Harry waited for the hammer to come down. He looked see the disbelief in his friends' eyes, and he knew it was only a matter of seconds before that disbelief turned into anger. He had really crossed the line this time.

"Can I say something?" Neville asked cautiously.

"Yeah?" Harry tried not to wince.

"I just want to ask Draco one question," Neville stood up. "I know this is your house, Harry, but I just want to ask Draco one little question."

"Go ahead," Harry stepped back.

"Well, it's just," Neville approached Draco, "just wanted to know . . ."

Neville drew back his arm and drove his fist into Draco's face.

Draco gave a cry as he tumbled back against the wall, his hands covering his face.

"Right," Neville goaded. "That's about it - except -" he kicked Draco hard on the side of his leg. "You piece of crap, this is for all those years at school. Just stupid Neville Longbottom with his stupid looks and stupid ideas and no friends." Neville kicked him again.

Harry wondered if he should try to stop them, but he stayed still, hoping Neville might stop soon.

"I swear," Neville bent down so he could look Draco in the eye. Draco's hands were still over his face though his eyes were red-rimmed and wide. "I swear, Malfoy, I catch you doing anything, anything at all, I break every bone in your body. And I see you looking at Luna or Hermione, just a glance, I'll give you the Killing Curse and then call the Ministry to report the death of another low-life scum. You got it?"

Draco nodded quickly.

Neville reached out and popped him on the jaw, causing Draco's head to bang back against the wall.

"I expect a real answer," Neville said calmly.

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," Draco said, his voice sounding muffled under his hands.

"Good, because, Malfoy? Don't think your death would worry me for a second. Your aunt tortured my parents, and if your side had won, you wouldn't have thought twice about killing me. I better not catch you wandering around, because I will kill first and ask questions later."

Neville stood and went to sit beside Luna.

Ron look shocked by Neville's actions and words, but Hermione wore a slight smile as if she understood everything Neville meant.

"Where's the prisoner going to sleep?" Neville asked Harry.

"Uh," Harry hesitated, "I didn't think about that yet."

"All the rooms are filled," Hermione announced. "Ron and I share, and you, Neville, and Luna have the other rooms. We only have four rooms, Harry."

Her eyes clearly added "Something you should have thought before you brought Draco here."

"Draco can have my room," Harry blurted out. "I'll sleep in the library."

"No, you won't!" Hermione exclaimed at the same as Ron said, "You don't have to do that."

"We can share," Neville volunteered. "You and me, Harry. But I want him chained up at night."

"He doesn't have a wand," Harry protested.

"Not all crimes are committed with magic," Neville countered. "And his room would right next to Luna."

"Fine, fine, he gets chained up at night," Harry agreed. "He's not allowed to leave the townhouse."

"He's under house-arrest?" Hermione asked, curious.

"Yeah, we got wards over the house that will alert the Ministry if he tries to - you know, leave."

"Oh, I got something else in mind if he tries to leave," Neville decided. "What's he going to do all day? I don't want him alone here with Luna."

Luna tilted her head as she looked at Neville. "You are very kind, but you should remember I, too, have a wand. And I survived the war. One prisoner will not hurt me - I would hurt him before he could touch me. But you are kind to worry. No one worries about me, not since my father died."

"He'll find something to do," Harry said quickly.

"I think he should clean the house," Ron spoke up. "Dress him up like a house-elf and treat him like one."

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed crossly.

"Okay, fine," Harry said. "We can worry about that later. For now, he can just get cleaned up. Kreacher, can you take him upstairs."

The little house-elf stepped forward, surveying Draco with a critical eye. "Does Master wish Mr. Malfoy to be cleaned? And then chained to bed?"

"Yeah, but -"

"Then Master shall be obeyed," Kreacher went forward with grim determination.

Draco still sat on the floor, a look of dazed pain on his face as if he could not comprehend what had happened to him. He had dropped his hands, but his lips were swollen and red where Neville had punched him.

Kreacher grabbed Draco by the front of his prison shirt and pulled him to his feet. The little house elf kept a tight grip on the shirt so that Draco had to bend over as Kreacher led him out of the kitchen, the chains around his wrists dragging on the floor. Harry could hear Kreacher muttering,

"Yes, cleaned-up. Scrub his skin off, for trying to hurt Master. Make him suffer for hurting Master."

Once they were gone, Harry found himself in the kitchen with four pairs of eyes watching him.

"Don't say it," he told them as he sat down to a plate of food.

"Say what?" Ron asked politely. "That you're barking mad?"

"Draco? Really?" Hermione leaned towards Harry, trying to look sympathetic. "Harry, it's Draco. Draco!"

"Draco who has tormented up all these years," Ron reminded him.

"Draco who would have killed you that last year at Hogwarts," Hermione added, "if Snape hadn't stopped him."

"Draco whose family served Voldemort," Ron exclaimed.

"Draco who should have died in the last battle," Neville decided. "Why did you bring him here?"

"Because," Harry admitted, "because I couldn't see another person killed. I couldn't do it - I have to believe that there is some good left. I know Draco is a rotter, but his mother . . . she asked me."

"That's right," Ron nodded reluctantly. "You've always had a soft spot for mothers."

"Ron," Hermione admonished, with a look that said that information was too personal to just blurt out.

"Well, he has," Ron insisted. "Soft spot for mothers and bad luck with father figures."

"That's enough," Hermione decided. "How long is Draco to stay with us? Were you serious about a year or will it just feel like a year?"

"It might be a year," Harry admitted.

Silence met his announcement.

"All right," Hermione finally said. "Why don't we all just calm down and talk about what happened today at the Ministry? Start at the beginning, Harry, and take us through the whole day."

------

Exhausted and drained, Harry made his way up the stairs. He rubbed the back of his neck and thought that the only thing he wanted at the moment was a hot shower and a long night's sleep.

He had talked for what seemed like hours, and no one was happy when he finished. Harry reflected that he wasn't the best storyteller. What had been so important, so moving during the trial sounded trite or overly dramatic when he told it. He ended up mumbling and looking down at his plate as his ears turned red. After he finished, no one criticized him, but Harry couldn't stay in the uncomfortable silence any longer.

He headed up the stairs and met Kreacher in the hall. Kreacher was carrying a pile of old clothes and iron chains.

"Where's Malfoy?" Harry asked.

"In bed, sir," the house elf answered. "Down for the night, scrubbed very clean."

"Okay," Harry glanced in the direction of Malfoy's room. He wanted to duck into the other room that he would now share with Neville, but Harry dragged his feet down towards the smallest bedroom. The others would want affirmation that Draco was secured for the night.

Harry pushed open the door and then he started in surprise at the sight.

Draco was on a narrow bed, dressed in gray pajamas. His skin looked very pink as if he had been rubbed with sandpaper, and his hair was still damp. But most shocking, a metal collar was around Draco's neck, and a chain ran from the collar to the bolt in the wall.

Harry guessed that Kreacher had conjured the chain and the collar, but he had supposed that Kreacher was going to put a shackle around Draco's ankle or wrist, but not his throat. Draco looked like a slave from Muggle movies that Harry had seen about ancient Rome and Greece - a slave about to be sold to on an auction block.

It was the worst humiliation Harry had ever seen, and he had seen some humiliating things during the last seven years. He had always thought that Voldemort and his followers wanted humiliation along with pain when they tortured others, but Draco chained like that - Harry tried not to flinch.

Draco had been staring straight ahead, but he glanced towards Harry with a blank face.

"Er . . . guess you're in bed," Harry said awkwardly. "Uh - good night."

"Please," Draco's voice sounded strained.

"What?" Harry said, shorter than he meant to.

"Can - can I have something to - to eat?" Draco whispered.

"Oh, right," Harry blurted out. "Yeah, suppose you're hungry."

It sounded like they were strangers or even worse, a prisoner and his warden.

"I'll have Kreacher bring you up something," Harry turned and nearly tripped over Kreacher.

"Sorry," Harry apologized. "Can you get him some food?"

"Doesn't deserve any," Kreacher shook his head, making his big, pointy ears waggled. "Should let him starve for what he did to Master."

"Master is all right," Harry insisted. "Master - er, I am fine, and we're not starving people in my house. You don't have to cook him a feast or anything nice, but give him something."

"Very well," Kreacher sighed. "I can find a bone and old bread for our prisoner."

"No, some descent food," Harry called after him. He wasn't sure why he was making such a big deal about it; the Ministry had made no certain stipulations about how Draco was to be treated while under house-arrest. They had only made Harry sign a contract saying that he would ensure that Draco remained at his residence until a determined length of time.

If anything, Harry found the lack of details upsetting. That was the problem with the Ministry - they let horrible things slide right under their noses because they were too busy to deal with anything, and then they cracked down on the smallest offences. That was not the way to run a government, Harry thought, even though he had little experience with running a government.

He turned back into the doorway to see Draco.

"Is your - you know, is it loose enough?" Harry asked. "Can you breathe?"

Draco blinked and then nodded.

"Good," Harry said before turning to leave again.

"What happened to my parents?" Draco whispered.

Harry stopped, not looking back. "They went to Azkaban," he said.

"How long?" Draco was barely audible.

"I don't know," Harry still wouldn't look back. "Maybe a few years, maybe for life."

Harry stepped into the hallway before he realized that he was shaking again. The helpless feeling was slowly rising. He felt like he had in loo a few days ago, dizzy, sick, and worn-out. He wanted to sink down on the floor and close in on himself again, but he heard Kreacher coming back.

Harry straightened and tried to look normal.

Kreacher carried an old tray with soup and brown bread with a cup of water. "Better do," the house elf said as he plodded along. "Give the prisoner food, but cold food. Not giving him hot soup, not after the way he's treated Master. Master's too kind for his own good, everyone taking advantage of good-hearted Master."

Harry suddenly smiled in spite of himself. He felt a fond indulgence for his house elf and made a mental note to give him something extra special the next day, maybe a few pieces of the shiny Muggle money that Kreacher liked so much. Under the stairs, Kreacher liked to keep a collection of everything special - the old stuff he had from when Sirius was alive had all been replaced with gifts from Harry. Apparently, anything Harry gave him from a candy wrapper to a two pound coin was worthy of placement under the stairs.

"Harry?" Hermione called from downstairs. "Ginny wants to talk to you."

Forgetting about Draco, Harry raced towards the stairs. "On the phone?"

"No," Hermione gave him an odd look from where she stood at the bottom, "through the fireplace. In the library."

Harry ran into the library, his exhaustion forgotten. The other four young people sat around, drinking hot tea, but Harry went straight to the fireplace and knelt. He saw Ginny's head in the coals of the fire, and for minute, he thought that her real hair was the same color as the fire image. He grinned as he approached.

"Hey, Ginny," he nodded.

"Don't ‘hey' me," she ordered, her blazing lips pressing together. "I haven't talked to you for a week. And you haven't snogged me in forever."

Ron began to choke on his tea, and Hermione rolled her eyes and clapped him on the back.

"I wanted to see you," Harry crouched by the fire. "But McGonagall refuses to give me permission to visit Hogwarts, and I don't feel right about going with her permission."

"Sorry you had to miss Seventh Year," Ginny told him sympathetically. "They really let us live this year. We have the run of the school, and teachers hardly ever give us detention. But you promised you'd write!"

"I will," Harry said, grinning goofily he knew, but he couldn't stop himself when he was around Ginny.

"I'll box your ears proper at Christmas if you don't," she threatened. "And I don't want any of those stupid ‘Today I did this and that' letters. You give me some good gossip, Harry Potter, or you'll never get to - you know."

"I'm dying over here," Ron sputtered over his tea cup.

"And you tell my brother to shape up as well," Ginny continued. "Well, I better go. I'm not supposed to be using this fireplace. I love you, and I'll see you soon."

"Love you," Harry echoed. The coals felt back against the grate, and he lost sight of her face.

Harry rolled over to sit on the hearth, wrapping his hands around his knees.

"She sounds like she's having a good year," Hermione offered cheerfully.

"Yeah," Neville agreed.

"She shouldn't be there," Harry huffed. "She doesn't need Hogwarts. She's - she's the most accomplished witch of her year, everyone said so! She can fight, too. I don't see why she had to be hidden away at Hogwarts, and I'm not allowed to visit."

"Why can't you visit?" Neville asked slowly.

"McGonagall thought it would cause problems," Harry admitted. "Something about her being a student and all my fame distracting her and the other students, and people would think we were dating. I think it's just one more way to keep me from traveling. You know, no one wants me to go outside London."

"Because who would guard the prisoners at your home?" Ron snipped. He looked ashamed the moment the words left his lips. "Sorry, mate. Just kind of came out."

"You seriously can't leave London?" Hermione moved to sit next to Ron, resting her head against shoulder.

"Well, sort of," Harry admitted. "I was talking about wanting to go to Bristol for a weekend holiday, and everyone on the jury agreed it was bad idea."

"Why Bristol?" Ron asked, reaching to stroke Hermione's hair as he did every time she got close to him.

"I dunno," Harry shrugged. "I always wanted to go there. The Clifton Suspension Bridge? I know that has to be held up by magic."

Neville gave a short laugh, and Harry felt better than he had amused one friend after an evening of disaster.

"Draco?" Hermione finally said after a few moment's of pleasant silence.

"He's in his room," Harry said, not wanting to meet her eyes or anyone else's. "He's - uh, chained down. He's not going anywhere."

"What happened to his wand?" Luna suddenly spoke. "I always wonder what happened to their wands once they took them away."

"The Ministry's holding it," Harry replied.

"We should keep track of our own wands," Ron noted with the knowledge of one who had learned a great deal about wands. "We don't want Malfoy taking them."

"We all will look after our wands," Hermione nodded.

"But Harry had two," Luna said dreamily. "Two wands all to himself."

"That's right!" Hermione sat up. "The Elder Wand. Where is it?"

"Upstairs," Harry gulped. "In a box, in the hall closet."

"Harry!" Hermione scolded.

"Well, where am I supposed to keep it?" Harry protested. "I have to keep it safe until I die of old age. I was going to put it in Dumbledore's tomb, but I can't leave to go there yet. Where would you put it?"

"In your vault at Gringotts?" Hermione suggested, trying not to roll her eyes.

"Oh, yeah," Harry felt a bit stupid. "That is a better place. Well, you can all calm down. I'll go upstairs, find it, and put in my room for the night. First thing tomorrow, it goes to the bank. And Draco can't get out of bed - that I'm sure of."

The closet was packed with boxes, but after a few minutes Harry managed to locate the right box. It was an old shoebox stuffed with papers, but the wand was buried at the bottom. He carried the box to his bedroom where two beds stood in opposite corners. Harry thought he heard the screech of an owl downstairs, but he shut his door. He hated getting anything by owl mail after Hedwig had died. It had been over a year, but his throat hurt every time he looked at a snow-white owl.

The papers were old school notes, scribbled down in his bad handwriting. He thought about looking over them, just for kicks, to remember happier days, days when he had been young and innocent and so hopeful.

"My word!" he heard Hermione cry from below. "Harry, Harry, come here this instant!"

Harry stopped to tuck the box under his bed, and then he dashed for the stairs.

Hermione was at the bottom of the steps, but she looked shocked as Neville, Ron, and Luna crowded around her. She held a scrap of paper in her hand, and as Harry drew near, he could see blood splatters on the paper.

"This just came," Hermione gasped. "An owl - Harry, read it!"

Harry grabbed the letter, trying to calm enough to discern the words on the page.

In a shaky script were the words: Need help - in alley. S S.

Harry recognized the hand writing. He had seen it a hundred times on the board in the Potions classroom down in the dungeons. Harry felt the blood draining from his head as he stared at the other three and saw the disbelief reflected in their eyes.

“Snape?” he croaked as he held the paper. "Snape?"