Hermione wasn't sure what to think of Lorenzo Mazuko. She felt as though he had been too blunt to have told her the truth… but why would he lie about that? She couldn't believe that Hogwarts might have missed it in their screening process. It made her palms itchy.

But then again, they'd managed to restore the most magical room in the school after Vincent Crabbe had sent it bursting into flames with fire spirits, beyond his capability to control. Or perhaps it had simply required that itself be restored. Fickle magic such as that was harder to understand. Hogwarts itself should have been a constant, though. Maybe things really had changed.

"Protego Totalum," she said, wand pointed at the door, and a feathered but strong yellow shield of sheer light stood over it. No one would be entering, now.

"I will have classes, Miss Granger."

"Not unless you decide to elaborate in a way I find acceptable, Mr. Mazuko."

Lorenzo was staring at her, but not sizing her up. She could tell he respected her- but she couldn't imagine why if he was truly related to Draco Malfoy or any of his family members.

"Best just to talk to us, Enzo," she heard Draco say. Lorenzo's eyes never left Hermione.

"Us?" she asked. She looked to Draco. "Do you mean to say that you are not only keeping things from me, but from one another?"

Draco pursed his lips. He wasn't saying what he meant. Hermione's eyes narrowed. She had had enough. She was through playing nice.

"Legilimens!"

Draco woke up, hard, on the floor of his bedroom. He winced, rubbing the back of his head. Had he fallen out of bed? No… he sat up, wracking his brain. He was naked. He was wet. His bed wasn't in here, anymore. The room was… empty. He rose to his feet. The door was just beyond his reach. He took a step forward. The door did as well. Another. He couldn't get closer to it. It stood just beyond his reach, no matter how he moved toward it. The room was a box, windowless walls on all sides, and he suddenly remembered where he was… and he was furious.

Screaming, clutching his head, Draco Malfoy forced Hermione Granger out. She felt herself pulled back as if by an entire bodyguard. She stumbled backward back into herself and took a deep breath, staring at him with wide eyes.

"WHY DID YOU DO THAT?!" he all but screamed at her. Lorenzo hadn't moved. He stood there, unsurprised, watching them.

"BECAUSE YOU WON'T STOP LYING TO ME."

"Now, now…" he said, catching both of their attention. He turned to Hermione. "That spell will never work on him. I trained his mind against it over a year ago. I had to, to perform The Test of Ages on him." He looked to Draco. "She does it to you because you've left her no other choice. You fail in all the same ways your father fails. That is what will always make you weak. Now. Can we please return to a normal volume? People are going to talk."

Hermione gathered herself together. He was concerned about the way he looked right now? He'd just confessed to murder without batting an eye, but he cared about what the students might overhear from her and Draco's mouths.

He was back on Hermione now, though she could see that Draco was still fuming, try as he might to hide it. "What is it that you want to know?"

She thought carefully. "I need to know what happened to Rorofulus, and I need to know why he needs to know what happened to him—and don't tell me it's bloody family curiosity."

"Ah," Lorenzo said. For the first time, she saw him smile. "None of us knows what happened to Rory… though, most of us would venture a guess… and Draco needs to know… because it's almost certainly going to happen to him, as well."

Draco had never been more angry. He was about to start slinging spells, and if he destroyed the one girl who could bring him to his uncle, he was going to jinx himself.

"This is ridiculous," he said, moving toward the door. He raised his hand toward the knob and it bounced back. Hermione's gaze shot to him.

"My spell, Malfoy. You're not going anywhere."

"Well, I'm not staying here with you lot."

"How can we resolve this? I have students in 20 minutes," Lorenzo said. "I want you both to succeed. I too want to know where my brother has been these last 20 years."

"Has no one seen him for 20 years?" Hermione asked. Lorenzo left them. He walked, tracing objects with gloved fingers as he went. He disappeared into the more private part of his office. Hermione wondered if she'd made remembering hard for him. It was his brother, after all.

"No direct accounts," Draco cut in, sardonically. "You know, same sort who claim to see Merlin on their scouring pans. Rubbish."

"Perhaps it would help," Lorenzo said, reappearing with an old, decaying book in his hands, "if I let you take a peek into why he went missing."

Hermione brightened. She took a step toward Lorenzo, reached for the book.

"Accio Journal!" she heard from behind her and the book flew into Draco's hands.

"Over my dead body," he said.

Her jaw snapped open.

"I'll fight you for it."

"You can't be—"

"I have NEVER been more serious, Malfoy."

"Don't make me hurt you, Granger—"

"EXPELLIARMUS!"

He dodged. The spell hit a particularly dusty throw pillow on the couch against the far wall, and it burst, all the little feathers it held sent floating into the air.

"Nice work. You've disarmed it of its feathers, for now. PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!" he shouted. She lifted a mirror and it connected, bounced back, and he dove away from it. The spell caught one of the feathers adrift in the air, and it turned stony, dropping to the floor.

"LUMOS SOLEM!"

"AGAMENTE!"

The intense sunlight was extinguished by a fire hose stream of water coming from the tip of Draco's wand. They were both knocked over from the blast. Hermione rolled over and kicked to her feet. Draco shot up, breathing hard. They were inches from one another, their breathing raspy.

He looked her over… hair wild… shirt undone at the top… two long legs sheathed in pants that seemed to go on for days until they fell into her shoes… wand pointing him squarely in the chest… she could deal him a serious blow right now. She already had. His ego was throbbing. All of him was. When had this average, do-gooder girl gotten so peculiarly sexy? He felt his skin itching to reach out for her, pull her to him. Wouldn't that have been delicious?

"Out of breath? Reminders of last night, already," he whispered to her. She jabbed her wand forward. He felt it in his sternum. He winced momentary, but it folded into a smirk. "Harder, Granger. I can take it." She scowled. "Your move," he reminded her. "If you can manage to truly hurt me."

Their breathing filled the air for a moment, and his chest bone was beginning to hurt. But he felt the tension easing out of her arm. She was going to lower her wand. It disconnected with his skin, and began to fall to her side. He took a deep breath, chuckled… began to say something sarcastic… and her fist collided with his jaw.

You'd gather that she'd been working on her left hook for years the way she hit him. It was splendid. More satisfying than a good book, a great night's sleep, and perhaps even his orgasm had been for her.

Maybe not the orgasm….

She snatched the journal from his hand. He was still seeing stars, she guessed, but he swatted for the journal, blindly anyway.

"Waddiwasi," she said to the journal, and the shield charm on the door fell away. It opened and the book left her hand and whizzed out the door. Draco stared after it, like his mother had just left him with a very unsatisfying babysitter. His jaw was already starting to turn red, a purple crease on the bone. He looked at her, hard.

"Doesn't matter what you read in there, Granger. It doesn't change anything."

She could hear something in his voice… defiance. He wasn't angry, she realized. Not really. That was a mask. There was something in there Draco Malfoy didn't want her to see, for certain, but whatever it is, she felt, it wasn't diabolical. If it had been, he would have liked her to see it. He wanted her to be afraid.

"It will change whether or not I'm willing to go any further with you, Draco Malfoy."

"I trust it's in safe hands now that it's with you, Miss Granger. I trust that… you'll let no harm come to it." She'd almost forgotten about Lorenzo. She turned to face him.

"Of course," she said.

"Right. Then I need both of you to leave, now."

But even as he was speaking, she could hear Draco Malfoy stalking out the door… and she couldn't imagine, given everything she'd ever seen him do, what could be so horrible, embarrassing, or private that he wasn't willing to let her see.

He wasn't going to let her get to it. She had to have sent it back to the room, she didn't have anywhere else that would be 'secured' from people. Bugger Enzo for being such rubbish of a family member. Did he not realize that he was about to sabotage everything?

If Granger knew how deep it had gotten… how far away her answers were… that they'd been summoned into the very belly of the beast...

He came to their room, flew through the door, slammed it shut, and began to search.

Hermione walked through the halls slowly. She knew that Draco was probably already back in the room searching, and she didn't care. He wasn't going to find it… because she hadn't sent the bloody book to her room.

She left through the large double doors and basked in the lovely sunlight that dappled the hillside of snow in color. She hugged herself and began walking through the grounds.

She passed students hurrying to class in all colors of the houses. She could think of one class that was likely to not be in session today, and she didn't blame him. She only hoped that Hagrid was feeling better.

It wasn't long before she came upon his cottage. It gave her hope to see smoke pouring from the chimney. Either Neville had gone down to see him and set him up with something to eat, or he was feeling better, and was up and walking around.

She came to his door and knocked twice. She opened the door and stepped inside. The soft meowing brought a smile to her face. Hagrid was sitting up in bed with a bowl of soup in his lap, kittens from head to toe. He looked up when she entered.

"Hermione! Wadn't a dream, then!" he made to stand and she held up her hands.

"No, no! Don't waste your strength, Hagrid, I'll come to you!" She went to him and gave him a lingering hug. She could feel him chuckling against her.

"Been such a long time," he said. She could tell he had tears in his eyes. She loved how sensitive he had always been—far more sensitive than ever SHE had been, than she even was, now.

"I know," she started. "I'm sorry, Hagrid. It's all my fault. I wanted to write, I just—"

"Nonsense. Ya been busy! Y'all have. I get it, I do. What yer been up to, Hermione? Why ya here? Don't tell me yer needed a book ya forgot." He winked at her. She smiled. He was almost right on the dot.

"I'm doing research, Hagrid. A personal project of mine. Trying to find out… where it all comes from. The magic."

"Ah," he said. He nodded at her, slurping some more soup into his giant mouth. "We all knew yer were gonna be something, Hermione. You'll do us right proud, ya will."

"Thanks," she said. He yawned behind his soup. She took it from him.

"You need to rest," she said.

"Nonsense, I want ter visit with ya!"

"I'll be here for the week, Hagrid. We'll have plenty of time to catch up and I need you at full strength for some of the things we'll discuss."

"Right," he said, yawning again. He slid down in the bed and she placed the bowl on the table. The bowl, she noticed, was large enough to fit neatly over her head without even touching her hair. The kittens adjusted around Hagrid to continue to lick his wounds. Almost immediately, he was snoring. She sat back away from him, and looked toward his fire, where the kettle burned over the fire. She stood up and walked to it. She stared into the fire for a moment before turning to where Hagrid's old dog, Fang, had slept on a pile of blankets. The pile remained, she noticed, though she was sure the dog must have died years back. Hagrid had probably been too heartbroken to remove it. She had bet on that fact, actually.

She reached under the pile of blankets and came out with the tattered old journal. She seated herself on the pile of blankets which no longer smelled even faintly of dog, and faced the fire to warm her as she read.

There were no dates on the entries, no introduction, or explanation, at all… she realized quickly that this had been a very personal diary.

She shuffled through pages upon pages of the typical Pureblood jargon... plans to join Voldemort, justifications for his cause, and all the standard hatred and anger she had come to expect from this class of Wizard. But then she opened to a page that drew her in, more deeply.

The Dark Lord has fallen. How could it be so? I don't understand why our plight has failed… we only desire to rid the Wizarding World of the mudblood scum who claim to share in our powers… but there has to be a difference. No one can come from muggle birth and simply HAVE our power, any more than I could sprout wings and fly at the age of seventeen unless I hailed from a bird. I have to know. How did a toothless little baby destroy the one chance this world had at being pure? At destroying the imposters?

That was it. The first question. When his master fell. She scanned the next few entries for valuable fodder.

I've taken two more. Under penalty of the Cruciacus Curse, they would not tell me of their magical roots. I administered the Truth Serum… they simply do not KNOW how they became wizards, or if there was anything back in their line. I had already studied them, of course… and in both cases, I found that there was not. But there HAS to be a reason. It's been three years since The Dark Lord fell. All the mudbloods I've taken, researched, obliviated and set free… it all points to nothing. Nothing! But they are not imposters, that much I can tell. Under my newest spell, I can SEE the magical energy in them. Their essence is the same as any Wizard I know. I have checked, and with no knowledge as to how they've all, the dozens of them, have come across it, they cannot, themselves, be the Usurpers. CouldThe Dark Lord—darest I even write it—have been wrong? Or does another, from some remote location, steal this essence from the true Wizards, and instill it in the voiceless ones?

Hermione studied that passage. That wasthe most interesting depiction of a muggle,she thought. She read through a few more entries,aware of the handwriting becoming more rushed with every page.

The family knows what I have done. Even my dear brother, Lucius, refuses to speak to me. He will not tell me how my nephew is doing—and he is the only heir to our name. This feud has split me from my dear family, not knowing any longer if the persecution of muggle-borns is something that we should be putting weight on. I have to have answers if I'm going to continue down this road. I know what they'll cost. But I have to know if this, all of this, has been worth it.

She paused. His nephew was the only heir to his name... were they once Malfoys, Lorenzo and Rorofulus?

I've set my sights to History. History, it's been shown, can tell us many things about the present. I've researched the families- even The Dark Lord, himself. Much of the magic in the world can be traced to Ancient Peoples just by the literature and family documentation I've found. Muggleborn Wizards, it seems may be something else entirely. I've found a race of people in Egypt before modern society, in which the first "Priests" were born into the class of ordinary people. They were said to be "different than the race of Gods, but also the same." This culture seems to have realized this new "race" at the same time, as previous lines of priests were spurned directly from their other priests… since this was recorded by Muggles, I can only assume that once we as Wizards decided that they could no longer be trusted to know of us, that is when we stopped allowing our deeds to be recorded to our credit.

Lorenzo is convinced that I must be tested before I go to Egypt. He says that the wizards that live there still are different than us. I trust him, as a member of The Way of Old, he knows all of the ancient secrets. So he's right. I must be tested before I present myself to the Egyptian Wizard Society. But if all that I have found is true, and this IS where the first race of Muggleborns originated, then maybe I can finally get my answers on the roots of magic, and who is right in this dreadful conversation. I feel not only as though I may have been tricked, but that I may have been used as a pawn in a mission that had consequences I could never have guessed, before. I hope it not to be true. If The Dark Lord truly used us all for his own gain, and not to destroy a necessary evil, I… I don't want to think of it.

The tests were harder than I could have imagined. I've been trapped inside my own head, it seems, for months, going over every instance in my life where I was wrong… at fault. Being back in my own skin and out in the world feels strange, now. But Rory says I have passed, and… I'm on my way. I fly out tonight with my cloak and broomstick. I pray that it's still long enough to cover me on the broom as it was when I was a teenager. It's been so long.

Egypt has not been a pleasure. I wish I could say it had. Bound for days, left without food or water… to make sure I could be trusted, the Ancient Ones performed the most ghastly of rites on me to make sure I was really there for what I said. And even after the torture was over, they awarded me no answers to the deepest questions in my soul. When I asked about the race of muggle born Priests capable of magic, they were straightforward with me. I had been right about that. But I had been wrong about them being the first. It simply coincided with the development of intelligence among muggles across the world… and a written language, in pictures for them to depict it. These beings had no interest in my larger questions: was it the same magic as us, passed Wizard to Wizard, or was it weaker? The muggles perceived them as weaker, they told me… but often, they said, the Original Wizards would choose a member of the Muggle-born population to be their leader—their voice—to the muggles. They couldn't tell me about whether or not The Dark Lord had been a fraud, only that if I truly wished to know, I must go to Iraq, but there, they knew, is where it all fell apart. They told me of "The Three Kings" who blew the wind on the mountain top in days so long ago, I can scarcely picture them. These men, as far as they know, are the oldest living Wizards. They are… immortal. Such a thing is desired, but seen as dangerous- an abuse of power- by us, today. I don't know if I can trust these "Kings." But I have to try. I have heard the whispers, all the way out here. It's been nine long years since the Dark Lord fell. The rumors, I dare say, coincide appropriately with the boy who lived coming of age. If he returns, I want to be prepared. I want my family to be prepared.

So I go now to Iraq in the hopes of finding them. I only hope it will not be too long.

The last entry, Hermione saw was speckled with brown droplets. It was crinkled, rubbed in dirt, and torn in the bottom right corner.

It was a mistake to come here. The Dark Lord was wrong. And I shall never get to tell my beloved family that they have been deceived.

And that's when Hermione figured it out. It wasn't that Draco Malfoy was embarrassed, or horrified by this journal. He had read it all and he was willing to do exactly what his uncle, Rorofulus, had done, despite the warning—despite the fact that the man was probably dead. She'd love to know where they recovered this journal from. Who had been the last person to see him alive?

The Slytherin fool who should have wanted to preserve himself more than ANYTHING was willing to run head-first into danger to answers the same questions that his uncle had had before him… the same questions that Hermione Granger had had her entire life. And he thought that she would be unwilling to continue if she could see the risk… he even knew about Iraq, she realized. About the Kings. He had known it, all along.

He knew that there was a great chance that the two of them were about to run quickly toward their own demise and he had been planning to leave her in the dark about it.