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"Why?" said Harry.

"On the walls? Dragon," shouted the wizard called Horace, as, with a deafening grinding and tinkling, the chandelier screwed itself back into the ceiling.

"Then you ought to hold your tongue!" snarled Bellatrix. "Particularly in present company!"

"Er," said the Prime Minister, "listen... Its not a very good time for me... I'm waiting for a telephone call, you see... from the President of--"

"Kreacher wont, Kreacher won't, Kreacher wont!" croaked the house-elf, quite as loudly as Uncle Vernon, stamping his long, gnarled feet and pulling his ears. "K readier belongs to Miss Bellatrix, oh yes, Kreacher belongs to the Blacks, Kreacher wants his new mistress, Kreacher won't go to the Potter brat, Kreacher won't, won't, wont —"

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"It's very good already," said Ron in a strangled sort of voice. Fleur smiled at him; Hermione scowled.

A large trunk stood in the very middle of the room. Its lid was open; it looked expectant; yet it was almost empty but for a residue of old underwear, sweets, empty ink bottles, and broken quills that coated the very bottom. Nearby, on the floor, lay a purple leaflet emblazoned with the words:

"My apologies," said Snape. "He has lately taken to listening at doors, I don't know what he means by it... You were saying, Narcissa?"

"Aren't you listening, Narcissa? Oh, he'll try, I'm sure. . . . The usual empty words, the usual slithering out of action . . . oh, on the Dark Lord's orders, of course!"

He heaved a great sigh that made the ends of his mustache flutter.

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"Us — mistreat Dudders? What d'you — ?" began Uncle Vernon furiously, but Dumbledore raised his ringer for silence, a silence which fell as though he had struck Uncle Vernon dumb.

"But - it must've been an accident, mustn't it?" said Hermione.

"I didn't. . ." Harry began, not entirely sure whether he was being reprimanded or not.

Pigwidgeon was once again hidden under Rons dress robes to stop him from hooting continually; Hedwig was dozing, her head under her wing, and Crookshanks was curled up in a spare seat like a large, furry ginger cushion. Harry, Ron, and Hermione talked more fully and freely than they had all week as the train sped them southward. Harry felt as though Dumbledore's speech at the Leaving Feast had unblocked him, somehow. It was less painful to discuss what had happened now. They broke off their conversation about what action Dumbledore might be taking, even now, to stop Voldemort only when the lunch trolley arrived.

"Losing who?"

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"Won't, won't, won’t, won't —"

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"Bellatrix," he replied, his thin mouth curling into a slightly mocking smile as he closed the door with a snap behind them.

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There was a moment's silence. Bellatrix watched, her wand upon their clasped hands, her eyes wide.

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"Wand out and follow me, Harry," he said quietly.,

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"You should be proud!" said Bellatrix ruthlessly. "If I had sons, I would be glad to give them up to the service of the Dark Lord!";

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