There were no lessons that day with the Gryffindors, it wouldn't do to wait all the way until patrol hour, and Draco Malfoy couldn't risk walking over to the Gryffindor common-room or to the Gryffindor table during mealtimes without being stared at or possibly hexed by Potter and the Weasel. Frustrated, he had to wait patiently as his owl took off to the Owlery to get ready to arrive during supper. The lyrics Lanneria Wentervale had sung were revolving in his head, as well as the same words that were scrawled on the parchment his father had left him. What could they mean?
Granger had told him that 'two, two, and three strides' meant seven. Lanneria said she had given him one, and he already had three. Draco's sharp mind had already worked out that the line 'angels of fire no water could soothe' meant 'one' of whatever it was supposed to represent. And the 'labryinth of secrets' was one, and the 'ring of truth' another.
Altogether, he had three.
Three of what?
Scowling, Draco lay back on his bed as he waited frustratingly for supper hour to arrive. Reaching over to his drawer, he pulled out the yellowed parchment and held it above him, thinking about his father.
Lucius, authoritative as he was, had been a figure of respect to him. Whatever was he thinking when he let Maldash Wentervale go? When he chose the road to death, did he not think of Narcissa and Draco? Did he not think that his son never wanted to become a Death Eater, but had to become one because he had to carry on his father's legacy?
Then suddenly, his thoughts were shifted to Hermione Granger. Why was he suddenly trusting her so much? She was the best friend of Potter and the Weasel. She was almost sisters with that young Weasley, who had just become Potter's precious girlfriend. She herself could even be the Weasel's girlfriend. They were all in one web together. He felt the Dark Mark sting on his arm. Most of all, she was a Mudblood. Draco winced to think of what his father might say if he knew Draco was looking to a Mudblood for assistance. It made him cringe even more when he thought of how pathetic he must have seemed in front of her – first fainting out of the blue during patrol, then suddenly losing control of his emotions after the Quidditch match.
Why was he completely unable to get a grip on himself whenever he was around her?
But Draco couldn't answer this himself. When she said she would help, he had almost taken it for granted that she would help – on her own. It was as if she had broken away from the golden trio to take the risk to help him. He remembered seeing the wary eyes Potter and Weasley had during Defence Against the Dark Arts when he had thrown his textbook over to Granger. Clearly, they were shocked by his actions. They hadn't been around during Arithmancy to see Draco boil over. That hadn't been on purpose – he just couldn't stand how Granger seemed to be sticking to him all the time. And now he was starting to feel that she was actually taking him as... as... whatever it was, it was not pity. Or fear.
Not like everyone else.
Still, should he really let her see the parchment? The piece in front of his eyes suddenly felt so precious and personal. It was the last connection he had with his father. Draco could almost see Lucius' stern eyes peering out from it.
But if she didn't see it, he didn't know how the hell he was going to decipher it all by himself. And as time drained away, he was getting increasingly frustrated by the lack of progress. The reason why he could obtain another clue from Lanneria Wentervale had been thanks to Granger.
It certainly did not please him to realise that.
"Draco?"
The sound of Blaise's voice jerked Draco from his reverie, and quickly, he shoved the parchment back into the drawer.
"What?" barked Draco, harshly.
Blaise peeked past the curtains that hung over Draco's bed. "So what did Snape call you to his office for?"
"Nothing," said Draco, quickly, his eyes rolling upwards to the ceiling. "Just to tell me to be careful and all that."
Blaise narrowed his eyes at the lazy figure of Draco. "And I'd add on to that. Everybody's still on their guard against you. You don't want to screw up big time on your first mission."
Draco wondered why Blaise had said that, as the black-haired boy turned and left the dormitory. The Zabinis were not known to be associated with the Death Eaters, and the conversations between the two boys had never veered towards the Dark Lord. Blaise had also never shown any inclination towards the dark side. But Blaise's reticence about his family had always been a puzzle for Draco, considering the pureblood Slytherins had always been proud of their families and bloodlines. Draco also realised that while he knew much about the Parkinsons, the Bulstrodes, the Notts, and to some extent he was aware of the Greengrasses' parents, he barely knew anything about the Zabinis.
His teeth clicked with frustration, and he closed his eyes. Things were getting very complicated indeed.
-.-.-.-.-.-
The owl swooped over the heads of the first few on the tables, so low that it nearly knocked Neville Longbottom off his seat, along with the swarms of other owls soaring over. Its talons clutched a thin piece of parchment, and when it found its brown-haired target, it released the piece, almost dropping it into the bowl of soup when a hand reached out to grab it.
"You've got mail!" Ginny announced, excitedly, as she made to open the parchment.
"Don't!" Hermione almost choked over her soup and reached out for the parchment, snatching it back.
Ginny pouted and leaned over eagerly. "Who's that from, Krum?"
It was Ron's turn to choke violently over the soup.
All of them stared at him, alarmed, as the purple clouded his face. Scowling, he glared at Hermione. "That pug still writes to you? I thought he had given up!"
"Pug?" Hermione repeated with distaste. "Honestly, Ron!"
"Thought he looked like a perverted pug," said Ron, sulkily. It wasn't that he liked Hermione in that way – maybe, for a while he did see her in a different light, and had sorely regretted not asking her to the Yule Ball. But as the summer break had gone by, he was quite sure that he only saw her as a good friend, and was thankful that he hadn't spilled out any 'feelings' he thought he might have had. Still, Viktor Krum was a pain in the neck whenever he thought about him, and Ron was still sour that Hermione actually thought well of him and had quarrelled with him over that – pug.
"So is it Krum?" Ginny shot her brother a teasing grin.
Hermione hadn't the faintest idea who that owl belonged to, and it sure didn't look like it was a Bulgarian breed. The last time Krum sent her anything (which had been a while), the owl had been just as bulky as Krum himself had been; it barely managed to stop itself from rolling all around the table when it had arrived awkwardly. She was about to deny it when she couldn't help noticing the beautifully bright green ribbon that tied up the parchment. Perhaps it was best they had forgotten how Krum's owl had looked like.
"Can I have some privacy?" demanded Hermione, the intuitive needle in her heart suddenly pointing towards a particular person.
Ginny was still wearing her grin, while Harry chuckled and Ron's sulk deepened.
When they had finished supper, Hermione excused herself to the girls' bathroom, only to quickly unravel the parchment. In the familiar flourished scrawl were the words,
"Same place, same time. No questions yet."
He hadn't even bothered to sign off. Hermione gritted her teeth. But then again, with his new status (or not so new anymore) as Death Eater, he couldn't be alerting the whole world that he was actually on civil terms with Hermione Granger, the Mudblood he despised.
Then why did he help me this morning? Hermione felt her cheeks burn at the memory. That had only served to make things worse. People like Corrinne Whitemayer, Seamus Finnigan, Pansy Parkinson... all of them had seen both incidents that showcased both the ups and downs of – what could be termed as their 'relationship'. He's only drawing attention to himself, that idiot!
It couldn't be helped; she had to meet him to find out as well.
-.-.-.-.-.-
Patrol had been a terse affair, as it mostly was. Both of them kept to their ends of the corridor and refused to look at each other. Hermione flinched as she heard Draco take away an extravagant amount of points from first-year Ravenclaws for "trying to be so bloody smart" when they had overbalanced, sending all the books they had borrowed from the library crashing onto Draco's feet and causing him to howl with pain and anger. Still, she refrained from trying to interfere, even though the judge in her was seething with fury.
The fury was definitely a build-up from her snowballing thoughts of what he had said to her at Arithmancy class, then the strange civility he had shown in Defence Against the Dark Arts, right in front of his favourite teacher – and possibly his Death Eater mentor right now! How dare he play around with her and make her tongue-tied in front of her friends, having to explain the queer turnabout of events. The more she thought about it, the more furious she was, and she had to stand at her corner fuming for the next hour or so.
Finally when patrol ended, she had immediately made her way to the library without bothering to wait for him. Storming up the moving staircase that shifted towards the library, she felt something in her bubbling alongside her anger. It was – anticipation. Anticipation for what he was about to tell her. If he had called her to meet him, surely there must have been some progress to the pendant incident. In her mind, she had predicted that Draco would be hauled in for interrogation by the Greengrass family themselves, because no other person would have greater suspicion. Her face coloured a little at the thought that Draco knew how to dispel the magic which prevented the Slytherin boys from entering the girls' dormitories. That was probably the last thing she needed to know about him.
But when she reached the library entrance, she realised to her dismay that she couldn't possibly perform the same act of just walking in without Madam Pince questioning her about yesterday's swift leave or try to do another disappearing act again. Just before the cogwheels of her mind started to spin, she felt the familiar feeling of a raw egg cracking above her head. She was about to squeal when a warm hand suddenly snaked around her neck and covered her mouth. Her eyes widening, she tried to twist to see who it was. But she needn't have to. Even if she couldn't make out who it was, she knew.
With his other hand, he led her through the main reading area, past an unsuspecting Madam Pince and the rest of the students buried in their books. When they reached the secret corner, he gently pulled out a chair for her and she fell into the soft seat, gaping at no one in particular. There was utter silence, till a few minutes later, Madam Pince walked around for her routine checks, and eventually left the library in darkness.
Finally, the jelly-like feeling that shrouded her slowly dissipated, and in front of her, a beam of light appeared and illuminated the figure of Draco Malfoy, lying in his lazy stance in the armchair, staring listlessly at her.
For a moment, Hermione couldn't speak. All the hours of fuming earlier on were stuck at her throat, refusing to spill out. Suddenly, the casual way Draco Malfoy was sitting seemed rather – alluring. His silver-blond hair fell lazily over his pale face, and rose in a slick tuft above his forehead, which was glowing in the moonlight that fell through the window he was looking at. His gray eyes suddenly glittered silver, and it seemed that the rest of his chiselled features were glowing with the moonlight pooling all over him. His tie was loosely undone, and he had an unbuttoned collar... the warm feeling of his arm around her neck and the pressure he had applied on her lips with his hand...
Hermione had to stop herself from gaping, and immediately felt foolish. She had to remind herself this was a Death Eater she was staring at. Even though her intuition felt otherwise, she couldn't help but hear Harry, Ron and Ginny's voices repeating in her head... that he was a potential murderer...
"Are you spying on me?" His curt voice pierced through the silence. Hermione was surprised to detect a hint of bitterness, only to have her surprise replaced by shock that he should ask such an ironic question.
"No," she said quietly, looking at her hands.
"Look at me."
His voice was so authoritative and full of emotions so complicated that it hurt Hermione's head to listen to it. She had no choice but to comply, lifting her head to stare at those silver eyes, which were now boring into hers. They were almost – mesmerising.
"No," she repeated, feeling confidence seep back into her. "Is this what you thought all along? That I was spying on you?"
"You thought I was going to kill Potter," replied Draco, coldly, although he couldn't take his gaze off her for some inexplicable reason, despite the fact that she was now staring at him defiantly. "What better way than to know your enemy inside out."
"It's harder to know you than you think, Malfoy," snapped Hermione, glaring at him. She could feel the earlier anger clouding her system again. "I haven't the faintest idea what you were attempting to do during Dark Arts class today. So now that you think I'm spying on you, you make me look like an idiot in front of my friends?"
"How did you explain?" The amused glint that had come into his eyes was not lost on her. It only served to make her boil even more.
Hermione clenched her fists. "I told them I'm not one of those gits who are bent on pitying you for losing your father or being scared of you because you've joined the ranks of Death Eaters. And perhaps you thought it well to repay my civility."
She was surprised at how honest she was about what she had told her friends; then again, what she had told them wasn't the whole truth. It was getting tiring, trying to hide things here and there. She was supposed to be a spy for Harry – so why wasn't she telling him anything? So far all she could do was to confirm that Draco was a Death Eater, and try to convince Harry that he was still human. She couldn't even blurt out that Draco was going to kill Dumbledore.
Why? Why?
Looking at Draco, who was still staring at her, she felt a flush rise up her neck. Damn, she kept getting these hot flushes when she was around him.
Draco looked at her hard. Then his expression softened a little. If she was telling the truth, then her friends must have been hopping mad to know that she was actually on civil terms with Draco Malfoy, not only their longtime nemesis, but one not to be trifled with, particularly with the start of the new term. He was deeply impressed by how direct she was. But still, he could not help feeling uneasy that she was being so forthright in offering to help. Why didn't she understand that he didn't want to have to kill someone he didn't need to? Sooner or later, she would interfere too much and he would have to – looking into those hazel eyes, something was tugging at him. What's wrong with me?
Feeling as though waves of regret would sweep over him any moment, his fingers reached for the parchment in his pocket. Before he pulled it out, he found himself saying,
"I don't know what you're up to. You could be doing this for Potter, for Weasley, yourself, I don't really give a damn. All I know is that I need to reach my goal soon, and since you've offered to help, then I'm taking you up on your offer. What happened in Arithmancy is what can happen anytime, so don't push your luck Granger, I'm far from being chummy with you." He glared at her, but she merely looked at him back with an almost curious expression. "And you've probably worked out why I helped you today."
He thought he saw her eyes droop, but they were back looking at him again, firmly. If she was trying to play tricks, then he would easily play her like a puppet. He could play with the trust between her and her friends. Then again – it was also his fault that her textbook had been left in the library...
With one hand still in his pocket, he used the other hand to push out the stack of books she had left behind in the library. She stared at the stack, then bit her lip and pulled it over to her side, almost protectively.
"That's nice of you, considering I offered." Hermione gave him a dirty look.
"It's my game you're playing. So you follow my rules," replied Draco, haughtily. Then he eventually gathered up the courage to fish out the precious parchment from his pocket. Hermione's eyes widened with curiosity as he held it up.
Before she could ask, he unfolded the parchment and laid it out on the table in front of her. The words on the parchment were almost similar to Draco's, except that it had a more mature aura and a more lavish flourish. Although... the words seemed to falter towards the end, becoming more of a scrawl and scribble.
Two, two, and three strides.
The first line caused her to gape. A memory of Draco walking in that very rhythm came to mind. She looked up at Draco's face, only to see him look angry all over again.
Cuts across him, a magic that divides, A labyrinth of secrets, a ring of truth, Keeps his power, keeps him aloof. All that I know I pen with fear
Hermione caught her breath as she saw the last line.
For soon he will make me disappear.
"Your book..." she stammered.
Draco frowned. He shouldn't have left that line lurking around carelessly in his textbook. Then he looked at Hermione, with a rather dark expression.
"My father gave this to me before his death. I am suspecting it contains secrets about the Dark Lord." He felt his heartbeat race as he revealed these secrets. Every word was like a stab through his heart. "Whether or not it's what he knew, or what Maldash Wentervale might have told him."
"And the Dark Lord doesn't know you're talking about this?" squeaked Hermione.
"You're not the only one who knows Occlumency," Draco shot back, venomously, and Hermione shrank back. He was clearly not willing to part with this information, but Hermione was trying her best to absorb everything. Suddenly, it was as if she was able to reach out and peel off the layers he was carrying on him.
Then he leaned forward and placed his fingers outstretched on the parchment, smoothening out the edges. In a very icy, but somewhat shaky voice, he continued,
"You were right. Lanneria Wentervale appeared yesterday to confront me about the pendants."
"What did she say?"
"First of all, do you know the story of Maldash Wentervale?"
"Yes, I told you Ginny told me," replied Hermione, impatiently.
"Then you must know that my father was killed for letting him go twice, and that I suspect Maldash must have revealed some secrets to him." Draco took a deep breath. "Any of the four privileged Death Eaters who get to know the Dark Lord's secret cannot know more than one, and therefore if my father left me two secrets, one must have belonged to Maldash, and one to him. This is much as I have speculated."
Then before Hermione could react with confusion, Draco related about the legend of the four trusted Death Eaters, and what Lanneria had told him, leaving out the bits that taunted him about his father. He was past caring about regretting his words; he just wanted to find answers as soon as possible. As he stared back at the parchment, the haunting song that Lanneria had sung, the beautiful voice that she carried, came floating back into his mind. Unconsciously, the words left his mouth in the same tune,
"Angels of fire no water could soothe, The secrets of a lifetime, that no one could prove..."
Hermione's gaze couldn't leave the parchment as the song fell out of Draco's lips. It was almost enchanting, the way he had sung it, the beautifully-crafted words, the magically soothing and yet haunting effect of the tune. When she eventually tore her gaze away from the table, she saw Draco's eyes glaze over for a moment, before they became hard again. The glitter that was in his eyes flickered, and his pupils looked stonier than ever.
"She said you had three now."
"As I have told you, those three lines must indicate three markers. But I have no clue as to what they might be," came Draco's curt reply. He was feeling extremely bitter and vulnerable now that he had told Hermione so many things. It made him uneasy and deep down, he fervently wished his Occlumency skills were as good as he hoped they were. If the Dark Lord knew...
"Then surely the one she told you must be a marker leading you to a possible location of Maldash Wentervale."
Draco raised an eyebrow.
"And," continued Hermione, her eyebrows knotting together as she looked back at the words on the parchment. "It seems to me that the 'him' here would probably refer to Voldemort. There are seven 'cuts' across him, of which we have yet to decipher..." What she said earned her a snort from Draco, but she carried on nevertheless. "But if I may say, I think that it means Voldemort has seven secrets. You have the clue to three – two from your father, one from Lanneria Wentervale. And I would think Maldash was the one who weaved the clues into song."
"So he also knew the clue my father had?"
"We cannot be certain that your father was definitely one of the four, Malfoy," pointed out Hermione. "If Lanneria could give you one clue, it shows that Maldash was in possession of at least two clues; he couldn't possibly entrust his only secret to her and allow her to give it away so easily. If you said each of the privileged Death Eaters could only have one, then..."
"No wonder the Dark Lord wants him dead..." muttered Draco, angrily. If he wanted to get into trouble, he shouldn't have brought Father down with him! In fact, down before him!
"We should start from the marker Lanneria Wentervale gave you. If what I'm guessing is right, she's pointing to the last location where Maldash might have gone to. Which is to search for one of Voldemort's clues. And it's the most specific clue out of all I should think. Angels of fire."
"And how specific is that?" asked Draco, incredulously.
There was a pause.
"A seraphim?" Hermione suggested. "The legendary angel known as the burning one."
Draco looked confused.
"It's a Biblical creature. You know, Christianity... it's a Muggle religion."
"The wizarding world does not associate with Muggle religions," said Draco, haughtily.
Hermione's forehead creased for a moment.
Then suddenly her eyes lit up. "Talk about no water could soothe. When water lashes over the burning flames, what still insists on rising up from the ashes, a new life born again? Something like an angel, something with wings?"
For a moment, Draco was confused again. Then suddenly he caught onto the phrase 'rises up from the ashes', and in his mind, there conjured an image of a strikingly beautiful creature, emitting the brightest light ever, emerging from the smoky black ashes to raise its wings...
When he shook off the vision and stared back into Hermione's excited eyes, he could feel a bubble of excitement rising up in him as well.
"And," said Hermione, breathing heavily, her eyes sparkling, "I know exactly where we can find one."