'I'm fine,' said Hermione, turning to look at them. 'I'm fine.'
Ginny saw the look of panic on Harry's face replaced quickly by relief, which was replaced by something else — a blank sort of still look. She glanced over at Hermione, who wasn't looking at Harry and had missed the interplay of emotions on his face. Then she looked back at Harry. Why doesn't Draco ever look at me the way Harry looks at her? she thought suddenly. It isn't fair.
'Where's Malfoy?' asked Ron.
'He's gone,' said Hermione, in a thin voice. 'He flew off.'
Ron swore, and kicked the trunk of a tree.
Harry shook his head. 'I can't believe you just let him go,' he said, not looking at Hermione, but quite evidently speaking to her.
Hermione's expression darkened. 'I did not let him go. He knocked me out.'
'He's still gone,' said Harry, glaring at her. 'Isn't he?'
Hermione glared right back.
Ron looked from Harry to Hermione, then rolled his eyes. 'Oh, yes, let's start sniping at each other about whose fault it is that Malfoy's finally buggered off like he's been trying to do all day anyway.
That'll be productive.'
'Wait,' exclaimed Ginny, eagerly, and turned to Hermione. 'The Charm — we can use it to find him!'
Hermione shook her head. 'He took it with him.'
'He took it?' echoed Ron in disbelief. 'Why? Why would he do a stupid thing like that?'
'I think it's pretty obvious why he took it,' said Harry, sounding weary. 'He doesn't want us to be able to find him.'
Ginny felt her heart contract. 'But we have to find him,' she said, in a wavering voice. 'He's in trouble.'
'I think you're mixing up being in trouble with just being trouble,' said Ron.
Harry looked despairing. 'We'd better go talk to Sirius.'
But by the time they arrived at the library, Sirius and Lupin were gone. Narcissa, sitting behind the desk and looking terribly strained and worried, explained to them what had happened to Dumbledore and Fudge on their way to the Manor. The official notice from the Ministry had said only that Dementors were suspected in the attack.
Fudge was dead; Dumbledore was in serious condition. The Ministry had indicated that before lapsing into unconsciousness, Dumbledore had requested Sirius' presence. 'They've Apparated themselves to St. Mungo's,' said Narcissa, looking as if she were trying to hide how unhappy she felt. Her eyes darted from Harry's face, to Hermione's.
Very quietly, she asked, 'Where's Draco?'
There was a short silence. Then Harry said, 'He's gone. I'm really sorry. We tried to-' He broke off and looked down, hiding his expression, but Ginny felt how miserable he was. 'I'm really sorry,' he said again.
Narcissa bit her lip. She was very pale. 'I'd better make sure they let Sirius know,' she said, rising to her feet and hurrying over to the fireplace. She took a handful of powder out of her pocket and tossed it into the flames, which glowed briefly purple. Ginny heard her say, 'St Mungo's Hospital, please,' before turning to Ron and Harry.
Harry had his arms crossed over his chest and was looking both furious and miserable. Ron was absently patting him on the back.
'Sirius is going to be really hacked off,' said Harry, glumly.
'Do you think Draco's going to be all right?' asked Ginny, also reaching out to pat Harry on the arm.
He glanced up at her, and she saw him try to smile. 'I dunno, Ginny,' he said, and looked as if he were about to say something else when his eyes darted sideways. Ginny turned to see a slight shimmering in the air as Anton, one of the Malfoy family ghosts, walked calmly through the north wall. He shimmered gently into the room, becoming more solid and less transparent as he did so, and paused near Narcissa. 'Madam,' he said, 'There are guests downstairs.'
Narcissa turned away from the fire and regarded him with startled eyes. 'Who is it?'
Anton cleared his transparent throat, and said, 'Molly and Arthur Weasley.'
Ron and Ginny looked at each other in horror. 'Mum and Dad?'
groaned Ron. 'I forgot they were coming!'
Out of a dream of dragons, Charlie Weasley woke suddenly, bolting upright in bed with a feeling of strange unease. Where this unease originated, he couldn't have said. It wasn't an anxiety born out of anything rational, but something was troubling him, niggling at the back of his mind, something, he knew, that would not let him rest until he had sorted it out.
'Damn it,' he swore softly, and swung his legs over the side of the bed, reaching for the clothes he had laid out to wear the next day (a habit ingrained in him by his well-organized mother) and put them on hastily. Then he grabbed up his wand from the table next to his bed and, murmuring, 'Lumos,' ducked out of his tent.
Charlie followed his wandlight through the camp, dark and silent at this hour, past this last of the tents and out to the dragon pen. It was quiet, but a faint flutter of unease stirred in Charlie's stomach.
Dragons slept standing up, eyes closed, heads leaning together. And they should have been asleep at this hour, the enclosure that held them silent and dark, but instead it was awash in faint bronze light -
the light reflected from the open eyes of the eight or so dragons who stood awake in the center of the pen.
Charlie moved as close as he could to the wall of magical wards that enclosed the pen, and stared. Through its faint shimmer, like heat haze, he could see into the enclosure.
His heart contracted.
There was someone inside the dragon pen.
