Fred, George, Ginny, the Weasley twins and Hermione sat in the Gryfinndor changing rooms waiting for the game to begin. They were early and the other players – Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell - had not arrived yet which meant they could speak freely about Harry. Ginny had replaced Harry as the seeker, though no-one was less pleased about the reason for the substitution than her, and she had assured the others that as soon as Harry was back to full age she would happily relinquish the position.

Everyone else in the school thought that Harry was still suffering from a ‘rare muggle disease’. Angelina had driven Ron to distraction asking him if Harry would be fit for the match against Slytherin: 'One of the most crucial games of the whole history of Quidditch and no Harry,’ she had said incredulously, ‘I don’t believe it!’ The other players had echoed her. They had had their memories modified so that they didn’t remember what had happened the day in training, and they all agreed that Harry’s arms and legs must be falling off to prevent him from playing in such an important match. In fact the only thing that had slightly consoled them was the knowledge that Draco wouldn’t be playing for Slytherin. This had almost taken over as the favoured topic of speculation in the dining hall, as, aside from Hermione and the Weasleys, no-one knew exactly why he had been banned, and Draco was being particularly evasive about it. In fact he had cursed three Slytherin students already simply for mentioning it.

Still, in the last few days, in the build up to the match, a fresh round of questions about Harry had begun. ‘But what exactly is it?’ Alicia had pressed Ron the day before day. Ron had struggled for something to say, ‘Er small-pox?’ he had ventured. Hermione hadn’t been very pleased about that, but it was the only muggle disease Ron had heard of. It had spread through Hogwarts like wild-fire, and now the majority of students thought that not only was Harry on his deathbed, but if he were to survive he would be covered in horrible scars for the rest of his life. Cho Chang had been particularly upset about this and Ron hadn’t known what to say when she had run off crying merely on the mention of Harry's name that morning.

‘Honestly,’ Hermione said irritably, as the Slytherins could be heard roaring a verse of ‘Weasley is our King’ in the stands, ‘they’re such idiots.’

‘I don’t know,’ Fred said, ‘it has a certain ring to it …Ow!’ he groaned as Ron stubbed his toe with his broom, ‘I was only joking.’

‘Very funny,’ Ron said, his face red.

‘How are you feeling about the match?’ Hermione said to Ginny. She noticed that the young girl was very pale and quiet.

‘Fine,’ Ginny said. Hermione noticed, however, that her hands were shaking around her broom.

‘You look it,’ Fred laughed. ‘You’ll be fine. Just don’t do anything stupid, we don’t need a round of “Weasley is our Queen”’.

This made Ginny close her eyes as though in pain and Hermione frowned.

‘Very sensitive, Fred,’ she said haughtily.

‘Any news on Harry, then?’ George said, changing the subject back to their star seeker.

‘No change,’ Hermione said miserably. A short silence followed this as their thoughts turned to Harry.

‘At least Dumbledore’s got him out the way while Lucius is here,’ Ron said after a few moments. ‘I wouldn’t put it past him to attack a toddler – and Harry can’t even hold his wand properly at the moment.’

‘I can’t imagine Lucius is going to be too thrilled when he finds out that Draco’s been banned from the match by Snape,’ Hermione said thoughtfully.

‘Good!’ Ron said violently, causing Ginny to jump, ‘It’s about time Malfoy got a taste of his own medicine – I hope his father curses him and turns him into something horrible so that he knows what it’s like.’

‘He’s already something horrible,’ George quipped.

‘Come to think of it,’ Hermione said, ‘Draco has looked pretty awful all week. You don’t think he’s worried that his father will find out about what he did to Harry, do you?’

‘So what if he does?’ Ron said.

‘Oh Ronald, read between the lines. It’s obvious that the curse Draco used is something that Lucius was working on for the Dark Lord. For all we know it was meant for Harry. Draco could have done his father a favour. If Lucius finds out that Harry is a baby then there’s no telling what might happen …’

Unfortunately no-one had time to reply to this piece of wisdom, as at that moment the other players walked in.

‘Come on you lot, buck up!’ Angelina said. ‘You look like your best friend’s just died. What we need is positive attitudes!’

The slightly high pitched tone to her voice, however, told them that Angelina wasn’t as confident as she was pretending to be.

Ron felt his heart pounding in his chest as he got to his feet, the chorus of ‘Weasley is our King’ ringing in his ears. He pushed all thoughts of Lucius and Draco and even Harry to one side. The only thing he wanted to think about at that moment was preventing the Quaffles from getting through the hoops, and Gryfinndor winning the game.

As Snape made his way up to the Slytherin side of the Quidditch stands he noticed that Lucius was already there speaking to Cornelius Fudge who was sat beside him. The death eater was dressed immaculately and his clothes and stature made a stark contrast with the small, podgy Minister for Magic - who was wearing a bottle-green and yellow spotted suit which clashed horrendously with his turquoise shirt. Snape was late and the game was about to begin, but he had had to make sure that he cleared his chambers of every bit of baby debris, anticipating that Lucius may expect to pay a visit there after the game. With all the contraptions, toys and clothes that Molly insisted in donating, it had taken longer than he originally anticipated.

Snape’s eyes quickly took in the sea of Slytherin students cheering and jeering in the stalls, chanting a ridiculous song about one of the Weasleys. He failed, however, to pick out the person who he was searching for. Crabbe and Goyle were there, tucking into large hotdogs dripping with mustard, spraying crumbs everywhere as their scornful voices insulted the Gryfinndors, but Draco was nowhere to be seen. Snape pursed his lips; if Draco wanted to aggravate his father even further then he was going he right way about it. Rather than face up to the consequences of his actions and inform Lucius that he had been banned from the match, warning him far in advance so that his anger would have time to dissipate, he appeared to have simply buried his head in a cauldron, hoping that he would be able to avoid Lucius – which of course he wouldn’t.

‘Ah, Severus,’ Lucius said, pointing his cane at the potions master, ‘come and join us.’

Snape hesitated slightly before he wound his way up to the box that had been erected on top of the stand to accommodate its official guests. He had not seen Lucius since the night at Spinners End and he took time to build up invisible layers within his mind. He always had to be on guard when he met with any of the death eaters. His position as double-spy made him constantly vulnerable. A large number of the Dark Lord’s circle suspected that he was disloyal and he had lost count of the number of times one or other of them had attempted to breach his mind – not that any of them were a match for his occlumency, which was something he had been perfecting since he was old enough to think.

Madame Hooch was refereeing the match, and as Severus greeted Lucius and the Minister her voice boomed out around the stadium.

‘Welcome students and visitors to the first Quidditch match of the season between Slytherin and Gryffindor,’ she began to a huge roar from the crowd. She glanced swiftly up towards the Slytherin box, and added, in a slightly less enthusiastic voice, ‘And a special welcome to the Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge, and our other honoured guests.’ Their was a smattering of applause at this last announcement and Fudge beamed around the stands, waving his fat hand as though he was royalty. Snape noticed that Dumbledore simply peered over his half-moon spectacles from his position in the central stands as he regarded Lucius and Cornelius. He patted his hands together politely but there was fire in his eyes.

‘I will be refereeing the match today,’ Madame Hooch went on, ‘and Lee Jordan will be providing the commentary. Now lets meet the teams. Firstly - Gryfinndor!’

Lucius craned his neck to see the Gryfinndor team fly onto the pitch and take up their positions.

‘I see Mr Potter is still out of action, Minister,’ he said, his lip curling in satisfaction. ‘I hope that that business with the “dementors” hasn’t unhinged him.’

Fudge puffed out his cheeks, ‘It is rather odd,’ he agreed. ‘I would have thought Albus would have given us a more thorough report on the boy’s condition by now.’ He turned to Snape, ‘You teach the boy potions, don’t you Septimus – er – Severus?’ he blustered, ‘Has Dumbledore confided in you about his condition? He appears to be keeping his cards very close to his chest.’

Snape was saved from answering by Madame Hooch’s announcement that the Slytherin team was to take up their positions.

‘Ah, Minister,’ Lucius said with a pleased smile, ‘I did inform you that my son, Draco is the star seeker on the Slytherin team, didn’t I?’

Fudge smiled approvingly. ‘Very good, very good,’ he said. ‘It must be in the blood – I believe you were something of a Quidditch player yourself when you were at Hogwarts?’

‘Quite,’ said Lucius self-importantly, ‘I was beater from my first year, and Captain from my fifth.’

As the players flew into position, however, Lucius’s arrogant expression faded slightly. He squinted up at the players as though he couldn’t quite believe what was in front of his eyes.

‘I only met your son very briefly, Lucius,’ Fudge said. ‘Tell me, which one is he?’

Snape took this as his cue to pull Lucius quietly to one side and explain the situation to him. As he did so, the usually composed face transformed itself into a mask of rage. Lucius’s cheeks coloured and his eyes flashed like fire bolts.

‘Is there a problem?’ Fudge said easily.

Lucius fought hard to keep his temper in check. He swallowed down his anger and forced the blood from his cheeks.

‘It seems, Minister, that my son has gotten himself into a bit of trouble and has been banned from the match,’ hesaid through gritted teeth.

‘Oh,’ said Fudge, slightly taken-aback, ‘well nothing too serious I hope?’

‘Draco has had some problems with his transfiguration charms,’ Snape said evenly, sticking to the story that he had instructed Draco to tell his father. ‘He is also behind on some of his other lessons.’

‘Oh well,’ Fudge said dismissively, turning his attention back to the game, ‘boys will be boys I suppose. Though I must say I am surprised to hear that the boy is behind with his spells of all things – especially with your adeptness for spell-making, Lucius.’

Lucius forced his stiff jaw to smile, and it was perhaps just as well that Fudge had turned away, as the gleam of venom there in his eyes would have been hard to disguise.

‘Where is my son?’ he hissed to Snape.

Snape shook his head slightly, indicating that he didn’t know, and telling Lucius that he should remember himself. He knew it was what Lucius would expect from him.

With what seemed like a great effort, Lucius turned back towards the game. It was an tumultuous match, charged with tension. Fouls and tricks were carried out by both sides, though Gryfinndor mainly in retaliation to Slytherin. Ginny bore the brunt of many harshly hit bludgers, and one almost knocked her off her broom before Fred could get to it. ‘Hang on sis,’ he shouted, as he hit it full force back to Montague, who had to dodge to avoid his eye been taken out.

From the off, however, Gryfinndor appeared to have the edge. The anger within Lucius’ breast grew as he listened to the song ‘Weasley is our King’ transfer itself from the Slytherin to the Gryfinndor supporters as the young Weasley saved every Quaffle that was hurled at him. He watched with a fist curled round his wand as the chant eventually altered to ‘Weasley is our Queen’ and as the red-headed Weasley brat caught the Golden Snitch ahead of Draco’s inept replacement, Gomaz Warrington – who was out-flown and out-classed infinitely. When it was all over, Lucius was fit to burst. Only the watchful eyes of Dumbledore and the Minister prevented him from casting a silent spell to silence the infernal cheers of victory in the Gryffindor stands.

When it was all over Fudge turned to Lucius. ‘It’s a shame your boy wasn’t playing,’ he noted. ‘With Potter out of action I think he would have caught the snitch no problem. That girl is good, but I’m sure that with your family background in Quidditch it would have been in the bag. I hope that you give him a stern talking to when you see him.’

Lucius’s anger seethed out of every pore. ‘Oh don’t worry, Minister, I will …’

He sat for a few moments after the game finished and composed himself. His father was bound to come to look for him and he would be even angrier if he made him wait. Sighing, he got to his feet and dusted the feathers from his robes and pulled a comb through his hair. It wouldn’t do him any good to greet his father looking like a half-plucked chicken. He decided to make his way to the bottom of the castle and walk the corridors near to the dungeons. He had the feeling that that was where his father would start.

Dumbledore, ever the host, had arranged for a feast to take place in the Grand Hall following the match. Annoyingly, Lucius found that he couldn’t get away, and instead was forced to endure the meal, sitting on the platform at the teacher’s table, making small talk with Fudge and listening to the excited chatter and cheers of the Gryfinndor table. His pale eyes looked with scorn around the room. It was Saturday and the students were allowed to dress in non-uniform. At least half of the students were in muggle attire. The only exception was the Slytherins, who all wore dark robes like a uniform – an ordered mass, Lucius thought with satisfaction, in the sea of riff-raff. His eyes lingered on Hermione Granger, and her pink jumper and faded jeans. He knew her to be a Mud-Blood brat with ideas above her station. He had once caught a glimpse of her parents, as large as life in Flourish and Blotts. Only the presence of the Photographer for the Daily Prophet (and perhaps the fear of reprisal) had prevented him from harming them. Muggles did not belong in his world; in fact, if he could help it, he thought with a sneer, they did not belong in any.

Hermione appeared to sense the eyes of the Death Eater upon her. She felt a shiver as she looked up and made eye-contact with the pale, glittering eyes. He smiled in sardonic recognition, a thin sculpted silver eyebrow raised on his forehead. At the same time he appeared to absentmindedly run the tip of his forefinger over the blade of his knife before looking away. Hermione bit her lip.

‘Moron,’ Ron said. He had followed the silent exchange between the two, ‘Just because we beat Slytherin hands down.’

‘I’m sure he’s not thinking about Quidditch, Ron,’ Hermione said impatiently. ‘Not everyone sleeps breathes and eats it like you, you know.’

‘Humph!’ Ron said, ‘Well then he’s probably sick about his precious little son being banned from the match. It wouldn’t surprise me if he called for an inquiry or something.’

‘I don’t know,’ Hermione said uneasily. She had made it her business to keep her eye on Lucius in case he tried anything during the match, and she had noticed the brief, fearsome expression on his face as he had looked around for Draco.

‘Just ignore him,’ Ron said, before going back to his third helping of spotted dick and custard (Quidditch always made him hungry he told himself), ‘he won’t try anything with Dumbledore around.’

Hermione, however, wasn’t as convinced. As the others trailed off to the common room she stayed, pretending to be taking her time over finishing her Caramel Tart. Really she was watching Lucius. As he slipped away from the table and set off in the direction of the dungeons she made a split-second decision to follow him. She knew instinctively that he was going to seek out his son, and with what Draco knew about Harry she had a bad feeling about it.

Unknown to Hermione, Lucius had another destination in mind. He was going to visit his son, but he had a different errand to complete first – an errand that had been the intention of his visit to Hogwarts from the beginning. He was mildly surprised at how easy it had been to give Dumbledore and the other members of the Order the slip. He knew, though, that if he performed magic then they would be on him in a shot (Dumbledore had many complex charms protecting the students) but the duty he had been given by the Dark Lord did not involve the use of his wand and so he felt safe from detection.

Lucius wound his way down to the lower floors, only taking one wrong turning before he came across the portrait of St Filius. He thought very hard as he had been instructed as he walked up and down the corridor three times.

Hermione, who had tailed him since the Grand Hall, was puzzled at this. She was even more astounded as a door suddenly appeared in the wall and Lucius walked through it.

Once he was inside she crept up to where the entrance was, but to her exasperation it had disappeared. Lucius must have known the code to some kind of secret passage. She hadn’t a hope of cracking it before he emerged. Instead she waited in the shadows of a large gargoyle, waiting for the moment that he was to appear.

It was almost an hour before Lucius emerged. As he did she saw that there was an unpleasant flush of pleasure about his cheeks and neck. It was obvious that whatever task he had been performing had been a success. He pulled his cloak, which seemed bulkier than before, tightly around him and then set off once again in the direction of the dungeons, too distracted with thoughts of his own cleverness to notice the petite witch on his tail.

It wasn’t long before Lucius found Draco. It seemed as though his son had been wandering aimlessly, knowing that he would bump into him.

‘Father!’

Draco was more relieved than anything. He had been working himself into a state in the last few hours waiting for his father and just wanted it over and done with so he could go to bed and forgetthis day had ever happened.

A sneer curled at Lucius’s lips and his nose turned up in distaste, as though Draco was a bad smell underneath it.

‘Well, well, well,’ he said. ‘So this is where my son has been hiding.’ He looked with pointed disgust around the dank and dreary corridor. From the corner of his eye he saw a rat darting away. His fingers twitched on his cane as he fought the age to obliterate it in a flash of green light.

‘I - I ... ’

‘’Silence,’ Lucius interrupted as his son stammered. He grabbed Draco’s arm and propelled him inside a deserted room, which was also a store-room of some description holding old desks and lecterns.

‘Light the lamps,’ Lucius said. He released his son heavily and Draco stumbled. He took out his wand with a shaking hand at pointed it at the rusting torch holders.

‘Lumos!’

‘So there is at least one spell that you can get right,’ Lucius said as the torches burst into flames. He watched his son for a few seconds. He looked like a salamander caught in a snow storm. He wondered for the hundredth time how Malfoy stock had managed to produce such an inept brat.

‘What did I say to you over summer, Draco?’ Lucius said.

‘I’m sorry father,’ Draco said miserably. He deduced that Snape must have told his father the concocted story about his school-marks and decided to play along. ‘I did try, but what with Quidditch practice and …’

‘Don’t mutter your miserable excuses to me,’ Lucius roared, as the mask he wore for the outside world well and truly disintegrated. ‘I gave you simple instructions to improve your marks this year and to be sure not let me down in the Quidditch match and you have not managed to obey either.’

Draco recoiled from his father’s anger, ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered.

‘I am not interested in your apologies,’ Lucius barked. He advanced on his son and grabbed the collars of his robes in his right hand raising his cane with his left, ‘You have disgraced me and you will suffer the consequences.’

Before the first blow landed, Draco had time to notice a glint of something silver beneath his father’s robes.

It was Snape. Noticing Lucius missing from the Grand Hall he had set out to investigate and had stumbled across Hermione and the scene in the store-room. He glared at the young, meddlesome girl.

‘Go back to your dorm and speak a word to no-one,’ he spat in a whisper.

Hermione noted the fierce look in Snape’s flashing eyes and turned on her heel to leave immediately – confident that Snape would not allow the beating to continue. Snape waited till she had disappeared along the corridor before intervening. He was grudgingly impressed that the girl had even thought of interrupting Lucius in his anger, but was equally furious with her for flouting the rules and putting herself in such danger. The Gryfinndor ‘nobility’ would be the death of its students.

Snape managed to stop Lucius with a minimum of fuss. Draco was hurt, but, thanks to his intervention, not greatly so. After a few seconds persuasion he managed to persuade the pair to accompany him to his chambers. The trio left silently; Lucius triumphant, Draco fearful, and Snape thankful that he had had the opportunity to stop Lucius before Draco broke and confessed to him the real reason for his punishment – safe in the knowledge that that reason was far away from his quarters, tucked up in Grimmauld Place.

He and See-rus had been playing fun games all day. See-rus had found a little broom in the attic. It was a wonderful magical broom that lifted Harry off the ground and flew him round and round the room – though it didn’t go nearly as high as the ones Harry had seen in the little enchanted Quidditch book.

Mwolly hadn’t been too keen on that toy though. When Harry had crashed headfirst into the coffee table, attempting, quite successfully, to perform the ‘whirling curl’ that Ron had explained to him the other day, and knocking her cup of cocoa onto the floor, she had been quite cross - not with Harry but with See-rus - and had made Harry give the beautiful toy back. Harry of course hadn’t been too keen on that idea and had had a little wrestling match with her for a while. He was very sad when he found that his chubby arms were no match for hers and had had a kick and a scream. Not too loudly, though, because Mwolly wasn’t a big person to put up with much nonsense. When she threatened him with the naughty stool Harry had been quick to be quiet. She wasn’t like See-rus – he was fun.

When Mwolly had had to leave (good riddance Harry thought mischievously) See-rus had let Harry eat chocolate frogs and cauldron cakes till he was covered, head to toe, in chocolate and crumbs. Next he had given Harry a bath – but not a boring bath with no bubbles and no toys like Nape often did when he was cross - but one filled with purple, pink, blue, green, gold, red, and every other type of bubbles Harry had ever seen. They were big ones, teeny ones, ones shaped like bats and birdies and other fun things. Harry had played a chasey, poppy game – chasing them around the huge bathtub and popping them so that foam covered him and See-rus, who had laughed and laughed and not told Harry off for being messy.

There had been a worrying time where Harry had slipped on his backside and disappeared deep under the water, thrashing and squealing to get out, but See-rus had soon rescued him and wrapped him in a big fluffy towel to dry off, singing him a silly song about a Cyclops and some lady called Rose.

When Harry was dressed in his bogey green pyjama suit that Snape had insisted on packing as an alternative to his pumpkin jumper, they had sat in front of the fire and watched the little fire-lizards dancing in the embers. See-rus had at first given him a bottle, but Harry had been more interested in See-rus’s bottle, which was bubbly and made his cheeks glow. Apparently it was called Butter-beer. Harry had pestered and pestered until See-rus had relented and given him one of his own.

Harry had drunk the warm liquid deeply – it tasted just like buttery-gold-magic. He had been feeling very sleepy before, but, all of a sudden, he had had lots of energy. He had giggled and screamed as See-rus chased him round and round the big, darky house. He had clambered on furniture, bounced on the beds and banged pots and pans together, till See-rus said his head was spinning! Harry had felt like his head was spinning too. He felt very silly and dizzy. See-rus had started muttering something about bed-time then, and had picked up Harry and sat him on his knee in front of the fire to tell him a story. Harry hadn’t been very pleased about sitting still when there was so much other fun to be had, but See-rus had looked tired, so Harry thought he would play along for a bit.

That brought him to now. See-rus had fallen asleep with Harry still wide awake on his lap. Harry had pulled his nose and tried to pry open his eyelids, but See-rus had simply grunted, and moved a bit and then started snoring again. Harry had had to cover his ears because the snoring was so loud. Eventually he had got bored and detached himself from See-rus’s grip and got down to the floor. He had decided to play a little game of hide and seek and that was why he was under the table. Unfortunately See-rus wasn’t very good at hide and seek because he hadn’t come to find him. Harry was feeling a bit cold and fed up now; he also had another problem – his stomach was pressing and he knew that he needed to go in his potty. That wouldn’t be a problem if he still had a nappy on, but See-rus seemed to have forgotten to put it on after his bath, and so now Harry was only in his pyjama bottoms. He whimpered slightly as he felt the pressing feeling getting more urgent. What was he going to do? He didn’t want to wee all over himself like a little baby. See-rus had been telling him all day that he was a big boy, and he didn’t want to prove him wrong.

Harry wondered if he could find the bag that the batman kept all of his stuff in and put on his nappy. He chewed his sleeves thoughtfully – no, that wouldn’t be any good, there was that horrible ouchie pin that hurt when it dagged him. Suddenly Harry dropped the sleeve from his mouth and broke into a wide toothy grin. The Foo Powder! It was so obvious. He would simply go to the fireplace and transport himself back to Nape’s room so that he could go in his potty. His brow furrowed slightly as he remembered that Snape had said that the powder was made for grown-ups and not little boys – but, then again, See-rus had said he was a big boy.

‘Boom, boom,’ Harry said happily to the silent room.

He was looking forward to travelling by Floo powder. It also meant that he might see the batman. See-rus was fun, but he missed his night-time bottle and the warm comfort of his big-cot and Snape’s funny little ways.

Once he had made up his mind, Harry found it easy to ignore the nagging feeling in his belly that this was perhaps a ‘naughty’ thing to do. He pulled himself to his feet and toddled out from under the kitchen table. The room with the fireplace was right next door and Harry beamed as he saw the big urn of Foo powder within easy reach. He then had another clever thought. He saw his cloak and hat on the big squashy armchair and retrieved them, giggling at his cleverness as he put them on, pulling the hat down so far over his head that only his eyes were visible. Snape would think he was very smart to remember to put on his travelling things. He then grabbed a handful of the powder, sneezing as some of it went up his nose. He stood in the fireplace and held it over his head like he had seen the batman do.

‘Napey’s room,’ he said happily, releasing the powder over his head. Immediately there was a flash of green light and a loud bang as Harry disappeared.

Deep inside the ministry’s offices Victor Hillias glanced up from his desk. The Floo network was warning that a wizard under the solo-Floo age of ten had attempted to journey. He sighed – he had just been having a most pleasant dream as well, about the lady that worked in the offices below him. He lifted his head and read the dials that told him where the impostor had come from. He squinted through his thick glasses as pushed his head of greasy hair – which he thought made him look like a rocker – out of the way; the location was ‘unplottable’. He groaned. He had never got round to reading that part of the manual. In fact he had only been in the job for a few months, getting the position straight after failing his NEWTs. Staff cuts, however, had made him the only evening watchman for that part of the network. He knew he should floo his supervisor for instructions, but also knew that if he did so then he would be given a stern lecture about being ‘prepared’ for the job and so decided against it. He glanced back up at the co-ordinating machine and saw that this impostor had originally come from a chamber in Hogwarts. He decided to send them back there – hoping that whoever was looking after them would realise what had happened. He pressed the appropriate button then promptly fell asleep; it had been a tiring day.

‘Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee,’ Harry screamed as he made his way back to Hogwarts and Snape’s chambers.