Thanks for the great response, guys. A quick note: there are short sentences in different languages in this chapter. At the bottom you can find translations, and also pronunciation for the place names. Enjoy!

Previously:

The silver-grey eyes that had characterised the Malfoy line for generations were gone. In their place was a pair that was strikingly familiar. Toby's eyes had turned a deep, vivid amber.

Evanesco

Chapter 11

In Which There Be Furniture

When Harry woke up, the first thing he couldn't help but notice was that he was starving. His stomach growled angrily at him as he shifted slightly – and nearly plummeted to his death.

Heart in his mouth, he jerked back with lightning speed, and his head thunked painfully against something solid. Heart pounding and breathing heavily, he took a moment to realise why he'd been sleeping in a tree. Relief that he was still alive flooded him, and he looked down to where, on the next branch down, Neville was snoring peacefully. Harry almost laughed. Good thing we didn't have nightmares, he thought wryly. It's not the best sleeping arrangements for tossing and turning.

Once he was sure he was completely awake, alive, and calm, he climbed slowly down to where Neville sat. He reached over and grabbed his friend's shoulders, shaking gently. He made sure to secure him in place so Neville wouldn't have the same experience as Harry had.

"Wassamarra?" Neville muttered.

"It's me," said Harry. "Sun's up."

Neville yawned, and opened his eyes. He squeaked in fear when he realised how high up he was. "Whose idea was this again?" he yelped.

"Yours," said Harry, truthfully. Once they had realised their own stupidity in not instantly seeing that Draco Malfoy was a werewolf, they had debated what their next move should be. Neither of them could remember whether a werewolf would transform on the same night it had been bitten, especially as early in the night as Toby had been, so Neville had suggested they sleep it out, and if he transformed, then he transformed.

"We just have to make sure he can't reach us," he had said. So Harry had suggested the tree. And Neville had gone white and reverted to his first-year stutter, but had eventually agreed.

And now, as they looked down, Tobias still lay in the robe-covered heap they had left him, at the foot of the tree. Their branch-torch had burned out, and stood blackened and shrivelled beside him.

"Well," said Harry. "There you go." He started to climb, but Neville stopped him.

"Harry! Don't you dare go down there and leave me up here!"

"Well, come on then."

Neville shuddered. "I wish I'd thought about getting down before I agreed to come up here."

"Neville!"

"Oh, fine."

Harry helped Neville get down the tree, suppressing his own anxiety that he was going to slip, fall and die at any second. When they reached the ground he breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"Let's not do that again," said Neville.

"Agreed."

They walked over to the prone figure. Tobias was pale as parchment. Harry felt his skin, it was clammy. "At least he's not cold," he muttered. "Much."

Blood had seeped from the makeshift bandage onto the forest floor. Neville grabbed the ruined robe and tore off another strip. Harry got up to get some more leaves – and saw a movement. "Oh no," he groaned.

"What?" said Neville, looking up.

"Something's watching us."

They stayed still for a minute, watching the trees. "All right," said Harry eventually. "Better show yourself right now or I'll set something on fire. I can, you know."

Slowly, cautiously, a man emerged from the surrounding forest. He was tall and very thin, wearing damp, rumpled looking clothes. His greying hair was dirty and wild, but his suit showed him to be at least partially civilised. Despite the hair, he looked young to middle aged. He didn't meet either of their eyes. Instead, he stared down at Tobias. "Ach Bůh," he said. "Ach Bůh…" His voice was scratchy, sounding almost painful.

Harry took a step forward, wishing now more than ever (well, more than usual) that he had his wand. "Who are you?" he snapped. "No offence, but we are sort of in a dangerous situation here."

The man looked up at him. "Tebe ar Anglicky?" he asked, then, seeing their blank faces; "You are… English?"

Harry frowned. "Oh perfect," he muttered.

"Yes," said Neville standing up and glaring pointedly at Harry. "Do you speak English?"

"Of courze," said the man, his speech slurred but recognisable. "My name iz Olav. You are?"

Neville answered before Harry could stop him. "I'm Neville and this is Harry," he said. "This is Tobias."

"Neville!" Harry hissed. "We don't even know who he is!"

Neville glared at him. Harry was quite taken aback. "Listen. Malfoy needs help – real help," Neville whispered. "We can't keep going like this, with no food and no shelter and hardly any clothes. He's not going to get up again until he gets proper care." He turned to look at Olav, who had gone back to staring at Tobias' prone form, ignoring the others even though it was obvious they were talking about him.

"Listen," said Neville. "Could you help us? We need –" he stopped suddenly as the man looked up at him, and their eyes met. Harry only needed to look for a second to see what had shocked Neville. Olav's eyes were small and narrowed, but they shone orange in the early morning light.

Neville backed away. Harry didn't move. Instead he said, half accusing, half in realisation; "You're the wolf from last night, aren't you?"

The man's expression did not change. "Ano," he said, nodding sadly.

Harry thought about this for a moment. For some reason, all he could think about was Professor Lupin, and that night, the first night he'd met Sirius for real, when Lupin had transformed under the moonlight. He'd tried to kill them all… but then he'd resigned from school the next day, because he thought he might hurt someone. Lupin was a good man. A little eccentric, sure, but a good man. That didn't mean all werewolves were like that, though.

"In that case," he said. "You really ought to help us."

Olav's eyes flickered towards Toby. "Oh yeah," said Harry. "He's one of you now. Isn't there some kind of … pack rule, or something? He'll die if you just leave us here."

Olav looked shocked at the suggestion. "I vill help," he said quickly. "I know zis…" he knelt beside Tobias and touched the bloodied arm gently. Neville still hadn't rewrapped the wound. "On is klení," he whispered, before lifting the boy in his arms and slinging him over his shoulder. It was a remarkable feat of strength for such a thin man, and Harry and Neville glanced at each other. Werewolf strength, Harry supposed.

The man strode off at an angle to the direction they had been travelling in. Harry and Neville had to walk quickly to keep up. "So… where are we, anyway?" said Harry. "We've sort of been… brought this far, and we not totally sure…"

"The Šumava," Olav told him.

"What's that?" said Neville.

"It isthe forest," said Olav. "The… how you say? Area."

"Okay," said Harry, lengthening his stride even more. "So what country are we in?"

Olav glanced down at him in surprise. "How you not know zis?"

"Uh…" said Harry. "Well, it's complicated… if you're a werewolf you must know about magic, right?"

Olav growled a little menacingly. "Yes," he muttered. "I know… Ministry."

"Oh right," said Neville. "You have one here?"

"Of course," said Olav. "Alvays vatching verevolves. Make sure we not hurt anyvone, not haff children."

"That's awful," said Neville. "I hope you don't think all wizards are bad."

Olav thought about this. "No," he said finally. "I know good vizard. You are vizards?"

"Well, wizards in training," said Harry. "We're still at school. Do you know about Voldemort?"

Olav stopped suddenly. "Vat?" he whispered. "You said… you…" his eyes widened. "Your friend said… your name is Harry?"

Harry didn't answer. "Maybe giving him our names wasn't the best idea ever, Neville," he muttered.

"You are Harry Potter!" Olav exclaimed. He looked more terrified than excited. "You killed You-Know-Who!"

"Well," said Harry. "Not properly. He's back, you see."

Olav's eyes widened even more, if that was at all possible. "Voldemort, here? Ach, to jest ne blaho…"

"And that's sort of how we don't know where we are," said Harry. "But I'd rather if we could talk about this somewhere safe, if you don't mind."

"Yes," said Olav, looking around furtively and starting to walk again, muttering in his own language. "We go, we talk later. Come now."

"So, where did you say we were?" said Harry, knowing Olav hadn't told them in the first place.

"Oh," said Olav. "Sorry – I forget. This is Česky Republika – Czech Republic."

oO0Oo

When Draco woke up, he was warmer and more comfortable than he had been for weeks. His hands explored a mattress covered with a worn sheet beneath him, and a thin duvet above. It was ten times better than the bedroll in his tent.

At this thought, the events of the past few weeks came rushing back at him. Last to come was the memory of the wolf, and the pain in his arm as it bit…. Instinctively he raised his left hand to touch his other shoulder, and a hot flash of pain ran down his right arm. He yelped and tried to sit up, but he accidentally bumped his elbow and that just made it hurt even more. He gave up, lay back, and rubbed his eyes with his left hand.

He opened them to a view of a room painted a hideous shade of brown, with bare furniture against the walls and a small painting of a field on the far wall. There was an overwhelming smell of lavender that made his eyes water. He made a face.

"Morning," said a cheerful voice from the foot of the bed. He looked, to see Longbottom, sitting in a chair with his feet propped up on the footboard, a book open in his lap, grinning inanely. There was a large white dressing on his left cheek.

Draco wanted to answer with a derisive comment, but was way too tired. He looked out of the window to a view of trees and mountains. "Looks more like mid-afternoon to me."

Neville put down the book. "Well, you've been unconscious for hours," he pointed out. "Are you ok?"

Draco swiped at his eyes, trying to breathe through his mouth. "Fine," he growled. "It stinks in here."

Neville sniffed. "No it doesn't."

Draco sighed deeply. "So where the hell are we?"

Neville smiled. "It's an inn in the village. Olav's family owns it"

"Who? What village?"

"This one. Don't ask me to pronounce it." Neville explained what had happened when Olav had found them in the forest… leaving out some key details, like the fact that Olav was a werewolf.

"I don't get it," said Draco. "Why'd this guy just… help?"

"Because some people are like that," said Neville, shrugging.

"What, like Potter, you mean?"

"Well, yeah."

Draco gave up. He hoisted himself into a semi-sitting position with his left hand. "Where is Potter?"

"Talking to Olav, explaining stuff. We're hoping he might be able to help us get home."

"So where are we, really?"

"In the Czech Republic," said Neville.

"In the what?"

Neville picked up the book he'd been reading, and walked around to show it to the other boy. It was an atlas of sorts, opened to a page entitled 'Europe'. The countries were in bright colours, labelled in large letters. A children's book. Neville pointed to the small pink country in the centre. "Here, see?"

Draco stared at it. "That's halfway across the continent!"

Neville shrugged. "Well, yeah. But it's better than not knowing where we are at all. Plus," he said with a grin, "food and beds!"

Draco realised he was starving. "Food? Where?"

Neville got up. "Back in a minute."

Draco waited until the door was closed, then pushed off the duvet with his good hand and swung his legs off the bed. He looked down and grimaced. He was wearing ugly grey pyjamas that were far too big for him. He tried not to think about who would have dressed him while he was unconscious.

Looking behind the bed, he saw another door. He heaved himself to his feet, stretched out the kinks in his back and opened it. It was a bathroom, with a tiny shower, a brown toilet, a large cracked mirror and some freezing cold floor tiles. He used the toilet, wincing at the coldness of the metal, before turning apprehensively to look in the mirror.

His hair was a mess, that was the most obvious thing. Dirty and greasy from days of not being washed. Pale downy hair was growing on his chin, making him look even more like a tramp. At least his face was clean – someone must have rubbed the dirt off while he was asleep.

His fingers fumbled with the buttons of the pyjama shirt and tentatively he peeled it off. A creamy-coloured bandage was wrapped around his upper arm. He brought it up to his face, and sniffed it. The copper smell of dried blood reached his nostrils. He coughed and screwed up his nose. He splashed water onto his hair and scrubbed at it with a bar of gritty soap he found by the sink, grimacing, before rinsing it as best he could and rubbing vigorously at it, left-handed, with a towel.

He shoved the shirt back on, not bothering to do up the buttons, and was about to go back into the bedroom when he thought he noticed something. He turned back to the mirror and squinted at his reflection. He took a step closer, staring at his face.

Disbelieving, he reached out a hand to touch the glass surface, as if he could change what was reflected there.

oO0Oo

When Neville returned with a tray of the strange brown bread and soup they'd had earlier, it was to find Tobias sitting cross legged on the bed, cradling his injured arm in his lap, hair dripping down the back of his shirt.

"I come bearing food," said Neville, setting the tray down on the end of the bed. "Oh good, you washed up. Feel any better?" There was no answer. Neville noticed that the buttons on Tobias' shirt were undone. "Oh – we had a Muggle healer come look at you," he explained. "We told her you'd been bitten by a dog – she said it must have been a pretty big dog. Anyway she poked at you with some needles. Harry said it was to stop any diseases."

When there was still no answer from the other boy, Neville sat down in the chair again, looking at him. His hands were shaking. He whispered something.

"Sorry?" said Neville.

Tobias raised his head to look at him, amber eyes blinking away tears. Neville realised what must have happened.

"Muggle healer, huh?" chuckled Tobias dryly. "Guess there are certain diseases she didn't think of." He lowered his eyes. "Stop looking at me."

"Sorry."

"No, you're not. Bet you think this is funny."

"Of course not!" said Neville. "Why would I think that?"

"I don't know, maybe because we're enemies? Because you hate me, and I hate you?"

Neville pushed the tray towards him. "I'm not your enemy Toby," he said grimly. "I'm just the unfortunate who happened to attract your attention. Eat up."

"Don't call me Toby," Tobias muttered, ignoring the food. He looked out of the window. "There's some kids down there," he said. "Playing a game. Do you hear them?"

Neville listened. "No."

"I do." The boy rubbed at the spot under his shirt where the bandage was. "I can hear everything. Smell everything. I hate it!" he sobbed, lowering his head and pressing his hands against his ears. "Make it stop," he whispered, not to anyone in particular.

"I don't think I can," said Neville, wishing he wasn't alone in the room. Harry would probably just tell Malfoy to get over it, Neville knew he couldn't do that – even though he did hate the boy crying softly in front of him, he remembered. He just couldn't bring himself to express that particular emotion right now.

"It's not fair!" Tobias shouted. "My whole life, I've been afraid of two things – rejection by my family, and werewolves. And now I'm… I'm…." he laughed suddenly, rubbing at his eyes. "I guess I really am Tobias Black now, aren't I?" he said. "I thought before that maybe it was just temporary, that I'd get my… my father to take off this stupid… this… but he never will now. I'm inhuman. That's worse than being a Mudblood."

"Watch your mouth," Neville warned.

"Why should I?" Toby looked down at the food. "What is this? It smells like sewage."

"Well it's all we've got, so you better eat it," Neville snapped. "Olav's father is very generous, letting us stay here for free."

Toby held up the bread. "You expect me to eat this? It's like rock."

"Well, don't you have extra sharp teeth now, or something?" He ducked the slice of bread that was thrown at him.

oO0Oo

Having finished his story, Harry sat back, relaxed. Upon arriving at the inn, Olav had seen to Toby, putting him in one of the guest rooms and calling a doctor to see to him. She spoke good English, and had asked a lot of questions which Harry had done his best to answer with Olav looking anxiously over his shoulder. He decided that he much preferred Madame Pomfrey, who rarely asked questions even if you had leeks growing out of your eyes. The Muggle had, however, cleaned Neville's wound (with some very painful-sounding ointment) and dressed it with a big white sticking plaster. Harry's wrists itched where the rope wounds had scabbed over, but he was deemed healthy enough.

Once that was settled, Olav had shown them where they could shower, given them clean clothes from his nephew's cupboard and taken them to the kitchen, where his mother had been all too happy to feed them once she heard from Olav what had happened. She was very, very angry with him, and babbled furiously in Czech as she threw generous portions of soup and dumplings in front of the two boys before running upstairs to check on the boy her son had bitten.

Living permanently in the house, as far as Harry could make out, were Olav, his parents, his sister Livia, her husband and their son, who was currently away at university. He was, as Livia had proudly told Harry, the first in their family ever to go to one. Harry and Neville had thanked her profusely for lending them her son's clothes, even though Harry was very nearly drowned in clothes that obviously belonged to a man Olaf's height. They were comfortable, however, and when she was told that the two boys had no clothes with them at all, Livia had even packed some extra t-shirts and blankets into a rucksack. The boys had kept their own shoes.

After this, Neville went to sit with Toby, after surprisingly little argument, and Harry sat with Olav in his father's study and told the werewolf the story of how he and Neville had been taken, and how Tobias had joined them. Olav had asked a lot of questions about Tobias in particular, not that Harry could blame him. He decided against trying to persuade Olav that biting Draco Malfoy had been a good thing. Olav's English also got steadily better – Harry supposed it must have something to do with his human qualities, such as language skills, returning. Harry realised he really didn't know enough about werewolves, and resolved to ask Hermione about it when he got back.

"Vell," said Olav when they were finished. "I vill try and help you as much as I can. Sleep here tonight. You do not vant the Ministry of Magic… involved?"

"No," said Harry firmly. "There's no way of telling who in your Ministry supports Voldemort. Not in ours either," he added. "We can't tell anyone who we are unless we can trust them completely, we can't travel or even communicate by Floo because they could be watching the fireplaces, and Portkeys are out of the question as well, since they're pretty much impossible to get – I think. I only know one or two people with the ability to make one. So we're pretty much walking… or flying. Know anywhere we can buy a good broomstick for… well, nothing?"

Olav smiled. "I not know," he said. "But tomorrow, I vill tell you… vere you can go. I know good vizard who vill help you."

Harry smiled back. "Thanks Olav."

Olav stood. "Least I can do. Now I zink your friends are fighting upstairs."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm not surprised. How do you know?"

Olav pointed at his ears. "Good hearing."

"Right."

As they started up the stairs, Harry could hear shouting. "Brilliant," he muttered, taking the last few stairs two at a time and opening the door. The shouting stopped as soon as he entered. Neville and Tobias looked up at him, Tobias looking angry, Neville sheepish.

Harry glanced at both of them. "Over it?" he asked.

"No," snapped Toby.

"Why not?"

Toby's fist clenched around the slice of bread he was holding. Harry could see various other bits on the floor near Neville's feet. "Because you don't just wake up, find out you're a monster and then think, 'hey, it's no big deal, it's only once a month after all, and the sharp hearing and smelling is pretty cool…"

"Sounds convincing to me," said Harry. "This is Olav, by the way."

"Right," said Toby, not looking. "So what's the plan, Potter?"

"We stay here tonight. Move on in the morning. Sound good to you?"

Toby sighed, eyeing the bowl of dumpling soup miserably. "Fine. I want out of here as soon as possible."

oO0Oo

oO0Oo

If my Czech translation sucks, please don't kill me. I haven't been there in about three years.

Ach Bůh… - Oh God…

Tebe ar Anglicky? – Are you English?

Ano – Yes.

On is klení. – He is cursed.

Ach , to jest ne blaho… - Oh, that's not good…

Šumava – is pronounced 'Shumava'

Czech – for people who may not have heard it spoken, is pronounced 'Check'.

Thanks everyone for your awesome reviews! I promise I won't take so long, next time.