"You look rather handsome with grass in your hair," Luna observed, looking upside down at Harry, who lay sprawled across a tombstone.

"Erm, thanks," he replied, blowing a piece of said greenery off his nose. "Where are we?"

Luna scanned the length of area. "I believe we're in a cemetery."

Harry tilted his head back and looked at the broken stone behind him. "Yeah, I got that."

She bent over the marble and flicked the remaining blades from his black locks. "I think we're in the asylum cemetery."

"Asylum?" He gingerly sat up, noticing that the autumn sunset was gorgeous with streaks of crimson and orange painted across the sky. "Is that good?"

"Not really," she answered frankly. "It's quite haunted."

"Don't hold back on my account," he muttered, dusting himself off. "Have you been here before?"

"No." She wrapped her pink and black plaid coat around her to ward off the chilly evening air. "But before we left I found some information online at the Muggle library and a picture of this area was included, so I figured it had to be safer than where we were earlier."

"How much safer?"

"It's all relative, really." She shrugged. "Would you rather face a hundred wrathful spirits converged in one place or just a couple, spread out over several acres?"

He grimaced. "Are those my only options?"

"Yes. We have to find Draco and Hermione."

"Where are they?"

"I'd say somewhere nearby, if I know Hermione... or in this case Draco." She walked a little ways until it looked like she came to an invisible barrier. "I can't see either one of them agreeing to this trip without first finding out all they could about the place."

Harry had the same opinion. "Are they safe?"

She stayed silent for a few moments. "As safe as you and I are."

"Great," he said sarcastically. "Instead of getting even more lost out here, don't you think we should make our way to Wilson Hall and regroup there? I mean, I know they can take care of themselves, at least Hermione can."

Returning to Harry and taking his hand, Luna led him through one of the perfectly aligned and straight rows of unmarked graves. "We have to find them because they have the book."

"The one from Snape's office?" asked Harry, frowning. "From what I saw, there was nothing but runes on the front. They looked like the symbols on the book that Dumbledore—"

"Willed to Hermione," the blonde finished for him. "She has to translate it so that we know what to do when we get to Wilson Hall."

Tripping over a grave marker, Harry swore. "Bloody Malfoy!"

It was almost fully dark now, and Luna cast Lumos to light the fading way to a copse of trees near the edge of the graveyard. "We need to find shelter soon."

Looking over his shoulder, he tugged on her hand. "Why not back there, at that large brick building? Seems we could get in there somehow."

Glancing to the massive, gothic manse, Luna bit her lip. "That place is evil and worse than being in the presence of Voldemort," she whispered.

"You're joking," he scoffed. "Worse than Voldemort?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You weren't his guest for several months," she retorted.

"No, I just carried a piece of his fucking soul inside me all my life!" he yelled, dropping her hand to march in the opposite direction, towards the immense structure.

"Harry, no!" she shouted after him, running to catch up. "You can't go in there; that's The Ridges!"

"So?" He kept walking, not bothering to wait for her. "It's dry, provides shelter, and I bet I can find something to Incendio and create a fire to keep us warm."

Finally reaching him, Luna grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him to a halt. "You…" She panted, trying to catch her breath. "You can't… go in there," she said, wheezing. "You won't come out."

"What? Tonight? Why would I come back out tonight?"

Shaking her head, she laid her hand on her chest, her heart beating rapidly against her fingertips. "No, Harry." She steered him back towards the path they were originally on. "You won't come out… ever."

"What are you doing?" Draco asked lazily, munching on an apple he'd stolen from her knapsack.

They were sitting in the area called 'The Ballroom', where there was a spacious floor plan and old, wooden chairs lining the walls. Several marble pillars supported the lofty crumbling ceiling while high windows capped with arches graced three sides of the room. Some of the windows were missing panes of glass, allowing the cool night air to seep in and chill its occupants—which until then had for years been among the non-living.

Hermione was situated at the base of one of the columns, valiantly trying to stay warm in her turquoise blue with chocolate coloured tie-dyed top and blue jeans, failing miserably. "T-taking notes," she stuttered through chattering teeth. She'd conjured a Bluebell flame and encased it in an old beaker they'd found in one of the other wings of the building, to use as a light source. After that, however, her spells had seemed to go a bit wonky.

Finishing the fruit, he chucked the seeded core so that it landed on the other side of the room. "Why don't you cast a warming spell?"

She looked up from her scribbling. "I-I c-c-can't." While the flame allowed for some heat, it was not nearly enough to keep anybody warm.

Rolling his eyes, he stood with a huff and strolled over to where she sat, plunking himself down beside her. He then withdrew his wand from the sheath strapped to his side. "Incendio," he murmured, pointing at a stack of broken chairs. A brief spark of light issued forth but then fizzled to nothing.

"Bloody hell!" he growled, flicking his wand several more times with the same result: nothing. "What's going on here?"

Taking out her own wand, she copied his movements and spells with no deviation. Again the result was disappointing: not even the tarp flung over the piano moved. "I've m-made some calculations, taking into account the p-period between the autumn Equinox and Samhain, plotting our v-vector, grid pattern, l-longitude and latitude using a c-c-complex Arithmancy model, and I-I've—"

"Stop!" he commanded, holding up his hand to forestall her further ramblings. "How is it you can't concentrate enough to cast a simple spell, yet you can work out some meaningless drivel about who knows what, without so much as blinking?"

Scrunching up her nose, she scooted away from him. "It's not meaningless drivel, Malfoy."

"All I heard was your incessant bleating," he observed, leaning against the pillar on the opposite side.

"If you'd actually p-paid attention to where you Apparated us to, then we wouldn't—"

"Baa, baa," he said mockingly, then sniggered at her indignant huff.

There were more than a few moments of tense silence when neither party wanted to give in and admit that the room had indeed cooled several degrees, but when he heard her teeth chattering again, Draco rolled his eyes, stood once more, and moved to sit close to her.

"W-what're you doing?"

He budged up next to her small frame. "You know, when I agreed to this little assignment, I at least expected a nice, warm bed at the end of the day and a few meals thrown in."

Wrapping her arms around her shivering body, Hermione puffed out wisps of frosty air. "S-s-so did I." She tried moving away from him, but he stopped her.

"We're going to freeze to death if we don't keep warm, Granger," he pointed out. "If we huddle together, we have a better chance of surviving the night." He pulled her back to her original spot. "Personally, I want to stay alive so I can hex Severus' arse to oblivion for this little 'mission', but I need you in order to do that."

A mischievous look crept into her eyes. "I'm s-sorry, could you say that again?" She batted her lashes and smirked.

"I need you in order to do that," he said through gritted teeth. She opened her mouth as if to say something else, but he held one finger aloft to cut her off. "Don't push it."

"F-fine." She looked him up and down. "How do you want to do this?"

Draco didn't answer her. Instead, he unzipped his oversized hoodie revealing a long-sleeved black tee with white skulls and scroll work imprinted on it. Earlier, they had taunted each other about the Muggle clothes they were forced to wear to try and fit in, while she'd snorted with laughter and said he looked exactly like an Emo college student, complete with size twelve Doc Martens. All he'd been missing had been thick, black eyeliner and a couple piercings. He'd promptly given her a two-fingered salute and retorted that she looked like mint chocolate-chip ice cream with her ridiculous girly top, and he hoped the local nasties took a bite out of her the moment they laid eyes on her.

He spread his upraised legs wide, patting the space between them. "Sit with your back to my front."

Her jaw dropped. "I'm not cosying up to you that way!" she spat. "I'd rather—"

"Do something incredibly foolish to save your prudish sensibilities!" The words came out in a hiss, as he grabbed her arm and pulled her between his legs despite her thrashing. "And I swear, Granger, if you hit me in the bollocks, I will bare your arse and make it so that you won't need warmth of any kind!"

"Oh, you abhorrent pig!" She squirmed in his grasp, dropping the book to lie open on a page that contained an illustration and rune-like text.

His grip tightened when he caught a glimpse of the image. "Who is that?" he whispered. He thanked Circe when his tension transferred to her and she stilled.

Warily, she picked up the book and scooted back against his body, forgetting her previous distaste at such an action. "From what I've translated so far, this is a description of The First Born Son."

"Lean back," he said softly, his attention riveted to the tome. "Balance the book on your legs and I'll turn the pages after I zip my hoodie over us both to keep the heat from escaping."

Nodding, she did as he instructed and was immediately embraced within the warmth of his jacket and body, sighing with relief when their combined heat spread through to her hands in her lap. "Be careful, it's a Dark Object," she warned. "I've already burned one of my fingers just trying to touch the paper."

Though she couldn't see his face, Draco grimaced heavily as he studied the hideous volume. "That's because it's not paper."

"What is it then?" She bent forward to examine it closer, but he pulled her back into his chest.

"Don't." He enfolded her in his arms and held fast. "It could cause further damage if you literally poke your nose into it. It's human skin."

"How do you know?" She shuddered in revulsion. "Have you seen this book before?"

Did she have to smell so damn enticing? Just because he'd not had a witch in a year or so didn't mean he needed to cosy up to the first one that was within proximity, especially if it was Hermione Granger. Shoving her curls to the side, he rested his chin on her shoulder, trying to read the text in the miniscule light given by the Bluebell jar.

"It's been in Severus' personal collection since the war, but not before."

Her cheeks flamed with his nearness. "How do—"

"I just do, alright?" he said with a faint threat. "I tried to read it once, but he caught me as I tried to open it and hexed me something fierce."

"Ouch," she said in commiseration.

"Yeah, miserable bastard." He moved nearer, scanning the symbols. "To be honest, he's been pretty wretched since the end of the war." Laying his forehead on the top of her shoulder, he breathed, "I don't think he expected to live."

Tears misted Hermione's eyes as she bowed her own head. "And I expected Ron would."

He didn't need to be looking at her to know she was crying. It was in her posture, the subtle shakes of her frame, the minute sniffles as she wept. He hated that she mourned Weasley. What if it had been him who'd perished, who would've mourned him? Only his parents, that's who, but they were dead as well—killed in the final battle.

Burrowing closer, he acknowledged the need for mutual comfort in the wake of so much destruction. "I'm sorry," he offered quietly.

She tensed but didn't move away. "What for?"

"Damn it, Granger," he whined. "Can't I just be sorry?"

"You've never been just sorry. Not unless there was a mitigating factor."

"Okay, fine. The mitigating factor in play here is this: We're stuck in the middle of Merlin knows where, there's nasty boogles about, and it's bloody frigid which means we'll probably die from hypothermia before said boogles scare the living daylights out of us."

"And that means what, exactly?"

"You may not be into easing your soul's burden, Granger, but I've got more than a lifetime of offenses weighing on my conscience, including killing my lunatic aunt."

She turned slightly to look at him. "Are you trying to say you want absolution for your sins, Malfoy?"

"Whatever you want to call it," he muttered, gripping her chin and facing her forward so she wasn't staring at him.

Bloody hell… was she crying again? Her body shook as she doubled over, which in turn caused him to bend as well since she had the hoodie material wrapped around her. He didn't know what to do with weeping females! Should he console her or shake her more than she already was? Both ideas vanished the moment she made a sound.

Laughter. Bellowing, gut-wrenching, laughter.

Oh, he hated her. Here he was, about to pour out his transgressions to the one person he thought would understand because she'd seen it all from the beginning, but she was laughing at his pain. It would be the first and last time he'd let down his guard.

Movement off to his right spurred him to cover her gaping mouth with a wide palm; immobilising and silencing her in one go. "Don't move," he hissed.

Panting breathes escaped from between his fingers, but she nodded. Slowly, she followed Draco's gaze, her gasp swallowed by the warm flesh pressed against her lips.

Standing in the entrance to 'The Ballroom', was a male child no more than nine years of age, dressed in a dingy gray pair of trousers and equally ragged shirt. His light-coloured locks hung lifelessly to his shoulders and his eyes stared hungrily at the couple, as he smiled maliciously, revealing crooked teeth. There were several puncture marks along his forehead, a dark substance dripping from them, and Draco could only guess that it was blood since the boy was so far away.

The child winked out of sight, only to reappear just as suddenly, five feet in front of them, brandishing a long, metal rod with sharp edges at one end, and eyeing Hermione in particular.

Draco glanced down at the page showing the sketch she'd explained earlier, then back to the boy. "I'd say that's The First Born Son."