But Harry was still too angry to see much humor in the situation, and after a while Ron’s snorts subsided.

“Ginny came in to visit while you were unconscious,” he said, after a long pause, and Harry’s imagination zoomed into overdrive, rapidly constructing a scene in which Ginny, weeping over his lifeless form, confessed her feelings of deep attraction to him while Ron gave them his blessing… “She reckons you only just arrived on time for the match. How come? You left here early enough.”

“Oh…” said Harry, as the scene in his mind’s eye imploded. “Yeah… well, I saw Malfoy sneaking off with a couple of girls who didn’t look like they wanted to be with him, and that’s the second time he’s made sure he isn’t down on the Quidditch pitch with the rest of the school; he skipped the last match too, remember?” Harry sighed. “Wish I’d followed him now, the match was such a fiasco…”

“Don’t be stupid,” said Ron sharply. “You couldn’t have missed a Quidditch match just to follow Malfoy, you’re the Captain!”

“I want to know what he’s up to,” said Harry. “And don’t tell me it’s all in my head, not after what I overheard between him and Snape—”

“I never said it was all in your head,” said Ron, hoisting himself up on an elbow in turn and frowning at Harry, “but there’s no rule saying only one person at a time can be plotting anything in this place! You’re getting a bit obsessed with Malfoy, Harry. I mean, thinking about missing a match just to follow him…”

“I want to catch him at it!” said Harry in frustration. “I mean, where’s he going when he disappears off the map?”

“I dunno… Hogsmeade?” suggested Ron, yawning.

“I’ve never seen him going along any of the secret passageway on the map. I thought they were being watched now anyway?”

“Well then, I dunno,” said Ron.

Silence fell between them. Harry stared up at the circle of lamp light above him, thinking…

If only he had Rufus Scrimgeour’s power, he would have been able to set a tail upon Malfoy, but unfortunately Harry did not have an office full of Aurors at his command… He thought fleetingly of trying to set something up with the D.A., but there again was the problem that people would be missed from lessons; most of them, after all, still had full schedules…

There was a low, rumbling snore from Ron’s bed. After a while Madam Pomfrey came out of her office, this time wearing a thick dressing gown. It was easiest to feign sleep; Harry rolled over onto his side and listened to all the curtains closing themselves as she waved her wand. The lamps dimmed, and she returned to her office; he heard the door click behind her and knew that she was off to bed.

This was, Harry reflected in the darkness, the third time that he had been brought to the hospital wing because of a Quidditch injury. Last time he had fallen off his broom due to the presence of Dementors around the pitch, and the time before that, all the bones had been removed from his arm by the incurably inept Professor Lockhart… That had been his most painful injury by far… he remembered the agony of regrowing an armful of bones in one night, a discomfort not eased by the arrival of an unexpected visitor in the middle of the—

Harry sat bolt upright, his heart pounding, his bandage turban askew. He had the solution at last: There was a way to have Malfoy followed—how could he have forgotten, why hadn’t he thought of it before?

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She bustled back into her office, and Harry sank back into his pillows, fuming.	\|	But the question was, how to call him? What did you do? Quietly, tentatively, Harry spoke into the darkness.

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