Somewhere I Have Never Traveled.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

PART III: SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN

You are the pause before the crescendo, and the smell before the rain

You are the tragic rhapsody, the joyful elegy,

You are my somewhere in between.

– Anonymous


Chapter 27; Extraordinarily Excessive Engagements

The morning of the ball had dawned cold but clear.

“Ambassadors,” came the booming voice of McGonagall. “All Ambassadors, report to the front of the Great Hall!”

Getting up slowly from his seat, Draco swaggered across the hall. Hermione rolled her eyes emphatically.

“Today,” McGonagall announced to the thirteen students around her, “the Hogwarts Ambassadors will be giving you a tour of the grounds, and you’ll have lunch at the lake.”

“I have heard zer is a giant squid in za lake,” Ivan said as they exited the castle. “Is this true?”

The French Ambassadors shivered in the cutting morning sunlight and pulled their cloaks tighter around themselves. The Bulgarians seemed completely unaffected. Krum brooded in silence a distance away from the rest of the group. No one knew how his questioning session with the Ministry had gone; word had it that he was going to be convicted shortly.

“Yeah, actually,” Harry said in a one hundred percent serious voice, “maybe we’ll throw Malfoy in to demonstrate its superior mauling skills.”

Draco made a soft hissing noise, and Harry assumed that it was in response to his comment. “That’s right, Malfoy, if you’re not going to shake my hand then I’m not going–”

“Shut the hell up, Potter,” Draco said through gritted teeth. “Just shut the hell up.” Harry rolled his eyes.

“This is our gamekeeper’s cabin,” Hermione told the Ambassadors, a few minutes later, as they passed the large and homey logged cabin.

Fleur perked up. “‘is name eez Hagrid, eez it not? Madame Maxime is quite familiar with ‘im, I believe.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Harry muttered under his breath.

After the tour, they conjured up a blanket and sat near the lake. Draco spoke up, and his voice sounded hoarse.

“I have to go. I want to sit in on Potions . . .” He got up and strode toward the castle.


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Once he had gotten out of sight of the others, Draco broke into a run. His arm fired up, and he hissed in pain. Luckily Potter had assumed that his hiss from earlier had been a reaction to his insult (self-centered as usual), and he had gotten away without attracting much suspicion.
He made his way quickly to his room, cursing whoever had ignited his arm. Slamming his hand down on the opal pendant, Draco felt himself flying away from Hogwarts. He landed on the Manor floor; the burning stopped instantly.

Why had Lord Voldemort called a meeting in the middle of the day? That didn’t make any sense.

“Draco?” came a familiar voice. A female voice.

He turned around dazedly, more confused than he had previously been.

“Pansy? What are you doing in my house?” Draco asked bluntly.

“I don’t know . . . I got called here by your father, actually,” Pansy replied.

She had grown a lot since fourteen. Her straight blonde hair was tied back into a sleek ponytail, and her famous “pug-nose” had leveled out to match the rest of her face. Light blue eyes, small lips, and rosy skin gave her an almost-pretty look. There was nothing remarkable about her face (her features were far from the exquisite ones of Fleur and Myra), but due to the sleek, blonde hair, people often mistook her for beautiful.

Draco had known her since he was ten, and they had dated on and off. He knew her well, but as was expected, Pansy never let him get too close. He had slept with her, of course, but she still remained slightly illusive and cold. That was simply Pansy Parkinson: calculating, scathing, and enigmatic. She often reminded Draco of himself, and he liked her better for being standoffish. It was the Slytherin way.

“Ah, Draco. Pansy. You’ve arrived,” came a voice from the pavilion doorway. Pansy’s father, Rodile Parkinson, strode out to meet them. “We were having tea with Lucius. We wanted to have a word with both of you. Please come inside.”

As Draco entered the pavilion, his brow creased into a curious frown. He had an idea of what was about to happen, and wasn’t at all sure he liked it.

He met his father’s eyes for a brief moment, and was reminded of their last encounter. The bladed ring glinted on Lucius’s finger.

Didn’t his father realize that Draco was taller than him now? He was surprised his father had the nerve to hit him; at seventeen, the younger Malfoy could hit back just as hard.

The sad thing was that Draco had never even considered it.

“Draco. Miss Parkinson. Have a seat,” Lucius said expansively. They sat side by side on a small couch. Draco noticed that his own mother and Mrs. Parkinson were present as well.

Pleasantries were exchanged and small talk was made. Draco was charming as usual, and Mrs. Parkinson seemed delighted by him.

Pansy seemed talkative in the firm way she had, but Draco could tell she was also preoccupied. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

“Well . . .” said Rodile after a while, “we have an announcement for the two of you.”

“Yes?” Pansy asked, a little bit too abruptly.

“The four of us have discussed it, and we have decided that you two are to be betrothed.”

Draco did not make a move on the couch, but he watched Pansy’s hand whiten on the armrest. He had to give her credit, though; her face didn’t change in the least. She was a good Slytherin.

“As is the custom,” came his mother’s voice through the fog that had descended around him, “either one of you can decline to be married.”

This notion of declining a marriage proposition was nothing more than a hollow tradition. Both of them knew that if they declined, they would be ostracized, maybe disowned. Their lives would be systematically destroyed by their parents, who used them as chess pieces in a complicated game of chess, of Pureblood families vying for power.

“Pansy Anise Parkinson, do you accept the betrothal hereby proposed?” Rodile put forth.

There was a brief and somewhat strained pause.

“I accept,” said Pansy, after a moment. Her eyes did not betray her.

“Draco Alexander Malfoy, do you accept the betrothal hereby proposed?” Lucius asked. His eyes were boring into Draco’s, daring him to contradict his father’s wishes.

He met his father’s gaze squarely and defiantly. He felt Lucius’s surprise more than he saw it. Next Draco fixed his gaze on Pansy.

“I accept,” he said clearly, but as the words left his mouth, Pansy’s face was replaced with an agonizing image of a brown-eyed girl. In his mind he saw her laughing in the snow, he saw her sweeping across a ballroom in an evening gown, he saw the curve of her body through clothes drenched in fresh rainwater.

“It’s settled, then,” said Lucius with a clap of his hands. “Your wedding date is planned for May.”

“I’m so happy for you both,” gushed Mrs. Parkinson. “This wedding will be the talk of high society, the biggest social event of the year. We won’t announce the engagement until January, however. We want to get everything arranged first.”

After they had exchanged goodbyes (numbly, on Draco’s part), he walked alone into the hall with Pansy.

He leaned against the wall and raked a hand through his hair.

“What are you thinking, Draco?” Pansy asked softly. She seemed stunned.

“I’m just in shock,” he replied. “It’s not a bad thing, I’m just in shock.”

There was silence.

“Tell me what to do, Draco.”

It struck him painfully as something Hermione would never say.

“I wouldn’t say that to any boy but you,” Pansy continued quickly, answering his thoughts. “Some guys are stupid or dull, but you . . . you’re neither. I like you for that, if nothing else.”

Draco finally found his voice. “You’re one of the smartest girls I’ve ever known, Pansy. You shouldn’t have to do what I say.”

He knew one girl that was smarter.

They looked at one another steadily, and it was clear that she liked him in much the same way that he liked her. They were comrades, friends . . . they were not in love.

“I need you to tell me what to do,” Pansy whispered, her voice more vulnerable than he had ever known, “because right now I’m not sure. I’m scared and confused . . . tell me what to do.”

And suddenly he wasn’t looking at pretty seventeen-year-old Pansy, who was strong and calculating and who he had kissed and gone farther with, he was looking at her as ten-year old Pansy, the one who he had known all his life as a friend and a companion. He saw ten-year-old Pansy, who was small and vulnerable and looked like she was about to cry.

He crossed the hall and wrapped her in a tight embrace, resting his chin on top of her head. She was a mere pawn to her parents, as was he to his, and in that moment, Draco pitied both her and himself. No one watched out for them; it was a cruel lesson Slytherins learned early on in life. You looked out for yourself, because no one would do it for you. Softly, he answered her request.

“Maybe we just get through it. Maybe that’s all we can do.”


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Hermione half smiled as she curled up in the Gryffindor common room to squeeze in some quality reading time before the Ball began. The girls in her dorm were positively neurotic due to the upcoming festivities, and it was only four thirty in the afternoon. She had come downstairs to get some peace.
She wanted to look good for the ball(now more than ever, because of a certain Slytherin), but it wasn’t as if she was going to start preparing three hours in advance.

Hermione had just cracked open her book when she heard light footsteps on the stairs behind her. She turned her head slightly and glimpsed Ginny heading toward the portrait hole, hooded and cloaked.

“Going out?” Hermione asked, a slight frown creasing her features. Ginny turned quickly; she had been unaware that someone else was in the common room. Slanted shadows obscured her expression as she opened her mouth.

“I’ve got extra Herbology lessons with Professor Sprout,” Ginny told Hermione, voice blank.

“Funny,” Hermione remarked casually, and closed her book completely, “Ron told me you were ace at Herbology. And why are you dressed in a cloak?”

“If you haven’t noticed,” replied Ginny, with a slightly patient smile, “it’s November, Hermione, and it’s a bit chilly outside. I used to be ace at Herbology, but this year there have just been so many distractions, and . . . well, I’m afraid I received a ‘D’ on my last essay.”

She looked slightly abashed as she said this, talking as she was to the girl who had never received less than an ‘E’ on anything.

“I’ve got to go,” Ginny said finally, glancing at her wristwatch. “I’m already late as it is. See you at the Ball tonight!”

“Right,” Hermione replied finally, but the girl had rushed out the door without waiting for her answer. Hermione’s eyebrows knitted together as she turned back to her book. Somehow, she found that she didn’t feel much like reading anymore.


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After saying goodbye to Pansy, Draco made his way to the pavilion, which stood empty now save his father.
“I am glad you are getting married,” Lucius told him, and for a moment Draco didn’t believe his ears. “The wedding will be a top notch opportunity to sway more people to our favor. More power to our name is my number one priority.”

Something cold lanced through Draco’s chest. He pushed it away, as he always had. He knew Lucius had always valued political power over his own son, but when his father spelled it out like that, clear as ink on paper, it hurt him somehow.

“Well, I’m glad it’s such a big opportunity for you,” Draco muttered, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “What is this plan you’ve been talking about?”

Anything to change the subject.

Lucius cleared his throat.

“I meant to tell you before this, but Our Lord did not confirm the date until this morning.”

“Date for what?”

“The one for luring Potter out of Hogwarts.”

Something weird happened to his stomach. It’s probably anticipation, Draco assured himself quickly.

“So when is it?”

“Tonight,” Lucius said simply. Draco’s eyebrows shot up into his hair.

“But father, tonight’s that huge ball for the Ambassadors at Hogwarts. We’re supposed to open the ball and if I’m not there . . . or Potter, for that matter, people will get suspicious.”

Lucius considered for a moment.

“Go to the dratted ball and open it with a dance, stay for thirty minutes and then leave discreetly with Potter. Ron Weasley may ask to come along. Allow him to do so, if you must. All you have to do is get Potter off of the school grounds and into the Forbidden Forest. You see, we’re transporting you by Portkey, but ever since the Triwizard Tournament, there have been wards on the Hogwarts grounds that protect against malignant Portkeys. In the Forbidden Forest, a Portkey shaped like an eight petalled glowing blue flower will be waiting for you. Grab Potter and transport yourselves to the final destination.”

“Which is?”

“Stonehenge.”

“What!”

“Never mind the details, boy,” Lucius said in a dismissive fashion. “The rest of us will take over from there. Your job is simply to get Potter out of Hogwarts quickly and quietly. Do not fail.”

Draco nodded, his mind reeling. “Is this the end? I mean, is this Lord Voldemort’s takeover?”

“Yes,” Lucius said quietly. “Our lives will completely change. Now I want you to come with me, Draco. Our Lord is holding a most special meeting.”

Draco checked his wristwatch and realized it was five o’clock already.

“But the Ball...”

“You’ll have time to spare. Besides, I imagine you’ll really like this.”

Lucius stood up and placed a hand on Draco’s shoulder. In moments, they had disappeared.

The sun began to set.

[Marilyn Morgan]

Jeppiii..
Uut (;

[Kathreen Granger]

Kisub väga põnevaks!

[Liz-Miia Parker]

PART III: SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN

I thought it would be nice to lie down and close my eyes

It never occurred to me

that I was already asleep.

– Trapt


Chapter 28; A Dance, a Decision, and a Deception

Hermione heard a pounding at her door as she slipped her shoes on. The ball started in ten minutes and they had to be there for the first dance.

She opened the door and found Harry grinning back at her.

“Time to go, Head Girl,” Harry told her seriously. “You’re going to be late for the most important ball of the year if you spend any more time primping for Malfoy.”

“Stop it!” Hermione ordered with a smile, blushing slightly.

Harry couldn’t remember a time when he had seen his best friend so radiant.

“You do look good,” Harry assured her more softly, taking in the magenta dress Draco had made for her, the elegant layers that fit her body so perfectly.

“Thanks,” Hermione replied nervously. “Where are Ginny and Ron?” she closed the door to her room and followed him down the hall.

“Ron’s still getting ready upstairs, he’s coming down later,” Harry told her, “and I don’t have any idea where Ginny is.”

The last part sounded distant and removed. “Is there something . . .?”

“Good evening, Harry, Hermione!” came an assured voice from behind them. It was Ernie Macmillan. “Quite a lovely evening for a Ball, if I do say so myself.”

Annoyed at being cut off, Hermione merely smiled and walked faster.

They had almost reached the Great Hall when Ginny caught up with them, out of breath.

“I’m not late,” she said, managing to look upset and relieved at the same time.

“Now all we need is Malfoy,” Harry said, “but knowing Malfoy, he’ll show up whenever he feels like it.”

“I doubt he’ll be arriving for a while,” Ginny said offhandedly, apparently distracted. Hermione noticed she was also wearing the dress Draco had designed for her.

They entered the Great Hall to find it noticeably transformed. Instead of the usual four long tables, small crimson red ones were scattered around the hall. Soft armchairs and couches had replaced the benches, and Hermione’s eyes searched for a certain blond-haired boy against her will.

She found him almost immediately, and Ginny’s eyes widened in surprise. Why hadn’t Ginny expected him to be there?

He was draped casually across one of the sofas, a glass of something elegant in his hand. Pansy Parkinson sat next to him, and his arm rested on the back of the couch just above her shoulders. She leaned against him, laughing at something he said. Slytherins sat around the table, facing him subtly. He was already a politician like his father, and looked as if he owned the entire world. His robes matched his eyes, a light gray shade somewhere exactly between black and white

When he saw Hermione enter, however, he turned to his companions and pointed rudely at the Gryffindor group, obviously saying something snide about them. Then he disengaged himself from Pansy–she kissed him on the cheek–and he strode over to Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and Ernie.

“I told them you had to be my dance partner for the opening waltz,” he said to Hermione in an amused voice. He narrowed his eyes at her so that it looked like he was saying something cruel.

She was aware that the Slytherins still watched them.

“What’s with Parkinson hanging all over you?” Hermione asked, putting disdain and anger into her look. Not all of it was contrived.

“You’re wearing my dress,” Draco answered evasively and cheerfully, making an effort not to smile. They continued “glaring” at one another until Dumbledore clapped for silence.

“Welcome, students and Ambassadors alike, to our Farewell Ball in honor of the students leaving us tomorrow. We would be pleased to have you open the ball with a customary waltz as our guests of honor. Pair up and step onto the floor, and we will begin.”

Ginny, oddly enough, paired up with Ernie, and Harry decided to ignore this and pair up with Renae. The other Ambassadors promptly found partners and stepped onto the floor.

Draco’s hand locked around her waist, and immediately Hermione felt that rush, that illusive surge of challenge in her blood.

“You asked about Pansy,” he said grudgingly. “It’s just that she’s acting a little–”

“– bit like a sleaze?” Hermione finished for him. “Look at that dress.”

“Predictable, I was going to say,” Draco answered sharply, sidestepping the look she gave him. They whirled faster, and the only thing that wasn’t a blur to Hermione was Draco’s face.

“Predictable,” Draco repeated. “Not like you. She’s very pretty and rich, but I think that’s the reason I don’t like her.”

“What reason?”

“She’s not like you,” the grey-eyed boy replied simply, as if it were obvious.

Hermione raised her eyebrows and tried to refrain from blushing the same shade as her gown. She wished her heart would slow down. The Slytherin group stood right at the edge of the dance floor, watching the pair.

Hermione felt keenly uncomfortable, and tried to steer them closer to the Gryffindor side.

“How many times have I told you not to lead, Miss Granger?” he said softly into her ear. He twirled her so sharply that had it been anyone with less skill, he would have ripped her arm off.

“But the–”

“I know,” he said with a devilish smirk. “It looks like I’m trying to hurt you from over there.”

And maybe I am, Draco mused thoughtfully.

“Are we going to have to keep this little facade up forever?” Hermione asked him softly. Something akin to pain flashed through his eyes.

“Not for too much longer,” he said in an even voice.

She was unable to question him further about this because the song ended and Krum approached.

“Meet me outside the doors at ten,” he whispered quickly, before turning to Krum, whose face was turning steadily more purple.

“May I dance vith you, Herm-i-oninny?” he asked, eyes flashing hatefully toward Draco.

Hermione paused for only a moment. It isn’t as if he’s going to murder me on the dance floor, she thought wryly.

“Yes,” said Hermione, and took her hand off of Draco’s arm in the least reluctant fashion she could manage.

“Have a nice time getting your feet stepped on,” Draco yelled loudly at their retreating backs. Then, more softly, “Merlin knows it will probably be the most pleasant thing that happens to you tonight.”

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Hästi julm koht tuleb nüüd ja suht selline kurb, Draco ikka tõeline not a very nice person vahest, hahaha, kuid siiski meeldib ja ta siiski hea, aga sellest hiljem Nautige



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Hermione was waiting for Draco outside the doors when he arrived. She smiled at him and he didn’t think he could recall a time when he had seen anyone prettier than Hermione when she smiled like that.
“C’mon,” he said softly, confidently, taking her hand. She followed along in a docile manner, and Draco marveled at her casual trust in him. It was as if he were Harry or Ron, it was as if she was his girl. Her pretty, innocent face told him that she knew he would never hurt her.

He had worked hard to get Hermione to trust him like that, and Draco wanted it so badly that sometimes his throat would burn, thinking about it. Now he ventured to say that he would give anything in the world for her to go back to suspecting him, questioning him, being cautious around him.

They had reached a secluded balcony on the Astronomy Tower. He would have to plan things carefully from here on out.

It was an unforgivably clear night, so that in the starlight Hermione’s expressions were bare, imprinted on the back of his eyelids like looking at the sun for too long. Why, if everything was so sharp and defined, did Draco feel as if the situation were surreal?

Hermione bit her lip and looked at him with a frown. “Sometimes I wonder why I like you, but this is one of those times when I can’t remember why I hated you.”

She shivered, and Draco pulled her closer. You’ll remember, he thought derisively. You’ll remember very soon.

Her eyes met his and all he saw was trust.

You won, Draco, a voice in his head told him. The girl would follow you into a hurricane if you asked her. You won.

She brought her lips toward his and placed them on his mouth softly, firmly. It was the first kiss he ever remembered her initiating. She caressed his lips slowly with her own, winding her hands through his hair, and Draco thought he might die of either absolute self-hatred or absolute pleasure. She leaned into the kiss, and it burned his mouth like some exalted form of torture. He finally responded with his own lips, unable to help himself, and wrapped his hands around her waist, pulling her to him. The intensity between them increased and he didn’t think he ever wanted anything more than he wanted her in that instant and it was probably the first time in his life he had ever broken away from a kiss before the girl.

But if he continued any further he would hurt her worse than either of them believed possible. He stepped away from her, and she looked intent in the darkness. Moonlight glanced off of her face, and Draco acknowledged that the moonlight had every right to want to be in her eyes.

Hurt her.

The words were like iron in his stomach.

“Do you love me?” he asked her abruptly, shifting his weight as if he were uncomfortable.

“Yes,” Hermione said after a short breath. Without a hesitation, without a doubt, without an explanation, without thinking it through as Hermione Granger had analyzed every question she had ever been asked.

Not this one.

Draco laughed. Very softly, very cruelly. Her expression changed ever so slightly. He pulled her close, and she seemed to take comfort in this, sinking against him. God, that almost killed him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her ear. “It’s just that you’re so pretty when you cry.”

“What?” Hermione asked, voice pleasantly curious.

“You’re still a Gryffindor, Granger,” he said with a smile as he took her hands in his own. “Still as gullible as ever. When are you going to learn?”

His tone was soft and cajoling. He could have been whispering that he loved her for how sweet he sounded.

“I don’t understand,” Hermione offered in a simple voice. She was genuinely confused, and that almost killed him too.

“Then why don’t I spell it out for you?” Draco asked sweetly, looking into her eyes. “I just played you, Granger, and you were stupid enough to fall for it.”

Her face registered confusion and the beginning of disbelief. “Stop joking around, Draco. It isn’t funny.”

“Aw, that’s pathetically cute,” Draco sneered softly. “You don’t believe me?”

She stared at him hard through the darkness that somehow only seemed to make his expression clearer, more concentrated. It was absolutely mirthless. There was no joke in his eyes.

His hands were still locked around her wrists, and he held onto her ruthlessly. “The famous Hermione Granger just admitted that she loved me . . . do you even know how priceless that is? Potter’s best friend, the biggest prude in Hogwarts . . . God, those words were priceless, Granger.”

A sneer twisted his features.

“You . . .!” she said disbelievingly. She began to realize in slow motion that he wasn’t kidding, and tried to jerk out of his grasp. He merely smirked and backed her up into the tower wall. They stared each other down for a few moments, and finally Hermione spoke calmly and clearly.

“You’re good, Draco Malfoy. You’re really good, did you know that?”

Draco raised his eyebrows. He had expected yelling or tears, not this eerie calm. Then again, what was he thinking? This was Hermione Granger–she never failed to surprise him.

She continued. “I can’t believe how unforgivably stupid I was to fall for your lies.”

He was silent.

The last of the disbelief seeped away, and she tried to hit him, but he caught her hand before it reached his face and slammed it back into the wall above her head.

Draco had never lied to her.

She had trusted him with every fiber of her being, like Dumbledore trusted Snape.

He would never hurt her.

She tried to hit him again, but, like a cobra, he grabbed her other hand and slammed it against the wall.

“Why did you do it?” she asked calmly. “Lead me on, I mean.”

“Well,” Draco started insidiously, more cruelness in his voice than she had heard in weeks, “I have one up on Potter now, don’t I? I just seduced his best friend, something even he couldn’t manage.”

“He would never want to . . . seduce me,” Hermione said weakly. She looked shakier.

“Bullshit, Granger. He wants you just as bad as I do. God, wait until I tell the other Slytherins. Potter’s little princess fell hard for a Malfoy. You’re pitifully trusting, Hermione.”

He sneered her first name so sarcastically that she flinched.

“The Veritaserum wasn’t real,” she deduced, a statement and not a question. Hermione blinked, looking determined not to cry. It was sad and cute, because Draco could tell she wanted to.

He laughed genuinely, as if she had made a joke. “Lord, did you actually . . . think that I loved you?”

Her gasp was quick, soft, almost inaudible. She wondered suddenly if she would ever be able to breathe again. It was the cruelest thing he could have said and Draco knew it.

He looked into her eyes and pushed her harder against the wall. She realized that the torture session had not been adjourned. She tried to pull away once, but then didn’t resist. He was too strong, and all the strength had gone out of her. Her eyes seemed blank and glassy as she tried her hardest not to cry.

“Was any of it ever real?” she asked him point blank.

Draco pretended to consider.

“Yeah, I really wanted to f**k you. Still do, actually. I probably should have slept with you and then broken it off, but I just couldn’t hide my glee much longer. If I had asked you, you would have shagged me tonight, huh?” he said knowingly, bending his head to look into her eyes. She didn’t deny it. “Of course, I could probably just take you against this wall right now. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Her face was blank with shock. Why didn’t she struggle?

He shoved his body roughly against hers, trying not to show any emotion. It was bittersweet, being so close to her while she trembled, helpless. He brought his lips down on hers brutally, and felt her head grate against the wall. He kissed her hard enough to bruise, one hand placed firmly around her waist and the one keeping her hands trapped above her head. She convulsed, but he only pressed harder, to make sure she would hate him forever.

At last, she sobbed into his mouth, trying to pull away but failing pathetically. It was a raw, defeated sound.

He stopped kissing her, and felt her entire body shake as she sobbed. There was no space between his body and hers; Draco knew he had really hurt her with his mockery of a kiss. He was still hurting her, his hand digging into her waist and her back grinding against the wall. Her breathing was faint and hitched.

“Get off of me, Draco,” she begged softly, and turned her face away. Her voice was about to break and it was the most painful sound he’d ever heard. “Please.”

He let her go. She staggered away, trying not to sob, shaking uncontrollably. He knew she didn’t have the strength to run away.

“I played you good, didn’t I?” he asked, smiling as she cried. “I love how pretty you are when you cry. But c’mon, baby. Mudblood, remember? I would never take you seriously.”

“I h-hate you so much,” Hermione said between half-sobs. “Now are you done yet, or are you planning an encore? Yeah, you played me good, Draco.”

She seemed to falter as she used his first name out of habit. “Do you think I’m going to deny it?” she continued shakily. “To deny that I love you when I just told you that I did?”

“I know you love me,” Draco said quietly, raising an eyebrow. “You fell for me just like every other girl in this school, you’re no different. Breaking your heart was pathetically easy and that’s why I did it. Because all I’ve ever wanted to do is hurt you as bad and hard as I could.”

“You did a really good job,” Hermione acknowledged, her lips trembling. She looked totally disarmed. In fact, he had never seen her more vulnerable. She fell to her knees, or rather, they gave out beneath her.

“Get out of here, Granger. Get out of here now before I show you that I really am a Death Eater. Don’t come near me ever again or I swear I’ll really hurt you.”

“As if you haven’t?” she asked softly.

“I’m engaged to Pansy Parkinson, by the way. I have been for two months. And you know what? She’s really good in bed–probably the best girl I’ve ever had–so maybe you should ask her for tips or something.”

Hermione was crumpled on the ground, and she did not look capable of opening her eyes.

“Get up,” he said ruthlessly.

She didn’t move.

“Get out of here, Granger, I’m not even kidding.”

But then he realized she wasn’t going to get up. Not because she didn’t want to, but because she was literally not able to.

That was when he understood how bad he had actually hurt her.

Something complicated was happening to her face, and she shook uncontrollably. He got the feeling that she was beyond crying.

The window of the Astronomy tower cracked.

“Get up,” he repeated viciously.

Hermione pushed herself up to her knees but then collapsed again soundlessly. Draco took hold of her wrist and jerked her forcefully to her feet. She pushed him away, sobbing.

“Draco . . .”

It was the worst thing he had ever heard. Soft, vulnerable, pleading, raw, desperate, pathetic, God he had to get away.

“Don’t beg, Hermione,” he told her softly. “It’s beneath you.”

She shook her head, and without warning smacked him across the face. He reeled back from the exceptionally strong blow, and wondered if maybe she had more strength left than he thought.

“Look at me, Granger,” he said with a smirk. She glanced up at him, her eyes so full of pain that he immediately regretted his request. He wanted suddenly, desperately, to erase that face out of his vision.

Then he did something that Hermione believed even below Draco.

His hand came at her in slow motion and at the same time with unbelievable speed. She didn’t remember the exact moment his hand connected with her face, just the feeling of shock that came after. She would later compare it to being hit by her best friend, or her father. It was that heartbreaking, and that completely unexpected. It wasn’t a brutal slap, or even a very sincere one, but the fact that he had done it erased all of that. She gasped and clutched her cheek shakily. It still hurt more than she had believed possible.

He had hit a girl. Someone weaker than him, who had never, ever been capable of hurting him as bad as he had hurt her.

She watched him, there in the dark, through tear-stained eyes, and swore she saw his face crumple.

Or maybe that was just what she wanted to see.

He ran. He just ran as fast and far as he could, and tried to clear his vision so that he could focus on his next task.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hermione sat under the stars and suddenly the world came crashing down around her ears.
It was unbelievable to experience the realization that the person she trusted most in the world had never trusted her.

Unimaginable, really, when she came to realize that he was not everything she so solidly knew he was, that perhaps– dare she say it– he had never been trustworthy in the first place.

And the saddest thing of all was that she still loved him, even though he didn’t deserve it or even want it.

She had seen this coming. Somewhere, pushed in the back of her brain, she had known it was too good to be true. She had guarded herself emotionally from Draco for so long. Finally, she had come to the realization that she didn’t have to be afraid. Of choices, of challenges. Of risks, and romance.

But she had known it was coming.

Definitely.

If she had foreseen this move, then why were sobs racking her whole body, why had her legs collapsed? Why had she been so entirely brain dead?

Did you actually . . . think I loved you?

If Draco wanted to hurt her, he had accomplished it. Those words had seared through her like a mortal wound.

She made an effort to control herself and stopped crying as much as she could. Angrily she dashed the tears from her eyes.

This wasn’t Hermione Granger. Hermione Granger didn’t sob her heart out over boys.

At that point, sadness was too much for her to handle. It wasn’t even characteristic. She refused to cry anymore over . . . Malfoy.

So sadness froze over and created a new, familiar emotion that turned her blood to ice.

Hatred.

I still love him, she thought, but I hate him so, so much more.

she thought,
Absolute hatred.

God, it was an ugly feeling. It must have been what Harry felt for Lord Voldemort. She had never hated anyone so much.

Because he represented the side of herself that she hated. He represented her naivety, her unconditional trust, her weaknesses. He had taken her hand and led her like a lamb to slaughter, and she had followed him, believed every little lie, fallen for Draco Malfoy like every other bint in the school. If anything, she had proved to the world that all females were weak. Not even the strong-minded Hermione Granger could resist male charm, and she hated that most of all. She had abandoned her caution for him and he had really gotten her.

She would never let it happen again.

One course of action remained acceptable.

She would have to hurt him as bad as he had hurt her.

Because he deserved it for kissing her and shoving her and Merlin (she raised a hand tenderly to her cheek), had he actually hit her?

Because revenge was so much more dignified than sobbing her heart out like she knew she would.

Because she hated him as much as she had loved him, which was a whole lot. Because the bastard was engaged to Pansy. Because he had slept with her. Because he deserved to die more than anyone she could think of at the moment.

Because no one hurt Hermione Granger and got away with it.

Harry had just finished dancing with Lavender (Ginny was studiously avoiding him) when he noticed Malfoy enter quite abruptly. To Harry’s surprise, the Slytherin headed over to him immediately. He looked flushed, out of breath, and a little disheveled. His lips were also slightly swollen. Harry spoke.

"Malfoy, have you seen Herm–"

"Potter, I need to talk to you," Draco said seriously. He looked concerned. "In private, I mean."

"What about?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"It’s Hermione," Draco said, without meeting Harry’s eyes. "Come outside."

Harry, immediately concerned, followed Draco at a distance out of the hall.

They found themselves walking along the darkened grounds. They failed to see a redhead trailing quietly behind them.

"Spit it out," Harry ordered bluntly.

"It’s just that Hermione’s run off into the woods! She said something about getting fresh air, but she wasn’t acting right. I think she was under the Imperius."

Draco ran a hand through his hair, sickly pale, and let out a hitched breath. He looked really shaken up.

"Well," Harry replied, "we’ll just have to look for her. I’ll go this way–"

"No," Draco said sharply. "There’s dangerous stuff in that forest. We’re not splitting up."

"Fine," Harry answered impatiently. He followed Draco into the woods.

"Looking for Hermione?" came a concerned voice from behind them. Harry whirled to find Ron standing there, his eyes blazing. "I’m coming with."

"Alright," Harry said, distracted. He glanced at Malfoy, who was scrutinizing the ground. What a weirdo, Harry thought absently.

"Hey Potter?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think that someday," Draco gaped at the plant life as he walked around, "Hermione might forgive me for everything I’ve done to her? All these years . . ."

"Forgive you?" Harry asked confusedly. He frowned for a moment, slightly distracted and annoyed. "Malfoy, what are you on about?"

"I just wanted your opinion. I mean, would she forgive me?"

Harry didn’t even bother to look back at Draco, but kept his eyes on the forest. "I think she already has."

"What?" Draco asked. He didn’t even recognize the Slytherin’s voice. "She . . . what . . .?"

"I mean, in a way, she forgives you for everything you’ve done to her. Forgiveness is an odd thing. Like with me . . . you could jump through hoops, do everything in the world for me, and I would never forgive you. But Hermione? Hermione already has. Love makes you like that, I guess. When you love someone, forgiving them is never out of the question."

Draco looked sickened. Visibly composing himself, he said, "Potter, Weasley, come look at this plant. It’s weird."

Harry stooped down next to Malfoy and just had time enough to see an eight pointed blue flower before he felt Draco grab his arm. Suddenly they were spinning uncontrollably through space.

There was a tug at his navel, and darkness swirled around him. He didn’t understand what was happening, only that he had been engulfed in a shimmering vortex of blackness. Draco held firmly onto his arm, and he felt the world still. Harry slammed into the ground and crumpled, gasping for air.

"What the . . .?" he heard Malfoy say, and looked up to see the blond boy massaging his head. Ron had also been grounded, but stood up quickly.

They weren’t in the woods any longer, but rather on a long, flat plain. Harry straightened his glasses and could scarcely believe his eyes at the sight before him. Mammoth-like stones reared out of the ground, relentless and emphatic in the moonlight.

"Where are we?" asked Harry, with a feeling that he already knew the answer.

"I think . . ." Draco started uncertainly, "Potter, I think we’re at Stonehenge."

Hermione, at length, hoisted herself up and left the Astronomy Tower. She deeply regretted losing her composure in front of Draco.

He had kissed her brutally, thoroughly, and she reached up and felt the growing bruises on her lips. All of the kisses with him before that one had come crashing back and he had handled her savagely, icily, as if he had wanted to hurt her.

No.

As if he didn’t care whether he hurt her or not. That was so much worse.

She had sobbed. Told him to let her go. Couldn’t hold the sobs in. I’m pathetic. Disgraceful.

Hadn’t thought to hex him. Hadn’t thought to use her wand.

Stupid of me, really, she mused, to think that hitting a girl was above him.

she mused,
He had disarmed her emotionally with deadly precision, knowing exactly where to strike to hurt her worst.

Anger and humiliation bubbled within her. Why had she acted so weak? Why hadn’t she handled it better?

God, he would pay. Did he really think he could get away with it? She promised herself she would never be weak in front of him again.

Ever.

Someone slammed into her.

"Agh!" With a startled yell, she toppled to the ground. Trying to clear her vision, she looked up to see a proffered hand.

"Miss Granger?" Remus Lupin asked her. "I’m so sorry. I was in a terrible hurry. Merlin, you don’t look well. Are you okay?"

"Oh . . . yeah," said Hermione offhandedly, gathering her composure. "Where were you going, Professor?"

Lupin frowned in the darkness. "Harry, Draco, and Ron have disappeared from the school."

He held up a copied version of the Marauder’s Map, looking frazzled.

"What? Where have they gone?" Hermione asked immediately.

"I . . . I can’t tell you that, Miss Granger. But I’m going after them. I want you to stay here and make sure no one suspicious enters the school. Do you understand?"

"I’m coming with you!" Hermione replied angrily. All she could think was: what has Draco done to my two best friends?

"No," Lupin said sharply. "No, you’re not, Miss Granger. I must find an acceptable place to Apparate. Excuse me."

He walked away, quickly buried in the darkness.

A piece of paper fluttered in the wind that hadn’t been there before. Hermione picked it up.

"Is that you, Hermione?" came a voice from behind her.

It was Ginny, her crimson gown luminous in the night. She appeared fierce and concerned. "You look like hell. What happened?"

Hermione shook her head dismissively. "Look, Ginny, we’ve got a problem. Harry, Draco, and Ron have all just disappeared. Professor Lupin ran after them, but I have no idea where they went."

"What?" Ginny asked, her voice ghastly.

Hermione unfolded the scrap of paper.

Starlight shines on the eye.

"This isn’t good," Ginny said abruptly, pacing back and forth. "We have to follow them. Where could they have gone . . . what’s that?" Ginny asked, taking the piece of paper from Hermione. "‘Starlight shines on the eye.’ Huh?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Let me see that," she said softly. She grabbed the piece of paper and took out her wand. Tapped it once. Frowned. Tapped it three times. Frowned again. It glowed.

"What are you–"

"It’s an anagram," Hermione said simply, looking pleased with herself. "I’ve been studying these all year. Rearrange the letters, and it spells out something different."

Hermione moved her wand through the air, and bright, fiery letters appeared. Starlight shines on the eye. She began frantically rearranging them, moving some out of the way completely, getting frustrated and beginning again.

Finally she stopped and looked at the phrase in front of her.

"Starlight shines on the eye," she said softly. "Slytherin is at Stonehenge."

"Unbelievable," Ginny remarked. "How did you figure that out?"

"There are tricks to solving anagrams," Hermione said quickly. "I’ve been doing them a lot for advanced course work. So you think this message has to do with where Lupin went?"

"It’s better than nothing," Ginny replied after a moment. "Let’s go to Stonehenge."

"Well, it’s worth a try," reasoned Hermione. Her tears had almost all dried, but she still felt hollow, weak, feathery, like just one of Draco’s breaths would blow her away. "But how do we get there?"

"I know how to Apparate," Ginny told the other girl quietly.

Hermione looked torn. "Hold on, Ginny. I don’t really think you should come–"

"I’m going with you or without you," Ginny said fiercely. Then, to curb the harshness, "But preferably with you."

"How do you know how to Apparate? You’re not old enough."

"Never mind," said Ginny with a wave of her hand. "Now c’mon, let’s get off the grounds."

The two girls set off hurriedly for the Forbidden Forest.

[Marilyn Morgan]

Mjaow.. liiga kurb.
Aga Draco on siiski ikka paganama good (Y)
Heahea..

[Kathreen Granger]

Hermionest on nii kahju!
Mis edasi saab?

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Ja nüüd hakkab tõeline action pihta ;D

PART III: SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN

Love is whatever you can still betray. Betrayal can only happen if you love.

–John LeCarre

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Recap:
They weren’t in the woods any longer, but rather on a long, flat plain. Harry straightened his glasses and could scarcely believe his eyes at the sight before him. Mammoth-like stones reared out of the ground, relentless and emphatic in the moonlight.

“Where are we?” asked Harry, with a feeling that he already knew the answer.

“I think . . .” Draco started uncertainly, “Potter, I think we’re at Stonehenge.”


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 29; Showdown at Stonehenge, Part I

Harry, who had been shocked at first, now narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Why had Malfoy grabbed his arm in the clearing? Why did the Slytherin seem to be looking for something? The situation on a whole seemed suspicious. Ron brushed himself off; he appeared equally as confused as Harry.

Then it clicked.

“Malfoy,” Harry hissed, drawing his wand. “You led us here purposely, didn’t you? This is a trap! ”

“Potter, I don’t know what you’re . . .” Draco started. Then he narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Don’t try to pin this on me! You brought us here, didn’t you?”

It was a superb piece of acting.

“Don’t play innocent,” Harry snarled, obvious pain in his eyes. “I didn’t think you were a friend, but I trusted you. With my best friend. Tell me, Malfoy,” Harry said softly, voice taking on a calm, deadly tone, “where is Hermione?”

“I don’t know,” Draco answered truthfully. “Let’s just leave her out of this, okay?”

“You’re dead, Malfoy,” Harry said with a derisive sort of laugh. “Do you realize that? I’m going to kill you right here.”

“Potter,” Draco said nervously. Where the hell was his back-up? “You’re jumping to conclusions. You always do that.”

“No, I’m not,” Harry said, stepping closer to Draco. “I wish I was, but looking back, I never should have trusted you.”

Harry opened his mouth, but Draco would never find out what curse he intended to use.

“Stop it, ‘Arry,” came a voice from behind one of the pillars. Shocked, Harry glanced around. Fleur Delacour stepped out from behind one of the pillars, dressed in the same sleek silver evening gown she had worn to the ball.

“I can’t let you kill ‘im, ‘Arry,” she said icily, glancing once at Draco. She had to be the most beautiful creature in the world, bathed in fresh moonlight.

“Fleur?” Harry exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

She looked somber as she raised her wand and pointed it at Harry. “I’m going to ‘ave to kill you, ‘Arry.”

The green-eyed boy was so shocked that he fumbled with his wand and caught it just before it slipped to the ground. “You’re . . . you’re working with Malfoy, aren’t you? I should have known.”

“No, she isn’t,” Draco admitted. He seemed genuinely confused for a split second. He masked it quickly.

“I would never work with ‘im,” Fleur announced scathingly, tossing her hair, which looked only like intensified moonlight in the darkness. Then her eyes cleared. “I’m sorry, ‘Arry. Avada–”

“No you do not!” came a deep male voice. Looking like a stone pillar himself, Viktor Krum stepped out from behind an opposite pillar, his wand pointed at Fleur. “Move an inch, you filthy murderer, and I vill not hesitate to kill you.”

Harry looked baffled. He shifted slightly, into of offensive position. “Where did you come from?”

“I followed her,” Krum sneered, jerking his head toward Fleur. The Bulgarian boy looked dark, haggard, and deranged in the deep shadow of the stone pillar.

“You’re calling Fleur a murderer?” Draco scoffed with a laugh. “Don’t be a hypocrite, Krum. You’re the real murderer, we all know it.”

Krum glared at Draco as he trained his wand on the Bulgarian. Now the four of them were at a stalemate. Harry’s wand was pointed at Draco, Draco’s at Krum, Krum’s at Fleur, and Fleur’s at Harry. No one could move without fear of getting cursed into oblivion by another.

“Alright, someone tell me what the hell is going on here,” Harry growled impatiently. Ron, relatively forgotten, stood to the side and watched in confusion.

“Fleur has been trying to kill you all along, Harry,” Krum bit out, glaring hatefully at the silver-haired girl.

“Liar,” Draco hissed immediately.

“Shut your mouth for one minute, you inbred moron!” Krum roared, losing his temper altogether.

There sounded a ‘pop’ to the left of Draco and two girls in evening gowns plopped to the ground. Harry soon recognized them as none other than Hermione and Ginny. Ginny was up first, immediately evaluating the situation. Her keen eyes widened as she took in the scene before her. Hermione remained on the ground, dazed; she looked more fragile than Harry remembered.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Weasley,” Draco said, disbelief laced through his voice. “This isn’t your mission. And Granger, what in the bloody hell are you doing here?”

His voice was full of so much anger that Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. Shakily, Hermione stood up and glared at him so hatefully that he looked taken aback.

“Don’t speak to me,” she trembled, biting off each word sharply.

The girl looked a mess. Her hair was flyaway and her gown was rumpled, ripped and dirtied where she had landed when she had fallen. A darkening bruise on her cheek and swollen lips brought memories crashing back to Draco.

“Hermione, you look awful,” Harry commented, “what did you . . .?”

But his eyes darted to Draco, and he put two and two together.

“Oh, Malfoy,” Harry started with a bitten back laugh, “if you made her look like that then you have no idea how bad I’m going to hurt you.”

His wand trembled. It was an unspoken rule at Hogwarts that no one messed with Hermione Granger. No one was stupid enough to piss Harry off that badly. She was his golden girl, she was untouchable, and Draco didn’t think he had ever seen Harry so angry.

“If ve could cut za drama here, I vould like to remind you all that Fleur is about to kill Harry,” Krum interjected, apparently bored with the proceedings.

“What?” Ginny asked suddenly.

“Fleur killed Franz and Myra!” Krum roared angrily. “It is obvious! I followed her here because I had finally figured her out!”

“But Viktor, even Dumbledore and the French Ministry think you killed them,” Hermione started in a dismayed manner. “We have proof!”

“She is good at hiding za evidence,” said Krum simply. Fleur’s expression remained unchanged as accusations buried her.

“Fleur,” Harry said quickly, “I don’t exactly believe Krum, but . . . why do you want to kill me?”

Fleur shrugged elegantly. “I do not mind admitting it. I was ze murderer.”

“What?” Draco cried. “Krum . . . you have her under the Imperius!”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry snapped. “No one wants to hear what you have to say. Why did you kill them, Fleur?”

“I ‘ave been trying to kill you ze whole time,” Fleur stated calmly, pointing at Harry. “Killing Franz was a mistake. You see, I . . . zis is ‘orrible to admit . . . I was convinced he was you, ‘Arry. You two looked very similar with your backs turned.”

Draco remembered at the Introduction Ball in Beauxbatons; he had walked up behind Franz and mistaken him for Harry. They indeed looked very similar.

“What about Myra?” Hermione asked. “She was your best friend.”

“I was so sad about Myra,” Fleur admitted, remorse evident in the way she closed her eyes, “but she was on to me, and I couldn’t ‘ave zat. Remember when I sobbed at ze table the morning after she died? I felt so guilty about killing her. She always was too smart for ‘er own good.”

“But . . . how?” Hermione asked confusedly. “I remember Myra, right before she died, warning me about Krum, not you!”

“I killed her by–”

‘POP.’

Ernie Macmillan appeared suddenly. He looked out of place, dressed in garish yellow robes and a matching hat.

“How did you get here?” Harry cried. He didn’t look happy.

“I’m sorry, but . . .” Ernie was breathing heavily, “I overheard you two . . .” he pointed at Ginny and Hermione, “and I had to come. I thought it might be about the murderer and . . .”

“Well, it bloody well is now!” Draco cried, exasperated. It sounded almost as if he was worried about the kid. “I didn’t plan on anyone coming here but me and Potter, but it seems word slipped out about the party. Is there anyone else who wants to make themselves known before the ruthless slaughter commences?”

“Ignore him,” Hermione spat ruthlessly. “Fleur, how did you kill Myra?”

“I pretended to accidentally knock over ‘er teacup in a rage about my diamonds being stolen, and when I conjured a new one, zer was poison in the tea.”

“But Myra told me to stay away from Krum . . .” Hermione mused.

“I had a girlfriend, Herm-o-ninny,” Krum said. “Zat is my big secret. I didn’t want to tell you.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Ernie cut in. “Back up, Fleur. You’re saying you set this whole thing up . . . the storm and all? We took Veritaserum that night. Everyone, save Michael, was totally innocent. No one said ‘yes’ to the questions Hermione asked.”

Fleur laughed at this one. “I took advantage of ‘Ermione’s cleverness and dislike of me on zat one. Recall zat I am part Veela. I cannot lie. Also recall zat it was Draco and Hermione distributing ze Veritaserum. I approached ‘Ermione and told her zat I didn’t need any, knowing zat she would suspect me and give me ze Vetiraserum without fail. Guess what, ‘Ermione? Veritaserum cancels out my ability to always tell ze truth. Two truths equal a lie, to reverse ze famous proverb. Since I drank the Veritaserum, I could lie. If I really had not wanted to take the potion, who would I have approached? You, or Draco?”

“I’ve . . . I’ve never read anything about that!” Hermione cried, going red in the face.

“Few ‘ave,” Fleur said quietly. “As for why Michael almost said ‘yes’ when he took the Veritaserum? He was my accomplice. I blackmailed ‘im into creating a storm over Beauxbatons to trap us all inside so I could kill ‘Arry.”

“That’s why he was acting nervous the whole time! Why he dropped the champagne glass . . .” Ernie said, piecing it together. He gasped. “And Michael was on my team for the Advanced Courses. We were doing ‘Weather Manipulation!’ How could I have been so thick? Of course he’d know how to create a storm!”

“Exactly,” Fleur answered. She seemed cast in a completely different light. Where had the bubbly, beautiful girl they’d all known disappeared to?

“I can’t believe this,” Draco hissed. “Krum . . . What about when you told us you were flying a broom during Franz’s murder? You couldn’t have been! Brooms can’t function in a magical storm.”

“I am a professional quidditch player, moron. Do you not think I vould have charmed my broom against that? Why did you say you vere talking a walk?”

Draco sighed. “I had just gotten back from a meeting . . . with my father. I portkeyed there and back. I almost couldn’t get back into the castle because of the brewing storm. That’s how I discovered the portkeys didn’t work, and why I was late.”

Ginny gave a short and derisive laugh, and Draco glanced at her.

“That day on the boat in Durmstrang,” Draco continued. “You were trying to kill us, Krum! You practically drove us into the Onyx cliffs!”

“I vas just having a little fun,” Krum answered offhandedly. “It vas you, Meester Malfoy, who made the situation more dangerous than it really was.”

“It was Myra who stopped the ship from crashing into the cliffs though, wasn’t it?” Ernie added in. “She was a very powerful witch. Descended from Mordred himself, I hear.”

“Another reason why I killed her,” Fleur answered stonily.

“What?” Harry asked curiously. “Is that why Myra asked me about Mordred’s blade at the Introduction Ball? She’s related to him?”

“Yes,” Fleur answered simply. Harry’s brain began to feel too full; the information being revealed was too much to take in all at once.

“Wait,” Draco said again. “Krum, the night the lights went out, you were talking to someone in the fireplace. You said, and I quote, ‘I will kill him, just like I killed Franz.’”

“I vas speaking figuratively,” Krum grated. “I happened to be talking to a friend about the boy my girlfriend vas cheating vith. I beat up Franz for dating her once, also.”

“That night in the swamp!” Draco said more quickly and desperately. “You pulled a knife on Hermione . . .”

“He did?”

“Shut up, Potter. You pulled a knife on Granger and tried to kill her! How do you explain that?”

“It vas a letter opener, fool. I vas nervous,” Krum explained. “I vas merely fiddling vith the letter opener. I vanted Herm-o-ninny’s help . . . I vanted her to date me to make my girlfriend jealous. Zat is all.”

“Hah,” came a snort from Hermione.

“So that was what you two were arguing about right before Myra died,” Ginny chimed in. “And if I recall correctly, Fleur started crying when the Sky Thestrals approached and claimed she couldn’t see them anymore.”

“Eet eez true,” said Fleur sadly. “I murdered two people . . . of course I had lost my innocence.”

“But the lights!” Ernie said, glancing around. “Who cut the lights during the storm?”

“It was Myra,” Fleur said immediately. “Idiotically, she thought that casting a powerful Nox charm . . . she was good with magic . . . would give ‘er a chance to root out ze murderer. I tried to kill ‘Arry zat night, but I could not find ‘im.”

“Why did you ditch me, Malfoy?” Ernie asked imperiously.

“To follow Krum,” Draco said wearily. “That was the night I listened to him talking to someone in the fire.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Hermione chided, holding her hands up. “If Krum was talking in the Floo, then who were the two Bulgarians I met in the ballroom?”

“I’ve been working on that,” Ernie told her. “They were Ivan and Hilda. Those two are part of the Bulgarian Mafia. They were trying to root out and kill the German spy in our ranks.”

“German spy?” Draco cried in surprise. “Well, who was it?”

“Renae, I think now,” Ernie stated with a nod.

“No way,” Harry scoffed.

“Think about it,” lectured Ernie. “She just enrolled in Beauxbatons this year. Didn’t you notice that she doesn’t have a French accent? Come to think of it, she doesn’t have any accent.”

“That’s not possible,” Hermione announced haughtily.

“I know,” continued Ernie. “Think about it. She used a very complicated voice-censor charm to hide her German accent . . . and to all of us it sounds as if she has no accent! She was acting very nervous when we took the Veritaserum in Beauxbatons . . . she was afraid of giving herself away.”

“So Ivan and Hilda were trying to find her and kill her for the mafia . . . why?”

Everyone was surprised when Krum spoke up. “Za German and Bulgarian mafias have been feuding for centuries.”

“Why was she here? What did she want to find out?” Ginny interrogated.

“Germany knows a war is coming,” Hermione piped up. “Between Voldemort and Harry Potter, I mean. Between Muggles and Wizards. They probably wanted to find out which side is stronger, and join up with either Harry or Voldemort. Renae was sent to gather information, I’m sure.”

“Does anyone find this situation as ridiculous as me?” Draco asked them. No one replied; they all seemed to sense a terrible tension radiating from him.

“One question hasn’t been answered. Who screamed when the lights went out?” Hermione asked, narrowing her eyes.

“I figured that out too, just tonight,” Ernie told them triumphantly. “Ava did. She some sort of jewel thief, I think.”

There were several cries of disbelief.

“Alright,” said Harry, glancing around. “Who’s not guilty of some criminal charge?”

No one answered, which was rather disturbing.

“Are you suggesting that every one of the Ambassadors had a double motive?” Ernie asked. “Because I don’t have one. Now back to Ava. She took advantage of the lights going out, and screamed to cause a diversion. Then she ran to Fleur’s rooms and stole her rather large diamond collection.”

“That’s where my diamonds went!” Fleur cried angrily.

“That day at the pearl stand,” Hermione deduced. “She hung back . . . she might have been trying to steal the pearls.”

There was silence as it sank in that they had been standing stock still at Stonehenge with wands pointed at one another. Ron seemed solely uninterested.

“Then that leaves all the questions answered but one,” Harry announced.

“And what question is that?” Ginny asked.

“Why were you trying to kill me in the first place, Fleur?”

A noise sounded from behind one of the pillars.

“I believe I can answer that.”

And Remus Lupin emerged into the moonlight. He gave the near-full moon a glance, one of unspoken terror, badly masked by weariness.

“Professor! I forgot about you!” Hermione exclaimed.

The man regarded Fleur with a shrewd and calculating expression.

“You figured it out, did you?” Lupin asked. “You were the one ahead of me in research.”

Fleur nodded.

“So you’re working for Voldemort,” Lupin stated coolly, quickly unsheathing his wand.

“No, she isn’t,” Draco answered, as if he himself didn’t believe it.

“You moron,” Fleur addressed Lupin heavily. “If a was working for Voldemort, can’t you see zat I would ‘ave tried to lure ‘Arry ‘ere? Ze last thing Voldemort wants right now is for ze boy to die.”

Lupin hesitated and nodded. “Then who are you working for?”

“No one,” Fleur told him. “I was working only against Voldemort, if you ‘ad guessed. Voldemort cannot obtain ze sword. If he does, he will take the world in one fell swoop. The only way for ‘im to obtain the sword eez, as you ‘ave hopefully discovered, through ‘Arry. If I kill ‘Arry, Voldemort will never be able to get ze sword.”

“But the prophecy, you idiot girl,” Lupin countered. “The prophecy states that Harry is the only one who can kill Voldemort.”

“Will someone,” Harry exploded suddenly, “tell me what they are bloody rambling about?”

“I ‘ad never ‘eard of ze prophecy,” Fleur intoned. “I do know zat if Voldemort gets ze sword, he will kill ‘Arry anyway. He will be all powerful.”

“Harry,” Lupin said quietly and urgently. “Draco has lured you here in order to trick you into obtaining Mordred’s sword. Voldemort then plans to take the sword from you and become infinitely powerful.”

“Me?” Harry asked. “Why does it always have to be me?”

“Because . . .” Lupin and Fleur shared an exasperated look, “to make a long story short, you are King Arthur’s, and by default, Mordred’s . . . only rightful heir. Mordred placed an enchantment on his burial site. It is blood activated. You can retrieve the sword, only you, because you share his blood.”

“Oh, boy,” Harry stated simply.

“So Fleur,” started Hermione coldly, “you were trying to kill Harry . . . to prevent Voldemort from getting the sword?”

Fleur nodded. “A just cause, no? I had to get ‘ere before You-Know-Who did.”

“Too late, you little sleeper,” came yet another disembodied voice. From out of thin air stepped Lucius Malfoy, followed by nine or ten hooded figures that were presumably Death Eaters.

Harry tensed. How could so many people hide in one place? It had only been Harry, Draco, and Ron when this had all started.

Suddenly everything went cold. A tall figure appeared out of thin air, his cloak concealing his features. Everyone, all the same, could guess who he was.

The drop in temperature, the sickly presence . . . it was Lord Voldemort.

[Marilyn Morgan]

Voldiii..
Heahea
Ja edasi ka..

PS: Ma vaatan, et siin on ainult kaks aktiivset lugejat .. Ägeee..

[Kathreen Granger]

ega jah,keegi vist peale meie pole viitsinud lugeda

ei jõua järge ära oodata!

[spidy]

Mina olen.

Aga pole lihtsalt kommenteerinud ega midagi.

Ma pakun, et Ginny ja Roniga on midagi kahtlast lahti.

[Marilyn Morgan]

Amm.

Ma seda uskusin jah, et lugejaid on rohkem, aga kommenteerijaid vähem.

Aga uue võiksid sa siiski panna, Liz.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Pean pikkemaid pause, kuna see lugu pole autori poolt lõpetatud. Tema on jõudnud 35 peatükini ja ta uuendab neid väga aeglaselt. Et kui siin 35 kätte jõuab, ei oska ma öelda millal uus tuleb ja see autor jättis ikka päris hea koha pealt pooleni! ;D

Aga veel põnevust on tulemas, eriti seoses Dracoga, tundub, et Harry polegi igas asjas geenius ;D


PART III: SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN


I love you, and because I love you, I would sooner have you hate me for telling the truth than love me for telling lies.
– Pietro Aretino


Chapter 30; Showdown at Stonehenge, Part II

Harry, Draco, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Krum, Fleur, Lupin, Lucius, Voldemort, and ten Death Eaters (surrounding the group) eyed one another carefully on Salisbury Plain.

Voldemort had dragged something out from under the Shield Charm (for that was what the Death Eaters had used to conceal themselves) and Harry quickly noted that it looked like a body.

“So what makes you think,” Harry stated casually, “that I will get the sword for you? And why do you want the sword if you could just kill me now?”

Harry didn’t seem nervous at all. His words were cool and truthful. Ernie, on the other hand, looked panicked that they had been surrounded and outnumbered.

“Come now, boy,” hissed a deadly, inhuman voice from the cloak. “You really think I would stop at killing you? I want to own the world, as you should know. The sword, I have discovered, is my answer to both. Why do I believe you will listen to me? You have no choice.”

Voldemort shifted the body around so that everyone could see its face.

It was Ron Weasley. Lucius immediately pressed his wand to Ron’s throat, who seemed quite unconscious.

“No,” Harry interjected, panic flooding his face for the first time. “Ron is right . . . he’s right . . . here.”

They all turned to look at ‘Ron,’ who was changing abruptly. His eyes had become green, his skin dark, and Harry watched in horror as he melded into a completely different person.

Blaise Zabini.

“Blaise?” Draco marveled softly. “That’s you?”

“Of course,” Blaise sneered. “That’s right, Potter. Ever since the beginning of this year, I’ve been impersonating your precious best friend, and you were too busy jetting around Europe to notice.”

“It’s not possible,” Harry said simply.

“That’s why Blaise went missing,” Hermione spoke up, wide-eyed. “Because he polyjuiced into Ron as a cover up. It would cause more suspicion if Ron was missing than if Blaise was. And . . . my God, Harry, how could we not have noticed? Ron’s been acting odd all year, but we were too busy . . .” she trailed off and visibly swallowed tears.

“Do you get it yet, Granger?” Draco sneered. “I was just using you to get closer to Potter so that I could lure him here.”

Harry observed that Hermione looked like she was going to collapse.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry said quietly, “you say one more word to her and I’ll blow your head off with all these people watching.”

“Touchy, touchy,” Blaise drawled sardonically. He then sidled over to Ginny, who was only meters in front of Harry, and slid his arm possessively around her waist. He drew her close and leered terribly at Harry.

“Let go of her,” Harry snarled, voice a low rumble. “For Merlin’s sake, Zabini, please let her go.”

Ginny turned her head away from Blaise very slowly and stared at the ground. Her eyes were full to the brim with tears. She blinked once, very determinedly, and when she looked up at Harry her eyes were dry.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” she whispered, “but this is how things are.”

Harry didn’t catch her drift. “What?” he asked dumbly.

“Don’t you get it, Potter?” Blaise snapped triumphantly. “Ginevra is on our side. She’s a Death Eater.”

“No,” Harry gasped, his voice raw. “That isn’t true.”

“It is,” Ginny told him firmly, her eyes going hard.

“Ginny,” Hermione’s voice was barely above a whisper, a plead.

“Avada–!” cried a female voice. There was a thump, and everyone turned around to see that one of the Death Eaters had tackled Fleur.

“Restrain the idiot girl,” Voldemort hissed, “do not let her kill Potter. Someone guard the Slav, he may cause trouble.” A Death Eater moved closer to Krum.

“The half-breed as well,” Voldemort ordered. The Death Eater that moved to guard Lupin disarmed him and then socked him in the face. Lupin fell to the ground and stayed there. The Death Eater that had tackled Fleur gave a high pitched laugh as she smashed Fleur’s face into the ground with her foot.

“And someone take care of that filthy Mudblood,” Lucius added as an afterthought. “She is clever.”

“I’ve got her,” Draco said immediately, advancing on Hermione. She had her wand out faster than lightning and had muttered a disarming spell at Draco, but one of the other Death Eaters parried it. Draco disarmed her quickly and grabbed her wrist.

“Don’t touch me,” Hermione hissed, with so much hate and desperation and vehemence that it could have cracked the earth. But Draco twisted her arm until she yelped and wrapped his free arm around her. She shuddered violently at his proximity.

Harry, the only one left unguarded, shook his head in disbelief. “Are you asking for it, Malfoy? Do you want to die a painful death?”

Draco didn’t reply to Harry. Instead he said to Hermione, “Don’t move, Granger. I’m serious.”

She tried to kick him in the shin.

“Enough small talk,” Voldemort decided, hissing scornfully. “Now, Potter. Enter the circle of stones and stand directly in the center of the clearing. Then, slash your own arm and drip blood onto the circle we have marked. That should activate the gate. If you fail to do exactly as I have just said, I will kill Ron Weasley without a second thought. He is completely disposable to me. I will not hesitate.”

Harry glanced once at Hermione, and once at the unconscious Ron, his face pale and unassuming in the moonlight.

“I guess I have no choice then,” Harry conceded with a grim look. Slowly he started toward the center of the stones.

The scene playing out before them was surreal. Moonlight spilt like a waterfall of unicorn blood over the monolithic stones. How many people had stood within these exact confinements of stone and studied, marveled, questioned, worshiped? How could it be that this ancient circular structure stood stoic, unmoving, throughout millenniums of rapid change?

The black-haired youth stopped in the center, at the point it had all been built around. He was the Once and Future King, heir of Arthur, Heir of Mordred, the rightful ruler of Britain.

He pulled back the sleeve of his cloak and touched his wand to the tip of his forearm.

Hesitation.

“I need a knife,” Harry said clearly.

“Use your wand, idiot,” Lucius sneered.

“I don’t know the enchantment,” Harry told them, guileless. “Do you really think we learn how to cut open our own arms at Dumbledore’s school?”

“Draco, conjure the boy a knife and give it to him,” Lucius snarled, exasperated and impatient.

“Impedimentia,” Draco muttered, completely immobilizing Hermione. Then he performed the enchantment to conjure a knife, and (was there a moment of hesitation?), made his way to the center of the circle.

Smirking callously, Draco jabbed the knife at Harry, who dodged it, and then he offered it hilt-first to the other boy.

Harry took the knife and, quite without warning, lunged at Draco. Draco dodged out of the way for the most part, but Harry managed to put a gash in his arm before two Death Eaters had restrained him.

Draco hissed in pain. Blood gushed out of the wound and Draco stood rooted on the spot, glaring at Harry. Then he backed slowly out of the circle of stones, expression dark.

One of the hooded figures wrestled the knife from Harry, and the other drew up his sleeve swiftly. The first Death Eater slid the blade into Harry’s forearm. The boy cried out involuntarily, dropping to his knees. Blood gushed from his arm onto the marked point, and almost before it reached the ground, something happened.

The scene seemed to freeze.

Harry, poised on his knees, face scrunched in pain, arm gushing with blood that shimmered crimson in the moonlight. The hooded figures, one with a bloody knife, the other restraining Harry.

Frozen.

Absolutely frozen to the onlookers.

Someone gasped. The moon had somehow reached the largest stone node, shining directly between the slabs of stone and into the center of the clearing. Pearly moonlight seemed to grow brighter as it illuminated the three figures. It was first dim, then lucid, then luminescent, then splendid, next enlightening, heavenly, painful, blinding, inconceivable.

And when it was finished, the clearing unfroze. Harry’s shuddering gasps rang out among the stones, and the Death Eaters staggered back fearfully.

A black tomb had appeared in front of Harry, for it was no doubt a tomb. The gate had been opened with blood. Next to the tomb was a pure white stone, and from it protruded the hilt of a sword. It was an unremarkable sword hilt, but . . . where had Draco seen it before?

Voldemort strode forward in a flash and placed his long, white fingers around the hilt. He tugged, but the sword didn’t seem to budge.

“Just as I suspected,” he hissed. “The Potter brat will have to remove the sword himself. It has an unbreakable blood enchantment on it. Only the true heir can remove that sword. Crabbe, Goyle, Macnair, Lestrange, and Malfoy. Come here and surround the boy completely. When he succeeds in removing the sword, wrestle it away from him, kill him, do anything you must. Then hand the sword to me. Whichever one of you hands me that sword will become my second in command.”

The Death Eaters clustered hungrily around Harry, intent on their task.

“Harry!” Ernie cried, his only ally that wasn’t unconscious or immobilized. “You can’t just let them do this!”

Finally Harry came to terms with the seriousness of the situation. The knife, which lay forgotten at his feet, would prove helpful. He picked it up before anyone could stop him, but he didn’t wield it at anyone else; he pressed it to his own throat.

The Death Eaters started to lunge at Harry, but Harry jerked the blade harder and they froze as the repercussions of this dawned. He was holding himself hostage.

“No one move a muscle,” Harry bit out clearly, “or I swear to God I’ll slit my own throat and you’ll never be able to get the sword.”

Voldemort hissed.

“He’s bluffing,” Lucius announced callously.

“No,” Draco countered suddenly, recognizing the fiery determination Harry got in his eyes when he was set on something. “No, he’s not.”

“Let all of these people go,” Harry ordered Voldemort soundly. “That’s Krum, Fleur, Ernie, Hermione, Ron, Lupin,” his eyes flashed with pain as they landed on Ginny, “and anyone else who wants to go. Then . . . I’ll get the sword for you. I swear.”

“He’s lying through his teeth!” Bellatrix Lestrange exclaimed angrily. “We can’t trust him.”

“I’m giving you five seconds,” Harry said, facing Voldemort angrily. “Let them go or I die. Five . . . four . . .”

“Harry, don’t do it!” Ernie cried desperately.

“Three.”

The boy looked pale but determined.

“Two.”

Ginny jammed her fist into her mouth to keep from screaming. Voldemort looked anxious, uncertain. Harry closed his eyes.

“One . . .”

“Do it!” Voldemort cried suddenly. “Do what the boy says. Free them all except the half-breed and Weasley. The werewolf will go straight to Dumbledore and we still need Weasely. Because Potter, if you go against your word, I will still kill him.”

Harry looked torn, then nodded.

Draco undid Hermione’s freezing charm and shoved her roughly away from him. “Harry,” Hermione cried immediately, “I’m not leaving. You know I won’t leave . . .”

“Get out of here, Hermione,” Harry said unflinchingly, “that’s an order. I’m not allowing you a choice. Go.”

“No.”

“Krum,” said Harry. “please get Hermione out of here.”

With two ‘pop’s, Ernie and Fleur had disappeared. Krum approached Hermione and took her arm gently. “Herm-o-ninny . . . come . . .”

“No,” she said fiercely, but with a ‘pop’ the two of them had disappeared. Ginny, Blaise, and Draco remained side by side at the edge of the clearing. Lupin, now conscious, remained on the ground, watching Harry closely, Ron’s unconscious form beside him. Voldemort and the other Death Eaters, save the ones guarding Lupin and Ron, surrounded Harry.

“Put down the knife, boy,” Lucius growled. Voldemort placed his wand on Ron’s heart.

“Harry,” came Lupin’s unexpected voice. “Do it. Put the knife down.”

“What?” Harry asked suspiciously.

“Just trust me, Harry,” Lupin said. “Put the knife down.” His expression clearly said, have I ever been wrong?

Harry slowly placed the knife on the floor and Lucius grabbed it.

“That’s a good boy,” Lucius murmured. “Now just put your hands on the hilt and pull out the sword.”

Harry stood in front of the pillar, and Lupin couldn’t help but notice the acute similarities to the tale of the sword and the stone. Is that what Slytherin had meant to do? Recreate the legend of King Arthur?

Harry took a deep breath and put his hands on the hilt. The King Reborn.

He tugged at the blade as everyone watched with baited breath.

Nothing happened.

The blade didn’t move an inch.

“Pull harder,” Voldemort said simply, greed evident in his voice.

Harry tugged with all of his might. The blade truly seemed cast in stone.

“Impossible!” Voldemort cried, his voice a high-frequency nightmare. “He is the heir . . . it has to work!”

“How do you know I’m the heir?” Harry asked guardedly.

“You opened the gate with your blood,” Blaise spoke up impatiently. “I’m the one who researched this . . . you should be able to remove that sword.”

“My blood . . .” Harry repeated.

And suddenly it all clicked in Lupin’s head. Hit him like a bludgeon across the face. Mordred, or Slytherin, if you preferred, had done exactly what Lupin had earlier imagined.

Recreated history.

No, history had recreated itself, and would repeat itself again.

Slytherin was a genius. A master. His plan was flawless, except that it was infinitely flawed. A paradox, of sorts. He had tried to remake history and in the end, it would only end up repeating itself.

There was a chance . . . but no, Lupin decided, he would take that chance.

“You’ve overlooked the most important piece of this whole puzzle,” Lupin announced callously.

“What?”

“Blaise,” the Professor called out, as if picking on a student in class. “You figured this all out, so tell me . . . what is the latin word for dragon or snake?”

“Draco,” Blaise answered automatically, glancing at his friend.

“What did the druids worship?”

“A snake god.”

“What did they call it?”

“Draconita.”

“What is the measurement commonly associated with Stonehenge?”

“A . . . a Draconic month.”

“What star aligns directly with the center of Stonehenge?”

“Thubin.”

“What constellation is the star in?”

“Well, it’s . . . Draco.”

Lupin let out a laugh. “Every single clue we’ve come across has pointed us to Mordred’s rightful heir . . . not Harry, but Draco.”

Everyone turned to face Draco, shell-shocked. It was a couple of seconds before someone could wrangle up a protest.

“But the blood,” Ginny said softly. “Harry’s blood activated the gate that made Slytherin’s tomb appear.”

“No,” said Lupin. “It was Draco’s blood.”

“But he . . .!”

“Harry slashed him with the knife, do you remember? Some of his blood dripped into the circle. It merely took a while to activate. Harry’s blood spilling on the same spot a few seconds later had nothing to do with the gate opening.”

“My own son . . .” Lucius whispered softly, “does that mean I can take the sword too?”

Lupin spoke clearly. “No. Voldemort has Slytherin’s blood too, doesn’t he, and he couldn’t remove the sword. Only the chosen heir . . . Draco . . . can remove it.”

Harry gave a puzzled glance in Lupin’s direction. Why was the Professor telling them all of this? Lupin shook his head almost imperceptibly at Harry.

“It is literally written in the stars that Draco should remove the blade,” Lupin continued.

“Draco,” Voldemort said, “come forth and retrieve the sword. Then hand it to me, and you will be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams.”

Draco hesitated for only a moment before making up his mind. He would remove the sword, but he wouldn’t give it to Voldemort right away. He would use it as a bargaining chip.

As he strode forward, the black-hooded figures parted for him, looking at the boy with a new sense of reverence and respect.

The youngest Malfoy was reminded ironically of the tale of the sword and the stone as he stood before the altar. A boy whom no one had expected would remove the sword and become and Mordred and King Arthur’s heir.

Am I the king reborn? Draco thought.

He placed his hand carefully around the hilt of the blade.

There was a ‘chink’ and the blade slowly slid free.

Blackness.

Roaring.

A man had appeared before him, the same man that came to him in dreams. He held the pure black sword, and offered the hilt to Draco. Grasping it, the silver-haired boy felt a jolt of lightning run through him.

“The words,” Slytherin hissed, pointing at the blade. Draco held the sword up to the moonlight to find that runic writing was engraved along the blade.

White hot words seared into his mind. For everything I could not be.

“You, my son, my heir,” hissed Modred, “are Slytherin reborn. You are the correction to my mistakes, the repentance for my sins, the remedy to my flaws. You are everything I could never be. I have created you for this purpose.”

“But I’m me,” Draco answered simply.

“Exactly,” Slytherin replied. “I betrayed my father, Arthur, and my kingdom, Draco. That was my flaw. Now . . . history will play itself out again, but this time, it will change. It will be correct.”

Blackness.

Someone was gasping for air. Draco’s eyes flew open and he found himself surrounded by Death Eaters. He had fallen to his knees. The sword was clasped tightly in his left hand.

“For everything I could not be,” Draco repeated softly. He stood up, legs shaky and uncertain.

“You blacked out,” Lucius told Draco with a rather disgusted look on his face. “Now Draco, give me the sword.”

“What about Voldemort?” the Slytherin boy asked softly.

“Just shut up, boy,” Lucius hissed, “and give me the sword.”

“I . . .” Draco paused midway through handing it to Lucius. “No.”

“No?” his father echoed faintly.

There was an odd, dark, electric current surging through Draco, enhancing his senses, strengthening his muscles.

“I said no,” Draco assured his father. Lucius tried to snatch the sword, but when he made contact with Draco’s arm, he flew backwards as if shocked.

“Just kill him and then take it,” one Death Eater suggested.

“No!” Lupin spoke up, and everyone went silent. Lupin always knew what he was talking about. “If you kill the boy with the sword in his hand, you will not be able to pry it away from his dead body. The only way that Voldemort could get the sword is if Draco gives it to him. Voluntarily. I see what you’re thinking,” Lupin countered quickly as Voldemort raised his wand, “but the Imperius won’t work either.”

There was absolute silence as everyone realized that Draco had complete control of the situation.

“Draco,” Voldemort started, his tone appeasing, “I will give you anything you like . . . second in command . . . if you give me the sword. I will give you power, riches . . .”

“Draco, my son,” Lucius pleaded desperately, “my own blood. Give me the sword. I love you so much . . .”

And the other Death Eaters started chiming in, begging Draco to give them the sword, claiming that they deserved it most.

“Stop,” Draco cried, covering his ears, but his plea was lost in a sea of pleas. He tried to break out of the circle of Death Eaters surrounding him, and pushed his way through, face a mask of confusion.

“Harry!” Lupin called softly, as the Death Eaters argued. Harry staggered over to Lupin and the Professor grabbed Harry’s arm and dissapparated on the spot.

“They got away!” Blaise cried angrily. He pointed at the spot where Lupin had been sitting.

“No!” Voldemort screeched. Draco took this moment to break through the sea of blackness. He didn’t try to apparate, he just ran. Unsure of what to do, the Death Eaters and Voldemort froze in shock.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Draco just ran. He was running, running, running as fast and far as he could, but he had the sinking suspicion that the one person he was trying to run from would always be right there with him.
No one followed him. Staggering to a walk, Draco tried not to collapse. He fell to his knees, sword still clasped tightly in his left hand.

What had he done? What the hell had he done?

On a plain that seemed to stretch into forever but for a few large pillars, the silver-haired boy raised his head to the night sky and saw the constellation Draco. It mocked him, a beautiful illusion of serenity while it burned up inside.

Voldemort, the sword, the heir, the tomb.

Her face.

God, her face was all he could see.

He could almost hear her sobbing on the tower, he could almost feel the warmth of her skin. Except that he couldn’t.

Except that he never would again.

The electric, jet black sword pulsated in his hand. His brain felt ready to explode. He didn’t know how long he kneeled there, gazing up at the fake night sky.

As the first sob was wrenched from his throat he felt the world close in around him suddenly, coming to one clear point. Like putting glasses on, the universe sprang into sharp, wounding focus. The stars, beautifully and painfully jagged, alluring as broken glass. The moonlight on the blade, harsh and unrelenting in the night. A veil lifted from his eyes as everything became mercifully, cursedly real for one blinding moment.

And then nothing remained.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Lupin had Apparated them back to the Forbidden Forest. Harry, bleeding still and covered in sweat and grime, staggered up to the castle with Lupin’s help. Dumbledore met them at the entryway.
“The Infirmary,” Dumbledore proclaimed upon seeing Harry. He pulled out a small Portkey that took the three of them directly to the Infirmary.

Hermione sat tightly in a chair, biting her lip and squeezing her eyes shut. Krum sat next to her, head in his hands. Fleur had obviously been detained, and Ernie paced nervously around the room.

When Hermione saw Harry, she launched herself into his arms, unable to stop a sob from escaping her lips.

“I thought you were dead . . .” she whispered in reverence, clinging to his bleeding and filthy frame.

“I’m okay,” Harry said, as much to assure himself as to assure her. “I’m okay.”

Madame Pomfrey clucked over Harry, easily healing his cuts but insisting that he lay down.

“Harry,” Dumbledore said calmly. “Tell me everything.”

The Gryffindor took a deep breath. “I was . . . well, Malfoy– we were . . . went . . . there was–”

“If you don’t mind, Albus,” Lupin cut in swiftly, “I may be better fit to tell you the story right now. Harry is exhausted.”

Nodding in relief, Harry sank back into the pillows. Ginny . . . no, he wouldn’t think about her.

As Harry drifted off to sleep, he swore that he heard Dumbledore speak.

“Here, at the end of all things, let us begin.”

END OF PART III: SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN

[Marilyn Morgan]

Hea !
Ja uut ka..

[Kathreen Granger]

Super!
Edasi