Whatever issues Harry had with Snape, there was no denying his dedication to Dumbledore; when he swept in and saw the Headmaster lying on McGonagall's conjured stretcher, he actually paused, and fear raced through his scent. McGonagall had sent Ron to fetch him via the Room's tunnels when Bill still hadn't arrived and it became clear Pomfrey could do very little. Ron hung back in the doorway of the tunnel he'd made into Dumbledore's office, expression grim and Map in hand.

"What happened?" Snape asked sharply. His eyes passed over Madam Pomfrey to land on Harry. He did not seem surprised to see Harry there, though Harry himself was a little surprised he hadn't been sent away yet; McGonagall had left to discuss Umbridge with Hermione and Harry had half-thought she'd make him go too, but she hadn't.

"He was cursed," Harry said, as he had twice already.

""By who?" Snape asked, drawing his wand.

"What. It—"

"Who cursed him, Potter?" Snape asked, as if Harry was stupid..

"I heard you, and I said it was a what," Harry snapped back. Fawkes, who was sitting in the pocket of Harry's shirt, shifted. "Not a who. It was the ring." He pointed at Dumbledore's bookshelf, where he'd set the ring and covered it with a glass bell jar that usually protected one of Dumbledore's spindly silver instruments. "It's Voldemort's—" Snape flinched. "—if that helps."

"Weasley," Snape said, and Ron straightened. "There's a wooden chest just inside the door of my quarters—fetch it." Ron's eyes flicked to Harry, and Harry wasn't sure what he was looking for or whether he found it, but he gave a nod and disappeared back into the tunnel.

Snape waved his wand over Dumbledore—casting diagnostics, Harry suspected—because he was frowning rather intently.

The fireplace chimed and flared green and Harry tensed but relaxed again almost immediately when Bill's familiar shape stepped out.

"He touched a cursed ring," Harry said, before Bill could even open his mouth. Bill's gaze sharpened and he went to join Snape beside Dumbledore.

"Is it contained?" Bill asked Snape, drawing his usual screen in the air. "Oh… yeah, seems to be. Still active, though…" He clicked his tongue, brow furrowed. "You Know Who's work, I assume? These are his runes." Snape nodded and Bill turned to Madam Pomfrey. "May I?" he gestured to the bandages wrapped around Dumbledore's upper arm.

"Go ahead," Madam Pomfrey said, gesturing her permission. "I haven't touched them, just in case…"

Bill sliced away the bandages with a spell and sucked in a breath as he pulled them free. Snape's eyebrows shot up at the sight of the sluggishly bleeding runes Harry'd carved into Dumbledore's skin.

"Your work?" Bill asked Snape, who gave a curt shake of his head.

"I assume, given his presence and the brutish nature of the solution, that Potter's responsible." He glanced at Harry and arched an eyebrow. Bill looked at Harry too.

"How did you know to make a dam?"

"A what?"

"We call these curse dams," Bill said. He gestured for Harry to join them beside Dumbledore, and Harry stood, being careful not to jostle Fawkes. "You section something off—could be parts of a body, like this, but could be a room, or a bit of land or something—and then you bolster the line or circle or box or whatever it is you've made, with runes that counter the spreading curse. This second line here probably wasn't necessary… sometimes we do have to stage dams, but they're either with different levels of counter-runes, or for evolving curses… nasty, those. But no harm done, here—"

"Except that he's carved up the Headmaster," Snape drawled. Harry shifted uncomfortably, but Madam Pomfrey put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

"Which will heal," Madam Pomfrey said briskly. "And I'm sure the Headmaster would prefer to live with some scarring than to not live at all, which is what I suspect could have happened if Potter hadn't acted when he did, Severus. Now, can you help here, or are you going to keep taking your stress out on Potter?"

Snape curled his lip at her, but focused his attention back on Dumbledore without another word; it seemed even he had a healthy respect for Madam Pomfrey. Harry wasn't going to push his luck either, though; he retreated back to one of the chairs usually reserved for Dumbledore's visitors.

Ron returned a few minutes later and Snape began to dig through the chest of potions that he'd brought.

"What's happening?" Ron asked, coming to join Harry. Fawkes chirped and Ron reached out to stroke his head with a finger. "Can they do anything?"

"I don't know, yet," Harry said. As far as he could tell, Madam Pomfrey was just keeping Dumbledore stable and unconscious while Snape and Bill worked. Snape and Bill seemed to think there was something that could be done—if their quiet murmuring was anything to go by—but hadn't managed anything obvious yet. "Hopefully Snape's potions help…"

"Hopefully," Ron said.

"Has Padfoot stayed put?" Harry asked.

"Not quite," Ron said, with a grin. "I think he's scared enough of Pomfrey to stay out of here, but he's waiting in the Room. Asks for an update every time I go past."

Harry smiled and shook his head.

"At least he's got Draco for company," Harry said.

"Ginny, actually," Ron said. "She was coming to check on Hermione after dinner, so now Sirius knows Hermione went to talk to Umbridge—" Ron's scent wavered at that, a strange combination of anger and anxiety. "—and Ginny knows something happened to Dumbledore, but neither of them know the rest of their respective stories, so I think they're both slowly going mental together…"

"Where's Draco, then?" Harry asked.

"Near Umbridge's office," Ron said.

"What?" Harry asked, alarmed.

"He was with me when we got McGonagall's patronus from you about Dumbledore, but we weren't sure what had happened with Hermione," Ron said. "He was our best chance to try to distract Umbridge or intercept anyone from the Inquisitorial Squad, so he was going to hang out there—quietly, obviously—and keep an eye on things."

"As long as she doesn't find him and question him too," Harry muttered.

"She wouldn't—she's too scared of Mr Malfoy to lay a hand on our Malfoy." Harry nodded and relaxed a little; Ron was probably right. "But what do you mean by 'question him too'?" Ron asked. "Is that what happened to Hermione? Umbridge questioned her?"

"Interrogated her, more like," Harry said. Ron frowned at the look on his face.

"Interrogated her how—Veritaserum?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "She Imperiused her to make her drink it."

"She what?" Ron looked furious, but his scent was sick.

"Yeah," Harry said, still far from happy about it himself. "Hermione told her all sorts of things—about Eihwaz, about the Order, about the prophecy… not her fault, obviously—"

"Not her fault at all," Ron said vehemently, and then frowned at Harry. "You seem way too calm about this."

"Hermione Obliviated her."

"She what?" Ron's tone was incredulous tinged with almost-laughter and no small amount of relief.

"It's not a perfect solution," Harry said. "But if it's stuck, then we just leave things. Don't want to risk Hermione getting in trouble. And if it hasn't stuck… well, hopefully we can deal with it in the morning once Padfoot's a bit better and Dumbledore's awake."

Bill stepped away from Snape and Madam Pomfrey and came to join them.

"How's he doing?" Ron asked.

"No better, no worse," Bill said. He looked at Harry. "I can't do anything, I'm afraid."

"At all?" Harry asked, aghast.

"It's You Know Who's runes again," Bill said helplessly. "I could have done what you did—stopped the spread, that is—but I don't know enough to remove the whole curse."

"What do we do, then?" Harry asked, his heart sinking.

"Snape's seen this curse before," Bill said. "Or a variation of it, or something. He thinks he might be able do something to… not counter it, exactly, but neutralise it. In the meantime, you and I can keep working on the Mark and those runes and see if we can't figure out a better solution."

"Okay," Harry said, because what else was there to say? "And the ring? Is there anything you can do to remove the curse from that? Or—"

"Show me?" Bill said, and Harry took him over to the bell jar. Bill traced his wand through the air, squinted at whatever that revealed to him, and then smiled and nodded. "Easy," he said.

"Really?" Harry asked, surprised. Bill nodded again:

"May I?" He gestured to the bell jar. Harry blinked and gestured for him to go ahead.

"Why's it different?" Harry asked.

"It's…" Bill clicked his tongue as he levitated the bell jar aside. "How to explain it…? So, generally speaking, objects carry curses, they don't host them…." He nudged the ring with his wand and it floated into the air. "The object exists, and then the curse is bundled up and attached to it, ready to do whatever it's going to do to the next person who touches or wears or uses it." He conjured another screen and studied the ring through it. "There's a lot of complexity and variation in curses, but the magic used to attach curses to other things is pretty straightforward. It's like you can have different phials and flasks and things, but they only vary so much. The potions inside them, though, they can be very different—different effects, different colours, different strengths…"

"Right," Harry said. He peered over Bill's shoulder; through Bill's screen, the ring was the same sickly grey as Harry had seen on Dumbledore's arm, and wrapped around that was a complex net of Voldemort's silver, green, and black magic. Bill carefully severed one strand and drew the loose end away. A small section of the net unravelled.

"Some of the weaker ones can be undone by a strong enough general countercurse," Bill said. "And others need their own specific countercurse. Ones like this, though… I've always thought of it as a bit like Mum's knitting. They need to be unpicked."

Bill worked for several minutes doing just that, and Harry watched as, strand by strand, Voldemort's magic peeled away until only the grey of the curse was left. Bill glanced sideways at Harry, as if checking to see if he was still paying attention.

Then, very slowly and clearly, he said, "Mundare."

Like a bit of parchment thrown into a fire, the curse burned quickly and cleanly away. Through Bill's screen, the ring now looked just like a ring.

"It's done?" Harry asked.

"The curse is," Bill said. "But I'd like to check the ring generally, just in case. Make sure there are no other dangers…"

"No," Harry said. Bill raised his eyebrows but lowered his wand. "There are," Harry said. "Other dangers, I mean. But it's best if you don't look into them."

"Right," Bill said.

A little warily—but figuring if he was going to have something somehow go wrong then doing it in a room that already contained Ron, Madam Pomfrey, Bill, and Snape was not a bad idea—Harry reached out to pluck the ring out of the air. It was icy to the touch, but quite safe… if Harry ignored the fact that a piece of Voldemort's soul resided within it.

He pocketed it.

"Thank you, though. For coming tonight."

"I'm sorry I couldn't do more," Bill said, glancing over his shoulder at Dumbledore, who was still being tended by Snape and Madam Pomfrey. "If you need me to drop by Headquarters, though, and let everyone there know what's going on…?"

"No," Harry said, and Bill raised his eyebrows. "The less people who know about Dumbledore, the better; we can't afford for Voldemort or the Ministry to try something while he's not well." What they'd do if Dumbledore didn't recover was another matter entirely, and one Harry wasn't going to even think about unless he had to. "The ring needs to be kept secret, too, as much as possible."

"When you've seen as many treasures and trinkets as I have, they all blur together," Bill said. He winked. "What ring are you talking about, again?"

"Thanks, Bill," Harry said, relieved, and Bill clapped him on the shoulder, then headed over to Ron, who folded the Map up as he approached.

"Try to stay out of trouble, won't you?" Bill asked, hugging Ron around the shoulders. Ron patted his arms and nodded. "Say hi to Gin and the twins for me?"

"Yeah. And say hi to Mum and Dad and Perce for me?"

"Can do." Bill nodded and headed for the Floo. He didn't disturb Snape or Madam Pomfrey to say goodbye on his way, and if either noticed he was leaving, neither mentioned it.

"Umbridge is still in her office," Ron said to Harry, as the fire whooshed and swept Bill away. "Doesn't seem to be going anywhere."

"I s'pose that's something," Harry said. "Draco's still there, too?"

"Yeah," Ron said. "I think that's a good thing, right—if she'd got wind of any of this, or decided to go after Hermione, he'd have come to warn us by now."

Dolores blinked awake, stiff necked, disoriented, and with an absolutely hideous headache.

She pushed herself upright, pressing a hand to her temple, and looked around. She was in her office, it seemed, and the clock on the desk said it was almost eleven but it was dark outside, which meant it was the evening, and—

And the last thing she remembered was Granger. She remembered taking her from dinner, remembered their conversation right here in her office. Then, just as the girl had been telling her all about the prophecy connecting Potter and He Who Must Not Be Named, her wand had snapped up and Dolores hadn't known anything more.

She looked at the clock again; that had been hours ago.

Dolores wasn't sure if her excitement or her fury came back more strongly. She shoved her chair back and stood.

There was a knock on the door.

She snatched her own wand up off the desk and crossed the room to pull the door open and see—

"Mr Malfoy?" He looked exhausted—paler than usual, with dark smudges under his eyes—and quite angry. He strode right past her into the room. Reluctantly—speaking to Cornelius would have to wait, it seemed—she pushed the door closed and turned to face him. "I do hope you realise it's after curfew—"

"Yes, because I had to wait until everyone else was asleep to sneak out," he said irritably. "But honestly, I think you've got more important things to worry about." One side of his mouth curled up with rather dark amusement. "Unless you want to give me detention as your final act at Hogwarts?"

She blinked.

"Are you threatening me, Mr Malfoy?" she asked incredulously.

"No," he said, looking taken aback himself. "No, I just figure your time here's pretty limited after tonight."

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," she said.

"You don't remember?" he asked. "Maybe it did work, after all; Granger told Potter she didn't think it had…" He squinted at her, curious.

"What didn't work?" she asked, a little unnerved.

"She tried to Obliviate you," Malfoy said. Dolores felt a stir of horror at the thought of her mind being tampered with, and thought back. She remembered her day, remembered fetching Granger from dinner and asking her questions. Dolores hadn't succeeded in getting anything useful out of her about their illicit club because of that infuriating contract, but when she'd thought to try her luck on other bits of information, Granger had been much more useful; she'd named the members of the Order of the Phoenix—Dumbledore's own illicit club—and she'd also told her the prophecy about Harry Potter and He Who Must Not Be Named. If Granger wanted to wipe Dolores' memory of any part of their conversation, it would have been about those things, but Dolores remembered them in full. She relaxed a little.

"Although I don't know why she bothered," Malfoy continued. "I don't imagine she had much to say, did she?"

"Not as much as I was expecting, no," Dolores said sharply. "Which came as quite an unpleasant surprise, since you told me that she wasn't bound by the contract—"

"I never said Granger," Malfoy snapped. "I told you not everyone was bound by the contract and I worked around some fairly major restrictions to give you hints about who to talk to, and you ignored all of them and picked the wrong person." He looked irate. "And not just the wrong person, but one who'll retaliate."

"She won't have a chance," Dolores said, waving a hand. "Granger might not have shared anything useful that will let me prove anything about Potter, or find out who else might be involved, but she knew what I was talking about, which is evidence of her own involvement. And, she attacked me—not only her teacher, but also a high-ranking Ministry official, right here in my own office. She'll be out by breakfast."

"And she'll take you with her, I suspect," Malfoy said. He arched an eyebrow and looked so very much like his father as he did. "Surely you don't expect her to go quietly after you've used an Unforgivable on her and forced her to drink drugged tea."

"An Unforgivable?" Dolores asked. "Is that what she told you?" More to the point, how had Granger known? She'd not spoken it aloud, and the Imperius curse was subtle. Granger shouldn't have known.

"Well, actually she told Potter," Malfoy said. "I just happened to be in the room."

"But they've clearly not acted on it," Dolores said, half to herself. "Else I'd have been disturbed before now. They must know it's her word against mine, just as was the case when Potter made those horrific accusations about the quill."

"Actually, they're waiting to see if the Obliviation worked or not," Malfoy said.

Of course, she thought. For Granger's sake, they might be willing to let the whole thing just blow over if they thought she'd managed to remove any evidence of their conversation from Dolores' mind.

It really was a pity for them that they hadn't.

"But clearly you do remember," Malfoy continued, "so I'm fairly sure that the moment you go after Granger over this, she'll turn around and report you."

"She'll have no proof," Dolores said, waving a hand. The Imperius curse left no traces, and it was impossible to detect magically. "It will be a clear effort to discredit me for expelling her, especially if she doesn't say anything until I do." Granger was clever, though clearly not as clever as she thought—as evidenced by her failed memory charm—and certainly no match for Dolores when it came to politicking and leveraging the system.

"I imagine they'll still have to investigate," Malfoy said. "And I also imagine my father will take a special interest in the matter—"

"I hope so," Dolores said. "I've not done anything wrong, but in the face of such serious allegations, it does help to have friends in high places…"

"Oh, you think he'd be on your side?" Malfoy asked.

Dolores laughed.

"Mr Malfoy," she said, "I am the Ministry's eyes and ears here at Hogwarts. Your father and the rest of the Board of Governors, as well as the Minister himself are all very invested in my work, and they're not going to throw it all away over accusations from a mudblood—"

"Your prejudice is showing, High Inquisitor," Malfoy said silkily. "And while I would be inclined to agree with you, generally, I think you're failing to take into account that my father has a special hatred for the Imperius curse. You know he spent years under it during the war, imprisoned by the Dark Lord. That sort of thing leaves a lasting impression on people, and I think it's very confident and maybe a bit stupid for you to assume he'd be on your side in this."

For the first time, Dolores felt a twinge of doubt, of concern.

"Even if he was," Malfoy added thoughtfully, "I'm not actually sure how much he'd be able to do; the Board of Governors don't generally have oversight of criminal investigations. Their jurisdiction begins and ends with the school."

"You're suggesting Granger would take this to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Dolores said, raising her eyebrows, and felt another stir of unease. "Not just to Professors McGonagall or Dumbledore?"

"Why would she go to them?" Malfoy asked, looking bewildered. "They don't have any sort of power to prosecute someone over use of an Unforgivable. My money'd be on Black, honestly; he and Granger are close, and he's an Auror."

She realised now, to her chagrin, that this was going to have to be handled carefully—much more carefully than she'd anticipated. There was tension between the Auror office and the Minister's office, and Dolores was sure they'd love to try to pin something on her. Especially Black; she, after all, had had him investigated only a few years ago, and she suspected he'd take petty joy in doing the same to her. If she could get it assigned to Dawlish or Prewett, they'd be able to make it all disappear for her, but she doubted she'd be able to; given her profile, Scrimgeour would want to be involved and he didn't like her either. There were also several people—Black and Scrimgeour included—in the D.M.L.E. who knew she had a history with Veritaserum because she'd used it on Potter in St Mungo's, years ago, back when Black was still on the run. If they believed she was still using it now, they might well believe she'd done the rest of what Granger would claim, and she might be in real trouble.

Lucius would have no luck bribing the Auror Department—if they disliked her, they hated him—and even if he could, he might not, not if what the Malfoy boy had said about his stance on the Imperius curse was true… Cornelius might be able to pull strings on her behalf, but would he? If she was caught up in a scandal like this, it would make sense for Cornelius to put some distance between them and let her take the fall for the sake of his own political career. That was what she would do, if the roles were reversed.

"Quite the mess you've made," Malfoy said.

"Thank you for your insight, Mr Malfoy," she snapped. He smirked. She took a deep breath; she'd get rid of him, and then she'd sit down and figure out her own next steps. "Was there something you needed from me tonight?"

"Yes, actually," he said. "Much as I like to be where things are happening, I'm not just here for entertainment."

"What do you want, then?" she asked irritably.

"Well," he said, "I've been helping you because my father told me I had to." His amusement was gone; he looked resentful now; Lucius had not been particularly kind or gentle with his youngest son, though Dolores was of the opinion that Draco Malfoy was the sort of boy who needed a firm hand. She was also, fairly certain that, had Lucius not intervened, the younger Malfoy would not have offered to help her at all. The feeling was mutual; she much preferred dealing with Hydrus Malfoy. "And then you've used illegal spells on my classmate, not got anything useful because you interrogated the wrong person, and made it obvious you're after the group, which means getting any kind of useful evidence is going to be almost impossible moving forward." Put like that, it did sound rather dire and dramatic. Dolores ground her teeth together. "I," he continued, lifting his chin, "don't want my father thinking any of this is my fault."

"You've played a role in this," she said. "And like it or not, Mr Malfoy, it is part of growing up to learn to be accountable for our own actions—"

"Lead by example, then," Malfoy shot back, giving her a pointed look. Dolores' fingers curled into fists. "Well, I've said my piece," he said. "I'll see you at breakfast, High Inquisitor… if you're still here."