Chapter Nineteen – Check

Mother,

I have tried. I have sent him notes, talked to him, everything I can possible do to stop him from helping with the cause. Why have he does this? He reminds me of Wormtail. He really, really does. But is there no hope for him? Shall I always live in fear of him now? How can I keep Harry from him? I am failing, Mum. And I don't like it. Help me stop Neville. Please, help!

Your son,
Draco

Draco cursed as he slipped, and a blot appeared on the parchment. He sighed and pulled out another, repeating the same words as the letter before. He read it over, making sure he stated everything he needed to, before putting it into an envelope and sending his owl, Archimedes, off with it.

He was failing. Months had passed by since Neville agreed to help Voldemort. And he had done nothing to ruin the cause. He had tried. He tried everything. He even began to reappear at Death Eater meetings: secretly, of course, while using his mother's Invisibility Cloak. Once in a while, he would even use a Polyjuice Potion and disguise himself as another follower. Voldemort never said a word, though Draco was almost positive he knew.

Only once, for a fleeting second, hand Draco considered going to Dumbledore about what was happening. And he knew it was getting more and more severe.

The news of Cornelius Fudge's suicide frightened Draco. It only meant that Voldemort was winning: he had scared the Minister. Scared him to death. Literally.

And as for the news of Bill Weasley's death, Draco was stunned. Never, in a million years, did he ever imagine Bill Weasley, or any Weasley, being a victim of Voldemort. Not that Bill was a victim directly. But Draco knew that because Voldemort had the dementors, Cornelius wanted Bill to take over, and when Bill refused, Fudge shot him. Voldemort's fault.

Draco gave his deepest sympathies to Ron—at least, he tried. Ron just sneered at him, rolled his eyes, and walked away from Draco, cursing him under his breath. Ginny, on the other hand, was much more thankful for Draco's concern.

"Ginny," Draco said to her one day in the halls, on his way to Herbology. "I'm terribly sorry about your brother."

Ginny blinked at him in surprise. "Oh. Why, thank you."

Draco smiled at her, trying to be comforting. To his surprise, she gave a small smile back, before hurrying away to join her other Gryffindors. A sigh of relief swept through him after that. I'm a good guy, he thought to himself, before turning the other way and continuing to his class.

But now, that day seemed all too long ago, and Draco's soothing feeling of wholesomeness was being wiped away by the agonizing knowledge of what Neville was going to do to Harry. True, Draco didn't like Harry. Despite the fact that he was no longer working with Voldemort, Draco still despised the boy. Anyone in his position would: You're never as good a Seeker, never are quite as popular. And you're not nearly as famous.

Draco sighed. None of those things could keep him from trying to save Harry, though. He refused to let Voldemort get the upper hand.

He checked his watch. Breakfast. He rubbed his eyes, blew out his candle, and looked at his room in darkness. The weather was terrible: thunder, lightening, and pounding rain that send shivers down Draco's spine every time it slammed against the window. It was so dark outside, there was no natural light in the room, and Draco's candle had been the only source.

Curling his lip at his still sleeping roommates, he put on a cloak and headed down to the Great Hall.

It was early, but there were still a good number of students eating the breakfast that the House-elves had prepared for them. Draco sat down at the Slytherin table, helping himself to some eggs and sausage. He looked over at the Gryffindor table, and smiled to himself when he saw the trio absent from their usual seats.

"Good morning," Pansy said, sitting next to Draco at the table. "How is everyone?"

The rest of the Slytherins grunted a "ugh" to her, and she smiled, taking the noises as a "good". She looked to where Draco was starting and made a "tsk tsk" sound.

"What?" Draco asked, shifting away from her a bit.

Pansy sighed. "Aren't you ever going to get over them? They're pathetic little Gryffindors, and you shouldn't be worried by them."

Draco snorted. "Look who's talking."

She blushed a bit, and turned back to her food. "Well, I still think you're being ridiculous," she muttered.

"You would."

Pansy put down her fork. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Whatever you want it to mean, Parkinson."

She blinked at him, in surprise. The Slytherins only called their enemies by their last names: not other Slytherins. "What has gotten into you!?"

With a smug smile, Draco just simply shrugged.

^*^*^

"Where is that boy?" Hermione grunted, tapping her foot impatiently. She turned to Ron. "Are you sure he was with you?"

Ron nodded. "He went to bed last night.... Don't know where he could have gotten to."

Seamus suddenly walked into the common room, and smiled. "Hey guys. Aren't you going to breakfast?"

"Seamus," Hermione asked, "have you seen Harry at all today?"

Seamus shook his head. "No...no, not after last night."

Hermione pouted, and fell back into the large recliner. "Well, this is absurd. I'm starving!"

Dean walked into the room, a confused look plastered to his face. He walked over to Ron, Hermione, and Seamus, and asked, "Have any of you seen Neville? Is he at breakfast already?"

The three shrugged, and Hermione questioned, "Why?"

"I let him borrow my baseball bat souvenir last night, and I want it back. But I don't know where on earth he put the thing. Did you see him do anything with it, Ron?"

Ron shook his head. "No. Didn't even know you had a baseball bat. Erm...you didn't happen to see Harry, did you?"

Dean shook his head. "Is he missing?"

"Looks like it," Seamus said, a hit of worry in his voice. "I mean, this isn't like him, is it? To just...I dunno, disappear? Especially when he usually meets you two for breakfast," he added, gesturing to Ron and Hermione.

"Well, I'm starving," Hermione said, hearing her stomach rumble. "Ron, can we just go?"

Ron nodded. "I guess he'll just meet us there."

Dean and Seamus nodded, and left with them for breakfast.

^*^*^

Hard floor beneath him. A chill ran in his spine, and caused a shiver in his body. He could barley see—he wasn't sure if it was because it was dark, or a response from the blow to his head earlier that night. He wondered if it was still night, and wished he could take a look at his watch. He felt around with his hands, looking for anything that might tell him where he was.

The last thing Harry remembered was waking up to find Neville standing over him, a large bat in hand. From then on, he remembered nothing—just waking up on the cold, hard floor.

Unbeknownst to him, there were rats scurrying around him, and a bar door, like the ones in prisons, was holding him within the room. If he had been able to see, he would also be able to tell that there was a window in his little cell, and it was early morning—though no sun was shining brightly, like on other April mornings.

Pain shot through his head, and he cringed. He began to massage his temples, but yanked his hands away when he felt a slightly wet, half dry substance on his face. If he had been able to see, he would have known it was blood.

It didn't take long for Harry to realize that he was in a bad situation. That something was terribly wrong, and wherever he was, he needed to get out. But with no sight, he had no idea where he was, and wouldn't be able to escape. And when he tried to make sense of everything, his mind could only come back to one name, which he shouted at the top of his lungs:

"NEVILLE!"