"You don't suppose we ought to help him, do you?" Albus asked, as he cut a slice of roast beef and dipped it in gravy. Minerva was both pleased and amused to notice he seemed to have no intention of getting up to help Fudge, despite his suggestion.

"No," Minerva said, glancing through the ajar doors into the Great Hall. There, she could see Fudge and his awful pink Undersecretary – Senior Undersecretary, now that Crouch was in prison – attempting to allay the hoarde of parents that had shown up about an hour earlier. Sirius Black was near the front, doubtless making his displeasure known.

"Sirius seems to have a lot to say," Albus observed cheerfully. He too, was watching Sirius, it seemed, and Minerva thought he must be pleased to not be on the receiving end, as he often was.

"Doesn't he always?" Severus drawled, leaning over to snag a Yorkshire pudding off the nearest platter. As he moved, Minerva got a whiff of him; he smelled like potions ingredients, and smoke, and of the dampness in the dungeons. It was for a good cause, though; Severus was just days off finishing the restorative for Riddle's victims. "Particularly when precious Potter is involved."

Minerva glanced at the boy in question. He was looking much better than when she'd seen him in the hospital wing, though perhaps still a bit pale. Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom both looked like they'd seen better days too, though the other Weasley boys seemed just as boisterous as usual. Ron Weasley was perhaps a bit more sympathetic to his sister and friends than the other two; it seemed not even Dementors could temper the Weasley twins.

Nor could they dampen Hydrus Malfoy; he and some of his little gang had finished their dinners and were approaching the Gryffindor table, making silly, jeering noises. Potter, Longbottom and the Weasleys had all noticed and were looking distinctly unimpressed. Minerva saw Ron Weasley reach for his wand, and saw several other Gryffindors – namely Wood and the rest of the Quidditch team – start to pay attention. Albus was looking on with a faint frown.

"Heard that you were crying, Longbottom," Malfoy said. Minerva didn't think he'd meant for her to hear, but students had a habit of forgetting about her Animagus hearing. She didn't think Severus was able to hear what had been said, but Malfoy's body language, and that of Crabbe, Goyle and Parkinson made it obvious that they were looking to pick a fight. "And that you fainted, Potter." Parkinson laughed, and a few others around the Hall tittered. Most just looked on, either interested or uncomfortable. "Were you scared, Potter?"

"Shall you deal with it, or shall I?" Severus sighed, lowering his fork.

"You can," Minerva said. "And I suggest you do it quickly, before someone gets hexed, or before Sirius hears Potter's name and comes to investigate."

"Where's the baby? Where's baby Neville?" Neville looked up at the ceiling of his dark hideaway, interested by the muffled sound of his name.

"He's not here," Daddy panted. Then Daddy screamed and then he stopped and coughed weakly. Neville shifted on the floor, scared. He tried to stand up, with the intention of finding Daddy and giving him a hug because Daddy liked hugs, but it was dark and the floor was bumpy and Neville fell over again. It hurt, but he didn't cry. "He's not here."

"Liar!" someone said loudly. Mummy sobbed.

"Mummy," Neville tried to say, but he couldn't hear himself. He tried to call Daddy but he couldn't hear that either. He lifted a chubby had to feel his mouth. Maybe it was broken.

"I like the name Neville, by the way," a woman's voice said – this one was sweeter, richer, but Neville didn't like it. "Neville Longbottom… yes, has a nice ring to it."

"I think it'll look nice on a gravestone." That was a man's voice, followed by his laugh. He didn't sound very old, but Neville didn't like the way he sounded either. The floorboards creaked above him, and someone moved with heavy footsteps. Neville knew it wasn't Mummy; Mummy was very quiet when she walked, and liked to play surprises with him.

"Crucio," the woman said, and there was silence for several long seconds. Then, Mummy gasped and Daddy made a funny coughing sound, like he was being sick. Neville hoped he wasn't sick. "Crucio!"

Neville gasped and his eyelids flew open. He felt sticky and cold and rather ill.

"Neville?" Harry's voice was quiet but it still made him jump. Neville glanced over at Harry's bed before realising he wasn't in it; his voice had come from over by the window, where Harry was sitting with his owl on his knee. They stared at each other for a few long moments – while Seamus mumbled sleepily in the next bed – and Harry opened his mouth and closed it.

"What?" Neville asked.

"I was going to ask if you're okay," Harry said. "But- Well, not much point, is there? I know you're not." He shrugged in a helpless, apologetic sort of way. "Want a chocolate frog? Padfoot brought them."

Neville pushed back his covers and slid out of bed to join Harry by the window. The owl stared at him with big golden eyes, and Neville worried she might peck him, but she didn't; after a few seconds, she decided she'd looked at him for long enough, and looked back to Harry, then put her head under her wing. Neville felt a pang of jealousy; Trevor wasn't any good for comfort… in fact, Neville wasn't even sure where Trevor was at the moment. Probably swimming in the lake, or terrorising the girls' loos again.

Harry stroked his owl's back absently; he was staring out the window, maybe at the stars, or maybe at something only he could see. Maybe he was looking at the tiny, drifting black shapes doing patrols around the edge of the grounds.

"You're not okay either, are you?" Neville mumbled, after a few minutes of silence. Harry's eyes flicked to Neville and away again. "Do you hear yours?" Harry gave a curt nod, and his lip quivered. Neville took a bite of his frog and felt a bit better, partially because of the chocolate, but also, partially, because someone understood. Neville didn't want to talk about it, and didn't want to listen to Harry talk about what he felt when Dementors were around, but it was enough to know that someone else felt the same, that he wasn't the only one.

They finished their chocolate in silence, and then Neville stood and went back to bed.

"Night," Harry said, as Ron let out a loud snore, and Dean kicked around until his feet were free from the covers.

"Night."

Hermione awoke in a dark, unfamiliar place, and struggled to shake off the remnants of her dreams. Harry and Ron's voices – sometimes directed to her, sometimes not – talking about everything from Quidditch to what they'd learned in class. She remembered – oddly enough – being back at primary school, before Harry had come along and befriended her, remembered how lonely she'd been, how bored. It had been an awful feeling. She didn't feel that way now though; in fact, more than anything, she felt rather ill and stiff and tired.

The last thing she remembered was the basilisk's reflection in the library window, that night she'd gone to do some extra reading about the Chamber and its monster. She'd been petrified, then; that would explain why she felt- well, why she felt the way she did. And, knowing that… yes, another look around made her think that this must be the hospital wing. A different bed than the one she'd used after her injuries from protecting the stone last year, but she could see Madam Pomfrey's office, and-

"Professor!" Hermione didn't have the same loathing for Professor Snape that Ron did, but she still didn't think she'd ever been happier to see him. He swept over at once, dark eyes flicking over the beds around hers. Hermione spied Ron's bother Percy, lying very still in the bed beside hers, and then- "Draco?"

"Ought to be awake soon as well," Professor Snape said calmly. He raised his voice just a little to call for Madam Pomfrey, and she was at Hermione's bedside almost instantly. Hermione quickly scanned the others beds to make sure that neither Ron or Harry occupied them. She was relieved to see that they weren't there, and went back to watching Draco. Draco wasn't quite as animated as Harry or Ron could be, or as chatty, but it was still odd to see him so still. She wondered if she'd been as odd to look at.

"Was he-" Hermione struggled to think of the right questions to ask, and then stopped, horrified. "My bag!" she exclaimed. "Did- It's a basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, that's what Slytherin's monster is! That's-"

"You're a bit behind the times, dear," Madam Pomfrey said kindly, waving her wand over Hermione, as Snape moved off to look at a girl Hermione vaguely recognised as a girl Ginny sometimes ate dinner with. Greengrass, though Hermione couldn't remember which of the twins she was.

"Behind- How long was I-?" Hermione looked at the hospital wing window, hoping for a clue from the weather as to how long she'd been indisposed, but it was too dark to see anything.

"You were attacked back in February," Madam Pomfrey said, clicking her tongue at whatever readings her diagnostic charms had given her, "and we're a week into June now, so what's that…?"

"Four months," Hermione whispered.

"A bit less," Madam Pomfrey said briskly. Hermione couldn't quite wrap her head around it.

"And the Heir, and the basilisk-"

"Not putting anyone else in danger," Madam Pomfrey said, to Hermione's chagrin; was she being deliberately vague? "Now, how do you feel, a bit stiff?" Hermione nodded reluctantly; it was obvious that asking more questions wouldn't get her anywhere. "Can you lift your arm, like this?" Hermione winced, but was able to. Madam Pomfrey had her try to move her arms and legs and head in all sorts of different ways, and then, when she'd managed all that, had her try to stand.

"I can't," Hermione said, clinging to the side of the bed, miserable, after her third try. "My legs just won't- hold-"

"Not to worry," Madam Pomfrey said gently. "We did the best we could for you these last few months, but it's to be expected that you'll be a bit weak and stiff."

"Poppy!"

"I'll be back later with something for you to eat," Madam Pomfrey said, "but for now, there's juice and water on the table. Excuse me." And she hurried off toward Snape, who was trying to deal Colin Creevey's rapid, confused questions.

"Is Ginny okay?" Colin asked. "She was with me when it all happened-" Hermione watched the glance that passed between Snape and Madam Pomfrey with interest, but they didn't say anything other than that Ginny was fine, and then Snape went back to prowling between the beds and Madam Pomfrey started to take Colin through the same exercises as Hermione had just done.

Hermione heaved herself back into bed with difficulty, and tried - yet again - to wrap her head around the fact that she'd been in bed, oblivious, for months.

"Madam Pomfrey!" she said, suddenly aghast. The matron came rushing back over, looking alarmed, and Snape had looked up, wary.

"Miss Granger, what's the matter?"

"Exams!" Hermione exclaimed. "If it's June- I've missed them!"

"It's been dealt with," Madam Pomfrey assured her. "And you needn't worry." She gave Hermione a pointed look, as if to say, Now behave yourself and went back to Colin's bedside.

Hermione flopped back into her pillows. She didn't feel particularly well rested, and thought she might be able to sleep if she tried, but she didn't particularly want to; she'd spent enough time unconscious as it was, she thought. She folded her arms and settled in to wait; either for Draco to wake up – because she had no idea how long he'd been petrified for, and so he might be able to fill her in on the past few months – or for Harry and Ron to arrive.

"And- were we right?" Draco asked. He wasn't particularly sure that he wanted to know.

"Hermione," Weasley said suddenly, "you should come and see these papers I've brought up for Percy-" Prefect Weasley was propped up in his bed, reading an old copy of the Prophet, while Weasley One and Weasley Two chattered away at him. She-Weasley was nowhere to be seen.

"I'm trying to listen to Harry, Ron," Granger said, frowning at him. Draco'd woken up hours later than Granger, and so – while she was now able to hobble around with someone's support – he still had trouble rolling over and twisting his neck overly much. As such, he didn't see whatever look it was that Weasley gave her, but next thing he knew, Granger was letting Weasley help her over to a chair by Prefect Weasley's bed. That left Draco and Potter alone.

Potter, who'd apparently slain Slytherin's basilisk with none other than the sword of Gryffindor – if Dumbledore was to be believed - managed to destroy the diary – and through it, somehow, destroy Riddle – and in doing so, saved She-Weasley's life, since he and Draco had last spoken, remained seated. He was currently scowling at Weasley's back, as if to wonder why he'd been left with Draco. And that was when Draco knew he was about to recieve bad news.

"We were, weren't we?" Draco asked, convinced by the awful, sinking feeling in his chest. "Father-"

"Gave Ginny the diary," Potter said, reluctantly. He kept his voice low. "I think at Diagon Alley, when we were in the bookshop…" He didn't look at Draco, and Draco appreciated that, because it gave him time to get his expression under control.

"How did you find out?" Draco was impressed with himself for keeping his voice so steady.

"Dobby told me," Potter said ruefully. Then, he grinned. "He was here with a sponge, you know."

"He was not," Draco said, aghast, but he could tell from Potter's expression that he was telling the truth. Draco wasn't sure whether to find Dobby's behaviour endearing or disturbing. Then he shook his head. "You're just trying to distract me." Potter's grin faded, and he didn't say anything, which Draco was grateful for. "So- He's in Azkaban, then? Is that why he hasn't come to visit? And Mother must be- she'd be struggling-"

"Actually," Potter said, "I expect he's strutting about the Manor like normal." Potter's expression was distasteful. In the past, he'd always tried not to show what he really thought of Father – though Draco had a fair idea – but he either hadn't bothered this time, or he was having a harder time hiding it.

"He's not…?" Draco wasn't sure whether to be pleased or horrified. "But- Surely Weasley's family-"

"No one knows," Potter said quietly. "Well- me and Ron, and now you, and I'm sure Hermione will hear about it eventually, but-"

"Black?" Potter shook his head.

"He'd have Mr Malfoy on the first boat to Azkaban," Potter said, almost wistfully.

And he'd deserve it, Draco thought, feeling ill.

"She-Weasel?" Potter shook his head again. "But she could have died- you said she nearly did!"

"She's got enough to deal with at the moment," Potter said, not looking at him again. "Besides, unless he's actually punished, it's not going to make her feel any better, is it?" But Potter sounded unhappy, and this was obviously something he'd argued with himself – or maybe Weasley – about. "I mean, if we told her, she'd have to look at him, free, and just-"

"Exactly; free? I don't understand-"

"Draco," Potter hissed, scowling at him, "good to see you're finally awake. No, not to worry, you haven't missed much- Oh, hang on, actually, your dad's in prison for setting Voldemort and a giant, murderous snake on the school, and for almost killing Ginny Weasley… but other than that, yeah, things have been pretty quiet…" Draco aimed a weak kick at Potter's knee – as that was the only thing of a height with the bed – but Potter avoided it, and Draco huffed at him. "Besides, he's your father. Might be a right-" Potter glanced at Draco and swallowed whatever he'd been about to say. "You can't want him in Azkaban?"

"Of course not!" Draco snapped. And that was true; he didn't want Father locked away with the Dementors, no matter how much he apparently deserved it. He knew Father had some- closed-minded views about blood and magic and all that, but to have given a first year something that would unleash Riddle and open the Chamber… Yes, Draco was definitely feeling ill. Potter apparently thought so too; he looked around, panicked, and managed to shove the empty water pitcher at Draco, just before he emptied his stomach into it.

Potter scooted his chair back to make room for Madam Pomfrey, who'd rushed over at the sound of Draco retching. Draco was vaguely aware of her fussing over him, but was more aware of the pitcher in his hands, and the horrible, bitter taste in his mouth.

"-something to settle your stomach." And then Pomfrey was gone again, and Potter was watching on with a wrinkled nose and sympathetic expression.

"I want to see her," Draco gasped. "She-Weasley."