Draco: Phoenix Rising

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Next..!

[Lissandra Sylvania]

The end of Draco and Harry's adventure...
Asi hakkab huvitavaks minema

---

Chapter Thirty One – Mistaken Identity

Hermione was in no mood to listen to the Weasley family’s favorite pastime—bickering amongst themselves—so she wandered aimlessly around the first floor for a long time, thinking. There must be some way to figure out where Draco and Harry had gone. Although by now, they could be finished with their search and on their way back. She stopped in surprise when she encountered Mrs. Norris in an otherwise deserted corridor. The cat hissed at her and yowled loudly.

Hermione looked around quickly, feeling guilty even though she wasn’t doing anything wrong. If Mrs. Norris was here, Filch had to be lurking somewhere nearby. She heard a whisper of cloth and ran for the nearby stairs. She took the steps two at a time and then paused and leaned over the railing. Mrs. Norris was visible below, partway up the first riser, watching her.

“Who’s there, Mrs. Norris?” she heard. “Aye, there are many sneaky ‘appenings ‘ere this summer, eh? But we’re keepin’ our eyes open, aren’t we, Mrs. Norris?”

Hermione edged quietly back from the edge and continued up the stairs, hugging the outer walls. She wondered how safe it was to have the Order in residence with Filch snooping around. He had always obeyed Dumbledore, albeit grudgingly, but who did he owe allegiance to, now?

She continued upward until she found herself on the Astronomy Tower. She walked to the edge and peered toward the horizon, hoping to see two figures on brooms approaching. The blue sky was empty in all directions. She sighed.

Inspiration suddenly struck and she hurried back to the ground floor. She took a moment to catch her breath and massage her aching legs. They would not thank her for rushing up and down the stairs, although she wouldn’t have to worry about fitting into her jeans for awhile, at least. When she could breathe normally again, she hurried to Classroom Eleven, looking for Firenze. She found him in his remade classroom, lying on the grass in a circle of flowers in a pose of meditation. She stopped, not willing to interrupt.

“Come forth, Hermione Granger,” the centaur said in his calm voice. “What troubles you?”

“I need to ask you a question.”

“Not about the future, I presume?”

She nearly sneered, but caught herself in time. She didn’t believe a jot in Divination. How could the future be foretold when any chance decision could change the outcome from moment to moment?

“Definitely not. The present, actually. It’s not Divination I’m interested in, but Scrying.”

Firenze nodded. “An ancient art, but useful. You seek someone?”

“Yes. Can you help me? I just need to know if they’re all right.”

“I can help you. You will need to bring the necessary supplies. A large silver bowl filled with pure spring water and something that belongs to the person in question, preferably something personal. An item of jewelry, a lock of hair, or something they have handled often enough to leave an imprint of their essence.”

“That’s it?”

“The method is simple. Achieving the goal is not.”

She nodded. “I’ll be back shortly.”

She ran out and nearly bowled over Tonks, who was heading for the front door. She steadied Hermione and then gave her an irritated look.

“Guess where I’m going?” Tonks asked. Hermione was stymied.

“I’ve no idea.”

“I’m going to the front gate to let in Harry Potter,” Tonks gritted.

“Oh.” Hermione’s relief overwhelmed all possible guilt.

“Yes, oh. What are you thinking to let him wander about like that? After all we’ve done to try and keep him safe?”

“Do you think I would have let him go alone?” Hermione snapped, stung.

Tonks measured her. “Probably not, but I doubt you would have stopped him—“

A loud voice bellowed from the Great Hall and Tonks bolted like a flash for the front doors, dragging Hermione with her.

“Rufus Scrimgeour is here. He’s demanding to know where Harry is. Apparently, he went to London to check on him and discovered the Dursleys and Harry…”

“Gone.”

“Yeah.” Tonks hurried down the path as she spoke and Hermione had to rush to keep up with her.

“Then, there was some incident at St. Mungo’s and Percy swears he saw Harry, although he couldn’t be certain for some reason or another… Either way, we need to produce Harry immediately. Aberforth sent a Patronus to McGonagall, but she’s busy trying to stave off Scrimgeour.”

“Aberforth?” The name sounded vaguely familiar to Hermione.

“Aberforth Dumbledore. He’s the proprietor at the Hog’s Head in Hogsmeade.”

“Dumbledore’s brother?” It took Hermione a moment to process that information. “Why doesn’t he just open the gates?”

Tonks chuckled.

“Dumbledore insisted Aberforth never be given access to Hogwarts. I’m not sure if they got on well, frankly. Aberforth is something of a black sheep. Also, due to his dubious clientele, it’s very possible for him to be captured or put under the Imperius Curse. It’s safer to give him as little knowledge as possible.”

As they approached the gates, Hermione could see a tall man waiting with two people hovering on brooms. She breathed a sigh of extreme relief.

“Why don’t they just fly over?”

“They can’t. They’d be stuck there like flies on flypaper. No one gets into Hogwarts anymore, by any means, without permission. Scrimgeour came by the Floo Network.”

Hermione was reluctantly impressed with the school’s defenses, even though it was a definite problem when it came to sneaking in and out.

“So, you can leave, but not return,” she commented.

“Exactly.”

Hermione was close enough now to pick out Draco’s silver hair, but as she approached, she stared at him in puzzlement. There was something strangely different about him…

Draco watched as Tonks and Hermione arrived. Aberforth waved briefly and started back down the path toward Hogsmeade. Apparently, he wasn’t very talkative, even with other Order members.

Tonks looked through the bars at Draco.

“Wotcher, Harry,” she said with a short tone and then she blinked at him. Draco grinned as her eyes flicked from him to Harry.

“What in the—?” Hermione breathed.

Draco hopped off his broom.

“Well, we figured—“ he began, but an arm suddenly clamped around his throat as he was grabbed from behind. Draco saw a frozen tableau of shock on the faces of Harry, Tonks, and Hermione, and then he felt the familiar yanking sensation of Disapparation.

When the rough arm released him, he collapsed in a weak heap, feeling nauseous and dizzy. The smell of dark earth and rotting leaves was strong in his nostrils and he gagged for a moment. Too much Apparition in one day… And he shouldn’t have had that third ale…

He felt harsh hands about his person and knew his wand had been taken. Magical ropes twisted around his arms and legs. Someone chuckled and moved away. Draco fought down his weakness and blinked at his captor.

“Ho, that was just too easy, Potter! I captured Harry Potter! All alone! Let’s see them laugh at Wormtail, now, let’s just see!”

Wormtail. Draco heaved himself onto his haunches—a difficult process with his hands bound behind his back—and looked at the ratlike man cavorting happily. He glanced around. They looked to be surrounded by trees and undergrowth. A forest. But, which forest?

“Actually, I think they’ll do more than laugh at you,” Draco said dryly.

Wormtail stopped dancing and turned to stare at the sound of Draco’s voice. He raced over and snatched Draco’s chin with his metal hand, clenching hard. Draco glared into Wormtail’s disbelieving face.

“But… I was there at the Hog’s Head! I heard Potter’s voice! I followed you down the path, waiting for you to get off the damned broom…” Wormtail was breathing hard and his hand squeezed even harder, nearly crushing Draco’s jaw. “What are you doing masquerading as Potter?” Wormtail bellowed. Draco threw himself backward, out of Pettigrew’s grasp. He worked his bruised jaw carefully. Potter was lucky Peter’s little rat eyes were neither too keen in a gloomy, smoke-filled tavern, nor outside at a distance.

Wormtail was dancing again, but in a rage this time. He rubbed his hands together in agitation, flesh against metal.

“What is Draco Malfoy doing in Harry Potter’s company looking like Harry Potter?” Wormtail asked himself. “Oh, the Dark Lord will be wanting an answer to that question! I think he’ll be pleased with Wormtail, after all. And Harry Potter is at Hogwarts.” Wormtail tittered happily, an irritating sound that chilled Draco to the bone. He began to realize the gravity of his situation.

“Where the hell are we?” Draco asked and pushed himself back into a sitting position.

“All in good time, little Malfoy,” Wormtail crooned. “We’ll go see the Dark Lord soon. Very soon. Just one little errand, first.”

Wormtail walked to the edge of the small clearing and peered into the dense forest as if waiting for someone. Draco looked around carefully, trying to find some method of escape. His broom lay nearby. A promising sight, although he couldn’t quite figure out how he would be able to fly the thing with his hands and feet bound. He began to inch toward it, nevertheless.

He wondered where his wand had gone, but assumed Wormtail had tucked it into the dirty black Death Eater robes he wore. Draco suddenly regretted placing Hermione’s coin in his trunk back at Hogwarts. Not that he would have been able to tell her where he was… but at least he wouldn’t have felt quite so alone.

Once again, Draco Malfoy was on his own. For the first time in his life, the thought made him very depressed.

d**n those Gryffindors. They were sucking the Malfoy right out of him.

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Draco captured!

---

Chapter Thirty Two – The Forest

Hermione watched in shock as Draco disappeared.

Harry leaped forward, but it was too late. They were gone. He turned to look at Hermione and Tonks, who was frantically tapping at the lock with her wand.

“Who was it?” Harry yelled.

“Wormtail,” Hermione said woodenly. “He must have been a rat—hiding until he could strike…”

Tonks finally got the lock open and wrenched at the gate. She dragged Harry inside. Hermione gazed at Harry’s silver hair and felt like crying.

“We’ll never find him,” she said hoarsely. “Wormtail will take him back to Voldemort and Voldemort will ki… ki…” The tears did gather, then, but Harry grabbed her shoulders.

“We’ll find him.” He gave her a small shake. “Don’t quit on me, now! We’re going to need that brain of yours. Get on the broom.”

He straddled his broom and even though she hated flying through the air on a tiny wooden twig, she didn’t hesitate. She gripped Harry’s waist tightly and pressed her cheek into his back as they raced toward the castle.

“Hey!” Tonks yelled behind them. “Wait for me!”

“Scrimgeour is here!” Hermione yelled after a moment.

Harry didn’t stop at the front door, but flew up and over the parapet to hover over Gryffindor Tower. Hermione hated being ridiculously high off the ground, and had to pry her eyes open when Harry yelled, “Open the window!”

She peered over to see a nearby window that was open a crack. She reached out a hand and yanked at it. Harry moved the broom away and the window pulled all the way open. She let go and he maneuvered the broom around and through the window.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief when they touched down in Harry’s room. Harry propped his broom against the wall. “Okay, now how do we find Malfoy?”

Hermione sank down on his bed, feeling painfully helpless. She twisted her hands together. “I don’t know. He had the spelled Galleon I gave him, but he must have taken it off before you left. I’ve been trying to find you two all day.” She looked somewhat accusingly at Harry. “Frankly, I’m surprised you’re willing to go after him.”

Harry shrugged. “I won’t leave anyone to Voldemort’s mercy. Not even Malfoy. Although, he really wasn’t that bad, today. Obnoxious as usual, but he doesn’t seem to have that priggish, mean edge that he used to. And look what he did to my hair! Stunning, isn’t it?”

Hermione smiled wanly, although the sight of it made her heart constrict with fear for Draco. “It’s shocking, to say the least. Where are your glasses?”

Harry tugged them from his pocket and put them on.

“No wonder I was squinting all afternoon,” he muttered.

He still looked abnormally cute. Like a studious version of Malfoy; all platinum hair and— She gasped and stood up.

“I nearly forgot! I asked Firenze to help me Scry for you. Maybe he can still try! Come on!”

She bolted down the steps and Harry followed, thankfully asking no questions. Ginny was sitting in the common room, scribbling on her story. She stared at them as they raced by.

“Hi, Ginny!” Harry yelled. “Bye, Ginny!”

Hermione groaned. The Weasley girl was going to completely kill him.

“Where are you going?” Harry asked just as Ginny’s identical shout followed them out the portrait hole.

“The Slytherin common room! I need something of Draco’s. And spring water. Where are we going to find spring water?”

“In the kitchen, of course. It’s all spring water.”

“You get the water, then. Make sure it’s in a silver pitcher. Oh, and grab a large silver bowl. Take the bowl and the water to Firenze and I’ll meet you there!”

They separated in the Front Hall just as Tonks entered the front door. Hermione waved, but didn’t pause as she raced to the Slytherin common room. She thanked Draco heartily for not changing the password as she hurried to his room. She opened his trunk and snatched the coin that was lying atop a stack of books. She paused for a moment, looking at the braided chain that held the Galleon. She touched it in amazement.

It was made of strands of her own hair, braided together with thin cords of silver and green. She shook her head when she recalled how the locks had been torn out and smiled softly. She couldn’t believe he had saved them…

Hermione shook off her musing and slipped the coin over her head to join her own. She needed to find something personal of Draco’s… something imprinted with his essence… She immediately snatched his silver comb off the dressing table. If that didn’t contain his essence, she greatly underestimated his ego. To her delight, the comb still contained a number of precious strands of silver-blonde.

Hermione ran back to Classroom Eleven.

Harry was seated before Firenze, who looked as if he hadn’t moved from the last time she’d seen him. A large silver bowl sat on the grass before them. Hermione flung herself to her knees before the bowl, panting with exertion.

Firenze took the comb she held out to him.

“Relax, Hermione. This takes concentration and a still mind. Let go of your emotions. Clear your thoughts.”

Hermione tried, but she had little patience for spells involving trancelike states. She wanted Firenze to cast the bloody thing and be done with it. She shut her eyes and stilled her breathing, trying to mimic a calm state so the centaur wouldn’t insist on waiting all evening for her to relax.

Finally, Firenze said, “Let us begin.” He slid Draco’s comb into the bowl and waited for the ripples to subside. “We seek the owner of this item. May the ether part and bestow upon this liquid the image we request.” Firenze passed his palm over the water. Once, then twice, then thrice. He didn’t make a sound, but ice suddenly formed around the edges of the bowl and made a crystalline rim around the water like a circular frame.

Hermione and Harry leaned forward eagerly as mist began to rise from the water. Firenze moved his hand again over the bowl, three times in the other direction. The mist cleared instantly, seeming to sink into the water, which suddenly looked cloudy. Draco’s comb was obscured. Colors began to swirl in the liquid: brown, green, and grey. Firenze whispered something Hermione could not make out, and the colors sharpened like a camera coming into focus.

She drew in a breath as Draco appeared. His black hair threw her for a moment and she glanced at Harry. Draco was bound hand and foot. He sat in the dirt near a clump of ferns, glaring to his right.

“Where is he?” Hermione whispered.

“A forest,” said Harry.

“That could be anywhere!” she protested.

“Have patience,” Firenze murmured. He made another slow movement and the scene pulled back. Draco’s broom was visible and it was apparent he was moving unobtrusively toward it. At the edge of the pool, Wormtail came into view. His back was to Draco and he looked intently into the forest. He spun around quickly and stared at Draco. Wormtail reached into his robes and pulled out two wands—one brown and gnarled; one sleek and black. He put the black one in his silver hand and raised the other.

Wormtail’s mouth moved, but Hermione and the others could make out no words. A jet of light suddenly shot toward Draco, who contorted in pain. Hermione gasped in horror. If she could have leaped into the pool and throttled Peter Pettigrew at that moment, she would have.

“Crucio,” Harry murmured. His worried green eyes met hers for a moment.

“How will we ever find him?” she asked.

Firenze was studying the scene, which pulled back a bit more and shifted. A strangely shaped fallen log came into view. Firenze nodded.

“I know this place.”

Hermione tried to steady the leap of hope at his words.

“Can you take us there?”

“No. But, I can tell you where it is.”

Apparently, Wormtail was bored with waiting. He turned to look at Draco and pulled out both wands. His beady eyes flicked from Draco to his broom.

“Let me give you a taste of what the Dark Lord is going to do to you,” Wormtail said and giggled. Draco braced himself for what he knew was coming, but it made no difference. During the brief interludes between excruciating pain, he reflected that he’d been Crucioed far too often lately.

Wormtail seemed to enjoy tormenting Draco, for he kept it up until Draco lay bonelessly in the churned dirt, too weak to even resist. His body shook with the aftereffects of the torture.

Pettigrew panted from the exertion of casting curse after curse at Draco. He wiped an arm across his forehead and walked forward until he looked down at Draco’s exhausted form.

“Not so handsome now, are you?” he sneered. He lifted a stumpy foot to stomp Draco, but Malfoy anticipated the move and quickly rolled forward, slamming into Wormtail’s other leg. Off balance, Wormtail sprawled over Draco, who yelled, “Accio wand!”

It was a tricky maneuver with his hands behind his back, but Draco’s natural dexterity served him well. The wand snapped into his bound hands and he contorted swiftly as Wormtail rolled over, trying to level his wand at Draco. Malfoy’s spell hit Wormtail first. Stupefy was instantly followed by Petrificus Totalus and Pettigrew lay in a frozen state of panic.

Draco spelled the ropes on his hands and feet and stood up shakily. He was disturbed by his own weakness, but determined not to reveal it to Pettigrew. To his disgust, Wormtail’s silver hand groped and twitched at the earth, apparently immune to Draco’s spells. Draco placed a booted foot on Wormtail’s other hand and pried the brown wand from his immobile hand.

“I should stave your head in,” Draco snarled and actually cast about for a moment, looking for a stone large enough to do the job. Only the thought of Hermione’s displeasure halted him.

Instead, he held up Pettigrew’s wand, grasped it in both hands, and snapped it cleanly in two. He threw the pieces aside with a satisfied smirk at Wormtail.

“Good luck using that to torture anyone,” Draco said. He wiped the dirt from his face and tried to shake the debris from his hair. God, he hated to be dirty.

Draco turned back to Wormtail and conjured ropes. He wrapped them, mummy-like, around Pettigrew’s body, covering him completely from toes to neck.

“Who are you meeting here, Peter?” Draco asked. “I’m going to release the spell so that you can talk to me. You will stay where you are or I will fry you where you lay.”

He cancelled the Full Body-Bind and Pettrigrew blinked at him for the space of two heartbeats and then disappeared. Draco smiled as a rat leaped out of the now-limp ropes—and straight into the magical cage Draco had cast. Malfoy admired the glowing blue bars that encased the frantic Animagus. He tsked as if disappointed.

“Predictable to the end, eh Wormtail? Of course, these bars won’t last forever, will they? We need something a bit more permanent.” He flicked his wand and conjured a small iron crate. He levitated the glowing cage and maneuvered it into the iron box, which he then locked with a metallic click. The blue bars vanished, leaving Peter neatly trapped in the tiny iron cage.

“You see, Peter, during my short tenure as a prisoner in my own house,” Draco explained, “I had plenty of time to sit around and think. I spent some of that time figuring out how to trap a rat like you. It took me nearly a week to perfect that little magic cage. Impressive, wasn’t it?” He lifted the metal box by the handle and peered at the squeaking rat. “Of course, I had this one sitting in my room just waiting to be conjured. It’s solid iron. If you change back now, Wormtail, you will be a very compact cube of flesh.”

He dropped the cage and smiled at the rat’s squeal as it fell. Draco walked over and picked up his broom. A wave of vertigo washed over him at the movement and his hands shook as he leaned on the broom handle. He felt bone-deep weariness and knew he didn’t dare Disapparate. He didn’t have the energy. He glanced around at the deepening gloom and wished he knew where the hell they were. Regardless, it was time to go.

Draco froze at a whisper of sound behind him. He spun with a spell on his lips, but the newcomer was faster. Draco’s wand sailed out of his hand and into a nearby bush. Draco swallowed, realizing he hadn’t been afraid of Wormtail at all. He felt real fear now when he looked into Fenrir Greyback’s yellow eyes. The werewolf stalked up to Draco and put his wand tip under Malfoy’s chin.

“Well, well, well. The lost Malfoy pup,” Fenrir growled. “You are looking far less dead than expected. Different, also, but still delectable.” Greyback’s eyes slid to the iron cage. He left Draco and walked over to the box, although he kept his wand pointed at Draco, who resisted the urge to propel his broom into the air. Greyback was too fast—he would simply blast Draco before he got ten feet off the ground. Fenrir picked up Wormtail’s cage and then dropped it with a pained hiss. He shot a glare at Draco.

“Iron? That’s playing nasty, Draco.” He crouched down and peered through the bars at Peter. “Is that you, Wormtail? Got yourself snared by a little boy?” He laughed harshly. “I’d let you out, but I’d rather find out why you’re in there. Draco and I are going to have a little chat. Aren’t we, Draco?”

In one swift movement, Draco Accioed his wand and attempted to Disapparate, but he was immobilized the instant his wand touched his hand.

Greyback sauntered back and plucked the wand from Draco’s nerveless hand. He tossed it casually over a shoulder. “No, you mustn’t leave yet, little morsel. Not yet.” His voice was a sibilant whisper and his eyes gleamed with mad excitement. Draco felt panic slowly steal over him and tried to relax. He would need every coherent thought he possessed to get out of this alive. Fenrir released the spell, but Draco stood his ground defiantly.

“Where have you been, Draco? Your parents have been so worried.” His tone was pleasant and conversational. “What are you doing here? And why is Wormtail locked up in a little metal box? Are you betraying the Dark Lord? Can you honestly be that stupid?”

Draco was silent while his mind sought any plausible lie that would buy him some time. His broom was still clutched in his left hand. If only Fenrir would move away. It was probably useless, but he would have to try to fly out.

Except Fenrir moved even closer. His lips ricked open over his wickedly sharp teeth. Draco nearly gagged at the stench of the werewolf’s breath—it reeked of rotting meat and blood.

“The ever-present Malfoy pride. Ice cold and haughty, just like your parents, aren’t you, Draco? Well, boy, I’ve wanted to shatter your frozen demeanor for a long time, now. Yes, you know I’ve been watching you, don’t you, Draco?” Greyback’s face was nearly pressed against Draco’s and his lips moved close to Draco’s ear as he whispered, “I can’t wait to break you. You’ll beg me for mercy before I’m done with you.”

Draco’s skin crawled and the fear on top of his exhaustion caused him to tremble slightly. He took a deep breath and dug into the last vestiges of his willpower in order to maintain control. If he showed any sign of weakness, Greyback would rend him like a bag of suet.

Greyback chuckled. “Do you want to know the fun part?” he added, still murmuring in Draco’s ear. “I won’t even need to use magic.”

Swiftly, Fenrir moved and Draco felt the werewolf’s tongue, hot and wet, caress his collarbone. It slid languidly up Draco’s neck and followed his jugular to the hollow beneath Draco’s ear. Draco closed his eyes and shuddered uncontrollably. Fenrir chuckled at his reaction and Draco felt Fenrir’s sharp teeth tug on his earlobe.

Overcome with horror, Draco acted in sheer reflex. He gripped his broom with both hands and heaved with all his strength. The angle was off and he had no leverage, but the end of the broom caught Greyback sharply on the temple. The werewolf grunted and reared back slightly, enough for Draco to follow the movement with a flip of his broom. The bristle end struck Fenrir in the face.

Draco instantly willed his broom into the air, but the werewolf was lightning fast. Malfoy’s feet were barely off the ground when Fenrir’s claws hooked his waist and bore him roughly to the ground. Draco’s head slammed into the earth, dazing him for a moment.

Greyback snatched the broom and tossed it across the clearing. He sat back on his haunches and regarded Draco. Far from being angry, he actually laughed in delight.

“I was afraid you were going to make this too easy for me, but you are a true Malfoy, aren’t you? You’ll fight me to your last breath.” Draco glared for reply, although he had the chilling fear that his last breath would come sooner than later.

Greyback suddenly leaped on him and pinned him to the earth. Draco could barely breathe with the weight of the werewolf on his chest. Both his wrists were gripped in Fenrir’s hands, although one still held Greyback’s wand. The end of it gouged painfully into Draco’s flesh. He twisted his hand in an attempt to reach the wand, but Fenrir squeezed until Draco felt his wrist bones grind together. He winced.

“I have plans for you, Malfoy” Greyback murmured and his teeth nipped at Draco’s jaw, not quite hard enough to draw blood. “Don’t worry, you’re a spot old for my liking. I’ll only bleed you a bit today. Just enough for a taste.” The werewolf slid his rough lips down to Draco’s neck. He opened his mouth wide and Draco felt sharp teeth against his flesh. Greyback bit down gently, then harder, sucking slightly and tasting Draco with his tongue. Draco tried to throw him off, but he was too tightly held—he could barely move. Surprisingly, the teeth released.

“One week, Draco. Do you know what happens in one week?” Fenrir murmured against his throat.

Draco did.

“Full moon,” Fenrir said with satisfaction. He leaned upward slightly to look into Draco’s eyes. The werewolf showed his dreadful teeth in a smile. “Black hair suits you. It makes you look darker and more sinister. You’re practically perfect.”

Draco nearly forgot to breathe. Fenrir’s voice was low and conspiratorial, likely so Wormtail’s sharp ears would not hear.

“Did you figure it out, Draco? You’re a smart lad. I’m taking you with me. I’ll hide you away where no one will find you. For seven… short… days. It’s convenient everyone thinks you’re dead. Wormtail is long overdue for a little accident, now that you’ve nicely penned him. He won’t be talking. And then, next Friday, you will become like me.” He threw back his head and laughed wickedly.

A werewolf.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

OMG - ei tohi, libahunt - omg ! vastik. Vaene Hermi

[Lana Marye Allen]

Ou boy...see ei tõota mitte midagi head, vaene Hermi tõesti.

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Draco needs a bit of Gryffindor luck...

---

Chapter Thirty Three – Borrowed Luck

Hermione and Harry were caught running from Firenze’s room. Hermione’s heart sank, but she had known they were in trouble the minute Harry had run into Aberforth. Unfortunately, they were confronted by a formidable group: Rufus Scrimgeour, McGonagall, Moody, Percy Weasley, and Jack Williamson.

“You see?” McGonagall said after a shocked look at Harry’s altered appearance. “Here is Mr. Potter, now. His guardians suggested he stay with Hermione, who is here doing some research for me during the break. I am sponsoring her.” Harry looked at Hermione, who was amazed at McGonagall’s flawless ability to lie like a trooper.

Scrimgeour’s jaw worked and he seemed personally affronted by Harry’s platinum hair.

“Succumbing to fads, Potter? I would think you, of all people, would maintain a more serious demeanor.”

Harry shrugged. “I thought you and the Ministry had Voldemort under control. You don’t need me at all, right? I thought I might join a band or something.”

Jack snorted a laugh that he covered with a muted cough. Hermione had no patience for verbal skirmishes when Draco was in the forest being tortured.

“Professor, I need to talk with you. It’s very urgent,” she said quietly after sidling to McGonagall’s side.

“Why were you at St. Mungo’s today?” Scrimgeour demanded. “And who was that with you?”

“I was visiting a friend,” Harry snapped. “Frankly, I wasn’t aware that I needed permission from the Ministry prior to visiting the hospital. I’ll be sure to schedule my next injury.”

“How dare you speak to the Minister that way? Don’t be cheeky, Potter, we’re only trying to help you,” Percy said disapprovingly.

“I don’t really feel it necessary to be followed around by the Ministry,” Harry snarled.

“Professor, please,” Hermione begged. McGonagall gave her a severe look, obviously still annoyed at Harry’s departure. Hermione, realizing it might take forever to extract themselves from the group, suddenly clapped a hand to her stomach.

“I don’t feel very well,” she said shakily. She bolted for the stairs, sending a mental apology to Harry for deserting him while she tried to think of a way to remove him, also. She ran all the way to the Gryffindor common room and had to pause, gasping, while she clutched at a stitch in her side. The wizarding world was in severe need of elevators.

She hurried through the portrait hole and straight into a heated Weasley discussion involving Ginny, Ron, and the twins. Ron leaped to his feet.

“Where the hell have you been all day?” he demanded.

“Malfoy’s been captured by Wormtail,” she gasped, still holding her side. “He’s in the forest. We’ve got to get him before Peter takes him to Voldemort!” None of the Weasleys moved. She scowled at the lot of them.

“Harry was waylaid by Rufus Scrimgeour and Percy in the Front Hall. I don’t know how to get him away from there, if he hasn’t already gotten himself clapped in irons by shouting at the Minister.”

The twins leaped to their feet.

“Rescue Harry? That we can do.”

“One diversion, coming up.”

“Tell Harry I’ll meet him by Hagrid’s hut,” she said.

She took the stairs to the boys’ dorm two at a time and snatched up Harry’s broom. Her hands shook as she walked to the still-open window.

“What are you doing?” Ron yelled as he entered the room behind her.

“You can’t seriously be thinking of flying out that window?” Ginny added. “On Harry’s broom?”

“Oh, yes I am,” Hermione said quietly.

“But, you can’t fly,” Ron protested.

“I’m a witch! Of course I can fly.”

“But, you suck at it,” Ginny said.

“I don’t care. Wormtail has Draco in the forest and he’s torturing him with the Cruciatus Curse. I have to help him.”

“It’s Draco now?” Ron snapped. “Good riddance, I say!”

Hermione turned on him savagely. “How can you even think that, Ron? Who are you? If that’s your attitude, then you’re no better than… than a Death Eater!”

Ron’s jaw worked furiously, but it was Ginny who looked repentant.

“Come on,” she said and took Harry’s broom from Hermione. “I’ll fly you down.”

Hermione mounted behind Ginny and they soared out the window and flew swiftly to Hagrid’s hut. Ron flew down and landed next to them. He threw her an apologetic look, but she wasn’t ready to forgive him quite yet. It seemed forever before Harry ran out of the front doors, followed by Tonks and Lupin. Hermione groaned, fearing another delay.

Harry accepted his broom from Ginny and grinned as she examined his blonde locks. He tugged at his hair in a familiar gesture.

“Nice, huh?”

Ginny shook her head, but smiled ruefully.

“Not really, no.”

“We’d better hurry,” Lupin interrupted. Hermione blinked at him. “Tonks told me Draco was captured. Harry said you know where he is.”

“Firenze told us. He can’t return to the forest or the other centaurs will kill him, but he recognized the spot and told us how to get there,” Hermione said.

“Hopefully, we don’t run into any centaurs, either,” Tonks commented.

“Or spiders,” Ron added with a shudder.

Lupin and Tonks mounted their own brooms. Hermione immediately took up position behind Harry. At the moment, she didn’t trust Ron to take her anywhere near Draco. She gripped Harry’s waist tightly. Ginny shook her head, but moved quickly to mount behind Ron.

“Let’s go,” Ginny said. The six of them took off across the top of the forest.

“Hold on, Draco,” Hermione pleaded silently.

ooOoo

Draco was tired. He’d used the final reserves of his strength in his last escape attempt and now he just wanted to let go and sink into oblivion. Seven days was a long time; maybe he would find a way to escape in the interim. Before Greyback turned him into a werewolf. He couldn’t allow that to happen.

Draco’s eyes were closed and he lay perfectly limp, not willing to look into Greyback’s leering visage any longer. He wished the werewolf would get off him—he was finding it exceedingly difficult to breathe.

Fenrir’s left hand released Draco’s right arm. Malfoy’s left hand was cold and numb from Greyback’s wand and grip cutting off his circulation. He felt the werewolf grip the neck of his grey shirt and tear viciously downward, popping buttons and baring Draco’s chest.

This can’t be good, Draco thought grimly. Bloody hell, what would The Boy Who Lived do in this situation? Probably conjure up some miraculous solution with his infinite Gryffindor luck. He needed to borrow some of that luck.

A moment later, Draco sucked in a tortured breath as Fenrir’s sharp fangs tore into his flesh near the hollow of his right shoulder. The pain didn’t stop there—Greyback dragged his teeth in a jagged path diagonally across Draco’s chest. He stopped at Draco’s diaphragm and began to lick his way back up the bloody gash, lapping at the blood.

Draco’s right hand unobtrusively moved until his fingertips touched the smooth wood of Fenrir’s wand. The werewolf was too intent on his gruesome task to notice, until Draco spoke.

“Serpensortia,” Malfoy said quietly. Fenrir’s head snapped up in surprise. His mouth was horrifyingly red. Before he could as much as blink, a huge snake launched itself at Fenrir’s face. The fangs sank into the flesh of one eyebrow and the werewolf flung himself backward with a shriek.

The instant Greyback’s weight left him, Draco rolled over groggily and Accioed his wand. The werewolf tore the snake from his face in a sanguine shower and glared yellow daggers at Draco, just as the wand snapped into Malfoy’s outstretched hand.

“Expelliarmus!” they both shrieked at the same moment, but Draco’s was born of desperation and was slightly faster; Fenrir’s wand flew out of his hand. Draco’s next spell smashed the werewolf backward into a tree and his third immobilized Greyback. The werewolf hit the ground stiffly and didn’t move.

Draco sighed deeply and laid his cheek in the dirt, too exhausted even to feel relief. Blood trickled down his chest. He knew he had to get up and deal more permanently with Greyback. Tie him up, or kill him, or something. He just needed to rest for a moment. He shut his eyes.

He heard a shout and debated opening his eyes, assuming it could only be the next wave or horror coming to assault him—Greyback’s chums or Wormtail’s reinforcements.

He was suddenly dragged upward by the shoulders and enveloped in a warm embrace that caused the wound on his chest to flare with renewed pain.

“Oh, Draco, thank God you’re alive,” Hermione Granger’s voice breathed in his ear. He smiled in bemusement. How the hell had she found him? He opened his eyes, after all, and saw Harry Potter standing over him. Beyond Potter stood two Weasleys, Lupin, and the pink-haired Order girl. Lupin was hovering over Greyback and Pinkie held her wand ready to blast the werewolf. Ginny Weasley stood behind Harry, expressionless, and Ron’s gaze was ice. The Weasels probably wished Fenrir had eaten him.

Draco allowed himself to melt into Hermione’s embrace for a moment, drinking in the scent and feel of her just to spite Ron. She drew back and gripped his shoulder with one hand while the other brushed the dirt and debris from his face. Her shirt was red with his blood.

“What took you so long, Potter?” Draco said wryly. Harry shrugged.

“We had to flip a coin. Heads, save Malfoy; tails, let Malfoy rot.”

“Lucky me it was heads, eh?” Draco said. He jerked a thumb. “Wormtail is caged over there.”

His eyes met Hermione’s for the first time and he felt a strange rush of emotion at the look in her brown eyes, which were bright with unshed tears.

“You look terrible,” she said quietly.

Draco frowned. “I thought you’d like my black hair. It’s very… Harry Potter, don’t you think?”

“I mean, you’re covered in blood and you look half-dead. We’ve got to get you to a hospital.”

“We can’t,” Harry said. “He doesn’t dare Apparate in his condition. The last one nearly killed him. We’ll have to take him to Hogwarts.”

Draco sneered. “I’m fine, Potter.” He tried to get to his feet, but found he didn’t quite have the energy as everything began to go black. Hermione pressed him back quickly.

“Stay still!” she ordered.

Lupin walked over. “You captured two Death Eaters? Again? They seem to flock to you every time you step out of Hogwarts. Are they attracted to you?”

Draco laughed shortly and jerked his chin at Greyback. “Well, that one certainly was.”

“Let’s get out of here before he attracts any more,” the pink-haired girl said. She held the cage containing Wormtail.

“I’ll take Malfoy,” Potter said and knelt next to Draco, who tried to wave him back.

“Forget it, Potter. I can ride my own broom.”

“Until you pass out and fall to your death. Skip the bravado or I’ll simply knock you out.”

Harry lifted Draco, who wouldn’t have admitted under torture that he was glad the matter had been taken out of his hands. He wasn’t entirely certain he would have been able to fly alone. He rested his head on Harry’s shoulder and sighed dramatically.

“You’ve wanted to hold me all day, haven’t you, Potter?”

“You know where you can stuff your wisecracks, Malfoy,” Harry growled.

Potter stepped over his broom and in moments they hovered in the air. Harry hadn’t shifted his grip on Draco. Potter was the only person Draco knew who could have managed it—flying without hands.

Soon they were zipping over the trees. At some point during the journey, Draco succumbed to darkness, safe in the knowledge that the Gryffindor Golden Boy would never drop him.

ooOoo

Hermione hurriedly mounted behind Ron as Harry and Draco took off. Ginny rose into the air on Draco’s broom. Tonks carried Wormtail’s cage and Lupin levitated the bound and unconscious Greyback beneath his broom.

Hermione chewed her lip with worry. She hoped they had reached Draco in time. He had been white as a ghost and so limp in her grasp she feared they were too late. His shirt was saturated in blood. She remembered Bill Weasley’s encounter with Greyback—the wounds had been the devil to close. Madam Pomfrey was not at Hogwarts. She lived in London in the summer and volunteered at St. Mungos. They would have to fetch her.

With that thought, she released Ron with one hand and cast a Patronus that streaked away toward Hogwarts. As the spell shot from her wand, Ron yelped in surprise and Hermione screamed and grabbed him reflexively as the broom dropped several meters.

“d**n, Hermione!” Ron yelled over the rushing wind. “Warn a guy before you do that!” The broom climbed slowly to its former altitude.

“Sorry! I sent a message to McGonagall.”

When they reached Hogwarts, Harry was already inside. He was followed by Ginny, who carried their brooms. The instant Ron touched down, Hermione leaped off and bolted, ignoring Ron’s shout of protest.

She passed Ginny and caught up to Harry on the stairs.

“He passed out,” Harry explained. Hermione raced ahead to the hospital ward to prepare a bed. Harry set Draco down gently and Hermione pulled off Malfoy’s bloodied shirt.

Beneath the black hair, Draco’s face was nearly as white as the pillow under his head. Harry turned worried green eyes to her.

“He lost a lot of blood earlier today. I don’t know how much more he can spare.”

Hermione Accioed thick compresses from a nearby cabinet and pressed them against Draco’s chest. She prayed for McGonagall to hurry with Madam Pomfrey. Ron and Ginny sat on a nearby bed and watched silently as the cloths became rapidly saturated with Draco’s blood.

“It won’t coagulate,” Hermione whispered. “How did they heal Bill? Why didn’t I pay closer attention?”

“It’s really advanced healing magic, Hermione. I don’t think you would be able to perform it, regardless.”

A red-gold shape suddenly burst through the door and circled the room once before perching on the bottom railing of Draco’s bed.

“Fawkes!” Harry breathed.

The phoenix hopped forward onto the bed until it stood over Draco. Harry took the compresses from Hermione’s hands, exposing Malfoy’s raw wound. Fawkes tipped his head and phoenix tears began to drip into the gashes. Astoundingly, the blood stopped flowing and the wounds slowly knitted themselves.

Hermione clasped her hands together in relief. When Fawkes was finished, she scooped up the phoenix in a joyful embrace and planted a kiss on its feathered head.

“You beautiful, beautiful bird!” she cried. Fawkes fluttered in protest and flapped away the instant she released him. It disappeared through the doorway and Hermione looked wonderingly at Harry.

“That’s the second time Fawkes has helped us. Do you think Dumbledore told him to watch out for us? Or for Malfoy?”

Harry sighed. “At this point, I don’t know what Dumbledore might have done. He apparently kept loads of secrets from us.” She couldn’t mistake the bitterness in Harry’s voice. He continued, “At least our trip was successful, up until the point where Malfoy was taken. We found the locket. It looks like Regulus managed to destroy it before he was killed.”

“What locket?” Ginny snapped. “Regulus who?”

Harry flushed. It seemed he had forgotten she was present. Hermione carefully bathed Draco’s wounds, amazed that the gashes were now tiny red lines that would likely fade to match the Sectumsempra scars that crossed his chest in the other direction. Hermione’s eyes met Harry’s and she grinned.

“You might want to have a talk with her,” she commented. She noticed a nasty bite mark on Draco’s throat, but luckily the skin wasn’t broken. There was a dreadful bruise on his left wrist and smaller bruises on his right. It looked as though Greyback had manhandled Draco brutally. He was lucky to be alive.

She could feel Ron’s heated gaze on her the entire time she tended Draco and she knew another confrontation was brewing there. Harry got up and motioned to Ginny. They walked to a corner of the room just as McGonagall hurried in with Madam Pomfrey.

Hermione stepped back and allowed them to examine Draco. She quickly explained what Fawkes had done. Madam Pomfrey examined Draco and then hurried to her office. She returned with a number of potions.

“He has lost a lot of blood. This will help him rebuild it, but he will need a lot of rest.”

She levered him up with McGonagall’s help and forced two potions down Draco’s throat. Then she turned and waved at them in a shooing motion.

“Out! I will take care of him from here. There will be no change in his condition for awhile. Thanks to the phoenix, it looks as though he is out of immediate danger. You can visit him later.”

Hermione sighed and headed for the door, followed by Ron. Harry and Ginny trailed after them. At the door, Hermione gasped and then turned and ran back to Draco. Madam Pomfrey was removing his boots. She looked at Hermione warningly.

“This belongs to him,” she said and pulled the braided cord over her head. She slipped it quickly over Draco’s head until the Galleon rested on his chest. She brushed a hand through his down-soft black hair for a moment and smiled softly.

She sighed and joined Ron at the door, leaving Draco in Madam Pomfrey’s capable hands.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Samas Dracot ei rünnatud täiskuu ajal nagu Billigi - seega temast ei tohiks libahunt saada. Ja fööniks - hahhaha - väga hea, nuh naq jutus alati - saab kõik päästetud ;D siisi awww vaene draco

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Chapter Thirty Four – Morning Visit

Ron was waiting for her, as expected. She sighed, wanting nothing more than to go and collapse on her bed and stare aimlessly at the ceiling. The stress of the past few days was taking its toll.

“We need to talk,” Ron said, confirming her suspicions.

“Where do you want to go?” she asked in resignation.

“Astronomy Tower?”

The haunt of stargazing lovers and hopeful romantics? She thought not.

“If you don’t mind, I’ve climbed enough stairs today to put me halfway up the Eiger. I’d prefer a lower elevation.”

He sighed, but nodded.

“The Charms classroom? It’s empty. And maybe I can show you that bubble charm that Fred and George invented.”

She acquiesced and they went downstairs in uncomfortable silence. Once in the classroom, she quickly went to the windows and stared out at the growing darkness. She wondered how long it would be before Draco awakened. As if her thoughts had broached the subject, Ron blurted, “What’s between you and Malfoy?”

“What do you mean?” she asked evasively. She didn’t want to talk about Draco at all, especially when she hadn’t even sorted out her own mind when it came to the perplexing Slytherin.

“You know what I mean. You were bloody well frantic to rush off and save him. I’ve hardly seen you at all since you brought him here. d**n it, you were ready to leap off Gryffindor Tower on Harry’s broom to go after him! What the hell is going on?”

“There is nothing ‘going on,’ as you put it. It’s just that I’ve seen a different side of Malfoy in the past few days and he’s… I don’t know… redeemed himself. I’m certainly not going to let him be tortured if I can stop it.”

Her excuse sounded a trifle lame even to her own ears. She had been ready to ride Harry’s broom off the Tower. She would have gone through the forest alone, if need be. The thought of Greyback marring Draco’s beautiful flesh—she shuddered. If she had seen that in the Scrying pool, she probably would have run straight into the forest without waiting for Harry or bothering with a broom. The knowledge made her sigh and lean her forehead against the glass.

d**n it. Maybe there wasn’t anything ‘going on’ between her and Malfoy. But it was possible that she wanted there to be. She longed to be beside him right now, sitting with him and brushing his hair back from his forehead—whether silver or black. She wanted to be there when his devastating grey eyes opened, to see if they would light up with that same sensual glow she remembered…

“Can you even hear me?” Ron demanded and she realized he’d asked her a question. Probably more than once. She pushed herself away from the window and cleared her throat.

“I’m sorry. Did you say something?”

He glared daggers at her. “Were you just thinking about Malfoy?” he snapped. She couldn’t stop herself from flushing guiltily. Ron shook his head in disgust and threw up his hands. “Why do I even try?”

He spun and stormed out. For a moment, she started after him, but what could she say? She sighed and walked over to Professor Flitwick’s desk. She spied a quill and absently cast Wingardium Leviosa on it. The quill rose into the air and she sighed, remembering Ron’s first attempt at the spell. She grinned. He had been painfully inept. And pretty cute with his hangdog expression.

Then, he and Harry had saved her from the troll—their first adventure. There had been so many after that. Quirrell and Tom Riddle and Sirius. Riding Thestrals. Battling Death Eaters. They had done so much together it usually seemed like the three of them against the world. She wondered why Ron had never made a move on her despite numerous chances. She had thought it was simple shyness, but now she wondered. She thought maybe Ron had taken for granted that he had plenty of time—that she would always be nearby, waiting until he was ready. Maybe she would have been. Until Draco.

She cancelled the spell and the feather fluttered back to the desk. She sighed. Maybe she owed Ron a chance. After all, they had been through several kinds of hell in the past six years, and she had despised Malfoy for every minute of those years until… what? Six days ago? Would she really trade six years for six days?

She went out and was nearly bowled over by Tonks. When they righted themselves, Tonks said, “Sorry.”

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” Hermione asked.

“Fetching McGonagall. We’re not quite sure what to do with Greyback and Moody is threatening to rip him limb from limb. Frankly, I’m tempted to look the other way and let him go to it, but Remus…”

Hermione nodded.

“And Wormtail?”

“Still caged. We dare not let him out. Besides, we’re not quite sure how to open Malfoy’s lock. It seems to be cleverly spelled. Wormtail is lucky Greyback didn’t kill Draco or he might have been boxed forever.”

Hermione shrugged. “He played the rat for twelve years. It shouldn’t hurt him to be caged for a decade or two.”

Tonks raised a brow at the venom in her voice, but Hermione didn’t care. Peter Pettigrew had much to answer for.

“Moody wants to torture him into giving up You-Know-Who’s whereabouts.”

“Moody needs to stop acting on pure emotion and think for a moment. Voldemort would never allow that. I’m sure he has Wormtail’s mind thoroughly booby-trapped in case of that eventuality. Where are they being kept?”

“In the Hufflepuff dungeon. The dungeons really were prisons before Hogwarts became a school. It was a simple matter to return them to their original state. Fenrir is raving mad. We’ll have to do something with him before the next full moon. I’m not sure his current cage will hold him once he changes.”

Hermione chilled at the thought of Greyback in full werewolf mode running the halls of Hogwarts.

“There must be a way to contain him. I’ll look into it. What happened to Scrimgeour?”

Tonks giggled.

“According to Jack, the Weasley twins arranged a veritable war on the second floor, complete with screaming women, clashing swords, explosions, and cries for help. Of course, by the time they got up there, the twins and their magic had gone—and so had Harry Potter. Scrimgeour was fit to burst and he vowed to conduct a full investigation into McGonagall’s ‘fitness to remain Headmistress at Hogwarts.’”

“Oh no!”

Tonks waved off her concern.

“Let him investigate. Who else is better qualified? He can bluster all he wants, but I don’t think he’ll find anyone that will even touch the position. Not with You-Know-Who out there, and after what happened to Dumbledore.” Tonks started suddenly. “Oh my, I was fetching her, wasn’t I? Better go! Catch you later, ‘Mione!”

Tonks resumed her flight up the stairs and Hermione followed at a more leisurely pace. She entered the Gryffindor common room to find Ron missing and Harry and Ginny on the couch engaged in a passionate snog.

They broke off somewhat sheepishly when they noticed her, but she waved at them absently as she continued toward the stairs.

“Don’t mind me. Just passing through. Carry on.”

She escaped to her room and sat on the window seat. The moon had begun to rise with one edge blurred. In seven days, Lupin would be locked away under the calming influence of the Wolfsbane Potion and Greyback would be tearing at the bars of his cell with inhuman strength. Hermione should be in the library looking for a solution, but she was simply too tired at the moment.

Instead, she went to bed and awoke in the early hours of morning, before dawn had begun to paint the sky. She sat up and glanced across the room. Ginny’s hair spilled over her pillow and her breathing was deep and even.

Hermione dressed quietly and padded down the stairs. She was surprised to find Harry sprawled casually on the sofa. She gasped for a moment—between the pose and the hair—still platinum blonde—she had actually thought him to be Draco.

“What are you doing up?” she asked when her heart had stilled.

“Waiting for you,” he replied. “Shall we go?”

“Where?”

“To see Malfoy, of course. That’s where you’re headed, isn’t it?”

“Is it that obvious?”

Harry shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.” He stood up and shook out his Invisibility Cloak. “We should only need this if Madam Pomfrey is wandering about, which is unlikely at this hour.”

The halls were dead silent, as were their trainer-clad footsteps as they descended to the hospital ward. They entered and sat on the bed next to Malfoy’s. Hermione watched Draco’s chest rise and fall evenly.

“Why didn’t they use Fawkes on Bill Weasley?” she asked Harry.

“Maybe they did.”

Hermione nodded, realizing they had never learned the details.

“What did you tell Ginny? About the Horcruxes?”

“Nothing. I found a way to silence her questions.”

Hermione giggled. “I remember. That won’t work forever, you know.”

“I know, but hopefully we’ll be done with them soon and I can tell her everything.” Harry paused and then said, “You know, Malfoy asked if I had ever thought of you… as a girlfriend.”

Hermione turned to look at him in surprise. “You two were talking about me? What brought on that subject?”

“We were talking about Ron, actually.”

“And what did you say? To Malfoy’s question.”

“I said no. That you thought of me more as a brother.”

Hermione looked at him curiously. She had never really stopped to analyze her feelings for Harry. Now that she tried to put words to it… he wasn’t really a brother to her at all. He was… just Harry. If she admitted it to herself, she probably loved him more than any other person she knew. Not in a brotherly fashion, but deeper, somehow. Not in a romantic fashion, either. To her, Harry seemed almost untouchable. Pure and untainted. She didn’t think any woman would ever be his match. Not even Ginny Weasley, although Hermione wished her well at the attempt.

“He told me I should kiss you and dispense with those brotherly feelings.”

Hermione nearly choked.

“And what did you say?”

Harry looked at the floor.

“You’ll probably hate me for it… but I laughed.”

“Thank God,” she said in relief and laughed, also. His eyes snapped to hers.

“You’re not upset by that?”

“Of course not. I care for you more than any brother, I’m sure, but I have absolutely no desire to ever complicate our relationship to that degree. It’s difficult enough having Ron to deal with.”

“And we’re back to Ron.”

She sighed. “Yes, Ron. Do you think I’ve been unfair to him? Perhaps I owe him a chance…”

“I think you’re looking at it the wrong way.”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you think a relationship with Ron would be like? Have you ever envisioned it beyond the hand-holding, snogging stage?”

She shook her head. “Not really. I imagine it would be placid and predictable. He’s so much like Mr. Weasley. He might protest and start a row when he’s upset, but in the end I know he would give in to whatever I desired… d**n it, I would run him over like a stampeding rhino and then hate him for it.”

“Like Mrs. Weasley does to Mr. Weasley?” Harry asked.

“Yes. At times she is more like his mother than his wife. I know they love each other, but sometimes I just want to shake Mr. Weasley and ask why he doesn’t stand up to her.” Hermione sighed. “I don’t want to be a termagant.”

“You need someone who knows their own mind.”

Hermione looked at him wryly and nodded.

“Ron never seems to know what he wants until it begins to slip out of his grasp. Even then, I think he wants it only reflexively.”

She looked over at Draco’s sleeping form and immediately recognized the contrast. Malfoy always seemed to know what he wanted and went after it with single-minded determination. He would never bow to the will of another. He had done so once, with Voldemort, and rebelled against it so violently it drove him into collusion with his worst enemies.

She looked at Harry and her eyes widened in surprise as his hair suddenly darkened and resumed its natural shade. He grinned wryly and ran a hand through his black locks.

“I felt that. He said it would last twelve hours. I’m somewhat sorry to see it go.”

She shook her head. “I’m not. Frankly, it was disconcerting.” She turned back to Draco to see his hair shining in a beam of moonlight, restored to its silvery perfection. “Not that he was any less handsome with black hair.”

“Of course not,” Harry said with a snort. “The git would likely be gorgeous even if he were bald as an egg.”

“Glad you recognize that, Potter,” Draco said dryly. “Do you Gryffindors ever shut up? It’s damned hard to get any sleep with you two prattling on.”

Hermione was at his bedside in an instant. Her fingers gently touched his shoulders and she looked into his half-lidded eyes. The maddening smirk was on his lips and she smiled, realizing she had missed even that. She wondered how long he had been awake.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“Like I’ve been mauled by a psychotic werewolf and awakened from a beautiful dream by annoying chatter. I recognize the Hogwarts hospital ward, having been sent here numerous times by… why that would be you, Potter… but what are you two doing here?”

“We came to check on you,” Hermione explained.

“And the reason that couldn’t wait until morning is…?”

“Madam Pomfrey.”

“Ah. I’m sure it had nothing to do with your propensity for sneaking about at odd hours.”

“We have to stay in practice,” Harry explained. “Can’t have our sneaking skills rusting, now can we?”

Malfoy’s lips twitched. “I suppose not.”

“Besides, I wanted to ask you a question.”

“Hence, the real reason for your visit.”

“Of course. You don’t think I’m concerned about your health?”

“You have been hugging me rather a lot, lately. I thought your heart might have grown a bit fonder than warranted.”

“Will you two knock it off?” Hermione snapped, cutting off Harry’s retort.

“Fine. Malfoy, you said you found the house where Regulus was killed because you ‘remembered the tale.’ Was there more to that tale?” Harry asked.

Draco sat up gingerly and Hermione quickly lifted his pillows to provide better comfort. His silver eyes watched her in amusement.

“Thank you, Granger. You’ll make someone an excellent concubine.”

She glared at him and stiffly returned to sit next to Harry, who grinned at her sardonically. Had she actually been fantasizing about the maddening creature? At least Malfoy always managed to bring her back to crushing reality with a few choice words.

“What do you want to know?” Draco asked.

“Who killed Regulus Black?”

“According to my mother, three Death Eaters were sent to do him in. Magnus Bole, Adan Pucey… and Severus Snape. Only Snape returned. Regulus apparently killed Bole and Pucey.”

Harry nodded. “Interesting that Snape was the only surviving witness.”

“Isn’t it, though? I suppose it’s possible that he and Regulus had a small chat about Horcruxes prior to the coup de grace.”

“Which would explain how Snape knew about them.” Harry stood up. “I was just curious. We should let you rest.”

“Potter?”

Harry turned back.

“The letter from my parents… Did you catch the part about Hogwarts not being safe?” Draco asked. Hermione’s gaze flew to Harry. Draco had let him read the letter? Harry nodded. Draco’s eyes closed. “You need to consider that. And ask why Wormtail and Fenrir Greyback were in the forest, so nearby. Put Granger on the task. I’m sure she hasn’t been in the library in the past twenty minutes. She’s likely going into withdrawal.”

“Is it absolutely necessary to talk about me as though I’m not in the room?”

Draco grinned widely.

Harry sighed and started out. Hermione stood up and leaned over Draco. She waited until his eyes opened a crack.

“You’re bloody infuriating when you want to be.” She pressed her lips softly against his. “But, I’m very glad you’re here.”

She followed Harry out.

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Chapter Thirty Five – Pensieve, Parchment, Party

Harry wasn’t tired enough to go back to bed and Hermione seemed agitated after their visit with Draco.

“Never a dull moment with Malfoy, is there?” Harry commented mildly.

“He’s bloody annoying, exasperating, and impossible to understand,” Hermione snapped. Harry nodded thoughtfully. She would never have to worry about a placid, predictable relationship with that one.

“Want to go up and use the Pensieve before McGonagall wakes up?” he asked. Hermione nodded and in short order they found themselves standing before the basin. Harry shook the vial experimentally and dumped it in.

Strangely, this memory took place outside, near the lake. Hermione popped into existence next to Harry. Dumbledore was absently conjuring handfuls of grain and scattering it on the lake for the ducks that greedily snapped up the treat. Snape, of course, stood beside him.

“Why didn’t you bring the damned thing to me?” Snape said bitterly. “It was stupid of you to destroy it alone. You’re lucky I was able to stop the curse before it took your whole arm. Or worse.”

“Will you stop nagging me like a mother hen?” Dumbledore said impatiently, although he raised his withered hand and looked at it with a grimace. Harry realized with a start that the memory was recent—it must have been right after Dumbledore had destroyed the ring Horcrux. “I’m aware of my failings.”

“No, I really don’t think you are,” Snape said with his usual sneer. “Next time you have the urge to traipse off after a Horcrux, you should bloody well take someone with you. If you don’t trust me, then take your little Gryffindor hero. Isn’t it past time you started letting him in on some of your secrets? The brat’s nearly of age.”

“I’m certain Harry would agree with you.”

“Well, that would be a first, wouldn’t it?” Snape’s black eyes flashed.

“Why do you hate the boy so much?” Dumbledore asked tiredly and then held up a hand to forestall Snape’s reply. “Never mind. I don’t wish to get into another argument about Potters and purebloods and perceived wrongs. I thought your opinion had softened somewhat, after Sirius.”

Snape rolled his eyes. “Not in regards to Potter. Frankly, I don’t see why you fancy those Gryffindors so much, except for their insane propensity to race headlong into danger without a moment’s thought for the consequences.” Snape looked pointedly at Dumbledore’s withered hand. “Rather like you, I suppose. Gryffindor to the core, are you not?”

Dumbledore chuckled. “Guilty as charged.”

“Yes, well, as Headmaster, I would expect you to place a bit more value on some of the students in Houses other than your own.”

“Several students joined ‘my Gryffindors’ last year, including some Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, I believe.”

“Yes, well, Cho Chang was smitten with The Boy Who Lived and Luna Lovegood is hardly a prime example of a Ravenclaw. What of Slytherins? Are none of them are worthy to stand beside The Chosen One? Potter’s opinion seems to be quite tainted in that regard.”

“And who would you choose to stand beside Harry Potter against Voldemort? Frankly, most of your Slytherin students seem more likely to carry banners proclaiming Voldemort’s imminent reign than stand up to prevent it.”

“I’ve done my best—“ Snape began.

“You’ve done your best to encourage the same purebood nonsense they believe Voldemort stands for!” Dumbledore snapped. Snape’s face flamed.

“It isn’t nonsense! My most talented students are purebloods—“

“As are the most imbecilic! If purity of bloodline equals talent, then how to you explain Crabbe and Goyle? Without young Malfoy’s assistance, they would have been tossed out of school years ago!”

Snape sniffed. “They have the talent. They just do not apply themselves.”

Dumbledore glared at him. “You are babbling nonsense. Explain Hermione Granger.”

It was Snape’s turn to scowl. “An aberration. Freak coincidence.”

Hermione balled up her fists and punched Snape in the stomach. Her fist went right through the vaporous memory without effect, but Harry grinned, applauding the effort.

“Aberration. I’ll give you an aberration, you horrible, small-minded—“ Hermione began, but Harry hushed her in order to hear the rest of the memory. She folded her arms and glared daggers at Snape.

Dumbledore dragged his good hand through his hair in a credible imitation of Harry Potter.

“Enough! This discussion has not been resolved in over fifteen years.”

Snape grinned evilly. “And yet you continue to bring it up.”

“I keep hoping that you will see the error of your ways,” Dumbledore said sadly.

“As do I,” Snape replied with a superior air.

The two were silent for a time and Dumbledore went back to feeding the ducks. Finally, Snape asked, “Do you intend to go after another Horcrux?”

“Possibly.”

“Do you agree that you will not go alone, next time?” Snape asked blandly. Dumbledore looked at him suspiciously.

“Out with it, man,” he said. Snape shook his head.

“Not without your promise.”

“Fine. I promise to take at least one other person on my next Horcrux hunt,” Dumbledore said with finality.

“Excellent. Then, I may know where you can find one.”

Dumbledore stopped feeding the birds and turned his full attention to Snape.

“There is a cave by the sea…”

The memory ended, likely because Harry knew the rest. He staggered to the window seat and sat down. Each memory seemed to have its own frisson of horror. Hermione sat next to him and took his hand.

“Snape arranged the visit to the cave. He also made sure I went with Dumbledore. So that I wouldn’t be here to stop Malfoy. I was the only one that suspected what he was up to…”

“Except us,” Hermione whispered. “We were here. We should have been able to stop him.”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t think you could have. Snape was helping him.” He got to his feet. “We need to talk to Malfoy and find out what Snape knew.”

“Why?” Hermione asked woodenly and pulled him back down. “What difference will it make except to satisfy your curiosity? We know what Draco did. We know what Snape did. Learning how it all played out won’t change anything.”

“Everything involving Snape is suspect. Didn’t you tell me it was Snape that told Malfoy Hufflepuff’s cup was at the Riddle house? Why did he do that? Why did he kill Dumbledore? Why did he rejoin Voldemort if he is still opposing him?”

“Do you really think Malfoy will be able to answer those questions?”

Harry dragged a hand through his raven locks and sighed explosively.

“No. d**n it. Dumbledore couldn’t even figure out Snape.”

Hermione nodded. “I think our time will be better spent pondering the warning from the Malfoys. Why should Hogwarts be unsafe? And what were Greyback and Wormtail doing in the forest?”

“How can we possibly find the answer to those questions?”

“I’m not sure. But I think we should start with the Marauder’s Map.”

Harry dropped to his knees on the floor and spread the map out on his bed. Hermione sat on the bed next to the map and her hair brushed the parchment as she leaned over it.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” Harry said and tapped the map. Lines appeared and darkened. “What shall we look for?”

“Let’s start with a general search of each floor, starting at the top and working our way down,” Hermione said. Ron sat up, roused by their quiet voices.

“What’s going on?” he asked sleepily.

“We’re checking out the map to see who is hanging around Hogwarts,” Harry said absently. Gryffindor Tower was first, and showed the three of them in the boy’s dormitory. Ginny Weasley was in the girl’s. The map lines blurred and reformed, showing them Ravenclaw Tower. In one room, the names Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks nearly overlapped. Hermione blushed.

“I didn’t really need to see that,” Harry commented and chuckled.

Another room contained Jack Williamson and Alastor Moody. Neither overlapping, nor even close to each other, Harry was glad to see. Hestia Jones was walking through the Ravenclaw common room and they watched as she exited to the corridor and headed downstairs.

A quick sweep of the castle showed nothing unexpected. Draco Malfoy still slept in the hospital wing, tended by Madam Pomfrey. Minerva McGonagall was in the Transfiguration Classroom. Peter Pettigrew and Fenrir Greyback were both safely contained in the Hufflepuff dungeons. Harry sighed.

“It looks safe enough to me,” he said.

Ron had crawled over to sit on the other side of the map from Hermione. He rubbed his eyes with a thumb and blinked at the map.

“Go deeper,” Hermione suggested. “Look at the Chamber of Secrets.”

Harry scanned the map until he located Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, and then moved the map view deeper, exposing a warren of chambers beneath the school. Most of them twisted, mazelike, and opened into each other. Harry looked up at Hermione.

“How is it that Fred and George never found the Chamber of Secrets with this map?”

Ron answered with a snort. “Did they care? They thought the whole Heir of Slytherin thing was a huge joke. Remember when they kept prodding you about being the Heir?”

“Until Ginny was taken.”

“Yeah. And then they were too worried to think about the map. Plus, Mum wouldn’t let them out of her sight long enough to use it.”

“Too bad we didn’t have it until Third Year. Why did Fred and George give it to me, anyway? I know they had all the passages memorized, but it was bloody useful to know where Filch was while sneaking out.”

“Oh, they nicked it from you whenever they needed it,” Ron commented. “It’s not like you hid it. You usually had it jammed it your trunk there, eh?”

“They rooted through my personal items?” Harry said indignantly. Ron rolled his eyes.

“Do you recall who you’re talking about? They would root through the personal items of the Minister of Magic for a previously chewed piece of Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum. Be glad they always returned the map.”

Hermione giggled. “Goodness, Harry, you act like we’re the only one allowed to sneak around. The twins probably did so ten times more than we did.”

Harry shrugged. “I suppose. I don’t see anything in the Chamber of Secrets. It’s deserted.” He sighed in frustration.

“That’s a relief, anyway. I was afraid Voldemort or some Death Eaters had managed to sneak into the school and were hiding there. None of us would be the wiser.”

“Maybe we should set up some sort of proximity alert. In case that ever happens.”

Hermione shuddered. “I’d rather not go down there. From your description, it sounds dreadful.”

“It was. Maybe you can put your brilliant mind to it and think of a solution.”

“Maybe you can take a nap. You’re getting snappish.”

“I’m not getting snappish!” Harry snapped.

Hermione looked askance at Ron, who grinned.

“Not at all, mate,” Ron said insincerely. Harry scowled and tapped the map sharply.

“Mischief managed.” He rolled the parchment and tucked it back into his trunk.

“Well, I’m for some breakfast. Do you two plan to join me?” Hermione asked.

ooOoo

Draco was out of bed by late afternoon. He had pretended to sleep each time visitors approached. Granger and Potter returned around noon. Next it was Lupin. And finally McGonagall, but none of them tried to awaken him. He waited until Madam Pomfrey padded off before he slid his feet to the floor and sat up.

Vertigo assailed him, but he fought it. He had slept enough and was sick of being bedridden. His blood supply would replenish itself whether he lay around like a limp sponge or not.

His clothes were missing. Pomfrey was clever that way. She hated to have her patients sneaking out before she was ready to release them. Draco surveyed the blankets on the bed and grimaced. Wool. He sighed. He had no intention of parading around Hogwarts draped in scratchy wool blankets. He’d almost rather stroll back to the Slytherin dungeon in the altogether. Transfiguring them would be a hassle.

The thought of walking around naked brought Hermione to mind. He had noticed the return of his coin immediately upon waking.

Granger, he sent.

You summoned?
I need some clothes.

Really? Whatever for?

I know you prefer me unclothed, but walking about naked might offend some of the more inhibited females in the building.

You’re grouping me with the uninhibited females?

You’re the one that came down to my room and pounced on me.

Pounced? He grinned, sensing volumes of indignation in the word.

Delicately tried to seduce? he corrected.

Your ego certainly hasn’t suffered any injury. I’ll be right there.

He settled himself back on the bed, propped his arms behind his head, and waited.

Hermione arrived a surprisingly short time later.

“Did you run?” he asked as she set the folded clothing on the end of the bed.

“No.”

Draco tossed the sheet aside, making certain he kept his gaze on Hermione’s face. She blanched at the sight of him clad in nothing but black silk boxers. He refrained from grinning, with effort, and reached for the clothing. He was careful not to move too quickly.

“You shouldn’t be up at all,” she said. “Where is Madam Pomfrey?”

“She went to fetch something from the greenhouse. I plan to be gone by the time she gets back.” Draco pulled on the white long-sleeved t-shirt. He followed it with a pair of charcoal grey trousers that fit perfectly. He noticed a smile playing about Granger’s lips and looked at her suspiciously.

“Where did you get these?” he asked. Her smile widened.

“I borrowed them from Harry. It seems you’re exactly the same size.”

“I doubt that,” Draco said archly and Hermione coughed when she caught his meaning. He chuckled to himself and was glad to see his boots near the foot of his bed. He donned Potter’s socks and tugged his boots on, fighting a wave of dizziness when he sat upright. Hermione hurried around the bed to help him.

He waved her back impatiently and she sighed in exasperation.

“Why are you even out of bed? You look like you’re barely able to stand.”

“Because I’m a stubborn bastard, remember?” he asked and stood up defiantly. “Did Potter look at that locket?”

“We both did. Regulus destroyed it properly, thank goodness.”

Draco nodded and bypassed her to head for the door.

“Malfoy—“ she started.

He spun around with a flare of annoyance and walked back to her. He clenched his fists at his sides in order to keep from touching her. Merely standing this close to her probably constituted a violation of his promise to Weasley.

“Back in the forest,” he said, “You called me Draco. Do you remember?”

Her eyes were huge pools of liquid chocolate.

“I remember,” she breathed. “Draco…”

The sound slid over him like a caress. He closed his eyes and cursed Weasley to the ninth level of hell. As if conjured by his thoughts, the door opened and Ron stalked into the room. Draco could tell it was him by the agitated sound of his footsteps. Draco opened his eyes to see Hermione’s hand, which had been reaching out to touch him, fall back to her side.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Weasley said dryly. Draco turned to look at him and Ron’s gaze met his with a flash of warning. Malfoy shrugged. Ron continued, “Neville is here. And Luna, and Susan Bones.”

“Why?” Hermione asked.

“Thought they’d be safer here, I suppose. Neville’s gran is still at St. Mungo’s, but Neville can’t stay there and they won’t let him go home. Too dangerous. Luna’s dad doesn’t want her left alone. And Susan… well…”

None of them spoke. They all knew Amelia Bones had been horribly murdered, leaving Susan one of the unlucky few whose entire family had been eradicated by Voldemort.

Hermione hurried out and Draco followed at a more leisurely pace. As he passed Ron, Weasley’s hand shot out and grabbed his sleeve.

“I thought you agreed to stay away from her,” Ron muttered.

“I have,” Draco said mildly, meeting Ron’s stormy gaze with a hint of amusement. “You might to discuss the matter with her. She doesn’t seem to be aware of your rules.”

Weasley flushed and Draco allowed no satisfaction to touch his features, but he knew damned well that Ron wouldn’t dare forbid Hermione to stay away from Draco. She would verbally slice off his head and hand it to him on a platter.

A quick jerk removed his sleeve from Weasley’s grasp and Draco walked stiffly out the door. His right leg still hurt like the devil. It would most likely be sore and aching for a few days, until the memory of the break and impalement faded.

Everyone seemed to be in the Great Hall. Nearly all of the Order was present and the atmosphere seemed almost festive.

Hermione was talking animatedly to Neville, who started in surprise when Draco entered. Luna, standing next to Longbottom, caught sight of Draco and fairly danced across the room to fling her arms around Draco’s neck.

She planted a lipsticky kiss on his cheek and fairly choked him.

“I never thanked you properly for saving me,” she said. Draco tried to disengage her arms from his neck without success.

“Consider me properly thanked,” he said, somewhat worried what a proper thanking might be to Luna.

“No, no. I have to do something for you.”

Terrifying idea. “Fine. Give it some thought and get back to me. Take your time.”

Luna sighed and released him. She stepped back and looked at him critically. Her radish earrings dangled when she cocked her head to the side.

“You’re terribly pale. Have you been attacked by vampires? I can make you a garlic necklace to ward them off.”

“You do that,” Malfoy said absently. His attention had been snared by the approach of Neville Longbottom. The Gryffindor boy seemed different. He was two hand spans taller than Draco and his visage was serious and subdued. The anxiousness that used to occupy his features was gone.

Neville stepped forward and stretched out his hand to Draco.

“They told me what you did. You saved my life,” Neville said seriously.

“Mine, too!” Luna cried and clapped her hands.

Malfoy reluctantly allowed Neville to shake his hand, but Neville stepped close and wrapped his left arm around Draco’s shoulders. He hugged Draco tightly for a moment and Malfoy grimaced uncomfortably. Damned overemotional Gryffindors.

“Thank you,” Neville said sincerely.

“You aren’t going to kiss me, are you?” Draco asked wryly and Neville released him and stepped back as if burned.

“No, of course not!”

“Thank God. It’s bad enough when Potter does it.”

“Wha—?” Neville gaped at him.

“Joking,” Draco said and rolled his eyes. Longbottom was such a thickwit. Malfoy brushed past him to stand next to Potter, who was talking with a girl Draco barely recognized.

Susan Bones had been a slightly pudgy, round-faced girl with a long plait of light brown hair, freckles, dancing brown eyes, and a ready smile. The freckles were all that remained of that girl. Susan was now thin as a rail. Her hair had been hacked off and stuck out from her head in a halo of brown spikes. Her eyes were hard and frigid as she looked at Malfoy with sheer contempt. Her lips were a thin line.

“I thought you were a Death Eater,” she snapped.

“Not really,” Draco said tonelessly.

“Aren’t you directly responsible for Dumbledore’s death?” she continued harshly.

Draco looked at Harry Potter with a pained expression and forced a sarcastic smile.

“I suppose I am. Great party. I think I’ll go hang myself, now.”

Draco turned and left the Great Hall. He wondered what had prompted him to join the bloody gathering. There were too many people and most of them had strong opinions about Draco Malfoy. He was either a hero or pariah. Frankly, he didn’t give a d**n what any of them thought.

“Malfoy, wait!”

Draco groaned and kept walking. She had to make it difficult for him, didn’t she?

“Where are you going?” Hermione asked when she caught up to him. He stopped, but didn’t look at her.

“Go back to your friends, Granger,” he said tiredly.

“Not without you.”

“Forget it. I don’t belong in there.”

“Of course you do!”

His head snapped up and he glared at her.

“d**n it, when will you stop trying to make me into something I’m not?” he cried angrily. “Everything I’ve done has been for my own selfish reasons! You’re intelligent enough to figure that out, once you stop letting your overactive imagination control your thinking!”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed at his outburst.

“What do you mean by that?” she demanded.

“You know what I mean. You’ve turned me into some sort of fantasy hero. I’m not a pale shadow of Harry Potter and I never will be! Go back to your Gryffindors, Granger, and leave me alone.”

He stalked off. As an afterthought, he yanked at the cord holding the Galleon and flung it to the ground. He didn’t look back as he fled to the Slytherin dungeon.

[Julia Darline Evans]

Niih , lugesin pmst kõik läbi
next

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Kes nüüd overemotinal on Draco ?
Aww siiski. Next ! Ja ma vihkan Roni.

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Chapter Thirty Six – Founders

Hermione picked up the coin from the floor and looked after Draco in dismay. She wondered what had brought on that outburst. Draco had been acting so strangely, lately. She sighed and traced the coin with her fingers as she pondered his words. Was she really trying to turn Draco into ‘a pale shadow of Harry Potter?’ She scowled. Why did he have to be so damned complicated? He was completely infuriating and prickly as a hedgehog today. Even in the hospital wing he’d been avoiding her, until she’d apparently annoyed him by calling him Malfoy.

I don’t belong in there.

His words touched a nerve. Would Draco always feel like an outcast? She heard footsteps approach and then Harry stood beside her.

“Is Malfoy okay?” he asked.

She looked at him seriously and shook her head. “I don’t think so. He stormed off to the Slytherin common room.”

“Are you going to go talk to him?”

“He doesn’t seem to want me around. I wish he would tell me what is really bothering him.”

“Susan Bones just accused him of being a Death Eater and murdering Dumbledore,” Harry commented. She considered that for a moment and then rejected it as the cause of Draco’s distress.

“He hears that all the time. Moody still wants to turn him into a Christmas pudding. He’s never been bothered by insults, before. Except yours.”

“No, I think he actually likes my insults. They give him a good excuse to retaliate.”

Hermione sighed. “I think the strain is getting to him. He’s out of his element. We all have each other and he feels that he has no one. He’s used to being perceived as an insufferable bully and now that we see him as a fellow human being, he’s not sure how to react.”

“So he lashes out in typical Malfoy fashion.”

“Yes. I think he desperately wants to let down his guard, but he’s terrified of being hurt.”

Harry looked at her in amazement. “How do girls even think of things like that? I thought he was just pissed because he can’t snarl vile insults and make himself feel superior.”

“That is so typically male,” Hermione said and rolled her eyes. “Besides, he doesn’t really have to restrain himself if he wants to insult someone. There is always Ron.”

“Yeah, there is always Ron,” Harry repeated, but something in his tone made her look at him sharply.

“What?”

Harry shrugged and said, “Nothing,” but his green eyes slid away from hers. She put her hands on her hips.

“Harry James Potter, if you know something about all of this, you’d better spill it right now.”

He looked decidedly guilty.

“Look, I don’t know anything. It’s only a suspicion based on something Malfoy said at the Hog’s Head.”

“Which was?”

“Malfoy mentioned that he owed Ron a favor. Because Ron saved him from the Carrows at Snape’s house.”

“Draco owes Ron a favor?”

Harry nodded, but Hermione couldn’t quite make the connection to Harry’s suspicion.

“And what did Ron ask for?”

Harry flushed. “I don’t know. Malfoy didn’t say. As I told you, it’s only an idea.”

Hermione wasn’t listening, knowing it would take a devilish amount of prying to get Harry to cough up a straight answer. What could Malfoy possibly have that Ron would want? Well, money, obviously, but she couldn’t picture Ron asking for that even under torture. He was far too proud. What else? Draco’s broom?

She scowled. No, it had to be something that would cause Draco to lash out like a cornered fox. What if it wasn’t something Draco had, but something he could do? What could Ron ask Draco to do? Avada Kedavra himself, of course, but in lieu of that… She glanced at Harry, who waited expectantly. Something finally clicked.

“He didn’t,” she said in realization. Harry watched her perceptively, but said nothing. She narrowed her gaze at him and continued evenly, “Tell me Ron didn’t warn Malfoy away from me.”

Harry shrugged and then nodded tentatively. “It wouldn’t surprise me.”

Hermione felt such a rush of rage she was surprised her hair didn’t crackle from the force of it.

“I. Will. Kill. Him,” she decided and spun on a heel.

Harry grabbed her arm and halted her. “Don’t do anything rash!”

“Rash? Who the hell does Ron think he is? I am not his property!”

“Ron is afraid of losing you,” Harry said lamely.

“He never had me to lose, Harry!”

“I know that, but I don’t think Ron does.” He paused and then forged ahead. “How do you feel about Malfoy, anyway?”

Hermione shied away from the question. She wasn’t ready to examine her feelings about Draco, and especially not before Harry Potter. “I don’t know. Everything is so confusing right now. Besides, I think the most important thing is to ask how Malfoy feels about us.”

“Us?” Harry looked baffled.

“Yes! He chose to come to us. Look at everything he’s done! We never would have believed he would help us, but we would be devastated right now if not for Malfoy. My parents would probably be dead; Neville and Luna would be captured and possibly dead. We wouldn’t have found and destroyed the cup. We wouldn’t have four Death Eaters in the dungeon! Frankly, Malfoy’s done more for us in the past week than we’ve managed with the entire Order in the past bloody year.”

Harry’s expression was grim.

“Well, Malfoy doesn’t seem to realize that.”

“Maybe someone should explain it to him,” she suggested lightly. Harry looked at her hopefully.

“No, not me. Apparently he’s made some sort of noble vow that prevents him from accepting my company at the moment. You go talk to him. I’m going to have a little chat with our friend Ron.”

“You won’t hurt him?”

“Hardly at all,” she said with steel in her voice.

Harry sighed deeply, but obediently headed for the Slytherin dungeon. Hermione called after him.

“Unless he’s changed the password, it’s apple.”

“Apple?”

“You know—garden, tree, serpent… apple. He’ll explain it to you.”

Harry shook his head in bemusement and disappeared. Hermione set her jaw and went to find Ronald Weasley.

ooOoo

Draco lay on the couch in the Slytherin common room, feeling perfectly miserable. He shouldn’t have lashed out at Hermione. His current black mood was definitely not her fault. If anyone had proven to be firmly on his side, it was Granger. He had little doubt that she had been the one to instigate his rescue in the forest. He still didn’t know how she’d managed to find him.

He sighed, already regretting the loss of the Galleon. What had possessed him to throw it down like a spoiled child? He should probably go find her and apologize. Except that he hated apologizing. And Ron Bastard Weasley would take him to task for it. Bloody hell, he should have just let the Carrows torture him. It would have been less painful in the long run.

Draco heard footsteps approaching and realized he should have changed the password. He really hadn’t expected Hermione to follow him. To his surprise, it was Harry Potter who appeared at the end of the sofa.

“Hey, Malfoy,” Potter said casually, as though wandering into the Slytherin common room was an everyday occurrence for The Chosen One.

“That will teach me to give a Gryffindor the password,” Draco said dryly. “Did she put out a newsletter?”

“Relax. She only told me because she thought you didn’t want her around.”

“Perceptive, as always,” Draco said. He watched Harry curiously, wondering why he was here. Had Granger sent him down for a pep talk? If so, Potter’s heart didn’t seem to be in it, which wasn’t surprising. Harry wandered around aimlessly, peering at Slytherin bric-a-brac.

“It’s hideously dark in here,” Potter commented. “How do you stand it?”

“Slytherins appreciate the dark.”

“So do I, but in moderation.”

Draco gestured to the walls. “Normally, those are spelled to resemble windows that reflect the actual conditions outside. It’s usually bright as Gryffindor Tower in here. Since I’m the only one in residence, they seem to have dispensed with such trivialities.”

Harry made a noncommittal sound and spelled a dozen or so candles and sconces into light.

“Feeling any effects of Greyback’s attack?” Harry asked nonchalantly.

“No. Nothing.”

“Bill Weasley said he didn’t feel any different, except that he had a craving for very rare meat.”

“I eat my steaks that way already, so I probably won’t notice a thing. What are the odds of you leaving me in peace?”

“Not in your favor.”

“Shouldn’t you be up there with your friends?”

“They can wait. This can’t.”

Draco wasn’t sure he wanted to know what ‘this’ constituted. He folded his arms beneath his head in an affectation of boredom. Harry sat down on a nearby chair, sighed, and ran a hand through his hair.

One, Draco counted automatically.

Harry said, “Remember our first year, before we were sorted? You wanted to be my friend simply because I was famous.”

Draco scowled, not appreciating the reminder of that particular memory. “That was before I discovered what a git you are.”

“That was before you annoyed me by insulting Ron Weasley. You know, I’ve often thought about what would have happened if I’d never met Ron and had no preconceptions about the different Houses. Did you know the Sorting Hat wanted to put me into Slytherin?”

Draco laughed shortly and shook his head in amazement.

“You? The quintessential Gryffindor? That would have been hilarious.”

“Seriously, it nearly happened. If it had, who do you think I would have been most likely to befriend?”

“Montague?” Draco asked archly. Harry ignored that.

“And think about this. When it comes to Voldemort, some unavoidable destiny seems to have been laid upon me. I don’t think I would have escaped it simply by being sorted into a different House. I believe I would have had to stop Quirrell, and Tom Riddle, and do everything else I’ve been forced into.”

Despite himself, Draco was fascinated by Harry’s conjecture.

“You really think you would have had the same adventures as a Slytherin?”

Harry nodded. “I’m positive. I suspect Dumbledore set many of them up as a test of my abilities. I would have needed help, of course, especially to navigate the traps laid for the Stone. You’re as clever as Hermione. You would have figured out the Devil’s Snare trap and Snape’s potion mystery—and you’re the only one I’ve seen that can beat Ron at wizard’s chess…”

Draco sat up and swung his feet to the floor, not liking the path Harry’s thoughts followed. “You think I would have helped you defeat Voldemort?”

“Who else? You know I never would have fallen for that pureblood idiocy, even if I were sorted into Slytherin. I don’t think you believe it any longer, either. If you ever really did.”

Draco was silent. He shook his head and looked at Harry. “So, you think we would have been bosom buddies?” he said after a moment, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “You and I?”

“I think it was inevitable.” Harry said quietly. His green eyes were wide and sincere. Draco buried his face in his hands. Bloody hell! Why did Potter and his friends insist on wringing every possible unwanted emotion out of a person? Draco quelled the strange leap of sentiment Harry’s words had conjured. He looked up and sneered at Potter, but the gesture didn’t have its usual potency.

“I’m not your friend, Potter.”

Harry smiled in what seemed to be genuine amusement.

“Like hell you’re not. You signed up for that position the minute you warned Hermione that her parents were in danger. And the best part is that you did it to yourself. As Hermione pointed out, you’ve done more for the cause lately than anyone. As well as paid the price.”

Draco stood up, agitated by Potter’s insinuation. He glared at Harry and tried to drudge up his old feelings of hatred for his nemesis. Potter’s sardonic grin helped, but it wasn’t quite enough. Draco kept recalling Harry’s face at St. Mungo’s, grim with concern as he gently handed Malfoy over to the hospital staff. d**n it, Draco didn’t want to be one of Potter’s loyal followers!

“You’re insane, you know that?” he said harshly.

Harry shrugged. “Yes, well, it’s entirely Hermione’s fault. She seems to like you. Of course, there’s no accounting for taste.”

“Witness you and the redheaded stick girl.” Draco leaped at the change of subject.

“Leave Ginny out of this. We’re talking about you and Hermione.”

“There is no me and Hermione.”

“Do you want there to be?”

“Do you really expect me to answer that?”

“No. Not really.” Harry laughed and stood up. “Come on. There’s no sense in you brooding alone down here, now that we’re starting to miss your aggravating presence when you’re not around.”

“I wasn’t brooding.” Draco tried to find a way to refuse Harry.

“Wallowing in self-pity?”

“I hope you find yourself amusing.”

Harry chuckled and walked to the fireplace to look at the enormous painting of Salazar Slytherin, who glared down at Potter in barely suppressed rage.

“Think he’s rolling in his grave?” Harry asked. Draco hadn’t really looked at the painting in a long time. Slytherin wore a grayish undertunic with a black woven cloth belt. A huge black cloak, trimmed in brilliant green, swept back over one shoulder where it was pinned with a simple serpent brooch of hammered silver. In contrast to the plain brooch, the Slytherin locket glittered majestically on his chest. He gripped a wooden staff in one hand and a wand with the other. The signet ring flashed briefly as Salazar moved. As if annoyed by their scrutiny, he disappeared.

Harry shrugged and turned back to Draco. It was common knowledge that the Founders never spoke from their paintings, although no one knew why. Draco started to speak, and then his eyes widened as a thought occurred to him.

“Bloody hell! Follow me, Potter, I just thought of something!”

Without waiting, Draco turned and ran from the Slytherin common room.

Draco took the stairs two at a time. “Where are we going?” Harry called.

“Ravenclaw Tower,” Draco replied.

It seemed to take forever and they were both panting with exertion by the time they reached the western tower. Halfway up, a wave of dizziness had nearly overcome Draco, forcing him to pause for a rest and take the steps at a more leisurely pace. He was both relieved and annoyed when Potter made no comment. As they neared their destination, Harry mentioned that he had never been to Ravenclaw Tower, which seemed odd to Draco considering how much time Potter had spent wandering Hogwarts.

“Never? Not even as the honored guest of your old girlfriend, Cho?”

Harry flushed. “She was never really my girlfriend.”

“Too bad you weren’t sorted into Slytherin. I could have helped you out in the girl department. You desperately need assistance.”

“Screw you, Malfoy,” Harry said without conviction. Draco grinned. Potter had to know it was true. Cho Chang and Ginny Weasley? Potter had likely barely made it to the snogging stage with either one. Draco would bet half his fortune The Boy Who Lived was still a virgin. He decided to save that topic for later, when there was more time to wind Potter into a froth.

Similar to Gryffindor Tower, a painting blocked the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room. No person stared back at them, but a sphinx crouched on desert sands. It gazed at them expressionlessly. When Draco could breathe normally he said, “We seek entrance.”

The sphinx inclined its head and said, “A coin is bottled; the bottle then corked. Remove the coin, but not the cork; and break not the bottle.”

“A riddle?” Harry asked breathlessly.

“Of course it’s a riddle. It’s a sphinx. Do you know the answer?”

“Remove a coin from a corked bottle without taking out the cork or breaking the bottle?”

“That’s the question, not the answer.” Draco grinned. “You really are helpless without Granger, aren’t you?” Harry scowled and Draco answered the sphinx. “Simple. You push the cork into the bottle and remove the coin.”

The painting swung aside easily.

“No password, but a riddle?” Harry asked.

“Ravenclaws. They love to show off their brainpower.”

Draco started inside and Harry followed.

“How did you know? About the riddles, I mean.”

“I spent an entertaining evening with a Ravenclaw girl in third year,” Draco replied. “She actually devised a chart that showed how different positions—“

“Forget I asked!” Harry said quickly.

“It’s your loss,” Draco replied and chuckled. “Unfortunately, she transferred to Beauxbatons the following year. Her parents likely found out her primary field of study was male anatomy.”

The Ravenclaw common room was currently empty. Most of the Order members were probably in the Great Hall. Draco walked to the huge painting of Rowena Ravenclaw.

“Just as I remembered,” he said in satisfaction. Harry stood beside him, puzzled. Rowena wore clothing similar to that worn by Slytherin, except the colors were blue and black. Draco pointed to her wrist. “You suspected that the Dark Lord wanted items from each of the Founders, correct? I noticed the locket and ring on Salazar downstairs and I recalled this bracelet.”

A large golden bangle bracelet, inlaid with sparkling sapphires, adorned Rowena Ravenclaw’s wrist. She smiled down at them gently and raised her hand. A tiny golden raven charm dangled from the bracelet.

“I’ll bet you’re right,” Harry breathed. “Tom Riddle could have located it the same way he found Hufflepuff’s cup, while working at Borgin and Burkes.” He sighed. “Now we know what to look for, but not where to look. And that doesn’t tell us what he might have that belonged to Godric Gryffindor. Dumbledore swore he had the only two Gryffindor artifacts safely in his office—the sword and the Sorting Hat.”

“Maybe we should go look at them.”

Harry nodded. “At least there are only a few stairs to navigate. I don’t need you fainting away on me.”

Draco snorted. “I’m surprised you haven’t offered to carry me, as much as you seem to enjoy putting your hands on me.”

“In your dreams, Malfoy.” Draco hadn’t seen that particular expression on Potter’s face since the day he arrived. The look of pure disgust caused Malfoy to laugh aloud.

Maybe this whole friendship thing wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

[Hanna Mia Sunrose]

Eieiei. Ei saanud otsa. Ma tahan edasi lugeda!
Ma olen viimased viis päeva seda iga õhtu poole ööni lugenud
Draco on tegelikult NII tore. Eriti koos Hermionega
Hullult meeldib. Täiega palju kilde.
Ma eeldan, et sa ütle mulle, kust sa seda kopid, nii et uuuut.[/i]

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Kui ma ütleks siis pole ju enam huvitav ... vähemalt minul poleks

Aga nüüd siis järgmine peatükk

---

Chapter Thirty Seven - Irresistible

Hermione returned to the Great Hall and tried to contain her seething anger. There was no need to start a screaming match in front of everyone.

Ron was talking to Luna. Susan Bones and Neville seemed to be arguing vehemently. They were blocking Hermione’s path to Ron, so she heard a brief flash of their conversation as she passed.

“…can you possibly defend him?” Susan hissed. “Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater!”

“All I know is that Draco Malfoy saved my life,” Neville persisted.

“Do you know that for certain? Or did they just tell you it happened that way?”

Neville drew himself up angrily.

“Are you accusing my friends of intentionally lying? About something like that?”

Hermione paused and looked at them curiously. Her eyes narrowed at Susan, who flushed, even though her face retained its defiant expression.

“Maybe he put them under an Imperius Curse.”

Hermione laughed without humor, even though she felt like smacking Susan across the face. She answered for Neville. “Really? If so, it was very clever of him to break his own leg and nearly bleed to death. I’m certain he did that in order to force Harry to rescue him and rush him to St. Mungo’s for some nefarious purpose. And then he managed to be captured and dragged into the forest where he could conveniently be mauled by Fenrir Greyback, whom he subsequently captured, by the way, but I’m positive it was all some sort of elaborate plot!”

Hermione’s voice had risen to a near shout. Susan and Neville both stared at her as though she had grown two heads. She felt tears of frustration prick her eyes and flung herself about. No wonder Draco didn’t want to be here!

“What’s got into her?” she heard Susan ask behind her. “I thought she hated Malfoy more than anyone.”

She didn’t hear Neville’s response as she propelled herself forward. She could barely even remember hating Draco. It seemed a lifetime ago. Now, she just wanted to wrap her arms around him and protect him from those who did not understand the sacrifices he had made. Like the person standing before her.

“Ronald?” she asked sweetly, forcing herself to use as normal a tone as possible and not speak through clenched teeth. “May I speak with you for a moment? Privately?”

Ron grinned, not suspecting the effort Hermione made not to snatch a fistful of his red hair and drag him from the room. She kept her eyes fixed on Luna so he wouldn’t notice the simmering rage therein. Luna caught it and blinked at her in surprise.

“I must ask Father how to dispel Creeping Parcleps. We seem to have an infestation. I’ll send him an owl right away,” Luna said absently.

Hermione forced a smile, as usual having not the foggiest notion what Luna was talking about. She didn’t care, either.

“Good idea. Come along, Ronald,” Hermione said and led the way past Susan and Neville, who were silent and watched her curiously. She led Weasley through the doors and cast about for a private place where no one would hear him screaming for help. She grinned maliciously at the thought, but shoved the notion aside. She must maintain control. Ron trotted to keep up with her purposeful stride.

“Where are we going?” he asked in puzzlement.

“Right over here,” she decided, heading for the small chamber where First Years’ waited to be sorted upon their arrival at Hogwarts. Hermione didn’t think she’d been in the room since that day. The place was quite dusty. Apparently it wouldn’t be cleaned until the first day of the next term approached.

She walked to the center of the chamber, trying to collect her thoughts. Ron had halted when the door shut, possibly picking up some of her tension at last. Wisely, he remained quiet, especially when she turned around to give him a scathing glare.

“Tell me something, Ronald dear,” she said mildly. “Is it true that Draco Malfoy owes you a favor?”

Ron’s gaze shot to the floor at the same time a bright red flush crept into his cheeks to drown the freckles.

“Where… where did you hear that?” he stammered. She could practically envision his brain trying to seek an out, spinning erratically.

“Jungle drums. Is it true?” she demanded.

“Well… I suppose, sort of.”

“You suppose, sort of. Did you, perchance, ask Draco for something? In return for this ‘sort of’ favor?”

“What are you getting at?” he demanded. She glared. Typical Ron. Defend and deny. She marched forward until she stood directly before him. She had to look up a bit to stare him in the eye, but she was not daunted.

“Did you or did you not warn Draco Malfoy to stay away from me?” she asked. With each word, she poked her index finger sharply into Ron’s chest. By the end of the sentence, he was wincing.

There was a long silence and then Ron blurted, “Did Malfoy tell you that? He’s bloody lying!”

Hermione snatched a fistful of Ron’s shirt and pulled him closer.

“No, Ron. Malfoy didn’t say anything. He’s just been acting bloody peculiar and so I had to ask myself why. When Harry mentioned you owed Malfoy a favor, everything seemed to click into place. Now, suppose you tell me the truth before I plant one of Ginny’s Bat Bogey Hexes on you that you won’t forget!”

His blue eyes widened and he struggled to pull himself out of her grip. She raised her wand with her free hand and he looked at it fearfully.

“No!” he cried. “You wouldn’t do that to me!”

“Oh wouldn’t I?” she gritted.

“Fine, you’re right! I told Malfoy to keep away from you! But it was for your own protection, don’t you see?”

She released him and shoved him away. Ron stumbled, but caught himself before he fell.

“For my own protection?” she yelled. “What can you possibly be trying to protect me from? I’m nearly eighteen years old, Ronald! I’ve been of age for months. You aren’t trying to protect me from anything! You’re just being bloody selfish and you know it!”

Ron glared at her. “No, I’m trying to protect you from yourself! You seem to think that Malfoy is oh-so-good, now! How can you possibly feel that way, after the way he’s treated you? The way he’s treated us? He’s rotten to the core and he always will be!”

She shook her head. “You’re wrong. You accuse me of being blind, yet you are the one that refuses to believe your own eyes. Look at what he’s gone through and tell me you still believe he’s a Death Eater!”

“I’ve been deceived before and I don’t plan to fall for it again!” Ron shouted. “Peter Pettigrew pretended to be my damned pet for twelve years, so no! I’m not going to trust that Draco Malfoy has suddenly turned into our best friend after six bloody days!”

“You’re telling me that everything he’s done has been part of an elaborate ruse?”

Ron groaned and shook his head. “Probably not everything. I think running into Greyback was unexpected, but yeah, I think it was pretty convenient that Wormtail snatched him up and took him into the forest. It’s totally possible that was prearranged.”

“Even though Draco looked more like Harry at the time, as well as the fact that Wormtail could just as easily have snatched Harry Potter himself? Think for a moment, Ronald. Stop trying to justify your hatred.”

“I don’t need to justify it!” Ron snarled. “I can hate him without any justification at all. But don’t you find it interesting that he managed to warn you about your parents, but he couldn’t do anything to tell us about the Burrow?”

Hermione couldn’t explain that, so she didn’t try. Maybe Malfoy could have told them and chose not to. She only had Draco’s word that he hadn’t known in time. She sighed.

“I don’t know, Ron. If you’re determined to hate him, then so be it. But leave me out of your machinations from now on.”

“Machinations? Now, I’m the bad guy for trying to keep you from getting hurt?”

“How am I in danger of being hurt, Ron?” she asked placidly. Ron scowled and kicked at an invisible piece of debris on the floor.

“I don’t know,” he muttered. “It just seems like you’re spending an awful lot of time with Malfoy. What happens if you… fall in love with the bastard, or something?”

“Then I suppose I’ll have my little heart crushed, won’t I?” She walked forward and put her hands on Ron’s shoulders. “It’s my risk, Ron. You can’t force people to feel what you want them to feel.”

Ron’s blue eyes reflected pain and defeat.

“You’ll never love me, then?” he asked sadly.

“I do love you,” she insisted, gripping him tightly. “Very much. Just not in a romantic, passionate way.”

“I should never have gone with Lavender Brown,” he said morosely. “I only did it to make you jealous.”

She grinned. “Well, you did seem to enjoy your neverending snogfest at the time, Won.”

He flushed. “It wasn’t her I wanted to kiss, at all. It was you.”

“I know.” She sighed. “Time has a way of changing everything, doesn’t it?”

Ron suddenly put his hands on her waist, leaned down, and kissed her. He put everything he had into it, sliding his hands up to pull her against him tightly. She didn’t resist, but she also felt nothing but a curious detachment. He released her with an eloquent sigh of regret.

“Nothing, eh?” he asked as she stepped back.

“I’m so sorry,” she said truthfully.

“I bow to Malfoy’s superior power of attraction, d**n him straight to hell.”

“You’ll release him from whatever stupid vow he made?”

“Yes. Feel free to have yourself a snogfest, or whatever,” he said bitterly. He turned and started out. When he reached the door, she called to him.

“Ron?”

He paused. “Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

He said nothing and the door closed softly behind him.

ooOoo

An examination of McGonagall’s office revealed no previously undiscovered Gryffindor artifacts. Harry even removed Gryffindor’s sword and swung it experimentally a few times. He brandished it toward Draco and hopped forward in a mock feint.

Draco grabbed the blade with both palms and snatched it from Potter’s hand with a quick twist. Harry looked momentarily disgruntled. Draco ignored him and flipped the sword in the air. He caught it by the handle and looked at it curiously.

“Typical Gryffindor ostentation. Gaudy design,” Draco commented. He tossed it back to Potter, hilt-first. “But it’s no Horcrux.” Harry scowled and returned the object to its protective case.

“Well, Dumbledore thought Voldemort’s snake might be a Horcrux,” he commented. Draco snorted.

“It would be pretty darned stupid to make a Horcrux out of a living being. If that’s the case, old Snake-face is a lot barmier than I gave him credit for. Just to be safe, I say we chop the snake to pieces.” He shuddered. “I hate that bloody reptile.”

“We have to find it, first,” Harry mentioned.

“Give the Dark Lord time. Sooner or later, he’ll find you.”

“I’d rather not sit around waiting for that day.”

“We need to locate the Ravenclaw bracelet, anyway.”

“Maybe Hermione has an idea,” Harry said.

“Can you send her one of those Patronus messages? How do you cast that, anyway?”

“I probably should teach you. You could have signaled us from the forest. I’d rather not rely on Scrying in the future. It’s a good thing Hermione found your comb, or we would never have located you.”

“She took my comb?”

“It’s in Firenze’s room. I think we sort of left it there in our hurry to rescue you.”

“Bloody hell. Now, it probably has centaur contamination!”

“I doubt Firenze will use your comb,” Harry said dryly.

“If it did, you’ll be buying me a new one, Potter.”

“I’ll buy you three if you shut up about the stupid comb.”

“Fine. Shall we get on with this spell?” Draco demanded, making a mental note to retrieve his comb and have a chat with Hermione Granger about nicking people’s personal items. He loved that comb.

Potter walked him through the intricacies of the spell and showed him how to insert the message at the correct point. To demonstrate, Harry cast his Patronus and the silvery stag enveloped Draco for a moment while he absorbed the simple message.

Draco nodded. “Quite clever.”

“Dumbledore invented it. Now, let’s see you try it.”

“No thanks. I’ve got the mechanics down. Should be a snap if the need arises.”

Harry looked puzzled.

“Why not just practice it?”

“Too tired,” Draco said nonchalantly. It wasn’t the real reason, but he was feeling rather exhausted, even though he’d slept most of the day. “I think I’ll go turn in.”

Harry looked puzzled, but Draco had no intention of ever letting Potter get a glimpse of his Patronus. He’d have to be flat on the ground with a werewolf carving a furrow across his chest to even think of casting one. He grimaced at the memory.

“We’ll figure out something tomorrow, eh Potter?”

“Malfoy, if you want… you can stay in Gryffindor Tower. Everyone else will be there. Luna can’t stay in Ravenclaw Tower because the Order is there, and the Hufflepuff dungeon is currently filled with Death Eaters, so…”

Draco paused at the notion and turned horrified eyes on Harry.

“God, no! I’ll stay in my nice, quiet, empty dungeon, if you don’t mind. But… thanks for the offer.”

Draco headed down the steps and back to his room.

He was astonished when he nearly ran down Hermione Granger in the Slytherin common room. She came out of his room as he entered. They stared at each other in shocked surprise for a moment.

“You’ve decided to transfer to Slytherin, then?” he asked.

“Actually, I just brought you some clothes. I set them on your bed,” she replied.

“What clothes? I thought I had quite run out of those. Did I suddenly acquire some?” Draco walked past her and looked at several paper-wrapped bundles that were stacked on the end of his bed.

“Yes. I knew you couldn’t retrieve you own, and since you and Harry are nearly the same size… Well, I ordered some from Diagon Alley. They just arrived.”

Draco looked at her measuringly and tore open one of the packages. Several silk shirts spilled out in varying colors: pale green, grey, black, and buttercup yellow. He held that one up questioningly.

“Yellow?”

“I thought it would look nice with your hair,” she said softly. He raised a brow at the thought of Hermione pondering how he would look in different colors. A wicked smiled curved his lips. Hermione gaze was flitting about the room as she looked anywhere but directly at Draco.

“I can’t pay you for these, quite yet,” he said.

“I know. Actually, Harry sort of paid for them from his account.”

He dropped the shirt and shot her a censured look. “Harry Potter. Lovely. I hate being in debt to Gryffindors.”

“I’m a Gryffindor!” she protested.

“Yes, but you’re different.”

“Now I’m a different Gryffindor? You’re the one constantly telling me what a typical Gryffindor I am. Which is it?”

“It seems to change from moment to moment,” he decided flippantly.

She sighed deeply. “I should go. I only came here to bring these to you, not to become frustrated by your twisted logic.”

“My logic is perfectly straight.”

She threw up her hands. “I refuse to argue with you. Good night.”

“Granger… wait.”

Hermione paused, partially turned, and looked at him expectantly. He walked forward quickly and stood painfully close to her in the manner he knew she hated. She raised her eyes hesitantly.

“Thanks for the clothes,” he murmured.

She blushed and looked away. “You’re welcome.” She paused. “You know, I have something else that belongs to you.”

She pulled the Galleon from her pocket and held it up by the braided cord of her hair. It glinted in the flickering light from the lamps as it spun slowly. “Do you want it back?”

“Yes.”

She tugged out her wand and then reached up to slide the cord around his neck. He nearly forgot to breathe as she leaned into him. Her wrist brushed the side of his throat and she gripped both broken ends together with one hand. She tapped it with her wand and murmured a repair spell. Her fingers caressed his skin in a feather light touch as she released the braid.

“You know, I’ve just decided something,” he said thickly.

“What’s that?”

“To hell with Weasley.”

His arms embraced her and his mouth crushed down on hers. She gave a sigh of what sounded like pure relief and he felt her hands slide upward into his hair. God, she tasted incredible. He teased her lips with his, trying to pace himself and resisting the urge to turn and drag her onto his bed. His hands caressed her back and he felt a delicious shudder run through her frame.

Her hands were in his hair and pressed against the back of his neck, holding him against her as she returned his kiss eagerly. Her breath was hot where it mingled with his. Bloody hell, she wanted him as much as he wanted her! His racing pulse thundered in his temples.

He broke their kiss and staggered against her suddenly, overcome with weakness. She gasped and held him up while he regained his balance.

“Draco! You idiot, when was the last time you ate anything?”

He warmed at the sound of his name, even though she’d followed it with an insult. “I don’t recall. Last time that Pomfrey woman fed me, I suppose.”

“d**n it, you need to eat to regain your strength. You should probably be taking potions, as well. Now, lie down.”

“I’d rather pick up where we left off a moment ago.”

She blushed. “As would I, but we really don’t need you fainting away when the blood leaves your brain, do we?”

“Malfoys don’t faint,” he grumbled, but he sat down on the edge of the bed, feeling blackness licking at the edges of his vision. He was hungry, now that she’d mentioned food.

“Get undressed and I’ll fetch you a tray.”

He raised a brow at her words and suppressed a grin. “I don’t think I can undress myself. I’m feeling quite weak.”

She looked at him suspiciously. He tried to look helpless.

“I don’t believe you for a minute,” she said, but she reached for the arms of his shirt, anyway. She succeeded in stretching the material and finally knelt slightly to grasp the fabric around his waist. Hermione pulled the white shirt up and over his head and then stared at him for a moment. Draco grinned wickedly as her eyes skimmed over his frame and back up to his hair, which currently crackled around his head in an electric halo. She looked at him with something akin to panic.

“Don’t stop now, you’re doing so well.”

“I can’t,” she whispered.

He chuckled. “I know; the sight of me will cause you to lose all control and pounce on me in a frenzy of lust, right?”

“I’ll be right back with your tray,” she said hoarsely and scurried out.

Draco slipped out of his trousers and relaxed back on the pillows. He smoothed his hair down, wishing he had remembered to fetch his comb. He pulled the blankets modestly up to his chest and then pushed them down to a handspan beneath his navel, thankful that his abdomen was flat as a board. He put both hands behind his head and whistled tonelessly while he waited for Hermione to return.

She nearly dropped the tray when she saw him.

“Don’t you have pajamas?” she asked.

“Malfoys don’t sleep in pajamas.”

“Malfoys must catch their death in the winter.” She propped the tray over his lap rather brusquely. “Eat everything. Madam Pomfrey had these ready for you. She sent them to the kitchen to be taken with your dinner.” She indicated two potion vials that clanked against the bowl.

“I refuse to take those without a glass of La Romanee-Conti. They taste wretched.”

“Without a what?” she asked blankly.

A house-elf suddenly popped into the room holding a glass of red wine. It bowed low and handed the glass to Draco, who took it. The house-elf disappeared.

“Useful little creatures, at times,” he commented and sipped the glass. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Don’t even get me started on your appalling treatment of house-elves,” she said primly and began to fold his new clothing. She opened his trunk and started to put the items away. Draco tucked into his food with the realization that he was famished. Hermione had brought him a huge quantity of roast beef and boiled vegetables.

“What is this?” she asked, walking from his trunk and holding up a small black book. Draco looked at it in surprise. He’d completely forgotten about it after tossing it there when he’d arrived.

“Snape gave it to me. He said it was spells he didn’t have time to teach me.”

Hermione sat on the edge of Goyle’s bed and began to thumb through the book.

Draco warned, “I wouldn’t sit there if I were you. If you only knew what Goyle did in that bed…”

She shot to her feet and moved quickly to sit on Draco’s bed near his knee. In moments, she was absorbed in the spell book. Draco finished his plate, drained the potions, and sipped at the last of his wine while he watched her. He was pleasantly full, nicely warmed by the alcohol, and perfectly content for the first time in a long while.

“These are really advanced. Most of them are horrible,” she commented. He leaned over and plucked the book from her hands. He tossed it on the bedside table.

“Read later. Remove this tray, wench, and let’s get back to kissing.”

She scowled at him, but lifted the tray and set it on Goyle’s bed.

“No more kissing. You need to rest.”

“Won’t you stay with me? Just for awhile?” he asked softly. He read an agony of indecision on her face and her teeth nibbled at her lower lip for a moment. He added, “I promise not to touch you. I really am tired.”

“You promise?” she asked dubiously.

“Absolutely.”

“I hate it when you make insane ideas sound perfectly reasonable.”

“It is reasonable. I’m weak as a kitten. Now, come here.” He lifted the covers invitingly. Amazingly, she kicked off her shoes and slid into bed next to him. She rested her head on his chest. One hand splayed over the scar left by Greyback. Draco put his arm around her shoulders and sighed in satisfaction. She traced the reddened line gently.

“Does it hurt?”

“Not a bit. Useful birds, phoenixes.”

He pressed his lips against her hair and breathed in the damned apple scent of her, wondering what the consequences would be of breaking two promises in one night. In the end, he was simply too tired to do any promise breaking and dropped off to sleep with the reassuring feel of Hermione pressed against him.

[Hanna Mia Sunrose]

Nii-nii armas!
UUUT!