Chapter Three - Darkness Visible  

"Padfoot," said Remus Lupin softly, staring into the embers of the fire dying in his office grate. "Are you there? Can you hear me?" 

He was sitting at his desk, in the dark, an empty wineglass in his hand. He hadn't been drinking - he didn't drink much, and rarely alone - but he liked the feel of the glass in his hand, liked watching the moonlight from the window run around its rim like a darting point of fire. He put it down, stretched, and picked up a paperweight off his desk. Sirius had given it to him the year before. It was a clear glass snow globe in which reclined the figure of a tiny, pretty, red-haired nymph, resting on a miniature rock, playing the oboe. (Because it was a magic globe, the snow fell all the time, without needing to be shaken.) Lupin had always thought she looked a bit like Lily, although he never would have said so to Sirius. 

The nymph put her oboe down and looked at him. "Go to sleep, Remus," she said. "It's late." 

"I'm waiting for Padfoot," he said, softly. "We were supposed to talk." He put the globe down, got up from the desk, and walked over to the dying fire. He sat down and leaned his back against the brick of the fireplace, shutting his eyes. "Sirius Black," he whispered. "Where have you got to now?" 

"I'm here," said a voice at his elbow. 

Lupin opened his eyes and glanced down, saw Sirius' head and shoulders in the fire, and grinned. 

"Sorry," said Sirius. "It took me a while to find a proper wizarding house with a fireplace. Not many fireplaces in this part of Greece. Too hot." 

"Greece looks like it agrees with you," said Lupin. This was the truth; Sirius looked healthy and tanned and smiling, and the deadened, haunted look of Azkaban was nearly gone from his eyes. Nearly gone - Lupin doubted that it would ever leave Sirius entirely. 

"It does," said Sirius. He tilted his black eyes up to Lupin. "You said you wanted to talk to me about Harry," he said. "Is he all right?" 

"Harry's all right," said Lupin. "Well, as all right as expected. He's sixteen; he's got a load of new powers dumped on him and no way to deal with them. He's separated from his friends, and of course, every year of his life since he was eleven someone's tried to kill him. I think he's feeling a little weary and resentful." 

"He's not separated from his friends," said Sirius. "He's got Draco." 

"The Malfoy boy?" said Lupin, in surprise. "It was my impression they hated each other. Just this afternoon I had to pull Harry off him, he nearly beat him to a pulp in the hallway. Very unlike Harry. The Malfoy boy shrugged it off, said Harry was upset over breaking up with his girlfriend." 

"What, with Hermione?" 

"Oh, so you knew about that?" Lupin said with interest. 

"Harry never told me," replied Sirius with a grin. "It's my impression he'd rather suffer the Cruciatus Curse than tell me about his love life. But -" Sirius' shoulders lifted in a shrug. "I guessed." 

"How?" 

"Canine intuition," said Sirius. "And the fact that whenever he saw Hermione, he looked like someone had hit him with a Bludger. James used to look at Lily that way. It's an unmistakable sign." 

Lupin was grinning again. "I remember when you were sixteen and you-" 

"Oh no," interrupted Sirius firmly. "We're not talking about me. We are talking about HARRY." 

"Actually it was the Malfoy boy I wanted to talk to you about," said Lupin. "Draco. Terrible name, by the way. Poor kid." 

"Whereas 'Remus' is really gaining popularity," said Sirius. 

Lupin smiled. "Now you sound like yourself again," he said. "You must be fond of the Malfoy boy. Sorry. Draco." 

"I am," said Sirius. "He's not like his father. He reminds me of me at that age." 

"In other words, he's a maladjusted ticking time bomb with a pigheaded streak the size of Bristol?" 

"Not exactly," said Sirius, sounding amused. "Come on, Moony. What gives? Is he in trouble?" 

"I don't know," said Lupin thoughtfully. "Either he's in no trouble at all, or he's in worse trouble than we can possibly imagine." 

"Moony..." Sirius sounded exasperated. 

"All right." Lupin reached up and took a book off the top of his desk, balancing it on his knees. It was the same book that Harry and Draco had seen on his desk the day before, but there was no way for him to know that. "I really wonder if it was a good idea, Sirius, to let him keep that Magid sword of his." 

"I didn't let him keep it. That was Dumbledore's decision." 

"I suppose he had his reasons," said Lupin dubiously. "But that sword...if it's the sword I think it is...it's a very powerful and evil object." 

"It was Salazar Slytherin's sword, wasn't it?" 

"Well, there's the possibility it might be a fake or an imitation. I can see why the Malfoys, or any magical family, might want to claim they possessed something like that. The story goes that Salazar Slytherin sold his soul to a powerful demon in exchange for the use of a sword that would make the bearer invincible." 

"Did it work?" 

"Certainly. Slytherin won every battle he ever took part in. And then, one day - he vanished. Just vanished. Never seen again. And the sword was thought to be lost as well. In fact, the story goes that he reneged on his deal with the demons; he wasn't meant to keep the sword forever, but he refused to give it back at the appointed time, so..." Lupin shrugged. "No one knows what happened to him, but it's generally considered that it wasn't good." 

"He must not have been reading his Evil Overlord handbook," grinned Sirius. "Rule 54: 'I will not strike a bargain with a demonic being, then attempt to double-cross it simply because I feel like being contrary.'" 

Lupin rolled his eyes. "Sirius..." 

"Sorry, I just honestly don't see what all of this has to do with Draco," said Sirius. 

"It's a demon sword, Sirius," said Lupin irritably. "It's got a lot of power and it has its own intelligence. Whether that intelligence is benevolent or malevolent, I don't know. It takes will and strength and skill to master something like that, and he's just a child." 

"When we were sixteen, we didn't think we were children." 

"Oh, but we were. Think how things might have turned out differently if we'd been a bit smarter, a bit more patient, a bit less trusting. Peter might not have turned out like he did, and James - James might be -" 

"Don't," interrupted Sirius. "Don't say it." 

Lupin sighed. "There's one other thing." 

"Oh, no," said Sirius, with finality. 

"What?" 

"I know you. Whenever you say "there's just one other thing' it means you've been saving up the worst possible news for last. 'Everything's perfectly fine, there's just one other thing, Harry got himself eaten by a basilisk.' That sort of thing." Sirius sighed. "Well, go on. Tell me." 

"There's a prophecy about the sword." 

"Bugger," said Sirius glumly. "Well, what is it?" 

Reading from the book, Lupin said: "When the sword is once again wielded in battle by a descendant of Slytherin, Slytherin himself will return, and he and his descendant will join together to wreak havoc and terror on the wizarding world." 

"I sometimes wonder how you can say these things with a straight face, Remus. Sorry!" Sirius added good-naturedly at Lupin's dark expression. "Well, I don't think we have anything to worry about yet. Draco hadn't wielded the sword in battle as far as I know. Harry was the one who used it against Lucius." 

Lupin expelled a breath of relief. "That's good. That's what I wanted to know." 

"Just keep him away from it," said Sirius. 

"Oh, right," Lupin replied. "Do you remember when we were sixteen, and people told us just to stay away from something, how obedient we were?" 

Sirius' eyes lit up with a smile. Lupin had only ever seen Sirius smile like that at a few people in his life. At James. At Lily. At himself. And at Harry. Maybe he smiled at Narcissa like that; Lupin didn't know. He hoped he did. "We were terrible, weren't we?" Sirius said. 

"No," said Lupin, smiling back. "We weren't terrible. We were great." 

*** 

Hermione screamed. 

And skittered backwards, on her elbows, as far away from the horror that was blocking the doorway as she possibly could. She hit the wall and pressed herself back against it, squeezing her eyes shut. 

Calm down, she told herself. Be brave. Be like Harry. Harry's seen worse things than this. Be like Harry. 

She opened her eyes. 

And saw what she had seen before. The wizard who had entered the room was still standing where he had been standing, motionless, his dark hood pulled back to show his face. It was the face of a man about Sirius´ age - an face as white as salt, with enormous, prominent cheekbones, and white hair that was matted and shaggy. This man had a large, beaky nose and razor-thin eyebrows, and his mouth was a grim hard line. He was incredibly thin, even thinner than Sirius had been when he came out of Azkaban. Tattooed on each bony cheek was the clear image of a skull with a serpent protruding from its mouth. The Dark Mark. It was horrible to look at, but that wasn't why Hermione had screamed. 

It was because she knew who he was. How could she not? There were statues of him, portraits of him, all over Hogwarts. And yet it was impossible. 

Dark magic, she thought. This is very dark magic. He is dead. Dead for a thousand years. And to raise the dead was necromancy, the worst kind of black magic there was. 

He took a few steps toward her, and she stared at his feet, encased in thick black boots, because she couldn't bring herself to look back up that awful, scarred, marked face again. As he neared her, she he realized that a powerful smell was wafting off his robes - a smell like burning brandy. 

There was a heavy thuck-thuck noise as he dropped to his knees next to her. "Look at me," he said. His voice buzzed as if his skeletal throat had been stuffed with flies or locusts. "Look at me." 

Hermione looked up, although she didn't want to. She tried to clear her throat, couldn't, and said in a tiny voice that sounded as if it were being sucked through a straw, "Who are you?" 

"Don't you know me, Rowena?" said the buzzing voice. "I know I no longer look as I did. But you should still know your own Salazar." 

*** 

"Veritas!" 

Krum gasped as the Truth spell took hold of him. Draco knew how he felt; knew the agonizing pain of it, the feeling of being ripped open and exposed, but had neither the time nor the inclination to feel sorry for Viktor Krum. 

"Where is Hermione?" he demanded. 

"I -don't- know," Viktor bit out between gritted teeth. 

"Malfoy -" said Ron, in a hissing whisper, "It's illegal to use the Veritas curse - you could get Azkaban time for this." 

"I don't care," said Draco, not looking at Ron, but at Harry, who looked back at him with much the same expression he was sure he wore himself - grim resolution. It was the same expression Harry wore when he played Quidditch and was utterly determined to get the Snitch. When they had played against each other, that look on Harry's face had made Draco nervous. Now he found it oddly reassuring. 

"Go ahead, Malfoy," Harry said. 

"Please," Viktor interrupted unexpectedly. "I - I want to know the truth as well. Please ask me whatever you must." 

Draco looked back at Krum uncertainly. Krum was pale and was biting his lip with pain, but seemed sincere. "All right," said Draco, still holding the wand steady. "Viktor," he said. "Tell us what you remember from yesterday." 

Krum spoke, slowly and with effort. "In the morning, we play against Romania," he grunted. "We lose, and I am very angry because of it. I am also angry because they have not secured the tents for the players. When I return to my tent there is a man there and I have to chase him out." 

"What kind of man?" said Harry, in a very tight voice. 

"A very ordinary man," said Viktor. "You must understand, we have people in our tents all the time -- fans, and other such, they break in. This one, he wanted to give me a bottle of Bulgarian wine. So I drank some, and he went off. I walked back to my rooms and --" Viktor looked down. "I fell asleep, I think. I remember nothing more." 

"Viktor," said Draco steadily, "What happened when you got back to your room. You didn't go to sleep. What did you do?" 

Krum was pale and sweating. "I don't remember." 

Draco was gripping the wand so tightly now that his knuckles turned white. "What did you do?" 

Krum shook his head, clutching his chest as if it pained him. "I don't remember!" 

"He's lying," said Harry flatly. 

"You can't lie under the Veritas curse," said Draco in a low voice, turning his head to look at Harry. "I should know." 

"It's a memory charm, then," whispered Ron. "He's telling the truth as he thinks it is." 

"You can break a memory charm," said Harry, in the same flat, determined voice. "Malfoy. Give me your hand." 

"Why?" said Draco, warily. The last time Harry had asked Draco to give him his hand, he'd sliced his palm open with a penknife. 

"Because," said Harry, under his breath. "If we both hold the wand, and do the spell, it might be strong enough to break through the Memory charm." 

"It might," Draco conceded. "It also might be strong enough to reduce Bulgaria's best Quidditch player to a gibbering loon with the brainpower of a four-month-old child." 

"I don't think so," said Harry. "Not if we concentrate." 

"This is what I mean about letting Gryffindors plan things," snapped Draco. He and Harry were standing so close together, he could see himself reflected in Harry's glasses. He looked anxious and cross. "What kind of plan is 'concentrate'"? 

"Harry," interrupted Ron, anxiously. He couldn't quite hear what they were saying from where he stood, but Harry's expression was making him nervous. "Harry, I don't think-" 

Ignoring him, Harry reached out and grabbed Draco's left hand (did you ever doubt Draco was a lefty?), interlocking their fingers around the wand. As he did so, the scar on his palm brushed the scar on Draco's, and Draco felt a jolt of freezing cold lance through his skin. He saw Harry's eyes flick up to his nervously. He had felt it, too. 

"This is a bad idea," said Draco, with foreboding. 

With another grim look, Harry turned the wand, now held in both their hands, towards Viktor. "Veritas," he whispered. 

Draco felt his hand jerk forward as if someone had yanked it. The wand shook in their joint grasp and he tightened his grip as a bolt of black light shot from the tip and struck Krum in the sternum, nearly knocking him sideways. Krum yelled out loud in agony, and fell to his knees, clutching his chest. 

Ron looked horrified. "Harry, what did you do?" 

Harry had released the wand, and dropped to his knees beside Krum, laying his hand on Krum's shoulder. "Viktor," he said urgently. "I want to take this off you as quickly as possible, but you have to tell us, what happened to you yesterday? Where were you last night?" 

"After the game I go back to my room," said Krum, looking startled to hear the sound of his own voice. Draco knew how he felt; the Veritas curse didn't just force you to tell the truth, it impelled you to speak - and speak - and speak. "I lie down on the bed. I am feeling very strange and I think it is the wine. Then there is a knocking on my door. I get up and answer it. It is the man that was in my tent. He points his hand at me and says Imperio." 

A look of astonishment spread over Viktor's face. He obviously hadn't been aware of any of this. "Then he gives me a.. a.. kak shte kazhesh tova na Angliyski.... " 

Ron, Draco and Harry glanced uncertainly at one another, none of them knowing any Bulgarian to speak of. But Viktor seemed to be back on track. 

"A glass, a bottle, of a liquid, he gave it to me and then he gave me instructions. I put on my cloak and walk out into Diagon Alley. I go to the Leaky Cauldron. I am waiting there until I see her, Her-my-own-ninny, come in the door." Viktor now sounded wistful. "she looks very happy and pretty. I ask her to come and speak to me for a moment. We go into the back room. She turns around to ask me a question, and I seize hold of her. I cover her mouth so she cannot scream and I force her to drink the potion." 

Krum's eyes were wide with horror. Draco, Harry and Ron were staring at him in shock and growing fear. 

"Now she is quiet, she is docile. She does what I tell her. She gets rid of the girl with red hair. She comes back into the room. We wait together and the man comes. He points his hand at her and says "Imperio..." Krum paused. "She is crying. He has to do the spell twice. Finally we leave, Her-my-own-ninny, and I. We fly to the Burrow and I wait while she goes to get her things and to write a letter to Harry. Then we get on my broom and we fly to King's Cross Station." Viktor's voice was growing hoarse now, whether from physical pain or from shock, Harry couldn't tell. "The man is waiting there, in Muggle clothes. He takes Her-my-own-ninny from me. Then I leave, and come back here. When I wake up..." He shook his head. "I remember nothing." 

"Harry," hissed Ron urgently. He was standing by the door now, looking even more anxious. "Harry, someone's going to come - someone must have heard Krum screaming -" 

But Harry was still staring at Viktor. "Where did he take her?" 

"I do not know! I do not know! You must believe me. Harry, you know I would never do anything to bring harm to Her-my-own-ninny!" 

Harry stood up and backed away from Viktor, who was still half-sitting, half-lying against the foot of the bed, looking utterly wrung out. Harry himself looked nearly as bad - he looked as if he were going to be sick. He took a step toward Draco. "I think we should hit him with the spell again," he said, under his breath. "Maybe there's something - maybe he knows-" 

"No," said Ron's voice, unexpectedly. 

They both turned and looked at him, leaning against the door, looking both panicked and angry. "Why would whoever took Hermione let Krum know where they were going?" he said. "Obviously they were just using him. If he weren't so famous, they probably would have killed him. If he says he doesn't know, I believe it. And Harry," he added, his voice tightening, "you're hurting him. It's not like you. I'm sorry, but both of you are pretty deranged where Hermione's concerned, so I think I should make this decision." He raised his wand, pointed it at Krum. "Finite -" 

"Wait," said Harry, quickly. "One more question. Just one more." He turned to Krum. "You said the man pointed his hand at Hermione when he performed the Imperius Curse. His hand, not his wand. Did he not use a wand?" 

Krum shook his head. "No," he said raggedly. "He used his hand." 

"A Magid, then," said Draco. 

"It was not an ordinary hand," said Krum. "He was a very ordinary little man. Small, and fat. But his hand was made of silver." 

Harry looked at Ron and Draco, who were staring at him with identical expressions of horror. It was Harry who spoke first. 

"Wormtail," he whispered. 

*** 

"Rowena?" gasped Hermione in disbelief. 

"My beautiful Rowena," said the wizard who had called himself Salazar. He reached out a gloved hand and touched Hermione's hair. She didn't move, even though the smell of burning alcohol made her throat sting. 

"That's not my name," said Hermione. "I'm - you have the wrong person. The wrong girl." 

"I wouldn't disagree with him if I were you," said a sharp and malicious voice. Hermione turned her head, and with very little surprise saw the familiar short, fat figure of Wormtail standing in the doorway. He was wearing gray robes, his silver hand protruding from the right sleeve. There was an ugly smirk on his face. "You do realize who you're talking to?" 

Hermione kept her eyes fixed on Wormtail as she replied. He was no beauty pageant winner, but at least he still had his entire face. "How did I get here?" she demanded, trying to keep her voice firm. 

"Wormtail brought you to me," said the buzzing voice at her left. "He is a very faithful servant." 

"Not that faithful," said Hermione to Wormtail in a shaking voice. "Considering that two weeks ago he was serving the Dark Lord!" 

"Now I serve the Master of my Master," said Wormtail. "The greatest of the Hogwarts Four, the most fearsome wizard ever to hold a wand." He grinned emptily at her. "Do you know who I am talking about? Hogwarts has gone sadly downhill if they no longer even teach their students a proper understanding of history." 

Hermione shut her eyes. "Salazar Slytherin is dead," she said. "And the dead can't come back." 

"It hurts me to hear you say that, my love," said the buzzing voice in her ear. Salazar Slytherin's voice - her mind didn't want to accept it, couldn't accept it. Something this horrible couldn't be happening to her. His black-gloved hand closed on her arm, and the shock of his grip was the single most unpleasant sensation Hermione had ever experienced. He hauled her upright on her wobbly legs, and turned her so that she faced him. "After so many years wandering the gray spaces," he said. "You brought me back to the world." 

"I did what?" Hermione gasped. 

"It was you who created the spell that broke the charm that held me captive," said Slytherin. "Surely you did it on purpose?" 

She looked desperately away from him, and saw Wormtail gazing at her. "Your Whirlwind Charm," he said. "Very clever, that. But perhaps not entirely sensible. It may have had," he leered coldly, "unintended consequences." 

"I don´t understand," she panted, looking from one of them to the other. 

"Don´t you remember?" said Slytherin, gazing at her out of his empty eyes. "When I told you that I would never truly die?" 

"No!" said Hermione sharply. "I don´t remember, because I´m not who you think I am." She looked desperately at the skeletal face before her. "Rowena Ravenclaw is dead," she said. "She´s been dead a thousand years." 

In reponse, one of his gloved hands shot out and seized at her neck. For a moment, she thought he was going to choke her. Then she realized, with horror, that he had seized the Epicyclical Charm and was holding it in his fist. "You wear my descendant´s life around your neck," he said. "As once, Rowena wore mine. When I awoke, the first thing I saw was your face, through his eyes. And I saw that he loved you, just as once I had loved her. History repeating itself. I saw Godric, too, through his eyes," Slytherin said, with a snarl. "When she left me for Godric, it destroyed everything that I had worked for, everything I had nearly achieved. I won´t let that happen again, my love." 

"I´m not your love," said Hermione, with desperate fury. 

"Maybe not yet," said Salazar Slytherin. "But you will be." 

*** 

Ginny was sitting in the kitchen listening to the wall clock tick when the door opened and Harry, Ron and Draco walked in, carrying their brooms and looking utterly exhausted. At least, Draco and Ron looked exhausted. Harry looked a degree worse than exhausted, as if he'd been wrung out by some terrible ordeal. 

Ron and Draco tossed their brooms into the corner; Harry leaned his carefully on the wall next to the door. Ginny watched him from the kitchen, her heart aching with the suppressed desire to run over and put her arms around him; he looked so unhappy. 

Ron walked over to her and put his hand on her shoulder. "Anything?" he said quietly. 

Ginny shook her head. "No word from her." 

None of them looked particularly surprised. "Thanks for waiting, Ginny," said Harry in a deadly tired voice. 

"Did you - learn anything?" asked Ginny anxiously. 

Harry shrugged. "Yes and no." 

"Is she all right?" 

The answer to this question was a dead silence. Harry said, "I'm going to go wash up. I'll be right back," turned, and went upstairs. 

Ginny looked miserably at Ron. "What happened?" 

Ron sighed. He looked over at Draco, who was leaning against the kitchen wall. "We talked to Krum," he said, and told Ginny exactly what had happened. "I guess we were pretty lucky," he said, after he had finished telling the story. "Nobody caught us, and when I took the spell off Viktor, he seemed fine. Couldn't remember anything he'd told us under the Veritas curse. Couldn't even remember why we were there." 

"I had to get his autograph," said Draco, trying to sound light. "It was very embarrassing." 

"Is Harry okay?" asked Ginny, looking up at her brother. She tried to read his eyes, as she had been able to do when she was younger. Right now they said Harry's not all right and I wish you didn't care. 

"He needs to sleep," said Ginny. "You all need to sleep." 

"Good luck convincing Harry of that," said Ron. 

"He's really upset about Hermione, isn't he?" said Ginny. 

"He's upset about Viktor," said Draco. "He's upset by the thought of what he's capable of when he's pushed." 

Ron looked at Draco bitterly. "What do you know?" he said. 

"More than you think," said Draco, with a touch of his old scornful drawl. He shrugged and walked out through the screen door, letting it bang shut behind him. 

"I'm going to see if Harry's all right," said Ginny, ignoring Ron's expression, and went upstairs. 

*** 

Draco stood in the Weasleys´ garden, letting the silver moonlight run down over him like milky rain. It was a cool, wet night, and the garden smelled like mint and dirt and rosemary. It was nothing like the gardens at Malfoy Manor, which always smelled of metal and leaf mold and blood. 

He turned and faced south, the direction of his home, and reached into his pocket, realizing in sudden irritation, I don´t have my wand. Then he thought: that doesn´t matter. Magids his age weren´t supposed to perform wandless magic; that was true. Then again, neither were they supposed to sneak away from school in the dead of night for the purpose of putting powerful and illegal curses on famous international athletes. Wandless magic seemed minor in comparison. Sod that stupid rule, he thought, and raised his left hand, holding it straight out before him. The moonlight picked out the vivid silver lightning bolt scar across his palm as if it had been drawn there in liquid mercury. 

Strange that the hand that Harry chose to cut is the hand that I do magic with. And the same for him. Was that conscious, I wonder? 

He shrugged off the question and concentrated hard, thinking of the object he wanted, picturing it where it had lain the last time that he had seen it. For a summoning charm to work, it didn’t matter how far away the object to be summoned was, but one had to know where it was, and he did: on his father’s desk. He pictured his father’s study as he had last seen it, building the image in his head, even the smell of it: books and brandy and black magic. He shut his eyes and raised his left hand. 

"Accio!" 

*** 

Ginny found Harry in Percy's old bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed, untouched since Percy had last been there with its plain blue sheets and hospital corners. He had taken off his glasses and was sitting with his legs drawn up, his head on his knees. 

Ginny sat down next to him, feeling the bed sink under her weight. "Harry," she said. "You need to get some sleep." 

He raised his head slowly. "I´m not tired." 

She was always startled by how different he looked with his glasses off. Younger, of course, but less gentle somehow; colder, and more capable of hardness. There was a line etched between his eyebrows now, that smoothed itself out as he looked at her, trying to smile. She wondered how many years it would take for that line to become a permanent dent between his eyes that never vanished, whether or not he was smiling. She wondered if she would be there to see it. 

"Of course you’re tired," she said. "You’ve been up for hours, flown for miles. You need to sleep. You won´t be any good at all to Hermione if you fall off your broomstick and drown in the Channel." 

"I´m not any good to her anyway," said Harry bitterly. "This is all my fault." 

"It’s not your fault!" said Ginny, outraged. "How could it be your fault? It’s more my fault than it is yours - I should never have left her alone with Viktor in the Leaky Cauldron -" 

"No," said Harry, shaking his head. "There’s no reason for Wormtail to kidnap her except to get at me. She´s only in danger because of what she means to me. Just like Sirius was, and Ron, and everyone else I care about." 

"Well," said Ginny, trying to sound light, "At least Malfoy´s safe."  

Harry forced a laugh. "I guess so," he said, and reached up to push his hair out of his eyes. "Ginny..." 

"Please, Harry," she said. "Promise me you’ll get some sleep. We can put Malfoy in Charlie’s old room and you can stay here. Then we can get started on whatever needs to be done first thing in the morning." 

Harry hesitated a moment, then nodded. "You’re right," he said. "I know you’re right." He smiled at her, and her stomach flipped over. "There’s just one thing, Ginny, if you wouldn’t mind; I’d really rather not be by myself right now, so..." 

Ginny stared at him. "Yes?" she said in a tiny voice. 

"Could you ask Ron to come up? I don´t feel like going downstairs, but I’d really like to talk to him." 

"Oh," she said. She stood up. "Oh. Of course. I’ll - I’ll go get him right now." 

On the first floor landing, she passed Draco, who was carrying a large green book in his arms. She had a sudden, savage urge to kick him in the ankle, but knew it was unjustified and restrained herself. "You’re in that bedroom," she said, pointing down the hallway toward Charlie’s room, which was next to hers. "There are blankets in the cupboard. And don´t ask me to make your bed, because I won´t." 

He looked at her curiously. "What’s bothering you?" he asked. "Potteritis again?" He didn’t change expression, but she could tell just by looking at him that there was a smirk chasing around inside his tidy blond head, trying to find its way out. 

"I violently despise you," she said. "I just thought you should know that." 

"And I really don´t care," said Draco, stepping neatly around her and heading off down the hallway to Charlie’s room. Ginny stood for a moment, staring after him. For some reason she couldn’t decipher, she now felt even worse than she had before. 

*** 

He was standing in a chamber that was somewhere underground - he didn't know how he knew that, but he did. He wore robes of black and green and silver, and boots of black dragon-hide leather. He could tell without looking down that several inches had been added to the bottoms of his shoes to give him extra height. But he could still feel the heat that radiated from the floor burning through his bootsoles. 

He was not alone down here. They stood around him in a semi-circle. There were seven of them. And Draco recognized them immediately; recognized their long two-fingered hands, their smooth and earless heads. Demons. Only they wore long robes of black and red, and the tallest of them all, the one in the centre of the half-circle, carried something in its outstretched hands. 

A long silver sword whose hilt was set with a multitude of green jewels. 

"You have come here to make an exchange with us," said the tallest demon. 

And Draco heard himself speak. His voice was not his own voice, but the voice of a man much older. "Yes, I have." 

"And do you know what this exchange entails?" 

"I give you what you want," the Draco-who-was-not-Draco said. "And you give me the sword." 

"With this sword a man could work miracles," said the demon. 

"I have no interest in miracles," said the Draco-who-was-not. "I have an interest in power. I have been told such a sword will give me power. Is that the truth?" 

"There is such a thing as too much power," said the demon. 

And the dream-Draco laughed. "I don't believe that," he said. 

"You must at least believe that there is a natural balance to all things," said the demon. "For every profit in one thing, payment in some other thing. You will profit greatly by the use of this sword, but first it must be paid for." 

And Draco felt his hands - which seemed solid and real, hardly like dream-hands at all - go to his throat, and loosen the pin there, and he drew his cloak back and the shirt that was under it so that his chest was bare. 

"Take your payment," he said. 

The demon reached out its spatulated hand, and flexed its long fingers. Then, like a boxer punching his way through a flimsy cardboard wall, the demon plunged its hand into Draco's chest. The agony was immediate and intense and terrible, but it lasted only a moment. Draco screamed, and the demon drew its hand back. It was clutching something in its blood-streaked fingers - something that glowered and flickered weakly like candlelight through a screen. 

The demon smiled. Its incisors were long and sharp and pointed. 

"The sword is yours," it said. "Hell is now satisfied." 

"Malfoy! Malfoy! Wake up!" 

Someone had him by the shoulder and was shaking him. He twisted away, covering his face with his arms. He was vaguely aware of someone screaming. There were hands tugging at his arms, trying to pull them away from his face. "Wake up!" said the voice again, despairingly, and then, "Malfoy, please!" 

He opened his eyes. The screaming stopped, and it was suddenly, blessedly quiet. That was me screaming, Draco realized. That was me. 

It was dark in the bedroom. The only light was silver moonlight pouring through the window: it illuminated the girl leaning over him, her anxious, dark eyes and long, curling hair. In the half-dark, she looked like-- 

"Hermione?" he whispered, only half awake. 

"No, it's Ginny." 

He drew his arms away from his face slowly. "Of course," he said. "You wouldn't be her. She calls me by my first name." He blinked and stared at her. "What are you doing in here?" 

"What am I doing in here?" echoed Ginny irritably. "You were screaming like a banshee, that's what I'm doing in here. I thought someone was murdering you. Look where you are, Malfoy." 

Draco sat up and looked around him in surprise. He was no longer on the bed but half-lying on the floor, in a welter of tangled bed sheets. He didn't remember falling off the bed, but then he didn't remember screaming either. What he did remember was his dream. He sucked in breath through his teeth, remembering the pain, the demon's hand punching through his chest. The heat. The sword. 

When Ginny spoke again, her voice was uncertain. "Malfoy..." 

"What?" 

"You're bleeding." 

Startled, he glanced down and saw, on the front of his shirt, just over his heart, a spreading red stain the size of a dinner plate. Draco put his hand to the stain and his fingers came away red. Not old blood, but new. 

He looked up at Ginny. "Get Harry," he said hoarsely. 

Ginny scrambled to her feet and headed for the door. 

Halfway there, Draco called out to her. "Wait!" 

She turned around. He was kneeling amid the blankets. He had taken his shirt off and was looking down at his chest, which was quite a bit paler than the rest of him in the silver light. It was also completely unmarked; there was no wound there at all. "Never mind," he said. "It looks like I´m all right after all." 

"Was that...not your blood?" she said, bewildered. 

He looked up at Ginny, and the moonlight struck cold sparks from his silver eyes. "I don't know. But I think I'm beginning to have an idea. And I'm not liking it much." 

"Does it have to do with your nightmare?" 

"Yes," he said, then shook his head. "I mean, no. I mean, I´m not sure it was a nightmare. I think it was a flashback. Or maybe a delusion. Or maybe I had a flashback in the middle of a delusion. Is that possible?"  

Ginny could feel her eyes widening. "I should go get Harry," she said, but Draco shook his head. 

"Don't bother Potter," he said. "Just sit here with me for a minute." 

Ginny hesitated. It was very hard to read Draco´s expression. In the darkness, his eyes reflected light like a cat's. Slowly, she walked over and sat down next to him on the blankets. But she didn’t want to look at him, because he had his shirt off and it gave her an odd feeling, so she stared fixedly at the nightstand instead, and said the first thing that came into her head. "Does it hurt?" 

"It did when I was asleep," he said. "It doesn´t anymore." He was looking down at his shirt now; the front of which was stained dark crimson. There was blood on his hands as well. Ginny looked at them curiously, noticing something odd. He had nearly the same hands as Harry - the same shape, the same bitten nails, the same long fingers and sharp articulation of bones. She had looked at Harry’s hands often enough and with enough attention to have memorized them; she would have known them anywhere. The matching scars only added to the strangeness. 

Ginny reached out and touched the scar on his left palm. "How did you and Harry get these?" 

Draco looked at her. "Ron didn’t tell you?" 

She shook her head. 

Draco went back to looking at his shirt. "Accident with a sharp deck of playing cards," he said. "We don´t like to talk about it. Too painful." 

Ginny made a face. "Do you know what the thing I hate about you is, Malfoy?" 

He glanced up at grinned. "I am shocked," he said. "Shocked that there is only one thing you hate about me. I would have thought you had a list of thousands of grievances, possibly numbered." 

Ginny suddenly felt her face twitch into a smile, and was horrified. Why was she smiling at Draco Malfoy? This was bad. It suddenly occurred to her how this might look to Ron if he came in suddenly - she was kneeling on the floor with a shirtless Draco Malfoy amid a tangle of sheets and blankets, and they were smiling at each other as if they were old friends. 

"I'm getting Harry," she said hastily, and got to her feet, smoothing her nightdress down. 

"Don't," he said. "It’s not that important." 

"You're bleeding phantom blood," said Ginny. "I think this is worth waking Harry up for." 

"Forget it," said Draco, and his tone brooked no argument. "Just get me another shirt, will you?" 

"A shirt?" echoed Ginny, in disbelief. 

"A shirt. You've got a lot of brothers, there must be plenty of clothes in this house." 

Ginny tightened her lips into a narrow line, stalked out of the room, and returned with an object which she tossed into Draco's lap. It was one of Mrs. Weasley's famous sweaters. 

"Pink," he said morosely, glaring at it. "I hate pink." 

"Good night, Malfoy," said Ginny, and shut the door behind her. 

*** 

Ginny and Ron were already awake when Harry came down to breakfast the next morning. He was a wearing one of the green sweaters that Mrs. Weasley had made for him years ago; it was too small on him now and the sleeves rode up over his thin wrists. He flopped down into the chair next to Ginny, picked up a spoon, and poked listlessly at the bowl of oatmeal that she slid across the table to him. Ron looked up briefly and nodded; he was busy reading the Daily Prophet. 

"Any news?" asked Harry. 

"Dementors are still missing," said Ron, around a mouthful of toast. "There were some reports of them being spotted near a wizarding town to the south, but those were discredited." He snorted. "By Percy. It’s always Percy, isn’t it?" 

Ginny shuddered. "Imagine seeing Dementors right in your own town," she said. "In your own front garden..." 

They all looked anxiously out the window. 

"Ginny, don´t," said Ron, irritably. 

But Ginny had thought of something else she wanted to talk about. "Harry," she said. "There's something wrong with Malfoy." 

Ron and Harry glanced at her curiously. She was buttering a piece of toast and looking determined. 

"Something more than what's usually wrong with him?" said Harry. 

"Yes," said Ginny firmly. "Last night he was screaming so loudly in his sleep that it woke me up. I've never heard anyone scream like that before. And then, when I went into his bedroom, he was lying on the floor and there was blood all over his shirt." 

"He was bleeding?" said Harry. 

"You went into his bedroom?" said Ron, looking suddenly alarmed. 

"Yes, and yes," said Ginny. "But the bedroom part is not the point of the story. The screaming and the blood, that would be the point of the story." She shuddered. "I do know what Dark magic feels like," she said, more quietly. "And it's all over him." 

"Did you stay in the bedroom with him?" asked Ron. 

"Ron, are you listening to me at all?" snapped Ginny. 

"You did, didn't you?" said Ron, looking horrified. "Ginny! Malfoy?" 

"I kind of like the sound of that," said his sister, with a sadistic grin. "Ginny Malfoy." 

"Ginny," spluttered Ron. "I want you to tell me right now - promise me - you won't -you wouldn't - not with Malfoy!" 

Ginny took a bite of toast and shrugged. "Alas, that our love must be secret," she said. 

"Ginny, stop winding Ron up," said Harry, although he was hiding a smile. "Ron, quit being a twit. I'm sure Ginny didn't stay in the room with Malfoy any longer than she had to. Ginny, what do you mean there's Dark Magic all over him? Is he all right?" 

Ginny frowned. "It's just a feeling," she said. "Ever since we were in the Chamber of Secrets, I get this cold sort of feeling whenever I'm around Dark magic. I got it from Hermione in Diagon Alley just after she saw Viktor. And I get it from Malfoy, too." 

"Well, that's not too surprising," said Ron. "I mean, he's been around Dark magic his whole life. He's a walking Knockturn Alley." 

"Maybe," said Harry, who was biting on one knuckle, something he did when he was thinking. 

'D'you think he's dangerous?" asked Ron, sounding hopeful. 

Somewhat unwillingly, Harry thought of the sword, the Talisman of Purest Evil. And of the surge of cold that had come from Draco's hand when they had performed the Veritas curse on Krum. 

"I don't think so," he said. 

"Still," said Ron, reaching for the plate of toast, "there's a definite possibility that he's a vicious, cold-blooded -" Ginny squeaked. Ron glanced up and saw Draco standing in the doorway, wearing Mrs. Weasleys' fuzzy pink sweater and carrying a large green book. "Oh. Um...piece of toast?" said Ron lamely, offering the plate to Draco. 

"I've been called a lot of things in my life," said Draco, looking at the plate. "But never a vicious, cold-blooded piece of toast." 

Ron had the grace to look embarrassed. "Sorry, Malfoy," he muttered. "But Ginny-" 

"Told you about last night," said Draco, looking at Ginny with a certain coldness. Ginny looked right back. He had been right about pink, thought Ginny. It was not his color. It went badly with his light coloring and silvery hair, making him resemble nothing so much as an iced pink birthday cake. "I had a nightmare," he said. "So what?" 

"I have nightmares all the time," said Harry. "I don't usually wake up covered in blood." 

"Covered is kind of strong," said Draco, sitting down at the table. "More like...splattered." 

"Oh, right," said Ron with heavy sarcasm, "Never mind then, it isn't weird at all." 

"Exactly," said Draco, ignoring Ron's look of immense irritation, and turned to Harry. "Potter," he said. "I've had an idea." He waved his hand at Ron, who looked as if he was about to say something. "And no sarcastic comments, please." 

"Okay," said Harry. "What?" 

"The Epicyclical Charm," said Draco. "My Epicyclical Charm. It's never been tested, but theoretically, wherever I am in the world, Hermione can find me by using it. I know she could find me wherever I was at Hogwarts, she used it a couple of times." 

"But that's only useful if she's trying to find you," said Harry. "Not the other way around." 

"If there’s only one Epicyclical Charm, that’s true," said Draco. He raised the green book he was holding, the object he had Summoned to himself the night before. It was his father’s copy of Epicyclical Elaborations of Sorcery. "But if we make another Charm, the two Charms can find each other." 

Harry, Ron and Ginny stared at him. "Another Epicyclical Charm?" said Harry faintly. "But isn’t that really complicated and dangerous?" 

"Not really," said Draco. "I´m a little too old for it to be very effective, but it should be effective enough for this. And I’ll be giving a part of myself willingly, so that will help." 

"Does that mean we get to knock out one of your teeth?" asked Ron, with interest. 

"I was thinking of a lock of hair," said Draco, "and I’d like to see you try it, Weasley." 

"Ahem," said Harry. "Do we have what we need for the spell?" 

"Not everything," Draco hedged. "Not yet. We need some mugwort, some wolfsbane, and an Orb of Thessala." 

"A what of what?" said Ginny. 

"An Orb of Thessala," said Draco. "It’s used in Transfiguration and Transformation spells. It has to do with soul transference. It’s not hard to use, just hard to come by. I assume my dad must have had one, but I’ve no idea where he might have kept it." 

"So where are we going to get one?" said Harry. "Is this the sort of thing you can just buy in Diagon Alley?" 

"Actually, no," said Draco. "But it’s just the sort of thing our Transformations teacher would have in his office." 

"Lupin," said Harry. "He’d never let us borrow something like that." 

"True," Draco agreed. "Which is why we’re going to have to break in and take it. We have to go back to school anyway, and while we're there -" 

Harry blinked. "We have to go back to school?" 

"Of course," said Draco, as if this should be obvious. "We have to get my sword." 

Harry pushed his chair back from the table with a screech. "No way," he said flatly. "We are not bringing that thing with us." 

Draco's gray eyes spat angry sparks. "Why not?" 

"Because," said Harry, as if this should be obvious. "It's evil. It's an evil thing and I don't want it near me." 

"It's a very powerful weapon," said Draco. "It has powers we can't even imagine." 

"Yeah," agreed Harry. "Because they're really, really horrible." 

"You don't know that," said Draco firmly. "Even Lupin doesn't know that. He said he had to finish testing it. It's a Magid blade," Draco added, "and I'm a Magid and it belonged to my ancestors, it's been in my family for generations, and I want it." 

Harry suddenly heard Hermione's voice in his head, remembering something she had said to him two weeks ago--was it only two weeks? Didn't Dumbledore tell you that people want what's worst for them? 

Yes , Harry had replied. But not everyone. 

"Malfoy..." he began. But Draco had stood up from the table and was glaring at all of them, flushed with anger. "Look," he said. "I don't know what we're up against, and neither do you. But if what we've seen so far is any indication, we're dealing with some serious, serious Dark magic. This sword is a gift, Potter. It can kill anything. The Dark Lord himself could be destroyed by it. Lupin as much as said so." 

Now Harry looked angry. "Don't you remember the book?" he snapped. "You can bear that sword, but at a price." 

"I'm a Malfoy," said Draco. "We don't ask about prices." He grinned without much mirth. "I can afford it." 

"I don't think you can," said Harry. 

Ginny looked from one of them to the other. Draco and Harry were staring at each other, Draco with fiery red spots of anger on his cheeks and Harry very pale. 

"What if you're not the one who pays the price, Malfoy?" said Harry in a deadly voice. "What if it turns out to be someone else? What if it turns out to be -" He almost said "Hermione," but he didn't want to be like Draco, didn't want to invoke Hermione's name as a whip to beat his opponent with. "-me?" he finished. 

Draco's eyes were glittering. "I'll take that chance," he said. 

This time it was Ron who spoke. "You're a bastard, Malfoy," he said flatly. 

Draco didn't look at him, was still looking only at Harry. " What if she's in danger and the sword's our only chance to get to her?" he said. "Are you willing to take the risk that something might happen to her that we could have prevented if you hadn't been so squeamish?" 

Harry’s hands were gripping the table tightly, and when he spoke it was with an effort. "Squeamish," he echoed bleakly. "I hope you remember telling me this somewhere down the line when you’ve gotten one of us killed." 

For a moment, nobody spoke. Then Draco said, without looking at Harry, "If you don´t trust me, maybe you want to go on without me," and there was something about the way he said it that was both wistful and angry at the same time. Ginny doubted he knew he sounded wistful at all; if he had, he probably wouldn’t have said anything. 

"I don't trust you, Malfoy," said Harry quietly. "But I don't want to go without you either." 

Draco's shoulders collapsed a little with relief. 

Harry looked down at his scarred hand, then back up at Draco. "If what we did to Krum is any indication, the powers we have together are much more than what have alone. Maybe you're right about using every means at hand." 

"I am right," said Draco, but he looked relieved all the same. The atmosphere of tension was fading as rapidly as it had appeared. "You'll see," he said to Harry. "We're going to go back to school and get that sword, and then we're going to go after Hermione." 

He straightened up, and spoke with cold determination. "I don't care what I have to do; I don´t care if it's the Dark Lord himself who's got her -- if he's done anything to hurt her, anything at all, I'll grind him up into a powder so fine we can use it for instant soup mix." 

Draco paused. Harry, Ginny and Ron were all staring at him with peculiar expressions. 

"Okay," he said. "That was just kind of gross, wasn't it?" 

Harry nodded. "Soup just isn't that scary, Malfoy." 

"Other than that, it was a good speech," interjected Ginny encouragingly. 

"I still think I'm right about this," said Draco, although a great deal of the fierceness had gone out of his expression. 

"And I still think you're mad," said Harry. "And maybe evil. But you're obviously very determined, and I kind of admire that." He smiled. The first time he had smiled all day. "It suits you, Malfoy." 

"It does," agreed Ginny, rather unexpectedly. "But that sweater definitely does not." 

*** 

"Look, Ron," said Ginny, with a grin. "Essence of Malfoy. It’s magenta." 

She poked the potion simmering in the cauldron with her wand, and glanced around at Ron. He was sitting on the end of Harry’s bed, not-very-industriously crushing beetle shells for the potion with a mortar and pestle and trying not to yawn. They had gone straight from breakfast to their broomsticks, and had arrived at Harry and Draco´s School while it was still fairly early in the morning. All four of their broomsticks were now propped against the wall next to Harry´s bed. 

Draco and Harry themselves, taking Harry´s father’s invisibility cloak just in case, had already crept off downstairs to raid Lupin´s office. Ginny had wanted to ask what they were going to do if Lupin turned out to be in his office, then changed her mind. That, she figured, was their lookout. Potion making, however, was her lookout. She had always been good at it at school, and this one was surprisingly simple. 

The difficult part would come later, since the Epicyclical process was a moderately complex combination of a Potion, a Charm, and a Transfiguration spell. At the moment, the potion, which was the first step, was missing several key ingredients, although had some of Draco´s blood in it, and the Charm would eventually be made with his hair. (He had given her a lock of it for the purpose, so fine and silvery that it hardly looked like human hair at all.) 

"That’s not magenta," said Ron, looking up with another huge yawn. "That’s fuchsia. And quite horrible-looking it is." 

"Ron, you have to crush the beetles, not just swat at them," scolded Ginny. 

"I can´t be arsed," said Ron glumly. "I can´t help feeling like this is all for Malfoy´s benefit. And I still hate his guts, whatever Harry says." 

Ginny sighed. "It’s for Hermione´s benefit, Ron," she said. "Why don´t you give me a turn with the beetle-smashing and you can stir the potion? You look done in, anyway." 

Ron agreed amicably enough, and they traded places just as the bedroom door opened and Harry and Draco, looking very vexed indeed, stalked in. 

"He´s there!" said Harry, throwing up his hands in disgust. "Why is he there? Shouldn´t he be teaching class?" 

"Bastard," said Ron. "What’s he doing hanging around his own office?" 

Harry was biting his knuckle thoughtfully. "We need to lure him out of there," he said. "But how? If one of us does it, he´ll just think we’re trying to sneak in there to get the sword. And," he added, "he´ll be right." 

Draco stopped pacing. "I´m getting an idea," he said. "Oh, now I´m getting another one." 

Ron, turning to look at him curiously, jogged the side of the cauldron, splashing some of the liquid in it onto the floor. 

"And now I´m just annoyed," said Draco. "Weasley, keep your oafish hands away from that potion. That’s my soul you’re messing about with, you know. It’s my life essence, it’s my being, it’s--" 

"A fabulous new cleaning product!" announced Ron, looking down. Where the potion had fallen, it had eaten a hole right through the rug, and partway into the stone beneath. "I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s completely toxic." 

They all stared curiously. 

"I refuse to consider this as a reflection on my personality," said Draco, looked at the charred rug. 

"And that’s your prerogative," said Harry. "Now, what was your idea?" 

Draco gave him a look of great amusement. "You’ll find out, Potter," he said, heading for the door. "Just hang on, I’ll be right back." 

*** 

Fleur had a room to herself at school; at the moment, it was full of impossibly tiny, impossibly delicate, brightly colored butterflies that she had conjured up to amuse herself. As soon as Draco walked in, fifteen blue butterflies settled in his hair, and several pink ones on his shoulders. 

"Oh," said Fleur , looking at him mistily. "How adorable." 

With an effort, Draco restrained himself from screaming Get these sodding butterflies off me! "I need you to do me a favor," he said instead, looking earnestly at Fleur, who sat with her legs stretched out in front of her on her bed, tapping each of her toenails with her long silvery wand and turning them various shades of pink. "I need you to lure Professor Lupin out of his office. Just for a few minutes," he added, seeing her dubious look. "Come on, I thought you fancied him." 

"I did," said Fleur, turning her left big toenail mauve. "But I have since reconsidered. 'E is very 'andsome, but just a bit too stodgy." 

Draco bit his lip in frustration. "Fleur, the man's a werewolf. How stodgy can he be?" 

'''E is boring," said Fleur, firmly. "'E is boring and stuffy and English. Not like you," she added quickly. "You are English boy with French instincts," she grinned. "And veela blood. You are not boring. But Lupin, he fills me with ennui." 

"That's just his teaching persona," Draco said, hoping he sounded like he knew what he was talking about. "Stodgy by day, perhaps, but at night it's booze, whores and flying fur." 

Fleur wrinkled up her petite nose in a frown. "I do not believe you," she said. 

"Come on, Fleur. Do it for me," he said, wincing inwardly. Lord only knew what she'd want in exchange. "Please?" 

She gave him a very considering look, then stood up, tossing back her long, silvery hair. "All right," she said, a little sulkily. "I do it for you. But you --" she lightly struck his shoulder with her hand, letting it rest there perhaps a moment longer than she needed to, "You owe me, Draco Malfoy." 

*** 

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" said Harry, sounding very doubtful. 

Draco shifted uncomfortably under the invisibility cloak. Large as it was, it was a deal of trouble to keep all four of them covered as they waited in the hallway. "Why wouldn't it be?" he said. 

"Well," said Harry, "either it doesn't work, in which case we're in trouble, or it does work, in which case ..." 

"In which case Lupin gets some action," said Draco. "We're doing him a favor, really. It's fine." 

"It is NOT fine," said Ron, his disembodied voice sounding cranky. 

"Why not?" 

"Because he's really, really old and it's nasty," said Ron, firmly. 

"He´s not that old," said Ginny. 

The cloak rustled as Harry, Ron and Draco tried to turn to look at Ginny, before realizing this was impossible. Harry was fairly sure, however, from the tone of her voice that she was smiling. 

"He´s not," she insisted. 

"Ginny," said Ron warningly. 

"He´s kind of attractive, actually," she said. 

"Can we go back to talking about Dementors in the front yard?" said Ron. "Because this is freaking me out." 

At that moment, Fleur came around the corner. She had put on a formfitting silver robe, and gave a wink in their general direction as she paused at Lupin´s door and knocked. They saw her open the door and thrust her head in. Whatever she said was inaudible, but in a short time, Lupin came to the door, looking both distracted and faintly surprised. "Why can´t we talk about your homework in my office?" he said, stepping outside and shutting the door behind him. 

"It is just so much more pleasant to walk as we talk," said Fleur, laying her hand on his arm. 

"If you say so," said Lupin, sounding extremely dubious. 

"´As anyone ever told you that you are a very good teacher?" asked Fleur, using her grip on Lupin´s arm to steer him down the corridor. 

"Oh, yes, I get told that all the time," he said, as he unknowingly passed Ron, Draco, Harry and Ginny in the hall. 

"´As anyone ever told you that you are also very attractive?" 

"Well, Dumbledore told me that once, but it was after the New Year's staff party and he was a bit squiffy on butterbeer..." 

Lupin's voice faded, and they were gone. 

Although he couldn´t see their faces, all around him Harry could feel the other three shaking with laughter. Even Ron was laughing. It was like being caught in a mini-earthquake. "Shh," he hissed, trying to keep from laughing himself. "Shh, wait until we get into the office..." 

Once inside the office, Harry tore the invisibility cloak off them, allowing Draco, who was now nearly crying with laughter, to collapse onto the desk. "I almost love Fleur," he said finally, regaining his composure. "´As anyone told you that you are also very attractive?´" 

Ginny was shaking her head. "The poor man, he really doesn´t deserve that kind of abuse." 

"It’s for a good cause, Ginny," said Ron, grinning. Whatever minor pangs of jealousy he might have been feeling over Fleur seemed to have vanished. "Hey, Malfoy," he added. "What´re you doing?" 

"Getting our ingredients," said Draco, who was now crouching on the floor next to Lupin´s bookcase. "It’s here...got it." He pulled out a small blue vial, unstoppered the cap, sniffed it, and made a face. "Wolfsbane," he said, and handed it up to Harry, who squinted at it and passed it on to Ginny. "Mugwort we´ve got upstairs...And here it is...the Orb of Thessala." 

"That’s a snow globe, Malfoy," said Harry. "Nice try." 

The nymph in the globe winked at Draco as he put her down. 

"Sorry," he said, and continued rummaging. "Right," he said, after a few moments. "Got it." 

And he handed something up to Harry - something that looked like a black glass tennis ball. 

"You’re sure?" said Harry, looking at Draco hard. 

"If it’s not an Orb of Thessala, I´m the one that gets blown up," said Draco. "So yes, I´m sure." 

"Blown up?" echoed Ginny, looking very pale as Harry handed her the Orb. 

Draco waved a hand airily. "That hardly ever happens," he said. "Just finish the spell right and we´ll all be fine." 

Ginny looked up at Ron, who was looking equally nervous. "I don´t know..." 

"Just do it," said Draco, who was now looking under Lupin´s desk. "And fast. We need to get out of here as quickly as possible. Why don´t you two go on back to our room and we´ll meet you there in a few minutes. Take the invisibility cloak." He popped his head up over the desk, saw the three of them preparing to leave, and hastily added, "Potter. You stay here with me." 

Harry paused. "All right," he said, stepping back into the office. Ron and Ginny turned to look at him; he shrugged, and they drew the cloak up over themselves, vanishing from sight. 

The office door opened and closed behind them, and Harry turned back to Draco, who was emerging from underneath Lupin´s desk, carrying the adamantine case that held Slytherin´s sword. There was a bright light in his eyes, and Harry felt a vague stab of apprehension run through him. 

"Come on, Potter," said Draco. "Help me get this thing open." 

*** 

"I thought the Dark Mark was Voldemort´s symbol," said Hermione, looking at Wormtail. She had decided that there was no point in not saying Voldemort´s name, considering that she had somehow managed to get herself kidnapped by the one wizard in history who had been even worse. 

Slytherin, who seemed to have no use for a wand (of course not, she thought, he´s a Magid, just like Harry) had bound her arm to Wormtail´s and ordered them both to follow him out of the room. They were currently all three walking down a long stone corridor, towards what destination, Hermione could only imagine. Slytherin walked ahead, of course, and she and Wormtail followed behind. 

"He didn’t invent it," said Wormtail, who was looking very smug. "It belonged first to Slytherin. Almost everything the Dark Lord ever did was borrowed from Slytherin." 

"You’re sounding awfully smug," said Hermione. "Aren´t you worried that Voldemort will be angry with you for betraying him?" 

"No," said Wormtail, his smirk stretching into a very unattractive leer. "Slytherin is twice as powerful as Voldemort was even in his prime. The old order cometh again, and the new order passeth away," he added, and giggled. "If you haven´t noticed," he went on, "history is repeating itself. There’s no point fighting it. All this was foretold. Dumbledore knows it. Why do you think he -" 

He broke off, as Salazar Slytherin halted and turned to look at them. His skeletal face was expressionless. They had come to the end of the hallway, which opened out into a large round room hung with tapestries. "Wormtail," said Slytherin, his buzzing voice echoing off the stonewalls. "Please wait for us farther down the hallway. I wish to show something to my guest." He waved a hand at Hermione, and the ropes tying her to Wormtail vanished. "Come here," he said to her, and she did, dimly aware of Wormtail walking away. 

"I wanted you to see this," said Slytherin, pointing at the largest of the tapestries hanging against the far wall. "Maybe it will help you understand." 

The tapestry showed four figures standing together under a woven archway. They were young. In their twenties, at most. They faced Hermione, smiling, as if they were posing for a photograph. The man on the left she knew immediately. There was a portrait of him hanging in the Gryffindor common room. Tall and handsome with black hair and a black beard, dressed in gold and scarlet. Godric Gryffindor, looking a great deal like Harry. 

Then there was a round, red-haired woman who looked friendly and kind and wore robes of yellow. She reminded Hermione strongly of Mrs. Weasley. Of course, she was Helga Hufflepuff. 

Then there was another man. He wasn't as tall as Godric, and he looked like he knew it. He had black hair as well, and a fierce scowl appeared on his mouth. If he hadn't been scowling, he might have been handsome too. He wore black and silver, and snakes carved from silver metal wound up and down each of his arms. His eyes were silver, too. He was the one Wormtail had called the greatest of the Hogwarts Four. He didn't look like someone aware of his own greatness. He looked desperately unhappy. 

But it was the fourth woman in the tapestry who had caught Hermione's attention. She stood between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and she wore robes of dark blue. In her hands she carried several books, and her extremely curly hair was knotted in braids around her head. There was an ink stain on her cheek, and it didn’t look like a flaw in the tapestry. She was pretty, although not extraordinarily so, but she looked somehow very...alive. Does she look like me? thought Hermione wonderingly. A little, she conceded. Certainly they were not dead ringers for each other. Rowena Ravenclaw's eyes were blue. But there was something. There was definitely something. 

Of course, that didn't make Salazar Slytherin -- or what was left of him -- any less mad. 

He looked down at her and she saw the Dark Mark tattoos standing out livid and horrible on his fleshless face. She wanted to shudder, but it wasn´t the same sort of shudder that Voldemort had inspired in her. Salazar Slytherin was quite horrible, and by all accounts had been evil beyond belief, and there was no doubt that he terrified her. And yet Hermione found that she felt, somehow...sorry for him. 

Not much. But a little. 

"Now," he said. "I want to tell you a story." 

*** 

Draco pushed his sweaty hair out of his eyes and cursed under his breath. So far the adamantine case had yielded to none of their blandishments. Draco had tried Opening Spells, Smashing Hexes, and had even attempted to perform Crushing Charms with both himself and Harry holding the wand at the same time. Nothing had happened. Draco had wanted to try a Whirlwind Charm, but Harry pointed out that these couldn´t be controlled very well and that he might well blast them both out the window. 

So Draco had given up on trying to open the case magically and had started trying to break it in half by bashing it against the stone walls. This had done nothing except give him a sharp pain in his wrists. Furious, he had thrown the case on the ground and started jumping up and down on it with both feet, cursing. 

When he finally looked up, panting, Harry was grinning at him. 

"What?" said Draco irritably. "What is it?" 

"You look ridiculous," said Harry, shaking his head. 

Draco paused, looking thoughtful. "Do I?" 

"It’s all right," said Harry. "Not much else makes me laugh these days." 

Draco stopped jumping and looked at Harry with a very peculiar expression. "Do I make you laugh?" 

Harry shrugged. "It’s nothing to get all excited about, Malfoy." 

"It’s just -" Draco sighed. "I feel guilty." 

"Guilty?" said Harry uneasily. "What about?" 

Draco got down off the case, reached down to pick it up, and approached Harry, looking extremely anxious. "Potter," he said, "There’s something I’ve got to tell you." 

Harry looked at him in surprise. Draco was holding the case clutched against his chest as if it was a baby, and his eyes were enormous and pained. Harry had never in his life seen an expression like that on Draco´s face. He looked as if he had swallowed a nail. "Wha-what do you have to tell me, Malfoy?" he said. "Are you all right? Are you dying? What?" 

"It’s about Hermione," said Draco. "I´m just - you’ve been so, well, trusting about Hermione and I being friends, and I’ve started to feel guilty. I mean, it wasn´t anything really, it was just that once -" 

Harry goggled at him. "Just that once WHAT?" 

Draco looked acutely embarrassed. "Come on, Potter, don´t make me spell it out." 

"No," said Harry, very coldly. "Spell it out. Spell it out, Malfoy. Because I don´t understand." 

"Look," said Draco, "it was just that once, I think she really felt bad about it afterwards. You know, it doesn´t mean she doesn´t love you." 

"If you’re saying what I think you’re saying," said Harry in clipped tones, "I don´t believe you." He shrugged. "I just don´t." 

"Really?" said Draco, smiling, catlike. "Then why isn´t your little lie detector going off? Your...Sneakoscope?" 

Harry looked down wildly. It was true. The Sneakoscope was completely silent. 

"Sorry, Potter," said Draco. "These things happen." 

"Sorry?" said Harry in a strangled voice. "Sorry? Is that all you have to say? Why didn’t - why didn’t one of you tell me?" 

Draco shrugged. "We just couldn´t agree on how to break it to you," he said. "Eventually Hermione decided you were just better off not knowing. Maybe she was right," he added, looking at Harry dubiously. "You don´t seem to be taking it all that well..." 

Black spots were dancing in front of Harry´s vision. He could remember being so angry only a few times before in his life, usually at Voldemort. He´s lying, he told himself -but then why didn’t the Sneakoscope go off? - Hermione wouldn’t do that - but then why didn’t the Sneakoscope go off? - I always thought I would be the first - the only - this explains why she´s been writing to him all this time, a letter a day, I knew it wasn´t normal -- 

"Hey," said Draco, and his voice sounded like it was coming from very far away. "Remember, Potter. Control, control control ---" 

BANG! 

The snow globe on the desk burst like a bomb, spraying water and bits of synthetic silver snow all over Lupin´s papers. The nymph inside the snow globe screamed. Draco grinned as the windows cracked, and the wineglass on the table shattered into shards. Let him be angry enough, he prayed. Let him be angry enough - 

CRACK! 

And Draco ducked his head as the adamantine case in his arms fissured and split in half with a sound like rending bones. It worked! He dropped the case, and the sword with it, letting the fragments of adamantine shower to the floor around him like hail, and seized hold of the front of Harry´s shirt. 

"I´m lying!" he shouted, over the sound of shattering glass and howling wind. "I´m lying!" 

Harry looked at him wildly. "You’re what?" 

"I´m lying! Of course I´m lying! Now stop it!" 

"You’re just scared," said Harry, narrowing his eyes as a paperweight flew across the room and thunked into the wall beside Draco´s head. Draco got the distinct impression that Harry was in some way enjoying the havoc he was wreaking. 

"Don´t be an idiot!" howled Draco. "You think if I slept with Hermione I wouldn’t have been gloating about it way before now? And when would we have had the time? You two are always together. Be logical, Potter!" 

"What about my Sneakoscope?" shouted Harry stubbornly. "Why didn’t it go off?" 

"Because it’s in your jacket upstairs!" yelled Draco. "Pillock!" 

There was a sudden silence, broken only by the faint tinkle of the last bits of broken glass settling on the floor, and the tiny, furious voice of the nymph in the snow globe cursing at both of them. Harry didn’t hear it; he was looking at Draco, shocked. "But why--?" He followed Draco´s gaze down to the floor of Lupin´s office, now covered with water, shredded bits of paper, and shards of broken casing. The sword lay at Draco´s feet; gleaming and silver as it had been the night that they had found it. Draco bent down and picked it up in his left hand, curling his fingers around the hilt. He raised it and held it out, showing it to Harry, who stared at it. "Oh," said Harry, as realization dawned. "Oh." He looked wearily at Draco. "You miserable bastard," he said, but there wasn´t much energy in it. "You couldn´t have thought of some other way?" 

"Sorry," said Draco unrepentantly. "You said before we should use whatever means were to hand." 

Harry shook his head. "I hate making things easy for you," he said. "I really hate it." 

"Like taking candy from a baby," said Draco, grinning, then looked down at his hands, which were bleeding, shot through with bits of broken adamant from the shattered case. "Well," he amended, "a very large, very angry baby." 

"I´m way too tired to start beating on you, Malfoy," said Harry calmly. "But rest assured I’ll get you back for this." 

Draco couldn´t tell whether he was kidding or not. "I’ll look forward to it," he replied. "Now come on, let´s get out of here before Lupin gets away from Fleur and comes back." He shuddered. "Or worse, they come back together." 

*** 

When they returned to their dormitory room, they found Ron and Ginny kneeling on the floor next to the cauldron. Ginny was carefully removing something from it. She turned, hearing them enter, and gestured them over. 

The Charm she had made was nowhere near as beautiful or as deadly looking as the one that Lucius had created. This one was a bit lopsided, not so much a perfect circle as something of an oblong. Draco eyed it dubiously. 

"It’s not done yet," said Ginny. "Here." She thrust it at Draco. "You hold it. I’ve got to do the last bit of the spell." 

He held the Charm in his hand while she pointed her wand at it. A long tendril of red hair fell down over her face as she began to speak, and she impatiently brushed it aside. "Ullus res muta. Anima irreti. Sanguinum ad vitrum transmuta!" 

There was a flash of light, and the Charm flipped over in Draco´s hand. 

"It’s done," said Ginny. 

Draco stood up, looking at the Charm, which, like the other one, was transparent, although this one held a lock of his hair instead of a tooth. Now there are two objects in the world that could kill me instantly, he thought grimly. Hermione has the first one. Who in my life do I trust enough to give this one to? 

He could feel the eyes of the other three on him as he walked toward the window, holding out the Charm in front of him, and paused there, looking out. Then he shut his eyes, letting everything fall away as he had learned to do when he was a child, locked in the wardrobe in his bedroom. He could feel the charm beating in his hand like a tiny heart, and although he knew it was no more than his own pulse that he sensed, he concentrated on it, holding the charm, tightly, tightly... 

A round tower surrounded by trees. The walls were ancient stone, and black in places, as if the tower once had burned. There were no birds. Images in quick succession: a bare room with straw on the floor, a man with a hand made of silver, a hallway lined with tapestries, and Hermione, her dark eyes frantic with worry, looking at him. 

Where are you? Where are you? 

He opened his eyes, turned, and met Harry´s steady gaze across the room. 

"South," he said. "We go south." 

*** 

"I've been called a lot of things in my life," said Draco, looking at the plate. "But never a vicious, cold-blooded piece of toast." This line is, very famously, from Buffy: "I may be a cold-blooded jelly doughnut but I have impeccable timing." 

"He must not have been reading his Evil Overlord handbook," grinned Sirius. "Rule 54: 'I will not strike a bargain with a demonic being, then attempt to double-cross it simply because I feel like being contrary.' Don't tell me you don't know the Evil Overlord List!  

"You must at least believe that there is a natural balance to all things," said the demon. "For every profit in one thing, payment in some other thing. You will profit greatly by the use of this sword, but first it must be paid for." -- This speech is an altered version of Pluto's speech to Orpheus in the play of the same name by Ted Hughes. From Orpheus: "Nothing is free. Everything has to be paid for. For every profit in one thing, payment in some other thing. For every life, a death. Even your music, of which we have heard so much, that had to be paid for. Your wife was the payment for your music. Hell is now satisfied."  

Orb of Thessala: This is an actual mythical object. It was referenced on Buffy, so I'll mention it here. 

"I had a flashback in the middle of a delusion." No faffing clue. It was a .sig file. 

Chapter 4