The next morning, he woke to her staring at him, floating several feet away. Draco jerked away, kicking Antares in the process. The cat leaped into the air in surprise.

Draco attempted to brush off his unease, "I know I'm quite dashing, but your stare is unnerving."

She hadn't smiled or looked abashed. "Two things." She said, "First, do you know what Vega does when you are sleeping?"

He'd never given it much thought. "Play chess?"

"He crawls up the tree, curls a tail around that low branch above your head," she pointed, "and stares at you the entire night and then at dawn goes back to his chessboard."

Draco blinked, completely taken aback.

The ghost continued in thought. "It reminded me of a horror movie I saw on the tele as a child."

Draco's eyes flicked to the dragon; it was looking over the board with intensity. A bit of chill went down Draco's spine at the thought of the dragon looking him over with the same interest.

"Second, the tree, you and Antares began to glow. I don't know if that is why Vega stared, he stared before, during and after… The dragons in the ballroom, the floor, staircase, and chandelier were glowing too. The dragon didn't however, although he seemed to be the only one awake."

"I glowed?" Draco asked stupidly, his mind not able to break down the information.

"Yes, ethereal like. I thought you might have died in your sleep, but I figured it would be best if you figured it out for yourself in the morning."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Ghosts don't sleep."

"Yes, well a bit debatable, but I figured I'd let you have your last rest."

"Appreciated." He supposed if he only got one last snooze he wouldn't want to be awakened.

"Noted. I also found something interesting last night in the books." The ghost turned away from Draco and began to make her way to the study. She continued forward, not looking back at him even though she continued talking.

"It made me wonder. Two trees, one planted for each of the twins. They mentioned a planting ritual, but they didn't give details. The fact that the tree glows, it seems related."

Draco wiped at his eyes and got to his feet to follow her. "It's a Malfoy tradition. Always done during each solstice and sometimes on big occasions."

He'd ended up doing it alone at his coming of age. "We plant trees, we've always planted trees. Typically, rooted seedlings of our wand wood. For me, hawthorn. Both girls had willow wands, so it was normal for their coming of age to plant a willow tree."

"What does the ritual entail?" The ghost picked up one of the girl's diaries flipping to an entry before turning around and giving it to Draco.

Draco scanned the book and thumbed several pages. Nothing that interesting, but yes — the ritual had been mentioned when planting the trees for the garden.

"Blood," Draco finally answered. It wasn't like the ghost was really going to give away his family's secrets — after all, he had given her free reign of all the books on the craft. "A decent amount is used on the bottom where the roots first touch the new ground and then there is some on top. But that isn't abnormal, a lot of solstice rituals include blood."

Granger looked around the garden atrium and then focused her gaze on Draco. "And where have you been planting your trees?"

Draco gave a wave of his hand, brushing off her concern. "In the forest, next to the house. That's where we've been planting them for generations."

Granger rolled in the air before coming hover so that her face was over Draco's shoulder. She pointed at the page he was on — their coming-of-age ceremony. "Exactly, why didn't they plant them there then?"

Draco raised a brow, "It was a new house. It was likely meant as an honor."

Granger shook her head. "Come on, do you really think they'd get the honor to plant something indoors. Why not the creators of the house? They didn't really inherit the place, their little brother did. I'm telling you; it has something to do with the glowing." Her hand reached out and a book flew off the shelf and into her hand. She flipped to the section of inheritance.

Draco gave a shake of his head. He didn't know, but this probably had something to do with the house – either the intellectual animation or the wards. He was going to have to find out. "All the wood I've used for renovations were taken from the forest. I selected the birch and elm because of my ancestors. They were a husband and a wife that took on the Malfoy tradition. The hawthorn tree of Antares was dying. But that doesn't explain Vega - the sapele is from the grounds too. He should glow as well. No one mentioned anything about wood or stone glowing."

The entire morning was spent reading notebooks, but the only one that mentioned the willows was the twins' diaries. Very few mentioned the ritual – those that did only gave a reminder that the date of planting should be marked in the map for future crafters.

The ghost then demanded to see said map. Thus, an entire afternoon was lost to looking at the magic map that consumed the entire ballroom floor. Draco explained how the tree planting was marked using a blood quill. They recorded the names of the planters used for Draco's projects, but the information was not helpful.

That night he stayed up with the ghost, and they watched the tree for hours on end. It didn't glow though. And Vega never looked up from his game.

"So - it was definitely glowing by now?" Draco questioned.

"I'm a ghost, I can't tell time. But yes, I think it was glowing by now."

"It was actually glowing?"

"Yes," her nose went into the air. "I'm not an idiot."

Draco narrowed his gaze at the tree.

"It must have something to do with you then," the ghost said, her lips pursed as she thought.

Draco gave a nod to the logic. "It could have something to do with being a Malfoy… Although the birches shouldn't be glowing then – since she wasn't a Malfoy by birth." Eventually, three hours from dawn, he fell asleep in the armchair.

The ghost did not inform him of anything glowing when he awoke. However, Vega had left his game of chess to lay on the top of the armchair to stare down at him. Two inches away from his face according to Granger.

She summed it up, "You must need to be connected with the tree when you sleep, and your dragon is just weird."

Draco gave a sigh as he put down another notebook, "This is likely just distracting us. A glowing tree is probably not stopping you from leaving."

She glared back at him, "Glowing trees are not normal in the magical world. And it just so happens that I died in the center of these two trees." She pointed at the blueprints of the original manor.

The ballroom was located directly in the center of the manor - or at least the original manor. "Alright, you can focus on the tree phenomenon, but I am going to focus on the wards. If I read anything of interest, I'll let you know. Please do the same for me." He motioned to the stack of notebooks they still had left to go through.

They did not gain any ground. The books were full of techniques to the craft, there was nothing about trees except on how to pick them for crafting. The sick, the old, nothing on the ritual. There was even less about the wards, there was mention of how the choice of marble had been important for the foundation and the basement, but nothing else.

"Since the ritual is something that was handed down generation to generation, is it possible there is more oral tradition that isn't recorded?" the ghost asked.

Draco watched her for a moment then snapped his book shut. "It's a possibility. My father barely had a chance to pass the house over to me, before they locked him up."

With that they went into the dungeons, where Draco had moved all the paintings.

"You've kept them all down here?" The ghost asked.

"Yes, I don't see a reason to have eyes other than my own in the hallways." He turned a painting around as it boo'd him. Of those who chose to step into their paintings at that moment, none were happy with their placement or with the mudblood ghost. At the frumpy muttering and angry words, Draco didn't even bat an eye. He scanned the line of paintings, looking. None of the frames were carved like a crafter would carve. He then turned to the painting of Abraxas. The man's sour and pinched face left much to be desired.

The portrait sat in an armchair, tapping at the armrest in irritation.

As much as it pained Draco, the man might know.

However, more paintings were gaining humans. And they served as ears for many other pure-blooded households, not to mention how quick word had spread he was digging through the paintings. This was not a place to have such a conversation.

He plucked his grandfather's painting from the litter and then they went back up to the ballroom.

Draco pulled a chisel from his pocket and with several quick movements, put the runic charm to prevent the person from leaving the portrait. He then turned to face the man.

The man glowered, the grip on the armrest showing the whites of his knuckles.. He knew what had been done.

"I need information," Draco told the painting.

His grandfather's glare softened, and his grip loosened. The man's nose shot in the air. "And what could possibly be in it for me?"

How typical. Draco reached out a hand towards the stairwell. "Amber," one of the dragon's on the chandelier, awoke at his calling. The gold dragon swooped down and landed on his outstretched hand, albeit not quite as graceful as Draco had hoped.

For a moment the portrait's mouth opened in a gape and then the man seemed to remember to close his mouth.

"You're a crafter." Abraxas gave a huff then, "You always seemed too weak to be much of a Malfoy, but that is quite impressive."

Draco didn't even acknowledge the insult. The picture had said much worse in his childhood. "My father handed over the house quickly and I'm afraid he may have left some things out."

There was a glimmer in the portrait's eyes, and it smirked. The man relaxed back into the chair. "Likely he wouldn't have told you anyway. I doubt he believed me."

Yes, his father didn't like anything that didn't fortify his own bias. "Well, I would like to hear it."

"Again," the portrait motioned about the room, "what can you offer me?"

Draco glared, and then poked Amber's chest causing her to burp smoke. "I'll let you choose your end, back in the dungeons or black ashes."

The portrait glared once more, displeased. "Or?"

Give a little, potentially gain a lot. "If your information is helpful, I'll let you stay in the ballroom." There wasn't too much going on in the room anyways. Maybe his grandfather would enjoy the dragons. More likely than not, his dragons would enjoy the portrait.

The portrait gave a smile. "Well, better than being back with all of those annoying little spies."

So, his grandfather thought they were spies too.

After several minutes, his grandfather gave nothing away. Draco decided to start the conversation. "The house, it's an intellectual animation."

The man frowned, "Do not attempt to awaken it. It will kill you. It took the last crafter of the family many years ago."

"How did they die?" The ghost asked.

The man snarled, gaze stuck on her arm and the letters carved there.

"Did they die, bleeding from their nose, eyes, mouth and ears?" Draco asked.

The portrait blinked and turned to Draco. "Yes, I see you've already tried at awakening it. Foolish little-"

"The house isn't what kills," Draco said quietly, "It's that the keylines in combination with powerful magic, such as attempting to connect with the house, is creating an opening to the astral plane."

The portrait laughed, spooking the dragon, and causing it to take flight and land back on the chandelier, "The astral plane. Don't tell me the Malfoy family has fallen so low as to believe that rubbish."

Draco didn't laugh and neither did the ghost.

Eventually the portrait stopped. "Did you see the dead?"

Draco's heart hammered; this was the information he'd been after. "Yes."

"And did they bestow upon you visions of the future?" There was a smirk in the man's gaze.

"N-", Draco was about to reply before he remembered the first time she touched him. He wiped his sweating palms on his robes. "It depends on what you mean by future. I was shown a future that could never occur. Of what could have been, not what is."

"Spoken like a true diviner," the man scoffed. "You may be a crafter, but your Black roots are showing. I warned Lucius about marrying into that family again. Nothing good came out of it the first time."

Draco glared, "We've been attempting to move the ghost out of the manor. My understanding is that the manor is throwing up the wards to keep her here."

"Well, I do hope the ghost finds the accommodations here tolerable. She'll be here for eternity," the portrait smiled.

"Your information isn't proving to be very useful," the ghost said sourly.

The portrait finally acknowledged the ghost, waving a hand at her as if she were a fly. "Useful is keeping my grandson alive. Any further attempts at fighting the manor will likely result in his death."

"The twins' willows - they glow at night," Draco said, trying to lead the conversation back on track.

"Do they now?" Abraxas said, as if knowing how desperate they were for information. "And how long have you been sleeping under them? And assuming the ghost is the only seer of this glow, has she gotten a chance to see the woods outside?"

The painting was a pain. At least it made sense, he needed to be sleeping under the tree. The ghost had been right. The woods outside though. "Do they glow too?"

The portrait smirked, "You should have her report back."

"Why doesn't everything glow?" Granger asked.

The portrait wouldn't speak to her and looked only at Draco. "And which one of your precious animations doesn't join you in sleep?"

Draco felt like burning the painting for the hell of it.

"It watches over him when he sleeps," the ghost spoke for him, although Draco wanted to snap at her to not give him more information.

The portrait smiled, "You built yourself a true guard then. Even more impressive."

"He built one that can talk too."

That stupid ghost, she had no idea how to talk to a Slytherin.

"I can safely assume you do not need a wand then. I tried as a child – but the gift never was passed to me. I thought it had died out long ago," Abraxas said.

"It's not a gift, it took effort," years of effort.

The portrait only smiled back, as if he were being a foolish child. "I'd like to see them both. The guard and the talker."

"I'll go fetch them," the ghost said, taking leave.

The portrait turned his attention to Draco as she sailed through a wall. "You should be careful. Not everything likes being brought to life. My understanding is that if you ever have to kill a creation, it can affect your ability to create all together."

"And what wouldn't want to be brought to life?" Draco asked.

The man smiled cruelly, "The Malfoy family has never had trouble. However. The Dementor family. Well… You don't hear about them; you only hear about what they've created and were unable to undo. The house, if it doesn't want to awaken, should not be forced to."

A chill settled in Draco's spine.

"When you start forcing your will upon other forms of existence, things can get nasty very quickly."

"Good thing I don't intend to force my will upon them," Draco said.

The eyes roamed the ballroom. "I wouldn't be able to guess that. The amount of effort you have put in here…"

"I am attempting to fix what was destroyed. I am renovating until all traces of Dark magic are gone."

"Is it really the house you're trying to fix?"

Draco bit back a snarl. Thankfully the ghost returned with Vega and Antares in tow.

"Is the tiger the guard?"

The tiger partially stood against the wall to get close to the painting. It sniffed the frame. "Why does the wizard not smell like a wizard?" The tiger marked himself as the 'talker' and the painting looked at the dragon.

"The guard is a bit small."

Vega tilted its head and then snorted smoke.

"I suppose, measured from tail to head, it is fairly decent in size," Abraxas amended. "What kind of wood?"

"Sapele."

The painting gave a nod, approving of the choice. "And the tiger?"

"Hawthorn."

The lips twitched downward, "The same as your wand?"

"Is there a problem?"

"There is nothing wrong with me being made of hawthorn," the tiger growled.

"There is no issue with the choice." Abraxas kicked up his feet on the hassock and folded his arms in his lap. "That being said - how much social interaction are you getting outside of your creations?"

Draco increased his glare at the painting.

"Choosing one's own wand wood reveals desperation. The crafter seeking a sense of comfort." The man leaned back in the chair, like a king on a throne.

"The hawthorn tree was dying."

"There are many dying trees in a forest." Abraxas said with a smile on his lips. His smile dropped when he looked at the ghost. Then he turned his attention to the tiger and switched the subject. "You were able to do animal hair, it looks real."

"I adapted the notes on human hair."

Abraxas looked at Draco, a hint of pride in his eyes. "You're as brilliant as ever."

Draco narrowed his gaze at the portrait, unsure if it was being insulting or not. "I have one more question, why are there no portraits of other crafters?"

The portraits lips twisted down, and the man gave his head a shake, "No crafter's painting has ever been animated. Not from the lack of trying."

Draco blinked, absorbing the information. He'd never heard of a portrait not coming to life, even familiars could become animated.

"A crafter's magic belongs to his creations. It's part of the contract."

"Contract?"

"I like this spot in the ballroom, but I expect to be hung properly." The portrait was keeping himself in the upper hand, a true Slytherin.

Draco flicked his wand and the portrait stabilized on the wall.

"Tell me how tonight goes," And with that the portrait feinted sleep, well, as best as a Malfoy wanting to look good while sleeping could feint sleep.

The ghost and cat had both muttered about the painting as they left. Antares keeping a decent distance from the ghost. Vega however, paused in the ballroom, eyes watching the handrails. As the cat and ghost went out of the room, Draco watched Vega. The dragon tilted its head as if hearing something. The brown eyes then flicked to his, it was filled with as much intensity as ever, before flicking back to the handrails. The eyes then flicked back and forth before Draco finally understood. It was looking at one of them in particular.

"Solstice," Draco said quietly. Disturbing the silence in the room.

The dragon took color quickly, although it didn't leave the handrail. The eyes looked at him and then at the larger dragon.

Vega made several throat noises, the smaller dragon chirped back before stilling.

"I'm tempted to give you a voice, just so you can tell me what that was about." His grey eyes swept the ballroom, looking for her.

Vega gave a crooning noise before its large tail whipped around Draco's shoulders, applying pressure to turn and leave. The connection between their magic felt reassuring and comforting, but there was urgency in the connection. An urgency to leave.

Draco's eyes scanned the room one last time. "Solstice," one side of its face colored. "Take good care of her." She was innocent, the small dragons had been designed to protect what was innocent.

It chirped its consent before Vega applied more pressure to get him to leave. He hadn't had much time to think about it, attempting to find a way to remove the wards and allow the ghost to leave. But his creations seemed to have the ability to pass into this other plane of existence, which meant they were with her on the other side. He bit his lip in thought. Could he create something that spoke, that could communicate between them? Could he create something just for her, a gift of sorts?

He almost scoffed at the notion, why would she even want something from him? But it was the only thing he had the ability to do. At least until he was more certain about the plane and how he could see her without harming himself in the process.

"Tonight, you are sleeping under the tree," the ghost proclaimed when he walked into his study.

He glanced up at her, jolted out of his thoughts of projects he might try.

"And if it does light up, we should invite the others, they may be able to understand it better."

That wasn't going to happen. He did not like the idea of being helpless and unaware in front of others, especially in sleep.

The ghost turned to him then, eyebrows scrunched together. "You haven't taken that potion. Professor Snape told me to watch you closely, but you haven't taken the potion."

He looked at her, they'd been attempting to use her as a spy. "I don't typically need the potion. I usually only take it when my goddaughter, Madeline, comes over."

Her lips twitched, as if the knowledge she gained wasn't enough to satisfy her curiosity. "What does the potion do?"

The first person to ask him, minus Greg. "How about I give you the recipe, and you tell me what it does? I'll let you know if you get it right."

Her lips tilted upwards at the challenge. He told her, just as he told the nurse.

She was silent, her head bobbing left and right as she put together the ingredients. Finally, she lifted her gaze to his face. "A variation of the calming drop… It must not cause drowsiness without the beetle larva and with the milkweed - it must dull your nerves? I've only seen that in recipes for cruciatus reliever and boil cure."

"Got it in one," Draco congratulated.

The ghost beamed, but then her head tilted. "Why would you need one? I'm sure the astral plane was quite the stir, but they said the elf gave you the potion before you even came into the ballroom for the final try. You just hadn't taken it."

"I can deal with the astral plane havoc just fine," Draco said sourly. "I-." He gave his head a shake. Was he going to confess he got violently sick at the slightest touch of another human, or that being enclosed with others made him have panic attacks? She was a spy. She'd practically confessed it. Anything he told her would go straight to the ears of two aurors and three professors plus a nurse if he was unlucky. He was always unlucky. "The recipe is less addictive than the original calming drop." A truth. "I tend to get a bit claustrophobic the more people there are in a room with me." A partial truth.

She stared at him then, a long-drawn-out stare as if she was trying to discern if he were lying. She gave a nod, when she seemed to run the recipe in her head again about the addictiveness – the larva tended to make the original calming drop addictive. "That's not all there is to it." She said with finality. "Otherwise, you would have found a different modification than milkweed. You know milkweed can be poisonous in large quantities, especially how it is boiled in potions, you could lose your ability to perform magic."

She was too smart.

She continued on, "Even with the small amount you have in the potion, which normally wouldn't raise any alarms. In combination with the turmeric paste, you've made quite the potent cocktail. You probably couldn't feel pain if you sliced your own hand."

She was way too smart. It was one of the reasons Draco knew better than to tell the recipe to Severus. He'd catch on, just as she did. She was close.

She was waiting for a reply. After a minute of silence and a stare off, she narrowed her eyes, "You told me, you'd let me know if I got it right."

"You got it right."

She smiled, but then her lips twisted down. "Why would you need that kind of potion?"

"I never promised that." And he hadn't. She got what she needed.

"I'll tell Professor Snape."

"As if you weren't going to?" Draco raised a brow.

She blinked. "I wasn't going to, who wants to listen to me? I'm just a ghost."

He rolled his eyes, "You're still brilliant. It's not like your Binns."

She glared at him, "The only thing he wanted to know is how often you took the potion. Once you're dead, people don't expect that much of you."

At least they had something in common. "Once you're a Death Eater people don't expect much of you either."

Her glare lessened. "I think he is just concerned."

Concerned that with his death, they'd be unable to move her? He shook his head.

"He's a good man. Harry told me what he did for the Order," She continued on.

"I've never said anything contrary to that fact," Draco said with a sigh. He should have known. His family should have known. Good men were hard to find. Severus was one of the best he'd grown up around. Perhaps that is why it hurt so much.

"It's the way you act, not what you say. It was pretty obvious to everyone you have a bone to pick with him."

"Because I called him a Master? What else should I have called him? He is a potions master. He's no longer a professor. He's not a headmaster. I gave him the title of respect he deserves."

The ghost pursed her lips. "He didn't react well to it, after you left."

One couldn't win, could they? He gave his head a shake before looking back down at the notebook in his hands.

"Harry calls him Severus, maybe you could too?"

Draco scoffed. "He has a mastery, if I'd called him Severus, I'd have been inconsiderate of his position."

"Look -"

He raised his eyes to glare at her.

Her lips shut.

"I was being respectful. People will take anything I say and twist it." He tapped his covered wrist. "I'm a Death Eater, remember?"

She floated for a moment near his chair before turning and making her way towards the pile of books. She gave one last look behind her, before turning her attention to the shelf. "I'm unlikely to forget such a thing."

He winced, of course not. That was why she was here, why she died. His grip tightened on the book in his hand. They were stuck in their own different kind of way, weren't they? "I…" he started, but words failed him.

She turned back around then; hands wrapped around a scroll. "Yes?" She prompted.

"I didn't mean to take my anger out on you. You are right, I do take issue with his person… But that was not the reason I called him as I did. I was trying to be respectful, regardless of my thoughts upon him."

"He's a good man," she repeated.

"I know," Draco sighed. He fiddled with the corner of the page he was on, and he looked away from her gaze to the floor. "When my father became particularly angry with me as a child, I used to run to the potions lab of the manor in hopes Severus would be there as he did stay often over the summers. When he was, I would hide under his cloak as he prepped ingredients and stood over a cauldron. He'd outright lie to my father, if not distract him by means of some political scandal, such that my father forgot all about me by the time the conversation was through."

He turned his attention back to the book, eyes barely discerning the words. "I was merely a fool to believe it was for me. Even back then, winning my favor for the someday I'd be in the halls of Hogwarts, someday return of the Dark Lord, someday Death Eater…" He looked up and saw the pity in her eyes and sneered. "Spare me. I was a vile child, Granger."

"What if he did, do it for you?"

Draco could only laugh at that, so much so that he got a crick in his side. "Hogwarts tamed my temper and attitude, know that Potions Master Snape got a hundred-fold of whatever you ever got to see of me. He's a Slytherin, through and through." Draco said when he got ahold of himself. His humor faltered. "It is a nice thought though, maybe if he'd been a Hufflepuff."

He turned back to his book.

After a while he heard her turn her own pages. The matter dropped.

Another hour passed in the silence of reading. And then the knocker on his door sounded. He was tempted, so tempted, to just let it go. He did say he'd contact them. He could see the ghost's attention on him from his peripheral vision. He gave up sooner than he'd liked with eyes upon him.

A quick swish of his wand, and he knew he looked impeccable and clean shaven. Another flick and the color of his robes changed to a different hue - it wouldn't do if they noticed he hadn't changed clothes since they'd last been here.

"So that's how you do it," her eyes almost seemed to smile at the knowledge.

He rolled his eyes, "Perfection requires hard work. I spent a long time learning the spell."

She almost laughed then, almost. Her lips opened just a fraction, but no sound emerged.

He turned on his heels and headed for the door.