Harry Potter and the Flowers of Mimas

Chapter 6: Welcome to Azkaban, Boy

Luna Lovegood had the rare ability, Harry thought, to seem to be at the same time both perfectly at home and utterly out of place no matter where she was. He had not expected to find her sitting opposite the hidden doorway to the Room of Requirement. But it would be hard to imagine any place, even within the far from ordinary halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where you would expect to find a girl as odd as Luna.

She sat on the stone floor with her back against the wall and her legs stretched out in front of her. Above her head, Barnabas the Barmy (depicted on a tapestry whilst wearing a lilac unitard) was climbing a fuzzy tree, which a savage needlepoint troll was trying to fell with his moth-eaten club.

Luna's ankles were clad in bright pink socks with lacy frills on the top of them. She wore her usual jewellery made from found objects. Her dirty blonde hair was pinned back behind one ear by her wand, and her pale eyes were staring unblinkingly (but apparently quite contentedly) at the absolutely blank wall in front of her. She was also singing so softly that at first Harry thought she might just be moving her mouth for the fun of it. But he soon realised that Luna had sung, barely audibly:

"Oh know the perils, read the signs,

The warning history shows,

For our Hogwarts is in danger,

From external deadly foes,

And we must unite inside her,

Or we'll crumble from within,

I have told you, I have warned you..."

Her voice had trailed away to nothing and she gave the two boys a dreamy smile. "So, tell me," she asked languidly, "did the Sorting Hat tell you both that you were awfully brave?"

"I guess it did,' Harry replied, too surprised by the question to think up anything clever to say. Ron appeared to consider that Luna had no right to ask such a thing, so he merely grunted a gruff assent.

Luna rose to her feet, her gaze never leaving them. "The Sorting Hat told me," she said with pride, "that mine was the most unique head it had ever sat upon." Ron made a muffled blurting noise, but then held his breath so that he did not laugh out loud.

Harry and Ron stood in the corridor in front of the blank wall. Harry was certain that this was the place where the door for the Room of Requirement had previously appeared. Luna took a couple of steps towards them, so that she stood very close to Ron. The smirk left Ron's face and his ears started to turn pink. She leant towards him and asked him avidly, "You two haven't come up here to snog, have you?"

Ron's jaw dropped in amazement. He looked at Harry, who was doing his best to suppress his laughter. "What?" Ron asked Luna in a horrified voice. "With each other?"

Luna shrugged. "Odder things have happened." She flicked a strand of hair away from her face. "My father once interviewed a man who fell in love with a portrait of Ludovic Bagman. He ended up poisoning himself when he tried to lick all the varnish off the painting." She had gradually drifted so close to Ron that Harry thought her nose might be about to collide with his best friend's chest. "It takes all kinds to make a world," Luna concluded breathily.

Ron was still carrying Harry's Potions textbook, which he now gripped tightly in front of his body like a shield. "Yeah? Well - we, we haven't," Ron stammered. Harry thought the last time he had seen Ron looking so frightened was when they had visited Aragog.

Luna seemed to collect herself for a moment and said in a comparatively businesslike tone, "Well, that's good then. I'd have to put you both on detention or even take house points if you were planning on snogging in there." She nodded towards the wall, which to Harry's disappointment remained featureless.

"No, we're just going over - that way," Harry signaled very vaguely towards an unremarkable part of the corridor. "We're practicing some spells," he added lamely. He realised that he should be trying to focus on the blank wall so that the door would appear.

Ron was now standing as close to the wall as he could but Luna resumed her relentless creep forward. "Of course," she drawled, "it's quite permissible to snog elsewhere. It's not the snogging per se that's the problem." She stood on her toes, bringing her face nearly level with Ron's chin, and closed her eyes. Ron lurched backwards so suddenly that his head hit the wall with a crack. Instantly, the door to the Room of Requirement appeared behind him. Without turning around Ron grasped the handle, opened the door and fell through it backwards, leaving Luna standing on tiptoe in the corridor.

As Luna's eyes snapped open, Harry slipped past her into the room. He quickly shut the door behind him and pointed his wand. "Colloportus," Harry hurriedly said.

"Mental!" Ron fumed as he glared at the sealed door. He rubbed the back of his sore head. "She's abso-bloody-lutely mental."

"She's got a really unique head," Harry agreed. He looked past Ron. They had visited the Room of Requirement with Dumbledore's Army many times, yet Harry had never seen it looking like this.

The room was smaller, not just in terms of floor space but also height. Ron's head was nearly touching the ceiling. Also, the windows seemed to be missing. Every wall was covered in deep burgundy velvet drapes, except for one wall with a small fireplace. The room was illuminated by many glowing candles and the fire had been lit. An overstuffed red velvet couch was facing the fire and from that direction Harry could hear softly tinkling music. It was all so warm, claustrophobic and cozy that Harry felt like he was inside his four-poster bed with the hangings drawn.

Ron stopped scowling at the door. He too noticed that their surroundings were unfamiliar. Touching the roof with his hand, he asked warily, "Harry, is this the sort of place you wanted?"

"I don't know," Harry said slowly. "I'm not sure I summoned the room at all. I think you might have done it."

Ron frowned. "I didn't summon anything," he protested. "I just wanted to get away from that nutter."

From the other side of the couch, a squeaky voice giggled.

Ron drew his wand and spun around. Harry motioned to him to be still. "Is anybody there?" Harry asked the couch cautiously.

"Harry Potter, sir?" came a reply, in the high-pitched voice of Dobby the house-elf. Immediately thereafter, Dobby's head appeared over the back of the couch. Dobby's green, orb-like eyes were open very wide, as though he had been taken by surprise. His many woolen hats were perched lopsidedly on his head and one of them tumbled off when Dobby stood.

Harry wondered whether he had just woken Dobby up. Picking up the little hat from the floor, he handed it to the house-elf. "I'm sorry, Dobby," Harry said. "I didn't think anybody'd be in here."

But when Harry reached over to give the hat to Dobby, he realised that the elf was not alone on the couch. A music box was balanced on one of the cushions, playing the tune Greensleeves over and over. Next to the music box sat another house-elf, whose tiny hands held two crystal goblets of what appeared to be Butterbeer. The second elf was certainly not Dobby's friend Winky, who had a bulbous tomato-shaped nose. The nose of the seated elf was pointed and the tip turned skywards. Harry thought the second elf looked a bit like Madam Pince's assistant. But unlike Dobby, the other elf was not merely surprised to see Harry. The elf was angry.

"What is a naughty student boy doing in the Come and Go Room? Don't you knows it is lesson time?" the elf scolded, in a voice even higher and squeakier than Dobby's. Harry suspected it might be a female elf.

Dobby looked profoundly shocked that his fellow elf would speak in such a tone. He bounced on the couch in an agitated way. "Bunty should be holding her wicked tongue," Dobby said anxiously. "Can't Bunty see that the naughty student is Harry Potter?"

"We can come back," Harry said deferentially. "I mean - if it's a bad time."

Ron had approached the couch also and looked down on Bunty. "Is that Butterbeer?" he asked.

Dobby grabbed the goblets from his friend and offered them to Ron. "Here you is, Mister Wheezy," Dobby said obligingly. "You may have them."

The girl elf was very unimpressed with Dobby's show of generosity. She jumped to her feet angrily and squealed, "Students must not be visiting the Come and Go Room!"

Ron took one of the goblets and drank a gulp of Butterbeer. "Well actually, Bunty," he said thoughtfully, "I'm pretty sure that house-elves aren't allowed to lounge about in here drinking strong liquor. Not when Madam Pince needs your help back in the library."

The girl elf shook her miniscule fist at Ron. Harry noticed that one of Hermione's S.P.E.W. badges was pinned to the grimy dust cloth that Bunty wore. Dobby tried desperately to pull her arm back down to her side. "But it is Harry Potter," Dobby pleaded with her, as though the name alone explained everything. "Dobby told Harry Potter of this most amazing room so that he could use it to prepare for his battle with He Who Must Not Be Named. Harry Potter must be allowed to use this room, so that he can fight valiantly and boldly. Then Harry Potter will triumph and win freedom for all creatures!"

Harry wished that he had as much confidence in his ability to triumph as Dobby did. But Dobby's speech seemed to have the desired effect on Bunty, who sulkily clambered off the couch. "Harry Potter can have the silly room," she grumbled. "And Bunty will not be coming back here with Dobby ever again."

Dobby's large, bat-like ears drooped. He handed the remaining goblet to Harry and he too began to leave. Bunty had reached the door when Harry remembered that he had sealed it. "Hang on," Harry said. "I need to open that for you." He pointed his wand and tried to recollect how to undo the spell.

Bunty lifted her upturned nose even higher in the air. "Wizard spells is weak as water," she said disparagingly. Harry could not remember a Hogwarts house-elf ever speaking to a wizard in such a tone. In fact, if Harry had not met Kreacher the previous year, he would not have believed it possible for elves to hold wizards in such low regard.

The elf clicked her bony fingers. The door made a squelching noise and popped ajar. "Any elfling can break a wizard spell," Bunty said snidely as she marched through the door. Dobby scurried after her, bowing to Harry and Ron as he departed.

To the boys' immense relief, Luna was no longer waiting in the corridor. However, to be safe, Harry sealed the door once more after closing it.

Ron finished his Butterbeer, put the goblet on the mantelpiece and opened Moste Potente Potions. He extracted Snap, Crackle and Pop and asked, "What now?"

Harry had been looking around the warm, poky room, trying to decide what they could do. "I don't think this'll work at all," he said dejectedly. "We needed a wide, open -"

Before he could say the word "space" Harry was knocked off his feet by a mighty wind. He could hear Ron swear over the howling gale and suspected that the wind had bowled Ron over too. He could not see Ron, because Harry's glasses had been blown clear off his nose. He let go of the crystal goblet, which flew off into the air. Harry gripped the sleeve that held his Marauder's Map firmly, in fear that the map might slip out and be lost too. Then, the wind stopped as suddenly as it had started, and he could just make out Ron's blurry form - far away - sitting on the floor.

"What in Merlin's name?" Ron distant voice exclaimed. Ron rose and walked back towards Harry, picking up Harry's glasses on the way. "Blimey, Harry! A bit of warning would've been nice," Ron said darkly as he plonked the glasses back on Harry's nose. Thankfully, the spectacles had not been broken and Harry was able to view his handiwork.

The area was enormous - bigger than a Quidditch pitch. Harry was in the very middle of the room, a long, long way from the door. Even the shattered remains of his crystal goblet were far behind him. Polished floorboards seemed to stretch out forever and the space looked big enough to use as an aircraft hangar. The ceiling was as high as a cathedral's. For a short while, Harry could do nothing but sit there, amazed at the vastness of it all.

Ron must have held onto Barnaby Wibble's book very tightly, because it was still intact. But Harry's copy of Moste Potente Potions, which Ron had rested on the mantelpiece, had been torn apart and scattered. Harry pointed his wand back in the direction of the fireplace and shouted, "Reparo!" Most of the textbook's pages re-gathered themselves, but quite a few did not.

"I don't think that spell works from this distance," Ron said. The boys trudged back to the corner of the room where ripped pages littered the floor and began to pick them up.

"Well, the room's big enough," Harry said, after he had crammed the last fragment of parchment inside the front cover of Moste Potente Potions. "Maybe we should figure out how to start."

Ron sat on the couch and opened Snap Crackle and Pop. He read from the contents page, "Chapter 1: Popping out for a Quick One - is that what you had in mind?"

"Possibly," Harry said uncertainly. "But Fred and George's letter said something about practicing with a Portkey." The music box had, miraculously, not been swept away by Harry's tornado. It remained on the cushion beside Ron. Harry stooped to pick it up so that he could sit beside his friend. But as he held the toy in his hand he felt a familiar tug like a hook behind his navel.

The Room of Requirement dissolved in a swirl of colours.

* * * * * * *

Snape's shoes landed on a surface that was uneven, wet and slippery. He lost his balance and stumbled towards Narcissa, who jumped back in disgust, letting go of the rusty plate. They were on the island of Azkaban, standing beside the rocky shoreline. The bleak fortress loomed on the cliff top above them.

Exactly as it was, Snape thought. The prison rose out of the granite rocks. It was the same dismal grey as the stone it stood upon, the sea that battered it and the clouds that threatened to envelope it. Everything on the island was dark and cold. Nothing grew here. Nothing lives here, Snape decided, except lives that would rather be ended.

"We were supposed to go to a reception area," Narcissa snapped irritably. Standing on a dank shoreline in a howling wind was clearly not to her liking.

"The castle's entrance is up the stairs," Snape explained, indicating a barnacle encrusted handrail and steep steps leading up the cliff.

For a moment, Snape thought that Narcissa would refuse to make the climb. However, if faced with the alternative of being soaked by pounding surf, it seemed that Malfoys would, on occasion, walk. "Come, Draco," she ordered as she swept past the Potions Master and started to go up the stairs.

Draco had not moved. His knuckles were white from gripping the Portkey, which Snape now prized from him. The boy's eyes were wide with terror as he stared at the prison. Snape wondered whether he had looked just as pathetic and spineless the first time he stood shivering on this unholy ground. Was that why Moody had taken such sadistic delight in pushing his wand into Snape's back and prodding his prisoner up those stairs? And, although he knew full well that it demeaned him, Snape found he could not resist giving Draco exactly the same words of greeting he had received from the Auror.

Snape bent and whispered in Draco's ear. "Welcome to Azkaban, boy."

"Wha - what, s-sir?" Draco asked.

"We should follow your mother," was Snape's facile reply. He let the boy walk in front of him, which seemed to be the safest course. It also afforded him the pleasure of watching two Malfoys make an ungainly progress up damp and jagged rocks.

Before the three visitors had managed to climb to the top step the portcullis groaned, seemingly of its own accord. Looking upwards, Snape panicked fleetingly. Nearly fifteen years ago, the Dementors had unlocked the castle entrance, even though Snape had still been struggling up the stairs. They had felt Snape's approach. Moody had jeered that he'd never seen the Azkaban guards so eager to welcome a new inmate - that Snape must have exactly the sort of miserable soul that Dementors loved to feed on. But now (as Snape felt the need to continuously remind himself) there were no Dementors. Snape walked closer and then realised, to his relief, that a large and smelly Security Troll was standing just inside the castle wall, pulling the ancient chain to make the portcullis rise.

Narcissa reached the castle's outer ward first. Silver sparks shot from her wand the instant she stood on level ground. By the time Draco and Snape joined her, Narcissa had dried and cleaned her sodden shoes and fixed her windswept hair, so that she looked as impeccable as a mannequin in Madam Malkin's window. She wasted several minutes grooming Draco as well, under the troll's increasingly impatient gaze.

When Draco was brushed and scrubbed to his mother's satisfaction, the troll grunted for them to follow. They walked to the castle keep and the lumbering beast swung its club to indicate a low, iron door. As the troll was too large to fit through the door, it appeared the travelers were expected to complete their journey without its supervision.

None of it was familiar to Snape. He looked at the battlements and turrets of the decaying castle wall, at the weathered flagstones of the outer ward and at the windowless, forbidding keep. He could remember none of it. In fact, Snape realised that his last coherent memory of Azkaban must have been the groan of the portcullis. After that, he could not say where he had been taken or what he had done for the three days of his imprisonment. He remembered the cold; he had been drowning in cold. He had struggled for air, but the cold had dragged him down into a nightmare of suicidal despair and soul-destroying memories. He had cowered and shivered behind his mother's skirts. He had hung by his ankles with the bitter taste of soap in his mouth and the bleak cold aching his bones. He had frozen in a narrow, dark space while a monster's howls drew closer. Snape had not known where he was until three days later, when chains had clamped around his wrists. Warm blood flowed back into his face and fingers. He had opened his eyes to see the Wizengamot assembled before him.

But Snape had had his fill of wallowing in sad memories. It was time to do Dumbledore's bidding. "I believe we go this way," the Potions Master said dispassionately, opening the iron door and entering ahead of the others.

The room they stepped into could not have been in sharper contrast to the yard they had just departed. The walls had been painted a sunny yellow and hung with advertisements for most of the merrier sentiments the government chose to promote. To his disgust, Snape saw another poster of the centaur foals beseeching him to clasp the hoof of friendship. There was also a placard with a very romanticised drawing of a giant and the caption:

THE BIGGER THEY ARE, THE NICER THEY ARE!

A few brightly upholstered chairs lined the walls and a long desk stood at the front of the room. An enormous vase of daffodils had been placed upon the desk. A broad-shouldered witch, whose masses of black curly hair completely obscured her face, was bent over the desk, intently writing something. Snape walked up to her, silently placed the Portkey beside her parchment and cleared his throat slightly, hoping to gain the witch's attention.

The daffodils honked, which caused the witch's head to jerk upwards. "Golly!" she exclaimed excitedly. "You're here. I thought you must've lost your way on the beach." She crumpled the parchment she had been writing on. "I was just about to ask Mr Shacklebolt if I should go and look for you."

"We are here to visit Lucius Malfoy," Snape explained. "This is Mrs Malfoy, their son, Draco, and I am -"

"Oh, I remember you, Professor," the witch butted in. She gave a girlish giggle, which Snape found disconcerting, coming from such a big-boned woman. "But, I bet you don't remember me." She flashed a toothy smile.

Snape looked at her tangled curls, square jaw line and oversized teeth. There was something vaguely familiar about her. But then again, Snape had taught most of the young witches and wizards in Britain. He believed it was impossible, unnecessary and a waste of good grey matter to attempt to remember them all.

"I dare say I taught you," Snape responded stiffly.

The witch's smile broadened even further. "That's right!" she said, delighted by Snape's powers of recollection. "You taught me Potions!"

Stupid girl, Snape thought. What else would I teach you?

"You didn't expect to see me here, did you, sir?" she continued. "Not after you wrote me that lovely reference so I could become an apothecary."

Snape was quite certain that he never written a lovely reference for anybody, least of all this idiotic woman. The only references he wrote were the ones he was obliged to write as Housemaster. These were for Slytherin students and were not lovely. The witch who stood before Snape was so singularly without guile that she would never have been Sorted into Slytherin House. He expected she was simply prattling about the standard admission form, which Snape was required to complete for any students wishing to join the Apothecaries' Guild.

"Are apothecaries in much demand here?" Snape asked. It seemed an odd profession to practice in a prison, but maybe Kingsley Shacklebolt preferred his supplies of Veritaserum to be freshly brewed.

The girl shook her head and laughed. "Gosh, no! I gave up all that brewing business." She pointed proudly to a small brass nameplate on her desk, which stated that she was Miss Potesta Tripp, Trainee Auror. "The Ministry had a second intake of Aurors this year." She gave an annoyingly self-deprecating shrug. "They were pretty desperate for more staff," Miss Tripp said candidly. "I must have just scraped in." The Potions Master had no doubt that this was true.

Narcissa now stood beside Snape and her long fingernails began to drum on the desk. "Severus, would it be possible to continue this conversation with your little friend later?" she asked icily. "Lucius is waiting."

Potesta Tripp looked mortified to have so dissatisfied one of her valued customers. "Sorry, Mrs Malfoy," she murmured. She picked up a long flexible instrument that had been lying on the desk, and began to energetically go through the procedures for admitting Lucius' visitors. The Trainee Auror passed the rod, which Snape recognised as a Scrutiny Stick, up and down the three travelers while she walked around them.

When the Scrutiny Stick brushed Snape's hip, it began to click insistently. "Are you carrying any enchanted objects, Professor?" the girl asked politely. Snape pulled the grotty Veneficus Membrane from his left pocket. Miss Tripp wrinkled her nose and exclaimed, "Eeeww!" before completing her scan. Then she produced a Wand Checker machine from under her counter.

"I'll need wands from everybody," Miss Tripp declared happily. "You'll get them back, of course. But we'd be grateful if you didn't use them while you're here or give them to any of the residents." She giggled self-consciously and made inane small talk while she recorded the details of first Draco's and then Narcissa's wands.

When Snape laid his wand on the brass plate of the Wand Checker it began to vibrate. A narrow strip of parchment came speeding out of the slit in the base of the machine and Miss Tripp read aloud from it. "Yew, thirteen inches, Thestral mare mane hair core, numerous scorch marks from caustic substances, been in use for twenty seven years. Is that correct?"

"Yes," Snape said.

"You're only thirty-eight, sir?" Miss Tripp asked incredulously. "Gosh, I would have picked you for much older. You're only a couple of years older than my brother, Barry. Did you know him at -"

The machine had continued to vibrate during the whole time that the Trainee Auror was talking and a second strip of parchment shot out of it. A vicious, hissing noise emanated from the device. Miss Tripp looked rather nonplussed. "Whoops!" she said. As she did the brass plate of the Wand Checker split open and devoured Snape's wand.

"Crumbs! It's - er, not supposed to do that," the girl said worriedly, banging on the side of the machine. Then she read the second strip of parchment. Her square jaw dropped and for a few seconds she simply stared at her former teacher. Eventually she collected herself and whispered apologetically, "There's a mistake.... I'm sure, sir."

She handed the second slip of paper to the professor. It read:

Severus Snape. DEATH EATER. Disarm and detain.

Narcissa Malfoy was standing at Snape's elbow. Her eyebrows raised somewhat as she also read the parchment. It was difficult to determine Narcissa's reaction. Snape did not think she looked surprised or even remotely concerned. She merely shot him a contemptuous glance, as though to say that her low opinion of him had just been confirmed.

Draco, who was behaving with much greater confidence now that he was in the jolly company of Miss Tripp, tried to sneak a peek at the parchment too. Snape folded it hurriedly.

"I'll get Mr Shacklebolt," Potesta Tripp said nervously. "The machine's really old. It's probably just a malfunction. My boss'll know what to do."

"Will I, Potesta?" a deep, calming voice asked. A tall, black wizard stood beside the iron door. He bent his bald head low to step into the room. "What've you done now?" he gently asked the girl.

"Nothing! I didn't do it," the young witch blurted out. "It was the machine, Mr Shacklebolt. It ate Professor Snape's wand. It says he's a Death Eater!"

Draco started to snigger but his mother placed a warning hand on his shoulder. Shacklebolt crossed the room and extended his hand. "Professor Snape, welcome to Azkaban. I'm Kingsley Shacklebolt. I have seniority on this watch." Snape duly shook the Auror's hand, playing along with the deception that he was a stranger to this brother member of the Order of the Phoenix. Kingsley continued, "Clearly, the fault is with the machine. It's an old one, I'm afraid." He gave Snape a brief, mischievous look and went on, "The enchantments on that particular machine were cast by a former colleague of mine. He retired a while ago, but he had a well deserved reputation for zealotry."

Bloody Moody, Snape thought.

"Maybe I should show you to the cell now?" Kingsley asked pleasantly. Snape noticed that Narcissa stiffened at the word "cell." The Auror turned to his trainee and said firmly, "I'll come back and retrieve the professor's wand, Potesta. Just leave the machine alone till I return." Miss Tripp stopped trying to poke her fingers into the slit at the base of the device.

They exited the bright yellow office by a different door, which led directly to a narrow spiral staircase. Snape assumed that these stairs went underground. This suspicion was confirmed when, at the bottom of the stairs, they found a tunnel barely higher than Snape's head that was inadequately lit by a few sparsely spaced torches. Kingsley Shacklebolt had to bend low as he guided them through the gloom.

"Morning, Dawlish." Shacklebolt's low voice echoed against the curved ceiling. They edged past a man standing sentinel, who tipped his hat to the Auror but gave the others an unfriendly look.

When they came to the end of the tunnel they climbed another longer stairway. After a while they passed a barred window that showed a grim patch of the angry sea. Snape realised they were climbing one of the towers of Azkaban fortress. They climbed higher and passed two or three solid metal doorways. At the very top landing stood a single door.

"Fenestra," said Shacklebolt, pointing his wand at the thick steel. A small window, no bigger than an envelope, appeared in the door. The Auror peered through it and announced, "They're here, Malfoy." His voice had an aggressive undertone as he added, "Stay exactly where you are."

The window sealed itself up and, after a series of complicated flicks of Shacklebolt's wand, the door began to clank and clatter. It opened slowly. The Auror blocked the doorway, his wand drawn and his body clearly tensed for combat. Snape craned his neck to see over Narcissa and Shacklebolt's shoulders, half expecting to see a hostile madman.

He saw Lucius Malfoy - in full possession of his faculties and clearly the master of his - albeit reduced - domain. His thin lips curled slightly at first sight of the Auror, but Lucius quickly rectified his features so that his countenance was once again a mask of impassivity. There was no hint of disfigurement on that face either. Apparently, spattergroit was a condition that came and went at the sufferer's convenience.

The plain robes Lucius wore were not of his usual opulent style, but they appeared to have been freshly laundered. Not one of his long blonde hairs had strayed from its proper place. He sat in an almost bare room at a rustic table but his bearing was so regal that he might have been enthroned on the cathedra of the Supreme Mugwump. Lucius did not even flinch when a scarlet ribbon flew out from the end of Shacklebolt's wand and trussed the prisoner's torso to his chair.

"Narcissa, my dearest," Lucius said evenly. His manner so was rigidly controlled that Snape wondered if it had been rehearsed. The prisoner continued smoothly, "Much as I would love to embrace you, my gaolers have made other arrangements."

Kingsley Shacklebolt sighed contemptuously during Lucius' little speech. He concentrated on casting a second charm. "I'm sure you understand that the prisoner needs to be been restrained, Mrs Malfoy," Shacklebolt said sternly, while he moved his wand in intricate loops. When he had finished he added in warning, "And I've just put an Barrier Hex around him, so nobody can touch him. We will know if you try to." To Snape's surprise, the Auror then backed away from the door and permitted Narcissa and Draco to enter first. "It'll be safe to lock you all in," Shacklebolt decided. "I'll come back to collect you when the visit's over."

Initially Snape was amazed at the degree of privacy the Auror was allowing the Malfoys. Then it dawned on him. They were not being given the privilege of talking freely for their own benefit. This was for the benefit of the Order of the Phoenix and its spy. Still, it was with some trepidation that Snape walked, unarmed, into the cell.

The door had clanked shut behind them before anybody spoke. Narcissa, who appeared to be blinking back tears, had the first word. In clipped syllables, she pronounced, "This won't do. It simply won't do at all."

"Nevertheless -" Lucius began to say, but his wife talked clean over the top of him.

"A suite of rooms! Enid Fudge assured me that you had been given a suite." She glared at the stone walls in dismay.

"Well, there's a bedroom up the stairs," Lucius said, nodding his head in the direction of a set of roughly hewn steps that disappeared into the darkness of a far corner.

"She said you would have the best spot," Narcissa continued furiously. "But, look at this drabness! No drapes - no carpet!" Her fists were balled so tightly that Snape wondered whether her long nails were digging into her palms. "If Enid Fudge expects to keep a place in my bridge four...she can just.... think again!"

"Perhaps we can discuss my need for soft furnishings later." Lucius' irritation was not concealed. "Just take a seat, dear. You too, Draco." He looked past his family and fixed Snape with a meaningful look before he drawled, "And you, Severus."

Narcissa sat but continued to look about the room, taking umbrage at its many imperfections. "How can we be expected to live with bare walls?" she asked nobody in particular. "First that horrid Barwick person tells me to sell our nicest paintings - and now I find that you don't even have a single picture."

Snape noticed Lucius frown at the mention of his lawyer. "You did sell the paintings, though?" he asked his wife. "Barwick has been paid?"

"Of course," Narcissa snapped. "Do you think I want that wretched man pestering me for money? But, if it wasn't for Andromeda, we'd have barely anything hanging in the foyer."

Lucius frown turned rapidly to a look of alarm. "Andromeda Tonks?" he hissed.

"My sister," Narcissa said haughtily. "She visited three weeks ago."

"Why?"

"She came to tell me about an old family bequest," Narcissa said coolly. "It seems they've finally got around to settling my aunt's estate - you know, poor little Regulus' mother."

"She's been dead for years." Lucius' eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"But the dragon that guards the family vault at Gringotts is still very much alive," Narcissa explained. "Auntie's executors have been trying for ages to get past the beast and find her will. In the end, it seems, they gave up and decided to split the property between her surviving relations. They contacted Andromeda - I suppose because she's the oldest." She smiled nastily, "I'm certain Auntie would have hated the thought of Andromeda getting a Knut."

"And you let Andromeda Tonks come into our home?"

"Well, obviously, that brute she married wasn't with her," Narcissa countered, her blue eyes flashing fiercely. "And naturally I used the second best china. And it all proved quite beneficial, because she brought along two beautiful portraits."

"Portraits of whom?"

"The main one was Auntie. She's a treasure, such good company and very tastefully framed. And Andromeda brought a smaller one of my great-great-grandfather. I've hung it next to Auntie, but I must say he doesn't seem to be in his portrait very often." Lucius seemed to be relieved that both the pictures were of noble Black family members. But Narcissa added bitterly, "She also presented me with a completely foul house-elf."

"From where?" Lucius asked avidly. Snape wondered whether Malfoy suspected that Grimmauld Place had been used as headquarters for the Order.

"That hideous one from Auntie's house," Narcissa replied. "Eventually, we'll inherit a share in the realty as well. But it's unplottable and very protected. Andromeda said the executors haven't been able to keep track of the house long enough to sell it yet." She concluded darkly, "So in the meantime, I have to make do with a filthy old elf."

Lucius waved dismissively. "Kill it."

"And how am I supposed to do that?" Narcissa's voice was redolent with self-pity. "It's not as though I can call on poor Walden to come by with his axe any more."

News of Walden McNair's suicide had occupied the front-page of the Daily Prophet for a significant portion of the previous August. He had been the first of the Death Eaters to be convicted of breaking into the Ministry of Magic. Early on the morning that he had been scheduled to appear before the Wizengamot for sentencing, McNair had ripped the iron bars from the window of his Azkaban cell and plunged to his death. The Wizengamot had still gathered that morning to impose a sentence of life imprisonment on Walden McNair. They had also promptly declared that McNair's sentence had been fully served.

Narcissa pouted and batted her long eyelashes at her husband. "I can hardly be expected to swing a gweat big axe myself," she simpered.

"Your Aunt Elladora would be so disappointed in you," Lucius said jokingly. Narcissa responded with a half-smile and a shrug. "But, let's have no more of this sad talk," Lucius bracingly said, rubbing his hands together. "Not when we're here to celebrate such an important day." Lucius' perfectly even teeth gleamed in the direction of his son and heir.

Draco had been slouching sullenly in his chair while his parents bickered about interior decoration. Now that the conversation appeared to have turned to something more interesting, he sat upright and returned his father's smile. "Mum said you had my present," Draco said eagerly.

"I do. We'll get to that," Lucius replied shortly. Snape discreetly surveyed the room. There was no broom-shaped package lurking in the shadows. Lucius continued. "But before we do, how are you? How's school? You must be busy there, I suppose. Too busy, it seems, to write." These last words were delivered in a manner that bordered on menacing. However Draco responded with a bored roll of his eyes, as though he expected he was about to have the sort of father to son talk that he had participated in far too often.

"School stinks," Draco said sulkily. A large book sat on the table in front of the boy. He began drum a slow tattoo on it with his wand.

Lucius pursed his thin lips, no doubt to suppress a reprimand. "But, you are applying yourself to your studies, aren't you?"

Draco hung his head and folded his arms. "Guess so," he mumbled. "Not that there's anything worth studying at Hogwarts."

"Not true," his father said with obvious restraint. "A Hogwarts education has equipped our family for its role in wizarding society for generations -"

"That's not what you said before first year," Draco interrupted hotly. "You told Mum that Durmstrang would suit me better. And, you know what? You were right!" Draco unfolded his arms and fidgeted with his wand. Then his words tumbled out in an agitated torrent. "Gregory Goyle wrote to me about it. It's brilliant there. They learn torture for a whole year! Proper torture too - not just prissy jinxes. They learn to cast Cruciatus Curses in fifth year! And they brew poisons that we're not even allowed to read about. And Goyle reckons him and Crabbe are going to learn to speak Parseltongue next year - "

"Well, if Gregory Goyle told you that, he's pulling your broom twigs!" Lucius said forcefully. He tugged impotently against the cords that bound him. "Learn Parseltongue? Are you an imbecile? What sort of gullible numbskull would believe such a thing?" Lucius' grey eyes glinted with ire. "I never thought I'd see the day that a Malfoy could be fooled by a Goyle," he snarled.

"Now, Lucius," Narcissa said. Snape could not tell whether the words were intended as consolation or a warning. She then leant across the table to stroke her husband's cheek.

Her hand was only a few inches from Lucius' face when she recoiled violently. There was a flash of white light, a loud hiss and the smell of burning flesh. Narcissa's eyes widened in shock as she saw a lurid crimson welt appearing across her fingertips.

"Severus. Get Draco's wand," Lucius ordered. Without further prompting, Snape snatched the wand from the boy and worked a Freezing Charm on Narcissa's hand. In seconds the flawless pale skin of her fingers was restored.

"Barbaric!" Narcissa was whimpering, the tears welling in her eyes. "These people - so heartless - such cruelty -"

Snape did not concentrate on the rest of Narcissa's tirade against Lucius' captors. He was much too distracted by another revelation. He knows I have no wand.

Dewy teardrops were now glistening prettily on Narcissa's cheeks as she spoke. Snape wondered if he should do something chivalrous like offering his handkerchief. Then he recalled that, thanks to hot Bovril, his handkerchief was in no state to be offered. He merely nodded sympathetically, all the while wondering who had told Lucius about the wand.

"I really do feel - and it breaks my heart to say it," Narcissa concluded, "that the values we hold dear are no longer respected in this country. Lucius, I know we've discussed this before, but I can't help feeling we'd be better off quitting England."

"Yeah," Draco agreed enthusiastically. "Then I could change schools."

During the course of Narcissa's monologue her husband's expression had transformed from one of solicitous concern to severe annoyance. After Draco spoke there was an uncomfortable silence during which Lucius was clearly too irate to respond. A vein in his temple throbbed unpleasantly and his fingers twitched as though they yearned to reach for a wand. "You both seem to forget," he eventually said, quietly but venomously, "that I am not at liberty to go abroad at present." He turned to Snape and observed sarcastically, "It's a fine sort of family I've got, isn't it, Severus? They think nothing of abandoning me in this terrible place."

"No, no, dearest!" Narcissa recanted. "I meant when you were freed, of course!"

Draco slumped lower in his chair. Snape heard the boy whisper dejectedly, "I didn't."

Unfortunately, Draco's voice was not low enough. His father heard it also and rounded on the boy. "I will NOT hear ANOTHER WORD on the matter, Draco." Lucius' long nostrils flared as he shouted. "You will be completing your education at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You will study the subjects I tell you to." Draco opened his mouth to say something but his father cut him off sharply. "Including and particularly Divination. These are uncertain times. Arm yourself with knowledge, boy. They can take away our gold and titles - even our freedom - but knowledge is power."

Draco's pointed chin sunk into his chest. Narcissa's eyes darted from Lucius to her son in alarm. "I think Daddy just wants you to try your best, lambkin," she cooed. "And he has been doing awfully well," she told Lucius bravely. "He was saying to me, just before we came here, that he's going to be the new Quidditch captain. He's really looking forward to your birthday present."

"Are you Draco?" Lucius smiled meanly. "It's there in front of you." He nodded at the hefty volume on the table.

The corners of Draco's mouth turned down in profound disappointment. "A book?" he complained. "Is that all?" Narcissa gasped in surprise.

"The most important of the few meagre personal effects I have been permitted to obtain," Lucius said seriously. "It contains your horoscope, Draco, and the horoscopes of your twenty closest living relations. Study it." His cold eyes fixed on his son as Lucius said deliberately, "When you have read it, take it to Sybill Trelawney and ask her to explain it fully to you."

"That drunken old bat?" Draco whined. "What would she know about anything?"

"She knows a great deal," Lucius said in a hoarse whisper. "And there are those who would give a great deal to know too."

The look of misery on Draco's pale face confirmed that he was having possibly his worst birthday ever. Narcissa tried to make the best of the situation, opening the book and saying encouragingly, "It's a very nice book, Draco. Look at these lovely illuminations."

Draco looked away. Lucius abandoned all pretence of patience with his offspring. "I have just given you the means to understand your own destiny," he said with a sneer. "It pains me to see that you are too obtuse to appreciate how great a gift that is."

"Well, I'm not exactly thrilled either," Draco retorted. "It's my birthday, you know. It's not like you even care what day it is."

"Don't care?" Lucius replied viciously, struggling against his bonds. "No, I guess I don't care much for a spoilt, weak coward like you. But I care very much what day this is." His hands clenched and unclenched. "Today is the Ides of Septembris, when the moon is at its fullest." The prisoner tried to lean forward but succeeded only in rocking helplessly in his chair. He said ominously, "From this day, the seventh month dies."

Snape had been trying to appear detached from the Malfoy family's squabbles. However, his interest in Lucius' last words could not have been keener.

Narcissa had risen to her feet and was looking at her husband in horror. "Daddy's not quite himself today," she said in a small hurt voice. "Maybe we should go for a little walk - until he's feeling better." She motioned for Draco to follow, before remembering that the door was locked behind her.

"You can wait upstairs till they fetch you," Lucius replied coldly. "Just get him out of my sight." Narcissa placed an arm around Draco's shoulder and led him away. Snape stood to leave as well but Lucius said casually, "Not you, Severus. I'd like you to stay."

Snape sat down again. The two wizards waited in silence for Narcissa and Draco to disappear up the stairs. Their eyes locked and a sinister smile played on Lucius' lips. He knows I an unarmed, Snape thought. Narcissa's heels clicked on the steps while Snape's mind raced. Had he walked into a trap? Or was removing his wand something Shacklebolt and Dumbledore had planned, as a way of putting Lucius at ease?

A door upstairs creaked shut. One of Lucius' pale eyebrows arched quizzically. "I sometimes wonder," he began quietly, "whether you and I are flying for the same team."

This came as no surprise to Snape. He replied impassively, "My loyalties are exactly where they have always been."

Lucius smile widened. "That's certainly what the Aurors believe. Shacklebolt told me, the day he heard you were coming, that you wouldn't get within fifty yards of me with a wand."

Snape chuckled softly. "They did seem rather bothered to let me come here."

"And yet," Lucius mused, "they don't seem to be the least bit bothered to let you leave." He tilted his head and laughed mirthlessly. "That appears to be a key point of difference between you and I, doesn't it? You, despite your unshakeable loyalty to our Master, never pay the price for your devotion. How do you manage it Severus? How do you dodge every single call to arms? What is it you do in Dumbledore's employ that's so incredibly time consuming?"

"Perhaps I simply do my best," Snape said in a guarded voice, "to be in the right place at the right time."

"Or perhaps," Lucius suggested cynically, "you and I are actually on the same side after all." He paused, lifted the sleeve of his robe a fraction and began to rub his left wrist. "The side of self preservation. Because you see, now that I have had a little time for quiet reflection, I have decided to be my own master." Snape's face betrayed no reaction as Malfoy continued. "The only explanation I can think of ... the only plausible reason... for the fact that you have not yet been imprisoned or killed, Severus ....is that you have decided to do the same."

Snape feigned an affronted tone. "If our Master has any reservations with the way I serve him, he is more than capable of telling me. If he has asked you to tempt me into denouncing him, Lucius, you're wasting your time."

"He hasn't asked me to do anything," Lucius snapped. "Nor has he asked you to do anything recently, either, I'll wager. It's patently obvious he's done with us and he plans to sacrifice us both." Lucius twisted the skin of his wrist repeatedly. "Do you know why McNair killed himself?"

"I expect he did not wish to spend his life here."

"His cell was just below mine," Lucius drawled coldly. "I heard him the night before he died - screaming in his sleep. Screaming for Bellatrix to spare him. Begging for the guards not to take him from the prison." Lucius hands were trembling despite the equanimity of his voice. Snape recognised the terror that Lucius was so skillfully attempting to conceal. "Somehow the murderous hussy got to him," Lucius continued. "She must have told him she'd take him on his way to the Wizengamot. And Walden knew that a quick fall from a tall tower was infinitely better than the punishments our Master has in store for those who've failed him."

"You seem to assume that I have failed him." Snape was emotionless. He remained determined to give nothing away. "Maybe I have nothing to fear," he said pointedly.

"And what the Dark Lord does not appreciate is that I have not failed him either." Lucius began to unwind something from his wrist. It was a flesh coloured string that squirmed as it separated from the prisoner's pale skin. Snape had seen a string like that before - hanging over the first floor landing at number twelve, Grimmauld Place. "A curious device," Lucius observed as the string plopped onto the table and continued to writhe. "Old Borgin found it for me in a joke shop. It looks absurd, but it's actually a very powerful listening device."

"You kept it Disillusioned all this time?" Snape wondered.

Lucius nodded. "I wound it over my Dark Mark. The Aurors detected the enchantment, but thought I was just covering my tattoo."

Snape poked at the string, which coiled lazily around his finger. "Ingenious."

"My Disillusionment Charm's wearing off. Since neither of us are in any position to refresh it, I need you to take the device away," Lucius explained. "But more importantly, I need you to take a message."

Snape watched as the string slithered up his own arm and moulded itself to his flesh. "What message?" he asked.

"Tell the Dark Lord that I served him well. Tell him I heard it all - every word. I obtained exactly what he sent me to the Ministry to retrieve. And if he restores me to my place at his right hand, then he will learn what I know."

"Bellatrix tends to regard the position at our Master's right hand as hers."

The prisoner's eyes burned with the wrath that Snape noticed Lucius reserved exclusively for vexatious family members. "Tell him I will say nothing unless Bellatrix Lestrange is removed. Permanently," he said angrily, "A helpmate like Bella is all very well if you've nothing in mind but anarchy and bloodshed. I want power. What's the point in ruling if we blast our whole world to ashes first?" Lucius leered at Snape. "Of course, when I regain power, I'll make a point of rewarding my friends. And with darling Bella out of the way, I imagine your own chances of survival will improve significantly."

Snape frowned. "Why should he believe you?" More specifically, Snape wanted to know what Lucius had heard in the Department of Mysteries. "Is there something you can pass on to me? Some part of what you heard."

Malfoy shook his head. "It's all in my memory. There it will stay until my terms are agreed to. Bellatrix saw how close I got to the Potter brat. Show the Dark Lord the listening device. He'll know that I'm not lying." An evil grin spread across Lucius' face and he added, "Even better - bring him Draco as well. Tell our Master that I offer him my only son for his service." His voice trailed away as he said, "Let him mark Draco."

"Draco is only sixteen," Snape protested. The Potions Master disliked Draco as much as most people did. Further, he expected that it would be impossible to even locate the Dark Lord, let alone deliver the boy up to him. But his sense of duty as Draco's Housemaster prevented him from blithely agreeing to present the boy's forearm for branding as a Death Eater.

"Draco's future career is something of an inevitability," Lucius said with a shrug. "I'd prefer him to know his fate beforehand. But you saw his reaction. If he won't pay attention at school, I suppose it's time for him to learn a trade."

The iron door behind them began to clank and clatter. A deep voice announced, "The visit's over." Snape's head swung around to see Kingsley Shacklebolt facing him with his wand drawn.