Draco: Phoenix Rising

[Julia Darline Evans]

Next please

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Draco and Ron. What more can you say?

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Chapter Twenty Two - Happy Potions and How to Make Them

Draco waited long enough to make certain Potter and Weasley wouldn’t return and then he headed downstairs. He caught Hermione as she exited the fruit painting that led to the kitchens. She stared at him in surprise for a moment and then her eyes narrowed.

“I decided I’m not that hungry, after all,” she said casually. “I’m going to visit Hagrid.”

Draco shook his head in puzzlement. He would never understand the trio’s affinity for that freakish, half-giant monster.

“I need to talk to you,” he said. Her expression instantly chilled.

“What for? I don’t want you to taint yourself by being in such close proximity to a loathsome Mudblood.”

Draco winced. She really was angry. Hermione stepped around him and started for the front doors. He turned and went after her.

“Look, I only said that to Weasley for your sake.”

She stopped and turned to glare at him.

“For my sake. Please tell me how spiteful slurs uttered behind my back are to my benefit.”

“I was trying to calm the Weasel. He was practically frothing at the mouth.”

“A state you likely contributed to put him in.”

True, but he wasn’t putting that weapon on the table.

“Regardless. I only said what I did to appease Weasley.” He paused and suddenly realized that he couldn’t recall the last time he’d apologized to anyone, for anything. It had likely been years. He continued lamely, “I didn’t mean it. I don’t… think of you that way any longer.”

Her icy expression didn’t change. “We’ve already established that you’re an excellent liar. You need not remind me.”

She turned and pushed her way out the doors. Draco flushed angrily. Stubborn wench!

He caught her at the foot of the steps outside. Afternoon shadows were lengthening about the grounds and a wicked breeze had sprung up. Clouds billowed on the horizon, promising more rain. Draco’s hand closed on Hermione’s arm. She glared at him and tore her arm out of his grasp.

“Don’t you ever touch me again!” she snarled. Her hair, caught by the wind, twisted across her face in wild strands. “I don’t want you to sully yourself!”

“I already said I didn’t mean that!” he yelled, incensed.

“You’ve called me a Mudblood a hundred thousand times since we started at this school!” she shouted back. “How could you suddenly not mean it? You’re a bloody pureblood and that will always be important to you. I was an idiot to believe you had changed! In two days? What was I thinking?”

She headed down the path again, walking so quickly that she was nearly running. Draco tore a hand through his hair. He’d never been faced with such obstinacy. He pulled out his wand and sent a spell flying after her. A nearby bush reached out and snatched at her cape, dragging her to a halt. She glared at him as he approached. Her hands busily attacked the offending branches, trying to break their grip.

“Why are you following me?” she demanded.

“I want you to listen,” Draco snapped.

“Why?”

“I’m starting to wonder that, myself.”
Their stares matched ice for ice. The rising wind did nothing to cool Draco’s growing fury. His cape flapped about his legs and Hermione’s emerald blouse clung to every curve. Draco was suddenly at a loss for words. She was determined not to listen to him. He clenched his fists and wondered why he even bothered. What was she to him? A girl that had stupidly trusted him? How many of those had he devastated? Why did he care about her opinion, anyway?

He angrily sent a spell at the bush, freeing her.

“Forget it,” he said and set his jaw. “It’s not worth it.”

Draco turned and stalked back to the castle without looking back.

Hermione watched him go and felt a hard lump form in her throat. Almost, she ran after him, but what would that prove? That she was willing to be an idiot once more? That she could take one look at him and drown in those silver eyes? That she was foolish enough to believe in him simply because it was what she wanted? She pulled her cape tightly around herself, fighting the growing chill that came from within.

She watched Draco until the door slammed behind him as he entered the building. Why did he have to be such a puzzle? He was so bloody unpredictable and wrapped up in intricacies. Which Draco was the real one today? The one that kissed her? Or the one that called her Mudblood? The one that tried to apologize, or the one that stalked away like a wounded panther?

She turned and continued down the path to Hagrid’s hut, pushed along by the wind. Rather than knock on the door, she actually banged into it with both hands held out to stop herself.

The door opened and Hagrid filled the doorway.

“Hermione! I didn’t know you was here! Come in out o’ the wind! It’s gotten right nasty out there. Let me get you a nice cuppa.”

She sat down at the table and watched Hagrid bustle around near the fire. It was always somehow comforting to be in Hagrid’s cozy home, even though one never knew what terrifying creatures might lurk in every wooden crate. With that thought in mind, Hermione asked nervously, “Have you gotten any new… pets, lately?”

Hagrid sighed and set a gigantic steaming mug before her. She wondered if she would be able to pick it up with both hands.

“Naw, I haven’t felt much up ter gettin’ out, since…”

Hermione nodded. Hagrid’s expression was grim. She knew Dumbledore’s death had affected Hagrid more than anyone. Dumbledore had been more than a friend; he had practically become Hagrid’s father.

“But, Lupin’s been havin’ me do some stuff fer the Order. Ter keep me busy,” he said brightly. “I’m sure glad yeh come ter see me. I know Harry and Ron’s here, but they haven’t come down… mus’ be too busy…”

Hermione hastened to reassure him while mentally sending a sharp kick in Harry’s direction.

“He probably thinks you’re off on a mission for the Order. And he’s been using Dumbledore’s Pensieve to try and find some information on how to stop Vol—You-Know-Who.” She had weaned herself away from using Voldemort’s pseudonym, but it still bothered Hagrid to hear his name.

Hagrid nodded sadly. “Yer prob’ly righ’. I shoulda gone up ter see Harry. It’s just… every time I go ter the castle, I keep expectin’ ter see him comin’ down the stairs or standin’ in the Great Hall…”

Tears filled Hagrid’s eyes and Hermione impulsively stood to give him a hug. He enveloped her in his huge arms, being careful not to crush her, and sobbed a bit. After awhile, he pushed her away and coughed while wiping a fist across his eyes.

“Sorry ‘bout that. I should be movin’ on by now, yer think?”

Hermione dabbed the moisture from her own eyes with the edge of her cape and shook her head.

“Grief takes time, Hagrid, and I think you are dealing with it in a very healthy manner.”

He looked relieved as she sat down again. She felt worse than ever. If she had come to see Hagrid to cheer herself up, it had backfired miserably. She leaned forward and tipped her flagon slightly to take a noisy sip of tea. She shuddered delicately. It was certainly strong enough.

Hagrid sat down across from her and studied her critically.

“Yer look tired. Somethin’s botherin’ yah. What is it?”

She nodded and sighed.

“Isn’t it odd, Hagrid, how some people are so complicated? The simple people are so much easier to deal with. Look at Ron—he wears his heart on his sleeve; his every thought spills out of his mouth without a trace of guile; and his emotions are obvious in his every expression. You know he is kind, brave, loyal, and honest the minute you meet him.” She stood up and walked to the fireplace and back, unconsciously pacing. “And then there are the other kind. The people that say one thing and mean the exact opposite. The ones that tell the truth but make it sound like a lie, and tell lies that sound like concrete fact. The ones who hide every emotion so you never know what they’re actually feeling; the one’s that twist a web of complexity about themselves so thick that if you try to follow a strand to the center you get tangled in another dozen along the way…”

Hagrid looked thoroughly confused.

“Who yer talkin’ about? Only one I know like that is Snape.” He spat the name. “Never did understand why Dumbledore thought he was so good. Mind you, he never did nothin’ ter me except give me that look he had—yah know the one, like we was dirt under his feet… but he did that ter everyone.”

Hermione nodded. “Yeah. He had plenty to hide, didn’t he? He needed a complicated web of defenses to hide his true nature and motives.” She nibbled on a fingernail. And yet, Snape was helping Draco find the Horcruxes. Even now, his intentions were unclear. Was Draco the same? What was his true nature? The cold, vicious Slytherin who stalked through the halls and snarled evil comments and lashed out at everyone before they could even consider doing the same to him? Or was it the calm, competent Draco that had taken the Horcrux stick from her tired hands and ordered her out of the Riddle house for her own safety? He was so different away… from… here… She gasped suddenly.

“How could I have been so stupid? Thank you for the tea, Hagrid, but I’ve got to go!”

She would have rushed out, but the door refused to budge. Hagrid got up and forced the door open against the wind. She pushed her way out into the gale and walked with difficulty back to the castle. Her cape flapped like a flag behind her and she had to tightly grip the clasp to keep it from choking her. It was going to be a devil of a storm when the rain arrived.

She had to use magic to get the castle doors open and she breathed a sigh of relief when they slammed behind her. She tried to smooth her hair and found it tangled far beyond what a pair of hands could repair. She would find Draco… just as soon as she did something about the snarled mess on her head.

Harry examined the rows of bottles left by Dumbledore, checking the labels carefully. He hoped none of the other memories would be as intense as the last one he’d experienced. Harry lifted one from the stack.

“It looks like this one is next. ‘Albus and Severus, November, 1981,’ it says. Maybe we’ll finally learn why he trusted Snape.”

“We could have used that information about six years ago,” Ron said ruefully. He was sitting in the Headmaster’s chair—Headmistress’s, now—with his feet up on the desk.

“Yeah. See if you can find any record archives in here. With our luck, they’re down in Filch’s office.” Harry wrinkled his brow. “Speaking of Filch, have you seen him? I’m surprised we haven’t seen him and that stupid cat since we’ve been here. It’s been nice having Madam Pince gone from the library.”

“Maybe Filch actually takes a vacation.” Ron laughed.

“Sure, I can picture him touring the Tower of London,” Harry said.

“Probably has a photo album of all the different torture devices.”

“With notes on how to recreate them.”

They both laughed.

Harry lifted the bottle and carried it to the Pensieve.

“If McGonagall comes back, ask her about those archives.”

“What am I supposed to tell her if she asks why I want them?” Ron protested.

“Tell her the truth. We need to find out where Tom Riddle used to live. Hmmm, have to come up with a good reason for that, eh?” He snapped his fingers. “I know. Tell her Hermione is making a map of all the locations relevant to Tom Riddle for some theory she has regarding where Voldemort will strike next.”

“Brilliant. We won’t mention it to Hermione, though, or she’ll actually start it as a project,” Ron said.

“Well, you might want to mention it to her, just in case McGonagall asks her about it.”

“Right.”

Dumbledore’s portrait nodded approvingly.

“Wouldn’t it be simpler to just tell the Order about these stupid Horcruxes?” Ron asked. He pulled out his wand and tried to twiddle it through his fingers like Malfoy. It dropped on the ground.

“We can’t. Suppose one of them got captured by Voldemort or the Death Eaters? Our only advantage is that Voldemort doesn’t know that we know about them. If he knew that we knew, he would gather them up and guard them more thoroughly than they are now. If Malfoy and Hermione found Hufflepuff’s cup so quickly, Voldemort can’t suspect that we know about them. We have to keep it as quiet as possible.”

Ron sighed. “I suppose. Still, if Malfoy knows, it’s hard to believe others don’t.”

“Didn’t Hermione say that Snape told him?”

Ron snorted. “How many other people did Snape tell? Hey, didn’t Hermione leave that Horcrux in the library? I thought I saw the bag on the table…”

Harry winced. “You know, we really need to come up with a code name for the things.”

“How about You-Know-What?”

Harry shook his head. “Too cumbersome. That’s why I could never get into calling Voldemort You-Know-Who. Can you think of something simpler?”

“What did Malfoy call them? ‘Trinkets?’”

“That’ll work. Who would have thought Malfoy would be useful? I’d better go get that ‘Trinket’ from the library before it gets misplaced and we end up searching for it again. Plus, Hermione will kill us both if we lose it. I’ll be right back.”

Harry hurried down to the fourth floor and saw with relief that the black pouch still rested on the table near the books. He verified the cup was still nestled within and put the strap around his neck.

When he returned to the gargoyle statue, he saw that Malfoy lounged idly against the wall next to it.

“There you are, Potter. Good, I was afraid I’d be standing out here all afternoon. Did you find that address, yet?”

“The address to the Riddle orphanage? It’s only been fifteen minutes.”

“Well, hurry it up. I need some action.”

Harry muttered the password to the gargoyle, having no intention of giving it to Malfoy. It was “sugar quill” and Harry had been surprised to find McGonagall keeping Dumbledore’s habit of naming the password after sweets. The gargoyle leaped aside and the wall opened to reveal the staircase.

Harry snorted. “You won’t be going after the thing, anyway.”

He stepped onto the moving spiral stairs and Malfoy followed.

“Why not? In your eyes, I’m expendable. If I’m killed in the effort, so much the better for you. Only Granger’s cleverness kept us from running the gauntlet of traps at the Riddle house. I doubt we’ll be so lucky again.”

“Frankly, Malfoy, I’ll never trust you enough to send you after a Horcrux on your own. Get used to the idea.”

Ron’s head snapped up when he heard Harry’s words and saw the two of them exit the staircase.

“Fine. Weasley can come along and be my watchdog,” Malfoy said.

“I plan to go after the damned thing myself.”

Draco laughed incredulously. “And she keeps telling me you aren’t stupid. You’re underage. Do you plan to use no magic while retrieving it?”

Harry scowled. “As far as the Ministry knows, I’m still at the Dursleys. If I use magic anywhere else in Britain, they can’t possibly know about it.”

“I’m not so sure. The Ministry seems to be all in a dither about you. It wouldn’t surprise me if they attached a few extra tracking spells on you, just to be safe. That’s what I would do, but then, the Ministry isn’t exactly known for intelligence. After all, they hired Weasley’s dad.”

Harry’s gaze slid to Ron, but he was surprisingly unruffled.

“I’ve decided to ignore you from now on, Malfoy, just as I would any other vermin. Roaches, centipedes, Malfoys… they’re all the same.”

Harry grinned, a smile that widened when he saw Draco’s patented smirk slip just a bit. Malfoy shrugged.

“Good. It will be lot easier retrieving the Horcrux without you yapping and trying to hex me every five minutes.”

“You’re not going. And why would you take Ron? Why not Hermione? I thought you two were great pals after the Hufflepuff cup scenario.”

Draco’s gaze became positively glacial. Harry mused that grey was the perfect color for Malfoy’s eyes. Grey like winter fog, icy road slush, and frozen metal poles that tore your skin off if you touched them.

“I’m sure she will be more useful in the library,” he said blandly. Harry cocked a brow at him. Whenever Malfoy made a casual comment, there was generally a volume of unsaid information hiding beneath it. He wondered about Draco’s relationship with Hermione. What had they been doing the past few days? What was up with that kiss? Hermione certainly hadn’t seemed to mind it at the time. Harry had expected an enraged slap, followed by a shove down the stairs and a massive stinging hex. Instead, she had looked about to collapse from sheer bliss. And that scene in the library… Malfoy had called her Mudblood hundreds of times and earned nothing more than an absent sneer or a return insult. This time, the slur had cut her. Harry could tell. He grinned.

“She’s brassed off at you, isn’t she?”

Malfoy shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. How long before you have that address? Do I have to find it myself?”

“Feel free to look around. I’m going to take a jaunt in the Pensieve, if you’d care to wait.” He tossed the pouch with the cup in the window seat.

Malfoy shrugged. “I’ll search the office while you’re doing that. I doubt Weasley has gotten up the nerve to go through the desk drawers.”

Ron flushed, but said nothing. Harry walked to the Pensieve and uncorked the vial he had left nearby. He poured the silver contents into the bowl and watched it swirl. Malfoy watched curiously.

“Back soon,” Harry said and put his face into the liquid.

It took Harry a moment to get his bearings, as he fell into a scene nearly identical to the one he’d left. Instead of Ron lounging in the chair, it was Dumbledore. Bizarrely, his feet were up on the desk exactly as Ron’s had been. Instead of holding a wand, Dumbledore held a handful of colorful candy and was popping them into the air one at a time and levitating them into his mouth.

Near the spot where Draco had stood was Severus Snape. He looked the same as he usually did: greasy hair, unpleasant scowl, morose expression. In one hand, he held a large, tattered book with a black cover.

“Headmaster, I need to speak with you about a matter of some import,” Snape said.

“I assumed so, Severus, or you wouldn’t be here. Would you care for a Sugar Ant? There are different types of cream beneath the candy shell. The ants give them just the right zing. Delightful, really. Except the green ones. Not certain why they chose asparagus flavor over lime. I must write to the manufacturer…”

Snape’s pinched expression became even more so. “No, thank you.”

His tone must have alerted Dumbledore, for the Headmaster dropped his candy on the desk and put his feet down. He sat forward and steepled his fingers, as Harry had seen him do on numerous occasions. Harry frowned at the familiarity of the gesture and forced down a wave of sadness. He needed to concentrate on the conversation and not be drawn into nostalgia.

“Very well, Severus. What is it this time? A student matter?”

Snape scowled and sat down in a chair across from Dumbledore. He set the book upon his lap.

“Nothing to do with the school. I have confessed much to you and I think it’s time to let you in on the reasoning behind many of my actions, especially those of late.”

Dumbledore nodded seriously.

“You have decided to trust me at last, then?”

Snape’s black eyes flashed.

“I have entrusted you with my deepest secrets, as you well know. You are aware of the mistakes I’ve made and the agony with which I have approached many of my decisions. What I tell you now will make some of those decisions clearer.”

Harry scowled. November. It could only have been a few weeks since the death of Harry’s parents, at most. He wanted to climb over the desk and shake Dumbledore. How could he believe any of the tripe spewing from Snape’s lips? Mistakes. Agony. Even Harry could tell Snape wasn’t sincere!

“The reason I asked you to help me recently is because I know the secret of the Dark Lord. I told you he will return. I know why he will return.”

Dumbledore’s pleasant expression had vanished, replaced by the serious, competent wizard Harry had seen so infrequently.

“And why is that?”

“Horcruxes,” Snape said simply.

Dumbledore’s gaze sharpened. Snape nodded.

“I see you’ve heard the term. I heard about Voldemort’s plans from a reliable source. A Death Eater, of course.” Snape’s face twisted. “It would be bad enough if he had created a single Horcrux. The fact is, Voldemort so fears death that he made several.”

Dumbledore stood. “This is very serious.”

Snape nodded. “Now you know. I haven’t been able to learn much about the items.”

“The knowledge is forbidden.”

“I did find a single reference in this book.” Snape lifted the tome and handed it to Dumbledore, who took it. Harry hurried over to get a look at the book as Dumbledore flipped to the page noted by a red silk bookmark.

“From Salazar Slytherin’s personal library,” Snape commented.

“How did you get this?” Dumbledore asked sharply.

Snape rolled his eyes and his thin lips twisted in a sneer. “Have you forgotten who I am? I know quite a large number of dark wizards.”

“And you are ruthless enough to steal this from beneath their very noses,” Dumbledore muttered.

“Quite right.” Snape’s eyes flashed, but he seemed more proud than angry at Dumbledore’s words. Harry read the word Horcrux in stylized print at the top of the page. The other words on the page were in a dark, cramped looking print that seemed to squiggle slightly when he looked at them. He frowned. Only books of very dark magic were written in such print. Dumbledore scanned the page quickly. Harry could only make out a few words in the archaic type. It seemed to be an introduction to Horcruxes. Dumbledore flipped the page and then slammed the book shut, much to Harry’s annoyance.

“We would both be in severe trouble if this book were even found in our possession,” Dumbledore warned. “You carried this openly through the halls?”

Snape looked at him levelly. “Did you bother to read the cover?”

Dumbledore turned the book over. Harry peered over his shoulder to read the tome.

Happy Potions and How to Make Them by Ernestine Welshmyre.[/i]

“Well, I suppose that would fool a casual observer,” Dumbledore commented. Harry snorted. Anyone that didn’t know Snape! “Thank you, Severus. I will give your words some consideration. I’ll return this to you when I’m finished reading it and we can speculate at that time.”

Snape nodded. “I shall return the book to Spinner’s End so that it will not… get anyone into trouble.” He rose and headed for the door.

“Severus. See that no one else is told about this.”

Snape scowled. “I’m not a fool.” He stalked out.

Dumbledore sighed when he was gone. “No indeed. Never a fool.”

He set the book on the desk and cracked the cover once more to reveal the book’s true title, printed on the yellowing parchment.

Secrets of Longevity and Immortality by Baptahlah.

The memory ended and Harry was suddenly back in the present-day office. He cursed roundly.

Malfoy looked at him in amusement from where he lounged in the same chair Pensieve Snape had vacated.

“I didn’t think Gryffindors were allowed to use such language, Potter.”

“Belt it, Malfoy. I think we may finally have caught a break! This was a memory of Snape talking to Dumbledore. He did tell Dumbledore about Voldemort’s Horcruxes. Snape had a book with reference to them. Unfortunately, Dumbledore didn’t leave the memory of himself reading it, but I may know where to find the book. Snape said he would be taking it back to Spinner’s End for safekeeping!” Harry began to pace. “Now, if only we can get Snape’s address…”

“I know where he lives,” Malfoy said casually.

Harry stared at him. Malfoy laughed and Harry was shocked to hear it sound like a genuine sound of amusement, instead of a sarcastic bark.

“Honestly, Potter, you think I hide out at the Manor all summer long? I have a life, you know. Good old Snape was considered a friend of the family.” He shuddered. “Lives in a horrifying house, though, in a wretched neighborhood. What kind of book?”

“A tattered black book.” He gave them the two possible titles and continued, “This is great, Malfoy. You could take us there.”

“I could take Weasley there. You’re staying here.”

Harry scowled, but Malfoy held up a hand.

“No way will I be responsible for the safety of The Chosen One. If Snape and a group of Death Eaters happen to be hanging out at Spinner’s End, they’ll snatch you up and that will be the end of this little war before it’s begun.”

“He’s right, Harry,” Ron said, although he sounded like it poisoned his tongue to admit Malfoy was correct.

“d**n it!” Harry yelled. “First I was a prisoner at the Dursleys’ and now I’m a prisoner here!”

“It’s only for a couple weeks, mate,” Ron said apologetically. “And you still have a stack of memories to get through. I’m going to be upset if we go all the way to Snape’s and you find a memory of Dumbledore reading the damned book.”

Harry looked guiltily at the Pensieve cabinet.

“I won’t. I need to get the hell out of here. Come on, Weasley.” Draco stood up and headed for the door with a sweep of his cloak. Harry wondered how he managed to get that arrogant rustle in his cape when he walked. Probably years of practice before a mirror.

Ron gaped at Malfoy. “Now?”

“No time like the present, Weasley.”

Draco headed down the steps.

“How will we get there?” Ron yelled.

“Brooms.”

“In this wind?” It was howling like a banshee outside the window. Ron looked at Harry helplessly.

“Stay if you’re scared, Weasel,” Draco called from below.

“Take my broom, Ron. It’s next to my trunk. It has stability controls. Don’t let him talk you into doing anything stupid. And for God’s sake, don’t let him goad you into a fight!”

Ron’s freckles stood out like beacons on his white face as he got to his feet.

“Wait up, Malfoy!” he yelled and then muttered, “Stupid, thickheaded Slytherin bastard. If I don’t make it back, it’s been nice knowing you.”

Ron trailed after Malfoy looking like a beaten dog following its master. Harry suddenly regretted offering Ron his broom. He should take his Invisibility Cloak and follow them. Then again, Ron would take that as a sign that Harry didn’t trust him, which of course, would be true. He didn’t trust Ron around Malfoy.

He turned back to the Pensieve with a feeling of foreboding. Maybe he shouldn’t have let Ron go. Still, it was the only lead they had on Horcruxes so far.[/color]

[Julia Darline Evans]

Next please (again:))

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Chapter Twenty Three – Spinner’s End

Hermione exited the Gryffindor common room and was nearly bowled over by Ron rushing in.

“What’s the hurry?” she asked.

“No time!” said Ron. “Go ask Harry!”

He bolted up the steps to the boy’s dorm two at a time and disappeared. She almost called after him to ask if he’d seen Malfoy, but changed her mind. She didn’t want to get into another row over Draco. He wouldn’t have gone to see Harry and Ron, anyway. She would check the library, and then the Slytherin common room. It shouldn’t be too hard to figure out the password, as it was normally something wicked or vile.

She was wrong about that, as it turned out. Thirty minutes of continuous passwords had not caused the blank wall to yield, making her realize—yet again—how little she understood Malfoy. As the only Slytherin in residence, he would have been the one to set the password, yet nothing she tried had worked.

She finally tugged the coin out of her shirt and concentrated on it.

Where are you?

There was no response, even after she tried twice more. d**n, he must really be angry. Unless he no longer carried the coin.

Hermione gave up and left the dungeons. She really was hungry now, so she stopped at the kitchen for a meat pie and some fruit before heading for the Headmistress’s office to see if Harry was still there. On the way, she ran into Tonks.

“Where have you guys been?” Hermione asked. “I haven’t seen a single Order member since we got here, except Hagrid.”

“We’ve taken up temporary residence in Ravenclaw Tower. It’s easy access to the Owlery and the top of the castle, in case we need to leave. Although you’d have to be barmy to fly in this weather.”

“I know, I walked to and from Hagrid’s and nearly blew away.”

“Well, Remus wants you all in the Great Hall for dinner at six. See you, then.”

Tonks tripped down the stairs and Hermione continued until she entered McGonagall’s office. The Headmistress was present, talking to Harry.

“Anything new?” Hermione asked hopefully. Harry shot her an “I’ll tell you later” look and shook his head.

“Mostly speculation. We seem to have a lot of that when it comes to Voldemort. I was just asking the Professor—sorry, I mean Headmistress—“

“You can call me Professor, Potter. It sounds odd to hear the other… I’m afraid I’m not used to it, yet. It’s going to take some time.”

Harry nodded. “In any case, I was asking where Voldemort might have gone during the twenty years of his disappearance, after he left school until he returned as the evil wizard we all know and hate.”

“I can only guess that he sought out wizards from around the world in order to learn the Dark Arts.”

“Another guess,” Harry said with a sigh. He got to his feet. “Well, I’ll save this for tomorrow. I’m pretty tired. See you later, Professor. Sorry to keep you disturbing you. I’ll move the Pensieve, if you prefer.”

“It’s fine, Potter. I’m rarely here, anyway. Most of my things have yet to be moved up from downstairs.”

Hermione followed Harry out. When they were safely in the corridor, she asked, “Where’s Ron? He went flying past me like a bat out of hell in the common room. Have you seen Malfoy?”

“They went to look for something.”

“Together? I’d better go help them before they kill each other. What were you thinking? Are they in the library? I checked there, but must have missed them…”

“They went to Snape’s house.”

Her blood froze and she turned to stare at him. Harry flushed under her angry scrutiny.

“They went to Snape’s house,” she repeated.

Harry quickly explained about the book and Hermione felt the color drain from her face.

“You let them just fly off? In this weather? Without telling me? Have you gone completely mental?”

Harry glared. “Well, now you know how it feels to be kept in the dark! Besides, Malfoy wasn’t about to wait. How was I supposed to stop him? He offered to sacrifice himself to retrieve the book, if necessary, and frankly I didn’t see a downside.”

Hermione took a deep breath to remain calm. “You didn’t see a downside to the possibility of Ron being sacrificed, as well?”

“Ron is a lot more capable than anyone gives him credit for. He’s not stupid. Plus, he’s with your great friend Malfoy, who knows precisely what I’ll do to him if anything happens to Ron.”

Hermione shook her head. “If anything happens to them, I will never speak to you again.”

Harry’s emerald eyes flashed. “If anything happens to whom? Ron? Or Malfoy?”

She matched his stare. “Either one.”

With that, she flounced down the steps, unsure whether to blast a hole in the wall or burst into tears.

It was like flying in a hurricane. Draco angled across the wind. They needed to go south, but the wind blowing from the east kept pushing them steadily southwest. Rain pelted them in buckets and Draco could barely see. They flew over the lake and Draco stayed close to the water in order to have some idea where they were going. If not for the compass on his broom, he would have been lost in moments.

Lightning crackled nearby and Draco laughed with exuberance. Flying in weather like this always got the blood pumping. He looked over his shoulder at Weasley, whose face was so white he looked like he wore a sheet. His red hair was plastered flat against his head and runnels of water trailed down his face. He clenched his hands tightly around the broomstick as he struggled to keep the broom on course.

Weasley glared at Draco and mouthed something that looked like, “You’re fucking mental!”

Draco grinned and urged his broom faster to see if Weasley could keep up. The coin in his pocket suddenly heated, surprising him and causing his broom to dip toward the lake for a moment. He steadied it with a curse. Now she wanted to talk to him? He sneered. She’d had her bloody chance.

She tried twice more and then gave up. At long last, Draco spotted the outer wall of Hogwarts and angled the broom up to clear it. Surprisingly, Weasley was still behind him. Draco had half-expected Ron to be in the lake by now. He chalked it up to Potter’s superior broom.

He dropped down on the other side of the wall and dismounted lightly. Ron landed much less gracefully and caught himself with a hand just before going face-first into the ground.

“Taking a rest?” Weasley demanded, sounding annoyed even though he was panting from exertion.

“No. You don’t expect us to fly all the way there, do you?” Draco asked while combing the wet hair out of his eyes. He nearly had to shout to be heard over the gale.

“Then, how do we get there?”

“Apparate, stupid. We just needed to get beyond the school boundary. I’ll have to take you through, so don’t faint or anything when I touch you. I know I’m the best looking thing that’s ever been this close to you, but don’t get too excited.” Before Weasley could snarl a comment, Draco continued, “Get a grip on Potter’s broom, now; he’ll kill you if you lose it.”

He reached out and clamped a hand on Weasley’s shoulder, reflecting for a moment that he really missed Apparating with Granger. Who would have expected that to be an erotic experience? He triggered the spell and in moments they nearly fell over from the sudden lack of wind resistance. There was a breeze, but nothing like the howling storm they had left.

Draco released Weasley immediately and started out toward Spinner’s End. He hurried up the embankment and onto the cobbled street without waiting for Ron, who scrambled after him.

The place looked no better in the growing dusk than it did in the daytime. If anything, the rundown, looming houses looked grimmer and even more dilapidated. Ron gaped around in disbelief.

“Snape lives here? In this foul place? No wonder he’s always so bitter and nasty.”

Draco couldn’t refute that. Snape’s neighbors didn’t seem to be the curious sort, for he saw no curtains twitch as they passed between the silent houses and no one peered out to see why two young men with brooms and cloaks traveled through the littered streets.

Draco stopped before Snape’s house and handed his broom to Weasley. “I’m going to go inside. If there are Death Eaters, I’ll try to send you a signal so you can get the hell out of here.”

Before Ron could comment, Draco disappeared. He appeared again inside the musty house. Even more books seemed to have been added since last Draco visited, and they spilled over tables and sofas. He crept carefully through the silent rooms until he was satisfied the place was empty. Then he strode to the front door and flung it open, startling Weasley at the abrupt motion.

“All clear, Weasel.”

He turned and lit his wand brightly in order to have some illumination. The light actually made the place seem more dingy.

“This is revolting,” Ron said as he leaned the brooms against the wall and shut the door. “I mean, we don’t have house-elves, but at least I know how to clean my room.”

Draco refrained from comment, realizing that Weasley’s room was now a broken jumble of burned planks.

“All right, Weasley, start searching. There are only about five hundred thousand books here.”

They split up. Weasley stayed in the parlour, such as it was, while Draco went to search upstairs. It took forever. Although they confined their search to black-covered books, black was apparently Snape’s favorite color. Nearly everything in the damned house was black, including the books. Most of the books were, not surprisingly, related to potions. 1001 Uses for Boomslang Skin. Materials Matter: Which Cauldron to Use for Which Potion. Perilous Potions and How to Detect Them. Draco began to yank out various books and set them aside for future reading.

He went through three walls of books and was working on the fourth when he heard the stairs creak. Weasley must have finished the parlour, probably without success. Draco doubted Snape would keep such a book in the front room, anyway. He should have had Weasley start in the bedroom.

Draco glanced toward the door just as the newcomer yelled, “Accio wand!” and Draco’s lit wand spun across the room. Just before it went out, Draco caught sight of Alecto Carrow’s eager face. Draco tried to throw himself aside, but Amycus’s spell slammed into him and he was suddenly frozen. He cursed himself roundly for being so inattentive.

“Look, Amycus. It’s baby Malfoy. And we thought he was dead. What you doing here, baby Malfoy?” she crooned.

Amycus sauntered into the room behind his sister.

“What you doin’ ‘ere, Draco? Snoopin’ in Snapey’s pad?”

“Yer mummy misses you, baby Malfoy,” Alecto said and patted Draco on the cheek. The pat turned into a painful pinch and she murmured, “Yer so cute! Can we take ‘im home, Amycus? I could chain ‘im to me bed awhile.”

Amycus wrinkled his nose. “Only if the Dark Lord says you can ‘ave ‘im. Loose him a bit so we can find out what he’s doin’ ‘ere.”

She released the Body Bind Curse, but Amycus cast a rope spell before Draco could so much as shift his hand. Draco glared.

“What you doin’ ‘ere, Draco?” he asked again. “An’ where ye been?”

Draco smiled coldly. “That’s really none of your business.”

“Alecto, ‘it ‘im.” Draco was suddenly enveloped in pain when Alecto cast a Cruciatus Curse. The pain was so intense he couldn’t find breath enough to scream. Every nerve ending was on fire, as if he had been dipped into lava. The pain ceased suddenly and Alecto laughed when Draco drew a shuddering breath.

“Let’s try this again. Answer the question, Draco,” Alecto said.

“Go to hell,” Draco spat and braced himself as best he could.

“My turn,” said Amycus. Agony speared through Draco again. He writhed through a red haze of torment until he wanted to beg for escape. When the pain stopped, he quivered, feeling an ache in his bones that he knew would take hours to dissipate. He opened his eyes and glared at Amycus with pure hatred.

“You’re dead,” he breathed and Amycus threw back his head and laughed. Draco stared as the laugh was abruptly cut off. Amycus had disappeared. Alecto gasped and a yellow fluttering caught Draco’s eye. A bird? Where had that come from?

The shock only last an instant before Draco reached his bound hands toward Alecto and shouted, “Accio wands!” Both wands snapped into his hand. Immediately, he cast a hurricane force wind at Alecto, slamming her into a bookcase with enough power to send books flinging into the room. She collapsed in a limp heap and more books rained down on her from the broken shelves. He spelled the ropes holding him and they fell away. The bird was flying around crazily, twittering and trying to avoid jets of light zinging toward it from Weasley’s wand.

Draco staggered to his feet just as the canary turned back into Amycus. Unfortunately for Amycus, he was near the ceiling at the time and instantly plummeted headfirst into the desk below. It erupted into a heap of dust and splintered wood. When the dust settled, Amycus was still. Draco stalked forward and waded into the splinters.

“I. Hate. Being. Crucioed!” With each word, he aimed a vicious kick at Amycus’s unconscious form. He looked at Weasley, who hadn’t moved from the doorway.

“Sorry,” Weasley said. “I was in the kitchen when I heard them Apparate. I wasn’t sure how to warn you.”

“That reminds me,” Draco said and kicked Amycus once more. “That’s for putting me in Weasley’s debt.” He looked at Ron shrewdly. “What were you doing in the kitchen?”

Ron flushed. “I was hungry. It’s long past dinner, you know?”

Draco shook his head, but had to smile. “Saved by Weasley’s stomach. If you had been in the parlour when they popped in, it would have been over for both of us.”

“We were lucky,” Weasley replied. “One of our brooms fell over, so they only noticed the one. They heard you drop a book and they both went up.”

“We were very lucky. Mulciber or Lars wouldn’t have been so stupid.” Draco cast binding spells on the unconscious Death Eaters and Petrificus Totalus to keep them out of trouble.

“Let’s find that damned book and get the hell out of here before they send someone to check on these two. I’m finished in here except for that bookcase. If you check that one, I’ll do the bedroom.”

Weasley nodded and started pulling black books. Draco picked up Amycus’s wand from the floor and tucked the Death Eater wands into his robe before he went down the hall to Snape’s bedchamber. He lit the fireplace for additional light and looked around in disgust.

No wonder Snape was so unpleasant. There was no way he had ever entertained a woman in this room unless he’d paid her first. A lot. Maybe if the git cleaned up the place a bit, he’d get lucky. And what the hell was up with all the black? If they got out of this alive, he’d have to ask his father to spring for an interior designer. Introduce Snape to the concept of color. Maybe a nice mint green or buttercup yellow…

He shook off the miserable state of Snape’s bedroom and love life and started searching the walls of shelves. Within five minutes, he got lucky. He snatched Happy Potions and How to Make Them from its dusty retirement and cracked the cover.

“Excellent,” he breathed. Several book bags were hanging from pegs near the door. Draco grabbed a sturdy black canvas bag and tucked the book into it. He slung it over his shoulder and hurried back to the study.

“Got it, Weasley. Let’s go.”

“Do we just leave them here?” Ron asked.

“Hell no! If they report back to You-Know-Who, my parents are dead. They’re coming with us.”

Draco hefted Alecto, no easy feat, especially as she was still out cold, and tilted her toward Weasley, who caught her reluctantly.

“Do you know how to Disapparate with a passenger?” Draco asked.

“Only in theory! I’ve never done it!”

“Well, you’re about to get a field lesson. Don’t worry. If you splinch her, it won’t be much of a loss. Accio brooms!”

Both brooms shot up the stairs and into Draco’s hands. “I’ll take the brooms and Amycus. Meet me at Hogwarts’ front gates.” He could tell Weasley wanted to protest, but Draco threw him a quelling look and Ron wisely clamped it.

Amycus’s eyes were open and aware, but the Body Bind Curse was holding nicely. Draco knelt down with the brooms in one hand and snatched Amycus’s collar in a choke hold.

“Go, Weasley.”

Weasley went. As he vanished with Alecto, Draco Disapparated.

They appeared back in storm central, although the wind had thankfully died a bit. The rain was hammering down, though. Draco released Amycus and was rather surprised to see that Weasley had made it with Alecto in one piece.

Draco stumbled over to Weasley.

“Get someone out here to open the gates. I don’t feel like flying back with this baggage.” He nudged Alecto with a toe. Hard. That was an understatement. Draco was so tired he could barely stay on his feet. It had to be past ten p.m. and he hadn’t eaten since Hermione’s massive breakfast. He had been almost entirely on the move since then, also.

Weasley obediently cast a Patronus. It looked like some sort of little dog that shot through the bars and away. Loyal to the core, Weasley was.

The rain trickled down his forehead and Draco conjured an umbrella in annoyance. After a moment, he conjured another and tossed it to Weasley, who muttered something that might have been thanks. Draco cast a Muffliato on both Death Eaters. They didn’t need to be privy to Draco’s conversation.

“Why did you come after me, back there?” Draco asked in the growing silence. “You could have let them take me and gotten the hell out.”

Weasley blinked at him.

“It never occurred to me,” Ron admitted.

Gryffindors. Never occurred to him to do the smart thing, just the noble thing. Thank God for Gryffindor stupidity. In this one instance, anyway.

“You would have done the same for me, right?” Weasley continued. Draco considered the question. Would he? Bloody hell, he honestly didn’t know. Weasley snorted.

“You’re really something, Malfoy, you know that?”

Draco nodded. What that something was, exactly, was still to be determined.

“So, now that you’re in my debt, does that mean you owe me a favor?” Weasley continued.

Draco’s eyes narrowed.

“That depends. What do you have in mind?”

It was Weasley’s turn to consider.

“I’ll let you know.”

Draco scowled. “I’m sure you will.”

“You might want to get his face out of that mud puddle,” Weasley commented and shifted his wand toward Amycus. Draco glanced down. Amycus’s face was nearly submerged. Draco nudged his chin upward with the toe of his boot. Amycus’s eyes burned with venom. Draco grinned. That would teach the bastard to Crucio him.

“They’re coming,” Weasley said. Three tiny figures could be seen far across the grass. “Oh no! We have to come up with a story. What the hell did we go to Snape’s for? We can’t tell them about the book.”

“To leave a message for my father,” Draco said calmly. “You came along because you didn’t trust me. I wrote a message and placed it inside a certain book—you read it. The note told them I was fine and not to worry. We were about to leave when these two appeared.”

“Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Leave a message for your father?”

Draco scowled. “I wish. A plan that simple would never work. For one thing, my parents are no longer allowed out. For some reason, the Dark Lord doesn’t seem to trust them.”

“I thought your family was all loyal Death Eaters. What happened?”

“We’re plenty loyal as long as it serves the Malfoy interests. My father was willing to follow the Dark Lord as long as his goals were rational. Taking over the Ministry was a worthwhile goal. I mean, look at the way they run things. Fudge was a disgrace, and Scrimgeour is no better. They spend all their time on political backbiting.”

“You think You-Know-Who could do a better job?” Weasley asked incredulously.

“Of course not. He’s completely deranged. But, Father could.”

“Oh, wouldn’t that be lovely? Lucius Malfoy, Minister of Magic. Death to all Muggle-borns and blood-traitors.”

Draco snorted. “Hardly. My father is not stupid. He doesn’t like Muggle-borns, but he would never exterminate half the wizarding world. We all know there aren’t many purebloods left. I mean, when I marry, look who I have to choose from. Millicent Bulstrode, Pansy Parkinson, and your sister.”

“What?” Ron burst out. “Ginny?”

“Don’t worry, redheads give me hives. Besides, she hates me more than you do, after that whole Chamber of Secrets incident. I’m sure I’ll end up with Pansy, who will make a fine trophy wife as long as I supply her with closets of gowns and bushels of jewels. She hasn’t a bloody thought in her head, but at least it won’t hurt my eyes to look at her from across the dining table for thirty years, while she tells me all the latest gossip.” Draco shuddered. “On second thought, there must be some pureblood girls somewhere in the world. Maybe India.”

“Well, I plan to marry the girl I love,” Weasley said simply. “No trophy wife, no mansion, just a small house with a nice garden for the kids to play in.”

“You’re luckier than you know, Weasley. Got the girl picked out already, I suppose?” Draco had his suspicions about that.

Ron flushed. “Maybe I do.”

“Have you kissed her, yet?”

“That’s none of your business!” Ron flared hotly.

“Translastion: No. Better get a move on, Weasley. We could all die tomorrow, you know.”

Draco didn’t want to encourage Weasley in his pursuit of Hermione, but if she fell for the Weasel, then it would save Draco from the damnable conflict he had been faced with lately. It was simple self-preservation, really. The three approaching persons could be identified, now. It looked like Potter, Tonks… and Granger.

“She has incredibly sexy underwear,” Draco commented. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy them.”

Weasley gaped at him. “Wha—? Who—?”

“Granger, of course. I assume she’s the one you have in mind for your little house, picket fence, passel of brats scenario.”

Weasley sputtered incoherently and Draco smirked. Back to normal, just in time.

“How do you know—?”

“Been nice chatting with you, Weasel. Time to go. Upsey daisy, Amycus.” He levitated Amycus and propelled him toward the gate just as Tonks reached it. A bit too hard, as it turned out. Amycus’s head clanged against the bars. “Whoops, clumsy me.”

Tonks opened the gate.

“Whatcha got, cousin? A present for me?”

“They’re all yours.”

Hermione threw herself through the gate and flung herself at Ron. Draco felt a wrench as Weasley hugged her and shot a smirk at Draco.

“I was so worried! If you ever go off and do something that stupid again I’ll hex you and Harry both, I swear I will! You could have been killed!”

She released Ron and turned on Draco. “And you! While it doesn’t surprise me that you would do something so bloody reckless—!”

“Save it, Granger,” Draco said tiredly. “I’m exhausted. You can harangue me tomorrow, but right now I’m going to bed.”

He passed Potter’s broom to him and took the lead back to the castle, walking quickly. Ron latched onto Hermione and wouldn’t release her. Soon the muted sounds of them arguing drifted up to Draco, though he couldn’t hear the words.

Harry fell into step beside him while Tonks Locomotored the Death Eaters in their wake.

“You got it?” Harry asked.

Draco unbuckled the book bag and handed it unobtrusively to Harry under the guise of stumbling into him.

“Thanks,” Harry said.

“Don’t mention it. Except for being Crucioed, it was a lark.”

Harry blanched.

“Forget it, Potter. I don’t blame you. Your Order should be happy to have the Carrows, although they’re too stupid to know much. The Dark Lord would never give them important information. They were used only for petty, odd jobs. Pity it wasn’t Mulciber or Lars. Then again, if it had been, Weasley and I wouldn’t be here.” He laughed shortly.

“I’ll read this tonight. Hopefully it will give us something to go on.”

“Knock yourself out, Potter.”

When they got inside, Draco headed instantly for the dungeon. Tonks called to him, “Wait! Lupin is going to have questions!”

“Tomorrow,” Draco said and trotted down the steps.

When he reached the bottom, he heard footsteps behind him.

“Malfoy, wait!”

Draco stopped. Couldn’t she just leave him in peace? He turned reluctantly to see Hermione hurrying down the steps toward him. To his surprise, she threw her arms around him and molded her soft body against his. Her lips brushed against his ear.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” she said and pressed a kiss against his cheek. Before he could react, she released him and ran back up the steps. Ron waited for her at the top, and he gave Draco a glare of pure hatred. Draco smiled widely and waved at Weasley.

Maybe it hadn’t been such a bad day, after all.

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Chapter Twenty Four - Friends

Hermione went to the library, but found herself unable to concentrate. Harry came to find her.

“It’s nearly time for dinner. I need your help to come up with a story about where Ron and Malfoy are,” he said hopefully. She glared at him and nearly snapped at him to do it himself. She felt a bit guilty, however. It was probably her fault that Draco had been so determined to leave. If only she had listened to him…

“Well, Malfoy can be hiding out in the Slytherin common room. No one will question that. He didn’t even want to be here, so keeping to himself will not be out of character. Ron, however… that could be a bit trickier, especially if his parents are here. Did they go back to Headquarters?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen anyone since lunch, and the only ones I saw then were Lupin and Moody.”

“Maybe we can tell them Ron isn’t feeling well. He ate too many Cauldron Cakes this afternoon. It wouldn’t be the first time, and that story will work on everyone but Mrs. Weasley, who will rush off to check on him if she’s here. If that happens, we need a backup plan.”

“All right, I’ll tell her I sent him off to find something, which would be the truth, but bloody awkward if she asks. I won’t be able to tell her where.”

“I hate lying to them,” Hermione commented.

“So do I, but Dumbledore’s orders take precedence over our wishes.” Harry smacked a hand down on the table. “I should have gone with them!”

“No, you shouldn’t. And leave me here to concoct stories for all of you?” She glared. “I’m the one that should have gone with them. You should have told me, at least.”

“I would have, but like I told you, Malfoy was in a bloody rush. He would have gone alone rather than wait five minutes!”

She held up a weary hand. “Let’s not have another row over this. We have to pretend everything is fine. After dinner, we should go back to the Pensieve. You need to finish that process as soon as possible. Should they actually find the book, it would be nice to compare that information with whatever Dumbledore has left for you.”

Harry nodded, although he looked less than thrilled. Hermione knew that memories were probably hard to deal with. She got up and gave him a quick hug.

“Don’t worry. We’ll get through this.”

He nodded and they went down to the Great Hall together.

Dinner was a grueling affair, made easier only by the fact that none of the Weasleys were in attendance. Bill was working late at Gringott’s and his parents had returned to Number 12 Grimmauld Place the previous night. Hermione was so worried about Ron and Draco that she couldn’t eat more than a few bites and ended up vanishing half her meal when no one was watching.

Moody, as usual, was demanding action and trying to get Lupin to agree to invade Malfoy Manor. He suggested burning it to the ground.

“We are not Death Eaters, Alastor!” Lupin shouted finally. “We do not operate using their methods!”

“Maybe we should!” Moody returned angrily. “If we used a bit more force, maybe they would take notice! Maybe they would stop kidnapping and torturing children!”

Harry nodded, but Hermione agreed with Lupin. They would be no better than Voldemort if they resorted to those tactics.

Lupin did agree to another reconnaissance of Malfoy Manor, but would not budge on the use of force. Moody finally jerked to his feet and stalked out.

“I’ll be at the Hog’s Head having a drink!” he bellowed as he left. Lupin put his head in his hands. He looked so much older than when Hermione had first met him. She wondered if the pressure of running the Order of the Phoenix was too much for him. Tonks patted him on the back.

“There has to be some way to learn his plans,” Lupin said. “Some way that will not get more of us killed.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Tonks said. “Don’t take so much on yourself.”

“Harry, you don’t plan to do anything rash after your birthday, do you?” Lupin asked casually.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked warily.

“Well, you’ll be of age, so none of us will be able to stop you, should you decide to rush off and confront You-Know-Who.”

Harry laughed shortly.

“Don’t worry. I have no intention of confronting Voldemort alone.”

The sincerity in his voice seemed to reassure Lupin, who sat back with a sigh.

“All right.” Lupin smiled wanly. “I’ll try to stop worrying so much about you.”

Harry looked at Hermione and grinned, but his smile was tinged with sadness. Lupin had once been part of a group of excellent friends. They thought they would be together forever. Now, two were dead and one was a traitorous spy… Lupin had none of his former cohorts to turn to. Hermione fervently hoped she would never look back on her school years with such wistful heartache. She suddenly missed Ron terribly.

“Come on,” she said to Harry. “Let’s go wait for Ron.”

They made a stop at McGonagall’s office so that Hermione could examine the Pensieve vials. The first was Sirius’s memory. The next was Snape telling Dumbledore about the Horcruxes.

“I’ve seen the next three,” Harry said. “Dumbledore showed them to me before. They are Tom Riddle at the orphanage, the history of Riddle’s parents, and learning about Slytherin’s locket and Hufflepuff’s cup.”

“The next one is labeled ‘AD at Borgin and Burkes,’” she said.

“All right, we’ve got nothing better to do until we hear from Ron. Let’s do it. You can come with me this time.”

Hermione was a bit apprehensive. She’d heard about Pensieve memories from Harry, but had never actually used one. Harry uncorked the vial and poured it in. He guided Hermione to put her face in the liquid and she gasped when she instantly found herself in the dark, musty confines of Borgin and Burkes. A tall, scruffy-looking white-haired man was examining various goods. He looked familiar, but Hermione couldn’t place him. His initials were A. D.? Was he a friend of Dumbledore?

Harry appeared beside her. After a moment, he snapped his fingers.

“It’s the barman from the Hog’s Head. In Hogsmeade!”

Hermione looked apprehensively from the man to the proprietor, but neither made a sound or movement to denote they had heard Harry’s outburst. Harry chuckled.

“Odd, isn’t it? Everything looks so real. But, it’s just a memory. Nothing we do or say can affect the sequence of events. You know, I don’t think I’ll ever put my own memories into a Pensieve. I don’t think I could stand watching myself make the same mistakes over and over without being able to alter them. You know, there is always something you wish you had said or done differently.”

Hermione nodded and for some reason Draco came to mind.

The barman was talking to Mr. Borgin.

“This is all tripe. Where is the good stuff? I need something in particular.”

“What is it you are looking for, exactly?”

“I am a collector and I have been searching for Hogwarts’ items. I need things from all four founders. I have something of Slytherin’s; the man was so egocentric he kept enough crap to stock a museum. I managed to find a trinket of Hufflepuff’s and Gryffindor left some moldy clothing behind. But…” The barman leaned forward conspiratorially, “I’ve yet to find something of Rowena Ravenclaw’s. Too smart for her own good, she was. Do you happen to have anything?” Borgin made as though to speak, but the barman raised a hand. “I warn you, do not try to pawn off a false item as hers. I have ways of testing it.”

Borgin swallowed and shook his head.

“I once had such an item, but it was taken long ago.”

“Taken? What was it?”

“A bracelet.” He turned and rooted in a cabinet behind him for a moment. “Here, I have a picture. Magnificent, wasn’t it?”

Harry and Hermione leaned close to the barman and peered over his shoulders to view the picture. It was a beautiful bangle bracelet encrusted with sapphires and diamonds. A tiny raven charm dangled from the center.

“And you say this was taken?”

Borgin nodded. “Stolen from our stock. One of our employees, we believe. Many years ago. It was never recovered.”

“A pity,” said the barman. “You have no other items?”

The proprietor shook his head and tucked the photo back into the file. “Should you run across the bracelet…” The two men looked at each other measuringly and both grinned without humor.

The memory ended and Hermione shook herself. She looked at Harry.

“Well, now we know what the Ravenclaw Horcrux is. We just don’t know where it is.”

Harry tugged at his hair for a moment. “The barman mentioned he was already in possession of Gryffindor items. You think Dumbledore sent him to Borgin and Burkes? Dumbledore said the only relics of Gryffindor are here in this room.” He walked over and looked into the glass case that held the Sword of Gryffindor. “No way in hell this can be a Horcrux. I don’t think it was ever out of Dumbledore’s sight long enough to be turned into a Horcrux.” He gestured at the nearby battered Sorting Hat. “And the hat would have mentioned it.” Harry walked over and stood before Dumbledore’s portrait.

“I don’t suppose you can offer any assistance?”

Dumbledore shook his head sadly.

“Alas, Harry, I am merely a shadow. But, you are doing fine. Sending for the book is a step in the right direction. Take care not to make the same foolish mistakes I made.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked. “You mean like trusting Snape?”

Dumbledore shook his head. “I do not regret trusting Severus. The answers are in the Pensieve, Harry.”

Harry looked at Hermione, who gasped suddenly.

“Oh no! I just remembered I promised to start another batch of Wolfsbane Potion for Lupin! I’d better do that or it won’t be ready next month!”

“All right,” Harry said. He looked somewhat dejected.

“One more memory, first,” Hermione suggested. He smiled at her and pulled out the next vial.

“Thanks. It’s easier with a friend, for some reason.”

Hermione didn’t recognize the room in which they found themselves. A huge mirror dominated the shadowy place. Dumbledore stood before the mirror and looked into it with an expression of extreme sadness.

“The Mirror of Erised,” Harry said quietly. “This is the chamber where they hid the Stone. First year. The place where Quirrell died and I first… fought Voldemort.”

Footsteps sounded behind them and they all turned to see Snape approaching.

“So. I was right,” Snape said. He did not sound satisfied.

Dumbledore sighed. “You were right.”

“He will not be pleased that I helped to thwart him.”

“You could not have known. Quirrell did not have the Dark Mark. We had no way of knowing he was being controlled by Voldemort.”

“I doubt he will accept that as an excuse.”

“Well, we shall have to make certain it never comes into question. If we can stop him from returning, your loyalty will never be an issue.” Dumbledore’s voice was calm, but his tone bordered on irritated.

Snape shook his head and his black eyes flashed.

“Look how far he got on his first attempt. He very nearly had the bloody Stone.”

“It’s taken him nearly eleven years to get this far. And he would not have gotten the Stone,” Dumbledore said with finality.

Snape nodded. “Oh yes. I had forgotten much of this was set up as a test. To assess the abilities of The Golden Boy. It looks to me as though he won the day through the aptitude of his friends. And a large dose of luck.”

“Not luck, but I will agree with you about the friends.” Snape raised a scornful lip and Dumbledore chuckled. “You scoff, but I believe Harry’s friends will turn out to be his greatest asset.”

“Friends and family are liabilities,” Snape growled. “They can be used against you.”

“It may seem that way to you, simply because you never had a true friend.”

“I don’t need any friends!” Snape yelled.

“Everyone needs friends. If only you—“

Snape held up a warning hand. “Don’t bloody start! I sacrificed a loving family and all chance at a normal life in order to fulfill this destiny that links us. Do not expect me to became mawkish and reach out for friendship, because I neither need nor want it.”

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. “It does not have to be this way.”

“You are the one disappointed with my inability to love. I could care less.”

“If you were unable to love, you would not be here fighting Voldemort. You do so because—“

“I do it for revenge!” Snape shouted. “Nothing more! Do not prattle at me any longer with your stupid over-emotional ideals!”

“You are still so very young,” Dumbledore said and tsked. Hermione thought Snape was going to explode with rage, but he controlled himself with effort. His fists were clenched into white-knuckled balls. When he spoke again, his voice was even. “I see you are in one of your maudlin moods. When you are ready to discuss the true problem, such as Voldemort’s next possible move, you know where to find me. I do not think he will wait another eleven years for his next attempt.”

With that, he spun on a heel and stalked out.

Dumbledore glanced back into the mirror.

“One day he will discover his true capacities. I only hope by then it will not be too late,” he murmured to himself.

Hermione stood before the Pensieve again. Harry looked at her in bewilderment.

“What was that all about?” Harry asked.

“Well, it clears up one mystery. I always wondered if Snape was trying to help Voldemort get the Stone. It seems Dumbledore was right to trust him, at least back then. What do you suppose Snape meant when he said he had sacrificed a loving family?”

“Knowing Snape, he probably meant sacrificed on an altar,” Harry said coldly.

Hermione shook her head. “I don’t think so. He sounded so… torn. He said he gave up all chance for a normal life. Do you think he stayed at Hogwarts only to stop Voldemort?”

“If so, he hated every minute of it. No wonder he killed Dumbledore.”

Hermione frowned. “He spurned Dumbledore’s offer of friendship. Why? What would cause him to shut himself off so thoroughly?”

Harry shrugged. “Because, he’s pure evil?”

“He can’t be evil, or he wouldn’t have been trying to stop Voldemort! That was Dumbledore’s whole point. Don’t you see? He knew there was good in Snape.”

“Fat lot of use that did him! There was not enough good to keep Snape from killing Dumbledore in the end, was there? And apparently Snape changed his mind and decided to join up after all, eh?”

“Then, why did he tell Draco about the Horcruxes?”

Harry threw up his hands. “We’ll never understand Snape’s twisted motives, so why try?”

Hermione chewed a nail thoughtfully. “I don’t know. I just have a feeling that Snape’s motives play a very large part in this mystery. Why did Dumbledore leave this memory if it wasn’t important?”

“He left it so we would trust Snape, but that was before Snape killed him!”

“Will you please stop shouting at me? I really hate it when you do that. Do I bellow at you?”

Harry looked a bit sheepish, but he said petulantly, “Well, it’s true.”

“I suppose. I need to start this potion. Want to come?”

“No. I’m going back to the common room and wait for Ron.”

Hermione had long finished the potion-making process and was back in the common room with Harry when Ron’s summons finally came.

“Thank God!” Harry cried when Ron’s Patronus dissipated. “They are at the front gates. We need to find someone to let them in.”

“Tonks,” Hermione said instantly. “She won’t ask so many questions. Our stories just got shredded. Are they all right? Why didn’t they fly back?”

Harry shrugged. “Ron didn’t say.”

Hermione sent a quick Patronus message to Tonks, who met them in the Front Hall. They ruefully explained the problem and Tonks shook her head in disappointment. “Remus is going to be so upset with you.”

“You don’t necessarily have to tell him,” Harry suggested hopefully. Tonks leveled a stare at him. Pink hair or not, she suddenly looked very adult and responsible.

“Yes, I necessarily do,” she said coldly. Harry flushed and sighed.

“Fine. Let’s just go get them and I’ll face the firing squad when we get back.”

When they reached the gates, Hermione felt almost faint with relief to find both Ron and Draco alive and unharmed. She was surprised to see the two bound Death Eaters, however, and threw an I-Told-You-So look at Harry, who managed to ignore her. When Tonks opened the gate, Hermione rushed out and threw herself at Ron. Before she could stop herself, she began to scold him for being so foolish. She next turned on Draco, who cut her short. He looked completely exhausted. She took a concerned step toward him, but he turned and began to stalk quickly toward the castle. She would have gone after him, but Ron snatched at her arm.

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned.

“Think about what?” she asked.

“I really don’t care for the way you just looked at Malfoy,” Ron said peevishly.

Hermione’s blood froze.

“What are you talking about?” she snapped. She tried to pull away, but Ron held on tightly. They trailed after the others and Harry hurried to walk with Malfoy while Tonks juggled the floating Death Eaters with her wand.

“I’m starting to think you actually care about that git,” Ron snarled. “I just saved his bloody life and I’m beginning to regret it.”

“You saved Malfoy’s life?” She tried not to sound disbelieving. Ron glared at her.

“You think I’m a complete screw-up, don’t you?”

“I never said that!”

“You were thinking it. I bet you yelled at Harry mercilessly for letting ‘poor, useless Ron go off and nearly get himself killed. He can barely cast a proper spell. I’m surprised he didn’t fall off his broom halfway across the lake.’”

“I never said anything of the sort!” she snapped. “Now, let go of me.”

“So you can hurry off and kiss Malfoy again?” Ron yelled. His face was suffused with rage. She stopped in amazement and wondered why he was so angry. What had Draco told him? More lies? Or potentially more damaging, the truth? Ron released her.

“Why are you so angry? Malfoy already told you why he kissed me.”

Ron nodded. “Yeah. I actually believed it, at first.”

“Well, you know how effortless it is for him to twist things around. You’ve always been an easy mark.”

His blue eyes narrowed. “Stupid Ron, always falling for Malfoy’s lies.”

“Stop doing that!” she shouted.

He took her arm again. “Come on. We’re going to have a nice little chat about you and Draco Malfoy.” He tried to drag her toward the castle, but she dug in her heels. They had a moment’s tug-of-war with her arm until she drew her wand and cast a stinging hex on his hand. He yanked it back with a yelp and put the red area to his mouth.

“Don’t you ever manhandle me again!” she hissed. “I’ve been worried about you the entire time you were gone and then you come back and act like some sort of jealous Neanderthal! When you decide to start acting like a human being again, I will consent to have that little chat with you. Until then, you can stay the bloody hell away from me!”

She hurried after the others and up the steps into the Front Hall. She caught sight of Draco’s silvery head disappearing down the dungeon steps and ran after him. He tensed when she called to him, but he stopped and waited for her. When he turned, Hermione threw her arms around his neck and clung to him for a moment, wishing she had never brought him here. She longed for a private moment to talk to him. His arms stayed limp as she held him and she wondered if he would ever allow her to get close to him again.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” she said lamely, leaving volumes unspoken. She pressed her lips against his check and then turned and ran back up the steps. She met Ron’s furious gaze with a raised brow that dared him to comment. He said nothing; merely fell into step beside her as they headed for the main staircase.

The third floor landing was dark and Ron took her arm, gently this time, to guide her up the darkened steps.

“Thanks,” she said shortly.

“Hermione?” he asked quietly. He stopped walking and she took a few more steps before turning around to look at him with a tired sigh.

“Yes, Ron?” she asked.

“I’ve been thinking about something Malfoy said to me.”

“I never would have guessed,” she said dryly. Ron moved up to stand on the step below hers. He still had to look down at her a bit; she noted with some surprise that he was as tall as Draco. Without warning, Ron reached out and caught her shoulders, and then he leaned down and kissed her. For a moment, she was beyond shocked and her first bemused thought was that she hadn’t been kissed in months and now… twice in one day. Who was next? Harry?

She relaxed and tried not to compare Ron’s kiss to Draco’s, but it was impossible. It was strange, but she had thought about kissing Ron dozens of times; she had nearly done so, in fact, when they had studied together in the common room. The timing had just never been right, and she had been too afraid of it ending their friendship. She wished now that she had done so. Maybe, if she had kissed him long ago, their relationship might have grown into something deeper. Ron’s lips on hers were soft and gentle, somewhat demanding, but she felt none of the wild excitement that Draco’s kiss had provoked. She didn’t feel weak in the knees. She didn’t feel cold and hot at the same time. She felt nothing but a growing sadness. Ron released her reluctantly.

“He told me I should do that,” he said simply and continued up the stairs without another word.

Hermione sank down on the step. He told me I should do that. Draco Malfoy told Ron he should kiss her. She felt like tearing her hair out by the roots in frustration. When had her life become the complicated mess she suddenly found herself in? She nodded ironically. Oh yes. The moment she had Apparated in Dover and discovered the fantasy man of her coin conversations to be none other than Draco Malfoy. Did she even see the real Draco? Was she still projecting her fantasies onto him, trying to turn him into something he wasn’t?

She thought about Malfoy’s kiss and a rush of warmth flooded over her senses. She groaned and buried her head in her hands. That kiss had been no fantasy. But why did it have to be Draco she responded to and not Ron? It was completely unfair. She sighed and got to her feet in determination.

She would just have to ignore them both. They had a job to do and emotional complications would only get in the way.

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Chapter Twenty Five – The Sons of Horus

Harry stayed in the common room to peruse the book, but Hermione was both physically and emotionally tired. She went straight to bed and managed not to have any dreams, for which she was utterly grateful.

She hurried down and had breakfast with McGonagall, John Williamson, and Kingsley Shacklebolt. She realized her mistake as soon as she sat down and they began to swamp her with questions about where Draco and Ron had found the Carrows. She baffled them by protesting complete innocence (which was mostly true) and insisting she had no knowledge of how they had captured the Death Eaters (which was absolutely true) and suggested they wait until Ron awoke for answers. Ron appeared shortly thereafter with a bizarre story that they had gone to Snape’s house to leave a message for Draco’s father. Hermione nearly clapped a hand to her forehead at the ridiculous story, but luckily the truth about the Death Eaters’ arrival buried the tall tale.

Hermione was impressed at Ron’s quick thinking, but made a mental note to find out exactly how he had turned Amycus Carrow into a canary. She was certain she knew all of Ron’s spells, but she had never heard of that particular one. More Order members drifted down to eat, forcing Ron to repeat his story. Hermione finished eating and took a plate up for Harry, knowing he wouldn’t be missed in the excitement of Ron’s tale.

Harry was immersed in the book. He looked up gratefully when she entered and grabbed a croissant from the tray.

“This is the most bloody confusing thing. It doesn’t help that the type makes you go cross-eyed if you look at it too long. See if you can make heads or tails of it.”

She sat down next to him and took the book. It was written in an archaic style with maddening Dark Arts typeset that gave her a headache after five minutes. She rubbed her temples.

“There’s a spell to diminish the effects of the typeset, but I can’t recall where I even saw it. Probably one of the books at Grimmauld Place.”

“Dark magic to counter dark magic,” Harry said. “Does any of it make sense?”

“Well, I skimmed over the part where it talks about creating the Horcruxes. There isn’t much about destroying them, of course. It does give an incantation, thank goodness, but it talks about invoking the ‘Sons of Horus’ and making an offering to Shu. Egyptian, right? This is old, old magic.” She looked at Harry. “Have you ever seen any references to Egypt in the library? I certainly haven’t! No wonder we couldn’t find any information on Horcruxes.” She was indignant. The library had failed her. “I’ll do another search, but I may have to go home and look in a Muggle library.”

She looked at the book awhile longer, seeking additional clues, but the reference to the Sons of Horus seemed to be the key bit of information. She finally pushed it aside.

“Enough. I need to go to the library. You?”

Harry set his tray aside. “The usual. Back to the Pensieve. I think I’ll wait for Ron, though. Two heads are better than one when assessing memories.”

“He might be awhile. He’s telling his exciting story of rescue.” She flushed slightly, thinking about Ron.

“What?” Harry asked perceptively.

“It’s Ron. He grabbed me on the stairs last night and kissed me.”

Harry grinned hugely. “You’re kidding!” He laughed. “All right, Ron. It’s about time.”

She shook her head, annoyed. “It’s not all right. And it’s not about time, either. It’s too late, actually.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I didn’t feel anything, Harry,” she admitted miserably. He looked puzzled.

“What are you supposed to feel? It was just a kiss, right?”

She almost laughed. What are you supposed to feel? Well, she wouldn’t have known before, would she? She would never have guessed what a simple kiss could make you feel… until Malfoy.

“You’re supposed to feel like you’re the only two people in the world. Like everything around you could crumble to dust and you wouldn’t even notice. Like you’re drowning, but clinging to a lifeline at the same time. Like you’re burning and freezing at once.” She trailed off.

Harry stared at her in amazement. “Seriously? I’ve never felt anything like that. Kissing Cho… well, it was nice, but it certainly wasn’t… what you said.”

“Neither was kissing Viktor. Nor Ron,” she said ruefully.

His green eyes narrowed.

“Wait a minute, if neither Ron nor Viktor made you feel all drowning and things, then how do you know you’re supposed to… no bloody way. Tell me you did not feel like that when—“

“Don’t be silly,” she said briskly. “We’d better get to that Pensieve so I can get started on my fruitless search for Egyptian information. Are you finished eating?”

“Yes. Hermione, I think we really need to talk about this.”

“There is nothing to talk about. The only thing that matters is that Ron is not hurt. I can only hope he felt the same last night.”

“You mean—nothing?”

“Exactly. Nothing.”

“I give that about a one percent chance of accuracy,” he said dryly. Her heart sank at his words. Those were about the odds she calculated, as well.

The next Pensieve memory took place in Snape’s office. Dumbledore seemed to be angry when he strode in.

“Did you know?” he demanded when Snape looked up from his desk. “Did you know Tom Riddle’s diary was a Horcrux?”

Snape huffed. “Of course not. I never even saw the bloody thing. I didn’t know it existed.”

“Why would he give it to Lucius?”

“He loved Lucius. The only two he trusted were Lucius and Bellatrix. If he wanted something kept for him, he would have given it to one of them.”

Dumbledore sank into a chair before his desk. His anger seemed to have melted into frustration.

“I never would have expected a diary,” he admitted. “It makes sense, of course, for him to use something personal, but it worries me. It worries me greatly.”

Snape sat forward. “Well, we had eleven bloody years of peace in which to find and destroy these Horcruxes and how many have we destroyed?” Snape slammed a fist down on the desk. “Now, we’re running out of time.”

Dumbledore glared at him. “We’ve been searching.”

“I’ve been searching! You’ve been doing God-knows-what, concentrating so much on this bloody school—“

“This school holds the future of the wizarding world!” Dumbledore said coldly.

“There will not be a future of the wizarding world if we do not stop him!” Snape thundered, half-rising and leaning over his desk.

Dumbledore massaged his temples with long fingers.

“I know,” he said tiredly. “I have let time slip away from me. It moves so quickly these days…”

“Let us dispense with the regretful trips down memory lane and concentrate on the problem at hand. The Horcruxes are the least of our worries, at the moment. We’ve got to prevent him from obtaining a body.”

Dumbledore waved a dismissing hand at Snape’s suggestion.

“We know what to look for, now. If he attempts to possess—“

“Don’t be stupid!” Snape barked. “I’m not talking about possession! I’m talking about obtaining flesh! A new body. It can be done. I’m sure he’s working toward that end.”

“He cannot cast such a spell in the state he is in,” Dumbledore scoffed. “And his loyal servants are all in our custody.”

“Your overconfidence is inspiring,” Snape said sarcastically.

Dumbledore laughed. “I do hope so. At least Lucius managed to aid us, albeit unwittingly. One Horcrux has been destroyed.”

“Thanks to the overwhelming luck of The Chosen One.”

“It was more than luck that allowed a second-year to defeat a basilisk.”

“Yes, it was Godric Gryffindor’s sword.”
“The sword did not wield itself, my friend.”

“I have no wish to sit here and listen to you prattle on about the merits of a boy who can’t even brew a simple potion without help from his Mudblood girlfriend.”

Dumbledore’s face hardened.

“I have asked you to refrain from using that terminology in my presence.”

Snape’s teeth bared in a caricature of a smile.

“Sorry,” he said. “Force of habit. Bad upbringing, you know.” He didn’t sound the least bit apologetic. Hermione shook her head. It was bad enough when purebloods like Malfoy used such slurs, but it was incomprehensible when half-bloods like Snape and Tom Riddle did so.

“Yes,” Dumbledore said, sounding unconvinced. He got to his feet.

“I’ll never change, you know,” Snape said suddenly. “Not really.”

Dumbledore smiled beatifically. “The mere fact that you mention it makes it possible.”

Snape shook his head and sighed as Dumbledore started out. “Blind old fool.”

Hermione looked at Harry in puzzlement.

“Bloody hell,” Harry said. “Every memory is more confusing than the last.”

“Snape warned him about Voldemort acquiring a body. He didn’t listen.”

Harry nodded, looking sick. “Two years before it happened. Two years.”

“And what about that warning at the end? ‘I’ll never change.’ Was he telling Dumbledore that he was still a Death Eater?”

“How could he be and yet help Dumbledore try to stop Voldemort? Everything about Snape is a contradiction.”

Harry glanced at Dumbledore’s portrait, but Dumbledore was gone. Hermione grinned ruefully. Probably wanted to avoid any questions brought on by that particular memory. Harry went over and looked at the vials.

“The next one is right after we saved Sirius and Buckbeak. When we found out about Wormtail.”

Hermione shook her head. “I’m not ready for anything related to that terrible night. Not at the moment, anyway. Come to the library with me. Maybe I missed some books on Egypt simply because I was never looking for them. We never thoroughly went through the Restricted Section, either.”

Harry returned the vial. “All right.”

Draco awoke slowly and stretched. He felt a twinge in his neck and painfully recalled why he hated sleeping on the beds at Hogwarts. He missed his pillow-soft feather bed at home. Hell, he missed everything about being at home. His bed, his clothes, his comfortable fur-lined slippers, his scalding baths, his lazy breakfasts in bed…

He propped his arms behind his head and wondered what time it was. The Gryffindors definitely had an advantage there. In the dungeon, it was always night. Great for sleeping, not so great for waking up at a decent hour. For all he knew, it was past noon. He felt pretty good, so it was more than likely he’d gotten enough sleep. He tugged his wand out from under his pillow and lit all the lamps in the room. It dispelled the gloom, but didn’t brighten the place much.

He wondered if Potter and Granger had sorted out the book. He grinned at last night’s memory of Hermione, although he had to wonder why she had run down and kissed him. Merely to annoy Ron? Frankly, he also wondered why she was no longer giving him the cold shoulder. She had been so enraged outside Hagrid’s hut; he assumed she would never speak to him again. Mercurial, was Granger.

He reached over to the bedside stand and picked up her Galleon.

What time is it? he asked

His coin warmed instantly.

You’re calling me for a time check?

You expected me to call for a different reason?

No. It’s nearly 11 am. I thought you might sleep all day.

Maybe you should have awakened me.

I don’t know the Slytherin password.

It’s apple. Would you have used it?

Apple?

Yes. Garden of Eden? Adam and Eve? Wicked serpent? Apple.

I see. No, I probably wouldn’t have used it.

Draco walked the coin across his knuckles for a moment and then asked, Will you use it now? He winced as soon as the message was sent. Why had he asked that? He considered the question. Simple, he just wanted to ask her about the book without Potter and Weasley butting in with their annoying commentary. That’s all.

You want me to come down there?

Yes.

There was a very long pause. He grinned to think of her little mind spinning and spinning with questions and concerns. Would her intelligence win out over her trusting nature? Would Gryffindor boldness triumph over demure reticence?

All right. I’ll meet you in your common room.

Draco laughed aloud. He would have bet on Gryffindor boldness any day of the week.

It took her less than ten minutes. He hoped she had left Weasley with his jaw agape as she bolted. She would have had to run from the Gryffindor common room. Of course, at this time of day, she had probably been elsewhere.

“Malfoy?” she called from the common room.

“I’m in here,” he replied.

“Well, come out.”

“No. You come in here.”

He fully expected her to argue with him for awhile, so he was quite surprised when she appeared in the doorway with a wary expression on her face. She was dressed in a school uniform today, except the vest and tie were missing and the white blouse was casually open at the neck. No heavy robes, either. Draco had never expected to find the Hogwarts uniform sexy, but she looked surprisingly fetching. Maybe it was just his memory of what she wore underneath…

“You look like a naughty schoolgirl,” he said huskily. She flushed.

“I’m neither naughty nor a schoolgirl, at the moment. I simply forgot to bring any clothing from home. I’ve asked Mrs. Weasley to send my things from… from the Headquarters of the Order. Until they arrive, I’m stuck wearing this. How long do you plan to stay in bed?”

“Until you come over here and wake me properly.”

She scowled. “Sorry, I don’t have a pitcher of ice water to toss on your head. I’ll conjure one if you’d like.” She walked over and sat on the bed usually occupied by Crabbe. “So. What did you want to tell me yesterday? When I refused to listen?”

Draco shook his head.

“Oh no. You missed your chance on that one. Besides, I’ve forgotten.”

She gave him a measuring look and absently reached into her shirt. She toyed with the coin, sliding it up and down the chain. Draco waited. There was something on her mind, obviously. He grinned when she blurted with typical Gryffindor bluntness, “Why did you tell Ron to kiss me?”

Draco’s brows shot up. “Did he?”

She nodded and Draco chuckled. “Well, well, well. He was listening. Not quite as stupid as we all thought, is Weasley?”

“I never thought Ron was stupid. Answer the question.”

“I didn’t think he’d actually do it,” Draco admitted with a grin.

“With you goading him into it? How could he not?”

“So, how was it?”

Hermione flushed again. “It was good. Fine. Excellent. Very exciting.”

“God, you really are the most atrocious liar.”

She leaped to her feet and her chin snapped into the air stubbornly.

“I was not lying!”

“A bit better, but still not convincing. Try again.”

She gave him a venomous glare and began to pace next to the bed.

“You are, without a doubt, the most irritating—“

“How was my kiss?”

Her words choked off as if he’d strangled her. The flush that tinted her cheeks most deliciously answered his question better than anything she might have said. She had to clear her throat before she could speak, and even then her words were barely audible.

“Horrid. Nasty. Worst kiss ever,” she whispered. Draco laughed throatily.

“Really? Well, d**n me. I’d better try again.”

He reached out quick as a striking snake and grabbed her wrist. She pulled back with a gasp, but he drew her inexorably toward him. She shook her head in denial, but he gave a quick heave and yanked her off balance. She fell on top of him and he released her wrist to wrap both hands tightly in her curls.

“Don’t!” she breathed. Her eyes were wide and frightened, but she froze when he tilted her head slightly and pressed her lips against his. The kiss he’d given her on the stairs had been a childish peck compared to the assault he launched upon her now. There would be no interruptions, so he took his time and savored every tormenting instant. He tasted her somewhat gently at first, to lull her into relaxing, and was surprised when it worked better than expected. His lips playfully teased hers, tender and undemanding. With a soft sigh, she melted against him. He was wary of a trick, so did not release his grip. He deepened the kiss, teasing her mouth open and sliding his tongue inside to touch hers lightly. She inhaled sharply and he smiled against her mouth. After that, he was ruthless. He tasted, sucked, nibbled, and played with every part of her mouth; lips, tongue, and teeth until she whimpered mindlessly and writhed against him.

Somewhere along the way, he lost all control. Hermione wasn’t passive. She returned his kiss with her own, matching tease for tease, taste for taste. Her hands, hot and silken, caressed his bare chest. It was exquisite torment. His own hands were tangled helplessly in her hair, though he strove to free them in order to slide them down to her body, sprawled across his in senseless abandon. He needed to touch her.

He tore one hand free suddenly and she gasped when several strands of hair went with it. She pulled back to stare at him through eyes glazed with passion. Her chest labored against his as she struggled to breathe normally. Draco’s hand, free at last, tugged sharply at her blouse and then slipped beneath it. He caressed the satiny skin of her back and she arched against him with a gasp. Hot desire filled his senses with a rush that was physically painful. He moved his other hand, trying desperately to free it so he could move the offending materials out of the way—clothing and sheets—he would tear them away if he had to.

He realized his mistake in an instant. The fevered kiss that had kept her in thrall had been broken. Freed from the delightful stimulus, her mind began to function again.

“What… what am I doing?” she breathed. Before he could stop her, she heaved herself off of him, leaving behind a substantial length of hair still twisted in his fingers. She backed away quickly and sat down hard on Crabbe’s bed. Her brown eyes were wide with disbelief. Her hair was disheveled and her lips were swollen. Her shirt was askew and half out of her skirt. God, he wanted her.

He shut his eyes and struggled for control. He took several deep, steadying breaths and fought the heat that strove to overwhelm him. He clenched his fists and stilled himself against the urge to throw himself across the intervening space and press her down upon Crabbe’s bed…

Control. Control. Control. He chanted the word until he felt calm returning. He opened his eyes and slanted them at her with a smirk guaranteed to infuriate her.

“How was it that time?” he asked with a hint of amusement.

“There are no words,” she said quietly. He laughed sardonically. He couldn’t accuse her of lying that time. She stood up and walked quickly to the door, out of his reach, he knew. She tucked her shirt carefully back into her skirt and ran her hands across her hair in an attempt to smooth it. When she spoke again, her voice was calm.

“If you’ve quite finished tormenting me, it’s time to get up. We would like your opinion on some information found in the book. I’ll wait for you out here.”

She went out and he stared after her in bemusement. So, she planned to pretend that nothing had happened. Maybe she thought he was just playing a game. Was he? He thought about her lying across him, kissing him, touching him… He drew a ragged breath. No. Not a game. He had been trying to teach her a lesson and received one himself. Don’t play with fire.

[Julia Darline Evans]

Oh, how romantic

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Egyptian gods and Pensieve memories...

---

Chapter Twenty Six – Cryptic Messages

Hermione walked into the Slytherin common room and tried not to think. The room was decorated much like the Gryffindor common room—same style sofas, chairs, and tables, but all in green with silver trim. The lack of windows and natural light was disturbing.

She heard him shuffling in the other room and tried not to think about him getting dressed. She wondered if he had even worn anything to bed. The thought made her feel hot and panicky.

Don’t think about it, she ordered herself, don’t even start.

He sauntered out and she felt her heart leap into her throat. She shut her eyes and pictured a cold mountain lake. Edged in ice. With snowflakes falling. She took a deep, steadying breath.

“Feeling all right?” he asked casually. His sardonic tone actually helped calm her nerves.

“Never better,” she said brightly and smiled sweetly at him. He gave her a measuring look and then shrugged. Her eyes skimmed over him quickly, taking in his white shirt—unbuttoned halfway down his chest, d**n him; black pants, and usual black boots. He noticed her gaze and grinned ruefully.

“It seems I’m stuck with school clothes, too. Maybe we should go shopping.”

“I could Transfigure something for us. I just wasn’t in the mood this morning.”

“Shopping is more fun,” he insisted.

“You want to go shopping?” she asked derisively. “With me?”

“Absolutely. Lingerie, first.”

She clenched her jaw in annoyance. Not even five minutes and he had her blushing scarlet again.

“That will be the end of that conversation,” she decided. He laughed.

“All right, Granger. I’ll stop ‘tormenting’ you. What did you and Potter find out?”

She was relieved—and a bit disappointed, though she shoved that thought aside angrily—that he was willing to move on to business. She watched him as he walked to the huge fireplace and examined his reflection in a small mirror propped on the mantle. His silver-blonde hair was perfect, as usual. He moved with a stunning grace that made her ache just to watch him. She turned away quickly, wishing she had never come down here. What had possessed her to seek out the wolf in his den?

She put a shaking hand to her hair and winced when she touched the tender spot on her head where she had torn her locks free. She glanced at him again and he turned to look at her with that maddening grin of his. Simply put, she had wanted to see him. She had rationalized that she wanted to question him about their trip to Snape’s house, but in all honesty, it wasn’t true. If she were completely candid with herself, she had been half-hoping what had happened would happen. She blushed, recalling his hands in her hair, his demanding mouth on hers, his—

“Over-analyzing again, Granger?” Draco asked dryly. She stared at him in surprise. How could he know her so well already?

“No,” she said pertly. “I was thinking about the book.” Her gaze dared him to say anything about lying.

“Really? I didn’t realize secrets of immortality were such a racy subject. That’s quite a pretty blush you’ve got there.”

The blush darkened, to her chagrin. She had to stop thinking about him! He had only kissed her to prove a point. To show her that he could be utterly irresistible when he chose. To prove that raw passion could override common sense and every other rational thought… God, she was doing it again.

“I was not over-analyzing. I was merely thinking,” she snapped. He was moving toward her, so she quickly walked to put the couch between them. She didn’t dare get too close to him. He laughed.

“I’m not going to pounce on you.”

She ignored that and remembered the question he had asked long minutes ago.

“The book is difficult to read. I know there is a spell to diminish the effects of the wavering text, but I have no idea what it is.”

“I do.”

She nodded. It was probably taught to Malfoys as soon as they learned to read.

“We deciphered a bit of it, though. It references something called the Sons of Horus. Have you ever heard of them?”

He began to casually stalk her around the sofa. She pretended not to notice, but she drifted sideways to keep the large piece of furniture between them. She tried to shake off the image of a hunting panther, but his grey eyes were gleaming mischievously.

“No.”

“It also says to make an offering to Shu.”

Draco stopped. “Shu? Now, that sounds familiar. Where have I heard that before?”

“It’s most likely Egyptian. Some sort of god, I assume, since it requires an offering.”

Draco’s brow wrinkled in thought, but he started moving again, quickly this time. She gave up all pretenses and bolted behind the couch.

“Will you keep still?” she demanded. He chuckled.

“Why are you running from me? Are you afraid I’ll kiss you again?”

God, yes! She shook her head, knowing if she spoke aloud he would see right through her lie.

“If I promise not to try to kiss you, will you stay there?” he asked. She looked at him through narrowed eyes, searching for a trick, but she couldn’t see a downside.

“Yes,” she said shortly. Surprisingly, he didn’t smirk at her. She held her ground, barely, as he rounded the sofa and stood before her. She realized her mistake immediately. He didn’t even need to touch her. His nearness was enough to send warning bells jangling through every nerve ending. The masculine scent of him filled her senses and she shut her eyes tightly, trying to think of anything else but her ridiculous urge to wrap her arms around his neck…

“Isn’t this better?” he asked. “It’s so much easier to talk without a huge gap between us.”

Talk. Yes. She opened her eyes and swallowed hard. He had reduced the gap, for certain. He stood so close to her if she leaned forward a bit, she would be pressed up against him. Almost, she stepped back, but her Gryffindor pride suddenly reared its head and she raised her chin stubbornly.

Her resolve lasted all of six seconds, until he reached up and touched her hair gently with both hands. His thumbs massaged her head where the hair had been pulled.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked softly. She noted with alarm that she was forgetting to breathe and pulled in a shaky breath.

“No,” she whispered. The word was both a response and a request. He smiled down at her and her eyes slid over his features. He was so beautiful. Pale and smooth as porcelain. She dug her fingernails into her palms to fight the urge to reach up and caress the even line of his jaw.

His hands suddenly became brisk in her hair. He tugged and twisted it in a businesslike manner.

“You’re a mess,” he said. “We’d better fix you up a bit or Weasley will suspect you’ve been rolling around in the sack with me.” She glared at him when he laughed and continued, “Of course, he’d be right, for once.”

“Can we just go?” she asked sharply. The thought of Ron had assaulted her with guilt. Draco sighed.

“If you insist.”

He stepped away from her and drew on the black cloak that had been tossed upon the back of the sofa. In the same motion, he seemed to pull an invisible curtain about himself. His armor, she knew. She had figured it out in Hagrid’s hut, why Draco was so different when he was alone with her. The wall of ice, disdain, and sarcasm was missing. Since Dover, it had slowly melted away, exposing the real Draco—the human, vulnerable Draco that he kept under such tight control. The one that refused to let anyone get close enough to hurt him.

He looked at her seriously.

“I need to send a message to my parents. I’ve been thinking about it since the lie we concocted yesterday. It won’t be easy, but it can be done. I’ll need your help.”

Hermione nodded.

“I’ll ask them where Regulus Black died. We’ll do it tonight. Here, if you aren’t afraid to be alone with me again.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” she said adamantly.

He laughed in what sounded like sheer delight. “Liar. Let’s go have a look at that book.” He gestured fluidly toward the exit and she gratefully went.

Ron was in the library with Harry when they entered and he shot a suspicious glare at them both.

“Any luck?” she asked. Harry shook his head.

“You were right. Not much of anything Egyptian in this place.”

“That’s just great. By the time we figure out what the Sons of Horus are, we may have collected all the Horcruxes. With no idea how to destroy them.”

“Sons of Horus?” Ron asked. “I know what they are.”

Three pairs of astonished eyes turned to him.

“Why is that such a bloody surprise?” he demanded. “I went to Egypt with my parents, remember? The Sons of Horus are the jars they use for the body parts in the tomb. They are supposed to protect the entrails on the Pharoah’s journey to the afterlife.”

Hermione gasped. “The Canopic Jars!”

Ron nodded. “That’s it. Canopic. They were placed at the four corners—north, south, east, and west.”

“I just remembered who Shu is,” Draco said quietly. Hermione looked at him. “The god of wind, sunlight… and protection.”

Hermione hurried to look over Harry’s shoulder at the book.

“I think I know what it means!” she said happily. “The Sons of Horus is a reference to the four quarters! An offering to Shu… it’s a circle of protection.” She shook her head. “This is heavy. No simple spell; this is ritual magic. Ancient and powerful.”

“The same magic used to create the damned thing,” Draco said.

Hermione looked at Harry shrewdly. “Didn’t Dumbledore say he destroyed the ring alone?”

Harry nodded. She continued, “I’ll bet he dispensed with the ritual and tried to destroy it himself. He told you not to make the same mistake. We’d better do it correctly. None of us wants a withered hand—or worse. I wish we could find some information on the names of the Sons of Horus. It would be nice to do this according to the book, but we may have to improvise. Harry, get me whatever you can find on casting a circle, since none of us has ever done it before—“

“I have,” Draco said nonchalantly.

“I don’t even want to know why. Fine, then Malfoy can look for that information. Try to remember, this will be white magic, not the Dark Arts. Protection is the key word. You might also read the Horcrux section in the book. Maybe you can find something we missed. Harry, you find a way to invoke the elements. There are dozens of spells, so I’m certain you can find one that’s appropriate. Ron, we need to find a place to do this. Somewhere we won’t be interrupted. I suggest we do it at midnight. No one will be looking for us and the time seems appropriate. I’ll start gathering some of the items we’ll need, from what I can remember. If you find anything else we have to have, we can collect it later.”

There was no argument, so she smiled and went out. It felt good to be doing something, rather than sitting around blindly searching for information. The weather was calm again, as she discovered when she headed for the greenhouse. The storm had blown itself out, leaving everything clean and wet. The sky was cloudless.

Inside the greenhouse, she took a basket from near the door and used her wand to cut sprigs of various plants: Angelica, basil, horehound, mistletoe, and nettles. She would stop by Snape’s former storeroom to pick up myrrh and frankincense. At least they didn’t have to sneak into there any longer. She hurried back inside and stored everything safely in the Gryffindor common room. She was surprised when the coin warmed on her chest and she looked at it quickly.

We’re in the Great Hall. Your werewolf friend popped in and invited us for lunch. Ordered us to lunch, I should say.

Thanks. I’ll be right there.

Lupin was probably wondering what they were all up to. He had to know they wouldn’t be sitting idly around waiting for something to happen. She checked her watch. They had a full afternoon to prepare for the ritual, plus she needed to help Draco contact his parents.

Moody was having another tirade when she arrived. Apparently, he had just returned from Malfoy Manor and he was not pleased. In fact, he was yelling in Draco’s face.

“Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater, I say!” he bellowed. “Now, where did they go, boy? I can cast a Cruciatus just as well as your ilk!”

Draco’s eyes were frigid. He and Moody faced each other across a hand span’s distance.

“Do it,” Draco dared. Moody’s wand jerked upward and pressed into Draco’s chin with a snap. Malfoy’s jaw clenched, but he gave no other sign of emotion. Hermione ran forward, but Lupin got to them first. He grabbed Moody’s wand hand.

“Stop it, Alastor! Leave him be!”

“You’re shielding Death Eaters now, Remus?” Moody snarled.

“He’s no Death Eater and it’s not his fault that they have moved on. You should have known that would happen the moment they pulled Neville out. We have the Carrows in custody because of Draco.”

Moody’s false eye swiveled in Lupin’s direction.

“The Carrows?”

“Draco and Ron captured them at Snape’s house last night.”

Moody lowered his wand, but looked at Draco coldly.

“I’m watching you, boy. You’d better keep your nose clean.”

Draco sneered, an expression Hermione hadn’t seen in so long it nearly looked out of place. Moody moved off, peppering Lupin with questions about interrogating Amycus and Alecto. Hermione put a hand on Draco’s arm.

“What was that about?” she asked.

“Apparently, Voldemort has vacated my house. Your barmy friend is a bit upset.”

“Do you know where they might have gone?”

“No idea.”

She nodded. “It doesn’t matter. Let the Order locate them. We have our own business to attend to.”

Draco returned to his seat and Hermione sat next to him, across from Harry, who looked at her, but made no comment. She snapped her fingers.

“Salt. We need salt.”

Harry passed her a salt cellar, but she shook her head. “For tonight. A lot of it.”

“I’ll stop by the kitchen on the way out. Here’s Ron.”

Ron sat down next to Hermione and grinned at her. He ignored Draco completely.

“I think I know where we can do this,” he murmured as he put a slab of bread on his plate and topped it with a selection of meats and cheeses. “Harry gave me the idea when he told me about one of the Pensieve memories. Remember that chamber where they hid the Stone? The one accessed by the trapdoor on the third floor?”

Hermione nodded. “Of course. It’s perfect.”

“I checked it out. It’s empty now and there are no bloody traps on the way like Devil’s Snare or life-sized chess pieces. I don’t think anyone’s used it, since. It’s pretty dusty.”

“Add a broom to our list of supplies,” Hermione mentioned. “A cleaning broom, not a flying broom. Anyone know where we can get holy water?”

“Sure,” Harry said. “Snape’s storeroom. I saw some in there, once. It’s in a silver flask.”

“Excellent. I was afraid that was one item we would have to do without. Plain water will work, but holy water is better. Did you two have any luck?” she asked, looking at Harry and Draco. Harry shook his head.

“Lupin came in shortly after you left. I was still hunting for the right book.”

Draco grinned. “I don’t need a book. I already know how to cast a circle. And invoke the elements, although I agree you may want to get more specific with this one. Don’t forget the offering to Shu. I recommend the usual: bread, beer, beef, and fowl. Perhaps oil. And fine linen for an altar cloth. And an altar, of course.”

“Where will we find fine linen?” Ron asked.

“The Staff Room. They have a stockpile in a cabinet there,” Draco mentioned.

“How do you… never mind. I’ll take your word for it. Harry, you get the salt and find that incantation. Malfoy can grab the linen, since he's familiar with the Staff Room. I'll go back and get the holy water from Snape's supplies. Ron, go with Harry and pick up the food items."

She noticed Tonks shooting them a glance now and again from where she sat next to McGonagall and Lupin.

"They're getting suspicious," she mentioned quietly. "They don't trust us after Ron and Malfoy's little trip."

"Well, they seem to expect me to sneak off and confront Voldemort at any moment. Not that we even know where he is."

"It's rather useless to confront him until we destroy the Trinkets, anyway. The only legitimate purpose we have at Hogwarts is the Pensieve. They probably wonder why we're spending so much time in the library. If they think we're up to something, they might try to ship Harry back to Headquarters."

Harry laughed shortly. "I definitely don' t want to go back there. Especially with the Dursleys in residence. I wonder how that is going."

"Maybe you should ask."

"I really don't care," Harry said coolly. She decided not to push the issue. After all, she hadn't even checked up on her own parents, and she loved them. She made a mental note to do so, however.

"I think we should all go spend some time with Harry and the Pensieve. We can swing by the library and grab the books we need—be certain to get a good assortment so they don't know what we're looking for if they decide to snoop."

"You're pretty good at this underhanded business," Draco said admiringly. "I never would have guessed Gryffindors could be so sneaky."

"We've had a lot of practice," she said dryly with a look at Harry, who laughed.

"We've been quite aboveboard, lately," he protested. "I haven't pulled out the Invisibility Cloak since we've been here."

"Keep it handy," Hermione advised. "We might need it tonight."

When Ron finished eating, they trooped up to the library and then to Dumbledore's old office.

"All right, are you coming with me, Hermione?" Harry asked hopefully after he dumped the vial contents into the basin.

"Yes." She looked sharply at Ron and Draco. "Don't kill each other."

Dumbledore was in Snape's office again. Snape had a glass of amber liquid on the desk before him and he looked shaken.

"You wouldn't really have let them perform the dementor's kiss on Sirius, would you? Can you possibly hate him that much?" Dumbledore asked quietly.

Snape looked tired. His hand shook when he took a drink from his glass. He set it down and sighed explosively.

"I don't know. I'd like to think not, but when I saw him again… When I heard the story about them becoming Animagi…" Snape propped his elbows on the desk and massaged his temples. "It just brought back too many memories. I hated them all so much, and to find the four of them sharing such a secret… I'm afraid I went a little mad."

"Because you were jealous?" Dumbledore asked softly. Snape's black eyes flashed viciously.

"Don't try to psychoanalyze me, Albus. I made peace with my demons long ago. I was content to see Sirius languishing in Azkaban. But, no, I don't think I could have seen him given the dementor's kiss."

"And if he was innocent all along? If the children are correct and Peter Pettigrew is alive? What then?"

Snape shrugged. "It's more than likely. I never really believed that Sirius would betray James Potter. He loved James more than his own brother." Snape's voice was bitter. "I always assumed he was under Voldemort's Imperius Curse."

"And yet you allowed him to go to Azkaban without a word of protest."

"He was safe in Azkaban," Snape hissed. "And don't try to sound holier-than-thou. You thought he was guilty, also. Did you ever seek out the truth?"

Dumbledore shook his head.

"I'm afraid I was also willing to believe the worst. And Pettigrew was gone. He never resurfaced."

Snape laughed harshly. "Peter Pettigrew. My God, Sirius was a trusting fool. I wouldn't trust Pettigrew with the key to my laundry chute."

"Well, Sirius is free now."

"For how long? Until Voldemort returns and hunts us all down like rabid wolves? If Sirius was correct, Voldemort will have a loyal servant again. Do you still have no fear of him regaining a body?"

"We have had no word of him since he sought the Stone. We will, of course, continue to watch." He sighed. "Lupin has resigned."

"What a pity," Snape said dryly and his eyes gleamed with amusement.

"I will have to find yet another Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"I am willing to step into that post any time, Headmaster," Snape said. Dumbledore actually chuckled.

"I seek to teach the students to defend themselves against the Dark Arts, not embrace them."

Snape gave him a sneer. "I'm sick to death of Potions."

"But you are exceptional with them."

"Don't flatter me. I know my place."

"You are not a prisoner here."

"The hell I'm not. Now, please get out of my cell and let me drink myself into oblivion." He raised his glass. "To Sirius! May he fly to freedom and never return!"

Dumbledore got to his feet.

"I think you have already had enough drink."

"On the contrary. I have not even begun."

Dumbledore looked at him disapprovingly, shook his head, and went out.

"I don't understand all these Snape memories," Harry said when they returned. Draco and Ron were involved in a tense wizard chess match in one corner. Hermione watched them uneasily. "What is he trying to tell us?"

Hermione looked at Dumbledore's portrait. Surprisingly, he was present. His eyes twinkled at her.

"Why Snape?" she asked. "You can't ask us to trust him now, after what he did to you!"

"Well, Hermione, you must make up your own minds about that. All I may tell you is that some secrets cannot be revealed, even by death."

"You are trying to show us a secret about Snape? Something you cannot tell us directly?" Harry asked.

"Everything so far has been bloody confusing."

"And it doesn't matter, anyway, because Snape has rejoined the Death Eaters, where he belongs. He's gone back to the Dark Side, so trusting him has become a moot point. Did you leave us a single clue about Horcruxes?"

"The Horcruxes are a mystery, indeed, Harry. But of far greater import is what lies inside the human heart. It is not tokens that will decide this matter. It is the choices made by each of the players."

Hermione looked at Malfoy, who met her gaze with a slight smile before he turned his attention back to the chessboard.

Harry's hand scraped through his black hair, a sure sign of his frustration.

“Checkmate,” said Draco, causing both Harry and Hermione to stare at them in surprise. Ron looked ready to spit nails.

“Ron knows about Canopic jars and Draco beats him at chess,” Hermione muttered to Harry. “Are we in the right dimension?”

Harry chuckled. She sighed.

“Well, this has been another exciting Pensieve episode. I’m ready for a nap. I’ll take some of these books with me,” she said loudly. She gathered up several tomes. “Let’s meet in the Gryffindor common room at nine. That will give us a few hours to prepare the chamber. We’ll collect everything necessary after dinner.”

She left the three males alone and vaguely hoped they didn’t hurt each other. She went to her room and had just set the books on her bed when the Galleon heated.

I hate to bother you, but do you suppose we can concoct that message to my parents now?

What do you need me to do?

Meet me in the Slytherin common room and I’ll explain.

All right.

She knew she probably shouldn’t meet him alone again, but she had agreed to help him. She picked up the books and went downstairs, thankfully without running into Harry or Ron. Draco was not in the common room when she got there. She set the books on a nearby table and sat on the couch. No way would she go back to his room again.

As it turned out, he wasn’t in his room. He arrived about ten minutes later and dropped a bundle of linen on the edge of the couch.

“I stopped at the Staff Room. It’s deserted in the summer. It’s odd that we haven’t seen Peeves, either. Does a poltergeist take a holiday?”

“I doubt it. Maybe he’s just used to tormenting the usual residents during the summer. Either way, I haven’t missed him. How do you need my help?”

“Wait here. I’ll show you.”

Draco went to his room for a minute. When he returned, he carried an assortment of items. Parchment, two quills, ink, a small ceramic dish, and a small silver-handled knife. He set everything on the low table before the couch, added his wand, and sat down beside her.

“Okay, this is what I need your help with,” he said earnestly. He picked up the knife by the curved blade. It looked wickedly sharp.

“I need you to draw my blood. Traditionally, a cut is made on the thumb, but that hurts like the devil for days. I prefer the wrist or arm—it bleeds more and hurts less in the long run.”

She stared at him in absolute horror and ignored the knife he held out to her, hilt-first.

“What are you talking about?” she whispered.

Draco grimaced. “I’m a bit squeamish when it comes to pain. Particularly when it’s self-inflicted.”

“You have to draw your blood?”

“Unfortunately, yes. It’s the only way to send a private message into a den of Death Eaters.”

She shook her head. “No. Let’s not do it, then.”

“I have to. I’m sure my mother is nearly frantic with worry. I don’t want her to do anything stupid just to find out what happened to me. I’ll cut myself if I have to, but I’d rather not.”

“Instead, you want me to slice you open?”

“You can’t tell me you haven’t dreamed of plunging a knife into me,” he said dryly.

“I never once dreamed of plunging a knife into you! Besides, that was before…”

“Before you fell hopelessly in love with me?” he asked with a grin. She snatched the knife.

“You do have a point about the knife-plunging dream.”

He rolled his white cuff back and held out his left wrist to her expectantly. She took his arm in her left hand and gripped the knife tightly in her right. She met his gaze for a moment and his silver eyes looked so appealingly trusting that her hand shook.

“I can’t do it,” she said after a moment. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Just try to recall one of the times you did want to hurt me. I’m sure that won’t be difficult,” he suggested.

She could feel his heartbeat beneath her thumb. She looked at his wrist and swallowed. His skin was so pale the veins were clearly visible. She would rather trace one with a finger than slice him open.

“Is this very dark magic?” she asked quietly and he chuckled.

“It’s not dark magic at all. I just have to attune the message to those of my blood. Only my parents will be able to read it. Come on, this should be simple for a brave Gryffindor.”

She shut her eyes and took a steadying breath. Just a nick. That’s all it would take. She opened her eyes and laid the tip of the blade gently against a vein at the base of his palm. The knife trembled slightly.

“You know, I just don’t think I can—“ she began, but he jerked his arm suddenly and a red gash appeared under the blade. Hermione gasped and dropped the knife.

Draco picked up the small dish and began to collect the blood that seeped from the wound.

“Thanks, Granger,” he murmured.

“That wasn’t fair,” she said accusingly.

“I know, but it worked.”

She realized she still gripped his arm and quickly released him. She picked up the knife and cut some of the linen into strips to bind around his wrist when he finished obtaining a small pool of blood. She tied the linen for him and then watched as he alternately cast a spell on the parchment and dipped a quill into the blood. He wrote a quick message telling them he was safe and asking about Regulus Black. When he finished, he tapped the message with his wand and muttered another spell. The dark red words disappeared.

“Okay, I need you again. In your best handwriting write, in ink, over the words I just wrote. Make it sound like an advertisement. Something like ‘Twillfit and Tatting’s cordially invites you to a private viewing of their new fall collection.’”

“Wait, this has to be just right.” Hermione grabbed a piece of parchment and wrote his words. They crossed out, added, and adjusted it until it sounded like a real invitation. She then copied it over Draco’s invisible words and then he drew a stylized T copied from the tag on his cloak. She reached for the sand, but he stopped her.

“Sand can be traced,” he said.

“You’re joking.”

“No, it’s pretty simple. If even one Hogwarts grain is left on here, they can detect it. We’ll let it air dry.” He blew on it gently and she secretly admired the way his lips pursed. For just a moment, she imagined him blowing on her skin that way and immediately regretted it when a blush heated her cheeks. Thankfully, he didn’t notice. They sealed the tiny scroll with a piece of black ribbon Draco located.

They took a roundabout route to the Owlery in order to avoid detection. Draco tucked the scroll into the carrier on a school owl’s leg.

“Take this to Narcissa Malfoy,” he ordered and released the owl. They both watched until it was a tiny black speck in the sky.

She noticed the makeshift bandage on Draco’s wrist was stained red. She grabbed his hand and gently unwrapped the bandage. She looked at the gash and bit her lip. She met his grey eyes for a moment and then pulled out her wand. She rested the tip next to the wound and whispered a spell. To her relieved surprise, the injury sealed itself into a thin line that quickly took on the pale hue of a healed wound.

Draco rubbed a finger across it and raised an eyebrow.

“Impressive, Granger. When did you learn healing spells?”

“I read everything I could get my hands on when school let out. Memorized dozens of spells. I just haven’t had the chance to use any of them. Until now.”

“Well, you did an excellent job. How was it?”

“Strange. Not like other spells. You have to draw the energy from yourself, rather than elsewhere. I could feel a bit of a drain even for that small cut. There must be a trick or technique for healing larger wounds.” She shuddered a bit. “I’m far too squeamish for major healing.”

“That makes two of us.” Draco grinned. “What shall we do now?”

“We should definitely get some rest, especially you, now that you’ve lost blood. We’ll need all of our energy tonight. I’ll walk you back to the common room, since I left the books there.”

When they reached the Slytherin common room again, she made Draco lie down on the sofa and propped his head with green and silver pillows.

“Why don’t you lie down here with me?” he suggested. She rolled her eyes.

“The object is for you to rest, not overexcite yourself with the need to show off your masculine prowess.”

“Is that what you think I was doing before?”

“I don’t want to know your motivation,” she said quickly.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m likely to believe whatever you tell me, no matter how distant it is from the truth.”

He scowled. “Actually, what you’re saying is that you won’t believe anything I say, even if it happens to be the truth.”

She grinned. “That would be correct.” He gave her a wounded expression and she didn’t believe that for a moment, either.

“Now, stop chattering and go to sleep.”

“Will you stay here with me?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why? Are you afraid of me?”

“No. I’ve been alone with you all afternoon. Why should I be afraid now?”

“Exactly. Wake me up before dinner,” he said and shut his eyes. Having neatly trapped herself, she sighed, picked up one of the books, and sat on the end of the sofa, being careful not to touch him. After a moment, she leaned over and tugged off Draco’s boots. He sighed in contentment and murmured sleepy thanks. She smiled and immersed herself in the book, but she still noticed when his breathing became deep and even. She levitated his cloak to cover him and let her eyes caress his features. She felt a strange sense of contentment, watching him sleep. It disturbed her.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

wowwow - so cute! ootan järgmist !

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Chapter Twenty Seven - Favor

Draco awoke to find Hermione fast asleep at the opposite end of the couch. The book was open on her lap. He sat up and rubbed his eyes before glancing at the clock on the mantle. Six fifteen. He’d better go up to the Great Hall and make an appearance before the Gryffindors wondered where he was.

His cloak had slid onto the floor, so he picked it up. He carefully removed the book from Hermione’s lap and covered her with his cloak. He brushed a lock of hair away from her eyes for a moment and wondered how his feelings could have changed so quickly. Had it only been days ago that he despised her? They had been through so much together. Luna, the rescue of Longbottom, the Horcrux search… Now that she had included Draco into her close circle of friends, he had a suspicion that she would fight to the death for him, the same as she would for Potter or Weasley. Her inability to cut him had been eye opening. She didn’t want to hurt him, even on a superficial level. After all he had done to her…

He shook his head. As it turned out, he no longer wanted to hurt her, either. He went to his room and spent some time on a small project and then he went upstairs and grinned wickedly at Weasley’s sigh of relief when Draco appeared in the Great Hall. The Weasel would have flipped his top if he knew where Hermione was at this moment. Draco wondered if Hermione could seriously entertain the notion of Weasley as a boyfriend. Her lack of enthusiasm when describing his kiss had been telling. Draco froze for a moment, wondering why he was even worrying about the idea. If she wanted Weasley, it was fine with him. Better than fine.

“Hermione must be sleeping,” Harry commented when Draco sat down across from him. Draco was rather surprised to be the recipient of a conversation. Potter must be feeling under the weather.

“Let her rest. She’ll likely be doing most of the work tonight. If you’re finished, we should go and start preparations. Plus, we still need a lot of items.”

“Aren’t you eating?”

“I’ll eat later.”

“All right. I’m finished.”

Draco scribbled a quick list and the three of them parted to retrieve the necessary equipment. They all met on the third floor and Harry guided Draco down to the hidden chamber, lighting the way brightly with his wand. The space was nearly perfect, a high-walled chamber with multiple vaults and a lowered dais in the center. It was very dusty and Draco set Ron and Harry to sweeping while he alternately shot jets of water and wind from his wand until the floor gleamed. The three of them, however, were filthy from splattered dirty water.

Draco set a small table in the center of the room and carefully draped a linen cloth over it. Atop the cloth, he set the Hufflepuff cup, a small incense burner, a cauldron, a piece of parchment inscribed with a stylized pentagram, a large ball of white string, and a white candle. Next to the altar, he set four additional candles: red, brown, yellow, and blue.

Harry was busy with a bucket of salt, into which he mixed several of Hermione’s gathered herbs: angelica, horehound, mistletoe, and nettle. Draco set another censor, two small bowls, crumbled bits of frankincense and myrrh, and the flask of holy water next to the four mismatched candles.

He stood and looked at the other two.

“I think this is ready. Now, we just wait for Granger. What time is it?”

“Eight twenty,” Harry supplied after a quick glance at his watch. Draco nodded.

“I suggest we all get cleaned up. We purified the room and it wouldn’t hurt to do the same to ourselves. Let’s plan to meet back here at 11:30.”

He went straight to the prefect’s bathroom on the fifth floor, stripped, and sank gratefully into a tub of very hot water. He dunked his head and settled back for a long, relaxing soak. His languid recreation was broken some time later when the coin he now wore about his neck heated. He lifted it on its new cord.

Malfoy?

Finally awake?

Yes. Where are you?

In the bath. Care to join me?

Hardly. Where are the others?

Certainly not here! Why don’t you check out the Gryffindor common room?

All right. Where shall I meet you?

Here would be nice.

Drag your mind from the gutter and be serious.

I was serious. But for the sake of your virtue, I’ll meet you in the chamber in thirty minutes or so.

Enjoy your bath.

That was out of the question, now. He’d been enjoying it immensely until the image of her joining him there took over his mind. He quickly soaped his hair, rinsed, and left the water.

He wrapped himself in a thick white dressing gown, as a row of them hung from hooks on the wall. Rather than stride through the halls half-undressed, he Tranfigured it into a set of white dress robes, getting them too tight at first. It took several attempts before he was satisfied with the results. He wondered how Hermione always managed to get the fit right on the first try.

He pulled his boots back on, combed his drying hair, and headed for the chamber. She was already there, assessing the work they had done.

“Nice job,” she commented. She turned to look at him fully and her eyes widened as they traveled over him. He grinned. He quite enjoyed it when she looked at him like that.

“White?” she asked.

“It seemed appropriate.”

“I never would have guessed the color would suit you so well. You look like…” She stopped and a bit of pink tinted her cheeks.

“Like what?” he prodded, but she shook her head.

“Never mind. Your ego needs no more fodder. It’s swollen enough.”

He walked forward and stood before her in his usual manner. He loved watching her wrestle with her need to step away. Her Gryffindor pride always won. She held her ground, as usual, and raised stormy brown eyes to his.

“Must you always stand so bloody close?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said seriously. It was the only way he could drink in the apple-like scent of her, and watch the expressions that flitted across her face. Like the brief flash of annoyance that warred with the blush creeping across her cheeks. The fact that simply standing close to her had an effect on her gave him a heady sense of masculine power. Judging from the kiss they had shared and her reaction to it, Miss Granger’s resistance to him was eroding quickly.

With a silent groan, he realized he shouldn’t have conjured that particular memory. Her full lips were the color of a ripe peach and he knew they tasted as sweet. His heart began to thud in his chest and her blush deepened as if sensing the direction of his thoughts. Her chin rose almost imperceptibly and her lips parted. Her eyelids fluttered downward.

No way in hell could he resist that invitation. He lowered his head, but a venomous snarl caused him to pause and look over his shoulder. Hermione gasped. Weasley stood in the doorway looking as though he wanted to fly into the room and pummel Draco with his bare fists.

“God, Weasley,” Draco said dryly. “Could you possibly have located a color that clashes more with your hair?” Ron’s robes were clean, but a bit worn, and resembled the color of dried blood. Draco tipped his wand and turned the robes a different color.

Weasley yelped. “What the hell—? No way am I wearing Slytherin green! Hermione!”

She turned his robes back and then gave Draco a look, but admitted, “I have to say green does suit you, Ron.”

“Maybe I should have been in Slytherin, then,” Ron said bitterly. “You seem to have a thing for them all of a sudden.”

“Honestly, Ronald,” she said in exasperation and rolled her eyes. “Where’s Harry?”

“Coming. Should we start early?”

Hermione shook her head. “I’m starving and I feel inappropriately dressed. I think I’ll get something to eat and then change.”

“I’ll join you,” Draco said.

“Let’s all go,” Ron snapped and Draco grinned. The Weasel certainly had his dander up. Hermione headed down the corridor, followed by Ron, who fell into step beside Draco.

“You owe me a favor, Malfoy,” Ron said in a low voice. Draco flicked a disdainful glance at him.

“I haven’t forgotten.”

“Good. I want you to stay away from Hermione.”

Draco watched her walking ahead of them. Her curls bounced when she moved and the skirt she wore twitched invitingly with each step of her delectable legs. Draco’s eyes caressed her form wickedly.

“I’ll have to get back to you on that one, Weasel.”

“I mean it, Malfoy,” Ron hissed. “You’re playing some sort of horrid game with her and she seems to be falling for it. I don’t want to see her hurt, so you just leave her the hell alone.”

“Relax. If her ickle heart gets broken, she’ll go running to you for comfort, so what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that I don’t want her around you at all. You’re bad news and I’m not buying this whole ‘change of heart’ routine. Not one bit. If you want to convince me you’re not the same person who arranged Dumbledore’s death, you’ll do as I ask. You fucking owe me and I’m telling you what will square us.”

Draco felt a rush of annoyance.

“I don’t want to convince you of anything, Weasley. Believe whatever you like. God, you Gryffindors are narrow-minded. Everything is either black or white to you. Your motives sure as hell aren’t squeaky-clean. She’s a big girl and she can make her own decisions. She doesn’t need you manipulating her life.”

“Don’t even get me started on manipulation, you Slytherin bastard! Somehow, you’re making her forget who you really are—what you’ve done! Well, I haven’t forgotten.”

They were nearly to the chamber beneath the trapdoor. Draco wanted to slam Weasley against the wall. He fought down his rage. Hermione glanced back at them and he noticed her gaze travel over him again. Her lips curved in a sensual smile that nearly stopped Draco’s heart. He expelled a breath. Maybe the Weasel was right. He’d probably end up hurting her in the end. Where did he expect it to go? A hot, delicious roll in the sack? And then what? A girl like Hermione wouldn’t settle for casual treatment. She would expect commitment. Hand-holding. Flowers. Engagement ring. Invitation home to meet Mummy and Daddy.

His jaw clenched. That would go over well. “Mother, Father, meet my Mudblood girlfriend. Yes, the same girl I hated with a passion for six long years. Ironic, isn’t it?”

She stopped and waited for them expectantly. It took a fine-tuned Wingardium Leviosa to get them back up to the third floor. No one could cast it better than Hermione. Hell, no one could cast much of anything better than her. She really did deserve better than Draco Malfoy. He glared at Weasley. She deserved better than the Weasel, too. What she deserved was… He shook his head and chuckled wryly. She deserved the Golden Boy himself. She deserved Harry Potter.

Weasley scowled at him suspiciously.

“All right, Weasel-face. You win. I’ll do it,” Draco said with a sigh of resignation.

“Do what?” Hermione asked now that they were close enough for her to overhear.

“No tricks?” Ron demanded.

“No tricks. You have my word as a Malfoy.”

Ron’s derisive expression revealed what he thought about that vow, but Draco didn’t give a d**n whether he believed it or not.

“What are you two plotting?”

Draco gazed at her sadly and wished he had been able to kiss her one last time. He sighed. C’est la vie.

“Never mind,” Ron said. “Just a little matter between me and Malfoy. Take us up, Hermione.”

She looked from one of them to the other, shook her head, and cast the spell.

They gathered in the chamber once more at 11:45. Hermione had eaten and then hurried off to bathe. She had waited expectantly for Draco to offer to join her and her eyes had narrowed in puzzlement when he hadn’t even grinned. Draco had cursed Weasley under his breath, though. Roundly and often.

She was currently dressed in yellow robes. A strange color, but one that fit her well. She looked like springtime. Draco decided he had best stop thinking about her and turned his eyes to the others. Weasley still wore his ugly red robes and Harry’s were black—an odd contract to Draco’s white. They all stood around the altar and Hermione handed Draco the bucket of herbed salt.

“Cast away, oh mighty one,” she said quietly.

Draco took the salt in his left hand and his wand in his right. The others looked sober, but determined. They had lit several candles about the room to provide light. Draco tried to shake off the notion that the place resembled a crypt. Not exactly a thought conducive to a positive working. He walked several paces from the altar in order to give them a large enough space, and then tipped the bucket. As he walked, he drew an imaginary line with his wand before covering it with salt.

“I conjure thee, oh circle of power, in this place, purified for our purpose. May this circle be perfect and unbroken. Guard us within. Sanctify this space and shield us from all powers without. Preserve and contain the powers we raise herein. By completion of thy sacred ring, I bless and consecrate thee.”

With his final words, the ring of salt was completed. A bluish glow emanated from the outer edge of the salt, losing its hue as it rose, but giving the illusion of a shield enclosing the space overhead. He looked at Hermione expectantly.

She took up the censor containing frankincense and myrrh and placed it at the easternmost point of the circle. She lit them with her wand and a fragrant hint of smoke curled upwards. She Accioed the yellow candle and set it next to the censor.

She stood before the candle and raised her arms upwards in supplication, wand still clutched tightly in her right hand.

“Hail to thee, Son of Horus, Guardian of the East, bringer of the dawn. Lend to us your knowledge. Grant us clarity of thought, swift and pure as the desert wind that sweeps across the sand. Join with us. Protect us with the power of air and the innocence of childhood. With this light I conjure thee.”

She lowered her wand and lit the candle. There was no change, but Draco felt a sudden charging of the air, as though a lightning storm was approaching. She turned and looked at Ron, who seemed nervous. He gamely took up the red candle and went to the southern point. He set the candle on the floor, swallowed, and took out the small card Hermione had made for him. He began to read.

“Hail to thee, Son of Horus, Guardian of the South, keeper of the light of noon. Lend to us your energy. Grant us the willpower to see us through our purpose, strong and bright as the sun that heats the desert sand. Join with us. Protect us with the power of fire and the vigor of youth. With this light I conjure thee.”

He lit the red candle.

Draco stood to the west with the bowl of holy water and the blue candle. He set both on the floor. Hermione had given him a card, but he had already memorized the words. He raised his arms and spoke.

“Hail to thee, Son of Horus, Guardian of the West, keeper of the dusk. Lend to us your passion. Grant us purity of emotion, as fluid as the Nile, which flows through the desert and brings life to the parched earth. Join with us. Protect us with the power of water and the wisdom of maturity. With this light I conjure thee.”

Draco lit the blue candle with a flick of his wand, and then it was Harry’s turn. He stood behind the small bowl of pure salt and the brown candle.

“Hail to thee, Son of Horus, Guardian of the North, keeper of darkest midnight. Lend to us your strength. Grant us the endurance to see the coming battle through, solid as the rock beneath the desert sand. Join with us. Protect us with the power of earth and the resolution of old age. With this light I conjure thee.”

Harry lit his candle.

With that, the air around them seemed to fairly crackle with energy. Draco let out a breath. He hated ritual magic. There were too many variables. He much preferred to point, flick, and focus his will.

Hermione walked forward and lifted the Horcrux. She set it directly on the parchment inscribed with the pentagram. Next, she lit the thick white candle.

“Now for the hard part,” she said and met Draco’s eyes. He went forward to stand by her, although he wouldn’t be able to help her once she started the incantation.

“You can do it,” he said encouragingly. She smiled fleetingly and began.

The spell had been taken from the book and had to be repeated several times. She punctuated each chant by touching the cup with herbs, holy water, salt, and her wand. A tangible force seemed to grow over the cup and Draco could see the strain on Hermione’s face as she struggled to keep the words steady. The cup suddenly blackened and crumpled upon itself. Hermione levitated the cup and parchment. She set the cup down once the paper was free and then caused it to roll tightly like a scroll. Still using her wand, she began to wrap the white string tightly around the parchment. Draco could see her shaking with effort.

He lifted his wand and took over the string wrapping while she kept the scroll in midair. The thing resisted the binding. He persevered and it was finally completely wrapped in string. Hermione dropped it into the cauldron with relief. She cast another spell almost angrily and the string-wrapped paper ignited. It smoldered reluctantly at first, but quickly grew to fill the cauldron with angry, crackling flames that licked skyward and burned with an ugly greenish light.

A sudden howl burst from the cauldron and a dark shape streaked outward. It flung itself at Hermione, but seemed to have no tangibility. She gasped as it went straight through her, and then she crumpled against Draco, who caught her and sank to his knees. He watched as the thing spiraled wildly around their heads, shrieking with an otherworldly sound.

“Open the circle!” Draco yelled to Harry. Potter aimed a burst of water at the salt on the floor and it washed away. As if the air were suddenly sucked from the space, the dark shape hurtled out. As they watched, it dissipated as though shredded by invisible hands. The howling ceased.

“Exit Tom Riddle,” Draco said breathlessly. He put a hand to Hermione’s neck and felt for a pulse. Thankfully, her heart beat normally. She was probably just in shock from having a piece of Voldemort plunge through her. Ron hurried over and knelt beside them. He grabbed Hermione’s shoulders and pulled her away from Draco, who watched him coldly, but said nothing. Ron lifted Hermione’s still form.

“I’ll take her upstairs,” he said flatly. He walked over the broken circle and headed for the exit.

Harry was holding the blackened Hufflepuff cup. He looked at Draco somberly.

“One down,” he said. Draco nodded.

“Now we just have to find the rest.”

Draco blew out the guttering candles with quick bursts of air from his wand. Harry started after Ron, but paused at the doorway.

“Hey, Malfoy.”

Draco looked over at him.

“Thanks for your help,” Harry said seriously.

Draco smiled softly.

“Bet that hurt.”

Harry laughed. “Yeah.”

The Boy Who Lived turned and went out, leaving Draco in the growing darkness.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Draco ei suuda Hermionest eemal olla - arvan vähemalt. Ron on kuidagi - pähh ahhahaa.

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Chapter Twenty Eight – Harry’s Observations

Harry was keyed up as he made his way back to the Gryffindor common room. When he stepped through the portrait hole, he stopped in surprise. Hermione lay on the couch, still out cold, and Ron stood over her. Ginny Weasley stood before Ron with her hands on her hips and a confrontational stance.

Harry grinned and admired her for a moment before she turned on him angrily. His grin vanished. She walked to him and slid her arms around his neck.

“Hi, Harry,” she said sweetly and planted a kiss on his lips. He kissed her cautiously, uncomfortable, as always, when doing so in Ron’s presence. He pushed her away regretfully.

“Hi, Ginny. I thought we agreed not to do that any more.”

“Actually, you agreed to that. I don’t recall signing any contracts. Now, suppose you tell me what you’ve all been up to in the middle of the night, since my dear brother refuses to talk.”

“When did you get here?” Harry countered, ignoring her question.

“About twenty minutes ago. It was Moody’s idea to travel at night, of course. Sometimes I think he’s completely lost it. Imagine my surprise to discover Gryffindor Tower completely empty. If I didn’t know you so well, I would have gone straight to McGonagall.”

“We were out… looking for something,” Harry said lamely, which was somewhat vaguely true if you stretched your imagination far enough.

“Really? And where were you looking for this something? And what happened to Hermione?”

Harry thought hard. Answering those questions would require blatant lying and he really didn’t want to do that to Ginny.

“I can’t tell you,” he said quietly. Her brown eyes flashed and then sparkled with angry tears.

“You know, I really hate it when you do this!” she yelled. “You three and your secrets! Why can’t you ever let anyone into your tight little group? I’ve been possessed by Voldemort! I was nearly killed! What more do I have to do to be included in this private war of yours? If anyone should be involved, it should be me!”

Harry looked at Ron helplessly.

“It’s not my decision,” Harry told her quietly. “I was sworn to silence by Dumbledore.”

“But Dumbledore is—“

“Some secrets cannot be revealed, even by death,” Harry said, repeating Dumbledore’s words. “Look at Grimmauld Place. Look at Hogwarts. He might be gone, but his essence remains. His spells yet hold, and his secrets will be maintained. I would tell you, but I can’t.”

He winced inwardly, because he had lied to her, after all. Even if he could, he would never tell her. He didn’t want her anywhere near another Horcrux. He wanted her isolated and safe, even if she hated him for it.

She glared at him. “I don’t believe you. If you really wanted to include me, you’d find a way. You find loopholes and break rules any time it suits your purpose. You just don’t want me to know.”

“I’m trying to…” He stopped, knowing if he mentioned the words “protect” or “safe” that she would blow like a champagne cork.

“Save it,” she snapped. “If you want me out of it, then consider me excluded. As usual.”

She whirled and stalked for the girl’s dorm. Harry cringed when a door slammed upstairs.

“That went well,” Ron commented.

“She hates me,” Harry moaned.

“She’s just mad right now. She’ll throw some stuff or blow a hole in the wall, but she’ll get over it.”

“Maybe we should tell her. I mean, Malfoy knows… it’s not exactly our exclusive secret any more.”

Ron shook his head vehemently. “No. It was horrible, when she was in the Chamber of Secrets. I can’t go through that again. She stays out of it.”

Harry sighed, but nodded. He knew it wouldn’t be easy. She was no shrinking violet to meekly accept the role they expected of her.

“She’ll be watching us. It’s going to be a lot harder to sneak around.”

“Well, we won’t have to do much of that for awhile. We’ve got no leads on any other… Trinkets. We don’t know where You-Know-Who is. We’re pretty much stuck here with Pensieve memories and the useless library until something cracks.”

Ron located a blanket and draped it over Hermione gently. They had no way of taking her upstairs without triggering the alarm. Harry shook his head, still somewhat annoyed at the whole no-boys-in-the-girls’-dorm rule. Like any Gryffindor boy would be ignoble enough to sneak into the girl’s dorm… Well, maybe Fred and George.

Ron brushed a lock of hair from Hermione’s forehead. Harry’s eyes narrowed at the gesture. It hadn’t occurred to him until just that moment, but Ron’s move triggered his memory. Harry knew there was something between Malfoy and Hermione. It had been obvious from the moment they had appeared at Hogwarts. It wasn’t just the kiss on the stairs, either. It was the way they looked at one another, the palpable tension in the air when they were together, and the fleeting glances they gave to each other when they thought no one was watching… And then Hermione’s admission that Ron’s kiss had not affected her. Harry had no idea how Malfoy felt, but he was afraid that Hermione was already half in love with Draco, even if she wouldn’t admit it to herself.

Yet, this afternoon, something had been different. Malfoy had suddenly become distant. He hadn’t returned Hermione’s teasing jibes; he had kept a safe distance between them; and the most telling of all—he had backed down from Ron in the broken circle. Without a word. It was beyond curious. It was damned strange. Harry opened his mouth to ask Ron about it, but he closed it with a snap. He knew Ron would be evasive and then defensive. Harry didn’t want a row at this hour.

Besides, anything that kept Draco Malfoy away from Hermione probably wasn’t a bad thing.

He just hoped she would see it that way.

Harry tossed in bed for awhile, but found himself unable to sleep. He got up and pulled on a dressing gown and slippers. After a moment, he slung on his Invisibility Cloak and padded out. He probably wouldn’t run into anyone at this hour of the night, but on the off chance, he didn’t want to answer any questions.

A passing ghost was the only moving creature he saw on the way to the Pensieve. Once in McGonagall’s office, he lit a lamp and poured the next vial into the basin. He hated to go alone, but assumed it would be another Snape memory. In that, he was right.

The scene in the Pensieve revealed Snape as Harry had never before seen him. They were in Dumbledore’s office again. Dumbledore was seated before the desk, looking old, worn, and sad. Snape was pacing and he looked distraught. His hair was disheveled and his hands were twisting together in agitation.

“It’s my fault,” Snape said. “I taunted him. I practically dared him. I didn’t know he would run off like that!” He laughed harshly, a painful sound without humor. “I should have known, of course. There was a reason he was sorted into Gryffindor. He always had more courage than sense, you know.”

Snape sat heavily in a chair opposite Dumbledore. Harry was astonished to see tears gathering in Snape’s eyes. Who the hell was he talking about?

“Sirius knew the risks,” Dumbledore said quietly.

Harry gasped and shook his head, unable to accept what his ears were hearing. He stared from one of them to the other, locked in denial. Snape didn’t seem to have heard the Headmaster. His eyes were unfocused.

“I should have been there,” Snape said quietly. Harry clenched his fists. Snape couldn’t be talking about the battle at the Department of Mysteries! He couldn’t be pretending to be upset that Sirius had gone through the veil!

Snape went on. “And Bellatrix. How could she? Sirius might have been a blood-traitor, but he was a Black! He didn’t deserve to die that way.” Harry shook his head again, not believing a single word. His nails dug into his palms and he suddenly wished the memory were real so he could leap on Snape and pound him into jelly.

Snape sobbed suddenly and buried his head in his hands. Harry stared at Dumbledore in disbelief. Surely the Headmaster didn’t believe this ridiculous blatant acting? Snape had treated Sirius like scum beneath his shoes and now he was sorry about his death? Was Dumbledore a complete imbecile?

Harry narrowed his eyes suddenly as a thought occurred to him. Snape was a skilled Occlumens. Was it possible his talents had evolved past simply blocking his thoughts from others? Was it feasible that Snape had actually learned how to project his will? Could he actually influence Dumbledore into believing his words? It was better than an Imperius Curse because the recipient would believe they acted of their own free will. Harry backed away as the idea took root. No wonder Dumbledore had trusted Snape! He’d had no choice in the matter!

Snape looked up again and his face was wet with tears. Harry’s rage nearly exploded. Actual tears! Harry’s anger toward Snape had dissipated somewhat since the incident on the Tower, but now it returned full force. His desire to kill Voldemort was second to his need to kill Snape. The bastard had fooled them all, even the greatest wizard among them.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Dumbledore said apologetically. “None of it was your fault.”

Yes, it was, Harry thought angrily. It was all Snape’s fault. All of it.

Snape stood up. “You know, if your damned Chosen Hero had learned his lessons, no one would have gone to the Department of Mysteries at all! Your precious Harry Potter didn’t even try to block Voldemort’s images! And you were bloody stupid not to tell him about the d**n prophecy!”

Dumbledore sighed heavily. “I am aware of my failings. I didn’t count on Harry’s curiosity outweighing his common sense.”

“Despite the fact that I warned you several times,” Snape said venomously. He got to his feet.

Dumbledore nodded wearily. “Recriminations will not bring Sirius back. We cannot change the past.”

Snape looked at him with disgust. “Spare me your platitudes, old man. As far as I’m concerned, Sirius’s blood is on your hands as well as mine.”

He stormed to the door and out.

Harry sat heavily on the window seat and tried to grasp what he had witnessed. Snape had made Dumbledore believe that he was upset over the death of Sirius. Additionally, he had made Dumbledore feel extremely guilty over the incident. To what end? Was it merely to cement the trust Dumbledore already had in Snape? Harry began to see why Dumbledore had left so many memories of Snape. He couldn’t directly reveal Snape’s duplicity, but he could expose it, layer by layer.

Harry stood up and walked to Dumbledore’s portrait. He lit his wand to provide light and the Headmaster, who appeared to have been sleeping, blinked at the sudden brightness.

“Harry! How nice to see you. Wandering about at night again?”

“Snape was using some spell on you, wasn’t he?” Harry asked. “He forced you to trust him. Some spell he invented himself, maybe. We know he’s good at that. Look at Sectumsempra. He made you believe him.”

“Things are not always what they seem, Harry,” Dumbledore’s portrait said quietly.

“Yeah, well things definitely aren’t what they seem with Snape, are they? I mean, crying over Sirius’s death? It defies rational thought! And yet, you accepted it without question.”

“His grief was quite real, Harry.”

Harry barked an amazed laugh. “It works even beyond the grave? Before I kill him, I think I’ll extract the secret of that spell. Hell, if he can do that to you, he’s probably calling the shots on old Voldemort by now. No wonder he ran back to his old master. Now that he’s got you out of the way, all he needs to do is get rid of Voldemort and he’ll be the one in control. I bet he can even get the Death Eaters to follow him.”

Harry turned to leave. “Frankly, I hope he does kill Voldemort. That way, all I have to do is kill Snape. Let me tell you, I’m ready for that day. Between what he did to Sirius and what he did to you… If I have to become a murderer at least it will be for the sake of justice. Voldemort killed my parents before I even knew who they were. But Snape is responsible for the death of two people I cared about. A lot. That’s a pain I have to live with every day.”

Harry went out before Dumbledore could respond. He didn’t want any reassurances or moral clichés. He just wanted to hunt down Severus Snape.

Draco woke up when the coin warmed on his chest. He sat up with a start. He blinked blearily at the coin and lit his wand to make out the words.

Are you awake?

He groaned and collapsed back on the pillow. God save him from Little Miss Sunshine. He probably should have left the coin on the bedside table last night.

I am now.

Well, it’s about time. It’s past noon. You have an owl.

Past noon? He stretched lazily. No wonder his stomach was complaining. He needed sustenance. What was she talking about? He had an owl? Of course he had an owl. It was at home—

He sat up suddenly. Bloody hell, how could he have received a reply from his parents already? He had only sent his message yesterday and Hogwarts was miles from anywhere. The clothes he had worn to Hogwarts had been cleaned and neatly folded. He tugged them on. Maybe the owl was from someone else. Not likely, but possible.

He entered the Great Hall and paused when he discovered a whole gaggle of Gryffindors seated at their usual table. The usual three, plus Fred, George, and Ginny Weasley. He shot Hermione an irritated glare for not warning him. She smiled sweetly.

“What’s he doing her?” Ginny yelled, leaping to her feet and brandishing her wand. Draco looked at her coldly. He could feel a headache coming on. One Weasley was bad enough. But four? Potter gripped his girlfriend’s arm to pull her back down, but she yanked away. Draco raised an eyebrow. Apparently, everything was not peaches and cream in Loveland. Harry and Ginny had a hissed argument that grew louder until Ginny screamed something about Harry and his load of secrets and ran out of the room.

“Better go after her, Potter,” Draco muttered, but Harry stayed in his seat, looking embarrassed and upset. Draco shook his head sadly. Once an idiot, always an idiot.

Hermione had saved a seat for Draco, but he rounded the table to sit in the space Ginny had vacated, next to Potter. An owl immediately fluttered down and landed before Draco. Hermione’s eyes met his across the table as his brow knit in concern.

“Yours?” Hermione asked, obviously understanding the implications. If the message had been received and returned this quickly, it meant Draco’s parents were nearby. The thought was somewhat alarming. Draco removed the message from the owl’s holder and opened it. It was a brief message from Narcissa to Twillfit and Tatting’s expressing regret that she could not attend their gala event. Draco rolled it up and tucked it into a pocket. He’d have to retrieve the true message later. After he ate.

Fred and George were watching him from their places beside Ron.

“So,” said one twin. “Malfoy is here.”

“Sitting next to Harry Potter,” said the other.

“What’s wrong with this picture?”

“It’s completely insane?”

“Incomprehensible? Inexplicable?”

“Indubitably.”

Draco’s headache was growing. He ignored the annoying Weasleys and ate quickly. Harry was nursing a glass of pumpkin juice. He seemed preoccupied. When Draco finished and pushed his plate away, Harry asked quietly, “Can I talk to you for a minute? Privately?”

Without waiting for an answer, Potter rose and headed out. Curious, Draco followed. He heard Hermione start to get up and join them, but Ron stopped her with a question. Draco found Harry waiting for him by the entrance to the Slytherin dungeon. They walked together down the steps to Snape’s office.

Harry wandered around the office aimlessly, peering at bottles and jars. Draco tossed himself into a chair and waited for Potter to get on with it. He finally turned around and looked at Draco seriously.

“You’ve spent a lot of time around Snape,” Harry said. “I mean, he was your Head of House, you know where he lives, you saw him outside of school…”

“Is this going somewhere?” Draco asked dryly, twirling his wand.

Harry told him about the last Pensieve memory he’d witnessed and his speculation about the spell Snape had likely used on Dumbledore.

“So, do you think it’s possible?” Harry finished. “For Snape to have created some sort of variation on the Imperius Curse?”

“Well, it is pretty farfetched to think he’d be broken up over Sirius Black… I suppose it’s possible Snape invented a new spell. It wouldn’t be the first time.” He looked pointedly at Harry, who flushed guiltily.

“I didn’t mean to use Sectumsempra on you,” he said quietly. “I panicked. I didn’t even know what it did, at the time.”

Draco shrugged. “Forget it. I wasn’t exactly holding back on you, either.”

They shared an uncomfortable silence and then Harry cleared his throat.

“Why do you think Snape told you about the Horcrux? And how did he know about it?”

“I’ve been thinking about that. I haven’t anything concrete… just a vague idea.”

“Which is?”

“I think Snape is in love with my mother.”

Harry stared at him. “Seriously?”

Draco nodded. “She trusts Snape and always has. She was still at Hogwarts when he started. She’s older than he is… I’m sure he followed her around like a puppy dog, back then. From what I remember, Snape joined Bella’s little clique at school during her last year at Hogwarts. That was likely before they found out he was a half-blood, of course. But, even then he was a Dark Arts master.”

Draco shifted slightly and tossed a leg over the arm of the chair. He tapped his wand idly against his knee.

“Snape was out at the Manor fairly often over breaks. I think he told Mother he was personally interested in my education. From what I recall, though, they spent a lot of time in the parlour drinking wine and reminiscing about their school days.”

“Didn’t that bother your father?”

Draco laughed in genuine amusement.

“Of course not. Look at Snape! My father knew he had nothing to fear from a shifty, greasy-haired, half-blood like Snape. I think it amused him to let the fool have his fantasies.” Draco shook his head. “My parents are so deeply in love it’s almost sickening. I have to leave the room when they sit together in front of the fire and gaze into each others’ eyes.” He shuddered. “Frankly, I’m surprised I’m an only child, the way they carry on…”

Harry held up a hand. “More information than I need, thank you.”

Draco grinned. “Anyway, Snape made an Unbreakable Vow to my mother in order to protect me. Why the hell would he do that? Despite what he might have led you to believe, I wasn’t his favorite student. I’m good at Potions, but I’m no genius like Granger. I don’t think he even had a favorite student. He pretty much hated all of us. I got the impression he despised teaching.”

“You know, in one memory, Snape said he was a prisoner here. Why do you suppose he stayed? To stop Voldemort? If that’s the case, why did he kill Dumbledore? It couldn’t have merely been to protect you and win your mother’s favor. Could it?”

“I don’t know. He does seem to want the Horcruxes destroyed. Maybe he decided he could do it without Dumbledore’s help.”

“He did rail at Dumbledore for wasting twelve years when they should have been looking for the things.”

“He had a point there.”

Harry nodded. Draco pulled out the message from his mother and got to his feet.

“I need to read this. Hang on and I’ll tell you if it says anything useful.”

He searched Snape’s desk until he found a hellishly sharp knife. He took a deep breath while Harry watched him curiously.

“God, I hate this part,” Draco admitted and then made a small slash on his arm. Harry gasped in surprise. Draco opened the scroll and let some of his blood trickle onto the parchment. Instantly, the inked words disappeared and reddish-brown letters appeared.

Thank God you’re safe! We’ve been so worried. HE has stopped all external activity and seeks to achieve his main objective. I’m not sure what that is, but it will not be pleasant when it comes. Do not return to the school! It’s not safe. Don’t try and contact us again unless it is vital. He watches us too closely. Be careful. We love you. Also, Regulus Black died in Carlisle. The house is in ruins,south of town overlooking the Firth.

Draco handed the message at Harry and conjured a bandage for his arm.

Harry rolled up the scroll and returned it to Draco. His green eyes shone.

“Let’s go.”

“What? Us? Now?”

“I’m sick of sitting around doing bloody nothing and waiting for my birthday. Do you know where this place is?”

“No, but it shouldn’t be hard to find. All I need is a map. But, you don’t honestly want to go alone with me. I could be a Death Eater, remember? I can’t be trusted.”

“Hermione trusts you. That’s good enough for me.”

Draco combed an annoyed hand through his hair. Having Potter look at him like that was almost worse than when Granger did it. Damned overly-trusting Gryffindors. He scowled.

“If anything happens to you, even accidentally, your little friends will rip me limb from limb.”

Harry grinned wickedly.

“Then, you’d better make sure nothing happens to me, hadn’t you?”

“I really hate you. You know that, right?”

“It’s been fairly obvious. If it’s any consolation, I hate you, too.”

“That’s settled, then. Meet me on the Astronomy Tower within the hour. Bring your broom. You’ll probably want your cloak, too, so your friends don’t see you sneaking off. I’ll go find a map and figure out a place to Apparate us once we get past the grounds.” He sighed. “This is probably the stupidest thing I’ve done lately.”

“Don’t worry, I think you’ve done plenty of stupid things, recently. One more shouldn’t matter.”

“Don’t push it, Potter.”

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Can Harry and Draco manage a Horcrux search without maiming each other?

---

Chapter Twenty Nine - Draco and Harry

Draco stood impatiently on the Tower and drummed his fingers on his broomstick. Granted, he was early, but still, what could be taking The Chosen One so bloody long?

"Are you ready?" a voice asked ridiculously close to Draco's ear. He nearly jumped out of his skin and he heard invisible Harry laugh.

"f**k you, Potter," Malfoy snarled and took a breath to calm his racing heart. Harry chuckled again. "Bastard. You might be invisible, but I am not. Are any of your Order members going to spot me and try to drag us back here?"

"I doubt it. Most of them left for the Ministry of Magic this morning to decide what to do with the Carrows."

"I could give them a hint," Draco said.

"I think they're looking into a less permanent solution."

"Fools. Amycus and Alecto didn't know much, did they?"

"Not that I heard. Moody was in a wretched temper, so they didn't have anything useful to say, apparently."

"How did you explain your absence to your clingy friends?"

"I left them a note."

Draco burst out laughing. "You like to live dangerously, don't you, Potter? I'd hate to be around Granger when she finds that little present." To that end, Draco had left Hermione's Galleon in his trunk. He did not need her trying to contact him all day long in a rage.

"Let's go before she finds it and come to kill us," Harry suggested.

"Kill you," Draco commented. "This was your idea."

Harry made an impatient sound, so Malfoy mounted his broom and pushed off.

They Apparated on the outskirts of Carlisle, luckily in a deserted field. A very muddy deserted field. Draco disgustedly yanked his feet out of the sucking mud and got back on his broom.

"Malfoy! We could be spotted by Muggles!"

"I don't bloody care! I'm not walking through ankle-deep mud when I have a damned broom in my hand!"

He heard Harry sigh and after a short jaunt, they reached a dirt road lined in huge oak trees. Draco spent a ludicrous amount of time trying to scrape the mud from his boots before Harry cursed and shot a Scourgify spell at them. Draco tsked.

"What if a Muggle had seen that?"

"Do you see any Muggles?" Harry shouted.

"Thankfully not, or they would be wondering where the hell your loud voice is coming from. Do you plan to stay invisible the whole day? Not that I'm complaining because it spares me from looking at your ugly mug."

Harry pulled the cloak off.

"Do you plan to be obnoxious the whole day?"

Draco nodded. "Yes, I rather thought I would. Do you mind?"

Harry pulled at his black hair and Draco grinned. He planned to keep track of how many times Potter made that particular gesture, now that Draco could see him.

"Where do we go from here?"

"To the coast, Potter. If I remember the tale, I should be able to find it fairly quickly."

They were lucky to locate the cottage at all. If not for the broken chimney jutting from the surrounding bushes, they would have bypassed it completely. Brush and trees surrounded what remained of the building, which was perched on a windy promontory overlooking a rocky, crumbling cliff.

Draco and Harry picked their way carefully through the undergrowth, although Draco insistently blasted offending branches into powder with jets of green light until Harry yanked at his hair again. Two, thought Draco.

"Will you stop with the bloody magic?" he hissed. Draco threw him a hard glare.

"Relax. There are no Muggles around here at all. Why do you think Regulus chose this spot?"

"That was nearly two decades ago!"

"No kidding. What the hell are we looking for? Because unless it's green and shaped like a bush, we're going to have a hard time locating it."

The interior of the destroyed cottage was a mass of greenery. Even the rotting timbers were covered with a thick layer of moss. Harry looked around dejectedly.

"I don't know. I was hoping we would be able to find something, at least. It looks like this whole trip was a bloody waste of time."

"Not completely. You got to spend the afternoon basking in my perfection." Harry scowled, hand in hair. Three. Draco chuckled. "Actually, when we were at the Riddle House, Hermione cast a magical detection spell. Do you know it?"

Harry thought for a moment. "I think so, yeah." He tested a couple of spells and finally managed a faint glow. Unfortunately, the whole place had a dim residue of magic.

"All right," Draco said and sighed. "Teach me the spell. We will have to wade in there and see what is left. It will go faster with both of us."

The spell was relatively simple and quickly learned, so Draco and Harry separated to search the ruins. Over the next forty minutes they discovered broken potion bottles, a rusted cauldron, the burned and rotting covers of various illegible books, assorted containers with mostly unidentifiable potion ingredients, and a gold amulet that caused Harry to yelp in excitement until he cleaned off the grime to reveal a nearly worthless amulet containing a minor protection spell.

Draco was near the crumbling fireplace pressing various bricks to check for hidden compartments when he felt the floor shift beneath him. He froze in alarm.

"Oh shi—“ he managed before the floor collapsed beneath him. He was down before he could so much as lift his wand. His head slammed into something hard and a searing pain shot through his leg, so intense he would have screamed if the breath hadn't been knocked out of him. He fought for air and tried to hold off the encroaching blackness.

"Malfoy!" Harry yelled. Draco drew in a painful breath. He could hear Potter thumping around above him. Great. That was all he needed, for the idiot to fall atop him and break something else.

He blinked at the jagged span of light above. He had fallen about eight feet onto an uneven pile of something. The urge to succumb to blackness slowly faded and he cautiously lifted his wand.

"Malfoy!" Harry bellowed again.

"I'm alive, Potter! Be careful up there. I don't need you collapsing rest of the floor!"

The effort of shouting had sent pain exploding through both Draco's head and his right leg. He gasped and reluctantly lifted his wand. He raised his throbbing head and looked down. He groaned and shut his eyes against another wave of vertigo when he saw the thick splinter of wood jutting from his thigh.

Potter's head blocked the light from above.

"Are you all right? Do you want me to levitate you up?"

"Hell no! My leg—I think it's… impaled on something."

"Hold on! I'm coming down."

"I wasn't really planning to go anywhere," Draco said dryly, but Harry was gone.

A few mnutes later, a rope snaked down through the opening. Potter slid over the edge and climbed down hand over hand.

"Are you a wizard or aren't you?" Draco asked.

"My Levitation spell is… not very precise."

"Oh, but you were willing to levitate me?"

"Of course."

Harry made it down and knelt beside Draco. He looked at Draco's thigh and swallowed hard. Worried green eyes met silver.

"It's a splintered piece of a broken beam. Still attached. We'll have to… pull your leg free."

Draco's jaw tightened, although he had already expected that to be the case.

"All right." He took a deep breath. "Let's do it."

"Hang on," Harry said. He stood and pulled out his wand. "I have to do something first."

He pointed his wand at Draco and a jet of bluish light was the last thing Malfoy saw.

Harry knelt down, working quickly. He did not know how long Malfoy would be out. The shard jutted about an inch out of the top of Draco's thigh. Harry wrenched at Draco's cloak and cut several strips to use as bandages. Then he steeled himself, got a solid grip on Malfoy's leg, and yanked.

The pain must have been excruciating, because Malfoy arched his back, gasped, and his eyes snapped open, negating the sleep spell. Harry put his hands over the wound, top and bottom, trying to staunch the blood flow. He held the pressure for a moment and then quickly wrapped the cloak strips tightly around Malfoy's thigh. He tied them off tightly.

"God, Malfoy. There's so much blood. We've got to get you to St. Mungo's."

"Did you search down here?" Draco asked.

"For what?"

"Anything! We're already here and I don't plan to come back, so get searching."

Harry glared, but cast the detection spell. Several spots about the cellar glowed.

"There," Draco said and pointed his wand toward a glowing portion of the floor. Harry hurried over and ripped at the boards. A moldering leather bag was revealed by a quick Lumos spell. Harry hefted the bag and tugged it open. A small silver box fell into his hands.

He looked at Draco and then flipped the latch. He reached in and lifted the golden chain attached to an open locket. The inside of the locket was blackened. The locket spun slowly and the light glinted off the S insignia. Slytherin's locket.

"Regulus did destroy it," Harry breathed. He felt a sharp pang of sadness when he recalled the other locket, the fake locket Regulus Black had left for them to retrieve—the one that had ended in Dumbledore's death.

"Bring it," Draco said weakly. "We need to be certain."

Harry returned the locket to the silver box and stowed it in his pack with his Invisibility Cloak. He hurried back to Malfoy. It was difficult to see against the black bandage, but Harry could tell it was wet with blood.

"Time to go," he said.

"Don't forget the brooms." Harry tugged at his hair. Even wounded, Malfoy was a pain in the ass.

"Accio brooms!" Harry snapped. They hurtled through the opening and into Harry's hand. "Now can we go?"

"Almost. Take off your glasses."

"What?"

"Do you plan to burst into St. Mungo's and announce to everyone that Harry Potter has arrived? Perhaps you should take out an ad in The Daily Prophet."

Harry took off his glasses and stowed them in his shirt pocket. Draco tapped him on the head and muttered a spell. Harry's head felt ice-cold for a moment.

Malfoy touched his own head with his wand and Harry watched in amazement as Draco's hair darkened.

"That will have to do. Let's go."

Harry knelt down and slid his right arm around Draco's shoulders, since he did not have a free hand. His right held his wand and his left gripped their brooms.

"Make one comment and I'll leave your ass here, Malfoy," Harry warned. "I swear it."

"You're terribly sexy when you're forceful, Potter," Draco breathed huskily. Harry shut his eyes, prayed for strength, and Disapparated.

They Apparated into the lobby at St. Mungo's. Harry dropped the brooms and lifted Malfoy, who seemed barely conscious after the strain of Apparition. A witch hurried up to them.

"My… brother was in a… flying accident," Harry blurted, wishing he had thought to come up with a story.

Another hospital employee hurried up and quickly levitated Malfoy to an elevator. "Check him in, please. They will tell you where to go afterward. Your brother should be fine."

Harry watched Malfoy disappear and then he picked up the brooms and walked to the front desk.

"Name of patient?" the witch on duty asked calmly.

"…David Masters," Harry replied, pulling a name from the ether of panic.

"Nature of injury?"

Harry explained the flying accident, elaborating a bit for effect.

"How will you be paying for this?"

Harry reached absently into his pocket and pulled out a handful of Galleons. He set them on the counter and the witch blinked at him in surprise.

"Cash," she said.

"Say, if an underage wizard happened to Apparate into St. Mungo's with a patient… in an emergency…"

The witch smiled. "Don't you worry, dearie. The Ministry sort of turns a blind eye to underage magic when St. Mungo's is involved. They certainly won't punish any twelve-year-old who Apparates their injured grandparent to the hospital. They might investigate, but it would be bad form to fine people in an emergency. Now, if you go over to the elevators, they can direct you to your brother."

Harry nodded. He noticed a bright spot of blood on his cuff and another on his forearm. His hands were covered in blood, dirt, and grime, so he stopped at the lavatory on the way to the elevator.

He gaped in shock when he saw his image in the mirror. No wonder no one had stared at him and looked for his scar. For one thing, he had grown his hair out nearly to his eyes in order to cover the scar, and for another his hair was now white-blonde. Without his glasses, he was completely unrecognizable. He turned his head this way and that. His new hair was striking against his green eyes. He laughed at his handsome reflection. No wonder Malfoy was so conceited.

Harry shook off his bemusement and washed his hands and face before heading upstairs to find Malfoy.

Draco lay back against the pillows, looking as handsome as ever, but extremely un-Malfoy-like with raven-black hair. If possible, he was even better-looking with the contrast of his silver eyes below the dark locks. He looked paler than usual.

"Better, David?" Harry asked, stressing the name.

Malfoy nodded. "They fixed it. My leg was broken, too. Go figure. And I had a concussion."

"That explains your attempt to kiss me."

Malfoy actually grinned at the riposte. His lids fluttered shut over grey eyes. His smile faded. "I'm bloody tired."

"You lost a lot of blood. We need to get back so you can rest."

Malfoy nodded without opening his eyes. "They're fixing my clothes. Should be back with them shortly."

Draco was bare to the waist, where the bed sheet was pulled over his legs. Harry saw a thin white line bisecting Malfoy's torso in a jagged scar. He swallowed hard. Malfoy wore a permanent legacy of Harry's Sectumsempra attack. Not for the first time, Harry felt a twinge of regret. Draco's eyes flew open and met Harry's, but a nurse burst into the room with a bundle of clothing.

"Here you are, Mr. Masters. Mended and cleaned and good as new, just like your leg." She stopped and blinked at Harry. "And you must be the other Mr. Masters. As soon as your brother is dressed, you may check him out." She giggled. "Brothers. My, you're both so very handsome. One so fair and the other so dark."

Harry chuckled at that. "You have no idea."

Malfoy rubbed a temple. "Can we just get out of here, brother?"

Harry waited in the hall until Draco limped out. Harry looked at him in concern, but Malfoy shook his head.

"It's just tender. I can walk. Let's get out of here before someone recognizes us."

They made it downstairs and nearly to the front doors without incident. Harry was about to breathe a sigh of relief when the front door swung open and they were nearly run down by Rufus Scrimgeour and Percy Weasley. For a shocked moment, Harry's eyes met Scrimgeour's. The Minister's thick brows drew upward in surprise and Harry stammered a quick apology before he hurried out. He heard Percy say, "Bloody familiar, both of them. I just can't think where…"

Harry pushed open the door and shoved his way out. Malfoy stopped.

"I'll take us back to Hogwarts. We don't want you in any trouble."

Harry didn't waste time arguing. Malfoy reached out and grabbed Harry's shoulder just as the door burst open and Scrimgeour yelled, "Wait!" The Minister leveled his wand at them an instant too late.

Draco took them away.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Obaoba! See oli napikas, ha - ootan järgmist. xD

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Harry and Draco have a civil conversation.

---

Chapter Thirty – The Hog’s Head

Hermione watched Draco and Harry leave the Great Hall. She moved to follow, but Ron grabbed her arm.

“Hey, Hermione, now that Fred and George are here, they can teach you those new spells they showed me and Harry.”

“You can teach her those, little brother,” said Fred.

“Or Harry can.”

“We’ve got new ones to show you today.”

“That’s why we’re here.”

“What is Malfoy doing here?” Fred asked.

“And why hasn’t Harry killed him, yet?”

“It’s kind of a long story,” Hermione said absently and detached Ron’s fingers from her arm. “Ron can tell you.”

“You know, I don’t remember the part about Luna very well,” Ron said. “You should tell it. After all, you brought the git here, remember?”

Hermione glared at Ron’s bitter tone.

“You know perfectly well why I did! I suppose you’d prefer that we had left poor Neville in Voldemort’s hands?”

Ron scowled. “Of course not. I just wish you’d left Malfoy somewhere else.”

“Yes, like back at Malfoy Manor to be tortured and killed with his parents.”

She got to her feet and stormed out before Ron could stop her. She sighed. She supposed she shouldn’t be so upset with Ron. How could she expect him to get over his hatred of Malfoy so quickly? He hadn’t been through the same situations with Draco that she had. She paused in the front hall and wondered where Harry and Draco had gone.

She started upstairs, figuring the library to be the most likely neutral place. Draco certainly wouldn’t let Harry into the Slytherin common room, nor would Harry allow Draco into the Gryffindor common room, especially if Ginny had retreated there.

To Hermione’s annoyance, the library was deserted. She sighed heavily. Maybe they had gone outside. It looked to be a beautiful day. She fingered the coin on her chest, but decided against using it. If Draco was with Harry, he most likely wouldn’t answer her. She went outside and headed for the Quidditch Pitch. Hopefully they weren’t doing anything stupid, like practicing Quidditch. That would most likely involve trying to knock each other off brooms and sending Bludgers after one another.

The Quidditch Pitch was empty but for a flock of birds. Out of patience, she grabbed the Galleon and tried to contact Draco. There was no response. Either he was ignoring her or he wasn’t wearing his coin.

She went back inside and stopped off at the Slytherin common room. It was completely empty. She even looked in Draco’s room while half-expecting him to be waiting there to pounce on her. By then, she was heartily frustrated and stalked straight to the Gryffindor common room to ascertain that Harry didn’t have anything to do with Draco’s latest disappearance. As it turned out, he did.

Ron was sitting on the sofa folding a piece of parchment into a lousy semblance of an origami animal. He started when she approached and then looked extremely guilty.

“What?” she demanded.

He wordlessly handed her the note.

Malfoy and I are checking out the RAB connection. I’ll be perfectly safe, so stop worrying. Cover for me. H

The parchment was crumpled in her fist before she could stop herself.

“Did you know about this?” she gritted to Ron.

“Not until I saw the note! I didn’t see him at all after he left the Great Hall. I only found the note a minute ago—he left it on my bed.”

Hermione was fuming. “Of all the bloody reckless, dangerous— We can’t even go help them because we have no idea where they went!”

She wanted to rage at Ron for keeping her in the Great Hall when she should have been with Draco, reading the message he’d received. She sat down across from Ron instead, feeling helpless and somewhat betrayed.

“He should have told me,” she said quietly.

“He couldn’t tell us or we would’ve demanded to come along,” Ron said and she didn’t bother to correct his assumption that she meant Harry. “Hopefully, they’ll be back by dinner so we don’t have to stave off any questions.” Ron got to his feet. “Fred and George want us in the Charms classroom. You might want to fetch Ginny or she’ll be even madder than she is now. I wouldn’t mention Harry, either.”
Hermione wasn’t in the mood to learn new spells, nor deal with Ginny’s temper tantrums. She wanted to figure out where Harry and Draco had gone.

“You go ahead. I’ll be along with Ginny shortly.”

Ron gave her a dubious look, but went. Hermione went up and told Ginny to meet them in the Charms classroom. Ginny glared at her from her position on the bed where she was scribbling furiously into a journal.

“I thought you’d be done with diaries after…” Hermione said.

“It’s no diary. It’s a story. It started as a love story about me and Harry, but it’s now turned into a tale where Harry is brutally maimed.”

Hermione was shocked.

“You don’t seriously want that to happen?”

“Of course not. But in the story, Harry is bedridden and I have to nurse him back to health.” She scowled. “It’s probably the only way I’d get to spend time alone with him. Sometimes I wish he wasn’t the Savior of the Wizarding World. Makes it bloody hard to have any kind of normal relationship.”

“I’m starting to think there is no such thing as a normal relationship,” Hermione said quietly. Ginny looked at her quizzically. Hermione forced a smile.

“Don’t mind me. I’m in a rotten mood today.”

“Me, too. Let’s go torture Fred and George,” Ginny suggested.

“Okay. I’ll meet you there. First I need to go ask Lupin something.”

“I’d ask what, but I’m sure it’s super secret,” Ginny said bitterly.

Hermione laughed. “You really are in a rotten mood.”

“You have no idea.”

It took Hermione forever to locate Lupin. She finally found him in the Defense Against the Dark Arts office. He seemed surprised when she entered the room.

“What are you doing in here?” she asked before he could ask her the same question. He looked around ruefully.

“I spent so much time in here that I find it somewhat familiar. I come here to think sometimes. Tonks thinks it’s dreadful. Very gloomy.”

“I don’t. You were an excellent teacher. Best we had.”

Lupin smiled somewhat sadly.

“Well, I doubt you sought me out to discuss my stint as a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. What can I do for you?”

“I have another question about Regulus Black.”

Lupin looked puzzled. “Why do you keep asking about him? I haven’t even thought about him in years.”

“Mostly curiosity. I keep wondering what he might have done to earn a death sentence from Voldemort. Did he do something to actually harm Voldemort? Or was it a simple case of annoyance? Also, it’s been suggested that he didn’t really die. That he went into hiding somewhere.”

Lupin sighed. “Well, that one I can confirm, anyway. Regulus is definitely dead. Sirius wasn’t allowed to attend the funeral, being out of favor, of course, but we all went along later so he could pay his respects to his brother. James, being James, opened the coffin when Peter pulled Sirius outside for a moment. It was most assuredly Regulus. James said there wasn’t a mark on him, so it was most likely Avada Kedavra.”

Hermione had thought it unlikely that Regulus was alive; anyway, otherwise he would have surfaced long before now. Then again, Peter Pettigrew would still have been masquerading as a rat, but for Sirius. However, for someone as egocentric as Regulus apparently was… it would have been difficult to stay in hiding.

“We also checked out the place where he died, long after the Dark Mark had dissipated, but we found nothing unusual. The place had been burnt to the ground, so if Regulus had left any sort of message, it was lost in the fire.”

“You know where he died?” Hermione asked, striving to keep the excitement from her voice.

“Yes… somewhere on the northwestern coast. What was the name of that place…?”

Remember, remember, remember, Hermione willed silently, but Lupin shook his head.

“It’s been so long. I can’t recall. It doesn’t matter, anyway.”

Hermione wanted to tear at her hair and howl that it did matter, but she didn’t dare make Lupin suspicious. If he found out Harry had fled the school, the entire Order would be in a dither. She nodded and tried to cover her disappointment. She would just have to trust Harry and Draco not to get into too much trouble. The thought made her cringe. How could they not?

She left the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and muttered to herself.

“If you two make it back here in one piece, I’m going to strangle you both.”

Draco staggered when they appeared at the outskirts of Hogsmeade. Harry swore roundly. Malfoy probably shouldn’t have Disapparated them both after losing so much blood. Harry steadied him, but Malfoy shook him off.

“Hands off, Potter. I don’t swing that way.”

“Shut up, Malfoy. Come on. Let’s stop at the Hog’s Head for some food. At this rate, you’ll pass out before we make it halfway to the school. No one should recognize us at the moment.”

“Scrimgeour nearly did.”

“I don’t think so. I think he was just suspicious and wanted to know who we were. He’s fairly clever.”

“For an obnoxious git.”

“Yeah.”

They pushed into the Hog’s Head, which was decently crowded, given the proximity to the dinner hour. They took a table near the door and a busty barmaid sized them up with an interested smile. Harry flushed, but Malfoy looked her up and down with an air of long practice. Draco ordered food and a couple of ales and she sauntered off with a coy look over her shoulder.

“I’m surprised you didn’t choose the Three Broomsticks,” Malfoy commented. “This place seems a bit rough for you.”

Harry didn’t reply. Even though Madam Rosmerta had been under the Imperious Curse, it was difficult for Harry to see her without feeling betrayed.

Malfoy ate his kidney pie like a starving man and chugged two ales in short order. Harry finished most of his meal and sipped at his ale. He was none too thrilled with the unclean state of his glass. He wondered how many meal remains were caked to it. Malfoy finally sat back with a contented sigh. He looked so unlike himself with black hair that Harry almost felt like he sat with a stranger.

Malfoy propped an elbow on the table and started on his third ale. For a moment, Harry envied the air of casual elegance that accompanied Draco’s every move. He wondered if it came naturally or was something Malfoy had to work at.

“I suppose I owe you a bloody favor, now, too,” Draco said morosely.

Harry shook his head. “Actually, I was hoping this kind of squared us after the whole Sectumsempra incident.”

Malfoy’s relief was evident. “Thank God. It was bad enough owing Weasley.” He grimaced. Harry’s eyes narrowed.
“You owed Ron?”

“The damned Weasel showed up when the Carrows were having a bit of fun using the Cruciatus Curse on me. Frankly, I’m surprised he stopped them.”

“Did Ron happen to call in this debt?”

Malfoy’s silver eyes measured him for a moment and then flicked to the white-haired bartender, who seemed to be watching them.

“Did you ever have a thing for Granger, Potter?”

Harry was surprised at the change of subject.

“You mean a boyfriend/girlfriend thing?” Harry laughed. “No.”

“Why not? Don’t you think you two would make the perfect little Gryffindor couple?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, they say opposites attract, you know. She’s brilliant and you’re an idiot. She’s… well, she’s rather turned into an attractive package—for a Mudblood—and you’re homely as hell. She’s read about a million books and you’ve read… what? Six?” Malfoy laughed.

Harry scowled and shrugged. “I’ve just never thought of her that way. She’s always treated me as her rather dimwitted younger brother.”

“Maybe you should kiss her. Dispense with those brotherly feelings,” Malfoy suggested slyly. Harry thought about it for a moment. Hermione had become nice-looking over the past year. He thought about kissing her and had to choke back a laugh. He could picture Hermione evaluating his kiss in a clinical fashion and jotting off a checklist for him in areas that needed improvement. He shook his head.

“No, thank you. Never happen.”

“She’s a lot more woman than those scrawny things you usually favor. I mean, Cho Chang and Ginny Weasley? Have some taste, Potter.”

“There is nothing wrong with Ginny Weasley!”

“Have you met her mother? If little Ginny follows in those hefty footsteps, she’ll be a domineering, shrewish fishwife by the time she’s twenty. I wouldn’t even wish that on you, Potter.”

“I don’t think your opinion of anyone named Weasley is exactly unbiased. Frankly, I think you would be a better match for Hermione than I would.” He grinned as Malfoy’s eyes flashed.

“What do you mean by that?”

“As you said, opposites attract. She’s noble and good; you’re pure evil. She’s sweet and kind; you’re an obnoxious prat—“

“You’re hilarious, Potter.” Draco’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you’re actually trying to interest me in Granger? I thought she was your friend.”

Harry snorted. “You have a point. Regardless, I think she should be allowed to make up her own mind on the subject.”

Malfoy’s grey gaze measured him. “What are you saying, exactly?”

“I’m saying… why does that bartender keep watching us?”

Draco didn’t bother to look over his shoulder. He shrugged.

“Probably because he finally figured out who you are. I’m sure a properly irate group of Phoenix members will be here shortly to escort you back.”

Harry stared at him. “The bartender is in league with the Order? How do you know?”

Draco burst out laughing. “Can you possibly be that dense? Oh wait, I forgot who I’m talking to. The bartender is Aberforth Dumbledore, you idiot. Don’t tell me your great pal Albus never mentioned it. Did he not let you in on a single secret? Ever?”

Apparently not, Harry thought angrily. He looked at the bartender carefully, trying to find a resemblance to Dumbledore. There wasn’t much, except maybe the nose. Where Dumbledore’s eyes had been wise and kindly, Aberforth’s were calculating and suspicious. His beard was unkempt and dirty, as were his clothing.

“How is it that you know who he is?” Harry demanded.

“It’s common Death Eater knowledge. It pays to keep tabs on Order members, although I’m certain there are some at the Ministry the Dark Lord doesn’t know about. Yet.”

The bartender left the bar suddenly and wandered over to sit at their table.

“If you two are finished, I suggest you get your arses outside. Wait for me ‘round back and I’ll escort you back where you belong.” His blue eyes were cold when they looked at Harry. “Looks like Albus was right about you bring reckless, eh?”

Harry met his gaze serenely and said nothing. Aberforth actually chuckled.

“No excuses? Cor, you are your father’s son. Let’s hope that doesn’t get you killed. Now, scoot. Lot’s of rough customers hereabouts. You’re ripe pickings for more than You-Know-Who’s followers. Robbers and ruffians don’t care who you are. They’ll kill you for your coin just the same.”

Malfoy snorted as they got to their feet and took up their brooms from the rack near the door.

“After the day I’ve had, I’ll bloody welcome a fight.”

“Are you drunk?” Harry asked.

Outraged silver eyes flashed at him.

“Malfoys don’t get drunk. Especially after only three small ales.”

Harry shook his head and they walked to the rear of the building. The back door opened, but no robbers emerged, only Aberforth Dumbledore, who had his wand out. His eyes carefully searched every bush and tree. Harry didn’t expect trouble. It was hours yet until dusk, with the sky cloudless and the longest day of the year only a couple of weeks away.

“Maybe you should put on your cloak and hide, Chosen One,” Malfoy suggested. Harry ignored that.

“How long does this spell last?” he asked, pointing at his pale hair with his wand.

“About twelve hours. Or until I cancel it.”

Harry grinned. He couldn’t wait until he saw Ginny’s face when she saw him.

“On your brooms,” Aberforth ordered. “Let’s go.”

Aberforth walked while Harry and Draco floated in front of him, heading for Hogwarts.