Book 1

1  Draco

Draco stood at the edge of the pond in the gathering twilight, staring impassively at the dark water. How easy it would be. How tempting to walk into the brackish depths, to stride unthinkingly onward as the water rose past knees, hips, and chest. To walk until the liquid death closed over his head and filled nose and lungs and finally choked the last life-sustaining breath from his body and with it the excess of emotion that had plagued Draco for the past few weeks. It was a satisfying image.

It was not fear of death that stayed his footsteps. He had recently come to acknowledge that there were, indeed, worse things than death. Rather, it was the thought of actually stepping forward into the stagnant pond. The thick mud would suck at his black boots; the green slime near the edge would cling to his white shirt and waterlogged reeds would catch on his legs…

His face, expressionless until that moment, twitched briefly as his lip curled into a pale shadow of his usual sneer of disgust.

Draco Malfoy. Saved by fastidiousness.

A small sound behind him betrayed the presence of one of his watchers. Any suicide attempt would likely be foiled by the minion, anyway. Draco was never quite out of sight or earshot of at least one of them. The lack of trust in Voldemort's band of merry men was appalling.

Draco's dismal shot at humor was buried by another onslaught of despair. The events he had set in motion had grown into a tidal wave of horror he could never have imagined. If only he had taken the time to foresee the consequences of his actions… He simply hadn't thought beyond his mission. What would he have done differently? In truth, he'd never really expected to succeed.

"If you wish to save your father's life, you will find a way to kill Dumbledore," Voldemort had ordered. Well, Draco had certainly found a way. A ludicrous plan that should never have worked—wouldnever have worked but for Snape's timely (untimely?) arrival.

Draco, Draco, you are not a killer. The words still rang in his mind. The words of a dying man, one whose wisdom Draco had never acknowledged. The words beset him for days as he sought to either deny or accept them.

Draco's features were once more still as carved marble, giving no hint as to the torment of his thoughts.

The truth will set you free. Hah. The truth will bind you in iron chains and drag you to the depths of hell. The truth was agony. Draco's eyes glittered. He had become quite the philosopher, recently. All the pesky ideals he hadn't spared a moment's consideration for in the past seventeen years had come to haunt him like a host of demons. Draco's foundations had been shaken to the core by a few simple words, a burst of green light, and an avalanche of events that followed.

Draco's watchdog coughed lightly behind him—a signal of the man's desire to escape the growing chill and return to Malfoy Manor to partake of the food and drink that had once belonged to Draco's family.

You can rot out here with me, Draco thought bitterly. His mind returned, for the thousandth time, to events after the fateful evening on the Hogwarts tower.

Dumbledore's words, Snape's killing curse, the frantic race for the front gates—and Potter, of course—why hadn't he been there to save his mentor? He'd always played the hero before. Draco had expected to confront his little nemesis and although there had been fighting in the room below the tower, it had been too little, too late. Harry's race after Snape and Draco had been fruitless, although Draco later had time to ponder how Potter had known to pursue Snape. Two brooms on the tower, and Dumbledore so weak he could barely stand. Where was Potter? Had he gone for help? He would have passed Draco on his way down the steps. It made no sense. Draco pushed the mystery aside. Potter must have been below. But the two brooms disturbed Draco.

They had escaped with only one casualty. Without the Death Eaters, Draco and Snape would never have left the tower alive, which had likely been Voldemort's plan all along. Draco thought it very likely that the Dark Lord had never expected Draco to succeed in his plot. It had been intended as a distraction and nothing more. A little mission ending in Draco's death at the hand of Dumbledore, an act that would have brought a cartload of guilt to the old wizard and a severe case of punishing grief to Lucius and Narcissa. No matter how the scene played out, it was win win win for old Voldemort.

Snape's actions had given Snake Face quite the boost. The former Potions Master was now in high favor. Voldemort was in such high spirits he hadn't even killed Draco for failing his mission, apparently since the outcome had been satisfying. Azkaban Prison was now empty since the revolt of the dementors, who now roamed the countryside willy-nilly sucking the life force from any witch or wizard not strong enough to fend them off. Perforce, Lucius had been released and had gladly turned over Malfoy Manor to Voldemort and his henchmen. It was the least he could do, after all. The Ministry had searched Draco's home thoroughly after Lucius's escape from Azkaban, but Voldemort's band had been hiding elsewhere until the Ministry cleared out. Occasional watchers still dropped by, but they were easily overtaken by Voldemort, who now had several sets ofImperiused eyes in the Ministry.

The days following Dumbledore's death were chaotic. Apparatingto a ramshackle, drafty house; delivering the news to Voldemort; the Death Eaters celebrating long into the night; and the continuation of Draco's torment—an endless barrage of questions from Voldemort. Draco shuddered at the memory of the repulsive snakelike eyes burning across the table from him…

ooOoo

Too tired and sickened for subterfuge, he recounted the events at Hogwarts. The Room of Requirement, the Vanishing Cabinet, and the flight through the halls. Finally, he detailed the events on the tower, although he left out much of his conversation with Dumbledore and tried to block it from his own consciousness.

Draco, Draco, you are not a killer.

Voldemort's subhuman face cracked into a cold grin when Draco finished. Draco expected that to be the end of it. He half-expected a muttered Avada Kedavra and goodbye, Draco. What he didn't anticipate were Voldemort's next words as the evil wizard sat back in his chair and steepled long, bone-white fingers before him.

"Now, Draco," he hissed in a rasping voice that conjured images of dark creatures scurrying over rotting corpses, "Tell me everything you know about Harry Potter and his friends. Every single detail, no matter how small and insignificant."

As he racked his brain, Draco was surprised at how little he knew. The three Gryffindors had afflicted Draco for six long years and he barely knew a thing about them.

"Harry Potter lives in London during the summer. It's rumored he hates his Muggle relatives. He never goes home during breaks or holidays. His family never sends letters or packages." It was strange, but until he uttered the words, Draco had never considered how horribly lonely it would be to have such a family. Draco's mother regularly sent letters and packages with sweets and trinkets. Even his father wrote on occasion. Draco continued, "Sometimes he stays with the Weasleys—they took him to the Quidditch World Cup. He plays Seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch Team." Draco scowled at the memory and forced the words out. "He flies well."

Voldemort's slit of a mouth ricked slightly.

"Better than you, eh?"

Draco's face flamed. "Better than me," he spat. He took a deep breath and plunged onward. "He flies well, but he's none too sharp. He constantly sticks his nose where it doesn't belong, but he wouldn't get anywhere without Granger, his little Mudblood girlfriend."

"Tell me about her."

Draco's jaw clenched at the memory of Hermione Granger. He remembered her audacity—punching him like a common Muggle instead of using her wand. That had been unexpected.

"She's Muggle-born. Lives with both Muggle parents when she's not four feet from Potter's side. I don't know where. She's very smart and very competent. Without her, I doubt Potter could find his way out from under a robe. She always has her head in a book and has likely been through every tome in the library twice over. She's excellent at Potions and can perform most spells on her first try. Snape hates her as much as I do, although I'm not sure why. She also spends a lot of time at the Weasley's. I used to think she was Harry's girlfriend, but I've never seen any sign of romantic attachment between the three of them. Granger often fights with Ron Weasley—the other member of their little trio—and they have gone days without speaking to each other."

Voldemort said nothing, so Draco moved on to Ron. "Weasley is the oddball of the group. He's dirt poor and has to resent Potter because of that. It's rumored that Potter has a vault full of gold at Gringott's that he never uses because he doesn't want his little weasel friend to feel bad." Draco sneered briefly. "Although it hasn't stopped him from acquiring the best brooms available for Quidditch. Weasley would likely fail all his classes but for Granger. I'm sure he hates her sometimes for being smarter than him, and better at everything. Except flying. Granger is appalling on a broom. It seems to be the only thing she can't do. Weasley, of course, lives in a place called The Burrow—aptly named since they live there like a pack of rabbits. Too many of them to account for, nearly. The father works at the Ministry of Magic in one of the Muggle-loving departments."

"Arthur," Voldemort hissed. "Yes, I remember the blood-traitor and his shrewish little wife, Molly. Tell me about their children."

"Well, Bill Weasley works at Gringott's—I only know that because Theo spotted him there before school started. Charlie works in Romania with dragons—common knowledge since the Tri-Wizard Tournament last year. The Weasley clan visited him there once when they scraped up some extra cash. It was in the Daily Prophet."

Voldemort nodded impatiently

"Percy is a sycophant at the Ministry of Magic. None of the Weasleys seem to like him much. The twins—Fred and George—spend all of their time at their joke shop in Diagon Alley. The youngest is Ginny. She's Harry Potter's new girlfriend, if the gossip is correct."

Voldemort's slit eyes narrowed at that. Draco felt gleeful malice emanating from the wizard and felt a distinct sense of foreboding.

"That's all I know," Draco finished hoarsely. He was suddenly ice cold.

"You may go, Draco," Voldemort said softly. His glittering eyes let Draco know he was lucky to walk out at all. Snape entered as Draco went out, but the former Potions Master spared him barely a glance. The door shut and Draco sagged against the jamb, dizzy and nauseous. His hands shook.

Though he did not intend to eavesdrop, Draco could hear clearly as Voldemort questioned Snape, who knew more, oh so much more, than Draco would have dreamed.

Hermione Granger lived in Caerphilly off St. Christopher's Drive. Her parents worked at a small clinic near the mall. She had three Muggle friends that lived within walking distance of her house and she spent quite a lot of time with them during the summer, visiting the mall and wandering about Caerphilly Castle. Her parents generally took several weeks of vacation during the summer and when Hermione did not accompany them, she stayed at the Burrow with the Weasleys.

Harry Potter lived at Number 4 Privet Drive in Little Whinging, Surrey, which Voldemort apparently already knew. While there, he was also untouchable unless he was out wandering the neighborhood, as shown by the dementor attack the previous year. Members of the Order of the Phoenix guarded him almost constantly and would be doing so for a certainty after Dumbledore's death.

The Weasleys were hosting a wedding for Bill and Fleur Delacour in the late summer and the entire Order would be in attendance, as well as Harry Potter and friends. However, since the Order knew that Snape knew about the wedding (and would disclose it to Voldemort), they would likely revise both time and location. They would not, however, be smart enough to cancel the happy occasion and it was simply too perfect not to plan some sort of attack. Snape already had a few ideas that he would share with the Dark Lord when the occasion approached.

They discussed plans for raiding the headquarters of the Order, even though it was still protected by Dumbledore's wretched Fidelius Charm, which meant that although Snape could get there, he could not divulge its location. They discussed a number of methods for circumventing the charm.

Voldemort was cackling happily by the end of his conversation with Snape. Draco quietly left to find a bed, where he would sink into fitful sleep full of dark dreams.

ooOoo

Draco sighed and turned away from the dark pond as the minion approached. Who was it this time? Not Fenrir Greyback, thank God, since he always looked at Draco as though he were a tasty midnight snack. Greyback was easily the foulest creature Draco had ever known. He lived only to inflict pain, kill, and eat.

It was Goyle, father of his friend Gregory. He looked remarkably like his son; huge and dim. He currently wore a hangdog expression common to most of the Death Eaters when they were not in the presence of Voldemort.

"Why you standing out here all alone, Draco?" Goyle asked.

"Sorry, I get a bit bored with adult conversation," Draco replied, cultivating his image of non-threatening youth.

"Yeah, too bad Gregory can't be here. His mum took him to a safe place where the Ministry can't get hold of him."

Draco nodded and kept his expression passive, although rage flared briefly behind his eyes. All of the wives and children had been hidden away, safe from Ministry officials, and—though unspoken—safe from Voldemort. All but Draco and Narcissa. They were both kept close at hand in order to keep Lucius in line. It sickened Draco to see his strong, proud father grovel before the Dark Lord. They all did it, though. Voldemort got a kick out of using the Cruciatus Curseat random moments.

Without further conversation, Draco marched resolutely back to Malfoy Manor.

ooOoo

Most of the Death Eaters were lounging around the dining room table. Antonin Dolohov leaned back in his chair; his booted feet were propped on the mahogany tabletop. Draco glared at him, but said nothing. Dolohov grinned as Draco took a seat on the other side of the table. Lucius was not so complacent when he stalked in moments later.

"This table has been in my family for generations, Antonin. Go home and treat your own belongings like trash, if you will."

Dolohov removed his feet after a pause just long enough to be insolent. Draco's mother and Bellatrix LeStrange followed Lucius, trailed by Bella's husband and brother-in-law. Narcissa sat next to Draco and her hand squeezed his shoulder affectionately as she passed behind his chair.

"Hello, Draco, dear," Bellatrix greeted as she sat on his other side. Draco smiled briefly and looked at her askance. She had been in Azkaban Prison nearly Draco's entire life. A mad light shone in her eyes and she seemed to contain a restless energy. Rodolphus, her dead-eyed husband, sat beside her. He always acted as though Draco did not exist, which was better than having those dead-fish eyes actually looking at him. Uncle Rod was quite the guy. Crazy aunt, freaky uncle. Great family you have there, mum. Three house-elves appeared and began to serve the meal.

Draco looked dispassionately at the rest of the Death Eaters as Lucius sat at the head of the table. To the right of his father sat Derek Crabbe and Gerald Goyle. Dolohov was next to Goyle. Then there were the Loon Twins: Alecto and Amycus Carrow. They had never been imprisoned in Azkaban, apparently, but were unhinged all the same. Then Titus Mulciber, who was just as vicious as Bellatrix, but in a quieter fashion. Next sat Nott and McNair, regular visitors to the Malfoy household.

Opposite his father lounged the one they called Lars. He was a huge blond brute of a man. Strangely, he wore an infectious smile most of the time. He drank like an Irish sailor. Across from McNair sat Rookwood, Martin Jugson, and Albert Avery. Draco only knew them by sight. His mother sat next to Avery, then Draco, Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Rabastan LeStrange. Nearly all present and accounted for. Except for Fenrir Greyback, Wormtail, Travers, Yaxley, and Snape. And Voldemort, of course, though he never ate with the Death Eaters. Draco wondered if he ate at all. There was also a huge pack of underlings hand-picked by the Death Eaters that patrolled the grounds and ran errands.

Wormtail strode into the room when they had nearly finished eating, halting all limited conversations. He scooped up a joint of fowl from the tabletop and ripped off a chunk.

"The Dark Lord has a mission," he said. Bits of food dribbled from his lips. He sauntered around the table and leaned over Draco, who recoiled in disgust. Wormtail snatched up Draco's nearly untouched wine goblet. He took a loud gulp and slopped some of the contents on Draco's shoulder in the process. He slammed the goblet down with a sigh of pleasure and gripped Draco's same shoulder with his silvered hand.

"You get to go, my boy. Hopefully you'll do better than your last mission."

Narcissa leaped to her feet, knocking her chair backward.

"No!" she cried. "He's just—" She silenced herself at Draco's cold expression and then continued more quietly. "He's barely of age. Send someone else."

"The Dark Lord commands it," Wormtail said gleefully and squeezed. Draco gave no sign of pain, though agony lanced through his shoulder from the metal grip.

"None of their sons are in harm's way!" Narcissa yelled and gestured at the other Death Eaters. "Why Draco?"

"Now, now, Narcissa, the Dark Lord likes Draco. He has faith in him, he does." Wormtail's grip thankfully loosened. "Besides, he won't be going alone. Crabbe, Goyle, Mulciber, Jugson, and Avery will go with him. He'll be safe enough."

"What's the mission?" Narcissa asked tightly.

"Just a little jaunt to Caerphilly to kill a couple of Muggles. Easy job."

Bellatrix laughed. "Calm down, Narcissa. It'll be fun for Draco. Get him out of this dreary house for awhile."

"Draco is not a killer," Narcissa said so quietly that they barely heard her. The words jolted Draco—an unexpected echo of Dumbledore.

Bella snorted. "They're just Muggles. And he's got to learn. Let him grow up, Cissy."

Narcissa retrieved her chair and sank into it. Her face was paste-white and she looked accusingly at Lucius, who was expressionless. His father said nothing. Draco had noticed the growing chasm between his parents—another thing he could lay at Voldemort's feet.

"Who are the Muggles?" Draco asked, even though he already knew.

"Their name is Granger," Wormtail said and laughed heartily.

ooOoo

Draco gratefully entered his room and shut the door. His headache had grown to epic proportion and his shoulder ached from Pettigrew's grasp. Draco had solitude for maybe thirty minutes, thanks to his rigid policy of taking nightly baths. The water was already in the tub, steaming hot and lightly scented. After his bath, the door would be unceremoniously kicked open and one of the minions would sprawl on the cot that had been set up near the door, in order to guard Draco while he slept. To keep him prisoner.

His brows drew down over silver eyes for only a moment before he walked decisively to his writing desk and picked up a quill. He scrawled a hurried message, sanded it, folded it, and tucked it into a pocket.

"Cully!" he called softly. With a small pop, the house-elf appeared at Draco's side.

"Yes, Master?" the creature whined as it bowed nearly to the floor.

"Get into the bath and pretend to be me until I tell you otherwise," he ordered. Cully looked dubiously at the water, but climbed in obediently, wincing at the heat of the liquid. Draco liked his baths hot. Cully splashed a bit, pretending to wash. Draco nodded, satisfied, and stepped into the wardrobe to lessen the noise ofDisapparating.

He appeared in the middle of St. Christopher's Drive in Caerphilly. It was extremely dangerous to Apparate blind—he could have ended up in a tree or half-jammed into a Muggle automobile. Thankfully, the street was nearly deserted and he hurried to the sidewalk. His luck held as he spotted an old woman walking her ratlike dog. Draco conjured a small bouquet of flowers.

"Excuse me, Madam," he said politely. "Can you tell me which house belongs to the Grangers? I've only been here once and I'm afraid I've quite lost my way."

The old woman sized him up carefully while her little dog sniffed at Draco's pant leg. He repressed the urge to kick the animal into the street. The crone finally cackled.

"Well, aren't you the handsome one? Didn't think the Granger's little bookworm daughter had it in her to snag a catch like you."

Draco's polite smile was becoming strained. The old woman pointed.

"Right there, laddie. The house with the wisteria arbor. I don't think they're home, though."

"That's fine. Hermione told me to wait if she wasn't there." The name sounded odd on Draco's lips. He had always thought of her as "Granger."

He strode to the house and threw the flowers behind a bush. After making sure the old woman was out of sight, he cast Alohomoraon the door and went inside. As the old woman had suspected, the place was empty. Draco ignored the neat kitchen and living room and made his way up the stairs. On the next level, the first door he opened revealed what was obviously Hermione's room.

Draco paused to look around curiously. There were books everywhere, of course. Three huge bookshelves had been crowded into the room, but the tomes overflowed onto desk, end table, and even the floor. Unmoving posters lined the walls and above the bed was a tasteful painting of a Highland landscape. Her bedding was dark lavender without ruffles and the furnishings were solid oak. But for the books, everything was neatly organized. Unwillingly, Draco found little to fault with the room.

A tiny pop from below startled him and a voice called, "Who's there? Show yourself!"

Draco smiled slightly. Leave it to Granger to have come up with some sort of warning spell. Triggered by the use of magic? Or merely the presence of a wizard? Draco placed his note on the desk andDisapparated as Hermione Granger pounded up the stairs.

ooOoo

He appeared back in his wardrobe and climbed out with a quick glance at his mantle clock. Barely twenty minutes had passed.

"You may depart. Do not speak of this to anyone, ever," he said to Cully, who groveled appropriately and vanished. Draco tore his clothing off, dunked his head in the cooling tub, and wrapped himself in a dressing gown minutes before the door was yanked open by Nott.

"'Night, Draco," Nott grunted as he settled onto the cot. Draco climbed into his own feather bed and thought about his trip to Caerphilly. He still wasn't sure why he'd done it, but it felt good to take control of his life, even if only for a short time. He was tired of being Voldemort's puppet. Too bad it was Granger he'd had to help out, though…

2 Hermione

Hermione spotted the letter the minute she entered her room. She caught a whiff of a tantalizingly familiar scent—citrus and spice. Who had been here?

She snatched up the note and looked at it carefully. It was cream-colored parchment, very good quality. It had been haphazardly quartered. She unfolded it and looked at the brief lines. The handwriting was also familiar, but not immediately identifiable.

It read: H. Granger. Servants of the Dark Lord will come to kill your parents tomorrow. The war against Harry Potter has begun. Ignore this warning at your peril.

It was unsigned.

She felt a pang of fear. Whoever had been in her house had gained admittance easily. If it had been a Death Eater raid, her parents would have been dead long before her arrival. She had set up a proximity alarm spell on both front and back doors, but she had never really thought her parents would be in danger. They were no one to the wizarding community. Useless Muggles. Why would anyone bother with them? The war against Harry Potter has begun.

She folded the letter carefully and replaced it on the desk. Killing the Grangers would hurt Hermione and, by association, hurt Harry. If they would kill her family, no one even remotely associated with Harry was safe. Faces flitted through her mind: Neville Longbottom and his grandmother, Luna Lovegood, the other members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team—Dean Thomas, Angelina… How far would they reach?

She chewed on a nail and wondered who had written the warning. Who would know about a Death Eater attack? Only another Death Eater, obviously, or someone close to them. A family member? Two people sprang immediately to mind, but logic forced her to dismiss them. Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy. Snape had killed Dumbledore in cold blood. If he was evil enough to do that—to betray the steadfast trust Dumbledore had always maintained—then no trivial act of remorse would be forthcoming. Why would he try to save a couple of Muggles after slaying the greatest wizard alive?

And Malfoy? He had engineered the whole thing. Harry said he didn't believe Draco would have killed Dumbledore—had seen Malfoy lower his wand, but that only meant… what? That he was a bully, but no killer? That he could plot a murder, but not sully his hands with the actual deed?

She took a deep breath and clamped down on her rage. Because of Draco Malfoy, Dumbledore was dead. The thought still brought a rush of pain. And Ron had nearly been killed by mistake—that wouldn't have bothered the pureblood bastard in the least. She snorted. No. Draco Malfoy would never warn a worthless Mudblood like her. It was more likely he'd be first in line to cast a Cruciatus Curse.

The door opened downstairs and she heard her parents bustle inside. Thank God they'd gone out to dinner that evening, or perhaps her mysterious note writer would not have entered. She shrugged off the question of his—or her—identity, although she retrieved the note and tucked it into a pocket of her robe. It would be a death sentence should a Death Eater stumble upon it and, according to the note, they would arrive tomorrow.

She took a deep breath and steeled herself to break the news to her parents. They would not take it well.

ooOoo

When Hermione returned to 12 Grimmauld Place, it was just past dawn. She was exhausted and collapsed into a chair as soon as she made her way into the kitchen.

"Hermione!" Molly Weasley exclaimed. "We were about to send out a search party! Ron is in quite a state!"

Ron burst into the room at that moment and raced over to envelop her in a massive hug.

"Don't you ever bloody do that again!" he shouted. "You said you were going to check on your parents, but none of us know where they live! What if there had been trouble?"

Hermione stiffened. How did the Death Eaters know where her parents lived when her closest friends didn't even know? Of course. Snape. He was a teacher. He'd had access to all the school records. It seemed his betrayal would bring yet more bad tidings.

"What's the matter?" Ron asked as he sat down next to her. He took one of her hands in his. She smiled wanly at him and took a gulp of the hot tea Mrs. Weasley set before her. She set the cup down and took the letter from her pocket.

While Ron and Molly looked it over, Hermione explained. She had been up all night with her horrified parents. She had described the current situation in the wizarding world. It had been a long tale, beginning with her first year at Hogwarts. She had never mentioned a single one of her adventures with Harry Potter over the years. To protect them, she had rationalized. And to prevent them from freaking out and forbidding her ever to return to Hogwarts. Which they would have.

As it was, they were beyond appalled. Quirrell-mort, dead unicorns, possessed diaries, petrification by a basilisk, dementors, a werewolf professor, a psychotic murderer pretending to be a teacher, Cedric's death, Voldemort's return, prophecies and Horcruxes, Dumbledore's death, Snape's betrayal; and all of it beginning and ending with Harry Potter.

There had been tears and recriminations, shouting and threats, but at last her parents had agreed to go and stay with her aunt in London, at least for a short time. They were both professional people, though. They wouldn't stay in hiding forever. How long could she protect them? For the first time, she wished she wasn't Muggle-born. If her parents had been wizards, at least they could defend themselves. She sighed. Not that ability always mattered. Look at the Longbottoms. Or the Potters.

"I need some sleep. You might send someone round to my parents' house, later. Don't let them be obvious, though. We don't want to tip off the Death Eaters that they might have a traitor in their midst. We need all the help we can get." She gave them the address, finished her tea, and staggered upstairs for a much needed rest.

3 Harry

Harry had returned to Number 4 Privet Drive. Unlike previous summers, however, he was not moping about counting the moments until his return to Hogwarts. Indeed, he doubted he would ever walk the halls of Hogwarts again. Not as a student, at any rate. A clatter from below made him pause and his heart leaped into his throat. He heard Aunt Petunia's voice and relaxed. She had dropped something. Harry was supposedly safe here with the Dursleys, but the one who had told him that was now dead. Regardless, Harry would only be safe until July 31st. That was the day his protection ended—the day Harry became an adult in the wizarding world.

Frankly, he could hardly wait. He was sick to death of being protected. He had been thrust upon the Dursleys as an infant for his own protection. He had been kept in the dark about his parents and his abilities for his own protection. He had been ignored by Dumbledore for nearly a year for his own protection. He had been forced to learn Occlumency from the traitorous Snape for his own protection. He had not been told about the Prophecy or Horcruxes for his own protection. If only he'd known sooner. If Harry had known what kept bringing Voldemort back, he'd have gone after them years ago. Of course, Dumbledore had known that, and had kept it from Harry for his own protection.

Harry sighed and returned to his desk to finish the letter he'd drafted to Lupin. The Order members treated Harry differently since Dumbledore's death. No more was Harry the helpless little child that needed to be shielded. They all knew it was Harry's head on the chopping block. Without Dumbledore to save him. They had a tendency to treat Harry like he was a walking dead man.

The letter finished, Harry walked to the window and looked out. The Order still took his protection seriously. He could see Arabella Figg walking along the sidewalk on the other side of the street. She made about thirty inconspicuous trips to the market daily. Mundungus Fletcher had been banned from Harry Protection Duty, but one of the others was out there, somewhere. Either Tonks or Kingsley Shacklebolt or Sturgis Podmore.

Lupin was keeping Harry posted about the status of Hogwarts. It was still unclear whether or not the school would reopen. Not that it really mattered to Harry.

Harry had been inside his room for nearly three weeks, coming out only for meals. He sent Hedwig off nightly, bound for Lupin or Hermione or Mr. Weasley. The Dursleys seemed to have noticed a change in Harry. Whenever Vernon began to bellow or bluster, the ice-cold disregard in Harry's eyes would generally cause his uncle to trail off into silence. The few times Vernon steadfastly maintained a full head of steam, Harry had stalked off to his room and slammed the door mid-sentence. It was the Dursleys turn to watch the clocks—to tick off the moments until Harry was gone for good.

Thankfully, Harry was not cut off from the Order of the Phoenix as he had been the previous summer. Hermione had devised an elaborate code for their messages based on Muggle cryptology. Even if their letters were intercepted, the message would make no sense without translation.

There had been little to report. Azkaban was empty due to the complete desertion of the dementors. The Ministry had their hands full trying to locate the creatures and prevent attacks, but so far no one had figured out a way to capture one. Werewolf attacks were more frequent and a motley pack of the creatures had been spotted near Dover. Many Muggles had been killed in the area and Muggle authorities searched in vain for a roving pack of "wild dogs." Harry could sense Lupin's distress when he read that particular message.

The Order was still encamped at 12 Grimmauld Place, although there was some discussion about security, since Snape knew the location. He could not be able to disclose it, but he could enter at any time. Mad-Eye Moody had devised some Snape-specific booby-traps with the assistance of Fred and George Weasley, since tricks and traps were their area of expertise.

Harry spent much of his time lying on his bed thinking about Horcruxes. There were so many unknowns! If only Dumbledore hadn't been so bloody secretive. Apparently, the only other person he'd even told about Horcruxes had been Severus Snape. Great choice, there! Harry felt guilty for maligning the Headmaster, but he was still frustrated. He felt like he was groping in the dark for answers when he didn't even know what questions to ask.

Hermione was trying. There were dozens of obscure tomes at 12 Grimmald Place, full of dark magic and darker ideologies, but so far she had only found a single reference to a Horcrux, which had been a simple explanation of its purpose. There was no word as to its creation or destruction. Harry recalled Dumbledore's withered hand. It had been difficult enough obtaining the fake-Horcrux from the cave—if it had been real, Harry had no idea how he would have destroyed it.

Hermione's ideas were becoming crazier, a sure sign that she was getting desperate. She had even suggested a trip to Durmstrang to take a look at the books in the Restricted section of their library. Harry hoped to save that as a last resort. He first intended to return to Hogwarts and use Dumbledore's Pensieve. Harry hoped the Headmaster had stored something relevant to the Horcrux search. He wished he had thought of it before leaving Hogwarts, but the shock and grief of Dumbledore's loss had crowded out rational thought.

When night had fallen completely, Harry attached the letter to Hedwig's leg and sent her out the window. It was a beautiful summer night. Dudley was out enjoying it with his nasty gang, but Harry bet Diddykins avoided all dark alleyways these days.

Dobby popped into the room suddenly, startling Harry. Important messages were sent via the house-elf after it had belatedly occurred to Harry to request his services. Lupin had concurred, and had gone so far as to make Dobby an honorary member of the Order of the Phoenix. He had presented the house-elf with a pair of socks embroidered with a phoenix crest. Dobby ecstatically wore them at all times.

"Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby said in a stage whisper. He now took secrecy very seriously.

"What is it, Dobby?" Harry asked, hoping it was not bad news.

Dobby wrung his hands, generally a warning sign that Dobby was about to inflict a severe injury upon himself.

"Do not hurt yourself, Dobby, just tell me."

"Harry Potter told Dobby to keep an eye on Kreacher," Dobby said slowly. He grabbed both his long ears and tugged at them with his hands, hard.

"Yes?"

"Kreacher has disappeared, Harry Potter, and Dobby cannot find him!" Dobby wailed softly and hurried over to slam his forehead repeatedly against Harry's bedpost. Harry grabbed him.

"Stop it, Dobby!" When he was sure Dobby was not going to repeat the torment, he called, "Kreacher? Kreacher, come here!"

They waited breathlessly, but the Blacks' former house-elf did not appear.

"Oh, the shame, the shame!" Dobby wailed. "Kreacher had better be a dead house-elf or he will not be able to show his face again! To break faith with his master—Dobby knows, but Dobby's masters were very bad wicked wizards! Harry Potter is the greatest, most noble wizard ever to live! Kreacher should feed himself to a nundu!"

Harry sighed. "Don't worry about it, Dobby. Kreacher has likely gone to join Bellatrix LeStrange. I'm sure he thinks of her as his true mistress. I'm not surprised." To be honest, it was something of a relief to be rid of the useless house-elf that had been partially responsible for the death of Sirius. Despite Hermione's admonitions, Harry usually wanted only to wring Kreacher's neck. The wretched house-elf had been ordered to keep an eye on Draco Malfoy last year. He had likely kept an eye on him while repairing the Vanishing Cabinet for Draco's use.

"You should get back, Dobby. Nothing will happen here, but the Order might need you."

"Very well, Harry Potter," Dobby said softly and disappeared. Harry sprawled on his bed. Just another complication in my convoluted life, he thought.

4 The Raid

It was raining in Caerphilly when the Death Eaters arrived. TheyApparated into the Granger's back yard, which was usefully screened from view by large hedges and trees. The Grangers apparently valued their privacy.

Jugson spelled the door and they all rushed in, moblike, tracking muddy footprints on the Grangers' fine cream carpet. They divided into small groups and searched the house. Draco managed to put himself in front of the party heading up the stairs and he made it a point to enter Hermione's room. Everything was the same as it had been the previous evening, with one exception. A tiny Thank You card was propped on the desk where Draco had left his warning. Blank, of course, but beneath it lay a gold Galleon. Draco almost sneered. Payment? Then he remembered the coins used by Dumbledore's Army, the coins Draco had copied in order to communicate with the Death Eaters and plan their ingress into Hogwarts… He palmed the coin just as Goyle asked, "What you doing over there?"

"Looking out the window. I thought I saw something."

Goyle joined him and gaped out the window at nothing but the falling rain. Draco slipped the Galleon into a pocket.

"Let's go," he said with a grunt. They tromped downstairs to the kitchen.

"They aren't here," Avery pointed out when they regrouped. Draco refrained from comment with effort, though several retorts sprang to mind. Bloody hell, he'd been cheeky in school. He missed spewing sarcasm at will.

"It's 6 a.m. on a Saturday!" complained Goyle. "Where the hell can they be?"

"Maybe they went on holiday," Draco suggested dryly, unable to completely reform.

"They were here, yesterday. Mulciber checked to be sure we didn't waste the bloody trip. Which we have."

Draco felt a chill. Thank God he had waited until after dark to drop off his note. If he'd been spotted… well, he wouldn't be standing here, would he?

Several loud pops sounded outside the back door. Draco caught a glimpse of Mad-Eye Moody and scowled. He would not soon forget the day he'd been turned into a ferret. Of course, this Mad-Eye would have no recollection of the act, since the real spellcaster had been Barty Crouch, Jr.… Draco snorted and Disapparated. There was nothing in his verbal contract that mentioned sticking around to fight with members of the Order of the Phoenix.

ooOoo

He popped into the opulent drawing room of Malfoy Manor, where his mother was pacing before the fireplace. She gave a glad cry and flung her arms around him.

"Oh, Draco! Thank goodness! What happened?"

Draco shrugged. "The Muggles weren't there. A group of Order members turned up, though, so I came back. Mulciber probably won't be too happy about that. I hope Mad-Eye Moody turns him into a ferret." He chuckled. Narcissa's grip tightened.

"Don't provoke them, Draco. I couldn't bear it if something happened to you."

He stepped out of her embrace and took off the long black cape he'd been wearing. He tossed it on a nearby settee. It coordinated nicely with his black trousers, black jumper, and black boots. The ever-so-colorful Death Eater uniform. He'd refused to wear a mask like the rest of them, though. What difference would it make if he were recognized? It was pretty common knowledge that Draco had joined the Death Eaters after arranging Dumbledore's death. His life wasn't worth a split Knut outside Voldemort's little circle of friends. Draco sighed.

"How long do you think it will be before Snake Face sends me on a suicide mission? He has little use for me."

Narcissa blanched. "Don't say that!"

"I haven't killed anyone, yet, Mother. Snape killed Dumbledore because I couldn't do it. Did you know that? Even though I knewhe would probably torture and kill you and Father both, I couldn't cast the bloody spell." His voice was bitter. Unbidden, Dumbledore's words came back to haunt him. We can hide you more completely than you can possibly imagine. What had he meant by that?

"You're not a killer," Narcissa whispered.

He looked at his mother intently. "For how long? LordVoldemort requires his followers to be bloodthirsty maniacs, you know. Even Father isn't quite brutal enough for him. It won't be long before they force me to kill and kill and kill. Soon, I could be just like Mulciber and Auntie Bellatrix."

Tears spilled from Narcissa's eyes. She shook her head in denial, but she had to recognize the awful truth of Draco's words.

"I won't allow it. Lucius will stop it. He hates—"

"Don't fool yourself, Mother. If Father even tries to suggest I be shipped off to join the other kiddies in hiding, I'll be used as a weapon before the sun sets. Father's loyalty has been questioned too many times; Snake Eyes won't do him any favors."

A small sound at the drawing room door made Narcissa start. Snape entered the room and his gaze fixed on Draco. His black eyes always seemed to be trying to pry at secrets, at which he was quite adept, Draco knew.

"Here you are, Draco," Snape said. "The others returned and wondered where you'd gotten off to."

"I'm talking to my mother. Do I need a permission slip for that now?"

Snape's expression did not change. Draco should feel indebted to Snape for the scenario on the tower. He'd taken action when Draco had not. He'd taken an Unbreakable Vow to protect Draco. Even so, Draco could not look at the greasy-haired ex-teacher without a stirring of distrust. He'd never believed Snape to be committed to Voldemort's cause. Despite the incontrovertible evidence, Draco still didn't trust him. Perhaps it was merely that Snape was, first and foremost, devoted to Snape's cause, whatever that might be.

"I believe Wormtail is requesting an accounting. Jugson seems to believe you… ran away. The Dark Lord will, undoubtedly, not be pleased that the Muggles escaped."

Draco rolled his eyes. "They didn't escape, they simply were not there."

"Perhaps you can explain the difference to the Dark Lord."

Draco's lips thinned in annoyance, but he stalked past Snape and walked down the long hallway to the dining room.

He took his usual seat. Jugson was shouting at Wormtail. Goyle was wrapping a bandage around Crabbe's head and Avery was in a chair with his legs rigid as boards—obviously the victim of a Leg Locker Curse. Mulciber stood looking out the window at the pattering rain that had just started to fall. He was singing softly to himself and moving his head side to side like a child. Draco wondered what spell had hit him.

Wormtail slinked out the door, no doubt to return to Voldemort with the bad news, if the reptilian freak hadn't already guessed by the shouting. Voldemort had taken up residence in the Malfoy parlour, just beyond the vestibule from the dining room. He rarely slithered out, thank goodness; although that horrid snake of his roamed the house at will, turning up most unexpectedly at times.

"Where did you fly off to, boy?" Jugson demanded, rounding on Draco.

"Here, obviously."

Jugson's face purpled. Draco reflected that some of the Death Eaters were only a couple of fits away from a stroke. Hopefully, Jugson's would be today.

"Who would have thought Lucius Malfoy's son would turn out to be a coward?"

Draco smiled coldly. "Really? So you all stayed on and fought the Order of the Phoenix to the death, then? Not one of you fled?"

Jugson scowled, but Crabbe sneered.

"Of course we fled! Damned Mad-Eye Moody would have killed every man-jack of us. We're lucky his aim is bad. Half the bleeding Order turned up. How'd they know to find us there, I'd like to know?"

"Someone tipped them off," Jugson snarled. Draco rolled his eyes.

"As I told Voldemort, Granger is no average witch. She's sure to have set up alerts to let the Order know if her house was breached. For all we know, Mulciber could have set off an alarm yesterday on his reconnaissance."

Several sets of eyes shifted to Mulciber. Let them chew on that one awhile, Draco thought in satisfaction. Now that he'd sown the seeds of discord, it was time to retreat.

"I'm going to my room. I'll let you draw straws to see who gets to accompany me."

He left the dining room and headed for the back stairs rather than use the grand staircase. His room was at the back of the house, closest to the kitchen, a fact he'd utilized often as a child. Of course, he'd been terrified of the dark, creaking stairwell for years and had usually called on Dobby or Cully to accompany him. Why he hadn't just had them bring him some food was a question he'd only recently asked. Stubborn pride, he supposed.

Draco scowled at the memory of Dobby. Filthy little traitor, he thought as he took the wooden steps two at a time. Draco had always been kind to him. Well, perhaps not kind. There was the time he'd pushed Dobby off the roof after ordering him not to disappear. He'd wanted to see if Dobby could fly with those huge ears of his. Draco chuckled at the memory of Dobby crashing into Narcissa's rose bushes. The house-elf had been limping and picking thorns from his bum for days. Draco had been grounded for damaging the roses.

He shook off all thought of Dobby when he reached his room. He slammed the door, kicked off his boots, and reclined on the cushions of his window seat. It was still early morning and now he had a long day ofnothing to look forward to.

Crabbe came huffing into the room minutes later. Draco had heard him lumbering up the stairs long before he reached the door. He looked like an escapee from an infirmary with his head bandaged haphazardly.

"Is it really necessary that I be watched at all times?" Draco demanded. "What do you lot think I'm going to do? Zip off and bring Harry Potter back here?"

Crabbe paled at the name—an interesting reverse reaction than Draco normally received. At school, they all sneered at Potter's name.

"Orders," Crabbe said apologetically.

"Fine. You're going to be pretty bloody bored watching me stare out the window all afternoon."

Crabbe sighed and sank into a comfortable chair near Draco's fireplace. Despite the rain, it was warm enough that no fire had been lit. Despite the lack of crackling flames to lull him, Crabbe was asleep within a quarter hour. Draco sneered. Some guard.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the Galleon he'd taken from Granger's desk. It looked like an ordinary coin but for a tiny notch carved on one side. It was barely visible, but a caress around the edge would quickly distinguish it in a group of similar coins. He held it in his palm and concentrated. The robed wizard on the front began to melt away and the numbers twitched around the edges.

Draco jerked his eyes away from the coin and focused on a large droplet crawling slowly down the glass. What the hell was he thinking? Saving her stupid Muggle parents just to put off becoming a cold-blooded killer was one thing, but actually communicatingwith Granger? He shuddered. No thank you.

He was about to return the coin to his pocket when he felt it go suddenly hot. He nearly dropped it, but recovered quickly and examined it.

Who are you? The words were spelled out around the edge of the coin as if minted there. Draco rubbed his forehead testily. Stupid Granger. Did she honestly expect him to just blurt his name out like that? She'd chuck the coin out the window if he did. He grinned at the image.

Devlin Whitehorn, he sent in a flash of mischievousness.

Why did you help me? she asked, apparently not recognizing the name.

He balanced the coin on the window ledge and spun it idly while he considered the question. Why had he warned her? Because I felt like it. Because I'm a selfish bastard. Because I don't feel like marching in step like a good little soldier… He sighed and picked up the coin. He didn't owe her an explanation. After all, it wasGranger he was talking to.

I'm tired of being used, he sent in a burst of anger, although he wasn't certain why he'd bothered. He was suddenly sorry he'd warned her at all, and wished he'd never picked up her stupid coin.

He threw the Galleon across the room. It bounced off the rug and rolled under his bed in a lazy spiral. Crabbe jerked in his sleep and shifted position in the chair. Draco gazed out at the rain-washed countryside. He suddenly felt very alone.

5 Headquarters

Hermione stared at the coin in her hand and felt a sudden rush of sympathy.

I'm tired of being used.

She closed her hand tightly around the metal and thought about a reply. What could she say? That she understood? That she had felt the same way so many times? Her friends would be horrified to hear it. Hermione felt guilty even thinking it. She knew they loved her, but sometimes she felt like Harry and Rons' personal encyclopedia and homework checker.

Why did she feel she continually had to prove her worth? Was it pride? She enjoyed being the smartest, the most competent, and the cleverest. But by the same token, she also resented the others' steadfast expectation that she always be the smartest, the most competent, and the cleverest. Someday she was going to fail them. Already, she could feel failure breathing down her neck with this Horcrux thing.

The coin had grown cold. She slipped the chain that held it back over her head and felt the chill as the Galleon settled on her skin. She had only been asleep for an hour when the heat of the coin's activation had awakened her. She lay back on the bed in a fog of exhaustion, but doubted she could go back to sleep. It was too bright outside, even with the rain. She supposed she could draw the heavy curtains, but the Black house was dreary enough without adding darkness to the mix.

She thought about her new Death Eater "friend." Who could it be? Devlin Whitehorn? She'd never heard the name. It didn't sound even remotely familiar. Certainly it wasn't one of the names pegged to the wall downstairs. The Order kept close track of all known Death Eaters. Maybe Hermione would have a new name to add to the list. Not yet, though. He had helped her once. She wouldn't betray him until she had a clearer picture of where his loyalty lay.

She heard movement downstairs. Probably the other Order members in residence having breakfast. She should join them, but she wasn't feeling quite up to dealing with Ron, yet. Since Dumbledore's death, Ron acted like everyone around him would spontaneously combust. He was nicer to his brothers—although Fred and George had yet to return the favor—and treated Ginny like a cuddly stuffed animal. She had nearly turned him into one the last time he had hugged her, nudged her head with his knuckles and said, "Here's my sweet little Ginny-winners."

He was different with Hermione, too. At first, she had been glad to see him treating her like a girl instead of a walking textbook. He hugged her often, and held her hand, but it was not a boyfriend/girlfriend type of affection. It was more like I'm-afraid-you-could-die-at-any-moment-please-don't-leave-me type of affection. She hoped he would snap out of it once Harry returned. Ron was always a bit lost during the summer. At the Burrow, Ginny could play Quidditch with him, but here they were trapped inside. Ginny spent a ludicrous amount of time in her room with the door shut, listening to The Weird Sisters and writing torrid romantic stories about her and Harry. Those she carefully rolled up and stashed under a loose floorboard in her room. She had shared a couple with Hermione, who blushed at the memory. The girl had a vivid imagination.

She needed to sleep. She tried not to think about Horcruxes. She ordered herself not to think about Horcruxes. She shut her eyes and tried to will herself back to sleep with a pleasant memory. The Yule Ball. That was always a nice one to relive. She smiled and remembered dancing with Viktor, swirling through the gaily dressed couples and laughing happily. Hogwarts had been decorated so nicely. The grey walls had barely been visible through all the greenery Hagrid had dragged in. She sighed. Poor Hagrid. She must send him another owl. He'd been so devastated by Dumbledore's death, she wondered if he would ever fully recover. She gnawed on her lower lip and wondered if Dumbledore had ever mentioned Horcruxes to Hagrid. Probably not, as the Groundskeeper could not even keep silent about the three-headed dog guarding the Stone their first year. He would have let something slip by now…

Hermione pounded a fist on the bed in frustration and opened her eyes. Horcruxes, Horcruxes, Horcruxes. Damn Voldemort! And damn Dumbledore for keeping the matter so bloody secret. How were they supposed to destroy something they couldn't even find? To make matters worse, Dumbledore had sworn Harry to secrecy about the Horcruxes, so they weren't even allowed to ask the Order to help them. It was so unfair!

She climbed reluctantly out of bed and got dressed. She might as well try the Black's revolting library once again, although if she had to read one more paragraph about pureblood nobility she thought she might vomit. She wondered if the Malfoys were as obsessed with the whole pureblood ideal. Draco spouted the rhetoric constantly, but she wondered if every book in the Malfoy library related to the subject. She hoped not. One family like the Blacks was enough.

ooOoo

She went downstairs to see who was in attendance. The kitchen table was crowded, as usual. People tended to gather in the kitchen, since it was the only room in the house that had been thoroughly de-Blacked. Many of the Weasley's own possessions had been brought to 12 Grimmauld Place, including the Weasley clock, even though it didn't vary much from "Mortal Peril" these days, which wasn't exactly helpful. The Burrow had largely been abandoned, as they expected it to be a prime target for a Death Eater attack.

Lupin was present, of course. He rarely left, as most of the Order had unofficially elected him their new leader. He had proved to be a master organizer and had created a rotating schedule for the various duties that made Hermione sigh with envy. Tonks was seated next to Lupin. Her spiked hair was buttercup yellow today. Hermione grinned. If Hermione were a Metamorphmagis, she would be going around looking like Gwyneth Paltrow, but she supposed it was a matter of personal taste.

Next to Tonks, Moody was slurping his tea like a St. Bernard and ignoring Molly's tsking noises. Elphias Doge sat across the table from Moody, noisily chewing on eggs and sausages. Sturgis Podmore was on his left, starting gloomily into his teacup. Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour were at the far end of the table, holding hands and looking as though they would slip away for a snogging session at any moment. It wouldn't be the first time. Arthur Weasley was apparently already gone. Due to short staffing, he often had to work weekends. Rufus Scrimgeour had made plain his dislike of those who steadfastly maintained loyalty to Dumbledore, but with Voldemort's followers on the loose, he needed every able wizard to maintain order.

Ron noticed Hermione lurking in the doorway and leaped up to fling an arm around her neck. He squeezed happily while she tried to pry his fingers loose and avoid asphyxiation.

"You're up! Great! Mad-Eye was just telling us about the raid on your parents' house." He glared at his mother. "Since some of us couldn't go. Even though we're of age." Molly ignored him.

She escaped Ron's arm and sat down next to Doge. Ron took the chair next to hers.

"How did it go?" she asked Moody. His glass eye swiveled in her direction. He grunted.

"Not well enough. I winged one of 'em and Tonks got one with a Leg Locker."

"Not the one I was aiming at, since I tripped on something," she complained.

"Couldn't tell who all was there, since they had those bloody masks on…pretty sure Mulciber was one of 'em, though. I got him with aConfundus right when he was Disapparating. Hope he ended up in Timbuktu." He snorted. "They popped out right quick, though. Ruddy cowards."

"Apparently, the tip you received was accurate, Hermione," Lupin said. "Too bad we don't know who your note writer is."

"Well, if he's on our side, he'd better keep his head down, because I don't plan on taking names before I curse any Death Eater scum I see," Moody snarled.

"I'm sure he knows the risks, Alastor," Lupid said calmly. "I'm surprised any of them are brave enough to betray You-Know-Who now, when his power is growing."

"Regulus Black did," Hermione mused and picked up a piece of toast. "Last time, at the height of his power."

Lupin nodded. "I always wondered why. He was a 'chip off the old Black,' Sirius used to say. Mrs. Black was ecstatic that he roamed around torturing Muggles and spreading the pureblood idealogy. God, Regulus hated James."

Hermione stared at him with the toast halfway to her mouth. She lowered it to her plate.

"Youknew Regulus Black?" she asked and then cursed herself for the stupid question. Of course Lupin would have known him. He was Sirius's younger brother.

Lupin laughed humorlessly. "I knew him well enough to not like the little git. James and Sirius used to torment him almost as much as they did Snape. He called Sirius 'Blood-traitor' at school. He hung around with a nasty group of Slytherins, mostly for protection. Sirius didn't pull any punches just because Regulus was his brother. I would have felt sorry for him, except that he was a mouthy little weasel. He asked for a lot of it. Quite a lot like Draco Malfoy, actually. He was handsome like Draco, too. A younger version of Sirius."

"Sounds like he would have been a perfect Death Eater, then," Hermione said. "I wonder why he turned against You—Voldemort." She had been trying to use Voldemort's name more frequently, since it annoyed Harry when they used the nickname in hushed tones.

"Sirius and James puzzled on that, too. They never came up with a satisfying answer. Everyone thought You-Know-Who wanted Regulus to do something that went against his morals, but from what I recall, he was pretty lacking in that department. It had to be something else."

Hermione shook her head. Whatever it was, it had angered Regulus enough to send him after a Horcrux. She only prayed he had succeeded in destroying the locket before Voldemort had caught up to him. It would be one less bloody Horcrux for them to worry about.

They all froze as an alarm bell tinkled over the stove.

"I'll see who it is," Tonks offered. She went out, heading for the attic. With all the recent activity at 12 Grimmauld Place, they had decided it was getting too risky to keep Apparating into the street and entering by the front door. All of the protections Dumbledore had set up still held, but Hermione and Bill had figured out a way to create a small place in the attic that allowedApparition. The catch was that anyone appearing in the attic had to wait for someone to open the door from below.

Tonks returned a few minutes later with Arthur Weasley. Molly rushed over and hugged him. She was nearly as clingy as Ron, lately.

"Arthur, what are you doing back so soon?"

"I'm just taking a short break. Have to get back, but I saw something odd this morning. Mmmm, sausages!"

He grabbed one off the table and talked around bites.

"Yesterday afternoon I ran into Jameson Smythe in the elevator. He's always been a chatterbox. I'm surprised the Department of Magical Law Enforcement even allows him to go on field assignment, since he can't keep his mouth shut, but desperate times—"

"Get on with it, Arthur," Moody snapped.

Arthur scowled. "Yes, well he told me that he was off to check on Malfoy Manor. The Ministry has been keeping close tabs on it since Lucius Malfoy escaped from Azkaban." He picked up another sausage.

"Well, this morning I ran into Jameson again. I asked him how his mission went yesterday and he said, 'Fine. Just fine.' I couldn't get another word out of him, except he kept repeating, 'All is well.' Most unlike him. I think he's under an Imperius Curse."

Moody stood up.

"I'm on it."

Lupin held up a hand. "Don't be rash, Alastor. We need to think this through. If the Malfoys are back at home, it's possible You-Know-Who is there, as well. If that's the case, we don't want to frighten him off."

Moody sat down.

"What do you mean?"

"If we rush in there with wands drawn, we might capture a few of the Death Eaters, but it's a good bet we won't catch You-Know-Who, even if he is there, and then they'll scatter like rats. We need to find out for certain if they are using Malfoy Manor as their headquarters. If they are, we'll have an advantage because we willknow where they are. We must set up surveillance. Very carefully. We don't want to tip them off."

Arthur nodded. "I'll leave it to you, Remus. I've got to get back." He kissed Molly and Ron and headed for the attic.

"It's too bad we can't send in a spy," Tonks said. Her features shifted and Bellatrix LeStrange stood in her place. Lupin swore.

"No! It's too dangerous. Both Voldemort and Snape are too good atLegilimency. Besides, Snape will expect something like that. Unfortunately, the bastard knows all our strengths. And weaknesses."

Bellatrix pouted and tossed her wild black hair.

"You never let me have any fun."

"Yes, I'm stubborn that way. Not allowing you any fun that could end up with you being killed. Damn me."

Ron coughed. "Tonks, can you drop that disguise? It might not fool You-Know-Who, but it's giving me the shivers."

Tonks was instantly back with her canary-colored hair.

"What's with the yellow?" Ron asked. Usually she preferred pink or purple hair.

"I'm in a sunny mood today because last night Remus and I—"

"Nymphadora!" Lupin bellowed. She scowled at him.

"I told you not to call me that."

Lupin's face was crimson. Hermione giggled.

"Can we stick to business?" Lupin choked. "We need to plan this Malfoy scenario."

"Fine. You'd better not leave me out of it, either," Tonks warned as she took her seat again. Remus sighed in relief.

Hermione gasped.

"Oh no! I've got HPD this morning! I nearly forgot!"

"You've barely slept, Hermione. I was going to stand in for you," Ron said.

Hermione shook her head. "I'll be fine. That nap I had did me good. I'm only on four hours today, so I'll be back by noon. I'll sleep then."

Ron scowled and started to argue.

"Honestly, Ron, Harry Protection Duty is the simplest thing. You know nothing ever happens. I'll stand around, have a little chat with Figgy and come back."

She hurried upstairs before he could retort and slipped into a pair of jeans and a U2 concert t-shirt. They had allowed her to purchase clothing for Harry Protection Duty, so now none of them stood around in wizard robes and pointy hats, thank goodness. Arthur really adored his three-piece Muggle suit. She checked the time. She still had almost an hour to relieve Dedalus Diggle, but she wanted to talk to Harry, so she hurried to the attic and departed.

6  Harry's Room

Hermione relieved Diggle and started to walk to the Dursleys' when she realized it was not even 9:00 in the morning. So much had happened already, it seemed much later. She decided to wait awhile and sat on the bench across the street from Number four, Privet Drive. Due to the necessity of Order members lurking about at all times of the day and night, the Order had installed a fake bus stop. Sometimes they were joined by Muggles waiting for a bus that would never arrive. Hermione was certain there had been dozens of complaints lodged with the local bus line.

When she deemed it late enough, she walked across the street and up to the front door. She heard a loud bellow as soon as her finger left the door buzzer and shortly the door was yanked open by a walrus-faced man that could only be Harry's uncle Vernon. Hermione had only before seen him from a distance.

"My name is Hermione Granger," she said brusquely. "I'm here to see Harry Potter."

Vernon's eyebrows beetled down until his eyes were nearly invisible.

"Are you… one of… them?" he asked in a hushed voice.

"I'm a friend of Harry's from school, if that's what you're asking."

Vernon grabbed her arm and dragged her inside before poking his head nervously out the door to scan for onlookers. Hermione nearly smiled at his antics. He really was quite odd.

"Who is it, Vernon?" Harry's aunt called from down the hall. Hermione motioned to the stairs.

"I'll just… pop on up, all right?"

Vernon's mouth opened and shut, but before he found his voice, Hermione bolted up the stairs.

"Harry?" she called softly, as all the upstairs doors were closed tight. One of the portals flew open and Harry stared at her in surprise.

"Hermione?" he asked in disbelief. "What are you doing here?"

"I needed to talk to you. It's about You-Know-What." Ron had begun referring to Horcruxes in that fashion and the name had stuck.

"Well, it's good to see you, anyway." He gave her an awkward hug and stepped aside. "Welcome to my hovel."

She sat down on his unmade bed while he bustled around tidying up.

"The Death Eaters tried to kill my parents," she blurted. Harry stopped clearing up and stared at her. She told him the entire story and showed him the note. She bit her lip in indecision while he read the words and then she said, "I left him one of our old DA coins. He picked it up and I spoke to him briefly this morning."

He sat next to her on the bed.

"That's bloody brilliant," he said admiringly. "I never would have thought to do that. What did he say?"

"Not much. I think he's reluctant to act against Voldemort. I'm really surprised he warned me at all. I mean, he wouldn't have joined the Death Eaters to begin with if he didn't hate Muggle-borns, would he?"

"It's hard to say. Look at Snape, the 'Half-Blood Prince.'" Harry's voice nearly cracked with bitterness. "Why did he join up?"

Hermione shrugged. "Attracted to power, I suppose."

"Yeah."

"Well, the reason I brought you the news in person is that I haven't mentioned the coin to Lupin and the others. I don't want them to try and force me to contact Devlin—"

"Devlin?"

"That's his name. Unless he made it up, which is possible, but it's all I have at the moment. Anyway, I think it better that we leave him be and let him contact us. I don't want to pressure him. He's got to be under enough strain if he's thinking of betraying Voldemort."

Harry thought about it for a moment and then shrugged.

"Whatever you think is best. It won't be the first secret we've had to keep from the Order. Speaking of secrets, you said you were here about Horcruxes?"

"Not completely, but I had an interesting chat with Lupin this morning about Regulus Black. I looked at the Black tapestry again—do you know he was only eighteen when he died? He was barely out of Hogwarts. How could he have gotten involved so quickly? He was our age, Harry. I felt sorry for him until Lupin told me he was a dark-haired Draco Malfoy."

Harry snorted. "There's you answer, then. Malfoy's neck-deep and he's our age, too. Maybe Voldemort recruited Regulus when he was still in school, like he did Malfoy. He might even have had the same assignment, which could be why he got cold feet."

"I didn't think of that," Hermione said wonderingly. "Maybe, like Malfoy, he couldn't kill Dumbledore."

"But, unlike Malfoy, he didn't have an evil traitor to perform the deed when he failed," Harry snapped. "So it was goodbye, Regulus."

"Right, but all that is beside the point. What I've been trying to figure out is how Regulus knew about Horcruxes. How did he know about the locket, and how did he find it? From what you've told me, Dumbledore didn't even guess at the existence of the Horcruxes until your parents died… and Voldemort didn't."

Harry nodded. "All the more reason I have to go to Hogwarts."

"What? You mean return to school? We don't even know if it will reopen—"

"No, I need to go before school opens, if it opens. I need to use Dumbledore's Pensieve. I've only got three and a half weeks of protection left and I don't intend to wait around for Voldemort to swoop down the instant it dissipates. I plan to be long gone from here by then."

"Harry…have you thought about the Dursleys?"

"I try not to," Harry said dryly.

"What I mean is, if Voldemort is willing to go after my parents on the merest chance it will hurt you… don't you think he'll try to kill the Dursleys, too? He can't know how you feel about them."

"Snape could have mentioned it," Harry said, but his words were weak. His emerald gaze went far away and Hermione knew he was searching his feelings. She looked around his room. Everything in sight was broken, worn out, or patched. Her heart suddenly ached for him with such fervor she felt tears prick her eyes. To have grown up here, where nothing had ever been freely given… not even love. Couldn't the Dursleys have spared even that for an orphaned child? She stood and crossed to Harry's desk, because the tears had spilled over and she didn't want him to notice. For a moment, she hated the Dursleys with a fierce passion… and Dumbledore, as well. She tried to wipe her tears away surreptitiously.

Harry was behind her, though, and his hand touched her shoulder.

"What's wrong?" he asked. She shook her head and choked the words out through the lump in her throat.

"How could he have left you here in this horrible place? How could he stand to do it when so many people loved you from the moment you were born? Lupin, the Weasleys, even Hagrid would have been better! Molly would have taken you in a moment. You could have grown up in The Burrow. Not here, not like this!" She caught sight of a broken toy soldier on the desk, held together with carefully wrapped cellotape and felt another rush of tears. "Howcould he?"

Harry turned her gently around to face him. He smiled at her softly.

"He had to. My mother's protection was here. No matter what I had to face from the Dursleys, it was better than what awaited me out there." He gestured to the window. "He knew Voldemort wasn't gone, and the Death Eaters definitely weren't. Besides, it's nearly over. Soon Number Four, Privet Drive, will only be a series of bad memories. Now, cheer up." He reached up and wiped her tears away with his thumbs. She marveled at how tall he'd gotten. He was half a head taller than Hermione, and she was not a short girl.

She smiled wanly. "You're a really special person, you know that?"

"Not really. I'm just Harry." He laughed and she grinned broadly in return. He clapped her shoulder. "Now, about this Dursley problem. They did take me in, albeit unwillingly, angrily, and grudgingly. They treated me like a house-elf every minute I was in their presence, and their oafish son nearly did Voldemort's job for him six times over." Harry sighed. "But I suppose they don't deserve to die. They certainly don't deserve what the Longbottoms got."

Hermione shuddered. "No one deserves that."

"So. What do we do about it? I'm certainly not going to sacrifice myself to give them blood protection."

Hermione giggled. "That would sort of make the whole exercise pointless. As I see it, we've only got two options. We make this house Unplottable, with you as Secret Keeper… or we move them to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. You told me Dumbledore mentioned it to them last time he was here."

Harry began to smile. As his grin grew wider and wider, she raised a brow in puzzlement. He explained.

"Aunt Petunia is a neat freak. I'm picturing her at Grimmauld Place."

Hermione thought of the musty, dusty, cobwebby, bleak, residence and her smile matched Harry's own. Soon they were laughing aloud.

7 Draco's Dilemma

Draco was in the library perusing one of his father's particularly nasty books of dark magic. Some of the spells he had mastered, but there were a couple that were intensely difficult. He had the feeling he would need every bit of magic at his disposal before it was done.

"Looking for something specific?" Snape asked from the doorway. Draco sighed in annoyance. His other watchdog—Nott today—was already in attendance; he sat at one of the writing desks with a deck of cards, uninterested in the hundreds of books and scrolls that surrounded him. Nott nodded to Snape, who ignored him.

"Now that you mention it, I've never seen the spell Potter used on me. The one that nearly cut me in two." His jaw tightened at the memory. Far worse than the pain had been the horror of Potter seeing him in a moment of weakness. He had been angry enough to kill—had cast the Cruciatus Curse only because he wanted Potter to writhe before he killed him… If not for the slashing spell, it might have been the end of Potter and Draco would be a Death Eater hero.

Snape interrupted his vengeful musing. "You won't find that spell anywhere, since I invented it. It's called Sectumsempra."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Then how did Potter learn it?"

"He found an old book of mine. Did you not wonder how he became such a Potions expert last year?"

"Of course. Especially since he had Remedial Potions the year before!"

Unaccountably, Snape flushed. At the memory of having to give Potter private lessons?

"Indeed. Regrettably, there are quite a few spells in that book, along with my old Potions notes. Luckily, Potter is too stupid to realize what he has and since he nearly killed you, he will be too scared to try many others. Who would he practice on? Weasley?"

"Can you teach me?" Draco asked, suddenly realizing he had his very own Dark Arts teacher. Not Defense Against the Dark Arts, either, but the real thing.

Snape shrugged. "Certainly. As time permits."

Wormtail appeared in the doorway.

"The Dark Lord wants to see you," he said to Snape. His ratlike eyes shifted to Draco and he grinned. "And you."

Draco shoved down a feeling of dread at that happy news and set the book aside.

"Good," he said for Wormtail's sake. "I was getting bored."

The library was right next to the parlour, so the walk of doom was a short one. Draco entered the room with Snape and was surprised to find it pleasantly warm. The fire crackled cheerfully, providing the only light. Heavy black drapes had been drawn over the huge window that looked out over the manicured grounds. Apparently beautiful views were wasted on the Dark Lord.

Voldemort sat in his usual red velvet chair—the one that had once been Draco's father's favorite. The snake was curled before the fire as if asleep, but its tongue flicked out now and again. Snape stepped forward and nodded deferentially.

"It is time," Voldemort said flatly. "Greyback is waiting."

Snape nodded and turned to depart.

"Take the boy with you. I'm sure Fenrir will be glad to see him."

Snape gestured and Draco gladly fell into step behind him. Anything to escape the Dark Lord's sepulcher presence.

"Get dressed and meet me in the kitchen," Snape ordered.

"Where are we going?"

The black eyes shifted to him with something akin to amusement.

"You'll see. You have five minutes."

Draco sighed and went upstairs to take off his pale blue shirt and replace it with black silk. He shrugged on his black Death Eaters robes and started out the door, but he paused at the threshold.

"Accio coin," he said brusquely. The Galleon flew out from under the bed and into his outstretched palm. He pocketed it and went out.

ooOoo

It was still overcast, but not raining as it had been the previous day. Snape had Disapparated Draco blind—he had no idea where they were. He wondered if they had located Granger's parents, but doubted it. Much as he despised Granger, he knew she was sharper than the average Death Eater. Even Snape.

They arrived next to a dirt road that was barely more than a track, lined on both sides with stone walls that were falling into disrepair.

Snape stepped onto the road and followed it over a small rise. Draco trailed after him. The road descended and he caught a glimpse of a house nestled among the trees below. As they approached the house, Draco saw a group of people milling before the front gate. There were at least ten of them and he recognized the one that stepped forward to meet Snape—Fenrir Greyback.

The werewolf's cold eyes flicked to Draco and his lips opened to reveal his horrible wolflike smile.

"Hello, Severus. I see you brought my lunch."

"Just get on with it," Snape growled impatiently.

Fenrir tsked. "No need to rush." He shrugged. "There's no one here. I sent Eastwyck through the house to trip any alarms. Nothing."

Snape nodded. "Come, Draco." They moved through the ragged group and Draco tried not to touch any of them without looking like he was avoiding contact. They were foul smelling and filthy, the lot of them. They watched Draco intently and several licked their lips or grinned ferociously. Draco suppressed a shudder. The only thing worse than a disgusting, dirty, hairy werewolf was a pack of disgusting, dirty, hairy werewolves. Thank God the full moon was days away, or the feral excitement emanating from the pack would have been nearly overpowering. He doubted they would have stopped themselves from rending him and Snape to pieces.

They entered the front gate and Draco noticed the front garden, once obviously well tended, was beginning to show signs of neglect. Many of the flowering bushes held bunches of dead petals and weeds poked their heads through the stalks of limp, dying bluebells.

As they entered the kitchen of the strange, ramshackle house, Draco suddenly realized where they were. The huge table inside the kitchen was his first clue. Draco had not eaten in the kitchen at Malfoy Manor since he was a small child and had parked himself there for a midday snack. It was obvious the residents of this house took all their meals in the kitchen, most likely in the absence of a dining room.

The place would have been spotless but for a layer of dust upon everything.

The werewolf pack crowded into the kitchen behind Draco.

"Search for anything relating to the Order of the Phoenix," Snape said. "We're unlikely to find anything, but with so many Weasleys, it's possible one of them slipped up. Make it quick."

The motley crew scattered and Draco followed a number of them up the stairs. They entered rooms at random, so Draco continued on up several flights to the last door. He wondered how it would have felt to live crowded into this small house with so many siblings. No doubt it was loud and frantic. The stairs were worn and creaked loudly when Draco stepped upon them. Several newel posts and stair rails were missing.

The room Draco entered had to belong to Ron Weasley. Several orange Chudley Cannons posters adorned the walls. One spot was bare—the poster must have been prized by Weasley when so many had been left. On a high shelf were dozens of Quidditch action figures floating on their brooms and catching tiny Snitches. Draco recognized many of them, as he had a huge collection of his own. Two beds had been jammed into the tiny room, which was barely a quarter the size of Draco's own room. The beds had been stripped of bedding, but a threadbare rug still lay on the floor. Draco kicked it aside halfheartedly and stomped about, looking for loose floorboards. The desk drawers were filled with odds and ends—quills, ink, piles of wrappers from Drooble's Best Blowing Gum and Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, buttons and balls of string… The small wardrobe was completely empty. Weasley must have taken every set of clothing he owned. All four of them, Draco sneered.

He left Ron's room and went back downstairs to find the werewolves had been far more thorough—and rather more energetic—in their search. Broken items were strewn through the halls and the smell of dust hung thick in the air. Draco sidestepped over a broken pot and found himself in a demolished room. The frequency of the color pink identified it as a girl's room, but that was the only remaining factor to distinguish it. The bed was overturned and the mattress was torn to shreds. The desk was smashed to kindling and holes had been torn in walls and floor. The slashed posters were empty of occupants; no doubt they cowered upon intact posters elsewhere in the house.

Small bottles and jars lay on the floor in colorful shards and their contents darkened ruined scrolls and torn books. The total destruction of Ginny Weasley's room was complete. Strangely, Draco felt no satisfaction at the sight. Wanton, excessive violence was not the Malfoy way. A tiny glass flower caught his eye. It glittered on the ruined carpet, intact but for a shattered stem. Draco's mother had something similar on her dressing table, larger and made of finest crystal. Draco's lips twisted, but he could not define his feelings.

"Let's go, there's nothing here," someone grunted from the door. Draco turned and went out. They all regrouped near the Weasleys' front gate with wands drawn.

"Incendio!" cried several voices at once. A number of werewolves cavorted merrily and began tearing slats from the fence and ripping bushes from the ground to add to the growing conflagration.

Draco watched impassively as The Burrow, former home to unknown generations of Weasleys, became a huge column of flame. Beside him, Snape's features twisted into a rare smile and his black eyes glowed red in the flicker of firelight.

"Does it feel good to know the blood-traitors will weep long and hard over this?"

Draco forced his lips into a cheerful smile, though he thought his jaw would crack from the strain of it. If he could have put a name to his feelings at that moment, he was certain the word "good" would not have been anywhere in the running. All he could think of were Ron Weasley's Quidditch toys turning into so much ash, and a tiny glass rose becoming a shapeless dollop of red liquid.

Draco, Draco, you are not a killer. Apparently, he was not an arsonist, either.

ooOoo

They watched the fire until the black column of smoke billowed high into the air and it was obvious the house could not be saved.

Snape nudged Draco.

"Let's go. The smoke might draw Muggle attention and we really don't want to be here if that happens."

Draco made a face. Greyback and his band would happily rip inquisitive Muggles to pieces. They returned to the Malfoy kitchen and Draco let Snape report to You-Know-Who alone. He went straight to his room and stripped off his clothing. It only vaguely smelled of smoke, but it was enough to sicken Draco. He pulled on his velvet dressing gown.

"Cully!" he called. When the house-elf appeared and groveled before him, Draco kicked the pile of clothing. It was on the tip of his tongue to say, "Burn them," but he knew he'd be taken to task for disposing of his new "uniform."

"My clothes need cleaning. And draw my bath." It was early for his routine bath, but he felt unclean. Cully disappeared with his clothes. No Malfoy was afraid to give house-elves clothing as long as they were in Malfoy Manor. It had been carefully explained to them that nothing in the house belonged to the elves, ever.

The door flew open and Theodore Nott, Sr. appeared, panting from his dash up the stairs.

"Damn it!" Draco yelled. "Do you imbeciles honestly think I'm going to Apparate out of here and leave my parents to be tortured and killed by that freak in the parlour?"

Nott's face went as pale as a hen's egg and his jaw worked soundlessly. Cully reappeared with a soft pop.

"Here, Master," he whined, holding out a hand. Draco took the coin he had inadvertently left in a pocket. Cully conjured jugs of hot water and began to fill Draco's tub. Nott seemed at a loss.

"Why don't you send my father up here to be my guard dog? It's highly unlikely we will both jaunt off and leave Mother to the Dark Lord's less than tender mercies, don't you think? I'd like to speak with him. Feel free to eavesdrop."

Nott flushed, finally.

"I don't like this any better than you, Draco! If I had my druthers, I'd be at the nearest pub drowning myself in firewhiskey!"

Draco glared at him and walked the coin across the backs of his fingers in agitation. He did not have any sympathy to spare at the moment. He raised a brow at Nott in cold expectation.

Nott sagged a bit and sighed. "I'll get Lucius."

Draco set his dressing gown aside and stepped into the scalding tub while Cully waited anxiously nearby. Draco expelled a long breath as the hot water soaked into his skin. The bubbles rose to his chin. He held his breath and went under for a long moment.

"Shall Cully wash Master Draco's hair?" Cully asked when he emerged. Draco nodded and Cully soaped his hair with imported shampoo. Draco loved having his hair washed. It was hard to find moments of pure pleasure at Malfoy Manor, which was one reason Draco treasured his baths. Solitude, hot water, and a much-needed head-massage. It nearly succeeded in relieving his headache.

Draco submerged to rinse and when he came up, the house-elf was gone and his father was present. Draco dragged a wet hand through his hair to pull it out of his eyes. He blinked for a moment to clear his vision.

"You wanted to see me?" Lucius asked. Draco noticed he'd left the door open. His father looked as cool and unruffled as ever. His robes were solid black. He always seemed to wear black these days, as if he were in mourning. It hadn't always been so. Draco remembered a time they had gone on holiday to the Continent. Draco was six. They had traveled to France, Spain, and Italy. He remembered his father, dressed in robes of silver-blue, dancing with his mother on an ancient stone balcony overlooking the ocean, both of them slightly drunk and laughing as they stared into each other's eyes… Draco's heart nearly cracked at the memory. He wondered if they would ever look at each other that way again.

Draco spoke to his father in flawless French.

"Do you think the snake can understand French?"

"I doubt it," Lucius replied in the same language. His silver eyes, so like Draco's, flicked about the room. Although quite large, Nagini was still a snake and could slither into very small spaces and hide beneath nearly any piece of furniture. They had found the creature, most unexpectedly, all over the house. The Dark Lord's little venomous spy, as if he needed another.

Draco picked up his wand from the tub side tray and cast Muffliatofor the benefit of any eavesdroppers. For certain, Bellatrix and the other Lestranges spoke French.

"What does he want?" Draco asked. "I mean, at the end of it all. What does he want?"

LuciusAccioed the desk chair and sat down. He rested one black boot casually upon his other knee.

"He wants to destroy everything. I think, at one time, he just wanted power and control. Last time, he spoke of taking over the Ministry of Magic and of ousting all Muggle-borns and blood-traitors. He wanted to create laws to return the wizarding world to a state of purity it hasn't known since the days of Salazar Slytherin."

For the first time in his life, Draco pondered the validity of the pureblood rhetoric he'd grown up with. There had never been a "state of purity" in Slytherin's time. Wasn't that why Salazar had rebelled against the other Houses? Slytherin, Grindelwald, Voldemort, and now Draco himself had been fighting the Mudblood "scourge" for over a thousand years. And Muggle-borns outnumbered the purebloods at least three to one. What if it were a losing battle? He yanked his attention back to his father.

"…it seems he's gone mad. He no longer speaks of taking over the Ministry--he talks of destroying it. He's still obsessed with Hogwarts, but no longer does he see himself as the Headmaster. He sees himself as its conqueror. He wants to open the school, with himself as its Head--not to teach students how to turn teacups into butterflies, but to teach them to kill. He plans to train an army and crush everyone in the wizarding world that stands in his way. When that is done, when he is strong enough, he will take the war out there, to the Muggles. That is what he wants."

Draco could not disguise his horror. He had never taken a Muggle Studies class, nor had he spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about the Muggle world, but he had been raised on stories about them. The whole reason one had to be careful at all times, never to be spotted by a Muggle, never to let them know magic existed… because there were billions of them. How could Voldemort possibly dream of taking on the Muggle world? He could kill hundreds a day and still there would be more and more and more… and who knew what weapons they had at their disposal? Draco had once overheard a Mudblood telling a friend that a group of Muggles had once blown up an entire Muggle city. A city.

"He's insane," Draco whispered.

Lucius nodded and smiled that ice-cold smile that never touched his eyes--the one Draco had spent hours before the mirror trying to emulate.

"Now you know."

"He'll kill us all," Draco said numbly. Lucius stood abruptly.

"No, he will not. The Malfoys will survive. We will bow and scrape and grovel and kill and torture if we must, but we will survive. Do you understand, Draco?" His eyes burned into Draco's like silver fire. "Do not let a foolish attack of morality blind you into doing something stupid. We will survive." Lucius moved as if to leave, but paused. "Guard your thoughts well and do not fall too deeply into the trap of the Dark Lord's words. The pendulum may yet swing."

With a wand flick, he cancelled the spell and went out. Draco thought about his words. His father had always been good at landing on his feet. He had avoided Azkaban after the first war, and yet had been accepted back into Voldemort's circle at his return. He had been respected highly among the Ministry officials and the Hogwart's governors until Voldemort had abandoned him at the battle over the stupid prophecy. That whole fiasco had been a huge blunder on old Snake Face's part. Not only had he lost the prophecy, but he had lost most of his followers, too. It had been temporary, yes, but Lucius had been far more useful as a Ministry liaison than a Death Eater lapdog, in Draco's opinion.

Voldemort may once have been a genius, but it looked as if thirteen years as a vaporous ghost had resulted in madness and a loss of intelligence. Draco leaned his head against the tub in despair. The Malfoys will survive. To what end? To see the wizarding world overrun and destroyed by Muggles?

The hot water did not dispel the sudden finger of icy fear that traced its way down Draco's spine and settled into his belly in a cold lump.

Voldemort had to be stopped. Draco swallowed hard. That mere thought would be a death sentence should Voldemort pluck it from his mind. As if on cue, Nott appeared in the open doorway.

"The Dark Lord wants to see you."

Draco tried on his father's cold smile and squelched an instinctive flutter of panic.

"Yes, I rather thought he would."

8 Grimmauld Place

Uncle Vernon was bellowing.

"Absolutely not! We will not go hieing off to hide amongst… amongst…" Vernon's words trailed off when he was unable to think of a suitable ending for his sentence, likely recalling the time Harry had blown up his sister, Marge, without even trying—and those ranged before him were a lot more competent.

Harry was enjoying the show. Lupin, Tonks, Hermione, and Mad-Eye Moody had appeared on the Dursleys' doorstep late Sunday afternoon, much to the Dursleys' shock, as Harry had intentionally neglected to mention the meeting.

Harry interrupted Lupin, who was trying to reason with Vernon—a huge waste of time, Harry knew.

"Listen, it's your decision, of course. We will not force you to go. Frankly, I don't care, either way. But should you choose to stay here, I think you should be prepared. Let me tell you a little bit about Lord Voldemort." Lupin and Tonks cringed at the name, but Hermione didn't flinch and Moody was too busy staring out the window searching for threats to react.

Harry told them everything he could recall about Voldemort, beginning with the night his parents were killed. He told them about Quirrell and about the Chamber of Secrets. He touched on Barty Crouch Jr. and the dementors. He spared no detail of Cedric's death and Voldemort's resurrection. He touched on the battle for the Prophecy and described Dumbledore's death, leaving out only the Horcrux search.

Hermione broke in when Harry's voice cracked with emotion.

"The Death Eaters tried to kill my parents two days ago. They are non-magical, like yourselves. Voldemort has control of the dementors. He also has a pack of vicious werewolves to do his bidding." She threw an apologetic glance at Lupin.

Dudley, who had been grudgingly present for the affair due to a bad cold that kept him from roaming the neighborhood causing trouble, paled at the mention of dementors.

"So you see," Hermione concluded, "Voldemort will most likely send someone after you. Anyone even remotely associated with Harry is at risk, and the protection placed upon this house will be gone at the end of this month. As Harry said, you can allow us to protect you, or you can take your chances."

"We should give you some time to discuss it," Lupid said diplomatically. "Harry, we will help you get your things together."

The non-Muggles trooped upstairs to Harry's room, although he had never really unpacked anything after his last return from Hogwarts, except for clothing. Even that was tidily folded upon his bed (which was neatly made, for once) and ready to be stowed in his trunk.

Hermione sat on Harry's bed while Tonks went to Hedwig's cage to give her an owl treat. Lupin paced nervously and Harry perched on the corner of his bed next to Hermione after moving his clothes aside.

"What do you think they'll do?" Hermione asked. "It was difficult enough to convince my parents to move—and they don't go through life pretending the wizarding world doesn't exist!"

Moody was parked at the door and his magical eye was pointing downward.

"They are arguing," he reported, which was obvious, as they could all hear Uncle Vernon hollering, even though he was trying to be quiet about it. "Petunia wants to go—I think she knows enough to be properly scared. Dudley doesn't want to go, but he doesn't want to be left for the dementors, either. Boy's not quite as thick as he looks. Vernon wants to stay, but Petunia wants to know how he plans to protect them. He's blustering, but she got him, there. He says he'll buy a gun, whatever that is. She asks how he plans to use it if one of them pops into their bedroom and points a wand at them. Dudley pipes up that a gun probably wouldn't stop a dementor, anyway."

"What do you know," Harry said, "He really isn't as thick as he looks. That's a switch."

"They've decided to go, but Vernon wants a time limit. Looks like you'd better kill You-Know-Who quick, Harry."

"Great idea," Harry said dryly. "I'll get right on that."

They went back downstairs and it was decided that the Dursleys would drive their car. Hermione would ride with them and guide them to Grimmauld Place. The rest of them would fly.

"We will not be taking a ridiculous, circuitous route, either, Alastor," Lupin said with finality. "We're in far more danger from Severus Snape than from anyone that might follow us. Let's just get there."

They waited for the Dursleys to pack and Harry said nothing when Dudley stowed a small television, portable stereo, and Nintendo system in the car. Surprisingly, Hermione didn't mention the lack of electricity, either. She probably knew it would start another round of protests from both Vernon and Dudley. It was nearly dark when the car finally pulled out of the drive.

Harry looked carefully around his room to ensure he hadn't forgotten anything. He waited to see if he would feel any sadness or remorse, knowing he looked at Number Four, Privet Drive for the last time. Not surprisingly, the only sadness he felt was in the knowledge that sixteen years of accumulated belongings fit easily into a single trunk. If Dudley ever moved out, the Dursleys' would have to hire a moving truck.

Harry sighed and dragged his trunk downstairs. He wished they could justApparate to Grimmauld Place, but Rufus Scrimgeour would jump at any excuse to accuse Harry of misdeeds, so he had been very careful to use no magic at all. Just a few more days and he'd be able to do whatever he wanted. Lupin could have ApparatedHarry, but his trunk was a bit of an issue. It was easier to fly. Frankly, Harry was looking forward to it. The only time he felt really free was when he was on a broom.

They managed to beat the Dursleys to Grimmauld Place, even though Mad-Eye Moody insisted they backtrack a few times, just to be safe. Harry felt a sense of relief when he walked through the door of the old Black residence. There was sadness, of course, when he remembered the times Sirius had yanked the curtains over his mother's portrait, or smiled languidly in greeting, or brooded angrily in the kitchen, but stronger than the sorrow was his strange sense of homecoming. Sirius had willed the house to Harry and most of Harry's memories of his godfather resided here, in this dusty, dark place. The house was suddenly very precious to him and he vowed to someday turn it into the type of home Sirius would have enjoyed. A place devoid of the wicked stigma of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

Harry's reverie was broken by a question from Tonks.

"Where is everyone?"

Kingsley Shacklebolt appeared in the hallway with a lit wand. His dark face was grim.

"What's happened?" Lupin asked. Kingsley shook his head and turned away. They hastily dropped their belongings and hurried after him.

The Weasleys were gathered in the kitchen. Molly was sobbing in Arthur's arms, and tears streamed freely down Ginny's face. Ron looked angry, although his cheeks were wet, also. Bill and Fleur were dry-eyed, although Fleur was curled in Bill's lap and her hand caressed his face as if to comfort him. Harry was stricken. Was it Fred and George? Charlie? Percy?

"The Burrow has been burned to the ground," Arthur said bluntly before Harry's questions were uttered. "Bill stopped by to get something. All that was left was smoldering…" He stopped, unable to continue, and Molly wailed anew. Harry dropped into a chair, stunned. First Hermione's parents, now The Burrow. What next?

"Who…who was it?"

"Greyback's band, most likely," Bill replied. "There were a lot of tracks made by bare feet. And a few sets of boot tracks, so Death Eaters were there, also."

"Thank God no one was home," Molly said and hiccupped. "If Bill had stopped by earlier, he might have been… he might have been…"

"Stop it, Mother," Bill said sharply. "I would have been smart enough to Apparate out of there immediately, so stop dwelling on what might have been. What has been is bad enough."

"I left all my perfume bottles," Ginny whispered. "I didn't want them to get broken."

"My Quidditch figures… and my old chess set… I didn't bring it because there's already one here…" Ron's voice was hoarse.

"Gideon's cedar chest," Molly moaned. "I left it in our room."

Harry felt sick listening to the Weasleys recount their lost items. The family had so little to begin with that every single thing was precious.

Arthur cleared his throat bravely.

"Now, now. We all knew this would be a possibility. We have each other, after all, and that's the most important thing. None of us were so much as scratched."

Molly gasped. "What if they attack Fred and George?"

Lupin and Arthur spoke at the same moment to reassure her.

"They won't blatantly attack in Diagon Alley."

"The Ministry has increased the Guard at all wizarding locations in London."

"I'll be sympathetic to any Death Eaters that try to attack Fred and George," Harry said ruefully, hoping to lighten the mood. "They could stave off an army with some of the items in that shop of theirs."

Even Ron smiled at that. "Remember the fireworks they used on Umbridge?"

"And the swamp," said Ginny quietly. "That was some swamp."

Before they could get going on a good Fred and George reminiscence, the door opened downstairs and the Dursleys got their first look at their new home. Unfortunately, Petunia's shriek of horror and Vernon's answering bellow woke up the portrait of Sirius's mother, and bedlam quickly erupted from there. Thirty minutes later, the portrait was quiet, the Dursleys were sulking in their tiny, dark rooms, and the rest of the Order was speaking quietly in the kitchen.

"Do you think they'll like it here?" Arther asked Harry eagerly. "Did they bring many Muggle items with them? I'd really like to ask them about—"

"Arthur, I forbid you to torment the Muggles," Molly said with a warning glare in her eyes. "It's going to be difficult enough for them in this awful house without you asking them foolish questions, especially as we don't know how long they'll have to be shut up in here…"

"Sixteen years sounds about right to me," Ron muttered to Harry, who nearly choked on his tea and coughed for five minutes while Ron pounded him on the back. The elders started making changes to their plan to scout Malfoy Manor, so Harry, Ron, and Hermione went upstairs. On the way, Ron told Hermione about the destruction of The Burrow. She was properly horrified.

"Oh Ron, I'm so sorry. No wonder everyone seemed so upset!"

They entered the room Ron and Harry always shared. Harry was glad to see at least one Chudley Cannons poster had been spared from The Burrow. Ron had placed it over his bed. It was the only bright spot in the dreary room.

Hermione said, "It's a good thing we brought Harry's relatives here. The Death Eaters are getting serious."

"All the more reason to get out of here and find those bloody Horcruxes," Harry said. "I want to leave for Hogwarts tomorrow."

"What are we going to tell the others?"

"I'll leave them a note."

Hermione clucked disapprovingly. "Harry, they'll be frantic. They're here to protect you."

"I'm tired of being protected! Let them do something worthwhile, like stopping the Death Eaters from burning down people's houses and trying to kill Muggles!"

She rolled her eyes, but seemed to know it was pointless to argue with him when he was in a yelling frame of mind.

"Tell them whatever you want," Harry said adamantly. "But, I'm leaving tomorrow."

"How do you plan to get there?"

"Since I can't Apparate, you mean? Well, with so many wizards around here, I doubt the Ministry will even guess an underage wizard is Apparating…"

"Oh no! You don't dare Apparate without a license, Harry, you'll get into terrible trouble—" Hermione began.

"Really? More trouble than I'm in with a psychopathic, deathless wizard trying to turn me into a pile of ash the instant I step a toe out of my hiding place?"

Ron burst out laughing and Hermione glared.

"It's not funny, Ronald! I'm just trying to keep the Ministry off Harry's back!"

"The Ministry will never be off Harry's back," Ron snorted. "Not as long as the idiots in charge keep acting like Dumbledore was some crackpot out to discredit them."

"See? Even Ron knows."

Hermione flounced to the door. "Fine. I see you two are determined to gang up on me, as usual. I'm going to see Ginny."

"Hermione!" Harry called before she could shut the door on them. She paused and finally turned around to look at him when he didn't reply. Harry grinned at her.

"Are you coming to Hogwarts with us?"

She flushed and he knew she was trying to hold on to her indignation.

"I wouldn't miss it," she said finally.

The door closed.

9 Draco's Conversations

Draco took his time dressing; a miniscule act of defiance. He dropped the coin on his desk, smoothed his hair once more in the mirror, and headed downstairs. He took the main staircase this time as a small reminder that he was the heir of the manor.

He knocked lightly on the parlour door and was not startled when Wormtail yanked it open. He wondered if Pettigrew had time to eat and sleep between grovelings.

The Dark Lord was not seated in his throne, for once. Instead, he stood before the large table against the right hand wall, perusing a scattering of paper that lay upon it.

"Come here, young Malfoy," he said without looking up. Draco approached, trying to affect a proper sycophantic walk and failing miserably. He managed the hangdog expression, though, by remembering how Crabbe and Goyle used to look whenever Draco berated them. Wearing it now, he was surprised neither of them had ever punched him. Subservience sucked.

Voldemort's horrible red eyes fastened on Draco's and the cringing became a whole lot easier. It wasn't too difficult to bow down before someone that would curse you into oblivion as easily as swatting a fly. Draco's palms felt suddenly clammy.

"Did you enjoy your outing today?"

Draco nearly shrugged, his usual response to adult questioning, but sensed at the last moment that any such casual display would enrage the Dark Lord.

"Assuredly," he said formally. "It was quite enjoyable to see the blood-traitors receive what they deserve." He tried to remember every confrontation he'd ever had with the Weasleys. He felt the familiar stirring of hatred when he remembered Ginny cursing him; Ron attacking him and giving him a black eye during a first-year Quidditch match, Fred and George hexing him after the Tri-Wizard tournament… "I despise the Weasleys," he added truthfully.

Voldemort laughed; a horrible, chilling sound.

"Any yet, none of the Weasels were home. A pity, Draco, that you are yet unblooded. Perhaps tomorrow you shall have another chance."

Questions rose in Draco's mind, but he forced them aside.

"Yes, Master," he said simply. Voldemort showed his pointed teeth; apparently please with Draco's response.

"You are a true son of Lucius. Ever prudent, ever wise, ever thinking. Sometimes I wonder if the Malfoys do not think too much."

Draco swallowed and his mouth was suddenly dry. He wasn't sure of a proper response. Voldemort leaned close to Draco, close enough that he could feel the Dark Lord's breath on his face.

"Even now, your little mind is spinning away, isn't it, Draco Malfoy? Thinking… thinking… thinking… Tell me," Voldemort said breathily, too intimately close, "What did you and your father discuss upstairs?"

The sudden change of topic sent ice through Draco's veins and he felt his throat tighten involuntarily.

"I asked him about your goals, Master," Draco whispered, giving massive thanks that he didn't have to lie about that. He felt something rustle across his boot and wanted to look down, but he could not tear his eyes away from the reptilian orbs that bored into him. Draco concentrated hard on everything his knew aboutOcclumency.

"And what did Lucius say about my goals?"

"He said you want to destroy the Ministry and punish the Mudbloods," Draco replied. Still the truth. He felt a scraping around his calves.

"Indeed. And how do you feel about that, Draco Malfoy?"

Now he was treading on dangerous ground. Draco thought hard about Harry Potter. Harry Potter making Seeker as a First Year. Harry as Dumbledore's pet boy—winning the House Cup again and again. Harry riding the stupid hippogriff. Harry nearly cutting him in two with a dark magic spell; he poured every ounce of hatred and rage into his next words, knowing that any sign of weakness would be the end of him.

"A worthy ambition, Master," he gritted.

"And does your father feel the same?" Voldemort breathed.

"Assuredly," Draco said as though surprised at the question. He suddenly realized the questions had not been meant to trap Draco at all, but had been yet another test to verify Lucius's loyalty.

Voldemort suddenly turned away and went back to his scrolls as though Draco was no longer present.

"You may release him, Nagini. Draco has not betrayed me. Yet."

Draco looked down finally, to see the huge snake that had curled itself around his lower legs. The snake appeared to smile and its glistening fangs were uncomfortably close to Draco's thigh. Reluctantly, it seemed, the coils loosened and the snake slithered away toward the fire, hissing. Voldemort hissed back—Parseltongue, no doubt. Before he turned away, Draco glanced at the huge scroll sprawled open at the top of the heap. It looked like a map—or a floorplan.

"You may go," the Dark Lord said absently. Draco did not need to be told twice.

He lay in bed that night with the book of dark spells in his lap, although he wasn't seeing any of the words. A candle flickered on his bedside stand, making shadows jump across the walls of his room. His watchdog—Avery this time—was already sleeping on the cot. As snorers went, Avery was one of the worst. If Draco got a lick of sleep, it would be a miracle.

He toyed absently with Hermione Granger's coin while his eyes passed over the words of a complex spell for the sixth time. He kept thinking about his father's words. Destroying the Ministry. Obsessed with Hogwarts. Its conqueror. Take the war to the Muggles. Draco thought about contacting Granger, but he couldn't think of a good reason why. He was rather surprised that he hadn't heard from her; he had expected to be constantly barraged with questions.

As if the thought had activated it, the Galleon suddenly went hot. Draco dropped it in surprise and had to fish for it among the sheets for a moment. The candlelight was too dim to make out the tiny words, so he lit the tip of his wand in a tiny, bright glow.

Devlin?it read. He sent an affirmative. Did you know? About the fire?

Draco considered pretending ignorance, but he knew what she was asking.

Yes, but not soon enough to stop it. The words made Draco pause. He wondered if he would have warned them, if he had known beforehand. It was the Weasleys, after all. Muggle-lovers; blood-traitors; those who hated Draco and his family because of their wealth and position. Draco sighed. He took no pleasure in the fact that the Weasleys were now homeless and their meager possessions had been burned to the ground, but to be honest with himself, he knew he probably wouldn't have stopped it. Of course, Granger didn't need to know that. His lip curled slightly. So much for turning over a new leaf.

Is it safe to talk? she asked.

You might have asked that before, but yes.

You're right. We need a password. So that I know it's you and that you can reply without getting into trouble.

Fine. He rolled his eyes. That was Granger for you. Little Miss Logic.

I know. I'll send a silly phrase first, so if someone else has it, they'll think it's merely a trick coin.

It took three sendings for her to fit all that around the edge of the Galleon. She continued: I've got it. I'll send "Come to Zonko's" and if there is no response, I'll know you can't reply or that you don't have the coin.

Brilliant, Draco sent, humoring her. He wondered why he had picked up the coin in the first place, and why he kept it. He certainly didn't plan to spend his spare time chattering with Potter's external brain. It was bad enough listening to her nonstop babbling in class.

There was an extremely long pause and Draco began to think she had given up.

Devlin?it asked again.

Yes?

Thank you. I forgot to tell you last time.

Draco flushed and dropped the coin. You sure as hell wouldn't be thanking me if you knew I was Draco Malfoy. The idea struck him as incongruously funny. Draco Malfoy had Hermione Granger's everlasting gratitude. The devil should be ordering mittens and skis about now.

He picked up the coin. She had written, You aren't very communicative, are you?

Don't you think you're communicative enough for both of us?

I suppose that's true. Can you tell me where you are?

No.

Can you tell me about yourself?

I'd rather not.

Can you tell me what the weather is like? He grinned at her frustration.

I'd have to look out the window and I'm quite cozy at the moment.

Are you in bed?

The thought of Hermione Granger picturing him in bed made Draco nearly as uncomfortable as speaking to the Dark Lord while a venomous snake crawled through his legs.

Yes,he admitted.

Are you a young person or an old person?

Not quite young, not quite old.

Male?

Assuredly.

Scars?

A small one on my left buttock where an amorous lover got carried away.

I suppose I didn't need to know that.

I suppose you shouldn't have asked.

Sorry, I just want to know more about you.

You're probably better off not knowing.

There was another long pause. He almost sent her a question, suddenly reluctant to end the conversation, but words formed again.

This scar of yours…bite mark, fingernails, or wand-inflicted?

Draco almost laughed aloud at the question.

I lied. My skin is utterly flawless and soft as spun silk.

You are handsome enough to be conceited, then?

No, I look like a goblin. With flawless skin.

Have you told me anything truthful tonight? she asked.

Yes.

Which part?

The last part. I'd never lie about my satiny skin.

Goodnight, Devlin Whitehorn.

Goodnight, Granger.

He smiled and put out his wand. Who would have guessed a conversation with Hermione Granger might actually be… fun? He blew out the candle and tried to shut out Avery's snores. He should have told Hermione about the planned attack for tomorrow, but what good would it have done? Draco didn't know where, when, or why. He'd just have to wait and see.

10 Broken Dreams

Harry awoke relatively early, but lay in bed thinking until he heard Ron stirring. There was no need to rush off to Hogwarts on an empty stomach. He could hear muffled activity from downstairs, no doubt Bill and Mr. Weasley preparing to hurry off to work. Harry wondered if Uncle Vernon planned to go to work today… Most likely he would flee as soon as possible, using his job as an excuse to escape. Harry felt a twinge of guilt about leaving the Dursleys here with poor Mrs. Weasley and Lupin to deal with.

Ron yawned and sat up right before Hermione knocked once and entered. Ron cried out and yanked the covers up to his chin.

"Hermione! What if we weren't decent?"

She rolled her eyes. "Like I've never seen you two in pajamas, before. Come on, then, before Ginny gets up and demands to come with us. You know how she is."

That galvanized Ron out of bed and he yanked on clothing as Hermione disappeared downstairs. Harry joined him at a slower pace until Ron said, "She's right. Better hurry. Ginny will set up a huge row and Mum will have our necks. We'll have to sneak out."

Harry nodded and stuffed his Invisibility Cloak into a large pouch that he slung over his shoulder. Ron threw some Chocolate Frogs on top of it and shrugged when Harry grinned.

"We might get hungry."

They trooped downstairs, trying to look innocent. Mrs. Weasley didn't notice, as she was talking to Professor McGonagall.

"Professor!" Harry said happily and sat at the table next to Hermione. Lupin joined them a moment later and Mrs. Weasley bustled around filling plates and mugs with short flicks of her wand.

"Hello, Harry," McGonagall said. "It's good to see you."

"You, too, Professor."

"Well, I've got some good news, I suppose. I received word yesterday from the governors. They have decided to allow the school to reopen. I'm not certain how many parents will feel it is safe enough to send their students… but Hogwarts will be open, nonetheless." She sighed. "Now I have the difficult task of locating suitable new teachers. I can continue to teach Transfiguration, if necessary, although I'd rather not spare the time. This could prove to be a dangerous year and I'm not… well, I'm not Albus Dumbledore, am I? Who can I possibly find to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts? This year, especially, when it could be the most important thing the students learn."

Harry was quiet. Not only did he have no input whatsoever in response to teacher selection, but the since he wasn't returning to school in September, he also wasn't terribly interested. He didn't intend to divulge that tidbit of knowledge quite yet, though.

"Actually, Professor, are you returning to Hogwarts today?"

"Yes. There are many preparations to make, and letters to be sent. Heavens, the letters should have gone out to several First Years already!"

"Can I… we come with you?"

Molly made a protesting noise, but McGonagall was already speaking.

"Yes, Remus informed me that you wished to use Albus's Pensieve, although what good it might be to you, I've no idea. I assume it has something to do with the… matter you refuse to divulge?"

Harry nodded.

She sighed. "Very well, then. I suppose Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley will be accompanying you?"

Ron glared at his mother so fiercely that she actually clamped her jaw shut and spun away to slam crockery about without speaking. Harry nodded again.

Hestia Jones entered the kitchen, giggling. Her pink cheeks were pinker than usual and she seemed somewhat breathless.

"My goodness, I have Harry Protection Duty today and I completely forgot he was here! I went all the way to Number Four, Privet Drive and hung about wondering why the house was dark at this hour. I had a brief chat with Arabella, who is keeping an eye on things there, just in case."

"Good, you can accompany us to Hogwarts," McGonagall decided. "Where is Mad-Eye this morning?"

"Spying on Malfoy Manor with Tonks," Lupin replied and cringed a bit. "They had better report back soon."

"They've only been gone three hours, Remus," said Sturgis Podmore, who had been dozing in the corner, unnoticed by Harry. Lupin scowled.

"Well, we'd better get going, then," McGonagall said. "I have much to do."

"Professor?" Harry asked tentatively. "Would you mind terribly if we stopped off first… at Godric's Hollow? You know where it is, don't you?"

There was shocked silence in the room, as Harry had only mentioned the idea to Ron and Hermione. Professor McGonagall looked taken aback.

"You've never been there?" Mrs. Weasley asked, sounding surprised. "Albus never took you?"

Harry shook his head.

Mrs. Weasley looked as though she might burst into tears. "Oh, you poor boy! If only I'd known! We should have… well, why didn't we ever think of it?" Harry hastened to reassure her.

"It's okay. I don't think I was quite ready, until now."

"Of course, Harry," McGonagall said quietly. "We'll take you."

"I'll come along," Sturgis said and rose from his chair. "I doubt He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is watching the place, but one never knows, eh?"

They appeared in what was once a back yard. The grass was knee high and still wet with morning dew. Hedgerows surrounded the yard, overgrown and tangled. A graveled path was nearly invisible due to the weeds choking it. A gnarled apple tree in one corner showed the beginnings of apples peering among the twisted branches.

Harry barely noticed his surroundings—his eyes were fixed on the crumbling foundation visible in the center of the greenery. A single chimney, intact but for a few missing bricks at the top, jutted into the air like an ancient obelisk. He walked forward, ignoring the grasses that slapped wetly against his legs. There really wasn't much to see. A few burnt out, broken timbers lay at the center of the ruins, almost invisible due to a mass of vines that had reclaimed the grounds.

Harry felt a lump rise in his throat. This was where it had all begun for him—and ended for his parents. He looked around at the idyllic countryside that surrounded the remains of the cottage. The cottage had been relatively isolated, like most wizard houses. A quaint country lane meandered past the broken front fence and through a gap between the hills. For a moment, Harry imagined growing up in this place. He would have climbed the tree, played in the dirt of the road, slid down the snowy hillsides in winter, and run home to comforting kisses whenever he banged his knee. He would have grown up knowing about magic, playing Quidditch, and waited expectantly for his invitation letter from Hogwarts… Amidst a rush of overwhelming sadness, he felt a terrible resolve. Voldemort had stolen more than his parents. He had taken away his chance for a happy childhood. He had eradicated picnics and birthdays and joy-filled Christmases.

Ron and Hermione were suddenly beside him. Tears streamed down Hermione's cheeks. She always seemed to know what Harry was feeling. He glanced at Ron's stricken face and realized that although he had lost so much on that horrible October night, the circumstances had gained him the two greatest friends anyone could ever know. If he had grown up peaceful, sheltered, and loved, he would have been a different person. Even if he had met Ron and Hermione, they would never have faced the challenges thrown at them over the past six years. They would never have been as close to him as they were right now.

The tears Harry had held back began to fall at last and he put an arm around his friends. They held him tightly, bolstering him before the ruins of what might have been as they did through every situation in his abnormal life.

They stood together in silence for a long time and then McGonagall stepped forward and cleared her throat.

"Walk this way," she said quietly and pushed a path through the wet stalks and around the foundation. The group walked silently up the deserted road. They passed no other houses on the gravel lane that wound through a copse of trees and over a small bridge that spanned a burbling brook. At the top of a small rise, they came to a wrought-iron fence partially covered in old-fashioned pink roses. The heady scent filled the air and already bees were busy gathering nectar. It seemed very peaceful.

The gate looked rusted open and it dangled slightly. Professor McGonagall led the way into the small cemetery. They passed several groups of gravestones with names Harry did not recognize and stopped at last before two white marble headstones, simply inscribed.

James Alaric Potter – 1958 – 1981 Beloved Husband and Father

Lily Evans Potter – 1958 – 1981 Beloved Wife and Mother

McGonagall knelt and removed the stems of dead flora that rested upon the graves. She conjured two huge bouquets of fresh flowers in vibrant colors and placed a bundle before each headstone. Then she withdrew with the others and left Harry alone.

Now that he was here, Harry wasn't certain what to do. He had felt closer to his parents looking into the Mirror of Erised—it seemed as though their spirits had been present there. Here, he felt nothing. He was strangely comforted by the thought. His parents were not in this place, in this cold bit of earth. Luna was right—they were beyond the veil, reunited with Sirius once more. He smiled softly at the thought.

Hermione watched Harry carefully. She wasn't completely certain this visit had been a good idea. She read the headstones, which gleamed white and free of dirt. Someone, it seemed, tended the graves regularly. Lupin? McGonagall? All of the Order members, most likely.

Hermione saw something odd and stepped forward to look more closely at Lily's grave. She gasped suddenly as the medallion on her chest went hot. She walked slightly away from the others and yanked it out.

Another attack. It's that odd Ravenclaw girl. The blonde. Better hurry.

Hermione felt the blood drain from her face. She spun back to the others.

"The Death Eaters are after Luna!" she cried. "We have to go now! Professor, do you know where she lives?"

"Yes, but—" McGonagall stared at her, but there was no time to explain how she knew.

"I'll take Ron through, then. You take Harry. Someone should alert Lupin!"

"I will," Hestia offered.

"I'll go to the office of the Quibbler to tell her father—he's likely at work by now. We'll meet you there," said Sturgis Podmore.

Without further conversation, they Disapparated.

11  Luna

Draco had been roused by Severus Snape, never a pleasant experience. Today Snape had simply removed the blankets from the bed instead of dousing him with cold water, as he'd done on a previous occasion.

"Bloody hell, what now?" Draco snapped. He was irritable due to Avery's damned snoring that had prevented him from getting a decent sleep. He climbed reluctantly to his feet and moved close to the fire, snatching up his dressing gown from the back of a chair.

"Get dressed. We have to go."

"Another house to burn down?" Draco asked in a bored tone.

"No. Another chance for you to become a true Death Eater."

Draco turned his cold gaze to Snape, who seemed strangely subdued. The former Potions Master looked ill at ease.

"I have something for you," Snape said and walked forward to hand Draco a small book bound in black leather. Draco took it and examined it curiously. "It is a listing of some of the spells I invented and how to use them. I'm not certain how much time we will have together, so I may not be able to teach you."

Draco was puzzled by the gift, as well as Snape's attitude. Draco had never felt particularly close to Snape, even though he had proclaimed loudly for years that Snape was his favorite teacher. He was still an authority figure and, as such, had never ranked particularly high in Draco's hierarchy.

"Thank you," he said simply.

"There is something else you should know," Snape said quietly. "Someone needs to be aware of it, in case something should happen to me. None of the other Death Eaters know, so do not mention it. If the Dark Lord evens suspects that you know, or that I know..." Snape moved closer to Draco and spoke near his ear so quietly that Draco could barely hear him. "The reason he is deathless is that he has split his soul into several objects called Horcruxes. If anything should happen to me, seek them out."

Snape moved away, leaving Draco more confused than ever. Horcruxes? He had never heard the term.

"Guard well this knowledge," Snape said in a low voice. "And do with it what you will. Keep in mind the lessons Bellatrix and I have taught you."

"Why tell me this?" Draco demanded. "Why me? Why not my fa—"

"I am sworn to protect you. When I am gone, this knowledge may guide you when I cannot."

"Are you going somewhere?"

"Weare going somewhere. As you know, all of our missions carry the strong possibility that we will not return. I am merely taking precautions. We will depart from the library. The others are gathering, so do hurry."

Draco did not have time to ponder Snape's words for long. He prepared himself for another potentially horrific mission. Draco was accompanied this time by Snape, Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Mulciber. When they Apparated into the deserted street, he was glad to see no sign of werewolves. They stood before a strange, small house festooned with whirligigs, yard ornaments, garland, and fluttering streamers in various colors and designs.

"What the hell is this place?" Draco asked in bewilderment.

"Lovegood residence," Bellatrix said with a short laugh, muffled by the mask she wore. "The freaks are about to meet something a lot scarier than anything in that stupid rag of theirs."

Draco's hand clenched around the coin in his pocket. He vaguely remembered the strange blond girl that flitted around Harry Potter and the other Gryffindors. What was her name?

He sent a quick message across the coin. He wasn't sure what Granger could do about it, or if she even received the message, but at least he had warned her. She couldn't accuse Devlin Whitehorn of shirking his duty.

They fanned out quickly. Snape and Draco approached the front door while Bellatrix and her husband went around to forestall escape from the back. Mulciber hung back, watching the windows and staring around intently for any threats.

Snape blasted the door in without ceremony and surprised the Lovegood girl—Luna, Draco suddenly remembered—who was seated in a chair with a magazine and a quill in her hand. Snape aimed a curse in her direction, but the girl was not surprised for long. She flipped her chair over backward and Snape's curse rebounded off the underside. Luna got to her feet and bolted for the stairs.

Draco watched, wand in hand, as Snape sent hex after hex after the girl, causing damage to the walls of the room, but missing her completely.

"You really need to work on your aim," Draco said dryly.

"Shut up and go after her!"

Draco loped for the stairs, wondering where the stupid girl thought she was going. No one with a brain went upwards to escape. He poked his head carefully over the landing, expecting her to try and zap him with a hex, or at least throw something heavy at him. She was nowhere in sight. He heard a muffled thump from a nearby room and sidled toward the door. He peeked in just in time to see Luna's head disappearing down a shaft in the wall. Laundry chute. Well, at least she was going down this time.

Draco turned and thundered back down the stairs, nearly mowing down Snape.

"Basement!" Draco called in a singsong voice. He passed Snape and crossed the room, looking for a door to the basement. There were suddenly several cracks announcing Apparition and Draco ran for the kitchen. There he saw Bellatrix and Rodolphus entering through the back door.

"I think the enemy just got here," he mentioned and tore open the basement door. "I'm going after the girl."

As he lit his wand and headed down the narrow wooden stairs, Draco heard Hermione shout. She had made quick work of getting here. And Potter, too? Well, well, well, that was a surprise. He'd expected Potter to be hiding out for the summer, as usual. The Dark Lord would likely be pleased to hear that bit of news.

He stepped carefully into the basement, wand high and a counter-curse ready on his lips. Where had the girl gone? And why wasn't she hexing him? Surely she wasn't stupid enough to have forgotten her wand?

"Look, I know you're down here. I'm not going to hurt you, so why don't you just come out?"

Draco heard a noise and spun, only to find his Aunt Bellatrix rushing down the stairs after him.

"Where is she? We have to kill her and go! The damned Order of the Phoenix is here!"

"I thought I mentioned that."

A green light suddenly struck Bella in the back and she fairly flew down the remainder of the stairs to land in a crumpled heap at the bottom. Draco stared in astonishment. He caught a glimpse of robes at the top of the steps and craned his neck for a better look, certain they were Death Eater black.

Something flashed in Draco's peripheral vision and he turned, wand ready, to see Luna Lovegood leaping straight at him. They both went down in a tangle and Draco nearly dropped his wand. The light flickered, but steadied as Draco tightened his grip. Luna scrambled up and ran for a strange object that looked like a rusty doorknob. Draco threw himself at her and managed to grab her ankle just in time to feel himself being whisked away.

Bloody hell. A Portkey.

"I think you can let go of me, now," Luna said matter-of-factly. "Are you a Death Eater? I thought so at first, but you don't have a mask. In fact, I know you! You're Draco Malfoy, aren't you?"

Draco sat up and looked around. They were in what appeared to be an underground cave. Luna's wand was in her hand and its tip provided enough light to see by. Barely. He shot to his feet.

"Where the hell are we?"

"I have no idea. Father set up several Portkeys around the house for protection. I only remembered this one when I saw it."

"What do you mean you have no idea? How do we get out of here?"

Luna shrugged.

"I suppose we use the Portkey to get back to the basement. I'd rather not do that until the others leave, though. Are you one of them? What do you want?"

She seemed pretty calm and unperturbed, for someone that had nearly been killed in a Death Eater attack.

"I'm not really one of them, although if they find that out they'll likely melt me into a flesh pudding," Draco admitted, not wanting to provoke her into hexing him. "Why didn't you use your wand back there to defend yourself?"

"I'm underage, of course. Do you think I want to be expelled before school even starts?"

"I think they make exceptions for near-fatal attacks."

"Not necessarily. Harry was nearly expelled when the dementors attacked him two summers ago. The Ministry is completely corrupt, you know. Rufus Scrimgeour is nearly as bad as Cornelius Fudge, although I don't think he's murdered any goblins."

Her eyes narrowed.

"Harry Potter says you're responsible for Dumbledore's death."

"Harry Potter says a lot of things," Draco muttered, watching her carefully.

Luna suddenly sat down cross-legged on the cold dirt floor. Draco looked away from her long enough to scan for a way out. He saw no doors, crevasses, or holes by which to escape. What kind of imbecile would set up a portal into an escape-proof hole? He supposed he couldApparate out, but it was risky without knowing where he started from. What if they were miles below ground?

"I'm willing to hear your side," Luna said. "It's always possible you were possessed by an Algamothra. Have you been to Sardinia lately?"

Draco stared at her, but it was obvious he wasn't going anywhere without her. The rusty doorknob sat two inches from her left shoe and she had placed a large rock on top of it. If necessary, he could probably Accio it, but it would be better to persuade her to take them both out of here. He looked around nervously. He wasn't terribly fond of enclosed spaces.

He sighed and turned his attention back to Lovegood. She wore a strange gypsy-like skirt in lurid colors and a teal jumper partially buttoned from the top down. Her socks looked mismatched and they bunched around her ankles. He expelled a breath and sat down opposite her. Her earrings dangled strangely and he leaned forward to look at them.

"Are those radishes?"

"Of course."

He nodded, thoroughly confused. "How long do you plan to keep us down here?"

"Long enough for you to tell me why I shouldn't hex you into a puddle and leave you here for the Mondrovian Cave Beetles."

"I see. Since you mentioned it, I suppose I was responsible for Dumbledore's death." Might as well get that out of the way right off the bat. At least she hadn't taken his wand. If necessary, they could have a wizard duel. Down here. In the dirty, creepy darkness.

"But?" she prodded.

"But what?"

"You said it as if you had more to say."

"But, I didn't kill him. I was supposed to, but I couldn't. He was an unarmed old man! I was supposed to face the greatest wizard of all time in a duel that would most likely end in my death. Not murder a weak old man in cold blood."

"Dumbledore was not weak," Luna said adamantly.

"He was that day. He could barely stand. Something happened to him."

Luna muttered something under her breath and Draco suspected she was blaming some sort of imaginary creature for Dumbledore's condition. For a Ravenclaw, she was rather pathetic. He almost mentioned it, until he remembered that he didn't have Crabbe and Goyle standing by to back up his sarcastic commentary. He clamped his jaw shut.

Draco's coin suddenly warmed his pocket. He twisted until he could reach it and lit his wand to read it.

"Is that a Dumbledore's Army coin?" Luna asked. "Where did you get it?"

Draco ignored her while he read the words.

Devlin? Where are you?

What happened to the password? Zonko's and all that?

This is no time to be snarky! Did the Death Eaters capture Luna?

No, she's here with me. Wherever here is.

What are you talking about?

Portkey. Cave. Long story. Is it safe to return?

Not that he really wanted to return and face Granger. She still had no idea who he was. The minute she and Potter caught sight of him, it would be Sectumsempra revisited.

Almost. We're searching the house. I think they've fled.

Luna was watching him with her strange, luminous eyes.

"Who are you talking to?"

"Hermione Granger," he admitted, although saying the words aloud made them sound completely untrue. Luna must have agreed.

"I don't believe you."

"Neither would she."

Her oversized eyes grew even larger.

"She doesn't know it's you!"

Draco reevaluated her. Maybe she did deserve to be in Ravenclaw.

"Of course not. I don't even know why I'm helping her. I'm supposed to kill you and become an obedient little Death Eater."

"You said it yourself. You couldn't kill an unarmed old man, so you certainly can't kill a pathetic, underage girl. You're no killer."

Draco glared at her.

"I've been hearing that far too frequently."

"Then it must be true. Things that are difficult to hear often need repeating."

They've gone, the coin revealed in a rush of warmth.

Draco groaned, suddenly realizing the gravity of his situation. On the one hand, he was glad to be able to leave the cave. On the other hand, Snape and the others would not be happy about losing him. Most of them would suspect him of fleeing. He didn't want to think about what Voldemort might do.

"She says it's safe to go back. Look, if Potter and the others spot me, they'll hex first and ask questions, later."

"Let me go and explain it to them," Luna offered. She reached for thePortkey.

"Wait!" Draco yelled just as her hand touched the metal doorknob.

Nothing happened. She picked up the useless orb and blinked at him with her gaze of permanent surprise.

"Hmmm. One-way Portkey, apparently."

Draco thought he might kill her, after all.

12 Portkeys

Hermione appeared in the Lovegood parlour and stared into a Death Eater mask for a shocked moment. The Death Eater bolted for the kitchen and nearly collided with two others rushing into the room. Hermione aimed a curse at the lot of them, but they all disappeared at once.

A jet of light shot past her and she turned to see another black-robed figure in the doorway, with a wand pointed directly at Harry.

"Look out!" she yelled and sent a hex at the figure. The Death Eater ducked out of sight and her spell sent splinters flying from the door frame.

"Watch it!" Harry cried at her and sent a bolt over her shoulder while yelling, "Protego!"

Whatever the spell had been, it rebounded, but the Death Eater in the kitchen did not pause.

"Stupefy!" Ron yelled as a jet of green clipped his hair. Ron's spell hit the Death Eater at the same instant as McGonagall's. The Death Eater screamed and fell back into the kitchen.

The one outside peered around the corner again and Hermione leveledExpelliarmus at him. His wand spun off and she heard an angry yell. They heard an odd thumping sound from the direction of the kitchen and then an ominous silence. Harry approached the kitchen archway cautiously and poked his head around the corner.

"They're gone!" he shouted and took off. Hermione growled and raced after him, in time to see him leap out of the back door. When would he learn not to be so bloody reckless?

She stopped on the back stoop after nearly running Harry down.

"Where did they go?" he asked.

"The basement!" she cried. They hurried back to the kitchen and yanked open the door to the cellar in time to hear the muffled cracks ofDisapparition. Harry bolted down the stairs, but Hermione stayed, sensing it was too late. Harry's voice confirmed it.

"Empty. Bloody cowards! They never stay and fight unless it's six to one odds!"

McGonagall and Ron entered the kitchen just as Harry returned to the top of the steps.

"The one outside fled," McGonagall said.

"But, where's Luna?" Ron asked.

Hermione pulled out her Galleon. The time for secrecy was obviously past.

Devlin? Where are you?

She was relieved to find both Luna and Devlin safe.

"Luna is with Devlin," she said to the others after a brief conversation by coin. "Apparently, there was a Portkey and they are in a cave somewhere."

"Who the hell is Devlin?" Ron demanded.

"Devlin Whitehorn. He's the one that warned me about the attack on my parents. And now Luna."

"DevlinWhitehorn?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Yes. Why?"

"Devlin Whitehorn is the founder of the Nimbus Racing Broom Company," Harry explained. "Didn't you read any of those Quidditch books you bought us?"

Hermione flushed. "Well, no. You know I think Quidditch is boring. That's beside the point. He can't be the real Devlin Whitehorn, can he?"

"I doubt it," Ron said and shrugged. "But, there's no telling who wants to join up with the Death Eaters, is there? Maybe he's into the whole pureblood thing. Or was, if he's turned. How long have you been in contact with him, anyway?"

Hermione concentrated for a moment. "Well, we'll find out who he really is soon enough. I told him it's safe to come back."

She sighed, rather disappointed to discover Devlin could be a middle-aged businessman. She had been picturing a young, witty, somewhat tortured man struggling to escape the bonds of evil that surrounded him. She scowled and shook off her foolish fancy. He probably did have a face like a goblin.

The coin warmed in her hand and she looked at it.

Slight problem. Miss Sorted-into-Ravenclaw-by-Mistake tells me it's a one-way Portkey. We seem to be stuck in a hole until rescued.

There was a commotion in the next room and they all hurried back to see Sturgis Podmore and Luna's father appear in the Lovegood fireplace.

"Where is my daughter?" Mr. Lovegood demanded.

"She's safe, but she's in a cave. Apparently, she used a Portkey. Hopefully, you can tell us where they ended up."

"They?"

"She's with… a friend."

Mr. Lovegood's brow drew down in consternation.

"Well, it depends on which Portkey she used, of course. Many of them lead to caves. Hopefully she didn't use the one that goes to Nepal… on my last visit a group of trolls had moved in…" He scratched his head. "Well, let me check around. I'll figure out which one she used." He headed upstairs. Hermione looked at the others helplessly.

McGonagall went outside for a moment and then returned.

"I sent a message to Lupin. I told him the danger has been averted. Now, I really must get to Hogwarts. These side trips have put me seriously behind schedule."

"I don't want to leave until I know Luna is safe," Hermione said. And Devlin, she added to herself. She had no intention of leaving him to be discovered and mistaken for a Death Eater, even if he was middle-aged and looked like a goblin. Harry gave her a quizzical look, knowing Luna wasn't her favorite person to spend time with. "Harry, you and Ron go with Professor McGonagall. I'll catch up. It shouldn't take long, now that Mr. Lovegood is here."

Harry was about to protest when Sturgis Podmore spoke up. "I'll stay with Hermione."

After a bit more arguing, McGonagall, Harry, and Ron Disapparated, bound for Hogsmeade.

Mr. Lovegood returned from upstairs, carrying a purple goblet with gold lettering on the side.

"I've been looking everywhere for this!" he exclaimed. "This is my souvenir from—"

"Mr. Lovegood, can we focus on finding Luna, please? Perhaps, if weApparate to all the caves you can think of—"

Mr. Lovegood shook his head violently.

"Oh no. We never Apparate. Terribly risky way to travel. Luna and I only travel by Portkey or the Floo Network."

Hermione nearly pulled a page from Harry's book and yanked her hair in frustration.

"Then, can you possibly remember to which cave Luna might have Portkeyed? One with no exit, perhaps?"

Mr. Lovegood's made a humming noise and shook his head.

"No exit? That would be extraordinarily foolish. They all have exits. Take this one, for example—" He stepped forward and picked up what looked like a stuffed quail—and disappeared. Hermione stared at the empty spot for a moment, and then she did yank her hair, hard.

"If that was another of his one-way Portkeys, I think I will scream!"

"We'd better hope it was," Sturgis commented from the post he'd taken up by the window. "The Death Eaters are back."

She ran to join him, in time to see at least six masked Death Eaters materialize in the yard. One of them raised a wand toward the house. Hermione grabbed Sturgis and Disapparated.

She fell to her knees when they reached their destination. Side-Along Apparition was difficult and she'd done it twice in one morning. Sturgis helped her to her feet, but said nothing. His gaze was fixed on a point over her shoulder and his expression was grim. She turned around reluctantly, but no Death Eaters met her gaze. Instead, she saw a lazy spiral of smoke curl from a jumble of blackened timbers.

"Why did you bring us here?" Sturgis asked hoarsely.

"It's close to the Lovegoods. I didn't think beyond escape," she whispered. She felt physically ill when she saw what had been done to The Burrow, the scene of so many pleasant memories. "Oh God, I can't believe they did this. To what purpose?"

Sturgis said nothing and Hermione already knew the answer. She turned away before the tears could start and held onto her growing anger.

"Come on," she said brusquely. "We need to make certain Mr. Lovegood didn't return. It's not far to walk."

She started off. The clouds were beginning to break up and the temperature was mild. It was shaping up into a beautiful summer day. Hermione was in no mood to enjoy it. She wanted to go back to the Lovegoods' and take on all of the Death Eaters herself. It was barely fifteen minutes to the Luna's house on foot, which was why Hermione had chosen it. She had been afraid the Death Eaters would cast an Anti-Apparition jinx on the house. She and Sturgis would have been trapped—but for an assortment of Portkeys, one of which led to a den of cave trolls.

Partway back, she felt the coin heat on her chest.

You are planning to find us, correct? Devlin asked.

Yes, but there are complications. The Death Eaters returned.

Looking for me? How touching.

Actually, I think they were hoping to catch Harry Potter.

I know, I was joking. If I caught fire, some of them would throw kindling.

I'll come as soon as I can, she promised.

As they approached the Lovegood house, they circled around to get a view of the front. Luckily, there was a large amount of undergrowth to hide them. The Death Eaters were milling in the front yard. There was no sign of Mr. Lovegood. Hopefully, he wasn't lying dead in the house… As they watched, several of them set fire to Luna's house, as they had done The Burrow. Sturgis nearly burst from concealment in rage, but Hermione held him back with a hiss.

"There are too many!"

The Death Eaters suddenly vanished. They waited for a few minutes to be certain none remained, and then they raced for the house. Working quickly, they rained fountains of water from their wands and managed to halt the flames before too much damage was done. Hermione stood guard while Sturgis entered the house.

"No sign of him. He must not have returned, or we would have seen him."

"That's a relief, but how are we going to find Luna?"

13 Dover

Draco had overcome some of his aversion to dirt. He lay stretched out on the floor with his head resting on his rolled-up Death Eater robes. He amused himself by expelling various notions from the end of his wand: fireflies; iridescent bubbles, tiny multicolored sparks that spiraled crazily around the cave before exploding in a mini-fireworks display; a hoard of sparkling blue butterflies that melted into vapor; and a shower of sweet-scented red rose petals that now lay forgotten on the cave floor.

"I've been thinking," Luna announced suddenly, after a miraculous two minutes of silence.

"Not about the Crumple-Horned Snorkack, I hope, because I've heard enough about those to last several lifetimes."

"No, I've been thinking that my father would never have set up a one-wayPortkey to a place with no exit. That would be idiotic."

"Of course. No one in your family would ever be idiotic."

She either ignored, or didn't catch, the sarcasm as she got to her feet.

"Exactly. So there must be an exit. We only need to find it."

Draco rolled over onto his stomach to watch her as she plucked her wand from the center of the floor. She had lit it, candle-like, and braced it with rocks while they waited. She marched to a wall and examined it closely while running a hand over the surface.

"You might have thought of this an hour ago."

"Actually, I did, but you seemed interested in the Crumple-Horned Snorkack, plus I really enjoyed watching you conjure—who would have guessed someone so nasty could make such pretty butterflies?"

For a moment, Draco considered conjuring a nest of venomous snakes, but he clamped down sharply on the urge by taking several calming breaths. He congratulated himself on his patience when she said, "Aha! Here it is."

A large section of the cave wall suddenly opened up and emitted a welcome draft of sea-laden air and bright sunlight. Draco scrambled to his feet. He joined Luna on a ledge overlooking a vast expanse of ocean. Far below, a wave crashed upon jagged rocks and sent up white spray. To the right, the cliffs curved away out of sight. To the left, nothing was visible but the rock wall and a few Muggle ships far out on the water. Draco stood at the edge of the ledge and looked up, hoping by some miracle to spot a path or ladder or even a weathered rope. As expected, there was nothing but fifty feet of unscalable rock. Draco sighed and lifted his coin.

Granger, I know where we are.

That's fabulous!

Well, not really. We're on the White Cliffs of Dover. And when I saw 'on' I mean literally. Miss Snorkack found a door, so at least we're outside. I'm going to take us to the top and try to get our bearings.

Be careful.

Draco knew she meant be invisible. Couldn't have any bloody Muggles spotting us now, could we? He Accioed his Death Eater robes and shrugged them on. He looked at Luna, who was peering at the waves below as if transfixed.

"I think I see a Merclops," she said. Draco didn't dare ask.

"Come here. I need to Apparate us to the top."

She stared at him in horror. "Heavens no! Are you trying to kill us? Apparition, honestly."

Draco clenched his jaw so hard he felt his teeth might crack.

"Then, how do you propose we get up there?" he asked through his teeth. "I don't happen to have a broom with me."

"Can't you cast a flying spell? Even I can do that one. Except I can't right now. Underage magic, you know."

Draco rubbed a hand through his hair and began to realize why Potter's was constantly in disarray. How could he be around these people on a daily basis without turning them into something horrific?

He cast Wingardium Leviosa on the girl and then caught her sleeve as she began to drift seaward. He cast one on himself and then spent the next ten minutes trying to keep them headed in the right direction, instead of floating about with every breeze. He was dripping with sweat by the time they floated over the green grass and he terminated the spell. He looked around through tired eyes.

"Any idea where we are?" he asked.

"Britain?" she suggested.

"Remind me why I shouldn't kill you."

If she reminded him, he didn't hear it, as he was holding the Galleon once more.

I'm seeing a lot of green. Hang on, we're in a depression. Let me get to the top.

He walked until he stood atop the rise and looked around. Aside from limitless green, he spotted what looked to be a pier jutting out into the water.

He described his surroundings in detail.

All right, you're close to Dover to walk, if necessary. I'll meet you in front of Dover Castle, under the arch. Let me know when you get there. I'll Apparate straight to you as soon as you judge it safe.

Fine, Draco replied, although the thought of walking was nearly as unpleasant as the thought of finally revealing himself to Hermione Granger.

They made it to Dover Castle without Draco pushing Luna into the Atlantic, which he saw as a testament to sheer willpower.

"Prepare yourself," he said as they reached what he assumed was the correct spot, "She will likely go completely mental." He gazed about, but tourist activity seemed to be minimal.

We're here, he sent.

HermioneApparated after a quick apology to Sturgis, whom she had left to wait for Mr. Lovegood, against his wishes. It took her an instant to get her bearings and she gasped in disbelief when she heard a shouted Expelliarmus! Her wand flew out of her hand. She stared at Draco Malfoy in mounting horror.

"You! What are you--?" She halted at the sight of Luna, whose right hand was wrapped around Malfoy's arm. Luna's wand was held loosely in her left hand and she smiled dreamily. It was not the sight of Luna clinging to Malfoy, but the fact that he was not shaking her off in utter distaste that finally penetrated Hermione's shocked mind. She doubted her jaw could open any wider and she simply could not find words for a moment.

Malfoy bowed sardonically and managed to make it look insulting.

"Devlin Whitehorn, at your service," he said and followed it up with his patented hateful smirk.

"You can't be. You simply can't be…" she choked finally.

"She's a bit slow today," Draco said to Luna, who sighed and released his arm after giving it a nice pat.

"I'll get her wand," she said. "You can explain it to her."

She wandered off across the greensward, humming. Hermione did not take her eyes from Malfoy.

"All right, Granger, I know what you're thinking, since you're terribly suspicious and mistrusting. Ask me something only your Devlin Whitehorn would know," he suggested.

Hermione gritted her teeth. "Last night… I ask you some questions."

"Quite a lot of them, actually, and some were rather personal questions to be asking a stranger, I'll have you know. Never would have guessedyou to be so forward, but I suppose it's true what they say about the bookish ones—"

"The questions!" she snapped.

Draco grinned wickedly and his eyes seemed to gleam like polished silver. "You asked if I had any scars and I told you I had one on—"

"Stop, stop, stop! Oh God." Hermione could not have blushed any darker. She was completely mortified. "I can't believe this. I simply can't believe it." She had been teasing—and bloodyfantasizing!—about Draco Malfoy! "You… you are responsible for Dumbledore's… Why did you tell me about my parents?" She felt her voice beginning to rise. "What possible self-serving reason could you have to warn me? And to save Luna? What kind of horrible trick are you playing?"

Draco sighed and actually wore an expression she'd never seen on him before. She couldn't quite place it before it was gone. "I knew this would be difficult for you, but I didn't realize it would be impossible. Look, would it help if I gave you my wand?"

He stepped forward and held it out to her, grip first. She eyed him suspiciously, wondering what wicked game he was playing. She nearly snatched his wand, but then she noticed the tension in his jaw. His fingers tightened slightly when she reached for it and she realized it was no trick—he really was giving up his wand to her. She drew in a surprised breath and grasped the dark wood gently. He released it and stepped back, grey eyes narrowed.

"Well, you have me at your mercy," he said. "What do you plan to do now?"

Hermione didn't answer. Her mind was spinning. She replayed every conversation she'd had with Devlin—Draco!—over the past two days. He'd been with Luna long enough to have disposed of her several times over. Or taken her to Death Eater Headquarters. Hell, she'd been holding his arm like they were the best of friends! She turned and stared at Luna, who had retrieved Hermione's wand and was spinning in the grass with both arms spread wide. Her blond hair flew out in a tumbled curtain. She staggered dizzily and fell down. Hermione sighed.

"I'd suggest you Confunded her, except that's pretty normal behavior for Luna," Hermione said.

"Want to hear about the Crumple-Horned Snorkack?" Draco countered dryly. "I know all about them, now."

Hermione shuddered.

"No. We'd better get back. I haven't a clue what to do with you. I can't take you to the Order. Even if I wanted to. Which I don't. I suppose it would be a bad idea for you to return to—wherever you were?"

"And try to explain where I've been for the past two hours? To the Dark Lord? How about if you Polyjuice into me and go in my place?"

Hermione thought about that for a moment.

"Do you think that would work?" she asked.

Draco rolled his eyes. "You're not seriously considering it?"

She wasn't, but it suddenly worried her that someone could take on the shape of an Order member and walk straight into Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. She set the idea aside for later study.

"Let's take Luna home. Hopefully, her father's returned from wherever he disappeared to."

"She won't Apparate. Or use magic. Or a list of dozens of other things."

"I know. We'll have to take a Muggle cab."

Draco looked so horrified she actually laughed aloud.

"Contrary to what you may think, Muggle residue will not rub off and harm you."

"Says you."

She looked at him critically. "However, you simply can't march around in Death Eater robes. What do you have on under those?"

"Trying to undress me already, Granger? I've only just switched sides."

She tried hard not to flush and thought she managed it. "Spare me the cheek and let me see."

He shrugged out of the robes, to expose form-fitting black trousers and a blousy black silk shirt. With his silver-blonde hair and pale skin, he looked like every girls' vampire dream. That would never do. He'd have Gothic-punk chicks falling at his feet and trailing him around town.

Luna was sitting up, watching them. Hermione Accioed her own wand without comment. She pointed it at Malfoy and transfigured his trousers into jeans and his shirt into a white T-shirt. Draco jumped back.

"Blast it! Warn a person before you go rearranging their clothing, won't you? What the hell is this?"

Hermione's teeth worried her lower lip. In Muggle clothing, he was even more striking than in archaic wizard-wear. Jeans fit him perfectly and the T-shirt made him look like he belonged on a street corner with a fag dangling from his lips while he catcalled at girls and planned his next caper. Luna returned and watched curiously as Hermione tried again.

"Whatare you doing?" he demanded and actually gasped at the outfit she'd put him in. "Bloody hell! No! Draco Malfoy doesnot wear orange! Ever. And what kind of fabric is this? Did you yank it straight off the goat?"
She'd put him in the most loathsome creation she could think of—an orange and brown patterned jumper and khaki slacks. The problem was he didn't look loathsome at all. He looked like a carefree student recently escaped from prep school. The type that would invite you to his flat to "study" and have you sitting on his lap in five seconds or less. A preppy angel.

"Damn you," she growled, realizing for the first time just how handsome Malfoy really was. He'd always been good looking, but his pure malice had completely blinded her to it. Now, he looked like a damned Adonis. An irritated, scowling Adonis. Even his damned scowl was beautiful. She put him in torn black jeans and a red shirt that looked as if it had been slashed by werewolves. A chain belt dangled from his lean hips. She realized her mistake as even Luna stared at him with her jaw unhinged. He looked like a sexy rock star. When the hell had he grown muscles? He was supposed to be thin and weedy!

"What exactly are you trying to do?" Draco asked in a glacial tone.

"I'm trying to make you inconspicuous. To blend in with the Muggles."

"I don't think that's going to be possible," said Luna in a dazed voice.

"Fine." She restored his clothing to the original vampire-chic. "Put your robes back on, then."

He obediently replaced his robe, and she transfigured it into a fashionable taupe trench coat, breathing a sigh of relief when he was mostly covered in fabric. He examined his outfit by shifting from side to side.

"Not bad, actually."

"Yes, well, you look like an international spy, but at least we shouldn't have girls chasing you down the street throwing phone numbers at you. Come along."

She turned on a heel and headed for downtown Dover.

"What's a phone number?" Luna asked Malfoy. "I'll throw mine at you, if I have one."

Hermione prayed for patience. She knew she was going to need it.

14 Creeping Parcleps

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

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

Luna gave her a measuring look through her oversized eyes.

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

"You will not be splinched into a tree. I know what I'm doing."

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

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

Luna pondered the question as though Hermione were serious.

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

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

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

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

"Fine. Muggle cab it is."

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

"Will you stop it?" she hissed upon leaving the phone booth. Malfoy's eyes flashed.

"No, I will not."

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh my God, Harry," she breathed. "He's going to—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sturgis, no!" Hermione yelled. "I'll explain in a minute!"

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

"You are in'erestin' people," he commented.

"You have no idea," Hermione muttered.

"I 'ope the barmy girl'll be all right."

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

"Might I have my wand back?" Draco asked.

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

"What's he doing here?" Sturgis burst out. "Did you capture him?"

"No. He's helping us."

"Helping us what? Get more of our members killed? He's the bloody reason—!"

"I know!" She put up a hand to stop him. "Let's go inside and I'll explain."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do I have a choice?"

"You could go back to your Death Eater friends."

His grey eyes flashed.

"There are other places I could go."

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

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

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

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

"I'm afraid you'll have to suffer the horrifying touch of a Mudblood. I'll try not to hurt you."

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

She triggered the spell and they Disapparated.

15 Manors and Memories

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

"Couldn't we have walked the last half-mile?" she hissed.

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

"Straight up where?" she asked.

Moody pointed. "There. Malfoy Manor. Can't you see it?"

"I don't see anything."

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

"They hid it? You mean, like our Headquarters?"

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

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

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

"I don't think they pay their help very well," she commented.

"Lucky for us. Let's get closer. Maybe I can see inside."

Tonks sighed and followed as they crept through more mud.

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

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

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

"Something's up. Think they have an Anti-Apparition jinx on the place?"

"Why? Plan to pop in there and ask what's goin' on?"

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

"I'm just asking."

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

Tonks was quiet.

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

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

"We'll just have to assume they're there. Bide our time," Moody whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's kind of creepy when no one's here," Ron said in a stage whisper.

"Yeah, it's like when we're sneaking around after hours, but in the day time."

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

"Lupin is sending your things along."

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

"Hello, Harry," the portrait said kindly.

"Hello," Harry whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes."

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

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

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

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

Harry nodded. He hadn't thought of that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Let's pray it never comes to that," Lily said worriedly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not quite yet, Peter. Not quite yet," Sirius said softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where's Lily?" he rasped.

"There, in the rubble," Hagrid admitted. "Don'… Don' go in, Sirius. 'S too late."

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

"Is it Harry? Is he alive?"

"Yeh. Don' know why. Got a bad cut on 'is head, here."

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

"Naw, Dumbledore gave me strict orders. Take Harry to a safe place 'til he says come out."

"But, I'm his godfather! I'm all Harry has left!"

Hagrid's face was set. "You can take it up wi' Dumbledore, but Harry is comin' wi' me."

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

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

"Sirius! Where yeh goin'?"

"You can take my motorbike, Hagrid," Sirius called back. "I won't need it any more."

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

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

16  Spells and Messages

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not right now," Harry agreed. "I've had enough for one day, I think."

"Let's go nick some food from the kitchen, then. I'm starving."

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

"Hello! Fancy meetin' you here."

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

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

"We heard Harry was here," George said.

"So we thought we'd stop by," Fred continued.

"We have some new tricks."

"Cooked up 'specially for you, Harry."

"How did you get here?" Harry asked.

"Came through the tunnel from Hogsmeade."

"You know they can't keep us out."

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

"Fitting, this is," George said as he looked around.

"Yeah, most of our spells are Charms."

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

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

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

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

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

"That wasn't funny!" Ron snapped when he was himself again.

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

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

"I hope he doesn't cast a spell in there," George commented.

"Yeah, it just bounces around. Thing's darn near impenetrable."

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

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

"At least that one didn't hurt," Ron said grumpily. "Hot in there, though."

"This next one doesn't quite cross the line into the Dark Arts…"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That was a scary one, though," Fred said.

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

"Take it off!" Ron yelled, flailing.

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

"Stop using me for a test subject!"

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

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

"We'd better get back to the shop," Fred said finally.

"We've got fine employees, but they don't know our stock the way we do."

"We'll come back soon and show you a few more, Harry. Keep practicing those."

They started out.

"Let's go visit our swamp before we leave."

"Good idea. We should say 'hi' to Peeves, too."

"I kind of miss the old place, don't you?"

"Not really, no."

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

"It's been a productive day, I'd say."

Ron nodded and yawned. "Productive and tiring. I'm going to the kitchen and then to bed."

"Great idea. Remind me to send Hedwig to Hermione."

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

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

"What?" he asked with eyes narrowed.

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

He scowled.

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

She stepped away and laughed at the memory.

"True. You didn't get out of that one unscathed."

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

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

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

Draco shook his head. "Probably not. They'll find other targets."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Cooking, of course."

"Are you a witch, or aren't you?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Where did you hear that word?"

"So, you do know what it is."

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

"Yes."

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

"Do you know where they are?" she asked.

"No. Do you?"

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

"Have you destroyed any?" he asked.

"Why do you want to know?"

"You know, I really don't like you very much."

"The feeling is more than mutual!" she snapped.

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

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

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

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

"Why did you ask me about Horcruxes?" she asked.

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

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

"Let's play a little game called quid pro quo. It means—"

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

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

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

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

"A Horcrux is a storage device for a part of one's soul," she began.

"Voldemort's soul," Draco admitted.

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

"You and your friends plan to destroy them."

"All seven of them."

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

She nodded. "Two of them are already gone. Hopefully one other, although we can't confirm it."

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

To her credit, she kept her features carefully blank.

"Will you tell me where?"

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

"Who gave this to you?"

"Severus Snape. Right after he told me about Horcruxes."

She blinked at him.

"Snape? Who's side is he on?"

"As far as I can tell—Snape's."

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

"Turn it over," Draco said dryly.

On the back was a map.

17 The Dark Mark

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

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

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

"You're in trouble now," Draco commented.

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

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

"We? I certainly don't need to go. I'll wait here for you."

"I'm not letting you out of my sight. Now, come on."

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

"You're enormously bossy, you know?"

"It's been mentioned. Here, you might need this."

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

"Do you have to touch me again? Can't you just tell me where it is?"

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

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

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

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

"Come quickly!" he yelled. "She's in a bad way! I've just located her!"

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

"Mrs. Longbottom!"

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

"We've got to get her to St. Mungos," Hermione said.

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

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

"Who's Jack?" Draco asked.

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

"Why would they do that? They've been trying to kill everyone else," Draco said.

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

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

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

Jack nodded.

"I'm afraid so. I'll inform the Order. Are you coming?"

Hermione shook her head. "I've got to tell Harry."

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

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

The man called Jack nodded and Disapparated.

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

He nodded. "I have an idea."

"Can we get him back?"

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

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

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

"Youcould go get him!" she said suddenly.

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

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

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

Tears sparkled in her eyes and she glared at him.

"You're afraid!" she accused.

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

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

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

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

"Malfoy, wait!" she called behind him.

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

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

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

Hermione's hand fell away. "I need to do something or I think I'll go crazy," she said.

"Fine. Let's do something," he suggested. "Let's go to the Riddle house."

"Go after the Horcrux?"

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

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

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

"I hope so."

"Come on," he said, "I'll take us through this time."

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

"You're a little too trusting, aren't you?" he asked and triggered the spell.

18 Plots and Counterplots

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Let me know where they gather. I'll wake Ron and we'll be there."

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

He went back upstairs and dressed before prodding Ron.

"G'way, Mum!" Ron growled and smacked at Harry. "Have Fred and George do it!"

Harry shook him harder. "I'm not your mum, Ron. Wake up."

Ron sat up, blinking.

"What's the matter? Is it Hermione?"

Harry explained and Ron tugged his clothes on.

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

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

"You're not even paying attention!" Ron griped as his queen smashed Harry's last knight.

Harry pushed his chair back.

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

"You mean you assumed he meant tonight?"

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

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

"Thanks, Dobby," Harry said and threw Ron a relieved glance. They were about to climb through the portrait hole when Lupin's silverPatronus enveloped Harry. Lupin's voice came to Harry as though from a great distance, an oddity unique to Patronusmessaging.

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

"Well?" Ron asked.

"They actually told me to come down."

"It's bad news," Ron said in trepidation. "They wouldn't have bothered if it was routine."

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

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

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

"We foolishly though they wouldn't attack twice in one day," Lupin said.

"Do we have any idea where Neville could be?"

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

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

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

"We've got to do something!"

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

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

Ron drew Harry's attention when he asked, "Where's Hermione?"

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

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

Ron's eyes narrowed.

"What handsome chap? You mean Devlin Whitehorn?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Keep still or we'll both be very dead."

"Where are we?" Hermione whispered when he released her.

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

Her eyes flashed at him suspiciously.

"What are we doing here?"

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

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

"Where is he?"

"In the basement, most likely. If he's in the parlour, we're out of luck."

"Why?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Dobby? What are you doing with Bellatrix Lestrange?"

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

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

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

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

"I'll explain later," Hermione said. "We've got to get Neville out of here."

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

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

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

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

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

"Thanks, cousin," Tonks called as she disappeared.

DracoDisapparated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

19 Trains and Dust

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

Her eyes snapped open. It was no dream!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, Granger, what's the plan for today? Any more of your minions need rescuing?"

She scowled. "They're not minions. We call them friends. As would you, if you had any."

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

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

"Red silk knickers?" he asked hopefully.

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

"No," she choked finally. "It's called a shower."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We are not!"

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

"Shall we?" she asked.

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

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

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

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

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

"Aside from the 'recently returned from the dead' portion, you should have no difficulty," she said.

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

"All right, I suppose you're not quite raving."

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

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

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

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

"It's my grudge and I shall hold it as long as I like."

He grinned and squeezed her again. She gasped.

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

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

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

"Damned Gryffindor luck," he muttered.

20 Horcrux

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

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

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

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

Harry was flabbergasted. "Are you sure?"

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

"What? Hermione was there?"

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

"Howcould she?" Harry burst out. "It's one thing to go without us, but to not even send word?"

Dobby nodded. "And then Kreacher came."

"Kreacher? Where did all this happen?"

"At the home of Dobby's former wicked master."

"Malfoys," Harry breathed.

"Yes, Harry Potter."

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

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

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

Dobby sighed.

"Sometimes Harry Potter just doesn't listen to Dobby."

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

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

Harry scowled and stalked back to Gryffindor Tower.

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

Ron read the message twice.

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

"It'sMalfoy," Harry snarled.

"What?"

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

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

"It's a trick. But she's not stupid enough to fall for any of his lies."

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

Harry agreed, but it worried him.

"She's going to look for a Horcrux. Damn it, I told her how hard it was for me and Dumbledore to get the locket. She'd better not be going alone."

"Well, if she's going with Malfoy, maybe he'll get poisoned this time."

The thought cheered Harry immediately.

"You're right! Maybe she's using him like a mine canary."

"Like a what?"

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

"Malfoy. A mine canary," Ron breathed. "It's bloody brilliant."

Harry grinned. "Yeah."

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

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

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

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

"Isn't that—?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Or against."

"Exactly."

The phoenix fluttered its wings again and Hermione nodded.

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

"Compera Navita."

The fireplace glowed brightly with a reddish light.

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

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

"And how do we open it?"

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

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

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

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

"Iam a Gryffindor."

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

"Where are you going?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What is it?" he asked.

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

Draco sighed.

"Any other bright ideas?"

She grinned at him. "I'm not finished, yet."

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

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

"That's a Horcrux?"

Hermione nodded. "Now that we've found it, we have to figure out how to get it out of there."

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

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

"Accio?" Draco asked Hermione. She shook her head.

"I doubt it will work, but feel free to try it." He did, but the cup didn't move.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Now for the hard part," she whispered.

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

"All right, I'll hold it here. You tug the end of the rope to tighten it."

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

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

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

"Uh oh," Hermione said.

"What?"

"The cup won't fit through the gridlines."

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

"Do you think we can Disapparate?"

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

He sighed. "Wait here for just a bit."

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

"All right. Give me that thing."

"What do you mean to do?"

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

"Okay, now go outside," he ordered.

"No! I'm not leaving you!"

"Why? Because you don't trust me, or you don't want me to get hurt?"

"Both," she snapped.

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

"Fawkes, you'd better go."

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

"Stubborn little—"

"Don't even say it."

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

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

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

"Did we get it?" she asked, ignoring him.

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

"I don't believe it! We actually did it!"

He laughed. "That was sheer madness. You pulled us out, didn't you?"

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

"We'd better go," Hermione warned. "That crash will draw Muggle attention."

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

"I never thought I'd see the day when Draco Malfoy was less than immaculate."

"And you've progressed from ragamuffin to dirty vagrant," he retorted with a grin.

"You'll be punished for that one," she warned.

"How to you propose to do that?"

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

Before he could register the thought, they Disapparated.

21  Speculation

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

He stepped out of her grasp immediately.

"Absolutely not. I am not going up there."

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

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

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

"You're quite a wretched liar," he said. She flushed.

"You have to do this sooner or later. We can't keep hiding out together forever."

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

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

Draco sneered. "Yes, I'm quite sure The Chosen One will have no problem figuring that out."

"You are not helping your cause with that attitude!"

"I don't have a cause!"

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

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

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

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

"You're completely mad," he whispered.

"We're not talking about me."

"Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you have complete confidence in me. I'm not worth your trust."

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

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

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

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

"Ouch!"

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

"You're right. That does sting."

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

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

"I'm glad you recognize that."

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

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

Draco's brow raised and he tsked disapprovingly.

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

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

"You can let go of me, you know."

"No, I can't. I don't have the time to track you down if you disappear."

He was surprised. "You would come after me?"

"Someone has to save you from yourself."

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

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

When they reached the gates, they waited.

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

"Never mind."

"Why? Is it something horrible? Like a ferret?"

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

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

He groaned. "Oh, that would have been pleasant."

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

"You'll be fine," she murmured.

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

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

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

"What are you talking about? Are you under an Imperius Curse?"

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

"Am I? Can you even cast an Imperius Curse?"

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

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

"A minor detail."

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

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

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

"Tonks can vouch for him," Hermione said confidently.

"Tonks?"

"Feel free to ask her. We'll wait."

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

"Is there any news of Neville?" Hermione asked suddenly.

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

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

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

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

"Can you be serious?"

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

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

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

"Wotcher, Hermione. Cousin Draco," she said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm going to find Harry. Do you want to go to the Slytherin common room and settle in?"

"No, I don't think so. I'll go with you."

She looked concerned.

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

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

"I'm not wearing a skirt."

"Lead on, Granger. Let's see if your precious Potter is as understanding as you think he is."

"Must you always be so difficult?"

"Is there another way?"

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

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

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

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

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

He grinned laconically. "Your lying hasn't improved."

"Oh, shut up!"

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

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

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

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

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

"Fat chance!" Harry snapped, drowning whatever nasty comment had spilled from Weasley's lips.

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

"Is that—?"

"A Horcrux, yes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You know where I'll be," he said dryly and stepped lightly down the stairs.

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

"You bastard!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Really?" sneered Ron. "You didn't seem to be fighting all that hard."

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

"Yes!" Ron yelled.

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

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

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

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

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

She stormed away.

"Childish?" Harry exclaimed after her.

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

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

"Find anything?" Harry asked sheepishly.

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

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

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

"What's the Mordor solution?" Ron asked grudgingly.

"Throw it into a live volcano," Harry replied.

"We don't have a lot of those in England."

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

She headed back into the rows of shelves.

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

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

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

"Bugger off, Malfoy," Ron said venomously.

Draco smiled lazily.

"Where's Granger?" he asked simply to observe Ron's reaction. It was better than expected.

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

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

"You'd better shut your face, Malfoy, before I shut it for you!"

Draco sighed. "Your threats haven't improved, either. Still as empty as ever."

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

"No. I wasn't expecting company," he admitted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How do you know all this?" Harry asked.

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

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

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

Harry was incredulous. "Regulus hated Sirius? His own brother?"

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

"Where did he learn about Voldemort's Horcruxes?"

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

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

Draco sighed. "That always bothered me. I've never been convinced hewas killed. If anyone could cheat death and fool the Dark Lord, it would have been Regulus Black."

"But, wouldn't he have come out of hiding once Voldemort disappeared?"

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

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

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

"They would be if we had telephones," Hermione snapped.

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

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

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

"He likes me," Draco said modestly.

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

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

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

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

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

"I'll help you," said Ron.

"All right. Where else?"

"Hogwarts, obviously. He's obsessed with this place," Draco said.

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

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

Ron shuddered. "Let's save that for last. It's horrible down there. Full of spiders."

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

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

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

"The Ministry?" Harry sounded surprised.

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

"We'd never find it there," Ron said. "That place is full of weird items."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She looked at the others.

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

Harry flushed.

"I'm still working on it. Nothing useful, so far."

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

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

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

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

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

22 Happy Potions and How to Make Them

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

"I decided I'm not that hungry, after all," she said casually. "I'm going to visit Hagrid."

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

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

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

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

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

She stopped and turned to glare at him.

"Formy sake. Please tell me how spiteful slurs uttered behind my back are to my benefit."

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

"A state you likely contributed to put him in."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I already said I didn't mean that!" he yelled, incensed.

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

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

"Why are you following me?" she demanded.

"I want you to listen," Draco snapped.

"Why?"

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

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

"Forget it," he said and set his jaw. "It's not worth it."

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

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

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

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

The door opened and Hagrid filled the doorway.

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

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

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

"Naw, I haven't felt much up ter gettin' out, since…"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sorry 'bout that. I should be movin' on by now, yer think?"

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

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

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

Hagrid sat down across from her and studied her critically.

"Yer look tired. Somethin's botherin' yah. What is it?"

She nodded and sighed.

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

Hagrid looked thoroughly confused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Maybe Filch actually takes a vacation." Ron laughed.

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

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

"With notes on how to recreate them."

They both laughed.

Harry lifted the bottle and carried it to the Pensieve.

"If McGonagall comes back, ask her about those archives."

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

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

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

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

"Right."

Dumbledore's portrait nodded approvingly.

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

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

Ron sighed. "I suppose. Still, if Malfoy knows, it's hard to believe others don't."

"Didn't Hermione say that Snape told him?"

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

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

"How about You-Know-What?"

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

"What did Malfoy call them? 'Trinkets?'"

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

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

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

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

"The address to the Riddle orphanage? It's only been fifteen minutes."

"Well, hurry it up. I need some action."

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

Harry snorted. "You won't be going after the thing, anyway."

He stepped onto the moving spiral stairs and Malfoy followed.

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

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

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

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

"I plan to go after the damned thing myself."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"She's brassed off at you, isn't she?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Snape's pinched expression became even more so. "No, thank you."

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

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

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

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

Dumbledore nodded seriously.

"You have decided to trust me at last, then?"

Snape's black eyes flashed.

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

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

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

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

"And why is that?"

"Horcruxes," Snape said simply.

Dumbledore's gaze sharpened. Snape nodded.

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

Dumbledore stood. "This is very serious."

Snape nodded. "Now you know. I haven't been able to learn much about the items."

"The knowledge is forbidden."

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

"From Salazar Slytherin's personal library," Snape commented.

"How did you get this?" Dumbledore asked sharply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy Potions and How to Make Them by Ernestine Welshmyre.

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

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

"Severus. See that no one else is told about this."

Snape scowled. "I'm not a fool." He stalked out.

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

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

Secrets of Longevity and Immortality by Baptahlah.

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

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

"I didn't think Gryffindors were allowed to use such language, Potter."

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

"I know where he lives," Malfoy said casually.

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

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

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

"I could take Weasley there. You're staying here."

Harry scowled, but Malfoy held up a hand.

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

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

"Damn it!" Harry yelled. "First I was a prisoner at the Dursleys' and now I'm a prisoner here!"

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

Harry looked guiltily at the Pensieve cabinet.

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

Ron gaped at Malfoy. "Now?"

"No time like the present, Weasley."

Draco headed down the steps.

"How will we get there?" Ron yelled.

"Brooms."

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

"Stay if you're scared, Weasel," Draco called from below.

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

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

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

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

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

23 Spinner's End

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

"What's the hurry?" she asked.

"No time!" said Ron. "Go ask Harry!"

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

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

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

Where are you?

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

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

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

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

"I know, I walked to and from Hagrid's and nearly blew away."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"They went to look for something."

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

"They went to Snape's house."

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

"They went to Snape's house," she repeated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry's emerald eyes flashed. "If anything happens to whom? Ron? Or Malfoy?"

She matched his stare. "Either one."

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

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

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

Weasley glared at Draco and mouthed something that looked like, "You're fucking mental!"

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

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

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

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

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

"Then, how do we get there?"

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

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

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

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

"Snape lives here? In this foul place? No wonder he's always so bitter and nasty."

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

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

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

"All clear, Weasel."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amycus sauntered into the room behind his sister.

"What you doin' 'ere, Draco? Snoopin' in Snapey's pad?"

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

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

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

"What you doin' 'ere, Draco?" he asked again. "An' where ye been?"

Draco smiled coldly. "That's really none of your business."

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

"Let's try this again. Answer the question, Draco," Alecto said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ron flushed. "I was hungry. It's long past dinner, you know?"

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

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

"We were very lucky. Mulciber or Lars wouldn't have been so stupid." Draco cast binding spells on the unconscious Death Eaters andPetrificus Totalus to keep them out of trouble.

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

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

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

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

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

"Got it, Weasley. Let's go."

"Do we just leave them here?" Ron asked.

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

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

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

"Only in theory! I've never done it!"

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

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

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

"Go, Weasley."

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

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

Draco stumbled over to Weasley.

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

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

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

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

Weasley blinked at him.

"It never occurred to me," Ron admitted.

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

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

"You're really something, Malfoy, you know that?"

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

"So, now that you're in my debt, does that mean you owe me a favor?" Weasley continued.

Draco's eyes narrowed.

"That depends. What do you have in mind?"

It was Weasley's turn to consider.

"I'll let you know."

Draco scowled. "I'm sure you will."

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

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

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

"Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Leave a message for your father?"

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

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

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

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

"Of course not. He's completely deranged. But, Father could."

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

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

"What?" Ron burst out. "Ginny?"

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

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

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

Ron flushed. "Maybe I do."

"Have you kissed her, yet?"

"That's none of your business!" Ron flared hotly.

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

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

"She has incredibly sexy underwear," Draco commented. "I'm sure you'll enjoy them."

Weasley gaped at him. "Wha—? Who—?"

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

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

"How do you know—?"

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

Tonks opened the gate.

"Whatcha got, cousin? A present for me?"

"They're all yours."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You got it?" Harry asked.

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

"Thanks," Harry said.

"Don't mention it. Except for being Crucioed, it was a lark."

Harry blanched.

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

"I'll read this tonight. Hopefully it will give us something to go on."

"Knock yourself out, Potter."

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

"Tomorrow," Draco said and trotted down the steps.

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

"Malfoy, wait!"

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

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

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

24 Friends

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I hate lying to them," Hermione commented.

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

"No, you shouldn't. And leave me here to concoct stories for all of you?" She glared. "I'm the one that should have gone with them. You should have told me, at least."

"I would have, but like I told you, Malfoy was in a bloody rush. He would have gone alone rather than wait five minutes!"

She held up a weary hand. "Let's not have another row over this. We have to pretend everything is fine. After dinner, we should go back to the Pensieve. You need to finish that process as soon as possible. Should they actually find the book, it would be nice to compare that information with whatever Dumbledore has left for you."

Harry nodded, although he looked less than thrilled. Hermione knew that memories were probably hard to deal with. She got up and gave him a quick hug.

"Don't worry. We'll get through this."

He nodded and they went down to the Great Hall together.

Dinner was a grueling affair, made easier only by the fact that none of the Weasleys were in attendance. Bill was working late at Gringott's and his parents had returned to Number 12 Grimmauld Place the previous night. Hermione was so worried about Ron and Draco that she couldn't eat more than a few bites and ended up vanishing half her meal when no one was watching.

Moody, as usual, was demanding action and trying to get Lupin to agree to invade Malfoy Manor. He suggested burning it to the ground.

"We are not Death Eaters, Alastor!" Lupin shouted finally. "We do not operate using their methods!"

"Maybe we should!" Moody returned angrily. "If we used a bit more force, maybe they would take notice! Maybe they would stop kidnapping and torturing children!"

Harry nodded, but Hermione agreed with Lupin. They would be no better than Voldemort if they resorted to those tactics.

Lupin did agree to another reconnaissance of Malfoy Manor, but would not budge on the use of force. Moody finally jerked to his feet and stalked out.

"I'll be at the Hog's Head having a drink!" he bellowed as he left. Lupin put his head in his hands. He looked so much older than when Hermione had first met him. She wondered if the pressure of running the Order of the Phoenix was too much for him. Tonks patted him on the back.

"There has to be some way to learn his plans," Lupin said. "Some way that will not get more of us killed."

"We'll figure it out," Tonks said. "Don't take so much on yourself."

"Harry, you don't plan to do anything rash after your birthday, do you?" Lupin asked casually.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked warily.

"Well, you'll be of age, so none of us will be able to stop you, should you decide to rush off and confront You-Know-Who."

Harry laughed shortly.

"Don't worry. I have no intention of confronting Voldemort alone."

The sincerity in his voice seemed to reassure Lupin, who sat back with a sigh.

"All right." Lupin smiled wanly. "I'll try to stop worrying so much about you."

Harry looked at Hermione and grinned, but his smile was tinged with sadness. Lupin had once been part of a group of excellent friends. They thought they would be together forever. Now, two were dead and one was a traitorous spy… Lupin had none of his former cohorts to turn to. Hermione fervently hoped she would never look back on her school years with such wistful heartache. She suddenly missed Ron terribly.

"Come on," she said to Harry. "Let's go wait for Ron."

They made a stop at McGonagall's office so that Hermione could examine the Pensieve vials. The first was Sirius's memory. The next was Snape telling Dumbledore about the Horcruxes.

"I've seen the next three," Harry said. "Dumbledore showed them to me before. They are Tom Riddle at the orphanage, the history of Riddle's parents, and learning about Slytherin's locket and Hufflepuff's cup."

"The next one is labeled 'AD at Borgin and Burkes,'" she said.

"All right, we've got nothing better to do until we hear from Ron. Let's do it. You can come with me this time."

Hermione was a bit apprehensive. She'd heard about Pensieve memories from Harry, but had never actually used one. Harry uncorked the vial and poured it in. He guided Hermione to put her face in the liquid and she gasped when she instantly found herself in the dark, musty confines of Borgin and Burkes. A tall, scruffy-looking white-haired man was examining various goods. He looked familiar, but Hermione couldn't place him. His initials were A. D.? Was he a friend of Dumbledore?

Harry appeared beside her. After a moment, he snapped his fingers.

"It's the barman from the Hog's Head. In Hogsmeade!"

Hermione looked apprehensively from the man to the proprietor, but neither made a sound or movement to denote they had heard Harry's outburst. Harry chuckled.

"Odd, isn't it? Everything looks so real. But, it's just a memory. Nothing we do or say can affect the sequence of events. You know, I don't think I'll ever put my own memories into a Pensieve. I don't think I could stand watching myself make the same mistakes over and over without being able to alter them. You know, there is always something you wish you had said or done differently."

Hermione nodded and for some reason Draco came to mind.

The barman was talking to Mr. Borgin.

"This is all tripe. Where is the good stuff? I need something in particular."

"What is it you are looking for, exactly?"

"I am a collector and I have been searching for Hogwarts' items. I need things from all four founders. I have something of Slytherin's; the man was so egocentric he kept enough crap to stock a museum. I managed to find a trinket of Hufflepuff's and Gryffindor left some moldy clothing behind. But…" The barman leaned forward conspiratorially, "I've yet to find something of Rowena Ravenclaw's. Too smart for her own good, she was. Do you happen to have anything?" Borgin made as though to speak, but the barman raised a hand. "I warn you, do not try to pawn off a false item as hers. I have ways of testing it."

Borgin swallowed and shook his head.

"I once had such an item, but it was taken long ago."

"Taken? What was it?"

"A bracelet." He turned and rooted in a cabinet behind him for a moment. "Here, I have a picture. Magnificent, wasn't it?"

Harry and Hermione leaned close to the barman and peered over his shoulders to view the picture. It was a beautiful bangle bracelet encrusted with sapphires and diamonds. A tiny raven charm dangled from the center.

"And you say this was taken?"

Borgin nodded. "Stolen from our stock. One of our employees, we believe. Many years ago. It was never recovered."

"A pity," said the barman. "You have no other items?"

The proprietor shook his head and tucked the photo back into the file. "Should you run across the bracelet…" The two men looked at each other measuringly and both grinned without humor.

The memory ended and Hermione shook herself. She looked at Harry.

"Well, now we know what the Ravenclaw Horcrux is. We just don't knowwhere it is."

Harry tugged at his hair for a moment. "The barman mentioned he was already in possession of Gryffindor items. You think Dumbledore sent him to Borgin and Burkes? Dumbledore said the only relics of Gryffindor are here in this room." He walked over and looked into the glass case that held the Sword of Gryffindor. "No way in hell this can be a Horcrux. I don't think it was ever out of Dumbledore's sight long enough to be turned into a Horcrux." He gestured at the nearby battered Sorting Hat. "And the hat would have mentioned it." Harry walked over and stood before Dumbledore's portrait.

"I don't suppose you can offer any assistance?"

Dumbledore shook his head sadly.

"Alas, Harry, I am merely a shadow. But, you are doing fine. Sending for the book is a step in the right direction. Take care not to make the same foolish mistakes I made."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked. "You mean like trusting Snape?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I do not regret trusting Severus. The answers are in the Pensieve, Harry."

Harry looked at Hermione, who gasped suddenly.

"Oh no! I just remembered I promised to start another batch of Wolfsbane Potion for Lupin! I'd better do that or it won't be ready next month!"

"All right," Harry said. He looked somewhat dejected.

"One more memory, first," Hermione suggested. He smiled at her and pulled out the next vial.

"Thanks. It's easier with a friend, for some reason."

Hermione didn't recognize the room in which they found themselves. A huge mirror dominated the shadowy place. Dumbledore stood before the mirror and looked into it with an expression of extreme sadness.

"The Mirror of Erised," Harry said quietly. "This is the chamber where they hid the Stone. First year. The place where Quirrell died and I first… fought Voldemort."

Footsteps sounded behind them and they all turned to see Snape approaching.

"So. I was right," Snape said. He did not sound satisfied.

Dumbledore sighed. "You were right."

"He will not be pleased that I helped to thwart him."

"You could not have known. Quirrell did not have the Dark Mark. We had no way of knowing he was being controlled by Voldemort."

"I doubt he will accept that as an excuse."

"Well, we shall have to make certain it never comes into question. If we can stop him from returning, your loyalty will never be an issue." Dumbledore's voice was calm, but his tone bordered on irritated.

Snape shook his head and his black eyes flashed.

"Look how far he got on his first attempt. He very nearly had the bloody Stone."

"It's taken him nearly eleven years to get this far. And he would not have gotten the Stone," Dumbledore said with finality.

Snape nodded. "Oh yes. I had forgotten much of this was set up as a test. To assess the abilities of The Golden Boy. It looks to me as though he won the day through the aptitude of his friends. And a large dose of luck."

"Not luck, but I will agree with you about the friends." Snape raised a scornful lip and Dumbledore chuckled. "You scoff, but I believe Harry's friends will turn out to be his greatest asset."

"Friends and family are liabilities," Snape growled. "They can be used against you."

"It may seem that way to you, simply because you never had a true friend."

"I don't need any friends!" Snape yelled.

"Everyone needs friends. If only you—"

Snape held up a warning hand. "Don't bloody start! I sacrificed a loving family and all chance at a normal life in order to fulfill this destiny that links us. Do not expect me to became mawkish and reach out for friendship, because I neither need nor want it."

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "It does not have to be this way."

"You are the one disappointed with my inability to love. I could care less."

"If you were unable to love, you would not be here fighting Voldemort. You do so because—"

"I do it for revenge!" Snape shouted. "Nothing more! Do not prattle at me any longer with your stupid over-emotional ideals!"

"You are still so very young," Dumbledore said and tsked. Hermione thought Snape was going to explode with rage, but he controlled himself with effort. His fists were clenched into white-knuckled balls. When he spoke again, his voice was even. "I see you are in one of your maudlin moods. When you are ready to discuss the true problem, such as Voldemort's next possible move, you know where to find me. I do not think he will wait another eleven years for his next attempt."

With that, he spun on a heel and stalked out.

Dumbledore glanced back into the mirror.

"One day he will discover his true capacities. I only hope by then it will not be too late," he murmured to himself.

Hermione stood before the Pensieve again. Harry looked at her in bewilderment.

"What was that all about?" Harry asked.

"Well, it clears up one mystery. I always wondered if Snape was trying to help Voldemort get the Stone. It seems Dumbledore was right to trust him, at least back then. What do you suppose Snape meant when he said he had sacrificed a loving family?"

"Knowing Snape, he probably meant sacrificed on an altar," Harry said coldly.

Hermione shook her head. "I don't think so. He sounded so… torn. He said he gave up all chance for a normal life. Do you think he stayed at Hogwarts only to stop Voldemort?"

"If so, he hated every minute of it. No wonder he killed Dumbledore."

Hermione frowned. "He spurned Dumbledore's offer of friendship. Why? What would cause him to shut himself off so thoroughly?"

Harry shrugged. "Because, he's pure evil?"

"He can't be evil, or he wouldn't have been trying to stop Voldemort! That was Dumbledore's whole point. Don't you see? He knew there was good in Snape."

"Fat lot of use that did him! There was not enough good to keep Snape from killing Dumbledore in the end, was there? And apparently Snape changed his mind and decided to join up after all, eh?"

"Then, why did he tell Draco about the Horcruxes?"

Harry threw up his hands. "We'll never understand Snape's twisted motives, so why try?"

Hermione chewed a nail thoughtfully. "I don't know. I just have a feeling that Snape's motives play a very large part in this mystery. Why did Dumbledore leave this memory if it wasn't important?"

"He left it so we would trust Snape, but that was before Snape killed him!"

"Will you please stop shouting at me? I really hate it when you do that. Do I bellow at you?"

Harry looked a bit sheepish, but he said petulantly, "Well, it's true."

"I suppose. I need to start this potion. Want to come?"

"No. I'm going back to the common room and wait for Ron."

Hermione had long finished the potion-making process and was back in the common room with Harry when Ron's summons finally came.

"Thank God!" Harry cried when Ron's Patronus dissipated. "They are at the front gates. We need to find someone to let them in."

"Tonks," Hermione said instantly. "She won't ask so many questions. Our stories just got shredded. Are they all right? Why didn't they fly back?"

Harry shrugged. "Ron didn't say."

Hermione sent a quick Patronus message to Tonks, who met them in the Front Hall. They ruefully explained the problem and Tonks shook her head in disappointment. "Remus is going to be so upset with you."

"You don't necessarily have to tell him," Harry suggested hopefully. Tonks leveled a stare at him. Pink hair or not, she suddenly looked very adult and responsible.

"Yes, I necessarily do," she said coldly. Harry flushed and sighed.

"Fine. Let's just go get them and I'll face the firing squad when we get back."

When they reached the gates, Hermione felt almost faint with relief to find both Ron and Draco alive and unharmed. She was surprised to see the two bound Death Eaters, however, and threw an I-Told-You-So look at Harry, who managed to ignore her. When Tonks opened the gate, Hermione rushed out and threw herself at Ron. Before she could stop herself, she began to scold him for being so foolish. She next turned on Draco, who cut her short. He looked completely exhausted. She took a concerned step toward him, but he turned and began to stalk quickly toward the castle. She would have gone after him, but Ron snatched at her arm.

"Don't even think about it," he warned.

"Think about what?" she asked.

"I really don't care for the way you just looked at Malfoy," Ron said peevishly.

Hermione's blood froze.

"What are you talking about?" she snapped. She tried to pull away, but Ron held on tightly. They trailed after the others and Harry hurried to walk with Malfoy while Tonks juggled the floating Death Eaters with her wand.

"I'm starting to think you actually care about that git," Ron snarled. "I just saved his bloody life and I'm beginning to regret it."

"You saved Malfoy's life?" She tried not to sound disbelieving. Ron glared at her.

"You think I'm a complete screw-up, don't you?"

"I never said that!"

"You were thinking it. I bet you yelled at Harry mercilessly for letting 'poor, useless Ron go off and nearly get himself killed. He can barely cast a proper spell. I'm surprised he didn't fall off his broom halfway across the lake.'"

"I never said anything of the sort!" she snapped. "Now, let go of me."

"So you can hurry off and kiss Malfoy again?" Ron yelled. His face was suffused with rage. She stopped in amazement and wondered why he was so angry. What had Draco told him? More lies? Or potentially more damaging, the truth? Ron released her.

"Why are you so angry? Malfoy already told you why he kissed me."

Ron nodded. "Yeah. I actually believed it, at first."

"Well, you know how effortless it is for him to twist things around. You've always been an easy mark."

His blue eyes narrowed. "Stupid Ron, always falling for Malfoy's lies."

"Stop doing that!" she shouted.

He took her arm again. "Come on. We're going to have a nice little chat about you and Draco Malfoy." He tried to drag her toward the castle, but she dug in her heels. They had a moment's tug-of-war with her arm until she drew her wand and cast a stinging hex on his hand. He yanked it back with a yelp and put the red area to his mouth.

"Don't you ever manhandle me again!" she hissed. "I've been worried about you the entire time you were gone and then you come back and act like some sort of jealous Neanderthal! When you decide to start acting like a human being again, I will consent to have that little chat with you. Until then, you can stay the bloody hell away from me!"

She hurried after the others and up the steps into the Front Hall. She caught sight of Draco's silvery head disappearing down the dungeon steps and ran after him. He tensed when she called to him, but he stopped and waited for her. When he turned, Hermione threw her arms around his neck and clung to him for a moment, wishing she had never brought him here. She longed for a private moment to talk to him. His arms stayed limp as she held him and she wondered if he would ever allow her to get close to him again.

"I'm glad you're safe," she said lamely, leaving volumes unspoken. She pressed her lips against his check and then turned and ran back up the steps. She met Ron's furious gaze with a raised brow that dared him to comment. He said nothing; merely fell into step beside her as they headed for the main staircase.

The third floor landing was dark and Ron took her arm, gently this time, to guide her up the darkened steps.

"Thanks," she said shortly.

"Hermione?" he asked quietly. He stopped walking and she took a few more steps before turning around to look at him with a tired sigh.

"Yes, Ron?" she asked.

"I've been thinking about something Malfoy said to me."

"I never would have guessed," she said dryly. Ron moved up to stand on the step below hers. He still had to look down at her a bit; she noted with some surprise that he was as tall as Draco. Without warning, Ron reached out and caught her shoulders, and then he leaned down and kissed her. For a moment, she was beyond shocked and her first bemused thought was that she hadn't been kissed in months and now… twice in one day. Who was next? Harry?

She relaxed and tried not to compare Ron's kiss to Draco's, but it was impossible. It was strange, but she had thought about kissing Ron dozens of times; she had nearly done so, in fact, when they had studied together in the common room. The timing had just never been right, and she had been too afraid of it ending their friendship. She wished now that she had done so. Maybe, if she had kissed him long ago, their relationship might have grown into something deeper. Ron's lips on hers were soft and gentle, somewhat demanding, but she felt none of the wild excitement that Draco's kiss had provoked. She didn't feel weak in the knees. She didn't feel cold and hot at the same time. She felt nothing but a growing sadness. Ron released her reluctantly.

"He told me I should do that," he said simply and continued up the stairs without another word.

Hermione sank down on the step. He told me I should do that. Draco Malfoy told Ron he should kiss her. She felt like tearing her hair out by the roots in frustration. When had her life become the complicated mess she suddenly found herself in? She nodded ironically. Oh yes. The moment she had Apparated in Dover and discovered the fantasy man of her coin conversations to be none other than Draco Malfoy. Did she even see the real Draco? Was she still projecting her fantasies onto him, trying to turn him into something he wasn't?

She thought about Malfoy's kiss and a rush of warmth flooded over her senses. She groaned and buried her head in her hands. That kiss had been no fantasy. But why did it have to be Draco she responded to and not Ron? It was completely unfair. She sighed and got to her feet in determination.

She would just have to ignore them both. They had a job to do and emotional complications would only get in the way.

25 The Sons of Horus

Harry stayed in the common room to peruse the book, but Hermione was both physically and emotionally tired. She went straight to bed and managed not to have any dreams, for which she was utterly grateful.

She hurried down and had breakfast with McGonagall, John Williamson, and Kingsley Shacklebolt. She realized her mistake as soon as she sat down and they began to swamp her with questions about where Draco and Ron had found the Carrows. She baffled them by protesting complete innocence (which was mostly true) and insisting she had no knowledge of how they had captured the Death Eaters (which was absolutely true) and suggested they wait until Ron awoke for answers. Ron appeared shortly thereafter with a bizarre story that they had gone to Snape's house to leave a message for Draco's father. Hermione nearly clapped a hand to her forehead at the ridiculous story, but luckily the truth about the Death Eaters' arrival buried the tall tale.

Hermione was impressed at Ron's quick thinking, but made a mental note to find out exactly how he had turned Amycus Carrow into a canary. She was certain she knew all of Ron's spells, but she had never heard of that particular one. More Order members drifted down to eat, forcing Ron to repeat his story. Hermione finished eating and took a plate up for Harry, knowing he wouldn't be missed in the excitement of Ron's tale.

Harry was immersed in the book. He looked up gratefully when she entered and grabbed a croissant from the tray.

"This is the most bloody confusing thing. It doesn't help that the type makes you go cross-eyed if you look at it too long. See if you can make heads or tails of it."

She sat down next to him and took the book. It was written in an archaic style with maddening Dark Arts typeset that gave her a headache after five minutes. She rubbed her temples.

"There's a spell to diminish the effects of the typeset, but I can't recall where I even saw it. Probably one of the books at Grimmauld Place."

"Dark magic to counter dark magic," Harry said. "Does any of it make sense?"

"Well, I skimmed over the part where it talks about creating the Horcruxes. There isn't much about destroying them, of course. It does give an incantation, thank goodness, but it talks about invoking the 'Sons of Horus' and making an offering to Shu. Egyptian, right? This is old, old magic." She looked at Harry. "Have you ever seen any references to Egypt in the library? I certainly haven't! No wonder we couldn't find any information on Horcruxes." She was indignant. The library had failed her. "I'll do another search, but I may have to go home and look in a Muggle library."

She looked at the book awhile longer, seeking additional clues, but the reference to the Sons of Horus seemed to be the key bit of information. She finally pushed it aside.

"Enough. I need to go to the library. You?"

Harry set his tray aside. "The usual. Back to the Pensieve. I think I'll wait for Ron, though. Two heads are better than one when assessing memories."

"He might be awhile. He's telling his exciting story of rescue." She flushed slightly, thinking about Ron.

"What?" Harry asked perceptively.

"It's Ron. He grabbed me on the stairs last night and kissed me."

Harry grinned hugely. "You're kidding!" He laughed. "All right, Ron. It's about time."

She shook her head, annoyed. "It's not all right. And it's not about time, either. It's too late, actually."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I didn't feel anything, Harry," she admitted miserably. He looked puzzled.

"What are you supposed to feel? It was just a kiss, right?"

She almost laughed. What are you supposed to feel? Well, she wouldn't have known before, would she? She would never have guessed what a simple kiss could make you feel… until Malfoy.

"You're supposed to feel like you're the only two people in the world. Like everything around you could crumble to dust and you wouldn't even notice. Like you're drowning, but clinging to a lifeline at the same time. Like you're burning and freezing at once." She trailed off.

Harry stared at her in amazement. "Seriously? I've never felt anything like that. Kissing Cho… well, it was nice, but it certainly wasn't… what you said."

"Neither was kissing Viktor. Nor Ron," she said ruefully.

His green eyes narrowed.

"Wait a minute, if neither Ron nor Viktor made you feel all drowning and things, then how do you know you're supposed to… no bloody way. Tell me you did not feel like that when—"

"Don't be silly," she said briskly. "We'd better get to that Pensieve so I can get started on my fruitless search for Egyptian information. Are you finished eating?"

"Yes. Hermione, I think we really need to talk about this."

"There is nothing to talk about. The only thing that matters is that Ron is not hurt. I can only hope he felt the same last night."

"You mean—nothing?"

"Exactly. Nothing."

"I give that about a one percent chance of accuracy," he said dryly. Her heart sank at his words. Those were about the odds she calculated, as well.

The next Pensieve memory took place in Snape's office. Dumbledore seemed to be angry when he strode in.

"Did you know?" he demanded when Snape looked up from his desk. "Did you know Tom Riddle's diary was a Horcrux?"

Snape huffed. "Of course not. I never even saw the bloody thing. I didn't know it existed."

"Why would he give it to Lucius?"

"He loved Lucius. The only two he trusted were Lucius and Bellatrix. If he wanted something kept for him, he would have given it to one of them."

Dumbledore sank into a chair before his desk. His anger seemed to have melted into frustration.

"I never would have expected a diary," he admitted. "It makes sense, of course, for him to use something personal, but it worries me. It worries me greatly."

Snape sat forward. "Well, we had eleven bloody years of peace in which to find and destroy these Horcruxes and how many have we destroyed?" Snape slammed a fist down on the desk. "Now, we're running out of time."

Dumbledore glared at him. "We've been searching."

"I'vebeen searching! You've been doing God-knows-what, concentrating so much on this bloody school—"

"This school holds the future of the wizarding world!" Dumbledore said coldly.

"There will not be a future of the wizarding world if we do not stop him!" Snape thundered, half-rising and leaning over his desk.

Dumbledore massaged his temples with long fingers.

"I know," he said tiredly. "I have let time slip away from me. It moves so quickly these days…"

"Let us dispense with the regretful trips down memory lane and concentrate on the problem at hand. The Horcruxes are the least of our worries, at the moment. We've got to prevent him from obtaining a body."

Dumbledore waved a dismissing hand at Snape's suggestion.

"We know what to look for, now. If he attempts to possess—"

"Don't be stupid!" Snape barked. "I'm not talking about possession! I'm talking about obtaining flesh! A new body. It can be done. I'm sure he's working toward that end."

"He cannot cast such a spell in the state he is in," Dumbledore scoffed. "And his loyal servants are all in our custody."

"Your overconfidence is inspiring," Snape said sarcastically.

Dumbledore laughed. "I do hope so. At least Lucius managed to aid us, albeit unwittingly. One Horcrux has been destroyed."

"Thanks to the overwhelming luck of The Chosen One."

"It was more than luck that allowed a second-year to defeat a basilisk."

"Yes, it was Godric Gryffindor's sword."
"The sword did not wield itself, my friend."

"I have no wish to sit here and listen to you prattle on about the merits of a boy who can't even brew a simple potion without help from his Mudblood girlfriend."

Dumbledore's face hardened.

"I have asked you to refrain from using that terminology in my presence."

Snape's teeth bared in a caricature of a smile.

"Sorry," he said. "Force of habit. Bad upbringing, you know." He didn't sound the least bit apologetic. Hermione shook her head. It was bad enough when purebloods like Malfoy used such slurs, but it was incomprehensible when half-bloods like Snape and Tom Riddle did so.

"Yes," Dumbledore said, sounding unconvinced. He got to his feet.

"I'll never change, you know," Snape said suddenly. "Not really."

Dumbledore smiled beatifically. "The mere fact that you mention it makes it possible."

Snape shook his head and sighed as Dumbledore started out. "Blind old fool."

Hermione looked at Harry in puzzlement.

"Bloody hell," Harry said. "Every memory is more confusing than the last."

"Snape warned him about Voldemort acquiring a body. He didn't listen."

Harry nodded, looking sick. "Two years before it happened. Two years."

"And what about that warning at the end? 'I'll never change.' Was he telling Dumbledore that he was still a Death Eater?"

"How could he be and yet help Dumbledore try to stop Voldemort? Everything about Snape is a contradiction."

Harry glanced at Dumbledore's portrait, but Dumbledore was gone. Hermione grinned ruefully. Probably wanted to avoid any questions brought on by that particular memory. Harry went over and looked at the vials.

"The next one is right after we saved Sirius and Buckbeak. When we found out about Wormtail."

Hermione shook her head. "I'm not ready for anything related to that terrible night. Not at the moment, anyway. Come to the library with me. Maybe I missed some books on Egypt simply because I was never looking for them. We never thoroughly went through the Restricted Section, either."

Harry returned the vial. "All right."

Draco awoke slowly and stretched. He felt a twinge in his neck and painfully recalled why he hated sleeping on the beds at Hogwarts. He missed his pillow-soft feather bed at home. Hell, he missed everything about being at home. His bed, his clothes, his comfortable fur-lined slippers, his scalding baths, his lazy breakfasts in bed…

He propped his arms behind his head and wondered what time it was. The Gryffindors definitely had an advantage there. In the dungeon, it was always night. Great for sleeping, not so great for waking up at a decent hour. For all he knew, it was past noon. He felt pretty good, so it was more than likely he'd gotten enough sleep. He tugged his wand out from under his pillow and lit all the lamps in the room. It dispelled the gloom, but didn't brighten the place much.

He wondered if Potter and Granger had sorted out the book. He grinned at last night's memory of Hermione, although he had to wonder why she had run down and kissed him. Merely to annoy Ron? Frankly, he also wondered why she was no longer giving him the cold shoulder. She had been so enraged outside Hagrid's hut; he assumed she would never speak to him again. Mercurial, was Granger.

He reached over to the bedside stand and picked up her Galleon.

What time is it? he asked

His coin warmed instantly.

You're calling me for a time check?

You expected me to call for a different reason?

No. It's nearly 11 am. I thought you might sleep all day.

Maybe you should have awakened me.

I don't know the Slytherin password.

It'sapple. Would you have used it?

Apple?

Yes. Garden of Eden? Adam and Eve? Wicked serpent? Apple.

I see. No, I probably wouldn't have used it.

Draco walked the coin across his knuckles for a moment and then asked, Will you use it now? He winced as soon as the message was sent. Why had he asked that? He considered the question. Simple, he just wanted to ask her about the book without Potter and Weasley butting in with their annoying commentary. That's all.

You want me to come down there?

Yes.

There was a very long pause. He grinned to think of her little mind spinning and spinning with questions and concerns. Would her intelligence win out over her trusting nature? Would Gryffindor boldness triumph over demure reticence?

All right. I'll meet you in your common room.

Draco laughed aloud. He would have bet on Gryffindor boldness any day of the week.

It took her less than ten minutes. He hoped she had left Weasley with his jaw agape as she bolted. She would have had to run from the Gryffindor common room. Of course, at this time of day, she had probably been elsewhere.

"Malfoy?" she called from the common room.

"I'm in here," he replied.

"Well, come out."

"No. You come in here."

He fully expected her to argue with him for awhile, so he was quite surprised when she appeared in the doorway with a wary expression on her face. She was dressed in a school uniform today, except the vest and tie were missing and the white blouse was casually open at the neck. No heavy robes, either. Draco had never expected to find the Hogwarts uniform sexy, but she looked surprisingly fetching. Maybe it was just his memory of what she wore underneath…

"You look like a naughty schoolgirl," he said huskily. She flushed.

"I'm neither naughty nor a schoolgirl, at the moment. I simply forgot to bring any clothing from home. I've asked Mrs. Weasley to send my things from… from the Headquarters of the Order. Until they arrive, I'm stuck wearing this. How long do you plan to stay in bed?"

"Until you come over here and wake me properly."

She scowled. "Sorry, I don't have a pitcher of ice water to toss on your head. I'll conjure one if you'd like." She walked over and sat on the bed usually occupied by Crabbe. "So. What did you want to tell me yesterday? When I refused to listen?"

Draco shook his head.

"Oh no. You missed your chance on that one. Besides, I've forgotten."

She gave him a measuring look and absently reached into her shirt. She toyed with the coin, sliding it up and down the chain. Draco waited. There was something on her mind, obviously. He grinned when she blurted with typical Gryffindor bluntness, "Why did you tell Ron to kiss me?"

Draco's brows shot up. "Did he?"

She nodded and Draco chuckled. "Well, well, well. He waslistening. Not quite as stupid as we all thought, is Weasley?"

"I never thought Ron was stupid. Answer the question."

"I didn't think he'd actually do it," Draco admitted with a grin.

"With you goading him into it? How could he not?"

"So, how was it?"

Hermione flushed again. "It was good. Fine. Excellent. Very exciting."

"God, you really are the most atrocious liar."

She leaped to her feet and her chin snapped into the air stubbornly.

"I was not lying!"

"A bit better, but still not convincing. Try again."

She gave him a venomous glare and began to pace next to the bed.

"You are, without a doubt, the most irritating—"

"How was my kiss?"

Her words choked off as if he'd strangled her. The flush that tinted her cheeks most deliciously answered his question better than anything she might have said. She had to clear her throat before she could speak, and even then her words were barely audible.

"Horrid. Nasty. Worst kiss ever," she whispered. Draco laughed throatily.

"Really? Well, damn me. I'd better try again."

He reached out quick as a striking snake and grabbed her wrist. She pulled back with a gasp, but he drew her inexorably toward him. She shook her head in denial, but he gave a quick heave and yanked her off balance. She fell on top of him and he released her wrist to wrap both hands tightly in her curls.

"Don't!" she breathed. Her eyes were wide and frightened, but she froze when he tilted her head slightly and pressed her lips against his. The kiss he'd given her on the stairs had been a childish peck compared to the assault he launched upon her now. There would be no interruptions, so he took his time and savored every tormenting instant. He tasted her somewhat gently at first, to lull her into relaxing, and was surprised when it worked better than expected. His lips playfully teased hers, tender and undemanding. With a soft sigh, she melted against him. He was wary of a trick, so did not release his grip. He deepened the kiss, teasing her mouth open and sliding his tongue inside to touch hers lightly. She inhaled sharply and he smiled against her mouth. After that, he was ruthless. He tasted, sucked, nibbled, and played with every part of her mouth; lips, tongue, and teeth until she whimpered mindlessly and writhed against him.

Somewhere along the way, he lost all control. Hermione wasn't passive. She returned his kiss with her own, matching tease for tease, taste for taste. Her hands, hot and silken, caressed his bare chest. It was exquisite torment. His own hands were tangled helplessly in her hair, though he strove to free them in order to slide them down to her body, sprawled across his in senseless abandon. He needed to touch her.

He tore one hand free suddenly and she gasped when several strands of hair went with it. She pulled back to stare at him through eyes glazed with passion. Her chest labored against his as she struggled to breathe normally. Draco's hand, free at last, tugged sharply at her blouse and then slipped beneath it. He caressed the satiny skin of her back and she arched against him with a gasp. Hot desire filled his senses with a rush that was physically painful. He moved his other hand, trying desperately to free it so he could move the offending materials out of the way—clothing and sheets—he would tear them away if he had to.

He realized his mistake in an instant. The fevered kiss that had kept her in thrall had been broken. Freed from the delightful stimulus, her mind began to function again.

"What… what am I doing?" she breathed. Before he could stop her, she heaved herself off of him, leaving behind a substantial length of hair still twisted in his fingers. She backed away quickly and sat down hard on Crabbe's bed. Her brown eyes were wide with disbelief. Her hair was disheveled and her lips were swollen. Her shirt was askew and half out of her skirt. God, he wanted her.

He shut his eyes and struggled for control. He took several deep, steadying breaths and fought the heat that strove to overwhelm him. He clenched his fists and stilled himself against the urge to throw himself across the intervening space and press her down upon Crabbe's bed…

Control. Control. Control. He chanted the word until he felt calm returning. He opened his eyes and slanted them at her with a smirk guaranteed to infuriate her.

"How was it that time?" he asked with a hint of amusement.

"There are no words," she said quietly. He laughed sardonically. He couldn't accuse her of lying that time. She stood up and walked quickly to the door, out of his reach, he knew. She tucked her shirt carefully back into her skirt and ran her hands across her hair in an attempt to smooth it. When she spoke again, her voice was calm.

"If you've quite finished tormenting me, it's time to get up. We would like your opinion on some information found in the book. I'll wait for you out here."

She went out and he stared after her in bemusement. So, she planned to pretend that nothing had happened. Maybe she thought he was just playing a game. Was he? He thought about her lying across him, kissing him, touching him… He drew a ragged breath. No. Not a game. He had been trying to teach her a lesson and received one himself. Don't play with fire.