Hermione's legs felt like lead. Draco thought they could deal with this? What the hell did he mean? She tried for the second time to sit down, but her body wouldn't respond. Draco moved over to stand in front of her. As he moved, Hermione couldn't drag her eyes from his hand. It was just as it was in her dream but…it couldn't be.

'What are you trying to do to me?' she asked the inside of her head. She waited, this time actually wanting an answer, but none came. The voice that had been incessantly whispering in her ear all morning had fallen silent once more.

Draco reached out and took hold of her. "Come on," he started to move her backward. With his help, she found her way to a desk and sat down, "Just rest a minute." With his left hand and gently lifted her chin until she was looking at him. "Are you alright?"

"No," she answered. She felt light headed. It felt as though the world was spinning around her. She was starting to feel nauseas. She looked down again at his hand where it was still holding her shoulder. The scar was there, perfectly framed by dozens of intricate golden bands.

"How?" she said, but barely any sound came out of her mouth. Her mind struggled to make some sense of things. This just couldn't be happening. Her mind conjured an image. She pictured the moment that his hand had been hurt, but the spell that he had been hit with couldn't have done that kind of damage. "Professor Flitwick…"

"It wasn't him," Draco seemed to figure out what she was thinking, "Flitwick didn't do this to me."

"What do you mean?" she looked back up at his face.

Draco paused for a moment. "What happened that day with Flitwick…it was" he paused again, Hermione looked expectantly at him, silently pleading for him to make this all make sense somehow. Draco continued, "It was set up to make it look like my injury was his fault, but he didn't hurt me."

"But…no, that doesn't make any sense," she shook her head, "I mean I saw…"

"You saw what you were supposed to see, what…what I wanted you to see."

She shook her head. "I don't understand; if Professor Flitwick didn't do it then who did?"

There was a longer pause. "That is a long story," Draco said as he hunkered down in front of her.

Long story or not, she had to know. "Please, Draco, tell me."

Draco looked at her, and then nodded slightly. "Alright," he paused, "It…this," he flicked the fingers of his hand, the sunlight caught on the metal bands, "happened before that day with Flitwick. I was like this before I ever came back to school." He stopped speaking and shut his eyes for a moment. Hermione thought she saw him shudder. When he spoke again, his face wasn't pointed up at her anymore. He was looking down at the floor. "Do you remember at the end of last summer," his voice was little more than a whisper, "just before we came back to Hogwarts when…my father escaped from Azkaban?"

'His father?' An ache settled over her. "Yes," she answered.

"Well…when he did," Draco sounded as though he had to force every syllable, "he came looking for me and," he looked back up at her, "and…we had a…falling out."

The look in his eyes tore at Hermione. She saw the edges of an emotional storm that he was desperately trying to hold back. "What…"

Draco shook his head to stop her. "I defied him," he said simply, "It wasn't the first time, we never really saw eye to eye on a lot of things. It was kind of a pattern we had going…he would decree…I would complain and we'd have a row. When it came to most things…such as what school I went to or what friends I had, my objections were alright as far as he was concerned, just so long as I kept towing the line when it mattered. But, with Voldemort's" Hermione shuddered, how could he say the name without fear? "return I began to realise that 'towing the line' would soon lead to crossing the line and, when it came down to it, I wasn't prepared to do that. I knew that Lucius wouldn't stay locked up for long, and I knew that when he got out I'd have to act fast to stop him taking me down with him," he paused to smile, "I wasn't quite fast enough."

"What did he want you to…"

"That doesn't matter," Draco cut her off quickly, "Let's just say that he had plans for me that I didn't want any part of. I told him as much, and then I tried to leave, to turn my back on him once and for all, but…" the fingers of his right hand curled up into a fist. A wave of anger sent a shiver through him, "but he wasn't about to let me do that," he paused, "so he did this to me."

Hermione's stomach churned. His father, his own father had done that to him? "How?"

"How do you think?" there was an icy edge to his voice now.

Hermione looked down at his hand, and at the scar. A bolt of lightning, burned into his flesh. It was almost surreal. That scar was exactly the same as Harry's…but…that meant… "The Killing Curse?" Draco nodded. "He tried to kill you? But…how did you survive?"

Now Draco stood up. He shrugged. "He missed…almost," Draco rolled his hand around, "I only caught the edge of it, but even then," a deadpan smile crossed his lips, "it would have been enough. He had me where he wanted me. I couldn't run, couldn't hide for long and Lucius wasn't about give up. He and his cronies were going to finish the job. If Etean hadn't bailed me out when he did…"

Draco's words sent an electric bolt down Hermione's spine. 'What?' "Etean?" the question shot out of Hermione, almost as a shout.

Draco froze. He looked distracted for a moment. "Yes…" he said quietly, "Etean was there. He helped me escape and then arranged for," he flexed his fingers for a moment, "for this."

Hermione's mind struggled to make a sense of this, but failed. Etean had saved Draco's life? "Why?"

"Sometimes I ask myself that question," Draco said quietly, but then he smiled, "the truth is that I'm not entirely certain why he does any of the things he does," Hermione was about to ask him to explain that one, but he waved her off. "I met Etean about a year ago, at a really…really boring party. We were the only two people there that didn't look as though we'd been brought out of storage for the evening, so we just kind of got chatting. We got on pretty well, making fun of the old witches and wizards as they prattled on about only heaven knows what." Draco smiled and then shook himself. "Anyway, we kept in touch after that, even bumped into each other a couple of times…he had always said I was welcome to call on him at any time, though he probably wishes now that he hadn't.

"Last summer, when I realised just how much trouble I was about to get into, I figured it couldn't hurt to have Lord Etean as an ally. It wasn't going to hurt to ask him at least; if he could help, great, if not, well I was going to be no worse for it, was I?"

Hermione's head leaned to one side. Draco's story certainly explained some things. Since the day he had arrived, Etean and Draco had been almost inseparable. She had put it down to Draco's normal sycophantic nature, sucking up to the famous kid, but now it appeared that there was more to it than that. Etean had saved Draco's life? Something didn't sit right. Hermione found that her natural suspicion of Etean persisted. Why would he risk his life to help someone who, as Draco described it, was little more than a passing acquaintance? "So you asked him to help you get away from the Death Eaters and he just agreed? Just like that?"

Draco laughed. "I didn't say that. He didn't believe me at first. When he finally did he wanted no part of it. It took a whole lot of fast talking before I convinced him. Even then I don't think he realised what he was getting himself into. To be honest, sometimes I think that he regrets the day he met me."

As Hermione listened, she remembered something Etean had said to her – 'I am Lord Etean. Sooner or later, everyone wants my help!' The tone of frustrated scorn in his voice had been unmistakable. Listening to Draco's story, it seemed to her that he had been right. For a moment she wondered what it would be like to be in his place. She tried to picture a life of false promises and barely concealed greedy manoeuvres. The light glinted again on Draco's hand. It was resting by his hip, still balled into a fist. It had been hit by the Killing Curse, it was dead. Yet it moved; Draco could still use it. She reached out and took hold of it in both hands, suppressing a shudder as she touched his cold, clammy skin.

She opened her mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't come. She was suddenly out of breath, terrified and blind. She could see nothing but near total darkness all around her as she ran. An image flashed before her eyes, a branch whipping past her head. She ducked to avoid it on reflex and ran on. She could hear them behind her. How many? Where? She had no idea, but they were behind her somewhere, and they were gaining. She heard them shout, and she heard her fathers cold voice echo over the others, barking orders to guide the hunt. The dark shape of a tree loomed ahead of her and instinctively she dodged to the left. She had no idea where she was going. She was scared and confused. A noise! A cracking twig! She spun and hastily took aim,

"Stupefy!" she roared. Even as she fired the spell, she knew she had missed. The stunner illuminated the darkened shadow of the man that had just appeared out of nowhere between the trees as it whistled by his head and detonated on a tree behind him.

The masked man spun toward her. He took aim and fired. "Avada Kadavara!" There was a sudden green light around her and then her arm exploded in agony.

It faded fast. The world around her became suddenly bright. Someone was calling her name.

"Hermione!" Draco's face appeared.

She blinked and tried to focus on his eyes. Details, where was she? "Trees…" she mumbled.

Draco looked startled. "What?"

"Trees…a forest…I was running…" The look on Draco's face stopped her. She could see bitter recognition in his eyes. Suddenly it made sense. "It was you! You were running through a forest when it happened," Draco's jaw opened in shock, "Weren't you?"

"How…you saw that too?" he knelt again before her, staring wide eyed at her.

Hermione saw her own face reflected in his eyes. "Y…yes I…" she looked away, down at his hand again. "They were chasing you…your father and the others. You were scared and you were running blind. The one that did this…it wasn't your father was it?"

"What did you see?" Draco's tone was one step from terrified.

Hermione willed herself to close her eyes, tearing herself from the safe harbour of his gaze. She pictured it again. "I saw him…no face…just a shape. He fired the curse…and you…you saw it coming and…" She stopped, the lump in her throat choking her voice. She realised that her fingers were still clutching his hand very hard. She forced herself to slacken her grip. "Sorry…I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You didn't," he said flatly. He raised his free hand to touch her face. "You couldn't."

Hermione started to trace the lines of his hand, just as she had in her dream. Lucius hadn't done it, but one of the others. But what did that matter? His father was there, she had heard him. He had led the others as they had tried to kill Draco. Was there no end to how evil that man was? Then her mind stopped. Something clicked home, the answer to a mystery that had been eluding her. "Your mother," she said before she could stop herself, "that's why he…"

A look of pain crossed Draco's face. It seemed to pour out of him. Hermione felt her stomach drop. Why had she mentioned his mother of all things? Draco's hand left her face covered his own. After a moment, he regained his composure. "Yes," his tone was almost hoarse, "that is why he killed her…to get to me." The muscles at the sides of his jaw tightened. His eyes slid closed and his breath became ragged. Hermione watched his body tense as his temper rose inside him again. She saw his cheeks start to colour. He was trembling as he spoke again. "I will get him," his eyes opened and he looked at her. There was a gleam and a sparkle in them that took Hermione's breath away. It was as though they were the tip of a vast iceberg of pure hatred within him. How could one person hold so much anger? Her safety gone, Hermione was as a rabbit caught in those two bright lights. She shuddered, feeling genuine fear of him at that moment. Eyes like that could terrify even the bravest of souls, and she didn't feel very brave at the moment. She couldn't bear to look at them for more than a moment. Shaking, she looked away and shrank back, releasing his hand so she could fold her arms around herself.

Draco stood up. She heard him take a couple of deep breaths as she calculated the fastest escape route. Before she could move, his hands took hold of her by the shoulders and lifted her back to her feet. Hermione kept her head low, not wanting to see his face like that again. His body seemed to slacken. Pulled by a force she didn't know, she looked up into his eyes once more. The anger was gone now. Hermione was instantly relieved. His face softened as he looked at her, he seemed to relax and shrink before her very eyes. His grip on her softened. "I didn't mean to scare you," he said quietly.

"You didn't," she lied.

Draco smiled. His hands moved around to her back and he pulled her forward into a hug. "Yes I did," he whispered into her ear, "and I'm sorry."

Hermione let herself relax. Her arms found their way around his waist as she leaned in and melted into his embrace. The fear of the moment had passed, but that left her as she was before. This wasn't right. Recurring dreams that made no sense, a terrifying and potentially dangerous disease, and now, visions of things she shouldn't be seeing? This couldn't be her life, it just couldn't. "I'm scared, Draco," she said, her voice muffled by his robes.

"I know," he said soothingly. His voice was confident and sure, the sound of it steadied her. "But we will figure this out, I promise."

She pulled back from him. "How?" she asked the question again, "Where do we start?"

He smiled, looking really sure of himself. "At the beginning – the library. Maybe there was something we missed in those books of yours."

Hermione thought it over. Yes, books had always held the answers before, even if they had eluded her temporarily from to time. "OK."

Etean watched without much interest as Potter's shield swung around to meet the incoming spells. Weasley, Longbottom and Dean Thomas were all repeatedly casting the Pigmenus charm at him in a vain attempt to get one past his defence. Not one of their attacks ever seemed to get close, though they persevered nonetheless. This had been going on for a while now. Etean wondered just how long Professor Flitwick would allow it to continue, but he seemed to be enjoying himself too much to put a stop to it. 'Isn't the point of this class to teach those that need help?' Flitwick didn't seem to think so; he was more than happy to let Potter show off. The Professor was clapping and cheering madly, ooh-ing and ah-ing each near miss with childlike enthusiasm. Etean marked the difference in him. Lately, when he was teaching their charms lessons, he seemed depressed and down, yet now his energy was renewed. Duelling seemed to ignite a fire in him that even the deepest depression couldn't quash.

The students were a little nonplussed however. Even the other Gryffindors were starting to show signs of boredom at the performance, and it was a performance. Potter was putting on a show of just how good he was for all to see. Though it annoyed him, Etean had to say one thing for Potter, he was skilled. His reflexes were excellent and his instincts finely honed; the product of a life in the firing line. If he could only use that lump of wasted brain between his ears to think up ways to actually avoid trouble altogether once in a while, he might actually start to shape up into a pretty impressive wizard. The same couldn't be said for the others.

Of the three, Dean showed the most promise in Etean's opinion. His technique showed a little too much of having been learned by rote – it lacked the flow that even Weasley seemed to possess. Thomas' one saving grace came from the fact that he wasn't burdened by silly issues or persecution complexes. Admittedly, in Potter's case, those complexes were deserved, and had born fruit, but they were still a hindrance to the others. Weasley was bouncing on his corns, getting more and more frustrated as he weaved madly, searching in desperation for a chink in Potter's armour. Longbottom, at the same time, seemed to be trying to punch through using brute force alone. Etean watched him as he sucked in deep breaths before each casting, and then hurled his spells against Potters mobile barrier. Etean shook his head; did Neville really believe that a Pigmenus could puncture that shield? A stunner could…maybe, an unforgivable…certainly, but a Pigmenus?

Etean turned his attention from the duel. His eyes scanned the room. Sure enough, there remained a total lack of Draco. Etean frowned for a moment, wondering where he was. His eyes continued around the room and the answer jumped out at him. There was also a total lack of Granger. Etean clucked his tongue, but Draco's choice in that matter was made. Etean's mind refused to pass the thought by without fixating on Granger for a moment. Her absence was no surprise. Someone in her condition could hardly take the risk of attending a duelling class, the odds of a stray spell or two were just too high. He scanned the room again, gauging the response, if any to her absence…none. There had been no mention of her condition from any of the Gryffindors, or from the staff, who appeared to be dealing with the situation by turning a blind eye to her unexplained disappearances. Draco seemed to be the only one that actually noticed her departure from this class. This puzzled Etean, wasn't she supposed to be Miss Popular? He shrugged inside his head. 'I guess things have changed!' He smiled at the thought. Her absence over the last few weeks had made these classes a little more bearable but, his smile faded, not much. There was a cheer from Flitwick. Potter must have made yet another impressive block. 'Yippee!' Etean turned back to the duel.

He checked his watch; the class was almost over. Thus far Draco's absence had gone unnoticed, to Flitwick at least. He was only paying attention to those that he called forward and hardly seemed to be aware of the rest of the class at all. Draco's absence was not entirely unnoticed however. Etean had seen Pansy Parkinson glancing nervously around several times. Despite her words to the contrary, Draco was still, in her mind, her property. The current situation was merely a hiccough in her perfect dream of a life for the two of them. He half wondered what little mental shuffling was going on in her head to account for his taking up with Granger. But those questions were for another time. Etean had other matters to worry about. Theo Nott, for example. The mystery surrounding that boy and his father was starting to get tiresome. Etean was seriously starting to consider bashing his way through Nott's mental walls and ripping the answers right out of him. But no, that would not do. Having Nott suddenly reduced to a mumbling, drooling lump of animated flesh would cause a whole new string of problems, and might not even solve any of the current ones.

So the wait continued. Draco had stumbled across something rather interesting this morning. From what he had heard, Nott and Annabelle did not have the great relationship that they appeared to have. In fact there seemed to be something seedy going on there, another layer to the mystery. Etean was willing to accept that couples sometimes argued in private and hid those arguments from others. He was even willing to admit that those arguments could turn violent on occasion without breaking into the public domain. There was something about this, however, that didn't sit right. The duality of Annabelle's reaction didn't add up.

Unlike Nott, her mind was open and free to be inspected. Etean had wandered down those mental alleyways a couple of times in search of answers about her enigmatic boyfriend, but had found nothing other than what there appeared to be. Annabelle knew full well who and what Theo was, but she was playing the 'right hand of Lucifer', motivated by self preservation. To her credit, she really did seem to have some feelings for him, and was apparently strong enough to ignore the bits she didn't want to know about. In that regard, she was the perfect little Slytherin moll. She was an opinionated, spoiled, stuck up bigot with about the same amount of feminine charm as a diseased pixie. But she was easy enough on the eyes and knew when to keep her mouth shut. She did have a temper and a penchant for starting rows over the tiniest of insignificant details, something that she should really learn to control if her plan for survival was to work. Had she reacted the way Etean would have expected her to, then Dumbledore would currently be rebuilding the Slytherin dungeon. The fact at the end of the day was that Annabelle would not, just not, roll over and take such treatment…but she had.

The simplest explanation for her apparent denial of the incident was a memory charm. Nott hit her and then regretted it, so he wiped it from her mind: Unpleasant, but OK, definitely possible. Then there was the whole 'Master' thing. If Draco had heard correctly then she had called him that with an air of fear. Etean looked at Nott. He certainly didn't seem to be the type to inspire such fear. Who in their right mind would call him 'Master'? He paused, there was always that explanation; maybe she wasn't in her right mind. She would certainly not be the only Slytherin nutcase, but that didn't add up either.

With a casual air, he started to move around the room toward Nott. There were times for quiet investigations, and there were times for direct questioning. There were also times when neither approach suited, and the only solution was to employ both. Etean sidled up to Nott,

"Who stepped on your toes this morning?" he whispered.

Nott jumped slightly, tensing in his customary manner whenever he spoke to Etean. "What?" he hissed out of the corner of his mouth.

Etean shook his head slightly. "Hey, don't bite my head off. You just looked a little annoyed that's all."

"What are you talking about? I don't look annoyed."

"My mistake," said Etean. Nott was right, he didn't look annoyed in the least, but he looked worried now. "I just thought it had something to do with your little spat with Annabelle earlier."

Etean actually felt Nott's mind freeze solid. "What?" he asked aloud, drawing the attention of a few neighbouring Slytherins. Nott paused and recovered his composure. "What little spat?"

Etean looked at him out of the corner of his eye. 'A tad worried, are we, Theo?' "That wasn't the impression I got," he shrugged, "I was passing by your bedroom this morning and I heard raised voices," he smiled, "If you weren't arguing, you have a strange way of…of spending quality time with your girlfriend." Etean allowed his smile to remain as he watched Nott squirm. 'Go on,' he goaded silently, 'get out of this one in one piece!'

Nott ran a hand through his hair. His eyes were moving feverishly in their sockets. "What exactly did you hear?"

'That you seem to enjoy venting your frustrations on your girlfriend…that you seem to think of me as a huge pain in your arse…' "Nothing much," he said, "just raised voices. I didn't linger, it was none of my business."

Nott seemed to shrink visibly at this. "Oh," he sighed and rolled his eyes, "that," he shrugged, "It was nothing really."

"Like I said," Etean turned away, "it was none of my business." He looked back to Nott. 'If you're smart, Theo, you'll leave it at that.'

"No, really," Nott didn't leave it at that, "Annabelle and Blaise had a row…something to do with quidditch,"

"What else?" they both said in unison.

Nott smiled. "Yeah…he was tearing into her about some mistakes that she apparently made in the last match…she was tearing into him about being a big headed tyrant…the usual."

"So," Etean interrupted his flow, "Annabelle was arguing with Blaise this morning?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"No," Nott passed up another open escape route, "that was me you heard…Annabelle was upset with me because I didn't take her side with Blaise."

"You took his side?"

Nott shrugged. "His side…her side…who cares. I wanted to stay out of it…she wasn't happy."

"I can imagine," Etean smiled sympathetically.

There was scattered applause from around them; Potter's little showcase appeared to be over. "Well done…well done!" Flitwick chimed at the top of his voice as they quartet of Gryffindors moved out to rejoin the others. "That was an excellent display Mr Potter…and you three others as well," he seemed to add as an afterthought. "Now then," he scanned the room, "Let me see, who shall we have nex…"

The bell interrupted him mid sentence.

"Oh dear," the tiny professor piped when silence returned. "It seems that time has run away from us yet again," he clapped his hands together, "Dismissed, everyone."

Etean turned to leave, following Nott out the door. He turned to his right, to head to the Great Hall, Nott however turned left. Etean stopped. "Not hungry?" he asked.

"Eh…no," was the uncertain sounding answer, "I just remembered that I haven't finished my potions essay. Snape will skin me alive if I don't hand it in on time."

Suspicion started to creep into Etean's mind; he wondered just what Nott was really up to. "Fair enough," Etean nodded goodbye and left. He hadn't got ten paces when Millicent appeared beside him and started nattering on about how happy she was not to have had to duel in class. Etean retreated, letting his mouth run on automatic to handle the conversation. His mind churned the Nott problem. He decided that Annabelle was the key that would unlock Nott's secrets. Etean need only figure out how to turn it.

He blinked suddenly when he realised that he was looking at a familiar scarlet head. Ginny didn't look too happy about something, in fact she didn't seem far from tears. "Hey," Etean said brightly, "What's up?" Ginny looked at him, then her eyes darted for a moment to Millicent. Etean turned to the Slytherin, who looked rather annoyed at the interruption to her ramblings. "Go on," he said, "I'll catch up."

Millicent scowled, then shook her head and walked away. Etean thought for a moment that he heard her swear under her breath. He chose to ignore the word 'weasel' amid the tirade. He looked back to Ginny, she was also scowling. "How do you put up with her?"

"Millicent?" he smiled, "She's not that bad."

"She's a Slytherin!" Ginny spat.

Etean drew back. "Is that so?" he fingered his house patch ceremoniously.

Ginny looked down, then frowned. "Yes, well," she looked up at him, "You're different."

"Am I?" Etean chose to take it as a compliment. He put his arm around her and attempted to lead her down toward the Great Hall. Ginny resisted. "What is it?"

"I have something for you," she said as she started to rummage in her bag.

"What?" Etean asked, curious.

Ginny found whatever she was looking for. "This," she said, drawing a burgundy envelope from her pocket and holding it out to him, "here."

Etean took it. It was a letter obviously, for him it seemed. He noted his name embossed in gold on the envelope, then turned it over and recognised the Ministerial seal on the reverse. 'This is not going to be good!' he thought to himself as he broke the seal. Inside was a single gilded card. Etean read:

From the pen of C. Z. Fudge, the Minister of Magic for Great Britain and Northern Ireland, Perseus House, London.

To: Robert, the Lord d'Etean XVI

It is the decree of The Ministry of Magic that, commensurate with this year, the Seventh of December shall henceforth be known throughout our territory as Remembrance Day, in memoriam of all those brave souls who have given their lives in the defence of this nation from its greatest enemy.

To commemorate this sombre occasion, a monument is to be erected at the Headquarters of the Ministry of Magic. This marker will stand forever as a testament to our heroes' bravery even in the face of the greatest of peril.

It is the Minister's wish that a formal dedication ceremony take place at twelve noon on this, the first Remembrance Day, a time for all those who grieve to come together as one in solidarity and strength.

It is with solemn respect that the Minister extends an offer of invitation to you, your acceptance is anticipated.

Yours

Cornelius Fudge (Minister)

He read it again, then again. The seventh…that was next Friday. Certainly this was a hastily arranged little gathering, too hastily arranged. After a moment, he groaned. "What the hell does Fudge think he's playing at?"

Ginny looked at him quizzically. "What do you mean?"

"A memorial? In the middle of the war? Doesn't that strike you as a really bad idea?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "To tell you the truth, I hadn't really thought about it."

Etean could hear the veiled emotional distress in her voice, what was upsetting her? He re-read the card. '…all those brave souls who gave their lives…' 'Oh!' he thought. "You got one of these too didn't you?"

Ginny nodded. "Snape just delivered it. He dumped a load of them on me and ordered me to hand them out, saying that he was too busy."

Her voice was sounding really down now. Etean didn't need to guess why. "That was nice of him," he said sarcastically. Snape certainly seemed to have skipped the part of growing up that involved learning tact. "How many were there?"

"Not sure," she answered glumly, "maybe a dozen. Harry got one, so did Ron… Neville…Hannah…" she tailed off, "I gave most of them to Harry…the ones for the other Gryffindors, but I was surprised when I saw yours. Why did the Minister invite you? You haven't lost anyone to the war have you?"

'Haven't I?' the thought nearly scalded his forehead in an attempt to escape. Etean forced himself to calm down, Ginny was honestly curious. From her perspective, their was no reason for him being invited. The answer was of course, politics. There was more to this memorial than met the eye. This was clearly Minister Fudge's attempt to capitalise on Etean's assisting Dumbledore. Exactly what the Minister had in mind, Etean couldn't be sure, but he could guess. He idly wondered how long it would take for Renée Valjean's politely annoyed correspondence to arrive. Doubtless there was one on the way; a carefully worded reprisal for Etean's getting involved in his affairs that he actually had no official say in. Suppressing a curse, he looked at Ginny. "I'm not sure, but I have an idea," he shook his head, "It doesn't matter really I suppose. Are you going to go?"

"I don't think I have a choice, all my family will be there. What about you?"

Etean paused, for the first time considering this as a choice to be made. Fudge would certainly want him to attend; he'd probably soil himself if Etean refused. Dumbledore wouldn't ask, but he too would want Etean's help if it were possible. The Old Man may pass some comment about political wrangling not being what Etean was in Hogwarts to do, but really, what did it matter? There was precious little that could be achieved by this other than wasted words. 'Let's make this simple,' he thought. "Do you want me to go?" Ginny nodded. "Then I guess I'm going." 'That's about as simple as you can get.' The decision made, Etean pushed all other thoughts aside. He could return to his myriad of problems later, for now he had other things to worry about. Matters at hand took priority…he determined to get Ginny to laugh by the end of the day. Ginny was still resisting his attempts to steer her toward the Great Hall. "Aren't you going down for lunch?"

Ginny shook her head. "I still have a couple of those to deliver."

"How many?"

Ginny rummaged. "Three, but I have to find their owners first."

"You could probably do that easier in the Great Hall." From the look on her face, Etean surmised that Ginny was more than aware of that. He gave her a little squeeze. "Tell you what, why don't we have a private lunch just the two of us, then we can deliver the rest together?"

Ginny nodded and smiled weakly. "I'd like that."

The sight before Draco's eyes was about the most bizarre that he could remember seeing. A thousand garden gnomes were arranged in concentric rings, of which he was the centre point, and were busily and merrily dancing around. Each of them was waving a tiny black glove, ostensibly to taunt him. Draco had no idea where they had come from or what they wanted, but he knew that he wanted them to just leave him alone. It wouldn't have been so bad except for the singing. Their high pitched, grating voices were raised in a mighty chorus:

'What we took, you'll want back,
But to catch us first will take a knack.
We gnomes will run, we all shall hide,
Till end of day, till break of pride.

In our darkest hole, our safest place,
We'll keep your mask and bare your face.
To get your want, to reclaim our prize,
First you'll beg with teary eyes.

With Malfoy's hope, we now play,
From rise of sun till end of day.
His tears will dry, his cries will fade,
Our joy will cut him like a blade.'

Their words repeated over and over. The sound of their tiny voices was starting to grate on his nerves. He lashed out hard at the nearest one, then yelped as his head thudded against something solid that he hadn't seen coming.

"Ouch!" he grumbled incoherently. His head now hurt, but at least the singing had stopped.

"Are you alright?" Hermione's voice sounded from somewhere above him. Draco lifted his head and squinted. The light was suddenly very harsh on his eyes. As he blinked away the fuzziness, the shape of Hermione washed into focus.

"Mmmwhat?" he asked.

Hermione turned her attention back to her book. "You just head-butted the table, I asked if you were alright," she said in a half annoyed tone.

Draco frowned and looked around to get his bearings. He was in the library…which made sense seeing as how this was where he had been all afternoon, with Hermione, re-reading every text on dreams and prophesies that they could lay their hands on. Draco also noticed that they were alone. Madam Pince's desk wasn't visible from here and the few study tables that were, were empty. He rubbed his eyes and checked his watch. It was half past six, well into dinner time. They had been here all day? This had been intended as a distraction. Draco knew well that they weren't going to find the answer here amid this books, but he had needed time to think.

His mind retraced its steps, listing what he knew. Prophetic dreams – if that was truly what it had been – were rare, but not unheard of in the Wizarding World. Seers were a fact of life, they existed. They certainly had visions in dreams, on a regular basis according to what Draco had read about them, but, and it was a very big but, Hermione wasn't a Seer.

Seers were born gifted. The books had been very clear on that. The sight was a gift that you either had, or didn't have. It was not a skill you could learn, nor did it just pop up unannounced. Real Seers had the power to see 'the beyond' as they put it, from birth. Hermione had never shown a single sign of having it, or so she assured him. Draco, for the moment, was willing to believe that that was true, at least as far as she knew. It was vaguely possible that she had possessed the sight all along, but that she had never known it. Indeed, there were instances in recorded history when a Seer's power had lain dormant for a large chunk of their life, sometimes only surfacing on a couple of occasions. Again, there was a problem in that theory.

The only instances of emergent prescience that Draco had read about all involved the gift being inherited from the person's parents, and merely diluted in the younger generation. The trouble with that explanation was that Hermione's parents weren't Seers, they were dentists. Draco shook his head at the thought of anyone who seriously thought that digging holes in other people's teeth was a decent career. Dentists made no sense to him, but they weren't Seers, that much was certain. So, Hermione didn't inherit her gift, nor was she born with it, that left only two possibilities; either she was going insane, and this just happened to be a twisted co-incidence, or these dreams were a part of something else, and they just appeared to be visions.

Draco sighed, seeing as how he was determined not to let Hermione even begin to believe that she was going nuts, he had been left with the latter choice. The trouble was that she was a bright girl, scarily so at times. Convincing her that there was something else going on with her mind might have been possible, if he had had the slightest clue as to what it might be. The only viable solution was to seek help outside of the two of them. Hermione he knew would resist the idea so he had reasoned that he would have to do it without her knowledge. That left him wondering who to ask.

Dumbledore? He would be the obvious choice, but was he even in the school to be asked? Dumbledore seemed to be treating Hogwarts as a base camp lately, flitting in and out like an over excited honey bee. It was clear that the Headmaster had a hell of a lot of problems to deal with. In all realism, he really wouldn't be able to fit Hermione Granger's mental problems into his schedule.

Snape? Draco could picture his face as he considered assisting Hermione with a problem she couldn't solve. Snape might be able to help. Next to Dumbledore he was the most capable wizard in the school as far as Draco was concerned, but, he knew that Snape simply wouldn't be capable of lending any assistance without taking the opportunity to rub Hermione's nose in it a few times. Draco thought it best to spare her that particular pleasure.

Madam Pomfrey? What could she do except cluck her tongue and order her to take a sleeping draught? And he knew what Hermione's reaction to that would be.

Draco didn't really understand her fear of sleeping potions. He knew from personal experience that they could be very effective. She had explained that she feared being trapped inside her nightmares for hours on end. Draco didn't get that either, the potions were supposed to render dreams impossible. As though she was speaking to him, he heard her voice in his head.

'Oh yeah? And if they don't?'

Draco rolled the thought about. Hermione had been resolute. She couldn't bear the dreams for any more than a few minutes and she was not about to let herself get trapped in them. So, potions were out, Snape was out, Dumbledore was out. Who did that leave? Who else would know enough about dreams and the human mind to help? Draco sat up. 'Etean!' He couldn't believe it had taken him so long to figure it out. Etean peered and prodded into peoples' minds on a regular basis. If anyone knew of an explanation for these dreams, it would be him. Maybe he would even be able to help her control them. Draco made up his mind, Etean would have the answer. He shook himself fully awake and looked at the book in front of him. He recognised the passage as being the one he had been reading before…before the gnomes had appeared. He looked up at Hermione and yawned. She didn't look happy. "Sorry I fell asleep," he said sheepishly.

"You fell asleep?" Hermione asked dryly without looking up, "I can't say as I noticed." It sounded like a joke, but Draco didn't see her smile in the least. He didn't blame her, he was here supposedly helping her sort out the mess in her head, and here he was falling asleep. He decided not to mention the dream. Somehow his dreaming about gnomes, however odd they were behaving, didn't seem to be an appropriate topic of conversation today. He yawned and rubbed at his eyes again, forcing the last of the sleepiness from them before getting back to his book.

Draco blinked, the passage he had been reading was about gnomes, and about how they normally symbolised persecution in dreams. 'Right,' he thought, 'at least that explains why they were taunting me…but where the hell did that song come from?' Draco knew, without looking, that the book before him would have an explanation. He also knew, with total certainty, that the explanation would be so much hippogriff-shit. He scowled and shut the book hard. 'This is a waste of time!'

He paused to rub at his persistently sleepy eyes once more before looking up at Hermione. She was intently interested in the page before her. Draco didn't recognise the book from this angle, but that didn't matter. Hermione read like Goyle ate – quantity was the only measure that made any difference, each bite was treated as thought it were the last, and so was heartily wolfed down the gullet at great speed. He looked over at the stack of books beside her, and let out a silent whistle. 'How long was I out?' There was a stack of discarded books next to Draco that stood maybe two feet high, but Hermione had been busy. The pile of texts by her elbow started on the floor and rose above her so far that Draco had to crane his neck to see the top. The sight of it was staggering. It appeared to have been constructed with the aid of an architect and several, strong armed, labourers. Draco was at a loss to know how in Hades she had been able to reach the top. He wouldn't go so far as to call Hermione a midget, but at just past five foot five she was no giant. He was about to comment when she slammed the book shut and hefted it up.

Hermione tossed the bound volume over her head with no apparent regard for its flight path, or its inevitable collision with the top of her skull. Draco opened his mouth to comment, but Hermione didn't give him the chance. She didn't look up, but in a flash, her wand was in her hand and pointed upward. She uttered no incantation, but there was a slight crackling sound and the book froze in place. Hermione held it there without looking as she reached out with her free hand and grabbed the next book from the stack on the floor beside her. As she dropped it awkwardly onto the table, she twisted her wand hand slightly. The suspended volume rose higher and then, at another tiny twitch, moved over to settle neatly atop the tower. Draco stared agape as she calmly set her wand down and opened her new book. She must have seen him looking at her because she turned to him.

"What?" she asked.

Draco shook his head. "Nothing…I was just going to ask what you were reading."

Hermione paused for only a moment. "Durnings' Preparatia," she said simply.

Draco's brow knotted. Durnings was a potions master, and Preparatia was his seminal work. Why was Hermione studying potions? "I thought you didn't want to try any sleeping potions," he said as he stood up.

"I don't," Hermione replied, not looking up from the page before her as Draco moved in behind her, "But I'm not looking up sleeping potions," she paused and cocked her head slightly, "Well, maybe I am I suppose," she returned to her reading.

Draco waited for her to explain that one, but she didn't appear to be about to. He looked again at the tower of books, feeling the urge to step away lest they topple and crush him. He decided it was time for a break. Gently he laid both his hands on her shoulder, suppressing a shiver as he saw the bare metal on his hand exposed. Where was his glove? He couldn't remember. Hermione tensed at his touch and Draco instantly forgot his glove. His fingers slowly kneaded her shoulders, gently persuading them to relax. As she eased, Draco tugged her ever so slightly, drawing her back toward him.

"No," Hermione half heartedly protested, "Draco don't, I need to finish this."

"And you will," he bent down to kiss her on top of her head, "but you need a rest," he cast another sideways glance at the tower of tomes, "really."

Hermione let out a stifled groan and started to roll her head around, easing her neck muscles further into Draco's massaging fingers. "Well," she said dreamily, "maybe just for a minute…or two."

Draco smiled as he looked down at her face. "Whatever you say." He looked sideways at the stack of books again, this time taking the time to read their titles. He recognised a lot of them, having read most during the last few weeks, all divination or general dream study books. At about his eye height they changed and were replaced by potions books and bound treatises on ingredient procurement and preparation. Draco found that he didn't know half as many of them as he would have thought. Most of the potions reading he did were in texts that would not appear in any library, or if they did, it would be in a looney bin. Normal, boring potions books had never really interested him, they were all too mundane and safe. He preferred to brew potions where the result wasn't always known ahead of the event, it added an element of surprise to the process. So while he was familiar with the few better known ones, such as Preparatia, many of Hermione's choices were completely new to him. He frowned when he noticed the glaring red seal on some that meant that they had come from the library's restricted section, "How did you get these?" he asked without stopping his caressing of her neck.

"Hrmm?" Hermione sounded miles away.

"These books from the restricted section, how did you get them out without Madam Pince eviscerating you?"

Hermione lifted her right hand and interlocked her fingers with those of his left hand. "It wasn't that tough," she said as she slowly guided his fingers further from her neck until he was working her shoulder. He felt a huge knot in the muscle there and started to tease it out. "Most of the spells that protect those books are covered in the Standard Book of Spells – Grade Seven."

"Grade Seven? But we're only up to Grade Six."

Hermione leaned her head to the side. Draco saw a wry smile twist her lip. "This is me you're talking to, Draco, remember? Are you really surprised that I read ahead?"

"No," he laughed quietly, "I guess I'm not." He shook his head, "Seriously Hermione, do you have any hobbies outside of reading?"

Hermione's head leaned back and she opened her eyes. Draco actually had to steady himself as he felt them tug him down toward her. "Lately I do," she smiled.

The smile on top of those eyes was too much for Draco. He arched his back and lowered himself down to kiss her. It felt strangely odd kissing in this posture, his upper lip pressed against her lower one while the upper sides of their tongues danced and tickled across one another.

Draco drew back. "I know which one I'd prefer."

"So do I," she smiled mischievously and sat forward again, not quite freeing herself from his grasp, "which is why it's really annoying when this arrogant, formerly blonde Slytherin keeps trying to distract me."

"Is that so?" Draco gave her shoulders a tight squeeze as punishment, getting a playful wince in response, he hadn't really hurt her. "Well then, allow me to put a stop to that arrogant distraction then." He stepped away but didn't get more than a foot before she was on him.

Her arms snaked around his neck and she grinned at him. "Who said you have a choice?" she asked, then stood on tip toes to kiss him again. Draco let his arms wrap around her as he returned her kiss, teasing her mouth open with his probing tongue. His left hand moved, unbidden, upward across her back. Hermione's body seemed to writhe with it as it traced the line of her spine. Her body arched and her hips and chest pressed into him. Draco had to check his stance as she transferred her weight from her feet to his. He had to flatten his right hand against her back in order to maintain his hold. The fingers of his left hand continued their trek. They left her back and tangled themselves in her hair. Draco felt thick strands of hair coiled around his wandering digits, he could feel his own heart pounding, he could feel her breath, in the moments when she could breathe, washing over his face and neck, he could fell her body pressed into him, pressing ever closer, he could feel her mouth, sweet and warm, he could even feel her pulse throbbing through her as she let her body lead her mind, lost in passion. That was all that Draco could feel, it was more than he needed, more even than he could bear. He felt his mind slide and settle, fading to a quiet, trancelike peace.

Hermione broke free and drew back. Draco's eyes slammed open, he only then became aware that he had closed them. He looked down at her as she settled back onto her own feet. She was grinning at him.

"Are you awake now?"

"Yes."

A slightly worried look crossed her face. "Good, because I need your help."

Draco frowned. "Isn't that what I'm doing here?"

"No," she scolded, "You were falling asleep." She poked him hard just under his ribs.

Draco recoiled. "I said I was sorry," he moved quickly to catch her wrist before she could continue her attack, "How about you just tell me what you want me to do."

"Well," she started to idly play with his tie, "You remember how I told you that I had a dream about you last night?"

"Yes," Draco answered emphatically. If he lived to be a thousand years old, he would never forget that conversation.

"Yeah, I did…it was a nice dream…quiet and peaceful. I slept better last night than I have in months."

"You're welcome," he grinned. Her fingers darted underneath his tie and tightened on his skin. Draco winced and shook her off, "Ok, ok…you were saying…"

"I was saying that I slept last night because I wasn't having nightmares. So I was thinking that if I could find a way not to have nightmares at night, then I'd sleep better, and then maybe be in a position to figure this mess out."

A smile twisted his lip. "So you want me to give you pleasant dreams?" He loaded the sentence with as much implication as he could, just to see her react to it.

Her face remained blank. "Yes, simply put, I do…though," now she smiled, "Not in the way you're thinking." She took him by the hand and led him toward the table. "I got the idea a while ago…you were snoring and it got me thinking. Something is making me have nightmares," a shiver ran through her, "and I don't think that I can avoid them by stopping my dreams altogether, but maybe I can just avoid them by having other dreams…better dreams." Draco paused as she sat down and started flicking through the potions book in front of her. "I found a reference to a potion in Preparatia, one that can trigger euphoric dreams, but which doesn't induce sleep…so even if it doesn't work, I'll be able to wake up," she seemed to be half talking to herself as she spoke. She stopped at a page and ran her finger down it, "Here we are, at last."

"Let me see if I'm following you," Draco said, pulling a chair out to sit next to her. "You want to brew a potion to give you happy dreams?"

"Yes," she beamed, "That's about the shape of it."

"So where do I come in?"

"Well," the unsure look crossed her face again, "Some of the brewing is really tough, it would be nice to have someone help me out and…some of the ingredients are pretty tough to come by. Some are," her voice was a whisper now, "some are even illegal."

Draco smiled. "And so you assume that I will be able to acquire them for you?"

"Yes," she nodded, still looking worried, "I was hoping you could…maybe…"

The look on her face was priceless. Draco honestly wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or cry looking at it. In the end he settled for a wry grin. "I see."

"It shouldn't be too tough," she dug out a piece of parchment from beneath the book and scanned it. "Most of them should be in the school, though I don't know…maybe Professor Snape…"

"Don't tell me you are going to just ask him."

She shrugged. "Actually I thought that you could. None of these are in the student store, or even in the locked cabinet in his office." Draco chose to file asking her how she knew what was in Snape's office store for a later time. Hermione chewed her lip. "Maybe he has some other supplies stored in the castle somewhere. We'd have to ask him. If I did it, then he'd be instantly suspicious, but…"

"You actually think he wouldn't be suspicious of me? He's seen me do more weird things with simple ingredients over the years than I can remember. If I start asking for all this stuff, he'll probably want to have me locked up as a menace to society."

Hermione sagged. "Well then we're sunk. Unless you know where to get mermaid tears," she handed him the page, "or any of those," she pointed to the list of ingredients, "without his help."

Draco had a fair knowledge of Snape's private ingredient catalogue. The Potion's Master had roped him into assisting him in an inventory only last year. Draco had suspected at the time that it was Snape's way of trying to entice Draco away from his father toward an academic life in potions. It had been an eye opening experience and no mistake. Some of the things that Snape had pugged away weren't so much illegal as they were unbelievable. The cocktails he had been able to dream up in just a few short hours. Draco smiled at the memory, and then got back to business. He searched his mind and dredged up what he could remember of the inventory. Snape did have some mermaid tears, and some dragon's blood and…probably most of the others too, if they were lucky. But Snape would never just give them out without a damned good explanation. He smiled. 'Assuming of course, we asked him.' He looked up at Hermione. "Are you sure you want to try this?"

"Yes," she nodded, "I don't think I have any other options."

'Apart from the one's you're ignoring.' Draco sighed internally. "Ok then, leave the shopping to me, I'll see what I can do."

Hermione leaned forward and kissed him again. "Thank you."

"Right then," he straightened up and read her notes, "What else do we need?" he looked at her, "I'm assuming that you want to keep this quiet?"

"I'd think that would be for the best don't you?"

"It's your call," he said. The potion was complex. Some of the ingredients in it were potions in their own right. With luck, Snape would have some of those already brewed for them to 'borrow,' but it was still a time consuming prospect. "This will take a while," he said thoughtfully.

"I know," Hermione answered, her head already buried in another book. "I'd say at least a fortnight…that's allowing until Thursday to get all the necessary ingredients, can we do that?"

Draco thought about it, why wait? "We can."

Hermione looked relieved. "Good…have you ever made Kneazle Broth?"

"No," Draco checked the list. Kneazle Broth was one of the key components.

Hermione sagged in her chair. "Damn," she said, "It says here that you need to brew it in moonlight on the winter solstice! That's weeks away."

Draco leaned forward and read the passage for himself. "Ah," he said. Hermione looked beaten. Draco reached out to her. "Now, don't give up…if it's that finicky to brew, the odds are good that Snape already has some lying around."

"You think so?"

Draco shrugged. "It's worth a shot…and since I'll be looking through his inventory anyway…" He squeezed her shoulder and smiled at her. "So come on," he said when she finally nodded, "Let's sort all this out and find out precisely what we need and when we need it."

Annabelle sat on Nott's knee, laughing aloud at Millicent's purile rendition of Professor Snape scolding Longbottom from earlier. Etean's outward expression was one of mild amusement. Internally, things were different. He was devoting as much of his attention as he could to Annabelle. Sure enough, as he had suspected, he could now see her memory of this morning's events playing out precisely as Nott had described, a row over his not backing her up with their quidditch captain. It was carefully balanced, totally convincing, and Etean had no doubt that she in fact would believe it was her memory, but it was a fake! Two facts existed to make that all but certain. The first was Draco. He had heard what really occurred, and Annabelle's memory didn't match his. One of them was wrong, it was that simple. The other problem put paid to any doubts that may have lingered as to which of them was wrong. Blaise, sitting alone and isolated in his little corner, also had no memory of a row with Annabelle since before the match. Nott's little cover up hadn't included him.

Blaise was a wrinkle in Nott's plan, and Etean was sure that Nott knew that. The fact that he kept eyeing him warily when he thought Etean wasn't watching made that clear. Nott was obviously playing on his own lie, hoping it had convinced Etean, and that he simply wouldn't ask Blaise about it. Etean hadn't decided whether he would or not, not yet. There were other things in Annabelle's pretty blonde head that held his attention. Actually there was nothing, which was the interesting thing. The human memory is a tapestry, woven by experience; one event is followed by the next in a continual flow. That flow should be constant, the only interruptions being sleep, dreams more often than not being excluded from the conscious memory. Annabelle's mind was full of gaps, wide, gaping holes in her memory that Etean could find no explanation for. There was no trace of memory alteration, which could usually be seen as an incongruity, a jump in the flow of the memory where the alteration had occurred. What Etean saw was nothing like that. There were periods of Annabelle's recent life that were simply missing.

Several explanations presented themselves. This could be the result of an injury such as a concussion. Annabelle rolled forward, clutching her stomach in a fit of giggles…she certainly wasn't concussed. She could be insane…that option persisted, a mental schism or nervous breakdown could account for this, but there were none of the other symptoms for that either. Etean shook his head, he would need to watch her carefully, if another gap appeared he might get a better handle on things. Damn his head hurt! He stood up, excused himself from the others and left. His left temple was throbbing. How long had it been since he had taken his potion? He couldn't recall, which struck him as a bad sign. Once on the stairs, he paused in the darkness to slow his mind. He took several deep breaths and steadied his nerves. His hand came to his mouth, already holding the potion that he didn't remember conjuring. He scowled, but only partly at the taste. It was all this political nonsense that was really annoying him. True to his earlier surmise, Renée Valjean's little note had arrived with the afternoon owls:

'…I was most perturbed to receive such a correspondence hand delivered by an Etyar Captain. If my lord had wished to be appraised of my whereabouts and current obligations, it would have taken no more than a standard inquiry. I must assure you that any correspondence from my lord Etean would not have gone unattended by my staff…'

'…As it is clear from my lord's conveyance of the message that my lord has developed a rapport of sorts with certain elements of the British administration, I have endeavoured to support my lord by entering into the requested dialogue.

I was somewhat bemused to hear of the intended gathering to commemorate the fallen of this war, and was similarly surprised to find that my lord was to be amongst those who would be in attendance…'

'…personal reasons for attending, and my dear friend Albus also implored on me to attend. The timing of this ceremony should, I am glad to say, not interfere with my other obligations. It should in fact provide us with an opportunity to formalise matters re the recent alterations to the role of the Etyar in fulfilling my lord's pledge to serve the nation…'

'…I anticipate my lord's audience,

Renée

Directeur, le Département de Sécurité Étrangère'

So, Renée was going to be at this ceremony? The final piece of Fudges plan fell into place. He wanted Etean to be present and argue his side when he was trying to wrangle a deal out of the elusive Frenchman. The note tucked into his pocket was the primary cause for his headache, he told himself as he crushed the goblet out of existence. He needed a rest, time to let his head settle. He couldn't sleep with all this noise in his skull, but maybe he could stay quiet for a while and catch his breath. Maybe he could slip quietly outside and take off for a while. Everyone in the school knew he could change now, so he didn't even have to hide it. Still, there was a problem, it was a little late, and eagles, even animagus wizard eagles, did not enjoy very good night vision, nature tending them toward high precision day vision. There were ways around that, if he flew high enough, the lack of good vision wouldn't be a problem – there weren't any trees or anything to collide with amongst the clouds.

He was lost in the thoughts of soaring over the sleeping Scottish countryside when he reached the door to his bedroom and stopped; someone was inside. Etean paused. Draco wasn't in the dorm, he was somewhere in the castle, looking after his bitch, and the two idiots were in the Common Room. He paused in silence to listen, yes there was definitely someone in there and based on the far off quality of the sound, they had placed a not too effective silencing charm on the door.

Etean rocked his neck to loosen the muscles. He sent a preparatory crackle of energy down along his fingers before he reached up and slowly pushed the door open.

Etean stepped inside, once past the silencing charm, the full noise of the room's interior slammed into him. His skull echoed the noise. 'Damn it!' Etean surveyed the scene. Someone had torn the room apart, well Draco's corner of it at least. Draco's trunk lay open and emptied on the middle of the floor. His spare robes and books were scattered about in tatters around it. The drawers of his locker were strewn across the floor, covered by their contents. Draco's bed had been ransacked; the curtains had been torn free and were hanging by the merest of threads. The quilt and sheets had been hurled back and the mattress slashed and shredded. Draco's pillows were nowhere in sight. Someone was searching this room, and based on the noise, they were still here.

Etean extended his senses to locate the intruder…the bed! Muffled grunts and hisses were escaping from beneath it. Whoever it was, was lying underneath it and they had yet to hear him. He turned without a noise and headed toward the bed. As he rounded the corner, he saw the edge of a dark set of school robes on the floor. A slight touch of the intruder's mind revealed their identity. Etean sighed.

"Repulset!" he said clearly, pointing his right index finger at the bed. With a tiny flick, the spell shot out and hit the bedpost. The four-poster rocked slightly, just enough to let Pansy know that he'd seen her. The noise stopped. Pansy didn't move.

"Are you comfortable down there?" he asked.

There was a mad scramble and Pansy emerged from the shadows, she spun onto her knees and looked around rapidly. "Is Draco with you?"

Etean narrowed his eyes at her. "No," he said, casting his eyes once more across the carnage. "What were you doing down there?"

Pansy snarled and hopped to her feet. "Searching, what does it look like?"

"Searching for what?" he let an edge of annoyance creep into his voice.

"None of your business," Pansy snapped. She made to storm out past him, but Etean took a step and slammed his fist into the bedpost, barring her way with his arm.

He glared at her. "I don't think you're going to be leaving until you've explained yourself, Parkinson. At the very least not until you've cleaned this mess up."

Pansy looked at him for several moments, then shrank beneath his gaze. She took a step back and dug into her pocket. "Here," she said morosely as she stuffed something into his hand.

Etean looked down. It was a scrap of parchment, torn from the corner of a scroll by the look of it. He turned it over and read:

'Kiss me Draco!'

He held it up to Pansy. "And just what the hell is this supposed to be?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out," Pansy snapped. She reached out and snatched the parchment from his hand. "It has to be something…it just has to be."

"It looks like a note to me," Etean said. "You leaving love notes for Draco now?"

"I am not," she snapped, "and even if I was…he wouldn't care…because of her…because of this," she balled the note up in her fist. Pansy shoved him back, "Do you know what this is?" she brandished the note at him.

Etean snarled, he was not in the mood for this, "Parkinson…"

"It isn't just a note," she yelled, "I found this under Draco's pillow. Granger put this here…and it…it did something to him…made him go crazy or something."

Etean felt his features stretch in amazement. "Are you serious?"

"It's the only thing that makes sense," Pansy raved, "I mean…I knew, I just knew that she'd done something to him, why else would he be willing to…gods I can't even say what he's willing to do with her."

Etean was far too stunned to argue. "So, you are saying that Granger snuck into this dormitory and put that note, which I am assuming that you are saying is enchanted in some way, under Draco's pillow to make him fall for her?"

"I know what you're going to say," Pansy wagged a finger at him, "You're going to say that it isn't possible, that Granger couldn't have gotten in here through all of us, through the password. But," a manic smile came to her face, "That's what she's relying on. That everyone will underestimate her,"

"It does sound like a bit of a stretch, Pansy," Etean remarked coldly.

"Don't think that she couldn't do it…she's been the brains behind Potter's little escapades for years."

Etean rolled his eyes. His contact with her mind was light, but it was enough to let him see that she was being serious, she really believed this. It was nearly comical. He kept his face stern. "I see. The question of course…the one that springs to mind for me at least is…why?"

"Why?"

"Exactly why. Why would Granger go to such trouble just to get to Draco? Surely she couldn't be that hard up."

"I don't know what her plans are…yet. But don't you see it? She wanted Draco for some reason…and she got him. She knew that I wouldn't just let him go, so she attacked me," a visible shiver ran through her, "We have to stop her before she goes too far."

Etean balked. "We?"

"Yes," Pansy moved forward toward him, "I can't do it alone…Granger is too powerful…too smart for me to take her down on my own. But if you help me…"

"You need help, Pansy," Etean said, shaking his head. "Professional help, and I don't think that I'm qualified to give it to you."

"No, please, listen to me," Pansy was sounding really shaky now, "None of the others will believe me…they've all been blinded by her goody two shoes act for too long. They wouldn't believe me, even now that I have the proof…"

"Proof? What proof?" Etean rolled his eyes. "All you've got is a note, Pansy, a scribble on a bit of parchment that Draco decided to keep under his pillow."

"Yeah," she roared wildly, "That doesn't seem odd to you?"

"No…it sounds ridiculously soppy, pathetic even, but there isn't anything sinister about it. Now listen Pansy, I really don't want to be rude or anything," he said, shedding the last shreds of his patience, "but I am tired. So if you could maybe take your moaning elsewhere…" he pointed at the door.

"Moaning? Is that what you think I'm doing?"

"It sounds like it to me."

Her face twisted in apparent distress. "I am trying to protect him."

'This girl is unbelievable!' "From what? From Granger? Please don't make me laugh."

Pansy moved forward with surprising speed. "You're not listening to me, are you? You have no idea what she can do…what she did to me," she was roaring into his face now.

That was it. Etean caught her by the shoulders and turned her round, slamming her into the bedpost quite a bit harder than he intended. "Now you listen to me you squirming little wench. I have had just about enough of you and your whimpering. Draco dumped you…get over it. He's with Granger now, and that's his choice. And I'm fairly certain that she hasn't done anything to him that he wasn't more than willing to let her do. You don't have to like it, you don't have to understand it, but from now on, I'll thank you to keep your mouth shut about it when I'm around."

He released the stunned Pansy and regained his composure before he leaned in and whispered in her ear. "Oh and one more thing…if Granger is as dangerous as you seem to think she is, and frankly I find the idea laughable, then I would do my best to stay out of her way if I were you."

Etean tugged the note from Pansy's fingers and stepped back. He cast an eye around the room. "Now," he said over the renewed thumping in his skull, "leave…and please, in future, stay out of this room." His voice was tired as he finished, but Pansy jumped as though she'd been electrocuted. She turned and high tailed it out of the room. Etean swallowed a curse and conjured his potion. He drained it before he remembered that this was the second time in an hour he'd needed it. First politics, now Pansy…and Granger…this was not shaping up to be his day. He looked at the scrap of parchment in his hand. "Why won't you just leave me alone?" he whispered. With a flick of his wrist and a whispered, "Scourgify," he sent all of Draco's belongings flying back to their rightful places. He returned the note to his pillow and drew the curtains back into place a full three seconds before Draco entered.

Draco marched down the dungeon corridor slowly, staring at his hand. It felt naked without the glove. He had returned to where he had left it only to find it gone, the house elves must have taken it away. That wasn't really a problem though; he could always dig out another glove. His problems were numerous, but right now one was holding his attention. He had just promised to break into Snape's private ingredient stores – stores that nobody but him was supposed to even know about – and lift several hundred galleons worth of rare and possibly dangerous ingredients. If he were caught, it would quite probably mean detention, possibly worse depending on Snape's mood. 'But,' he thought, 'fuck it. It isn't the first time I've snuck around behind his back to brew a potion, and it isn't like we could come up with a better idea.'

It would take timing, and a good chunk of luck, but he could pull it off. Draco reached the entrance to the Common Room and spoke the password. He stuffed his hand into his robe pocket before he entered. About a dozen Slytherins were scattered about the Common Room. Annabelle gave him a sneer before turning her attention to Theodore for a quick snog. He got a few sideways glares from the others too. Draco shook his head,

"Anyone seen Etean?" he asked.

The sixth years all ignored the question, feigning that they didn't hear. Draco raised himself onto his toes in aggravation. He was about to repeat the question at a decidedly louder volume when he heard a slight cough from his right. He turned to see the upward looking face of a tiny, brown haired first year girl. She was visibly paling as she looked up at him, but she held his gaze and pointed a shaking finger toward the bedroom stairs. "I think," she said in a mousy whisper, "that he went down to his bedroom about twenty minutes ago."

Draco stared at the tiny face for a moment, then nodded. "Thank you…" he paused, "What is your name?"

The girl coughed. "Heather," she answered, "Heather McQueen."

"Thank you, Heather," Draco answered and walked off. He knew without looking that the other sixth years were all watching him go, and that the girl, Heather, had just made herself a target for some of the things that they would never dare say to him. He made a mental note to keep an eye on her, she had guts…or was completely stupid.

He descended the stairs to his bedroom. As he neared his floor, he saw a shadow whip past him and disappear into the girls dorm. He frowned and opened the door. Etean was pacing the floor. "There you are," Draco said.

Etean looked up. His face looked paler than usual. His shoulders were hanging a bit, as though he was carrying a great weight. "You were looking for me?"

He seemed surprised. "Yes, I was."

His voice remained hollow and dry. "I thought you were off somewhere with Granger."

Something in Etean's tone struck a chord with Draco. "Is something wrong?"

Etean shrugged. "What could be wrong?"

"Well," Draco faltered, "You just look like you have a lot on your mind, that's all."

Etean's laugh was a hoarse bark. "A lot on my mind? You could say that. Would you like to hear what's on my mind?"

Draco frowned, Etean had never volunteered to share information before. "Ok then, try me."

Etean took a breath. "Here goes. Let me list my current problems for you. On the one hand we have the war, which is spinning out of control. Unless something is done and fast, there won't be anything left of this country for you, or anyone else to call home. Then there is Voldemort, who is getting stronger by the day; Dumbledore, who seems determined that I should do his dirty work for him; the Minister of Magic, who seems to possess all the military acumen of a stoned goldfish; the Council, who would rather continue debating the morality of this war until they drop dead of old age than actually fight to end it…Let's see, what else, I know there's more…oh yes; we have Theo Nott, a semi-psychotic sadist with serious women issues; and, last but not least, you, the lovesick pureblood on whom the fate of the world resides! Now, glad you asked?"

Draco reeled. His mind was struggling to process all of that information. Etean was juggling all of that? And Draco thought his life was tough. After a few moments of silence, Etean cleared his throat. "I'm sorry Draco," he rubbed at his temple. Draco recognised the sign of a severe headache, a phenomenon he was all to familiar with. He hadn't seen Etean get them before though. Etean straightened up. "What did you want?"

"Well I was…" Draco started, but the look on Etean's face stopped him, "I had some questions…but I suppose they can wait. I'll…see you later."

Etean nodded at him. Draco turned and left. He would ask Etean later, when he was better rested. Seeing Etean like that actually made Draco feel good. At least it was proof that he was human.

A/N: Here you are my pretties, a nice little treat for Paddy's day, a bit late, but meh