Draco landed on a hard stone floor with enough force that he lurched forward into Harry, whose jacket he was still clutching. He let go and staggered back into an upright position, glancing around nervously.
They were in Lupin's office. Dust motes danced in the shaft of light that spilled in through the half-open windows, illuminating the desk piled with books, the chair pulled to the fireplace which was empty and cold. He glanced at Harry, who looked slightly dazed. 'Put the Portkey back and let's go,' Draco whispered urgently.
Harry dropped the box onto the table, but as he did so, there was a faint noise — Draco turned and saw that the handle on the office door was turning slowly, slowly -
Harry had gone white, and was staring at the door. My cloak — it's back in your room!
Draco grabbed the back of Harry's jacket again, and yanked him towards the fireplace. He pointed his left hand at the empty grate and muttered Incendio! Blue-white flames instantly wreathed the logs there; Harry, realizing what Draco was trying to do, grabbed the box of Floo Powder that rested on the mantel, and threw a liberal handful in. He leaped after the powder just as the door opened, and Draco followed him, grabbing onto Harry's jacket again so they wouldn't be separated. He heard Harry yell a destination as the powder spun them away, or at least he assumed that's what Harry was shouting — he couldn't tell. Other fireplace grates flashed by, some lit and some dark, and then the whirling forward propulsion of the Floo magic spat them both out like objects hurled from a catapult. They rolled across a painfully hard stone floor, finally fetching up against something hard. Draco heard Harry yell in pain. who lay sprawled on the ground in a pitifully coughing heap. Draco raised his head slowly, blinking away dizziness, and saw Harry looking back at him; Harry was covered with soot, his shirt and jeans blackened in long streaks, his hair matted with dust.
'You all right?' Draco asked, propping himself painfully on his elbows.
'I'm fine,' Harry said, still coughing, 'get your bloody leg off mine — ow!'
'Stop shoving,' Draco replied irritably. 'And stop waving your arms around — you're getting soot in my eyes.'
'Well, good morning,' came a bemused voice. 'Nice of you two to stop by.'
Both Draco and Harry whirled around and stared. Draco saw blue-jeaned legs first, then, as he trailed his eyes upwards, dark blue work robes, also dusted with soot, a pair of leather-gauntleted forearms, crossed over a broad chest, and a very disapproving face capped by a mop of bright red, instantly recognizable hair…
'Charlie,' said Harry weakly, and then succumbed to another coughing fit.
Draco rolled away from Harry and scrambled up to his knees, his eyes flicking around their surroundings. They were in Charlie's office — he recognized the bright Romanian embroidery on the walls, the bucket of dragon food, and, in its iron cage on the desk, the dragon itself, looking very annoyed indeed that its morning feed had been cruelly interrupted.
'I can explain…' Draco began.
Charlie shook his head. Draco could see reflected in the mirror behind him exactly what Charlie was seeing — both boys covered in soot, Draco's hair black with it, their faces streaked, their boots muddy, both in Muggle clothes, both looking very guilty indeed. 'You know what?' Charlie remarked in the general direction of the ceiling. 'I don't want to know. I don't even want to know.'
'Ron, eat something,' Hermione said irritably, 'you're giving me a headache, picking like that.'
Ginny glanced over at her brother, who was indeed picking halfheartedly at his cold beans on toast. He also looked tired and slightly woebegone, his eyes darkly shadowed, his mouth downturned. 'Pre-game nerves?' she asked curiously; Ron was rarely, if ever, significantly nervous before a game.
'Stomach ache,' he said briefly, and looked up. 'Where is Harry?'
'He wasn't there this morning,' said Seamus helpfully, and immediately all eyes turned to Hermione, who blushed the color of Ron's hair.
'I haven't seen him either,' she said quickly, 'he must have had an errand to run before breakfast or something.'
'Well, if he doesn't show up for the game, I'll skin him alive,' said Ron, looking mildly thunderous. 'It's not like anyone could be a reserve Seeker…'
'I bet Ginny could do it, she's fast enough,' said Seamus equably, 'and then we'd just need someone as Chaser — Parvati, didn't you Chase fifth year?'
Parvati looked down the table at Seamus and sniffed. 'Jean-Yves would never let me do that now,' she said, referring to the son of the French Minister of Magic, whom Parvati had been dating for nearly two years. In September, he had given her a sapphire ring the size of a pigeon egg, sparking much speculation among the Gryffindor girls. 'He thinks Quidditch is unfeminine.'
'And we think his accent is unbelievably girly, but do we say so?' asked Ron, rolled his eyes, and went back to picking at his bacon. 'Honestly, what the hell is up with…'
'Harry!' said Hermione, dropping her fork with a clang. Ginny twisted in around in her seat to see that Harry had indeed arrived, late, at the breakfast table. He flopped down in the seat next to Hermione, who was staring at him in amazement. Ginny found herself staring too: Harry was filthy. His normally jet-black hair was powdered even blacker with soot, and streaks of soot decorated his nose, cheeks, and chin. His clothes were a disaster, and when he reached for the pumpkin juice, Ginny saw that his fingernails were gray with dirt. 'Harry,' said Hermione in disbelief. 'What happened to you?'
Ron's eyebrows had shot up to his forehead. 'Let me guess,' he said, looking Harry up and down. 'You may be a tiny chimney sweep, but you've got an enormous…'
'Appetite,' said Harry cheerfully, grabbing for a plate of eggs and shoveling them onto his plate. 'I'm starving.'
They all stared at him in amazement. It had been months since Harry had done much more than pick at food during mealtimes. 'Harry dear,' said Hermione, making an evident effort to sound patient, 'is there any particular reason why you're so…'
'So what?' Harry asked, glancing up and grinning. His teeth looked very white against all the black dirt smeared across his face.
'Dirty,' said Hermione, with finality.
Harry looked at her for a second. Then he leaned across the table and kissed her soundly on the cheek. When he drew back, there was an enormous sooty mark on the side of her face, and her eyes were bright with surprise.
'Hermione,' said Harry firmly, 'just don't worry about it, okay?' He flopped back down in his seat, and attacked a slice of bread and butter with vigor. Hermione looked at him, shook her head, and hid a smile.
'It's good to see you eating, Harry,' said Ginny, eyeing the Boy Who Lived as curiously as everyone else now was, 'especially with the game coming up.'
'Although I hope you wash up beforehand,' said Ron, looking dubiously at Harry's filthy appearance. 'The way you look at the moment, the Slytherins will be laughing too hard to play, and we'll forfeit.'
'Hmm,' said Seamus, leaning over to get at the butter dish, 'you mean this soot business isn't meant to be a clever attempt at camouflage, Harry?
I thought maybe it was a new strategy we were working on.'
'Ah, you're all so amusing,' said Harry, who had moved on to the bacon.
'That famous Gryffindor humor I'm always hearing about…oh, wait, no I'm not.'
'Home of the brave, Harry,' said Seamus, waving his fork. 'Not the witty.
We're just the cannon fodder. 'Slowing down evil by getting in the way.''
'Now there's a winning attitude,' remarked Ron. 'Note to self: Do not put Seamus in charge of pre-game pep talk.'
Ginny giggled, and Seamus looked over at her and then looked away without smiling, and she felt an unexpected pang. She glanced down sadly at her toast. Seamus…he was so nice and so sweet and she had treated him so horrifically badly. And he didn't even know it, not really.
When she looked up again, she saw to her surprise that Harry had paused with his fork halfway to his mouth, and was looking over at the Slytherin table. Draco was standing there, next to Blaise, and while he was not nearly as dirty as Harry, Ginny could see that his robes, too, were streaked with soot. He was looking over Blaise's
