Hallo, my dear Readers,

And once again I can only apologize that the new update comes so late. But the last weeks were very, very busy and there was barely time to enjoy the hobby. And, adding to this, I also had to make some changes within the story, what also means that I had to edit this chapter in several certain points. But I do think the story-plot runs more smooth now – because of said changes – and that you are going to like it.

At last there is only to say "Thank you", "Thank you", "Thank you" for the many reviews and comments you left. I'm really happy that you are enjoying this fanfic so much. And now: off to Hogwarts and Malfoy Manor. Some new details are laying ahead, besides some sweet scenes.

Love you all,

yours Lywhn

Chapter 52 – The Days In Between

Hogwarts was quiet – even two days before New Year's Eve. The few students who had remained over the holidays were barely noticeable in the long, empty hallways. Only during meals did the Great Hall come alive. But considering that there were so few students and only four teachers besides the caretaker, Mr. Filch and the guest El Hadary, the unnatural stillness was to be expected. The ghosts enjoyed having the halls all to themselves, the house elves considered it their very own vacation, and the owls in the owlery slept most of the nights as well as the days, only to return after hunting in the morning for a quiet rest above the snow-blanketed courtyard.

Therefore, the birds looked a bit grumpy later that morning when someone came into the owlery. The visitor picked a fast, strong eagle owl. That particular specimen glared at the student, then blinked, recoiling. Something was not right with this human. In fact, something was completely and impossibly wrong! The bird of prey's fine instincts raised its feathers in ornithological alarm as a slender hand took its unwilling foot and fastened a letter. The bird's strong heart fluttered while it endured the unwanted contact, almost stiff with fear. Then the student ordered it to fly to the south of London, to a man the bird knew was evil. As frightened as it was, it didn't dare refuse, and was, a moment later, out in the bright winter day, relieved to escape the dark unsettling presence of this human that couldn't be human.

But the owl's departure didn't go unnoticed. From Ravenclaw tower, a pair of pale blue eyes watched the other climbing the stairs up to the owlery and the owl leaving.

Luna frowned, watching the other more closely, enchanting her large rhinestone Quibbler goggles to act as telescopes. She was certain that she'd never seen this boy before, who appeared to be a seventh year. She must have met him over the last months (and years) but she was certain that she'd never seen him before. And her fine senses grew suspicious as the goggles picked up a shimmer around the young wizard. Later she would say the Nargels told her to check on him, but more truthfully, her 'wit beyond measure' recognized the illusion charm, very odd. Bidding good-bye to Edis, who was struggling with Ancient Runes, she left the common room and ran all the way to the schoolyard where the stranger would have to return to the school. Pressing herself behind the statue of Millicent the Mournful, breathing soundlessly, she was out of sight as the stranger entered. Eyes wide, she watched the illusion charm melt away and the stranger became Layla – her expression dark, her eyes furious when she passed Luna's hiding place, running back to the dungeons. The Ravenclaw tapped her chin thoughtfully.

Why the illusion charm when she went to the owlery? Where was she sending an owl? Egypt was too far away for an owl, unless the message wasn't urgent. An owl would need two weeks or more to go that far. And if she were communicating with someone at home, why change her appearance?

No, something was out of place. She'd seen Abdelghani wandering through the mountains with the old wizard – in the snow – and now Layla disguised herself to send an owl somewhere, certainly somewhere in this country. And, she recalled, the olive-skinned witch seemed highly agitated when reading the Daily Prophet this morning – or, more accurately, after she scanned the first page; the report of the robbery and panic at the British Museum. Surely the attack by the Death Eaters was related to the unusual events over the last weeks.

She slid from her hiding place, heading back to the dormitory, humming a light tune. She had decided to inform the others. She knew that she couldn't send an owl to Harry or Ronald. No one knew where the Weasleys were. Therefore her choices were Hermione or Draco. But not knowing Hermione's home address that was still a secret to the official Wizardry World to keep the Grangers safe. That left one other, someone she had also come to trust …

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If there was one place Hermione Jean Granger felt instantly at home, it was in a library. And the hall Draco had led her to was filled from bottom top with hundreds of books. He had escorted her to the tall double doors and commented "Have fun!" How long she lingered there, Hermione couldn't tell. Time stood still for her when there were thousands of books to explore.

The library was situated on the first floor, just behind the great dining room she'd been trying to avoid. Draco guided her down the long corridor lined with paintings, inviting chairs in groupings of two and three, and some tall, lush plants, waiting in terracotta pots for the summer, when they would be replanted outside. With every step, she knew that behind that wall, she'd suffered the worst curse known to man – or woman. And that knowledge had made her hair stand on end. But, every inch the Gryffindor, she had ignored it and kept her teeth clamped – and was rewarded with a library that was like a dream for her.

Here, again, dark velvet curtains framed the high windows and black and white marble paved the floor, decorated with exquisite oriental carpets. The shelves were gleaming mahogany, as were the reading corner and the tables and chairs just begging for a researcher. The large fireplace with the wrought-iron grill spilled warmth about the room. Several very old, very potent spells made certain that neither the sun, air, pests nor humidity could damage the contents. A large landscape painting, the colours darkened by centuries, was the only decoration besides the elaborated columns and the arches at the ceiling, carved into the same sand-coloured stone of which the whole manor seemed to be made.

Forgetting time and place, Hermione buried herself in the books, marvelling at the first editions of transfiguration and charms books, old reports of eye witness events in the wizardry world many years before, first-hand reports of events during the goblin wars, the first negotiations with centaurs. She didn't sense Draco's return, and yelped when he whispered in her ear: "Anything interesting?"

He laughed as she balled one hand into a fist, holding in the other a thin, old book as if cradling an infant. "Draco Malfoy! Don't ... do that!" she screeched, whacking him on the shoulder girl-style.

He only laughed harder. God, he loved seeing her angry. "Peace, Kitten!" he snickered, lifting both hands in mock surrender, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling in his injured shoulder. "You'll forgive me, I'm sure of it."

"I'm not so certain!" Hermione huffed; then amusement returned to her eyes. Merlin, this boy ... looking at her as if he were an oversized toe-rag. "Where have you been?" she asked, moving to one of the sofas where he'd left the printouts she and her mother made, parchments with her own and Draco's script, some books and a very old looking scroll. He'd brought all these things with him from his private chamber.

He casually stuck his hands into his trouser pockets. "I contacted my source," he drawled, looking very satisfied with himself. "We'll get information about this papyrus within the next couple of days."

She sat, stifling the groan, feeling sore all over. "And just whom did you ask for help?"

He frowned at her wording – a Malfoy didn't ask for help, mind you! – and shrugged. "A friend of mine, with connections." He sat beside her and reached for the parchment roll, but hesitated. "Mione, what I'm showing you now is not only valuable, but also beyond price. I do think there isn't a witch or a wizard who wouldn't want to examine it, or to own it – especially the members of the Ministry. It's been in the possession of my family for almost a thousand years, so please, be very careful." He smiled at her look of awe, and added gently, "I know that you are the last person I have to remind to handle something like this with great care, but … I'm risking a lot, including the eternal wrath of my father, showing you this – and Heaven and all the angels help me if something happened to it."

Hermione had guessed what this parchment was – or who had written it – and took the old material gently in her hands, only opening it with great care after Draco nodded his permission.

The ink was fading, some figures were faded, but she instantly recognized the ancient runes, written in a firm, hard script. She concentrated on the runes and only two sentences later her expectation turned to certainty. "This… this is Salazar Slytherin!" she whispered, looking at him, a stunned expression in her eyes. "This… this parchment was written by Salazar Slytherin himself!" She was a Gryffindor through and through, but holding a handwritten document by one of Hogwarts' founders would have excited any witch or wizard who attended the school. And Hermione, who loved and respected books of any kind, was astonished to have such an item in her hand.

Draco nodded slowly. "Yes. This is the report I mentioned." He pointed at several runes. "I can make out most of what he writes, but some of these are strange for me. Do you know them?" Hermione was still awestruck to answer; simply looking at the old parchment. Seeing she hadn't heard a word he'd said, he raised a hand and stroked her cheek softly; a gesture that would have been completely out of character for him only two months ago. But now it felt natural to touch this girl as often as possible. "Mione?" he asked again. "Do you know these runes?"

Coming to herself, Hermione snapped back to the present. "Yes, I think. A few of them. Just give me a minute."

Draco nodded. Of course. There was little this scholar hadn't learned or at least read about, and then remembered reading about. Satisfied, the young wizard moved off to give her the time she needed, returned to the books he'd been looking at yesterday, before his father re-shelved them.

"He writes that he isn't the only one who values the pure blood – that there are more like him around the world. He says that Goderic Gryffindor was a fool to think that Muggle-borns ... or 'Muggle-rooted wizards' ... could reach the same potential as purebloods."

Draco snorted. "Well, he'd never met you."

She smiled up at him. "Did you just give me another compliment? Twice in one day?"

"Truth is always truth!" he answered, winking at her, then returned with more books in his arms. "Slytherin refers to other things that happened during his visits to other countries, and that he would dedicate himself to spreading the belief that pure blood would prove itself the strongest one day." He placed the books on the table and pointed at the lower corner of the parchment. "Here, read this. He refers to other reports he wrote. Maybe we could find answers there."

Nibbling her lip, Hermione frowned. "You believe that there's a connection between Slytherin, the Death Eaters and Penhuibin?"

Shrugging, Draco opened one of the books, and it immediately broke out in blood-curdling shrieks. Hermione clapped her hands over her ears, instantly reminded of Mrs. Black's hideous moans at Grimmauld Place. Grimacing, Draco pulled his wand out and tapped it on the book cover, mumbling something and instantly the noise ceased. "Bloody thing!" he mumbled, and sat down in the armchair beside Hermione, who carefully laid the parchment aside. "Here!" he began, opening the book. "This author writes of a certain vessel in which a soul can be captured. The intact soul – not just a part of one, as Voldemort did. And he refers to a conversation his great great great grandfather had with Slytherin, after he'd returned from his second journey – the one after he left Hogwarts. He must have met him after Slytherin visited our old manor, and died several months later. I now think that Slytherin must have discovered how to preserve or to split the soul during his journey. Think about it. The fact that," he held up one finger, "the wax dolls were covered with symbols that probably connect their souls with their House gods, so sharing their soul with them means a kind of 'splintering' of the soul, too." He held up the second finger, "Also, that the Horcrux was developed and utilized after Slytherin's death. Because of this, I believe that he brought this knowledge with him – from Egypt."

Listening carefully, Hermione paused, thinking, then nodded slowly. "Maybe he met members of the society of Penhuibin during his stay in Egypt. He found them of like opinion, similar passions. Perhaps they revealed to him their secret of the possible return of their founder."

Draco shook his head. "If they think anything like Death Eaters think, they wouldn't entrust him with anything that important. Slytherin was away from Great Britain for almost nine years. Even assuming that he was in Egypt for up to three years, he certainly couldn't earn that level of trust in that time. Don't forget, he was a complete stranger to them in a time when Europeans spent a lot of time and money raiding the lands of North Africa."

She nodded, thinking about it, then she sighed in frustration. "If we had just a little more information ..." She pressed her lips shut for a moment. "There is a connection – a connection that persists even today and is important enough for Penhuibin's followers to risk discovery by Muggles by stealing certain artefacts, not caring that they could be seen by Muggle technology." She glanced out window, not even registering the broad sunlight, as her mind sifted through the different possible explanations for Penhuibin's fellows to be her country, and the visit of Salazar Slytherin in Egypt almost thousand years ago. "Something happened during his stay in Egypt. Something that brought the others to our country now. The big question here is: what happened?"

Draco shoved his hands through his hair, frowning. "And he took the answer with him to his grave – or it was lost when the first manor burned." He shook his head.

Hermione tilted her head and gazed thoughtfully out the window, a tiny frown appearing between her brows, remembering what he'd told her. "Is that 'Hidden Library' truly lost?"

He responded with a short bark of laughter. "Kitten, don't tell me you want to look for it! My grandfather almost went mad trying to find it, like many of my ancestors did. Father tried to locate it, too, when he was younger, but dropped it before it became an obsession." He glanced at her, growing uneasy when he saw the excitement in her eyes when she turned back to him.

"But the library does exist?" she pressed, and the young Malfoy groaned.

"It's a legend, Granger! An old story about the library of the first manor that was not destroyed because it was protected by spells, before our surviving ancestors fled the mob, except for Sir Borealis Malfoy the Third, who stood behind to save what could be saved – so the family-chronic runs. But no one ever found this 'Hidden Library'. Not even the first Lord Malfoy, who returned from France and ordered a new manor built on the ruins of the old one. If our ancestor was able to save a part of the library before everything burnt down, and if the room withstood the fire the Muggle priests ordered, then it certainly was destroyed during the construction of the new manor."

Hermione turned toward him, the ancient book on the Dark Arts in her lap forgotten. "But it's possible, isn't it? Legends are always based on actual events!"

He stared at her. "Kitten, aren't you listening? Generations of Malfoys have tried to find it – and you want to succeed where all of them failed? It's now no more than an old memory or fairy tale!"

An all-too Slytherin-smirk appeared on her face. "After discovering the Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone, and the Cloak of Invisibility, given to the legendary three brothers, I'm open to a lot of things people might consider fantasy." She laid a hand on his arm. "If there is the slightest possibility that somewhere in this house are hidden the written records of Salazar Slytherin, with the answers we need so desperately, then we are obligated to try to find them."

Rubbing his temples with his fingertips – the universal sign for 'You're giving me a headache' – Draco moaned. "Hermione, which part of 'generations of Malfoys couldn't find it' didn't you understand?"

She smiled at him. "The 'couldn't'!" She crossed her arms, looking uncommonly stubborn. "Maybe your ancestor wanted to be certain that no one who did not have the right would be able to enter the library. What if he sealed the entrance with a charm that made it invisible to all who should not find it?"

Glaring at her, the Slytherin Prince answered: "That would make no sense. No one besides our family and our closest friends knew about the valuable parchments and reports in our possession. So no one else would even look for them here."

"How can you be certain?" Hermione's gaze went off into the distance. "I mean, are you sure that no one in the Wizardry World would assume that the Malfoys possessed some very rare and possibly even dangerous documents, hiding them away from everyone? If I understood you correctly, your ancestor, who followed Slytherin to Great Britain and helped to build Hogwarts, was known as a friend of Slytherin. And his son was separated into Slytherin House, being loyal to him like his father was. Of course, other wizards would expect that personal belongings of Slytherin would be stored here – in the old manor. And your ancestor, being the clever Slytherin student, took care that no one would find the documents and parchments, or any of the other dark materials that were added over the generations of the first Malfoys in Britain. Maybe the Malfoy-lord of the manor, the one who had to flee from the Muggle priests, if he disguised the door to the old library – making certain that the documents could only be found by those who thought exactly as he did …"

" 'If the Malfoys face trouble and the time is right, they will be ready to find the only way to gain the knowledge and wisdom that is hidden behind the door' ," Lucius' voice intoned from the doorway. His son and their guest looked up at him, startled. Lucius Malfoy still wore his travel robe and a light layer of ash, from using the floo network. Taking a deep breath, Lucius stepped in and closed the door behind him, sealing it with a silencing charm. "I see, you two are back on the topic again."

Draco blinked surprise. "How did you know…"

"You mother told me that she saw you leading Miss Granger to the library. And considering Miss Granger's well-known bibliophilia, this was my first stop." He shrugged off the cloak – also wincing from a painful wrench in his back in the fight last night – and tossed it over a table. He looked down at the books and parchments – and stiffened. His eyes fixed those of his son. "Don't tell me, you have-" He didn't finish the question, seeing the Slytherin parchment.

Hermione realized the intense misgivings the man might be feeling, and spoke up. "Mr. Malfoy? Draco already told me about the parchment and its 'author'." She returned the keen glare of her reluctant host and added, "The fact that your family possesses such a valuable artefact concerning the wizarding history of this country will not leave this house. You have my word." He still stared at her. She added thoughtfully, "I do believe that no one has the right to take something that was a gift from a friend – even if the gift was given centuries ago. According to Draco, Salazar Slytherin was a friend to your ancestor, and a guest in your family's home. He left this document in their care. It belongs only to you and your future heirs, Mr. Malfoy, and to no one else. But, knowing of certain eternally protesting voices in the Ministry, this shall remain a secret." She pointed at the parchment. "I swear no one will learn about it from me – and you know that nothing ... can force me to share a secret." The last words were spoken quietly.

Both Malfoys were acutely aware of her reference.

Lucius Malfoy watched her for several seconds, than nodded and straightened, taking a deep breath. "Very well, Miss Granger, I believe you. For now!" He sat down at the other side of the table, watching his son and the young witch for a moment before he changed the subject.

"As you known I was at the Ministry and had a – how shall I put it – very interesting, but also unpleasant talk with Minister Shacklebolt, concerning your stunt in the Muggle-museum."

"But it wasn't our fault-"

"What could we have done-"

Both of them blurted out the obvious, but Lucius indicated they should stop. "I told him that you two were victims, just like the Muggles and had no idea that Lestrange and the others would attack you there. After all, you weren't in wizarding London."

Draco asked, "Was he suspicious about our visit to the museum?"

"He was, well, surprised, to say the least – especially because he knew by that time that the trouble started in the Egyptian Exhibition. And knowing about the things which are going on in Hogwarts, I presented your visit to him as harmless, telling him that you were curious about the Egyptian culture because of your visitors. I do think he accepted my explanation for your presence in the British Museum, even if he was irritated that you two risked your lives by roaming around London." He leaned back and glanced at Hermione. "He asked me if I was amendable to your remaining here, Miss Granger. And after I learned that McGonagall isn't in Hogwarts just now, leaving the school in the charge of Horace Slughorn and Professor Abdelghani, I told Minister Shacklebolt that you're welcome to stay until school begins. I don't think that it would do you and the others any good to face your oriental guests alone under the present circumstances."

Hermione pursed her lips. "I do thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Malfoy, but it would be no trouble for me to return to Hogwarts. I don't think that I would be in danger there nor-"

Lucius almost scoffed. "Miss Granger, without the Headmistress, to whom you're a favourite, and without your usual gang around you, I think you would find yourself in trouble quickly enough." He shook his head. "You're, um, welcome here, until school begins. I'm sure Draco would like to show you around and catch up with his studying with you." He rose. "By the way, your stay is generally known by now, and it would make a dreadful impression if you were to return to Hogwarts only an hour after your whereabouts were about to become published." He caught two bewildered glances and sighed. "As I left Shacklebolt's office, I found myself confronted by a lightning storm of flashbulbs. I do think the Daily Prophet and the Weekly Witch are going to love reporting this: you, a Muggle-born, staying as houseguest at Malfoy Manor," he reported tersely. Shaking his head, he gave the young witch an almost pitying look. "I do hope young Weasley is not misled by the report. I know the Weasleys, and it appears that young Ronald is as hot-headed as his father."

Hermione pressed her lips together to prevent the retort from escaping. Lucius put his cloak over his arm and pointed at the heap of books and parchments, changing the subject (inwardly smirking at the girl's stormy expression). "And concerning the issue of the rebirth you two are exploring, I advise you to do all research you can while you are here. I've thought a lot about the events you described, and I agree that something momentous is going on, or about to. Therefore we should gather as much information and proof as possible. After we have puzzled out the truth beneath this layer of secrets, and know that this conspiracy is as dangerous as you seem to believe, we will contact Shacklebolt again." He wiped the protests aside with a wave of his hand. "If there is a circle of fanatics who blithely raid Muggle-facilities, risking the security of our world, then this affair is bigger than we are. And I will not risk the life of my family, nor the lives of everyone at Hogwarts, or other wizards just so you and your little club can play the heroes. Again."

He walked towards the door. "Inform me about the progress you make and – this applies for both of you – not a word to Narcissa. She has suffered much during the last few years, and I won't have her worried any more."

"Of course, Father."

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy."

The man looked at both of them appraisingly, tapped his cane against his leg and snorted, then swept from the room, closing the door firmly behind him.

Draco hissed, "Mother suffered much – I know! And whose fault was it? If he hadn't chosen Voldemort as his 'beloved master', we wouldn't have been prisoners in our own home to-" The hand on his sleeve stopped his tirade.

"I'm not sure I trust your father yet, Draco, but one thing I've learned" she hesitated a moment. Was she really about to defend Lucius Malfoy? Well, as they'd already pointed out, truth is always truth. She continued, " ... he loves you both very much."

Sighing, Lucius' son leaned back in his armchair. "Yeah, I know." Then he frowned. "Why did you offer to return to Hogwarts, even after Father said that you're welcome here?" He was almost pouting.

Hermione had to fight the urge to laugh. He really was cute like this. Then it hit her, what Lucius had said. "Didn't you hear your father? A whole bunch of reporters waited for him, and found out that I'm staying here. The pure-blooded friends of your parents must be apoplectic. The Weasleys are going to think I'm nuts. Harry will be even more suspicious. Ron will freak again, and Ginny shake her head and grin, being the queen of romance that she is."

Draco shrugged. "Those 'friends' of my parents are either in Azkaban or fled the country. Only a few remained, and they are mostly those who'd already switched sides before the war, or never put any stock in blood purity. And about your Weasley? Ronald is a moron – sorry, Granger, just my opinion – Potter is more tolerant I ever gave him credit for, and the Weaslette is all right – sort of. And the parents, well, they are grown-ups and can tell the difference between gossip and truth."

Hermione snorted. "Oh yes, that was obvious when Rita Skeeter was writing all that rubbish about Harry and me. Molly was so upset with me for 'dropping' him. And by the way, the gossip is the truth – if they impute more into my stay here than your family's attempt to keep me safe."

She was startled as his face was suddenly before hers, his hand behind her neck and his eyes looking deeply into hers. "It is no 'attempt', at least not on my part. I would fight the devil and all of his minions to keep you from harm." He saw the astonished expression in the dark chocolate depths, realized what he said, blushed – and did the first thing that came into his mind: he captured her mouth with his in a short fierce kiss that left her breathless. "And, by the way, Father will have to get used to having you around," he whispered, moving his thumb over her cheek, "because I would like you to visit the manor again."

Hermione stared, heart thudding in her ears. The emotion she saw in his eyes and his fiery words spoke volumes – something neither was ready to voice or even accept. But the warmth of that truth washed over her, and reacting, she closed the distance and her lips met his – a gesture of affection.

Somewhere in the house, a door closed. Both teens broke the kiss, smiling sheepishly at each other. Then Draco cleared his throat and directed his attention back to the research.

"All right, Gryffindor, let's look at all this once again … and if Father thinks that I'll tell him everything, he's very much mistaken. This here is our case, our predicament, and I certainly don't need him to interfere."

Hermione snickered at him. "Slytherin arrogance!" she grinned and laughed, as he rolled his eyes, and mumbled, "We are never arrogant, we just know what we want!" He hesitated and lifted a brow. "And concerning 'what we want' I think it's about time to find out if our Muggle-friend really doesn't remember anything."

She smirked. "Uncertain about your own skills?" she teased, reaching for her phone. She laughed as he stuck his tongue out. Draco sealed the door with a silencing charm and watched her handle the buttons on her ridiculous Muggle-device. And then he almost jumped out of his skin when a loud whirring sound emanated from it. "I put the speakers on so you could hear what she says," Hermione explained, ignoring the distrustful look he was giving the telephone.

And then, "Yes?"

She smiled. "Hi Angela, this is Hermione."

"Hermione?" The other voice sounded confused.

"Yes, Hermione Granger, don't you remember? We met yesterday in the museum together with my fellow student Draco and…"

"Hermione!" The penny dropped. "Sorry that I didn't recognize your name. I'm still a bit wobbly after what happened yesterday."

"Yes, Draco and I heard about it. It seems that we barely left the building before it all happened, and we were concerned if you are all right."

"That's dear of you. Yeah, I'm ace. I must have been biffed about or something and woke up in a hospital. They released me only an hour ago. I just got home."

The two exchanged a look. "Hospital?" Hermione asked carefully.

Angela answered, "Yes. They said it was shock or something. The doctor told me that two young people handed me to the paramedics after I fainted after running two or three streets away from the museum. I must have run away from the building, but I can't remember anything." She laughed nervously. "I'm quite relieved that you and Draco are okay. I remembered you two and wanted to contact your parents this afternoon, but I'm glad I got to hear from you now, and know you're both alright."

Draco lifted on triumphant thumb and grinned broadly. Hermione shook her head and chuckled. "Yes, we're both fine. We left the museum after you showed us the Egyptian exhibit and were just about to get onto the bus when we heard the noise. We hadn't a clue what was going on. As we were leaving the bus stop and police were rushing toward the museum, we realized that we'd just missed something terrible."

"Yeah, it must have been terrible, from all I heard …"

Angela told them the Muggle-version of what happened and ended her account with the words: "And then, after the police broke open the door in the back storeroom, the terrorists had vanished. They're still searching for them, and Scotland Yard is pulling out all stops to give the press some good news, but if you ask me, I do think those cowards are over the hill and far away."

'Pretty close to the truth,' Draco thought, considering how far his family manor was from London where they were next seen.

"And hopefully will never return," Hermione nodded. "I'm happy you're all right, Angela. If Draco and I have some more questions, would it be okay if we call you?"

"Of course, happy to assist, Hermione. You have my number if you need any more information."

"Thanks, good to know. Hope you have a good time at the New Year's Party."

"You, too, and my regards to your partner."

Hermione closed the connection. Draco sighed and leaned relaxed back. "Impressed?" he drawled and snickered as she whacked him on the knee.

"Flitwick would be impressed," she corrected him.

He touched her nose with his fingertip. "You are impressed by my skill to delete only specific parts of her memories. Admit it!"

Hermione looked up at the ceiling high above, and implored to the great Being beyond: "Can his ego grow any bigger?"

He threw back his head and laughed, then they both bowed over their work again.

The rest of the day went smoothly. Draco showed Hermione around, deftly avoiding the large dining room the best he could – after all, it had to be crossed to reach another wing of the manor, typical for architecture of the 16th century. He found himself agreeing to lead her to the kitchen, where she spoke with the three house elves, enjoying a cup of hot chocolate the eager little sprites offered them both. She learned that Sniksy despised Dobby for rebelling against their masters, but that Pipsy had been very fond of the brave house elf who died saving Harry and his friends. She also realized that Pipsy was very fond of Draco, beaming at the young wizard with huge warm eyes when he asked her how she was doing – a gesture from him Hermione never expected.

It was during this visit that she got an idea concerning the 'Hidden Library'. She was barely out of the kitchen and back in one of the hallways when she caught the Slytherin's arm. "Draco, have you considered the ability of the house elves to find everyone and everything?" She met his bewildered gaze and explained: "They are quite powerful, in their own way. When Harry, Ronald and I were trying to find Mundungus Fletcher, we asked Kreacher for help and three days later he was in the kitchen with us. And Dobby found everything we asked for. He was even able to get into your basement dungeon with Voldemort upstairs. Maybe Sniksy or one of the others could locate the Hidden Library. Maybe they could apparate into it, bring back the documents we need! ... What?"

Draco had been watching her with an unreadable expression, then he started to chuckle at her growing enthusiasm for her new revelation. "Kitten, do you really think you are the first one to think of this?"

"She most certainly is not," a resident in the painting nearby stated coolly, "my grandfather and my cousin suggested the same ploy, but none of the house elves were able to find it."

Hermione turned to look at the image of a younger man with the typical silver blond Malfoy hair, who wore expensive robes in the Baroque style. His grey eyes looked down his long pale nose at her, then addressed Draco. "Forget it, my boy. The search of the Hidden Library is a futile effort."

"Tell that to her," Lucius' son sighed, and pulled her along with him, smiling at her huffing. He quickly changed the topic. "The day after tomorrow is New Year's Eve, and we'll have a little party. Nothing big, just a few guests. Interested?"

Her reaction was so typically female, he had to laugh out loud. "I have nothing to wear!" echoed from the marble parquet floor, and another portrait, a stern-looking witch in black robes, nodded with understanding: "I know what you mean, dearie!"

Draco shook his head. "Circle the date in red! Hermione Granger, the bookworm of the century, gets all fluttery because she has no party dress!" Her fist landed on his arm once again and he groaned. "Kitten, stop punching me, or I will be unable to write for weeks – and you'll have to do my homework for me."

"Do I look completely gormless, Draco Malfoy? You're repeating your seventh year and there's no way you need to worry about … WHAT?"

"It's true!" he grinned. "You are so cute when you're angry!"

This time he stayed out of reach by racing away as she chased after him, their laughter pealing through a good part of the mansion, and he had another idea.

In her salon, Narcissa raised her head from her book, and in his office Lucius looked up from his calculations, both thinking how welcome was that sound in their home.

Rabastan Lestrange carefully closed the door, shaking his head as Vesuvia slept off the effect of several curses. He growled inwardly, damning the Malfoy patriarch to hell and back. How dare Lucius to raise his wand against her? How dare he attack a witch! It did not occur to him that he would have no problem attacking an unarmed witch himself, especially one who bore no worth in his eyes, but Death Eaters always had a moral blind spot where right and wrong was concerned. Vesuvia, one who had remained loyal, whom he had deigned to take to his bed, was injured because of that traitor, and Lestrange again reinforced his determination to obliterate the whole Malfoy family.

And first he would wipe out the little arrogant bastard who was the heir of the family. It would wound Lucius and Narcissa the worst if they lost their son, standing over the grave as his coffin was lowered into the cold winter soil. That treacherous scoundrel had crossed him too often. First, he refused to die in Hogsmeade, resisted the killing curse, even fought him – with Potter! – and then had the nerve to confront him in the museum ... conniving whelp!

Rabastan was accustomed to being respected and feared. He was used to the fact that his opponents would flee rather than stand up to him. But not this blood traitor. Instead of running away and saving his own worthless life, the boy protected that stupid Muggle-woman, made sure that she and the Mudblood escaped, even shielded those pathetic Muggle-guards with a protection spell. Only then did the skinny bloke take the hint and beat feet.

He knew, of course, that the two would race to Malfoy Manor. The boy was not stupid. He had to know that he risked the girl's safety – and her parents' – if he took her home, so he had to take her with him. And how much Rabastan had enjoyed seeing the surprise and the horror on both students' faces as he and the others emerged from the snow-filled night, firing spells at them. The new leader of the Death Eaters had calculated on young Malfoy lifting the wards around the manor to take the girl to the manse, and he had been right. The moment he and the others walked through the entrance, wild triumph had flowed through his veins.

He was acutely aware they had only minutes until the Aurors would arrive, like the last time they tried to burn down the manor. Lucius had trained the house elves how to respond when under attack, and Rabastan was convinced that one of those stupid minions would race to the Ministry. Therefore he had instructed his fellows to eliminate the three Malfoys as quickly as possible, and he would have killed the Mudblood too, despite Greyback's absurd insistence on taking her for himself. He couldn't care less if the beast had a go with the bint or not.

But, Alas! how quickly the tables were turned. One moment he and the others were performing a blitzkrieg, and in the next they found themselves under fire. Lucius was very skilled, he had to give him that, and his son was well-trained, too. Hell, even the Granger-girl had fought like a real witch, but – on the other hand – how easy she was to manipulate when Fenrir and Draco fought. How interesting that she forgot her own safety to protect Draco. Were they lovers? Rabastan strongly suspected.

And then the Aurors came.

Damn damn DAMN! He had been so certain he would have his revenge…

He suddenly became aware of the faces around him. He had walked from Vesuvia's bedroom to the dining room, where Greyback, Dolohov and the others waited, staring from him to an eagle owl that sat on the table. The bird looked at him with that unblinking gaze, but almost appeared afraid. Nevertheless, it pushed its leg toward him, the one with the letter attached.

"The bloody bird won't let anyone come near it," Greyback growled, jerking his ugly head toward the owl.

"If the letter is for me, the animal did right," Rabastan grumbled, taking the message. Reading it, his face turned red, then brick, and finally almost lilac – and the others put some distance between them and him. And they were right.

"How… how DARE that little TROUT criticize ME! 'You risked exposing us by attacking during daylight' – 'You should focus on our purpose!' – 'There's little time left to find the whereabouts of Salazar Slytherin!'" He crumbled the letter into a ball and hurled it into the fire. "I KNOW, you stupid bint! I know that we are running out of time! Maybe the arrogant little pretender can tell me how to find an unmarked grave or a ruined castle that hundreds of wizards haven't been able to find in the last thousand years!"

Dolohov ventured a response, clearing his throat in preamble. "I did as you asked and checked at the museum, and spoke with a member of the staff. I asked him about possibly ruined castles in central eastern England. He told me that they – the Muggles – found evidences of buried ruins beneath the turf, remains of foundation walls which might be dated around the year 1000 found during their surveys. Perhaps this is the clue we need."

Lestrange stared at him. "And how does this help us? The Muggles located remains of some castle or abbey beneath the earth – marvellous! And how shall this show us the way to Slytherin's home or his grave? He certainly wasn't so foolish as to mask his home with earthworks!"

Dolohov shrugged. "It tells us we haven't checked all ruins – that are still some hidden from our eyes. And for the Muggles, Slytherin's grave or castle may look like nothing more than wrecked remains from antiquity. Think of the imagination Hogwarts give to any Muggle, who lays an eye on it. But if we lift the disguising spells, we might find what we're looking for."

For a very long moment Rabastan only glared at him, then he snorted and shook his head. "Still an optimist – after all that happened, Dolohov? When did you learn to think?"

The other Death Eater shook his head. "I'm not an optimist, but an opportunist. When possibilities run out, we look to impossibilities."

Greyback barked a laugh. "You should been a poet, Antonin!"

The wizard gave him a withering look of disdain. Greyback ignored him.

Lestrange wasn't listening. They had to do something. Even though highly offended by the Egyptian witch's letter, he understood that the Ministry was becoming increasingly suspicious of their intentions. They would need to present results to Layla, and quickly. The Dark Mark, progressively more sensitive to the oriental witch's magic, had grown hot since that morning, and when he looked at the tattoo, he could see the Egyptian snake glaring at him with gleaming red eyes– like a promise of what would happen to him and the others if they failed ...

TBC…

Yeah, a cliffy… I can be mean, as I have been told several times (laugh).

In the next chapter our two love-birds will face the shadows of their own past and are going to struggle against their own haunting demons – after all, the war and certain events at the manor left their scars on both of them. But where is darkness, there is also light - a light both are willing to share with each other.

I do hope you liked the last chapter and I would be head-over-heels to receive new reviews.

Love you all,

until next time,

yours Lywhn!