Harry knew that he wasn’t exactly one to talk when it came to rash, half-baked plans, but the idea Draco had conjured up was bad even by his standards.

“It’s simple, really,” Draco said. He was tapping one foot rapidly against the ground, like he was just itching to get away already. “Severus apparently had the fireplace connected to the Ministry Atrium for today, so he could get to the trial more easily. That means we can sneak straight in without having to faff about at the visitor’s entrance. I’ve been to the Ministry for Magic countless times with Mother and Father, so I could practically find my way to Courtroom Ten blindfolded - we’ll just nip down a deserted hallway, throw the Invisibility Cloak on, and sneak in.”

“It’s really that easy?” Harry asked sceptically.

Draco scoffed. “Of course - I wouldn’t go if I didn’t know what I was doing! This’ll be a piece of cake.”

Harry arched an eyebrow but didn’t otherwise comment. He was going along, doomed plan or not, so he simply had to satisfy himself with the situation he had found himself in. It wasn’t like Harry could offer any advice; he’d never been to the Ministry for Magic, after all. 

“Now, put your wrist out,” Draco ordered. “The one with the tracker.”

“Er… why?” Harry asked hesitantly. 

“I’m going to get rid of it.” Draco said in a low voice. “Hurry up! You’re already slowing me down!”

Harry obeyed, and extended his wrist. Draco pressed his wand against the silver bangle and muttered, “Calefactorus.”

A red glow emanated from the tip of his wand, and in under a second, a segment of the tracker melted away small, silver droplets which rained to the floor. Moments later, scorching heat seared against Harry’s flesh.

“Owch!” Harry snatched his wrist back and cradled it against his chest, glaring at Draco. “What are you doing?!”

Draco winced. “Sorry, I’m not great at that spell. Just let me do the other side? I promise I won’t burn you again.”

Harry briefly examined his wrist - there was a small patch of shiny red skin where Draco had burned him. This was going to blister, Harry realised with a grimace. He had enough experience with cooking to be able to tell his burns apart by now. At least a decent chunk of the tracker had melted away. Draco’s spell, crude as it was, actually worked. It was that which convinced Harry to hold his wrist out once again.

This time, Draco was noticeably more careful. Before the burning spell he was using reached Harry’s skin, the tracker melted through and fell in two parts to the ground.

Harry stared at the two halves of the bangle lying on the flagstones, shocked. “Could I have really removed that so easily the entire time?”

Draco scoffed. “Obviously. It’s designed for wandless five-year-olds who Apparate away from their parents, Harry. They’re not going to be able to melt it off like that!”

“Oh.” Harry felt a little embarrassed that he hadn’t thought of that sooner, then. It all still felt too easy, though…

“Won’t the enchantments be broken now?” he asked worriedly. “If he checks his tracker, Severus won't be able to see my location, and he’ll know something’s off.”

“It’ll probably be fine,” Draco said in a breezy tone which did not inspire confidence. “It’ll just show your last given location if he checks in. If he checks twice, then we might have a problem, but I doubt he can be bothered.”

“Wait, what?” Harry was becoming more and more confused with every passing moment. “I thought he just looked down whenever he felt like it to check where I was. I don’t understand this tracker at all!”

“Honestly, Harry!” Draco said exasperatedly. “It’s like you don’t know anything! The trackers both have corresponding runes - Severus looks down, and has to translate them into numbers for your coordinates. If they’re unfamiliar coordinates, then he has to do a spell to get a more precise read on where you are. It’s a lot of effort - he obviously can’t be bothered to do that all the time, no matter how obsessive he gets about keeping tabs on you. He’ll be too preoccupied watching the trial to care what you’re up to.”

“Oh - alright, then.” Harry stared at his wrist and circled it a few times, marvelling at the simplicity of Draco’s solution.

“Enough about the tracker,” Draco said, pushing the remains under the sofa with his foot. “We need to go already, or we’re going to miss the trial.”

Harry sighed loudly and shot Draco a dark look, but didn’t otherwise protest. Draco was currently staring at the fireplace, face significantly paler than it had been a moment ago. He looked dreadfully anxious. Was he nervous about seeing his father? Scared to break into the Ministry for Magic, perhaps?

Draco coughed slightly, and held out the Floo powder. “Could you, er - well, I think we should Floo there together. Since you’ve never been, of course…”

“Sure.”

Harry knew that wasn’t the real reason. He was almost entirely certain that Draco’s reluctance to Floo alone was due to the fire at Malfoy Manor… his anxious demeanour was starting to make a lot more sense. Of course, since dignity was so important to Draco, he would never actually admit to a worry like that.

“Is it even possible to Floo together?” Harry asked.

“It’ll be a squeeze, but yes,” Draco said. He reached into the jar, grabbed a handful of Floo powder, and threw it onto the flames. Green firelight illuminated them. “Grab my hand so you don’t fall out.”

Harry obeyed. He could feel Draco’s hand trembling in his as they stepped into the flames, clammy and cold. In the moments before he called out their location, Harry was almost certain that Draco was going to sick up.

The journey was somehow more bumpy than usual - two people squeezed into the network of chimneys meant a lot more whacking of elbows and knees. By the time they were spat out at their location, Harry was fairly certain he’d wake up black and blue all over tomorrow morning.

After spluttering and coughing for several moments, choked by the soot, Harry pushed himself to his feet and realised he was in a large, splendid Atrium lined with fireplaces. Witches and wizards were bustling around the dark-panelled room, not paying one bit of attention to the new arrivals. Harry stared with his mouth hanging open slightly, his eyes lingering on a particularly magnificent golden fountain. After a moment, though, he shook himself. Harry could stare later - they needed to get going.

Harry glanced to his left and saw Draco standing still as a statue to the left of the fireplace they’d exited. He had turned slightly green, and was visibly shaking. He looked the way Harry felt whenever he had one of his panic attacks - the Floo Network must have taken a greater toll on Draco than he’d anticipated. Harry placed a hand on Draco’s shoulder, mind racing. He tried to emulate what Snape would do in a time like this.

“Er… take some deep breaths or something, okay?” he said quietly. “And try and Occlude, like you were taught. That’ll help. Picture the, um… the forest in Wiltshire that you like. Do that, and just breathe. It’s okay. We can wait.”

To Harry’s immense relief, Draco listened to him. His breaths started to even out, and some of the tension melted from his features. After about a minute, he snapped upright, focused and prepared.

“Right,” Draco said briskly, brushing down his robes. His hands were still trembling slightly, but he shoved them into his pockets to hide the motion. “We need to get going. Since we were technically supposed to use the visitors entrance, we need to be careful - there might be some tricky questions from security if we’re noticed. Act like you have the right to be here.”

Draco marched onward with his chin raised haughtily in the air. Harry couldn’t help his groan as he trailed behind. His whole body was tense. He didn’t know how to act like he belonged when every cell of his body was screaming out about how wrong it was to be here. His chest was so tight and painful that Harry was becoming quickly convinced he was having a stress-induced heart attack.

“I’d like to make it clear again that I think this is a terrible idea,” Harry grumbled. “It’s not too late to go home -”

“If it’s so stupid, then you go back!” Draco narrowed his eyes. “I never asked for you to come!”

Well if Harry hadn’t been there, as he wanted to point out, then Draco would have just succumbed to a massive panic attack in the Ministry for Magic Atrium. As he sensed this comment was not helpful in the slightest, Harry barely refrained from speaking his mind and kept marching onwards. 

“So here’s the plan,” Draco said quietly as they hurried towards the end of the large Atrium. “There’s a side corridor next to the lift that leads to the Department for Ministry Maintenance. It’s never busy. We can duck into there, throw on the Invisibility Cloak, and sneak into the elevator. That’ll take us down to the courtrooms, where -”

“Excuse me.” Someone tapped Harry on the shoulder, and he jumped. A pinch-faced woman with greasy red hair was looming behind them. She was frowning.

“What exactly are you two doing here?” she asked in a nasally sort of voice. “You’re a bit young to be out of school, aren’t you? Especially without some sort of chaperone? Who are you, and what exactly is your business in the Ministry for Magic today?”

Harry felt equal parts worry and hope. If this woman thought they were really suspicious, perhaps she’d take them off somewhere before Draco could get down to the courtrooms! Then, Harry wouldn’t get the blame for the plan falling apart, and Draco wouldn’t hate him… they’d still be in massive trouble, but Harry couldn’t see a way around that inevitable consequence at this point. At least they might be in slightly less trouble than they’d be if caught entering the trial proceedings…

But unfortunately for Harry, Draco was far too smart for his own good. Looking every bit the arrogant, spoilt, Pureblooded heir, he gave the woman a derisive and disgusted look. “I beg your pardon? Who are we? Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?”

The corners of the lady’s mouth twisted further down. “I… well, I don’t suppose I do -”

“We have every right to be here, thank you very much!” Draco said pompously. “As for why we aren’t in school, you do realise that this is Harry Potter, don’t you? He has frequent meetings in the Ministry for Magic, as I expect you’d know!”

The woman’s eyes flicked up to Harry’s forehead, and widened to the size of saucers. A nasty-looking red flush spread across her neck. “I - I… yes, of course. You must have every right to be here… I apologise, Mr Potter.”

“We have things to be getting on with that don’t involve harassment from officials,” Draco said curtly. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’re rather busy?” 

Draco turned on his heel and began to walk off, looking vaguely disgusted. The woman appeared too flabbergasted and embarrassed to attempt further questioning, and stood frozen in the middle of the Atrium with her mouth hanging open. Once they were out of her sight and deep into a quiet corridor, Draco breathed a sigh of relief.

“That was close,” he whispered, wiping his forehead.

“How did you do that?” Harry asked, awed.

“It’s surprisingly easy to get what you want if you just act like you belong,” Draco said softly, reaching into his pocket to shake out the Invisibility Cloak. “Your fame was rather helpful, mind. You should use it more often…”

Harry scowled. “You know perfectly well that I don’t -”

“Yes, yes, you hate fame, want to pretend you aren’t famous, et cetera, I’m aware,” Draco drawled, waving a hand dismissively. Harry bit down on the inside of his cheek and struggled against the urge to unleash a furious retort. His patience was reaching dangerously low levels…

 Draco eyed the cloak thoughtfully. “So we just duck under and we’re invisible?”

“As it’s an Invisibility Cloak, yes!” Harry’s hands balled into fists. All he wanted to do was snatch the Invisibility Cloak back from Draco, and never let him touch it again. It was Harry’s, and he had no right to take it like this!

Draco quickly hid the two of them under the silvery fabric. “Brilliant. Now, let’s go to the lift.”

“I still can’t believe you nicked this,” Harry said irritably. “Snape already warned me to not use this, you know. If we get caught and he takes away my cloak now, I won’t be happy with you -”

“Be quiet!” Draco hissed. “This cloak stops people from seeing you, it doesn’t render them deaf!”

Harry ground his teeth but kept quiet as they came face to face with a set of elevator doors. There was a ding, and the golden grills slid open. Several tired-looking witches shuffled out, eyes half-lidded and hair suspiciously singed.

The lift wasn’t that crowded, to Harry’s relief. He and Draco shuffled in and squeezed themselves into a corner to the left of a drab-looking man who smelled rather strongly of perspiration. Luckily, the cloud of body odour stopped any people from trying to stand near the man, and therefore stopped them from being in a place where they might bump into the invisible Harry and Draco. 

They descended down a number of floors, all with strange department names that Harry would have dedicated further attention to untangling if he wasn’t so dreadfully nervous that he’d be caught under the cloak at any moment. It didn’t help that the elevator was violently lurching up, down, and from side to side, and he and Draco couldn’t grab onto the golden ropes above to steady themselves. He could have sworn the sweaty man cast a suspicious look in their direction when the cloak flapped up, revealing a glimpse of their shoes, but he quickly seemed to dismiss it.

Draco and Harry were the last to exit the elevator, on Level Ten of the Ministry. Draco silently grabbed Harry’s hand and started leading him along a series of winding, cobblestone corridors that reminded him of the Hogwarts dungeons. The walls were occasionally marked by heavy, iron doors.

“We’re in Courtroom Ten,” Draco breathed. “Should be along here somewhere…”

But when they approached a particularly threatening-looking iron door, Draco fell short, and Harry stumbled to a halt next to him. A gruff security wizard stood outside, arms folded. Hope bloomed in Harry’s chest. There was no way they could open this door without the man seeing them, even if they were invisible. Maybe, just maybe, they could finally turn back -

The door creaked open. Another security wizard who bore a striking resemblance to Goyle was leading a furious witch with a notepad and quill out by the arm.

“You ain’t allowed to be ‘ere, miss,” he grunted.

“You ought to let me in!” The witch seethed. “I’m a journalist -”

“‘Fraid I can’t,” the wizard said with a shake of his head. “Only authorised personnel can enter the viewing area. Shoulda gotten your media pass weeks ago!”

“But I’m with Witch Weekly!” she protested shrilly. 

As the two continued to argue, Draco grabbed onto Harry’s shoulder and yanked him through the open door. Mere moments later, the security wizards slammed it shut again.

The room they found themselves in was dimly lit, with spluttering torches in brackets casting strange shadows against the stone walls. The platform they were on could have seated about fifty, and witches and wizards were pressed shoulder to shoulder on the stone benches, craning their necks to see what was going on below. Several were also crowded at the back, and Harry and Draco had to take care to avoid them as they tried to watch the events occurring below the viewing platform.

Rows and rows of witches and wizards were arranged in large circles around the centre of the room, all watching a trembling, hunched man with thinning black hair who was speaking. Every now and then, the wizard would cast a nervous glance at the chair to his right, which was hung with menacing-looking silver chains. The wizard was speaking so softly that Harry had to strain his ears to hear his words, even though the dungeon was silent. 

“Edgar Bones was already down, you see,” the man mumbled. “H-He’d taken a Cutting Curse to the leg, and couldn’t walk. I was just trying to drag him from the field, when I saw him. Malfoy, that is.”

“And you’re certain you recognised him, Mr Hussain?” An important-looking man in purple Auror robes asked. He was strangely gnarled and grizzled, and had a great mane of greying golden hair that reminded Harry of a lion.

The balding man nodded vigorously. “His mask was gone - it had fallen off in battle, I presume. And, of course, the Malfoy hair is…rather recognisable…” He shivered. “Malfoy barely looked at me. He shot the Killing Curse directly at Bones, even though he obviously wasn’t a threat in such a state, and - well, his wand was aimed at me, next. I - I barely dodged out of the way of the Killing Curse in time… he lost me in the thick of it, and I escaped the wards and Apparated away.”

“Thank you for the testimony, Mr Hussain. That will be all.”

Mr Hussain nodded, his shoulders sagging with relief. He began to stumble from the courtroom, and a witch who Harry suspected might be his wife hopped up from a bench, took his arm and led him to a heavy wooden door. Two wizards yanked it open, ushered the couple out, and slammed the door shut. The thud echoed through the entire dungeon, reverberating off the stone walls.

“We have now heard all the evidence,” the lion-like man announced. “Mr Malfoy can be brought in for our final judgements.”

“Yes, Mr Scrimgeour.” The door guards nodded, faces hardening. 

Disapproving whispers snaked around the room as the wizards vanished, and Harry heard Draco let out a shuddering gasp to his right. He reached out and squeezed the other boy’s clammy hand, hoping to provide comfort as well as a nonverbal reminder that Draco needed to be quiet. They really couldn’t be found here, especially now, and that meant they mustn't be heard.

While everyone in the silent dungeon focused their attentions on the wooden door, deathly silent, Harry took a minute to scan the faces for anyone he might recognise. Most of the wizards surrounding the chained chair were unfamiliar, but Harry quickly recognised the white hair and long beard of Professor Dumbledore. He was seated directly behind Mr Scrimgeour, who appeared to be in charge of this trial. Harry also spotted the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, by his lime bowler hat. The usually jolly man was looking exceptionally grim.

The rest of the wizards in the courtroom circle below weren’t recognisable to Harry, but he knew a fair few people in the viewing area. He immediately spotted the bright orange hair of Mr Weasley. He was seated directly behind the one person who Harry particularly didn’t want to be caught by in the courtroom - Snape. His face wasn’t visible from where Harry and Draco stood, but judging from his rigid profile, he was certainly displeased. A curly-haired witch sat to his left, who Harry thought might be Andromeda Tonks. He couldn’t quite tell, since her head was bowed.

His scanning of the room was disrupted by the wooden door thudding open again. The guards re-entered, prompting further whispers from the courtroom. Harry wondered why they didn’t have Lucius Malfoy with them. His question was answered as the wizards continued to hold the doors open, and an icy chill settled over the dungeon. Two Dementors glided into the room, dragging someone between them. Harry couldn’t help but flinch back. What was he going to do with Dementors in the same room as him, especially since Harry couldn’t cast a Patronus Charm without revealing their location?

But luckily for him, the Dementors were too far away to inflict their full effects. They did leave Harry feeling cold, unhappy, and so sick that bile coated his throat, but he didn’t faint, and that was the important thing.

Draco’s hand was gripping Harry’s so tightly that he thought the other boy’s nails might have broken skin. He winced, but didn’t let go, and refocused on the scene before him. 

The man in between the Dementors barely looked alive. His grey Azkaban robes were ragged and hung overlarge on the wizard’s haggard, gaunt frame, and he didn’t appear to have the strength to walk himself over to the chained chair the Dementors were dragging him to. The minute they set the man down, the chains on the chair glowed golden and snaked all around the wizard’s body, binding him in place.

Only then, Harry realised that this was Lucius Malfoy.

He didn’t look one bit like the man Harry remembered. The Lucius Malfoy he recalled from last year had been tall, imposing and haughty. Every ounce of the grandeur and poise Lucius had once emanated had vanished, leaving nothing but skin and bones bound in place by heavy chains. 

But it wasn’t the gaunt cheeks, lank and thinning blonde hair, or unshaven face that made Lucius so unrecognisable - it was his eyes. They were sunken into his face, and didn’t carry a flicker of life or emotion. He scarcely looked human.

“You have been brought before the Council of Magical Law,” Mr Scrimgeour said gravely, “for a series of crimes perpetrated under the service of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. While you were originally cleared of these charges, new evidence which we have now heard has come to light -”

“I plead not guilty,” Lucius rasped. His voice was strained and reedy, nothing like it had once been. With a surge of horror, Harry abruptly understood that Lucius must have screamed himself hoarse in Azkaban. “I was under the Imperius Curse during the war.”

“A claim which has been disproven,” Scrimgeour said in a hard voice, “by the series of Dark artefacts you have happily stored in your house for the last decade, as well as the violent wave of Dark magic you invoked during an authorised Ministry search.”

“You’ve misunderstood, Rufus, I was Cursed!” Lucius said frantically. His hands had clawed around the armrests of the chair. “I - I wasn’t in my right mind in the last war! You’ve known me a long time now, Rufus, you know I would never -”

Draco was shaking rather violently next to Harry. He reached his other hand over, taking great care not to jostle the Invisibility Cloak, and rubbed soothing circles into Draco’s shoulder in vain attempt to keep him somewhat calm. 

Harry could finally understand fully why Snape had been so vehemently opposed to Draco attending this trial. No one ought to see their father like this, weak and pleading. This was wrong - deeply, dreadfully wrong.

“This is not a matter for debate, Mr Malfoy,” Scrimgeour said coldly. “We are not discussing if you were under the Curse - we are discussing what to do about the actions you knowingly and willingly carried out in service of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

“I am a good man!” Lucius said, his voice higher pitched than usual. His eyes were alive now, with terror and fervour. “You all know me intimately - I advised many of you on Department matters, I donate to charity, organise events - I’m a family man! I had a newborn son at the time you said I did these dreadful things! What sort of a person do you take me for?”

Draco shuddered violently under Harry’s palms.

“You certainly can’t believe this, Cornelius?” Lucius turned to the Minister, who let out a rather undignified squeak. He seemed terrified to be addressed. “You know me, you know my wife, our characters - surely, if I had been a Death Eater all this time, you all would have known!” Lucius’ breathing was coming in hard, fast gasps. “Why would I have walked amongst you for twelve years if I sympathised with the Dark Lord -”

“Enough,” Scrimgeour said unfeelingly. He shook his head and turned his back on Lucius, who fell silent, chest heaving. 

Scrimgeour faced the circle of witches and wizards. They were all whispering - some of them seemed sympathetic, others furious. Harry noticed the glares directed at Lucius significantly outweighed the pitying glances.

Scrimgeour raised his wand. “I now ask the Council for Magical Law to raise their hands if they believe this wizard deserves a lifetime term in Azkaban prison.”

The witches and wizards around the right hand side of the dungeon began to raise their hands. Harry held his breath as he counted them - it wasn’t the entirety of the jury, he noted, but it was a sizable majority, including Dumbledore and the Minister for Magic himself. It was more than enough to put Lucius behind bars…

And it seemed like Draco had been counting, too. He let out a quiet and strangely animalistic moan. Harry had never heard a noise like it, and he hoped never to again. It was a sound of pain unlike anything he’d ever heard, and branded an ache deep in Harry’s chest. 

This is wrong, he thought again. Draco shouldn’t see this. He shouldn’t be here…

“The Council has spoken,” Scrimgeour declared. Murmurs broke out in the courtroom. Many witches and wizards looked deeply shocked, while some looked satisfied, others disappointed. Cornelius Fudge had started to perspire rather profusely, and was dabbing at his shiny forehead with a handkerchief. He was obviously trying very hard not to look at Lucius Malfoy.

Lucius glared around at all of them as the Dementors glided forwards. His eyes were like chips of ice. He no longer looked like the husk of a man that had staggered in, begging for sympathy - this man was a hardened Death Eater, even in a broken body. Harry was struck by the sudden, unshakeable impression that part of Lucius’ terrified, shaken appearance might have just been an act to sway the Council. After all, he looked truly foreboding now…

“You’ll regret this,” Lucius said simply. 

Despite the reedy, gravelly quality that Lucius’ voice now held, there was a note of clear and obvious threat in his tone that sent a chill down Harry’s spine. Lucius was examining the council with a mixture of haughty distaste and a cold, slow-burning fury. Harry couldn’t help but feel certain that Lucius Malfoy was going to follow through on that threat, even with Azkaban to consider… 

The courtroom seemed unimpressed by this statement - his words caused the murmurs to explode into outright chatter and a few outraged yells.

“You traitor!” A man bellowed, accompanied by several approving jeers. A few people actually got to their feet and started shaking their fists.

Chin held high at last, Malfoy was led from the room, not phased in the slightest by the continual heckling. Despite his clear attempts to project an image of the man he’d once been, Lucius was barely halfway to the door before his legs wavered and gave out from beneath him, so the Dementors were forced to drag him once more. Harry noticed Snape shake his head as the door slammed shut behind him. 

It was lucky that the room was so loud - it disguised the ragged, gasping sob that Draco let out from next to him. Realising that the people around them would be moving away shortly, Harry forcibly dragged Draco into a small alcove beneath a spluttering torch which they were just small enough to squeeze into if they crouched down on the ground. It was just in time, too. Several witches and wizards walked through the exact space Harry and Draco had been occupying just seconds before as they hurried from the courtroom. One such wizard was actually Snape, who was deep in conversation with Arthur Weasley as they exited the dungeon together. Trailing a few steps behind was Andromeda Tonks, who looked weary beyond her years.

Draco’s arms abruptly wrapped around Harry, startling him, and he buried his face in Harry’s chest. After making sure that the Invisibility Cloak was secured, Harry returned the embrace. He patted Draco on the back, chest still aching dreadfully. Lucius deserved to be punished, certainly, but Draco? He was suffering for his father’s crimes, and he was going to keep on suffering as long as he bore the Malfoy name.

It wasn’t fair. None of this was.

“We’ll sneak out through the door in a bit, okay?” Harry whispered. “It’s too busy to leave right now.”

But even if it hadn’t been so crowded, Harry suspected he wouldn’t be able to get Draco anywhere right now. He was continuing to weep into Harry’s robes, trying to muffle his sobs with questionable success.

“I’m sorry, Draco,” Harry murmured, rubbing gentle circles into his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

Harry had never felt so hopeless. He wanted to do something, anything to make this better, but couldn’t think of what to do apart from continuing to hug the other boy, trying to provide anything resembling comfort. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what Draco was feeling right now, but Harry knew it must be terrible. He had never seen Draco this devastated before… in fact, he was shaking so violently that Harry was half-afraid Draco would actually fall to pieces in his arms.

Harry was so focused on his brother that he didn’t notice the person watching their alcove until they started clomping over. The continued, rhythmic thump of a wooden leg against cobblestone finally drew Harry’s attention away from Draco. A terrifying-looking man with a face that was more scar tissue than skin and a strange, whizzing, electric-blue eye was making his way over to their hiding spot. It almost looked like he was staring directly at them…

That’s impossible, Harry reminded himself. We’re invisible. Nobody can see under this cloak.

But despite that, the man just kept marching forwards. When he was just inches away, he snaked out a hand and snatched at the fabric of the Invisibility Cloak, ripping it from the top of their heads. Harry gasped as the terrifying wizard glowered down at them with his mismatched eyes, the uneven slash of his mouth pulling into a frown.

“It’ll take more than this to fool the likes of me,” he growled, stuffing the cloak into a pocket. “Now get up. You’re coming straight to the Auror office.”