94Chapter 2: Turrim Victoria
Blow, Ill wind, blow away. Let me rest today. You're blowing me no good. No good.
-Billie Holiday
"Harry, are you well?" Ginny asked, as they gathered their things and he pulled open the compartment door.
"Yeah, I'm fine, Gin. I guess I was more tired than I thought." He shrugged.
"And your scar isn't hurting? I didn't know that was a thing."
"Not any more. Hermione and Ron just worry too much. It's just a little headache. It's probably because I'm hungry. Let's go."
He followed her from the compartment. He noticed that the door to Draco's compartment was still closed with the shade drawn. He paused, reaching for the latch.
"Are you there, Draco?" Harry called from the other side of the door.
"What are you—his mother?" Blaise scowled, approaching from a nearby compartment, pushing past him and shoving Ginny aside as he made his way out.
"I beg your pardon!" Ginny drew her wand.
"Leave him be, Ginny," said Harry, grabbing her arm.
"What?" She spun around and stared at him incredulously.
"I doubt Molly and Arthur would be pleased that you engaged a duel on the platform. You don't want detention before even the Sorting could take place."
"Did you not see what he just did?" she exclaimed.
"I did. I'm only saying that now is not the time to address the issue. Why don't you go on ahead? I'll meet you at the carriages." He turned back to compartment and slid open the door, missing the glare that she shot him before she stormed down the corridor to the exit.
Draco sat hunched over with his face in his hands, sniffling quietly. His neat ponytail was now disheveled and his usually impeccable appearance was anything but. Harry cautiously approached him.
"Draco?" He tentatively placed a hand on the Slytherin's shoulder, and the blond recoiled.
"No!" he gasped, his eyes flying open.
"Draco, it's me, Harry. What's going on? Are you alright?"
"My gods, Potter! Don't sneak up on people like that!" he snapped, pushing himself unsteadily to his feet. "I'm fine." He summoned his wand and straightened his tie.
"You look ill, should I summon Madam Pomfrey?"
"Oh, sod off! I didn't ask for your help, Potter."
"Draco—"
"I said leave me alone!" He shoved Harry ineffectually, causing himself to stumble, and unsuccessfully reached for the luggage rack to keep from falling. Harry caught him, pulling him awkwardly close. Draco looked at him strangely, before he staggered out of the compartment. Harry stood a moment, staring after him, and finally left the train himself.
A strong and unusual gust of wind greeted Harry as he disembarked the car. He waved to Hagrid who was busy herding First Years towards the boats. The strange wind startled the eleven-year-olds, who hung back after Hagrid grabbed the cloak of one boy to keep him from falling into the water when the boat he was about to step into suddenly heaved away in the strong current that the wind generated. Harry himself was pushed against the train car.
He straightened himself up and scanned the crowds, looking for his friends, when his gaze landed on a figure leaning against the wall of the station, quietly observing the milling students. The wizard's face came into view as a cloud shrouding the moon drifted away with the wind. He had an aristocratic bearing; tall, well-built and darkly handsome, with lustrous black hair and fair skin. His startlingly striking features gave Harry pause.
"Sirius?" he breathed. His throat felt constricted. No. What was he thinking? Of course it wasn't Sirius. He was far too young—in fact, young enough to be a student, but he was in no hurry to board any of the carriages headed towards the castle. His eyes were blue, startlingly so, not the silver that was characteristic of members of the House of Black. Harry was jostled back to the moment by the moving crowd, and turned his attention once more to the carriages, making a dash for the final coach. He looked back as he boarded, but the other wizard had disappeared.
Harry was startled to find Draco alone in the carriage, a dazed expression on his face as he leaned pitifully against the wall of the cab. Harry said nothing as the carriage began to move. Soon, the grand castle came into view and Harry let out a peaceful sigh. The grounds and structure showed little evidence of the horrendous battle that had taken place. The original structure had been restored, but Harry noticed a new, grand turret rising above the seventh floor, opposite the Turris Magnus, overlooking the viaduct and the Black Lake beyond. There were tall, glittering windows just below the battlement, the stained glass turning the lights emanating from within to amazing veil of color. From the distance, Harry couldn't be sure what scenes were depicted, but he could clearly make out significant colors representing each house. This must be the Victory Tower that Harry had overheard Kingsley and Professor McGonagall speaking of during the last meeting of the Order of the Phoenix.
The members, along with Hogsmeade residents and volunteers from all over the country, had worked tirelessly to repair and restore the castle in time for the coming school term. Curse-breakers from Gringotts Bank had volunteered, along with Unspeakables from the Department of Mysteries to ensure that the structure was safe, working under a shroud of secrecy and dark of night to rid the castle of dark magic. The new tower, however, was completed in total secrecy. No volunteers were involved in its construction, and only the headmistress and Minister knew all of the magic involved in its creation. Harry smiled in appreciation as his first true home loomed larger and larger as they approached. Draco's eyes were closed when the carriage finally arrived in front of the castle.
"Malfoy." Harry leaned forward to push open the door. "Draco," he said, touching his knee. The Slytherin stirred, but did not open his eyes. "Draco!" Harry said, more firmly and loudly this time. Draco winced, squeezing his eyes tightly before opening them.
"Fucking hell, Potter!" He glared at Harry. "You needn't shout!"
"I didn't—never mind! We're at the castle. C'mon." Harry stepped out of the carriage.
Draco squeezed his eyes closed once more. His stomach was roiling and his head was pounding so painfully, he felt as if he was being pelted by bludgers. He slowly slid to the edge of the bench and carefully stepped from the carriage, holding tightly to the door. The light spilling from the Entrance Hall only intensified the sharp pain he was experiencing. He took a deep breath and trudged slowly into the castle, reluctantly joining the noisy throng of students making their way into the Great Hall.
"Draco! There you are! Join us!" He squinted and made out the blurry countenance of Pansy Parkinson, seated with Daphne and Astoria Greengrass and Yatin Bhagat. He moved haltingly in their direction, slumping onto the bench between Yatin and Isaac Blishwick.
"Merlin! You look terrible!" Pansy remarked.
"Headache." Draco rested his chin on his hand, closing his eyes once more as the First Years were led in by Hagrid.
"Is he drunk?" Dean Thomas whispered to Harry as the Sorting began. Harry craned his neck to look at Draco, sitting at the Slytherin table. His eyes were closed again, and his face appeared paler than normal.
"He's not drunk, but something isn't right," said Harry. "About halfway through the journey, I ran into him at the loo. He had a nasty cut on his lip, which he said he got when he lost his grip on his trunk."
"Right! Draco Malfoy? Do manual labor?" Ron scoffed.
"That's what I said." Harry nodded. "I swear he passed out in the carriage on the way up to the castle! Something happened to him."
"You think he got into a fight?" asked Neville. "Maybe someone assaulted him. I'm sure there's no shortage of students who'd like a bit of revenge."
"It doesn't make sense. Malfoy's a skilled duelist," said Harry.
"You can't be serious, Harry!" Ron hissed. "We've only just arrived!"
"What?"
"You're already stalking Malfoy! What are you, in love with him?" At this, Harry scowled at Ron, and his face flushed. His friends looked at him curiously. "Besides, a train compartment is too small for a duel, and we all know Malfoy sucks at hand-to-hand combat. Remember third year?" Ron held up his fists in a boxing stance and nodded towards Hermione, reminding Harry of the time that she broke Draco's nose after he mocked Hagrid. Harry nodded his concession, giving Draco another glance just as the last student, a girl named Alice Ziegfeld was sorted into Ravenclaw, and Professor McGonagall approached the podium in front of the staff table.
"Welcome new students. To our returning students, we are honoured that you have chosen to return. In the interest of time, I have only one announcement of significance, all other important announcements will be given by your head of house and posted in your common rooms. I am sure that you have all noticed the new tower upon your arrival. This magnificent turret is the Turrim Victoria—the Victory Tower. It will be the house of our advanced Seventh Year students. In the following years, it will serve as the home of our honor students—N.E.W.T. level students who achieve six or more owls at Exceeds Expectations or higher. Your head of house will be our new Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, Professor Emeka Onwachimba."
She gestured to a lean black man wearing traditional Igbo attire, consisting of a loose-fitting tunic over a draping fabric wrap that hung from his waist to near his ankles. His long dreadlocks were topped with a fez-type cap, set jauntily atop his head. An excited murmur rippled through the hall from the students.
"Now then, I shall therefore endeavor to make my remaining statement brief. To our First Years, you sit in the presence of veterans who fought and fell to defend the integrity of the wizarding world. In these halls, you will learn from those who will quench your thirst for knowledge and will encourage your curiosity of the unknown. You will make friends who are loyal, who will encourage you to be yourself in spite of what others may think of you. In these halls you will make some mistakes, but you will learn to face your fears, fight off demons on your own, and stand up for what you believe in. There is prejudice all around, but if you remember that everyone has feelings and never lose sight of the future that you want, anything can happen. You are the first of a new era at Hogwarts. You sit on hallowed ground and walk with spirits who know what it is to be loyal in every moment and believe that even in the darkest of times there is love, light and hope." She paused a moment as the students silently reflected on her statements. "And now, without further ado, let the feast commence!"
The tables filled with food and the students began to eat heartily, grateful for the meal after an exceptionally long day. Draco picked over his meal, pushing his food around his plate with little appetite.
"Draco, are you sure you aren't ill?" Pansy asked. Yatin and Isaac inched away from him, disinterested in catching any contagion that he might be carrying.
"I'll be fine once I get a little sleep," Draco replied. He took a sip of pumpkin juice, and his stomach lurched. He fought back the bile rising in his throat with a grimace. Why was the Hall so damned noisy? Had the start of term feast always been so boisterous?
"Father says he has decided to allow your name to remain on my short list of potential suitors," she said.
"That's great, Pansy," he replied listlessly.
"You don't sound particularly excited." Pansy gave him an irritated look.
"Can we discuss this later, please? I'm simply not up to it right now. I'd just like to get to the dormitory and lie down."
Draco was more than grateful when the prefects were instructed to lead the new students to the dormitories.
The advanced Seventh Year students let out gasps of wonder and surprise as they stepped through the ornately carved doors of Turrim Victoria and entered what appeared to be a museum of artefacts from the two Wizarding Wars. Among the exhibits, pedestals and display cases held such items as a towering white queen chess piece, sections of shed Basilisk skin, the broken remains of Harry's Nimbus 2000 broom, and a golden egg from the Tri-Wizard Tournament. There was a fake galleon from Dumbledore's army alongside Educational Decree Number twenty-four that was slightly singed about one edge, a badge that read "Weasley is our King!" alongside the snitch from the 1997 Quidditch Cup, and a set of tattered robes bearing a Gryffindor crest; a label inside featured the name "N. Longbottom" inked in. The accompanying plaque at the base of the display case noted that these were the same robes worn by Neville as he stood up to Lord Voldemort before slaying the great snake Nagini. All around the walls were portraits of those who contributed to the war effort or gave their lives in the course of defense. Quiet sniffles could be heard throughout the group as they spied friends and family members who were no longer with them.
They moved expeditiously through another set of doors at the opposite end of the hall and found themselves in a chamber with two concentric moving stairs. One set spiraled upwards, while a second moved in a spiral descent.
"Everyone please step on to access the common room," said Professor Onwachimba.
The stair spiraled smoothly up several stories to a semi-circular landing where they stepped off and passed through a portal inscribed with the phrase: Omnis bene est. Tutus requiem. Prope est dominus. (All is well. Safely Rest. The Master is nigh.) Another chorus of sighs and gasps erupted from the students as they assembled in the large common room and turned to gaze at the towering stained-glass windows flanking the fireplace, each one representing a different house. Against a golden background, stood Tonks, her pink hair framing her face as she pointed her wand to the sky. The next window had a magnificent, brilliant field of blue that framed Myrtle Warren, gazing forlornly at the amazed students. Emerald panes surrounded the stern expression of Severus Snape, his wand poised above a simmering potion. Ron sagged against Hermione, struggling to keep his breathing even, as he gazed up at the smiling image of his brother, Fred, astride his broom, with blazing fireworks exploding over his shoulder. All of the images turned to observe the gathering of students.
The room was luxuriously decorated with heraldry from each house floating below the domed ceiling. Comfortable chairs and sofas were arranged in intimate seating areas all around the room, interspersed with gaming tables for Exploding Snap and chess. The students immediately noted that each grouping contained representative colors of each house, ensuring that no area was specifically designated to a particular group. Just beyond the entrance, a metal stair against the wall ascended to an upper balcony that encircled the room where study tables and desks were set and bookcases lined the walls. There were also four entrances which led out to the tower's parapet.
"Welcome to Turrim Victoria, the Victory Tower, ladies and Gentlemen. I am your head of house as well as your Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, Professor Onwachimba. You may call me Professor O, if you like. I am an alumnus of Hogwarts School, class of 1989. I do recognize a few of your names, so it is likely that I attended a class or two with one or more of your relatives or siblings. He nodded at Ron. I will provide you a copy of my CV along with your syllabus, when you arrive in class this week. Our dormitories are arranged according to your house." An audible sigh of relief erupted from both Slytherins and Gryffindors. Onwachimba pursed his lips.
"Each house resides on a different level below the common room. Level One is Ravenclaw, Next up, on Level Two is Slytherin, Level Three is Gryffindor, and the Fourth Level, just below the common room, is Hufflepuff. To access your dormitory, simply tap your wand to the appropriate house shield as you step onto the staircase, and it will stop at that level. Men's dormitories are to the south on two floors and Ladies' dormitories are the same, to the north on each level. There are no passwords to enter the dormitories; it is up to each student to secure his or her living space. There are two entrances to the tower. The main entrance will take you through the museum. There is a secondary entrance from the seventh floor corridor, just past the dungeons staircase. The password is Valebit Gratia. It will work on both entrances." He paused a moment, to allow the students to commit the information to memory before continuing.
"As you can see, our common room is designed to foster unity, rather than division. Many of you are veterans of the Battle, and as such, you will be looked upon to provide an example to the other students. This new Hogwarts lives in a society that is recognizing peace for the first time in more than half a century. This house celebrates an age of harmony, and you have been given the privilege of residing in this house because of your dedication to our school.
As you are of age, The Headmistress and Board of Governors have granted you a certain amount of dispensation. You will notice that Turrim Victoria has no prefects, although your Head Boy and Head Girl do hold authority here. This house does not compete for the house cup. Your positive deeds will be awarded to your original house. Likewise, any inappropriate behavior will cost said house points. All residents of this tower are still subject to curfew."
A general chorus of groans went up around the room.
"After Hours will commence at midnight." He raised his voice to be heard above the din. The murmurs of complaint began to quiet with this news. "Additionally, Advanced Seventh Years are extended the privilege of weekly access to Hogsmeade Village, commencing on Friday evenings at six, Saturdays and Sundays at nine a.m. Please note, that the gates are closed and secured at eleven p.m. each night. Any student in violation of this curfew is subject to a loss of said privilege for a determined amount of time following the first offence. Subsequent curfew violations include deduction of 100 points or more from one's house and detention up to exclusion from school. Also, alcoholic beverages may not be brought onto castle grounds at any time, and students may not purchase said beverages for any underage student during regularly scheduled Hogsmeade weekends. Are there any questions?" Although a soft murmur sounded around the room, no one spoke up. "Right then, Madam Hooch has asked me to inform any Quidditch team members and captains that there will be a general meeting on Sunday morning, following breakfast. That is all that I have for the moment. It is late. I suggest you each get a good night's rest. You will find your names on a plaque beside your assigned room door. Good evening to you all."
Harry and Hermione hung back with Ron, who continued to stare at the laughing image of Fred, soaring through a red sky.
"It's just—it's so amazing! I have to show this to Ginny!" he murmured, a tear slipping down his cheek.
"Did you know about any of this, Harry?" Hermione asked.
"No, nothing. Not even the museum. I didn't even know that my broom had been salvaged. I was certain that I tossed it out."
"Well, I'm glad the windows don't speak, I'd rather go back to live in Gryffindor Tower before I have to endure Myrtle and Snape commenting on my every move," said Ron. Harry noticed that the late Potions Master seemed to scowl even deeper as he looked down upon them. Harry suppressed a grin.
"I suppose we should go find our quarters," Hermione suggested. He turned away as she and Ron embraced, knowing what was next to come, and noticed that Draco was slumped in a chair in the corner.
"Hey, Malfoy, why don't you turn in?" he said. The other wizard did not move. "Malfoy? Hey, Draco, wake up." Harry crossed to him, giving his shoulder a nudge. Draco's head listed to the side, and Harry noticed a thin trickle of blood at his ear.
"You haven't even been here a day!" Minerva McGonagall exclaimed. "And already I am summoned to the hospital wing! How did this happen, and who is responsible?"
"Headmistress, to be perfectly fair, Hermione and Ron were unaware that anything was amiss." Harry went on to explain his encounter with Draco on the Express.
"So you have no idea what or who may have contributed to Mr. Malfoy's condition?"
"No, ma'am."
"But you are certain that he had been injured?"
"He had a distinct bruise to his face and a cut on his lip when I encountered him at the W.C. However, it was gone by the time I boarded the carriage and discovered him there. I assumed that he had healed it," said Harry.
"And neither you, nor Mr. Weasley noticed anything out of the ordinary, Miss Granger?" she asked. Hermione shook her head.
"No one reported any disturbances during the journey."
Madam Pomfrey emerged from behind the curtain that shrouded Draco's bed, her expression grim. The students and headmistress turned to her expectantly.
"His skull is fractured, just here." She pointed to a spot at the base of the crown. "And he has a concussion. There's swelling at the point of injury, which is worrisome. He'll have to remain here for a few days. I managed to bring him around with a reviving spell long enough to get some Wideye Potion into him. That will help alleviate the effects of the concussion. I've placed him under a Rigor Habitus spell to keep him from moving too much and doing further damage. You say this happened on the train?" she asked.
"Yes ma'am."
"Then why wasn't he brought to me immediately?"
"He refused to come," replied Harry.
"And when you encountered Mr. Malfoy at the lavatory, he told you that he'd mishandled his trunk."
"Yes, Professor."
"That doesn't make sense, Minerva," said Madam Pomfrey, pulling her aside and lowering her voice. "If he'd mishandled his trunk, the injury would only have been to his forehead or his face. Malfoy could only have suffered an injury such as this, from being struck with an object or falling forcefully backward against something solid, either having been pushed or subjected to a spell that propelled him backwards."
"Well, could he not have fallen when the trunk slipped?"
"Perhaps, but I would still expect greater damage to the front of his head, than what Potter described." She leaned close to whisper in McGonagall's ear. "You should know that he also bears distinct welts on his chest, perhaps the result of a stinging jinx. Someone has assaulted this young man!"
The headmistress pursed her lips and let out a sigh.
"Keep me apprised of his condition please, Poppy." She turned to Harry, Ron and Hermione. "You three may go now. Please do not discuss this matter with anyone."
"Yes, Professor," the trio chorused. Professor McGonagall nodded towards the door, and they exited.
"Who do you think could have done that?" asked Ron, as they rode the staircase to the Gryffindor landing.
"Who knows? Malfoy made a lot of enemies during the war. Any number of people could blame him for what happened to their families."
"But why now?" Hermione mused. "Why only Malfoy? There's plenty of others who were just as nasty. Nott's returned, and Norton Avery—their fathers were Death Eaters too."
"All I know is that when I tried to rouse Malfoy after we reached Hogsmeade, he flinched as if he was expecting to be hurt. Something's not right."
The staircase stopped moving, and they stepped onto the landing in front of a double arch. Each one opened to a corridor that curved in opposite directions. Hermione gave Ron a kiss and disappeared through the arch marked Witches. Ron followed Harry into the other corridor. They examined the nameplates at each door until they came to a room midway along the curved passage. There were two brass plaques: N. Longbottom, and H. Potter.
"Only two residents?" Harry remarked. "Who's your roommate?"
Ron continued down the row of doors until he reached the end of the hall just before the staircase to the next level. A single brass plaque beside the door read Head Boy—R. Weasley.
"Wicked!" he exclaimed. "A private suite!"
"That's brilliant, mate! See you in the morning then!"
"See you!"
Harry entered his room, chuckling as he heard Ron exclaim again before he closed the door.
"Merlin! It's bigger than the whole first floor of the Burrow!"
Harry turned to examine his surroundings. The suite was quite large, and well-appointed. At the center of the room, two desks faced one another, a bronze banker's-style lamp with cream-colored shade on each. Leather executive chairs were also parked at each. Large canopy beds stood on either side of a large window, scarlet drapes enclosing each one. A comfortable seating area, made up of two deep, honey-colored leather chairs and a tea table, was arranged beneath the window. The main door was flanked by matching wardrobes, and on each side, an open door revealed a glimpse of what appeared to be a luxurious bath for each resident.
Neville was seated at one desk, writing what appeared to be a letter, the bed behind him turned down for the night. He looked up, setting down his quill.
"So, looks like it's just you and me, eh? No all-nasal concerto from Seamus and Ron anymore." He smiled.
"It's brilliant! All of the rooms are like this?" Harry asked. He went to the wardrobe that faced his bed and located his pyjamas.
"Looks that way, though did I just hear that Weasley has a private suite?"
"Apparently, being Head Boy has its perks," Harry tossed over his shoulder as he stepped into the bath and changed. "Did you know about the museum?"
"Not a clue. You?"
"No idea. I don't even remember what happened to my broom. I thought I binned it."
"Yeah. I remember tossing off those robes before Gran and I finally went home after the Battle. Never thought I'd see them again. The whole thing was a bit overwhelming. I doubt I'll be using that entrance if I can help it. How about those windows in the common room? Never thought I'd see Snape memorialized like that! After what he'd done!"
"The truth is Neville, that he was doing his best to protect us all. Ever since Riddle's return, he'd been acting as a spy for The Order of the Phoenix. He—" Harry paused, debating whether to tell Neville the whole truth about the prophecy. Did it really matter at this point? In the end, they'd both lost their parents and suffered so much to see this day.
"What?"
"Nothing. Only, I discovered that Snape wasn't the man we all thought him to be. He earned his place up there."
"Well, no one's going to argue with The Chosen One." Neville smirked. He folded the letter he'd written and placed it into an envelope. "So, where were you all this time? Late night rendezvous with our Miss Weasley?"
"No. Actually in the infirmary. Malfoy passed out."
"Passed out? So, he was drunk after all?"
"No. Not at all. It's probably nothing," said Harry, turning his bed down and climbing under the covers. "He did say something about hitting his head. I probably wouldn't mention it to anyone." Neville gave him a skeptical look before shutting off his desk lamp and getting into his own bed.
"Well, if you say so. Sleep well, Potter." He flicked his wand and the draperies around his bed drew themselves together.
"You too, Neville." Harry did the same. He cast a privacy spell and lay on his back, staring up into the darkness, pondering who could possibly have been so angry with Draco to attack him violently enough to land him in the hospital wing with a fractured skull and a severe concussion.
Harry tossed and turned in an effort to fall asleep. The bed was sumptuous, with pillows and mattress of the softest down; there was even a warm comforter that covered him in the damp coolness of the highland castle, but his mind simply would not rest. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Harry sat up and slid open the bed curtain. He put his glasses on and grabbed his invisibility cloak.
Draco struggled to escape the fog in his brain as the pain in his head began to subside a bit. He was lying beneath the giant weeping willow beside the lake. It had remained his place of escape; the only place where he felt safe and protected until he came to Hogwarts, but even the great castle had ultimately failed to be a safe haven—ruined, just the same as everything else his father had a hand in. Someone took his hand. He turned his head towards the dark-haired boy beside him.
"Perseus?" Draco blinked. No. The eyes that held his gaze were not his brother's shocking cerulean, but a dazzling emerald.
"You can trust me." Harry gave him a reassuring smile.
The door of the Hospital Wing swung open with a gentle creak and quickly closed with a soft click. The matron, engrossed in updating her patient's progress notes, did not lift her head at the sound of soft footsteps crossing the floor to the only occupied bed on the ward.
Harry drew off his cloak and gazed down at Draco's still form. In the moonlight, the Slytherin seemed ethereal, his pale features and hair taking on a delicate appearance against the stark white bed linens. His breathing was even, but Harry noticed that Draco's face was tense, exhibiting a fearful and ambivalent expression.
Harry sighed, feeling inexplicably drawn to take the Slytherin's hand. The moment they made contact, Harry had a sudden vision of lying on the grass beneath the same weeping willow from his previous night's dream. This time, he could see Draco clearly, giving him the same plaintive look he recalled seeing on the train.
"You can trust me, Draco," Harry said. He turned to go, when he felt the other wizard's fingers twitch in his hand.
"Don't leave me!" he whimpered. Harry turned back to Draco in surprise, but found him still with eyes closed, and his hand was slack once more.
"Did you say something, Mr. Malfoy?" Harry heard the tap of Madam Pomfrey's footsteps approaching, and he quickly covered himself with his cloak. When she drew back the curtain, he slipped past her and hastily made his exit.