Harry blinked as he lay on the cold floor of the cellar. Before he had left, Ben had released Harry, dropping him rather painfully in a corner. He had not bound him with ropes, as had been the wish of many Death Eaters. Instead, he placed a barrier around Harry so that he only had enough space to turn over once.

The floor wasn't comfortable, but Harry was too exhausted to care. He could still feel the curse lingering within him, and he wished desperately that he still had his wand.

He had just begun to doze off when he heard the latch of the cellar door click. His eyes snapped open and he stared wearily in the direction of the entrance.

"What d'you want?" he asked in a barely audible voice as he saw who had come in.

"That's not very nice, Potter," Bailey said, sounding like his usual self as he strutted toward Harry.

"You're one to talk," Harry challenged, clearing his throat a little. It was dry and every time he spoke, it felt as if he had swallowed sandpaper, but he wouldn't show Bailey or any of the others that. He was determined to give them as little satisfaction as possible.

Bailey glared at him. "You think you're Mr. Talented and Awesome just because you have that stupid scar on your forehead? Anyone could have done it, you know. You didn't have to be the one. He could've chosen any child to mark as his 'vanquisher', and you would have just been an ordinary, stupid kid."

Harry could tell that Bailey was trying to push his buttons, but he wouldn't let him, no matter what.

"I would have enjoyed that, actually," he said calmly. "It's not exactly a day on the Quidditch pitch when someone says, 'You're Harry Potter, aren't you? Oh, I recognized that scar!'."

Bailey glared at him again, but said nothing. Clearly, he had expected to make Harry angry. It gave him a sort of grim satisfaction at seeing Bailey not look so full of himself.

"What did you come in here for, anyway? I don't think it was just to have a nice chat."

Bailey remained as angry-looking as he always did around Harry, but his expression took on a kind of gleam that made Harry want to run out of there as fast as he could.

"As a matter of fact, that's exactly what I came in here for."

"Really?" Harry was proud of his voice. It sounded bold and challenging, though he felt like he could pass out at any minute.

Bailey conjured a chair and sat a few yards from Harry, staring down at him with a look of forced cordiality.

"So, how are things with your little girlfriend?"

Harry glared at him. "I don't think that's any of your business."

Instead of glaring back at him as Harry had thought he would do, Bailey gave him an unfriendly smile. The expression was horribly familiar.

"Actually, Potter, it is."

"What are you talking about?" Harry demanded, his voice becoming slightly louder despite the sandpapery feeling in the back of his throat.

Bailey's grin got wider, and at that moment, Harry was glad he was restrained, for he had a sudden, strong urge to punch Bailey square in the face.

"Oh, come on, Potter."

Bailey stood from his chair and took a few steps toward where Harry lay.

"Didn't you ever wonder how the stupid Weasley girl had found out about your friend?" He knelt down beside Harry, bending so that he was speaking in Harry's ear. "There was no way she could have found out on her own, was there? You knew that. And I'm sure she told you that she had someone telling her about everything you were doing. I made her swear not to tell."

Harry's already befuddled mind was struggling to process it all. He immediately began to think back to the time when Ginny had told him about the Holyhead Harpies offer, how he had run into Hayley that first time at the diner, how he and Ginny had argued and he had arranged to meet up with Hayley again, how Ginny had called him not long afterward and claimed that someone was telling her about Hayley, how they had argued about it, how she had said that she wouldn't be with him if he kept seeing Hayley, how she had come over and Ginny had called ag... Slowly, all the pieces fell into place, and the past few months made so much more sense. Unable to do anything else, Harry glared furiously at Bailey.

"You're just lucky I don't have my wand," he growled. "Because I would have hexed you so badly that no one would recognize you!"

"I suppose I am," Bailey rejoined with a malicious grin. He prodded Harry hard in the ribs with his wand, making him stiffen reflexively.

As much as Harry wanted to argue with Bailey, to tell him off for the hell he had created, he found that he was simply too tired. Whenever he would think of something to say, the words would slip from his grasp and he could no longer remember them. He vaguely heard footsteps and the sound of the cellar door slamming as Bailey had finally left.

He knew Bailey hadn't been forced to do this to him. He knew Bailey got some sort of cruel enjoyment out of making his life hell for the past few months. All he had been ordered to do was capture Harry, and yet, he had chosen to make it more entertaining for himself. It was a game, Harry realized. It was all some sort of sick game to him. With a long, shaky exhale, Harry closed his eyes, and after a long while, he slipped into a deeply troubled sleep.

Aidan yawned, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he gazed intently at a large book on his desk. He and Christian had arrived at the Ministry not long before. To Aidan, it seemed to be one of those days when everything was fast-paced and frenzied: he had gotten up nearly twenty minutes late, spent another fifteen trying to get Christian to hurry, and as he was making his way to his cubicle, he noticed that there were several people moving about, their expressions tense and their gaits brisk and purposeful. He had seen Bailey emerge from the lift, and even he seemed to be on the move that day.

"Got to get down to the field," he'd said when Aidan had given him a questioning look.

After awhile, he sighed and pulled a few vials toward him. He was a bit behind on analyzing the trainees' potions, and he wanted to take that morning to get caught up.

A sudden whoosh from the hall made Aidan's head snap up. He placed the stopper on the vial of the potion he was examining before he got to his feet, snatching up his wand. He was making a move to investigate the noise, but he soon realized he wouldn't have to go far at all. About twenty owls streamed into his cubicle, all carrying letters.

"What the—"

Astonished, he immediately tried to untie as many letters as possible, but there were just too many of them for him to do it in an efficient amount of time, especially with the owls fluttering frantically around the room. Feeling slightly overwhelmed, he flourished his wand, causing the letters to untie themselves from the birds' legs and land neatly atop his desk.

The owls hooted loudly as they began to depart, leaving Aidan with the stacks of mail.

Shaking his head, he reached over and picked up a piece of parchment without an envelope. The only thing that was written on it was:

Harry Potter's missing. He didn't come to training this morning, and no one's seen him.