Chapter 21

The Potter Maneuver

Gryffindor's first Quidditch match, with Hufflepuff, was drawing near. Despite his waning interest in Quidditch this year, Harry had to admit that, if anything could rekindle his enthusiasm, it would be flying Jon's specially-built brooms.

The team had been practicing with them for nearly a month now, and once everyone had gotten used to the higher accelerations and handling capabilities they were like a dream come true. Since they'd had the presentation party the entire school knew about the brooms (even Gryffindors weren't above boasting, especially when there was something to boast about), but Harry had asked the team to keep their speed and maneuvering capabilities quiet until it was time for the first match.

Practices had gone well. Natalie McDonald, the newest member of the team, had thrown herself into Quidditch with a passion. Ron had mentioned that she feinted well; quite a few of her goal attempts had gotten past him until he'd learned her technique – she was particularly good at flying for one goal but scoring with another, until he began stationing himself to protect multiple goals at the same time, no mean feat itself. Harry was pleased to see both his newest team member and his Keeper being stretched by the mutual competition.

Ginny and Demelza had groomed Natalie on their basic formations and scoring strategy, although it would probably be another game or so before she was ready for the really advanced techniques. Jimmy and Ritchie were improving steadily as well; they would never match Fred and George, but they got the job done, that was the important thing.

The Saturday of the match had begun as an overcast, blustery day; not great flying weather, but there was no sun to interfere with vision. It would also give Harry a slight edge, he hoped, in finding the Snitch since he'd always been good at spotting small, nearly imperceptible motions when he was looking for them.

In the common room before the match he found Ron sitting with Hermione, who was continuing to pour over the old Wizarding family books in search of other artifacts that Voldemort might have used as Horcruxes. Finding the Helm of Gryffindor had excited Hermione once she'd grasped she'd found an actual artifact based on her research. Ron had muttered, "Too bad we can't report it to anyone," and she'd swelled up indignantly until she realized he was right – they couldn't risk Voldemort learning that they knew about his interest in relics of the Hogwarts founders.

Ron was concentrating on an object he was holding. Harry leaned over to look at it; he was surprised to see it was a small model of the Mystery Vault. "Where'd this come from?" Harry asked, taking and examining it; it seemed to be an exact copy of the original, complete with moving tiles and knob.

"Fred and George started selling them a couple of weeks ago," Ron said. "Said they were flying off the shelves. Made me pay full price for it, too," he added indignantly.

"When did you get it?" Harry wondered. This was the first time he'd seen it.

"Last week, when we were at the Tournament. It's no big deal, I just forgot to mention it," he said, shrugging.

Hermione looked at him accusingly. "Ron, you've been at that thing every time we've been studying together this week."

Ron reddened. "I've been admiring their craftsmanship." Hermione snorted. "No, really! They did a great job. Look," he said, taking it back from Harry. "Watch, when you turn the knob the tiles move, just like the real one. Fred said they got the moves from the Prophet. I guess they've been watching every move that every contestant's made since the first Round."

Harry chuckled. "I guess when you get that opened, you'll be ready to give the real one a go, eh?"

"Well…" Ron pushed a small button on the back; the model popped open. "Of course this is just a toy, see? There's a catch in the back to open it. But it's a good way to see how the tiles move and turn."

Harry looked at Hermione, who shrugged. "What?" Ron said, catching the look.

"Nothing," Harry said, shaking his head. "We should get out to the pitch."

In the changing room before they took to the field, Harry praised the team for their recent practices and offered a rousing speech to fire them up for the game. They really were working well together; Natalie's skills had developed to complement both Ginny and Demelza. Harry considered her a rare find.

Once they were got to the pitch, however, things turned sour rapidly. Almost before he was out the door Madame Hooch and the Hufflepuff Captain were walking briskly toward him. The Gryffindor and Hufflepuff students already in the stands were shouting at each other across the pitch.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked as they stopped in front of him.

"May I see your broom, Mr. Potter?" Hooch said, extending her hand. Harry handed it over and she began examining it carefully. Harry looked at Summerby, the Hufflepuff Captain and Seeker. He was stone-faced and avoided Harry's eyes when Harry looked at him questioningly.

"What's going on?" Harry asked again, still not understanding.

"There's been a complaint lodged against the use of your non-standard brooms," Hooch said. She had taken out her wand and was making passes over his broom. "This broom was not produced by any of the Ministry-listed broom-makers, was it?"

"No," said Harry curtly. He was starting to get angry. "But there's no rule that says we have to use only brooms from the Ministry's list, is there?"

"No," Hooch said. She handed Harry's broom back. "But for safety's sake, we do require all students to use only brooms that have been made by a certified broom manufacturer or dealer. Unless you can provide proof that these brooms qualify, I'll have to ask that you not use them."

Summerby nodded, apparently satisfied with that, and didn't quite manage to hide his triumphant smirk. Harry gritted his teeth and, trying to stay calm, said, "Professor Hooch, we've been practicing with these brooms for the past six weeks. The entire school's known about them, and nobody's said a thing about this until today. We haven't had a single problem with them acting erratically or misbehaving. It's really lousy timing to bring it up just before a game."

"I'm sorry, Potter," Hooch said, "but if you had brought this to my attention when you first began using the brooms I could have rendered a decision for you then."

Harry, feeling helpless, looked around the stands, wondering if Jon had come to the game. He saw him sitting next to Hermione. Lifting his broom, he pointed at it and shook his head in an exaggerated side-to-side motion. He saw Hermione nudge Jon and point his way.

At that moment he headmistress came striding up to the group, looking concerned. "What's the problem here?" McGonagall wanted to know.

"They're saying we can't use our brooms unless we prove they're safe," Harry said at once.

McGonagall looked at him, then at Professor Hooch, who raised an eyebrow at her. McGonagall turned back to Harry. "Can you prove your brooms are safe, Potter?"

Harry opened his mouth, but had no idea what he could say. The brooms had worked flawlessly all this time, but all his protestations were not going to get around the fact he had no proof. He finally closed his mouth, sighed and started to turn and tell his team to get out their old brooms.

A voice behind him said "Here's proof," and a hand with a card in it was held out to Professor Hooch, who took and began scanning it carefully.

Harry turned. Jon was standing beside him. "Sorry, Harry," he said in a low voice. "I keep forgetting nobody over here knows much about broom racing." He handed Harry a card as well.

Both Hooch and McGonagall were frowning at the card Jon had given them, although McGonagall looked much less skeptical than Hooch. Harry looked at the card in his hand:

Crown Racing Brooms
Jonathan W. Crown
Certified Virgavolatilologist
Custom Hi-Performance Racing Brooms
1217 Oak Pine, Texas

"Impressive, if true," Hooch said, looking anything but impressed. "But I need something more official than this, Mr. Crown."

Jon had been going through his wallet and handed her another card. This one gave both Hooch and McGonagall pause; McGonagall took out her own wand and tapped the card lightly. A man's voice said in an impressive baritone, "This is to certify that Jonathan W. Crown has satisfactorily completed all requisite courses and examinations in the North American Academy of Magical Flying Objects, as attested by James Wellington Wimple, President of the Academy, as of the date inscribed on this card."

"Hmm," Hooch said. She stared at the card for several seconds, then handed it back to Jon and looked at Harry. "Right. Off you go, then," she told him.

"WHAT?" Summerby shouted.

"Please keep your voice down, Mr. Summerby," McGonagall said, wincing. "Mr. Crown has, per your request, provided proof of his qualifications in making flying brooms."

"But –"

"So unless you intend to forfeit the match to Gryffindor," McGonagall continued, ignoring Summerby's mutinous glare, "I suggest you and your team prepare to play."

Summerby turned away and walked back toward his team, shaking his head and muttering under his breath. "Thanks," Harry said to Jon. "I'd hate not using these brooms now that we've come this far with them."

Jon nodded. "Good luck, Harry," he said, and headed back to his seat.

After the teams were in position on the pitch and Hooch had given her customary fair play speech, a blast of her silver whistle sent fifteen brooms into the air and the game was on. Harry was still grinning, as had he and the other Gryffindors on the ground, at the looks of chagrin and disgust on the Hufflepuff team's faces as they'd realized their tactic hadn't worked. That, and a series of good offensive put up by Ginny, Demelza and Natalie, along with some outstanding Keeping by Ron and well-aimed Bludgers from Jimmy and Ritchie, were keeping the Hufflepuffs confused and nearly scoreless.

"It's really been Gryffindor's game today, I must say, Luna," Neville had asked to be commentator for the match, but he'd apparently neglected to mention that Luna would be co-commentator with him.

"Perhaps so," Luna replied, looking vaguely around the pitch. "But those blue robes are quite lovely. I think that will give them the edge later in the game."

"We'll see," Neville said, laughing. "Right now Gryffindor has the lead, 110 to 20."

Harry, who was flying above the Gryffindor goals, heard Ron's laughter. He looked up and saw Harry. "Crickey, she's a hoot!" he shouted.

"Just keep your eyes on the Quaffle, Ron!" Harry shouted down, but laughing as well. He was scanning the field for sign of the Snitch, while keeping an eye on Summerby as well, who was trying to rally his team to narrow the gap in the score.

"Hufflepuff is trying to catch up," Neville was saying. "Nice pass by Cadwallader to Justin Finch-Fletchley, he dodges a Bludger hit by Peakes and throws – oh! Good save by Weasley! Ron is doing an excellent job of Keeping today, right, Luna?"

"He is, Neville. He must not be as nervous about being Keeper as he used to be. Ginny told me once that he got so nervous when his brothers made him Keep for them in practice that he'd actually wet himself –"

"LUNA!" Ron bellowed from the pitch while the Hufflepuff side of the stands broke into peals of laughter. "YOU DON'T HAVE TO GET THAT RUDDY COLORFUL!"

"Oh, sorry," Luna said, smiling dreamily, not a bit abashed. McGonagall looked heavenward, shaking her head wearily.

Gryffindor continued to score goal after unanswered goal. Confident his Chasers had the offense well in hand, Harry concentrated on finding the Snitch. Summerby was dividing his concentration between looking for the Snitch and watching Harry, just as Harry kept an eye on him. Knowing what the other Seeker was doing was good strategy.

A few minutes later, after Gryffindor had scored four more times to Hufflepuff's one, Harry spotted the Snitch and aimed for it, his broom putting on a burst of speed that not even a Firestar could match. Summerby, seeing Harry's sudden change of speed, spun on his own broom and raced his way.

Summerby suddenly spun on his broom and raced off toward the edge of the pitch. Harry's eyes strained but there was no sign of the Snitch. What was Summerby doing?

There was a loud crack just behind him and Harry turned, startled, to see Jimmy Peakes there; he'd just fended off a Bludger hit toward Harry by Kevin Whitby.

"What's up, Harry?" Jimmy shouted as Harry kept looking around to locate the Snitch. "Why aren't you after it, too?"

"After what?" Harry shouted back.

"The Snitch! Summerby just went after it! Didn't you see?!"

Summeryby was looking around again, apparently having lost sight of the Snitch. "No!" Harry yelled back. "I haven't seen it yet!"

"Yet, hell!" Jimmy said, but he'd stopped yelling. He pointed back toward their own goal. "Look, Harry! Now it's behind Ron, near the Gryffindor goals!"

Harry looked, but saw nothing but Ron making a close save from a throw by Smith. "I don't see it, Jimmy!"

"Right above the middle goal now!" Jimmy said excitedly, desperate for Harry to go after it. "Go, Harry, go!"

"Dammit," Harry cursed. He saw nothing. How could Jimmy see it and not him?

"Jimmy," Harry shouted at him. "You and Ritchie concentrate on the Hufflepuff Seeker. Keep him dodging the Bludgers! And keep them off our Chasers, too! I'll come up with something!"

When Ron made the next save a few moments later, Harry caught Ginny's eye and motioned her to fly near him. Natalie and Demelza, waiting for Ginny to rejoin them, adopted a "keepaway" tactic.

"Ginny, I can't see the Snitch!" Harry told her hurriedly.

"Why, what's wrong?" Ginny asked anxiously.

"I don't know! Somebody might've hexed me! We have to get far enough ahead that letting Hufflepuff have the Snitch still gives us the win. You, Demelza and Natalie start scoring goals as fast as you can – Jimmy and Ritchie will put pressure on their Seeker, to keep him from catching the Snitch too soon. When we get 160 points ahead, I'll try and goad him into grabbing the Snitch."

"Can do!" Ginny shouted, and soared after the other two Gryffindor Chasers.

"Gryffindor is really piling on the points!" Neville said a few minutes later. "Gryffindor's last goal gives them a 210 to 60 lead. Now you know why Hufflepuff didn't want to face these specially-made brooms – they've given Gryffindor a huge advantage."

Harry, flying around as if he were still looking for the Snitch, winced at that. A lot of their advantage was coming from pure formation and Quaffle-passing skills from Ginny, Demelza and Natalie – it wasn't fair to suggest that their brooms were making that much difference. The edge they had was mostly attitude and morale.

Now that there was 150 points between their scores, Harry began shadowing Summerb, hoping he wouldn't notice Harry was tracking him rather than the Snitch. He had to bait the Hufflepuff Seeker, making him angry enough to forget how far behind they were. Just one more Gryffindor goal –

"Another score by Ginny Weasley!" Neville shouted. "What a flyer that girl is!"

"Yes," Luna agreed. "She's very nice. I wonder who she's dating now that she and Harry Potter have broken up?"

Harry did a double-take at that, but he couldn't let Luna's weird comments distract him now. Flying up beside Summerby, he taunted, "Just think what it's going to be like when you play a team with some real brooms and not these homemade ones!"

"Shut it, Potter! McGonagall's just covering for you!"

"Yeah, pull the other one, Summerby!" Harry laughed. "While you're doing that you can eat my dust while I catch the Snitch!"

"Not likely!" Summerby laughed wildly and veered off. Harry turned hard to keep with him and saw that the Hufflepuff Seeker, now enraged at Harry's jibes, had the Snitch in his sights.

"No! Wait!" a couple of the other Hufflepuffs screamed, but it was too late. Summerby's hand closed on the Snitch and he raised it high in triumph.

"And there's the game!" Neville shouted. "Summerby grabs the Snitch and scores 150 points for his team. But it's not enough and Gryffindor wins 220 to 210!"

The Gryffindor spectators were cheering as Harry and the others landed at the edge of the pitch near the middle of the court. They lined up, as Hooch instructed them, to shake hands with the opposing team as a show of good sportsmanship.

The Hufflepuffs took the loss remarkably well, for the most part. Most of them at least smiled a bit as they shook Harry's hand; only Smith, who offered barely a touch of his hand before walking away without saying a word, and Summerby, who merely glared at him as he gripped his hand as tightly as he could, showed any overt resentment.

Thirty minutes later they were all back in robes and celebrating their victory in the Gryffindor common room, complete with a few dozen bottles of butterbeer that Jon Crown had thoughtfully brought from Hogsmeade through the secret passageway.

Ginny, Demelza and Natalie were all talking excitedly as Ginny told them how Harry had tricked the Hufflepuff Seeker into grabbing the Snitch, even though his team was behind. "What a maneuver!" Demelza said, draining the bottle of butterbeer she was holding. "We should call it the 'Potter Maneuver'!"

The name stuck, and the story was passed about in the common room, growing more and more grandiose with each telling, until it was as if Harry had planned it all along, as revenge for the game Gryffindor had lost the previous year to Hufflepuff. Everyone, even the people who must've remembered that game, ignored Harry's protestations that the problem then had been that he'd been knocked unconscious by a member of his own team; it had nothing to do with Hufflepuff winning. It all fell on deaf ears.

It wasn't until a few hours later, after the celebration had wound down and the evening meal was over, that Harry, sitting with Hermione and Ron in a quiet corner of the common room, told them what had happened on the Quidditch pitch.

"Brilliant move, Harry," Ron said after hearing the tale. "Do you think somebody jinxed you?"

"I don't know what else it would be," Harry said with a shrug. "I'm not even sure if it's worn off yet."

"We should test that," Hermione said, tapping her lips with a pensive fingertip. "But where could we find a Snitch to try it on?"

"The Quidditch pitch?" Ron piped up with a smile.

"I was thinking of someplace closer," Hermione said archly, giving Ron a look that made him chuckle.

"The Library, then," Ron said, still grinning. "We can look in Quidditch Through the Ages."

"Let's not," Harry objected. "I'm not in the mood to deal with any of Pince's looks."

"Where, then?"

"The Trophy Room," Harry said, as if it were obvious, and with an approving nod Hermione and Ron came to their feet, and they and Harry set off for the third floor.

It had been some time since any of them had been inside the trophy room; as its name implied, it was filled with case after case of awards, trophies, statues, cups, plates, shields, and medals along the walls and several rows of cases. It was handy if you wanted to know, for example, who'd been Head Boy in the 1347-48 school year or who'd been given a Special Citation for Magical Merit for being the first student in Hogwarts history to earn twelve O.W.L.s ("Thaddeus Thurkell," Hermione had once told Harry, who for some reason never forgot that fact, especially since Hermione added, "It was made all the worse because he's mostly remembered because all seven of his sons turned out to be Squibs and he turned them all into hedgehogs in disgust!").

They walked into the room hoping that Peeves wouldn't be lurking about; he loved sailing about this room and the armor gallery next door, making the suits of armor creak and squeak and rattling the crystal display cases. Fortunately, he was nowhere about at the moment. They made their way to the Quidditch section, where a few award plaques were adorned with a Snitch as decoration.

"Here's one," Ron pointed out an old plaque with the list of the Quidditch House Cup winners for the 1969-70 school year. "Ack," he said, wrinkling his nose. "Looks like Slytherin won that year." Harry looked and saw several names he recognized, including Lucius Malfoy, Seeker, and Crabbe and Goyle, Beaters; apparently the Malfoy-Crabbe-Goyle trio was a family tradition. At the top of the plaque, however, Ron pointed to a blank spot where a Snitch should be. "D'you see it, Harry?"

"Nope," Harry shook his head. "The spell's still working."

"Good," Hermione said.

"What d'you mean, 'good?' " Ron demanded. "He can't play Quidditch again until we get that spell off of him!"

"I know that, Ron." Harry smiled to himself; Hermione's tone reminded him of how Mrs. Weasley sounded when indulging her husband's sometime-obsessive fascination with all things to do with Muggles. "But it gives us an opportunity to try out the spell Harry got from Fred and George."

"How do you figure that?" Harry asked, "if the spell is still on me?"

"I can perform Scarpin's Revelaspell to see how you're enchanted," Hermione said, taking out her wand. "Then, after we remove whatever it is, I'll use Prior Revelio to see if I can detect that spell again, as a test of the second spell." She pointed her wand at Harry and said, "Specialis Revelio!"

Nothing happened.

Hermione repeated the spell several more times before finally stopping, more from frustration than confusion. "This doesn't make any sense!" She said, more to herself than either of them. "Harry, are you sure you can't see the Snitch on that plaque?

"Yes, Hermione, I'm pretty sure of what I can and can't see," Harry replied impatiently. He took off his glasses and cleaned them with part of his robe. "I'll even make sure I can – huh?" Harry peered closer at the plaque, squinting. "Hey," he said, now pointing back at the plaque. "It's there now!"

They all looked at his glasses in his hands. Harry brought them up to his face, looking through them at the plaque. "It's gone now," he said in amazement. "It's my glasses!"

"No wonder Revelaspell didn't work," Hermione said, now understanding. "I cast it on you, not on your glasses. A brilliant move by whoever sabotaged them."

"But how could someone have jinxed Harry's glasses without his knowing it?" Ron objected. "He never takes them off except to go to sleep."

"Or when I take a bath or shower," Harry added. "Well, at least we know what we have to un-jinx now."

On the way back to the common room, thinking about the names he'd seen on the plaque, Harry asked, "What d'you think we can do to figure out where the Helm of Gryffindor is?"

"No idea, really," Hermione said glumly. "Mr. Weasley has probably had the Crabbe house searched several times in the last few years –"

"Many times," Ron put in.

"– and nothing like that was ever found, or we would've heard of it."

"I s'pose," Harry conceded. They went over ideas for the rest of the evening, but it was no use – without any idea where the Helm might be, they were simply stuck.

Hermione was finally able to remove the spell from Harry's glasses, enabling him to once again see Snitches, then gathered up her collection of library books and retired to her dormitory. Harry and Ron stayed up, however; Harry brooded in front of the common room fireplace, trying to decide what to do next while Ron played idly with the Mystery Vault model he'd bought from Fred and George.

At this time of night, on a Saturday evening, the common room wasn't very busy; a few other students, fifth- and sixth-years, were studying or simply lounging around, bored. Jon had passed through, waving to them as he went on to his dormitory.

Ron, finally tiring of moving the tiles about on the Vault model, tossed it into the small kit bag he'd been carrying around that day and began to close it up when, perhaps in an attempt to raise Harry's spirits, laughed and pulled something else out of the bag.

"Hey, I didn't show you this," he said "Fred and George gave it to me when we were there last; they thought I should wear it the next time I'm at home when Dad's not around."

Ron pulled a pair of glasses out of the bag. Putting them on, his features suddenly transformed to those of his father. Harry did a double-take, then began to grin in spite of himself as Mr. Weasley's face looked at him and said, in a passable imitation of his voice, "Well, hello, Harry! You know, I collect plugs. And batteries. Got a very large collection of batteries. My mum – er wife, thinks I'm mad, but there you are."

They both broke into laughter. Ron took off the glasses, reverting back to his own appearance, and looked at them. "I was just thinking of the spot of bother we had over your glasses, Harry, and I remembered these. Fred and George did this to test out the idea of 'Famous Wizards' caps and cloaks. Fred's really good at sounding like Dad. I nearly wet myself when he put them on and went on like Dad does about 'eckeltricity' and 'pumbles' and the like."

"You do seem to have a thing about wetting yourself," Harry said, straight-faced.

"Oh," Ron groaned ruefully. "I could kill Ginny for telling Luna that! And don't you start taking the mickey out of me with it," he admonished Harry.

But Harry was frozen, looking in the air as if seeing a vision. Ron looked at him, then tried following his gaze. "Harry?" he finally asked. "What is it?"

Harry came back to earth with a start. "Ron!" he said excitedly, yet keeping his voice low to avoid attracting attention. "I know what we can do to find out something about the Helm of Gryffindor!"

"What?" Ron leaned in, interested.

"We know who last had the Helm, right?" Harry asked this as if setting up an argument in the Wizengamot.

"Right, Crabbe's father," Ron agreed.

"And we know where he's at right now, correct?"

"Yes," Ron nodded. "Azkaban."

"We know Ministry officials can get into Azkaban to question prisoners there, right?" Harry continued.

"Yeah," Ron said, seeing where Harry was going. He looked mildly panicked. "Harry, it's illegal to impersonate a Ministry official, you know."

"You did very well," Harry said encouragingly. "I almost wouldn't've guessed it was you unless I'd already known."

"But I can't just walk into Azkaban and ask to speak to Crabbe's father! I don't even know what I'd say to him!"

"I'll be right there with you," Harry said quickly. "Under the Invisibility Cloak."

Ron looked unconvinced by this. "Ron, it's our only chance!" Harry persisted. "I'd been thinking of going to talk to him myself but he'd never talk to Harry Potter. And I have no reason to ask him about the Helm. You do – or rather, your father would."

Ron looked at him. While he still had a worried expression on his face, there was something of a smile tugging at his lips. "Harry, you know we're best mates, and I'll do everything I can to help," Ron sighed. "I just hope I can pull it off," he added wryly.

"You will, mate!" Harry said excitedly. "Now, we just need some transportation to Azkaban…"

That was easily enough arranged the next morning, as Harry and Ron waited for Jon to come down for breakfast the next morning in the common room. They filled him in on their need, and he agreed.

"I'm game," he said. "Who do you need to talk to in Azkaban?"

"We can't tell you," Harry said. "But it's important."

"It must be very important if you need to talk to someone in Azkaban about it," Jon pointed out.

Harry didn't volunteer anything more, and Jon shrugged. "Fine by me if you don't want to say. I just need to get something from my trunk before we go," he told them.

After breakfast, Jon ran back to his dormitory while Harry and Ron signed out in the Entrance Hall, and walked up to the school gates, where Jon met them a few minutes later. They then continued on into Hogsmeade and to the Shrieking Shack, making their way around to the back of the building where the entrance to Jon's workroom was located.

Jon opened the entrance to his storeroom in the Shrieking Shack; they climbed into his Corvette and were soon in the skies above Hogsmeade. This time, however, Jon set their course northward, where Azkaban was located, on a small island in the North Sea. There were clouds hanging low in the skies over northeast Scotland and the North Sea, and Jon kept steering around to avoid flying blindly into them.

Meanwhile, Harry and Ron discussed strategy. Hermione had conjured a copy of the Crabbe family photograph from the old Wizarding genealogy book for Harry to study; fortunately he'd remembered to bring it with them, hoping to jog Crabbe's memory. "We don't want to waste any time," Harry pointed out. "And we don't want him to think we're there just to see him. This interrogation should like an afterthought."

Azkaban fortress finally came into view. It wasn't a large island; in fact, this worked in its favor since there were numerous anti-Muggle enchantments on it, to prevent anyone from seeing the island and to make them uncomfortable being there if they did manage to find it.

As they approached Jon pushed a button on the dashboard of the Corvette. On the display, most of the island took on a reddish hue. "Thought so," Jon said grimly. "Most of the island has an anti-flying charm on it. But I see a spot where we can set down so you can walk up to it." He put the Corvette down on a beach behind an outcropping of rocks. "Good luck," he said as Harry and Ron got out.

"Thanks," Harry said. He took out his Invisibility Cloak, while Ron put on the glasses and his appearance changed to that of Mr. Weasley.

Imitating his father's voice, Ron said bracingly, "Well, no time like the present, right Harry? Off we go, then."

Chuckling under his Cloak, Harry followed Ron along the beach to an opening in the rocks where a path had been carved leading up to the prison itself. Near the beach was a small outbuilding. Peeking inside Ron and Harry found only a fireplace, looking long unused and a few unsteady-looking chairs. The path going up to Azkaban was a narrow and crooked one; Ron had told Harry his father had once mentioned that it had been done deliberately, to keep large groups from storming the fortress en masse.

The dementors had abandoned the prison, and the Ministry, something Harry was exceedingly grateful for. He was a few years older now than he had been when he first encountered dementors, and much better equipped now to handle them. However, if they had still been at Azkaban they would have sensed his presence, even under the Cloak, and Harry was glad he did not have to try to resist them.

The front door of Azkaban was a massive oaken one with iron bindings. Ron stepped up, a bit nervously, and rapped the knocker three times against the wood. A few moments later, they heard iron bolts being pushed back and the door slowly opened. As Ron started to enter, however, two wands were thrust at him and he jumped back. Harry stepped back as well, narrowly avoiding Ron stepping into him.

The wands belonged to two wizards, both of whom looked relieved to see the image of Arthur Weasley facing them beyond the doorway. "Ah, Arthur, it's just you," one of them said. He appeared to be about Arthur's age or a bit older, with an iron-colored mullet. "What are you doing out our way on a Sunday morning?"

"Hello," Ron said, nervously. Now that he was trying to imitate his father, Harry thought worriedly, he wasn't doing a very good job of it. "Well, you know how it goes – work is never done."

They stepped back into the entrance hall and Ron followed them in, pausing long enough in the doorway to let Harry slip in behind him. Harry moved off to one side, keeping Ron between him and the two wizards. The second wizard, a stout, bald man whose age Harry couldn't begin to guess, said nothing but regarded Ron appraisingly.

"I know what you mean," the first wizard commiserated with Ron. "I'll be glad to get back to London when my shift here's up, dealing with this lot is no holiday, let me tell you!" The wizard indicated a table across the room where Harry saw a tea set and some cups. "Fancy a cuppa?"

"That would be lovely," Ron said, walking over with them to the table. Under the cloak, Harry suppressed a sigh and followed, keeping a safe distance.

The second wizard broke his silence. "So what does bring you here, Weasley?" he asked as Ron sipped at his cup.

"I have a few questions for Crabbe," Ron said, trying to keep his tone casual.

"Crabbe, eh?" the first wizard said, surprised. "I didn't think that great lump would have anything you'd be interested in. Thought Malfoy was who you were gunning for."

"I'm following up a lead on a magical artifact that may have been in the Crabbe family's possession at one time," Ron said, which was close enough to the actual truth, Harry thought.

The second wizard looked suspicious, however. "I thought you were with the Counterfeit Detection Office now, Arthur, promoted to Head and everything. What are you doing looking for magical artifacts?"

"Well, it has to do with a Gryffindor relic that may have fallen in the hands of Death Eaters," Ron said, trying to sound as if he were letting them in on a confidence. "Have you ever heard of the Helm of Gryffindor?"

Harry groaned inwardly; he hadn't wanted Ron to mention the Helm of Gryffindor – it would have been better to keep such details from becoming generally known.

But both wizards looked at each other and laughed heartily. "Are you still on about that legend, Arthur?" the first wizard said after he'd regained his composure. Both Harry and Ron were thunderstruck. What did Ron's father know about the Helm of Gryffindor?

"Well, ah –" Ron said, faltering. "There's been some additional discovery – ouch!" He winced as Harry kicked him in the ankle.

"What happened?" the first wizard asked.

"Nothing," Ron said quickly. "Just a twinge in my leg, sorry. Well, I'll just ask Crabbe my questions and be on my way, if that's convenient."

"Have it your way," the second wizard said. His tone turned businesslike. "Step over here, please," he said, indicating a desk in the corner near a door leading further into Azkaban.

"Your wand, please," the wizard said, and Ron, with a glance behind him toward Harry, as if to say "We didn't think about this," handed it over. The wizard took his wand, placed it into a small drawer in the desk and handed Ron a small chit. "Remember to hang onto that, Weasley; if you lose another one of those I'm keeping your wand this time, department Head or no."

"Now for the verification question," the first wizard said, consulting a clipboard with Arthur's information on it. "What is your dearest ambition?"

"Er –" Ron said, looking lost. Harry couldn't believe Ron didn't know this about his father. Maybe he was just nervous. Harry moved close to Ron and whispered, "To find out how airplanes stay up."

"Oh!" Ron said, repeating the phrase aloud.

The first wizard looked bemused but said, "Correct. Well, let's get you round to seeing Crabbe, then."

He produced a large key chain from his robe and unlocked the door next to the desk with it. Stepping through, he held the door open for Ron. "Ready, Arthur?" he said as Ron hesitated.

"Yes, thank you," Ron said, moving through the door and giving Harry time to pass through behind him. The wizard relocked the door and they proceeded down the dimly-lit corridor.

"By the way, are you feeling alright, Arthur?" the wizard asked solicitously. "Your voice sounds funny today."

"Oh, I may have gotten a spot of cold," Ron said, sniffing a few times to cover himself. "I didn't have time for a Pepper-Up potion this morning."

They came to a staircase and walked up two flights to the second floor. Many of the cells they passed were empty, but, walking down the corridor behind the jailer and Ron, Harry saw several faces looking at them through openings in the doors on either side of the corridor. A few of them he recognized from the attack on the Department of Mysteries over a year ago: Macnair, who would have killed Buckbeak if he and Hermione hadn't stopped him, and Jugson, who was staring balefully at Ron as he passed by.

They stopped at last in front of a cell door. "Here we are," said the wizard. "William Crabbe, guilty of attempted murder, multiple batteries including Ministry Aurors, and a known Death Eater." He unbolted a smaller door inside the cell door and opened it so Crabbe could be seen more clearly. There were still bars across the opening to prevent anyone from reaching through, either way.

The man inside the cell looked up from where he was sitting on the rude bed, covered in a tattered blanket, in the corner of the cell. There was very little else in the room: a broken-down bedside cabinet, a old, darkly-stained sink and an equally dirty-looking toilet. The man looked like a grown-up version of Vincent Crabbe – not unexpected since he was in fact Crabbe's father – and grinned nastily at Ron and the wizard.

"Come to see me now, have you?" he sneered. "What's a blood traitor like you want with the likes of me, then?"

"I'll let you two have some privacy," the wizard said to Ron, sotto voce. "Try not to be too long, Arthur. You can find your way back to the entrance hall, I trust." His tone had become cool; he was apparently miffed that Ron wasn't being as cordial as expected, probably because Ron didn't know him, whereas the real Mr. Weasley did. He walked away back down the corridor.

Harry sidled up beside Ron to look inside the room at Crabbe. The Death Eater was still staring at the door, waiting for Ron to speak. "Be casual, as if this is just an afterthought," he whispered in Ron's ear. Ron nodded imperceptibly.

"I don't mean to take time out from your busy schedule," Ron said, his voice now sounding enough like Mr. Weasley's that Harry smiled in spite of himself. "But I was here on a spot of business and I came across something I thought you could help me with."

"Did you, now?" Crabbe said indifferently. "And why would I want to help you, you slimy git?"

"For one thing," Ron said, "You might want to shave some time off your sentence here for providing information in a Ministry investigation."

"Cooperate with the Ministry?" Crabbe chuckled, a guttural rumbling that sounded more like a heavy cough than laughter. "Yeah, I'm sure the Dark Lord would love to hear about me doin' that. Why don't you take off, eh, and leave me alone?"

"Show him the picture," Harry whispered, and Ron reached inside his robe and produced the copy of the page from the Wizarding genealogy book.

"Do you recognize this picture?" Ron said, holding up before the bars.

"Didn't I just tell you to –" Crabbe stopped, staring at the picture. Slowly, he roused himself to his feet and shuffled over toward the door, now looking carefully at the image.

"Where the hell did you get that?" he demanded.

"I don't think that's pertinent," Ron said, folding the image up and replacing it in his robe. "The question is, what can you tell me about the object you're holding."

Crabbe stared at Ron through the bars for some time. Under the Cloak, Harry watched as several emotions seemed to play across his face: anger, indecision, and perhaps, fear. He finally turned without speaking and moved slowly back to the bed. Sitting on it, Crabbe stared at the floor for several moments before saying, finally, "Nothing much to tell now, anyway."

"What do you mean, exactly?" Ron pressed him.

"'S been a long time since I seen that helmet," Crabbe said slowly. "I'd forgotten all about it. It was what got me this –" he pointed to his left forearm, where his Dark Mark would be "– as well as a fair amount of gold."

"You sold it?" Ron asked, trying to be certain what he meant. Harry watched Crabbe closely for any signs of dishonesty, but Crabbe appeared to have been unnerved by the sight of the old photograph.

"Not exactly. The Malfoys found out my family had owned it for a long time. My father kept it in a special room we were never allowed inside. On my eleventh birthday he said I could have anything I wanted that day. I told him I wanted to wear that helmet." Crabbe laughed suddenly, mirthlessly. "He almost refused, even then. But he let me have it for a while. When my mum took that picture, I don't think he realized I was holding it, or he probably would've broken the camera."

"What did he do when he saw the picture afterwards?" Ron wanted to know.

"Never did," Crabbe said, looking at the floor again. "There was a raid on our house a few days later, he refused to let Aurors in our house. Killed a few of them before they got him." He fell silent for some time.

"They never did find that trophy room, though," Crabbe suddenly resumed. "Too well hidden, at least for the Ministry. The Malfoys, now, that was another story," he added, suddenly sounding bitter.

"What happened with the Malfoys?" Ron urged.

"I never told anyone this before," Crabbe said. "Just so you know. Lucius's father came to my house and talked to my mum. He suggested that the helmet was cursed and that was why my father snuffed it. He offered a tidy sum of gold to take it off her hands, and she, thinking we needed the money, agreed. I could've killed her when I found out!"

"So…the Malfoys have the Helmet?" Ron finished.

"Last I knew," Crabbe said, dully. "But it's been over 30 years now." He looked away and said no more.

Harry nudged Ron and whispered, "Let's go."

"Thank you for the information, Mr. Crabbe," Ron said to end the interview. He walked away, back up the corridor toward the staircase.

"I should have guessed," Harry whispered bitterly as they walked down the first staircase to the first floor. "The Malfoys again."

"Dad never found anything like that in the Malfoy's house," Ron whispered. "That would have been the find of the century."

"Of the millennium," Harry amended. "A third Gryffindor artifact would –"

"Shhh," Ron said suddenly, putting up a hand. Harry stopped; he heard someone speaking somewhere on the first floor, which they had almost reached. "Hear that?" he said very softly.

"Yes," Harry whispered. He recognized the voice, too – he wasn't likely to miss Draco Malfoy's drawling, cold voice. "Stay here," he told Ron, and set off to find the Slytherin.

"Harry!" Ron whispered furiously, but Harry paid him no heed. If he was correct, Draco would be here visiting his father, and Harry could not afford to pass up the opportunity to observe them unseen.

It wasn't too difficult to find Malfoy – there weren't that many corridors on the first floor of Azkaban prison. Malfoy was at the door of a prison cell, his face pressed against the bars of the opening, shouting at his father.

"I don't care what you promised Uncle Julius!" Draco yelled. "I don't even care what you promised the Dark Lord! I'm your son! Your son!"

"If that's true, you should begin acting like it," Harry heard Lucius Malfoy reply from inside his cell. "Have you begun searching for the Dark Lord yet, so he can be restored to his bodily form? Have you made preparations to do so? Have you or Snape done anything about taking revenge on Potter yet, both for me as well as the Dark Lord?"

Harry scowled; Malfoy evidently wanted revenge for his imprisonment here in Azkaban, never mind that he, in trying to steal the Prophecy from the Ministry and kill Harry and his fellow students back in June of last year, had more than earned his incarceration here.

"I don't have time for that!" Malfoy objected. "I barely have time to come here on Sundays! You know Mother wants me to remain in school!"

"Ah, yes," his father said, his voice dripping sarcasm. "And of course you always do what your mother and I tell you to, Draco."

"Then tell me what she's doing, and I'll do whatever you want!" Draco pleaded. Harry's ears pricked up at this – was this something to do with what Draco had said to his uncle several weeks ago, at the last Vault Tournament round they had attended?

"Even if she were doing anything, it's not your place to demand to know it," the elder Malfoy snapped. "Your mother has to have a life of her own, now that I'm no longer there to take care of her and you."

"Why can't you trust me?" Draco screamed at him.

"Keep your voice down, Draco!" Malfoy said harshly.

"NO! I'VE DONE WHAT THE DARK LORD ASKED OF ME – !"

"You mean Snape did what the Dark Lord asked of you."

"He-he butted in at the last moment!" Draco said wildly. Looking at him, Harry saw that he was completely unhinged now by his father's hostility toward him. "I was about to do it! I was about to kill Dumbledore!"

"Draco, Draco," his father said, disappointment laden in his voice. "There's no use trying to lie to me, or to delude yourself. The others present have made a full report; even if they hadn't, I've seen the transcript from your trial. I know what happened."

"But I tried, Father, I tried!" Draco sobbed into the bars. Harry watched, aghast, as Malfoy broke down, falling against the door. "I tried to appease the Dark Lord, to show you what I was capable of! And I almost succeeded!"

There was silence from within the cell from some time; Malfoy slid down the door until he was on his knees, pressing his body against it. Then Malfoy spoke.

" 'Almost succeeded' is the same as failure where the Dark Lord is concerned, Draco."

Malfoy twisted around so he was sitting against the door. He covered his face with his hands.

"Go back to Hogwarts, Draco," Malfoy said. "Forget about me. The only thing I can hope to expect from the Dark Lord now is a quick, relatively painless death. I probably will not even be allowed that. The Dark Lord does not forget, nor forgive.

"Make your peace with Snape as well. From all I've heard from the outside, he now holds the most favor with our master, while I hold none at all. Now, go."

Harry trembled with anger to hear this. It was just as he had always known – Snape was still and always in league with Voldemort!

So distracted was Harry by his own fury that he barely realized it when Malfoy got to his feet and walked away from his father's cell without another word. Suddenly Malfoy was almost upon him, and Harry twisted frantically to get out of his way.

Malfoy took another step or two then stopped and turned back, looking around. Harry wasn't sure if part of his Invisibility Cloak had touched him or not. After a moment, however, Malfoy turned and strode away.

Harry hurried after him as well, suddenly realizing that Ron would probably have stayed right where Harry had left him. What would happen if he and Draco suddenly came upon each other in the corridors of Azkaban prison?

Harry was twenty or so feet behind Malfoy as Malfoy approached the staircase. He had almost reached the steps going down to the ground floor when he suddenly stepped back, startled, and demanded, "What the hell are you doing here, Weasley?"

Ron, still wearing the image of his father, had appeared on the steps leading to the second floor. "Here, now," he said, once again sounding passably like Mr. Weasley, "Is that any way to talk to your elders, Mr. Malfoy?"

"It's more than a blood traitor like you deserves," Malfoy said contemptuously.

To Harry's surprise, Ron didn't shrug off this insolent reply with a flippant remark, as his father probably would have done. He strode right up to Malfoy, putting them within inches of each other, and said sternly, "That will be quite enough from you, boy! If you think your family's wealth is going to give you any kind of free ride, you'd better think again!"

The expression of shock and surprise on Malfoy's face was priceless, but Harry doubted his own expression was any less so. Who would've imagined that Ron could sound so authoritative? "Now if you don't want your parents' house searched from top to bottom once again for hidden Dark objects, you'll march your prat down these stairs, out the front doors and get yourself back to school now, and I mean right now!"

Malfoy, looking unnerved, said nothing but bolted down the staircase and back to the entrance hall, where they heard him pounding on the door until it swung open.

With a self-satisfied smirk that looked quite unlike the real Mr. Weasley, Ron started down the staircase. Harry fell into step beside him, under his Cloak, and whispered, "Brilliant, Ron! I never saw Malfoy run that fast before!"

"Yeah," Ron chuckled. "That blood traitor remark of his got my hair up, and I suddenly realized he was as out of place here as I would be." At least, he added, "if I was me instead of my father."

"You really cut loose on him," Harry observed dryly.

"Well…I sort of let the 'Mum' side of me come out there," Ron said slyly.

Arriving at the door to the entrance hall, Ron knocked and was allowed in by the two now somewhat awed wizards, who evidently knew something had happened. Neither of them said anything, however; they merely accepted the marker Ron held for his wand and returned it to him.

"Well, good afternoon to you both," Ron said pleasantly. "I hope it's not too long 'til we meet again."

"Did you get the information you needed, Arthur?" the first wizard spoke up, encouraged by Ron's demeanor.

"Oh, quite," Ron said airily. "More than I expected, actually." And with a bow to the two of them he swept out the front door, followed invisibly by a bemused Harry.

As they reached the end of the crooked path leading to the shore, Ron pointed up in air. "Look!" he said. "There goes Malfoy!"

Malfoy was barely visible, flying upward into sky; he hadn't even put on his own Invisibility Cloak, assuming he'd worn it for the trip there.

They made their way back to the rocks where Jon's Corvette had been parked. As they approached, the interior of the car appeared as Jon openend the passenger door. Ron and Harry clambered in, Harry removing his cloak as he did so.

"Was the mission a success?" Jon asked.

"Good enough," Harry said. He didn't want to say more than that. If Jon learned they were trying to locate an artifact of Godric Gryffindor's, he might wonder why they didn't want anyone to know about it. Harry didn't want to give him any opportunity to start piecing together the pieces of a puzzle that might lead him to what they were really searching for.

"Look over there!" Ron said suddenly, pointing ahead of them just to the right in the windscreen. It was Malfoy, riding his Firestar toward the school. He still wasn't wearing his Invisibility Cloak. The Corvette, which Jon had kept invisible the entire time it had been out of the Shrieking Shack this time, would pass fairly close to him. Jon altered the Corvette's course so they were moving away from Malfoy.

At nearly double his speed, they quickly overtook the Slytherin and passed him. "He'll probably still beat us back into school," Jon remarked. "He can land right outside the gates of the school, if he stops and puts on his Invisibility Cloak, while we have to park in the Shrieking Shack and walk back from Hogsmeade."

"By the way, Ron," Harry said, finally looking at him for the first time since they'd gotten into the Corvette. "Can you take off that mask? It's a bit strange talking to your father while sitting in a Muggle vehicle illegally modified to fly invisibly."

Unfortunately, getting back to Hogwarts from Hogsmeade turned out to be more problematic than they'd supposed. A group of seventh-year Hufflepuffs were wandering around Hogsmeade, apparently engaged in some kind of game. Jon managed to land the Corvette inside the Shrieking Shack and close the entrance just before the group of students wandered into the back yard of the Shack and set up an impromptu picnic. It looked like they meant to stay there for a while.

"We can go back through the passage to the Whomping Willow," Harry suggested. They made their way to the room where the entrance to the passage was and dropped down into it. Lighting their wands, they began the walk toward the Willow.

As they walked toward the Willow, Harry thought about what he and Ron had learned about the Helm of Gryffindor. It didn't really help much, Harry thought, annoyed that they'd exchanged one problem for a more difficult one. The Helm could have been passed to Voldemort years ago, decades even. It was almost certainly a Horcrux by now, if Voldemort had it. Harry wished they could have talked to Lucius Malfoy as well, or if they could have overheard Draco asking him about it… Harry stopped suddenly, realizing what he'd just thought.

Ron pulled up short, almost walking into Harry. "What is it, Harry?"

"I think," Harry said slowly, looking around at Ron, "Draco needs to make one more trip to see his father.

Ron looked at him blankly for a moment. Then he saw what Harry was driving at, and his face registered equal measures of awe and horror. "Brilliant, Harry!" But he added, "Or mental, I'm not sure which is more correct. How d'you plan to pull that off? We don't have many Draco Malfoy Famous Wizards' masks lying about, you know."

"Polyjuice Potion," Harry said easily. "I can get Fred and George to brew some up for me, or do it myself, if necessary."

They had reached the slope that led up to the roots of the Whomping Willow, and Harry began climbing up. Reaching the roots, he raised his head up cautiously, looking around, then pushed the knot on the tree that caused the Willow to freeze. Jumping out, Harry helped Ron and Jon up as well. Brushing off dirt clinging to their robes, the three set off toward the school's entrance on the opposite end of the school.

As they reached the northeast corner of the castle, however, they met with unexpected resistance – Crabbe, Goyle, and a few other large Slytherins from sixth and seventh-year were walking toward them. They had been loitering just at the corner of the castle, out of sight as Harry, Ron and Jon approached. It looked like the Slytherins were expecting them, making Harry wonder just how "secret" the passageway between the Whomping Willow and the Shrieking Shack was anymore.

Crabbe was grinning evilly as the other Slytherins surrounded the three Gryffindors. They were outnumbered two-to-one, Harry saw. Next to Crabbe, Goyle was cracking his knuckles and chuckling trollishly. "Having a nice afternoon walk, Potter?" Crabbe asked with mock solicitousness.

"What's it to you?" Harry replied rudely. "How did you know we'd be here, anyway?"

"Oh, a little snake told us," Goyle said with a grunting laugh.

"More like a Snape," Harry shot back.

Crabbe seemed nonplussed for a second, but he just shrugged and said, "This part of the grounds is ours today; if you want to cross it you'll have to pay a toll. One Galleon apiece."

"What if we just go back and go around?" Jon asked, sounding unnaturally calm for someone surrounded by six large, hostile boys.

"Can't," Goyle said. "You already crossed. Now you got to pay."

"What if we don't have any money," Ron said evenly. He too, Harry was pleased to see, seemed to be more calm than usual for a situation like this.

"Then you've got a problem," sneered one of the other Slytherins Harry recognized as Harper, from Slytherin's Quidditch team.

"Speaking of problem," Jon said, looking at Goyle, "did you tell your buddies here that I kicked Draco Malfoy's butt in a fair fight and broke your nose in the bargain?"

"That was different," Goyle replied hotly. "We outnumber you two to one this time!"

"Glad you noticed that," Harry said sarcastically. "We didn't want you thinking this was going to be a fair fight or anything."

"Ahhh, hell!" Crabbe said angrily to the others. "Let's just hex 'em!" He and the other Slytherins went for their wands.

At the same time, however, Jon, standing between Harry and Ron, grabbed their arms closest to him and shouted, "Adstringus Foris!" There was a blur of motion and Harry felt something heavy slam into him, knocking him breathless. Dazed, he felt a rush of air and the sensation of falling.

His feet touched the ground again, but Harry tumbled forward and slid on grass. Still groggy from whatever had hit him, he rolled onto his back and looked around. Besides him, Jon was slowly rising to his feet.

"What-what happened?" Ron asked woozily. "Something hit me and suddenly we're here."

"Here" was the front steps of Hogwarts, almost on the other side of the castle from where they'd just been. "How'd we get here?" Harry asked, sitting up with a groan.

"Sorry I didn't have time to warn you," Jon said, looking down at Harry and Ron. "I didn't feel like a fight, and those idiots weren't going to let us get away without one, so I used a spell to draw us here."

"What was that?" Ron said, getting to his feet, still a bit unsteady. "I never heard of a spell that did something like that."

"It's called the Drawing Charm," Jon said, extending a hand for Harry, who grabbed it and allowed Jon to pull him to his feet. "It works like the Summoning Charm, but instead of summoning the object to you it draws you toward the object.

You probably never heard of it," Jon added dryly, "because it can be dangerous. The spell will use the shortest path through open air to pull you toward the object, but other things in the way may get damaged. What we ran into, by the way, was Crabbe and Goyle, since they were in the way of the shortest path."

"It was like hitting a big, squishy wall," Ron said, grimacing.

"I expect they're the worse for wear," Jon shrugged. "The three of us slammed into them – I bet they weren't prepared for that at all." He looked ruefully at Harry. "You weren't either, I know. Sorry."

"It's okay," Harry said. "No problem." They began walking toward the front doors. But a question occurred to Harry almost immediately. "How did you manage to do that without a wand, Jon?"

"Oh." Jon held up his left arm so his robe sleeve slid away from his arm. On his forearm was a cloth sleeve; inside the sleeve, against his arm, was Jon's wand. "I thought this up a couple of weeks ago. I can draw my wand fairly fast with this, but even if I don't have time, it's still touching my skin. That's usually enough for most spells to work, unless they involve a lot of wand motion."

They walked into the Entrance Hall, signed the log book, and walked toward the Great Hall where a number of students were just beginning their evening meals. "Good idea," Ron muttered. "I could eat a horse."

At the doors to the Hall stood a windblown Draco Malfoy, looking rather upset. He glared at the three as they passed by him, Harry the closest of the three.

As Harry drew close Draco snarled, "What are you looking at, Potter?"

"Just wondering how your dad's doing in Azkaban," Harry shot back. Draco's eyes narrowed.

"That's your fault, Potter, and I'm not going to forget it," he said threateningly. "Things are going to be different one day soon, you'll see."

"Yeah, we'll see, we'll see, we'll see," Ron said mockingly. "You've been singing that same tune since school began, Malfoy, but we haven't seen you do much yet, and what you have done, you've failed miserably at."

"Shut your mouth, blood traitor," Malfoy snapped. "Nobody in your family's got any right to cheek me!"

"Oh no?" Ron laughed. He was really enjoying baiting Malfoy, Harry thought. "Maybe my dad oughta come over and give your mum's house a thorough check-out, eh?"

Malfoy stopped, startled, and stared at Ron. "What did you say?"

"You heard me," Ron replied, and said no more.

"You don't know what I'm capable of –" Malfoy began angrily, but Harry cut him off.

"Oh we know, alright," Harry said, his own anger firing up. "You're capable of cursed necklaces and poisoned mead! You're capable of planning an attack it took a whole school year to bring off! What you're not capable of, though," he said viciously, "is actually accomplishing your goals. You haven't got any real Slytherin in you, do you, Malfoy? Couldn't kill your master's arch-nemesis, even when he was helpless and weaponless in front of you, could you?!

Harry stepped right up in front of Malfoy, much like Ron had done in Azkaban, and shouted in his face. "You couldn't even stay and fight after Voldemort's right-hand man did your dirty work, could you? No, you ran away like a lily-livered coward, so fast you didn't even try to defend yourself during your retreat – Voldemort's man did that for you as well, didn't he?!"

Harry stopped, red-faced and breathing hard, and glared at Malfoy. Malfoy's face was blank, expressionless, as if he was by some supreme effort controlling himself. After a few seconds Harry muttered, "You're pathetic, and you're not worth my time," then turned and began walking away.

Malfoy, watching Harry walk away, suddenly went for his wand but Jon, who had not turned away, was faster and his wand was pointed at Malfoy's face before Malfoy's could clear his robe.

"Malfoy," he said calmly. "You have a bad habit it drawing your wand on people with their backs to you, especially Harry, it seems. Put it away." Malfoy let his wand drop back into his robe pocket and Jon did the same.

"Why don't you wait for your friends Crabbe and Goyle," Jon suggested, jerking a thumb toward the Entrance Hall. "I expect they'll have an interesting story to tell you, when they wake up."

"When they wake up?" Malfoy repeated. "What did you do to them?"

"Nothing that an ability to get out of the way in a timely manner wouldn't have taken care of," Jon said casually. He waved a hand in an airy farewell and began slowly backing up.

Malfoy, still looking confused, turned and walked into the Entrance Hall just in time to see the group of Slytherins carrying in a dazed and bleeding Crabbe and Goyle, who were both moaning piteously. Cursing, Malfoy stalked away.

Hagrid, who'd been at the Great Table monitoring activity in the Hall for the past hour or so, came bustling up the aisle between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables toward them. "What in blue blazes is going on here? Mr. Crown, did you have yer wand drawn?"

"Just for a moment, sir," Jon said courteously. "Draco thought he'd like to see my 'quick-draw' technique, since, as I'm from Texas, I'm supposed to be something of a cowboy."

"A cow-boy?" Hagrid said, looking at Jon dubiously. "Well, tha' sounds udderly ridiculous t'me."

Harry and Ron looked at each other and burst out laughing. "What?" said Hagrid, annoyed that he had no idea what he'd said that was so funny.

"Sorry, Hagrid," Harry said, stopping himself by sheer willpower from laughing any more. "Listen – we're starving. Can we stop by your cabin later for some tea?"

"Tha's fine, then," Hagrid said, still sounding nettled. "See yer." He turned and tramped back up toward the Great Table, muttering under his breath about "today's kids" and "When I was yer age…"

Seeing Hermione and Ginny eating together, the three of them sat down across from them.

"Where've you lot been?" Ginny asked with an inquiring look at Harry.

"Azkaban," Ron said offhandedly. "Doing some investigative work."

Hermione snorted laughter. "What were you doing, looking for a flat for when you move out of the Burrow?"

"Ha-ha," Ron said. "For your information, I'm never moving out of the Burrow, I like it there just fine." Ginny made retching sounds.

Later, after Ginny finished dinner and went off to do some homework, Harry and Ron moved closer to Hermione to talk privately. Harry lowered his voice. "We talked with Crabbe's father about the Helm," he said softly. "He said his family sold it to the Malfoys long ago."

Hermione looked unhappy. "That means it's already a – eh, you know, doesn't it?"

"Most likely," Harry agreed grimly. "It sounded like Voldemort was very quite keen to get it."

"What do we do, then?" Hermione wanted to know. "That was the only solid lead we've come up with since we started looking."

"I have an idea," Harry said, his voice now very low, "but I don't want to say it here. Let's finish dinner and discuss it somewhere more private."

They retired to a quiet corner of the Gryffindor common room and Harry described his brainwave to Hermione. Predictably, she wasn't very keen for it, nor was she happy once she heard all the details of the day's adventure at Azkaban.

"Think of all the things that could've gone wrong!" Hermione said, trying to keep her voice low and still sound properly outraged. "What if they'd asked Mr. Weasley a different question? What if the mask had malfunctioned? What if –"

"What if we'd found out where the Helm was?" Harry said, annoyed at Hermione's doomsaying. "It was worth the risk, Hermione! It worked, didn't it?"

"What if it didn't?" Hermione said shrilly. "What were you thinking, anyway?"

"I was thinking that we knew who'd had the Helm last and we knew where he was," Harry fired back. "And we had someone question him who he'd at least have reason to answer!"

"And I would think you would realize even before they did how stupid that was!" Hermione raged at him. "You're all seventeen, for Merlin's sake! The Ministry of Magic is not going to let you off with a wrist-slapping and lines after class!"

Suddenly it occurred to Harry what Hermione was upset about. She'd just said it, in a way. "Hermione, when we go after Voldemort's Horcruxes and Voldemort himself, we're going to be in a lot more danger," Harry said, as gently as he could.

"I know…" she said, and was still for several moments. Then she flung herself from her chair and threw her arms around his neck.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" she sobbed into his shoulder. "I've been dreading this for months, you having to put yourself in harm's way for all of us!" She pulled away, hands covering her mouth, her eyes wide. "Harry, what can we do?"

Harry stood and looked her in the eye. "You're doing it now," he told her seriously. "You're being my friends."

"Oh, now I'm going to cry," Ron said.