Draco: Phoenix Rising

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Mul on rõõm kuulda, et meeldib

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Luna, Hermione and Draco in a Muggle cab. How much torture can he take?

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Chapter Fourteen – Creeping Parcleps

On the way into town, Hermione decided she should send a message to Sturgis Podmore, but realized it was a bit risky to do it in the usual way. In fact, it was impossible. She would just have to wait until they returned. She shot a sideways look at her new charges.

“You know, Luna dear,” she said sweetly, “It would be really nice if we could just Apparate back to your house. Just this once. It’s really quite safe. I’ve already Apparated several times today—twice with passengers. And look, I’m fine.”

Luna gave her a measuring look through her oversized eyes.

“My father would be furious. Especially if I ended up splinched into a tree or something.”

“You will not be splinched into a tree. I know what I’m doing.”

“You may risk yourself all you like. Can’t we just find a fireplace and Floo back home?”

“How many wizarding families do you know in Dover?” Hermione asked in a voice that bordered on shouting. “Shall we just randomly knock on doors and ask if they are hooked up to the Floo Network?”

Luna pondered the question as though Hermione were serious.

“That would probably take a long time, but eventually it would work.”

Malfoy coughed behind Hermione, but it sounded suspiciously like a disguised laugh. She shot a glare over her shoulder.

“We could probably fetch some brooms with a simple Accio,” he suggested. She suppressed a shudder.

“No, thank you.” She’d rather walk back to Ottery St. Catchpole than take a broom. She threw her hands up.

“Fine. Muggle cab it is.”

They walked down Castle Hill Road and Hermione scouted for a phone booth. She located one near The White Horse pub and stepped inside to dial for a local cab. Malfoy was hovering on the sidewalk, avoiding all pedestrians and looking like he would leap out into the street rather than allow one to touch him.

“Will you stop it?” she hissed upon leaving the phone booth. Malfoy’s eyes flashed.

“No, I will not.”

“How many times have you been to a Muggle city? If you’ve managed to avoid actual human contact, it cannot have been that many.”

Malfoy replied, “Besides London? No, not many. And never like this.” He moved quickly aside to avoid a brush with a rushing delivery boy. “Malfoys never mingle with Mud—Muggles.”

“No wonder you’re so insufferably bigoted, then,” she snapped. “Perhaps if you ‘mingled’ once in awhile, you would discover they are actual people and not garbage in human skin.”

He raised a brow at her choice of words and chuckled.

“Garbage in human skin. I rather like that. I’ll have to remember to use it on Potter next time I—“ He trailed off when she gasped.

“Oh my God, Harry,” she breathed. “He’s going to—“

The cab pulled up at that moment, sparing Hermione the rest of that thought. She put Draco and Luna in the back and took the passenger seat to direct the driver. And to avoid all contact with Malfoy, she admitted to herself.

They were largely silent on the fifty mile drive, except for Luna, who had decided to tell her captive audience all about Creeping Parcleps, tiny creatures that crept into your dreams at night and implanted suggestions, usually mischievous, but sometimes pure evil, which caused people to do things they normally wouldn’t. She strongly hinted that Draco was under the influence of Creeping Parcleps when he had tried to kill Dumbledore earlier that year.

Unfortunately, the only one giving any credence to Luna’s conversation was the Muggle driver, whose eyes grew wider and wider as he drove until Hermione managed to catch his eye. She waggled a finger next to her ear and jerked a thumb over her shoulder to indicate that Luna was a few tokens short of a board game. The driver looked relieved and thereafter just smiled indulgently at Luna in the rear-view.

While the countryside sped by, Hermione wondered what she was going to do with Malfoy. She couldn’t take him to the Order. She didn’t dare take him to Hogwarts. Harry would rip him limb from limb. So would the other teachers, most likely. She could turn him over to the Ministry, but they would just lock him up in the basement that currently served as the new wizard prison. There was only one place she could think of, though it had already been proven unsafe.

They made it to Ottery St. Catchpole without incident and exited the cab in front of Luna’s partially burned house.

Sturgis and Mr. Lovegood rushed out to greet them. Hermione was relieved to see Mr. Lovegood alive and well. Draco loitered by the cab; luckily, because Sturgis raised his wand with a shout the instant he caught sight of him.

“Sturgis, no!” Hermione yelled. “I’ll explain in a minute!”

The Muggle driver was still in the car and Hermione leaned in to pay him with a handful of Muggle bills she had conjured in Dover.

“You are in’erestin’ people,” he commented.

“You have no idea,” Hermione muttered.

“I ‘ope the barmy girl’ll be all right.”

“We’ll take care of her.” She gave him a substantial tip and sent him on his way. As soon as the cab disappeared over the rise, she turned to find Malfoy and Sturgis Podmore watching each other like two rival wolves about to tear each others’ throats out.

“Might I have my wand back?” Draco asked.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” she said. She did pull the wands out of her shirt, where she had put them for safekeeping. Muggle clothing did not offer many options for wand storage.

“What’s he doing here?” Sturgis burst out. “Did you capture him?”

“No. He’s helping us.”

“Helping us what? Get more of our members killed? He’s the bloody reason—!”

“I know!” She put up a hand to stop him. “Let’s go inside and I’ll explain.”

She sent off a quick Patronus message to Harry explaining that something had come up and she would join them when she could. She neglected to explain the “something” was Draco Malfoy. She planned to put that conversation off as long as possible.

Inside, it was decided that Luna and her father would stay at the office of The Quibbler for awhile. It was unlikely the Death Eaters would strike there and the staff would allow some protection, should the need arise. Mr. Lovegood gathered a number of Portkeys into a basket to take along. He and Luna bid them good day, stepped into the fire, and disappeared in a red whirlwind.

Hermione had a quiet, furious argument with Sturgis that involved a lot of dark looks shot in Malfoy’s direction and several angry hand gestures. At the end of it, Sturgis had been unable to sway her, mainly due to lack of alternative suggestions.

“It’s decided. I’m taking him with me until we can figure out what to do with him. You can explain it to Lupin. Perhaps he’ll have a better idea.”

Sturgis, muttering angrily, Disapparated with one final glare at Malfoy. Hermione sighed and joined Draco at the window, where he’d been standing while pretending to ignore their conversation. She felt somewhat apprehensive, now that she was completely alone with him.

“Will you come with me?” she asked politely, realizing that no one had bothered to ask his opinion.

“Do I have a choice?”

“You could go back to your Death Eater friends.”

His grey eyes flashed.

“There are other places I could go.”

She nodded, wondering where he could go that was safe. Running like Karkaroff, but they’d found him, hadn’t they? For a moment, she considered letting him go, and wondered how long it would take them to hunt him down. He’d be on the run from both sides. She smiled ruefully. Surprisingly, she didn’t want him to die. He had saved her parents. He had brought Luna back. And he hadn’t been able to kill Dumbledore. And as Devlin Whitehorn, he’d talked to her like a real person.

“I’d like you to come with me,” she requested. He raised a pale brow at her and she gritted, “Please.”

“Ouch. I’ll bet that was physically painful,” he said and grinned. “I’ll come with you, since you begged so nicely.”

She resisted the urge to punch him. Instead, she smiled wickedly and stepped closer to him.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to suffer the horrifying touch of a Mudblood. I’ll try not to hurt you.”

She reached up and pressed her hand against the curve of his jaw. Her thumb rested on his cheek and the tips of her fingers touched his silken blonde hair. She felt his pulse beneath her palm for a moment and watched him carefully, daring him to flinch. His silver eyes bored into hers, but he didn’t move.

She triggered the spell and they Disapparated.[/color]

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Harry and the Pensieve.

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Chapter Fifteen – Manors and Memories

Tonks muttered under her breath to annoy Moody. He kept motioning to her to be completely silent, but after crawling across meters and meters of mud, brambles, and countless slimy creatures, she needed to let off some steam.

“Couldn’t we have walked the last half-mile?” she hissed.

Moody swiveled his eye to stare at her angrily. Surprisingly, he broke silence long enough to snap, “Why don’t we just march straight up there and knock on the door?”

“Straight up where?” she asked.

Moody pointed. “There. Malfoy Manor. Can’t you see it?”

“I don’t see anything.”

Moody nodded. “That figures. They hid it. Didn’t do a very good job, if I can still see it. It’s blurred, but it’s there.”

“They hid it? You mean, like our Headquarters?”

“Yeh. Makes ya wonder exactly what they have to hide, eh?”

Moody hissed as she was about to reply. “Hssst! Someone coming!” He pulled up the hood of his cloak.

A stumpy minion in black robes wandered past their line of vision, but Moody wore his Invisibility Cloak and Tonks had patterned both hair and skin to blend in with her surroundings. The minion looked more bored than watchful, anyway.

“I don’t think they pay their help very well,” she commented.

“Lucky for us. Let’s get closer. Maybe I can see inside.”

Tonks sighed and followed as they crept through more mud.

They watched for a long time, but Moody finally sighed. He spoke so quietly she could barely hear him.

“Nothin’. I know they’re in there, but the spell keeps blurrin’ things. Unless a Death Eater walks out the front door, we won’t be seein’ ‘em. Let’s get back.”

They froze when a sudden rush of movement caught their attention. Several minions were rushing about. When they reached a central point, they vanished from Tonks’s vision. She assumed it was the front door to Malfoy Manor.

“Something’s up. Think they have an Anti-Apparition jinx on the place?”

“Why? Plan to pop in there and ask what’s goin’ on?”

Tonks scowled and considered bashing Moody over the head with a nearby mud-encrusted rock.

“I’m just asking.”

Moody grunted. “Prob’ly not. They wouldn’t want to be seen poppin’ in and out around the grounds. Better to Apparate inside. Don’t do us any good.”

Tonks was quiet.

“Don’t even think it. I let you go in there, Lupin’ll have my good eye on a plate. ‘Sides, you could pop in face to face with whoever you’re impersonatin’. And you never been there before, so you’d have to go in blind.”

Tonks sighed, knowing he was right. It was just hard, knowing they were so close to something that could help them all. What if You-Know-Who was in there? What good was being a Metamorphmagis if she couldn’t use her abilities?

“We’ll just have to assume they’re there. Bide our time,” Moody whispered.

They waited awhile longer, but the minions did not return. Tonks was tired of biding her time. She wanted to crack some Death Eater skulls.

“We need to have a talk with Fred and George. Someone needs to invent wizard surveillance cameras.”

It would be a lot nicer than crawling through the mud to watch an invisible house.

Harry, Ron, and McGonagall stopped in at the Hog’s Head for a butterbeer, as McGonagall said she had a message for the barkeep. Harry and Ron dropped into a chair while McGonagall talked quietly to the bearded barkeep, who kept shooting odd looks at them under beetled brows. John Williamson, an Auror that had recently joined the Order, was drinking in a corner and examining a scroll. When they left a few minutes later, Williamson joined them, once they were out of sight of the Hog’s Head.

He marched ahead as an advance guard and his long ponytail swayed with each step. He still wore the scarlet robes he favored, although it seemed an odd choice for a secretive Auror.

The weather was perfect for a walk. Harry was half-expecting something to happen on the way to Hogwarts, although it was unlikely the enemy knew his current whereabouts. He breathed a sigh of relief when they reached the gates and McGonagall opened them with a wand flick. He remembered when Snape had let him in after Malfoy stomped him on the train, and wondered if they had done anything to prevent Snape from returning.

He would have asked, but experienced a horrible flashback walking across the grounds. He remembered cursing Snape, feeling more rage than he would have thought possible, sending hex after hex and watching them deflected. Guilt nearly overwhelmed him. He should have been able to stop Snape. He should have at least captured Dumbledore’s murderer. How could he have allowed Snape to flee?

He glanced over at Hagrid’s hut and was glad to see signs of recent repair. He made a mental promise to stop in and see how Hagrid was doing.

They walked into the school, following McGonagall. Williamson left them at the school doors with a wave, promising to stop in before he left for the Ministry. Their footsteps echoed emptily.

“It’s kind of creepy when no one’s here,” Ron said in a stage whisper.

“Yeah, it’s like when we’re sneaking around after hours, but in the day time.”

“I expect you boys will want to stay in Gryffindor Tower while you’re here?” McGonagall asked. Harry nodded. He couldn’t imagine staying elsewhere, even though it would be odd to be there alone.

“Lupin is sending your things along.”

They followed her to the Headmaster’s Office and Harry tried not to think of all the times he’d come here to see Dumbledore. He was glad to see the office itself had changed slightly. For some reason, it was easier to bear. Several items had been removed, including Fawkes’s perch. A large vase of flowers now occupied a corner of the desk. Harry’s eyes were drawn immediately to the newest portrait on the wall. Dumbledore’s eyes sparkled at him.

“Hello, Harry,” the portrait said kindly.

“Hello,” Harry whispered.

“I have a message for you. Ah. Here it comes now.”

Fawkes swept through the open window in a red flash of wings. He hovered in front of Harry and dropped a small scroll. Harry caught it and the phoenix flew upwards and back out the window. Harry walked to the window embrasure, sat down, and broke the wax seal.

Dear Harry,

If you are reading this scroll, it means that I have at last gone to explore the final mystery. I did not wish to leave you so soon, and so dreadfully unprepared, but perhaps this will make amends for my lack of vision and reluctance to give you the tools you need for the difficult road ahead. Alas, the only help I have for you is little more than knowledge and speculation. To that end, I have left you my Pensieve, which I know you will seek out as soon as you feel you are ready. Several important memories have been prepared for you. They have been arranged in chronological order, for the most part, beginning with that fateful day in October. That one is not my own, and it will be difficult to bear, but I now know that you are strong enough to carry this dreadful burden that has been placed on you. I will assist you in every way possible, even though I am beyond the veil.

Faithfully yours,

Albus Dumbledore.

Harry wordlessly handed the scroll to Ron and then got up and walked to the cabinet where Dumbledore had kept the Pensieve. On a shelf above sat several rows of silvery vials. The first was marked with a label that read: Sirius Black. Godric’s Hollow. (October, 1981.) Harry shut his eyes for a moment and thought about Dumbledore’s words. He was not certain he was strong enough to handle that particular memory, and suddenly knew why Dumbledore had withheld it.

He grasped the vial and tugged the Pensieve from its resting place.

“Are you certain you want to do that now, Potter?” McGonagall asked apprehensively. He didn’t want to do it at all.

“Yes.”

He took the Pensieve to the window seat in order to be out of McGonagall’s way while she dealt with her letters. Harry looked at Ron.

“You need not stay… unless you want to come along?”

He half-wished Ron would refuse, as the memories would affect Harry on such a personal level he wasn’t sure he wanted a witness. But, Ron had stood by him through every adversity. It would not be fair to exclude him.

“I’ll come,” Ron said. “Too bad Hermione isn’t here. She might notice something we miss. You know how she is. I’ll try and pay attention. For clues, you know?”

Harry nodded. He hadn’t thought of that.

“Here we go, then.” He uncorked the vial and let the wisp of memory swirl into the basin. He and Ron lowered their faces and the same time… and entered the past.

They found themselves in a small cottage. Seated on a comfortable-looking settee were the two people Harry would have given anything imaginable to reach out and touch, if only for a moment. His father looked the same as he had in the Mirror of Erised, but so much more real. He looked relaxed, with one arm around Lily and the other tapping his wand on the cushion in a catchy rhythm. Harry walked forward and knelt before his parents to get a better look. Lily was next to James and one hand rested on his knee. The other held an infant and she smiled down at its tiny face. Harry tore his eyes away from his mother and looked into his own countenance. Baby Harry cooed and yanked at a strand of his mother’s red hair. His own thatch of black hair was unruly even then.

“Let’s get this done, then,” a familiar voice said behind Harry and he turned to see two others seated in chairs that had been pulled close to the settee. Sirius had been shockingly handsome before Azkaban, Harry noted. His black hair was sleek as a raven’s wing and a single lock dangled over his forehead to cover one eye. Harry bet hundreds of women would have fought for the job of brushing that errant lock back into place. His chiseled face was serious at the moment, but his dark eyes gleamed with perpetual merriment, so different and carefree from the Sirius Harry had known.

Next to him sat Peter Pettigrew, looking neatly groomed, but slightly jumpy. He perched uncomfortably on the edge of the chair, as if he wanted to run from the room. Harry wished with all his might that Peter could be made real in that moment. Harry would have ended it right there, before it began.

“Are you sure about this, Sirius?” Peter asked apprehensively. “I still say you should be the Secret Keeper, not me.”

His eyes pleaded with Sirius. He practically begged not to be given the knowledge. Listen to him, Harry thought desperately. He doesn’t want to betray you, but he knows he will. Beads of sweat stood out on Pettigrew’s forehead and his nose twitched nervously.

“Nonsense,” Sirius said brusquely, the picture of confidence. “They’ll never suspect you, Peter. It’s the perfect plan. If anyone, they’ll come after me, and this way I won’t be able to tell them a thing.”

“Let’s pray it never comes to that,” Lily said worriedly.

Sirius laughed, a barklike sound much less harsh that the one Harry was used to. One that he would never hear again. It broke his heart to hear it.

“Of course they’ll never catch me. I’m far too tricky for that. This is just a precaution. We have to protect Harry. Just in case.”

James sighed explosively. “If not for Harry, we wouldn’t be here at all. We’d be out there, fighting with the rest of you.”

Harry turned back to see his mother’s green eyes flash.

“Don’t say you’re sorry, James,” she snapped and removed her hand from his knee. James held up a hand with a laugh.

“Down, Mrs. Potter! Never think it! I adore Harry. I just hate hiding here like scared rabbits.”

“We’re not hiding like rabbits. There is nothing to stop us from walking out of here and being killed alongside the others. This is simply a precaution to keep Harry safe while we’re here. Besides, you’ll be back to work next week.”

“May we get on with this?” Sirius broke in impatiently.

Without further adieu, baby Harry was placed into Sirius’s waiting hands. He merrily joggled and made faces and tickled the baby while the other three solemnly joined hands. Harry barely paid attention while his mother cast the spell that sealed their fate. He didn’t want to watch at all.

When it was done, James said, “All right, Secret Keeper Pettigrew. Tell Sirius the secret so that he may come and go as he pleases.”

Peter obediently told Sirius where the Potter family could be found. Then he asked, “Should I tell Remus?”

Sirius and James shot each other a look over Peter’s head.

“Not quite yet, Peter. Not quite yet,” Sirius said softly.

Harry looked at Ron, whose face was stricken. Neither of them spoke. Harry thought the memory was over, but the scene was swept away and replaced by another. Sirius was opening the door to a small, much cluttered flat. He carried a box.

“Peter! I’ve brought food.” He kicked aside a pile of clothing and set the box on the table after shoving aside a stack of refuse. “Bloody hell, you would be comfortable living in a sewer with the other rats, wouldn’t you? Peter?”

Sirius froze suddenly and Harry felt his heart clench with his godfather’s.

He screamed Peter’s name once more and his expression showed stark terror before he turned and pounded out the door.

The scene shifted again and Harry gasped. He and Ron were flying, although Harry felt no breeze stir his hair. They flew next to Sirius, who sped through the dark sky pushing his flying motorbike to the limit. It touched the street and skid to a spine-jolting halt, but Sirius was off and running for the ruined house before the bike hit the ground.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Harry heard him moan as he ran beside Sirius. Hagrid stood near the rubble, holding a small bundle. Sirius raced past him to a dark shape near what remained of the front door. He flung himself on the ground next to the body of Harry’s father, and grabbed him by the shoulders. James’s dark head lolled and Sirius pressed a hand to his neck in futility. Harry felt tears of his own start to fall as Sirius clutched James to his chest and sobbed in sheer misery, still murmuring words of denial as if the chant would cause everything to un-happen. Sirius sat that way for a long time, rocking miserably, until Hagrid coughed quietly behind him. As Harry watched, Sirius set James gently back on the earth and stood up. His face was like carved marble.

“Where’s Lily?” he rasped.

“There, in the rubble,” Hagrid admitted. “Don’… Don’ go in, Sirius. ‘S too late.”

Sirius looked at the tumbled ruins that Harry had visited just that morning, although the exposed timbers looked raw as a fresh wound. Harry prayed Sirius would listen. He didn’t want to see his mother… Sirius hitched a breath, but seemed to regain his composure as he turned to Hagrid and noticed the bundle clutched in Hagrid’s huge hands.

“Is it Harry? Is he alive?”

“Yeh. Don’ know why. Got a bad cut on ‘is head, here.”

“Can I have him?” Sirius asked and his voice broke slightly. Hagrid shook his head and clutched the baby convulsively. The child whimpered, but made no other sound.

“Naw, Dumbledore gave me strict orders. Take Harry to a safe place ‘til he says come out.”

“But, I’m his godfather! I’m all Harry has left!”

Hagrid’s face was set. “You can take it up wi’ Dumbledore, but Harry is comin’ wi’ me.”

For a moment, Sirius looked bereft and Harry thought he might break down again. Harry felt like doing so. Then a terrible expression came over Sirius’s features, a glacial rage that overcame and destroyed the beautiful spark of merriment that had lived in his eyes. Harry ached to see it go; knowing the Sirius that loved every moment of life was lost forever, replaced by a vengeful spirit that would never know another moment of peace. Never again, until a stone archway draped with a torn cloth took him back to those he loved.

“Peter,” Sirius snarled, so low that Harry doubted Hagrid even heard him. Sirius reached up and gently touched baby Harry’s head for a moment. Then he skirted Hagrid and walked away.

“Sirius! Where yeh goin’?”

“You can take my motorbike, Hagrid,” Sirius called back. “I won’t need it any more.”

The mists swirled, and Harry found himself sitting next to Ron before the Pensieve. Ron’s cheeks were wet with tears, as were Harry’s.

“I need to take a walk,” Harry said raggedly. He left the Headmaster’s office, sank down in an empty alcove, and cried until he had nothing left to weep.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

awwwwwwwwwwwww

Armas. Järgmist .

[Lissandra Sylvania]

The Weasley twins have some new spells. Draco and Hermione have a chat.

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Chapter Sixteen – Spells and Messages

Harry wasn’t certain how long he sat alone with his grief, but at last he got to his feet and wandered aimlessly until he ended up in the Gryffindor common room. Ron was already there, playing both sides in a game of wizard chess.

“That was brutal,” Ron said after a muted greeting. Harry nodded and Ron continued, “I’ve been thinking, though. How did Dumbledore know to send Hagrid to Godric’s Hollow? Sirius should have been the first one there. It was him that discovered Wormtail gone and suspected something was wrong. So, who told Dumbledore?”

Harry didn’t want to think about it. He was drained of emotion and wanted something to take his mind off the terrible memory. Ron was right, though. It was a curious question. Unfortunately, the only two people who could have answered it were gone.

“Pettigrew must have told someone else,” Harry said. “Someone else was watching.”

“They must have left right when You-Know-Who got there, then. They didn’t stay to help.”

Harry pondered the thought and suddenly had a very bad feeling about the identity of the informer.

“It was Snape,” he said with finality. “Wormtail probably told him before he told Voldemort. The greasy git probably watched it all. He wouldn’t have lifted a finger to stop it, though, would he? As much as he hated my dad.” Harry sneered. “He probably stood out there and cheered, until it went bad and his great master was vaporized. That’s when he ran to Dumbledore with his warning. I bet he sounded so sorry that he couldn’t do anything to save them.” Harry slammed a fist down on the chessboard, sending pieces scrambling to escape. “How could Dumbledore have believed him?”

Ron shook his head. “Maybe we’ll find out in another memory he saved for you. Hopefully not right now, though.”

“Not right now,” Harry agreed. “I’ve had enough for one day, I think.”

“Let’s go nick some food from the kitchen, then. I’m starving.”

The kitchens were ominously quiet due to the lack of activity. The house-elves had only the sparse staff members to cook for. Harry wondered what the house-elves did the rest of the time. Was there a house-elf recreation room? Did they go on holiday? Enough house-elves were present; however, that Harry and Ron were soon loaded up with more food than they could carry. Harry wondered where Dobby had gone. Perhaps Lupin had sent him on a secret mission.

“Hello! Fancy meetin’ you here.”

Harry smiled at the astonishing sight of Fred and George Weasley walking into the kitchen as though it were an everyday occurrence.

“What are you doing here?” Ron mumbled around a mouthful of biscuit.

“We heard Harry was here,” George said.

“So we thought we’d stop by,” Fred continued.

“We have some new tricks.”

“Cooked up ‘specially for you, Harry.”

“How did you get here?” Harry asked.

“Came through the tunnel from Hogsmeade.”

“You know they can’t keep us out.”

The Weasley twins joined Harry and Ron in their feast and then guided them to an empty Charms classroom.

“Fitting, this is,” George said as he looked around.

“Yeah, most of our spells are Charms.”

“Harry, remember when you said it would be nice if Canary Creams could be used as a spell?”

“Well, it got us to thinkin’. Usually we work our spells onto objects, like the Canary Creams or Shield Hats. But, it really wasn’t that hard to convert them.”

“Takes a bit more effort, but not as much finesse.”

“Like this,” Fred said and pointed his wand at Ron. “Aviana!”

Ron instantly became a yellow canary that chirped angrily as it twittered around the twins’ heads, trying to peck them. Fred waved it off and terminated the spell.

“That wasn’t funny!” Ron snapped when he was himself again.

“Of course, they can still fly around and peck at you as a bird, obviously. Plus, the spell doesn’t last very long. A few minutes only,” explained George.

“This one is more effective,” Fred said. Ron threw up a hand to ward off the next spell, but he was enveloped in a huge bubble. He relaxed when he saw it wasn’t doing anything to him, and then scowled and prodded at it sharply with his wand. It did not pop. It looked like Plexiglas to Harry.

“I hope he doesn’t cast a spell in there,” George commented.

“Yeah, it just bounces around. Thing’s darn near impenetrable.”

“Eventually, whoever is in there will run out of air.”

Fred sent the counterspell and the bubble disappeared without a sound.

“At least that one didn’t hurt,” Ron said grumpily. “Hot in there, though.”

“This next one doesn’t quite cross the line into the Dark Arts…”

“But it stands next to the line. Maybe with one toe over.”

“Frankly, Mum would freak if she knew where we got a lot of our ideas. We nicked quite a few books from the Restricted Section when we were here.”

“After all, giving people black eyes, causing them to faint, and making them puke aren’t exactly what you’d call nice magic.”

“But our spells don’t do any permanent damage,” Fred explained and flicked his wand at Ron again. “Caecus!”

“Hey! Hey, I can’t see!” Ron’s hands waved frantically in front of his eyes and his voice was high-pitched and panicky.

“Calm down, little brother,” George said soothingly. “We know the counterspell.”

“That was a scary one, though,” Fred said.

“Yeah, Fred was blind for three days until I figured out the right spell to reverse it. I had to be both of us whenever Mum came round. It was exhausting.”

“Take it off!” Ron yelled, flailing.

“Aspicas,” said George and Ron sighed in relief before glaring at the twins.

“Stop using me for a test subject!”

“Quit worryin’. We’ve practiced these on each other loads of times. Now, we’ll teach you two.”

The twins showed Harry and Ron the mechanics of the three spells and they practiced on each other most of the afternoon. Harry was pleased to have some new spells in his arsenal that the Death Eaters did not know.

“We’d better get back to the shop,” Fred said finally.

“We’ve got fine employees, but they don’t know our stock the way we do.”

“We’ll come back soon and show you a few more, Harry. Keep practicing those.”

They started out.

“Let’s go visit our swamp before we leave.”

“Good idea. We should say ‘hi’ to Peeves, too.”

“I kind of miss the old place, don’t you?”

“Not really, no.”

Their voices grew fainter as they departed and Harry looked at Ron.

“It’s been a productive day, I’d say.”

Ron nodded and yawned. “Productive and tiring. I’m going to the kitchen and then to bed.”

“Great idea. Remind me to send Hedwig to Hermione.”

“Yeah. What the hell is she doing, anyway? She should be here.”

Hermione released Draco as soon as they arrived at their destination. She leaned close to him as if examining his face.

“What?” he asked with eyes narrowed.

“Interesting. No blood, boils, nor even a rash. You seem to have survived the touch of a Muggle-born completely unscathed.”

He scowled.

“You’ve touched me before.” In that very same spot, now that he thought about it. But, definitely not as gently.

She stepped away and laughed at the memory.

“True. You didn’t get out of that one unscathed.”

“You needn’t sound so smug about it.” He took in there surroundings. “Your Muggle house? I could have Apparated her on my own, you know. If someone would return my wand,” he said pointedly.

She held up both wands and wiggled them for a moment before tucking them into her back pocket. He allowed her no sign of annoyance. “Is this the best place you could think of?”

“Do you think the Death Eaters will come back here so soon?”

Draco shook his head. “Probably not. They’ll find other targets.”

Hermione bit her lip at that. “You’re right. d**n, I’ve been running about so much today I didn’t even think… Oh no! Neville! If they went after Luna, he could be next. I don’t know where he lives or I’d go warn him.”

She glared at Draco as if it were his fault. “You know, the wizarding world could learn a bit from the Muggles when it comes to communication.” She lifted the handset from a nearby telephone. “With this, I can reach any Muggle household in the world.” She dropped the headset back into the cradle and pointed her wand at the fireplace. A burst of white light sprang from the end and disappeared up the chimney. She tsked.

“Well, that will take some time, but it’s the best I can do at the moment. Are you hungry?”

Without waiting for his answer, she went into the kitchen and rummaged in the cupboards. He watched her surreptitiously while pretending to look at all the oddities in the kitchen. She was an energetic girl, he had to admit. She flitted around from cupboard to cupboard. He tried to remember if he’d ever seen her wearing Muggle clothing before. If he had, it wasn’t memorable. What she wore now wasn’t memorable, either, exactly. She had on rather form-fitting pale blue jeans and a simple white shirt with short sleeves. An odd word was emblazoned across her chest in pink letters. Draco had examined it in Dover while she had been determinedly transfiguring his clothing. It read ADIDAS. He wondered what it meant.

She absently brushed her hair back over her shoulder with one hand. He noted that it could no longer be classified as “bushy”. Her hair was still rampant with curls, but they were tamer, now. Less frizz and more loops. The ends nearly touched her waist. If he were to be completely honest with himself, he would have to admit her hair was actually rather pretty. In fact, she was rather… He clamped down on that line of thinking immediately. Just because she had developed quite a nice package to put into her ADIDAS shirt and blue jeans… well, d**n it, she was still Hermione Granger, the girl he despised more than any other female on the planet.

“What are you doing?” he snapped, annoyed at the train of his thoughts and happy to take it out on her as she traipsed around the kitchen compiling food, pots, and utensils.

“Cooking, of course.”

“Are you a witch, or aren’t you?”

She stared at him for a moment as if wondering what he was talking about.

“I see. It must be odd for Mr. Pureblood to watch someone do manual labor. I was only recently allowed to use magic here, so I’m used to doing everything the old way. My parents weren’t very comfortable when I used magic. Besides, it’s two steps to the cupboard. Rather a waste to use a wand. You can sit down, you know. The chairs won’t eat you.”

Draco tugged a small black book from the pocket of his trench coat before tossing the coat over a nearby chair. While Hermione grilled ham steaks and toasted crumpets, Draco flipped through his book and sat gingerly in the chair.

“Have you heard of a Horcrux?” he asked her suddenly.

Hermione nearly dropped the jug of milk she was holding as she gasped. She set the container on the counter carefully.

“Where did you hear that word?”

“So, you do know what it is.”

“I know what it is,” she snapped. “Do you know what it is?”

“Yes.”

She watched him warily, as if seeking a sign of weakness. He did the same to her.

“Do you know where they are?” she asked.

“No. Do you?”

Hermione looked instantly disappointed, which confirmed that she did, indeed, know what a Horcrux was. Dumbledore must have figured it out and told them.

“Have you destroyed any?” he asked.

“Why do you want to know?”

“You know, I really don’t like you very much.”

“The feeling is more than mutual!” she snapped.

He glared at her and she glared back. She turned and slapped the ham steaks on the toasted cheese crumpets and topped each with a pineapple ring. She joined Draco at the table and they ate in stony silence. The sandwich was actually quite good, but Draco would rather have torn out his own tongue than admitted it. Hermione ignored him completely.

“How long do you plan to keep me here?” Draco asked when the tension had grown thick enough to wade through.

“Until I hear from the Order of the Phoenix,” she said abruptly.

“Lovely,” he sneered. He was trapped in a Muggle house until Little Miss Gryffindor saw fit to let him leave. He wondered, not for the first time, what had possessed him to help her in the first place. He got up from the table and walked away. He moved around lounge looking at the strange, non-moving family photographs and bric-a-brac. Hermione returned the dishes to the kitchen and dispensed with the “manual labor” in order to clean the dishes with a quick spell. She also zipped them back into their places with barely a clink. Showing off, most likely.

“Why did you ask me about Horcruxes?” she asked.

His lips curled into a wicked smile. He said nothing. Her expression of frustration was immensely satisfying.

She joined him in the lounge and sat on the couch. She gestured to a nearby chair.

“Let’s play a little game called quid pro quo. It means—“

“I know what it means,” Draco snapped. “Who goes first?”

He thought he heard her teeth crack as she clenched them together.

She gritted, “I’ll go first, of course, because I know you’d rather have all your fingernails torn out than volunteer, correct?”

Draco sat in the chair with no comment. He smirked, though, because he knew she hated that.

“A Horcrux is a storage device for a part of one’s soul,” she began.

“Voldemort’s soul,” Draco admitted.

“Horcruxes are the reason he did not die. He cannot die unless the Horcrux is destroyed first.”

“You and your friends plan to destroy them.”

“All seven of them.”

He was shocked and actually gaped at her. Snape had left out that tidbit of knowledge. “Seven?”

She nodded. “Two of them are already gone. Hopefully one other, although we can’t confirm it.”

Bloody hell. Seven. “I may know where to find one,” he admitted.

To her credit, she kept her features carefully blank.

“Will you tell me where?”

He pulled a slip of paper from his black book and handed it to her. It read: Go to the house of Tom Riddle Sr.

“Who gave this to you?”

“Severus Snape. Right after he told me about Horcruxes.”

She blinked at him.

“Snape? Who’s side is he on?”

“As far as I can tell—Snape’s.”

She shook her head. “Where is the house of Tom Riddle, Sr.? Only Dumbledore knew.”

“Turn it over,” Draco said dryly.

On the back was a map.

[Julia Darline Evans]

Good

[Lissandra Sylvania]

The Death Eaters strike.

---

Chapter Seventeen – The Dark Mark

Their conversation was interrupted by an owl tapping on the parlour window. Hermione hurried over and opened it to admit Harry Potter’s white owl. She removed a message from its leg and scanned it quickly.

“Don’t leave, Hedwig. I’ll have a return reply.” She set the scroll on the end table and went to the kitchen. While she rummaged for something, Draco picked up the message, having no qualms about reading other people’s mail.

H, R wants to know what the hell you’re doing. We need your help with something so get a move on. H.

“You’re in trouble now,” Draco commented.

She threw Hedwig an owl treat and sat down to write a reply. At that moment, a silvery shape burst out of the fireplace. It actually enveloped Hermione for an instant and she looked like a semi-solid ghost. Draco watched curiously, but assumed from her unconcerned pose that she wasn’t under attack. The silver nimbus dissipated, but her face remained pale. She dropped the parchment and quill.

“It’s Neville. They think he was taken. I have the address now, but we’ll have to Apparate blind.” She stood up and gestured at him impatiently.

“We? I certainly don’t need to go. I’ll wait here for you.”

“I’m not letting you out of my sight. Now, come on.”

He rose in annoyance and she stepped close to him again. He was very glad he was tall enough to look down upon her.

“You’re enormously bossy, you know?”

“It’s been mentioned. Here, you might need this.”

He was surprised to see her offering his wand. He took it and quirked a brow at her.

“Do you have to touch me again? Can’t you just tell me where it is?”

Her brown eyes flashed and she grabbed his chin rather ungently. She tugged his face downward and leaned into his chest while raising her lips… Bloody hell! She wasn’t going to—!

The squeezing blackness of Apparition drowned all other sensation. When they arrived, Hermione released him and stepped away quickly with a giggle.

“Oh my, that was rich. You should have seen your face.” She laughed. Draco was about to flay her with a scathing retort when his comment was overwhelmed by someone shouting Hermione’s name. She sobered at once and turned. She gasped so loudly it was nearly a shriek. Draco followed her gaze and saw a green, glowing Dark Mark hovering in the growing shadows over the house. He had a sinking feeling. Had they killed Longbottom, then? Hermione hurried toward the shouter.

The shade was growing as evening approached, but it was light enough to see that they were in a neat garden near double-doors that opened into a large house. A man in a top hot stood in the doorway, fairly jumping up and down.

“Come quickly!” he yelled. “She’s in a bad way! I’ve just located her!”

Hermione raced inside and Draco reluctantly followed. They hurried up several flights of stairs and came to a large, mostly destroyed, bedchamber. The man was bending over a shape partially beneath the shattered remains of the bed. Hermione gasped.

“Mrs. Longbottom!”

“They didn’t even give her the Avada Kedavra,” the man snapped. “Just blew apart the room and left her trapped to die. The bed frame was half crushing her. We got here just in time. One leg is broke for sure. Bastards cast the Dark Mark too soon, lucky for us.” Unless the Mark was for Neville, Draco thought.

“We’ve got to get her to St. Mungos,” Hermione said.

“I know! I was waiting for Jack. He’s looking for the boy. I’ll take her and you can find Jack.”

He gently lifted Neville Longbottom’s unconscious grandmother and they both disappeared with a crack. Hermione looked at Draco worriedly.

“Who’s Jack?” Draco asked.

“I’m Jack,” said a voice behind them. A scarlet-clad wizard with extremely long hair pulled back into a ponytail strolled in. “Hermione. The boy is not to be found. It appears they took him.” Draco was glad to see someone of Hermione’s acquaintance that didn’t want to kill him at first glance. Apparently, the man had no idea who Draco was.

“Why would they do that? They’ve been trying to kill everyone else,” Draco said.

“Do you know for certain they planned to kill Luna?” Hermione asked.

Draco thought about it for a moment. “No. Snape brought me through. He said it was another chance for me to become a true Death Eater, but he may have meant for me to kill her father.”

“They wanted to capture someone, I’m sure. They’re setting a trap for Harry,” Hermione whispered. Draco realized the attack on Hermione’s parents might have been an attempt to seize Hermione for the same purpose.

Jack nodded.

“I’m afraid so. I’ll inform the Order. Are you coming?”

Hermione shook her head. “I’ve got to tell Harry.”

“What can he do? We’ve got to find Neville, first. We don’t want Potter to rush off and be captured to no purpose.”

Hermione sighed heavily. “All right. I’m going to stay here for a bit and see if the Death Eaters left anything for us to work out. Let the others decide what to do about Harry,” she said wearily. Draco wondered how many times she had Apparated that day. Three that he knew of. She looked like she would gladly collapse at any moment.

The man called Jack nodded and Disapparated.

“Do you know where they took him?” Hermione asked Draco seriously.

He nodded. “I have an idea.”

“Can we get him back?”

“No. Not without a massive fight on your hands. You can’t find the place, anyway. It’s Unplottable.”

Hermione clenched her hands together around her wand. “We can’t just let them torture Neville! They can’t do to him what they did to his parents. They just can’t.”

Draco said nothing, since it was his own relatives that had performed the deed she referenced.

“You could go get him!” she said suddenly.

He stared at her, dumbfounded. “Are you mad? You want me to go on a suicide mission to rescue your friend Longbottom from a house full of Death Eaters? Do you think they’ll just let me walk in there and escort him out?”

“You could take me with you. The two of us might have a chance.” Her face was earnest, desperate, and pleading.

“I am not Harry Potter,” Draco said brutally. “I will not go rushing into the jaws of death and rely on ridiculous Gryffindor luck to pull us through by the thread of a robe. You are supposed to be intelligent! You know the two of us will never be able to take on the Lestranges, McNair, Mulciber the Devil, Lars, and the rest. And you know what will happen if Fenrir Greyback is there? He will tear out your tender throat and laugh while he does it. If you’re lucky, you’ll be dead when he’s through with you.”

Tears sparkled in her eyes and she glared at him.

“You’re afraid!” she accused.

“I’m realistic!” he snapped. “I know what they’re capable of and I don’t intend to throw my life away.”

“Is that the only reason you left them? To save your own bloody skin?” she yelled. Draco reacted as if slapped. He spun on a heel and marched down the stairs.

Stupid overemotional Gryffindor idiot! He would never understand the Gryffindor mentality. Even the smart ones thought nothing of barging willy-nilly into colossal peril, against insurmountable odds, just because they thought it was the proper thing to do.

He stalked outside and noticed the sun had set, tingeing the sky with red and gold. For a brief, ludicrous moment, he considered Apparating to Malfoy Manor. Not because she asked him to, but because… because it’s what Harry Potter would have done. His fist clenched tightly around his wand. Harry fricking Potter.

“Malfoy, wait!” she called behind him.

He halted and wondered what verbal torment she had for him, now. She grasped his arm and turned him to face her. He glowered at her and noticed her face looked like burnished gold in the twilight. Her hair glinted, halo-like.

“I’m sorry,” she said, to his astonishment. “I shouldn’t have asked you. This isn’t even your fight and here I am, trying to drag you into it. I forgot you would have to fight your own parents…”

Draco hadn’t. He knew he’d never have to fight his parents. No matter what lip service they paid to Voldemort, they would both die rather than harm Draco. He knew that to be true above all else. The thought made him suddenly wonder what they were doing. His mother was probably frantic, thinking him dead or captured by the enemy. He wished he could send her a message, but that would only put her in danger.

Hermione’s hand fell away. “I need to do something or I think I’ll go crazy,” she said.

“Fine. Let’s do something,” he suggested. “Let’s go to the Riddle house.”

“Go after the Horcrux?”

He nodded. “Probably still dangerous, but somewhat less likely to get us killed. Hopefully.”

She gnawed on her lip for a moment. “All right. I feel like I’m letting Neville down, though.”

“You’d be letting him down more by getting Avada Kedavraed. I’m sure your Order will think of something.”

“I hope so.”

“Come on,” he said, “I’ll take us through this time.”

She waited as he stepped close to her and reached out. He snaked his arm around her waist and pressed her fully against him. Her eyes were huge as she stared at him in surprise.

“You’re a little too trusting, aren’t you?” he asked and triggered the spell.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Mmmm...päris huvitav.

[Julia Darline Evans]

Uiiuii, siit juba köidab midagi

[Lissandra Sylvania]

The Order of the Phoenix and Death Eaters...

---

Chapter Eighteen – Plots and Counterplots

Harry was tired from his grueling day, as was Ron, so they turned in early. Harry found sleep impossible, however. Every time he closed his eyes, he would see the dead body of his father or the stricken face of Sirius Black.

He finally gave up and left Ron sleeping in the tower while he went down to sit in the Gryffindor common room. Hedwig had not returned and he wondered what Hermione was doing. It wasn’t like her to not even send a reply. He wondered if Devlin Whitehorn had turned out to be genuine.

Dobby suddenly appeared with a crack, nearly starting Harry out of his skin.

“Harry Potter, sir! The Order is coming to Hogwarts! Something has happened.”

“What has happened, Dobby?” he asked and tried to calm his racing pulse.

“Dobby does not know, Harry Potter. But, they are coming here to meet because the new members cannot enter the Order Headquarters. Jack Williamson sent word to Remus Lupin, but Dobby does not know the message.”

“Yes, well even if they are meeting here, it would be like them to exclude me and Ron. Thank you for telling me, Dobby.”

“Harry Potter asked Dobby to keep him informed and Dobby will do as Harry Potter requests above all else!”

“Let me know where they gather. I’ll wake Ron and we’ll be there.”

Harry sat back for a moment and considered. He was curious to see if Lupin would bother to notify him. They had been forthcoming with information while Harry was safely ensconced at Number 4, Privet Drive, but now that he was out where he might do something rash and dangerous… Well, they were just trying to protect him. Or so they would say.

He went back upstairs and dressed before prodding Ron.

“G’way, Mum!” Ron growled and smacked at Harry. “Have Fred and George do it!”

Harry shook him harder. “I’m not your mum, Ron. Wake up.”

Ron sat up, blinking.

“What’s the matter? Is it Hermione?”

Harry explained and Ron tugged his clothes on.

“Something must be up to bring them here at this hour.”

They waited tensely in the common room and Ron massacred Harry in a game of wizard’s chess.

“You’re not even paying attention!” Ron griped as his queen smashed Harry’s last knight.

Harry pushed his chair back.

“I know. Hopefully, they don’t plan to meet tomorrow, or next Thursday, or two weeks before school starts. Dobby wasn’t very specific.”

“You mean you assumed he meant tonight?”

Before Harry could admit to that stupidity, Dobby popped back into the room.

“Harry Potter, sir, they are here. Meeting in the Great Hall.”

“Thanks, Dobby,” Harry said and threw Ron a relieved glance. They were about to climb through the portrait hole when Lupin’s silver Patronus enveloped Harry. Lupin’s voice came to Harry as though from a great distance, an oddity unique to Patronus messaging.

Harry, the Order is meeting downstairs. We have news you need to hear. The mist dissipated.

“Well?” Ron asked.

“They actually told me to come down.”

“It’s bad news,” Ron said in trepidation. “They wouldn’t have bothered if it was routine.”

Harry wanted to believe otherwise, but he had a grim suspicion Ron was right. They hurried downstairs and entered the Great Hall. It was strange to see the place so empty, and stranger still to see most of the Order of the Phoenix in one place. Harry waved at Kingsley Shacklebolt, Jack Williamson, Dedalus Diggle, and others he hadn’t seen in awhile. Dobby waved him to a saved seat.

“Harry, we have bad news,” Lupin said, cutting the greetings short. “Neville Longbottom has been captured and his grandmother nearly killed. She is at St. Mungos… and we don’t know where Neville has gone.”

Harry sat down hard at the news. Neville taken? How could he have been so stupid? As soon as the Death Eaters went after Luna, they should have warned the other members of Dumbledore’s Army, at least!

“We foolishly though they wouldn’t attack twice in one day,” Lupin said.

“Do we have any idea where Neville could be?”

Moody started to speak, but an elbow from Kingsley Shacklebolt silenced him, except for a muted grumbling. Harry noted the exchange and wondered what they were hiding.

“I don’t think it matters. It’s fairly clear they plan to use Neville as a decoy to draw you out, Harry. They’ll let us know where he is, soon enough.”

Harry felt sick. He could only imagine the hell Bellatrix Lestrange and the rest of the Death Eaters would put Neville through.

“We’ve got to do something!”

“All we can do is plan our strategy for when they request your presence. Now, we have a couple of ideas…”

Harry listened with half an ear, knowing any strategy they planned would likely be useless until they had more specific information. He noticed Tonks move surreptitiously down the table to sit next to Arthur Weasley. They chatted briefly and then Arthur grabbed parchment and began to draw what looked suspiciously like a map. He pointed out various points on his drawing and talked to Tonks in a low voice. She nodded several times and asked question.

Ron drew Harry’s attention when he asked, “Where’s Hermione?”

Harry had been wondering the same thing. Jack Williamson spoke up.

“She stayed at the Longbottom house to see if the Death Eaters left any evidence of where they might have taken Neville.” He chuckled. “At least, that was her story. I rather think she wanted to be alone with that handsome chap she was with.”

Ron’s eyes narrowed.

“What handsome chap? You mean Devlin Whitehorn?”

Jack laughed again and raised a brow at Ron. “Devlin Whitehorn? Not unless he has a son or grandson by the same name. Frankly, this lad looked too handsome to be Devlin’s kin.”

“What did he look like, exactly?” Harry asked, hardly able to believe Hermione would have abandoned them to for a handsome stranger. In fact, he could hardly even picture her with a handsome stranger.

“Tall, blond, slender. About your height, Harry. Sterling good looks. Ruddy familiar, too, although I can’t quite place the face… It’ll come to me.”

Harry said nothing. It would explain Hermione’s lack of communication, he supposed, although she’d better have a bloody good explanation. Ron was griping bitterly. Harry noticed Tonks slipping out of the room and wondered what she was up to. He was an expert at sneaking, and her movements definitely hinted at sneaking.

“Dobby, go keep an eye on Tonks,” he whispered. Dobby nodded gravely and disappeared.

Draco kept a tight grip on Hermione when she began to struggle in his arms. He spoke in a low voice next to her ear.

“Keep still or we’ll both be very dead.”

“Where are we?” Hermione whispered when he released her.

“My room. Welcome to Malfoy Manor.” As expected, his room was empty. At this hour, the Death Eaters had a tendency to hang out in the dining room or the drawing room, drinking firewhiskey and reminiscing about the bad old days.

Her eyes flashed at him suspiciously.

“What are we doing here?”

“I’m turning you over to the Dark Lord to get back into his good graces,” Draco said snidely. She glared at him, but had managed to catch the sarcasm, apparently. Draco smiled without amusement. “You said you wanted to get Longbottom back, so here we are in the jaws of death. I hope you’re happy.”

She inhaled sharply and distrust warred with hope in her eyes.

“Where is he?”

“In the basement, most likely. If he’s in the parlour, we’re out of luck.”

“Why?”

“You don’t want to know.” He walked to his wardrobe and pulled out a long, hooded black cloak. He handed it to her and grabbed another for himself. He had dozens. Black cloaks were pretty much the Malfoy signature outfit. “This won’t fool anyone, but a quick glance might not draw attention. Too bad we don’t have an Invisibility Cloak like your friend, Potter. Now, be quiet, follow my lead, and try not to get us killed,” he ordered and pulled the hood up to cover his too-bright hair.

He crept to the door and opened it. No one was in sight, so he walked straight across the hall to the door opposite, pointing at a board on the way and gesturing to Hermione not to step on it. She hurried to join him and he shut the door. He lit his wand to illuminate a small water closet.

“No one uses this because it’s broken,” he murmured. “The reason it’s broken is because it hides this.” He cast a quick spell and a section of wall opened up to reveal a staircase leading downward. Intimate knowledge: the benefit of breaking into your own house. “I’ve marked the ones that squeak, so don’t tread on them. Be bloody silent; we pass close to the kitchen and it’s usually occupied.” Hermione nodded intently. Nothing was visible beneath her black hood except a couple of curls and her chin. He sighed and tucked the wayward curls inside her cloak. She raised her face to look at him curiously; her eyes looked huge in the gloom.

They crept down the stairs and he sealed the portal behind them. Draco’s wand provided a mere hint of dim light. Several steps were marked with a reddish glow and he carefully stepped over those. He bypassed the concealed door that led outside and continued downward to the basement.

He listened carefully for long moments before he readied a spell and opened the door. On the basement side, it was a blank wall panel and it slipped aside noiselessly. Draco’s spell winged across the room and caught McNair completely unaware. The Death Eater and the chair he’d been sitting in toppled over sideways. Luckily, the imported Persian carpet muffled the thump. Across from McNair’s fallen chair slumped Neville Longbottom. He had been bound hand and foot to a hard wooden chair and his chin rested upon his chest. He was either unconscious or dead. Hermione bustled by Draco and rushed to Neville’s side.

Draco, much more cautious, made certain no other Death Eaters had been assigned to guard Longbottom. He pushed his hood back a bit to allow better vision. He noted with disgust that McNair had been eating crisps. Large crumbs littered the expensive carpet. Uncouth lout.

A crack warned them of Apparition and Hermione straightened to face the danger. Bellatrix Lestrange stared at Draco in surprise. In the blink of an eye, she raised her wand and sent a paralyzing spell at Draco. Though he’d been expecting it, his Protego was infinitesimally too slow.

“We’re dead,” he thought just before Hermione’s spell caught Bellatrix, who was suddenly as frozen as Draco. He couldn’t move a muscle and watched in amazement as a house-elf stepped out from behind Bella’s robes. He thought it was Kreacher for a moment.

“Hermione Granger!” Dobby cried in a loud whisper. “What are you doing here?”

Draco watched Hermione step back in shock and raise her wand in warning.

“Dobby? What are you doing with Bellatrix Lestrange?”

“Dobby is following Harry Potter’s orders. Dobby is keeping an eye on Tonks, who came to rescue Neville Longbottom. Hermione Granger, you have hexed Tonks, not Bellatrix Lestrange.”

He gestured frantically at Bella. Draco had no idea what his former house-elf was babbling about, but apparently Hermione did. She sent a counterspell at Bellatrix, who sagged in relief, a very un-Bella-like gesture.

“Wotcher, Hermione,” she said with a weak laugh. The voice didn’t belong to Bellatrix, either, and Draco finally got it. Polyjuice Potion, no doubt. Granger flicked her wand at Draco and he could move again, thankfully. He glared at Bellatrix/Tonks and hurried over to make sure McNair was out of action.

“Isn’t that Draco—“ Tonks began, but Hermione cut her off. Draco yanked his hood back down with a curse. He hadn’t planned to be recognized. By either side.

“I’ll explain later,” Hermione said. “We’ve got to get Neville out of here.”

McNair was out cold. Hermione released the ropes that bound Longbottom to the chair. His face was swollen and bloody. His clothing was torn and showed red in some places. Hermione gripped him tightly as he sagged out of the chair. Tonks ran to help her. A crack announced the arrival of a newcomer and Draco leveled his wand at the sound. This time he did not hesitate. The binding curse flew toward the subject, but was deflected in a heartbeat.

“You!” Dobby hissed. He flew at Kreacher and they both disappeared with a loud bang. Draco swore.

“We’re about to have company!” Sooner than expected, as it turned out. The basement door opened and a Death Eater rushed into view. Hermione was struggling to lift Neville. Tonks leveled a Stupefy at the Death Eater—Nott, Draco noted. A crack sounded next to Neville’s chair and a jet of light caught Hermione, who collapsed under Neville’s weight. Draco retaliated with a stunning spell and wondered what Crabbe had used to take down Hermione. At the same time Tonks cast Impedimenta at Nott’s replacement on the stairs. She missed.

“Stop holding back!” Draco hissed and let fly with a gale force wind that slammed the Death Eater back up the stairs. He thought it was Lars. “Take Longbottom and get out of here!”

Draco hoisted Neville with one hand and flung him at Tonks, and then bent down and scooped up Hermione’s limp form. He Accioed her wand just as three more Death Eaters materialized.

“Thanks, cousin,” Tonks called as she disappeared.

Draco Disapparated.

He sank to his knees in Hermione’s bedroom, drenched with sweat. He could scarcely believe they had made it out alive. Maybe there was something to the vaunted Gryffindor luck. He still held Hermione and her head lolled back against his arm. He felt for a pulse. It was weak, but identifiable. He cast Finite Incantatum to counter whatever spell had been used on her, but she didn’t awaken. Draco set her on the floor and stood up. He was completely exhausted. What a bloody long day. The raid on the Lovegoods, the jaunt to and from Dover, the trip to Longbottoms, and finally the rescue. God knew how many times Granger had Apparated. Probably at least six more than the recommended daily maximum.

He pulled back the covers on her bed and then unfastened the cloak from around her neck. It fell away and he lifted her again. He set her on the bed and unlaced her trainers. He tossed them aside, followed by her socks. About to pull the covers over her, he hesitated, looking at her jeans. Draco hated sleeping in trousers—it was stifling and bloody uncomfortable. She’d thank him in the morning for removing them. He grinned. Well, probably not. She’d more likely hex him into oblivion, which decided him.

He levitated her slightly off the bed and unfastened her jeans. He slowly worked them down until they were loose enough to grab by the ankles and slide from her legs. The process was more difficult than it looked. He’d never undressed an unconscious woman, before. Now he knew how Crabbe and Goyle must feel. He chuckled at his wit, but his amusement was stifled as his eyes examined what he’d uncovered. Hermione had nice legs. His eyes roved slowly from her ankles up her slender limbs and he sucked in an amazed breath. Rather than the demure, sensible white panties he’d expected, she wore red silk knickers trimmed in lace. His brows raised sharply in wonder.

“Full of surprises, aren’t we, Granger?” he murmured. He immediately abandoned the briefly entertained notion of removing her shirt. His thoughts were already treading down a dangerous path without adding fuel to the fire. He allowed himself one more approving gaze, knowing it would likely be the last time he’d see her in this state.

He released the spell, dropping her back to the bed, and quickly dragged the covers over her. He sighed, glad that task was done. He looked around, but saw no suitable place to sleep in her room. Malfoys never slept on the floor. He had no intention of sleeping without a warning system. He would have slept in another part of the house, but knew he didn’t have enough energy to ward the entire house. There was no help for it. He reached under the blankets and roughly shoved Hermione to the far side of the bed. He tucked her wand under her pillow and then removed his clothing down to his silk boxers.

He cast a quick warding spell around the room and slid into the bed next to Granger, taking care that no part of her was touching him. If anyone approached this room, he’d be awakened instantly. He slid his wand under his pillow and in seconds was sound asleep.

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Horcrux search.

---

Chapter Nineteen – Trains and Dust

Hermione awoke feeling deliciously warm and content. She dreamed that someone was curled next to her, cradling her in sensual heat. One muscular arm was thrown across her waist and her hand rested gently atop his. She sighed, believing she could almost feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against her back and the soft whisper of his breath upon her hair.

Her eyes snapped open. It was no dream!

She instantly recognized the wallpaper that she’d viewed thousands of times and was somewhat relieved to find herself in her own bed, but it was difficult to accept that she wasn’t alone. A horrifying suspicion crept over her and she ever so carefully tried to move herself away from the man holding her so intimately. His arm slid across her waist centimeter by centimeter and she began to hope she could free herself without awakening him. Then she was halted by her hair. Bloody hell, he was laying on it!

Her movement must have stirred him, for he thankfully rolled over and she was free. She sat up and scooted away before turning to view her bed partner. Draco Malfoy. She was both relieved and mortified. What the hell was he doing in her bed? And where were her jeans? Was she under an Imperius Curse the night before? Her last memory was of trying to stand under Neville’s dead weight, and then Death Eaters Apparating…

She looked at Draco’s platinum hair tousled across her pillow and nearly rubbed her eyes at the incongruity of the image. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined him in her bed!

She quietly scrambled to the foot and climbed off the bed, praying he didn’t awaken. Hermione glanced at him as she grabbed her dressing gown from the hook on the back of the door. She shrugged it on and wondered again what had happened the previous night. Almost, she woke Malfoy to ask him, but she was utterly unwilling to face his penetrating silver eyes and knowing smirk at the moment.

She needed to contact Tonks. Where was her wand? She checked around the bed and thankfully spotted the tip poking out from under her vacated pillow. d**n. She carefully reached across Draco to grasp the wand. She straightened and stepped back. Unwillingly, she looked at him. The blankets were bunched around his waist, leaving his upper torso bare. She noticed the hair on his chest was so pale it was nearly invisible. His skin really was flawless and she remembered the satisfying feel of his body pressed against hers…

She quickly yanked some clothing out of her drawers and fled. She ran downstairs, feeling as though she’d entered an alternate dimension. Everything seemed strange and disorienting. She had only spent one day in Draco’s constant presence and her emotions had gone from one extreme to the other where he was concerned. She had gotten used to him as a source of steady and unchanging irritation. Now, she couldn’t predict what he would do from one moment to the next. What had possessed him to go after Neville, after his determined speech vowing to do the opposite?

A flutter across the lounge caught her eye and she saw Hedwig land in the open window. Goodness, she had never replied to Harry! She felt instantly guilty.

“Wait awhile longer, Hedwig,” she said. She cast the first part of the Patronus spell and crafted a message to Tonks. She hoped they had made it out of Malfoy Manor in one piece.

How is Neville? Where are you? Is there any news? I’m fine, by the way, and safe for the moment.

She finished the spell and retreated to the kitchen to put on a kettle of water. She prepared a strong cup of tea and waited for a reply. Thankfully, it didn’t take long.

We’re at St. Mungos. Neville is still unconscious, as is Augusta. I’m fine, except that Remus is not speaking to me. I didn’t mention your friend in my report.

St. Mungos. Thank God. Tonks and Neville had gotten out. And Malfoy had pulled her out. She jotted a quick message to Harry and sent Hedwig away. She took a hot shower, dressed, and returned to the kitchen to start breakfast, welcoming the chore to take her mind off the person sleeping in her bed. It worked nicely until that person walked into the kitchen wearing only his black trousers and looking like a disheveled Greek god. She felt her pulse skyrocket and knew it was going to be a long day.

Draco woke the instant Hermione stirred. He was astonished to find himself snugly wrapped around her and wasn’t certain how to gracefully untangle himself. He heard her sigh softly and was thankful she was still asleep. Her legs were pressed against the length of his and her silk-clad buttocks rested firmly in his lap, a fact he became cognizant of with a jolt. His face was nestled in her hair and he recognized the scent, suddenly. She smelled like apples. He was surprised at how perfectly she fit into the curve of his body; as if she’d been made for that purpose. Unable to move without waking her, he relaxed and enjoyed the feel of her snuggled against him, figuring he might as well bask in the calm before the storm.

He knew the exact instant her eyes opened. In less than a heartbeat, she was taut as a bow string. He was amused at her distress as he imagined the thoughts spinning through her mind. The amusement lasted only until she started to move. The minute caress of her satiny skin set his nerve endings on fire. He realized his body didn’t care that she was Muggle-born. It only knew she was female, soft, warm, and in precisely the right position. It was too much to bear. Before she noticed the increased pace of his heart rate and the stirring of another part of his anatomy, he stretched and rolled away from her, feigning sleep.

She scampered off the bed like a frightened kitten. He watched through his lashes as she snatched on her dressing gown and then leaned across him to retrieve her wand. He almost smiled at the effort he put into not touching him. He closed his eyes while she snatched up clothing and departed.

When she was gone, he rolled onto his back and propped his hands behind his head. “I slept with Hermione Granger,” he mused. Two days ago, the thought would have horrified him. Now it was troubling, but definitely not horrifying. Potter and Weasley would blow their tops—not that Granger would ever divulge that tidbit of knowledge to them. But, Draco would. In fact, he marveled that he hadn’t thought of it before. It would be excellent revenge on Potter. She would be putty in Draco’s hands, if he put his mind to it. He wondered if Potter or the Weasel had ever seen her in the state of undress Draco had… Probably not. The idiots didn’t seem to notice what was right under their noses.

He heard her moving about downstairs, and then water running. He dozed until he smelled food cooking and figured it was time to rise. He slid out of bed and tugged his trousers on, wishing he’d thought to grab some clothing from his room the night before.

He wandered into the kitchen to see the table laden with an enormous amount of food. Hermione stared at him for a long moment, looking wary and nervous. He smiled carefully, allowing no hint of a smirk to cross his features, for once.

“Are we entertaining the Ministry of Magic this morning? Or a Muggle army?” he asked. She seemed to shake herself.

“I… thought you might be hungry,” she said lamely.

“I am,” he admitted. He sat down at the table and helped himself to bacon, sausages, scones with jam, eggs and potatoes, fruit with clotted cream, and plenty of hot tea. She nibbled and watched him carefully while he ate with gusto. He knew there were questions she wanted to ask him, but she made no comment. Likely because the answers were all obvious. Yes, he had Apparated them here. Yes, he had undressed her. Yes, he had climbed into bed with her. Yes, he had wrapped himself around her as they slept. Yes, he would do it again, and yes, he was thinking about carrying her upstairs right now and finishing what he could have started this morning… He coughed and took a large gulp of tea.

“You made all of this without magic?” he asked, dragging his mind to a safer subject. She nodded and he was impressed in spite of himself. If he had to live without magic for a week, he’d likely starve to death. When he was finished, he sat back with a satisfied sigh.

“Well, Granger, what’s the plan for today? Any more of your minions need rescuing?”

She scowled. “They’re not minions. We call them friends. As would you, if you had any.”

“From what I’ve seen, friends are rather a headache. They seem to get into quite a lot of trouble.”

She actually laughed. “So they do. But they tend to be worth it, in the long run. If you’re done eating, I’ll introduce you to a fabulous Muggle invention.”

“Red silk knickers?” he asked hopefully.

She blushed scarlet and seemed unable to find words for a moment.

“No,” she choked finally. “It’s called a shower.”

He chuckled and followed her upstairs. On the way, he caught another whiff of apple and reflected dryly that it would have been better if she smelled like coconut or strawberry, or some other scent he hated. It would have to be apple; his favorite.

In the bathroom, she turned on the water for him, showed him the controls, and pulled the curtain around the tub. She pointed out the towels and turned to leave. She halted in the doorway and looked at him seriously.

“Thank you for saving Neville,” she whispered. “And me. You were brilliant.”

She hurried out, leaving him bemused and strangely pleased. He tried to recall if anyone had ever before called him brilliant.

He had to admit, she was right about the shower. He’d have to mention it to his father if they managed to stop the Dark Lord from destroying everything on the planet. When he exited the bath, he spent some time in front of the mirror transfiguring his clothes—a chore he hated because it was difficult to get the fit exactly right. Although, he reflected, Hermione hadn’t had any trouble when she’d been changing his outfits in Dover…

He turned his black shirt grey, but left it silk, since it was easier to leave the base material as it was. The trousers he left alone. He pulled his boots on and went back downstairs to find her pouring over a book. He nodded approvingly. That was the Granger he was used to seeing.

“I thought we could go to the Riddle house, as we had planned yesterday,” she said. “I made some calls while you were in the shower and the simplest way to get to Little Hangleton is by train. We could Apparate blind, but I hate doing that in daylight. Too much chance of being spotted by Muggles, and we definitely don’t need Ministry involvement when we’re looking for Horcruxes. If we Apparate to King’s Cross Station in London, we’ll be able to catch the northbound Muggle train that leaves in twenty minutes.”

She was all business again, which was something of a relief. It would be easier to concentrate on their objective if she behaved like a human reference book.

The trip to Great Hangleton went as planned. The Muggle train ride was similar to every other train ride Draco had ever had, except the food and drink on the trolley was quite different. Hermione bought him a beverage called Coca Cola that could easily have become Draco’s favorite drink. It was sweet and bubbly and excellent. It disturbed him slightly to have discovered two worthy Muggle inventions in one day.

Hermione had transfigured his trousers into black jeans and his Death Eater robes/trench coat into a cream-colored jacket with a handy wand pocket. She wore darker blue jeans than the previous day and a button-up blouse of emerald green. It was an excellent color on her, although he tried not to notice that. She had partially covered the blouse with a white cardigan—also for wand storage, most likely, as it was shaping up to be a pleasantly warm day.

They walked from Great Hangleton to Little Hangleton, pretending to be tourists. Hermione had slung a camera around her neck to add to the disguise, in case locals happened to ask questions. The Riddle house was in a sorry state of disrepair. The plants were overgrown all around it and the roof looked to be collapsing on one corner. Several windows were broken and it had likely become a refuge for local hoodlums.

“Should we try the back door?” she asked, eyeing the place apprehensively.

“You tell me,” Draco said flippantly. “You Gryffindors are the experts at sneaking around and poking their noses where they don’t belong.”

“We are not!”

He looked at her pointedly. She ignored him and followed the overgrown path around the side of the house, pushing brambles and weeds aside as she went. The back door appeared locked, but a quick Alohomora fixed that. The door gaped opened with a rusty creak. Hermione looked at him somewhat nervously.

“Shall we?” she asked.

“After you,” he said brightly. Frankly, after raiding Voldemort’s headquarters to rescue a captured Gryffindor, he thought Horcrux hunting was a positive lark.

They walked from room to room in the dark, dust-covered, rickety house. The roof had leaked in several places, rotting floorboards and making their footing treacherous.

“What exactly are we looking for?” Draco asked, nudging aside the broken remains of a table. The house had apparently been stripped of everything valuable, but several broken or worthless items remained.

“I don’t know. If Voldemort hid a Horcrux here, we need to think like him in order to determine where he might have put it.”

“No problem. Think like a raving, psychotic, megalomaniac freak that recently returned from the dead.”

“Aside from the ‘recently returned from the dead’ portion, you should have no difficulty,” she said.

He aimed a light stinging hex at her buttocks. She yelped and then laughed.

“All right, I suppose you’re not quite raving.”

He raised his wand threateningly and she snatched the end of it to wrench it out of his hand. He didn’t let go and they had a playful tug-of-war that ended when he yanked the wand sharply, throwing her against him. He wrapped his other arm around her waist and squeezed.

“Stop tormenting me,” he warned, looking down into her upturned face. She had a smudge of dirt across one cheek and her hair was hopelessly tangled. She laughed and pressed the tip of her wand under his chin.

“I have six years of torment to make up for,” she said and tapped gently.

“I thought it was against the Gryffindor credo to hold a grudge,” he admonished.

“It’s my grudge and I shall hold it as long as I like.”

He grinned and squeezed her again. She gasped.

“You look like a ragamuffin,” he commented. It was true. A damnably attractive ragamuffin with her head thrown back and her eyes sparkling like that. He thought about kissing her.

“I won’t even tell you what you look like,” she said dryly. “Now, let me go. We’re here for a reason, remember?”

“You started it,” he breathed and began to lower his mouth to hers. They both froze at a crashing sound on the floor below. He released her with reluctance. She turned quickly and headed down to investigate the sound. He cursed softly and followed.

“Damned Gryffindor luck,” he muttered.

[Lana Marye Allen]

Üüüüü!!
Asi läheb huvitavaks, uut !

[Julia Darline Evans]

haha
osaliselt on naljakas
,,Damned Gryffindor luck," haha

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Tõsi Julia :D

---

Chapter Twenty - Horcrux

Harry stood at the top of Astronomy Tower and looked out over the Hogwarts landscape. Dawn was just tinting the sky. They had gone to bed quite late, but Harry had found himself unable to sleep for worry, so he rose early and went for a walk. He supposed he should go down and utilize the Pensieve, since he seemed unable to do anything else useful. He sighed as he recalled the last time he stood on this tower. It was such a short time ago, yet it seemed like forever. His arms rested on the very spot where Dumbledore had gone over the edge. Harry put his head in his hands. He had been right about Snape from the beginning. Now it had come to this. Helplessly waiting to come of age, sitting idly by while his friends were attacked. He had never felt more helpless in this senseless war that had begun before he was born, and yet seemed to hinge entirely on him.

He had always thought that when the time came, Dumbledore would tell him what to do—would stand beside Harry and guide him with the knowledge of how to defeat Voldemort. Now Harry had to face the grim reality that not only would Dumbledore not be standing beside him, but also the possibility that Dumbledore hadn’t known how to defeat Voldemort at all.

Maybe it had always been up to Harry. He looked out over the grounds, calm and lovely on this beautiful summer morning. It was difficult to believe a threat loomed on the horizon. He turned to leave when Dobby Apparated beside him. This time, Harry didn’t even jump.

“Harry Potter, sir! Mistress Tonks has rescued Neville Longbottom! He is at the wizard hospital.”

Harry was flabbergasted. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Harry Potter. I was with Mistress Tonks, as Harry Potter requested. Hermione Granger was there before us!”

“What? Hermione was there?”

“Yes, Harry Potter. Dobby does not know how she got there or why she was with very bad wizard—“

“How could she?” Harry burst out. “It’s one thing to go without us, but to not even send word?”

Dobby nodded. “And then Kreacher came.”

“Kreacher? Where did all this happen?”

“At the home of Dobby’s former wicked master.”

“Malfoys,” Harry breathed.

“Yes, Harry Potter.”

“That’s why Lupin wouldn’t tell me. Not that it would have done any good, since I don’t know where Malfoy Manor is.” He scowled. “But, how did Hermione know to go there? Did Tonks fetch her?”

“No, Harry Potter. Hermione Granger was there with—“

“Hedwig!” Harry’s owl landed on his arm and hooted softly. “Finally! Maybe now I’ll get some answers.”

Dobby sighed.

“Sometimes Harry Potter just doesn’t listen to Dobby.”

Harry tugged the message from Hedwig’s leg and opened it.

H – You’ve probably heard about last night’s adventure by now. I’ll tell you more in detail when I see you. I am well and I have a lead on one of the objects we discussed. I will check it out today and join you this afternoon. H

Harry scowled and stalked back to Gryffindor Tower.

“Look at this!” Harry snapped once Ron finished grumbling about a fellow not being able to get any bloody sleep with Harry around.

Ron read the message twice.

“So she’s off having fun without us? And no mention at all of Mr. Tall, Blond, and Sterling Good Looks. What the hell?”

“It’s Malfoy,” Harry snarled.

“What?”

“Who else could it be? Death Eater, our age, bloody handsome. Doesn’t bear a single mention from Hermione, with good reason! He’s Devlin Whitehorn. Even that! A Quidditch reference! Who else would think to use that name?”

“What could he want with her? Why would he send her a message about her parents? Why warn her?”

“It’s a trick. But she’s not stupid enough to fall for any of his lies.”

Ron nodded. “She hates him as much as we do. Maybe more. Well, probably not as much as me. But a lot.”

Harry agreed, but it worried him.

“She’s going to look for a Horcrux. d**n it, I told her how hard it was for me and Dumbledore to get the locket. She’d better not be going alone.”

“Well, if she’s going with Malfoy, maybe he’ll get poisoned this time.”

The thought cheered Harry immediately.

“You’re right! Maybe she’s using him like a mine canary.”

“Like a what?”

“A mine canary. Muggles dig deep holes in the ground to mine for precious stones. To see if the air is deadly, they lower down a caged canary. If it comes up dead, they know the air isn’t safe to breathe.”

“Malfoy. A mine canary,” Ron breathed. “It’s bloody brilliant.”

Harry grinned. “Yeah.”

With the happy thought of Malfoy’s imminent demise to cheer them, they went down to breakfast.

Hermione bolted down the stairs like a true Gryffindor, wand out and completely heedless of danger. Draco would have crept down cautiously, but supposed leaping into the fray had the advantage of surprising the enemy with sheer disbelief at the stupidity, if nothing else.

The crash had come from an area directly below where they had been standing, by which he deduced it was the former dining room. The only furniture left in the room was a broken sideboard, but Draco’s attention was immediately drawn to the huge fireplace on the outer wall. The windows in the room had been boarded up, so it was quite dark. Hermione had lit her wand and now she brightened it to illuminate the creature that stood where the fireplace grate should have been.

“Fawkes?” Hermione asked in disbelief. The phoenix flapped its golden wings and cocked its head at her.

“Isn’t that—?”

She nodded. “Dumbledore’s phoenix. I think it’s trying to help us.” Draco scoffed. Surely a stupid bird wouldn’t be able to do anything for them. Hermione shot him a look to let him know she wouldn’t appreciate his opinion. It was odd that the bird was here, he had to admit.

She went to the fireplace and murmured at the bird. Draco walked around the room cautiously.

“What’s the significance of this place, anyway?” he asked. “I mean, I know who Tom Riddle was—my father told me that much, at least.”

“This is the room where Voldemort killed his father,” Hermione said. “Grandparents, too, apparently.” Draco stopped walking with a grimace. Morbid thought, to know he might be standing where a dead body had lain. He edged over to the fireplace.

“Dumbledore said Voldemort made Horcruxes with items that were important to him—relics from the four Houses, his own diary, and things from his past. He also hid these objects in places that had meaning for him. Dumbledore found the ring in the former home of Voldemort’s mother. It was there not because he valued her, but because the connection to Salazar Slytherin was important to him.”

She was back to sounding like a history book, but she still had that smudge across her cheek…

“This place would be significant because it’s where he—in his twisted mind—triumphed over his Muggle father. You do know Voldemort is a half-blood, right?”

Draco made a face. “Yes, we’re forbidden to bring it up on pain of death. Most of the Death Eaters don’t know, but my father spent a long time researching the Dark Lord’s past. It pays to know who you’re working for.”

“Or against.”

“Exactly.”

The phoenix fluttered its wings again and Hermione nodded.

“Yes, Fawkes, I know the fireplace is important. I have an idea.” She raised her wand. “This spell is useless in the wizarding world, since nearly everything is magical or has been touched by it, but it should serve us here. It detects traces of magic.”

“Compera Navita.”

The fireplace glowed brightly with a reddish light.

“As expected.” Hermione walked to the center of the room, where a faint trace of green glowed.

“This is old magic,” she said. “This is likely the spot where the Riddles were killed.” She went back to the fireplace. “This is more recent, and still active. It must be a portal, but to where?”

“And how do we open it?”

“Pateo,” said Hermione and suddenly the floor of the fireplace dropped away, revealing a dark passage leading down. Fawkes flapped his wings and hopped into the room. “What do you know? Open. Sometimes the simplest ways are the best.”

“Sometimes the simplest ways are traps. That was far too easy.”

“I agree. He’s luring us down there, where the real fun begins.” She sighed and looked at Draco expectantly. “Shall we?”

“Hell no! Will you stop thinking like a Gryffindor for a minute?”

“I am a Gryffindor.”

“Well, I’m not. The Dark Lord obviously set this trap for barmy people like you that barge in the front door to face the danger head-on.” He walked toward the doorway leading to the kitchen. “Come on. Slytherins don’t use the front door, especially when they are wide open with a welcome sign hanging on the post.”

“Where are you going?”

“I thought you were the intelligent one. Where do you suppose that portal leads?”

She followed him to the kitchen, where he stopped before a blank wall.

“Okay, cast your magic perception spell here.”
She looked at him in puzzlement, but did so. To his satisfaction, the wall glowed with a purple light. Draco chuckled.

“As I suspected. This house has a basement. Voldemort removed the door.” Draco cast a vanishing spell and several boards disappeared to reveal a gaping passageway. Another purple glow met their eyes from below. “d**n. He also took out the stairs.”

“It looks like he planned for sneaky Slytherins, too,” Hermione said dryly.

“Bastard. I still say this is better that using the fireplace.”

“I actually agree with you. However, there might be a better way.”

She went back to the dining room. “Now, the basement likely encompasses the same area as the rest of the house. For certain, there is open space beneath this room.”

“So, we should break up the floor and drop down,” he suggested.
Draco lifted his wand, but she put out a hand to stop him.

“No! He would have thought of that. What would he do to prevent it?” She snapped her fingers. “A booby trap. But what kind? We need to get a look under there.”

She bent down and touched her wand to one of the hardwood floorboards. In moments, she had transfigured it into glass. Draco reluctantly admired her cleverness.

“Very nice. Now we have an excellent view of the darkness down there.”

She threw him a look and searched the floor until she found a small knothole. She poked her wand tip into it and cast another spell. Instantly, light shot from every crack in the floorboards, illuminating the room with golden rays.

Draco peered through the glass floorboard and whistled. It allowed him a limited view of the area directly below the fireplace. He could see a wall of knives hovering in the air, awaiting the first person to use the fireplace portal. Hermione joined him.

“Crude, but likely only a small taste of what is down there,” she said. “Let’s see what else awaits us.” She went back to the knothole and cast Compera Navita once more. The white light from below was joined by several multicolored glows.

Draco couldn’t make out many details, but Hermione tapped the glass board lightly.

“This is what I was afraid of. It makes our job quite a lot harder.”

Directly beneath the glass was a glowing web of yellow lines.

“What is it?” he asked.

“It’s like a Muggle alarm system. If we crack a board, it will break one of these lines and trigger the spell. I’m not sure what will happen, but you can bet it will be bad.”

Draco sighed.

“Any other bright ideas?”

She grinned at him. “I’m not finished, yet.”

Hermione turned the glass board back into wood and then carefully walked around the dining room turning various pieces of wood into glass and back again. She didn’t dare turn the whole floor at once—it would never hold the weight of the house above. At last she halted, directly in the center of the dim green glow.

“I should have checked here first,” she said soberly. Draco walked over to see. Beneath the glass board, he could see a small table draped with green velvet, upon which rested a golden cup. “Hufflepuff’s cup,” she murmured.

“That’s a Horcrux?”

Hermione nodded. “Now that we’ve found it, we have to figure out how to get it out of there.”

Draco thought about it for a moment. “Turn this board back into wood.”

She didn’t question him. When it was oak once more, Draco used his wand to vanish the nails holding it to the floor. Then he carefully levitated the board and set it down nearby. With the board missing, they could clearly see the webwork of magic that lined the ceiling of the basement. The largest gap between them was about ten centimeters. The cup itself radiated an orange glow, but the area around it was clear.

“Accio?” Draco asked Hermione. She shook her head.

“I doubt it will work, but feel free to try it.” He did, but the cup didn’t move.

“I have an idea. Since Voldemort hates all things Muggle, I doubt something this simple would have occurred to him. Wait here.”

She got up and ran out of the room. Before Draco had time to get bored, she was back with a long stick from the garden and a length of rope.

“This used to be a garden rake. It needs a bit of modification, but I think it will work.”

She was busy with her wand for the next few minutes, lengthening the stick and attaching the rope to it by various means.

“Voila. Just like a snake-catching stick. Rather fitting, I’d say. Be ready for anything,” she mentioned.

She tucked her wand into her back pocket and gently inserted the stick, now with a loop in the end, between two of the glowing yellow lines, being extremely careful not to touch them. Then she lowered the stick, bit by bit, down to the golden cup. Draco felt sweat begin to bead on his forehead.

“Now for the hard part,” she whispered.

Ever so carefully, she twisted the stick to maneuver the loop over the lip of the cup. The difficult part was keeping the stick itself from touching the warding lines. Or the cup. It seemed to take a dozen tries, but finally the loop dropped down over the lip. She let out a shaky breath in relief.

“All right, I’ll hold it here. You tug the end of the rope to tighten it.”

Draco pulled the rope by gentle degrees and watched as the loop grew taut about the cup.

“Okay,” Hermione breathed and took a better grip. “Here we go.”

She lifted the stick and they forgot to breathe as the cup rose, tipped, and swung freely in the air. They froze for the space of six heartbeats and then she started to pull the cup upward. Draco was amazed and started to think they might actually get out of the place unscathed. The cup drew closer and closer.

“Uh oh,” Hermione said.

“What?”

“The cup won’t fit through the gridlines.”

They both examined the problem while the cup hovered below them. It was maybe a centimeter too long. The stick shook slightly and Draco knew Hermione had to be getting tired from the strain of holding it steady.

“Do you think we can Disapparate?”

“No. Not with it still down there. We will go and it will drop.”

He sighed. “Wait here for just a bit.”

He sprang to his feet and hurried to the nearest boarded up window and began to Vanish the boards. Soon the window opening was bare. He placed his wand in a pocket and returned to Hermione.

“All right. Give me that thing.”

“What do you mean to do?”

He put his hands next to hers and held the stick. Her exhaustion was evident when she gratefully let go.

“Okay, now go outside,” he ordered.

“No! I’m not leaving you!”

“Why? Because you don’t trust me, or you don’t want me to get hurt?”

“Both,” she snapped.

“Fine! Then at least go and stand by the window. And get that stupid bird out of here.”

“Fawkes, you’d better go.”

The phoenix lifted off and sailed out the window gracefully. Hermione hadn’t moved.

“Stubborn little—“

“Don’t even say it.”

“On three, then,” Draco said. “One. Two. Three!” At the last word, he yanked the stick holding the Horcrux and flung himself toward the window. He felt hands grip his jacket and then he was tugged through the air at the same time a dreadful cracking, splintering noise filled his ears. His shin caught the window frame as he sailed through. He landed on his back in a bramble bush with a painful crash.

As he watched, the Riddle house broke apart and crashed in upon itself with a roar of shattered timber. A massive cloud of dust and debris billowed into the air. He shut his eyes as the cloud sprayed over him like a fine mist. Small bits of wood and plaster rained down on him. He opened his eyes and looked at Hermione, who lay next to him looking like a dusty ghost. A fine layer of dirt covered her completely and there were small pieces of debris caught in her curls.

“Brilliant of you to wear a white jumper,” he commented.

“Did we get it?” she asked, ignoring him.

The stick was still gripped in Draco’s hands. He lifted it and a glint of gold met his eyes as the cup flashed in the sunlight. Hermione cried out happily and threw her arms around him.

“I don’t believe it! We actually did it!”

He laughed. “That was sheer madness. You pulled us out, didn’t you?”

She sat back and flicked her wand. “Wingardium Leviosa. Simple.” She got to her feet and gave him a hand. They both looked at the cup dangling from the rope. Taking a breath, Draco reached out and grasped it. It felt cold to the touch, but otherwise seemed to be only a simple chalice. He sighed in relief, released the rope, and threw the stick aside.

“We’d better go,” Hermione warned. “That crash will draw Muggle attention.”

Draco nodded. She stepped close to him and reached up to touch his hair. She giggled.

“I never thought I’d see the day when Draco Malfoy was less than immaculate.”

“And you’ve progressed from ragamuffin to dirty vagrant,” he retorted with a grin.

“You’ll be punished for that one,” she warned.

“How to you propose to do that?”

“Like this.” She leaned into him, wrapped one arm around his neck and smiled up at him. “You see, we’re going to Hogwarts.”

Before he could register the thought, they Disapparated.

[Julia Darline Evans]

Mm
Mis nüüd siis saab? xD
Harry ja Ron annavad Dracole molli ? xD

[Lissandra Sylvania]

See ei ole välistatud

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Mis hakkab juhtuma, kui Hermione ja Draco Sigatüükasse jõuavad? Kes kakleb kellega ning kes suudleb keda?

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Chapter Twenty One - Speculation

They Apparated into Hogsmeade close to the Shrieking Shack where Harry had once pelted Draco with snowballs from the safety of his Invisibility Cloak. Draco wondered if she had chosen the spot merely for the bad memory.

He stepped out of her grasp immediately.

“Absolutely not. I am not going up there.”

“Why not? You’ve certainly proven yourself. If I no longer want to kill you, everyone else should have no problem accepting you.”

“Everyone else? I doubt that. Your friend Potter has despised me since the first moment we met.”

“Well… Harry’s a special case. But, he’s not unreasonable. I’ll talk to him. He’ll be fine,” she said placatingly.

“You’re quite a wretched liar,” he said. She flushed.

“You have to do this sooner or later. We can’t keep hiding out together forever.”

“Why not? I’m starting to like it,” he said snidely, twisting the words into a lie. Her eyes flashed.

“Well, I’m not. The Death Eaters could return at any time. My parents’ house is simply not safe, and now we have to dispose of that.” She gestured at the cup still clasped in Draco’s hand. “Since we have no idea how to accomplish it, we need Harry’s help.”

Draco sneered. “Yes, I’m quite sure The Chosen One will have no problem figuring that out.”

“You are not helping your cause with that attitude!”

“I don’t have a cause!”

“You most certainly do. After the past three days you can’t even pretend you don’t care. You do not want Voldemort to win any more than we do or you wouldn’t have taken so many chances.”

She stepped close to him and gripped his jacket in a fist as if to hold him in place. Her voice was soft and heartfelt.

“Look, Malfoy, you came to me and I know it had to be bloody hard for you. Maybe the hardest thing you’ve ever done. Can you look at me now and tell me you regret making that choice?”

He looked into her sincere brown eyes and her dirty face and tangled hair and tried to remember how he used to feel about her. The horrible little Know-It-All that had treated him like the lowest vermin was gone, replaced by this maddening, earnest, hopeful girl who looked at him with undeserved faith.

“You’re completely mad,” he whispered.

“We’re not talking about me.”

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you have complete confidence in me. I’m not worth your trust.”

“You’re quite an excellent liar,” she said dryly. “But, I can make my own decisions. Now, are you coming willingly, or shall I hex you and drag you there unconscious?”

The steel in her voice warned him that she was serious. He made one last effort to dissuade her.

“Can we at least return to Caerphilly and have one last shower?”

She laughed in surprise. “No. If you’re concerned about being dirty, I can fix that.” She tapped him with her wand and he felt the dust strip away from his flesh and hair.

“Ouch!”

“Infant. Here, I’ll do it, too.” She cast the spell on herself and an unseen force seemed to envelop her. The dirt disappeared and her hair crackled with cleanliness. Her jumper was sparkling white again. Draco was almost sorry to see the smudge on her cheek go.

“You’re right. That does sting.”

He set his jaw, but refrained from comment. “What do you plan to do with this?” He held up the golden cup and examined it. The engraved badger was as ugly as all the Hufflepuff crests he had ever seen. “Wretched, hideous thing. No wonder the Dark Lord hid it in a broken down shack. A badger. What a grotesque creature.”

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, snakes are ever so much more pleasant and cuddly.”

“I’m glad you recognize that.”

She conjured a leather pouch and held it open for Draco to tuck the cup inside. She slung the strap over her shoulder.

“By the way, no one knows anything about Horcruxes except you, me, Harry and Ron. We’d like to keep it that way.”

Draco’s brow raised and he tsked disapprovingly.

“Keeping secrets from the Order? How very un-Gryffindor-like.”

“Hush. Now come along. No more stalling.” She took his arm and towed him toward the path that led to the school.

“You can let go of me, you know.”

“No, I can’t. I don’t have the time to track you down if you disappear.”

He was surprised. “You would come after me?”

“Someone has to save you from yourself.”

He scowled. That wasn’t at all the answer he’d expected.

They walked until the Hogwarts’ gates came into view and then Hermione cast a Patronus. Draco watched the silver otter streak toward Hogwarts. Her Patronus was interesting. He wasn’t as surprised by it as he would have been a few days ago. He now knew a mischievous, playful person was hidden under all that bossy, overbearing intelligence.

When they reached the gates, they waited.

“What is your Patronus?” she asked curiously. Draco flushed. He hated his Patronus, which was why he seldom cast the spell. It was terribly embarrassing and there were other ways to deal with dementors.

“Never mind.”

“Why? Is it something horrible? Like a ferret?”

He glared at her. “Very funny. No. It is not a ferret.”

“Well, I thought you made a very cute ferret. I wanted to put you in a cage and take you to my room and feed you ferret treats.”

He groaned. “Oh, that would have been pleasant.”

She smiled broadly. Professor McGonagall was approaching. Draco drew back, but Hermione’s grip on his arm tightened.

“You’ll be fine,” she murmured.

“Miss Granger,” McGonagall said in surprise, gaping at Draco through the bars of the gate. She made no move to open it. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Malfoy has decided to join us in the war against Voldemort, Professor,” she stated briskly. “We already owe him a great debt.” Draco shut his eyes in a give-me-strength attitude at her words. Surely she could have done better than that?

“This is never going to work,” he murmured to Hermione. She kicked his ankle slightly and he winced. McGonagall’s sharp gaze narrowed at the exchange.

“What are you talking about? Are you under an Imperius Curse?”

The question seemed to strike Hermione as funny. She giggled and looked at Draco playfully.

“Am I? Can you even cast an Imperius Curse?”

“Of course I can,” he said hotly. “What kind of minion of the Dark Lord would I be if I couldn’t cast a simple Unforgivable?”

“Well, you never really were a minion of the Dark Lord, or you wouldn’t be here right now, would you?”

“A minor detail.”

“Miss Granger!” McGonagall burst out, snapping them out of their conversation.

“Sorry, Professor. You need to know that Draco was responsible for the rescue of Neville Longbottom last night. He also warned us of the attack on Luna Lovegood and my parents, in time to save them both.”

“You can prove this, of course?” McGonagall said dryly.

“Tonks can vouch for him,” Hermione said confidently.

“Tonks?”

“Feel free to ask her. We’ll wait.”

McGonagall seemed to be having a difficult time processing Hermione’s words, but the sight of Hermione clinging to Draco’s arm apparently decided her. She cast a Patronus that sped southward.

“Is there any news of Neville?” Hermione asked suddenly.

“He is awake and should recover. He was given the Cruciatus Curse repeatedly, but hopefully not enough to do permanent damage.” She glared at Draco. Guilty by association, he supposed.

“So, what possessed you to change sides, Mr. Malfoy?” she asked as though she thought it more likely that the sun would suddenly turn into a pink parasol. Draco shrugged.

“I was bored. All that torturing, killing, and groveling before the Dark Lord got old fairly quickly.”

Hermione elbowed him and gave him one of her patented looks of annoyance.

“Can you be serious?”

“No. And frankly, I’d rather not be here at all. McGonagall doesn’t want to let me in, I do not want to go in, so how about you just let me Disapparate and we will all be satisfied?”

“Absolutely not,” she said adamantly. Draco wanted to beat his head against the bars in frustration.

Tonks did better than send a reply. She Apparated. Her pink hair looked brilliant in the sunlight. She grinned at them brightly.

“Wotcher, Hermione. Cousin Draco,” she said.

“Nymphadora,” McGonagall said and Draco saw her wince at the name. “Is it true that Draco Malfoy assisted in the rescue of Neville Longbottom?”

Tonks nodded happily. “Yeah. He was brilliant. You should have seen him after Hermione was knocked out. Fought like a lion. Nice to see someone in the family has found some sense.”

Draco looked smugly at McGonagall and raised a single brow. Her expression didn’t change.

“Very well, Miss Granger. I shall hold you responsible for his behavior.”

Draco looked at Hermione as if pleased at the thought. She gave him a warning stare. McGonagall tapped the lock and it clicked open. The chain slithered through the bars and she pushed one gate open for them to enter. Draco felt suddenly claustrophobic. There was no easy way out of Hogwarts; he wanted to bolt for freedom. Only Hermione’s steadying presence and her unrelenting grip on his arm kept him from doing so. She pulled him through the gate.

The walk to the school felt like a march to the gallows. Hermione had the role of serene cleric, secure in the belief that Draco was going to a better place. McGonagall was like the judgmental victim, stoically waiting to see justice done. And Tonks was a curious bystander—unconcerned, but happy to watch events unfold. She babbled to McGonagall the entire way, mostly about trivial happenings at the Ministry.

They entered the Entrance Hall and Hermione finally released Draco. Tonks and McGonagall threw them a curious look, but ascended the staircase and left them alone.

“I’m going to find Harry. Do you want to go to the Slytherin common room and settle in?”

“No, I don’t think so. I’ll go with you.”

She looked concerned.

“That might not be the best idea. I should talk to them, first.”

“I refuse to hide behind your skirts,” he said coldly.

“I’m not wearing a skirt.”

“Lead on, Granger. Let’s see if your precious Potter is as understanding as you think he is.”

“Must you always be so difficult?”

“Is there another way?”

She threw her hands up. “Fine. Do everything the hard way.” She looked at him critically. “I like the trench coat, but it doesn’t look right here at Hogwarts.” Without asking permission, she transfigured his coat back into a black cloak, though not the Death Eater robes they had been originally. She turned her white jumper into a short cape of Gryffindor red.

It took them a surprisingly long time to find Potter and the Weasel. First they walked up to the seventh floor to find the Gryffindor opening barred because Hermione did not know the password. The ugly portrait informed her that no one was within.

They went next to the library, against Draco’s advice that Potter and Weasley wouldn’t be caught dead in a library unless Hermione dragged them there. He gave her a satisfied smirk when his prediction was validated.

“Try the kitchen,” Draco suggested. “Weasley seems to be inordinately fond of stuffing himself when the food is free.”

Hermione’s face went red and she turned on him. “We’ve been here less than a half hour and I’m already not liking you again!”

He grinned laconically. “Your lying hasn’t improved.”

“Oh, shut up!”

They were descending the central staircase when Harry and Ron exited the Great Hall. Hermione spotted them first.

“Harry!” she cried. She leaped down the last few stairs and flung herself at Potter’s neck. Draco watched Potter’s arms go around her and he felt his jaw clench slightly.

She released Harry and pounced on Weasley, who held her far too tightly and far too long. Potter caught sight of Draco, who hadn’t moved from his position on the steps. Harry’s wand was out and leveled in a heartbeat. Draco wondered if The Chosen One stood in front of the mirror and practiced wand brandishing. Draco left his own wand tucked into his cloak, knowing Mr. Gryffindor Nobility wouldn’t dare hex him while he was unarmed.

“What’s he doing here?” Weasley yelled. He had not removed his arm from around Hermione’s neck. Rather possessive gesture, Draco thought. To her credit, she shook off Weasley and hurried back up to stand next to Draco.

“Put your wand away, Harry,” she ordered. “Malfoy will be working with us from now on.”

“Fat chance!” Harry snapped, drowning whatever nasty comment had spilled from Weasley’s lips.

“I’ll give you the details later, but without his help, Luna would be lost, Neville would still be a prisoner and we would not have this.” She opened her pouch and held up Hufflepuff’s cup.

“Is that—?”

“A Horcrux, yes.”

“You told him?” Harry yelled. Draco reflected that her friends certainly bellowed a lot when they were upset. It must be a Gryffindor trait. Slytherins tended to go the opposite way and retreat into enraged hissing, baleful glares, and hateful get-even pranks. The Gryffindor way was louder, but quicker.

“He already knew!” Hermione shouted back, getting into the spirit.

“I’ll bet he did! He’s probably been sent to take them from us once we recover them!” Harry snarled.

“That’s ridiculous.” She dropped the cup back into the pouch and continued matter-of-factly, “Now, we all need to set aside our differences and work on the problem at hand, which is the destruction of this cup and the location of the other items.”

“Set aside our differences?” Ron bellowed. “Have you gone completely mental? Don’t you remember who was responsible for letting the Death Eaters into this school? It’s his fault Dumbledore is dead! He nearly killed Katie Bell, he nearly killed me, and he got Bill mauled by that demented werewolf!”

Draco grinned and wondered how Granger would counter that one. Potter was nodding like a china doll with a broken neck. Hermione rose to the challenge.

“He only did those things to save his parents. If you were in that situation, Ronald, you might have done the same!”

Weasley’s eyes were cold. “No, I really don’t think I would. And I can’t believe you’re defending him!”

Potter spoke up in a scathing tone. “Don’t you have anything to say for yourself, Malfoy? Going to let Hermione do all the talking for you?”

Draco smiled coldly, but his blood boiled at the very idea of explaining himself to Potter. He managed to keep his voice even.

“She likes to talk, as you may have noticed. Frankly, I don’t give a fucking d**n about your opinion, Potter. I don’t owe you any explanations and I have no intention of trotting out my actions for your narrow-minded, judgmental, Gryffindor perusal. You’ve made up your mind about me and I have definitely made up my mind about you, so let’s acknowledge our mutual hatred and move on to the task at hand. The sooner we destroy the Dark Lord’s trinkets, the sooner you and he can get on with the job of eradicating each other and the sooner the rest of us can get back to our lives.”

Potter’s green eyes fairly sparkled with rage. Weasley couldn’t even speak and his face was so red his freckles were invisible.

“Was that absolutely necessary?” Hermione hissed. Her voice was heavy with reproach. Draco was suddenly sick to death of Gryffindors. Hermione and her bloody ideals! What had she expected? That he, Potter, and Weasley would embrace like brothers? He decided to spoil her naiveté.

“Yes, I think it was,” he said icily. “But, thank you for trying.”

With that, he reached out and slung an arm around her waist. He pulled her tightly against him and then leaned down to plant a kiss on her astonished mouth. He took his time about it, figuring he might as well die for a pound as a penny. Intending to chastise her, he tasted her lingeringly, letting his tongue glide over her lips in exquisite torment. His senses were suddenly overcome with the feel, scent, and taste of her. His own pulse quickened, which was not at all what he’d intended.

She was too stiff with shock to respond. Of all the risks he’d taken in the past few days, kissing Hermione Granger with a wand in her hand in full view of her two protectors ranked quite high up on the list.

He nibbled her bottom lip with his teeth, wishing the moment didn’t have to end so soon, and then released her and stepped back. Her eyes had an incredulous, glazed look and she barely seemed to be breathing. He felt a bit dazed himself.

“You know where I’ll be,” he said dryly and stepped lightly down the stairs.

The horrified stasis that held Potter and Weasley was broken by Ron’s cry of pure rage.

“You bastard!”

Draco didn’t pause, although he flicked a glance at Weasley. To his amusement, Potter reached out and grabbed Ron’s arm before he could level a crazed spell at Draco.

“Better keep your pet on a leash, Potter,” he said as he passed them. “He’s liable to get hurt.” He chuckled slightly as he took the stairs to the Slytherin dungeon and left the Gryffindors behind. Hermione was likely to hate him again after that display and Draco was both relieved and disappointed by the notion. It was back to status quo: Draco against the Gryffindor trio. He sighed. Bloody hell. Kissing her had been far better than he’d imagined…

Hermione was too shocked to move. Draco’s kiss was intense—searching, teasing, and altogether electrifying. In the space of two heartbeats she felt so weak she could barely stand and every coherent thought was overwhelmed by the feel of him pressed hard against her and taste of him upon her mouth.

She nearly staggered when he released her to sweep down the stairs without a backward glance. She stared after him in bemusement as he stalked past Ron and Harry. She vaguely noticed Ron leap at Draco, to be stopped by Harry. Her eyes followed his platinum head as it disappeared above a billow of black cloak.

Only when her gaze drifted back to meet Harry’s stormy emerald orbs did reality snap back into place. She felt a blush creep into her cheeks. Harry ascended the stairs until he stood next to her.

“I hope you have a bloody good explanation for that,” he said and walked away. Ron trailed after him and looked at her with angry disgust.

“Kissing Draco Malfoy?” he spat. “What the hell have you two been doing? Who the hell are you?” He stormed after Harry and she glanced at the dungeon entrance. At the moment, she would have much preferred to run after Draco than follow her two enraged companions.

Why had he kissed her? Merely to annoy Harry and Ron? Was there more to it than that? At the Riddle house, she had thought he was going to kiss her, but the moment passed and she was certain she had imagined it…

She sighed shakily and shook off her preoccupation with Malfoy. Hermione never knew what to expect from him, anyway. There could be a reason for his action or it could merely have been an impulsive amusement. She hurried after Harry and Ron. She caught up with them on the fifth floor while they waited for the staircase to shift.

“Look, I know this is hard. It’s going to be difficult for you to accept Malfoy—maybe even impossible, but we need all the help we can get,” Hermione said. “It wasn’t easy for me, either.”

“Really?” sneered Ron. “You didn’t seem to be fighting all that hard.”

“All he did was kiss me, Ronald! I suppose I should have turned him into a mongoose?” she snapped.

“Yes!” Ron yelled.

“Well, I’m certain he only did it to irritate you and look, it worked! We’ve been through hell in the past two days and I don’t think I’d have made it without his help, and Neville certainly wouldn’t have. I don’t expect you to think he’s changed, but there is more to Draco Malfoy than that annoying façade he constantly projects.”

“Tonks would have rescued Neville,” Harry said doggedly as he stepped onto the stair.

“Oh really? Right after Dobby and Kreacher disappeared? You think she could have taken on all the Death Eaters by herself? Even I was taken unawares. If Malfoy planned to betray us, he could have left us both there with Neville.”

“I don’t want to hear another word about Saint Malfoy!” Harry decided loudly. Ron nodded eager agreement.

“Fine!” she yelled. “Bury your head in the sand and don’t accept help where it’s offered! No one else is going to be able to tell us about the Death Eaters or what Voldemort might be doing next. Perhaps you should think about that instead of clinging to your childish hatred!”

She stormed away.

“Childish?” Harry exclaimed after her.

“I’ll be in the library if you two should care to grow up!” she called as a parting shot.

They arrived in the library some twenty minutes later. Hermione was nearly obscured behind a stack of dusty tomes.

“Find anything?” Harry asked sheepishly.

She shook her head. “Not a single reference to a Horcrux. I think I’m going to have to go back farther. Maybe the Runic Scrolls will have some mention of who invented them. It would give us somewhere to start, at least. If we knew how they were made, maybe we could determine how to destroy one.”

“I know how they are made. Well, not the spell, but the process. It’s created by a murder, so it isn’t like you can undo it.”

Hermione sighed. “No. Maybe it’s more like an exorcism—to release the soul trapped inside the object. If nothing else, we may have to apply the Mordor solution. I don’t see how that could fail.”

“What’s the Mordor solution?” Ron asked grudgingly.

“Throw it into a live volcano,” Harry replied.

“We don’t have a lot of those in England.”

“We don’t have a lot of those anywhere close by,” Hermione said. “So, hopefully, we can find a more viable solution. Let me try in the religious and clerical section. You two keep checking these. I’d rather save translating scrolls from Ancient Runic for a last resort.”

She headed back into the rows of shelves.

Draco became rapidly bored sitting in the Slytherin common room alone. He thought about contacting Hermione by coin, but wasn’t certain how she would react. He decided to go do some research on his own.

When he entered the library, he was somewhat annoyed to see Potter and Weasley already there. Weasley was lounging in a window seat, flipping through a large book that rested on his lap and looking as if he would rather be boiled in oil. Potter sat at a table, surrounded by books. Hermione was nowhere in sight, which was not a good sign. Perhaps she was more upset than he’d expected.

Harry said nothing, just looked at him through cool green eyes.

“Bugger off, Malfoy,” Ron said venomously.

Draco smiled lazily.

“Where’s Granger?” he asked simply to observe Ron’s reaction. It was better than expected.

“You leave her alone!” he yelled, tossing the book aside and leaping to his feet.

Draco tsked. “Don’t be surprised that she prefers me to you, Weasel. Have you looked in the mirror, lately? You’ve had six years to win her over, but I suppose you did your best. Only took me two days, but that’s to be expected, eh?”

“You’d better shut your face, Malfoy, before I shut it for you!”

Draco sighed. “Your threats haven’t improved, either. Still as empty as ever.”

“Did you just come here to be your usual unpleasant self, Malfoy?” Harry interjected. Draco’s gaze shifted to Potter, who looked surprisingly unperturbed.

“No. I wasn’t expecting company,” he admitted.

“Feel free to do what you came to do, then, and stop baiting Ron.”

“If you were looking for Hermione, she’s not here,” Ron interjected. “She’s most likely washing her mouth out with strong soap.”

Weasley’s retort was laughable. Draco decided to let the matter drop. For Hermione’s sake, he would even make a peace overture.

“Relax, Weasel. I only kissed her to get your dander up. You know I’d never sully myself with a Mudblood.”

He heard a gasp behind him and turned to see Hermione standing behind him with her arms laden with books. Her eyes were wide and horrified. Draco felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. Tears swam in her brown eyes and she slapped the books on the nearest table and fled into the library recesses.

Draco took two steps after her and stopped, conscious of her friends’ eyes upon him. Several choice curse words rolled through his mind. He had purposely tried to hurt her for six long years, yet he had cut her most deeply when he least intended to.

He forced a cold smile attainable only through years of habit and sat down before the stack of books. He ignored Potter and Weasley to crack open a tome. He turned page after page without seeing a word.

Hermione returned, marched past Draco without a glance, and sat down across from Harry. Ron hurried over to sit next to her.

“All right,” she said briskly. “Now that we’re all here, we can start coming up with some ideas.” Her voice was steady, but Draco caught the wounded undertone. She conjured a piece of parchment and a quill. “What do we know about Horcruxes? We’ll go down the list, starting with Who. The first Who, obviously, is Voldemort. I think we need to focus on the other Whos, such as those that know—or knew—about them. Professor Slughorn knew, as he gave Tom Riddle information, even though Voldemort had originally learned about them from another source. I don’t think we’ll ever learn that, but we may be able to determine where Slughorn learned of them. Was it something he read, some arcane knowledge passed down through his ancestors, or some other means? If it comes down to it, we may have to confront him.” She jotted down several notes.

“The next person of interest is Severus Snape. He seems to know about them, probably from Dumbledore, but possibly not. For all we know, Snape is the one who told Dumbledore. We’re not likely to find out which.”

Draco left off pretending to read and walked closer to the window to lounge in an overstuffed chair. He threw one leg over the arm of the chair and toyed idly with his wand. Hermione’s voice did not pause.

“The next Who is Regulus Black. He not only learned about Horcruxes, but he learned about Voldemort’s Horcruxes. Somehow, he managed to steal one. We have too many unanswered questions, here. How did he find out? He said he knew Voldemort’s secret, but why would that turn him from being a Death Eater? Sirius said he got in over his head and tried to back out—because of what he was being asked to do.”

“Wrong,” Draco said in a bored tone. Hermione hushed and three pairs of eyes turned to him. He twirled his wand, weaving it through his fingers in a blur. He shrugged. “Regulus was a typical Black, nasty, bloodthirsty and obsessed with fanatical pureblood idealism. Sirius was the aberration—which got him disowned.”

The others said nothing, although Ron had made a snorting sound at “pureblood idealism.” Draco went on. “Regulus had no qualms whatsoever about the dirty deeds the Dark Lord requested of him. I don’t think the Horcruxes would have bothered him overmuch, either. Actually, the nasty little secret that Regulus discovered was the fact that his fabulous new Lord and Master was Muggle-born. Regulus had been raised from birth with the idea that purebloods were royalty and everyone else was fodder. Can you imagine how horrified and betrayed he would have felt to find he’d sold his soul to one he believed to be unworthy scum? From what I hear, Mum Black would have Crucioed him at the very idea. You notice none of the other Blacks were standing in line to become Death Eaters? It was beneath their social circle to begin with. Regulus thumbed his nose at his family just to join up. It would have been unforgivable for them to discover the Dark Lord was a Mudblood. I think Regulus went a bit mad at the news and that is what set him down the path to destroy everything the Dark Lord stood for.”

“How do you know all this?” Harry asked.

“Regulus was my mother’s favorite cousin. They spent loads of time together. I think he was half in love with her, even though she was six years older and already dating my father. She was devastated when he disappeared, but she knew why. She said as young as he was, he was devilishly clever. He apparently invented more Dark Arts spells than his friend Severus Snape.”

“They were friends?” Hermione actually spoke. He took that as encouragement.

“As close as two egocentric, overachieving loners can get. Apparently, the main thing they had in common was a deep and abiding hatred for James Potter and Sirius Black.”

Harry was incredulous. “Regulus hated Sirius? His own brother?”

“You find that hard to believe? Regulus was the golden boy of the Black family, happily clinging to tradition and the Dark Arts. Sirius was the outcast, defiantly befriending werewolves and Muggle-borns, disregarding everything his family stood for. Regulus was two years younger. When he came to Hogwarts, Potter and his gang tormented him mercilessly. He embraced the Dark Arts partly in self-defense.”

“Where did he learn about Voldemort’s Horcruxes?”

Draco nodded. “I’ve been thinking about that and I have a theory. I think it likely that Bellatrix Lestrange spilled the beans.” He stopped twirling his wand and sat forward, warming to his subject at the novelty of having three Gryffindors intently hanging on his words. “Bella is the most rabid of the Dark Lord’s followers. To the point of insanity, as we all know. She prides herself in being the most loyal, most trusted, most favored. Now, picture young Regulus joining up—just as fanatical, at first, but by all accounts far more talented. Ruthless and creative—a combination the Dark Lord would recognize and cultivate. Bellatrix would have been furious. She was always jealous of Regulus, according to Mother. I believe the Dark Lord gave a Horcrux to Bella. Whether she was to hide it or guard it is anyone’s guess. She may not even have known what it was, other than the fact that it was precious to the Dark Lord. Bella, being overwhelmingly pleased at this sign of trust, probably hurried straight to Regulus to boast about her favored status. And Regulus, being quite a lot smarter than Bellatrix, would have known exactly what it was. As soon as he learned the Dark Lord’s dirty little secret, he would have made use of that knowledge.”

Hermione shook her head. “If he was so clever, how was he caught and killed so quickly?”

Draco sighed. “That always bothered me. I’ve never been convinced he was killed. If anyone could cheat death and fool the Dark Lord, it would have been Regulus Black.”

“But, wouldn’t he have come out of hiding once Voldemort disappeared?”

“Not if he was living like a king in Fiji. He may have chucked it all and fled. Hard to believe he would have left his adoring mum, but he was ruthless, so it’s possible. Or maybe he just slipped up and the Death Eaters caught him.”

“I wonder if there is any way to determine if he’s really dead,” Hermione mused. “Does anyone know where he was allegedly killed?”

“My parents and most of the Death Eaters. Unfortunately, they’re not exactly reachable at the moment,” Draco said.

“They would be if we had telephones,” Hermione snapped.

Draco grinned. At least she was still speaking to him… after a fashion.

“I would suggest checking old copies of The Daily Prophet, but I don’t think they wasted much space on dead Death Eaters.”

“We’ll check, anyway,” Hermione decided. “We might get lucky, for once. As far as I know, that exhausts our Whos. Next, we need to look at What. We already have the cup, the locket has disappeared, and we have no idea what Gryffindor and Ravenclaw items Voldemort may have used. Rather than waste time trying to figure out what we might be looking for, it may be better to concentrate on Where. Once we pinpoint a location, finding the actual Horcrux should be relatively simple. We got lucky with the cup, although we have no idea why Snape would help Malfoy find the thing—“

“He likes me,” Draco said modestly.

“That makes one person,” Ron sneered. “If you consider Snape to be a person, that is.” He chuckled to himself.

“And the other items were in places of significance to Voldemort. If we could discover places that had meaning to Tom Riddle…”

“The orphanage,” Harry said suddenly. “Dumbledore told me Riddle was raised in a Muggle orphanage. The cave he took children to in order to terrify them was the site of one Horcrux—why not the place where he first learned he was a wizard?”

“But, he hated it there. He despised his Muggle roots.”

“All the more reason to use it as a place to house his greatest triumph. I’ll ask McGonagall to… oh, I can’t. We’ll have to go through the old files ourselves. I’ll find out where the archived student records are kept and nick the address.”

“I’ll help you,” said Ron.

“All right. Where else?”

“Hogwarts, obviously. He’s obsessed with this place,” Draco said.

“I agree. We may have to enter the Chamber of Secrets.”

“Dumbledore was sure to have checked it thoroughly,” Harry said.

Ron shuddered. “Let’s save that for last. It’s horrible down there. Full of spiders.”

“We probably should have searched it long before now, but you’re right, Harry. Dumbledore was certain to have investigated it properly. Perhaps Voldemort intended the diary to be kept at Hogwarts all along. A book would not have gained much notice in a school. Malfoy’s father actually did us a favor with his nasty little prank, although it certainly didn’t seem like it at the time.”

Three accusatory sets of eyes fixed on Draco, who ignored them.

“I would suspect the Ministry of Magic, as well,” he said.

“The Ministry?” Harry sounded surprised.

“It would amuse him. Difficult for the Dark Lord to smuggle an item in, but his minions often have free run of the place. Either that or a simple Imperius Curse on a Ministry official.”

“We’d never find it there,” Ron said. “That place is full of weird items.”

“True, we’d have to know exactly what we were looking for. Even then, it would take us awhile. I might have to figure a way to contact my father and see if he knows anything. Too bad I didn’t have a chance to talk to him about these before I left.”

Draco was pensive for a moment. His mother was likely out of her mind with worry. He needed to send her a message. There was a way, although it was unpleasant and carried an element of risk.

Hermione continued, “I’m making a list of all the places Voldemort might have hidden one, regardless of how slim the chance. I hate to say it, but Godric’s Hollow is a likely location.”

Harry blanched. Hermione reached over and squeezed his hand gently.

“No need for you to go back there. Ron and I can handle it.”

Draco almost snorted. Ron could barely handle dressing himself. Her statement made it pointedly clear that Draco was not to be included in any of their plans. He’d have to correct that erroneous assumption.

When Hermione finished scratching on the parchment, she said, “That’s it for Where, unless we can think of any more places. The When doesn’t matter and we won’t have much luck with dates, anyway. We really don’t know when he made the Horcruxes, nor when he hid them. Ditto for How. That information seems to be rigidly buried. Lastly, we already know Why. Because he’s terrified of death and he’s utterly insane.”

She looked at the others.

“Where shall we start? Harry, has the Pensieve been any use?”

Harry flushed.

“I’m still working on it. Nothing useful, so far.”

Draco raised a brow at that. Harry had obviously left out volumes of information with that statement. Gryffindors were so transparent. Hermione didn’t seem to catch his omission.

“Well, then, I suggest you get back to that, as well as finding out where the student records are archived. I am starving, so I plan to get something to eat before I come back here and try to narrow down which locations are the most likely for us to begin searching. Ron, maybe you can find the archives while Harry is using the Pensieve. Malfoy… I really don’t care what you do.”

With that, she rolled up the parchment, got to her feet, and stalked out. Ron looked at Draco with a smug expression. Draco grinned maliciously.

“You have your orders, Gryffindors! Snap to it!” He snapped his fingers with emphasis. “While you’re busy, I plan to relax here and catch up on my sleep. Enjoy your afternoon.”

Draco lounged in the chair with an expression of contentment. He shut his eyes and listened to Harry and Ron muttering as they stomped out. He chuckled in satisfaction. Now… what was he to do about Hermione Granger?