'All right. The power is there. I can feel it.' Sirius was struck by the sensation emanating from Ron's sketch, almost as if the boy had put a little of his own magic into the drawing. It was so reminiscent of the feeling he'd had when Wormtail first handed him the Marauder's Map, the feeling that great and terrible things could happen just by using it. He glanced at the sketch and smiled as two dots labeled 'Harry Potter' and 'Draco Malfoy' popped into view, but felt flooded with concern when six more dots with labels like Udrovad and Fenudeel appeared on the wall.
'What are those?' Hermione asked nervously
'I don't know, but they're not moving,' Sirius replied. He had expected Harry to be alone in the cell, perhaps with Draco, but certainly not with a contingent of Slytherin's minions. And they didn't have their wands, but if his plan worked, they would have the element of surprise. He turned to Ron and Hermione in turn and asked, 'Are you ready to go through? You'll have to concentrate on their cell, your memories of it, the way it feels to stand in there and look at the walls and the ceiling. Don't think of this dungeon at all.'
'What about you? You haven't been in there, so what can you concentrate on?' Ron asked.
'Take my hands,' Sirius insisted, pocketing the last of the pencils.
'My focus will be on Draco and Harry, and I think a combination of that and your efforts will pull us through.' The three of them moved silently in front of the drawing, and they concentrated on the cell, and on Draco and Harry, and recalled them. Sirius could almost feel the pulse of his charm at his wrist as he concentrated on the drawing and the boys. The magic from the pencils was still there, for as he gazed at the lines of the drawing on the wall, they seemed to leap out into three dimensions, gathering reality to them. Sirius heard footsteps which he knew were not his, and saw a faint blue glow bleed out from the drawing on the wall.
As one, they stepped forward, closing their eyes.
* * * * *
'It just never stops, does it?' said Draco resignedly, staring at the demons. 'What are you all doing here?'
'We were invited,' said the head demon speculatively.
'I didn?t invite you,' said Draco positively. He turned to Harry, who was still looking dazed and a little drunk. Draco sighed inwardly.
Relieved as he was that Harry wasn?t dead, he could have done without High on Life Harry at the moment. 'Did you invite them?'
Harry shook his head. Draco turned back to the demons. 'I don?t suppose it would make any difference if I told you the toga party was down the hall?'
'Funny little mortal boy,' said the head demon, and Draco decided that he really didn?t like the emphasis that was put on the word mortal. 'You did not summon us, or demand our presence. The sword did.'
Draco looked at the sword. So did Harry. It lay as it had, dully gleaming on the bloodstained floor of the cell.
'Come again?' said Draco faintly.
Maybe we should just jump them, said Harrys voice in his head.
Draco swiveled his head around and looked at Harry with mounting dread. He was quite sure now that something very peculiar was going on with the black-haired boy. He just wasn?t sure what. We should do what?
Attack them. We?ve got the sword. It can kill anything.They won?t be expecting it.
We cannot just attack them. Even Dracos mental voice dripped icicles. They are demons from Hell.
Harry looked unimpressed. So?
So?! So, they?re demons from Hell!
You say that like it means something.
Okay, Potter. Don?t take this the wrong way, but the best thing you could do for the both of us right now is sit down on the floor and put your head in a bag. Take deep breaths and think of a nice quiet place where nothing ever happens. Weasleys bedroom for instance.
I bet they think they?re so great just because they?re demons, Harry said, looking resentfully across the room. Well, they?re not so great.
Don?t mock the demons, Potter.
Why not? Do you think they can hear us?
No. Its just…not very classy.
'Are you quite finished trying to convince your friend not to attempt hacking us to pieces?' demanded the lead demon, his bonfire voice cutting into Dracos thoughts. 'I can assure you that it would be a waste of time. We are spirit, not flesh.'
'Bugger,' said Draco, with feeling. 'You can hear us.'
'Your telepathy? No, we cannot. It was a logical extrapolation, given the effect of the healing magic on a human, especially a rather little one like your friend there.'
'Harry is not little,' said Draco indignantly, partly in defense of Harry and partly because, after all, he and Harry were the same size.
If they hadn?t been, they couldn?t have been such effective opposing Seekers. A moment later, thoughts of Quidditch vanished as the import of the demons words hit him. 'Healing magic? What healing magic?'
He glanced over at Harry, and had to admit that he did look as though some sort of magic had thrown its glamour over him — as if a light had been turned on inside him and was shining out through the slim glove of glowing flesh that covered his bones, through his bright emerald eyes, through the brilliant patches of red darkening his tanned cheeks.
