What The Room Requires

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/34007959.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Category: F/M
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationship: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Character: Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Lucius Malfoy, Harry Potter, Ron
Weasley, Albus Dumbledore, Pansy Parkinson, Bellatrix Black
Lestrange, Narcissa Black Malfoy
Language: English
Collections: I Can’t Have 100+ Tabs Open., Goddess Tier Dramione, Best of
Dramione Stories, Dramione well-written non-toxic gems, DrayDray x
HermHerm, Best of Dramione, FavoriteHPwellwrittensogood, Dramione
to Read, Fucking Masterpieces, Dermione I like to remember, Fics I
need to read ASAP
Stats: Published: 2021-09-21 Chapters: 26/26 Words: 107198

What The Room Requires

by WitchsDream

Summary

This is NOT my story! I found it in ff.net and the author gave permission to post it here.
Thank you Alydia Rackham for writing such a beautiful piece.

SUMMARY:
Hermione is the one who finds Draco weeping in the bathroom. He flees. She chases him
into the Room of Requirement, and the room forces them to face their greatest fears
together in order to find the door.

I DON'T OWN ANY RIGHTS OF THE CHARACTERS. ITS BASED ON HARRY

POTTER. ALL RIGHTS BELONG TO JK ROWLING
 Chapter 1

"I just need a little more time…" Hermione is the one who finds Draco weeping in the bathroom.
He flees from her. She chases him into the Room of Requirement, where time means nothing—and
the room forces them to face their greatest fears, together, in order to find the door.

What the Room Requires

I sensed him come in. He carries a kind of chill with him, Draco Malfoy. At least for me. The look
of ice, the aspect of snow.

I was sitting in the great hall, suspended in awkward silence between me and Ron as we craned our
necks to watch Harry chase after Katie Bell—the girl we had seen thrown into the air and then
tossed down by an invisible force—a terrible curse. But Malfoy's entrance stopped my memories,
and I glanced up.

Malfoy stopped right in front of me and Ron. He wasn't wearing school robes—just trousers, a
white shirt and plaid sweater-vest and tie. He looked pale, shadows under his eyes. And he froze
where he stood, staring straight ahead of him. At Harry. And Katie.

For a moment, the noise all around me faded into the background, and a cold stone settled down in
my gut. I was right before, when I had talked to Harry—Malfoy really did look ill. But right in that
moment, I didn't even recognize him. Usually, he entered with a swagger and a smirk, no matter
how weak nowadays, that I tried to ignore. But now…? Now, his confidence was gone. His pale
blue eyes looked tired—afraid. My brow furrowed. How had a change like that happened, and
why? I swallowed. When had I actually cared enough to find out?

His body tensed—leaned back. I glanced down the aisle…

To see that he and Harry's gazes had locked. My fists closed.

And then Malfoy looked at me. For just a second, he turned his head, met my eyes with a stark,
trapped gaze, then retreated out of the noisy hall. I froze.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Harry breaking away from Katie, and he strode back
toward us—no, toward Malfoy.
"Stop!" I gasped to Harry, throwing off my shock and jumping to my feet. Harry disregarded me
and kept going. I lunged over the table, knocking our drinks over, and grabbed Harry's arm.

"Hermione!" Ron yelped as pumpkin juice spilled all over his lap. "What are you—"

"Harry, don't," I hissed, ignoring the uproar I'd caused at the table. Harry's head whipped around
and he pulled in close to my face, to avoid being heard.

"I have to." His gaze burned. "He cursed Katie—I saw it in his face."

"I know," I nodded, clamping down on his arm so he couldn't move. "That's why you can't do what
you're planning to do."

Harry faltered, then his eyes narrowed.

"What did you think I was going to do?"

"Something unhelpful," I muttered, letting go of him, hopping over the bench and heading toward
the door.

"Where are you going?" both Ron and Harry chorused.

"I'll meet you in the common room," I answered, not looking back. "Don't follow me!"

I darted out of the hall, pushing through a group of people coming in, trying not to be rude while
straining to see over their heads.

There. I caught sight of a solitary form striding down the long hall past the stairs. I gritted my teeth
and hopped up the steps two at a time, then made myself walk as fast as I could. I couldn't lose him
around some corner—and I really hoped he wouldn't make it back to the door of his common room.
I'd never hear the end of it from Harry.
Ahead of me, Malfoy lifted a hand and jerked on his tie, like it was choking him. I hurried faster,
keeping my shoes quiet. He didn't know I was following him yet.

I drew in a deep breath through my nose, then another, my heart pounding. I knew I had been right
in stopping Harry—he had been about to go off half-cocked and do something stupid, and probably
violent, that wouldn't get us anywhere. It would probably get him expelled.

But what was I going to do? I had no experience talking to Draco Malfoy. Plus, I was so furious
with him at the moment that I feltlike punching him again. And I would, except it wouldn't help
the situation. I had no choice butto try to get him to talk.

But how would he react to being cornered, especially when he had that wild, unfamiliar look to
him? I bit my lip. I was about to find out.

Malfoy's steps lurched, and he turned a corner and ducked into the boy's lavatory. I trotted after,
then slowed and paused by the doorframe. I winced. No matter how many rules I'd already broken
in my career at Hogwarts, I still felt weird about just marching into the boys' toilet.

But then, my gut relaxed, and I went still—as I watched Malfoy stagger forward, gasping, and
brace his hands on the sink, as if he was about to be sick. His breathing heaved, and then he
reached up and tore off his sweater vest and threw it down. His white-blonde hair mussed, he
leaned over the sink again, turned the cold water on and splashed his gaunt face. The tumbling
water echoed through the marble room. He lifted his head and stared at his reflection, his shoulders
shivering. My lips parted, and my breathing slowed. Strange. It was like he didn't recognize
himself, either. His eyes went wide, he made a thick choking sound, dropped his head…

And began to sob. Short, strangled, wrenching cries—hitched, panicked gasps, like he'd been
stabbed in the chest.

Something inside of me collapsed. I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling my brow go tight.
Draco was crying. I'd never seen him cry. He was always so aloof, so superior and cruel—I
actually hadn't thought he was capable of it.

I stood rooted to the floor as he wept, and his sobs grew deeper. He clamped a hand over his mouth
to stifle them, but his body shuddered.

"I can't," he whispered. "I can't, I can't…"

I took a step forward. Then another. My hands clenched to fists and I held my arms against me,
forcing myself to keep going.

I halted about ten feet away, It was like I'd hit a wall. I swallowed. I knew, instinctively, that I was
now dealing with a cornered wild animal. Well, if there was anything I'd learned from owning a
cat, it was that in these situations, caution, logic, and courtesy were best. I took a breath.

"Shall I get the nurse?" My voice came out weak and shaky but it carried. Malfoy jerked around,
hit his hip on the edge of the sink and struck his ring against the faucet. He gaped at me, his cheeks
tear-stained. He glanced to the door, his brow twisted, and then he met my eyes again.

"What?" he stammered. I made my mouth and voice work, and kept myself from backing up.

"It's just…It looked as if you were ill," I said. "And I wondered if you wanted someone to…to get
Madam Pomphrey."

His eyebrows went up and his mouth fell open, then he barked out a laugh and swiped at his face
with his sleeve, scrambling to compose himself.

"Pomphrey?" he spat. "What could that old bat possibly know?"

I frowned. His hands were shaking. I opened my mouth, hesitated, then hazarded the next question.

"Are you all right?"

He sent me a razor glance.

"Am I all right?" he snapped. He shook his head, incredulous. "Why would you care anyway,
Mudblood?"

That insult entered me like poison, as it always did when he said it. He bent down and snatched up
his vest from the floor, then turned and headed toward the exit.
"Draco, what's wrong?" I called. He slowed, then stopped. I held my breath.

"Whatever you think you're going to get me to say, you won't succeed," Malfoy warned. But the
venom was gone from his tones. In fact, his voice trembled and he was having a hard time catching
his breath. "Leave me alone, and stop following me." Then, he strode out of there, his hands in
white-knuckled fists.

I set my jaw. I've grown up with boys, and I know how they think. Good boys, anyway. I couldn't
pretend to understand everything about Malfoy's twisted mind—but what he had said just then was
clear enough to me. He would never confess it, but in the undertones of his voice, he had
practically screamed, "I'm not all right. I wish someone did care. And I might tell you, if you push
me hard enough. Especially if you follow me."

"Draco!" I yelled, and raced after him. I swerved around the corner just in time to see him pelt
down the hall. He was faster than I was—I could never keep up with him.

Oh, please, please! I gasped as torches and pillars flew by and my feet hammered on the stones. I
just need a little more time! Just a little more—

A door materialized in the blank wall in front of Malfoy—a tall, double door. I almost tripped. The
Room of Requirement!

Malfoy glanced back at me, his eyes went wide, and he pulled on the handle. The door swung
open. He plunged inside and tried to heave it shut.

"Wait!" I cried, grabbed the edge of the door with both hands and wrenched it open, then leaped in
after him. I stepped on his foot. My hand slapped down on his shoulder. The door slammed behind
us.

A great clock, somewhere overhead, ticked twice. Then it silenced—and everything went black.
 Chapter 2

DRACO

I fell on my face. That blasted girl got in after me and slammed headlong into my back. My wand
had been halfway into my hand—now it skittered away across the stone floor and into the
blackness. I swore in French and then Italian as I scrambled back to my feet, wincing at the pain
shooting down my knees and elbows. I could see nothing—not even my hand in front of my face.

"Brilliant, Granger!" I shouted, my voice echoing off of towering walls. "You made me let go of
my wand!"

"Why did you have your wand out?" she gasped, stumbling around somewhere to my left.

"To kill you with it."

"What?" she yelped. "You were really going to—"

"Oh, get over it," I snarled. "I thought I might just need a freaking light!"

"Oh," she said tremulously, and then her voice grew firm. "Lumos!"

Nothing happened.

"Lumos!" she repeated.

"Give it to me," I held out my hand in the direction I thought she stood.

"No!" I heard her bump back against a wall. That confirmed it: the door was gone.
"Do you not even know how to use the stupid thing?" I took three steps toward her, cursing this
pitch blackness, and my hand brushed her shoulder. I grabbed her arm hard. "Give me your wand!"

"Draco Malfoy, you let go of me—"

She thrashed against my grip, but she couldn't see either. I fought her flailing, trying not to get hit in
the face, and slapped my other hand down on her wrist.

"No!" she yelped as I pushed her back against the wall.

"Stop acting like an infant and give me your wand!" I roared, just as I snatched it out of her right
hand. I spun around, held it up and took a deep breath. "Lumos!"

Nothing happened. Nothing at all. Not even a spark. It was like I was holding a stick from one of
the trees outside. I shook it.

"What is wrong with your wand?"

"Nothing is wrong with my wand!" Hermione panted, her voice breaking with rage. "Give it back
to me!"

"Fine." I tossed it in her direction. It struck stone, then fell onto the floor and rolled.

"Where did it go? Draco, where did it go?" she gasped, scrabbling around on the stones with her
hands. I didn't answer. My eyes kept widening trying to catch some little ray of light, some shadow
or flicker of a candle. But there was nothing. And from the depth of the echoes made by our
screaming match, this room was completely empty.

"I can't find it," Hermione cried. "I can't find it!"

"I can't find mine either!" I barked, hands clenching.

"Are you even looking?"

"Looking? How could I look? It's pitch dark in here!"

"I know that! Are you trying to find it?"

"What's the point of finding it?" I retorted. "They don't work in here!"

"Why wouldn't they work?"

"How should I know?"

"What were you thinking when you came in here?" she demanded. I whirled around out of reflex,
but I still could not see her.

"Listen, if you're trying to call me thick—"

"I'm not," she shot back. "I'm trying to figure out where we are!"

"The Room of Requirement," I snorted.

"I know!"

"Stop screaming!"

"You stop screaming!"

"Granger, if you don't shut up I am going to—"

"Sh."
"Whatdid you say?" I started, offended.

"Shhhh!"

"Hey, I don't appreciate being—"

Her hand clamped down on my wrist. I jerked, tried to throw her off—

"Listen!" she hissed. I went still. For a moment, I heard nothing, and was about to fling her across
the room…

When an orange glow bloomed far off at the other end of the room—a room that was apparently
three times as long as any of the halls in my house. I squinted, for my eyes had tried to adjust to the
dark. Hermione did not let go of my arm.

"What is that?" she whispered, suddenly quiet. I said nothing. Sounds issued from that glow—
scuffling, scraping. And then, a high pitched, whistling howl soared up to the ceiling.

All of my blood went cold. A deep shudder ran through my whole body. I tried to control myself,
but I could only swallow convulsively and take a step back.

"Draco, what is that?"

"Mountain goblins," I said through my teeth. And then all my muscles locked in place and I went
stiff as a board.

"Mountain goblins?" Hermione repeated, baffled. "What? In the castle?"

I literally could not answer. I could not even move.

"Should we run?" Both of her hands gripped my wrist now. The glow grew, spread out to show the
walls of the room—which were not walls at all, but the jaggedly-hewn rock of a cave. And then,
sharp shadows of lurching, crawling figures danced across the rock; and throaty, gurgling laughter
and growling slithered toward us.

"Draco, should we run?"

The growling rose to a primal shriek.

They'd seen us.

But try as I might, my muscles were like lead—my heart beat so hard the veins in my neck hurt.

"Draco?"

"Mhm," I managed, but I could not budge.

"Then come on!" Hermione yanked my arm, spun me around, and dragged me forward. The next
instant, the goblins broke into a frenzied run, right on our heels, skittering, snarling, stamping and
gnashing their teeth. I forced my frozen legs to work, even as I stumbled forward into total
darkness, lead by nothing but that mudblood's fingers.

"Come on!" she urged, and I pumped my legs faster. The goblins snatched at the back of my loose
shirt—I felt a claw strike my back—and my breathing sharpened like I was sucking in knives. I
squeezed my eyes shut, for it made no difference, and ran as hard as I could.

And then, behind me, ghoulish, resonating singing snarled and bubbled from the seething ranks.

"Clap! Snap! the black crack!

Grip, grab! Pinch, nab!

And down, down to Goblin-town

You go, my lad!

Clash, crash! Crush, smash!

Hammer and tongs! Knocker and gongs!

Pound, pound, far underground!

Ho, ho, my lad!"

"Draco," Hermione gasped, just as I almost tripped. I felt goblin breath right behind me—smelled
their stench.

"Draco, I see something!"

"Where?" I yelped, opening my eyes again.

"There!" she said—and far, far ahead of us, I glimpsed a little light. And that moment, my feet
struck something that was not stone. It felt like earth, and pine-needles. And then, trees rushed past
us on either side. We were in a wood.

The goblins kept coming.

"Swish, smack! Whip crack!

Batter and beat! Yammer and bleat!

Work, work! Nor dare to shirk,

While Goblins quaff, and Goblins laugh,

Round and round far underground

Below, my lad!"

"Almost…there…" Hermione breathed, tightening her hold on me. Now I could see the path ahead
of us—it was wide, covered with pine needles. The glow was different, not like the goblin hole.
Somehow brighter, more open…

Jaws clapped together right in my ear. I bit out a strangled cry and batted my hand backward,
striking leathery goblin flesh. Then, one of them sank his teeth into the back of my leg.

I howled. Burning pain lanced up my leg and back. Hermione threw me toward the opening—
I broke through, out of the woods. I soared into brilliant golden light. The pain in my leg vanished.
For an instant, I saw blue sky, and yellow grass. Then I thudded to the ground.

Silence. A restless wind rustled through tall grass over my head. I lay for a moment, paralyzed, my
heartbeat thundering in my ears. The wind whispered. I opened my eyes.

I lay on my stomach on top of crushed stalks of barley. The golden strands stood thick by my face
and my hands. I took a deep breath, and closed my fingers through the crisp grass. The earthy,
sweet scent of hay filled my lungs. I frowned, then slowly sat up.

The warm breeze caught my hair. I squeezed my eyes shut a moment, as brilliant, unobstructed
sunlight struck them. I reached up and rubbed my face, then looked around.

I sat in a golden barley field, a cloudless sky up above, waving stalks as far as I could see. Except
one thing.

In the distance stood a tree. Beautiful, but out of place, an ancient weeping willow leaned to one
side atop a hill, its long branches hanging down to the ground. My eyes narrowed. Had I been here
before…?

I glanced back. Behind me stood a black forest—like a wall of iron. There was the path we had just
taken, looking like a tunnel through a mountain. Beyond it, darkness and quiet waited. The goblins
weren't following.

I climbed to my feet, then stared out at that weeping willow. The wind ruffled my shirt, but no birds
sang. The only sound was the rustle of the barley. I glanced down at the back of my leg, expecting
to see torn cloth and a wound. But there was nothing wrong with my leg, and my trousers were
intact.

Something crashed against the barley to my right. I whipped around—

To see Granger shoot into a sitting position, hay in her hair, her sweater and tie all disheveled. She
looked all around, then behind her at the forest, then back at the distant willow. She frowned.
"Where are we?"

"Why do you think I am the one that would know that?" I demanded, starting forward.

"Where are you going?" I heard her get up and stomp after me.

"Away from you."

"Until what? You find the door?" she countered. "How do you propose to do that, without even
having a wand?"

"The traditional way," I answered. "By looking for it."

"We're in the middle of a field!" she cried. Her feet halted. "Draco, stop."

"No."

"Draco, you must tell me where we are!"

"No, I mustn't," I retorted, whirling around and giving her an ugly look. "This is your fault anyway
—if you hadn't been following me and confused the room, we wouldn't have wound up in this
nightmare."

I spun back around and stormed toward the willow, not allowing myself to wonder why I was
going there.

"Wait."

My footsteps slowed, and I frowned. I glanced over my shoulder and raised an eyebrow. Hermione
stared at the ground.
"What?" I questioned. She met my eyes.

"I've heard that song before."

I glanced around, nonplussed.

"What song?"

"The goblin song," she said.

"Keep lots of company with goblins, eh Granger?" I sneered.

"Don't be ridiculous. I've heard it somewhere else!" she insisted. Then she gave me a bewildered
look. "I think it's from…a book?"

That stopped me. I swallowed hard.

"It is, isn't it?" she took a step toward me. "Tolkien?"

My eyes flashed.

"He's a wizard," I snapped. "How would you know anything about—"

"The Hobbit?" she finished. I stared at her. Her face lit up.

"Yes! It is from The Hobbit! When every one of them but Gandalf is captured by the goblins, when
they were sheltering in a cave because of the thunderstorm!"

I tried to give her a withering glare, but it didn't work. So I just turned back around and kept
marching through the barley to the willow.
"Don't you understand?" she persisted. "The Room of Requirement has access to our thoughts—
that's part of its enchantment! It knows you read The Hobbit." She caught up to me, and I could
feel the weird look she was giving me. "Why were you thinking of goblins?"

"I wasn't!" I insisted.

"Well I certainly wasn't," she said. Her voice lowered. "It's like the room knew what would scare
you…"

"I was not scared," I bluffed. She wasn't listening.

"The question is…" she mused. "Why would it want to scareyou?"

"It's a room, Granger," I said. "It doesn't want anything." I shook my head and laughed at the empty
sky. "Typical Muggle. Can't seem to grasp the concept that magic just has rules."

"What do you mean?" she trotted up right next to me, peering at my face.

"You're insufferable, you know that?" I glowered at her.

"What. Do. You. Mean?"

I stopped walking. It didn't seem like I was getting any closer to that willow, anyway.

"Listen, little girl," I grunted. "The Room of Requirement takes your thoughts and transforms them
into reality, right?"

She watched me keenly, her brown eyes bright, her brow creased. I gritted my teeth.

"Usually, when people find it, they are thinking about one, focused thing," I explained, feeling like
Professor Snape trying to get a concept into Potter's thick skull. "But if you start out thinking of
one particular thing, and then a thousand other things crash into your head while you're going
through the door, you're going to blunder into something like freaking Alice In Wonderland." I
jabbed a finger at her face. "And that's if you're only dealing with one person's unfocused head, not
two people bashing in here with no time to get a clear idea as to what it is they actually want."

"Wonderland," she repeated, as if letting that sink in.

"Or Neverland," I muttered, charging toward the willow again through the tall, crunching grass.
"As in Never-going-to-find-the-blasted-door."

"Why do you keep walking that direction?" Hermione called. "The door is back there."

"Does that way look better to you?" I gestured broadly back toward the deep, dark path into the
woods. "Feel free. I'm not stopping you."

She said nothing for a moment, then shouted after me.

"Fine! That's where my wand is, anyway." She paused, then tried again. "Malfoy, it doesn't make
sense to go where you're going."

"Listen, Granger," I stated, turning around to face her. "You can do whatever you want—but
nothing is going to entice me to go back that way through all…that." I pointed. I shooed her with
my hand. "Ta ta."

She glared at me a moment, just standing waist-deep in waving barley. Then, she spun around and
strode back toward the woods, her long curls bouncing and swinging behind her. I rolled my eyes,
grateful to finally be rid of her.

I kept stomping toward the lonely tree, the barely whispering and rustling all around me. My frown
deepened as I studied the bright landscape, and the softly waving, drooping branches of the willow.
Had I been here before? Or had I just imagined a place like this?

Finally, I drew closer to the willow—which turned out to be larger than any I had ever seen. It
looked about twice the height of the Whomping Willow out on the school grounds. But this one
showed no indication that it was going to swat me. Its green, winsome branches draped down to
the ground, forming a curtain all around its trunk. Memory stirred again. I hesitated, then reached
out a hand to push some of them aside and step into the quiet and shade.

A scream tore the air. I twirled around, my heartbeat leaping. It came again, rending the silence,
bouncing off the gray, leafless trees of that black forest. A horrified, primal, desperate shriek—like
someone was being killed.

Granger.

I gripped the low hanging branches and stared at the ring on my right hand. The sun glinted off the
silver of the crest. I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth, and squeezed the branches hard.

She screamed again.

VVVVVV

HERMIONE

"This is ridiculous. Absolutely absurd," I muttered, slapping a branch out of my face as I stormed
into the shadows of the wood. "The door is this way. Why wouldn't he—"

Something moved in the deep shadows in front of me. I slowed to a halt. I listened.

A low slither, like a long, smooth, heavy body moving through underbrush, filled the silence of the
forest. Chills raced over my skin. And then, I caught sight of a form.

It was lengthy—perhaps ten meters—and moved like a steady black river toward me. I swallowed.

"Hello?" I tried. My parents would think I was barking mad for addressing things that crawled on
the ground, but in my experience, they answered half the time. "Hello? Is someone there?"

Hssssssssssssssssss…
"Oh, no…" I breathed, taking a step back. I trod on something squishy.

I yelped and jumped forward, spinning around—

To see that all of the ground around me was covered in black adders. They swarmed in and out,
over and between each other—piles of them, slithering and sliding and hissing. I could not move, I
could not step anywhere, for they surrounded my feet like I was standing in a simmering puddle of
tar. Dozens of them swept slowly by and turned their heads, staring up at me with black, glittering
eyes. I went ramrod straight, clamped my arms to my sides and forced myself to look up. My
mouth tightened as my arms and hands and knees began to shake. My stomach turned, and my
blood went cold. I had not been afraid of snakes when I was little. The basilisk had changed that.

"This can't be real," I said through my teeth. "It can't be. Draco's goblins weren't real. They were
from a book. This isn't real, it isn't real, this isn't…eeeeeeyyyyyyy!" My words turned into a
whimper as one snake, a very large one, began to wrap its cold, smooth body around and around
and up and up my ankle, then my calf. I wanted to kick it off and run howling, but I bit my tongue
and forced myself to stay still. If I moved, it would bite me.

"Oh, get off, get off, get off!" I begged it, my throat convulsing. "Please get off! Please—" Its thick
coils tightened around my leg. I screeched and smacked at it.

It sank its teeth into my skin, right on the back of my knee.

I let out a scream like I never have. Burning, searing, raging pain flared through my whole leg. I
reached down and ripped the snake off of me. Blood got all over my hands. The snakes' simmering
rose to a boil, and their hiss became a roar—like angry wasps. I tried to jump over them, to run
back toward the barley field, but they leaped up my legs, tying like ropes, coiling around my
ankles. I tumbled to my knees. My hands landed on another snake. He lashed out and bit my wrist. I
screamed again, my throat tearing, and tried to knock him off. He clamped down, and pumped me
full of venom. Then another one bit my elbow. Another my thigh. Tears streamed down my face
and I thrashed on the ground, kicking and slapping with all my strength. The swarm of snakes
began to pull me under.

"Help!" I wailed. "Oh, help me, please!"

My whole body was on fire. Hundreds of snakes bit me once, then came back and bit again. I could
feel my blood filling with poison. I was going to die.
"Get up! Granger, get up!"

The words came to me through a haze, and though I tried to obey, my muscles wouldn't move.
Then, a strong hand gripped my upper arm and jerked me upward.

Snakes tumbled off me. I staggered forward. Someone caught me with his arm around my waist.
Then, sharp strikes, each resounding with a crisp crack, shook me—but I was not being hit. The
arm that held me moved with each crack, as if the other arm was busy making that sound.

"Blast. These. Snakes," the same voice barked in time with each crack. "And blast you for losing.
My. Wand!"

The arm pulled me back, out of the swarm of snakes. Then, two hands shoved me back against the
unyielding bark of a tree.

"Of all the…brilliant. Just brilliant," the voice muttered, and I felt something tear away from my
cheek. I yelped.

"You want me to keep letting it bite you?" he snapped. I squeezed my eyes open to see Draco
Malfoy standing right in front of me. He threw a snake down—a snake that had apparently been
locked onto my face—and then he swiftly reached up and ripped one off of my head, whipped one
off from around my neck, then bent down and wrenched that first long one off my leg—apparently,
I had not gotten it off the first time.

"Get back!" he roared at the creatures, taking up a long stick and advancing on the swarm. They
hissed at him, and that long one opened his mouth and let out a scathing snarl. Draco swung and
cracked it in the skull. It squirmed for a moment, then lay still. The snakes, like a receding tide,
retreated into the blackness. Draco, out of breath, watched them go.

The poison lifted from my arms and legs. I reached up to my face to feel my wound—

But there was nothing there. My skin was smooth. I stared at my hands, earlier covered in blood.
From what I could see, they were clean.

Draco tossed the stick down, then turned to face me.

"You happy, now?" he bit out. "Satisfied that you're so smart? What did I tell you?"

"That nothing would entice you to go back this way," I whispered, trying to stop my shivering. He
glowered at me. I swiped at my eyes, but tears still came away on my fingers.

"I don't understand this," I shook my head. "I never thought the Room of Requirement could be
evil—"

"Are you really this ignorant?" Draco threw his arms in the air, then slapped his thighs. "Top of the
class, yet you can't understand the most basic principle." He looked me up and down, like he was
appraising a horse he didn't like. "Poor Mudblood. Some things just can't be fixed, I'm afraid."

"Well, then why don't you enlighten me?" I roared, my voice thick with the fear I was trying to
swallow. Draco took a deliberate step toward me, his bright eyes pinning me where I stood.

"Magic is not good or evil. It's a tool," he said. "If I waved my wand," he pantomimed into the air.
"If I had a wand, that is," his lip curled. "And said accio hemlock, and murdered you with it," he
pointed at me. "Does that make the accio spell evil?"

I stared at him, then shook my head. He shook his head, too.

"It's not the magic. It's what you do with it."

"So…" I murmured, wrapping my arms around myself. "What did we do with it?"

He glanced at me, then around us at the wood. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, he took a
deep breath.

"I don't know."

My eyebrows went up.

"You were talking like you did."

"I don't, all right?" he shot back, glaring at me. "This has never happened to me before."

"Wait—you come here often?" I stepped toward him.

"As much as anyone else," he returned—but he was lying. He wouldn't look at me.

"Malfoy—"

"Sh."

I stopped in mid stride, then peered into the wood, off the path, the direction Draco was gazing.
Just at the edge of my sight, I could see the edges of a door. A door that seemed somehow
familiar…

"Looks promising," Draco decided, and stepped off the path toward it.

"Is that a good idea?" I winced.

"I'm trying to find the way out," Draco retorted. "But by all means, stay and have tea with the
snakes."

I bit my lip started forward, stopped, then raced after him into the dark forest, leaving the path
behind.
 Chapter 3

DRACO

I heard her following me. Fine. My hands still stung—however invisibly—with the bites of several
snakes. I rolled my eyes as I passed between the gray trees, the pine needles crunching beneath my
feet. I should have let her get filled with venom and die. Except, she probably couldn't actually die,
so she would have just screamed into my concentration as I tried to find a way out. Yes, it was
better that I pulled her out of there. She was quieter. That's what I told myself. I rubbed my hands
and grimaced. My hands still hurt, though.

"Do you recognize this door?" she said from right behind me.

"Do you constantly ask questions?" I sighed.

"How else can I learn anything?"

"I dunno—maybe by listening for once in your life," I shot back.

"I'm trying to listen," she said. "To your answer."

"No, I don't recognize the door."

"I think I do," she said. I jerked to a stop and looked at her. She walked past me, her gaze fixed on
the door.

"You do?"

She did not answer. Her footsteps slowed as she approached the door, and she stretched out her
hand and grasped the doorknob.

"How do you recognize it?" I asked. She said nothing, just stood there.
"Oh, I see—as soon as I ask a question, you stop talking. I suppose—"

She turned the knob. Bright morning light spilled out through the gap. I flinched and held up a
hand to shield my eyes. Hermione drew in a slow breath.

"It is…" she whispered, pushed the door aside and stepped into…

A bedroom.

"Granger?" I frowned, then followed her. I was instantly hit with a fresh, floral smell. I had to blink
to get my eyes to adjust. Hermione now stood at the foot of a quilt-covered bed. The walls were
white, there was a tall paned window with a seat to the left, hung with purple patterned curtains.
Straight ahead hung a huge bulletin board covered with pictures, newspaper clippings and flowery
notes. Beside that, on the window wall, hung framed pictures of pansies and other flowers. On the
floor, following the wall about thigh-high, stood bookshelves absolutely packed with books—but
very neat. In the far corner, atop another pile of books, sat a little stuffed animal. The room was
littered with all sorts of other girlie odds-and-ends: lamps and boxes and knick-knacks. I frowned at
the pictures. They creeped me out—they didn't move.

Hermione hurried across the carpet, took hold of the little stuffed animal and pulled it to her chest.
When she turned around, a surprised smile flashed across her face.

"This is my room!"

I panicked. I spun around, snatched at the doorknob I had just shut, yanked the door open to dive
back through—

And blundered right into a dozen hanging dresses.

"What the—did we come in through your closet?" I cried, batting at the dresses and turning back
around. She gaped at me.

"I don't have parasites or the plague or anything Malfoy," she cried.
"I know that," I growled, unable to keep the uneasy expression from my face. "It's just…" I waved
my hand at the bed. "I'm in a…"

"What?" She lifted her chin. "A Muggle's room?"

I took my hand off the doorknob and straightened.

"No," I said. "A girl's room."

Her eyebrows shot up, her mouth worked for a moment, and then she laughed at me.

"Oh! Well…ha," she shook her head, but the smile didn't go away.

"What?" I objected, blushing.

"Nothing, I…" she paused, and her face grew more serious. She frowned at her walls. "How did we
get here? I'm fairly sure I wasn't thinking about my room…"

"Well, it isn't the way out, and now the forest has turned into a closet," I gestured back at it.
Hermione gazed at her wardrobe, then gave it a thoughtful look. She stepped toward it and passed
me—I got out of her way. She cocked her head and touched one of her dresses.

"Like the door to Narnia," she murmured. My mouth fell open.

"Granger, how in blazesdo you know about—"

"Sweetheart? The tea's ready!"

I jumped. Hermione turned to face the opposite door.

"Mum?" she yelped.

"Yes?"

"Mum!" she gasped, tossed the stuffed animal down on the bed and raced to the door.

"Granger, this isn't…Granger, don't be a fool—" I tried, then hurried after her. The next moment, I
found myself in a tiny sitting room—sparse walls, a cloth couch in front of a strange box with a
moving, talking picture on the front of it; another chair, a piano—

And two people standing up, on the other side of the couch. One was a thin, fair-haired man with a
sweater-vest and pale trousers. The other was a plainly-dressed, dark haired woman, who had her
arms wrapped tight around Hermione.

"Mum!" Hermione said again, squeezing her eyes shut and pressing her face against the woman's
sweater.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" the woman cried, laughing, but her pretty face showed concern. I
stood there by the piano, feeling more awkward than I ever have. The man—Hermione's father—
caught sight of me.

"Who's this?" he asked. Hermione turned her head but did not let go of her mum.

"Oh, this is…um, this is Draco Malfoy. From school."

"Draco Malfoy?" her mum repeated, looking at her, then her dark eyes met mine. "The boy who
called you that name—"

Hermione cleared her throat, then gave me a strange look. I swallowed.

"Mr. Malfoy," the Muggle man stepped toward me, smoothing his consternation with a half-smile.
"Pleasure to meet you." He stuck out his hand to me. I shot a trapped glance at Hermione, then
raised my head and gripped his hand for an instant, then let it go. I resisted the urge to wipe my
palm off on my trouser leg. Hermione glared at me.
"What are you doing home?" Mrs. Granger asked her, backing up and taking her by the shoulders.

"Well, I…we…" Hermione looked at me again, and now I saw a change in her eyes. I wanted to
roll mine. She had already forgotten where we were…

"We got sort of…lost," she tried. "And we were looking for—"

The front door blew in.

The concussion shook my bones. Glass rained into the sitting room. I jumped back five feet.
Hermione and her mum screamed, and threw their arms around each other. Mr. Granger grabbed
them. My heart leaped into my throat.

Outside, day turned to night like the flip of a switch. The door toppled onto the floor. The
remaining glass in the panes shattered.

"Get down!" Mr. Granger commanded, throwing his wife and daughter to the floor. I dove behind
the end of the couch, slapping my hand to my pocket—

I swore. Idiot—I didn't have my wand.

"Draco—" Hermione gasped—her head was only a foot from mine. I couldn't see her for the
darkness.

"Shut up!" I ordered. I twisted, sat up, then peeked over the top of the couch.

Lightning burst outside. Thunder rolled. And two figures stood silhouetted in the doorway.

Recognition flashed through me. My heart surged. Even on a Muggle threshold, in a house far too
meager for their presence, I knew these people.
My father, and my Aunt Bellatrix Lestrange.

A hand grabbed mine.

"Who is it?" Hermione hissed from her hiding place on the floor. I did not answer, and pulled my
hand out of her grasp. I braced my feet underneath me so I could stand up and greet them—

"Lumos." My father waved his wand. White light illuminated the room. My father's visage, hard
and cool, turned to face Mr. Granger. I smirked. What a contrast. There stood a bumbling,
shivering, magic-less, skinny peasant, in front of my father, with his long white hair, magnificent
flowing black cloak and ice-blue eyes.

Aunt Bellatrix snaked in behind him, cocking her wild head to one side, twirling her wand in her
right hand.

"Come on, Lucius," she said lightly. "Let's get on with it."

My father only minutely raised his eyebrow, then addressed a trembling Mr. Granger.

"Where is your daughter?"

Hermione's hand found me again—encircled my ankle. Her fingers were cold. The smile faltered
on my face.

"Who wants to know?" Mr. Granger said through his teeth.

"Two Death Eaters," my father replied. "That ought to give you enough information."

Bellatrix snorted as she laughed.

"Your daughter is Hermione Granger," my father purred. "Hand her over to us, and your life, and
the life of your wife, will be spared."
Mr. Granger closed his hands into fists.

"Would you hand over your only child?"

Slowly, my father canted his head. My eyes went wide, and my breath stopped.

"It depends on who was asking," my father replied. "And in this situation, it most certainly does."

I sank back to the floor, my vision blurring.

"It doesn't matter to me," Mr. Granger answered. "I'm not letting you have her."

I felt Hermione's hand on my ankle start to shake.

"Very well—I was only being gracious," my father said. He raised his wand. Hermione let go of
my ankle.

"Daddy!" she cried, clawing her way out of her mother's grasp.

"Hermione, no!" her mother cried.

"Daddy, I'll go!" she scrambled to her feet. Her face was white, her eyes desperate. She threw
herself toward my father. Her shins hit the couch. "Stop! Please, stop!"

My gaze flew to my father. But it was like he didn't see her—like she wasn't even there. His eyes
were fixed on Mr. Granger.

"Stop!" Hermione howled.

"Avada kadavra."

I threw myself onto my back as green light exploded through the room. Aunt Bellatrix let out a
ringing cackle. A heavy body thudded to the floor.

"NO!" Hermione's wail ripped the air. Mrs. Granger let out a wrenching cry and flung herself
toward her toppled husband. Bellatrix's wand flashed.

"Avada kadavra!" she bellowed. Mrs. Granger stiffened, then crashed to the floor atop her husband,
her eyes blank.

Now, Hermione's shriek carried no words—it was like she was being torn apart. She threw herself
down beside her fallen parents, rending howls shaking her whole body. My father laughed at her.
Bellatrix could not contain her glee. I felt sick.

"Granger," I mumbled, trying to get my frozen lips to work. "Granger, it's not…"

"Mum!" she wept, completely broken, smoothing her mother's hair away from her face, then taking
hold of her still shoulders. "Mum, look at me. Mum, come on!"

I was going to be sick. I bent over, my face twisted, then I clamped my jaws shut. I looked up at my
father.

Now my father saw her. He leveled his wand at her head.

"Get up, Mudblood."

Hermione kept pleading with her dead mother. Bellatrix stepped around my father and took a fistful
of Hermione's hair.

"He said get up!" She yanked on Hermione's hair, forcing her to stand. Hermione, tears streaking
down her cheeks, slapped Bellatrix in the face.
"Why you—" Bellatrix gasped. Hermione kicked her knee with all her force. Bellatrix yelled and
released her.

"How dare you?" My father shoved his wand into his cane, lunged forward and grabbed Hermione
around the throat with his left hand, then slammed her back into the wall, sending pictures
tumbling to the floor. Then, he struck her across the face. Blood ran down her lip.

I shot to my feet. I didn't know what I was going to do, or even why. I just knew that this was too
nonsensical to be real.

"Father?"

Bellatrix and Father spun around to see me, but Father kept his hand on Hermione's throat. She
tried to claw him loose.

"Draco?" my father asked quietly, his brow furrowing. "What are you doing here?"

"I…I'm actually…" I cleared my throat, feeling like a dunce saying this to my father's face. I
shrugged. "I'm in the Room of Requirement. At Hogwarts."

My father stared at me a moment, then both he and Bellatrix glanced at each other and chuckled.

"The mudblood must have put a memory charm on him, poor boy," my father laughed. But my
comment had the effect I wanted. Hermione's face changed. Just slightly, but it was enough. For
half a second, she remembered.

The whole room wobbled. My father let go of her. She tumbled to the carpet. All light
extinguished.

For just an instant, everything was totally black, and quiet. I blinked several times…

Then, soft light lifted the darkness. I found myself standing at the edge of the whispering barley
field, a late afternoon sun beaming slantwise across the sky.
A long, choked sob rang through the silence. I glanced around. Just fifteen feet in front of me,
Hermione knelt, her arms wrapped around herself, her forehead pressed to the ground. She sucked
in a jagged breath, then wrung out deep, wailing cries. She collapsed onto her side, curled up in a
ball and covered her face.

I gazed past her, into the forest. I let out a long sigh, but it shook. My eyes found Hermione again.
She had gone quiet. And now the wind was the only one that spoke—softly, wordlessly, as it
moved through the barley.

HERMIONE

Agony gripped me so hard I couldn't even breathe. It was worse than the poison of the snakes, for
that pain had faded, and this one built with every sob that pulled through my body like a sword
drawn back out of a stab wound.

As if it came from somewhere far away, I heard someone step toward me through the brittle grass.
I tried to open my eyes, but scalding tears filled my eyes and blurred my vision. My consciousness
flickered. I wanted nothing more but to lose it.

"That wasn't real, you know." It was Draco's voice. Quiet, but cold. I didn't answer.

"Look, there's no sense crying about it," his voice grew louder, more callous. "We're in the Room
of Requirement—none of this is real. Why can't you remember that?"

I grabbed several stalks of barley and ripped them up by the roots, scrambled to my feet and threw
them down with all my might.

"Because it was real, Malfoy," I raged, barely able to control my voice. "It is real."

"No it isn't!" he insisted, holding his hands out to his sides. "Look where we are! We're in the
middle of a field! Those Muggles are fine."

"Muggles?" I repeated, fury building until my vision turned red. "Muggles? They were my
parents!"
"No, they were illusions of your parents," he barked, stomping toward me, his blue eyes burning
into me. Blue eyes exactly like his father's. "Just like they were illusions of my father and aunt. It's
all some stupid concoction the room made up. None of that happened."

"But it could," I said back. He stopped. Confusion crossed his fair brow.

"What?"

"Just because it hasn't happened yet doesn't mean it never will," I told him. He blinked.

"That doesn't make sense."

"Why not?" I swiped at my face. "There isn't a day goes by that I don't worry about my parents,
that I don't pray they stay out of mess—that I don't dread the idea of Death Eaters breaking down
my door and murdering them because of me." Fresh tears spilled down my cheeks. He shook his
head, like I was speaking another language.

"Nobody would waste their time killing your Muggle parents," he said, like I was being dense.
"That's how I remembered where we were. My father would never kill them once you had
surrendered yourself."

"Oh, no?" I shot back. "Why not?"

"Because he isn't like that!" Draco insisted.

"He's like Voldemort!" I roared. "At least he wants to be. Muggles are nothing to Death Eaters—
they're like bugs to be crushed. You and your father have made that more than clear, ever since I
met you."

"My father isn't unreasonable," Draco said, but his breathing got faster when I spoke Voldemort's
name. He took a short breath. "If you would surrender yourself, Father would leave your parents
alone."
"And Bellatrix?"

He blinked, then twitched away.

"Bellatrix is mad," he murmured. "Everyone knows that."

"And what's to stop her from killing unarmed people if she wanted to?" I demanded.

"My father would!" Draco shouted.

"Why?" I shouted back. "He doesn't care—he would probably think it was fun."

Draco lunged at me and grabbed my shoulders, then shook me so hard I bit my lip.

"My father is a noble man, a warrior, and he has more honor than that, you pompous, dirty-
blooded little rat," he snarled. His hands crushed my shoulders. His nose was inches from mine. A
strand of white hair fell across his angry brow and touched the bridge of his nose, just between
those icy, burning blue eyes. Blood trickled down my chin.

"What?" I gritted. "Are you going to hit me, too?"

His expression cleared. His hands loosened until he just held me there with almost no pressure.

"You're so selfish," I whispered, hot tears beginning. I knocked his hands away from me and
backed up. "Do you even stop to think before you hurt people?"

He fell away from me, his face stark and pale. I swiped at my eyes again, then wiped my mouth on
my sleeve.

"I'm getting out of here," I decided. "I don't care what is in that forest, or what enchantment this is
or what it makes me see—I am getting out of this room right now." With that, I turned on my heel,
clenched my fists, and marched right back onto that path, determined that nothing would make me
leave it this time.
 Chapter 4

DRACO

I grabbed a fistful of barley, ripped up out of the ground and flung it, roaring as I did. Dirt flew. I
kicked the high stalks all round me, stomped them down, then stood there alone in the restless
wind.

Then, as I watched, the barley grew back, hissing and murmuring as it did, until it looked as if I had
done nothing.

"Moron," I muttered, then shouted at the place where Granger had disappeared. "Halfwit! You
don't know anything about anything! That's your trouble, Mudblood!"

Silence. Nothing moved but the wind. Then, suddenly, I found that I had been holding my breath,
listening for a reply.

"Mudblood," I spat again, just for good measure, then swept off toward the willow again, away
from that gaping forest, away from that swallowing blackness. But the sky was darkening above
me here, turning pink, and soon night would come. I swallowed. Would it get completely dark?
And if it did, could the visions from the forest come out into the field where I was? I hurried my
pace.

However, the willow did not get any nearer. I broke into a trot. It stayed where it was. Or rather, I
stayed where I was. I let loose and ran, ran with all my speed. But though the grass whipped past
me, the scenery ahead of me did not move. I stopped, panting.

A pang jolted through my chest. My ribs tightened. I pressed my hand to my heart and my brow
tightened as my breath shortened. I turned around, gazed at the forest again, then sat down hard.

My father wouldn't kill Granger's parents. Not like that, without provocation, without reason. I
shook my head and clenched my teeth. He wouldn't. Aunt Bella…I wasn't sure. But my father—
never. If Granger would give herself up in that situation, Father would be reasonable. He wouldn't
murder a man, no matter how pathetic, if he wasn't armed.

My throat closed, and my stomach turned over. I squeezed my eyes shut.

He wouldn't poison a man, either. Or smuggle him a cursed piece of jewelry.

No, said a voice in the left side of my head. He would ask his son to do it.

I gripped my left forearm with my right hand, pressing my hand down on my sleeve and the dark
tattoo beneath. I swallowed again—and ice slid down my throat and into all my veins.

Killing Granger's parents didn't make sense to me—not if Granger surrendered. But would it really
matter to my father?

After all, as he often said—

They are only Muggles.

Muggles, who I had watched stand up to two of the most powerful Death Eaters in the world—
powerless, weaponless—to protect their daughter.
And my father said he would hand me over.

I slapped myself in the face. It stung.

"Stop it," I scolded myself. "Wake up. Not real, remember?"

I scowled and rested my elbows on my knees. I was giving those Muggles too much credit,
anyway. It was more likely that they weren't clever enough to see when they were beaten, and they
weren't deep-feeling enough to truly sacrifice anything—they were just dogs guarding a bone. They
would never understand why they were inferior—that was part of what made them so. They had no
concept of what it was to be pure-blood, how important it had always been to maintain the lineage,
to keep magic in magical families. They didn't understand that magical children from non-magic
parents were abominations, accidents, freaks of nature. The word "Mudblood," even, was almost an
inside joke. After all, how could anyone from a Muggle background truly fathom all the nuances
of that insult? I knew Granger never had, when I had said it to her. It had always made her angrier,
but I enjoyed watching that wordless glare that proved to me that she didn't know what I meant.

The wind tousled my hair. I lifted my head. I frowned at the dark, silent forest. Granger had made
no sound—no screams for help, nor shouts that she'd found the door.

But if she had found it, would she tell me?

"Blast it," I growled, climbing to my feet. She had found the door—that's why everything was so
quiet. She'd gotten out, and left me here. I swore again, knocked the barley aside, and stormed back
toward that forest, the path, and plunged into the darkness again.

VVV

DRACO

The woods were so quiet all around me, as the whisper of the barley fell behind. Nothing moved in
here—nothing but me, and my shadow. I lowered my head and kept walking, my right hand fingers
opening and closing restlessly—I wished I had my wand!

The path wandered and wove, and my muscles grew tense. I didn't remember it being this crooked
before…

A light caught my eye. I stopped. Off to my left, not so far away, stood another door. At first, I took
a step back. I no longer trusted this room…

Then I blinked. I recognized it. It looked distinctly like a Hogwarts door—pointed at the top, thick
wood, stonework all around…

I left the path and strode toward the door, almost letting myself smile. This was it. I'd found it. I
snorted and shook my head. That Mudblood was more uncivilized than I'd thought—I would have
at least shouted back to her that I'd discovered the way out of this hell.

I came closer to the door and peered at it. Odd. It didn't have a handle or a knob. I put both palms
against it and shoved. It gave way. I grinned, pushed it aside and stepped through—

Into a Gryffindor bedroom.

I jerked to a halt. I stood in a small, circular room with four-poster beds arranged all around the
circumference, blaring red curtains hanging from all of them, trunks resting at each foot. I smelled
the crisp scent of a fire lit down in the common room, and also some sort of sweet-smelling air-
freshening charm. I swallowed. Was I in a girl's room again?

I spun around, stared, then resisted the urge to stomp both my feet in frustration. Beyond the door
through which I had just passed hung a bunch of winter coats and cloaks. I threw my hands in the
air.

"Again with the wardrobe…"

Footsteps sounded on the stairs—short, quick ones. I tried to throw myself behind the door, but I
was not quick enough. A little Gryffindor girl hopped up into the bedroom, head down, tears
running down her cheeks. I gaped.

It was Hermione.

She was about two feet shorter than before, her hair was thick and bushy rather than her current
gentle curls, and her frame carried no grace. But it was her indeed—perhaps during our second
year at Hogwarts. My eyes darted around, trying to find someplace to hide…

But then she walked right past me—almost brushed me with her shoulder—and did not see me. It
was like I was invisible.

My stomach sank. I had not found the door. I was in another nightmare. And I was invisible.

Hermione stormed over to her bed, yanked off her over-robe, which made her hair look like a
disaster, and threw her robe on the quilt. Then, just dressed in her shirt, tie and skirt, she pulled off
her shoes and threw them straight down onto the floor. Each one hit with a bang. I jumped each
time. Then, she plopped down on the floor, wrapped her arms tight around her chest and started to
bawl.

My brow furrowed, and I took a step forward, canting my head to try to see her face. She furiously
wiped at her cheeks, only to burst into another fit of weeping. A voice in the back of my head urged
me to stop gawking and try to find the way out, but that voice was faint, and faded away. I couldn't
move.

Hermione reached behind her and swept a box out from underneath her bed. I leaped back at the
sharp scraping sound, then cursed my skittishness. Still, I hovered next to the bed across from her,
halfway hidden by the curtains. Hidden. I rolled my eyes. I was invisible. But still…I could not just
stand in front of her while she—

She opened the little wooden box, pulled out a piece of stationery, a quill and ink. She set the ink
down, opened it, put the paper down on the surface of the box on her lap, dipped her pen and
began to write.

"Dear Mum."

My heart leaped almost straight through my chest. That was her voice—out loud—ringing right
over my head. But her mouth hadn't moved. I spun around, searched the room, and saw no one else.
I turned back to her. Apparently, I was hearing what she was writing. I bit the inside of my cheek.
This was some enchantment…

"I found some time today to answer your letter," she went on, her pen scribbling wildly as tears still
leaked from her eyes. "I am doing well, and Harry and Ron are also. Except today, Ron's poor
broken wand backfired on him, and caused him to vomit slugs for almost an entire hour. I cannot
imagine where he learned that spell—probably from his naughty older brothers." She paused, and
swiped at her face with the back of her hand. My brow creased, and my gut tightened. Oh...I
remembered this…

"You may wonder why Ron was trying to use that spell," she continued. "Well, today, the
Gryffindor Quidditch team got in a bit of a row with the Slytherin Quidditch team. Slytherin has a
new seeker this year—Draco Malfoy. His father is very rich and powerful. He bought them all
brand new brooms so that his son could be the Seeker. I said as much. I told them that at least
everybody on Gryffindor got on the team by virtue of their talent, rather than their money. Draco
Malfoy stopped, came right up to me and said, 'No one asked your opinion, you filthy little…'"

I held my breath as Hermione's quill paused. She made a pained face and a soft choking sound,
squeezed her eyes shut so more tears fell, gasped, and wrote the word.

"Mudblood. He called me a Mudblood." She had to stop again and wipe her eyes on her sleeves
before continuing. "I know that doesn't mean much to you, Mum, so I'll explain a little. It is a very
foul name for witches or wizards with non-magic parents, like me. Apparently, Malfoy and his
family don't like Muggles or Muggle-borns very much, and he thinks I'm inferior because my great
grandparents, grandparents, and parents didn't go to Hogwarts. Even though I can do every spell in
the book, and I'm better than him at almost everything." Her brow twisted and she started to cry
again even as she wrote. "But don't worry, Mum. It doesn't bother me. Not one bit. I'll just prove
him wrong, that's what. I will prove to him, and everybody else, that a Muggle-born can be as
good, or better, a wizard than any pure-blood. In fact, I'll be the best witch that this school has ever
known. You'll see. Write back soon. Love, Hermione."

She blew on the inked words, her lower lip trembling, and read over what she had written. I took a
breath, started forward, then stayed back. My throat tightened.

Footsteps sounded on the steps. Heavier, quicker. I spun around. My eyebrows shot up.

"Granger!" I cried. "Where have you been?"

Hermione darted into the room. She had attained the height that I knew, and the winsome form,
and the gently curling hair. She wore casual clothes—a pink sweater and jeans. Wait—that wasn't
what she was wearing before…

"Granger—?" I tried.

She whisked right past me, her brown eyes shining, a deep crease between her eyebrows. She threw
down her book sack and it smacked against the foot of her bed. I turned, watching her—

To see that little Hermione had vanished. The bedroom looked virtually the same, but more
personal items sat on the side tables and hung on the walls. I blinked. She wasn't here—this was
still an illusion. But I was still just as unable to move.

Older, prettier Hermione toppled onto her bed, her back to me, and drew her knees up to her chest.
Tight silence held me motionless for almost a full minute. Then, she began to cry.

Pain started at the base of my throat, then traveled down behind my breastbone. Before, she had
been a pitiful little girl having a fit. Now, she wept softly, like someone had really hurt her.

I stepped around the end of the bed, my gut twisting as I did, and halted in front of her. Her eyes
were open, but unfocused, and burnished with tears. Her arms were tucked up against her chest, her
fingers pressed to her lips as teardrops trailed down her nose. She blinked. Tears sparkled on her
long lashes. I couldn't breathe.

Someone else came up the stairs. It took me a moment to tear my gaze from Hermione's face to
look up and see Ginny Weasley enter the room. She stepped cautiously, studying Hermione's back.
I fought the urge to hide behind something. Sure enough, Ginny did not see me, either. She focused
entirely on Hermione.

Ginny frowned, then drew near, her footsteps quiet. She came around the bed, picked up the folded
blanket from the foot of it, unfurled it and draped it over Hermione, then tucked it up by her
shoulders. She sat down on the edge of the bed. It squeaked. Ginny was still for a moment, then
reached out and stroked Hermione's soft hair away from the side of her face. Hermione sighed, as
if soothed, and closed her eyes.

"He called you that name again, didn't he?" Ginny murmured. Hermione's expression broke, and
new tears tumbled. She nodded once. I took a step back.

"Hermione, you can't keep letting him do this to you," Ginny insisted, rubbing Hermione's
shoulder. "He is not worth it."

Hermione sucked in a sharp breath, sat up, and wiped her eyes with her sleeve exactly the way she
had when she was little.

"I know," she said, her voice trembling. "I know, you're right. It's just…" She squeezed her eyes
shut. Crystal tears trickled down her cheeks. "It's not him; it's the word!" She took a hurried gasp,
trying to control herself. "It's like I'm not even human. I know the history of that insult, the
etymology, even the man who used it first in writing! I know all about it. I could probably write a
book on the subject." She gulped, then brushed her tears away with her fingertips as Ginny scooted
closer and wrapped her arm around her shoulders. Hermione hung her head.

"I know Malfoy thinks I'm an abomination, an accident. And every time he says it, no matter what
I tell myself, some part of me believes it."

I started. So did Ginny.

"What?" Ginny cried. "That's ridiculous."

Hermione glanced at her.

"Is it?" she asked. "It makes perfect sense to you that I'm magical and my parents aren't? Really,
how could I ever really be as good a witch as someone who's grown up with—"

"Listen," Ginny said, her voice low and firm. "Blood doesn't matter. In the end, it really doesn't.
What matters is you have parents who love you, and friends here, and you're happy. Malfoy isn't
happy."

Hermione looked at her incredulously. I was frozen to the floor.

"He seems like he's happy," Hermione muttered, picking at her sleeve. "Goes around smirking and
laughing all the time."

"With who?" Ginny snorted. "Those blockheads Crabbe and Goyle? Draco is ten times smarter
than both of them put together—they aren't really his friends. He can't even have a conversation
with them. And Pansy? She only follows him around because of his last name." She shook her
head. "He only knows how to make cronies and enemies. He has no idea how to make friends."
Ginny gave Hermione a smile, and Hermione managed to return it.

"You've got friends all around you, Hermione," Ginny reassured her. "Draco Malfoy is totally
alone."
I couldn't look at this anymore. I couldn't listen. And I didn't care if all of this was an illusion—I
was leaving the illusion of the bedroom and going down to the illusion of the common room. Now.

I stormed out of there, down the steps and into the red-decked Gryffindor main room. No fire
danced in the fireplace. No one sat playing games. I slowed, then paused halfway to the door. What
was going on here? That scene back there seemed inconsistent with what had been happening to
me in this blasted Room of Requirement so far. It had not been a nightmare, not even a possibility.
More like a memory in a pensieve. So was it now that the big spiders or dementors or skeletons
would come out of the woodwork? I waited.

Nothing happened. I frowned, turned back and trotted back up the stairs…

To find the girls' room empty, the beds neatly made.

I spun around, raced back down the stairs, over to the Gryffindor exit, whipped it open—

And leaped out into the great hall of moving staircases. My pulse jumped.

I'd found the door!

Wait. Wait, wait. None of the staircases were moving. Each one stayed perfectly still, anchored in
place. I stared at them for a long time, waiting for the enchantment to kick in. It didn't. What was
wrong with them?

I left the Gryffindor rooms behind, trotted down the stairs, then picked one of the staircases to
descend. My shoes tapped on the stone with what seemed like an inordinate amount of noise. It
took me a moment to realize why, and then it stopped me cold on the third landing: all of the
portraits were empty. Their banter usually provided a dull roar throughout the tall room. Now, all
was silent.

"What is this?" I said through my teeth. Nothing made a sound to answer me. Nothing moved. I bit
my lip, and kept heading down.

I maneuvered through several long hallways, all empty and half-lit. I paused once in a while to stick
my head through the slightly-ajar door of a classroom, but no one was ever inside. My heart began
to pound. Where was everyone? What had happened while I was gone?

"Hello?" I called, hearing my voice ring down the corridors. I picked up my pace, passing rows and
rows of empty frames. I tugged on my tie again, loosening it away from my throat, forcing myself
to think. I had noticed that the clock in the common room said it was near noon—that meant
everyone should be eating, or outside. I hurried toward the great hall, tripped down several flights
of stairs, then drew to a halt outside the massive open doors. I stared inside at the great window at
the far end of the room…

And the completely empty hall that waited for me.

Not a bench sat out of place, not a single floating candlestick was lit. Everything was so quiet that
my quickened breathing made echoes against the distant walls and high ceiling.

"Hello?" I shouted again, shattering the quiet. But the silence absorbed the echoes, and returned
nothing to me but my own voice. Something inside my chest broke. I turned and ran.

I don't know how long I pelted through empty corridors and empty rooms, up abandoned staircases
and through hollow tunnels and over stretches of grass in the courtyards. I don't know how many
times I shouted for Professor Snape, Filch, Slughorn—even Dumbledore. I cannot remember how
many times I blundered up and down, my breath rasping in my throat, running at full speed only to
jerk to a halt, shout another name that came to mind, then grab fistfuls of my hair when only my
echoes replied.

I don't know how many times I pleaded outside every shut common room door that would not open
—how many times I beat helplessly on each one of them with my fists, calling for Crabbe, Goyle,
Pansy—then people like Susan Bones, Justin Finch-Fetchly, then Luna Lovegood and Cho Chang;
then, as my desperation threatened to break me, even Weasley. And Potter.

No one ever answered me. Because no one was there.

"You've got friends all around you, Hermione. Draco Malfoy is totally alone."

I raced out onto the green in the courtyard, cold, restless wind cutting through my clothes and
tossing my hair. My breathing hitched, I found I could not pull air into my lungs, and I fell to my
knees. I stared down at my white sleeves and pale hands resting on the knees of my black trousers.

"Draco Malfoy is totally alone…"

Rage swelled in my chest and I grabbed a fistful of grass, ripped it up and threw it. I raked my
fingers through my hair, my breathing still unsettled, and clenched my hands into fists. I blinked.
Tears ran down my face.

Furious and ashamed, I swiped them away, but they'd burned my cheeks. I grabbed my tie and
pulled it off completely, throwing it as hard as I could. Then I just sat there, collar and hair
disheveled, and listened to the silence. I closed my eyes.

The wind moaned, far away. Its pitch rose and fell as it wuthered against the castle walls.

Wait.

Was that the wind?

I lifted my head. I listened. Then, my throat closed.

The moaning of the wind formed words.

"Alas, my love, you do me wrong

To cast me off discourteously,

For I have loved you so long,

Delighting in your company…"

I leaped to my feet, my pulse accelerating to an almost panicked rate. I knew that song. More
importantly, I knew that voice.

I started forward, to the side gate of the courtyard that led to the grounds. As I walked, my
footsteps loud on the stones, the song grew more distinct. I began to trot.

"Greensleeves was all my joy!

Greensleeves was my delight!"

I broke out of the courtyard, onto Hogwarts grounds, across the field…
And then, rising up before me in the bright noon sunshine stood Malfoy Manor.

I slowed to a halt, gazing up at the great iron gate, and the magnificent gray towers and walls and
glittering windows. And there, through one of the open ground floor windows, I saw a graceful
form with golden hair. And she was singing.

"Greensleeves was my heart of gold,

And who but my Lord Greensleeves?"

"Mum!" I cried. "Mum!" I broke into a flat-out run, racing up the driveway, my shoes kicking up
dirt. There was no one to see me, and I did not care. I heard her voice, and I saw her, and I was
going to find her.

I whooshed right through the spell on the iron gates, warm wind rushing up to greet me. I crashed
into the front door and flung it open, not bothering to wipe my shoes or straighten my hair or even
catch my breath.

"Mum?" I cried again. "Mum!"

"Draco!"

And there she was. Standing right there in the grand entryway, amidst dark walls and dark
furniture, wearing a soft white blouse and red skirt. She shone like an angel—the prettiest lady I'd
ever seen. Her eyes widened as she saw me.

"Are you all right?"

I flew to her. I threw my arms around her, and though I was a good head taller than she, I buried my
face down in her shoulder and took a deep breath of her familiar scent—the smell of summer roses.
I squeezed my eyes shut and let the tears flow. It was all right now. No one but my mother ever
saw them.

She wrapped her arms tight around me, and just held me while I quivered in her embrace.

"Oh, my poor boy," she whispered, stroking the back of my head. "I'm so sorry, Draco." She pulled
back from me, and took my face in her hands. She looked up at me with her solemn dark eyes and
raised her eyebrows.

"You know that I love you very much," she said. I was unable to do anything but nod. She wiped
my tears away with her thumbs, and gave me a small smile. I took a deep breath, feeling some of
the tightness in my body loosen.

"What are you doing home?"

My muscles clamped and my head jerked up. Mother turned around, but kept hold of my shoulder.

"Lucius!" she said. But my father, who had just come out of one of the side rooms and spoken,
dressed in his black smoking suit, had stopped in mid-stride when he saw me. I swallowed.

"Draco's come to visit," my mother beamed. My father frowned at me, his bright eyes penetrating.

"I can see that. Why?"

"He just—"
"I asked him," Father snapped, then stepped slowly toward me. "What are you doing home,
Draco?"

I cleared my throat. My mother's hand slid down to grasp my fingers. Then, something pressed
against the skin of the center of my chest—something like a thorn. I winced, moved my shoulders
to try to banish it, then attempted to clear my expression.

"I came to see Mum," I answered. Father raised his eyebrows.

"Ah," he said lightly. "Came for consolation after that disaster with Miss Bell?"

I did not answer. The prick grew worse, sharper. I gritted my teeth against it. Mother's hand
tightened on mine. My father stepped closer to me, studying my face.

"Losing our nerve, are we?"

"No," I shook my head.

"Then what on earth are you doing here?" he laughed, holding his hands out to indicate the room.
His expression then turned deadly, his voice lowering to a hiss. "What makes you think you can
come here for no better reason than to see your mother when you have a sacred duty to perform?"
He stepped closer to me, locking my breath in my lungs. The thorn pressed harder—dragging
down, down my skin until it reached my stomach, just above my navel. I fought against bending
over. I felt my face twist.

"Why aren't you back where you belong, doing what you have been commanded?" Father asked.

"I am trying—" I stammered.

"No, you are a coward," Father declared. I lurched—a lightning flash of pain tore into my chest,
and I slapped my hand to my shirt. It was wet. My palm came away covered with blood. My eyes
flashed to my father. He had not touched me, and he did not have his wand.

"Lucius!" Mother tried. He did not look at her.

"I can see it in your eyes," Father said, pinning me where I stood with his gaze. "I've seen it for
years now, no matter how hard I've tried to drum it out of you." His eyes narrowed. "You are a
coward, and a weakling."

A scream latched in my throat as two new thorns opened up the insides of my elbows.

"Lucius!" Mother yelped again, whirling around and stepping in front of me. "That is not fair—"

"You need to learn to stop defending him, Narcissa," he arched an eyebrow. "Your molly-coddling
has made him soft and useless as a girl."

Mother flinched, and cried out. Then, when she lifted her head, a red welt appeared on her cheek.

Shock, like electricity, shot through my system. My vision went scarlet.

"Leave Mother out of this," I roared.

He raised his chin, and an intense, desperate light entered his eyes.

"Don't you realize that if you do not complete this task, he will kill us all?" he whispered. "The
deaths of your mother and I—and your own death—will be on your head."
An invisible force, with inhuman strength, took hold of my shoulders and flung me through the air.
I crashed into a large, ornate chair, heard it splinter, and I thudded to the boards. The chair fell on
top of me. My head spinning, my gut twisting, I tried to claw my way to my feet. But then I could
not suck in a breath without deep, stinging ache lancing up and down my side. I doubled over, my
heart racing, pressing my bloody hands to my chest. I had broken a rib.

Father turned on my mother, whose hand was pressed to her face.

"Let me deal with him the way he ought to be dealt with," he said. She flinched again, trying to
shield her face, but her cheek got redder, and then blood ran down her lip. Father never touched
her.

"Stop," I begged, tears running down my face. "Please, stop…"

"This is your fault, Lucius, not mine," Mother protested, swiping at her eyes. "If you had done your
duty concerning that horcrux and the prophecy, Draco would not be in this situation!"

I watched. My father winced, then pressed a hand to his tie. He stared, disconcerted, at his
fingertips—fingertips stained in blood.

"I want to talk to him alone," Father said tightly. Mother touched her split lip, then looked at me
for a long moment.

"Mum…" I groaned. She turned and walked away from me, down the hall.

Something slashed at the back of my legs. I bit back a scream.

I dragged myself out from under the broken remnants of the chair, hearing pieces clatter to the
floor. My father came nearer, and his shadow loomed over me. He straightened the cuffs of his
coat, all coolness and calmness.

"You've caused me to lose my temper," he sighed. "I don't believe that's happened often to me
before." He stepped closer, and looked down at me, canting his head. "Look at those tears." He
clicked his tongue. "Cannot even take a scolding."

I dragged myself to my feet, agony filling my whole body, and lifted my eyes to my father. Father's
eyes met mine, and he smiled. He shook his head.

"I expected so much from you, Draco." He sighed, and gave me a pitying look. "But now…I
believe I'm only ashamed of you."

The agony that ripped through my entire body ruptured all my restraints, and a wild wail broke
from the depths of my lungs. I collapsed to the floor and thrashed, fighting, even as I felt my body
being sliced open. I screwed my eyes shut and kept screaming as the anguish built, absently
wondering how long it would be until I lost consciousness.

Then, all at once, it receded. I heard Father's footsteps stride away.

I opened my eyes, my vision distorted with water, to see him vanish into the shadows of the hall. I
swallowed hard, feeling like I ought to throw up.

I heaved myself to my feet, dripping blood onto the wood. I backed away, one step at a time,
toward my own front door, pulled it open with a hand so slick and shaky I could barely control it,
and stepped outside.
It was cloudy and windy, and the air smelled of frost. I stumbled out into the gray front lawn,
managing to take about twenty steps before my legs gave way beneath me and I fell.

I was going to retch. I knew it. I tried to breathe, but couldn't—my broken bone stopped me short.
In a desperate attempt to get some air, I sat up, and opened my mouth and craned my neck—

And saw Granger standing in front of me, amongst waving stalks of golden barley, her arms
hanging loose at her sides, her brow twisted, her brown eyes locked on my face. Stars twinkled
mutely in the purple sky overhead. I closed my eyes and bent my head as the pain in my side
subsided.

I only had to look at her once to realize she had seen everything.

VVVVV

HERMIONE

I lost the path almost immediately. Or rather, the path lost me. Malfoy had not been kidding when
he said the place was like Wonderland—I had been walking for little more than thirty seconds
when the trail just faded away in front of me. I stopped, then looked behind me. It was gone there,
too. It was just as if that brush-faced dog that Alice had met had come up and swept the path away
completely.

Muttering under my breath, and trying not to let my uneasiness get the best of me, I forged on,
swearing to myself that nothing would make me go back toward that savage boy, that younger
version of the demon who I had watched murder my parents.

The forest whispered and creaked all around me, and things I could not see moved in the dark. I
fought to keep my sense of direction, to head straight and steady toward the place where we had
come in. I knew there I would find my wand, and get myself out of this stupid situation.

I don't know how long I trekked—maybe five minutes. But then I halted, all my confidence leaving
me. I suddenly felt like I wasn't going the right direction anymore. Had I turned?

I backtracked, trying to remember if these trees looked familiar, even as the dim light overhead
faded. At last, I found a fallen log I had stepped over earlier. I stopped, standing on top of it, and
looked around. All right, so I needed to go back a little further yet, then regain the right direction. I
stepped off, heading back the way I had come—

And fell onto the path. I halted, staring down at it, my mouth dropping open. How had that
happened?

I glanced all around, but there the path was, stretching back toward the barley field, and then on
into the darkness, straight as a string. I almost smiled. As long as it didn't disappear again, this
would be easy.

"Open the blasted door. I know you're in there—you have to be. Weasley!"

I whirled around, my eyes widening. The voice banged off the trees, coming from somewhere in
the forest off to my right. I slapped a hand to my pocket, again to remember that I did not have my
wand. I took half a step forward, peering into the dark—

To see Draco standing in the middle of the wood, his forearm braced against a towering, broad
beech tree, his head resting on his arm. A shaft of gray light illuminated his white shirt and fair
hair. He hammered on the tree with his left fist as one would against the wood of a door.
"Stop playing with me, here," he shouted, his voice shaking. "There's no one in the great hall, no
one in the classrooms and there's no one on the grounds—you can't be anywhere else. Weasley. Let
me in!" He slammed it once more with his fist, then jumped back from it, roared in fury and kicked
it with all his might. He stood there, staring at it, fist clenched, his breathing unsteady.

My heart began to beat faster. What was the matter with him? Had he gone mad?

I stopped myself mid thought. No. He was not on the path anymore—he was in the middle of these
black woods, almost right where my closet door had appeared. Somehow, the Room of
Requirement had invaded his thoughts. He was in another nightmare—only this time, he was alone
in it.

"Curse you, Weasley!" he shouted. He spun around, kicked the dead leaves and branches, then
faced the tree again. He stared at it with new resolve, swallowed hard, then leaned his forehead
against it.

"Potter," he murmured. An invisible hand grabbed my heart and squeezed.

"Potter, if you can hear me, I beg you to open the door," he said. "Whatever has happened to the
castle, I'm not a part of it—I don't know what's going on. For once, just listen to me. Let me in.
Please."

Of course, nothing happened.

"Potter!" he railed, his tone broken. He punched the tree. His knuckles came away bloody, but he
did not even glance down. He whirled away from the door and dove further into the woods. Words
leaped out of my mouth before I had time to gather my thinking.

"Draco!" I called. "Draco Malfoy!"

He stopped. He glanced to the side.

"Hello?"

"Draco, over here!" I yelled. He did not reply. He turned back and kept walking. I stared after him,
frozen.

Then, before I knew what I was doing, I was running after him.

"Malfoy," I tried, leaping over dried up bushes and fallen limbs. "Malfoy, wait. Stop!"

And then I lost him. The shadows swallowed him. I jerked to a halt, my breathing ragged, as my
gaze darted back and forth.

"Draco?"

Nothing.

And then…

I heard the wind. But not quite.

The wind formed a song.

"Greensleeves was all my joy!

Greensleeves was my delight!"

"Oh, no…" I moaned. Now I had been caught up in it. And I had no choice but to keep going, for
fleeing would not work. I started forward again, toward the sound of the song.

The trees got bigger and bigger, and so wide that I had to twist and turn to get around them.
Breathing hard, I swerved around one giant of a tree—

To be hit in the face with bright morning sunlight. I skidded to a stop, throwing my hands up to
cover my eyes—

And then, as I managed to focus, I gazed, open-mouthed, up at a vast stone manor. It had several
pointed towers, broad windows, and a long walk leading up to it flanked by two hedged gardens. I
glanced behind me. I stood just inside a great, black, iron gate, and ahead of me, Draco was racing
toward the front door as fast as he could, his footsteps pounding gravel.

"Malfoy, hang on!" I tried, heading forward once more. "This isn't real!"

He did not hear me. Or he wasn't listening. Because he hit the front door and pulled it open, then
jumped inside. I caught up to him, and snatched the handle before it closed, then slipped in right
after him—

To stop in mid breath. He stood there, his arms wrapped around a beautiful woman, crying into her
shoulder.

"Oh, my poor boy," the lady whispered, caressing the back of his golden head. "I'm so sorry,
Draco."

It was Narcissa Malfoy. She withdrew from her son—I twitched, knowing Narcissa would
probably hex me on the spot once she saw me—

But she didn't. Even though I stood right in her line of sight, she looked nowhere but at her son. I
glanced at them sideways, a suspicion growing in my mind. Perhaps Malfoy was still alone in this.
Perhaps they could not see me at all…

Narcissa reached up and cradled Draco's face in her hands. She then lifted her eyes to his and raised
her eyebrows.

"You know that I love you very much," she said. Draco, tears still running down, only nodded.
Narcissa brushed his tears away with her thumbs, and smiled softly. I swallowed, feeling
uncomfortable. But Draco took a deep breath, and seemed to relax.

"What are you doing home?"

I leaped back three feet. Draco's head jerked up. Narcissa turned around, but kept hold of Draco's
shoulder.

"Lucius!" she said. But Lucius, who had just stepped out of one of the side rooms and spoken,
dressed in a black suit, had stopped mid-stride. I wanted nothing more but to dive behind
something, but no furniture stood near.

"Draco's come to visit," Narcissa smiled at him. But Lucius did not seem pleased. He frowned at
Draco.

"I can see that. Why?"

"He just—"

"I asked him," Lucius snapped, then slowly stepped toward his family. "What are you doing home,
Draco?"

Draco cleared his throat. His mother took hold of his hand. Then, Draco winced, as if something
had poked him in the chest. He adjusted his shoulders, then smoothed his expression. I frowned,
watching.

"I came to see Mum," Draco answered. Lucius gave him an "aha" look.

"Ah," he said lightly. "Came for consolation after that disaster with Miss Bell?"

Draco did not answer. I held my breath. So Malfoy had cursed Katie Bell after all…

Draco squirmed minutely and gritted his teeth as if whatever had poked him before had gotten
worse. Lucius pressed nearer, studying his son's face.

"Losing our nerve, are we?"

"No," Draco insisted.

"Then what on earth are you doing here?" Lucius laughed, then held his hands out. He then glared
at Draco, his tones filling with poison. "What makes you think you can come here for no better
reason than to see your mother when you have a sacred duty to perform?" He stepped closer to
Draco. Draco's expression tightened, and his throat spasmed twice, as if something was hurting
him. He clearly fought against bending over.

"Why aren't you back where you belong, doing what you have been commanded?" Father asked.

"I am trying—"

"No, you are a coward," Lucius declared.

Draco staggered sideways, letting out a sharp grunt. He slapped a hand to the front of his shirt.
When he held up his trembling hand, his pale palm was covered with blood.

My hand flew to my mouth. How had that happened? Lucius had not laid a finger on him, and he
didn't have his wand—

"Lucius!" Narcissa cried, her face filled with shock. Lucius ignored her.

"I can see it in your eyes," Father said to Draco once more. "I've seen it for years now, no matter
how hard I've tried to drum it out of you." His eyes narrowed. "You are a coward, and a weakling."

Draco gave a muffled cry, though his jaw stayed clenched, and his arms jerked toward his chest.
Scarlet stains bloomed on his sleeves around his elbows.

"Stop…" I whispered, my mouth barely working. "Stop it…"

"Lucius!" Narcissa yelped, stepping in front of Draco. "That is not fair—"

"You need to learn to stop defending him, Narcissa," he said in the cruelest tone, and raised an
eyebrow at his wife. "Your molly-coddling has made him soft and useless as a girl."

Narcissa flinched, and cried out. I fell back against the shut door. When Narcissa raised her head
again, her fair cheek showed a red mark, as if she had been struck in the face. Draco's eyes flashed.

"Leave Mother out of this!"

Lucius lifted his chin, and something wild lit his gaze.

"Don't you realize that if you do not complete this task, he will kill us all?" he hissed. "The deaths
of your mother and me—and your own death—will be on your head."

Before I could puzzle out what that meant, something grabbed Draco—grasped his shoulders with
wicked force—and threw him through the air. His back barreled into an armchair. It splintered, and
the legs broke. He crashed to the floor, and the chair toppled down onto him.

I yelped, then clapped both hands over my mouth. What was this magic? How did it work without
a wand? I had no idea—I could not figure out what was going on. The only thing I knew was that
Lucius' words were doing it.

Draco attempted to stand. But then he fell back to his knees, panic crossing his white face. He
doubled over, pressing blood-covered hands to his chest.

I clapped my teeth together. Hang it all—I could not stand here and watch. I didn't care who it was
—nobody deserved this. I stepped toward him.

But my feet got no traction. I pumped my legs, faster and faster, but my feet just slid over the floor.
I could not move.

"No!" I cried, stretching out my hands. I clawed the air, trying to drag myself forward. "Draco!"

No one heard me. No one even knew I was there.

Lucius turned to Narcissa.

"Let me deal with him the way he ought to be dealt with," he said. Poor Narcissa winced again,
lifting a hand to resist, but her cheek flushed again, and then blood trailed down her lip.

"Stop," Draco pleaded from the floor, tears streaming down his face. "Please, stop…"

"Mr. Malfoy, stop it!" I cried. "Can't you see what you're doing?"

"This is your fault, Lucius, not mine," Narcissa said, wiping her eyes. "If you had done your duty
concerning that horcrux and the prophecy, Draco would not be in this situation!"

I fell still. What? What horcrux? What situation?

I watched. Lucius' brow tightened, then pressed a hand to his throat, near his tie. Then he stared at
his fingertips—fingertips stained in blood. I went cold.

They could hurt each other.

"I want to talk to him alone," Lucius declared. Narcissa touched her lip, then looked at Draco for a
long moment.

"Mum…" Draco groaned. I saw her expression change. Disbelief slammed into me.

"What?" I screamed at her. "You're going to leave him? You can't do that! You can't leave your son
here with this monster! Stop!"
But my cries fell on deaf ears. Narcissa turned her back on both of them and strode away down the
hall.

Draco grimaced, as if more pain had been inflicted. Of course it had. His mother had abandoned
him.

Draco hauled himself out from under the broken chair. Pieces clattered to the floor. Lucius drew
near, and towered over his son. He straightened the cuffs of his jacket, and again his judgmental
eyebrow rose.

"You've caused me to lose my temper," Lucius said. "I don't believe that's happened often to me
before." He stepped closer, and looked down at Draco, and canted his head. "Look at those tears."
He clucked his tongue, patronizing and cold. "Cannot even take a scolding."

"A scolding?" I roared. "Is that what you call it? Leave him alone!"

Draco dragged himself to my feet, and lifted his face to his father. Lucius looked at him, smiled
without humor, and shook his head.

"I expected so much from you, Draco." He sighed, and his expression turned to one of
condescending sympathy. "But now…I believe I'm only ashamed of you."

The wail that Draco let loose tore right through my chest. He crashed to the floor and convulsed,
weeping—and he began bleeding from dozens of places on his chest, arms, back, and neck. He
screamed and screamed, and I battled with all my strength to move even an inch forward, raging at
the top of my lungs at Lucius.

"Let him go! Look what you're doing! He's your son! Leave him alone!"

Then, all at once, Draco choked and kicked out, then went still, gasping. Lucius' gaze became
unfocused, he turned and strode back up the hall, his heels tapping on the wood, leaving his son
alone.

My lip trembled and I covered my mouth with my fingers.

"Draco," I rasped. Twin tears spilled down my face. "Draco, are you all right?"

Draco lifted his head, and gazed after his father. Then, he dragged himself to his feet, leaving a
thick trail of blood behind him on the floor. He turned and faced me, his skin ashen, his blue eyes
pale and blank, as he kept bleeding.

"Draco—"

He stumbled past me toward the front door, pulled it open and stepped outside.

Cold wind hit me. I turned to follow him, my feet caught the floor, and—I could move again!

I put a hand out and caught the door, but did not touch the now-sticky doorknob. Outside, clouds
covered the sky, and the air felt like frost. Draco staggered out into the front yard, then his legs
failed and he collapsed.

I came around him, my feet crunching on the gravel, and stood just feet away, searching his face.
Could he see me now?

"Draco," I tried. "Draco Malfoy, listen to me."

He just sucked in sharp breaths air as his face twisted and his hands pressed against his left side.
He squeezed his eyes shut. My mind spun. What if he didn't wake up out of this? What if he lay
here and bled to death? What would happen to his actual self, inside the Room of Requirement?

"Draco, listen!" I called, stepping closer. "This is not happening. Remember what you said to me?
This is an illusion! It's all okay. If you wake up, you'll stop bleeding." I took a trembling breath.
"Draco, your parents…That didn't happen. Remember? Your mother loves you, and she would
never…" My words failed me. I drew another breath, trying again. "And I know your father
wouldn't do that to you. He would never say those things. He…He isn't…" I stammered, and then
fell silent. That was the difference, wasn't it? I had been more right than I realized. This is why it
was a nightmare: just because it hadn't happened yet, didn't mean it never would.

Just because Lucius Malfoy had never said those exact words did not mean he had not implied
them. And just because he had not stricken his wife with an open hand did not mean he never
wounded her heart. And even if he never told his son how much he expected of him, it did not
mean it would not break Draco's heart to disappoint him.

Draco had more scars than Harry. His were just invisible.

"Draco," I breathed, taking one step closer. I was out of soothing lies about his family, out of ideas.
I just had to get him to stop bleeding. "Draco Malfoy, look at me."

He straightened, to draw in another labored breath. He turned his head.

He saw me.

His brow twitched, and his crystal blue gaze cleared. A lone tear, like a diamond, tumbled down
his colorless cheek.

The bloodstains on his shirt faded away. Wind whispered, and stalks of barley rustled all around
us. He looked at me for another moment, then hung his head. I couldn't speak.

He stared down at his open hands, clean now. He got up. Without looking at me, he walked past
me, through the evening light, the barley whispering and murmuring with each step. He was
heading to the willow.

Swallowing, swiping at my eyes, my mind still reeling and spinning, I battled with myself for a
long, terrible moment. Then, I set my jaw and trailed after his vanishing form.

Twilight deepened all around us, and the wind troubled my hair and clothes. Far ahead of me, I saw
Draco push aside the long, hanging curtain that the branches of the willow created, and step inside.
I put my head down and pressed on, wrapping my arms around myself. It was cold.

I reached the willow and hesitated. I heard nothing from inside. Carefully, I put my hand out and
touched the cool, smooth, leafy branches of the willow. I lifted them out of my way—they
whispered as they moved. I leaned in past them.

My breath left me.

Short, green, soft grass carpeted what looked like a large room within. The trunk of the gray,
gnarled tree stood across from me. Little white star-shaped flowers dotted the lawn, and inside this
"room", everything was illumined with a deep, soft, glowing, almost shimmering white-blue light
that did not look bright, but deepened every color to its richest tone.

I stepped inside, keeping my feet quiet. Then, I stopped. Each place I put down my foot, dozens of
little balls of golden light sprang up, then slowly drifted up through the air.

Ahead of me, in the shadow of a crook between roots near the base of the tree, I caught sight of
something strange: a tall, leaning grandfather clock. And it was not ticking. It was frozen right at
twelve o'clock. And at its base, Draco sat, knees drawn up, elbows braced upon his knees. His
collar hung askew, his top buttons undone, his hair hanging across his brow.

I said nothing. I walked toward him, quietly, stood for a moment, then waited for him to
acknowledge me. He didn't. I eased onto the ground a few feet from him, pulled my knees up and
wrapped my arms around them. A deep ache settled in my chest. I glanced over at him.

He gazed ahead, his face completely still, except for tears that trailed slowly down his icy cheeks.
Those tears looked like gems—I swear they did, and as they fell from his chin, they sparkled. And
his eyes, as they filled with water that tumbled down—they were a radiant blue unlike any I had
ever seen. Everything about him looked soft and perfect, even the crease in his brow and the way
his mussed white hair fell across his forehead. He blinked, and took an unsteady breath. He
swallowed hard, tried to turn his head toward me, then closed his eyes and didn't look. I gulped,
then put my hands on the lush grass and scooted closer to him, though not close enough to touch.
His head inclined toward me, and though he did not lift his eyes, I knew he knew for sure I was
there. I said nothing.

For a long while, we just sat there as the little sparkling lights drifted ever upward. I watched him
in that glowing light, that ache in my chest filling all my limbs. He blinked slowly, then drew in a
breath and whispered.

"I am sorry I called you a Mudblood."

My mouth fell open. He closed his eyes and did not move. My eyes fogged up, and I swiped at
them. For a long while, my throat closed and I could not say anything. At last, I swallowed, and
gave voice to the decision I had made the moment he had begun to bleed.

"I forgive you."

He met my eyes. My breath went still, as that unfathomable blue gazed right into me. Then, he
lowered his head again, stared out in front of him, and neither of us spoke the rest of the night.
 Chapter 5

HERMIONE

It was one of the bleakest, quietest nights I had ever spent. I noted that I didn't feel tired or hungry
or dirty, and though I'd found a moderately comfortable place to sit between the smooth, cool roots
of the trees, I wasn't inclined to sleep. Apparently, Draco wasn't either. He sat where he had been,
by the clock, gazing straight ahead, eyes unfocused. His tears finally dried, but as I watched him, I
found myself wishing he would cry more. His stark, pale face without tears unsettled me.

I also had no inclination to leave the shelter of this willow. At all. Ever. Deep inside me, a
reasonable little voice told me that was madness, but right at the moment, I liked this quiet. I liked
the fact that my surroundings weren't changing as fast as the flipping pages of a picture book. It
was a relief, this monotony, this sameness—and if so much as one tiny spider crawled across the
back of my hand, I would lose my mind.

I was still fighting to digest what I had seen.

It sat like a cold rock in my stomach, like faint nausea at the onset of being ill. I watched him as he
sat there—watched the slight rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed; watched his long lashes
as he blinked slowly. I bit my lip. I said nothing.

The moment I first met Draco Malfoy, I had his character pegged: he was a selfish, egotistical,
stubborn, arrogant, spoiled only child with a superiority complex coupled with a chip on his
shoulder. Then, the day he first called me a Mudblood, I began to hate him. With every encounter,
my opinion of him shrank until he was a cockroach in my eyes—cowardly, shallow and worthless.

I had never wondered if he was lonesome.

I had never wondered what it would be like to know that my mother was slightly afraid of my
father. I had never considered how it would be to worship my father, yet be haunted by doubting
his love. I had never asked myself if I could bear living in coldness and darkness and stone, the
shadows of Death Eaters often flitting across the walls of my home, with the Dark Lord a frequent
subject of discussion around the dinner table.

Yet I had looked that reality in the eye at least once a week since I was eleven years old. And those
thoughts had never entered my mind.

Until tonight.

I wrapped my arms around my chest and leaned my head sideways against a root, glancing at
Draco for the hundredth time—but then my gaze lingered, and a strange idea crossed the edges of
my thoughts.

What if I had been the child of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy?

Would I have turned out any different?

I went quiet and still, and my mind cradled that thought like a sharp, fragile piece of glass. I tried to
grit my teeth. Of course I would be different. I was stronger, better, braver…

I remembered Draco's face as he had gazed up at his father. Draco, whose hands and chest had
been covered in blood from a wound his father had inflicted—
And yet the look in Draco's blue eyes had been one of shame. Guilt. And love.

I twisted where I sat, forcing my thoughts down another, more rational road.

Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy had been an illusion when I had seen them. But perhaps the subjects of their
speech were not so imaginary. After all, the Room of Requirement had to get its material from
somewhere. What had they meant by a horcrux? The word had sounded familiar—as if I had read
it or heard it a very long time ago, but I couldn't place its meaning. I was, however, certain that it
was not good. If it was a subject of contention between the Malfoys (and perhaps one that carried
danger) and if it was spoken of in the same breath as the prophecy I supposed they meant—then it
had something to do with Voldemort.

I took a long, slow breath, and again gazed sideways at Draco's profile, and the way the light shone
off the hair of the crown of his head.

What task had they meant? What was he supposed to do that was so important that they would all
be killed if he didn't?

Is that why he had been crying in the bathroom?

Draco moved. I twitched. He lay down on his side, his back to me, and pillowed his golden head
on his arm. But I could tell by his breathing that he didn't fall asleep.

And so I sat there in the silence, listening to the very faint rush of the wind outside as it wandered
through the stalks of barley, until the night grew deep and thick, and I wished with all my might for
a gleam of light to cut through the darkness.

VVVV

HERMIONE

I opened my eyes. I frowned. I didn't remember falling asleep, or even being drowsy. I lifted my
head from off the root and glanced around. My heart thudded.

Draco was gone.

I stood up, and searched the corners of the willow room. Wind rustled. And through the draping
branches, I caught a glimpse of gold. I crossed the soft grass, pushed the long leaves out of the way
—

And squinted, then blinked hard. Bright morning sunlight washed over me, warming me up, almost
blinding me. Hot, laughing wind greeted me, blowing through my hair, and I took a deep breath.
Finally, I could open my eyes and gaze over the waving fields of gold. I'd never been so grateful to
see the morning.

I stepped out, trailing my hands over the tops of the stalks, letting them run through my fingers.
They whispered in response, and chattered back at the wind that disturbed their ranks. I lifted my
head, and scanned the reaches of the field.

There.

Draco walked, head down, his shirt untucked, his hands in his pockets. Wind mussed his hair as he
followed the edge of the barley field, several meters away from the line where the forest bordered
the field.
I stopped, and let out a short sigh. He didn't see me, even as he walked past me at a distance. Either
that, or he was ignoring me. I followed him with my eyes as he trailed all the way around the large
field, as if he was measuring the distance. It took a long time, because the field was large, and his
steps were steady and slow. But for some reason, it wasn't tedious to watch his progress—almost as
if it took no time at all.

Then, when he came back around, he sat down a good distance in front of the opening of the forest
path, so that I could only see the top of his head. I stood there for several minutes more. He lay
down on his back, and disappeared from view. So I sat down where I was.

The barley rasped and rattled all around me now, shielding me from the wind. I listened to its
rhythm, watched the way the sunlight gleamed against the tops of the stalks. I closed my eyes and
felt the sun on my face. The things I'd been thinking of during the night waited inside my
consciousness, and I turned them over inside me as I would slowly turn a smooth stone over and
over in my hands. All my muscles relaxed. My mind wandered…

I opened my eyes. I frowned faintly. All at once, I got the distinct impression that I'd been sitting
there for hours and hours—either that, or I had just sat down a few seconds ago. My frown
deepened. That was a new puzzle to chew on.

I lay down on my back and stared up at the cloudless blue sky. To me, it looked like a late August
sky—very high and blue, and warm.

I shifted. I couldn't find a comfortable place for my head. I tried to put my hands behind my head,
but that just made the grass poke the skin of my hands.

I need a pillow, I muttered to myself. Then, I realized what I'd just thought, and glanced around.
According to the rules I knew, the Room of Requirement should produce a pillow if I had a
thought like that. But there was no pillow. I growled in my throat, and let my head thud back onto
the ground. I made a face. This position was getting more and more itchy, and uncomfortable. How
could Malfoy have been lying down for so long in this?

I wonder if he needs a pillow—

A black pillow dropped onto my stomach. I yelped, and sat up and grabbed it. My fingers sank
down into the soft material, and I stared at the faded Slytherin crest right in the center. I studied it,
running my hand across it, frowning hard.

"Interesting..."

This was a key to the new rules of this room. I knew it was. I just needed to think about it more.

I got up. I couldn't see Draco, but I knew he had not moved. I traipsed forward, hearing the barley
right itself from my smashing it down. At last, I caught a glimpse of his white shirt and pale face.
His eyes were closed, and both hands cradled his head. His brow furrowed. He looked
uncomfortable.

"Here," I said.

His eyes flew open and found me. Then, they fixed on the pillow I held out to him. He sat up, then
gave me a wary look.

"Where did you get that?"

"It landed on me while I was lying down," I answered.

"It's mine," he snapped. "Give it to me."

"I was going to," I said as he snatched it out of my hands. He shoved it behind his head, lay back
down and closed his eyes. I looked at him incredulously.

"Aren't you even mildly curious as to why it landed on top of me and not you?"

He didn't say anything. I bit the inside of my cheek and sat down a few feet from him—but the
barley shielded him. I frowned ahead of me, trying to process.

"I was thinking to myself how intensely uncomfortable I was lying in the itchy grass, and I decided
I needed a pillow," I began. "But nothing happened—not like it ought to have. Then, I remembered
that you were lying out here as well, and wondered if you were having the same trouble. Then, a
Slytherin pillow just landed on my stomach. It dropped out of nowhere—like it should have the
first time I wished for one. But it was obviously meant for you—it's your pillow. Nothing happened
when I thought of myself. It only worked when I thought of you."

"Why are you talking?" Malfoy's voice came over the rustling of the grass.

I frowned in his direction.

"I thought you might be interested."

"Listen, just because I apologized doesn't mean we're friends, Granger," he muttered.

I waited for that remark to sting. His words always did. But this time, nothing happened. The words
fell into the air, I heard them, and understood, and there was quiet in my heart. So I just smirked.

"Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy. It's just a pillow."

He did not reply—but he didn't tell me to go away, either. So I kept thinking out loud.

"The room isn't acting the way it should," I decided. "At least, it isn't acting the way that we're
accustomed to it working. Usually, a person is walking along and thinking of something he or she
really needs, and the room supplies it. But is there a difference between need and want? And why
on earth would it think we need to be scared out of our wits every time we try to leave?" I paused.
"Now that I think about it," I mused. "You were probably right. I think we did confuse it a little."

"A little?" Malfoy scoffed. "There are goblins in here—and snakes as long as I am. So far, this
blasted pillow is the only thing it's gotten right. But that forest, and all the stupid—wait."

I blinked. He hesitated, then let out a rough laugh.

"What?" I asked.

"This place has made you barking mad."

My eyebrows went up.

"Why?"

"You just said I was right." He snorted. "Or maybe you're not the real Granger at all. It would only
make sense—having a nonsensical conversation about pillows with a Muggle-born is just the sort
of nightmarish thing this room would throw at me."

He was trying to be insulting. Instead, I felt a slow smile spread over my face.
He hadn't called me a Mudblood.

"Stranger things have happened," I managed, stifling my grin. Then, I made myself focus back
down, letting my words flow with my thoughts. "You also reminded me that magic has rules. This
room still has rules, even if we've flabbergasted it a bit. The Room of Requirement uses a mind-
reading enchantment—it produces what you most need. Therefore, it has access to a person's
thoughts and is able to create exactly what that person imagines—or even better. From what I've
seen, I believe that this barley field is real, and the forest is real, and beyond that lies the door." I
paused, thinking. "But I believe that the path is an illusion, as is everything that we see when we
leave the path."

"What makes you think that about the path?" Draco questioned. I hesitated.

"Well, earlier, I saw you…You were knocking on a tree like it was a door, and calling out to…
people."

"What people?" he growled. I winced, glad he could not see me.

"Oh, a few members of Ravenclaw," I bluffed. "I wondered what you were doing, until I realized
you must have been inside another illusion that I couldn't see."

He went quiet again. I shifted, trying to regather my thoughts.

"I'm not sure about the willow, though. The light doesn't look right in there. But I definitely prefer
it to the forest." I thought a moment longer. "And I suppose it is possible for some illusions to
invade this space, if we fell asleep, for example." I cocked my head. "But that's another thing…" I
trailed off, pondering for a long moment.

"That's another thing what?" Draco prompted. I jumped. I hadn't realized he was listening.

"Well," I began, disconcerted at the ideas forming in my mind. "Time seems strange here. As if a
great deal of it is passing—or none at all. As if we're in a dream. I notice that I don't feel tired, or
hungry, even though it feels like we have been here an entire day and night." My voice lowered,
and I almost spoke to myself. "Is it possible that we're only halfway conscious? That this is all a
dream?"

"Rubbish," Draco snorted. "It can't work like that."

"Then this enchantment is beyond me, because it makes no sense otherwise," I said, irritated.

"Ah, another impossible confession," Draco said harshly. "I think you are a phantom, Granger. If
the wind blew harder, you'd probably disappear."

"Don't be stupid," I shot back. I shifted. "As much as I would like to disappear. But in order to do
that, we have to figure out how the room became confused in the first place, exactly, and what it
tried to construct for us. Then, we have to go back into that forest and—"

"There is no 'we', Granger," Draco snapped, stopping me short. "I am not going back into that
forest. Ever. I'll starve to death here first." His voice lowered, but gained resolve. "And nothing you
can say will make me change my mind."

I sat there as the wind shook the barley. I swallowed hard, and my brow tightened. Slowly, I got up,
and dusted off my skirt and knees. I looked at him. He stared at the sky like he was seeing
something else, his eyes stark, his mouth hard.
"I don't blame you," I murmured. And without waiting for him to say anything back, I turned and
walked away, setting out to measure the perimeter myself.

VVVVV

HERMIONE

Much as it had earlier in the "morning," Time passed without my feeling it. And yet it felt like
forever. I bit my lip as I circled the barley field for the third time. This was like a dream. The most
realistic, vivid, fantastic dream I had ever had. The smell of earth and wind and baked grass filled
my lungs, the feel of the barley between my fingers fascinated me, and the sounds of the wind and
my steady, crunching footsteps surrounded my hearing.

The sun slowly went down, turning gold, then orange, then red, and purple twilight followed in its
wake. I watched Draco get up and trail slowly back toward the lonesome tree, taking his pillow
with him. I traipsed a little further, then sighed as darkness fell and the wind grew chilly. I turned
and followed him.

When I parted the long willow curtain with both hands, I caught sight of him sitting by that
motionless clock again. He didn't look at me, and he didn't say anything. I hesitated, then entered
as well, watching the little golden lights flit upwards from the grass at my feet. I sat down by the
root I'd found earlier, and leaned back against the great tree.

I stayed there for an interminable amount of time, measuring my breathing. Finally, Draco lay
down on the grass on his side, his back to me. I rested my head against the bark. I could hear the
wind moving through the grasses outside, but in here, it was very quiet. I watched Draco's
breathing rise and fall. Soon, it became deep and even, and I realized with surprise that he had
fallen asleep this time. Somehow, after the thought had sunk in, that fact relieved me. My shoulders
relaxed, I let out a long sigh, and let my eyelids flutter closed.

Malfoy jerked, and let out a cry. I sat up, my eyes flying open. Draco had fallen onto his back, and
though his eyes were closed, his expression had gone tight, troubled, and he lifted his hand. Then,
as I watched him, the tension in his brow loosened, and his hand rested against his chest. I sat still
for another minute, making sure he was really asleep, then lay back again. I closed my eyes.
Slumber pulled at the edges of my consciousness…

Draco thrashed. I almost jumped to my feet. He took fistfuls of the grass and tore them up, then
started breathing hard. I gritted my teeth, sat back against the tree and glared upward. Perfect.
Another piece of enchantment: I couldn't rest without him having nightmares.

I sank back down, rubbing my face, and glanced over at him. His muscles still looked tight, his
breathing unsteady, his hands closed in fists. I sighed. Fine. He needed sleep more than I did. After
considering for a second, I took a breath, and began to sing, quietly. I felt slightly stupid as I did,
but I was willing to try. Besides, it would break the unbearable quiet.

"Over in Killarney,
Many years ago,
My mother sang a song to me
In tones so sweet and low.
Just a simple little ditty,
In her good old Irish way,
But I'd give the world if she could sing
That song to me this day."
I paused. Something shimmered around the edges of Draco's body where he lay on the grass.
Warm, golden light. One of his hands had relaxed, and his shoulders, but his forehead still looked
tight. I swallowed, and went on to the chorus—and as I did, the shimmers drifted up, and rested
upon him like fireflies.

"Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral,
Too-ra-loo-ra-li,
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral,
Hush, now don't you cry
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral,
Too-ra-loo-ra-li,
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral,
That's an Irish lullaby."

With each note I sang, the shimmers lighted on his forehead, and his chest and his arms, and set
him glowing. Draco's body loosened notch by notch, until, by the time I'd reached the last phrase,
his face had smoothed, and the shimmers had sank down inside him and vanished—but he was
asleep. Quite asleep. My lips parted as I fell silent, and I just stared at him, transfixed.

Incredible.

Slowly, I sat back, and let my eyes close. Forcing myself to stop thinking about the lullaby and the
golden lights, I finally succeeded in relaxing and falling asleep.

VVVVV

DRACO

I slept. I must have. Because, when I'd closed my eyes, it was dark. And when I opened them, I
could see the sun shining through the willow curtain. I sat up, and ran my hand through my hair. I
remembered…something. I remembered dozing off, then being bothered by some sort of deep,
frightening feeling. It hadn't been a nightmare, because there hadn't been any images. But it had
held me there, tightening down, locking up my muscles.

And then, a voice had cut in. Singing. I hadn't been able to understand the words, but as soon as it
began, warmth had crept over me, and into my chest, and I completely relaxed. I had seen a soft,
gold glow for a second, and then—I didn't remember any more after that.

I frowned, and glanced around the willow room. Where was Granger?

A dart of worry tightened my gut. She hadn't abandoned me to find the door again, had she? I
swore under my breath and got up—leaving my pillow there—then parted the willow curtain with a
shove from both hands and swept out into the morning.

I stopped, blinded by sunlight. I held up a hand to shield my eyes, then rubbed my face and
squinted out across the field. My eyebrows went up. How was it possible that this grass could
literally look as if it was made of swaying, bending gold?

Different movement caught my eye. I turned, and saw Granger striding around the perimeter, a safe
distance away from the forest fence. She walked with her head down, and she did not see me as she
walked past the place where I had lain yesterday. Or…whenever that had been.

My frown darkened. It killed me to admit it, even just to myself, but she might be right. We might
be in a semi-dream. How else would I not feel even remotely hungry, or stiff, or grungy or tired?
How long had we actually been here, anyway?

I kicked that thought away even as I kicked at the barley, rammed my hands in my pockets and
trailed away from the willow. I didn't know where I was going—where was there to go? Not down
the path. Never again. So I had to walk the perimeter. And, to avoid running into Granger, I had to
follow her. From a great distance, of course.

I did that for several hours. Or ten minutes. Or both. I finally decided that if I didn't stop trying to
figure out the blasted time thing, it was going to drive me insane. I kept kicking the barley and
trailing after that girl, careful to maintain the same distance between us.

Then, Granger stopped. I looked up at her, and stopped as well. She was perhaps a hundred meters
ahead of me. I had no idea how many times we had circled the field by now—maybe five?

Granger stared up at the sky for a moment, then sat down and flopped onto her back. She
disappeared.

My chest jolted. I knew she had just lain down, and the barley hid her. I knew she was still there,
and hadn't fallen through the floor. I knew I wasn't alone in this horrible place…

I broke into a run.

What are you doing? Stop it, you ninny! a scornful voice said in the back of my mind, and my
steps hitched. But I still couldn't see her. I swallowed hard, then slowed to a trot, searching ahead of
me.

There. I saw her. Her school uniform was black, so I could see patches of it between the stalks. I
slowed, then stopped. I shoved my hands in my pockets again, feeling like a fool. Wind tossed my
hair and rattled the grain. Like it was laughing at me.

"You woke up," Granger observed. I ground my teeth and didn't answer, waiting for her next
remark. It didn't come. I shifted my weight, and glanced into the forest—she had been facing it
when she lay down, and now her feet pointed that direction. I narrowed my eyes at her.

"You're planning something."

"Yes. But nothing drastic," she answered. I snorted and rolled my eyes.

"Right—since when have you done anything that wasn't drastic?"

"You don't know anything about me," she replied coolly. I glared her direction, though I still
couldn't see her.

"I've been around Hogwarts long enough to know that you and Weasley and Potter are always the
ones getting into trouble doing stupid and dangerous things," I countered.

"Saving the school and everyone in it isn't what I'd call a tea party, Malfoy," she said, her voice
hard, now. I blinked. I didn't know what to make of that. Instead, I stepped closer to her so I could
see her face.

Her long-lashed eyes were closed, her expression clear, like she was asleep. But her mouth was set.
It irritated me. I cocked an eyebrow.

"What are you planning, Granger?"

"It doesn't involve you," she answered.

"Good," I said, folding my arms. "Because you should know that my saving you from the snakes
was a temporary lapse in sanity on my part, and I won't be repeating it."

"Fine," she said lightly. I stared at her. She did not open her eyes but she raised her eyebrows.

"Why don't you go find something to do?"

"What?" I yelped, then my mouth worked for a moment as my mind scrambled. "Did you just
dismiss me?"

"No," she answered, still infuriatingly calm. "I'm suggesting that you go do something besides
breaking my concentration."

I threw my hands out to the sides to encompass the empty field.

"And what would you suggest?" I cried. "Knitting?"

"Go read."

I gaped.

"Read?"

"Yes."

I swore at her. In German. I wasn't a complete idiot—I knew what her fist felt like. I also knew it
felt infinitely good to let loose a stream of profanity that she did not understand. Then, I kicked the
nearby stalks, hard, swung around and stormed back to the willow.

I told myself that she was just insufferable. I told myself I was angry at her impertinence and
rudeness. I did not entertain the thought that I was still afraid of that forest, and the sameness of this
place was driving me mad.

I slapped through the willow curtain, stomped onto the green grass—

And jerked to a halt.

There, by the silent grandfather clock and my pillow, sat a stack of four books. I stared at them.

"Go read."

How had she done that?

Warily, I edged toward the books, then bent down to peer at the titles. I did not recognize them.

"The Complete Sherlock Holmes," I murmured. "Black Beauty, Pride and Prejudice, Yes, Virginia,
There is a Santa Claus." I picked the last one up and studied it. It was infinitely smaller than the
other three. Were these Muggle books? If so, why was there one about Santa Claus?

I glanced at the willow curtain, nervous that Granger would burst in and laugh at me hunched over
these ridiculous manuscripts. But all I heard was the rustle of the barley and the toss of the wind. I
sat down, and opened the cover of the Santa Claus book.

"Dear Editor: I am eight years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus."
I stood up so fast that I almost lost my balance. Incredulity flooding me, my eyes flew over the
words until I had finished the whole book.

VVVVV

HERMIONE

"What's all this nonsense about people not believing in Santa Claus?" Draco's gruff voice came
from behind me, and then something thudded onto the ground by my hand. I opened my eyes and
glanced to my left to see a little copy of the book Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus lying on the
ground. My brow furrowed and I sat up, then took the book in both hands. Amazing. Earlier, I'd
lain as still as I could, asking the Room to give Draco a few books to read, to distract him. I had no
idea it would supply some of my favorite books for him. I tried to open the cover. I couldn't.
Interesting. Only he could read it.

I glanced up at Draco, who stood a few paces away, his arms folded, his jaw set. He clearly
expected an answer.

"I…Well, it's a legitimate question, isn't it?" I asked. "One that almost every child asks, until he
discovers the truth." I shrugged. "I don't believe in Santa Claus."

Draco looked at me like I'd just turned purple.

"What?" he said.

"I don't believe in Santa Claus," I repeated. Draco still stared, as if I was speaking Chinese.

"I mean, I love this book," I half smiled, and held it up. "And I think it's a delightful idea. But I
can't believe that a merry old immortal lives at the North Pole and flies around in a sleigh pulled by
reindeer, delivering toys to millions of children by way of sliding down their chimneys." I laughed.
"It's absurd."

Draco gave me a look now that was downright ugly.

"I hope you realize how stupid you sound."

I blinked, losing all my humor.

"What?"

He shook his head.

"Muggles," he scoffed, then shook his head again and gazed condescendingly out over the field.
"I've said it lots of times—so has my father—if we wizards were to waltz down the middle of the
busiest street in London, nobody would give us a second glance. What's the point of keeping magic
a secret?" He bent toward me, his eyes intense. "Muggles wouldn't believe it if they saw it with
their own eyes, because they are all completely daft."

Anger rose inside me.

"Listen," I snapped. "Just because Muggles don't believe in magic doesn't mean

they're—"

"Santa Claus is real," he stated. "I've seen him."

I stopped.

"You what?"

"I've seen him," he said again. "Talked to him, in fact."

I gawked at him.

"How on earth—"

"I was twelve," Malfoy went on. "Home for Christmas holiday. I was up late, trying to get a peek
at my presents before I was supposed to, but when I went into the sitting room where the tree was,
he was standing there like he was waiting for me. Looked right at me."

I held my breath. Draco's gaze had drifted off, and I could tell he was remembering—there wasn't a
hint of deception about him.

"He looked just like any other wizard—old wizard, that is. More like…well, more like Professor
Dumbledore." Draco hesitated, he swallowed, but did not look at me. "He wore red and gold, with
spectacles and a belt with bells, and polished boots. He had soot on his shoulders. He made me sit
down in my father's armchair. He looked at me a long time, and then he talked to me. Or…More
like gave me a scolding."

My mouth fell open.

"He scolded you?"

Draco prodded something with his foot.

"It was nothing. He made me give back a present that I'd swiped from Blaise." He shrugged. "I
didn't think it was all that important, but Claus was firm about it. He said he was very forgiving,
but he wouldn't tolerate someone else's presents being stolen—and if I did that again, all I would
get was sneezing powder the next year." Draco smirked, and for an instant, he met my eyes. "So…I
never did that again."

My mind was spinning. I tried to make my voice work.

"You mean…You mean you actually spoke with—"

Malfoy gave me another one of those superior kickbacks of his head I was so familiar with, his
expression hardening again.

"Use that Muggle-poisoned brain of yours for once, Granger," Malfoy growled. "I can make a
snake jump out of my wand. You can make a feather float without touching it. McGonagall can flip
a time-turner in the afternoon and pick up the mail she forgot to get in the morning." He shook his
head once, and gave me a look that very much resembled his father. "A flying sleigh and coming
down chimneys is second-year stuff."

"Listen, Malfoy," I threw the book down and got to my feet. "Things like flying sleighs and men
hopping down chimneys are commonplace to you, and so it's easy for you to believe in them. In
fact, you don't even have to believe, because they're just like…like…" I gestured wildly, trying to
get my brain to work through my fury. "They're like homework and taxes and death—you see them
everywhere, right in front of you. They're reality." I looked right at him, trying to get it into his
thick skull. "But Muggles don't see floating feathers and time turners—they have to accept
everything like that on faith alone! No proof at all!" I stepped toward him, giving him a severe
look. "And it doesn't make them stupid if they don't believe in magic. It makes them cynical and…
and tired and maybe a little bitter. But without a snatch of magic at all, Muggles have sailed across
oceans, built flying machines, written symphonies and walked on the moon." I shook my head,
letting my hands fall to my sides. "But you've never tried to understand that side of the world. You
just like condemning people and thinking that you're better than they are. Well you're not." I lifted
my chin. "Try living one day out there completely without magic—without a single protection
charm or invisibility cloak or healing potion. To most wizards, that would be a terrifying prospect."
I lowered my voice. "But Muggles live every day of their lives in that—and they still have homes,
and families, and jobs, and happiness—and they fight wars and criminals and disease and death.
Completely without magic." I took a deep breath. "Muggles aren't stupid. In fact, they're far braver
than most wizards I've ever known."

Draco looked back at me as if he'd never seen me before. He took a breath, then broke eye contact,
gazing into the forest.

"What are you planning, Granger?"

I started. Had he been able to read my fear through that tirade? I gritted my teeth.

"I'm going to stay the night out in the field."

I felt him regard me, but I turned and sat back down, facing the forest path again.

"And what are you hoping to gain by that little exercise?" he asked, an edge to his voice.

"Whatever I can," I answered, narrowing my eyes at the darkness. "I'm going to do something you
never have," I smiled crookedly, getting a bit of my own back. "But it's something all great Muggle
explorers and inventors have done."

I heard the blackness in his voice.

"Really. And what's that?"

I took a breath.

"I'm going to give it a shot and see what happens."

I expected him to say something nasty—I had provoked him enough. But he just watched me for a
bit, then turned and walked away. I listened to his footsteps as he went.

I tried to keep my mouth shut and concentrate on the task at hand—honestly, I did—but then it just
leaped out of me, breaking all my restraint.

"Malfoy," I called, halfway twisting to see him. He stopped, and frowned back at me. Okay, I had
his attention—might as well finish the stupid question.

"Did you really…" I tried, but I couldn't finish. He lifted an eyebrow, patronizing as ever.

"Yes, Granger," he said. "There is a Santa Claus."

I blushed, feeling like an idiot. He gave me that cold look a moment longer, then turned back—but
did I see him almost smile?

I faced front again, hiding a grin. Santa Claus was real. The idea filled me with a warm glow. And
somehow, it made me feel a little braver as I sat there, waiting for the night to come.
 Chapter 6

DRACO

I don't know why I told her all that rubbish. I mean, it was true—but why did she need to know
that? I knocked the willow curtain out of the way and re-entered the quiet, still, grassy room. I
stopped, and raked my hands through my hair. I felt rattled, light-headed, like I was breathing too
quickly.

I scowled at the pile of books, then kicked it over and sat down hard by the tilting clock. I rubbed
my eyes, my face, then fell down onto my back. I clenched my fists and pounded the ground. They
made a dull thud, because the grass was so thick. I gritted my teeth as hard as I could and squeezed
my eyes shut.

Granger was busy studying, experimenting, observing and fiddling with this magic, using all of her
over-achieving mind to figure a way out of this place. She was a bulldog—she wouldn't give it up
until she figured this room out. And I, on the other hand, was using all my power to keep from
thinking. To keep from remembering the sight of blood all over my hands as my father smiled
down at me—

I stood up, sucking in deep breaths, and paced away from that spot. No. No, I wouldn't let this do
this to me. I would not allow this blasted Room to get in here. I wouldn't let those nightmares
weasel their way into my waking thoughts—

Granger had seen all that. All that, in my house. All that begging and bleeding and groveling. All
the twisted dysfunction that made up my family. I knew she had—I could tell by the disgustingly-
pitying way she looked at me now. And I hadn't been helping the situation. I'd been acting like a
baby ever since that incident—arguing about Santa Claus and fretting about whether or not I was
alone in here, and breaking down and sobbing like a two-year-old. In front of her. I snorted. What
was I, a Malfoy or a Weasley?

I had to harden myself. It was easily done, if I had time and will enough to do it. And I would. I
had to. I would be ruined, otherwise.

The wind rustled. I glanced through a space in the long, thin branches. Odd. Was the sky getting
darker? I scowled. I wasn't going out there to find out. Granger could do whatever fool thing she
wanted out there with the nightmares and spooks. Nothing would make me leave this tree.
VVVV

DRACO

I paced back and forth for three hours—the same path over and over. With every step I took, those
little gold lights fluttered up out of the grass. And weirdly enough, the grass and little white
flowers didn't smash down, even though I often stomped through them and sometimes kicked
them. I muttered hurriedly out loud, reciting the formulas for my upcoming Potions exam. Then, I
ran through the charms I'd learned—or half-learned—this past week. Then I practiced my dueling
stances, and executing such spells as "expelliarmus" and "reducto," using that infernal leaning
clock as a target. Without a wand, of course. I did that last exercise over and over, until I was
breathing hard and had to stop for a moment. I rested my hands on my hips, trying to conjure up
something else to help level my head.

Dark fingers of the memory of my drawing room crept into the back of my mind.

Come now, Draco, said the voice of my conscience—which always sounded vaguely like my
father. You are letting that Mudblood work through the magic of this place rather than finding a
way out of your own? Get out of this tree—you are stalling, boy! Are you afraid of the dark? You
have something important to do, something vital! Now leave this place and—

I dove for one of the books. I no longer cared which.

My shaking hands landed on the one called Pride and Prejudice. I thudded down, cross-legged, and
pried open the cover.

"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of good fortune, must be in
want of a wife."

I took a deep, steadying breath. Oh, good. Ancient, wordy, flowery rubbish. I was going to have to
concentrate. Gritting my teeth and focusing my eyes, I made myself keep reading.

VVVVV

DRACO
"Occupied in observing Mr. Bingley's attentions to her sister, Elizabeth was far from suspecting
that she was herself becoming an object of some interest in the eyes of his friend. Mr. Darcy had at
first scarcely allowed her to be pretty; he had looked at her without admiration at the ball; and
when they next met, he looked at her only to criticise. But no sooner had he made it clear to
himself and his friends that she hardly had a good feature in her face, than he began to find it was
rendered uncommonly intelligent by the beautiful expression of her dark eyes. To this discovery
succeeded some others equally mortifying. Though he had detected with a critical eye more than
one failure of perfect symmetry in her form, he was forced to acknowledge her figure to be light
and pleasing; and in spite of his asserting that her manners were not those of the fashionable world,
he was caught by their easy playfulness. Of this she was perfectly unaware; to her he was only the
man who made himself agreeable nowhere, and who had not thought her handsome enough to
dance with."

"Say something to her, you clod," I muttered into the quiet, rubbing the back of my sore neck.
These foppish men and their ridiculous manners—if one of them liked the girl, he ought to ask her
to dance. To blazes with what anyone else thought about him. At the beginning of the book, I had
completely understood the class difference, and how he had at first been repulsed by this
Elizabeth's lower status. But they were all Muggles—so I was confused as to why this Mr. Darcy
clown still seemed to be conflicted. If he dallied around for much longer I was going to throw the
book across the room and start reading Sherlock Holmes, whatever that was.

The wind whispered. I lifted my head. No. It moaned, rather. Like it used to wuther around my
tower at home. I lowered the book and gazed through the rustling branches of the wall. It was dark
outside. I frowned. How long had Granger been lying out there?

"Stop it," I said, turning back to the pages. "Doesn't matter."

But all of a sudden, I couldn't concentrate on the words. They blurred together. I frowned after a
few moments of scanning. How many times had I read that last line?

I slammed it shut and tossed it to the side. It spun off into the grass. I swore again, then got up. I
paced a while longer, my hands stuffed in my pockets. But I kept stalling, glancing toward the
swaying curtain of branches. It looked pitch dark outside. I stopped, and leaned toward a gap.

I couldn't see anything. My brow tightened, and I reached out and pushed a few of the slithering
branches out of the way.

"Hm," I breathed, in quiet, unsettled amazement. Outside, thick gray fog obscured the barley;
crouching, damp and heavy, like the eerie mist lurking between the stones of a graveyard on the
moor. It chilled my fingers and nose, and cold air filled my lungs as I drew in a breath. It smelled
like frost.

"Granger?"

I called her name before I thought about it, though not very loud. My voice came out hoarse, from
disuse. The fog swallowed my sound. I glanced back at the warm stillness of the willow. I gritted
my teeth.

She wasn't screaming for help. She wasn't shouting that she'd found the door. In fact, she'd told me
to go away and quit bothering her, which I had been happy to do. My leaving this willow and going
out into this fog would be harebrained—I'd never find my way back, and for what? So I could go
stumbling about in the dark looking for some nitwit girl who didn't have half the sense God gave a
hinkypunk?

I scowled, drew my head back in and slapped the gap shut, letting the willow branches rattle.

"Idiot," I growled, pacing toward the tree trunk. "Lying out there in the freezing smog and dirt
waiting for the ghouls to come out of the woodwork. Brilliant. Let's give that a try, shall we?"

I walked three times around the perimeter of the willow room before I slowed to a stop again, and
stared at the place I had peered out.

She wasn't screaming for help. She wasn't shouting that she'd found the door. And that's what was
troubling me.

What was out there? Where had that fog come from, and why did it give me that sick, familiar,
cold feeling I remembered from the goblin cave?

What would it be like to have fallen to sleep while that mist snaked through the barley and covered
everything in a shroud?

I shuddered—and then I flushed so that my cheeks burned.

I was standing here pacing the floor like an old housewife, and the Muggle-born was out there, in
the midst of black fog and ice, in hopes of understanding even just a shred of this magic.

"I've seen it for years now, no matter how hard I've tried to drum it out of you." My father's voice
rang in my head. "You are a coward, and a weakling."

"Hang it all," I snapped, darted forward and barreled through the willow branches and into the
cold, wet fog.

Instantly, it swallowed me. I spun around, searching for the willow. I couldn't see it. Muttering
curses under my breath, and trying to keep my heartbeat from speeding up, I turned back around
and headed out into the field. There was nothing for it, now.

"Blast you, stupid girl," I snarled, my feet crunching on the icy stalks. "I'll not be outdone. Not by
some Muggle-born, know-nothing, senseless, arrogant…"

I trailed off. I squinted.

A dark form lay amidst the grass ahead of me. I frowned. It couldn't be her. It was too still.

I stopped my reflexive reach for my wand, bit the inside of my cheek and crept forward. For all I
knew, the Room was about to produce a boggart or a ten-foot python or a spider the size of a
wardrobe. I refused to think of myself as a coward—but cowardice was not the same as caution.

The wind no longer moved. The air hung silent. My feet snapped twigs and crushed dry grass as I
came around to the side of the dark shape. I slowed. I stopped.

Granger lay there on her back, her arms locked to her sides. Her eyes were closed, but they did not
move beneath her lids. Her mouth was a hard line. Her skin looked gray. Like stone.

"Granger," I said again. Nothing happened. I glanced down. Her fists had clenched so hard that
each one of her knuckles shone white. The muscles in her jaws clamped, and she frowned hard. But
it didn't look like she was breathing.
I jerked my head up, my mind whirling as I searched the reaches of my visibility. What was in this
mist? A sleeping spell? A curse?

Poison?

I wanted to run. I wanted to pelt back to that willow, and the clear air inside. But my feet locked,
and I couldn't tear my eyes away from her as she lay there, stiff as a board.

She was dead.

I knew she was. I could tell by looking at her. I had seen Death before—watched him leave his
mark on people's bodies. His signature was here.

So why couldn't I run?

With everything I had, ever since I could remember, I had burned with an inner fury wrapped in an
iron shield, like a well-made furnace—and I would laughingly scald anyone as punishment for
getting too close—or just for the enjoyment of causing pain. But there was something else deep
inside me, something my father had never possessed: I had a flaw in my shield somewhere—a
place where the iron melted if the flame got too hot. A thin spot.

A weakness.

It turned my stomach. But I couldn't get rid of it. I never, ever had been able to. It was a fault I
could feel, like an old wound, and right now it opened up inside me. Just like when I'd thrown my
arms around my mother. Or when I'd almost collapsed in the bathroom after looking into the eyes
of a girl I'd nearly killed. That weakness, like a cracked board in the middle of a bridge, always
rattled and groaned at the most stunning and disarming moments. I could never remember where it
was until half my weight stood on it and it felt like it was about to break loose underneath me.

That sensation made me sick now. My knees shook. And it only worsened the longer I stood there.
Because there was a trick to this gaping feeling:

It had always been interrupted, whether by my father's scolding, or the actions of another person. It
had always been banished for me, allowing me to get cold and harden down again.
I had never been forced to do something about it.

I sucked in my breath, trying to get the gears of my mind to turn. This was stupidly simple. I could
kick hay over Granger and leave her for dead, or I could kneel down and feel her pulse. I didn't
want to do either. But the weakness gaped again. And I realized that I couldn't justleave her there.

I batted a tall stalk out of the way, thudded down onto my knees and, giving her the wickedest look
I could muster, reached out my right hand and pressed it to her jugular vein, just beneath her jaw.

I jumped. A pulse had answered my touch.

"Granger," I said, pulling my hand back to rest on my knee. "Hey. Wake up."

She didn't move. I glowered.

"Granger, come off it." I grabbed her shoulder and shook her. Still, she didn't respond. I ground my
teeth.

"Fine." I braced my feet, grabbed both her wrists and stood up, jerking her hard into a standing
position.

Her eyes flew open. She gasped. I let go of her, startled. She staggered forward, and caught herself.

Her mouth fell open, and her eyes darted around, but she didn't say anything, and she started
gasping like a fish out of water. And then shivers took hold of her whole body and her teeth
chattered together.

"You looked like you were dead!" I cried. She wrapped her arms around herself. Her lips turned
blue. She stared at me intensely, with wide eyes, as if she couldn't decide whether or not I was real.

"I don't know what you were thinking of, trying to sleep out here," I shot at her, trying to hide the
fact that my heart was hammering. "There's something off about this mist—can't you tell? I
wouldn't be surprised if it's bewitched with some sort of—what are you doing?"

Granger stumbled toward me, not listening to a thing I said, and held out a shaking hand. I tried to
take a step back, but my feet tangled up in the barley. Her palm met my shoulder. She gasped, and
her eyes flew to mine. Her shaking fingers curled around a wrinkle in my shirt, and she stared
straight into my eyes. For a long moment, she searched me.

Her expression broke. She sucked in a deep breath, and her frame loosened.

"It's you," she rasped. I stood for a moment, stunned, then cleared my throat.

"Of course it's me," I knocked her hand away. "Know anyone else stuck in this God-forsaken
place?"

Her eyes went dull and her gaze drifted away. Her jaw clamped, and she wrapped her arms around
herself. I swallowed. It didn't look like she was entirely awake yet.

"Look," I said. "I'm not loitering about in this fog any longer than I have to. It's not got inside the
willow yet—are you coming with me?"

She shivered once, and didn't look at me.

"Granger. Granger!" I snapped my fingers in front of her face. Her head jerked up, and she met my
eyes again. She looked surprised. I heaved a sigh.

"Completely barmy," I muttered, then grabbed her elbow and hauled her back toward the way I
thought I had come. The barley crashed all around us.

She didn't say anything. She didn't shout at me for pulling too hard, she didn't resist. It was like she
wasn't even completely here. I winced, wishing I could hold my breath. If she'd gone mad
breathing this stuff in, I wouldn't be too far behind if I didn't get back to that tree.

"What's that?"
Granger's voice had barely been a murmur, but I heard her.

"What?" I barked, but I glanced back at her. She was staring distantly off to our left. I stopped, and
followed the direction she looked. A soft glow waited in the fog. I swallowed. It could be the
willow, but it could also be another nightmare trying to suck us in. I looked at Granger, waiting for
her to say something definite. Her eyes fluttered closed and she drifted sideways. I had to tug on
her to keep her upright. I huffed. She was going to be no help.

"Come on," I muttered, dragging her in the direction of the glow. Even if it was another nightmare,
the Room might get rid of the fog to make way for it. In fact, it was a definite possibility, because I
was almost certain that the willow was not that way. Well, almost certain. All right—I had no idea.

The fog swirled around our ankles, and I secured my grip on Granger's arm. I couldn't have her
stumbling off into the darkness—I would probably never find her again.

"We're going up a hill," Granger murmured.

"No, we're not," I answered. "This field is flat. And whatever this glow is, it can't be the tree
because the tree is…" I trailed off and slowed.

The willow rose up out of the mist. And through the hanging branches, I could see a soft blue light,
and sparkles of gold.

Okay. Great.

I pulled her forward, knocked the branches aside, and both of us plunged back into the warm light
and clear air. Little gold lights sputtered up and twirled around us.

Granger sucked in a breath and pulled loose of me. I turned. Her eyes were suddenly bright, awake,
and she was breathing hard again. Her brow twisted, and tears tumbled down her white cheeks. I
stared at her. Her dark, shining eyes met mine.

"How did I get in here?" she asked, her voice trembling. I glanced around.
"What do you mean?" I demanded. "We've been dragging through all that infernal fog for a quarter
hour."

She pressed her hand to her head, her mouth falling open as her eyes went wide and unfocused.

"I don't…I don't remember…" She squeezed her eyes shut. "I fell asleep when the sun was going
down, and I had a dream…" Her voice lowered to a whisper. She flinched away. She opened her
eyes, and more tears fell.

"What did you expect?" I growled, throwing my hands out to the sides before turning and sitting
down, leaning back against a root. "Sugar plums and fairies?"

"I was trying to see how far the magic went," Granger whispered, almost to herself. "Trying to
figure out the rules, without going back into the forest…"

"You didn't seem to have a problem with going into the forest before," I muttered.

"I wasn't going to leave you here!" she burst out, as if I was being unreasonable.

"Why not?" I wondered, confused.

"Because we came in here together and I have a feeling the Room wants us to get out together," she
rationalized, still not lifting her head. "But I wasn't going to drag you back in there so soon after…"
she trailed off. I narrowed my eyes.

"So soon after what?" I growled. She stepped closer to the tree trunk, turned around and sat down,
hugging her knees to her chest. Then, she lifted her head and looked at me. My heart gave a deep
thud, and venom filled my veins.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

She blinked.
"Like what?"

I scowled at her, tilting my head back.

"You think you feel sorry for me."

Her expression flickered, but she didn't answer. I was right. I shook my head.

"You saw me bleed a little, eh, Granger? Saw me lying on the floor crying to my mother and you
suddenly think you have the right to pity me." I spread my shoulders and lowered my chin, leveling
a deadly look at her. She just stared back, stunned. I leaned forward, just a bit, and arched my
eyebrow.

"Let me tell you something, Granger—you think that because you saw some twisted version of my
family that you understand something about me and my life. You know nothing. You understand
nothing. You're just reacting like any girl would who sees blood splattered all over in front of her.
The world's most venomous snake could be bleeding and thrashing around in front of you and
you'd feel sorry for it, without realizing that if it could just get close enough, it would kill you."
The edge of my mouth curled. "You flatter yourself into thinking you're a compassionate person, so
you think you ought to feel something when one of your classmates is being bled out onto the
floorboards. But you don't care about me," I scoffed. "You have never given one thought about my
happiness or well-being. Why should you? They're none of your blasted business. You hate me,
just as much as I hate you." I gave her a broad sneer, watching her face flush.

"Admit it, Granger," I purred. "Tell me the truth. You think I'm an evil, selfish pig, don't you? A
stuck-up pure-blood who you've loathed since you first met, and who you've been jealous of your
entire life."

"Jealous!" she yelped, her eyes flashing, her back going ramrod straight. "Jealous, why would I be
jealous of you? You're a stuck-up, arrogant, know-it-all show-off with a superiority complex—
you're nasty and cruel and you say wicked things and you hate people without knowing them and
you judge people without taking five minutes to weigh the evidence! And besides all that, you're
not half as clever and terrible as you think you are!"

"That's interesting," I replied, amused. "Because if you asked me, that's exactly what I would say
about you."
She glared at me.

"I do feel sorry for you."

I lifted my eyebrows.

"Oh, really."

"I do," she snapped. "But it's not for the reason you think. It's because you're not strong enough to
keep your character from being manipulated by your father—you have no idea who you are!"

I showed nothing on my face. The look I gave her was cold.

"I have a proposal," I took a breath. "Let's stop pretending like we care about this comparison, or
even if the other lives or dies. I hate you, you know it. You hate me, and I know it. So stop looking
at me like I'm some poor, dirty house-elf you have to patronize and mind your own business."

She went quiet, looking at me. I gazed back, refusing to flinch. Her brow furrowed.

"Do you want me to hate you?"

I frowned. All of a sudden, Granger looked tired, and her mouth tightened.

"You're trying too hard," she said, and leaned back against the root and looked away. I folded my
arms, and glanced at the hanging branches. Neither of us spoke for a long time. There was no wind.

"Do you have any pets, Malfoy?"

I blinked, and looked at her sideways. She didn't repeat her question, and her eyelids were drooping
shut. I leaned back.
"Yes, I have pets," I bit out.

"What kind?"

"Two dogs," I sighed, irked. "And a cat."

"What color?"

I looked at her narrowly.

"Gray."

"Lives in the kitchen?"

"My chambers," I said. "Why on earth do you care?"

"There was a cat in my dream," she murmured. "A gray one, in your kitchen. You killed it."

Part of me went cold. The rest of me brushed it off.

"Don't be daft," I muttered. "I'd never kill a cat."

"Why not?"

I took a breath to tell her to shut up, but that weakness opened up in my chest again. I shifted,
turning my shoulders away from her, tightening my arms around myself. I felt her looking at me
again. I didn't return the eye-contact. Soon, I heard her breathing evenly, and I knew she had fallen
asleep.
I was glad she hadn't pressed me into revealing the truth—that I was very fond of my little cat. That
I'd raised him from a kitten, and hadn't told anyone at Hogwarts that I had him. That he'd been my
constant, unobtrusive companion every summer and holiday for the past ten years. That I had
begun to worry each time I made the journey home that, when I arrived, I might find him buried in
the garden.

I clenched my teeth, and glanced over at the sleeping girl across the way. Yes, it was another facet
to my weakness, and I knew it. But Granger never would.

VVVV

HERMIONE

I lay there with my eyes closed, measuring my breathing, letting Malfoy think I was asleep. But
there was no possible way I was going to allow myself to sleep. Not so soon. Not when tatters of
my nightmare still hung in the corners of my mind.

I tried not to think about it. I didn't want to slip back into it. But whenever I tried to pull up a more
pleasant thought, images from my dream invaded it and turned it gray and cold.

I had dreamed of Draco. But it wasn't him. Not the way I knew him. This Draco's presence filled
the gloomy halls of Hogwarts—dark and terrible and sweeping. Everyone cowered away from him,
except for his clouds of Slytherin followers. He was openly cruel, both with his words and his
actions. He lashed out at younger students with brutal, sudden strength, throwing them into the
paving stones or sending them spilling into a row of desks. He laughed with real enjoyment when
Quidditch opponents of Slytherin fell and broke arms or ankles. He openly defied the teachers—
even Professor Snape. I saw him with his family. He was snappish and unkind to his mother, and
he walked in step with his father. I watched him trip over a little gray cat in his kitchen, and
promptly turn and kill it and leave it on the floor. He had white hair, a stunning pale countenance
and black eyes—black as midnight, without a ray of light within. Sometimes, when he turned one
way, or another, he almost looked like a young Lucius. And he was the bane of my existence.

In my dream, this dark-eyed-Draco pursued me every waking moment with relentless precision. He
dogged me—sitting behind me in class so he could cut off the ends of my hair, walking behind me
through the corridors and muttering foul things about my parentage, and what bloody death I
deserved. After years of it, of living with that oppressive intimidation every day, I stood up to him,
in this dream. And he took me down.

He did not hesitate, he did not waver. He bound me up with a swift petrificus totalus and flung me
down into a black, earthy hole. Then, while giving me the wickedest and coldest look I had ever
seen, he began to bury me alive.

I knew I was going to die—that he was going to murder me. And I could not move, I couldn't fight
it. I couldn't even scream for help.

Then, that dark form above me blurred—and it was replaced by a shining one, with eyes like blue
stars. The newcomer grabbed my wrists and pulled me up and out of the open grave. The spell
broke. I stared at my rescuer.

He was clad in white, and looked just as pale as the one in my dream. But his eyes were
unspeakably full of light. They were familiar. It was Draco. The Draco I knew.

The Draco who stumbled through the masses in the halls just like everyone else. The one who
generally avoided the first years and occasionally helped a younger Slytherin find his way to
Potions class. The one who made a face when anyone got hurt in Quidditch. The one who sat in
respectful silence during Snape's lectures. The one who looked away when Moody performed
avada kedavra in class. The one who I had seen hiding a laugh when Fred and George sent a
firework dragon chasing after Umbridge.

And even when I had finally awakened all the way, and he was taunting me with the full strength
of his bitter sarcasm, I knew he was not that black-eyed Malfoy. He made me angry, yes—furious.
But I wasn't afraid of him.

He wanted me to hate him. But twice, he had pulled me out of the most terrifying situations my
mind could conjure. And he had apologized for calling me a Mudblood.

Why?

But I could not puzzle it—my mind spun, all disorganized. My reason wasn't operating, and my
heart still pounded too fast. I made myself settle, forced myself to relax onto the soft grass and cool
tree trunk. I listened to the silence, calming myself, counting my breaths.

And that's when I heard someone outside call my name.

 Chapter 7

All those days

Watching from the windows

All those years

Outside looking in

All that time

Never even knowing

Just how blind I've been

Now I'm here

Blinking in the starlight

Now I'm here

Suddenly I see

Standing here

It's oh so clear

I'm where I'm meant to be

And at last, I see the light

And it's like the fog has lifted

And at last I see the light

And it's like the sky is new

And it's warm and real and bright

And the world has somehow shifted…

All at once

Everything looks different

Now that I see you

"I See the Light,"-Tangled

VVVVVV

DRACO

I heard her get up. But by the time I had managed to shake myself awake enough to open my eyes
and look around, I was alone.

I shot to my feet. Where had she gone now? Was she trying to get herself killed?

"I swear," I muttered, closing my hands into fists. "If she gets lost out there again, I'm not—"

I heard a voice. It was far away, and muffled by that fog, but a human voice nonetheless. And it
was one that I recognized. Calling a name I knew.

"Hermione! Hermione, where are you?"

It was Potter.

I lunged to the willow curtain and pushed it out of the way. I saw nothing but that thick mist.

Potter shouted again.

"Hermione?"

And then—

"Hermione, are you there?"

That was Weasley.

We'd been found.

I crashed through the willow curtain and out into the shadowed barley, racing toward the sound of
the voices. I knew there would be a time, after I was out of the Room, that I would scowl at myself
for running toward Potter and Weasley, but right now, I did not care one iota who it was that had
found the door. All I knew was that I wanted out.

I knocked through the tall grass and the mist, barreling almost blindly straight toward the sounds of
the shouting. Luckily, the voices kept up, getting louder and nearer—although I couldn't always
distinguish what they said. And then I heard an answer.

"I'm here! Harry! Ron! Draco and I are here!" Her voice was filled with desperate relief, and
echoed over the field. She was ahead of me, and somewhere off to my right. I turned, and headed
toward her, though I didn't slow my pace. The fog thickened. I kept going.

But then…

"Hermione, look out! Don't come any closer!" Potter cried, from somewhere out in the darkness.

"Stop, Hermione!" Weasley pleaded. "It's a trap!"

And all of a sudden, the fog cleared, and I was running through the forest. I skidded to a halt,
panting.

"No," I gasped. "No, no, no…"

Movement off to my right caught my eye. I spun. Hermione, hair flying, raced past me through the
trees, down into a small clearing—

Where Potter and Weasley sat on the ground, back to back, wrapped tightly with black rope. They
had bruises on their faces, and Weasley's lip bled. Hermione let out a cry.
"What happened to you? How did you get in here?"

"Hermione, there's no time to explain," Potter gasped, trying to lean toward her, his green eyes
bright with urgency. "Get out of here. Now. Do it, Hermione—get out of here!"

"I can't leave you here!" She lunged toward them, reaching for the ropes.

"Crucio!"

An invisible fist hit her in the chest, and she flew backward, then writhed, screaming. Weasley and
Potter lost it—kicking and wrenching on their bindings.

I started forward. I had no idea what I was going to do, or what was happening, but—

I frowned, and glanced down. My feet and legs were working, but I wasn't moving. My heart began
to pound. I reached out to grab a tree to pull myself forward—I couldn't stretch far enough. I
couldn't move forward at all.

"Come on, come on," I said, my voice rising. "Come on—no!"

Hermione's screaming stopped, and turned into choked crying. I stilled, and looked up. I went cold.

Striding toward the clearing was a shadow. Tall, taking smooth, silent steps, it swept forward, its
cloak whispering behind. It bore a slender walking-stick in its right hand. I knew that figure
anywhere.

It was my father.

Hermione lifted her head and saw him coming. She scrambled, trying to get to her feet. Potter and
Weasley wrestled with the ropes and shouted at her to stand up and run. My chest locked up, and
my hand fluttered toward my heart.

And then a shaft of light from above the leafless trees cut through. And the figure walked right
through it.

It wasn't my father.

It was me.

I jolted hard. My mirror image was as tall and broad-shouldered as I was, but my black cloak
trailed on the ground behind me, and my face and hair looked deathly white. But it was my eyes
that turned me to ice. They were black.

That other version of me, the one who moved with the grace of a snake, halted just on the other
side of Potter and Weasley. He smiled. It twisted his face.

"Hello, Granger."

Hermione screamed. It slammed into me. I'd never heard a sound like that before—not even when
she was being attacked by the snakes. It was anguish mixed with terror—and helpless, stark horror,
straight from the deepest part of her.

But it was only me. It was a replica, but it was me. My eyes fixed on her as confusion filled me.
She had gone pale as snow, and she was looking at me as if she was looking Death in the face.

She clawed her way backward until her shoulders slammed into a tree, her eyes wide. The other me
laughed out loud, as if something was funny. He shook his head.

"Do you know how long I've waited for this?" he said. "To get all three of you here, alone, where
nobody knows where you've disappeared to?"

"Leave her alone, Malfoy!" Weasley commanded, twisting to try to kick that dark version of me.
My black-eyed self slapped Weasley in the face so fast I almost didn't see it. The strike rang
through the woods.

"Stop!" Hermione tried, tears starting. "Stop, don't hurt him—"

The other me flashed his eyebrows at her.

"Oh, don't worry—he won't feel anything." Then, he swung around, his cloak slithering, and
pressed his wand tip to Weasley's chest. He inclined his head to Weasley, and half smiled.

"Avada kedavra."

Green lightning enveloped Weasley's whole body. And then he slumped, his eyes blank.

Potter howled—it was like someone had wrenched out one of his ribs. Hermione leaped to her feet
only to crash to her knees and wail Weasley's name.

I blinked. This wasn't real. None of it was! Couldn't she see that?

"Granger," I said. Then I raised my voice. "Granger, don't…"

But nobody acknowledged me. It was like I was invisible again.

"Stop, stop!" Hermione begged, hysterical. "Please—don't hurt Harry—what do you want? Tell me
what you want—I'll give you whatever you want—"

"But you already have!" my dark self chuckled. "Can't you see that? I led you into this room and
just bided my time until your two brainless friends tumbled in after you." My black-eyed clone put
away his wand and pulled a long knife out of the folds of his robe.

Oh, no—no, she couldn't see this. Even if it wasn't real—I refused to watch this—

"Stop it, you cretin," I bellowed. "I don't know what the blazes you are, but don't you dare do
anything—"

"No!" Hermione shrieked. "No, don't!"

"After all these years, after all the misery you three have caused me," my black-robed self said, as
he grabbed hold of Potter's hair with his right hand. "The only worry I have left is whether or not to
leave my expensive knife between his ribs, or take the trouble to clean off his filthy blood." And
then that specter that looked like me plunged that blade straight into Potter's heart.

Hermione fell on her face, crying and keening uncontrollably.

"Hermione!" I roared, fighting to catch even a bit of traction. "Hermione—blast it!"

Potter choked on his blood and fell sideways, taking Weasley with him. They collapsed onto the
ground. My dark clone left the knife where it was and turned slowly toward Hermione. His eyes
were the blackest I'd ever seen—carrying hatred colder and fiercer than even my father. He
prowled toward her, lowering his head, pinning her where she lay with his icy gaze.
I went still, stunned. Was this what I was in her mind? Did she truly believe this was me?

"This is nonsense!" I bellowed, still too far away. "Let her go—do you hear me?"

"This is perfect—you know that," my other self gloated as he stood over Hermione. His voice rose,
and he glanced upward. "Room? I need a place to hide three bodies…" he grinned down at her.
"Where no one will ever find them."

I tore at the air, baring my teeth. My other self prodded Hermione with his toe.

"Get up, Mudblood. Get up and look at me in the eyes while I kill you."

Hermione didn't lift her head—she lay there, shuddering and sobbing. My doppelganger bent
down, took a fistful of her curls and jerked her straight up. She pressed her forearms to her chest
and her expression twisted. She whimpered and shook. He bent his face close to her tear-stained
one, and rammed his wand against the bottom of her jaw.

I reached down inside me, shut my eyes, then stretched out both hands. I drew in a deep breath,
opened my eyes, and tried the only thing I could think of.

"Finite Incantatem!"

Power rippled out from me, shaking the image in the clearing. My foot caught the ground. I
stepped forward. It felt like I was wallowing through mud, but I moved. I plowed on, gaining
speed, and as I did, my twin rippled and pulsed, and suddenly disappeared. Potter and Weasley's
bodies vanished. I skidded to a halt in front of Hermione just as she tumbled forward.

I caught hold of her arms. Her head snapped up. Silence fell.

Suddenly, she thrashed against me, almost hitting my face.

"Let me go!" she roared. "Let me go, you monster!"

"Hermione, hang on—" I grabbed her arms. "Hang on, wait! It's me—"

"You killed them, you killed them," she railed, straining against my grip. "Let go!"

"Granger, stop it!" I shouted. "Look at me!"

She stopped, and opened her bright brown eyes. She blinked. Her brow furrowed, and tears spilled.
She searched my face. I relaxed my grasp on her arms, and raised my eyebrows.

"It's me," I said again, quieter.

For just a moment longer, she gazed back, unsure. Then, sudden recognition flashed across her
eyes, and her mouth fell open. And then she threw her arms around my shoulders and buried her
face in my neck.

I staggered backward, letting go of her, but her grip on me tightened. I felt her heart hammering
against my chest, and she took fistfuls of my shirt.

I didn't know where to put my hands—I finally just rested my palms on her back.

"Relax, Granger," I said, as she started shivering hard. "It didn't happen, see? None of it."

"I know. I'm fine," she whispered. "I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine." She wrapped her arms tighter.
"No, you're not," I rolled my eyes. "You don't always have to be fine."

And I bent and picked her up. She pressed her forehead harder into my collar, and I cradled her. I
wanted to say something sarcastic about how she needed to lose weight—even though she really
was very light to carry—but I couldn't summon up anything witty. The image of blood leaking
from Potter's lips was still too fresh.

I carried her back the way I'd come, pine needles rustling beneath my feet. She kept trembling,
never lifting her head, her fists full of the loose fabric of my shirt.

I never found the path. But for some reason, the forest just faded behind me as the gray mist took
over. Now, I pushed through the crackling stalks of barley, and refused to drift right or left.

There was that glow again. I made for it, shifting Hermione in my arms. The willow rose up out of
the fog. I ducked my head and used my left shoulder to push through the curtain.

The soft blue light fell across us, and the little gold sparkles rose up as my feet shuffled through the
thick grass.

I bent over, then knelt to put Hermione down in a sitting position on the ground near her customary
root. But she wouldn't let go of me. I lost my balance and fell backward, sitting down myself.

"Come on, Granger," I muttered, trying to get out from under her. But she only clamped down
harder, and her breathing suddenly sounded distressed. I groaned.

"Well at least…Ugh, this is absurd," I grunted, scooting back to lean against the root. My back hit
it, and she fell down onto my lap, sitting on me. She adjusted her arms around my shoulders and
laid the side of her head down on my collarbone. I ground my teeth.

"You need to get off me. Granger, I'm not…Listen—" I tried to pull her off. Her body gave a deep
shudder—and then I felt warm tears slide down the side of my neck. I stopped pulling.

I loosened my muscles. Slowly, lightly, I wrapped my right arm around her waist. I hesitated. Then,
my left arm came around, and I rested my palm on her hip. She let out a long, shivering sigh, then
nuzzled her nose against the skin of my throat. Her hands let go their death grip on my shirt, and
her fingers stretched out and softened. She melted against me, taking a long, deep sigh. It was as if
she was assured that I wasn't going to let her go now.

I listened to her breathing—tired and jagged. My hands gentled against her as my brow furrowed. I
swallowed. She was warm, and soft, and her hair smelled like lilacs. Her long curls fell across my
shoulder. She felt delicate, sitting here in my arms—winsome and light and fragile. I tried to
remind myself how disgusted I always felt when I was near her, but that thought wouldn't hold. All
I knew right now was that she was clinging to me—she was breaking right here, against my heart.
And all of a sudden, I found myself trying to hold her together.

"It's all right," I murmured, hardly loud enough to even hear myself. "Really, it is." I let my head
fall back against the root and I stared up at the boughs, a strange pain traveling down through my
chest. "It's just a dream."

She didn't say anything back. I moved my right hand thumb against her sweater. She sighed, and
relaxed further. And so I let my eyes drift shut, and spent the rest of my waking moments rubbing
my thumb back and forth against the small of her back.

VVVVVVV
HERMIONE

I lay in a fog, in darkness. A deep, steady beat resounded against my head. And warmth surrounded
me. Warmth, and strength. Slowly, I came back up to the surface, and I gradually opened my eyes.

My arms were wrapped around someone's neck, and the bridge of my nose pressed against the
softness of someone's throat. The deep, steady sound was a heartbeat, and I could feel the resulting
pulse against my nose. A strong arm encircled my waist, and another rested against my leg and hip.

I lifted my head, just an inch. A pale, golden head leaned back against the root, long-lashed eyes
closed.

Draco was holding me in his lap. And we had both fallen asleep.

For an instant, my heartbeat accelerated in bewilderment. Then I remembered.

I remembered the black-eyed Draco. I remembered Harry being stabbed in the heart. I remembered
Ron being swallowed in green flame…

I remembered the black-eyed Draco crumbling to dust. I remembered looking into the real Draco's
eyes and seeing that he'd been trying all along to get to me, trying to stop it all. Trying to make me
see that it was all a dream.

I gazed at him now. He had dark circles under his eyes. I winced. This couldn't be comfortable for
him, my sitting here. Carefully, I drew my arms back from around his shoulders, slid backward, off
his lap, and took his arm up and over my head. He shifted, and for a second I thought he would
wake up. But when I set his arm down, he just moaned briefly, then turned his head away. For a
moment, my fingers lingered on his pale hand. Then, I just sat there and looked at him—and my
mind became clearer than it had been since I had arrived in this Room.

All this time, I had been trying to figure a way out of here. I had been battling the visions and the
nightmares as if they were enemies, problems, riddles. I had been working through the magical
dynamics of the forest and the path and the field and the willow. I had even gotten hung up on the
idea that we had confused the Room and it was just doing its best to keep up.

The Room of Requirement. The Room that was hundreds of years old, and conceived of by the
most brilliant witches and wizards of all time. The Room that had, for thousands of students for
nearly a thousand years, supplied exactly what they needed, exactly when they needed it.

We had not confused the Room. We had asked it for something specific. And it had delivered.

I had no doubt that Draco had been running away from the bathroom with one thought on his mind:
"I need a safe place, a place to escape." And the Room had given him the barley field and the
willow—the willow that had surely been conjured from some version of Rivendell or Lothlorien,
since Draco would have fond, safe memories of them from Tolkien's writings.

And as for myself? I had been thinking one, singular thought as I chased him:

"I just need more time."

I had needed time to actually talk to Draco. Time to uncover the truth about Katie Bell, and what
he had been planning.

But my request would have been foiled if we had just been able to turn around and open the door
again. If we just barreled right out, the Room would have failed. And so it had hidden the door
behind the most terrifying things in our minds, blocking our exit.

The Room didn't want us to try to leave. It wanted us to stay. Because of the things we had asked
for.

I had heard a massive clock tick and then grind to a halt the moment we entered. And the clock in
the willow, very obviously, was not working. Time had stopped inside the safe place.

The Room was giving me more time. It was giving me all the time I needed.

Outside, the wind suddenly gave a strong, heavy rush. But it didn't sound the same. It sounded like
a fresh gust off the sea. And it carried a scent with it—a smell like spring rain. I turned, and got up.
Hesitating, I went to the willow curtain and pushed it aside.

The black fog, the black poisonous fog, rolled back like a carpet. And it kept going and going—

And the forest disappeared. I saw it for a moment—those dark, skeletal trees. But then they
disintegrated and followed the fog as it roiled away from me, leaving a vast, endless, waving field
of gentle hills.

I stepped out. And the gold lights that usually rose from my feet in the willow room followed me.
They swirled up around me, multiplying and spinning, and rising straight up into the black, empty
sky.

The dark barley fields began to illuminate as the golden lights burned brighter and rose higher and
higher. I froze where I was, dazzled, stunned.

The curtain rustled behind me. I glanced behind me.

Draco ducked through, and he met my eyes. I said nothing. His face softened, and he stayed silent,
too. But then he looked up, past me, and saw the lights. His lips parted, and he wandered out to
stand beside me.

The tips of the stalks began to glow, like lightning bugs had landed atop each one. The wind joined
the dance, whirling around us and tossing our hair, and stirring the little golden lights. The
thousands—no, millions of golden lights.

I craned my neck, watching them rise. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Draco do the same. It
was almost like daylight—except warmer, and more brilliant than anything I'd seen.

And then the little lights exploded—billions of pieces shot off in every direction…

And then the limitless sky ignited with countless brilliant, distant stars.

All around us, the barley field stretched on and on without end. The evil forest was nowhere to be
seen. The wind laughed, even happier than it had been during the afternoons before. I wrapped my
arms around myself. I glanced over at Draco.

He was gazing up at the stars, his eyes alight with their reflections. He looked surprised, amazed.
He crossed his arms and shook his head.

"Blimey," he whispered, and that was all. I almost smiled.

Time. It was what I had asked for. I had needed time to ask him about Katie Bell, and about why
he had been crying. I had needed time for him to calm down, and speak rationally. I had needed
time for him to open up to me, to be willing to tell me. And now I had it.

Before I'd crossed the threshold of this Room, I would have had to agree with anyone who told me
that it was useless trying to appeal to Draco's humanity or empathy for any reason. That, in truth, I
would be wasting my time. That it was impossible.

But the Room of Requirement, who had more wisdom than any Hogwarts student, did not seem to
agree. And as I stood there, looking at him as he shone in the starlight, I began to believe
something different than I had before. It was just me and Draco Malfoy, beneath a brand new sky,
with all the time in the world.

Perhaps it wasn't so impossible after all.

 Chapter 8

You'll remember me

When the west wind moves

Upon the fields of barley

You'll forget the sun

In his jealous sky

As we walk in fields of gold…

"Fields of Gold"-Sting

VVVVV

DAY ONE

HERMIONE

When I opened my eyes, I was lying on my back on the soft grass of the willow room. I didn't have
to look around to sense that I was alone in here. I sat up, and ran my hand through my hair. Now it
made sense why I wasn't tired or dirty or sore or hungry, but it still felt strange. It would take some
getting used to.

The wind rustled the willow, gapping the curtain just enough to let me see flashes of gold. I got up
and stepped through the branches.

I squinted against the rich sunlight, and then my eyes widened and my mouth fell open.

The barley field went on forever. All the way to each horizon, the waving barley reached, like the
ocean. Somehow, it reminded me of the way Kansas might look in the summer. Either that, or
heaven.

I spotted Draco—a white mark on the golden canvas. He was walking, hands in his pockets,
casting his gaze across the fields. I started toward him, then stopped myself. I closed my eyes, bit
my lip, and reminded myself of everything I had told myself last "night."

I was going to try to get Draco to talk to me. Therefore, that would not include any sort of
interrogation or prodding. I knew enough about boys to realize that if they didn't want to talk about
something, they would just leave if you asked them a direct question, and then would sullenly clam
up the next time you raised the subject. Instead, I had to attempt to make conversation with him
without sounding purposeful. And above all—and this was going to be the hard part—I was not
going to argue, contradict, insult, fight, scowl or name-call. Ever. No matter what he said.

I opened my eyes and braced myself.

This was going to be very difficult.

I started forward, into the barley. The wind greeted me—I could almost hear it say "Good
morning!" I halfway smiled, running my fingers over the tops of the stalks. My footsteps crunched
rhythmically as I walked, my hair bouncing on my shoulders. Ahead of me, Draco paused and
glanced upward. I clenched my teeth, trying not to lose my nerve. Okay, so I wasn't supposed to
insult or degrade—but what was I supposed to say?

I slowed down, and pulled off a bit of grain, then began to pick it apart. I stopped about thirty feet
away from him, and swallowed. He was still gazing upward. I swallowed again, and cleared my
throat. There was nothing for it—

Draco turned and looked at me. I jumped. He looked back upward.

"Did you ever see clouds here before?"

I blinked, then glanced up. And suddenly, my breath was stolen.

High, billowing, pure-white clouds dotted the blue sky—some were thick thunderheads, others
were wispy tendrils, others looked like soap suds. All were shot through with shafts of brilliant
sunshine.

"No," I managed. "I believe the sky was clear before."

Draco didn't answer. Still looking at the sky, he started walking again. I hesitated, then started after
him. It was so weird, walking at this distance from the willow without the forest standing on my
right. I had never strolled through the middle of a field this huge before.

For a very long time, I trailed behind Draco, snapping off pieces of barley with my fingers and
pulling them apart, tossing them down and starting over. I walked close enough behind him that he
would know I was there, but not so close that he would get annoyed.

I traced him as he made a wide circle around the willow—he always kept it to our left. Then, when
we'd made one whole lap, he slowed down again and stopped. I stopped. Draco said something,
but the wind snatched it away. I straightened.

"What?"

He didn't repeat himself. I shuffled my feet for a moment, then closed the distance between us.

"What?" I said again, when I was about five feet away. Draco just stared upward, frowning at the
sky.

"What do you suppose this is—this big field, and all these clouds?" he asked. "It doesn't worry me
like before—but I'm not sure it's good."

"I dunno," I bluffed, searching the same sky he was. I canted my head, watched him for a moment,
and tried something. "I think that one looks like a pig."

His head turned, and his brow furrowed.

"Which one?"

"That high one, there," I pointed. "By the three wisps—see, it has the sun on top of it."

"Don't be thick," he snapped, lowering his head, turning and walking away. Annoyance boiled
inside me, until—

"It looks like a sheep," he said.

My eyebrows shot up. My mouth worked for a moment—I was so startled.

"A sheep?" I finally cried, starting after him. "Why?"

"Look at the tail, Granger," he replied. "Pigs have little curly tails and sheep have long fluffy ones."

I squinted up at the cloud, still stumbling through the high grass.

"I don't see any kind of tail."

"Look at the blinking rear-end," Draco spun around and tossed his head in that direction. "Or don't
sheep have tails in Muggle-land?"

"Rear end?" I said, gathering up all my wit and hiding my amusement. "Were you looking at the
head?"

"Oh, for the love of—who taught you how to look at clouds?" Draco marched on ahead. I smirked,
then made myself bark back.

"Nobody taught me how to look at clouds!"

"Then perhaps somebody should!"

"Oh?" I said, trotting up to stomp beside him. "Who? You?"

"At least I can tell a rear end from a front end," he shook his head. He looked up and pointed to a
great thunderhead in the distance. "See that? That one's a pirate ship."

"No it isn't," I replied, just to say it. "It's a castle."

"Your balmy."

"You're blind."

Draco snorted, and for just a split instant, I saw him almost smile. I congratulated myself, and
inwardly changed my rules: it was perfectly all right to argue about pigs in the clouds.

VVVVVV

DRACO

It was easier to be a little more cheerful in the broad daylight, when the sun was bright and the
memory of the living nightmares could almost be ignored.

But when the sky started to turn a dark purple, even though it was warm out, my gut went tight, and
I had to retreat to the willow. Even though she didn't say anything about it—and hadn't spoken for
several hours, thank God—I knew Hermione felt the same, because she followed me after a while.

Now, I sat by the useless clock, where I usually did. Hermione laid a few paces from me on her
side, her back to me, curled up in a ball. I wasn't tired. I didn't know why she would be, either. But
she certainly looked like she was trying to sleep. At least, until I saw her shoulders shudder, and a
small gasp escaped her.

I frowned.

"What?"

"Nothing," she said, her voice watery. I waited, looking at her sideways. She didn't say anything. I
tucked my pillow behind me, leaned back and closed my eyes.

But she was crying. I could hear it. She was trying hard to keep the spasms in her throat quiet, but it
was almost silent inside this willow. I glanced over at her and bit the inside of my cheek. I didn't
like listening to crying—especially when her posture reminded me too much of that vision I'd had
of her after I'd called her a Mudblood.

"What is it?" I pressed, irritated.

"I don't want to fall asleep," she whispered. I lifted an eyebrow.

"Any particular reason?"

For a long while, she didn't say anything. Her head lowered, her face turned into her pillowed arm.
Then, when she spoke, I could barely hear her.

"You wouldn't do that to Ron and Harry."

It was a statement. But it felt like a question. A question that twisted inside me. I glanced down at
my hands in my lap—at the blue light glinting against my ring.

"Listen, Granger," I said, keeping my voice hard. "I hate Potter. And Weasley makes me sick. Yes,
I've sometimes entertained thoughts of cracking them over the head with something heavy, or…
poisoning their food, or knocking them off their brooms." I paused, took a breath, and kept my tone
smooth, even though admitting it filled me with shame. "But honestly? I couldn't look them in the
eyes and just murder them." I gave her a sideways look for just a second, then scowled. "Feel
better?"

She didn't answer. But she did stop crying. I leaned my head back again and gazed up at the tall
willow, and tried to sleep.

VVVVVVVV

HERMIONE

I couldn't stop my shaking, or my tears. I had been able to put that vision behind me during the day,
but now, just lying here, with darkness all around me, it kept flooding my head and I couldn't get
away from it. I was incredibly embarrassed—I was crying in front of Draco again—but it was
useless to fight it. I felt sick, sluggish, like my blood was full of lead. Maybe Draco was right.
Maybe there had been something terrible in that mist.

Draco's admission that he wouldn't kill Harry or Ron had put a hitch in my dreadful thoughts, but as
the silence stretched on, that little comfort faded away, and a terrible ache settled inside my chest. I
shifted, feeling like I had a fever, and tears filled my eyes, blurring my vision. I sucked in a breath.
My throat closed and I choked, and I shakily swiped at my face. I swallowed hard, and did not turn
over.

"Are you awake?" I called hoarsely.

"Wh…Hm?"

"Are you awake?" I asked again.

"I am now, thank you," came the grunted reply. I heard him sigh heavily. "Still having trouble
sleeping, are we?"
I gulped.

"I feel like I'm going to be sick," I shuddered.

"Well, for heaven's sake, go outside to do that," Draco ordered, and I heard him either get up or
move further away.

"Don't be ridiculous," I said through trembling lips. "What would I throw up? I haven't eaten
anything."

He didn't have an answer for that. I closed my eyes, trying to calm down.

"Sing," I said.

"What?" He said it like I'd spoken Greek.

"Sing a song," I said, squeezing my eyes shut.

"You're barking," he scoffed.

"It's part of the magic," I insisted. "I sang to youwhen you couldn't sleep and the gold lights
covered you and you got to rest." I swiped at my face again. "So you owe me."

"Wha—When was that?"

"A few nights ago. Or whenever that was." I shivered hard. "Sing."

"You can't be serious. What am I supposed to—"

"I don't know," I said through clenched teeth, getting desperate. "I don't care."

I heard him growl.

"I'm not going to sing, Granger. That's pathetic."

"Please?" I whispered.

For a long while, he was silent, and I didn't think he was going to help me. Then, he muttered
something resigned under his breath that I couldn't understand, and took a low breath.

"See her how she flies

Golden sails across the sky
Close enough to touch
But be careful if you try…"

Draco was not a singer. His voice was rough and low, and he didn't dwell on the notes. But he hit
them, and as the song went on, his tone grew softer.

"Though she looks as warm as gold

The moon's a harsh mistress
The moon can be so cold."

I began to relax. But then he stopped. I swallowed, and drew my arms closer to my chest.

"Keep going?" I breathed. He paused again. But when he began again, his voice was stronger, and
warmth began to creep over me.
"Once the sun did shine
Lord, it felt so fine
The moon a phantom rose
Through the mountains and the pines
And then the darkness fell
The moon's a harsh mistress
It's so hard to love her well…"

My eyes drifted shut. My muscles loosened. But as I listened, his voice surrounded me, and a deep,
heavy melancholy sank into my heart.

"I fell out of her eyes

I fell out of her heart
I fell down on my face
I tripped and missed my start
I fell, and I fell alone
And the moon's a harsh mistress
And the sky is made of stone."

I tried to open my eyes, but I couldn't. A deep blue light covered my vision for a moment, and then
I fell asleep. It was peaceful sleep, yes—but as I faded down, a deep, sinking sadness washed over
me, and a single tear ran down my nose before I remembered nothing else.
 Chapter 9

DAY TWO

DRACO

The next "day," or whatever it was, dawned with pink light spreading across the sky and
illuminating the clouds with all sorts of rich, unfathomable colors. I sat just outside the edge of the
willow room, watching the sun rise, the cool breeze washing over me.

As the sun got higher, the barley turned from gray to brown, and finally to that stunning gold I was
used to. The sky lit up into a brilliant blue, and the white clouds rolled and tumbled with a high
wind. It got warm again, but not uncomfortable. I stood up, dusted off my trousers, and started out
into the field. The bright sun felt good on my shoulders and the top of my head—it helped get rid
of the shadows that had come in the middle of the night. I left Granger behind me. She was still
sleeping.

I kicked rhythmically through the barley, noticing that it didn't look like anyone had ever walked
here before. I stuck my hands in my pockets, lowered my head and began to think again, like I'd
been trying to do yesterday before Granger wanted to start an argument about pig tails.

What had happened to the forest? When I'd stepped outside the other night to see what was going
on, it had just disappeared. Poof. And replacing it was now an endless field and a spectacular sky—
but what did that mean? I couldn't figure it out yesterday, and I wasn't hopeful for today—and the
only thing I did know was that the door was now very hidden. We'd had the forest path before.
Now…nothing. I could be walking past it at that very moment and have no idea.

"Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, too-ra-loo-ra-li," I murmured to myself, in a tune that had just entered my

head. I didn't remember where I'd heard it, but it went well with the sound of the rushing wind.
That is, until I heard the grass crashing behind me. I spun around to see Hermione storming toward
me, arms swinging, face tight with consternation and anger. My eyes went wide.

"What did you do?" she cried.

I frowned at her, indignant.

"What do you mean, what did I do?"

And suddenly, I saw that her face was streaked with tears, and her eyes were filling up with more
that tumbled down even as she walked. She jerked to a stop, swiped her sleeve across her cheeks,
but her brow twitched and her lip trembled.

"I just woke up and sat inside that willow and cried for half an hour about nothing," she babbled,
sniffing. "I'm like a leaky bathtub! There's nothing wrong—nothing! I just…I can't stop!" She
choked, and swiped at her cheeks again with her fingers. I gaped at her.

"What in blazes makes you think I did that?"

"The song you sang last night!" she burst out, sounding like she was about two inches away from
breaking down completely. "It was sad and…sad! And it made me feel sad all night, even when I
was asleep!"

"You told me to sing anything," I retorted.

"I know I did," Hermione sputtered, swallowing hard. "But you had to know something wasn't
right. What color were the lights?"

I blinked.

"What lights?"

"The lights I saw just before I went to sleep—the lights that covered me when you sang," she
practically roared.

"I don't know," I put my hands out to the sides, palms up. "Blue?"

"Blue? See, that can't be right!" she shook her head hard. "When I sang to you, the lights were
gold."

My mouth fell open.

"Wh—What do you think I wassupposed to do about that?"

"Use your brains," she sniffed hoarsely, stamping past me.

"Granger, it is not my fault," I turned on her, clenching my hands.

"Why can't you admit when you've done something wrong?"

"Why do you always have to blame someone?" I replied. Her lip trembled, and more tears tumbled.
My jaw tightened. It suddenly didn't feel fair fencing with someone teetering on the edge of
hysterics. She was under a spell, clearly—and maybe she was right, maybe the song made her feel
all up-ended. But I had no idea how to improve the foul mood of a high-maintenance girl like
Hermione. I also knew that I needed to improve it or she was going to take off my head. I wracked
my brains as she spun around and continued storming away. I glowered, stuck my hands in my
pockets again and followed. What did these silly girls want? Chocolates? Sonnets? Flowers?

"I should have known better than to ask you for anything," Hermione fumed. "Since you've never
been a—"

She stopped suddenly and stared straight down. My heart thudded and I halted. What was in the
grass? A snake? A hole?

She bent down. I watched her warily as she knelt, and then picked something. And when she
turned around, her tear-streaked face was beaming.

Between both hands, she held the slender stem of a daffodil so yellow that it almost hurt my eyes.
She reached up, and fingered one of the delicate petals. Then, she wiped her tears off on her right
sleeve, and no more welled up. She lifted her bright eyes to mine, and watched me for a moment.
Her smile became smaller, but her eyes lit up more. The wind caught her hair and made it dance
around her shoulders. And then—wait, did she blush?

"Thank you," she said. My eyebrows shot up.

"I…I had nothing to do with that," I pointed at it.

"Of course," she said lightly, and turned and walked off, drawing a deep breath of the flower's
scent. I stared at her, off balance, not sure what had happened. Then I swallowed. I had been
thinking about flowers…
And she did seem happier all of a sudden…

I glanced up at the sky, then narrowed my eyes dangerously at it.

"Blasted Room," I muttered, but I started walking again.

It didn't take me long to catch up to Hermione—my strides were longer, and she wasn't walking
very quickly. I slowed my pace to stay behind her…

But then she slowed down even more. I watched her, trying to gauge what she was doing…

She glanced back at me. She gave me a half smile, uncertain. Then, she raised her

eyebrows and tilted her head. I mentally tripped. What—did she want me to walk beside her?

She waited.

I swallowed again, fixed an irritated expression on my face, rammed my hands in my pockets and
strode up next to her. But—wonder of wonders—she didn't say anything. She started walking
again, smelling her flower, and side by side we strolled around and around that willow, without
saying another word the rest of the day.

VVVVV

HERMIONE

It was magic. That's the only way I can explain it. And thankfully, in the world I'd known since I
was eleven, that was a perfectly plausible explanation.

Because when I woke up that morning, I was positively drenched in depression. I couldn't do
anything about it. I'd sat in that willow and fought with myself for what felt like ages, but I couldn't
shake it off, no matter what I did. I just kept weeping like a dripping faucet.

But then, when that daffodil had popped up in front of me, that sorrow had lifted and vanished in
an instant, like a cloud moving back to reveal the full glory of the sun. And when I'd breathed the
scent of the flower, it made my tears stop. And when I'd turned around, and seen the startled,
trapped look on Draco's face, I knew that he'd been the one to conjure it.

It was just like the Slytherin pillow. Only this time, he'd been thinking of me.

After that, I felt ridiculously pleasant, almost giddy. But not talkative. I saw the field and the
willow and the sky as if they were twice as beautiful as before—because they were. In the back of
my head, I knew the flower had driven me to the opposite extreme now, but I definitely preferred
it. I was in such a good mood that I even invited Draco to walk next to me. And, interestingly, he
did.

We walked for ages, or several minutes, through that field, and I didn't say anything. I didn't feel
inclined to argue about the clouds, or talk about the rules of the Room, or where the forest had got
to. I didn't even stop to let myself be disconcerted at the fact that Draco had obviously thought of a
flower to cheer me up. I just smiled, and smelled my daffodil, and enjoyed the sound of two sets of
footsteps through the barley instead of one. Though I did have to stop myself from hopping
forward and starting to skip.

Eventually, as the sky got darker and the wind got quieter, my silliness wore off and I became
sensible again. And sleepy. I glanced over at Draco. He was gazing ahead of him, at the very first
glimmering evening star. I slowed down. He did the same.

"It's getting dark," I said. He looked at me as if the sound of my voice had surprised him. Then, he
just nodded. I turned, and headed up to the willow. He followed, keeping next to my right shoulder.
And then more of my senses came back.

Something was bothering him. There was a line between his eyebrows, and he walked with his
head down. And he hadn't once tried to start a fight the entire day. I bit my lip as I stepped through
the willow curtain, and he trailed after. Now, the silence was starting to weigh on me—but I didn't
know what to do about it.

He traipsed over to his spot by the clock, sat down, then lay back onto his Slytherin pillow and
closed his eyes. I stopped, and watched him. That was new. Normally, he sat there and stared
moodily at the curtain.

He was tired.

Had he slept at all after he sang me to sleep last night?

I sat down by my root and settled back, but I couldn't stop watching him. He shifted, then turned
over, lay still for a while, then turned over again. I took a cautious breath.

"Would you like me to sing to you?"

"Yeah, and have me be the one blubbering into my tea in the morning?"

"Tea would be nice," I realized. But of course, it did not appear. I focused on him again. "I promise
I won't sing a sad song." I tried to lighten my voice. "And I promise I'll stop if I see any blue
lights."

He heaved a sigh, then opened his eyes and glared at the ceiling.

"Fine," he ground out. I swallowed, then glanced around, trying to think of something.

"I'm waiting," he muttered.

"Good grief, Malfoy," I frowned at him. "Give me a moment."

His frown just deepened. But then an old song my grandmother used to sing darted into my head,
and it made me smile.

"Okay, I have one. Ready?"

He didn't answer. So I took a breath, and started.

"Great grandfather met great grandmother

When she was a shy young miss

And great grandfather won great grandmother

With words more or less like this:

'Lavender blue, dilly dilly,

Lavender green
If I were king, dilly dilly,

I'd need a queen…"

I knew Draco would think it was a stupid song. But he didn't comment. And as I watched him out
of the corner of my eye, I saw his long-lashed eyes drift shut. I got quieter, but kept going.

"If your dilly dilly heart

Feels a dilly dilly way

And if you'll answer yes

In a pretty little church

On a dilly dilly day

You'll be wed in a dilly dilly dress of

Lavender blue, dilly dilly

Lavender green

There I'll be king, dilly dilly

And you'll be my queen!'"

There. The little golden lights—yes, they were gold this time—rose up out of the grass and settled
on him, and sank down into his chest. He gave a great sigh, his forehead relaxed, and he fell
asleep.

For a long while, I just studied him in the soft light, as the little golden balls twinkled in the air
around me. Then, I leaned my head back and relaxed, and when the inevitable questions about the
Room, how much time was passing, and what I was supposed to be doing here entered my mind, I
knocked them out of my head, and fell asleep straightaway.
 Chapter 10

DAY FOUR

HERMIONE

"The sky looks different today," I commented as the morning wind blew through my hair and
rattled the barley.

"No it doesn't," Draco griped from behind me. "Looks the same as it did yesterday, and the day
before that, and the day before that…"

"No, look," I insisted, stopping to point up at a narrow band of cloud. "See that? That's different—
it looks like a carpet."

Draco stopped beside me and gazed up at it.

"Is that supposed to entertain me?" he said flatly.

"You need entertaining?" I gave him an incredulous look. He rolled his eyes.

"Either that or I want to get out of here," He put his hands on his hips. I winced. Yes, he was
talking to me—which was an improvement—but he was talking about getting out. Already.
Probably because the scary forest wasn't right in front of us anymore.

"Erm…" I struggled to think of something to distract him sufficiently to forget about escaping—
but one that also didn't sound stupid. "What if we…What if we walked straight north—or whatever
direction that is—until we almost can't see the willow anymore?"

"Why?" he gave me a funny look.

"Well…to see if either of us smacks our faces on a wall?"

I waited, trying to hide my wince, worried about his reaction—but from the clarity that came into
his eyes, I knew right away he thought my idea had merit. He nodded once and turned north.

"Fine. Better than wandering in circles, anyhow."

"Right." I set myself. "Let's go."

And we did. We walked and walked, trudging through some sections of barley that hardly came up
to our knees, and others that rose up to our ears—which was odd. Every now and then, we would
stop and glance back, making certain we could still see our willow. Then we would head off again.
But I was careful not to think about ways to get out of here—because if I did, I had the sneaking
suspicion we might suddenly wind up in another nightmare.

The sun rose high above us, and the wind blew stronger the further we went, messing up our hair
and clothes. But it smelled earthy and divine.

"That's it, then," I finally said, after glancing over my shoulder.

"What?" Draco stopped.

"I can barely see it," I said, squinting back at the tree. Draco shook his head.
"There is no way on the planet that the Room is this big."

I shrugged.

"I've walked in this field and felt like I've gone nowhere at all," I sighed. "It's a trick, you know."

"A stupid one."

I glanced at the sky.

"The sun is going down. We'd better go back."

"Fine," Draco said—and broke into a run.

"Hey!" I yelped, but he didn't stop. So, my heart rate skyrocketing, I began to run as well.

We pelted through the barley, and it whipped past us, shaking beneath our feet and chattering when
it hit our legs. I caught up to Draco, he glanced over at me, and suddenly it was a race.

I am competitive to the death. But so was he—I knew that from watching Quidditch. He lowered
his head and lengthened his strides. I did the same.

All at once, we were flying down a hill—a hill I did not remember climbing before—and then up
another short one, and then down another. I let loose a scream as I accelerated to the edge of my
control, my arms flailing out before I hit the bottom and started up again. At any moment, either of
us could catch our toe on a root and go sprawling.

"Come on Granger, you ninny," Draco mocked, dashing ahead of me.

"I am not a ninny!" I shouted back. "I can't help it if your legs…are…so…long!"

We burst over the crest of the next hill, and he laughed at me. I crowed—it was more like a shriek
—as I overtook him, and then—

Draco yelped. And fell on his face.

I skidded to a stop and whirled around just in time to see his white head disappear into the waves of
barley. I burst out laughing.

"Brilliant! Brilliantly done." I stopped, pressing my hand to my chest, trying to catch my breath. He
didn't answer. I hesitated. "Are you okay?"

Then he swore very colorfully—his voice sounded strained. I stopped being amused.

"Draco?" I hurried back toward him, hoping I wouldn't trip over him. Then, he got up. Sort of.

He staggered to his feet, grimacing, grabbing his hand to his right knee and putting all his weight
on his left foot. Pieces of straw stuck out of his hair.

"What happened?" I gasped, coming up to him. He swore again, stumbled sideways and then
pointed down and behind him.

"That blasted thing has broken my ankle," he gritted. I looked past him, and narrowed my eyes.

It was a door in the ground. A maroon-colored, square, hatch-like door made of wood, with a brass
handle. I stepped toward it.
"Are you sure you want to do that?" Draco warned, already realizing what I was thinking of. I
paused. Then I braced myself.

"Certainly. What could happen?"

He choked.

"Er…I won't even dignify that with a comment."

I knelt down, and grasped the cool brass handle.

"Granger, really…" Draco hopped backward two steps. "You shouldn't—"

I pulled it open. The hinges squeaked. I gazed down into the small, square-shaped hole beyond. I
smirked.

"Be careful not to get bitten by this venomous box," I said, reaching down inside and pulling out a
wide, flat-ish box and holding it out for Draco to see in the sunlight. He stared at it.

"It's a chessboard," he said. I nodded, then looked back down into the hole. The bottom and sides
of the hole looked like wood. Otherwise, it was empty.

"Anything else?" Draco leaned closer. I shook my head.

"No. Just this."

"Brilliant," Draco muttered. "What are we supposed to do with that?"

"I think it's pretty obvious, don't you?" I said, shutting the door and standing up to face him. I
canted my head and gave him a defiant look. "I'm going to beat you so badly you won't know what
happened to you."

His eyes went wide.

"What—You think you can beat me at chess?"

"Oh, no—I know so," I replied, tossing my hair, and stepping past him toward the willow, which
was not a hundred meters away. I heard him crash through a bit of the barley, then swear again.

"Blast it, Granger—I'm crippled."

"Well, what do you want me to do about it?" I asked, spinning back around.

"I don't know—something!" he cried, hopping forward on one foot, clearly in pain.

"Well, put your hand on my shoulder and lean on me," I suggested. He made a face.

"I'm not touching you," he spat.

"Fine," I lifted my chin. "Fall down again." I turned and kept walking. Draco struggled after me.
He barreled through a tall section and swore again.

"Stop using that language," I snapped, not turning around.

"Then you stop walking," he barked.

"No."
"Yes!"

"No!" I shot back, spinning to face him again. "I'll not let you order me around!"

He looked at me in complete exasperation.

"What do you want me to say?"

"Say please for once in your life!" I cried. "Would it kill you?"

The glare he gave me should have killed me, but when he almost fell over again, it lost its power.

"Fine," he grunted. "Please."

"Please what?" I pressed.

"Please stop walking."

"Why?"

His mouth locked shut. But his gaze flickered. I stayed where I was for a moment, then sighed. I
had pushed him as far as his pride would allow, for the moment. I came up beside him and faced
the willow, then glanced down at my left shoulder and up at him.

"Go ahead," I said, lifting an eyebrow and the corners of my mouth. "I don't have leprosy."

Draco glared at the ground, then swayed and had to hop once to keep his balance. Then, the
muscles in his jaw twitched, he put out his right hand and set it on my shoulder.

I stopped. His hand felt warm against me, and the sunlight glinted off his ring. I glanced up at his
face. And for just a moment, he looked back at me.

I had been thinking about giving him a speech about how it was okay to ask people for help, but
my words died and I fell silent. It wasn't necessary to say that. In fact, if I said anything, it would
embarrass him and actually discourage him from asking for help in the future.

And who knows what cruel, condescending things Lucius may have said or done to him if he
betrayed any sign of weakness, or hinted that he needed assistance if he was really hurt.

So, instead, I just raised my eyebrows.

"Ready?"

He nodded once, breaking eye contact. I started forward.

It was a strange walk—rather hitchy and uneven, because he was effectively using me as a crutch. I
had to fight to keep my balance and not drop the chess board. Now and then, I cast secret glances
up at his tight expression. I'd never realized how tall he was—he was probably taller than Ron.

A pang ran through me. Ron. Harry.

How long had it been since I'd seen them?

Swallowing, I helped Draco to the willow curtain, pushed it aside and he hopped inside after me.
He promptly left my side, eased down onto the ground by the clock and gingerly untied his shoe.
"I swear to you, my bone is broken," he muttered.

I opened my mouth, then bit my tongue. I had almost called him a name, poking fun at all the fuss
his was making. But then I reminded myself of how fast he had been running, and what he had
tripped over, and how hard he had fallen.

"Does it look broken?" I asked, kneeling down just a little distance from him and setting the box
down on the grass.

"That's what I'm trying to find out, isn't it?" he retorted. This time, I bit the inside of my cheek. And
the next moment, I saw that he had a right to be cranky.

When he carefully peeled off his stocking, sucking in his breath in a hiss, I saw that his ankle and
the top of his foot were swollen and turning red and purple. I winced.

"That looks terrible."

"It feels terrible," he grunted, lightly encircling his ankle with his fingers. "Brilliant. Just brilliant."

"It needs to be iced," I said, studying it. He looked at me like I was from Mars.

"Iced?"

"Yes," I nodded. "Without magic, if you put ice on an injury, it makes the swelling go down so you
can heal."

He arched an eyebrow at me.

"Rubbish."

"It's true!" I insisted. "When I was little, I fell down and sprained my wrist, and I had to put bags of
frozen vegetables on my arm to keep it from getting ridiculous. Besides," I shrugged. "It numbed it
and kept it from hurting so badly."

For a second, I thought he was going to keep arguing with me. But then his brow tightened all of a
sudden and his eyes went bright. I frowned. He was very pale, and his lips had gone white. I sat up.
He was trying to mask it, but he had really hurt himself. He needed ice, and a pillow, and a
comfortable place to sit—

Draco jumped, and let out another curse word. But I didn't think to shush him. I was too busy
falling backward onto my hands and gaping.

Right there between us, a white pillow, a blue blanket, and three ice-packs had just appeared. There
had been no poof, no smoke, no sparkles, nothing. They were not there, and then they were there.

For a long moment, we both just gawked. Then, we looked at each other. I grinned.

"Perfect," I declared, and I sat back up and grabbed the pillow. Draco leaned back.

"Granger—" he held up a hand. "What are you going to do with that—?"

"Smother you," I said sarcastically. "Relax, Malfoy."

"Then tell me what you're going to do."

I didn't answer. Instead, I crawled over, picked up one of the ice packs and took hold of Draco's
calf.

"Get off!" he slapped at my hand.

"Don't be absurd," I batted his hand away.

"I don't need a nurse. Granger, don't—aaahhhhoowwww!"

I lifted up his foot, slipped the pillow and then the ice pack under it, and set his foot down.

"Sorry, sorry," I winced. Then, I grabbed the other ice packs and tucked them over his ankle and
the top of his foot. I glanced up at him. His whole upper body had gone tight, his teeth were bared,
and he glared at the ice.

"That hurts worse than before!" he cried.

"I know, I know—I'm sorry," I said. "It'll do that for a while, but the longer you keep the ice on,
the quicker the swelling will go down."

"Why is it even swelling?" he gritted. "I was running through an imaginary room and tripped over
an imaginary door."

"I don't know," I confessed, moving over and picking up the Slytherin pillow. "Sit forward."

"No."

"Please?"

He ground his teeth, then made a face and leaned forward. Quickly, I stuffed the pillow between
him and the root. He leaned back and wrapped his arms around himself, glowering at his foot.

"This is humiliating," he muttered.

"What?" I demanded, sitting up. "Hurting yourself or letting someone take care of you?"

He didn't answer. He just swallowed, and a bit of the venom left his gaze. I sat there for a moment,
trying not to say anything else, then stood up and stepped back around. I spread the blanket out on
the ground, sat on it, and opened up the chess board box. Inside were two sets of pieces: black and
white, matching the color of the checkerboard pattern on the outside. I opened the box and laid it
down, playing side up, and started to set up the pieces. I observed with interest that they were not
wizarding chess pieces. They were ordinary, just like the ones I'd used when I'd played with my
dad.

I felt Draco watching me, lifting an eyebrow once or twice as I adjusted the kings. The black ones
sat toward his side, the white ones toward mine. Then, when I was satisfied, I turned so that I lay
on my stomach, propping myself up on my elbows, my head just above the board. I lifted my face
to Draco. He was already looking at me.

"Your move," I said. He frowned. I cocked my head.

"We'll play two out of three. Whoever loses has to sing tonight," I challenged.

"In that case…" he said, twisted so he could reach the pieces, and shoved a pawn two spaces
forward and grinned crookedly. "Let the games begin."

VVVV
DRACO

I was in pain. Real pain. But I was trying valiantly not to show it. I used to make a fuss about my
injuries—as in the hippogriff incident—but then I got my Dark Mark tattoo. And that taught me
the true meaning of agony. Afterward, I had once accidentally gotten my hand slammed in a door,
and later gotten burned when Aunt Bellatrix was playing with a spark-throwing spell, without
shedding a tear.

But right now, something was definitely wrong with my ankle—it felt crooked, or dislodged, or
something. Broken. It was so irksome. I had felt excellent this morning—like I'd had the first night
of solid sleep I'd gotten in a month. And I couldn't remember a time, before today, that I'd felt like
just running as hard as I possibly could just for the fun of it.

Then I had to go and trip over something and mortify myself. And Granger was telling me that a
little ice would help. The ice made me want to scream.

But I couldn't scream. Not anymore, and not in front of her. So I was going to pretend to play chess.
And try not to faint.

VVVVV

HERMIONE

"Your move," I murmured.

"I know that."

"Then move."

"What—you have someplace to be?"

I didn't look up to see if Draco was glaring at me when he said that. I just sighed, stacked my fists
and put my chin on top of them and stared at the board. The thick grass was even more comfortable
now that I was on my stomach on a blanket. I felt sleepy. Draco lay on his side, his head and
shoulders sunk into his pillow, which had stayed propped on the root, though it had scrunched a
little in the past several hours.

"I can't feel my foot at all," he mumbled. I raised my eyebrows and glanced down at his ice-
covered limb.

"Good," I said. "Hopefully it'll feel better in the morning."

There was a moment of thoughtful silence, and then he spoke, quieter than before.

"I think it's frozen me."

I looked up at him now. His face was still very pale, maybe more so, with dark circles under his
eyes and that line of concentration between his eyebrows, as if he was staving off a fever. His eyes
themselves carried little light, and he blinked slowly. My brow furrowed.

"Are you okay?"

He didn't answer. Finally, that made me sit up. A twinge of nervousness passed through me. I
wasn't a doctor, and I had no magic with me. What if he really had broken a bone? That was
incredibly painful! And here I was, making him play chess as if he'd done nothing more than
stubbed his toe.

"Here," I said, picking up the chess board while keeping the pieces in place, and set it aside. Then,
I picked up the fleece blanket, and draped it over him. He frowned, but he didn't say anything. That
sealed it: it was worse than I'd thought.

I knelt down beside and in front of him, and tucked the blanket up around his shoulders. He stared
straight ahead, and didn't regard me.

"You don't have to sing tonight," I said, then tried to force some levity. "Even though I was clearly
about to move into check."

"You wish," he muttered, but a little of the hardness softened around his eyes. I smiled. And then I
just stayed there. I almost moved away, but since he didn't seem to notice how close I was, I slowly
sank down into place, and my elbow bumped his side. For a long moment, I just sat there, studying
the lines of his face.

Something needed to be done. I had no painkillers or anything to give him except that ice. My brow
tightened and I swallowed. I remembered what my mom had done when I'd wrenched my arm, and
that had seemed to help at the time. But I was myself, and this was Draco Malfoy. I bit my lip. He
squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a sharp breath, and his leg twitched. I closed my hands and
swallowed hard. Okay, I would try at least one part of my mom's remedy. I opened my mouth and
started to sing—very, very quietly.

"Loola bye, oh loola bye

My lovely loola moon

Tiptoe by where my baby lies

In your tiny silver shoon…"

The reaction from the Room was instantaneous—it startled me. Gold, flitting lights, like fairies,
fluttered up from the grass and surrounded us with a soft glow. Draco's face relaxed, and he let out
a long sigh. The gold settled on him. I kept singing.

"Will you guard, will you keep

Will you watch over, please,

My wee one, my lambkin

My sweet chicka-chickadee…"

The lights sank down into him, clustering around his hurt ankle and setting it aglow for just a
moment. He nuzzled against his pillow, then sighed again. And then, finally, I risked doing the
other thing my mom had done when I was hurt. I reached out, and, almost afraid to touch him,
stroked back the fair hair by his temple with my fingertips.

Then, something new happened. My fingers left sparkling trails in his hair. And as I kept softly
caressing his feathery locks, those sparkles sank down into his head as well. The tips of my fingers
grew warm. And then the warmth traveled up my arm and into my chest.

"Loola bye, oh loola bye," I whispered. In your tiny silver shoon…"

It grew dark again inside the willow, as one by one the lights went out, like candles being snuffed
inside a cathedral. In fact, it got darker than ever before—but I wasn't afraid of it. Instead, it made
me drowsy. So I lay over on my left side, a little way from Draco, curled up and rested my head
near the chessboard. I glanced upward, and for just a moment, I thought I caught a glimpse of the
moon far overhead. I felt a little smile cross my face, and then my eyes drifted shut and I fell
asleep, too.
 Chapter 11

DAY FIVE

DRACO

I opened my eyes. I blinked once. Then I jerked to a sitting position.

I stared at my ankle. I had kicked off the ice packs during the night, and my bare foot lay on the
white pillow. My perfectly normal-looking foot.

My brow furrowed as I risked raising my leg up and rolling my ankle this way, then that. It didn't
hurt. At all.

I looked over at Hermione, who lay asleep on her side a little way away, facing me. Perhaps there
was something to that ice theory.

I would never tell her that, of course.

I pulled my foot closer to myself and felt it with my thumbs, pressing down on the top of my foot. I
explored the place where it had hurt the most, the center bone I'd been certain was broken. But it
wasn't. Not now, anyway.

For a long while, I sat there, staring at my foot and my ankle. Then, I reached for my sock, pulled it
on, put on my shoe and tied it. Then I got up, the blue blanket tumbling off me. I glanced down at
it.

I felt quite warm. Not hot, but warm, inside me. Like I'd felt when I used to sleep by the fireplace at
home. Hermione, however, looked chilled. She had her knees pulled up to her chest, and her arms
tucked in. I considered the blanket again, then picked it up and tossed it over her. Why not? I didn't
need it.

She took a breath, her brow tightened, and then she reached up and pulled the blanket tighter
around her shoulders. For a moment, I just watched her, then turned and pushed the willow curtain
out of the way, and set out to test my newly-healed ankle in the cool air before the dawn.

VVVVV

DRACO

It was broad daylight, mid morning, and I was still pacing experimentally back and forth outside
the willow when Hermione emerged. She rubbed her face as soon as she stepped out of the curtain,
and the wind caught her hair and tossed it. Then, she opened her eyes, saw me, and stared. Her
mouth fell open.

"Wha…You're walking!"

"Good observation," I remarked, though I didn't feel like biting at her. Then, I hopped straight up in
the air, as high as I could, landed easily and grinned out at the field. "I feel fantastic."

Hermione stepped toward me, staring down at my feet, an amazed, open-mouthed smile spreading
across her face.

"That's incredible!" she laughed. "I…I can't believe it!"

"Me either," I confessed. "I was quite certain it was broken." I turned away from her so she couldn't
see my face. "But I suppose it..wasn't."

"Oh, no, it looked broken to me," Hermione said, coming closer, still glancing between my face
and my foot. "And even if it was only swollen, ice wouldn't have made it better so quickly!"

"What are you suggesting, then?" I frowned at her. She shrugged, raised her eyebrows and shook
her head.

"Magic?"

I snorted, laughing.

"Brilliant," I said again, though not as darkly as before. "I guess it makes sense, if it was only an
imaginary injury in the first place."

"I suppose," Hermione said. I glanced at her, and my smile faded. She was frowning, and her eyes
had unfocused. She was trying to figure it out. I swallowed as a thought entered my head I'd been
trying to avoid—one that I would not be sharing with her.

I knew she'd sung to me last night. And I'd seen a golden light before I'd fallen asleep.

Had the song done it, just like my song had made her upset?

Had it healed my foot?

I turned away and started to walk, putting my hands in my pockets.

"Where are you going?" Hermione called.

"I will be walking on my wonderfully-healed foot this morning," I called back. "Come on."

As soon as it fell out of my mouth, my eyes went wide and my heart gave one thud. What had I just
said?

Apparently, she was experiencing the same shock and confusion, because I heard nothing from her.
My face got hot, and I did not turn around. Then, running footsteps crashed through the grass, and
she blustered up beside me. She glanced over at me, gave a halfway breathless smile, and just fell
into step. I clenched my jaw and avoided looking at her. But for some reason, that warm feeling
inside me would not allow me to keep that Scrooge-like expression on my face. And before I knew
it, I'd lifted my head, relaxed my shoulders and took a deep breath of the morning wind. Out of the
corner of my eye, I saw Hermione do the same. And, in that moment, something inside my chest
released, like a knot being untied. I no longer quite wished that she would just go away and leave
me alone.

But again, I would never tell her that.

VVVV

DRACO

"This reminds me so much of late summer holiday," Hermione observed, gazing upward. "Just
about the time when school is about to begin." She sighed. "I always get so excited this time of
year."

I had been busy hurdling over bunches of barley that stood higher than the rest, getting a thrill out
of how solid my ankles and knees felt when I leaped—they felt better than they ever had, actually.
I jumped over one more strand, and landed with a crunch as my shoe heels hit the crisp grass.

"You're mad," I said. "Why would you get excited about going back to school?"

"I dunno—I've always liked it," Hermione said lightly, snapping off a bit of barley and twirling it
between her fingers as she strolled. "'Course, if you'd been used to sitting in a boring classroom
doing nothing but sums and grammar all day, and then you'd suddenly switched to charms and
potions, you'd be excited too."

I looked at her incredulously.

"That's what Muggle school is like?"

She nodded. I rolled my eyes.

"I'd kill myself."

She laughed.

"I do like summer holiday, though—don't get me wrong."

"What is there not to like?" I asked, hopping over another bunch of waving grass. "Not half as
many rules, you get to stay up late, eat whenever you want, do whatever you want; there's no
homework and no Divination class."

That really made her laugh, and I smirked because I was right.

"True, definitely true," she confessed. "Trelawney can be an adventure."

"Yeah, an adventure in snoring," I muttered.

"What do you do in the summer?" she asked. I was concentrating, squinting ahead of me at a very
tall strand of barley, gauging whether or not I could make it over the top if I took a running leap—
so I answered her absently.

"My father and I go to Quidditch matches; I accompany Mother as she does her annual shopping-
and-redecorating of the entire first floor of the house. Erm…" I thought a moment. "We have my
birthday party in June…We travel some."

"Where do you go?" Hermione asked. I shrugged, set myself, took three running steps forward,
jumped and cleared that tall patch. When I landed, I ran my hand through my hair and glanced up
at the white cloud in front of us.

"Oh, Italy, some random places in Russia—Egypt, France, Denmark…"

"I'm jealous," Hermione said. "I've not gotten to travel much."

I shrugged again.

"Of course you haven't."

Hermione was silent for a moment. I thought she would be quiet after that, and she surprised me by
going on.

"The furthest away we usually go is the center of London. Though sometimes we visit my
grandparents out in the country—they live in Wiltshire."

I faced her.

"Wiltshire?"

"Yes," she nodded.

"That's where my house is."

"Really?" She cried. "I've never seen it."

"You can't," I said. "We hide it."

"Oh."

I kept walking, pulling up an entire stalk this time and whipping it back and forth, up and down.

"My grandparents live in an old farmhouse—stone, with a silo," Hermione said, kicking at a few
stalks. "It's usually very windy out there. Like here." She lifted her face toward the sky. "This is an
incredible wind. It's a pity we don't have a kite."

I paused.

"A what?"

"A kite," she repeated. "You know…"

I waited. She laughed, and shook her head.

"You have flying brooms, yet you don't know what a kite is."

I glared at her.

"If we're going to start to insult each other—"

"No, no," she held up a hand, still smirking. "A kite is a piece of large paper, or canvas, attached to
a string—you hold onto the string and throw the kite into the air, and the wind catches it and takes
it up in to the air." Her smile grew as she gazed off, walking and remembering. "My grandfather
and I would almost always fly a kite—he loved that song from Mary Poppins, so when we would
pull the kite out of the closet, he made me skip to the door with it, and out into the yard, singing
that song." She laughed harder now, shaking her head. But I didn't know what the kite song was. I
pried the top of the stalk off and twisted it in my hands.

"You know the song I mean," she said, leaning around to look at me. "You…Don't you? You've
seen 'Mary Poppins.'"

"Of course not," I said scornfully. "Why would I?"

"Ha!" she almost mocked. "Well, because it's about a magical nanny—a nanny who doesn't even
need a wand to cast spells."

I looked at her sideways.

"This is a Muggle book?"

"Yes, and a film, too," she said. "A musical."

"With a kite song," I finished.

"Yes."

"Okay…" I raised my eyebrows at her. She stopped.

"What?"

"What's the kite song?" I asked, assuming it was some sort of incantation. She gave me a sheepish
look.

"You…You want me to sing it?"

I glanced around, then held my hands out.

"You can't make fun of my ignorance and then refuse to tell me what you're laughing about."

She blushed, and glanced away, then cleared her throat.

"Well, er…" She took a breath. "With tuppence for paper and strings

You can have your own set of wings," she began shakily. She glanced at me, turning red. I grinned,
loving the fact that she was uncomfortable. I stopped, folded my arms, and canted my head.

"Go on."

She swallowed again.

"With your feet on the ground you're a bird in flight

With your fist holding tight

To the string of your kite."

Suddenly, she strode out, past me, throwing me off balance, and her voice grew braver.

"Oh, oh, oh! Let's go fly a kite!

Up to the highest height!

Let's go fly a kite

And send it soaring!"

She swung her arms, and I had to trot to keep up with her. She let her voice ring out over that field,
and I felt a sudden pang. She was right in the middle of a memory of her grandfather.

"Up through the atmosphere!

"Up where the air is clear

Oh, let's go—"

I jerked to a halt as my foot landed on something wooden. She stopped, and spun around. I leaped
back, then saw what it was: it was the red door in the ground. I drew back even further, glaring at
the thing.

"The door!" Hermione cried, coming up beside me. My dark look deepened.

"Aren't you going to open it?" she pressed.

"Why?" I growled.

"Because there was a chess board inside last time."

"No, last time I broke my foot."

"It isn't going to bite you."

I met her eyes.

"Oh, really? How do you know?"

She sighed, bent down, grasped the handle, and pulled.

Hinges squeaked. Light flooded in. Down below, inside the wooden cavity, sat a diamond-shaped
piece of green canvas with two thin wooden bars in the shape of a cross in the center, forming a
frame for the diamond canvas. Hermione reached down inside, and picked it up. A long, wide
piece of ribbon trailed from the bottom of it, as did a length of twine attached to a spool. She held it
out in the sunlight, and the wind tried to pull it out of her hands. Either that, or the thing was trying
to leap into the air.

"Is that—"

"A kite," she finished, breathless. For a second, she was stunned. And the next second, she was
moving. "Here, here—hold this."

"Hold what—" I tried, but I didn't get to finish before she shoved the spool into my hands.

"Hold the ends of it, so the twine can release," she instructed, standing up and hurrying away from
me, the kite in her hand. The string tightened, and then the spool spun. I gripped down on it.

"No, let it go a bit!" Hermione called back.

"I don't…" I tried, but she wasn't listening. She pulled on the kite again, and I let the twine spin,
and then she tossed the kite straight into the air.

The wind caught it, and yanked hard on the string. I braced myself, and held on, and the little green
diamond leaped up and began dancing at the end of the string like a fish on a hook.

"Ha!" I let out.

"See?" Hermione crowed, racing back to me and then spinning around to gaze up at the kite.
"Perfect wind for it."

"Is this supposed to be a challenge of some sort, Granger?" I asked, lifting an eyebrow. "Because as
far as I can see, a person just holds onto the string and—"

That moment, the kite swooped low, and though I bit my tongue and jerked back on the string, the
kite twisted and dove right into the ground. Hermione just laughed more.
"Yes, Malfoy—the challenge is to keep it in the air."

I sputtered something offensive, but I wasn't coherent, and she didn't hear me—she was already
darting forward to pick up the kite again. This time, when she threw it over her head, I focused on
keeping it in the air for more than three seconds rather than forming something glib and sarcastic
to say. Then, when I'd succeeded in that regard for several minutes, I'd forgotten my sarcasm. And
several minutes after that, I almost—almost—started to enjoy myself.

VVVV

HERMIONE

I lay on my back in the willow room, gazing up at the twinkly lights, feeling exhausted for the first
time in a while. I let my eyes drift shut, feeling the corners of my mouth lift.

I'd seen Draco smile today. Just briefly, when he'd first seen the kite take off. Yes, it was a flash,
an instant—but it was an instant of unguarded-ness. And if I could build those up, perhaps into a
few minutes of vulnerability, I might be able to get in past his armor and discover what I needed to
learn about Katie Bell, and the reasons he had been skulking around the castle all year. Why he had
been crying in the bathroom.

I took a short breath, and set my jaw. I needed to do this more often—I needed to remind myself
what I was doing here. It was so easy to forget about the world outside this Room, forget about the
passage of time. What had Draco called it in the beginning? Neverland? Perhaps he was more right
than he'd realized.

And Draco was proving to be a conundrum. The longer I studied him—and that was taking a great
toll on my limited patience—he both repelled and intrigued me more.

He struck an intimidating figure when he walked, though he seemed to be unaware of it. His height
was part of it, and the swing of his shoulders was another. When he was especially confident—and
angry or irritated—his stride carried a sweep with it, as when he'd charged right at that hippogriff
in the middle of class. And his face…

All his expressions were vivid, keen, and he never looked anywhere without purpose—least of all
at me. He had a wicked, icy black glare—the lash of which I had felt often recently—and when he
sneered and rolled his eyes it made me feel two inches tall. Either that, or it made me feel like
slapping him. It was taking all of my willpower to keep up a cheerful demeanor, and not let his
constant negativity get to me. It was making me so tired…

But then, at other times, when I caught him just looking at the sky, his brow smooth and his eyes
clear, I saw something different. No, not different. He was the same—cunning and snarky and
lofty—but he was more.

And then, of course, there was the memory of blood all over his hands.

And the beat of his heart against the side of my head.

I turned over, my forehead going tight.

"Can't you go to sleep?" Draco complained from over by the clock.

"I'm trying," I bit back. There was silence a moment. Then, two soft things landed on me. I sat up,
and twisted to face him. Then I realized that his blue blanket and his Slytherin pillow lay on top of
me.
"Don't you want these?" I asked, taking the pillow in both hands. He didn't look up—he was
engrossed in one of the books.

"No, I'm trying to read," he said, and I saw he was leaning back on the white pillow.

"Okay," I said. I hesitated. "Thank you."

He glanced at me a second, then nodded once and looked back at his book. I took the pillow,
adjusted it and lay down, then drew the blanket over me and up around my shoulders. I gazed at
him beneath the clock. I drew in a deep breath.

I blinked.

I could smell him on this pillow. His cologne. It was an elegant yet masculine scent—like pine—
that I hadn't really noticed before. I closed my eyes and shifted onto my back so the smell wouldn't
be as close. I glanced at him again. The light in here wasn't all that good for reading. Could he see
well enough? I doubted it. What he needed was a…

I didn't even finish my thought. A little golden light from up in the boughs drifted down, and then
sat in the air just above Draco's right shoulder. I suppressed a smile as I watched it illuminate the
side of his face, and the pages he was reading. He didn't even notice. For a moment, my eyes rested
on the little green kite—quite battered now—that lay between us. I sighed, tucked the blanket
around me again, and found myself drifting off to sleep without any song at all.
 Chapter 12

DAY TEN

HERMIONE

Despite my earlier optimism, I was now reaching the end of my rope. The door in the ground hadn't
supplied us with anything new for five days. The wind blew endlessly, which was good for kite-
flying at first—until I broke the kite. Well—I didn't break the kite. It broke while I was flying it.
And therefore, Draco blamed me. And after that, the wind became abrasive, harsh, and tiring. The
exact same thing could be said about the conversation.

With growing uncertainty and alarm, I watched things between Draco and me gradually change. Or
rather, relapse. With the restoration of his foot and the settling familiarity of the room—and
without being interrupted by a single nightmare or diversion—Draco did the infuriating, but
natural, thing. He began closing in on himself, rebuilding, putting up walls. Regaining his
equilibrium. It didn't matter what we'd been through together, because for him, that was unstable
ground—awkward and uncomfortable—and he avoided mentioning any of the nightmares like they
were the plague. So, step by step, like he was climbing a steep hill, he made his way back to
normalcy.

And then I recognized him again. Like water had been wiped away from a lens. All at once, he was
the same cruel, superior Draco Malfoy I'd known since first year, without visible flaw or
tenderness. In fact, he was harder, with a more potent presence.

He still talked to me, but either he was thinking out loud about how mundane this field was, or he
was offhandedly jabbing me. He was comfortable now, casual, but instead of opening up to me as I
had hoped, he now put no more thought into his insults than he did into his remarks about the
weather. It was like keeping company with a wolf.

I missed Harry and Ron so much. It literally made my blood hurt. I would lie awake at night, in the
silence (because Draco refused to sing when I asked him) and feel my heart pump pain to the ends
of my fingers and all the way down through my legs. With every passing hour, I grew more and
more lonesome for a friendly word, a happy smile, that feeling of being wanted and loved that I'd
so often taken for granted. And it only got worse when Draco opened his mouth.

Every single time he spoke, I valiantly fought to keep control of myself. I bit back every retort,
every bitter comment I could have made in reply. I constantly reminded myself that this had been
my aim: I wanted him to talk, I wanted him to feel comfortable. However, it seemed that the more
congenial and inoffensive I tried to act, the more he degraded me and ran me down. As if I was a
house elf or a servant. I didn't think he was even conscious of it, but I did know I couldn't bear it
much longer. Especially as startling despair began to seep into my chest, like poison that I couldn't
extract.

Somehow, my moment—the moment I'd already suffered so much to extend—was vanishing. He

was slipping out of my reach, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

VVVV

HERMIONE

In the middle of the tenth day, I set out from the willow. Draco, who had been distractedly reading
something—either Pride and Prejudice or Sherlock Holmes—followed me as usual, knocking the
curtain aside with undue force.

"Ah. Brilliant. The wind is out of the north east for a change," he huffed. I just braced myself
against the sound of his voice and didn't turn around. The wind he had just mentioned blustered
through my hair.

"I believe I've walked around this blasted field a thousand times, now," Draco declared. "Looks the
same as yesterday. This is some Room you've thought of Granger—because I have every
confidence this barley field belongs to you. I have no idea why an endless stretch of dry grass
would be the ideal place to fall into and never get out of."

I said nothing. As I had for the past several days in a row, I made straight for the door in the
ground.

Each time I sought it out, I found myself more desperate than before. I knew Draco was only a
couple inches away from finishing gathering himself back up—even more cocky and calloused
than he'd been during our fifth year—and trying with new resolve to get out of here. I needed some
sort of distraction, more time so I could think—

"You going after that door again?" he called. "What's the point? There hasn't been anything in there
since—"

I jerked on the handle and opened the door—and blinked.

Down inside sat a battered cardboard box with a picture of a ruined Scottish castle on the top, and
the words: PUZZLE 500 Pieces. I pulled it out with both hands. It rattled.

"Was there—There's something there?" Draco sounded thrown.

"Ha!" I exulted. Draco jogged toward me, then came to look over my shoulder.

"A puzzle," he realized. "Well that's no good."

I gripped it hard, clenching my teeth—

"A puzzle's best if it's raining out."

My head came up. He was considering the puzzle box, his hands in his pockets, a lopsided smile
on his face. The sun came out from behind a cloud then, and hit the top of his head, lighting it up.
His blue eyes met mine, and then he canted his head at me, as if rainy days and puzzles just went
together like tea and biscuits.

For the first time in what felt like forever, hope shot through me—like a hot flame through the
center of my soul. I had a thread—just a thread to hold onto.

And then thunder rolled.

I leaped to my feet and whirled around. I felt Draco touch my elbow, warning me not to fall into
him. I stared up at the sky.

It had turned black with rolling clouds, and flashes of lightning lanced through them. And then, all
of a sudden, it started to rain.

Warm, torrential rain poured down on top of us. I let out a yelp as I kicked the door shut, then
started off as fast as I could toward the willow, Draco running beside me.

"What is this?" Draco cried over the roar of the pelting water.

"You asked for rain!" I reminded him.

"Since when does it do what I ask?"

I tried to answer, but then I slipped in the wet grass and almost fell on my face. Draco's hand
caught my elbow and yanked me up—harder than necessary, but at least I didn't take a mouthful of
dirt—and we plunged into the willow.

Not a drop of water invaded the willow room. Panting, I pushed my wet hair out of my face and
turned around, peering back through the gaps in the branches. The barley whipped and lashed with
the force of the water and wind, and thunder boomed and rippled.

Draco stomped past me, raking both hands through his sopping locks. He picked up the blanket
and wrapped it around his shoulders, without even glancing up to see if I was cold. I watched him,
going still. The heat within my heart faded.

He flopped down on the grass, cross-legged, and pushed the pieces off the chessboard—
obliterating the game that I had been two moves away from winning.

"Bring that puzzle over here," he ordered, his brow furrowed at the board. "This will do for a flat
surface."

I bit my lip. Hard. But I came over, feeling water drip off me, and tried not to shiver. I knelt down,
opened the box and dumped the pieces on the chessboard.

Draco immediately set to work turning the pieces picture-side up, intensely focused. I sighed, and
began to do the same. All right, well—I had more time. And I could tolerate doing a puzzle with
Malfoy, and enduring his sarcasm in close quarters for one rainy day. It wouldn't take us longer
than that to finish a five-hundred piece puzzle.

Except it wasn't just one day.

It kept raining. And it rained all night. And the next day. And the next…

And no matter how hard I concentrated, and silently pleaded and threatened, it would. Not. Stop.

VVVVVVV

DAY THIRTEEN

HERMIONE

"You can't do that," I objected. I sat across from Malfoy, who was lying on his stomach, his
Slytherin pillow under his chest, the blanket he had now claimed covering his back. He lifted his
cold eyes to mine and gave me a sour look, keeping his hand on his black knight.

"Yes, I can," he insisted. "It was my move. It's still my move."

"No, it isn't," I cried, disbelief flaring through me. "You took your hand away from your knight."

"No, I didn't—I changed my mind."

"You can't change your mind once you've taken your hand off your piece!" I pointed at it and
looked at him again, my face going hot. "And you only moved it back because you saw my queen
was about to take it!"

"Come off it, Granger," he scoffed. "Stop trying to cheat."

"Cheat?" I yelped. "Why would I have to cheat?"

"Because you can't beat me, and you know it," Draco lifted a delicate eyebrow. "But you won't let
yourself admit that—you and your blasted inferiority complex—it's made you insufferable all
through school." He shook his head and snorted. "It never enters your mind that somebody might
be just as clever as you, and you can't bear it if—"

"That's it."

His head came up. I felt the blood drain out of my face. Draco's eyes flashed.

"What—" he frowned. Unreasoning fury blistered in my chest.

And then I lost it.

My hand lashed out, and sent all of the chess pieces clattering and spilling toward him. He jerked
back and sat up, his blanket falling off.

"What are you doing?" he yelled.

"That's it!" I declared. "No more. I can't take it anymore."

"Look what you did, idiot!" Draco waved both hands at the board. "You've ruined the game!"

"The game, Malfoy?" I shrieked, leaping to my feet, fire rushing back into my cheeks. "Really?
Who cares about the stupid game, or who wins or who loses? I certainly don't! The only reason I
was playing was because we were both about to go mad with boredom—that, and the fact that
since we're obviously stuck here without any other company and it doesn't look like there's much
of a chance of us escaping any time soon, I thought I might try to be some sort of friends with you!"

Draco's face flushed, he clambered to his feet and tried to say something, but I whirled and began
pacing erratically—and screaming.

"The sensible part of me told me that was the most ridiculous idea I've ever had and to give it up
straightaway, but the more optimistic and daft part of me thought 'He can't possibly be all
wickedness—he did save me from the snakes, and he's come from a cruel family and so he can't
help it if every single word that comes out of his mouth is rude and selfish." I gestured wildly, my
heart pounding. I felt sick. "But I give up. I give up! The sensible part of me was right—it was
ridiculous to try it." I whirled on him and pointed at his frozen face. "But you're not this way
because you can't help it. I know that's not true. You're not stupid or gullible—in fact, you're
brilliant, and you're braver than anyone realizes, and somewhere inside you, you want to be as
good and strong as Harry is—but you're so jealous and prejudiced that you insist upon swinging
back the opposite direction every time! And if you happen to make an inch of progress toward
becoming a decent human being, you make certain to take three steps back! It's like purposefully
cutting off your nose to spite your face!"

"That's preposterous—" Draco spat.

"We're not first years anymore, Malfoy," I snapped, but my voice suddenly shook. "Name-calling
and jibing and all that rubbish had a place when we were eleven, but we're practically grown up
now, and we're the only ones in this Room." I flung my arms out to the sides. "We have absolutely
no magic between us, and nothing but this tree and the field." I found his eyes again, everything
inside me tumbling off my lips, whether I wanted it to or not. "Who cares about pure-blood, half-
blood mudblood nonsense in here?"

Draco's mouth fell open and his eyes went wide, but I wasn't finished. I took a step toward him, my
head pounding like I had a fever.

"It doesn't matter at all. Not at all!" I cried."But you're still acting as high-and-mighty and spiteful
as you ever have!" My fists closed as my chest tightened. "You know better, Malfoy—I know you
do. There's more to you than all this rubbish!" My brow went taut, and something inside me shifted
as I realized that I couldn't look away from his crystal eyes, and he couldn't look away from me.

"I've seen it when you forget yourself and laugh," I said earnestly, my voice breaking. "Or when
you're too tired to come up with something snappish to say and so you do something sweet you
don't even know you're doing." I swallowed. I still felt deathly cold, but I had to go on. His eyes—
penetrating, captured—held mine.

"But for some reason," I took a shaking breath. "You've decided that you're ashamed of any
tendency you have toward good manners or chivalry or kindness or courtesy, and instead you do
everything you can possibly think of to be vicious and insulting and degrading and…and mean." I
swallowed again, feeling like there was glass in my throat. My eyes started to burn. "I've never met
someone who takes so much pleasure in wounding people—I've never known anybody who made
me feel as low and worthless as you do." I shook my head, raised my eyebrows and motioned
helplessly. "You're intolerable! Nobody with any sensibilities at all can spend more than five
minutes in your company because you treat everyone like garbage." I canted my head, gazing
deeper, trying to get through to him. "Is that really how you want to be remembered? As the boy
who made everyone hate him?"

He just stared at me, shocked. I barely lifted an eyebrow. This was brutal to say, but I had to say it
—it was what I had meant to say all along.

"It's why you don't have any friends. It's why I can't be your friend, even though I did try." I drew in
another cold breath. "But I'm through. I can't take it."

I broke eye contact, spun and headed toward the willow curtain. I put my hand on its wet, slick
surface and pushed it aside, and made to go out, even though it was still dark and pouring rain in
the field. I paused and took a breath, lowering my head. I'd destroyed everything already. There
was no reason for me not to finish.

"And you know what the…the really horrible part about all this is?" I turned and met Draco's
brilliant eyes. His breath went still. My brow twisted, and as regret and hurt and frustration swelled
in my chest, I gave him a painful, trembling, smile.

"You could have been great."

And before he could snap back at me, I had swept out of the willow room and straight into the
storm.

VVVVVV

DRACO
I had never hated someone so much in my life. The instant that mudblood left the willow room, my
hand seared to hold my wand again and to strike her with the most vicious, torturous curse I could
possibly come up with.

Instead, I just clamped my jaw and my fists until I thought my bones would break, and every
muscle began to twitch and spasm. Then, I reached down, snatched up Yes, Virginia, There is a
Santa Claus, and hurled it with all my strength at the tree trunk.

The cover slapped. The binding broke. Pages ripped. The book crumpled to the ground like a shot
bird. I lunged to it, grabbed it, ripped out more pages, crushed them and threw them, then took the
cover, opened the curtain by the clock and flung the cover out into the rain. It spun away into the
darkness.

My vision turned red, and I staggered sideways. I sucked in rapid breaths through my teeth, then bit
the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood. I kicked the chessboard—but Granger had already
demolished the game, so my blow did nothing but make noise.

I wanted to scream something, something stabbing and eloquent and righteous, but I couldn't think
through this boiling haze.

I gnashed my teeth, made myself stop moving and just stand, catching my breath. Then, I bent,
grabbed my blanket, threw it down nearer my own space and sat down on it, folding my arms over
my chest.

Savage thunder rattled the willow, and heavier rain hissed and rushed. I lifted my chin. Her leaving
the room just proved how stupid she was. I hoped she'd die out there.

VVVVV

HERMIONE

I didn't know how far I stumbled before I just collapsed, sobbing. I sat down hard as the rain pelted
me, running down my face and my head and my shoulders, soaking into my clothes. The barley
thrashed all around me and the wind howled like a pack of wolves. I drew my knees up and
wrapped my arms tight around them, and buried my forehead against the tops of my knees.

I couldn't control my breathing or the wrenching cries that pulled from my throat. Hot tears poured
down my cheeks, and my whole body shuddered.

"Oh, please…" I begged as the rain dripped off my nose. I squeezed my eyes shut. "Oh, please.
Please let me out of here. Never mind what I asked for. I can't do this. I can't do this anymore.
Please, please let me out…"

But no door appeared in the air. No hatch opened beneath me. The wind just kept whipping the
barley, and the rain beat down on my shoulders, and the Room cried with me.

VVVV

DAY FOURTEEN

DRACO

I was getting out of here. There was no question about it. I had made my decision. Nightmares,
forest, monsters, dementors—I did not care. And Granger could go hang herself. As soon as this
torrential rain let up, I would be marching straight out of this blasted willow and out of this
wretched Room of Requirement.

Except the rain didn't let up. In fact, I couldn't even tell the difference between day and night
anymore—the storm was so thick. The rain clouds sat on the ground, and the wind I'd enjoyed
earlier had a savage bite. Every time I leaned my face out through the branches I got half soaked
and nearly had my eyes put out by the pelting water. And so I paced back and forth past the ruin of
the chess game, my hands clamped behind my back, my jaw clenched.

The burning inside my chest hadn't gotten better, even after dozens of hours. My rage felt toxic—it
was in my blood, and pounded in my head. And my patience? Gone. Utterly.

I whirled on the willow curtain and knocked it aside and stepped out, just a foot. The wind blasted
the rain into my face. I pointed at the dark, rolling sky.

"You let me out of here!" I roared at the Room. "I've had it with this nonsense! I asked for a place
to hide for a while, not a bloody prison! Give me the door! Now!"

But I could see nothing past the fog and the rain, and I couldn't hear anything except the wind. I
cursed that room, using the foulest language I could come up with, spun back around, stomped
straight toward the tree trunk and started scrambling upward.

I hadn't climbed a tree for a couple years. There was one out on the Hogwarts grounds that I
favored, because it was easy to get up into and even easier to get down from. But this willow's
branches were smooth, and I was wet. There was great danger of slipping and falling and breaking
my neck. But I didn't think of it. I had to see out—I had to see over the top of this ridiculous cloudy
mess. Perhaps if I got up there, I could put my hand up and feel the ceiling. I could break through, I
could make noise alerting the rest of the school that I was trapped here; I could remind myself, for
certain, that I was only in a room. Just a room…

I slipped. I caught a stiff limb with my fingertips. My heart thundered. But that fury in my chest got
rid of that fear as soon as it panged, and, roaring, I restored my grip and kept climbing. Branches
slapped my face. I gritted my teeth. Drops of rain began to strike my cheeks. I clawed upward.

"I know you're listening, you vile Room," I gritted. "I'm tired of being nannied. I'm finished with
you caging me and pinning me here like I'm some child!" I attained the top, shoved the leaves out
of the way and broke the surface—

The rain drenched me. Clouds boiled all around me. I struggled to keep my feet balanced on a thin
branch as I gripped three or four higher ones in both hands. I twisted my neck, straining to see all
around me through the falling water. Up above me, there was nothing but gray. I couldn't even see
a faint glow of the sun. I couldn't see the barley field below either. A hole opened up inside me.

"This isn't what you were meant for, you brainless water closet!" I raged. "This is an illusion—I
know it is! You're worthless, you and your tricks! I'll not fall for them anymore! I'm not afraid of
you! Let me out! Let me—"

My heel slipped. I jerked back. I bit my tongue. My hands scrabbled for a hold—the twigs snapped.
I fell.

I crashed down through the branches. My back slammed into one wide limb, and then I tipped and
thudded to the grass.

For a long, horrifying moment, I couldn't breathe. My ribs felt shattered. I opened my mouth and
tried to suck in air. It didn't work. I tried again, my heart racing, my hands pressed to my chest.
Then, breath came—it rushed, cold and sharp, through my lungs. I rolled onto my side, gasping
and coughing, seeing double. I wrenched myself to my feet and staggered sideways. My left
shoulder fell against the wood of that grandfather clock—the clock that had hovered over me like a
sneering governess the entire time I'd been here. The clock that never ticked.

I went blind with rage. I snapped my shoulders and put my right fist through the face of that clock.
I didn't even look.

Not until I was slowly drawing my shredded, bleeding hand back out through jagged, razor-sharp
shards of glass that fell to the ground and jingled as they hit each other. I fell back, eyes going
wide, heat draining from my head.

I grabbed my right wrist as dark red blood dripped down my fingers. I swallowed convulsively,
then did it again. I fell down, backward, and my back hit a root. I kicked out in spasm—my heel
dug into the grass. My left hand clamped down on my wrist until both arms started to shake.

I lay my head back and screamed through my teeth. But Granger wasn't there to hear me, and the
Room didn't care.

VVVV

DAY FIFTEEN

DRACO

I didn't know how it was possible, but I didn't stop bleeding. The rain kept coming down, and
blood kept oozing from the hundreds of lacerations on my white and scarlet hand. I laid back
against the root, completely still except for the trembling in my arms. I had thought of getting the
blanket to staunch the bleeding, but it was halfway across the room—I absently remembered
kicking it out of my way—and I knew that if I got up I would collapse and lose consciousness. I
blinked slowly.

It hurt. As much as my dark mark tattoo, if that were possible. And my skin was ice.

Thunder rolled above me. My brow furrowed. I swallowed. My mouth was dry.

How had I gotten here, again? I remembered something about the great hall, and seeing Potter, and
Katie Bell…

I had gone to the bathroom to splash my face, because it had suddenly gotten hard to breathe…

Granger had found me. Asked if I'd needed the nurse…which surprised me…

The thunder growled again, like a beast in a dark cage. I glanced dully toward the willow curtain.
What had happened to her, out in that storm?

VVVV

DAY SIXTEEN

DRACO

I snapped out of my stupor. My eyes opened to see the cold blue light. I sucked in a breath. And
then I doubled over, pressing my wounded hand to my chest. I howled.

I was burning. There weren't any flames, but my whole arm was on fire—and it was spreading.
Straight up into my chest, through my jugular veins and into my head.

Cold sweat broke out all over my body. The wind raged, whipping the willow curtain and sending
sprays of rain inside to chill me. My gut turned. I swallowed, then swallowed again, trying to keep
myself from retching.

Short, moaning grunts rasped from my throat—I couldn't control them. My left hand got sticky
from all the blood coating my right hand. The warm blood soaked into my shirt.

I heaved myself up onto my knees, trying to breathe, even as I saw spots before my eyes. But my
breath ached, and all my flesh blazed. My stomach turned again, and I could only draw in half
breaths.

I was going to die.

Terror unlike any I had ever felt launched through my whole body. I thrashed, letting out an
incoherent plea, and started crawling toward the curtain.

I couldn't die shut up in here, with my skin blistering and burning. I had to get out…the rain had to
put out the fire…

I fell through the curtain and rain doused my head and shoulders. I squeezed my eyes shut and kept
pushing myself out, dragging my knees through the grass.

I only made it perhaps three feet out into the stormy field before I couldn't go any further. All of my
muscles had turned to liquid, and I could just kneel there, head low, rain streaming down my body.

Then, I twitched. Hard. The fire didn't go away. It worsened—like I had just had acid dumped on
my head.

Unbelievable, excruciating pain washed through me. But I couldn't scream. I couldn't fight it off. I
had no more strength. So I just trembled violently, hugging my arms to my chest, tears running
down my face.

I had hit the clock, broken part of the Room. And as punishment, it was killing me. I had nowhere
to go, and nobody to help me. I was going to groan out my last breath by myself, in the pounding
rain, and nobody would come looking for me. Nobody even knew where I was.

Nobody but Granger.

But would she come looking for me?

Why would she? She'd made it perfectly plain that she hated me.

No. She hadn't said that.

She said she'd tried to be my friend.

My stomach churned. I moaned and collapsed forward, my forehead pressed to the dirt. My
shoulders shuddered as the tongues of invisible flame lashed my back and neck and head.

I'd never expected my life to end so quickly—I'd hoped to have time to do something great,
something earth-shattering with it.

But I didn't have any more time. This was it. So what did I have to show for my sixteen years?
I fell onto my side, screwing my eyes shut.

I was a prefect, and a good student. I'd made the Quidditch team.

A new wave of agony swept over me.

I'd become a Death Eater. I'd been commanded to murder an innocent man.

Yes, Dumbledore was innocent. In that moment, my mind was clear and I couldn't lie to myself
anymore. It was the truth. Though I thought him foolish and incompetent, my headmaster hadn't
done anything worthy of being stabbed in the back in his office, without the chance to fight back.

I'd become an instrument of Voldemort. The one who'd murdered Harry Potter's parents, and
countless others. The one who was happiest when everything was dark, and grim, and hopeless.

I'd driven away everybody who could have been close to me. I'd even been rejecting Professor
Snape's uncharacteristic offers to protect me. I had wanted to be alone, and fought for my isolation
—and at the same time had mourned my loneliness, and the fact that I had no one to confide in,
nobody to help me.

Nobody who cared about me at all.

Except my mother. And, bitterly, I admitted that didn't count. Mothers love their children even if
they are the most wicked, worthless pieces of scum on earth.

I was more alone in this moment than I'd ever been in my life. And for the first time, I couldn't
blame it on anyone but myself.

My wand had been gone for weeks. I hadn't cast a single real spell in all that time—my magical
blood meant nothing. I'd been alone in a field and a willow, battling pain, frustration, boredom and
confusion.

Alone with Granger.

Hermione.

Hermione, who hadn't said a rude or insulting thing to me for ages before the day she stormed out.
Hermione, who had taught me to fly a kite, and played chess with me without complaint, and
walked beside me day after day in the field, filling the solitude with her comments about the clouds
and the wind.

Hermione, who, despite my cruelty, disregard, superiority and flippancy, had tried to be kind to me
—had felt sympathy for somebody who hated her.

She had tried to be my friend.

She was the first person in my life who had tried to be my friend in spite of who I was, instead of
because of who I was.

And I, thinking myself clever and above her, had rejected that offer—the first offer of actual
friendship I'd ever received—like it was a cup of bad tea. Because of her parentage. And mine.

Because I didn't know what it was I had been throwing away.

And now I was staring Death in the face. I could feel my limbs going cold and numb. My
consciousness flickered and my breathing shallowed.
I was going to go out of this world with no one beside me. Nobody to hold my hand, nobody to
stroke my head and tell me it would be easier on the other side. Nobody to shed a single tear.

In fact, I knew of several people who would breathe a sigh of relief after I was gone. And a few
people would smirk. And some would just shrug their shoulders.

All of them, just people. People I could have known and laughed with. People who might have
come after me when I had sought isolation, and asked me what was wrong. People who might have
tried to find me if I disappeared.

People who could have given me the strength to keep from becoming what I became.

People called friends. Real ones. Like Potter had.

I released a long, terrible moan, and I thrashed once. My body was giving its last attempt to save
me.

Despite my lineage, and my home, and my ancient family crest and my brilliant new broom, Potter
was richer than I would ever be. He'd been wise enough to make friends with Hermione Granger, a
brave, brilliant witch who was capable of giving a person more compassion than he deserved.

Yes, she was Muggle-born.

But did half-blood, pure-blood, mud blood truly matter when a person was dying on the ground?

I gulped, my final breath wheezing out of me.

I would rather have Hermione beside me than be here all alone.

In fact, I would rather have her here than anyone else in the world.

Something broke inside me. I gasped. Coolness, like water broken through a dam, rushed through
my whole body. My eyes snapped open.

The rain turned warm and soft. My shuddering calmed. And then my hand…

I shifted my broken hand so I could see it. Rain poured down on the back of it and my fingers—the
blood started to wash away…

And beneath it, there were no wounds.

I stared, stunned, as the pain faded and the blood dripped off, revealing unbroken, pale skin
beneath.

Weakly, but feeling strength come back into my bones, I sat up. I held out my arms as the rain
drenched them, washing out the stains on my shirt that my blood had made. The rain hit my face,
and bathed the tears from my cheeks. It felt good. Like the first rain of spring.

I sat there for hours, soaking wet, my eyes closed, my heart beating hard and heavy.

Calm settled down inside me.

I opened my eyes.

The rain faded, then stopped. The clouds thinned, but did not leave entirely. The fog disappeared.
A warm wind blew through the field. It dried the barley, and restored its soft, happy rustling. It
dried me. My hair, my shirt, my trousers, my face. I took a deep breath. It was easy.

I turned my head.

Far off, on the other side of the field, I saw the back of a girl's head. Hermione had been out in the
field all this time.

I took another breath. Then, slowly, I got to my feet and went to the willow.

VVVVVVV

HERMIONE

I have no idea how long it rained. Maybe hours. Maybe days. It didn't matter. I just sat there,
letting the warm rain drench me and mingle with my tears. My heart ached, and my thoughts
wandered. The roar of the wind faded into the back of my consciousness.

And then…

The rain eased. Then it stopped altogether. The fog lifted and a warm wind blew it away. I lifted
my head.

The clouds remained, but they were drifting away, like soldiers weary of fighting. The barley
rustled and whispered as it dried. The wind played through my hair for several hours until it was
dry as well. I drew in a deep breath. The air smelled like springtime. And did I hear a bird
twittering somewhere far away?

I turned. The willow still stood there, looking as peaceful as ever. And then…

The curtain parted. Somebody stepped out.

A white head. Pale face. A tall, strong form.

Draco.

He was walking toward me.

I turned back around and clamped my jaw shut. I interlaced my fingers and gripped them tightly. I
didn't look at him, I didn't say a word.

The grass crackled with his footsteps as he got closer.

I felt him come up beside me. He sat down. Our shoulders were not six inches apart. He brought
his knees up and rested his elbows on them. My heartbeat sped up, but I still wouldn't look at him.

Then, he held out his pale right hand, palm down, fingers closed. Like he was handing me
something. My brow tightened. Slowly, I reached out my left hand, and opened my fingers.

He set something light and smooth in the hollow of my hand, and his warm fingers brushed mine. I
stared at what he had handed me.

It was a black chess piece. His knight.

"Your move."

His voice brought my head up. It was quiet and deep, without an edge. I met his eyes. For just a
moment, he held my gaze in his blue one. Then, he looked out ahead again.

As the clouds dispersed, a golden sunrise came into view. Together, Draco and I sat there,
watching it, not saying a word, as the daylight spread his cloak across us, and turned these fields of
nightmares back into our brilliant fields of gold.
 Chapter 13

DAY EIGHTEEN

HERMIONE

"So you like this Mr. Darcy character?"

"I happen to think he's wonderful."

"Tosh."

"No, really," I insisted, watching my feet as I kicked along through the barley, Draco beside me,
the full sun beaming down on us. He had his hands in his pockets, and his head hung low in
thought.

"Why?" he wondered. I shrugged. The wind, warm and friendly once more, caught my hair so that
I had to tuck it behind my ear for the hundredth time.

"He's a gentleman. Protective, brooding, honorable, serious, brilliant, mysterious, interesting..."

"Yeah, but he certainly dawdles about a lot, don't you think?"

I glanced at him. He raised his eyebrows. I frowned, considering.

"Um…I dunno…"

"I mean, he knows he likes Elizabeth from almost the second time he sees her," Draco gestured.
"But he doesn't do anything about it except argue with her—and then she almost gets whisked
away by that Wickham fool," he swept his hand across, then put it back in his pocket. "And it was
only because Wickham turned out to be a moron that she started to think of Mr. Darcy again."

I pulled off the top of a stalk and split it in half with my fingernails.

"I suppose…"

Draco kicked his head back.

"If it'd been me, I would have said something to her straightaway."

"But she didn't like Mr. Darcy, remember?" I reminded him. Draco glanced at me, listening.

"She thought he was rude, and full of himself," I said.

"He could change her mind," he answered. I nodded.

"Yes, by proving that he's a good man," I said. "Which would be difficult after he insulted her like
that."

Draco shrugged and made a face.

"Then she's too touchy."

I laughed.
"Well, I know I wouldn't appreciate it if somebody thought I wasn't pretty enough to dance with."

"Impossible," Draco said flatly. I looked at him.

"What?" I said, confused. But his brow was still furrowed, his gaze distant.

"And what about the ending?" he prompted. "You like the ending?"

I canted my head, then put my hands down to brush the tops of the barley.

"I do admit that it felt rather anti-climactic the first time I read it," I confessed. "I was expecting…
Well…"

"Kissing?"

I blushed, and put on a crooked smile, but when I looked at Draco, he was perfectly serious.

"Well…yes, I suppose," I managed. He nodded.

"Yeah, me too. I was impatient for it the whole time."

My eyebrows shot up.

"You were?"

"Of course!" Draco said like I was thick. "That's the point, isn't it? And then…nothing."

"Not nothing," I corrected.

"Oh, yes," he snorted. "A walk in the park, talking about their differences and all the times they
miscommunicated. That's scintillating."

I gagged back another laugh.

"Well," I tried. "I'm quite fond of the films made of Pride and Prejudice. The newest one, with
Keira Knightley, has a kiss."

"Really?" he sounded surprised. "Well, that's brilliant. And once you tell me what the heck a film
is, that'll actually mean something to me."

"You have to know what a film is," I looked at him in disbelief.

"Oh, yes, because I enjoy admitting to you that I don't know something," he laughed.

"It's a…" I frowned, trying to think. "It's a big—well, if you're in a theatre—it's a big, moving,
talking picture that tells a story."

"Like a photograph," Draco tried to clarify.

"Yes, except with sound and music," I said.

"And it shows the whole blinking novel?" he winced.

"No. Well, at least the Keira Knightley version doesn't. The BBC gets close to showing the whole
thing."

He gave me a blank look.

"The BBC," I repeated. Draco stopped. So did I. He gave me a narrow look, then stepped forward
and tapped his finger on my forehead.

"Remember who you are with, Granger," he said sternly. "Muggle Moving Picture Magic wasn't
allowed in my house."

"Muggle Moving Picture Magic!" I crowed. "Ha!"

He grinned, and rolled his eyes, and started walking again.

"I'd have just kissed her."

I blinked.

"You what?"

He shrugged again.

"Why not? I would have wanted to, if I were Darcy. And it gets the point across a lot quicker than
all that blathering."

I didn't know whether to laugh or blush or what. I wound up doing both. But Draco just chuckled,
pulled up a long stalk and began nonchalantly tickling the back of my neck with it, and so I had to
evade him, and I forgot that image in my head of a Mr. Darcy transformed into Draco Malfoy
sweeping Elizabeth off her feet.

VVVVVV

HERMIONE

"See? That's rather good."

"Mhm."

"You're not looking."

"I'll look in a moment—I have to finish this bit."

"No—look right now."

"Draco, you're such a baby," I sighed. But I looked up from where I was lying to see the piece of
paper Draco was holding up. My eyebrows raised.

"That is rather good," I admitted. The little door in the ground had supplied us with two drawing
pads and two boxes of colored pencils today, and we had been doodling and sketching all
afternoon, sprawled out on the soft grass inside the willow. Draco had given me the blanket to lie
on, and the chess board to use as a desk. He was sitting up, leaning against a root just across from
me, using Pride and Prejudice to support his paper. Now, though, he was holding up a brilliant
picture of a twisted, fire-breathing dragon—it looked like a Norwegian Ridgeback.

"Let's see what you've got," he said, leaning closer.

"Oh, no, no," I dove across my picture, shielding it with my arms.

"Come off it—really? I showed you the one I did!" he cried, scooting closer and trying to pry my
arms up.
"No, it's not nearly as good…" I grimaced as I finally let him pull the paper free. He lifted it, and
looked at it for a second.

"It's a flower," he said.

"Ha," I sat up. "Well, at least its recognizable."

"It's a daffodil," he said, throwing me a grin. "See? It can't be that bad—I'm terrible at guessing
games. I always fail at Pictionary and such."

"Pictionary?" I cried. "You play Pictionary?"

"In the dormitories," he nodded. "We have to draw the pictures with our wands—it's a bit
complicated, but I hardly ever played after Flint-the-Face beat me."

"Flint-the-Face," I gasped, laughing so hard I could barely breathe.

"An apt name, don't you think?" Draco smirked.

"That's not nice."

"Notnice," he flashed his eyebrows. "That's my middle name."

"Well, if you're terrible at Pictionary," I snickered. "I believe we've found a new game!"

VVVVVV

DRACO

I sat, leaning against a root, gazing through the little gaps in the willow curtain at the darkness that
had fallen. To my right lay the chessboard, bearing three of Hermione's drawings, with my black
knight serving as a paperweight. Then, just past that was Hermione, parallel to me, her head on my
Slytherin pillow, her body covered in the blanket. Asleep.

I watched her as she laid there, my arms folded across my chest. Every night in the recent past, she
had gone all the way to the other side of the room to attempt to sleep. This time, she had wrapped
up in that blanket and tucked the pillow next to her almost without thinking, as she was in the
middle of painstakingly coloring in her daffodil. Gradually, she had sunk until she was lying down,
her hand still at work on the picture that lay on the chessboard. Then, she had just faded away, her
eyelids fluttering closed.

Her delicate hand now rested on the petals of the drawn daffodil. I studied it a moment—how soft
it looked. Then I glanced around.

Surrounding us was a litter of paper, some pieces in halves, others completely covered in scribbles.
Neither of our drawing pads had survived our game of Pictionary. And I had accidentally broken
the lead in the blue pencil, which had caused Hermione to scold me brutally enough to make me
grin. I felt like gathering the pages up—I had no inclination to pitch them. But I didn't want to
make any noise and disturb her.

My gaze fell on her again, and flitted over her smooth face, dark eyebrows and lashes, and perfect
nose and mouth, and then the curves of her hair. I'd meant it before, even though it had surprised
me: it was impossible for Hermione not to be thought pretty.

I took a deep breath, my brow furrowing. She hadn't said anything. I had expected her to, after I
handed her that black knight out in the field. I had expected her to, but I hadn't known what on
earth I would have said. And then she spared me, and stayed silent.

During the past day or two, I had felt so content just to be with her and not be in pain that several
agreeable comments had just fallen out of my mouth, and I found myself smiling more than was
normal. I often felt her looking at me strangely, or intently, but if she thought I'd gone off my nut,
she kept it to herself. And then she seemed to forget about the fact that I was acting oddly cheerful,
and became more cheerful herself. She even started to disagree with me again—which, startlingly,
was as refreshing as a wind off the sea. And it was actually pleasant, bantering with her, when we
both kept the bite out of our comments. It was amusing, really. I don't remember when I'd laughed
like that.

Hermione turned over onto her side, facing me. Her fair brow furrowed, and she grunted softly. I
looked at her. She took a deep breath, then held it, and frowned harder. She let out another small
moan, and kicked off the blanket.

I watched her a moment, uncertain, then got up. Wincing, and trying not to tread on any of the
papers, I stepped round the chessboard and picked the blanket up, then pulled it back over her and
tucked it up by her shoulder. Then, I just eased down behind her and sat there, my hip by her back.

Then, I took a deep breath, and began to sing. My voice really isn't the loveliest in the world—I
knew that. But I also knew the way this magic worked, and it didn't care what I sounded like. And
I hadn't sung to Hermione for a very long time—I couldn't remember the last time she had actually
slept. Or the last time I actually cared.

"Wherein the deep night sky

The stars lie in its embrace
The courtyard still in its sleep
And peace comes over your face."

The little golden lights—yes, they were gold this time, not blue—drifted up out of the grass, and
rested on her head and shoulder, and set her aglow. Fascinated, I had to remind myself to keep
singing.

'Come to me,' it sings

'Hear the pulse of the land
The ocean's rhythms pull
To hold your heart in its hand.'

And when the wind draws strong

Across the cypress trees
The nightbirds cease their songs
So gathers memories.

Last night you spoke of a dream

Where forests stretched to the east
And each bird sang its song
A unicorn joined in a feast

And in a corner stood

A pomegranate tree
With wild flowers there
No mortal eye could see…"
I sensed Hermione relax—her shoulders loosened. Again, I gazed down at her features. How was it
that, suddenly, I had gone from detesting the sight of her to being unable to keep my eyes off her?

Who cares about pure-blood, half-blood mudblood nonsense in here…?

Interestingly, I was finding that it mattered less and less—it was like something that had troubled
me in a dream, but the lengthening daylight hours had caused to fade back. In fact, I wasn't sure it
mattered at all anymore. I could see clearly for the first time in my life. And all I saw was a girl
who had looked me in the eyes once and said she had forgiven me. And as for myself, the only
task I had in the whole world was to do that forgiveness justice.
 Chapter 14

DRACO

"Once upon a time…"

"Really?"

"What?" I sat up and put my hand to my hammering heart—her squeal had scared me to death.
Hermione pushed the few barley stalks between us out of the way, then mashed them down and
found my eyes.

"You really start a story with 'once upon a time'?"

I gave her a weird look.

"Yes…?"

She gazed at me a moment, then smiled, and lay back down on her back. I narrowed my eyes at
her.

"What?"

"Nothing," she kept smiling softly up at the clear blue sky. "Muggles just start their stories that
way, too."

"Ugh. Good to know," I muttered, turning back to staring up at the puffy clouds and trying to calm
my heartbeat. The wind rustled all around us, though only a few stalks stood between me and
Hermione as we lay on our backs in the middle of the field. I cleared my throat.

"Anyway…Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there lived a very rich warlock who had a lot of
friends and a lot of parties. He was quite content, until all of his friends began falling in love and
becoming completely impossible."

"What do you mean, impossible?" Hermione cut in.

"Impossible. Intolerable, irritating," I said.

"Ah," she said. "Only 'I' words."

"Exactly. Anyway," I began again. "He realized that everybody around him who fell in love started
acting like an idiot, and making a fool of himself. So the warlock decided he'd outsmart Love, and
used dark magic to do so."

"Uh, oh," Hermione murmured. "This won't end well…"

"Yes, well—stop guessing about things," I scolded. "You'll get ahead of me."

"So it does end badly."

"I'm telling the story!"

"Fine."
"So," I huffed. "All of his friends married, and began having dozens of children that got underfoot,
and the rich warlock just smirked to himself, because he was sure he was smarter than all of them.
But then, several years later, he overheard some of his servants talking about him—and they said
some things he hadn't expected. One of them felt sorry for the warlock, and the other one made fun
of him, wondering why a wealthy man like him couldn't even find a wife. So the warlock decided
that moment that he would marry the richest, most beautiful woman in all the world. Luckily for
him, just such a lady came visiting from a neighboring kingdom the very next day."

"That's convenient," Hermione declared. I glanced over to see her make a cynical face up at the
sky. I smiled crookedly.

"The warlock started courting her, and everyone was surprised he'd finally fallen in love. But he
didn't feel a thing for her—nothing—because of the spells he had cast. He just pretended. Finally,
at a dinner at his home, he asked the lady to marry him. She said she would, if she could be sure he
had a heart—for, you see, even though he was fooling everybody else, he wasn't fooling her. So the
warlock told her he had something to show her, and took her down to a secret chamber beneath his
castle. And there, in a case in the center of his room, was his heart."

"His heart?" Hermione gasped. "What—that's not possible!"

"So?" I flung out my hands. "It's a story!"

"Oh. Right."

"Anyway…"

"Yes, do go on."

"Thank you. So, there sat his heart—and it had gotten all wild and hairy, from being out of the
chest where it belonged, and away from humanity and emotion. And so the lady begged him to put
it back. Realizing that he needed to do it in order for her to agree to marry him, the warlock took
out his wand, opened his chest and put his heart back."

"Eeecchhh."

"I warned you beforehand that this story—"

"Yes, yes, I know," Hermione grimaced. "Keep on."

"Are you sure? It doesn't get any better—"

"I'm in suspense now! You have to keep going!"

"All right…" I sighed. "So he put his heart back, but the heart had gotten savage in the meantime,
and when the lady threw her arms around the warlock, the heart turned him mad and filled him
with murderous and perverse thoughts—"

"Oh, wait, stop," Hermione's arm darted out and she grabbed me. I froze. My eyes flew to her. She
had screwed her eyes shut. Her warm fingers encircled my wrist.

"He kills her, doesn't he?" The skin around her shut eyes tightened. I swallowed, trying to form
something coherent to say as electricity raced up my arm.

"Um…yes," I stammered. Her hand went slack and fell down beside mine, but she didn't draw it
back.
"Never mind," she said. "I don't need to hear the rest."

"Well, he…He comes to a bad end, if that makes you feel any better," I said, halfway recovering.

"It doesn't."

"Sorry."

"It isn't your fault," she said. "I asked for it."

"Yes, you did."

She smiled lopsidedly, but her sorrowful gaze still stared upward. I glanced down at our hands, so
close together. I bit the inside of my cheek, cursing myself. I'd done it again. And, suddenly, I had
a new urge—like a seedling breaking through a crack in concrete—an urge to fix what I'd done. I
took a short, bracing breath. And then I slid my hand down and took hold of her fingers.

Her head turned and her eyes flashed at me. But I didn't wait. I stood up, and pulled her up with
me. She stood there, stunned, for just a moment. Then I let go of her and kicked my head toward
the willow.

"Let's see what the door in the ground has for us today, shall we?"

Hermione's mouth worked, but she couldn't say anything. I grinned, then swept past her, knowing
she would follow. She did. And then she drew up beside me. I broke into a trot. She did the same.
And then we ran, hard as we could, the wind whipping through our clothes and hair. I laughed.
And then, like a bell from a church, I heard her laugh in answer.

VVVV

HERMIONE

"Hold it up. No, the point of it, not the hilt. Yeah. Wait—no. Blast it, Granger, haven't you ever
held a wand?"

"This isn't a wand—it's a sword!" I objected as a new blast of wind caught my hair and blew it in
my face. The sun, at a slant, lit up the field and Draco with a rich, vibrant light, which made his
blue eyes look more vivid, somehow.

"More like a stick, thank God—or my life would be in danger," Draco said as he stomped toward
me through a particularly tall bit of barley, tossed his wooden saber from his right hand to his left
and took hold of my wooden blade. I wasn't sure what the Room had been thinking of when it
delivered two wooden swords to us—maybe it was my turn to break a bone or fall on my face…

"Up like this," Draco lifted my blade. "Now turn your shoulders like…No, like this." He came
round me, grabbed my shoulders and turned them. I blushed hard—which was silly, but I couldn't
help it. He didn't let go, intent on his instruction.

"Now set your stance or I'll be able to push you over. Move this foot out more," he lightly kicked
the heel of my right foot. I did as he said. He came back around in front of me and raised his blade.
The intensity in his eyes scared me.

"Um…" I leaned back, wincing. "You're not going to hurt me, are you?"

"Of course," Draco answered. "If you don't keep that blade up."
I quickly jerked the tip of my blade up, because I'd let it droop for a second.

"Now, there are seven positions of defense," he said. "One—an outside block to the knee. Two—an
inside block to the knee. Three—an outside block to the shoulder. Four—an inside block to the
shoulder. Five—an outside block above the head. Six—an inside block above the head. Seven—a
block behind the back. These will counter the strikes I throw to each position. Ready?"

"Er…"

"Relax, Hermione—I'll go slowly." His eyes twinkled dangerously. "To begin with."

I blinked, then stared. Had he just used my first name—?

"Okay, here's one," he said, and swung his sword at my knee before I had a chance to think about
that. Quickly, I put my sword out to block it. Clack.

"Good. Now, two." He did the same on the other side. The wood shivered in my hand as I blocked
that one as well. I did well, blocking three, four, five and six, but seven gave me a bit of trouble—I
had to twist awkwardly as he whirled and almost hit me in the back.

"I thought you said we were going slowly!" I protested. He laughed.

"If we went any slower, we would melt," he answered, running a hand through his blustering fair
hair. "Try again."

I gritted my teeth and lifted my blade. He came at me again, swinging at exactly the same places as
before. I bit my lip and managed to get my sword to each place just an instant before he did.

"That was faster than before," he said, giving me a bright look. "See? You're a quick learner. Let's
go again—and once you've got it, I can teach you to do what I'm doing, while I block."

I had to laugh in amazement, and shook my head.

"How do you know all this, Draco? Who taught you?"

"Oh, don't be silly," Draco scoffed. "All rich, stuck up, snobby people who live in manors know
how to do useless sophisticated stuff like this."

I burst out laughing, then instantly tried to iron out my expression as he readied his sword.

"Here we go?" he prompted, raising his eyebrows and watching my face. I bit my lip to keep from
chuckling and nodded.

"All right." He swung. "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Brilliant, Hermione. Once more!"

VVVVV

HERMIONE

"Oh. Blast."

"No whinging," I held up a finger. "You put yourself in check, remember."

"I did not—I moved my queen to this square…"

"Exactly," I smirked and lifted my chin. He stared at the chess board, then gave me a glare.
"Fine. But you shan't take my king. I won't allow it."

"I see," I said. "And what are you going to do about it?"

Draco, lying on his side, draped his finger over his chin and studied his greatly-diminished black
forces—one or two of which still held key positions. But I wasn't worried. I watched him in the soft
blue light, pausing a moment to gaze at his sharp features and fair brow and long eyelashes. I
tucked his Slytherin pillow under my chest more comfortably, as it was cushioning me as I lay on
my stomach.

Slowly, Draco reached out his slender hand and moved his last pawn. He let it go. I swiftly took up
my queen and slid her right in front of his king.

"Check mate."

"Blast you," Draco cried, flicking his king over. I laughed.

"I promise I'll let you win tomorrow."

"You'll do no such thing," he held up a hand, then sat up to grab the blanket near his feet.
"Patronizing girl," he muttered.

"I am not patronizing you," I insisted.

"Yes, you are," he shot back, flopping down onto the ground again. "Just because you've beaten me
the last twelve times…"

I set my chin down on the pillow, gazing at the remaining chess pieces. I sighed, thinking. I could
still smell his cologne on the pillow…

"The color must be bad luck," I said. "You ought to switch."

"Bad luck? Never," Draco's blue eyes found mine as he stuffed the white pillow under his head.
"Old family name, you know. Can't turn my back on that."

"Black?" I frowned. "Really?"

He glanced at me, then nodded once.

"My mother's maiden name was Black."

I was stunned.

"Then…Sirius…?" I stammered, trying to form a coherent sentence. Draco went still, then raised
up to prop himself up on his elbow. He lifted his eyebrows and took up his black king and turned it
over in his hand.

"Yes, his mother and my grandfather were brother and sister."

"So…he's a cousin of sorts…Or, he was…" I managed, suddenly feeling a pain in my throat. Draco
was still a moment, then nodded.

"Yes. My mother's cousin."

"I…I never thought of it…" I said, going cold. All my muscles went tight, but I slowly canted my
head and looked at him. "Was it…difficult for you when he…?"
"I never knew him." Draco tossed the piece down on the board. It clattered. He flopped down onto
his back and stared up at the top of the tree. He took a deep breath, and swallowed.

"Perhaps I will switch."

Tears pricked my eyes. I took a breath to try to speak, but my chest shivered. I stopped myself, then
steadied my voice.

"Black isn't all bad," I whispered. He glanced at me, then gave a half smile, and didn't answer.
Then, he returned to gazing at the high boughs. I could tell, though, that he was quite awake now,
thinking about what I had said. I picked up his black knight and fingered it, then took another
breath.

"Roses whisper goodnight

Neath silvery light

Asleep in the dew

They hide from our view

When the dawn peepeth through

God will wake them and you

When the dawn peepeth through

God will wake them and you…"

I watched the little golden lights, slower and more careful than usual, drift up and settle on his
chest. He didn't look at them, as I thought he would. His eyelids fluttered, and the tension in his
jaw released. I quieted my voice, but I kept going.

"Slumber sweetly my dear

for the angels are near

To watch over you

The silent night through

And to bear you above

To the dream land of love

And to bear you above

To the dream land of love..."

He was asleep. It had happened in a single moment. I watched the golden lights sink in, and then
he sighed and faded down. And I clamped a hand over my mouth and fought inexplicable tears.

Sirius Black had been Draco's family. That great, noble man who had died for all of us shared the
same blood as Draco Malfoy. Yet he'd never known him. He'd been deprived of the company of
one of the brightest souls I'd ever known. And yet, somehow, a shred of that brilliance had gotten
passed through the line.

Three days ago, I would have laughed at that thought. But right now, as I lay there gazing at Draco,
swiping at my eyes, I believed it. Draco had transformed. I had no idea what had happened to him
during that storm, but one look into his eyes had told me that I couldn't bear to ask. Experiences
mark people's faces—I knew that well enough to recognize the scars; scars made by emotional
wounds, not physical. And ultimate pain, ultimate suffering, leaves a special mark. I'd seen it on
Harry's face, on Lupin's—even Professor Snape's, if I were to be honest with myself. And that
morning after the storm, as I had sat there in the sunrise and glanced over at Draco Malfoy, I had
seen it in his face, too—written right across his stunning blue eyes. And I dared not ask why.

Not yet.

But soon.

I turned onto my side, lying down parallel to him, with the chessboard between us, and rested my
head on his pillow. I faced him as I curled up in a ball, holding the knight in both hands.

"The angels are near…" I whispered, tightening my hold on that knight. "To watch over you, the
silent night through…"
 Chapter 15

DAY TWENTY-TWO

HERMIONE

"I've never been interested in Quidditch," I said as I held a piece of the poor kite and tail over my
head, letting the wind catch it as we walked. "First year, I couldn't even get the broom to come to
me when I said 'up.'"

Draco laughed.

"Yeah, I remember that…"

"It made no sense," I declared. "The magic word was 'up.' So why didn't it come?"

"Because the broom knew you didn't really mean it," Draco said. I glanced at him, striding beside
me in the morning light, strands of hair being blown into his crystal eyes. He smirked at me. I
narrowed my eyes and lowered the kite.

"Of course I meant it," I retorted. "That was the assignment—to get the broom to come to your
hand."

"No, the broom knew you didn't actually want to fly," Draco said, leaning his head back and letting
the sun beam down on his face. "So it wouldn't come. Didn't want to get its hopes up."

"The broom…The broom knew…" I spat. "Get its hopes up…rubbish. It's a broom!"

Draco laughed out loud. I kicked a few stalks, irritated.

"So if you're not interested in Quidditch, why do I always see you in the stands?" he asked.

"Everybody goes to the matches," I answered. He glanced at me and raised an eyebrow.

"And the tryouts?"

I felt my cheeks heat up.

"I was…I was being supportive," I said. "Harry was the new Gryffindor Quidditch captain."

"You went to watch him sit on his broom?" Draco questioned.

"Yes!" I cried, my cheeks getting even hotter.

"Sounds incredibly interesting," Draco commented flatly. "Must not have had enough homework to
do."

"Ronald was also trying out that day," I quipped. Draco frowned at me.

"Ronald?" He was confused. Then his brow cleared. "Oh, you mean Bean-Pole Weaselby."

"What—Don't call him that," I snapped. "That isn't nice."

"I don't care."

I stared at him. His countenance had blackened, adopting a malice I hadn't seen in a long time.

"What's the matter with you?" I asked. His eyebrow twitched, and he didn't look at me.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do," I insisted. "Why are you so nasty all of a sudden?"

He met my eyes directly, cold.

"Look, it can't be a secret that I don't like your friends," he said. "Why would that change?"

"Because…Well, because they're not as horrible as you seem to think," I said, increasing my speed
as I walked, trying to come up with a way to convince him. "Harry is a loyal friend, and he has
your back in an instant should you ever need him. And Ronald—Ronald is funny, and happy, and a
brilliant Quidditch player—"

"Oh, he is not—" Draco rolled his eyes.

"And he's a fine friend," I pressed on, my voice rising. "Honest, easy to get along with, easy to have
fun with, and I love his company."

Draco was staring at me now, his brow furrowed, his eyes keen. I stopped, suddenly realizing that
I'd spent a lot more time describing Ron than Harry.

"What?" I asked, though I knew that I was blushing hard. Draco looked at me like I was
transparent, then stepped closer to me. I started to sweat. His eyebrow twitched again.

"You fancy him."

My eyes flashed.

"What? I—No. No, I don't."

His gaze caught fire.

"You're going to lie to me? Really?" His expression closed and he leaned back. "Good to know. I've
been honest with you about everything you've asked me while we've been stuck in this God-
forsaken pit, and you're going to lie to me about whether you want to marry the ginger bean pole."
He turned and walked away from me.

"Marry…What? What?" I roared, storming after him. "Who said anything about marrying him?"

"You don't have to," he shot back, not turning.

"What does that mean?" I demanded, racing up beside him.

"I'm not blind, Granger, nor am I deaf," he growled, still walking. "You just turned three shades of
red—your face gave away just as much as your lying did."

"I am not lying," I insisted, enraged. "I care for Ron, yes—just as much as I care for Harry."

"I watched that tryout. Cormac Mclaggen should have been Gryffindor's keeper," Draco stated. "He
has more athletic ability in his little finger than Weaselby has in his whole body."

"That is not true," I shouted, losing control of my voice. "And besides, Cormac is a vile, loathsome
—Don't call Ron that!"

"You're positively batty, Granger," Draco spun around to face me. "Listen to yourself—you've
gone mad."

"I have not—"

"Then stop lying to me," he gritted, leaning in close to my face. "It's insulting. Tell me the truth.
Tell me whether or not you like him, and stop treating me like I don't know what's going on here."

I froze, my throat locked, and my heart hammered so hard I thought it would break my ribs. But
Draco did not move, and his blue eyes pierced right through me.

"Yes," I breathed. Then I swallowed and looked away. "Yes, I like him, all right?"

Draco didn't say anything. When I glanced back at him, he blinked, lifted his eyebrows in dark
indifference and glanced down.

"Does he know?"

I shifted, then wrapped my arms around myself.

"Well, I…No. I don't think so."

Draco met my eyes.

"I know you haven't got the nerve to come out and tell him anything—but if he hasn't noticed, he's
more daft than I realized."

I went pale.

"I'm…Am I that obvious?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. I felt like I was going to die. Draco sneered, all wickedness.

"Clearly you two were meant for each other," Draco scoffed. "Clearly."

I just stood there, feeling like I was about to break underneath his heavy glare. Then, with a
suddenness that made me gasp, he turned and started marching back toward the willow.

"Wh—Where are you going?" I demanded.

"I've had enough of this walk-and-talk nonsense," he retorted, not turning back. "I'm going to read."

My chest went tight, and my fists clenched. I almost broke the last remaining intact piece of wood
on the kite.

"Why do you care whether or not I like Ron?" I shouted. Draco stopped, faced me, and spread his
hands to the sides.

"I don't."

Then, he turned back around and headed to the tree.

Something twisted inside me, and all at once I felt like crying. I didn't, though. I swallowed tears,
bit them back, whirled around and sat down hard, my back to him and that stupid willow. I threw
the kite down and ground my teeth.

A tear leaked out. I dashed it away, then slapped a few stalks of barley. I drew my knees up to my
chest, wrapped my arms around them and set my chin on my knees.

The wind sounded lonesome all of a sudden. I wrapped my arms tighter, and closed my eyes.

VVVVV

HERMIONE

I sat for a great deal of time out there, listening to the wind. Thinking about Ron and Harry had
given me a sort of homesickness, and I felt heavy and tired.

I also didn't like the fact that Draco and I had had a row.

"I know, I know. Completely backwards," I muttered to the Room. The wind seemed to go quiet,
as if a tall, invisible presence had leaned closer to listen. I swallowed.

"But it's still none of his business," I insisted, though I kept my voice down. "I haven't even told
my mother about Ron, and…Well, not that there's anything to tell…" That fact galled me, and I
swallowed hard. I snapped off a stalk and twirled it between my fingers. The wind murmured
comfortingly, brushing a strand of hair off my shoulder.

I had felt uncontrolled when I'd been shouting at Draco—almost irrational. And Draco had
appeared cool as ice. And the irksome thing was he was probably right—after all we'd discussed
and fought through in this Room, what was the point of lying about something as stupid as a crush?
Well, my feelings were deeper than a crush, but if nothing had been declared (or admitted, rather),
then it could only be technically classified as a crush if I were to discuss it.

Wasn't it only natural, though, to get defensive when somebody shoves prying questions right into
my deepest heart, asking about a subject I never talked about?

Yes, probably.

But why had Draco been asking them?

Maybe he had wanted to see my reaction—he was always gauging me, I knew that. Always feeling
me out, trying to reckon how I tick.

But it was his reaction that had seemed odd, now that I thought about it. Yes, he had seemed cool
and calm on the outset—but I could swear that there had been at least two flashes of genuine anger
in his eyes. And something else. Condescension? Resentment?

I shook my head, and lay back on the ground to stare up at the cloud-dotted sky. No, that wasn't it.
But I couldn't tell what it was—he was too good at masking his real emotions, covering them up
with a sneer and a cruel look. Because that's all it was now: a mask. But it was still effective.

"This is ridiculous," I groaned. The barley seemed to chuckle. I gritted my teeth. Draco was just
angry because I'd lied to him, to his face, and I was very bad at it. Especially when we'd almost
begun to establish a strange, shaky trust. I was fouling it up, and that's what he resented. That's
what it was. And he'd said he didn't care whether or not I had a crush on Ron—he just didn't like
Ron at all. Mentioning him, and Harry, was what had made him upset. And…well, fine. I shouldn't
have lied.
I heaved a sigh, then rubbed my face. How was I supposed to mend things, now? Draco had
stormed off to the willow to read, leaving me out here. I needed something to break the silence,
give me an opening to apologize. My brow furrowed as I thought. The field rustled and whispered.

What had we been talking about before all this mess?

Quidditch.

Draco had been telling me about the first snitch he'd caught during a match against Ravenclaw,
second year. He'd laughed while telling the story, and acted out exactly how it had happened, and
how he'd stood in the middle of the pitch and shook it in his fist for the crowd. He said it'd been
one of the best moments of his life.

The heaviness in my chest returned. I wished I had something to remind him of that, to show him
that I really had been listening to the story. I knew how great it made Harry and Ron feel to talk
about triumphs in sports. I wished I had a quaffle, or even a Quidditch banner…Or better yet…

If only I had that snitch.

A soft jingle sounded to my left. I twitched, and turned over to face the noise.

There, lying not three feet away, nestled in the grass, was a small golden ball.

I stared at it for a long moment, then smiled. That invisible presence seemed to sway in
satisfaction. I picked the snitch up. The wings did not expand. It sat lightly in my palm, glinting in
the sunlight. I got to my feet, and headed to the willow.

VVVV

HERMIONE

I hesitated just inches from the willow curtain, closed my fingers around the snitch and took a deep
breath. I bit my lip, then lifted my left hand and pushed the curtain out of the way and stepped
inside.

The little gold sparks leaped up around my feet. My eyes found Draco, reclining back against a root
by the grandfather clock, holding The Complete Sherlock Holmes open in both hands. He didn't
look up. I swallowed, then cleared my throat.

"Hi."

His icy eyes flicked up to mine, then he turned his attention back to the pages.

"Hello."

I drew myself up.

"Are you still angry with me?"

"Why would I be angry?" he muttered.

"I dunno," I shrugged, trying to keep my nerves back. "I mean, you seemed angry. And I know I
was. But I'm not anymore."

He didn't say anything. I took a few steps closer. Then, I held up the snitch.
"I found this in the grass."

His head came up. The soft light gleamed off the smooth surface of the snitch. He studied it for a
moment, his brow slowly furrowing. I lowered the little ball, then tossed it underhanded to him.

It rang softly as it passed through the air. Draco lifted his right hand. The snitch slapped lightly
into his palm. And the next instant, the wings unfurled from its sides, and began fluttering within
his grasp. He blinked. His gaze found me—suddenly softer.

"I'm sorry," I confessed into that opening, letting out a sigh. "You've been nothing if not honest
with me, always, and it was stupid of me to lie to you." I took another breath, bracing myself, but
forcing myself to go on. "I do like Ron. Quite a lot. I have for a while now." A crooked smile
forced its way onto my lips. "Unfortunately, I believe he's only just realized I'm a girl."

"That doesn't surprise me," Draco rolled his eyes, letting go of the snitch. It hovered just above his
head. He watched it, eyes narrowed. "So," he said, a bit louder. "You've been holding your breath
for Weasley all this time?"

I watched my feet and the little lights as I took a couple steps nearer my spot.

"I suppose…"

"What about Potter?" Draco asked. "Is he disappointed?"

My head jerked up and I stared at him. He just waited, watching me, eyebrows raised.

"Disappointed?" I repeated. "Harry?"

"Yeah, I thought you two had a thing," he said, turning back to intently studying the snitch.

"Well, I…There were one or two times where I thought…" I started, then shook my head. "But no,
I'm fairly certain he has a large crush on Ginny."

"Gah," Draco huffed, batting at the snitch. He missed. "What is it with these Weasleys?"

"They're good company," I explained. "They're welcoming and congenial…"

"They live in a barn."

My eyes narrowed.

"It's a big house…"

He arched an eyebrow at me.

"You can really see yourself having a dozen red-headed children, cooking, cleaning and knitting
the rest of your life, giving your kids hand-me-down clothes and books and toys?" he asked.
"Hardly ever being able to travel or rest or see or do fantastic things?"

"There's no shame in being poor," I snapped back. He shrugged and turned back to his snitch.

"I didn't say there was. It just doesn't seem to suit you."

Irritation built within me. I tightened my hands and calculated my words before I spoke.

"I happen to like the idea of a simple life."

"Yes," he scoffed. "The idea."

My face flushed again—and this time I couldn't bite back my reply.

"What on earth makes you an authority on what I want, Malfoy? You have no idea—"

"You want somebody with class, Hermione," he cut in, looking at me directly as the snitch whizzed
around behind his head. "Someone who hasn't sat right across from you day after day, year after
year without realizing what it is he's seeing." He gestured carelessly, then directed his remarks to
the willow curtain. "Somebody who's a gentleman—who's your equal, for heaven's sake, or at least
close to it." He shook his head. "You don't want a man who merrily dawdles around while you pine
away into dust wishing he would get hit upside the head and actually look at you for once." He
met my eyes. "You want a man who knows what he wants and goes after it, and never leaves you
doubting his feelings. Anything else is ridiculous, and a waste of your time." He got up, and
stepped toward the willow curtain. Why wasn't I breathing?

"I'm going for a walk," he said, not looking back. "Thanks for the snitch." And he left, the snitch
buzzing out behind him.

VVVVVVV

DRACO

This was irritating. No, she was irritating. It was impossible for me to be in her presence right now
—I couldn't take it. Even the sound of her talking was driving me mad.

I swept through the barley field, leaving the willow behind. I listened for a long time, then allowed
myself to relax when I didn't hear any following footsteps. Just the soft buzz of that little snitch.

What an odd thing for her to come up with—that snitch. Why had she been thinking of it, and why
had the Room decided to give it to her? It had to mean something…

I shook my head, berating myself. This place was truly chipping away at my reason. Sometimes, I
completely forgot I was in a room at Hogwarts, and fancied myself to truly be in a sunny field with
Hermione Granger. Moments of that had been tolerable, even pleasant, but now…

I didn't like it here anymore.

I don't especially like the idea of trying to get out of here, either, I muttered darkly to myself,
ramming my hands in my pockets. I knew what waited for me out there.

Real blood. Real pain. Real wounds. Real murder.

But in here…

I batted the snitch with the back of my hand—it had buzzed too close to my left ear. I scowled. It
was absolutely absurd that Hermione's affection for Weasley had ruffled me. Even as I walked,
trying to think about that conversation, I couldn't understand my reaction. Why had I even led the
topic that direction? Had I been trying to trap her in a lie? Or had I been hoping that she would
disprove my suspicions?

What? What suspicions? Why would I have any suspicions? No, I had just been angry that she'd
looked me in the eye and lied to me. About that. How stupid was she, anyway? Did she really think
she could get away with deceiving me?
"She's not stupid," I mumbled, kicking at the grass. And really, had she been lying? Or just
deciding how and when to tell the truth? After all, it hadn't taken her long to come up to the willow
and admit as much, after she'd cooled down.

So why had her second admittance made me feel worse instead of better?

I snapped a barley head off and began picking at it as I increased my pace.

What I'd felt when she'd told me was still fresh. It had been a cold sensation—cold and heavy and
slick, like an icy snake sliding down my throat and into my gut, tightening my chest as he went,
and settling in a sort of nausea. I still felt it a little bit, even as the snitch swung back and forth
behind my head, humming, as if trying to distract me. But this was too bewildering, too baffling for
me to be distracted. I had to puzzle it out.

I had felt this sensation before. Actually, quite often. There were some days when it just lived
inside me, turning me into a regular goblin with my classmates.

It wasn't the sensation that confused me right now. It was the situation in which I felt it.

Usually, that stabbing, cold, clenching, sliding, panging feeling attacked me when Potter was
involved, whether it be seeing his face on the front page of the Daily Prophet, or watching him
concoct the best Living Death potion Slughorn had ever seen, or watching him compete as the
youngest wizard ever in the Triwizard Tournament, or seeing a cloud of pretty girls flutter and
giggle when he passed because they caught a glimpse of his famous scar. It came at its worst
whenever Potter stood in the middle of the Quidditch pitch, holding the prized golden snitch over
his head and shaking it like he'd just won the World Cup.

This felt just as bad.

But it wasn't just Potter who evoked that feeling now.

It was Weasley.

And it wasn't the snitch.

It was—

The snitch buzzed around in front of my face, making me jerk back before it spun around my head
once more and drifted happily by my shoulder. I frowned at it. It just glinted in reply. I decided to
ignore the stupid thing and kept walking.

I was so sick of feeling sick because of Potter and Weasley. And right at the moment, the idea that
Weasley was making me sick—for whatever reason; I wasn't going to go there—was just
intolerable. Why on earth would anything he did or had make me furious? He was a daft, ugly slug
and Potter was a stuck-up attention pig—and neither of them had any clue about Hermione! How
was that possible? How could she shower affection and attention and kindness on them for year
after year and yet both of them go after other girls? Lavender Brown? I wanted to vomit. And
Ginny Weasley? She was bright enough—but not brighter than Hermione, and no great beauty in
comparison. Weasley and Potter were mad.

It was actually Hermione that had done the natural thing: after spending years with the two of
them, and probably enduring quite a few difficult situations, she had probably fallen for Potter first,
but when he took more notice of Cho Chang or whoever else that smiled at him, she probably gave
up—and then she'd turned to Weasley, only to have him be even more brick-headed about it than
Potter. What, did they think girls like Hermione just grew on trees?
I stopped walking and glanced back. The willow stood on the horizon. The west wind blew
through my hair. I sighed, resigned, and sat down. The snitch bumbled about somewhere above
and behind me. I propped my elbows on my knees and glared at the ground.

So what was it that I wanted?

For a long while, I sat very still, breathing evenly. I closed my eyes, and let my thoughts drift open,
as I tried to force my ancient barriers out of the way so I could actually see myself.

Honestly?

I wanted to stop living in Potter and Weasley's shadow.

I wanted to quit trying to live up to their image, their fame, their popularity.

I wanted to stop measuring my character against theirs.

I wanted to feel strong and worthy on my own, completely apart from anything they did or said.

I wanted to do something they could have done, but didn't.

I wanted to, not to snub them, but because it was right.

Because I saw something they had missed—and the very fact that I had seen it and they hadn't
made me different than them. It gave me a strength and ability that was not greater, but different.
Different as a forest fire and an avalanche. My own power.

Power to do something good. Something lasting.

I wanted to fix what Potter had broken.

I wanted to claim what Weasley had ignored.

I wanted Hermione.

I opened my eyes.

The little snitch buzzed in front of my face. It had been there the whole time during this internal
battle, following me, humming happily, and I had swatted it away. Still, it had faithfully followed.
And now it hovered right there, tilting one way, then the other, like a cheerful, waiting bird, about
a foot out of reach.

I suddenly felt out of breath, and my heart hammered. Slowly, I stretched out my right hand, palm
up. The snitch darted back. I stopped. It inched a little closer. I extended my arm all the way. The
snitch froze where it was, only its wings moving. Then, it drifted toward me, and, as I held my
breath, it settled right into the hollow of my hand, and furled its wings like it had come to nest. It
felt warm against my skin. I closed my fingers around it gently. Then, I got to my feet.

A balmy wind greeted me, blowing through my shirt and hair. I took a deep breath. I faced the
willow. I took a step toward it. Then another. Then, my jaw tightening, I walked with lengthening
strides back toward it, and her.

VVVVVVVV

DAY TWENTY-THREE
HERMIONE

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven—good!" Draco declared, stepping back, lowering his sword
and dashing his hair out of his face with his hand. I hefted my own blade and grinned.

"That was rather good!" I cried. He answered the grin.

"It was. But it's only because I'm such a fantastic tutor—you know that, right?"

"Oh, of course," I rolled my eyes, laughing. "Let me know when you're ready to learn a few
things."

"Oh ho!" Draco gave me a mock-impressed look. "You think you have this sorted already?"

"I know I do," I replied cockily. "You were the one who said I'm a fast learner."

"All right, then, Granger—let's see what you have." He set his stance, raised his blade—and I
lunged at him.

We did not follow the pattern—though a few sequences fell into place without planning. Our
blades clacked and snapped against each other, and I found myself backpedaling—he was so much
better than I was! Still, I was managing to hold my own. Until—

He feigned one way and then jabbed another. I jerked back and flailed. My blade connected with
his right hand.

Crack.

"Ah!" He leaped back, grimaced and dropped his sword, then shook out his hand.

"Oh!" I cried, dropping my own sword and hurrying up to him. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

"No, it's my fault," he gritted, clutching his hurt hand in his left. "I shouldn't have pressed you—"

"Let me see it."

"I'm fine."

"Don't be such a boy. Let me see it."

"Hermione—"

I reached out to pry off his left hand, but he backed away and just held out his right hand so I could
see but not touch.

"Look. It's nothing," he started, but I'd already gasped and put a hand over my mouth. The knuckle
of his forefinger was red, and there was a deep purple spot where I'd broken a blood vessel.

"That isn't nothing!" I protested. "I really hurt you!"

"I've had worse, all right?" he glared at me. "Stop making such a fuss."

I felt sheepish and ashamed. He was in pain, and probably angry at me. I needed to think of
something—

"Do you want me to make it feel better?" I asked. He eyed me.

"What are you going to do?"

I canted my head, trying to be a little light and playful.

"What any Muggle or Muggle-born who knows anything would do. Give me your hand." I held out
my own. He hesitated, glanced up at me, then stretched out his hand to me. It shook a little, out of
the shock of being injured. I took it up swiftly, and pressed my lips right to the hurt spot.

Draco sucked in his breath. My heart thudded unreasonably—my eyes flew to his. He stared at me,
his cheeks flushed. And then—

He looked at his hand. I followed his gaze. And the redness disappeared. And the deep purple
bruise faded. And the pale, long-fingered hand I held in both of mine looked as normal as it ever
had.

"That's…That's new," he remarked. I swallowed hard. Slowly, he drew his hand out of mine and
bent to pick up his sword. He straightened and cocked his head at me.

"Does it work that way in Muggle-land?"

"Um…" I stammered. He grinned at me, then strode toward the willow. "I'm going to straighten the
mess you made when you threw all the drawings all over the ground."

I blinked, and started after him.

"I wasn't making a mess—I was organizing."

"Same thing."

"Why do you have to argue with everything I say?"

"I don't."

"Draco Malfoy!" I berated him.

But all he did was laugh.

VVVVVVVV

HERMIONE

"It is rather a mess in here…" I admitted, glancing around the willow room at all of our
accumulated belongings. Altogether, there were two pillows, a blanket, three melted ice-packs, a
daffodil (which hadn't changed at all since I picked it), Pride and Prejudice, The Complete
Sherlock Holmes, a chess board and all its bits, a 500 piece puzzle, a broken kite, two boxes of
colored pencils (half of which were snapped in half), piles of used drawing paper, two wooden
swords, a snitch, and a grandfather clock. Looking at all of it, I felt a sinking sensation, like a stone
settling to the bottom of a stream. How long had we been here? It looked as if we lived in this
willow…

For there was Draco's corner—by the clock. He had his white pillow tucked into a nook between
two roots, and the two books he had claimed as his own sat stacked neatly beside it along with his
box of pencils. His sword leaned against another root. He had just now stuffed the useless ice packs
inside the pendulum chamber of the useless clock, and now he was busily tying the remains of the
kite up to the willow curtain as a type of banner while the snitch buzzed happily around him.
Between our living areas, like a divider, sat the chessboard, neatly arranged—black on his side,
white on mine. Next to the board sat the puzzle box. My side of the room contained the Slytherin
pillow and the blanket, folded lengthwise like a sleeping bag, the daffodil leaning up against a root,
next to my nearly-empty drawing pad and pencils. My sword lay beside my bed. What made the
place look like a mess were the at least two-dozen pencil drawings that lay strewn all over the
carpet-like grass, covering the little white flowers and smothering the golden lights. I sat on the
ground, crosslegged, and considered the pictures.

"I don't want to shove them back in the books," I mused. "And I don't want to toss them…"

"What? Where would you toss them?" Draco asked, making another knot in the string that held the
kite's tail to the branches. I shrugged.

"Out."

"Ha," he snorted. "Out."

I frowned, at a loss. Draco turned around and put his hands on his hips. He glanced at me, then at
the mess.

"You know what you need?" He said. "Thumbtacks."

"Huh?" I looked at him. He nodded.

"You need thumbtacks. An entire box of them. That way, you could pin the pictures up on the
trunk of the tree, so you can still see them and they're not underfoot—"

Clunk.

"Ow!"

Draco's hand flew to his head as something small and square bounced off his skull. It thudded to
the ground. I shot to my feet. Still rubbing his hair, he bent down and picked it up. It was a little
tin. He shook it. It rattled. He pried open the lid. He smirked.

"What is it?" I asked.

His smirk widened, and he stepped closer and handed me the box.

"Thumbtacks," he exulted. I grinned.

"You're a genius."

"Oh, you don't have to tell me that."

"Shut up," I chuckled, then bent and picked up the picture of Draco's dragon.

VVVVVV

HERMIONE

"Do you ever wonder about the magic rules in this place?" Draco asked me as I pinned up the last
picture—my daffodil—on the tree over my bed. I folded my arms as I cast my gaze over the
veritable mural now decorating the tree.

"I dunno," I muttered, narrowing my eyes. "I always found that got me into trouble."
Draco chuckled, then came up beside me and straightened one of his pictures—quite a lovely
drawing of Hogwarts from the grounds.

"I don't mean about getting out—I mean about when you think of something, then it appears."

I glanced at him.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, there seems to be a pattern, here," he said, casting his gaze over the pictures, then stepping
over to his spot and sitting down. The snitch came to his hand, the wings closed, and he set the
snitch in the grass. He looked up at me. "You told me to go read, and then these shoot up out of the
ground." He lifted the copy of Sherlock Holmes. "But they're not something I would have picked
—you thought of them."

My brow furrowed and I turned to him.

"Yes…?"

"And then…Well, come here," he motioned me closer, then patted the grass next to him. "I want to
know what you think of this."

I hesitated, then stepped closer and sat down. He straightened, faced me and crossed his legs, then
leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He met my eyes, his gaze intensifying.

"We have things like the daffodil, and the kite. I'll admit, I did think of the flower for you, and I
believe you thought of the kite for me," he pressed his hand to his chest and raised his eyebrows.
"Am I right?"

"Yes, I believe so…?" I said, wondering where he was going with this. A smile broke through his
intensity.

"And just a bit ago, I thought of thumbtacks for you, and they hit me in the head."

"What are you suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting," he leaned a bit closer, as if to share a secret. "That we could literally conjure
anything, if we thought about it clearly enough—but it only works if we wish for it for the other
person."

"That makes some sense," I admitted, nodding. "But doesn't there have to be some element of need
to it as well, for the Room to respond?"

Draco shrugged.

"Well, need is relative. I certainly don't need books to survive, but they kept me from going mad.
And you didn't need that flower—"

"Yes, I did," I said, unable to keep from smiling. A surprised smile of his own cut off his words,
and he laughed.

"All right, all right—but this place itself is a testament to what I'm talking about. Look at all these
things! Not once were any of my things conjured by me, and not once were any of your things
conjured by you! Well, except that blanket and pillow, but I gave you those."

"Yes…apparently…" I admitted.
"So…" he said, flashing his eyebrows and grinning. "Use your imagination. Think of something for
me."

"Ha—what?" I cried.

"Go ahead," he urged. "I'm interested in seeing what you can come up with."

"I…Well, I don't…know…" I struggled.

"I know one for you," he said. "I can give it a try."

I looked at him askance.

"What…?"

"You need a barrette for your hair," he said. "It's always blowing in your face when we're sword-
fighting, and you complain that it's the reason you make mistakes."

"I do not—"

"But it can't be just any barrette," he said thoughtfully, glancing off. "I know you're bored with
your school uniform…"

"I…When did I tell you that?"

He met my eyes, and snapped his fingers.

"I've got it."

"What—"

The next instant, something like a sparkling star tumbled from the sky and fell right into my lap. I
jerked back, gasping. There, pillowed against the black of my skirt lay a beautiful, slender,
diamond-studded hair-clip—elegant, with a silver floral motif. I picked it up—it felt so light, and
glimmered in the glow.

"Ha…" I said breathlessly, turning it over in my fingers. "It's…It's lovely!"

"A bit dressy for sword fighting, I suppose," Draco shrugged. "But my grandmother has one very
like it—my mother always admired it."

"I can see why," I breathed, realizing that if Grandma Malfoy owned it, it was probably genuine—
I'd never held something so gorgeous and valuable…

"Go on," Draco urged.

"I…Well," I drew my fingers through one side of my hair, frowning, wishing I had a—

"This might help," Draco snatched something up off the grass, and held out a silver hand mirror.
Now, I blushed. I could see as much in the flashing reflection.

"Oh, now I feel spoiled," I murmured, taking it from him and holding it up. "These things really
are too—"

"Then think of something for me," Draco suggested, laying over onto his elbow and giving me a
smug, expectant look. I snorted, still half smiling, and slipped the barrette into my hair. I glanced at
my reflection, studying the way the shimmering jewelry looked in my hair. Then, I caught Draco
staring at me.

"What?" I asked, for his face had lost its humor. He blinked, and cleared his throat.

"Nothing—I'm just waiting."

I felt my eyebrow flick, for I didn't quite believe him—and I cradled my new mirror in my lap and
tried to think.

"Hm…What does Draco Malfoy need…?"

Something moved—or appeared, rather—behind him. It caught my eye. Draco noticed. I grinned.

"What?" he asked, and twisted around—

To see an elegant brass standing lamp with a curved neck, much like one I'd seen in a castle study
once. Draco sat up.

"Hey…This is brilliant!" he said, and that moment, the lamp lit, spilling a soft but bright light down
right on the spot he would need to read.

"Now I won't go blind trying to see by that blue light," Draco said, glancing far upward.

"We wouldn't want that," I grinned. He chuckled, then turned to look at it again—

And put his hand on a folded black fleece blanket.

Startled and pleased, I giggled and slapped a hand over my mouth. Draco's wide eyes found mine,
and then he grabbed the blanket and unfolded it. It bore a great silver Slytherin crest. He barked
out a laugh, his face brightening, and he immediately got up, spread the blanket out, sat down on it,
wrapped it around his legs and snatched up his copy of Sherlock Holmes.

"Utter perfection," Draco decided, leaning back and opening the book. "I know what I want next."

"Oh, really?" I said. He nodded once.

"I have read several pages of The Sign of the Four," he said. "And I require a pipe and tobacco."

"You do not!" I laughed. "That's terribly bad for you!"

"It is not—my grandfather smoked and he lived to be a hundred and sixty," Draco retorted.
"Besides, you cannot read this without puffing on a pipe. Listen." He cleared his throat and lifted
the book. He lifted one eyebrow, deepened his voice and thickened his words with a stiff London
accent and held up his hand as if he was holding a curved pipe, and began to read. "'You will not
apply my precept,' he said, shaking his head. 'How often have I said to you that when you have
eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth? We know
that he did not come through the door, the window, or the chimney. We also know that he could
not have been concealed in the room, as there is no concealment possible.'" Draco turned a piercing
look on me. "'When, then, did he come?'"

I was already laughing so hard, I hardly heard the last part.

"Go on, go on," I urged him, snatching my Slytherin pillow up, wrapping my arms around it and
setting my chin on the top of it.
"Really?" he was startled. I nodded quickly.

"Yes, read it!"

"Well, I'd better start at the beginning, then, or you'll have no idea what is going on," he said,
glancing up at me a couple times to see if I really meant it. I gave him a smile, he chuckled, shook
his head, then flipped back a few pages. He cleared his throat again.

"'The Sign of Four, Chapter One: The Science of Deduction," he read. "'Sherlock Holmes took his
bottle from the corner of the mantlepiece, and his hypodermic syringe from its neat morocco
case…'"

VVVVVV

DRACO

Hermione lay not far away from me, curled up with the pillow, half covered with her blanket,
completely asleep. We'd finished The Sign of Four and started on A Scandal in Bohemia before
she'd begun to doze. I think the last thing I'd out of my mouth was actually, "With tuppence for
paper and strings, you can have your own set of wings…" just to see if she was listening. But she
hadn't been—she was sleeping.

I adjusted my pillow and shut the book, setting it beside my snitch. I glanced down at Hermione
again, letting my gaze linger on her face, and the sparkling barrette in her dark hair, all softened by
the magic blue light and the light from my lamp. I halfway smiled.

I'd been right about the conjuring in this Room. It had only been a theory of mine, but now that
both of us had proved it, I knew that what I had in mind could, in fact, be done.

Maybe.

I still needed a few things before I could even begin to set my plan in motion. And for that, I would
have to rely on a greater power.

I reached up and switched off my lamp, then leaned back and gazed up at the sparkling depths of
the top of the willow.

"I'm going to need a rather big favor," I whispered. "Please."

I didn't hear any reply. But the wind outside seemed to laugh, very distantly, and the sound of it
made me smile, and lay back on my pillow and fall asleep before I knew it.
 Chapter 16

All those days chasing down a daydream

All those years living in a blur

All that time, never truly seeing

Things the way they were

Now she's here, shining in the starlight

Now she's here, suddenly I know

If she's here

It's crystal clear

I'm where I'm meant to go.

And at last I see the light

And it's like the fog has lifted

And at last I see the light

And it's like the sky is new

And it's warm and real and bright

And the world has somehow shifted…

All at once,

Everything is different

Now that I see you.

-"I See the Light," -Tangled

DAY TWENTY-FOUR

DRACO

"Are you all right?"

My head came up, and I glanced over at Hermione, who walked beside me as always, through the
barley and the bright morning light. I answered her concerned look with a crooked smile.

"Just thinking."

"About what?"

"That's a secret."
"Secret?" she protested, giving me a strange look. "That isn't fair."

"Why not?" I laughed.

"Well…" she stammered. "Because I don't really have any anymore—"

I laughed.

"—and I have nothing in particular to think about."

"Think about the clues in Scandal in Bohemia," I suggested. "What do you suppose happened?"

She growled in her throat.

"I dunno, I fell asleep halfway through," she muttered, stretching out her hands to run them across
the tops of the barley. I returned my thoughts to the subject that had been occupying them before. I
lowered my head, thinking hard, shaping images and objects in my mind. Briefly, I closed my eyes.
I took a deep breath.

Now…about that favor… I whispered to the Room.

"What is that?" I heard Hermione stop. My eyes opened, and I stopped too. She started forward.

"What? What do you see?" I asked. She hurried faster, and I followed right behind—

Until both of us came up on a phonograph that had a large red horn sitting amidst the barley like it
had grown there. I grinned like an idiot.

"Wow!' Hermione crowed. "Look at that!" She bent down to pick it up, but I dashed around her and
scooped it up myself, attempting to keep the swinging horn from falling off.

"What—What are you doing?" Hermione demanded.

"Taking this."

"Wh—Why?" she cried, eyes flashing.

"I thought of it. It's mine," I said, and stepped around her.

"That isn't fair either!" she objected, sounding genuinely angry.

"I know, I know," I said, trotting back toward the willow, trying to hold the rattling instrument
steady. "You can see it in a moment. Promise."

"But Draco—"

"Don't come in here until I say!" I warned, and shoved through the willow curtain, bursting with
anticipation and nerves.

The Room had heard me. Now it was up to me to get the rest of this plot off the ground.

VVVVVVV

HERMIONE

I paced outside that willow for ages. Well, it felt like ages at first—and then it actually became
ages, because the sky started to darken.
"Draco," I called, halting. "What are you doing with that phonograph? I've barely heard a sound out
of it."

He didn't reply. I frowned. I wondered if he could hear me—sometimes it was difficult to hear any
sounds through that curtain…

"Draco?" I said again, finally losing my last shred of patience. "Draco, I know you've told me to
stay out here until you call me but I'm through with waiting. I'm coming inside." I pushed the
curtain out of the way, stepped in—

And stopped.

"What…What are you doing?" I asked, my gaze flying all through the softly-lit room. It didn't look
the same at all. The pictures still hung on the willow trunk, but everything else was folded and
stacked and piled neatly back by the clock. Except the phonograph, which sat in my nook—and
Draco stood next to it, his hands behind his back, a startled look on his face.

"I—wasn't expecting you yet," he said. "Still trying to work a few things out…"

My brow furrowed as I stepped further in.

"Work what out?"

He shrugged, glanced down at the phonograph, then rubbed the back of his neck.

"I think it'll work—thought it's not quite loud enough," he said, frowning down at the little box.
"But it's a good song and all—couldn't have picked a better one to be stuck with for all eternity," he
flashed me a sheepish smile.

"What is it?" I wondered as I came up to stand next to him and look down at our new addition.

"It's an old song—fiddle tune," he explained. "My…er, well, we all actually danced to it at my
grandparents' seventieth wedding anniversary."

My eyebrows went up and I looked at him. He glanced at me. Then, he barked out a laugh.

"Here, I'll show you." He bent down and flicked a switch on the phonograph. The record on top
began to spin and softly scratch.

"Show me what?" I gave him a narrow look.

"Aren't you full of questions," he cocked a mischievous eyebrow at me, which startled me. He
straightened up.

And just then, the single violin began singing through its surrogate voicebox. It gave me the
impression of a cat waking up and stretching—pleasant, easy, lilting.

"It starts out slow," Draco explained over it. "And then, here in a moment, you start with slow steps
like one, two-three, one, two-three," he said, and as the violin was joined by a harp or hammered
dulcimer, Draco demonstrated the steps, first to one side, then the other, watching his feet. I
watched his feet too, chuckling—and then he held out his hand.

I stopped, then winced.

"I'm not very good—"

The violin seemed to wince with me, but Draco gave me that smirking, challenging look again, and
so I had to slide my hand into his.

"I know that's not true," he said as he pulled me toward him and began twirling me. The
instruments sounded like they were spinning too, indecisive, until they slowed, and settled, and
lingered on a single note just as I stopped spinning and stood right in front of Draco—and he slid
his right hand around my waist and gripped my right hand gently in his left. He flashed his
eyebrows at me. I blushed. And then—

The violin jumped right into a quiet, lively jig, and he pulled me right with it. The steps were three
times as fast as he had demonstrated, and I gasped as I tried to keep up, but his hands held me firm,
and if I stared at his feet, my own feet started to respond the way they ought, and suddenly we
were dancing.

"Look up at me," he instructed. "Look up—I'll lead you."

I lifted my face. He found my eyes. My breath caught.

The music broadened, he led me into a deep, sweeping spin, and then another, and—

My eyes flashed as smooth black fabric suddenly tumbled from Draco's shoulders and arms and
wrapped around his neck, then bannered out behind him, forming the most lavish, distinguished,
silver-embroidered dress robes I had ever seen. We whirled three more times, my head spinning
with questions, and—

The music deepened, swelled, and the violin leaped up an octave into a strident, cheerful, more
feminine version of the same melody—

And a shimmer began around my ankles, and traveled higher up the length of my body with every
dancing note, even as Draco continued to guide me through the prancing steps. I risked a glance
down at myself, then let out a cry.

My school uniform was gone, replaced by the most fantastically lovely silver ball gown I could
ever have dreamed of—it looked like a seamstress had sewn together all the stars and wrapped
them around me in a form-fitting bodice, frilly short sleeves that showed off my long, pale arms,
and a full skirt perfect for twirling. I looked up at the majestically-garbed Draco, stunned, my
mouth falling open but unable to say a word. He just grinned, twirled me out, let go of my hand—

There came a great flash of light, and a sound like massive drums—

The tune changed completely, to a fast country line dance that sounded as if it came from a full
orchestra straight over my head—

I blinked hard. My vision cleared.

Draco stood across from me, hopping in time with the music. But that was the only familiarity. At
all the rest of it, I gaped, thunderstruck.

We now danced in a great hall—towering black walls, a white ceiling bearing two glittering crystal
chandeliers. The floors were broad black-and-white checkerboard tiles, and the bordering pillars
were wrapped in brilliant blooming lavender.

And Harry Potter, resplendent in new dress robes and bearing healthy color in his face, stood in the
men's line across from me on Draco's right side. Grinning.
Ron Weasley, even taller than I remembered, stood at Draco's left—wearing a beard! —and the
same robes as Harry—and they both bore a red carnation…

And to my left danced Ginny, as Harry's partner, in a gorgeous emerald dress...

And to my right danced Padma Patil, looking ravishing as always in a…well, the same emerald
gown...

And on and on, in those two continuous lines, one line of boys and the other of girls, across from
each other, I saw Neville Longbottom, and Luna Lovegood, and Colin Creevy, and countless
others of our classmates from Hogwarts. All of them bounced right in time with the music,
laughing, exchanging remarks with their partners and making a great deal of noise with their feet.
They were all dressed to the nines, in clothes of a fashion I hadn't seen since the Yule Ball.

I just stood there, frozen, gaping at all of them. Absently, though, I began to bounce in time with
the music as well. My eyes found Draco. He winked at me.

"I like the addition of the orchestra loft, don't you?" he asked, pointing upward. I glanced where he
pointed, to see an entire orchestra seated in a floating box over our heads. I must have made some
face, for he laughed out loud.

Just then, the music elevated, and Draco held out his arms—as did all the boys—and all the girls
stepped in to spin with their partners. I made my feet come unglued from the marble floor, and I
took Draco's arms. They were strong, steady, and they grounded me. My hands met the fabric of
his sleeves, I snapped into reality, and for an instant I was close to his handsome face. I couldn't
breathe. He whirled me around and replaced me where I'd been, stepping back. I suddenly grinned
at him, feeling silly and giddy.

"You know we're having Christmas here this year," Ron shouted at me over the noise and the
music.

"What?" I said, startled, as we suddenly had to spin again. Ron nodded vigorously as he and Padma
exchanged a grin. I strained to see him as Draco and I twirled.

"Christmas. Here." Ron pointed at the ground after releasing his partner, giving me a deliberate
look.

"If that's all right with you of course," Harry emphasized loudly from the other side of Draco,
glancing at me and then leaning around Draco to give Ron a "you dolt," look.

"Why wouldn't it be all right with her?" Ron asked as everyone stopped and clapped twice. "You
think she's worried about getting crowded?"

"It's her house!" Ginny shouted at her brother over Draco and me.

"I—" I started, stunned, and Draco snorted back his laughter as we had to spin again. Ginny sent
me a brilliant look as we came back to our places.

"But we'll certainly come if you two invite us, Hermione," she smiled. I stared at Draco. All he did
was beam at me.

Then, the music shifted again—into a rocking, pushing, rushing interlude, and Draco grabbed both
my hands and we rushed with one-two-three sliding steps all the way down the line, the sounds of
clap-clap, clap-clap deafening us as our classmates put their hands together. I held onto Draco's
fingers for dear life, and he held onto me, and—
Did I feel a ring on his left hand—?

For an instant, I met his blue eyes—

We skidded to the end, I let out a short, thrilled laugh, and then, our elegant clothes flagging out
behind us, we charged back up the line, gripping each other's hands, and then we spun back into
our places just in time for a breathtaking pause before the orchestra shattered the stratosphere with
a new height in joyful frenzy.

The boys leaped toward the girls and took them by the waists, and all at once the entire crowd
began whirling in a giant circle around and around the ballroom, all of us doing the same one, two-
three, one, two-three skip-like steps Draco had taught me in the beginning.

All around us, color and light and the scent of lavender and the overpowering roar of the orchestra
swirled and spun and mixed and blurred as Draco kept tight hold of me and I kept tight hold of him,
and we gazed straight into each other's eyes. Once in a while, I caught sight of Harry, Ron, or
Ginny, and my heart would swell with a delight so powerful it almost hurt. And when I looked in
Draco's eyes, everything became clear. I didn't even have to think about where to put my feet, even
as we spun faster and faster and I grew dizzy.

I threw my head back and laughed. It rang through the ballroom as the music heightened to its
pinnacle.

And then Draco spun me out, twirling my dress, then pulled me back in straight into his chest. We
spun one turn that way, as one, then he twirled me out again. I crowed with laughter as he pulled
me in to him once more. Together we spun, spun, then spun one last time and he whirled me
around, letting my skirt flare out like a banner of diamonds, then stepped close and wrapped his
whole arm around my waist—

The violin struck its last, triumphant note.

We froze, our noses inches apart. I could feel his heart thundering next to mine. For just an instant,
neither of us breathed. I saw his eyes flicker from mine, and his gaze drifted down to my lips.

And then, behind him, the great hall began to dissolve in waterfalls of shimmering sparkles,
leaving the walls of the willow room behind. However, Draco's elegant dress robes remained, as
did my beautiful dress.

Once again, we stood in our willow room, all quiet and stillness. Then the old, scratchy
phonograph began to play a stately, slow waltz, a harpsichord leading a group of strings. And so
Draco leaned to one side and urged me right into an easy waltz step.

All of a sudden, I couldn't breathe and my face flushed. I recognized the tune, and knew the words
to the song:

Lavender blue, dilly dilly

Lavender green,

If I were king, dilly dilly,

I'd need a queen…

Draco kept his eyes fixed intently on mine, as we turned gracefully through the willow room like a
couple atop a music box. I gazed up at Draco Malfoy, his hair and eyes shining in the pale blue
light, his skin like porcelain, his hands warm upon me as we glided to and fro across the grass. All
around us, the little sparkling golden lights drifted up, and when we spun they whirled around us,
like fairies, lighting up Draco's eyes, the silver embroidery on his shoulders, and the glittering
fabric on my short sleeves.

I felt odd, otherworldly, as if I were floating, and I couldn't see anything besides Draco and the
glimmering lights, and I couldn't feel anything except my hand in his, my hand on his shoulder and
his hand on my waist.

He smiled at me. It lit up his whole face. I found myself answering it, blushing again, quite lost.

"Draco?" I asked, searching his face.

"Hm?"

"What was that?"

"That?" He raised his eyebrows, and spun me gently.

"All…all that," I glanced around at the room before returning my eyes to his. "The…The dance
hall and the party, and the lavender…It was a dream, right?"

He shrugged, ducked his head a moment, and I saw a bit of color enter his cheeks. But his eyes
sparkled when he looked at me.

"Just a little something to entertain you," he said. "Thought you might enjoy it."

My eyes went wide.

"You…You conjured that?"

"Well, somewhat," he said, spinning me again. "I had the basic idea, and then the Room took over
—I just had to let my imagination loose. Every time I tried to control something, it faded away."

"Is that what you were doing all afternoon?" I asked as we turned in a circle. He chuckled.

"Yes—and I was nervous when you came in because I wasn't certain whether or not it would
work."

"What were you imagining?" I asked. "How did you get it started?"

"Once I figured out the key to it, it was easy," Draco confessed. He ran his eyes over my face. "I
had to come up with everything and anything that could possibly make you happy."

I laughed, certain he was joking. But when I met his glance, our gazes locked, and his expression
was deeply serious. Our steps slowed, and we stood still, our hands still clasped, his arm still
around my waist. I swallowed hard.

For a moment, neither of us moved. Then, Draco glanced up and past me. His expression
sharpened.

"What's that?" he wondered, then let go of me and walked around me to the willow curtain. My
head suddenly spun, my breath caught and my heart raced inside my chest like a bird's. I turned to
watch him.

His long cloak sweeping out behind him, he bent and pushed the willow curtain aside with his right
hand. A flash of light issued from outside.

"Falling stars," he noted. He held out his hand toward me, still gazing out.

I shivered hard, my stomach flipping. All at once, I felt like I was tumbling, falling, into something
I couldn't see and couldn't fathom, but I knew just as surely that it was too late to do anything but
keep falling. It was as futile as trying to defy gravity.

I stepped toward him as the little lights sprang up by my feet, and I slid my fingers into his. He
closed his hand around mine, warm and strong, and interlaced our fingers. For some reason, I felt
tears prick my eyes. I swiped at them with my free hand, and then Draco pulled me out into the
starlit night.

A breath of soft, cool breeze greeted us, but no wind disturbed our clothes or hair. Draco took hold
of my hand with his other one, and tucked my arm around his, so I could lean on him and stand
closer to his tall warmth.

Above us, the black velvet sky, adorned with brilliant stars, flashed with darts of vibrant, short-
lived light. Neither of us said anything as we gazed, watching the starshower light up our barley
field, and the two of us, with silver light. I held onto Draco with both hands—and he laid his right
hand atop both of mine, keeping them warm.

Then, I felt his eyes on me. I lifted my face to him.

"What?" I asked. He smiled softly.

"I was just looking at you." His smile turned to a gentle smirk. "That's allowed, right?"

I blushed again. He canted his head at me, his smile broadening.

"Isn't that a song?" he said. "It's an American one—you probably know it. 'Someday, when I'm
awfully low, when the world is cold, I will feel a glow just thinking of you, and the way you look
tonight.'"

My heart fluttered. I bent my head a moment, and chuckled.

"Oddly enough, that might be the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me," I confessed.

"Well," he laughed. "I'm not a complete imbecile when it comes to girls, you know."

"Ha! Do you…say things like that to Pansy?"

The words just fell out of my mouth. But as soon as I said them, an irrational terror shot through
me, and my throat latched shut. Draco's eyes flashed to me. He frowned.

"Pansy?" he repeated, like that was a word he hadn't heard before.

"Yes, she…" I stammered. "You…"

"Well, I…" Draco's brow furrowed and he glanced away. "I've never really had occasion to say
something like that to her."

"Really?" I managed, surprise flashing through me. "Not…Not even at the Yule Ball?"

"Ah, now, you see, that was a funny thing…" Draco rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, I was
about to say something to her—she looked smashing, as I recall, but then I saw Potter turn round
and just gape at somebody on the stairs—and I looked, and there was this beautiful girl just gliding
down. She had a pink, frilly dress on, and a long curl of her hair was hanging over her shoulder. I
had no idea it was you. I swear I didn't. And I leaned over to Pansy and said, 'Who. Is. That?'"
Draco cleared his throat and straightened his collar. "She wouldn't speak to me the rest of the
night."

"Oh!" I cried, suddenly swamped with a thousand different emotions. "I'm sorry!"

"Yeah, you should be," Draco said flatly, gazing out over the field. "It was completely your fault."

I burst out laughing. He stifled a smile, then glanced down at me.

"Would you like to sit?" he asked. I blinked.

"Er—yes. That would be nice…"

He left my side, and I instantly felt the coldness he left behind. I wrapped my arms around myself
as he darted back inside the willow, then reemerged carrying both blankets. He spread one out on
the ground, then wrapped the other around my shoulders. I stared at him.

"What?" He asked, his hands going still on my shoulders, his brow furrowing. Again, I suddenly
felt like I was going to cry.

"Nothing," I forced out, then sat down on the blanket. He eased down next to me, and leaned back
on his hands, putting one hand down behind me, so that our shoulders touched. Again, I turned to
look at him, but he tilted his head back to gaze at the stars.

"Draco," I said, and my voice didn't come out as strongly as I wanted.

"Hm?" he answered, watching the constellations.

"Harry and Ron were there."

His eyes flickered, but he nodded.

"I noticed. I hadn't really expected that," he said.

"You mean you didn't imagine them there?" I said, confused. He thought for a moment.

"Well…" he finally said. "I believe I did."

"But they…" I started. "I mean, they were standing next to you. And you all seemed…"

Draco's expression tightened, just slightly, in discomfort, and astonishment flooded me. Slowly, a
strange thought entered my mind—one that never had before.

"Do you…Do you ever wonder…" I ventured. "You know…What it would have been like if
we'd…you know…"

Now he looked at me, listening, watching me with those bright eyes. A bit of breeze brushed a
strand of his hair across his pale brow. I could feel his warmth—and something massive, but quiet,
happening inside my heart.

"What?" he prompted.

"If we'd met on the first train to Hogwarts and been friendly to each other," I said. "Or if Harry had
shaken your hand and we'd all got to be mates, or if you got sorted into Gryffindor—or all four of
us got sorted into Hufflepuff—"

Draco chuckled, and I had to do the same. But soon my gravity came back as he gazed back up at
the heavens. I cleared my throat and concentrated on wrapping the blanket tighter around myself,
and backpedaling.

"You probably never thought of it," I muttered.

"Yes I have," he answered. My eyes found him.

"You have?"

He nodded, his brilliant eyes tracing the stars.

"Yeah. Even when I was…you know, a complete menace," he smirked. "I sometimes thought back
on that moment when I met Harry Potter and asked myself if I'd bungled something. If I'd arrived
at a turning point in my life without knowing it and then swerved off in another direction."

"So…" I went on, picking at the hem of the blanket. "If you could go back…What would you say
to Harry?"

"Honestly?" he sighed. "I would sidle up next to him, nudge him with my shoulder and say: 'You
nervous about being sorted? I'm about to vomit.'"

I covered my mouth to restrain my laugh.

"Really?"

"Yeah, I think so," he chuckled. I watched the mirth fade from his face, and then a sort of distant
ache entered his expression. "If I'm honest with myself Granger—completely honest—I…I think, if
things had been different with my father…Potter and I might have gotten on all right." His voice
lowered. "Weasley as well."

I blinked, and swallowed hard, my eyes fixed on him.

"You mean that?"

He turned to me, solemn.

"If I'm to be friends with you, Hermione, then I have no choice but to admit that you've got a good
brain in your head—and somebody with a good brain in her head wouldn't be friends with arrogant
morons or thick-skulled dolts." He hesitated a moment, then lowered his head and raised his
eyebrows at me, his gaze penetrating into me. "You see something inside them that you…that you
admire." Pain crossed his eyes for an instant. "So, they can't be all bad."

I was so stricken I couldn't speak. He watched me for another moment, then turned his attention
back to the stars. For a long while, we were silent.

"You know…" he murmured wistfully, as if finishing that thought. "I may have been missing out
on something."

That staggering understatement cut me to the core. Unable to restrain myself—for I couldn't bear
the sound in his voice—I leaned closer and nuzzled my head down on his shoulder.

He drew in his breath, then rested his chin on the crown of my head. I closed my eyes, listening to
his breathing, content to remain that way for a long moment…or an hour…or a year…
 Chapter 17

A shapeless piece of steel,

That's all I claim to be

This hammer pounds to give me form,

This flame, it melts my dreams

I glow with fire and fury,

As I'm twisted like a vine

My final shape, my final form,

I'm sure I'm bound to find

So dream a little, dream for me

In hopes that I'll remain

And cry a little,

Cry for me

So I can bear the flames

And hurt a little, hurt for me

My future is untold
But my dreams are not the issue here,

For they,

The hammer holds.

-"The Hammer Holds"

DRACO

I sat up.

My right hand flew to the inside of my left arm. I hissed through my teeth.

My skin burned, as if a fire iron pressed against it.

I opened my eyes, and blinked rapidly. My stomach turned over.

I sat in silence and fog. My hand clenched around my forearm.

A man stood in front of me.

Light shone from his white-maned head. Darkness tumbled in a cloak down his shoulders. His
perfect, distinguished, angular countenance bent toward me. His mouth hardened to a line. His ice-
gray eyes pinned me where I sat.

Slowly, his right eyebrow raised, in the same expression he had always given me when he had
found I had been sneaking off to diddle with toys rather than studying.
Then, my father stretched out his pale, strong right hand to me, and beckoned with his fingers.

And in that instant, everything fell away beneath me.

The warmth and light of the barley field.

The safety and quiet of the willow.

The laughter and starlight in Hermione's eyes.

The feel of a wedding ring on my hand as I danced.

Reality hit me in the face—just as the cold water from the sink had done when I had fled to the
boy's bathroom after seeing Katie Bell.

It woke me up—up, and out of the dream I had wanted to believe in.

What had happened in the Room of Requirement faded to the back of my mind. My life—my real
life—rose up before me.

Darkness swallowed me.

And I knew my name again.

VVVVVVVV

HERMIONE

I felt cold. And clammy. And stiff.

I opened my eyes.

I stood in the middle of a gray, dusky field. Fog surrounded me. I heard my breath as I sucked in—
the grass beneath my feet crunched as I shifted my weight.

My gaze darted around me. How had I gotten here? The last thing I remembered, I was sitting on
the ground with Draco looking at the stars…

It was dark—but it was the dark of thick fog rather than night. My heart began to pound.

I was alone.

"Draco?" I called. My voice echoed hollowly. I wrapped my arms around myself, then gasped,
glancing down. I wore my school uniform again. My head whipped up—I was completely
disoriented.

"Draco, where are you?" I gasped, taking fistfuls of my sweater. "Draco?"

I caught sight of a shadow, just at the edge of my vision. I froze. It was walking toward me. My
throat locked.

The shadow had shoulders, and a pale head. It walked with a familiar stride. My fear broke.

"Draco," I said breathlessly. "Where did you go? What happened to the Room—?"

He came into view. And my fear returned full force.

Then it tripled.

He wore all black—a flawless suit, with a high-necked shirt. He walked as Draco walked, and had
his hands in his pockets as Draco would, and bore Draco's sharp, handsome features.

But his countenance was hard as marble.

And his eyes were black as the abyss.

"Hullo, Granger!" he greeted me, his tone like a knife's edge. "Fancy meeting you here." He
stopped a few paces away and canted his head. "Getting lonesome for me?"

"What are you doing here?" I gritted, trying to keep my muscles from turning to liquid.

"I wouldn't miss this entertainment," he sneered. "I must confess, though, that I might feel sorry for
you—if I weren't so busy laughing."

"Get out of here," I snarled, clamping my arms tighter around myself.

"Ah!" he barked out, amused. "Why the sudden change of heart? You were thinking about
snogging me just a moment ago."

"How dare you—" I spat. He arched an eyebrow, gave me a poisonous smile and stepped toward
me.

"You were laying your head against me—"

"You…That was not you," I insisted, taking several steps back. "That was Draco Malfoy."

He spread out his hands.

"I'm Draco Malfoy."

"No, you're not," I shot back, forcing myself to glare into those black, fathomless eyes. "You are
nothing like him."

"I see." He stopped, and nodded, his face losing its ghostly smile. "So…your Draco Malfoy
wouldn't have one of these then, would he?"

Casually, he reached down, took hold of his left sleeve and pulled it up.

And unveiled a black, slowly-writhing Dark Mark tattooed on his white skin.

My heart stopped.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" he purred, watching my face. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe.

"N…No," I ground out.

"Remember who you're with, Granger," he said, stirring the echo of a memory. He gave me a
narrow look, then stepped forward and tapped his finger against my forehead. It felt like ice—a
great shudder ran through me—but I was paralyzed . He leaned into me, pressing the side of his
cold face to my cheek.

"Slytherins do whatever it takes to accomplish our ends," he hissed. "And purebloods never
change. Least of all the Malfoys."
He lifted his head. He looked down his nose at me. I felt my whole soul crumbling. He smirked,
and took three steps back, holding both arms out to the sides.

"But feel free to try to prove me wrong!" he crowed, then pointed at me. "I can't wait to see your
face."

And all at once, the fog swallowed him, and he disappeared.

I thrashed.

My eyes flew open.

I stared upward at a distant, clear, starry sky. I was lying on a blanket, wrapped in another blanket.
The edges of my vision were bordered by silver stalks of barley.

I sat up, my stomach twisting and knotting, my heart heaving. I strained my neck, looking all
around me over the tops of the barley. All that greeted me was a dark, vacant horizon, and the sad,
drooping branches of the willow behind. Draco was nowhere to be seen.

I leaped to my feet—absently noting that I wore my school clothes again—and staggered away
from the blankets.

"Draco," I shouted, my voice shattered, adrenaline and unreason pumping through my veins. I felt
that I might collapse at any moment.

I fell toward the willow, knocked the curtain aside and looked in, but the room was empty.

"Draco!" I whirled around, searching with all my might, my skin shivering. "Draco, where are
you?"

Something moved. A figure, far away.

It was him.

I broke into an unstable run, gasping, pain shooting through my chest. He turned toward the sound
of my crashing steps.

He looked pale, wild—a hunted look in his eyes—his blue eyes. I knew him.

But unsensible fury, disbelief, terror and nausea had robbed me of my mind.

"Where did you go?" I demanded as I rushed up to him amidst the silver stalks of barley, and
beneath the white stars. My voice was barely under control.

"I don't know," he stammered, backing away from me. "I had a nightmare—"

"You're awake now, and so am I," I snapped, my fists clenching. "But the nightmare I had is
following me—I can't get rid of it, I can't—I have to see something."

Draco froze. He stared at me. His eyes looked silver in this light—silver and stark.

"What—"

"Show me your arm," I commanded, scalding tears suddenly spilling down my cheeks. "Show it to
me—now—now, I want to see it!"
Panic crossed his face.

"Hermione—" he retreated.

"I want to see it!" I screamed, lunging after him and grabbing his left wrist. "Show me—show me
—I know it's not there, I know it isn't—"

"Get off!" he roared, shoving me. "Let go!"

"No, I won't!" I howled, clawing at the button on his cuff. "It can't be there—I know it isn't, but I
have to…Draco, let me see! I have to—"

"Fine!" he thundered, knocking me away and prying the button loose himself. He grabbed his
sleeve, yanked it up to his elbow—

And the entire world stopped moving.

It didn't writhe. And his skin looked even whiter in contrast.

But a black skull stood out upon the inside of his arm, and from that skull's mouth spilled a snake,
like a thick, curling, grotesque tongue.

A Dark Mark.

That moment stretched on for eternity. Neither of us spoke. His right hand trembled where he held
up his sleeve. I felt his eyes fall on me—fix on me. I sensed him shaking. But I couldn't look away
from that abomination, that ebony venom coiled underneath the first layer of his skin.

That incarnation of the touch of an evil hand. The outer key to the hell within.

The mark of a murderer.

A demon.

A Death Eater.

"It…It isn't what it looks like," Draco insisted, his voice shaking.

"Oh, really?" I said listlessly. "What does it look like?"

"I know…I know what it is," he snapped. "But you…There is no possible way for you to
understand!"

"What is there to understand?" I cried, my whole chest wrenching as I finally lifted my eyes to his.
"You've decided to become a Death Eater—you've…you've become a follower of…" But I couldn't
finish my sentence. I couldn't speak of Voldemort in the same breath as Draco—the words burned
my tongue.

"A lot you know," he retorted, his brow twisting. "I didn't decide to become a Death Eater. I was
chosen."

I swallowed, as if a nail was stuck in my throat. Another pair of tears tumbled down my face.

"Why?" I gasped.

Draco helplessly searched the heavens.

"Because of my father," he replied thickly. "Because…Because my father disappointed the Dark
Lord, and I…Out of everyone else, I was chosen to redeem my family's honor."

I watched him—he was so pale, and dark circles stood around his eyes, which gazed at me still. His
lower lip trembled.

"How?" I whispered.

He went quiet. His gaze flickered. Then, he let out a shuddering sigh.

"I'm to kill Dumbledore."

My lips parted. But I made no sound. Somewhere underneath my left shoulder blade, I felt a sharp,
penetrating shaft of agony enter my body. Draco took another rattling breath.

"I'm to kill him, then let in the rest of the Death Eaters through the vanishing cabinet in the…" He
swallowed hard, and I had to watch his lips to catch his next words. "In the Room of Requirement."

"I don't understand…" I stammered, feeling like I stood in a haze.

"There's another vanishing cabinet in a shop in Diagon Alley," Draco murmured. "They create a
passage, if fixed properly. It…The one here was hidden in the Room of Requirement. You know…
the room that appears when you need a place to hide something…" Some semblance of a little
smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. I felt broken in a million pieces.

"You can't—" I choked, barely making a sound. "You can't want to do this—You can't want to
murder—"

"I don't have a choice!" Draco erupted, his eyes blazing with unfamiliar fire.

"You always have a choice!" I screamed. His eyebrows came together, and he looked at me with
piercing earnestness.

"Who told you that, Hermione?"

I gulped, and shivered, and wrapped my arms around my wounded chest.

"I wasn't told," I whispered. "It's something I believe."

He shook his head, his expression turning cold.

"That is just ignorant," he said. "There are other worlds besides your own, Granger—completely
different lives, different situations, different expectations—"

"I know—"

"No, you don't!" he cut me off. "You know nothing. My entire life, I was bred to do one thing: to
succeed my father as master of the Malfoy family and the leader of the disciples of the Dark Lord.
Never was there a question, never was there a choice." He shook his head, giving me a bitter,
disdainful look. "I was a piece of metal being forged with every breath I took—every instant you
knew me, every word I said to you and Potter and Weasley and every other Muggle-born or
Muggle-lover had been hammered into me. I knew nothing else, nor did I care to. I didn't learn to
make friends, to love people or be kind or gentle or good because that was not my purpose." His
sharp look faded. His jaw tightened. "It isn't my purpose. I was born for one reason. I'm alive for
one reason. I'm just an instrument." He looked at me, then glanced all around at the field. "It was
complete stupidity to think otherwise."

My whole body quivered.

"Draco—"

"Don't you dare—you're looking at me like that again," he snarled, pointing at my face. "Like you
feel sorry for me. But you don't. You don't. Look at this!" He held out his arm again, sweeping his
sleeve up so the Mark dominated my vision. "This is what I am. Remember what you felt when
you first saw it—I watched you. I am all those things. I can't escape it, and to try would mean the
end."

"No, Draco, you can—" I started.

"He will kill me, Granger," he said, his voice like stone. "And my mother and father, if I don't do as
he asks."

So there it was. The answer I had been searching for. The words I had been waiting to hear ever
since I crossed the threshold of this Room of Requirement. And now that I heard them, they almost
split me in two.

Draco had cursed the necklace he gave to Katie Bell in hopes of Dumbledore touching it and being
stricken dead. This was the shame Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy had spoken of in Draco's torturous vision
—this was the task his father had urged him to complete.

A cold wind blew across us. It whirled around us, and cut through our clothes. I could think of
nothing to say.

I caught sight of something at the edge of my vision. I turned my head to look.

There, in the distance, standing like a gray stone wall, in a great, wide circle around our willow,
stood an army of leafless, gray, gnarled trees. Black shadows lurked between them. A single hole
stood amidst them, like the door to a tunnel, and a dim gray light shone there.

The forest was back.

I looked again at Draco. He gazed where I had been looking, his face filled with pain. Neither of us
spoke. The wind whipped against us again. His expression went hard. His gaze shielded.

"This was all a dream, Granger," he muttered. "The kite and the chessboard and the dance—all
nonsense." He met my eyes—and suddenly there was Malfoy again, the aloof, cruel, shuttered
young man who carried a kind of chill with him—the look of ice, the aspect of snow.

"You are a student at Hogwarts—a Gryffindor, a Muggle-born and a friend of Harry Potter," he bit
out. "And I am a pure-blood, and a Death Eater, and I'm going to be killed trying to assassinate the
headmaster. That is all. The end." After a moment, he forced a smirk and shook his head. "Get that
sad look off your face, Granger. You've wanted to get that information out of me for nearly a
month. It's the only reason you followed me in here, isn't it? It isn't as though you care for me." His
jaw tightened. "I know you don't."

I couldn't speak. Pain riddled my throat and my breastbone.

I stepped toward him through the barley.

He blinked, and recoiled, but when I took hold of his left arm this time, I was very gentle. Though
my fingers shivered, I reached up to his elbow and unrolled his sleeve, and pulled it down so it
covered the Mark. I felt him bow his head over me and watch what I did. Shakily, I buttoned his
cuff, then I stretched my hands up and straightened his crooked collar, smoothed the shoulders of
his shirt. Then, I slid my arms around his neck and buried my face against the soft, warm skin of
the side of his throat.

For a moment, he just stood there, stiff.

Then, he let out a long breath—like the last breath of a dying man—and weakly nuzzled his face
down onto my shoulder. But he did not hold me. It felt like he was breaking beneath my hands.

I cried. I couldn't stop myself. Tears ran down my nose and soaked his collar, but I just pulled him
closer, and slowly stroked the back of his head.

"What…What did you have a nightmare about?" I whispered through trembling lips.

He did not answer me.

I squeezed my eyes shut, choked back a sob and took a fistful of his hair, and held him all the
tighter.

But the closer I held him, the more I felt him slipping through my fingers like sand.

VVVVVVV

HERMIONE

We lay side by side in the willow room, Draco wrapped up in his blanket. I lay on top of mine, and
stared straight upward. The blue lights in the boughs of the tree did not seem so bright tonight.
Outside, the wind shifted restlessly, and once in a while, it moaned far away, like a ghost out on
the moor.

Draco rested on his side, his back to me. He had turned away after we had held a brief, but
decisive, discussion that outlined six points:

One: there was a timetable to the task Draco was to perform. We had no idea how long we had
been trapped here—but if Draco failed to appear in certain places at certain times, all hell could
break loose. As opposed to the hell he was supposed to unleash.

Two: the forest had reappeared. The path had reappeared as well, but with an unfamiliar,
beckoning light.

Three: the Room had obviously reached a decision about the reason we were there. Our field, our
willow, suddenly felt inhospitable, ominous, harsh—its wind sliced, its ground felt hard, the walls
of the willow room had become thin and the lights had dimmed. The Room wanted us out.

Four: the poisonous fog had chased us back into the willow, stalling all action until morning.

Five: Despite my best efforts to convince him otherwise, Draco was resigned to his fate—and he
was suddenly through with hiding from it. Whatever he had dreamed, it had sealed his decision,
and he was not willing to talk about it.

Six: It was clear we were out of time. With the suddenness of a train wreck, our dream world had
smashed and reality had slammed into us. Our true lives pulled at us, whether we wanted them or
not. Come the flames of Hades or Armageddon, we were crossing the threshold at dawn.
At least, that's what I let Draco believe.

I lay my head over, and gazed at the back of his. I swallowed hard.

I had no intention of taking him out of this Room and into that torment. I would get up, tonight, and
find the door alone. I would leave him here, safe, hidden from the claws of his father and Bellatrix
Lestrange and Voldemort—

And I would run with all my strength to Dumbledore.

Dumbledore would know the answer to this terrible riddle. He would be able to protect Draco—he
would be able to put a stop to all of this.

I was going to fight. I was going to fight for Draco Malfoy—because he had no one else who
would.

But Draco could not discover that I had gone. And I knew he was not asleep yet.

I sat up, propping myself on my side with my elbow, facing him. Slowly, trembling, I took a deep
breath.

"Oh, hush thee, my dear one,

Thy sire was a knight,
Thy mother a lady,
Both lovely and bright," I sang, very softly, and just as I had hoped, the little golden lights—though
weaker than before—drifted up from the grass, and hesitantly crept over him. I swallowed hard,
and kept singing.

"The woods and the glens,

From the towers which we see,
They all are belonging,
My dear one, to thee.

Oh, hush thee, my dear one,

Thy sire was a knight,
Oh, hush thee, my dear one,
So bonnie, so bright."

Tears dripped down my face, clouding my vision, as my voice wobbled and tensed, my brow
twisted, and each word that came from my lips turning into a fervent promise.

"Oh, fear not the bugle,

Tho' loudly it blows,
It calls but the warders
That guard thy repose.
Their bows would be bended,
Their blades would be red,
Ere the step of a foeman
Draws near to thy bed."

The lights sank down inside him. He was asleep now. I was certain. Gulping, more hot tears
running down my cheeks, I scooted closer to him, dared to stretch out my hand and softly caress
the hair just above his ear, watching his still, white face as he slumbered.

"Oh, hush thee, my dear one," I whispered.

Thy sire was a knight,

Thy mother a lady,

Both lovely and bright."

I fell silent. The blue lights above flickered, letting in an instant of darkness. The willow curtain
rustled, and the wind moaned outside. Cold crept over me. I slowly got to my feet, picked up my
own blanket and draped it over Draco. He did not move—he breathed deeply, and slept on.

For a very long time, I just gazed at him, memorizing the sight of him. Then, I bent over my pile of
things, picked up my unchanged daffodil, and laid it next to his head.

Words leaped to my lips that moment, but I kept them inside. I dared not make a sound—I dared
not wake him.

At last, I turned, pushed aside the willow curtain for the very last time, and, after taking one final
look behind me at Draco Malfoy, I stepped out into the thick cloud of fog.
 Chapter 18

HERMIONE

The path ahead of me led me straight. It didn't bend or wind or even get thin. The forest, dark and
hazy, sat silently to either side of me. No light beckoned from its depths. No door appeared where
there hadn't been one before.

I couldn't see where the path ended, though. I just gritted my teeth and marched on, my feet rustling
on the pine needles and leaves on the path.

Then, the trees crowded in beside me. Light began to fail. I stretched my hands out in front of me
and widened my eyes, trying to see; trying not to trip.

It went dark. I couldn't tell the difference between my eyes being shut and my eyes being open. I
kept walking, shuffling my feet.

I felt trees hug very close to my shoulders. Or maybe they weren't trees. They felt like…walls…

My hands struck something cool, smooth and wooden. It instantly gave way—

And a hinge squeaked.

Light cut my eyes.

It wasn't bright light—it was gray, and ghostly, but I jerked to a stop and blinked several times to
let my eyes adjust.

But when they did, I stopped moving

I stood inside something like a closet, my feet on a wooden floor, the door in front of me hanging
partially ajar.

And beyond that door was a room.

A stone room, with a tall, arched ceiling, filled with all sorts of strange odds-and-ends: a bookcase,
a phonograph, bird cages, stacked chairs, candlesticks, globes, a string of bells, a model ship, a
skull, a wolf hide, a rumpled tapestry lying on the floor just outside where I stood…

The Room of Requirement.

The Room that appears when you need a place to hide something…

I had found the door.

I stepped forward.

"Are you sure we're in Hogwarts?" came a rough, gravelly voice from somewhere outside. I
clapped a hand over my mouth.

"'Course," came the feminine reply. "Where else would we be?"

"A bloomin' storage closet," that gravelly voice muttered. Then something tipped over and crashed
on the floor.
"Please, Greyback," thrummed a calm, smooth, serpentine tone. "Let's not make a mess yet, shall
we?"

My muscles shook with vicious spasms and all the heat drained from my body.

Greyback. The werewolf Death Eater.

And I knew that woman's voice—

Bellatrix Lestrange.

And that last voice…

I had never heard it before.

But I knew who was speaking.

I was too late. It was already happening. I was too late—

A pair of eyes glittered at me from one corner of the shadowed room beyond.

"Whassat?" the owner of the eyes wondered, as if she was asking about a piece of silverware on a
table setting.

My heart hammered.

"What is what?" a man asked.

I had heard that voice quite recently.

Lucius Malfoy.

"There's sommat in the cabinet," Bellatrix said, and started toward me. For an instant, I caught
sight of her deranged hair, her slender form, wide-eyed white face and her black, hodge-podge
wardrobe before I whirled around to run.

I slammed straight into the back of the closet. The thud rang through the whole room. My head
spun.

"Heavens," that distant, slithering voice commented.

"Did we leave someone behind?" Malfoy asked.

"I doubt it," Bellatrix muttered—

And the door of the cabinet flew open, bashing against its outside wall.

I spun around, trying to see straight after my collision, my heartbeat pounding into my fingertips.

Bellatrix stood just outside, her wand held loosely in her limp-wristed hand, giving me a quizzical
look. Her expression turned to one of slight distaste and further perplexion. She glanced back at the
shadows.

"Luce?" she called, then put the tip of her wand under her chin. "Whassis?"

Lucius Malfoy, clad all in sweeping black, strode up to his sister-in-law, stood behind her shoulder
and canted his head at me.
"Why, I believe it's Miss Granger."

"Miss wha?" Bellatrix glanced up at him. "Who's she?"

"A Mudblood," Lucius stated, his icy eyes gazing at me unblinkingly. "She's in Draco's class."

"Hm," Bellatrix shrugged. "I'll kill her."

She leveled her wand at me. I screamed and threw myself backward.

"Bella—please calm down," the quiet voice urged. The murderous light in Bellatrix's eyes faded
and she glanced behind her.

"My lord?"

My entire frame turned to ice.

"Bring her here, if you would," the tones requested. "I would like to see the little thing first."

Bellatrix lashed out and grabbed me by the front of my collar, and jerked me out of the cabinet. I
stumbled out over the fallen tapestry, my neck wrenched, as Bellatrix dragged me forward, Malfoy
striding just to my right. I had no strength to fight her, no capability of striking her. Not now that I'd
heard that voice—

Bellatrix threw me onto my knees. I crashed to the stones, catching myself with my hands,
shivering so hard I thought I would be sick. I halfway lifted my head.

In front of me in a half circle, all robed in black, stood that Greyback werewolf, and four more
Death Eaters I did not recognize. They looked down at me with cold indifference and slight
curiosity, as if I was the slightly-boring pre show to a halfway-decent concert. Calm darkness
breathed from their frames, like fog across the sea. They waited, saying nothing.

Movement caught my eye. Movement from behind them.

A tall form glided by—pale-faced and elegant in movement. Night dripped from his shoulders,
spread across his form and cascaded silently around his feet. He lifted a long white hand and barely
touched one of the Death Eaters on the shoulder with his fingertips. The bearded man instantly
turned and moved out of the way, bowing his head. The tall form swept into the space, like a
shadow, and settled in front of me.

I did not look into his face.

For a long moment, he just stood there, motionless. I could hear my heart pounding. I could hear
the breathing of the Death Eaters. I sensed Bellatrix shift her right foot.

The darkness of his cloak gathered and pooled around his feet. He bent down. He knelt in front of
me.

With a graceful, soft hand, he reached out and put his finger under my chin.

Agony lanced through my whole body. My breath locked in my chest. I could not move. I could do
nothing but lift my face as he lifted his hand, forcing my eyes to meet his.

His eyes…

His eyes, like a snake's. Gold—or red—or both, gleaming like jewels. But hooded, and penetrating
—and human. Without light. Without softness. But not without feeling. Not without depth.

Depth that waited to swallow me. Or drive me underground.

The slits of his nose flared for a moment, and he canted his white head. Delicate, pale lips lifted in
a quiet, nearly invisible smile.

"Tell me, little one—before I let Bella kill you—" he breathed, the deep undertones of his voice
shaking my bones. "Where have you hidden Draco Malfoy?"

VVVVVVVV

DRACO

I was cold. A deep unsettlement stirred inside me, making me shift and try to roll over, but
something bound my limbs, pressed against my head, sealed my eyelids. I took a deep breath, and
tried to say something. I only groaned through tight lips. I took another breath, twisted, and finally
broke through the restraint.

I opened my eyes. I let my breath out through my mouth. It fogged in a cloud of vapor. Frowning, I
started to sit up—

Ice cracked on the top of my blanket. Frost shrouded the brown grass all around me. The branches
of the willow hung stiff and leafless, and beyond them—for I could now see straight through the
curtain—the barley stood still, gray and frozen.

The next second, I realized Hermione was gone.

I leaped to my feet, flinging off my blanket—which was actually hers. She must have covered me
with it when—

My eyes fell on a flower lying by my pillow. It was the remains of her daffodil—now withered and
covered with frost.

Fear plunged down through my gut. I whirled around, searching the field beyond the curtain.

"Hermione?" I called. My fists clenched. "Blast it, Granger, where did you go?"

A light glimmered in the distance. I frowned. I couldn't see the forest—just a door-shaped light. My
heart thudded.

Had she found the door?

And if she had, why hadn't she come to get me?

I frowned deeply.

No. Something was wrong. I felt it in the chill air I breathed. I swallowed hard, then stepped
forward.

I pushed the willow curtain out of the way—it crackled as it moved—and strode out into the frosty
barley field. The ice-covered stalks rattled as I went.

Ahead of me, a great wall of fog loomed, and the door-shaped light waited. It wasn't a very bright
light—gray, and thin—but I could see it well enough. I could hear nothing but my own steps. Until
—
"Luce?" A woman's voice wondered. "Whassis?"

I jerked to a stop. I knew that voice—

Aunt Bellatrix.

Aunt Bellatrix…!

"Why," my father's velvet tones expressed mild surprise. "I believe it's Miss Granger."

My heart leaped into my throat and terror crashed through my body. I tried to swallow, tried to
move, but my muscles paralyzed.

"Miss wha?" Aunt Bellatrix asked. "Who's she?"

"A Mudblood," Father answered, and disdain colored his voice. "She's in Draco's class."

"Hm," Aunt Bellatrix remarked. "I'll kill her."

Hermione screamed.

I threw my hands up to cover my face.

"Bella—please calm down," a quiet voice cut through. Slowly, my fingers lowered and closed
around my throat.

"My lord?" Aunt Bellatrix said, much subdued.

All of my blood seemed to drain out of me.

"Bring her here, if you would," the tones commanded. "I would like to see the little thing first."

I moved forward. I moved before I knew what I was doing. I closed my fists, and stepped on the
hardened ground toward the sound of the voices of my aunt, my father, and the one who had
branded his name on my skin.

I slowed, just a moment, as I stood in the shadows and gazed out into the room beyond the frame of
a tall, narrow door.

There stood my father and Aunt Bellatrix, their backs to me. Between them knelt the shivering
form of Hermione—in front of her bowed the Dark Lord, his hand beneath her chin, his eyes fixed
on hers. Behind him waited several more Death Eaters—like stone sentinels at a graveyard. And
all of them stood within the crowded Room of Requirement where I had always gone to mend the
vanishing cabinet.

"Tell me, little one—before I let Bella kill you—" the Dark Lord murmured, his lips forming a soft
smile around sharp teeth. "Where have you hidden Draco Malfoy?"

I put my right foot forward and rested my weight on it. I stepped forward with my left foot. I began
walking.

Right in front of me, that Room held my whole world—my entire existence.

And with every step I took, it crumbled away; and the shadow of death loomed higher.

I kept walking.
VVVVVV

HERMIONE

"I…I don't know what you're…" I gasped, trying to force air into my strangled lungs.

Voldemort—Voldemort—clenched his jaw, his eyes flashed, he leaped back and backhanded the
air.

I flung onto my back. My skull bounced off the stones. Tears filled my eyes as I clamped my hands
into fists and stared up at the ceiling. My lips trembled, but I didn't make a sound.

I thought I had been prepared to die.

But he wasn't ready to kill me yet.

"Crucio."

That three seconds of it—only three—drove a shaft of blank agony through me from my heels to
the crown of my head. My voice rang through the room, banging on the walls, like someone else
was screaming.

I went limp as the curse lifted off me, as if someone had raised a fallen bookcase off my chest.

"Ask her again, Bella," Voldemort sighed—I heard him through a haze, saw him through a
pounding blur.

Bellatrix bent over me, her black eyes burning.

"What have you done with Draco, Mudblood?" she snarled in my face. "He was to let us in tonight
but he wasn't here—we barely got in by the skin of our teeth!" She grabbed the front of my shirt
and pressed her nose almost to mine. "He wasn't here, but you were!" She shook me, striking my
head back on the stones. "Did you kill him?"

"No," I choked, tears now running down my temples.

"Where is he, then?"

"I don't know—"

Bellatrix raised up and pointed her wand at me again.

"Here I am."

Bellatrix's head flew up. Every Death Eater's eye traveled past me, and I felt a slight vibration,
heard a soft tapping, as someone stepped out of the same cabinet I had, and walked toward us.
Bellatrix let go of me and stood up.

I twisted my head, my shaking body too weak to turn over or get up. I saw familiar black shoes and
trousers—a white shirt, pale hands—handsome face, shadowed blue eyes, and snow-white hair.

Draco.

Draco…

I tried to move my mouth, to get my lips to work, but they would not obey. I wanted to stretch my
hand out to him, to crawl to him, but my left hand only twitched in response.

"Draco, where have you been?" Mr. Malfoy barked. Draco looked calmly at his father.

"Here," he replied.

"We didn't see you," Bellatrix countered. Draco just glanced at his aunt. A great shudder ran
through me.

"Why didn't you have this with you?" Mr. Malfoy asked through his teeth, stepping around my
head to hold out a wand to his son. "We found it on the floor as we came in."

Draco stared at the wand a moment, then took it from his father, meeting his eyes for just an
instant.

"Thank you," he said. Then he looked down at me.

Our gazes locked. Neither of us breathed or spoke.

"You didn't answer your father's question," Voldemort reminded him, even quieter than before.
"Why weren't you here, and why didn't you have your wand?"

Draco lifted his white face to the Dark Lord, who waited, just as all the Death Eaters did, watching
him.

"I'll tell you later," Draco said. "First, we can finish what you came for."

Voldemort studied him for a moment, then let out a short, soft laugh.

"Interesting," he murmured. "He wishes to distract us from the Mudblood girl."

Draco blinked slowly, as if he had just been injected with a poison. The other Death Eaters
muttered amongst themselves. Bellatrix narrowed her eyes at him.

"That is nonsense," Mr. Malfoy chuckled nervously. "She obviously impeded him in performing
his duties, but now he is here and we can move."

"It isn't nonsense, Malfoy," Voldemort gained an edge to his voice, and his smile vanished. "Look
at him."

They all did. So did I. Draco did not move, he did not turn away from the Dark Lord. He held his
wand loosely in his right hand. All he did was swallow.

"See?" Voldemort smirked. "He cares for her."

"Rubbish!" Mr. Malfoy cried.

"Silence, Lucius!" Voldemort thundered. "Do you know your own son so little?"

Mr. Malfoy now turned terrified eyes to his boy. I almost felt a pang of sympathy for him.

Voldemort stepped silently around me and stood by my left side, facing Draco, still ten feet away
from him. Draco did not shiver, he did not turn away. He gazed right up into the Dark Lord's eyes,
his face blank. Slowly, Voldemort cocked his head.

"Are you planning to come with us, Draco?" he asked.

"I will come with you," Draco replied. "If you leave her alive."

Voldemort's eyes flashed with something like amusement.

"No," he shook his head once. "I am going to kill her."

Draco blinked once.

"Then I will fight you," he said.

"Draco—" Mr. Malfoy gasped.

"If you do, you will die," Voldemort said flatly. "And I will kill you only when you plead for
death."

Draco turned and met my eyes with his crystal blue ones, then gazed at his father, then lifted his
face once more to the Dark Lord. Light entered his gaze—light unlike any his father had ever
possessed—and his lip curled in an old defiance—an old defiance with a new purpose. He took a
breath, and spoke right to the Dark Lord, his voice calm and low.

"Do your worst."

"Draco, don't—!" I tried, my voice breaking.

"Shut up!" Bellatrix reached down and ripped at my hair. I shrieked.

Draco lashed out and kicked his aunt's shoulder with all his might. She toppled to the ground,
screeching. I flung myself away from her.

Lucius Malfoy cried his son's name.

Voldemort moved.

Green light exploded.

Lucius howled in anguish.

A body thudded to the ground right beside me.

I flung myself on top of him. I clawed at his shirt.

I wailed into the stones.

VVVVVV

DRACO

I kicked my aunt as hard as I could, fury and fear blackening my vision.

I heard my father scream my name in bone-breaking dread.

Voldemort swept toward me, lifting his wand.

I swung mine across my body, executing the most perfect expeliarmus of my life.

He blocked it.
"Avada kedavra."

Green light swallowed me.

I had one instant more to gaze down into Hermione's pretty face.

I'd never expected my life to end so quickly—I'd hoped to have time to do something great,
something earth-shattering with it.

But I didn't have any more time. This was it. So what did I have to show for my sixteen years?

I had defied Lord Voldemort.

And I'd let someone into my heart.

That was great and earth-shattering enough.

Blackness took me.

I fell.

Heal what has been hurt

Change the Fates' design

Save what has been lost

Bring back what once was mine

What once was mine…

"Flower Incantation"-Tangled

VVVVVVV

HERMIONE

I lay on the stones, face down. All my muscles trembled. All around me was silence.

And familiar, warm light.

Everyday light.

Slowly, I opened my eyes.

An arm lay underneath my chest. My left arm stretched across the back of a pair of broad
shoulders. Shoulders that rose and fell.

Warmth lay beside me. A pale face was turned toward mine.

Draco's face.

Eyes closed.

I made my trembling hand move, run across the back of his shirt, and press my fingertips to his
face.
It was warm.

He opened his eyes.

Blue, brilliant, vivid, living eyes gazed back into mine.

My heart shuddered.

"Draco?" I whispered.

He blinked, then slowly moved his arms and pushed off the stones. He sat up. I came up with him,
unable to breathe, unable to keep my eyes from him.

We stared at each other as we sat there on the floor.

I stretched out my hands and cradled his face. I couldn't speak.

He glanced to his right.

After an instant, I glanced there too.

There stood a great door, hanging open. Beyond it was a completely empty, dimly-lit stone room.

Then, as we watched, the great, dark door swung closed. It shut with a firm, deep thud that shook
the floor.

And then, like a drawing being erased, it melted into the stone of the wall.

Like we were made of stone ourselves, we turned our heads the other way, and gazed up the wide,
empty Hogwarts corridor.

In the distance, we heard people laughing, and talking, and walking. A torch happily flickered on
the wall near us.

I took a deep breath. I smelled food. And parchment. And castle mustiness.

It all smelled, felt, more real than anything had in ages.

I turned, and stared at the wall.

It had been a nightmare—all of that with the Death Eaters, and Voldemort—

It hadn't happened yet. We had made it out before they came.

We had made it out.

Out of the horror and agony and blood, out of the willow and the barley field and the sunlight…

I turned back to Draco, desperately searching his face.

Did he remember everything? Had he truly been there with me all the while—

My hands still held his face. And a single tear fell from his eye down across my thumb.

That was all the answer I needed.

"Come on," I gasped, heart fluttering, swiping at my own face and then reaching down to grab his
hand. I saw my wand lying on the floor—right there—and I snatched it up. Then, I clambered up,
and pulled Draco to his feet. "Come on, come on."

He stopped, pulled back, but gripped my hands hard, still holding his wand in his right hand. He
wouldn't look at me—he stared at the ground.

"Draco," I whispered earnestly, stepping closer to him and looking straight at him. "Trust me."

He blinked. More tears tumbled. He glanced around, then his brow tightened as he looked down at
me.

"Trust me," I breathed again. And this time, when I tugged on him, he came right with me, and
hand-in-hand, we raced down the hallway.
 Chapter 19

The hammer pounds again

But flames I do not feel

This force that drives me, helplessly, through flesh, and wood reveals
A burn that burns much deeper

It's more than I can stand

The reason for my life was to take the life of a guiltless man.

So dream a little, dream for me

In hopes that I'll remain

And cry a little, cry for me

So I can bear the pain

And hurt a little, hurt for me

My future is so bold

This task before me may seem unclear

But it

My maker holds.

-"The Hammer Holds"

VVVVVVVV

DRACO

We didn't meet anyone on the way to wherever-it-was that Hermione was taking me. Our feet
pounded on the stones, the sound echoing up and down the corridors, and we breathed hard,
sucking in painful breaths.

I tried to keep my head from spinning—I felt nauseated, and giddy, and everything suddenly
seemed bright and close and sharp.

I was alive.

But I was no less afraid.

Torchlight and window light flashed past us as we ran, arms pumping, Hermione's hand gripping
mine so hard I thought she would break my bones.

I wished she would hold me tighter.

She pulled me round a corner and we skidded to make it, and I found myself racing down the
middle aisle of the empty Transfiguration classroom. I began to shake, but I couldn't slow
Hermione down.

"Professor!" she called, and her voice rang—bright and immediate and so real. My eyes flew to the
figure behind the desk. Professor McGonagall sat there, her long quill busily scratching, the brim
of her hat hiding her spectacles. She glanced up, however, at our racket, and her eyes went wide.

"Miss Granger! Please do not run!" she warned. "And you mustn't shout when…" She trailed off as
she saw me, and caught sight of our linked hands. Her face transformed with puzzlement.

"Professor," Hermione gasped, distressed, as we came right up to the desk. "We must speak to
Professor Dumbledore this instant."

"Miss Granger—"

"Please, Professor," Hermione begged. "It is a matter of life and death."

McGonagall instantly stood up, her frame stiffening. She glanced back and forth between our faces.
We held our breath. Then, McGonagall must have seen something to convince her, because her jaw
tightened.

"Come with me."

She swept around her desk, down the platform and straight back down the aisle. Hermione and I
did not let go of each other as we followed—I could feel her shaking too. My stomach flipped and
flipped again, and my heart beat so irregularly that I was afraid it would stop.

Dumbledore.

We were going to Dumbledore…

And I knew why. I knew what Hermione wanted me to do.

And I knew that I would do it.

I couldn't do anything else.

We hurried after McGonagall, who did not run. I panicked that students would see us walking this
way, confused about what I would say to them if they did—but under no circumstances would I
even loosen my grip on Hermione's hand.

We hurried down several halls, up and down stairs, and finally stopped in a secluded corner
guarded by a great winged gargoyle.

"Acid Pops," McGonagall said, and with a grind of stone against stone, the gargoyle turned aside,
revealing a winding staircase.

"Please, go ahead," McGonagall urged. "I have to prepare for a class that is about to begin."

"Thank you," Hermione said, and all I managed to do was nod to her. McGonagall watched me for
a moment, then turned and hurried back down the hall, her heels tapping.

I turned to Hermione. She gazed back at me, eyes bright, then gave my hand a squeeze. I stepped
with her up the stairs.

In a flicker of light, in a moment, we stood inside Professor Dumbledore's office. It was a tall-
ceilinged, circular room, its walls covered with portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses.
Tables covered with oddments and bowls of candy and candlesticks and books stood throughout,
and up a short flight of stairs waited Dumbledore's broad desk. It was so quiet in here I could hear
every breath I took, and every beat of my heart.
"Professor?" Hermione spoke into the silence. Professor Dumbledore, seated behind his desk, lifted
his head. He wore robes of pale purple, and a crooked hat, and he glanced at us over the top of his
half-moon spectacles. His gaze penetrated straight through me, and held me there, frozen in that
moment.

"Good afternoon, Miss Granger," he greeted Hermione, his voice calm and deep. "Good afternoon,
Mr. Malfoy," he nodded to me, then folded his hands on his desk. "How can I be of service?"

"It…Well, it is rather a long story, sir," Hermione winced, and began rubbing her thumb absently
against the back of mine. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, and waited. Hermione cleared her
throat, and glanced at me. But I could not take my eyes from Dumbledore.

"You see," Hermione began. "We've been stuck…for some time, I believe, inside the Room of
Requirement—"

"Ah!" Dumbledore said suddenly, straightening. "I was beginning to wonder about that."

I frowned.

"You wondered where we were?" Hermione ventured.

"No, not at all," he shook his head. "I was beginning to wonder about the Room of Requirement,
and the magical surges taking place within it during this past hour." He canted his head. "Strangest
thing, I thought—and I was about to go down and investigate just when you walked in."

I stared at him. Then, I forced my head to turn so I could look at Hermione. She gazed back at me,
pale.

"An hour?" I murmured. Hermione swallowed hard.

"Did it seem longer to you while you were inside?" Dumbledore asked. She looked back at the
headmaster, still ashen.

"Well, sir…"

He leaned forward.

"How long did it seem, Miss Granger?"

"About a month, sir," she answered faintly.

"Ah," he said again, very low. "Please come closer. Please," he beckoned. Hermione started toward
him, and I uprooted my feet from where I stood and came with her—though my knees felt weak.

One hour…

We stopped before his desk, and Dumbledore searched both our faces for a long time. Then, he
took a deep breath, and spoke.

"Once upon a time, four young practitioners of magic—two witches and two wizards—fell into the
Room of Requirement during a slight emergency amidst the corridors of Hogwarts. The castle was
very new at the time, and these four had recently quarreled." Dumbledore closed his right hand and
covered it with his left. He went on. "The four of them endured many hardships and trials together
trying to find the door again—trying to understand the magic that bound them there. They
succeeded, and emerged greater friends, and even more brilliant wizards. They also found that,
though it felt to them that they had spent a fortnight inside, only half an hour had passed in the real
world." Dumbledore paused a moment. "Their names were Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw,
Salazar Slytherin and Helga Hufflepuff."

I felt Hermione let out a huge breath.

"Thank you for telling us that, sir," she sighed. "I was afraid you would think we had gone mad."

"I still have some question about that point, Miss Granger," Dumbledore countered, then gestured
to us. "For I see that you are holding Mr. Malfoy's hand. Rather tightly, it appears."

"I…Well, yes," Hermione stammered, though she didn't let go of me. "You see, it was just the two
of us in the Room for…For what seemed like a very long time, sir. And many frightening things
happened to us, and we…Well, we had a chance to discuss…several things…" She glanced at me
more and more often, and I realized she was asking for help. I took a breath.

"We were scared out of our minds, Professor," I finally spoke. "By visions of the most awful kind
—visions of our parents being murdered; running through the Hogwarts grounds completely alone,
snakes and goblins—and the Dark Lord."

Dumbledore became very still. I went on, feeling very cold.

"It taught us what we were made of, sir," I said. My voice lowered. "And I've…I've realized that
I'm made of something different than I'd originally thought."

Dumbledore gazed at me for a long moment. Then, when he spoke next, his voice was quiet and
gentle.

"Have you come to tell me something, Draco?"

A deep shudder ran through me. I felt my foundations cracking. Hermione gripped my fingers.

"Yes, sir," I rasped. "The Dark Lord has commanded me to kill you."

Silence reigned for an endless minute.

Then, at long last, Dumbledore nodded. Not the slightest hint of surprise registered on his wizened
face. He sighed, and lowered his face. Sadness washed over him.

"I know."

Surprise shot through me.

"You know?" I repeated, baffled.

"Sir?" Hermione cried. Dumbledore looked up at us, suddenly weary.

"At least, I suspected as much, for various reasons." He glanced at me. "But how were you to
escape after the deed was finished, son?"

I shivered with guilt at his kind address.

"I was to let a group of Death Eaters into Hogwarts," I said quietly. "Through the vanishing cabinet
in the Room of Requirement. It—"

"It has a twin, doesn't it?" Dumbledore guessed. I nodded, my mind still reeling that he had already
figured everything out...

"Y…Yes. At…At Borgan and Burkes."

"What are their duties to be, these Death Eaters?" Dumbledore wondered.

"They are to see that my job is done," I answered, my mind gaining traction. "And then spirit me
out of here, doing as much damage as they can on the way."

Dumbledore was silent for a long time, gazing down at his folded hands. Slowly, he got up, and
came round to stand beside his desk and lean against it. He clasped his hands before him, head
bowed in thought. At last, he glanced up and met my eyes again.

"I have to assume, Mr. Malfoy, that since you have come here and confessed to a crime you have
not yet committed, and told me the details of the plot—you are either going to kill me right this
moment…" he raised his eyebrows. "Or you do not wish to kill me at all."

I held his gaze for half an eternity.

"No, sir," I rasped as my heart pounded. "I do not wish to kill you."

I felt Hermione's thrill race through me from her fingertips into my arm, into my chest. I could not
look at her. Dumbledore commanded all my attention.

"Then you must trust me, Draco," he said slowly. "When I tell you that the plan must go forward."

Hermione's hand jerked. My heart wrenched.

"What?" I choked. Dumbledore held up a hand.

"Listen a moment; listen," he urged, then beckoned us even closer. We stepped up to him, and he
put one hand on Hermione's shoulder and the other on my shoulder. He gazed back and forth
between us, speaking softly, his eyes capturing our souls.

"To halt the plan in its tracks would be fatal for you, Mr. Malfoy. Your disobedience would cost
you your life, and would forfeit the lives of your family members—and the life of someone else
that we cannot afford to have die at this juncture. You must allow the Death Eaters into Hogwarts
at the appointed time…" he drew in a breath. "And I must die that night."

Hermione's hand trembled in mine, and I heard her struggle against tears.

"I don't understand, sir," I confessed helplessly, my voice shaking. "I cannot—I will not— "

"Shush, shush," Dumbledore soothed, squeezing my shoulder. "I have no intention of turning you
into a murderer, Draco."

Hermione's head lifted.

"Then how will you…?" she trailed off. For the first time, Dumbledore smiled, very sadly.

"That is something I will discuss with Mr. Malfoy later—alone. The fewer people who know about
our little loophole, the better."

I struggled to smooth my expression. It didn't work. Dumbledore looked to me earnestly.

"I promise you, Draco—I will protect you from the fate you fear," he vowed. "And there are others
who will do the same, without hesitation. But now I must ask you—both of you—to be stronger
than I have any right to ask." He turned to Hermione, paused, then gave her a pointed look.
"Because several students here are children of Death Eaters—and because our mutual friend Mr.
Potter is a curious and determined young man—the two of you must act as if none of your
adventure in the Room of Requirement ever happened."

What felt like sharp pieces of metal slid down into my stomach. I couldn't speak. Dumbledore went
on, squeezing our shoulders.

"You must go on as before, as if you were not the dearest of friends. But it is because you care so
much for each other that you will have the strength to keep away from each other. You must not
meet in secret, either. Not even a whisper of Mr. Malfoy's change of heart can reach either faction,
or it could mean the end, not only for Mr. Malfoy, but for everyone each of you hold dear."
Dumbledore paused, and addressed Hermione.

"Miss Granger?"

"Yes, sir?" she said, and when I gazed at her, her lip trembled, and her bright eyes shone with tears.

"You are a brave and brilliant young witch," Dumbledore praised quietly. "And so I must ask you
to keep all of this completely to yourself—you must not tell Mr. Potter or Mr. Weasley what has
passed between you and Draco, or the three of us. Harry has a great deal on his mind, and he will
undoubtedly try something foolish in order to protect me—and that cannot happen. Do you
understand me? It cannot."

"Yes, sir," was all she whispered.

"And, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore looked to me. "If any of Voldemort's followers find out that Miss
Granger had anything to do with persuading you to change your mind…" He trailed off, and lifted
one eyebrow. I resisted the urge to pull Hermione into my arms. Dumbledore lowered his head
toward her again.

"And I am sorry, Miss Granger, but you also cannot know any more of our plans, nor should you
speculate, even in your diary. I cannot stress the importance of secrecy enough. Understand?"

Hermione only nodded this time.

"Such a face, dear girl," Dumbledore sighed. "I am by no means forcing you into silence for the
rest of time! Nor am I doing so to you, Mr. Malfoy," he glanced at me. "After the storm has passed
—after the danger is gone—you must certainly speak of your friendship, and strive to look after
each other." He held up a finger. "But not until then."

The vivid giddiness of having survived had vanished from my body. Now I felt like I was made of
lead.

"Mr. Malfoy, I have a great deal more to discuss with you," Dumbledore said, leaning back and
taking his hands off our shoulders. "Would you please come back to my office at eight o'clock this
evening? Stop by Professor Snape's office as you come, and bring him with you."

"Yes, Professor," I rasped, starting to go numb.

"Now, hurry to your classes—you have already missed one period—it is no good to start arousing
questions. I will send a message ahead of you, explaining to your professors that you have been
with me, discussing end-of-year festivities. Go on."
We stood frozen for a long moment, then Hermione tugged a little on my hand. We stepped back
down the pedestal and started for the door.

"Oh, and Draco…"

I turned around to face my headmaster. He held my eyes for a long moment, then spoke with
fervent quiet.

"I am desperately proud of you."

My throat choked, and I could not speak. I could merely bow my head, then turn my back on him
and start back down the stairs, hand in hand with Hermione, feeling something in my chest shatter.

VVVVVVV

HERMIONE

My chest hurt. Deep, deep down inside it, and it pulsed that ache straight out into my arms—like a
vital organ of mine was tearing. Draco and I reached the bottom of the stairs and stood outside
Dumbledore's office in the abandoned corridor next to a hanging torch. We stopped walking, still
holding hands. We did not look at each other.

We had come out of the Room—we had survived our worst and most terrible nightmares. I had
never fathomed that the worst one yet would strike us once we were free.

I had hope, now. Yes—there was hope, since Dumbledore knew the truth, and had sworn to protect
Draco. But the fact that the terrible plan would somehow keep rolling, like a fire across the prairie,
despite everything we had fought for…I couldn't understand it. And the fact that I couldn't talk to
Draco anymore, couldn't walk with him, laugh with him about Quidditch and chess and Pride and
Prejudice, couldn't sit in the sun and watch the clouds—but I had to act as a stranger to him; no, an
enemy…

My poor heart couldn't take any more.

I drifted closer to him, my sight blurring, my head low. He stood over me, my forehead inches
from his chest. I felt his breath on the top of my hair. I felt him shudder as if he had a fever. My
brow twisted, and I lay my head against him. He was warm.

He let go of my fingers and rested both his hands on my shoulders. For a moment, I thought he was
going to push me away. Then, he slid his palms across my back and wrapped his arms around me.

I broke. I reached up and frantically threw my arms around his neck, burying my face in his collar,
trying to stifle sobs. He crushed me to his chest and leaned down to press his face into my hair. I
took fistfuls of his shirt and turned my face toward his, breathing deep the scent of his pine
cologne, pressing the bridge of my nose to his cheek. He lifted his face and took a breath to say
something to me, but I couldn't bear for him to speak. I couldn't bear to pull back from him.

And then my mouth blundered into his.

All of a sudden, we were kissing each other's lips, not breathing, pressing in deep and hard and
desperate.

We locked that way, our hearts suspending in mid air as everything we had known or thought fell
out from beneath us. I clung to his shoulders, and he lifted me off the ground, and for just a
moment, I knew the feel of his lips against mine and the very scent of him, our breaths sharing the
same space, our hearts so close to each other they might as well have been one.

A voice came down the hall.

Our mouths broke apart.

I gasped hard. Draco's silvery eyes stared straight back into mine, his nose an inch away. His
shoulders heaved. He glanced down the hall. I couldn't take my eyes from him.

"She said to meet in the common room—I heard her."

That was…

That was Ron's voice.

"Well, she's not there, Ron," Harry, sounding frustrated, answered. "She must have run into some
sort of trouble."

Draco turned back to me, still breathing hard. He pulled out of my arms.

"Draco…" I mouthed, unable to make a sound. Tears spilled down my cheeks. He gripped both my
hands hard, and glanced down the hall again.

"Where do you suggest we look?" Ron persisted, closer this time. "The astronomy tower? We've
been everywhere else."

"I'm going to Dumbledore," Harry replied.

Draco turned back to me—and with sudden terror, I realized it was the last time he would look at
me like this. He swallowed hard. We gripped each other's hands so tightly…

"Walk faster, Ron," Harry urged. "We'll be late for another class."

My breath caught. Draco's face filled my mind—his beautiful blue eyes, pale, handsome face and
mussed white hair…

He let go of me.

He backed off, turned and walked down the corridor, hands clenched, head low. His shoes tapped
on the stone. For a moment, his footsteps slowed, and he glanced over his shoulder at me. I pressed
my fists to my stomach.

"Hermione!"

I jerked, and spun around. Harry was running up to me, followed closely by Ron. My heart surged.
I spun back to catch one last glimpse of Draco—

He was gone.

I swiped at my eyes as Harry and Ron finally got to me. Harry's gaze instantly sharpened.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I forced a wobbly smile. "I got a little dust in my eye, I think. Filthy corridors…"

"We thought you'd fallen in somewhere," Ron said, studying me. "It's been an hour, Hermione! We
thought for sure Malfoy had cracked you over the head with something. Or you had cracked him
over the head."

"Really?" I said, trying to get my mind to work through the haze of a month's worth of memories,
to remember what I had been doing before…before all this… "Oh, no," I shook my head. "He…
No, he didn't give me any trouble."

"So…" Harry watched me expectantly. "Did you learn anything?"

I gazed back into his green eyes—eyes that I loved, and I looked up at Ron—whom I loved as
well, and smiled gently, then shook my head, feeling my heart break into pieces.

"No," I said. "Nothing important."

 Chapter 20

Everybody needs inspiration

Everybody needs a song

A beautiful melody when the night's so long

Because there is no guarantee

That this life is easy

When my world is falling apart

When there's no light to break up the dark

That's when I look at you

When the waves are flooding the shore

And I can't find my way home anymore

That's when I look at you

When I look at you I see forgiveness

I see the truth

You love me for who I am

Like the stars hold the moon

Right there where they belong

And I know I'm not alone…

I held up well. I really did. Considering. I clung closely to Harry and Ron—even more than before.
And I only collapsed crying into Harry's arms twice. He was so good about it. So patient.
Especially when I couldn't tell him the reason.

However, at one point, in his distress and worry, he just threw out a guess.

He asked me if I was in love with someone.

I just burst into tears. But he simply held onto me, tight, told me it would all be okay in the end,
and never asked about it after that.

Poor Ron was just befuddled at my sudden attacks of grief and frustration, so I tried to control
myself when he was around. When I succeeded in that, I took comfort in his easy, uncomplicated
company. Being forced to lighten my mood really did help me forget—for bits of time, at least.
Neither of my friends realized how desperately I needed their comfort, and on a daily basis.
Because I had to see him every day.

Every day, Draco Malfoy was there. I had never realized before how often our paths routinely had
occasion to cross, whether it be going to classes, eating dinner, studying in the library or heading to
the dormitories. I could feel his presence in the room, like a flame at the other end of a hall—feel
the silence lengthening between us.

And I couldn't talk to him. Not a word. Because if I spoke to him in the presence of Pansy, Crabbe,
Blaise or Goyle, Draco would be forced to answer me cruelly. I would not do that to myself. Or to
him, for that matter. I couldn't bear it. And I did not dare try to find a way to meet him secretly—
his expression was always closed, he never met my eyes, and everything about his bearing forbade
me from even coming near him.

And so we walked and worked and studied and ate, each as if the other did not exist, and never
had. All I did, every once in a long while (when I was certain no one was paying attention to me)
was look at him. From a distance. My eyes traced the lines and curves and angles of his face, and I
studied the way the light reflected off his limitless blue eyes. For a while, this kept my misery at
bay.

Until one afternoon, when all of us were outside enjoying an uncommonly temperate day. Almost
all the sixth years were outside in the courtyard, lounging, reading or playing games. Harry and
Ron were busy tossing a cricket ball back and forth, and I was sitting in the cool stone crook of a
window, pretending to do an assignment while I watched Draco and Pansy reclining on the grass,
playing chess.

I ached so badly I could hardly breathe. I gripped my book with ice-cold fingers—because I
remembered that expression—the way he draped his forefinger across his chin, the way his dark
eyebrows came together in concentration. But that ache was nothing compared to what came next.

Pansy kissed him. I don't know what prompted it—I had taken a moment to glance down at my
book—but when I looked back up, Draco lifted his face to the sunlight and she leaned in and
captured his lips with hers. And he didn't pull back.

I didn't wait to see if he reciprocated. I slammed my book shut, got up and stormed out to visit
Hagrid.

I was a mess by the time that I knocked on his door. When he opened the door and saw my face,
Hagrid tried to be helpful by standing right there on the doorstep and asking me a million
questions. Finally, I just lied that I'd received a terrible grade on a Dark Arts paper—one that I had
slaved over—and so Hagrid commenced with complaining about Professor Snape's ridiculous
grading scale and invited me in for tea.

I was gratefully distracted as I sat on one of his huge chairs with my hands encircling a massive
cup, watching the bright, merry fire and listening to Hagrid eagerly tell me about the newest beast
he that had him fascinated: an Ashwinder, which was a serpent that spread fire. I smiled to myself,
absently noting that Hagrid enjoyed fire-creating beasts the most for some reason…

I wanted to stay there all afternoon. Hagrid was so cheerful, and determined to lift my spirits, and a
couple times almost got me to laugh.

But I couldn't stay. Dark clouds gathered, rolling over the hills, and at last the gentle giant sadly
but firmly advised that I head back to the castle before it started to rain. I got up, thanked him for
the tea, stepped out the door and did as he said. But I didn't make it.

I was caught in the downpour—instantly drenched. I didn't hurry. I put a protection charm on my
book, and sloshed, head down, back to the gate. I almost didn't see him until I had nearly passed
him.
"I have a message for you, Granger."

I jerked to a halt. Draco stood under an overhang, off to my right. My eyes flew to his face. He was
sneering at me, and his voice was hard. But he was wet, too. Like he had been waiting for me when
it started to rain. I glanced around. I didn't see anyone, but someone must be nearby, or he wouldn't
be wearing that expression.

"What is it?" I asked, trying not to shiver as I dripped on the stones.

"How should Iknow?" he retorted. "Professor Snape just told me to deliver this. I wouldn't be
talking to you otherwise." And he held out a small rolled up piece of parchment. I took it from him,
biting back a 'thank you,' and ducked my head.

"Snape says he would like you to read it now," he practically ordered. "It's urgent."

"I will," I murmured.

"And don't lose it," he warned. "I know how feeble you are at finding stuff that gets lost."

His voice broke. My head came up. For just an instant, I met his eyes—and what I saw in his
sapphire gaze struck me through the heart. But before I could speak, he turned and swept back
inside, each step more confident than the one before.

I watched him go, my eyes lingering on his every movement, his every step. Only when he had
vanished around a corner, and I had managed to start myself breathing again, did I slip into a
shadowed, sheltered corner and unroll the parchment.

I blinked. It was not Professor Snape's handwriting.

It had to be Draco's.

But all it said was:

There is a book on reserve for you at the library, held in your name,

by the permission of Severus Snape.

Aparecium

I rolled the paper back up, my hands trembling, and put it in my pocket. Then, I promptly decided
to skip my next class, dry off and go straight to the library.

VVVVVVVV

HERMIONE

"Madam Pince?" I said, very quietly.

The pointy-faced, tight-lipped witch glanced up from the ledger on her crowded desk and eyed me
narrowly.

"Miss Granger," she replied flatly. I glanced around the long, tall, mostly-deserted library—the
silent, perfect stacks of books, and the motes of dust floating through the air. I took a breath—I
always loved the way it smelled in here. Musty, of wood and parchment—restful, thoughtful,
ancient…
I turned back to the librarian whose sharp look was sharpening further.

"I believe," I said, keeping my voice to the exact low volume she favored. "That Professor Snape
reserved a book in my name."

She blinked.

"Indeed," she said, then turned aside to the perfect stacks of books on a side table. Her spindly
fingers flitted down the spines, then paused next to one in the middle of the pile. Very carefully,
she slid it out, then held it in both hands like it was made of porcelain. She glanced up at me, and
arched a thin eyebrow.

"Hm. Interesting that Professor Snape should have reserved this for you. This is usually a book
kept in reserve for Muggle Studies classes, but it has not been used therein for several years, merely
because I could not stand the abuse the books were taking." A fleck of sorrow entered her voice.
"Not many copies of this book survived the brutal rigors of that horde of savages."

I waited patiently, and did not hold my hand out for the book. I knew, by the way she grasped it,
she was not finished speaking. She eyed me askance.

"This is a first edition, Miss Granger—the last one in this library. There are wizards and Muggles
alike that would pay a fortune to take it and place it in a museum. But…" She glanced down at it,
and—miraculously—I saw her countenance soften. "But far be it from me to deprive a worthy
student of the work of Jane Austen."

I stiffened. Madam Pince slowly extended the faded, beaten book to me. I carefully closed my
fingers around the binding, and gazed down at the cover to read the title.

Persuasion.

My throat closed.

"I will permit you to borrow the book for three days—only three," Madam Pince said. "But, if
you…if you enjoy it, and wish to read it again…" She cleared her throat began straightening her
papers. "You may bring it back, I will look over it to make certain it is not damaged, and you may
borrow it again."

"Thank you very much, Madam Pince," I said softly. "I will take very, very good care of it."

"Make certain you do," she warned.

"I will. I promise," I said, then tucked it carefully against my chest and headed to my room.

VVVVV

HERMIONE

I kicked off my shoes, jumped on my squeaky bed and closed the curtains around me, leaving only
a slight gap for the sunlight to come through. No one else was in the room, but I didn't know how
long it would be until the class period was over, and I didn't want to be interrupted. My heart was
beating so fast that my breathing started to shorten.

Carefully—very carefully—I set the book down on my pillow in the shaft of sunlight, and opened
the front cover. My breath caught for a moment. I was holding a first edition Jane Austen…
I pulled out the little piece of parchment, unrolled it and read the writing again. My eyes fixed on
the spell written at the bottom: Aparecium.

I believed I knew it—it was the spell for revealing invisible ink.

Slowly, I pulled out my wand, pointed it at the book and—desperately hoping it would not cause it
to burst into flame or some such—whispered the spell.

"Aparecium."

I lowered my wand. Now, I just had to carefully flip through the pages and find whatever-it-was
that had been hidden.

Taking a deep breath, I began, trying not to read the story as I went, for I knew that it would slow
me down. It took me enough time as it was, as I carefully scanned the pages, searching for any
checkmark or underlinings or stars or notes—

There. A whole passage underlined with light green ink—ink that was fading toward invisibility
again. But I caught all of the passage—caught it, and absorbed it, and wrapped my arms around
myself to try to contain the savage ache in my chest.

"There could have been no two hearts so open, no tastes so similar, no feelings so in unison, no
countenances so beloved. Now they were as strangers; nay, worse than strangers, for they could
never become acquainted. It was a perpetual estrangement."

I knew what was going on. Draco was trying to communicate with me in a way that was
untraceable, using professors and librarians and invisible ink and words that were not his to try to
get a message to me. And, despite all those screens, I was still able to understand.

He was talking about our situation—what we had to live through and fight through every day since
the moment we fell back through the door of that Room.

But I wasn't going around kissing people. He wasn't sitting in his room mourning the fact that he
had seen me snogging Ron or Harry. Furious jealousy, as well as needles of directionless pain,
clenched my muscles, and I bowed my head over that book, determined not to cry and ruin the
pages.

When at last I opened my eyes, the green ink was invisible once more. I read the passage again, re-
read it, then took out my diary and pen and copied Austen's words down there. It wouldn't hurt
anything—I was sure even Professor Dumbledore wouldn't fault me.

Then, I turned back to the beginning to start reading the entire story, searching for a way to answer
Draco, praying that somehow Miss Austen would be able to articulate what I felt when I was
completely helpless to do so on my own.

VVVVVVVV

HERMIONE

I finished the entire novel in two days. I didn't neglect my homework, but I didn't spend as much
time on it as I usually did. And any free time I had would find me curled up by the fire in the
common room, or on my bed, reading. Harry and Ron often joined me when I sat by the fire, and
Harry asked what I was reading. Ron remained politely uninterested, but Harry did ask me
questions about the plot, and I wound up telling him a lot of the storyline. He listened well, and
talking about it with him made me feel less alone.
At last, when I finished it, I borrowed some invisible ink from Ron—he had some brilliant red stuff
that would work excellently—he had gotten it from his brothers. Then, I sneaked away to my
room, pulled the curtains of my bed around myself, lit my wand and found the exact place I
needed.

Silently begging Miss Austen—and Madam Pince—to forgive me, I laid a thin line of red invisible
ink below a single line:

"Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant."

I sat back, and watched the ink fade away into nothing. I waited still longer, and blew on it, to
make certain that the ink wouldn't get on the opposite page and confuse him. Then, I shut it, and
formed my plans once more as I got ready and climbed into bed.

VVVVVV

HERMIONE

"Here you are, Madam Pince," I said, gingerly holding out Persuasion to her with both hands. She
straightened in her desk, looking at me with mild surprise, and took it from me.

"You didn't like it?"

"Oh, I loved it," I countered. "I finished it just last night—I couldn't put it down."

Did the trace of a smile just flit across her face? I could not tell. She set it down, and began
flipping through the pages, inspecting each one.

"I also have a message from Professor Snape," I said.

"Hm?" Pince said, not looking up from the book.

"He told me to ask you to please reserve that book for Draco Malfoy."

Pince's head shot up.

"Again?"

I swallowed.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Why?"

I shrugged.

"I don't know, ma'am," I said. "But Professor Snape says he will take full responsibility if anything
at all happens to the book."

Madam Pince ground her teeth, but at last she nodded.

"Very well. Thank you, Miss Granger."

"Thank you, ma'am," I said, and left the library, making certain to keep my footsteps very quiet,
wincing at how easy it was becoming to lie to everyone. Trying to shake it off, I hurried to the
owlery to send a message to Draco—informing him that Professor Snape had reserved Persuasion
for him, and it was waiting for him in the library.

VVVVVVVV

HERMIONE

My studies were just swallowing me. I cursed myself for being such a perfectionist and
workaholic, but it was something about myself that I could not change, and so I just had to give my
best effort, and try to survive it.

But it was getting very difficult. Harry was constantly depressed and moody, and I worried
intensely for him. Ron was worried too, which made him irritable. It hadn't been that long since I'd
come out of the Room, but it seemed like an eternity. The turmoil in this world, this reality, was
smothering me.

After a long day of studying in the library, and hardly completing anything—and missing dinner—
I trudged down the middle of a long, dimly-lit corridor, my arms full of books that I would spend
all night trying to read. My hair was a mess, my clothes were crooked and dusty, and my arms were
shaking with the effort of carrying this load. Besides this, my heart ached with its customary
misery. I passed the thousands of portraits on either side of me, and heard them whisper and mutter
as I walked by. I ignored them, as usual, and prayed for the strength to get all the way up to my
room.

A shadow moved near a corner up ahead. My footsteps slowed. I frowned at the long, tall shape—
and then gritted my teeth as the shadow separated into two—one one much shorter and fatter than
the other.

Crabbe and Goyle.

They strolled up to me, leering at me, giving me half-witted grins.

"Look who it is," Goyle grunted. "It's the little Muggle know-it-all."

I sighed and rolled my eyes and shifted my weight, adjusting my grasp on the bottom book.

"Don't either of you have anything better to do?"

"Than what?" Crabbe asked. "Sprawling your books?"

They glanced at each other.

"Nope," they chorused.

"Don't you dare—" I warned, stepping back, but Goyle lunged forward and slapped my top book
with all his strength. I tried to hold on, but all the books wrenched out of my grip and splattered all
over the stones, their pages crashing open. I heard a few bindings snap. Crabbe and Goyle exploded
into ridiculous laughter.

"How dare you?" I roared. "These aren't my books—they're the library's!"

"Like I care," Goyle chortled.

I hit him in the face.

The slap rang all through the corridor. He stared at me, wide-eyed, a red mark blooming on his
sallow cheek. I gritted my teeth, bracing myself. But then Crabbe grabbed me from behind with
broad, meaty hands.

He twisted my right arm behind my back and jerked it up. I yelped, pain shooting through my
shoulder.

"Let go of me!" I tried, but my breath caught as he jerked me again, making me stand on my
tiptoes. Goyle crowded in on me, pressing his ugly face close, and bared his teeth.

"Who do you think you are, touching me like that?" he snarled. "Filthy, cowardly Mudblood—"

A dark, powerful form flashed toward him like the swirl of a cape. A fist struck his jaw. Goyle
crashed to the floor. Crabbe let go of me, letting out a bark of surprise. I staggered sideways,
spinning around—

To see Draco Malfoy standing over Goyle, holding his right hand to his chest with his left. He was
breathing hard, and glaring down at his henchman. Crabbe stood closer to Goyle's head, mouth
gaping.

"Look what you did to me!" Draco cried. "You've broken my bloody hand!"

"You…You punched him!" Crabbe pointed limply at his fallen companion.

"You punched me!" Goyle mumbled, feeling his jaw.

"Brilliant observation, cretins," Draco snapped. "Are your heads both full of sawdust?"

They stared blankly at him. Draco leaned closer to Crabbe.

"Are you trying to get expelled?" he hissed. "With all the important work we have to do here—
you're sliding around in corridors like a couple slugs, causing trouble with the girl who is every
teacher's pet? You're lucky a professor didn't—"

"A professor did," a deep, cold voice intoned.

I whirled around to see a tall, wraith-like form striding down the hall toward us, his long black
robes billowing out behind him, his dark hair framing his narrow, pale face, his keen black eyes
sweeping over the messy scene. He slowed to a stop and stood between Draco and me.

Professor Snape glanced at each of us in turn, then arched an eyebrow at the pile of books all over
the floor. That look alone was enough to turn all of us into solid ice.

"Mr. Crabbe, Mr. Goyle," Snape said, slow and deliberate. "Five points each from Slytherin—for
breaking the binding of several books that are older than your grandparents. You will go to your
house at once."

They stood there, gaping at him.

"Now," he breathed.

They leaped into action, almost smacking into each other, and trotted off like a couple pigs back
down the corridor. Snape then took out his wand, waved it, and the books came up off the floor
and stacked themselves, then sat in the air, hovering.

"Miss Granger," he said, turning to me. "It appears that Mr. Malfoy has somehow injured himself.
Please walk him to the hospital wing."
"Really, Professor, that isn't necessary—" Draco started.

"It is not open for discussion, Mr. Malfoy," Snape warned. "I will return these books to Madam
Pince, and make certain she knows who was responsible for their damage."

If my heart hadn't been beating so fast, and if my shoulder hadn't been in pain—and if I hadn't been
so astonished at Snape's fairness—I would have smirked.

But then my eyes locked with Draco's, and all other emotion faded.

"Be quick," Snape advised.

"Yes, sir," I said. Draco did not wait for me—he started walking. I bit my lip, and followed.

"Miss Granger."

I turned back to Snape. He hesitated, then frowned slightly.

"If you ever need assistance of that sort again," he said, then pointed upward with his wand. "Don't
forget the portraits."

I frowned, wondering him, but he did not elaborate. He turned and strode silently back down the
hall, the floating stack of books following him.

I turned back around, to see Draco walking on ahead, about to turn the corner. I broke into a trot
and caught up to him, then fell right into step beside him.

Neither of us spoke. The sound of our feet on the stones filled the silence. I stole glances at him
when we passed torchlight, trying to see his face.

He was ashen, his jaw tight, dark circles under his eyes. He held his right hand close to him with
his left. I swallowed. I believed him now when he said a bone was broken.

"Does it hurt?" I whispered.

"Yes," he said shortly.

Just then, a group of Ravenclaws swung around another corner ahead of us, laughing and talking,
heading toward their dormitories. I fell back and walked behind Draco, as if we were not together.
They passed us without a second glance, their noise echoing up and down the hall. I sped up and
walked next to Draco again, swallowing hard. He did not look at me.

Gradually, all up and down nearby corridors, voices and footsteps began to ring, as people finished
their dinner and started back to their common rooms or headed to the library. Still, nobody looked
at us, because we didn't appear to be walking together—we had gotten tragically good at this
charade.

At least…I had. But now, each time I tried to catch his eye and failed, questions built inside my
mind. Questions that settled with tight nausea in my stomach.

How could he be so stoic when he was this close to me? Had this forced act penetrated deeper,
down into his character? Had he fallen back into his old habits, his old way of thinking and acting?

Had I lost him?

My breath caught and my hand instinctively flew to my throat, and I gulped, then gulped again. He
twitched, and his head came around and he glanced at me. I tried to meet his eyes, but he faced
forward again. Pain plunged straight down through my chest.

Then, he slowed down. He didn't say anything, and he didn't look at me, but he walked closer
beside me. Our shoulders were only a few inches apart. I glanced around, realizing we had passed
into a relatively uninhabited portion of the castle. We turned, and began to ascend the stairs to the
hospital wing.

We had gotten halfway up when Draco swooned and fell sideways against the banister. I lashed out
and caught his left arm. He grunted sharply through his teeth, grimacing.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I whispered, panicked.

"It's not you, it's my hand," he muttered. I glanced down at it—it was very white, and quivered, and
then in places it wasred and deep blue, and swollen.

I secured my grip on him, sliding my arm underneath his so I could bear some of his weight.

"Come on," I encouraged. "We're almost there. Come on."

Much more slowly, for Draco looked as if he would faint if we sped up, we worked our way up the
stairs and toward the great double doors of the medical wing.

My brow tensed as I walked beside him, feeling him pressed against my side. Draco was stronger
than this. Yes, a broken bone was extremely painful—but it would only cripple him like this if he
had not been getting any sleep, and had been doing a great deal of stressful work.

Which was probably the case.

But he could not talk to me about it. And so I gritted my teeth, and kept my questions to myself.

At last, we stopped in front of the doors, one of which stood partially open.

"You can leave me here," Draco said quietly, his head still down, his eyes on the floor. "I'll go in
alone."

"Will you be okay?" I asked.

He snorted, and smiled crookedly.

"I suppose."

I came around in front of him, wanting to say something, tilting my head so I could see his face. He
lifted his head, and met my eyes. I saw no trace of a sneer, no irony or sarcasm or coldness. Just
dark circles around his eyes, dull weariness where light used to shine, and pain tightening his
mouth.

I wanted to say something. Just one thing, actually.

But I couldn't. The door was open, and Madam Pomfrey and who knows who else was inside the
room right next to us.

So, very gently, I took hold of Draco's broken hand, and pressed it to my lips.

I felt his forehead lean against the top of my head for just a moment. Then, I released him, backed
up, and held the door open for him to walk through.
He stepped in, then paused on the threshold.

"Oh, by the way," he said quietly. "Professor Snape has reserved that book for you again. He told
me to tell you."

"Thank you," I answered. He glanced up at me again, then stepped into the wing. I shut the door
behind him, and headed back to the library.

VVVVVVV

HERMIONE

Madam Pince came straight up to meet me as soon as I entered the doorway of the library. At first,
stark dread shot through me—especially when her claw-like hand snatched up my wrist—but then
I looked at her face, and nothing but concern and distress registered there.

"I heard about your mishap in the corridor, Miss Granger!" she cried quietly, turning and pulling
me back toward her desk, in the corner of the room. "Ghastly boys! Simply monstrous!"

"Oh, I very much agree, Madam," I said, walking as fast as I could to keep up with her sharp steps.

"It will take a great deal of careful magic to repair these," she let go of me and gestured broadly to
the four books laid out like patients in triage on her desk. She swung around her desk, her hands
fluttering over the poor, broken bindings. She glanced briefly at me.

"I hear, though, that you and Mr. Malfoy put up quite a fight against those vandals."

It took a moment for my mouth to work, but I finally nodded.

"Yes, I had my shoulder wrenched, and Draco broke his hand."

"Ah, well, good for you—trying to protect them," Pince sounded pleased—or proud—and sat down
in her chair. I almost laughed, except I knew she was serious. In fact, she would have probably
sacrificed a limb of her own for one of these books.

I swallowed as that sank in, realizing that my chances for checking out yet another book and taking
it out into those dangerous halls was probably nil at this point—

"Oh, oh, I almost forgot," Pince spun around and snatched up the first edition of Persuasion and
held it out to me. "Professor Snape reserved this for you again—were you planning to read it
twice?"

"I—yes, I was," I stammered, taking it from her and wrapping it up in my arms. Her eyes flickered
to mine, then met them again.

"Excellent," she said. "And…Well, after you've finished it again, it would only be courteous for
you to come back and tell me what you thought of it."

I gazed at her a moment, and saw just the faintest glimpse of vulnerability in those dark eyes. I
almost smiled. The terrible Madam Pince wanted to chat with someone about Jane Austen.

"I certainly will," I promised. "Also, several of my very studious bunk mates have expressed an
interest in Pride and Prejudice as well—perhaps there are a few newer, less fragile copies of that
—"

"Oh, I believe there are," Pince's eyes lit up. "Yes, who are they—the girls interested?"
"Ginny Weasley, Padma and Parvati Patil—"

"Ah, yes, very good girls—trustworthy girls," Pince decided. "Yes, tell them they can come check
them out, and tell me what they think of it."

"I will. Thank you, Madam," I answered, and with the book pressed close to my heart, I left the
library.

VVVVVVV

HERMIONE

After saying goodnight to Harry, Ron and Ginny, and getting into my nightclothes, I crawled up
into bed and shut the curtains around myself, then lit my wand.

I set the copy of Persuasion out on my pillow, bit the inside of my cheek, pointed my wand at it and
whispered:

"Aparecium."

Then, holding my wand over the old pages, I set to flipping through them, scanning the lines,
knowing my time was limited before the green ink would fade back to invisibility.

It took me a long time—I was in the midst of chapter twenty before I found it.

But when I did, I had to cover my mouth with my hand and squeeze my eyes shut, as a potent
mixture of joy, relief and terrible longing filled up my chest.

"A man does not recover from such a devotion of the heart to such a woman! He ought not; he does
not."

That night, I slept with that battered old copy of Persuasion tucked against my heart—and for the
first time in a long time, I didn't cry into my pillow. But the pain I felt now was worse than before,
and I wished I could cry.

But if Draco could grit his teeth and get through this without breaking down, without flinching,
then I could do the same.

A man does not recover from such a devotion of the heart to such a woman!

He ought not.

He does not.
 Chapter 21

Home is behind

The world ahead

And there are many paths to tread

Through shadow

To the edge of night

Until the stars are all alight.

Mist and shadow

Cloud and shade

All shall fade.

All

Shall fade…

-Lord of the Rings

VVVV

HERMIONE

Several days passed a little easier after that—doubt and jealousy are terrible, poisonous things, and
one never realizes how much they are dragging you down until they are slightly relieved. I had
written down in my diary the passages Draco had underlined, so every night before I went to bed, I
read them, and they ran through my head before I fell asleep. As long as I had them, I knew I
would be able to go on for several weeks without hearing his voice.

If only I'd had that long.

It started out as a recently-typical afternoon. Myself, Padma, Parvati and Ginny sat in a little back
room just off the library with Madam Pince, as we discussed the fourth chapter of Pride and
Prejudice, and the etiquette of 19th century dancing. As I sat amidst neat stacks of books and short
desks, upon a padded stool, my borrowed copy of P&P held in both hands, I suppressed a smile.
Madam Pince was listening intently as a bright-eyed Ginny speculated about Mr. Darcy's
character, interspersed with Parvati and Padma's questions about class differences. Madam Pince
was careful to lead the discussion rather than dictate answers, and she seemed less pinched, less
severe than usual—and I found myself wishing that we had a literature class, and that she would
teach it.

"Shall we get to chapter ten for next time?" Madam Pince suggested as we all stood up and tucked
our stools back in their places. All of us nodded and said yes, and then the other three girls left the
room, babbling about how in love they were with Mr. Darcy already, just because he was brooding
and tall and quiet, and not at all like the other men in the story. I caught what looked like a smile
on Madam Pince's face, but as usual, I could not be sure.
"Thank you, Madam," I said as I started toward the door. "That was…very instructive."

"So glad you thought so, Miss Granger," Pince clipped, straightening an already perfect stack of
books. "See you next week."

"Goodbye," I answered, and started out. But I had only passed the Great Warlocks of History
section when she caught up to me.

"Miss Granger? Miss Granger, forgive me."

I stopped and turned to see Madam Pince hurrying toward me across the hard floor, her long robes
rustling as she held out a black book toward me. I frowned.

"Yes?"

"I was supposed to deliver this book to you today—today and no later—and I nearly forgot," she
puffed. "Forgive me. It was reserved for you by Professor Snape."

I swallowed hard, feeling my face go cold, but I nodded, and took it from her.

"Thank you very much."

"You are welcome," she answered, turned, and swished back toward her desk. I instantly ducked
into a shadowed portion between the shelves, near a lonesome part of the Restricted Section. I
leaned back against the cage and, with trembling hands, put down P&P and took out my wand.

This was a new message—I had not answered Draco's last one for fear of discovery—but this was
not Persuasion. It was a different book—and I could not wait to take it all the way to my room. I
tapped the front cover with my wand.

"Aparecium."

Then I stuffed my wand back in my pocket and opened the cover. My brow tensed as my eyes fell
on the title page.

War Letters: A Collection of Missives Sent from the Great Battlefields

It was a much newer book, so I did not have to be so careful as before, but I still took my time as I
flipped the pages, hoping I would not miss the inevitable underlinings.

My hand slowed as I got to page thirty. I let my breath out and did not recover it.

Nothing was underlined. Instead, a bright green bracket indicated that I ought to read an entire
letter. And so, with my breathing locked in my chest, and my hands starting to quiver, I began.

"A letter sent from Sullivan Ballou, a soldier in the American Civil War, to his wife Sarah on July
14th, 1861:

"My very dear Sarah:

The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days—perhaps tomorrow. Lest I should
not be able to write again, I feel impelled to write a few lines that may fall under your eye when I
shall be no more . . ."

I covered my mouth with my hand, and, as my legs went weak, I sank to the floor. But I could not
look away from the words—they held me hostage, and each one driving into me with both sweet
and bitter pain.

"I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in, the cause in which I am engaged, and my
courage does not halt or falter. I know how strongly American Civilization now leans on the
triumph of the Government and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the
blood and sufferings of the Revolution. And I am willing—perfectly willing—to lay down all my
joys in this life, to help maintain this Government, and to pay that debt . . .
Sarah my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me with mighty cables that nothing but
Omnipotence could break; and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears
me unresistibly on with all these chains to the battle field.
The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel
most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them for so long. And hard it is for me to give
them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when, God willing, we might still have lived
and loved together, and seen our sons grown up to honorable manhood, around us. I have, I know,
but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to me—perhaps it is
the wafted prayer of my little Edgar, that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed.

If I do not, my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me
on the battle field, it will whisper your name. Forgive my many faults and the many pains I have
caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I have often times been! How gladly would I wash out
with my tears every little spot upon your happiness and struggle with all the misfortune of this
world, to shield you and my children from harm. But I cannot. I must watch you from the spirit
land and hover near you, while you buffet the storms with your precious little freight, and wait
with sad patience till we meet to part no more.
But, O Sarah! If the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they loved, I
shall always be near you; in the gladdest days and in the darkest nights—amidst your happiest
scenes and gloomiest hours—always, always; and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall
be my breath, as the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by. Sarah, do
not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again."

I sat in that very place the rest of the day. I did not move, I did not make a single sound. Students
walked past me, voices crossed behind me, footsteps clicked and tapped and echoed. I stared at the
far wall, the book held limply in my lap. But though the sun came in from a nearby window, and
candles lit the aisles, all I saw was darkness.

VVVVVVVVVV

DRACO

"Legilimens!"

The word echoed around inside me as I stared back at the tip of Professor Snape's wand, then past
it at his black, narrowed eyes. My frame stiffened slightly, then I breathed in, and out. The spell
rattled around like a shout in an empty room. The next moment, a cloud of lies, like black poison,
rose up within me. It filled my entire mind, caught the spell as it rang, and silenced it.

Slowly, Snape lowered his wand.

"Very good," he murmured, carefully searching my face. "Most encouraging."

I didn't bother answering him. I just took a short breath and shook myself to dispel that dark cloud.
But shreds of it still hung around me, even as I stood near a bright candelabra in Snape's shadowy
office.
As Snape turned to a shelf and began tucking small books and pieces of parchment into the folds of
his robe, I glanced around at the towering shelves stacked with glittering bottles of potions—a
sight that had become as familiar to me as my own common room of late. Probably more so, since
I had spent very little time sleeping, and almost all my spare time here, with Professor Snape,
perfecting the art of Occlumency.

I had learned a great deal already, from my Aunt Bellatrix, initially for the sake of keeping my
assassin's mission a secret from everyone. But now, using what I had already studied—as well as
utilizing a great deal of my natural talent, apparently—Professor Snape had honed my skills so
finely that he even remarked once that I was the most gifted Occlumen he'd known since himself.

Whether that would be enough was about to be seen.

I shifted my weight, swallowing, trying to breathe evenly and deeply as I waited. Every muscle felt
heavy—every breath took effort. Dread sat in the pit of my stomach, where it had made a home.
But tonight…Tonight, I couldn't divert my thoughts from it.

I stood on the edge of a precipice—one that I'd been steadily walking toward ever since the
moment I was born. I had always sensed that complete darkness, abyss, waited to catch me. But
now—now, I looked over the edge, down into that abyss, and a cold wind seemed to hit my face.
And the yawning chasm dominated my mind. I drew in a deeper breath, pushing back that slow,
strangling sensation. And it almost worked. For I had just one candle, one little light in the midst of
this silent black.

I wasn't going alone.

I watched my professor as he turned back to his bottle-covered desk and began to organize it—the
bottles clinked as he moved them. I raised a chilled hand to try to massage the tension from the
back of my neck, and studied him for what was probably the hundredth time.

I'd known Severus Snape since I was very little. I actually couldn't remember the first time I'd seen
him. But he had always seemed dark, forbidding—even more so than some of the other company
my parents liked to keep. As a child, he'd scared me. When I'd started school, I'd grown to admire
him, and want to be like him—he could so obviously scare the living daylights out of everyone he
looked at. I wanted to be that threatening, that powerful, that chilling.

It was only during these past days that I realized that I had been looking at him all wrong.

"Who was she, Professor?" I asked into the silence.

Snape's back went stiff, and his hands stilled on his desk. But I was too tired to be careful, and too
taut with grief to be afraid. Besides, I knew him now.

I knew he had a dry, grim sense of humor—one that had often surprised me. I knew that he was
unjust with students to maintain his cover. And he was cold to maintain his distance.

And I knew that he was sad. Sad about the scars and shadows in his past. Sad about mistakes,
missteps, misspeaks.

Sad about the horrific thing we were going to do.

"What are you talking about?" Snape asked, his tone like the warning growl of a bear. I dropped
both hands to my sides and spoke quietly.

"The lady in your head," I answered. "The one with ginger hair—the one you think about. She
seems familiar to me."

Snape did not turn around. He did not move. I frowned, absently rubbing the inside of my left arm.

"She reminds me of Potter," I confessed, unable to find a way to say it differently.

Snape was silent for so long, I thought he wasn't going to answer. But then, he took a breath.

"He has her eyes."

I stared at him. But I said nothing.

"Her name was Lily Potter," Snape finally told me, his voice low and even. But when he turned
around, what I saw written in his black eyes struck me through the chest. Snape lifted his chin,
minutely, and spoke with quiet calm.

"She is the reason for everything." He paused. "At least, for me."

I let out a long, shivering breath, and swallowed.

"I understand," I whispered. For just an instant, Snape's stony visage softened.

"I know."

I tried to swallow—I tried, but a sudden pain attacked the center of my chest, constricting it. My
fists closed.

"Dumbledore…" I began, then stopped to control my voice. "Dumbledore is your friend, isn't he?"

Snape's gaze flickered and he raised his eyebrows.

"It depends upon what you mean by 'friend,'" he said flatly.

"You trust him," I clarified. "And he trusts you. He's risked his reputation and his position standing
up for you."

"Sometimes, boy," Snape muttered, glancing down to straighten his cuff. "I think that you are
trying to make my life more difficult."

I didn't say anything. But I didn't turn from him—I stared at him, waiting. Snape let out a short
sigh.

"Yes," he said quietly. "I suppose…he might be called a friend."

The two of us stood there in silence for a long moment. I felt sick, unbalanced—like the ground
underneath me was breaking.

"How…" I started, trying to articulate what I meant. "How will you manage?"

Snape's whole frame straightened.

"By remembering that in the end, I was following his orders," he stated. "Not Voldemort's."

My head cleared. My feet rested on solid ground. My brow twisted, but strength entered my chest.
Then, Snape reached up, and put his hand to the side of my head—a gesture more gentle than any
my father had ever given me. He rested it there for just a moment, then lowered it and leveled his
shoulders.

"Come, Mr. Malfoy," he said. "To work."

VVVVVVVVV

DRACO

We swept through the gloomy halls without a light, perfectly in step, like two restless ghosts. The
corridors felt cold. The portraits, silent and dark, passed on either side. Snape and I turned one
corner, then another—and we stopped before the towering wall that led to my old friend, the Room
of Requirement.

My heart went still. My mind stood empty. I glanced at him. He met my eyes.

Then, without a word, he turned and continued down the next corridor—he would spread the
command for all students to go to their houses. No one would get caught in the crossfire.

In the Great Hall, somewhere behind me, I heard the choir practicing for their year-end
performance. And as I listened to the haunting melody, I closed my eyes, and thought only of what
I required.

"Carry my soul into the night

May the stars light my way
I glory in the sight
As darkness takes the day…"

The door appeared. It swung open, away from me. I stepped inside, into the cool blue light, into
the dust, into the shadows.

"Ferte in noctem animam meam

Illustrent stellae viam meam
Aspectu illo glorior
Dum capit nox diem…"

I stood amongst the junk and odds-and-ends, before the peaked vanishing cabinet. I braced my feet,
and waited.

"Sing a song, a song of life

Lived without regret
Tell the ones, the ones I loved
I never will forget…"

The hinge of the door creaked. A gap opened in the cabinet. Black fog oozed out onto the floor,
spreading like ink, its tendrils slithering across the stone. The door opened further. A white hand
emerged. I took a deep breath, turned around, and marched to the door of the Room.

I passed through it, pushing it fully open so it could not swing closed. Then, I broke into a swift,
breathless run.

"Cantate vitae canticum

Sine dolore actae
Dicite eis quos amabam
Me numquam obliturum…"
I knew the time. I knew the place. The voice of the choir faded behind me as I raced up the stairs
—up, up, up the winding steps to the astronomy tower. I had run this staircase many nights in the
recent past, making certain that attaining that great height would not leave me winded.

I spun round and round, one hand on the railing, one hand holding my wand, until I reached the
wooden catwalks. Still higher I climbed, until I felt the cool night air brush my face.

I passed a concealed presence—not far from me. I didn't even blink. I'd been expecting it.

I knew it was Potter—hiding below the platform upon Dumbledore's instruction—they had just
come back from a horrendously-taxing mission. I could feel Potter there almost as if I could see
him.

I also knew about him. All about him. In fact, I knew more about him than he did. And, I knew
that, if it came to it, I would have to lay down my life to protect him from Lord Voldemort until the
proper time came. If I did not, everything I had done and would do to shield Hermione and those
she loved would be obliterated. It was the same for Professor Snape, because of his ginger-haired
lady.

Ah, how the tables turn when knowledge meets love.

I paced forward through the shadows as the great compass ahead of me cut a line through the
moonlight. I slowed.

Dumbledore stood near the railing, his white hair and beard lit by a halo of silvery light. His long
robes rustled in the high gusts that whipped around the tower. But somehow, everything seemed
deathly quiet.

My eyes found his face. He looked haggard, pale, and very tired.

"Good evening, Draco," he nodded to me. "What brings you here on this fine spring evening?"

I stopped across from him, my wand only held in middle stance.

"I came to see you," I murmured. "Thought you might need some company."

Dumbledore smiled faintly.

"That's very thoughtful of you. Thank you."

Deep down, I shuddered. I tried to hide it from my face, but the wise wizard across from me saw it,
and his expression flashed with sympathy.

Sympathy.

For me.

As if I were the one who was about to die.

My lips parted to say something. Dumbledore glanced downward. I closed my mouth. He was
reminding me of Potter, who hid below, listening to everything we said. I clenched my jaw and
closed my eyes, raging against this blasted, infernal silence that had been forced on me.

I opened my eyes, my brow twisted as I looked at Dumbledore. The sight of him burned my vision
—a savage pain ate me up. I lifted my head to helplessly search the roof.
He was my friend.

I had despised him and ridiculed him ever since first year. I'd imitated my father's sneer when I
said his name. I'd criticized his methods, his choices for teachers, and his tolerance for Muggle-
borns and blood traitors.

And he had saved me. He had extended his hand and offered strength and hope to me when I was
clawing at the hem of darkness. He had spent many a tired night of late—nights when he should
have been resting—visiting with me after I'd awakened from screaming nightmares, telling me
stories of great wizards, keeping me alive with his cryptic sayings, patient smiles and drops of
wisdom.

My heart began to beat faster.

Yes, he was my friend. But that friendship hadn't had a chance to build. I had missed out on
everything—everything—and now it was too—

A heavy door opened—nearby. My eyes flashed to Dumbledore's face. His gaze sharpened.

"It is time, then."

I gritted my teeth, and tightly nodded.

Resignation settled behind the old wizard's eyes.

"I think it best if I make it easy for you now, rather than later," Dumbledore decided. "We don't
want any unnecessary stray sparks." And he held out his wand to the side—purposefully creating
an easy target. I lifted my own wand—it felt as if I was lifting the earth.

"Expelliarmus," I whispered.

Light shot from the tip of my wand, and instantly Dumbledore's wand leaped from his hand and
clattered to the floor, and hid itself somewhere in a shadow.

"Very good. Very good," Dumbledore praised me. Then, he made a gesture with his fingers as if he
was raising something up. I bit the inside of my cheek and obeyed him, elevating my wand to
attack position.

I heard footsteps on the stairs. My chest contracted.

"Draco," Dumbledore said quietly. I met his quiet eyes.

"'Promise me you'll always remember:'" he murmured. "'You're braver than you believe, and
stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.'"

My hand on my wand began to shake. I swallowed hard. And then—

I felt them. Like a Dementor's fingertips, they slipped into the room. I glanced to my left, and my
eyes fell on Aunt Bellatrix, Fenrir Greyback, and several other Death Eaters. Bellatrix slowed, and
her eyes fixed on Dumbledore in astonishment and quiet glee. I clamped my teeth shut.

"Well!" she exclaimed, hushed. "Look what we have here." She slinked behind me, Greyback
beside her. I felt her rest her chin on my right shoulder.

"Well done Draco," she breathed, and made a kissing sound. My left fist clenched so hard I thought
it would break.
"Good evening, Bellatrix," Dumbledore greeted her. "I think introductions are in order, don't you?"

"Love to, Albus," she canted her head, then spat the rest. "But I'm afraid we're on a bit of a tight
schedule." She grinned at him, waiting. I did not move. She whirled on me.

"Do it!" she commanded, wide-eyed.

"He doesn't have the stomach," Greyback snickered, standing off to my right. He showed me his
teeth. "Just like his father."

I felt Bellatrix's eyes on me. I opened the door within me, and filled up my mind with lies.

"Let me finish him in my own way," Greyback suggested.

"No!" Bellatrix shouted. "The Dark Lord was clear—the boy is to do it!" She edged toward me,
almost distressed, looking at me earnestly. I did not regard her—I gazed back at Dumbledore,
never wavering. I waited. I waited to sense one last, tall presence—to hear one more set of
footsteps on the stairs…

"This is your moment," Bellatrix urged me. Her words turned into a howl. "Do it. Go on, Draco!
Now!"

"No," a black voice rumbled.

I lowered my wand and turned as that tall, dark presence came up behind me.

Snape glanced at me, his expression shielded. I stepped out of the way.

Again, I saw Dumbledore glance down. Snape did the same.

Harry was just beneath us.

My heart rate skyrocketed. If this did not happen quickly, Potter would try something and get
himself—

"Severus," Dumbledore said, calling his friend to look at him. Snape lifted his eyes. My gaze
locked on Dumbledore's face—memorizing the kind, brave sadness that the decades had written
there.

Bellatrix watched Snape with a look of iron. No one breathed.

Dumbledore spoke one word—straight to Severus Snape.

"Please."

For an instant, no one moved.

Then, like the sweeping wing of a great black crow, Snape struck.

"Avada kedavra."

Blinding green light flashed through the tower. I did not shy away, or hide my eyes. Thunder
rolled. Dumbledore's face went blank. He tipped backward. He fell off the tower.

The image branded itself into my memory.

My muscles iced over.

Snape whirled in front of me and grabbed my shoulder, pulling me away, toward the door, toward
the stairs.

I heard Bellatrix shriek in delight, heard the air shatter with the roar of the Dark Mark launching
into the sky.

We raced down—past Potter—Snape and I always maintaining the head of the line of Death
Eaters. We had to hurry—we could not allow for any of the students to muster or there would be
blood in the corridors.

As we charged through the Great Hall, Bellatrix jumped up on one of the tables and began
smashing the goblets and kicking off the plates, cackling and screaming with joy.

An auror appeared near the front door—he turned, eyes wide.

Snape moved faster than any of the others could—and the auror blasted backward with a nonverbal
stupefy. I readied my wand, exactly in step with Snape, sweeping my gaze ahead of us so that I
might stun any passer-by before he was killed.

But then I heard Bellatrix stop. I slowed, and turned—

To see her aim her wand and a clawed hand toward the great, beautiful window in the far wall.

No—

She let out an inhuman cry of triumph, then wrenched both hands—

And all the glass burst from the window and smashed through the room, shredding and
extinguishing the floating candles, and littering the floor and the tables. A great, icy wind
followed, and blasted through my clothes. Bellatrix danced where she stood, giggling, then pranced
down off the table and hooked her arm through mine, pulling me along as if we were off to a tea
dance. I ground my teeth.

Someday, Aunt…

We met three more people—all aurors—and Snape effortlessly knocked them away. Once we got
out on the grounds, Bellatrix let go of me, and we plunged down the hill. The blackness of the
forest towered over us.

But I was no longer afraid of dark forests, or the terror waiting amidst their branches.

"How will you manage?"

"By remembering that in the end, I was following his orders—not Voldemort's."

I secured my grip on my wand, lifted my head, and strode headlong straight into the darkness.

"Sing a song, a song of life

Lived without regret
Tell the ones, the ones I loved
I never will forget

Never will forget…"

 Chapter 22

"Some glory in their birth, some in their skill,

Some in their wealth, some in their body's force;

Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill;

Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse;

And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure,

Wherein it finds a joy above the rest:

But these particulars are not my measure;

All these I better in one general best.

Thy love is better than high birth to me,

Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' cost,

Of more delight than hawks or horses be;

And having thee, of all men's pride I boast:

Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take

All this away, and me most wretched make."

-William Shakespeare

VVVVVVV

HERMIONE

I stood atop the astronomy tower, alone, my arms wrapped around myself as I gazed across the
mountains. Evening had fallen. The castle was silent.

It was the night after Professor Dumbledore's funeral.

A discontented wind ruffled my hair. I took a deep breath—it smelled so like spring, now. And yet,
wintry death had struck just a little while ago right here—right where I stood.

Draco had been up in this tower, standing on this very floor. He had held Dumbledore at wand
point until the Death Eaters could come, and Snape could kill the headmaster.

I stood quietly, replaying everything Harry had told us after it happened. And replaying everything
Dumbledore had told Draco the day we had come out of the Room.

That the plan still had to go forward.

That Dumbledore still had to die.

But that Draco would be spared the fate of becoming a murderer.

Now that I had heard what had actually happened, I realized their loophole: Snape, who had made
the unbreakable vow, would do it instead.

Dumbledore had died of his own volition. To save Draco's soul, and to save Snape's life.

But I could not say any of that to Harry or Ron—no matter how Harry ranted in heartbroken rage
about how Draco was a vile coward and Snape was a turncoat viper, and how he wished them all
dead.

I couldn't speak. I could only sit on the common room couch and put my arm around Harry and
weep with him. And wonder how I was going to bear everything now.

Draco was gone. He'd left with the Death Eaters after the raid—Harry had seen him. I had no idea
where he would go. Perhaps he would return home and stay with his parents. Or perhaps, when the
school was inevitably taken over by darker authorities, he would come back. But I wouldn't be
here, even if he did.

I lifted my eyes to the darkened sky. At the edge of the mountains, which looked like jagged black
giants in the distance, the white moon rose. I saw just the edge of it. I shivered, gazing at its silvery
brilliance, and wrapped my arms tighter. A song came to my mind—one I didn't remember
memorizing. But I knew every word.

"Once the sun did shine," I whispered.

"Lord, it felt so fine
The moon a phantom rose
Through the mountains and the pines
And then the darkness fell
The moon's a harsh mistress
It's hard to love her well…"

Harry was going after the remaining horcruxes, wherever on earth they might be. At first, he tried
to tell Ron and me that he would be going alone, and he would send us word when he could. Of
course, we assured him that he was barking, and that we were going along with him regardless of
what he said or did or thought. He didn't fight us too hard. I knew how he dreaded being alone.
And his trying to convince us that he would go on without us to keep us safe was only a testament
to how deeply he loved us. And I wasn't about to abandon someone who loved me. I was incapable
of it. So was Ron.

I studied the shadows of the moon—the mountains and craters and bright white plains, and leaned
my hands on the cool railing.

The nights were about to get deep and dark, and the days would grow harsh and bitter. I tried to
imprint this image into my mind—the sight of the great, sturdy towers beneath me, the sparkling
lake, and the ancient, unmoving mountains. My home—the dearest place to my heart next to my
own house and family. I resolved to save this picture, right here, to pull up in my mind when I was
lying out in the wilderness, unable to sleep, chasing after pieces of that demon soul, hoping just to
survive from one day to the next until the task was done.

"I fell out of her eyes

I fell out of her heart
I fell down on my face
I tripped and missed my start
I fell, and I fell alone
And the moon's a harsh mistress
And the sky is made of stone…"

VVVVVVVV

HERMIONE

Many dark and difficult days later…

"That sword is meant to be in my vault at Gringotts—how did you get it?"

I whimpered in response, agony dancing up and down my shaking left arm. Bellatrix Lestrange sat
on top of me, her rotten teeth gnashing in my face, her ragged hair brushing my forehead, her bony
hands clenching my wrists.

"I…I don't…" I shook my head, trying to speak through my uncontrolled sobbing.

"How did you and your friends…" she hissed—and her voice built to a roar. "Take that from my
vault?"

"I didn't take anything!" I keened. "Please—I didn't take anything!"

Bellatrix hissed something at me—I couldn't understand her—and then I couldn't even think.

She crushed my head to the floor with her palm, twisting my neck, then bent over my left arm and
carved into it again with a needle-pointed knife.

I screamed and screamed and screamed. Tears poured down my face and I kicked and thrashed.
Bellatrix held me down like an iron weight. Harry and Ron were imprisoned below. Lucius and
Narcissa Malfoy stood a way off, saying nothing.

And Draco stood behind me, near the fireplace, silent.

My screaming nearly blinded me—I almost lost consciousness.

And it took every shred of will I had ever possessed—every fiber of bravery, everything inside me,
to keep from wailing his name.

I had seen him when they hauled us in to this dusky place called Malfoy Manor. Our eyes had met
—and my heart had nearly leaped out of my chest. But he had looked so white—the sight of us
there, surrounded by Death Eaters and Snatchers, clearly horrified him. And of course, he could not
act as if we even really knew each other.

They had forced Harry to his knees on the hard floor of a once-grand hall as Ron and I stood at the
other end, bound up by the Snatchers and Death Eaters. Bellatrix had tried to make Draco to
identify Harry, for Harry's face had been misshapen by my stinging spell.

Draco had recognized him instantly. I could see it in the way his back stiffened.

"Well?" Bellatrix cried, taking fistfuls of Harry's hair and pointing her wand at his throat. Draco
shook his head.

"I can't be sure."

"Draco," Lucius, unshaven and mussed—a far fall from his usually grand self—had come up
behind his son and grasped him in an almost-strangle-hold at the back of his neck. I had twitched
against that filthy Greyback, my captor, biting back a shout at Lucius to get his hands off him.
"Look closely, son," Lucius had urged into Draco's ear. Then, Lucius glanced back at us, at the
Snatchers and other Death Eaters. I had glared viciously at him. Lucius turned back to Draco.

"If we are the ones to hand Potter over to the Dark Lord," Lucius pleaded. "Everything will be
forgiven—it will all be as it was! You understand?"

No, you don't understand, Lucius, I wanted to shout. The last thing Draco wants is for it to return to
the way it was…

And that had been confirmed when, though they drove Draco to his knees in front of Harry and he
looked him straight in the eyes, he had repeated:

"I can't be sure."

This had sent Bellatrix into a rage.

And everything had unraveled from there.

I could feel Draco's helplessness building as they threw Harry and Ron in the basement and kept
me up above—his desperation filled the air, filled my lungs with every breath I took. I had tried not
to look at him, tried to help him restrain himself, for his father and mother and so many dangerous
people surrounded him that if he tried to help me, they would report back to Voldemort and he
would surely be killed.

But now, Bellatrix had bent my neck and forced my face toward him. I could see his shoes—
glimpse the rest of his tall form through the haze of my tears. He was frozen, watching me.

My agony built—it mounted to the ceiling—it was going to tear me in half! I couldn't stand it—no
more, no more! I opened my mouth, gagged, and choked on his name—

Bellatrix got off me. The knife pulled out of my flesh. I stopped breathing, and choked again. My
head lolled to my left. I blinked.

The word "mudblood" was written in my arm.

Mudblood…

I blinked. Tears rolled down my nose.

Bellatrix barked something to the others about a goblin, and asking him questions now. I watched
blankly as blood oozed from the letter-shaped wounds. My whole body quivered.

I lay still, listening to the echo of my breathing, as Bellatrix interrogated a goblin from Gringotts.
My whole head felt full of fog—like the gray fog that had rested on the barley, giving us bad
dreams…

Draco didn't step toward me. He didn't say anything. Bellatrix, furious at the goblin's stubborn
answers, turned back toward me. I braced myself—

And then Ron and Harry came to save me.

Everything happened so fast—spells flew, stone shattered, Bellatrix wrenched me to my feet and
held that knife to my throat. Ron and Harry had to drop their wands. Draco picked them up—

And then Dobby—that lovely little house-elf—dropped the chandelier right down on our heads.
Bellatrix screamed and threw herself out of the way. Ron grabbed me. Harry snatched all the
wands out of Draco's hands. Dobby took hold of all of us—including Luna, Ollivander and the
Gringotts goblin—and apparated us away.

But not before Bellatrix threw that wicked knife, which plunged straight through Dobby's gut.

All of it, and then all the horror that followed, seemed to pass in a haze. I felt like I was watching it
from outside myself. The sound of shovels in the sand as Harry and Ron buried Dobby on the
beach echoed in my head, but I stared without seeing, cold tears running down my cheeks, my
bloody palm pressed down on my sticky left forearm.

I was so, so glad that Draco was still safe, and the Death Eaters did not know about him.

And at the same time, I was heartbroken that he hadn't tried to save me.

VVVVVVVV

DRACO

I sat in the Room of Requirement. It had taken the form of a gray stone chamber when I entered,
with arched gothic ceilings. The Room was empty, except for a fireplace that burned low, and a
single black armchair. I sat in the chair, and stared into the dim flames. I sat, seeing nothing.

And she screamed in my head.

If I closed my eyes, she got louder. And if I opened them, I could see her—held to the floor by my
aunt, who cut into her arm like she was a piece of wood.

And I had done nothing.

I hadn't said anything, I hadn't moved, I hadn't distracted my aunt or given Hermione any tools to
escape. I had stood there, paralyzed by my cover, and watched.

Watched.

I squeezed my eyes shut and clenched my hand into a fist, pressing it to my lips.

I had recited a mantra during those horrific minutes, emptying myself, then filling my mind again
with a lie—a single lie: I don't care. I don't care. I don't care…

But Occlumency doesn't shield a person from feeling the truth.

The truth that I wanted to tear my aunt's head off. That I wanted to pick Hermione up off the floor
and shield her from everything my family could put her through. That I wanted to take hold of
Dobby's hand as well and vanish from that hell-hole with Potter and Weasley and Ollivander and
the Gringotts goblin.

But I couldn't.

So I'd stood, silent and sick, while Bellatrix cackled about how she'd just killed the little house elf
—our little house elf—and my father and mother grieved sorely that Potter had escaped, and the
Death Eaters and Snatchers began to bicker about whose fault that was.

Since that happened, I hadn't slept for more than half an hour at a time. I'd wandered the grounds
around my house countless times as a cold wind blew, my coat collar turned up, my head low. The
clouds had hung over my head, and the corridors inside felt chill. My mother and father fought
viciously when they were alone, and when they weren't, it was Bellatrix and Greyback and others
lounging around, eating our food, leaving messes and ordering me about.

So I'd left. I'd told my parents I needed to discuss something with my mentor. They assumed that I
was leaving to see Professor Snape, and had allowed me to go.

And I'd gone back to Hogwarts. Not to see Snape—but to find the Room of Requirement.

I had wanted to walk through the barley fields—to stand with my face in the warm sun. To hear
laughter dancing on the wind, to run my hands over the tops of the stalks. To sing a song as loud as
I could—to forget everything, everything.

But when I'd left the dismal corridors of a school that felt like a stranger, and stepped through the
doors of this old Room, I had found nothing. Nothing but a large emptiness, a chair, and a fireplace
that gave no heat.

It was gone. All of it.

And as I sat, guilt filled my bloodstream like venom.

A click came from behind me—the sound of a door quietly opening. I sucked in a breath, braced
myself—

Then I recognized the footsteps. They resounded softly against the stones. I swallowed, sat back,
and stared into the flames.

Professor Snape came up and stood next to the left side of my chair, facing the fireplace. I could
see his tall, black form out of the corner of my eye. For a long while, neither of us said anything.

"How did you know I was here?" I murmured.

"Being headmaster has its benefits," he intoned. My throat thickened and I covered my mouth with
my hand, narrowing my eyes to keep back tears. I had been able to hide all my emotions from my
father, my aunt, all the Death Eaters, even my mother—but it was impossible with Snape. He knew
too much.

"I…I didn't…" I dropped my hand, my lip trembling. I rubbed the armrest with my thumb. "Aunt
Bellatrix was cutting her up and I…I didn't…"

"Didn't what?" Snape growled. "Do something reckless that would have gotten her killed?"

I gasped, and twin tears fell down my cheeks. I swallowed hard.

"I wouldn't have—"

"You would have," he insisted. "You were surrounded by murderers and brigands who would kill
her as soon as look at her—especially Bellatrix. She is like a bottle of nitroglycerin tipping on the
edge of a table. If you had started something, it would have only ended in blood." Snape took a
breath, his voice quieting. "As it was, you did not betray that you knew Potter—hence, you gave
the house elf-time to find him, and provided an opportunity for Potter to rescue Ollivander and the
others. You saved them all by keeping a cool head. Rash actions would have cost us everything."

"But Hermione—" I choked.

"People heal," my professor snapped. "They do not resurrect."

I fell silent, swallowing convulsively, and closed my eyes. More tears tumbled down—weary,
aching tears. Weakly, I eased my head to the side and leaned it against Snape's arm.

For a moment, he just stood there, and then he brought his left hand around and rested it on top of
my head—his palm was heavy and warm there, and some of that warmth entered me, calmed me,
as if I was a child comforted by his father after a nightmare.

"You are a good boy, Draco," Snape murmured overhead. "It will be just a bit longer."

I didn't reply. I didn't have to. Snape understood me. And the fact that there were now two people
in this world who would follow me into this Room of Requirement eased the gripping pain in my
heart, and gave me just a shred of strength to hold on.

Just a bit longer…

 Chapter 23

"There is no greater love than this.

There is no greater gift that can ever be given.

To be willing to die,

So another might live—

There is no greater love than this."

-Stephen Curtis Chapman

VVVVVVVVV

HERMIONE

The plan stood before us. We were on our way—and soon it would all be over. Soon—but a great
deal of difficulty still blocked our path. The three of us knew that. Knew it, expected it, feared it,
but there was no other option. Not when we'd come so far already.

In a very rare moment of quiet, in the evening, I sat in the grass with Harry, looking up at the
multi-colored sky. I leaned my back against his—we leaned against each other, as always. I took a
deep breath of the warm night air, listened to the wind, and gazed up at the stars that had begun to
twinkle. Ron lay on his back not far away, asleep—he was so tired, poor dear. Absently, I rubbed
my fingers up and down, up and down the inside of my left arm, my fingertips tracing the scars that
stood out on my soft skin.

"I'm sure you could find something to erase that," Harry remarked, the vibration of his voice
rumbling against me. I smirked. He knew what I'd been doing.

"I'm sure I could," I said. "But I'm not going to."

"Why?" he asked.

"Because," I tossed my head. "Bellatrix Lestrange is going to die. I'll kill her myself if no one else
does." I lifted my chin. "And then, fifty years from now, I'll be able to tell my grandchildren about
how I hunted horcruxes with Harry Potter, and when a Death Eater tried to cut information out of
me, I just made her deaf in her left ear."

Harry snorted, then chuckled. I grinned. But my smile faded, and an ache settled in my chest. I lay
my head back and rested it on Harry's warm shoulder.

"I love you, Harry. You know that, right?"

"Er…" he stammered. "Yes, I suppose so—Why did you feel like you needed to—"

"Because it's important to say it," I decided, my brow furrowing. "It's important to remember
everyone you love and who loves you—especially in a time like this. Now it's your turn."

"What? Really?"

"Yes, really," I insisted. "Go on."

He cleared his throat and shifted.

"Well, all right. I love you, Hermione—and I actually do mean that."

I snickered.

"Good to hear it." I lifted my eyebrows as I watched a twinkling star straight overhead. "And we
both love Ron."

"Yes. He's my brother," Harry murmured.

"Mine, too," I whispered.

"And all the Weasleys," Harry said.

"Of course," I said, then wiggled a little. "Especially Ginny, huh?"

"Yes," he breathed, and that made me smile.

"And Hagrid," I added.

Harry laughed.

"Yes, and Hagrid. And…and Lupin, and Tonks…"

"And Luna Lovegood," I added. Harry was thoughtful for a moment.

"Yeah. I agree. Even if she has a lousy father."

"Tosh," I scolded. "Positive thoughts."

Harry cleared his throat.

"Okay, um…" He went still. "Sirius."

Deep sorrow swelled through me.

"Yes."

"And my parents. And Dumbledore. And Dobby."

"Poor Dobby…"

"And pretty much every professor and everybody else who's looked after me when I couldn't look
after myself," Harry concluded.

"That doesn't leave me with a very different list," I mused. "Except…well, my own parents.
And…" I trailed off.

"And that other person," Harry finished for me. "That other person that you can't tell me."

I just nodded, and squeezed my eyes shut and turned my nose toward Harry's ear.

"It's okay," he said, finding my right hand with his left. "It'll all be okay. Promise."

"Thanks, Harry," I said, opening my eyes—and gazing through tears up at that single, twinkling
star. I bit my lip, savoring the sight of that little pinprick of brilliant light—trying to preserve it in
my mind.

Things were about to get really dark.

VVVVVVVV

DRACO

I absently stroked my fingers over my cat's back as I sat in a tall armchair in front of the tall, ornate
stone fireplace at Malfoy Manor. My gray cat, Styx, stood on my lap, his whole body rumbling
with purring, as I massaged his spine in the same way I had ever since he was little: scratch the top
of his head with my fingertips, all the way down his arched back, then close my fingers around his
tail and run my hand all the way down it, only to start again at his head. He drunkenly blinked his
yellow eyes at me. I glanced at him, then quit petting as I stared into the flames. He tucked down
onto my lap, a warm weight, and continued to purr contentedly. Inside, I was quiet. My hands sat
empty, devoid of my wand.

A while ago, my family had gotten new wands, since Potter had confiscated them. I had not. My
father had laughed it off, declaring that I must be bravely waiting for the chance to get my original
wand back, and taking the chance to boast that the Dark Lord had used his, so it was only natural
for him to get a new one.

Bellatrix and the others weren't so certain about my hesitation to replace my wand, and I detested
the askance way they looked at me—so I abandoned their company. I had walked through the
barren grounds, I had traipsed into the upper reaches of my house where no one ever went, leaving
footprints in the dust. And up there, in an old iron-clad trunk in the corner of a low-ceilinged attic,
I had uncovered a very old book.

It had a cover of beaten black leather, and the title on the cover had long ago worn away. Inside,
the pages felt crisp and delicate, and the hand-written words were written in ancient runes. I felt
strange as I held it—as if I was touching something light, airy, that didn't quite belong here. As if I
was grasping a rope, a lifeline, in the midst of a troubled sea.

So, as the fight raged in the world around me—as Snatchers kidnapped and killed, as Death Eaters,
werewolves and even Lord Voldemort frequented our home and ate and drank and plotted, I sat in a
corner with that ancient book and translating manuals, and steadily worked out each line, each
phrase, and copied it into modern English. No one bothered me. Before, I would have been
offended at being completely disregarded. Now, I preferred it, and said very little to anyone. My
mother and father believed me to be continuing my education, so they left me to it. Voldemort and
the Death Eaters believed I was an incompetent baby, and gave me the same treatment.

At first, I used the book as a diversion to ease the throbbing in my heart and keep my mind from
running mad. But then…Then, as I slowly began to absorb what I copied, the ancient book
consumed me. I sat at a little desk, lit by a single lamp in the study, and wrote and wrote, and as I
did, I turned the old words over in my mind, slowly, carefully—as one turns a groggy but lethal
viper over in one's hands.

Now, as I sat in front of the fire, staring into the dancing flames, my cat resting on my lap, I kept
smoothing and turning and smoothing the words and phrases in my head, considering them from
every angle, as I sank even deeper down into silence. I ran a mental finger over the words of the
title, watching them in my mind as they turned from runes to English.

The Paths, Truths and Incarnations of the Ancient Magic

I closed my eyes. I listened to my cat's purring.

A great door opened behind me. Footsteps sounded—footsteps I knew. But they were hurried,
determined. They invaded my silence, brought me up to the surface. I gritted my teeth and lowered
my head.

Snape had come from Hogwarts.

I did not move.

"The Dark Lord has sent me," Snape called through the house as he came to a halt in the middle of
our parlor. "We are to move on Hogwarts."

Bellatrix instantly came careening in from another room, uttering a splitting squeal like a little girl
sliding down a banister. I arched an eyebrow and stayed where I was.

"Severus!" my mother cried, darting into the room from another hall, her heels clacking on the
stones. "What—already?"

"Yes, Narcissa—Potter and his friends have broken inside. They are searching for Ravenclaw's
diadem."

I lifted my eyes. Flames danced before them. My ring glittered.

"Lucius is here, he's upstairs—" Mother started.

"I know, and we must make haste," Snape said. "I'll be waiting for you outside. Ready yourselves."
And he turned and strode back out. The door slammed shut behind him.

"We are to make war on Hogwarts?" my mother whispered into the silence.

"Yes, Sissy—come on!" Bellatrix giggled. "This is what we've been waiting for! This is our
moment—to take back what's ours!"

"But…But we went to school there," Mother protested. "Lucius went to school there, and you, and
me and Severus and—"

"And it'll belong to us again!" Bellatrix said, as if Mother was dense. "We'll get rid of the
mudbloods and everybody who's ruining it and get it back to the way it ought to be!"

"Get rid of them," Mother repeated, her voice hard all of a sudden. "Don't sugar-coat it, Bella. You
mean kill them."

"'course I do," Bellatrix shot back. "What did you think?"

"You're going to murder children."

"They're not children, Sissy," Bellatrix hissed. "They're animals. And I mean to slaughter them all,
by the side of the Dark Lord. And it's not just them—I've been waiting for years to kill the blood-
traitors—haven't you? All those filthy Weasleys, and Nymphadora and that…that creature she
married," she spat. Then, Bellatrix suddenly let out a crow, as if something had just occurred to her.
"I tell you, Sissy—you'll have to come watch—because I'm planning to stand on her head and cut
off, and then I'll carve up that little half-breed baby of hers like a turkey."

"Nymphadora's my cousin."
My voice cut the air—though I hadn't said it very loud. I felt both women turn to regard me, even
though my back was to them. I still didn't move. I watched the flames.

"Yes," Bellatrix said flatly. "And the tree says she's my niece. Should that change my mind for
some reason?"

"Bella—" Mother started.

"Oh, and that mudblood girl who got into my vault," Bellatrix snapped her fingers in afterthought,
continuing with her list as if we'd said nothing. "Yes, that girl I cut up, but she got away. She's
next, after Nymphadora. Ha! It's getting to be rather a long line, isn't it?" she snorted in laughter. I
heard her take a couple steps toward me, and she raised her voice. "Maybe I'll let Draco have her,
eh? He's yet to taste first blood—How about that? It'll be great fun, Draco!"

"You know, Aunt," I said, my voice even and cold. "Sometimes I wonder what you'll do for
amusement after the war. Boil children and eat them?"

Slowly, I stood up, and Styx jumped off my lap and trotted around the corner. I turned, and rested
my left hand on the back of my chair. I didn't lift my head—I gazed steadily at the floor and arched
an eyebrow.

"Or will you comb your hair for once, put on some perfume and hope Lord Voldemort notices
you?"

I raised my head. My aunt stood in front of my mother not fifty meters away. My mother stared at
me. Bellatrix gaped—and she went white as a sheet.

"How…How dare you speak of such things?" she seethed, her hands clenching into shaking fists. I
jerked my chin minutely.

"You're right, of course. I shouldn't. Because he won't." I met her eyes, and narrowed mine. "You
think you're special to him? That you matter?" I shook my head and curled my lip. "You're nothing
but a rabid dog he keeps to do his dirty work for him." I paused. "You are the animal."

Bellatrix moved so fast I couldn't track it. Her hand, gripping her new wand, lashed out. My mother
screamed. But not louder than Bellatrix.

"Crucio!"

It hit my chest. I staggered back, my hands flying to my heart. Pain wracked me—

And then it faded. I opened my eyes. I took a breath. I stared down at myself. My heartbeat raged. I
looked at my aunt.

She stood stiff, her arm fully extended, her wand pointed at me. And, with her crazed black eyes
wide and her shocked face like ash, she looked even more ghastly in that moment than she ever
had.

"'Promise me you'll always remember:'" Dumbledore's words resounded through my mind.

"'You're stronger than you seem.'"

And then—

Mother wailed and clawed at her sister. Bellatrix threw her off. I backed up. Bellatrix lunged at me,
shrieking at the top of her lungs—
"Avada kedavra!"

Blinding green light exploded through the room.

Force hammered into me.

I slammed back against the mantle.

All the glass broke.

Thunder rolled.

The stones shuddered.

Silence fell.

I opened my eyes.

Bellatrix lay sprawled on her back, motionless. I stood away from the mantle, gasping, pressing a
hand to my heart. A reflexive smile flashed across my face, and then it fell away as I swallowed
hard.

I was alive.

More than that.

I was right.

I strode forward, my shaky legs gaining strength with each step, my feet crunching on the broken
glass of the windows and vases and plates that had shattered all over the stones. Mother, clutching
her throat, stood like a statue over the body of her sister.

I came up on the other side of Bellatrix. Her eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. Her black hair
splayed all over the floor. A cold wind blew through the chamber.

I bent down, and pressed my fingers to her throat. No pulse answered.

"You…" Mother rasped. "You killed her…"

"She killed herself," I murmured, still so stunned that I couldn't look away from her stony face. "I
didn't even have a wand."

My mother began to weep. She clapped a hand over her mouth and choked. I stared into Bellatrix's
lifeless eyes and gritted my teeth.

"The lamb's protection does extend

Against murderer's efforts to you

A life for life

In skin imbues

The greatest power of all

A shroud around you will not bind

To death you will not fall."

Those words, from the last page of that ancient book, had followed me through every waking
moment since I'd translated them. I had walked with them, pondering them, savoring each line,
feeling each undercurrent until I understood their full meaning.

And now I knew they were true.

Dumbledore had died for me.

Died to save me from Voldemort.

Which made clear what I could do.

And what I had to do.

"What happened? What was that sound?" My father's voice rang through the room as he rushed
down the stairs. I didn't turn around to face him. He halted.

"What…" he gasped. "What happened?"

"Bella…Bella tried to kill Draco!" Mother sobbed. "But the spell—it…It came back and hit her and
she…and she—Draco, what are you doing?"

I didn't answer her—I just pried Bellatrix's wand out of her stiff hand and got to my feet. I turned
around.

My parents stood frozen, my mother's eyes full of tears, my father's full of shock—both of them
fixed on me.

"I'm doing what I should have done," I answered my mother. I paused, just for a moment, and
looked at each of them. "I love you both," I said—and I waved my new wand, and with a loud
bang, I apparated out of Malfoy Manor.
 Chapter 24

Out of doubt,

Out of dark

To the day's rising

I came singing in the sun, sword unsheathing.
To hope's end I rode and to heart's breaking:
Now for wrath,

Now for ruin

And a red nightfall!

-Lord of the Rings

VVVVVVV

DRACO

I strode through the shadows, my hooded black cloak whispering around me and behind my feet. I
swept like a wraith around the edges of the battle. The air burned with the scent of ozone, ashes
and blood. Screams, roars and shouted spells echoed back and forth, far away and near.

I strode with even steps, quiet on the underbrush beneath the shroud of trees. This time, my hand
was steady on my wand.

This time, I meant to bring death.

I could not let either faction see me. I was certain Voldemort knew that I was responsible for
Bellatrix's death. If he believed I was a rogue, my parents might be safe. But if I drew any attention
to myself—though he could not kill me—he could easily kill them, believing them to be traitors.
The same applied for Professor Snape. And Potter had seen me when Dumbledore died and
doubtlessly had spread that fact throughout the Hogwarts ranks. I was not guarded by the ancient
magic from their spells—approaching them could prove deadly to me.

Luckily, Occlumency had taught me the art of subtlety, concealment trickery—and subversion.

Like the symbol of my house, I would be like a serpent striking before they knew what had
happened.

I walked soundlessly toward the sound of voices—voices I recognized. A shrubbery concealed

them from my sight for the moment, but I heard the tones of three different men as they
conferenced near the reaches of the fighting.

"We'll try for the secret passages—blast them apart," said one man.

"They're being guarded by those inside the castle, I presume," said another.

"They won't know what hit them," said the third. "I believe it to be the best bet—the Dark Lord
agrees with me," said the first.

"You spoke with him?" said the third.

"I did."

"Excellent," said the second. "I agree."

"Interesting thought," I said, stepping out from behind the shrubbery, my face hidden by the
darkness of my hood. I stopped.

McNair, Rookwood and Travers spun, wands up, to face me.

"Who are you?" Rookwood demanded. I reached up and put my hood down. They started, and
their wands faltered.

"Draco Malfoy?" McNair recognized me.

"How did you get here?" Travers asked, looking at me sideways.

"I'd love to chat, gentlemen—have tea and everything," I said. "But I'm afraid there's no time.
You're not going to attack the passages."

"Why not?" Rookwood asked. "Did the Dark Lord change the orders?"

"No," I said.

The Death Eaters shifted, narrowed their eyes.

"But you have a choice," I went on. "Abandon this fight and leave immediately—or die."

They stared at me a moment, then glanced at each other.

"By whose hand?" McNair asked.

"Your own," I said.

Travers laughed. McNair smirked.

"This is a waste of time," Rookwood scowled, pointed his wand at me and said: "Expelliarmus."

I stepped back—blocked it. The other Death Eaters' eyes flashed.

"Stupefy!" Travers tried. The spell exploded against my shield charm. I lifted my head, and strode
out toward them, my cloak billowing behind me.

"Stand down," I said. They raised their wands. I twisted, pointed mine at McNair and a nonverbal
reducto burst from my wand. It slammed him—he blasted back and crushed against a tree with
bone-shattering force. He crumpled, and lay still. Travers and Rookwood spun to face me—I
blocked Rookwood's blazing curse, my cloak whirling, and then Travers uttered it.

"Avada kedavra!"

Thunder rocketed through the wood. Emerald light dazzled my eyes. A pillar of light shot straight
up into the air, as if lightning had leaped from the ground to the sky. It vanished. Darkness
returned. Travers' eyes went wide and empty, and he fell backward to the earth.

I turned. Rookwood, on his back, scrabbled away from me, his eyes stark, as he groped for his
wand.
"Leave it," I warned.

"What…What did you do?" Rookwood gasped.

"Touch that wand and I will kill you," I answered, pointing mine at his chest. He paused, staring at
me, then smirked.

"You'll kill me, Draco?" he shook his head. "I don't think so. You're a coward. You've been playing
tricks, fiddling with protecting enchantments—you wouldn't look me in the eyes and kill me." He
showed me his teeth, confidence burning behind his gaze. His hand slapped down on his wand—

"Avada kedavra."

—and green light from my wand swallowed him. He fell back, limp. I stepped toward him, my lip
curling.

"You forget," I snarled. "I'm a Malfoy."

I lifted my eyes from the dead body. Far off, a group of Death Eaters had paused, startled by the
thunder and the blazing green light. For a moment, I gazed back at them. I felt their confusion, their
sudden uncertainty. Then, I raised my hood, stepped back, and vanished into the darkness.

I prowled the edges of the chaos, listening to the whispers and the shrieks, slipping from shadow to
shadow, and with each step I took, I became more deadly than Bellatrix, more terrifying than any
dementor, in the minds of my enemies. Because this was my school—I knew the grounds like the
back of my hand, I could slip in and out of the blackness like a ghost, and thus, I executed a swift
impedimenta or sparks of light or a petrificus totalus at strategic moments, enabling my classmates
and professors to kill or disarm the ones they were fighting—and in some cases, saving classmates
from death. None of them knew what had happened. But word of my elusive, nameless presence
swept through both ranks—and the Death Eaters began glancing behind them, second guessing
their steps, and sending their spells flying wide of their targets.

But hope amongst the army of light still wavered—Voldemort still lived. I just had to stay alive and
do as much damage as I could until Potter had destroyed the horcruxes and realized the last thing
he needed to do.

I pulled my hood closer around my head as I began another circuit of the castle grounds. I pressed
my back against a stone wall, listening—

And the sound of two sets of shattering spells reached my ears. A Death Eater and a member of the
army of Hogwarts had split off on their own. I eased my eye around the corner. My heart thudded.

There stood the brawny, bearded figure of Antonin Dolohov, his arm whirling, spells of the
wickedest kind blasting from his wand tip, lighting up the lawn, the sky and his sharp, craggy face.
Across from him, sweat running down his brow, his clothes ragged, battling as swiftly as he could,
his feet catching in the grass, was Remus Lupin, my old Dark Arts professor.

Nymphadora's husband.

I gripped my wand. And I stepped out into the flashing light.

They did not see me—their eyes were locked on each other, their spells cracked the air. I quickened
my steps.

Dolohov took three strides forward, then fired a crushing reducto at Lupin. Lupin caught it in a
shield charm—he yelped, and staggered back. He lost his balance. Dolohov bared his teeth, aimed,
and barked a strange incantation—

I leaped in front of Lupin, spread my arms and lifted my face to the sky.

The spell crashed into my chest.

Ripping agony clawed at my gut.

It slowed, but nausea gripped me, and my face went cold—

I opened my eyes.

Dolohov had thrown himself out of the way of the rebounded spell.

His hateful gaze struck mine.

Behind me, Lupin struggled to his feet—

Dolohov flicked his wand, hastily aiming at Lupin—

"Sectumsempra!"

I lunged, trying to intercept it. An invisible knife sliced open my left cheek.

The spell clipped Lupin. He crashed to the ground, gasping. Blood poured down my face—I felt it
start to heal—

Dolohov got to his feet.

I threw myself back toward my professor. I took him up in one shaking arm, waved my wand and
bound him to me. Dolohov leveled his wand at us. I raised mine high in the air.

"Ascendio!"

With a speed and force that nearly tore me in half, we blasted upward and away, Dolohov's spell
crashing around our feet. My vision flickered and my muscles felt weak—Dolohov's curse was
wearing off too slowly—

I held my wand steady as cold wind whipped past us—then we curved, I lost control—

And my head and shoulders crashed through a window.

I smashed onto a rug, my professor landing on top of me. He groaned, hissing through his teeth, his
arms wrapped tight around himself. I struggled to get out from under him. Moonlight streamed in
through the broken window—we had fallen inside Hogwarts. I got up, blood running down my
head now, and bent to haul my professor up. I sliced my fingers open on the shards of glass that
covered both of us—but I could not see my own blood for the blood that was drenching Lupin's
clothes.

Panic shot through me as my arms quivered and my vision winked in and out. I knew that spell—
sectumsempra—it belonged to Snape. But what was the counter-spell? What sealed the wounds?
What held the blood back?

I couldn't remember—I wracked my brain as I dragged Lupin through the room, toward the door. I
had to get him to a doctor—
Lupin howled in pain. I secured my grip, wrapping my arms under his arms and around his waist.
We passed the threshold and entered the dark hallway. My legs quivered underneath me—I felt
like I was going to throw up. Lupin's blood felt hot against my palms—

I gasped, and staggered sideways.

Nobody knew that counter spell—nobody knew how to fix it.

I needed Snape—no one else could do it! I needed Snape—

My back fell against the wall. I choked, my muscles turning to water.

The wall rippled against my back.

It gave way.

A door creaked. I fell backward.

And the Room of Requirement swallowed me and Lupin, and shut the door to hide us.

VVVVV

HARRY POTTER

A terrible rasping, gurgling noise issued from Snape's throat.

"Take…it…Take…it…"

Something more than blood was leaking from Snape. Silvery blue, neither gas nor liquid, it gushed
from his mouth and his ears and his eyes, and I knew what it was, but I did not know what to do—

A flask, conjured from thin air, was thrust into my shaking hands by Hermione. I lifted the silvery
substance into it with my wand. When the flask was full to the brim, and Snape looked as though
there was no blood left in him, his grip on my robes slackened.

"Look…at…me…" he whispered.

My green eyes found the black, but after a second, something in the depths of the dark pair seemed
to vanish, leaving them fixed, blank and empty. The hand holding me thudded to the floor, and
Snape moved no more.

I remained kneeling at Snape's side, simply staring down at him, until quite suddenly a high, cold
voice spoke so close to us that I jumped to my feet, the flask gripped tightly in my hands, thinking
that Voldemort had reentered the room.

Voldemort's voice reverberated from the walls and floor, and I realized that he was talking to
Hogwarts and to all the surrounding area, that the residents of Hogsmeade and all those still
fighting in the castle would hear him as clearly as if he stood beside them, his breath on the back of
their necks, a deathblow away.

"You have fought," said the high, cold voice, "valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value
bravery. Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by
one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste. Lord
Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately. You have one hour. Dispose
of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured. I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have
permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the
Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up,
then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you,
and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One
hour."

Both Ron and Hermione shook their heads frantically, looking at me.

"Don't listen to him," said Ron.

"It'll be all right," said Hermione wildly. "Let's—let's get back to the castle, if he's gone to the
forest we'll need to think of a new plan—"

She glanced at Snape's body, then hurried back to the tunnel entrance and ducked inside. Ron
followed her, disappearing into the dark hole. I gathered up the Invisibility Cloak, then looked
down at Snape. I didn't know what to feel, except shock at the way Snape had been killed, and the
reason for which it had been done…

I heard something. A footstep on the boards. I lifted my head

A dark figure stepped out of the shadows in a far corner, behind a cabinet. I stiffened.

I knew that tall form, that pale blonde hair, the angles of that face, even in the dim light.

Draco Malfoy.

Hatred and dismay blistered through me. I turned to dart back into the tunnel, to follow Hermione
and Ron—

I stopped. My brow furrowed.

Draco was covered in blood. His left cheek had been opened with what had to have been a blade,
and crimson also stained his hair. And he wasn't looking at me at all. His silvery eyes focused on
Snape's fallen body at my feet—

And tears poured down his face.

He approached silently, and knelt down on the other side of his body. For a long moment, I stood
frozen as Draco gazed at that still, stony visage, his brow twisted, his eyes bright. He let out a
watery gasp, reached out and, with soft fingertips, closed Snape's eyes.

"I'm sure," Draco whispered roughly. "You'll think better of him someday, Potter."

"Malf—" I started, but he swiftly raised a finger and put it to his lips, then glanced warningly at the
tunnel.

"Malfoy, what are you doing here?" I hissed, my head spinning. He looked up at me, his eyes
brilliant—I was shaken by the fact that he didn't move to wipe his tears away.

"I needed to speak to Snape." He blinked, and more tears tumbled down. His gaze went dull for a
moment, then he rose back up to his feet, and his attention returned to the fallen man between us.

"You need to go look at that," Draco nodded toward the flask in my hand. "Straightaway."

My heart swelled with suspicion.

"Why?"
"Because it's important," he snapped, his eyes flashing to me. I started. His gaze was suddenly
bright with something different, something I had never seen before—

He swallowed.

"Tell my mum, if she asks," he murmured, turning back to Snape. "That I'm all right—and I've
gone inside the castle."

I glared at him. He glanced at me.

"And…I'm sorry I broke your nose."

My mouth fell open. But before I could say anything, Draco had glanced at the tunnel entrance
again, and his countenance hardened.

"You had better go," he advised, then met my gaze. "Don't waste your hour."

I swallowed, then backed away from him, certain he would curse me or hex me the instant I turned
my back…

But it was as if he forgot I was there. He knelt down beside Snape again, bent his head and
screwed his eyes shut. Silent sobs shook him, and he pressed his bloodied left hand down against
Snape's heart.

Something flickered inside me. But I had no time to think on it. I turned, dove into the tunnel, and
raced up it.

Within steps, I met with Ron and Hermione, who demanded to know what had been taking me so
long.

"No time now, guys," I answered. "I have to get to the pensieve."

VVVVVVVVV

HERMIONE

Hogwarts seethed. The ground tore. Screams shredded the air, and spells exploded like fireworks
through the night. Harry was gone—I wasn't sure where, or what was happening to him. But I
fought through the chaos, beside Ron and Luna and Neville and so many of my friends and
professors, against the black flashing Death Eaters and hordes of evil that Voldemort had
summoned.

I watched, helpless, as people died—dropped lifeless to the ground all around me. I had seen the
grinning faces of Death Eaters, ducked as Dementors swooped and hissed, and fled as giants
crushed bone and flattened flesh. In the back of my mind, I wondered why I had not yet seen the
freakish form of Bellatrix Lestrange—and I forced myself not to ask why I hadn't caught a glimpse
of Lucius Malfoy.

I had reached my breaking point hours ago. I fought with sweating palms and pounding heart and
reeling head. I was so tired, my mind felt dull and my eyes hurt, and still I fought. My heart flayed
open inside me, every nerve raw. I had been through too much—I'd seen too much.

But what choice did I have? We teetered on the brink of a great chasm, and we had to backpedal
from it, and batter at the dark with every ounce of force that remained in our bodies.
My feet slipped and slid on the grass—I fought to keep my balance as I dueled, Ron at my side.
But then—

Something black and horrid and dark swooped in front of me, screeching.

And everything got cold.

The light went out—the heat vanished, the strength sucked right out of my muscles. The shadow
towered over me. My arms went limp and my mouth went slack as the grim-reaper-like form of a
dementor towered over me, eclipsing everything else—shutting into silence all other sound and
sight.

And then—

A confusion of blinking, flashing, freakish, familiar visions came barreling through my mind.

I reached down and ripped the snake off of me. Blood got all over my hands. The snakes'
simmering rose to a boil, and their hiss became a roar—like angry wasps. I tried to leap over them,
to run back toward the barley field, but they leaped up my legs, tying like ropes, coiling around my
ankles. I tumbled to my knees. My hands landed on another snake. He lashed out and bit my wrist. I
screamed again, my throat tearing, and tried to knock him off. He clamped down, and pumped me
full of venom…

FLASH

"Avada kedavra!" Lucius Malfoy cried.

I threw myself onto my back as green light exploded through the room. Bellatrix Lestrange let out
a ringing cackle. A heavy body thudded to the floor.

"NO!" my wail ripped the air. Mum let out a wrenching cry and flung herself toward my fallen
father. Bellatrix's wand flashed.

"Avada kedavra!" she bellowed. Mum stiffened, then crashed to the floor atop Dad, her eyes
blank…

FLASH

I saw a shadow. It had shoulders, and a pale head. It walked with a familiar stride. He wore all
black—a flawless suit, with a high-necked shirt. He walked as Draco walked, and had his hands in
his pockets as Draco would, and bore Draco's sharp, handsome features.

But his countenance was hard as marble.

And his eyes were black as the abyss.

Casually, he reached down, took hold of his left sleeve and pulled it up, and unveiled a black,
slowly-writhing Dark Mark tattooed on his white skin.

"Your Draco Malfoy wouldn't have one of these then, would he?" he snarled.

My whole body shuddered. I fell to my knees before the dementor. It stretched out its ghastly, bony
hands. I collapsed backward onto the ground, twitching—trying to scream for help. No sound came
out. I thrashed. My eyes rolled, mind flailed through my memory, searching for something,
anything—
Between both hands, I held the slender stem of a daffodil so yellow that it almost hurt my eyes. I
reached up, and fingered one of the delicate petals—it was so soft! Then, I reached up and wiped
my tears off on my sleeve, and no more welled up. I lifted my eyes to Draco's brilliant ones, and
watched him for a moment. The wind caught my hair and made it dance around my shoulders. I
blushed.

"Thank you," I said. Draco's eyebrows shot up.

"I had nothing to do with that," he pointed at the flower.

"Of course," I said lightly…

The dementor bent closer. Frost rushed like a blanket over my clothes and skin. Dimly, I heard Ron
shouting my name in stark panic. My hands closed into fists. I bit my cheek. I tasted blood. I knew
this fog, this despair, this crushing darkness. I had breathed it in before, when I'd spent the night in
that barley field.

I was going to die—it was going to kill me. And I could not move enough, I couldn't fight it. I
couldn't even cry for help—

"Your move," I said. Draco frowned. I cocked my head.

"We'll play two out of three. Whoever loses has to sing tonight," I challenged.

"In that case…" he said, twisted so he could reach the pieces, and shoved a pawn two spaces
forward and grinned crookedly. "Let the games begin…"

The dementor breathed on my face. The last bit of air in my body forced a ragged scream through
my teeth. I squeezed my eyes shut—

"Well, I know I wouldn't appreciate it if somebody thought I wasn't pretty enough to dance with."

"Impossible," Draco said flatly. I looked at him.

"What?" I said, confused. But his brow was still furrowed, his gaze distant…

"No…" I grunted, my whole frame rattling. I scrabbled against the dirt. The dementor's bones
clattered as it shifted, following me. I felt its shroud brush against my legs—

And then Draco slid his hand down and took hold of my fingers.

My head turned my eyes flashed. But he didn't wait. He got to his feet, and pulled me up with him.
I stood there, breathless and stunned, for just a moment, staring into his eyes. Then he let go of me
and kicked his head toward the willow.

"Let's see what the door in the ground has for us today, shall we…?"

"You…can't…" I gritted, all the muscles in my stomach screaming as I forced them to contract, to
make me sit up, as I clung to that sliver of light, that gleam inside my heart, that flame that refused
to drown—

"This might help," Draco snatched something up off the grass, and held out a silver hand mirror.
Now, I blushed. I could see as much in the flashing reflection.

"Oh, now I feel spoiled," I murmured, taking it from him and holding it up. "These things really
are too—"
"Then think of something for me!"

"Hermione!"

I heard Ron's voice—it sounded nearer—it penetrated the fog of blackness, despair. My clenched
fists raised. The Dementor pressed in. Its mouth was inches from my lips—

"What were you imagining?" I asked. "How did you get it started?"

"Once I figured out the key to it, it was easy," Draco confessed. He ran his eyes over my face. "I
had to come up with everything and anything that could possibly make you happy."

For just an instant, that familiar form flashed before my blinded eyes—

A tall one, unspeakably handsome, with blonde hair and black eyes, and a wicked countenance. He
laughed at me—laughed and snarled, and pressed his nose close to mine—

Then, that dark form before me blurred—and it was replaced by a shining one, with eyes like blue
stars. He grabbed my wrists and pulled me up. He pulled me out. He drew me up and out of the
open grave. He was clad in white, like an angel, his face was pale, and his eyes were unspeakably
full of light. They were familiar.

It was Draco.

The Draco I knew.

My Draco.

I opened my eyes. I stared straight into that Dementor's face.

And I lifted my wand.

"Expecto patronum!"

My patronus burst from the end of my wand and blasted the Dementor's face like a cannonball.

It shrilled, clawing at its face and hood, and spinning and spiraling upward into the sky.

"Hermione, are you okay?" I heard Ron gasp as he thundered up to my side. But I didn't turn to him
—my heart raced and my blood boiled as I scrambled back to my feet. I gripped my wand, faced
the dark armies and raised my fist. And with a violent thrill and a jolt of pure nerve, I roared at the
top of my voice, with all the strength in my bones:

"DO. YOUR. WORST!"

And once again, all my blackest nightmares descended to meet me.

But this time, I was not afraid.

I had seen them all, tasted their poison.

And as long as I had the willow and the barley field, they could never touch me.
 Chapter 25

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove:

O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come;

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error, and upon me prov'd,

I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd.

-William Shakespeare

VVVVVVV

HERMIONE

Tears ran down my cheeks and I laughed ridiculously as I trotted down the stairs of the
Headmaster's office, one arm slung around Harry's shoulders and the other around Ron's waist. My
laugh pulled through my chest and shot me through with joy so strong it hurt. I turned to Harry and
placed a kiss on his cheek, and then I pulled Ron down and kissed his cheek as well. They just
chuckled, not minding my girly mushiness for once, as the three of us charged back toward the
Great Hall where everyone was gathered, still cheering and hugging and crying.

Harry pulled back from me, and I turned to look at him.

"Hey, guys—I think I'm going to go to bed," he gave a weak smile, but he looked deadly pale. I
swiped at my eyes.

"Okay, I suppose you're allowed," I chuckled. "Ron, why don't you walk him up and make sure he
doesn't fall down the stairs? I want to go see Ginny."

"What, you don't think he can take care of himself?" Ron complained, but he turned, slapped Harry
on the back and the two of them grinned at me, then headed off toward the Gryffindor rooms. I
watched them go, my heart so full I couldn't even think of something clever or affectionate to shout
after them.

It was over. Impossibly.

Our army had fallen, then rallied.

Harry had died, then resurrected.

And Voldemort had stretched his gamble too far, and lost.

And in a last, titanic duel between Harry and the Dark Lord, Voldemort's own spell had arced back
and killed him—because Harry's wand—Draco's wand—had been the one to disarm the Elder.
Voldemort's mistake had cost him his life.

And now we were free.

I skipped like a little girl back toward the raucous noise in the Great Hall, my hair bouncing, a grin
on my face.

I turned, and the daylight streaming in through the ceiling made me blink, and delight rushed
through me as I gazed at everyone, all my friends, holding each other, kissing and hugging and
teasing and laughing—

My smile faded. Two figures moved in a manner unlike all the others—hurried, impatient, never
lingering to talk or hold out their arms to anyone else. I blinked, then swallowed as they came near
enough for me to see.

They both wore flowing black, and had long white-blonde hair that hung in disarray. They turned
every which way, their eyes searching, searching…

It was Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.

My breath caught.

And before I knew it, I started toward them.

I pushed through the crowd of my friends, weaving and dodging, for all of a sudden they were
obstacles in my way. All the noise of the revelry faded into the background.

And then I found myself standing in front of Narcissa.

She almost walked into me, and then she caught sight of me and stopped. Tearstains lined her
cheeks, and her eyes brimmed. Lucius, who stood just behind her, spotted me too. His eyes flashed,
but his face looked colorless.

"You…" Narcissa started, reaching up to fiddle with the front of her robes. "Have you seen Draco
Malfoy anywhere?"

Shock hit me. I opened my mouth—

"No use to ask her, Narcissa," Lucius gritted, glancing around. "She wouldn't pay him any mind."

"She knows who he is, Lucius!" Narcissa barked back at him, and I could hear how frayed her
nerves were. She spun back to face me, her expression desperate. "Please, have you seen him?"

I shook my head, all my happiness slowly draining out of me.

"No," I whispered. "No, I haven't."

"The Potter boy could have been lying," Lucius growled, but he choked on the words, and looked
away to hide how his brow twisted.

"Lying?" Narcissa gasped, turning to face him, her eyes going wide. "He…No, he couldn't be! He
told me that Draco was alive, that he was in the castle! It's why I didn't betray him to the Dark
Lord—because he told me Draco was—"

"Why wouldn't he?" Lucius answered. "He was trying to save himself—"

"No, no…No…" Narcissa's gaze darted wildly through the Great Hall. I was too stunned at what
she'd said to speak.

"Narcissa, we can—Narcissa, we can search elsewhere—" Lucius tried, pulling on his wife's arm.

"No, no, no," Narcissa shook her head, more and more frantic, and resisted him.

"Narcissa, come—"

Her expression broke.

"Oh, Lucius!" she sobbed, reached up and wrapped her arms around her husband's neck and buried
her face in his collar—and let out a heartbroken wail.

And Lucius—that cold, wicked man who had sneered down at me since second year—his face
went blank, stiff—and then his frame cracked, and his arms enveloped his wife. And as I watched,
shattered, his brow contracted, his eyes squeezed shut and he lowered his head down onto his
wife's shoulder.

Everyone nearby stopped what they were doing—stopped in the middle of their sentences, and
turned to stare at them. Silence fell throughout the crowd. Scorn flashed across many faces the
instant they saw the source, but it didn't stay there long. One would have to be heartless not to be
wrenched by the sound Narcissa was making.

I wrapped my arms tightly around myself, trying to keep my chest together, for I felt as if
something inside me was breaking apart.

"Harry…" I croaked, and no one heard me. I swallowed hard, and fought to speak louder. "Harry
wouldn't lie."

Lucius' eyes opened—eyes so like Draco's—

And twin tears spilled.

"What do you know of it, Miss Granger?" he demanded hoarsely, bitter and ashamed, but Narcissa
had twisted in his arms to see me. I swallowed again, and braced myself.

"If Harry says he saw Draco, and that Draco is alive, then it's true," I said. "And this…this is a big
castle. And the battle just finished. He…He could be anywhere inside here. We…We will help you
look."

Murmurs rustled through the room like wind through the barley. Narcissa and Lucius glanced at
each other. Narcissa's cheeks colored.

"We…We cannot ask anyone else to—" she murmured.

"Nonsense," I declared, trying to control my heart rate. "He didn't fight against us, which means
he's one of Hogwarts' own." I turned around, meeting all eyes who would look at me. "I'm going to
go look for Draco Malfoy. I would appreciate your assistance."

"I'll help you, Hermione," said a voice at my shoulder. I turned, to see Luna Lovegood's placidly
pleasant face. "I'm usually good at finding things that have gotten lost."

Narcissa blinked, shocked.

And then Neville Longbottom stood up, gave me a look, then a grim nod.

"I'll come," he decided. "If nothing else but to prove Harry right."

And that did it.

Everyone who was able to stand got up, and began forming into groups and barking orders. The
Great Hall erupted with activity, and groups of students and teachers began charging off into the
corridors. The Malfoys stood gaping, and I saw Lucius gulp as his eyes landed on Professor
McGonagall, Percy Weasley and Professor Flitwick urgently discussing which corridors they ought
to send some of the Gryffindors through to search.

"Luna, shall we try upstairs?" I asked the blue-eyed girl beside me.

"That's all right with me," she said lightly.

"Okay, let's go," I said, setting my shoulders and turning toward the direction I had come, Luna
beside me. Then, my feet slowed. I stopped, and glanced over my shoulder at the Malfoys.

They stood there, watching me, clinging to each other. They looked as if they were completely
lost. I swallowed, an old, familiar feeling settling into me. Had I done this before…?

"Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy?" I said, quietly and respectfully. "Would you like to come with us?"

Both of them started. Lucius' lips parted, Narcissa glanced up at him, then took his hand in hers
and pulled him forward. I felt Luna watching me, a cryptic smile on her face. I didn't return the
glance—I started walking again, the three of them in tow, and headed toward the staircase.

VVVVVVV

HERMIONE

We searched through the entire castle—Lucius, Narcissa, Luna and I. We climbed down into the
Slytherin common room, then trekked all the way to the astronomy tower. We called his name—
his mother's voice full of desperate hope, his father's a desperate command, and Luna's like the
coaxing coo of a dove. I shouted his name too—trying to keep my voice even, trying to smooth it,
and not let it break. It didn't help that I felt cold all over, and my stomach was tight as a drum.

And then, as a result of all this school-wide organization, it was discovered that Remus Lupin was
also missing.

The search efforts redoubled. All sorts of locating charms were cast, and students, teachers, ghosts
and house elves scoured the halls, bedrooms, toilets, towers, classrooms, pantries, kitchens and
closets.

But though we called until we were hoarse, and looked until our eyes hurt, we found no sign of
either of them.

And as the day waned into evening, and the Malfoys' despair opened up to swallow me, I had to
use all of my already spent courage to keep from shedding tears.

What was this victory worth if I had lost him?

VVVVVVV

Dum spiro, spero.

"While I breathe, I hope."

-Latin proverb

VVVVVVV

HERMIONE

Three days later…

I wandered through the mostly-empty halls of Hogwarts as evening fell. Many of the students had
gone home to their parents and siblings—and to bury their dead. I didn't blame them. But Harry, all
the Weasleys, the professors, Tonks and Teddy, and the Malfoys were all staying behind to help
clean up the mess and talk to the newspaper reporters about the battle—and in the case of the
latter, to look for clues to their son's disappearance—and so I opted to remain. I couldn't bear to be
parted from Harry and Ron yet—and call me masochistic, but being in the same room as either of
the Malfoy parents brought me such intoxicating pain that I wouldn't even entertain the thought of
leaving them—even though they didn't go out of their way to speak to me. I watched them from
afar, as I used to watch Draco. And the more I saw of them, the more I recognized certain gestures
and expressions and inflections. And the more my heart just ached.

But everything was difficulty. In a rather hair-raising confrontation, Harry had insisted that he had
seen Draco mere minutes after Professor Snape died, and that Draco had told him to tell his mum
he was going up to the castle. Lucius, of course, had not believed him. But Narcissa was willing to
entertain any evidence that indicated that her son was alive. So was I. Even though my confidence
was failing.

I walked alone this evening, running my fingers along the cool stone wall of a corridor. I entered
the messy Great Hall, stood in an aisle and gazed at the golden sun through the new, glittering
glass of the giant window. Slowly, I sat down at the crooked Slytherin table, and watched as the
light slowly, slowly deepened, faded, and darkened into purple, and the ceiling above washed
through with pink, then deep blue.

The stars came out. I climbed up on the table and lay down on my back, pillowing my head in my
hands. My eyes traced the brilliant, twinkling points of light.

"'Someday,'" I whispered. "'When I'm awfully low, when the world is cold, I will feel a glow just
thinking of you, and the way you look tonight…'"

I blinked. Tears ran down my temples. I let them stay there for a moment, then got up, calmed my
breathing, and swiped them away. I slid off the table, folded my arms, and began to meander down
a different hall.

My head hung low—I didn't pay attention which way I was going. I could find my way back to the
Gryffindor common room from any place in this castle, if I wished. And right now, I did not wish.

I hummed an unfamiliar song as I walked, even though the torches in this corridor had not been lit,
and only filtered light from other passages guided me.

I slowed. I stopped. I lifted my head.

I remembered this hall.

This was the place where Crabbe and Goyle had sprawled my books, and Draco had broken his
hand saving me from them. And Professor Snape…

"If you ever need assistance of that sort again," His words echoed in my memory. "Don't forget the
portraits…"

A thought began to dawn inside my mind. Slowly, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my
wand.

"Lumos," I breathed. My wand lit. I glanced around, and swallowed. The portraits nearest me were
all empty, and I could not see up to the highest reaches of the walls. I'd noticed that a great many of
the occupants of the portraits had retreated into the innermost part of the castle since the battle—I
assumed that they were still afraid to come out.

I cleared my throat.

"Er…Hello?" I called. My voice echoed too loudly. I winced. "Um…Is anyone there? Anyone…at
all?"

For a moment, only darkness and silence answered me.

Then, a strange little light started bobbing toward me.

A light in the wall.

"Hello?" a small, sturdy voice called. "What—who's there?"

I whirled to the left. Then, I leaped backward.

In a portrait right at my eye-level, a girl perhaps thirteen years old, holding a lit candlestick, stared
back at me. She wore a frilly cream-colored dress, she had long brown hair, a pale, pretty freckled
face and big blue eyes. And when she saw me, her face lit up with a broad smile.

"Oh! Hullo, Hermione!"

My mouth fell open.

"You…You know my name?" I stammered.

"Of course I do!" she laughed. "I've known you since the day you were sorted." She suddenly
frowned fiercely. "I was quite vexed at that Hat. I was certain you should have been sorted into my
mother's house—I still am!"

"Who are you?" I asked, still thrown.

"I'm Helena Ravenclaw!" she declared. She glanced past me, frowning again. "My ghost is around
here someplace…I prefer not to see her—she's such a drip."
Instantly charmed, I stifled a smile.

"Helena?" came a deeper, more resonant voice, her words colored with an Irish lilt, from
somewhere high above and to my left. "Who are you talking to? It's late at night!"

Helena rolled her eyes.

"I know what time it is—but curfew can hardly apply right now, can it?" She gestured with her
candlestick. "Just look at the state the Great Hall is in."

I would have kept smiling—but it faded as a sudden realization struck me, and I filled with tingling
wonder.

A wonder that increased to overpowering the next moment.

The tall form of a graceful witch descended through the frames until she stood with Helena in the
same broad, golden frame. She had a pale, lovely face, red lips, deep brown eyes, long, black,
wavy hair and blue, flowing velvet robes. A silver diadem sat on her head. She arched her right
eyebrow at her daughter and slipped her arm around her shoulders. Helena, despite her sassiness,
leaned her head over on her mother's shoulder. Then, Rowena Ravenclaw—Rowena Ravenclaw!—
turned her face to me.

"Good evening, Miss Granger," she intoned. "I'm sorry if my daughter is disturbing you."

"Not…Not at all," I managed. "It's…It's an honor to speak with you. Why…" I glanced all around
before returning my gaze to her deep, penetrating one. "Why have I not seen you before?"

"Oh, I usually hang about in the Transfiguration sections of the school, and the Ravenclaw room,
and portions of the library—and of course, the headmaster's office. It's usually too crowded in this
castle for me to move around much, and I'm so old—" She suddenly smiled. "But you have seen
me before, dear. You just don't remember."

I had to admit that this was probably true—after my first year, I had paid little attention to the
portraits—I was always so preoccupied with other things…

"I heard Hermione calling," Helena explained, tilting her face up toward her mother's, then glanced
out. "I came to see if she needed something—all the other pictures seem to have gone
somewhere…"

"I'm afraid they're not yet comfortable coming back to the halls," Rowena assumed.

"Ninnies," Helena declared. Rowena smirked, then looked back to me.

"What can we help you with, Miss Granger?"

"I wanted to speak with some of you," I confessed, trying not to wince in chagrin. "Ask you a few
questions…?"

Rowena's gaze instantly sharpened—she clearly liked questions.

"Truly?" Her eyebrow flicked again. "You're asking us for help?" A delicate frown crossed her
brow. "That doesn't happen very often."

"You're right—it doesn't, does it?" Helena observed.

"I can never understand it," Rowena shook her raven head. "Here we are, storehouses of the
knowledge of the centuries," she swept her bejeweled hand upward, to encompass the other
portraits. Then, she sighed. "And yet no one even glances up to ask the way to Potions class."

"Ah, Rowena, does that surprise you?"

That was a deep voice—much like that of Professor Snape's. And it came from behind me. I spun
around, heart pounding.

There, floating down into a wide silver frame exactly opposite Rowena and Helena's, came a young
man with shoulder-length, straw-blonde hair, a narrow face, stern brow, and the deepest, most
piercing green eyes I had ever seen. And he was clad in deep emerald robes.

"Salazar!" Helena waved to him. "What are you doing in this section of the castle?"

Salazar Slytherin—the man himself—glanced at me a moment, then addressed Helena frankly.

"I came because I sensed your mother's tired astonishment rippling through the walls—it woke me
up." Slytherin's bright eyes darted to Rowena's face. "I've told you before not to take it personally,
Rowena. Our library contains the answers to every possible question a young wizard could ask, but
do they search hard enough to find them? No, they are lazy and use the wrong incantation and
blow off their noses."

"Oh, that library," A hearty voice crowed, several frames above and to the right of Salazar's. I held
up my wand, straining to see—

A man the same age as Salazar, with curly golden hair, a mustache and short beard, a handsome
face and brilliant scarlet robes smoking a pipe, and leaning his shoulder against the side of his
frame, a sword gleaming at his belt.

Godric Gryffindor.

"I still say that life experience is the best teacher," Gryffindor decided, emphasizing his point with
a wave of his pipe. "You remember a spell twice as readily if you use it rather than reading it out of
a textbook."

"I don't like your tone," Slytherin said darkly up to him. "Rowena and I spent half our lives
building that library, and I don't—"

"Really, how long has it been—and the two of you are still fighting about that library?"

This time, I looked straight up—

And another dark haired lady—her shorter tresses all in curls—whirling down from frame to frame,
her golden robes trailing behind her, her floppy black hat flapping. She settled with a thump right
next to Rowena and Helena's frame.

It was Helga Hufflepuff.

I slapped a hand to my head, trying to steady myself.

"We're not fighting—we're discussing," Gryffindor corrected.

"It sounds like fighting to me," Helga said. "And personally, I've had enough of that."

Rowena's face lost all amusement. Slytherin sighed.

"Besides which," Gryffindor turned his twinkling eyes to me. "We're forgetting this young lady
here, who's asked for our help."

All the founders, and Helena, shifted and faced me.

"What would you like to know?" Slytherin asked. I stared at him, completely thrown by the open,
polite expression on his face. Then I scolded myself. Three such discerning, brilliant and brave
wizards such as Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw would not have even kept company with a
monster, much less found a school with him. Salazar Slytherin had not always been evil…

"I…" I started, trying to gather my thoughts. "I was told that Draco Malfoy was in the castle during
the battle. But no one can find him. I was wondering if…If any of you happened to see him?"

Slytherin's eyes flashed. But before he could speak, he was interrupted.

"Draco Malfoy? Is that what she said?" a fluty voice from high above floated out. And then a
winsome young woman with long, fluttering white-blonde hair, porcelain skin, and a green gown,
descended like a bird, and landed on the other side of Rowena and Helena. She turned large,
silvery-blue eyes on me. She raised her dark eyebrows.

"Did you say Draco Malfoy?"

"That's rude, Eden," Slytherin admonished. He sighed again. "Miss Granger, this is my sister, Eden
Malfoy, formerly Eden Slytherin."

"Nice to meet you," I fumbled breathlessly. She gave me a brief, but pleasant smile, then glanced at
the others.

"Forgive me, I just thought I heard everyone talking about my greatest grandson."

"We were," Rowena said.

"What about him?" Eden pressed.

"I asked if he was in the castle during the battle," I repeated.

"I haven't seen him since he came a few months ago," Helga said. "But at that time he went straight
to the Room of Requirement."

I turned and found her.

"The Room of Requirement?"

She nodded.

"Seemed very distressed about something. And a few minutes later, Severus Snape followed him
in."

Deep, sudden silence descended. Helena laid her head on her mother's shoulder again, and Rowena
saddened and wrapped her up in her arms. I struggled to take a breath.

"Severus Snape," Gryffindor mused, puffing on his pipe. "I would have put every last gold piece I
had on the odds that he'd marry Lily Evans."

"What—you favored him over James Potter—the poster child for your house?" Slytherin scoffed.
"Yes," Gryffindor said shortly. "Knowing what I know…Severus was more a Gryffindor than
anyone I've ever met."

"So you're saying Gryffindor has the monopoly on virtue and courage?" Slytherin objected.
Gryffindor glanced down at him.

"Does everything have to be a fight, old friend?"

Slytherin blinked, and his brow smoothed.

"He possessed the best qualities of both of you," Helga said, dabbing at her eyes.

"But we are forgetting Draco," Rowena reminded them all.

"He's a good boy," Eden said.

"What's your definition of 'good'?" Helga cried. "Hexing first years in the hallways and breaking
Harry Potter's nose?"

Eden tried to reply, but Helena jumped in.

"He had the good sense to fall in love with Hermione!" She waved her candlestick.

My face turned red hot. My eyes searched out Rowena.

"You…? All of you…?"

"Yes, we know," Rowena's eyes sparkled.

"How?" I demanded.

Rowena didn't answer—she just glanced past me at Slytherin, then Gryffindor. I spun around to
glare at them, and the two of them looked politely away.

"We saw you outside the Headmaster's office," Eden murmured, blushing. Slytherin cleared his
throat.

"Anyway…"

I wanted to fan my face—my eyes were watering.

"Anyway," Hufflepuff sighed, facing me. "We were discussing Draco and the Room of
Requirement. We know he came in, looking upset. But we don't know what he and Snape were
discussing."

"I do."

Rowena's voice startled me. It was low, and solemn. The others frowned.

"You do?" I pressed. She nodded.

"How do you know?" Gryffindor demanded. Rowena gave him an exasperated look.

"I designed that Room—a brilliant invention, if I do say so myself." And she gave me a very
knowing glance.

"You can hear inside…?" I stammered.

"I can," Rowena nodded. I couldn't decide whether I wanted to blush again or turn white.

"Well, of all the…" Gryffindor huffed. "How many centuries in this castle, and you've been
keeping that to yourself?"

"No one has ever asked me," Rowena defended herself. "But I do know what Draco and Snape
were discussing, and it concerns this lady."

All attention turned to me. Rowena Ravenclaw met my eyes squarely, and spoke earnestly.

"Draco was very grieved that he had let you down in some way—that you were being hurt and he
could do nothing to stop it."

I swallowed hard. My hand faltered on my wand. Rowena went on.

"Snape tried to soothe him, telling him that inaction had been the best action at the moment—that
to attempt your rescue may have proven fatal to you. Draco understood, but he could not be
appeased." Rowena canted her head at me, her brow furrowing. "He must love you very much."

I gasped, and swiped at my eyes. I felt a tremor pass through the portraits. And then—

"Enough, enough."

I glanced at Salazar Slytherin through the haze of tears. He was frowning hard, and gave Rowena
an irritated glance.

"Don't torture her," he said—startling me—then gave me a sharp look. "Young woman, Draco was
in the castle the night of the battle. He broke in through a window on the same level as the Room
of Requirement."

"He did?" I cried, my heart jolting. "What happened to him?"

"He carried a man with him," Slytherin continued. "It looked like Remus Lupin."

"Remus!" the others chorused, and Gryffindor called him "Moony."

"Lupin was injured," Salazar told me. "Draco was dragging him out of the room and down the hall,
presumably toward the hospital."

"I told you he's a good boy!" Eden exulted.

"What then?" I pressed.

"Draco carried him quite a distance, then staggered sideways and rested his back against a wall,"
Slytherin sighed. "However, it happened to be the door into the Room of Requirement."

"It…They…" I stammered, lost. Slytherin nodded.

"Yes—they fell through the doors, which closed behind them."

"The window would explain the reason Draco was covered in blood, like Harry said," I surmised,
my mind racing. "But…But Harry saw him in the Shrieking Shack! How could he have gotten—"

"I am sure you know, Miss Granger," Rowena spoke up. "That the Room of Requirement connects
with a passage to the Hog's Head."
Everything went still. I lowered my head.

"You mean…He got away."

"Very possible," Gryffindor said. "No one that I have spoken to or listened to has said they saw him
die."

"What about Lupin?" I wondered.

No one answered. They all shook their heads and shrugged.

"I know what room you mean, Salazar," Helena realized. "The one with the broken window." She
sat up, and waved with her candlestick again. "Come with us, Hermione—we'll show you!"

And they darted off, like the spirits they were, through the frames, down the corridor. I caught my
breath, then took off after them.

We raced down corridors and up stairs, until we came to that very familiar passage—the one that
passed near the Room of Requirement. I turned a few more corners, the portraits flitting all around
me.

"There," Salazar said, and I slowed.

Ahead of me, in a large, carpeted room lined with suits of armor, stood a great stained-glass
window of a knight on a white horse. Moonlight poured through it. A hole gaped in the lower
center of it, the glass jagged as teeth. The carpet was littered with colorful shards—and it was also
stained with dried blood—the blood of a heavy form that had clearly been dragged over the
threshold and out into the hall.

It was a horrible picture—horrible, but quiet. And though my stomach turned at the sight of it, my
heart rose.

Yes, there was blood.

But no body.

And for tonight, that would suffice.

The evening wind blew through the broken opening, and toyed with my hair.

"When are you going to tell them?"

I turned to see Gryffindor stride into a full-length frame that had clearly been abandoned by a
knight, his cloak flowing. He watched me, waiting.

"Tell who?" I asked.

"Potter and Weasley," he clarified. I blushed again.

"Tell them what?"

"You know what."

I shrugged, and glanced down at my feet.

"He wonders why you haven't, you know," he said. "Dumbledore."

My head came up. I frowned at him. He just looked at me.

"Really?"

He nodded, then shrugged.

"Voldemort is dead, the world is safe," he raised his eyebrows. "And everyone is in an
uncharacteristically-forgiving mood." He folded his arms. "You ought to take advantage of that.
Besides," he canted his head. "Potter and Weasley might be able to help you figure out where he's
gone."

My mouth closed tight. My insides trembled. But when the head of your house—and the one
whose courage you claim—looks at you like that…

"Fine," I whispered. "I suppose you're right."

"Good lass," Gryffindor winked at me. "We'll be right behind you."

Gritting my teeth, I turned around and started to the door.

And suddenly, I felt I was alone.

I shook my head, and kept going.

I chose to believe Gryffindor when he said they were all behind me—just silent now—as I made
my way to the common room to tell my friends the truth about the day I had gone missing for an
hour.
 Chapter 26

"You never find yourself

Until you face the truth."

-Pearl Bailey

VVVV

HERMIONE

I hesitated just inside the door of the Gryffindor common room. I stood in the shadows—nobody
inside knew I had come in yet. I heard several voices I recognized. I peeked my head forward and
glanced inside.

All the chairs and couches had been circled around the golden glowing fireplace—the only source
of light in the plush red room. Harry and Ron sat in chairs facing each other, with a little table in
between. They hunched over a game of wizard's chess. On the couch, closest to Harry, Ginny slept,
her head pillowed on her arm, a blanket draped over her. Next to her, I caught sight of Tonks' shock
of lately-purplish hair—she sat sideways on the couch, leaning back on the armrest. She held her
sleeping baby in her arms, and she stared off, her expression listless. I was absently glad that the
castle's laxened magic had let her in, even though she was a Hufflepuff.

On the other side of Ron, Fred and George Weasley poured over a list of new ideas for their shop,
while Percy frowned at them and told them that they would bring the future generations of
Hogwarts to ruin.

But then Fred caught sight of me. He smiled.

"Why, hello Hermione."

Everybody glanced my direction.

"The folks went down to get some food," George said.

"Told us you might go along with them if you wanted," Fred added.

"But only if you bring us back some butterbeer," George lifted a finger.

"Don't boss her around," Tonks said, still staring out in front of her. Then, she glanced at me, and
gave me a small smile. "How are you feeling, dear?"

"Better, thanks," I answered honestly—for though she didn't know the reason for my melancholy
of late, she had noticed it, and realized that we were feeling the same. She didn't bother me with
questions, and often came to my rescue when I was pressed too hard by others who didn't
understand.

"Where did you go?" Ron asked, sitting up from the game. Harry twisted in his chair to look at me.

"We were sure Peeves had eaten you," Harry said.

"Can I…" I started, my heart suddenly hammering. "Can I talk to you two? Alone?"
Fred and George smirked at each other, Tonks gave them a glare, but Ron and Harry's faces
changed. They both nodded.

"Sure," Harry said, getting up. "Come up to the room."

I gulped hard, my legs going weak, but I stepped all the way in, then followed Ron and Harry up
the steps into the boys' bedroom. When the door was shut behind us, they turned to face me. Ron
sat down on the end of his bed, and Harry stuck his hands in his pockets.

"Okay," Harry said, watching me. "Shoot."

"Well…" I took a deep breath, glancing back and forth between them. "Do you…Do you remember
the day that I chased after Malfoy, when we thought he'd been the one to curse Katie Bell, and I
told you I hadn't learned anything important from him?"

They both frowned, but nodded.

"I…" I took another deep breath. "I sort of…left a bit out."

VVVVVVVV

HERMIONE

I told them everything. I hadn't planned on that. I hadn't planned on telling everything—but one
event led to the next, and I found myself spilling details that I had once hoped to keep completely
to myself for the rest of time. But I should have known better. This was Harry and Ron I was
talking to, after all.

However, when I got to the part after we had left Dumbledore's office with his command that
Draco and I couldn't speak to each other anymore, my voice trailed off, and I stared into the wide
eyes of my two friends.

"What?" I whispered, suddenly blushing.

"I just want to be sure I've got this right," Ron held up a hand. "You snogged Malfoy?"

"I did not snog him!" I suddenly roared, my fists clenching. "That's a disgusting expression! I
kissed him." My eyes flew to Harry's. My voice shook. "I kissed him. And I would do it again,
because I…" I gulped hard. It hurt. "Because I'm in love with him." I swiped at my eyes. The boys
just stared at me. Ron openly gaped—but Harry considered me deeply, his arms crossed.

"I wondered why he was acting so strangely when I saw him in the Shrieking Shack," he
murmured. He glanced at Ron. "Hermione'd got a hold of him."

"Apparently," Ron snorted. Then he rolled his eyes and put his hands to his head. "This whole
world's gone completely mental."

"Well, it explains why Hermione went mental," Harry said to him. "Going off on her own, crying,
biting our heads off about nothing..."

"Yeah," Ron sighed. "Explains a lot."

I stood there, my hands clamped together, as the two of them fell into thoughtful silence. I held my
breath, disbelief creeping over me. I had expected their reactions to be more violent, more
horrified…
"You're…" I ventured. "You're taking it rather well."

They looked at me.

"Well, 'Mione," Ron began. "If you'd started with the snog—kissing—part," he amended. "I'd have
just held you down and waited for the Polyjuice potion to wear off. But after hearing that whole
thing," he gestured aimlessly, then sighed, and looked at me frankly. "I dunno—Malfoy sounds
like he's a different bloke."

"Dumbledore dying like that was a setup," Harry breathed, his gaze distant. "To keep Draco from
becoming a murderer and Snape from dying from the unbreakable vow."

I nodded.

"What has he been doing since?" Harry asked. I shrugged painfully.

"I dunno."

"And what the blazes was he doing when Bellatrix Lestrange was cutting your arm open?" Ron
suddenly burst out. My hand flew to my forearm.

"He was using his brain," I shot back. "If he'd tried to help me, all the Death Eaters would have
turned on him, and they probably would have killed me." I calmed myself. "As it was, I didn't get
killed, and we managed to escape."

"Not all of us," Harry whispered.

"Most of us," I forced out. "Which is better than none."

"Where was he during the fighting?" Ron asked. I glanced back at the door, then lowered my
voice.

"Trying to rescue Lupin."

Ron shot to his feet. Harry stepped toward me.

"What do you mean?" Harry demanded.

"The portraits in the hall," I clarified. "They said they saw him break through an upper window
during the battle, dragging Lupin, who'd been injured. They accidentally fell into the Room of
Requirement, where I assume they followed the passage down to the Hog's Head. That's why you
saw him at the Shrieking Shack, Harry."

"Why didn't you tell Tonks that?" Harry demanded.

"Because I don't want to get her hopes up," I hissed. "Not if…I mean, it's possible Remus didn't…"
I couldn't finish. Harry lost some of his color.

"This…is a lot to digest," Ron muttered, sitting back down.

"I know," I moaned. "I know, and I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, but if I had—"

"You're right," Harry said, sitting on his own bed. "We would have wigged out."

"Now we're just too tired to wig out," Ron chuckled. "We'll do that later."
"I know," I whispered, my heart sinking. Harry's head came up.

"Wait—does that really bother you?"

"What? Of course it does!" I cried. "I can't have my two best friends vomiting because of or hexing
someone I've attached myself to! That would be completely and totally intolerable!"

"Wait. You would break it off with him if we were unhappy with it, therefore making yourself
miserable?" Ron frowned at me. I said nothing, swallowing.

"Blimey, Hermione," Ron stood up again. "That's just totally ridiculous."

"But," Harry added bluntly. "If he ever hurt your feelings—we'd be glad to kill him for you."

I chuckled a little brokenly, and my smile remained. Then, surprising him, I stepped to Harry and
wrapped my arms around him.

"Thank you," I said, let go of him, threw my arms around Ron's waist and buried my face in his
broad chest. "Thank you. You have no idea how awful I've felt about keeping that from you."

"I would have kept it from us too," Ron snorted, but when I looked up at him, he was smiling
crookedly.

"So…that also explains why you traipsed through the castle with the Malfoys looking for him,"
Harry remembered. I nodded, backing up and wrapping my arms around myself.

"But now nobody has any idea where he is," Ron finished. I took a deep breath, and glanced at the
ground.

"I wouldn't give up just yet," Harry advised. I met his eyes. He gave me a half smile.

"One thing I've always known about Malfoy," he said. "Just when you think he's gone, he shows
up."

"Thanks, Harry," I managed—and unsuccessfully tried to banish that sinking feeling in my heart.

VVVVVV

You'll remember me

When the west wind moves

Upon the fields of barley

You'll forget the sun

In his jealous sky

As we walk in fields of gold…

So she took her love

For to gaze a while

Upon the fields of barley

In his arms she fell as her hair came down

Among the fields of gold…

VVVVVVV

HERMIONE

One week later…

At last, we left Hogwarts. It had been restored to some semblance of order, and my parents wanted
to see me. I still felt incredibly—irritatingly—needy, so I suggested that they come to the Burrow.
Harry and Tonks and Teddy came as well, which almost filled out my contentedness. We spent our
evenings in the parlor, playing games, as I sat in my mother's arms and breathed in her soft floral
scent. Every evening, my gaze would drift from face to face, studying each of them as the soft
glow of the crackling fireplace played across the little group I loved so well. My father and Mr.
Weasley often sat together, discussing Muggle technologies—Mr. Weasley was especially
fascinated by cars, and my father's dental equipment. Tonks would sit in the rocking chair that Mrs.
Weasley had rocked all her children in, softly cooing to Teddy and watching the flames, and
talking about Remus with Molly. Fred, George, Ron and Percy constantly discussed—or argued
over—plans for the expansion of the joke shop. Harry and Ginny kept quiet company together,
sharing many subtle glances and smiles.

I loved them all, so much. And that love just ached inside me like a loss when I realized that I only
lacked two things in all the world to make me totally happy.

During the days, when we were not eating or playing or listening to the radio for any
announcements concerning Remus, I sometimes walked alone through the tall fields of waving
grass around the Burrow. Portions of it, near the front of the house, were too tall and itchy to be
enjoyable. But out back, the golden grass only came up to my waist at its highest, and I could
traipse aimlessly through it, running my hands over the tops of the stalks, gazing at the tall row of
gnarled trees beyond, and hurting so badly I could barely breathe. It was during those walks I was
especially grateful for my perceptive mother, who would come out and hold my hand and stroll
with me, and ask me all about very diverting things like how the moving staircases worked, and
what exactly the rules were for Quidditch.

Everyone knew about me and Draco. I'm not sure how it had traveled—probably from Harry to
Ginny, then Ginny to her mother, from her mother to her father and Tonks, then to Percy, then to
Fred and George. But I could at least be thankful that nobody talked about it. That seemed to be
understood. After the war—and especially with the presence of Tonks, who knew full well about
loving someone she oughtn't—people were not so apt to joke or poke fun at people who loved each
other. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had even expressed a moment of sympathy for Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy,
wondering quietly how they themselves would cope if they lost a son.

Every day, I paused a moment out in that field and gazed up at the blue sky, praying, feeding my
hope. And every night I lay awake, trying not to rouse anyone else with the sound of my sobs.

One Saturday afternoon, Mum, Dad and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were gone—Mum had taken Mrs.
Weasley to our house for a visit, and Dad and Mr. Weasley had gone to a car show. The boys and
Ginny were all in the upper reaches of the house, fiddling with what had looked like a Muggle
television set and antennae.

Tonks, Teddy and I sat in the parlor, the windows open, the late afternoon sun and warm breeze
blowing in across us, ruffling the curtains. I could smell the scent of sun-drenched grass and
blooming heather. I lay my head back against the couch and gazed at Tonks—lovely Tonks—as
she cradled her baby and let him curl his little fingers around her long, slender forefinger. Tonks
glanced up at me.

"You okay honey?" she asked. An ache rose in my chest.

"Are you?" I whispered. Her eyes flickered, and her jaw tightened.

"I'm not giving up," she said. "And that's enough for now."

She held my gaze until I nodded, then she glanced down at her child and smiled at him. We sat in
silence, listening to Teddy gurgle and giggle. I tried to smile.

A great flapping sounded at the window. I sat up straight and twisted.

A huge black owl stood on the sill. His golden eyes found mine and fixed on me. He ruffled his
feathers, then spat out a brown paper parcel.

My eyes flew to Tonks. She had stiffened like a ramrod.

"Go get it!" she cried. I leaped off the couch, hit the floor and grabbed the parcel. The owl hooted
in irritation, dancing sideways. I ignored it. I snatched up the parcel—it was a thick envelope. I
heard Tonks come up behind me, juggling the baby.

"What is it?" she demanded. I stood there for a moment, then broke the nondescript seal—

And a black knight chess piece, and a single head of grain tumbled out into my hands.

"Oh, Tonks!" I gasped, tears springing to my eyes.

"There's a note!" she realized. "What does it say?"

My hands shook so badly I could hardly get the paper out. But when I pulled it loose, I knew the
handwriting as well as my own. It bore two words.

Your move.

I whirled around, hurdled over a short chair, skidded around a corner and threw open the front
door. I heard Tonks race after me, Teddy making "ugh,ugh,ugh," sounds with every step.

I dashed outside, the black chess piece gripped in one hand, the head of grain in the other. My eyes
searched the reaches of the field. I saw nothing. I flew around to the back, looking, looking—

I jerked to a stop.

There, out in the rippling field, near a very tall, twisted tree, stood a young man in dark trousers
and a loose white shirt. He leaned against the trunk, hands in his pockets. His pale face turned
toward me. The wind tossed his feathery white hair. He froze.

I broke into a run.

I crashed through the tall grass, the sun in my face, my heart pounding until it threatened to break
out of my chest.

He started striding toward me. I saw his face.

Angular, handsome, eyes as brilliant as the sky, and a mouth half curved upward in an expectant
smile. A deep scar marked his left cheek—but that was the only difference I saw. I couldn't even
summon the breath to call his name.

And then he was in front of me. Right there, an arm's length away. I slowed down. I stopped, my
chest heaving.

We stood—Draco Malfoy and I—face to face, breathless, saying nothing. I pressed the black
knight to my heart.

Then, he reached out with both hands, and gently took my left hand. I shivered, gasping, and
watched him draw my arm towards himself. He held onto my hand with his left, and with his right
—with softest fingers—he rolled up my sleeve, pushed it up to my elbow…

To reveal the wicked scar Bellatrix had left on the tender skin.

Tears tumbled from my eyes.

Draco ran his fingertips across the scar. Thrills ran up my arm. And then he bent, and pressed his
warm lips against the scar.

The moment froze in time.

My heart surged to bursting.

He lifted his face. His crystal eyes met mine.

And I took his dear head in my hands, leaned forward and captured his mouth with mine.

He threw his arms around me, crushing me to his chest. I ran my hands through his hair, then
encircled his neck. I kissed him over and over, memorizing his lips, withdrawing only to press back
in. He returned it, hungrily, desperately. I tasted mingled tears, and joy pierced me straight through.

His mouth gentled on mine. And the last kiss he gave me was so sweet, like a feather dipped in
honey…

He backed up, just a fraction, and looked me in the eyes. I held my breath.

"I am in love with you, Hermione Granger," he whispered.

"I'm in love with you, too," I answered, laughing, more tears falling. He quickly caught my face in
his hands and wiped my tears away with his thumbs.

"Stop crying. Really," he urged me, grinning, even though he was crying as well. "You'll force me
to kiss you again."

I chuckled, tears running down, and he leaned in and caught my lips deeply and passionately,
stroking my cheekbones with his thumbs, sending my heart straight into the sky. Then, he just
wrapped me up in his strong arms and buried his face in my neck, and I held him so, so tight…

I felt his head lift. He looked at something behind me. I turned to see.

Tonks stood there, holding her baby, staring at Draco with wide eyes. She wasn't breathing. Draco
swallowed and straightened.

"Tonks," I managed. "You…You know Draco Malfoy?"

Tonks gave a short, absent nod—her eyes were fixed on his face. Draco's lips parted.
"I think I have something that belongs to you, Nymphadora."

Tonks opened her mouth to object—

Draco turned back toward the tree, and I looked there too—

And a tall form stepped out from the shade. A tall, scarred form with light brown hair and a
mustache. The wind caught his ragged clothes and hair, and the sun lit up his smile.

"Remus!" Tonks cried, and ran to him with all her force. They met in the middle and threw their
arms around each other, kissing and kissing, and laughing, and Remus picked her and his baby up
and twirled them around. I couldn't control my tears—they just poured down my face and I swiped
them away, and leaned my head against Draco's chest.

Movement caught the corner of my eye. I turned—

Harry, Ginny, Fred, George and Percy stood at the edge of the mown lawn behind the house,
staring. And then Harry saw what was happening.

"Remus! Remus!" he shouted, in a voice that broke my heart, and pelted through the grass toward
us. Ron followed on his heels, and then the rest of the group came after. I let out a watery laugh,
and Draco wrapped his arm around me and kissed the top of my head.

Remus put Tonks and Teddy down to catch Harry, who leaped into his arms.

"Oh, Harry—Harry, my boy," Remus gasped. "You did it! You did it—I'm so very proud of you!"

"You're all right!" Harry crowed, backing up and taking Remus by the shoulders. "What happened
to you?"

"Draco saved me," Remus gestured to the tall young man I held in my arms, and gave him a
brilliant look full of affection. "Antonin Dolohov was going in for the kill—clipped me with a fine
rendition of sectumsempra, but Draco got to me in time and hauled me up through a Hogwarts
window."

Remus was now speaking to Draco directly, and everyone else was gazing at him. I lifted my eyes
to his face, and then couldn't look away.

"We fell into the Room of Requirement," Remus went on. "Which took us all the way down to the
Hog's Head. Draco had been hoping to find Professor Snape, who could reverse the spell, but
Snape was dead by that time." Remus reached out and wrapped his arm around his wife. "And so,
brilliant boy, he apparated us to Snape's house, quickly found the countercurse written in one of
Snape's diaries, and saved my life." He gazed steadily back at Draco. "And he's stayed with me
ever since, nursing me back to health, until I was strong enough to stand, and come back to you all
in one piece."

"Is that how you got that scar?" Fred asked Draco. Draco stiffened against me for a moment, and he
swallowed.

"Yes," he said.

Tonks, her eyes overflowing, stepped away from her husband, slid an arm up around Draco's neck
and pressed a kiss against that scar on his cheek. When she withdrew, Draco gazed at her in open
wonder.
"Thank you, sweetheart," Tonks said, placing her hand on his face for a moment. "Thank you."

Draco's gaze suddenly flicked to something past her, and he hurriedly swiped the tears from his
face. Tonks, sensing someone behind her, turned and got out of the way.

Harry stood there, watching Draco's face. Draco let go of me. For a moment, neither said anything.
Then Draco gave a half smile.

"It's true, then. What they've been saying all over England," he said. "Harry Potter lives. And you,
Weasley," Draco lifted his eyes to Ron, who stood just behind Harry. "I've heard that every
horcrux on earth is terrified of you. Well done." He paused a moment, then drew himself up, a
flicker of nervousness crossing his frame. He held out his hand to Harry. "I'm Malfoy. Draco
Malfoy."

Harry gazed at him a moment, glanced at me, then took Draco's hand and shook it firmly.

"Good to see you again."

"If that's not a strange sight," Fred and George chorused, sniggering.

"Get used to it," Ron shot back. I grinned.

The next moment, I heard a rumbling sound near the house.

"Oh dear, they bought one," Ginny muttered. I turned to see Mr. Weasley and my dad drive up in a
red antique car. I reached down and took hold of Draco's hand, entwined our fingers, and lifted my
eyes to his.

"Come with me," I urged, smiling. "There's somebody I want you to meet."

VVVVVV

EPILOGUE

(dedicated to Miss Elizabeth12)

VVV

"I fought against my better judgment,

My family's expectations,

The inferiority of your birth,

My rank and circumstance,

All of these things—

But I am willing to put them aside and ask you to end my agony.
I love you.

Most ardently.

Please do me the honor of accepting my hand."

-Mr. Darcy, to Elizabeth

VVVVVVV

HERMIONE

I tucked my feet underneath myself and nestled closer to my husband on the black leather couch. I
glanced up at his pale profile and stroked his white hair from his temple to behind his ear. I
glanced down at the three-year-old boy in his arms.

"You think he's getting sleepy?" I asked, resting my chin on Draco's shoulder.

"I think he'd be quite content to fall asleep right there," Tonks said from across the room. I smiled.
Little Teddy certainly did look comfortable. He was lying back against Draco's black-clad chest,
and Draco's arms wrapped around him, creating a soft nest on Draco's lap. The little boy blinked
slowly, and absently rubbed his little thumb up and down Draco's thumbnail. Draco set his chin on
top of Teddy's curly head.

"That would be fine by me," Draco murmured. I had to resist the sudden urge to kiss him on the
lips right then. Instead, I just nuzzled closer to him, reveling in his warmth. I felt Tonks smirk as
she leaned back in her chair and took another sip of wine. She sat across from us, to the left of the
towering, sparkling Christmas tree. On the other side of the tree stood the great stone fireplace, full
of dancing gold flame. Ron sat on a footstool in front of the fire, next to Draco, facing us and
warming his back. Harry and Ginny shared a loveseat off to my left. Ginny wound a piece of red
and green ribbon around her fingers, and Harry sat forward, his elbows on his knees, his spectacles
glittering in the firelight. All of us wore our dress clothes—we had recently come back from church
—my green dress was made of fleece, Harry and Ron wore trousers and comfortable sweaters, and
Ginny and Tonks wore stunning gowns of velvet, and Draco his customary black suit.

"So," Tonks canted her head at me. "How has your first Christmas been in this house?"

"I like it," I grinned. "I have never had so much fun decorating in my whole life."

Draco snorted.

"What does that mean?" I demanded, poking his ribs.

"Nothing, nothing," he stifled his smile. Harry caught his expression and gave a rueful smile.

"I know what you mean, Draco," he said. "Hermione can get carried away sometimes."

"I think the house looks brilliant," Ron spoke up.

"It's beautiful, Hermione," Tonks added. "And I would love to sit up and look at this lovely tree
some more, but I have to get Teddy to bed—and Remus will wonder were I've got to." Tonks got
up, set her wine on the mantle, stepped across and held out her arms. Draco shifted, straightening
and grunting a bit, then lifted Teddy up by his underarms. Teddy made an unpleasant face.

"Noooooo…" the three-year-old whined.

"Shush, shush," Tonks soothed, taking him up and setting the drowsy kid against her shoulder.
Then, she leaned forward and kissed Draco on the forehead. "Happy Christmas, cousin."

"Happy Christmas, Nymphadora. I love you," Draco answered.

"Love you too. All of you," Tonks said as she stepped around the couch, not saying a word to
Draco about disliking her first name—in fact, she never had. Then, she winked at us. "Oh, and feel
free to be noisy—I think you would have to set off a cannon for us to hear you from where our
room is."

We all chuckled, and chorused "good night" and "happy Christmas" as we watched her go. Then,
as the door shut behind her, I turned to Harry and Ron.

"All right, you two—what is it that's had you bursting your skins half the day?"

"No kidding," Ginny prompted.

"Nothing," Ron said, gesturing to Harry. "Just this."

And Harry held out a small, square box wrapped in silver to Draco.

"Where did you hide that?" I demanded. "I thought we'd opened all the presents!"

"We're far too clever for you, Hermione—just know that," Ron answered cheekily. Draco was
staring at the package, then he glanced at the other two men.

"What is it?" he asked, leaning forward and taking it from Harry.

"That's the point of the wrapping paper," Harry joked. I frowned and sat closer, watching as Draco
undid the ribbon, tore off the paper, and held the small box in his palm.

"It's rather heavy," he noted. And then he lifted the lid.

I gasped.

"We had to bribe Madam Hooch with our firstborn children," Harry explained. "And then we had
to dig through miles of dusty, old equipment in the castle basement, but we finally found it."

"At least," Ron winced. "We hope we did."

Draco reached inside the box, and drew out the perfect orb of a golden snitch. We all held our
breath. And then—

The little wings burst from the sides and began to flutter. Draco let go of it. It hovered in front of
his face.

Harry and Ron cheered, and struck hands. The slap rang through the room. I covered my mouth
with my hand.

"It's…It's your snitch!" I cried. Draco gazed at it for a long moment, speechless. Then, finally, he
tore his eyes from it and glanced at Harry.

"I hope you know," he said. "That the two of you have just earned yourselves box tickets to the
Quidditch World Cup."

Harry and Ron instantly went silent. Ginny's mouth fell open.

"Huh?" Ron choked.

"I bought three tickets already—and Hermione dropped a line to Viktor Krum, so the three of us
can meet the teams beforehand." He paused. "That is, if you would like to come with me."

My two friends just sat there, flabbergasted.

Then, slowly, Harry grinned.

"Are you balmy?" Ron yelped. "Of course we'll come with you!"

Draco got to his feet, and Harry and Ron jumped up as well, smiling brilliantly and laughing.
Draco stuck out his hand to Ron, who shook it.

"Thank you for the present, gentlemen—really," Draco said, glancing back at the snitch. He then
shook Harry's hand, giving him a sincere and earnest look. "I can't believe you found it."

"I thought you might like it," Harry said, gripping Draco's fingers. "Dumbledore gave me mine—I
enjoy it. Helps me not feel so homesick for school."

"Who's playing in the Cup this time?" Ron asked Harry as they sat back down.

"Not the Cannons," Harry shot back.

"Stick it in your ear," Ron retorted. Draco, chuckling, sat back down next to me and wrapped his
arm around me. I lay my head against him. He picked something up, then held a small red box
under my nose. I lifted my face, my brow furrowing.

"What is this with late Christmas presents?" I wanted to know. His eyes just twinkled. So I took the
box from him, untied the ribbon and peeled off the wrapping paper, listening to Harry, Ron and
Ginny's disagreement in the background. But I forgot all about it after I lifted the lid.

"Oh…my…" I breathed. Carefully, I reached inside and pulled out a diamond-studded hair barrette
—one exactly like the one Draco had given me so long ago in the willow room. My eyes flew to
his. "Is…Is this—"

"My grandmother's? Yes," he finished. "And it was my mother's. I asked her about it—but it was
actually her idea to give it to you."

My eyes went wide.

"Really?" I looked at him sideways. "They won't come to Christmas, but she gives me a present?"

"Hey," Draco smiled crookedly and lifted an eyebrow. "We are overcoming centuries of Malfoy
snobbishness, here. This is a grand step in the right direction." His voice lowered, and he gave me a
pointed look. "You can't expect everything to change in the course of an hour."

I blinked, and I couldn't look away from him.

"Do you like it?" he asked me.

"It's beautiful," I murmured, but suddenly my eyes drifted down to his soft mouth.

"Good," he said wolfishly, advancing on me until his lips brushed mine. "Because I'm not giving it
back."

I started to giggle, but he cut me off when he closed the distance and pressed a kiss so deep that I
swooned and lost my balance. For just an instant, I blushed in embarrassment—but my foggy
senses detected Harry, Ron and Ginny still arguing about the Chudley Cannons—so I ran my
fingers through my husband's feathery hair, draped my arms around his shoulders, tilted my head,
closed my eyes and answered the kiss.

And they all lived happily ever after.

THE END

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