Authors: furiosity and pixies

Rating: NC-17

Author's notes:. Many thanks to pikacharma and therealw for beta-reading.

Summary: After the eventful Christmas in Harry Potter's fifth year at Hogwarts, his godfather gave him a badly wrapped package. Inside was something Harry could use it to get in contact should the need arise, Sirius said. Harry resolved never to use whatever it was -- he would not put Sirius in danger. When later that year Harry was shown Sirius in terrible danger, he did not think of using Sirius's last-minute gift. Hermione, however, did. This is the story of what happened after that.

Part I - Harry

"Sirius is being tortured NOW!" shouted Harry. "We haven't got time to waste."

"But if this is a trick of Voldemort's, Harry, we've got to check. We've got to."

"How?" Harry demanded. "How're we going to check?"

Hermione, who had turned towards Ginny and Luna, froze, as though suddenly in the middle of an OWL examination, having forgotten the right answer. Harry opened his mouth to demand that she spit it out or let him go to the Department of Mysteries, but did not get the chance.

"The package," said Hermione, her voice as dreamy as Luna's had been just a moment ago. "The package Sirius gave you, Harry. You told us he gave you something you could use to contact him."

Harry stared at her in disbelief. Didn't she understand that Sirius couldn't use whatever it was? Voldemort was torturing him! "It's in my trunk," he said. "But it'll be useless. We're wasting time."

"I was going to suggest that we use Umbridge's fire to call Grimmauld Place," said Hermione, drawing herself up. "But there's no need to risk it if you can use whatever's in the package. If Sirius doesn't answer, we'll know that your... dream was real." And she fixed him with such a McGonagallish stare that Harry knew it was no use arguing with her, though anger and impatience boiled in him like something from one of Neville's cauldrons.

"Fine," he said, "Let's try it. But if it doesn't work, I'm going straight to London. I'm going to save Sirius and I don't care if you think I'm just acting the hero again."

The five of them picked their way through the crowds, up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower, and Harry ignored the outraged yells when people saw Luna drifting behind Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny through the Gryffindor common room.

Harry flew to his dormitory, two stairs at a time. He wrenched open his trunk and began to rummage, throwing his belongings to the floor. A Weasley jumper... broken Sneakoscope... three snapped quills... His fingers hit stiff paper, and Harry pulled the package out of the trunk. He ripped the brown packaging away, revealing a small, square mirror, grimy and old.

Hermione let out a small noise. "It's a two-way mirror, Harry!" she whispered breathlessly. "You've got to say Sirius's name into it."

Harry turned the mirror over and saw a note stuck to the reverse side: in Sirius's fast scribble, it told him what Hermione just had, also adding that Harry's father and Sirius used to use them when they were in separate detentions.

Harry gripped the mirror in both hands. Ron, Ginny, and Hermione huddled round him whilst Luna seemed to be performing some sort of interpretive dance by the open window.

"Sirius," said Harry. "Sirius Black." He almost choked on Sirius's name, and even while hoping that Sirius's eyes would appear at any moment, he doubted it would happen. Those eyes were closed with pain right now, and if anything happened to Sirius...

How would you even get to London? asked Hermione's voice in his head. Harry wondered if Hagrid had any more Hippogriffs hidden away. Or even a dragon. Harry wasn't going to be picky. He'd summon his broom from the dungeon if he had to, Umbridge be damned.

"Look, Harry," said Hermione. "Something's moving." Her breath left a trace of fog on the mirror's dark surface.

"That might not mean anything," said Harry, not daring to hope -- it might be Lupin for all he knew. He might've found the mirror discarded on Sirius's desk, unaware that Sirius had been lured out of Grimmauld Place and was now suffering the Cruciatus Curse. All because of Harry.

"See? He's not there. He's not there. We've wasted enough time--"

"Harry?" Sirius's voice spoke from Harry's hands, and he gaped as Sirius peered up at him, his eyes revolving as though trying to see beyond the mirror's boundaries. "Is everything all right?"

"Sirius," he breathed. "Where are you?"

"Home; where else would I be? Buckbeak's been injured--"

"But I saw you in the Department of Mysteries," said Harry. Relief flooded him in icy torrents. Sirius was all right, he was alive, he wasn't being tortured. Safe at Grimmauld Place, hidden by the Fidelius Charm.

"The Department of Mysteries? Harry, what's going on?" Sirius's voice had taken on the same edge of concern that Hermione had been using around Harry all too often lately, but this time Harry didn't mind.

"I had a vision," said Harry. "Voldemort was torturing you at the Ministry."

Sirius's paled, his eyes widening. "Well, he's not. Everything is fine, except poor Buckbeak somehow managed to cut himself. I'm with him now. Moony's here, too." He turned and murmured something Harry couldn't hear. A terrible suspicion entered Harry's heart: what if Voldemort had given Sirius a moment's respite so he could play a cruel joke on Harry? At any moment, he expected Voldemort's snakelike, jeering face to appear in the mirror, and then he would be forced to watch Sirius's torture with his eyes instead of his mind.

"Where exactly was Voldemort, er, torturing me?" asked Sirius upon turning back. "Did you see anything you recognised?"

"It was a row of globes," said Harry. "Row ninety-three." He could see a frayed robe sleeve behind Sirius now: Lupin's. Relief and panicked suspicion struggled for dominance inside him. Tricks, so many tricks: maybe he wasn't even in his dormitory at all; maybe he still lay passed out on the table in the Great Hall...

Sirius gave Harry an uncharacteristically concerned look. "Harry, I need you to promise me that no matter what happens, you'll stay at Hogwarts."

"But--"

"Please, Harry, just listen. Voldemort is trying to lure you to the Ministry -- he wants you to go there. You aren't going to do what he wants, are you?"

Blood still pounded in Harry's temples, and he wanted to go and find Voldemort, to fight, to finish it. Sirius was safe, but Harry could still hear his screams and see him sprawled at Voldemort's feet. No one Harry loved would ever be safe while Voldemort lived; how could they all expect him to sit by and do nothing? But Sirius's eyes were so imploring that Harry didn't want to disappoint him. He took a deep, calming breath. "No," he said finally. "I don't want to do what he wants."

"Good," said Sirius. "You stay with your friends and keep that mirror close."

Before Harry had a chance to reply, the mirror went dark. "Sirius?" he ventured, but no answer came this time. He loosened his grip somewhat and looked up at the others. "He's all right," he said, quite needlessly, and looked up at Hermione. "Don't even say it."

"I wasn't going to say--"

"You were," said Harry. "You were going to say you told me so." He wasn't sure if he was angry with himself or with Hermione. "That Voldemort is taking over my mind, and if only I'd kept on my lessons with Snape--"

"Voldemort isn't taking over your mind," snapped Ginny. Harry looked up, surprised at her vehemence, but she pressed on. "He planted a vision in your head and you believed it. He's good at that sort of thing. He'll only take over your mind if you let him in."

A fresh wave of guilt went through Harry, and he gave Hermione a sheepish glance. "I'm sorry," he said. "It's just... It feels so real." The knot of fear in his stomach began to unravel.

"Don't let him get to you, mate," said Ron, who had looked very uncomfortable until that moment. "You know he's after you, so, uh... just don't trust anything you aren't seeing with your own eyes."

"That's very good advice," put in Luna, who had drifted closer in the meantime. "But even your eyes can be fooled by a sudden Stygmie attack."

"What's a Stygmie?" asked Neville. Harry hadn't even noticed him there. He hardly remembered anything from the time he'd had the vision and the sight of Sirius's face in the mirror.

"Daddy says they make everything turn pink," said Luna. She bent down and examined Harry's broken Sneakoscope, which had rolled into the middle of the dormitory after Harry had tossed it out.

The next few hours seemed to last forever. As they trooped back out through the common room and into the school grounds, Harry kept feeling his pocket to make sure the mirror was still there. When they reached the tree by the lake, Harry leaned against it and tilted his head back, closing his eyes.

Every minute that passed without word made the fear creep back into Harry, its cold fingers gripping his heart every time he thought back to the vision. Why did Voldemort want Harry in the Ministry? Did it have something to do with the weapon he was trying to steal? Somewhere out there, the Order of the Phoenix was confronting Voldemort, and here he sat, safe with his friends, hiding when he should have been fighting. It was his fight, too: Voldemort had killed Harry's mum and dad. It wasn't right that Harry had to be on the sidelines just because he was underage. He'd got away from Voldemort before, and his wand had helped him. Maybe it was like in stories -- Ollivander had unwittingly sold Harry the only weapon that could defeat Voldemort, and now the Order members would all die at Voldemort's hand because he couldn't be killed unless Harry's wand did it. Why else would Voldemort need a special weapon against Harry? He knew he couldn't kill Harry with just his wand: that was why. He knew more about what had happened in Little Hangleton; that had to be it.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and realised his own hands were balled into fists, and the sky had grown darker. Hermione looked concerned as she stood over him, and Harry was beginning to resent seeing that expression on her face, as though looking at an errant toddler. He took a deep breath before speaking, but it didn't help. "What?"

Hermione recoiled slightly and shot Ron a helpless look. "You-- you look upset."

"Of course I'm upset! I don't know what's going on. Sirius could be dead or dying, and here we sit--"

A terrible ache laced across his forehead and Harry clapped a hand to his scar, wincing. Fury bubbled within him, fury so potent he might've hurled fireballs with his bare hands if he knew how. For a terrible second, he did know how.

Ron's voice drifted to him out of darkness. "...Harry? Are you having another vision?"

Harry forced his eyes open, forced himself to remember that he was at Hogwarts with his friends, not... wherever it was. "No," he said. "He's angry. Really angry." His scar had not hurt this much since he had witnessed Rookwood's punishment.

"Harry?" called a voice from his pocket. Harry leapt up and snatched the mirror out. The others clustered round him, jostling for space. Sirius looked back at them from the mirror, clearly exhausted.

"What happened? It's been ages--"

"Everyone's fine," said Sirius. "Dumbledore's probably going to kill me for leaving the house, but I have a plan to talk him out of it."

"Was Voldemort there?" demanded Harry.

"Not at first," Sirius told him. "A group of Death Eaters were waiting for you in the Department of Mysteries. We fought them. Voldemort arrived later -- he was expecting to see you there, Harry. He was sure you'd come."

"Is he dead?" asked Harry. "Did you get him?"

Sirius's face darkened. "No," he said. "He and Dumbledore duelled, but Voldemort managed to escape at the last moment. We did catch a fair few of the Death Eaters, though. They were expecting one teenager and got the Order of the Phoenix."

Harry's disappointment stung. So Voldemort was still out there. Still alive. This gave more weight to Harry's idea about his wand's special powers. If even Dumbledore couldn't defeat Voldemort... "Did you find out what the weapon was?"

"Weapon? No," said Sirius. "It was a prophecy he wanted."

"But prophecies are rubbish," said Harry, stealing a glance at Hermione. She gave him a tight smile.

"This was a real prophecy," said Sirius, and Harry thought he heard someone shouting in the background. Sirius cast an annoyed look over his shoulder. "But he didn't get what he came for. You didn't turn up, and the prophecy got smashed to bits before he could take it."

Harry frowned, thinking quickly. The prophecy had to relate to Harry somehow, or Voldemort wouldn't have tried to lure him to it. But why didn't he just make one of the Death Eaters take this prophecy? The more he thought about it, the more it seemed to Harry that he -- and his wand -- were somehow important. The background shouting grew louder, and Harry recognised Mrs Weasley's voice. Something told him he wouldn't get much more information out of Sirius just then.

"We're having a meeting now," said Sirius. "But Moony asked me to tell you this: Lucius Malfoy is dead. Moony says you should watch out for his son."

"Malfoy?" asked Harry, but he understood at once what Lupin was getting at. He was sure Draco Malfoy would blame Harry for his father's death. People like Malfoy and his dad never took responsibility for their own actions. "Malfoy's nothing I can't handle."

"That's what I told Moony," said Sirius, beaming, but the grin quickly slid off his face. "All right, all right!" he barked over his shoulder. "I've got to go. I'll see you soon, Harry."

"Yeah," said Harry to the now-empty mirror. "See you." He looked at the others. "Lucius Malfoy's dead." His friends' faces were pale.

"Serves him right," said Ginny, her voice heated. "The only person who deserves it more is Voldemort."

Harry nodded almost absent-mindedly. He wanted to feel pleased, but there was only emptiness. Malfoy had taunted him so many times about his parents; losing his father might give him a well-deserved taste of what that was like. But all Harry could think about were Cedric Diggory's parents, so bewildered in their grief. The war had begun, and people on both sides were going to die, now. More families would be torn apart. Lucius Malfoy might've deserved to die, along with all the other Death Eaters, but what about their families? Surely they couldn't all be evil -- or maybe they were, and Harry was just naïve. Still, the world wasn't split into good people and Death Eaters, wasn't that what Sirius always said?

On the following morning, Draco Malfoy was not at breakfast. Nobody seemed to know what had happened at the Ministry yesterday, and the Daily Prophet revealed nothing. Umbridge strutted amongst the students looking very pleased about something, and Harry had a feeling that it was not good news. Anything that made her look this happy surely spelled a new Decree or Executive Order or whatever they were calling them these days. Where was Dumbledore? Why didn't he do something? She was turning Hogwarts into a prison.

When the evening edition of the Daily Prophet arrived, Harry understood the source of Umbridge's smugness. Hermione, looking apoplectic, thrust the paper under Harry's nose just as he helped himself to some chips. Ron leaned closer to read over Harry's shoulder.

TERROR AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC

Late last night, a group of Death Eaters, led by Sirius Black and Bellatrix Lestrange, attempted to break into the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic. Fortunately, Aurors Nymphadora Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt were nearby at the time, and they were able to thwart the attempt, with the aid of a few bystanders whose identities remain uncertain. Several Death Eaters were caught and are now en route to Azkaban. Another bystander, Lucius Malfoy of Wiltshire, tragically lost his life. The authorities refuse to disclose the reasons how all these bystanders came to be at the Department of Mysteries so late at night.

On the subject of connecting this infiltration attempt to recent speculation regarding the return of He Who Must Not Be Named, Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, had one thing to say: "It is a preposterous rumour. This break-in only proves that the Death Eaters have been reduced to committing simple acts of vandalism. Their master is gone and he is not coming back." Minister Fudge was referring to the destroyed statue in the Ministry's lobby, the Fountain of Magical Brethren. Talks are in progress with the goblins of Gringotts to reconstruct the statue.

Bellatrix Lestrange and Sirius Black managed to evade authorities once more and remain at large. Albus Dumbledore, sought by the Wizengamot for sedition, reportedly also participated in the fighting, though it is unclear which side he had supported. He, too, remains at large. A number of valuable artefacts were destroyed in the fighting. The Department of Mysteries is asking everyone in possession of the talent of prophecy to come forward…

"But this is rubbish," said Harry, indignant. "Led by Sirius Black? Why can't Tonks and Kingsley tell them Sirius was fighting the Death Eaters, not leading them? Lucius Malfoy, a bystander?"

"Kingsley and Tonks are in the Order, Harry," said Ron. "And the Order is tied to Dumbledore. If they start trying to protect Sirius openly, they'll lose their jobs and probably get arrested."

"Well, it's still rubbish," said Harry, throwing the Daily Prophet down on top of his plate. His appetite had vanished.

"That's not the only thing," said Hermione. Her eyes narrowed and she stared at the head table with more hatred than Harry had ever thought her capable of. "Read the article below that one." Ron and Harry leaned over the paper once more.

DOLORES UMBRIDGE TO RESUME HEADMISTRESS POSITION NEXT YEAR

The Ministry of Magic has decided that in lieu of a better candidate put forth by the Board of Directors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic, shall be instated as Headmistress permanently. This assignment means that Albert Runcorn, First Junior Undersecretary, shall take up Madam Umbridge's senior post at the Ministry, whereas Percival Weasley shall take up Runcorn's post.

Says Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic: "Dolores is an exceptionally capable witch, with a strong understanding of the Ministry's ideals, and I have faith that she shall lead Hogwarts to successes never before imagined. She will be greatly missed here in London, but we understand that she feels her duty is to the children: to our future."

"That smug bitch," spat Hermione, loudly enough for Seamus and Dean to stop their conversation and look at her.

"Hermione," said Ron with a poor pretence at reproach. "Such language from a prefect!"

"Well, that decides it for me," said Harry, staring ahead of himself. He dropped his voice so only Ron and Hermione could hear him. "I'm not coming back next year."

Ron turned to him. "You're going to drop out of Hogwarts?"

"I don't have a choice, do I? You think she won't hand me over to Voldemort when he comes knocking?"

"But Hogwarts is safe--" Hermione began.

"Nowhere is safe," interrupted Harry. "With Dumbledore gone, he won't be scared to come here anymore. I'd rather take my chances somewhere that doesn't have Umbridge waiting to tie me with a pink ribbon and present me to Voldemort. He can get inside my head, remember?"

"Well, you've got to try and close your mind, Harry," said Hermione. A look of apprehension crossed her face at Harry's immediate scowl, but she continued, in a slightly louder voice. "If Snape won't help you, I will. I will learn Occlumency and we can do it together."

"I'll learn it too," offered Ron. "Could be handy with girls."

Hermione sniffed, and Harry laughed. It felt strange to laugh when he felt like climbing up on the table and screaming at them all not to believe the Daily Prophet's lies, that Sirius wasn't a Death Eater, and that Lucius Malfoy hadn't been a bystander at all. But still he laughed, and it made him feel a little lighter. He had a feeling that very soon, he wouldn't have much left to laugh about.

The rest of the week went by without any news. The Department of Mysteries affair was talked about for a few days, and then everyone moved on to discussing the upcoming National Quidditch matches. Harry felt frozen between two worlds: he ached to get away from Umbridge and dreaded going back to the Dursleys'. In the end, though, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon seemed like the lesser of two evils, and Harry had never thought he'd see them that way.

*

As the Hogwarts Express lumbered towards King's Cross station, Hermione stopped staring at the fog-drenched city outside and turned to Harry and Ron. "It's really started, hasn't it?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah," he said. "I reckon it has."

"What are we going to do?" asked Ron, and Harry felt a surge of affection for him for saying 'we'. But he had made up his mind already.

"I told you what I'm doing," he said.

"No," replied Ron, cocking an eyebrow. "You told us what you aren't doing, and that's going back to Hogwarts. But then what?"

Harry shrugged. "I dunno. I'll think of something."

"We'll think of something," said Hermione pointedly.

Harry glanced at her. "What do you mean?"

"You don't think we're going to go back to Hogwarts without you, do you?" muttered Ron.

Harry stared at his friends, unable to speak. "Well, why wouldn't you? You're not in danger. I am."

"That's right, you are," said Hermione. "Harry, we've been friends since first year. Did you really expect us to leave you?"

"I--"

"He did. He totally did," said Ron, glaring at Harry, his ears pink. "You can't do everything yourself, you know."

"Yeah," said Hermione. "I've still got to teach you Occlumency."

"You've got to learn it first," said Ron.

Hermione rolled her eyes and looked back at Harry. "So. What are we going to do?"

Harry, feeling like he would burst with happiness and gratitude, couldn't find the words. He couldn't let them do this and he wouldn't. He'd die before he let anything happen to them. But hearing them say these things felt incredible all the same. At that moment, he could have produced the biggest Patronus in the world.

There wasn't much time to talk after that; the train had stopped. The three friends made their way through the other students and the throngs of waiting families on the platform. Once they got past the magical barrier, Harry spotted the Dursleys standing off to the side, their faces dour. A few feet away, Mrs Weasley stood chatting with Hermione's mum and dad.

"There you are, then, boy," said Uncle Vernon. Harry frowned. His uncle sounded almost pleasant. Then he noticed Mad-Eye Moody standing a few feet away, flanked on either side by a Weasley twin, the latter two resplendent in brand new dragonskin jackets. The twins grinned at Harry; George gave him the thumbs-up. Moody just glared at the back of Uncle Vernon's head, his magical eye rotating. Harry guessed that there had been a confrontation of some sort, and Uncle Vernon was not so much polite as terrified.

After a quick good-bye to his friends, Harry followed his aunt and uncle to the car park, where he stuffed his trunk into the boot and, with a last glance at the train station, began to compose mental letters to Ron and Hermione, thanking them for everything they'd done, and... and then he had nothing. How could he refuse their help without making them feel like he didn't want them?

*

Harry stood in a dark room, happy -- happier than he had been since regaining his body. Hooded figures surrounded him, their faces in shadow, but he knew them all; he did not need to see their faces to know their minds.

"Amelia Bones is dead," he said. "She won't give us any more trouble."

The others watched him with neither movement nor sound. He smiled.

"Severus," he said, "Have you located Dumbledore?"

"No, my Lord," said the figure to his left. "He's turned up at the meetings, but he won't tell anyone where he's--"

"Crucio," said Harry. Snape fell to the floor, twitching in pain. Harry surveyed the others as they shrank towards the walls, their fear bleeding through the air in thick waves. He felt certain that someone here was hiding something from him, something vital. "I grow weary of your incompetence," he said in his high, cold voice. "All of you. Potter and Dumbledore -- I want them found. I want them brought to me." He looked down at Snape's still form and raised his wand.

In his bedroom, Harry awoke bathed in sweat, yelling in fear as Snape was punished once again. It terrified him that somewhere deep, he had enjoyed the sight of Snape, broken upon the dirty floor, his ugly, sallow face drawn in agony.

The bedroom door flew open, and Uncle Vernon stomped inside, his moustache quivering. "What's the matter with you?" he bellowed. "You must've woken the neighbours with that racket you're making!"

"Sorry," gasped Harry. "Nightmare." His stomach roiled. As he looked up at Uncle Vernon's livid face, he felt a sudden burst of anger, like a snake rising within him, poised to strike. It was the snake. "Run," Harry growled, struggling for control. "Run quickly, before he sees you--"

"Run away from you?" sneered Uncle Vernon. "Can't do anything without that wand of yours, can you, boy? Your little friends aren't here to--"

"I SAID GET OUT!" bellowed Harry. He was sure that if Voldemort saw Uncle Vernon, he would know at once where Harry was, and then nothing could stop him from coming. "IF HE SEES YOU, WE'RE ALL DEAD!" The snake reared again. Harry fought it, tried to close his mind against it, but it wasn't working.

Aunt Petunia appeared in the doorway. "Vernon? What's going on? Why are you shouting?"

"RUN!" shouted Harry with a last effort. The snake filled his mind, its eyes becoming Harry's as all colours faded from the world. He felt himself lifting off the bed, straightening up, and taking a step towards his aunt and uncle. He didn't quite understand how to use the treelike appendages humans called legs, but he could not slither.

"Kill them, yes, I shall kill them, Master," he said, answering a question that arose somewhere deep in his primitive mind. "I shall bring you the small human named Potter. Make him walk to you."

The fat human's eyes grew round, and it said something in the human speech. Harry didn't understand the words, but he could sense the fear in them. Now the fat one was backing up, ready to flee--

The bony front part of one of his legs struck something sharp and angular. With a cry of pain, he stumbled, and the snake disappeared. Gasping, Harry looked down at the floor. His school trunk, which he'd not bothered to move since arriving at the Dursleys', had just saved all their lives. The snake had been in him; he had known its thoughts. It would have killed the Dursleys and made Harry go to Voldemort.

"I've got to leave here," he said. "You're all in danger."

Uncle Vernon stood with his arms braced against either side of the doorway, shielding Aunt Petunia. "Danger?" he repeated, his expression disturbed.

"Mum? Dad?" Dudley appeared behind his parents, rubbing his eyes. "What are you doing?"

Harry sagged down onto his bed, rubbing his scar. "It's too late," he said bitterly. "He's seen you now. He'll know where I am now."

"Who?" asked Aunt Petunia in a small voice. "Who has seen us?"

"Lord Voldemort," said Harry. "Same one who killed your sister. I'm sure you remember her."

*

After several snifters of brandy, Uncle Vernon regained his composure along with his usual sneering contempt for Harry's kind of people.

"This is rubbish," he said, dry-washing his hands as they sat around the kitchen table. "He can get into your mind and see through your eyes? With a snake? What do you take us for, boy? You just want us out of the way so you can invite your lot to our house and--"

"Don't you understand?" Harry bit out. "I'm not making this up. He's after me and he doesn't care who he kills."

"Dumbledore--" Aunt Petunia began, but closed her mouth and turned away.

"What about him?" asked Harry. When she didn't respond, her lips a thin line, he had to fight not to start shouting at her. If she knew something about Dumbledore, he had a right to know. "What. About. Him?"

Aunt Petunia looked at her husband, and then at her son. She took a deep breath. "Dumbledore told me you were protected by Lily's blood while you lived here. There was some mumbo-jumbo about powerful magic."

"Dumbledore was wrong," said Harry with conviction. He'd never heard anything so preposterous in his life. Dumbledore must have said that to Aunt Petunia to keep her from throwing Harry out onto the street. "Voldemort knows I'm here, now, and he's going to come for me."

"I believe him," said Dudley.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon turned to him. "What?" they said in unison.

"What?" Harry echoed, thunderstruck.

Dudley's massive jaw worked and his forehead creased as though he were straining with thoughts of great profundity. "The dementer thing," he said finally, and gave Harry an almost timid look. "Last summer."

"Do you think this Mould Lord sent it, Dudders?" asked Petunia, her voice anxious.

"Yeah," said Dudley, still staring at Harry. "And he saved me." He raised a massive hand and pointed at Harry, as though playing pretend pistols.

Silence fell. Dudley Dursley had just acknowledged that Harry had done something good for him, and that Dudley knew it. It was far, far more than Harry ever expected of his cousin. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon stared at their son, both looking as though the very foundations of their world had been shaken.

Aunt Petunia broke the silence with a little sob. She clutched Dudley's hand in both of her own. "Oh, Diddykins," she wailed. "Such a good boy!"

Dudley looked embarrassed; another sight Harry never thought he'd see. Beneath the fear and anxiety that still gnawed him, he felt something very like regret for things that might have been. What if Dudley hadn't been raised to regard Harry as an intruder? Would Harry and Dudley be in the back garden now, discussing together how best to protect the family? Harry shook the thought off. He had been four, maybe five years old when he had last longed to be a part of this family. But the twinge of regret lingered. Dudley's words weren't much, but they proved he had a shred of decency where Harry thought none existed.

"I don't know if Voldemort sent the Dementors last summer," he said over Aunt Petunia's whimpers. "I don't know who did. But I know that he might send some. They've gone over to him now." That had been in the Daily Prophet just a few days ago: all the Dementors had mysteriously disappeared from Azkaban. Though the Prophet insisted that it was simply mating season -- it happened once every decade, nothing to worry about -- Harry had guessed the truth. The Dementors had defected to Voldemort's side. Still, Fudge refused to acknowledge anything was amiss. Still, Dumbledore remained a fugitive and so did Sirius. And now, Harry would join them.

"But they could find us anywhere," whispered Aunt Petunia, her expression growing fearful. "They can fly. What are we going to do?" She gave Harry a scornful look. "You'll run to your little friends, I expect, just like Lily always ran to that freak Snape. What will become of us?"

"Snape?" Harry repeated, certain that he had not heard her right. "How do you know Snape?"

Aunt Petunia sniffed. "That awful, awful boy from down Spinner's End way. He was always filling Lily's head with nonsense about magic and Dementors and God knows what."

Harry stared at her. "Snape."

"Yes!" Aunt Petunia nearly shrieked. "Snape! What are you, a broken record? I thought you knew all about your mother's freak friends."

"Friends," said Harry, feeling as though he weren't in Aunt Petunia's gleaming kitchen but in a bizarre dream. Was this a vision from Voldemort, trying to trick him somehow? "Are you saying Snape and my mum were friends?"

"He took my sister away!" Aunt Petunia burst out. "Lily was a good girl until she met him. An awful boy from a horrible family. His father was a drunkard and his mother was no better."

Harry remembered Aunt Petunia saying something about "that awful boy" once, last year. He had assumed she had been talking about his father. "Snape and Mum were friends?" he repeated, and a memory surfaced in his mind. Snape -- defeated, sullen -- calling his mother a Mudblood. "You're lying," he said, shaking his head.

"Don't you dare talk to your aunt that way, boy," growled Uncle Vernon, who had heretofore sat dumbstruck by his son's odd behaviour. "She's told me all about this Snape bloke, for your information."

"He was the one," said Aunt Petunia, staring at Harry with unrestrained hatred. "She was never the same after she went to that horrible school. And look where it got her."

Harry's scar seared with pain and he yelped, clutching his head. Time ran short. "Never mind Snape," he managed. "You've got to get out of here. We've all got to leave. He's coming." He would see Snape, he realised. He would go to Grimmauld Place, and Snape was bound to turn up for an Order meeting. He would not let Snape out of his sight until he found out the truth about his mother. But right now, it was more important to persuade the Dursleys to go into hiding, so he, too, could get away. If they just kept sitting there like lumps, Voldemort would come and kill them all; he wouldn't spare any relative of Harry's, no matter how evil.

Harry looked at Dudley, thinking that he might have a better chance of reasoning with him than with his aunt and uncle. "I'm not making this up," he said."You know I'm not."

Slowly, Dudley nodded. "We should do what he says," he told his parents.

"Oh, popkin," whimpered Aunt Petunia. "So brave!"

Harry resisted the urge to make gagging noises. He rose from his chair and faced Uncle Vernon. "Don't go anywhere normal. Get out of the country if you can. I don't think he's strong enough to follow you too far, yet." He didn't know how he knew that, but it just felt like the right thing to say. His scar was a firebrand. Some of his conviction and fear must have found its way into Harry's voice: for once, Uncle Vernon did not look sceptical. Only scared.

"We'll go to my brother's, in Australia," he said in a gruff voice, turning to his wife and son. "Go and get packed."

Harry started off to do his own packing. He hoped he would have time to at least take his Invisibility Cloak. As he passed Dudley, a large hand closed round his wrist. Harry turned to look at his cousin, exasperated.

"Where will you go?" asked Dudley.

Aunt Petunia, who had just begun to rise, sat down again, sobbing something about her ickle Diddydums.

"I've got a safe place," said Harry. He was oddly touched by Dudley's concern, and that trickle of regret for things that might have been reappeared. The beatings, the bullying, the nastiness between them -- this changed none of those things, nor made them any better. But it made Harry feel better about the world, which was more than what he could have said yesterday. Dudley's eyes, he noticed, were the exact same colour as Neville Longbottom's.

"I've got to go," he said, extricating his arm from Dudley's grasp. "And you, too."

"Er. See you, Harry," mumbled Dudley.

Harry half-turned in the doorway. "Yeah. Bye, Dudley."

He was still a bit dazed as he ran upstairs to his bedroom, but once he shut the door, the Dursleys might as well have ceased to exist.

How would he get to Grimmauld Place? Could he take the Knight Bus? He wouldn't be able to get away with calling himself Neville Longbottom now, not after his face had been plastered all over the Daily Prophet over the last two years. And he didn't want to leave a trail. For all he knew, there were Death Eaters on the Knight Bus at all times, hoping for Harry to fancy a ride. He didn't have time to send Hedwig ahead of him, either. He had Hermione's telephone number somewhere, but he didn't have time to look for it. Any minute now, Voldemort would be here.

His scar prickled, but Harry forced himself to ignore it, to think. The mirror. It would count as using magic, he was sure, but did he care if the Ministry decided to expel him from Hogwarts? He wasn't going back there, anyway. After throwing his things in the trunk, Harry locked Hedwig's cage and took out the mirror. He had a terrible feeling that Voldemort drew ever closer. Outside, he heard car doors slamming. An engine revved, then roared down the street. The Dursleys were gone. Even if Voldemort found him now, it wouldn't be so bad. As much as Harry disliked the Durlseys, he did not want their deaths on his conscience.

He opened his mouth to say Sirius's name into the mirror, but immediately closed it. He had not even considered that if Voldemort could get inside his head and see what he was doing, where he was -- maybe even Grimmauld Place. No one was safe while Harry was with them; no one. How could he expose Sirius to such danger? How could he have been so selfish? His scar reminded him of his urgency with a fresh stab of pain. If only he had had one more year before this, so he could have learned to Apparate. He didn't have time to go anywhere on foot; he would have to risk contacting Sirius. Later, he could think of a new place to go, but right now he needed to get away from here.

"Sirius Black!" he said and waited, but the mirror remained dark. "Sirius!" called Harry again. "Sirius Black!"

Hedwig took her head out from under her wing and gave a reproachful hoot, but Harry ignored her, his stomach icy with fear. What if Voldemort had got to Sirius first? What if he had killed Sirius, to make sure Harry had no one to turn to, and was now coming--

A single grey eye blinked at Harry from the mirror, and he remembered that it was the middle of the night. That was why Sirius hadn't answered right away. "H-Harry? What-- What's wrong?"

"Voldemort is coming," said Harry. "I've convinced the Dursleys to leave, but I have no way to get out of here." Belatedly, he realised he could have ridden with the Dursleys, but it was no surprise that he hadn't thought of asking them for any favours. He should have, though. Then he wouldn't be endangering Sirius.

"Harry, are you sure?"

"What?" Harry stared at Sirius, who had sat back so Harry could see his face. Something moved in the shadows behind Sirius -- a curtain billowed out by wind. "Of course I'm sure. Do you think I would've risked using the mirror otherwise?"

"I'm just concerned that you had another vision," explained Sirius, his face anxious. "What if he's trying to lure you out?"

"No," said Harry quickly. "This wasn't like that. I did have a dream, but I knew he found me after I woke up. I almost tried to kill my aunt and uncle, Sirius. Voldemort's snake was in my mind." His scar began to throb urgently, and panic welled up in him, a sticky kind of fear that would not let go unless he fought it with all he had. "He's getting closer, Sirius -- I don't know what to do." He felt like a child.

"Go out into the garden," said Sirius. "Stay under cover, and try not to move. Use your Cloak." He disappeared.

Harry pocketed the mirror and began to pick up his trunk, and then realised Hedwig was still in her cage. He wouldn't have time to come back for her, and he couldn't carry both the trunk and the cage whilst trying to hide. Harry opened the latch. "I need you to go to Sirius, in Grimmauld Place. You remember where that is, don't you?"

The owl gave him a suspicious look, but when he stepped away from the cage, she flew straight out through the open window. Harry threw the Invisibility Cloak over himself, hauled the trunk out of the bedroom, and let it slide down the stairs; there was no one to complain about the noise it made, now. He bounded after it, nearly tripping on the bottom steps, and then crept through to the back garden.

Dawn approached, but night still reigned. As Harry manoeuvred his trunk through the door, he startled one of the neighbours' cats. It bounded off with an indignant yowl, and Harry winced at how far sound carried through the night. He pushed his trunk up against one of Aunt Petunia's flawless hedges and crouched next to it, gripping his wand tightly. The burning in his scar sharpened with every creeping moment. He kept imagining that the hedge opposite would part in a flash of silver flame, and Voldemort would step into the garden, laughing with delight.

A rustle to his left startled Harry so much that he almost dropped his wand. An enormous black dog's muzzle appeared through a gap in the hedge, its shining nose twitching as it sniffed the air. Harry grinned. Sirius. Then he felt cold. What if it wasn't Sirius? What if it was Voldemort, posing as Snuffles to give Harry a false sense of security? Harry's scar hurt all the time now, which meant Voldemort was close.

The dog disappeared. A moment later, Sirius clambered over the hedge. "Ready?" he whispered, peering around. Harry tugged the Cloak away from his head and started to answer, but his scar blazed with agony. Darkness took his mind, a twisting vortex of pain and fear for Sirius, who would surely be killed now.

*

When Harry opened his eyes, he saw the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black.

The wizard surveyed Harry with a look of distaste and, without a word, walked out of his frame. Harry wanted to tell him to wait, but could manage only a pitiful croak. His parched mouth tasted like a Dungbomb had exploded in it. How long had he been asleep?

Sirius appeared in the doorway, beaming. That was where Phineas Nigellus must have gone, Harry realised -- to let Sirius know he was awake.

"Everything all right?" asked Sirius, frowning at Harry's expression.

Harry sat up. "I-- I think so. What happened? My scar hurt--" He broke off, realising that his scar was not hurting any more. Had Sirius killed Voldemort?

"You were right," said Sirius darkly. "I barely managed to get us out of there before Voldemort showed up with a couple of Death Eaters. They knew exactly where you were, but Voldemort couldn't go inside the house for some reason. That bought us time."

"Tell me everything," said Harry. He could only hope the Dursleys had got away, that they hadn't been waylaid en route to the airport.

"You collapsed, screaming," said Sirius, taking a seat on the edge of Harry's bed. "And then I heard people Apparating into the street. Someone cast a Blasting Curse at the front door of your aunt and uncle's house, and I could only hope I had enough time to Disapparate us."

"You can Apparate someone else?"

"Yeah, Side-Along Apparition," said Sirius. "I'm pants at it," he added with a somewhat guilty look. "But there was nothing else to do."

Harry nodded and motioned for him to continue.

"I heard Voldemort," said Sirius. "He was screaming that he can't go through the door. He sounded scared, Harry."

"And then?" Harry prompted.

"Then I took us here. Well, to the street. Can't Apparate into the house because of the Fidelius Charm."

"I wonder why Voldemort couldn't go inside the Dursleys' house," said Harry, frowning at Phineas Nigellus's empty frame.

"Maybe it's Dumbledore," said Sirius. "Some kind of special protection." Maybe there had been something to Aunt Petunia's words about the special protection on Number Four, Privet Drive. Sirius sounded unconcerned, and Harry took a look at him, realising that Sirius seemed happy for the first time in months. Harry recalled their conversation from last year, with Sirius going stir-crazy from being cooped up in his family's house, which he hated. It hit Harry that he'd put Sirius in terrible danger last night, perhaps even greater danger than Harry's presence here would cause.

"I'm sorry I called you," he said. "You shouldn't go outside."

"What? Don't be stupid," said Sirius. "It felt excellent to get out of this place. And what kind of godfather would I be if I couldn't protect you?" He got up from Harry's bed and stretched.

"But Sirius," said Harry. "The snake in my mind last night -- it told Voldemort who I was with. And he found me within an hour. He could do the same with me here."

"Nonsense," said Sirius. "Voldemort can't get past the Fidelius Charm. The only reason he managed to get inside your parents' house in Gordic's Hollow was Wormtail's betrayal. Our Secret Keeper is Dumbledore, Harry. You've got nothing to fear from Voldemort here, not unless you go outside."

"Well, I won't," said Harry, feeling a little better. He hadn't had a chance to think about what he would do once he left the Dursleys' -- he hadn't expected his departure to be so sudden -- but he had had vague ideas of skulking through dark alleys and shadowing Death Eaters and confronting Voldemort... But if he had to stay here to keep Sirius safe, then he would. "Does everyone in the Order know?"

Sirius nodded. "After I talked to you last night, Moony went looking for Kingsley and Tonks, and I sent a message to Dumbledore."

"Let me guess," said Harry, not even bothering to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "He told you to try and talk me out of it."

Sirius started examining a fraying bit of thread at the edge of Harry's duvet cover. "He did, yeah. I was a bit impolite after that."

To Harry's amazement, he no longer found it hard to believe that someone could be anything but polite with Dumbledore. He had thought of some choice words to say to Dumbledore upon their next meeting, particularly concerning his aunt. And Snape. Harry remembered, with a jolt, what Aunt Petunia had told him about Snape. Surely Dumbledore would know what happened between Snape and Harry's mother.

Dumbledore? What about Sirius, you idiot?

"Sirius," began Harry, almost afraid to ask.

"Yeah, I know I should be grateful to him for everything he's done, but--"

"This isn't about Dumbledore," interrupted Harry. "Last night, my aunt told me that my mother and Snape had been friends at Hogwarts. Is that true?"

"Didn't you know?" asked Sirius. "Has no one told you?"

Harry stared at him. "No one tells me anything, it seems. Well, is it true?"

"They were neighbours," said Sirius, his eyes somewhat distant. "They started Hogwarts at the same time, but then Lily was sorted into Gryffindor and Snape into Slytherin. They were friends, I suppose, as much as a Gryffindor and a Slytherin can be. In fourth year, Snape got involved with the Dark Arts, started running around with Avery and Mulciber and the rest of that lot. Lily didn't like it. I heard them rowing about it a couple of times -- she kept telling him to stop hanging round them, but he ignored her. In fifth year, Snape must've ended their friendship, because you saw how he called her a Mudblood in front of everyone."

Snape was even more of a snivelling bastard than Harry had thought. He felt bad for ever thinking his father a bully for making Snape suffer. He could only imagine his mum, being betrayed like that by her childhood friend, all because she didn't want him to get in trouble. Snape deserved whatever abuse he got, as far as Harry was concerned. "Is that why he hates me so much? Because I remind him of what a failure he is as a person?"

"Er," said Sirius. "Well. I think Snape had a thing for your mum, actually."

"What?" Harry shuddered. The idea of Snape having a thing for anyone, let alone Harry's mother, was revolting. And improbable. Who would want to touch that?

"Yeah. And when it became clear she would choose your father, Snape just... lashed out, I suppose. I don't know the whole story, honestly. Lily refused to discuss Snape, even years afterwards."

"He might've tried bathing. Maybe she would've picked him then," muttered Harry.

Sirius roared with unexpected laughter and clapped him on the shoulder. "That's something James would've said."

"I wonder why Dumbledore never told me," mused Harry, flushed with pleasure at the comparison to his dad. "He knew, didn't he?"

"Probably," said Sirius. "But I'm sure that if he knew, he's got a good reason not to tell you."

"You know," said Harry, "I'm getting just a little bit tired of hearing that."

*

Hedwig arrived as Harry and Sirius were sharing a breakfast of dry toast and lukewarm tea. She flew into the kitchen, looking around frantically, and landed on Harry's shoulder, her claws digging in so deep he thought they'd break skin. "It's all right," he told her. Hedwig hooted and stole a piece of his toast.

"Hedwig and Buckbeak will get along just fine," said Sirius. "He always tries to steal my food, too."

"She doesn't usually," said Harry, stroking Hedwig's beak. "She was just worried about me. So when do you think Dumbledore will turn up?"

"Who knows," said Sirius. "We aren't going to use this house as headquarters anymore."

"Why not?" asked Harry, disappointed. His nebulous plans had definitely involved sneaking Extendable Ears into the meetings. Even if he couldn't go anywhere, he could still learn what was going on.

"You're underage, Harry. The Trace is still on you, so the Ministry probably knows you're here, even if they can't get at you."

"So what?"

"So with you here, the others can't come and go as they please, in case the house is being watched."

"And if the house is being watched, they might get caught," finished Harry. Once again, people had to go out of their way to accommodate him, and it was the last thing he wanted. He and Sirius might be safe here, but the Order was inconvenienced because of him. Plus, he hadn't yet given up on the idea of skulking through dark alleys and stalking Death Eaters from the shadows. "I should go somewhere else," he said.

"What? No," said Sirius. "Where else could you go?"

"Dunno." Harry stared down at his empty plate. "But now you can't go anywhere, either. If you try to leave the house even for a minute--"

Sirius looked so incredulous that Harry stopped talking. "Why would I want to go anywhere?" asked Sirius. "You're with me now."

A lump appeared in Harry's throat, and he didn't know what to say.

There was a loud crash.

"MUDBLOODS! WEREWOLVES! SCUM! DEFILING THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS!"

"Oh, not again," groaned Sirius. "Kreacher's taken to knocking over the umbrella stand just to get her going."

He got up, but before he made it halfway to the door, Lupin stumbled in, his right arm bent back at an unnatural angle. "SIRIUS, GET DOWN!" he shouted.

Sirius didn't even hesitate; he dropped and rolled underneath the table. Harry sprang up, drawing his wand. Hedwig flew from his shoulder towards the ceiling, hooting angrily.

Draco Malfoy walked into the kitchen, his wand pointed at Lupin's back.

"EXPELLIARMUS!" shouted Harry even before Malfoy's eyes had time to widen in recognition. Malfoy's wand flew out of his hand and bounced hard against the door frame. Lupin, his arm now free, turned around and tackled Malfoy to the floor. "Quick," he panted over his shoulder. "Binding Spell--"

"Incarcerous," said Harry, stepping closer. Hedwig still zoomed about the ceiling, twittering in a way that would've given Pigwidgeon a run for his money.

"WRETCHED SCUM! VANDALS! BLOOD TRAITORS! THIEVES!"

"Thanks," said Lupin, getting off Malfoy, who struggled against the invisible bonds, writhing like a worm.

Sirius crawled out from under the kitchen table, looking furious. "Is this what I was supposed to get down for? Lucius Malfoy's sprog?"

"Don't you dare say my father's name!" shouted Malfoy in a ragged, hoarse voice. Harry had never seen him so angry, and he and Malfoy had had a lot of dust-ups over the years.

"Or what? What's your problem, anyway?" Sirius demanded. "How did this milksop get in here, Moony?"

"Three against one, is it?" shouted Malfoy from the floor. "Was that how you killed my father, too?"

Malfoy's fury was all for Sirius, Harry realised; his eyes were wild but focussed only on Sirius. He didn't appear to see Lupin or Harry anymore.

"SCUM! HALF-BLOOD INGRATES!" caterwauled Mrs Black's portrait upstairs.

"Killed your father?" asked Sirius with genuine bewilderment. "I didn't kill your father. What the hell makes you think I did?"

"I know you did, that's how," spat Malfoy. "Release me. I challenge you to a duel -- to the death!"

Sirius sniggered. Malfoy looked and sounded ridiculous; it made Harry feel a little sorry for him, despite the fact that stared at Sirius with murder in his eyes.

"He must've followed me," said Lupin, slumping into a chair. "Merlin knows how, but as I was about to walk into the Unplottable section of the street, he just latched onto me like a centipede. Took me by surprise. I'm sorry."

"I am not a centipede," muttered Malfoy.

"Shut up," Harry advised him.

"No," said Sirius. "We need to know how he followed Moony. Let's get him into a chair, though. Never let it be said this Noble and Most Ancient Dungheap is lacking in hospitality."

He bent down, but Malfoy began to struggle with renewed effort, managing to slide a few inches towards the exit this time.

"Let me," said Harry, and seized Malfoy round the midsection.

"Don't touch me!" bawled Malfoy. "Potter, I'm warning you--"

"MUDBLOODS! FILTH!"

"SHUT UP, YOU OLD HAG!" shouted Sirius.

For a wonder, Mrs Black did. Even Hedwig quieted down. Malfoy seemed so surprised by the sudden silence that he stopped struggling long enough for Harry to half-drag, half-carry him to a chair. Lupin dissolved the bonds Harry had placed around Malfoy's hands and feet and bound him to the chair, instead.

"Talk," said Sirius. "How did you find this place?"

"I'm not telling you anything," spat Malfoy.

"I think," said Lupin with an air of quiet authority, "That you might want to reconsider that attitude, Mr Malfoy."

"Yeah," said Harry. "You could tell us what you know, or we could force it out of you. I've done some Legilimency training, myself. Might be interesting to poke around in your head, see what the Death Eaters have been up to." At that moment, he wished he knew Legilimency, because surely Malfoy knew more than he did. With satisfaction, he saw Malfoy's angry-pink face turn pale. "Or," Harry continued relentlessly, "We could feed you some Veritaserum that we have upstairs. Take your pick."

"Fine," said Malfoy, glaring at Harry and Sirius, alternately. "Your house-elf told me where the place was. I just had to wait for one of your lot to turn up. Pity I didn't know Potter was here, or I would have brought some friends."

Harry punched him in the mouth. It felt surprisingly good, though his knuckles smarted from it. He drew his fist back again, but Sirius seized his arm. "Don't," he said in a soft voice that was too dangerous to ignore. "He can't fight back."

Even though this was Malfoy, who surely wouldn't hesitate to beat Harry senseless if he ever managed to immobilise him, Harry still felt ashamed. Clenching his teeth, he gave Malfoy a baleful glare and turned away.

"So," said Sirius. "Kreacher told you where to find me, did he?"

Malfoy lifted his chin. "I said so, didn't I?"

"KREACHER!"

The house-elf crawled out of his cupboard, his ears drooping. "Nasty blood traitor Master has summoned Kreacher. Kreacher will be punished for his loyalty to the true heirs of the Black family. Kreacher will accept the punishment with pride."

Sirius looked down at the house-elf with disgust. "Well, at least he's not denying it. Have you told anyone else about where I am?"

Kreacher looked up at Sirius with his large, bulbous eyes. His mouth worked for a moment, as though he were struggling to keep his answer inside, but finally he spoke. "Yes."

"Who?"

Kreacher's shoulders slumped. "Miss Cissy. And then Miss Bella."

"Bellatrix," said Sirius, with a savage smile that made him look quite mad.

"That's right," said Malfoy loudly. "Aunt Bella told me that you killed my father. She told me to ask for Kreacher's help. Kreacher understands proper order."

"Draco Malfoy has said Kreacher's name," rasped Kreacher. "Draco Malfoy has praised Kreacher." Tears began to drip from the elf's eyes. It was the most revolting thing Harry had ever seen.

"How did you leave the house?" demanded Sirius, shaking the elf. "What kind of a house-elf leaves his family home?"

"Master Sirius told Kreacher to get out," said Kreacher. "So Kreacher did. Last week, Master Sirius found Kreacher in the airing cupboard and told Kreacher to get out again. So Kreacher did." The elf giggled.

"I ought to give you clothes," said Sirius, shaking his head in disgust. "But you'd just run off to Malfoy Manor. No, I'm not going to send you away. I forbid you to ever leave this house for any reason, even if I tell you to get out. This is the order you'll follow from now on."

"Kreacher will do as Master says," said Kreacher, looking thoroughly unhappy.

"Of course you will. Now get out of my sight."

As Kreacher slinked off towards his cupboard, Sirius turned to Harry. "Malfoy will have to stay here," he said.

"Why?" asked Harry. "He isn't in on the Fidelius Charm--"

"He is now," said Lupin, frowning bitterly. "He knows the location, and he can lead other people to it."

"How?" asked Harry. "He isn't the Secret Keeper."

"That just means he can't tell anyone where it is. But he can show them."

"Can't we just Obliviate him?" asked Harry, dejected.

"Memory Charms aren't foolproof," said Sirius. "A skilled wizard can restore memories, and I hope I needn't remind you that we're dealing with a very skilled wizard, evil git or no. Occlumency would work, but somehow I don't think Malfoy will hide anything from his precious Dark Lord, do you?"

The idea of living in the same house as Malfoy appealed to Harry as much as having to dissect Flobberworms for the rest of his life. "Let's put him in the attic, then. Out of sight. Kreacher can bring him food so he doesn't starve to death."

"No," said Sirius. "Kreacher is not going anywhere near him, not if I can help it. You heard him, didn't you? Kreacher might be an elf, but he's clearly learned a great deal from my dear old mother -- he'd find a way to help Malfoy escape. Can't let that happen."

"At least no one else will be able to get in here the same way," said Lupin.

Sirius looked up at him sharply, but said nothing. He and Lupin exchanged unreadable looks.

"How do you suppose we can keep Kreacher away from Malfoy unless you send him out of the house?" asked Harry. "You can forbid Kreacher to go near him, I suppose, but that wouldn't stop Malfoy from going near Kreacher."

"We'll have to make sure one of us is watching him at all times," said Sirius. "He'll sleep in your room. I've got some Muggle handcuffs lying around somewhere, so you won't need to use magic."

Lupin gave a disapproving cough. Harry couldn't blame him. He threw Malfoy a look full of fury. Sleep in the same room as him? "Why can't he sleep in your room?" Harry demanded. "You can use magic."

Sirius hesitated, looking torn for some reason. "Uh--"

"Yeah," said Malfoy. "Good idea, Potter. I'll find a way to kill him in his sleep."

"While bound? I'm almost tempted to let you try," said Sirius with a short, barking laugh.

Harry had never had much respect for Malfoy's magical abilities, but if Malfoy was convinced that Sirius had killed his father, and if he was half as fey as he looked, Harry was not prepared to risk anything. "Fine," he muttered. "He can sleep in my room." He glared at Malfoy, who sneered.

"You'll have to take the portrait down," said Remus, who had been sitting quietly, staring at his hands. "If Phineas Nigellus tells Umbridge--"

"Oh, shit, you're right, Moony," said Sirius. "Only I think the old fogey's got a Permanent Sticking Charm on him, too."

"Even if he does, we could just stick some curtains over him, like your mum's portrait," said Harry.

"He'll still be able to hear everything," said Sirius. "Well, there are lots of rooms in the house. We'll move you into my brother's room. He has no portraits on the walls. And Malfoy here will feel right at home."

Harry didn't know what Sirius meant by that until Sirius took him to the topmost landing. "This way you'll be closer to me, too," said Sirius, stopping before a closed door that bore a self-important little sign reading Do Not Enter Without the Express Permission of Regulus Arcturus Black.

They walked inside together, and Harry understood right away why Sirius had said that Malfoy would feel at home. A large Black family crest hung above the bed in a room swathed in Slytherin colours. Dozens of newspaper and magazine clippings, all about Voldemort and the Death Eaters, adorned one wall.

"I've got to sleep here?" asked Harry, dismayed.

"We'll take the articles down," said Sirius. "If we can."

It turned out they could; apparently Regulus Black, unlike his mother, had not been concerned that someone might redecorate in his absence. The clippings made a rather large pile; they disgusted Harry so much that he wanted to take them to the kitchen and burn them. He crouched down to do just that, but Sirius laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Dumbledore asked me not to take anything out of this room," he said. "Let's just stick them under the bed, all right?"

"Why would Dumbledore care about your brother's room?" asked Harry, bewildered.

Sirius shrugged. "Why would Dumbledore do anything?"

"Point," said Harry with a sigh, and began shoving the yellowed articles underneath the four-poster. Sirius helped him, and within a few minutes, the room looked like a Slytherin dormitory, rather than like the den of a future Death Eater. Which was still pretty bad, but Harry supposed it was a fair trade-off for being across the corridor from Sirius. He looked round, and another thought struck him. "Uh, Sirius? There's only one bed."

"No problem," said Sirius. "We'll move Ron's bed up here."

"Where's Ron going to sleep when he gets here?" asked Harry, and his heart clenched. Would Ron get here? Would Hermione?

"I didn't know Ron was coming here," said Sirius, watching him intently.

"I don't even know if he is," said Harry with no small amount of bitterness. "Bloody Malfoy."

"We'll think of something," said Sirius. "Provided you don't run off on me," he added. A half-smile played on his lips, but his eyes narrowed a fraction.

Harry sighed. "We aren't going to run off. We don't even have any plans yet." Well, other than Hermione's plan to teach him Occlumency, but he didn't think Sirius would care about that.

"That's good," said Sirius. "Plans only get you in trouble. Come on," he continued without waiting for Harry's reply, "Let's get the other bed and your things up here, and then I'll go and find a hiding place for Malfoy's wand."

*

Harry, Sirius, and Lupin sat in the drawing room, with Malfoy tied to the armchair by the window.

"So I'll let Kingsley know we've taken Mr Malfoy prisoner," said Lupin. "You two should stay put until we work out what to do."

"My mother will come," said Malfoy from his corner. "My mother will destroy you--"

"I doubt Narcissa even knows you're here," snapped Sirius. "She, unlike dear Bellatrix, is not a nutter. She wouldn't have let you do this."

"She'll find out where I am," said Malfoy with a petulant expression. "Then you'll be sorry."

"Maybe we ought to let Narcissa know--," began Lupin, but Sirius cut him off.

"No way," he said. "She's a Black. If she has the tiniest thread to go on, she'll never stop until she finds him. And if she finds him, she finds us."

Harry glanced at Malfoy, who seemed bemused and pleased at the same time. His face had swollen where Harry had struck him earlier; he would have looked comical if this were happening at Hogwarts. But Hogwarts was over now, the stakes higher. Harry couldn't afford sympathy for his enemies. He scowled at Malfoy and returned his attention to the conversation.

As he turned his head, he caught a glimpse of something outside the drawing room window. "Sirius, look," he said, pointing.

An owl fluttered outside. It held a roll of parchment in its claws and hooted angrily as it flew about in circles, clearly confused. "That's a Ministry owl," said Harry, who knew the sort, owing to his less-than-illustrious past with the Underage Magic people.

"And there's another one," said Lupin, pointing. "One for each underage wizard present."

"You'd think the Ministry had better things to do with its time," said Harry, glaring at the owls. They were certain to attract the Muggle neighbours' attention sooner or later. Surely the Ministry would call them back before the strange post owls appeared on the evening news?

"A fine pickle we're in," said Sirius. "One escaped Azkaban convict and two underage boys with the Trace still on them. If I didn't have complete faith in my family's paranoia and Dumbledore's skill, I'd worry we were about to have company."

"What's this Trace thing, anyway?" asked Harry. Malfoy snorted.

"It's a spell that lets the Ministry know where underage magic's been done," explained Lupin. "When you fought those Dementors last summer, that was how they knew."

"But what about second year?" asked Harry. "I didn't do any magic; Dobby did. I still got in trouble."

"House-elf magic is different from regular magic," said Sirius. "I'd wager the Trace was confused, and they sent you a warning just to be on the safe side."

"But this isn't Privet Drive," said Harry. "How would they know it was me?"

"The Trace works in more ways than one," said Lupin, his expression gloomy. Harry suspected there was a story there, but Malfoy's presence prevented Lupin from telling it. Stupid Malfoy.

Harry ended up sending Hedwig to scare the Ministry owls away. She screeched so fiercely and flapped her wings at them with such vigour that eventually the other owls flew off, hooting at one another, as though trying to lay blame for their failed mission.

Lupin stayed for dinner -- sandwiches made with day-old bread and tinned tuna flakes. Harry didn't care what he ate as long as his stomach didn't grumble, but Malfoy refused everything with such a look on his face, one would think they were trying to poison him.

"Your loss," said Sirius after Malfoy refused to take the last sandwich. "You're not going to get much better, I'll tell you that right now. Harry and I can't exactly go up to Diagon Alley for those vials of human blood you love so much."

Harry nearly choked on his sandwich, laughing. Malfoy looked furious. Lupin frowned. He had been doing a lot of that since his arrival, and Harry understood why: he must have been blaming himself for everything. No one could go in or out of the house without risking discovery, which meant that they'd have to live off tinned food and tea for a while. Because the Order members were so scattered and no one knew where Dumbledore was, without a Headquarters, meetings were going to be scarce. It could be days, weeks, or months before anything changed. And it was all Malfoy's fault. Maybe he'll refuse to eat and starve to death, thought Harry viciously.

"Well," said Sirius, patting his belly as he leaned back in the chair. "I think it's time for us to show Mr Malfoy to his quarters. We need to talk Order business."

No sooner had Lupin dissolved Malfoy's bonds that Malfoy launched himself out of the chair, straight at Sirius. Harry's wand was only halfway out when Malfoy tumbled to the floor, screaming with rage, that possessed look distorting his features once more.

Sirius pocketed his wand and stood staring down at him, frowning deeply. "What makes you so sure it was me?" he asked. Malfoy just stared at him with hatred in his drawn, pale face.

"Looks like we'll really need those handcuffs," remarked Harry, who, quite frankly, was beginning to feel a little apprehensive about sharing a room with Malfoy. The prat had clearly gone round the twist after his father's death -- he'd put on a good show earlier, being all quiet in the corner and not speaking unless spoken to, but he would need watching. Harry wasn't going to let him harm Sirius.

They manhandled Malfoy up the stairs to Regulus's room, where Harry and Lupin stood watch over the bed whilst Sirius rummaged in his room for the handcuffs. Once he found them, Lupin cuffed Malfoy to Ron's bed, wearing a most disapproving look. Harry didn't know if he was cross with Malfoy for attacking Sirius or with himself for restraining Malfoy in this way.

Something on the floor caught Harry's eye, and he noticed a piece of coloured parchment peeking out from behind the chest of drawers. As he tugged on it, a picture frame slid out with it. A wizarding photograph. It must have fallen whilst Harry and Sirius had been tearing down all the Voldemort clippings. Harry took the photograph out of the broken frame and examined it. On it were several stern-faced boys in Slytherin robes, leaning on broomsticks. In the middle stood a smaller boy, astonishingly like Sirius in appearance -- the same eyes, the same sardonic grin. He wasn't as handsome as Sirius, but the resemblance was unquestionable. "Is this--?" he asked.

"Yeah, that's Regulus. He became the Slytherin Seeker in second year. Lorded it all over me for the first couple of years, while we were still talking." Sirius took the photograph from Harry, folded it in half, and pocketed it. "Git."

Harry realised then that he could relate to Sirius more than he'd thought: being in school with his braggart Slytherin brother must've been exactly like being in school with Malfoy, except Malfoy hadn't joined the Death Eaters yet. Harry was sure he would, if he ever got the chance. He could only be glad that Malfoy wasn't his brother. Even Dudley had shown signs of reform towards the end, but Harry had no doubt Malfoy was just as bad as his father.

He left the room with Sirius and Lupin. As he shut the door, he saw Sirius looking at him with a frown.

"It's better if you try to get some sleep," he said. "You look like a ghost."

"But you said there was Order business," protested Harry.

"You're not in the Order," muttered Sirius, looking annoyed, but not at Harry. "Dumbledore would skin me if he found out I was telling you stuff."

"Why?" asked Harry, confused. "How am I supposed to help fight Voldemort if I don't know what's going on?"

"That's the thing, Harry," said Lupin. "I don't think Professor Dumbledore intends for you to do any fighting."

"Him or me," said Sirius morosely.

Harry's anger at Dumbledore was swiftly returning. He'd forgotten about Dumbledore ignoring him all year, sticking him with Snape's useless Occlumency lessons, letting Umbridge get away with banning Harry from Quidditch... the list would only get longer if Harry thought about it more, and he wanted to hit something to quell his useless rage. His scar began to prickle. "Fine," he said. "Bye, then," he added, to Lupin, realising he wouldn't see him for a while.

"Good-bye, Harry," said Lupin, kindly, and Harry felt a little guilty for having been so abrupt, but there was nothing for it, now: he already headed towards the bathroom down the corridor. He would take his time brushing his teeth and hope that Malfoy would be asleep by the time he got back. Because if Malfoy said anything stupid, Sirius wouldn't be there to stop Harry from pummelling him.

Harry did feel calmer after getting washed. He walked along the corridor to Regulus's bedroom, wondering what this place must've been like when Sirius was growing up. He heard voices, and assumed that they were in the drawing room downstairs -- he was just two floors above it -- but realised they were coming from Sirius's bedroom. Harry slowed and paused by the door, listening.

"...Malfoy was able to catch me, someone else might, too. After today, I won't be surprised if Fudge sends people here," Lupin was saying. "They might be out there already."

"So stay," said Sirius. "Moony--"

Harry dashed across the hall, not wanting to listen further. They weren't discussing Order business. Because of Malfoy, Sirius and Lupin wouldn't be able to see each other. They had lost thirteen years of friendship because of Peter Pettigrew's treachery, and now they were being forced apart again. It was Harry's fault as much as Malfoy's. But it was purely Malfoy's fault that Harry, too, would be separated from his best friends until the Order worked out a way to get Harry and Sirius out. If they ever did.

Harry stomped into Regulus's bedroom, seething with renewed anger, but Malfoy was fast asleep in Ron's bed. Or maybe pretending to be asleep. Harry walked closer to him, stepping carefully. Malfoy's handcuffed wrist was a dark, angry pink; he must have struggled to get out of it for a long time before giving up. It was right, in a way, that Malfoy should be foiled by something as mundane as a pair of handcuffs. Maybe it would teach him not to consider all things Muggle beneath him, like his father and his master did. Not that Harry was holding his breath.

*

In the morning, Lupin was gone, and Sirius wore a sullen look as he came into Regulus's room to bind Malfoy's hands. "We've got to work out another way to keep him from lunging at me every time he sees me."

Harry rubbed his eyes, swinging his legs off the bed. He'd slept surprisingly well, and though the room's decorations were far from an optimal sight to wake up to, he did feel rested. From where he sat, Malfoy resembled an angry Chihuahua, the way he glowered at Sirius. Harry yawned. "Maybe we could use something like a Bubblehead Charm," he suggested. "Only put all of Malfoy in it, not just his head."

They walked downstairs to the kitchen, Harry all but pushing Malfoy to walk forward. Breakfast was dry toast with tea, again. This, Malfoy didn't refuse, though Harry imagined it was very uncomfortable to eat with his hands bound like that. Served him right.

"I wonder," said Sirius, staring at Kreacher's cupboard. "Remember how Kreacher used to steal back the things we threw out last year?"

"Yeah," replied Harry. "What about them?"

"I think we ought to have a look through them. Make sure he didn't steal anything that lets him talk to the outside world." With that, Sirius got up and approached the cupboard that Kreacher called home. Kreacher wasn't inside, and after a few exclamations of disgust, Sirius pulled out a nest of tattered blankets, piled high with rubbish.

Harry got up from the table and crouched next to Sirius, who was looking at a picture of Narcissa Malfoy. She was young in the photograph, hardly older than Harry, her cool blue eyes and silver-blond hair unmistakable. Her expression was unfamiliar, though -- she was smiling. All Harry remembered of Narcissa was a sour twist to her mouth and tightly drawn brows. The girl in the picture looked... normal, and really pretty.

"She was a sweet girl until she got sorted into Slytherin and turned into a horrendous snob," said Sirius. "Here," he added, and slid the photograph across the floor so that it bumped against Malfoy's chair leg. "That's your mother before she married your father. I'm sure you'll notice the difference right away."

"I'm going to kill you," said Malfoy in a dull voice. He was staring down at his mother's picture with a look of such anguish that Harry felt the barest hint of unease.

"Tell us something we haven't heard already," snapped Sirius, lifting a heavy golden locket from the pile. "Look at this, Harry."

"That's the one we couldn't get to open," said Harry, remembering. They'd been sitting on the floor of the drawing room, surrounded by trinkets and vials and boxes of Wartcap powder. Ron and Hermione had been there, too -- that had been just before those purple robes tried to strangle Ron...

A howl of fury sounded from the entrance, and Harry jumped. Kreacher stood in the doorway, his eyes bulging as he took in Sirius kneeling next to the blanket nest.

"Blood traitor Master Sirius not worthy to be holding precious Master Regulus's treasure," Kreacher muttered in his usual undertone. "And so close to the half-blood, too."

"This was Regulus's?" Sirius asked, looking avidly at Kreacher. "Where did he get it?"

"Kreacher swore not to tell. Kreacher shan't betray Master Regulus's secrets. Kreacher promised."

"Kreacher," said Sirius. "I order you to tell me where Regulus got this locket."

Kreacher's mouth opened and closed, his tongue lolling out briefly. Harry almost pitied him.

"Master Regulus got the locket in a cave," said Kreacher finally.

"A cave? What sort of cave?" asked Sirius. The locket dangling from his fingers made him look like a hypnotist.

"A dark cave," said Kreacher, his eyes glinting with what Harry could swear was mischief.

Sirius wasn't having any of it, though. "I order you to tell me the whole story of how Regulus came to have this locket. Now. Leave nothing out."

Kreacher's ears twitched, his eyes bulged, and he let out the most frightening sound Harry had ever heard: an anguished, heart-rending wail that echoed in the cavernous kitchen. "KREACHER DID WRONG! KREACHER FAILED! KREACHER FAILED HIS MASTER!" The elf ran to the nearest wall and began smacking his head against it, rattling the pots and pans hanging on pegs above.

Harry lurched forward and tugged the wriggling elf away from the wall. He had trouble maintaining a grip, because Kreacher seemed so intent on reaching the wall that it had made him twice as strong as Harry was. "Sirius," gasped Harry. "You've got to tell him to stop punishing himself!"

"Kreacher, STOP!" shouted Sirius.

The elf went limp against Harry's chest, tiny and feeble once more. Tears leaked from his eyes. "Kreacher f-f-failed," he whimpered. "Master Regulus."

Harry hadn't seen an elf so distraught since Mr Crouch had freed Winky. He kept his hold on Kreacher, who didn't seem to notice that "the half-blood" was touching him. He stared at Sirius and took great gulps of air. Harry saw that even Sirius seemed shaken by Kreacher's outburst, a far cry from his usual low-level mutinous grumbling.

"Tell me everything, Kreacher," said Sirius in a softer voice. "What did my brother order you to do?"

"Master Sirius broke my Mistress's heart," rasped Kreacher. "But Kreacher must obey him, for Master Regulus is no more." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "Master Regulus joined the great Dark Lord when he was sixteen years old."

Harry glanced at Malfoy, who sat motionlessly at the table, his pale face drawn as he stared at the elf in Harry's arms. Malfoy's eyes were identical to Sirius's, Harry noticed, with some consternation: he didn't like remembering his godfather was related to that.

"The Dark Lord entrusted Master Regulus with many important tasks. A year after he joined, Master Regulus visited Kreacher and said that the Dark Lord required an elf to serve him. It was a great honour. Master Regulus told Kreacher to come back straightaway, and Kreacher went gladly to the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord took Kreacher to a cave by the sea, a dark dank cave with a great black lake. There was a boat. The Dark Lord took Kreacher to a small island in the boat. On the island was a basin, and in the basin was a potion."

Kreacher let out a whimpering cry, and his head thumped against Harry's chest. "The Dark Lord made Kreacher drink the potion, the bitter, bitter potion. He did not tell Kreacher why. Kreacher did as he was told, because Master Regulus said it was an honour to serve. The potion made Kreacher see terrible things happening to Master Regulus, to Mistress Black, to Miss Bella and Miss Cissy. Kreacher cried for Master Regulus, but the Dark Lord laughed at Kreacher and told him to drink the potion, drink it all up until it was gone."

Harry clutched the elf tighter, trying to imagine what it must've been like, being so small and frail, being forced to take poison -- for he was sure it had been poison in the basin...

"When the potion was all gone, the Dark Lord dropped a locket into the basin and filled it with more potion. Kreacher was afraid the Dark Lord would make him drink the potion again, but the Dark Lord left Kreacher on the island and sailed away. The potion made Kreacher thirsty, so thirsty. Kreacher drank from the black lake, but dead things came out of the water and dragged Kreacher under..."

Another sob wracked the house-elf, and Harry held him tighter still, pity mingling with distaste.

"Kreacher would have died to serve his master, but Master Regulus had told Kreacher to come back," continued Kreacher. "So Kreacher went back."

"How?" asked Harry. Surely Voldemort would have protected a place such as that with anti-Disapparition jinxes...

"Apparated," Sirius replied instead of Kreacher. "House-elves can Apparate where wizards can't. Think Hogwarts."

"Kreacher went home," muttered Kreacher, who hadn't seemed to notice their exchange. "Kreacher told Master Regulus everything. Kreacher punished himself because his tale made Master Regulus very upset. Master Regulus forbade Kreacher to punish himself, and he forbade Kreacher to leave the house, just like nasty Master Sirius did yesterday."

"And then what happened?" asked Sirius. He was leaning forward, his face pale. "What did Regulus do?"

"Master Regulus visited Kreacher again, and he was not himself. Very upset. He asked Kreacher to take him to the cave. Kreacher remembered how to get into the cave, and he helped Master Regulus, for Master Regulus could not Apparate inside. Kreacher and Master Regulus sailed to the island and-- and--"

Kreacher let out a harsh cry of despair, and began to shake his head from side to side. "Master Regulus gave Kreacher a locket like the one the Dark Lord had," he half-whispered. "He told Kreacher to switch the lockets when the basin was empty."

"How were you supposed to do that if you drank the potion?" demanded Sirius. "My brother--"

"Master Regulus ordered Kreacher to leave... without him... once the locket was inside. And he told Kreacher never to tell anyone, not even my Mistress, of what he had done. And he told Kreacher to destroy the first locket, the one the Dark Lord had put there."

Kreacher sagged back against Harry's chest and wept. "Kreacher watched... Master Regulus... drink the potion... and Kreacher swapped the lockets... and then the dead things..."

Another wail escaped the elf, and he began to gibber, shaking, whimpering, thrashing his tiny limbs. Harry clutched him as he cast Sirius a helpless glance. But Sirius stared down at the golden locket in his palm, his eyes wide, looking like he had aged decades since Kreacher's tale had begun.

"My brother," he said, and Kreacher went stiff and very still.

Harry glanced down at the elf, afraid that he'd died of shock, but saw that he, too, was looking at Sirius, his eyes still full of tears.

"Regulus," said Sirius. "I didn't know."

Kreacher stretched out a thin hand towards Sirius. "Kreacher tried to destroy the locket like Master Regulus told him to," he rasped. "Kreacher failed."

Harry glanced from Sirius to Kreacher, not sure what was passing between them at that moment, but surely it was something important, something to do with Voldemort. "Sirius," he said, tentatively. "Didn't you tell me your brother got cold feet after joining the Death Eaters, and Voldemort killed him?"

"That was what everyone whispered," said Sirius. He looked up at Harry. "I had no reason to doubt it. Voldemort wasn't exactly known for merely bragging about murdering people, whether they were his followers or not."

Harry's mind whirled. "But your brother didn't just get cold feet. He defied Voldemort. He stole that locket." He remembered Sirius telling him, last night, that Dumbledore hadn't wanted Regulus's stuff removed from his room. Did Dumbledore know what had happened to Regulus?

Sirius clutched the locket in his fist. "Damn you, Regulus. Damn you, why did you have to do everything yourself? We could've--"

Kreacher began to sob again. "Too late! Too late for Master Regulus! Too late for Master Sirius! Too late for my poor heart-broken Mistress Black!"

"Calm down," said Sirius, and Kreacher fell silent. Harry thought he had gone about it a bit quicker than usual, though he couldn't be sure. Sirius looked up at Harry. "If this locket belonged to Voldemort and he prized it enough to guard it with a lakeful of Inferi--"

"Of what?" asked Harry.

"Inferi, Potter," spoke Malfoy, and Harry jumped: he'd forgotten all about Malfoy. "Reanimated dead bodies."

"But-- how?" asked Harry, horrified. "You can't bring back the dead."

"They're not alive," said Sirius. "Just moving. Like puppets. But that isn't the point. Voldemort needed to hide this locket, to protect it. Whatever the reason, it scared Regulus so much that he died to take it away."

"Dead and gone," intoned Kreacher. "First Master Black, then Master Regulus, then Mistress Black..."

"We'll have to finish it," said Harry. "Destroy the locket. Pity we don't know what it is or why it's important."

Sirius held the locket on his open palm. "Yeah," he said. "We'll destroy it." Then he gave a loud yell, and the locket tumbled to the floor. "Merlin's arse!"

"What happened?" asked Harry, setting Kreacher down onto the floor, hoping he wouldn't run at any more walls. Kreacher began to rock back and forth, scarcely seeming to notice anything around him.

"It got hot," said Sirius, displaying an ugly red welt on his palm. "Burned me."

"Kreacher has tried everything," said Kreacher. "The way to destroy the locket is to open it, but it has never opened for Kreacher."

Harry picked up the locket by the chain and lifted it up so it dangled in front of his eyes. An ornate S decorated it, shaped like a miniature snake. His scar began to throb. "Voldemort," he said without taking his eyes off the locket. "Voldemort is nearby."

Sirius snatched the locket out of Harry's hand. Abruptly, the pain in Harry's scar stopped. He touched it with his fingertips and looked at Sirius. "My scar hurt," he said. "And now it doesn't. What does that mean?"

"It means this thing definitely belongs to Voldemort," said Sirius. He held the locket by its chain. "For all I know, he's watching us through it."

"Don't say that," said Harry. "If he could watch us through it, it would mean the Fidelius Charm no longer works."

"It's Voldemort," said Sirius, throwing the locket back to the floor. "Let's get rid of it. Confringo!"

The Blasting Curse erupted from the tip of Sirius's wand, a whizzing bar of white. It hit the locket with a shower of bright sparks. Harry exhaled. When the sparks disappeared, the locket still lay on the floor, unharmed.

"No use; it's no use," said Kreacher. "Kreacher has tried that. Kreacher has tried everything. The way to destroy the locket is to open it."

"We'd all taken turns to open it," said Harry, remembering. "Nothing worked. Hermione even tried using Arithmancy to work out if the pattern of the stones was a password. Then she tried French."

"Did you try Parseltongue, too?" asked Sirius, grinning for the first time since Kreacher had appeared in the kitchen.

Harry grinned back. "Don't think I did."

Malfoy made a noise, and Harry saw that he was trying to move further away from Harry, manoeuvring the chair backwards, his bound hands flailing awkwardly. Harry remembered the last time he'd used Parseltongue in front of Malfoy, commanding the snake Malfoy had conjured to leave Justin Finch-Fletchley alone. He found that he very much wanted to scare and unsettle Malfoy, and so he stared at the locket, imagining that the jewelled S was a snake.

"Open up," he said, and though he heard English, the sick dread curling in the pit of his stomach told him he had succeeded.

The locket snapping open was his second clue.

Kreacher let out a horrible scream and fell backwards, his great eyes staring at the locket in disbelief. Smoke poured from the locket's open halves, greenish-grey smoke that rose in a column towards the ceiling as though moulded by invisible hands. Malfoy tumbled out of his chair and crawled underneath the table, whimpering. An odd combination of decay and ozone filled the air. The smoke began to coalesce, taking the shape of two people standing side by side. Its greenish veil lifted suddenly, like a screen being pulled away from a window, and Harry was looking at James and Lily Potter, lifelike but insubstantial. The last time he'd seen them had been more than a year ago, but he didn't remember their eyes being so empty. Something familiar darkled in that dead emptiness, but he could barely think: his scar pulsed with pain, and he struggled to keep his eyes open.

James stared down at Sirius, who had shrunk back against Kreacher's cupboard, his hand clutching his chest. "It's all your fault," he told Sirius. "We trusted you, Padfoot, and you chose that worm Pettigrew to protect us. You did it. It's your fault."

His arm rested possessively around Lily's waist, and Harry wanted to force it off her. Wherever the apparition had come from, it wasn't his father; Harry was certain. "Don't listen to him," said Harry, but Sirius didn't hear him.

"I know," he said, gazing up at James's accusing face with raw anguish. "You think I don't? I'm sorry, Prongs. You'll never know how sorry I am. It should have been me."

"Sirius, don't listen to him!" yelled Harry. "This isn't Dad -- Sirius, look at me. Look at me!" He began to panick. Sirius had to look away, because this was all wrong. If Sirius listened to the fake James Potter, he would become lost forever.

"But of course I am your father, Harry," said the figure, turning its hateful gaze on him. "You look just like me."

"You aren't my dad," said Harry, defiant. "My dad would never blame Sirius."

"Who else would we blame?" asked his mother's voice, and Harry felt a wave of guilt, harsh and acrid in the pit of his belly. Lily Potter's voice was soft and lilting, just like Harry had always known it would be. He gazed at her, taking in her beautiful face, her flame-red hair, her eyes the same ones he saw in the mirror every morning. "Mum," he whispered. His hands trembled. A whispering light filled him from the inside. It told him that everything would be all right now -- his parents were here to protect him, he didn't need Sirius any more... so why not kill him? Get rid of the traitor who led to his parents' deaths...

A hand on his shoulder ripped Harry from the confused haze, and he realised he hadn't been breathing at all. Sirius took him by the shoulders and shook him, hard. "Harry. It's a trick, a mind-trap. Look at me."

Harry, remembering that he had just been blithely thinking about murdering Sirius, stared into his godfather's face. Still it took all his willpower not to look at his mother again. "We've got to close it again," he panted.

"Kreacher," said Mrs Black's voice, soothing, not at all like her usual harsh caw. "Kreacher is such a good little elf."

"M-M-Mistress?" Kreacher knelt before the locket, his eyes full of awe.

"Yes, Kreacher, I'm here now, I'm back. You've been a good elf--"

Harry put his hands over Kreacher's eyes. No longer afraid, he looked up at the smoke figure, which shaped itself once more into his mother. He was not afraid because he understood: the thing was pleading for its life. It would never have turned to Kreacher -- the sort of being whose magical ability Voldemort considered beneath his notice -- unless it were desperate. It couldn't do anything but try and manipulate their minds, and Harry remembered Ginny's words to him: he can't take over unless you let him. "You can't bring the dead back to life," he said. "Not even Voldemort can do that."

"You dare to question what the Dark Lord--"

"My mother would never call him that," said Harry, letting go of Kreacher and rising to his feet. "She hated Voldemort. She hated you."

"She was a Mudblood who might've lived if it hadn't been for you," said James's figure, appearing behind Lily once more. "The Dark Lord is merciful. He would have spared her. Snape begged him to, did you know?"

"Did you know I was fucking Snape, in secret?" asked Lily in a harsh voice. "Pity you look so much like your father. I should've liked my first-born to be Severus's. He deserved to have an heir, half-blood or not." Next to her, James laughed.

Harry was shaking, but he knew that these were twisted lies, thoughts plucked from his own mind and deformed to make him weak. "Close," he said, picturing the locket's ornate S in his mind. The locket snapped shut.

Sirius fell back against the cupboard, panting as though he'd just run a marathon. "What in the name of thunder was that?" he asked, directing the question to the air around him.

"Voldemort," said Harry with conviction. "I didn't understand it at first, but it was like Tom Riddle's diary in the Chamber of Secrets. Only... weaker. Tom Riddle's ghost fed off Ginny, so it got stronger as she grew weaker."

"You think James and Lily -- you think they were Voldemort?"

"Not exactly," said Harry. "A memory of Voldemort, somehow. His spirit."

"But how did he become -- them?" asked Sirius, frowning.

"How does Voldemort do anything?" It struck Harry that he'd recently said something similar about Dumbledore.

"Kreacher saw his Mistress," croaked Kreacher. "But it was not Kreacher's mistress at all. Kreacher knew, but Kreacher couldn't help himself. Kreacher did wrong again. Kreacher saw the open locket and Kreacher did nothing."

"It isn't your fault, Kreacher," Harry told him. Kreacher looked up at him, distrustful, but without his usual contempt.

"Harry Potter knows how to destroy the locket," he said.

"I think so," said Harry. "After Lucius Malfoy put the diary in Ginny's cauldron, after it took over her mind, she tried to destroy it many times, but nothing worked." He looked at Malfoy, who was trying to climb back onto his chair, looking for all the world like he tried to mount chairs with his hands bound every day. "I thought you might like to remember that," said Harry viciously. "How your precious father made Ron's kid sister go through hell, just because she was there."

"You shut up about my father," muttered Malfoy. He knelt next to the chair, his hands resting on top of the seat.

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but Sirius got to his feet. "Never mind Malfoy, Harry. How did you destroy the diary?"

Harry sighed. "I stabbed it with a Basilisk fang."

"A Basilisk fang," repeated Sirius.

"The Basilisk who guarded the Chamber of Secrets," explained Harry. "I pulled its fang out of my arm and stuck it in the diary."

"Oh, please," said Malfoy. "What a ridiculous lie."

"I'm not lying," said Harry. "Just because you can't believe it doesn't mean it didn't happen."

Malfoy rolled his eyes, and Harry turned back to Sirius, scowling. "The fang made the diary bleed," he said. "Like it was alive."

Sirius's eyes widened. "And then Voldemort was gone?"

"He was," said Harry. "He just vanished."

"I don't suppose you've got another Basilisk fang in your trunk upstairs, have you?" asked Sirius.

"Left it in my other trunk, sorry," replied Harry. They grinned at each other.

"We need Dumbledore," said Sirius. "He'll know what to do. He always does."

"But how can he come here? What if he gets captured?" Harry glared at Malfoy. The other boy had, in the meantime, given up on reclaiming his seat, and sat slumped against a table leg, staring at the floor.

"He's Dumbledore," said Sirius. "He'll think of something. Expecto Patronum! " A great silvery-white dog bounded out from the air, skidding to a halt in front of Sirius. "Dumbledore. We've found an object that's just like Riddle's diary. Need to see you."

Sirius's Patronus leapt into the fireplace and disappeared. Sirius and Harry looked at the locket lying on the floor. It seemed so harmless -- a valuable trinket, nothing more. Just as Riddle's diary had seemed like a simple notebook to poor Ginny. "What should we do with it in the meantime?" asked Harry. He was afraid to touch it.

Sirius frowned. "Kreacher's done a good job of keeping it safe. He didn't even let us throw it out when we tried. We should let Kreacher keep it until it can be destroyed."

Kreacher, who had just got up off the floor and had been muttering something, stopped. Slowly, his eyes lifted to meet Sirius's. "Master Sirius would give Kreacher Master Regulus's locket?" he said, his voice trembling.

"As long as you give it back when we have to destroy it, sure," said Sirius. "It's what my brother would have wanted."

Kreacher drew himself up. "Kreacher is honoured by his Master's confidence."

"Take it, then," said Sirius. "Keep it safe."

Kreacher plucked the locket off the floor and began to slip it round his neck, but stopped. "Kreacher has tried that before," he mumbled. "Kreacher sensed it was a bad idea to wear Master Regulus's locket. Why is Kreacher trying again?" His remarks were obviously not for anyone around him, but Harry wondered once more about the differences between house-elf magic and wizard magic. The house-elves could Apparate where wizards could not, and apparently they could also sense evil where wizards felt none. Harry had sensed Voldemort's evil in it, too, but only because of his curse scar. He wished Hermione were there.

Kreacher climbed into his cupboard, clutching the locket, and did not re-emerge.

Sirius wore a haunted look as he stared after the house-elf. "I'll just go up to my bedroom for a bit," he said, and stumbled out of the kitchen without waiting for a reply. Somewhere in the house, a clock chimed: it was already noon.

"How do you stand it?" asked Malfoy. He made for a sorry sight, sitting on the floor with his bound hands in his lap, staring up at Harry with a look of apprehension.

"What?" asked Harry. He didn't want to talk to Malfoy. He wanted to talk to Dumbledore. Dumbledore had known more about Riddle's diary...

"Pitting yourself against the Dark Lord," replied Malfoy. "How can you keep doing it?"

Harry let out an exasperated sigh. "What am I supposed to do? I fight him, or I die. You don't get it, do you, Malfoy? You have no idea what it's like."

Malfoy continued to look at him, undaunted. "Why does he want you so much? You're nothing special."

"You should tell him that," said Harry, amused despite himself. Even a bound prisoner, Malfoy managed to remain as rude as ever. "Maybe he'll listen to you and leave me alone."

He wanted to follow Sirius upstairs, to be alone, to think, but somebody had to keep an eye on Malfoy. Harry thought about how he was going to move Malfoy without magic, but saw no alternative to doing it physically, which was not high on the list of things he wanted to do that day. He'd just stay in the kitchen and wait for Sirius.

"Potter?"

"Now what?" snapped Harry, glancing at him.

Malfoy's jaw tightened. "Will you give me my mother's picture? I can't reach it."

Harry looked at the picture lying just a few feet away from where Malfoy sat now. He picked it up, marvelling once more at how different Narcissa had looked in her youth. Malfoy looked nothing like her, though, aside from the hair. He was tempted to throw the picture even further out of Malfoy's reach, but that was something Malfoy would've done if their roles were switched. He bent down and placed the photograph into Malfoy's hands. Malfoy's fingers clutched the frame tightly, and he said no more.

*

Sirius's decision to let Kreacher keep the locket -- and, Harry suspected, his reaction to the story of his brother's death -- effected a considerable change in Kreacher's attitude. When Sirius and Harry took Malfoy down to breakfast the next morning, they walked into a kitchen Aunt Petunia could have been proud of. The pots and pans along the wall gleamed. The fireplace had been cleaned out and lit. On the stove cooled a pot of aromatic coffee, and the table held an enormous platter piled high with miniature pieces of bread layered with chunks of tuna.

Kreacher stood in the doorway, bowing low, his dirty loincloth replaced with a pristine white one. "Breakfast is served, Master."

As the day went on, Harry began to notice that the rest of the house was turning liveable. By evening, all cobwebs had gone, the curtains had been laundered, and the drawing room sofa -- the most oft-used piece of furniture in the house these days -- appeared to have been reupholstered, its cushions no longer lumpy.

It was there that Harry and Sirius sat, with Malfoy tucked into the furthest corner, when a bright silver bird -- a phoenix! -- appeared in front of them. "I will be there as soon as I can," said the bird in Dumbledore's voice. "Keep it safe." The Patronus vanished, and Harry stared at the place it had been, imagining he could still see its wispy outline.

Harry felt his anger stirring again. Dumbledore cared more about the stupid locket than he did about Harry, it seemed -- three full days had passed since Harry's escape from the Dursleys', but Dumbledore had sent no word. And even now, he didn't seem to care about where Harry was, what he was doing. It made Harry feel like when Ron had refused to believe him about putting his name into the Goblet of Fire. Like he'd lost a friend.

Sirius's voice broke into Harry's gloomy thoughts. "I think our esteemed guest needs a bath," he said, wrinkling his nose with a glance at Malfoy.

Harry couldn't smell anything, but he did notice that Malfoy's hair was beginning to resemble Snape's in texture. "All right," he said, eager to do something other than fume at Dumbledore.

For once, Malfoy made no protest as they shoved him into the upstairs bathroom. Harry remained outside to make sure Malfoy didn't slip out and go for Sirius's throat, whilst Sirius went back to his bedroom, looking preoccupied. Harry's thoughts drifted to Ron and Hermione, and what they must be doing, and whether or not they knew that Harry had left the Dursleys. They weren't in the Order, either, so who knew if Mr and Mrs Weasley had seen it fit to inform their son about his best friend's fate.

After a while, Harry realised that the shower had fallen silent, and from the way the silence weighed on him, he judged it hadn't been running for a while. He got up from the floor and tried the door. It wouldn't open. Harry pounded on it. "What are you doing in there?" he demanded. "Open up, now!" A crash and a muffled oath came from the bathroom, but the door didn't budge.

Sirius ran out of his bedroom, looking around wildly. "What's going on?"

"Malfoy won't open the door," said Harry, rattling the doorknob.

"Alohomora!" said Sirius, and the door banged open.

Malfoy stood in front of the bathtub, wrapped in a towel and holding his clothes protectively over his chest. His legs were almost comically thin underneath the bulky towel; he looked like a child. His damp hair stuck to his face. "I was just finishing up," he said, with a look so guilty that Harry knew he had not been finishing up. He glanced around the bathroom, but there were no windows; nothing Malfoy might try to use in escaping.

"You're up to something," Harry told him. "Don't think you can fool us."

"Incarcerous", said Sirius, waving his wand. Thick ropes fastened round Malfoy's shoulders, pinning his hands, clothes and all, to his chest. "I don't even know why we keep doing it. It's not like he can hurt me without his wand."

"Better safe than sorry," said Harry. "He might strangle you in your sleep."

They pushed Malfoy down the corridor to Regulus's bedroom, and for once he went along without protest. Probably hoping to lull Sirius, let him think he wasn't in danger. Malfoy changed into a pair of Regulus's old pyjamas behind a privacy screen, and climbed into bed without a word.

"I don't mean at night," said Sirius as he fastened Malfoy's wrist to the bed. "But during the day -- we're watching him, anyway. It's seriously annoying to keep dragging him round everywhere."

"We could just leave him here," said Harry, gesturing around the bedroom. "Now that Kreacher seems to like you again, maybe he won't help Malfoy even if Malfoy begs him to."

"I dunno," said Sirius, pocketing his wand. "Maybe Dumbledore will take him off our hands. He's heard way too much already. There's no way we're ever letting Malfoy go back to Voldemort."

Harry hadn't even thought about Dumbledore being able to take Malfoy away and give Harry and Sirius some peace and quiet. He suddenly looked forward to Dumbledore's visit, all his apprehensions melted at the prospect of finally seeing the back of Malfoy. He grabbed a towel and headed for the bathroom, which he first inspected to make sure Malfoy hadn't set any traps for him. He even sniffed the shampoo, but all appeared in order.

After his shower, Harry went back into Regulus's room, hoping that Malfoy would be asleep again. With luck, Dumbledore would get here tomorrow, and Harry wouldn't need to listen to Malfoy's stupid breathing as he fell asleep, nor hear his stupid mutterings about his mother and his father when Malfoy was dreaming. Whatever ill befell the Malfoys, they'd brought it all on themselves, and Harry wouldn't care about them no matter how much Malfoy called for his mother in his sleep.

He was so lost in thought that it didn't register at first -- Malfoy was not sleeping. He was lying on top of the covers, his right arm raised by the handcuffs. He'd managed to push down Regulus's pyjama bottoms and was wanking with his left hand, his eyes half-closed.

"What the hell are you doing?" demanded Harry, disgusted. Malfoy's cock was a long, pink thing, revolting. The way it glistened with pre-come made Harry think of a slug.

Malfoy's eyes flew open, and his hand covered his cock protectively. He sneered. "You didn't let me finish when I had privacy, so what was I supposed to do?" His face was flushed. "I thought you'd have realised what I was doing."

"I didn't," said Harry, mortified. He had been so certain that Malfoy spent every waking moment trying to plot an escape that it didn't even occur to him that Malfoy might've simply been wanking. But he hadn't thought about Malfoy wanking before. Also, he didn't want to think about it ever again. "You could've just said something," he muttered. "What are you, some kind of pervert?" A weird, feverish chill crisscrossed Harry's spine as he recalled the image of Malfoy thrusting up into his hand. Ugh.

Malfoy gave a one-armed shrug, closing his eyes again. "Never knew Gryffindors were such a prudish lot." He squeezed the tip of his cock and continued to work over it, steady and quick.

Harry demonstratively turned his back to him. If wanting privacy made him prudish, then maybe he was. If Malfoy was so willing to show off his cock, nothing should've stopped him from telling Harry to let him finish his wank whilst he was still in the bathroom. Though maybe Malfoy hadn't wanted Sirius to know. Still, it was disgusting. As if he had something to show off, anyway. It was no larger than a twig.

As Harry prepared for bed, though, he caught himself thinking about turning back and watching Malfoy some more. His initial surprise aside, it had been fascinating to see someone else wanking -- Harry guessed he would've preferred it if it were a girl fingering herself, but this was okay, too. Of course, he wasn't going to watch Malfoy -- Malfoy might think something stupid, like Harry was gay or something. He wanted to, though, and there was nothing wrong with that: watching didn't mean anything.

Keeping his back to Malfoy, Harry killed the lights and climbed into bed. In the silence that followed, he could hear Malfoy's breathing quickening, the rhythmic slap-slap-slap of his hand growing more frantic, the handcuffs clinking against the bed frame. Harry's own hand slipped past the waistband of his pyjamas and curled round his cock, hard and waiting. Malfoy's bedsprings creaked in protest, the handcuffs knocking harder, and Harry squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out those sounds and tell himself he was not having a wank with Malfoy doing the same only a few feet away from him.

Except he totally was, but he wasn't doing it because of Malfoy. Malfoy had simply reminded him that Harry hadn't wanked in ages -- he'd had things on his mind. Harry tried to think of girls, but he didn't even need to -- pleasure danced through his lower belly, making its slow and lazy way towards his cock and balls, filling Harry with warmth. He moved very slowly -- the last thing he wanted was for Malfoy to notice. It was uncomfortable, and soon Harry realised that he would never come like this. He wanted to lie back with his legs spread, like Malfoy, or at least brace himself like he usually did in the shower, so he could thrust into his hand. But though he knew he wouldn't come like this, he was so turned on that he was reluctant to stop.

Behind him, Malfoy gave a strangled little yelp and thrashed about for a few moments, then all was quiet. Harry stopped moving his hand, just squeezing the head of his cock between thumb and forefinger, not wanting Malfoy to hear him rustling around. It wasn't enough, though, and Harry was sure his balls would explode soon if he didn't come. And that would be Malfoy's fault, too.

"Potter," said Malfoy. Harry froze once more. Had he noticed...?

"What do you want?" he mumbled.

"A towel."

Harry turned around with a look of disbelief, and wiped his clammy hand on his pyjamas. He couldn't see Malfoy in the dark, but he could picture the pinched, expectant expression on his face. "You want a towel."

"Yes. In case you're unfamiliar with masturbation, stuff comes out of you at the end of it. I want to wipe it off."

"Use your sheets," said Harry, annoyed at Malfoy's mocking tone. "Use your cover, your pillow, I don't care. I'm not getting up to fetch you towels, Malfoy."

"It's your fault I couldn't finish in the bathroom," insisted Malfoy. "So you should bring me a towel."

"I am not," growled Harry, "bringing you a towel." He put his pillow over his head and drew the blanket high over himself. He was still hard, and that made him even more frustrated. He wanted to go back to the bathroom and finish it, but if he got out of bed, Malfoy might think he had won, and Harry wasn't going to let him win. He would just wait for his hard-on to subside and try to sleep, and then tomorrow, he would leave Malfoy with Sirius and spend the whole morning with his hand down his pants. In private.

But Malfoy did not let up. Just as Harry would begin to drift off, he would complain loudly that he would never be able to sleep like this, or that he was going to get a horrible skin rash and die and it would be on Harry's conscience, or that he was going to scream for help and see if Sirius would be more willing to help than Harry. When Malfoy started in on how Harry didn't know anything about the proper treatment owed to prisoners of war, Harry had had enough.

"FINE!" he yelled, swinging off the bed. "But tomorrow, we're going to find more handcuffs and keep both your hands away from yourself." He lit the overhead gas lamp and threw Malfoy the towel he'd discarded earlier. Malfoy cleaned himself off, and as Harry watched the towel slide over Malfoy's chest and belly, he felt with mounting horror that he was getting hard again. After Malfoy threw the towel on the floor and wriggled back into his pyjamas, and then under the covers, Harry killed the lamp and climbed back into bed, bewildered and a little bit ashamed. His mind kept wandering to the sight of Malfoy, handcuffed and helpless, his cock resting against his belly, surrounded by thick blond curls.

When Harry finally slept, his dreams were filled with great columns of smoke that turned into his mother, screaming at him to bring her a towel. His mother turned into Sirius, an evil light gleaming in his eyes as a heavy golden locket swung from his outstretched fingers. Sirius became Dumbledore, standing in the middle of a black lake filled with dead faces, all of them Cedric's. Malfoy chased him through Grimmauld Place, wielding a flyswatter and demanding that Harry tell him where he had hidden Kreacher's old loincloth. Harry stumbled over the troll's leg umbrella and fell into a bed, where Malfoy lay naked beneath green-and-silver gauze. He turned his face to Harry, but it was Cho's face, blood trickling from the corners of her eyes.

Harry awoke with a scream, panting, clutching his pillow like a lifeline. The sheets beneath him were soggy, and as he reached down to adjust his cock, his fingers met a sticky mess: something that always embarrassed him but rarely happened anymore. Breathing heavily, he struggled to his hands and knees and sat back, staring at the Black family crest above his bed.

"There are potions for nightmares," said Malfoy, his voice grouchy. "Really, Potter, don't you know how to take care of yourself? I was having such a nice dream, too. You died in it."

"Shut up," said Harry, unwilling to look at him. The things he'd dreamt about had involved Malfoy in various states of undress, he remembered that, and he felt ashamed for having dreamt them. He'd never had such dreams about Ron, even though he'd seen Ron naked hundreds of times. Somehow, it was Malfoy's doing. He'd done something to Harry to make him dream those things. When Harry figured out what it was, he would make Malfoy pay.

The door burst open, and Harry turned around to see Sirius in the doorway, his hair wild. "I heard screaming," he said. "Is everything all right?"

"Had a nightmare," said Harry, climbing off the bed.

"Voldemort?" asked Sirius.

Harry shook his head, fingering his scar. It hadn't hurt much over the past few days, and that worried him. If Voldemort wasn't bending all his will on finding Harry, what was he doing? Trying to set another trap for Harry, a real one this time? His heart dropped as he thought of Ron and Hermione. He hoped they would be safe. "Just a regular old nightmare. I saw Cho," he added. "She was dead."

"Your girlfriend?" asked Sirius.

"Not really," admitted Harry. "We broke up. I hope she isn't really dead, though."

"That's our Potter, a true gentleman," remarked Malfoy. Harry and Sirius looked at him, and he seemed to shrink back a little.

"Right," said Sirius, frowning down at Malfoy. "I think you'll have to make a choice, little Malfoy. Either you remain handcuffed to that bed until Dumbledore relieves us of your company, or you will stop trying to attack me every time your hands are free. Choose now."

Malfoy glared at Sirius, and Harry was startled by the renewed deep hatred in his eyes. "I'll be nice," said Malfoy. "For now. But you will pay for killing my father."

"I didn't kill your father," said Sirius as he uncuffed Malfoy. "But whatever helps you sleep at night."

Malfoy circled his right wrist with his left hand and rubbed it, and Harry's memory flashed with the image of that same hand on Malfoy's cock. He was never going to forget that, was he? Stupid Malfoy. "We'll still cuff him at night, though, right?" he asked Sirius, who nodded.

In the kitchen, Kreacher was already waiting with breakfast. "Kreacher apologises," he croaked as they walked inside. "But Kreacher has been forced to prepare the same meal this morning as he did yesterday. There are not enough ingredients for the variety of dishes Kreacher knows how to cook. However, Master Sirius has forbidden Kreacher to leave the house, so Kreacher cannot obtain new ingredients." All this was delivered in a single breath, and Harry marvelled at how Kreacher was still standing.

Sirius glanced at the house-elf. His behaviour towards Kreacher had also changed since hearing about Regulus's fate, and Harry thought Hermione would be pleased to see it. "If you promise not to go to Bellatrix and Narcissa, I will let you go shopping."

"Kreacher would not go to Miss Bella and Miss Cissy," said Kreacher, looking up at Sirius earnestly. "Master Sirius is doing Master Regulus's work now."

Harry watched Malfoy, who didn't appear to be listening to Kreacher. He was massaging his right shoulder and wincing.

"You may shop," Sirius said to Kreacher. "But come straight back, and no detours. And no talking to anyone but shopkeepers."

Kreacher bowed. "Kreacher is grateful for Master Sirius's confidence. Kreacher will do as Master Sirius says."

Over the next few days, the quality of food in Grimmauld Place had improved so much that Harry began to look forward to mealtimes in a way he never had before. Not even Mrs Weasley's cooking compared to the things Kreacher could do with food. More than ever, it made Harry miss Ron, with his legendary appetite and his well-timed jokes. Between mealtimes, Harry and Sirius sat in the drawing room talking, with Malfoy hovering nearby. They weren't letting him roam freely about the house, but at least they didn't have to drag him around as before.

"Is there any parchment?" asked Malfoy one morning after breakfast. He directed his question to Harry, who looked at Sirius.

"Going to write a love letter to Voldemort?" asked Sirius, grinning slightly. Malfoy clenched his teeth, but kept staring at Harry.

Sirius let out an exasperated sigh. "Harry, give the boy some parchment and a quill. It's not like he's going to convince Hedwig to go anywhere for him."

The Order had left behind quite a lot of writing implements, and Harry handed Malfoy a sheaf of parchment, a bottle of ink and some quills. Malfoy dipped a quill in the bottle and bent over the parchment, shielding it with his arm. He didn't appear to be writing; the quill moved all over the place.

"What are you doing?" asked Harry after a few moments. Malfoy ignored him, but when he went to dip the quill in ink again, Harry saw that the parchment now held a sketch -- a little girl hugging her knees. "I didn't know you could draw."

"Leave me alone," said Malfoy, his face a bit pink. "I'm not doing anything wrong."

"I didn't say you were," said Harry. "I just-- forget it."

He left Malfoy to his drawing and went back to the sofa, where Sirius sat quietly. He hadn't seemed to notice Malfoy and Harry's exchange. As Harry approached him, he saw that Sirius was staring at the photograph of Regulus and his Quidditch team. The picture was creased along the middle, so that Regulus's face had a line through it, and Sirius kept smoothing it out restlessly. Regulus pulled an annoyed grimace every time Sirius's fingers brushed the crease, and the other Slytherins shrank back, trying to avoid the touch.

Once again, it struck Harry how alike Sirius and his brother had looked. Before he'd seen the photograph, he had pictured Regulus as a chubby blond boy, with an expression on his face like Narcissa Malfoy's, but he realised now that he'd simply been drawing a parallel to his cousin Dudley. Harry remembered the last time he'd seen Dudley, when the two of them had almost smiled at each other for the first time in their lives. He could only imagine what was going through Sirius's mind now that he knew his brother had been on the right side in the end -- had died for the right side. For all Sirius said he hated his family, Harry was sure that he'd once had a good relationship with them -- before he went out into the world and learned how twisted their beliefs were. "You couldn't have done anything," he said as Sirius tried to get rid of the crease in Regulus's face again.

Sirius sighed. "Things could have been different."

Harry nodded, resolving that if he survived the war, he would look up Dudley and try to make peace between them. Dudley may not have sacrificed himself for anything, but he'd proven that he wasn't completely like his parents. In a way, Dudley's willingness to believe in Harry had saved Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's lives. Maybe everyone had a little good in them, even people like the Malfoys.

Kreacher's voice startled them both, with Sirius jumping so high that he dropped Regulus's photograph.

"Kreacher has finished cleaning the house, Master."

"Right," said Sirius. "Thanks, Kreacher." He bent down to retrieve the picture, but not before Kreacher spotted it.

Tears started to fall from the house-elf's eyes. "Master Regulus," he whispered.

"Tell me about him, Kreacher," said Sirius, lifting the elf and setting him down on the sofa. "Tell me about my brother."

Harry glanced at Malfoy, but the armchair was empty. Malfoy had run off somewhere. Harry didn't want to interrupt Sirius and Kreacher's conversation, so he rose from the sofa and tiptoed out. Malfoy didn't have a wand, so Harry could manage him on his own. Malfoy was certainly looking for his wand, but he would never find it -- Sirius had concealed it so that it couldn't be found without magic. The doors to the house wouldn't open without magic, either, so Malfoy was stuck unless he had a wand.

Harry turned in the d