Whether he knew yet that Harry was caught. . . .

The emaciated figure stirred beneath its thin blanket and rolled over toward him,

Eyes opening in a skull of a face. . . . The frail man sat up, great sunken eyes fixed upon

Him, upon Voldemort, and then he smiled. Most of his teeth were gone. . . .

“So, you have come. I thought you would . . . one day. But your journey was

pointless. I never had it.”

“You lie!”

As Voldemort’s anger throbbed inside him, Harry’s scar threatened to burst with

Pain, and he wrenched his mind back to his own body, fighting to remain present as the

Prisoners were pushed over gravel.

Light spilled out over all of them.

“What is this?” said a woman’s cold voice.

“We’re here to see He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!” rasped Greyback.

“Who are you?”

“You know me!” There was resentment in the werewolf’s voice. “Fenrit

Greyback! We’ve caught Harry Potter!”

Greyback seized Harry and dragged him around to face the light, forcing the other

Prisoners to shuffle around too.

“I know ‘es swollen, ma’am, but it’s ‘im!” piped up Scabior. “If you look a bit

closer, you’ll see ‘is scar. And this ‘ere, see the girl? The Mudblood who’s been traveling

around with ‘im, ma’am. There’s no doubt it’s ‘im, and we’ve got ‘is wand as well! ‘Ere,

ma’am –“

Through his puffy eyelids Harry saw Narcissa Malfoy scrutinizing his swollen

Face. Scabior thrust the blackthorn wand at her. She raised her eyebrows.

“Bring them in,” she said.

Harry and the others were shoved and kicked up broad stone steps into a hallway

Lined with portraits.

“Follow me,” said Narcissa, leading the way across the hall. “My son, Draco, is

home for his Easter holidays. If that is Harry Potter, he will know.”

The drawing room dazzled after the darkness outside; even with his eyes almost

Closed Harry could make out the wide proportions of the room. A crystal chandelier hung

From the ceiling, more portraits against the dark purple walls. Two figures rose from

Chairs in front of an ornate marble fireplace as the prisoners were forced into the room by

The Snatchers.

“What is this?”

The dreadfully familiar, drawling voice of Lucius Malfoy fell on Harry’s ears. He

Was panicking now. He could see no way out, and it was easier, as his fear mounted, to

block out Voldemort’s thoughts, though his scar was still burning.

“They say they’ve got Potter,” said Narcissa’s cold voice. “Draco, come here.”

Harry did not dare look directly at Draco, but saw him obliquely; a figure slightly

Taller than he was, rising from an armchair, his face a pale and pointed blur beneath

White-blond hair.

Greyback forced the prisoners to turn again so as to place Harry directly beneath

The chandelier.

“Well, boy?” rasped the werewolf.

Harry was facing a mirror over the fireplace, a great gilded thing in an intricately

Scrolled frame. Through the slits of his eyes he saw his own reflection for the first time

Since leaving Grimmauld Place.

His face was huge, shiny, and pink, every feature distorted by Hermione’s jinx.

His black hair reached his shoulders and there was a dark shadow around his jaw. Had he

Not known that it was he who stood there, he would have wondered who was wearing his

Date: 2015-12-11; view: 733