"What makes you so sure it's referring to a phoenix?"
"Harry told me before that when Umbridge stormed the Headmaster's Office last year, Professor Dumbledore once escaped by clasping his hands to the legs of Fawkes," said Hermione, her eyes shining. "That is what we have to find out. How he did that. And how to get into Dumbledore's office."
"But it could be some other phoenix emblem, or a place called Phoenix!" countered Draco, irritably. Somehow the image of Umbridge had popped back into his mind, and he didn't have to remember how remarkably childish he had been to join her Inquisitorial Squad just to earn some cotton-candy credit which had amounted to nothing. "What makes you think it's Dumbledore's pet?"
"It's all we've got," reminded Hermione. "Our next visit out of Hogwarts is to Hogsmeade next Friday. That's just too late – one week to sit around and not do anything is going to kill you, mark my words." Draco had to admit she was right; he was already getting all fidgety. "We have no other way to get to any place called Phoenix or is there any other phoenix emblem in Hogwarts. Besides, there are few phoenixes that exist in the world today. Accurately, there are only two known domesticated ones."
"Two?" echoed Draco. "How'd you know?"
"I read," said Hermione, rolling her eyes as though it was a given fact. "The other is the mascot of a New Zealand Quidditch team, but if Dumbledore has one right here at Hogwarts, then it's a chance that I'm willing to give a shot. Are you not?"
Draco grudgingly turned back to face the moonlight. Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat again as she saw the light illuminate his body once again. Hurriedly turning her gaze back to the parchment, she suddenly felt her throat constrict again.
"Oh my god, what time is it?" She almost leapt up from her seat, absolutely flustered.
"Two hours past bedtime," replied Draco, airily, as she muffled a shriek with her hand, grabbed the stack of books and got ready to rush off. She was more than likely to get it from Potty and Weasel – and maybe even Weaselette – for hanging around outside bedtime hours.
"So when do we start?" he demanded, standing up quickly before she took off.
"When we get enough information to get into his office!" And Hermione had dashed off, out of the library, leaving Draco to stare after her, and then back at the parchment on the table. He gingerly picked up the parchment, folded it, and tucked it back into his pocket. Breathing deeply, he shook his head and fell back into the armchair.
-.-.-.-.-.-
"Where were you?" Ron nearly leapt out of his seat when Hermione rushed back to the common-room, only to find her three friends waiting in the empty lounge, looking all worried.
"Library?" She cocked an eyebrow at him. "You could ask Madam Pince, I went to ask her for a book."
She knew that they wouldn't bother to, and Ron sagged back into the couch. Ginny shot her a disapproving look, while Harry looked weary. "Hermione," he began. "Don't go anywhere without telling us, alright?"
"What's happened?" Hermione stared at them, alarmed.
"Susan Bones walked by and reported that Malfoy was in a foul mood after her sister and friends provoked him by dropping books on his precious feet," replied Ginny, scowling. "And then Harry wanted to find you to see if he had taken it out on you. We couldn't find you, only to meet Zabini and find out he was looking for Malfoy too. So we thought..."
"Oh." Hermione winced. "I'm sorry!" She wondered if she should tell the truth. How else would she get Harry to tell her the password to Dumbledore's office? The last time she managed to get in, it was because she had met Dumbledore himself outside. That was too rare a sight to occur again, given that Dumbledore seemed to be pretty elusive these days, more so ever since he had talked to Harry and her. "Don't worry, Malfoy and I kept to our own sides of the corridor, as we always do."
"That's what Susan said when she tried to alleviate our worries," replied Harry, sinking deeper into the couch. "She said you guys are always at polar opposites." Sitting up a little, he looked long and hard at Hermione. "You've got to tell me if things are not working out alright? If it's hard to get things out of him, then let's just leave it. I've a feeling he's playing games with you, the way he acted during Defence class."
"And you didn't tell us what happened in Arithmancy!" burst out Ron.
Harry gave him a hard whack on his shoulder as he did, glaring at him. "Ron!"
"You guys know?" Hermione managed to squeak, feeling rather horrid. She briefly wondered how they knew.
"Hermione," began Harry, cringing. "I understand why you didn't tell us about Malfoy's outburst, but if he's blowing hot and cold, playing villain and hero, it's definitely not a good sign. He's trying to show you he can twist you around his little finger if you're trying to be nice to him."
Hermione felt a little bitter at that insinuation. She didn't need Harry to tell her what Draco had been implying all along. It sort of – hurt.
"I know," she said, at last. Ron gave her a reproving look. Hermione winced, then she looked at Harry again, and then tapped two fingers against the couch so that only he could see. He raised his eyebrows at her, but she shook her head lightly, hoping that he understood what she wanted.
"I'll just sit here for a while more," said Harry, leaning back. "Been having nightmares lately; don't really want to go back to the bed."
Ron's gaze shifted from Hermione to Harry, changing from annoyance to concern, then gave a shrug. "Hope it isn't too bad tonight, mate, last night you've been turning and tossing for sure." Hermione gave Harry a look, but he looked away. "I'll be turning in soon. Ginny, you ought to, you've got eyebags!"
That was enough for Ginny, who gave a moan and darted up to the girls' dormitory. Ron looked at Hermione rather sternly, but she shook her head and leant back with a smile, so he lumbered back, and when both doors were shut, there were only Hermione and Harry left in the common-room.
"What can't you say in front of Ginny and Ron?" asked Harry, suspiciously.
"Tell me about your nightmares first," insisted Hermione, looking rather annoyed. Then again, if she was hiding things from Harry, she didn't have the right to get mad at him for trying not to make her worry.
Harry looked uncomfortable. "It – was just an excuse."
"Harry." Hermione's voice was firm. Harry wasn't any better at lying than she was.
"Well... " He scratched the nape of his neck. "I dreamt about – you know, Voldemort, and he was prowling around a dark area... almost grassy... then..." He grew increasingly fidgety. "Trails of blood... I could smell it, and it made his adrenaline pump... cold, windy place it was... and then suddenly, there was this huge ball of explosion, I could feel his skin singe with the fiery heat..." Harry put his head in his hands, shaking. "It was as if he had – just blown himself apart or something. He was fragmented... he was hot and cold at the same time, painful and exciting... it's just sick how this creature functions." He ended with a sigh of frustration.
"You haven't been practising Occlumency!" Hermione accused.
"It's not as easy as Snape thinks it is," muttered Harry, his head still buried in his palms.
"Can Voldemort know what you're thinking then?"
"I actually don't think so. At the end of last year, Dumbledore told me that when he attempted to possess me last year and failed, I apparently developed some kind of protection against him, even if he seems to have been healed by that strange Healer McGonagall was talking about," replied Harry, massaging his forehead. "If the protection is useless against his healed self, I'm sure Dumbledore would have told me."
"So it's now a one-way thing?"
"But he's been practising Occlumency against me. Ever since last year, I've got nothing from him. It's just that I don't know why this particular vision has slipped through and dominated my dreams the last few nights."
Hermione bit her lip. An explosion – of himself? Could that mean... the seven cuts across him?
She shook her head, then saw that Harry was now looking intensely at her. "So what do you have to tell me in private?"
"I – need the password to Dumbledore's office."
Harry was startled. "Is it because of Malfoy?"
Hermione nodded.
"Whatever for?" demanded Harry, dangerously. "I don't like the sound of this. So he has been twisting you around?"
"Who told you about Arithmancy class?" asked Hermione, weakly.
"When we met Zabini just now," said Harry, tersely. "He was being particularly snarky about you. Said something about us better watchingyour back because when a Death Eater blows hot and cold, he's probably hinting something."
Hermione winced.
"So what does Malfoy need to find Dumbledore for?"
"He doesn't need to look for Dumbledore," said Hermione, honestly. "He needs to look for Fawkes."
"Fawkes?" asked Harry, incredulously.
"I don't know actually," replied Hermione, trying not to sound shaky. "Just after I came out from the library, he cornered me and demanded that I tell him where I knew of a phoenix. As you know," she added, "There are only two domesticated ones in this world."
I'm giving him credit for something he didn't know!
"What does he need that piece of information for?" Harry was clearly displeased and worried at the same time.
"He told me not to question him," answered Hermione, softly. She was definitely not used to lying to Harry, and it was hurting her to do so.Why am I doing this? Why am I helping Harry's enemy and hurting Harry instead? But when she saw Harry's scathing look, she had a good feeling she was doing the right thing. The next thing she could envision was Harry running towards Draco and giving him a good wallop. And her heart ran cold at the thought of it.
You're not a murderer. You're not. I can see it in your eyes.
Harry was waiting impatiently for her to elaborate.
"He said if I help him to obtain the password to Dumbledore's office, he would tell me what he is up to. Harry, I beg of you." Hermione's voice was urgent. "Just tell me okay? I don't believe he's going to do anything dastardly, he's just finding out something."
"How can you believe him, Hermione?" Harry was stunned. "He could just take flight and do anything he wished once he's in there and he won't keep to his promise!"
"I'm going in with him."
"That's worse, Hermione, he could kill you in there!"
The thought of Draco killing her sent shivers down her spine. How many times had he already threatened to do that? If she had told Harry about it, he would be dead certain that she was never going near Draco Malfoy again.
But she couldn't tell Harry the truth about anything. He would go to Fawkes first and find out whatever clue that might be there and try to find Wentervale himself. And then Draco's wish to find out the truth about his father's death would fall to pieces.
"Harry?" she asked softly.
He refused to look at her now, his head back in his hands. Hermione gently reached over and pulled his hands away, such that he raised his head to face her.
"Trust me. You sent me to get near him. So trust me."
Harry mumbled something incomprehensible, then he looked away again.
"Please."
He shook his head, then pulled away from her, getting up to walk towards the staircase.
"For your parents, for Sirius, Harry!" Hermione cried out after him, jerking herself out of her seat.
He stopped walking.
Silence.
Hermione could feel herself quivering. Whether it was out of desperation for Harry to answer her, or out of disgust that she was manipulating Harry's emotions to have him give the answer, she really didn't know. And didn't want to know, for that matter.
Then he turned back.
"Neville's favourite plant," Harry muttered, and then his eyes met Hermione. She was suddenly reminded of somebody's glittering silver eyes, but no, this time, she was looking at honest, sad, green eyes that did sparkle with something a little like hope. "You're not the smartest witch in our year for nothing."
Hermione managed a weak smile. "Don't tell Ron and Ginny? They'd think I'm sodding mad." Or at least Ron would. Ginny would suspect something straightaway.
Harry placed his hand on the doorknob.
"You're not my best friend for nothing," he rasped.
Then Hermione was all alone in the quiet common-room, tears that she had held back for so long spilling down her cheeks, as she sank back in her seat.
-.-.-.-.-.-
Thunder crashed overhead, and birds scattered out of the shaking trees, cawing into the night. Wind stirred up the dry grass, sending a crackling reverberation all around the empty graveyard. Each gust of wind banged against the dark tombstones, whomp whomp whomp, like a giant drum being hit relentlessly.
Along with the wind came dust, and the dust particles, leaves, wind, soil circled up into small tornados as they slowly built up till human height... and each whirl revealed a cloaked figure. Slowly, as though sprouting from the ground, they emerged, one by one. One of them cackled a low laughter, the rest turned slowly to face the entrance of the graveyard. Another gust of wind came, stronger and colder than before, almost raking up all the dry leaves that lay scattered around the tombstones to swirl around the figure, who finally revealed himself with arms outstretched.
All the figures bowed, a mark of reverence.
The slit-like eyes of Voldemort scanned the crowd. He had not summoned all, only a few. None of them could really see who the rest were, because they had all arrived hooded. His mangled hand extended out of his flowing sleeve to beckon to one of them. He spoke in a low voice so no others could hear, and the hooded figure before him gave a slight nod. Then he waved him back.
One by one they came forth, and he related his instructions, curtly and concisely.
One of them released a slight demented cackle while listening. Her head bobbed quirkily as Voldemort related his instructions, and she gave a little sniff before dipping to the ground in a little curtsey and retreating back to her position.
The last one came forth, the hood barely concealing the sharp greasy nose.
"How is the boy?" Voldemort's cold voice showed that he was clearly less interested in the subject of his conversation than the mission involved.
"It is still early, my lord," came the impassive reply.
"Keep an eye on him." Voldemort's slit-like eyes became even narrower, almost concealing his ghostly pupils. "But I warn you, I don't take kindly to traitors."
He hissed the last word so loudly that Snape couldn't help flinching. Did the Dark Lord – know?
"That boy is no fool. He has come to take his father's place, and he has the talent to become a great wizard," remarked Voldemort, coldly. "But he is also an independent, intelligent young man. You are his mentor and professor. But you will of course understand that you are not the only pair of eyes I've sent to watch this boy."
Snape felt something rise up within him. But he merely bowed his head. "I fully understand."
"Good. Now back."
Snape backed off, closing his eyes as he did. Draco was keeping him in the dark about a lot of things, and if the Dark Lord knew, there might be somebody a step ahead of him to confront Draco, or worse...
His mind was shut, away from the Dark Lord. Severus Snape knew that he was one of the best Occlumens around; why else would Dumbledore get him to teach Potter? And why else would his protege be able to hide his own thoughts so well? But there was a bubbling paranoia that somehow, a crack of that concentration, would just give everything away.
He realised that he was not as paranoid about himself as he was for Draco.
I beg of you, Severus! Narcissa's pleas were churning in his mind. He shut them out immediately.
"Dismissed," said Voldemort, in a low, silky voice.
The gusts of wind came once again, stirring up all the leaves and soil of the ground, littering the neighbouring tombstones with the debris, and within seconds, the graveyard was empty again, accompanied only by the howling of the wind, a flash of lightning across the dark sky, and another crash of thunder.
A/N: A little reminder that whilst this fic is non-HBP compliant, some of the incidents here are taken from HBP (as the subsequent chapter will demonstrate clearly) and DH, just that they follow different plot details and routes.