Alas, I had to change it. This is NOT chapter 18. It's chapter 17 rewritten. I was going to let it go, but here's the thing: what happened in the first version of Ch. 17 was really not supposed to happen until the end. I thought I could bump it forward a bit—or a lot, rather—but it's just not going to work. I would have to completely rethink my ending, and I think it's better if I just stick to the original plot. I know what you're all going to say; 'you should plan things out before you post them,' or 'when you post something, you should be sure it's final' or something. I know. I know I know I know. I'm sorry, I just didn't think. A lot of this chapter will sound similar to the first version; I used a few pages of it, just with a bit of a different twist.

So if you need to, go back and reread chapter 16 so that you know from what point I'm changing it. Forget the discarded chapter ever happened. Again, I have to thank SkyHighFan for making me do this one. If you're lucky, he'll keep me on my toes and you'll get chapters more often.

Anyway, enjoy. And if you're mad at me for changing it, I'll write another chapter sometime this week.

Chapter 17

The Dark Lord's Revenge

"Harry Potter, sir! Harry Potter, please wake up!"

Harry rolled over groggily and groped for his glasses in the semi-darkness of predawn. Once he found them and shoved them onto his nose, he blinked several times and found himself face to face with Dobby the house elf.

"Whasgoinon?" he asked blearily.

"Professor McGonagall wishes to see Harry Potter, sir. She is down in the dungeons. She sent Dobby up to fetch Harry Potter, sir."

"What does she need?"

Dobby shrugged. "Dobby does not know, sir. But he is very glad that Professor McGonagall allowed him to come up and see Harry Potter."

"Good to see you too, Dobby. Tell her I'm coming."

"Dobby will, sir!" he squeaked, and vanished immediately.

Harry stood up, stretched, and pulled his robes over his head. Ten minutes later found him descending the stairs into the dungeons.

Professor McGonagall was waiting outside the door of what was once a cell that had been converted into a classroom. She looked impatient. "Oh, good, Potter, you're here. I need your help."

"Doing what, Professor?" Harry asked rather apprehensively.

She sighed. "The ministry has decided that because Azkaban is no longer a safe place to put criminals, the Malfoy boy is to remain here, under lock and key at all times." Her nostrils flared sharply. "I would say that is a good thing, as I don't believe he deserves Azkaban, but I would rather have him imprisoned elsewhere, someplace that there are not hundreds of students whom, if he got loose, he could harm greatly."

When she didn't go on, he inquired, "What do you need me to do?"

"He's demanded that he be allowed to speak to you."

"Why? So that he can tell me he wants to kill me?"

She shook her head. "He won't say. He won't say anything except 'let me speak to Potter.'"

Harry glanced at the cell door. "I dunno if I want to go in there. Last night his life's goal was to dismember me."

She smiled slightly. "He's tied to a chair and he doesn't have his wand. I think you'll be fine."

"Alright," Harry said, unconvinced. As unarmed as he was, he was mad; he could try anything.

"I'll be right here. Don't worry, Potter. You're supposed to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. You've handled much worse than an unarmed, raving seventeen-year-old."

She had a point. Harry flipped the latches on the heavy door, pushed it open, and walked inside.

It was dark and musty inside; the only light came from a single brazier mounted next to the door. In the center of the room stood a high-backed chair, to which Draco Malfoy was tied.

"Hello, Potter," he said sneeringly. Awfully cocky for someone in his position, Harry thought.

"What do you want?" Harry demanded, shutting the door behind him.

"I want to kill you, obviously."

Harry snorted. "What else is new? If that's it, then, I'll be going."

"No, stay." While the command was overlaid with Malfoy's usual drawling, imperious tone, there was a hint—just the barest trace—of desperation in his voice. It was this that made Harry stop.

"Alright," he sighed, turning back to face his old nemesis. "Then cut the crap and tell me why you wanted to talk to me."

Malfoy was silent for a moment before he said slowly, "I have information."

"Not information I can trust," Harry assured him. "You'll have to do better than that."

When he spoke, there was a vehement hiss in his voice. "It's important information, Potter. Trust me. It's about one of the Weasels."

Harry let out a humorless laugh. "Trust you?" he said incredulously, overlooking the slight on his friend's last name and turning his back on him. "You'd do better to ask the giant squid to plant petunias. It's not going to happen."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "You'll regret it, Potter. Believe me, if you don't listen to me, you'll be sorry."

Harry turned to face him. "Then tell me," he spat. "I'll judge whether it's worth listening to."

"Not without something in return," he said slyly.

Harry shook his head. "Then why didn't you just tell McGonagall? Why ask for me? I have nothing to give you."

"My freedom, perhaps."

"And what would you do with it? You had it, and you single-handedly tried to attack the castle. You'll just get caught again. Goodbye, Malfoy."

Harry whirled around and stalked out the door. Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrows. "What did he want?" she asked.

"To tell me he wanted to kill me," he said, fuming. Half of himself was angry at Malfoy, and the other half was furious with himself for letting Malfoy get to him like that. Professor McGonagall didn't even try to stop him as he left.

Ron and Hermione obviously noted his mood at breakfast that morning. Finally, after Harry spilled his pumpkin juice for the second time, swore at Neville when he asked for the bacon, and nearly set the table on fire by a accident, Hermione asked, "What on earth is wrong, Harry?"

In a dark, moody undertone, Harry told them about Malfoy. Hermione clapped her hands over her mouth, and Ron, apart from looking rather sleepy, raised his eyebrows. Harry grumpily took a bite of toast while Hermione looked from him to Ron.

"What if he's working for—for Voldemort?" she asked in an anxious whisper.

Harry shook his head. "I don't think so. He's on the run from Voldemort."

"But Harry," she hissed, "it all makes sense. Voldemort sends him to spy on the castle, so he pretends to be raving and gets imprisoned in here. And then, to kill two birds with one stone, he asks for his freedom in return for information. You get faulty information that could be fatal, and he gets out. Don't you see it?"

Harry considered it, but—perhaps it had something to do with his dour mood—rejected it. "No. Voldemort…"

"Voldemort is clever, Harry. He would know that the Order would think that Malfoy is on the run from him, so if he used him, it would be the last thing we'd expect."

"Hermione, give it a rest," Ron implored her, reaching across Harry for the pancakes. "He's had a tough day."

Because it was Saturday, Ron and Harry took their brooms out to the Quidditch field as Ron had tryouts that evening and wanted some extra practice. Hermione trailed along behind them, doing some extra Charms work to help her on her N.E.W.T.s, and sat in the stand while they threw a Quaffle back and forth, playing a sort of one-on-one game. When it started raining, they trudged back inside and up to the common room to do their homework. Harry got out his lesson plans and started thinking up ideas on how to teach the third-years about Lethifolds, the deadly, shadowlike creatures that smothered you in your sleep.

Between the heat of the fire and the low hum of noise in the common room, Harry dozed off and was soon snoring in his seat. He started awake when Ron hissed, "Harry!"

Harry blinked blearily and looked up. Ron was holding… Hedwig. He placed her on Harry's shoulder. "What're you doing here, huh?" Harry asked his owl. She nipped him gently on the ear and held out her leg. There was a tightly-furled scroll tied to it. He shot her a confused look; he had gone up to the owlry a few days before and seen her fly off to hunt, but why was she returning with a letter? Why hadn't she come at breakfast? Who was writing to him?

Eagerly, he unrolled the scroll as Hedwig took off and soared out the open window.

Harry,

I was going to send this with a different owl,

but Hedwig showed up and I figured she'd

have a better chance of finding you that mine.

Smart bird you've got yourself. Also,

I'm not sending it in time for breakfast

because I'm afraid someone might be there

to read over your shoulder.

I need to talk to you. It's urgent, and I can't

write it down for fear that this owl will be

intercepted. Be in your office at ten tonight

and I'll contact you through Floo powder.

Ron and Hermione can be there if they want.

Don't tell anyone, even anyone you trust,

what you're going to be doing. This is very

important Harry—please, do everything you

can to be there. I don't like to keep you in

the dark, but it's dangerous to put anything

in writing. Be on your guard.

Best wishes,

Remus Lupin

They sat in silence for several long moments.

"Something's gone wrong," Hermione said in a mortified whisper. "It must've."

"I dunno," Harry said grimly, setting fire to the letter with a tap from his wand. "Sure sounds like it…"

"Then why didn't he just ask Professor McGonagall to tell you, rather than this secret meeting?" Ron asked, brow furrowed.

"Have either of you seen Professor McGonagall today?" he asked.

"No," Hermione said worriedly. "Something's wrong, Harry, I know it."

Harry cancelled that evening's extra class in order to allow himself some time to think. He retreated to his office after dinner. Though both of them had promised to be back by ten, Ron had Quidditch tryouts, and Hermione had Head Girl duties, so he was left alone.

The light outside slowly faded, leaving Harry in darkness. He didn't bother to light a lamp. The minutes ticked by, and every second, his worries deepened. Left to wander, his mind had strayed automatically towards the worst possibilities: the Order of the Phoenix had been discovered and destroyed, the Death Eaters had made a mass movement and were killing thousands, Voldemort had performed some act that made him all-powerful. His only consolation was that Lupin would be showing up in less than half an hour to tell him what was going on.

Hermione entered at a quarter to ten after patrolling the halls and suggested they light a fire. Harry shrugged his consent, not feeling very inclined to speak. They remained silent until Ron showed up some seven minutes later, sodden, mud splattered and disgruntled.

"It started raining again," he said irritably, tossing his Cleansweep down. "And she kept drilling us, the ruthless torturer."

"Who's the captain this year?" Harry asked.

"Ginny."

"Ginny?!"

The reply came from both Harry and Hermione, who looked at each other, dumbfounded. Ron looked from one to the other. "You didn't know? I thought she'd at least have told you, Harry."

Harry, rather disgruntled, shook his head.

"She's good, you know, even if she never played before two years ago. No one else is any better, though there are a lot who're much worse."

"Did you make the team?"

"Yeah."

At that moment, there was a whirring sound from the direction of the fireplace. Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned around expectantly. Indeed, a moment later, Remus Lupin stepped into the room.

He let out a sigh of relief upon seeing them. Harry grinned, but it faded as he surveyed Lupin.

There was a cut beneath his eye, and his lip was swollen. There was a bruise on his left jaw. He seemed to be limping slightly as he crossed the room and hugged Harry roughly. "I'm glad you're safe, all of you," turning from Harry and embracing Ron and Hermione in turn.

"What happened?" Harry demanded. "You look horrible."

Lupin looked more tired than ever. He sank into a chair and ran his hands through his graying hair. "Sit down. I need to show you a memory."

Intrigued, Harry accepted a corked flask from Lupin.

"Drink some of it," he said. "It'll show you the memory."

Harry took a swig of the liquid and coughed violently, spraying it everywhere. "It tastes horrible," he said hoarsely.

"It's the tang of the memory. I might explain later. Drink some more and actually swallow it this time. Then give it to Ron and Hermione."

Harry did so, and felt himself becoming sleepy. The moment he shut his eyes, a sort of vision began.

He was in a musty room with old, moth-eaten furniture. It was small and dimly-lit, with a messy desk in one corner and a coffee table bordered on either side with a dusty sofa. There was one door and one small, dirty window on an adjacent wall. Other than that, the room was bare.

Two men sat on one sofa, across from a third. Harry recognized the two: Remus Lupin and Bill Weasley. The third one was a small, ugly man with long, yellow fingernails and a large beer belly. He looked rather like a disproportionate rat minus the tail.

"So whatcha want from me?" the man asked darkly, glaring at his visitors. He had a thick American accent and greedy brown eyes.

Lupin, who looked rather disgusted at the filthiness of his surroundings, leaned forward slightly. "We're looking for information."

"Yeah, I gathered that," the man spat. "Info comes at a price."

Bill shook his coat slightly and it made a jingling noise. "We can pay."

"What is it you wanna know?"

Lupin answered. "How much do you know about Domohov Bokonovsky?"

"Minister of Magic?" he asked.

"No, the other one," Bill sneered.

The man ignored him. "Enough."

"Name your price."

"Fifty galleons."

Bill nearly choked. "Fifty galleons? You've got to be kidding."

Lupin nudged him warningly. "Thirty."

Bill looked at him incredulously. "Thirty?"

He silenced him with a look. The man scowled. "Forty."

"Thirty-five."

The man thought a moment. "Deal," he grunted, and spat in his palm, holding it out to Lupin. When he didn't take it, he wiped it on his pants. "Alright, then, pay me half first, I'll tell you the stuff, and if it's to your liking, you can pay me the rest."

Lupin nodded. "Alright."

Bill looked mad. Thirty-five galleons was a lot of money. However, Harry was glad to see he was recovered enough to help the Order and be interested in something other than Fleur's death.

The man drew a deep breath. "Accedo letum."

"Pardon?" Lupin said, leaning closer.

But at that moment, shapes began to materialize around them, robed, masked figures. In an instant, there were wand tips at both Bill's and Lupin's throats.

Harry knew the masks all too well: they were Death Eaters, about twelve of them. "Stand up slowly and drop your wands," one of them growled. "There are thirteen wands aimed at you, so don't make any sudden moves."

Lupin glanced around, then stood up slowly, extricated his wand from his belt, and tossed it to the ground. "They outnumber us, Bill," he said softly. "They'll wipe you out in less than a second."

There was silence for a moment. "Then let them," Bill muttered. He sprang up and a red jet of light shot out of the end of his wand, hitting the nearest Death Eater in the stomach. But there were twelve more of them and one of him. He blocked the first three spells, but the last one hit him. It was a green jet of light. In an instant, he was writhing and twisting on the ground, screaming in agony. Harry knew what it was from very painful experience: the Cruciatus Curse.

"Stop!" Lupin cried, lunging forward, but two Death Eaters caught him by the shoulders and twisted his hands behind his back. He had stooped down to grab his wand, but he wasn't fast enough. Harry wanted to intervene, but he knew—also from experience—that he was naught but a shadow, and he could do nothing.

Eventually the Death Eater who had been holding the curse lifted his wand, and Bill lay still, panting and moaning in anguish. Lupin's face was twisted in an angered grimace, and he glared at the man who had uttered the curse. Someone else muttered an incantation, and ropes sprang out of the end of his wand to wrap around Bill, binding him effectively. The man who had betrayed them to the Death Eaters with the words Accedo Letum—obviously a signal to materialize—was collecting a pocketful of gold from one of the Death Eaters

A tall wizard approached Lupin and stood before him. Lupin was breathing hard and glaring defiantly at the man in front of him, but Harry saw him glance worriedly at Bill, who was breathing raggedly with his eyes closed in pain.

"Your Order has something we want," said the man in a deep voice.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Lupin snarled.

The man's fist sank into his stomach, and he doubled over, fighting for breath. The men who were holding him forced him back up. "Your Order has something we want," he repeated, "and we expect it. A certain map. In return for his—" he pointed at Bill—"life."

Harry felt himself inhale sharply.

"I… I have no idea… what you mean," he gasped. This time the fist struck him in the face, and he moaned in pain.

"In fifteen days, we will be at the mouth of the Thames, at midnight. At that point, you can trade it. If you're not there, then you'll find his body washed up in Oxford."

Lupin glanced at Bill and back at the man, shaking his head helplessly. "At least tell me what it is, then you might—"

But he never finished his sentence. The man's fist swung back and delivered a strong upper cut to his left jaw, and then he swung in with his foot and kicked his shin hard enough to make him fall. As he went unconscious, the vision faded into blackness.

"Harry," Lupin said urgently as he blinked to rid his eyes of the memory, "you three are always running around without telling us what you're doing. Do you have any information… anything regarding the map, or Bill, or…"

Harry gulped and shook his head. He had thought, before the Death Eater had clarified that the object was a map, that Voldemort had discovered the missing Horcruxes and wanted them back, and he would have to make a choice between the Horcrux and Bill's life. He had to admit, he was rather relieved.

"When did this happen?" he asked.

"Early yesterday."

Then something occurred to him, something Malfoy had said that morning. 'It's about one of the Weasels…'

"I don't know anything," Harry said slowly, glancing at Ron, who looked shocked and scared, "But I know someone who might…."

"Malfoy," Hermione gasped.

"Wait here," Harry said. "He won't want to see you. I'll be right back." He left without giving them a chance to argue.

As a teacher, he was allowed in the corridors after hours. Though Filch shot him a nasty look as he passed, he couldn't do anything. Meeting hardly anyone, Harry made his way down to the dungeons. As he descended the steps, however, he heard voices, which he certainly hadn't expected. Deciding that he wanted to see them before they saw him, he pulled his invisibility cloak—which he had taken to carrying around—out of his pocket and pulled it over his head, descending the steps as quietly as he could.

The scene that met his eyes nearly made his heart stop.

Twenty or more hooded figures stood in the hallway, cloaked and wearing masks. More Death Eaters. One of them was jiggling the latch that led to Malfoy's cell.

Harry's mind was racing. They sent a whole contingent of Death Eaters to get someone Voldemort wanted dead? How did they get in? Was Malfoy with them or against them? Why were they targeting Malfoy and only Malfoy when they had the opportunity to destroy Hogwarts staring them in the face?

Someone spoke quietly, and Harry could only barely make out the words. "Gavin, I think we have a visitor. Would you take care of him?"

Harry turned to run, knowing he was the 'visitor' whom the man had referred to, but he hadn't made it two steps before he was caught in a Body Bind Curse. He toppled heavily and landed on the stairs slamming his head against a cold stone edge. Stars suffocated his vision and he thought for a moment he was going to pass out.

Two of the Death Eaters were walking towards him, and one had his mask off. What scared Harry was not that he had two of Lord Voldemort's servants advancing on him, but that the man whose face was visible appeared to have the same sort of magical eye as Mad-Eye Moody. It was larger than the other and spun around in his head, and it was obviously how he had seen through Harry's invisibility cloak.

"He's over there, Gavin. And it looks to me like it is Harry Potter."

There were some interested murmurs from the remainder of the Death Eaters, and the man with the magical eye approached him and yanked the invisibility cloak off.

Gaving leered down at him. "The Dark Lord will reward us greatly for bringing him Harry Potter."

"No, Gavin," the other said sharply. "That was not part of our mission."

"But we could—"

"We will leave him here," the other said coldly, and his voice was like icy daggers. "When we are instructed to bring Potter to the Dark Lord, we will bring him, but not until then. Leave him there, he can be a witness. Let him wonder."

Harry's heart was pounding. He had no way to get out of this predicament, though from the looks of it, at least they weren't going to take him to Voldemort.

The others had managed to get the door open, and three went inside. There were sounds of a brief scuffle, and finally, they emerged with Malfoy, all three wands pointed at him. At least he wasn't on their side.

"Servants of the Dark Lord," said a voice that Harry recognized all too well: Lucius Malfoy, Draco's father. His voice was hoarse and constricted, and it almost sounded as though he had been crying. "We face the treason of one of our brothers. The pact that he sealed with his blood he has broken, and the Dark Lord demands retribution. His sentence is…"

At first, Harry thought he must have been imagining, but a moment later, he realized he was not. Malfoy's voice had broken, and he could hardly continue. "His sentence is to… to see his father torture and murder his mother and then be left to the mercy of those who are against the Dark Lord. Let justice be done."

The Death Eaters parted, and for the first time, Harry could see what was at their feet. A broken, chained woman with black hair and tattered robes, she knelt with her hands behind her back and her face was tear-streaked. Harry heard Draco whisper, "Mother…"

And then Lucius hit her with the Cruciatus Curse. Narcissa Malfoy screamed, and with her screamed her son, fighting with all his might to free himself but being entirely unsuccessful. Lucius, though his face looked damp, seemed resolute and unfeeling as he tortured his own wife and by doing so, his own son.

Harry, knowing full well what Narcissa was going through, and, even though she was a Death Eater, he tried to stop it, wanted to do something, but the Body Bind curse had rendered him immobile. When it finally lifted, he was near sobbing as well.

And then there was a blinding flash of green light, and all was over.

"Let's go. Someone will have heard it."

His hatred, anger, and disbelief written all over his face, Draco Malfoy screamed.