Disclaimer: Hogwarts and its people still belong to JK Rowling, bless her cotton socks for letting us play with them.

A/N: Generally speaking, horses sleep lying down. Maybe some like to sleep standing up (and they are equipped for it with special locking knees), but the ones I've known have all preferred to stretch out – preferably in the sun for a nap, and who can blame them? In the bad old days horses were kept in narrow stalls, which gave them no space to stretch out. Looseboxes of decent size let horses sleep lying down.

ooOOoo

Chapter 7: Monster in the Night

Just as he was dozing off to the snores of Ron and Seamus, Harry remembered what he'd forgotten.

Draco.

Bugger. He wasn't going out to rescue the little creep at this time of night – hopefully Malfoy had enough sense in his blond head to stay in the stable where it was safe. Harry rolled over as his conscience prodded him and told him the stable mightn't be all that safe for a blind boy, especially when everything in the Forest was so stirred up. He argued back that Hooch or Hagrid would have brought Draco back to the Slytherin dormitory.

That seemed sensible.

His conscience thought that seemed sensible too, and let him go to sleep.

ooOOoo

Something had woken the horse. And the horse woke Draco when it lifted its head and snorted. This wasn't the sort of snort that cleared flies out of its nose – it was hollow like a drainpipe and the sound rippled. Draco thought the horse sounded frightened. He rubbed at his eyes, wondering for a brief moment why everything was so dark before remembering. With a small sense of satisfaction he realised there was less bitterness today at his blindness; it had been replaced by a more pragmatic desire to get on with things as they stood ("Step 1 in my plan for World Conquest: stop fretting about the resources I don't have" had been formulated back in the hospital wing), and Draco stretched his hearing to sense what had disturbed the horse.

There were the morning songs of birds, clear and sweet and distant… a bit too distant, perhaps? But nothing he could hear that would have startled a horse. Although…

What was that smell?

Draco sniffed again cautiously.

Something rank and tinted slightly with sage threaded through the sweet, wholesome smell of hay and the heavier, tangier smell of horse. Draco snorted in disgust at the same time as the horse, and frowned to himself – clearly he'd been spending too much time around Muggle animals if he was starting to pick up their behaviour.

The horse nipped Draco lightly and Draco, a little confused by the attack however mild, stopped leaning on the horse. Did it want him to go away? There was a rustle of hay and a slight grunt of exertion, and the horse climbed to its feet.

Oh. That was all. His couch merely wanted to stand up. Draco put out a hand to check where the nearest leg was – there, all ligament and bone – and the horse dipped its head briefly to sniff his hair. For a second Draco smiled, but then there was a shuffling noise outside the doors of the loosebox and the leg beneath his hand thrummed with sudden tension. Draco realised he was in a prime position to get stamped on, and quickly got to his feet. The horse snuffed his hair again, then brought the solid, bony head around to push Draco back into a corner.

Draco didn't like this at all. But he stayed. He wasn't quite sure what corner he was in, anyway, and maybe it was better to stay away from the door. He put out a hand and touched the soft woollen blanket covering the horse. It was warm and a few strands of hay fell away at Draco's touch, but underneath Draco could feel muscle solid over the ribs, and when he lifted his hand higher and pressed down to feel for give, the muscles along the back were like steel cords under the blanket. The horse turned its head again and butted Draco more firmly into the corner. Ouch. Draco rubbed his hip where he'd banged it into the manger. Okay – he could take a hint… when he chose to.

The doors creaked open and there was a strong whiff of rotting sage that made Draco gag. He found he was shaking now; there was something coming into the stall that was all wrong, and he was blind and even if he could see he didn't have his wand – they'd taken it off him because they said he didn't need it anymore and –

The horse screamed.

ooOOoo

Millicent Bulstrode was the first big shock of Harry's day. And everyone else's, he expected.

Under The Blockade (it had gone on so long now Harry had begun to capitalise it in his mind) breakfast was a fairly relaxed affair at Hogwarts. Apart from the roof, which was showing the pink-streaked grey-blue of a promising day, it was Saturday thus there would be no classes even if there could be no Hogsmeade visit, but even aside from the general Saturday morning feeling of an outing denied the mood was one of tentative contentment, surprising Harry because for the last few days everyone had been speculating fearfully about the pearly barrier thickening around the Hogwarts perimeter. Theories ranged from magic run amuck and setting up a standing wave, to a secret defence by Dumbledore, to the latest in quiet viciousness from Voldemort. Luna had even suggested the barrier was a manifestation of Id from the collective subconscious.

Harry, along with most people, was going with the Voldemort origin theory.

The teachers encouraged inter-House solidarity now (although so far only Dumbledore had advocated sharing a new pet), and so instead of the tables being rigidly divided into the four Houses there was a growing prevalence of House badges being seen at tables where those badges had once been rare. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff had led the charge, of course. Those two Houses had always shown a spirit that was more community than team. But Gryffindor had taken up the challenge: Padma joining her sister Parvati this morning wasn't unusual, but down the table to Harry's left was a small knot of Hufflepuff and Gryffindor third year girls, giggling over something with fluffy antennae one of them had in a box. Looking across the Hall at the empty fourth table, Harry frowned.

No-one had told the Slytherins about this new esprit d'ecole. Or, more likely, they had heard about it and then decided to turn their noses up. Typical. Not one Slytherin was in the Hall for breakfast.

Just as Harry was thinking that, Professor Sinistra, her manner flustered and her bootheels clattering on the stone floor, hurried into the Great Hall. She pursed her mouth and ducked her head apologetically as she came in; Harry thought she was apologising to Dumbledore, but couldn't say for sure. She led a procession of the Slytherins, from oldest to youngest. Silently they filed in to their places at their table and sat in unison, all without saying a word. The temperature of the Hall took a sudden downturn.

It was eerie.

The Hall was silent for a handful of seconds, then hunger overcame the moment and the students dug into breakfast again.

The only one not reaching for food was Millicent Bulstrode. Harry's eyes narrowed as he watched her scan the Hall. Her eyes met his as they passed on their slow examination then continued by as if he wasn't that interesting. Harry chewed slowly on his toast, watching, but careful not to seem to stare. What was she looking for?

And where was Draco?

Ah. She was looking for Draco. Something cold settled in Harry's stomach. Draco hadn't made it back last night, and now Bulstrode was looking for him. Harry tensed, wondering if he should go over to the Slytherin table and offer to help. Millicent leaned back to speak around Goyle who was sitting between her and Pansy. Harry saw her mouth move, saw Pansy's one-shouldered shrug, and saw Millicent's face darken.

Then Millicent stood. She cracked her knuckles and said something to Pansy that made the other girl flinch back. What in Merlin's name was going on in Slytherin now that Draco was blind? Was this some sort of power-struggle? If so, it was the first time Harry had ever considered Bulstrode as a contender in anything other than an all-comers mud-wrestling-a-thon. Harry realised he had stopped chewing, and forced his throat to swallow.

The way the Slytherin girl put back her shoulders and adjusted her robes had something deliberate to it.

As did her straight-backed walk as she marched up to the High Table.

Inter-House relations might be easing up, but it was still unusual for a student to approach the professors. And when the Slytherin stopped before Dumbledore, Harry realised he wasn't the only one who was watching. The entire student body had gone silent.

And so Millicent's voice, quiet as ever, carried through the Hall.

"Headmaster, where is Draco Malfoy?"

Dumbledore blinked.

"Is he not in his dormitory?"

Millicent was a big, strapping lass who wouldn't have looked out of place heaving barrels of beer around. And when she squared her shoulders and firmed her jaw, Harry wondered if she had the strength to tip the High Table over.

"No," she said calmly. "He is not. And I believe it is your job to know the whereabouts of your students."

Small birds could have been sucked in through the windows as the students took a collective breath.

"Unfortunately some students, such as Mr Malfoy, have an unfortunate habit of leaving their dormitories after curfew. I suspect he is –"

"Lost," she stated bluntly. "He was not in the common room last night. No-one has seen him since dinner last night. He would have been unable to leave Slytherin last night, anyway, so your excuse holds no water."

Someone in the Hall dropped a teaspoon. It tinkled in the silence.

"Why did you not call for a staff member, then?" Dumbledore asked, frowning.

"I tried. But of course as the Slytherin dormitory was completely sealed off, I was unable even to call for a house elf."

Dumbledore looked at Sinistra, who blushed. "I'm sure there was some way to –" he began carefully, but was cut off again.

"I'm absolutely sure there wasn't." Millicent's mouth was a firm line and her hazel eyes bored into Dumbledore's blue ones, which had lost what little twinkle they had had this morning.

"Miss Bulstrode," Professor McGonagall interrupted crisply. "Please remember who you are addressing."

"I believe I do," replied Millicent, her face as calm as an unsmiling Mona Lisa, her eyes not leaving Dumbledore's. "I am addressing the headmaster, whose job it is to mind the welfare of all students nominally in his care. Not just the flashy and pretty and popular Gryffindors. All of them. Even the Slytherins."

"Miss Bulstrode!" McGonagall's anger could be measured by how strong her accent grew: She'd rolled the 'r' for a good whole second. "It's not yourrr right to tell the headmasterrrr how to do his job!"

"Then whose is it? Someone has to. It's bad enough we've lost our Head of House –" her voice wobbled infinitesimally "– but then to be relegated to the status of inconvenient pets is intolerable.

"Professor Snape is the only one who ever looked out for us, and now he's gone. We have to look out for each other, now, and it's tricky to do that when outside forces are piling up against you. It's extremely frustrating, for example, being imprisoned in your dormitory when you know one of your Housemates is missing. You could, perhaps, try and contact a staff member. Unfortunately no staff member is willing to listen to you, even if you could get a message out from your rooms. Now that Professor Snape is gone Slytherin is isolated every night… if there was a fire or a medical emergency someone could die. If someone is missing – someone blind and literally unable to look out for himself, for example – we are unable to search for him or notify anyone of his absence.

"Bias against our parents aside, Headmaster Dumbledore, you allowed us into this school and in so doing became responsible for our welfare. We don't expect care or affection and especially not fairness from you, but we do expect not to have our lives thoughtlessly endangered despite…" she took a deep breath "…your past record of treatment of Slytherins, and we do expect to be able to find one of our Housemates when he may be in danger. And you, the headmaster, are ultimately responsible for that. So I ask you again: where is Draco Malfoy?"

Dumbledore looked into Millicent's eyes and his expression was sorrowful. "I am afraid I do not know," he said.

"Headmaster," McGonagall huffed, "She is…"

Dumbledore waved a hand. "She is correct. And I have been negligent."

Sinistra was almost scarlet with humiliation, and Harry guessed it was she who must have sealed off the Slytherin rooms. She opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by two embarrassed coughs from further down the table. Hagrid's nearly eclipsed Hooch's and sounded like a small avalanche. "No, Headmaster," said Hooch. "I was the teacher on duty. I should have been more aware. But I expect he is safe…" She didn't meet Millicent's level stare: Harry read the look as saying: 'expect,' or 'know'?

"He… was with us in the barn when we were caring for the horse he and Harry Potter found." Hooch was slowly turning pink under Millicent's calm gaze.

Millicent nodded slowly. "Then that's where I'll look for him first." She nodded to Dumbledore before she turned, but it looked like a formality, as if someone had once schooled her on good manners.

A scowling Pansy grabbed at her robes as she walked past, but Millicent twitched it out of her hand, saying "Not here," and Pansy sat back with her face glowing like Sinistra's and Hooch's and Hagrid's.

Millicent Bulstrode walked out of the Hall just as calmly as she'd walked into it. Two of the younger Slytherin girls wiped their mouths and hurried after her. As they disappeared down the stairs of the Entrance Hall there was a collective whoosh as the students let out their breath. Harry looked down at his hands. He'd been holding a napkin, and somewhere between Millicent standing up and Millicent walking out, it had mysteriously shredded itself. He threw it down and, heedless of Ron's "Harry, mate, where are you –?" and the way Hermione tactfully stopped Ron from following, not to mention the hiss of suspicion from the Slytherin table. He didn't even notice Dumbledore wave McGonagall's angry sputterings into silence and reply, "She is right," then briefly cover his face with his hand.

Harry jumped down the steps three at a time, but needn't have hurried. Millicent was at the bottom of the stairs with one of the Slytherin girls holding her hand. The girl was saying something Harry couldn't hear, but then Millicent sighed and sat down with one girl on either side of her and said, "Yes, I know. I miss my mum too. But you'll see her soon, I'm sure. This… situation can't go on forever. And sometimes the owls get through… what you can do is write to her and tell her you're not afraid –"

"But I am afraid!" the girl said, and smiled.

"Well, that's because you're sensible," Millicent replied, not able to stop smiling herself. "But write a letter telling her you're fine, and then as soon as an owl comes in take the chance to send the letter out. Oh, and ask her for some liquorice for me, too, while you're at it, huh? I haven't had any for ages."

"Why should she send you liquorice?" the second girl asked.

"Because, my Slytherin sister, then I will help you and her with your History homework."

"Huh. Okay… That seems fair. I guess."

"Right. So. Are you going to go back and finish your breakfast?"

"No. We're going to help you find Draco," said the smaller girl who had been worried about her mother. "Pansy was wrong what she said. P'fessor Snape warned us about divide and conquer, and that's all that's happened since Draco got hurt."

"Hmm," replied Millicent, her face impassive. Harry wondered what really went on behind it. He'd only ever seen her before as muscle for Pansy – Crabbe or Goyle in drag. He decided perhaps it was time to let her know he was watching.

Millicent looked up when she heard him cough, and her expression hardened into one of mild dislike and stupidity – Harry was familiar with it, but beginning to wonder just how much he should trust his eyes. "What do you want, Potter?" she asked.

"To make sure Malfoy's okay," he replied mildly, not wanting her to see he was disturbed by how quickly she had closed off on seeing him – or how the two younger girls had clustered closer to their larger, older Housemate like chicks to a hen, and were now eyeing at him with distrust. "I was working with him and Luna Lovegood yesterday evening. I thought Hooch and Hagrid had taken him back to the castle…" He paused. "Was that true about being locked into your common room?"

Millicent's expression hardened further. "Don't worry – you don't have to believe me if –"

"No, I do believe you. I just… Never mind. I'll show you where I last saw him."

He heard a rustle from the stairs behind him, and turned in time to see one of the younger Slytherin students disappear behind a column. So. They were checking up on him, were they?

Harry couldn't say he blamed them.

Then Professor McGonagall descended on them like the Caledonian wrath of God.

"Miss Bulstrode!" she hissed, sounding in that moment like she was channelling Snape. "How dare you behave in such a disrespectful manner! That will be one hundred points from Slytherin, and a week's detention for you!"

Millicent shrugged. Harry read a lot more into that little motion than if she'd opened her mouth, and realised the Slytherins must have stopped worrying about points when Snape died. As for the detention, at least, the shrug said, I brought attention to what I wanted to.

Merlin, no wonder Sinistra had locked them away last night. If Bulstrode was to be taken as some sort of weathervane the Slytherins were a matchstick away from exploding into open rebellion.

Just as he realised that, he noticed the quiet ranks of students lined up on the stairs above, apparently materialised out of nothing. It seemed to be the entirety of Slytherin house, even including Pansy, who gave Millicent a look that said: We haven't finished this, but for now…

Harry almost – almost, but not quite – missed the slight nod Millicent gave Pansy.

McGonagall looked up and swallowed audibly. Harry didn't blame her: their silent watchfulness – judgement – was making all the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

A pale, nervous sixth-year boy Harry had only noticed as being one of the few who could see the Thestrals, spoke up:

"Will that be one hundred points from each of us and a week's detention, Professor? Because Bulstrode spoke for each and every one of us."

As one, the Slytherins nodded.

Dudley had been allowed to watch whatever videos he liked, and he loved horrors. Harry had occasionally seen one. Merlin, it's like "Children of the Corn."

McGonagall narrowed her eyes; the tone may have been mild and the boy's demeanour polite, but Zabini's words smacked of open rebellion. Harry wasn't sure what would have happened at that point, but Dumbledore stepped through the silent students. "No," he said. "First and foremost, it is time to find Mr Malfoy. After we are sure of his safety we can argue right and wrong. Miss Bulstrode, I believe Mr Potter was about to show you to the stables?"

Harry was grateful of the chance to escape. He was used to the Slytherins watching and sneering at him, but this cold politeness was making his stomach queasy.

ooOOoo

When they were in sight of the barn, Harry noticed the door was open. "That's odd…"

"What?"

"The door should be shut. And can you smell that?"

Millicent sniffed. "That's… odd."

"Poo," said the younger of the Slytherin first years. "Is that what horses smell like?"

"No," said Harry, frowning. "It's not. I –"

Then something started screaming.

ooOOoo