Dear Readers,

At first thank you so much for the nice reviews and a happy "welcome" to the new readers. Thank you also for the compliments regarding my English (yes, I do have a very good friend, whose first language is English and who does the beta-reading for me for years now) and for the researches I really did to write no nonsense about the Egyptian mythology. And I have to admit that the researches are still a lot of fun…

I try to publish the new chapters at every weekend, but sometimes – when times run short – it will come at Mondays (but mainly at Fridays or Saturdays).

For those, who waited for chapter 34: it was published two weeks ago, but out of no-where the story didn't show up on the first page after the upload. I even deleted the chapter and published it anew, but – again – the story wasn't to find in the front. I think, had a little problem. So for those, who didn't know that chapter 34 was already published: please read this first.

And now: off to Hogwarts, and I can promise you all that there will be interesting news about the 4 foreign students, but also sweet scenes between our two love-birds.

Have fun,

Love you all,

Yours Lywhn

Chapter 35 – Letters and Their Results

The next few days went by without an answer from Lucius Malfoy nor from Dr. Granger. Hermione had been able to sleep the last three nights, probably because of the pleasant circumstances in the dormitory. Since the ugly quarrel between her and Ron, the Heads' evenings had been spent together, studying, comparing notes, talking about everything and nothing. Draco was like a rock in her stormy sea, sitting and listening, and as the Gryffindor-Queen took a place beside him at Friday after they'd finished their homework, he wrapped an arm around her and found her curled next to him like a cat. He didn't mind. Not one bit! He loved to feel her snuggling against him, and as she almost fell asleep not much later – more or less on his lap – he realized how at peace he was with himself and the world as long as she was with him. He knew that his little lioness was still hurting, but she was finding her way back to herself. The only word he could put to the feeling of watching her dozing off, cuddled in his arms, was ... happiness.

Sunday morning, she slept late, and when her eyes opened she lay listening to the wind. Outside the weather had grown colder, and it wouldn't be long before frost and snow covered the world outside. When snow finally came, it would be later than usual, after the hot summer. But now, as the temperature had fallen below freezing at night, the snow would remain when it finally did fall.

So, Hermione curled up under her comforter and sighed contentedly, dozing again.

But not for long.

Moments later she heard the shower start in the bathroom. Her drowsy unbridled imagination immediately went to the water drops pearling down his toned, marble coloured body, the hair slicked back, soap bubbles streaming from limbs and

Groaning Hermione shook her head and rubbed her forehead, as she realized what just happened: that she would love to be with him in the bathroom, under the shower, exploring. And to know he was so close woke her up the rest of the way, frustrated by unwanted desire and his inaccessibility. Sighing, she stroked the sleeping half Kneazle beside her. "Your mistress is in trouble, Crooks," she whispered. "A fight with my boyfriend, who is so highly offended that he accuses me of cheating, and then I can't get off my mind another one, who's making me wish for things I really shouldn't."

Crookshanks looked at her sleepily, meowing, before he relaxed again. The shower stopped and soon the door to the Head-Boy's dormitory was opened and closed again. Hermione bit her lips, calling herself a coward for not daring to do what she'd been thinking. 'I'm insane! St. Mungo's mad! I must NOT lust after him – but heaven help me, I do!'

Raising his head, Crookshanks suddenly stood, staring at the door; his ears were pushed forward as he listened. Then Hermione heard Lady Hillary's irritated voice: "It's Sunday morning, sir, and the young lady is still abed. And you, young man, are not properly clad. So don't you dare… I said NO!"

There was a pounding on the thick door. "Granger? You awake?" He sounded urgent, and Hermione asked herself if she really were truly ready to face him now – she couldn't trust herself around him in the moment – or if she simply should pretend to be asleep. As the pounding continued, she sighed, flung her covers aside and slid to the cold floor – the fireplace was only embers – and she shivered as she walked the few steps to the door, her bare feet on the stone floor where the carpet ended. Removing the charm from the door, she yanked it open, Draco's fist poised at her nose.

"Finally!" he said, lowering his hand. "Flogging figwits, sleepyhead, you're hard to wake up!" He slipped into her room before she could stop him. She then saw that all he was wearing was a pair of black trousers made of fine English wool, revealing his perfect toned chest, and her mouth felt dry. Sweet saints, this boy-man was a living temptation. For a moment she imagined her fingertips wandering over his strong back or over his flat stomach. Then she blushed, and snapped "Oh, shut up!" to the scolding portrait. Closing the door, she crossed her arms, only realizing then that she was, of course, in pyjamas. Well, it wasn't the first time he'd seen her that way. It was an odd feeling, wild, free, facing him improperly clad.

Draco looked around, checking out the oak furniture, the four poster bed, the high windows and the large fireplace. Their rooms were similar, but here the burgundy red and gold gave a warm ambiance, whereas in his chamber, green and silver made everything solid and elegant, but also colder. Hermione's scent that he knew so well by now was in every fold of the velvet curtains. The desk was neat and the room showed nothing out of place, except perhaps the unmade bed. Of course. It was just a part of her.

He heard her clearing her throat and turned around, catching her staring at his bare chest, before she lifted defiantly her chin – but the pink in her cheeks gave her away. He smirked and lifted a brow, daring her to say something. Her words were just what he needed. "Have you only come for a sight-seeing tour, or do you have something you wish to share?"

'Oops, wrong question!' She realized this the moment the words left her lips. His smirk widened into a broad grin, and he cocked his head. "Well, I do think I might have something important to share with you – if you let me." His voice was low and warm.

The pink deepened, and her heart accelerated, while she hugged herself. "Do you?" she asked; not ready to back down.

"Shall I ... show you?" he purred, and wriggled his brows; enjoying the game.

Her breath was caught in her throat, then she gulped and took a deep breath. 'No, he isn't going to win this!' "Sorry, Malfoy, but you don't have anything I haven't seen already." There, that would work, wouldn't it? He looked too smug and far too confident for her taste.

"Oh, there you are wrong, Kitten. You only got a glimpse of what I could show you, and…" He sidled up to her, taking in her wide eyes (slightly alarmed), and her unbrushed hair he itched to bury his finger in. He bent until they were nose to nose, his voice barely more than a husky whisper, the perfume of her skin filling him up, and murmured: "And I know you're dying of curiosity right ... about ... now!"

Hermione swallowed again. Too close. He was - much - too close – and smelled fantastic, with his aromatic shower gel and the after shave he used mingled with his own fragrance. His fresh breath danced over her face and she had to clutch the arms within the sleeves of her pyjamas to keep her hands out of that silver blond hair. Wetting her lips, she murmured back: "And … and what do you think it is I want to see?"

Mirth danced in his eyes. "This!"

Grinning, he brought out a folded peace of parchment he had hidden behind his back, waving it in front of her baffled gaze. "There are several very interesting revelations about our dolls and their magic." When her eyes narrowed, he asked her, with a false astonishment, "What did you think I meant?"

"You … YOU!" she stuttered, embarrassed and angry, knowing that he was teasing her with what she secretly fought against for days – weeks! – now. "You made me believe… Oh YOU-!" The next moment she hurled herself at him – an attack he hadn't foreseen – and he stumbled backwards, losing his balance. With a yelp he landed on her bed, where a startled Crookshanks leapt away snarling. Draco's Seeker reflexes sent his free hand to Hermione's upper arm, and with a surprised squeak, she went down with him, finding herself on top of him. One of his long arms snaked around her and held her close, while she tried to gather her thoughts. She had shoved him, he fell, he grabbed her, and -

Now she lay on a HALF NAKED Draco Malfoy on HER BED in her pyjamas, his arm around her and her hands were on his BARE CHEST!

Her first thought was 'Flee!'. The next one was: 'This is your room, so kick him out!' And the next one was: 'I'm in Heaven!'

Draco smiled as he felt the fragile body literally in his arms. Her heart thudded over his, while her tangled curls tickled him. And it felt so right, so completely and utterly right! He wrapped his other arm around her, too, and sighed with satisfaction. This was definitely better than talking about a letter from his father. It was Saturday morning, outside the weather was rainy and cold, and this bed was far too comfortable to get up – even though red and gold!

Hermione couldn't believe what was happening as his other arm slipped around her, while he relaxed beneath her. He even sounded like a an oversized cat. "Uh … Malfoy?" she began carefully; seeing their compromising situation.

"Draco," he corrected her lazily, and she rolled her eyes.

"All right, Draco. Care to explain why you show up at my door with false insinuations…"

"Tsk, tsk, Miss Granger. Getting wet fantasies about me again?"

"MALFOY!" she squealed.

He winced at the pitch of her voice. He smiled up at her, as she shoved her fists into the mattress. That this movement caused her lower half to ground more firmly in his, woke heat in him, and he gulped. All flushed, with unruly hair and irritated gaze she was again a sight to be hold – and his heart went out to her once more. God help him, but this girl drove him mad with want. He cleared his throat, reminded himself the reason he went to her.

"The owl came, and I couldn't wait to share it," he said; his voice sounding hoarse in his own ears. Her weight on his was too alluring, his little lioness. He wanted to pull her lips to his, wanted to devour her sweet breath until she whimpered once again in pleasure.

"And couldn't possibly wait until I came down to the common room?" Hermione asked, desperately trying to ignore the heat and butterflies in her belly. This was too close, too intimate, the tendency to imagine how it would feel to be completely skin to skin with him overtaking her.

"I thought it urgent," he replied casually, tightening his hold around her, enjoying their predicament.

Hermione bit her lower lip and cleared her throat again, pushing away the inevitable images. "And yet you still haven't shown me." No, her voice was not that husky, was it?

He swallowed as he heard the change, his silver eyes shone. "Priorities changed," he whispered. "There is one motto in my family I'm loyal to: First things come always first." With that he buried his hand in her unruly curls and moved to pull her down to capture her lips with his, but found a furry face between them. Draco hurriedly turned his head away, otherwise he would have kissed the ugly ginger pet.

"Crooks!" Hermione scolded, not realizing that her irritated outburst could give anyone the idea that she was angry not to be kissed. Which Draco, of course heard, and he smiled inwardly in victory. He was winning her, already had, if he read it right!

Shooting the pet an irritated glare, he growled. "I do not need a chaperone, so get lost!"

Crookshanks only meowed into his face; the golden eyes examining the gray.

Sighing the Gryffindor-Queen stroked the fur of her four-legged friend. "Don't you get jealous, Crooks. One male with an overblown ego is more than enough."

Again the half-Kneazle meowed and pawed one of Malfoy's hands – claws retracted, but the warning was unmistakable. Ignoring the Head-Boy's moan, Hermione rolled off and lay on her side on the mattress, looking at him beneath long lashes. He shifted on his side, too, and propped his head on his fist, facing her; pouting like a little boy who had been robbed off his favourite toy. For a moment, Hermione's heart spilled over with unwanted, wild, tender emotions. Then she saw it – both of them on her bed, half clothed, - sweet baby Jesus' tiny bone rattle, if she did not immediately find a way to distract herself, she would reach for him and…

And Ron would have every right to accuse her of cheating on him! And she was astonished when she noticed that it wouldn't bother her at all. The thought of giving herself to the Prince of Slytherin held no regret for her.

She cleared her throat to break the silence. Then she asked tentatively: "So … what did your father write?"

Draco knew that the moment was lost, but he still enjoyed being so close to her in this environment – as if he only felt whole when he was with her. A part of him sighed at the pathetic nature of this feeling, but he couldn't change it. This girl had not only messed with his emotions, but also with his mind. Corralling the wild horses of his desire once again, he answered: "Those dolls have been used for between four and five millennia. Traditionally, they are made of wax, sometimes of wood, and the ensigns on them are chosen by the individual using them, depending on the design of the magic. The Egyptians believed that every character, every soul, could be, well, copied as soon as it was drawn on a figure or statue."

Hermione nodded, now in full student mode. "The reason why they prayed to the statues as though they were speaking directly with their gods – or why the statues saw everything or could guard important places."

Draco shrugged. "Something like that." He unfolded the document with his free hand. "Father did some research and found out that the signs on the doll you copied refer to Anubis." He saw her flinch and continued. "The signs around the head hold a part of him within the doll. Additionally, there is a reference to a young human connected with Anubis." He looked up from the letter. "Here's the best part. The other signs can stand alone, but when used together, it becomes an illusion charm with incredible range."

She blinked, then smiled triumphantly. "I knew it! They tricked us! They used those dolls to slip past the new wards and deceive Harry's map. And I'm certain that the other dolls all have the same symbols, only referring to different gods."

"There's more," Malfoy added with a smirk, enjoying sharing new information with the brightest witch of the age. "Father did additional research concerning the connection between the god and the young human, knowing I would be interested. The magic has to be involved is old. Very old! The first record of this goes back to around 3000 BC. The magic was used by priests dedicated to a particular god, like, in this case, Anubis. It connected the priests - or any other human being - to each god."

"Connected?" Hermione shifted to her elbow and examined the paper covered by clear, neat, beautiful handwriting – a style reminiscent of Draco's. "How? Emotionally?" Her eyes found his again, and as Malfoy looked at her, the suspicion that had nagged at her for days now was confirmed. "The soul," she whispered, "the magic linked the soul of them with the higher beings."

Draco nodded, "Yes. Using this magic, a person donates a portion of his soul and receives another portion in return – an eternal connection, unbreakable, powerful."

Hermione sat up and wrapped her arms around her legs, propping her chin on her knees. "So…" she mused, lost in thought, "it's possible that Edis, Abdel, Neriman and Layla ... are bound to the gods of their Houses with this ancient magic. That's why they can change into their shapes, animal or human. They can transform because a part of these gods reside in them." She frowned. "Or they're using the bodies of these four to walk the Earth again." Chewing her lips, she asked, "But does it mean that those ancient gods really exist – still – or were they magicians with incredible power, perhaps living in hiding for hundreds of generations? Perhaps the Egyptians didn't pray to the original Isis, for example, but to her daughter, granddaughter, and so on?" She scratched her head. "I don't know which I'd prefer: eternal beings, or powerful magicians using their capacities to affect generation upon generation."

Looking again at Draco, something else occurred to her. "But if this magic is so old, according to your father, how is it that there are still people who knows how to use it? There must be rituals, vows, priests who prepared them and…" she frowned again, "and why, by Merlin's beard, would someone share a part of his soul with an ancient god no one believes in anymore?"

"I think Abdel and the others believe. And maybe they weren't asked, but were required to perform whatever rituals were necessary." His voice held a hint of bitterness.

Hearing it, she watched him, knowing that he was referring to his own experiences. She was almost certain he hadn't received the Dark Mark of his own free will, but had been forced to take it in order to save his family. Without thinking, she reached out and gently touched his left arm, smiling softly. He understood. She could see it in his eyes, and after a few seconds, she stretched out again beside him. "So, the four are connected to their gods of their houses by some old magic. They explore Hogwarts in the shapes of the gods whenever they're up to something. Possibly their power is stronger then. So, we have to find out: why? Why are they here, obviously reinforced by ancient magicks, and pretending to be normal students? And why did they help us against the Death Eaters and werewolves in their animal forms?" Her eyes widened suddenly. "And how did your father work this out?"

"Ah, there's the question I've been waiting for," Malfoy smirked. He caught the edge of the warm comforter and pulled it over himself.

"And?" Hermione's voice was inpatient.

"And what?" he asked innocently and laughed when she whacked his upper arm.

"Speak up, Malfoy!"

"Draco!" he told her again and chuckled, as she rolled her eyes once more. Then he got more comfortable on her bed and murmured, "It's chilly here, don't you think?"

"That's because you're only half dressed," she told him, shifting closer. "Come on, Draco, tell me", she implored. "How did your father figure this out and…" She stopped when she saw him looking toward the fireplace and moving his lips. Wood flew out of the box and behind the grate, and a new fire started. Hermione gaped. "How…?" Then she stared at him. "Wandless magic! You know this wandless magic? And you wouldn't say anything when Ghani asked us?"

His grin grew wider. "There's an advantage when you know things others don't."

Hermione looked at him with longing. "Teach me!" she whispered, her whole face lit with excitement and hunger for knowledge.

Draco pursed his lips. "You, the brightest witch of our age, the top of the class and a Gryffindor to the bone, ask me, a Slytherin, to teach you something?" He leaned toward her. "What would Potter say?"

Sighing, she shook her head. "He'd ask me why I didn't find out sooner, and when could I tutor him." She edged nearer to him, a determined smile on her lips. "And didn't you say only weeks ago that I would make a good Slytherin if it not for my blood status?"

The Head-Boy was celebrating inwardly. This conversation was heading into a direction of his liking. "Then you are aware that a true Slytherin would demand payment, don't you? None of us would anything just to be 'nice'."

Hermione was fully aware of the boyish gleam in his eyes and the hidden smirk around his sensual lips. He was playing with her, she knew, but two could play that game. "You are never ever 'nice', Draco, but nevertheless, you are a gentleman." She was suddenly aware, too, how close they were to each other and that he was – still – only half-dressed. But she was not about to back down. The woman inside of her, striving to finally bloom, wouldn't allow it. "So, what if I pay for the first lesson in advance?" she whispered temptingly; knowing where it would lead, if she did what she wanted just right now.

Raising a brow, he retorted dryly, "Granger, you don't even know what I want or-" He stopped as her mouth found his in a short but surprisingly passionate kiss. It was the first time that she had taken the initiative, that she was kissing him, and not the other way around. And his shocked status lasted for exactly two seconds, then his long arms shot out under the comforter and pulled her into a tight embrace. But before he could even begin to deepen the kiss, she pulled away, mischief dancing in her eyes. "But if you think, oh mighty Prince of Slytherin, that you can distract me from my earlier request, then you are VERY wrong."

Draco moaned. "Hermione, really! Does that brain of yours ever stop working? Here you are with the hottest guy in Hogwarts in your bed…"

"Ego much?" she teased, licking her lips, tasting him and loving it.

"- wrapped in the arms the rest of the girls are dreaming about-"

"Vanity!"

"- and ask how my father got his information?"

She laughed, then said sweetly, ruffling his hair: "Oh, poor Draco, what a blow to your manly pride." She squeaked as he pinched her side, and pulled away – only to find out that his arms were truly as strong as she remembered.

"And are you ticklish?" he asked. When he saw the mild panic in her eyes, a devilish grin appeared. "You asked for it, Granger, just so you know." The next second, he started to tickle her mercilessly. Hermione squealed and screeched, interrupted by wild giggling and useless pleas to stop, while she tried to wriggle free. He rolled aside and pulled her under him, and his laughter echoed from the walls. Crookshanks darted off the bed with an irritated snarl, but was ignored by both humans.

Malfoy couldn't remember when he'd had so much fun before – feeling so free and careless, only enjoying the moment of pure childish mirth. It was like being five again, frolicking around with his father's dogs, or having a snowball fight with Crabbe, Goyle and Blaise when they were seven. Grinning he watched Hermione writhing beneath him, her face flushed, her eyes tearing with laughter.

"Stop it, Draco, please stop it!" she shrieked. As she caught a glimpse of his happily laughing face, she followed her first instinct: she lifted her head and kissed him.

Instantly his fingers grew still as he felt her sweet tongue licking his lips. Groaning, he marvelled at the flavour of his little Gryffindor, while his hands found the soft curves of her body, slipped under the pyjama top and felt the smooth skin. With a sigh he realized that her fingers were in his hair now, stroking his scalp, her breath on his face. This. Was. Heaven!

Hermione had caught her breath after the tickling, and was savouring his soft ministration. Her proper side was screaming yet again, and that they were – outrageously – barely clothed, in her bed ... but she didn't care. It felt too good to have him in her arms, and his presence in all her senses made her want more. One of her hands slid over his back, enjoying the human silk and the muscles beneath her fingertips.

For moments, their mouths created another kind of life, as they responded to the gentle raiding of each other, then he broke the kiss, breathless, heart pounding. "You make me dizzy, Kitten," he murmured, trying to control the fire pulsing through his body.

Wetting her swollen lips, Hermione thought of something to say, but nothing came to her mind. 'If he is dizzy, then what I am?'

The soft buzz of the magical alarm clock brought them back to the present, and as both looked toward the nightstand, the clock showed that they had only half an hour to get to breakfast. Sighing, Draco rolled away from her, sitting up. "Well, I for one don't want to walk down to the kitchen again for a late breakfast."

Still fuzzy, Hermione could only grumble something unintelligible. Picking up the crumpled letter – it had been under them during the tickling – Draco rose and ran his fingers through his tousled hair. "Hurry up, Sweetie, I am certain that you're starving. Making out makes one hungry…"

He threw her a fiercely suggestive glance – and dodged a pillow on the way to the door. "Get out, you arrogant-" She laughed, but didn't finish, because he'd already reached the door and left, his laughter heard in the passageway. She found herself grinning, her lips tingling, her whole body alive as never before.

She rose, heading to the bathroom, only now realizing what just happened. "Sweet Merlin, Hermione, he caught you. And he caught you good!" she whispered, acknowledging at last that she had the vain, arrogant Prince of Slytherin deep under her skin.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They made it just in time to breakfast, parted at the entrance to the Great Hall – for once not caring what others would think of them arriving together – and hastened to their house tables. Hermione blinked in surprise, seeing the school owl that she sent a week ago to her mother sitting at her place. Harry and Ginny, both almost finished with their breakfast, looked up and the Ginny grinned as her friend took her seat.

"He's been here for over ten minutes, and wouldn't allow Harry or me to get the letter for you," she said, pointing at the tall owl, which hooted as Hermione reached for it.

"Hey there, my friend, do you have something for me? Yes? Then I have something for you." Offering the bird some cookies, the owl took them with care, greedily devouring them, and left her as soon as the last crumbs had vanished. Taking a long sip from her pumpkin juice, she popped opened the thick envelope – again wrapped in plastic – and looked inside. She found printouts, clippings and a small book, as well as a letter from her mother. She nodded at her friends, signalling to them that she had received what she'd asked for.

"Meeting today?" she asked quietly, relieved that Neriman was not around.

Harry sighed. "Sorry, Hermione, we have Quidditch practise. Robards informed McGonagall yesterday evening that the Quidditch pitch and the path to it is safe now." He grinned like Christmas morning. "So, no meeting until this afternoon."

"After the three o'clock Prefect meeting would be ideal," Ginny added, explaining, "Preliminary plans for Advent, Mione, did you forget?"

With a squeal Hermione slapped her forehead. How could she forget that? 'Well, after Draco Malfoy in my bed, something like that could happen!' her mind protested immediately. The other side of her protested immediately, 'What's so special about him?' Her heart answered before she could sort out her thoughts from her feelings. 'Quite a lot! He makes me feel like I never have before!'

"Mione?" Harry asked when she didn't respond.

She shook her head. "Sorry, guys, I'm a little distracted this morning."

Ginny fixed her with a knowing gaze, glancing at the Head Boy's breezy expression as he ate his breakfast. "So," she started, "your Slytherin got some news?"

"Yes. Draco got a letter from his father, too, and Lucius Malfoy sent some very interesting information," she reported, smiling as she saw their eager attention.

"Really? What did Death Eater Daddy find out?" Harry asked quietly.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Stop calling him that, Harry," she scolded softly, remembering her partner's fearful worries for his parents. "Draco's father is in the same difficulties as a lot of other wizards that turned away from Voldemort, and he is more or less a prisoner in his own house – again." She sighed. "Which, as it turns out, is good for us, as he seems to have time to do some research." Quickly she whispered what Draco had revealed her that morning. And the faces of her two friends echoed their surprise.

"Wow!" was all Harry could say, after Hermione finished the brief report.

Ginny shook her head. "I don't know what to think of our visitors – traitors, geniuses or poor souls."

Hermione grimaced. "Probably a mixture of all three." She rose, having barely eaten anything. "Off to the Quidditch pitch, you two, I'll read over the news from my mom. 'Til later!" She caught Draco's smile from across the hall, then left, clutching the precious envelope.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

While the Gryffindor-team was practicing for the Quidditch match one week off, glad to train in the arena again even without Ron, Hermione was reading over the documents her mother had sent her. Dr. Granger hadn't found out much new about the dolls or the symbols, mostly repeating what Hermione already had discovered in the library. But there was something else that immediately caught her attention. Her mother had added two clippings concerning the last robbery in the British Museum and, knowing her daughter as she did, had researched the dynasty to which the stolen Egyptian artefacts had belonged: the Ramses dynasty.

And not knowing the help she had given the wizardry world with this, she showed Hermione and the others the direction they should look where the answers to all the riddles would be found.

Hermione's eyes were the size of saucers as she read the clippings and the reports of the Ramses pharaohs. She almost heard 'click' in her mind as she went through the lines describing the mysterious death of Ramses III and the stolen artefacts. Then, as if suddenly bitten in the bum, she shot out of her seat and raced out of their dormitory. It was lunchtime and she hoped that the others would take the break during their Quidditch practice so that she could share with them what she found out. But their seats were empty, including Luna's. Muttering against Quidditch, she pondered if she should use the summoning coins to alert them, but decided against it. If Ginny and Harry were still in midair and the coins suddenly grew hot, the distraction might render them easy targets for the Bludgers.

Her dancing gaze landed on the Slytherin-table, and she recognized the silver-blond head. She hopped up, hastening toward the other table, ignoring the unfriendly looks thrown her way as she dashed to her Head-partner. He let his spoon sink the moment he realized she was behind him. She took his wrist and muttered, "Quick! An emergency!" Draco had barely time to put his napkin on the table as Hermione pulled at his arm.

"Dammit, Granger, I'm eating!" he protested, but she would have nothing of it.

"No time, you can eat later. Come on!" she urged.

Knowing his partner well enough by now to realize that she wouldn't back down, he rose off the bench, frowning. "If this isn't important..." he growled, but Hermione simply dragged him with her.

"It is. HURRY!"

The Greengrass-sisters stared after them, Daphne shaking her head. "Can you imagine? That Mudbl… that wretched bookworm ordering our Head around?"

Astoria snorted. "Huh. He lets her." She grimaced. "Really, Draco, you should put her in her place!" she called after him, but was completely ignored.

Graham snickered. "I can imagine exactly where that place might be!" he remarked suggestively.

The two girls looked at him with disgust, and Abdel chuckled, sensing the deep emotions running through his pale friend and the 'lioness.'

Draco followed Hermione out of the Great Hall and straight to their dormitory. "Merlin, Granger, what happened?" he demanded. Not that he minded following her (which was a lovely sight) but he didn't like it when he was interrupted during a meal.

"Not here!" she panted, gave the password to the portrait and slipped inside; her fingers still fastened around Draco's wrist. She pulled him to the seating group where several pages of printout with the strange printing were spread.

"Granger…" he began, but she stopped him.

"Listen, my mother didn't find out anything new about the dolls, but she got me a bundle of information which helps explain the mystery. The night you were attacked and Philip saw Layla transmogrifying from a mist, there was a robbery in the British Museum – in the Egyptian exhibition." She took the two clippings handing them to him. "Here," she pointed to three parts she had marked with ink. "In the first article, they said that the thieves were successful in stealing some very old and valuable artefacts, among them an old papyrus of the report of the trial concerning Ramses III's death, as well as other items, a spear from that period, an urn, and a rare earthenware."

Draco scanned the two clippings, frowning. "They mention here that the thieves escaped without a trace and that the security cameras didn't catch a single clear picture of the thieves – or thief. There was only a shadow that was impossible to identify."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Illusion charm. I'm certain of it. One of our 'friends' broke into the museum, and since Harry and I saw Abdel, Edis and Neriman on the map, then Layla has to be the one who was away from Hogwarts." She took several out sheets of paper. "But that's not all. My mother researched Ramses III on the internet, and learned that the stolen artefacts are all connected to him." She showed Draco the pictures and drawings, as well as the reports her mother sent. "Ramses III was murdered in a complot in which members of the harem and even some of the palace guards were involved. The complot was discovered before it could take full place during the spring feast. The rebellious guards and their allies were killed or taken captive, among them, several women from the harem as well as Ramses' own son. But even though the conspiracy was discovered, Ramses died – by a mysterious ailment that drained his strength. It took several days, and even his best healers couldn't help him."

Hermione pulled out another sheet. "And here's the solution no Muggle would ever believe possible: magic." She waved the printout in front of Draco's curious face. "Among the conspirators was ... the former overseer of the royal herds – a wizard! And he was accused of hexing the pharaoh. They found out that he was responsible for Pharaoh's death. He learned of magic in the library of Thebes. And you know what this library held?"

The Head-Boy nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, rare documents of black magic – the source of the Dark Arts." His silver eyes grew wider. "So… this all has to do with this ancient herder, who turned out to be a wizard?"

Hermione shrugged. "Possibly. Mom learned that the papyrus wasn't completely translated, but the philologists knew that it was written by Ramses IV, who witnessed the trial after his father's death and the condemnation of his half brother, who led the conspiracy together with his mother and the other traitors. Something happened during this trial, but what isn't mentioned on this ancient document. But considering that only artefacts from that period were stolen by our visitors, and that obviously a dark wizard was responsible for the Pharaoh's death, I daresay that herein lies the answer to an important question: why are they doing this? It must have to do with that wizard. I'd bet my shirt on it!"

A small smirk. "I'll take that shirt, Granger. I rather like you without it, you know."

Hermione stuck out her tongue at him and mumbled something. Turning serious again, she added, "When we find out more about this wizard, I think we might have the solution to all of our questions."

Cocking his head, Malfoy pursed his lips. "He might be mentioned in one of the books in the forbidden part of the library. Or Binns might have heard of him. After all, he is the professor for Magical History."

Pushing her hair behind her ear, Hermione chewed her lower lip. "Yes, but we have to be careful. If Binns advises us to go to Ghani, or even mentions our questions to him, they'll know immediately that we're on their trail." She sighed. "I'll check in the library again, and when I'm home for Christmas, I think I'll search the internet again. Now, after we get some sort of direction, we will make more progress." She glanced up at him. "Perhaps you could, um, …" she bit her lips and cleared her throat, "or you could contact…"

"-my father again and ask him if he ever heard anything about a dark wizard who lived several thousand years ago?" Draco made a face. "He's no fool. He's sure to get suspicious, after everything I've asked him already."

Hermione smiled appealingly. "Well, your library at home holds more of the dark stuff and therefore likely to tell us more. And, by the way, you could explain to your father that your questions still concern this … competition, or whatever you used as excuse the last time."

Groaning Draco, dropped onto her sofa. "I do not like lying to my father, Kitten. And believe me, he will get suspicious this time."

"But you are such a clever Slytherin, so you will certainly concoct something to reassure him."

She fluttered her eyelashes at him and he took a deep breath. "The things I'm ready to do for you…" he murmured, then rose and pulled her against him, the memory of that morning still fresh in his pores, being near her like this again awoke the yearning stronger than before. Putting his mouth to her ear he whispered: "Your debt load is increasing, Granger. And I will collect." He felt her shiver and touched his lips to the smooth skin just beneath her ear – a sensitive spot he had come to know. "And I'm certain that you will enjoy every moment of it!" His voice was a husky whisper, and he gently nipped once again at the place he knew would make her knees weak. Her short gasp revealed that he was pushing the right button. Smiling he held her a moment longer, stole a short fierce kiss, then released her and strolled toward his room. "I'll write my father and send the letter after our meeting."

He glanced back and saw her standing where he'd left her; eyes wide, lips parted, cheeks pink. And then, suddenly, her lips fell to a pout – and Draco had to laugh. "How does your own medicine taste, Granger?" he teased her, remembering the moment several days before when she had run away 'to write the letter to her mother', after Slughorn had interrupted them.

Hermione felt the blood rushing to her face, seeing the connection immediately, began her rebuke. "I know that you want me, Kitten. But it's broad daylight and even I have my standards, so please wait until it's dark outside. It's more romantic then and -" He made a quick getaway when her wand came out and she shouted, "Rictusempra!"

He dodged the tickling spell, remembering the effect when Potter used it on him in their second year with the Duelling Club. "Not fair!" he called, racing up the few steps to his room. "After all, you at least felt my hands on you when I tickled you, but I wouldn't feel your sweet fingers on me, when –"

"MALFOY!"

Her screech was high enough to call dogs, and laughing he shut the door behind him, smiling when he heard her scream of – frustration?—through the door. 'Soon, little Gryffindor! Soon you will call my name in a voice none other have heard!'

TBC…

Promised too much? I do hope not (laugh). And regarding the four Egyptians you will get more and more surprises, just wait!

The next chapter will be published at Friday, this much I can tell you in advance – oh, and that there will be Quidditch involved and rueful 'sorry' of a bad-tempered young man…

Until soon,

Please, please leave some reviews,

Yours Lywhn