Harry Potter and the Tome of Shadows

            Chapter 8: Draco’s Disgrace

    The rest of the summer flew by in a haze, the August summer fading away into September. It was the last day of summer holidays, and Harry, as usual, was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, mulling over his summer and wondering what the school year was going to be like. He took a casual glance at the stack of letters on his dresser from Ron and Hermione, but he didn't open them; he wanted to slowly ease away from them, and opening their letters was not the best way to accomplish this. Harry had let Hedwig out of her cage since he had gotten back from Egypt, and she spent most of her time flying in and out, not settling on one location. Harry didn't blame her; he felt the same way.

    When he wasn't thinking about Ron and Hermione, Harry's thoughts settled on his own situation. He knew that when he went back to Hogwarts, he'd be stepping in the middle of a war. Dumbledore would no doubt want to keep Harry as safe as possible, but not tell him a word of information. He would go to classes like a normal Hogwarts student, play Quidditch, and do his homework, without any regard to the fact that he was doomed to die at the hands of Lord Voldemort. Harry scowled every time when he thought about Dumbledore. He wondered idly what his father did when Dumbledore had told him he was the heir of Gryffindor, and that he would have to take up the struggle against Voldemort. His father probably took the challenge up bravely, knowing his duty to the wizarding world. But he, Harry, could not do it. Evidently, he was not as brave as his father. His father didn't know that he was doomed to die, like Harry was. Harry knew that the moment he stepped in front of Lord Voldemort to duel properly, with no interference, he would die.

    I wonder what it's like to die, Harry thought suddenly. Would it hurt? Would it be excruciating as his soul was torn from his body and his body died? And if the soul truly left the body, where did it go? Harry knew nothing about what happens when someone dies, and despite his unwillingness to learn first hand, he knew he had to start thinking about whether or not there was life after this life. He could come back as a ghost, of course, but did he really want to be a ghost? And if he chose not to be a ghost, could he see his parents again? Sirius? Cedric? Or would he be alone? Or worse yet, would there be nothing?

    Harry opened his drawer and pulled out the photo album Hagrid had given him. He flicked through it idly, wondering where his parents were right now, whether they were just nothingness. He turned to the picture of their wedding day; James, Lily, Sirius, Remus, all happy. And there was someone else in the picture, just as happy. Peter Pettigrew, his watery eyes, his hair still covering his head. He was happy too, though not as happy as he probably was now, at the right hand of the most powerful Dark wizard in a century.

    Why should Wormtail be happy when he, Harry, wasn't? Wormtail was a coward, a traitor, a murderer. He didn't deserve happiness, he didn't deserve to smile, he didn't deserve to live. Harry gripped the photo album hard, his fingers were turning white from the pressure. He was staring hard at the man who betrayed his parents, anger coursing through his veins, his face heating. The picture burst into flame unexpectedly; Harry dropped the photo album in shock. He watched the face of Wormtail curl under the flames. He watched the flame burn out and, still feeling the anger flowing through him, he packed his stuff and got ready for his trip on the Hogwarts Express the next day.

***

    Harry tossed and turned, unable to settle into sleep. He sat up, his eyes burning from exhaustion yet his mind buzzing, quite unwilling to let him sleep. He opened his door, heard the rumbling sound of Uncle Vernon sleeping, and tiptoed down the stairs, careful to avoid the creaky one. He stole through the living room and was about to enter into the kitchen when he heard a voice mumbling outside. He snuck into the kitchen, looked out of the window and saw Dudley, fully dressed, talking to a man in robes. Harry’s heart hammered. What was Dudley doing talking to wizards?

    “...can’t see it. They must have used a Fidelius Charm.”

    “What’s that?” Dudley asked thickly.

    “Quiet. My master cannot enter if he cannot find the house,” a man with a squeaky voice said urgently, and Harry knew it was Wormtail. Venom coursed through his veins; he wish he had his wand. He had half a mind to sneak upstairs and then curse Wormtail into oblivion, but he didn’t want to miss out. Why exactly was Dudley talking to Wormtail anyhow?

“Well, what do you want me to do about it?” Dudley asked impatiently. “I need you to tell me who the Secret Keeper is,” Wormtail responded.

    “I told you, the mudblood won’t tell me,” Dudley said in annoyance. Harry’s blood boiled further, but he listened, desperate not to miss anything.

    “Well then we’ll have to figure out something else. My master will not tolerate failure.”

    “Well then why doesn’t your ruddy master do something about it,” Dudley snarled. Harry thought it odd that Dudley was so up-front in dealing with a fully grown wizard– he was always afraid of Mr. Weasley– but perhaps it was Wormtail’s quivering nature, or the fact that he looked like an overgrown rat, that allowed Dudley to act aggressive towards the wizard.

    “Do not speak ill of my master, he has powers beyond your imagination,” Wormtail squeaked in fright. There was a pause, and a light breeze rattled the window.

    “You’ll have to do it,” Wormtail said finally.

    “Do what?” Dudley asked uncertainly.

    “Do not play games with me,” Wormtail said with a trace of menace. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

    “I don’t think so. I told you I’d help you, but I never said nothing about doing stuff,” Dudley said, the old fear in his voice. “You wanted help, and I gave it to you. I did all those tests to see the spells on the house, I found out that it’s that Mrs. Figg that’s been helping him, and that’s all I was expected to do. Now hand over my money.”

    “You don’t get anything until the task is completed,” Wormtail said, backing away from Dudley and pointing his wand at him. Dudley backed away, his piggy eyes wide with horror. “Now, I must go. I have stayed too long, and my master will wonder...Do it tonight. While the boy is asleep, before he can go to Hogwarts.” Wormtail vanished, a rat running quickly down the street, leaving Dudley alone in the middle of the street. He stood there for a moment, and then stumbled towards the front door. Harry hurried up stairs, and reached the top landing before the front door opened. He opened his door with a wrench and picked up his wand. Dudley was going to try something, he’d be ready. Except he wasn’t supposed to do magic, he was warned against it. He heard Dudley close the door and start up the stairs. Dudley was half-way up the stairs when Harry picked up the Foe Glass that Ron had given him for his fifteenth birthday and threw it hard to the ground. The glass shattered loudly, and there was a roar from Uncle Vernon’s room.

    The door to his room swung open, and Harry saw Uncle Vernon, his hair askew from sleeping and looking thoroughly livid, framed in the doorway. Aunt Petunia was behind him, her wand in her hand, her sleeping blindfolds halfway across her face. Dudley was standing on the stairs, fully dressed, frozen in surprise.

    “What the DEVIL is going on, boy?” Uncle Vernon bellowed.

    “Erm...it was...Hedwig...she hit the Foe Glass as she flew out and made it fall, it woke me up,” Harry lied quickly.

    “That RUDDY owl,” Uncle Vernon said, flicking on the light to his room. Aunt Petunia squeezed into the room and pointed her wand towards the mess.

    “Reparo!” she hissed, and the glass flew magically back together. Uncle Vernon, still livid, turned and saw Dudley on the stairway.

    “And what are YOU doing there, fully dressed and standing on the stairs. Where the hell have you been?” Dudley froze before recovering himself, throwing an insolent look on his face.

    “None of your business,” Dudley said in outrage.

    “None of my...what is this rubbish?” Vernon sputtered, spit flying from his lips. “What you do under my roof is my business. Now you get in your room, and that’s it. I’ve had enough of your rebellion. You’ll learn some matters or I’ll learn them for you.” Aunt Petunia opened her mouth to speak, but she stopped at the vehement look of hatred Dudley gave her as he walked by.

    “Now, you get back to bed, and I don’t want another sound in this house until the morning. And you had better be ready to go tomorrow,” Uncle Vernon warned.

    “Yes Uncle Vernon,” Harry sighed, stowing his wand away and replacing his Foe Glass on the dresser. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia left him alone, but Harry had no intention of sleeping. Whatever was going on, Dudley was consorting with Death Eaters, and he didn’t think Aunt Petunia would take the news well. And more to the point, who knew what Dudley was going to try if he was asleep? Harry positioned himself in his bed, put on the lamp on his dresser, and started to flick through his school books, trying to keep himself awake.

***

    Thoroughly exhausted from last night’s events, Harry ambled down the stairs, his trunk thumping loudly behind him. Uncle Vernon was standing at the feet of the stairs, clucking his tongue impatiently, while Aunt Petunia was staring outside.

    “Those Johnsons across the street are putting up those repulsive decorations again,” she snarled. “They are so ugly, what are they thinking?”

    “They obviously have no taste,” Uncle Vernon said. “Look at their car, it has to be at least ten years old. The thing smells of gasoline, I’m surprised it hasn’t blown up yet. You, let’s go,” Uncle Vernon said to Harry. Harry nodded, taking his trunk outside and putting it in the backseat next to him. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon got in the car, and without a word, they drove.

    Harry leaned his head against the window, watching the scenery fly by as he tuned out the boring conversation Uncle Vernon was having with Aunt Petunia. He was tempted to tell them about Dudley, but he couldn’t muster the energy to break Aunt Petunia’s heart. Besides, if Uncle Vernon was livid while driving, the chances of them all dying in a car accident increased greatly. It was too soon for his liking that they pulled into the parking lot of King’s Cross Station, and by the time Harry was wheeling his trunk towards the barrier to Platform 9 and 3/4, he was absolutely dreading the trip on the Hogwarts Express. He wanted to get away from everyone, and was glad that the barrier seemed to have been backed up. An abnormally large crowd was standing besides the barrier.

    “What is the hold-up? The train leaves in twenty minutes!” Uncle Vernon said through gritted teeth, looking at the watch that was holding on for dear life against his beefy wrist.

    “Perhaps the train is stalled,” Aunt Petunia said, looking avidly over the crowd. Now that Harry thought about it, the delay was very strange; Muggles would surely notice the fact that a large amount of people were standing in front of a barrier. Harry saw Neville Longbottom in the crowd, and he pressed his way towards him, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia in pursuit.

    “Hey Neville,” Harry said. Neville turned and smiled.

    “Harry! How were the holidays?”

    “Not bad,” Harry lied.

    “Same here.”

    “What’s the hold up here?” Harry asked quickly before Neville could ask any more questions about Harry’s summer.

    “I don’t know,” Neville said. “But a bunch of wizards with cameras went in already. They looked like they were from the Daily Prophet.”

    “You don’t think something happened, do you?” Harry asked, frowning. Would Voldemort and his Death Eaters attack Platform 9 and 3/4? Was the Hogwarts Express protected?

    “I don’t think so,” Neville said, looking slightly anxious now. “It’s been quiet all summer, I don’t expect You-Know-Who would just walk right into Platform 9 and 3/4 without there being more of a fuss.” Sure that Neville was right, but still feeling apprehension growing in his stomach, he stood on his tiptoes to look at the barrier.

    “If they’re not careful the muggles will notice,” Harry heard a witch say from up front.

    “Reporters are everywhere, what do you think has happened?” another wizard asked her.

    “Who knows? With You-Know-Who back, we can’t be sure of anything. But I’m sure Platform 9 and 3/4 is safe.”

    “That’s what they said about Diagon Alley, and look what happened last year,” the wizard responded. “The people burning because of that dragon...” Harry had heard enough, he pressed forward.

    “Don’t get lost now,” Uncle Vernon said, his large hand clamped on Harry’s shoulder. He was about to reach the barrier when a harried looking wizard dressed poorly as a Muggle came out.

    “All right, we’ve got some of the rabble out of the way, we’re letting more through,” the wizard said tiredly. He stepped aside, and Harry pushed his way through, almost losing his aunt and uncle in the process. He emerged onto the platform, and his jaw dropped. A large crowd had formed in front of the Hogwart’s Express, but no one seemed to be boarding the train. Harry saw what seemed like a hundred cameras flashing, taking pictures of something in the middle of the crowd.

    “Narcissa! Narcissa! Any comments?” he heard someone shouting. Harry stood on tiptoes and saw Narcissa Malfoy and her son, Draco, standing in the middle of the crowd. Narcissa looked positively livid, her pale cheeks were flushed and there was hatred in her eyes. Draco, on the other hand, did not look like he was handling the attention very well. His usually sleek blond hair looked askew, his robes looked a little worn; he looked positively sick. Harry was limited in his sympathy; he had been dealing with that kind of attention for five years before, and Malfoy had earned payback for all of the horrible stuff he did to other people.

    “I don’t have ANYTHING to say to you jackals!” Narcissa shrieked. “You lot had BETTER clear off!” Naricissa brandished her wand at them. One of the reporters chuckled, and to his horror, Harry knew who she was: the golden teeth, those horrible glasses, and the acid green pen perched atop of a piece of parchment: it was Rita Skeeter.

    “Come now, Mrs. Malfoy, you must have a quote for us.”

    “Shove it,” Narcissa snapped. Rita looked unperturbed, and Harry saw with revulsion the Quick-Quotes Quill whizzing across the page.

    “So how does it feel now that your husband has been exposed as a Death Eater? Upset? Betrayed?”

    “It has not been proven that my husband has ANY connections with You-Know-Who, so you will gladly stop printing that in the news!” Narcissa shouted. “You have declared him guilty before he has even had a chance to stand trial!” Rita’s eyebrows flew upwards in surprise.

    “Surely you don’t believe he’s innocent?” Rita asked bewildered.

    “Of course he’s innocent,” responded a smooth voice, and Harry saw, with another sickening swoop of horror, Paul LeMenteur emerging from the crowd. “And my client and his family are awaiting the trail so they can move forward past this terrible misunderstanding. Now, my client’s son must attend school, so if you’ll excuse us, there will be no more questions answered today.” There was more shouting from the other reporters, but LeMenteur merely waved them off and helped escort Draco to the train.

    “Poor woman,” Aunt Petunia sniffed. “If those vultures had their way Lucius Malfoy would be hanging in the public for all to see!” Harry remained quiet; he knew very well that Malfoy was guilty, and deserved a life sentence to Azkaban. He moved forward, hoping that Rita Skeeter wouldn’t notice him.

    “All right, you have a good term,” Aunt Petunia said, giving Harry an embarrassing kiss on the cheek. “You take good care of yourself.”

    “Yes, Aunt Petunia,” Harry said quickly.

    “You had better come back in one piece, boy,” Uncle Vernon growled. “We’re redoing the lawn next year and you had better be there to help.” Harry swore he saw the corners of Uncle Vernon’s mouth twitch despite his serious tone. The both of them turned and disappeared into the crowd. Harry turned to get on the train when he heard a familiar voice.

    “I can’t believe she thinks her husband is innocent, Bozo. Ridiculous. The woman is clearly in denial; I’ve never seen such a clearer case...” Harry turned quickly, but he stopped in dread when he heard Rita call his name.

    “Harry! Harry! I was hoping to see you here!” Harry closed his eyes, willing himself not to lose his temper. He turned and saw Rita, who looked as pernicious as ever.

    “What do you want?” he demanded coldly. “Shouldn’t you be keeping quiet? You wouldn’t want anyone to know you’re an unregistered...”

    “Quiet, you fool,” Rita said quickly. “There are people listening.”

    “Well then get lost,” Harry spat.

    “If you would listen for two seconds, I can give you your message,” Rita said quickly.

    “My message?” Harry repeated blankly.

    “Yes.” She rifled through her purse and pulled out a business card. “When you’re alone, or with the Weasley boy and that...and that...”

    “Get on with it,” Harry said irritably. He knew that he was talking about Hermione.

    “Right. Tap it with your wand, say your name, and you’ll get the message. Once you’re done, tap it again, and you’ll be all set.” She was about to add more when more reporters came over. Rita hitched on an eager look and whipped out her quill.

    “So Harry! Are you planning on testifying against Lucius Malfoy? How does it feel that you led to his arrest?” Harry was about to respond when he saw Rita give him the vaguest of eye winks.

    “I’ve had enough of your stupid questions!” Harry said loudly, hoping to sound annoyed. “Leave me alone, I’m going to school!” Harry walked down the aisle of the train. None of the train compartments were empty, but towards the end he found Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Neville, and Luna sitting in their own compartment. Harry didn’t know whether or not to sit with them; surely he couldn’t if he wanted to distance himself? But before he could make a decision, Luna turned and, with those protuberant eyes of hers, spotted him lurking outside.

    “There he is!” Everyone turned their heads, and Hermione, spotting him, stood up.

    “Harry!” she breathed. “There you are, we were looking all over for you! We sent you letters, we weren’t sure if you got them...” She gave him a great big hug, and despite Harry’s desire to be away from Hermione and Ron, he couldn’t help but feel a little pleased, and his stomach gave a little flutter.

    “Did you see the media circus out there?” Harry asked, trying to divert attention from his isolation from the others.

    “Yes,” Luna said distantly. “My father considered reporting on the Malfoy Trial, but he decided against it. He’s running a story on the Newfoundland Norgflacker and how poaching it is leading to extinction.”

    “What a pity,” Ron said sarcastically. Luna didn’t get the sarcasm.

    “I’m glad you agree, Ronald. It’s really a travesty.”

    “I saw Rita Skeeter,” Harry said. Hermione, who had finally let Harry go, looked like she had taken a bite out of the sourest lemon possible.

    “Oh really? Starting more horrible stories is she? I thought we broke that horrible habit of hers.”

    “Well she’s started up again. But I’ll have to tell you about it later,” Harry said, casting a quick look at Ginny, Neville, and Luna.

    “You can tell us about it when we report to patrol the halls,” Ron said brightly.

    “What do you mean ‘us’?” Harry asked.

    “Oh, didn’t I tell you? I got picked as a sixth year Gryffindor prefect!” Ron said brightly, taking out a silver badge with a P on it. It looked very different from his and Hermione’s red and gold badges. “I get a silver one, because I got picked in sixth year, but it doesn’t matter. We’re all supposed to patrol the halls.”

    “Great,” Harry said, pulling his own badge out of his trunk and pinning it onto his robes. “Shall we get going?” The three of them bid good-bye to the other three, and then exited the compartment. Harry almost walked straight into Draco Malfoy, who looked even worse up close.

    “Oh...you...” Malfoy said.

    “Yeah, us,” Ron snarled. “You going to stand there like a statue, Malfoy, or do we have to make you move?”

    “I...never mind,” Malfoy said hurriedly, and turned back up the way.

    “I still can’t believe Dumbledore made him a prefect,” Ron spat. “Do none of the teachers realize what a git he is?”    

    “Well, he probably acts like a right good student in front of them,” Hermione responded. “Except for maybe Snape, he always liked him.”

    “He’s lost some of his swagger since last year, though,” Harry said. “Maybe he’ll be a little more quiet around us than usual.”

    “Here’s hoping,” Ron said. They reached the end of the train and entered a large compartment. The Head Boy and Girl, two students Harry didn’t know, were waiting. Harry cast a look around the room; there twelve students in the room aside from the Head Boy and Girl. There was Terry Boot, Padma Patil, and another Ravenclaw by the name of Anthony Goldstein. Next to them were Hannah Abbot and Ernie Macmillian, the old prefects, with Susan Bones as the sixth year prefect. Draco Malfoy was sitting by himself, while Pansy, Draco’s girlfriend, was sitting next to the new Slytherin prefect.

    “Who is that?” Harry asked.

    “That’s Blaise Zabini,” Hermione whispered. Harry looked at him; despite being in his year for five years already, Blaise didn’t look remotely familiar. He had elegant, long black hair (he reminded Harry of Sirius), striking grey eyes, and a face he knew the girls would swoon over. He had his feet resting on a chair in front of him, and he was looking at the pug-faced Pansy with a bored expression.

    “All right, now that everyone’s here,” the Head Boy said, and Harry refocused his attention. “You lot are the older prefects, so you don’t have to attend the orientation of the fifth years. You new prefects, however, had best be sticking close to the others, just until you learn the ropes.”

    “Professor Dumbledore asked us to give you some information before we send you on our way,” the Head Girl said. “Firstly, the Sentinels from last year will still be guarding Hogwarts, so be prepared to deal with them. Second, we’re giving out the updated list of banned items from Mr. Filch. We need to know the list well, so we can confiscate them. And lastly, Hogwarts is receiving an important guest this year, so when they arrive we have to make sure they are received well.”

    “Who is coming?” Ernie demanded. “Surely you can tell us prefects!”

    “Unfortunately Professor Dumbledore didn’t give us that information, so we can’t say. Now, we’ve done a random drawing, and the Slytherin prefects will be monitoring the halls this time around. The rest of you lot can head back to your compartments. And, these are the new passwords for the beginning of term.” The Head Boy handed out a slip of parchment. Harry opened it and saw the word, “Phasmatis” on it. He showed it to Hermione and Ron, and then the word disappeared. “All right, that’s about it.” Harry was about to turn and leave when Draco sped by him and out of the room.

    “Watch where you’re going!” Ron called out to him.

    “If he knew how to watch where he was going, he wouldn’t be in the predicament he’s in,” a cool voice said behind them. Harry turned and saw Blaise smiling coldly at them.

    “And what’s that supposed to mean?” Hermione demanded.

    “Just like you Gryffindors, always slow on the uptake. What it means is, the arrogant little git is getting what he deserves. He put all his stock in his father, and now that his father’s been exposed as the criminal he is, Draco has to suffer as well.”

    “And I suppose your father or mother isn’t one of the Death Eaters?” Harry demanded.

    “Of course not,” Blaise responded, looking offended. “My parents may believe in purity of blood, but we most certainly don’t support that lunatic Voldemort.” Aside from Harry and Hermione, the room winced at the sound of his name. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Potter, you’re blocking my way.” Blaise walked right past him as cool as ever, with Pansy Parkinson following closely behind.

    “A Slytherin like him and his parents aren’t Death Eaters? I’m as rich as Malfoy if that’s true,” Ron said darkly.

    “Well, they can’t all be evil Death Eaters,” Hermione said as the rest of the room cleared out. “Come on, let’s get back to the compartment.” The three of them discussed Blaise until halfway down the corridor, where Malfoy had run into Crabbe and Goyle.

    “There you two dunderheads are, I’ve been looking all over for you,” Malfoy said with an attempt at his old self in his voice.

    “Get out of our way, Malfoy,” Crabbe grunted.

    “What the hell is wrong with you two?” Malfoy demanded.

    “Get out of our way,” Crabbe repeated. Goyle cracked his knuckles menacingly.

    “You lot aren’t mad about my father are you? Because...” But they never knew why they shouldn’t be mad at Malfoy’s father. Goyle shoved Malfoy against the wall, and he hit his head off the wall and slid to the floor, wincing in pain. Crabbe guffawed heartily and stepped over him.

    “That was uncalled for!” Hermione yelled. “I’m reporting you the minute I see Professor McGonagall!” Crabbe gave Hermione a stupid look and walked past her. Malfoy got up, his face flushed with embarrassment.

And without a word, he swept into a compartment and slammed the door. Harry turned and saw Ron clutching his sides from laughing.

    “I’d never thought I’d see the day that Crabbe and Goyle revolted against Malfoy!” Ron said in between gasps.

    “Let’s just get back to the compartment,” Hermione said, giving Ron a disapproving look. Just before they got back in, though, Harry stopped them.

    “We have to get the message Rita gave us,” Harry reminded them. He took out the card, which looked like an ordinary business card. He tapped it with his wand and recited his name. Nothing happened at first, but then the letters turned into bright scarlet and gold, and started to rearrange themselves.

            Headmaster’s office. Right before feast.

                Harry, Hermione, and Ron.

    “Wicked,” Ron said as the letters settled, still glowing scarlet and gold.

    “I wonder why we have to meet Professor Dumbledore before the feast,” Hermione said, puzzled.

    “Maybe it has something to do with that visitor,” Harry suggested.

    “Maybe,” Hermione said vaguely. “You’d better get rid of that message before anyone sees.”

    “Oh, right.” Harry tapped the card, and the letters rearranged. The card then turned black and burst into flame. Harry dropped it in surprise, and the card disappeared before it even hit the ground.

    “Blimey!” Ron exclaimed. “What a way to communicate!”

    “Well, secrecy is important,” Hermione said. She walked into the compartment. Luna was reading the Quibbler while Ginny and Neville were having a heated but friendly discussion about Quidditch. Harry sat down, lost in thought, not noticing that Hermione was leaning her head on his shoulder as she read one of her textbooks. Ron took out a large sheet of parchment and scratched randomly with a quill.

    “What are you doing?” Harry asked.

    “Preparing for Quidditch,” Ron said. “We’re down two Chasers and two Beaters. It’s only me, you, and Katie Bell left on the team.”

    “More tryouts, then,” Harry said, looking out the window. As hard as it was to imagine, he didn’t even feel like Quidditch would cheer him up. He stared out the window distractedly, his mind drawn towards Voldemort.

    “What’s up?” Ron asked.

    “Nothing,” Harry lied. “Just imagining the feast.” He turned his attention away and closed his eyes, feeling sleep wave over him as the train rumbled on the tracks.