Fugitive Prince

By March Madness

"Harry?"

"Please," he answered, voice hoarse and breathing uneven, "please, just don't talk to me."

She swallowed and backed away slowly, moving to shut the door behind her. He didn't moved once, and it was frightening to see him like that, hunched up beneath the window, staring at nothing. Just before she shut the door, the light from the hallway reflected on his eyes, the green color seeming to glow with pain. She shut the door gently, making only a small click of noise.

*

He felt strangely satisfied with the situation at large, which was strange. There was no real reason for it. When he'd been yelling, it felt more like someone was egging him on than any personal hatred Harry held against the man. Anger, yes, but never did Harry really feel anything in that extreme.

He also felt immensely bitter. Who did Sirius think he was, walking in to the school, coming to pull him out? Everything was a mockery, from Sirius's words to his own weakness in wanting to believe it, some part of it. His body almost physically ached with the sense of being torn two different ways.

Harry slowly rolled out. His muscles were getting cramped, all held together in tense agony. It had seemed, for a moment there, that his childhood memories washed over his all over again, reviving his horror at being in such close proximity to an Auror, in having one touch him... he hadn't thought at all; he'd only run to a safe place and curled up, waiting for someone.

No one had come.

'Who am I waiting for?' Harry wondered, stretching out on the floor and thoughtfully crossing him arms behind his neck, staring through the open window to the glass world outside where stars shined beautifully against the dark lavender of space. The moon glowed gently, a divination orb of the universe to tell of the future.

His eyes drifted closed again, mind dropping into deep conversation with itself until even those whispers became hushed tones and then nothing at all. His dreams were as bitter as he was.

*

There wasn't much to be done. Without classes or guidance, the teenagers' only real options were to lounge about or play Quidditch. Hermione and a particularly violent rainstorm cut off the last option, leaving the teenagers sitting quietly in the largest room of the apartment.

The rain began letting up, ending its howling, roof-beating attacks with softer drumbeats of water droplets. Ginny blinked lazily, cuddled up on her chair with a book in her lap. She couldn't remember what it was about, and it slipped closed, losing her page number as she yawned and stretched out her arms.

Hermione looked up interestedly from her own book, then she glanced around the room. "Are you finished, yet?"

Ron glanced up lazily, eyes slightly unfocused, then hurriedly skimmed the open book before him. "Um, not yet, but this... this really is interesting."

"This is boring," Ginny corrected quietly, taking care that Hermione didn't hear her. She yawned again, blinking back sleepy tears, and settled back onto the chair. Louder, she asked, "Hermione, could you show me some more spells? I really can't just learn from a book." To emphasize, the tossed the heavy fourth-year schoolbook down on the ground where it landed with a thump. Hermione had lent it to her, but the words seemed to blur on the page rather than travel to her mind. It was like trying to read gibberish.

Hermione smiled brightly. "Of course! Which spell were you talking about?"

Ginny shrugged, then as Hermione's smile started to fade, she quickly answered, "Um, that one Transfiguration spell."

Face concentrating, Hermione frowned. "Cross-species switches?" Ginny nodded hurriedly. "I can see where you might have some trouble with it, the spell is rather difficult. Here, repeat after me-"

"This is bloody boring," Ron echoed Ginny's earlier statement, but much louder.

Hermione froze, her face flushing, and she glared at him. "Is there something else you'd rather be doing?" she asked stiffly. "Or do you think you can just float through this school year?"

"That was my original plan," he confessed guiltlessly, lazily letting his limbs sprawl across the floor in what looked like a decidedly uncomfortable pose. He fidgeted, then flung the book away. "I don't think that spending all our time reading pinched books will get us anywhere."

Her face flushed again. "They're not pinched! McGonagall sent them to us--she thought we were being very mature about the whole thing, but I know why she had a hard time believing that you'd trouble yourself with this. Ronald Weasley, you are a lazy git at times."

If he took any offense to her accusations, he didn't show it. Instead, he stood up and stretched, popping a few joints in the process, and glanced down at Ginny hopefully. "Hey, Gin, you want to play a round of chess?"

His little sister skewed up her face and shook her head sharply. "I know how you play, Ron, and I'd like to keep some part of my dignity intact, thank you very much."

Hermione was about to interrupt their smooth exchange when a door opened. All three froze, bodies going still with expectation as footsteps wandered down the hall. When a blond head followed by pale skin walked into the room, expression slightly uneasy, the three sighed with disappointment. With unspoken agreement, they each went back to their respective books, Ron practically scowling into the pages.

Malfoy glared at them, then unexpectedly rubbed his arms in a nervous fashion. "Potter's not up yet, I take it," he finally said after standing in the uncomfortable silence for a few moments.

Hermione looked up uneasily, biting the inside of her cheek, and she slowly answered, "He's... he's up, at least. Harry hasn't come out yet, but we could hear him moving about not too long ago."

"Why do you want to know?" asked Ron aggressively, turning his scowl up towards the Slytherin. "You're probably the reason why Harry doesn't want to come out in the first place-"

"Hush, Ron," Hermione interrupted, grinning widely. Ginny stayed staring into her pages, lips tugging upwards. "You know that's not true. Besides," she gave the Slytherin a contemptuous look, "if Harry had a problem, he'd be able to take care of it."

Malfoy rolled his eyes and leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. "Sometimes, I wonder why I even bother," he said aloud to no specific person."

"Because you agreed to," another voice answered. Unheard, Harry had walked down the hall. He was in the process of throwing on a raincoat, and paused at the looks on everyone's faces. Raising an eyebrow, Harry coolly said, "Good morning."

"Good morning, Harry," Ginny replied, looking up from her book again. Her face was concerned. "Are you-"

"I'm going out for awhile," Harry cut in.

Frowning, the little witch tried again. "Harry, just-"

"I know it's raining, but I thought I'd get a bit of fresh air."

"Harry, you have to-"

He turned on her, addressing her for the first time. Eyes lit up with some remnant of the anger displayed the night before, he said, "You're always telling me what I can and can't do, Virginia. I think it's about time that I start making my own decisions."

She flinched back, and the others watched with varying expressions of interest, but they were fully tuned out of the conversation.

Harry continued his verbal attack, never taking a step towards her, or even moving much at all. "Was everything you said rubbish? I thought you said that I needed to start living my own life," and he spat the words out like a curse, "yet here you go, cheerfully going about on how that life needs to be done." He paused and took a ragged breath. "Here you go, acting like you have any say in the matter whatsoever, like you really know me enough to be telling me what to do."

"I know you better than some people," Ginny shot back viciously, and her eyes streaked over to Malfoy.

Harry glanced at the Slytherin as well, and he muttered, "You'd like to think that, wouldn't you?"

"Both of you, knock it off," Hermione broke in angrily, standing up and throwing her book down on the couch. "Now, there's no need for this childishness. Harry, I don't know..." her voice cracked, "I don't know what's brought this over you, but Ginny doesn't deserve that."

"What do you want him to do?" Malfoy asked, drawing the attention back to himself. He was looking at Harry, but sneaked a quick sneer her direction. "Apologize and swear never to do it again? You just want him to dance on your strings, don't you?" Harry took in a deep breath at that, closing his eyes momentarily. "Let's get out of here, Potter."

Ginny, face a little pale, stood bravely and walked in their direction. "You think we're the ones trying to control Harry, do you? Take a look at yourself sometime, Malfoy, and you'll see who the real puppet master is."

"All of you, calm down," Ron shouted from his forgotten corner. "Geez, what's all this about? 'Who's controlling who'? Sounds like some sick play."

Harry fastened the raincoat over his shoulders and resolutely turned towards the door, opening it. The rain was now only a light splattering of drops. "Sounds like some sick reality," he uttered, face dark. He tossed a look over at Malfoy. "Did you say you were coming?"

"I said I was," Ginny volunteered, pulling out her own raincoat.

"And I said you weren't," the Slytherin contested, quickly walking behind Harry and shutting the door after himself.

Ginny thew the coat on and tore the door opened, glaring around. "No way I'm going to let Malfoy talk to Harry alone," she said to herself. "Who knows what he'll be going on about."

When the door shut again, Ron snorted. "Drama, that's all this place really is. Like one of mum's radio shows, where everyone's going after everyone and nobody's left out of the loop except the one fellow who really counts." He paused to reflect on that, and turned to Hermione. "Do you think that's me? Everyone else here has some theory going on where Harry's concerned."

Hermione sighed and gently recovered her book. "I don't know," she admitted heartlessly. "I don't know about any of this. I mean, no one even wants to try and learn, and Harry's going off with that Malfoy boy, and last night..." She shuddered. "I think last night really ruined Harry for us."

Ron looked at her, worried. Something wasn't quite right with the witch; her coloring was too pale. He touched her arm. "Are you all right? You look a little ill."

She swallowed and leaned back into the chair, head flopping against the backboard. "I don't even know about that. I've been feeling sick for awhile now."

"Maybe I should go fix you up something to eat?"

"No." Hermione shook her head. With only the two of them their, the house felt abandoned and hushed. Ron looked around, feeling like something was watching him, and then glanced back at her. "No, I think it was something I ate."

"At breakfast?" He thought back: the meal had been a sorry affair, consisting of the three of them shuffling through the rain to the Great Hall, eating their meals in damp silence, and getting back before they were completely soaked to the bone.

Shaking her head again, she said, "A few days ago, when the rest of you were playing Quidditch, this house-elf came up to me with a plate of sandwiches for Harry. I ate one, and that's when my stomach started hurting." She paused, taking a deep breath, and in that instant she looked perfectly fine. The next, though, her face pinched up in pain. "It's really starting to get bad."

Ron frowned. "You just ate some sandwiches? What, were they rotten?"

"Do you really think I wouldn't notice if they'd gone bad?" she asked sarcastically.

Hermione stood up, rubbing her belly soothingly, then straightened up suddenly. "There, it's gone."

"It's gone? Just like that?" Ron looked suspicious.

Ignoring his look, Hermione started to walk to where she'd tossed her raincoat. "Yea. It only hurts every once in a while." She picked up the plastic thing and held it up, frowning as it dripped water everywhere. "I thought it'd be dry by now. How long has it been since lunch?"

"But you said it's getting worse," Ron repeated, clinging to the subject with a little worry. He followed her to the raincoat and picked up his own, mimicking her as she put hers on.

She shrugged. "Only for a little while, and then it' gone. Nothing I can't handle."

"Do you want to go to the hospital wing?"

"Even if I knew where it was, I don't think this is really that big of an emergency." She smiled wryly. "Just relax, Ron. I'm sure my body will flush it out in the next few days. Whatever 'it' is."

He let out a breath of air, and opened the door for her. "Whatever you say, Hermione. You think we'll catch up with them?" They stepped out the door and swung it shut, then began walking.

The rain drizzled down into a miserable fog, but the dampness of it all had left the ground soft enough to swallow up feet and leave obvious trails. Hermione pointed to the footprints. "We can always just follow those."

"Right." He rolled his eyes as they started walking. "Leave me to be the blind one."

*

The fact that the press had been kept in the dark for so long was staggering. How was it that not so much as a rumor escaped from Beauxbatons, to better prepare the country for its latest shock? A fifteen-year-old champion, one who was only just beginning his formal education? The idea of leaving the school's good reputation in the hands of someone like that was ludicrous.

Leo, of course, picked up on the angry tides of emotion right away as he waited for his monthly press conference to begin. One witch, the one with the entertaining spectacles, was strangely absent, but the young wizard couldn't bring himself to care. She wrote the best articles, but it seemed like there was some sort of sarcastic undercurrent that, aside from himself, only Harry was able to pick up on.

Minister Fudge stood behind him, bubbling with nervous energy as always, and Leo turned to smile and pat the man's hand reassuringly. The cameras captured the moment, and the reporters gushed. "Are you all right, Minister?" the young boy asked innocently, golden eyes wide with concern.

Fudge smiled down at Leo, and despite the tense glint in his eyes, the Minister nodded. "Nothing to worry yourself about, Leonard. Just Ministry business."

Leo's eyes blinked, and showed for a moment an astounding intelligence. Then he grinned mindlessly back up, obviously giving way to the Minister's words. "All right."

Fudge didn't notice. He patted the kid's head, sure to smile in that grandfatherly sort of way that Dumbledore was so good at.

Said wizard was currently waiting a few seats away, eyes half-closed in some mockery of sleep. Leo glanced towards the headmaster, wondering what he was doing here and then forgetting all about it as a Ministry official began to speak, addressing the crowds and calling for absolute silence. The official finished and tilted his head forward towards Leo, a worshipful light in his eyes as he watched Leo walk towards the podium.

He was in total control of himself. Every smile, every inflection was designed to draw in the press's affection. He childishly related some spectacular events that had occurred to him over the last month, from winning a Quidditch game against his uncles to seeing his brother off to Hogwarts. Mentioning Harry was like unleashing a tidal wave.

Leo had been told, of course, that Harry had been chosen as a champion. The news was scarcely a few hours old when a Ministry owl had brought an informing message over, and not two days old before the Minister himself stopped by for a visit.

"How do you feel about your brother being chosen as a champion?"

Leo blinked at that question, mind racing for the best answer. His pause was the greatest effect he could have had. The press stopped as well, cameramen lowering their equipment and reporters silencing their monologues. It seemed like the world was waiting for his answer.

Clearing his throat, Leo seriously eyed the group assembled before him. He knew what he wanted to say, and knew what he needed to say. "I think... that it's a very dangerous situation. The Minister has informed me of some parts of the Tournament, and I don't think Harry's prepared to meet them. But I've also been told of the binding Harry has to Beauxbatons and the Tournament itself. Since there is no way out..." He took a deep breath. "I am cheering for Harry all the way."

The reporters cooed and the cameras caught the moment. And Leo smiled winningly, self-will stifling any other expressions from showing on his face. Like anger, or bitter rage.

Over half the questions today and all the real focus had been on Harry today. As the world's savior answered the final few questions and left the stage clear for Dumbledore to make announcements as to how Harry and his friends would be situated for the rest of the year, the press cheered for Leo... and for Harry.

How do you think feel your brother being chosen as a champion? Personally, Leo thought it sucked.

*

"Wait up!" Ginny yelled at them, jogging to catch up. She would be sprinting outright, but after nearly tripping over into the mud, she'd decided against it. Up ahead, two faint figures in the fog ignored her. "Harry Potter, I said wait up!"

She was so focused on them that she nearly collided straight on with a stumbling person in the middle of the path. As it was, she only barely bumped into the person. "Oh, I'm sorry-"

The person gave out a sharp gasp and tipped over, collapsing onto the ground. Long red hair spilled out from the girl's hood. Ginny's eyes widened.

"What in the world are you doing?" a voice asked sharply.

Ginny whipped her head about to see two people emerge from the fog behind her. Her eyes narrowed and she gestured down the road. "I thought you were further up there!"

"You passed us, actually," Malfoy answered, voice still sharp. Harry, on the other hand, kneeled over beside the fallen person, gently starting an examination.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Malfoy blanched. "You think I'd really call you over when I had the opportunity to see you run off and make a fool of yourself?" He half-shrugged. "I was more than ready to see you keep running after those two strangers, but Potter here has a bleeding heart." Harry made a hushing noise.

The collapsed girl looked up, her eyes completely unfocused and her forehead sweaty as she struggled to sit up. "Beggin' yer pardon," she began huskily, voice heaving with effort, "but might I get yoo chaps ta help me get ter the 'ospital wing? I'm feeling a wee bit woozy." She swayed, and fell backwards, again slumping to the ground.

"Well, doesn't that beat all," Malfoy started in a low mutter. "It's too bad we don't know where the hospital wing is. Let's just hope the next person who walks down here does."

"Malfoy!" Ginny hissed, aghast. "We can't just leave her here. She looks sick, and it might rain again."

"I don't know who she is, you don't know who she is, therefore we have no responsibility to her." Duty done, Malfoy straightened up his robes and started away. He stopped when he realized that Harry wasn't following. "What are you doing, Potter? Going to heal her right here?"

Harry looked up, green eyes shining with the fog. "I know who she is," he announced easily. "One of the champions, an Irish girl. I can't remember her name."

The Slytherin groaned aloud. "Don't tell me," he began, sounding exasperated, "you think we should do something."

Harry stood up, and a quick flick of his wrist brought out his wand. He didn't say anything, but a minute later the two were walking away, Malfoy bickering and Harry silently levitating the girl. Ginny silently joined them, watching Harry for any signs of his previous anger. There didn't seem to be any.

Malfoy glanced at her, expression bothered "Still playing the puppy dog, Weasley?" he sneered.

She unthinkingly shot back, "It's a role you're well suited for, Malfoy."

He gave her an annoyed look and glanced at Harry. "Tell me again, Potter, why you put up with this little witch?"

"Hey!" Ginny frowned. "Don't talk like I'm not here."

Harry spared her a look, then answered, "I told her some things awhile ago that I'd rather not have anyone else find out. I don't believe that she'd tell anyone, but I didn't want to take the chance that she would back in Hogwarts."

Ginny stopped walking, stunned. "That's the only reason?" she whispered to Harry.

However, whatever voice answered Malfoy's question stayed mute for her own. Feeling significantly diminutive, Ginny followed the pair again as they came up on the Great Hall. It loomed in the fog like the remnants of an old building, the voices of other students coming back like sounds from haunting ghosts. Coming closer, the torches of the structure burned away at the fog and cleared their views for the sight of a few hundred students gathering for lunch.

An empty table near one wall was claimed as Harry levitated the unconscious champion there, settling her down with the gentlest of touches. He looked up at Malfoy.

Malfoy let out a great burst of air, and glared back. "You want me to find out where the hospital wing is, don't you?"

"You could, or you could stay here with the girl," Harry answered rationally. "I can't do both at once."

"I don't trust Weasley here with you," the Slytherin announced pointblank. "She has a funny tongue."

Harry smiled slightly, so faint that Ginny almost thought it was an illusion. It was gone after a moment when he turned to look at her. "Draco wants some company-"

"I didn't say that," the other boy cut in, disdainful. He gave Ginny a sharp look.

Ginny glared back, a sudden anger breaking out. She didn't want Harry to see, though; he was obsessed with the idea that everyone get along. "I think I'll go," she answered scornfully, eyes narrowed. "Malfoy wouldn't know how to ask anyone for anything."

That illusionary smile touched Harry's lips again, there and gone with the turn of her head.

*

Harry could here them yelling before they'd gone a dozen steps, and resignedly shook his head. There must be something between the Weasleys and the Malfoys that just couldn't be kept. A blood feud, perhaps. It wasn't any of his concern.

He glanced around to make sure that no one was watching, then floated his hand over the girl's face. Eachna, that had to be her name. His hand floated over her eyes and his own slipped shut in an automatic trance.

Her breathing was normal, and her heartbeat kept time evenly... the rest of her body seemed perfectly healthy... and there was no signs of a cold or flu, or any other suspected disease. Harry blinked his eyes open, quickly looking around to find that people had changed tables and left and entered the building. A minute or two had passed. Draco and Ginny still weren't back.

He closed his eyes again, and an anomaly caught his attention. Something floating through her bloodstream, so light it seemed invisible. He focused harder, and was able to pick up an imprint of a potion-

"Hey, Harry!"

Eyes jerking open, trance completely lost, Harry stood with a hand over her face, disoriented and unfocused. He swayed, then caught himself on the edge of the table. Blinking back dizziness, Harry looked around to see Ron and Hermione walking towards him, both smiling warily. "I thought you were still in the apartment."

Ron shook his head. "No, too boring. Plus we're hungry, and there's nothing in there but that bunch of sandwiches--you haven't eaten any, have you? Hermione took one, and she's been feeling ill-"

"I'm not sick, Ron," the witch cut in, offended. She rolled her eyes and shared a look with Harry. "He's over-exaggerating. The only thing is that it's too wet out there." She shuddered. "I feel like I'm never going to be dry again."

He didn't miss the quick concern in her eyes, but deliberately ignored it. "Sit down, and take off your coats," Harry suggested neutrally. "The house-elves will dry them for you."

"Who's this?" Ron finally asked. His eyes had been watching the girl on the table, faintly bemused. "Did she just walk by and fall asleep?"

Hermione slipped out of the coat and set it down, then leaned over the table to examine the girl. Her face, interestingly enough, paled, and she hurriedly checked the girl's pulse rate. Eyes wide, Hermione stared up at Harry. "Do you know what happened to her?" Puzzled by her turn of emotions, Harry shook his head, quickly relating how Ginny had bumped into the girl, resulting in her collapse. Hermione looked severe. "I think she's been poisoned, Harry."

"What?" Ron's mouth dropped open.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Why do you think that?"

"The signs are all there." Hermione touched the girl's skin, and then lifted the lid off one eye. The skin was cool, colorless, and there was a blood clot at the top of one eye. "Her heartbeat, it's very strange. It picks up, and then it goes back to normal. Feel. And look here at her wrist--the blood there looks a little light, like its thinned out." She continued, listing off a half-dozen signs that Harry missed, all pointing to poison.

"And there's no way she could just be fevered?"

Hermione bit her lip, then shook her head. "No, she'd at least be conscious, or else sleeping. But here, she's been put to sleep." She looked around in sudden realization. "Where's Ginny?"

"She went to find the hospital wing," Harry answered absently, staring down at the unconscious champion.

"Maybe you should check in, too," Ron put in, looking at Hermione in concern. "You're beginning to look sick again."

A hand went to her stomach. "I'm beginning to feel sick again."

Harry looked up, ready to ask her a question, when he paused and really looked at her. Her skin was becoming pasty white, losing its color, and she was beginning to sweat hard. "What exactly," he started slowly, watching as she deteriorated before his eyes, "did you eat again, Hermione?"

Ron looked at him and answered for her. "Some sandwiches, right Hermione? There's still a few left in the apartment."

"Where'd they come from?"

Hermione leaned down on the table, resting her head against it, and her eyes were a little cloudy. "A house-elf gave them to me, said they were for you." She blinked, and gazed up at Harry wonderingly. "Are you mad? I only ate a few, and only because I was really hungry."

He shook his head, beginning to worry. "No, but do you know who they were from, Hermione?" She shook her head and closed her eyes. Harry shook her shoulder, trying to get her to wake up. "Hermione? Hermione!"

Ron made a sound, and was looking between the witch and the champion, understanding dawning in his eyes. "She's like that girl--she's been poisoned, too!"

"Ginny better be hurrying," Harry murmured, staring through the crowd for a sign of the witch. "We need to get Hermione to the hospital wing as soon as possible."

*

If Sirius was certain about one thing, it was that he wasn't going to let his godson rot in some foreign school and in some lethal tournament. But even after ransacking the Ministry's records for anything at all on magical bindings and leaving a vaguely-threatening note for the Minister, he found himself no further along than when he started.

Remus was undeniably amused. The werewolf watched, a permanent smirk on his face, as his best friend frantically flipped through hundreds of documents, eyes receiving no time to actually read whatever there was written down before Sirius moved on. He chuckled into his cup of tea, and Sirius's hounded eyes glared up at him.

"What?" Sirius bit out. "Something funny about this whole situation?"

"Oh no, not at all," Remus amended peacefully, drinking his tea. He waited until Sirius was again immersed in the documents, then casually added, "I just wonder, sometimes, what you think you're doing."

Those eyes glared back up at him, doubly-bright in anger, and phasing him not at all. "What I'm doing? Let's think a minute, why don't we? I'm trying to save my godson's life!"

"Naturally," Remus replied, still calm as ever, "but you're going about it the wrong way." When Sirius sputtered indignantly, Remus gave him a moment to collect himself, then continued. "I don't think you even realize what's written down in all those papers of yours. There could have been a solution, and you likely skipped over it already."

"If you're not going to help me," Sirius started through clenched teeth, "then get out of here and leave me in peace."

Shrugging, Remus stood up. "Have it your way. I'll just go out and... I don't know, solve this one myself." He muttered in a purposefully loud voice, "That's what I always do, isn't it? Solve your messes for you. And never a hint of thanks, right?" He actually made it out of the room when Sirius groaned loudly and called for him to come back.

Remus arrogantly stuck his head back in the room, expression looking like he really couldn't be bothered. "What is it?"

Sirius sighed, and with a defeated motion, gestured for Remus to return to the table. The werewolf did so, triumphantly. "Go ahead," the Auror began dumbly, "go ahead a tell me exactly what I'm doing wrong."

"Not so much as what you're doing wrong," Remus corrected gently, willing now to spare his friend some anguish, "just what you're doing the hard way. For an Auror, you seem to forget all about the benefits of magic quicker than the rest of us."

Remus pulled out his wand and flicked it towards the unseemly stacks of papers, ordering them to organize themselves by date. "Why don't we look for something that's similar to what's happening here? You work with," he split the pile in half, deliberately giving Sirius the older half, "that side, and I'll go through this. Look for magical bindings and their length, particularly when its associated with a third object, like the Goblet of Fire."

Sirius grumbled under his breath, but did as told, and for the next hour the time passed in silence. Remus merely skimmed through his readings, setting a charm to alert his eyes if his vision touched on anything he was looking for, but he doubted Sirius would have the wits right now to do the same. Whenever Sirius got moody or grouchy, he'd revert back to simply bludgeoning his way through problems, which made for a fine Auror and a horrible researcher.

Despite this, of course, Sirius was the first one to have any success. Giving a cry of delight, the Auror pulled from his stack a thin parchment, and he viciously shoved the paper at Remus's nose. "Take a look at that," Sirius crowed triumphantly, practically rubbing the paper in his best friend's face. "Exactly what I'm looking for."

With an exasperated shake of his head, Remus yanked the paper from Sirius's slack hands and skimmed through it. It was an analysis on the Goblet done almost a hundred years ago, dealing with its compulsions and strengths. There, in the middle of the paper, was the answer to all the problems.

"A month?" Remus blinked his eyes.

Sirius laughed. "A month! The bindings are only active during the first month. During that time, those sworn are punished if they try to leave, and the punishment gets worse with every time. But after that, the compulsion's gone. Harry only has to stick it out a few more days, then he can come home."

The timing, Remus read, was based on the assumption that after the first month, the sworn witch or wizard would become accustomed to the task, and no longer would be fighting to leave. Unfortunately, it didn't hold sway over frenetic godfathers who really wouldn't listen to reason when it came to their godsons.

Their noise drew the attention of Leo, who peered down the stairs curiously. His hair was still tousled from his long nap, and the boy smiled sweetly at his two adoptive uncles. "Morning," he called down, following his voice to the bottom floor.

Sirius grinned excitedly at the boy, swooping over to grab him up in a hug. "Guess what's going to happen," he said, voice tinged with wild energy. When Leo shook his head wonderingly, Sirius announced Harry's upcoming homecoming. He was so distracted, he didn't notice the slightest darkening of expression on the boy's face. He was too busy going on about how much better it would be to have Harry home-

Remus, however, watched with a curious eye. "Any letters from Harry?" he asked on whim.

Leo resolutely shook his head, looking a little angry. "No," the boy bit out, "nothing from him."

Sirius ruffled the boy's hair, setting him back down on the ground. "No worries. In a few days, Harry will be back and he won't need to write letter. We'll be able to ask him to his face what his problem is, and then we'll ground him forever."

*

The hospital wing as full to the brimming, with makeshift beds crowding every possible space. Ron and Ginny stood gaping at the crowd of students filling the area, and Harry quickly claimed two empty beds to drop the two unconscious witches down on. He almost had to shove off a few students who also wanted the beds for themselves, and then he had to glare down as someone else tried to shove Hermione off.

"Something going around?" Draco asked lightly, looking across the students. His posture kept the sick ones from bumping into him. Something about it just screamed aristocracy.

"Let's hope not," Ron answered darkly, his eyes haunted and trailing Hermione's every movement. Draco gave him a surprised look, but Ron didn't even notice.

Ginny settled at the foot of Hermione's bed, gazing across the room. "Who are all these people?" Harry knew at once, knew as soon as he walked into the room, and the knowledge was burning into his mind. He ignored the question, though, focusing more on making sure Hermione was comfortable.

"Forget that," said Draco, "and find out why the nurse isn't here helping them out."

Hermione's eyes fluttered open, saving Harry from having to give the answer to that question. Luckily, Draco had been directing it to Ginny, and so there was no forceful compulsion to give out the truth.

She leaned up, propping herself up on her elbows, and stared around in a daze. "Where are we?"

"Hermione!" Ron nearly crushed her. "I thought you were-"

"Why don't we get back to the apartment," Harry broke in evenly, making sure to cut Ron off. The other students were beginning to watch them resentfully, and Harry knew why. They were glaring at him, and he didn't want to be there much longer. The thought sparked a flicker of pain through his head, and he masked it by pretending to put a lot of effort into helping Hermione stand up.

"How are you feeling?" Ron asked.

She touched her forehead, and looked up at him. "I... I feel perfectly fine." Hermione swallowed, and glanced over at Harry. "What happened?"

"You collapsed," answered Ron, drawing her face back to him. He helped her stand up, though she looked like she didn't need any assistance. He was looking at her in an almost desperate fashion. "You were fine, and then you just collapsed." Draco gave the pair a speculative look, and then grinned evilly when Ginny glared at him.

"What do we do about the other girl?" Ginny asked as they reached the door, glancing back at the unconscious Irish teenager. She shot the Slytherin an annoyed look.

"Let's just leave her there," answered Harry, feeling the stares of the other students on his back. None of them were friendly. "The nurse is probably eating lunch, and when she comes back, she'll be able to take care of things." His tongue revolted against the lie, but he didn't dare stay any longer. The fog outside was as thick as ever.

Above the door to the apartment, a huge falcon rested. Talons clutching the doorway like claws, it peered down on them haughtily, and as soon as Harry came within reach, it stuck a sharp foot out. The parchment and accompanying vial dangled uncertainly, and as soon as both were taken off the bird took off again.

"What in the world?" Hermione ducked her head and stared off as the shape of the bird became blurred, then faded away altogether. She glanced at Harry. "Who's it from?"

"Why would someone send a falcon?" Ginny added, peering curiously at the packages in Harry's hands.

His hands shook slightly, a bare tremor, and he hastily lowered them so no one else could see. Absently, he answered Ginny's question, voice trailing as he went inside. "Owls fly too slow for some people, so they use other birds. A falcon could chase an owl across the world without tiring under the correct spells, and they're harder to track." He threw his coat down, ignoring its watery drip, and sat down.

"Don't just stare at it, Potter," Draco cut in, following his example and sitting down. "Who's it from?"

Harry looked up blankly, then reluctantly answered, "It's from Professor Snape."

Not noticing the quick glance Harry shot to the three others in the room, Draco curiously went on, "Snape? What reason does Snape have, sending you things."

"I asked him to," Harry admitted slowly, unable to evade the question.

Draco started, then at once remembered the other three in the room. Hermione, eyes wide, asked, "Why?" and her voice was complete disbelief, though Harry didn't know whether that was because of the fact that someone would want anything from Snape, or that Snape was willing to give something away.

Harry shut his mouth determinedly, folding the paper in his hands.

Hermione glanced between him and Draco, then frowned. "What's going on?" she demanded to know. "Why do you only answer Malfoy's questions, and no one else's?"

"Yea, I've noticed that," agreed Ginny. "I thought it was just me."

Harry glanced at them unconcernedly and went about unfolding his letter. It was a quick message, with words on what the potion was and a warning that the solution was only temporary: he could recover his free will for the space of five days, after which the school's binding would again return. The vial contained enough for a single swallow.

Draco's eyes burned with the need for answers, but his discreet glances towards the rest of the room offered proof enough that Harry's respite would last until the others were gone. The Slytherin was too jealous of his knowledge to willingly share with anyone else, and he knew that asking any question now would only result in Harry spilling that knowledge to everyone.

Crumpling the note in his fist, Harry popped the stopper off with his thumb and downed the liquid with a swift movement that ignored Hermione's outcry. The empty vial and scrap parchment slipped into a pocket, and Harry stood. Testing, he thought of leaving Beauxbatons, of returning home. No pain came. For a moment, Harry smiled softly at nothing, reveling in his freedom, and then a timer started going off in his head.

Two days... It was time to get moving.

"Someone's poisoned the champions," Harry began without preamble, walking to his rooms. Like zombies, the others followed.

"What do you mean?" Ron demanded to know, stepping up to Harry's shoulder.

In his room, Harry paused a moment to spare the area a searching glance, and then he started towards his chest in the corner, pulling from it a spare cloak. He looked over at the group crowding his doorway. "While we were in the hospital wing, I could see it on all their faces. They've the same symptoms that the girl had, that Hermione has."

"Me?" Hermione blinked. "I've been poisoned."

Cloak thrown over his shoulder, Harry faced the room stonily. "I... I know the imprint of the poison," he admitted slowly, vaguely, "but I'll need to visit an apothecary to find the ingredients for an antidote, and I'll need a place to work."

"Apothecary?" Ginny blinked.

Harry looked at Draco steadily. "Draco, could you contact your father and arrange a way for us to return to London?"

"Perhaps for us," Draco replied darkly, "but I doubt my mother would appreciate being forced to play the host for them." His jerked thumb pointed out the three Gryffindors.

"We're going to go with you," declared Hermione. "That, or you're not going at all."

Draco stared at Harry a moment longer, reading some message in the green lights, and then he stiffly turned around and walked from the hall. A door slammed at the front of the house. With it, Harry sighed in relief, shoulders sagging. A way to get out of Beauxbatons.

He snapped at the others to make some preparations for a five-day stay, then collapsed to his bed, thoughtfully considering where the five of them were gong to be staying while he concocted an antidote potion. It would have to be some place with relative solitude, crossing out the possibilities of simply renting a room in the Leaky Cauldron. Then he remembered what Draco had said ("playing host") and wondered, and then waited until daylight fell and the Slytherin returned with a sour expression but instructions for leaving the school.

Late at night, no one saw the five students streak out through the campus, sneaking out to the ends of the property and on to the forest grounds, nor did any one see the two masked figures waiting with grim patience to meet them. One of the girls screamed at the sight of the Death Eaters, but the noise was cut short as, suddenly, the group disappeared.

*

The door to the shop opened, ringing the small chime. Alerted, Michael Jiggers looked up from his restocking of the bundle of fangs hanging directly over the front desk. The customer who walked in had him raising an eyebrow, but he never refused anyone.

"Can I help you, sir?" he asked politely. The restocking went on without him, fangs magically floating up and hanging themselves, but letting it go on like that was risky business. He might forget for a moment about the supplies, and turn to slice his face open.

The customer shook his head, browsing through shelves. When he brought out his final selection to the front desk, Jiggers raised both eyebrows, and stared at the customer suspiciously as he totaled up the bill. "Those are strong ingredients," he cautioned, feeling the need to say something of warning. Brother or not.

"I know," came the short reply, discouraging of further inquiries. Taking the hint, Jiggers passed the ingredients over and accepted the money mutely.

As the boy turned to go, Jiggers suddenly remembered something he'd read in the papers. "Eh, boy," he called out. The teenager paused in the act of turning out the door. "Aren't you supposed to be at that school? I thought I heard Dumbledore saying something bout a binding-"

"Is that old fool rambling off again?"

The teenager turned and looked up, and Jiggers followed his gaze to see (with no little shock) Lucius Malfoy standing in the doorway. The wizard's eyes were narrowed in deliberation, an expression on his face that Jiggers' hadn't seen since before the peace. Touching the teenager's shoulder, Malfoy murmured, "Come, Harry. Mr. Borgin has some things that might interest you."

*

The explosion at the Black Manor was something worth legend-status, but the unfortunate Auror stuck with the job didn't think so. Facing down an enraged Sirius Black, being forced to tell him that his godson was gone, and then having to stay and witness the man's reaction was a list of events better suited for someone like a dragon trainer, who willingly faced down such dangerous situations on a daily basis.

Leo's reaction was the most heart-breaking. He hardly reacted at all, going into semi-shock, and then asking over and over again if Harry was going to be all right. Minister Fudge, of course, had nothing to say to this when he showed up on the scene, giving the miserable Auror a chance at escape, but even if he did, Leo wasn't really listening.

He was thinking about a pile of letter stacked hidden in his bedroom, unanswered and unopened.

Elsewhere, Auror Stan Collins knocked on the gate to the Malfoy Manor with enviably calm. After the fuss Mrs. Weasley had gone through, he was rather hoping for. Malfoys' cool attitudes. Anything was better than what he'd heard happened when Sirius had found out.

A bored-looking house-elf appeared with a pop. "Yes?"

"I'd like to speak with Narcissa or Lucius Malfoy, please," Collins answered amiably, "on matters that concern their son, Draco."

"One moment." The elf disappeared. It was a short interval before it came back, expression still bored. "She will see you." The elf laid a hand through the gate, touching Collins's arm, and both of them vanished from the gate.

He reoriented himself in what had to be the welcoming room of the manor. Large and spacious, the room was sumptuously decorated. Fine art decorated the walls, with portraits watching him coolly. Metals creaked as suits of armor shifted to likewise stare at him. The furniture was all dark wood, cherry oak he imagined, and chiseled so that the pieces almost glowed in contact with the light from the gemmed chandeliers.

It was all designed to create a massive illusion of wealth--or, Collins corrected himself as he took a seat on a deep-back chair, not illusion. The Malfoy's estate was estimated to be one of the wealthiest on the planet.

Footsteps echoed on hardwood floor, and then were silenced when the person walked onto the lush carpet of the welcoming hall. Collins stood and bent his neck to greet Narcissa Malfoy.

"Mrs. Malfoy-"

"Please, I have a busy schedule this morning," she interrupted coolly, taking a seat opposite from him. She stared disdainfully at his offered hand, and he slowly lowered it. "Tell me what it is you want, and don't say this is about one of those annoying Ministry raids."

"I'm afraid my news is a little more personal."

Fine glasses appeared, and the lady picked up one, sipping from it. He got the feeling that he was being judged, not only by her but also by her very house. The walls were intimidating. A drink was very welcome. "That's right," she rejoined, "you did say this was about my son. Has Draco done something to warrant the attention of the Ministry? I'd hate to think that my taxes and funds were being needlessly wasted on tattling to mothers about pranking schoolboys."

The mocking tone in her voice did nothing to upset him. His boss had already told him about the Malfoys, and he'd seen enough interactions to know that the family was spiteful enough to bait Dumbledore. "It's something worse than a simple prank, ma'am. Your son, along with four other students, have vanished from the French school's campus, where they are supposed to be until the end of the year."

He noted how she went completely still, and wondered for a dry moment why she was acting so suspicious. And then his mind kicked in: of course she was acting "suspicious." She'd just been informed that her only child was missing. Acting otherwise would have been the real suspicious course.

"I see..." She placed the cup down, and it disappeared for a moment, coming back full again. Eyes focused on something beyond him, the mother absently asked how long her son had been missing.

Collins tipped his head forward, coughing unpleasantly. "Well, that's the problem. You see, that group of students was given free will to do as they pleased. They stopped showing up to dinners about two days ago, but we know for sure they've been officially gone since last evening when Aurors found their apartments empty."

"What were Aurors doing searching my son's personal room?" the witch hissed out. She sounded more upset about that bit of new than her son's actual disappearance.

He thought over the answer for a moment, then decided to just tell her. "Someone reported yesterday that they'd seen someone looking very much like Harry Potter at a store in Diagon Alley. When Potter and his friends didn't show up at mealtime, the Aurors at Beauxbatons decided to go straight to their apartments. No one answered, so they forced their way in. The search was only for persons, not for items."

"So you've been searching for them since last night?" Narcissa repeated, her voice still distracted and eyes focused on something else. "And since that time, you've not had any luck? Is that why you've come to inform me?" Her eyes suddenly zipped to his face, stare sharp and cutting. "My son has been missing for two days, and I'm only just now told? I could have been looking for him, but instead you allowed me to keep the illusion that he was safe at school."

She stood abruptly, movements angry. "How did this happen? How did my son get taken from there?"

"Please, miss, calm down," Collins tried to placate her. "We don't know for sure that he was taken. After all, there were no signs of a struggle."

"Then tell me how much you know." Her eyes darkened. "Quick, man! My son is out there!" She listened to the scarce details without blinking, then frowned. "Is that it? The best that the Ministry can come up with?"

"It has only been a day-"

"It has been a day," Narcissa repeated mockingly, "and still this is all you have to show for it." She snapped her fingers and the house-elf appeared. "I will be making a personal complaint to the Minister about this inefficiency. Until then, I want you to find my son."

Before he could say anything else, the elf touched his arm and he found himself back to the outside world, barred from the manor by cold gates and harsh magic. Mrs. Weasley had nearly physically strangled him when she found out about her two missing children, Mrs. Malfoy had threatened his livelihood, but Mrs. Granger was only a muggle and there was really nothing she could do. Even so, apparating to her house sounded intimidating enough that Collins was ready enough to just return to the tracking down of those five missing teenagers.

*

Narcissa Malfoy watched with cold eyes as the Auror waited outside the gate a moment longer, then apparated away. She stepped back from the window, the drapes closing in her absence, and started down the hall again. A few stairways lower, she entered into the chilled air of the Malfoy dungeons, torches lighting her way with a sick yellow light.

There was noise coming from up ahead, and she slowed down, walking soft enough that her feet didn't echo on the stone floor. The potions room was being used, but now there was only one person still awake. The others had likely gone to bed, shown to separate quarters by apathetic house-elves.

She pushed the door opened slowly, pausing in the doorway to watch the teenager at work. His hair was a mess, but then again, it had always been that way. His face was a mask of concentration, more mature than she'd guess it'd be in the five years since she last saw him. His movements, though, fulfilled the promise of his childhood: exact and purposeful, he moved with unconscious grace in whatever he did. Draco had said he was an absolute terror on the Quidditch field.

Jars clattered as he moved around, selecting some with seeming randomness, but she knew he was in complete control of himself. There was a quality of restraint about him that she'd never guess he'd grow up having. As a child, Harry had been so free and happy, she would have laughed if anyone presented her with a prophecy of his future coolness.

It was all that blasted godfather's fault. Draco had written about the fight, and Narcissa had been more upset about it than Lucius--the pair of them had driven the house-elves frantic with fear that night.

A popping noise drew her interest, and she took a step into the room to see him leaning against a wall, expression exhausted. He'd been at it for nearly a whole day, working from memory of an "imprint" of the poison. If it had been anyone else, Narcissa would never believe that a memory could be so clear and perfect, but Harry always remembered everything. She could remember teaching him the first of the Dark Arts, remember being smitten with how quickly he remembered every lesson.

Seeing the potion ingredients was a reminder to itself: Harry had refused to accept their potion supplies, insisting that he buy his own. She'd taught him that, to respect other's property and to never accept charity in any form. She'd taught him to be proud. It showed in his very stance, lessons remembered subconsciously.

Five years ago, he'd been a second son, almost to the point where Lucius agreed to her plans of stealing him away from those dratted Potters and keeping him with them at all times. She wondered what relationship they had now. Harry, after all, had never seen her or Lucius without their masks on.

But he had recognized her voice. Perhaps there was hope left, like her husband believed.

She must have made a sound. Harry's eyes flew open, and his expression turned guarded. That, he'd learned from the past five years, and she wished she could take those lessons away from him. When he fixed his eyes on her, he relaxed slightly, tilting his head forward in acknowledgement.

"The Ministry sent an Auror," Narcissa informed him, voice tinted with slight endearment. "They've just noticed last night that you're not there."

Harry snorted in shared amusement. "It's about time. Even I thought that they'd catch on by morning. They're blinder than I realized."

Narcissa stepped fully into the room, walking over to his shelves of concoctions. The mastery of it all was amazing, especially when realized with the fact that he'd only been in the room for a day. She peered at the latest result, eyes analyzing a jar of dark gray liquid that boiled without flames. "How is the antidote coming?"

"I think it's almost done." He couldn't hide the sudden stiffness in his voice as she entered his personal space, as she examined his personal work, but his forceful relaxation sparked hints that he could accept her with only a little work. "I'm going to give some to Hermione in the morning. If it doesn't heal her, at least I know it won't hurt her."

Narcissa nodded, and stepped away, noting how he let out a breath of strained air once she was a certain distance away. His personal limits, then. When he was younger, he used to frighten the newer Death Eaters by curiously climbing over them, asking endless questions until formality was erased. Now, he was uncomfortable if someone was within three steps of him. She wondered sadly how he reacted at Hogwarts for the first time, being thrust into the middle of a crowded and noisy room. When she'd gone there, she hated it, but for a different reason. The thought of being in the middle of so many stinking bodies had been nauseating.

"You should be getting some rest, Harry." It was the first time she said his name aloud, and a visible stiffness that she hadn't noticed before eased off of him. Mentally, she cursed Sirius Black again with the pain curse, promising to herself that the Auror would truly suffer under it when the time came.

Harry would probably be the one to do it, then.

The teenager shrugged, then flushed as if suddenly remembering his manners. He looked up at her with a guileless expression, reminiscent of the total trust he once had with her. He was reaching back towards that relationship tentatively, then. "If you think it best."

During the years, she had speculated with her husband the type of life Harry was living. Often, they ended up with the wasting conclusion that the young boy was being brainwashed by the Ministry, placing all his naïve trust in his Auror godfather, and completely erasing the memory of his childhood. The reality wasn't so irrevocable, but she felt torn between cheer and worry at his detachment to any living soul save his brother. Had Draco become so, Narcissa would never forgive herself.

"Come," she touched him on the shoulder as he walked her way, "I've already prepared your room for you. You can sleep undisturbed."

The walk back to the upper levels of the mansion was silent, but not strained. He was trying to adjust again, to return to his previous amiability with them, and she was letting that bond nourish itself. Her family had been closest to Harry before, and they would be again.

"I don't know why you brought those Gryffindors here," she started without warning as they walked towards his room. The eyes of the portraits watched him with deep consideration, privy to all of the Malfoy's plans and knowing that this boy was key in the larger ones. "The ghosts refuse to come out until they're gone."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Harry asked, laughter in his voice.

She swallowed back a smile and touched his shoulder again fondly. It felt like a long-lost son had been returned to the family, injured by the world but ready to recover.

*

When Hermione woke up on the last morning, with one day left in the month, she was halfway to the potions laboratory before she realized where she was going. It was a very bad thing. Mrs. Malfoy had told the teenagers on the first night they arrived that the manor didn't like strangers, and was particularly averse to Gryffindors. She left them with a warning to hold back from exploring the manor, as it would probably take great pleasure in doing as it pleased with them.

She shivered, feeling the eyes of the living building watching her. "I'm only going to the potions lab," she announced aloud, suspecting that the wood was listening and judging her by it. "I'm going to see if Harry's finished with the antidote." She took a few hesitating steps, and then the malevolent sensation gradually faded. Sighing with relief, the witch hurried to reach her destination.

Hermione never thought in her wildest imaginations that she would one day stroll along the Malfoy Manor, but then again her wildest imaginations weren't much centered on strolling through her rivals' houses. At Hogwarts, there had been talk of the Malfoy fortune, which she usually dismissed as exaggeration and wishful thinking. Now, evidence before her, she couldn't dismiss the proof so easily. Everything was designed to show off the family's affluent presence. Everything was designed to inspire awe and envy.

She skipped through the house quickly, eager to get away from the pressing wealth. The house's dungeons, at least, were only standard, a near duplicate of Hogwarts' own.

Entering the room, Hermione was disappointed to find it absolutely empty. Shivering in the cold, she looked around desolately. Only the day before, the poison had attacked her again, and she couldn't remember anything beyond lunch. The whole thing was beginning to get infuriating.

Sighing, she walked around the room, resigned to staying in there until someone else came.

There were potion ingredients in this room that Hermione had never heard about before, which meant that they were completely illegal. Others were under Ministry restriction, Ministry monopoly, which made no sense whatsoever: if that was true, then it could be assumed that the Ministry had a hand in the poisoning. But why would the government want to poison their students, and why would other governments allow it? And nothing easy or trite, but potentially fatal poisoning?

Her head went tipsy at that thought, still as dazed as she had been when Harry had first announced it. He was in the process of explaining to Draco how he was going to make an inverse poison, an antidote, and had casually mentioned that the poison was beginning to look serious. The look Ron had given her wasn't reassuring in the least.

Shaking her head, Hermione absently went about naming the different ingredients, mindlessly organizing them by label. How could Harry work in such a messy area?

A long interval later, Hermione walked listlessly up from the dungeons, beginning to feel light-headed. It was a sign that the poison was mounting up an attack again, and she began to look for a place where she could safely faint. Movement out of the corner of her eyes caught her attention, and she made her way towards it.

She ended up in the dining room. The casual treasures splayed along the room, from sheen crystal glass to expansive diamond chandeliers, made her nauseous. The person in the room who'd been walking around looked up, expression blank as normal. "Harry," she breathed, "is that antidote ready?"

He looked a little surprised, but when she unsteadily tipped into a chair, gracelessly slapping her arms against the wood, he understood immediately. She caught a look on his face as he concentrated, and then a glass of grayish liquid flew to his outstretched hand. "Here," he handed it to her, "I'm sure this will work."

It didn't smell very good, and tasted worse, but she closed her nose and downed the whole of it, keeping her gagging reflexes from kicking in. Harry looked at her with something approaching sympathy, but when Hermione swallowed it all and blinked back the tears, that expression was gone.

"How do you feel?" asked Harry. "It should work right away."

"I don't feel anything," Hermione began bitterly, then straightened up. "In fact, I feel fine. It's all gone."

"That was my intention," he answered dryly, going back to the papers before him.

Hermione stood up, thrilled with the speed of it all. She twirled once and swallowed, feeling all traces of illness completely erased from her body. "That's amazing, Harry. I don't know what to make of it."

He waved, focused more on the papers, and she curiously glanced over to see that he was reading the Daily Prophet. She blinked when she realized that one of the front pictures was none other than herself.

"So it works?"

Harry's question snapped her back, and she nodded with a bright smile. "Perfectly."

"Good." His tone was dark. "I have enough made for all the champions at Beauxbatons. If I come with the antidote, they'll forget their ideas about me poisoning them in the first place."

"What?" Hermione squawked, sitting down again. "What's that about you poisoning them?"

Harry looked up from the newspaper and gestured with a finger to the front headlines. The bold words proclaimed woes of missing students and sickening champions, and one avid column pointed the blame to Harry. Unbelieving, Hermione looked up to his arresting green eyes. "I wouldn't believe they'd print that rubbish. How can you be at blame?"

"I'm the only one who'd gain from it," Harry pointed out with blank-faced seriousness. "The end of the month is approaching, and the first task with it. If I'm healthy while everyone else is ill, then I'll win by forfeit or else I'll have an unfair advantage over everyone else."

"That's just silly. For one, it's too obvious. Even an idiot would trace the trail to you, and so that means that you're likely being framed for it. Another thing is that you didn't have access to the rest of the champions. The only time you were with them was that one dinner, and then you were still too busy recovering from shock to do anything."

Harry stared at her for a moment, then shockingly broke out with a gentle smile. "Remind me never to go out against you, Hermione," he murmured, eyes floating back to the paper. "Your wits are sharper than mine."

She flushed with the compliment, feeling unnaturally warm. "I'm not as perfect as you'd make me out to me."

He snorted with amusement, looking up at her. "According to Ginny, there is no such thing as being perfect."

"Sounds like she stole her words from me," Hermione answered jokingly, hoping to keep up the light mood. "I'm beginning to rub off on her. Half of what she says now, I said first."

Harry examined her with some unknown interest, eyes darkening a shade. "Is that so? Perhaps you'd like to know first what she said before you claim the credit of it." Something in his voice served as warning. Hermione's smile faded.

"Why? What did she say?"

He shook his head, head tilting back to the paper. The jocular mood faded then, gone as quickly as it came. The conversation lagged, with Hermione struggling to keep some noise up and Harry finally rising, excusing himself to check again on the antidote. Hermione was left alone, and she reached over to pick up his abandoned copy of the newspaper.

The articles were biting, and the harshness stuck out oddly to her as she read. Biases became blatantly obviously until Hermione finally threw it away with disgust. She leaned on to her elbows, left with nothing else but the feeling of the manor turning its attentions on her once again.

*

"It works."

Draco turned and barely managed to catch a stopped vial tossed his way. The liquid inside bubbled lazily, popping gray vapors. He weighed it in one hand and looked up. "You've tried it?"

Harry nodded, walking to where the large cauldron of the stuff sat waiting to be processed. "Hermione was cured almost instantly. I added some things to speed up the process, but I didn't expect the antidote to be so fast." He paused to look up at Draco. "When we get back to Beauxbatons, the other champions will be cured fast enough to participate in whatever task there's prepared."

"What a horrible notion." Draco slipped the vial into his pocket and gave Harry a blank look. "Why on earth would you want to do something like that? Couldn't you simply wait until the task was finished, then slipped the antidote into their suppers?"

"Only if I wanted to get caught."

Footsteps echoed down the stone slabs, and both boys looked up as Lucius Malfoy entered. Harry nodded, face tightening slightly, then went back to his occupation of sealing the antidote in thick, unbreakable earthware. The jar looked heavy to lift, but appearances were deceiving. Weightless charms kept the load light.

"It's finished, then?"

"Yes, and tested," Draco answered, back straightening up. He motioned. "We only need to bind the potion up, and it'll sit until we return to the school."

Finished, Harry wiped his forehead and looked over at Lucius respectfully. "Thank you for letting us stay here. I don't think we could've found another like it."

Shrugging, the older wizard dismissed the matter and brought up a new one. "Your alibis have been founded. Wizards in London are already seeing lookalikes getting pulled about by masked wizards, and in two days you'll have escaped your kidnappers to Diagon Alley, where the Ministry will likely question you and then send you back to Beauxbatons."

Harry smiled faintly. "I hope it was easy enough to arrange."

Draco glanced over at him, a mortified expression on his face. "Easy? I suspect you arranged it all in the last few minutes, right Father?"

Lucius's expression turned amused. "You expect much out of me, Draco."

The son haughtily raised a shoulder. "I've seen enough to show the proof."

Harry's smile deepened, and he leaned against the heavy earthware to watch the exchange as father and son shot back barbed wits between the two of them, obvious affection hidden in repartee. When Draco drew him into the fray, Harry was only too willing to exchange comebacks, feeling like the game was nothing more than quick practice for the reality outside.

Finally, Harry included an insult that questioned the biological roots of the present Minister, and Lucius stopped with a pleased look on his face. Draco snorted, eyes sharply narrowed with satisfaction. "You'll do," the teenager complimented.

Quick, Harry said, "I wasn't aware I was under inspection."

"You passed anyway." Draco tilted his head towards Lucius. "Father." Lucius's answering smirk was cryptic as he shared a look with his son, and the wizard left without anything more.

*

There was definitely something strange about this house, Ron decided as he walked along. He barely remembered some warning Narcissa Malfoy had given them, but honestly, when he first arrived at the manor, listening to a Malfoy wasn't a top priority.

Digging through the house was.

However, he'd been walking for the longest of times already without seeing anyone, and the hallway was looking dizzyingly familiar. There was no way he could be walking in circles; the walls ran straight, and seemed to go on straight forever.

A popping noise drew his attention, but as usual, the house-elf had disappeared by the time Ron turned to look. He grimaced. Those little creatures had been spying on him since he first left his room. They'd leave food and drink, but that didn't change the fact that he was being spied on. Malfoy had probably set them on his, making the elflings follow Ron to make sure he didn't find the family's cache of Dark Arts.

Frowning with determination, Ron resolutely continued walking, ready to go on until something happened. Sitting in the potions lab was boring as anything, and sitting in his designated quarters would drive him insane.

The only sound was of his footsteps along the carpeted floors, muffled but echoing the empty halls like dull drums.

Finally, after walking for what seemed like hours, a doorway appeared in the long hallway's empty walls. It was the only difference. Looking around, Ron shrugged and took the chance entering it. The door opened into an empty room decorated in dungeon fashion: stone slabs for walls and floors with no windows, and the only pieces of furniture was a set of worn wood, a chair and table standing shaky on three legs.

A shallow stone basin with odd runes and symbols carved around the edge sat still on the table, though it looked heavy enough to bust those ancient legs. Ron drew closer, hypnotized by the silvery light shining from the basin and stared down at a bright, whitish silver liquid that moved ceaselessly at the bottom, cloud-like. The liquid looked like light made liquid, or wind made solid.

It was a Pensieve.

"This is what I was looking for," Ron breathed, taking a cautious seat on the chair. He leaned forward, swallowing in anticipation, and touched the wind-like material.

And found himself looking into the brightly grinning face of a young Harry Potter.

*

Ginny walked along the manor, feeling it pressing down on her. It left her feeling more annoyed than frightened. She'd been walking for the better part of an hour, and hadn't seen anyone since getting lost after leaving the room given to her for sleeping. Not even the house-elves answered her when she tried calling out for them.

It figured, she concluded darkly, that she'd be the one who the house would quietly dispose of. She was the only one really trying to do anything to help Harry. This sentient Slytherin brick of a manor probably realized that, and was doing its best to stop her, just like all the human Slytherins.

The beauty and richness of the house ceased to inspire her. After seeing nothing but wealth for so long, she was beginning to get tired of it, something she'd never believed would ever happen. At first, she was tempted to slip something into a pocket, but now she just wanted out and back to the Burrow where everything was at least cozy.

Voices trailed up the long hall she was currently stuck in, and Ginny only just stopped herself from rushing down the hall towards them. Logic kicked in: she didn't recognize the voices at all. Cautiously, Ginny continued her walking. The hall opened up into a spread of rooms, and from one room came the sounds of conversation.

The door was barely open, and Ginny couldn't resist the temptation to at least find out who was talking. Her character had grown up eavesdropping on her older brothers to find blackmail and to discover planned tricks. It was almost second nature. She peered in through the opened crack.

The room was a library, or an enormous study. Shelves of books lined the walls, and a huge desk dominated the larger part of one side. An open window let in light and fresh air, telling her that the time was nearing lunch for it to be so bright. On the side opposite the large desk was a smaller table with its assembled chairs.

Narcissa Malfoy sat at one of those chairs, back to the door, while a man stood trembling opposite her. He was a small man, short but bulging around the middle, and his hair was thinning fast. His most distinguishing feature was his face, so rat-like Ginny had to blink at seeing it.

Their conversation echoed along the empty room. A downside, Ginny decided vindictively, of having such a big house. The only problem was that Ginny could hardly follow the dialogue.

"I-I could only find traces-"

"Either talk straight, or don't talk at all," Narcissa cut in coldly, her voice as stiff as her posture. "I don't follow stutters." When the man tried to say something again, failing once more, she added, "Should I leave and call Lucius to deal with this? He isn't as kind as I am."

The man swallowed, eyes darting about watery, and then continued. "The forests--I looked there, in Albania--there were so many rumors about the Arts rising there again, he could be no other place. But there were only traces left--he's stretching himself-"

Narcissa lifted a sharp hand, stopping him mid-sentence, and she cocked her head to one side. "Is it so hard to speak in complete sentences, Wormtail? Try to follow my example."

He--Wormtail--swallowed hard, and began again, but all he did was merely repeat his sad story of hard trials in his tracking of whatever it was. Even Ginny was getting tired of it, and she wasn't too fond of sympathizing with a Malfoy. Narcissa didn't put up with it long, and whatever she murmured quietly in threat was enough to make the man quail.

The words hardly carried, but Ginny could make out the threat against his life clearly enough. She glared through the doorway, focusing so completely on the exchange going on in there that she didn't notice when a person walked loudly down the hall behind her. A moment later, and she was spun around, someone's hand on her mouth to keep her from crying out.

"Listening on others' conversations is a bad thing," a voice whispered.

Ginny jerked away, stepped back to focus on the woman before her. It wasn't someone she knew, nor anyone she recognized. The witch didn't seem concerned with Ginny's thorough inspection, as she pushed past the girl to glance inside the room. Looking in, the woman chuckled. "It looks like poor old Peter's been failing again."

"Peter?" Ginny asked against her better judgement. She leaned in close to the witch, listening in to the conversation. "I thought his name was Wormtail."

The witch looked down on her, amused. "Wormtail's a nickname, given to him by friends. What you see here is a man who's been forgotten by practically everyone except the people he wants to escape." She tapped Ginny's nose condescendingly. "You probably have no idea what I'm talking about, do you little girl?"

Ginny pulled back in umbrage. "I'm not a little girl." Her eyes narrowed. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question," the witch pointed out, eyes twinkling, "but I'm here on invitation. Lucius Malfoy called me down for something important. Maybe it's you? Maybe they've decided that playing get-along with the Ministry was turning drool at last, and they're ready to start the kidnapping business."

She frowned in mocking concentration. "Red hair and freckles? Why in the world would Lucius kidnap a Weasley? Your mother hasn't the spare Galleon to buy off your ransom."

"I'm not here against my will," Ginny shot back, heat rising in her cheeks, "and my family's not poor." The witch's mocking expression continued, nettling Ginny's reserve. "I'm here with Harry and the rest of them. You might have seen someone-"

"Harry?" The witch went completely still like a snake ready to strike. "Harry Potter?"

Ginny felt a tingle of something run down her spine, and in trepidation, she slowly nodded her head. "You know Harry?"

She could have been talking to air. The witch let out a deep breath, a sincere smile gracing her face. "Lucius, you darling," she whispered, startling Ginny, "you're an absolute genius." Then she spun on her heels and started down the hall.

Ginny paused helplessly, wondering what in the world she was caught in the middle of, and she ran to catch up with the woman. "Wait a second, who are you?" She got no answer, so with a roll of her eyes, Ginny added, "At least tell me what you're up to."

"Where do you think Harry is right now?" the witch asked almost frantically. They were nearly jogging through the halls, and the woman led Ginny through a maze of twists to familiar grounds.

Unsure but knowing Harry could take care of himself, Ginny reported that the boy was probably in the dungeons and then struggled to keep up as the woman picked up her pace.

The doors to the dungeons burst open in a emotion of wind, and the woman was near the end of the hall by the time Ginny even made it to the first stone slab. She started a light run, and managed to catch up as the woman entered the labs.

Draco started saying something about his father being just gone, but he quieted once he realized that her attention wasn't looking for his absent father. She fixed on Harry like an obsession, eyes going wide with something beyond what Ginny could name.

"H-Harry?" the woman whispered, slowly closing the gap between them.

A confused expression lit across Harry's features, and he shot a look at Draco--look at me, Ginny willed him, but Harry's eyes only returned to the stranger. "Yes?" he answered hesitantly. "Who are you?"

She smiled fully, relief coloring her face. "You're all grown up," she whispered, eyes tracing his face longingly. She touched her own cheek in astonishment. "You're all grown up." Smile deepening, the witch gestured to herself. "I don't suppose you'd remember me. They say you saved everyone's life at least once, so mine wouldn't be so special."

The statement's meaning was lost to Ginny, but Harry's breathing took an uneven turn. He swallowed, struggling to keep composed. "In the woods, that trial?"

The witch nodded, and crossed the gap to grab his hands. "I've waited an eternity to see you again. The Dark Lord, I gained a reputation because of you and he thought I was worthy enough. But I never got the chance to even talk to you--all I heard was rumors from others, and..." She trailed off peacefully, lifting a hand to touch his cheek.

For once, Harry didn't flinch back or even react. He only stared at her with wide-eyed wildness barely contained in his eyes.

*

They left the others in the house completely bewildered by this latest turn of events. Ron stumbled in from wherever he'd been, face haunted, while Hermione began debating about various potion ingredients with Draco and Ginny watched Harry with an odd expression. Narcissa had come out, whispering some words to the woman whose name was Haley, and then nodding towards the gardens where they could walk in peace. Haley hadn't let go of his hands, clinging to him like he was an illusion, and Harry couldn't place his thoughts if his life depended on it.

It was like finding a link to your past come alive to kiss you with Fortune. He didn't know whether her presence was a blessing or curse, but as far as he could tell, she was simply existing for him in that moment. Her eyes followed him with adoration, every word accepting him without reservation. There was something addicting in her worshipful fondness that Harry was becoming hooked to.

"Can you still transform?" she asked, reminding him that she knew of his abilities and didn't judge him by it.

He did, then, because she wanted him to. His stag form came easy, larger than she would remember but just as magnificent. That day in the woods was burned into his memory, and he relived it as she gently touched his antlers, fingers tracing a way down his forehead and following his strange scar. The love and adoration in her eyes was unconditional, and he felt burned for touching on it.

"You're still wonderful," she breathed, leaning against him lightly. He could still carry her, if Aurors attacked, carry her off to some safe place and be a real hero then, not some disappointment. When she straightened up, he transformed back, and they continued walking.

Their conversation was low-keyed but important. She told him about Crouch being reinstated in the Ministry because of their disappearance, and he told her about the pain the binding gave him, a pain few others knew about. She told him about her life after the war, of living as a fugitive and playing games with this weak Ministry, and he confessed about having an Auror as a godfather, and she forgave him and the matter was forgotten.

She asked about unimportant details, but things that showed she really cared: his birthday gifts, his favorite place in the forests, how he felt that first night in coming back and realizing that an Auror was waiting for him. He answered truthfully, knowing secrets were safe with her.

She laughed about Leo's sour antics, about Sirius's foul temper, about Remus's failed attempts at peacekeeping, and he found the humor in those situations, too. Sirius's words were turned into amusing phrases, and they both joked about the Auror's unique shade of white when he became angry.

The conversation turned serious as she talked about the Tournament, encouraging him to spill hidden doubts he had about the whole matter. That led in turn to doubts about Hogwarts, then about Leo, and then doubts in general with the world.

When night began to fall, and she recalled the fact that there was only hours left before the potion protecting his free will loss out, she reluctantly drew away with nothing but promises at future visits. She left him exhausted and emptied, mind cleared of previous secrets. She left him ready to go back to Beauxbatons.

*

"They've been found!" The shout rang through the Black House with wild exultation.

Sirius, unwillingly caught dosing on a couch, jerked awake and alert. He looked around before the echo of the statement reached his ears, then jumped to his feet. The head of an Auror grinned from the fireplace.

Remus was out in a second, the werewolf's uncanny hearing waking him from sleep in his own bedroom, and he was at the fireplace before Sirius took another step. "Found?" Remus repeated. "When? Where?"

"London," the head answered cheerfully, flushed with the success of the hunt. "Turns out those rumors about seeing those kids being dragged around were true. We've got a couple of wizards and witches in custody now, but we're getting those kids back to Beauxbatons right away."

"Right." Sirius's eyes glinted. "I'll be at the Ministry, to question the suspects."

Immediately, the Auror in the fireplace lost some enthusiasm. "Ah, that's all right, sir. We've got that matter covered-"

"Expect me in the hour. And make sure nothing else happens to my godson." Sirius willed the fire out, vanishing the head. Not an instant later, someone knocked at the door, and Minister Fudge walked in without further pause.

The Minster stopped at Sirius's still gaze. "You've heard, then?"

"I'm going to the Ministry," Sirius answered, voice too calm to be good news.

"Be rational about this, Sirius," Remus interrupted. "Let someone else handle it. You're going to bloody blow up the place, and then what'll happen?"

"Uncle Remus?" a small voice asked. Leo, dressed in his sleeping clothes, paused on the stairway. "What's going on?"

"Leonard," Fudge started before anyone else could answer, "we've found your brother. I know it's been a few days since you found out he was missing, but he's all right now and so are all his friends. News has gotten out, so we'll be having another press conference in a few days at the Ministry. If you want to come, you can."

"That's... that's wonderful." Leo's breathing quickened, but he managed a bright smile. "He's not hurt, then?"

"Not so much as a bruise."

"Then why did someone kidnap him?"

Fudge frowned and shot a look to Sirius. "We're... we're still trying to figure that out."

"Wait a minute," Leo said, "let me go get dressed."

"Such a cute kid," the Minister muttered before Leo shut the door behind him.

In his room alone, Leo fumed silently, going through his drawers and picking out a suitable attire. His rage was crystal cold: how dare Harry steal away all the attention, steal it away as soon as he left for Hogwarts? Was it his plan from the beginning? And now this fake kidnapping scheme--anyone could see that Harry would never allow anyone to kidnap him, let alone without a struggle. His brother had willingly left-

Leo paused, eyes widening. Which meant that Harry had somehow evaded those magical bindings Dumbledore had gone on so long about. His eyes turned thoughtful with anger as he finished dressing, and then he scrambled to the locked chest under his bed. The lock was a fake, meant only to provide the look of security, and he thumbed it open. Inside, so many collections of letters lay unopened from Harry.

With mechanical efficiency, Leo picked up one and ripped it in half. This whole issue was going to completely steal the spotlight from Leo, and Harry didn't deserve it. He picked up another, and then another, until the whole set lay ripped open, Harry's scrawl littering his bedroom floor.

Footsteps coming up the stairs warned him, and he shoved the torn slips back into the chest, shoving it under his bed and standing up in time to answer the knock at his door. Remus stood there, a curious expression on his face, and Leo smiled childishly at his uncle. "I've decided something," he announced, coming down the stairs. "Do you think I could go to Beauxbatons, to see for myself that Harry is all right? It'd make me feel so much better."

Sirius was gone, but Remus answered with a nod. Fudge looked ecstatic. It wasn't every day that Leo's guardians allowed him to wander along the world.

*

Claiming fatigue from their kidnapping, the five Hogwarts students hid on their apartments from the clamor outside as Ministry officials and Aurors bombarded them with questions and demands. Harry seized the moment by challenging Draco to a chess match on the board Lucius had given him, and they talked quietly about the recent turn of events. Ron couldn't stop staring at Harry for some reason, and he whispered secrets into the girls' ears that left them wide-eyed and wondering.

When night came again, each of them having been interviewed by different Aurors and giving satisfactory answers, Harry waited until everyone was asleep, and then sneaked from his bedroom but Hermione was waiting for him in the front room of the apartment.

"Where are you going?" she asked, startling him. He'd just put his cloak on, swinging the door open with a free hand, and her voice came from the darkness like a spy.

Thinking quickly, Harry shrugged. "Just for a walk."

"No you're not." She walked from the shadows, standing in the moonlight of the opened door, and her eyes watched him knowingly. "You're planning on giving the antidote to the champions, aren't you?"

There wasn't anything he could say to that, especially when they both knew it to be true. Shrugging again, Harry picked up a thick earthenware jar, and then realized that Hermione was still completely dressed. "Where are you going?"

"With you. We just got back today, and if you're walking around by yourself, you'll be asking for trouble." She stepped out of the house. "Let's try not to wake anyone else up. Ron's... Ron's completely exhausted."

Harry nodded in distracted agreement, and they started out. He led her to the hospital wing again, avoiding a patrolling Auror and making as little noise as possible. The champions were all sleeping, but some weakly opened their eyes when Harry fired up the torches again. He locked eyes with Hermione, and she pressed her lips together before stepping up to be the one who spoke.

"Excuse me," the witch started timidly, swallowing as more and more eyes opened to stare at her. "Excuse me-"

"Vat do you vant?" one voice spat from the left side of the room, where a boy slumped wearily on a bed. His eyes were pinched open. "Can't you see ve are tr'ing to sleep?"

Her hurried explanation of their presence at the dead of night bought no friendly looks from the crowd. A mention of Harry's name unleashed glares of intense dislike and blame, which Harry blandly ignored. Her motioning to the jar of antidote brought scoffs of disbelief. After five minutes of trying to talk to the group, Hermione gave up with an exasperated shake of her head.

She looked at Harry. "Why don't you try?"

"Do you think I'd do any better?" he shot back evenly, balanced steadily on the heels of his feet. He looked almost apathetic to the other champions suffering, and when Hermione asked again, he reluctantly gave in.

His address to the room was more cutthroat: with a few words, he announced that he'd made their antidote, and that he didn't care at all whether they had any. He planned on leaving the jar here until morning, which would be the last day of the month, and whoever wanted to take some could. Harry considered it his duty to at least give them the means to their own cure, and nothing more. Ending on a sharp note that hung in the air for a few moments, Harry turned around and gave Hermione a untroubled shrug, then started back to the apartments.

She rolled her eyes. "I don't think anyone will try it now, Harry. You were practically snobbish."

"I told them the truth," Harry answered simply. "What they do now is their own choice. They're old enough to do as they please." He gave her a searching look, and added, "Thank you for coming. If you hadn't talked first, they wouldn't have even tried to listen to me."

Hermione hugged her arms to herself and nodded, unsure of her voice. They dodged the Auror again, Hermione wryly realizing that she was getting good at this deception, and made it back to the apartments without anyone the wiser.