"You have to do something. It'll mean points if the teachers find out. And we're in the lead this year," she pleaded.
"Out of my way." Draco threw his room door open, catching one slow-to-move sixth year in the foot and not giving a damn about it. He started stalking towards the Common Room exit, but then paused to glare at Carmen. "You will stop your snivelling," he ordered.
A Slytherin did not appear in front of the rest of the school in hysterics. Carmen raised large, wet, trembling eyes at him. That too, reminded him of Hermione. Draco seriously contemplated finding a bag and making Carmen wear it over her head.
"I'm sorry. It's just that it's my fault he did this. He likes me you see, and wellI'm always horrid to him."
What she meant to say was that they were always horrid to him. Carmen, Draco and the rest of Slytherin House.
If Dodders got squished to death on the Pitch that morning, it would be all their faults.
Draco felt like throwing up his hands. Carmen happened to be a Slytherin with a conscience.
Oh, yes he knew exactly what that felt like.
Chapter Twenty-Four
When you' ve seen one dungeon, you' ve seen 'em all, was Tonks' estimation of her current digs.
There was the pre-requisite darkness, the dank, chilly stone walls with water dripping down a gaping crack or two, rusted iron bars on the small, slanted window just beneath the ceiling, enormous rotting wooden doors that might have given a troll problems and the odd, weirdo dungeon employee.
The employee's name was not 'Igor' or anything so cliched. It was, in fact, Bob, and was quite disappointing in its ordinariness.
Tonks figured that she had only been unconscious for about six hours or so, judging from the early sunlight that came through the tiny window. In the short space of time since she had awakened, she had come to the conclusion that Bob was probably a wannabe Death Eater who didn't quite have the mental credits required for field work.
He wasn't answering any of her questions. Given her current circumstances, all she could do was engage in a bit of strategic taunting.
"You' re a pretty one," said Bob, as he pushed a wooden bowl of broth through the slot at the bottom of the door.
She suspected it was Bob who had stripped her off her Auror uniform and put her into the sackcloth shift she was now wearing. Now that was forward planning. Her captors were obviously eager for her to experience the full dungeon-prisoner package immediately.
"Thanks." Tonks picked up the bowl and before Bob had the chance to move away, she pushed it through the second slot at the top of the door, emptying the lukewarm contents of the bowl over Bob's bald head. Pity the food wasn't scalding hot.
"You bitch! You wait 'til I get my hands on you!" was the predictable response.
Tonks let a few seconds pass. She even tapped her foot on the floor. There was a scuffling noise on the other side of the door, followed by mumbled curses and then footsteps. Tonks counted eight footfalls until Bob presumably reached the dungeon exit and left through another door.
Eight steps were not so very far to freedom. She filed that bit of information away.
"Who is holding me here? Where's Bligh?!" she demanded, again. It was important to know if there were other Bobs in the vicinity. "He'd better be alive!"
Tonks kicked at the door in frustration. It appeared that she was well and truly alone. Her foot throbbed, but the pain alleviated some of her nervousness. She had managed to catch a glimpse of the Hogwarts student that had assissted Fake-Draco by knocking her out.
She wasn't scared.
Yet.
**
At the most basic level, bludgers were charmed bits of leather, sand and cotton stuffing, be-spelled to target Quidditch players during a game.
The charms used were not unlike those utilized on the Snitch, enabling it to continually avoid capture. This was minor, mechanical magic and it was common knowledge that the spells used had the potential to become corrupted after a period of time. Which was why Madam Hooch insisted on servicing all of the School's Quidditch equipment at least once a year, for the safety of her players.
In the absence of more precise programming, the bludgers would hone in on anything that moved on the pitch. In previous years, it was not unusual to find squashed rodents and sometimes birds, flattened into the sand. It was also not unusual