Chapter 23
Dumbledore sat down behind McGonagall's desk, sighing deeply. He stared searchingly at Christof for a moment, and then-as if it were an afterthought-motioned for him to take a seat. Christof sat obediently in a chair opposite the Headmaster.
"Mr. Malfoy," said Dumbledore gently, "I have reason to believe that a most unfortunate thing has happened."
"I know," Christof cut him off. "Tom Riddle-Voldemort-told me."
Dumbledore sighed again. "It is most certainly not the way I would have you find out. But nothing can change the past, at least nothing in my power or yours."
"He said that Dad'd been hit with a curse," said Christof dully. "And something about it being meant for Harry Potter."
"Yes-this too I know," said Dumbledore gently. "Your father gave his own life for that of another, the greatest sacrifice anyone can make. He will long be remembered."
Christof stared at the desktop, blinking rapidly. "What about Mum?" he whispered finally.
Dumbledore was silent for a moment before replying. "Your mother is a remarkable woman, Christof," he said softly. "When your father was killed, she was taken away and subjected several times to the Cruciatus curse. Still, she did not reveal her mission, or any information concerning the plans of the Aurors."
"What happened to her?" Christof pressed, when Dumbledore did not continue.
"There are not many who can survive several subjections to an Unforgivable Curse," said Dumbledore heavily. "You mother-was not one of them."
"You mean-she's dead?" Christof croaked.
"I do," said Dumbledore. "The personal torture this news has inflicted on me, is great. I can only imagine how much greater still yours must be."
Christof did not reply, but only stared at the wood-grain on the desktop.
Suddenly there was a knock at the door. "Come in," said Dumbledore wearily. The door opened and Lucius Malfoy, the very picture of rage, entered.
"So! You've come back, have you?" he spat. "The governors saw fit to suspend you, but you came back anyway."
Dumbledore smiled serenely. "Well, you see, Lucius, the eleven other governors contacted me today. It was somewhat like being caught in a hailstorm of owls, in truth. They had heard that Arthur Weasley's daughter had been killed and wanted me back here straight away-they seemed to think I was the best man for the job. Very strange tales they had, too. It seems that they were under the impression you had threatened to curse their families if they did not suspend me."
Mr. Malfoy stared in unchecked rage at Dumbledore. "So," he said sneeringly, "Have the attacks stopped yet? Have you caught the Heir of Slytherin?"
"We have," said Dumbledore mildly.
"Well?" said Mr. Malfoy sharply. "Who was it?"
"The same person as last time, Lucius," Dumbledore replied gravely. "Although this time, Voldemort was acting through someone else-by means of this diary." He held up the small, ink-spattered black book. Mr. Malfoy paled slightly.
"A clever plan," Dumbledore continued. "Because if Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley had not discovered the diary beforehand, and if the two of them with Christof had not ventured into the Chamber of Secrets, Miss Weasley would have taken all the blame. No one would ever have been able to prove she wasn't acting of her own free will.and imagine what would have happened then. The Weasleys are one of our most prominent pure-blood families. Imagine the effect on Arthur Weasley and his Muggle Protection Act, if his own daughter was discovered attacking and killing Muggle-borns.very fortunate the diary was discovered, and Riddle's memories wiped from it. Who knows what the consequences would have been otherwise."
Mr. Malfoy forced himself to speak. "Very fortunate," he said stiffly.
"But wouldn't you like to know how Ginny Weasley got that book?" Dumbledore continued mildly.
"How should I know how that stupid little girl got hold of it?" Mr. Malfoy spat.
"It's because you gave it to her!" Ron Weasley, panting heavily, burst through the door. "You gave Ginny that diary! You slipped it into her Transfiguration book-in Flourish and Blott's, after Harry'd gone missing."
Mr. Malfoy's hands clenched and unclenched, the knuckles white.
"Prove it," he hissed.
"Oh, no one will be able to do that," said Dumbledore, smiling curiously. "Not now that Riddle has vanished from the book. However, I must advise you not to go about handing out any more of Lord Voldemort's old schoolthings, Lucius. I am sure that Arthur Weasley, for one, would make sure that they were traced back to you."
Lucius Malfoy stared in pure hatred at all three of them in turn. "Good day," he said stiffly, and made as if to leave.
"Not quite," said Dumbledore, a note of steely determination entering into his voice. "I am sure you could not have missed Mr. Weasley's mention of his friend.Harry Potter."
Mr. Malfoy glared at Dumbledore, but did not speak. Christof saw his right hand twitch suddenly, as if he longed to reach for his wand but did not dare.
"You would not happen to know anything about the whereabouts of Mr. Potter, would you, Lucius?" Dumbledore asked.
"No-of course not," Mr. Malfoy snarled, and left the office.
Ron stood awkwardly in the doorway. "I'm sorry, Headmaster," he mumbled. "I saw Mr. Malfoy come in-it kind of hit me, about the diary and Flourish and Blott's and everything."
"You did an admirable thing, tonight," said Dumbledore. "Several admirable things. I owe you many debts."
Ron's ears turned bright red. "Er.thanks," he muttered.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I can see that you wish to fill Miss Granger in on all the latest happenings. I will let you go to her. I trust you both are looking forward to tonight's festivities; I am sure that Mr. Malfoy, here, is also. He may join you in a moment." Dumbledore paused, and then continued. "There will also, I believe, be another at tonight's feast who you will be anxious to see."
"Who?" Ron asked, his curiosity piqued.
Dumbledore smiled. "Ah, that would be letting out a secret," he said.
Ron exited the room, and Dumbledore turned back to Christof.
"Have you any more questions, or would you like to try to catch up to Mr. Weasley and spend the remainder of the evening with him?"
"No-I mean, yes," said Christof, sudden vivid pictures of his experience hurtling back towards him with surprising force. "The Basilisk-it stopped when I told it to."
"That is not so very surprising," said Dumbledore. "You, after all, have inherited many qualities from Salazar Slytherin himself."
Christof gaped at the Headmaster. "Salazar Slytherin?" he said blankly.
Dumbledore gave a small chuckle. "Very few people know that the blood of Slytherin runs in the veins of the family of Malfoy. But it does, and with it many of Slytherin's own personal talents. The Basilisk, though not by any means an intelligent creature, saw his master in you-and obeyed, at least in part. True, your strength was not that of the Heir, but it was enough to turn the serpent back for a short period of time."
"Oh," said Christof. "Is that-is that why the Sorting Hat put me in Slytherin?"
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled behind his half-moon glasses. "That is certainly part. But I cannot help but wonder, did you not also wish to be in Slytherin House?"
Christof reddened slightly. "Yes," he said after a moment. "I thought that maybe I could be like Dad-and if I were to go through school in the same house as Draco-,"
The Headmaster nodded. "Most brilliantly thought of," he said. "However, I cannot help but feel that you have been receiving an undue amount of ill- tempered remarks from your fellow House members lately. If you would like, a transfer would be possible. I do not usually allow students to transfer, but I feel that in this case it would be a good thing."
Christof stared at Dumbledore, gaping. "I-you-really?" he choked out.
Dumbledore smiled benignly. "Really," he said.
"I-could I be in-I mean-could I." Christof stared beseechingly at the Headmaster.
"Be in Gryffindor? Most certainly. Friends like the ones you have made are precious, and all too few. Treat them kindly, and you may find that you have made not only friends, but a powerful alliance as well."
"Thanks," said Christof, gratitude filling his voice. "I-I mean."
"You mean what?" asked Dumbledore gently, when the boy did not continue.
"I mean.er.nothing, really. I've just grown rather tired of my cousin."
Dumbledore smiled again, his eyes like stars of blue fire behind his half- moon spectacles. "I can see how that could be possible," he said.
* * *
Loud, pounding footsteps echoed along the corridor outside Harry's prison. Before he could do anything, the door was flung open. Lucius Malfoy, flanked by two black-cloaked wizards, stood, furious, in the doorway. "Come with me!" he barked, raised his wand, and muttered an incantation. Before Harry could protest, he was walking along the stone corridor through some force not his own. Behind him, his captor was murmuring angrily to one of his companions. Harry caught only a few words of their whispered conversation.
".actually asked if I.here.can't believe he came back.others owled.curse.families."
"No!"
".found diary.curse him.little brat."
".the plan?"
".failed.here soon."
The conversation stopped as they reached the foot of a staircase leading, Harry saw, to the main house. Automatically, he stepped up it, disconcerted at the way his legs moved without his willing them to.
In a matter of moments, they had reached the staircase leading up to the room which Harry had previously occupied. They ascended this staircase, too, but went past the old room to the end of the hallway. Harry looked around in bewilderment; there were no longer any doors leading off this part, and the corridor ended in a blank wall. He wondered why it continued so far past any doors-unless-
His speculations were cut off as Lucius Malfoy drew his wand and tapped thrice on the blank wall. It began to slowly dissolve until it looked as though it had never been there; the purple-carpeted corridor continued for some time until it dropped off into another staircase. Mr. Malfoy led the others through it and, sealing the wall back up behind them, hurried Harry along the hall and down the staircase.
The house here looked as if it were older than any other part Harry had been in-though that wasn't saying much, as he'd been in very little of the house for having stayed so long. The walls were made of very old, dark wood with innumerable spidery lines of grain traced throughout. The floor, too, was hardwood. The dark wood all around him made Harry feel as if it were midnight, not midafternoon-as he'd seen it to be through one of the large windows in the main part of the house.
Pictures lined the wood walls, and Harry studied them carefully. All of them were old, peeling portraits of arrogant-looking people Harry guessed to be previous Malfoys. Only a few-a young girl with white-blonde hair and innocent blue eyes, an elderly man with laugh lines etched into his face, or a brightly smiling middle-aged woman-looked like people Harry wouldn't mind meeting; the rest bore striking resemblance to the Malfoy who hurried him along the corridor now.
One, though,was different. Harry knew instinctively that he was not a Malfoy, though he really couldn't say how he knew; he just knew with perfect clarity that the young boy in the portrait had never borne the family name. He looked to be just a little bit older than Harry, fifteen, or maybe sixteen, with very black hair and sharp, ice-blue eyes. He stood leaning idly against the back of a chair, and Harry realized that this wasn't a portrait, but a blown-up photograph. The person in the picture stared arrogantly at Harry, and though he wasn't moving at the moment Harry got the feeling that, like all magical pictures, he could take a stroll around the room, if he cared to.
But I don't care to, the picture said silently, haughtily.
Harry stopped, unaware that his legs had ceased moving along the corridor under Lucius Malfoy's spell.
Who are you? Harry thought, very much nonplussed. And how do you-you know, tell what I'm thinking?
The picture gave a silent laugh. I don't know if I want to tell you that, it said self-importantly. Yet. But you've seen me before, Harry Potter, and you'll see me again.
How do you know who I am? Harry asked.
Oh, I know who you are, the picture said smugly.
Something in the back of his mind began to bother him, some recognition of the boy in the picture. He was oddly familiar, yet Harry was certain he'd never seen him in his life before-
You've seen me before, the picture stated, smirking. Oh, you've seen me before.
The globe.
Yes, I suppose you saw me-this me-there as well, Harry Potter, said the picture reflectively. But we've met, face-to-face, twice in your past.
Harry shivered involuntarily. We haven't, though, he said with a hint of desperation.
We have, the picture assured him smugly.
"Ah," said a voice behind Harry, startling him out of his silent conversation, "I see the two of you have met."
Lucius Malfoy stood behind Harry, wearing a smirk very much like that of the picture. The two others stood some ways down the corridor, wearing extremely puzzled looks.
Malfoy nodded to the boy in the picture, and then flicked his wand towards Harry. Harry felt his legs begin to move along the hallway again.
"Who was that picture?" Harry asked, his curiosity outweighing his dislike for his captor.
"A mutual friend," Malfoy said sneeringly, and said no more.
Suddenly Harry remembered the globe-scene in which he had seen the black- haired boy in the picture.
"He's Tom Riddle, isn't he," he said quietly. Malfoy spun around in surprise.
"Why do you say that?" he asked after regaining his sneering composure.
"I saw him in the globe," said Harry simply. Lucius Malfoy muttered something angrily under his breath.
A moment later they reached what appeared to be their destination. It was a door made of the same wood as the rest of the hallway, with a rusted silver knob. Harry's legs stopped moving abruptly, as Malfoy opened the door.
The room behind the door was very nearly the smallest one Harry had ever seen; roughly the size of a very small bedroom closet. It was completely bare except for large spiderwebs that looked much the same as those in the dungeon Harry had occupied for the second part of his stay at the Malfoys'. Lucius Malfoy half-shoved, half-prodded him into the room and closed the door abruptly, leaving him alone with the dark and the spiders.
Harry sat very still, waiting for something to happen-he didn't know what, but he felt instinctively that something was going to happen, very soon.
A few minutes later, something did happen. The door to the tiny cupboard- room burst open, flooding it with light and sending the spiders scuttling to their dark corners. Harry, blinking, saw two figures standing in the doorway.
The first was Lucius Malfoy, looking at Harry in what was meant to be surprise, but what looked more like pure hatred. The other was Albus Dumbledore, his penetrating blue eyes ablaze with anger, holding a wand high in his long fingers.
"I had no idea, Headmaster," Malfoy was saying, trying to supress the anger in his voice. "None at all-I have absolutely no idea as to how the boy got here-really, sir, this is outrageous-I am an upstanding citizen-the Minister of Magic will hear about this-I never authorized you to enter my house-,"
"I will be leaving, Lucius," said Dumbledore, his voice surprisingly serene. "And I will be taking Harry with me."
"Fine," Malfoy spat. "Take him. I'd appreciate if you found the person who was hiding schoolchildren in my home, too."
"I think that that shall not be a problem, Lucius," said Dumbledore calmly, and then turned to Harry. "I am sure that there are many people anxiously awaiting your arrival, so we will not delay."
* * *
The Hogwarts Express chugged away from the castle, gaining speed quickly. A moment later the scarlet steam engine was hurtling along the countryside, headed to London and the Muggle world.
Harry sat with Hermione, Ron, and Christof Malfoy-who he liked much better than his cousin-in an otherwise empty compartment. The four of them had spent the last week of the schoolyear taking exams and catching up on the others' adventures and misadventures, Harry finding his friends' tale vastly more interesting than his own.
"I can tell Dad about that picture, though," said Ron excitedly after Harry had finished. "If it's Tom Riddle, and he said that he uses it to give information to the Malfoys-," he grinned in anticipation.
"Yeah," said Harry, grinning back. He still hadn't quite got over the shock of Dumbledore's sudden arrival, or the quick trainride back to Hogwarts and his friends. It had been awkward at first-they'd all treated him as some kind of high-risk convalescent-but after the awkwardness had worn off, it'd seemed as if the past year hadn't happened at all, as if it was really just last week that he'd stayed at the Weasley's house.
"But what about the jars?" Ron asked for the fourth time. "And the voice? You know, the voice that made you crash into the door-,"
"I don't know," Harry answered yet again. "I still think someone was watching me all the time, though," he said, and shivered involuntarily.
"But seriously, why would Malfoy've put jars in-,"
"I don't know, Ron!" Harry nearly shouted. "But-I guess it was just for fun."
"I wouldn't put it past him," Christof muttered darkly.
"It does seem like the kind of thing he'd do," Hermione agreed.
"Yeah," said Harry. "Anyways, let's drop it....Ron... d'ya think your mum would let me spend a while at your house again?"
Ron thought a moment. "No, don't see why not."
Harry turned his gaze to the window. "Cool." There was silence in the compartment until Hermione looked intently at him for a moment. "Harry?"
Harry turned away from the window. "Yeah?"
She looked uncomfortable for a moment, then said frankly, "It good to have you back."
Harry looked around the compartment at the other two's deliberate nods. He smiled warmly.
"Thanks."
Dumbledore sat down behind McGonagall's desk, sighing deeply. He stared searchingly at Christof for a moment, and then-as if it were an afterthought-motioned for him to take a seat. Christof sat obediently in a chair opposite the Headmaster.
"Mr. Malfoy," said Dumbledore gently, "I have reason to believe that a most unfortunate thing has happened."
"I know," Christof cut him off. "Tom Riddle-Voldemort-told me."
Dumbledore sighed again. "It is most certainly not the way I would have you find out. But nothing can change the past, at least nothing in my power or yours."
"He said that Dad'd been hit with a curse," said Christof dully. "And something about it being meant for Harry Potter."
"Yes-this too I know," said Dumbledore gently. "Your father gave his own life for that of another, the greatest sacrifice anyone can make. He will long be remembered."
Christof stared at the desktop, blinking rapidly. "What about Mum?" he whispered finally.
Dumbledore was silent for a moment before replying. "Your mother is a remarkable woman, Christof," he said softly. "When your father was killed, she was taken away and subjected several times to the Cruciatus curse. Still, she did not reveal her mission, or any information concerning the plans of the Aurors."
"What happened to her?" Christof pressed, when Dumbledore did not continue.
"There are not many who can survive several subjections to an Unforgivable Curse," said Dumbledore heavily. "You mother-was not one of them."
"You mean-she's dead?" Christof croaked.
"I do," said Dumbledore. "The personal torture this news has inflicted on me, is great. I can only imagine how much greater still yours must be."
Christof did not reply, but only stared at the wood-grain on the desktop.
Suddenly there was a knock at the door. "Come in," said Dumbledore wearily. The door opened and Lucius Malfoy, the very picture of rage, entered.
"So! You've come back, have you?" he spat. "The governors saw fit to suspend you, but you came back anyway."
Dumbledore smiled serenely. "Well, you see, Lucius, the eleven other governors contacted me today. It was somewhat like being caught in a hailstorm of owls, in truth. They had heard that Arthur Weasley's daughter had been killed and wanted me back here straight away-they seemed to think I was the best man for the job. Very strange tales they had, too. It seems that they were under the impression you had threatened to curse their families if they did not suspend me."
Mr. Malfoy stared in unchecked rage at Dumbledore. "So," he said sneeringly, "Have the attacks stopped yet? Have you caught the Heir of Slytherin?"
"We have," said Dumbledore mildly.
"Well?" said Mr. Malfoy sharply. "Who was it?"
"The same person as last time, Lucius," Dumbledore replied gravely. "Although this time, Voldemort was acting through someone else-by means of this diary." He held up the small, ink-spattered black book. Mr. Malfoy paled slightly.
"A clever plan," Dumbledore continued. "Because if Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley had not discovered the diary beforehand, and if the two of them with Christof had not ventured into the Chamber of Secrets, Miss Weasley would have taken all the blame. No one would ever have been able to prove she wasn't acting of her own free will.and imagine what would have happened then. The Weasleys are one of our most prominent pure-blood families. Imagine the effect on Arthur Weasley and his Muggle Protection Act, if his own daughter was discovered attacking and killing Muggle-borns.very fortunate the diary was discovered, and Riddle's memories wiped from it. Who knows what the consequences would have been otherwise."
Mr. Malfoy forced himself to speak. "Very fortunate," he said stiffly.
"But wouldn't you like to know how Ginny Weasley got that book?" Dumbledore continued mildly.
"How should I know how that stupid little girl got hold of it?" Mr. Malfoy spat.
"It's because you gave it to her!" Ron Weasley, panting heavily, burst through the door. "You gave Ginny that diary! You slipped it into her Transfiguration book-in Flourish and Blott's, after Harry'd gone missing."
Mr. Malfoy's hands clenched and unclenched, the knuckles white.
"Prove it," he hissed.
"Oh, no one will be able to do that," said Dumbledore, smiling curiously. "Not now that Riddle has vanished from the book. However, I must advise you not to go about handing out any more of Lord Voldemort's old schoolthings, Lucius. I am sure that Arthur Weasley, for one, would make sure that they were traced back to you."
Lucius Malfoy stared in pure hatred at all three of them in turn. "Good day," he said stiffly, and made as if to leave.
"Not quite," said Dumbledore, a note of steely determination entering into his voice. "I am sure you could not have missed Mr. Weasley's mention of his friend.Harry Potter."
Mr. Malfoy glared at Dumbledore, but did not speak. Christof saw his right hand twitch suddenly, as if he longed to reach for his wand but did not dare.
"You would not happen to know anything about the whereabouts of Mr. Potter, would you, Lucius?" Dumbledore asked.
"No-of course not," Mr. Malfoy snarled, and left the office.
Ron stood awkwardly in the doorway. "I'm sorry, Headmaster," he mumbled. "I saw Mr. Malfoy come in-it kind of hit me, about the diary and Flourish and Blott's and everything."
"You did an admirable thing, tonight," said Dumbledore. "Several admirable things. I owe you many debts."
Ron's ears turned bright red. "Er.thanks," he muttered.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I can see that you wish to fill Miss Granger in on all the latest happenings. I will let you go to her. I trust you both are looking forward to tonight's festivities; I am sure that Mr. Malfoy, here, is also. He may join you in a moment." Dumbledore paused, and then continued. "There will also, I believe, be another at tonight's feast who you will be anxious to see."
"Who?" Ron asked, his curiosity piqued.
Dumbledore smiled. "Ah, that would be letting out a secret," he said.
Ron exited the room, and Dumbledore turned back to Christof.
"Have you any more questions, or would you like to try to catch up to Mr. Weasley and spend the remainder of the evening with him?"
"No-I mean, yes," said Christof, sudden vivid pictures of his experience hurtling back towards him with surprising force. "The Basilisk-it stopped when I told it to."
"That is not so very surprising," said Dumbledore. "You, after all, have inherited many qualities from Salazar Slytherin himself."
Christof gaped at the Headmaster. "Salazar Slytherin?" he said blankly.
Dumbledore gave a small chuckle. "Very few people know that the blood of Slytherin runs in the veins of the family of Malfoy. But it does, and with it many of Slytherin's own personal talents. The Basilisk, though not by any means an intelligent creature, saw his master in you-and obeyed, at least in part. True, your strength was not that of the Heir, but it was enough to turn the serpent back for a short period of time."
"Oh," said Christof. "Is that-is that why the Sorting Hat put me in Slytherin?"
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled behind his half-moon glasses. "That is certainly part. But I cannot help but wonder, did you not also wish to be in Slytherin House?"
Christof reddened slightly. "Yes," he said after a moment. "I thought that maybe I could be like Dad-and if I were to go through school in the same house as Draco-,"
The Headmaster nodded. "Most brilliantly thought of," he said. "However, I cannot help but feel that you have been receiving an undue amount of ill- tempered remarks from your fellow House members lately. If you would like, a transfer would be possible. I do not usually allow students to transfer, but I feel that in this case it would be a good thing."
Christof stared at Dumbledore, gaping. "I-you-really?" he choked out.
Dumbledore smiled benignly. "Really," he said.
"I-could I be in-I mean-could I." Christof stared beseechingly at the Headmaster.
"Be in Gryffindor? Most certainly. Friends like the ones you have made are precious, and all too few. Treat them kindly, and you may find that you have made not only friends, but a powerful alliance as well."
"Thanks," said Christof, gratitude filling his voice. "I-I mean."
"You mean what?" asked Dumbledore gently, when the boy did not continue.
"I mean.er.nothing, really. I've just grown rather tired of my cousin."
Dumbledore smiled again, his eyes like stars of blue fire behind his half- moon spectacles. "I can see how that could be possible," he said.
* * *
Loud, pounding footsteps echoed along the corridor outside Harry's prison. Before he could do anything, the door was flung open. Lucius Malfoy, flanked by two black-cloaked wizards, stood, furious, in the doorway. "Come with me!" he barked, raised his wand, and muttered an incantation. Before Harry could protest, he was walking along the stone corridor through some force not his own. Behind him, his captor was murmuring angrily to one of his companions. Harry caught only a few words of their whispered conversation.
".actually asked if I.here.can't believe he came back.others owled.curse.families."
"No!"
".found diary.curse him.little brat."
".the plan?"
".failed.here soon."
The conversation stopped as they reached the foot of a staircase leading, Harry saw, to the main house. Automatically, he stepped up it, disconcerted at the way his legs moved without his willing them to.
In a matter of moments, they had reached the staircase leading up to the room which Harry had previously occupied. They ascended this staircase, too, but went past the old room to the end of the hallway. Harry looked around in bewilderment; there were no longer any doors leading off this part, and the corridor ended in a blank wall. He wondered why it continued so far past any doors-unless-
His speculations were cut off as Lucius Malfoy drew his wand and tapped thrice on the blank wall. It began to slowly dissolve until it looked as though it had never been there; the purple-carpeted corridor continued for some time until it dropped off into another staircase. Mr. Malfoy led the others through it and, sealing the wall back up behind them, hurried Harry along the hall and down the staircase.
The house here looked as if it were older than any other part Harry had been in-though that wasn't saying much, as he'd been in very little of the house for having stayed so long. The walls were made of very old, dark wood with innumerable spidery lines of grain traced throughout. The floor, too, was hardwood. The dark wood all around him made Harry feel as if it were midnight, not midafternoon-as he'd seen it to be through one of the large windows in the main part of the house.
Pictures lined the wood walls, and Harry studied them carefully. All of them were old, peeling portraits of arrogant-looking people Harry guessed to be previous Malfoys. Only a few-a young girl with white-blonde hair and innocent blue eyes, an elderly man with laugh lines etched into his face, or a brightly smiling middle-aged woman-looked like people Harry wouldn't mind meeting; the rest bore striking resemblance to the Malfoy who hurried him along the corridor now.
One, though,was different. Harry knew instinctively that he was not a Malfoy, though he really couldn't say how he knew; he just knew with perfect clarity that the young boy in the portrait had never borne the family name. He looked to be just a little bit older than Harry, fifteen, or maybe sixteen, with very black hair and sharp, ice-blue eyes. He stood leaning idly against the back of a chair, and Harry realized that this wasn't a portrait, but a blown-up photograph. The person in the picture stared arrogantly at Harry, and though he wasn't moving at the moment Harry got the feeling that, like all magical pictures, he could take a stroll around the room, if he cared to.
But I don't care to, the picture said silently, haughtily.
Harry stopped, unaware that his legs had ceased moving along the corridor under Lucius Malfoy's spell.
Who are you? Harry thought, very much nonplussed. And how do you-you know, tell what I'm thinking?
The picture gave a silent laugh. I don't know if I want to tell you that, it said self-importantly. Yet. But you've seen me before, Harry Potter, and you'll see me again.
How do you know who I am? Harry asked.
Oh, I know who you are, the picture said smugly.
Something in the back of his mind began to bother him, some recognition of the boy in the picture. He was oddly familiar, yet Harry was certain he'd never seen him in his life before-
You've seen me before, the picture stated, smirking. Oh, you've seen me before.
The globe.
Yes, I suppose you saw me-this me-there as well, Harry Potter, said the picture reflectively. But we've met, face-to-face, twice in your past.
Harry shivered involuntarily. We haven't, though, he said with a hint of desperation.
We have, the picture assured him smugly.
"Ah," said a voice behind Harry, startling him out of his silent conversation, "I see the two of you have met."
Lucius Malfoy stood behind Harry, wearing a smirk very much like that of the picture. The two others stood some ways down the corridor, wearing extremely puzzled looks.
Malfoy nodded to the boy in the picture, and then flicked his wand towards Harry. Harry felt his legs begin to move along the hallway again.
"Who was that picture?" Harry asked, his curiosity outweighing his dislike for his captor.
"A mutual friend," Malfoy said sneeringly, and said no more.
Suddenly Harry remembered the globe-scene in which he had seen the black- haired boy in the picture.
"He's Tom Riddle, isn't he," he said quietly. Malfoy spun around in surprise.
"Why do you say that?" he asked after regaining his sneering composure.
"I saw him in the globe," said Harry simply. Lucius Malfoy muttered something angrily under his breath.
A moment later they reached what appeared to be their destination. It was a door made of the same wood as the rest of the hallway, with a rusted silver knob. Harry's legs stopped moving abruptly, as Malfoy opened the door.
The room behind the door was very nearly the smallest one Harry had ever seen; roughly the size of a very small bedroom closet. It was completely bare except for large spiderwebs that looked much the same as those in the dungeon Harry had occupied for the second part of his stay at the Malfoys'. Lucius Malfoy half-shoved, half-prodded him into the room and closed the door abruptly, leaving him alone with the dark and the spiders.
Harry sat very still, waiting for something to happen-he didn't know what, but he felt instinctively that something was going to happen, very soon.
A few minutes later, something did happen. The door to the tiny cupboard- room burst open, flooding it with light and sending the spiders scuttling to their dark corners. Harry, blinking, saw two figures standing in the doorway.
The first was Lucius Malfoy, looking at Harry in what was meant to be surprise, but what looked more like pure hatred. The other was Albus Dumbledore, his penetrating blue eyes ablaze with anger, holding a wand high in his long fingers.
"I had no idea, Headmaster," Malfoy was saying, trying to supress the anger in his voice. "None at all-I have absolutely no idea as to how the boy got here-really, sir, this is outrageous-I am an upstanding citizen-the Minister of Magic will hear about this-I never authorized you to enter my house-,"
"I will be leaving, Lucius," said Dumbledore, his voice surprisingly serene. "And I will be taking Harry with me."
"Fine," Malfoy spat. "Take him. I'd appreciate if you found the person who was hiding schoolchildren in my home, too."
"I think that that shall not be a problem, Lucius," said Dumbledore calmly, and then turned to Harry. "I am sure that there are many people anxiously awaiting your arrival, so we will not delay."
* * *
The Hogwarts Express chugged away from the castle, gaining speed quickly. A moment later the scarlet steam engine was hurtling along the countryside, headed to London and the Muggle world.
Harry sat with Hermione, Ron, and Christof Malfoy-who he liked much better than his cousin-in an otherwise empty compartment. The four of them had spent the last week of the schoolyear taking exams and catching up on the others' adventures and misadventures, Harry finding his friends' tale vastly more interesting than his own.
"I can tell Dad about that picture, though," said Ron excitedly after Harry had finished. "If it's Tom Riddle, and he said that he uses it to give information to the Malfoys-," he grinned in anticipation.
"Yeah," said Harry, grinning back. He still hadn't quite got over the shock of Dumbledore's sudden arrival, or the quick trainride back to Hogwarts and his friends. It had been awkward at first-they'd all treated him as some kind of high-risk convalescent-but after the awkwardness had worn off, it'd seemed as if the past year hadn't happened at all, as if it was really just last week that he'd stayed at the Weasley's house.
"But what about the jars?" Ron asked for the fourth time. "And the voice? You know, the voice that made you crash into the door-,"
"I don't know," Harry answered yet again. "I still think someone was watching me all the time, though," he said, and shivered involuntarily.
"But seriously, why would Malfoy've put jars in-,"
"I don't know, Ron!" Harry nearly shouted. "But-I guess it was just for fun."
"I wouldn't put it past him," Christof muttered darkly.
"It does seem like the kind of thing he'd do," Hermione agreed.
"Yeah," said Harry. "Anyways, let's drop it....Ron... d'ya think your mum would let me spend a while at your house again?"
Ron thought a moment. "No, don't see why not."
Harry turned his gaze to the window. "Cool." There was silence in the compartment until Hermione looked intently at him for a moment. "Harry?"
Harry turned away from the window. "Yeah?"
She looked uncomfortable for a moment, then said frankly, "It good to have you back."
Harry looked around the compartment at the other two's deliberate nods. He smiled warmly.
"Thanks."