Harry couldn’t tell how much time had passed; the fire was slowly running out of fuel, though. Despite having a magical trigger, it seemed to have a mundane power source – wood – which was currently being consumed.

Harry read the entire book of poetry before carefully replacing it open face-down on the arm of the chair. He had been hoping that the catacombs would re-arrange themselves again, this time connecting to the room, but they did not move. Harry was beginning to wonder, a bit shakily, if they hadn’t been designed that way.

That thought pulled others along behind it. What had the Chamber been built for? Surely a prison could have been a little bit less well-appointed. Why the books, the fire, if this was really meant to be some sort of trap that he had sprung? It looked like someone could stay here comfortably for quite some time – there was even a cozy chair to sit in. No, this wasn’t a prison at all, it was a place to sit and pass the time...

Harry frowned as the pieces of the puzzle began filling in. This is a place to run to, he realized, nodding to himself. The fire and all of that, or maybe the door closing sets it all off so that the moment you are shut in tight, the entire path here is destroyed, and you can’t be reached! Even the shape of the corridors, which had seemed uselessly curving and coiling had been more than mere aesthetics, Harry realized. They were designed for someone – or a group of someones – to handily escape a common enemy. It was hard to shoot curses at someone who was obscured by every turn of the corridor!

This all meant that there was a way out. A safehouse wasn’t safe if you starved there, and Harry did not see any food or drink stored in the room, just lots and lots of books. He sat sulkily in the overstuffed chair and attempted to think, staring at the dying flames before him.

He opened the map and tapped it with his wand. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” he said.

The Marauder’s Map inked itself perfectly – sure enough, the corridors hadn’t rearranged – they were still in their second pattern, that of a maze. As far as Harry could see, the new path led absolutely nowhere – not to the room nor to any other spot. The maze was the trap – somehow, Harry was in the safehouse. Quite a trap, too, if the basilisk had still been alive.

“Got any bright ideas?” he demanded. To his surprise, words began forming on the Map.

Mr. Padfoot congratulates Mister Potter on finding the lost Chamber of Secrets, and kindly suggests he not land himself in any more trouble than he can escape on his own.

“Some help you are,” Harry replied, stung. “Other people wouldn’t help in this case, thanks very much, even if they were Animagi.” He paused. “Unless one was a hawk or an owl or something.” He couldn’t imagine what Professor Snape and the others could do to aid him...

All of a sudden, Harry felt a familiar presence, and turned rapidly to the door, an exclamation on his lips...

No, I’m still up there, a voice drawled, aristocratic and more than a bit condescending.

Harry blinked. Draco?

None other. Don’t look so startled, this is rather confusing to me without your confusion adding on to it.

That seemed rather convoluted to Harry, who was only really ‘hearing’ Draco. There didn’t seem to be much to Draco’s presence but the words and an overwhelming sense of Draco being in the room – Harry could almost smell Draco’s smell, like fear, and too-expensive aftershave. Then there was the sense of Draco’s thoughts, like flowing water, familiar but almost forgotten.

Merlin, Draco breathed, or seemed to. After a moment, his voice sounded again. Look around. I want to see what’s here –

Harry obliged, feeling very odd. Then, he ‘heard’ Draco talking aloud, but obviously thinking the words as well, describing the room to Snape, Lupin, Ron and Hermione. He didn’t hear their replies, which probably meant Draco was deliberately ignoring them.

It’s... it’s a bit of a strain keeping contact, Draco conveyed, as well as keeping track of them. I’ve told them to be quiet unless they have something useful to contribute...

Through Draco, Harry realized that Snape was speaking.

Look at the book, Draco advised.

I did look at the book, Harry replied. It’s a volume of poetry.

Let me see.

Harry turned to the stuffed chair and book, feeling put upon, and picked it up to read the poem written there:

and I grew lost in the mazes of your soul, I could find neither window nor door –

crawling near death on dampened stone,

until, bewildered, I knew no more…

Then standing, swaying, I shaded my eyes,

beheld the way with growing wonder –

Through passion’s flame and journey’s strife

I did rip the walls asunder.

Harry shook his head, wondering why he was bothering to do such a useless thing... It wasn’t like the book was of any significance...

...left open to that particular page in such an obvious place...

Harry frowned, considering. The poem was talking about escape, albiet from a personal situation rather than a prison. If it was a clue, though, how exactly was he meant to ‘rip the walls asunder’? He didn’t have that kind of strength, magically or otherwise.

Try leaning against the walls, Draco’s thoughts announced with a lack of their usual surety. Perhaps they’re not real, just an illusion? Like Platform 9 ¾…

Harry ran his hands all the way around the wall, past the door and back to his initial position. “Sorry, no. It was a good idea, though.” He picked the poem up, and read it again. “The first thing the person does to escape is… stand, and – and shade his eyes.”

Shade his eyes…the glasses, Draco said. Harry, put on the glasses!

Harry moved to the armchair and took the glasses into his hands. They certainly didn’t seem special in any way, but… he adjusted them on his face in place of his own. Slowly, he brought up the book once more. The words swam, making him feel dizzy, and Harry almost tore the glasses off – before he realized that the writing on the page had bled and changed...

Pride and Prejudice, it now read.

What?! Draco didn’t seem too happy with this latest development, Harry noted.

What now? Harry wondered desolately. That doesn’t help. Have you ever read it?

Read what?

Harry abruptly realized that, to Draco, those words conveyed nothing more than two attributes – the book was Muggle in origin. Ten pounds says Hermione’s read it. Ask her what she thinks it means.

There was a small pause.

Granger says to try and find the book on the shelves.

“Find the book on the...?” Harry echoed aloud, scanning the room in the dying light. “Lumos,” he incanted, frowning. The fire was almost out, now.

There! Harry and Draco both announced at once. Harry hefted the book in his hands.

Odd, he thought. It’s far too heavy and way too thick... Harry opened the cover of the book, which immediately transfigured into a small box. “Floo powder! I... I think.”

It looks old, Potter. Careful.

Harry walked over to the dying flames, realizing with horror that he had almost been too late. Gasping, he sprinkled the powder very, very carefully over the flames, which turned white-hot before slowly fading to green.

Where?!

To Lupin’s rooms – I think we’re closest to those.

“Professor Lupin’s Private Quarters, Hogwarts Castle,” Harry said, enunciating as clearly as he possibly could. Glancing around, he darted back to the chair to grab the book and the glasses; then, he leapt into the green flames.

When Harry fell out into the familiar gold and brown of Professor Lupin’s rooms, he breathed a huge sigh of relief, remaining flat on his stomach for a moment, just breathing in a scent without the heavy, oppressive dampness of his prison. Draco...? he inquired with a light, probing touch, but the other boy was gone.

Harry levered himself up into a seated position, then stood, brushing ashes from his robes and feeling in general as though he had moved the space of several universes instead of several floors; the heavy, silent oppression had made the Chamber seem as though it did not belong to the rest of the world.

Mere moments later, Professors Snape and Lupin, and Ron, Hermione, and Draco trailed into the rooms.

Harry grinned tiredly at them, surprising Ron, Hermione, and himself with an embrace. Ron patted him on the back awkwardly, and Hermione wept into his shoulder, telling him she’d thought him dead. He felt awful, realizing that he very well could have become trapped there, if Ron and Hermione had left him alone, never noticed him gone... and his last words to both of them would have been the worst Draco Malfoy could come up with.

Draco... The blond-haired Slytherin was hanging back and looking – well, looking oddly self-satisfied, as well as white as a sheet.

“Draco,” he said aloud, moving beyond Ron and Hermione. He wasn’t sure what he should do. He couldn’t hug Draco Malfoy – out of the question. And yet, he needed to show, somehow, that he had been impressed with the other boy’s intelligence and startled by the fact that the Slytherin, too, had come looking for him. He awkwardly stuck out a hand, which Draco ignored.

Harry looked up to find Snape staring at him. He flushed self-consciously. “Why don’t I save you the trouble?” he muttered. “Stupid Potter, probably not enough excitement for you nearly getting killed by Voldemort all the time, now you have to seek trouble on your own? We all put ourselves in great danger today to help you, but you still could’ve died and where would the wizarding world be, then, because of your carelessness? Twenty points from Gryffindor.”

Ron choked, and Hermione raised her eyebrows. Lupin merely smiled serenely.

“Right on the first and second counts,” Snape said, “although you omitted the most important factor – that Mister Malfoy was forced to connect to you once more in order to extricate you from this mess... and I would have omitted the ‘entire wizarding world’ as you so aptly put it. Twenty-five points from Gryffindor. Twenty for endangering yourself and others. Five for pure cheek.”

Harry, to his surprise, and apparently to everyone else’s, barked a small laugh. “Sorry,” he said, when Snape shot him a glare with extra venom. “Really. It’s the shock.”

“Ten points to Slytherin on Mister Malfoy’s behalf,” Snape added. “And five, I suppose, to Miss Granger, for quick thinking.”

Hermione looked startled, then smiled tentatively. “Come on, Harry, let’s get some food into you. You must be starving – when did you last eat?”

Draco gazed at the trio; Harry caught the other boy looking out of the corner of his eye.

“Uhm, Draco, are you okay?” Harry wanted to know. “You don’t look right. Let’s go grab something to eat...” He attempted a grin before remembering that it didn’t seem to have the same effect on Draco as on other people. “After all, if you’re not there, I may end up leaving half of it on the plate.”

For a minute, Draco stared at him, stretching the gaze until the moment became slightly uncomfortable for Harry. Then, the blond boy shrugged, looking wearier than ever. “No, you go on, Harry. I’ll be fine.” Draco nodded curtly at the assemblage, meandered out into the hallways and disappeared. 

Somehow, it didn’t matter that Harry couldn’t talk to Hermione or Ron. Suddenly, nothing much seemed to matter at all, except that they were with him, and feeding him, and kept touching him unnecessarily, as if to make certain he was real. It wasn’t readily apparent, but Ron would place a hand on his shoulder to gain his attention, or Hermione would lean up against him briefly while they sat side-by-side on one of the Gryffindor couches, but Harry knew what it meant, and felt safe, and beloved, and disgustingly unworthy.While he smiled, nodded, and laughed, Ron and Hermione chatted about school, and teachers, and Quidditch. Harry abruptly realized he had missed tryouts.

“I already talked to Katie,” Ron said. “They’ll be making an exception, seeing as it’s you and all.”

Harry was about to growl that he didn’t want an exception, but Draco Malfoy’s voice interrupted his thoughts, saying, you don’t have a choice, you naive little snot, and he was forced to remind himself that not only did he not have a choice, but he would’ve gone begging for a second chance if Katie hadn’t outright offered it to him.

It was only when Hermione disappeared quietly into his rooms and Ron started talking about the Quidditch tryouts Harry had missed in more detail, that Harry recognized how much he’d missed them – missed company – and wondered what it had been that made him want to isolate himself as he had.

When Hermione emerged with Harry’s birthday bauble in her hands, Ron’s speech faltered. The girl sat solemnly beside Harry and Ron – and the sphere glowed a brilliant, almost blinding red. She passed it silently to Ron, who looked up, and said, “Hermione, you don’t have to–” in a sort of vaguely disapproving way.

“Yes I do, Ronald Weasley,” she said sternly. “I absolutely do.”

Ron rolled his eyes, exasperated. When Hermione and Harry merely looked at him, he passed the bright red sphere to Harry.

It shone like the sun, blinding Harry for a moment, a red so dark and pure that the room for a moment looked drenched in blood. Harry stared into it, the brilliant colour burning into him, feeling as though he couldn’t look away… with a tingle of shock, he realized he was waiting for the colour to shift, or flicker, even as the knowledge slowly entered him that it was not going to change.

Ever.

“It’s late,” Hermione said, standing. “And tomorrow’s your last day with Malfoy. You’ve got to be ready for it.” When she reached the spot directly behind Harry, she leaned over the back of the couch to rest her fingers atop his shoulders; then, she bent to kiss him gently on the cheek before fleeing to her rooms.

For a moment, Ron stared at him, and Harry realized with a blush that the redhead was wishing he could somehow convey the same sentiment. Ron settled for wrapping his arms loosely about Harry’s neck from behind the couch and leaning over to enfold him in a rough embrace that nearly choked him.

When Ron had disappeared, too, Harry was left staring silently at the flames of the Common Room’s fire. He sniffled once, then buried his face in the side of the couch and began to cry in earnest, in a way he hadn’t since – hadn’t, since –

Ever – at least, not over something like this. Harry didn’t cry over anything less than a death his fault.

Harry gasped with sudden pain - or - or, the release of pain - and, realizing he was ready, pointed his wand at himself. “Revealeo,” he said, and the universe crashed down about his ears.