Chapter 3

Back in his room, Draco began undoing the buttons at the top of his robes, his gaze fixed on the birdcage. His owl had been out for weeks now, though it wasn't this that preoccupied him; rather, it was the cage itself.

It was versatile and clean, all black metal that seemed dull against the gold on the walls. So odd against the room. He had used it most of his life, as long as he had owned the owl, but it had been Father's before that. Draco hadn't asked why there had been streaks of old blood on the sides. It was useful enough. The bars were charmed to adapt, so the cage held a smaller bird equally well.

Like a canary. He had let it get away last night. Draco remembered thinking that it was as good as dead, but still it escaped. He had practically sent it away. His eyelashes flickered down for a moment, remembering shame.

He had written to his father the day they had studied thestrals in class. He couldn't recall exactly what he had said, but when he thought of the letter he saw himself gloating, thinking about having Hagrid leave for good.

His father had not replied. Draco had then written a second letter, leaving out thestrals and Hagrid. Only then did his father's owl arrive, with a response that ignored Draco's first letter completely.

When Draco arrived home that summer, a paddock had been built in the center of his Quidditch pitch. Father had walked him out to it and, smiling, asked him if he liked his gift. Draco had smelt the bloody stench of raw meat on the air and he had seen a carcass pulled apart my invisible jaws.

And he had told Father that he loved it. The point was clear, could not have been clearer had his Father locked him in with the beast. Draco had walked away that day ashamed, seeking death.

The thestral had made him wonder why he had not looked for it before. It wasn't fear. He knew fear just well enough to recognize its taste. And he hadn't cared enough for the bird spy to spare it, that was true.

But he hadn't hated it either. It had seen what he saw his whole life and was allowed to live through. Draco had crushed it and thought of his father, and imagined crushing himself.

He shrugged on a clean robe. It would have to be clean, after all, before he found and killed Harry Potter.

One of the Muggle women came in as Draco was opening the cage.

Looking at her for a second time, Harry saw that she was closer to a girl. A bird's view distorted things dramatically, but now the childish, fawn-colored hair and the rounded cheeks became evident. She couldn't have been more than ten, perhaps eleven.

Draco looked at her idly. "What do you want- or, I suppose, what does Father want for you to want?"

She smiled quietly with eyes cast downward. "My name is Rebecca." Harry saw then that she rarely blinked. Perhaps Lucius had forgotten that. Her eyes were round and watery even while she smiled. And blank, always blank.

"Is it, now?" Draco seemed tired. He closed the cage, and the girl looked up at the sound.

"Yes."

"Well, Rebecca, tell Uncle Lucius that Draco doesn't want to play." Draco gazed intently at Harry through the cage bars before turning his head back to look at her. His eyes never quite met hers, but glanced at her small hands and the tears in her dress. "It's late and Draco is tired of his games."

"But I'm not tired. I 'd like to play with you, please."

"You'll have to..." Draco trailed off voice sinking into a low purr in his chest. He slid a finger through the bars and Harry pecked feebly at it. He could barely hear their words anymore.

It was enough to draw blood. Draco looked satisfied at this. He withdrew his finger and then flicked the latch open. Harry found himself lifted out of the cage and shoved towards the girl.

"Here. You like birds, don't you? I saw you looking at it. Take it. Whatever you do, just...just leave me alone." Harry was suddenly cupped in gentler hands. The girl giggled with him up against her cheek and skipped away.

Stunned, Harry looked back at Draco from over her shoulder. He had sunk into a chair, head in the nook of an arm, and he looked somehow weaker than Harry had ever seen him.

But why?

He did not have time to think about. The girl had reached a door, another door. A door, Harry realized, that must lead to the inn. It was shaking slightly on its hinges but gave no sound to show it.

'If only,' he begged. 'Open it, please, just turn the handle-'

She turned the handle. Harry felt as if his heart might burst. The door opened slowly and soundlessly under her hands.

Standing there, mouth open, was Zacharias Smith.

There were deep circles under his eyes, and he gaped for a few moments at the girl, Rebecca.

A high, shrill scream came from the sitting room, and the empty sound of slow clapping. Pain burst where his scar should have been and Harry screamed. The sound was disjointed in a bird's throat, but came through clear; the girl's eyes flickered closed and opened, and she dropped him in fright.

He wanted to comfort her. Zacharias was making shouting motions through the doorframe- he couldn't seem to get through. Neither could sound. Harry could do nothing.

Recovering, she picked him up again, but her eyes were half-closed. She saw Zacharias through the door, and rushed towards him but could not pass through.

She passed Harry through the door instead. He shuddered in her palms and his blood yellow feathers came away in her fingers.

Zacharias had rougher hands. Harry could hear him screaming, screaming for Becca, but now she was the silent one. Harry saw her eyes fall closed. When they opened, they were blank once again.

He remembered feeling tears as he fainted. It was the last thing he could recall.

Clearly, it was morning now. The sunlight was warm against his face, and it made him feel drowsy and safe, but uncomforted. Harry glanced around blindly for a while and then fumbled for his glasses.

Zacharias was sleeping on a bed across the room, on top of the sheets rather than under them. The trunk, books, and broomstick that Harry had left back on Privet Drive were stacked neatly at the end of the bed. Hedwig's cage sat up on the table, and Hedwig herself blinked sleepily at him from within it. Harry looked away.

Canary feathers were left strewn across the floor; Harry picked some out of his hair and sat up. He brushed a hand across his ribs and found that they were healed.  

What had happened? Morning noises came from the pub downstairs: a clattering of silverware, voices from the kitchen. A faint smell of eggs in the air meant breakfast. Yet he could not focus on the present, which was odd, since...

...the pain was gone in his scar. Startled, Harry rubbed it with his thumb.

As it was, the pain was not all that was gone.

His scar was gone...his scar was...

He didn't know whether or not to laugh or scream. His forehead was smooth and uninterrupted by lightning, and he wondered, he wondered-

He wandered numbly towards the door. When he reached to open it, he did it carefully, and then waved his arm through it to be sure there was nothing hidden there.

And there was the closed door, just down the hall. An elaborate "Malfoy" was carved just above the doorknob, which gave off the hazy golden glow of a charm. Most likely several.

Abruptly, there was a hiss behind him, and then he was yanked forcibly backwards and out of the doorway. He stumbled over his feet and fell with his back flat on the floor.

Zacharias flung the door shut and then rounded on him. "What the hell was that, Potter? Trying to bloody get yourself killed? Well, you got pretty damn close, I can tell you," he snarled.

"Has the world become paranoid while I wasn't looking?" Harry laid back and looked up at Zacharias through his fringe. "What was that for? I can take care of myself, thanks, I don't need you for a body guard."

Zacharias seemed just about ready to kick him. "This is the thanks I get," he said angrily. "Look at you- sacrificing everything that Professor Lupin has been doing for you. He t you out of that place and when he managed to get over here after I found you, he healed you, and set up extra wards around this room." He sneered. "Some hero you are."

"Shut up," Harry snapped. "You don't understand what the hell you talk about! I never asked to be here- I was supposed to go to room twelve-"

Zacharias sighed. "This is room twelve, at the end. But rather than come straight here, you had to wander around with Malfoys. I waited here for hours."

"Which reminds me," Harry interjected. "Why were you standing there when she opened the door?"

His face darkened with a sharp, crazed smile. "Ah, and now we come to another fine point. Harry is not the only one in this idiot world that can suffer."

"What does that-"

"Shh. We're in enemy territory. This is war. They take captives. Beyond that pretty door is a pair of monsters and then, a happy little family. That is, three-fourths of one." He laughed, a horrible sound. "And standing here with you is the rest of it."

Harry's mouth went terribly dry.

"Sickening, isn't it?"

"Why- why don't you do something, get someone to help you save them?"

Zacharias closed his eyes. "That's what you would do, isn't it? Don't think I haven't tried. And Lupin tried, too- they have up wards, but stronger and more permanent than the ones we have. They bought off the innkeeper years ago, and he gave them his word and that room. You have to be one of a few very specific people to get through that door."

This baffled Harry. "But I got through- she pushed me through the door."

Zacharias shrugged. "Maybe they're holding out on you just wandering into their evil clutches.

"I seem to have done that anyway," Harry replied darkly.

"Whatever it is, you're one lucky sod." A knock came from the door. Zacharias drew his wand as he went to open it.

But it was only Professor Lupin. He walked in and Zacharias moved to shut the door.

"No, don't bother, Zacharias. It's time for breakfast, and I wouldn't know when Harry last had a decent meal. Which reminds me," he looked towards Harry. "Feeling all right? You had some nasty breaks. Though, I did managed to get a Healer to put a numbing spell on that scar of yours."

"So that's why..." Lupin looked at him queerly. Harry ran a hand across his forehead. "I woke up this morning and thought that something had gone wrong and my scar was gone." Zacharias snorted.

"No, it's there. Come look in the mirror, Harry- you see? You still have your scar. Perhaps it's just that the pain is gone now, and you had gotten used to it?" Yes, the scar was still there. Harry could see the faint bolt of lightning etched there, where it had always been.

"Perhaps," he said slowly. Lupin smiled, and then gestured at the door.

"Let's get breakfast then. Zacharias, do you-"

"No, thanks, Professor. I'll stay."

"If that's what you want, then. Harry, get your invisibility cloak, would you?"

Together, they made their way down the stairs. Tom was serving breakfast and he eyed Lupin as he walked past, seemingly alone. When he finally greeted him, his voice was not quite as friendly as Harry remembered it.

Once outside the wall, Lupin allowed Harry to take off the cloak. They made their way down to a little café that the Lupin said was usually quiet in the mornings.

"I hope so," Harry replied. The door gave a tinkling symphony of notes as it opened, rather than the single ring of a Muggle café. They stepped in. "I think I've had enough of my share of excitement."

Later, as Draco took his tea, he spied a yellow canary feather in Harry Potter's hair.