Somewhere I Have Never Traveled.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Mul on praegu jutt läbi loetud, selles mõttes, et jutt läheb edasi aga autor pole postitanud järgmist peatükki. Jutt on väga, väga pikk ma ei hakka mainimagi palju peatükki seal tulla võib. Aga seal kus ma pooleni jäin..wwuuh, täitsa lõpp kuda jutt pöörde võtab. Soovitan kindlasti koguaeg lugeda seda
Siit siis 6 peatükk.

***

PART I: COME TO ME IN DREAMS

Where souls brimful of love abide and meet;

Where thirsting longing eyes . . .

– From “Echo” by Christina Rosetti

***

Chapter 6; Catamaran Catfight
Hermione awoke early the next morning. She was restless, and did not know the reason. It was stuffy in the room, and though she knew it would be cold, Hermione pulled on a shawl and stepped out onto the balcony. It was not as if she would be able to see the sunrise, but a rosy mist encompassed the snow-covered landscape, and the ocean was calm as the moon set.

She thought about the other Ambassadors. She had not gotten a chance to talk with them all, but Krum was wonderful, and Fleur was awful. Myra, with her illustrious dark looks, seemed mysterious, though pleasant. Hilda, a large blonde girl from Durmstrang, reminded her of a female version of Crabbe, and Jaime, a boy from Beauxbatons, was tall and elegant.

She was interrupted by the click of the balcony door opening, but did not turn around. She closed her eyes, hoping it was not who she knew it was.

“Oh. Granger,” the voice drawled, inescapably Malfoy’s lilting sneer.

She turned to face him, her eyes narrowed. Couldn’t she get a moment’s peace from him? Ever?

His silver eyes seemed luminescent in the soft morning light. “I should have seen your bushy head from a mile away. I had been hoping to enjoy a morning view, but instead I got to see a beaver. How exalting. I am going to leave now.”

And he turned to leave.

“If I’m a beaver then you are a ferret,” Hermione mumbled, not in the mood to fight. She really did hate bringing the ferret incident up, because it was getting old, but her brain cells were not working properly. Perhaps it was the early hour. Perhaps it was the cold. Perhaps it was that Malfoy’s silvery blonde hair was shining in the morning light, blinding her. It was hard to look at properly. Not that she had been looking at Malfoy’s hair.

“That wounded me deeply, Granger.”

“Do us both a favor and sod off, idiot.”

“Will do.”

After that short and primarily pointless exchange, he was gone.

Harry woke up soon after, along with Ginny and Ernie. They washed up, and all met outside their rooms.

“What’s in store for today, Potter?” Draco asked acidly. “Are you going to save the world or merely trounce around in your own self-invented superiority?”

Harry looked at him disbelievingly. “Isn’t it a little early for your full-fledged insults? Don’t you want to warm up a bit with some sarcastic commentary, maybe a few scathing quips?”

Draco opened his mouth, and Hermione noted that he had a silver tongue to match those silver eyes. Not that she had been looking at his eyes.

However, Fleur and the Beauxbatons group appeared promptly around a corner.

“Drah-co!” said Fleur, delighted. “Are you staying upstairs, also?”

Hermione cleared her throat from behind Draco. “Yes, actually, we are.”

Fleur’s bubbly manner disappeared quickly when she saw Hermione.

“How . . . delightful,” Fleur said carefully.

“May I walk you down to breakfast?” Draco asked, cutting Fleur and Hermione’s glaring contest short. He held out his arm. Fleur looked smug as she took it. With one last poisonous glance back at Hermione, Fleur left.

They ambled down the staircase, which was made of dark mahogany, and Fleur bragged about her own castle, and complained about Durmstrang.

“In ze Beauxbatons castle, there is a room zat is made entirely of ice.”

“You’re lying,” Draco said immediately, and little bit playfully. A room full of ice would require magic of a profound sort.

“Zat is ze problem, Drah-co,” she said softly. She stopped and laid a hand on his arm. “I cannot lie.”

“Of course you can,” said Draco quickly. “I will by no means be offended. I lie all the time,” he continued offhandedly, thinking of the concealing charm he had used on his arm the night before. Being Gryffindor, theothershad believed him. Even Hermione.

“You do not understand. I am a quarter Veela, Drah-co. It is impossible for a Veela to lie. Literally.”

Draco frowned. “You’re part Veela?”

“Yes.”

He had heard rumors that Veela could not lie, but he was not sure that he believed them.

“Tell me that my shirt is green,” said Draco quickly, “or I swear I’ll hex you.”

His shirt was not, in fact, green, but rather a dark shade of midnight blue. Fleur noticed that he had taken out his wand. Was he serious about the hex?

“Your shirt is . . .” she seemed to be enduring some sort of internal struggle, “gr-it’s blue.”

Draco could tell that the struggle had been authentic. He looked at her pityingly. “You must not be able to get away with anything, Miss Delacour,” Draco said tightly.

Fleur smiled mischievously. “I have my ways.”


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Breakfast was a rather tedious affair. Hermione had a hard time acting friendly towards Draco and Fleur, who she had ironically been seated next to. Thankfully, they ignored her for the majority of the meal.
“You see the French Ambassador, Renae?” Jaime asked Ginny with a soft French accent at the table. “She is a new student at our school. Her credentials were so impressive, ‘owever, that she was accepted into ze Ambassador program immediately. Despite this, no one knows where she came from. Odd, is it not?”

Ginny nodded, storing the piece of information away in her mind.

“Do they really teach Dark Arts here?” Harry asked Ivan, the dark-haired Bulgarian boy. Harry had a fascinated expression on his face.

Ivan shrugged. “Some,” he said. “But it does not mean that everyone at za school uses them. Za Dark Arts classes are optional. There are many respectable students at this school.”

He left unspoken that there were also many unrespectable ones.

The other students went to classes, which left only the fifteen Ambassadors and Igor Karkaroff in the stone hall.

“Today,” Igor announced, “Krum has opined to take you on his catamaran along the coast. There you may enjoy a traditional Bulgarian Buffet. Tonight, I will divide you into five groups of three, with one person representing each school in a group. Then you will be assigned Advanced Course Work. For now, however, allow my Ambassadors to escort you onto their ship for a relaxing afternoon on the sea.”

Little did Hermione know that the trip would be far from relaxing. Quite the opposite, as she would soon find out.


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The ship was impressive. Hermione’s thoughts went back to fourth year when the Durmstrang bunch had arrived on a large, oceangoing ship.
This was a catamaran, and it was relatively smaller. As Krum helped the others (tried to help Draco, was really more accurate), on board, she noticed huge sails that had not been unfurled. There was also a classic steering wheel about as large as Ginny.

It was a cold day, and the wind stirred Hermione’s hair. Ginny looked a bit disoriented as she stepped onto the boat. Hermione noticed a Witch Weekly stowed hastily into Ginny’s bag. She rolled her eyes. Ernie, despite his relative silence, seemed pleased to be on board.

“It vill be a few minutes before ve are prepared to set sail,” Krum announced. “Excuse us for a moment.”

They disappeared into the cabin, most likely to get equipment.

Ginny sat down primly on a small wooden bench and pulled out her Witch Weekly magazine. Draco hovered in front of her, and suddenly stooped down.

“What’s this? Is Weasely reading about the rich and famous because she knows she’ll never be amongst them?”

He commenced in snatching the magazine out of her hands.

“Malfoy!” she screamed, exasperated.

He read the cover. “Top ten most influential wizards of the year . . .”

Smirk.

“I wonder who made that list?” Draco said, gazing pointedly in Harry’s direction.

“Malfoy, give it back,” Hermione said in a pained tone. Lazily, Draco flipped to the cover story.

“What do you know?” he crowed gleefully. “Potter made number one.” He commenced in reading the article in a scornful and sarcastic tone. “‘Harry Potter tops our list at number one. Not only is he an international celebrity, but he is rich, powerful, and is one of the most pivotal influences of our age. Of course, there’s no overlooking his rugged physical appeal. At age seventeen, Harry has charcoal locks and intense green eyes. He is sure to be one of the most eligible bachelors in . . .”

“Malfoy!” Harry roared, looking for any way to put an end to the humiliation. “Shut up!”

He tried to grab it out of Draco’s hands, but Draco elegantly danced away from him.

“I’m disgusted, actually,” Draco said. “You’ve beaten the Minister of Magic, Potter. Not to mention Percy Weasley, William Choler, Oliver Wood, Albus Dumbledore, and . . .” his face suddenly went an ashen shade of grey.

“Malfoy?” Ernie said tentatively.

He stared as the page, scarcely believing what he saw. “ . . .And me.”

“Pardon?” Hermione asked politely. “What was that last bit about you?”

Perhaps she had heard wrong, or perhaps she had been zoning out during the conversation.

Harry plucked the magazine out of Draco’s unreceptive fingers. He too stared in bewilderment, and then began to read slowly.

“‘Gaining a spot at number eight on our list is Draco Malfoy, sole heir to the entire Malfoy fortune. The Malfoys are one of the most prominent Pureblood families in England, and everyone’s eyes have turned to the youngest member of their family. Though the fortune in itself is reasonable influence, Draco’s father Lucius Malfoy takes a very active role in the Ministry of Magic. His wife, Narcissa Malfoy, is famous for her cordial balls, and it suffices to say that she sets the style and expectation of Wizarding culture today. The youngest Malfoy has recently been selected as a school Ambassador to Bulgaria as well as France. The influence of the Malfoy family has far reaching consequences. The question on all of our minds is: who will Draco Malfoy marry? Speculations on this topic spiral out of control as Draco nears the proper age. It seems as if this dashing, witty seventeen year old will shape the modern age of upper class Wizarding society with his influence and charm. Indeed, he is already taking up his father’s mantle.”

There was silence. No one moved.

Harry promptly threw the magazine overboard, ignoring the indignant squawk from Ginny.

“Load . . . of . . . rubbish,” Harry barely managed to say. How had Malfoy made the list? He was not important. Or was he?

“And I suppose you think you deserve a spot on that list, Potter?” Draco asked, his voice dangerously calm. “You think you’re so d**n famous that you can just–”

“I didn’t say that, Malfoy,” Harry retorted vehemently.

“I so sick of you,” Draco continued wearily. “I’m just so sick of you!”

“You’re jealous!” Harry accused hotly.

Two high pink spots of color appeared in Draco’s cheeks. “If you even realized how self-centered you sound . . . not everything is about you, Potter, hard as that probably is to believe!”

Harry’s hands were shaking with rage as he reached for his wand. They glared at each other, hate emanating so dangerously that no one wanted to step between them.

“Heave ho!” a voice said suddenly, and the rest of the Ambassadors appeared. Harry seemed to be weighing whether or not it was still worth it to murder Malfoy on the spot, despite all of the witnesses. He apparently decided against it, because his hand relaxed.

“You’re dead,” he said under his breath, but Draco only smirked.

Hermione gave Draco a seething look before turning to watch Krum and his friends undock the ship. Krum gave the ship a hard push from the dock after untying the ropes. Salty ocean spray splashed up around the catamaran.

“Every-vone take a seat some-vere!” Krum yelled, his Bulgarian accent more pronounced than usual. “Ve are in for a bumpy start!”

The ship swayed disconcertingly, and Hermione stumbled and grabbed the railing. A hand was immediately there to steady her.

Krum smiled down at her kindly. “You must sit until you gain your sea legs. Ve vouldn’t want anyone . . . falling overboard.”

With this final comment he glared at Draco, who had been listening. Then he was at the head of the ship, calling orders and watching carefully as the shipmates charmed the catamaran to begin moving.

“Overgrown git,” Draco snapped irritably.

Hermione took a seat next to Harry.

“I do not like zis,” Fleur was saying to Jaime.

“I don’t care much for Bulgaria either,” Jaime replied with a soft French accent. “I will be pleased to give you a Tonic, should you become seasick.”

Fleur’s face clearly said how dare you even suggest I do such a vile thing.

As they moved out of the port, the ship began rocking pleasantly. When she turned to Ginny, though, she found the younger girl a bit green.

“I don’t feel well,” she told Hermione, ashen faced.

“Deep breaths then,” Hermione said soothingly.

While Hermione was counseling Ginny, Harry got up and tested out his sea legs. After stumbling a bit, he found that it was no use at all, and simply held onto the railing. He watched the five Bulgarian Ambassadors going about their work, and wondered at how fast and strong they were. They grabbed ropes and floated around effortlessly, while Harry was sure that he himself looked like a big stumbling git.

“Odd, is it not?” a voice said to his right. He turned his head and saw Myra holding the railing, her dark hair flapping in the wind.

“How ze girls help ze boys, I mean,” she elaborated. Her accent was not as pronounced as Fleurs, though it was deeper and more sultry. “In my country, girls would never be forced to do such work. I think it is nice, though.”

“Yeah. They look really strong, don’t they?”

Myra smiled, a transfixing smile.

“You are Harry Potter, are you not? I read about you in Witch Weekly,” she said neutrally.

“Oh?” said Harry, no doubt reddening. “That was a load of rubbish, honestly.”

“I know,” Myra said lightly. Then she laughed, and he laughed too, pleased at her honesty.

They were rudely interrupted by someone being sick overboard. They turned to see Ginny, leaning over the railing and gasping for air.

“Oh, dear,” Ginny said after catching her breath. “I’m going into the cabin where there is less motion.”

Hermione watched her go, and then stood up experimentally. She swayed. This is way harder than it looks, she thought. Holding onto the railing, she made her way to the front. Krum was steering jauntily.

She turned to see Draco at the very head of the stern. He seemed to have no problem getting used to the rocking of the ship, as he was standing gracefully, elbows perched lightly on the railing. The wind pushed his stark blond hair from his face, and his blue blouse was plastered against his lean frame. For once he looked relaxed, and his silver eyes seemed to match the gray of the sea.

Anger flared inexplicably in Hermione. d**n him! He has no right to look that good! He’s something right out of a Muggle romance novel, I swear.

Before she could fully process what she had just thought, Draco said, “How many times do I have to tell you, Granger? It’s rude to stare in Bulgarian culture.”

Hermione frowned. “I wasn’t–”

BAM.

“Arghh!” Draco screamed, as the boat veered over a huge wave. He feet flew off the ground, and he was nearly tossed overboard.

Gasping, Draco backed away from the edge.

“Oops,” said Krum loudly, “my hand slipped from the wheel. You vill vant to stay way from the very front of the ship, Malfoy. It proves . . . quite dangerous, at times.”

Krum smiled unpleasantly at Draco through his beetle black eyebrows.

Draco gave him a look that probably would have sent Krum straight to Hell, had looks been able to kill. He moved away, careful to stay near the inside of the ship.

“Look, Hermi-oninny,” Krum pointed, “look behind you.”

Hermione turned around and gasped at the sight that met her eyes. Behind them, like an all consuming darkness, towered the sheer black cliff on which the castle had been built. The cliffs climbed straight up, their jagged peaks stretching for the heavens. And upon the cliffs loomed the dark and majestic castle of Durmstrang.

“Wow,” was all she could manage to say.

“The Onyx Cliffs of Durmstrang, Hermy-oninny. Produced by a volcano long ago. There are few who are lucky enough to behold this sight.”

“Big deal,” Draco said from across the catamaran, out of Krum’s hearing. He was talking to Jaime, the elegant French Ambassador.

“Honestly,” Jaime said pompously. “It zat their idea of beauty? Wait until you see our castle, Drah-co. You are in for a surprise.”

“Am I?” Draco asked skeptically.

Jaime smiled a bit mysteriously. “You will see.”

“Oy! Hilda!” Krum called from across the ship. “Ve vill see how close to the cliffs ve can take this thing!”

“Yes, Viktor!” she shouted back.

“The waves get choppier as ve move inland, so you may vant to hold on and sit down!” Krum said, glancing back at his passengers.

“What!” Dracoexclaimed suddenly, snapping to attention. He had been on sailing ships before, and he knew for a fact that it was not safe to take oceangoing ships anywhere near the coast in fall or winter.

He clambered up toward Krum, who was calmly steering the ship straight toward the coast.

“Krum!” Malfoy called over the wind. “Are you crazy? You can’t take a seafaring ship up to the coast! The hull will hit the ocean floor and blow a hole in the bottom of your boat. If that doesn’t happen, the waves will smash us up against those cliffs.”

Krum stared straight ahead, and a steely smile came over his features.

“I don’t know vhat you are talking about, Meester Malfoy,” Krum said calmly and deliberately. The coast loomed closer.

“Malfoy, what’s going on?” Harry asked uneasily. Draco ignored him.

“Are you trying to get us all killed!” Draco whispered dangerously.

Krum did not reply, just kept steering.

“Krum, you idiot, turn this ship around right now!” Draco yelled. What if Krum really was trying to get them all killed?

Draco turned to Hilda, who was unfurling the sails, and the two boys working the Speed Charms, Ivan and Franz. “Are you all nuts? Stop the ship!” Draco cried, abandoning all decorum.

“Viktor is the captain of this ship, Meester Malfoy. Ve take orders only from him,” Hilda said uncertainly. Franz and Ivan were frowning. They looked troubled.

This is crazy, Draco thought. This guy is absolutely off of his rocker. The waves were growing, slamming into the ship with unexpected force. The coast loomed nearer and nearer as the ship gained speed.

Ginny looked sicker than ever, and all of the passengers looked at the cliffs with mounting alarm.

An enormous wave slammed into the ship, and several Ambassadors lost their footing and slid across the deck. Draco heard a distinct crack, and thought it must be the hull hitting the rocks.

Someone has to stop him, Draco thought desperately. He looked at Harry, who was confused and alarmed. No one understands what he is doing but me, Draco realized.

That meant only one thing. It was Draco who would have to stop him.

With agile strength, Draco leapt to the left side of the steering wheel and tried to wrench it out of Krum’s hands. It was large, however, and Krum was strong. The ship veered left, and everyone was thrown savagely.

“No!” With a yell, Krum wrenched the steering wheel to his side. The ship slammed to the right.

“Let . . . go!” Draco roared. Left.

“It eez mine!” Right.

“Bastard!” Left.

“Imbecile!” Right.

“Somebody stop them!” Hilda roared.

But it was too late. The ship was bouncing out of control, on a tipsy turvy course toward the cliffs. It had picked up too much speed, and like a runaway train, was bent on certain destruction.

“IMPEDIMENTA!” roared a voice through the clamor.

To an outside onlooker, the ship merely stopped. Its passengers, however, did not. They were thrown forward with an immense amount of force, and all of them landed with a thunk about five meters from where they had originally stood.

“Umph,” Hilda said elegantly.

The first person to scrabble up was Draco, onto his hands and knees. He had a nasty bump on the side of his head that had already turned slightly purple.

“You!” he hissed in an accusing voice. “You are an inconceivable idiot.”

He pointed a shaking finger at Krum.

Krum dragged himself up, gasping, his hair terribly askew.

“You bastard! YOU COULD HAVE BEEN ZA DEATH OF VUS ALL!” Krum roared.

“Me? Me! You’re the maniac who tried to steer us straight into the coast! Have you completely lost your mind?” Draco seemed calm, controlled, incoherent with rage. Hermione had never seen him so white.

Krum was trembling with indignation. “I had the ship completely under control until you grabbed za wheel! For your information, Malfoy, these waters are deeper around the coast. Ve vould not have crashed!”

“You’re a liar!” Draco roared. He leapt at Krum and punched him flat across the face. Krum responded with a kick to Draco’s stomach, and before they knew it the two boys were rolling around on the ground.

“Maniac . . .!” Punch.

“Lunatic!” Shove.

“Overgrown Bulgarian half-wit!” Uppercut.

“Narcisstic, oily headed, rat-faced coward!” Drop kick.

“Stop,” a voice said clearly. It was calm, even, considering the circumstances.

Draco and Krum stopped.

Before they could figure out who had said it, the smaller Ivan had grabbed Krum around the middle, and Ernie had reached for Draco’s arm.

“If the two of you would stop pounding the stuffing out of each other,” Harry announced suddenly, “you would realize that we have a far more pressing problem.”

Draco and Krum both turned comically to see that the ship had frozen about five meters away from crashing into the cliffs. The waves, however, smashed violently against the hull. The ship was in danger of being unfrozen and smashed.

A few of the girls screamed. Hermione glanced around, noting that a few people had become unconscious, Ginny amongst them.

“What should we do now, Captain?” Draco spat viciously.

“I hate you!” Krum roared unhelpfully.

“Viktor,” Hilda addressed him desperately. “We need to figure out a way to turn za ship around, right now.”

Krum seemed to come to his senses, somewhat, and his eyes cleared.

“Ve vill need pressure on za wheel from one side, vhile I turn it from za other. Hilda, take down za sails, they vill only push us farther onto za coast. Who will help me?” he questioned, and Harry, being Harry, took hold of the wheel.

The effort was humongous, and involved several grunts and noises that Hermione could have done without hearing, but they managed to turn the boat around completely. Then the two Charmsmen, Ivan and Franz, jumped up and began forming Speed Charms. Soon the company was off again, and Harry was the first one to reach Ginny. He kneeled over her.

“She’s just unconscious,” Harry said. “Ennervate!”

Ginny stirred and her eyes fluttered open. “What . . . ?”

Fleur screamed when Draco revived her, and clutched at him, wide eyed.

“Where am I, Drah-co?”

“Krum tried to run the ship into the coast,” Draco said wryly. Fleur could not tell if he was kidding or not.

After reviving the other three people that had been unconscious (Jaime, Iva, and Renae), Krum announced from the stern that they were heading back to shore.

Hermione sidled carefully up to Krum. She was sure that she looked a real mess.

“Listen, Viktor, I’m really sorry about Mal– about Draco,” she said quietly. She could not have been more ashamed of Draco’s actions. The brain dead prat! What had he been thinking? Hogwarts and Durmstrang would probably never have the same relationship because of him.

“Do not apologize for him,” Viktor said, his voice stony. “He does not deserve your protection.”

She sighed, knowing that it was true.

“There is one more thing, Hermi-o-ninny. Ve may be sailing into a storm,” he whispered, dropping his voice. “Do not inform za others. They vill panic.”

“Does it ever end?” Hermione asked incredulously

Krum was silent for a few moments, staring at the choppy ocean and steering softly.

“Sometimes we wish for an ending where inevitably there is only a beginning,” Krum said softly.

He seemed troubled in that moment, but she realized that he was trying to comfort her. Why did his words seem to ring true?

“You’re right,” she said with a nod.

“Who . . . who cast the spell that froze the ship?” Ginny asked the passengers shakily. Everyone looked around. Eerily, there was no reply, and everyone looked confused. “Well?” she continued. “It had to be one of us.”

Nobody came forward.

The storm never actually came. It seemed to be waiting, biding its time for another day.

But indeed, it would come eventually.

[spidy]

Lugesin nüüd kõik läbi, tõsiselt hea.

[Kathreen Granger]

ootan järgmist osa

[Liz-Miia Parker]

PART I: COME TO ME IN DREAMS



Watch the slow door
That opening, letting in, lets out no more.

– From “Echo” by Christina Rosetti

*******

Chapter 7; Academic Accusations

Dinner was a bit of a quiet, subdued affair compared to the events of the day before, but it gave Draco time to think.

As far as he was concerned, Krum had tried to kill them all that afternoon. The way he had calmly steered the ship, the maniacal glint in his eye, and the indignation in his voice all convinced Draco of this fact.

There was something off about Viktor Krum, that much he knew.

A nameless someone had cast the most powerful freezing charm that Draco had ever witnessed, and the only two people that he knew had not done it were Krum and himself. And Potter, because Potter was a moron.

Speaking of Potter . . . Draco was failing miserably at the whole friend thing. He had tried, believe it or not, but Potter hated him, if anything, more than ever. How am I supposed to befriend the pathetic prat? Draco thought irritably.

He still did not have a Really Cunning Plan. Why couldn’t he think of one when he needed it the most? He felt as if he was a failure as a Slytherin. Then again, this was Potter he was dealing with. He hated Potter.

Finally, he had actually saved a shipload of people from sticky and gruesome deaths. Did this make him some kind of hero? Certainly not. And his name, in Witch Weekly! Since when had he become a national celebrity?

Things were happening that he was not quite sure he liked. He actually thought that Granger was prettier than Hilda, which was understandable, except that before this he had believed that everyone was prettier than Granger. Exempting the time she had dressed up for the Yule Ball, of course, but that incident was not of consequence.

Yes, many unexpected things were happening that Draco did not like at all.


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Hermione filed into what looked like a large study, Harry by her side. On the left the Beauxbatons group was draped elegantly yet primly over the sturdy furniture. They reminded Hermione of a painting right out of eighteenth century France. To the right, Krum and his crew were chatting in low, deep voices, but they looked up as the Hogwarts’ Ambassadors entered. They had all seemed mistrustful of each other since earlier in the afternoon.
It was nine o’clock or so. From the window at the far side of the room, cold moonlight filtered through the frosty windowpanes.

Malfoy took a seat on a couch next to Fleur. It was a small couch, and they were closer together than Hermione believed was necessary.

“Now that you are all settled,” Igor Karkaroff said from the front of the room, “we can discuss the Advanced Study Courses you will all be taking. I, too, wish that you had merely come to relax, but these courses will prove very efficient in developing teamwork and trust between the Ambassadors of different countries. You will be split into five groups, and each group will take a separate course. There will be three Ambassadors in each group. The courses will be self explanatory, meaning that you will not receive instruction from a professor. You will merely be given a set of instructions, and asked to complete the course in a designated amount of time. These courses are difficult, mind you, and will probably take a good deal of your time every day.”

Draco rolled his eyes, and Hermione shivered with excitement.

“There is a catch,” Karkaroff continued. “You will not be placed in the same group with anyone from your own school. There will be one Ambassador from each school on a team. With that said, let us assign courses.”

Next, he pulled out his wand, and with a flick fifteen small slips of paper had appeared on the table.

“They are charmed so that you cannot draw someone from your own school. Come, now, and choose.”

Krum was the first to stand up. He pulled out his wand and Accio-ed the nearest slip of paper to him. Everyone else followed his lead, Ginny and Ernie Accio-ing the same slip of paper. It whizzed back and forth before landing dejectedly between them.

Hermione opened her own slip and saw a clear roman numeral ‘II’ written on it. She glanced around just in time to see Fleur looking up.

“Who ‘as ‘II’?” Fleur said lightly, holding her slip. Hermione’s mouth dropped open in shock. No. This is not happening.

“Harry,” Hermione said urgently. “Can we trade?”

Wordlessly, they traded slips, and Hermione opened her new one, relieved. To her absolute horror, there was a roman numeral ‘II’ written boldly across it.

Harry and Hermione exchanged glances.

“They’re charmed,” Hermione whispered with a stricken look. Resigned to her fate, she stood up and walked over to where Fleur was sitting.

“Two,” Hermione said firmly, putting her hands on her hips.

Fleur’s eyes narrowed, and she quickly looked away. Suddenly a large boy with dark features appeared in front of them.

“I vill be on your team,” he said, his voice deep as he held out a slip of paper, “I am Ivan.”

“My name is Fleur,” the part Veela intoned, sticking out her hand to the dark-haired boy. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” She smiled beautifully.

“I’m Hermione,” the other girl said simply, nodding her head. “Nice to work with you.”

Hermione looked around and saw that other groups were forming. Harry had been grouped with Myra and Hilda, and looked content. Ginny was standing near Franz, another boy from Durmstrang, and Jaime, the French Ambassador. Ernie, Iva, and Michael all stood around the main table, shaking hands. Hermione’s stomach dropped as she realized that there were only a few people left. Renae, the red-haired girl from Beauxbatons, looked unreasonably upset. Hermione followed her gaze, and found out why. Draco and Krum were glancing disbelievingly from their slips of paper to one another.

“Oh, no,” Hermione said aloud. “This is beyond ironic.”

Krum threw his slip down vehemently and stepped on it, glaring at Draco the entire time. Draco said something softly and smirked. Krum looked about ready to kill him.

This is going to be a long night, Hermione thought.

The pairings and courses were dealt out as follows:

Hermione, Fleur, and Ivan were assigned the ancient study of Anagrams.

Draco, Krum, and Renae had Trigon Theorem Arithmancy.

Harry, Myra, and Hilda were assigned Ancient Relics.

Ernie, Michael, and Iva had been given Weather Manipulation.

Ginny, Jaime, and Franz had been dealt a course called Origin of Wizarding Legends.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hermione got out of her own meeting at coincidentally the same time as Draco. Hermione, Fleur, and Ivan had been briefed on their course, which was the ancient study of Anagrams. Though Fleur looked bored and Ivan looked mildly interested at best, Hermione could not have been more excited.
Krum and Draco had obviously not looked at or talked to each other during the entire meeting.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said, laying a consoling hand on Renae’s shoulder. Renae, upset with her draw in partners, walked off dejectedly.

Hermione turned to see Malfoy leaning against the corridor wall, arms crossed. He was staring at her with catlike eyes.

“You’re sorry that she has to work with Krum?” Draco clarified for her. “So am I.”

“You might as well get over your grudge, Malfoy. You’ll have to work with him every day if you want to complete your course. I don’t know about you, but we’ve been assigned Anagrams and this course is going to take a great deal of work.”

“Oh,” said Draco in a noncommittal tone, “we’ve been assigned Arithmancy beyond the NEWT level . . . Trigon Theorem. Luckily, I’ve already solved five of the ten major equations.”

“You’ve what?” Hermione asked lightly. She was getting into a bad habit of zoning out during conversations.

“Are you deaf, Granger?” Malfoy asked, looking irritated. “I’ve solved them.”

“You’ve . . . you’ve already worked them out, full equations and everything?”

Hermione knew a bit about the Trigon Theorem, and the method behind it was so complicated that it took an entire semester to master. It was used for things as complicated as creating new charms and hexes.

“Well,” Draco started, “I haven’t written them out yet, but I did them in my head. I’m sure they are correct.”

Silence. Then she said, “That’s . . . that’s . . .”

More silence.

“Stop gaping like a fish, Granger. You look like you’ve seen the Mona Lisa frown,” Draco drawled, obviously amused. He began striding toward the stairs, and seeing as she had no other choice, Hermione followed him, keeping a safe distance behind. It was dark, and no one was around. Draco began ascending the stairs, and Hermione walked quickly, a few steps behind him.

“That’s impossible! I don’t believe you!” Hermione said, raising her voice a bit because he was farther up the staircase. Draco kept ascending.

“You didn’t believe me when I told you Krum was trying to kill us, either,” he retorted evenly.

“So?” she was huffing as she trailed up behind him. “For all I know, Malfoy, you’re trying to kill us! That clever trick you pulled with your arm last night didn’t fool me, because I’m not that stupid. And frankly, neither are you!”

They had reached the top of the stairwell, and now stood in the corridor that led to their rooms.

“Are you implying,” Malfoy countered, taking a step toward her, “that I am, in fact, smarter than you?”

He made a quick maneuver that cleverly blocked her route to the stairway, and she realized that he was trying to back her against the wall.

“You may be clever, Malfoy,” Hermione replied calmly, “but don’t be getting any ideas that you are as smart as me.”

She stepped deftly around him and he frowned ever so slightly. His back was to the wall and she could tell that he did not like being cornered.

“Check,” she said, as if they were playing chess. “I have an inkling suspicion that you’ve still got something up your sleeve. Literally.”

“Frankly, I don’t care what it is that you think, Granger. But I think that you’ve met your match.”

He slid suddenly to the side of her and turned their positions around. Hermione felt her back hit the wall. The sound pealed down the corridor with a sickening thud.

“Checkmate,” he whispered with soft malice. He was standing far too close. I never was good at chess, Hermione thought absurdly. Her heart was pounding. Was it from fear?

He leaned closer and spoke into her ear. He was so close that his mocking voice tickled the skin on her neck, and she felt suddenly intoxicated. Draco spoke in a clear and icy tone.

“It’s amazing how someone who knows so much can see so little.”

And then he was gone.

[Christian Bray]

Edasi, edasi..!

[Kathreen Granger]

ei jõua järgmist osa ära oodata!

[Liz-Miia Parker]

PART I: COME TO ME IN DREAMS

Yet come to me in dreams, that I may live.

– From “Echo” by Christina Rosetti

****

Chapter 8; Russian Roulette

FACT: King Arthur had a legendary sword called Excalibur. He alone was the only one who was able to pull it from a stone. The sword is rumored to be at the bottom of a lake near the fabled island of Avalon.

Once inside the Pensieve, Lupin felt somehow weightless, as if he was floating. He was immediately aware of being in a forest.

“Do you really want to know?” a voice boomed from behind him. Lupin whirled around and almost yelped at the creature before him. He ha heard of these before. Centaurs. Truly seeing one was so torrentially majestic, however, that he could not believe his eyes.

It was not talking to him, but rather a considerably younger Dumbledore.

“Yes,” Dumbledore said quietly. “I wish to know what the stars hold.”

“Very well, then,” boomed the centaur, “but you make a mistake. Listen, now, Albus Dumbledore. Listen to the prophesy of your people.”

And then . . . a song, a flash, a dream. And within it were words like thunder.

“Buried under myth, legend and lore strong as stone lays the object that will inevitably become the one that the world seeks. It will be your salvation, and ultimately, your downfall. It will be your one saving grace, and ultimately, it will be the knife in your back. It is the bane of the once and future king. The fate of your race hinges on this one illusive object. The one who will find it is he who sets with sun, and rises with the moon. He will be the last of the four, and it is he who possesses the power to shake the stone foundations on which the earth was built.”

Suddenly the centaur turned his gaze directly on Lupin. Impossible! Lupin thought. I cannot be seen. I am not really here!

“Starlight shines on the eye.”

THAWM.

Lupins feet hit the firm ground of Dumbledore's office. He looked at Dumbledore, wild eyed, and Dumbledore answered the unasked question.

“A prophecy, Remus. Nothing more and nothing less. A prophecy about you.”

Lupin felt the world shake under him.

“Albus, this is impossible.”

So very many things about this day have been impossible, Lupin thought. He sighed.

“Let me humour you, Albus,”Lupin said dryly. There were seldom few who spoke to Dumbledore in such a fashion and got away with it, but Lupin was one of them. “Let me assume that this whole situation isn’t a joke from you, or a scheme employed to divert us from what Voldemort is really doing. Let us pretend for one absurd moment that there is, indeed, some long lost relic that holds the fate of the world in the balance, and that Voldemort is actually searching for it. I’ll humour you a bit more, Albus, and pretend that the person whom the centaur was talking about was me, and not the last of the four founders or something ridiculous like that. Now, even if all of that is true . . . impossible, as I said before . . . are you saying that you expect me to find this object without so much as a single clue! That is madness.”

Dumbledore’s lips twitched ever so slightly. “Always the practical one, the logical one, weren’t you, Remus? And so modest, too. Let us pretend that none of that prophecy had to do with you or was even true. You, Remus, would still be my first choice. You have the magical power of an Auror, the wit of a professor, and the detective skills of a true sleuth. Also, you do have a clue. It was the last sentence in the prophecy. Starlight shines on the eye. I believe that is the key to the entire mystery. There was one other reference that may be of use. The centaur mentions the once and future king. If I remember correctly, this is the message that was supposedly inscribed on King Arthur’s grave.”

Lupin looked at Dumbledore and crossed his arms. Despite all the impossibilities of the situation, the academic in him was acutely interested.

“What do you say, Remus? A riddle that no one but you can solve? Five words that unlock a thousand-year mystery? An ancient relic that will eventually destroy the world?”

Lupin sighed. “I’d say you’re a few sandwiches short of a picnic, Albus.”

Then he smiled.

“I’m in.”


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“Anagram,” Hermione said aloud. “Noun. ‘A word or phrase formed by transposing the letters of another word or phrase.’”
She copied the formal definition down, aware that she would need to use it later. She knew a little bit about anagrams. They had been used in ancient times very frequently as codes and secret messages. They were also extremely difficult to spot, unless you had a trained eye for them. Sometimes even the greatest puzzle solvers did not . . . understand . . . Malfoy . . .

Her mind wandered helplessly.

Hermione simply could not understand what had happened the night before. She was profoundly confused. What game is Malfoy playing at? He had seemed dangerous and sly, like tasteless, senseless poison in a goblet of wine. It seemed as if he had tried to give her a veiled warning.

It’s amazing how someone who knows so much can see so little.

What had that meant? Was she missing something that was right in front of her eyes?

She had always seen Draco Malfoy as a spoiled, cowardly, and arrogant boy. Now she realized that he was far cleverer than she had ever given him credit for. She had completely overlooked the one thing that everyone else did not even bother to notice. It was also the thing that had gotten him into Witch Weekly.

It was his unmatched ability to act.

Draco Malfoy could flounce into a party and instantly become the center of attention. He could befriend the boys, charm the girls, and impress any adults in the vicinity, all without lifting a finger. It would be so easy to fall under his spell, Hermione thought. At the same time, he could cut people down so mercilessly that it left them wondering if he had a heart at all. He talked about Arithmancy homework one moment, and had transformed into an icy and powerful enemy in the next. Draco Malfoy was a bundle of contradictions.

The question remained. Which one of these was his true personality? Was he the merciless tyrant, the charming Ambassador, or the subtle assassin? Was he somehow all of these?

Was he any?

It was in this way that Malfoy ceased to be the one-dimensional little boy she had always hated, and in Hermione’s perception, gained complexity.

She still hated him of course, only now on multiple levels. Hence, she was disappointed when she stepped out on the balcony. She had been hoping to see the sunset, but a dark figure shot soundlessly across the yellow-orange sun.

It was Malfoy, of course. Who else? And where had he gotten a broom?

He landed before her in a flash. She shielded her eyes.

“Granger,” he drawled knowingly out of the side of his mouth. “I see that you have come to watch me fly about on this terribly dysfunctional broom. Have you joined my fan club?”

Hermione frowned in a vaguely haughty manner.

“As shattering as this undoubtedly is to your pathetically fragile ego, I came out to watch the sunset, not you. And where did you get that broom?”

“From Krum, of course,” Malfoy said pleasantly.

He did not seem fazed in the slightest by Hermione’s disbelieving expression.

“I nicked it from his common room today while we were working on that blasted project. I think it’s one of his old ones, though, and it pitches to the left.”

He took off with another word, soaring graciously into the sky. Hermione found herself, contrary to her words, watching him instead of the sunset. The broom swerved dangerously toward the coast. Perhaps I just want to see him smash into those cliffs, she thought wryly.

He landed back on the deck in a flash. Everything was softened by the golden light around them. He smirked.

“You’re still watching me, Granger.”

She rolled her eyes. “Sod off, Malfoy. Don’t you have a girlfriend to go write to or something?”

“A girlfriend?” he responded in a philosophical tone. “I’ve never had a girlfriend.”

Hermione looked at him disbelievingly for the second time that evening.

“Malfoy, girls hang all over you! It’s disgusting, actually. You have de-virginized half the girls in our year, and you can stand there with a straight face and tell me that you have never had a girlfriend?”

His lips had quirked into an amused smile. “‘De-virginized’ isn’t a word, Granger. And I mean girlfriend in the sense that I buy her chocolates and flowers, we take long walks on the beach, and hold hands in the corridors . . . I’m just not that kind of guy.”

Hermione nodded. “So in other words . . . you are a player.”

“I do confess to being a quidditch player,” Draco said lightly, cracking a grin.

“No. Shall I spell it out more clearly? You’re an arrogant, lying, two-timing imbecile! You drop girls like quaffles when you’re through with them.”

“Hm,” said Draco, his voice contemplative. “I don’t know if we should delve into love lives, Granger, since yours would be most easily described as ‘nonexistent’. Oh, wait . . . I forgot . . . you and Potter are shagging each other, aren’t you?”

Hermione seemed incoherent with rage. Finally, “Harry and I ARE NOT TOGETHER!”

“I think you are having sex with him. There would be no other reason for the famous Harry Potter to hang around with a Mudblood, bushy-haired, self-righteous hag like you.”

Draco looked cool, calm, and dead serious in the evening afterglow.

“I hate you, Malfoy!” Hermione said viciously. “I don’t feel one bit sorry for you, even though I should. Your life is pathetic. If I had a father who was a faceless pawn for Voldemort, a mother that was on at least three types of antidepressants, a hugely over inflated ego, and a band of friends like the cretins you have, I would have killed myself long ago. Do us all a favor and kill yourself, would you? It would save Harry the work.”

He looked completely thrown off guard. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, she rushed off the balcony in a blur.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Twilight had fallen as Draco heard a knock on his door. He had been alone, for once– he neither knew nor cared where Macmillan was– and groaned as he sat up. He wrenched open the door, expecting Weasley or some such riffraff. The girl on the other side did have red hair, although it was not Weasley.
“I thought this was your room,” Renae, the French Ambassador, intoned in a haughty voice. She pushed past him rather rudely, and Draco frowned as she strode boldly into the center of his room. He was not used to being treated in such a way.

“What do you think you are doing?” Draco asked indignantly as he followed her into his own room.

“Looking for . . .” her eyes lit up, “these.”

At first Draco could not see the object she had picked up, due to the waning light. He finally identified it as the Arithmancy papers that Karkaroff had given to him.

“We’re going to work on these tonight, you know. I don’t care if my teammates hate each other. We are going to finish them, and we are going to get a decent mark. Now don’t just stand there gaping. Come on,” she finished.

Mouth indeed agape, Draco followed her out of the room. He noticed that her accent was different from that of the other French Ambassadors. Come to think of it, Draco thought, she barely sounds French at all. Any rose-colored visions that he’d had of soft, feminine French girls disappeared immediately.

Draco had no idea how she knew where she was going, but after descending a few levels, they arrived at an ample wooden door. Renae rapped on it impatiently.

“Where are we?” Draco asked, as a growing sense of foreboding consumed him. She did not reply.

A Bulgarian boy answered the door and stared at them blankly.

“I am an Ambassador,” Renae said imperiously, “I wish to speak to Victor Krum.”

The boy disappeared, presumably to retrieve Krum.

“Are you crazy?” Draco asked, lurching forward to whisper to her.

“Yes,” she answered promptly, “but not nearly as crazy as you for stealing one of Krum’s brooms!”

“Stealing!” he sputtered. “I did not steal Krum’s–”

He cut himself off as he became aware of Krum standing in the doorway.

“Care to finish za sentence, Malfoy?” Krum asked pointedly.

“Not particularly,” Malfoy muttered, crossing his arms.

The two boys stared daggers at each other until Renae spoke.

“This is it, you two! Put aside your hate because we are going to finish this project!”

Malfoy had raised a lazy finger in the air.

“Yes?” she snapped.

“I already finished them,” Draco said blankly.

“You . . . you did?” She uttered, and opened to the pages that she had not bothered to check. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“There wasn’t exactly a chance,” Draco pointed out, raising his eyebrows.

Krum, on the left, was fuming.

“Zat is impossible! Give those to me!”

He wrenched the papers out of Renae’s hands and rifled through them, his expression becoming darker and darker.

“They must be wrong,” he said dangerously. “They are all wrong.”

“And how would you know?” Draco sneered icily. “You don’t have enough brain cells to form a coherent sentence, much less decipher Trigon Theorem equations in Advanced Arithmancy.”

“I can too!”

“Don’t strain yourself, now,” Draco continued with mocking concern. He sneered rudely at Krum. “You might lose a brain cell, and then the amount of brain cells you possessed would be cut in half.”

Krum glared, obviously angry.

“That would leave you with only one,” Draco elaborated helpfully, “just in case you can’t do that math either.”

At first Draco assumed Krum was about to leap at him, but Krum roared, and quickly disappeared through the doorway. Wordlessly, Draco and Renae followed.

Krum stormed over to a blazing fireplace, and promptly threw the papers inside, watching the flames engulf the parchment with a look of savage satisfaction.

Renae gasped in surprise, but Draco was obviously the more dangerous of the two. He seemed to have gone beyond anger and into a cold, gripping rage. This was good for neither Draco nor Krum.

“You,” Draco said softly, icily. Then he continued in a calm and controlled monotone, “You cocksure, Bulgarian, neanderthal, unibrowed not a very nice person. If I was inclined to, I swear that I would rip your throat out with my bare hands.”

Krum suddenly smiled, a bright and sharp and cruel smile. “I have a game zat you and I vill play. I am sure that you vill like it.”

There was a vaguely desperate, maniacal expression on Krum’s face.

“I don’t want to play games,” said Draco slowly, “I want to see you die a slow and painful death.”

“Oh, but that is just it,” Krum said happily. “I do not know if you have ever heard of za game. Za Muggles have a special name for it.”

“And what . . . is that?” Draco intoned after a few moments. Krum looked positively malicious.

“Russian Roulette.”

Draco had never heard of it.

“As much as I would love to play a Muggle game with you, Krum, I can’t help but think that hexing the nuts out of you would just be so much more fun.”

“No, Meester Malfoy. You vill like this game very much, I am thinking. Follow me.”

Frankly, Draco was tired of people telling him to follow them. Nevertheless . . .


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Draco found himself in a deep and foreboding underground room. It was dimly lit with old-fashioned candles, and the walls were pure black marble. A round table was the only piece of furniture in the room.
Krum and Draco stood on opposite sides of the table and commenced in glaring at each other.

“Rules,” said Krum loudly, and simultaneously slammed his hand down on the table. Apparently this was some kind of magical activator because a circular rotating device appeared in the center.

“This is the Russian way of solving a feud. There are six guns spinning around this rotator,” Krum announced quietly, “and one of them is loaded.”

Renae, who had followed them, gasped. She promptly scampered out of the room. Draco and Krum scarcely seemed to notice.

“Ve each pick a gun, and point it at each other. On three, ve shoot.”

“And what if you shoot before three?” Draco asked maliciously.

“Zey are charmed so that they vill not go off until your count reaches three.”

They were silent for a moment, and there was only the sound of the whirling metal rotator.

“You know what?” Draco replied. “I’m actually that desperate to kill you.”

Krum smiled sinisterly. “I thought so.”

Draco thought about it for a few moments, and realized that he actually did not care whether he lived or died. What was there in the world for him? A life of being controlled by Voldemort? No, it would not worry him to risk his life. If Krum died, it was worth it.

“This vay,” Krum said quietly, “no one can say that you murdered me, or that I murdered you. In picking up za guns, ve both make an oath that ve are willing to die.”

Draco nodded.

The rotator abruptly stopped. “Your pick,” Krum said emphatically. Draco slowly reached out his hand, and twirled the rotator so that the gun that had been directly in front of Krum was in front of him. He lifted it out carefully. Krum picked what seemed like a random gun. Then they stared at each other, identical maniacal expressions on their faces.

“On three,” Draco said quietly.

“One . . . two . . . three.”

Draco aimed his gun directly at Krum’s heart and pulled the trigger. There was a bang, but when Draco had opened his eyes he observed that Krum was still standing there staring back at him stonily. Had he been shot?

But they realized that the bang had come from the door crashing open. Harry flew in, wild eyed, with Renae close in tow.

“Don’t shoot!” he cried desperately.

“We already have,” Draco replied offhandedly. He pressed the trigger again for good measure, and nothing happened.

“Unfortunately, neither of us picked a pistol that vas loaded,” Krum explained, looking disappointed about it.

Harry, who was shocked and angry, picked a gun at random from the rotator. Looking defiant, he pressed the trigger. A small explosion occurred, and a bullet flew into the wall. Harry stumbled back, ashen face.

“Though apparently that one was,” he said, appearing squeamish.

“Do you realize that there was a one third chance that one of you could have just gotten killed?” Renae cried shrilly.

“You’re right,” Krum replied gravely. “I should have loaded more than one gun.”

“What were you thinking, Malfoy?” Harry asked, apparently still in shock. “I mean, I wouldn’t have minded if you had died, but you could have killed Krum!”

“I’m touched by your concern, Potter,” Draco drawled, not looking bothered in the least that he could have died, “but that was kind of the point . . . killing Krum, I mean.”

“I am leaving,” Krum announced abruptly. He commenced in stomping out of the room. Renae had obviously had enough also, because she haughtily followed him.

Harry stared and Draco for a few seconds longer before speaking.

“Not only are you an unbelievably humongous prat, you’re suicidal too.”

“I’m not suicidal, Potter,” Draco said wearily. “It’s just that my hate for Krum rivals even my disdain for you.”

“You have a lot of enemies,” Harry pointed out, crossing his arms.

“You know what, Potter? You have no tact whatsoever, and no class either.”

“I have way more class than you,” Harry said lightly.

“You’re brave, I’ll give you that, Potter. But you’re also inconsiderate and reckless and self-centered. Where I come from, that does not give you class.”

“Right, because where you come from, class is defined by money and blood. I haven’t had any of that given to me in my life. I haven’t even had parents . . .”

“Do not give me this whole ‘I’m an orphan and therefore you should take pity on me’ spiel because you know what, Potter? I don’t feel sorry for you. Success is defined by what we make ourselves, so don’t–”

“And this coming from a boy who has had his whole life handed to him on a silver platter? You shouldn’t be talking, Malfoy.”

Draco’s eyes glittered dangerously. “You think my life is easy? I would not make assumptions like that if I were you, Potter.”

“You’re not me.”

“Thank Merlin for that,” Draco replied immediately, “but I am beating around the bush. The point is, I am not going to lie down and lick your boots like everyone else just because you’re Harry Potter and you’re famous. Got that?”

Harry’s eyes were suddenly alight with surprise. Malfoy had actually said something Harry had been wishing to hear for as long as he could remember.

It was as if people did not ever see Harry Potter. Instead they saw The Boy Who Lived, who was this ethereal, legendary hero right out of a storybook. He was noble and loyal and chivalrous no matter what, and the most important thing was that He was never afraid. The Boy Who Lived had to be treated with the utmost caution and respect. Sadly, even Ron and Hermione saw him as this hero, to some extent. They asked him constantly if his scar hurt and were often afraid to stand up to him. The Boy Who Lived loved this special attention. Harry Potter, on the other hand, felt as if he had arisen to such a legendary status that no one saw the most blaring fact of all. The Boy Who Lived was only human.

And that was all Harry was to Draco. A normal human with normal faults. He was not even a human that Draco particularly liked, but to Draco he was a human all the same. And being seen as a flawed human was in many ways better than being seen as a legendary hero.

“I . . . never asked you to lick my boots, Malfoy,” Harry said. It came out more gently than he had meant it to. “And besides, it would be rather disgusting if you did.”

There was an acid remark ready on Draco’s tongue, but recalling the task Voldemort had given him, he quelled it quickly.

“That’s for sure,” Draco said wryly, his voice not as cold as usual.

Harry realized that it was the first time he had ever talked to Malfoy without wanting to ring the other boy’s neck.

“I’m out of here,” Harry said finally. “This place isn’t exactly uplifting, if you know what I mean.”

He turned around, messy raven hair gleaming in the dull light as he stalked away.

Draco, after a few moments, followed. Had he seen a tiny rift in Potters’ high and mighty facade? Had Harry let his act slip, after all of these years? Or had that crack always been there, and was it merely Draco who had never taken time to notice it?

Whatever it was, it did not matter. All he had to do was make sure that Harry trusted him by November. It would be easy to fool the boy, because one of Harry’s greatest shortcomings was that he trusted wholeheartedly, and he accepted without asking too many questions.

It was Granger we would have to watch out for, in the end. She was far more perceptive than he had ever imagined. Perhaps he could get her to fall under his spell also.

He smirked, and he was lucky that there was no one around to see him. His eyes glistened as maliciously as the tip of a glass blade.

Fooling the poor morons would be so much more fun than Draco had ever imagined.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He was there, again, in the sunset. His face was framed in an otherworldly halo of silver strands, so contrary to his vicious personality. It simply was not enough to describe him as beautiful. He reminded her most of a glass dagger; it was aesthetic and alluring and flawless, but when you touched the blade, it made you bleed, and cry out in shock and pain.
He was there, again, in the sunset, and his eyes were liquid mercury.

“You’re still watching me, Granger,” he had said.

And the words ‘Sod off, Malfoy,’ had been on her lips, but they would not come out. Instead, she had raised her eyes to his.

“I know,” she had said softly. Grey and honey brown seemed to meld together flawlessly, and suddenly she longed for a thing that was unspeakable.

In a flash he had bridged the gap between them. His face had come closer, closer . . .


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
And then she woke up to the voice of Harry, who was shaking her shoulders and telling her that it was morning, Hermione, get out of bed already.
Hermione was groggily drudged back into reality, the dream dissolving as quickly as mist. She did not remember it.

Five minutes later, while brushing through her unruly hair, she had gotten the sensation that one often feels when recalling a dream. It came in a rush, all at once, sound and color and emotion, but faded away before she could grasp it. Imprinted in her mind was the feeling of softness and the dimness of a sunset and a timeless shade of grey.

Pity she could not remember what the dream had been about.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The silver dragon loomed closer. Draco saw a pain in its eyes unmatched by anything he had ever known.
The intricate wings beat mightily in the wind, and it opened its mouth to breath a flame on Draco. The flame would doubtless incinerate the boy and everything around him.

He had nothing to combat the flame, and the only item that he held in his hand was, ridiculously, a mirror.

He held the mirror up to block the flame, and could see his own reflection. He felt the heat engulf him, and watched his own reflection slowly melt.

Draco woke up with a gasp. Unlike Hermione, he remembered the dream, and it disturbed him greatly. Something about it had been too real.

He lay back down, but sleep, in all its cruelty, had decided to evade him from the remainder of the night.

[Kathreen Granger]

hästi hea jutt ikka

[Christian Bray]

Nõustun:)

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Järgmised osad on suht koomilised. Eriti Harry ja Ginny osas xD

PART I: COME TO ME IN DREAMS

Come back to me in dreams, that I may give

Pulse for pulse, breath for breath

Speak low, lean low

. . . my love . . .

– From “Echo” by Christina Rosetti

***

Chapter 9; Roman Rendevous

“Well,” said Ginny, who was lounging on the bed opposite of Hermione’s, “it says here that we’re leaving at seven for a night on the town.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose. “What’s the point of this, Ginny?”

“C’mon, Hermione, it will be fun. We’ll get to see a quaint Bulgarian village and have a night away from . . . studying.”

The younger girl faltered as she remembered that Hermione liked studying.

Hermione merely rolled eyes. “All right, then, if you insist.”

Ginny’s face lit up. “In that case, we’ll have to dress up– it will be so much fun!”

Hermione gave the other girl a look that suggested she was pushing her luck. “Ginny, it says here . . . casual dress . . . nothing about dressing up.”

“That’s a load of rubbish!” Ginny intoned. After taking notice of Hermione’s stern face, she said, “Oh, Hermione, at least look polished for a change, not as if you’ve thrown on the first thing you picked up.”

Hermione only scowled, but Ginny did not stop pestering, so at last, she gave in.

This was how the two girls became immersed in trying on different outfits. At last Ginny found a crimson halter-top that showcased her slim neck under a cashmere jacket tied at the waist with a thin ribbon.

Hermione, opting for a more practical solution, had decided on a rich brown, form fitting turtleneck, and a black skirt. Her shoes were slightly heeled, though Ginny claimed that they made Hermione look much taller. Ginny had later performed Make-Up Charms on Hermione as well as herself, to the older girl’s continuous whining. Then Ginny stepped back and looked at her work. She realized that Hermione could easily be one of the prettiest girls in Hogwarts, if she tried. Of course, she never did try, and that was what was so wonderfully refreshing about her.

Ginny checked her watch and announced that it was time to meet with the boys. They left Ginny’s room for their usual meeting place on top of the stairs. Harry and Ernie were already waiting, and looked sharp in jackets and trousers.

“What’s the occasion?” Harry asked Hermione, his eyes twinkling as he saw her.

Hermione smiled mysteriously. “I can dress up once in a while if I feel like it, can’t I?”

She gave Ginny a wink, and the redhead rolled her eyes.

“Where’s Malfoy?” Ginny asked, a hint of disdain and wariness evident in her voice.

Ernie frowned. “He hasn’t been around all day . . . I saw him rush upstairs to get ready a few moments ago, though.”

“Well, that prat had better show up soon, or we’re leaving without him,” Harry said flatly. The others nodded in agreement, but to their disappointment, Malfoy promptly appeared from around the corner. He narrowed his eyes, as if Harry’s presence personally affronted him.

“You’re all here. Hasn’t one of you managed to fall off of a balcony or crash into a cliff or, Merlin forbid, throw yourselves valiantly in front of some helpless kitten like the forlorn heroes you are?”

Harry smiled a bitter smile that did not reach his eyes. “We weren’t so lucky, I’m afraid. How are you doing, Malfoy? Have you sold your soul to the devil yet? Oh, wait,” Harry continued in a falsely pensive voice, “you are the devil. In that case . . . have you made any profits lately off of all those innocent souls? Oh . . . wait . . . it’s not like you need the money. I suppose you’ll have to settle for mercilessly torturing a few Muggleborns, then. Pity.”

Draco apparently did not find this funny at all. They walked down the stairs, and would all be happy to get away from each other.


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Dinner was held at a reasonably pleasant restaurant, but Hermione was anticipating their visit to the Bulgarian village most of all.
After they had all finished dinner, Krum announced that the village was in walking distance and that it was a ‘nice’ night out.

As they went outside, the cold bit into Hermione’s flesh unexpectedly. She sucked in a breath, rubbing her mitten-clad hands together. Her cheeks were tinged pink, and she smiled and laughed as Harry tried in vain to brush the snowflakes out of his dark hair. She did not have any idea how beautiful she looked.

It was snowing ever so lightly, the kind of snow that looked like cotton. Draco walked ahead of Hermione and Harry, with Fleur by his side. Fleur shivered, and Hermione watched as he casually put an arm around her shoulders. He smiled, and Hermione would not have been surprised if the world had stopped to watch him. With little flecks of snow dotting his silvery hair and his eyes gleaming like starlight in the darkness all around, he could have been an angel, no more than a dream in the desolate cold.

Not a dream, Hermione reminded herself, but a nightmare.

They topped the peak of a hill, and below them spanned the glimmering Wizarding Village. It was something right out of a picture book; the peaked roofs topped with white icing, the bright windows like twinkling jewels. People bustled along the cobbled streets, shopping and talking and laughing. The group’s spirit seemed to rise as they entered the village. It was little piece of paradise, or a preservation of old beauty in a world becoming modern too quickly.

They descended further into the center of town. Most of it seemed charming and quaint, but the farther they walked, the more rundown the houses and buildings seemed to become.

“You do not vant to walk these streets alone at night, Hermioninny,” Krum intoned sagely. “The Bulgarian Mafia patrols this area regularly, amongst other petty criminals. It is not a good idea.”

Krum stopped at one of the larger buildings. Hermione could hear the mingled sounds of talking, music, and laughing wafting from behind the door.

“Ah!” the man at the door exclaimed, upon recognizing Krum. “Victor, my friend! Ve have not seen you in a long time! Still a famous international figure, I see. And who are all of your companions?”

“Zese are Ambassadors from Britain and France, along with a few of my own friends. And here . . .” Victor paused, and grabbed Harry’s arm, “is Harry Potter. He is one of za Ambassadors for Britain.”

“Harry . . . Potter?” the man stuttered, shaking Harry’s hand ferverently. “Why . . I vill never see anything like it again . . .”

“Nice to meet you,” Harry said politely, trying not to wince as the man attempted to break his wrist.

“Go right . . . on in,” the man said at last, looking dazed, and understandably as if he did not believe his eyes.

Hermione caught up to Krum as he strode inside.

“Where are we, Victor?” she asked.

“Ve are at za favorite bar and concert hall of Durmstrang school. I think that before ve go to France, I must show you some real Bulgarian fun!”

An explosion of sound hit her ears with full force. A live band played on stage, and boisterous laughter sounded from the tables, which were strewn around quite randomly. It was immediately over crowded, and she was jostled by a rowdy group of men. She almost lost sight of Krum, and grabbed onto his arm to steady herself. She did not see Draco’s eyes narrow dangerously at Krum as the Bulgarian boy smiled. They somehow managed to find a long table to sit at, with a bartender behind it.

“I think you vill like this place, Hermoninny,” Krum said over the roar, “they have something that I believe you call karaoke. ”

Harry sat down firmly next to her, looking slightly disoriented. The bartender approached them.

“What would you have?” he asked.

“Butterbeer,” Hermione said quickly. She craned her neck to gaze at Draco, who was also ordering a butterbeer. She turned back around to see a butterbeer in front of her.

“A firewhiskey, please,” Harry said to the bartender. Hermione watched as he took his cup and gulped half of the liquid down. She leaned over and spoke in a low voice to him.

“Honestly, Harry! I don’t know if you should be drinking. We’re in kind of a shady joint . . . besides, there could be press around here somewhere.”

“Screw the press,” Harry said, rather uncharacteristically. “And besides,” he continued, raising his glass, “when in Rome, do as the Romans do.”

He tilted his head over toward Krum and his friends, who were roaring with laughter and guzzling beer. Harry gave her a maddening smile as he used her own logic against her.

Hermione’s attention was then diverted to Fleur , who was apparently throwing a fit because they ‘didn’t serve champagne!’

“What do you expect in a low class place like this?” Hermione heard Draco say loudly. Krum heard this, of course, and his eyes flashed contemptuously toward the Slytherin.

Ginny appeared suddenly, a drink in her hand.

“Karaoke!” she squealed at Hermione and Harry, her eyes sparkling. “How interesting! I can’t wait to see who performs!”

Hermione and Harry laughed, and Harry took another gulp of firewhiskey. Hermione pursed her lips before smiling ever so slightly.

“Oh, give me that!” she said, grabbing the drink out of Harry’s hands.

Harry looked disappointed, until she raised te glass to her lips and took a swig herself. She could have sworn Harry’s eyes almost popped out of his head. Then he grinned. “If only Ron were here to see you!”

“Speaking of Ron,” Hermione said, turning to Ginny, “he told me you didn’t drink!”

Ginny winked. “I do now,” she said over the din. Then she waltzed off into the crowd, most likely trying to get a closer view of the stage. Hermione looked over to see Ernie arguing loudly with Renae, and almost out of habit, looked for Draco. His seat next to Fleur’s, however, was empty. Where has he gone? Hermione thought with a pang of a dark omen.

“I’ll be back. I’m going to talk to Fleur,” Hermione said to Harry. Harry raised his eyebrows, but nodded as she strode off. She tried to contort her face into some semblance of politeness as she approached Fleur. She sat down in Draco’s seat, and Fleur turned to her with cold eyes.

“Have you seen Ma . . . Draco?” Hermione asked, catching herself in the middle of the sentence. “I’m not sure where he went.”

“Do you ‘ave to know where ‘e is all the time?” Fleur said haughtily. “Zat eez a bit nosy, if you ask me.”

“It’s none of your business,” Hermione retorted, rather more rudely than she had meant to. The two girls looked at each other with copious amounts of dislike.

“Well, one of you is going to have to move,” came a voice from behind them. It was Draco, and he looked vaguely amused. She wondered briefly how long he had been listening. “I’d say it would be you, Granger, since you’ve stolen my seat.”

Grudgingly, Hermione moved, but a girl had gotten up from the seat next to them, so she simply scooted over.

Draco sat down, and their attention was drawn to the stage, where a host announced the most anticipated entertainment of the night, and mentioned that karaoke would begin in a half hour. The band entered to wild cheering, and scantily clad dancers took the stage as the band started playing. Hermione rolled her eyes.

Draco looked at the dancers speculatively as he raised his glass to his lips. He leaned low to whisper in her ear, and she fully expected a rude and uncouth comment about the show.

“See that dancer up on stage, Granger?” Malfoy asked softly, pointing out a girl near the center of the group. The dancer was twirling and dipping with flawless elegance. Hermione nodded curtly, raising an eyebrow. Draco continued, “Learning the dance routines was easy, but I’ll bet you that the hardest thing to teach her was not to let that smile slip from her face. Ever.”

Hermione glanced up at him and frowned. It was something she had never picked up on, but nevertheless it was something that was very true. Dancers, no matter how panicked or perturbed they were, always smiled. It was the thing that made them so wonderful to watch. They were the ultimate actors. How had Malfoy realized that?

A hand suddenly clamped down on Hermione’s shoulder.

“Hermione!” Ginny said, giggling like a little girl. She swayed slightly, obviously drunk. Harry was behind her, looking as if he also had consumed his fair share. “Guess what?” Ginny babbled. “Harry and I are going to join the karaoke competition!”

“Oh, Ginny . . .” Hermione started, “I don’t know if that’s a . . .”

She was cut off as another hand clamped down on her shoulder. This time it was Draco.

“We may have a slight problem, Granger,” he said as he nodded over to Ernie. The Hufflepuff was talking loudly and seemed to have attracted a large crowd. Some looked as if they liked what they were hearing; others were cracking their knuckles. Ernie had scarcely noticed and continued to address the crowd with numerous hand gestures.

“We should stop him,” Hermione decided quickly, but someone was tugging at her sleeve.

“What song should we sing, Hermione?” Harry asked, slurring his wordsslightly.

Krum suddenly burst through the crowd, the other Bulgarian Ambassadors closely behind him. Hermione felt trapped in a mass of moving bodies.

“Hermioninny!” he said loudly. He threw an arm around her shoulder. “You look upset! What is wrong?”

His face was too close to hers. His breath smelled of alcohol, and the music blared in her ears. There was a distant pounding noise that grew louder. She realized it was the men banging their glasses on the table. Her head began to spin.

“Nothing’s wrong with her, you big oaf,” Draco said, his temper obviously on a short leash, “we just have a situation to deal with right now.”

Krum’s eyes darkened as he glared at Draco, and some of the bystanders moved closer to Ernie, looking angrier than ever. The tension in the building seemed to escalate.

“Do not presume to insult me here, Meester Malfoy. You have picked za wrong crowd to do so in.”

“What are you going to do?” Draco asked cooly, raising an eyebrow. “Shoot me again with a gun that isn’t even loaded?”

Krum looked angry, and he dislodged his arm from Hermione’s shoulders. Draco had just insulted a tradition that was very close to Krum’s heart. Krum had reached boiling point.

“I am tired of you, Malfoy,” Krum intoned. “I think it is time you learned your place.”

He slowly drew his wand.

“You don’t like what I’m saying, huh?” Hermione heard Ernie yell aggressively.

“I’ll give you one shot,” Draco said, “until I hex you straight to hell.”

“No–!” Hermione started, but Krum leapt at Draco, and a flash of light lanced from the tip of Krum’s wand. Draco dodged it, but it smashed into a table behind him, and there was a loud crash and shattering of glass. This seemed to simultaneously set off the group of men surrounding Ernie, and one of them landed a solid uppercut into Ernie’s jaw. He flew backward into a woman, and she screamed. What followed was complete pandemonium. Spells flew every which way, glass shattered, and people pushed relentlessly forward to see what was happening.

Her scream lost in the clamor, Hermione leapt into the fray, searching for either Krum or Draco. She had to break them up. She found Draco, but not before a spell flew past her and ripped her shirt down the front. Nevertheless, she grabbed the back of Draco’s coat with both hands, and gave and enormous tug. He staggered backwards. She grabbed his wrist, along with the collar of his jacket, and relentlessly dragged him away. He was so surprised that he did not protest.

When they reached the closest exit, Hermione wrenched open the door and jerked him outside. Once in the frosty night, she slammed the door shut and released his coat violently. He staggered back, thrown off balance, and smashed into the alley wall with a thump. It was immensely silent outside compared to the din of the bar. They were both breathing heavily.

“What were you thinking, Malfoy?” Hermione roared angrily.

“Hey! Krum attacked me!” Draco pointed out defensively.

“I don’t care!” Hermione bellowed angrily, stomping her foot on the ground. She missed Draco’s quickly masked smile. “I am sick and tired of you immaturity. Do you have any idea what will happen if this gets out? We are supposed to be Ambassadors, Malfoy, not drunks who get into bar fights. Now I want you to go back in there right now and apologize to Krum.”

Draco looked at her as if she were telling him to take food from needy orphans in Tibet.

“You’ve got to kidding me,” he said, soft malice evident in every syllable.

He whirled around and began stalking down the alley.

“Where are you going?” Hermione yelled after him, uncertainty in her voice. She raced to catch up with him.

“I don’t know about you, but there is no way I’m going back in there. I would rather spend my night alone than with The Quidditch Star From Hell and a bunch of drunk Gryffindors.”

“You’re drunk too!” Hermione insisted. She had seen him drink just as much as Harry, if not more.

“Difference between Potter and me is that a can hold my liquor–he can’t. So, no. I am not drunk, Granger. Now why are you still here?”

“I’m not going back in there either,” Hermione announced rather haughtily. “I don’t even want to sort out the mess inside.”

They strode along in silence after that. Hermione realized that they were not in a very high-class part of town. Homeless beggars clutched cheap cups, and drunks and shady looking Bulgarians passed by. Hermione shivered despite herself, aware that her shirt was ripped in all the wrong places. A few men leered rudely at her as they strode by.

Draco, looking weary, shrugged off his jacket and held it out to her. He did not even bother to glance in her direction. “Take my jacket, you filthy Mudblood.”

“No,” Hermione said uncouthly, stepping away from his proffered hand. “I’m not putting on anything you have touched. What is this, some kind of joke? When was the last time you offered to help me out?”

He let out a sigh of frustration. “For Merlin’s sake, just take the bloody jacket, Granger!”

“No, I think I’ll pass on touching your disease-ridden jacket, thanks.”

“So I suppose that you like all of these men goggling at you as we walk by?”

“You were goggling, too, Malfoy!” Hermione accused in an exasperated tone.

He rounded on her then, eyes alight with anger and some other emotion. “And so what if I was?”

She was momentarily speechless, and her cheeks reddened.

“You . . . you’re . . . you’re supposed to hate me!” she finally managed. It sounded absurd even to her own ears.

“Oh, but I do hate you, Granger. I hate you. I hate you . . . and don’t you ever think differently. Now stop following me. Maybe if you’re lucky you’ll make it back to Durmstrang without getting jumped, but in this part of town . . . I doubt it.”

She gaped at him in disbelief, but with a malicious glance, he tossed her his coat and stalked off. This time she did not follow.

[Christian Bray]

Jätka juba!

[spidy]

ja edasi? ;D

[Liz-Miia Parker]

ANDKE MÄRKU KES LOEVAD!

PART I: COME TO ME IN DREAMS

Come to me in the silence of the night;
Come in the speaking silence of a dream;
Come with soft rounded cheeks and eyes as bright
As sunlight on a stream;
Come back in tears,
O memory, hope, love . . .
O dream how sweet, too sweet, too bittersweet,
Whose wakening should have been in Paradise,
Where souls brimful of love abide and meet;
Where thirsting longing eyes
Watch the slow door
That opening, letting in, lets out no more.
Yet come to me in dreams, that I may live . . .
Come back to me in dreams, that I may give,
Pulse for pulse, breath for breath,
Speak low, lean low,
. . . my love . . .

– “Echo” by Christina Rosetti

Chapter 10; Cathedrals and Consequences

FACT: In Malory’s retelling of his life, King Arthur had a son named Mordred.

Lupin walked purposefully into the library of magic the next day. Dumbledore had sent him on a wild goose chase for a long lost relic, and he only had one clue as to where it could possibly be hidden. On top of that, he was racing against the clock to discover the items whereabouts before an evil megalomaniac seized it and destroyed the world.

An average day in the life of Remus Lupin, he mused thoughtfully.

Starlight shines on the eye. How completely random is that saying?

His first task was to look up any poetic or biblical references to the line. It was highly doubtful, but it was worth a try.

Lupin cross referenced ‘starlight’ and ‘eye’, and came up with a few poems and novels. He began searching the sturdy oak shelves for the books he had referenced, and he dragged them all to a discreet table. He smiled as remembered that he was on a top secret mission to save the world. It would not do to have anyone see him.

Sipping coffee slowly, he poured over the tomes and documents, finding nothing. He nearly spewed coffee all over a priceless manuscript as he read the words on the page.

So softly comes the demon’s cry,

So clearly sounds the mortal’s sigh.

Upon the brink of death, we all doth stand,

Salvation and destruction, hand in hand.

Her curtain of tears, her silken hair tie,

Do not soften her screams, we do not ask why.

The snake in her hand, as it slips to the ground,

The fall of her chest, it does not make a sound.

The veil of stars has drawn to a close,

The pillar of stone, and the crescent it sows.

She slips to the earth, and slowly we die.

Starlight shines on the eye, starlight shines on the eye.
There it was, at the end of the poem, repeated twice in the exact form it had come to him. Unbelievable, he thought. It was, however, anonymously signed, and said Circa 535 AD.

He looked back at the poem, and noticed two things about it immediately. It was almost a veiled foreshadowing. Salvation and destruction, hand in hand? It sounded vaguely familiar to something in the prophesy. In fact, it was startlingly similar.

Secondly, some of the words had been inexplicably underlined, and not by the original writer. The ink looked fresh in comparison to the worn writing; it was not more than a week old. The words were snake, stars, pillars of stone, and crescent.

Lupin frowned. There was an inexplicable riddle behind the poem, and a nameless someone had already figured it out. But who was clever enough to do it? No doubt it was one of Voldemort’s followers. The question remained; who?

He had to solve the riddle, and fast. Someone was already way ahead of him.

He thought about the Centaur’s mention of the once and future king. This was quite obviously a reference to the legendary King Arthur. He tried to think of objects associated with King Arthur. The Holy Grail, which had supposedly never been found, and of course Excalibur. Lupin recalled that Arthur had supposedly puled Excalibur from solid stone. Were either of these the objects aforementioned?

This poem must have to do with that sacred object. He read it over twice more, and he realized that he did not have the lightest notion as to what it meant. He closed his eyes, and slowly he stood up, straightening his glasses. He had been reading for an hour, almost, and he needed a break.

He decided to explore the library, and wandered complacently among the dusty shelves. Lupin had always felt at home among books, and he let his eyes idly scan the titles as he strolled by. Suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks, eyes riveted on a book title that consisted of one single word. The word was the answer to all of the questions. He fit it in with the evidence, piece by piece, and suddenly it all made sense. Veil of stars . . . crescent pillars of stone . . . crescent moon . . . starlight shines on the eye.

At the same time it was utterly impossible. This was the craziest notion he had come up with in years.

It has to be . . . it all fits too perfectly, he thought.

Remus Lupin had just discovered the location of the relic, and even Dumbledore would laugh at this idea.

It turned out that the poem was a set of instructions that lead straight to the object.

The one word title of the book Lupin had glanced at was Stonehenge.


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Hermione awakened to a pounding on her door.
“Urgh,” she said groggily, trying in vain to rouse herself from sleep.

The pounding did not go away. She staggered up and threw a robe over her nightclothes. Rubbing her puffy eyes, she wrenched open the door. A house elf stood on the other side, looking terrified.

“Being sorry to wake you, Miss, but Igor Karkaroff sends you an urgent message,” the house elf squeaked, handing her the letter. It bowed, before scuttling quickly away. Hermione shut the door, and checked her wristwatch irritably. It was seven in the morning. What did Igor have to say that possibly could not wait until afternoon? Tearing the letter open, she glanced over at Harry, who was sleeping so heavily that he had not budged from the pounding on the door. He is not going to be happy when he wakes up, Hermione thought wryly.

Contrary to Draco’s doubt that she would make it back to Durmstrang unscathed, Hermione had managed to get safely out of the bad part of town with a Confundis Charm, which diverted attention away from her and made her as good as invisible.

The letter read:

Dear Miss Granger and Mr. Potter;

Please inform the other Hogwarts’ Ambassadors that you are scheduled to depart from Durmstrang to Beauxbatons tomorrow morning at nine o’ clock sharp. Your Independent Study courses are to resume at Beauxbatons, but the first semester’s work is to be completed by tomorrow. Proper attire is required for tomorrow evening’s Introduction Ball, and I have allotted a few hours this morning for you all to go to the village to purchase formal wear. Please be downstairs by nine. I hope you have enjoyed your stay at Durmstrang, and we will be pleased to see you again.

Sincerely,

Igor Karkaroff

Wow, Hermione thought, our time here has gone by too quickly. Between that catamaran ride, these semester projects, and last night, it seems like we have only been here for a few hours.

She puzzled over the ‘formal attire’ note. They had not needed anything formal for Durmstrang, so why would they need any for Beauxbatons?

She sighed and realized that she would not be able to go back to sleep. Besides, she had to wake the others for shopping. Hermione crossed her arms. Shopping was tedious in her eyes, but Ginny would probably be jumping at the chance to go.

She glanced over at Harry, who was still fully clothed from the night before. She had not heard him come in, which meant that it had been very late. She herself had not gotten to sleep until one thirty in the morning. Hermione decided that there was no need to wake him. He would have a sufficiently large hangover when he woke up, and he would not be in the mood for shopping.

Instead she showered, changed into a beige pair of trousers and a dark blue blouse, and headed for Draco and Ernie’s room.

She knocked on the door once, and there was no answer. A muffled groan sounded from within when she banged on the door harder, followed by, “Answer the sodding door, Macmillan.”

Ernie opened the door a crack and saw that it was Hermione. He opened it further to reveal a disgruntled Draco, sitting on the edge of his bed and holding his head.

“What do you want, Granger?” Draco asked rudely. “It’s far too early to look so cheerful.”

Hermione did a double take, and was actually kind of infuriated about how good Malfoy looked sitting on the edge of his bed, hair rumpled horribly, sharp features even more defined due to his hangover . . .

It was making her mad. Even in the morning, when every other human being looked as if they’d been dragged through a carwash, Malfoy seemed roguish and rumpled and why in the world was she wasting her time thinking about the boy?

“Your coat, Malfoy?” Hermione answered sardonically, holding out the expensive jacket. Ernie took the coat and threw it unceremoniously at Draco.

“Karkaroff sent me a letter about an hour ago informing us that we’ll be leaving for Beauxbatons early tomorrow. We need formal attire for some fancy dance tomorrow night, so we’re supposed to go shopping for our clothes at nine.”

She noted with some interest that Ernie had a swollen lip and a black eye. She thought it was probably better not to ask.

“Nine?” Ernie said. “We’ll be down in a half hour or so.”

“We will?” Draco asked ruefully. He had bags under his eyes and looked extremely tired.

“Good, then, I’ll see you down there,” Hermione said to Ernie, deliberately ignoring the other boy. Draco looked less than pleased at the situation, and was about to protest.

“And,” said Hermione, by way of goodbye, “you might want to do something about that black eye.”

She winked, touching her own eye, and Ernie brought his hand to his face, looking surprised. She made her way down the hall to Ginny’s room.

Once again, she knocked. Once again, no answer. This time Hermione simply tried to open the door. She suspected it was unlocked. Unsurprisingly, it opened, and Hermione stepped inside. Ginny lay on her bed, sleeping as soundly as Harry. Feeling particularly bothersome, Hermione flounced over to the window and flung the blinds wide open. Frosty, blinding white light streamed onto Ginny’s face, and she stirred slightly and groaned.

“Wake up!” Hermione chirruped in her most cheerful voice.

It is rather annoying to be woken up by a glaringly cheerful person, but far more annoying to be woken up by a glaringly cheerful person when one has a hangover. Ginny, scarcely able to open her eyes to the light, fixed a glare in Hermione’s general direction.

“No need to be angry, now,” Hermione said, maintaining the sickening pleasantness.

“Oh, Hermione . . .” Ginny groaned, clutching at her head, “what did I do last night?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” Hermione said without an ounce of sympathy, “though last I heard you and Harry were going to sing a bit of karaoke!”

Ginny’s eyes widened comically and her face went a nasty shade of green.

“We are supposed to go shopping in about an hour,” Hermione said lightly.

Ginny turned even greener, and rushed to the bathroom. Hermione covered her ears as she heard a rather unpleasant gagging sound. Ginny stepped back into the room a few moments later, and this time she was white.

“I don’t think I’m in any shape to go downstairs, much less go shopping.”

“All right, then. I’ll pick out a dress for you.”

Ginny looked horrified, but Hermione had already gone out the door.

She went downstairs to find a lovely breakfast buffet waiting. It was a Saturday, and few students were up at such an early hour. She poured herself a delicious, steaming cup of coffee and added rich cream. She breathed it in, and the scent was unbelievably wonderful. She sat down at a table, crossing her legs contentedly and sipping in peace.

A package dropped rather suddenly next to her, and an owl landed along with it. Startled, she realized that it was only her Daily Prophet. She had wanted to keep up with the news in Britain while away, so had asked the editors to forward it to her in Bulgaria.

She paid the owl, and began to unroll the paper. When she saw the front picture, she blinked.

She blinked again.

Then she screeched.

Hermione was not the Screeching Type. The Screeching Type of girl was closer to Lavender or Parvati or Pansy.

But Hermione did, indeed, screech.

The few students in the hall looked at her funnily, and then muttered about The British.

“Harry Potter gets Groovy with Ministry Official’s Daughter.”

That headline alone was enough to alarm her considerably, but the picture splattered across the front page was, if anything, worse. Harry and Ginny stood atop a bar table, apparently singing some sort of karaokee duet with one another. They were dancing boisterously to what looked like a variation of the tango. The most surprising thing of all was that the people around them were cheering wildly.

“I’m going to bloody kill him,” Hermione said, with feeling. She stared openmouthed as Picture Ginny stumbled and Picture Harry caught her in his arms. They had been completely smashed.

“Kill who?” asked Ernie, who had apparently just come in with Draco. He looked tired, but had returned to his normal, finely groomed self. They sat down casually. Wordlessly, Hermione handed the paper to Ernie.

He scanned it, but showed little surprise. “Wow . . . they actually made The Prophet?” he said at last, looking impressed.

“You knew about this?” Hermione asked wildly. “Why didn’t you tell me!”

“Slipped my mind,” said Ernie with a shrug. Draco took the paper from Ernie, and wrinkled his nose before speaking.

“The Prophet must be getting really desperate if they’re running a front page story about Potter singing karaoke.”

“Oh, this paper will sell out in London, I’ll assure you of that,” Ernie said enthusiastically. “The Prophet is genius to run this story.”

Hermione had apparently gone into a state of mild shock.

Ernie took the paper back from Draco and began reading it.

Presently one of the Bulgarian Ambassadors, Ava, stalked up to their table. She was a small, dark girl, and seemed the exact opposite of the other Bulgarian Ambassador, Hilda. Hilda was fair skinned and blonde, and wore her hair in pigtails with red ribbons. She was often sighted wearing a blue dress to match her light blue eyes.

Ava, on the other hand, had classic Romanian looks. She had a dark, thick brow that protruded immensely, and full, pouty lips. Her hair was short and straight, and her eyes were nearly black. Presently, she sat down opposite of Hermione.

“What is vrong with Hermione?” Ava asked Draco, her accent thick.

Draco shrugged, his eyes flashing coldly toward Hermione. He was apparently still angry about the night before.

“Where are the others?” Draco asked.

Ava smiled, and her face was dark and sultry.

“They vill not be coming shopping, fortunately for you. It seems I am za only one that doesn’t have a splitting hangover.”

“Ah,” said Draco in a knowing voice. He silently thanked whatever God ruled over them that Krum was not coming.

“Oy, Malfoy,” Ernie said from behind the paper. “Look at this! A bloke from Hogwarts by the name of Blaise Zabini has gone missing! Do you know him?”

“What!” yelped Draco, grabbing the paper out of Ernie’s hands for a second time. “Yeah, I know him alright. His father and my father are good friends.”

“Well, he has been missing for about two weeks . . . since the beginning of term, come to think of it,” Ernie noted, confused.

This piece of information seemed to jolt Hermione back to life. It made very little sense to her. Why would the Pureblood son of a prominent family suddenly disappear? Voldemort certainly was not behind it. If that was the case, though, then who was? The second oddity was that he had been missing for two weeks, and yet the Prophet had not bothered to report it until today. That, or the possibility that someone had been trying to hush it up, and had paid The Prophet off.

Myra and Jaime arrived promptly, with reports that the others were for whatever reason incapable of going shopping.

“Fleur told me to ask you about your independent study course, though. She said that you had better finish the last anagram, because it is due tomorrow.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Hermione, jumping in her seat as if electrified. She missed Draco roll his eyes. “I thought Ivan had been assigned that one. Oh, dear.”

There were certain methods to cracking anagrams, and Hermione found that the more anagrams she solved, the easier it got to spot them outright. This one would still take a great deal of work, however.

“I can help, if you’d like. I do love a good riddle,” Myra said with a wink.

“And she eez good at zem, too,” Jaime said promptly. “One of ze most brilliant students in our school, no doubt.”

Myra flushed red and denied this, but Hermione had an inkling suspicion that it was true.


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The carriage ride to the village was nice, since there were only six of them. Hermione had time to get to know the others better.
Myra was charismatic and gorgeous, but in the very opposite way that Fleur was. Fleur was all light beauty, laughter, sparkle, and charm. Myra, on the other hand, with long raven hair and red lips, had quiet elegance and undeniable class. Sometimes she seemed withdrawn, however.

Jaime was a nationalist, and took great pride in his French heritage. He was intelligent, obviously, but reminded Hermione of someone right out of the Eighteenth Century.

Ava had a dangerous wit, and frowned far more than she smiled. She had taken a liking to Draco, though, and seemed content around him. Hermione could not begin to fathom why. She purposely kept her eyes away from Draco for the majority of the ride. She saw only silver flashes out of the corner of her eye, and was tempted to turn her head every so often.

They arrived at last, and began shopping. It was primarily uneventful, save that they had all accumulated too many bags at the end, due to their absent friends. They ended up levitating the bags with their wands, but Ernie tripped over his and stood up haughtily, his face an indignant shade of red.

They were walking back to the carriage, in fact, when they heard an obvious snap behind them. Draco, who had been laughing at how ridiculous Ernie looked in his new dress robes, had heard someone laughing along with him. When he realized it was Hermione, he stopped abruptly.

Hermione whirled around in time to see a dark figure disappear around a corner. She turned around quickly, and felt uneasy.

“Keep walking,” she said in a low voice to the others. “I think we’re being followed.”

“What . . .?” started Ernie, but she shook her head and began deliberately walking forward. The others followed, extremely confused. Ten steps later, another click sounded, and this time they whirled around fast enough to see the flash of a camera, the face of a journalist. Hermione tilted her head to the left ever so slightly, and behind a carriage, another shadow disappeared. As she glanced around indiscreetly, she noticed more and more of them. Ridiculous as it sounded, they were being followed by the paparazzi!

“We need to get out of here,” Myra was the first to say. “Everyone split up, and zey will not know who to follow. Jaime and I will go that way, Ernie and Ava can go left . . . and Hermione and Draco can go right.”

Because of their flawless public facade, Myra did not know of their hateful rivalry, and was oblivious to the annoyance that flashed through both pairs of eyes.

“Come on, then,” Hermione intoned bossily, motioning for Draco to follow. Wearily, Draco took off after her.

“Granger, look, I–”

“Don’t talk to me, Malfoy. Not here. Not now. Not a word.”

Despite their brisk pace, Draco saw a few black shadows out of the corner of his eye. Why did they want pictures of him?

He nearly ran into Hermione because she had stopped abruptly in front of him. She was gazing up at a tall building, which was grand and had a steeple.

“Yes . . .” Hermione mused, obviously to herself, “not even they would . . . yes! C’mon, Malfoy.”

She grabbed his wrist, and he jolted slightly at the contact. Oblivious, Hermione tugged him up the steps. She pushed open the door and quickly slipped inside, so Draco followed. What he saw inside was unbelievable.

“Granger,” he said loudly, “where are w–”

She rudely clamped a hand over his mouth. “Shut it, Malfoy.”

It was like nothing he had seen before, and the things that stuck out to him the most were the windows. They were large and opened to the sky above, but they had been stained in every color, from crimson red to royal blue to sunset gold. The effect was unreal. Sunlight streamed in through the frames, and the light was stained in rainbows. The very air seemed to sparkle around them, and with every step it seemed as if Draco was moving into a pristine dimension of light.

The next thing was the music. It was so pure and celestial and heart wrenching that for the first time in a long time he felt sadness, and, inexplicably, joy. The music seemed to be coming from everywhere, because the people all around him, sitting in wooden isles, were humming.

Hermione guided them to a seat near the back, looking impatient. How could she be impatient? At the head of the building stood a man clothed in white robes. Behind him were flickering cans of incense, and candles that cast a warm, sinewy glow around the room. The ceiling was high and domed, and arched gracefully over their head. It was covered in colorful and fanciful murals.

The room was more magical than any other place Draco had ever been, and he had never seen anything like it.

“Where are we?” he whispered, eyes wide.

“We’re in a Muggle church, Malfoy. This is where they worship a Muggle God.”

Draco’s mind reeled. What? He had just thought that it was one of the most magical places he had been, and yet it did not contain an ounce of magic. What new kind of sorcery was this?

“You mean to tell me that Muggles built this?” Draco asked, awestruck.

Hermione gave him a strange look and nodded. Lucius had always told him that Muggles were completely worthless, and Draco had wholeheartedly believed his father. After all, what did Muggles have that Wizards did not have more of? What did Muggles create that Wizards did not create more efficiently?

But this, this beautiful, everlasting sanctuary in a world growing uglier and darker every day, was something Draco knew even Wizards could not rival. That only left one barrier in his mind.

“But . . . that is impossible. Whoever built this church was obviously intelligent and Muggles certainly aren’t intelligent.”

He said it as if it were absurd, as if it were unthinkable that Muggles possess coherent thought.

Wearily, Hermione said, “Malfoy, have you ever met a Muggle?”

He thought back. “Well . . . no.”

She turned to him and shot him a look that clearly said point proven.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

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A few hours later, after the Ambassadors had successfully escaped the press, the five Hogwarts students were lounging around in Ernie and Draco’s room. Draco was quite unhappy with the situation, and sat in a corner finishing (more precisely, refinishing) his Arithmancy problems. Hermione lounged on one bed, and Harry sat at the foot of it. Ginny lay on the other, and Ernie was sprawled in an armchair, tired from their expedition. Harry had laughed when he had heard of the predicament.
“I feel like some movie star blown way out of proportion. It’s ridiculous, really. We’re just a bunch of kids, our lives aren’t that interesting,” Harry had said with a laugh.

“Not at all,” Draco said sardonically from the corner. “Just a Ministry Official’s daughter, the smartest student in the top school in Britain, the sole heir to the largest fortune in the Wizarding world, and the boy who is the one salvation of the human race. Not to mention that we’re all foreign dignitaries and the relationship between our countries depends solely on how we speak and act. Of course the international spotlight is going to be cast on us, you moron.”

“Speaking of responsibility,” Hermione put in quickly, “Malfoy, you have been very rude to Krum. I want you to–”

But they never found out what Hermione wanted Draco to do, because the window shattered.

There was a mad flutter of wings, and at least five owls shot in. The one they noticed immediately dropped a steaming red envelope directly in front of Harry.

“Oh no,” Harry moaned, “it’s from McGonagall.”

“Open it,” Hermione said ruthlessly.

He did.

“HARRY POTTER!” it screamed. He clutched at his head. He had been feeling marginally better, but McGonagall’s angry voice made him feel three times worse.

“IN THE SEVEN YEARS I HAVE BEEN HEAD OF YOUR HOUSE, I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO ASHAMED OF YOU! YOU WERE DRUNK AND SINGING KARAOKEE ON TOP OF A BAR TABLE! YOU SHOULD KNOW BETTER! THE PRESS IS HAVING A FIELD DAY WITH THIS IN BRITAIN! YOU HAVE EMBARRASSED HOGWARTS AND YOURSELF.”

It went quiet and Harry sat in stunned silence, his head throbbing worse than ever.

“GINNY WEASELY!” it started up again. They all screamed and threw their hands back over their ears.

“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH YOU HAVE EMBARRASSED YOUR FATHER! CAN YOU IMAGINE WHAT PEOPLE ARE SAYING?”

Ginny looked greener than ever.

“DRACO MALFOY!” Draco, who had been grinning fiendishly for the majority of the time, felt his face fall.

“YOU GOT . . . INTO . . A BAR FIGHT . . . WITH VIKTOR KRUM! I HAVE NOTHING TO SAY TO YOU. I WILL ALLOW SEVERUS TO DEAL WITH YOU WHEN YOU RETURN.”

Draco, too, looked slightly queasy.

“ERNIE MACMILLAN!”

They all cried out in agony. “Make it stop,” whispered Harry.

“I WOULDN’T THINK YOU WERE ONE TO PICK FIGHTS WITH COMPLETE STRANGERS! I EXPECTED BETTER OF ALL OF YOU. I WISH I COULD PORTKEY YOU ALL BACK TO SCHOOL THIS INSTANT BUT THERE IS TOO MUCH AT STAKE. I EXPECT BETTER OF YOU FROM NOW ON. DO NOT PUT ONE MORE TOE OUT OF LINE!”

It exploded in a burst of red light.

“Oh,” moaned Harry, clutching his poor head.

Ginny, with shaky fingers, tore open a letter addressed to her.

Ginevra Weasley,

The only reason I didn’t send you a Howler was because McGonagall took care of that. I want you to come how right now, but Dumbledore forbids it. You are in trouble, young lady. You have disgraced your father, and disgraced yourself even more. There will be consequences when you come home.

– Your Mother

“Why did we do it?” Ginny asked Harry, shaking her head.

There was another letter, addressed to both Ginny and Harry. It was from Fred and George.

Harry and Ginny,

We heard what happened, and . . . you two are bloody brilliant! Props on that wicked tango! It seems like you two will be in the news for a while. We’re going to take a leaf out of your book, and make Dancing Doogies! When our customers eat them, they will start tangoing like you two did! We’re out!

Diabolically,

Gred and Forge

“Oh dear,” Ginny said quietly.

Draco had received an envelope embossed in silver letters, and he knew it was from his father. As he opened it, a picture tumbled out. His eyes opened wide.

It was a picture of Draco and Hermione, standing side by side with identical smiles on their faces. They appeared to be laughing. He flashed back to that morning on the street when he had stopped laughing because he had realized Hermione was laughing with him, and recalled the snap they had heard behind them. Someone had taken a picture. A short note accompanied the picture.

11:00 tonight. Be there.

Draco sighed, crumpled the paper up, and threw it in the fire. The picture, he slipped into his coat pocket.


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By dinnertime, everyone looked and felt better. Franz insisted that they all go to dinner at his favorite restaurant for their final night at Durmstrang.
They found themselves, much to Hermione’s relief, outside of a large and well-lit building. She strode in with the others, and did not notice Draco grab Harry’s shoulder to hold him back.

Draco stared at Harry disconcertingly, with unmoving eyes.

“Listen, Potter. I think you’ve made a big enough prat of yourself lately. Here’s some advice; don’t drink anything.”

“Malfoy,” Harry said quietly, “I’m not going to drink anything for the rest of my life after last night.”

Draco smirked. “We’ll see about that.”

Harry turned and walked inside of the restaurant. Draco followed. He always did.

Dinner had been moving along well, until they had finished the main course. Harry was really starting to like the others. They all seemed like wonderful people. The only person who seemed uncomfortable was Michael, the boy from Beauxbatons. Harry watched his eyes carefully, and it was almost as if he was trying not to meet Fleur’s eyes. Strange, if nothing else.

“Excuse me!” said a voice from behind Harry intrusively. He suddenly had a Bad Feeling.

He turned around to see three girls that were about his age, staring at him with abandon.

“Are you . . .?”

Here it came. After the inevitable question had been asked, he would answer, ‘Yes, I am Harry Potter,’ and he would show them his scar. They would commence in staring at the mark in morbid fascination.

“Are you that boy that was singing karaoke last night? And is she . . .” the girl pointed excitedly at Ginny, bursting with glee, “ . . . is she the girl who was dancing with you?”

Harry practically fell out of his chair with surprise. He realized that the whole restaurant had gone silent; they were waiting for his answer.

“Erm . . . well . . . yes,” he answered reluctantly, seeing no way to deny it. The people in the restaurant broke into strained whispers. Many stood up to get a closer look, and he watched in horror as many of them searched frantically for quills and paper.

The three girls looked at each other and squealed in glee.

“You were brilliant! And too sexy for words!” one said finally.

Harry choked. The situation was becoming more embarrassing by the moment.

“Waiter!” he said desperately, throwing his hand in the air in a breakneck attempt to get the waiter’s attention. “Check, please!”

He turned a glare onto Draco, who was sniggering with mirth at Harry’s predicament. If he did not get out of there soon, he was sure an autograph mob would form.

“Go ahead, Potter,” Draco said through his mocking laughter. “I’ll take care of the bill.”

Harry grabbed Ginny’s hand and dashed out, just as the girls had found a few quills for autographs.

As the cold hit Harry’s face, he felt his burning cheeks cool, and turned to Ginny. They looked at each other and both burst into laughter.

“We weren’t that good, were we?” Ginny asked through her smiles.

“I don’t remember,” Harry confided helplessly, and they started laughing again.

He could not remember a time when he had felt the freedom that welled within him now. He had always been weighed down by expectations. Everyone expected their hero to have a certain pious code of conduct that he simply no longer wished to follow. He did not care what people thought of The Boy Who Lived, for once. He had spent the entirety of his life trying to be noble and chivalrous and unblemished, and now, at last, he felt as if he did not have to live up to that perfection. Harry was not perfect. He was human.

He was flawed.

And maybe he finally felt free because he was in a strange country where people did not expect so much of him, but he had an inkling suspicion that it was something else entirely.

The laughing stopped suddenly. Why had he never seen the way Ginny’s cheeks turned red and highlighted her freckles in the cold? Why had he never noticed the flecks of gold strewn like firelight in the rivulets of hair that cascaded so softly around her face?

He felt himself moving closer, wrapping his arms around Ginny’s waist, moving swiftly onto terrain that he had never traveled.

Their lips met soundlessly, and the last things he saw were the snowflakes clinging to her lashes. He felt her mouth open under his, and she tasted like cinnamon and perhaps chocolate, although he could not fathom why. Her lips were warm where everything else was cold, and soft where everything else was solid. He pulled her closer, and could feel a tremor on her lips ever so slightly. Ginny deepened the kiss for a moment, pulling his mouth closer to hers, before breaking away abruptly.

Harry realized that he had been an idiot. He did not know Ginny well enough to kiss her. He had ruined everything. He had acted foolishly on a moment’s attraction. What kind of awful person was he?

“Ginny?” he asked softly, trying in vain to still the pounding of his heart.

“Oh, Harry,” she said, letting out her breath. “I shouldn’t . . . I can’t . . .”

“Why not?” Harry asked, a hint of alarm in his voice. Instead of answering, she reached out her hands and took his carefully.

Her eyes in that moment reminded Harry of someone else’s eyes that he knew. They looked too burdened for a girl so young and beautiful.

It did not take him long to realize that they reminded him of the ones he saw every time he looked in the mirror.


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Draco checked the clock by his bedside and noticed it read five minutes to eleven. He slipped out from beneath the sheets, fully clothed. He tiptoed over to his dresser and opened the jewelry box. He did not want to wake Macmillan; if he did wake the boy then he would have to perform a memory charm, and he did not want to do that.
Draco touched the pendant, and felt a jerk at his naval. The world twirled, and he closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, he was again at the Malfoy Manor, in one of the various Sitting Rooms. Lucius sat in an armchair, and turned his head lazily as Draco entered.

“Come here, boy,” Lucius uttered casually. Draco stood in front of his father. Without warning, Lucius stood up and backhanded him across the face.

Draco reeled back from the unexpected blow, his sharp intake of breath less from pain and more from shock. He brought his hand to his cheek and saw blood. Then he remembered that his father always wore a bladed ring, and often used it to hit servants or house elves. He had never used it on his own son.

“Two hundred Galleons,” Lucius said with icily contained rage. “That is the amount I had to pay the photographer to keep that picture out of the paper. Explain to me how a photographer got a hold of my Pureblood son laughing casually with a Mudblood girl.”

Draco was almost too shocked to speak. 200 Galleons? What he could tell his father? That he had been laughing over something as trivial as a new suit Ernie had purchased?

“Befriending Potter has become far more difficult than I believed. In order to befriend him, I must charm Granger also.”

“Do not kid yourself, Draco,” Lucius said angrily. “I forbid you to make friends with her. If you must . . . convince her . . . take a more direct approach, if you understand what I mean. Women are only good for one thing anyway.”

Draco tried to stop himself from gaping. Had his father just suggested he seduce Granger? Impossible.

As if able to read his mind, Lucius said, “You will do whatever it takes to complete this mission, Draco. There are new developments that make your success even more crucial. We have selected a date and time for you to lure Potter away from Hogwarts.”

“What’s happening?” Draco asked, sensing an urgency in his father’s voice.

Lucius paced impatiently. “I am not to tell you. I will say one thing. The wheels have been set in motion for one of the most dramatic revelations in the world . . . and perhaps the one that will be its inevitable end.”

“What?” Draco muttered, confused. Lucius whirled on his, eyes glittering maliciously.

“Even you will see some surprises in the next few weeks, my son. There will be salvation and there will be destruction, but they will come together like sweet tasting poison. Be ready to lure Potter away, Draco. The wheels are turning.”

Lucius paced once more, before waving a hand dismissively. Draco turned to leave, wide eyed. What was all of this about the end of the world? What revelation was to come? What part did Draco himself play?

Lucius had never laid a hand on his son. Draco had known that his father was over controlling and he had known that he was his father’s puppet, to some extent. Draco had never thought that his father would strike him down.

Draco abruptly remembered a dream he had once had about a girl holding a snake. It had bitten her, and she had fallen to the ground. The earth had fallen with her, and though she had found salvation, she had condemned the rest of the world to destruction. Was this the type of destruction that his father spoke of?

But it had come to him in a dream. Only a dream.

With dreams his journey had begun, and with dreams it would no doubt end