Adamant and Starlight

Chapter 3: Patronus

Harry stared intently at the door. It was a perfectly normal door by Hogwarts standards, but it filled Harry with a queasy mixture of curiosity and alarm. It was not the ornate brass knob, the stone arch with a coiled dragon carved into the keystone, or the enormous hinges that promised to wail like a suffering soul when they moved that made him so uneasy. It was the absolute certainty that the door had not been here last night.

When Madam Pomfrey had chased Harry out of the hospital room in the wee hours of the night, threatening him with a binding hex and a couple of House Elves to cart him off to his bed if he didn't go under his own steam, the room had looked perfectly normal. And more to the point, Draco had been sleeping peacefully in one of the beds. This morning, Draco was gone, Madam Pomfrey was nowhere to be seen, the beds had been shoved about to clear this patch of wall, and the mysterious door had appeared in it.

Muted voices sounded from the other side of the door, warning Harry that someone was approaching. He stepped back just in time to avoid being trampled by Madam Pomfrey as she came bustling through the doorway. Harry sidestepped her and tried to peer around her into the room beyond. She clucked disapprovingly at him and pulled the door shut.

"I thought I told you to get some rest, Potter. You look dreadful."

"Where's Draco?" he demanded, ignoring her irrelevancies.

"In his room. Sleeping."

"His room? What room? Can I see him?"

"After you speak to the Headmaster and have some breakfast. Gracious, Potter!" she exclaimed, as she pulled a gold watch from her pocket and looked at the dial, "the sun is barely up!"

"Madam Pomfrey, please..."

"I don't suppose there's any point in sending you down to the Hall for breakfast, is there? No? Well then, sit down on one of those beds, and I'll see what I can find to feed you." She waved him toward the far side of the room, flapping her apron at him as though trying to herd a flock of chickens. "Off with you."

"I'm not hungry!" Harry protested.

"Of course you're hungry. You're sixteen! I know you're worried, but that's no reason to starve yourself. Now, sit! How are those cuts, by the way?" she asked, as she watched him sit down very carefully, "still tender?"

"Just a little," he mumbled, blushing at the memory of lying face down on a mattress while Madam Pomfrey pulled slivers of glass out of his backside.

She gave him a motherly pat and bustled away, muttering under her breath, "Sixteen! Babies, the pair of them! Too young for all this nonsense, that's what I say, and what I've told the Headmaster, more than once..."

Harry waited only until the nurse had disappeared into her office, still muttering, then he jumped off the bed and approached the door again. This time, he did not hesitate. Draco was on the other side of that door, and Harry was not going to hang about here, waiting for permission to see him. He reached out to grasp the large, brass knob.

"Password, please."

Harry jumped and snatched his hand back. The voice - a precise, well-bred voice that reminded him of bowler hats and very small mustaches - had come from the door itself. Harry peered at it, looking for the source, but could see nothing besides thick, dark oak panels. He was used to the paintings in the castle talking to him, but not hunks of wood.

"I... I beg your pardon?" Harry ventured.

"Password, please," the voice repeated.

"I don't know the password."

"Then you may not open this door," the voice informed him, crisply.

"But I have to get inside! I'm supposed to be in there!"

Before the door could respond to this, the knob was turned from the other side, and it swung open. Professor Dumbledore stood in the opening, gazing at Harry over the top of his spectacles.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter. I thought that would be you."

"Professor, I..."

"I'm glad you're here. I need a word with you." Turning to look over his shoulder, he said, "We'll only be a few minutes, Severus."

"I'm not going anywhere," Snape answered, from somewhere outside Harry's field of vision.

"Excellent. Harry? If you would?"

With a sweep of his arm, Dumbledore gestured Harry back from the door, then he stepped into the hospital wing. Once again, the door shut so quickly that Harry did not get more than a glimpse of the room inside. The Headmaster smiled at his annoyed expression.

"There's no need to bristle at me that way," he chided. "I am not trying to keep you from seeing Mr. Malfoy."

"Then why can't I go in?"

"Because you don't know the password."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but the twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes silenced him. He should know by now that the Headmaster had an answer for everything, and a solution to any problem. Harry would only prolong the agony by delaying or distracting him. Swallowing his impatient words, Harry asked, meekly, "May I have the password, please?"

"In a moment. Come with me."

Dumbledore moved to the left of the doorway and turned to face the blank wall. Lifting his wand, he swept it across the stone surface and said, "Transparo."

Suddenly, the wall was gone, and Harry found himself gazing into the next room. It looked like a very small replica of the hospital wing's main ward - from the tall, narrow windows and marble floor, to the brass candle sconces on the wall above the bed. Draco lay in the bed, under a pile of blankets, deeply asleep. Snape sat in a chair beside him, reading a book that looked as though it had come from the Restricted Section of the library. As he turned the page, a cloud of dust rose from it.

Harry stared and stared, unable to take his eyes from the still figure in the bed. Draco looked so small with all those blankets pulled up around his ears - small and fragile. It made Harry's chest hurt to look at him. And yet, perversely, he was comforted by the sight of Professor Snape waiting so patiently at his bedside.

He reached out one hand and felt cold, rough stone beneath his fingertips. "The wall is still there," he murmured.

"There would be little point in locking Mr. Malfoy in a private room, and then removing the wall."

"Then they can't hear us."

"Or see us. It is only transparent from this side."

"Is he all right?" Harry whispered, trying not to let his fear creep into his voice.

"That's a difficult question to answer. He slept the night through, thanks to Madam Pomfrey and her Every-Flavor Potions, and there have been no more incidents."

"But you've locked him up."

"For his own protection, Harry. He could have died last night, had you and Madam Pomfrey not acted so quickly."

"I know."

"We can't allow that to happen again, nor can we allow him to harm someone else."

"What about those windows?" Harry asked, pointing at the tall, ornate casements in the back wall of the room. "He broke one just like that with one blow of his hand."

"These have unbreakable spells on them, as does every fragile object in the room."

Except Draco, Harry thought, glumly, but he kept that to himself.

"The door is proof against all magical and physical force, and each person who uses it has his own unique password. That way, Draco can't learn it and open the door himself."

"He's stuck in there?"

"He can leave with one of us, and of course, he has a password of his own. But we won't give it to him just yet."

Harry took a deep, steadying breath, willing himself to reason and calm. Draco would be safe in the strange room. He couldn't hurt himself anymore. He wouldn't care that the door was locked and he couldn't get out, because he wasn't thinking clearly enough to notice. It was just another room... just a way of protecting him...

"It was either this, or we send him to St. Mungo's," Dumbledore said, softly. Harry knew by the gentle note in his voice that the old wizard had read his thoughts very accurately. "We thought he would be safer here, with us."

Harry nodded, still struggling for control. Finally, he asked, in an attempt to distract himself, "How did you make this room so quickly?"

"This is the Room of Requirement."

Harry turned startled eyes on him. "I thought that was on the seventh floor. Are there two of them?"

"No, only one, and it is usually found on the seventh floor. But with a little effort, we were able to persuade it to relocate."

"Won't it disappear? Or go back where it belongs? What if it goes off somewhere with Draco inside?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "It doesn't disappear when you're using it, Harry, and I don't believe I've ever heard of it taking a student with it. Or even a drunken House Elf, for that matter."

"Okay." Harry cast a doubtful look through the transparent wall. He trusted Dumbledore, but he didn't like this talk of "persuading" the room to move. A reluctant magical room seemed like more trouble than it was worth. "May I have my password, now?"

"Certainly. It is Lionheart."

A vision of the Gryffindor lion popped into his head, and he smiled faintly. "Thanks."

Harry turned for the door, but Dumbledore halted him with a hand on his arm.

"Not just yet, Harry. You need a proper meal, and Professor Snape needs a little more time."

It had not occurred to Harry that Snape either needed or deserved time alone with Draco, but a glance at the Potions Master told him that Dumbledore was right. Sour, nasty, detestable Snape was sitting there so quietly, so patiently, with his face relaxed into something close to softness and his eyes shifting every now and then to Draco's face.

He looks sad, Harry thought, and tired. If Harry had ever known his parents or had any adult in his life who cared a scrap for him, he would have recognized the look on Snape's face as the one a father wore when he had sat up all night with his sick child. As it was, Harry had no such experience to help him understand what he saw, but he sensed the mingled sorrow, hope and weariness in Snape and felt an odd sympathy for him.

"How long do I have to wait?" Harry asked.

"Not long. You'll be with him when he wakes up, I promise."

Harry nodded and turned away from the scene in the other room. "I guess I can eat."

"Good. And while you eat, you can tell me everything you remember about last night. By the way, how are you healing after your encounter with the broken window?"

Harry groaned to himself and rubbed his abused backside, wondering how many people were going to ask him about it. Of all the things he had been famous for over the years, having a bum full of glass was undoubtedly the most embarrassing. And that was saying a lot.

*** *** ***

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, softly.

Draco said, without turning his head, "Looking at the stars."

Harry glanced out the window at the view of the sunlit grounds. "It's daylight. There aren't any stars out."

Draco did not answer but continued to stare out the window, his head turned so that Harry could see no more of him than the curve of his cheekbone and jaw, half hidden by loose hair. He sat in the deep embrasure, his left shoulder propped against the glass and his bare feet resting on the sill, so that his knees were drawn nearly up to his chest. His arms were tucked in close to his body, caught between his chest and his knees, giving him a strangely huddled, defensive posture, though his manner was unnaturally calm and distant with no hint of distress in it.

Harry sighed to himself and sat down on the edge of the window sill. From this vantage point, he could see more of the other boy's face, and he stared intently at it while Draco continued to stare through the glass. This was a familiar pattern for them - Harry looking at Draco and Draco looking off into the distance - but this time, there were no sideways glances or knowing smiles, no current of warmth or excitement between them. Draco seemed completely unaware of Harry's eyes on him.

They sat in silence for a handful of minutes, while Harry tried to find something to say. Every topic of conversation seemed fraught with danger, and Draco was so withdrawn that Harry wondered if he even remembered, from one moment to the next, that there was another person in the room with him. What could Harry possibly say to him that would mean anything at all, that would fill those vacant eyes with recognition, without triggering another terrible panic?

"Do you want anything?" he finally asked, then bit his lip at the sound of words that had so often made Draco retreat from him. It did not reassure him at all that Draco took no notice. "Are you hungry? Cold?"

"I'm always cold," Draco murmured, his breath misting on the glass before him.

Harry briefly clasped Draco's bare ankle, then his foot. He felt even colder to the touch than usual. "I'll get you a blanket."

Crossing swiftly to the bed, he pulled a blanket from it and carried it back to the window. Draco still sat in the embrasure, not acknowledging by so much as a glance that he knew Harry was there, so Harry made no attempt to give him the blanket. Instead, he draped it over Draco's motionless form and pulled it up around his shoulders without waiting for permission from the other boy. It promptly slid down his arms. Harry pulled it back up again and tucked it around him.

"Does that help?" Draco did not answer, and Harry felt his frustration rise. "Look at me, Draco. Please." When Draco still did not respond, he added more insistently, "The stars aren't going anywhere. Look at me."

Very slowly, the silver-blond head turned in his direction. Grey eyes so opaque that they looked blind lifted to his face. Harry met his gaze, searching for some flicker of emotion in it, some sign that he knew where he was or who was with him, but found nothing. No pain, no fear, no welcome, no warmth. Only emptiness and a calm resignation that was more frightening than his earlier frenzy.

"Do you know who I am?" Harry murmured.

"Harry."

"That's my name, but do you know who I am?"

Draco blinked once, as if confused by the question. "You're Harry."

"I used to be more than just Harry." His hand lifted, as if under its own power, to brush Draco's cheek. "I used to matter to you."

Slowly, Harry sank down to perch on the edge of the window sill. He let his hand linger against Draco's face, and he watched the other boy intently for some change of expression, some flicker of warmth or understanding.

"You still matter to me," he whispered, as he brought both his hands up to clasp Draco's throat, his thumbs brushing his jaw in a gently possessive way. "Nothing could make me forget you. Nothing. And I don't believe you would forget me, either."

Draco just looked at him in that same blank way, and Harry felt his throat thicken with tears.

"I missed you so much, I swear I thought I was dying. My insides hurt all the time, and I couldn't eat or sleep. I didn't know where you were or even if you were still alive, but all I could think about was how cold you must be without me there. I thought of you sleeping alone, shivering, then waking up and looking for me..." He slid his hands up to clasp Draco's head, cradling his face between his palms, and buried his fingers in tangled silver-gilt hair. "I know you looked for me, Draco. I know you missed me, even if you can't say it. Just like I know you love me."

The last words came out in a rough whisper, as Harry leaned in to touch Draco's mouth with his. In the moment before their lips met, Harry swore to himself that he saw a flicker of light in those dead eyes and saw the pale, cold lips soften into a smile. And he knew, with a surge of relief so immense that it brought a murmur of pain from him, that he had been right. Draco could never really leave him. Never really forget.

A sudden, tearing cry struck Harry in the face like a blow, and he pulled back in alarm. Draco wrenched his head out of Harry's grasp and flung his left hand up to cover his mouth, screaming, "No! Get away!"

Harry just stared at him, too stunned to react, while Draco flattened himself against the side of the window embrasure, his eyes dark and wild, the back of his hand pressed to his lips. In the next breath, the glittering hand shot out, a finger pointed straight between Harry's eyes, and Draco shouted, "Expecto Patronum!"

Silver mist erupted from the tip of his finger with such force that it flung Harry off the window sill. He landed hard on his back, the wind knocked out of him, and looked up to see a huge, vaporous creature bearing down on him. Instinctively, he scrambled away, but then his shoulders fetched up against the door and he could retreat no further. The Patronus charged, and Harry shut his eyes to block out the terrifying reality of it.

But it was not a magic spell that hit him. It was a human body, full of inhuman strength and more rage than it could hold. Fingers latched around his throat - warm flesh on one side, cold crystal on the other - and began to squeeze. Harry's eyes flew open. He saw Draco crouched over him, one knee planted in his midriff, his face contorted with pain. Draco's eyes met his squarely, and Harry saw tears shining in them.

Draco bared his teeth in a grimace and gasped, "I'm sorry!"

Then the crushing pain in Harry's throat overwhelmed him, and black splotches swam before his eyes, hiding the dreadful vision. He reached out blindly to defend himself, his hands scrabbling uselessly at Draco's arms, while the other boy squeezed the life out of him. He was slipping into blackness, his head full of pounding blood and the echo of Draco's last words.

In the last moment before he lost consciousness, Harry heard the door crash open and a familiar voice bellow, "Stupefy!"

Draco stiffened and toppled sideways, his hands falling away from Harry's throat. Running feet sounded all around him, and Dumbledore - a blur of purple robes and white beard - knelt at his side.

"Let's get him out of here," Dumbledore said, speaking to another dark blob on the fringes of Harry's sight. "Harry? Can you stand?"

"I... uhh..." he croaked.

"What about Malfoy?" That was McGonagall's voice, Harry decided.

"Get him to bed and put a binding hex on him. Poppy, if you would..."

Two pairs of hands grabbed Harry by the arms and hoisted him off the floor. Then they guided him toward the door.

"I can't see anything," Harry muttered.

"You lost your glasses," Dumbledore informed him, gently. "Come, Harry."

Harry did not argue. He could not get enough words out to protest, and he could not stand without the support of the two adults flanking him. By the time they led him onto the main hospital ward and helped him to a seat on the nearest bed, he was shivering violently in reaction, his eyes filled with tears. Madam Pomfrey pressed a cloth to the side of his neck, and he gave a hiss of pain.

Dumbledore handed him his glasses. Harry tried to settle them on his nose, but his fingers were trembling too badly to hold them, so Dumbledore did it for him. Then the old wizard gave Harry's shoulder a brief squeeze and said, "Look after him, Poppy. I'll be back in a moment."

He moved away, leaving Harry alone with Madam Pomfrey. She fussed about with her wand and various bottles of liquid, while Harry sat huddled on the bed, trying to swallow the tears in his throat and hide the ones running down his face, while his teeth chattered uncontrollably.

"You've some nasty gouges here," the nurse murmured.

"The fingers..." Harry said, in between spasms of his jaw. "The broken ends... are sharp..."

"I told the Headmaster it was foolish to leave that hand on him. Worse than foolish. First he breaks his own bones with it, now he's very nearly killed you."

Harry looked up at her, startled by the hard note in her voice. "He didn't m-mean to... do it."

She said nothing, but the tightening of her lips and the suspicious glint in her eyes told Harry that she was struggling to control herself. Clearing her throat, she pulled out her wand and tapped the cuts on Harry's neck. The pain abruptly eased. A few more taps, and the only sign left of Draco's attempt to throttle him was a congealing trail of blood running into his collar. All the cuts, bruises and mangled body parts were mended. Madam Pomfrey then gave him a potion that stilled the chattering of his teeth, and he began to feel almost human again. He was just beginning to revive enough to think of going back into Draco's room, when he saw Professors Dumbledore, Snape and McGonagall come out.

Harry made a move to stand up, but Madam Pomfrey halted him with a hand on his arm. "Relax."

"I have to tell Professor Dumbledore what happened!"

"I'd like to hear this, too," Snape growled, as he strode up to the bed, his face twisted with fury and his eyes trying to burn holes in Harry. "How could you be so abysmally stupid, Potter? Are you trying to push Malfoy into a complete breakdown?!"

"I didn't..." Harry began, but Professor McGonagall cut him off.

"There was residual magic in that room!" she snapped, glaring balefully at Harry. "What were you doing in there with a wand, Potter?"

"It wasn't me! It was Draco..."

"You let Malfoy have it?" McGonagall gasped.

"No! You don't understand!" Harry looked wildly from one face to the other until he found Dumbledore standing at his side. Turning to the old wizard, as the most reasonable and likely to listen of the group, he cried, urgently, "Draco made a Patronus!"

Madam Pomfrey gasped, and Professor McGonagall gave a derisive sort.

Dumbledore eyed Harry curiously. "Was it a true Patronus?"

"It couldn't be," Snape insisted. "Potter is the only student in the school who can produce a true Patronus, and we all know it. Malfoy's never been taught the spell, much less how to cast it properly."

"He's seen me do it," Harry protested, but the teachers rolled over him inexorably, giving him no chance to explain.

"You must have imagined it," McGonagall said.

"Another of Potter's famous delusions," Snape added, smugly.

"I don't know about any Patronus," Madam Pomfrey interjected, "but Malfoy almost crushed his windpipe and cut the side of his neck to ribbons with that hand of his!"

"Why would Draco attack you, Harry?" Dumbledore asked. "And why with a Patronus?"

"Even if Malfoy could make a Patronus..."

"He couldn't possibly without a wand..."

"That adamant hand is a menace, Headmaster, especially with the fingers gone!"

"Listen to me!" Harry shouted over the din. "Draco made a Patronus, with his hand!"

Dead silence met this announcement.

"He did it with his hand. It worked just like a wand, and the Patronus came out of his fingertip. You have to believe me, Professor Dumbledore. I was right there. I saw him do it."

"I believe you, Harry."

"The hand is a wand?" Snape asked, too flabbergasted even to sneer.

Dumbledore pursed his lips thoughtfully, his eyes dwelling on Harry. "Adamant is a magical substance, and the hand is finely attuned to Draco's wizarding power. It is a logical consequence we should have foreseen."

"Oh, my," McGonagall murmured.

"Just out of curiosity, Harry, did you see what form the Patronus took?"

Harry shook his head. "It came at me so fast all I saw was silver mist. It knocked me flat on my back and charged me."

Dumbledore's face grew even more thoughtful. "A true Patronus, then, and a powerful one."

"What I'd like to know," Snape growled, having recovered his composure and his usual sour tone, "is what Potter did to inspire this show of force."

"Nothing! I just..." Harry bit off his words abruptly as he realized that he did not have the nerve to tell Snape he had tried to kiss Draco. "I guess I got too close to him," he ended, weakly.

"Clearly, Draco mistook him for a Dementor," Dumbledore said. "Perhaps it's the black robe."

"I'm wearing a black robe, and he didn't throw a Patronus at me," Snape pointed out.

"Well, whatever the reason, we must now deal with the problem of Mr. Malfoy's hand."

"It will have to come off," Madam Pomfrey stated, flatly. "I won't have him on my ward with that thing, in his current state."

Harry's insides went cold with horror, but he did not dare to protest. It was a mark of how shaken they all were by Draco's behavior that not one of them said a word. Not even Snape. They all stood in grim silence, looking at Dumbledore, waiting for his decision.

Finally, the Headmaster nodded. His face was suddenly weary and lined with age, his eyes dark with sorrow. "I believe you're right, Poppy."

Without looking at any of the faces turned so anxiously to him, Dumbledore strode over to the blank wall and raised his wand. A muttered spell, a light touch with the wand, and a large section of the wall vanished. Harry hopped off the bed and slipped between McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey to move up beside Dumbledore. He stood, staring at the small, frozen figure in the bed, and he thought that the pain would swallow him whole. It wouldn't have been so bad if they had caught Draco with any other expression on his face, but the binding hex had trapped him in the moment he awoke from the stunning spell, his eyes wide and glazed with terror, his mouth half open in a cry that never happened. Looking at him, Harry did not know which he wanted more - to crawl into the bed and wrap his arms around Draco, or to find a very dark hole to hide in until he came back to himself.

From close behind Harry, McGonagall muttered, "This is absolutely appalling. I can't believe what we're doing."

"Do we have a choice?" Dumbledore asked, softly. The teachers said nothing, but their expressions were answer enough. "Then let's get it done." Turning to Harry, he said, "Mr. Potter, I want you to go to my office and wait for me there."

"But I want to help!" Harry protested.

"You can't. And considering how Draco reacted the last time he saw you, I think it would be very unwise for you to try. When we're certain that he's recovered from this latest break, I'll let you back in his room, but not until then, and not when we have delicate magic to perform that requires all our attention."

Too numbed by Dumbledore's words to react, Harry watched the teachers file through the door into Draco's room. The transparent patch of wall remained, so he could see them move up to the bed and place themselves around it. Madam Pomfrey hovered beside him, looking him over anxiously.

"Go on, Potter," she said, "it will be over soon."

"I should be here in case..."

"That's a very bad idea. Malfoy doesn't need you, and you don't need to watch this. For once, will you do as you're told and take care of yourself?"

Harry watched Dumbledore bend over Draco's rigid, motionless form and pull out his wand, and he shuddered. Sickness rose in him, and a terrible chill that reminded him of a Dementor's breath on him. He cast one more glance into Draco's room, then nodded and turned for the door.

*** *** ***

Harry had to wait only a very few minutes for Dumbledore to join him. The Headmaster came into his office carrying an ornate wooden box, which he set very carefully on the desk. Then he turned to Harry and said, with no trace of his usual smile, "Well, that's done. Let's have a cup of tea and a chat."

Harry obediently took the wingback chair Dumbledore offered him and accepted a steaming cup of tea. The chair had deep, comfortable padding, and the tea smelled delicious. Harry was just beginning to relax, when a knock sounded on the door and Professor Snape stalked into the room. Harry's feeling of well-being fled. He cast Dumbledore a nervous look but received only a bland smile in return.

"Sit down, Severus. Join us. Would you like some tea?"

Dumbledore took his time stirring milk and sugar into his own cup, while Snape slouched in the chair opposite Harry, giving him long, cold, faintly menacing looks in between sips of tea. Finally, Dumbledore finished clattering about with spoons and saucers. He sat back in his chair, took a sip, and sighed in appreciation.

"Now, Harry, let us begin with what happened downstairs. You know a good deal more about what upset Mr. Malfoy than you're telling us."

Harry felt his stomach do a slow, queasy roll at the realization that he would have to tell them everything. He would have to admit that Draco, the person he loved most in this world, had looked at him and seen a Dementor - not Harry's hands cradling his face, but a Dementor's slimy, rotting fingers dragging him toward his death; not Harry's face close to his, but a Dementor's featureless mask, with its ragged, sucking hole of a mouth stooping to claim him. How could he admit such a thing to Snape, when he could not bear to admit it to himself?

"Suppose you try again," Dumbledore said, breaking in on his thoughts. "And remember that Professor Snape has Draco's best interests at heart as much as you or I. You can speak freely in front of him."

Harry took a deep breath, mustered his courage, and blurted out, "I tried to kiss him." He cringed slightly, waiting for Snape to lash out at him, but no attack came, so he went on, "I thought he recognized me. I thought he smiled at me and knew who I was, and I wanted... well, I didn't think it would frighten him."

"You didn't think at all, apparently," Snape growled.

"Severus." Dumbledore threw the Potions Master a sharp glance. "Go on, Harry."

Harry told them everything he remembered, from the way he had held Draco's face between his hands to the moment that he had felt Draco's fingers around his throat. Neither man interrupted him, until he reached the end of his account and the most disturbing part of it. "He said something, when he attacked me. Something I don't understand."

"What was that?" Dumbledore asked.

"He said he was sorry."

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose. "He recognized you?"

"Not exactly. I mean... I'm not sure he was saying it to me."

"He wouldn't apologize to a Dementor," Snape interjected. "He must have known it was you."

"Whoever he thought I was, he knew he was hurting me and was sorry for it."

Dumbledore frowned thoughtfully down into his tea for some moments. Then he abruptly looked up and asked, "Harry, when the Ravenclaws came into the hospital wing last night, what were they wearing?"

"Wearing?"

"Yes. Were they in their school robes? Pajamas? Dressing gowns?"

"Most of them were in their robes, I think."

"Hm."

Harry unconsciously brushed a hand down the front of his own rather rumpled, scruffy robe. He'd fallen asleep in it last night, both sitting in the hospital wing and later in the dormitory, and it was beginning to show signs of neglect.

"What are you thinking, Headmaster?" Snape asked.

"I am remembering that both Dementors and Death Eaters wear black."

Snape gave a snort of disgust. "Haven't we already determined that it was Potter's ill-timed burst of affection that triggered Malfoy's attack, not his black robe?"

"Ah, but what of his attempted leap from the window of the hospital wing last night? That group of students did nothing to threaten him at all, beyond startling him out of a deep sleep."

"He woke up, saw a mob of people in black robes and... tried to kill himself?" Harry ventured, doubtfully.

"I should think it more likely that he tried to escape," Dumbledore said.

"By jumping out a window? Did he think he could fly?"

"You are assuming that Draco was rational enough to assess the danger and make a choice."

"He didn't know where he was," Snape said, his voice too weary to sound bitter or sneering. "He didn't stop to think. He just ran."

"From a bunch of Dementors," Harry murmured.

Dumbledore sighed and lifted a hand to rub his eyes. "Who knows what he saw? Who knows what he really saw when he looked at you today and apologized for killing you?"

Harry swallowed to clear the tightness from his throat and asked, "Professor, how are we going to find out what happened to him?"

"That's a very good question, Mr. Potter. I'm afraid I don't have an answer."

"We could try Veritaserum," Snape offered.

"Veritaserum can only compel the truth as the subject knows it. Draco's mind is so fragmented that he could likely tell us very little."

"There must be some memories left intact. Assuming that it was some kind of trauma that reduced him to this... this..."

"Memories from before the trauma?" Dumbledore suggested, sparing him the need to find the right word. "Things he saw and experienced when his mind was still whole? It's certainly possible, but it would be difficult to unearth them with a truth serum, not knowing what questions to pose or promptings to use. Better to sort through the memories themselves to find the whole ones."

Snape's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You have a plan."

"Say, rather, a glimmer of an idea. Let me sleep on it. In the meantime, we have other sources of information." Dumbledore slid open a drawer in the desk and took out a roll of parchment. Tapping it lightly against his nose, he gave Harry one of those sudden, twinkling smiles that filled his entire face with impish delight. "I received a letter by this morning's owl post. A most interesting letter."

"From Sirius?" Harry asked, eagerly.

"No, Sirius' letter came last night. I'll tell you all about that in a moment. This letter came from an old friend of mine at the Ministry of Magic. A Mr. Horace Shunpike."

Snape gave a grunt of recognition. "Department of Magical Transportation, isn't he?"

"Indeed. It's through his position at the Ministry that he got his son the job of conductor on the Knight Bus."

"Stan Shunpike!" Harry exclaimed.

"Precisely. Stan is a good fellow, but not the sharpest quill in the inkwell, if you catch my meaning."

Harry, having spent an entire night in Stan's company, knew exactly what Dumbledore meant.

"Poor Horace was afraid he'd turn out to be a squib. When Stan proved to be a wizard after all, he resolved to find the boy a respectable job among other wizards, so he arranged for him to work on the Knight Bus. He can get into little trouble there..."

"Headmaster," Snape said, wearily, "is there a purpose to this bit of Shunpike Family History?"

"There is. You will recall that I sent out messages, all over Great Britain, warning those wizards sympathetic to our cause to be on the lookout for Draco Malfoy. One of those messages went to our friends in the Department of Magical Transportation, asking that anyone who found Draco bring him to Hogwarts immediately."

"Yes, yes, what of it?"

Dumbledore held up the scroll. "It was Stan Shunpike who found him."

Harry gaped at Dumbledore. "He came here on the Knight Bus?!"

"So it would seem. Here is what Horace has to say about it." Unrolling the parchment, Dumbledore held it up between his long fingers and read:

'Headmaster,

I hope, by now, you've got young Malfoy safe and don't need my news, late as it is, but Arthur says as how you'll want it any road, so I'm sending it along by the fastest owl I can find.

It seems my boy, Stan, found your missing student out in the middle of Salisbury Plain - late Thursday night or early Friday morning this would be - and took him to Hogsmeade. Malfoy flagged down the Bus, but as he had no money and was acting a bit barmy, Stan was all for leaving him there. Ernie recognized him from that poster you sent round, so they took him aboard, gave him some hot chocolate, and brought him to the Three Broomsticks.

The way Stan tells it, they were all for sending word up to the castle right then, but Malfoy scarpered before they could decide how to reach you, so Stan and Ernie went back to their usual route like nothing had happened. I was ready to knock their heads together, the pair of them, for letting the boy go off alone and for waiting so long to tell me about it. But what's done is done, and I'll swear my Stan meant no harm, for all he's a bloody great pillock.

If you haven't found Malfoy yet, best start looking in Hogsmeade. If you have, you can thank the Department of Magical Transportation for it. Either way, you owe the Ministry seventeen sickles - that's the fare from Salisbury Plain to Hogsmeade, plus two extra for the chocolate.

Respectfully,

Horace Shunpike'

Dumbledore let the parchment curl up on itself and said, with evident satisfaction, "Salisbury Plain."

"That's near the Malfoy estate, isn't it?" Snape asked.

"Quite. But that is not what makes my thumbs prick when I hear the name." He dropped the scroll into the drawer and pulled out another piece of parchment, this one a rough fragment torn from some larger piece. "Last night, I received an owl from Sirius. He reports that Voldemort's Equinoctial ritual was disrupted by violence in the small hours of Friday morning. Deaths are rumored, though no one will venture a guess as to who or how many died, and the Death Eaters have all disappeared. Gone to ground, it would seem. The location of their disastrous meeting was the Giants Dance."

"Ah!"

"The Giants Dance?" Harry repeated, blankly.

"The Muggles call it Stonehenge," Dumbledore said.

Harry gaped at him in surprise and growing horror, as the pieces began to drop into place in his mind. "That's on Salisbury Plain! And that means Draco was..."

"I'm afraid so, Harry. Draco was there."

Harry shivered, fear crawling like cold fingers over his skin. "Dementors and Death Eaters." He closed his eyes very tightly, though it did nothing to block out the image in his head. "Poor Draco."

"He made it out," Snape said, gruffly, and Harry had the odd impression that he was trying to be reassuring. "He made it back here."

A loud rap on the door saved Harry the trouble of finding a response to Snape's awkward kindness. The door swung open under its own power, and Professor Moody stumped into the room. He fixed Dumbledore with his normal eye, while the magic one swiveled madly to look in every nook and cranny at once.

"You have a visitor, Albus."

"How nice!" Dumbledore rose from his chair and gave Moody a wide, expectant smile. "Why don't you show our guest in?"

Moody smiled back, but it was not a pleasant sight. "I thought you might want a bit of advance warning on this one."

"Indeed?"

"Indeed." The smile widened into a leer. "It's Narcissa Malfoy."

To be continued...