The mood in the train’s compartment was subdued, almost stifling. Harry looked around at the others, each lost in their own thoughts. Ordinarily, Ron and Hermione would have been with the other prefects, but the events of the last few days had changed all that. There were fewer than half the students there should have been on the return trip. Most had left directly from Hogwarts with parents before Dumbledore’s funeral. A few left after. The trip seemed like a funeral train itself. No laughing or shouting, no first years running up and down the halls or departing seventh years trying for that last bit of mayhem that they couldn’t be punished for. Grief, disbelief, despair, hopelessness flowed around them now like a dark river. Hermione’s eyes were puffy and ringed red. Ron sat, his head pressed against the window pain, eyes liquid and vacant. No one broke the silence on the long ride home; each afraid that if they did, their friendship might shatter along with it.

Looking from distraught face to distraught face, Harry’s fury built.

It’s not fair, he thought angrily. This is Voldemort’s fault. He’s done this to all of us.

Harry felt a blinding anger build within in him. He felt it stretch out at those around him. Rage built within him at their apathy, their resignation. It was like they were dead already. Where was their strength, their courage? How were any of them to stand against Voldemort? Is this how they would face the Dark Arts, trembling alone in some corner? Why was it always up to him? Because he was the Chosen One was everyone just going to give up and let him handle it?

Harry forced himself to look away from them lest he betray his emotion, the disgust he felt for them.
Wild moors turned to countryside and finally into towns. Small, well kept homes melted into cities and before long, Harry could feel the train slowing. Pistons screamed in protest and the train finally jolted to a stop. They were in Kings Cross Station.

They all stood lost in their confusion and despair. Tears streamed from Hermione’s eyes.

“We’ll be in touch mate”, said Ron simply. Harry didn’t answer but merely nodded slightly. Picking up his things he headed for the door.

His trunk thumped loudly behind him echoing loudly in the deserted station. Harry looked at the scared faces around him. They looked like living ghosts.

Leave me alone, he thought angrily as he headed for the barrier. He heard Hermione’s footsteps behind him. She said nothing. A few feet back he heard Mrs. Weasley’s voice. He heard Ron’s irritated response. Tugging at the cart he entered the archway that would lead back to Muggle London and the real world. A world that didn’t know about magic, or Voldemort, or the war. A world that was oblivious to what was happening all around him. He felt the cold fury build in him once more. He would only stay at Privet Drive long enough to collect his things and then leave. Empowered by the thought of leaving, he quickened his pace. His eyes were dead set ahead of him. He felt the soft sucking feeling as he left the enchanted tunnel.

Involuntarily he took a deep breath. The air smelled acrid, burned. Broken bricks lay strewn at his feet. His eyes opened wide in horror. Walls were blackened and broken by fire. An overhead sign announcing departures lay crumbled in the corner, its face blistered. Tracks were twisted from their beds, steel pointing upward as if to ward off some attack. The huge atrium was shattered, the roof had caved in. Water dripped from overhead and pooled around his feet.
“Hermione stop!” he shouted quickly trying to return to the barrier. It was solid. He was alone.

Hermione had been looking directly at Harry’s back when he stepped out of the tunnel. Her eyes never left him for a moment. She saw him pause for a moment as she stepped through the barrier. She pulled back on her cart afraid she would run right into him.
“Harry look out”, she called softly. Her voice echoed in the misty station. She whipped around quickly, her wand at the ready. She was completely alone in the crumbling remains of the train station.
“Harry!” she screamed in the icy mist. Her voice echoed into stillness and then died. She began to feel panicky. Pressing back against the barrier she tried to return but the entrance had sealed itself. A very red sun hung low on the horizon. Hermione stared at it incomprehensibly. The sun was due north.

Ron was watching his mother’s feet march through the barrier. She was keeping up a steady stream of chatter that he listened to only half heartedly. Ginny trailed behind him mumbling acknowledgements from time to time. Ron listened to the cadenced footfalls of this mother. Clip, clop, clip, clop. Centaur hooves, he thought, she sounds like an old cart horse. Abruptly the footsteps stopped. Ron looked up.
“Mum?” he called softly. He looked around. Chilly mist swirled around him obscuring everything more than a few feet away. He was standing in a puddle of water. A column had collapsed in front of him.
“Mum!” he called more insistently, “Ginny!” He whipped around quickly to face nothing but empty air. His eyes widened in terror. Where was everyone and what had happened to Kings Cross Station?

Lionel Abbott had a firm hold on his daughter Hanna’s hand as he entered the barrier. He stepped back into Muggle London still with the firm, warm feel of her hand in his. Crowds surged around him. He turned to ask her something only to find she was no longer beside him. His hand tightly clenched but empty.

Ernie Macmillan was holding his younger sister as he entered the barrier. His mother found the little girl sitting beside the barrier, looking frightened and alone. Ernie was nowhere to be found.

Pansy Parkinson was talking her cousin Arista as they entered the barrier. They were gossiping nearly cheek to cheek, when Pansy’s voice stopped mid sentence. Arista turned to look at her friend and found she was staring into nothingness.

Narcissa Malfoy sat stroking her son’s blond hair. He looked frightened and small. A thin dark man with greasy black hair and a hooked nose approached them. Long, dark robes billowed behind him.

“We have to go now,” he hissed.

Narcissa looked up, her eyes wet with tears.

“Where?” she asked simply, “Where can we go that he won’t find us?”

“Let me worry about that,” snapped the man. He eyed the blond haired boy apprehensively. “Has Draco passed his apparition test yet?” The boy made to answer but his mother held him back.

“He’ll be apparating with me.”

The man’s lip curled into a sneer but he didn’t respond.

“Follow me then.”

They stood up and with a loud pop, the three disappeared.

The dark robed man reappeared first. Reflexively, he took a deep breath. He felt like a deflated balloon. Narcissa appeared next. Her footfalls quiet on the stone floor. She was alone.

The man shuddered. How could the Dark Lord have known, he thought quickly.

Narcissa realized immediately that the boy was gone.

“Draco!” she screamed whipping about and looking wildly for him. “Severus, where is he?” she pleaded. Her eyes open wide with terror. Severus could see she believed what he already suspected.

“He knows what we’ve done!” she breathed, terror in every syllable. Severus thought hard. This was impossible. He’d only just made the decision to do this. Everything. The flight. the hiding place was all last minute. There is no way the Dark Lord could have known any of it. The Dark Lord had many powers at his disposal was but precognition wasn’t one of them. Could he have employed someone else to spy on him? Possibly, he thought with irritation, but none of them had this kind of power. This was extreme dark magic. Severus was at once impressed and fearful. The Dark Lord had a powerful new ally and suddenly he, Severus Snape didn’t want to find himself in their company.

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Harry would not have been impressed by the Ministry’s response to the disappearances. Although it was immediate, decisive and thorough, it was largely unsuccessful. The Daily Prophet had a field day with the news. Barrier remained sealed for hours!, the headlines screamed. Hastily set up portkeys moved frightened magical and unwilling muggle parents and students back to London, another special edition announced . Despite flooding the area with two dozen of their most talented Aurors, no trace of the six students was found although three dustbins turned out to be transfigured wizards hiding from the Ministry of
Revenue and the Minister’s missing crup, Lonigan was reunited with his family albeit with six new puppies. Although faint traces of magic were detected inside the barrier, how the students were removed and where they went remained a mystery. Who perpetrated the abduction however, was never questioned at all.

“We have the situation well in hand,” the Daily Prophet quoted an unnamed Ministry official, “and we expect to reunite the students with their families very shortly. We are asking for calm in the magical community.”

Not finding his nephew was annoying enough for Harry’s uncle, but being debriefed by a man wearing red striped knickers, pink flouncing shirt, and beret was asking too much. Uncle Vernon left in disgust muttering something about weirdoes and wondering aloud why he ever took his nephew in. He pointedly ignored the curious stares and whispers of passerby’s as he pushed Harry’s cart through the station accompanied by the loud screeches of Hedwig.

Hermione stood and looked around her, perplexed. She wanted to call out but something inside her told her to stay quiet. Summoning up everything she could remember about the train station, Hermione stared at the misplaced sun. Picking her way across the rock strewn main terminal she was absolutely certain the sun was in the wrong place. Every time she entered the station the sun was over her shoulder and when she left it was to her back. Grasping her wand a little tighter she decided to head towards it.
Maybe, she thought to herself, it will still lead out of this nightmare.
But there were no exits to the station. As badly as it was battered, as crumbling as every interior wall appeared to be, every exterior wall was still standing and each doorway was blocked. Something skittered away in the gloom and Hermione hastened towards the dull red sun. Crumbling walls lay to either side of a splintered and broken door proclaiming itself to be the Lost and Found. Hermione pressed her eye up to a large crack in the door and looked in. The small room appeared empty. A glass globe half sunk in the ceiling cast a harsh, greenish light on a few hard chairs. The door handle had been blasted away so with one quick push Hermione entered only to see Pansy Parkinson’s surprised face.
“You!” cried Hermione in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
Relief instantly washed over Pansy’s face but it was quickly replaced by the haughty one Hermione knew only too well.
“Well Granger, I thought I would take a little side trip here before going home. I must say I’m astounded that someone of your limited background was able to join me.”
Placing her hands on her hips, Hermione narrowed her eyes and glared at Pansy.
“So where are we then?” Hermione asked, a little too much arrogance in her voice even for her own liking.
Pansy’s eyes narrowed but she said nothing. She regarded Hermione coolly for a few moments then staring at her feet she replied in a flat voice,
“I don’t know.”
Looking into Pansy’s face, Hermione realized just how terrified she was.
“Are we the only one’s here?” Hermione asked gently.
“No.”
“How do you know that?”
Pansy pointed to a large credenza where a silver tea service with seven plain white cups was laid out.
“Others are expected.”
“Well then, we have to find them,” Hermione replied quickly.
“No!” cried Pansy. “What if it’s Death Eaters or …” Pansy struggled to finish. “What if it’s You-Know-Who?”
“It could be other Hogwarts students,” pleaded Hermione, “We have to find them.” Heading for the door, Hermione paused and turned.
“Say, how did you find this room so quickly?”
Pansy smiled sheepishly.
“The sun was always over my shoulder whenever I entered the station. I just headed for that and hoped to find the exit.”
Smiling to herself, Hermione went out into the deserted station. Each footfall echoed in the gloom. Pushing up her sleeves she sent up jets of red sparks; tiny sparks in the darkness. Almost instantly she was rewarded with shouts of “Oi!” and “Hey!” from several different directions. Shouting out for help she sent up more sparks. Through the mist she watched as two people approached. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw Ron’s red hair and then Harry’s round glasses flashing in the weak light.
This is going to be all right, she thought a little more bravely.
“What happened?” asked Ron immediately. “I was walking through the barrier one moment and the next I’m here.”
“I don’t know,” replied Hermione quickly, “but Pansy Parkinson is here too.”
“Slytherin’s?” replied Ron in a disgusted voice. “They probably caused this.”
“I don’t think so,” answered Hermione quietly. “Pansy looked pretty upset.”
“Who cares?” shot back Harry. He was glancing around the station. His eyes fixed on a pile of rubble half hidden in the gloom.
“Hey!” he suddenly shouted, pulling out his wand. “Who’s over there?” Ron and Hermione pulled out their wands as well. There was a squeaky response.
“Speak up!” shouted Harry menacingly, “speak up or I’ll …”
“Don’t hurt me!” came a frightened little voice.
“That’s Hannah Abbott!” cried Hermione and she ran towards the pile of rubble.
“Hermione wait!” shouted Ron after her but Hermione had already reached the pile of rubble and was pulling a scared and shaken Hannah Abbott over it. Tears were running down her face.
“It’s okay Hannah, it’s okay,” soothed Hermione, “You’re safe now.”
Putting her arm over Hannah’s shoulder, Hermione led the way back to the Lost and Found.
“Pansy was certain there would be seven of us,” she repeated.
“Well Slytherins were never accused of being overly bright,” replied Ron.
“Well she might be right this time,” Hermione replied.
“What …?” asked Ron. Ernie Macmillan was standing in the gloom behind a fractured column.
“Oh,” he breathed, relief in every syllable, “am I glad to see you lot.”
“Did you see anyone else?” both Ron and Harry asked.
“No. One minute I was holding my little sister, the next I was standing facing a pile of broken bricks.”
Ernie looked from face to frightened face.
“What’s happening?” he asked simply. The others merely shrugged.
“Come on,” Hermione suggested as she herded them all to the Lost and Found.
Walking into the harsh light of the Lost and Found a startled Pansy looked up. Her hands were clasped tightly near her mouth, her eyes wide.
“What are you doing?” demanded Ernie suddenly.
“Nothing Macmillan,” she responded with a snarl.
Harry glanced from terrified face to terrified face. He didn’t want to be the leader. He didn’t want to be responsible for any of these people, least of all Pansy. Slytherins, he felt, were the source of the problem and certainly not to be trusted.
“I guess we’re all that’s here,” started Harry, “Any ideas on where we are or how to get back?”
Everyone stared at their feet. Harry felt his anger rising again. Hang them all, came the unwelcome thought. Angry with himself, he Turned abruptly and headed for the door.
“Well if it isn’t The Chosen One,” a drawling voice began, “leading us all to safety.”
Harry looked up. The florescent light was not at all kind to the pale, pointed face that stood in the door. Dark circles appeared under both bloodshot eyes and deep shadows darkened every contour. Harry found himself staring into the tired, worn out face. His anger rekindled. Here was the boy who had helped kill Albus Dumbledore. Here was the son of one of the most infamous Death Eaters, and here was the person that he just about hated more than anyone else. Harry tightened the grip on his wand, a jinx already forming in his mind.



“Sit back down, little wizards,” came a musical voice.
Harry whipped around, his mind blank. It was as though every thought had been momentarily emptied from his brain. Two sorcerers where sitting back to back on the credenza.
Harry's eyes widened. He hadn't heard the customary pop! that ususally accompanied apparition. The pair was simply there where once was empty space. One sat studying him with utmost amusement; the other a scornful contempt. The amused wizard leaned forward over the shoulder of his companion. His dark magenta robes flowing like water. His stark white face and brilliantly outlined eyes contrasted deeply with that of his companion who was dark, head to toe. Even the tattoo that started as his cheekbone and extended down his neck was dark and sinister.
The two sorcerers stared at the group. Harry felt Draco step behind him. Coward, he thought.
“I said,” began one wizard, his scarlet shaded eyes narrowing, a slow menace now in his voice, “sit down.”
In the past, Harry had felt and resisted the Imperious curse. It was never easy but he was capable. Not this time. Whatever curse was directed at him now was beyond anything he had felt before. His mind went blank, emptied of any resistance and Harry found himself obediently returning to his seat with Malfoy close behind.
The darker of the two sorcerer’s spoke first,
“I am ..”
“Benvoli,” interrupted the other.
“Who?” replied the dark wizard in disbelief staring at his companion.
“You are Benvolio and I am Mercutio,” continued the other happily, “You all have been brought here at great expense to participate in a most extraordinary event.” Mercutio’s brilliantly painted eyes brightened with excitement as Benvolio’s narrowed. “You are all to participate in an adventure reality show!”
“I thought we agreed on a game show,” the one named Benvolio interrupted.
“Well, we did,” Mercutio replied, “but that’s been done before, and it is ever so boring and this can be so much fun, and I spent oodles of hours working on this, and …”
“All right, all right,” interrupted Benvolio, “it’s an adventure reality show. Get on with it.”
“First, the goal,” started Mercutio brightly, “Your way home.” Waving his wand a door appeared. With a flick of the wrist, the door opened and they all could see a very normal Platform 9 ¾ . They watched as Ministry wizards walked back and forth with detectors. Harry could hear Hedwig’s screeches. Hermione caught a glimpse of her parents, both sick with fear. She jumped toward the door and made to call out but a look from Benvolio silenced her.
“The rules are simple,” Mercutio continued, totally oblivious to Harry and the others, “Open the door and walk through.” Ron looked a little confused. He rose and started walking towards the door. Mercutio did a very dramatic roll of his eyes.
“Of course,” continued Mercutio, “the door is locked and there are no spells to open it.” The door closed with a resounding click. “Clues are hidden around the station …”
“We were brought here for your twisted amusement?” Hermione yelled suddenly, “There’s a war going on, Voldemort is killing people, Death Eaters are running around, and you want us to play silly games like we are circus animals?” Mercutio began laughing at her; Benvolio merely glared.
“Oh brave, little Gryffindor,” Mercutio began in a mocking voice. “Do you really believe that any of you stand a chance against Lord Voldemort? This is nothing compared to what His Lordship will do when he finds you, And he will find you," Mercutio continued, his voice deepening. "You are already defeated. He planned and prepared for your destruction while you were sleeping, certain that he was defeated and gone. Now he attacks you where you are unprepared and when you least expect him, just as we have. He separates your forces and creates disorder amongst your allies." Mercutio stopped, his eyes mere slits, his single, painted lip pressed flat. " In the end," he intoned, "the Dark Lord will become your master as well.”
Frightened, Hermione stepped back between Harry and Ron who instinctively stepped forward to protect her. No one else moved.
“Never,” hissed Harry. Benvolio gave him a condescending smile.
“Here at least you are safe from the Dark Lord’s judgment and wrath. You have no concept of the extent of his powers,” whispered Benvolio, “It is beyond your reasoning.”
“He has phenomenal power,” lamented Mercutio sadly, “They have kept him miserable so that he does great things. Terrible things yes, but great. He is like the nightingale.”
“Why are you doing this to us?” interrupted Ernie suddenly. “If all is lost and we cannot hope to survive why have you brought us here?” Benvolio stared at him, his eyes narrowed.
“Pity, little wizard; you were brought here out of pity for a lost cause,” Benvolio replied flatly. “If you succeed here, you will take more than just your miserable, insignificant lives with you. You will take with you the knowledge of …”
Mercutio had slapped Benvolio on the back of the head. “You’re talking too much,” he whispered harshly.
“I’m talking too much? You’re the one that won’t shut up. You’re the one with these ridiculous names. You’re …”
“Well you need to shut up now.”
“Death Eaters will not take pity on you,” continued Benvolio after a pause, “the blood thirsty never do.” Jumping up, he dragged Mercutio forward by the arm and pointed his wand at Ernie. Ernie’s eyes opened to the size of saucers.
“And we only need an even number of players so this one needs to go,” Benvoli growled harshly.
Hannah made to grab Ernie’s arm but found she couldn’t move. None of them could. A brilliant light lit up Ernie’s scared face. He rose a few feet above the ground. Invisible wires pulled his limbs in opposite direction. His hair stuck out and his back arched slightly. A scream lay paralyzed in his throat. Horror etched everyone’s face as a huge red “X” appeared over Ernie.
“Game over,” hissed Benvolio as Ernie faded from view. Only his tortured screen hung briefly in the air.
“Time to get going,” sang out Mercutio his voice harmonizing with the tolling of the clock. By the time the last note sounded, the little group was alone.

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Hannah was crying softly.

“We’re going to die here,” she sobbed. “There’s no way to get back.”

“Shut up,” snapped Draco. “We don’t need any whiny losers making this harder.”

“You shut up Malfoy,” yelled Hermione, her wand at the ready, “You’re not in charge here.”

“Yeah Malfoy, you shut up, you –,” started Ron, advancing on him.

“All of you, shut up!” screamed Pansy. Her face held a certain urgent, desperate look. Harry went to say something but an angry look from her quelled it.

“That Mercutio said there was a way out and there were clues,” she snapped looking around at them. “They didn’t just bring us here to starve and die.”

“Oh, and I suppose you know what to do?” asked Hermione haughtily.

Pansy eyed her insolently, one eyebrow raised nearly to her hairline, lips pursed.

“Not being a mudblood, of course I do.”

Harry and Ron started an angry response, Draco swore out a vicious oath at them, but Pansy was already standing next to the tea.

“The clues start here,” she said pointing at the tea service, her voice desperate.

The others gathered around. Lifting one of the white cups in one hand and the silver teapot in the other, Pansy delicately poured the tea. They watched as a question formed and floated on the surface of the brown liquid.

“How did you know …,” began Hermione but Pansy just rolled her eyes and looked away.

Soon all six were standing there with their questions. Six times they filled and refilled their cups answering questions about harp playing sorcerers, vampire violinists, or forgetful ghosts. Each of them wracked their brain for what they knew of potions, or astronomy, or herbology. Each correct answer changed the color and design on the cup but each incorrect answer yielded a crack. By the beginning of the seventh round, Hannah’s cup had begun to leak. She looked at the others, frightened.

“It’s okay Hannah, you’ve been getting harder questions,” said Harry gently.

“And you’re in Hufflepuff so no one expects you to be too bright,” added Pansy as tears welled up in Hannah’s eyes. Pansy looked away disgusted. “Honestly, all she ever does is cry,” Pansy continued in an exasperated voice. Hermione glared at her and put an arm around Hannah’s shoulder.

Looking into her cup Hannah saw the question, Name of the black winged horse only visible to those who have witnessed death. Tears started leaking down her face again.

“I don’t –,” she started.

“Thestral,” whispered Hermione, “it’s a thestral. We studied them in Care of Magical Creatures, remember?” Hannah gazed at her incomprehensibly.

“Thestral,” Hannah squeaked, her voice shaking. Hannah’s cup changed from pure white to a delicate, blue floral pattern.

“We can help each other?” cried Ron in disbelief. “All this time we’re struggling and we could have asked for help?”

“Like anyone would have asked for your help Weasley,” sneered Draco.

Both Harry and Ron banged their cups down and steeped forward, their wands out.

“Stop it,” yelled Hermione, “both of you.”

“Look!” cried Pansy, “Look at the tea tray.” Anger momentarily forgotten, the six of them looked down at the tray as it dissolved into a map.

“It’s a layout of the station,” cried Harry, “And it’s got the location of the next clue.” Bending closer, each of them could see a small, blood-red snake against a background of browns and blacks.

“Well,” started Ron matter-of-factly, “that wasn’t so hard. Let’s get going.” He picked up the map. Five dots appeared, five dots with their names under them.

“Hey, where’s Hannah’s name?” he asked. They all looked again. Sure enough, Hannah’s name was missing. Harry looked towards her. Hannah’s lower lip was trembling, her eyes were white with fright. Little words slithered across the bottom of the map, get rid of the incompetent and you can be profited, it read. They all looked around at each other.

“No Hannah, No!” cried Hermione suddenly. She reached forward to grab Hannah’s arm but her hand scattered the image of what was once Hannah.


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Pansy looked terrified. Her frightened eyes went from face to face and came to rest on Harry’s.

“Is that what’s going to happen to all of us?” she shrieked at him, “One by one we’ll be picked off?”

“What are you yelling at me for?” Harry snapped back. “Why don’t you yell at Malfoy? His dad and Voldemort are mates. Maybe they can fix it for you. Get you a reprieve.”

“You’re the Chosen One, Potter, why don’t you just fix it for all of us?” retorted Draco angrily. “Why can’t the Boy-Who-Lived just wave his wand and …”

“We have to stop this bickering!” demanded Hermione. “We have to work together.” Everyone turned to look at her, their faces skeptical.

“Why should we work with you, Granger?” sneered Draco.

“Because she’s the smartest person in our year and we don’t stand a chance without her, Malfoy,” growled Ron.

“And exactly how is that going to help us, Weasley?” asked Pansy. “This isn’t some dumb examination we’re sitting for. There are no answers in the back of the book,” she fumed, “No library to run to when we don’t know the answer. Hermione’s eyes narrowed to slits, her lips pursed, hands on hips she turned to face Pansy.

“So go off on your own then,” demanded Harry.

“Fine by me,” responded Draco. He reached down for the map. The station layout faded and was replaced by the smiling faces of Benvolio and Mercutio.

“What did you do to it?” yelled Ron. Draco’s expression slid from surprise to anger, disgust returned to his pointed features.

“Nothing Weasley.”

As the group gathered around the map the layout returned to view.

“Looks like we’re stuck with you,” drawled Malfoy looking straight at Harry. Harry felt the anger rise within him again, he felt his back stiffen. The last thing he wanted to do was help Malfoy.

Why couldn’t it have been Draco instead of Ernie, he thought bitterly.

The five walked on in silence. Things unseen skittered away or splashed through puddles as they approached. A cold wind blew through the station. Harry shivered. He glanced around at the walls. Here and there were the tattered and charred remains of the usual posters advertising holidays in France or Spain. Looking closer he observed that all the faces were those of Benvolio or Mercutio smiling up at him, mocking him. He consulted the map again. They were on the right path. The closer they came to their destination the more obvious the posters became.

“Hey!” called Ron suddenly, “Aren’t those the two gits who sent us here?” he asked pointing at a poster promoting the values of drinking milk.

“You just noticed that, Weasley?” sneered Malfoy.

Ron screwed up his face and rounded on Draco.

“Stop it!” demanded Hermione, “Whatever the next challenge is, it’s around this corner.”
Before any of them had the opportunity to argue they had rounded the corner and were staring face to face with what looked like a gigantic red snake. Its body was coiled loosely around an old fashioned steamer trunk. Red scales sparkled and gleamed in the half light. So polished were the scales they appeared to glow. Four small limbs stretched out, long white talons scratching the concrete. Pale silver eyes opened briefly then closed again. It yawned showing a huge maw of small, pointed teeth.

“What’s that?” asked Pansy in a small voice.

“What difference does it make?” responded Harry, “How are we going to get past it?”

“It makes a difference, Potter,” replied Draco, “because we don’t know how to fight it.”

Harry had had enough of Draco. Swearing, he rounded on him but Ron had him by the shoulders.

“No, no, Harry,” pleaded Hermione, “this time he’s right.” She pointed at the animal. “We need to know what kind of animal it is so we can use the correct spell.”

“Plan on hitting the library, Granger?” asked Pansy.

Hermione turned to answer but paused instead. She had no idea how to proceed and was a little afraid. Harry on the other hand started pushing up his sleeves.

“Stand back,” he announced. Pointing his wand directly at the animal he shouted,

“Impedimentia!”

The spell hit the animal squarely in the face. Instantly, Harry knew he had made a terrible mistake.

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Sleepy eyes opened wide and then narrowed, thin lips pulled back revealing a double row of sharp, gleaming teeth. Long strings of saliva drooled down its chin. Flexing its long talons it pulled up the concrete as if it were clumps of dirt. Harry looked with horrified fascination into the animals silvery eyes. A deep guttural growl rumbled in its chest. Harry stepped backwards and pressed up against a wall. He saw a poster out of the corner of his eye, a poster for laxatives. The face of Mercutio smiled benevolently down at him. The great salamander-like animal twisted its body again, cutting off Harry’s only means of escape. It crouched lower to the floor. Glancing to the side he saw the others looking on helplessly.

Why don’t they do anything? he screamed to himself.

The animal became quiet and still, only the tip of its long tail continued to twitch slightly. Harry froze, his eyes locked into the animal’s. Suddenly hunching its back, the great creature lunged towards him, its huge tail knocking a chunk out of a nearby column. Harry stared helplessly into its ever widening maw, his arms spread eagle against the wall. A mere few inches from his face the chain it was tethered with clanged loudly as the animal hit the end of it. Sprayed with its foul smelling spit, Harry closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of thanks for the chain. He hadn’t noticed it before casting the spell and he was certainly glad now that it was there.

“Nice going, Potter,” yelled Draco angrily, “Any more brilliant ideas?”

The animal quickly turned and was now tearing at the manacle on its back leg. Its huge tail continued knocking out chunks of concrete as its frustration mounted. Hissing loudly, it glared at Harry, the chain still in its mouth. Inching slowly away from the enraged animal Harry turned to face Draco. The animal continued grinding the chain between its teeth making an eerie crunching noise. Fear was pulsing through him. Fear, only to be replace by anger.

“I don’t see you coming up with any solutions!” Harry shouted back, “Any of you!
Everyone looked at their feet except Draco who continued to glare at him.

“Just exactly what did you want us to do Potter?” he hissed, “Get ourselves mangled along with you?”

“Maybe we should go back to the Lost and Found and see if there are any hints there?” offered Ron simply.

No one answered and Ron stared down at his feet. Harry felt frustrated with Ron again.

Why doesn’t he even try?, Harry thought, We need to fight this thing together. I thought all Gryffindor’s were supposed to be brave.

Harry stared at his best friend wondering what he ever saw in him. He was always dragging Ron through things, always being the brave one, the courageous one, the one who took all the chances. Ron was just another wannabe and he, Harry Potter, would be better off without him.

Stop it, he told himself angrily. This is what Voldemort is best known for, creating enmity between friends. Even Mercutio warned him of that. He and Ron had been best friends since their first day at Hogwarts. He’d seen Ron brave plenty of time, he just wished now were one of them. Harry looked down at his own feet and wondered. Maybe Ron wouldn’t have to be brave, he thought a little guiltily, if I were just a little more careful and used my head first; if I wasn’t always racing headfirst into dangerous situations. Looking up he asked,

“Well, what should we do?”

One of the animal’s eyes was fixed on them, the chain still in its mouth. The growls were lower and more menacing.

“We can’t use magic it, that much is for sure,” started Hermione. She paused. “Hagrid used music to calm that three-headed dog!” she suddenly exclaimed. “Maybe that’ll work.” Shrugging their shoulders, the others nodded. Hermione stepped up to the shimmering form. It pushed it long snout into the air and sniffed loudly, its long whiskers trembling.

“Well, what are you going to sing?” whispered Harry.

Pushing up her sleeves Hermione looked all at once confused.

“All I can remember are Christmas carols and the first verse to the Birthday song.”

Harry saw Ron’s eyes opened wide. “That’s supposed to calm it down?” he whispered.

“It’ll be alright,” Harry assured her.

Gingerly she stepped past him. Growling, the animal lowered its head, its eyes transfixed on Hermione.

“Frosty, the snowman, was a fairytale they say,” she crooned softly.

Whether the animal didn’t like Christmas carols in June or the sound of Hermione’s slightly off key voice, singing didn’t soothe it. It lunged at Hermione with even more force than it did Harry. The chain shuddered dangerously where it was bolted to the wall. Jumping back, Hermione looked around frantically. Draco and Pansy were inching backwards. Only Ron and Harry stood their ground.

“We’re going to have to kill it,” Harry announced firmly.

“With what, how?” replied Hermione’s frightened, little voice. Harry cast his eyes around the rubble. The floor was littered with plenty of splintered wood beams.

“With those!” Harry shouted. His eyes brightened behind his glasses. Springing forward he gripped one of the wooden stakes.

“Ferraverte!” he commanded brandishing the wood high over his head. A glistening sword sung through the air as his arm swished downward.

“Now we’ll put an end to this,” he said advancing on the animal. “Ron,” he called, “see if you an Hermione
can distract it.” He stared at Pansy and Draco. “Too afraid, Malfoy?” he growled.

“Not that stupid,” came the retort.

The animal was swishing its tail menacingly. The chain rattled loosely in the wall. Ron inched his way past the snapping jaws to get to the animal’s left while Hermione climbed over rubble to get to its right.

“Ugh!” Hermione yelled with disgust. Glancing up Harry saw her hands were covered with something green and slimy.

“Who put this here?” she said wiping the pungent slime onto her robes.

Harry could see she had put her hands into a bucket of what looked like chopped up fish heads. The animal snapped it jaws loudly and his attention was immediately turned back to it. He gripped the sword a little tighter.

“Come on, Hermione”, he called, “Let’s get this over with.”

Wiping the last of the slime on her robes Hermione clamored into position. She grabbed a few of the little rocks and started tossing them at the animal’s gleaming side. Ron took up her lead and heaving a few larger stones at the animal’s tail. Harry inched forward. Confused, the beast snapped alternately at Ron and then Hermione. It seemed to have forgotten Harry. Pulling the sword as close to him as possible Harry sidled down the wall towards Ron. The beast was lunging at Ron, great strings of drool falling from its jaws. It was ignoring Hermione. Ron’s timid throws appeared to madden it more than Hermione’s. The animal stretched forward spraying Ron with spit. Harry raised the sword over his head. The animal’s eyes were locked on Ron’s. Ron was pressed back against the wall paralyzed with fear. And Harry brought the sword down with all the strength he had; down through muscle and bone and sinew. The beast’s growl faded through echos. Its body slumped to the floor. The great tail ceased to move. Ron, Hermione, and Harry looked down at the lifeless animal. Ron gently kicked at it with his toe. Harry let out a sigh of relief.

“Good job mate,” breathed Ron. Harry looked up and smiled.

“Good job Ron,” he started. “Oh, and good job too Hermione,” he added quickly.

The three of them stepped over the animal toward the trunk.

“What is that awful smell?” asked Ron as they approached the trunk.

“Look out! Look out!” screamed Pansy.

Harry looked up first. The dead animal’s body was heaving up and down. Its shoulders bunched and then bulged. Something shot out of the gaping neck wound. With dawning horror Harry saw a new head appear, and then another. Twin pairs of angry silvery eyes were glaring at him; twin mouths full of razor sharp teeth opened wide.

“Harry,” he heard Hermione squeal, “it’s a Hydra.”

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Out of the corner of his eye, Harry watched as Ron sprinted behind him, narrowly avoiding a pair of snapping jaws. Hermione scrambled back over the rubble. Someone, it must have been Pansy, was screaming over and over. Draco was nowhere to be seen. Everything seemed far away. Only that terrible two-headed monster with its double growls seemed real. The heads bobbed in front of him, grinning and slobbering. Harry felt the weight of the sword in his hand. One of the heads bent low, teeth bared in a grin. Without pausing to think, Harry felt himself jump forward, felt his arm raise over his head again, and then the crashing downward blow. He watched in horrified fascination as yet another head rolled away only to be replaced by two more. Three pairs of pitiless, merciless eyes were glaring at him now. He swung wildly and another head crashed into a scowling poster of Benvolio. Five heads blinked back at him now. Someone grabbed his arm. Struggling he attempted to shake them off.

“Stop, Potter, stop,” shouted Draco from behind a column, “just how many heads do you want us to fight?”

Harry looked around. Hermione had a hold of his wrist.

“Harry,” she pleaded, “Stop what you’re doing. You’re making this worse.” There were tears in her eyes. Gently, Harry allowed himself to be led back. He watched the nightmarish beast with its five snarling faces. Why hadn’t he stopped after the first swing? Why hadn’t he waited until he had more information? Was this yet another time when he leapt before he looked and landed himself into trouble? Another time when he wanted to play the hero and garner the praise for himself? Another time when he had made things much worse than they should have been? He found himself looking guiltily into the faces of the others. He paused at Malfoy’s sneer.

“What?” he asked angrily.

Malfoy never blinked. “Perfect Potter,” he started, “Always the hero. Only now the hero has given us five times the trouble we should have.”

Harry felt that familiar surge of anger towards Malfoy.

“Maybe,” hissed Malfoy softly, stepping out from behind the column, “You could take a page out of the Dark Lord’s book.”

Anger, rage, grief overtook Harry. He felt Ron grab him around the shoulders. He watched as Pansy pulled Draco backwards, her eyes wide with fear.

“All I meant,” Malfoy snarled, struggling against Pansy, “is we do to that animal what the Dark Lord has done to us.” Harry looked around at the confused faces. Malfoy rolled his eyes briefly.

“Create distrust between allies,” he began simply.

Harry shook his head. He was looking at a single animal.

“What allies?” he asked, “there’s only …”

“Get the heads to fight each other,” Malfoy interrupted, “There is no way we can win against that thing. It’s too strong. The only thing we can do is get it to fight with itself and do the job for us.”

Harry paused. The thought of using one of Voldemort’s techniques was disgusting but it made a lot of sense. He refused to acknowledge the beauty and simplicity of the plan; refused to accept that for all the evil Voldemort was responsible for, he was in the end, brilliant.

“Okay, how?”

Malfoy gestured towards the fish heads. “Maybe it’s hungry.”

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The five of them stood looking down into the bucket. Harry felt his stomach rise as he stared into the quivering, green liquid. He couldn’t believe that he hadn’t noticed the smell before now. Looking up he caught Ron fighting down a wave of nausea. Pansy had both hands over her mouth and even Hermione was biting her lip. Malfoy, as usual, was wearing his ever present sneer.

“Well,” he asked, “who’s going to feed the beast?”

Harry watched as everyone shifted their feet and looked from face to face.

Not this time, he thought, This time I won’t take the lead.

“I think,” Pansy started weakly, “we all have to feed that thing.”

“I’m not putting my hand in that slime,” announced Malfoy with an air of finality.

“We all have to,” repeated Pansy more firmly. Harry felt her eyes bore into him. “That’s the key to all of this. We have to work together.” She was staring into each face; her eyes both desperate and pleading. “The cup, the map, none of this will work unless we work together.”

Harry noticed yet another poster of Benvolio and Mercutio over Pansy’s shoulder. Was it his imagination or did both of their expressions suddenly change to one of feigned surprise?

Stepping forward, Pansy pushed up her sleeve. Then, holding her breath, forced her hand into the bucket. Screwing up her face she grabbed something shapeless out of the bucket, slime dripped down her arm and onto her clothes. She threw the fish blindly at the hydra. It bounced a little out of the animal’s reach. All five heads stopped growling and sniffed questioningly at the fish. Hermione stepped forward next, scooping out a dripping mess and tossing it next to the one Pansy had thrown. Ron and Harry both plunged their hands into the bucket together.

“Sorry about that mate,” said Ron as he drenched the front of Harry’s shirt with the pungent liquid.

With each toss, the little pile of fish heads next to the hydra grew larger. Each head eyed it suspiciously. When Draco finally snatched a fish head out of the bucket and tossed it on the pile, one of the heads stuck out a long blue tongue and gently touched the pile. Licking its thin lips, it quickly devoured the pile with one greedy gulp. The other heads reacted furiously. They snapped at the one, it growled back. Quickly Harry and the others made another small pile of fish heads. This time a different head devoured the pile, further infuriating its brothers. Apparently, the hydra was very hungry and there was no bottom to its stomach. Before long the five heads were snapping and tearing at each other when so much as a crumb of fish came their way.

“All right,” started Harry, “someone’s going to have to get by that thing.”

Again, everyone shifted their feet and looked down.

“Come on, Ronald,” began Hermione, “You’re the only one who isn’t drenched with this stuff.”

Ron looked horrified. “Couldn’t someone else just clean up?”

“Already tried that, Weasley,” said Pansy matter-of-factly, “Apparently, the smell doesn’t come out.”

“Go on, Ron,” urged Harry, “We’ll keep it away. Trust me, er, trust us.” He added hastily.

“Yeah, Wesley,” shouted Draco, “if you get eaten, then one of us has to try. You’ll probably give the thing indigestion and then it’ll really be angry …” His voice was cut off abruptly. Green slime dripped down the back of his head. Pansy had hit him with a fish head.

“Just focus on what you’re doing,” she growled.

Draco’s eyes widened but he didn’t protest. Plunging his hands again into the slimy water he tossed his fish head with the others.

Ron was still nervous about approaching the hydra. Harry watched as he approached six times, and then six times he pulled back at the last minute. Harry could see he was losing whatever little nerve that he had. He was tripping more too, bumping into things, jumping at the least, littlest noise. Every time the hydra so much as licked its thin lips, Ron backpedaled to safety. He and Hermione encouraged him on, even Pansy, in her own way, assured him he was doing a great job. But it wasn’t until Draco stepped towards the hydra, both hands dripping with fish heads did Ron suddenly find his courage.

“Come on, Weasley,” Draco called resolutely, “we’re running out of fish.”

Harry watched as Draco tossed fistfuls of fish just out of the hydra’s reach. He, Hermione, and Pansy quickly followed suit. Just as the hydra went to grab the fish, Draco snatched the pile out of reach and tossed it into the waiting mouth of another one. The hydra was furious. It couldn’t decide if it was angrier with Draco or itself. Long red snouts bit and tore other long red snouts. Double rows of pointed teeth snapped at each other. Two heads viciously attacked a third only to betray each other when a fourth joined the fight. The fifth loomed outside; not participating directly in any attack, only further crippling any wounded or tired heads. While it fought and bickered with itself, Ron slipped up to the steamer trunk, pulled it open and grabbed the package inside.

“Got it!” he shouted excitedly, holding the package high over his head.

The hydra stopped as if stupified. Five pairs of eyes slowly turned to look at Ron. Swiveling its body it had Draco trapped. Slowly, it turned its attention back to Draco. It advanced towards him, menacingly, each head fanning out to prevent escape. Harry lobbed fish heads in the hydra’s direction, but they were ignored. Instead it focused completely on a terrified Malfoy. Time slowed down. Harry heard footsteps behind him, saw out of the corner of his eye someone pull out their wand, felt a jet of light slip by. It was Ron. He had performed the same Impedimentia jinx.

What’s he doing?, thought Harry wildly, That won’t stop it. It only makes it angry!

The force of the spell knocked the hydra slightly to the side. It turned towards its attacker, towards Ron. Draco momentarily forgotten, it redirected its attack, turning gracefully to where Ron should have been. But Ron was already sprinting for the hallway. Harry felt someone grab him from behind him and pull him backwards through the rubble. Tripping and stumbling, he and the others sprinting for the opening, the hydra in hot pursuit. The chain had pulled free from the wall. It advanced on them, five terrible heads filled with gleaming, needle sharp teeth. Its claws tore up big chunks of concrete. One swing of its tail fractured a column. Part of the ceiling started to crack and give way. They had reached the corner but there was still ample room for the hydra to follow. Pansy pointed her wand at the fractured ceiling, there was a rumble, and the roof collapsed leaving a furious hydra on one side. Harry could hear loud slurping in between its frustrated roars.

Harry stared into Ron’s startled face. Ron’s eyes were white with a mixture of terror and accomplishment. Something between a scream and a laugh was trapped in his throat. His entire body shook. Grabbing him by the shoulders Harry grinned at him. No words would come, but Ron grinned back.

“Way to go, mate,” was all he could squeak out.

Harry surveyed the room. Hermione was safe as was Pansy and Draco. Draco was propped up against the wall behind Pansy. His pale features were streaked with dirt. Fish slime dripped down onto his shirt. His eyes too were filled with an odd look of accomplishment. As though for the first time in his life he had ever been part of a team effort. Briefly their eyes locked and then Draco looked away.

“Good job everybody,” said Hermione weakly. No one responded. Harry looked up. He looked into each scared face.

Everyone sat for a long moment, lost in their own thoughts. When the sounds of the hydra finally died away to nothingness, Harry looked up.

“What’s in the package?” he asked.

Ron looked down at the cloth wrapped parcel in his hands. Slowly, he unwrapped it as if he thought it might be another hydra. He screwed up his eyes with concentration.

“Looks like an old picture frame,” he said at last handing the item to Harry. Gingerly, Harry took it. At first Harry thought it might be an old time framed tin photograph with its carved wooden frame and silvered backing, but looking closer he realized it was a mirror. A very distorted mirror but a mirror nonetheless.

“It’s a mirror,” Harry announced at last. Hermione looked over his shoulder. He could see her face, gray and distorted.

“What are we supposed to do with this?” she asked holding it up.

Ron looked puzzled. “It’s a mirror?” he asked.

Pansy and Draco sidled over. They both peered into the mirror. Silvered distorted faces peered back.

“Yeah, Weasley, it’s a mirror,” Draco replied. “What did you think it was?”

Ron looked more confused. “I was looking right at it,” he began, “and I couldn’t see anything.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “You probably weren’t looking at it right,” he said snatching the mirror out of Harry’s hands and holding it up. “See?” And everybody did see. Harry could see Draco, and Pansy and Hermione, but he couldn’t see Ron. Only the poster of Benvolio and Mercutio skiing the Alps was visible. Ron’s face started to take on a look of terror. Hermione grabbed his hand and squeezed it.

“Don’t worry Ron, you’re not going anywhere,” she said reassuringly.

Harry was staring at the mirror intently. He could see Hermione, he could see the poster, but he couldn’t see Ron. He tried moving the mirror back and forth, trying to catch Ron’s image. His focus narrowed to the tiny world of the wood framed mirror and its distorted, silvered images. Finally, he caught a glimpse of Ron in the mirror holding a terrified Hermione’s hand. Shouting, he turned around to reassure them only to see that Hermione was completely alone

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** And remember, it ain't over, 'til it's over **

Nothing registered in Harry’s brain. He couldn’t think. He felt himself gasping for air but not breathing. He was suffocating. The poster Ron had been standing in front of was directly before him. For the briefest of moments Harry imagined he saw Ron’s image. No, he convinced himself, Ron was in the picture. Like all wizarding pictures the subjects were moving and Ron was moving in there somewhere. Harry stared into the swirling, drifting snow yet Ron was nowhere to be seen. His fingers dug into the crumbling wall. Faraway, he could hear someone yelling; a distant voice shouting over and over again. Was it Pansy?

Shut her up, he thought madly. Shut her up, I have to find Ron.

It was not until Hermione touched his arm did he realize that it was his own voice.

“Harry,” Hermione nudged gently, “Harry, stop.”

Harry turned and looked uncomprehendingly at her. Why didn’t she understand, why wasn’t she doing anything? Ron was right there. They couldn’t leave him. He couldn’t leave him. He tightened his grip on the poster. Hermione tugged at his hands again. They were bleeding where he had clawed into the concrete wall.

“Oh Harry,” Hermione started tearfully, “he’s…”

Harry stiffened his jaw and shook his head defiantly.

“Don’t say it Hermione, don’t,” he demanded. He stared at Draco and Pansy, daring them to say anything about Ron. Draco had his arm locked around Pansy; his fingers biting into her shoulder. Pansy’s eyes were red and she was breathing fast. She was looking past him and directly at the poster. Tears were beginning to stream down her face.

“Why, Hermione, why?” Harry demanded. “Ron did everything he was supposed to do. He got the past the hydra, he got the mirror, why is he …” The question hung in the air unfinished, as if saying the word out loud would make it so. Tears streamed down Hermione’s face as she shook her head. Harry looked down at the little mirror he had hastily shoved in pocket. He felt the wooden frame flex as his fingers tightened on it.

“Potter, stop,” demanded Draco.

Harry looked up angrily. Who was Malfoy to give him orders? Malfoy had tried to kill Dumbledore, he had nearly killed Katie, and his father was a Death Eater. Draco’s pale eyes bore into him.

“Why should I?” Harry growled back, gripping the mirror tighter.

“Because if you don’t, none of us gets out of here,” snarled Draco.

“What if I don’t care?” Harry retorted.

“Harry, don’t say that,” pleaded Hermione. “You know you care, you know that you …” Her voice trailed off.

“I know that I’m the only one who can destroy Voldemort? Is that what you mean?” he shot back. The three of them flinched at the name. Draco looked positively ill.

“So what will your master do when he finds you Malfoy? What will he do when he finds out you failed and Snape had to, had to …” Harry’s voice trailed off in a strangled choke.

Draco was breathing hard. His eyes never left Harry’s. His jaw tightened.

“The Dark Lord has what he wanted,” he replied simply.

“No thanks to you, Malfoy,” Harry snarled.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” breathed Draco turning away. “You don’t know the powers he has or what he is capable of. Those two blokes, Mercutio and the other one –“

“Benvolio,” Pansy offered.

“Yeah, Benvolio, ah, who cares what his name is? You heard what they said about You-Know-Who. He has phenomenal powers; things beyond your reasoning. Believe me, they are. He knows everything, you can’t hide anything from him. When he speaks to you he has an answer for every argument. He expects you to obey him completely.”

“But Benvolio and Mercutio have kept this from him. They are disobeying him,” Pansy spoke up. They all looked at her. “Benvolio said right from the start that the reason we were all here was pity for a lost cause. If those two can deceive You-Know-Who than we have a chance.” She looked at the other, confidence starting to creep into the corners of her terrified voice. She took a deep breath.

“Bringing each of us here was serious dark magic,” she stated looking each of them in the face. Harry felt the intensity of her words. “And yet You-Know-Who doesn’t know we’re here. Here at least you are safe from the Dark Lord’s judgment and wrath, that’s what Benvolio said.”

“And I suppose those two always tell the truth?” replied Hermione sarcastically.

Pansy rolled her eyes back towards Hermione.

“They could have handed Draco and Harry directly to You-Know-Who himself straightaway.”

“Maybe this is just their twisted fun before doing that anyway,” Hermione shot back.

“You-Know-Who doesn’t play games,” responded Draco, his voice hollow. “This would not please him; and you never want to make him displeased with you.” Draco gulped and looked down. “Ever.”

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Looking up at his enemy, Harry felt a pounding in his ears as his chest tightened. His hands balled into fists.

You got yourself into that mess all by yourself, Harry thought viciously. It’s not like anyone dragged you into it.

Harry gritted his teeth. Little voices of doubt began creeping into his mind. No, he thought determinedly, Malfoy chose this path willingly, even eagerly. He would not feel sorry for Malfoy, not now, not when Ron was gone. The Malfoy’s were evil, despicable people, he told himself. Malfoy’s father was right in Voldemort’s inner circle, a Death Eater. He had given Ginny that diary that almost got her killed. He was there that night Voldemort returned and laughed when Voldemort tortured him. And he was there in the Ministry when Sirius died. Now Voldemort demanded that Draco make amends for his father’s failures. Harry bit his lip hard trying to convince himself that Malfoy really did have an alternative. That he could have said no to the most powerful dark wizard of all time. Or he could have simply run away and hidden with his mother, allowing his father to face the consequences. It should be easy to turn your back on someone so evil, he figured, even it was your own father. Harry was embarrassed by his own harshness. Now it was his turn not to meet Draco’s eyes.

“So, what are we supposed to do with the mirror?” asked Hermione, breaking the stony silence.

Draco was eyeing the mirror in Harry’s hand suspiciously. Glancing down quickly at it, Harry looked away. He didn’t want to see Ron’s frightened face in it, nor did he want to see his own. He listened to Hermione’s cautious footsteps drawing nearer. Hunching his shoulders, Harry wrapped his arms around the mirror. He didn’t want to talk to Hermione and he wasn’t letting go of the mirror. Hermione paused. Then, laying a gentle hand on his arm, she took hold of the mirror. Harry resisted, as if holding onto it was the same as holding onto Ron.

“It’s okay, Harry,” she whispered. “Ron would want us to go on.” Harry felt his eyes stinging. His lower lip trembled a little. Breathing in sharply to keep from losing control, he turned away from her.

He felt another gentle tug on the mirror. Without looking up he loosened his grip. Lowering his head, he allowed her to slip it from his fingers.

“Okay, Hermione,” he breathed to the floor.

Out of the corner of his eye he watched as she began examining it minutely, Pansy looking over her shoulder.

“Let’s check the map again,” ventured Pansy, her voice so low Harry barely heard it.

Harry heard the rustling of the map and he turned away to look at the crumbling station again. The walls here were covered with more posters of the ever present, ever smiling Mercutio and Benvolio. He could hear the faraway drip, drip, drip of water echoing in the stillness. Looking into the mocking eyes of the two wizards, he felt hatred rising once more inside of him. He stopped thinking about how they were going to get out of this weird reality and started focusing on how he would avenge Ron.

“Well,” Hermione started a little too briskly, jostling Harry out of his reverie, “there are six little red snakes on the map. Those must be where the clues are.”

“One for each contestant,” Draco added hollowly.

Hermione and Pansy looked at him, fear starting to creep back in their faces.

“I don’t think that’s right,” stammered Pansy. Harry looked up. Everyone was staring at him.

“I’m okay,” he said tonelessly. “Really, let’s go.” Taking several shaky steps, he motioned to the other to get moving.

Hermione eyed him suspiciously. Then, tucking the mirror under her arm, she led the others through the station to the location of the first clue. Harry followed mutely behind them. Oblivious to his surroundings, Harry’s thoughts turned to darker and more sinister methods of avenging his best friend. He was only vaguely aware when he passed the boarded up, or burned out remains of a shop.

“Let’s check out the gift shop,” he heard Pansy ask. Jolted out his dark thoughts Harry looked up. He‘d been imagining he could hear Benvolio’s and Mercutio’s pleas for forgiveness as he defeated them. He would never forgive them, never. Pansy stood in front of the gift shop, her fingers pressed to the glass window, examining several rows of little figurines.

“No,” Hermione replied sharply, It’s not on the map.” Pansy looked disappointed and the footsteps continued. Harry let his thoughts wander back to revenge.

Hearing the footfalls stop again Harry looked up. Disappointed, he realized they had reached the location of the first clue. An impossibly long, graffitied expanse of wall spread out before them. Hundreds of posters with the mocking faces of Benvolio and Mercutio gazed down at them.

“I don’t get it,” said Hermione examining the first few posters. “They’re all exactly the same. Where’s the clue?” The posters stared at her insolently.

“Let’s go to another site,” suggested Pansy, “Maybe we’ll get a clue from that.”

Back down the long hallway the four of them trudged, their footsteps echoing loudly. Harry focused on the feet in front of him. Over and over in his mind he replayed his final confrontation with Benvolio and Mercutio.

Arriving at the next site, they found the walls cracked and burned, the posters charred and peeling. It was barely possible to make out the images through all the graffiti. But they were the same posters, the same cheeky faces.

“Those two really are stuck on themselves,” sneered Draco.

Back and forth the little group tramped through the station, staring at the posters in the remaining four locations. The only thing that appeared similar in each location were the faces of Benvolio and Mercutio. Rounding the same corner for the twentieth time, Draco stopped suddenly.

“I’ve had enough,” he announced, throwing himself down onto one of the benches. “This is stupid, we’ll never figure it out.”

Harry and the others looked down at him. Harry had been feeling the same way for the better part of an hour. He hated this hopeless, helpless feeling. He didn’t even have any idea where to begin. And he hated having to rely on anyone else. He wanted to do something.

“Why can’t we just give up?” Draco asked.

Hermione looked incredulous. “Because we can’t,” she responded, “There is no other way.”

“It’s a shame we can’t cheat,” offered Pansy. Hermione shot her a superior look.

“You’ll only cheat yourself if you do,” she insisted.

“Who cares? We’d get out of here,” Pansy shot back. Hermione looked as if she wanted to say it was the principle that was important here, but Draco cut her off

“Well, why can’t they at least turn that awful music off? What are they trying to do, drive us insane as well?” he interrupted.

Harry looked at the others quizzically. So intense were his thoughts he hadn’t really noticed before, but there was music playing. Just when it started, he wasn’t sure, but he was sure that it wasn’t there all along.

“It’s not awful, Draco, it’s Sounds of Silence, by Simon and Garfunkel,” replied Pansy. “I kind of like it.”

“Muggle music? You listen to Muggle music?” he criticized.


Pansy looked down and bit her lip. “Music crosses all boundaries,” she replied softly.

“Well it’s annoying,” he announced loudly, pointing his wand at the nearest loudspeaker. A brilliant red shower of sparks and the loudspeaker evaporated into dust. It did nothing to change the quality or volume of the sound.

“That could have been a clue, Malfoy!” Hermione shouted angrily.

“Oh, get over it Granger,” he intoned, “They’re just playing that awful noise to annoy us.”

“You don’t know that,” she persisted, shaking the mirror at him, “we have no idea what we’re dealing with here and we can’t have you …”

But Harry wasn’t listening anymore to what Hermione thought Malfoy shouldn’t be doing. He was watching the reflection in the mirror.

“Hermione, look!” he called excitedly, “Look at the mirror!”

Hermione stopped in mid-lecture and looked at the mirror. A wild happiness spread over her face. Malfoy looked visibly relieved that he was no longer on the receiving end of her wrath.

“It’s reverse reading!” she called happily. “Da Vinci did this all the time. The clues are written in reverse on the posters in some kind of rune.”

Harry didn’t think that this was necessarily a good thing. Except for Hermione, none of them could read runes, and he was fairly certain that they needed a dictionary or codex of some sort to translate.

“How are you going to translate that?” asked Pansy as if reading his mind.

“Oh,” started Hermione a little airily, “it looks like an ancient Sanskrit with a Greek influence. I’ll be able to get through it okay.”

Rushing back to the other sites, the four of them copied down the runes and Hermione got to work.

“Say, can’t I just look at what’s in the gift shop?” whined Pansy. “I mean, it’s not like I’m doing anything.”

“No,” Hermione said firmly. “It’s not on the list. And,” she reminded them, “we have to stick together.”

The three stood silently by as the tinny sounds of the loudspeaker played the same song endlessly. Even Pansy appeared to be annoyed. Finally Harry couldn’t stand the waiting any longer.

“So,” ventured Harry, “How’s it going?”

“I’m trying,” Hermione snapped back, “It’s not like I have the codex you know.”

“Well, you’ve been working on it for more than an hour Granger,” said Draco.

Hermione looked up angrily. “If you’d like to try,” she started.

“Have you got anything?” interrupted Pansy.

Still staring angrily at Draco, Hermione glanced down at her paper, crestfallen. “Give up,” she answered simply.

“I thought you already said we can’t do that,” Pansy replied.

“No, no, that’s all I’ve been able to translate, Give Up,” Hermione asserted.

Pansy, Hermione, and Harry exchanged worried glances. What were they to do now?

“I really hate that song,” growled Draco. “Over and over again, what are those two trying to do to us, drive us mad?”

“Hang on,” began Harry. “Maybe the song is a clue. Pansy you said you know it.”

Pansy looked up, shocked. “Yeah, ah, it’s an old Simon and Garfunkel song …”

“We know that part,” drawled Malfoy. “What are the lyrics?”

Pansy screwed up her face, her eyes darted back and forth if trying to remember something long ago.

“It began, ‘Hello darkness, my old friend, I’ve come to talk with you again,’” she started.

“This isn’t helping,” Hermione intoned, “they wouldn’t be using a Muggle song.” Pansy shot her an irritated look.

“No, wait a minute,” interrupted Harry, “go on.” So Pansy continued finally ending with, “And the sign said, the words of the prophets are written on the subway walls and tenement halls. And whispered in the sounds of silence.”

“It’s just like those two to think of themselves as prophets,” whined Draco as Hermione continued to scowl. Her arms tightly crossed over her chest. But Harry suddenly felt a little more confident as understanding crept over Pansy’s face.”

“It’s the graffiti!” they cried together grasping each other’s hands. Turning they faced the glowering Draco and Hermione.

“It’s not the posters, Hermione, it’s the graffiti. That’s why you couldn’t translate them,” Harry cried excitedly.

“That’s why all you could translate was, ‘give up’,” added Pansy. “The posters are a red herring, it’s really the graffiti that contain the clues.”

“Totally mental,” mumbled Draco.

Hermione’s eyes narrowed a little at Pansy’s pronouncement. Harry could see Hermione didn’t like being bested and certainly not by Pansy.

“Come on, Hermione,” he begged, grabbing her free hand and pulling her down the hallway. “It’s back to the clues!”

Back they went to each of the six sites. Holding up the mirror to the graffiti, five letters shone out clearly. I-F-T-S-H at the first, E-K-E-Y-A at the second, then G-I-T-S-., O-P-Y-O-U, T-T-H-E-G, and finally B-U-Y-T-H.

“Hang on Harry,” Hermione said at last. “This could be ancient Phoenician, I think I’ve seen something like this before.”

“Ah, Hermione,” Harry ventured, “these guys aren’t exactly Ravenclaws. Do you really think they would make it that tough?” She looked at him quizzically.

“Just try rearranging the letters,” he offered.

Stung once again by being bested, Hermione complied and came up with:

BUYTHEKEYATTHEGIFTSHOPYOUGITS.

“The key Harry, the key, we’re to buy it at the gift shop!” Pansy calls excitedly before Hermione can speak. “Hey, we could have done that without the clues. We could have …”

“Cheated?” Draco finished for her.

“Sort of a rude message,” said Hermione.

“Don’t like being bested by a Slytherin, eh Granger?,” sneered Draco.

This time both Pansy and Hermione shot Draco an ugly look.

“It’s not like you bested anyone, Draco,” Pansy flung back.

“Well, at least they’ve turned that awful music off,” griped Draco. They all looked up. The distant sounds of water dripping replaced the tinny music. Hermione slumped back against the wall, her hand to her head.

“What is it Hermione?” asked Harry.

“Just a little light-headed, that’s all,” she confessed. “I must be getting hungry.”

Shaking his head, he grabbed both her hands.

“No, Hermione, I’m not letting you go,” he argued when she began to protest. Pansy stepped over as well and putting a hand on her arm looked her in the face.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

Draco screwed up his face and chewed on his lip. Harry saw Pansy give him a pleading look. With great reluctance he sauntered over. Placing both hands on Hermione’s shoulders he grasped tightly.

“You’re not leaving until the game’s over Granger,” he said at last.

Hermione smiled shyly up at Harry.

“I think I feel better,” she confessed. But Harry wasn’t so sure. Her hands felt slippery in his grasp. The edges of her appearance became a little blurred.

“Hang on Hermione,” he pleaded, “Hang on.” But even as he stood there, her appearance became more mist, more translucent. Hermione squeezed her hands as tightly as she could, her eyes opening in fear.

“Oh, Harry,” she whispered, “I’m afraid.” Draco slid one arm around her shoulder and whispered something in her ear. Harry was holding as tightly as he could, staring straight into her eyes.

“Good-bye Harry,” she breathed. Fading from their grasp, her voice echoed into the stillness. The three of them were left grasping at empty air.

Please put feedback for The Game here. Thanks for reading!
** And remember, it ain't over, 'til it's over **

Harry turned round slowly, half expecting to find Hermione hidden behind Draco or maybe one of the fractured columns. His eyes frantically searched for her down the corridors, his ears strained for any sound. Did he just here her footstep, her voice? Rubbing his face with both hands he tried to clear his thoughts. He felt unusually confused, as if someone had suddenly woken him from a deep sleep. Draco and Pansy were staring at him, confusion clouding their expressions.

“She was right in my hands,” he offered slowly. “I had her right in my hands.”

Pansy turned her hands over slowly as if expecting to find Hermione hidden beneath her palms. Draco stood dumbfounded, staring straight ahead.

Whipping his head around, Harry stared at the ever present faces of Benvolio and Mercutio lining the hallways. What was he expecting, to see Hermione being dragged through the posters?

Harry heard Pansy’s voice but all he could do was shake his head. He couldn’t even hear what she asked. It sounded like buzzing. More buzzing and he shook his head more furiously. The buzzing increased. Waving his hand in front of his face he attempted to stop it, to squash whatever annoying insect was pestering him now. Fingers closed around his flailing hand. Looking up angrily, Harry glared into Malfoy’s pale eyes.

“We have to keep going,” he demanded.

Going, Harry mused, going where?

Draco’s eyes looked frightened and helpless. He glanced between Pansy and Harry and finally settled on Harry.

“Potter,” he growled, “snap out of it.” Harry felt someone grab his shoulders and roughly shake him. The hands felt soft and smooth, but much stronger than Pansy’s.

“Why her?” Harry implored, “She did the best she could.”

“Yeah, well who understands those two, that Mercury and the other one,” began Draco.

“Mercutio and Benvolio,” Pansy corrected.

“Like anyone cares,” cried Draco, “It’s not like we have to send them Christmas cards!” He looked at Pansy and Harry a little desperately.

“All I want to do is get out of here. These guys don’t play fair so we’ve got to hurry. Standing around isn’t going to solve anything. We have to go to the gift shop and buy that key.”

“We have to find Hermione and the others,” said Harry flatly.

“Find them?” cried Draco, “find them where? In the mists, hidden in posters, transfigured into bricks? Potter they’re gone. You have to get over that. We have to think about ourselves now.”

“We can try,” Harry replied more firmly, determination creeping into his voice.

“No, we don’t,” countered Draco, “We have to think about ourselves first.”

“Okay,” announced Harry, “Then go without me.”

“Potter, you know that won’t work,” said Pansy. “The way this whole screwy world works is we have to work together. It won’t let you work by yourself.” She looked determined.

“I can’t leave them,” Harry intoned.

“Somehow, Potter,” Draco said thoughtfully, “I don’t think you are.”

Harry didn’t understand Draco’s comment but decided not to ask him again. Following silently he allowed Draco and Pansy to guide him back to the gift shop. Outside the shop they all consulted the map again. One small red snake glowed over the shop. Pushing the door open, Draco entered the shop. Harry sighed and followed him and Pansy inside.

Although fairly well lit, Harry couldn’t see the back of the shop, the sides seemed impossibly far away. Every square inch of the place was crammed with junk. Everything anyone could possibly ever want had to be in there. Shelves lining the twenty-five foot walls were crammed with every item imaginable. Walking down the aisles, Harry saw boxes upon boxes of old fashioned toys, things he hadn’t thought of in years, toys that he’d wanted as a child. Pansy disappeared behind one of the glass counters while Draco began examining something in one of the display cases.

Lifting one of the lids carefully, Harry examined one of the toys. It was a brand new set of little metal sports cars. He ran a finger over each one carefully so as not to mar the paint. Each of his favorites was there. In fact, all of his favorites were there in all of his favorite colors. His hands tightened around the box. He’d wanted a collection like this since as long as he could remember. Quickly, his hand felt deep into his pocket for money. He had two galleons left. Surely they couldn’t cost more than that. Nervously, he turned the box on its side to find the price. There was none. Looking up, his eyes searched for the shopkeeper.

Hidden amongst the piles and boxes stood a stout woman. Her grey hair was pulled back unattractively giving her a severe, hawkish appearance. Harry gulped. Meeting his eyes she smiled slightly.

“Found what you’re looking for dearie?” she asked politely, but Harry could hear a slight mocking tone in her voice.

“Yeah,” he heard himself answer. He held out the box for her. Pulling a pair of spectacles up to her nose she attempted to read the box.

“One galleon, six sickles,” she announced at last. Harry felt relieved. He had enough. Slowly he held out the money. Before the woman could take the two galleons from him, Draco’s hand roughly closed over his.

“We’re just looking,” he interrupted. The grey haired woman looked nonplussed.

Harry turned to face Draco angrily.

“What is your problem?” he snapped. “I wanted that.”

“No you don’t,” repeated Draco dragging him by the arm. Harry gripped the box a little tighter but Draco snatched it away from him and tossed it into the window display. “This isn’t what you came in here for, remember?”

Remember, thought Harry, remember what?

Dragging Harry roughly through the gift shop Draco headed for the door.

“Stay outside,” he warned before disappearing back into the shop.

Harry pressed his nose against the glass and looked at the display. There sat the box of little cars, but they weren’t quite so impressive now. They looked a little too childish for him. Hearing the door open again Harry looked up. Draco had a frustrated and angry Pansy in tow. She was swearing loudly as he attempted to pull her from the shop.

“Potter, a little help here,” begged Draco.

Harry grabbed both wildly flailing hands and helped pull Pansy from the shop. She screamed and swore at both of them.

“It only cost three galleons!” she shouted. “And I have that, it’s my own money, it’s not hurting either of you too.”

“Don’t you recognize what sort of place this is?” said Draco.

Pansy’s ranting stopped in mid-sentence. Furiously she glared from Draco to Harry, her face expanding like a red balloon. Quickly stepping back from her glower, Harry shrugged and shook his head. He looked towards Draco, trying desperately not to look at the enraged Pansy.

“It’s just a gift shop,” she spit out.

“No,” trembled Draco, “it isn’t.” Harry watched a slow rearrangement of Draco’s features. His self assured arrogance melted into fear; guilt creeping into his eyes. Wringing his hands nervously, he kept throwing anxious little glances over his shoulder as though afraid someone might be listening. Harry felt impatient with Draco. What was he waiting for, why couldn’t he just spit it out and tell them? Pansy leaned forward, her hands clenched as tightly as her jaw.

“So what is it, Malfoy?”

Draco turned frightened eyes from Harry to Pansy. “It’s a Piscatori Web,” he choked out. Exchanging confused looks with Pansy, Harry looked back at Draco. He was chewing on his lip, his hands viciously knotting the edges of his shirt.

“It’s a trap,” he trembled, “a kind of dark enchantment.”

Harry’s first thought was of Hermione. She would have heard of this Piscatori thing and known how to deal with it. Automatically he glanced up to find her, her name on his lips. Eyes burning, he bit back his words and remembered. Hermione was gone.

“I’ve never heard of them,” he choked instead. “No one’s ever mentioned it in school.”

“Potter, this is serious dark magic,” shuddered Draco. “They’re not going to teach us about stuff like this. I doubt if anyone at Hogwarts would even mention the subject. No respectable wizard even mentions them. No decent wizard would ever use one. There’s probably nothing about them in the library either.” Harry heard Pansy sniff back a sob. Draco looked up at her and then down again, his face guilty. “Sorry.”

“So how do you know so much about these things if they’re a banned subject?”

Draco stared hard into Harry’s face, his expression grim. “I heard my father discussing it with someone from the Ministry not too long ago. There’s a rather nasty story about the Dark Lord and one of these webs.” He shivered slightly.

“Well, what’s a Piscatori Web then?”

“It’s an enchantment dark wizards use to protect their property.”

“It seems like just the opposite. There were tons of things in there I wanted. I’d go back in a second.”

“Me too,” agreed Pansy, “but with more money this time.” Her eyes looked greedy. Draco looked at them, aggravation stealing across his face.

“That’s how it works,” croaked Draco. “Everything you think you could possibly want is in there. It makes you want to be there. At least while you’re in there.” Harry thought quickly back to the little cars. He didn’t want them nearly as much now as he did when he was in the shop. In fact, the thought of carrying them around now was a little embarrassing. They were something that little kids would play with. But there were tons of other things he’d like to have a look at again. He could spend a lifetime in there just looking. He shuddered at the thought. Could a spell really be that powerful? Looking back at Malfoy he wondered. How are we going to get through this? Draco was rubbing his face.

“If you buy something, if you take anything, the spell is completed. You never make it out of the shop.” Lowering his voice so it was barely audible, Draco lowered his eyes again. “And I’ll bet we all saw someone different as the shopkeeper.”

Pansy looked at Draco with disbelieving eyes. She turned to face Harry who merely lifted his shoulders. How could they have seen different people?

“The shopkeeper was sort of a stout, older woman with graying hair,” Harry offered.

“No,” Pansy corrected, “she wasn’t that old, but she was rail thin, with metal spectacles.”

Draco shook his head again. “I saw someone who looked a lot like my father. That’s how I knew this was a trap.” Pansy traded another confused look with Harry.

“Why would we all see someone different?”

“You see an authority figure, someone you can’t tell no.”

“Well, how are we supposed to get the key then?” interjected Pansy.

“If we can find it, we’ll be able to buy the right key. There’s usually one thing in these webs that you’re allowed to take. Everything else is off limits, usually.” He sounded skeptical. “The really nasty sorcerers just make a trap you can’t get out of.” Looking up, Draco’s eyes were very round. “Where do you think Inferi come from?” he whispered. Instantly, Harry’s mind returned to the cave, to the horrors that slept in that unnatural lake. Anger stirred in him again; Voldemort was behind this after all.

“You mean,” squeaked Pansy, interrupting his thoughts, “this all might be for nothing. That there might be no key at all?”

“It’s possible.”

“No, it’s not,” Harry countered shaking off his visions. “The last clue was ‘Buy the key at the gift shop.’ So it must be in there.” Harry looked hard at Draco. “I sure hope you’re right about Voldemort not playing games.” Draco didn’t answer. There was a long tense moment between the three of them. “So how are we supposed to get the key out? We don’t know what it looks like and everything in there is set to tempt us.”

Draco looked up, surprise registering on his face. “Potter, I thought you were supposed to be good at Defense against the Dark Arts. Isn’t it obvious?” the familiar mockery returning to his voice. “It’s just like with boggarts, we have to stick together.” He eyed them both.

“But we were together,” Pansy pointed out, “unless …” She glanced from Draco to Harry back to Draco and then back down to her hands.

“Oh, no,” began Harry, throwing up his hands, understanding beginning to dawn on him. No way was he going to do this.

“Forget that,” spat Draco shoving both hands in his pocket.

“You two idiots,” snarled Pansy. “Just get over it.” She eyed them both contemptuously. Harry took a step back and crossed his hands tightly over his chest. He looked at Draco who glared back at him. Reaching forward, Pansy seized Draco’s hand. Dragging him forward she marched towards Harry. He thought they looked like some weird imitation of Benvolio and Mercutio. “Honestly,” she griped, grabbing Harry’s wrist. The three of them stood there for a moment hand in hand. Harry felt his heart pounding a little more than usual, being this close to Malfoy, nearly touching him made him uneasy. Glancing down at Pansy, Harry shot an irritated look at Draco. He was looking at his feet again while Pansy fidgeted. Taking a deep breath Harry straightened up. He wasn’t frightened and he wasn’t afraid to lead. The time for action was now. There was no more going back. No more dwelling in the past. Pulling Pansy he pulled them towards the door. He heard two pairs of footsteps following and then the door close behind them.

The same high walls were there, the same infinite room filled with endless piles of stuff. Boxes rose like leafless trees to surround them. It was the same room, but not quite the same. The same toys beckoned to Harry, but they didn’t have quite the same attraction as long as Pansy and Draco were near him. Draco was running his free hand lovingly over an antique wand.

“Just the key,” instructed Harry.

“Back so soon dearies?” inquired an unfamiliar voice. Turning, Harry caught sight of the shopkeeper. She seemed much taller and thinner than he remembered. Pansy had been right, she was wearing spectacles. But her graying hair was pulled straight back giving her face the same rather severe look he recalled. It was a look that reminded him instantly of Lucius Malfoy. The three of them traded nervous glances.

“I have something right here that might interest you dear,” entreated the shopkeeper indicating Pansy. Pansy tightened her hand in Harry’s. The shopkeeper’s eyes opened in surprise.

“Please ma’am,” Harry began. “We’re looking to buy a key.” The old woman’s eyes narrowed, the smile fading from her lips.

“A key,” she repeated. “This isn’t some ironmonger’s shop you understand,” she added a little more coldly.

“Yes ma’am,” apologized Harry, “but this isn’t an ordinary key.”

“It’s an antique key,” interrupted Pansy.

“That’s right,” interjected Draco, “an antique key with a snake on it.”

“What’s with the snake?” whispered Harry.

“There’s a snake on all this stuff,” responded Draco. Pursing her lips until her eyes were mere slits, the shopkeeper stared at them.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have this?” she asked holding out a box to Harry. Harry gulped, his thoughts getting slushy. Looking down at the box he started reconsidering. Feeling Pansy squeeze his hand he looked down.

“No ma’am, but thank you just the same,” he offered in a shaky voice. “We really have our hearts set on that key.” He tried to keep his tone low but insistent. Gripping Pansy’s hand a little tighter he focused all his attention on the shopkeeper, avoiding all the things he was dying to look at.

“I see. Well, then I might have just what you’re looking for,” she sniffed. Turning, she disappeared down one long, tottering aisle only to be back a few moments later carrying an enormous box. Harry groaned inwardly. How many keys where there? Carefully, the woman set the box on the counter and the three peered in. Three antique keys nestled in the velvet lined box.

“How do we know which one?” whispered Pansy.

“Maybe it’s the price,” answered Draco.

“All the keys are the same price,” interrupted the shopkeeper. “Ten galleons.” Harry looked quickly at Draco who shook his head.

“I only have four galleons,” he confessed.

“We’ll give you nine galleons for it,” offered Pansy abruptly. From mere slits, the shopkeeper’s eyes appeared to pop.

“I am not some common street vendor,” the woman remarked indignantly. “Ten galleons or take your business elsewhere.”

Retreating a few steps the three of them huddled together, their heads nearly touching. Harry peered into their frustrated eyes.

“What are we going to do?” complained Pansy. “We’ve only got nine galleons.”

“Maybe she would take something in trade?”

“Worth a try, but what are we going to …” Harry never got a chance to finish his sentence.

“See here my good woman,” Draco pontificated. “How about nine galleons and this young lady’s necklace?” Pansy glared at him.

“My necklace?” she mouthed angrily, her brows knitting into one dark line.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Draco snarled from the side of his mouth.

The shopkeeper bent low to peer through her spectacles at Pansy’s necklace. One long fingernail scraped against Pansy’s neck and cringing, Pansy turned her head.

“Tacky, costume jewelry,” the woman announced at last flipping the necklace back.

“What?” roared Pansy, “I’ll have you know that this is the finest Elf made silver ...” Draco jerked her arm as the woman gave her a condescending smile.

“If I want to sell junk,” she sniggered, “I’ll open a shop in the street.”

“Junk?” bellowed Pansy, her voice going up two octaves.

“We’ll just be going now,” Draco apologized, dragging the fuming Pansy. “Potter, a little help here, please.”

Grabbing Pansy by both arms, Harry and Draco successfully dragged her out of the shop a second time.

“That miserable, old cow!” shrieked Pansy. “Tacky costume jewelry, my eye. What does she know?” Pansy’s eyes suddenly met Harry’s. He realized he was still holding her hand. Her eyes opening still wider, Harry thought they might pop out of her head. “Let go of me,” she snarled. Eager to be away from her stare, Harry dropped her hand. She then rounded on Draco, who stumbling, jumped back. Harry became aware of the steady drip, drip in the quiet of the station.

“How are we supposed to get that key if we don’t have the money?” she whined to the floor.

“I don’t get it,” Harry began. “The only way we can avoid the enchantment is by sticking together. Well, we did that. So how come we can’t get they key? And how are we supposed to get more money? It’s not like we can get a job or anything.”

“It’s not like we have any leprechaun gold on us.”

“It’s not like any of us have any talent,” finished Pansy.

Harry and Draco looked at her questioningly. “What?” they asked in unison.

“It’s not like any of us have any talent,” she repeated pointing at a poster. “If we did, we could try out in that talent show.” Harry and Draco looked at the poster. Loud and garish colors advertised a talent show at a nearby pub. One gold galleon for anything that pleases the crowd it advertised. Harry didn’t remember seeing the poster before although looking at it now, he was surprised that he missed it. It was the only one that didn’t have the faces of the ever present Benvolio and Mercutio.

“Seems awfully convenient, this talent show.”

“There seem to be a lot of these little conveniences.”

“Of course, we haven’t seen the audience yet,” worried Pansy.

**Author's note: Piscatori is from the Latin Piscatorius and refers to the species of angler fish that attracts its prey by dangling a glowing appendage in front of it overlarge mouth. Rows of sharp pointed teeth angle backwards to allow the prey easy entry but an almost impossible escape. This has really nothing to do with HP in general, but I think it's kind of interesting.

Staring absentmindedly at Draco and Pansy, Harry caught sight of the entrance to the pub. Funny, he hadn’t really remembered seeing it before now, although he was certain that his preoccupation with finding the gift shop caused him to miss seeing its wooden sign. The dark brick face sat squeezed between a burned out bookshop and a caved in hamburger restaurant. Two small windows like blind eyes stared at him.

This place is too easy to miss, he thought dismissively, and definitely too creepy. The three of them stood staring at the twin snakes carved into the door, snakes that looked identical to ones they had seen before.

“Check the map,” whispered Pansy urgently.

Looking down, Harry watched as the familiar red snake together with his, Pansy’s, and Draco’s name swam into focus. They watched as inky little lines arose forming the outlines of the pub. Now Harry was certain that he had not seen the pub before, because a few moments ago it wasn’t there. Glancing up quickly he met Draco’s eyes. Malfoy was concentrating hard. He threw a questioning glance in Harry’s direction, but Harry wasn’t sure what he meant. He shook his head briefly and then turned his thoughts back to the talent show. What did it matter if the pub wasn’t there before? It was there now and that meant the talent show was the next task. And exactly what talent do I have, he mused. He hated talking in front of a group, let alone performing. What could he do besides ride his broom? Maybe it would be more of a group effort, he hoped. Kind of like what they were doing now. His stomach began turning uncomfortable little flips as he stared at the door. Malfoy put his hand on the door. Pushing it open, Draco stood aside.

“After you,” he entreated.

Shooting Malfoy a frustrated look Harry walked into the darkness with the others close at his heel.

After the brightness of the station, it took Harry’s eyes a moment to adjust to the gloom. Cautiously, he moved forward hoping to get a glimpse of the patrons before they saw him. Stepping lightly he sidled along the wall, peeking around the corner to get his first look at the occupants. An overlarge head popped up from behind the bar. Piggy little eyes stared out at him from behind a tangle of dark bristles covering what Harry supposed must have been the creatures forehead. Drool ran down its undershot chin, past a line of pointed, misshapen teeth, and onto the bar which the creature continued wiping with its grubby rag. Harry felt his stomach turn. No way was he ordering anything in this place. His eyes continued wandering around the room. Nearly every seat was taken; each filled with a short, round pumpkin-like creature, whose overlong arms and legs draped over the chairs, some nearly resting on the floor. They had huge heads with almost no necks and quite a few sported pierced ears and lips. Overlarge teeth jutted out of their mouths at weird and unexpected angles. The barman grunted loudly and everyone looked up. It took only a moment for silence to descend on the room. Loud and raucous a moment before, it was deathly quiet now. Three dozen pairs of eyes were trained on them. The room became deafeningly quiet. They were the only humans and everyone was staring at them.

Harry felt Pansy grab his hand. At least he hoped it was Pansy, especially when he heard Malfoy’s voice close in his ear.

“Potter, look at the mirror.”

Harry looked down at his hand first to confirm who had grabbed him. Malfoy pushed his shoulders again.

“Look,” Malfoy hissed in his ear.

Glancing up, Harry looked at the mirror behind the bar. It reflected nothing more than a distorted image of the back of the bartender. Harry didn’t want to know what it was doing behind the bar.

“Don’t you see?” seethed Malfoy.

“See what?” Harry demanded.

“The faces in the mirror? Don’t you see them?”

Harry stared hard at the mirror, but the only faces he saw were those of the patrons in the bar, and two oddly familiar ones. Harry found himself staring at the real life image of Benvolio and Mercutio.

“What are they doing here?” he snarled. Malfoy quickly whipped his head around to stare at the two sorcerers. Sitting at one of the round little tables was Mercutio and Benvolio, shoulder to shoulder, staring back at them. Benvolio smirked. Draco opened his mouth to speak but turned back to stare at the mirror instead. Mercutio growled out a roar and the other patrons raised their mugs or their arms and growled in response. Harry heard the noise level return to normal and he turned back to look at the two wizards. Mercutio raised his mug and shot a condescending smile over to them while Benvolio continued scowling. Harry felt Pansy press a little closer to him. Automatically he wrapped his arm protectively around her. He heard Malfoy snort.

“Hrwmornyinyourprly?” growled a deep voice from him.

Turning, Harry looked down into the face of the pumpkin-like creatures holding what he supposed were menus. It grunted at them again.

“Huh?”.

“Table for three,” Draco responded without bothering to turn around. The creature grunted out something else and indicated they should follow.

“Oh,” started Draco, still looking at the mirror, “we’re here for the talent show.”

“Afcers yirhr firtatalenshirw.Wirtelz wudyerbehirefyr?” it grumbled in return never bothering to look up at them.

“Well, you needn’t be so rude about it,” Draco sniffed.

Harry goggled back and forth between the creature and Malfoy. He didn’t know Malfoy could speak, well whatever it was he was speaking. Sitting down at the table Harry leaned forward.

“What is that thing?”

Draco looked perplexed. “I don’t know.”

“Then how were you able to speak to it?” asked Pansy. Draco looked genuinely confused.

“It wasn’t speaking English?”

“No,” whispered Harry and Pansy firmly. Draco looked down and shook his head.

“To be honest, I wasn’t even listening. I was looking at that mirror. I thought I saw …”

“Talent show,” interrupted the creature that led them to their table.

“Yes, that’s right,” responded Harry. “We’re here for the talent show.” The creature shook its huge head.

“Talent show, now,” it repeated only this time more slowly and much louder. A few of the other patrons pulled their tables back to form a small ring of a stage. The creature pointed at the opening. “Now,” it growled again.

“I think we’re up,” said Harry.

“Which way do you suppose the bathrooms are?”

“What?” Draco exclaimed looking at Pansy. “Can’t you just hold it?”

Pansy gave him a withering look. “I want to check my hair.”

“You really can’t be serious,” echoed Harry. “We’re facing a room full of,” he looked around blankly, “whatever they are, and you’re worried about your hair?”

“Well my clothes too but do I look okay?”

“Yeah, you look fine.”

“You didn’t even look at me!”

“Who cares what you look like?” hissed Draco. “Half of these things don’t even have hair and the other half look like they stuck their head in a loo!”

“I care,” she snapped back. Her eyes drifted over to what looked like might have been the bathrooms. There was a large sign on each door. One displayed two boxes with squiggles running through them. The other was a ring of three triangles with one squiggle running through it. Harry gulped and swallowed hard. He looked back at the creatures in the room, at the barkeep, but nothing gave him a clue as to their gender. The symbols on the door were completely meaningless.

“Which do you suppose is the girl’s bathroom?” Pansy asked.

Harry and Draco exchanged embarrassed looks and shrugged back at her.

“Well, why won’t one of you ask?”

“Pansy, if you need the bathroom, you ask.”

Pansy sat back, arms folded across her chest. “Fine,” she sniffed, “I’ll just wait until someone uses them.” Just then three hulking creatures exited one of the rooms. The open door revealed a tiled entrance and Harry was reasonably sure it was a bathroom. However neither the color of the tile nor the appearance of previous occupants gave a clue as to their gender. Four more of the hulking creatures suddenly got up and swaggered into the tiled rooms. While their appearances were identical right down to the rings in their ears, three of them walked into the other bathroom, the remaining one which might have been slightly more feminine clearly heading for the other. Harry stared hard at Pansy.

“Does my hair really look okay?” she pleaded. Harry and Draco glared at her. The goblin like creature grunted again and pointed towards the makeshift stage. The three of them trade nervous glances.

“Any ideas?” Harry asked. Pansy stood up, a determined look on her face.

“I’ll go first,” she offered.

“No, wait Pansy,” Harry countered. “We’ll do this together.”

“Potter,” she sniggered, “you don’t have any talent.” Turning on her heel, she followed the little goblin to the stage. The room darkened until only Pansy was visible. A spotlight focused on her. Drawing out her wand she traced out a gleaming ribbon. It floated on the air briefly before twisting into a snake and then disappearing. There were a few grunts from the crowd. Pansy drew back her wand again and this time the ribbon turned into a glistening butterfly. A few more approving grunts this time punctuated by a few hoots from Mercutio. Using both her hands Pansy conjured two more ribbons that twisted themselves into a dragon that swam around the pub shooting little red sparks. Now there was some begrudging clapping. Before the first dragon faded completely, Pansy conjured two more, one blood red, the other sparkling white. Their eyes and teeth shone in the gloom, huge wings spread out and Harry could feel a breeze as the past. With a flick of her wand Pansy had them cavort and twist in mock battle. Harry heard the snapping of jaws and flapping of wings. Some of the crowd was on its feet now as the dragons began to fade. Only a few more, thought Harry desperately, only a few more need to stand up and we’re out of here. Pansy’s eyes shone as brightly as the dragons she’d conjured. Rotating both arms forward in a sweeping motion a silver unicorn erupted from one of Pansy’s ribbons as did a bronze griffin. The unicorn shone of its own light and it strode around the little stage tapping the goblins with its horn. The griffin jumped from table to table, roaring with the goblins. Harry watched as the remaining seated patrons stood up. Pansy shot him an intense look and Harry stumbled to his feet, embarrassed. He and Draco were the only two still seated. Even Benvolio and Mercutio were on their feet although by the looks of it, one of the creatures had dragged them up. She’s done it, thought Harry excitedly. She got the crowd to its feet, the galleon was hers. Expectantly he looked towards the bartender. Pansy’s face was flush with excitement. Harry felt their eyes meet and he smiled back in acknowledgement. He had to admit, her spellwork was excellent. Probably as good as Hermione’s. He felt a twinge of guilt at the thought and then looked down. He’d hoped Pansy hadn’t seen him, but she was looking at the manager and scowling. Mercutio and Benvolio were deep in discussion with the bartender. His face was slack, his expression blank. Walking towards them, Benvolio scowled.

“You need a standing ovation,” he sneered.

“Wasn’t that what I had?” demanded Pansy.

“No,” replied Mercutio, “Benvolio didn’t clap.”

Pansy screwed up her face and Harry started to protest but the goblins were already stomping their feet demanding another contestant. This time it was Malfoy who stood up. Harry looked at him blankly, what could Malfoy do?

“I guess it’s my turn,” he said. Then following the goblin to the center of the little stage the room once again darkened.

“Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling; From glen to glen, and down the mountain side,” he sang softly, his clear tenor voice filling the room. Harry watched as Pansy’s eyes got teary. The room again was unearthly quiet except for Malfoy. The song sounded soft and sweet, almost a lullaby.

“And if you come, when all the flowers are dying; And I am dead, as dead I well may be,” Malfoy continued and Harry could hear sniffing. Looking around the room he saw tears brimming in the eyes of quite a few of the creatures and more than just drool was pouring out of the bartender. But it was the face of Mercutio that shocked him. His usual gleefully wicked expression was gone. His eyes were overbright and Harry could see he was singing softly with Malfoy. Benvolio was gripping him very tightly by the shoulder, his eyes tightly pressed together. By the time Malfoy sang, “I'll simply sleep in peace until you come to me.” There wasn’t a sound or nearly a dry eye in the room. Even Harry felt a painful tug at his heart as he remembered all the people he loved, and all the people he missed. Malfoy’s song drifted to a close and the room was again, painfully quiet. Malfoy looked up, glancing first at Harry then at the mirror over the bar. Someone sniffed loudly and then the room exploded into a cacophony of cheers and clapping. The creatures were standing on tabletops, stomping their boots, banging on the walls. Malfoy blushed scarlet. Pansy was jumping on her toes applauding him. Even the furious Benvolio and Mercutio, standing shoulder to shoulder were clapping. Harry put his hands together until they stung. Now for certain, they were finished. He started towards the manager but Benvolio held up his hand.

“All three of you have to perform before any money is awarded,” he hiccupped. Dragging Mercutio back to their table they both stared straight down into the wood.

Harry’s mouth fell open. He had to perform. This was going to be bad. Malfoy and Pansy were standing next to him looking at him expectantly. He looked back at them hopelessly. He hadn’t the slightest idea of what to do.

“You can do something, can’t you Harry?”

“Potter, there’s got to be something you’re good at.” Harry shook his head. “Well, just tell some jokes then and let’s get this over with. They only said you had to participate, they didn’t say you had to win.” Harry looked up, angry. So what if Malfoy had his angel’s voice and Pansy had her artistic hands. He, Harry Potter could go toe to toe with the best of them. Without waiting for the creature to approach he walked to the center of the little stage. Everyone was looking at him expectantly, hoping to see the best of the best.

“What’s the best way to stop food from going bad?” he called out. “Eat it!” he replied before anyone could answer. There was a grumbling in the room. “What do ghosts play at parties?” he continued, oblivious to the crowd. “Haunt and seek!” he responded nervously. Harry could hear more angry grumbling and something that sounded like ghost don’t play haunt and seek. “What do you call a crate of ducks?” he asked more hopefully trying to ignore the horrified looks on Pansy’s and Draco’s faces. “A box of quackers,” he laughed a little hysterically. No one was laughing. “What’s big, furry, white, and shaped like a tooth?” he offered. “A molar bear,” he replied too quickly and he heard a few catcalls and boos.

“Get out of there,” he heard Malfoy hiss. Harry looked around at the patrons. They were eyeing him rather suspiciously, but Benvolio and Mercutio were smiling. Harry started to feel strange, very light headed, and the room suddenly seemed to grow a little less distinct. He walked towards Benvolio who had a sick smile on his face. Harry watched as Mercutio stood, his eyes narrowing, his wickedly, gleeful grin returning. But then suddenly there was Malfoy in front of him. He was arguing with Benvolio and Mercutio who were trying to maintain eye contact. Malfoy was shouting about something and pointing at the mirror. Benvolio was trying to push him aside, to get a better view of Harry but Malfoy was dragging his free arm towards the manager. Harry felt his head start to clear, the room came back into focus. Mercutio was arguing with Malfoy now. Harry watched as the creatures surged around the three of them. He heard Malfoy’s strident voice and he watched as the little knot of people headed towards the bar. Pansy grabbed his hand, her eyes fearful once again. Suddenly, Harry knew what was going to happen.

“Come on, Pansy,” he shouted and he jumped forward into the knot of goblins. He could hear Malfoy arguing, he heard Benvolio’s deep reply, and Mercutio’s more musical voice. Harry pushed and shoved towards where he could hear their voices. The sounds of the goblin creatures were drowning them out. He could barely hear their voices any more. He pushed harder and they grunted back at him. Becoming more insistent he threw his full weight against their bodies, forcing them apart. Finally he reached the bar, the grotesque head of the bartender stared back at him blankly. He was still wiping the bar with his grubby rag, drool running down his chin. And he was very much alone. Harry’s head swiveled around quickly. Except for Pansy, there was no one else left in the pub. Even the tables were gone.

8

Whipping his head around, Harry’s eyes frantically searched the room. Silence howled all around him. The tables, the creatures, even the odd signs on the bathroom doors were gone. Little spirals of dust rose from the floor and floated in the still air. Only Pansy, standing with her legs pressed tightly together and her hands hugging her arms as closely as possible, stood behind him. Her eyes wide with fear, her lower lip trembling. Harry held his hand out to her but she clutched herself only more tightly, a little cry escaping from her lips.

“He said he saw them,” she squeaked at last.

“Who?”

“The others, he said he could see them in the mirror behind the bar.”

Looking back at the mirror above the bar, Harry screwed up his eyes and stared hard. Only his own frightened image was reflected along with the back of the filthy, cobwebby bar. It didn’t surprise him that the grotesque creature that had been wiping the bar was now gone. Nor did it surprise him that the bar lay covered with a powdery layer of dust marred only by five gold galleons.

So they changed their minds about Pansy’s performance after all, he thought wryly. Looking up, Harry scanned the mirror. It only reflected their faces and the still, empty room. Pansy was standing next to him now, her eyes scrutinizing the mirror.

“He said he saw all of them,” she repeated. “That’s why he was arguing with Benvolio. He said he knew what was going on.” Harry grabbed her by the shoulders, looking deeply into her eyes.

“Pansy, what else did he say?” Pansy shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes once again. “Nothing, he just said he knew what those two were doing, and then he, then he ...” Hiccupping, her voice trailed off. Puzzled, Harry watched as she stared at the galleons. What did Malfoy know, he wondered. And why didn’t he say anything? Could Malfoy have been right? Was everyone really okay or was it just wishful thinking? Another pain stabbed Harry’s heart. Was it the same foolish hope he held out for Sirius and Dumbledore? He looked back at the mirror again. Just the two of them were stubbornly reflected. Stupid hope he thought angrily, shaking his head. If Hermione and Ron were really still alive they’d be trying to find him. Harry continued staring at his reflection. He watched as Pansy finally stretched out her hand towards the galleons.

“Oh,” she mused, “I guess they changed their minds about my performance.”

“There’s no way they gave me anything for mine.”

“Yeah, you were pretty pathetic.”

“Thanks, Pansy, my ego always needs a boost like that.”

Pansy chuckled softly. “It’s just you’re good at so many other things. So many people like you. It kind of felt good to see you fall on your face.”

Openmouthed, Harry stared at her. “You were hoping I’d fail?” he croaked.

“Well, not really,” she blushed. “Okay, Draco did, but I was really hoping for something brilliant. But when you started with those lame jokes,” she sniggered. “Stand-up comedy is sort of out for you as a career path.” A sudden mist clouded her eyes and she became thoughtful. “We’re going to make it, right?”

“Yeah, Pansy, we’re going to make it.” Reaching forward Harry gently took her hand. He felt her tremble slightly and he squeezed her hand reassuringly. He’d never much really cared for Pansy Parkinson, she had always been another Slytherin thorn in his side. But now, in this weird, twisted reality, he felt a stab of compassion for her. She had no one, and Slytherins weren’t particularly noted for their bravery. Pulling gently he attempted to make their way out of the pub. Pansy turned to look at the bar again.

“I think he tried to save us,” she whispered. Harry looked down at his feet. I think he tried to save me, he thought guiltily. I felt myself fading, being sucked away, and he stepped in and saved me. Harry clenched one fist. How dreadful, he thought fiercely, to owe a life debt to Draco Malfoy.

Walking in silence, Pansy and Harry walked towards the gift shop. Harry was only half aware of Pansy. His thoughts kept returning to his last moments in the pub. Could Malfoy really have sacrificed himself? Impossible, thought Harry. Slytherins were only out for themselves. Self sacrifice wasn’t a character trait they were famous for.

Pausing at the door of the gift shop Harry hesitated. Malfoy had gotten them out of this Piscatori Web both times, Harry remembered. Would they be able to do this without him, or would they fall victim to the enchantment? Putting his hand on the doorknob Harry felt a squeeze on his arm.

“We have to hold hands,” she reminded him. Smiling, Harry nodded. His fingers curled around hers and he felt himself smiling reassuringly.

“We can do this Pansy.” He felt Pansy squeeze his hand back. Looking down into the scared face in front of him he felt braver. A lock of hair had fallen across her cheek and gently he swept it back, his fingers trembling as he tucked her hair in place. His free hand held her face as he peered into her eyes. Her face is too close, he thought, I can see every eyelash. He felt her breath on his lips. I might never get home, he considered, I might never see Ginny again. Ginny, he thought guiltily. Tensing, he gently dropped his hand and stood back.

“We really can.” Then without another look at Pansy, he re-entered the shop.

The shop was unusually quiet when they stepped inside. There was no sign of the shopkeeper. Harry led Pansy down the long aisles of boxes to the display case where he remembered the keys were. It was as though the shop had rearranged itself in their absence. There were no keys and no display case, only a small wooden sign on high gilt table that said ‘Back in a few minutes’.

“What do we do now?” wondered Pansy.

“I guess we just have to wait.”

“You don’t suppose it would hurt to just look at this stuff do you?”

Harry grinned back at her, “Just so long as we don’t touch anything.” Squeezing his hand a little, Pansy grinned back up at him.

Leading him towards the very back of the shop Pansy stopped in front of a glass display case. She pressed her free hand on top of the case and brought her nose as close to it as she possibly could. Harry could make out a jumble of sewing items. Ornate, scrolled scissors were crammed everywhere. Pins and needles were stuck into a variety of stuffed objects with thimbles scattered in amongst them. Tape measures, chalk, thread in a variety of colors, and a few things Harry couldn’t even guess their use were jam packed into the crowded case.

“What’s all this stuff?” Harry started until he noticed Pansy’s rapt expression. “Ah, Pansy, are you okay?” He nudged her gently.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I’m fine just looking.” Her voice was misty and far away. Harry stared at her intently. Pansy’s eyes seemed glued to the display.

“You like all this stuff?”

“Yeah,” she breathed. “I love it.” Her face softened and she looked past him. “Ever since I was little I wanted to be a designer.” she admitted.

“So?”

“So what?” she shot back seeming to come out of her reverie.

“So why don’t you just become a designer?”

Pansy glared at him. “My parents don’t think it’s a suitable career,” she snarled through gritted teeth. “Too much Muggle contact.”

“But you’re seventeen now. You can do what you want.”

Pansy’s eyes narrowed. “No, I can’t. I can go to Hogwarts, I can pass my tests, and I can make a proper marriage. Those are my options,” she hissed. “It doesn’t even make a difference that I don’t care much for magic or think all this pure blood talk is stupid. I’ll never get to do what I want.” Her lips pressed into a firm line. “I only get to do what they want.” Harry opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by the tinkling of the door bell. Pansy turned to look at the front of the shop.

“She’s back,” she offered simply.

It was the same shopkeeper they had met the first time but not quite the same. The face was not quite so severe and didn’t quite remind Harry of Lucius Malfoy.

“We’re back to buy the key, ma’am“ Harry announced. The shopkeeper eyed them suspiciously but brings out the box.

“It’s still ten galleons,” she reminded them. Harry nodded and Pansy put the eleven galleons on the display case.

“Look for one with a pair of snakes,” advises Pansy. “Just like the ones we’ve seen on the map.” Looking into the velvet lined box, their hands tightly clutched, they choose a key. Pansy pushes the shopkeeper the galleons and she hands Harry the key. Letting go of Pansy he looks down at the key in his hands. Turning it over, he sees Slytherin’s mark on one side. This is it, he thinks confidently taking a step towards the door. Time to go home. Looking up, he notices he’s alone.

“Pansy?” he calls quietly. Neither she nor the shopkeeper are anywhere to be seen. “Pansy?” he calls a little more frantically. Heading away from the door he dashes down one of the tottering aisles of boxes. Empty. “Pansy where are you?” he yells. Racing back to the counter where he and Pansy made their purchase he shouts out her name. Skidding to a stop in front of an old suit of armor he hears voices. One of them sounds like Pansy’s. Don’t take anything Pansy, he pleads, leave everything just as you found it. Bounding around the armor he sees Pansy and the old shopkeeper at the very back of the shop. They seem impossibly far away. Harry tries to shout but his voice sounds thick and slurry. He attempts to run but his feet feel heavy and slow. Watching in horrified fascination he sees the shopkeeper hold something out to Pansy. It sparkles gold in the filtered light and falls gently into Pansy’s outstretched hand. Then just as quickly, Pansy hands the shopkeeper the last gold galleon.

“Noooooo,” screamed Harry. Turning a surprised face to Harry, Pansy glanced up at him but the shopkeepers face is alight with a triumphant grin. “Give it back, Pansy, give it back. Tell her it was a mistake.”

Gasping, Pansy looked down into her hand at the gold thimble then up into the space that used to hold the shopkeeper. They were alone again. Tears started to well up in Pansy’s eyes. Knocking the thimble from her hand Harry grabbed her. His arms locked around her shoulders pressing her into him. For long moments they stood, Harry holding tight to Pansy. She had stopped sobbing and her voice sounded resolute.

“I’m not afraid, Harry,” she said up to him. He looked down into her red rimmed eyes.

“You’re not going anywhere but home, Pansy,” he told her.

She smiled back at him and shook her head a little.

“I don’t think so,” she began. He hugged her tighter, burying his face into her hair.

“I won’t let you go,” he promised her, his voice fierce.

“I know,” she responded looking up into his eyes. He brushed a smudge of dirt from her cheek and she smiled weakly.

“I always liked you, Harry Potter,” she whispered.

“Don’t talk like that Pansy, don’t. We’ll get out of this,” he urged.

Pansy shook her head softly, tears gleaming in her eyes.

“I think I understand now, Harry. I think I understand what Benvolio and Mercutio were trying to teach us. I saw it but I couldn’t, I wouldn’t believe it.” Harry grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her back. He stared into her calm, resolute face.

“What, Pansy, what!” he yelled. Pansy turned her head a little, a little smile played on her lips.

“I think Draco knew too,” she started.

“Pansy, tell me,” Harry urged more desperately.

“Good-bye Harry,” she whispered closing her eyes. Harry pulled her to him. He felt his arms curve around her body. He felt her warm weight against him.

“No, Pansy,” he cried, “you’re not going anywhere.” He buried his face in her hair and tried to breathe in the scent of summer flowers. He smelled dust and wet concrete. The weight in his arms was cold and lifeless. Letting go, he hurriedly stepped back. A splintered column rose before him, Pansy was gone.

9

Nausea washed over Harry. He felt empty and horribly alone. His breathing became raw and stuck in his throat leaving him gasping for air. Closing his eyes he pressed his back against the brick walls. They felt cold and unyielding. A terrible chill shot through him making him tremble slightly. The station closed in around him, impenetrable. Even the familiar drip, drip of water was gone. His footsteps resounded in his ears and echoed endlessly down the infinitely long corridors as Harry started the long walk back to the Lost and Found, to his way home, alone. Clenching his fingers tightly around the antique key, Harry stared down into his fist. The rough metal bit into his flesh. He couldn’t believe its incredible price. It cost the lives of his two closest friends. It had taken the innocent. Even people he didn’t like were swallowed up so that he alone survived. Guilt washed over him. Why was he allowed to survive while those around him fell? Would this scene become all too familiar until Voldemort was finally defeated? Did he really want to continue in a world where everyone he knew and loved was gone? Was life worth living at that point? Perhaps it would be just easier to just give in, to go into hiding and wait Voldemort out. Evil like his couldn’t last forever.

His footsteps thundered in the quiet of the station. He didn’t rush back towards the Lost and Found but somehow he arrived far faster than he thought he should have. Staring at the scarred door with its peeling paint he hesitated. Ron should have been standing here with him, he thought sadly, Hermione as well. She should have been holding the key in her hand. He could almost hear Malfoy’s whining drawl recounting his part in this adventure, and how he would like to see Benvolio’s face now. Pansy’s cackle would echo loudly through the bombed out station. Ernie would be congratulating them all on a job well done, how they all pulled together as a team. Hannah would be crying and Hermione would be shushing her and telling her everything was all right. Ron would be recounting his adventures with the hydra. They would all laugh about his sorry attempt at stand-up comedy in the pub and which of the bathrooms was really the girl’s.

The stillness seemed louder. Harry listened to his own heart hammering in his ears. There was no one he could share this triumph with, no one. It seemed an empty, hollow victory. Looking down at the key again, he resolutely pushed the door. It refused to open. Pocketing the key, Harry pushed harder at the door. It remained stubbornly closed. Hunching his shoulders he flung himself into the doorway. He heard the door splinter but it remained defiant. Pulling out his wand he pointed at the knob and shouted,

“Alohomora!” The door remained obstinately fixed. Harry’s frustration erupted suddenly. Kicking madly at the door he only succeeded in bruising his foot for his efforts. Massaging his injured foot, he looked at the door and then the wand in his hand.

“I must be going mental,” he said aloud. Pulling his wand into a tight arch he conjured a metal bar. The smooth, cool weight felt comforting in his hands. Swinging it upward, he turned his full fury to the door. It cracked satisfyingly. He hit the door again. It felt good as the wood splintered and fell away. With every swing of the bar, he attacked the door more viciously, his anger rising with every stroke. Splintered wood rained all around him. By the time there was enough space for him to squeeze through his fury was at its high water mark.

Just let Voldemort get in my way now, he though angrily. Bring on the Death Eaters.

The hole looked fairly small, but Harry decided it was big enough. Tossing the bar to the side he squeezed through the opening. The jagged edges bit and tore at his clothes. Cursing it soundly he continued to wriggle through. It wasn’t until he was completely inside the room did the door gently swing towards him.

“Figures,” he fumed kicking the door shut, but the door merely swung back towards him. “I hate this place.”

Returning his attention to the room he glanced at the magical door. The lighting seemed more subdued than he remembered. The overhead lights flickered. He gripped his wand tighter. He was going home and no one was going to cheat him out of this. Everyone’s death would not be in vain, not even Malfoy’s.

Plunging his hand into his pocket he retrieved the key. The magical door gleamed in the half light. Confidently Harry strode up to it. He stared at the key in his hand.

“This one’s for you mate,” he said softly, and with one swift action pushed the key into the lock.

There was a moment of resistance as he tried to turn the lock but then it easily gave way. Stepping back he allowed the door to swing open and found himself staring into the red, cat-like eyes of Lord Voldemort.

There was a moment of stunned disbelief as Harry came face to face with his enemy. The Dark Lord’s skull-like face was unsmiling, his wand pointing directly into Harry’s face.

Rage exploded within Harry, a red, almost blinding hatred. It bubbled up from deep within him, pulsing through every fiber of his being. He felt a power scorch through his arms, slamming into his wand. It blotted out all reason and Harry gave into it. Four times in the past he had faced Voldemort, and each time he considered himself lucky to have escaped with his life. Now, he just didn’t care. All he wanted was Voldemort dead, and he didn’t care what happened to himself. He would avenge everyone.

“Sectumsempra,” he snarled. Voldemort’s gleaming eyes opened in surprise as the force of the hex hit him. He staggered back a little, eyes still full of astonishment. Harry pushed forward, emboldened by his success. The power in him was churning violently out of control. Now I’ll have my revenge, raged Harry

“The Sorting Hat was correct the first time Potter,” breathed Voldemort. “You should have been in Slytherin. See how you enjoy this.”

Harry gritted his teeth. How dare Voldemort taunt him! He was defending himself, he was avenging the lives of everyone this inhuman monster had killed. A strange new force flowed through him. He was the avenger, the destroyer of evil.

Spell after spell he hurled at Voldemort. Harry didn’t just want Voldemort dead; he wanted him to suffer before he died. His curses took on a more sinister bent. Gone were the pale green bolts from his wand, replaced by blood red ones. Jinx, after curse, after unforgivable he sent spinning at the dark robed figure only to have them deftly parried.

How is he able to attack me, Harry thought desperately. We shouldn’t be able to use our wands against each other. Yet every time Harry attacked, Voldemort easily defended himself. Walls cracked and exploded as curses were deflected into them. Harry choked as he breathed in the air, heavy with concrete dust. A stitch had formed in his side. The power that had rammed through him only a few minutes before was waning. Sweat started trickling down his face. Harry felt desperate. Voldemort chuckled softly.

“Give up, Potter,” he crooned, “your pathetic little powers are no match for mine.”

Voldemort had dropped his arms, pocketing his wand. A sinuous wiggle of his fingers and a jet of red light went hurtling towards Harry. Leaning back quickly, Harry narrowly avoided the curse. Voldemort was playing with him. Harry’s hand closed around a clump of something muddy. Gripping his hand into a fist he hurled it furiously at Voldemort.

It caught the Dark Lord square in the chest. Mud dripped down the fabric onto his boots. Voldemort stopped chuckling. His gleaming red eyes narrowed. Harry felt rooted to the ground. A cold breeze washed over him.

“Expelliarmus,” he whispered softly pointing his hand directly at Harry.

His hand burned hot and Harry heard his wand clatter uselessly out of sight. His fingers closed around some loose rocks. Desperately he hurled them at the sorcerer but they bounced harmlessly out of his way, as if they too were afraid of soiling the Dark Lord’s robes. Voldemort’s cruel laugh was loud in his ears and Harry felt a thrill of terror wash over him. Stepping forward over the rubble, Voldemort pulled out his wand. Harry scrabbled madly backwards until he felt the cold and unyielding wall behind him. He was trapped and Voldemort was only a few feet away. There was a violent, intensity in those red, cat-like eyes. Thin lips twisted into a hungry leer. Voldemort leaned forward and Harry’s scar began to prickle and burn.

“You task me Harry Potter, you task me,” he began softly, “and now I have you. Now it is over. The game was well played, but like all games, this one too must come to an end.” Pointing his wand directly at Harry’s heart, Voldemort straightened.

“Game over, Harry,” he whispered.

Harry felt a slight burning sensation when hit by the green wave and then all was darkness.

10

“Harry, Harry wake up,” insisted a voice. It sounded urgent but far away. Struggling towards wakefulness Harry attempted opening his eyes. They felt glued shut, full of sand. Blurred faces swam in and out of view, familiar voices buzzing all around him. Squinting his eyes he made out a well-known, pale, pointed face. How strange.

“It’s about time,” a voice drawled.

Oh, no, thought Harry desperately, I’ve died and gone to hell.

“Harry,” repeated the voice insistently in his ear, “Harry can you hear us?” It was Hermione’s voice, Hermione who was supposed to be dead. Harry always figured that Hermione would go someplace good when she died; certainly no place with Malfoy in it. Sitting up with a start, the room swam into view. The sparse furniture stayed put as did the pale green walls. Harry checked to make sure his glasses were really on his face as he stared into the faces of the people around him. They were all there, all of them. Ron was grinning at him.

“We’re not dead, are we?” Harry started slowly.

“No Potter,” drawled Draco, “you’re not dead and neither are we.” Harry looked from excited face to excited face.

“Then what …” he started.

“The game wasn’t so much what happened in the train station,” began Hermione, “as what happened here.” Harry shook his head. None of this was making sense. Where was here?

“The point of the game was to face our own weaknesses so Voldemort couldn’t use them against us. Once we could do that, we could learn to work together,” explained Hermione. “Actually,” she added a little sheepishly, “it was Hannah who figured it out.” Harry saw Hannah go scarlet. “She was able to manipulate the station into giving us extra clues or help that Mercutio and Benvolio didn’t.”

“Or wouldn’t,” Ernie finished.

“Then the smelly fish, and the tinny music,” Harry began.

“The manacle on the hydra, the talent show poster, the pub, even the mirror over the bar,” Pansy finished, “yeah, that was all Hannah.” She grinned up at Hannah.

“Even the ‘give up’ rune,” finished Hermione. “Although trying to keep you out of the Lost and Found until you calmed down didn’t really work too well.” Hermione looked down and chewed on her lip.

“You did that?”

“Yeah, you were pretty, ah, well,” stuttered Ron, “pretty out of control.”

“So it’s over? We’ve won?” asked Harry.

“No,” replied a deep voice. “You’ve all lost.”

The seven of them looked up. It was Benvolio who had spoken. Eyes narrowed, lips pursed, shoulders hunched, he glared down at them with Mercutio standing meekly by his side.

“But we got through the station,” pleaded Ernie, “the whole point was that as we faced down our fears and weaknesses we would leave the game and then help the others.”

“No it wasn’t,” growled Benvolio.

“Yeah, it was,” replied Mercutio. Benvolio whipped him around by the arm so hard it nearly threw him to the floor.

“They didn’t all face down their weaknesses,” snapped Benvolio.

“Well, yes they did,” replied Mercutio weakly. “Hannah works hard but doesn’t trust in herself. Demonstrating she could manipulate the station when those around her didn’t believe in her took a huge leap of faith. Hermione is afraid of being wrong or making a mistake, and so she doesn’t want to take chances. Letting Harry and Pansy help her with the rune was difficult and admitting that they were right was a huge step for her. Pansy needs to learn to be the person she always wanted to be, not the one her parents have picked out. Ron lacks confidence and is unsure of himself, but he proved himself with the hydra.”

“And Ernie?” seethed Benvolio.

“Oh, there was never a problem with Ernie,” began Mercutio, “I just got a little overzealous bringing people here.” Benvolio eyed his friend with contempt.

“Well then, what about Potter and Malfoy?” Benvolio spat.

“Oh, that is true,” answered Mercutio gravely. “They never did overcome their weaknesses.”

“He sacrificed himself for me, ‘er us,” Harry blurted.

“No, he didn’t, Potter,” replied Benvolio. Draco’s eyes widened. Opening his mouth to protest, Benvolio overrode him.

“Oh, he may have figured out our little secret before he gave up,” started Benvolio, “but guilt over Dumbledore’s death weighs heavily on his mind. He has been trying to, ah, eliminate himself since he started.” Benvolio cast him an angry look. “Your performance with that Hydra? Someone with a death wish is dangerous Draco, dangerous to themselves and to everyone around them. It’s something the Dark Lord will definitely use against you.”

“But Harry faced You-Know-Who again,” piped up Hannah. “How is that not facing his weakness?”

Mercutio looked at her sadly.

“Harry is reckless,” he answered simply, “He didn’t care if he lived or died, and that’s a bad thing. His anger and his rage will be his undoing. The Dark Lord will use that against him, just as he did here.”

“Than that really was …” Ron squeaked.

“No, of course not,” spat Benvolio. “Malfoy is right, the Dark Lord doesn’t play games.”

“And certainly not this game,” finished Mercutio. Benvolio and Mercutio turned and looked at each other before bursting out laughing. No one else made a sound.

“So what is to become of us?” asked Ernie. No one moved.

Benvolio narrowed his eyes as he stood up, pulling out his wand as he did. Remaining seated, Mercutio attempted to pull his companion back but only succeeded in being dragged forward. Harry felt a surge of pride as Ron step past him to face down Benvolio. Struggling to find his feet, Mercutio finally stood up.

“No, we have to send them back,” he stated flatly.

“They lost,” argued Benvolio.

“So they get the consolation prize,” answered Mercutio.

Benvolio rolled his eyes hugely. “We are never doing this again,” he spat. “It’s a total waste of time and dangerous to boot.” Ignoring the remark, Mercutio stared into the scared faces.

“If you all had succeeded, you would remember all of this. You would fight the Dark Lord and his forces just like you fought the hydra,” he started, looking directly at Ron. “You would ally yourselves even with those you believe you have nothing in common with,” he continued staring right into Harry’s eyes. “Or those whom you believe are beneath you,” he finished fixing his stare at Draco. “You would not be so proud or so vain as to not ask for help,” he said looking at Hermione. “Or give help,” he said looking at Pansy, “when it is needed. You’d trust in yourselves,” he continued looking at Hannah, “but realize that what you’re doing is neither pleasant nor safe. The Dark Lord can be defeated, but not by just by any one of you.” His eyes came to rest on Harry. “He can be defeated by all of you.”

“Nice general advice,” sneered Malfoy.

“Yes, and it’s a shame none of you heed it,” lashed back Mercutio.

Benvolio sneered back. “So it’s too bad that you won’t remember any of it.”

“Except when you’re asleep,” added Mercutio brightly. Benvolio snapped Mercutio around again.

“Never, again,” he intoned, “this is most worthless …”

“When you’re asleep you’ll remember all of this,” began Mercutio cutting him off and struggling to stand. “But that will fade as you wake. Only trusting and believing in everyone here will unlock the memories for all of you. But even that knowledge,” he added shooting a look at Ron, “will seem the stuff of dreams. Only united will any of you remember this. Only united do any of you have a chance against the Dark Lord. That’s why he works so hard to divide you. Trust me when I tell you he knows where the real power lies.”

“So what happens to us now?” asked Harry. Benvolio shot a nasty look at Mercutio who merely smiled at Harry.

“You go back. Each of you will be returned home, or to wherever you would be the safest,” Mercutio replied looking directly at Draco. Turning to Benvolio, Mercutio indicated the students. “I believe you will do the honors?” he asked.

Benvolio’s expression had grown darker but he nodded. Harry and the others stood up. Instead of spreading apart, they bunched tightly together, grasping hands. Benvolio resisted smiling. The clock began chiming the hour and Harry looked around at the others. He would remember, he promised himself. He would remember all of this. His skin suddenly started to prickle as if thousands of ants were crawling over him. Fighting the impulse to let go he squeezed his fingers tighter; looking directly at Ron and then Hermione they smiled back at him. Everyone grew more transparent with each passing moment. They were all going home and he would make them remember.

Harry could smell the heavy scent of earth all around him. Opening his eyes he realized he was lying face down in the dirt; a hydrangea pressing into his back. Slowly raising his head he recognized where he was, Privet Drive. He sat up swiftly and cracked his head on the sill. The pain brought tears to his eyes. Rubbing the top of his head, he pushed himself up more slowly. Somewhere behind him he could hear his aunt and uncle arguing. He would have to face this. He just wished he knew what happened. One moment he was walking through the barrier and the next moment he was face down in the dirt at Privet Drive. Rubbing his head Harry walked slowly towards the back door. Something heavy in his pocket poked his leg. Putting his hand into his pocket he pulled out an antique key. It looked strangely familiar. Twin serpents decorated the handle. Harry gazed at it curiously. Odd, he didn’t remember putting it there. Turning the key over in his hand he struggled to remember where it came from. It was as though the recollection was at the edge of his memory. Like something he had dreamed. Sighing deeply he returned it to his pocket and stared at the back door. He was going to have to get this over with. Taking a deep breath, he walked in.

Draco’s breathed in the scent of dust and mold. Wrinkling his nose in disgust he sat up with a start only to find his mother staring directly at him.

“Severus,” she whispered harshly. “Severus, he’s here. He’s come back.” Her eyes were wide with terror. Instinctively, Draco looked down at his hands and then rubbed his face. His thoughts felt slow and thick. How did he get here? The last thing he remembered clearly was apparating with his mother and Snape. Quickly Draco looked up into cold, unblinking black eyes. Severus Snape was bending low over him, his sallow face framed by long, greasy black hair. Draco could feel the edges of Snape’s mind probing his and for once permitted it. Maybe Snape could tell him what had happened to him.

Straightening up, Snape appraised him.

“Where were you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who else was there?” Snape’s voice was more insistent, more menacing.

“I can’t remember.”

“Who did this?”

“I don’t know!” cried Draco looking frantically between his mother and Snape. “I just don’t know.” Draco felt his mother fold her arms him and for the first time in a very long time felt grateful. Snape continued to glare at him, his eyes narrowed.

“The Dark Lord is requesting an update of your activities at Hogwarts,” Snape intoned. “There will be no way to hide the knowledge of this from him.” Draco stared angrily back.

“I don’t care,” he began. “I don’t know what happened.” Severus gave him one final cold appraisal and then turning disapparated.

11 - Epilogue

Mercutio stood looking for a long moment at the spot where Harry and the others had been. Benvolio was at his side, his fingers roughly grasping his upper arm. Mercutio felt Benvolio’s squeeze but he wouldn’t look at him. Sighing, Mercutio waved his free hand. The bombed out train station melted into liquid colors that flowed around them. Crumbling and fractured concrete columns became clocks, piles of rubble blossomed into antiques, and musical instruments rose out of the swirling mists. The twisted tracks morphed into a huge harp. Benvolio looked down at his companion.

“I don’t think you got the station right.”

“Well,” drawled Mercutio, “I’ve never actually been there, so what did you expect?”

“I expect you to take some pride in what you’re doing. Perhaps a little more research would be in order in the future?”

“Oh?” retorted Mercutio slyly raising his eyebrow, “So you’d like to do this again?”

“Definitely not!” snapped Benvolio. “You bring up too many dangerous things from the past.”

“Like what?” The voice was overly innocent.

“Like that gift shop,” hissed Benvolio through clenched teeth. “What was that supposed to be other than Gorey Cave? We’re supposed to forget that, along with everything else.” Looking quietly at his feet, Mercutio shifted uncomfortably, mumbling.

“The Dark Lord is not quite as tall as you seem to remember and a lot thinner,” hesitated Benvolio. “I would have expected you of all people to get that right. And what’s with the Game Over? That is so, 1980’s” Mercutio smiled sheepishly up at him. Sighing deeply, Benvolio turned away from his friend.

“Why must we act this way?” he asked, still holding firmly to Mercutio. “You’re going to get us killed.”

“Because we must,” came the defeated reply.

“It is pointless; they cannot hope to defeat our Master.”

Stiffening at the comment, Mercutio shifted uncomfortably again.

“He is not our Master,” Mercutio replied quietly, “And they can defeat him, with my, with our help.”
Benvolio looked down sadly into the white washed face.

“You are wrong. Why do you deny it? The man you knew years ago is gone, replaced by something pitiless and evil. There is nothing you knew left in him now. You are simply a servant to him, like all the others. You should have stayed away and let him believe you’re dead.” Flinching as if struck, Mercutio closed his eyes and bowed his head.

“You punish both of us when you do this,” Benvolio whispered softly.

Mercutio looked up, his eyes wet.

“I can’t do this any other way,” he whimpered. “It’s hard to ignore my rational side when it’s staring me in the face.”

“Well, you did a pretty good job of ignoring me through this entire mess,” growled Benvolio.

“Then we, I, deserve this,” replied Mercutio, his magenta eye paint beginning to run.

“Polyjuice potion was never meant to do this,” Benvolio continued sternly, “Only a single transformation, remember? You realize what you’re doing to yourself, to both of us?” He held up their tightly clasped hands. “You realize what will happen if we let go, if we stop touching each other for even a moment? You’ve seen what’s happened to the others when they let go, what became of them.” Looking sadly at his companion Mercutio nodded.

“It’s like being torn in half,” he intoned.

Leaning back against Benvolio, Mercutio inhaled deeply and shut his eyes. He felt as Benvolio pushed his back into him.

“For someone who always insisted she disliked dark magic, you certainly know a lot of it,” breathed Benvolio. Smiling, Mercutio whispered back.

“I had the best teacher the world will ever know.”

Pressing backwards into each other, wizard melted into wizard. Bodies arched backward, both faces contorted in pain, mouths open in futile attempts to yell for help. Benvolio’s dark eyes rolled up into his head while Mercutio’s opened wider and unfocused. Like wet clay, their skin bubbled and rippled as it mixed and churned together. Curly dark hair reached towards the straight, transforming into a long, wavy mane. The swirling lump of flesh pitched forward as body melted into body becoming recognizably one. Faces flowed backwards, rearranging themselves then re-emerging. Where once stood two wizards now stood a single young woman still dressed in Mercutio’s deep blue robes.

“I do this,” she croaked hoarsely to herself, “because talking to oneself is a sign of craziness.”

“And are you crazy my dear?” echoed a cold, icy voice.

“I certainly hope not, my lord,” choked the young sorceress, turning to face the voice. She felt her heart constrict, her breath caught in her throat as she searched the red, cat-like eyes. Benvolio had been correct. The Dark Lord was thinner and not quite as tall as she remembered. Was that not all Benvolio had been correct about?

Skeletally thin hands held a glass tumbler to the light. Examining it minutely the sorcerer upended it, allowing some of the gelatinous liquid to drip onto long, gleaming fingers. Glancing from glass to the young sorceress and back Lord Voldemort chuckled softly. His expression was slightly bemused.

“I believe you are going by the name of Catherine now?” he asked softly, not bothering to look at her. It was more of a statement than a question. He sniffed at the substance in the glass. The woman nodded almost imperceptibly. “Well, Catherine,” he began, carefully enunciating her name, “a most entertaining story has met my ears.” Voldemort’s unblinking eyes peered over the glass. Catherine carefully rearranged her expression. She could feel his thoughts probing the corners of her mind, looking for a way in. Quieting her mind, she filled her thoughts with musical scales. Voldemort’s eyes narrowed, the bemused expression fading from his face.

“A most daring, most inventive, most outlandish abduction ever, occurred at Platform 9 ¾,” he continued matter-of-factly, “right under the bumbling noses of the Ministry of Magic.” Voldemort’s black robes swirled around her like mist as he paced. Arms curling around her, his hands lingering near her shoulders, her neck, her face; always a mere breath away from touching her. She remained motionless, holding her breath, each note of scales tinkling in her ears, her skin anticipating his icy touch.

“Seven students vanished without a trace; pulled as they stepped through the barrier or in mid-apparition. Never,” emphasized the sorcerer, “has anything like this happened before and furthermore,” he added stepping still closer, their faces almost touching, “it could only be the work of one person.” Catherine wouldn’t meet his gaze; she felt his breath at the base of her neck. Her thoughts muddled for an instant. Redoubling her concentration she forced herself to stare straight ahead, scales playing endlessly in her mind.

“However,” he continued, bringing his face still closer to hers, their cheeks mere millimeters apart, his thin lips just brushing her earlobe, “each of these students was returned to their homes, unharmed, completely unaware of where they had been, what they had done, or who had summoned them. Including I might add, one young Mr. Potter and one young Mr. Malfoy.” Voldemort paused, his lips just skimming a line down her neck. Catherine heard a discordant crash in her ears and she swallowed hard.

“My Lord,” she began calmly, her eyes cast downward, “I am, your obedient servant. I …”

Smiling again, Voldemort pressed one long, white forefinger to her lips. Catherine felt his thoughts all around her, trying to invade her mind; words dried up in her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut, afraid to meet his. Observing her for a moment, Voldemort raised her chin slightly. Then briefly, he pressed thin lips to her forehead.

“My dear,” he whispered, lips still on her forehead, “those are two things that I am quite certain, you are not, although you are quite correct about the other.” Stepping back he studied her, his face unreadable.

“You take far too many chances for a world that wished you dead.”

Clenching her fists, Catherine looked down. She felt cold hands press against her shoulder and his fingers as they knotted themselves in her hair. His voice became grave.

“See that you do not interfere with my plans, Catherine” he warned. Releasing her he quickly turned, his voice and form fading into nothingness as the clock chimed the hour.

Catherine stood staring into the emptiness. Gently she touched the place where he had pressed his lips; tears once hidden now streaming silently down her face.

THE END

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