Pointed brown teeth and sores in the corners of his mouth. Greyback smelled as he had

done at the top of the tower where Dumbledore had died: of dirt, sweat, and blood.

"So you aren't wanted, then, Vernon? Or are you on that list under a different

name? What house were you in at Hogwarts?"

"Slytherin," said Harry automatically.

"Funny 'ow they all thinks we wants to 'ear that." leered Scabior out of the

shadows. "But none of 'em can tell us where the common room is."

"It's in the dungeons." said Harry clearly. "You enter through the wall. It's full of

skulls and stuff and its under the lake, so the light's all green,"

There was a short pause.

"Well, well, looks like we really 'ave caught a little Slytherin." said Scabior.

"Good for you, Vernon, 'cause there ain't a lot of Mudblood Slytherins. Who's your

father?"

"He works at the Ministry," Harry lied. He knew that his whole story would

Collapse with the smallest investigation, but on the other hand, he only had until his face

regained its usual appearance before the game was up in any case. "Department of

Magical Accidents and Catastrophes."

"You know what, Greyback," said Scabior. "I think there is a Dudley in there."

Harry could barely breathe: Could luck, sheer luck, get them safely out of this?

"Well, well." said Greyback, and Harry could hear the tiniest note of trepidation

In that callous voice, and knew that Greyback was wondering whether he had just indeed

just attacked and bound the son of a Ministry Official. Harry's heart was pounding against

The ropes around his ribs; he would not have been surprised to know that Greyback could

see it. "If you're telling the truth, ugly, you've got nothing to fear from a trip to the

Ministry. I expect your father'll reward us just for picking you up."

"But," said Harry, his mouth bone dry, "if you just let us -"

"Hey!" came a shout from inside the tent. "Look at this. Greyback!"

A dark figure came bustling toward them, and Harry saw a glint of silver to the

light of their wands. They had found Gryffindor's sword.

"Ve-e-ery nice," said Greyback appreciatively, taking it from his companion. "Oh,

very nice indeed. Looks goblin-made, that. Where did you get something like this?"

"It's my father's," Harry lied, hoping against hope that it was too dark for

Greyback to see the name etched just below the hilt. "We borrowed it to cut firewood -"

"'ang on a minute, Greyback! Look at this, in the Prophet!"

As Scabior said it, Harry's scar, which was stretched tight across his distended

Forehead, burned savagely. More clearly than he could make out anything around him, he

saw a towering building, a grim fortress, jet-black and forbidding: Voldemort's thoughts

Had suddenly become Razor-Sharp again; he was gliding toward the gigantic building

With a sense of calmly euphoric purpose . . .

So close . . . So close . . .

With a huge effort of will Harry closed his mind to Voldemort's thoughts, pulling himself

Back to where he sat, tied to Ron, Hermione, Dean, and Griphook in the darkness,

Date: 2015-12-11; view: 626