Chapter 37 – Three Is a Not a Crowd

Valentine's Day—or February tenth, which was the closest Hogsmeade weekend to the fourteenth—began in a slightly confusing fashion for Harry. He had been anticipating it since the return to Hogwarts; with his relationship with Fleur having deepened significantly over the break, that Valentine's day would be their first as a couple. Knowing that this was a big moment for a young couple—one that could end up with him in the doghouse if he messed it up—Harry had planned a day which included time alone, stolen kisses, a date in the dreaded teahouse in Hogsmeade, and an evening dinner for two in the Room of Requirement, served by none other than the indefatigable and exuberant Dobby.

It was therefore with a certain amount of anticipation that Harry waited in the common room for his betrothed to appear that Saturday morning. The awkwardness which had existed between them when they had found out about the betrothal was now completely a thing of the past, and Harry's feelings for Fleur were rapidly increasing to the point that he could not imagine her not being in his life. He had not had much experience with love, but he imagined that this is what it would have felt like if he had.

To his great surprise it was not only Fleur who descended on that brisk February morning, but his closest friend was following her, smiling shyly at Harry. Harry looked in askance at Fleur, but the blond just smiled brightly at him, kissed him on the cheek and directed him from the room.

"Let's go, shall we?" she said.

"Umm… sure Fleur," Harry said uncertainly.

To his other side, Hermione flashed him a brilliant smile and took his other arm. The three walked from the common room, never seeing the amused looks they were receiving from their housemates who had not already departed for the village.

As they walked down through the castle toward the entrance, Harry struggled over what to say. It was difficult to speak of what he had planned for that day with Hermione's presence, and he was not sure that Madam Puddifoot's Tea House would be an appropriate destination with their best friend along. Not that missing the tea house would be any great loss in Harry's opinion.

"Where did you want to go today?" Harry asked Fleur, trying to give her a significant look.

Fleur either ignored it or completely missed his expression. "I think we can find something to do."

"I'm sure we can, but this is not a normal Hogsmeade weekend."

Even that rather enormous hint did not faze either of the two girls. "No, it certainly isn't," Hermione replied, while Fleur just laughed.

The only thing Harry could do was to respond with the mental equivalent of a shrug and allow himself to be dragged along to the village to spend the day.

As the time progressed, however, Harry began to get a suspicion of what was truly happening, and the fact that he had not cottoned on to it immediately, he could only put down to the cluelessness of most of his sex. Could Hermione finally have made her decision? Thinking back over the previous weeks, Harry tried to determine whether her behavior toward him had changed. It was difficult to be certain; though Hermione was a very private girl, she had always been open and affectionate with him—quick with a hug, or to initiate contact with a hand on the arm, or an arm around his shoulders. She had even kissed his cheek a time or two. Much of this was in the presence of Fleur who, as his betrothed should have taken offense to the liberties the younger girl was taking. She did nothing of the sort, however, merely smiling at the two of them, or taking no notice of what was happening.

It was with this suspicion in mind that Harry allowed himself to be dragged along as they walked through Hogsmeade, the true nature of the situation becoming clearer as they went. While Hermione did not precisely act as he thought a girlfriend would, she still allowed her feelings to show in an understated manner; a buss on the cheek here, holding his hand there, the laughter they shared—it all pointed toward a confirmation of his suspicions. Through it all, Harry responded to them both, deciding that there was nothing to but to sit back and enjoy the ride; he was having too much fun to do otherwise!

After perusing the shops in Hogsmeade, the trio made their way to the Three Broomsticks for an afternoon snack and some butterbeer. They sat in a booth, but unlike usual, Fleur did not sit beside him; instead she chose to sit across while Hermione sat by his side. As he watched the two of them chatter away, he thought back to the eye opening conversation he had overheard in the Express.

Harry had not been idle in the intervening weeks. The revelation about the prophecy and the horcrux had put a damper on just about any kind of activity, and research into the marriage laws of the magical world had been far down his list of things with which to concern himself. But as he began to put his new knowledge into perspective, he had been able to climb out of his funk. He had spent some time in the library discovering the laws, and was surprised to learn that he was not only able to have another wife (or more), but that as the last of his line it was almost expected, especially given what Fleur had told him concerning Veela propensity to give birth to girls. He still did not fully comprehend the magical world's importance on the continuance of lines—such things were no longer prevalent in the Muggle world, after all—he understood that it was part of the world he lived in.

To be honest, Harry still could not decide how he felt about the whole thing. On the one hand, he could imagine what most of the Muggle world would say about such an arrangement; the Dursleys' elderly pastor—the Dursleys only had enough religious conviction in them to make sure they kept up appearances at Christmas and Easter—would likely have a heart attack if he knew. Given his burgeoning feelings for his betrothed, it also seemed like a betrayal of her to even consider such a thing.

On the other hand, Fleur seemed to be fine with the situation, and even seemed to be encouraging Hermione. And if Harry was to give consideration to having a second wife, he admitted that his best friend would almost certainly be the first girl on his list. At this point he could hardly imagine denying either of the two girls anything they wanted.

The day continued with Hermione and Fleur and by the time they had returned to the castle, Harry was convinced that they were attempting to lead him subtly to the conclusion that Hermione should be considered as a romantic possibility. When they adjourned to their dorms to dress for the evening in the Room of Requirement, Hermione's inclusion in what was supposed to be a romantic dinner for two confirmed what they were up to. He just did not know exactly how he should react to it.

The fact of the matter was that he found that though he was not certain if he loved his best friend at the moment in a romantic sort of way, he was well aware of how easy it would be to do so if he just allowed himself to let go. He and Hermione were suited very well in so many ways, and if Fleur had not been in the picture, he imagined that Hermione would have been at the top of the list of potential interests. That was not in question.

What was in question was the aforementioned loyalty to Fleur, regardless of the fact that she seemed to be encouraging this. The Dursleys had not made much effort in any respect to bring him up properly, but regardless he had always assumed that he would marry one woman. The thought of two was both intriguing and downright intimidating. How would he behave around them? Would one become jealous if he showed attention to the other? What about intimacies and future children? All of these questions rolled around in Harry's head as he dressed for dinner, thankful at the same time that his dorm mates were not present to tease him about his date that evening.

As Harry made his way to the Room of Requirement he decided he would just go with the flow—there was nothing that said what happened that night had to be forever, after all. They were still young and it was possible that they would both change their minds at some later time. As far as he was concerned, he would be happy with just Fleur, or with Hermione too, if it came to that. He imagined that some would question his manliness for not seizing the opportunity with both hands—Ron would almost certainly tease him for it—but for Harry, the happiness of the two most important ladies in his life was paramount. He would allow them to lead, at least the initial stages of the discussion.

The room was decorated in a romantic fashion, with low lighting, a table set for three, and candles adding to the ambience. On a table by the side of the door sat two roses, rather than the one he had requested from the hyperactive house-elf, with white petals delicately edged in a deep crimson. Harry did not know what they meant, not understanding the language of flowers that most women seemed to understand instinctively, but he knew that giving roses to your girlfriend was something which would get you in their good books. Obviously Dobby had had a hand in this, likely on orders from Hermione, or Fleur, or both. Something clicked in the back of Harry's mind, but before he could call Dobby to confirm, the door to the room opened and in walked the two girls.

They were both dressed in skirts and blouses and looked particularly fetching, in Harry's opinion. And even though Fleur glowed with the vibrant beauty which her Veela nature blessed her, Harry found that Hermione did not suffer at all in comparison. Her much-tamed locks fell in ringlets down her back, a contrast to Fleur's straight tresses, and both girls wore a light dusting of makeup—thankfully only a little, as Harry felt that their natural looks required very little enhancement.

"Good evening ladies," Harry said with a slight bow, through a suddenly dry mouth.

The girls smiled at him and approaching hugged him in turn, murmuring greetings through soft kisses on his cheeks. Harry stepped back and gazed at them in turn, looking into the depths of Fleur's ice blue eyes, searching them for any hint of her plans, while watching Hermione for an explicit indication of her current feelings. Both girls appeared much as they normally would, Fleur's expression indicating her growing feelings—feelings which he shared—and Hermione's a confirmation of all they had come to mean to each other over the years.

Breaking the momentary spell which seemed to have settled over them, Harry stepped back and, gathering the two roses in his hands, extended one to each of the women. "Dobby seems to have anticipated the need for two roses tonight." His words were light, but contained an implied question which he knew his two companions would not miss. "I'm sorry, but I'm not familiar with the language of flowers, so I can't tell you what they mean."

The two girls giggled at him and shared a glance—it was clear that they had completely understood his unspoken question. "Silly, we wouldn't have expected you to," Fleur said. "A white and red rose symbolizes unity."

Ever more confident that his suppositions were correct, Harry nodded and allowed Fleur to continue to speak. "Actually, Harry, there was something we wanted to talk to you about tonight. I think it's best to handle it before dinner."

Smiling, Harry took each girl's hand in one of his own and led them to a nearby sofa, sitting between them. It was an awkward sort of arrangement which required him to swivel his head from side to side depending on which one of his companions was speaking, but Harry wanted to be near them both if his suspicions were about to be proven correct.

The mood became suddenly tense as Fleur drew breath and paused, no doubt trying to determine how to say what she wanted to say. Harry watched her struggle for the words, and had just about decided to intervene and tell her what he knew when she sighed and darted a quick glance at Hermione before turning to Harry.

"Harry, I want you to know that you have far exceeded any expectations I had when we became betrothed. Mama and Papa have always worried about Gabrielle and me—that we would find good men to marry. I know that you have put their worries to rest in my case at least."

Just managing to avoid trying to be funny and saying something stupid like, "I love you too, but isn't three a crowd?" Harry instead smiled at her and said, "I feel the same way, Fleur. You and I had a bit of a rocky start at the tournament last year, but I have come to know you as the wonderful person you are. I consider myself lucky."

"You have been wonderful," Fleur responded with a brilliant smile. "I just wanted you to know how I felt about how our relationship has developed."

"I feel the same."

Taking a deep breath, Fleur fixed him with her gaze and said, "Thank you, Harry. I feel very strongly about you and I know you feel the same about me. But I want you to know that though this betrothal was not chosen by either of us, I've always felt like I was taking something special from you."

"Fleur—" Harry began before he was cut off.

"No Harry—please hear me out."

Nodding, Harry held his tongue, though inside the words were fighting to escape. He did not want her to feel this way—neither of them had chosen this, after all, and there was no blame to pass around. And though he now knew for certain she was speaking of his relationship with Hermione, he did not want this to be about what could have been between them. Rather, he wanted to come together with Hermione by mutual consent, admiration, and love, much the same as he felt he was in the process of achieving with Fleur.

"Whether you recognized it yourself," Fleur continued, "I have always sensed that you share a special connection and relationship with Hermione. And though I know you are aware of that relationship, I have always felt that your relationship with each other had the potential to develop into something more meaningful.

"I want you to be happy, Harry," Fleur continued, tears forming in the corners of her eyes, "and though I know you would be happy with me, I believe that that happiness would be complete if you were also to accept Hermione."

Silence descended between them, and Harry reaching out and drew Fleur to his side, embracing her tightly. He was aware that on some level this was costing her a great deal. But this offer of hers would only work if she was completely committed to this and accepted what it would mean—if she was in any way nervous or uncertain, he would refuse it—he owed that to her.

On the other hand, Harry was fully aware of the priceless gift which was being given to him by her selfless action. Harry had acknowledged his feelings for Hermione some time ago, and he knew that they could become a great couple. Hermione was everything he admired—smart, pretty, vivacious, and possessing a noble streak which prompted her to involve herself in the causes of others. She truly brought out the best in those around her with her every action.

"I want you to know that I am truly flattered," Harry responded. "And I want you to know that I believe I can be happy with either or both of you. But I also want to make sure that you both want this and accept what it means." Harry turned to Hermione, who was peering at him curiously. "You've obviously thought about this for a while. Are you reconciled to the obstacles? Will your parents understand?"

"I believe they will eventually," Hermione replied with a slight blush. "They will want to know that it's what I want and they will want to be assured that I will be happy. My dad might even have a few threats to pass on to you." She smiled mischievously. "Don't worry too much—it's a rite of passage that all fathers have to try to intimidate their little girls' suitors."

Harry laughed and nodded his head, before turning to Fleur. "And I want to know that you want this, Fleur. You and I are betrothed—nothing can change that. Sorry, Hermione," he said with a glance back at his best friend, "but if you're not fully committed to this, then I will be more than contented to remain with you and you alone."

Fleur and Hermione looked at each other and smiled. "That's exactly what we both expected, Harry," Fleur told him.

However, Hermione was frowning at him, a clear indication that something was bothering her. "Harry, you're acting like this isn't a surprise. Shouldn't you at least be asking if this is even possible?"

Sheepishly, Harry ducked his head. "I already know."

When neither girl said anything, Harry glanced up and saw them watching him incredulously.

"What do you know?" Hermione voiced the obvious question.

"I know that there is a possibility for two wives, and I knew that you were thinking of this."

"How?" Hermione's expression was flinty by this point, and Fleur was watching him through narrowed eyes.

"Well… I happened to… overhear you," Harry managed. "On the train back to London for winter hols."

"You overheard and yet you said nothing?" Fleur's outrage was clear in the rapidly rising tone of her voice.

"I thought it would be better to let Hermione work through this on her own," Harry protested. "I did some research and found out that I can have more than one wife. I just didn't want to push her."

Harry was beginning to get nervous. The two women were looking at him with something akin to outrage and annoyance, and this was certainly not how Harry had envisioned this conversation proceeding. Had he made a mistake in keeping this to himself rather than approaching them with what he had overheard?

All at once Fleur and Hermione looked at each other and exchanged a nod. Then with devious smiles they turned back to Harry. Big fluffy pillows appeared in their hands and they began beating him about the head with them, all the while screeching and laughing that they would get him for his temerity.

"I can't believe you!" Fleur's voice rang out, accompanied by Hermione's, "Ooh, you're going to pay for this!"

Laughing hysterically, Harry ducked under their repeated blows and rolled onto the floor with the two ladies hot in pursuit. He willed the room to provide him with the means to defend himself, and began swinging his own pillow back at them in earnest once it appeared in his hand. Still, he did not fare well against them as they appeared determined to make him pay, splitting up so they could come at him from both sides.

This continued until Hermione's pillow exploded in a cloud of feathers after a particularly vicious swing hit him in the back of the head. Harry retaliated by attacking the now defenseless Hermione with reckless abandon, until his own pillow joined hers in filling the air with feathers. His sides beginning to ache from laughing, Harry slipped on a mass of feathers and he went down in a heap. He was soon joined by Hermione and Fleur, who were struggling to contain their own banshee-like laughter.

As the feathers began to settle, Harry gained control of his own breathing, and he gazed at the ladies' bright eyes and complexions, and at the feathers which had settled in their hair, and thinking that they had never been so beautiful before in their joy and laughter.

Acting on a sudden impulse of the moment, Harry leaned forward and after meeting Hermione's eyes and fancying he saw acceptance, crossed the final few inches and kissed her. He felt Hermione respond and the kiss immediately deepened further than Harry's first kiss with Fleur had several months before, their tongues dueling lightly with each other. When they broke apart breathlessly and gazed into one another's eyes, Harry could see all the love, acceptance, and contentment for which he had been searching his entire life.

To his side he felt Fleur move closer and turning his head, he found his lips claimed by Fleur's, and he was lost in the sensation of kissing his beautiful betrothed. Finally, Harry had to break apart from Fleur, as he gasped for breath, idly thinking that if a man were to die from asphyxiation, there was no better way to do it than to be kissed to death by two beautiful women. The three gazed at one other with some wonder. Of specific note for Harry was the fact that neither of his companions showed the slightest bit of jealousy for the other, a fact which boded well for the future.

"You said we broke him at the Yule Ball," Fleur's voice intruded in his reverie, and he looked up to find the two girls—both breathing heavily—watching him with amusement, "but I'm pretty sure we just reduced his brain to jelly."

Hermione laughed before she turned and punched Harry lightly on the shoulder. "I can't believe you didn't tell us."

"Like I said," Harry replied between heaving breaths, "I thought it was best that you figure it out for yourself. You seemed like you were having difficulty working it out and I didn't want to muddy things up for you."

Hermione appeared thoughtful for a few moments before she conceded, "It's probably better that you handled it that way." She then fixed a playfully stern glare at him. "But just because I allowed it this time, don't think that I won't make you pay next time you keep something from us."

"Of that I have no doubt." Harry then sobered and he gazed at both of them in turn. "But I meant what I said. We all need to be committed for this to work. I know that we are still young and things could change, but I don't want our friendship to be affected."

"It won't," Hermione promised. "And I think it will work."

"I know it will work," Harry said, flashing a smile. "I just don't want there to be any hurt feelings later. There is only one of me, you know."

"I think we all know what we're getting into, Harry," interjected Fleur. "You're right—we'll have to be careful, but I know that we can do this."

Smiling broadly, Harry gave both of the girls a kiss on the cheek before he rose and helped them up. The feathers and what was left of the pillows instantly disappeared due to his mental request to the room, and taking each of the girls' hands he led them to the table and sat them each at their seats before taking his own. An instant later the first course of their meal appeared in the form of a crispy tossed salad.

Reminded of his earlier thought, Harry looked at both girls before calling, "Dobby!"

The excitable house-elf popped in immediately. He was wearing what could only be termed as a butler's uniform that evening—black pants, white shirt, and a black coat with long tails, the ensemble completed by a white bow tie and shiny black shoes. The only incongruous part of his outfit was the mismatched socks—bright red and neon green—which peeked out from underneath his pants. Harry wondered where he had gotten his attire, but then decided it was pointless to ask; instead, he focused on his original question.

"Yes, Master Harry Potter Sir?" Dobby asked with a pure excitement that Harry found very amusing. "What can Dobby be doings for you?"

"I just wanted to thank you for this evening, Dobby. It looks like you went to a lot of trouble for this."

"Oh, it is beings no trouble for Dobby," the house-elf replied with wide eyes. "Dobby is thanking Master Harry Potter Sir for thankings Dobby. Master Harry Potter Sir is great master for remembering Dobby. Most wizards not be thanking house-elves."

"Well this wizard will be thanking Dobby," Harry replied firmly. "Where I come from, you thank people who help."

A large tear welled up in Dobby's eye. "That is what is makings Harry Potter Sir such a great wizard."

"It's nothing, Dobby," Harry hastened to say. Aware that this could continue all night if he allowed it, Harry forged on with his original question. "I was wondering something, Dobby."

"Yes, Master Harry Potter Sir?"

"When you brought me a pepper-up potion that night last month, you called Hermione and Fleur my 'betrotheds.' What did you mean by that?"

Dobby's ears immediately drooped and his face fell. "Did Dobby be doings something wrong?" he asked rather plaintively.

"No, not at all!" Harry once again assured him. "I was just curious."

His ears perked up and apparently mollified that he was not about to be scolded, Dobby's brow furrowed in thought. "Dobby be's thinking that Harry Potter and Harry Potter's Mione is being closer than just friends. Harry Potter already has betrothed, but Harry Potter is a great wizard, and may have more than one betrotheds. Harry Potter and his Mione act like they is betrothed. Was Dobby wrong?"

Harry shared a glance with Hermione, before he leaned forward and patted the house-elf's back. "No Dobby, though maybe you saw it before we were willing to admit it."

"Then Dobby was right?" the house-elf asked hopefully.

"Yes you were."

"But please keep it to yourself," Hermione said with a glance at Harry. "I would like to keep it between us for now."

"Dobby be's doing that! Dobby keeps Master Harry Potter and his Mione and Flower's secrets. Dobby is a good elf!"

With that, the hyperactive fellow popped away, leaving them to their dinner. Before they started eating, however, Hermione turned to Harry with apology written all over her face.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she said quietly, "but I'm likely to get a lot of flak, and that does not even mention the fact some won't like me being with their golden boy because I'm a Muggleborn."

"So you want to keep it a secret?" Harry asked. To be honest, he was feeling a little taken aback by such a notion. She wanted to be with him, and yet she wanted to hide it from the rest of the world?

"Harry," Fleur interjected, "you have to understand this from Hermione's point of view. She is in an awkward place—most of the Wizarding world understands that you may have additional wives. My place is secure because we are under a contracted betrothal. Hermione has no such protection."

"And even more than that, Harry," said Hermione, "I think my parents have the right to know about this officially before anyone else. It's going to be difficult enough to tell them as it is without them finding out that practically everyone in the Wizarding world knew before they did. You know that's what will happen if people like Parvati and Lavender get wind of this."

Mollified, Harry had to admit that she had a point. He reached out and grasped Hermione's hand and smiled at her in understanding. "That's fine, Hermione. But what will you tell everyone else?"

"Don't tell them anything," said Fleur with a shrug. "Let them guess, if it really means that much to them. Hermione certainly doesn't owe any of them anything. And I really don't think that anyone will notice anything if you just continue to behave the way you always have."

With a smile Harry turned to his meal and the three ate their dinner, talking quietly with each other. The dinner was a success, and the time spent with the two girls was everything he imagined it could be. And the kisses at the end of the evening were not unwelcome either.

The next day, Hermione walked through the hallowed halls of Hogwarts, her steps light and joyful in the rush of requited love. Oh, she had not said the words to Harry yet and he had not either, but she fancied that they both knew what the other was feeling. It was a heady feeling, and one which had caused her to act uncharacteristically distracted that day. She had had to force herself to concentrate on just about everything she did the entire day. Luckily, it was a Sunday and her attendance was not required at class. It was just as well as she likely would not have been able to pay any attention anyway.

Toward Sunday evening, however, she was able to force distraction away, and she began to focus on the research the Headmaster had given her with renewed determination—there had to be some way to remove the horcrux from Harry's scar, and she would do anything she could to ensure that she found it. While Harry and Fleur were relaxing in the common room, Hermione gave an excuse of wanting to find something in the library and left to the amused grins of her friends, shooing them back to their relaxation playfully when they offered to accompany her. Unfortunately, her cross-referencing did not turn up the information she was hoping to find, but that only made her more determined.

It was only a few moments to curfew when she stepped from the library, Madam Pince's admonishment to hurry back to her common room ringing in her ears. As she walked, she considered the dilemma. Thus far, her research was still in its initial stages, and though she had found references in each of the books she had thus far been able to study, there was nothing in the restricted section which either confirmed or contradicted what she had found.

The books themselves were maddeningly vague, most containing only a few phrases, either describing horcruxes, or largely anecdotal tales concerning those who had created them, or the objects they had used. It seemed that those who made them were generally megalomaniacal, egotistical, and narcissistic in the extreme—in short, almost carbon copies of Voldemort himself. Generally, they chose objects of great personal significance, or those of significance to the world, and their horcruxes were almost trophies in the reverence they were shown.

Beyond that information, however, there was precious little of any use in the references which she had read thus far. There was nothing on horcrux creation; of that she was grateful. Given the heinous nature of what it was meant to accomplish, she did not doubt that the description of actually creating a Horcrux—the ritual, rather than the murder that served as the catalyst, which was horrific enough—would cause nightmares at the very least. Likewise, there was nothing which suggested any means of removing a horcrux from a host—generally, it seemed, horcruxes were created from inanimate, though magical, objects, and the only means of dealing with them seemed to be the destruction of the vessel, obviously something which would not work in Harry's case.

As part of the creation of a horcrux, the object used was rendered nearly impervious to damage. The reference she was able to find listed only basilisk venom and fiendfyre as substances powerful and magical enough to destroy one. Another reference suggested that there was anecdotal evidence that a killing curse could also be used to destroy a horcrux, but even the author, who admitted to never actually coming in contact with a real horcrux, was careful to point out the fact that this was supposition and conjecture, rather than actual fact.

This was why Hermione spent her evening in the library—digging for more information on the exact nature of fiendfyre and basilisk venom, in the hope that they could be adapted to use in destroying the horcrux in Harry. The fact that Harry had been bitten by the basilisk in the chamber and the horcrux had not been destroyed seemed to belie this supposition, at least in the case of basilisk venom, but Hermione was not about to leave any stone unturned. Unfortunately, there was nothing to be found, as both methods appeared to be highly dangerous and extremely resistant to outside forces. Fiendfyre was notoriously difficult for even a powerful caster to control, while basilisk venom was so toxic that it killed in minutes and required specially impervioused glass bottles in which to store it. Anything else and it would eat through its container, causing damage to anything it touched, and death if it came into contact with any living creature.

It did not appear that those two avenues had any adaptation which would allow them to be used to help Harry, but Hermione thought she would write up a short report on her research, suggesting that further experimentation on the two substances be conducted to determine if they were able to be utilized. She did not have any answers herself, but Professor Dumbledore, with his greater experience and knowledge, might be able to work further with her ideas.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?"

A voice startled Hermione from her thoughts and she stopped and looked around, to see Malfoy, leaning against the wall, and watching her with glittering eyes. The ponce had largely left them alone since their return to Hogwarts, though she had often noticed him watching with keen eyes and a disdainful glare. Whether he had been told to stand down by his father and potentially Voldemort himself Hermione was not certain, but his sudden appearance was unnerving. She would need to pay attention to what she was doing and not lose herself in her thoughts—the halls of Hogwarts could not be considered safe while Malfoy walked them.

"Out past curfew, are we Granger?"

"It's just before curfew, for your information," Hermione retorted. "Where's Parkinson, anyway? Aren't her lips generally attached to your arse?"

"She's taking care of a couple of Hufflepuffs we found in a broom closet," he said offhandedly. "But as for you, I'm afraid I'll have to take points away and give you a detention."

Hermione rolled her eyes and snorted with derision. "Perhaps you haven't read the handbook, but prefects can't take points away from other prefects, and only the Head Boy and Girl can hand out detentions."

"So what about the rules?" The Slytherin was openly glowering at her now. "You shouldn't even be a prefect, you filthy Mudblood. In fact, cattle like you shouldn't even be in this school. You sully this proud institution with your very presence!"

"You keep on telling yourself that," Hermione said in a dismissive tone of voice, as she walked away. "I'm heading back to the Gryffindor common room."

As she moved, Hermione surreptitiously gripped her wand in her pocket, and hearing his sudden movement she stepped to the side and yelled, "Protego!" even as he cast his curse. The tripping jinx splashed harmlessly against her shield, but Hermione was already moving and casting at the same time.

"Stupefy! Expelliarmus!" she shouted in rapid succession.

The first spell had him moving, but she correctly guessed he would dodge to the left, so her disarming spell forced the wand from his hand. Then, as an afterthought, she hit him with a stinging hex on the hip, consciously aiming a little away from his groin as a warning shot. He yelped with pain, slipped on the flagstones, and went down, but Hermione had already turned her attention away from him. Instead she flicked her wand and attached his wand to the wall, up near the ceiling, with a sticking charm.

"There," she told him with a smirk. "Go find Parkinson. If she's at all competent, maybe she can get it down for you."

"You'll pay for this, Mudblood," he exclaimed, still holding his hand to his hip where she had hit him.

"Just as soon as daddy hears about it, I suppose," Hermione jibed. "I'll point out that you've been outclassed once again. Maybe if you practiced as much as you boast, you'd actually have some skill. I guess it's just too easy to call on daddy and let him fight your battles for you."

She then turned on her heel and sauntered away from him. He did not say anything further, but she could almost feel his eyes drilling holes in her back.

The next morning Harry stalked through the halls of Hogwarts, eyes searching for a certain git, intent upon making very clear the trouble that awaited him if he did not curb certain behaviors. Behind him Fleur, Hermione, Ron, and some of their other friends followed in a show of house solidarity.

The previous evening when Hermione had returned from the library with her tale of how she had been confronted by Malfoy, Harry, with a newly heightened feeling of protection for the brunette witch—no doubt due to their newly changed status—had determined that Malfoy would not be allowed to get away with his behavior any longer. That was not to say that Hermione agreed with what he was about to do.

"I handled him, Harry," she had said with some exasperation, once he had made his intentions known. "I've always been able to best him, even before you started teaching us. There's no need to go after him."

"On the contrary," Harry had growled with some annoyance, "he continues to play the git, and he tries it on you when you're alone. I'm just going to make sure he understands the world of pain that awaits him if he keeps on pushing."

Hermione had in the end reluctantly agreed with him, and Harry was bolstered by the fact that just about every member of the house who had been present—including all of the club members—had agreed with him. Not that their disapproval would have stopped him in any case. Though it was true that Malfoy had largely left them alone since the return to Hogwarts, it needed to be made clear to him that a return to his previous behavior would not be tolerated.

Near the Great Hall was where Harry finally spotted the ponce. He was strutting through the hallways as though he owned the place, his sycophants and hangers-on following in his footsteps. But if the thunderous expression on his face was any indication, he was in high dudgeon over something. Grinning darkly, Harry altered his course, thinking that his mood was undoubtedly because of what Hermione had done with his wand. Marching up to the Pureblood, Harry glared at him with all the considerable dislike he could muster.

"The Great Hall is that way, Potter," the git said with a pointed finger. "That is, in case you're having trouble finding it."

"I heard about your little confrontation last night with Hermione," Harry snarled. "I'm only going to say this once, Ferret; if you know what's good for you, you'll leave Hermione and all my other friends alone."

Harry had to admit the Slytherin hid his reaction well, but Harry could immediately detect the flicker of fear in his eyes. Outwardly, however, he betrayed no reaction.
"Or what?" he drawled, not even bothering to deny what happened the previous evening.

"Let's just say you won't like the consequences," Harry rejoined.

"As if you could touch me," Malfoy snorted. "You don't seem to understand, Potter, but I'll put it down to you being an inferior Halfblood. I'm a Malfoy and the Pureblood heir to a powerful house. I have power that you could not even dream of."

Harry rolled his eyes and glared at the ponce with disdain. "You're delusional about the extent of daddy's power and you need a history lesson to boot. The Potters were a noble family in England when the Malfoys were still buggering sheep in the French countryside!"

"You know, I think they might still do that," one of the twins piped up.

"It would certainly explain a few things," chimed in the other.

"But what do the Malfoy women do?" the first twin asked, seemingly deep in thought. "It would have to be the opposite due to the equipment involved—"

"Ew!" several of the girls present cried, even as Hermione exclaimed, "Would you two stop it? Way to ruin our breakfast!"

"No problem," the second twin said with an outrageous grin.

"Happy to be of service!" said the other.

Harry watched Malfoy throughout the exchange, and by the end of it, Harry thought his head was about to explode given how red his face had become. Harry would not let him get started—he wanted to make it absolutely clear to what end his actions would bring him. "You should remember, Ferret, that my social standing is not only higher than yours, but that I also have faced Voldyshorts four times and have come away with no less than a draw every time. If you think you'd be a challenge after the jumped-up dark tosser whose arse you lavish with your attention, then you're stupider than I thought. I suggest you leave me and my friends alone. Your father won't be able to save you from the beat-down I will give you if you bother Hermione any more."

The face-off was attracting a lot of attention, and Harry saw the Slytherin members of the club enter from the side of the entrance hall, and various other students were now standing around them, watching the confrontation and murmuring amongst themselves. Harry kept his focus on the blond Slytherin, however, noting that his face now almost resembled an overripe tomato, and his hand seemed to be inching toward his wand, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he and his five goons were heavily outnumbered by the gathered Gryffindors. It was, perhaps, for the best that the confrontation was interrupted.

"What is the meaning of this?" a smooth voice rang out over the potential battlefield.

Harry turned and addressed the potions master who was striding toward them. "Just having a little chat with Malfoy here. He needed a few things explained to him."

Halting in front of the two groups, Snape glanced at Malfoy, who now gave every appearance of standing down, though his eyes, hard like agates, were still fixed on Harry. The black bat then turned his attention on Harry and fixed him with a withering glare. "Do you not have somewhere else to be? I'll have you in detention if you do not cease this behavior."

"I'll gladly leave," Harry snapped in response. "The stench is beginning to get to me anyway." He turned to leave, but stopped and looked at Snape, every iota of his contempt projected through his disdainful glare. "It's well known that you will protect your house no matter how poorly they behave, but I suggest your rein the Ferret in before I neuter him."

With that, Harry stalked away toward the Great Hall, his friends on his heels. And though he might have expected the potions master to call him out for his words, Snape said nothing.

"Another dead end?"

Sighing, Remus nodded and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion. The search for information regarding Horcruxes had stretched into its third week, and they were literally no closer to success than they had been when they arrived in Egypt. And it did not help that the full moon had occurred a few days previous, which always left him irritable and aching. Remus was trying to remain positive, but it was difficult—Harry's life was at stake.

"Well then, what now Wolfie?"

Attempting a smile—which he knew probably came out as more of a grimace than anything else—Remus shrugged his shoulders and closed his eyes. Tonks had been a great help on this mission, her abilities giving them access at times to places and information which may not have been accessible otherwise. Her irrepressible good humor and sunny disposition was also a boon and a contrast to Remus, who tended more towards the morose, but her predilection to joke about everything and anything was also wearing at times, even while it often cheered him up.

But thus far, their mission had been a complete failure. To be fair, Remus had always known that it would not be a simple endeavor. The nature of the information for which they were searching was such that any intelligent and moral being would try to see it suppressed, if not destroyed. It was not merely a matter of walking into a library and picking up a book. Remus almost laughed at the thought that such a book could exist. No, this would be much more difficult and time consuming—time that Remus was not certain they had.

What was most disheartening of their time here thus far was the complete and utter lack of any mention whatsoever of even the word "horcrux". If the spell had truly been developed in ancient Egypt, Remus would have thought that some mention could be found of it, even if the information was not easily located. But they had found nothing—not even a whisper that it had ever existed here. If Remus did not know Albus better, he would have thought that the Headmaster was mistaken and that they were looking in the wrong area of the world. But he had shown them references before they left Britain which confirmed that what there were looking for could be found here.

"Looks like Bill was right," Remus said simply, opening his eyes. Tonks was watching him carefully, sitting in a chair on the side of the room. They had decided to share a room, as it would be better not to be separated should their activities and inquiries result in some interest from hostile groups, not that Remus knew of any such organizations. The room was sparse yet comfortable, and the air was warm and dry, though certainly the February warmth was nothing like the heat which would descend upon the city once the summer months arrived.

"And Bill was certain of his information?"

"Absolutely."

Once their mission had been assigned, Dumbledore's first suggestion in private to Remus had been to approach Bill Weasley, who had worked as a curse breaker in Egypt for Gringotts, for any information he could impart. Bill, though he could not share the nature of the sites or treasures he had worked on securing, was nevertheless able to tell Remus of some of the areas they would be travelling, and the local customs they would need to follow. Unfortunately, he had not been able to give them any insight into the one thing in which they were truly interested.

"Horcruxes you say?" Bill asked stroking his chin.

"Yes, and you need to keep it quiet, Bill," Remus responded.

Bill regarded him intently. "Can I assume that's how You-Know-Who was able to come back?"

"So you do know something?" Remus responded, consciously not acknowledging the other man's question.

It was a moment longer before Bill answered. "Soul container. Siphon off a portion of your soul into an object and you cannot pass on while it exists. In certain ancient societies fanatical followers were trained in rituals to unite the existing soul back with a constructed body to return their masters to life."

"Do you know anything else?" Remus asked eagerly.

Bill gave him a pointed look. "I don't really want to know anything else. They sound terrible enough to me."

"Fine, fine. But I need to know what you've heard about them."

"So, you're going to Egypt to research this?" Bill asked.

"Apparently, that's where I'm most likely to find the answers we need."

Shaking his head, Bill replied, "Well, I've largely worked in Egypt, as you know. I've heard of other curse breakers who have come across horcruxes in the jungles of central and southern Africa, in some of the islands of Oceana, and even in some of the Central American countries—particularly near some of the archaeological sites around the pyramids in Mexico. But I've never come across one myself in Egypt, and I've never heard of anyone else doing so either."

Frowning, Remus regarded the other man. "But Dumbledore is certain it's originally an ancient Egyptian spell. I was considering asking you to come along as I figured you'd either come across them, or had some information about them. At the very least, I thought you would be useful in your knowledge of the culture."

Bill smiled. "Dumbledore already asked me about my availability. Sorry, but I really can't take the time off, and being reassigned is out of the question. The goblins were none too happy with me when I requested a transfer back to London in the first place. But if you're going looking for horcruxes, all I can tell you is what I've heard of them. Most horcruxes seem to be inert, especially if they've sat around for centuries. Usually, curse breakers find that that horcruxes themselves are generally not a problem. It's the traps a horcrux maker puts on them—right nasty those are."

"We're not looking for horcruxes, Bill—we're looking for information."

Leaning forward, Bill motioned Remus closer. "In that case, I might be able to help you a little. There are some places you might be able to find something to help."

So far they had followed up on all of Bill's suggestions, but had come up completely empty. The goblins had been the most helpful by far, but even they had not been able to give Remus the information he had been searching for. They had merely confirmed that yes, the horcrux had been originally created in Egypt, but that all knowledge of them seemed to have disappeared. Even pulling that out of the goblin to whom they had spoken had been a chore—apparently, horcruxes were an abomination to the goblins, and possessing, creating, or even owning the knowledge of how to create one was a capital offense by their law.

And the other locations Bill had given them had turned out to be red herrings, or the information simply did not exist at all. They had posed as law enforcement—not untrue in Tonks' case—searching for ways to combat dark magic, and even though they had never mentioned horcruxes by name—except, of course, to the goblins—they had received many a strange look when they had posed their questions. Thus their current dilemma—there was nothing in the city of Cairo, or its surrounding environs, to suggest that such a spell had ever existed.

"So what now?"

"I guess we follow Dumbledore's suggestion and head up the river," said Remus.

"Are you sure we can find anything there either?" Tonks' voice was laced with skepticism.

"No, I'm not," was Remus' blunt reply. "But it seems like the logical next step." He was silent for a few moments, thinking about the mission and their next moves. "We know that the horcrux was originally created over three thousand years ago, and we know that it was created in Egypt. As ancient Egypt was mostly concentrated on the Nile river delta and the banks of the upper river, it seems likely that any information would likely be found in one of those two areas. I would think that information such as this might possibly have survived in more rural areas, maybe out in some archaeological dig somewhere off the beaten path."

"There are a lot of 'mights' and 'thinks' in that statement."

Remus shrugged. "You know as well as I that we can't just walk into a bookstore and buy A Thousand Ways to Destroy your Horcrux."

Grinning, Tonks slapped him on the shoulder. "No, I don't suppose we'll be able to at that. And I'll thank you not to be glib."

"And I'll thank you not to be snide," Remus rejoined returning her grin.

"You know, it's too bad Caesar destroyed the Great Library," Tonks offered. "I'd bet my wand there would have been a magical section in it."

"Perhaps," Remus agreed. "Unfortunately he did, and there's no guarantee it would have had anything anyway. Let's head up the river and see if we can find anything. If that doesn't work, we can try some of the communities down at the mouth of the delta."

"All right, Wolfie. Sounds like a plan."

They bedded down for the night, but though he was exhausted, Remus found that it took him quite some time to find sleep, for his thoughts simply would not rest. His closest friend's son depended on him to find the answer, and he was determined to do so. He had failed Harry once before, and he would not do so again.

Edited 05/24/2014