Somewhere I Have Never Traveled.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

PART II: THE GREAT DECEPTION

The dumber people think you are, the more surprised they’re going to be when you kill them.

– William Clayton

Chapter 16; Pretentious Propositions

Darkness had fallen.

When the five Hogwarts Ambassadors had reached their own Sitting Room, no one seemed inclined to go to their rooms and sleep.

Ginny stared blankly into the fire, and Hermione stood by the window. Harry sat tensely on the sofa, and Draco loitered near the door. Ernie paced restlessly from one end of the room to the other.

“Say Franz didn’t fall, just assume it,” Harry intoned suddenly. “Then who did it, and why?”

Ernie stopped pacing and turned. “I think Jaime did it.”

“What?” questioned Hermione. “Why?”

“Because last night we were talking and he said that Bulgarians did not deserve to walk on French soil.”

“That doesn’t mean he would kill someone,” Hermione retorted softly.

Ernie answered, “He was really angry. He slammed his fist on the table. He may be mentally unstable.”

“If you ask me, Krum is the most suspicious,” Draco piped up. “He obviously has an anger management problem, to start with. He claims he was flying a broom at the time of Franz’s murder . . . you can’t fly a broom in this weather.”

Draco regarded their cynical and skeptical looks with a furious glare. “Bloody hell, can’t you see he has been planning this from the start? He tried to kill us that day on the boat!”

“That’s ridiculous, Malfoy!” Harry said. “You just hate Krum.”

“Listen to this, though,” Draco said. “Earlier today when I was exploring the castle I heard two suspicious people plotting, and I could have sworn one of them was Krum. They talked about ‘striking’ someone down, and one of the people they mentioned was me. Doesn’t that sound like Krum to you?”

Hermione looked uneasy. “Well, your little friend Fleur isn’t looking completely innocent either. She tried to talk me out of giving her Veritaserum today.”

“She can’t lie,” Draco replied impatiently. “She has Veela blood. Don’t you know that?”

“I don’t buy it,” Hermione said haughtily.

“It’s Myra,” came a voice from near the fire. Ginny, who had been silent for the entire conservation, raised her head.

“What!” Harry, Draco, and Hermione all exclaimed.

“It’s got to be her,” Ginny persisted. “Can’t you see that she has been running the show? She checked to see if Franz was dead, she got the Veritaserum . . . we are trusting her word that it really is Veritaserum . . . if she wanted to get away with murder, she could. She is intelligent and beautiful and everyone trusts her.”

“But what motive could she possibly have for murdering Franz?” Draco asked forcefully.

Harry sighed in frustration. “What motive could any of them have, for that matter? That girl is so mysterious . . . does anyone know where she came from?”

“What about Renae, then?” asked Ernie. “Jaime told me she tranferred to Beauxbatons just this year. She literally appeared from nowhere . . . not even the French Ambassadors know who she is! And she was by far the most nervous out of all of us at the table today.”

“Not to mention Michael,” Hermione said darkly. “He’s the most suspicious one of all! He almost said yes to my question, and he has been acting odd for days. He’s definitely got something to hide.”

“Don’t we all?” Ginny asked suddenly. When she saw their shocked faces, her own face broke into a smile. “C’mon, guys, lighten up. I think we all need some sleep.”

Everyone agreed, and they departed for their separate rooms.

A little while later, Hermione stepped into the dark hall, listening to the solitary sound of the rain. It would have been easy to forget what Draco had said about hating her in all the excitement, but for some reason she had not. How could he simultaneously hate her while thinking she was smart and beautiful?

I hate you for being the only–

The only what?

A hand clamped down on her shoulder.

She very nearly screamed, but a moment later Harry’s comforting face appeared in her vision.

“Harry? Are you crazy! You scared me half to death! You don’t sneak up on a girl who is walking alone down a dark corridor the night that someone has died!”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said with a small smile. “When you put it that way . . .”

“What’s going on?” she asked him.

“I just . . .” he glanced around, and took a deep breath. “I just wanted to tell you that we forgot to mention a very important suspect back there.”

“Really?” asked Hermione curiously. “Who?”

Harry stared at her disconcertingly.

“Me,” he said simply.

Lightning flashed and illuminated his face.

“What?”

“I’m just kidding,” he said, a huge grin splitting his face. “You should have seen the look on your face–”

She responded by smacking him firmly against the chest. “Cut it out, Harry Potter. Is that what you followed me for? To scare me into having a heart attack?”

“No, actually,” he said, sobering. “I was serious about the suspect thing. We didn’t mention Malfoy, is what I really meant.”

Hermione got a sick, cold feeling in her stomach. “Malfoy? What do you mean?”

“I mean that he is the most suspicious of us all. How can you be sure that he wasn’t the one trying to kill us on the boat trip? His story today was obviously contrived about where he was at the time of Franz’s death, and none of this has seemed a bit surprising to him. Besides, he’s pure evil, we know that already. As far as I’m concerned, he’s the most dangerous of us all. Be careful around him, okay?”

“I . . . I don’t know,” she said softly. Something disturbed her greatly about the idea that Malfoy had killed Franz. Perhaps it was because he had been near her for so very long. Perhaps it was because since he hated her, she could be his next victim. Perhaps it was another reason entirely.

She was afraid to fall asleep because of nightmares, but at last she reasoned that no nightmare was worse than the one she was already living.


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FACT: Inscribed on King Arthur’s grave is the saying, “Once and Future King.” There are many who believe that King Arthur may have a descendent, who will rule again.
Lupin’s head was spinning as he walked down the bustling Diagon Alley. It was a cloudy day and smelled of chimney smoke, antique books, and roasting coffee. Two wizard children played underfoot, laughing and waving imaginary wands at each other.

He strolled into a busy café, his arms full of books, and seated himself at a discreet corner near the back of the shop.

Was it possible that this legendary object was real? Even more mind boggling; was it actually at Stonehenge?

He had looked up and taken out all of the books that he could find on Stonehenge. Lupin preferred to do research as most writers preferred to write; in a coffee shop full of sounds and ideas. The smell of coffee, the brightness, and the snippets of conversation often helped him make connections.

He opened his first book, titled A Quick and Relatively Uninteresting History of Stonehenge. What kind of author would name a book that? He contemplated this and found himself amused.

“And how would you like your coffee, sir?” came a voice from somewhere very close. Lupin jumped and nearly dropped the book.

He sighed, and gazed down at the teacup that had yelled at him. Usually the teacups in coffee shops didn’t say anything unless you asked them. This one, however, seemed rather outspoken.

“Oh . . .” Lupin started, “ . . . no coffee, thank you.”

He turned back to his book and began to read in earnest about Stonehenge.

“Tea, then!” the teacup exclaimed obtrusively.

Lupin closed his eyes, trying not to receive a headache.

“Erm, yes . . . tea would be wonderful.”

There was silence. He sighed in relief, turning back to the book.

“Green or black!” it practically yelled.

“Black!” Lupin cried, losing his temper completely. “And put sugar in it!”

The teacup seemed to shrink back, but black tea appeared all the same.

Taking a deep breath, he turned back to the ill-titled book. After a few minutes of skimming, he came across a point of interest.

“Stonehenge was supposedly built by the Druids,” he said, wonder in his tone.

“Ye-as. It was,” came a voice to his left. It was not the teacup this time (thank Merlin), but a rather short man with a black top hat pulled over his eyes. He had a funny, lilting sort of accent that Lupin couldn’t place. “Strange lot, those Druids were. In the dictionary a Druid is defined as ‘an ancient Celtic priest, magician, or soothsayer of Gaul, Britain, or Ireland.’ But if y’ ask me, there was a little bit more to ‘em then that. They were wizards, no doubt, and powerful ones, a’ that.”

Lupin raised an eyebrow. He thought it rather odd that a stranger would strike up a conversation out of the blue, and even odder that the stranger had recited the dictionary definition of ‘Druid’ off of the top of his head.

“Well,” began Lupin quietly, interested despite himself, “it has long been speculated that the Druids were some breed of Wizards. It’s just that there has been no historical evidence . . . documents, or otherwise . . . drudged up about their actual existence. An enigma in history, if you will.”

“All depends on how you look a’ the thing, my pa’d always say. There’s clues all over ‘bout them Druids, that’s a fact. You just got to look in the right places, is all,” the suspicious man said boldly.

Lupin frowned. “It’s almost as if they on purposely covered up evidence that they existed . . . but why?”

The man pulled back the sleeve of his coat to reveal and odd, whirling gadget that Lupin could only guess was a watch.

“A worthy question, me friend, one I wish I could talk to ya more about. Jus’ remember that the clues to a mystery are often were you’d least expect them to be.”

And with a wink, the man stood up and Apparated away.

Lupin frowned and wondered what to make of the little odd man he had seen. A planted spy, perhaps? Or merely a curious stranger who had knowledge about Stonehenge?

Lupin thought back to the question Dumbledore had asked him. Why don’t you just visit Stonehenge itself and begin searching?

But as Lupin had told Dumbledore, Stonehenge was far too large to simply search at random. It would take weeks, especially since Lupin didn’t have the slightest inclination as to what medium the object had been hidden through. For all he knew it could be draped under an invisibility cloak, warded, buried, or closed off by a protective gauntlet Circle that required a code. The bottom line was that he needed more information.

He turned to a short article.

This gargantuan monolithic structure, built by the mysterious Druids, is not merely a religious monument, as was formerly believed. If deciphered properly, Stonehenge is an intricate and informative astronomical map. By decoding Stonehenge, astronomers have been able to detect a 56 year cycle of eclipses. Furthermore, the time it takes for the moon to return to the same large rock (or node), on Stonehenge is 27.2 days– what astronomers now call a “Draconic Month”. Its measurements of lunar and solar movement are so accurate, in fact, that it outdoes many star charts modern astronomers have created today. Stonehenge is still shrouded in mystery, and astronomers do not claim to understand everything that it measures. Its uses in the past are widely unknown. Astronomers search to uncover more of its hidden uses, but seem to get no closer to a revelation as time wears on.

The article ended there but left Lupin with far more information than he had started with. A line from the poem jumped out at him suddenly.

The veil of stars has drawn to a close . . .

Starlight shines on the eye.

Yet another reference to stars. Was it all a coincidence, or was there some sort of clue in the stars themselves?

The lost history of the Druids seemed to be the key to everything. Discover that, and the rest of the clues would fall into place.

Jus’ remember that the clues to a mystery are often where you’d least expect them.

Slowly, he was figuring it out. He only hoped that by the time he was finished, it wasn’t already too late.


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“You have done well,” Voldemort said softly, his voice like crackling flame. “I doubt Dumbledore’s half breed has deciphered the riddle as quickly as you. But what you have discovered . . . you are sure it is true?”
“Positive, my Lord. The ties between King Arthur and Stonehenge are far too great to be mere coincidence,” the nameless figure stated. “All of the clues point to this one startling truth . . . but we must be patient.”

“It is unbelievable. This fact you have uncovered will change the foundation of my regime . . . it will shock the world. Not only that, but it will lead us directly to the object that I desire . . . is there no way we can speed up the process?”

“There is no way to change that which is written in the stars, my Lord.”

“And of the Descendent?”

“There is only one who fits all of the descriptions . . .” the servant looked reluctant, “ . . . and it is Harry Potter.”

Voldemort spat bitterly on the floor.

“How can you be sure?”

“He is the great king reborn, My Lord. He is of the correct age and we can easily believe that he is descended from the royal bloodline.”

“In that case, all of our plans rely on Draco luring the boy away when the time comes . . . I will inform his father of this. Our plans are coming together nicely. You have brilliance that few possess. Now go, and if anything new arises, inform me.”


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A girl gasped as she read the words.
Starlight shines on the eye.

And suddenly everything fell into place.

There was only one thing to do, it seemed. It was unthinkable, but she would do it.

She would have to do it.


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Hermione awoke to the sound of thunder booming nearby. It was still raining.
She looked out of the window and saw only grey. The grey reminded her of the person she was trying to forget. His eyes and his hair and his voice, smooth like the rain . . .

Why did her mind never seem to wander far from him? It had only been one dance, five minutes at most, and yet she dwelt on every moment on it.

She didn’t understand what fascinated her so about Malfoy. Perhaps it was that for the life of her, she couldn’t figure him out. He was a beautiful and malicious creature, and a flawless actor, and an excellent dancer, and a cruel young man. He was a shrewd manipulator. Everything she had always wanted and everything she had always despised.

And he hated her. He hated her more than he had ever hated anyone.

The question she couldn’t seem to answer was: did she hate him too?

Of course I do, Hermione thought. I always have. He is nothing but a heartless puppet for his father, nothing but a liar and an actor and an enemy. Yes, an enemy. And a dangerous one.

The sad truth was that the Mudblood girl and the Pureblood boy, the best friend of Harry Potter and the son of Lucius Malfoy were forever destined to be on opposite sides of a war that would probably kill them both.


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It was late afternoon, three or four o’clock. Rain spattered the windows uncontrollably, an unbridled animal.
Hermione, despite Harry’s warnings, had decided to take a walk. Instead of heading downstairs as she usually would have, she headed up. She climbed a flight of stairs and was surprised at what she found. The stairs opened up into an outdoor garden. The garden itself was large and opened to the sky, but it was surrounded by thick pathways with overhangs. The overhangs formed a pentagon around the garden. Despite the chill, everything in the garden remained green, and black soil under the grass looked soft and malleable. It seemed odd to see nature again. In a castle in the sky there had been very little of it.

She could hear the pouring of rain, and feel the cold air, refreshing and relieving after the formality of the Beauxbatons castle. Perhaps it was the sound of the rain that drowned out the sound of footsteps on the stone floor behind her.

She slowly reached a hand out from the overhang and felt raindrops touch it unfadingly, randomly. It was pouring. The lance of cold through her hand shocked her; perhaps it would awaken her from the dreamlike state she had been living in.

“What are you doing?” came a cool voice from behind her. She was reminded of Bulgaria, that morning on the balcony, when he had opened the door and she had known it was him before he had even spoken. She turned around slowly, facing him at last.

He was standing a few feet away, hands in his pockets and amused expression fully intact. He was so forcefully Draco Malfoy in that moment that she didn’t know what to do with him.

“Thinking,” Hermione said flatly. “Just thinking.”

Here was the one person Harry had told her to stay away from, the one person she had been hoping and dreading to see. She was alone with him in a secluded part of the castle.

“About the murder, no doubt,” Draco drawled lazily, “and you’re thinking right now that it isn’t a good idea to be alone with me.”

“Something like that,” Hermione said with a small smile.

“I’ll assure you that my intentions are completely criminal,” Draco said whimsically, an air of amusement about him.

Hermione asked, “Why do you hate me so much? And what were you going to say last night when you were under Veritaserum?”

“To the former, I would venture to say that it is a bit obvious why I hate you. Wasn’t I born to hate you? Don’t you represent everything I am pitted against? Don’t I represent everything you despise? As for the latter, I’m afraid I am disinclined to discuss that particular statement.”

He looked at her steadily, and his eyes seemed oddly bright in the weak afternoon light.

“Can you do something for me, then?” Hermione asked with a small frown.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “That would all depend on what it is you want.”

“I’m sure you’ll find this one easy,” Hermione continued, soft bitterness in her voice. “Do something awful to me.”

“What?”

Draco, who never seemed surprised, was taken aback by this.

“C’mon, then,” she continued impatiently. “Do something awful. Throw an insult at me. Belittle my family and bloodline. Tell me how ugly I am. Slap me across the face. Give me an overview of how many Muggle-borns you’ve tortured.”

He looked surprised and confused.

“But I haven’t tortured any Muggle-borns,” Draco said with a shrug, “at least not this week. And more importantly, why? Why should I do something awful?”

“Just do it,” she said vehemently. She seemed so intent that he was forced to consider it. “It’s what you’re best at.”

So in less than a second he had covered the space between them and given her a slight shove. It wasn’t enough to hurt her, but she was surprised and thrown off balance. She staggered backwards out from under the overhang and into the pouring rain. She fumbled on the slippery grass for balance and at last froze, too shocked to move.

She spluttered, feeling rather as if she were underwater. “That was awful,” she observed as the pouring rain soaked through her clothes in a matter of seconds. They were suddenly very heavy and clung to her shape, accentuating the lines and curves of her body. “But it didn’t work.”

“What didn’t work?” Draco asked, more confused than he had ever been. She didn’t make a move to find shelter under the overhang, but merely stood in the pouring rain, sopping wet as lightning flashed above her.

Without warning, she grabbed the front of his robes and pulled him out from under the overhang. He cried out in surprise as his highly expensive robes became soiled in the relentless downpour. Rain pounded in their ears.

He swore. “Bloody hell, Granger, look what you’ve done now. Haven’t you ever heard of water stains? These clothes are worth more than Weasely’s entire house . . . what was that for, huh? Now we’re both sopping wet!” he exclaimed angrily.

But the truth was, he had a thousand more clothes like them at home. He couldn’t help a small smile escaping onto his lips. Any notion Hermione had that he would be angry with her was squashed. He merely looked amused, and it infuriated her beyond good judgement.

So she slapped him across the face. “I hate you!”

Hermione turned and began walking quickly away, but not toward the overhang. She walked deeper into the center of the garden.

Draco, failing to understand what had possibly provoked the slap, raced after her.

“Granger! Wait!” he called, and grabbed her wrist as he caught up with her. She whirled around, pink patches high on her cheeks.

His hand was hot on her wrist and his robes had slipped down his shoulders in the rain. Underneath was a plastered white shirt, unbuttoned to his collarbone. His hair was drenched and plastered around his face. Droplets of water gathered on his feather fine eyelashes, and silver eyes seemed heated in the cold.

“d**n you, Draco Malfoy,” she ranted angrily. Tears ran down her face unheeded in the torrential downpour. “I have tried so hard to hate you! Ever since this trip began, I have tried to hate you with all of my heart! I should hate you. You’re awful. You’re a lying, cheating, beautiful, malicious excuse for a human being! And you hate me too. Why is it so bloody hard to hate you back?”

Draco looked outraged. “You– standing there in the rain– you . . .!”

“Do something awful, Malfoy!” Hermione cut him off loudly and rudely. She had never lost control. “Do something awful so that every time I look at you my heart doesn’t pound uncontrollably. Do something awful so that every time I think about you my stomach doesn’t flip over. Do something horrendous so that it will take away the memory of that dance that plays through my mind like a broken record! Do something awful! Because standing here in the pouring rain staring at you is killing me!”

There was silence after her outburst, and she gasped for air. A one worded response came from Draco.

“Okay.”

He did the most awful thing he could think of. He grabbed her around the waist and pressed his lips to hers, stifling the gasp of surprise.

Rain poured down on the two of them, dynamic in the center of the garden, and the water slid down her shirt and her face and got into her eyes, but she scarcely noticed. She froze for two terrifying moments, and then her lips relaxed against his. He took this as an invitation to continue and massaged her lips persistently with his own. His hands moved slowly down her back, leaving burning trails of destruction in their wake. It was freezing cold, and the heat around them seemed to intensify threefold. When he ended the kiss, she didn’t pull away.

Their breath was ragged, and heat radiated from them both, although they were drenched to the bone.

“Do you hate me yet?” Draco asked between gasps.

Hermione expelled a breath slowly, but could not calm herself. “Getting closer,” she whispered.

Draco pushed her hair away from her face and took her head in both hands. Another wave of heat overcame her, this one almost buckling her knees. She did not stop to think about what she was doing, not even once. It was as if all the emotion in the past two weeks was pressure packed into this one moment, like a muggle can of Lysol.

As for Draco, he hadn’t expected to react in the way he had. He kissed her because he had wanted to get revenge (or so he had told himself). But now, standing in the rain with Hermione Granger seemed like something he had been waiting to do all his life. Her body was soft and warm, her face pure and honest and sharp in a way that Fleur’s would never be.

He kissed her again, hard, and she was surprised at the intensity of the kiss. Draco Malfoy was always cool, calm calculated. Hermione was always thoughtful, practical, and logical. What drove these two to have such a violent effect on one another?

Hermione was aware of moving backwards; of feeling a wall hit her back, of feeling soil at her feet. Draco’s thin white shirt was plastered solidly to his chest. The taste of fresh rain was mingled in their kisses and Draco’s hair like starlight caught the glint of gray.

And then he gave her a kiss that only came around once in a while, once in a lifetime, for some. The air started crackling, softly at first, but soon was roaring, and a shower of fireworks encompassed them both. Reds, golds, and greens spurted from nowhere and Draco let her go, surprised. The show ended abruptly, but had been loud enough to rouse the entire school. It was only a few moments until they heard quick footsteps approaching.

“You have to get out of here!” Draco gasped. “Go that way!”

He pointed in the opposite direction of the footsteps. Still stunned, she turned and walked quickly under the overhang and down a flight of stairs.

She was shaking, and it most definitely was not from the cold.

[Julia Darline Evans]

Liiga hea

[Liz-Miia Parker]

PART II: THE GREAT DECEPTION

Immobilized by the sound of you

Paralyzed by the sight of you

Hypnotized by the words you say

Not true but I believe them anyway.

– Shiver, Maroon Five

Chapter 17; Night of the Nameless

Hermione decided to go back to the Sitting Room and act primly as if nothing had happened.

Yes, avoidance was the key in this case. Avoidance was definitely the key.

But something had happened.

The fireworks. It was rumoured that when two magical people shared a True Kiss, any magic in the air around them would react violently. Often a witch and wizard did not know if they shared a True Kiss, because no magic was present in the air. But Hermione and Draco had been standing in the middle of a magic storm. Magic had been pouring down around them. Magic was on their faces and in the hair and on their clothes. It had reacted violently when they had kissed.

There was still the fact that it had been a True Kiss. True kisses only happened once in a lifetime for most couples. She remembered Molly Weasley gushing about her True Kiss. She and Arthur had been dating for eight months, and he kissed her on a starlit beach. At that moment, a thousand shooting stars shot across the sky and lit up the night like the blazing sun.

Sirius, before he died, told Ron and Hermione about his True Kiss. He did not, for whatever reason, tell them whom he had shared it with. On an autumn night, the leaves blowing around them had all burst into flame, swirling around them in a torrential light show before winking harmlessly out.

However, there were some couples who were very much in love and never shared a True Kiss. The kisses were special and extremely rare.

Hermione knew that no one was certain what constituted a True Kiss, that it was only something that happened when two people felt a very strong emotion for each other.

There was truth in what she had said to Draco before she had kissed him. She hadn’t known the words were true until they had come out of her mouth. She did think about him constantly, she did dream about him, and she wasn’t nearly close enough to hating him as she would have liked.

Could she play off the kiss as just a fit of hormones? She reasoned that it probably had been just a fit of hormones. Any girl who didn’t want to kiss a wet Draco Malfoy in the pouring rain had to be out of her right mind.

It wasn’t as if she had wondered what it would be like to kiss him before that.

It wasn’t as if she had dreamed about him since Bulgaria.

It wasn’t as if she had dwelt on his perfect features many times before.

It wasn’t any of those things.

Just a fit of hormones.

She performed a drying spell on herself and took a few deep breaths before opening the door to the Sitting Room. Harry and Ginny sat inside, both looking intently at one another.

“Well, it’s not my fault that–” but Ginny stopped talking when she saw Hermione.

“Hey,” Harry said lightly, turning to Hermione. Clueless, she wondered what they possibly could have been talking about.

She sat down next to Harry, hoping she looked normal. So far, so good. “What’s going on?” she asked casually.

“Nothing at all,” replied Ginny quietly. “Harry and I were just having a discussion. It’s over now, although it should have been over ten minutes ago.”

Hermione looked confusedly between the two, and at last realized it had not been a good time to intrude.

“Well,” Hermione said, “it’s about thirty minutes until dinnertime and I need to wash up and change. I’ll be back here in a while. See you then!”

With a smile she stood up and opened the door, congratulating herself on fooling them well.

“Just one thing, Hermione,” Harry started casually. “Who have you been kissing?”

She turned around, comically wide-eyed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean who have you been kissing? Your lips are all swollen,” Harry said with a grin, touching his fingers to his own lips. “Was it Krum?”

“Harry!” she cried, exasperated. He knew her too well.

“You don’t have to tell me who it was,” said Harry diplomatically, “but you have been kissing someone. Your eyes are too bright.”

Ginny turned a delighted grin on Harry and then stifled it quickly.

Hermione slammed the common room door shut without another word.


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Dinner came more quickly than Hermione would have liked. She needed more time to stay in her room and think.
She had performed an anti-inflammatory charm on her lips, done several deep breathing exercises, and gone into a state of denial so deep that she doubted she would admit the truth even it banged her over the head repeatedly. It still poured relentlessly, though, looking out the window, she could only see rain when lightning flashed. The night was pitch black.

Hermione stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind her. Why hadn’t Madame Maxine found a way into the castle? What was happening in the outside world?

“Hermione.”

She whirled around to see Myra standing behind her. Where had she come from? Hermione remembered Ginny’s words about Myra, and her heart began pounding. Should she run? Should she cry out?

“I was just walking to my Sitting Room,” Hermione said calmly, instead.

“I’ll walk you there,” said Myra with a smile.

Confused, Hermione turned and began walking. Myra caught up with her quickly.

“Have you noticed anything suspicious? Anything at all?” Myra asked suddenly.

“Well of course I . . . what?” Hermione asked quietly.

Myra suddenly whirled around, her dark eyes flashing. “This is important, Hermione. There are a lot of people playing games in zis castle and I want to get to the bottom of it.”

“Games?” Hermione repeated faintly.

“Lies and deception, ‘Ermione. Above all, there is a great deception. I must discover it before it gets out of control.”

“Listen, Myra,” said Hermione, shifting uncomfortably, “I know you want to figure this out . . . we all do. But if you pry into other people’s business like you’re doing now, you’re going to get yourself in trouble. Do you understand what I mean?”

“You mean zat ze murderer will kill me because I know too much? I am not worried about that.”

“Why not?”

They had reached the Sitting Room and Hermione had her hand on the doorknob. She wanted to get away from Myra as fast as possible.

“I am just not worried,” Myra said shortly.

“I will tell you this much, for what it’s worth,” Hermione conceded. “It is not me or Harry. Harry was with me at the time of the murder. We will testify for each other.”

Myra nodded. “I will take your word, ‘Ermione. I believe you.”

“Thanks,” said Hermione, before opening the door.

Draco was inside, looking unruffled and immaculate as ever. Had her encounter with him been a dream?

“I disagree,” he said firmly to Harry.

Harry shook his head. “Today is just not my day for arguments, is it?” he said loudly. Upon seeing Hermione, Harry beckoned her over.

“Hermione,” he said entreatingly. “Please tell me I’m correct. Does it seem like Ginny is acting a little reclusive these days?”

Hermione glanced from Draco, who looked blank, to Harry, who looked full of conviction.

“I don’t think so . . . actually, no, Harry, not at all. Just last week she was dancing on a table in a crowded bar with you. I would have to say . . . no, not at all.”

“She’s acting suspicious,” said Harry stubbornly. “There’s something going on, but I just can’t put my finger on it . . .”

Ginny walked in just then, and Draco made a loud comment about the weather. Since when had Draco covered up for Harry?

He looked at her once and only once in the time they walked down to dinner. His expression was calm, controlled . . . but was there something wavering in it? A tiny hint of the tumultuous emotion behind his gaze?

The round table still sat at the center of the room, and the French Ambassadors were already seated, talking quietly amongst themselves.

Hermione took a seat next Jaime hesitantly. Why do I always have to sit next to him? Hermione thought, flashing an annoyed gaze to Harry and Ernie, who sat on her right. Jaime looked condescending and pompous as ever. He leaned over to whisper in her ear.

“We think zat Myra may be on the verge of a breakthrough. She ‘as questioned everyone individually, it seems, and she needs only to decide what is the truth.”

Hermione nodded. She remembered hearing that Myra was very good at solving riddles, and what was this, really, but one complicated and deadly riddle?

Renae drummed her fingers incessantly on the tabletop, and she looked extremely nervous. At last she addressed the group.

“This whole idea is preposterous! There is no murderer, I say, no murderer at all. There is nothing to suggest Franz was killed, and we all swore under Veritaserum that we had nothing to do with it. Drop it, Myra, and stop prying into other people’s business before you discover something that will really get you killed!”

Everyone, at this point, had turned to face her, their mouths open in shock.

“What kind of information could possibly get her . . . killed?” asked Ernie. He continued, “Do you have something to hide, Renae?”

“We all have something to hide, I’m sure,” Renae replied neutrally. “Especially those so quick to accuse. Or those who search fruitlessly for someone to blame.”

Any further conversation on this topic was brought to halt by the arrival of the Bulgarian Ambassadors.

The Brownies served dinner, and the conversation took a lighter tone, or so it seemed.

“Tell, me, Draco,” said Ivan at one point, “have you ever been to Germany?”

Renae looked up sharply and the entire table fell silent. Glancing around, Draco took a sip of champagne.

“I have,” he said slowly, “and it’s a beautiful country. I would recommend western Germany if you want spectacular scenery, but southern–”

“How fascinating,” Ivan intoned, sounding less than fascinated. “Pray tell . . . do you have any grasp of the German language?”

“A little, only what I picked up while I was there,” Draco replied, confused at the other boy’s shortness. Why did he ask if he didn’t want to listen? “I’m far more fluent in French and Latin, however.”

“Ah,” said Ivan. “French, vhat a captivating language. How about you, Jaime? Do you speak any other languages besides French and English?”

“No,” answered Jaime firmly. “English I learned only because it was mandatory . . . there is no language that comes even close to the elegance and fluidity of French, and I view all other languages as completely inferior.”

Hermione laughed and replied, “A little harsh, don’t you think? Especially since English has a large expanse of vocabulary compared to most other languages.I do have to agree with you, though, that French is very beautiful.”

“It is,” Jaime agreed, but made no response to her other claims.

Krum appeared to brood silently throughout the entire meal, his thick black eyebrows drawn together with intensity.

Fleur charmed everyone, as usual, but seemed more interested in talking to Harry. As she usually focused her attention on Draco, this was a surprising development.

When dinner finished, everyone stood up and began to say their goodnights. Myra predicted that the storm could not last much longer than two more days, and everyone was in high spirits.

It happened as they walked up the staircase to their floor.

The lights went out.

It is funny how dependent modern people have become on light. It is always present, and they take it for granted.

But miles above any city in the middle of a thunderstorm, the absence of light does not result in darkness; it results in pitch black.

Harry held a hand up to his face and did not see it. A scream rang out from higher in the castle. Hermione gasped loudly.

“What is going on? Who was that?” she worried softly.

Suddenly a yelp and a muffled scream came from where Ginny had been standing. Something thudded all down the stairs, and after that, silence reigned.

“Ginny?” asked Harry, a note of panic in his voice.

“I’m here,” she called from the bottom of the stairs. “In the dark I think I took a topple and– oh–”

A small sob pierced the darkness.

“I think I broke my ankle . . . I can’t move it,” Ginny said softly.

“I can mend it,” Hermione said automatically. She reached into her pocket and realized two things simultaneously. Firstly, her pocket was empty. Secondly, even if she did have a wand, she wouldn’t have been able to use it, as the magic in the area was completely out of control due to the storm. “I think I dropped my wand in the ballroom. I’ll have to go back and get it.”

“Okay,” said Harry, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. “I’ll . . . I’ll stay here with Ginny, and wait for you here, Hermione. Malfoy, Ernie, you go upstairs and see who screamed. We’ll all meet back here in a few minutes.”

“Okay,” said Ernie and Hermione. The darkness hid Draco’s smile.


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Thunder rumbled above Hermione. It was harder to find the ballroom than had imagined it would be. Aside from the occasional flash of lightning that illuminated her surroundings, she had no idea where she was.
At last, she reached the double doors of the ballroom. She pried one open and stepped inside. The thud of the heavy door closing behind her pealed sharply through the silence. The sky below her appeared dark, an unnatural sort of roiling black.

Hermione groped her way to the center table.

“Where is it now . . .” she muttered, intent on her task. The circular table felt cold under her hands, colder than she ever remembered it being.

Two things happened concurrently. Her hand landed on her wand, and she was suddenly aware of the smallest, most inconceivable sound.

With a sickening lurch she realized it was the sound of soft, even breathing.

Someone was in the room with her.


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Harry made his way down to where Ginny lay. The breath coming from her throat sounded uneven and painful. He found her hand and squeezed it tightly.
“It’s alright, Ginny . . . Hermione will be here any moment, and she knows how to mend wounds . . .”

“I’m scared,” Ginny said with a sniff.

“What’s this?” Harry asked with a smile. “My strong Ginny, afraid of the dark?”

“I’m not afraid of the dark, Harry,” she said softly, “I am consumed by it.”

“What? What do you mean?” he asked with a frown.

“What do you think has happened? Why have the lights gone off?”

“I dunno . . . I’ve heard of power outages in Muggle buildings, but not wizarding ones.”

“I suppose it could be an effect of the storm. Or someone could have done it purposely.”

“How?”

“With a humongous Nox spell, I presume,” continued Ginny softly.

He nodded, forgetting that she couldn’t actually see it in the dark.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

Silence, for a long time.

“Never mind.”


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Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale . . .
Hermione listened to this pattern, soft and almost imperceptible but consistent as the ticking of a watch. She froze. How could I have been so stupid? There’s a murderer loose in this castle, and I wandered off alone. For being the top student in Hogwarts, I am extraordinarily thick!

Another sound came to her attention. The door scraped open. Hermione took this opportunity to dive to the other side of the table and duck behind it. Lightning flashed, but her view was obscured.

“I’ve got information on Myra!” a voice from the doorway exclaimed. “She has to be the–”

“Silence!” a voice to her left rasped, the voice of the breather. “There is somevone in the room vith us!”

Both voices were Bulgarian, one male and one female. Hermione felt steadily sicker.

“There is?” came the shocked female voice.

Hermione slowly began backing away from the table and toward the door. If lightning flashed, it would completely give her away. She inched forward, praying.

“If ve listen very closely, ve can hear her breathe,” the male rasped in a deceptively gentle voice. “She vill not breathe for much longer . . .”

Hermione had at last reached the door, and sensed that she stood very close to the female figure. If she could somehow edge her way around . . .

A hand shot out of the dark and grabbed her shoulder firmly. With a final, desperate yell, Hermione launched herself at the girl, toppled her over and hastened out the door. She ran blindly down the hall until she came to stairs. These she ascended without bothering to puzzle out where they led. She wanted to get as far away from the ballroom as possible.


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Ernie and Draco had climbed the stairs to where the scream had originated, or so Ernie had assumed. At first there had been the clattering of two pairs of feet, but now Ernie could not be sure. He stopped.
“Malfoy?”

No answer. He was gone.

Grumbling under his breath, Ernie continued ascending the stairs. It’s just like that prat Malfoy to leave me alone, in the dark, on a stormy night, in a terrifying castle, with a bloody maniacal killer on the loose and no light and no idea where I am . . .

Stop it, Ernie chided himself. He would be fine. Now where had that scream come from?

He let out a yelp of epic proportions as he smashed head on into a warm, soft . . . something. The something emitted a high frequency screech.

“Who eez zere?” questioned a decidedly female voice.

“It’s Ernie,” he said quickly. “Fleur? Is that you? Sorry!”

“Ernie!” she cried. “‘Ave you seen ‘Arry? I must talk to him, and now.”

“I . . . well . . . last I heard he was downstairs with Ginny. She’s broken her ankle, I think. Did you hear that scream?”

“Yes . . .” Fleur answered, obviously distracted. “I must go!”

She raced off without another word.

What is going on tonight? Ernie wondered helplessly. The dark is making people crazy!

He continued on, feeling as if he was on a false mission. What if the scream had merely been one of fright and not distress? He cringed as he remembered that it sounded bloodcurdling.

“Who’s there?” a voice called out sharply. It was female also.

“It’s . . . it’s Ernie Macmillan. Who are you?” Ernie called, straining to see anything at all in the pitch black.

“It is Myra,” came her oddly melodious voice. A flash of lightning illuminated the scene, and briefly he made out the dark, alluring line of her jaw. Something eerie resided behind her eyes, and she stared at him as if she had been able to see him all along.

“I’m glad it’s you,” said Ernie quickly. Myra always seemed to know what to do in times of crisis. “Did you hear a scream a few minutes ago?”

“I did,” replied Myra. “That is why I came up here.”

“It wasn’t Ginny or Hermione,” Ernie deduced. “They were with me.”

“Nor was it Renae, Fleur, or I,” Myra added. “It had to be Hilda or Ava.”

“Myra . . .” started Ernie, “what’s going on? If there is anyone who could figure this out, it would be you. I’ve heard you are on to something. Is there anything you can tell me? It seems like everyone is sneaking around and acting suspicious.”

He stepped closer to her voice. Facing her, he could barely make out the liquid black glint of her eyes. She sighed.

“It is so complicated . . . the heart of this mystery, if I am correct, goes far beyond these walls, these insignificant people.”

She spoke so softly he had to strain to hear her. “And there is more than one secret inside of this . . .”

Her voice trailed off, and Ernie barely saw the pupils of her eyes dilate. At first he thought she was staring at him, but the realization came that she was staring at something behind him.

Someone shoved him brutally to the side, and he stood frozen for just long enough to see Myra dodge to the side. Then he began running as fast as he could in the other direction.

He was not a bloody Gryffindor and he would not save Myra from harm. He was done with nameless encounters.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

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Hermione stopped running after a while and gasped for air. What had that been? Some kind of secret meeting? She was convinced now that one of the Bulgarians was the murderer. But why had they murdered one of their own Ambassadors? Very little made sense at that point.
She stopped dead in the middle of the hall. She had a feeling, the kind of feeling animals got right before a tornado or an electrical storm. A prickling of her neck, a tightening in her chest, senses suddenly in overdrive.

I should not go one step farther.

Slowly, she began backing away, backing away . . .

She backed right into a pair of open arms.

Hermione tried to scream but a hand covered her mouth. The lights flared into existence suddenly, blinding her, and strong hand whirled her around. She faced Malfoy, who looked silvery and beautiful and malicious as ever in the blinding light.

He regarded her silently for a few moments.

“I just don’t know what I’m going to do about you, Miss Granger,” he said. He pushed her backwards very slowly. She realized suddenly why she had stopped running. She would have smacked right into a dead end. Her back hit the wall. Torn suddenly between fear and something else, she tried to disengage his arms as her eyes adjusted to the light.

“Let me go, Malfoy.”

She said it ten times more calmly than she felt. Emotions tore her up.

“You didn’t want me to let you go when we were dancing,” Malfoy whispered. “You didn’t want me to let you go earlier this evening.”

With a sickening lurch she realized she still didn’t want him to let her go. The feeling of his hands around her waist made her heart race uncontrollably.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do with you,” Malfoy continued calmly, “because I can’t stand to be around you. You’re a self-righteous, frizzy-haired know-it-all. You’re a tasteless, penniless Mudblood and I cannot think of one person of my acquaintance that would approve of you. Yet here we are, Granger, and I can’t make myself let go.”

Hermione surprised him by laughing out loud. It was a bold sort of laugh that shook the walls. Then she stared at him, jaw clenched.

“Cut the bullshit, Malfoy. You’re lying through your perfectly straight teeth, because that’s what you do. You lie. And the one time I knew you were telling the truth, you said that you despised me more than anyone you’d ever met. Frankly, I find it very hard to believe that you can’t let go of me.”

He responded by bringing a hand up to her face and tracing her jaw line with his finger ever so lightly. There was something carnal behind this movement, something implied.

“Well, start believing it,” he said softly, slowly.

She had sorted it out all logically in her head. There were reasons why she shouldn’t trust him, there were reasons why she should get away from him, but her logic shattered to a thousand pieces when his hand touched her face.

“Okay,” she said simply.

He stepped away from her, but she didn’t make a move to leave. She looked at him steadily, and watched a smirk flash across his face. When he spoke, it sounded less dangerous than before.

“By the way . . . do you hate me yet? I tried my very hardest this afternoon, but I’m not sure it worked . . .”

Hermione brought a finger to her lips and looked falsely pensive. The brightness in her eyes didn’t have anything to do with the newly lit hallway.

“Hm . . . I can’t say I hate you . . . at least not quite yet . . .”

“Then I suppose you are in dire need of some more convincing,” he murmured, stepping toward Hermione again.

When his lips met hers for the second time, it was completely different. This was not a rough, split second kiss in the pouring rain. She had expected this one, and she participated fully instead of letting Malfoy do the work. This was a slow, soft, consensual kiss, and she barely had enough time to realize that Malfoy was an excellent, engaging, and unfairly wonderful kisser before her mind slipped into perpetual bliss.

He was warm and solid and gentle against her, he was everything she wanted and he was . . . Draco Malfoy.

She pushed him away firmly as this realization hit her full force.

Draco stepped back, disappointment obvious in his eyes. She had practically asked him to kiss her. Why had she freaked out?

There were two halves of Hermione’s brain, and they had completely contrasting views about the matter at hand.

No! one screamed forlornly. What are you doing! Where did his lips go? Kiss him, tackle him, anything but push him away!

The other one whispered his name viciously over and over again in her head.

“This is wrong,” she said abruptly, biting her lip. She looked breathless and pretty in the recently renewed light, cheeks flushed with exertion.

Draco looked at her with sordid disbelief. “And here I was, Granger, assuming that this was right. Assuming that the red-haired neanderthal and Golden Boy wouldn’t pound the crap out of me if they knew what we were doing. Assuming that the Slytherin house would welcome you with open arms. Assuming that I could bring you home to dear old dad and ask for his blessing.”

Draco spat the last word as if it tasted awful. “You think this is wrong? Well five points to Gryffindor for that brilliant insight.”

Hermione looked at him, and then quickly resorted to looking anywhere but at him. In five seconds he had turned from suave, charming, gentle Malfoy to cool, sarcastic, cutting Malfoy. She could hate him for that.

“This isn’t logical, Malfoy . . . if you think it through, the cons heavily outweigh the pros . . .”

“d**n you, Granger!” Malfoy cried angrily, smashing his hand against the wall. “This isn’t a test question, this isn’t an exam, this isn’t a sodding riddle or game or textbook passage! Stop trying to figure out everything logically because the real world isn’t logical. I guess you’re going to learn that the hard way someday.”

Hermione froze at his words. Of course the world was logical. Well, most of it.

“You’re wrong about that,” Hermione said quietly.

Thunder crackled above them and Hermione got jump-started back into reality.

The lights had come on. How had that happened? Why was there a dead end in the castle? Why was Malfoy giving her that eerie, disconcerting look?

“Why did the lights come on?” she asked him abruptly.

“If you mean why did they go off in the first place, it could be because of the storm, which is getting stronger. It could also be because someone cast a Nox charm over the whole castle. Why are you asking me, Granger? I thought you were supposed to be intelligent.”

“And I thought you were supposed to be ‘charming’ and ‘witty,’” she retorted, quoting Witch Weekly. She turned around and walked briskly away.

Malfoy caught up with her quickly. “Where are you going?” he asked curiously, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“You’re not supposed to be following me,” Hermione told him imperiously. A small smile played at her lips. “You hate me, remember? You said so under Veritaserum. I can certainly take a hint.”

She was being evasive and silly and coy and they both knew it. She strode down the hall faster, heading for her own room.

“Come now, Granger. I had my reasons for saying that I hated you.”

“Was one of them because you do?”

“Yes,” Malfoy answered in an impatient tone, “but that doesn’t mean–”

“That you can’t kiss me whenever you like?” Hermione whirled on him, eyes flashing half with malice and half with cold amusement. She placed her hand on the door of her own bedroom, which she had led them to without Draco even realizing it. She spoke clearly and heatedly, “You just want to get me into the sack and you know it!”

With that she wrenched open the door dramatically and slammed it in his face as she stepped inside. She burst into silent laughter once she had locked it.

“What . . . Granger!” roared Malfoy, infuriated. He pounded on the door incessantly. “If I wanted to get you into the sack, you would already be in it!”

His words echoed through the halls outside and she couldn’t help but grinning broadly at the amount of indignation in his voice.

After a moment, the pounding stopped and the footsteps faded into the distance.

[Kathreen Granger]

Jätkata! Ruttu!

[Liz-Miia Parker]

PART II: THE GREAT DECEPTION

We are never deceived; we deceive ourselves.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Chapter 18; Fallacious Fears

The next morning dawned with a great deal more cheerfulness than it might have.

Hermione entered the Sitting Room and noticed that no one had been decapitated, murdered, or come by any other means of harm. No one sharpened knives in the corner or looked diabolical, Harry and Draco had not attacked each other as of yet . . .

All in all, a good start to the day, she noted wryly.

Draco gave her one seething glance filled with quite a bit of ill-masked humor, and she stuck her nose up imperiously.

Harry, who was by now used to not knowing what went on between them, merely shrugged his shoulders.

Hermione felt strangely carefree for someone who was locked in a castle with a definite murderer. Odd, how these things worked.

“Hermione, you’re here,” said Ernie with a certain amount of keenness, standing up. “Now we can all discuss last night. Let’s have a little sharing time, shall we?” There was a bitter edge to his voice that she rarely heard. He paced in front of the fire place. “Let me start. I first ran into a frantic Fleur, who asked to talk to Harry. I pointed her in the right direction. Then I ran into Myra, who acted odd and only spoke in vague riddles and then I almost GOT MY HEAD CHOPPED OFF BY SOME HULKING AXE MURDERER! God! How could I have been such an idiot, running off alone like that? Oh . . . wait. Hold on here . . . I didn’t go alone. Malfoy was supposed to be with me!” he brought himself up short and rounded on Draco, who looked back at him with a mixture of surprise and amusement. “Care to enlighten me as to why you left me alone, you brain dead prat?”

“I thought I heard a sound from down the hall,” Malfoy answered casually, “so I went off to check it out. I didn’t think you’d wet yourself if I wasn’t there to protect you. A huge misconception on my part, obviously.”

The rude sneer on his face caused Ernie to turn purple. “You idiot–” Ernie started, but Hermione cut him off.

“I’m not deterring you from biting Malfoy’s head off, Ernie. On the contrary, I commend you and indeed support you in any and all barbaric endeavors toward that slimy git, but do you think it could wait until after I tell my story? I had a rather interesting night as well. I went into the ballroom to get my wand, and . . .”

She told them in detail about her experience, leaving out the part about meeting up with Draco.

“Well,” said Ernie, who had calmed over the length of her story, “Fleur assured me that the scream hadn’t come from Myra or Renae of herself. We know it didn’t come from either of you two, and Hermione claims that there was a Bulgarian girl in the ballroom not two minutes after a scream that came from upstairs. If we could figure out who was in the ballroom with Hermione then we know who screamed. In either case, both Bulgarian girls are looking highly suspicious. But why did she scream?”

“I have no idea,” Harry said faintly. “Gin and I just sat around until the lights came on, and I helped her to her room. We didn’t know any of this stuff was going on.”

“This is just too confusing,” Ginny said from the corner. It turned out that her ankle was sprained, not broken, and she had fashioned a makeshift sling for it out of some cloth. “Hermione says two sinister Bulgarians lurked in the ballroom at about the same time Ernie and Myra got attacked upstairs. How is that possible?”

They spent a few more minutes puzzling over the events of the previous night, and then decided to walk down to the ballroom, which had become the unofficial meeting place of the three groups.

Hermione gazed out at the rain, unrelenting despite its monotone, and the sky seemed to open up, to engulf her in all of its dark glory. She stared hard, as if she could decipher the mystery just by analyzing the shapes of the clouds.

SMACK.

Hermione yelped as a dark shape emerged from the desolate grey and smacked into the window. She covered her mouth in horror as a bloody crow slid down the sill.

The crow disconcerted Hermione greatly as she stepped into the hall. She couldn’t get the bloody, smashed image out of her head.


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The Ballroom was in an uproar when the Hogwart’s Ambassadors arrived.
Krum yelled incoherently, and Fleur screeched back with equal ardour. Renae paced nervously, and Ivan and Hilda watched the scene unfold, identical dark expressions on their faces.

In the middle of all of this, Myra sat, calmly sipping tea.

“Every single one of my diamonds eez gone!” Fleur yelled angrily. “Someone stole zem and I know it!”

“I do not know vhere your precious diamonds are!” Krum hollered back. “I am tired of being stuck in this castle vith all ov you! There must be a vay out!”

“Don’t you think we would have found one, if there was a way out?” Renae called to him, ceasing her pacing in favour of glaring at Krum.

“Maybe you just don’t vant us to get out!” Krum roared back.

An unexpected laugh sounded from Draco’s direction. “I wouldn’t accuse people of looking suspicious, Krum. After last night, I have no doubt it’s you we should be watching out for.”

“What?” Hermione asked sharply, thrown by this new development. She realized that Draco had never told them what he had been doing all night.

Krum’s face had gone a spectacular shade of purple. “I don’t know vat you are talking about.”

“Oh, I think you know exactly what I am–”

“Zis eez it!” Fleur cried dramatically. “It eez obvious that none of you care that one 1000 Galleons worth of diamonds ‘ave been stolen! I am leaving!”

She commenced in storming dramatically past the table. On the way, she toppled Myra’s teacup by accident and it smashed to the floor. Fleur glared at Myra, glared at the teacup, and transfigured a new one, tea and all, in front of Myra. Then she stormed out, glaring at the others, with her nose in the air.

Krum and Draco only stared after her a few moments before turning back to each other.

“That’s right, Krum,” Draco said maliciously. “You’ve been lying, and it’s time to confess.”

“I have not been–”

Hermione felt a tap on her shoulder, and turned to see Myra standing at her side.

“I need to talk to you, Hermione,” Myra said quietly. “Alone.”

Alone? Alone was never a good thing anymore. Immediately suspicious of both Myra and her intentions, Hermione narrowed her eyes.

“Alright,” she agreed reluctantly. Myra obviously knew what was going on, and Hermione was in no position to pass up new information.

She strode over to Harry, who watched the blowout between Draco and Krum with livid fascination.

“Harry,” she said loudly, so that several of the others turned toward her. “I am going into the hall with Myra. I’ll be back in five minutes,” she announced pointedly. Harry caught her drift immediately.

“Okay,” he said loudly, glancing at Myra. “If you’re not back in five minutes, I’ll come looking for you two.”

She nodded quickly, and stalked out of the echoing ballroom with Myra.

“Make this quick,” Hermione said, once they were far enough away.

“Hermione . . .do you like Krum?” Myra intoned suddenly. She had the rushed inflection of a person trying to be calm but resisting the urge to panic.

Hermione was taken aback. “Well, yeah, I think he’s a good guy.”

Myra pressed her hand to her forehead worriedly. “Would you ever think of dating him?”

The raven haired girl massaged her temples and closed her eyes. Hermione was reminded briefly, intensely, of the crow, smashed against the clear window.

“Well, it’s crossed my mind,” Hermione replied diplomatically. She did not wish to sound as if she disliked Krum.

“Hermione, stay away from Krum, he’s . . .” she trailed off and reclined weakly against the wall.

“He’s what?” Hermione asked desperately.

“I’m not feeling so well . . .” Myra replied shortly. When she met Hermione’s gaze, her face was riddled with painful realization. She spoke quite calmly. “How could I have been so blind? Hermione, this isn’t a murder, it’s–”

She staggered against the wall, and looked as if she could barely hold herself up.

“Myra? Myra! HELP! Someone HELP!” Hermione screamed, as Myra slid down the wall, eyes rolling back in her head.

Footsteps pounded down the hall immediately, and Draco and Krum appeared first. They glanced from Myra to Hermione incredulously before demanding to know what was happening.

The other Ambassadors appeared shortly, and a frantic scramble to help the girl ensued. Because their magic was useless due to the storm, they could not perform a charm to see what ailed her. They could only see that her breathing grew more labored by the moment. At last, a tragic sort of silence fell as they realized that there was no way to help her. They watched as she closed her eyes and expelled a final breath.

She reminded Hermione of the crow crushed against the window, dark hair splayed out around her, still as the sky on awindless day and equally as remote.

Myra lay lifeless before them.


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It was raining ever so lightly, and the gunmetal clouds were dark in the late autumn sky. And the sun, just beyond the veil of clouds, close as a reflection in the mirror and equally as unreachable, shattered in pieces through the sky and rendered it pearlescent. Where there was once darkness now blazed light, heavenly and pure. The drizzle, like a thousand tissue-thin sheets of starlight, drenched the landscape in liquid mercury. Silver and grey dominated the color scheme of this moment in infinity, but the grey leaned more toward white than black. The balance of the shade was precarious, of course, as all things are precarious that are worth looking at. Was it a dream? Was it an illusion? This moment is evanescent, it seems, a flash of beauty in the darkness of the raging storm.
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Harry sat numbly on the balcony some hours later.
He had checked to see if she still had a pulse. He had helped Krum move her body to the Hall of Illusions. All of this, however, made it no easier to accept the fact that she was dead.

To accept the now unavoidable fact that a murderer reigned somewhere in their midst. Two people did not die coincidentally in a week.

The storm raged on, but Harry couldn’t have stomached staying inside for another moment. Grief and fear hung heavily in the air.

The door clicked open behind him, and he whirled, immediately suspicious. It wasDraco, and for some reason this quelled his immediate fear. It shouldn’t have. Draco was just as dangerous as the rest of them.

Draco took a seat in the chair next to him, and gazed out at the endless sea of grey. Such monotone made Harry wonder a world even existed below them, filled with sunny skies and laughter.

“Are you afraid, Potter?” Draco asked simply, fixing his gaze on Harry.

Harry stayed silent for a moment, and wondered in Draco was worth talking to.

“There are two kinds of fear, Malfoy,” Harry started slowly, and glanced up to see if Draco was listening.

Lightning streaked boldly across the late afternoon sky.

“The first kind of fear is the kind that I suppose I am more used to. It is the fleeting, intense sort of feeling that comes over you when your life flashes before your eyes. Whenever I face . . . Voldemort, that type of fear envelopes me. It goes away quickly, though, because either I will die facing him or I won’t. In either case, the fear is a fleeting thing.”

Harry fell into silence, but Draco could tell that he was not finished. A flash of his sterling green eyes revealed something that Draco had never seen on Harry’s face. Later, he would realize what it was.

“The second kind of fear,” Harry continued, “is far more lethal and far more common. It is the lingering type of fear. This fear eats away slowly at your insides, until everything you trust and everything you cherish and everything you believe in becomes riddled with uncertainty. You begin to lose faith, ultimately. You see . . . the first kind of fear may strike quickly and prove more deadly . . . but the second kind of fear kills you slowly, and before you know it you’re a lifeless shell, unsure and uncertain and unable to separate truth from lies. That is the kind of fear I’m beginning to feel.”

Draco sat in stunned silence, his mouth slightly agape. He was scared, suddenly, and more scared than he had ever been. He recognized the look in Harry’s eyes now.

Fear.

Harry Potter, who had faced the most powerful wizard alive. Harry, who had stolen an egg from a dragon in Fourth Year. Harry, who had slain a basilisk and battled a Dementor and befriended a giant and never once had he seen that look in Harry’s eyes. Draco was suddenly very afraid.

“I could have stopped it,” Harry said quietly. “I could have saved her.”

At last Draco found his voice.

“How? You’re not superhuman, Potter. You can’t hold up your hand and command death to stop. You think too much of yourself, actually. Stop acting like a hero . . . you’re just a person.”

“I . . . well, I know that,” Harry said.

“I don’t think you do,” Draco announced suddenly. “From the moment you came into this world you have been fed utter bullshit about being the hero. You think you’re the savior of the human race, don’t you? I can tell just by your expression sometimes, Potter. You have someone to coach you in morality, someone to teach Charms and Transfiguration and Potions, but you have no one to remind you that you’re only human.”

Harry looked shocked. “That is because most people have forgotten that I’m human, Malfoy. I’m a legendary hero to most of the world, and to the rest of them I’m some notorious freak of nature. They expect me to save the world or destroy it.”

“And those people have half-convinced you that you are superhuman, haven’t they? You aren’t a bigger hero or a better person than anyone else, Potter. You have been given a burden. If anyone else was in your place, they would do just as well, I imagine, because they have to. People will do what is required of them, nothing more or less. Don’t forget that.”

The seriousness of the moment shattered when Harry cracked a grin. “Since when have you been giving advice in humility, Malfoy? You’re a narcissistic, pureblooded prat without a shred a humility in your bones. Don’t make me laugh.”

“Those who can’t do, teach,” Draco informed Harry sagely. Both boys laughed.

Harry noted after their conversation that he actually might not have hated it. This was a first, when it came to conversations with Malfoy.

It wasn’t true that Harry had no one to remind him that he was human. That had been Draco’s job for the past seven years.


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Later that evening, Draco paced back and forth in the solitude of his room.
d**n.

He had only two weeks left to befriend Potter. Though the git was softening, it wasn’t nearly fast enough. Draco felt he’d done too little too late. Potter would never trust him in time to meet Lord Voldemort’s request.

He needed a Cunning Plan. A really cunning one. Yet nothing came to mind.

It was infuriating, actually.

Speaking of infuriating, he mused darkly, Granger is driving me absolutely up the wall. Trying to get her into the sack? Hah. If I wanted to seduce her, I could do it at the drop of a hat. Stupid girl doesn’t have any idea what she’s talking about.

And then it came to him, all in one blinding realization. It was a topnotch, fantastically sinister idea, and he realized that it had been culminating in his mind ever since Bulgaria.

His father’s words came crashing back.

“If you must . . . convince her . . . take a more direct approach, if you know what I mean. Women are only good for one thing anyway.”

Harry trusted Hermione unconditionally. Hermione was his reliable advisor, as well as the brains behind the Golden Trio.

She practically thinks for him, Draco mused. That thick idiot wouldn’t even be able to pass exams if it weren’t for her.

He stopped his pacing, and then resumed it with renewed vigour. For weeks, he had been looking for a Really Cunning Plan. This was it.

All I have to do is seduce Granger. No . . . even better . . . I’ll pretend to fall in love with her! Draco knew that Hermione did not hate him. She had told him outright that she liked him a great deal more than he had ever believed possible. It wouldn’t be hard to pretend he was in love with her. In fact, Draco suspected it would be criminally easy.

When Hermione trusted him completely, he would bravely suggest that they confess their love to Harry, in order to obtain his blessing. Hermione would, of course, agree, and she would tell Harry how Draco was an outstanding person and that he could by all means be trusted.

Harry had always listened to Hermione’s advice before this. He revered her opinion above all. If one of his best friends and the smartest witch in the school had fallen in love with Draco Malfoy, Harry would surmise that Draco was Not Such A Bad Guy After All.

He had kissed her before, and liked it. Actually, he had wondered what it would be like to shag her. He felt nothing emotional for Hermione, but she wasn’t the ugliest girl ever and it didn’t hurt that her body was way better than most of the girls at Hogwarts. She was untouchable to the boys back at school(who feared incurring Harry or Ron’s elemental wrath), and Draco smirked demonically. How much fun would it be to brag to the guys about how he had seduced Hermione I’m-a-pure-virginal-prude Granger?

Hermione would fall in love like she wanted, Potter would trust him like Voldemort wanted, and he would get to shag her like he wanted.

It’s so bloody immoral. And so bloody perfect.

There was only one slight problem.

He only had three weeks.

Could he make her fall in love with him in three weeks?

I can d**n well try.

The stakes were set, it seemed, and the game was on.

The great deception had begun.


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Hermione felt awful.
Why did she feel responsible for Myra’s death? How had Myra died in the first place? Why couldn’t she stop thinking about Draco?

His name and his face swirled around and around in her head until everything else turned to mush.

The storm, more than the night, darkened the sky, but the past few days had contained nothing but darkness. The intensity of the storm seemed to increase after Myra’s death. No one went anywhere alone, and usually the Ambassadors stayed in their respective groups. The food tasted like fear, and no one seemed to want to think about getting out of the castle. It was as if Myra had been their life force, their decision maker, their leader.

Hermione, bored of being in her room alone, decided to go to the Sitting Room. It was late, but perhaps Harry and Ginny were restless also. They were the lightest sleepers of the bunch.

She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and opened the door slowly. Lightning briefly illuminated the empty hall. She shivered and walked quickly down the corridor. She opened the large door to the Sitting Room, and first thought no one was inside. A figure silhouetted by the firelight came to her attention. It was Draco.

He was not aware of her presence, it seemed, and was mesmerized by the single-minded destruction of the flames.

She closed the door, and stood watching Draco in silence. She did not know how long she watched him. He entranced her, as the firelight entranced him. His hair coated with the dust of angels and his eyes like jeweled daggers . . .

“How long were you planning on staring at me, Granger, before you made your presence known?”

He had not turned around to look at her, and she flushed magenta. I could have sworn he didn’t know I was here! How long have I been watching him? Five minutes? More?

“You really do have a staring problem,” he continued softly. “On the boat in Bulgaria, at that pub, and now you’re staring at me here. Don’t worry, Granger, I’m used to it.”

She rolled her eyes and composed herself as he turned around. “Why are you up, Malfoy?” She sat down next to him on the sofa near the fire.

“Nightmares,” he stated simply. His eyes looked blank as he said this.

“I couldn’t sleep either,” she replied, “but not because of nightmares.”

They were silent after that, both staring avidly at the kindling flame. It was amazing how something so beautiful could be so destructive.

“Granger . . .” Malfoy started, in a determined sort of voice, “I haven’t really shagged half of the girls in our school, you know.”

Hermione laughed at the abrupt change in subject. “My mistake, then. It’s closer to three quarters, isn’t it?”

“Granger!” Draco whined. “I’m trying to be serious here.”

“Is this another one of your tactics to get me to sleep with you?” Hermione asked lightly, casting a sideways glance in his direction.

He looked pained. “Fleur’s much sexier than you, and she tolerates me better too. I should be trying to get her into bed,” he said simply.

“But you’re not trying to get Fleur into bed,” Hermione unveiled. It was a statement, not a question.

“No,” he conceded.

“It seems you have quite the conundrum, then,” Hermione continued, a small smile playing at her lips. “However will you solve it?”

Draco met her gaze with a certain amount of intensity. “I could kiss you,” he offered slowly, “and all my problems would disappear.”

They weren’t very far apart, so he leaned toward her slowly, so that she knew it was coming. Their lips were not a centimeter apart, he could almost taste her sweetness, when he heard the most inaudible word.

“Don’t.”

Hermione’s eyes were closed, and that was a lucky thing, because if they had been open she would have seen the cruelty, carnal hunger, and disappointment that flashed through his own eyes, the clenching of the hand that had almost reached to hold her down involuntarily, before he pulled away.

Patience.

He schooled his features into serenity as she opened her eyes.

“I’m a gentlemen,” he assured her candidly, “I won’t kiss you if you don’t want it. I will have to request a reason, though.”

“You don’t really like me,” she stated calmly.

He almost let his guard drop. How did she know?

“Or, at least, I can’t make myself believe that you do. You could be lying to me. This could all be an act on your part. How do I know you’re not trying to weaken my defenses to get information out of me? You’ve been a selfish bastard for the past seven years and I have no reason to believe you’ve changed.”

Draco’s eyes filled with surprise, probably because what she had said was true. He took a deep breath, as if trying to still his frustration.

“Alright,” he said more softly. “I get it. What do I have to do to make you trust me?”

“You can stop lying,” Hermione said flatly. “You could also convince me that you’re not using me for sex, information, or something equally as horrendous.”

“I’m not using you for sex, information, OR something equally as horrendous.”

I’m using you for sex, information, AND something equally as horrendous. All three, that’s the key here.

He smirked behind his hand. “I swear, Granger. You cut a hard bargain, but I’ll take you up on it. I will not lie to you from this day forward. I will prove to you that I am not using you. Now since I can no longer lie, I’ll start by saying that you are the most appalling and wicked girl I have ever known for making this so hard. I will also have you know that you are a worthless Mudblood and a fantastic dancer and a self-righteous bookworm and a wonderful kisser.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “This will end either with the two of us having a duel or with me kissing you, and at this point I’m not entirely sure which is worse.”

“Do I have a vote in this?” Draco asked with a hopeful look.

“No,” Hermione replied lightly. “Now I think I’ve had enough of you for one night.”

“And I’ve had far too much of you,” Malfoy replied with actual disdain. She took it as a joke, of course.

With that, they went to their respective rooms, and Hermione could not banish the smile from her face.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Draco shut the door to his room firmly.
He could not believe she had fallen for it. Did she really believe that Draco Malfoy, King of Slytherin, cared whether or not he gained her trust? It was ridiculous.

He didn’t care about her.

Honestly, he didn’t.

Then why did you kiss her before you even had your Cunning Plan? he asked himself.

A trivial detail.

He just wanted to sleep with her. That had to be it. She was a very pretty girl and she was untouchable. He really wanted to shag her.

What worried him was that he had almost lost control. Her lips had been centimeters away from his, and he had imagined in vivid detail what it would be like to kiss them, to snake his hand around her waist . . .

Then she had told him not to.

That had rightly pissed him off.

He was good with control, usually. Excellent, as he had proven again and again in the bedroom. But something about Hermione Granger made him want to forget the mission, forget her feelings, and snog her senseless until she screamed.

He wondered what it would be like to hear her scream his name and lost himself for a moment in that pleasant fantasy.

He snapped out of it presently and smacked himself. Stop obsessing about her. She’s just a girl. I’m going to use her for a means and then get rid of her. Like a pet dog.

This comforted him a little bit, but not as much as it should have.

[Julia Darline Evans]

ruttu uut osa:)

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Lemmik algus ja naerukoht siin


PART II: THE GREAT DECEPTION

He who tells a lie is not sensible of how great a task he undertakes; for he must be forced to invent twenty more to maintain that one.

Alexander Pope

Chapter 19; Problems in Paradise

Hermione awoke to the sound of sharp rapping on her door.

She checked her wristwatch and slipped out from under the sheets. It was half past seven. Who could be pounding on her door so early?

She opened the door a small ways, and caught the glint of Draco’s silver hair.

“Malfoy?” she said dazedly. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you think? I’m serving you breakfast in bed,” he proclaimed.

Her mouth dropped open. Arrogant Malfoy would never do such a thing.

“Listen, Malfoy, don’t you think you’re taking this ‘nice guy’ thing a little too far?”

“I was kidding, Granger. The day I bring you breakfast in bed is the day Longbottom gets elected Minister of Magic.”

“Then why are you here?”

“A meeting has been called between the Ambassadors. We need to be down there now.”

He took a hold of her wrist and yanked her out the door.

“Malfoy!” she cried, trying to free herself from his grasp. “I am still in my night dress!”

He looked her up and down. “I don’t see a problem with that,” he said softly, and pulled her closer. Their bodies were only inches apart, and the thin material of her nightgown didn’t stop her from feeling the heat of his body. Why did something so wrong feel so deliciously right?

“Give me five minutes,” she said firmly, and slipped away from him.

She shut the door to her room and changed quickly into everyday robes. She scrubbed her face and attempted to tame her hair. When she stepped back outside Draco was leaning against the corridor wall, looking detached and unconcerned as ever.

“We’re late,” he said plainly. When she stepped toward him, he hooked her arm around his in a rather amiable fashion, and they walked quickly down the hall.

“Who called this meeting, anyway?” she asked, as they neared the ballroom. He dropped her arm, and Hermione gazed around. The grandeur of the castle seemed to take on a darker, more sultry aspect.

“Potter did, of course,” Draco answered. Hermione looked at him in shock.

“Harry did? I had no idea.”

The ballroom doors stood wide open, and as Hermione entered, she saw that they were indeed the last two to arrive. Everyone else was seated firmly around the circular table. Hermione took the empty seat next to Harry.

Thirteen seats. One chair had been removed.

Silence fell.

“You’re all probably wondering why I called this meeting,” Harry asserted in a clear and carrying voice. The back of his chair made a scraping sound as he rose. “None of us have talked much since Myra’s death.”

He looked around at each of them, and they subconsciously became aware of the position he had taken. New leader.

“I called this meeting because I’m fed up. I’m fed up with lies, and I’m fed up with deception. There is no denying it now; two people have died in a week. There is a murderer amongst us and we are all in grave danger. I will go as far as to say that if we do not get to the bottom of this, the murderer will pick us off one by one.”

There was those that looked appalled at the harshness of his words. There were those who looked as if they agreed with what he was saying. Ginny was amongst the former, and Krum amongst the latter.

“The murderer, undoubtedly one of us, is very clever,” Harry continued somberly. “He has set an example by killing the girl who was trying to figure him out. He has no doubt made the rest of us afraid to admit that we know anything, for fear of becoming the next victim. We must not let this tactic fool us. We should discuss Myra’s death openly."

A general murmur of agreement met his ears.

“It seems to me as if she choked, or stopped breathing,” Hermione opined reluctantly. “And she complained of having a headache beforehand. She–” but Hermione decided not to mention that Myra had almost revealed something of grave importance to her.

“She seemed woozy,” Hermione finished lamely.

“It is my guess that she vas either suffocated or poisoned,” Krum announced loudly. “Since ve cannot use magic, there is no way to verify that.”

“I was with her until she died. No one suffocated her.”

Hermione’s voice sounded soft, reluctant as she raised her eyes. She became aware of the disconcerting looks that various people gave her. Why are they staring at me like that? she wondered guilelessly.

“Who is to say that you didn’t strangle her?” Renae piped up, narrowing her eyes.

Hermione actually gasped in shock. “Me? You were all there when she died . . . I didn’t do a thing!”

“It is a little suspicious,” ventured Ava, with a frown. “You vere the last one to speak vith her . . . you could easily have poisoned her or killed her if she knew too much . . .”

“Ridiculous!” Hermione said shortly, in her no-nonsense voice. She glanced around the table for support. “I . . . I told Harry where I was going, several of you heard it. Why would I inform everyone in the room that I was leaving with Myra if I planned to murder her?”

This silenced the skeptics. “She ‘as a point,” Jaime admitted reluctantly.

A sudden sob sounded from across the table. Everyone turned to look at Fleur.

“I wish death on Myra’s murderer. I don’t care who killed her, but that person should be condemned to life in Azkaban!” she shrieked dramatically.

Harry started consolingly, “We’re all very sad about Myra’s death . . .”

“You haven’t known her for seven years! You haven’t watched her grow up! You can’t even been to fathom ‘er wit and charm and brilliance! She was my best friend and there will never be anyone like her!”

Fleur dissolved into a bout of hysterical sobbing, and no one seemed to know what to do.

Hermione painstakingly refrained from rolling her eyes. Fleur was always such a drama queen, and drama wasn’t what they needed at the moment.

Krum smacked his hand down on the table abruptly, and several people jumped.

“Ve need to find a vay out of the castle now! This storm vas obviously not a coincidence and vill never end!”

“I’ve said it before,” Ernie replied irritably. “Since we can’t use magic there is no way to counteract the storm. We can only wait it out!”

“I AM TIRED OF WAITING!” Krum roared at last. He was red in the face with rage.

“Have you ever considered anger management, Krum?” Draco asked calmly. “Counseling is nothing to be ashamed of . . . did you have a dark childhood, by any chance? Don’t get upset, now, I’m only attempting to analyze certain aspects of your pathetically tiny brain . . .”

“How vould you like to analyze certain aspects of my fist, Malfoy? I DO NOT NEED ANGER MANAGEMENT!”

“It’s okay,” Draco comforted in a soothing voice. “You’re just in denial right now. The first step to a healthy recovery is admitting you have a problem . . .”

“GAHHH!” Krum screamed. He seemed only moments away from ripping open his shirt and beating his chest in rage. He stood up, took a step toward Draco, turned on his heel abruptly, and hastened out the door.

“Thought so,” Malfoy muttered triumphantly.

Harry adjourned the meeting shortly after this outburst. The tension in the room had escalated to such a level that Hermione was surprised one of the chandeliers hadn’t shattered.

After resolving to continue the conversation after dinner, the Ambassadors split in their respective directions.

“We’re taking a walk,” Draco announced to Hermione after they had split off from the others. It was not a request, but a command. Hermione certainly did not trust him, and neither did Harry. She found herself, for whatever reason, still unable to object.

“Krum is guilty,” Draco burst at last, with conviction.

To his obvious dismay, she rolled her eyes. “You’ve been saying this from the start, Malfoy, and I’m still not any closer to believing you.”

They began ascending a staircase, and Draco’s voice took on a sharper edge. “Can’t you just put your prejudices aside for a moment and use some common sense, Granger? Obvious Clue #1: He tried to kill us all on the boat. Clue #2: He goes to a school where they preach dark arts . . . his Headmaster is a well known Death Eater, for Merlin’s sake! Clue #3: He claimed to be ‘flying a broom’ the day Franz died. He was lying! Clue #4: Every time we begin to make progress in a discussion, he blows up and brings up something completely irrelevant. Clue #5 . . .”

“Okay, I get it,” Hermione conceded. “He does seem suspicious, but he’s a good guy. I know so.”

Draco made an exasperated sound. “Have it your way, then, Granger. See if I care when you flounce off with him and get yourself killed.”

They had reached a stone hallway, and at the end Hermione glimpsed a patch of grey sky. Where were they?

“I’m going to flounce off with him, Malfoy. I’m not going to flounce off with anyone.”

Draco frowned. “Now why do I lack faith in this statement? Let’s see . . . maybe because you’ve already flounced off alone with someone. Me.”

“Doesn’t count,” Hermione said lightly.

“What? Why not?” He sounded offended that he didn’t count. “I’m a Slytherin . . . turn around for one second and I might stab you in the back.”

“You wouldn’t,” said Hermione, but only because she knew it would annoy him. Draco looked miffed.

“If I didn’t know better, I would say that you were getting too comfortable with me, Miss Granger. Maybe I ought to throw you off of this balcony to remind you of who I really am.”

“What balcony?”

“This one,” Draco replied swiftly, turning a corner. A large balcony with an overhang spanned out before them. Chairs sat along the balcony edge, and Draco commenced in taking a seat. Hermione remained standing.

She walked to the edge of the balcony and looked down, searching for some signal of life below. Everything had worked so far for Draco. He had played the role of wry, uncertain Pureblood. The rest was simple.

But he got caught up in watching her. A gust of wind blasted onto the balcony in a sudden, chilly torrent. Her hair flapped out behind her and her cheeks had been shaded pink from the cold, like the rouge on an actress’s face before she took the stage. Her profile was strong against the grey backdrop of the storm. He watched with growing dismay as the wind pushed her robes back onto her frame, so that they clung to her figure. A drop of rain hit her face, and he watched its slow and languid procession down her neck, then under her shirt. He wanted to be like that raindrop. He wanted to run his hands down her face and her neck and all the way to her . . .

Merlin.

“Granger, get the bloody hell away from there,” Malfoy pleaded. He couldn’t take much more of that torture.

She turned around, surprised at his vehemence. “What’s wrong, Malfoy?”

“You’ll . . . fall,” he elaborated, voice hoarse, as he motioned for her to sit down. She took the seat with one last puzzled glance in his direction


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.
The two of them sat in comfortable silence, and Hermione’s mind wandered. She had a strange question for Malfoy– one that he probably would not be able to answer.

Hermione wondered briefly if asking him was a good idea. The saying went that curiosity killed the cat, but Hermione was far too curious to refrain from asking him.

“Malfoy, you told me you weren’t a Death Eater, but I know that your father is one. Could you answer a question for me?”

“No.”

“Do girls become Death Eaters?” Hermione blurted out. She was intensely curious; she had never seen a woman Death Eater but it was possible that they existed.

Draco looked at her directly and seemed to size her up. Finally, after running his hand along the smooth mahogany of the chair, he answered.

“Not usually. That isn’t to say that there haven’t been any, but women that do become Death Eaters are not included in the Inner Circle.”

“Why not?” she asked curiously. She had no idea that she looked coy and innocent, tilting her head thoughtfully as she asked the question.

“Because Death Eaters do things that . . .” Draco let out a breath, “that girls shouldn’t ever have to see.”

“That’s a bit sexist if you ask me.”

Draco tapped his finger on the mahogany in an agitated manner. “It’s not sexist.”

“What do the big bad Death Eaters do that’s so awful?”

“I won’t tell you,” he said firmly. He brought his hand down hard on the mahogany armrest.

“C’mon, Malfoy, I can handle it. Don’t you think it’s better for me to know than to be blissfully oblivious?”

“No,” Draco said, with an air of finality. He stared firmly at the ground, his brow creased into a frown, like the beginning of a crack running through a porcelain vase.

“Fine, then! I don’t care.” She turned up her nose. “I’m surprised my delicate ears have survived this long in the presence of a sexist, chauvinistic pig–”

“d**n you, Granger! Can’t you see that I’m doing it for your own bloody protection?” he burst suddenly. He looked angrier than see had ever seen him. “That’s what I like about you, that you can still trust blindly without asking questions. I like it that you are completely oblivious to so much of the evil in our world. I like it that despite all of the pain and destruction in our lives, you still have this completely ridiculous idea that love overcomes all! If I told you exactly what it was that those Death Eaters do, it would ruin all of the stupid and naive notions you have. So I won’t do it.”

Hermione sat in stunned shock.

But that’s what I like about you.

She had not known he liked anything about her.

Completely ridiculous ideas . . . stupid and naive notions . . .

“Malfoy, I am not naive or stupid! I know there is evil in this world, and I do not ignore it.”

Draco responded with a soft laugh.

“Do not strive to understand everything, Hermione, or someday you may just achieve it.”

He shook his head sadly, and stood up.

“Where are you . . .?” she started.

But he had already left.


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FACT: King Arthur had a son named Mordred. The tale insists that the Final Battle of King Arthur (which took place on Salisbury Plain), occured in 537 A.D. The battle culminated in a duel between Arthur and Mordred, father and son. Mordred killed Arthur, though Arthur dealt Mordred a mortal wound also. Arthur’s son is commonly known as Mordred the Traitor.
Lupin was back in the Library of Magic, except that it was near midnight. The stars shone through the window panes, illuminating the pearly pages of his books along with a single lantern. Amazing, Lupin thought, how many books you can pour through without finding a single thing. He had read almost every book the library held on ancient British civilizations, and yet nothing had surfaced about the Druids.

He was becoming quite familiar with Arthurian history, however. Apparently Arthur had been killed by his own son, a traitor to the Round Table. Lupin found it kind of ironic, actually. Arthur had been a wonderful king, but apparently not a very good father.

Magical libraries could be quite dangerous places. Lupin had opened books that had screamed at him, bit him, made him fall asleep . . . a particularly nasty one had tried to gauge his eyes out with built-in toasting forks. He shuddered at the memory of that specific incident.

The only thing Lupin had discovered was that the inner circle of megaliths in Stonehenge all seemed to be placed around a certain, mysterious point. The point was, of course in the middle of Stonehenge itself, though no one had ever been able to discover the reason that the Druids found this point so significant.

Again, it all came back to the Druids. Who were these mysterious, powerful people, and why had they tried so hard to bury their history, to cover up their tracks? Why had they built a large astrological map around a mysterious point? And finally, what did it all have to do with this forbidden object?

The obvious conclusion was that the object was hidden directly on this crucial point, but that was impossible. People had studied that point, examined that point, even dug at that point for hundreds of years, and had come up with nothing.

Lupin sighed wearily. He heard a creak behind him, but took no heed. Old libraries were often creaky and noisy at night. It seemed suddenly hot inside of the library. Lupin decided that opening a window would be a good idea. He reached across the table to open the old fashioned latch on the paned window, and winced as it creaked outward. He heard a thump behind him.

A breeze blew in slightly, ruffling his papers and books. He straightened them absentmindedly and gazed up at the night sky. Stonehenge kept track of solstices, equinoxes, eclipses, constellations . . .

Suddenly something hit him. It was another of his absurd, impossible ideas, but more and more those ideas seemed to be working out. If it was correct, the people who had built Stonehenge were geniuses.

Scientists all claimed that Stonehenge was a map of the stars; what if the stars were a map of Stonehenge?

The idea itself was ingenious because the stars themselves could never be changed. There was, therefore, always, and indestructible map of Stonehenge, and all that a person had to do to find it was look up.

He wondered if a star aligned directly to the center of Stonehenge, and quickly opened a constellation chart. It was the North Star, he was almost positive. He checked the latitude, and his face fell. It did not line up with the North Star. It did, however, line up with the star Thubin. What significance did that possibly have?

He recalled a lecture from an archeoastronomy course that he had been taking. The Egyptians had built all of the pyramids aligned to Thubin. This was because the Earth’s axial tilt had changed ever so slightly over the millennium, and Thubin had once been in the place of the North Star. Hence, when the Druids had built Stonehenge, it had been aligned with the northern most star– Thubin.

But what significance did Thubin have? He started as he noticed a huge coincidence– Thubin was the brightest star in the constellation Draco. He had read earlier that a Draconic Month was the time it took for the moon to circle around Stonehenge once. In Latin, Draco meant ‘dragon’ or ‘snake.’

He thought back again to the poem.

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

There were numerous references to snakes everywhere in Stonehenge. It had been built around Draco (a snake!), the poem mentioned snakes, and astronomers even used the term ‘Draconic Month’ to describe the movement of Stonehenge.

Where was all of this snake symbolism coming from?

There was only one answer, and that had been the one that was alluding him. The Druids.

Lupin saw a flash of movement to his right and immediately realized that someone was in the library with him.

He picked up his things and quietly curtailed out.

He wasn’t sure of what snakes had to do with Stonehenge, but he was rapidly getting an idea.

He was sure that there was a nameless someone following him. He would have to be more careful.


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Harry paced nervously in the Sitting Room. Where is Hermione? he thought irritably. I really need to talk to her.
He could not believe how ridiculous the situation was. They were stuck in a castle in the sky, and ironically, no one had enough brains to find a way out. Harry did not even want to know what everyone on the ground was doing. They were no doubt out of their minds with worry.

Harry missed Ron’s carefree attitude and tension-breaking humor. This journey had given him an idea of what life would be like without his best friend– he didn’t like it at all.

On top of all that, nothing anyone said made an ounce of sense. He felt as if he were caught up in one of those bad soap operas his aunt Petunia always watched.

There were so many things going on at once that he didn’t know which one to address first.

The only conclusion he could come to was that everyone in the castle save Ernie and himself was absolutely crazy.

Ginny, to start, acted unreasonably erratic. Everything she said to him seemed stilted and forced.

Hermione kept running off with some unknown boy that she was obviously head over heels for. He saw it in her eyes.

Malfoy. What was there to say about Malfoy? He was evil as they came.

Krum had made up numerous false stories and alibis, and had taken to being afraid of Draco. That in itself was scary.

Fleur was a complete mess and would no longer be of any use whatsoever.

Renae was nervous, Michael was guilty, Myra was dead, the lights had mysteriously gone out, conspiracies took place in the ballroom on a daily basis, and at least five of the Ambassadors were do suspicious he didn’t even know what to do with them.

Harry had to get to the bottom of this.

Did no one else find it the slightest bit suspicious that Michael had shattered a wine glass and acted upset on numerous occasions? Did no one think it was even a tad baffling when Draco had shown up to the scene of Franz’s murder late? Had no one else observed the fact that every time something of importance was being discussed, Fleur started crying? Had anyone else ever noticed that Draco always arrived late?

The Ambassadors were in a state of complete pandemonium and he knew it. Blackmailing went on every which way, all sorts of people crept around in the dark, secret meetings took place all the time, and no one was willing to admit that they knew anything.

Not to mention that one of the Ambassadors was a ruthless and maniacal murderer with a completely unknown motive.

For all Harry knew, he was next.

Harry decided that he would have to solve the mystery before anyone else got killed. He would be far more discreet about it than Myra, however.

Hilda was in his Independent Study group. He could approach her with the precedent of working on the project, and then wheedle information out of her. Blearily, he recalled that the Bulgarians were staying on the second floor.

He walked out the door.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Draco strode away from Hermione quickly.
Did I just call her Hermione?

Yes, you did.

This affirmation gave him the chills. He definitely hadn’t meant to.

He whipped around a corner, anxious to get back to his room– and smacked directly into Harry Potter.

“Potter!” Draco yelled jumpily. Harry narrowed his eyes as he straightened his glasses.

“What’s wrong with you, Malfoy? Can’t you watch where you’re going, you utter prat?”

Draco’s eyes flared with anger. “Don’t try to blame this on me, you humongous moron . . .” he wanted to say more, but refrained from doing so.

After a quick debate with himself, Harry said, “Listen, Malfoy, I’m conducting an investigation, of sorts, and I need to ask you for some information.”

It’s true that Draco could lie to me, Harry thought, but a lie reveals more than no information at all.

Harry could almost see the snide comment on Malfoy’s tongue, but watched as the boy fell silent, and looked haughtily expectant.

“I know your number one suspect is Krum,” Harry said wearily, “but if you want me to even consider it, I need you to give me some real evidence.”

Draco was silent. At last he spoke.

“The night when the lights went out, Potter, something peculiar happened. Macmillan was mad at me because I ditched him, but I had a good reason, believe it or not. In the darkness all around, I saw a glint of light, and I went to see what it was. As I got closer the outline of a door appeared. I opened the door slowly and heard the crackling of flames. Krum knelt by the fire, talking to someone. From my angle I couldn’t see who it was, but I heard a snatch of their conversation. ‘I am going to kill him,’ Krum said with conviction. ‘Just like I killed Franz.’ Then he must have heard me, because he whirled around. I escaped before he saw who I was, but he knows I know. That’s why he didn’t retaliate this morning at the breakfast table. Viktor Krum is dangerous, Potter. I’ve been saying it all along.”

Harry’s mouth hung open. “What! Why didn’t you mention this before?”

Draco paused. “I didn’t expect you all to believe me,” he said at last. “You all kept accusing me of jumping to conclusions, but Krum has been planning this from the start, I tell you!”

“But the million dollar question is . . . why?” Harry asked, gesturing helplessly.

“You never know with Krum . . . he’s just unhinged, if you asked me,” Draco answered.

“But Franz was one of his best friends . . . that doesn’t make any sense.”

“No,” Draco agreed simply, and carefully shifted his weight.

They would find out sooner than they thought.

[Kathreen Granger]

Hullult põnev!

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Põnev on see jutt tõesti...

[Liz-Miia Parker]

PART II: THE GREAT DECEPTION

Truth lives on in the midst of deception.
Henry von Schiller


Chapter 20; Farewell to France

The sunlight streaming through Hermione’s window awoke her. She felt it dapple her face and tickle her nose and wait a minute . . .

Sunlight?

She did not want to open her eyes for fear that she would see a stormy sky. The warmth and brightness could not be real . . . it was merely a wonderful dream.

She opened her eyes painfully. The brightness was still there.

She jumped out of her silk bed with more energy than she’d had in days ran to the window.

Blue. The first blue she had seen in a week, and it was wonderful. The early morning sky was filled with wispy white clouds, and the turrets of the castle were illuminated by sunlight, sparkling and shimmering and dappling sunlight. She squealed in happiness and hastened out of her own room.

“Harry!” she cried, skittering haphazardly to his door. She pounded hard. “Sunlight! There’s sunlight out there! Wake up!”

“Ginny!” she yelled next, and pounded on Ginny’s door. “Ernie, Malfoy, wake up!”

Harry’s door opened first, and he looked at her with an enormous grin. She launched herself into his arms and he laughed, swinging her around joyfully.

Ginny came out next, looking sleepy but excited. Hermione grabbed her hands. “We’re free, Ginny! The storm’s over! We’re going to get out of here!”

“What did I tell you?” came Ernie’s arrogant voice. “I told you guys from the start that this thing would clear up in no time.”

Hermione definitely did not remember him saying anything of the sort, but she laughed with good nature.

The storm had passed, and they would be safe in no time.

She felt a prickle on the back of her neck, and turned around to see Draco standing somberly in the shadows, hands thrust into his pockets.

“Aren’t you even a little happy the storm is over?” she asked acidly as she approached him. He shrugged.

“Even though it stopped raining,” he said carefully, “I have the strangest feeling that the storm has only just begun.”


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“There is still a great amount of magic in the air,” Ernie announced, “but in about two hours we should be able to floo down, and apparation should be possible as well.”
The Ambassadors sitting around the table looked extremely relieved.

Harry, always the detective, glanced around discreetly to see if anyone looked unhappy.

They all seemed joyful, but was that the beginning of panic in Michael’s eyes? Jaime suddenly jumped up from his seat, as he had apparently seen something through the transparent floor.

“Merlin! Thank Merlin, look!” he cried, pointing at something far below. “Everyone must come to the main balcony!”

Quickly the students filed out of the ballroom, and Hermione found herself being ushered outside and down sweeping white marble steps. They quickly descended and ended up outside the castle on a mysterious, suspended platform.

“Look!” Jaime said, reverence in his voice. “They’re here!”

Hermione looked down and at last saw what he was pointing at.

Out of the billowing white clouds charged a group of . . . thestrals?

They were thestrals, but they looked completely different from the ones Hermione was used to. The majestic horses were sterling white against the backdrop of billowing clouds, with silver hooves and silky mains. The most breathtaking aspect of the Not-Thestrals was definitely their wings. Beating powerfully in the wind, the insides were laced with gold and sparkled in the sun. A pure light emanated from the horses as they swept dramatically onto the balcony. They pulled a carriage behind them.

“They’re . . . absolutely breathtaking,” Hermione exclaimed. One of the white horses tossed its silky main.

“By Jove, they are,” Ernie agreed, his eyes fixed on the horses.

Harry and Draco exchanged identical suspicious looks, and Hermione frowned.

“You don’t like them?” she asked in dismay.

“Like what? The carriage? I suppose it’s pretty enough,” Draco said slowly, looking at Hermione as if she were a bit unhinged.

“No, you prat, the horses,” she said impatiently.

Draco and Harry both stared at her, and concern flashed in Harry’s eyes. At last understanding dawned.

“Nice try, Hermione,” he said wryly, “but I know there’s nothing there. You’re trying to make me go crazy like I did seeing those thestrals in fifth year, aren’t you?”

“Harry,” Ernie cut in, “they’re right there!”

He pointed at the horses as if it was obvious.

“I don’t see anything,” Ginny said quietly. Hermione looked around in confusion. Jaime stared proudly, and Michael gazed in reverence at them also. Hilda looked wide-eyed at their beauty. All of the others, however, seemed to look right past the horses.

“The . . . the huge white horses pulling the carriages! You don’t see them?” Hermione asked in disbelief.

“These, my friends,” intoned Jaime in an informative voice, “are thestrals, but perhaps not the ones you are used to. They are a rare breed of Light Thestrals, and are also known as Sky Thestrals.”

Hermione gasped. “I’ve read about these . . .” she started excitedly.

“In ancient times,” Jaime continued, with an irritated look in her direction, “these creatures were supposed to be only figments of the imagination, because children alone could see them. Like Dark Thestrals, only a certain type of people could see them fully.”

“Well, why can’t Potter and I see them?” Draco asked with a frown.

“You cannot see Dark Thestrals unless you have seen death,” Jaime said. “You must be innocent and pure as a child in order to see a Sky Thestral. They are a product of thestrals breeding with unicorns, actually.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying that only virgins can see these . . . Sky Thestrals?” he asked with a smirk, eyes flashing to Hermione and back.

Jaime shook his head. “You misread my meaning, Draco. Zer are other way to lose your innocence. Virginity 'as little to do with it most of the time.”

Fleur looked unreasonably upset. Her eyes darted frantically in front of the carriages.

“I can’t see zem anymore,” Hermione heard her say softly. There were tears in her eyes.

“Wait!” said Harry suddenly. “I can’t see the Sky Thestrals, but they have shadows. I can see shadows of horses, there of the ground.”

He pointed at the shadows triumphantly. Draco squinted and looked indifferent.

“Ah,” exclaimed Jaime. “A shadow case. Very rare, but with you, I would expect it, Harry Potter.”

“What does it mean if I can only see the shadow?”

“It means that you can envision a world of innocence and purity, although you realize that such a world does not truly exist. It means, mostly, that you have hope for a world of goodness. You see only a shadow of an innocent world, and therefore only a shadow of the Sky Thestral.”

With a shiver, Hermione remembered her conversation with Draco.

“I am not naive or stupid! I know there is evil in this world and I do not ignore it.”

She recalled that Draco had laughed scornfully. Perhaps he had been a little bit right.


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When they reached the ground, pandemonium ensued. They were ushered into a posh building by the carriage drivers. Madame Maxime, Dumbledore, and Karkaroff all waited inside, and Hermione realized it felt odd to be on the ground again.
Dumbledore seemed troubled, but he relaxed slightly when he saw the Ambassadors.

Madame Maxime wrapped Fleur and the others into a hug.

“Where eez Myra?” she asked. Her voice was softly apprehensive.

The Ambassadors exchanged glances, and reluctantly launched into an explanation about Franz and Myra. A few of the girls cried as they retold it, and the boys looked plaintive as well. In the castle, they had been on guard and afraid to show too much emotion. Now they expressed proper sadness.

“I feared something of this sort would happen,” Dumbledore told his students in private. “We knew that reinstating the Ambassador program would be risky, but we never expected something of this magnitude to occur."

“So this is it then, right?” Harry asked. “We’ll go back to out respective schools and never reinstate the program again?”

“That is what the head of the school boards are here to discuss. In fact, I am leaving for that particular meeting right now. Keep a sharp eye . . . I will be back soon.”

A few minutes later, the students again clustered into a group.

“Be careful,” Madame Maxime announced to everyone. “Zere eez press outside and you are by no means to disclose any information to ze journalists."

With that, the preoccupied Headmasters (and Headmistress) apparated away. That left the thirteen remaining Ambassadors standing in a small circle. It was odd; even though one within their ranks was a murderer, a certain camaraderie had developed between the Ambassadors. In the sky, they had been divided. On the ground, it seemed, they were united. They had all been on a journey together; they had laughed and cried and sang karoke and almost gotten killed on numerous occasions. It was inevitable that they had gotten closer in the process.

“So what now?” Harry asked, and looked at each of them. It was Krum who spoke up.

“No ve go face za press.”

“And after zat why don’t we go to lunch at my favorite restaurant?” Jaime suggested with a smile.

They agreed upon this. Before Harry opened the door, he said, “Everyone just stay calm. Don’t lose your temper, no matter what they say. Understood?”

Everyone agreed hastily.

He opened the door and stepped outside into the dappling sunlight.

“There they are!” came an excited voice. Many onlookers waited outside, and stood up to get a closer look. A mob of journalists and cameramen pushed in front of the group, and Hermione feared she would be blinded by all the flashes of light.

“Harry Potter! Would you care to comment on the absence of two Ambassadors from your party? Where are they?”

“They are . . . indisposed,” Harry said dryly, trying to push his way through.

“Miss Delacour . . . there was a night during the storm when the entire city witnessed the lights of the castle going out. Why did this occur?”

“At zis point, we are not entirely sure,” Fleur answered neutrally. They had partly shoved their way through the mob. Hermione began to feel suffocated.

“Draco Malfoy! Is it true that you and Viktor Krum are adamant rivals? Is it true that you got into a bar fight with him on your trip to Bulgaria?”

“Oh . . .” said Draco with a suave smile, “Krum and I get along famously.”

“More like ‘infamously,’” Harry muttered to Draco, to low for anyone else to hear.

“Ginevra Weasley! Are rumors of a serious relationship with Harry Potter to be confirmed?”

“No comment,” Ginny said firmly, and the mob of journalists almost burst with excitement.

Finally, they got out of the thick of the crowd, and walked quickly away. Within five minutes, they reached the restaurant.

When they returned to the building after lunch, and found Dumbledore and the others talking in low voices.

“Ah, here they are,” said Karkaroff. “Everyone take a seat, please.”

“We have decided,” announced Dumbledore, “that although there have been complications to the trip, we cannot end it on such a horrible note. Admittedly, we also need to detain all of you in one place for questioning. Therefore, all thirteen of you will journey to Hogwarts while the case here is being investigated. Each of you will be interrogated closely, because we will get to the bottom of this. Since it is only noon, you will leave by train today and stay the night at an inn on the way. I will accompany you,” Dumbledore finished finally.

Most of the Ambassadors looked shocked. Fleur seemed pleased, however, and everyone was cheered at missing another week of school.

“Ze funerals for Franz and Myra will not be ‘eld until things are straightened out,” Madame Maxime told them. “Your luggage eez already on ze train. Dumbledore will accompany you to ze station. Goodbye, my students. I will be busy moving the rest of Beauxbatons back into ze castle. Farewell!”

“I have to do something before we leave,” Draco said quickly. He looked nervous. “I’ll be back in five minutes.”

They boarded the train with some relief. Draco jumped on at the last minute, looking no different but slightly out of breath.

“Where did you go?” Ginny asked with a frown.

“Nowhere important,” Malfoy retorted shortly. “It’s none of your business, Weasley.”

As the train chugged away from the station, Hermione felt relieved to get away from the picturesque city. Something about it sent a shiver down her spine.

After a while, Hermione left the compartment to find the bathroom, and on the way back she encountered Ernie and Draco, talking softly in the hall.

“Of course I understand, Macmillan, it’s just . . .” Draco trailed off as Hermione approached.

“It seems like all I ever do these days is walk in on people having suspicious conversations,” she said loudly. “I demand an explanation.”

It was Ernie who spoke.

“We were actually just talking about that. You see, Hermione, Malfoy views this entire journey with the Ambassadors as an extremely intricate chess game. Each team is playing for power and favor, each individual has a different motive. One of Malfoy’s better analogies, if I do say so myself. We can’t get cocky just because we’re going to Hogwarts. Remember, there’s still a murderer amongst us. We can’t make a wrong move just because we feel safe at home.”

What is Dumbledore thinking, she mused, bringing a murderer to a school full of children? Who knows what he could do next?

“I’ll tell you right now who the most dangerous player in this chess game is,” Hermione spoke up suddenly, eyes glinting. “This person is an analytical thinker. This person has sized up everyone in the group and assessed their importance. While big leaders like Myra and Harry have led us around valiantly, this person has sat back and pulled strings like a puppeteer, secretly controlling the actions of many others. This person is calculating, conniving, manipulative, and way smarter than I have so far given him credit for. The most dangerous player in this game is you,” Hermione finished, pointing to Draco. He eyes widened. After the surprise had passed, he narrowed them.

“No . . . you’re way smarter than I’ve ever given you credit for, Granger. I’m the kind of person who is so seamlessly manipulative that no one realizes I’m being manipulative until it’s far too late.”

“Are you confessing something?” Ernie asked incredulously.

“I’m simply stating that it should give you all the more reason to believe me when I tell you Krum is guilty. I’m not saying there aren’t a lot of very strange people amongst the Ambassadors besides him, but he is the murderer. It’s going a little far to say I’ve been pulling strings . . .”

“You have, though,” Ernie said with dawning realization. “You were the one who told us we were trapped inside the castle, and you were practically giving orders when we found Franz . . . and the morning of Myra’s death, you were the one who started the arg–”

“That’s enough,” Draco said quite abruptly, expression darkening. “I just wish we could get Krum to admit that he is guilty.”

“That would be difficult,” Hermione mused, “since he isn’t guilty.”

“It would be hard, but I’m sure we could – what? Yes he is, Granger!”

“I don’t believe it,” Hermione said simply. “I never will.”

She walked away.


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Meanwhile, Harry and Ginny were left alone in the compartment.
“I’m happy to be going home,” Harry said, straightening his glasses. “Aren’t you?”

“Oh, yes,” said Ginny with an almost-smile. “Delighted.”

Anyone but Harry would have taken it for a genuine smile.

“You’re afraid,” Harry stated bluntly. “What of, Ginny? Are you worried about what everyone will think of our karaoke performance?”

“Yes, mostly,” Ginny said with a forced laugh.

“I’m sure they’ll have forgotten about it by now . . . we’re not that famous . . .”

He trailed off as Ginny gave him The Look.

He laughed. “Alright, maybe we are. Never let it be said that being famous doesn’t have its drawbacks. Don’t worry. I’ll be there to defend you if anything goes wrong.”

An odd expression came over Ginny’s face at that point, a half hopeful and half anguished contortion of her features. Then her face closed.

“That’s sweet, Harry. But I don’t need your protection.”

There was silence for a moment until Harry smiled.

“You’re right. I’m talking to a pretty strong girl, aren’t I?”

“Pretty strong,” Ginny agreed with hesitation. “Not as strong as she needs to be.”

“Needs to be for what?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Ginny after a second. She pretended not to see Harry’s frown.

“You don’t trust me,” he said after a moment. “You don’t trust me now, and you didn’t trust me when I tried to kiss you, and you were even suspicious of me the whole time in the castle. Look, Gin, I may not have been close to you in the past, but can’t you see that I . . .”

“You’re taking this all the wrong way, Harry,” she said in a dismayed tone. “It isn’t that I don’t trust you. It’s that I don’t want to deceive you.”

“You have a boyfriend already?”

There was a pause.

“Yes,” she said firmly, meeting his gaze without hesitation.

Harry let out a slow and surprised breath. “Blimey, Gin. Why didn’t you tell me? I’m really sorry . . . if I had known, there’s no way I would have . . . who is it?”

“I can’t tell you,” Ginny said quickly. Her face was emotionless. It all fell into place for Harry. This was why she had been acting so odd.

“Why not?” he asked curiously. He felt a distinct hollowness inside of him that hadn’t been there five minutes ago.

“Because–” but Ginny got cut off by Hermione, Draco, and Ernie entering the compartment. They sat down, and the conversation obviously couldn’t be continued.

Hermione sat across from Ginny.

“Hey, Ginny,” Hermione started curiously, “you’ve got a mark on your cheek . . . looks like a bad bruise. Where’d you get it?”

It had been on the opposite side of where Harry was sitting, and he had not seen it.

Ginny brought her hand up to her face in surprise, brushing the bruise gingerly.

“It’s nothing. Someone just bashed me while we were wading through that crowd of paparazzi. I didn’t even notice.”

“I’ve been working on my healing,” Hermione said with sudden excitement. “Do you mind if I try it out on you?”

“Not at all,” said Ginny with a smile.

No one noticed Mafloy’s eyes narrow in suspicion at the mark on her face.


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FACT: Mordred (Arthur’s son), had conceived a daughter before he was killed on Salisbury Plain in the Last Battle by his own father. Mordred had an elaborate burial near where he had fallen.
“This concerns me greatly, Remus,” Dumbledore intoned gravely. “It seems that Voldemort has been anticipating our every move. “

Lupin nodded. “I do not know who is following me, but I sensed a presence in the Library.”

Dumbledore sat back in his chair, and steepled his fingers. “I am certain that Voldemort has already discovered the origins of the object, and also where it is hidden. The question remains: why hasn’t he acted?”

Lupin shook his head. “Perhaps he knows that the object is at Stonehenge, but, like us, has no idea how to obtain it.”

Lupin was frustrated at himself for not being able to decipher the riddle, and frustrated at whoever it was who had solved the riddle for being so maddeningly brilliant.

“Albus . . . I have a lead, if only small one,” Lupin started apprehensively.

“Any lead is better than no lead.”

“I may be stretching logic a bit, but it seems that there are many references to snakes around the subject of Stonehenge. Too many, in fact, to be mere coincidence. The poem mentions snakes, and it seems that the Druids built Stonehenge around Draco. Metaphorically, in other words, around a snake.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. "I believe I understand where you are heading with this. Please continue.”

“Gladly. Onto the Druids. They were a cult of mysterious, powerful wizards whose history has never been revealed. They apparently found snakes very sacred, since they built Stonehenge around one. Albus, I can’t help thinking that this all has something to do with . . . well, Salazar Slytherin.”

There was silence in his office, and a breeze blew gently in from an open window. Dumbledore finally spoke.

“With those facts alone, your logic may be stretched, but there are facts I have never taken into consideration, nor have you. These facts come from a book that is very ancient, and very well known.”

“Albus, I have looked in every book, every tome, every popular source of information, and I’ll assure you that there is no–”

“Though you have overlooked this book, as many do, and it is a grave mistake. In fact, I am pretty sure you have read it before. It is Hogwarts, A History.”

Lupin’s eyes widened. He had overlooked that book completely, and he didn’t know what to say. What information could it possibly possess?

Dumbledore stood up and strode over to a bookcase. He took down a book and began flipping through it, muttering to himself every so often.

“Ah!” he said finally. “Read this passage.”

Lupin took the book quickly, and gazed down at the printed words.

After Slytherin’s rocky years at Hogwarts, little is known about where he retired to. Some claim to have seen him near Ireland, and others say they saw him near the school. Some say he had changed his name, but no one seems to know what he did for the remaining years of his life. The only thing that is known is that his followers participated in a very elaborate burial ceremony when he passed away. The resting place of Slytherin is also unknown, though it is a modern topic of debate. There are many places of speculation, but none that have been confirmed. Salazar Slytherin left virtually no records behind about himself or the people he congregated with. There are some, even , that claim he is still alive today. It seems as if the whereabouts of Salazar Slytherin, alive or dead, will remain shrouded in mystery.

Lupin looked up from the book and met Dumbledore’s calm eyes.

“Albus . . .” Lupin started, as the full impact of it hit him, “Salazar Slytherin is buried at Stonehenge, isn’t he?”

“It would seem so, my friend. It would seem so.”

There was nothing that made more sense. It was possible that the Druids had been followers of Slytherin, the first and original Death Eaters. The had erected Stonehenge as a burial site for their leader. When Lupin said Stonehenge was built around a snake, he realized that he had been speaking literally. Slytherin had been buried under that one significant point, and his name literally meant ‘snake’ in old Sanskrit. It was, in fact, where the English word ‘slithering’ had been derived. Everything, the star, the rocks, the name, aligned perfectly, leading to this one astounding revelation. Even the poem itself pointed to this fact.

The veil of stars has drawn to a close . . .

An illusion to stars.

The pillar of stone and the crescent it sows . . .

The literal shape of Stonehenge.

. . . slips to the earth, and slowly we die . . .

A direct reference to the earth, where Slytherin was buried.

“Do you remember what the centaur said, Remus?” Dumbledore asked, bringing him out of his stunned reverie.

Lupin shook his head, not quite sure he could remember his own name at the moment.

“He said these words exactly: ‘Buried under myth, legend, and lore strong as stone lie the object that . . .’ Myth, legend, and lore strong as stone’? I cannot think of a more direct reference to Stonehenge than that. You know what this means, don’t you, Remus?”

“It means that the sacred object is buried under Stonehenge, along with the body of Salazar Slytherin,” Lupin answered, scarcely believing his own words. “We’ve found it.”

[Liz-Miia Parker]

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It was early evening when Hermione felt the train begin to slow. When she stepped off, she was hit by a sudden blast of humidity. The air was warm and sticky, and the sound of bugs droned relentlessly in her ears.
They appeared to have disembarked into some kind of marshland. Everything around them was a rather murky shade of green or brown. Tall, thin trees shot up from the water, resulting in a forest-like bayou that was thick and shaded.

“What a ‘orrendous sort of place,” Fleur commented to Jaime, who grimaced and nodded in agreement.

Their hotel stood (quite literally) in the middle of a swamp. It was suspended magically over a murky bog that could have been dark green quicksand. Raised pathways led to the entrance. In the evening light, the dull brass door handles gleamed dejectedly.

Dumbledore led them inside. They were each assigned separate rooms, and instructed not to unpack, as they would be leaving in the morning.

The entire inn seemed wooden, and some parts were creaky. Hermione eyed the shaking wardrobe in her room suspiciously, and wondered if there was a boggart inside or something worse. She shivered and left the room.

Hermione met up with Ernie in the hall.

“Where’s dinner supposed to be at?” Hermione asked Ernie.

“I heard it was downstairs, on the swamp deck,” he answered, and they commenced in walking downstairs.

“Hermione,” Ernie asked, “do you find Malfoy a little suspicious?”

“Suspicious?”

“Yes. I mean, he’s so quick to put the blame on Krum. Like you said, he’s been running the show. Don’t you think he could be guilty?”

Hermione thought back on the many inconsistencies in Draco’s stories. She felt sick.

“It’s definitely possible,” she replied darkly.

Dinner was better than she expected but worse than she would have liked. The meal featured murky brown stew and scarcely recognizable varieties of meat.

“Herm-o-ninny,” came a voice from behind her. She wiped her mouth with a napkin and turned to face Krum.

“Hello, Viktor.”

His eyes darted back and forth quickly, and Hermione realized that no one else seemed to be paying attention to them.

“I need to talk to you,” Krum said seriously. “Alone.”

Hermione hesitated for only a moment. She trusted Krum, despite what Draco had said. There was something in her that knew he would do her no harm.

She couldn’t say as much for Draco.

“Sure,” she said, with a small smile. She got up and the two of them left the room discreetly.

Perhaps Krum would have information on the murders. They walked up the rickety stairs and past an open window. The collective hum of bugs penetrated the still air.

“I have been meaning to tell you something for a vhile,” Krum said, tapping his fingers uncharacteristically along the railing. They had reached Krum’s room, and he ushered her inside, obviously in need of privacy.

“Go on, then,” she said softly. Krum glanced around nervously.

A small wooden desk stood at the far side of the room, and a large window gave them a view of the swamp below. Hermione crossed the room and approached the window, gazing down at the bayou below. It commanded an odd sort of beauty. Fireflies flitted along the murky surface, glowing dots on a backdrop of warm green and brown marshland.

“The stars are bright tonight, are they not?” came Krum’s voice from close behind her. She jumped slightly at his proximity.

Krum walked slowly over to the desk, half shadowed in dusty darkness.

“You see, Herm-o-ninny . . .” Krum started, as he played idly with one of the drawers, “I need your help.”

Again he glanced around, and with a creak the door swung shut. She heard the distinct click of a lock. All of her senses flew into overdrive, and she took in the anxious tick of the clock on the wall, and the enhanced sound of her own breathing.

“My . . . my help? With what?”

He had pulled an object out of the drawer, but in the darkness Hermione could not see what it was.

“I have done things in za past that I am not proud of . . .” Krum continued, fiddling with the object, “and I need you to help me fix them.”

Her heart leapt to her throat as she saw the steel in his hand glint in the starlight. He held a knife.

“Krum, I . . . I think we better go back downstairs.”

Downstairs, where I left my wand, she thought with sudden despair. Idiot.

He took a step toward her, the knife as obvious as its intent. Her heart slammed wildly against her ribcage.

“We’re not going anywhere,” Krum said darkly.

The lock on the door clicked, and a silhouette became apparent. The room flooded with light as Draco looked at the two of them rather calmly. He glanced at the knife in Krum’s hand before smirking. The knife flew out of his grasp and landed on the floor at Draco’s feet.

Hermione let out a relieved breath. Draco spoke.

“Don’t even try to defend yourself, Krum. Get out of here.”

Krum looked surprised and sincerely appalled. “No-this isn’t-”

“Leave,” said Draco, casual for all his conviction.

Krum appealed desperately to Hermione.

“Herm-o-ninny, you know I vould never–”

She averted her eyes and shook her head. “Get out of here, Krum.”

Ashen-faced, Krum started out of the room.

Next Draco turned toward Hermione and took a step toward her. His eyes glinted with soft malice as he said, “Do you believe me yet, or will Krum have to plunge that knife through your back before you face the facts?”

Hermione could not believe that Krum was guilty. But after what she had seen, finding an excuse for him now seemed impossible. He had pulled a knife on her. If this did not condemn him as a murderer, she didn’t know what did.

“I believe you,” she said resentfully.

“You’re so stupid,” Draco snapped scathingly. “How many times have I warned you not to go anywhere alone with him? Do you really have that little trust in me?”

“I don’t trust you at all,” Hermione replied shortly, and crossed her arms.

Draco smiled. “Good.”

“What?”

“You’re starting to learn. You don’t just blindly throw your trust in people, Granger. You may be a Gryffindor and you may be gullible, but I won’t let you fall into the same trap that Harry does.”

“I’m not stupid, Malfoy.”

“No,” he replied quietly, “just naive.”

“I could argue,” Hermione said haughtily, “that being naive is better than knowing everything and being as jaded as you are.”

“You would not have an argument,” Draco said after a moment, “because I agree wholeheartedly. Do you think I want to see some of the nuts I have seen? Do you think I’m proud of it? I didn’t have a choice and now I’m so jaded that I see corruption where you see purity. And now the only thing I can do is stop this from happening to people like you.”

“Love,” Hermione stated firmly. “True love is pure, true love is unblemished.”

“Love is nothing but corruption,” Draco countered sadly. “It’s the father of corruption, Granger. I have never seen men do terrible things with as much conviction as they have when doing it out of love. Love has started wars, ruined friendships, shattered empires. If love did not exist, evil would not exist.”

“Nor would good,” said Hermione in defense. “I refuse to believe you, Malfoy. Love is not corrupt.”

“I’m glad,” Draco responded. “I hope you never do believe me. And, Granger . . . I wished you liked me more.”

“I didn’t say I disliked you,” Hermione offered, “I said I didn’t trust you.”

“Ah,” said Draco softly. “You’ve discovered that there is a difference.”

“That’s the thing about you. I wouldn’t trust you as far as I could throw you. But there’s something about you that’s like sweet poison. I can’t make myself stop drinking. I think you’re hazardous to my health.”

“All good things are hazardous to your health,” he pointed out.

He stared at her, starlight dancing through his hair and in his eyes. The corners of his sensuous mouth curved.

“What?” she asked suspiciously.

“Ironic, isn’t it,” Draco started, his tone direct and earnest, “that I had to travel all this way to find something that’s been standing in front of me all along.”

“And what’s that?” Hermione asked carefully.

“Nothing important,” Draco replied, his tone losing any sincerity she had once imagined it to possess.

“Well,” said Hermione, tone almost as dark as the night around them, “we’d better go downstairs. People will get suspicious . . .”

“People already are suspicious.”

As they returned downstairs, Hermione, for all her perception, did not see the wheels in Draco’s head turning faster than ever.

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Vahva!!