Slouching Towards Bethlehem

Slouching Towards Bethlehem

Chapter Three: What Rough Beast

Harry was on his feet in an instant, reaching into his back pocket for his wand. It wasn't there; not only that, he didn't even have a back pocket. He was still wearing his pyjamas.

He kept his hand behind him, although Malfoy must have known that he didn't have his wand. "Malfoy," he said, as calmly as he could. "What are you doing here?"

Malfoy didn't move. His mouth was still twisted into a sneer, but something about him seemed different. "I could ask you the same thing, Potter. But I won't, because I'm not in the habit of asking bloody stupid questions."

Harry shook his head, which still seemed to be full of sleepy cobwebs even though he was wide awake now, trying to understand what on Earth was going on. It was what he'd been waiting for ever since Malfoy had disappeared - even ever since Voldemort had got his body back. So why didn't the scheming little bastard make his move? He's trying to unnerve me, he thought. He knows that waiting is the worst part. He hated to admit it, but the evil git was succeeding.

"Come on then," Harry spat, trying to change his fear into anger. "You've been waiting for this long enough. Do whatever it is you brought me here to do."

Malfoy looked him up and down and raised an eyebrow. Harry became uncomfortably aware that his pyjamas were made of white flannel and had a pattern of smiling hippogriffs - Mrs. Weasley had given them to him for his birthday. Malfoy, on the other hand, was dressed in what looked like a very expensive green silk suit, kind of Chinese-y looking. Why is he wearing that? Harry wondered, feeling somewhat detached from proceedings, but Malfoy's voice interrupted his train of thought. "That was absolutely pathetic, Potter," he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "Was that supposed to be an example of the famous Gryffindor courage? I can't say I'm impressed. But then, why would I be impressed by a Muggle-loving freak like you? Oh dear!" His sarcastic smile broadened slightly, though his face seemed paler than usual. "Did I scare the poor little hero?"

Harry realised he was trembling; but it was anger, not fear, that was causing the tremors. "Shut up, Malfoy, you inbred idiot," he snarled. I know what you're up to, so just give it up." He straightened up, raising his chin. "Come on, give it your best shot."

Malfoy straightened too, but didn't move from his corner, and the scornful amusement on his face was replaced by a scowling mixture of anger and something else, that Harry couldn't quite identify. "I'd love to, you total and utter moron," he said, very clearly. "I'd come over there and wipe that look off your speccy little face, if I wasn't chained. To. The. Wall."

-----

"Where's Harry?"

Ron sighed and sat down. His head felt thick, as if he hadn't slept, though he'd fallen asleep immediately after dinner the night before. The last thing he needed was to deal with the third degree from Hermione.

"He'd already left when I got up," he said, reaching for some toast. "I suppose that means he's gone off in a strop again."

Dean Thomas slumped into the seat next to Ron and groaned. "I feel terrible," he muttered. Ron shot him a sympathetic look.

Hermione was not about to be distracted, however. "Ron, can't you be a little more sympathetic?"

Ron shook his head. "Actually no, I can't," he said shortly. "I'm really not in the mood this morning. If he wants to go off and sulk, let him. He'll come back when he's ready."

Hermione looked shocked, and opened her mouth, but Ron raised his hand wearily. "Please, Hermione. You're making my head hurt."

-----

Lupin rubbed his eyes and sighed. He hadn't slept well, and had been up before dawn, sitting at the table in the gloomy kitchen reading, and trying to ignore the will that lay accusingly on the dresser. Now it was finally late enough for him to have breakfast without feeling ridiculous, but he found he had little appetite. There was a meeting of the Order that night to prepare for, to discuss the Malfoy problem, and then it was full moon next Saturday so he would have to go up to Hogwarts for the third time that week to ask Snape to brew the Wolfsbane potion, since he hadn't been able to find him the day before after talking to Harry. And since he would be there anyway, there would be nothing to stop him from talking to Harry about - everything. Lupin had resolved the night before that he would speak to Harry again before putting the house on the market. He knew the boy would need some time to adjust to the idea that he owned it now; privately, though, he didn't think Harry would change his mind. The house had resisted all efforts to make it even slightly comfortable, and whenever the portrait in the hall woke up and screamed at Lupin, both for being a mudblood and a Dark Creature, he felt the urge to burn the place to the ground. It would have to be sold to a member of the Order though. Lupin carefully didn't think about what he was going to do when it was.

Then there were the other matters. His first instinct had been to arrange Sirius' memorial by himself - it wasn't as if Harry didn't have enough on his plate. But then he had decided he ought to at least give the boy the option of being in on the proceedings; Harry had not known Sirius for long, but he had been one of the most important people in his life. And then there was... Lupin turned a page in the newspaper that he wasn't really reading, and carefully didn't look over to the dresser. Maybe it was still to early for that. He tried, for the hundredth time since he had returned from Hogwarts the day before, to forget the cold tone of Harry's voice at their last meeting. When he was ready, he would accept Lupin as his guardian. Lupin could never replace James or Sirius, but he could be... He could be... Throwing down the newspaper in exasperation, Lupin went to make some tea.

-----

"Chained... to the wall?" Harry stared at Malfoy doubtfully. The other boy rolled his eyes and jerked his right hand up; metal glinted at his wrist, and something heavy-sounding clanked, hidden by the full sleeve of what Harry belatedly realised were silk pyjamas.

"You didn't think I was hanging around in a freezing cold cell for my own amusement, did you?" he snapped. "Honestly, Potter, I know you're not very bright, but do try to keep up."

Harry felt the anger that had been dissipated by his surprise begin to stir again. He forced it away. "But you ran away!"

Malfoy looked horrified for a moment. "Is that what they're saying?"

Harry nodded slowly. "Yeah... Everyone says you ran away to meet up with your father."

Malfoy sank to the ground, and Harry suddenly identified the emotion he'd been seeing in the other boy's face: it was fear. "So they're not coming to find me," he muttered, and brushed a stray lock of blond hair from his eyes. Harry noticed that his face was none too clean, and his hair looked greasy.

"Dumbledore's been trying to find you," he said, remembering the conversation he had overheard the day before, but deciding not to mention the part about Dumbledore not being sure that Malfoy had been abducted.

"Dumbledore!" The other boy spat. "That old fool! He couldn't find his arse with both hands."

Harry scowled, but Malfoy wasn't watching him. "My father will find me," he said, as if to himself. "He will!" This time he looked up, and stared at Harry, as if hoping for confirmation.

"Well," Harry started, thinking that he really hoped Lucius didn't find them. "Maybe Ron and Hermione-"

"Oh for God's sake, Potter!" Malfoy yelled, and looked like he would get back on his feet, but sank back onto the floor. "You and your troop of bloody Girl Guides! How the Hell d'you think that ginger twat and his mudblood girlfriend are going to get us out of here? Even you can't be that deluded, Gryffindor or no."

Harry closed his eyes and counted slowly to ten. It was going to be a long day.

-----

"Right, now I'm really worried."

When are you anything else, these days? Ron wondered, looking at Hermione's anxious face. "Harry's been skipping classes all term," he said, but without conviction. He was worried too. He'd been down to the lake to check all his friend's favourite brooding-spots, but he had been nowhere to be found. "We'll ask Dumbledore after lunch," he decided.

But it wasn't Dumbledore they found first, it was Lupin. He was just arriving in the entrance hall as Ron and Hermione exited the Great Hall, and smiled broadly as he waved them over.

"Hello, you two," he said. "How are you both? Where's Harry?"

Ron and Hermione looked at each other.

"We don't know," Ron blurted out.

"Oh Professor Lupin, it's terrible!" cried Hermione at the same time.

Lupin looked from one to the other, his smile fading. "What do you mean?" he asked slowly.

"He's missing," Hermione said in a sobbing kind of voice.

Lupin looked sharply at Ron. "Is this true?" he asked urgently. Ron just nodded slowly.

Lupin became very pale. If Ron had not been convinced before that Harry was really missing, he was now; he had expected Lupin to laugh at them, or ask them for evidence, the way that adults always did when confronted with one of their discoveries. But instead he just reached out and gripped Ron's arm with one hand and Hermione's with the other.

"This is very important," he said carefully. "When did you last see him?"

Hermione looked at Ron, who shifted uncomfortably under the intensity of Lupin's stare. "Last night," he said, feeling the grip on his arm begin to become painful. "When we went to bed. He must have got up early this morning, the rest of us slept late."

Lupin stared at him for another long moment, and Ron looked away, feeling colour rise to his face. Then, the older man straightened up and released them both. Hermione rubbed her arm, looking a little afraid. Lupin rubbed a hand over his face, suddenly looking very old. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"It's all right," Hermione whispered. "What are we going to do about Harry?"

"You two will not do anything," Lupin said firmly, seeming to recover his composure. "I know you're worried, but you need to let us adults deal with this." He looked from one to the other. "If you find out anything, you must come to me or Professor Dumbledore immediately, don't go off on your own trying to be heroes. Understood?"

Ron nodded a little shame-facedly, wondering if Lupin was psychic. Beside him, Hermione said "yes" in a very small voice.

Lupin nodded, seeming satisfied. "I'm going to speak with Professor Dumbledore about this now," he said. "I'll keep you updated as far as possible." He started to walk away, but paused and turned. "We'll find him, don't worry," he said, in a reassuring tone, but Ron was sure that Hermione too must have noticed the tension around his eyes.

-----

"Right," said Hermione breathlessly. "We can do a Locator spell."

They were hurrying through the Gryffindor common room; everyone else was still downstairs, and there were only ten minutes to go before lessons started. Hermione had gone haring off the moment Lupin was out of sight, and Ron had had to almost run to catch up with her. Now, she glanced quickly around the empty room and started up the stairs to the boys' dormitories.

"Hermione!" Ron cried, aghast. There was no answer but the sound of her footsteps echoing on stone, however, and so, after a moment of speechless astonishment, he followed after her. She was already in the 6^th year dormitory when he arrived, and going through Harry's trunk.

"What are you doing?" Ron asked, somewhat disgruntled that the stairs didn't turn into a slide for girls trying to get into the boys' dormitories.

"Trying to find something with his DNA on it," Hermione replied, rummaging around in the trunk. "Help me, will you?"

Ron just stared for a moment. Hermione pulled a small, round mirror out of the trunk and stared at it for a moment; then, becoming aware that Ron had not moved, she looked up in surprise. "Ron? Do you want to find Harry or not?"

Still having no idea what was going on, Ron stepped forward nervously and fingered a comb on Harry's dresser. "Right. So what does this deeyenay look like, then?"

Hermione sighed in exasperation. "You know, like a hair or a bit of his skin. Like for the Polyjuice potion."

"Oh. You mean like this?" Ron held up the comb, which had three or four long black hairs caught in it.

Hermione stood up with a triumphant smile. "Exactly!" She reached over and took the comb.

"Are you going to tell me what this is all about now?" Ron asked, wondering if he really wanted to know. "We told Lupin we wouldn't do anything."

"We're not going to do anything dangerous," Hermione said, looking a little shifty. "We're just going to see if we can find out where Harry is. So we can tell Professor Dumbledore and Professor Lupin."

Ron stared at her. "Hermione, is this against school rules? We're prefects, remember?"

Hermione blushed. "No," she said obstinately. "There's nothing in the rules about Locator spells."

"But Dumbledore wouldn't want us to be doing one, would he?" Ron asked shrewdly.

Hermione scowled. "Since when do you care about the rules anyway?" she snapped.

Ron grinned. "I don't. I'm just amazed you've finally come round to my point of view."

"Yes, well, Harry's in trouble..." Hermione trailed off, frowning. "Did you hear something?"

Ron shook his head. "Like what?"

"Shh!" Hermione cocked her head to one side, seeming to be listening intently. "There it is again!"

But this time Ron had heard it - a tiny voice, calling his name.

-----

Harry peered up at the corner of the ceiling, which looked slightly crumbly. He stretched and jumped, but couldn't reach it. Cursing the loss of his wand, not for the first time, he slumped down on the floor; the uneasy silence that had been reigning in the cell for some time now was beginning to make him nervous. Just my luck, to get stuck in a confined space with Draco Malfoy, of all people, he thought bitterly. And I thought this week was going badly already. But there was no way around it: stuck he was, and he was going to have to make the best of it. He cleared his throat.

"So, I don't suppose you've thought of a plan for escaping while you've been here?" he asked, doing his best to sound casual and, if not friendly, at least neutral.

Malfoy lifted his head and stared at Harry with something akin to astonished contempt. "What part of chained to the wall didn't you understand, Potter?" he snapped. "I'm not exactly going to be climbing out of any windows. Even if there were any."

"Oh, right," Harry muttered, feeling stupid. After an uncomfortable pause, he frowned. "Why aren't I chained to the wall?" he wondered out loud.

Malfoy gave an weary-sounding sigh. "I don't know. Maybe they know you're an idiot so they're not worried about you finding a way out."

Harry felt his fists clench. "Look," he said shortly, "I don't like this any more than you do, but the fact is, we're stuck in here together. We might as well at least try and be civil to each other."

Malfoy lip curled in another one of his ever-present sneers. "Civil, eh? Did you learn that word from your buck-toothed girlfriend?"

But Harry wasn't listening. He could hear something strange, like tiny voices, just on the edge of his hearing. They seemed to be coming from the breast pocket of his pyjamas.

"Are you listening to me, Potter?" Malfoy demanded in a querulous voice, but Harry held up his hand for silence. They were definitely voices, and they sounded familiar. He reached apprehensively into his breast pocket, then withdrew his hand rapidly. "Ow," he muttered. Something had bitten him, and blood was welling up on the tip of his forefinger. The voices continued, though, as if a television had been left on in the next room. Frowning, and ignoring Malfoy's stare, Harry pulled the lip of his pocket open and peered inside cautiously. A gleam of silver flashed at him from a flat surface. He reached in, carefully avoiding the sharp edges, and withdrew a sliver of silvery glass, from which the voices, louder now, were emanating. It was what was left of the mirror that Lupin had given him the day before.

-----

"It's coming from the mirror," said Ron, staring at the smooth silvery surface with some apprehension. Hermione looked down sharply at her hands - she had forgotten she was holding the mirror, but now, to her astonishment, she saw that although her face was still reflected in it, there was an odd shaped gap in the centre, in which she could see part of a green eye.

"Harry?" she breathed. The eye blinked.

"Hermione!" the tiny voice cried, and although it was very quiet, Hermione could tell that Harry was yelling.

"Harry," she cried. "Harry, where are you?"

The reply was broken, like talking across a long-distance telephone wire. "I...know... cold...and there's..."

"Harry!" Hermione was aware that Ron had come to stand behind her and was staring over her shoulder in astonishment. "We can't hear you very well."

The eye blinked again, and for a moment it disappeared, replaced with a glimpse of ear and a wisp of untidy black hair. Then it was back. Whatever Harry said next was unintelligible, distorted and wracked by bursts of what Hermione would have said was static if it wasn't obviously magical. Only two words stood out clearly. "Malfoy's here."

Ron made a sort of growling noise in his throat, and Hermione was about to tell him to stop being ridiculous, when the strange fragment of Harry in the mirror disappeared without a trace. "Harry," Hermione cried again, and shook the mirror, as if that might somehow help. But only her own face stared back out at her, looked pale and tired. For a moment she felt all the worry and anxiety of the last few weeks well up inside her, and she thought she would burst into tears. Then she took a deep breath. There was no time for histrionics; Harry needed them. Somewhere down below, the bell rang. She looked up at Ron, who was still gaping at the mirror.

"Come to Myrtle's bathroom at break-time," she said quickly. Then she thrust the mirror into her bag, and raced out of the room.

-----

"Hermione! HERMIONE!" Harry heard his voice crack. The fragment of mirror remained silent, reflecting nothing but part of his own face. Hermione was gone.

He leaned back against the wall with a heavy sigh, then slid slowly to the ground. His head still felt thick and woolly, and his stomach burned with frustration. Across the room, Malfoy was watching him with narrowed eyes. "What are you looking at?" he snapped, suddenly feeling that this was somehow all Malfoy's fault. What if it was all a trick?

Malfoy didn't drop his gaze. "So I suppose you think that Granger's going to come and save you now," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Since she's so clever and she managed to find a way to talk to you."

"Why don't you just leave Hermione alone?" Harry said, feeling anger beginning to rise in his guts. "She's cleverer than twenty of you."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Well, that's lucky for you then, isn't it, Potter? Lucky your girlfriend is around to rescue you."

Harry found that he was on his feet. "She's not my girlfriend!" he shouted, feeling his hands clench into fists by his side.

"Oh yes," Malfoy said airily, inspecting the fingernails of his unchained hand, "I remember. You broke up. Even a buck-toothed mudblood like her prefers that idiot Weasley to the fabulous Harry Potter. What was the problem there?" His face split in a knowing leer. "Not man enough for her?"

Harry took a step forward. "Shut up, Malfoy! We didn't break up! I mean," he backtracked as he saw Malfoy's leer widen, "we were never going out!" He resisted the urge to break open that pale, smiling face.

"Oh really?" Malfoy sneered. "Then why have you been moping around like a wet paper bag all term? It's a wonder your so-called friends put up with you at all, the way you've been acting. Honestly," his smile twitched slightly, and a malicious gleam came into his eyes, "anyone would think your dog had just died."

Something broke inside Harry, and all the rage and horror and frustration and hatred of the last few months came swirling out in thick, dark waves. He felt himself rushing forward, and only one thought was clear through the muddle of emotions in his head.

He was going to kill Draco Malfoy.

-----

The second floor girls' bathroom was even gloomier than Ron had remembered. Somewhere, he could here the echoing sound of Myrtle sobbing. Hermione was sitting in the middle of the tiled floor, a cauldron already bubbling over a blue-flamed magical fire beside her. She looked up as Ron entered, and smiled tightly.

"What's this all about, then?" Ron asked, sitting next to her, feeling somehow comforted to know that Hermione had a plan.

Hermione pulled the comb from her pocket, carefully removed one of Harry's hairs, and dropped it into the cauldron. The mixture inside, which had been a yellowish-green, began to turn black.

"It's simple, really," she said, stirring slowly. "The potion locates the owner of the DN- of the hair. We're not supposed to study it till next year, but I don't know why, it's not that hard."

Ron resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 'Not that hard' for Hermione probably meant years of study for anyone else. "How does it locate them?" he asked.

As an answer, Hermione pulled a rolled-up scroll out of her school bag and spread it out on the floor, holding the corners down with various of her books. It was a map of Britain, the place names marked in spidery writing, with tiny moving sea-monsters attacking ships off the coasts. She took a teaspoon and spooned up a small amount of the potion, then dropped it on the map. As Ron watched, the drop of black liquid rolled into a ball and began to roll around the map, as if searching for something. He glanced at Hermione - she was watching the proceedings with fierce concentration, biting her lip. Looking back at the map, Ron saw that the ball was still rolling, but its movement was more methodical now; it covered every inch of the map, from northernmost Scotland right down to the tip of Cornwall. Then it stopped for an instant, and then sank into the parchment and disappeared, as if it had never been there.

Hermione gave a sigh of disappointment. Ron looked at her. "What does that mean?"

She shook her head. "It didn't work," she said, disconsolately. "They must have blocked it. I thought they probably would, but..."

"Oh." Ron felt hugely disappointed.

They sat in silence for a few moments, listening to Myrtle sobbing somewhere in the plumbing. Then Ron realised that Myrtle wasn't the only one crying. He turned to Hermione in horror, and saw that her face was streaming with tears.

"Oh Ron," she whispered. "What are we going to do?"

"Erm... There, there," said Ron awkwardly, patting Hermione on the back. He tried to think of something consoling to say, but drew a blank. "God, I'm going to kill Malfoy," he muttered, half to himself.

Hermione suddenly sat bolt upright. "That's it! Ron, you're a genius!" She gave him a hug, and he felt her cheek wet against his.

"What?" he asked, confused. "We're going to kill Malfoy?"

"No," Hermione was smiling now. "We're going to find Malfoy. They may have blocked Harry, but they won't have done it for him, because they don't know we know they're in the same place."

Ron felt a smile begin to creep over his own face. "And all we need is something with his deeyenay on it, right?"

Hermione nodded. "That's right."

Ron felt the germ of an idea begin to form. "I'm thinking Harry's Invisibility Cloak might come in handy right about now," he said.

-----

Harry could hear someone yelling - two people, actually - and he was vaguely aware that someone was hitting him ineffectually. He ignored all of that, concentrating on the savage satisfaction he felt when his fists connected with flesh. He saw Sirius' astonished face as he fell backwards through the veil, and Lupin handing him the will, and Hermione and Ron looking scared and worried, and most of all Malfoy's ugly face sneering, always sneering. All of the power within him seemed to be channelling into a single point, and he pushed the point outwards towards that smug expression.

Then he heard someone laugh. It was a horrible laugh, mirthless but full of triumph, and it sent a shiver down his spine. For a moment he stopped, looking behind him to see where the laughter was coming from. And in that moment the yelling became clearer.

"For fuck's sake, Potter, you total bastard, stop fucking hitting me!"

Harry sat back on his heels in astonishment. Malfoy was curled up on the floor, one arm dragged up by the chain around its wrist, the other gesticulating wildly as if trying to fend off blows. Which, Harry realised, was exactly what it had been doing moments before. His blows.

He felt nauseous suddenly and backed away. It wasn't that he had never fought with Malfoy before; on the contrary, physical violence had always seemed to him to be the most healthy expression of their relationship. But he knew, with a sickening certainty, that if he hadn't heard that laugh he wouldn't have stopped. He would have beaten Malfoy unconscious, maybe even killed him. He stared down at his hands, which were sore and bloody. Is that what I am? he wondered, feeling the anger recede, to be replaced with terrified astonishment. Am I capable of that?

Malfoy was uncurling and struggling into a sitting position. His green silk pyjama top was ripped at the neck, and face was heavily bruised. Blood flowed freely from his nose and a cut in his cheek. He raised his free hand to his swelling lip and touched it gingerly, wincing slightly, then spat a mouthful of blood on the floor.

"So," he said thickly, his face twisted in an expression of utter hatred and fear that made Harry feel even more sick. "I always knew you were really a coward, Potter. I never believed all this hero stuff."

Harry turned away, not wanting to look at him. It didn't stop the nagging voice in his head, though, the one that he desperately wanted to block out. The one that told him what he didn't want to hear: that not only had he beaten up a handicapped opponent; not only would he have continued to the point of causing permanent damage; but he had enjoyed it.

-----

The corridor that led to the dungeons was dank and smelled faintly of mould. Ron shifted position slightly; his feet were going numb with cold. "Where the hell are they all?" he muttered.

"Shh," hissed Hermione, digging him in the ribs with her elbow. "Someone might hear you."

Ron looked up and down the torch-lit corridor through the folds of the Invisibility Cloak. It was deserted as it had been for the last half hour. The only thing that might have heard him was a spider scuttling past on the other side. Ron suppressed a shudder.

"Dinner should have been over by now," he said, and was rewarded with another, more painful elbow in the ribs. He scowled, but then the sound of footsteps echoing on stone made him forget all about being annoyed.

Two Slytherin second year girls were heading towards them. Ron didn't know their names; one was pretty, in a wispy blond kind of way, the other plainer and somewhat annoyed-looking.

"I'm telling you, they're never going to tell us what's going on," the annoyed-looking girl said in a strident voice. "They think they're so clever, just because they're sixth-years."

"Well," the wispy girl said doubtfully, "I'm sure they'd tell us if they thought we needed to know..."

"Hah!" the other girl exploded, and Ron, whose ear had been perilously close to the source, resisted the urge to rub it and look injured. "One of our prefects is missing. I think we have a right to know. Especially if that beastly Harry Potter has anything to do with it. Chimaera," she said as an afterthought, and a section of the stone wall melted away. Ron felt Hermione grab his arm, and they dodged through the opening in the wall before it could close behind the girls, trying to make as little noise as possible.

The Slytherin common room looked much the same as it had when Ron had been in it last, during their second year. It had none of the warmth and welcoming cheer of the Gryffindor equivalent, and even the fire that burned in the stone hearth seemed cold and sickly. Hermione nudged Ron in the ribs yet again, and guided him away from where the strident girl was now holding forth about the evils of Harry Potter, towards a set of steps in the corner of the room. Ron hoped they led to the boys' dormitories and not the girls'; he didn't fancy sliding down a chute right into enemy territory.

As it happened, their luck was in. They climbed the stairs very slowly, so that their footsteps against the gritty stone would not be audible. Below, they heard the sound of other Slytherins arriving in from dinner. Ron felt his heart rate speeding up, and his stomach began to feel sick from nerves; but then they arrived at a door with a sign that read 'Seventh Years' in heavily elaborate Gothic script, and Hermione shot him a grim glance and pushed it open.

Apart from the lack of windows, the room was very similar to Ron's own dormitory. Five four-poster beds were arranged along the back wall - the room was rectangular, unlike the round one in Gryffindor tower. Each bed had green curtains, and a trunk at its foot. They walked along, reading the names; Theodore Nott. Gregory Goyle, Blaise Zabini - Draco Malfoy. Hermione stopped by the fourth bed and shrugged off the Invisibility Cloak, kneeling beside the trunk and opening it.

"A comb's probably the best bet again," she muttered to herself, then stopped in surprise. "Ron," she said, looking up, "this trunk is full."

"So?" Ron asked in a low voice. "Malfoy's got loads of gear. He's probably got an extra trunk under the bed with all the rest."

"But if he ran away," Hermione started hesitantly, "wouldn't he have taken some of it with him?"

Ron was about to answer, when they heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. Hermione's eyes widened, and she slammed the trunk shut and jumped up. Ron threw the cloak over both of them.

Just in time. A moment later the door was pushed wide, and Pansy Parkinson entered the room, her odd-looking face full of woe. She walked straight towards Ron and Hermione, and they shuffled desperately out of the way, trying not to make any noise. Pansy walked past them and sank onto Malfoy's bed, tears streaming down her cheeks. She sat there, crying silently, for what seemed like forever. Ron hardly dared breathe; he couldn't take his eyes off Pansy, even though watching her weeping seemed somehow like a violation. Under the cloak, Hermione's hand found his and squeezed, hard.

And then, Pansy wiped her eyes with an abrupt and angry gesture and stood up, scrubbing her hands over her face. She shook her head, as if silently contradicting something someone had said, and marched towards the door. As she reached it, she glanced back at Malfoy's bed, and her lower lip trembled slightly; then she turned her head sharply, and was gone.

Ron and Hermione remained still and silent for along moment. Then Ron let out the breath he had been holding. "What on Earth was that all about?" he muttered.

"I don't know," Hermione was already on her knees beside the trunk again, "but I'm not staying here to find out."

"Right," Ron said. "The sooner we get out of here, the better." But he cast a glance at the empty doorway where Pansy had looked back, and felt strange pity twist in his heart.

-----

"Right," Hermione said. "Here goes."

They were back in the bathroom on the second floor. It was dark outside the windows now, and Myrtle was obviously temporarily haunting somewhere else, because they couldn't hear her crying. The little cauldron was full of the same yellowish-green mixture that Ron had seen earlier in the day, and Hermione was plucking a fine blonde hair from her pocket. As she added it, the liquid began to turn pale silver, almost white. Hermione nodded, satisfied, and unrolled the map.

The ball of silver liquid acted the same way as the black one had earlier - it searched the map methodically, from North to South. As it neared Cornwall, Ron began to feel bitter disappointment in the pit of his stomach; it wasn't going to work. Voldemort had outwitted them. But then, when it reached Land's End and stopped, the liquid didn't disappear into the parchment; instead, it rolled back northwards, to an area in the centre of the map that was marked with inky mountains, and settled into a tiny spot that pulsed on and off like a flashing light.

"There!" Ron cried in relief. "We've got you, you slimy git!"

Hermione frowned, looking at the spot. "I'm not sure it's supposed to be flashing like that," she said doubtfully.

"Who cares," Ron said in jubilation. "That's where Harry is, and that's where we've got to go." He stood up decisively, and headed for the door.

"Ron," Hermione called after him, and he heard her get to her feet and start after him. "We can't! We promised Professor Lupin!"

Neither of them looked back as they exited the bathroom arguing, so neither of them saw the flashing silver dot begin to move southwards.

-----

"Wake up! Wake up, Potter, you bastard!"

Harry jerked out of his doze. He had no idea how long he been in the cell; the light hadn't changed at all, but then, whatever the source of it was, it was unlikely to be the sun. Malfoy was glaring at him sullenly from the other side of the room, his face technicoloured and swollen.

"What?" Harry asked, feeling sick again with the reminder of what he had done.

Malfoy gestured towards the blank wall with his free hand. "Food," he said.

Harry looked. A tray with two bowls on it was sitting by the wall, well out of Malfoy's reach. "Who brought it? How did they get in?" he asked, standing and walking over to pick up the tray.

"House Elf," Malfoy said shortly. "The wall must be enchanted." Harry stepped over to him and held out one of the bowls, but the other boy flinched away. Swallowing, Harry put the bowl and spoon down within his reach, and retreated. With a suspicious glance at him, Malfoy picked up the spoon and began to eat as fast as he could, slurping the liquid from the bowl and wincing as the spoon touched his tender lip.

Harry looked at his own bowl. The liquid inside was grey and watery, and he had no idea what it was. He had been hungry a moment before, but the sight of the so-called food put him right off. And, he realised, anything could have been added to it. He put the bowl down with a sigh.

"Aren't you going to eat that?"

Harry looked up to find Malfoy staring at his bowl with a greedy expression on his face. He had already finished his own food.

"How can you eat this stuff?" Harry asked in disgust.

Malfoy transferred his gaze from the bowl to Harry, and scowled, then winced as the expression pulled at his healing cut. "What did you expect? Steak?"

Harry shrugged and picked up the bowl. As he put it down near Malfoy, it occurred to him to wonder how long the other boy had been chained up there, and how many meals he'd had since. Then something caught his eye that chased that thought right out of his head. Eyes widening, he crossed the room in two bounds and picked up the object that lay on the floor beside where the tray had been and stared at it in wonder.

"What is it?" Malfoy asked, looking up from finishing off the second bowl of - whatever.

Harry looked up in astonishment. "It's my wand," he said.