Howdy everyone! Super excited to pick up some new readers! Can't lie: it totally makes me were more.

This was supposed to be a half chapter, since the LAST chapter was SO ridiculous! But then it became a whole thing too. Yikes.

Pgoodrichboggs – Thank you for your review. I love your impressions on each chapter, and you're so perceptive about the little nuances and easter eggs I'm weaving!

Rune is going to be super brutal on these four as time goes on. Once I round back to the other participants in the story Narcissa/Tanner will get some more light shed on it. I think there's a certain level of naiveté with Hermione in how her fears come to light: She's sheltered, so she doesn't have much concept of what kinds of horrors might lie in wait for she should Lucius get ahold of her, but remember that what Tyt'o saw was what he was afraid of specifically; it doesn't meant that it would really be the case. Tyt'o is coming to a point in his life where the wool is falling away from his eyes, and the realities of the conflicts are becoming clearer.

Chapter 15

Tyt'o was shaking. His copper eyes focusing on his lap as the Necromancer paced back and forth before their seated troupe. The feeling of helplessness that he'd been drowning in through his vision was still all-too-real to him, and hadn't faded even though his eyes had opened.

Beside him, Hermione had raised her head to watch their teacher as she'd continued on in her speech about why these specific visions were shown to them, and some of the reasons for their significance. She had not asked for any of them to share with her, or aloud, what they had seen, but somehow Tyt'o knew she had seen what they had experienced. It was the way she looked at each of them, how her eyes had pierced into his and scooped out the images that were so raw and unsettling.

He chanced a glance beyond his sister, to Draco, whose lack of action, and sickening sentiments still echoed in his memory. Looking at him made Tyt'o want to leap out the blanket he still sat on and pummel his fist into his impassive and perfect face. The images of his sister struggling to free herself as his repulsive father had took hold of him caused a wave of revulsion and nausea to rise up from his belly like a tidal wave, and he fought to keep from a physical shudder, lest it alert the Necromancer. She seemed none too tolerant to disturbances as she lectured, given her demeanor.

And his mother…. Tyt'o closed his eyes a moment longer than a blink. How her body had been thrown with the force of Lucius's magic, and lay there unconscious, unable to fight back anymore. Both of them had been overpowered so quickly, which was unusual given how capable the two of them were, both magically, but physically. He felt so much shame that he had been unable to fight back.

As Rune Mora wound down her final commentary about the nature of the spell she had cast, and why she had chosen that particular calling, she'd focused on him as she cocked her head, catching his attention.

"I'm sorry, Tyt'o, am I interrupting some train of thought you're chasing?" Tyt'o felt a hot flush raise up his neck as his eyes tore away from Draco and back to his teacher.

"My apologies, Madam." He murmured, and focused on her. She nodded.

"I only instruct serious and focused students, young Gresham." She admonished. "Perhaps you are as of yet unready to receive my teachings? Perhaps you would prefer to wait another year?" Hermione's head whipped over to look at him, her eyes wide and furious. Tyt'o didn't dare to look back at her, instead keeping his gaze to Rune's as her blue eyes calculated over him, challenged him to make a snide remark. He did nothing but avert his eyes momentarily.

"No madam. Your lessons are too important, and my rudeness is inexcusable. Please accept my apology." Rune only nodded her agreement.

"I don't have time for daydreamers, young man, and I will not entertain empty-headed musings while you are in my presence." She continued her pacing once more, and Tyt'o resentfully followed her with his eyes. No one said anything, nor looked at him, too afraid to be scrutinized and lashed at with her barbarous approach. "I think this will be all we need for today. See to it you are here following breakfast tomorrow." She concluded, and pivoted on her heel to exit the hall without any further commentary.

The four pupils were left a little dumb-struck following her abrupt conclusion of their instruction. Even though the Gresham's looked at each other, and then to Draco and Theodore, no one spoke at first. The first one to break the silence was Hermione. "Mayhap time to leave, then?" Her voice was a little soft, and broke just slightly at the last word. None of the boys voiced anything directly, they just nodded, a few grunts were made as they all stood up.

Raising quickly, Tyt'o made short order of leaving the Hall behind as quickly as he could, which included leaving Hermione behind without him. She watched him stalk out of the Hall quickly but didn't call out to him. If his vision was as disturbing and horrific as hers was, then she could sympathize with why he wouldn't want to speak with her.

Following the exit of first their instructor, and then Tyt'o, the great Hall doors were left open and a few House staff walked dutifully inside to collect the blankets used in the exercise. Hermione picker hers up and handed it to a woman who bowed before her mistress. "Thank you very much." Hermione told her, to which a quiet "M'lady." Was heard in from the woman.

Hermione felt awkward standing there with just Draco and Theodore, and in an uncharacteristically insecure move, she rubbed her elbow with her opposite hand as she skittishly met their eyes. "Well then," She started. "See you all at dinner." And she as well turned to leave.

Watching her walk out of the hall, arms now wrapped around herself and a little hunched as though she were hugging her own body. It was unnerving to Draco to see her so insecure as she walked away from them, and so unwilling to talk. Not specifically that he had anything in mind to speak of, but it was clear what she had experienced had effect on her, just as his own vision had an effect for him.

Glancing to Theodore, with an expression that looked a little pained, he looked back to the direction Hermione was swiftly walking, and took off after her.

Alone in the great Hall with nothing but the House staff who were making quick work of the few things they had to retrieve and rearrange, Theodore was overcome with how lost he felt. Having experienced the amount of joy and warmth in his meditation had felt uncannily comforting, and unlike anything he'd ever been part of in his young like.

Had that really, in fact, been his mother? She had died so young, and Theodore had never known her, never heard her voice or touched her hair. But he had known in that vision! Instinctively he had known that beautiful woman to be his mother, the one person he had longed to meet for his whole life. The one person, it seemed, that his father had loved wholly and entirely.

Theodore flinched as he felt a wet trail escape down his cheek, and his gaze fell to his feet. As he blinked the tear was followed by more droplets that ran to his chin before swelling and plunging to the ground below.

His father had never really wanted him, had he? A forcible choke bubbled out of him as he felt a sob rip from his throat without his consent, and he reached up to wipe away the evidence of his weakness from his cheeks, only to be met with the apprehensive face of Ursa Gresham.

Theodore recoiled in shock, with a yelp and Ursa held up her hands. "Oh Theodore!" She exclaimed. "I beg pardon, I didn't mean to surprise you." His heart was racing in his chest and she lowered her hands to her side, and gave him a little smile, entreating him with her head as she bowed it a little to him. "Be you well?" she inquired, gently, changing her mind and touching his arm quite softly. His face contorted almost unnoticeably in pain, but he said nothing. His eyes were watery with the tears he'd been shedding.

"I know the Madam's lessons can be-" She paused. "Quite arduous. Especially the first time." Her hand was gentle, and lay only barely on his arm, the touch entirely tentative. Theodore started collecting himself, refusing adamantly to wipe at his face; such a childish gesture it would be to acknowledge that he'd wept openly, without decorum, in her families Great Hall.

Ursa's bronze eyes searched his face continuously. What had he seen that had caused him to break down so completely, with such vulnerability? She questioned.

Theodore could barely stand to look at her, he felt such shame at his show of frailty. Crying over a woman he'd never even met? Was he the son of a great House, or a beggar boy in the street? His father would have had him whipped over his knee to see the impotence of his own flesh and blood.

The young Nott scion straightened himself and shook his head. "No more than what I'm used to. Simply caught a little off-guard." He said, trying to add in a little chuckle at the end, but ended up sniffing just slightly. Ursa's smile became sad.

"Theodore," she implored carefully. "You need not impart to me what you saw, but know that, should you need to speak with anyone, I am happy to lend you my ear." Ursa tried to imbue her offering with warmth, and despite the tumultuous events in the last days and how it had left her out of sorts, she felt the offering a trifle paltry as soon as she had made it, despite its sincerity.

It seemed though that her intent was writ across her face, for Theodore softened a moment. "Th- Thank you my Lady." Theodore gingerly covered her hand with his own. "You've been nothing but kind to me from the first time you laid eyes upon me." Ursa felt herself smile a little at the show of warmth he offered. "I've never been welcomed into another House. Kindness isn't something I- I expected." He cleared his throat a little, nervously darting his eyes to her. Her smile had reached them again, reminiscent of how she normally appeared.

"I am most happy to offer welcome you, Theodore." And he found himself smiling slightly as she did. The warmth of her eyes drawing the coldness from within him.

"Theo, my Lady." He whispered. "I would have you call me Theo."

It was Ursa this time who felt her smile broaden further, and she nodded slightly. "Then Theo it is." She squeezed his arm just slightly in affirmation, and as she would if it were Tyt'o she were speaking to. With the affection a mother paid her child, though he was unquestionably not her own.

Theo's blue eyes no longer darted away nervously from hers. He cleared his throat just slightly, and raised his elbow to her courteously. "May I walk with you then, my Lady?" he asked, and she lay her hand at his forearm and curtseyed just a fraction.

"But of course."

Draco sped up to make sure he didn't lose sight of Hermione, though he had not called out to her either so as not to call attention around them. As he'd rushed the doors of the Great Hall, he caught sight of her hurrying along to what he assumed was some passage to escape the House, and returned to his half-running pace.

Her figure was clear to him as he got nearer, though he noted that she did not turn around to see whom it was that pursued her. He caught up to her only slightly winded, and realized as he'd reached her side he had no idea what he was supposed to say.

She slowed slightly as he walked beside her, catching the movement of his jaw from the corner of her eye as he opened it once to speak, but shut it promptly. She led him along silently, still ruminating over the confusing sights she'd experienced while under the Necromancers enchantments.

They reached an obscured stairway, which forced him to abdicate his presence at her side and fall back behind her. Though still keeping pace with her, he had no real notion of where she was taking him, and she certainly didn't give up any information for her part either.

He continued to dog her as she continued on her travel through corridors and another stairwell down, finally reaching a lower, almost cellar-like level that he was woefully unfamiliar with when she suddenly stopped and faced him. "What do you need, sir?" She demanded. "Why are you following me so intently?" Draco had come to a skidding halt to avoid colliding with her, and he stammered momentarily, unsure as to what he could supply.

"D-D Dragons." He stuttered out quickly, and cursed himself silently, hoping the internal admonishment wouldn't make it across his face. She quirked an eyebrow in question.

"Dragons." she repeated. "What about them?"

Draco really started floundering then; he hadn't come up with any reason as he'd followed her, and that one just occurred to him when she'd asked. "I was er, hoping you'd be able to tell me tales of them?" He tried, lamely.

"What, like folklore?" She questioned, and scoffed. "Go find the library and seek a book in there. I've no time to tell children's tales today." Hermione turned to leave without anything else to say, and he touched her arm lightly, carefully even, and she paused and sighed with exacerbation.

"Not tales for children." He insisted. "Real Dragons. Your Dragons. I want to know more about your Dragons." He explained. From where she stood, she saw the plea in his expression, though she wasn't certain felt any sincerity behind it. She paused before responding, scrutinizing him carefully, measuring him up.

"Alright then," she offered tentatively. "What specifically are you interested in?" Draco visibly relaxed and grinned.

"Well first, how does a man come to ride a Dragon?" Hermione instantly bristled and made to open her mouth with a rebuke. "A person!" He corrected. "How does a person, man or woman come to ride a Dragon?" The correction to his automotive question seemed to mollify her slightly and she pondered a moment before wiggling her nose and giving a jerk to her head.

"Walk with me then while I tell you. I don't want to be standing here in the damp gaggling over Dragon Lore." Draco smiled.

"So there is Dragon Lore?" he asked, and Hermione rolled her eyes at him.

"Of course there is. How could there not be?"

"Well when you said you'd no time for children's tales I assumed you meant-" Hermione shook her head and cut him off.

"Never mind that." She said quickly. "Dragon riders are chosen by the Dragon Sires when the babies hatch." She supplied.

"So when does the hatching happen?" He queried, and she rolled her eyes again.

"There's….. A number of steps before that. It's not so entirely simple. I'm-" she paused. "I'm really just going to have to start at the beginning…" she anxiously started chewing her thumb as she finished her sentence, considering her thoughts with care. Hermione glanced around as they continued to walk. "Are you certain you want to hear this from me?"

It hadn't occurred to Draco that perhaps Hermione wouldn't interested in telling him. But the prospect of approaching her brother Tyt'o or the Lady Gresham directly felt distinctly less….. Feasible. Let alone comfortable. The word mulled over in his mind briefly as he considered her in earnest before voicing his reply. Her copper eyes were fixed unwaveringly upon him. It was a color he'd never seen before, and the tone was both fiery and inviting. He tore his gaze away so as not to be considered gaping.

"Why not you?" He supplied. "Certainly you know as much as any of the House the intricacies of your Dragons?" She did nod an agreement to that statement; the Gresham's did know quite a bit of Dragons. And not only just their own…. But that was enlightenment for some other time, if at all.

"Very well." She said hesitantly, removed her thumb from her mouth and took a breath as she modified her pace down from a brisk walk to a stroll. "Our House forebear struck a covenant with a great Gold Dragon of old that he later called 'The Elder'. It was not the first Dragon ever ridden, but the first for our House." She detailed. Draco considered her a moment.

"How did he find him, I wonder?" Hermione winced. Clever. Of course he would ask that. She swallowed and her voice quieted a degree.

"He stole an egg when its Dragon Sires were away eating." Draco looked impressed momentarily.

"So then, why is it we're breaking our backs and minds with all this training? Why wouldn't we all just go steal an egg then?" It was an honest question; why put in all this work and sacrifice? Wouldn't it just be easier to lift an egg out of a nest and be done with it? Hermione had the good sense to look properly appalled at his question.

"The Dragon sires returned unto his nest to find an egg missing, and tracked them to the House. They would have burned it down to the foundations, then burned it still until the rocks were melted. Had it not been that the egg hatched as he returned home they would have done it, but the Dragon sire found him with the Dragon chick, and it clung to him in fear of its own mother and father. The pair softened, seeing their little wyrm being so protected by the lad that they made him swear upon his magic a righteous oath, committing the line of his people to protecting and serving with the Dragon from that point forward. But for his treachery and theft they demanded that for one of their offspring, that the young man would pledge one of his own to them in turn. Though he had none yet to pledge, he agreed blindly not knowing what it was he had wrought upon his line in truth."

"The gold Dragons left him with only the Dragon, small though it was, he was still the size of a colt! True to his word, he nurtured the Dragon; taught him languages and literature, philosophy and astronomy. The two were, as time marched on, quite well fitted for the other. But as my ancestor grew into a man, so then did the Dragon come into his musk. When the time came for my forbear to choose a wife, it was such that so too did the Dragon desire a mate of his own."

"Our founder chose a woman of great strength, and modest of face. From a fine House she was, but one not considered a great beauty, as was the common trait searched for. Thought she was wise, and she was cunning. My founder and his Dragon were enamored of her from the day that she arrived to them from her own House, and it spurned The Elder to wish to leave in search of his own counterpart. And so, as our founder wed and bed his new wife, The Elder determined that he too should seek ardor of his own."

"But my founder's wife was not willing to let her Lord Husband leave her as a newlywed woman. Instead she demanded to be given leave to join them. Though her request was audacious and improper, it fortified our ancestors love for her, and they set into the wilds in search of a Dragon mate for his companion."

Hermione had taken pause, looking to Draco for a sign of what he made of the story she told. He'd been so engrossed with the tale that he'd said nothing, not even nodding as he walked beside her. He hadn't even acknowledged that they'd stopped walking, and now stood in what appeared to be an open alcove the size of a cathedral that had access to both the underside of the castle, and the open air to freedom beyond. Impatiently, Draco motioned to her.

"And? Where did they go? What did they find?" he asked, and Hermione chuckled.

"There's plenty stories yet, Lord Malfoy." She said happily, relieved that he was eager for more and that her rambling hadn't bored him. His gray eyes were excited and danced.

Draco looked around them. "Where have we ended up?"

"Before the Dragons left, this is where they would roost. As long as they weather was fair." She conceded. "They would lay here together, confabulating the musings of Dragons, I guess." She trailed off.

"Do you miss them, being gone as they are?" Dracon asked gently, and Hermione sighed sharply as his question.

"Every day." She admitted. "I can barely stand it with them gone. It feels….. So empty and cold without them here. I can't hear the hum anymore either." Draco cocked his head to the side.

"The 'hum'? What's that?"

Her change in expression made the copper of her eyes appear so wistful, but Draco couldn't be sure it that was it, or it was how he'd interpreted it. "The hum is….." she gestured feebly. "It's a connection to the Dragons. Like a song they sing to us, only we feel it inside us." She placed her palm to her sternum and pressed there like she was feeling for something she couldn't find. "All the Gresham's feel this with the Dragons, and when they are gone," her eyebrows raised slightly, and her eyes got watery before she blinked a few times. Her voice had dropped to a whisper. "It's like we're missing some part of ourselves." Hermione swallowed, and her breath had slowed. She allowed her eyes to close for a moment before she opened them to return her attention to Draco.

She hadn't really confided in anyone before; all the people she knew intimately she was related to directly by blood. She found herself shaking suddenly; nervously or excitedly, she couldn't determine. Boldly, Draco reached out gently, and softly whispered his fingers over hers, her eyes caught by the suddenness of it, and she looked from her hand up to him. His gray eyes met hers and held her there.

Draco tentatively took her hand in his, and she made no protest, though her heart had begun to beat so fast she was certain if it had wings she would have floated away on the wind. As they stood there together, the air of the afternoon gusting through the cavernous space around them, they considered each other. Along the air the faint tingling, similar to what had danced all around them at the falls in the forest, seemed to linger all around. Though they had stood across from the other many times in practices, it was as though they were seeing the other, truly, for the first time. As they memorized the shapes of each other's faces, and the lines that comprised the others features. It could have been moments, or hours, neither was sure, when Draco finally whispered. "Thank you for bringing me here."

Hermione felt her face break into a smile she couldn't contain, and she lifted her free hand to conceal her mouth without thinking. Draco intercepted her hand as it tried to cover her face, now taking both of hers in his own, still searching her eyes with his.

It was a wonderment, just then, as the faint magic lingering danced all around them. Like little tingling whispers that played across the skin and danced whimsically though the air.

"You're welcome." She said, a little more breathlessly than she'd intended, and he smiled to her. The gesture somehow caused a cathartic reaction to the nervousness she felt, and she giggled a little, giving him cause for a chuckle. Their merriment filled the grotto with a cacophony of their demure delight.

"Come then," He gestured, and let lose one of her hands, but not the other. "Tell me more of your Dragons and ancestors." He entreated. Hermione made no attempt to retrieve her other hand from his, and her smile grew mischievous.

"Nay, enough of Dragons today," She countered. "I am going to take you to the Great Stable instead!"

The echoing sound of their back-and-forth continued, though it faded somewhat as Hermione brought Draco to the wide-open entrance to their Dragons 'den' beneath the Gresham stronghold. Her voice could be heard detailing how the generations of Dragons had shaped this area with their presence and magic, and continued with little quips from childhood memories of it.

Peering from the doorway that they two had come from, Tyt'o's eyes followed the pair and the blank expression he wore grew into a scowl as he could see, plainly, how his hand held hers, and how she seemed content to leave it that way.