It was June, and it was boiling hot in the Potions dungeon, but Snape didn't care. "Can anyone tell me what this is?" he asked his miserable class, all of whom were stifling their robes, and he lifted a beaker of glutinous brown liquid high into the air so they could all get a gander at it.

Hermione?s hand shot into the air, as usual.

"Polyjuice Potion," she said promptly, and gave a little shudder. She was probably recalling how it tasted, thought Harry with an inward grin, remembering the afternoon three years ago when he, Ron and Hermione had all drunk the shape-changing potion in an attempt to turn themselves into replicas of Slytherin students so they could sneak into the Slytherin common room.

Draco Malfoy raised a pale, lazy hand into the air. "Polyjuice Potion," he drawled out of the corner of his mouth. Harry glared at him. Where the rest of the class looked sweaty and miserable, Draco looked as cool as if he?d just eaten a bag of Ice Mice.

Ron, startled in mid-yawn, said, "It, er, changes you into somebody else."

"Right then," said Snape, "Miss Patil and Miss Brown, come up," and Lavender and Parvati came up to the desk, took a cup of Polyjuice potion, and sat down, giggling. Snape quickly paired off Crabbe and Goyle with each other, put poor Neville with bulldog-faced Pansy Parkinson (who cast a longing look at Draco as she went over to sit by Neville --- if she couldn?t have Draco, she seemed to be thinking, at least she could be him for a while.) Ron was paired with Hermione, and Harry...

He'd told her how he felt about Cho, and she said she'd sort of known it anyway, and they'd both sort of laughed, and he'd told her how much her friendship meant to him, and that had been it. Hermione still got a sick feeling in her stomach when she thought about it.

After lunch Harry had Quidditch practice. Draco got to the practice field early and sat in a patch of sunlight, twirling Harry?s Firebolt in his hand--it was pretty to look at, he had to admit that. His dad had refused to buy him one until he beat Harry at Quidditch - which, Draco had pointed out, he wasn?t likely to do until he got a Firebolt to match Harry?s.

A flicker of movement at the corner of his eye alerted him to the presence of someone else on the field, someone who was walking towards him. It was a very pretty girl in blue robes; her long black hair was braided down her back. Draco recognized her vaguely as the Ravenclaw Seeker, someone he?d played against before.

"Hello, Harry!" she called in a singsong voice.

Draco waved. He was still examining the Firebolt. He was, in fact, rather nervous about this practice session. Harry had a very distinctive flying style, and, well ... Draco didn?t like to admit this, but Harry was, in fact, a better flier than he was. His teammates might --

The girl flopped down on the grass next to him, breaking his train of thought. Draco was annoyed. He?d been really looking forward to having a few more moments alone with the Firebolt, getting the feel of it. "Harry, Harry, Harry," the girl said, looking at him as if he were an adorable, but rather dim, toddler.

"Yes?" said Draco. "Did you want something?"

"You haven?t asked me out for at least two days," said the girl. "Usually you would have chased me down in the corridors or sent me an owl by now."

"I?ve been busy," said Draco.

"Busy?" said the girl in a tone that suggested no boy had ever told her he was busy before.

"It?s not a quiet life, being Harry Potter," Draco went on, warming to his subject. "I?ve got classes, plus Quidditch, plus interviews with the Daily Prophet, loads of good to do and evil to vanquish, plus I?m being hunted down by the remorseless killer who murdered my parents. I haven?t got time to go barging around after girls."

The girl was staring at him with her mouth open. She looked much less pretty that way. "If you think you?re going to get me to go out with you by talking to me like that," she said, her voice tight with rage, "you?re wrong, Harry Potter!"

"Fine," said Draco. "Don?t go out with me. I?m really famous, I could go out with anyone."

With a scream of rage, the girl bounded to her feet and stalked away across the field. Draco watched her go, mildly grateful that she had taken his mind off the impending horror of Quidditch practice.

***

If Harry had known that Draco Malfoy was at that moment ruining any chance he might ever have had with Cho Chang, he might have been upset. But as he was quite asleep in the back of Lucius Malfoy?s invisible carriage (Madam Pomfrey wouldn?t let Lucius Disapparate with his son while the boy was unconscious), being carried rapidly across the barren and windswept moors towards Malfoy Manor, he wasn?t.

***

On the Quidditch field, Draco discovered that he?d had nothing to worry about : he had not only inherited Harry's lousy eyesight, he had acquired his spectacular Quidditch skills as well. Draco swooped and dove on his broom, amazed how easy it was. When they had a practice game, he caught the Snitch easily, and did loop-the-loops in the air with it while Harry?s Gryffindor teammates clapped and whistled. Hermione, who had come to watch him practice, cheered as well. "You're amazing, Harry!" she shouted up to him.

Draco waved at her, and then it happened: Not seeing Hermione on the field, George hit a Bludger hard at the ground. It streaked directly towards Hermione, who was too shocked to move.

Without stopping to think, Draco bent Harry's Firebolt into a spectacular dive, shooting towards the ground like a bullet. He sped towards the Bludger -- he was going so fast, he could hardly believe it -- he was level with it now, but nearly at the ground ---he was in front of the Bludger -- he jerked his broom around violently, putting himself between it and Hermione -- and it struck him hard in the stomach, knocking him off his broom and onto the ground, now only three feet away. The Firebolt clattered down on top of him.

Draco lay flat for a moment, sucking in great wheezing gasps of air. He heard the thuck-thuck of feet hitting the ground and the Gryffindor team landed and raced over to see if he was all right.

Slowly, he raised himself on his elbows -- his stomach hurt, but nothing seemed to be broken. He looked up and saw Hermione staring at him, white with shock. "Harry," she said. "You could have been killed."

He looked away from her, feeling very uncomfortable, and saw the rest of Harry?s team crowded around him. George was falling all over himself to apologize, Fred was hitting George, and Elizabeth, Katie and Alicia were taking turns comforting Hermione and patting Draco on the head. Eventually, Draco managed to extricate himself enough to stand up.

"Right, then," said Fred, who was the team?s captain, "go on back to the castle, Harry, you?ve had enough excitement."

"I?ll walk him," said Hermione, jumping to her feet.

Hermione, seeming oddly nervous, talked the whole way back to the castle. "Everyone's talking about how you scared off Goyle during Care of Magical Creatures, Harry, it was just amazing, what did you say to him?"

Draco grinned. "Nothing, I just threatened him with a little wizard dueling.... You know he's no good at that kind of thing."

"Well, you were brilliant, the look on his face! And the way he ran!"

Hermione dissolved into giggles. Draco looked over at her, and, without even pausing to ask himself what on earth he was doing, dropped his Firebolt and his Quidditch robes, grabbed Hermione, and kissed her.

For a moment, she melted into the kiss. Then her arms went as rigid as broomsticks and she shoved him away. "Harry, no!" Her eyes, huge and shocked, stared at him.

For the first time in his life, Draco found he had nothing to say.

"You shouldn't make fun of me this way," said Hermione, tears springing into her eyes. "It isn't fair."

"I'm not making fun of you!" gurgled Draco, finding his voice.

"It isn't fair," she repeated, "Harry, you're my best friend, and I know how you feel about Cho--"

"Cho?" Draco's mind was blank. "The Ravenclaw Seeker?"

Hermione stared.

"That explains why she was acting like that!" Draco exclaimed, then glanced back up at Hermione and said brightly, "Look, I'm well over her, Hermione. She's not even-"

"Harry!" she said warningly.

They looked at each other. Then Draco did something else he had never done before.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said.

Her expression softened, so he added hopefully: "I?ve been feeling off since, uh, since Draco banged my head into the ground in Potions--"

This had been the wrong thing to say. Hermione turned her face away. "It's all right," she said in a very small voice, starting to walk again. "I know you didn't mean it."

What on earth is wrong with me, he thought, following her back towards to the castle. This Polyjuice business is affecting my mind.

They were halfway there when he saw Ron running toward them along the darkening path. "Harry!" he yelled. "I can't believe I missed Care of Magical Creatures! I heard you totally destroyed Goyle!"

"Destroyed is a little strong," Draco protested, but he was laughing as Ron steered him up the path.

"I've got to go to the library," said Hermione as they stepped inside the castle. "Sorry!" and she ran off without a backward glance.

Ron looked after her curiously. "Is she all right?"

"Just panicked about our Charms exam tomorrow, you know how she is," lied Draco, and felt an annoying little twinge of guilt as he did so.

When they got to the Gryffindor common room, Dean Thomas and Neville Longbottom gestured them over with yells of welcome. Draco wasn't in the mood, though. He pushed past them and headed upstairs, where he sat for a long time staring at the photo album full of wizard photographs of Harry's parents, who waved at him, beamed, and smiled in a way he could never remember his own parents doing.

***

Hermione had, in fact, gone to the library, but not to study. She needed a moment to think and be alone.

Harry had kissed her. Oughtn?t she to be ecstatic, or at least pleased? She had been thrilled when he had put his arms around her, but seconds later had been swamped by a feeling of terrible wrongness the like of which she had never experienced before. That was why she had pushed him away. She knew Harry so well, she thought, knew how he looked when he woke up, how he sounded when he was tired, happy, afraid, worried; how he smelled, usually like soap and grass from the Quidditch practice field. But this time, when she?d put her arms around him, he?d smelled different....like...pepper?

She groaned and put her head down on the desk. Hermione, she thought, you are so stupid. You?ve been in love with Harry for years, so what if he changed his cologne?

She got up and headed downstairs to dinner.

***

That night, at the Gryffindor table, Draco sat between Ron and Hermione (who seemed determined to act as if nothing had happened), feeling oddly not hungry. He pushed his food around his plate with his fork and listened to them laugh and chatter. His mind buzzed with questions. Why had nobody noticed he wasn't Harry? Surely he couldn't be acting like Potter, he hated Potter, he couldn't act like him if he tried. He just looked like Harry, so everyone assumed he was Harry, and so they liked him. Not just Gryffindors, but Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, students whose names Draco had never bothered to learn, came up and chatted with him easily. It was disorienting.

What was more disorienting was that he liked it, it was as if in taking on Harry's appearance he had taken some part of Harry into himself, and he couldn't kill it or destroy it. It just sat there in his chest, making him do things like rescue Neville's toad, save Hermione from the Bludger and....and kiss Hermione. He couldn't believe he had done that, either. Why? It must be that Harry had some kind of feelings for her, and now Draco had them. But if she knew....knew who he really was.....

Something that had been nagging at the back of his mind suddenly crystallized into a sharp and painful thought. What if Harry died? What if he never woke up? Would he, Draco Malfoy, be doomed to be Harry Potter forever?

"Harry," came Hermione's voice, "What's wrong? You look a million miles away."

Draco pushed his chair back from the table and stood up suddenly. "Got to go," he muttered, and, pushing his way past a startled Ron and Hermione, he ran out of the dining hall, through the front hall, and up the stairs to the hospital wing. He banged on the closed door until it was opened by a harassed-looking Madam Pomfrey, whose eyes widened when she saw him.

"What's wrong, Potter, are you ill?" she demanded.

"I'm here because... I need to see....Malfoy," he gasped, out of breath. "Is he still knocked out?"

Madam Pomfrey gave him a look of deep suspicion. "I suppose you might as well know," she said. "Draco Malfoy is no longer with us."

The shock nearly knocked Draco off his feet. His vision dissolved into a swirling blur of colors, and he gurgled, in a sticky sort of voice, "Is he...is he...he's not dead?"

Madam Pomfrey looked shocked. "No, Potter, of course he isn't dead!" she snapped. "Really! He's been sent home temporarily. His father came and picked him up this afternoon."

And she shut the door in Draco?s face.

***

There was light, faint at first, sharpening to a sudden, stabbing beam. Harry groaned and rolled over, opening his eyes.

He wanted to sit up, but amazement kept him pinned to the bed. He was lying in a bedroom, but a bedroom the like of which he had never seen before. The walls were carved out of unpolished stone, and the ceiling rose so high it disappeared into shadow, despite the bright sunlight that was pouring through the arch-shaped leaded glass windows that lined the room. The huge four-poster he was lying on, canopied in black velvet printed with silver snakes, was the only piece of furniture in the room apart from an enormous wardrobe propped against the far wall, the front of which was covered with an ornate design of gilded letter "M"s.

It was the M?s that did it. Harry sat up and swore out loud, staring down at his hands --- they were not his hands --- long, pale, and unfamiliar. He touched his forehead and felt no scar. Finally, in desperation, he yanked out a handful of his hair and stared down as the silvery-white strands sifted down to the black bedclothes.

He was still Draco. And what was worse, he was - somehow - in Draco Malfoy?s house. He must have been passed out cold for a long time, someone must have brought him here.

Right on cue, the door burst open, and Lucius Malfoy stood framed in the doorway. He was wearing black, as he had been wearing black every time Harry had ever seen him. Harry felt himself going cold with apprehension.

"So, boy," said Lucius, striding over towards the bed. "Do you know who you are, now??

Harry stared at him. Surely Lucius couldn?t know who he really was. If he knew he had Harry Potter in his house--

"Draco Malfoy," he said. "Your son."

Lucius? face split into a cold smile. "I told that Pomfrey woman she didn?t know what she was talking about," he said, satisfied. "There?s nothing wrong with you, boy. No Malfoy has ever forgotten who they are."

Harry looked into Draco?s father?s cold gray eyes and said nothing. His throat seemed to have closed up.

"Well, since you?re here," said Mr. Malfoy, "We might as well have some fun."

He drew his cloak aside and Harry saw a long silver sword strapped to his side. His stomach plummeted. He doesn?t believe I?m Draco, he thought desperately, He?s going to hack me into bits.

"How about a spot of fencing practice?" Lucius Malfoy went on. "Test your mettle, boy."

Great, thought Harry, who had never even seen a fencing match. He does believe I?m Draco, and he?s still going to hack me into bits.

"All, right, Father," said Harry, striving for Draco?s drawling tones. Mr. Malfoy was looking impatient, so Harry swung his legs over the side of the bed and nearly yelled when his feet touched the ground - it was like ice. Mr. Malfoy didn?t appear to be worried about his son freezing his toes off, however - he hurried out of the room, and Harry, still barefoot, followed.

He found himself nearly running to keep up with Lucius Malfoy as he stalked down a long corridor lined with Malfoy family portraits. There were a few hags, some very pretty women who were definitely veela - which was probably where Malfoy got his fair hair - some rather pale men who were probably vampires, and a rather unpleasant-looking wizard who was pictured riding an enormous spider whose bridle was fastened around its poison-dripping pincers. Yech, thought Harry, what a horrible lot.

Lucius Malfoy opened a huge stone-bound door with a wave of his wand and went inside, followed by Harry. He found himself in another huge room; this one had a smooth stone floor and was decorated with tapestries which depicted various scenes of wizard battle. Angry-looking wizards ran at each other, using their wands to decapitate, disembowel, and set fire to their victims. As Harry watched, mouth open in horror, a goblin with a long, flaming sword chased a screaming wizard right across one tapestry and into another.

Lucius, following Harry?s gaze, nodded, looking pleased, "Yes, I just got the tapestries cleaned, the blood was starting to look quite dull and not at all shiny. Shall we begin?" And he tossed Harry a long, pointed rapier, which Harry looked at dully. "En garde!"

Harry raised his sword, resolving to bleed copiously as he died and hopefully ruin the Malfoys? nice stone flooring. Fortunately, at that moment a knock sounded on the stone door, and it swung open. A tall wizard in dark green robes strode into the room.

"Hello, McNair," said Lucius Malfoy, lowering his sword and turning away from Harry. "Did Narcissa let you up?"

"She told me you were in here, yes," said the tall man, who Harry recognized as a wizard who worked for the Department for the Disposal of Dangerous Magical Creatures. He was also, Harry recalled grimly, a Death Eater. "I came with some news--" He broke off as he saw Harry, "Hallo, Draco, I didn?t know you were back home."

"His mother wanted to see him," said Lucius smoothly. "You know how women are. She misses him while he?s away at school."

Madwoman, thought Harry.

"Well, the news I have actually has to do with Hogwarts," said McNair. "Lucius--"

He looked from Lucius Malfoy to Harry.

"You can say anything in front of Draco," said Lucius Malfoy. "He is entirely obedient to me."

"Of course," said McNair. "I had not meant to imply otherwise." He turned to Harry. "How goes your work at the school?" he asked. "Are you spreading the word of the Dark Lord?"

"What?" said Harry, flabbergasted. He?d known Draco was nasty, but....

"You know," said McNair, "Keeping the Dark Lord?s message alive among your generation. Making sure the right sort of people get the right kind of message. Holding Death Eater meetings." He winked. "Keeping the Mudbloods down."

"Oh, yeah," said Harry, who was shaking with rage and hardly knew what he was saying, "me and the Slytherins, we all got together and had a bake sale, raised loads of money for evil, no worries there."

McNair did not seem to have heard this. "I remember when I was in Slytherin," he said. "Those were great days!" He turned to Lucius Malfoy. "So, Lucius," he said. "I wanted to talk to you about the Plan. And about Harry Potter."

"...And about Harry Potter."

Harry let go of the sword he was holding; it clattered to the ground with a loud bang, causing Lucius and McNair to glance over at him.

Lucius frowned. "Yes, Draco? Did you have something to add?"

With an effort, Harry forced himself to speak. "What about Harry Potter?"

Lucius looked at him hard. "Draco," he said to McNair, "talks about young Harry all the time, don?t you, boy?"

This bit of information did not gratify Harry in any way.

"I - I have to play him at Quidditch," he said stiffly.

"Where, if I recall," said Lucius coldly, "he has beaten you every time."

Harry couldn?t restrain a broad grin, "Yes he has!" he said.

Both Lucius and McNair stared at him; finally, to Harry?s relief, Draco?s father turned back to his friend. "You said you had news for me, McNair," he said. "Please tell me it?s not yet another harebrained scheme to kill off the Potter boy."

McNair toed the ground. "It?s a really good scheme this time, Lucius," he said. "It?s really evil and cunning."

"Indeed," snarled Lucius. "And you said the same thing about the scheme to kill off Harry by sending him a poisoned birthday present at his relatives? house where, I might remind you, he is protected by Dumbledore?s Familius Charm. All that happened was that his cousin Dudley wound up eating the chocolates and vomited out the window on the Death Eaters who?d come to collect Harry?s body. Do you recall that, McNair? And then there was the time Nott tried to sneak into Hogwarts and abduct the boy, and was decapitated by the Whomping Willow. And when Zabini tried to send the boy an exploding broom, Dumbledore intercepted it and sent it right back in a different package. They had to bury Zabini in a matchbox!" yelled Lucius, waving his sword for emphasis. "More Death Eaters have been killed by stupid plots to murder Harry Potter than by Hit Wizards from the Ministry of Magic!"

Harry was astounded. He?d had no idea. Well, come to think of it, he?d thought he?d heard yells of horror from the front garden that time Dudley had been sick out the window, but he?d assumed it was nosy Mrs. Figg from next door.

"Come on Lucius," whined McNair, "just hear me out."

Lucius crossed his arms over his chest. "You have five minutes."

"It?s true the boy is protected while in the care of his family," said McNair hurriedly, "and it?s true he?s protected at Hogwarts. We?ve tried before to lure him out of the castle - remember that time we sent him Arsenal tickets? --but Dumbledore?s never let him go."

"And that," said Lucius, "is not going to change."

"No," said McNair, "We know that. And we?ve thought before of abducting someone close to the boy, so that he?d have to leave the castle to rescue them, but almost everyone dear to the boy is at Hogwarts. He loathes his Muggle family, and the Weasleys are protected by powerful charms."

Lucius was looking bored.

"But," added McNair, hastily, "that has changed. We?ve got someone now--someone the boy will do anything to protect."

Lucius?s cold gray eyes flicked upward. "So you?ve got someone close to Harry Potter in your greasy little clutches?" he asked. "Who?"

Harry?s stomach clenched in dread. McNair was smiling, the same unpleasant smile that he?d worn when he?d come to Hogwarts to execute Hagrid?s pet hippogriff.

"Sirius Black," he said.

***

Draco found his way numbly back from the hospital wing to Gryffindor Tower. "Boomslang," he said dully to the Fat Lady, and stepped through the portrait hole. Out of habit, he walked over to the fire and sat down by Hermione, who was curled up on a chair with her mangy feline, and Ron, who was reading a grim-looking tome, entitled The Art of Muggle Warfare.

"Draco?s dad came and took him back to Malfoy Manor," said Draco numbly.

"Took him where?" Ron asked, lowering his book.

"Malfoy Manor. It?s where they live."

"Brilliant," said Ron, starting to read again. "With any luck they?ll never bring him back."

Draco did not reply. His mind was full of the image of his father, glaring at him. If Harry didn?t play along - if he resumed his normal appearance - if Lucius Malfoy somehow found out that the boy he?d brought home was not his own son, but the famous Enemy of Lord Voldemort -- he would kill Harry. Of that, Draco had no doubt. What was it his father had told him Voldemort had said?

Ron?s voice broke in on his thoughts. "This Muggle warfare stuff is really interesting," he said. "Wonder if there?s any chance of getting the government to drop a what-d?you-call-it, nuclear bomb, on Malfoy Manor?"

Draco stood. "I have to go upstairs," he said, and fled, heading for the stairs to the boys? dormitory. He heard running feet behind him and turned to see Hermione, her eyes filled with alarm.

"Harry," she said, "Harry, please wait."

Draco paused and let Hermione catch up to him.

"Harry," she said tentatively, "you seem so upset, what?s bothering you? It can?t be Malfoy."

Draco just looked at her. All his emotions seemed to knotted up inside his stomach: the stress of playing Harry Potter for two straight days, rage, shock, pain and now terror, the terror of what horrible thing might be happening to Harry any moment, this moment, which would surely and completely be Draco?s fault when it did. He wasn?t sure if he wanted to yell at Hermione or kiss her again. Both options had their appeal.

"I?m really tired, Hermione," he said. "I just want to go to bed."

"Is it what happened earlier today?" she asked. "After - after the Bludger? Because I didn?t mean to be angry with you for kissing me, Harry, in fact--"

She took a step closer to Draco, her eyes full of affection.

Draco exploded. "Not everything is about you, Granger!" he yelled at the top of his voice. "Not bloody everything is about you!"

And he darted back down the stairs, knocking her aside, and dashed out the portrait hole.

***

At the mention of Sirius? name, Harry felt his knees go weak. Show nothing, he told himself. Show nothing.

"We?ve long known he is the boy?s godfather," said McNair. "The trouble has been finding him. We?ve tracked him down, actually Wormtail tracked him down, and it was most ingenious of him. He remembered a cave he had gone to with Sirius as a child, when he visited the Blacks. He returned to the site and put a Binding Curse on Black -"

"Get to the point, McNair," said Lucius. "Where do I come into this?"

McNair looked disappointed. "Well," he said haltingly, "it?s simple, really. Wormtail is bringing Black up from Cornwall tomorrow, and we need a place to keep him, just for a night or two, while we wait for the boy to come. We can?t leave the Binding Curse on him or he?ll die, and you have the best dungeons of anyone -"

"Oh, thanks," said Lucius, with heavy sarcasm. "Well, it?s a stupid plan and an obvious one, but still miles better than any of your other schemes. I?ll keep Black here. I?ve haven?t seen him," he smiled coldly, "since we were at school together. It?ll be like a reunion."

He and McNair laughed. Harry didn?t. He felt as if he were going to be sick.

"Narcissa," said Lucius Malfoy. "Is anything wrong?"

The woman smiled. She was very beautiful when she smiled. Harry recalled having seen her at the Quidditch World Cup and thinking that that must be where Draco got his pale, refined good looks. "I wanted to borrow Draco," she said calmly. "I haven?t even seen him since you brought him home, Lucius."

Lucius Malfoy waved a hand. "Certainly, take him," he said.

Harry looked at Draco?s father. He was desperate to stay and hear more about Sirius. "But, I--"

"Draco." Lucius Malfoy?s voice was like ice. "Go with your mother."

Reluctantly, Harry followed Narcissa Malfoy out of the room, where he rather expected that she would try to hug him or kiss him or greet him in some way. But she didn?t. She merely turned and began walking down the corridor. Harry trotted after her, keeping his eyes open. He rather thought it would be a good idea to learn as much about the layout of Malfoy Manor as possible.

Narcissa did pause in a corridor full of portraits of what at first looked like a number of dolls in differently colored outfits. With a start, Harry realized that these were pictures of Draco as a baby and as a little boy. He stopped, grinning.

"Oh," said Narcissa smiling, "Your baby pictures. They are adorable, aren?t they?"

Harry looked from one portrait in which Draco, aged about three, was wearing a pair of pink shorts and a bonnet, to another, in which he was about five and had been dressed in full Malfoy regalia, including a black cloak and long blond curls that looked extremely girly. The Draco in the picture had a mutinous expression and kept tugging at the collar of his ruffled robes.

"Yeah," said Harry, "they?re adorable all right."

Narcissa then led the way down a number of twisting corridors into a huge dining room, where she gestured at Harry to sit down while she went to get him some food.

Harry seated himself at the enormous dining room table, feeling very small. The table seemed to stretch on for miles, bare except for a huge silver candelabra holding seven green candles carved in the shape of lizards. More ugly Malfoy family portraits hung on the wall. One featured a grim-looking wizard in a ruff who glared at Harry, then drew a menacing finger across his throat. On the wall hung an enormous silk tapestry bearing the Malfoy family crest, which showed a huge green snake twisting itself into the letter M, while in the foreground the figure of a hooded man snuck up behind another man and stabbed him in the back. The Latin phrase DE GUSTIBUS NON DISPUTANDEM wound around the feet of the attacking man. Harry had no idea what that meant. Hermione would know, but thinking about Hermione was way too painful.

Narcissa came back into the room, bearing a silver tray on which rested a teapot and cup, a jug of milk, and a plate of biscuits. "Here you go," she said, setting them down on the table. She then seated herself opposite Harry and watched him as he ate. "Madam Pomfrey says you?re to eat lightly for the next day or so," she said, watching him stuff biscuits into his mouth.

"So, Mum," said Harry, wanting to fill the awkward silence, "what?ve you been up to?"

"I?ve been embroidering a blanket for you to take to school," she said eagerly, "it?s got the family creed on it in gold, you?re father suggested it. He thought it was time you learned it by heart. Would you like to see it?"

Harry did not want to see it at all. "Sure," he said.

She rushed out of the room and almost immediately rushed right back in again, bearing what looked like a length of green velvet. She handed it to him, and he saw that there were words picked out across the front in gold lettering:

PUNISHMENT LEADS TO FEAR. FEAR LEADS TO OBEDIENCE. OBEDIENCE LEADS TO FREEDOM. THEREFORE PUNISHMENT IS FREEDOM.

"Wow," said Harry in a lifeless voice. "It?s lovely, Mum. I bet all the other kids will wish they had a blanket with a really horrible motto on it just like this one."

For a moment, Harry thought he might have gone too far; but Narcissa just smiled blankly, and Harry turned his gaze away. It was a pity he did, for it he had looked at Draco?s mother?s face, he would have seen her eyes were full of tears.

The double doors at the end of the hall banged open and Lucius Malfoy and McNair strode in. "Narcissa," snapped Lucius, "get McNair here a cup of tea, would you?"

Narcissa hurried to do her husband?s bidding, while McNair sat down opposite Harry and grinned at him. "So, Draco," he said in a fatherly tone. "I remember when I was a Slytherin at Hogwarts, we did have some fun. I bet you?re always stirring up trouble, aren?t you?"

"Well," said Harry, "you know, we?re kept pretty busy having Young Death Eater meetings, and then we spend a lot of time making loads of other students feel bad about their lack of money and social standing. Sometimes we stay up all night and try to raise demons to do our loathsome bidding, but most evenings we just order pizza and pull the wings off a few flies."

Harry was quite aware that he was raving, but McNair did not seem to mind. "This is quite a fine boy you have here, Lucius!" he said, turning to Draco?s father. "You must be proud of him."

"He was a very unpromising baby," said Lucius Malfoy without a trace of emotion. "Weak and sickly. I told my wife that in the good old days of the Malfoys, a child like that would have been left on a windswept crag to die, but she would insist on keeping him."

McNair laughed, but Harry was fairly sure that Lucius Malfoy wasn?t joking.

Narcissa came back in with the tea-tray. McNair went over to her and said, "Sorry, Narcissa, I?m going to have to take this with me. Got to go. Business." He took a cup off the tray and winked at Draco?s father. "See you tomorrow, Lucius," he said, and Disapparated.

***

Draco sat in the darkened library, his face in his hands. His elbows were propped on an open copy of Most Potente Potions, which seemed ironic to him, since it was on account of Polyjuice Potion that he was in this mess in the first place.

His mind kept running down options, but none of them seemed workable. He could send an owl to his dad, explaining what had happened, in which case Lucius Malfoy would realize that the boy he had in his house was Harry Potter, and would kill him. He could work on reversing the spell, which would turn Harry back into Harry, and Lucius would see who Harry was and would still kill him. He could go down to Malfoy Manor himself and try to spring Harry, which would be a brave and spectacular move in many ways, but if his dad caught him he would think Draco was Harry and he?d wind up being murdered by his own father.

It did not occur to Draco to go to Dumbledore with his problem. He was still a Malfoy.

The library door opened, and a girl came in, carrying a wand. "Lumos," she said, and the room was suddenly bathed in light. Draco looked up, blinking.

"I thought I?d find you here," she said, sounding satisfied.

"And I thought I got rid of you on the Quidditch field," said Draco.

Far from seeming affronted, Cho smiled. "That was before I realized you were playing hard-to-get," she said.

"So you?re back for more abuse, are you?" said Draco. "Women."

"I was feeling guilty," said Cho, "about the way I?ve treated you. Telling you that you were too young for me to date and that your hair was too untidy, well, that wasn?t really very fair of me."

"You?ve been a bad girl all right," Draco agreed. "Maybe you should go off by yourself and think about what you?ve done wrong. Take as much time as you need."

Cho came closer and perched on the side of the table, running her wand tip gently up and down his arm. "I know you don?t mean it, Harry," she said, "You?re just hurt, and I respect that."

Draco threw his hands up in disgust. "Look at you!" he said. "I bet you Harry?s been running round you for years, carrying your books, sending you flowers, and all you?ve done is ignore him. Now here he comes along and is an absolute bastard to you, and suddenly you won?t leave him alone!"

Cho stared at him. "Do you realize you?re talking about yourself in the third person?" she said.

"Er," said Draco.

"Excuse me," said a voice. Draco looked up. There was someone else in the library with them. "I hope I?m not interrupting, but -"

It was Hermione.

"You are," said Cho. "Go away."

"No!" said Draco. "You?re not interrupting anything." He stood up with such haste that he knocked a pile of books to the floor. "Hermione--"

Cho glanced from him, to Hermione, and back again. Then she raised an eyebrow and smiled coolly. "So that's how it is, is it?" she said. "Finally given up on me and decided to settle?"

"Harry and I are not dating!" Hermione snapped, her eyes flashing.

"Feel free to fight over me, girls," said Draco, settling back in his chair. "And perhaps a bit of hand-to-hand combat might not be amiss?"

Cho glared at him. "You really are an arrogant bastard under that whole modesty act, aren't you?" she snapped.

"Yes," said Draco. "Now go away."

Cho grabbed her wand and stormed out of the library, slamming the door behind her.

Draco turned nervously to Hermione. "She just really, really likes me," he said, shrugging. "I can?t explain it." Instead of responding, Hermione strode over to where he was standing, crossed her arms, and stared at him.

Draco had never been stared at like that before. It was like she could see right through his head to the back of his skull.

"Hermione, don?t," he protested, before he could stop himself. "Look, I?m sorry about what I said before."

"You?re not," Hermione began.

Draco interrupted her. "Look, I?ve told you I am sorry, what more -"

"No," snapped Hermione, brushing this aside with an impatient wave of her hand, "I don?t mean you aren?t sorry. I mean you aren?t - you aren?t him."

"Aren?t what?"

"Aren?t Harry," said Hermione. "You?re not Harry Potter."

Draco stared at her. He suddenly felt very tired. "Of course I?m not," he said. "I?m Draco Malfoy."

For a moment, they just stared at each other. Then Hermione lunged at Draco, who, totally unprepared for her assault, was knocked backward. He landed on the floor with Hermione on top of him, hitting him with both fists. "WHERE IS HARRY?" she screamed. "What did you do with him? Where are you keeping him? You can?t have killed him, you need him to keep making Polyjuice Potion--"

"Hermione--" Draco was making not the slightest effort to protect himself as she slammed her fists into him. "I swear to you, I haven?t hurt him--"

"Liar!" She grabbed him by the neck of his robes, yanked his head up, and then whacked it back into the stone floor. Draco saw stars as she fumbled in the sleeve of her robes and pulled out her wand. She aimed it at his heart. "If you hurt Harry, if you sliced off his fingers to make your horrible potion--"

"Look," said Draco, fighting to stay calm, "I did not give your speccy little boyfriend so much as a haircut. Although he could use one. I haven?t been making Polyjuice potion. This is the same potion from Snape?s class, it just never wore off."

Hermione was shaking, but her grip on the wand did not falter. "You expect me to believe that?" she said.

Draco looked at her. "My father taught me Dark magic, you know," he said.

"Don't change the subject, Malfoy."

"Put a truth spell on me," he said. "I?ll show you how to do it."

"That?s advanced Dark magic," said Hermione, looking very white, "Its use is strictly controlled by the Ministry--"

"Fine," Draco said, reached up, and grabbed her hand where it held the wand pointed at his heart. "Veritas," he said.

A jet of black light shot out of the wand and hit Draco in the chest. He had seen his father use the Truth Spell on plenty of people before but had never imagined how it might feel. Now he knew, and knew why it was considered Dark Magic - he felt as if two enormous silver hooks had been driven into his chest, just under his ribs, and was ripping it open, leaving his heart bared.

"Ask me quickly," he said, through gritted teeth. "It hurts."

Hermione stared down at him in shock, but she still had her wits about her. Quickly, she said, "Harry, is Harry all right?"

"Yes," said Draco. His voice sounded odd and strangely transparent, even to his own ears.

She blinked. "Why is it that you?ve taken on his appearance?"

"When we drank that potion in Snape?s class, we didn?t turn back when everyone else did. Harry thought I had done something to the Potion, but I hadn?t. He didn?t believe me --- he hit me - I hit him back and knocked him out. Then I realized that everyone thought I was him. I played along with it."

"Why?"

"I wanted to see what it would be like," said Draco. "I thought at first I was doing it so I could get the goods on Harry. Find out his secrets. Use them against him. But it didn?t turn out like that." He gasped. Each word felt like it was being ripped out of him. "It was like I took some part of Harry into me with the potion. I started acting like him and I couldn?t control it. I saved Neville?s toad, and you from the Bludger. I feel things, now. Things I?ve never felt before."

"Like pity?" said Hermione, grimly.

"Yes," said Draco.

"Where is Harry?" she asked.

"When I told you that Draco Malfoy?s dad had come to take him home, that was the truth. Only instead of me, he took Harry."

Hermione, being Hermione, grasped the import of this immediately and shuddered. Her grip on the wand, however, remained quite steady. "What makes you think he?s all right?" she demanded.

"I can feel it," said Draco. He heard his own response with some amazement. "I didn?t realize that?s what it was until now.... It?s like Harry?s scar. He and Voldemort are connected by the curse that failed; now I?m connected to Harry by the failed spell of the Potion. I could feel it when he left the castle, that?s why I went pelting upstairs during dinner. I could feel it when he woke up."

"What were you going to do?" she said. "Keep on being Harry? Someone would have caught on. I did. What was your plan?"

"Didn?t have one," said Draco. "I was trying to think of a way to get to Harry."

"What do you care what happens to Harry? What do you care if he dies?"

"Look, I?m telling you," said Draco. Every word was an effort. "There?s some part of Harry in me now. It makes me do things I?d never normally do. Right now I think it?s fighting for self-preservation. Harry's got a really strong will, I think. There?s a voice in my head that keeps saying get to Harry, get to Harry." He grinned, the ghost of his old nasty grin. "Cause if it was just me," he said, "I?d probably let him die."

Hermione did not rise to this bait. She was staring at him. "Why did you kiss me?" she said.

"Don?t ask me that," Draco said, shutting his eyes, but it was no good, he had to answer. "You," he said, "I like you. Or Harry does. It's hard to tell."

He opened his eyes and looked at Hermione. For a moment, they gazed at each other with identical expressions of amazement. Then, a sly grin spread over her face.

"Malfoy," she said, "Have you ever had sex?"

"No," he said, and then yelled at the top of his voice, "HERMIONE, TAKE THIS SPELL OFF ME RIGHT NOW!"

"All right, all right," she said, chuckling, "Finite incantatum!"

The pain and the feeling of being split open vanished. Draco sucked in air, gasping; he felt like he?d just run a marathon. "Hermione," he said, not without some admiration, "that was really vicious!"

"Sorry," she said, although she didn?t look the least bit sorry, "I had a bet on with Ron. And you deserve it for kissing me and making me think it was Harry." She stood up and, to his surprise, offered him a hand to help him up from the floor. "We?d better go. There are sensors all over this castle that can detect the use of Dark magic. Some teacher?s probably on their way here right now."

"Oh yeah," he said, getting up, "I remember that from Hogwarts: A History."

Hermione stopped and stared at him. "You?ve read Hogwarts: A History?"

"Yeah," he said, "So?"

"Nothing. Let?s go."

***

After McNair had gone, Lucius Malfoy disappeared as well, telling Harry and Narcissa that he had work to do. Harry, not wanting to hang about and make awkward conversation with Draco?s mother, decided to explore the Manor and see if he could find the entrance to the dungeons. Sirius would be here tomorrow; Harry wanted to be prepared.

First he went outside and walked around the Manor, trying to get a feel for its size and shape. This turned out to be a mistake. At first, it was quite interesting, if eerily so. The Manor was huge, carved out of what almost looked like one continuous slab of black granite. He discovered a rock garden, some horse stables (empty), an extremely depressing-looking gazebo, and an enormous maze which Harry studiously avoided. (Since his fourth year at school, he had not liked mazes much.) Around back of the maze he found a small garden where the bushes were meticulously carved into the shape of animals. Magical creatures, he corrected himself: there was a hippogriff, a phoenix, a unicorn, a troll holding an axe, and a dragon, as well as some more nasty-looking creatures Harry didn?t recognize.

Absently, he reached out and poked the troll-shaped bush with his finger. It was so realistic...

Harry yelled as the troll turned and sank its teeth into his hand. He ducked aside just as it lifted its axe and swung it at Harry?s head. It might have been made out of leaves and twigs, but it made a very solid-sounding THWACK as it hit the ground, nonetheless. Harry felt into his sleeve for his wand, pulled it out, and pointed it at the troll. "Stupefy!" he yelled, and the troll froze in mid-movement.

Harry scrambled to his feet and dashed out of the garden. If there was one thing he prided himself on, it was his hexes, but even he wasn?t sure how well a Stunning Spell would work on shrubbery.

His hand was bleeding profusely where the troll had bitten it. By the time he reached the house, the sleeve of his shirt was soaked in blood. Narcissa, who was passing through the front hallway, saw him and screamed out loud.

"Draco!" she cried, looking over at him. "What happened?" She turned his hand over, examining the wound. Serrated leaves stuck out of it like jagged teeth. "Draco, you know better than to go into the topiary garden! Your father would be so angry if -if---" she broke off, and dragged him, protesting, into the kitchen, where she bandaged his hand, first smearing it with a purple ointment that burned and stung.

"You?re going to have to wear your gloves tonight, Draco," she said. "If your father--"

"Tonight?" asked Harry, in alarm, his bitten hand forgotten. "What?s tonight?"

Done with the bandages, Narcissa straightened up and looked at him in surprise. "You know we have company on Saturday nights," she said. "Your father?s...colleagues will be here soon."

"Er, right," said Harry. "I forgot."

He couldn?t help picturing dinner at the Dursleys? with Uncle Vernon?s colleagues from the drill company. He had a feeling a big Death Eater dinner would be something else again, however.

"Do I have to dress up?" he asked, without thinking.

"Draco!" Narcissa looked him squarely in the eye. "You know you have to wear the Malfoy family dress robes!"

"Right," said Harry, but Narcissa was now looking at him with grave suspicion, and he felt it was imperative he get away. "I?d better start getting dressed, then," he said, edging towards the door. "You know those dress robes...so many zippers..." With Narcissa staring after him as if he had sprouted another head, Harry backed out of the kitchen and sped down the corridor towards Draco?s room.

***

Telling Draco to wait in the Gryffindor common room because "I know where Harry keeps his things better than you do," Hermione bolted upstairs and invaded the boys? dormitory, something she had previously done only in emergencies (and on Christmas mornings.) Dean Thomas, who had been about to get into his pajamas, yelled and fell behind his bed.

"What do you think you?re doing, Hermione?" he hissed, poking his head up above the bedclothes. "You could have seen.... something."

"Dean, I didn?t see anything," said Hermione. "I swear. I just ran up to get something for Harry. Give me five minutes and you can go right back to being naked in peace."

She opened Harry?s trunk and tore through it, grabbing James? invisibility cloak, the Marauder?s Map, and some sweaters in case it got cold. She looked around for something to stuff everything in and caught sight of Harry?s school bag lying under the bed. She pulled it towards her slowly.

She had bought that bag for Harry their fifth year at school. It was an ordinary enough bag, but she?d put all sorts of spells on it: a spell so it would never tear, a spell so Harry could lock it, a spell so he could find it if he left it lying around, which he often did. She?d also sewed words onto it--not magicked them there, actually sewed them by hand: HARRY POTTER GRYFFINDOR SEEKER.

The sight of the bag recollected Harry so sharply to her memory that she choked, and a little sob escaped her before she could bite it back. She?d been running on autopilot, not thinking about Harry, because if she thought about him in danger she would fall apart completely and then she would be no use at all...

"Aw, Hermione..." Dean scuttled towards her across the floor, alarmed by the sound of her tears. Hermione wasn't a girl who cried often. "Don?t cry..."

"Thanks, Dean," said Hermione, putting up one hand to ward him off, "and I, uh, appreciate the thought. You might want to put some pants on, that?s all I?m saying, but I appreciate the thought just the same."

***

Hermione?s dark mood did not lift when she returned to the common room and found Draco sitting in one of the overstuffed armchairs, apparently quite asleep. She stalked up to him and glared. "WAKE UP," she said.

He opened his green eyes and looked at her, "I am awake," he said.

"Fine," she said, feeling stupid. "I?m going after Harry," she went on. "I thought about taking his Firebolt, but I?m pretty sure you can?t fly a broomstick off Hogwarts grounds like that. So I?m walking to Hogsmeade. There?s a train at midnight that goes to Platform 9 3/4 at King?s Cross Station--"

But Draco was on his feet. "You are not going without me," he said, softly but firmly. "You?ll never find Malfoy Manor, it's unplottable, just like Hogwarts. And even if you found it by some miracle, there are seventeen hexes on the front door alone, and each one requires a specific Disarming spell -"

"Malfoy," said Hermione, "I was not even thinking of going without you, so you can shut up. In fact, I was going to threaten you with the Veritas curse if you didn?t agree to help me get into your horrible house."

Now it was Draco?s turn to feel stupid and not let on. "Hermione, you can?t do the Veritas spell," he snapped. "There's more to doing Dark magic than just saying the words."

"I wouldn't be so show-offy about my knowledge of Dark magic if I were you," Hermione said shortly. She swung Harry's bag over her shoulder and stalked toward the portrait hole. Draco hurried after her. He loathed the way she always had the last word.

***

Harry was sitting on the end of Draco Malfoy's bed, rubbing his eyes. He'd fallen asleep for a few moments and had a strange dream that he was half-walking, half-running down a dark road with Hermione. It had been a very vivid dream, as if he were right there beside her, and when he woke up he missed her with an ache that was nearly physical. Of course, he told himself, he missed everything about Hogwarts, not just Hermione.

He forced himself to get up and go over to the wardrobe, where he searched for the "Malfoy family dress robes." This was difficult. It appeared that Draco had a lot of clothes, from long velvet cloaks in every color of the rainbow to extremely expensive-looking Dolce and Gabbana linen shirts. His parents must have spent an absolute fortune on this lot, thought Harry, gawking. Draco's collection of designer sunglasses alone would have run about six hundred pounds. And they were not proper wizarding wear either, but apparently the Malfoy family's disgust for all things Muggle did not extend to Armani jackets.

"Draco!"

Harry jumped. Narcissa's voice was echoing from somewhere above his head.

"Are you ready yet? Your father's friends are already here!"

"Uh..." said Harry. "I can't find my dress robes!"

"Well, then just wear black!" she snapped.

"Okay!" he yelled, then stopped to wonder if he had to yell or if she could hear him just fine anyway. He felt immeasurably stupid. He reached into the wardrobe and was about to pull out a pair of black trousers when Narcissa's voice crackled overhead again:

"And Draco? No Muggle clothes!"

"Aaargh," said Harry, but very softly, hoping Narcissa wouldn't hear him.

"And I'm sending Anton to fetch you," she snapped, and there was a loud snap, like a switch being thrown. Harry assumed she had switched off the spell that allowed her to converse with him in his room, and began cursing quietly to himself. Who was Anton? Was he some relative that Harry would be expected to know? Still swearing to himself, he selected a black pair of satin trousers, a long ruffled shirt, and a pair of high black boots from Draco's closet and put them on. They were the most magic-y looking clothes in Draco's closet, but he felt deeply silly in them.

There was a knock on the door and Harry went to open it with a sense of deep foreboding. A tall man stood outside his door, wearing an immaculate butler's uniform and carrying what looked like a black and silver velvet cloak. He was also quite transparent.

Ah, thought Harry. A ghost servant. This was fine. Harry was used to ghosts.

"Your mother wanted me to bring you this," said Anton-the-ghost, handing Harry the cloak. It was long and looked expensive, with a big silver clasp at the throat in the shape of a snake. Harry thought he would be happy if he never saw another snake-shaped ornament in his whole life after this. "You left it in the drawing room last time you were here."

Harry stopped stock-still in the act of pulling on the cloak. What the ghost had just said had set off something like a firecracker in the back of his mind. The drawing-room. There was something significant about that phrase, something huge. What was it about the drawing-room that was important?

"I suggest, young Master Malfoy," said the ghost, "that you fasten that clasp in front of the mirror. It is complicated."

If he thought Harry's struggles with the cloak were either amusing or suspicious, he didn't show it.

***

They were sitting on the platform at Hogsmeade station, waiting for the train, when Draco began to laugh. Hermione twisted around to look at him. "What's funny?" she asked, frowning.

"Harry," said Draco. "He's wearing my clothes and he hates it...Hey!" he added, irritably, "I like that shirt. It is not effeminate!"

Hermione was staring at him. "Malfoy, please stop channeling Harry," she said. "It makes me sickeningly nervous." She fiddled with the strap on her bag. "Can he see what you're doing?' she asked finally.

"He can, a little," said Draco, "but he thinks he's just dreaming it."

"Why?"

"Harry's got a stronger will than me," said Draco neutrally. "He projects more."

"Does he..." said Hermione, now fiddling with the strap harder than ever, "does he think about me?"

Draco looked at her. His green eyes were unreadable. "Sometimes."

Hermione opened her mouth to ask more, but at that moment the train came chugging into the station. It was painted bright red and had HOGSMEADE---LONDON picked out in sparkling letters across the side. She and Draco hopped to their feet and boarded. They were the only passengers in their compartment.

"Hermione," said Draco as they settled into their seats, "How did you know I wasn't Harry?"

Hermione bit her lip. Why was he asking her this now? She didn't have a good answer; it would sound silly to say that he hadn't smelled right when he kissed her, not like Harry. She studied his face, but couldn't read his expression.

Maybe that's it, she thought.

"I always know what Harry's thinking," she said. "He never bothers to hide anything he feels. But when I was looking at you, it was like I was looking at his face, but Harry had gone away. I couldn't tell at all what you were thinking."

Draco didn't say anything to that, only stared out the window. They were leaving the heavily wooded area around Hogsmeade now and rolling into an area of dark fields dotted with small farms. A huge white moon had risen.

"Do you want to know what I'm thinking now?" he asked finally.

"No," said Hermione, "I'm sure it's really unpleasant."

She immediately regretted having said this, but was unsure how to take it back. They lapsed into silence.

***

Harry would never have imagined that a big gathering of Death Eaters could have been so fantastically boring, but so it was. They were a grim-looking bunch of men, even with their ugly masks off. Lucius Malfoy presided at the head of the table; Harry recognized some of the names: Crabbe and Goyle were there, just as big and ugly as their unpleasant offspring; there was Nott, Zabini, Rozier, and Franz Parkinson as well.

He had rather hoped there would be some talk about Sirius, but there was none. It seemed likely that McNair and Draco's father were the only ones who even knew about the plan. And Wormtail, of course. They probably didn't want to share the glory.

Zabini, on the other hand, was more interested in talking to Harry about all the fun he must be having as a Slytherin at Hogwarts. Harry, to whom the idea of fun now seemed a faint and distant memory, was kept quite busy inventing all sorts of activities for Draco and his Slytherin pals. "Well, we study a lot, of course," he said, "and we play with the torture instruments in the dungeon, and, uh, someone gave us a basilisk egg and we're trying to get it to hatch."

"Is that wise?" said Rozier, a tall old man with very thin eyebrows.

Harry, thrown by the fact that someone had actually paid attention to what he was saying, stammered, "Well, McNair said he'd kill it for us if it got too big."

"I, for one," said Eleftheria, "like to see children learning for themselves. That is why I sent my sons to Durmstrang where they have already mastered Level Five of the Dark Arts."

"Is it true they chain the Durmstrang students to glaciers for days if they do badly on their OWL's?" Harry asked with great curiosity.

"Not overnight," said Eleftheria, waving her fork airily.

Zabini turned to Harry, "Is Severus Snape still head of Slytherin House?" he asked.

"Yeah," said Harry.

Lucius Malfoy suddenly turned and spit on the floor. "Draco," he said between his teeth, "is quite friendly with Severus. Despite the fact that Severus betrayed us all. I have told him it is unseemly, but he does not listen."

Harry looked at his plate.

"Severus will get what is coming to him, Lucius," said Rozier in a voice that made Harry's blood run cold. "When we put the Plan into action."

Harry never thought he'd feel bad while considering the prospect of something awful happening to Snape, but he did.

"Father," he said, before he could stop himself, "I'm not feeling well. Can I be excused to my room?"

This was the wrong thing to say. Lucius turned a cold, glittering gaze on Harry, full of icy rage. When he spoke, however, his voice was even: "Certainly, Draco," he said.

Harry pushed his chair back and began to make his way from the hall. As he passed Lucius, however, Draco's father shot out a hand and grabbed his arm. His grip was cold. "You will come and see me in the drawing-room after dinner, Draco," he said quietly. "You will not be late."

"Yes," said Harry, mechanically, and, freeing his arm, he sped out of the hall.

Once away, he collapsed against a wall in the corridor, holding his head. Lucius Malfoy's voice saying the words drawing-room had sparked his memory, and he suddenly recalled the day four years ago when he heard Draco Malfoy telling Crabbe and Goyle that his family kept their most powerful Dark Arts objects under the drawing-room floor. At the time, Harry had thought he meant there was some kind of secret compartment under the floor. Now it occurred to him that in fact, what Draco might have meant -- and he could not be sure why he felt this, but he did -- was that the entrance to the chambers underneath Malfoy Manor was in the drawing-room. Perhaps the dungeon entrance might be there as well.

It was a slim chance, he knew, but worth investigating.

"Anton," he called softly. "Anton."

The ghost materialized before him, carrying a tea-towel and looking inquiring.

"Anton," said Harry in a whisper. "How do I get to the drawing-room? I've forgotten."

As Harry had expected, the ghost showed no surprise. "Follow me, Master Malfoy," he said, and began wafting down the corridor. He led Harry to a large room filled with overstuffed velvet chairs. The portrait of a tall woman wearing an enormous choker of rubies hung over the fireplace and a wide Persian rug covered the floor.

"Thank you, Anton," said Harry absently, and the ghost vanished.

Harry dropped to the floor and dragged the Persian carpet aside. Underneath it was the clear outline of a trap door with a looped iron handle. Harry grabbed the handle hard, and pulled.

The door lifted easily. Harry had a brief glimpse of a set of gray stone steps disappearing into darkness before his head was nearly split open by the most ear-piercing scream he had ever heard.

"MASTER LUCIUS! MASTER LUCIUS!" It was the woman in the portrait, her mouth open as she howled." THE TRAP DOOR IS OPEN! MASTER LUCIUS! THE DRAWING-ROOM!" Harry let the trap door fall as he staggered back, hands over his ears, but even with the door closed the woman continued to scream. "MASTER LUCIUS, COME QUICKLY!"

***

On the train, Draco opened his eyes with a start. "Oh, no," he said. "Harry, you stupid prat, what have you done?"

Over the portrait's screams Harry could hear the sound of running feet in the corridor outside. He looked around wildly. There was only the one exit from the room and it led straight into the hallway. If only he knew how to Disapparate!

The fireplace, said a voice in his ear. Harry spun around madly; there was no one there. He didn't care, though. Dashing towards the fireplace he flung himself into it just as the drawing-room doors opened. There was a ledge at about chest height inside the flue; he climbed up onto it and braced himself there, panting.

Through a crack in the bricks, Harry saw Lucius Malfoy enter the room, followed by the Death Eaters and Narcissa. He looked angrier than Harry had ever seen him, angrier than Harry would have thought possible. His eyes scanned the room, taking in the disarrayed rug and the exposed trap door. Then his gaze fell on the portrait.

"Mona," he said. "Who did this? Who committed this outrage?"

Harry braced himself.

"A boy," said the woman in the portrait. "A boy unknown to me."

"Not -- Draco?" said Narcissa. Her expression was as set and angry as her husband's, but her eyes were darting wildly around the room, giving her a weird, almost schizophrenic look. Harry stared.

"The intruder had no Malfoy blood in him," said the portrait.

"Did he enter the dungeons?" asked Lucius.

"No," said the portrait, "He fled when I screamed."

"And where did he go?"

There was a pause. Then the portrait said, "I do not see. I only sense. I do not know where he went."

"Then you have failed in your guardianship," said Lucius in a freezing voice, and raised his wand. "Incendium!" he shouted.

The woman in the portrait screamed once as green flames consumed her. Then a fine drift of ash sifted to the floor.

"Lucius--" Narcissa began, but Lucius spun and glared at her. Her expression didn't change, but she turned and left the room.

One of the Death Eaters cleared his throat. "My, look at the time," he said. "Lucius, thanks for a lovely evening, regards to Narcissa." And he Disapparated.

One by one, the other Death Eaters Disapparated as well, until Lucius was left standing alone with Eleftheria Parpis. "Now, now, Lucius," she said soothingly, "It was probably just the portrait making a fuss over nothing, they do that sometimes when you ignore them. I'm sure there was no one in the house." Lucius seemed unmoved by this argument; he was still eyeing the exposed trap door. "Anyway," Eleftheria added, "at least we're alone now."

She sidled up to Lucius who, to Harry's astonishment, took her in his arms and kissed her neck. Harry was then treated to the most disgusting ten minutes of his life as Lucius Malfoy and Eleftheria snogged passionately on the loveseat. He screwed his eyes shut, but could still hear them at it; he couldn't even stick his fingers in his ears since he needed his hands to brace himself.

"Master Malfoy," said a soft voice in his ear.

Harry opened his eyes a crack and saw Anton floating suspended before him, looking tranquil. He seemed not in the least astonished to find the heir of Malfoy Manor hanging halfway up a chimney flue by his fingernails.

"Master Malfoy, might I suggest that you climb a bit higher up the flue? You will find yourself in a disused second-floor bedroom, if I am not much mistaken."

Harry nodded his thanks and began to climb. It took him about three minutes to reach the empty fireplace; he clambered through and rolled out onto a bare stone floor, coughing and retching on soot.

***

Draco blinked and saw Hermione staring at him with her mouth open. "What happened?" she said. "You said "'Harry, you stupid prat'," and then you shouted "T'he fireplace!'"

"Did I?" said Draco, who had an odd little smile on his face.

"Did Harry fall into a fireplace?" asked Hermione. "And don't smile like that, you look like a mental patient."

"I'm not sure what happened," said Draco, "I don't see what he's seeing you know, I just get little flashes, like if he'd feeling something particularly strongly."

"So it's not like watching a movie?" asked Hermione.

"I wouldn't know, would I?" replied Draco. "I've never seen a movie."

The train started to slow down. They were pulling into a Muggle station. Looking out the window, Hermione saw a group of teenagers sitting on a bench under the florescent lights. They looked like they were returning home after some party; they were laughing and joking with each other. One of them was a tall boy with dark, untidy hair and glasses. He really didn't resemble Harry all that much, but Hermione found her throat tightening anyway.

"Is he okay?" she said, not looking at Draco.

"If he dies suddenly," said Draco, "I'll let you know."

***

After sneaking out of the second-floor room, Harry went to take a shower, since he was black with soot from head to toe. Then he put on Draco's pyjamas (they had fire trucks on them) and returned to his bedroom, where he found Lucius and Narcissa waiting for him.

"Boy," said Lucius the moment Harry walked in. "Where have you been?"

"I went to take a shower, Father," said Harry, who was quite glad he had left his soot-covered wet towel in the bathroom.

"Come here," said Lucius, and Harry very warily approached him. As soon as he got within grabbing distance, Lucius grabbed him by the arms and stared furiously into his face. "I'm not stupid, boy," he said with cold menace. "You've been acting peculiarly and I want to know the reason. Going into the topiary garden!" he snapped. Harry looked over at Narcissa, who looked away. "Not knowing about the family dress robes! Asking to be excused from one of MY dinners!" he shouted. "And if I even thought you had anything to do with that fiasco after dinner..."

"What your father is trying to say, Draco," said Narcissa, twisting her hands in her skirt, "is....are you taking drugs?"

Harry's mouth fell open.

"Because you can talk to us about it, if you are," she went on hurriedly. "We're, um, here to listen."

Harry looked from Narcissa, whose eyes were darting around the room again, to Lucius, whose face was so contorted with rage that it looked like a carnival mask.

"Nope," he said. "Not on drugs. Sorry!"

"Then--" Narcissa looked over at Lucius uncertainly.

"Your mother," said Lucius, who was now smiling a very unpleasant smile, "is worried that you're going mad, young Draco. There is of course madness in our family, as we descend in nearly a direct line from Uric the Oddball, but I confess I hadn't thought about it popping up in you. Now that she mentions it, however..."

"I am NOT mad," said Harry shortly. "I got a bad bump on the head yesterday, that's all. Honestly! It's not like I've started talking to myself."

"Not yet," said Lucius shortly. Then he bent close to Harry's ear and hissed, "I sometimes ask myself what I did wrong, to be cursed with a idiot child instead of the heir I should have had."

Harry's irritation boiled over. "Come on!" he snapped. " Murder, torture, masses of Dark magic, what haven't you done wrong? You're just lucky you didn't get a son who had three heads. You must have the worst karma of anyone I've ever met!"

Lucius stared at him. Narcissa gave a little squeak.

"You must be mad, to speak to me in that manner," said Lucius. "Or perhaps you're just trying to show your mettle." He smiled, showing his sharp even teeth. "I admire that. I will not punish you."

Narcissa's shoulders sagged in relief and she turned away to hide her expression. As soon as she did, Lucius bent and whispered in Harry's ear: "If you put one toe out of line after this, my boy, it's St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies for you. They can toss you in with the Longbottoms and you can spend the rest of your life strapped to a bed, frothing at the mouth."

This mention of Neville's parents made Harry so angry he might well have forgotten himself and belted Lucius in the eye if the bedroom door hadn't opened at that moment, admitting two men in travelling cloaks. One of them was Angus McNair. The other was a short man in a dark green cloak, the hood pulled low over his eyes. From one sleeve of the cloak protruded a black-gloved hand; from the other, a shimmering hand made entirely of silver metal.

Wormtail.

"Sorry to barge in," said McNair, pushing back his hood. "Anton told us you were up here."

"Back so soon?" said Lucius.

"Yes," said Angus, a bit nervously. "The journey from Cornwall took less time than expected."

"And Sirius Black?"

Please let him have gotten away, Harry prayed silently.

"Is here," said Wormtail shortly. The last time Harry had heard his voice, he had been screaming for Voldemort to heal his severed hand. Which Voldemort had done. He had given Wormtail a hand of metal, which now winked in the light as he raised it and pointed it towards the door, almost as if it had been a wand.

"Everriculum!" he shouted and a bolt of whitish light emerged from the palm of the metal hand. The light rose and expanded into the air until it was a net of silvery strands, rather like a spider's web. Then the filaments of the web broke apart, and something crashed through them, landing hard on the ground.

It was Sirius.

He was in his animal form, in the shape of a huge black dog. All his limbs were rigid, sticking straight out; only his eyes were moving, rolling back and forth between Wormtail and Lucius.

"Very impressive, Wormtail," said Lucius, but his eyes were on Sirius.

"My Master has given me a hand of great power," said Wormtail, gazing at his metal extremity with fondness. He waved it carelessly in Sirius' direction, and the black dog went skidding helplessly across the floor towards Lucius.

Narcissa gave a little scream.

"That's enough," said Lucius sharply.

"Turn him back," added McNair in a harsh voice.

Harry heard Narcissa gasp. Then Lucius walked quickly across the floor and kicked Sirius in the ribs with one booted foot. Harry tried to rush forward, but tripped on the leg of Draco's pajamas and fell to the ground.

He had just begun to scramble to his feet when he was stopped in his tracks by the sight of Narcissa, who suddenly, silently, and to everyone's great surprise, had fainted dead away on the floor.

***

"We're here," said Draco, standing up and tapping Hermione on the shoulder. She bolted upright and stared out the window. They were at a tiny, lamplit station whose wooden signpost proclaimed it to be located in the town of CHIPPING SODBURY.

This was not exactly what she had pictured. She had rather imagined that Malfoy would come from a bleak castle perched on top of a rocky crag in the middle of a barren desert where vultures were always swooping down on anyone who didn't move fast enough. Not a cute little town called Chipping Sodbury. Still, you never knew.

"Come on," said Draco, and she followed him off the train and down onto the platform, where he turned left and walked towards the end of the platform. "Uh, Malfoy," she said, trailing after him with the bag bumping her leg, "The station's this way..."

At that moment, he made another sharp left and walked right through the concrete wall at the end of the platform.

"Blast," she said, running to the wall, "how'd he do that?"

An arm came through the wall. It was Draco's. He yanked her forward, and with a whooshing feeling, she slid through the wall and sprawled onto the ground on the other side.

"Ow," said Draco. Her bag had caught him a sharp blow to the head.

"Sorry," said Hermione, standing up and looking around with interest. They were standing at the foot of an enormous wrought-iron gate whose arch bore the inscription Malfoy Park. "I guess we're not in Chipping Sodbury anymore?"

"Certainly not," said Draco, starting to walk, " This is Malfoy Park, it?s the village at the foot of the hill where our house is. You can get there from Chipping Sodbury, though, if you know how to go."

'You have a whole village named after you?" said Hermione, aghast.

"Yes, surprising I haven't got a big head, isn't it?" said Draco.

Hermione was about to make a sharp comment when she realized he was joking. Must loosen up there, she told herself.

They came out of the lane into a wider thoroughfare where there were shops and pubs. It was in many respects a little magical town just like Hogsmeade, but there was a difference: everything here seemed to either have the word "Malfoy" on it or be somehow related to Dark magic --- it was Knockturn Alley imagined by Lucius Malfoy. There was the Malfoy Market sandwiched between Helga the Hag's House of Horrible Hexes and a pub called The Cold Christmas Inn that offered a Malfoy lunch special (toasted bat sandwich.)

"They must really like you here," said Hermione, trying not to laugh.

"Ha!" said Draco. "They hate my family, we've been oppressing them for generations and every once in a while my dad comes down into the village and does some horrible Dark magic thing that terrifies everyone and keeps them in line."

"Doesn't that bother you?" she asked sharply, but Draco shook his head at her and whispered, "Shhh... The last thing we want is for anyone to see me here and tip my dad off that Harry Potter is hanging around the village."

"Right," said Hermione, who hadn't been paying attention. For some reason, when he stood this close to her, and whispered like he was doing, she got little shivers all up and down her spine.

Draco turned and began trudging up the road that led out of town. Hermione followed him. They walked on for a bit in silence; Draco seemed lost in thought. Finally, he turned right at the top of the hill, and they came out from the tree-lined road into a wide-open space. Hermione couldn't help herself, she gasped; it was just what she had imagined Malfoy Manor would be like. A huge spike-topped fence stretched away in either direction; directly in the center was an open gate shaped like an enormous M. Huge pillars topped by statues of writhing silver serpents flanked the gateway, and through the gate Hermione could see the looming black shape of an enormous, hulking house.

Hermione started forward; she had taken only a few steps when Draco seized her arm. "No," he said

sharply. "What did I tell you?"

"Oh," she said, feeling foolish. "Seventeen hexes. Right."

"My father invented the one on this gate," said Draco, sounding proud, "It's called the Jigsaw Hex, because if you try to go through the gate uninvited it'll chop you up into pieces."

"Your father sounds like he must be a lot of fun at parties," said Hermione.

In response, Draco took a pen out of his pocket and rolled it across the ground toward the gateway. As it passed under the arch, there was a blinding flash of green light and a sharp clanging sound. There was a pause, and then the pen rolled back to Draco, severed in two neat halves.

"