So in the event it's not clear: All the familiar people and notions related to HP belong to the great JKR.

All errors are mine, and probably because I like to write and hate to proof anything. Blech! I did just brush up a few things that I left hanging in the last chapter, which I apologize for.

Pgoodrichboggs: So Dramione is pretty much my OTP, and this is my 1st time writing it, so I was SO excited to start FINALLY writing that! I'm trying to be so careful and I end up nitpicking everything so that I keep fourth-guessing everything I'm doing. Hahaha.

Tyt'o is having a hard time; new faces, weird people he's not sure he can trust, possible rivals-who-could-be-friends-but-he's-not-sure. It's hard time for a guy just coming into adulthood with all sorts of testosterone and nothing to do with it. No pretty girls to show off for, no Dragons to chase (right now). Poor guy is like thoroughbred with no races to run. Plus, his mother and sister are EVERYTHING to him, and he's not totally certain his vision aren't something that will come to pass, or only COULD come to pass (stay tuned!).

Your questions will be answered! All you have to do is read more! (Was my carrot-dangling subtle?)

Chapter 16

The time of the year could be measured in how the light of the sun was cast onto the Gresham House. From the way that it streamed in through the panes of glass, to how it alighted all over the books, table tops, and every piece furniture in each room that received the blessing of sunshine.

Lammas was closing in on them in a mere week, and with it the harkening of the harvest, and the series of traditional celebrations of thanks and plenty would be revered. Grain was to be brought in great volume to the House, and breads to mark the plentiful bounty would be baked as the House gathered together and marked the beginning of their many benedictions.

This would normally be a time of relief within the House: The two Gresham children had known this time of year to make a great exhalation from their parents as the summers measure of crop and grain would be writ and recorded, and the great Dragons would prepare themselves for yet another bedding-down as the winter chill would be impending.

The celebration that would be planned would be out-of-doors, the four Gresham's and their two great Dragons all together, as had been traditional since before even the birth of Tyt'o or Hermione each. It was an event that every one of them looked forward to, with fond memories of years prior.

As Lammas approached now, Loren felt within himself a great sadness that had entered himself, and he was burdened and dogged in trying to shake it. Such great plans had been laid, so many years of waiting for them to unfold and to see the light of possibility. The promises of abundance for his family were so closely tied with how this great treachery had unfolded, that it felt as though the poison in which it had wrought was slowing eking its way into Loren's very soul, turning it black with despair.

Loren tried on so many occasions to rationalize the possibilities of success, and the silver lining, knowing that at least still, his own two children would have been built up to be considerable candidates once the time arrived for them to be weighed and examined. Such an unseen variable, a veritable wild-card as it were, was the insertion of the young Lords currently living as his wards.

And now, in his carelessness and folly, he had wrought shame and terror on the one being who had held him and their children together through countless struggles and trials: his wife. Loren was encumbered within the gravity of his own weakness.

He had all but avoided his wife in any situation private, despite that when they had parted ways on that dreadful encounter within his study, they had done so following such a tumultuous conflicting coupling; twisted with post-rage passion, tainted by tears and pain.

This horror he wrought upon the woman whom he had claimed as the love of his heart, the Lady of his House, and the mother of his heirs wore desperately upon him. And yet he could not face her to supplicate her true forgiveness. He'd spent many hours already pouring over imaginary tasks and items as he hid away, embroiled in his own self-loathing.

The time had come for Loren to face the judgment of his fellow Houses within the Guild. Having sent emissaries to call for a convocation of Houses so he could address his egregious rejection of candidates he would be travelling the next morning to the end of the Gresham Lands and apparate himself to the House of Shacklebolt, where his fellow Lord would hold this assemblage, and Loren would face his penance.

Loren Gresham was busying himself with the imaginary necessity of arranging his personal papers within his study when Tyt'o arrived, knocking at the heavy wooden door. Loren's heart leapt and clenched at the same time with nervousness, and when the door opened at his permission to enter, he saw that it was merely his son. His panic faded considerably and he calmed himself. He had yet to face his wife in privacy, and in truth, he dreaded that it would need to be done before he left. Presently, he motioned his son into the room and bade him with the gesture to sit at the opposite side of his desk.

"My son, what brings you hither this afternoon? Have your lessons concluded yet for the day?" Loren began, congenially.

"Aye father, I come from lessons led by the Necromancer Mora." Loren's expression became knowing then, seeing how his son fought to keep his eye contact with his father. He could see his son bore some weight on his conscious. Rune Mora had warned both he and Ursa sternly upon returning to the House when she learned she would be taking on the new students, and whom she would be teaching. She made no bones about the fact that she would show no quarter now to them as the time drew near to their hatching, and she expected full reign to judge just how far she would push the student's individual limits. Loren and Ursa had bowed to her demand, as Mora expected they would. The trail she intimated was now shown plainly on his son's worn and worried face.

"While you are gone father, who then will stand with me to be in guard of the House while you parlay and negotiate then with the fellow Houses?" Tyt'o continued, boldly, still struggling to keep his eyes at his fathers.

The scene Tyt'o had experienced was still fresh in his mind; his senses still assailed by the sounds of his sisters struggling movements, the sound she made as she struggled against her attacker and cried as she found herself trapped and unable to fight him off. Her frustration turned terror and fright as the situation became both dire and frightening. It spurned him to audacity in the company of his father. Loren Gresham, the Lord of the House, the seeming lighthouse of hope and safety for their family. His presence was security to them all, and the prospect of him leaving them frightened Tyt'o. Having no Dragons in company to brace Tyt'o, nor anyone else save perhaps the House staff. There were very few that Tyt'o knew he could call on should any presence approach their House that was not welcome.

Even knowing that Tyt'o had been wrung through a proverbial wringer as a result of the lesson Rune Mora had devised for him, Loren brushed the question off without paying any mind to the root of it. He waved his hand dismissively. "With the young Lords here in perpetuity for training, there are no Houses that would stand to invade or threaten while I am away. My time at the convocation will be short, regardless. I'll hardly be missed."

Tyt'o found himself unsatisfied with the answer, and though his mind was fighting to rid itself of the images he'd been blighted with he fought them away and finally locked his eyes onto his fathers and leaned forward.

"Whatever the reason, father, my sister and your wife will be here without their Lord, in the company and presence of men who have no care for their wellbeing and a teacher who will not fight to protect them if needed."

Loren fought not to roll his eyes at his son. "The Warlock Black is precisely capably of showing strength when needed, and caution when required. No House would employ him if he was not worth his salt in magic." He mused.

"Then the lingering of his gazes on the females beneath this roof is not a matter that concerns you, my Lord?" Tyt'o enforced again. Loren felt the snap of his son's statement, disliking heavily that his son had picked up on the nuances of Warlock Black's infamous wandering eyes. "My sister and mothers safety are paramount to me, my Lord. I would feel much at ease knowing there were precautions in place should the need for them arise. The presence of one from one of the vassal Houses, perhaps. A member of Harben or Abildgaa-"

"There will be none of those beneath my roof." Loren cut him off sternly, but then continued, more evenly. "It is not needed, son. There will be no shows of weakness in asking an unaffiliated House to nursemaid the women-folk beneath my roof. Your mother and sister will fare as well as they would if I remained here."

Tyt'o paused and scowled a bit; He refused to reveal to his father the scene that had played out in his mindscape, and the lingering and recurring waves of disgust and rage he felt revisiting himself over it. That very vision was what drove him to press such a suggestion.

"What then, father, would the fellow Guild Houses do should we fall to siege while you are away?"

Tyt'o's question was alarming. Where had such a notion come from? While undeniably there was tension between the Houses comprising the faction of The Guild, and those of The United, there was not yet any whisperings of war or invasion. There were tensions to be sure, but no hints of violence or outright malice.

"My son, you worry over something that is not real. There are no Houses that threaten us, no roving bands of villainous pirates. And beyond that, it would take a force on-foot to reach our House to lay siege to us. Should they attempt travel in any other means they would be struck down by the Dragons as they traveled." Loren knew it was a placation, and it was clear that Tyt'o was not going to be easily dissuaded from the topic.

"Then not as nursemaids to our House, why then has the Guild never entreated Houses Harben and Abildgaard to any conclaves? Nor presented them with any invitation to one of the summer feasts? A Lammas celebration? Should we not make it a priority to try to build any relationship with another House which also rides Dragons?"

Loren had purposefully kept his son away from this particular vein of politics; Tyt'o knew nothing of the structure and relationships Gresham shared (or in this case, didn't share) with the families of Abildgaard, and Harben.

The Gresham lord considered his son a moment before he crafted his response. Was it time for Tyt'o to begin involving himself in the politics of being part of The Guild? To know what it was that the Houses aligned themselves against, or because of? It was all uncertain to him, but one thing he did realize at that time; Tyt'o was becoming a man. Right before his very eyes, it seemed. While it was appropriate at this point to bring him to the convocation, it did leave Ursa and Hermione without any appointed male chaperone in the House while Loren was away, and both the Master Black and Necromancer Mora's safety while within the House was his responsibility, not the other way around.

"Son," Loren began wearily, seeing his son's tense expression, how his posture was held taught with desperation. Loren has his own frets and worries just now, and he simply didn't have the energy to discuss all the layers of political interconnectivity. "I leave early on the 'morrow, and this afternoon is not the time for such lengthy discussions. By rights, I should bring you with me to this gathering, but it is to you that I look to guard our House while I am absent."

Tyt'o leaned back in his chair, feeling defeat wash over him. His father was brushing him off. Why was this some kind of hardship to explain to him some of the lesser dynamics of the other Houses? The young Gresham Lord felt his frustration peak, and he stood abruptly.

"Then I look forward to your safe return, father." He said with a curt nod of his head, and turned on his heel to exit the room, not having any interest in entertaining his father's response.

The Lord sighed as he watched his now-grown son leave in a huff. So much in their lives had changed in such a short period of time; he could no longer justify indulging his children's petty curiosities at every turn, and some matters were simply too great to be conferred with idle chatter.

Loren ached for his wife at that moment: She was a veritable pillar of consistency, and a patient woman. Perfect for these sort of diplomatic nuances. Whereas he on the other hand, lacked the same couth and polished appeasements she could deliver.

As Tyt'o Gresham exited the room and shut the door behind him, he shook his head in dissatisfaction. He knew himself to be better skilled than some with his magic, and a plenty good rider and fighter. But the safety of his House meant more to him than banking on his own vanity. He craved surety, and was offered empty platitudes in return.

"Sons of the damned," he swore under his breath. If only the Dragons could be here. His mind toiled over the possibilities. There was no army to raise here in the Gresham lands; their sole line of defense was in fact the Dragons, and they were holed up, Gods-knew-where in the mountains, warming their nest and binding their magic all around the nest to bolster the lives which would be born in a handful of full moons.

Tyt'o found himself wishing desperately that their House had the bounty of more than just two Dragons….. More than two Dragons! He realized internally, and turned to quickly find his sister. When he had left her she had been dragging the Malfoy whelp to the Grand Stables, if her words were true. Perhaps they were either there, or near there?

He broke into an ungentlemanly run through the corridors. The notion had already struck him; If they could not have their own Dragons present, then perhaps they could collude together to come up with another possibility, and if anyone in this House were to know something of how to find wild Dragons, it would be his sister!

The young Lord threw up his hands in his growing frustration. The keep isn't even that large, and from almost anywhere you could hear Hermione's chatter. Tyt'o raged.

He'd ran from his father's study all the way to the Grand Stable and found no sign of his sister, nor of the Malfoy son which had been last in her company. He'd come back through the keep and into the Great Hall to find no one in attendance, and no House staff to answer his questions about where she might be. Tyt'o had rushed then to her rooms and found them vacant, only to seek out his mother in hers and find them without her presence as well. Where the hell was everyone?

From the upper balcony which provided a view of the outside courts and road below beyond, he leaned on the railing dejectedly, feeling the excitement from his burst of inspiration fade. His sister had always been near to him, in the physical sense. Being unable to find her unnerved him. Why was it at this moment that he felt her physical distance so keenly, he wondered?

From below, the slight sound of her voice rose up to break into his reverie. "…. Of course they were raised by hand, each by their own stable hand, so they're quite used to hands all over them. But I am surprised the little filly was so welcoming of your hand. They're not usually so friendly and accepting…." Hermione's voice was clear as she and Draco walked into view. They two of them had an air of excitement between them as they walked. Their gestures were happy if somewhat frivolous.

Tyt'o found himself disapproving of what he saw below him, and rather than spy on them from above, he pushed off the railing to make haste to catch up the pair.

Draco and Hermione, unknowing that anyone was either watching, or displeased about their close-company, had set a meandering pace as they were recounting their little jaunt to the Great Stable in which Hermione had introduced Draco to a new foal by one of their prized Abraxans. Notorious for being hard to manage, and persnickety about whom they allowing in their company, the mare had proven docile and unconcerned with the interloper, and the wobbling filly had shown herself quiet receptive to Draco's curiosity of her. It had made for a magical little adventure together and they were still chatting happily about it when Tyt'o caught up to them.

He caught his sister at the shoulder, and had meant to simply catch her attention, but ended up swinging her a little heavier than he intended to. His jaunt to and from the Keep had left him more irritable than he'd realized because he spun her a little quickly.

"Wh-" Hermione sputtered as she was rudely broken from her conversation with her companion to face the scowling face of her brother. Realization broke over her face and she brightened at seeing Tyt'o again. "Oh! Brother, you won't believe what the little filly-".

"We need to talk sister." He interrupted, and Hermione stopped, startled at his seriousness.

"Oh. Of course brother." Draco could see that Tyt'o's mood was quite opposite from Hermione. Where she was excited and gesticulated excitedly, he was stern and serious. Draco took his queue, and touched Hermione's forearm.

"Lady, I thank you for this afternoon, but I think that before dinner hour I will take to my rooms. I will see you again this evening." He bowed to her and she inclined her head with a stuttering thanks as Tyt'o had gripped her opposite arm and was already tugging her away with him.

"Tyt'o there's really no need to be so pushy-" She'd started, with a little laughter to her admonishment. As her brother pulled her along with him, he lowered his voice.

"There's EVERY reason to be pushy, sister." He hissed at her, and Hermione frowned, trying to get her arm out of his grip.

"Now see here you brute, you don't have to pull so hard, and you don't have to get nasty with me over nothing." Tyt'o gripped her a little harder, and gave her a little yank. "Hey!" She exclaimed at his physical show. "Stop pulling me and tell me what your problem is!"

Tyt'o stopped and faced his sister. "My problem?" He asked. "My problem is you making friends with a boy we have no alliance to. Whose father blackmailed our father into repudiating the sons and daughters whom would have joined us on the pilgrimage into the mountains. A man who has threatened to claim you as their prize should father refuse to let his son take claim of our Dragons. My problem is that our House is infiltrated by snakes, and you're contented to have a little playmate to drag around while you play beast master."

Her brother's admonishment slapped her in the face, and her cheeks grew hot with embarrassment. "How dare you speak to me like that?!" She demanded, and balled her fist up hard, and launched it into her brother's midsection. With a great "OOF!" he doubled over and released her when her punch made contact, knocking the air from him. His sister had a hell of a punch. She rubbed the place on her arm where he'd handled her, and inserted herself into his personal space, raising her finger to him. "I am your SISTER, and a Lady of this House! You will keep a civil tongue to me, or I will lay you on this floor faster than you can blink!" Her copper eyes were blazing with anger at her brother's attitude, and disrespectfulness to her.

"Draco Malfoy was nothing short of kind and gentlemanly to myself, and showed exceptional peace of person and a kind hand to our animals. And yet you paint him as a villain and wretch!" she advanced on him, by Tyt'o refused to be cowed as she railed up against him, trying to push him back with her shorter body.

"Hermione, he's been here for a few short weeks! What do you expect him to do while he's here? Start burning down the fortress and freeing all the livestock like some kind of crazed raider?! NO! The man is ingratiating himself to your person to woo you!" Hermione flinched, and waved her hand in dismissal.

"You're wrong, Tyt'o, Draco's-"

"No, Hermione. He's not a good person." Tyt'o knew where she was steering the topic, and he lowered his voice so that only she would hear him. "Do you know what vision I had when Mora threw her spell?" Hermione shook her head and frowned. "The Malfoy Lord had you. He'd taken you as his prize for himself. He hurt you, Hermione, and his son was complicit in his abuse to you." Tyt'o tried to keep his voice from breaking, but he wasn't successful, and he gripped his sister's shoulders. "That House has ill designs for us, sister," he whispered. "They mean harm to us all. They mean to be the end of us; I have seen it." She shook her head, unbelieving.

"Tyt'o, what you say is terrible." She conceded, shivering at the thought of what he implied. He hadn't said specifically, but she wasn't truly that naive. The image that her brother painted felt so opposite to the one she was building in her mind. The kindness and inquisitive nature of the young man she had spent her last hour with were so different. Could she be so blind to be ignoring signs of a man so twisted that he would allow his own father to bring direct harm upon her? Her eyes, which had wandered away from her brother as she weighed these possibilities, met his again. The twins of her own. She saw his concerns for her, she saw that he was genuine in his fear for her safety, and all their safety.

It was a fact that Draco Malfoy presented himself as gentle and kind, but her brother spoke true: She knew nothing of his true nature. Nothing of his life as a young Lord, nor of where his intent lie. But the way he had been with the animals in the stable…. Someone so cruel of countenance and hard of heart could not truly entice such an animal as one of their notoriously cautious Abraxans to himself without them sensing his malice. Could they?

"Fuck and bugger." She said as she stared straight at her brother, admitting that she was unsure as to whether or not he was right. Tyt'o nodded.

"Fuck and bugger in droved, sister." He agreed, and Hermione dropped her finger finally, and deflated her anger.

"I wish the Dragons were here now. We wouldn't be mired in this horse shit if they were." She bemoaned.

"We wouldn't be in many of the messes we are right now, if they were here." Tyt'o agreed. "Father leaves in the morning to join the fellow Houses and break with them the agreement to allow the fellow riders to take the pilgrimage to the hatching." Hermione signed and groaned at the same time. "We three will be here alone with these two sods with only the teachers and the House staff."

Hermione scoffed. "Well if they misbehave, then we'll call for Eachan and he can smash their skulls together with his meaty bear-paws." She smiled, but Tyt'o did not return her joking enthusiasm.

"Aye, sister, there is that." He said sadly, and she placed her hand on his arm, empathetically.

"I know brother. We only have ourselves." She agreed, and sighed. "I'll…." She paused. "I know how important it is to you. I'll be careful not to be alone with him again. I don't see what you see, and I don't see suspicion on him, but I will not act a fool." Tyt'o smiled sadly to her, understanding that in truth, neither of them had been given many chances to continue their relationships with friends, and once the awkwardness had faded, a little camaraderie had sprung up between the four of them. Hermione did genuinely love the company of others, and it was in her nature to be so free with how she acted, so unreserved in whom she pulled to her bosom in friendship. He felt a pang within because of it, as though he had scolded a puppy for being playful.

"If we make it to the pilgrimage, sister, all will be revealed to us if they are villains or friends." He said, trying to comfort her. She nodded, the high from her exciting jaunt with her 'friend' properly squashed and gone. When they found the Dragons and brought themselves to be judged by them, the Dragons would be able to properly sniff out their intentions, and see the minds of those who wished to become their riders. But that was months away still from now, and there was so much that could happen in that time.

"We'll be safe while father is away, Tyt'o." Hermione said, reassuring him. "It will be a short trip, and we will all be busy being abused by our Masters." Tyt'o managed a laugh at his sister's wisecrack. With Rune Mora, one could never be certain where the lesson would go and how hard it would be on you. But if their previous lesson was any barometer of what was to come: It was going to be utter hell.