore the side completely off Number 4, Privet Drive. Harry was thrown to the floor as plaster dust and roof tiles rained down on him from above. There was no sign of Uncle Vernon anywhere. He could hear screams from downstairs and the wailing of car alarms on the street outside. The smoke detectors were beeping and he could smell burning.

Opening his eyes - his wand hand was dripping with blood where splinters from the roof beams had cut it - Harry began to panic. Were there Death Eaters nearby? Had the explosion even been magical? If they could attack him at Privet Drive, then had Dumbledore been lying? He kept low, crouched on the floor of his bedroom as the rained poured in, soaking him to the skin in an instant. One whole wall of the room was vanished, and the door was blocked by his wardrobe, which had fallen across it.

"Harry! Hurry!"

He looked up. Floating several feet above his head was Tonks, holding tightly to a broomstick. "Get your Firebolt. Forget your trunk. We have to go NOW!"

Harry nodded dumbly. His Firebolt - released from its yearlong detention under Professor Umbridge, was still leaning up against a wall, miraculously undamaged. Checking that his wand was secure in the waistband of his shorts, Harry seized the Firebolt, and seconds later was clear of the house, soaring into the night sky alongside Tonks.

"What's happened!" he bellowed as they wheeled round overhead and surveyed the mess on the ground. The Dursleys' neat, tidy suburban home was ablaze. All along Privet Drive, Muggles were coming to their front doors to see what all the commotion was about. Harry tried to suppress a slight twinge of malicious pleasure as his tormentors' lives went up in smoke.

"We were coming to collect you!" Tonks yelled back at him above the noise of the rain. "But someone must have leaked word. We were attacked in the woods. Kingsley's dead ... I'm ... I don't know about Remus or Moody."

Down below, dark figures were scurrying across the back lawn towards the burning building.

"You've got to go, now, Harry," Tonks said. "I'm going to stay here and try and rendezvous with the others, if they're okay. You're to fly three miles due north and meet the rearguard over Leatherhead Woods. They'll take you the rest of the way!"

"My ... my aunt and my cousin ... they're still in there ... we can't leave them!" Harry yelled.

"We're going to have to, Harry! They're all probably dead already," Tonks said shakily. "You mustn't stay here! You'll be killed for sure! Remember ... three miles north. I'm going to do the best I can here!"

Harry did not argue. He kicked his broom into the air and soared high above the rooftops of Little Whinging. As he did so, he had a sense of impending doom. He gained the safety afforded by a decent height, and checked the compass on the Firebolt's handle to ascertain which way was north. Down below, he could see fire engines racing along the darkened country roads, their blue lights flashing and sirens wailing. Crouching low over the handle, he wheeled the broom around to the left and went in the opposite direction to them, not daring to look back at the pillar of smoke and the flames licking and curling into the night sky from the devastated remains of his childhood home. His heart and his breathing began to slow as he eased the Firebolt gently back to a safe cruising speed.

There was another flash of green light, and the sound of a curse roaring just above Harry's head. He cried out as his hand slipped and he nearly fell off. Out of the corner of his eye he could see another two brooms, wheeling away to make another pass at him.

Another curse whistled by, thrown off course by the rain and wind, which were ruining his pursuers' aim. Harry began to weave. As he turned round to the east another broomstick flashed across his line of vision.

"Give it up, Baby Potter!" a voice he well remembered shouted. "It's useless! You can't run!"

Bellatrix Lestrange. Fighting the anger and hatred rising in his blood, Harry spurred the broomstick on. He could feel the wind whipping through his hair as he dived for the safety of the woods below. But the Death Eaters were close on his tail.

"Give it up! Land!" someone else shouted. Harry crouched lower still. He was not going to be taken out like this. He gripped the handle of the Firebolt so tightly his knuckles were going white.

"You'll crash for sure, Potter! Land and give yourself up!" one of the Death Eaters - Harry reckoned there were three in all - was shouting. His situation, he realised, was rapidly becoming more perilous. He was dangerously close to the tops of the trees and still heading eastwards, away from the rearguard, wherever they might be. He gained more speed and the Death Eaters on their slower brooms began to peel away from him as he circled round in a wide arc, the tips of his toes occasionally making contact with the foliage. He was winning. He could escape!

A shower of red sparks shooting into the sky gave away the location of the rearguard, which was circling about eight hundred feet above him and six hundred yards to the west. Harry could barely see anything through his rain-soaked glasses, but he could suddenly tell, with a sinking heart, that the Death Eaters were not going slower than him, they were merely moving towards the rearguard, hoping to cut him off. With a lurch of fear Harry goaded the Firebolt up to its top speed, and it began to whine under the strain. He could see the three Death Eaters closing rapidly on the rearguard, which seemed unaware of their approach.

"Come on, come on, for fuck's sake!"

But it was useless. The Death Eaters launched a volley of curses at the rearguard, which reacted immediately, splitting and diving for the cover of the trees. There were two people ... just two. Well, Harry thought, that might even the odds ... a bit. Glowing in the distance he could see the lights of a town, presumably Leatherhead.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The curse hit the tail of the Firebolt, breaking half the twigs in the tail array and setting it on fire. Harry swore at himself for his stupidity; he had taken his mind off the pursuit for a second and now he had been hit. He had seen enough old war movies to know that when aeroplanes caught fire, the thing to do was to dive towards the ground and let the wind put the flames out. But he was only fifty feet or so up ... he would crash for sure. As the flames began to lick at the soles of his trainers, Harry knew the only thing to do was to gain height before losing it.

Praying that the Firebolt could stand the strain of a vertical climb, he gripped the handle tightly and soared back into the air. The Firebolt juddered and shuddered in protest, and more twigs fell away into the darkness. One thousand feet ... one thousand five hundred ... two thousand ... two thousand five hundred ... Harry suddenly felt very high up indeed. The Firebolt gave a lurch of protest, as if it intended to tip Harry off, and one last whine, and then the magic cut out temporarily.

For a brief second, Harry continued to gain height as the momentum carried them further. Then he felt his stomach rising in his throat as the Firebolt turned gracefully over in mid-air. Harry could see the lights of traffic moving along a motorway, far below him. Then he began to fall.

The speed was incredible. His glasses were whipped away from his face and disappeared into the night. He struggled to keep a hold of the broom-handle as he dived towards the motorway. There was a hiss as the flames licking at the Firebolt were quenched, and, relief flooding his brain, Harry pulled hard on the handle to bring the broom out of its dive. He could make out individual cars moving along, throwing up plumes of spray from the wet tarmac. This was just like Quidditch ... better than Quidditch! Harry gave an elated whoop as the Firebolt came level and he flew along above the fast-moving traffic.

Two other brooms closed in from either side, and Harry automatically barrel rolled as if to get out of their way.

"Watch it, Harry!" a voice cried out. "You're flying too low!"

Harry came to his senses, and ducked as he whistled underneath an overhead gantry sign. The rearguard fell into place beside him.

"Charlie!" Harry exclaimed, catching sight of the freckled faces grinning at him from beneath rainproof flying capes. "Bill!"

The Weasleys nodded their encouragement. "That," Bill said, "was some fucking amazing flying, Harry. Well done!"

"We think we lost them," Charlie said. "But we're going to keep heading along this road at top speed, okay?"

Harry nodded.

"It'll be harder for them to trace our magical signature amongst all the lights," Bill continued. "Look out ..."

There was a loud honking, and they split to fly either side of the oncoming lorry that had been seconds away from hitting them. Harry looked over his shoulder as the lorry skidded on the wet road, drifting across two lanes of traffic but mercifully not hitting anything.

"That was close!" Bill said. "We'd better keep above the trucks. They're dangerous."

"Let's fly on the left, like the traffic. We won't hit anything coming towards us!" Harry shouted above the noise.

"Sensible plan. On my signal veer away!"

Charlie raised his wand and shot more sparks into the air. Slowly, they began to drift to the left, keeping pace with the cars below them. Harry squinted at his compass. They were flying in a northwesterly direction, which meant they must be on the clockwise carriageway of the London Orbital. He kept a close look out for signs.

"There's an interchange in about four miles or so!" Harry yelled, as they lost height to avoid another overhead sign. "With another road like this one that can take us straight into London!"

"Good thinking, Harry. Keep your eyes peeled!" Bill shouted. "Those Death Eaters could be close behind. If you see anything, Charlie, fire sparks! Got that?"

Charlie nodded his agreement. They were overtaking the traffic below them now, doing about eighty or eighty five miles an hour. It was very exhilarating, and not a little scary, to be flying along the M25 in full view of, potentially, thousands of Muggles. Harry could feel the Firebolt shuddering slightly underneath his weight. Clearly it had sustained a lot of damage, and he was a little concerned that it might not last all the way to Grimmauld Place.

Charlie clearly sensed his unease, for he drew close alongside Harry and said, "If that thing gives out, then I'll land and you can take my Cleansweep. I'll take my chances down on the ground."

"I'll make it!" Harry replied, gritting his teeth. "I have to make it!"

"But if you don't!"

"I'm not going to not make it," Harry said, although truthfully, he was beginning to have his doubts. The Firebolt was dragging to the left noticeably, and it was becoming something of a chore to have to keep it flying straight and level.

Charlie pummelled him cheerfully on the shoulder. "Well, keep going as long as you possibly can, Harry. I want to make sure we've shaken off those Death Eaters before I chance a landing." He glanced backwards warily. Harry did the same, but there appeared to be no sign of any pursuers.

Bill had flown ahead to the next bridge over the motorway and was waiting for them there. As Harry and Charlie flashed under the bridge, he took a quick glance backwards and then followed them.

"I'm a little worried!" he called out as he drew level with Harry and Charlie. "I think we'd be better off taking our chances flying low, against the traffic flow and keeping an eye out for those Muggle lorries. The headlights on all the cars tailing us are too bright and I can't see a thing!"

Charlie took another look over his shoulder. "Would you like me to double back?" he asked.

Bill shook his head as they swooped low to pass under another bridge. "No, I'd rather you didn't!" he said. "It's way too risky, I'm not sending you back there on your own."

"Okay!" Charlie shouted back. "Hey, Harry, how far do you reckon to this interchange?"

Harry did the maths in his head. They'd been flying about two minutes at around seventy or eighty, make that sixty, because the cars down below were probably going a lot slower on the wet road, so if they were covering two miles a minute, then properly the interchange ought to be coming up ... BLAM!

Something struck him hard from the right hand side, and the Firebolt yawed round to the left. Harry gripped the handle and fought to bring it back in line with the cars. He could see Charlie wheeling away to cover his rear, and Bill - evidently it had been Bill who had collided with him - was keeping pace with the cars.

"Go low, Harry! Go low!"

No fewer than six other brooms were descending on them from all directions, each one flown by a masked, cloaked figure; Death Eaters.

"Harry, do NOT USE YOUR WAND!" he heard Bill yelling at the top of his voice. "WHATEVER YOU DO DON'T USE YOUR WAND UNLESS YOU HAVE NO ALTERNATIVE!"

A bolt of green light whistled overhead. Harry, panicked, flew lower, closer to the road. If there was a chance he could lose his pursuers in the blinding spray from the cars then he would have to take it. Now less than a foot above the tarmac, he wished he hadn't lost his glasses. He was dimly aware that he was coming up close behind a car - he could see the red taillights. Without bothering to check behind him, he changed lanes and almost flew into the side of another car that was overtaking on the inside.

"Shit, shit, shit!" Harry screamed, as the broom bucked and heaved in the slipstream of the cars. There was no sign of anybody pursuing him, but the traffic up ahead seemed to be slowing - he could see brake lights beginning to flash. He was going too fast! He would crash for sure!

With one enormous heave, Harry pulled the Firebolt up and out of the spray, and over the roof of the Ford saloon slowing in front of him. One of his shoelaces hooked around the car's radio aerial, and the trainer was whipped away. Harry felt something go as his leg was snapped back momentarily, and the Firebolt bucked again. The traffic had slowed to around twenty or thirty miles an hour now, and the spray had all but disappeared. He was totally exposed, and he could see the interchange coming up ahead of them - a spider web of concrete bridges carrying the other roads over the motorway.

"You can't escape, Potter!"

He glanced backwards over his shoulder. Bellatrix Lestrange was once again on his tail, her hair windswept and her makeup ruined, a look of predatory triumph etched across her face. She licked her lips.

"GIVE IT UP, POTTER!"

"NOT A CHANCE!" he roared. He yanked hard on the handle, and the Firebolt soared upwards into the air. Harry glanced around for any sign of Bill and Charlie, but they didn't appear to be anywhere close by. Lestrange was close on his tail and the bridges were now a matter of hundreds of yards away. Harry had to make a snap decision.

"LAND YOUR BROOM!"

He took a quick look to his right. Two more broomsticks were converging upon him from that direction. His escape route was cut off. He ducked, low, as the Firebolt hurtled under the first of the bridges, and then pulled himself upwards to rocket over the second. He thought he heard roars of anger and the sound of something crashing, but he didn't stop to look behind him.

Bill flashed past, close on his right hand side.

"We'll have to keep going, Harry, there are more coming! Don't stop!"

Harry felt sick with fear. It was hopeless. They were all going to die. He dived after Bill. More curses flashed past them, but none hit home as they levelled out above the cars, which were beginning to speed up again.

"We can lose them if we stay close to the road!" Bill yelled. "But keep an eye out for cars, especially coming from behind."

"Okay!" Harry called. "Where's Charlie?"

"Back with Remus and Tonks. Moody is bringing up the rear!"

Harry felt a sudden surge of energy. "They're here?"

Bill nodded. "Moody's taking on two of those Death Eaters all on his own, the mad old fart! HARRY - go low, mind that car!"

Harry swerved to avoid the speeding BMW, which had come up close behind them, headlights flashing. Another curse flashed past. This one hit the car in front of Harry, which cart wheeled off the road in an exploding ball of flame, rolling over and over. Harry narrowly missed it. He could hear the blaring of horns and the sounds of cars skidding and hitting each other behind him. Bill wheeled around across the road, and Harry followed him instinctively. He caught a glimpse of another broomstick - whether it was friend or foe he had no idea - crashing into the flaming wreckage.

"Jesus, that looks like a right old mess!" Bill said as they gained height again. Harry could hear the flapping of robes in the wind. The rain was easing off and Tonks, Remus and Charlie drew level with them. Remus was making the 'everything's okay' sign with his free hand.

"A lot of Ministry Memory-Charmers are going to be very busy tonight," Remus laughed above the rush of the wind. "Feel proud, Harry!"

Tonks smiled at Harry, who was feeling dazed and dizzy, as if he was not entirely in his own body. Everything had happened so quickly. Just half an hour ago he had been lying on his bed and now here he was, his clothes soaked through, his entire body shaking with cold and fear, flying above a motorway late at night, having apparently just outwitted a group of Death Eaters who had seemed intent on murdering the lot of them. He had barely had a chance to take stock of his situation. He had never in all his life seen Muggles directly harmed by the wizarding world. It was only now he realised that his leg was throbbing with pain, his head was aching, his lungs were burning, his throat was dry and his heart was beating so hard it was threatening to burst out of his ribcage. He was close to collapse from exhaustion.

"Did we get them all?" he heard Charlie say as the Order of the Phoenix fell into formation around him. "Is everyone present and correct?"

"I think so," Tonks said. "Moody took on two himself and that's the last either of us saw of him ..."

Bill said, "Should we go back?"

Remus shook his head. "No, his orders were very specific. We're to keep flying, straight to Grimmauld Place. We need to take a bearing due east. That's this way!"

The five broomsticks turned lazily round to the right, high above the carnage on the road, and put on a burst of speed as they headed off towards the bright lights of London.

***

"It's a miracle," Alastor Moody proclaimed on Saturday morning, as they sat around the breakfast table at 12, Grimmauld Place, "that we only lost one man. Kingsley Shacklebolt died a hero last night, fighting bravely against the forces of Voldemort. It was the way he had often told me he intended to go. We hope he has found a better place, where his dedication to the cause of goodness will be justly rewarded. We will toast him tonight and remember him in our prayers."

There were murmurs of assent from every side of the table. Moody, who made a habit these days of taking only a mug of tea at breakfast, relaxed in his chair and unfolded the morning papers on his lap.

"As for the mess we caused," he said, with a chuckle. "No fewer than five hundred and seventy six memory charms and an insurance bill of nearly three quarters of a million pounds. Thankfully, no Muggles were killed. Gentlemen, ladies. We did well."

Tonks smiled at Harry over her porridge, but Harry merely blinked blindly.

Moody read from the Prophet. "'Three suspected Death Eaters, including the notorious Bellatrix Lestrange, are in St Mungo's this morning. Mrs Lestrange suffered serious injuries to the head, neck and spine when she was involved in a side-on collision with a Muggle lorry carrying washing machines (a device Muggles use to do their laundry in) during the thrilling high speed broomstick chase along the M25' ... oh really now - do they have to describe everything as thrilling? 'Up to two other Death Eaters may have been killed during the events of last night. The Prophet would like to take this opportunity to humbly thank those chivalrous men (and women) who have taken on the task of guarding the life of Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived and ensuring his continuing safety. This reporter is unworthy to lick their boots (see editorial, page 22 'We Must All Lick Harry Potter's Boots In These Troubled Times')'."

"Oh, hark at how they change their tune," Molly Weasley exclaimed through a mouthful of bacon.

"Exactly," Moody said. "We were unlucky last night. Details of a routine mission to bring Harry safely to Grimmauld Place somehow fell into the hands of the enemy, and we were attacked. Do not get complacent now that the scum at the Daily Prophet - who are, in my considered opinion, indeed not fit to lick our boots - have decided to heap praise on us. There should have been no need for this publicity. Something went tragically, unforgivably wrong last night, and the only good publicity, as far as we are concerned, is no publicity. Let us not forget that."

Tonks, Remus, Arthur and Molly Weasley murmured their agreement. Breakfast was concluded largely in silence.

Harry didn't talk to Ron or Hermione, or anybody much that morning. He had arrived at Grimmauld Place wet and exhausted and gone straight to sleep, and when he awoke in the morning, he felt strange. There was sunlight pouring in through the bathroom windows and as he washed his face, trying to make his hair look slightly less untidy than usual - the mirror had sighed at him and said "I don't know why you bother, dear" - and dressed for breakfast in the only clothes he still had, the shorts and t-shirt he had been wearing the previous night, it seemed silly to think that the events of the previous night had actually even happened. On a clear, sunny morning, surrounded by good friends and people whom he felt safe with, it was suddenly very hard to believe that Voldemort and his Death Eaters were even real, let alone posing a credible threat to Harry's own existence.

Harry had long since learned that to display his own, pathetic weakness in front of the people who were depending on him psychologically, just as he depended on them in turn, was a very bad thing. It was better by far that he clam up and refuse to say anything. If they knew he was scared, then they would be scared, too; after all, everybody now knew what had been contained in the Prophecy. It was Harry or Voldemort, both with their heads on the metaphorical block.

Ron and Hermione seemed to sense his unease as well, for they shepherded him away from Molly Weasley, who was panicking about having to go to Diagon Alley and get Harry new things to replace his possessions that had been destroyed at Privet Drive, and made sure he was kept occupied all morning. They sat in the front parlour in vast, green leather smoking chairs, where they could look out onto Grimmauld Place itself and see whoever was coming and going. Hermione read from a book entitled 'Taking Arithmancy Beyond OWL - What you Should Expect and how to deal with the Side Effects' whilst Ron tried to interest Harry in a game of wizarding chess. Harry, however, was more content to sit in silence and gaze out of the window. Thus passed the morning. The shadows shortened as lunchtime approached, and at about twenty five to twelve, all three of them were surprised to see Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape, deep in conversation, walking up to the front door.

It was Arthur Weasley who answered it. The children listened through the open parlour door.

"Are they okay?" he was asking.

"Both of them seem in good health," Snape replied. "We will have to have them brought here as soon as they are able to walk. We cannot risk sending them back to Privet Drive. It could be very dangerous."

Harry gasped. The Dursleys were coming to Grimmauld Place? They had survived?

"What about the fellow?" Arthur asked. "Vernon, whatsisname?"

"Quite dead, I'm afraid," Professor McGonagall replied. "Oh, but there is some news of young Shacklebolt."

"They found a body?"

"Oh, better than that," McGonagall said. "He was found this morning by the Accidental Magical Reversal Squad. Those curses mostly missed him, he was only stunned, and he'd put a tourniquet around his leg, would you believe?"

"He'll be okay?"

"Well," Snape said. "He's lost a lot of blood, and he'll be in St Mungo's for several weeks. But the healers think he'll pull through without too much trouble." He sounded genuinely relieved.

"Oh, now that really is tremendously good news," Arthur said. "Everyone safe and accounted for. Moody will be very pleased."

"Is Harry all right?" McGonagall asked. Arthur Weasley closed the door, and they descended down the stairs into the kitchen, cutting off the rest of the conversation.

Snape, however, stuck his head around the parlour door, and seemed surprised to see the three of them sitting there.

"Oh," he said. "I thought you would all be out in the gardens on such a nice day, or maybe busily revising your Potions texts, Potter."

It had been to Harry's incredible surprise, and Snape's considerable disappointment, that Harry had scraped an O grade at Potions during his summer exams by only half a point, which meant that he made the cut for Snape's NEWT Level Potions class. Harry wasn't exactly thrilled by the prospect, but as McGonagall had once told him, Potions was essential if one was to follow through and become an Auror.

"All my books were destroyed in the fire, Professor," Harry said smugly. "Besides, I don't have any glasses any more."

Snape tutted haughtily. "Well then, you'd better see about getting yourself some new ones. Meanwhile, have a look at this." He reached into his robes and withdrew a slim volume, which he tossed at Harry. Embossed on the cover were the words 'Occlumency. Its Uses and Misuses During the Death Eater Trials of 1981. A Report by the Committee on Magical Regulation.'

"Um, thanks," Harry said, his heart sinking. His Occlumency lessons the previous term had been abandoned, and Harry thrown bodily from the Potions Master's office. Could this mean Snape was intending to start teaching him how to resist Voldemort's mind-probing again?

"My pleasure, Potter," Snape said in unpleasant tones. "I may be asking you to give me a little help later with some work I have to do for the Order."

With that he left the room, and went down the stairs. Harry could have sworn he heard him shout, "Show me the Malfoys, show me the Malfoys!"

"That was ..."

"Odd," said Ron.

"Very strange," said Hermione, peering at them both over her book. "I don't believe I've ever heard Snape sound so cheerful. What's that book about, Harry?"

"It's some sort of legal report about Occlumency, I think," he answered. "What did Snape mean when he talked about the Malfoys?"

"He didn't say anything about the Malfoys, Harry," Hermione replied quickly.

"We're holding Draco prisoner upstairs," Ron said, not having heard Hermione.

"Oh, thank you very much, Ron," Hermione snapped. "We weren't meant to tell him that."

"We weren't?" Ron asked.

"Remus told us specifically. So did your mother!" Hermione huffed angrily.

Ron smiled amiably. "Must have missed that memo," he said, with a knowing wink at Harry. "Whoops-a-daisy."

"You boys will be the absolute death of me," Hermione said.

"Why wasn't I meant to be told?" Harry asked. "Why are the Malfoys here? How did they get in? I thought this place was protected ..."

"It is protected, Harry," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "Unfortunately Narcissa is already related to the Blacks ..."

"I knew that," huffed Harry. "Sirius showed me that big family tree of his last year - you know, the one on that tapestry in the other room?"

"I know the one you mean, Harry," said Hermione. "Remus suggested that since she already knew where Grimmauld Place is, she and Draco were able to ..."

"Hang about," said Ron. "How come you're not being hauled over the coals for this? You've told Harry more in five seconds than I ..."

"Oh shut up, Ron!" Hermione snapped. "You've gone and let the cat out of the bag now, so there's no sense in keeping it a secret any more, is there?"

Harry was puzzled. "But what about the Fidelius Charm?" he asked.

"I was coming to that," Hermione said. "The house is protected by the same magic that your parents used to shield themselves from You-Know-Who, as we already know. The only person who can break the Fidelius Charm is Dumbledore: our Secret Keeper. As there appears to be no sign of Dumbledore at the minute, Moody has been going absolutely crazy. He thinks we're about to be attacked by every Death Eater in the country."

Harry gave a start. "So, wait a minute, surely we can be," he said. "I mean, if the Malfoys can show up here, then what is to stop the rest of the Death Eaters from hammering on the door any minute now! The Malfoys are all in league with Voldemort as it is!"

"Oh, Harry, you can be incredibly dim sometimes," Hermione said, exasperated.

"Oh, thanks!" Harry said, offended.

"Narcissa and Draco weren't out looking for the Order of the Phoenix, Harry," Hermione said. "They quite obviously knew no more about what's going on here than, well, than You-Know-Who himself. That's why we have to keep them prisoner here."

"How do you mean, they weren't out looking for us?" Harry asked. "How come they showed up on our bloody doorstep, then?"

Hermione sighed. "Harry, if you'd just calm down and let me finish!"

"This is me being calm. I'm as calm as a fucking cucumber!"

"You see you're not. Now, sit back down," Hermione said. Harry returned to his armchair and glared at her. "Now listen. The Malfoys came here because they've been made homeless ..."

"I know!" interrupted Ron as he caught Harry's grin. "Isn't it great?"

"Be quiet, Ron. After Lucius Malfoy got sent to Azkaban with those other Death Eaters, Fudge was very quick to prove to the wizarding world that he intended to take the threat posed by Lord Voldemort very seriously indeed. So he had the Ministry freeze all the assets of the families of the convicted men. The Malfoys were particularly hard hit. Their bank accounts have been taken - and according to the Quibbler they were very well off indeed ..."

Ron spat, "The Quibbler is not exactly known for unbiased reporting!"

"In case you're forgetting, Ron, it was the Quibbler that published Harry's story when nobody else would," Hermione growled, sounded more and more like McGonagall with each interruption. "Now, will you kindly be quiet before I hex you into next week!"

"So," Harry said, wishing Ron and Hermione would stop bickering so much. "The Malfoys got chucked out of their manor?"

"Apparently," Hermione said. "Word on the wizarding grapevine is that Narcissa Malfoy is nothing without her dear, darling Lucius - and that they only got all these invites to society balls and grand openings because everyone was so scared of him. So obviously, now he's out of the picture, none of the Malfoys' so-called friends will spare her or Draco a second glance, let alone 5 Knuts for a cup of tea - they're all too scared of what will happen to them if they start associating with known Death Eaters."

"I see," Harry said.

"Anyway," Hermione went on. "With nowhere else to go and the rest of the family either in hiding or avoiding them, Narcissa chose to come back to the one place where she knew she'd get a warm welcome: Grimmauld Place."

"Only what she didn't know ..."

"Well, yes, of course, because she's such a foul bitch who only passes the time of day with her relatives when it's absolutely necessary," Hermione said, "nobody had bothered to tell her that Mrs Black died in 1985. And of course, there was no way she could've known anything about the, er, current occupants of the house before she got here."

"But of course," Ron said. "If we let either of them go then you can bet the chances they'll go running off to Lord Voldemort to tell them they've found us are pretty good. So for the time being, they get to stay here with us."

Harry was a little unsure of the wisdom of doing this. He had explored most of Grimmauld Place and he was fairly sure that as prisons went, it was not an especially secure one.

"What if they get out?" he asked.

"They can't," Hermione said, telling Harry what Remus had told her about the guest rooms.

"So they're trapped?"

"Well, not exactly," Hermione said. "I understand Narcissa thinks they're being treated as honoured guests of the Black Estate. I'm sure Draco knows what's going on, though. He's not as stupid as all that."

"How can you say that?" Ron blurted out.

Harry agreed with Hermione. "Draco's not stupid by any means," he said. "It takes brains to be that conniving."

Hermione nodded and looked up at the ceiling. "That was worrying me, too," she said. "If there's a way to get out of a warded room, the chances are Draco Malfoy will already know it. The papers said his father had confessed to training him in the Dark Arts since he was five. They said," she lowered her voice to a whisper, "that he's already been initiated into the Death Eaters, and that he knows how to perform the Unforgivable Curses.

"Of course," she went on, her voice suddenly all businesslike, "it's probably a load of rumour mongering. I'm sure Lucius Malfoy never said any such thing, and we already know what depths the Daily Prophet is prepared to sink to."

***

Moody closed the door to the bedroom. Narcissa Malfoy was standing over by the window, looking down on the street below.

"Good afternoon, Mrs Malfoy," he growled.

Narcissa, who was wearing a simple white dress, turned round to look at him. "So, you've put me in the guest rooms, I see."

Moody nodded. "That's correct. I trust they're to your liking."

Narcissa scowled. "Well, I shall have to just accept that you don't want me performing any magic, but if I am to be kept apart from my wand, then I must insist that someone supply me with various cosmetics, shampoos and unguents, preferably in a little wicker basket," she said. "I found myself quite unable to perform any of my usual beauty regimen this morning and after a few more days of this I shall be an absolute mess."

"Well," Moody said. "I'll see what I can do." He caught sight of the plates waiting to be collected. "I trust the food is to your liking?"

"The food was adequate," Narcissa said. "Grimmauld Place may well have gone to seed since I was last a guest within these walls, but I'm glad to see the cooking has not deteriorated. You may ... thank Mrs Weasley."

"I'll make sure to do that," Moody said. He gestured to a suite of armchairs that occupied the small living space in the room. "Would you care to take a seat, Mrs Malfoy? We have a lot to get through this afternoon, so I'll try and make it as quick and painless as possible."

Narcissa made a little 'humph' of disapproval, but sat down anyway. Moody took the chair opposite, and watched as she made herself quite comfortable.

"You are quite aware, I suppose," Moody began seriously, "that properly, I ought to have had both you and your son killed already."

If this at all shocked Narcissa, she didn't show it.

"I had a feeling, I must admit," Narcissa said, "that that might be the course of action you would take."

"That is not going to happen," Moody growled angrily. "But only because, Mrs Malfoy, my colleagues are too honourable to go through with it. They don't believe you present a credible threat to us and, well, hence the interrogation."

Narcissa fingered the pearl necklace she was wearing. "They take me for an ignorant blonde bimbo, do they? How wrong they are."

"How wrong indeed," Moody said.

Narcissa chuckled. "I know more about your little set-up than you think, Mr Moody, although, I have to admit, I confess I was surprised to find the Order of the Phoenix occupying Grimmauld Place, although I suppose it makes sense. Sirius Black was a member of the Order last time, was he not?"

"This is true," Moody said.

"Yes, an innocent man sent to Azkaban whilst Peter Pettigrew went into hiding for betraying the Potters - oh don't look so fucking surprised, Moody - Lucius has told me a great deal. Tell me, how is dear Cousin Sirius?"

"Dear Cousin Sirius departed this life a month ago," Moody said.

Narcissa appeared genuinely shocked. "How tragic," she said. "I must admit I was rather fond of him once."

"What do you know," Moody began, "of the Order of the Phoenix?"

"Well now, let's see," Narcissa said. "I know it was established twenty years ago by Albus Dumbledore, and that its members dedicated themselves to the eradication of Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters and of their dream of a Pure-blooded, just wizarding society. I know that for a while, fifteen years ago, they believed they had succeeded."

"That is all correct."

"I also knew," Narcissa said, "and believe me when I say that Lord Voldemort was well aware of this fact as well, that the Order was re-established in secret following the rather botched attempt on Harry Potter's life one year ago."

"Was Lord Voldemort interested in the Order?"

Narcissa nodded impatiently. "Well, he would be, wouldn't he?" she said. "I would be interested if I were he. He made it his business to be interested in the Order."

"How much importance did he attach to it?"

Narcissa smiled. "I'm not a Death Eater, Mr Moody."

"I am not asking you if you are a Death Eater. Frankly I don't care if you are or not," Moody said. "I have you exactly where I want you. This room is constantly guarded and there is no chance of escape. So you may as well give it all up now, Mrs Malfoy. Or we have Veritaserum, if you'd rather do it that way."

"Sully my body with those vile concoctions?" Narcissa was outraged that the suggestion had even been made. "I should think not. I will answer your questions, Moody, and after that you may dispose of me as you see fit."

She fingered her wedding ring nervously.

"Thank you," Moody said, somewhat taken aback.

"Although I hope that as long as the spirit of chivalry remains alive," Narcissa went on, "you will refrain from any crude executions."

"How much importance did Lord Voldemort attach to the Order of the Phoenix?" Moody asked.

"In my estimation, a great deal," Narcissa said. "It has been a source of great vexation to him throughout the last twelve months. However ..."

"However?"

"Voldemort also knew that whilst public opinion refused to believe he had returned, he could use the Ministry's blind stupidity to his advantage."

"Do you believe the Ministry, specifically Cornelius Fudge, were acting stupidly?"

Narcissa nodded. "They were quite foolish," she said, "to doubt Albus Dumbledore in the first place. I have a great amount of respect for Albus Dumbledore. I may spit on the ground that the miserable blood traitor's shadow touches, but he has to the best of my knowledge never told a bare faced lie. He is also quite a superb headmaster."

"Do elaborate, Mrs Malfoy."

"There was one thing Voldemort wanted - I never found out what it was, although I knew it was kept in the Department of Mysteries ..."

"It was a prophecy concerning the Dark Lord," Moody said. "We know all about that now."

Narcissa raised one eyebrow inquisitively. "A prophecy? How interesting. Well, Lucius must have been arrested in the attempt to retrieve it. My husband was well placed to take advantage of Fudge. He grew very close to the Minister last year, feeding him stories to Voldemort's advantage. It was Lucius who persuaded the Minister to appoint Dolores Umbridge to the Hogwarts faculty."

"Why would this have been to Voldemort's advantage?"

"Oh, it's quite simple, Mr Moody," Narcissa continued. "The Dark Lord is a quite fantastic man, a genius among minds ..."

"Let's not get carried away."

"But he is also a vindictive man. He hates Harry Potter ..."

"Do you hate Harry Potter?"

Narcissa nodded. "Harry Potter has been the bane of my son's existence for some years," she said. "He is nothing more than a jumped-up little bully, using his fame to his advantage in order to victimise my Little Pumpkin Pie."

"I see," Moody said.

"The bullying of my son and his friends aside," Narcissa continued. "Any attempt to have Harry Potter removed from the picture would be extremely advantageous to the Dark Lord. Umbridge's brief was to bring Hogwarts in line with Fudge's Target Setting - it didn't hurt that she was also instructed to keep an exceptionally close eye on the Potter boy."

"Naturally," Moody said.

"Voldemort was, of course aware that Potter had been contacted by the Order of the Phoenix during the course of last summer. He had been having Potter's home at Privet Drive watched for some years, and he was able to observe the various comings and goings. Potter, when added to this Order, would potentially devastate Voldemort's plans to retrieve this ... you say it was a Prophecy?"

Moody nodded.

"How interesting," Narcissa said. "I don't suppose you know what it was, do you? Would you care to tell me?"

"I'll ask the questions, Mrs Malfoy."

"No, perhaps not, then," Narcissa said. "Still, interesting to learn it was one of those Prophecies. Lucius never volunteered that information to me. I suppose it was possible he didn't know himself."

"Did Voldemort trust Lucius?"

"Lucius believed that he did," Narcissa said. "I, however, think differently. I suspect Voldemort trusted nobody. He still trusts nobody."

Moody nodded. "Very well, Mrs Malfoy," he said. "You were talking about Potter and the Order of the Phoenix."

Narcissa smiled. "Yes, I was," she said. "Well now, if Potter's lines of communication from Hogwarts could be cut, then he would not be able to liase with the Order of the Phoenix. Fudge was becoming delusional by this stage - believed Dumbledore was trying to start an army against him, which turned out to be true - how perfectly delicious."

"Don't stop now," Moody prompted.

"Umbridge succeeded admirably, I must say," Narcissa said. "She reported back to Fudge, who, of course, without realising it, reported straight back to the Death Eaters placed within the Ministry. All was going well. The Order of the Phoenix was unable to contact Harry Potter, and vice versa. Voldemort's gift for spreading enmity and discord is very great, as I am sure you will agree. He banked on disunity and suspicion within Hogwarts and without, and for a time he succeeded."

"Of course."

"Of course, the one thing he never knew, could never figure out, was where the Order of the Phoenix was located." She uncrossed her legs and leaned forwards. "So you had better not let me go, had you?" She paused and looked thoughtful. "May I ask you a question, Mr Moody?"

Moody nodded.

"How were you able to operate in such secrecy? That unbearably tedious Percy Weasley was perfectly placed to blow the whistle on you, yet I very much doubt he knew himself."

"If I told you that," Moody said, "then I would have to kill you."

Narcissa chuckled. It was like listening to crystal glasses smashing. "Well, then. Do I take it this little interview is over?"

Moody nodded, and rose to leave. "For the time being, yes," he said. "Would you care to have some tea sent up?"

"Why yes, I believe I would," Narcissa said. "How nice of you."

"I will have a pot sent up directly. We have scones as well. Mrs Weasley has been baking for hours."

"Scones would be delightful, but no clotted cream, if you please - it's tremendously bad for me. If you'd care to remove those plates as well, Mr Moody, you may see yourself out."

Moody picked up the discarded plates, and fighting the urge to bow, retreated from the room. As soon as he was outside on the landing, he locked the door and bolted it.

"I swear by Merlin himself," he said to Remus, who was sitting on a hard wooden chair on the landing, standing guard. "That woman was trying to hypnotise me."

Remus looked up. "She's ... ah ..."

"Absolutely fucking unbearable. I felt like I was being interviewed," Moody said. He handed the plates to Remus. "See that these are taken down to the kitchens and washed up. Oh, and, how is Snape getting on with wee Draco?"

Remus shrugged. "He's been in there a long time."

"Very well. Let me know when he's done; I'm going to take a walk in the gardens," Moody said, before disappearing downstairs.

***

Snape closed the door of the bedroom. The curtains had not been opened and it was still quite dark.

"If that's the house elf," a petulant voice whined from the bed, "then it may set my breakfast down there and then bugger off."

Snape crossed the room, and wrenched the curtains open. There was a yell of surprise from the bed, and then a loud thud as Draco fell out of it.

"I am no house elf, young Malfoy," Snape said, turning. "It's two o'clock in the afternoon - why do you persist in lying in bed?"

A shock of messy, white-blond hair emerged slowly from the floor next to the bed. Draco was blinking, and there were bags under his eyes. He was wrapped in a duvet.

"P...Professor Snape. I'd shake your hand ... but I don't want the duvet to slip."

"Don't bother," Snape said, sounding fed-up. "Do your parents let you sleep this late?"

"My parents let me do as I please," Draco mumbled. "If I want to sleep till two, what business is it of yours?"

"No wonder you're so unbearable," Snape said. "I will wait here while you put some bloody clothes on. And jump to it, boy, I don't have all afternoon."

"Right away, sir," Draco said, holding his duvet up with one hand and rubbing his eyes with the other. "Would you mind facing the window? Only I'm not actually wearing anything."

Snape sighed, and turned to face the window again. There were pigeons nestling in the casement. He heard Draco cross the room, move something heavy and then unfasten his trunk. There was a ruffling of material. One of the pigeons looked at Snape in a funny way.

"Okay, I'm decent."

"I'm very glad to hear it," said Snape, turning round. Draco was wearing a green, silk gown with a tasselled belt, which came down to just above his knees. "Do take a seat, Malfoy."

Draco sneered, and sat down in one of the armchairs. He drew his legs up underneath him and began to comb his hair.

"Will you stop that?" Snape snapped.

Draco put the comb away indignantly.

"I suppose you know by now why you are being kept in this room?"

"No, actually," Draco snapped in return. "Would somebody like to tell me? When am I to see mother again?"

Snape pretended to consult his watch. "Oh, not for a little while, I'm afraid," he said.

"May I go outside, sir?" Draco asked. "I noticed someone locked the doors."

Snape shook his head. "Regrettably that won't be possible for the time being."

Draco shrugged. "It's no matter, then. I wouldn't want to go outside anyway with that Mudblood and the Weasley filth infesting this house."

Snape growled. "Whatever your opinions of your hosts, I would suggest you keep them to yourself, Malfoy. If that so-called Weasley filth had not spoken in your favour yesterday evening, then rest assured you would have already been executed."

Draco paled visibly. "Executed?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Do you have any idea what this place is, Draco?" he asked.

Draco peered back at him indignantly. Snape felt distinctly uncomfortable. "None whatsoever," he said, flexing his toes.

"Does the Order of the Phoenix mean anything to you, Draco?"

Draco shrugged. "Father might have mentioned it to me once or twice."

"Do you or do you not know what the Order of the Phoenix is?" Snape repeated himself.

Draco sighed. "Yes," he said shortly. "Yes, I bloody well do. It's some pathetic secret society of Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers. They're conspiring against decent wizarding families like ours." He trailed off as he spotted the expression on Snape's face. "Why, sir?"

"I'm a member," Snape said.

Draco shrank back, aghast. "Have the Weasleys got to you, too?"

"Oh do display a little bit of intelligence, for Merlin's sake, Malfoy," Snape said. Draco pouted a bit before Snape continued in a more avuncular tone. "There is no sense in fighting for the Dark Lord, Draco. That way lies death and destruction and fearsome creatures with pointy teeth. I worked this out a long time ago, my boy."

"But ... b...but you're a Death Eater. Father's seen your Dark Mark," Draco said. He rolled up the sleeve of his dressing gown to reveal his own, which was tattooed on his upper arm, just below the shoulder. Snape had not previously known Draco had been initiated, and he felt a sudden burst of anger ... anger at the men and the family who had forced a teenaged boy to undergo the rituals, and sympathy.

"I have a Dark Mark, yes," Snape said. "You may roll your sleeve back down, Draco. There are ways of training the mind so that it doesn't burn like your world is ending when the Dark Lord calls you. I have learned them, and I can teach them to you, if you want me to."

He noticed Draco was quivering slightly.

"You're a traitor? A blood traitor?"

Snape shook his head. "No, Draco, I am a realist," he said. "The Dark Lord's time is over, my boy. The time of intolerance and bigotry is over. The Death Eaters cannot win."

"You're in league with Potter!"

Snape sighed. "If that is what it takes, then yes, I am in league with Potter. But let me assure you, Draco, that Potter is merely the tip of a vast iceberg."

Draco was looking at him, his face pale with fear. "But you're a ... I mean, what about your blood! Doesn't it mean anything to you?"

"Whatever makes you think I'm a Pureblood?" Snape asked quietly.

Draco's bottom lip began to quiver. "But ... b ... Slytherin."

"Oh, Merlin, Malfoy. I thought Dumbledore had taught you better than this!"

"Better than what?"

"Houses don't matter, points don't matter, Draco. We have tried to drum this into you from the very first day you arrived at Hogwarts. If it means the Dark Lord will some day be defeated, then I would sooner take arms with a sea of Gryffindors. This is bigger than stupid, stupid little rivalries."

"How do you mean?"

"Potter knows it," Snape said, "even though he doesn't often show it. Draco, do you know how close you came to being summarily executed by coming here?"

Draco shook his head dumbly.

Snape made a cutting motion across his throat. "It was very close," he said, trying not to remember how, in a fit of panic that the Malfoys apparently knew the location of the Order of the Phoenix, he had voted in favour of Moody's plan. "I cannot stand the Weasleys any more than you, but last night they saved your life. Now, do you know why I am here, talking to you?"

"You're poisoning my mind!" Draco snarled. "I won't listen to you!"

"No, it's not that," Snape said.

Draco looked up. His eyes were puffy from trying not to cry. He's no threat at all, Snape thought. He's just a little boy, following orders. He doesn't know anything. This is ridiculous.

"Then is this a test?" he asked. "Were those people I saw last night impostors? My loyalty is to my father, to the Dark Lord! My convictions never wavered, sir! Do I pass?"

Snape fought to restrain himself from throttling the boy cowering in the armchair before him.

"This is no test, you imbecilic little boy!" Snape roared. "This is real!" He was becoming too enraged with Malfoy to continue.

"It can't be."

"I'm ... we will continue this discussion later," Snape said, taking a handkerchief from one of his pockets and wiping his brow with it - he was surprised to find himself sweating profusely.

"I won't listen to you!" Draco said with stiffened resolve.

"Then I will send someone who is not as nice as me," Snape said, standing up. "And they will try and drum into you what I have been saying in a less that friendly manner."

"I don't fear the Order of the Phoenix!" Draco pouted.

Snape paused by the door. "But if I remember correctly," he said, "you do fear Alastor Moody. Goodbye for now, Draco. I'm sure we'll speak again."

***

Moody and Snape were sitting in the kitchen talking in low voices when Harry descended the stairs in search of a cup of tea, taking each step one at a time and clinging to the handrail as he went.

"...Ferret? Did I, indeed?" Moody was saying. "Might have to remember that one."

Snape, hearing Harry's footfall on the stairs, looked up. "What do you want, Potter?"

Harry blinked owlishly and gestured dumbly at the stove. "I was just coming to make some tea," he said.

"Well, get on with it, then," Snape said. "Have you read that book yet, Potter?"

Harry filled the kettle from the tap - making a great deal of mess in the process - and set it on the stove. He took three mugs from the draining board. "Not started it yet," he said. "In case you hadn't noticed, I can't read very well right now."

"Well, for heaven's sake, Potter, practice some Legilimency or something. There's nothing else for you to sit around all day doing in these parts. You might as well try and make yourself useful to the Order. What have you been doing?"

Harry turned to look at the men sitting at the kitchen table. "I was playing chess with Ron," he said.

Moody growled. "So you can see to play chess? Severus is right, Potter, if you want to make yourself useful to the Order, then you might at least try and master defending yourself against Legilimency. Or would you rather kill us all instead?"

Harry froze, biting hard on his bottom lip, facing away from the table.

"What did you say?"

"If you had kept up with your lessons, Potter," Snape said, "then you might not have fallen for the Dark Lord's trick in the first place."

Harry knew full well what Snape was implying. He balled his fists and held them resolutely at his sides. He could feel his ears burning.

"So once you've made your tea," Snape continued. "Make sure you take it upstairs to your room and read that book from cover to cover. I thought we might resume your lessons tomorrow."

"But these are the summer holidays," Harry said.

Moody scoffed. "What, Potter, do you seriously think the Dark Lord follows the school calendar, or something? He doesn't care when he attacks you. He'd do it during Christmas dinner if he thought your guard might be down, which is precisely why you must not let your guard down for one second - especially during the holidays."

"But, but, I ..."

"But what, Potter?" Snape asked. "Buy you don't want to? You can't be bothered. You're exactly like your Godfather, Potter. He was content to sit back and let everybody else do all the hard work. If you want to skulk in this dusty old mansion all summer, doing absolutely nothing of consequence, then do so. But don't come running to any of us when your scar starts hurting, or when You-Know-Who begins to possess your mind, because you'll get no sympathy from me."

Harry's suppressed rage began to bubble to the surface again. "I wouldn't want any sympathy from you, Professor," he spat. "And don't you dare talk about Sirius like that."

Snape remained poker faced. "Do not tell me how to behave, Potter," he replied. "You need to learn some humility and fast - otherwise you're going to meet a very sticky end."

"Come now, Severus," Moody said. "Let's have no arguments. Harry, we know what you've been through ..."

This was a red rag to a bull as far as Harry was concerned. "You don't know what I've been through!" he roared. "Neither of you. Neither of you went into that fucking maze with Diggory! Neither of you had to get back the sodding Philosopher's Stone or kill the bloody basilisk. YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE! I'VE BEEN FIGHTING HIM FOR FIVE YEARS. I AM TIRED! I JUST WANT A REST!"

Snape and Moody remained quiet, with their eyes fixed on Harry as he ranted. There was a silence.

"Are you quite finished?" Moody asked at length.

Harry stared at him furiously.

"Do you see me, Potter?" Moody growled. "Do you see what Voldemort has made me?" He jabbed at the great chunk that had been taken out of his nose, at his magical eye and his lopsided mouth. "Do you think I got these fishing, Potter?"

"No," Harry choked.

"About a month before your parents died," Moody continued, "I was tipped off about Voldemort's whereabouts. I went to this pub on the North York Moors to meet someone who I'd been told was an informant; a Death Eater who'd had enough and wanted to defect to our side. But he wasn't, he was still loyal to You-Know-Who and I should've known better. The whole thing was an elaborate set-up, and I still fell for it. There were five or six Death Eaters in this place, and I took them all on. There wasn't time to call for my backup. I had to get out of there. Stunned a couple of them before the Cruciatus Curse hit me. They've got you with that one before, haven't they, Potter?"

Harry nodded dumbly.

"It's not very nice, it's not exactly up there with ice cream and chocolate sauce, that's for sure," Moody said. "I don't know how I escaped, I don't remember, I don't even remember what curses and hexes those bastards got me with. But they did this." He gestured to his nose. "They sent me deaf in my right ear and, I lost half the blood in my body that night. I was on the intensive care ward at St Mungo's for six months and they weren't sure I was going to pull through. And believe you me, Potter, that made me the paranoid man I am today. Oh, for sure I was just as blasé and naïve as you are before I went to the Duke's Arms that night, but I learned, I learned that when you fuck with You-Know-Who, you'd better know what you're doing. You-Know-Who will get you any way he can and believe you me, he won't ask if you've had a pleasant journey. So, Potter, before you go mouthing off about what a hard, hard life you've had, remember I've been fighting him since before you were sperm!"

Harry was damned if he was going to apologise. "I'm ... I ..." he began. "I didn't know."

"Of course you didn't. I never told you before," Moody said, grinning slightly. Snape was scowling at Harry as if he was something nasty he had just picked off the bottom of his shoe. "Now, take your t and go upstairs and get cracking on that book Professor Snape lent you. I expect to see you making some progress before the week is out."