Harry Potter and the Sisters Three

                        Chapter 7: Marks in the Dark

    The Great Hall was thronged with people when Harry finally arrived, all of them laughing and chattering, letting off steam before they had to return to class. He barely saw them as his desperate eyes searched for Ron and Hermione. He spotted his friend's thatch of bright-red hair halfway down the Gryffindor table, but for the moment, Hermione was nowhere to be seen. He dropped his head, letting his still-damp hair flop into his eyes like blinders to ward off the stares he felt sure were being cast his way. He kept his head down until he had reached the empty space across from Ron, and sank into it gratefully.

    "You alright, mate?" Ron asked, shoving a plate of bacon sandwiches in Harry's direction with a somewhat worried look creasing his jovial face. "You got cleaned up," he offered hopefully, as if the reminder might improve his friend's mood. Harry smiled weakly and seized a sandwich.

    "Yeah. It's not about the blood thing." His brow furrowed. "Well, part of it is, but the bigger part is what happened AFTER the blood thing," he revised, his mouth full of rye bread and bacon.

    "What happened after?" Ron inquired, his spoonful of chocolate custard arrested midway between mouth and bowl. Harry shook his head, struggling to swallow the dry sandwich. He took a gulp of pumpkin juice and cleared his throat.

    "Wait for Hermione," he said. "Where is she, anyway?" Ron shrugged.

    "Making good on her promise. Once we left you, she headed straight for the library. Imagine, HERMIONE skiving off a class!!" Ron stirred his custard with wonderment.

    "I don't think it actually counts as skiving off if she's in the library," Harry theorized, peeling the crusts off his second sandwich. "Isn't she going to eat?" Ron shrugged again, and stared morosely into his dessert.

    "Sorry!!" Hermione's breathless voice punctured the moment of silence as she swept up to the table, whacking Ron in the head with her bag as she struggled to set a stack of heavy books down onto the table in front of them. Ron rubbed his head as he regarded her balefully, but Hermione didn't notice. Her face was alight as she joined them.

    "It's great, all the things I've got so far! Nothing definitive on why they might be here, that sort of thing can vary like you wouldn't believe, I- Harry, are you alright?" Hermione stopped her frantic speech short as she regarded him with a very motherly stare.

    "Not particularly," he responded wryly.

    "Something happened after we left him," Ron broke in. "He hasn't told yet, wanted to wait until you got here." Hermione nodded and turned her eyes back to Harry, eyebrows raised encouragingly.

    "I was coming back down from the bathroom when Professor McGonagall called me over to talk to her," he began.

    "I knew she'd want to hear the whole story," Hermione said somewhat proudly.

    "No, actually, she didn't," Harry replied darkly. He so he told them the whole story, from McGonagall's anger towards him to her unwillingness to listen to his version of what happened. He mumbled a little when he came to the point at which he had advanced upon the teacher, recalling the repulsive expression of fear mingled with pity that had crossed her stern face. He watched as his friends' faces melted into expressions of disbelief. He sat back from the table as he uttered the realization to which the encounter had brought him. "She thinks I'm crazy."

    "Harry, that can't be true!! She must have had some reason-" Hermione tried to speak, but was cut off by an outburst from Ron.

    "What d'you mean, a reason?! She didn't even give Harry a chance to explain!! He had to shout at her to get the point across at all!! It's like she's playing favorites with those nutters!! If anyone's crazy, it's McGonagall!" he huffed with finality.

    "she's not crazy, Ron," Harry said tiredly in an attempt to placate his friend. He propped up his head, elbows resting on the table, the heels of his hands on his cheekbones. "If anyone is, I think it might be me. Maybe McGonagall's right, maybe Aedain didn't do anything to me." He slid his hands around his temples and brought them to rest in the faint hollow above his browbone. "Maybe I really am going crazy."

    "I don't think that's the case, Harry." Hermione comforted. "You've never been crazy before. Every time that something has come into your head like this before, it's been real. Remember last year, with the snake and Mr. Weasley?" She looked at Ron. He, in turn, looked back at Harry.

    "She's right. You never dreamed any of those things up before, they all really happened." he reassured. Harry let out a dry barking laugh that caused both of his friends to start a little, and people down the table to look quickly in his direction.

    "All except the last one, the most convincing one of all," he negated, a hollow smile on his lips. "The one that brought me running right to where Voldemort wanted me. The one that ended up getting Sirius killed!" His voice was rising a little with every sentence. Hermione leaned in to him.

    "Don't think about that right now," she commanded in a low voice. "And anyway, that wasn't something you dreamed up either. Voldemort put it there, remember?" Harry slumped forward.

    "I guess you're right," he mumbled.

    "Cheer up, Harry. Hermione will have this all sorted out before you know it!" Ron said, relieved that the normal order of things had been somewhat restored.

    "Maybe not that soon, but I hope so," Hermione agreed. Harry nodded mutely as his two friends disentangled themselves from the table and gathered their books. Harry, too, stood and hefted his books in front of him. The three made their way from the great hall with the rest of the dregs, the students that had lingered in the hall for as long as they could. They wended their way over to the corridor that would take them to Professor McGonagall's classroom. Harry's shoulders slumped as they headed for Transfiguration. The class would certainly be difficult for him today, since every time he laid eyes on McGonagall he would wonder what she thought of the boy sitting placidly between Ron and Hermione. He sighed heavily, sure that his mind wouldn't stay focused, no matter how hard he reminded himself that his N.E.W.T classes demanded all his attention. He entered the room to the sound of casual conversation. He tried not to notice the dip in noise, then the flurry of whispering that crept in when he was noticed by the rest of the class. Ron grinned feebly in an attempt to reassure him. Hermione was giving pointed looks to the few that were outright staring. McGonagall was nowhere to be seen. Harry plunked his books down onto the table that he shared with Ron. The two boys sat down as Hermione took her place at a table across the aisle that she shared with Susan Bones, a quiet Hufflepuff.

    Harry cast his eyes about the room. Everyone had gone back to their usual conversations, though every once in awhile he noticed furtive glances being cast in his direction. The class had acquired a few people that he had never seen before, mostly Ravenclaws and Slytherins. Malfoy, of course, sat in the farthest corner, the mysterious (and solid) Aracelis at his elbow. They weren't talking, Harry noticed. Malfoy seemed to be staring off into space, his brow furrowed and his mouth set into a tight line. Aracelis was looking at him with an annoyed and impatient expression on her face, the sort of look that Dudley had always worn when Aunt Petunia wasn't getting his breakfast quickly enough. Harry turned to face the front of the room. He fidgeted with his quill and fervently hoped that nothing out of the ordinary would happen in this class. With any luck, he thought, McGonagall would simply lecture them on the difficulty of their N.E.W.T. coursework the entire period and they wouldn't have to move at all.

    'But then again,' he said to himself, 'we were only taking notes in History of Magic.'

    "Settle down, there." McGonagall's voice cracked into Harry's attention. The stern-faced Professor had entered into the classroom. As she strode down the center aisle the students quieted and stared with more than their usual respect. Harry quickly turned his head to stare pointedly at the pockmarked table in front of him. He wanted to block out the wash of tentative fear that had stolen over the class like a thick, choking fog.

    "Take out your textbooks and turn to page 62, if you please." Harry's vision blurred slightly, and he drew the heavy leatherbound volume towards him. He felt with unreal clarity the slight movement of air from his right side as Ron brought out his own book and flipped its thick parchment pages. Harry opened his own book with hands that felt like resilient metal. His head felt heavy, but he struggled to bring his eyes to focus on the words in front of him. He could hear through cotton-filled ears Hermione's excited chatter. His brows furrowed and he studied the heading of page 62.

    "Transporting Spells -- Well beyond Vanishing"

    Harry groaned. He should have known that McGonagall, of all their teachers, would be the one to actually start all new lessons from the get-go. He let his eyes wander over the page, observing the complicated diagrams and instructions associated with the Transporting Spell on page 62.

    "I don't believe this," Ron muttered. "I can barely Vanish a snail and now we're starting on Transporting Spells? This year is already shaping up to be murder!" He prodded the pages of his book violently with his wand to prevent them from closing by themselves.

    "That's odd. I'd have thought you'd be excited," Hermione said, leaning over the aisle to stare at her friends, a slight smile creasing her face. Harry looked around the room. While most of the students seemed to share the sentiments of Harry and Ron regarding the vast amount of work that obviously lay before them, some seemed to be rather excited. He spotted Muirgen sandwiched between Hannah Abbott and another Hufflepuff, looking confused by the excited chatter the two were engaged in over her.

    "What d'you mean? Happy to have my first assignment in Transfiguration be some of the hardest spells known to wizardkind?" Ron grumbled. Hermione rolled her eyes and seized Harry's book.

    "Don't you get it?" she asked, flipping pages until she was considerably further into the chapter, and then sliding the book back to Harry. He glanced down at the Bold-printed heading of page 78 -- Apparation.

    Harry shot a look at Ron to see if his friend had noticed the heading. He had. His face had lost its sour look and traded it for one of excitement bordering on disbelief.

    "You did remember that we are coming up on our Apparation tests at the end of this year, didn't you?" Hermione inquired sweetly, smiling in the prissy know-it-all way Harry had forgotten she had. Ron shot her a dark look before turning his own book to page 78 and reading the instructions voraciously. Harry's attention was caught as McGonagall cleared her throat.

    "I'm sure by now you have all discovered why I have chosen to begin this year with what may seem to be overly complicated spellwork." Her face, for once, was smiling as she observed her students still buzzing like bees. "The art of Transporting spells is simple once learned, but the learning takes a very long time. After all, the precision and focus required by these spells is difficult to obtain without serious practice in concentration." Harry couldn't be sure, but he though her eyes had lingered on him as she spoke those words.

    "We will be studying solely these spells for three weeks, but we are by no means through. We will review them continuously throughout the year, so that you will, hopefully, not be woefully unprepared for your Apparation tests next summer." The remainder of the students who had been wary of Transporting spells began to get the gist of the excitement, and the chatter began anew.

    "Quiet down, now. Today, however, we will not be practicing the spells, but merely going over the wand movements and commands. Before we can begin demonstrating these spells practically, every student in the class must have turned in their Hogsmeade permission form." The chatter amplified, and McGonagall raised a hand.

    "As some of you may know," she began, with a pointed glance at Hermione, "it is impossible for anyone to Apparate or Disapparate on the Hogwarts grounds. Unfortunately, this also makes the practicing of the simpler Transporting spells very difficult indeed. Thus, for the actual practice of these spells, it is necessary for us to leave the Hogwarts grounds." A cheer erupted from the back rows. McGonagall stared them into silence.

    "There will NOT be," she stated severely, "any side trips to Honeydukes, The Three Broomsticks, or the like. Do I make myself perfectly clear?" The cheering crowd sobered. "Apparation is a privilege, not a right. And like any privilege, it can be revoked. Since you will only be tested practically on the lower-level Transporting spells on your N.E.W.T. exam, I will not hesitate to revoke the privilege of leaving the grounds to study if I detect anything less than perfect decorum. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

    The remainder of the class was spent reading aloud the instructions to the first three varieties of Transporting spells: the relocation of inanimate objects, of small animate objects, and non-concrete objects. Harry's head was swimming, and he tried to make himself look as inconspicuous as possible when McGonagall began calling on people at random to answer questions concerning the execution of the spells. Hermione, of course, raised her hand on every one.

    Finally, the class ended. Harry was shoving his books and quill back into his bag when the stern voice of McGonagall interrupted him.

    "Potter, a word if you please."

    He looked at Ron and Hermione, both of whom were looking at him rather nervously. Hermione finally caught herself and seized Ron by the arm.

    "We'll wait for you outside, Harry." He nodded at his friends and turned to face McGonagall. She had come out from behind the lectern at the head of the class and was leaning heavily on her walking stick. Harry noted how tired she looked, how grim. He felt a moment of tension dance across his shoulders, and he stood up straight. He looked her straight in the eye.

    "I understand," she began haltingly, "that things have been difficult for you lately, Potter. And while it is not precisely my place, I feel I must offer you a little advice." She walked laboriously to her little corner desk in the classroom and withdrew from it a slim, battered book. She turned to face him again.

    "It is easy to place blame for anything outside of yourself, but it is more difficult to place it to the one who is really at fault." Harry frowned. He wasn't quite sure of what she was telling him. "In short, Potter, the reason you think these things are happening to you might not truly be the cause. Do you understand?" Harry nodded slowly, still frowning. "The only way to keep them from happening has nothing to do with the source, and everything to do with preparing yourself." With this, she held the little book out to him. Harry took it. Ebossed in flaking gold leaf on its tattered cover was 'Occlumency.' He looked up at McGonagall, his expression both wondering and shamefaced.

    "Just a little bedtime reading, Potter. Now, I had hoped we could schedule the first Quidditch practice for tomorrow evening..."

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    "What did she say?"

    Harry had just emerged from Professor McGonagall's classroom. The corridors were still swarming with students, Harry supposed they could be on time to Astronomy if they hurried. He gestured to his friends and they began walking, but the brisk pace didn't sway Hermione from her question. She tugged at the sleeve of Harry's robe.

    "Well?" Both Ron and Hermione were regarding him expectantly now. His hand flew to the side of his bag where he had stowed the slim volume McGonagall had given him.

    "Quidditch," he replied nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders. Hermione looked disappointed, but Ron immediately began questioning him further. Harry told him about the next evening's practice, and the other trivial things he and McGonagall had discussed. He wasn't entirely sure of why he hadn't wanted to tell his friends about the advice and the book.

    Harry and Ron parted with Hermione at the foot of the staircase, as she was heading to Arithmancy. They arrived in the nick of time to Astronomy, where Professor Sinistra raised one paper-thin eveybrow at them before launching into an explanation that they would learn nothing new in the class that year, but merely review the concepts they had studied up until now.

    "It is recommended that every student at this institution have a rudimentary understanding of the heavenly spheres, so I will try to further instate that knowledge which I have apparently failed in imparting thus far," she said with a sardonic smile. The classed laughed a little nervously. Harry squirmed in his seat, remembering his abysmal Astronomy score.

    They commenced taking notes, and Harry felt free to let his mind wander a little. His thoughts strayed to the Occlumency book in his bag, and he wondered again why he hadn't told Ron and Hermione about it. He rolled his quill between thumb and forefinger, a frown settling over his forehead.

    'If Hermione knew, she'd only nag me about practicing like she did all last year,' he thought to himself. 'But it's not as though I'm actually being taught it. How can I possibly hope to learn anything on my own when I couldn't understand how to do it when I had an instructor?'

    The sharp rap of Professor Sinistra's wand against the blackboard startled him from his thoughts. The slate in front had been cleaned of its diagrams and descriptions of orbits. Harry could hear faintly the noise of students in the halls below, and he realized that class was over. As he and Ron made ready to leave, he couldn't help returning to the question that had puzzled him since McGonagall had given him the book.

    'What does she expect me to do?'

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    Harry and Ron were inching slowly through the crowded corridors when they were jostled rather suddenly from behind. They turned to find Aracelis, her eyes wide and one hand across her mouth. Ron immediately turned red, and Harry immediately paled. All he could see were the traces of the monster he had seen in his vision. He stiffened as she spoke.

    "I'm terribly sorry! It's just so crowded in these halls!" she apologized, flashing a peninent smile at Ron, who turned a deeper shade of crimson. She glanced (rather nervously, he thought) up at Harry, as if trying not to catch his eye.

    "You are on your way to the Great Hall as well, yes?" She smiled again. Ron could only nod mutely, a smile having finally caught and stuck on his face. Harry was pointedly trying not to think about any of the three sisters when another voice interrupted.

    "Potty and the Weasel. Going to block up the corridor all day?" The snide, drawling voice of Malfoy seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. Now Ron's face darkened as Draco maneuvred his way between Aracelis and the two Gryffindors. Not found of being cut out of the thick of things, Aracelis pushed her way back into the little triangle.

    "They weren't blocking anything, Draco," she purred, "just talking to me. Shall we go?" Malfoy acted as if he hadn't heard her. His usual smirk sat brooding on his lips.

    "My my," he tutted mockingly. "Such careless behavior ought to warrant a detention." Ron's eyes narrowed.

    "Umbridge isn't here this year to give you all that authority, Malfoy. And you forget, I'm a prefect too," he shot back.     "And if Dumbledore finds out how much you abuse the privilege, not even your father will be able to get it back."

    "You have no business talking about my father, Weasley." Malfoy's voice had become dangerously low. Harry could see that he was gripping his wand tightly in a fold of his robes. He drew his own slowly and hid it behind his back.

    "Come on, Ron," he said, pulling on his friend's sleeve. But Ron had no intention of stopping.

    "I meant to ask you, Malfoy. How exactly did your father manage to get out of Azkaban? Did he bribe a guard? Or did he just turn himself into the slime that he is and ooze out under the door?"

    Malfoy's respite was quick. Harry didn't even have time to draw his wand before the hall was silenced with a loud bang and Ron was sent flying into the wall. His head hit the stone with a sickening crack, and he slumped to the ground. Malfoy was about to hit him again when Harry stepped in front of him, wand raised.

    "Expelliarmus!" he shouted with all the force he could muster. The spell, with all the force of his rage behind it, not only knocked Malfoy's wand from his hand, but sent a jet of sparks that hit him full in the face. When he turned his head, his lip was bleeding.

    "Accio wand!" Harry shouted again. The corridor had quieted considerably. Harry knelt at Ron's side. The boy groaned as his eyes began to open. He tried to sit up, but Harry pushed him back down. "You got quite a knock, mate. Leave it be for a moment." He rose to his feet, intending to blast Malfoy within an inch of his life, but the crafty Slytherin and Aracelis had both gone, leaving Harry and Ron alone in their little corner of the hallway.

    "What on earth has happened here?" Harry heard the brisk voice of Madam Pomfrey behind him. He stood up and faced her.

    "He got hit with a pretty powerful Stunning spell," he informed her. His eyebrows furrowed. "But how did you know?"

    "I was simply told I was needed in this part of the corridor. Now, if you'll excuse me Mr. Potter, I'll be getting this young man off to the infirmary." And with that she levitated Ron around the corner, leaving Harry quite alone. He made his way grimly to the Great Hall, listening as the roar of infinite conversations grew in volume. He spotted Hermione waving him over from the Gryffindor table, but he tightened his jaw and walked past them until he had reached the place where the Slytherins were gathered, laughing caustically. They quieted when they saw Harry, standing directly in front of Malfoy.

    "Well, what could possibly bring the famous Potter to our humble table?" Malfoy smirked. The Slytherins laughed. "Come to congratulate me on the fine job I did mending Weasley's impertinence? Or do you have something else to say?"

    "Malfoy, what you did to Ron was low," Harry growled. "You hit him out of nowhere. If you want to take pride in something as dishonorable as that, go right ahead." Now Harry, too, smiled cruelly. "But it's only fair that Ron get to have his try at you."

    "The last time I saw Weasley, his head was lolling about like a drunk kneazle," Malfoy laughed triumphantly. "Do you really think he's in any shape to CHALLENGE me?"

    "No, he's not. But I am." Harry replied. The table quieted again, and waited with bated breath. Malfoy looked at Harry with a curious expression on his face. He almost looked delighted.

    "Very well, Potter," he agreed nonchalantly. "The same corridor, perhaps? Midnight, tonight. And I suppose, since your choice of second is currently incapacitated," Harry's jaw clenched. "We'll have none?" Harry nodded, jaw clenched. The Slytherins around Malfoy erupted into talk, all grinning. But as Harry turned to leave, he caught sight of one Slytherin who didn't look at all pleased. Aracelis had gone white as chalk, and was staring fearfully at someone at another table. A chill crept up Harry's spine as a sudden hunch rose up within him. He turned to search the ranks of the Gryffindor table. Aedain was indeed regarding her sister with an angry but solemn gaze. She nodded twice, almost imperceptibly, and resumed eating. Harry fought the urge to turn and see what change this would have wrought in Aracelis, and instead walked quickly to the Gryffindor table and took a seat across from Hermione. She was staring at him quizzically.

    "What were you doing over there?" she asked, her eyes on the Slytherins. They jumped back to his face. "And where's Ron?"

    "Malfoy hit him with a Stunning Spell on the way here, knocked him out cold." Hermione gave a horrified gasp. "So I just went over there to...settle things." Harry filled his plate with ham and boiled potatoes. When he looked up, she was regarding him with an expression of stern disbelief.

    "Please tell me," she began quietly, "that you did not just go over there and challenge Malfoy." Harry shrugged. She looked at him as though he had sprouted a second head. "Do you really think it's going to help matters if you land yourself in the infirmary too? You issued that challenge in front of the ENTIRE table of Slytherins! You know they'll show up to help Malfoy whether he needs it or not. And who knows? Maybe those three will use this as an opportunity to finish what they've obviously started with you!! Honestly, Harry!" She sat back in a huff, arms crossed over her chest.

    "Well, it's done now, at any rate. And thanks for your faith in me, Hermione," Harry responded sarcastically. "I'm good enough to lead a bloody class in Defense Against the Dark Arts but not good enough to trounce that filthy piece of Slytherin scum?"

    "I just don't think you ought to be taking those kind of risks," she explained, eyes downcast. "And you have to admit, you haven't really been yourself lately."

    "What do you mean by that?" Harry demanded. She raised her hands in submission.

    "Only that this is the most eager I've seen you to USE any of that defensive magic since last year. But I'm sure you can get Malfoy, as long as he doesn't cheat too badly, she amended. "Just promise me you'll be careful, alright?"

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    Harry crept silently out of the Gryffindor Tower at 11:45. Before him he held a ragged piece of parchment. He had decided not to use the Invisibility cloak. It was better if Malfoy didn't know that he had it. He looked about him and tapped the parchment with his wand and muttered.

    "I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good." Instantly, the Maurader's Map sprang into existence. The little moving dots were all comparably still. Filch was holed up in his office, and all the teachers seemed to be in bed. He rolled up the map and set off for the corridor where Ron had been attacked earlier that day.

    When he arrived, Malfoy was waiting. He slipped out of the shadows into a beam of moonlight that turned his countenance a frosty silver color. He smiled his usual smile, and bowed to Harry.

    "I suppose we must observe the formalities to satisfy your honor, eh Potter?" Harry clenched his jaw and bowed in turn. Then he raised his wand.

    "No more pleasantries? Very well. Shall we begin? Pardon my rudeness that I do not offer you the first shot." Malfoy had raised his wand and was about to utter a curse when Harry cried out.

    "Expelliarmus!" The spell hit Malfoy in the shoulder, and he stubbornly held onto his wand.

    "Not as strong as the first time, Potter. Try and mean it!" Malfoy taunted, gripping his shoulder. "Stupefy!" he countered.

    "Protego!" Harry shouted at the same instant. Malfoy's curse was tossed to the window, where it nearly set the curtains afire. Harry raised his wand again. "Petrificus Totalus!"

    But Malfoy had conjured a shield in front of himself, and Harry's attack glanced off the side. He was trying to think of another spell to try when he noticed Malfoy muttering something unintelligible. A thick green light burst from the Slytherin's wand and passed through Harry as if he weren't there. He stood in shock a moment, but nothing felt wrong.

    And then.

    He felt as though he had been frozen. In the sudden cold, he gasped for air and felt his lungs sink in his chest like lead. It was like trying to breath in wet cotton. He staggered back, not of his own accord, and gasped like a fish. He fell to the ground, his eyes swelling behind his steamy glasses. He saw Malfoy, still clutching his shoulder, loom above him and raise his wand. But Malfoy never got a chance to cast his next spell.

    "Finite Incantatem!" The voice that shouted the command sounded infinitely old, like the voice of a stone or a gnarled tree. Harry shivered. The voice hit him like jagged rocks being dragged over his bones. The cold stopped. Air came back into his lungs. Malfoy looked about, confused. While he was searching for the source of the gravelly voice, Harry took his chance.

    "Stupefy!!" he roared with all his strength, sending Malfoy through the air to crash heavily into the opposite wall. His head snapped back and his limbs flopped lifeless and unnaturally around him. Harry saw blood cough from his mouth as a tooth skittered across the stone floor. Malfoy was silent. Harry tried to sit up, but blackness was sinking over him.

    "Retson mese ehceht mai, vanul dhun estahc."

    He knew no more.

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    He awoke in the infirmary, the pale moonlight spilling between the gauzy curtains puffed out by a night breeze. He struggled to sit up. He blinked a few times to clear his blurry vision. He saw Ron, sleeping peacefully in the bed next to him, his mouth slightly open. Across from him he could see Malfoy, his pale face even paler than usual, his jaw swollen and his left arm wrapped in bandages. Harry let himself fall back. At least neither he nor Malfoy had died. He started again. The voice.

    "He'll be fine, just a Mask of Death spell. Meant more to frighten than to hurt, I'd say. In any case, he was strong enough to lay well into Mr. Malfoy." Harry could hear Madam Pomfrey speaking in a low voice to someone at the doorway. He squinted, trying to make out who it could be through the haze clouding his brain. 'It looks like Fleur Delacoeur,' he thought drowsily, 'but she isn't here...'

    Harry fell asleep again.

    Dark and quiet.

    But not quiet.

    And not dark.

    He was not in the comforting stillness of the infirmary, but the dank and heavy silence of the dungeons. Leather furniture surrounded him, and spindly torches gave neither much light nor much heat into the room. The green flames roared in the fireplace before him. He knew what he had to do. He had to step into the flames and become who he was destined to be.

    Harry walked forward into the flames, and they were not warm as he had expected, but cold. A cold that penetrated deep into his marrow. But he did not shiver.

    The mirror.

    He could see the mirror, looming tall at the back of the chimney wall. All he could see reflected in it, however, were the dancing green flames. His desire to see himself grew wild. He stepped forward eagerly, and watched his image emerge from the fire. For a moment, Harry thought the color of the flames was simply reflecting itself onto the face of Lord Voldemort. But then he noticed the differences. Hard silver eyes set in a thin, pale face. A mouth twisted in a cruel smile that showed his sharp teeth. Hair so fine it was nearly white.

    The face in the mirror wasn't Voldemort.

    It was Malfoy.

    Harry awoke with a start and sat straight up in bed. He looked around him frantically. His bedfellows were peaceful. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, thankful that he had not been screaming.

    It was much later than it had been the first time he had woken. The sky was considerably lighter, and he could even hear the faint call of a bird that must have been carried over on the wind. Harry's head drooped weakly. He was still shaken by the dream that refused to loose its hold on him. In his dream, he had been Malfoy. The only time that had happened before, he had been Lord Voldemort. What did it mean?

    The bird call sounded again, closer and more shrill. Harry was suddenly seized by a feeling of dread. Without knowing why, he rose from his bed and went to stand by Malfoy's left side. Gingerly, he picked up the bandaged arm. A frown flickered momentarily over the sleeping boy's face. Harry frowned as he unwrapped his arm and pulled away the bandages. And turned it palm up.

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    "Harry? What on earth happened to you?" Hermione cried when she came into the Gryffindor common the next morning. Harry looked terribly. His usually messy hair was stuck up from his head in great ragged clumps. His eyes were bloodshot and the skin beneath them was so purple it looked bruised. He was so pale as to be nearly green.

    "I got him as well as he got me," Harry affirmed, ruefully rubbing a hand through his hair. "But we have bigger problems."

    "What is it?"

    "I don't think Aedain and her sisters are the ones that are trying to kill me." Harry stated after a pause. Hermione snorted.

    "With all that's happened to you while they're around? With what they obviously ARE?" She paused at the look on Harry's face, and sombered. "Then if it's not them, who is it?" Harry swallowed, and pulled a mound of cloth wrappings from his pocket. He turned them around and pulled a square taut for Hermione to see. She gasped. Like a blurry inkstain, the image of the Dark Mark was faintly imprinted on the bandages. She looked at him, unable to hide the growing horror in her eyes.

    "Malfoy."

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