Chapter 24

The Comedy Of Hairs

The next morning after breakfast, Harry shared his misgivings about what he'd heard Deirdre say to Bane and Jon with Ron and Hermione. They both were as disturbed as he'd been with Bane's claim that Voldemort would ultimately "succeed in his quest," as Bane had put it.

"Do you think Bane meant Voldemort's quest to kill you, Harry?" Hermione asked tremulously.

"What else could he mean?" Ron demanded. "You-Know-Who's been trying to kill Harry since he was a baby."

"And if Bane is right, he'll finally succeed," Harry said dully.

"Well, we'll just have to make sure he's not right, then!" Hermione said shrilly.

Harry knew, however, that Hermione's determination to protect him would be useless unless they found a way to locate Voldemort's Horcruxes and dispose of them. Harry would also have to take on Voldemort himself, and that was the point where he was most likely to succeed. Every other time he'd faced him, Harry had been lucky, or Voldemort overconfident, or both.

Jon's remark to Deirdre, and her response, had also cast doubts in Harry's mind about the neutrality and motivations of both of Hogwarts' exchange students, especially Jon. What would he know of Firenze and his banishment from the centaur herd in the Forbidden Forest, unless someone had told him about it? Harry doubted Firenze himself would; friendlier than the other centaurs, he was nevertheless very closed-mouthed about himself.

Deirdre was becoming more and more of an enigma as well. Initially, Harry had simply considered her a gifted young witch from a small village somewhere near Hogwarts. Her conversation with Bane, however, had convinced Harry that she was more than she let on. From her comment to Jon, it was apparent that she could talk to Firenze as easily as she had with Bane, if given the opportunity.

It had also become evident that, as part of his return to popularity, Draco Malfoy had given up his weekly secret meetings with his father in Azkaban prison. Now, instead, he'd taken up strutting about the corridors of the school on weekends, docking points from students (especially Gryffindors) for the most inconsequential and trivial of reasons. In retaliation, Ron began stalking the halls as well, deducting points from Slytherins. Consequently, the Gryffindor and Slytherin hourglasses in the entrance hall showed almost no points earned, much to the pleasure of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students, who normally tended to lag behind on points. By the week before Christmas break, Ravenclaw commanded a respectable lead in House points with 232, followed by Hufflepuff with 190. In contrast, Gryffindor and Slytherin were a dismal 30 points apiece.

However, the House standings didn't concern Harry as much as his prospects of using Fred and George's Polyjuice Potion to speak to Lucius Malfoy disguised as his son. Those prospects now appeared to be nil unless he could find a way to get Malfoy alone next Sunday morning, as the Hogwarts Express would leave Hogsmeade Station the next day. He only had two doses of Potion to find out what Lucius Malfoy knew about the Helm of Gryffindor. Despite the danger in speaking to Malfoy, who would probably be on guard against just such trickery, Harry felt he had to make the attempt.

Tuesday morning after their Charms class, Hermione and Jon had set off to Arithmancy class; Harry and Ron were free until lunch. Bored with the common room, they had decided to wander about the castle to find something interesting to do.

But after nearly an hour of wandering along familiar corridors, up and down the ever-changing staircases, and avoiding Peeves, the activity had itself become boring. "Let's go down to the Great Hall," Ron suggested. "We can find something there to do until lunch." Harry agreed.

As they were walking down the staircase to the entrance hall, Ron, who'd been checking his book bag, suddenly cursed. "What's wrong?" Harry asked.

"Oh, I left – something – upstairs," Ron said, irritated. "I'd better go get it. Be right back!" and Ron turned and hurried back up the stairs. "I'll find you when I get back!" he called down as he reached the first floor.

"I'll be right here!" Harry called back, sitting down on the landing. He expected Ron had left his model of the Mystery Vault back on his bedside cabinet. Harry rarely saw him without it lately; Ron fidgeted with it even while he was studying anymore. Harry was starting to wonder if it was becoming an obsession with him.

The door on the north wall of the entrance hall, the one leading to the corridor of classrooms and the courtyard, opened and through it walked Deirdre Recaunt, followed by Firenze, the centaur who'd been sharing Divination teaching duties with Professor Trelawney since the previous school year.

"It's nice to see you again," Deirdre was saying as they walked slowly to the center of the entrance hall. "It's been a long time."

"Not so long," Firenze said, looking down at her. "I have only been banished a year and nine months." Deirdre laughed, and Firenze added, "However, I agree, it is pleasant to see you again. I trust you have been well."

"Yes, except for missing you. That's why I couldn't turn down this opportunity to come here to Hogwarts."

Firenze nodded slowly. "I understand. Although," he added, sounding vaguely disapproving, "it would have been my wish that you not do so. The heavens point to a coming reckoning, a –"

"A great upheaval, yes," Deirdre said with an ironic smile. "I told Harry Potter and his friends that when we watched Bane try to open the Vault at Gringotts."

"How serendipitous," Firenze remarked softly, "since Harry Potter is listening to our conversation at this moment."

Both Deirdre and Harry started. Harry stood and walked onto the landing of the staircase.

"Hello," Harry said as he reached the bottom of the staircase. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to eavesdrop."

Firenze shook his head. "It does not matter, Harry Potter. You are already a part of what is to unfold in the coming months. Deirdre," he said, turning to her. "Did you tell me you had a Divination lesson to go to this period?"

"Yes, I do," Deirdre said quickly. "I guess I'd better get there. I'll see you, Harry. Firenze," she said in parting, with a small bow toward the centaur, and hurried off up the staircase.

Harry watched her hurry away. Firenze had turned to walk slowly to the doors leading outside. "Excuse me, sir," Harry said quickly, before Firenze could walk outside. "Do you know that girl?"

Firenze looked around slowly at Harry. "She and I are acquainted," he said, with a slow, measured nod of his white-blond head. "We saw each other, from time to time, in the … village in which she lived."

"You used to visit her village?"

Firenze nodded slowly once again.

"But you don't now?" Harry asked. "Is it because you're banished? Why couldn't you, though – unless her village is in the Forbidden Forest itself," he added with a sudden intuition.

"Visiting her village would invite unnecessary danger, to herself and to others there. My former herd would see my presence there as disruptive."

"I thought your herd didn't want anything to do with humans," Harry said, watching Firenze carefully. He was getting the vague impression that something wasn't adding up with the centaurs and this "village" he and Deirdre kept mentioning.

Firenze looked at him solemnly. "Harry Potter, we centaurs do not consider humanity to be our benefactors or our masters. But neither do we consider them our enemies. If we did, I would not be here and you would not know about the coming upheavals foretold in the heavens."

"About that," Harry said, speaking tentatively, carefully. He felt he had to ask Firenze this question. "Does your kind really see Voldemort achieving his quest?"

Firenze blinked. "You have a rare quality, Harry Potter, of learning things before most humans do. We have read that in the heavens, yes. It has caused us some concerns."

"It causes me some as well, too!" Harry said grimly.

"Then understand this, Harry Potter," Firenze said. His tone had become quite serious. "We do not foresee the life or death of one man, or another. We see the fortunes of our races."

"But there's the Prophecy –" Harry began, but Firenze shook his head, cutting him off.

"Human Seers deal with events, fleeting moments in the lives of individuals," Firenze said carefully. "Centaurs are not interested in such subjective, biased episodes. If I were to invoke a human analogy I recently heard, we are not as interested in the threads as we are in the tapestry."

Ron came bounding down the staircase. "Harry, I thought you were going to wait for me –" he looked up as he reached the bottom of the stairs and, seeing Harry and Firenze standing in front of the entrance doors, stopped dead in his tracks. "Blimey," he said, surprised. "Uh, hello there."

Firenze inclined his head a fraction. "Hello, Ronald Weasley," he said. The centaur turned again to Harry. "I must leave for a while, being inside too long dulls my senses."

"I know what you mean," Harry said, nodding in return. "My head could use a good clearing, I think."

Firenze walked to the doors and opened them. The weather outside was gray and cold, but Firenze seemed almost invigorated by the brisk air. Before he left, he looked back at them. "Remember what I've said, Harry Potter. We do not often impart such information to humans." With a final nod, he walked outside and carefully down the staircase leading to the ground. The doors behind him shut of their own accord.

Ron finally found his voice again. "What was that all about?"

"I wish I knew, Ron," Harry said seriously, looking at him. "All I got out of it was that the other centaurs think Voldemort will win, too."

Ron looked stricken. "Oh, blimey, Harry," he said, looking defeated. "So what do we do now?"

"I'll tell you what we don't do," Harry said decisively. "We do not give up just because it's been foretold that Voldemort is going to win. I think that's what Firenze was trying to remind me of just now."

"But he's the one who told you You-Know – okay, Voldemort, then! – was going to win," Ron said.

"He did, but I'm guessing some of the centaurs, at least, aren't too happy about that," Harry surmised. "They probably realize they'll get a lot worse from Voldemort and the Death-Eaters if they and their ideas of 'blood purity' become the dominant view."

"Come on, then," Harry said, and they turned to go into the Great Hall. "We need to figure out a way we can get Malfoy alone this Sunday so I can get to Azkaban and talk to his father."

The last week of classes lumbered along with the usual pre-holiday reading and homework assignments, magnified several-fold for the N.E.W.T. students in seventh year. Hermione, clearly in her element, was nevertheless distracted at times as well. Her book bag, always full, had been joined by a another bagful of books on Wizarding lines and ancient artifacts as she was still searching dutifully for another potential Horcrux, whether a Gryffindor artifact or one from Ravenclaw.

Fortunately the teachers (with the usual exception of Snape) had relented by the end of the week and had given minimal reading assignments over the break. Predictably, Snape had assigned a practical that members of the D.A., at least, were well-versed in: Stunning spells. They were supposed to practice Stunning each other and using Rennervate to revive stunned students, then record the outcomes and discuss the results in not less than 18 inches of essay. To make it even more difficult, Snape had required that only students of each Defense Against the Dark Arts class practice on each other, meaning that they had to do the practical in the evenings or on the weekend before the break.

Harry and Ron, of course, had picked each other as partners for Snape's practical, trusting that Hermione would pick one of the other Gryffindor girls. Both of them were outraged to hear that she'd chosen Jon as her practical partner.

"Why didn't you pick one of the girls?!" Ron sputtered incredulously. "You know he's getting dodgier by the day!"

"That's not true and you know it, Ron," Hermione snapped. "There might be a perfectly logical explanation for why he and Deirdre were talking about Bane and Firenze."

"He could partner with Deirdre, couldn't he?"

"Ron," Harry said in a low voice. "She's a Ravenclaw – they're not in our Defense Against the Dark Arts class."

"Bollocks," Ron muttered. "What about Parvati?"

"I asked, but she'd already gotten a partner," Hermione replied.

"What about Lavender?"

Hermione snorted. "I am not partnering with your girlfriend, Ron!"

"She's not my girlfriend!" Ron hissed.

"She was. Nevermind, it's no big deal," Hermione said flatly, dismissing the subject. "Jon and I are doing the practical together and that's the end of it."

And in the end they managed to complete the practical without too much difficulty. Harry posted a note in the common room suggesting times they could meet in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom Thursday and Friday evenings and on Saturday. A few signed up for the evenings, but the majority of the seventh-year students elected to show up Saturday afternoon in lieu of a final trip to Hogsmeade, as the weather had turned blustery and cold.

Snape was not at all happy about having "his" classroom taken over at night and on the weekend by students, especially Gryffindors, but when McGonagall heard the details she was indignant. "You can't give an assignment like that then not allow the students a place to do it, Severus," she'd said, reasonably when Snape protested about the after-hours use of his classroom. Snape had to capitulate to McGonagall's logic, but Harry half-expected to find him in the classroom with them, watching everyone like a hawk as they performed their practicals. Fortunately, Snape gave the room a wide berth while they were there, although all of his desk drawers and cabinets were securely locked.

The downside of the arrangement was that all of the students who'd gotten Snape's assignment were to be allowed use of the classroom, and this included the Slytherins. Fortunately, that worked itself out as well, as the Slytherins refused to come into the classroom while Gryffindor students were present doing their practicals. They waited outside, laughing at and mocking the Gryffindors, until they were finished using the room.

"Hey, Potter," Malfoy said as Harry, Ron and the other Gryffindors who'd done their practical on Saturday afternoon left the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. "Too bad you and I didn't partner – I would've showed you the right way to cast a Stunner," he said laughing.

"Come on, Harry," Ron said, taking Harry's arm to move him and Malfoy away from one another, but Harry didn't budge.

"Maybe you could show me how to do a Killing Curse, Malfoy," Harry said acidly. "Oh wait – you already had a chance, didn't you, and you couldn't."

Malfoy, who'd turned away, spun around, poised to draw his wand. "Want to try me, Potter?" he said menacingly.

"No use," Harry sneered. "Snape's not around to curse me when you chicken out."

Malfoy's face contorted in fury, but at the last moment seemed to control himself with a supreme effort. "Come on," he said to the other Slytherins. "There's no use wasting our time over this lot." They disappeared into the classroom, slamming the door shut.

"Wonder why he backed down like that," Ron said as they walked back to the Gryffindor common room. Harry shrugged.

"It could be part of the arrangement he worked out with Snape," Jon, who had been walking back with the group, considered. "If Snape is still protecting Malfoy, he might not want you two confronting each other."

"He seemed pretty confrontational just now," Ron averred, but Harry could see some logic in what Jon said.

The Gryffindors were splitting up into smaller groups. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Jon returned to the common room where Harry, facing the Fat Lady, gave the password. "Codswallop."

"Same to you," she said, giggling, and swung open for them.

"Malfoy's been doing as he's been told, lately," Harry said as they walked into the Gryffindor common room. "He sure picked an inconvenient time to toe the mark, unfortunately."

"I think it's fortunate," Hermione said archly. She then lowered her voice. "It's not a good idea for you to run off to Azkaban impersonating Malfoy, Harry."

"So you keep telling me," Harry said wearily.

"Well, think about it!" Hermione persisted. "You don't know what Malfoy's been up to lately, even if it seems he's being 'good'. The Ministry might decide to pick him up at exactly the same time you're posing as him. Then where would you be?"

"Well, in Azkaban, obviously," Harry said simply. "But after an hour'd I'd change back to me again. D'you think they'd lock me up just for playing a prank on Malfoy like that?"

"If Lucius Malfoy had the pull to get Buckbeak sentenced to death," Hermione said seriously, "I think it's possible."

"But Malfoy's in prison himself right now," Ron pointed out.

"And there are friends of his at the Ministry," Hermione countered. "Look at all the Slytherin we saw just this summer. Dolores Umbridge is still there. And Cornelius Fudge still has the ear of a few people there, I've heard. Neither of them had any love lost on Professor Dumbledore, Harry, and they might just use such an excuse to get you out of the way."

"You think they're in league with Voldemort, too?" Jon asked.

"I think they're in love with the power they possess," Hermione said. "For Voldemort, the purpose of power is power."

"Yes," Harry agreed. "Quirrell told me what Voldemort had told him, that there was no good or evil – there was only power, and those too weak to use it."

"But that doesn't prove that people who love power are in league with Voldemort," Jon objected. "Only that they agree on that point."

"You're right," Hermione admitted, "but we're getting off the subject, that Harry shouldn't risk going to Azkaban as Malfoy."

Harry disagreed, but he wasn't about to argue the point with Hermione. She was convinced he was in danger. Which was true – they all were in danger as long as Voldemort could return. But she couldn't quite grasp that in dangerous times, one must make dangerous choices.

Unfortunately, if Harry couldn't find a way to get some of Malfoy's hair and talk to Lucius Malfoy by tomorrow, it would be next year before he could make another attempt, and during the winter the trip to Azkaban, in the North Sea, would be a frigid one.

Sunday morning Harry, Ron and Jon were all awake and in the Great Hall by 8 a.m. for breakfast, determined to find a way to catch Malfoy alone so Harry could get a bit of hair from him. Hermione, who still didn't agree with the idea and refused to even stand by and watch it unfold, came down a few minutes later and pointedly walked past where they were sitting, joining Ginny and some of her friends.

"Forget it," Ron said after watching her walk by. "She's probably just jealous she didn't think of the idea."

"She thinks it's dangerous," Jon said in a low voice.

"She's not wrong," Harry said, pointedly. "But a lot of things we've had to do in the last few years have been dangerous. That doesn't make them not worth doing."

Malfoy came down to breakfast, attended by Crabbe. They sat down and began getting breakfast. To Harry, who was watching him carefully, Malfoy seemed more agitated than normal; he piled food high on his plate only to push it away after barely touching it. Crabbe was waving people away from him.

"He's up to something," Harry said. "I can feel it. He's more nervous than normal."

"And where's Goyle?" Ron asked. "You usually don't see Malfoy without both those gits hovering about him."

Malfoy was getting up and sitting down; he couldn't seem to decide what to do. He kept pouring glasses of pumpkin juice from pitchers on the Slytherin table. But he wasn't eating, and he wasn't doing anything else, it seemed. At one point, just as the bells rang at 9 a.m., he ducked under the table for several seconds, and Harry was about to dive under the table as well to see what he was doing down there when he popped up again.

Malfoy gestured for Crabbe to come over and whispered something in his ear. "What d'you think is going?" Ron asked Harry.

"No idea," Harry said. "But look at Crabbe!" Crabbe had jumped up, looking about wildly, and ran from the Great Hall.

"Should we follow him?" Ron said, starting to get to his feet.

"No, Malfoy is who we're sticking with," Harry said determinedly.

Malfoy sat at the Slytherin table, getting more and more nervous, hardly answering the other Slytherins who greeted him as they came and went at their table, until a few minutes later when Crabbe burst through the doors of the Great Hall and ran up to him, panting. They had a hurried, whispered conversation, then Malfoy jumped up as well and they both ran from the Hall.

"Now we follow them," Harry said. They made their way quickly to the entrance hall. Harry desperately wished he had the Marauder's Map. It would have greatly simplified tracking the pair, but they would have to make do without.

As they started up the stairs, Harry gestured them all to stop, and they listened carefully for a pair of rapid footsteps. Hearing a faint set traveling up another set of stairs, they hastened to the first floor stairway and listened again. Malfoy and Crabbe seemed to be making their way upward in the castle.

Listening again, they followed the footsteps to the second floor, then the third, then the fourth. "Where the hell is he going?" Ron whispered as he and Jon brought up the rear behind Harry.

"I think I can guess," Harry said softly. "But we'll know for sure by the next floor."

And sure enough, tracing their path on the fifth floor, the trio heard Malfoy and Crabbe's footsteps at the top of the sixth floor staircase, moving away.

"That clinches it," Harry said triumphantly. "He's heading for the Room of Requirement! If he was heading for the prefects' bathroom he'd have stopped on this floor. Come on!"

They padded softly up the sixth floor staircase to the seventh floor. Approaching the corridor, Harry peered carefully around the corner. Malfoy was pacing up and down the corridor in front of the wall opposite the tapestry while Crabbe stood nearby, watching nervously.

Harry silently took out his wand; Ron and Jon did likewise. Pointing at Jon, Harry mouthed the words "Stupefy" and "Crabbe." He put his finger over his lips to indicate the spell should be silent. Jon nodded gravely. Pointing at himself and Ron, Harry mouthed the word "Malfoy" and watched Ron nod as well. He held up three fingers and mouthed, "On three. Two. One. Now!" Three wands pointed around the corner and three red bolts flashed across the space between them. Malfoy and Crabbe both flew off their feet and landed, unconscious, on the stone floor of the corridor.

"Yes!" Ron said, punching the air in triumph. They ran over to the two unconscious forms.

"Get the hair," Jon said, handing Harry a small glass vial. Harry reached down and pulled out several strands of Malfoy's hair, placing them carefully in the vial then stoppering it. He placed it in his robe with the two phials of Polyjuice Potion Fred and George had given him. He would only use one; the other was along "just in case."

"Got it!" Harry said as the vial clinked into his pocket.

"Great!" Ron said. Then he looked at the unconscious figures on the floor. "What do we do with them?" he asked. Harry and Jon looked at each other; at the same instant both of them shrugged.

Then Jon pointed at the blank wall beside them. "Why don't we put them in the Room of Requirement?" Harry's eyes lit up.

"Brilliant!" he cheered. "Okay, I should be able to do this. I need to," he added. He began walking back and forth in front of the wall, saying "I need a place to keep two unconscious people for a while. I need it. I need it. I need it."

On his third pass the familiar wooden door appeared and they quickly grabbed Malfoy and Crabbe's legs, dragging them into the room where they found a rather soft carpet and a cabinet with several potions in it, including two marked "Draught of Living Death" as well as several books, one of which was titled, Kidnapping for Fun and Profit in the Wizarding World, by Janus Croideux.

Grabbing the two bottles, Harry handed one to Ron. "We need to revive them enough to give them these potions," he said, looking at Jon, who nodded.

"Leave it to me," he said, pulling out his wand. "Get ready with the potions." Harry and Ron each unstoppered their bottle and knelt down beside each Slytherin. "Cover their eyes," Jon said, and Harry and Ron did so. Pointing his wand first at Malfoy, then Crabbe, Jon softly said, "Rennervate." Both figures began to stir slowly.

"Uhh," Malfoy said groggily. "C-can't see…"

"Drink this," Harry said, whispering to disguise his voice. "It'll help." He put the potion to Malfoy's lips; the Slytherin lifted his head feebly and drank, then fell back completely unconscious. Looking over at Ron, he saw that Crabbe was similarly asleep. Ron gave him a thumbs-up and they both jumped to their feet.

"Let's go," Harry said, and they ran out the door and down the corridor toward Gryffindor Tower. Stopping outside the portrait of the Fat Lady, Harry pulled his Invisibility Cloak from his robe and said, "Erumpet," the new password for the week. As the Fat Lady's picture swung open, Ron and Jon joined Harry under the Cloak and they moved into the common room under it, invisible, and toward the fireplace and the secret passage down to the base of Gryffindor Tower. Fortunately the common room wasn't busy at this moment – they had little time to spare. Entering and moving along the passageway, they emerged from the base of the castle and made their way as fast as they could under the cover of the Cloak to the Whomping Willow.

Freezing the Willow, each of them slid down the incline to the passageway and jogged along it until they reached the Shrieking Shack, then from there into Jon's hidden rooms and into his Corvette. Within five minutes of leaving the Room of Requirement they were in the air making headway toward the North Sea and Azkaban.

Once in the air, Jon glanced at Harry, who was breathing heavily. "Are you alright, Harry?"

Harry nodded, swallowing and catching his breath. "Just a bit winded, I'll be alright."

"Are you ready to do this?" Jon looked carefully at him.

"He's fine," Ron said, a little more roughly than he needed to.

"Just asking," Jon said, and fell silent.

There was silence for nearly half a minute before Ron looked at Jon again. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I was just thinking how nervous I was, when I was talking to Lucius Malfoy while wearing my father's mask."

"No problem," Jon replied. But he didn't smile or look at Ron. None of them spoke again for the rest of the flight.

Within three-quarters of an hour they were settling onto the beach of the island where Azkaban was situated, very close to where Jon had landed before. Harry reached into his robe and pulled out the phial of Polyjuice potion and the bottle containing Malfoy's hairs. He shook out a few hairs into his hand, then unstoppered the phial and dropped them in.

The Polyjuice went from its thick mudlike texture to a khaki color. Harry held it up for a moment, as if making a toast, then drank it down in three gulps. It tasted as nasty as it did the last time he'd drank it, like overcooked cabbage. There was something wrong with that thought, but before Harry could consider it further, he began to change.

He doubled over, feeling sick, his insides churning, then a horrible melting feeling spread throughout his body. Beside him, Ron was twisting away, pushing himself back toward Jon's side of the front seat. Looking at his hands, Harry saw them begin to thicken, his fingers and nails broadening.

This isn't right, Harry thought disjointedly. Malfoy's hands didn't look like this! But there was no stopping the change, and Harry felt his robe tear along the back and his feet cramp inside shoes now too small for his feet. "Oh, blimey," Ron said softly.

The sensations stopped. "Oh, blimey!" Ron said again, and Harry looked at them. Both Jon and Ron's eyes were wide, as if seeing someone they didn't expect to see. "Oh, blimey, Harry," Ron said a final time, staring at him helplessly.

"I'm not Malfoy, am I?" Harry asked, and both of them shook their heads, openmouthed. Harry looked at his hands – broad, thick fingers and nails, rougher than his own, and felt his face – equally broad with a low hairline and eyes set deep in the head. "I changed into Gregory Goyle, didn't I?" he said at last, feeling sick.

Jon reached up and turned the rearview mirror on the windscreen toward him. Harry stared into Goyle's face, revolted. "That sneak Malfoy!" he hissed, furious at the trick Malfoy had pulled on them. "He had Goyle Polyjuiced to look like him!"

Both Jon and Ron had covered their mouths and were now trying to look anywhere but at Harry and keep from laughing. "Ron!" Harry said, outraged.

"Sorry, Harry," Ron said, and a snigger slipped past his lips. "Sorry," he said again. "But you got to admit –"

"Yeah, yeah, it's dead funny," Harry said sardonically. "But now what? I can't go into Azkaban looking like this! Unless I want to talk to Goyle's father," he added as an afterthought. "And where's Malfoy got off to, if he's not at the school?"

Jon suddenly pointed ahead of them. "Speak of the devil," he said softly. They all looked out the windscreen where they saw Draco Malfoy just walking out of the crooked path that led to the entrance of Azkaban prison. He walked up to the guard shack that stood at the end of the path, on the beach, and went inside.

"He's still coming here!" Harry said, almost to himself. "Get ready!" he told them, and scrambled out of the car.

"What are you going to do?" Ron hissed at him as Harry turned to push the door closed softly.

"No idea!" Harry said in a whisper, then turned and dashed for the shack, his feet pounding painfully against the sand in his now too-small shoes. Just as he came within ten feet of the shack, Malfoy emerged again, carrying his Firestar. "Hey, Draco!" Harry called, running up to him in great agitation. "Draco!"

Draco started and turned, looking dumbstruck to see Goyle approaching him. "What the hell are you doing here, Goyle?" Malfoy demanded. "You're supposed to be pretending to be me back at school!"

"I had to come warn you, Draco!" Harry gibbered, trying to sound as agitated as possible, almost as agitated as he actually felt. "Potter was trying to catch me alone – I dunno what for, but I came here to warn you!"

"How could you have possibly gotten here?" Malfoy looked at him incredulously. "It takes me over an hour to fly here on my Firestar!"

Harry stood transfixed for a moment, trying to come up with something, anything, that would sound plausible to Malfoy. Then, suddenly – "I used the Room of Requirement, Draco! I did just like you – I walked past the wall three times, thinking, 'I need a way to get to Malfoy, I need a way to get to Malfoy!' and it opened up and there was a fireplace going inside, with a bowl of Floo Powder next to it, and I threw the powder into the fire, stepped in and said 'Draco Malfoy!' and it brought me to the fireplace in there!" Harry pointed to the shack where he knew the fireplace was.

Draco looked back at the shack, then at Harry. "You imbecile!" he snarled. "If Potter was bothering you, you could just take points away from Gryffindor, or report him to Snape! When you're me, you're Head Boy – you can do whatever you want!"

"Oh," Harry said, looking down. "I forgot." He really had forgotten about Malfoy being Head Boy.

"What the hell happened to you, anyway?" Malfoy said, looking over Harry's torn and too-small robe. "You look like –" he suddenly dropped his broom and drew his wand, moving back away from Harry, along the beach.

His eyes narrowing, Malfoy suddenly smiled thinly. "Good try, Potter," he drawled, pointing his wand at Harry. "You might have fooled me long enough but for the clothes." Smiling triumphantly, he aimed straight for Harry's chest. "It looks like you're going to be found here, paralyzed, at Azkaban, and you'll have some serious explaining to do. Maybe if you're lucky, they'll give you a cell next to my father. You were here to impersonate me and talk to him, weren't you? A brilliant plan, if I do say so myself, but not as brilliant as the one I cooked up to beat you at your own little game. Goodbye, Pot—"

"Oh, shut it, Malfoy," Ron's voice, behind him, said irritably.

Malfoy spun, but before he made it around he was struck by two red bolts of light and flopped to the ground, stunned. Harry raced over to him where he was joined by Jon and Ron. Harry glanced nervously toward Azkaban but apparently the wizards guarding it didn't look outside very often; even if they did, the group was mostly obscured by the rocks forming a barrier around the beach.

"Help me get his robe off," Harry said, pulling Malfoy's unconscious form to a sitting position. They wrestled his arms out of the sleeves and slid the robe out from under him. Harry took the other phial of Polyjuice Potion from his robe, then tossed it inside Jon's Corvette. "Just in case," he said ironically, holding up the phial.

"Wait a minute," Ron said, holding up a hand. "What happens if you drink Polyjuice Potion when you're already Polyjuiced?"

Harry hadn't thought of that. "I dunno," he said, looking at Jon.

"The last potion drunk takes precedence," Jon said. "You'll turn into Malfoy, and an hour later you'll become you again. The effects don't accumulate, so you can't get more than an hour out of a dose of Polyjuice Potion in any case."

Harry nodded. Bending over, he plucked a few hairs from Malfoy's head and put them into the bottle. The potion bubbled and frothed, turning an olive drab. "Not much better than Goyle's," Harry said, looking at it in disgust. "But, down the hatch." He drained the phial and at once doubled over onto his knees as his insides began churning once again, this time more violently, it seemed, than when he turned into Goyle.

Less than a minute later, however, it was over. Harry stood again, now feeling taller and thinner than he had as Goyle. His hands were thin and pale, like Malfoy's, and when he said, "How do I look now?" the voice in his ears was Malfoy's.

"Horrible," Ron said plaintively, but he grinned. "You're the spitting image of Malfoy."

Harry shrugged into Malfoy's robe and picked up the Slytherin's hawthorn wand, which lay on the ground where it had fallen when Ron and Jon stunned him.

"Get Malfoy into the car," he said, pointing to his unconscious form. "No use hanging about in the open if we can help it. I'll be back in an hour, or less," he said, walking toward the prison. As he passed Malfoy's broom, he stopped and held his hand over it, saying, "Up!" The broom leapt up into his hand, and Harry turned and chucked it so it landed in front of the car. "Get that out of sight, too," he said, then started walking up the crooked path toward the prison.

Arriving at the front door of the prison, Harry knocked and waited nearly a minute before the door opened and the wizard with the iron-colored mullet peered out nervously at him.

"Oh, it's you again," he said, sounding irritated. "What are you back for?"

Remembering who he was supposed to be, Harry drawled arrogantly, "I need to speak to my father again."

"Do you now," the wizard said shrewdly, opening the door all the way. "Well come right in, young Mr. Malfoy."

Harry walked in, trying to look around without being too obvious about it. The other wizard, the bald one, was there as well. "Forget something, did you?" he said with a twisted grin. "Forget to drop off your daddy's silk knickers or somethin?' "

Inwardly, Harry smirked, but Malfoy never could take a joke unless he was the one making it. "My father's underwear's none of your concern!" he said, trying to sound as disdainful as possible.

"Fair enough, then," the bald wizard said. He turned to the other wizard. "What d'you say, Agarn – shall we give young Mr. Malfoy a discount this time, or should he pay full price again?"

Agarn, the iron-mulleted wizard, rubbed his chin, regarding Harry through slitted eyes. "Dunno, Rourke – he doesn't seem inclined to cut us any slack, does he? Well, I'm not inclined to throw good gold after bad and cut him any in return."

Harry kept his face impassive, but if he hadn't been expecting nearly anything his jaw would have dropped at what he'd heard – these two Ministry wizards, probably ex-Aurors both – were soliciting a bribe from him, and probably had from the real Malfoy as well!

I hope there's some gold in these robes, Harry thought desperately. He never would have expected to have to pay to see his own relatives in Azkaban! His arms, held at his sides, pressed slightly against them, trying to discover what might be in his pockets. He felt something solid on his left side, and slid his hand in his pocket, slowly so neither wizard would be alarmed. His hand closed on a purse that felt full of coins, and he drew it out and hefted it in full view of the pair.

"What kind of discount are we talking about?" Harry said. He of course had no idea what Malfoy would have paid these men; he would just have to play it by ear and hope that what was in the purse was enough.

"What are you offering?" Rourke, the second wizard, asked baldly.

Harry, not seeing any other choice, picked a number he thought reasonable. "Twenty Galleons."

The two wizards looked at each other, then both of them chuckled as if the offer was ludicrous. "Apiece," Harry amended.

Agarn looked at Harry for a long moment. "Make it twenty-five apiece," he said at last.

"Done," Harry agreed.

"Ah, you drive a hard bargain, young Mr. Malfoy," Agarn said, strolling over to his desk. He stood there for a few moments, then gestured impatiently. "Step lively, sir. We don't have all day."

As arrogantly as he could muster, Harry walked over to the desk, still holding the purse in his left hand.

Agarn held out his hand, and Harry, looking at it blankly for a moment, started to hand him the purse. The wizard pulled his hand back. "You know the drill," he said reproachfully. "Wand first."

"So—" Harry cut himself off. It wasn't in Malfoy's nature to say he was sorry for something. He reached into his robe and produced Malfoy's wand. Agarn took it, giving it a long, wistful look before putting it in a drawer and handing Harry the small chit for receipt.

"That sure is a nice wand," he said to Harry, his eyes glittering greedily. "Now for the verification question," he said, stretching out his arm for the clipboard on the far end of his desk. Harry's stomach lurched. It was pure luck they'd asked Ron a question about his father that Harry happened to know. He'd have no chance of guessing a question about Draco Malfoy!

However, after a few moments Agarn, who didn't seem eager to put himself out very much, turned back. "But, seeing as you just answered it an hour ago, I think we'll skip it." Harry shrugged as if it didn't matter to him, but he realized then that he never would have gotten past these wizards, even as lax as their security was, if he hadn't happened to run into the real Malfoy here, and taken his wand.

"Now for the easy part of this transaction," Agarn said, a contemptuous smirk on his face as he tapped the desk in front of Harry. "Fifty Galleons, please, young Mr. Malfoy."

Harry opened the purse and emptied the contents into his hand. At first he was afraid that the purse wasn't big enough to hold fifty Galleons but amazingly, it had exactly that amount in it. Harry set the purse aside and quickly made two stacks of coins on Agarn's desk.

Rourke came over to admire the twin stacks of coins. "It's a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Malfoy," he said with a satisfied little chuckle as he picked up his stack and dropped it into his robe.

"Let's go," Agarn said to Harry. Unlocking the door leading to the prison proper, he led Harry, this time up to the fourth floor of the prison and along dark, bare corridors that were eerily silent, even for a prison. At last they came to Lucius Malfoy's cell.

"Here we are," Agarn said. "Lucius Malfoy, guilty of attempted murder, multiple batteries, bribery of Ministry officials, and a known Death Eater." He unbolted the smaller door and opened it. Malfoy's father was inside, sitting on the camp bed in the corner, looking down at the floor. "Look who's back, Lucius," he said into the opening. Malfoy looked up, and Harry nearly blanched in spite of himself.

Harry had never seen William Crabbe before, so he'd had nothing by which he could compare his former appearance. However, he had seen Lucius Malfoy several times over the years, and the man who now stared at him from the barren cell bore little resemblance to the haughty, elegant face he remembered. Malfoy was haggard, his eyes sunken, his hair unkempt. He wore a growth of beard, as Sirius had, although his was comparatively shorter: he had only been in Azkaban for 18 months since their battle at the Ministry of Magic.

"What are you talking –" Malfoy's voice trailed off as he saw Harry. Agarn smiled humorlessly.

"I'll be at the staircase when you're done," Agarn said to Harry. "Mind you don't take too long this time – I've got better things to do than wait around while you and your dear old dad have a heart-to-heart." Smiling contemptuously, he walked off.

"What are you doing back here?" Malfoy demanded once Agarn was gone. "It's bad enough you continue to come here, against your mother's wishes. Must you compound your disobedience?"

"I wanted to ask you something," Harry said, trying not to stare at Malfoy's face but at a spot just above his head. He was finally just where he wanted to be – now everything depended on how well he could play on Malfoy's guilt about his son – if the elder Malfoy felt any.

"I wanted to ask about – the Helm of Gryffindor," Harry said it quickly, then held his breath for Malfoy's response.

Malfoy looked through the bars of the cell door for a long time, then sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes in annoyance and frustration. "I thought we weren't going to discuss that topic any more, Draco."

So Draco knew! A thrill of anticipation ran through Harry. Now if he could just find out what Malfoy's father knew and where they were keeping it, if possible. "I've changed my mind about that, Father," Harry said, trying to adopt Malfoy's drawl. "I think you should tell me everything about the Helm."

"Do you?" Malfoy said, staring hard at Harry. "I suppose you think you should know where it's at?"

Harry didn't reply immediately. He could feel hostility from Malfoy, a burning resentment toward him. It was more than just an impression; it seemed as if Harry knew what Malfoy was thinking – as if he, Harry, was experiencing … Leglimency.

He had never read a person's thoughts before; Harry had no idea if that was what he was experiencing or how he had managed it, if so. All he could do was go with the feelings he was getting from Malfoy.

"You're angry with me, Father." Harry said, and Malfoy blinked, nonplussed. "You're afraid to tell me, aren't you? Afraid that I won't be able carry on in your place, once I'm fully qualified." This was guesswork on Harry's part, but an educated guess based on Malfoy's failure to kill Dumbledore at the end of the last school year.

Malfoy stood and walked slowly over to the door. Up close, he looked even more tired and drawn; his faced was heavily lined and his hair had begun to gray at the temples. Harry could hear a slight wheeze in his breath. "Actually, Draco, I was quite proud of your efforts to please the Dark Lord and obey his commands.

"But there are forces at work here quite beyond your comprehension, and until you are ready I have no reason or desire to expose you to danger," Malfoy continued. "That is why I've refused to tell you what has been done with the Helm of Gryffindor."

"But –"

"Draco!" Malfoy pressed his face against the bars of the opening, his eyes wild. "I said NO!"

Malfoy threw himself away from the bars. Harry watched him control himself with a supreme effort, then turn back with his face almost calm again. "Trust me when I tell you, the Helm is very safe. Only you, I, and Crabbe's father know of its existence. Unfortunately, I believe Snape may know by now as well."

Harry grimaced at the mention of Snape's name. Malfoy must have misread his expression for disgust because he said, "But, Snape's usefulness will soon come to an end. Once the Dark Lord achieves his desire, we will be free to eliminate him." Malfoy smiled, and Harry almost involuntarily, found himself smiling as well. "I'm sure you're Aunt Bellatrix will be very happy to hear that, don't you think?"

Harry nodded. "I'm sure she will. Very well, Father," he said, playing along, reluctance permeating his voice. "A while longer. I wish you would reconsider, though. I do want to become more involved."

"I daresay you do," Malfoy said archly. "For now, however, your uncle Julius handles my business affairs quite capably, thank you."

Harry nodded, but Malfoy's remark had puzzled him. What did the Helm of Gryffindor have to do with Malfoy's business or with his brother?

"Time for you to go, Draco," Malfoy said, settling wearily on his bed. "I need to rest. Tell your mother…" his voice faltered. "Tell your mother I miss her."

"I will," Harry said quietly. "Goodbye."

Harry walked slowly back to the staircase where Agarn waited impatiently, a timepiece in his hand. Without a word he led a subdued Harry down the steps, back to the ground floor and back into the entrance room where Harry waited, his head hung over, as the wizard retrieved his wand and took the receipt from him.

As Harry turned to go, Rourke, the other wizard called out, "Before you go, Mr. Malfoy, gotta visitor here who wants a word."

Harry turned and saw, to his horror, the flowing black robe, long greasy hair and sallow features of Severus Snape staring coldly at him, seated in front of Rourke's desk.

"Thank you, gentlemen," Snape said, rising and taking Harry by the arm in an iron grip. "Excuse us a moment while we have a word." He pulled Harry outside, slamming the large oaken door closed behind them, and put his nose barely an inch from Harry's.

"What do you mean, Draco," Snape said with barely controlled fury, "by lying to me, your Head of House, like this? You promised me you would not return here to see your father again!"

Harry, whose anger was smoldering as much as, if not more so, than Snape's, snarled in a very Malfoy-like manner, "He's my father, I'll talk to him whenever I please! And what are you doing here, anyway?"

"Manners, Draco," Snape reminded him, ignoring his question. "Address me as 'Professor' or 'sir.' "

"Very well, sir," Harry spat, glad for once that Snape tended to give Malfoy leniency in areas no other students seemed to receive. "I'll talk to him whenever I please, sir!"

"We made a bargain, you and I," Snape spat. "You wanted your status back at Hogwarts – I wanted you to stop coming here and bothering your father and worrying your mother.

"That's none of your business!" Harry shouted, getting into his performance as Malfoy. "Sir!"

"It is exactly my business," Snape countered, "when you make them targets with your recklessness. Bribing these petty bureaucrats will sooner or later bring the Ministry into things, and we are too close now for you to ruin things trying to worm your way back into your father's affections."

Is that what I'm supposed to be doing here, Harry wondered. "Why are you here, then, sir?" he asked Snape again.

"That's not your concern," Snape said testily.

Suddenly, in the same he'd known that Lucius Malfoy was resentful of his son, Harry got a flash of insight from Snape, a mental image that strongly resembled – William Crabbe.

It was gone almost the same moment he recognized it: Snape had erected his Occlumency barriers. Any hint of emotion in his expression had gone as well – his face was now as unreadable as his thoughts. Harry suddenly understood at that moment that if Snape read his thoughts, he would realize that he was not Draco Malfoy.

Though he had never successfully stopped Snape from seeing into his mind before, this time, Harry knew, he could not fail. He must not let Snape read his mind.

Letting all emotion drain from his thoughts, Harry willed himself to believe what Snape must see – that he was Draco Malfoy.

They locked eyes for long seconds, staring hard at each other. Then, to Harry's immense relief, Snape – blinked.

"Your aunt Bella has exceeded herself," Snape said softly. "Still you hide your feelings from me, Draco." He gestured with a nod toward the path. "Very well, be on your way, then. And remember," he added in a dangerous tone. "If you continue to insist on coming here, against my and your parents' wishes, you will find the last months of your time at Hogwarts very unpleasant indeed."

"Are you threatening me?" Harry asked coldly. "Sir?"

"A bargain is a bargain," Snape reminded him. "Don't expect me to uphold my end if you won't uphold yours."

"I'll think it over," Harry said noncommittally. "Sir." He turned away and began walking down the path to the outbuilding at the far end.

"By the way," Snape said before Harry had gone more than ten feet. "I did not see your broom in the outbuilding when I arrived."

Harry looked back slowly. "I hid it," he said simply. He turned away again. "Sir," he added, dully, without looking back.

"I checked," Snape said. Harry turned back again. "It was not in the shack."

"I didn't hide it there, sir." Harry resumed walking toward the outbuilding.

About halfway to the beach, he heard the large oaken front door of the prison open and close again. He risked a look back. Snape was gone. Harry broke into a run.

Running up to where he'd last left the car, Harry was horrified to see footprints all around where the vehicle stood, but none in a rectangular pattern that fairly screamed, "There's something invisible here!" to him.

Feeling the passenger side door, he yanked it open and jumped inside, panting. "Blimey, Harry!" Ron said. His wand was out. "I almost forgot that was you!" He grabbed Harry by the shoulder. "Snape's here!"

"I know," Harry said unsteadily. "I've just been having a row with him."

Jon reached quickly for the ignition. "Does he know who you are, Harry? Do we need to get out of here?"

"No," Harry shook his head. "I managed to convince him I was Malfoy."

"You cut it pretty close," Ron told him. "You've only got a few minutes left of your hour."

Harry rubbed his face with his hands. "Is Malfoy still unconscious?"

"Yeah," Ron said with a grin, wiggling his wand. "We've been giving him booster shots every ten minutes or so, to keep him out."

"So what happened, Harry?" Jon asked. "How did it go with Malfoy's dad?"

"Let's get going," Harry said, ignoring the question. "We've got to dump Malfoy off before we go back to school. I don't want him waking up here on Azkaban."

Jon took the car up and pointed it back toward Scotland, and soon they were streaking along at full speed. On the way back the Polyjuice Potion wore off and Harry became himself again. He avoided answering both Ron and Jon's questions about what had happened, feigning exhaustion. He did say, however, that it would be the last such attempt he'd make to talk to Malfoy, saying it was just "wild luck" that the wizards didn't ask him a verification question that he couldn't answer.

As they approached Hogwarts, Harry had Jon drop them over the wall beyond the Quidditch pitch, where the enchantment preventing flying devices from working properly was suspended. They landed and Harry had Jon drive up behind the broom shed, where they unloaded Malfoy's unconscious form (Ron giving him one final Stupefy spell for good measure). Jon levitated Malfoy's unconscious body while Ron and Harry slid his robe back on; they left him propped up against the broom shed, as if he'd fallen asleep there.

"That's about all we can do," Harry said softly. "He might think it's a dream –"

"Or a nightmare," Ron put in.

"— either way, he'll have the Christmas break to sort things out before we see him again, with any luck," Harry finished.

They piled into the Corvette and returned to the Shrieking Shack, then retraced their steps back to the Whomping Willing and back to the Gryffindor common room, and from there to Harry and Ron's dormitory.

Pulling the Invisibility Cloak off them, Harry dropped it on the floor and sat down heavily on his bed.

"You all right?" Jon asked, sounding concerned.

Harry looked up at him. "No," he said in a weak voice. "I need to lie down for a while. Thanks for your help, Jon – I'll talk to you later."

"Okay," Jon said, moving to the door. "You did great today, Harry! A really fantastic job! Talk to you later." Jon left the room, closing the door behind him.

After a few moments, Ron sat down on the bed beside him. "All right," he said earnestly. "Out with it. What happened?"

Harry told him everything. The guards at Azkaban taking bribes. Using Leglimency on Malfoy and Snape, and having his Occlumency work for the first time against Snape as well. Draco knowing about his father's secret of the Helm of Gryffindor, but not knowing everything.

"Blimey," Ron said in a combination of amazement, envy, and chagrin. "I'm surprised you aren't exhausted after all that, mate!"

"Things are really getting confusing, Ron," Harry said, shaking his head wearily. "If Trelawney, Bane and Firenze are right, Voldemort is going to kill me."

"Don't say that!" Ron hissed, aghast at the very notion.

"What else can I say, Ron?" Harry said back, extremely upset himself. "The only one who believed I could win, somehow, against Voldemort is dead!"

"Maybe he knew something the others didn't know," Ron suggested wildly.

"I don't know," Harry said, looking away. "All I know is, I can only really trust you, and Hermione, now."

"But we've invited Jon to the Burrow with us," Ron reminded him.

"I know," Harry said. "And I'd rather have him there, so we'll know where he is, than here or somewhere else where we can't keep an eye on him. Maybe we can find out what he and Deirdre are doing with the centaurs, and just what they mean about that 'major upheaval' both Bane and Firenze mentioned.

Harry laid back on his bed. "I really do need to catch a few winks, Ron."

Ron stood. "Okay, mate. I'll go see if I can find Hermione."

Harry nodded, then said, "Don't tell her any of this. Let me talk to her."

Ron looked vaguely unsettled, as if he'd intended to do just that, but nodded and said, "No problem. Get some rest, Harry."

Ron walked over to his trunk and rummaged through his things for a minute or so before coming up with the Mystery Vault model. He turned back to Harry. "Pleasant dreams," he said with a grin.

But Harry answered only with a snore.