Author's Notes: Okay, totally and completely off-topic, but for any other Canadians who read this….I found a copy of Cross Country Canada! My friend had it on floppy disk, and I was playing it hard core for the past week, which is why I haven't updated in awhile. God, I love that game. It's the most old school educational game you could ever find. Premise of the game: You're a trucker trekking across Canada trying to pick up commodities, and every now and then there's a crisis like you pick up a hitchhiker and he steals your asbestos or you forget to eat for awhile and you pass out in your truck and get in an accident. *Sigh* I miss Gr. 6 computer games. Now all I have to do is find Math Circus and my life will be complete.

***

The dark-haired head in the fireplace was very still, and very silent.

The owner of the head had taken the fact that his trust had been betrayed very well. In fact, after he had shared his fear of Mad-Eye Moody burning both him and Ron alive for blabbing, Harry had seemed almost relieved that Hermione was involved now. Harry and Ron both knew that Hermione had always been the bright one; no doubt Harry was hoping the same thing that Ron was…surely Hermione Granger could figure out the mystery of the scrolls? True, Harry did not know Rowan Richardson or Arden Roberts…but he trusted them because Ron trusted them.

If anything, the worst news that Harry must have received that night was the fact that Draco Malfoy's grandfather had been a part of the Dark Hand over sixty years ago.

Harry's features were contorted in anger at hearing of his old nemesis' possible involvement. "So," said his head dryly, "what have we learned?"

"That Malfoy and his dirty, rotten family are involved when anything goes wrong?" Ron answered, leaning against the fireplace in the staff common room, his hair messy and the sleeves of his robes rolled up to his elbows. It was about an hour after Arden and Rowan had left them, and Ron and Hermione had still not gone to bed. Getting a hold of Harry had been a long and difficult process, but the familiar, scarred head had eventually turned up in the fireplace. Then Ron had told Harry everything – about Rowan, Hermione, Arden, their research, DeWitt…everything.

"But Eamon DeWitt died many years ago," Hermione offered. She was sitting in a large, stuffed armchair by the fireplace, and looked very small compared to it. "Malfoy would have barely even known him enough to be influenced or – "

"I'm sorry, Hermione, but when did we start making excuses for Malfoy?" Ron asked irritably. He was extremely tired.

Hermione looked crestfallen, and a bit offended. She pursed her lips together tightly and folded her arms, preparing herself for a fight with Ron, if necessary. There were dark circles under her eyes, standing out on her pale face. She too was very tired, and tended to get even more bossy and/or annoying when she was. "I'm only saying that it's not a very helpful connection…we already knew that Malfoy and his family were involved with the Death Eaters and Voldemort…it's no surprise that Narcissa's father was in with the Dark Hand."

"Damn, I wish the Dementors were still in Azkaban," Ron abruptly said for the second time that night. "So that at least Malfoy's parents would be suffering right now."

"That's a horrible thing to wish on anyone, Ron," Hermione scolded him. "And they're probably suffering anyways…the Dementus curse does the job." She involuntarily shuddered.

There was a long silence in the room. The fireplace crackled, but Harry showed no signs of discomfort, despite the fact that his head was engulfed in flames. Ron ran his hands through his hair; after being by the fire for so long, his red hair was beginning to smell of wood, fire, and smoke, and in his tired stupor he fancied that his head was on fire.

"So what point are you trying to make, Ron?" Harry asked presently. "That Draco Malfoy's the one who's resurrected the Dark Hand?"

"It doesn't sound too far-fetched, does it?" Ron answered. He looked pointedly at Hermione, leaning forward in the enormous armchair in front of the fireplace. She still looked unsure.

"Last I heard of Malfoy, he had skulked out of the country after his parent's trial," Harry said pensively. He paused, contemplating this. "You know, Hermione, it really isn't that far-fetched. His grandfather was involved…and we haven't heard any word of Malfoy in almost eight years. It's too much of a coincidence."

"He could have been travelling around, looking for the scrolls, for all we know," Ron added.

Hermione sighed and leaned back in the armchair. "Whatever happened to your theories about Stark?" she asked.

"That's just it. Malfoy could be the brains behind the operation," Harry answered. "Stark's just his…"

"Pawn?" Ron suggested.

"Sure, whatever floats your boat."

"I…well, I suppose..." Hermione replied doubtfully, "…but…it's just that I can't see Malfoy as the brains behind anything," she confessed. "I just can't. Especially not of this ancient organization which is dealing with very advanced Dark magic. Really, can you imagine Malfoy trying to figure out these scrolls?"

She did have a point, Ron admitted to himself.

"But we've all seen what Malfoy is capable of," Harry said grimly.

Harry, too, made a good point. There had been no doubt in any of their minds that Malfoy had willingly participated in Voldemort's final plans of murdering Harry, and possibly Dumbledore and the rest of the teachers, at Hogwarts. Lucius Malfoy had been in deep with the Death Eaters, and everyone had known it. But he and his wife had continued to put on the "charitable, respectable members of society" front. They had played the game until the very end, even keeping Draco at the school that Voldemort so loathed. Draco had been the perfect inside source, of course. And Dumbledore had been noble enough to believe in Draco Malfoy, and let him stay.

Malfoy, of course, had gladly helped his father in getting Lord Voldemort into the school at the end of seventh year.

To Draco's dismay, of course, the plan failed. His involvement had resulted in the death of Malfoy's favourite professor and house head, rather than Harry, Ron, and Hermione's demises. The three of them had triumphed over the Dark Lord, and Draco Malfoy and his family were left in very deep trouble.

Every single Death Eater was put away in Azkaban, despite frantic pleas and claims of being under the Imperius curse. Snape had seen to proving that each one of them was acting of their own free will, by masquerading as a Death Eater for some time. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had been sentenced to life in Azkaban prison.

Their son, however, had been a different matter. Rather than playing the Imperius card, Draco had relied upon the sympathy of the Council of Magical Law. Malfoy had never been very intelligent, but he had always been clever and sly, as well as a very good actor. Perhaps it was the fact that he had been a minor and basically an orphan at the time, but the Council took pity on Draco Malfoy. They believed his story of being forced by his father to pass information to Voldemort and the Death Eaters from within the school. Draco claimed that he was not forced to do such horrible acts through Imperius, but by his father's threats. Everyone had been a witness to Lucius Malfoy's condescending bullying of his son at some point in time, so the story had been very believable.

Ron, Harry, and Hermione, however, had known it was a load of dragon dung. They could just imagine the sick smile of perverted pleasure on Draco's face when he had told his father that he could get Voldemort into Hogwarts. And then there had been the cases of all of the Muggle-born students that had been hurt or killed during those dark times. Only Malfoy would have had access to information about where their families had been hiding…and they could never forget what had happened to Collin…

But there had been no proof. So while his parents were sent to Azkaban, Draco had escaped with merely a slap on the wrist. Parentless, tail between his legs, he had left the country as soon as was possible. Thankfully, no one had heard or mentioned Draco Malfoy since.

Until now.

"Has anyone at the Ministry made the connection to Malfoy's grandfather?" Ron asked.

"No," Harry admitted, shaking his head and making the green flames around it dance. "DeWitt isn't a very common name, I'll admit…but no one really thought to link Eamon DeWitt with the former Narcissa DeWitt."

"Well, tell the boys at the Ministry they're doing a bang-up job, then," Ron said sarcastically.

"Me and Diana will – "

"Diana and I," Hermione corrected absently, lost in her own thoughts.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Diana and I will investigate this lead personally – it's very interesting, but Malfoy isn't going to be very easy to find or link to this - but meanwhile, not a word to anyone, understood? Not even your young little helpers, okay?" Harry sighed heavily. "Ron, I respect your decision and all, but…for something that only a few select people were meant to know…this is getting out of hand."

Ron knew he looked and sounded as frustrated as he felt. "There's just too many secrets!" he exclaimed vehemently. "I just…I can't…" he faltered, and looked to Hermione.

Harry and Ron shared a secret language of their own that was quite different from the connection Ron and Hermione had. The former partners and best friends only had to look at each other, and Harry knew that Ron had kept his promise and not told Hermione that the scrolls were hidden at Hogwarts. Harry smiled a strained sort of smile in relief.

Hermione snapped out of her thoughts. "What was that?" she demanded, gesturing to the two of them.

"What was what?" Harry said innocently.

"That. That look."

"What look?" said Ron, a bemused expression on his face.

Hermione made an aggravated noise through gritted teeth. "I hate it when you two do that to me," she muttered passionately. Feeling particularly cross, Ron prepared to shoot back a sarcastic comment.

"I hate it when you two leave me out like that," Hermione finished, shoulders slumped. Now she sounded hurt more than anything. Ron felt his annoyance with her evaporate.

"We're not leaving you out, Hermione," Ron said gently, "it's just…some things…come on, you can't be angry. We've already told you loads…"

"Hey, if anything, I should be the one complaining. You and Ron are a lot more…er, shall I say intimate, than Ron and I will ever be," Harry joked half-heartedly.

Ron felt the tips of his ears begin to grow hot. He quickly leaned against the fireplace again with his back to Harry, so that his best friend couldn't see his reddening ears. "Listen, there's no point in squabbling right now," he said sensibly. "We're all tired, and cross, and tired, and everybody hates Draco Malfoy right now. So let's all just…sleep on it. All right?"

Hermione stretched out on the armchair and stood, stifling a yawn. "I do believe that's the most practical thing you've said all day," she said in agreement.

"All right," Harry said reluctantly, seeming to not want to end the conversation. "Diana and I will check up on Malfoy, and you guys continue your research. We'll touch base at the banquet this weekend, agreed?"

"Agreed," Ron echoed.

"Harry, take care of yourself," Hermione said. The familiar words of advice seemed to have become her mantra where Harry was concerned.

"Yeah, yeah," Harry said with a slight smile. "I know. You too, okay?" He gave her a stern look that spoke volumes, his eyes sweeping over her and probably noticing how pale she was looking lately. Lack of sleep, Ron reminded himself, too afraid to admit anything different.

"Yes, Harry," Hermione answered, almost impatiently. She seemed to be getting sick of people telling her to watch her health.

"Look, Hermione…" Harry began, searching for appropriate words. "Ron's a prat for breaking his word to keep everything confidential, and I'm going to get skinned alive by Moody when he finds out that I've told Ron things I shouldn't have, and Ron's told you things he shouldn't have…"

Ron scowled at him from the corner.

"…but I'm glad you're with us on this, Hermione," Harry finished. "I'm…I'm getting kind of worried," he muttered, "and I don't feel so damned confused and helpless now that you're with us."

Hermione looked as if she was overcome with emotion. She positively glowed at this speech which, coming from Harry, was the highest form of praise that could be given.

"Thank you, Harry," she said, trying not to become emotional, but sniffling nonetheless. "I won't let either of you down. You can trust me with this," she promised.

"I know," Harry answered simply. "Well, I'll see you both this weekend. Maybe things will make more sense then."

"Hopefully," Ron replied.

As Harry prepared to disappear, Hermione suddenly called out, "Wait!" She impulsively knelt down and bent her head into the fireplace, kissing Harry's forehead.

Ron again felt that strange twinge of jealousy he had felt when Hermione had all but thrown herself at Harry at Percy's wedding. Perhaps the feeling was still a remnant of earlier days, when a deep, ugly part of him had resented Harry for being the hero, and had been automatically possessive over anyone he cared about for fear that they would end up caring more about Harry than they cared about him. In the darkest recesses of Ron's mind, those childish, long-suppressed fears still lingered: that his mother would adopt Harry and love him more than she loved Ron, that all of his friends liked Harry more than they would ever like him, that he would even lose Hermione to the brave, handsome, saintly, famous Harry Potter.

Because as she kissed Harry in the fireplace, Ron realized something; his Hermione loved Harry.

And then all of those thoughts and silly fears were dispelled forever in an instant, as Ron realized something even more important – that Hermione loved both of them equally, but that the love she had for Harry was very different than the one she had for Ron. Hermione loved Harry like she would love a very dear brother. In fact, Hermione loved Harry just the same way Ron loved Harry; except that Ron would never admit he loved Harry, because that was just not the term most men used to describe their feelings for one another. But he knew it, and Harry knew it, and so did Hermione; and for a split second, everything was right with the world, and the famous Hogwarts trio was truly bonded together once more.

"Bye, Harry," Hermione choked out, standing and walking over next to Ron. He wasn't exactly sure what had caused this sudden display of affection and emotion on Hermione's part, but Ron immediately put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed.

Harry smiled – a genuine smile, none of that forced or strained nonsense – and disappeared with a pop.

***

"This is really fascinating," Hermione said breathlessly, poring over a large, dusty volume in the staff common room. It was Friday night, a day after they had spoken to Harry in the fireplace, and their best friend's words seemed to have inspired Hermione to throw herself into her research before the banquet Saturday night.

Ron, who had decided he had earned a break, sighed heavily from the couch he was lying on. "It'd better bloody be fascinating, because if Dumbledore ever finds out that I took books from his library without permission, he'll kill me. And then possibly fire me. So that my ghost will wander the castle forever, knowing that he's jobless," Ron replied wryly.

"Oh, Albus wouldn't mind," Hermione insisted, turning a page. "I still feel badly about keeping secrets from him, but…oh wow, look at this!"

Arden and Rowan, sitting side-by-side on the opposite end of the table, briefly looked up from the file they were sharing. Over time, Rowan's shyness around all of them, especially Arden, seemed to be slowly ebbing away. It was now the wee hours of the night, and Rowan's messy ponytail had completely fallen out. Her copper hair - which was glowing a fiery orange due to the light of the fire - was wavy and tousled, and fell to her shoulders. She had taken off her glasses to read, and in the firelight, her freckles stood out on her fair skin. The bashful Divination apprentice was actually quite pretty. And never before had she reminded Ron so much of Ginny.

Hermione held up the ancient book she had been reading, with its yellowing pages and worn cover. A Collection of Lost Myths and Legends was stamped onto its spine in faded gold lettering. Reluctantly, Ron had snuck up to Dumbledore's office at dinner that night and had grabbed a few volumes for Hermione, who had taken a sudden interest in the mythology behind the Scrolls of Scuro. They all knew that Ron would find books in Dumbledore's library that would never be allowed in any other library, for public eyes to see. Already they had found a wealth of information on the scrolls. No doubt Dumbledore was also doing his homework.

"They have a sample of an unknown language," Hermione said excitedly, pointing to a jumble of strange, spiky figures on the page, "which they say many early legends about the scrolls were written in." She scanned the page and immediately summarized its contents for the group, which she'd become very talented at doing. "It says that few professional linguists have been able to translate this language, and none have ever managed to discover how it is spoken aloud – accents and emphasis and all that, you know. Apparently it's very complex. Ron…" Hermione's eyes lit up, and she clutched the book excitedly, "I think this is Scurian."

"Scurian?" Arden asked doubtfully.

"You know, Scuro's language," Hermione explained impatiently. She scanned the contents of the page again. "Oh, I wish I had taken more courses in ancient languages, it would be so interesting to study this…"

"Does it have the translation of that paragraph?" Rowan asked, craning her neck to see the book.

Hermione's eyes darted to the next page. "It's a poem," she announced, skimming the words, "very roughly translated, of course. They aren't even sure if it's entirely right." She murmured the words of the poem to herself, and then her eyes widened. She wordlessly pushed the book towards Arden and Rowan. Ron reluctantly rose from the couch, stretching his long limbs and walking over to the table, bending his head to read the translation along with the two young people.

In times forgotten they were written,

Placed under lock and key.

Spread cross the borders of many lands,

Spread cross both earth and sea.

In their words dark magic was poured.

When spoken, the world shall see,

A dark hand unleashed to crush it's foes,

And set our people free.

"A dark hand unleashed to crush it's foes…" Ron and Rowan muttered to themselves at the same time.

"So then that's where the name came from," Arden said in awe, reading the book over Rowan's shoulder.

"Yes, yes, but don't you see?" Hermione said in excitement. "This means that there's hope that they can be destroyed!"

"No, Hermione," Ron began, sighing, "they can't be, I've told you – "

"But the poem!"

 Ron furrowed his eyebrows, re-reading the poem. It had nothing to do with being able to destroy the scrolls, as far as he could see. He shook his head. "The Aurors - trained professionals - have tried and tried," Ron replied in a pained voice. "We've wasted so much time trying to destroy the things. It just can't be done."

"Just because you can't do it," Hermione said softly, with a small smile, "doesn't mean it can't be done."

Ron started; his own angry words from sixth year, repeated to him by Hermione with such confidence and love in her voice, sounded completely different. Ron felt almost sheepish remembering that incident; and now the roles were reversed. Ron was convinced something couldn't be done, and it was Hermione who insisted that it could be. Ron returned the private smile. Perhaps it was time he took his own advice.

"Did I miss something here?" Arden asked curiously.

"Shh," Rowan hushed him, a smile also on her face as she watched the two.

"Ron, read it again," Hermione insisted, pushing the book towards him. "Don't you see? It's not the scrolls themselves, but the words that contain the Dark magic. All along, you've been trying to destroy the parchment – and there's probably some sort of magic protecting that too – but it's the words you want to destroy. They're the core. Do you understand?"

"Not really," Ron confessed. But he stared at Hermione's flushed, excited face and wide eyes, trying to process this nonetheless. The words were the core…Ron furrowed his eyebrows, beginning to understand. He suddenly felt a surge of excitement and relief take hold of him. It was a long shot, and most definitely an abstract concept – how did one go about destroying words? – but it was worth pursuing. It could work. He didn't quite know how, but it could.

"Hermione, I could kiss you!" Ron exclaimed.

Arden snickered and Hermione went very red.

"We'll tell Harry about it," Ron continued eagerly. "You just might be on to something. I'm not sure what…but it's all we have right now."

"Excellent," said Arden, leaning back in his chair, "we're finally getting somewhere."

"Ron, you have to let us come to the banquet," Rowan pleaded in her timid way. "We're a part of this, too."

"I know," Ron said apologetically, "but Moody doesn't know that, and if he finds out, he'll have both mine and Harry's heads."

"Hermione gets to go," Arden pointed out wryly.

"Ah, but Hermione's my date," Ron grinned. "If you want a date with me too, Roberts, you're just going to have to get in line…"

Arden rolled his eyes but laughed; a warm, happy sound. It was rare to hear laughter during their serious, late-night researching sessions. Rowan smiled to herself and bent her head, absorbed in the file she was reading once more.

"I just want to be able to give Dameon Stark a piece of my mind," Arden continued, glowering at the fireplace. "And maybe a piece of my fist, too…"

"Ron," Rowan suddenly said, looking up with a rare, alert look on her face. "Who were Dameon Stark's parents?"

Ron's forehead creased in thought. "Aristocrats, weren't they? No, wait…er. They…uh…I…I haven't a clue," he confessed.

"That's odd," Rowan remarked softly, looking down at the file. "I haven't been able to find anything on his family either."

"Perhaps he was an orphan?" Arden suggested.

"An orphan go on about Pureblood status like that?" Hermione said, raising an eyebrow. "I doubt it."

"So either Harry wasn't very thorough in getting us information on Stark…" Ron began.

"…or there is no information," Rowan finished.

"Odd," Arden said, frowning, "that an election candidate's history hasn't been combed over and picked at…if not by the Ministry, then at least by the papers. The Daily Prophet loves digging up dirt on politicians and their family histories."

"Stark's been giving them enough controversial news to print as it is," Ron pointed out dryly. "They don't have to do digging to get a story on him. But this is very suspicious…first, this thing about Malfoy, and now Stark seems to have sprung out of thin air."

Suddenly Rowan went very rigid, and her eyes glazed over. Her jaw went slack. She slowly rose from her chair, carrying herself in a very different manner. When she spoke, it was in a harsh, cold, voice – nothing like her own. Her words were jumbled and indistinct. Ron and Hermione froze in surprise; no one dared to breathe as they listened, trying to catch her words.

"He had a son…the name…"

"Rowan?" Arden called cautiously, moving towards her. He outstretched a hand slowly and carefully. "Rowan, snap out of it."

"…playing with the future…I can't see…"

"Rowan," Arden said, his hand nearly touching her shoulder. Ron abruptly stood, but Arden motioned for him to sit down and stay still. "Listen to me, Rowan. Come back. Come on…"

"Names…names…"

"Rowan," Arden's voice was urgent now.

"…Hermione, don't…" Rowan murmured, her voice sounding more like her own now, "…don't, Hermione…it's not him…" She was not speaking to Hermione, though; she faced a window, and seemed to be speaking to someone invisible.

She suddenly gave a violet jerk and her eyes flew open. "Harry!" she cried in a completely different voice.

"Row!" Arden said anxiously, clapping his hand down on her shoulder. Rowan physically snapped out of it and stumbled, falling into Professor Roberts. She blinked several times and then jerked away, embarrassed. She was breathing fast, her arms wrapped around herself.

"Rowan, are you all right?" Hermione asked in concern as she and Ron unfroze and hurried over. Ron tried to lock away all of what he'd caught of Rowan's mutterings for further use. He had no doubt that Rowan had just had a real vision. Harry's description of Professor Trelawney's one true prediction back in third year still lingered in his mind.

"I'm fine," Rowan muttered, humiliated. "I'm so sorry if I gave you a fright…I just can't help it…"

"It's all right, Rowan," Ron assured her, "this is good, remember? You said you couldn't See anything about the scrolls, and now – "

"But it wasn't about the scrolls," Rowan said, shaking her head, "I…I don't know what it was about…too many different things, all at once."

"Why did you call out Harry's name?" Hermione asked worriedly.

"I don't know…I can't remember…" Rowan closed her eyes, concentrating hard. "Something about names…names…his name." She opened her eyes, looking excited but shocked. "His name!"

Row looked around as if she didn't know how to show them what she'd discovered, and then she pulled out her wand. It was long and thin and frail, much like its owner. Her hand trembling, Rowan wrote a name in the air with her wand. It remained there, winking at them, in sparkling, gold, letters.

Ademon.

As if in a trance, Rowan waved her wand, and the letters rearranged themselves. Arden, Ron, and Hermione were silent as they reorganized themselves into a new name.

Dameon.

"It's…it's a coincidence," Hermione said in disbelief. But Ron knew that even she had to admit that so many coincidences piling atop each other had to mean something.

"He had a son. Galen had a son," Rowan explained, taking a deep breath.

"…Dameon Stark," Ron said fiercely, catching on.

Hermione reached to touch the shimmering gold letters. "He changed his name…oh, why didn't I see it? It was so obvious…Ademon, Dameon…" The letters disappeared at her touch.

"That's why Dameon Stark's records don't exist," Rowan said, breathless. "There is no Dameon Stark. It's an identity Galen Ademon's son must have invented for himself after Galen was sent to Azkaban."

"How could he possibly get away with that?" Arden asked incredulously. He was watching Rowan carefully, as if she was going to collapse on them.

"Money," Ron spat. "Ademon's family had loads of it. Money can buy you out of a lot of things."

Arden's eyes kept darting over to Rowan, not in fear or shock of what she had done, but worry. "Hey Rowan, are you sure you're okay…?"

"I'll be fine in a second," Rowan muttered dismissively, embarrassed.

"Ademon and DeWitt…" Hermione murmured to herself, still slow to believe in their theory. Hermione preferred facts to wild guessing and coincidences.

"Stark and Malfoy," Ron echoed angrily. "They're continuing on what their grandfathers couldn't finish."

The room was heavy with silence as Hermione, very pale-looking, sunk into a chair.

"I think," she said seriously, "that we need to have a little chat with Dameon Stark tomorrow."

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I'm a horrible, horrible, person. I honestly tried for this not to be a cliffhanger, really, I did. It's not as much of a cliffhanger as it could have been! Please, please, don't hurt me. I'm just addicted to sweet, sweet cliffhangers. It's a disease, dammit…

Okay, I have to know, did anyone guess the Ademon-Dameon thing? Because I thought it was a pretty bad word scramble on my part. I was so expecting everyone to be like "What the hell do you take us for?" but no one said anything last chapter and I was very thankful. However, if you saw through my thinly veiled attempt to rip-off JKR's Tom Marvelo Riddle thing, please let me know. Be honest now. My feelings won't be hurt. …Much.

By the way, thank you very much to the reviewers who pointed out a few flaws in my last few chapters…yeah, referring to Harry as the Boy Who Lived from his POV does sound pretty stuck-up. I won't do it again. ^_^

And now, the Cross Country Canada theme song!

Do, do, do doodleooooooo! Do, do, do doodleooooooo! Do, do, do doodleooooo, do do do!

You probably all think I'm crazy by now. But then you were probably all like, "Hey, tell me something I don't already know from the last 15 chapters."