Slouching Towards Bethlehem

Slouching Towards Bethlehem

Chapter 2: The Best Lack All Conviction

None of them had very much appetite that evening. Hermione's face was very pale, and she kept shooting troubled glances at Harry, who was ignoring her. Ron was suddenly struck by the realisation that they looked like a couple who were fighting, and had to stifle a surge of hysterical laughter. He didn't think either of them would have appreciated the sentiment, even if it had come at a more appropriate time. His stomach felt fluttery and nervous every time he looked up from his dinner and saw how grim Harry looked.

Finally, Harry shoved his plate, still full of the food that he'd been pushing around for the last half hour, towards the middle of the table and scraped his chair back. His eyes flicked quickly over to the Slytherin table, as if he was hoping against hope that Malfoy was back by some miracle, and Ron found himself turning too. Well, this is a turn-up for the books, he thought as he scanned the crowd of Slytherins for a flash of pale hair. Never thought I'd be desperate to see Malfoy. By the time he turned back to his friends, Harry was already halfway to the door, and Hermione was rising to follow him.

It wasn't until they were hurrying to catch up with Harry as he strode down the fourth floor corridor that any of them spoke. Then Hermione grabbed Harry's sleeve as he was about to turn a corner, and said in a very small voice, "Maybe you're wrong."

Harry turned and stared at her; she was breathing harder then usual, but then he had been going at such a pace that even Ron, with his long legs, had been finding it hard work to keep up. She looked back, and her expression was nervous but determined.

"How could I be wrong?" Harry asked, sounding genuinely mystified. "This is what we've been waiting for ever since..."

He trailed off, but Ron knew what he meant. Since the Department of Mysteries. Since Sirius's death.

Hermione shook her head. "Maybe Malfoy just ran away," she said, her voice a little stronger now that Harry didn't seem to be angry.

Harry frowned. "Malfoy would never do anything that dramatic unless his father told him to," he said brusquely. "And if Lucius wants his son out of this school, that means that something's going to happen soon, and it's going to happen here." His voice was calm, as if he was talking about what he'd had for breakfast, but a muscle was twitching in his jaw. He started to turn, but Hermione grabbed his sleeve again.

"Then why are all the other Slytherins still here?" she asked. "Their fathers are Death Eaters too. Why haven't they left? And if they knew Malfoy was leaving because Voldemort was going to attack Hogwarts, why aren't they panicking?"

Harry sighed. "I don't know. Maybe they're supposed to be following Malfoy later. Maybe-"

"Then we still have time, we can prepare," Hermione said eagerly.

Harry jerked his sleeve away from her, and his voice was angry now. "Prepare for what? For the end of the world?" He looked from one of them to the other with an exasperated expression. "I can't defeat Voldemort," he said, his voice rising. "There's nothing we can do, even if we have a few days, even if we have a few weeks. He's the most powerful Dark Wizard of this century and I'm a sixteen-year-old boy. What d'you expect me to do?" He shouted the last sentence, his cheeks blotchy with anger. Hermione stepped back involuntarily, and Ron felt a sudden surge of anger himself.

"There's no need to shout, we can hear you perfectly well," he snapped. "And you've faced You-Know-Who before, we all have. Dumbledore won't let anything happen to us here."

Harry shook his head violently. "It's not Dumbledore he wants," he said furiously. "It's me, it's always been me. And when I'm gone, you'll be next," he said, turning suddenly on Hermione, who was staring at him, her dark eyes huge. "And you," he continued, turning back to Ron. "How can you be so complacent?"

"Well, I'd rather be complacent than a bloody doom-merchant," Ron said mutinously. "Dumbledore's always managed to protect us before. He's the only one V... You-Know-Who's scared of, everyone knows that."

All the rage suddenly seemed to go out of Harry, and he sagged, looking exhausted. "But it's not up to him," he murmured. "In the end it's not up to him, or you, either of you." He looked like he might say something else, but then he turned abruptly and ran down the corridor away from them. Hermione started after him, but Ron grabbed her arm.

"Let him cool down first," he said. "There's no talking to him when he's in this mood."

Hermione bit her lip. "He's always in this mood these days," she said, so quietly that Ron wasn't sure he had heard it at all. He didn't answer, staring down the corridor where his best friend's back had just disappeared. It was true, he thought. Harry had been difficult from time to time before - the beginning of last year sprang to mind - but ever since they had got back to school, Harry had been walking around in a thick cloud of gloom. Of course, he had an excuse, a good one at that; but Ron was worried, and at the same time exasperated. He wanted to do something, wanted to help Harry - but he couldn't even get close. Sometimes he would look up to see his best friend staring at him as if he was a stranger; and that, thought Ron, was the worst feeling in the world.

"You don't think he's right, do you?" Hermione's voice broke into his reverie. "You don't think Voldemort's coming here?"

He flinched automatically at the sound of that name, that since his earliest childhood had evoked images from his darkest dreams, and waited a moment before speaking, trying to force a confident expression onto his face.

"He can't be. There's no way he could get past Dumbledore."

"Right." Hermione nodded, but Ron couldn't help thinking that neither of them sounded very convinced.

-----

There were flowers, but they were made of ice. He knew that they would crumble at his touch, but he reached for them anyway, and felt the cold brush against his fingertips for a moment before they were gone; he was left with an aching feeling of emptiness and a dull sense of inevitability. It only lasts for a moment, and in trying to grasp it, we lose it forever. A light was growing somewhere in the darkness behind him, a warm golden light as unlike the freezing stars as a puddle to the ocean. It illuminated the edges of the buildings, their graceful spires and ancient arcs. But it was growing too hot, too hot and too close, and he turned, shielding his eyes to see where it was coming from, to find that it was too late, and the world was engulfed in flames.

A sharp pain in his scar woke Harry, and he sat up quickly, the movement sending droplets of water rolling off the invisibility cloak in a silver shower. It took him a moment to remember where he was, but then he felt the cold, wet ground beneath him and the solid bulk of the beech tree at his back. Before him he could hear a gentle slapping noise as the waters of the invisible lake, whipped into choppy motion by the rising wind, broke against the shore. To his left, the castle loomed, a darker shape against the cloudy night sky, all of the lights now out except one, high in one of the curtain walls. He had no idea what the time was, but the rain had slackened off to a steady, dispiriting drizzle, and he was soaked through, despite his cloak.

He sighed, shifting his stiff legs slightly. The details of the evening were slowly coming back to him, filtering through the fog that his disturbing dreams had sown in his mind. Ron and Hermione. How could they be so blind? You haven't told them, a little voice whispered at the back of his mind. You haven't told them about the prophecy. That's why they still think Dumbledore can save them. But he shoved that thought away, struggling to his feet, the invisibility cloak clinging to him in wet folds. He stood for a moment, watching the light that glimmered in the castle wall. It would be soon now, very soon; tomorrow, he was sure, everything would change. If anyone had been watching him at that moment - although no-one except Mad-Eye Moody and possibly Albus Dumbledore would have been able to see him, of course - would have seen a strange, grim smile spread across his face. At least the waiting would be over.

-----

Harry woke long before dawn; he knew he could not have been back in the castle long, because his hair was still damp. He was surprised he had managed to sleep at all, but he had, an uneasy doze that, as far as he remembered, had been free of dreams. He watched with little interest as dull light began to spread across the ceiling of the dormitory. Finally, when he could no longer bear the inactivity, he hauled himself out of bed, his limbs feeling numb and heavy, and looked out of the window, wanting to see what the weather would be like on this, which might be the last day of his life.

Sometime in the night, the rain had stopped. Out over the Forbidden Forest, the sun was rising into a clear sky, still the greyish-white of very early morning; millions upon millions of tiny shards of light greeted the sun with their own glitter, gleaming back from every blade of grass and spiders web. It was going to be a glorious day.

Harry staggered back from the window and dropped onto the bed, feeling a wrenching sense of betrayal. Even the weather was unable to realise the significance of Malfoy's absence. It had managed to rain for more than a week, and now this? I don't want to die on a sunny day, damn it. He felt an absurd urge to shut the thick curtains against the light that was now streaming in, glinting off the dust motes that danced in the air. But instead he wrenched open his trunk savagely, rooting through it for clean robes, feeling a sense of bitter satisfaction when first one, then four sleepy heads were raised to see what all the fuss was about. Well, they should get up early and enjoy the sunshine, he thought. It might be their last chance.

-----

But it didn't happen. Harry went through the day in a daze, unable to concentrate on anything anyone said to him; every loud noise made his stomach lurch; he found himself staring out of the window at the sparkling, newly-washed landscape, searching for the Dark Mark or anything at all that would indicate that the time was close; and yet, there was nothing.

They had their first Magical Transportation class just before lunch. Hermione was already waiting at the door when Harry arrived, and she gave him a faint smile. Both she and Ron had obviously been trying to act normal at breakfast, but Harry had been too drained to try and argue with them again. They would find out soon enough. Even so, he didn't return Hermione's smile, but she didn't seem to notice, turning with what looked like relief as Ron came hurtling along the corridor, grinning all over his face.

"Well, looks like she's finally got herself a new punch-bag!"

Ron, for reasons which neither Harry nor Hermione had managed to fathom, was still taking Divination. Harry hadn't asked if Sybill Trelawney had continued to predict his death now that he was no longer in the class - to be honest, he hadn't much cared.

Hermione was looking slightly perplexed. "What do you mean, Ron?"

Ron shot a quick sideways glance at Harry. "She was predicting Malfoy's death all morning," he said gleefully. "It was brilliant! As soon as someone told her he was missing, she was off! She's got a seriously brutal imagination, that one. I'm surprised they let her be a teacher."

He glanced at Harry again, seeming to be waiting for something. Harry closed his eyes for a second. "Well, if Malfoy is with the Death Eaters and war is coming," he muttered, "maybe she was right for once."

He opened his eyes to see both of his friends staring at him, Ron looking disappointed and slightly hurt, Hermione worried and unhappy. He felt a brief stab of guilt, but ignored it. It's only the truth, he thought, they need to face up to it sometime. Then Madam Hooch arrived, and he was able to turn his back on their silent accusations.

"The Magical Transportation NEWT consists of two elements, Apparating and the creation of Portkeys." Madam Hooch's voice was clear and carrying, but Harry's eyes strayed to the window. Where was he? Why wasn't he here yet? "The first half of the course is concerned largely with the theory and practice of Apparating; however, you would do well to begin to study the theory of Portkeys in your own time this year, since it's a very complex and difficult charm." Harry found himself drifting away from what Madam Hooch was telling them about the complexities of the safe and instantaneous transportation of large objects over long distances. Maybe if he'd been able to master Portkey creation today, then the three of them would have been able to get away, but as it was, it was too late for that.

-----

Harry was half-way to the Gryffindor common room when he realised that someone was shouting his name. He turned in surprise to see Ron come running up to him, followed a moment later by Hermione, breathing heavily. "Harry," panted Ron. "Where on Earth are you going?"

"The common room," Harry said, wondering what was so confusing about that. His two friends exchanged glances.

"But Harry," Hermione said carefully, "what about lunch?"

It was lunchtime, of course. Why had he thought it was time to go back to the tower?

"Harry," Ron said warily, "you've really got to sort yourself out, mate. You're acting like a total nutter."

Hermione shot him an angry glance, but at that moment they were interrupted by an loud whistling sound. Harry started, his nerves jangling. Is this it? Is it time? He looked around the corridor, trying to locate the source of the noise, and looked back to see Ron holding his new Sneakoscope in the palm of his hand. It was whizzing round at great speed, the torchlight sparkling off its moving surfaces. Harry frowned, but at that moment they heard voices and footsteps coming towards them.

"Quick," Hermione hissed, and dragged them through the nearest door; it led to an empty classroom, the silent desks shrouded in dust-sheets. "Shut that thing up," she whispered fiercely at Ron, who wrapped the Sneakoscope in his Gryffindor scarf and stuffed it back in his pocket.

The footsteps came closer, and paused right outside the door, which was still slightly ajar. The three of them stood listening in the dark classroom, hardly daring to breathe.

"My dear madam," said a man's voice, and Ron looked at Harry and mouthed the word 'Dumbledore', "let me assure you that we are doing our utmost-"

He was cut off by a bark of laughter that was anything but infectious. "Let me assure you, my dear Dumbledore," said a woman's voice with deep sarcasm, "that whatever it is you are doing, it is not sufficient. Let me also remind you that as headmaster of this school, you have a duty to ensure the safety of the children here. I wouldn't call allowing my son to be abducted from your care doing your utmost anything, would you?"

"If I might interject," Dumbledore's voice came again. "We have yet to ascertain whether young Master Malfoy left Hogwarts of his own volition-"

This time there was no laughter, and when the woman spoke again, her voice was cold enough to send a shiver down Harry's spine. "Are you suggesting that my son ran away?"

"I am not suggesting anything at this stage," Dumbledore said carefully. "But it would not be the first time a child has run away from this school."

There was a pause, in which Harry could almost feel the air temperature drop below zero. Then the woman spoke.

"Draco always said that you played favourites. I didn't want to believe it, but now I see that it was true. His father was right, we should have sent him to Durmstrang." There was a swirl of material against the door, and suddenly the three of them pulled back as a tall figure dressed in black passed in front of the gap. She paused, just out of sight. "You had better find my son, Dumbledore," she said, her voice very calm, "or I shall see that you live to regret it."

Her footsteps receded down the corridor. There was a moment of silence, then they heard a heavy sigh, and Dumbledore shuffled away in the other direction. Harry allowed himself to relax.

"Well," said Ron, shaking his head, "I guess Malfoy inherited his charming personality from both sides of his family."

"She doesn't know," Harry muttered to himself, wondering what this new information might signify. "She doesn't know where he is."

"Not quite," said Hermione, raising an eyebrow. The two of them stared at her, and she pointed at Ron's pocket. "The Sneakoscope," she said. "Narcissa Malfoy was lying about not knowing where her son is."

Ron pulled out the bundle of scarf and unwrapped it. The Sneakoscope was silent now. He looked up, shaking his head. "But why come all the way here to read Dumbledore the riot act if she knows where he is?" he asked. "Unless she just enjoys shouting at people," he added thoughtfully.

Harry was shaking his head, too. "It's a diversion," he said. "She wants everyone to think she doesn't know."

"But why?" Ron asked again. "If an army of Death Eaters is heading this way at this very moment, why bother with all the secrecy?"

"I don't know," Harry muttered, staring at the bar of yellow light that filtered in from the corridor. "But she's up to something."

-----

They found out what she was up to the next morning at breakfast, when a barn owl swooped down onto the table in front of Hermione and dropped her copy of The Daily Prophet into the dish of marmalade. Hermione, tutting, picked up the newspaper and brushed off stray chunks of orange, then gasped and spread it out in front of her. "Harry, Ron," she hissed, "look."

Harry craned his neck round to see the headline. 'Student Abducted From Hogwarts', the front page screamed. 'Dumbledore "Unsympathetic"'.

"'One of the wizarding world's most promising youngsters disappeared from his bed at Hogwarts on Monday'," Hermione read out loud. "'The young man's mother, who wished to remain anonymous, was highly distraught at the apparent abduction of her son."

Ron snorted loudly. "Course she wants to remain anonymous. Wouldn't do much for her credibility if they knew that hubby dearest was an escaped Death Eater now, would it?"

Hermione ignored him. "'I went to the school to ask the headmaster what he was doing to find my son, and he accused my poor boy of running away to cause trouble,' said the boy's mother. 'I'm amazed that a man of his cruelty is entrusted with the care of so many of our children.' The boy, who is in his sixth year at Hogwarts, is one of the brightest and most popular children at the school.'"

Ron choked on his cornflakes at this, turning bright red. "Malfoy? Bright? I've seen brighter things in my dad's cellar at the dead of night."

Hermione glared at him. "Ron, you might take this seriously," she said.

Ron shook his head. "Oh, come on, Hermione, no-one's going to take this seriously. Everyone knows Malfoy's just done a runner."

But Harry was fighting a growing nervousness. "Maybe we know," he said, "but not everyone will. This is another attempt to discredit Dumbledore. If they can get him away from Hogwarts, it'll be that much easier for Voldemort to attack."

Hermione and Ron exchanged glances, then Ron cleared his throat. "Well, what else is there apart from that load of rubbish?"

Hermione turned the page hastily, scanning through the headlines. "Nothing much," she said, flicking through a few more pages. "Wizards at Cambridge working on a new type of power-transfer charm, one of the Puddlemere United players has a new haircut..." She stopped suddenly, turning pale. "Oh," she whispered.

"What is it?" Harry asked, craning his neck round further. Hermione looked up at him with an expression of horror. "Nothing," she said in an odd voice, and tried to pull the newspaper away, but Ron's elbows were leaning on the edge, and before she could cover it up Harry saw the headline: 'Sirius Black Declared Officially Dead.'

-----

Remus Lupin sat back from the breakfast table and stared at the Daily Prophet headline. The small article was illustrated with the familiar picture of Sirius on his way to Azkaban, face filthy, hair and beard wild and unkempt. Lupin closed his eyes, feeling ill, then swept the paper to the floor. That was it, then.

He sat for a long time at the table, staring at nothing. He had done his best to make the house, Sirius' old house, as comfortable as possible, but now the shadows and cobwebs seemed to have crept back into the corners, and the light filtering through the kitchen window seemed once more grey and dirty. Of course, he had known Sirius was never coming back. Had known it, the full horror of it, from the moment he had seen him fall through the veil, overconfident and reckless as usual. At any other time he might have found that look of astonishment on his face amusing; it was the one he always wore when one of his clever schemes went awry. Sirius, if only you hadn't always been so damn arrogant.

The memory was bitter, and he tried to push it away. Rising, he went to the drawing room, seeking a way to forget about the finality of those words. They were nothing but print on a page, ephemeral, tomorrow they would be wrapping fish and chips in Diagon Alley; yet they meant the end of a hope that Lupin had not even known he felt.

There was something he had to do, though, now. He should have done it before, but somehow it had never felt like the right time. Opening a drawer in a great, old chest-of-drawers made of some dark wood, he began to sort through Sirius' private papers.

-----

It was some time before he found what he was looking for. It was just under a picture of the four of them, Sirius and James handsome and smiling, waving at him from the centre of the picture, and himself and Peter on either side of them, smiling too. He felt his legs tremble suddenly, and had to sit down on one of the unpleasantly spiky-looking drawing-room chairs. They all looked so happy. And now...

Getting to his feet, he thrust the picture into the back of the drawer, making a silent vow to himself to come back and face it later, and pulled out the thick envelope from underneath it. It was unmarked, but nonetheless Lupin knew immediately what it was. He closed his eyes for a moment, preparing himself, then tore the envelope open and removed a sheaf of papers, his eyes going to the first paragraph. I, Sirius Black, he read, being of sound mind and body...

-----

"Mr. Potter, a word?"

Harry, who had almost succeeded in making it out of the potions classroom without Snape calling him back, looked round with a mixture of indifference and dread. He had been waiting for the inevitable all through the lesson, aware of Snape's beady eyes watching him as he fumbled his way through simple procedures in a fog of grief, spilling essence of marigold all over the desk when he thought he heard a dog barking outside the window and losing Gryffindor five points for failing to answer a question directed at him. Snape had still said nothing about his absence from Monday's class, but he knew, in a distant way, that it was coming. He knew, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Everything was falling apart.

He was aware that Ron and Hermione had stopped too, in the doorway, and wished they hadn't. He was tired of their concern, tired of being treated as if he might break if they said the wrong thing; he was broken already. But Snape wasn't looking at them; his eyes bored into Harry's as if he was trying to see all the way through his skull, and he was just opening his mouth to speak, an expression of grim triumph on his pinched features, when there was a stir and a slight cough behind Harry. The potion master's eyes flicked up, then narrowed.

"Professor Lupin," he grated, his lips curling into a sneer. "What an... unexpected surprise."

Harry turned sharply. Lupin stood in the doorway, smiling amiably at Snape. "Hello Severus," he said, as if he had just wandered in for a cup of tea. "I wonder if I could borrow Harry for a moment?"

Snape's mouth compressed into a thin line. "I wasn't aware that you were still in the employ of Hogwarts," he said, almost spitting the words.

Lupin didn't seem affected in the slightest by Snape's obvious hostility. "Well, no, Severus, you know I'm not. I just popped in to have a word with Harry." He paused, waiting, but Snape, glaring at him murderously, said nothing. "It is rather important," Lupin added.

If looks could kill, Lupin would have been dead several times over; but as it was, Snape clenched his jaw so tightly that the muscles stood out against his sallow skin and made the smallest of gestures, that Harry took to be permission to leave. He didn't need to be told a second time; he was almost out of the door when Snape spoke between gritted teeth.

"I'm not finished with you Potter," he ground out. "I'll see you in detention tomorrow."

Harry paused for a moment. "Yes, Professor Snape," he said without turning round, then stepped out of the classroom.

-----

"I suppose you've seen The Daily Prophet?"

Harry looked up, surprised at such a direct question. Lupin was smiling at him sadly. They had walked half-way around the lake without speaking, and the wind was cold enough to make Harry shiver, though the sun shone from a cloudless sky.

"Yes, I've seen it," he said dully. Ron and Hermione hadn't mentioned it again since breakfast. As if it was so easy for him to forget.

"It's difficult, I know," Lupin said, slowing his pace and staring across the water to where Hogwarts rose. Harry kicked a stone into the water and tried to fight the burning sensation in his throat. He had long since given up trying to research ways in which Sirius might come back, and yet...

"Harry," Lupin said, coming to a stop, his face serious now. "There's something I need to talk to you about."

Harry stopped too, looking out across the sparkling water rather than see the pity on Lupin's face. "What is it?"

"Sirius' will."

Harry was surprised enough to look sharply at the older man, and he saw no pity there, only understanding. He looked away quickly. "I didn't know he had one."

Lupin nodded. "I found it among his papers, along with this." He removed a sheaf of paper and a thin, cloth-wrapped object from the pocket of his robes. He handed the latter to Harry. "I think he wanted you to have it," he said quietly.

Harry unwrapped the bundle and felt his heart sink; a flash of light gleamed off the surface of a small mirror, identical to the one Sirius had given him the year before. If you ever need to speak to me, he had said, say my name. He looked into the mirror desperately, but it reflected only his own face.

Lupin had unfolded the sheaf of paper. "He left almost everything to you, Harry. The house in Grimmauld Place, the furniture-"

Harry, still staring at his face in the mirror, felt the burning sensation in his throat become almost too much to bear. He swallowed, hard. "Sell it," he whispered, hating himself as he heard his voice crack.

Lupin paused. "I know how difficult this must be-"

"How could you know?" Harry screamed suddenly, surprising himself as well as Lupin. "How could you? You've never lost everyone you ever cared about!"

He was glaring straight at Lupin now, breathing heavily. The older man held his gaze for a long moment. "Is that what you think, Harry?" he asked finally, his voice quiet.

Harry looked away, staring down at the mirror once again, not wanting to care. "Sell everything," he repeated, without emotion, then thrust the mirror into his pocket, turned, and began to walk away as fast as he could. He heard Lupin call after him, but he couldn't make out the words. He didn't look back until he reached the castle, and then he saw the small, dark figure on the other side of the lake raise its hand as if in farewell. He made no gesture in return, but turned and climbed the steps, passing inside through the great oak doors.

-----

Lupin saw Harry pause and look back, and raise his hand, trying to show the boy there was no hard feelings. He didn't know whether Harry saw him, but at any rate he didn't return the gesture, but disappeared into the castle. Lupin sighed, looking down at the papers in his hand and the paragraph he had really wanted to speak to Harry about. Perhaps today was not the right day to tell him, after all. Perhaps he had been selfish, coming here so soon. In some ways, it was lucky he hadn't had a chance to get on to the real subject of his visit; God knew, he didn't want Harry thinking he was trying to replace Sirius.

Sighing, he read the paragraph through once more. With regards to my guardianship of Harry James Potter, son of the late James and Lily Potter, on the occasion of my death I pass this solemn duty to Remus John Lupin, of 12 Grimmauld Place, London. With a last look back at the castle, Lupin thrust the sheaf of paper back into his pocket and turned away.

-----

Harry ran up the stairs to the portrait that led to the Gryffindor common room. "Hinkypunk," he said, then looked round sharply, thinking he had heard someone nearby snigger. There was no-one in the corridor, and Harry was in no mood to go investigating, so he stepped through the hole and strode through the empty common room to the stairs that led to the dormitory. Once there, he flung open his trunk lid and dug around inside, until his fingers closed on a thin hard bundle wrapped in soft cloth. Straightening, he unwrapped the mirror that Sirius had given him, and stared at his own angry, pale face reflected in the glass.

"Sirius," he said. "Sirius." He heard his voice echo back at him from his pocket, and pulled out the mirror Lupin had given him. "Sirius," he whispered, and the image of him that was reflected in the second mirror whispered it too, a moment later.

Harry sank down to sit on the bed, feeling something inside him break. He stared at the wall, the patches of sunlight reflected off the lake playing across the bare stone. It was beautiful.

He leapt to his feet, turning to face the opposite wall, the one above his bed, that was dark and cold like stone should be. Feeling rage overwhelm him, he flung the mirror that Lupin had brought towards the wall, and for good measure he pointed his wand at it and yelled, "REDUCTO!" The mirror smashed into a thousand glittering pieces, scattering across the bed and the floor. Harry stared, somewhat shocked at the force of his own anger, which had now receded once more into dull misery. He remembered Ron and Hermione, looking so wary and worried, and Lupin, tired and sad, and a wave of guilt made him feel nauseous. Savagely, he turned away from the mess. The house elves would clean it up.

-----

"What? You told him to sell the house? Harry, how could you?"

Harry looked up in surprise at Hermione's tone. It was the first time she'd spoken to him in that reproachful way of hers for days. He frowned.

"Why would I want to keep it?" he asked. "Sirius always hated the place, and I can see why. It's a miserable old dump."

"Yeah," Ron broke in, "but that's where the Order have their headquarters. It's really useful."

Harry hadn't thought of that, but he didn't have time to consider it before Hermione sighed impatiently.

"It's also where Professor Lupin lives. If you sell the house he'll be homeless."

Harry found himself staring across the Great Hall at all the students laughing and eating; Theodore Knott was hurrying in late with Pansy Parkinson, who looked like she might have been crying; at the Ravenclaw table Cho and her friends were giggling at something. He tried to imagine Lupin homeless, but could not. He could take care of himself, couldn't he? He always had before. He turned back to the table, and took a large swig of pumpkin juice to avoid Hermione's glare. "I'll tell him I didn't mean it," he muttered, feeling put-upon.

"Good," Hermione replied, but she was snappish and difficult for the rest of the evening, and Harry was glad to escape to the dormitory. To be honest, he was feeling completely exhausted, unsurprisingly given the amount of sleep he had been having recently. His limbs felt heavy and numb, and he barely had the energy to shrug his pyjamas on and notice that the shards of the broken mirror had indeed been cleared away before he fell into bed and into a deep, dreamless sleep.

-----

He didn't know where he was.

That was the first thing that came to his mind when he surfaced, tendrils of sleep still clinging to him and trying to drag him back down into warm darkness. But the feeling of cold stone beneath his head was not a dream, and it brought him rushing back to himself more surely than a bucket of water or an insistent alarm.

Stone.

He didn't open his eyes, feeling that he should try and assess the situation in as much detail as possible before he let anyone who might be watching know he was awake. Part of him was surprised that he was thinking so clearly: it was the part of him that knelt some distance away, stomach twisted in panic; but he pushed that part away, forcing himself to be careful and analytical.

So. He was lying on a flat stone surface. He could feel it, unyielding and gritty, under the back of his head. One of his arms was outstretched, and his hand was cold where it touched the stone. The air was cold too, though no colder than was usual in the dormitories in winter. For a moment, he wondered if he were simply lying on the floor of the dormitory having fallen out of bed; but something told him that that was not the case.

He concentrated, trying to remember if anything unusual had happened before he had gone to bed. Hermione had been angry, he had been exhausted, someone had cleared up the mirror. Voldemort still had not struck. It had been no more unusual than any other day in recent weeks.

There was nothing more he could glean; no sounds, no smells, no memory of how he had come to be wherever it was that he was. It was time to take the plunge. Drawing a deep breath, he opened his eyes to see a ceiling, made of something that looked like concrete, some eight feet above him. Nothing happened, and so he sat up cautiously, to see a featureless wall made of the same material a few feet ahead. Then he froze, every nerve twanging, as he heard a familiar drawling voice behind him.

"Well, Potter, I see you've decided to rejoin the land of the living."

He turned, horrified, to see Draco Malfoy smirking at him from the corner of what he now realised could only be a cell. That hated face twisted into an ugly expression, half scowl, half sarcastic smile. "For the time being, at least," he added.