I Beg Your Pardon, Potter?

Chapter 53

"I'm not too worried," Ron said. Hermione had been gone for twenty minutes by now and Ron had taken this as a sign that they should spike their butterbeer with firewhisky. Not that he would strictly say that Hermione was the rule enforcer of the group, but with her gone, it seemed an easier topic to bring up with the other two. "'Mione'll find a way."

"And if she doesn't," Pansy said. "We can always take the Honeyduke's passageway."

"Somehow," Blaise said.

"When Harry and Draco get back," said Pansy. "They'll have the invisibility cloak."

"Good point."

"I know," she said. "I'm full of good points." She was also, Ron noticed, rather on edge. Her hand was gripping her butterbeer flagon a little too tightly. It was a feeling he understood. He was just trying to keep a brave face up in front of the two of them, but a large part of him - a rather larger part than he would have liked - was convinced that Harry and Draco weren't coming back from Malfoy Manor. Hence, the firewhisky spiked butterbeer.

He looked at his watch. It was nearing two now. He didn't know what time the Malfoy family usually had Christmas lunch - was Christmas lunch even a thing? Wasn't it supposed to be dinner? - or how long it might last. Perhaps he should stop checking his watch every five minutes. But what else was there to do?

"So, Quidditch," he said after an indeterminate amount of time.

"No," Pansy said firmly. "I would much rather discuss the proper way to make a Victoria sponge."

"Make sure not to over-mix it," Ron said.

"What about the jam to cake ratio?"

"Oh good grief, you two," Blaise said. "I don't want to talk about ruddy cakes."

"Well you've hardly come up with a conversation topic," Pansy said. Luckily, they were saved further awkwardness by Hermione jumping down from the portrait of the young girl again. She sat down next to Blaise and peered at her flagon of butterbeer.

"I see someone's gotten me another," she said.

"Ron's idea," Blaise said.

"Thank you, Ron," Hermione said. She picked up her butterbeer and took a sip. "Mm, and you've added fire whisky, I see." Ron chewed on his lip, not looking at her. "Delicious. And perfect for a chilly Christmas Day." Ron let out the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.

"So you're not upset?"

"Upset? Why would I be upset?"

"We spiked your butterbeer."

"So? It's Christmas."

...

It was as Harry had feared. As they were making their way down to the dining room (presumably, Harry was just following Draco), Harry's scar seared. He gritted his teeth and fought against slapping a hand to his forehead. He didn't want anyone to think that anything was amiss. Pansy didn't have a scar, so he had to pretend that he didn't either. Plus, he figured, he should raise his Occlumens shields. He took a moment to concentrate on brick walls and happy things that had nothing to do with the Dark Lord.

After a moment, the pain lessened to a dull ache. He could deal with that. He wondered what had happened to make it hurt so much in the first place and almost stopped walking when he thought it might be that Voldemort had discovered that the horcrux had been replaced. He reached out and clutched at Draco's hand. Draco glanced at him briefly, but didn't drop his hand.

"Everything alright?" Draco asked under his breath.

"He's here," Harry said.

"How do you-?"