Chapter 38: An accomplice
"Really?"
"Yes."
"The master of the Elder Wand?"
"Mhm."
"Me?"
Ewen nodded, squinting against the sun.
"If you had stayed with Rebecca, you wouldn't have been at the Manor when they brought Harry. He would have never taken your wand, and the Elder Wand would have still been yours." Ewen squeezed Draco's hand. "And what happened later— None of that would have happened."
Draco tried to wrap his mind around it. No flashbacks. No pain. No fainting at the most inappropriate moments. And the wand he hadn't believed existed would have belonged to him. Father would have liked it.
The sun warmed the blanket; the breeze coming from the lake flapped the pages of the Theories of Transsubstantial Transfiguration that lay open at Draco's feet; blinding stripes of reflected light criss-crossed the water surface; three swans, one black and two white, were busy pulling reeds and sticks and letting them disappear in the thicket of the reed bed. The two buggers had found themselves a girl.
"You would have had to fight Riddle instead of Harry, though."
"What?" With a shock Draco woke up from the silly dream.
"You'd have to fight him yourself."
So he had heard it right.
"I wouldn't. I would have pissed myself."
"You would have pissed yourself, but you'd have fought him anyway. And you'd have won." Ewen stopped following the swans' nest-building activities and met Draco's eye. "Because Riddle would have been wielding the wand that really belonged to you."
Draco imagined himself shouting Expelliarmus into His face, and his stomach shrivelled and twisted inside him. If he wouldn't have pissed himself, he would have puked all over the Elder Wand.
"They wouldn't have made you a hero, but chances are you'd have got away with a pardon."
A pardon. That was fairy tale material.
"I wish Benveniste had informed me properly about my options."
"She didn't?"
"No." Draco had made a complete idiot of himself. No wonder that she hadn't. "And what about Potter? Where would he be now?"
"Dead, probably."
"Oh." Draco had got too used to the idea that Potter was invincible and essentially impervious to such mundane nuisances as death. "Why?"
"Because your mother wouldn't have been there to lie about him being dead. And Riddle would have gone for another try."
Draco had a dark suspicion why. "Would she have been dead, too?"
"Probably."
Of course. The Dark Lord wouldn't have liked his disappearance, and his parents would have paid the price. And it wouldn't have been quick and painless. One didn't need to be a seer to see that.
"And you wanted me to stay there, at the cost of my parents' lives?"
"I'm sorry." Ewen buried his face in Draco's armpit. "I wasn't thinking about your parents back then."
For a moment, Draco wondered if Ewen had wished them dead a year ago. Could Draco blame him for it? If they were... The thought was chilling, but if they were, just if, certain things would be so much simpler now. With Ewen.
"But I could make up for it." Ewen said vividly. "Do you want me to think about your parents?"
"Ah, shut up. Your clairvoyant enthusiasm will kill you one day."
"It will." Ewen laughed and wrapped his arm around Draco's waist. "Do you think a lot about them?" he whispered into his shoulder.
Draco's thinking was not like Ewen's. Draco thought like a normal person. "I do."
Ewen pulled him into a hug, much too warm for this weather. The reeds cracked and the lake licked at the stony beach. Ewen's hair tickled Draco's chin. "If you want me to think about your parents, just tell me."
"Look, Ginny, I looked like Malfoy for eight months. I'm sure you look better than that."
A mixture of a scoff and a giggle sounded behind the curtain. Ginny had refused to show her face to anyone except Ron and Hermione, and, well, Terry. Now Harry finally earned the honour. The curtain flew open.
Ginny sat cross-legged on top of the blanket. A pair of shiny leggings displayed in clear detail the contours of her toned thighs. Soft cotton stretched between her shoulder and her breast, and her well-knit fingers rested on the handle of her wand.
Admittedly, Ginny's face was still giving an impression of a melting ice cream: One ear hung at the level of her chin, some strands of red hair stuck out of unexpected places, and all the freckles had flocked to one side of her face in a pattern resembling the shape of a tyrannosaurus rex. But every single one of those freckles radiated such warmth, that Harry's heart melted like an ice cream.
"Way better!"
The lower ear twitched a little as Ginny smiled.
"Pomfrey says it will take another week or two for all the parts to grow back into place." A bundle of what looked like carbon-copied pages of a book on potions lay on Ginny's lap, and a pile of other school work towered on the bedside table. "If my ears don't catch up, no way I'm going to take N.E.W.T.s like this!"
"You can have my Invisibility Cloak. Not that I think you need it."
Ginny's face tensed in an undecided grimace. This could only mean one thing.
"You're still angry at me?"
Ginny puffed out the held-back breath. "You exposed me. To Malfoy!"
"I am really sorry." Harry had given the post-Yule-Ball incident more thought than he had wished to. "In Draco's defence, though, his reaction was absolutely correct."
Ginny's hand tightened on her wand. Something in the way her white knuckles came out made Harry think of whips, and of the purple burns on his butt cheeks. They had faded, and now he felt like something was missing.
"It was a brilliant idea though. Shame it wasn't me." Harry couldn't believe he'd said it.
Ginny checked him out sceptically from top to bottom. "I thought you were into guys now."
"Er, sure." Harry's eye fell on Ginny's breasts. "But maybe I'm into girls too, I don't know." He shrugged. "I'm still exploring." Suddenly, a crazy thought crossed his mind. "Maybe... we could explore together?" Harry held his breath.
"Well, I'm exploring with Terry Boot!"
Now thinking about it, it was probably his fate to be the third one in a trio anyway. And Terry? Terry was okay, really.
"We could explore together with Terry Boot. Ginny, no!" Harry lunged backwards and cast a shield charm, but Ginny's wand froze in mid-strike. "It was just an idea!" The wand started to sink slowly, but the clenched jaw and the furious glint in those eyes were worth a thousand hexes. "Okay, it was a bad idea!"
Now that he had promised to lend his cloak to Ginny, getting it back from Malfoy became a priority, and Harry's joy over finding Half Blood Prince's potions book under his pillow died a quick painless death. The exchange of loot took place in the library. After minutes of intense mutual staring, Snape's copy of Advanced Potion-Making travelled from Harry's hand to Draco's. Harry snapped the folded piece of parchment out of Draco's fingers and stuffed away the cloak as fast as he could.
At least, he hoped it was the right piece of parchment. He searched for a secluded corner between the shelves, but everywhere was taken. Harry marched twice past the nook where Ron and Hermione had barricaded themselves behind piles of books. He forced himself not to look in their direction, but couldn't help noticing out of the corner of his eye an empty desk next to them.
"Ah, fuck it!" Harry headed straight for the vacant desk on his third pass. "I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good!" Thin black lines separating classrooms and hallways covered the parchment and moving dots teemed all over it. Harry exhaled with relief. Draco hadn't duped him.
The tip of Hermione's brown mane stuck out barely above Spangle's Charms of Defence and Deterrence. Ron peered tensely into a volume open on a page that kept emitting occasional puffs of steam and grumpy snarls. He looked up and their eyes met. Ron looked quickly back to his reading.
Right. The N.E.W.T.s. Harry scanned the spines of the volumes behind which Hermione was hiding. The Guide to Advanced Transfiguration was a piece of cake. Mostafa's 33 Essays on Perfect Timing: Untransfiguration under Control—that one he'd pretty much internalised while he was still sitting in Malfoy's body. Theories of Transsubstantial Transfiguration needed his urgent attention before the theoretical N.E.W.T. next Wednesday. But...
Harry glanced over the top of the book pile. Hermione's quill was scratching somewhere behind it. The N.E.W.T.s, and then what? The world was big enough for them to go out of each other's way for the rest of their lives. Now that they were crammed together in this small library could just as well be his last chance.
"Could I borrow the Transsubstantial?" Harry moved to Ron and Hermione's desk. What the hell was he doing? Looking for an argument.
"Sure," Hermione replied without looking.
Sure? That's it? This was worse than an argument. Harry pulled the book carefully out of the pile and Hermione's forehead came into view. This could not go on like this.
"Hermione? Ron? It's me, Harry. And I'm going to write my own N.E.W.T.s."
Hermione looked over the edge of the pile. "Good for you." And her eyes disappeared again behind it.
"What do you mean 'good for you'? It's over. I'm myself again. I'm the guy you hunted Horcruxes with last year, remember? Glasses? Black hair?"
Ron looked up from his reading.
"You wanted me to get my shit together and sort it out?" Harry turned to Ron. "I did. Not the way you expected, but I did. Now talk to me!"
Ron shifted slowly in his chair and towered above the book pyramid.
"All right, Harry, I get it. The guy that we hunted Horcruxes with last year turned over a new leaf and started to dance to Malfoy's tune. Don't get me wrong, the dancing was cool. And then you go on a gay self-discovery trip, and the girl and the guy you hunted Horcruxes with, red hair, freckles, remember? They don't matter any more."
"I just needed time to sort myself out!"
"So Malfoy told me. No, that's okay, I get it." Ron said. "But then you come to break the news, no more secrets, all naked truth, and you want your friends back like nothing happened, and you still don't take a step without Malfoy's approval? And you're telling us it's the same guy we hunted Horcruxes with?"
"I'm done with Malfoy."
"Really?" Hermione mumbled behind the book pile.
"Really."
"Wasn't he up to something?"
"I don't care."
Ron put down his quill.
"You can't be done with Malfoy as long as you fuck his—"
"I'm done with Arling, too."
"Oh," Hermione craned over the books with a frown. "Why?"
"Never mind why. We broke up. That's it."
"Oh, I'm sorry."
For a short moment Harry thought, he'd cracked Hermione. But her face hardened again. It was not about Ewen. It was all about Malfoy.
"Look, I'm not asking you to like Malfoy. We were stuck in it together, we had to compromise! He was dancing to my tune as much as I was dancing to his! And he turned over a new leaf too."
"Did he?"
"He did."
Ron and Hermione exchanged glances, and Ron heaved a slow measured sigh.
"All right. Who are you spying on now then?" Ron looked down at the map. It was still flickering with flagged dots.
"No one." Harry raised his wand to declare his unconsummated mischief as managed, but... "Wait!" Harry's eye fell on a dot moving out of the Slytherin Quarters. "What the fuck?" The name attached to it was Rick Vaisey. "I thought he was expelled. Together with the other death suckers."
"You would think so," Hermione pulled the Charms of Defence and Deterrence down from the top of the pile and glanced sourly at the map, "but he didn't cruciate anyone, and his lawyers talked him back in. At least that's what Gibbon swore about so loudly in the lunch break."
"Shame her fake Dementor didn't give him a proper snog!" Ron said.
"It's very lucky it didn't, or they would have expelled her!" Hermione pulled another book down from the pile with a loud thud and her exasperated face was now fully visible. "Oh, sorry, I forgot! Then Malfoy would have won it for Gryffindor and everyone would be happy." She made a sound, something between a sniff and a hiss, dug her fist into her cheek and peered down into her book.
"That's not what I meant!" Ron reached for Hermione's shoulder, but she shook him off. Vaisey's dot was moving deeper into the underground labyrinth. "With all his buddies gone and Gibbon swaying the new Slytherin banner, I can't see him doing much harm."
Harry wasn't sure he shared Ron's optimism. He was still wondering how Vaisey had found Draco's photo in the Muggle magazine. A coincidence? Or some serious private investigation? But the story hadn't leaked beyond the Slytherin common room and Harry held his tongue. Vaisey's dot had moved into the passage that connected the Slytherin dungeon with the hallway of the Hufflepuff basement.
"Hey, what the hell is that?" Ron pulled the map to his side and stared down wide-eyed.
"What?"
"That!" Ron pointed at another moving dot. It crossed the hall where ghosts held their death day parties, went straight through a wall and stood presently in Vaisey's way. That dot had no name!
"I'm off!" Harry almost overturned his chair, as he stood up. Map, cloak, wand.
Ron threw a tentative glance at Hermione, and then frowned at Harry.
"I'm coming too!" He closed his book, standing up.
Hermione raised her scandalised eye-brows.
"What? This is not about Malfoy," Ron said with a shrug, and headed after Harry.
"Are you sure?" Hermione said to their backs.
If Harry was honest with himself, no, he wasn't sure. But perhaps it was good that they didn't know.
"I've seen it once before. A dot without a name." The map fluttered in Harry's hands as he swept along the kitchen corridor.
"And? No luck?"
"I didn't have a chance to go after it."
"Could it be a ghost? Seeing how it doesn't give a damn about walls?"
"Ghosts have names."
"One who died of dementia, after having forgotten his name, maybe?" Ron strode forward past still-lives overflowing with fruit and game.
"A demented ghost who keeps all his appointments with Vaisey? I don't think so."
They saw the Fat Friar glide past, but no nameless dot appeared anywhere close.
"You don't know if he keeps his appointments. You don't even know if this is an appointment."
But something told Harry that this definitely was an appointment.
"There is one way to find out."
They arrived at the painting of a red-faced Satyr peeling an orange.
"We won't both fit under your cloak any more."
"You can have it if you want."
Ron snorted dismissively. The Satyr stretched out his tongue at them, and Harry stuck out his middle finger. The Satyr gave a salute and the painting swung to the side, revealing a dark passage.
Ron gave an appreciative whistle. "Fred and George didn't know about this one."
"No." Harry changed to whisper as they climbed through the hole. "Malfoy was not a complete waste of time."
Harry stood still, listening to the muffled gurgling of the pipes, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.
"We'll have to manage without light, or they'll notice us." Somewhere in the depth of the labyrinth they could vaguely hear an echo of a voice.
They moved slowly, following the plumbing. The pipe Harry was tracing with his fingers trembled and hummed every so often, covering the cautious taps of their feet. The pipes brought outlandish noises from all parts of the castle: guttural coughs, metallic sneezes, and deep melodic two-tones fading down to rattles. The speaking, which clearly did not come from a pipe, grew closer and louder, though hardly any more intelligible, what with the dungeon's miserable acoustics.
A faint yellow gleam seeped from behind the sharp line where the wall they'd been following came to an abrupt end. A huge moving shadow, skewed and broken by the never-ending rows of plumbing, came slowly into view. Harry held his hand against Ron's chest, and they stopped.
"Why didn't you let it come with a Ministry owl?" The breathy echo of Vaisey's voice rolled under the vaulted ceiling.
The reply sank in an outburst of sonorous burbling of a flushed toilet somewhere above their heads.
"All right, all right. I'll rewrite it," Vaisey said. "A bit more buffer time next time would be strongly appreciated." It sounded like the boss between the two of them was not him.
Harry inched towards the edge of the wall. He couldn't see them if he didn't stick his head around the corner. But the conversation between Vaisey and his nameless companion fell into an uncomfortable silence. There was sound of rustling and scratching.
"Did you fart?" The harsh rasp was not Vaisey's.
"What?!" Vaisey yelped.
"I say, did you fart?"
There were sounds of heavy sniffing.
"What the fuck? The only one who's stinking here is you."
"Why d'you people even bother to have a conk?" There was a sound of steps and more rustling. "Not your arse burp, you say?" The rasping voice came closer. On instinct, Harry took a step back, deeper into the darkness, and bumped against Ron's chest. Another long sniff sounded from around the corner, followed by a soft giggle and a clack of snapping fingers.
A spurt of boiling hot water hit Harry on the shoulder, he let out a gasp, short but loud, and jumped aside, pulling Ron from under the pipe that burst in a hundred different places and was shooting steaming fountains in every direction.
"Who's there?" shouted Vaisey.
The water hissed and sizzled all over the place, and filled the air with thick steam.
"Merl—" A patch of wet plaster came down and hit Ron in the face.
"Lumos maxima!" The light of Harry's wand illuminated a wall of impenetrable fog and went off again like a blown out candle.
"Reparo! Reparo!" Ron shouted at the pipe, but plaster came raining from the ceiling and now they had to duck for real.
A soft raspy cackle came from somewhere very close, a figure swept under Harry's nose with a whiff of a pungent smell, a shower of dust and debris came down upon him, and something slipped out of his left hand. Harry lunged in the approximate direction of their fleeing attacker, but was just blindly grabbing for emptiness.
"Hey hey hey!" Vaisey's voice sounded pretty scared now. Thuds of crashing plaster and the splatter of water came from around the corner.
"Reparo! Reparo! Lumos!" Ron was the last one standing.
The fountains stopped one by one, and the fog started thinning out.
"Who was that?" Harry charged at Vaisey. "Who were you talking to?" Dust crunched on his teeth.
"No one. I was talking to no one." Vaisey, soaked and wearing a layer of thin powder, looked like a pathetic white clown.
"Come off it! I saw him too!" Ron came forward, splashing through ankle deep water.
"Then you're both delusional, what can I say?" Vaisey smirked and wiped his face with his sleeve. Now his nose stuck out like a big red pimple in the middle. "Good luck cleaning up." He turned and trudged down the passage in the Slytherin direction.
"What the hell was that?" Ron looked around. "Where did the other one go?"
"Through a wall, probably." Despite copious amounts of rubble that made islands in the black puddle, the walls looked largely intact, except for a hole just above the floor that was pulling in a whirlpool of opaque soup of water and dust.
"Where's your map? Look where he went."
That was a good idea. Harry went for his pocket, but now it struck him. He had never put it back since they had checked it in the kitchen corridor.
"Shit," Harry clapped his clothes off frantically, felt at the floor around himself. "Accio map!"
Nothing.
Ron sent a few big pieces of plaster back home and gave accio another try, but was greeted with cheerful gurgling of another flushed toilet.
"It's gone!" The realisation hurt like a dagger in the liver. Moony, Padfoot, and above all Prongs! The parchment they had held in their hands, the ink they had dipped their quills into. Gone.
"Was it still on? Did you close it?"
"No," Harry groaned. The dagger twisted inside him.
"What in the name of Merlin's bollocks could Vaisey have been supposed to rewrite for that guy?" Ron asked, after they had avoided the subject for a couple of days. "Rewrite of all things."
"I'm not sure it was a guy." Harry was still too ashamed to even think about it. Now that Ginny was sneaking around under his Invisibility Cloak, they missed the map even more.
At first, Hermione didn't ask them out of principle. The upcoming N.E.W.T. on Transfiguration offered a wonderful excuse to carry on as if all they cared about were transsubstantial equations. They must have overdone it a little, because Hermione started to have second thoughts about their sudden Transfiguration fever.
"Where's Ginny?" Ron said again, craning into the passage between the bookshelves.
Harry grabbed his quill and started transforming the equation fervently, just to erase the map from his consciousness.
"Did something happen when you went after that dot without a name?" Hermione asked. "You're acting weird since then. All this zeal."
"Too little zeal—bad, too much zeal—also bad," Ron said. "There is no way to please you, woman."
"Oh, I'm very pleased." Hermione looked questioningly at Harry. "But Harry isn't."
Harry groaned, dropped the quill on the unfinished equation, and buried his face in his hands, in the hope that Ron would do the talking.
"Well," Ron shifted and swayed like a clock tower in an earthquake, "we had a bit of a brawl down there. And H— and we lost the map."
"Harry's map?!" Bit by bit Hermione pulled the rest of the story out of them with the rigour of a born dentist. "So, that guy was supposed to send something with a Ministry owl, and Vaisey was supposed to rewrite something for him. Probably, a letter? To the Ministry?"
"I'm not sure it was a guy," Harry repeated for an umpteenth time.
"With that voice? Like he'd smoked the entire Greenhouse four?" Ron said.
No, the voice was no song of a woodnymph. Some elusive memory still danced at the edge of Harry's consciousness.
"That person was small." Although Harry wondered how he could know it. It had been too fast and too dark. It had been just a feeling of something warm under his nose, under, not at or above it. And that smell coming from somewhere below. "She smelled."
Ron fixed something invisible behind Harry's back with his gaze. "Blimey, Harry, you're not saying it was that rat woman. Narcissa's witness, you know?"
Harry picked up his quill again. That actually made a lot of sense. "She couldn't read, could she? That would at least explain why Vaisey would have to write things for her."
"Narcissa's witness has a name!" Hermione said firmly. "That dot was nameless."
"Sure." Ron smirked sarcastically. "What was it again? Moon shoe? Marsh hoe? Mushroom something? If that's a name, I'm Aragog's only child."
"Miushe!"
"Not better."
"Sounds like a legit name to me," Harry said. "Malfoy's ancestors had it worse." He told Ron and Hermione about their study of the Latin dictionary for Antlia, Peniculus, and a couple of other Louberts.
"Exactly. If those are names, then Miushe is too," Hermione said, standing up. Before Ron stopped laughing, she disappeared in the maze of bookshelves. Harry solved five equations, before she came back with a changed face and an old battered volume under her arm.
"You're right. It's not a name." Hermione plopped the book on the parchment foliage. "Miushe means female rat." The title on the cover read Albanian-English Dictionary.
If that indeed had been Narcissa's witness, then that secret meeting in the dungeons had to have something to do with Malfoy after all. Harry wanted to ask him if he had received any suspicious letters recently, and tried to make eye contact in the Great Hall in the next few days, but Ron always mistook it for his continued obsession with Malfoy, and Draco always mistook it for his continued interest in Ewen. As a result, they always ended up walking in opposite directions.
Until the nastily exhausting Transfiguration exam on Wednesday swept all that shady business definitely off Harry's mind. After the first N.E.W.T. his brain activity just about sufficed to get him back to the dormitory. Now, one day had passed, Hermione had already checked out half the library on Defence, and had covered all available horizontal surfaces with it, but Harry's mind still refused to start on another marathon.
The warm rays of the May sun had lured the whole of Hogwarts' population out of the castle, and Harry felt like an old man, alone with Ron and Hermione in the empty common room. Filch and Mrs Norris were probably the only other people inside. A charred log and a mishandled copy of the Quibbler lay in the unlit fireplace.
"Rook A eight to A four," Ron said with a snigger. Several bows took aim at Harry's two knights and a pawn from the top of the turret.
Harry's knight retreated. The other one fell under the castle's fire. A green light flashed up as the horse hit the board neighing. Now, that was something new. Had Ron's rook just used an Avada Kedavra on him?
But the green light came from the fireplace. The charred log had burst into flames and McGonagall's face flickered in the fire. Hermione lunged to the fireplace. They must have messed up their exam. Badly.
"Miss Granger?" McGonagall's voice crackled like burning pine cones. "Is Mr Potter anywhere around?"
"I'm here." Harry shifted next to Hermione, ready for bad news. Ron hung above them behind their backs.
"Potter! The Minister is on the floo line and needs a word with you now." This was clearly not about exams, not that the thought was calming. "I'm putting him through."
McGonagall's face disappeared, the flames turned orange for a split second, and Kingsley's face appeared in her place.
"Harry," there was urgency in his voice, "when did you last see Draco Malfoy?"
No.
"Yesterday, in the Transfiguration N.E.W.T."
"And when did you last talk to him?"
"Last week, I think." Harry's insides started to turn into a host of wriggling slugs. "Why?"
"He was supposed to visit his parents in Azkaban today. Do you know anything about it?"
"No. Why?"
"And about his other request?"
"No. What request?"
The fire crackled and puffed, and Kingsley's image trembled above the shrivelling and melting Quibbler.
"And you haven't noticed him doing anything suspicious recently?"
"No." Now that he had pronounced that word a couple of times, it came out so smoothly. Harry wondered if he should tell Kingsley about the suspicious encounter with Narcissa's prosecution witness. But technically, that was not Draco. Draco was not doing anything suspicious, right? "Why? What happened?"
"Southill was supposed to take him there. We found her stunned in a toilet."
"Scumbag!" Ron spat out into Harry's neck.
"But their Portkey went off, so he must be there now. If he's still there." Kingsley's face flickered. "Something's wrong in Azkaban. We don't know much yet. A squad of our people have just left to investigate. I don't want to jump to conclusions, but if Malfoy is trying to free his parents, now is the moment, Harry. If you know anything that might be relevant..."
The locket. Kingsley wanted to hear about the locket. But come on! That was complete nonsense. Draco was not going to use it. Not after all they'd been through. Or would he? Or... Harry swallowed. Was he supposed to tell Kingsley about the Room of Requirement now? And whatever Malfoy was doing there with that silver cauldron?
"No, I'm afraid I don't," Harry said.
Hermione looked at him like he'd just committed high treason. Maybe he had.
"All right." Kingsley's green face fizzed in the fireplace. "We don't know yet what he's trying to do, but it looks like he's acting with an accomplice."
No.
"Any idea who that could be?"
No. No, no, no, NO!
"No!" The slugs in Harry's stomach turned into a cold lump of metal wires. If he had the map, he would check the Hufflepuff basement. And North Tower. And the entire Hogwarts Grounds down to the last drop of ink. To be absolutely sure that it was a 'no'.
"It would be good to have you here, Harry, in case we need to negotiate."
"You're not going anywhere without us!" Hermione said with a death glare and an iron grip on his arm.
"Right." Ginny emerged from under the Invisibility Cloak.
Kingsley glanced at the small company gathered at the fireplace.
"Anyone who can cast a Patronus..."
