The Time Of Trial

"Shut up!" yelled Harry, closing his eyes tight and screwing up his face, as if this would ward off his thoughts. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

He banged his fist against the enamel washbasin.

"Shut up. Shut up."

With trembling fingers, he put the plug into the plughole. Someone had very conscientiously painted a black line all the way around the basin, about halfway up. Harry, not knowing that this mark was to facilitate the rationing of water for washing, filled the basin to the brim with steaming water, then proceeded to wash and dress himself for breakfast.

***

Charles was sitting at the table, a stack of newspapers in front of him. Besides the Daily Prophet, he also took the Muggle London Times, the Observer, the Manchester Guardian, The Daily Mirror and the Telegraph. Currently, he was reading the War news in the Prophet. Muggle censorship meant that the Magical press was the only source of truly reliable information, and Harry glanced at the front cover. HMS Repulse and the Prince of Wales had both been sunk, and Japanese forces were landing on Luzon, in the Philippines, at Kota Bharu, in Malaysia and Singora, in what was then Siam. In Europe, the Red Army was mobilising over 4 million men, and Soviet troops were launching offensives on both the Kalinin and West Fronts. Charles shook his head as he read the news, and Harry slipped silently into a seat between Draco and Hermione. Draco scowled at him.

"It doesnÂ’t look good," said Charles. "ThereÂ’s talk of the Americans sending actual ground troops over here."

"ThatÂ’ll be nice," said Mary Potter, not really listening to him. "YouÂ’ve always wanted to meet some." She bustled around the three children, serving hot drinks and toast. Hermione looked at the vast spread, clearly worried about something, but Harry momentarily forgot his unhappiness, and revelled in joy at this scene. This Â… this was what he had always dreamed of being part of, back in his cupboard.

"Eat up," said Mary, pouring Harry tea. "ThereÂ’s fresh bacon to follow, and eggs too."

"Mrs Potter," began Hermione, spreading apricot jam thinly on her toast. "I donÂ’t mean to be rude, but Â…"

Charles lowered his paper in anticipation of the expected rudeness.

"IsnÂ’t there Â… rationing? Or something? I mean Â… isnÂ’t this illegal?"

Mary smiled indulgently at Hermione. "Dear me, love, no. Not for us, anyway. The wizarding world can supply enough food to feed itself perfectly well. We donÂ’t need to bother with rationing like the Muggles."

Charles smiled. "CanÂ’t imagine how IÂ’d cope with only one egg a week, eh, Mary?"

Mary chuckled indulgently. "Quite, dear," she said.

"But isnÂ’t that a bit selfish?" asked Hermione firmly. "I mean Â… shouldnÂ’t you share it with them?"

"Goodness me, dear," said Mary, looking quite shocked. "What a queer idea."

And they both looked at Hermione as if she was quite mad. Harry hoped fervently that she did not find out there was a House Elf in the kitchen.

"Harry, dear," said Mary, smiling indulgently upon him. "If thereÂ’s anything you want, then just ask. More tea? Do you take sugar?"

"Mmph Â… fine, anks," said Harry, whose mouth was full of toast.

They were distracted, momentarily, from their repast, by a frenzied tapping. Harry looked up suddenly to see two large, tawny owls perched on the windowsill outside, banging against the glass to be let in.

"PostÂ’s here," Mary said, opening the window. The two owls flew in, both looking very relieved to finally be out of the cold, and landed in the middle of the breakfast table. Both owls, Harry noticed, were very keen to deliver their messages.

Charles untied the scroll lashed to the left leg of the larger owl first. With great care, he broke the wax seal, and unrolled it.

There was a brief pause as he read it. Everyone looked at him, watched as his face fell. Whatever information was contained within that letter, it didnÂ’t look like very good information.

"Bad news, Mary," he said, at length. "The Institute of Advanced Magical Research have rejected Dreamscape. They donÂ’t want it Â… no time and not enough money Â…"

Mary looked shocked. "But Â… I was so sure they were going to take it up Â… poor Sabian Â… is that letter from him?"

Charles shook his head. "No, actually Â… itÂ’s from Algie," he said. "He says poor old Sabian left London last night in a right old state. HeÂ’s taken all the Dreamscape files with him, he wonÂ’t be consoled and the phone at Malfoy Park has been left off the hook."

"Oh, Charles," Mary said. "IÂ’m so sorry Â…"

But, observed Harry, Charles did not appear to be too fazed by the news Â… and, for that matter, Hermione had that strange look on her face Â… the one that indicated, for sure, that she had come up with an idea.

***

Remus Lupin left his lodgings at the home of the demon landlady, Mrs Cropredy, at the reasonably early hour of nine-fifteen, to head into Hogsmeade and stock up on a few essentials. His giant bottle of hair gel, for one, was beginning to run out, which meant that it was time to hit the local pharmacy.

He was just coming out of the tiny chemistÂ’s shop, which stood on the tiny square at HogsmeadeÂ’s heart, in between Honeydukes and the local branch of Gringotts, with a one-litre bottle of Wolfman! Hair Styler tucked under his arm in a paper bag, when he spotted Sirius walking along in the company of a man he did not recognise. Remus waved and shouted, but Sirius appeared not to have noticed him.

Remus hurried across the square, past the Voldemort War Memorial, the old stone water trough (possibly the only one in Britain that was still put to any regular use), and caught up with Sirius and the mysterious stranger as they were going past the Three Broomsticks.

"Hey!" Remus called. "Sirius Â… whatÂ’s going on Â… where are you off to?"

Sirius spun round as if he had heard a gun going off. However, when he saw that it was only Remus, he bade farewell to the other man, who continued on his way. Plunging his hands deep into the pockets of his robes, he shambled over to where Remus was standing.

"Just heading back up to Hogwarts," he said. "Had to Â… erm Â… get something."

To Remus, it couldnÂ’t have been more obvious that Sirius was lying if he had been wearing a sandwich board proclaiming the fact to the whole world. However, he elected not to pursue the point any further.

"You been shopping, then?" Sirius asked. "WhatÂ’s in the bag?"

"Hair care products, mainly," said Remus.

"Ah Â… I see. You going back to the Castle?"

Remus nodded.

"Walk with me, then."

The two men ambled up the lane that lead out of Hogsmeade, passing the small duck pond and the tiny, run down church as they went. A couple of people had just arrived on the train from somewhere or other, laden down with heavy packages. Sirius assumed they must be refugees from the South. ItÂ’s strange, he thought, how they talk of war, and yet nothing happens.

At the gates of Hogwarts, he paused, briefly, and Remus, unaware of this began to plod along the gravel driveway leading to the castle. Sirius looked back down the dale into Hogsmeade. It looked so peaceful, undisturbed by what was happening. A thin plume of smoke Â… the morning train from Edinburgh, was winding slowly along the viaduct in the distance, red carriages glinting painfully in the winter sun. It was an almost idyllic, Christmas card scene.

If Sirius could have seen the future – he would have wept.

"Coming or not?"

RemusÂ’ insistent shouting jerked Sirius out of his reverie, and, checking the inner pocket of his robes to make sure the contraband Time Turner was still exactly where he had placed it (it was), he hurried to catch up with the other man.

***

Dumbledore was waiting for them on the steps of the Castle as they approached. He was holding a Muggle fob watch, regarding it closely, and clicking his tongue at them disdainfully. By the sounds evident from within the Castle, the day’s lessons had already begun – or were about to. There was a rush of noise and hurrying footsteps as the entire student body rushed across campus in order to be somewhere else.

"I hardly think itÂ’s wise," he said, "to be going down into Hogsmeade when thereÂ’s a war on."

Sirius looked at him oddly. "Have you been down Â…"

"Too risky," said Dumbledore. "We canÂ’t risk anybody finding out Â… we canÂ’t risk being seen. At least weÂ’re protected at Hogwarts Â…"

Sirius nodded. "Maybe," he began, not sounding especially convinced. "But itÂ’s quiet as the grave down there. NobodyÂ’s doing anything."

Dumbledore ignored this. "I have something important to tell you both," he said, changing the subject. "Would you like to follow me, please?"

Sirius was not altogether surprised to discover that Dumbledore was leading them back up to his new office, and he was even more surprised, when he was ushered in, to discover that Dumbledore had been redecorating, and that the office looked substantially – completely, even, different from when he had last seen it – which was yesterday.

It was a fairly close approximation of the HeadmasterÂ’s office.

"At my age," Dumbledore said, sensing the question Sirius was about to ask, "a change could do me more harm than good. I didnÂ’t think it would hurt to have things I know around and about me."

"Very sensible," was all Remus could think of to say. Sirius didnÂ’t say anything.

"Take a seat, gentlemen," said Dumbledore, settling himself with some difficulty in his customary chair behind his desk. There was a flapping of wings as Fawkes took off from his perch and flew over to land on the desktop. The bird regarded Sirius and Remus with disdain evident in those beady eyes. Dumbledore seemed to have the exact same expression etched across his face, too, except that he was peering over the tops of his spectacles, which made it scarier.

Sirius found himself apologising inadvertently.

"I must apologise to you," said Dumbledore, raising a hand to stop Sirius from blathering about crimes committed a good generation ago. "I am the one at fault. I have known all along where Harry is Â… what is to be done Â… and I kept this information from you Â…"

Even though Sirius agreed, completely, he found himself immediately rushing to contradict Dumbledore. "No Â… no Â… not at all Â…"

"DonÂ’t be a pickle, Sirius," Dumbledore said. "My only hope is that you can accept my apology Â… and that one day all this can be explained to you properly."

"Well, thatÂ’s Â… thatÂ’s very magnanimous," Sirius began.

Dumbledore smiled. "You have no idea what that word means, do you?"

Sirius shook his head.

"Still," Dumbledore said. "The sentiment was there. Now Â… Sirius, I have some things to show you Â… to tell you Â…"

Dumbledore must have pressed some sort of button underneath the desk, for, without any apparent cue, and in total silence, a large section of wall suddenly vanished, revealing what appeared to be an ante-chamber. There were comfortable armchairs ranged around it, a fireplace, and a low coffee table with some magazines.

"My waiting room," said Dumbledore. "Good, isnÂ’t it?"

"Wonderful," said Arthur Weasley, who had been sitting, with Molly and Ron, in the other chamber. "Do you have any more of those biscuits Â… the custard creams?"

"IÂ’m sure we could rustle some up," said Dumbledore. He rang a little bell on his desk, which presumably was connected to the Kitchens.

"When did you get this put in?" Sirius was very obviously impressed.

"Oh, Alastor Moody helped fix the charms yesterday," said Dumbledore, as if he was merely showing Sirius some new double-glazing. "This room actually has its entrance in an entirely different part of the castle. ItÂ’s so that nobody I donÂ’t trust can find their way to my new office. The Minister of Magic is an important man, after all."

"I do hope that doesnÂ’t mean you donÂ’t trust us," said Arthur Weasley, in jolly tones.

A couple of house elves popped out of nowhere, bearing a tray upon which stood a plate of custard cream biscuits, arranged with extreme exactitude upon a frilly doily, and a silver coffee pot, steaming gently. Dumbledore tipped them both a nod, and, having deposited their load upon the desk, they promptly vanished again.

"Not at all, Arthur," said Dumbledore.

Sirius wondered why he was looking at Ron oddly.

"Do have a seat, have a seat Â… help yourself to coffee Â…"

Dumbledore clapped his hands, and six mugs appeared on the desk.

Maybe itÂ’s just my imagination, Sirius thought, as he took his seat again. He observed that Ron was looking very sullen. Is there something wrong with that boy? HeÂ’s not been himself.

"Arthur," said Dumbledore. "How well do you remember your childhood?"

Arthur looked a little taken aback by that question. "My Father went to sea when I was two," he said. "His boat was torpedoed. I was orphaned during the Blitz, and taken in by a very kind couple who worked for the Ministry Â…"

"Charles and Mary Potter," Dumbledore said.

Sirius and Remus looked suitably flabbergasted. Nobody had ever told them this. Not even James.

Arthur nodded. Molly clasped his hand a little more tightly. "Yes Â… they adopted me," he said. "It was 1941 Â… I was little more than three years old. I grew up in their home in Richmond Â… attended Hogwarts, and when I was eighteen, in 1956, I made my own way in the world. They were very good to me. They had no children of their own Â… you see, until James came along. Aside from a nephew, who I only saw once. They told me he went to Canada Â…"

"They were lying," said Dumbledore, raising a hand to quell the questions Sirius and Remus were burning to ask. "But they lied for a good reason Â… there never was a nephew. Charlie Potter was an only child. The other boy you met was Harry."

ArthurÂ’s brow furrowed. "I feel sure I would have remembered," he said.

"It was Harry," Dumbledore went on, "who pulled you from the wreckage of the building your Mother died in."

"How can it be?" Arthur said.

"Harry was sent back in time, to 1941," said Dumbledore. "That is where he went when he vanished. You met him there. And now it is our job to bring him back to the present."

"Explain?"

Dumbledore went on Â… and with every word he spoke, Sirius felt as if some great weight was being lifted from his shoulders. All the worry of the past few weeks, all the horror and fear for HarryÂ’s life, evaporated into thin air Â… knowing that the boy was safe. Not here, necessarily, but at least safe Â… amongst friends Â… people who cared. Sirius was not a religious man, by any stretch of the imagination, but even he could not resist turning his eyes heavenward and offering up a small vote of thanks.

"In 1981, before they died, Lily and James Potter concealed the Dreamscape Hypothesis in HarryÂ’s head, and destroyed the files. They knew Voldemort was after them, you see. Unfortunately, they overlooked one thing. Nobody they left behind knew how to extract the information from HarryÂ’s head Â… and it seemed pointless to do so anyway Â… who could possibly benefit from Dreamscape now that the evil that sought to use it against us was gone? Dreamscape was quietly forgotten when the Order of the Phoenix was disbanded in 1983. But now, we need it again."

"We do?" Remus asked. He Â… of course, remembered the furore over Dreamscape well Â… although he had not known what James and Lily had done. "I mean Â… we know Â… we knew Â… we sent Gwyneth to Dublin Â…"

"I repeat Â… the papers were destroyed. Gwyneth found nothing in Dublin. Just as you, Sirius, found nothing in the LongbottomÂ’s vault Â… am I right?"

"You are," said Sirius. Upon his return to Hogwarts, there had been a meeting about that. The papers he had expected to find – the Dreamscape files, had been non-existent. They had been tricked. The papers had been just … papers … James and Lily’s 1979 tax records, to be precise.

Dumbledore nodded. "Well Â… then we do. James and Lily were playing a clever game of deception against us," he said, "for which I do not wholly blame them. After all, how were they to know who was really on their side. They told us they put the papers in SiriusÂ’ vault, and then I moved them to Frank and Angie LongbottomÂ’s. You see Â… they duped even me."

"IÂ’m astonished," said Arthur.

"But now, you see, Voldemort has cracked it himself Â… and would seek to use it against us again Â… indeed Â… he may already have done so. Therefore Harry was sent back in time to retrieve the files."

"But the files belonged to James and Lily Â…" Remus began, but Dumbledore cut him off, raising his hand for silence again.

"Dreamscape, as we know, was devised by Sabian Malfoy," said Dumbledore. "Charles Potter rescued Sabian from France Â… I shall not bore you with the petty details, but the Dreamscape files were stolen from Malfoy Park one night in December, 1941. Harry, Hermione and Draco took them Â…"

Ron snarled at the mention of DracoÂ’s name.

"They brought them to us Â… and I, in turn, secreted them to give to James and Lily when the time came Â…"

Sirius rose slightly from his chair. "So either way the papers are destroyed. What good does that do?"

"Not so," said Dumbledore. "As you will see Â… they were not destroyed totally."

"As we will see?"

Dumbledore merely touched the side of his nose. "ItÂ’s a secret," he said. "Right now, our priority is to retrieve Harry, and bring him back. Harry is stranded, obviously. Draco and Hermione have nothing but a malfunctioning Time Turner to their name Â… in short Â… we need to send someone else back. Arthur Â… do you remember any other boys of about HarryÂ’s age, whom you may have met at about that time?"

"IÂ’m guessing," said Arthur Â… his eyes alighting on Ron. "Is it Ron?"

"Me?" Ron squeaked. "But I canÂ’t go back! I have to Â…"

"Nobody can change the course of history once it has been set," said Dumbledore. "Your Father saw you, Mr Weasley Â… I vouch for it, as I was there. You are to be the one to take them a new Time Turner, for the return trip."

***

"So you see Â… we have to steal it," Hermione said.

They were sitting in the study, on expensive leather armchairs, with yet more tea and biscuits set out on a little table before them.

Charles, who was standing next to one of the bookcases, holding a small, black volume in his hands, looked up.

"No," he said. "I absolutely forbid it."

"But itÂ’s the only way," said Hermione. "Dumbledore told us Â… I mean Â… he Â…"

It all seemed so stupid, now, she thought. Why should anybody believe us?

She looked to Draco. "Can you remember what he said?"

"He said the papers were stolen," Draco said in a bored tone of voice. "It doesnÂ’t necessarily follow that it was us who stole Â… will Â… might steal them."

"But the break in happens later today," said Hermione. "We could at least go to Malfoy Park and see Â…"

"I absolutely forbid it," Charles repeated. "I wonÂ’t be a party to criminal acts, Miss Granger. IÂ’m sure you have more sense than that."

Usually, yes, thought Hermione. She looked at Harry, who had remained silent throughout her explanation of the situation Â… but his eyes registered absolutely no emotion whatsoever.

"Harry, help me out here?"

Harry merely shrugged. "It all sounds so silly," he said. "It sounds like youÂ’ve been following a paper trail Â… a very obvious one, too Â…"

"And?"

"Paper trails arenÂ’t meant to be obvious," said Harry. "YouÂ’ve had someone with you every step of the way, planting information for you Â… stealthily moving the obstacles out of the way. Last time anybody did that to me, there turned out to be a fake Scotsman on the loose, and I ended up killing Â… Diggory."

He trailed off and studied his fingernails religiously.

"I agree with Harry," said Charles. "Even though I havenÂ’t the foggiest what heÂ’s blathering about." He ruffled his grandsonÂ’s hair affectionately. Harry scowled.

Even Hermione had to admit he had a point. Then a thought struck her. "But that person was Dumbledore," she said. "HeÂ’s hardly likely to be following some dark agenda now, is he?"

"He might be," said Harry. "Did you notice that strange twinkle in his eyes at the end of Â…"

"Yes, and it really pisses me off the way some people keep bringing it up," said Hermione. "Harry Â… canÂ’t you see Â… it means Dumbledore knows whatÂ’s going on Â…"

"ThatÂ’s ridiculous," said Harry.

"It isnÂ’t Â… itÂ’s perfectly conceivable," Draco cut in. This was the first occasion he had spoken for a considerable length of time.

"DracoÂ’s right," said Hermione. Harry took another biscuit from the plate. "Dumbledore knows, somehow, everything thatÂ’s happening. Remember back in the First Year when he suddenly turned round when he got to London, and came back because you were in trouble Â…"

"YouÂ’re being ridiculous," Harry said. "Why the hell would Dumbledore have even bothered going to London if he knew I was going to wind up fighting Quirrell for the PhilosopherÂ’s Stone? YouÂ’ll excuse me for saying I find that particular plot a little contrived. HereÂ’s another contrived thing Â… Fourth Year Â… if Dumbledore knows whatÂ’s going on, why didnÂ’t he stop Moody at the start? He couldÂ’ve called off the Triwizard Tournament the moment my name came out of the Goblet of Fire and slapped up fresh wards all round Hogwarts Â…"

"WouldnÂ’t have made for half as good a story," Draco muttered.

"Well, maybe heÂ’s testing you," Hermione suggested.

"How, exactly?"

"Testing Â… as in Â… seeing how you do," Hermione said. "HeÂ’s doing just enough not to make it immediately obvious to somebody who doesnÂ’t suspect (like you, Harry) that he knows. HeÂ’s making sure you get through this, because he knows that youÂ’re important, and that sooner or later, youÂ’re going to have to fight alone Â…"

Harry coughed. "This is getting into some weird territory," he said. "YouÂ’re making it sound like thereÂ’s some sort of magical quest, with swords and dragons and evil wizards. ItÂ’s like some fantasy genre Â…"

"What exactly is wrong with magical quests?" Draco asked, looking affronted. "Not only are they a mainstay of popular literature, but Â…"

"Be quiet, Draco," Hermione snapped.

Harry spoke again. "So Â… if we assume that Dumbledore does somehow know whatÂ’s happening Â… I still donÂ’t see why that means we have to steal SabianÂ’s papers."

"We donÂ’t know that we steal them," said Hermione. "But we might, and so if we donÂ’t go Â… weÂ’ll never know."

Charles shook his head grimly. "I donÂ’t understand at all," he said.

Hermione looked up. "Never mind. Do we have any brooms?"

"I am not having this conversation Â…"

"Yes you are," said Draco, matter-of-factly.

Charles sat down on the arm of HarryÂ’s chair. He reached into his pocket, and took out a packet of cigarettes, which he toyed with absent-mindedly.

"Harry," he said, finally.

"Yup."

"What do you think, Harry?" Charles asked. "Do you think you should go and break into somebodyÂ’s house and steal things you have no right to?"

"Well, not on principle," Harry began.

"The principle is sound," said Hermione.

Draco nodded. "She speaks the truth. This is Little-Miss-SPEW weÂ’re talking about, here."

"IÂ’ll thank you not to use words like spew in my house," Charles glowered at Draco, who blushed to the very roots of his hair.

"I didnÂ’t mean it quite like that," he said.

"Forget SPEW," said Hermione, earning herself another glare from Charles. "That has nothing to do with it. Harry, don’t you see? Everything points to it being us. We want Dreamscape – we need it …"

"But Â…" began Harry.

"You want to die, then?" asked Hermione. "Because itÂ’s in your head, Harry."

"IÂ’m sorry?"

"Dreamscape," Hermione ranted. "ItÂ’s in your head, Harry! Your parents put it there before they died Â… you see Â… and we need the papers back, so that we can get the information out Â… and we can use it Â… because of those dreams you were having Â…"

She trailed off, exhausted.

Charles rolled his eyes. "I am not telling you that there are three broomsticks in the garden shed," he said. "I am not telling you that the key to the shed is hanging from the third peg from the left on the rack next to the side door. I am also not telling you that at five p.m. this evening, Mary and I will be sitting in the drawing room, listening to the news on the wireless. I am also not telling you, in any terms whatsoever, that that would be the ideal opportunity to slip away. Is that understood?"

Draco nodded. "What brooms?" he said.

Charles grinned, and tapped the side of his nose. "Good man," he said. "Good man. I will not, however, cover for you Â… at all."

"Understood," said Hermione.

***

It was twenty-five to six when Ron, tired, bedraggled, wet, and very angry indeed, alighted from a District Line train at Richmond station, a tiny map of the town clutched in his hand. In the inner pocket of his robes was a letter, written by Sirius, giving him detailed instructions of what to do. Very prominent amongst the instructions was the line, ‘You must NOT speak to the boy.’ Ron knew that, by this, Sirius had meant Arthur Weasley, whom Ron was scheduled to meet in … he checked his wristwatch … approximately ten minutes time. His false leg was aching, sending shooting pains up his thigh.

Ron had never, ever been out in the Muggle world alone before Â… and he had certainly never been out during the War. He was, therefore, a little surprised to find out that the entire town was pitch black. Not a chink of light was showing. His abiding memories of Muggle towns had been of bustling streets, lit at night by an ugly, tungsten glow. This was very different, very strange, and not a little scary.

He stepped off the kerb.

There was a screeching of tyres as the car Ron hadnÂ’t seen ground to a halt. It was a Wolesey, a shiny, black police car. And there were no headlights on it.

"Watch where youÂ’re going!" the Muggle policeman shouted. "Could have killed you!"

Ron, too angry to care, retorted with, "ShouldÂ’ve been showing some bloody lights, then, shouldnÂ’t you!"

At which the policeman got out of the car.

"Now look here, sunshine. WhatÂ’s your name?"

Ron took a step backwards onto the pavement. "Not telling you," he snapped.

"You want to show a little respect," the policeman said. "Get in the car Â… IÂ’m taking you home and your Mother can deal with you. Impudent little wretch."

"No way," Ron said. "You shouldnÂ’t have been driving without headlights! You could have killed me! Stupid wanker."

The policeman seemed to be swelling with fury. "Now, see here," he began. He got no further, of course, for Ron chose that moment to turn upon his heels and run.

It helped that Ron was quick and lithe on his feet, and had spent his entire life running away from things – and had been training hard for Quidditch all Autumn. It also helped that the policeman was overweight and getting old.

Of course, RonÂ’s advantage was spectacularly reduced by the fact that it was pitch black, that one of his legs was a recently attached fake, and kept trying to go in funny directions, and that he was out of his own time, in a town he had only heard of in passing before. The policeman had, of course, been walking the same beat around Richmond for nearly forty five years.

Ron, breathing hard, ducked down a side alley. There were two metal dustbins standing beside someoneÂ’s door, and as he passed, he kicked them over, creating as much of a diversion as he could. They clattered as they fell to the ground, lids rolling free. Somewhere nearby, a cat yowled.

He turned right at the end of the alley, stifling a whoop of joy at the sound of the policemanÂ’s yells as he tripped over the unseen dustbins, wrenching his ankle. Ron skidded on the cobblestones, and continued running, eventually coming out behind the bus station.

He breathed hard, bent over and put his hands on his knees. The bus station was deserted, and he was completely lost.

***

Harry had only ever been to Chipping Sodbury once before Â… but Draco, thankfully, appeared to know the area well. They followed the line of the A4 road westwards from London, but, of course, owing to the War - they saw no lights. Harry wondered vaguely just how Draco was managing to find his way in such total darkness, but was too concerned with flying his broom, which was elderly and wobbled quite a lot Â… and didnÂ’t have a cushioning charm, either, to worry too much.

Of course, Harry soon realised that Draco did know the way to his familyÂ’s ancestral home. Harry began to recognise landmarks from his last visit, back at the funeral of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy Â… that had been only a couple of months before Â… but it seemed like longer. There was the large oak tree, there the gatehouse.

Draco flew them boldly (for there were numerous charms and hexes scattered throughout the grounds that could well have reduced them to tiny little pieces in seconds) straight up the long, gravel driveway. As the house was screened from Muggles, it seemed to Harry as if every light in the vast Manor house was burning, casting the sleek, black cars parked on the forecourt in bright light.

Harry had assumed that Draco would set them down in front of the house, march straight in, and demand the Dreamscape files Â… so he was mildly surprised when, instead of following that course of action, Draco peeled away at the last minute, and headed off across the darkened grounds. Harry turned to follow, and he heard a yell of surprise as Hermione misjudged the turn and nearly crashed into a chimney pot.

They streaked over the landscaped gardens, and soon were flying across the game park. Draco slowed his broom, and set down next to a large beech tree that stood, all on its own, atop a small rise.

"I donÂ’t think IÂ’ll ever be able to sit down again," moaned Harry, painfully, as he dismounted from his broom.

Draco did not seem to be listening. He tucked his broomstick into a hollow at the base of the tree.

"You two do the same," he whispered. "But quiet Â… we canÂ’t afford to wake the dogs."

"There are dogs?" asked Hermione, with perhaps, just a trace of nervousness in her voice.

"Big ones," said Draco, cruelly. "With interchangeable steel dentures."

Hermione checked her watch. It was about eight thirty.

"How do we get in, then?" she asked, looking around. There appeared to be nothing but barren wilderness in every direction. She wasnÂ’t even sure how far they had flown away from the house.

"ThereÂ’s a secret entrance," said Draco, "right over the next ridge."

He pointed dramatically. Ahead of them, the land dipped down into a small valley with a tiny stream in the middle of it, and then rose again on the other side, by about fifty feet, over roughly three or four hundred yards. Just the other side of the ridge, a dark shape could be seen.

"Lead on then, MacDuff," said Hermione, perhaps a little over-dramatically. Harry was grimacing and adjusting himself.

"I donÂ’t think IÂ’ll ever be the same again," he moaned.

Draco and Hermione ignored him. Draco was fishing in the rucksack he had brought, withdrawing two tiny objects, which he handed to them.

"YouÂ’ll need these," he said. "TheyÂ’re Shadow Killers. Much more powerful than using wandlight. You break them and the magic inside casts light all round you for about half a mile, even if thereÂ’s stuff in the way."

"Clever," said Harry, tucking it into his pocket. It was about the size and shape of a marble.

"IÂ’ve read about these," said Hermione.

"Only use them if we get separated," said Draco. "IÂ’ve got several more in here Â… stick close behind me, whatever you do."

Without waiting for a reply, he turned, and set off at a brisk walking pace down the hill towards the stream. Harry was a little alarmed to notice that there did not appear to be any kind of bridge, but as it turned out, they were able to ford it in one step. The ground felt slightly boggy and squishy underneath his feet, and, much to his chagrin, the ridge on the other side was harder to climb than it had at first appeared, being a lot steeper than it seemed.

Draco was already waiting for them by the shadowy thing as they toiled over the top of the ridge. In the meantime, the clouds overhead had parted, and a bright, bomberÂ’s moon was riding high in the night sky. The shadowy thing was, in fact, a replica Ancient Roman temple, complete with Ionic columns.

"Nice folly," said Hermione.

Draco stared at her. "This isnÂ’t a folly," he said. "ItÂ’s a Temple to Bacchus Â… scene of many a wild Malfoy family toga party. Hang on Â… I should have a key somewhere."

He patted himself absent-mindedly, occasionally making muttered noises of, "Now, where did I put it?" and, "Sure I had it on me the other day."

Finally, he found it. Harry had been expecting it to be some ancient bronze key, half rusted away, and so he was mildly disappointed to note that it was actually a standard Muggle Yale lock, of the sort the Dursleys used. The effect of the Temple was further spoiled by the fact that Draco flicked a light switch as they entered, bathing them all in harsh, fluorescent light from above.

Inside, the Temple had been magically expanded, presumably to hold party guests, although at the minute, it was being used for storage, and there were bags of fertiliser and garden tools leaning up against the walls. The floor was covered in tiny, mosaic tiles, depicting what appeared to be some kind of orgy, and at one end of the room was a gilt statue, looking very out of place amongst all the gardening equipment.

Even Draco looked disappointed.

"It isnÂ’t quite how I remember it," he said.

"Welcome, one and all," said Harry, "to the MalfoysÂ’ garden shed Â…"

"Can it, shortie. IÂ’m trying to remember where the entrance is."

Waving both Harry and Hermione back, Draco stepped out into the centre of the room, scanning the floor for something. As his foot alighted upon the navel of a particularly well endowed Roman matron, the lights went out.

"Crap Â… I remember this Â… duck," said Draco.

Harry and Hermione ducked, immediately. There was a swishing noise overhead, and then a dull, thudding, twanging sound. The lights came back on, revealing three steel tipped arrows embedded in the lintel above their heads.

"Just a trap," said Draco. "The door should open now."

Sure enough, as he spoke, a section of the mosaic floor appeared to vanish into thin air, leaving a gaping, black hole. Harry and Hermione walked over, and peered into it. There were steps leading down. It looked a long way down.

"Follow the guide," said Draco. He put one foot on the topmost step, and then withdrew it, hurriedly, as the step vanished. "Another trap," he said. "Now, look Â… this is dangerous, down here. I want you to always stay behind me Â… do exactly what I do - if I step around any innocent looking stone, or take a step backwards in a certain spot, then mind you do exactly the same. The people who built this enjoyed mutilating their guests in a variety of ways Â… got that?"

Harry nodded, pausing to wonder just what kind of mutilation previous generations of Malfoys had gone in for, and resolving firmly not to find out.

"Then come on, then."

The steps down were very steep, and before very long the air temperature, which was already chilly, had dropped well below freezing. Harry felt his breath coming in steaming clouds, and was thankful for his winter cloak. His feet in their battered trainers struggled to get a grip on the icy steps. Behind him, he could hear Hermione, who would occasionally let out a little moan of surprise as her fingers contacted something that scuttled. Harry was thankful for the darkness, as he had a distinct feeling that there were horrible, squishy creatures lurking down here.

As they walked, Draco kept up a cheerful running commentary, as if he was merely showing them around the neighbourhood.

"These caves weÂ’re going into are vast," he said. "IÂ’ve only been in them twice before, and nobodyÂ’s ever explored them fully. Mind that step Â… thatÂ’s another trick step Â…"

Harry caught on just in time, and jumped the offending step, as did Hermione.

"They form part of an enormous system that runs for nearly thirty miles under this part of the country, and it is said," said Draco, feeling his way around some vast chunk of rock that was intruding into the passageway, "that they connect, eventually, to the caves and the gorge at Cheddar, which isnÂ’t far from here. What we do know is that theyÂ’re millions of years old Â… all of these stalactites and stalagmites pre-date Christ Â… and most of the rock formations weÂ’ll see pre-date human evolution Â…"

"I can never remember," said Harry, as he gingerly patted the intruding rock Â… it was not a rock Â… it felt warm to the touch, and seemed to be breathing, "what the difference is Â… between a stalagmite and a stalactite."

"Stalactites have to hold on tight," said Draco. "Duck!"

Harry ducked. There was a swishing noise, and something brushed the top of his hair.

"Lumos," he whispered. The tip of his borrowed wand (he had dropped his own one when he was attacked, back in 1995), glowed bright for a minute, and Harry could just make out a double sided blade swinging in the darkness, at just the right height to take someoneÂ’s head off. HarryÂ’s heart was pounding, and the adrenaline rush was making him feel slightly sick.

"No lights!" Draco whispered, earnestly. "Some of the traps are light sensitive."

"Nox," hissed Harry, quickly. "Sorry, Malfoy."

"Just hope youÂ’ve not set any off," said Draco.

There was a faint rumbling noise coming from behind them.

"I think I mightÂ’ve done," said Harry, meekly.

"Okay, nobody panic," Hermione said. "That could just be a Â… weird, unearthly rumbling Â… couldnÂ’t it?"

"I think itÂ’s more likely to be a six tonne granite ball rolling down the corridor towards us," said Draco. "In which case Â…"

"Running, might be a good idea?" ventured Harry.

"Best idea youÂ’ve had all day, Potter," said Draco.

They ran. Feet pounding over the rough, uneven stairs, skidding across landings stones made slimy with lichen, all the while that weird, unearthly rumbling getting steadily closer.

How they escaped being crushed, Harry never quite knew. All he was aware of was his breathing – the burning sensation in his lungs. The feeling that his heart was about to jump out of his chest, the noise behind him filling his ears … the rush of sheer horror …

Someone grabbed him by the arm, and thrust him rudely against the wall. Harry struggled, but the grip around his wrist was too strong. He heard footsteps, and Hermione went running by, and then he realised Â… he was safe.

The ball rolled past, and Harry watched it go, and as soon as it had passed, whatever had seized him by the arm let go, and he tumbled rudely to the floor.

The noise had ceased completely.

Panic flooded through HarryÂ’s entire body Â… "Hermione!"

Not caring whether he set off something lethal or not, he took out the borrowed wand, and lit it. The light it cast was dim, but he was able to make out the walls of the passageway, and the steps descending into inky darkness. There were livid red finger marks around his wrist. Harry looked back into the alcove Â… but there was no sign of anything.

"Hermione! Draco!"

The echo bounced back at him. From somewhere not far off came another loud rumble, but he paid it no attention.

"Harry!"

At first, Harry wasnÂ’t entirely sure if he had heard right. Was that merely another echo? Or was it Hermione?

"Where are you?"

The reply took some time in coming. "Down here!"

The trouble was, it was very hard to gauge exactly where ‘down here’ was. Harry elected to follow the passage in the direction they had been walking in before that stone ball had been released.

"Hurry!" DracoÂ’s voice. "It isnÂ’t very safe in here!"

HarryÂ’s heart was quickening again as he began to hurry down the steps, wand held out in front of him.

"Harry! Hurry!"

This time, it was Hermione’s voice … yet it was less Hermione … more of a terrifying, anguished gurgling that just happened to sound like someone saying, ‘Harry! Hurry.’

Harry nearly fell straight into the yawning pit that opened up in front of him. He stopped, dead in his tracks, just in time. Dust, kicked up by his shoes, cascaded into the darkened abyss.

"Down here!" again, that anguished gurgle.

Harry pointed the wand downwards. And what he saw very nearly made him have a nasty accident.

"I Â… um Â… those are snakes."

"Oh, thatÂ’s good to know!" said Draco. "IÂ’m glad we established that those are snakes, Potter. Now do something and get us out of this hell hole!"

Draco was standing at the very bottom of a narrow pit, shielding his eyes against the light from HarryÂ’s wand. He was, with some difficulty, holding Hermione bodily off the ground. HermioneÂ’s eyes were shut tight, and her head was buried in the folds of DracoÂ’s robes. This was a good thing, because the floor was writhing with hundreds of bright yellow snakes.

"I Â… really Â… donÂ’t Â… like Â… snakes very much," said Harry, as he crouched down next to the pit, and rolled up the sleeves of his robes. "I really donÂ’t like them at all."

"Christ, Harry, nobodyÂ’s asking you to go pick out curtains with them," snarled Draco. "Now, get us out of here. And quick, thereÂ’s one crawling up my trouser leg."

Harry nodded. "Yes Â… yes Â… of course. How would I do this without Â… must Â… does this entail me coming down there, into the actual pit?" he babbled. "With, er, the actual snakes?"

Draco raised his left eyebrow speculatively. "If you think that would help, youÂ’re more than welcome to join us," he said. "IÂ’m sure the snakes will make room for you."

Harry looked again at the snakes. They really were a very bright shade of yellow. Some of them had black markings on their bellies. These were not your common or garden grass snakes … these were proper snakes. ‘Mess with us,’ these snakes said, ‘and you’d better have a syringe of antidote and a nice Australian doctor on hand. Mess with us, and we will destroy you … punk.’

And Harry believed them with all his heart. He looked around again. The walls of the pit were sheer and even. It was brick-faced, but you couldnÂ’t have inserted a nail into any of the cracks. It was as if it had been lined with concrete.

"Okay, okay," said Draco, "itÂ’s past my knee, Harry. Anytime youÂ’d like to get us out of here Â…"

"Yes, yes, of course," said Harry. "Would these snakes be poisonous?"

"Oh no," said Draco. Hermione whimpered again. "I very much doubt it. Harry Â… thereÂ’s one down here looking at me funny. Please get a move on!"

"Yes, we need some sort of rope, I suppose," said Harry. He could feel sweat breaking out under his arms and across his forehead. "But we donÂ’t have any rope here Â…"

"Never mind the rope Â… just call the snakes off," said Draco. "Ow Â… ow Â… thatÂ’s my thigh. Help!"

"Call them off?"

"Oh, for heavenÂ’s sake, Harry!" said Hermione, through gritted teeth. "Are you a bloody Parselmouth or arenÂ’t you?"

"Oh, yes, of course," said Harry. The truth was, he had not spoken to any snake for several years now, and had almost completely forgotten this strange quality Â… a quality which linked him to Voldemort, and one that he had discovered back in his Second Year at Hogwarts, when the Chamber of Secrets had been opened. It was said to be the defining mark of a Dark Wizard, and yet Harry had had no idea he could speak it Â… he just Â… could.

"Listen up," Harry said Â… as it had done the other times, it sounded like perfect English to him, and he had no idea how he was doing it, but he knew, from the look Draco was giving him, that the sounds he was making were an exact imitation of the hissing of the snakes.

"What?"

Some of the snakes peered up at him.

"I need to get these people out," said Harry. "Can you back off, or something Â… just let them be?"

"No deal, kid," came the reply. "WeÂ’re mean mothers Â…"

"Please?" The fact that the snakes were speaking in rich, Brooklyn accents was making Harry somewhat uneasy.

"WhatÂ’ll you give us?"

"Oh Â… um Â… riches beyond your wildest dreams," hissed Harry.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Harry lied.

Fortunately for Harry, the snakes seemed to be falling for his rather blatant lies. Whichever one appeared to have been appointed a spokesnake for the whole bunch looked at Harry, and hissed. "Very well."

"Harry," DracoÂ’s trembling voice broke through into HarryÂ’s head. "Another couple of inches, and children for me will be out of the question."

"Good thing," Hermione whimpered.

At a hissed command from one of the snakes, the others began to move slowly away from Hermione and Draco. They piled up on top of one another, parting gently before them, like the Red Sea, until, finally, there was a clear space around the two of them.

Draco put Hermione down.

"Now what?" he asked.

"Um, let me think," said Harry. "I know a spell for this Â… IÂ’m sure I do Â…"

"Yes, I taught it you," Hermione said, looking up at him. Her face was drained of all its colour. As she spoke, the snakes turned, as one, to look at her.

"WhatÂ’s the human girl saying?" one of them asked Harry.

"Never you mind," Harry hissed, as an aside. Had Hermione taught him a rope conjuring spell?

"When I was teaching you counter-curses, silly!" Hermione shouted. "Facere Funem! ItÂ’s Facere Funem!"

Harry remembered. He hitched his new wand out of his pocket, pointed it at Hermione, and Â…

"Facere Funem."

Harry opened his eyes, thick, tensile rope was pouring forth from the end of the wand, streaming down into the pit, coil upon coil of it. The snakes were hissing at Harry in thinly veiled fury, yet they did nothing.

"I think that should be enough," said Draco, after about a minute. There was enough rope in the pit to conquer Everest with.

"Finite Incantatem."

The flow of rope died away. Draco placed Hermione back down on the floor, although she still clung to him tightly as he bent to pick up the rope. He unravelled it, all the time the unblinking eyes of the snakes observing their activity, and then threw it up to Harry.

"YouÂ’ll need to tie it on to something," Draco said.

Harry frantically looked around. There was no apparent place to hitch a rope up to.

"Might it work if I just take the strain?" he asked.

"Doubt it," said Draco. "Your arms couldnÂ’t stand it."

Harry glared down into the pit.

Hermione spoke. "Are there any big stones lying around?"

Harry raised his eyebrows quizzically. "Whatever for?"

"If the stone is heavy enough, wrap the rope around it Â…"

"Or you could use that brass ring," said Draco, pointing. He was right, there was a small, brass ring, previously overlooked, jutting out of one of the slabs.

"LetÂ’s do it," Harry said.

"And hurry," said Draco. "I donÂ’t think the snakes are very happy."

Harry knelt down on the floor, it was hard and painfully uncomfortable against his kneecaps, and the material of his trousers was soaking up the dampness. His fingers slipping in his haste, he managed to tug the rope through the ringlet, and fastened it in a knot.

Draco peered out of the pit. "ThatÂ’s a double bow, Harry," he said.

"ItÂ’s the only one I know, Draco" said Harry, "and it works fine on shoes."

Draco took up the slack. "Watch this," he said, gathering the other end of the rope off the floor of the pit. "This is a knot. You make a tunnel ... the train goes into the tunnel. These two ends are the people, put them perpendicular to the train and wind the track around them. Then you gather up the slack, right ... that's the ..."

"Buffet car?" suggested Harry.

"Well ... we could call it that," said Draco. "You gather up the buffet car, stuff it into the train, pull the train back through the tunnel, then jerk the signal tight. It will never slip!"

As Draco said this, the knot fell apart.

"Maybe you forgot the driver," said Hermione, not very helpfully.

Harry tightened the knot he had tied. "Look," he said. "I am not going to sit around here whilst we discuss the finer points of knot creation. Are you coming out, or not?"

"Well, I am," said Hermione. She took the rope from Draco, and carefully, put one foot up on the side of the pit.

"Take the strain, Harry."

Harry pulled the rope taut. Eventually, with much puffing and panting, they managed to haul Hermione free. Draco followed, looking very relieved to be out of the pit. As his foot left the ground, the snakes hissed angrily, but did nothing.

"Nice one," he said, dusting the knees of his trousers. "You see, Harry, you do come in useful sometimes Â…" he stopped, grimacing.

"Draco?"

"One moment," said Draco. To HarryÂ’s horror, he proceeded to undo his belt and fly. Thrusting his hand into his trousers, he withdrew, by the tail, one of the snakes. It hissed at him.

"Well I never," said Harry. "ThereÂ’s a huge snake in DracoÂ’s trousers."

"I shouldÂ’ve bitten you when I had the chance," the snake was saying. Draco tossed it back into the pit, and then glared at Hermione, as if daring her to say something. She didnÂ’t.

***

At the bottom of the staircase was a door.

"Um, Draco?" Hermione asked.

"Yes."

"Why is there a letterbox in that door?"

It did, truth to tell, look like a very strange door. Well, thought Harry Â… not exactly strange, as such.

It was, actually, a very normal door. It had a letterbox, a mortis lock, and two frosted glass panels. It appeared to have been built from UPVC. And that was what was wrong with it. It was a very normal door. A normal door for a suburban household.

"ShouldnÂ’t it be made of wood, and dripping with slime?" asked Harry. "And did they even have double-glazing in 1941?"

"The old one rotted away," said Draco. "So they had this one installed. I think the family thought a letterbox was something you ought to have in a door."

Harry bent down low next to the door, and flipped open the letterbox. A pair of orange eyes looked back at him, unblinking.

"Â’Ullo," said the creature. "ItÂ’s my birthday."

Harry shut the letterbox quickly.

"I wonder what he wanted," he said, as an aside to the others.

Draco pushed open the door. It hadnÂ’t been locked, or anything. The profusion of skeletons and other human remains collected at the bottom of the steps stood in testament to the efficacy of all the traps. There was no need to have the door locked.

Immediately it swung open, a very strange smell hit Harry, full on. It wasnÂ’t unpleasant, as such Â… just, very strong and very pungent Â…

"It reeks in here," he gasped.

"YouÂ’re right," said Draco, holding his nose. "This is the wine cellar Â…"

That was what it smelled of. Thousands of oak vats in varying stages of decay, mixing with the heady and unmistakable vapours of tannin and alcohol.

"I know a spell that can stop you smelling anything," said Hermione. "Unfortunately, it does it by taking off your nose Â… so Â… no."

"We came all this way to see your wine cellar?" asked Harry, incredulously. "That was what those traps were guarding? Wine?"

"Mainly," said Draco. "Now Â… itÂ’s very easy to get lost down here, so stick close behind me. The way out should be due west of here."

"Which wayÂ’s west?" Hermione asked.

"Point me," Harry said, placing the wand flat against the palm of his hand. The wand swung rapidly round, so that the tip was pointing north.

"Never eat shredded wheat," Harry recited. "EastÂ’s right of north, so west should be that way Â…"

He pointed. West lay directly through a stack of wine barrels marked in stencilled, black letters; ‘Beaujolais: 1178 through 1916. 738 barrels total.’

"In that case," said Draco, surveying the enormous pile. "We shall go around it."

They walked in silence for about ten minutes, until they came to an intersection.

"How much wine is there down here?" asked Harry.

"Enough," said Hermione.

"Parts of the collection date back as far as the 3^rd Century BC," Draco explained. "Now Â… I wonder Â… aha."

His face lit up in the dim wandlight. "I recognise that bottle."

Harry goggled. It looked like a wine bottle to him.

"I’ve been in this bit before," said Draco. "With Father … we picked up an especially nice rosé wine … made by Trappist monks in the Rhine Palatinate, circa 1267. Now we do go west."

Five more minutes walking brought them through a vaulted arch so monumental, so out of keeping with the dank air of the wine cellar, that it seemed somehow impossible for it to be there Â… although, of course, Harry was coming to realise that at Malfoy Park, as it was in the rest of the wizarding world, things were frequently not what they seemed. As soon as they stepped through it, he turned to look back at the way they had come, and found instead that he was staring at a wall of solid rock. The arch had closed up.

This new room appeared to be even larger than the one they had just left Â… it was also, apparently, flooded. What little light there was, was cast by two braziers, which sprang magically aflame at the sound of their footsteps. Water was dripping from above.

"How big is this place?" asked Harry, looking up at the ceiling, which was so distant that all he could see was black.

"The lake?" asked Draco. "ItÂ’s a limestone cavern Â… the Malfoys who built the house discovered it and walled it in."

"And how big is it, though?"

HarryÂ’s voice echoed around them.

Draco shrugged. "ItÂ’ll take a while to cross," he said, nonchalantly. "There should be a boat. Dim your wand Â… those braziers will be plenty light enough Â…"

"Nox," whispered Harry, who was not entirely sure why he was obeying Draco.

Hermione nodded. "ItÂ’s over there," she said.

The boat was actually a punt, such as might be found on the river at Oxford or Cambridge. It had very clearly not been used in some time, for there was a puddle of water collected in it. Lying along the bottom of the punt was the long, polished pole with which to steer it.

They all looked at it, unsure.

"Can anybody punt, then?" asked Harry.

"I saw Father do it once," said Draco. "I reckon I can work it."

"Be careful Â… it looks wobbly," warned Hermione.

Draco nodded, only half paying attention. "I will," he said, testing the boat gingerly with one foot. It listed alarmingly to port.

Hermione looked around. "There arenÂ’t Â… rats Â… down here, are there?" she asked.

"Hundreds," said Draco. "Rabid ones." He stepped into the boat, and immediately pitched forwards, putting out his hands to save himself from going face down in the bilge. He steadied himself, and retrieved the pole.

"Hop aboard, then."

Harry and Hermione looked at one another, worried.

"IÂ’ll go without you," said Draco. "Join me Â… donÂ’t be afraid."

The way the light from the braziers was falling across his face made this seem more of a threat than Draco had actually intended it to be.

Harry stood aside in what was supposed to be a gallant gesture of chivalry.

"After you, my lady," he said.

"Can it, shortie," snapped Hermione.

Draco held out his hand and, standing legs akimbo to steady the punt, looked up at her.

"Thanks," said Hermione, stepping into the boat.

Harry waited until she was installed on the bench seat in the middle of the punt before scrambling aboard. No hands were proffered to help him in.

"Go up in the bows, Harry," Draco said. "IÂ’ll need someone to keep a look out for shallow bits. This boatÂ’s old enough as it is Â… we do not need to run aground."

Harry nodded his agreement, and, crouching low to distribute his weight better, clambered across where Hermione was sitting. There was a small box seat in the front end of the boat, which he sat down upon.

Draco, brushing overlong hair out of his eyes, took up the pole, and pushed away from the quay. The light from the braziers died instantly.

"Crap!"

"Lumos!" HarryÂ’s voice. The greenish wandlight illuminated his face from below.

"I still canÂ’t see!" Draco flustered.

Harry smiled, exposing his teeth: he looked like someone reading a ghost story, using a torch to make himself appear more scary.

"It isnÂ’t very good, in the dark, dark wood," he intoned, mysteriously.

"I donÂ’t give a toss about the wood, dark or otherwise!" said Draco. "Now point that thing somewhere where itÂ’ll do some good. IÂ’m getting sick of looking at your face."

Harry relented, and turned around in the bows so as to be facing in the direction of travel. This sudden movement caused the boat to rock alarmingly.

"Hey!" shrieked Hermione, clutching at the gunwales.

Harry, now at the front end of their tiny craft, held the wand out over the water. Even like this it made very little difference, illuminating little more than two feet ahead of them in the inky blackness of the cavern. Harry peered at his reflection in the water Â… he looked just as normal Â… the trauma of his visit to the Second World War barely seemed to have Â… should the water be that shallow?"

"Hey! Rocks, shoals!" Harry shrieked. "Shallow bit! Um!"

He was too late. There was a yell from the back of the boat, the sound of wood grinding on solid rock Â… the whole craft seemed to move suddenly sideways Â… and a high-pitched yell, coupled with a sudden splash indicated that Draco had fallen overboard.

Quick as a flash, Hermione and Harry had scrambled to the side of the boat. The pole was gone, drifting away and quite out of reach. Of Draco Malfoy, all that could be seen were a few bubbles floating languorously on the surface – and a series of rapidly dispersing ripples.

"Draco! Hey Â… Malfoy!"

Hermione panicked. "Harry! What are we going to do? Whatever Â…"

There was another grinding noise as the boat slipped free of the rock Â… water was pouring into the bottom now, and their shoes and socks were already soaking.

Harry wasnÂ’t listening Â… he cupped his hands to his mouth. "Draco! Draco?"

There was a sudden thud, and slippery, wet fingers grasped the opposite side of the boat.

DracoÂ’s head emerged from the murky depths. He was coughing and spluttering, yet otherwise none the worse for wear.

"ItÂ’s shallow enough to stand upright here," he said.

"We thought youÂ’d drowned," Hermione was saying.

"Help me aboard, for PeteÂ’s sake Â… it isnÂ’t very warm in here."

Kneeling in the bottom of the boat – Harry felt the water slowly soaking through his trousers – they grasped Draco around the wrists, and with much muffled cursing on Harry’s part, hauled the bedraggled, sorry creature aboard.

"Heavens! YouÂ’re soaked!" Hermione exclaimed, in the tones of someone engaged in stating the perfectly obvious. "WeÂ’ll have to give him some dry clothes Â… Harry, take off your shirt."

She was already engaged in undoing the clasp on the front of her robe.

"Whu?" spluttered Harry.

"Take off your shirt," repeated Hermione.

"You heard the woman," said Draco. "Unveil your six pack, Potter Â…"

Harry may have huffed and puffed indignantly, but he was secretly rather pleased, and kept one eye on Hermione as he discarded his heavy robes and struggled out of his shirt. DracoÂ’s teeth were chattering nineteen to the dozen, his face was pale by the dim wandlight, and Â…

"YouÂ’ve got a vest on underneath! Yuck!"

"Shut up, Malfoy!"

"Oh, donÂ’t be silly, Harry," Hermione scolded. "Here," she handed her robe to Draco, who, shivering violently, gratefully peeled off his wet things and draped the cloak around himself. Then he used HarryÂ’s shirt to dry his hair, before handing the sodden garment back.

"Keep it," snarled Harry. "A present."

"Very good of you," said Draco.

There was a brief pause whilst they considered the enormity of their situation: after all Â… being trapped as they were, in an elderly, leaky punt, floating upon a vast underground lake in pitch blackness, cold, half-naked, and, in one case, soaked to the very skin Â… the whole did not make for an appealing appraisal of their dire circumstances.

"So, this is it," said Harry. "WeÂ’re going to die."

"Yes," said Draco, cheerfully. "I vote we eat Potter first. Then I get his clothes."

"Probably not Â…" said Hermione. "Look Â… over there."

None of them had previously noticed, but the boat was moving again Â… clearly there was some sort of current down here that they had stumbled upon Â… and now they were drifting past a vast, ethereal, white pillar, which seemed to shimmer with an effervescence all of its own. It was crooked and jagged, and here and there, the rock appeared to have run, making it look like a meringue.

"ItÂ’s where a stalagmite and a stalactite have joined up," said Hermione. "One of natureÂ’s marvels Â… at the average rate of formation, it must be well over a million years old Â…"

Harry waved the lighted wand at natureÂ’s marvel. "Um Â… itÂ’s getting away."

"We must be caught in some sort of current," said Draco.

"Is that good? ThatÂ’s not good, is it?" said Hermione.

"Depends on the current," said Draco. "Now, if I recall correctly, thereÂ’s a waterfall leading down to a separate cavern Â… but it isnÂ’t really the way we want to go Â…"

"Waterfall?"

"You just forgot there was a waterfall, did you, Malfoy?" asked Harry, now panicked.

"Oh, no, itÂ’s the only way out," said Draco, calmly as anything. "ThereÂ’s a little jetty carved into the opposite cave wall, and we have to tie the boat up there and walk down around the dangerous bit Â…"

"Dangerous?" squeaked Harry.

"And just how high would this waterfall be, Malfoy?" Hermione asked.

"Erm – about two hundred feet," said Draco.

"About two hundred feet?"

"My worry is," Draco went on, "that we may already have passed the point of no return, as it were."

"Two hundred feet!" Harry was still in shock.

"Then try and grab at something," said Hermione. "We need to slow down Â…"

"WhatÂ’s to grab at?" roared Harry.

"There must be something Â…"

There was a terrible silence. The boat appeared to be picking up speed Â… and now, Harry could hear in the distance a far off roar. They seemed to have left the vast cavern, and were rushing along some sort of tunnel, hemmed in by solid rock, barely two feet of clearance lay between the people crouched low in the bottom of the punt and the jagged ceiling.

The roar was building slowly to a crescendo.

"I hope you guys can both swim," Draco said.

Harry’s stomach gave a brief lurch … without the aid of the Gillyweed he had used during the Second Task - he couldn’t even doggy paddle. There had been swimming lessons at primary school, but he had spent most of them cowering in the shallow end after someone – and that someone was invariably Dudley Dursley, stole his swimming trunks.

He was just about to tell Draco so, when the boat disappeared from under him. At first, Harry merely thought someone had magicked it away Â… but, as the ear-splitting roar of the waterfall filled his ears, and he felt himself turning over and over in mid-air, and the knowledge that, oh yes, he most definitely was going to die was made all the more horrible for the salient fact Harry couldnÂ’t see when he was going to die.

He wondered exactly why his whole life didnÂ’t flash before his eyes Â… perhaps he shouldÂ’ve been pleased at that.

And then he felt himself impact something cold, and seemingly rock hard, and he blacked out.

Harry hit the water at a terminal velocity roughly equivalent to the top speed of the Hogwarts Express Â… which explained why it felt like he had Â… well Â… been hit head on by the Hogwarts Express.

When he came round, he was lying on what felt like a sandy beach, with water lapping around his body.

***

Draco did not want to open his eyes Â… he wanted to keep them tight shut. Maybe Voldemort wouldnÂ’t see him Â… maybe he would be overlooked. But at the same time he could not help himself.

He sat up, rubbing the back of his head. How had he come to be here? He hadnÂ’t fallen asleep, had he? Was this all it was Â… a dream?

Must be a dream Â… thereÂ’s no way any of these people can have seen me.

"You were the one who carried it back here, to Ynys Enlii," Voldemort said. "You conducted the tests Â… you reassured me it would work, Webster."

"Avada Kedavra," he hissed.

"Grayson," Voldemort said. "You, I believe, were put in charge of Malfoy and Koschenko."

"Malfoy is still dead, my Lord," Grayson said, his voice trembling. "He is safe in his sarcophagus, and when somebody has brewed more of the Lazarus Potion, he will rejoin our ranks."

"Work on it," Voldemort said. "Pettigrew and Crouch alone out of all of you, are worthy to be considered my faithful servants. I will see them re-endowed."

He opened his eyes. He was still lying on the hard, stone landing stage. Hermione was bending over him, looking into his eyes. A fuzzy shape in the background materialised into Harry, looking concerned.

"You were knocked out," said Hermione, by way of explanation. "We brought you round, though Â… you mustÂ’ve been dreaming."

DracoÂ’s mind was awash with thoughts. Was that meeting real? Did they have Tatiana? Were they still pressing ahead with their plans to resurrect the dead? Had that happened?

"And screaming," Harry added, unhelpfully. His glasses were missing, Draco noted.

"That too," said Hermione. "Was it a bad dream, or something?"

Draco became aware that he was shaking, and also that the cold chill of his wet clothes was spreading through him like ice.

"I was in VoldemortÂ’s castle Â… I think," said Draco.

"He has one of those?" asked Harry, looking concernedly down at him.

"I think it mustÂ’ve been," said Draco. "They said it was called Ynys Enlii Â… either of you heard of that place?"

Hermione looked pensive. "Yes," she said, after a momentÂ’s thought. "ItÂ’s Welsh Â… an island, just off the coast Â… its name is Bardsey, in English. There used to be a monastery there."

"Well, thatÂ’s where I went," Draco said. "They Â… I donÂ’t know if it was real Â…"

"Knowing friend Voldemort, it probably was," said Harry. "He, er, has a knack of showing up in my dreams, as well."

"They have Tatiana," Draco said.

"Your sister?"

Draco nodded.

"I think theyÂ’re planning to put her into Dreamscape," said Draco. "I think theyÂ’ve worked it out. I think theyÂ’ve got the information."

Both he and Hermione looked towards Harry. Only they, and Dumbledore knew, that the entire Dreamscape theory was magically concealed in HarryÂ’s brain, all Lily and JamesÂ’ hard work Â…

"Then itÂ’s even more important we press on," said Hermione. By the dim light of the wands, she reached into her pocket, and withdrew one of DracoÂ’s Shadow Killers Â… cupping her hands, she broke it in two, and their surroundings were instantly flooded with light.

Harry looked around. They were in a second cavern. But this one was very different to the first. The water was crystal clear, and the bottom seemed to sparkle golden. The light, falling from somewhere above, bounced off the walls, which glittered radiant colours as if the cavern walls were impregnated with fine jewels. And from on high, from some sort of hole in the cave roof, the waterfall tumbled ceaselessly, throwing up plumes of mist and breathtakingly beautiful rainbows.

"Where to?" he asked. "Face it Â… weÂ’re lost."

But Draco was on his feet. "Nope," he said. "I know exactly where I am. Follow me."

***

Their footsteps led them away from the rocky landing stage, and, passing through a vaulted, Gothic arch, they emerged into yet another cave.

But what a cave!

HarryÂ’s eyes travelled upwards to the ceiling. It was so high he could barely make it out. Here and there, the very tips of the longest stalactites protruded from the gloom Â… and ahead of them, a path wound through what had to be Â…

"Is that gold, Malfoy?" Harry asked.

Piles upon piles of it, stretching away as far as the eye could see. There was no natural light in the cave, but the glittering, metal mountains that lay before them appeared to be casting some kind of light of their own.

"Yes," said Draco, looking at it. "Over a hundred million Galleons."

"All yours," said Harry, with a slight smile. It made the small fortune that lay, neatly stacked in his GringottÂ’s vault look like peanuts.

"No," said Draco. "The Ministry took all this lot out after Naxcivan." But even he looked pleased to see it.

"Ron could live down here," Harry said.

"He couldnÂ’t Â… I wouldnÂ’t let him," said Draco.

He ran swiftly down a small flight of steps, and flung his hands into the nearest pile of gold. Harry and Hermione, still cautious for traps, followed.

"Nothing to be scared of in here," said Draco. "WeÂ’ve got past all the really nasty stuff. This is just the worldÂ’s largest safety deposit box."

He was cramming Galleons into his rucksack.

"Draco, what are you doing?" Hermione asked. "ThatÂ’s stealing!"

"No it isnÂ’t," said Draco. "ItÂ’s mine."

Harry thrust his hand into the nearest pile Â… and yelped in pain, drawing his hand back suddenly.

"Your treasure bit me, Malfoy!" he wailed.

"Of course it did," said Draco. "Wild nifflers live down here. You probably just disturbed one of them."

Harry picked up a large plate. "Not just coins, then?" he asked. The plate was inscribed with something wordy (and probably very memorable) in Latin, ‘Si hoc legere potes, operis boni in rebus Latinis alacribus et fructuosis potiri potes.’

"Oh no," said Draco. "We put everything down here. Gold plate, hunting trophies Â… all the stuff thereÂ’s no room for upstairs. Look at that statue."

Harry turned to look at it. It was a woman, with multiple arms Â… and it was pure gold, too.

"SheÂ’s a Hindu goddess," said Draco.

The statue nodded at them respectfully.

"WeÂ’d better get moving," said Draco. "Nice as it is down here, there isnÂ’t a whole lot of time. ItÂ’s gone eleven oÂ’clock already. The Manor will be sleeping by now."

They followed him along the path Â… it was a long walk, too, and as they went, Harry was sure he could hear something following them, but whenever he turned around, whatever it was turned out to be not there. All the same, it was spooky. He picked up the pace. Now that they were well into the MalfoysÂ’ gold mountain, everything looked the same. Harry began to think it must be depressing to be this rich. Who could possibly have any use for all these exotic jewels? What could all this buy? The Malfoys seemed to just throw any old valuable they came across down here, like an attic. A pile of Faberge eggs lay, discarded and forgotten, and here and there were the most beautiful Egyptian death masks. There were necklaces, bracelets, earrings, extravagant swords in jewelled scabbards, brooches, carriage clocks, fine sculptures. Harry began to feel slightly sick of it. Some of those coins werenÂ’t even Galleons! Harry could see great mounds of Muggle money Â… old sovereigns Â… guineas and more.

Draco brought them up short, without warning. "Did you hear something?" he asked.

Harry and Hermione both shook their heads.

Draco went on. "I have a feeling," he said, "that something is watching us," he was standing on the most exquisite Persian rug, yet he appeared not to have noticed.

"WeÂ’d better be on our guard," said Harry. "I donÂ’t like it down here."

"Seems like thereÂ’s something wrong with it, doesnÂ’t there?" said Hermione.

"I hate to agree with you, but I will," said Draco. "Something isnÂ’t right."

"ItÂ’s like Â…"

"Hundreds of little eyes, boring into my back," Hermione finished HarryÂ’s sentence for him, and as she spoke, slipped her hand gently into his. Harry assumed she was feeling nervous Â…

Draco scrambled a little way up one of the piles, casually dislodging an opulent gold-leafed whalebone carving of a ship, which clattered to the floor and promptly broke, its mast snapping clean off. Draco didnÂ’t notice it.

"What are you doing, Malfoy?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, there's a nice lady who's set up a tea room over by the next pile of crap. What do you think I'm doing?" Draco said sarcastically. He was actually retrieving two swords.

"Potter, catch!" he yelled, tossing one of them down to Harry. It landed at his feet with a clatter. Harry stooped to pick it up. It looked like it should have weighed a tonne, but it was in fact feather light. Harry heaved it out of its scabbard.

He had seen swords before Â… even used one when he had been twelve, facing down a basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets Â… but this sword was very different. The blade shimmered before his eyes, and the blade actually looked sharp. DonÂ’t touch, it said.

"Whose sword is this?" Harry asked, as Draco scrambled down from the gold pile. The other boy was holding an identical one.

"No idea," said Draco. "IÂ’d keep the scabbard, if I were you. You donÂ’t want to leave something that sharp hanging around."

Harry picked up the scabbard again. There were gold scarab beetles on it.

"ItÂ’s weird," he said. "ItÂ’s definitely magical in origin."

"How can you tell?" Hermione asked.

"Well Â… itÂ’s so Â… shiny," said Harry. "No Muggle couldÂ’ve forged this Â… not in a million years."

"Right," said Draco, breaking up the conversation. "LetÂ’s go."

Hermione coughed. "DonÂ’t I get anything?" she asked.

Draco looked at her appraisingly. "Well Â… I didnÂ’t think," he began.

Hermione sighed mightily. "I may have the body of a weak and feeble woman," she began.

"But I have the heart and stomach of a concrete elephant?" Harry volunteered.

Hermione looked at him, and smiled. "Exactly," she said. "If thereÂ’s going to be stabbing and sword fighting, I want in."

"But youÂ’re a girl," said Draco, meekly.

Harry rolled his eyes. Not again!

"Well done, Watson. I can see youÂ’re going to have no trouble adapting to the post-feminist world," said Hermione. If Draco knew what the post-feminist world was, then he was hiding it well, Harry observed, for he looked completely unfazed. "Now give me a weapon of some description."

Draco nodded meekly.

"Sorry," he said, handing her something that Harry couldnÂ’t quite see. "Will this do?"

"That is a fertility idol, Draco," said Hermione.

"Yes Â… it is rather," said Draco. "Um Â… how about I find you another one of those swords? I think I saw another one."

"What a capital idea," exclaimed Hermione, sarcastically. Draco, looking very meek, all of a sudden, scrambled back up the gold heap, dislodging more treasures as his feet scrabbled to find a purchase. When he returned, he was bearing another sword.

"Now that," said Hermione, as he handed it over, "is more like it."

"ItÂ’s twice the size of mine," said Harry.

"Size isnÂ’t everything, Potter," Draco said. Harry scowled at him.

"IÂ’ll sort you out later."

"You and whoÂ’s army?"

"Come now, little boys," said Hermione, fingering her scabbard. She looked impressed with it. "Looks like IÂ’d better lead the way, doesnÂ’t it?"

Harry noticed that Draco didnÂ’t bother to argue with her.

"Whatever," he said, "but we really do need to get a move on, now."

They moved on, feet crunching on the carpet of discarded monies – Hermione and Draco in front, bickering about who knew the way, Harry nonchalantly bringing up the rear. Fancying himself a swordsman, he drew the mighty blade from its scabbard, which he had hooked onto the belt loop of his trousers, and swished it about as they went. Every so often, he turned around, sword thrust straight out in front of him, to deter anybody who might be following them.

None of them noticed the carpet Draco had been standing upon, which rose gently off the ground, and silent as a Lethifold, began to move along behind them, keeping close to the floor Â…

The scenery around them began to change. The gold was beginning to run out. As they walked, the path became steeper, and torches hanging from the rough hewn stone walls burst alight as they passed. Here and there steps were carved roughly into the stone. Draco led the way, taking each step carefully, Hermione behind him, and Harry covering their rear. He didnÂ’t notice the carpet following them, for it kept in the shadows, and, on the rare occasions Harry chanced to spot it, it simply did what carpets do best, and thus avoided arousing any suspicion.

To one side of them, the cave floor fell away, dramatically and suddenly, and they found themselves walking along a path, clinging precariously to a sheer wall of rock on one side.

"How deep is that canyon?" Hermione asked, warily. Her voice bounced off the walls around them in the longest, most pronounced echo Harry had ever heard.

Draco paused to look down. It was like looking into a black hole. Below them was nothing.

"NobodyÂ’s entirely sure," he said, stiffly. Harry, who had been swishing his sword about again, came up behind them.

"WhatÂ’s the matter?" he asked, sheathing his weapon.

"I was just asking how deep the canyon was Â…" Hermione began.

Harry swatted at something flying around his head, and the bat took off, squeaking as it went.

"Looks deep enough," Harry said. "Could we keep moving, please? This bit is making me feel rather giddy."

"We think it goes down several hundred feet," said Draco. He took a step forwards, and as if to warn him, dislodged several loose stones, which went clattering down into the depths.

They waited with baited breath for the sounds of impact, but none came.

"Very deep," said Harry. "And very cold, too Â…"

It was getting very cold all of a sudden. It had become a lot warmer down in the caves Â… but now it was once again freezing Â… and their clothes were soaked, making it all the more worse.

"I think we should press on," Draco said. "ThereÂ’s not far to go. If my calculations are correct, we should be under the ornamental trout lake Â…"

Harry looked up at the ceiling above them. Right on cue, there was a dull rumbling sound, and a few more stones and bits of rock were sent plummeting.

"I wouldnÂ’t worry, Potter," Draco said, in condescending tones. "ItÂ’s very unlikely itÂ’ll cave in on us. Come on."

"We should stop," said Harry. "It isnÂ’t safe Â…"

He took a step forwards, and as he did so, the ground seemed to fall away from underneath him. Harry suddenly found himself scrabbling for a grip on nothing. The ground was shaking violently, and from somewhere nearby was coming a dull roar.

"Cave in!" Draco yelled.

But it was too late. Harry had already fallen.