The End

Chapter 22: Before We Go Insane

"And you don't find it at all suspicious that they left us in a room with a potential exit," Ron said suddenly, voicing the concern which had been rising within him since they'd gotten the trap door open again five minutes previous. Since then they'd been sitting at the edge, their feet dangling down, contemplating their next move while basking in the mysterious white light that rose up from some unseen source below.

"Maybe they didn't think we'd be able to find it," Michael suggested, "or open it."

In the past, Ron might have been inclined to argue that it wasn't that hard to open, after all, Michael had managed to do it in less than a minute the first time. However, now that he'd actually participated in the process he knew what a complex task it was, and still couldn't figure out how Michael had done it so quickly.

"The way Malfoy was talking it sounded like they've been watching us even when there's not a guard in here," Ron tried.

"Yeah," Michael admitted.

"So, maybe they meant for us to find this, like it's some sort of test or something," Ron continued, gaining momentum.

"Yeah," Michael said again, but then he did something Ron hadn't expected, he slid into the hole until he was hanging by his fingertips, then dropped down to the ground, a few feet below him.

Before Ron had time to gather his thoughts enough to object to this unexpected turn of events, Michael called up to him, "There's a tunnel down here."

"A tunnel?" Ron stammered.

"We know they're not going to feed us again any time soon," Michael continued. "It's only a matter of time before they figure out how to work my gun or get bored and go back to their wands. I think this is our best chance of finding a way out of here."

Ron, on the other hand, thought it was their best chance of getting killed by a vicious dark creature. He wanted to tell Michael so, or volunteer to stay behind to help Michael back up into the room when he discovered that this wasn't a way out, but he couldn't let the Muggle face whatever was down there alone, not after everything that Michael had done for him. With a resigned sigh, Ron dropped down through the trapdoor as well. Before he'd even straightened up, the inviting light evaporated, leaving the space as dark as the room above.

Ron shot an invisible look to where he thought Michael was, regretting coming down already. "This is looking more and more like a trap all the time," he muttered.

Suddenly, something tapped Ron on the shoulder, and assuming the worst, he squeezed his eyes shut, clamped his hands over his ears, and squatted down into the smallest and most unobtrusive position he could manage. Not because he was afraid, he assured himself, but because there was no use in making himself an easy target.

A second later, he heard Michael laughing beside him. "Take it easy," he said, fumbling for Ron's arm then pulling him up. "Let's go."

"Where?" Ron asked, straightening out his robes to hide his embarrassment.

"This way," Michael replied, turning Ron around.

The wizard had been about to ask how Michael knew which way to go, but thankfully the question died on the way to his mouth, for as soon as he saw the direction Michael intended, it became very obvious why he wanted to go there: another pale white light was shining from that direction.

This cured Ron of his questions, but not of his misgivings. There were several dark creatures he knew of that delighted in giving travelers false directions with light, the hinkypunk being among the least sinister of them.

There was something else that was strange about this light: it seemed to reach nowhere except their eyes: none of the surrounding tunnel received the benefit of its illumination, as though it was a lone and distant star. This oddity persisted even as they walked towards it. They couldn't tell how far they had gone, but even after they walked what must have been over fifty yards, a distance about equal to the considerable width of Malfoy Manor, the light still appeared no brighter or closer. What's more, at no time did they register any sort of turn, although they supposed the light could have guided them through subtle curves without their noticing, due to the darkness.

Suddenly, Ron heard a low moaning growl from up ahead. He paused to listen, his heart catching in his throat.

"Michael? Did you hear that?"

"Yeah, I heard it," Michael replied.

"It sounded hungry," Ron said.

There was a pause. "It was."

"How do you know?" Ron whispered, straining his ears into the silence, hoping to catch more clues about the creature's whereabouts.

"Because it was my stomach."

"Oh," Ron muttered, supposing he should have realized that in the first place.

"I wonder if this light is leading us where we want to go," Michael said.

"I didn't know we had any real destination in mind," Ron replied, grateful that Michael had chosen to change the subject rather than tease him.

"Towards freedom, away from things that will try to kill us," Michael pointed out.

"True," Ron admitted, "but this hasn't led us into trouble so..."

Ron stopped short and began swatting at the air.

"What?" Michael asked as he came back to meet Ron and was promptly smacked by on of the wizard's flailing arms.

"I saw something," Ron replied.

"Ron," Michael laughed.

"I know its dark," Ron maintained. "I'm telling you I saw something."

"It's not just dark," Michael said, "its pitch black. You couldn't have seen anything; your brain is inventing things."

"I felt something brush past me too," Ron added, "explain that."

"We've been in the dark for a long time," Michael replied, "you're just getting a little jumpy."

"Are you saying I'm mental?" Ron demanded.

"No, I'm saying we've been in the dark for a long time," Michael repeated. "Besides, maybe you really did brush past something, it's hard to tell where the walls are in this place."

With that, Michael started exploring the region to either side of Ron. He found nothing except wall several steps to the left of where they'd been standing, but a short distance to the right his outstretched and questing hands found something strange.

"Hey," he started, "there's-"

But he never got the chance to share his find, for at that moment something else decided to announce its presence, and his words were cut off.

Ron heard a strange sort of swishing sound followed by a scuffle which culminated in someone collapsing and struggling to breathe.

"Michael?" Ron called, panic rising within him.

Only the sound of someone struggling answered. Ron raced over to try and locate his friend, hoping he'd be able to find him fast enough

Unexpectedly, Ron tripped over some large struggling mass on the floor and found himself sprawled out next to it. Ignoring the protests of the limbs that had hit the ground hardest, Ron righted himself and turned to see what he could do for Michael.

Ron located one of the Muggle's arms and traced it back to his neck. He had expected this based on the sounds Michael had been making, but was relieved to find something physically constricting this throat: there was little he would have been able to do if the culprit had been a curse. However, this situation was hardly any better, it didn't take much probing to discover that Michael's assailant was large, hairy, and possessed far more legs than ought to be allowed. Michael was being strangled to death by a spider, or something very like it, a reality which stirred up all sorts of memories and phobias in Ron.

His first instinct was to jump away, and let Michael fight it out for himself, but Michael's struggles were already weakening, if he was going to find his own way out of this he would have done it by now. Ron couldn't abandon him now any more than he could when they'd first gone through the trapdoor.

That decided, Ron bit down his terror and began trying to force the creature off of Michael's neck. Despite knowing that Michael's combined power and panic couldn't dislodge the thing, Ron was still surprised at the thing's strength: his initial attempt to lift both sets of legs simultaneously only succeeded in allowing Michael's airway to open enough for him to suck in half a gulp of air before Ron's grip slipped and the creature clamped down even harder.

Trying another tactic, Ron braced his knees against the floor and used both hands to pull up on one set of legs. Contrary to what he'd wanted, the creature didn't seem affected at all, instead Michael's head and shoulders were lifted off the ground along with the creature.

Ron shifted one knee to Michael's shoulder, applying as much pressure as he dared, then tried again. This time he fared much better than either of his previous attempts. He managed to create enough space between the creature and Michael's neck to slip his fingers in, thus ensuring a firm grip, which had the added benefit of allowing Michael to breathe again. However, the Muggle only sucked in two desperate breaths before he started moaning out hoarse moans of pain. A moment later, Ron figured out why.

He'd just barely pulled half of the creature's legs clear of Michael's neck when one leg shifted and sliced across his fingers. Each of the creature's legs was tipped with a sharp claw, something neither of Ron's previous attempts had revealed. He shuddered to think about the damage the other set of legs might be causing, where his efforts were, for the moment, pulling the creature towards Michael's neck instead of away from it. However, if Michael was going to survive this, Ron had to get the creature off of him as quickly as possible, and this method was his only option.

With one final supreme effort, Ron ripped the creature away from Michael and cast it away. Over the Muggle's loud coughing and sputtering, Ron heard it right itself and race back towards them for another attempt. Acting on luck and instinct rather than any sort of skill, Ron stood up, then happened to stomp his foot at exactly the right moment, catching the creature underneath. It died with a sickening crunch. For once Ron was grateful for the darkness: his foot had been reluctant to leave the place where it had killed the creature, as though it was stuck to something. If it weren't for Ron's concern for Michael, he would have gone dancing from the spot, attempting to scrape the creature's innards off the bottom of his shoe. Instead, he raced to Michael's side.

The Muggle was still coughing weakly, but he'd managed to prop himself up on one elbow. His other hand was carefully feeling his neck.

"Are you alright?" Ron asked, then he winced, wishing he'd spotted it for a stupid question before he actually got around to saying it.

Michael didn't answer, but Ron could feel the incredulous look being directed at him even if he couldn't see it.

"What did you do?" Ron said, trying his best to sound concerned instead of accusing.

"Nothing," Michael croaked. "I just touched the wall."

Ron shrugged, there seemed to be nothing wrong with that. He'd been trying to stay clear of the walls but had run into them on occasion anyway without any ill effect. It seemed to be just a bad stroke of luck that Michael had strayed into the one spot guarded by a homicidal spider. Unable to think of any way to help, Ron had to content himself with wringing his hands, which drew attention to the fact that they were slimy with blood.

"That thing had claws," Ron blurted. "You must be bleeding."

"Yeah," Michael sighed, his voice still sounded terrible. "It's not so bad, though. Its claws must have been pretty thin and it didn't get anywhere important, I can barely even find the holes.

Ron thought Michael was being rather cavalier about this, his hand certainly didn't feel like the creature hadn't gotten anything important. Then again, he had been sliced and Michael stabbed, but he didn't think it wise to simply let this go so easily.

"Maybe I should check," Ron offered, stretching out his hand.

"No!" Michael exclaimed, slapping Ron's hand away. "I'm telling you, I'm fine."

Ron was a bit startled and annoyed by Michael's sudden change in mood, but knew that near death experiences could do that to people, he'd observed the effect several times in Harry.

"You could be poisoned, you wouldn't know what to look, er- feel for," Ron pointed out.

"And I suppose you know better?" Michael asked.

Ron had to admit Michael's point, he might know about more poisons, but spotting their symptoms was something else entirely, and Michael could probably do it just as easily considering the dark.

"We should put some pressure on it at least," Ron tried, tearing a thick strip off his sleeve. However, this turned out to be his worst mistake yet, for no sooner had he started to wrap it carefully around Michael's neck than the Muggle ripped it away and pinned him to the ground in one swift movement.

"Don't do that!" Michael said menacingly.

"Sorry, I was just trying to help," Ron replied defensively, even though he was actually feeling rather stupid. Michael had nearly been strangled to death; of course he would be sensitive to things being tied around his neck.

"Help yourself," Michael muttered, letting Ron up but catching his injured hand painfully to prove his point. The Muggle located the piece of cloth and held it to his neck instead.

"Fine," Ron muttered, pulling another strip off his sleeve. He stood up and followed Michael's footsteps, too put out to bother asking how the Muggle had known his hand was injured.

"You might have warned me," Michael said accusingly.

Ron couldn't think of a response. The injustice of Michael's statement was infuriating. Not only could Ron hardly be expected to warn Michael about every sort of dark creature in existence, but he was also the one who'd been opposed to their venture into the secret compartment in the first place.

"I've never run into anything like that before," Ron ventured after he'd forced his temper under control.

"You've never run into a spider before?" Michael asked with a laugh.

"No, I've never run into a spider that prefers to choke its prey instead of biting it," Ron clarified.

"But I suppose you have seen spiders that can kill humans," Michael pressed.

"They're around," Ron replied with a shudder.

"Then you must have had some idea that would have been better than yanking it off," Michael demanded.

"I don't have my wand!" Ron cried. "I don't even have a knife. What did you want me to do, step on it? The thing was around your neck!"

"A rock might have helped," Michael suggested angrily. "You could have tried knocking it out before ripping half my skin off."

"I didn't think of that, alright? I'm sorry," Ron admitted. "I guess I panicked, I...I don't like spiders."

"Oh," Michael said, finally coming to realize that he wasn't the only one who'd paid a price during the spider attack. "Thanks," was all he could manage to say to express the gratitude he suddenly felt at knowing that Ron had forced back a phobia in order to save him.

"Sure," Ron replied glumly, more occupied with trying to tie bandages around his own injured fingers.

"You know, I don't think I like spiders so much anymore either," Michael added, then he caught Ron by the good arm and tied on the bandages for him.

When Michael had finished, Ron thanked him and started onward toward this light, but stopped a moment later when he realized Michael wasn't with him.

"You coming?" Ron asked.

"There's another passageway branching off right here," Michael replied. "I felt the open space before that spider attacked me."

"You want to go down there instead?" Ron asked skeptically.

"Anything would be better than following that light like a couple of rats in a maze," Michael said.

"Pixies to a flame?" Ron tried, thinking the rat cliché would apply more when they were lost in the complete darkness of that other passage.

"Whatever," Michael muttered.

"You want to go into the passageway being guarded by something that almost killed you," Ron clarified.

"We don't know the spider was guarding the entrance," Michael pointed out. "It could have been there at random."

"There are no coincidences!" Ron exclaimed, "not in the Wizarding world. I thought you would have realized that by now. That spider was there for a reason, whether we see it or not."

Michael spent a moment considering, then said, "I suppose that light is there for a reason too, then."

"Sure," Ron replied.

"So we're assuming that the most likely reason for this secret passage being connected to the room we were held in is that this is some sort of trap. Wouldn't it make sense if the light was put there by the Death Eaters for us to follow," Michael continued.

"Damnit," Ron muttered, realizing his logic wouldn't stand up to Michael's.

"This way," Michael commanded, grabbing Ron's arm and leading him to the second passage, albeit more carefully this time. Even so, Ron was sure he could hear a smirk in Michael's voice.

Fortunately, no spider or creature of any sort awaited them this time and they crossed into the second passage without incident.

As they'd anticipated, no mysterious light appeared to guide their way through this passage, which, indicative of a trap or not, they had to admit had been very helpful. They frequently ran into walls and random artifacts, such as a desk which Ron tripped over spectacularly. It then started to repair itself while successfully attempting to stuff Ron into a drawer until Michael managed to rip it apart again and they both escaped.

These encounters also revealed the existence of several other side corridors which, in the absence of any other information, they would take whenever someone spun around and stopped facing the entrance. They also now had the problem of staircases to contend with, which seemed to crop up at random but always just when they'd demanded it safe to stop testing every step before they moved onward.

They continued on like this until even Michael was turned around and Ron swore that he'd run into the same mossy patch of wall at least three times. Both their nerves were thoroughly frayed and the effect of having neither a proper meal nor a night's sleep in several days was starting to make itself annoyingly obvious. However, they stood little chance anymore of finding their way back to the main corridor.

"You don't think they meant for us to stop following the light and get lost in here?" Ron ventured finally.

"Don't start," Michael muttered. "I hate reverse psychology."

Ron wasn't familiar with the term but thought he understood Michael's meaning anyway: he hadn't voiced his thought for so long because he'd been wrestling with the implications of his insight for some time.

"Any idea why we haven't come across the corridor with the light again?" Ron tried. After all, it felt like they'd walked so many passageways that surely one of them had to be where they started.

"Dunno," Michael replied, "maybe the light turned itself out after we left."

"Brilliant," Ron moaned. That possibility had occurred to him as well, but he'd tried to dismiss it, because finding that light was their only chance of getting back to the drawing room, which, in his opinion, was looking like a much better place to be.

They walked on, but there was something else that Ron had been wrestling with for some time and a few steps later it finally got the best of him.

"Sorry, about before, with the spider."

"Ron, we're past that," Michael sighed. "We need to focus on finding a way out of here."

"No, there's something I've got to say," Ron replied. "It's been really helpful, having you along, trying to fight these Death Eaters."

"Yeah, well, we're not finished yet," Michael pointed out.

"What I mean is," Ron stammered, "when Harry said that the Ministry had decided to ask for help from Muggles, I thought that we'd humor you for a few days then try and find the most polite way to say that we could manage on our own, but-"

"Wait," Michael said, cutting him off. "You weren't the ones who wanted our help?"

"No," Ron said, baffled. "It was the Ministry's idea."

"The same Ministry you're always complaining about," Michael spat. "The one that was so useless during the war that it might as well have been working against you."

"Yes," Ron replied, growing worried.

"I didn't realize we'd been forced upon you," Michael exclaimed.

"That's not what I was trying to say," Ron explained quickly. "I mean, maybe you were at first, but you're not anymore. We wouldn't have made it to that first mission at the Quidditch match without you, so thanks for helping us."

"Oh," Michael sighed. "Well, you're welcome. And sorry for yelling at you like that."

"It's alright," Ron said.

"I guess maybe you haven't realized, but Sydney and I, we work for our government. And I'm not saying that our government is perfect, because it has its flaws, but I think you should understand that when you talk about your Ministry like you do, it kind of offends us," Michael replied. "I know you don't mean to, but I guess we're all just so good at pretending that sometimes we forget that we come from different places."

"That could explain a few things," Ron offered.

"It might," Michael said.

"Michael?"

"Yeah?"

"Let's get out of here."

So they forced themselves onward even as their exhaustion from lack of sleep and food became more pronounced with each passing step. Ron found himself wishing that he could just send up sparks, then they could sit and wait until it was all over, but he knew there was no hope of being rescued so easily from this place. Of course, it was a demeaning possibility, he hadn't even been tempted to send up signal sparks in years, he usually had other options, especially since he'd come...of...age...

"Michael!" Ron exclaimed, but he was deprived of the chance to lament his stupidity and Michael the chance to berate him for his constant pointless interruptions by a strange occurrence. They might not have noticed if they hadn't spent the past few hours with their ears straining for any sound within the passageways, but as it was, the difference was obvious: Ron's voice had taken much longer than usual to echo back at them.

"The corridor just got a lot bigger," Michael said awestruck.

"Yeah," Ron replied.

Together, they struck off to the left and counted more than forty steps before they reached solid wall. A similarly large distance separated the right wall from where they guessed they'd started. However, these measurements soon proved themselves to be inaccurate, for as they were making their way back to where they thought the entrance was, both tripped over what seemed to be a large stone table, an obstruction which had not made itself known until then. However neither the table nor the size of the room remained their primary concern, for a slide and a click echoed throughout the cavern and they both knew that it no longer mattered that they weren't sure where the entrance was, for it had been shut. They were trapped.

"Great," Michael muttered, sinking to the floor.

Ron, however, had a different take on their situation, in fact, he considered this to be the most progress they'd made since first entering the labyrinth. This was, after all, the only place that seemed to acknowledge their presence, and the table seemed to indicate that they were in for some sort of test. On the other hand, progress, in this case, was far from encouraging: not only could he not see what he was doing, but unless the puzzle involved chess, he was unlikely to be any good at it. Even as Ron pondered this, the room obligingly bathed itself in a pale blue light, as though wishing to even the score.

Their appreciation for the sudden light didn't prevent them from being dazzled by it, a full minute passed before they could even force their eyes open. As soon as they could see relatively straight they turned their attention to the contents of the table. The results weren't promising: there certainly wasn't a chess set in sight. The entire table was covered with identical rectangular impressions connected by lines. The only exception was the side nearest them, which instead consisted for a larger impression filled with rectangular tiles, clearly intended to be placed in a corresponding location on the table.

Ron picked up a tile and found two words etched on one side, "Phineas Nigellus."

The name sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place it. He tried several more tiles but had even less luck, they all spoke of people he was certain he'd never heard of before.

"Ron!" Michael exclaimed, "isn't that..."

He seemed unable to finish his thought, so instead he shoved a tile into Ron's hand. It said, "Narcissa Malfoy." Suddenly, everything fell horribly into place, the pattern of the rectangles on the table, the names, everything.

"Oh no," Ron moaned, "leave it to the Malfoys, of all the pompous, egotistical..."

"What?" Michael asked.

"They're trying to prove the superiority of the purebloods by creating a test they think only a pureblood could complete," Ron sighed.

Michael gave him a look.

"A pureblood who isn't a 'blood traitor,'" Ron amended. "We have to arrange all these names in their family tree."

"So you can't do it?" Michael asked.

"Being pureblood doesn't magically endow a person with a complete knowledge of their own lineage," Ron muttered. "That's a fundamental difference between their family and mine, we mostly don't care about keeping track of fifty generations worth of ancestors."

"Ron, I can't help you with this," Michael said. "Why don't you just fill in what you can, then we can start guessing."

"Fine," Ron muttered, placing Narcissa's tile in the appropriate spot and sifting through the pile for more names he knew. His immediate family, the Potters, and Sirius Black were all conspicuously absent, something which under different circumstances, Ron might have found as justification for riotous laughter, but as it was, he would have been grateful for all the familiar names he could find, and he was too busy fighting back the urge to break certain puzzle pieces in half.

"It's ironic," Ron said as he contemplated the two titles labeled Bartemius Crouch, "if Hermione was here we might have a chance of getting this right, she was the only person who ever paid attention in History of Magic. Some of these people might have been mentioned."

As the discovery of familiar names occurred less and less often, Ron began resorting to guesswork, but he had the benefit of Michael's help now, whatever it was worth.

"Tinaman Malfoy," Michael said. "Male or female."

"I dunno, male," Ron guessed. "Does Macheto Prince seem like the type to have a sibli- ah!"

A wave of freezing cold water had just washed over his feet.

"Where did that come from?" Ron demanded.

"It started seeping in a little after you started," Michael replied.

"And you didn't think it would be a good idea to tell me?" Ron was now performing a stupid sort of hopping dance, trying not to leave either foot in the water for too long, although his attempts were being hindered by the rising water, which had now topped his ankles.

"I thought we'd have a couple hours at least before it even reached the top of the table," Michael replied.

"Looks like your computations were a little off," Ron said, climbing up on the side of the table so his legs were clear of the water again.

"The water was coming in much slower at first and this is a big room," Michael explained, following suit, "and I wasn't counting on having to contend with hypothermia."

Their work increased to a frantic rate, but so did the speed of the water entering the cavern. Soon water covered the table, then their shoulders and they had to duck beneath the surface to search blearily through the water for a location for the tiles. Not long after that they had to read the tiles while treading water at the surface, a surface which was soon nearly three yards above the table. They had to take off their shoes to aid their swimming, or risk tiring too quickly and drowning. Several times, the tiles slipped through their numb fingers and sank to the bottom and they had to waste their precious time retrieving them.

Michael was about to return to the table when Ron resurfaced suddenly, coughing and sputtering. The poor Wizard's swimming skills were passable, but his diving skills were not, and his ability to tread water was downright lamentable.

"How m-many t-tiles are left?" Michael stammered as he grabbed Ron by the back of the robes to help him stay afloat.

They both knew it was a feudal question; after all, placing every tile would only help if they had been correct on every single guess, which seemed unlikely if the amount of water surrounding them was any indication at all.

"Th-Thirty?" Ron supposed through chattering teeth, shaking water out of his ears.

As Michael watched Ron something occurred to him and he'd sunk up to his eyes before he realized he'd stopped treading water to think.

"Ron, m-my ears haven't p-popped!" Michael exclaimed.

"G-good for th-them," Ron shivered, still trying to clear the water out of his own, "b-but th-that's not s-so s-strange, is it? I m-mean, we've b-been d-diving, wouldn't th-that th-throw it off a little?"

"Th-that's true," Michael conceded, "b-but the water's r-risen at least th-three f-feet s-since I've c-come up here and m-my ears haven't p-popped th-that entire t-time."

"D-does th-this help us?" Ron asked, studying the tiles he'd brought up.

"I th-think it d-does," Michael replied. "If th-this r-room r-really is s-sealed, th-then there s-should still b-be as m-much air in here as th-there was when this s-started, b-but it's in a m-much smaller space, so we should notice a p-pressure difference, b-but there isn't one, which means that the air must be escaping."

"And if air c-can escape so can we," Ron finished.

"Well, I d-don't know about th-that," Michael admitted. "We're a lot b-bigger than air, but it's a s-start."

Michael held a wet hand up out of the water, hoping to detect a breeze. The method might have worked if his hand wasn't already numb, but as it was, no one side of his hand felt any colder than another. Ron, on the other hand, caught on to what Michael was trying to do and came up with his own method, pulling out a small tuft of his hair and separating one strand, which he held up, watching to see which way it bent. Fortunately, it obliginged even though Ron's flailing had increased dramatically now that he could no longer paddle with one hand. Since Michael's hair was too short to perform such a trick, he pulled one of Ron's discarded hairs from where it was floating and used it instead. Together, they traced the faint breeze to a small, covered ventilation shaft in the ceiling near a wall. It looked just big enough for them to climb into. The water level was about eight feet below it, so Michael took to the wall and climbed.

When Michael could advance no further, he reached out to the grate and pressed up on it, but it didn't budge. He then hooked his hand through the grate and swung away from the wall. By all rights the grate should have come off at this and Michael should have fallen back into the water, but it didn't. He tried grabbing the grate with his right hand as well then pulling himself up and dropping down while still holding the grate several times, but the cover still held firm.

"Ron, g-grab my legs and p-pull d-down," Michael commanded, still shivering.

Ron didn't see how that would help, since the water had already reached Michael's feet, but he did what he was told and thoroughly confused himself for nearly a minute by trying to pull himself out of the water while simultaneously trying to swim downwards with his legs.

"This isn't g-going to work," Michael conceded finally. "Get out of the way, I'm c-coming down."

When Ron was clear, Michael dropped the shrinking distance down to the water. He tired to keep his hands under the murky surface, but it wasn't enough to prevent Ron from spotting the deep gashes across his fingers the grate had given him.

"You're b-bleeding," Ron started.

"I'm f-fine," Michael retorted. "Unless there's a sh-shark in here, if we don't s-solve this in the next few m-minutes it won't m-matter anyway. When we first c-came in here you had an idea."

"I d-did?" Ron asked blankly. "Oh, yeah, it occurred to me that I might be able to D-disapparate out of here."

"I th-thought you c-couldn't Apparate in here," Michael replied dully, looking let down.

"We assumed that anti D-disapparation charms would be one of the first d-defenses the Death Eaters would put on their headquarters, but we never actually t-tried," Ron explained. "B-besides, we have no idea how far we've traveled, we could be a mile away from Malfoy M-manor by now."

"T-try it," Michael said.

Ron, however, wasn't prepared to go quite so easily. "I c-can't take you with me," he said guiltily.

"That's fine," Michael replied, "just g-get out of here if you can."

"B-but!" Ron stammered.

"Just go!" Michael bellowed.

Reluctantly, Ron cleared his mind and began focusing on the three D's. However, it felt as though something was blocking his attempts, no matter what he tried, it was like there was a great wall in his mind separating him from his destination.

"It's no g-good," Ron said finally, "this p-place has a charm on it."

"You sure?" Michael asked.

"If I could have g-gotten out of here, I would have!" Ron exclaimed.

"Then this d-doesn't have anything to do with having to leave me b-behind?" Michael pressed.

"D-do you want it to be?" Ron demanded, sounding a bit more hostile than he meant to because Michael had struck a nerve.

"Maybe you know that if it c-came down to it, I would never leave you b-behind," Michael said.

"Apparating with another person is about the most d-dangerous thing a wizard can do!" Ron yelled. "I'm not too k-keen on splicing myself t-together with you, what about you?"

"I'd be willing to risk it!" Michael replied. Their heads were now hitting the ceiling.

"I'll have you know I was p-planning to Apparate into the ventilation sh-shaft to see if I could do..."

But Ron didn't get the chance to finish explaining himself, because at that moment there was a deafening explosion. The grate covering the ventilation shaft had blown off.

"N-nice work," Michael said lightly as he approached the hole.

"Wait, wh-what?" Ron asked. "You set up that entire argument to see if I'd g-get mad enough to m-make that explode?"

"Yep," Michael replied as he boosted Ron into the space then climbed in himself.

"How d-did you know to do that?" Ron gasped, still trying to catch up with what had just happened.

"Keep m-moving, the water's still rising," Michael said before answering. "Remember after the incident with the t-trunk when you were trying to figure out if I was actually a Wizard and didn't know it?"

"Sure," Ron grunted, squirming his way forward through the tube, which was, fortunately, horizontal.

"One of the things you asked me was whether st-strange things had ever happened around me when I was angry or sc-scared," Michael continued. "So I was thinking about that, but I d-decided that you must have been even more scared than I was r-right then."

"Oh, I was, was I?" Ron asked accusingly.

"Malfoy was p-pointing his wand at your head," Michael sighed. "Either you were scared or you're a f-fool, and I don't think you're a fool."

"I didn't make that tr-trunk open," Ron maintained, shivering. Somehow he felt even colder now that he was out of the water.

"Yes you d-did," Michael replied. "Whether you want to believe it or not, if you need something b-badly enough you have a way of m-making it happen, even if you don't have your wand."

"Alright, fine," Ron muttered. "I opened the tr-trunk and blew off the g-grate. Why did you have to stage an argument? You didn't think that our impending d-death by drowning would be enough to sc-scare me into doing the same thing?"

"No, I figured it would," Michael said, "but I d-didn't want to risk it happening just before we p-passed out. That wouldn't be m-much use, you see."

"You shouldn't do that again," Ron said, halting his forward progress.

Michael decided not to urge him forward since the water had stopped rising after it was a few inches deep on the duct floor. "Why not, it worked," he said instead.

"Because I can't c-control my m-magic when I get angry like that," Ron replied.

"It seems to d-do what you want it to anyway," Michael pointed out.

"You d-don't understand," Ron said with a shudder. "I could have b-blown you up as easily as I did that grate, I could feel it. If I had been thinking about you instead of the grate at that m-moment things p-probably would have turned out d-different."

"Oh," Michael gasped.

"I c-couldn't live with myself if I'd d-done that," Ron said.

"I'm sorry," Michael stammered. "I had n-no idea."

"Well, you m-might have if you'd b-bothered to ask," Ron replied stiffly, "instead of using me like one of your gadgets."

They crawled along in silence for a time, neither even expressing joy when the duct began to slope gently upward, at last freeing them of the icy water, although not of the deep chill that seemed to have filtered right to their bones. Light filtered in from nearby vents too small to squeeze through. They never saw anyone on the other side of them, but they were careful to make as little noise as possible while passing by. Collections of dust began sticking to their wet robes, although the tufts of hair and lint didn't resemble dust bunnies so much as dust mammoths. Ron swore he saw one move of its own accord.

Shortly after the duct became wide enough for them to crawl on their hands and knees they encountered the largest opening to the inhabitable parts of the mansion yet, a most promising find, or at least it would have been were it not for what was happening on the other side.

Ron heard a door open and shut as he passed the vent and paused to investigate.

"Hey, M-Michael," Ron whispered as he tried to wring some of the water out of his sleeve. "Isn't that..."

"Sydney," Michael gasped.

"Not exactly the sort of r-rescue I had in m-mind."

"Maybe she really was c-captured like Malfoy said."

"The Imperious Curse c-could do that."

"Which one's th-that?"

"The one that makes p-people do what the c-caster wants."

"So they're c-controlling her?"

"Can you think of another r-reason why she'd act like that?"

"Not r-really."

"I can't figure out why they'd b-bother, if she's under the Imperius Curse, they'd have figured out that she's a M-muggle by now."

"Something else is going on here."