Harry Potter And The Fall Of Childhood

Chapter 27

Infiltration

"Pressure can change you into something quite precious, quite

wonderful, quite beautiful and extremely hard."--Maya Angelou

***

Harry stumbled a little on his way down the stairs as he tried to stifle an enormous yawn. He caught himself on the rail, straightened up, and made his way more carefully down the last few turns and into the common room. It was very early, he was very tired, and once awake, very unable to get back to sleep.

"Good morning," Hermione said from the chair before the hearth.

Harry jumped, then scowled at her. "Don't do that!"

Hermione shrugged apologetically. "Sorry. Why're you awake?"

"Just woke up," Harry said, crossing the room and slumping onto the sofa to her right. "You?"

"Oh, I had some things to catch up on," she said, waving vaguely at the book in her lap and the stack at her feet. "O.W.--"

"Yes, yes," Harry said hastily. It was far too early for those dreaded three letters to be spoken aloud.

Hermione sniffed a little, then bent her head back to her book. Harry hunched on the sofa until the silence became uncomfortable. They had not been alone together at all in the past week, not once.

"So," he said at last, the word dropping too loudly, "Hogsmeade today."

"Yes," Hermione said, turning a page. "Ron and I are leaving directly after breakfast."

"I was thinking--" Harry began.

"No," Hermione said, without lifting her gaze from her book.

"Sorry?" said Harry.

"No, you can't come under your Invisibility Cloak," she said, turning another page. It occurred to Harry that she couldn't possibly have read a single page that quickly.

"It would be perfectly safe," he protested. "No one would know I was there, and I bet nothing will happen, anyway."

"If you try it, I'll tell McGonagall," Hermione said. "I'd do it, too, and you know it."

Harry subsided, stung. She would, he had no doubt. She'd proven that well enough in their third year. Hermione continued to pretend to read her book, and Harry sat in silence. There was nothing he could think of to say.

There was a clatter of feet from the boys' staircase, and Ron emerged, mussed and groggy. Harry was pretty sure Ron hadn't been awake this early in the morning since the trip to the Quidditch World Cup nearly two years before.

"Morning," Ron said through an enormous yawn.

"You're up early," Hermione said, finally closing her book.

Ron shrugged. "Couldn't sleep," he said. He crossed the room and perched on the arm of Hermione's chair. His eyes flicked from her to Harry, who had drawn his knees up to his chest and was hugging them. "There something going on?" he asked, sounding slightly more awake.

"No," Hermione said immediately. "I was just down here studying, and Harry couldn't sleep, either."

"You're wearing yourself out studying," Ron said. He leaned close over her, and the angle of their bodies, the timbre of their voices, was intimate and foreign. Harry hugged his knees tighter and looked away. "You already know all this stuff," Ron added.

Hermione bit her lip and dropped her head. "This year's material is more difficult," she said in a hushed voice, as if admitting something terrible. "I'm just not grasping things as quickly as I used to."

Harry frowned over at her. She'd mentioned something like that a few months before, and he had trouble believing it. He'd seen no difference in the marks she received, and they were all spending more time studying this year, anyway.

"Anyone there?" Ron called, waving a long arm before Harry's face.

"What?" Harry said, starting a little. "Did you say something?"

"Hermione asked what you're going to do while we're in Hogsmeade," Ron said, frowning at him.

"Oh," said Harry, shrugging. "I hadn't thought about it."

Hermione scowled warningly at him, and Harry shrank away a little. It was pretty freaksome, actually, the way she could nearly anticipate his thoughts.

"I could, er, study," he added a bit lamely.

"An excellent idea," Hermione said firmly. "You might as well get started now--you, too, Ron--there's a few hours before breakfast."

They grumbled, but obeyed. There was no other way to adequately fill the pre-dawn hours. It was a strange time, Harry thought as he mouthed incantations to himself. They were all anxious and on edge, and none of them were willing to talk about the day to come.

The other students slowly trickled downstairs, the upper years already talking about what they were going to do in the village, and the first and second years sighing wistfully. Breakfast came soon enough, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione trooped dutifully down to the Great Hall. They tried their best to be as cheerful and boisterous as the rest of the school, but even the prospect of Honeyduke's couldn't brighten Ron's smile past worry and uneasiness.

"Are you sure you won't come then?" Ginny asked, taking the seat across from Harry.

"Sorry, no," Harry said. "I've got a lot of catching up to do. I've been pretty awful about the studying."

Ginny bit her lip and nodded. "Maybe some other time, then," she said.

Harry blinked, only then recalling the way she had asked him to go with her not a week before. "Er," he said. "Er, I reckon so."

"I should really stay, too," Neville said, reaching for the eggs and nearly sending the milk pitcher flying. "I need to study, but I want to get to Honeyduke's, too."

"As if any amount of studying would do you any good," Malfoy's sneering voice said. He strode up the gap between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables, sneering equally at all, but particularly at Harry and those around him. "Really, Longbottom," he continued, coming to a halt behind Harry, "you could just not study at all. You'd get the same O.W.L. results, anyway."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry snapped, unable to come up with anything cleverer.

Malfoy glanced down at him dismissively. "Your results will be most interesting, Potter. I doubt you'll be able to impress the examiners with your scar."

"And I doubt your father will be able to pay them off," Ron snapped.

Malfoy flushed and drew himself up. His mouth opened, but before he could say anything Professor McGonagall descended, scowling fiercely as she ordered Malfoy back to his table and berated them all roundly.

"Remind me never to bother her before her first cup of tea again," Ron muttered, straightening in his seat as McGonagall swept away.

Harry only nodded absently. He glanced back over his shoulder, for the first time gratified to see Malfoy's eyes fixed steadily on the Gryffindor table. Malfoy had to have heard that Harry wasn't going today--he was standing within earshot at least twice now. He had to have told, and the plans had to have changed.

Breakfast ended all too quickly, and students began to pile out into the entrance hall and exit past the eternally grumbling Filch, who waited to check them off the approved list.

"Well," Hermione said briskly, "we should be off. Have a nice day, Harry, and do study."

"Yeah," Ron agreed, standing. "We'll bring stuff back for you."

Harry nodded mutely and watched them walk away. He was jumpy and nervous, and he had no outlet for his twitchy energy.

"Bye, Harry," Neville called, standing as well.

"Have fun," Harry said absently. "And don't listen to Malfoy--what does he know?"

"Yeah," Neville said with little conviction, and headed out.

Harry sighed, poked listlessly at his toast, and then stood himself. He had nothing but free time ahead of him, and he might as well get started on filling it as best he could. He really ought to study, as hard as it might be with his mind in Hogsmeade.

He opted for the library over the common room. It was echoingly empty, as the first and second years that remained in the castle didn't have life-altering exams looming. Harry chose a table and settled in, purposely putting his back to the clock so he couldn't just glance up every few moments. He started with Charms, then went on to Transfiguration, reviewing his own notes, then Hermione's much more copious set which she had left for him. Despite his worries, it wasn't too difficult to concentrate with no one around to distract him, and Harry worked steadily, marking time only by the slow creep of the sun's warm fingers up the back of his neck. The quiet agreed with him, and he was feeling more at ease than he had in quite a long time.

He turned a page and frowned. If he'd thought inanimate to animate transfigurations were difficult, he was in trouble now. He'd been struggling with a butterfly-caterpillar problem for a few weeks now, as had most of the class. It was really quite frustrating as going the other direction was much easier. McGonagall had needed an hour's lecture to explain the complicated, theoretical basis for this, but Harry just thought the butterfly wasn't particularly keen on having all its hard work reversed.

He was concentrating so hard on reviewing the mechanics of the transfiguration that when someone grabbed his shoulder, he jumped straight out of his chair and banged his knee rather hard on the leg of the table.

"Ow!" he complained, rubbing his wounded appendage and turning to glare at Ron and Hermione. "What'd you do that for? Say," he added, seeing the clock over their heads, "aren't you back early? What's wrong?" he stopped, getting a good look at their white faces and wide, scared eyes. "Oh, God," he said very quietly.

Ron, who had been the one to grab him, mouthed for a moment, appearing incapable of speech. Hermione clung to his hand, breathing very fast. She had been crying.

"What?" Harry asked again. He was twisted around, still half sitting, his knee bent awkwardly, but he couldn't seem to move.

"They attacked," Hermione said.

"Why?" Harry exploded, freed from his paralysis and coming fully to his feet. "I wouldn't be there. They knew that! They had to have known that!"

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look. "They weren't after you," Hermione continued.

"What?" said Harry, "but he said to get the boy...I thought...it had to have been..."

"It was Neville," Ron said, speaking for the first time. "They were looking for Neville."

"Why?" Harry demanded, glaring at them as if they were purposely withholding the information from him. "What do they want with Neville?"

"We don't know," Hermione said. "They just appeared all at once up and down Main Street. They weren't really hurting people, just looking at everybody and going into shops and the Three Broomsticks. We thought they were looking for you, of course, and we tried to get people to run."

"And then all the professors were there," Ron continued, "and there was a huge fight. And no one realized they were looking for Neville until they had him and they all left."

"They just...took him?" Harry repeated, stunned.

Hermione nodded. "I saw it," she said, gulping. "He looked...he looked alright, Harry, really. I don't think they hurt him."

Harry looked at her, speechless, and she shrank away a little. "Malfoy," he said finally. "Malfoy knew."

"Yeah," said Ron, clutching Hermione's hand tighter.

"You heard him at breakfast," Harry said. "I thought he was just coming to bug us, or to check that I still wasn't going. But he was making sure that Neville was."

Hermione nodded, her mouth a grim line. "We don't have any proof, though," she said. "Otherwise we would have told the Aurors who came."

Harry snorted humorlessly. "Like the ministry would do anything to Lucius Malfoy's son," he said.

Hermione looked as if she would have liked to protest that, but she knew it was true as well as Harry did.

"We have to do something," Harry said. He was thinking of purple highlighters, of a tall vulture hat, of quiet, understated camaraderie. He was also thinking of breakfast that morning, of telling Neville not to listen to Malfoy, and of Cedric Diggory.

Hermione frowned fiercely, chewing her lip. "Like what?" she asked. "We have no idea where to start. And you know Professor Dumbledore will be doing all he can--"

"We can't wait for him, or the Ministry," Harry said. "Look, what if we could somehow get proof that Malfoy knew what was going to happen so we could bring him to Dumbledore?"

"Okay," Hermione said slowly, "but how? And you do realize that Malfoy might not have any idea what's happening to Neville now, don't you?"

"Yes," said Harry. "But then again he might know exactly what's going on."

"How are we going to do it?" Ron asked. "We don't have a month to brew Polyjuice."

"No," Harry said. "But we don't have to."

***

Harry was unspeakably glad to escape the dinner table early. The entire school was in an uproar, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs and Slytherins darting back and forth between the tables, sharing recounts of the attack and speculating wildly on everything from its motives to what the Ministry would do about it. The Gryffindor table, however, was painfully quiet. Everyone spoke in whispers and shifted in embarrassment when asking for the salt or pumpkin juice. They were all sitting very close together, Harry noticed from his carefully chosen place at the end of the table nearest the door.

And people kept looking at him. Not the outright stares he had received on more than one occasion before, but quick, furtive, speculative looks that set his teeth on edge. He didn't know what they wanted from him, and he wasn't sure he could give it if he did know, especially as he couldn't even deal with his own shock.

So when Ron nudged him under the table halfway through dinner, Harry was nothing if not relieved. He pushed his plate away, nodded encouragingly to Ron and Hermione, and ducked from his seat and out into the entrance hall in one quick movement. He waited a moment, his back pressed to the wall beside the door, listening for any change in the noise level that might indicate that someone had noticed. Ron and Hermione would call him back if they thought the wrong people had seen him.

But there was nothing, and Harry moved hastily along the wall until he could duck behind a curtain into a shadowy alcove and dig into his bag for the Invisibility Cloak. Once concealed, Harry set off into the dungeons, tracing a path he and Ron had spent half the afternoon reconstructing in their memories from three years before. Neither of them had remembered exactly, but together they hoped they had something that would at least get Harry close enough to figure it out on his own.

Harry hesitated halfway down a plain stone corridor, glancing worriedly up and down the walls. He had no idea just where the door to the Slytherin common room was, and he remembered that there was no visual cue. Shrugging, he moved out of the center of the corridor and leaned against one of the walls. It didn't matter if he could find the entrance, because the crowd of Slytherins who would be returning from dinner soon would all know, and he was hoping that ducking in the entrance behind a whole slew of people would be a lot easier than trying to fool just one. Ron and Hermione had both wanted to come along, but Ron was getting too tall to safely wear the cloak with another person, and Hermione agreed that it would be easier for Harry to move quickly and undetected if he just had to worry about himself. So he waited invisibly, his ears cocked to any sound of approach, but his mind far away.

Dumbledore had spoken at lunch, explaining the news to the three or so students who hadn't heard by then, and speaking in grave but reassuring tones to those who had been shepherded back from Hogsmeade early. He had said little of substance either about what was being done, or even what was suspected. Harry kept his head down and his eyes on the table. He imagined Dumbledore was feeling just about how he was, and he wasn't up to the bracing truth of a mirror just then.

Voices echoed down the hallway, and Harry straightened, ears straining. He still wasn't positive that he was in the right place, so he might need to follow them a ways. But that proved unnecessary as a pair of Slytherin first years came around the corner. Harry had to duck hastily away to avoid tumbling straight into their common room, for it appeared he had been half leaning on the concealed door all along. He considered following them in, but discarded the idea just as quickly. With just the two of them they were bound to notice something.

He waited as patiently as he could as Slytherins trickled in from dinner in twos and threes. He was just starting to worry, in fact, and to suspect that Slytherins only traveled in packs when it was inconvenient for Gryffindors, when the hubbub of many voices reached his ears. He straightened up and readied himself for some quick maneuvering as a group of at least a dozen arrived, including Crabbe, Goyle, and Malfoy.

"Ether," Zabini said, and the group flooded through the door with Harry at their heels. Avery, the last one through, never even blinked as Harry ducked under his arm and made it in.

The place was just as Harry remembered--long and low, its rough, stonewalls softened by hangings and the dancing light of a roaring fire in the ornate fireplace. Unlike Gryffindor Tower, there were no staircases leading to the dorms, but instead two corridors branching off at the far end of the room. Malfoy and company were heading for one of them, and Harry hastened to follow.

They entered a corridor like every other in the dungeons, with the exception of regularly spaced doors labeled with year markers.

"We'll talk in my room," Malfoy said peremptorily as they reached that marked 'fifth years.' Harry ground his teeth, wishing someone would point out that it was Crabbe and Goyle and Avery and Zabini's room, too, and shut up Malfoy. But no one did, and Harry had to look sharp to make it in with them. There was a somewhat worrying moment when he ran smack into Goyle's broad back, but Goyle only blinked vaguely over his shoulder, shrugged, and lumbered on.

Aside from the colors and the notable lack of windows, the room he found himself in was not unlike its counterpart in Gryffindor. Green-curtained beds stood around the walls, with trunks at their feet. Robes, cloaks, books, quills, Honeyduke's sweets, and the other flotsam and jetsam of a schoolboy dormitory littered the floor and bedside tables. The disarray was almost comforting.

Malfoy crossed the room to what must have been his bed, and settled himself, king-like, at its head, the pillows propped behind him. Pansy Parkinson moved immediately to sit with him, and Malfoy smiled at her as if he were doing her a great favor by allowing it. The others ranged themselves around the room, and Harry found himself in the somewhat uncomfortable position of being in the exact center of all the beds. Shrugging, he crouched down as comfortably as he could, unwilling to relax any further should the need to run very quickly arise.

"Well, Draco?" Avery asked when they were all settled. "What is it now?"

"I spoke to my father today," Malfoy said smugly. "During the attack, you know."

"What did he say?" Pansy asked eagerly.

"Well," Malfoy said, drawing the word out and straightening his robes elaborately, "he thanked me for my help, of course. He said that he was very pleased with me."

There was a slight stirring in the room, a shift in atmosphere almost too subtle to notice. The name, Harry thought. The name, even unspoken, invoked something in them all. Just what that something was, however, made his stomach churn. Zabini and Avery and some of the other older Slytherins appeared ravenously jealous of Malfoy at the moment.

"And what else?" an older Slytherin asked impatiently. "Did he tell you anything actually useful?"

"Yes," Malfoy snapped, irritated, "but he also told me not to tell anyone else."

"Oh, Draco," Pansy said, reaching to pet him like a ruffled cat, "he didn't mean not to tell us. You know that."

"I don't know," Malfoy said thoughtfully. "Maybe I shouldn't."

A few of the older Slytherins rolled their eyes and exchanged annoyed looks.

"I wonder what they wanted with Longbottom, anyway?" one of them said speculatively. "I mean, it's Longbottom. He's no use to himself, let alone the Dark Lord."

"Do you know, Draco?" Pansy asked.

"No," Malfoy said with obvious reluctance. "Father didn't say."

"You'd think it would have been Potter," Avery said. "I mean, he may be a Muggle-loving Gryffindor, but at least he has a smidgeon of talent."

Malfoy frowned, almost sulkily. "It would be nice if it had been Potter," he said. "Get him out of my way for the rest of the year."

Beneath his cloak, Harry's jaw was starting to ache and he was beginning to think he might wear his teeth down to stubs. He remembered something Malfoy had said three years before, to whom he had assumed were Crabbe and Goyle. He had laughed, wishing the basilisk would come for Hermione. The thought had enraged both him and Ron at the time, but that had been more from the insult attached to Hermione's name. Now the whole import of malice was brought home to Harry. He'd never really understood it before, never quite grasped what it meant to want someone else to just disappear, to be gone forever, and to know their fate and laugh at it.

He knew now.

"But you don't know what they're doing with Longbottom?" Zabini persisted.

"No," Malfoy said. "He's at the house, I imagine."

"Well, yes," sneered an older Slytherin. "We could figure that much."

"Father's going to take me there this summer," Malfoy said, shooting a venomous look right back. "He has piles of portkeys, you know, just for it. He let me help him make them over the winter holidays."

"Oh," Pansy breathed. "That must have been very exciting. Did you get to see it at all?"

"No," Malfoy admitted. "I stayed in the library and anchored the portkeys at that end while Father fixed the other end. It's a very complicated charm, you know," he added. "Father said most seventh years couldn't manage it."

"So do you actually know anything useful?" the same seventh year asked.

"We're supposed to wait," Malfoy said. "Now that Longbottom's been taken, everything else can start."

"Everything else being...?" the seventh year prompted.

Malfoy shifted irritably. "Well, he didn't have all that much time to talk to me," he hedged.

"Right," the seventh year said, rising to his feet. "So nice of you to share all that vitally important and top secret information with us. Come on, mates." Harry scrambled quickly backwards, and about half the Slytherins exitted, leaving Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini, Avery, and Pansy behind.

"Don't mind them," Pansy said as Malfoy glared at their departing backs. "They're not worth talking to, anyway. And besides, they're just jealous that you know so much and they don't."

This seemed to placate Malfoy, who brightened and settled back onto the bed again.

"Was that really all your father said, though?" Zabini asked.

"Yes," Malfoy clipped out.

"Oh, do let's stop talking about it," Pansy said pleadingly. "It makes Draco so cross. Why don't you open the package from your mum, Draco?"

"Oh yes, I'd almost forgotten," Malfoy said, leaning over to retrieve a parcel from his nightstand. Crabbe and Goyle looked up, interested, and Harry had a sudden mental image of two drooling dogs sitting up to beg. Malfoy, apparently conscious of this, took his time untying and unwrapping the package. Pansy leaned eagerly close as he pulled back the last layer of paper, and even Harry's eyes widened at the small mountain of sweets and treats revealed. "Oh," Malfoy said in a bored tone, surveying the bounty. "Same old stuff again."

"Oh, but there are those nougats you like," Pansy said, reaching for a cluster of hand-wrapped bite-sized candies. "Oh, look at the darling things."

"The house elves always do that," Malfoy said, taking one from her and tugging at the cheerfully colored flag to unwrap it. "They make them just for me, you know."

"Ug," Avery said. "Fish egg candy."

Malfoy popped the strange, lumpy thing into his mouth and chewed with obvious relish. Avery and Zabini winced and looked away, and even Pansy pulled back a little. "They're illegal, you know," Malfoy said, and Harry got the idea that this was a great deal of the appeal for him. "Endangered, or some such. Father keeps a stock in the underground lake on the manor grounds, just for me. The Ministry thinks it's sealed off, of course, but Father made a way in and out ages ago." He reached for a second fish egg...thing, and Harry looked away. He wished he could get out of here, now. He highly doubted anything else of importance would be said. He highly doubted Malfoy knew anything of importance to start with. But he'd probably just have to wait until--

Harry sat up so abruptly his back cracked.

"What was that?" Zabini asked, frowning around the room.

"Goyle's brain," Malfoy said, laughing. He pitched a bag of Bertie Bott's beans at Goyle, who scrambled madly to catch them.

Harry barely heard them. Could it possibly be? How many underground lakes supposedly sealed by the Ministry could there be in Britain? And if the lake he and Snape had visited was on the grounds of Malfoy Manor...

Harry listened with barely half an ear to the rest of the goings on in the room. Malfoy shared out his haul of candy, and the Slytherins talked about O.W.L.s and professors and the standings of various Quidditch league teams. They eventually pulled out their textbooks, and at another time Harry would have been greatly amused as Zabini and Avery tried to teach Crabbe and Goyle the finer points of the butterfly-caterpillar transfiguration. But just then Harry's mind was very much occupied, and he paid only enough attention to know that nothing important was being said.

It was quite late by the time Pansy left the boys' dormitory, and Harry nearly fell in his attempt to follow her out. He cursed silently, rubbing at his legs to get them to wake up, and nearly bumped into Pansy as he slipped out the door with her. It was worth the risk, though, for he didn't much fancy spending the night in Draco Malfoy's bedroom.

He had to spend another hour in the Slytherin common room, waiting for everyone to go to bed or someone to decide to go for a midnight stroll. It turned out to be the former, and Harry gave it an extra fifteen minutes just to be sure no one would come back for a forgotten scroll. Once he was sure Slytherin house was all bedded down for the night, he ducked out the entrance (really quite handy that there was no animate guardian to tell on him) and headed up to Gryffindor.

Ron and Hermione had waited up for him, of course. Most other students had gone off to bed, and the few that remained didn't give Harry a second look as he ducked into the common room well past curfew, even for a prefect. Everyone was too wrapped up in their own thoughts, Harry realized, to care much about a silly thing like a school rule.

"Well?" Hermione demanded as Harry slid into a seat next to Ron.

"Well nothing," Harry said with a sigh. "Malfoy doesn't know anything we couldn't figure out on our own, and he didn't outright admit to anything, either."

"So it was all for nothing?" Hermione asked, slumping a little.

Harry paused for only a moment. "Yeah, I reckon," he said.

"Did Malfoy at least wear embarrassing pajamas?" Ron asked hopefully.

"Sorry," Harry said. "I didn't see them."

They lapsed into a gloomy silence. Harry fiddled with the cloak stuffed in his robe pocket and studied the fire. Finally, Hermione smothered a yawn, then sighed.

"We should go to bed," she said.

Harry agreed readily. He was only too glad to shut himself behind his curtains, away from any possibility of Ron or Hermione looking at him and knowing what he was thinking. Harry put on his pajamas and said a quick goodnight to Ron. Seamus and Dean were already asleep, and Harry was very grateful that someone had pulled the curtains around Neville's bed. It made it possible, with just a distracted glance, to think that maybe he was sleeping safely inside.

Harry curled up under his covers and tried to relax. He did need sleep, for he would be quite busy tomorrow evening.

He hadn't consciously decided not to tell Ron and Hermione what he knew until the denial had left his mouth. It was, he realized, the best choice. He didn't need their help for what he needed to do, and indeed having them along could be a liability. And there was Neville to consider. Neville and the lesson Cedric Diggory had taught Harry on a hot June evening.

Harry curled tighter and tried to relax. He had a plan. A crazy, could foul up in a hundred places plan, but a plan. The silence was echoing without Neville's familiar snores, but he had a plan and he wasn't going to sit by and wait.

***

Sunday was an exercise in the creeping encroachment of madness. Harry did his best to stay out of the Gryffindor common room, going so far as to spend nearly the entire day in the library with Ron and Hermione. The atmosphere in the tower made it difficult to breathe, let alone think.

The Daily Prophet that morning had reported the story, of course. Hermione had read her copy with a set, stony expression, folded it neatly, and set it on fire with her wand. She didn't say much, but from what Harry gathered it seemed Fudge was using the kidnapping as proof that Voldemort wasn't back, claiming that the Death Eaters were obviously desperate enough to think that an infant would remember the information his parents had never told. That had required some explanation to Muggle-born students, and the few wizard-born who hadn't heard the story and connected the name, and breakfast had only gone downhill from there.

Even with Hermione's prodding, Harry found studying difficult. He had to move halfway through the morning, for from where he had originally been sitting he had a perfect view of the clock, and the unchanging, "not yet" it gave him every time he checked was making him twitch. He wanted the day to be over because then he could get started, but every passing minute was another that Neville spent in the hands of people who had no compunctions about ripping children apart limb by limb.

Harry shuddered, swallowed hard, and squinted at his potions book until his eyes smarted.

His only relief came a few hours before dinner when Fred, George, and Alicia approached their table.

"Uh, Harry?" Alicia said, almost hesitantly.

"What's up?" Harry asked, pushing his notes away with some relief.

"We were thinking," George started, and then trailed off with uncharacteristic hesitancy.

"What?" Harry repeated.

"Well," Alicia said, "no one's on the pitch right now and, well, the final match with Ravenclaw is coming up and we thought maybe..." she trailed off uncertainly.

"You want to practice?" Harry asked. "Now?"

"We know it's sort of..." Fred waved a nervous hand. "What with Neville and all, but we actually thought maybe it'd help everybody a little. Focus on something else, you know?"

Harry blinked at them a moment. Under his gaze they shifted, flushed, and looked away. Harry found himself wondering when he had become the house compass in a storm, when his word on how to think and how to feel in the wake of disaster had become some sort of guide through hardship. He didn't like it.

"Uh," Fred said after a moment. "We're sorry if--"

"No," Harry said hastily. "No, I think it's a great idea. I'll meet you on the pitch in fifteen minutes. Is the rest of the team--"

"They're waiting outside," Alicia said, a small, tentative smile forming.

"Okay," Harry said, trying his best to smile back.

The three hurried off, and Harry turned back to start packing up his books.

"That was really good, Harry," Hermione said softly.

Harry glanced up reflexively, and the warmth and approval in her eyes caught him like a blow.

"It's nothing," he said, shoving his books into his bag with more force than necessary.

"No," Hermione said, "no, I really think it is something. They needed that."

"They didn't need my approval," Harry said, working hard not to snap.

Hermione was silent a moment, her quill hanging suspended over her scroll. "Yes," she said finally. "Yes they did, whether you like it or not."

Harry ducked his head and finished packing up. "I've got to go get my broom," he said.

He rose and hefted his bag, and he turned back only reluctantly when Ron called his name.

"Do you think..." Ron was flushing uncomfortably, and he flipped his quill almost obsessively in his fingers.

"What?" Harry asked wearily.

"Do you think we could come watch?" Ron asked finally. "Hermione and me, and anyone else in the house who might want to."

Harry blinked, sighed, and pressed a hand to his eyes. "Sure," he said. "Of course."

***

It was a surprisingly good practice. In the past Harry had never been particularly fond of spectators for practices, but today there was something quietly comforting in the clusters of upturned faces. Nearly half the house had turned up, and though the mood was depressed at first, by the end of the practice everyone was cheering at goals and particularly skilled maneuvers. A tenuous, badly needed energy sparked between the team and the crowd, and Harry could say honestly that it was the best practice he could have asked for under the circumstances.

He waved everyone in at last, knowing that dinner would be starting soon. The team collected around him in the air, reaching out to grip each other's brooms to maintain formation as they slowly drifted downwards.

"That, that was really good," Harry said.

"Yeah." Alicia smiled tentatively around at them all. "It really was."

Their feet touched down all at once, and it was sort of like a subdued version of the end of a game. Many of the watchers came down onto the field to tell them how good the practice was, their backslaps and encouragements given almost as if they had just gained a victory. Harry smiled and nodded to everyone, but was glad to get to the locker room.

He lingered over changing for a long time. Fred and George left within a few minutes, giving Harry an affectionate thump each, and Harry sat alone on a bench, hands idle on the laces of his trainers. He could hear the girls' voices from the other part of the locker room, and he was oddly reluctant to get going to dinner. He no longer felt the need to struggle with the day, to force it faster or draw it back. Time was going as time would, and the only thing he could do was go with it.

"Harry?"

He glanced up, surprised. The sounds from the other side of the locker room had faded while he was away in his thoughts, and Ginny stood in the connecting door, dressed in her Hogwarts robes and smiling cautiously at him.

"Oh, hi," Harry said, and bent to his laces again.

Ginny crossed the room and sat down beside him on the bench. Harry had a strange urge to tell her that she shouldn't be in the boys' part, even if he was done dressing. It was disconcerting, like having Hermione up in the dormitory, and it made him twitchy.

"So," Ginny said, "how are you doing?"

"I'm fine," Harry said, finishing with one trainer and moving on to the other.

"Well, you're the only one, then," Ginny said. "Because I don't think anyone else is."

Harry glanced sharply over at her. Her hands were knotted in her lap, her head bent. Her hair was still in a messy bun from practice, and as if she felt his eyes on it she reached an impatient hand up and loosened it to fall down her shoulders.

"I don't know what you expect me to say," Harry said. He felt suddenly stifled, almost cornered.

"I was talking to Hermione earlier," Ginny said. "She was saying that you were pretty sure that Draco Malfoy, uh, that he helped with..."

"We're more than sure," Harry said. "We know."

Ginny lifted her head. Her mouth was a thin, aching line. "He helped," she repeated softly. "He helped them take Neville away."

"Yes," Harry said.

Ginny's face clenched up. "Bastard," she said lowly.

"Yes," Harry agreed. He sat a moment longer, then rose to his feet. "Look, dinner's probably started by now, so--"

Ginny jumped up behind him and grabbed his arm. "Wait," she said quickly.

Harry turned back reluctantly.

Ginny dropped her head, letting her hair shield her face. But she didn't let go of his arm. "Do you have a plan?" she asked.

"I'm sorry?" Harry said.

"A plan," Ginny repeated. "For getting Neville back."

Harry blinked. "I..."

"Oh, I won't tell anyone," Ginny said. "I promise." She lifted her head, and Harry had to consciously work to not step back from the nearly fanatical light of faith in her eyes. He couldn't decide whether she knew him frighteningly well, down to the bones, or if she had no idea about him at all.

"Ginny," he said uncertainly, "I really don't think--"

"I just wanted to wish you luck," Ginny said, stepping closer. She was taller than him by just a little, but it felt to Harry like she was gazing up at him, somehow.

"Uh, thanks," he said, then mentally kicked himself. He'd just as much as told her he was planning something, and it was better if no one knew until it was too late.

"What about Draco Malfoy?" Ginny asked.

"What about him?"

"What's going to happen to him? Do you have a plan to take care of him?" She looked so eager to hear that he did, and it made Harry uneasy. He expected this from Malfoy, and even from himself now, this willingness to see another human being swept away in the flood of events, unreachable and unsaveable. But he didn't expect it from Ginny. "I hate him," Ginny said in a fierce whisper. "I hate him, I hate him, I hate him."

"I do too," Harry said, because it was true, and he just hadn't been able to say it quite like she could until now. "I don't know what will happen to him after everything, but I...yeah. Me, too."

Ginny nodded, and there was a tense, piercing moment when Harry thought she would kiss him. But then she spoke, and Harry went rigid all over.

"I know about you and Hermione," she said.

"What?" stuttered Harry. "There's noth--"

"Yes, there is." Ginny smiled at him, almost pityingly.

"There's nothing between me and Hermione," Harry said. "I don't know where you got the idea, but if you mean that we--we don't. We aren't."

"I know," Ginny said. "You guys aren't together." She paused a moment, looking away. "I just wanted you to know that I know, and that I'm here." She looked back, and that fierce light was back again. "And I hate Draco Malfoy, too. I just wanted you to know that."

"Okay," said Harry. "I, uh, I know."

"Good." She lingered a moment, then finally released his arm and stepped away. "Good luck," she said, and walked away.

Harry stared after her for a long moment, off balance and more than a little disturbed. There was something deeply compelling in her hatred for Malfoy, in the way she could say it so easily. It resonated with him and frightened him. And what could she possibly know about him and Hermione? He hadn't been lying about that. There was nothing between them to know. Nothing at all.

Harry breathed out hard and shook himself a little. He didn't have time for this now.

He headed back up the deserted lawn. The entrance hall was also empty, and he could hear the rumble of many voices in the Great Hall. He lingered a moment by the door, undecided. The crowd simultaneously beckoned and repulsed him, making him welcome in shared fear, and an outsider by their curious, speculative stares. Finally he turned away and headed upstairs.

He tried studying, but gave it up after only a minute or two. He spent the short time until dinner was over and everyone came back watching the fire and going over his plan again and again, trying to find a way to make it more sure of success. There were so many ways it could go so very wrong.

"Why weren't you at dinner?" Ron asked, taking the seat next to Harry's.

Harry shrugged. "I got held up in the locker room," he said.

"You should eat," Hermione fussed, taking the seat on the other side. "I'm sure there's leftovers in the kitchens."

"I'm not--" Harry started, then stopped, blinking. He'd spent all day trying to find something, anything that could help him in his night's endeavors, and all along the answer was waiting for him in the Hogwarts kitchens. It wouldn't make everything easier, and there were still several difficult spots, but it was something. "Yeah," he said to Hermione. "I am rather hungry. I'll just go right now."

Hermione blinked, obviously startled. "Do you want us to go with you?"

"No," Harry said, standing. "You just ate and all. I'll be back in a bit."

He escaped before they could decide to go with him anyway, and headed for the kitchens at a near jog. The elves were overjoyed to see him as usual, and installed him at a corner table with a lavish platter of roast and vegetables and potatoes and pudding.

"Harry Potter sir," Dobby said, bouncing up to the table. "Dobby is so very glad to be seeing you, sir."

"Dobby," Harry greeted, smiling. "You're just the elf I was looking for."

Dobby's ears stood straight up. "Harry Potter is looking for Dobby? What can Dobby be doing for great Harry Potter sir?"

Harry smiled wider and beckoned Dobby to the chair next to him. The elf gave him a dubious look, but clambered onto the chair and settled in, his eyes level with the table top.

"I wanted to ask you about being a free elf," Harry said.

Dobby clapped. "Being free is being grand, Harry Potter sir," he enthused.

"I'm sure," Harry said. "But, I mean, what I wanted to know is, are you still bound by the Malfoys' magic? Now that you're not their elf, can you disobey them or speak badly of them without hurting yourself?"

"Oh, yes Harry Potter sir," Dobby said. "Dobby is enjoying being free. Dobby is thinking that Lucius Malfoy is a toad-livered scum rat."

Harry couldn't suppress a grin. Dobby obviously relished this particular aspect of his freedom, and Harry had a feeling the insults were well-practiced.

"That's great," he said. "Really it is. So, you could tell me all about Malfoy Manor, if I asked?"

"Oh yes," Dobby said, obviously delighted. "Dobby can be telling good Harry Potter anything he is needing to know."

***

Breaking into Snape's office this time was a lot easier, mostly because there was no actual breaking involved. Harry used the old stand-by trick--pretending to go to bed a little early, then sneaking downstairs and out the portrait hole in his Invisibility Cloak. Neither Ron nor Hermione so much as batted an eye through the whole thing, and Harry was waiting outside Snape's office only ten minutes after his last faked yawn. The only trouble he had was holding his broom up high enough to not damage the twigs, but low enough not to expose his feet under the cloak.

There was a chance, of course, that no one would come to Snape's office. But it was Sunday night, when most students were scrambling to finish all the assignments they hadn't done for the past few days, and Harry knew Snape was usually in his office at least until curfew. Luck, it appeared, was on his side, and Harry took it as an auspicious sign on the entire venture that it was Crabbe and Goyle who came down the corridor and knocked at Snape's door. Harry ducked in behind them and tucked himself away in the corner of the office. He'd worried that Snape might know he was there somehow, but the professor showed no sign of alarm, or even notice. The hardest part of the whole thing was not laughing aloud at some of the questions Crabbe and Goyle asked. Harry might not be top at potions, but he at least knew the difference between a toad and a newt.

Crabbe and Goyle finally departed, and Snape followed shortly after, locking the office tight behind him. Harry waited a few cautious minutes, then moved for the desk, still beneath the cloak. He shifted his broom, and reached for his wand.

It had been a fragment of memory that supplied the start of his plan, and he wasn't entirely sure that it was even real. He'd been very distracted then, when he and Snape had returned to Hogwarts after their fishing trip. Harry's mind had been occupied with Celestina and Death Eaters and spies, but he had a fleeting impression of Snape standing by his desk, dropping their portkey absently into the top drawer. There was no guarantee that this had really happened, that the portkey would still be there, or that it would still work, but Harry was going to try anyway.

He tried the drawer, which was, of course, locked. Harry chewed his lip a moment, uneasy about trying his wand on it.

Finally, struck with an idea, he reached into his robes and withdrew Fawkes' feather (it was just too strange to think of Gryffindor having feathers). He fluttered the tip over the drawer and murmured a series of unlocking charms. Snape was a paranoid sort, but hopefully whatever security measures he had in place on his desk wouldn't key off the feather. There were more to wands, after all, than just a core and a wooden sheathe, Harry was sure. He hadn't even been positive that he could use the feather like a wand at all, but it responded to him easily, like and unlike his wand. It was a more unrefined magic, as if the energy emerged from the feather almost exactly as it had left his own body, not shaped and altered as it was with his wand.

Harry tried the drawer a few more times. He was running out of unlocking charms. Finally, as he was reaching for the last two spells he knew even vaguely related to unlocking something, the drawer popped open.

Harry breathed out in relief and tucked the feather away. The drawer appeared to be the Snape equivalent of the bottom of Harry's trunk. Broken quills, crumpled parchments, dried bits of ingredients and yes, buried under an ancient copy of The Daily Prophet, a shrivelfig. Harry picked it up, took a deep breath, and reached for his wand. He'd feel rather silly if this were just a plain old shrivelfig, but there was nothing for it.

"Transporto," he said, and was spun away.

The lake was, if possible, even creepier at night. There was a bright, full spring moon, but its beams translated into only a weak glow around the ceiling, casting the depths below in even greater shadow. Harry steadied himself against the earthy wall, wincing at its dampness. It took him a minute to put the portkey away in a place he could easily reach it in an emergency, then straddle his broom and resettle his cloak. Somewhere disturbingly close in the water there was a plop and a splash. Harry jumped, then kicked off the small patch of land with more force than was perhaps wise.

He arrived at the ceiling and stopped his ascent to study his situation. Dobby hadn't known much about the lake except that it existed, and Harry could only hope that he could physically wriggle his way up through the entwined roots and earth that made up the ceiling. He remembered seeing some fairly substantial openings on his last visit, but they would be harder to find in the dark.

A sweaty, muddy, and rather painful half hour later, Harry hauled himself the last bit up and collapsed onto the dubious support of a tangle of roots. The ceiling of the cave had been quite a bit thicker than he'd anticipated, and he'd ended up climbing out through a tunnel, rather than an opening. He'd had to remove his invisibility cloak, too, to keep it from tangling and ripping, and he hated being exposed, even though there was no one around to see him.

Harry groaned, sat up, and dragged the cloak out again. There was mud in his pockets. Harry winced, hauled himself to his feet, and began to carefully pick his way through the grove of trees above the lake and towards the indistinct, looming shape of Malfoy Manor.

He couldn't get much of a look at the place until he was nearly on top of it. It was an enormous, painfully elaborate structure, its stone façade obviously very old but well cared for. At least three towers rose into the night sky, and Harry knew the vague shapes and blurs he was seeing were probably balconies and colonnades, carved slabs and exterior staircases. He was approaching the house from the back, just as Dobby had said he would, and Harry idn't even want to imagine what the front of the thing looked like.

He paused a moment at the verge of a sweeping slope of lawn that ended flush against the house, both to catch his breath and recall the directions. After a moment he headed right, rounded the corner of the house, and began looking for landmarks.

Down a crumbling flight of stone steps and through a small, disused patch of earth that Dobby said was once an herb garden. There was a door set into the wall at the far side, and it was here Harry would enter. Dobby had assured him that he had already passed the majority of the wards by portkeying into the cave, but Harry was still apprehensive as he performed the charm Dobby had given him. But there wasn't the slightest hint of alarm, and Harry stepped into the cellar of Malfoy Manor.

From there it was simply a matter of following Dobby's directions without the aid of any light but the moon. Harry feared running into a party of house elves, hard at midnight work, but the corridors were almost eerily silent. He made his way through the cellar, up a rickety flight of stairs, and out into a dusty corridor. Parts of the house left entirely to themselves for centuries, according to Dobby, to the point where even the elves only cleaned once a year. Then through a dizzying series of corridors and rooms, progressively cleaner and more grand as he worked his way through the house. Harry wondered with not a little bemusement what Aunt Petunia would make of the ballroom-sized sitting room he passed, complete with antique hardwood floor and fireplace big enough to march a small army through. But that thought wasn't actually quite so funny, and Harry hurried on.

The library was exactly where Dobby had said it would be. Harry had a bit of a bad moment when he discovered the wooden double doors were closed, imagining Lucius Malfoy staying up late to read or flog the house elves or whatever it was he did late at night in his library. But there was no way to check but the hard way, so Harry pushed one door open and peered through into complete darkness.

He sighed, glanced reflexively around for elves or Death Eaters or Lucius Malfoy or Voldemort himself, then slipped through the doors and pushed them closed behind him. He hadn't asked Dobby if there were any windows, and it wouldn't have mattered if he'd known there weren't, anyway. Harry pulled out his wand and whispered a quiet, "Lumos."

It was like the Hogwarts library, Harry thought a little dazedly as he looked around, only bigger. Shelf upon shelf of books stretched out in all directions, most reaching to the ceiling at least two stories above Harry's head. Most of the titles, Harry saw as he took a few tentative steps forward, weren't in English. The books looked old but unused. They were elf-efficiency clean, of course, but Harry got the impression that many of them hadn't been moved in many, many years. He wondered what Hermione would do to get in here.

Harry pulled his mind back to the task at hand, and headed up the aisle directly in front of him. Dobby didn't know exactly where the portkeys would be, of course, but he had been able to offer a few suggestions. He'd also told Harry that, if all else failed, he could "just be asking the hub, Harry Potter sir." Harry hadn't the faintest idea what that meant, and he was hoping to be able to find the portkeys on his own.

He kept walking straight for what felt like half a mile until he reached what Dobby said would be the center of the library. There, in an open space at the intersection of many aisles, stood a tall, ornate, cabinet-like piece of furniture with curved, claw-like feet and gleaming bronze handles on its doors. This had been Dobby's only concrete idea on where to look, so Harry opened the doors with some amount of trepidation. He didn't relish searching this entire room for something he might not even recognize on sight.

There were many shelves and small drawers inside, and most of the shelves were lined with books. Harry frowned in concern, wondering if Malfoy would have used a book, and how he could possibly tell. He ran his finger along their spines, looking for anything unusual. There was nothing, and Harry stepped closer to check each shelf more carefully.

And there, on the top shelf, sat a small ceramic pot, and inside it a pile of assorted jewelry. Harry blinked at it, a little disbelieving. Surely it couldn't be that easy. But if he were to make a portkey, a ring or a chain would be his first choice--something he could have with him all the time with no notice, and for which he wouldn't have to fumble in an emergency.

Harry reached a tentative finger out and probed a heavy silver ring. Logically he knew that if they were the portkeys they wouldn't act like the Triwizard cup had, activating on touch, but he was still cautious. But there was no tug behind his navel, and his feet remained solidly planted on the floor. Harry picked the ring up, examining it. There was a chance Malfoy was just strange enough to keep a random assortment of jewelry in his library, but Harry didn't think so. This was it. He'd found what he was looking for.

Harry tucked the ring away, but he couldn't help lingering. He moved his wand closer, examining the books displayed. They looked newer, but somehow more used than those arrayed on the shelves. But their titles meant nothing to him, for even the rare English one was so specific and technical as to leave Harry lost. He tapped his wand thoughtfully against the edge of the shelf directly before him, biting his lip. He'd come so far, risked so much to get here. He had gotten what he came for, but he felt somehow cheated. He was in the library of Malfoy Manor, for Merlin's sake. He should be able to find something of use, or at least interest. Something incriminating of Malfoy, perhaps, or some personal papers or correspondence with Death Eaters, or even information on any one of the many questions Harry had been accumulating over the past year.

Abruptly, Harry's wand jumped in his hand. He suppressed a yelp and grabbed it tightly, looking frantically around for someone trying to summon it away from him. But there was no one, and the wand wasn't trying to escape him. Instead, it had swiveled in his grip and was pointing up an aisle to his left. Harry blinked at it, then glanced back to the cabinet. There, on the shelf where he had been tapping his wand, a previously unnoticed rune carved into the wood was glowing faintly. Harry pondered a moment, a thought slowly emerging.

"Ask the hub," he murmured, closed the cabinet, and followed his wand.

It led him a merry chase through the library, and Harry was starting to wonder if he would be able to find his way back. But the wand kept tugging insistently in his hand, pointing with seeming assurance every time he reached an intersection. Finally it twitched in his hand and pulled itself, like a magnet, to the spine of a slim, leather-bound volume on a lower shelf.

Harry dropped to his knees and pulled the book out. His wand lay quiescent, apparently satisfied. Harry lifted the book, frowning at the title. At least it was in English, but he was damned if he knew how A Study on the Medicinal Applications of Hinkypink Spit could help him in the slightest.

Harry sat back on his heels, thinking hard. If he were right, he'd just accidentally stumbled into the magical equivalent of a card catalog. He'd tapped his wand on the rune, what Dobby called the "hub," located conveniently in the middle of the room. He'd then been thinking about how he needed the answer to any of his questions, and the questions had of course been at the surface of his mind. The hub had then answered his question, or at least one of them, by guiding him here to this shelf and this book.

"Finite Incantatum," Harry said, tapping the book. Nothing happened. He thought a moment, and then, "Patesco."

In his hands, the book shifted and changed. The leather cover vanished, replaced with a loose, almost haphazard binding, and the pages became full sized sheets of parchment, some of them loose from the binding. Harry blinked at what was now more a file than a book. He turned the first page and leaned closer to read.

There was a faint scuffling sound, and Harry froze for just a second. Then he was a mad but silent scramble, first getting the book, his wand, and all his assorted body parts safely under the cloak, then extinguishing his light. He crouched in the dark, ears straining to hear anything over the pounding of his own heart.

There it was again, a definite shift, as of small feet. At least he hoped they were small.

Harry fumbled for the shrivelfig and his wand. It might be an elf or it might be Lucius Malfoy, or it might be something he hadn't even thought of. In any case, it was time for him to go.

"Transporto," he mouthed to himself, and landed in a tangled heap on the hard stone floor of Snape's office.

Harry sat up, disentangling his broom and his cloak and everything he was carrying. He stood slowly, glancing about the room. It was still empty, of course, and the clock (no helpful but vague statements for Snape's clock) read half gone three. Harry returned the shrivelfig to Snape's desk, relocked the drawer as best he could, and curled up in Snape's chair to wait out the rest of the night. He couldn't just leave, after all--he had done alright with the drawer, but there was no way he could handle the locks on the office door.

Besides, he didn't think he would be bored while he waited for the notoriously early-rising professor to come to his office. Harry reached for the file he had collected and opened it again. He'd gotten only the briefest of glances before he'd been startled, but two words had screamed out at him right away.

Harry settled back to find out just what Lucius Malfoy had hidden away in his library that had Alfonse Reynard's name on it.