The Serpent Of Lord Voldemort

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— CHAPTER SIX — Snake Baskets

Hermione kept the smaller box drifting several feet ahead of them all the way to Professor McGonagall's office.

'But what makes you so certain these packages aren't from your aunt and uncle?' said Professor McGonagall when Harry explained the situation. 'They missed your birthday this summer.'

'The Dursleys haven't given me a birthday present since I was ten,' said Harry, 'and after what Voldemort did to their house, they're not likely to start now.'

'But they send you Christmas presents,' said Professor McGonagall.

'Yeah,' said Harry bitterly, 'a tissue, a toothpick, a fifty-pence piece and an empty box. Don't know why they bother, really.'

'I -- I see,' said Professor McGonagall, looking faintly alarmed. 'These Christmas presents -- you wouldn't still have any of them, would you?'

Harry stared at her.

'Ron's dad's got the fifty-pence piece,' he said at length.

Harry had seen it whilst visiting The Burrow for the Quidditch World Cup. The Muggle coin claimed pride of place in the display cabinet that housed Mr Weasley's plug collection: front and centre on a tatty green velvet cushion with gold tassels on three of its four corners. As for rest of the Dursleys' offerings, Harry had made it something of a tradition to toss them into the fire before going down to breakfast on Christmas morning.

'You don't have to break the curse, just get rid of the -- whatever it is -- safely,' he added. 'And Madam Pomfrey should definitely have a look at Crabbe and Goyle ...'

'Yes, of course,' said Professor McGonagall distractedly.

With a flick of her wand she sent the package gliding towards the door and strode out the room behind it.

*

Next Transfiguration lesson, Professor McGonagall called Harry to her desk at the end of class.

'I've spoken with Dumbledore. He says your aunt and uncle did send you those packages; in fact, he brought the boxes to the Hogsmeade Post Office himself. There wasn't much of the cake left, unfortunately, but I was able to assemble this from the crumbs ...'

She opened a drawer and took out what looked like (and, Harry realised, probably was) a shrunken cake-box, which held a biscuit-sized sliver of chocolate cake.

'You should eat that directly,' said Professor McGonagall, turning her quill into a fork and holding it out to Harry.

'Er -- why?' he asked.

'It's necessary to restore the protection on you and your relations,' said Professor McGonagall.

Feeling rather stupid, Harry took the fork and popped the bit of cake into his mouth. Professor McGonagall drew a second box, long and flat, from the inside of her robes. She lifted the top to reveal a handsome golden wristwatch.

'Wear this every day, if possible ... and when you get your Christmas present, don't throw it away. Keep it in your trunk if you've got no use for it.'

Under Professor McGonagall's beady gaze, Harry put on the watch. He exited the classroom, stunned. A fair few strange things had happened to him since the beginning of summer -- spending his holidays as Voldemort's pet, returning to Hogwarts as Draco Malfoy's, learning Mrs Figg was his godmother and Professor Snape was, if not heir of Gryffindor, then the nearest thing to it -- but receiving a gold wristwatch from the Dursleys was by far the weirdest.

*

Harry had been wearing his new watch for little over a week when, after a quite short lesson on Diricawls, Hagrid said to Malfoy, 'C'mon out to me house tonight. I got the snake-grass.'

That evening, Harry, Ron and Hermione followed Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle across the grounds to Hagrid's cabin.

'What are they doing here?' spat Malfoy when they stepped through the door.

'They're gonna be helpin' us with the Snake Baskets,' said Hagrid.

Malfoy looked both angry and suspicious, but evidently didn't dare risk annoying Hagrid by complaining. There weren't enough chairs to go around, so the six students sat on the floor of the hut, where Hagrid showed them how to fashion coils out of bundles of snake-grass (which was grey-green and smelled strongly of lavender) and stitch them into an egg-shaped basket.

Malfoy wasn't very good at it. He appeared thoroughly disgruntled at having to do what he no doubt considered servant's work. Harry, with his vast experience of doing servant's work for the Dursleys, had no difficulties. Crabbe and Goyle didn't even try to learn how to make Snake Baskets. They amused themselves by poking each other (and occasionally Harry, Ron or Hermione) with longest stalks of snake-grass they could pick out. After half an hour of this, Hagrid ordered the pair of them back to the castle. Hermione was trying, but to her great frustration she was even worse at it than Malfoy. Ron put aside his own basket early on to assist Hermione.

'Yeh'll want ter set them Snake Baskets out quick as yeh can,' Hagrid told Malfoy as they worked. 'Snakes'll start hibernatin' soon, an' it sounds like yer one's a grass snake. They never come this far north on their own, they're used ter warmer weather, see. Tha' may be why it ran off, ter find a place ter hole up fer the winter. In that case, it won' turn up again 'til March or April. Any other snake yeh catch round here'll be an adder. Adders're poisonous -- they bite you, it'll hurt like anythin' -- but yeh won' die of it, s'long as yeh stay calm an' get ter Madam Pomfrey. Good par' is, when we find yer snake it'll be easy ter recognise.'

Hagrid had exceptionally fast fingers for such a large man. In the time it took Harry to produce a single basket, Hagrid had made two of his own, converted four of Hermione's false starts into lids and finished Malfoy's basket for him. Once the baskets were done, Hagrid had them smear the insides with frog tripe. He then gave the milk jug to Hermione and told her to pour a few drops in each one. They put the Snake Baskets around the lake: one at each quarter, laid on its side and half-buried in the mud.

'They like water, grass snakes,' said Hagrid. 'Wherever yer one ended up, it'll be makin' its way down here eventually. We jus' got ter wait.'

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Malfoy headed for the castle, Gryffindors and Slytherin keeping a fair distance between them by mutual agreement.

Hermione's persistent inability to make a proper Snake Basket had left her in an extremely bad mood.

'Malfoy's setting these things to catch me, remember?' said Harry, in an attempt to cheer her up. 'We don't want him to have loads of them.'

'I could help you practise some more,' said Ron hopefully. He had spent the evening sitting close to Hermione -- peering over her shoulder, holding her hands and brushing away tendrils of her bushy hair when they drifted into his face.

Hermione muttered something about going to the library.

*

Next night as Harry and Ron were doing their Divination homework, Hermione came bursting through the portrait hole. Clutched to her chest was an unusually thick book with a cover of tapestry.

'I know why Lucius Malfoy tried to steal your Famous Wizard cards last year, Harry,' she said triumphantly, dropping the book (An Illustrated Encyclopedia of Magical Pattern Weaving, with Samplers) on their table with a loud thud.

'Mr Malfoy never tried to steal my --' Harry did a double take. 'You mean -- Polyjuice Potion? Madam Turpin was him?'

'No, of course not,' said Hermione impatiently. 'He hired her to steal them. And I bet it was him buying up those other copies anonymously, too.'

'You're mental,' said Ron. 'What would Lucius Malfoy want a Famous Wizard card of Harry for?'

'For the photos of his christening robe,' said Hermione. 'I was reading up on Snake Baskets and I found this ...'

She opened the book. A panel of lace very much like the one that adorned the hem of that embarrassing garment was bound into it. On the page opposite was a picture of a witch pointing her wand at an arrangement of pins and thread on a wooden table, which was busily weaving more lace.

'The pattern of the lace is used as a code to write down spells,' Hermione said. 'Mr Malfoy believed your dad was heir of Gryffindor -- he probably figured the christening robe was a record of some sort of important old magic.'

'Voldemort said he'd been stealing things,' said Harry. 'I'd thought he meant his things. So it was Lucius Malfoy's fault the Triwizard Tournament was almost cancelled ...'

'Right, that's why You-Know-Who was upset with him,' said Hermione. She looked at Harry keenly. 'If we can get hold of that robe, I should be able to translate the spell. D'you have any idea where it is now?

'I expect it was blown up along with my parents' house,' said Harry gloomily. 'The only thing I have that belonged to them is my Invisibility Cloak.'

'Oh,' said Hermione, disappointed. 'Well -- we could try and read it off one of the Famous Wizard cards, I suppose, although it doesn't seem Mr Malfoy was having much luck with that.'

'Not 'til next year, we can't,' said Harry. 'The cards are in my Gringotts vault.'

'If you think it's that important, you could always ask Professor Snape to borrow his,' said Ron with a sly grin.

'Oh, I'm sure it's not,' said Hermione hastily. 'I mean, as Harry's father wasn't the heir after all ...'

*

Malfoy checked the Snake Baskets every day (and scowled ferociously if he saw Harry so much as glance at them), but no snakes were caught. October gave way to November and the weather grew steadily colder; of morning frost covered the grounds.

'Migh' as well bring the baskets inside,' Hagrid said to Malfoy. 'Snakes're all hibernatin' by now fer sure.'

Malfoy looked as though he had just received news of a death (which, Harry thought uneasily, was not far off the mark, considering how angry Voldemort would undoubtedly be about his failure to recapture the snake).

'You can leave 'em out if yeh really wan' to,' said Hagrid quickly, 'but they'll've fallen apar' by spring, an' then yeh'll have ter make new ones.'

The Snake Baskets stayed out. Harry noticed that Malfoy continued to check them even in the worst of weather, but at that point he had problems of his own to contend with. Trying times had come upon the Weasley family; in addition to his own misery over the situation, Harry had to support Ron through it all.

Voldemort remained oddly quiet. If he was working on some fresh plan to discredit Dumbledore or locate the non-existent heir of Gryffindor, he did a remarkably good job of keeping his activities under wraps.

Malfoy stayed at Hogwarts for Christmas to keep an eye on the Snake Baskets. Harry, however, went home -- and learnt exactly why the Dark Lord had been lying so low during autumn term.

In fairness to Voldemort, he was not directly responsible for the uproar that rocked the magical community over the Christmas holidays (and, ironically enough, brought about the resolution of the Weasleys' troubles). That had been one-third the fault of an incompetent underling and two-thirds the fault of Harry himself.

The young Death Eater took full blame, although the more intelligent members of the Ministry of Magic realised he must have had accomplices. Unfortunately, Cornelius Fudge was not among them; thus the Ministry's official policy on Voldemort's non-return remained unchanged. So, apparently, did Voldemort's policy of waiting for the serpent plot to come off, as Malfoy carried on checking the baskets throughout the winter.

By spring the Snake Baskets had indeed fallen apart. Malfoy put out seven handsome new ones, far too fine for him to have made himself. As March turned to April, he caught a number of fat, splodgy adders. Hagrid suggested that Harry ask if any of them had seen a grass snake about, but Malfoy flatly vetoed this idea. Not only did he still blame Harry for stealing the snake, he and the rest of the Slytherins now also suspected him of having murdered Professor Snape.

Summer approached. Malfoy was looking increasingly tense each morning after he checked the Snake Baskets. Harry was nearly as anxious as Malfoy was -- he knew all too well how Voldemort dealt with wizards who failed him. Harry had little reason to like Malfoy, but he couldn't help feeling somewhat responsible for the fix Draco was in. If only Harry had told someone sooner that the Dursleys were gone, Voldemort would never have got his hands on the snake in the first place.

Ron and Hermione tried to keep Harry's spirits up.

'Malfoy deserves whatever he gets,' said Ron. 'You're forgetting, he wants that snake back so he can murder you with it ...'

'You should be worrying about your O.W.Ls, not Malfoy,' said Hermione. 'You-Know-Who's not likely to do anything really horrible to him. It wasn't Malfoy's fault the snake disappeared, he couldn't very well have brought it to dinner with him. And this was his first mission -- he'll get a second chance.'

'This was his second chance,' said Harry moodily. 'Well, his father's second chance ... Voldemort'd given him a Basilisk and I reckon something happened to it. He told him to take better care of me.'

Hermione looked suddenly aghast.

'What's the matter, Hermione?' said Ron.

'I -- I don't think Lucius Malfoy had permission to give You-Know-Who's diary to Ginny,' she said. 'That was the Basilisk he was talking about, the one in the Chamber of Secrets, the one Harry killed. Honestly, I'm surprised You-Know-Who didn't curse Mr Malfoy to death the minute he found out ...'

This was not what you could call reassuring.

*

Near the middle of May, Professor Snape turned up alive and Professor Millarca departed under something of a cloud, but no one had expected her to last long anyway. Soon afterwards Harry overheard Malfoy and Hagrid arguing in Care of Magical Creatures.

'I don' care what Professor Snape said. S'as close ter Dark Magic as makes no diff'rence,' Hagrid growled.

'I'd be using my blood,' said Malfoy peevishly. 'I don't see why --'

'Yeh couldn',' Hagrid interrupted. 'That spell needs blood from a woman ter work. No, I forbid yeh!'

Hagrid stumped off to tend to the giant fish tank of silvery Ramoras that sat in front of his cabin. Malfoy gazed resentfully at his retreating back.

Harry, however, no longer had time to dwell on Malfoy's predicament. The O.W.Ls were rapidly approaching. Hermione's exam nerves had reached a fever pitch. She spent every moment of her spare time revising frantically and was forcing Harry and Ron to do the same (at wandpoint if necessary: when Ron attempted to knock off early one evening, Hermione put the Leg-Locker Curse on him).

Harry was torn between the fear of doing badly on his O.W.Ls and the fear that it wouldn't matter if he did. Should Voldemort succeeded in taking power, a hundred O.W.Ls would not be enough to save Harry from his wrath.

*

The night after the last exam, Harry fell into bed feeling drained as an empty Butterbeer bottle, and dropped off to sleep almost immediately. He dreamed he was in his tank again. He slithered through the tall grass, searching for his burrow, but the unbroken earth seemed to go on for ever. Now the grass was curling around his body, binding him. He thrashed about, struggling to free himself; the grass merely wrapped itself tighter --

Harry woke abruptly, entangled in blankets. He threw off the bedclothes and flung back the hangings of his four-poster. Still half asleep, he fumbled for his glasses and staggered to the pond to have a drink -- only to find himself staring out a window at the Hogwarts lake. Two people were crouched beside one of the Snake Baskets. It was Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson.

Malfoy stood up and began waving his wand, leaving a trail of purple sparks that slowly descended onto the Snake Basket. Not stopping to worry about getting caught by Filch, not stopping to grab his wand or his Invisibility Cloak, not even stopping to put on his trainers, Harry ran from Gryffindor Tower. It was as though he was back in his dream as he sprinted through deserted corridors, down six floors to the marble staircase and out the great oak front doors.

Harry tore across the lawn towards the Snake Basket. Malfoy and Pansy were walking away from it along the lake; hearing his pounding footfalls, they turned and gaped. The sight of their shocked faces brought Harry to his senses.

'Hagrid said you weren't supposed to use that spell,' he said accusingly.

Malfoy raised his wand. Ropes flew out, twisting themselves around Harry's arms and legs. Malfoy gave the ends a hard jerk, sending Harry crashing to the ground. He stepped up to Harry and kicked him in the head with all his strength.

Harry's vision went black. When he came round, there was a hammering in his skull and his entire body was being bumped and jolted painfully. Malfoy was dragging him into the Forbidden Forest.

Coming to a halt by a convenient clump of bushes, Malfoy rolled Harry underneath them with his foot.

'You wait here, Potter. I'll be back for you when I've caught my snake ...'

Malfoy's footsteps faded in the distance. Harry struggled pointlessly against his bonds for several minutes, then slumped to the ground once more. He wasn't certain how long he lay there, exhausted and gasping for breath. It was difficult to keep his thoughts focused; his head ached abominably.

But why, Harry reflected through a blur of pain, should being tied up pose such a problem for him? He had no trouble getting around as a serpent without the use of his arms and legs. It was simply a matter of curving one's spine correctly ...

Harry flailed and squirmed, but his spine obstinately refused to curve. Finally, out of sheer frustration, he transformed into a snake. That was much better. Not only could he now wriggle his body in proper side-to-side waves, he was tiny enough to crawl easily out of the ropes. Yet although more mobile as a snake, Harry was still disoriented and badly hurt. He had to get away from there, his instincts told him, it wasn't safe. He needed to find a place to hide and rest.

Harry fluttered his tongue. A peculiar smell rode the evening breeze. Strangely drawn, he glided through the undergrowth in its direction, managing a fair turn of speed in spite of his weakened condition. Soon Harry was out of the Forest and heading for the lake. The smell was noticeably stronger now. It appeared to be coming from -- there! A wickerwork cavern rose up from the muddy shore as though it had sprouted there. Harry slithered gratefully inside and coiled up to sleep.

Some time later he was woken by a bright light and a cry of triumph. His burrow was wrenched violently upwards, flinging him about. Before Harry could get his bearings, a hand reached in, gripped his neck tightly and pulled him out. Malfoy's grotesquely enlarged face filled Harry's vision.

Harry was shaken to and fro as Malfoy rummaged in the pocket of his robes. Then something hard but warm touched his head. Malfoy drew his wand and spoke an incantation. The warmth grew blazingly hot, coursing through Harry's body, soaking into his very bones.

Malfoy dropped Harry back into the Snake Basket. Harry gazed upwards. He could see stars through the mouth of the basket. Malfoy's spell had driven away most of the pain and dizziness he'd been suffering, and the night sky seemed to call to him. A fresh wave of heat surged over Harry. He shot straight up out of the basket like a bullet from a gun.

It was as if he was riding a Firebolt -- as if he was a Firebolt. Wind whipped past him; all of Hogwarts was receding below. He could see Malfoy and Pansy standing by the lake, gaping down at the burning Snake Basket. He could see the castle, the vegetable gardens, the greenhouses, the Whomping Willow ... and Hagrid's hut.

Harry went into a steep dive. The ground rushed towards him and he did not pull up. The force of his impact sent a shock through his entire body, yet he felt no pain.

Harry clambered out of the smoking crater made by his landing. A door as tall as a cathedral loomed in front of him. It swung magically open as he approached and closed behind him once he had crossed the threshold. He found himself inside a vast, dimly lit room. Its cupboards and ceiling were full of food, and there was gold in the pockets of the great black overcoat hanging by the door. Warm embers glowed invitingly in the fire.

As Harry was gathering his coils to slither towards it, a low, sleepy voice growled, 'Who's there?'

'It's me, Harry,' said Harry.

He felt an almighty thud as two gigantic feet hit the floor and heard massive fingers scrabbling at the bedpost. Hagrid lit his lamp. Harry swiftly changed back into himself.

A small, flinty object bounced off the end of his nose and the pain in his head returned, worse than ever. He collapsed against the door-frame and slid to the floor. Then Hagrid, wearing a voluminous canary-yellow nightshirt, was bending anxiously over him.

'Yeh've got blood in yer hair! What's happened?'

Harry looked up at Hagrid owlishly. 'Malfoy kicked me in the head. He was doing that spell you didn't want him to.'

Hagrid threw on his overcoat, scooped Harry up in one arm, flung open the door with the other and began striding across the lawn.

'Hagrid!' said Harry indignantly. 'I can walk!'

It was just as well that Hagrid didn't take him up on this. Merely lifting his head made Harry feel horribly sick and dizzy. Perhaps it would be best to let Hagrid carry him, Harry thought, so that he himself could concentrate on not throwing up. He had the oddest notion that this was not the first time Hagrid had done so, but trying to remember the previous occasion only made his skull pound harder ...

Harry tugged at the giant's beard. 'Who're you?' he asked irritably. 'Where's my mum?'

The giant threw him a worried look and stepped up its pace.

'Jus' hang on, now, Harry, yeh're gonna be fine. Madam Pomfrey'll have yeh right in no time.'

'Oh -- oh, right, Hagrid,' muttered Harry, sinking back.

Next thing he knew, Hagrid was setting him carefully down on a bed in the hospital wing.

'You jus' lie still,' he said. 'I'll go an' fetch Madam Pomfrey.'

Hagrid quickly reappeared with the Hogwarts matron, who clucked over Harry's injury and gave him a potion. Harry drifted off to sleep shortly after drinking it, but he didn't rest easily. He dreamed he was a prisoner again in the Dursleys' smallest bedroom. Hot, bright sunlight poured through the window and Ron was hovering above the trees in a golden car. Harry tried to fly up to meet him, but Uncle Vernon clutched at his ankles with hands as cold as iron ...

Harry awoke at the first light of dawn in an unfamiliar room. He was lying on his front with his head at the foot of the bed. When he attempted to roll over, he discovered that his feet had been chained to the headboard. As there was no one about, Harry freed himself by the simple expedient of changing into a snake and back.

There was a jug of water on the bedside table. Harry drank nearly half of it, then checked the door, which wasn't locked. He set off down the corridor outside. A second door led him to the main hospital wing, where his attention was drawn to an apothecary cabinet at the other side of the ward. He went over to it and pulled open a drawer, which turned out to be full of chocolate.

As Harry was starting on his third piece, a voice behind him said in an incensed whisper, 'What do you think you're doing?'

Harry suddenly realised that he was eating his way through Madam Pomfrey's medicine chest.

'I was hungry ...' he said lamely.

'Back to bed at once,' she stormed, grabbing him by the arm and hustling him across the ward and back up the corridor. When they reached Harry's room, Madam Pomfrey saw the manacles lying unopened on the bed and stopped short. 'How in heaven's name did you --'

'Er -- magic?' said Harry. His eyes narrowed. 'What's that you've got round your neck?'

Madam Pomfrey's hand flew to her throat. 'This? It's my mediwitch's amulet ...'

She pushed the chains aside so that Harry could get into bed right side up and conjured him a bowl of porridge .

'I don't suppose you recall how you came to be injured?' she said as he ate.

'Malfoy kicked me in the head,' said Harry.

'Yes, Hagrid said you told him that,' said Madam Pomfrey, 'but you're positive he did nothing else to you?

'I'd caught him casting a spell to catch snakes,' said Harry. 'Hagrid said it was almost Dark Magic.'

Madam Pomfrey eyed Harry dubiously but didn't press him further. She would not permit him return to Gryffindor Tower, however, insisting he remained in the hospital wing for observation.

Harry lay in his bed feeling very stupid. What had got into him to go chasing after Malfoy like that, alone and without his Cloak or his wand? He was lucky Malfoy hadn't decided not to bother with the snake and finished him off then and there.

When Ron and Hermione showed up to visit Harry later in the day, their expressions of deep concern made Harry feel all the worse. This was the third time in less than a year that his own poor judgement had nearly got him killed. They'd be furious with him, especially Ron. Why hadn't Harry woken Ron up when he saw what Malfoy was up to, or gone and found a teacher?

Harry briefly considered telling Ron and Hermione that he'd banged his head on the bedside cabinet whilst climbing out of his four-poster, but of course they'd soon learn the truth from Hagrid, if they hadn't already.

'Look, I'm really sorry about last night --' he began.

'What happened last night?' said Ron tensely.

'I woke up and saw Malfoy messing with the Snake Baskets --'

'What, again?' said Hermione, frowning. 'Hagrid told me he'd chucked them all in the fire --'

'I expect he did, afterwards,' said Harry. 'Anyway, I went running down to stop him. I don't know, I must not've been properly awake. Malfoy tied me up and kicked me in the head --'

Ron and Hermione exchanged nervous glances.

'Harry, that was last week, not last night,' said Ron. 'You've been in hospital wing for almost four days.'

'What?' said Harry.

'You were delirious,' said Hermione in a trembling voice. 'You had a fever -- you got so hot the sheets caught on fire. Madam Pomfrey had to put an Unburnable Charm on the bed that's when she moved you to a private room. Then you started flying, really flying, which is supposed to be impossible. You kept trying to go out the window, so she borrowed some of Filch's manacles and chained you down.'

'Nobody knew what was wrong with you,' said Ron. 'Potions lessons were cancelled on Monday, Snape was so busy brewing stuff for Madam Pomfrey to try giving you. Dumbledore was going to call in a specialist from St Mungo's if that last batch hadn't worked.'

Harry stared at Ron in astonishment. Then his gaze snapped back to Hermione.

'What's that you've got round your neck?'

*

It was another day and a half before Madam Pomfrey agreed to let Harry leave the ward. He felt perfectly normal. Strain his memory as he might, he could recall none of the behaviour Ron and Hermione had described. Whatever damage Malfoy had done by kicking him in the head and turning him into an Aitvaras had evidently been completely mended.

In Harry's absence, a fashion for gold jewellery had sprung up overnight amongst the girls (and even some of the boys) at Hogwarts. His fellow Gryffindors were caching food and Galleons in their dormitories like Muggle survivalists battening down for a nuclear war -- maybe Harry's accident had finally persuaded them to take the threat of Voldemort seriously.

Rumours of his bizarre indisposition had definitely spread. People eyed Harry furtively at breakfast, although nothing to how they had done the previous year after Cedric's death. That was one consolation: as humiliating as it was to have let Malfoy get the drop on him, at least this year nobody had been murdered ... yet.

Malfoy himself was trudging around the school with the look of a man faced with the end of the world, or his own execution. This was not because of any punishment for his attack on Harry. Malfoy and Pansy had managed to sneak back into the Slytherin dormitories with no one the wiser whilst Hagrid was bringing Harry to the hospital wing. When confronted by Hagrid next morning, Malfoy denied everything, maintaining that Harry had hit his head walking into a tree and hallucinated the whole incident. As Hagrid had already destroyed the Snake Baskets, he had no evidence to the contrary.

No, it was clear that what Malfoy was dreading was going home with his mission for Voldemort uncompleted. Harry had hoped Malfoy would have the sense to blame his illness on an Aitvaras bite, but apparently he did not. That night, Harry fell asleep brooding over how he might suggest this course of action to Malfoy without giving away his secret ...

High above the clouds, Harry was flying. A fiery snake once more, he sizzled across the sky, then started abruptly to descend. He was plummeting towards a grey stone building -- either a large, showy manor or a small, plain castle.

Harry dropped into one of its many chimneys. The rising hot air broke his fall, so that he landed gently in the fireplace. He settled himself amidst the crackling flames, feeling pleasantly warm and contented. Then he caught a whiff of the wizard sitting at the desk in front of the fire. It had been months since Harry had last smelled that curious mixture of human and snake, but he would never forget the scent of Lord Voldemort.

There was anger in Voldemort's smell and, more alarmingly, there was excitement -- the same excitement he always smelled of when he was tormenting his servants. Harry could smell fear on the draught of a door at the far side of the room, and he suspected that it was only too well justified.

Voldemort shifted in his seat. The door opened and the frightened smell grew much stronger. Odd shuffling vibrations travelled through the floor.

'So,' said Voldemort. 'The end of another year at Hogwarts ... and Harry Potter is still alive.'

'My Lord --' said a terrified voice.

Though the desk blocked Harry's view of its owner, he had no difficulty identifying the voice as Lucius Malfoy's.

'I told you, did I not, that this was to be your last chance?' said Voldemort conversationally.

'My Lord, it was Dumbledore, he must have found out,' said Mr Malfoy rapidly. 'Snape must have told him ...'

'Indeed?' said Voldemort coldly. 'Unless someone was foolish enough to mention it to him, Snape did not know.'

'No -- no, my Lord, I swear, I didn't --'

'Many years ago, I was given reason to doubt Snape's dedication to our cause. He offered me a rather convincing proof of his loyalty. Surely you have not forgotten this?'

The smell of dread coming from Lucius Malfoy increased tenfold.

'Yes ...' hissed Voldemort. 'I said I would hold you personally responsible ... but truly the failure was your son's ... it hardly seems fair that you should suffer for his blundering. Bring him here ... I'm certain we can settle upon an appropriate punishment ...'

'Y-yes, my Lord,' said Mr Malfoy in a barely audible tone.

Harry felt him crawl out of the room. The door swung shut and Voldemort's high, mad laughter filled the air. He swivelled his chair to face the fire. Harry gazed, petrified, into the gleaming red eyes --

'Harry, wake up! It's eight-thirty!'

He was back in Gryffindor Tower. Ron had drawn the curtains of his four-poster and was looking worriedly down at him. Harry climbed shakily out of bed.

'OK there, Harry?' said Ron. 'Not having a relapse, are you?'

'No,' said Harry. 'I had a dream.'

Harry and Ron met up with Hermione in the common room and Harry recounted what he'd dreamed.

'And when Voldemort was talking about a punishment for Malfoy -- he's going to kill him. He's going to have his father bring him there, and he's going to kill him.'

'How can you be sure?' said Hermione in a slightly higher voice than usual.

'I could smell it on him,' said Harry quietly. He stared into the fire. 'Voldemort hates the Malfoys, he hates them because their blood is purer than his. It's not just the Muggle-born who want to watch out if Voldemort ever really gets in power ...'

'Does Malfoy's father realise?' said Ron.

Harry remembered Lucius Malfoy's panic-stricken odour.

'Yeah ...' he said. 'He realises.'

Harry slumped in his armchair. Another year, another death ... it should have been Harry, but Malfoy would die in his place ... just as Cedric had done.

'I need to tell Dumbledore,' he said abruptly.

As Harry strode along the corridors to the Headmaster's office, he couldn't help thinking that telling Dumbledore wasn't going to do much good. Dumbledore could scarcely refuse to send a student home to his parents, even if they were planning to hand him over to Voldemort. Perhaps Malfoy could go into hiding in one of the secret passageways ... Harry could lend him his Invisibility Cloak ... but would Malfoy believe Harry that Voldemort intended to murder him if his father told him otherwise?

Harry drew level with the gargoyle. Just as he was opening his mouth to speak the password, it hopped aside on its own. The wall behind it split apart, leaving Harry face to face with Lucius Malfoy.

It would have been impossible to say which of them was more appalled at seeing the other. Mr Malfoy gave Harry a look of such utmost loathing that it made Snape's glowers seem friendly and benign in comparison. Harry gaped back at him in horror. Before Mr Malfoy could react, Harry dodged past him, bolted up the moving staircase two steps at a time and went skidding into Dumbledore's office.

'Mr Malfoy -- he's come to take Draco, hasn't he?' Harry gasped. 'You can't let him, Voldemort will kill him, I had a dream --'

Funnily enough, Dumbledore did not appear to be at all distressed at receiving this information.

'Have you now?' he said calmly. 'Tell me about your dream.'

Harry told him.

'Could we say that the snake did bite me?' Harry asked Dumbledore. 'Only Hagrid had an antidote in his hut, and that's why I didn't die ...'

But Harry had a nasty suspicion that this would not be enough to satisfy Voldemort. At the close of his interview with Lucius Malfoy, Voldemort hadn't even smelled particularly angry any more. It was as though murdering Draco was a treat he was looking forward to.

'I'm afraid we could not,' said Dumbledore. 'The Aitvaras is not, strictly speaking, a venomous serpent. Its fangs inject a concentrated form of liquid fire -- the victim is burnt to ash in a matter of moments. There is no known antidote, and no time to administer it even if one was discovered.'

'But Malfoy --' said Harry. 'Voldemort will kill him. Can't you do anything?'

'As it happens, I can,' said Dumbledore with a sudden, brilliant smile. 'You were wrong about Lucius. He did not come to Hogwarts to take Draco away, but rather ... to seek asylum. I was not certain whether to trust him -- I could not risk having Voldemort plant a spy on us yet again. But as your dream has confirmed that he is acting in good faith, I have no more qualms ...'

Humming to himself, Dumbledore took a piece of parchment from the drawer of his desk and reached for a quill.

'I shall be accepting Mr Malfoy's application for the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.'

— THE END —

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