((A.N. And here's Chapter 14. This chapter is . . . philosophical, for lack of a better word. Kind of a calm before the storm (literally) chapter. So enjoy and review! ;D))

PART II: THE GREAT DECEPTION

Gaze, lie, and smirk in time

Your arrogance will suit you well.

–AFI, Paper Airplanes

Chapter 14; Illustrious Illusions

The Ball had ended, and Draco stepped onto the floorless balcony of the Sitting Room. Stars glittered above and below him, ships with diamond sails in a sea of midnight blue. A yellow moon rose austerely into the sky, and it seemed that the night had enveloped him.

He became aware of a presence behind him.

"Potter," he said. His voice sounded neither scornful nor polite. Had he ever said Harry's name neutrally?

"I wanted to talk to you, Malfoy," Harry said firmly.

Draco had not turned to face him, but stood with his hands in his pockets, head tilted upwards.

"Did you now," Malfoy intoned. It was a question, but had been phrased as a statement.

"It's about Hermione," Harry continued, his voice like taut wire. At last Draco turned around and looked at Harry. Starlight shone on his green eyes, but in the half darkness they looked startlingly silver. His charcoal hair hung messily around his face, which was half obscured in darkness.

"There's something going on between you and her, isn't there?" Harry asked softly, his eyes conveying what looked like apprehension.

"Hm," Draco said in a noncommital tone. "Define, 'going on,' Potter. Because if you're using 'going on' in the sense that we have a loving, mutual, and mature relationship, I'd have to say no. On the other hand, if you mean 'going on' in the sense that she thinks I'm a hypocrite and I think she's a pretentious liar and there is a vindicatory feeling of heated hatred between us, then the answer is a resounding yes."

He grinned wryly as he saw Harry's face relax.

"Wow," said Harry with a dry laugh, "way to quote Hermione almost exactly, Malfoy. I just got through talking with her . . ."

"You love her," Draco said certainly, giving Harry a sideways glance. His expression didn't change.

"Yeah," Harry admitted with a small smile. "Yeah, I do."

Draco raised his eyebrows, amazed that Harry would so easily share his romantic feelings with Draco. When Harry saw Draco's expression, he shook his head.

"No, Malfoy . . . do you think I feel like pulling her into a broom closet and snogging with her? No. Would I die for her? Yes, and without even thinking about it."

Draco seemed truly amused for the first time Harry had ever known.

"That's weird, Potter," Draco stated bluntly. "Most teenage boys would opt for the simple broom closet option."

Harry grinned back. "I know," he said simply.

They fell silent, and Harry noticed that Draco's gaze was still turned skyward.

"It's odd, don't you think," Draco started softly, "that everybody says the stars are beautiful. When we look at them, we see these tiny, exquisite jewels that sparkle above our world, like they're watching over us or something. In reality, they are orbs of endless fire that destroy everything around them. If we saw stars for what they really were, do you think we would still admire their beauty? Or would we admire their endless and unmatched destructive power?"

A swift and silky silence followed his words until Harry spoke.

"Wow . . . I never thought of you as much of a poet, Malfoy," Harry said, mock admiration in his voice.

"It's not poetry, Potter," Draco said simply. "It's the truth."

"The star thing is kind of depressing, actually," Harry continued. "From far away a star is so beautiful . . . from up close it will destroy you in a moment."

"Better to see things as they really are, though," Draco pointed out, "than to be deceived by a beautiful illusion that can surely never be."

Harry was surprised by the cold conviction in Draco's voice as he said this. It wasn't the Malfoy he was used to at all, and it unnerved him a bit.

"It's late," was all Harry said, before turning to leave. A few minutes after Harry had gone, Draco followed Harry off the balcony. He always did.

Draco went to his own room, and the stars with all of their deceptive beauty shone on.

The following day, Draco gazed out the window and saw signs of a storm approaching. Though the morning had dawned clear and bright, late in the afternoon he could feel the crackling anticipation in the air right before a storm.

Odd, he remembered thinking later. I'm almost sure they didn't get storms at this time of year. Feeling adventurous and admittedly a little bored, he decided to explore the castle.

He stepped outside his room and into the marble hallway. They greyness of the sky reflected itself in the shiny white marble. He heard thunder rumble in the distance, and in the late afternoon the light of the chandeliers seemed shifty. The whole castle was sultry and antique and perhaps a little creepy.

He supposed that usually it was fuller and less eerie, but all of the students at Beauxbatons had gone with Madame Maxime to the village below, save the fifteen Ambassadors. Draco surmised that it was the equivalent to a Hogsmeade trip, except that no students had been left behind. They would be back before dinner, he supposed.

Draco stopped suddenly as he heard voices coming from around a corner. They seemed hushed and secretive. Afraid of being caught but curious all the same, he slid closer to the wall and strained to hear what was being said.

"I do not know vat you vant me to do!" came an urgent whisper. It was a male voice. Krum, perhaps? Draco couldn't tell.

"I vant you to try harder! Get me the backgrounds of each and every one of za Ambassadors . . . extensive backgrounds. Talk to them all, ask subtle questions . . ."

The girl that had spoken sounded Bulgarian also . . . but was it Hilda or Ava? The male spoke again more forcefully.

"I am certain it is Jaime . . . he is far too emphatic about how wonderful za French are! It is a cover up!"

Draco frowned, completely confused. What were they talking about? His eyebrows shot up at the girl's next words.

"I suspect za Draco Malfoy boy . . . he doesn't seem to get along with the other Hogwarts Ambassadors. The dancing last night vas obviously a confusion tactic."

"Ve cannot strike until ve know for certain . . ." the next part was too low to hear, ". . . someone in this castle is lying."

There was a pause. "I get za feeling that many of za Ambassadors are not who they seem," finished the girl. He heard footsteps heading in the other direction and relaxed.

What the hell was that? Draco thought, bemused. Two Bulgarians were plotting in secret, and they were plotting about him. He was, needless to say, alarmed. The particular use of the word "strike" had not implemented pleasant thoughts into his head. He thought it was probably a good idea to tell someone, but quickly decided against it. If they found out that he'd been eavesdropping, who knew what they would do? He was just have to settle with watching all of the Durmstrang Ambassadors very closely.

He turned a corner and almost cried out as he collided with something silver. The silver thing emitted a high-pitched scream, and he promptly realized it was none other than Fleur.

As she became aware that Draco was standing before her, she seemed to calm somewhat, and steadied herself against him.

"Drah-co. I am so very sorry. I was in a hurry," Fleur simpered apologetically.

Draco smiled, somewhere between a smirk and a grin. That's right, he thought wryly, swoon pathetically in my presence. You girls are all the same. "It's fine. I was going too fast anyway," Draco replied.

"I wanted to see you, actually," Fleur said, in a voice that implied their run-in was convenient. "I 'ave been meaning to show you something."

"Show me something . . .?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow. What was the girl trying to say?

"Follow me," Fleur said with a smile. She grabbed his hand and began to pull him along. She did not need to pull hard, or at all, for that matter. He caught up with her quickly.

As they strode along the hall, thunder crashed menacingly above them. Droplets of rain pattered against the window panes.

Fleur smiled. "I love this weather," she intoned softly, when she realized Draco was watching her.

"You don't get storms like this very often, do you?" Draco asked.

She smiled at him as they stopped in front of a door.

"We're here," she announced, instead of answering the question.

"We're where?" Draco asked quizzically. Why did he always seem to be asking questions when it came to Fleur?

Again, she didn't answer, merely opened the door and ushered him inside.

The first thing that he was aware of was the cold. It was rather like stepping out of the bathroom after a hot shower; that shocking transition from balmy warmth to arid iciness.

At first he thought he had entered a room made purely of diamonds. Everything glistened and refracted off of itself, creating a light show filled with rainbows.

"Do you remember in Bulgaria that I told you zere was a room fashioned entirely of ice? Well, zis is it."

The walls and floor had been covered in thin sheets of ice. Strewn around the large room there were more dazzling ice sculptures than Draco had ever seen. He felt as if he were in room filled entirely with mirrors, which reflected pieces of each other until he was lost in the swooping complexity and grace. With every turn of his head the room changed, though after a few steps Draco realized the room only looked like it was changing.

"Wow," said Draco. "Someone could almost get lost in here." Sound seemed muffled, somehow, though his image was magnified a hundredfold.

"Indeed, people 'ave gotten lost," Fleur informed himher eyes sparkling, "it is called the Hall of Illusions by many."

"It's beautiful," Draco answered, but a certain uneasiness filled him as he looked as Fleur's reflection in the thousand of chips of ice. His words from the night before came rushing back.

Better to see things as they really are than to be deceived by a beautiful illusion that can surely never be.

"It's kind of deceiving," he said out loud, and she nodded her head.

The sculptures themselves, however, were the most amazing things in the room. They were so well done that they could have been carved from stone. There were sculptures of valiant knights locked in deadly duels, fanciful dancers in flowing gowns, of aesthetic castles and drifting clouds. On the ceiling there were icy stars, glittering as convincingly as real ones. He found that he could not even tell how large the room was, for all of the ice chips reflecting off of themselves. It could have been as small as a dorm room in Hogwarts, or large as the Great Hall.

"Who created this room?" Draco asked curiously. He reached out to touch an ice sculpture, and it hurt his skin. His breath came out in frosty clouds as he examined the ice sculpture.

"Actuallyit was fabled to have been created by Mordred," Fleur said quietly, "one of the most powerful wizards of all time."

"And one of the most evil," Draco added in quickly. "Wasn't he that bloke who supposedly killed King Arthur? Amazing, isn't it, how someone so evil could create something so beautiful."

Fleur looked at him quizzically, as if his words puzzled her. She spoke softly but clearly.

"Good, and evil. What will it all amount to in the end, Drah-co? I am just a person and you are just a person. Who are we to discern what is good from what is evil?"

Draco paused before speaking. "I suppose you're right. Everyone is just looking for the same thing, in the end, and that's truth."

"With all of ze illusions around us, I wonder if we will ever be able to find it," Fleur said with a sad smile.

And as they left the room, Draco had the strange feeling that he was exiting a small Hall of Illusions only to enter a bigger one, the size of the entire world.

FACT: The final battle of King Arthur is speculated to have taken place on Salisbury Plain. Stonehenge lies on Salisbury Plain.

"Stonehenge?" Dumbledore questioned. "Remus . . . this is impossible."

"I know," said Lupin wearily, "but the poem leads right to it. Listen to this . . . ' the pillar of stone, and the crescent it sows.' Albus, Stonehenge was built as a crescent, and it is made of pillars of stone. There are also numerous references in the poems to stars, and many believe that Stonehenge is a map of the night sky, if decoded properly. Even the line itself, starlight shines on the eye, is an astrological reference to–"

"Remus," Dumbledore intoned, cutting him off. "When I say impossible, I mean that it is impossible for the relic to be hidden there. Stonehenge has been intensely studied for centuries by Muggles and Wizards alike. There is nothing of significance within the stone circle. Experts agree on this."

Lupin looked away, agitated.

"Then it is a map of some kind. A map that leads straight to the ancient relic. We are overlooking something, Albus. Stonehenge is very important."

"That is just it," Dumbledore said immediately. "Stonehenge is very important. It is far too conspicuous a place to hide a long lost relic. You claim Stonehenge is a map, then. Are you suggesting that whoever hid the relic has also given an obvious map to anyone who wishes to seek it? That is not a rational thing to do, if the person who hid it wanted the object to sink into oblivion," Dumbledore countered.

"But can't you see? What better way is there to hide something then to place it right before everyone's eyes? No one would expect to find something of importance in the most obvious place of all."

"And you, Remus," Dumbledore continued, "do you think you are going to be the one to decode the mystery of Stonehenge?"

"Someone is already far ahead of me, Albus. Someone who is doubtless working for Voldemort. If I want to find this relic before them, I will have to work fast. The person I work against is clever . . . brilliant, even. It will not be easy."

"It will not be easy," Dumbledore agreed solemnly. "But, Remus, there is one thing that bothers me . . ."

"What's that?"

"A poem, a clue, a map . . . it all seems like one large riddle. It almost seems like someone . . . well, wants us to find this object."

There was an ominous sort of silence. Finally, Lupin spoke.

"If that is so, then . . . there is nothing to be done about it. We must not let this relic fall into Voldemort's hands."

But something nagged at the back of Lupin's mind.

Starlight shines on the eye.

Salvation and destruction, hand in hand.

And somewhere, either very near or very far away, depending on how one looked at it, a lone figure was stooped over a large tome. The sharp eyes widened as they examined the complicated chart.

"I've . . . I've got it," came the bemused voice suddenly.

The nameless figure snapped the book shut and smiled.

The brilliance of this riddle went far beyond what had been expected. It was nothing short of genius. Simple, yet complex. Carefully planned, yet subtlety engineered.

Salvation and destruction, hand in hand.

((A.N. Next chapter there are even larger quantities of evil scheming, and a twist so big that it changes the genre of the whole story. Dun dun dun.))