"Pansy?"

His voice rose barely above a whisper, but she had cracked open an eyelid at once.

"Yeah?"

"I think…" he licked his dry lips, "I think I know what the message is."

She stood beside him in a flash. "What is it?" She asked, almost breathlessly. When he didn't answer immediately, she paced around the room, trying her hardest to bite her tongue and not snap her frustration at him.

He was frozen before the papers with its scribbled words, all lying in a heap haphazardly on his ink-splattered desk. Quill nubs littered the floor around him, and a small book lay open with a false innocence, it's pages marked with ripped pieces of parchment.

"Do you remember how Hermione and I almost failed how Muggle Studies paper?"

The question startled her so much, she collapsed onto his bed with an enormous sigh.

"Really, Draco? What does this-"

"-Everything," he said quietly. "Everything."

"Well, I don't," she sounded pained, and he knew why. That paper was what brought her and Ron together, and though their time had been sweet and good, it was brought abruptly to a bitter end.

"We couldn't decide on which book to use," he sat down beside her, and the mattress creaked under their combined weight. "I wanted something simple, easy. She, of course, wanted some bloody difficult novel written in archaic English."

She waited.

"She numbered her accounts-her little story," he reached over and shoved the lot into her hands, "See?"

Pansy saw, but didn't understand, "she did this so things could be arranged in chronological order."

"Well, yes-but what was the point if nearly everything was made up? She could have just wrote things in order anyway. Why number and jumble them all up?"

Pansy glanced at the book, "then-" she swallowed, "then the numbers, they are-"

"-The message," he finished. "The numbers correspond to words within the book. The book she insisted we study. The ancient text that must've been written before Aion Tempas' time. The book name she even underlined for us- Draconian Princess. She's hinted at how she might have had access to it. The cabinet with books that Viola had. It would have been so easy, when Viola was sent out while Aion was visiting, and right after he left, to have swiped the book."

He pulled the book onto his lap, "The numbers she wrote at the beginning of each account are page numbers."

Pansy leaned over and read. "They're poems!" She exclaimed, "an entire story made up of individual poems."

"And they're all titled," he said. He glanced over at his wand to check that the anti-eavesdropping spell was still strong. "Her message is concealed within the titles."

Pansy flipped to the page where the first bookmark was, and slowly pieced the message together.

"Draconian."

"The Slaying."

"Triumph over the Monster."

"The Princess and Her Knights."

"The Great Decoy."

"The Rebellion."

"Are you quite sure this is the actual message?" Pansy said doubtfully, closing the book. There were other bookmarks remaining, but she knew even if she read the entire message, she wouldn't understand.

His knuckles were white. "Yes."

"But what does it all mean?"

"It means," Draco swallowed, "That I have to kill Him."