The path was long, winding, and jagged, the edges mimicking the gorgeous mauve and violet colors in the walls and ceilings, that dribbled liquid magics onto the ground all around them both in a harmonious echo. Hermione could have stopped to study the rhythm of it for ages. She regretted that she hadn't the time. She missed this part.

Her feet kept her propelling forward, each step perfectly timed and placed after the next, independently from her brain, it seemed. She tried to imagine herself from years passed, walking down this very stretch… her hair down and wild, a Gryffindor sweater around her torso, knee-length skirt, no womanly curves, no cares of an adult—apart from the end of the world, anyway—and her two best friends- the best friends a girl could ever ask for- at her side. She hadn't been the star, she realized… she'd never been the "main character" in her own story… she'd always been the supporting role in all of their adventures. A necessary role, she knew... none of the events that transpired in her life could have transpired without her... but it was never about Hermione Granger. She just couldn't forsake her schoolwork... her knowledge. Hermione had needed to be constantly learning to be happy. While nothing in the whole world would ever replace the importance of defending their world from the seizure by those evil bastards, she was also glad that she fell into that role beside- or rather, behind Harry… she needed to. Fighting evil didn't fill the hole inside of her that knowledge did... answers. She was not a Hero... she was a Philosopher. Her own story, she realized, simply had not yet begun… and now that it had… she could only hope that she was ready for it.

"The true Sphinx?" Draco asked, suddenly, tearing her from her inner monologue. She looked to him.

"Not quite like the Sphinxes we know," she explained. "Rare as they are, there are many scholarly wizards who believe that they are actually a diluted version of the original, or true Sphinx. The Sphinx we have been able to study in modern times have the body of a lion and the head of woman… but, dating years back, loads of ancient cultures claimed that they also had large, graceful wings that folded down over the span of their bodies, and manes of feathers instead of fur—and the faces were more… androgynous, not specifically female as we always see now. No one knows why or when they deviated from that form, or how their personalities would differ, but it is a common theory that the Sphinx has evolved."

"Do they still dabble in riddles?"

Her brow furrowed at him.

"Draco, I've never met one. I didn't even know they existed. It's pure speculation."

"Sorry," he mumbled, sarcastically. She rolled her eyes. She simply hated being asked questions she hadn't the answers to.

"No, I'm sorry," she said. "I'm… on edge, is all."

"Right," he agreed, quietly. She sighed.

She had wondered, of course, before he'd asked the question aloud, if they were going to dabble in riddles… everything around them led her to believe that these creatures didn't need to ask them questions or puzzles… but there was no way to be sure. Judged on what criteria, she hadn't a clue… their strength? Endurance? Loyalty? She merely hoped she was up to their standards. Finally, though, she understood the insistence Lorenzo had placed upon facing her own guilty conscience, for her, and especially for Draco. These creatures would pick up on any inner turmoil instantly, she sensed… better to have everything out in the open.

"You're so quiet," Draco said, suddenly.

"What's there to say?" she was puzzled by his attitude. Why the blazes was he so… chatty? It was off putting, to say the least.

"I dunno… about to walk into a dark and foreboding castle, likely fully of winged fucking things with my old-worst-enemy, and now sex-kitten-co-worker and I'm feeling a little less than stone-faced determination and bloody stupid bravery, I suppose."

Hermione's face broke into a wide, dark grin. He'd irritated her to her very core. "That's right, Malfoy… I forgot you have a problem with magical creatures. Them being "things" and all."

He stopped walking. She turned to face him from ahead, arms folded over her chest.

"We were 13, Hermione."

"Yeah. Broke your nose, though, didn't I?"

"What's your point?"

"My point is… you always do this. You get nervous, and you fly off the handle, and everything is everyone else's fault. If you walk in there half-cocked, flinging blame and hoping it'll stick, running, hiding, and acting like a bloody arse, they're going to set you on fire and flay you for dinner- to say nothing of what these no doubt supreme creatures might do if you so ignorantly bestow upon them the title of "things."

"Don't pretend that you're better than me because you were born with this 'throw myself to the lions so others may prosper' quality. Even a healer will tell you to protect yourself before you try to protect your children. Better than dying unnecessarily just to allow them to be next."

"Forgive me if I assumed you had a little more ability to protect yourself than a child in this scenario."

"Do you assume that? From the way you've been lecturing on, it would appear you consider me a sniveling fool who's likely to pee himself and run off while they're still trying to find a bloody rhyme, in there."

"Sorry to hurt your feelings-"

"What are we doing right now?"

She opened her mouth and paused.

"What?"

"Why... why are we doing this?"

"I…" she stopped. Her brows knitted together. The long peels of tinkling laughter filled the cave, bouncing off the walls and echoing in the space. The two of them looked around, alarmed.

Slowly, she faced him.

"Oh, my…"

"It's a test," he finished for her. "Our animosity… they're using it against us." He peered into her eyes. "Do you think I'm going to run away from you?"

She blinked at him. "No... do you think I'm going to sacrifice myself prematurely, and throw us both under the bus?"

"No," he said.

Impressive, she thought to herself, imagining the power of these creatures what could change the entire feel within a room as if simply turning up the flame on a stove. She shivered.

"Still pretty far away, yeah?" he asked her. She wagered he was thinking the same thing she was.

"I guess so," she said.

"Let's press on, then."

Draco's heart was in his throat. This was the moment he'd been preparing for for years, now… this judgment. He should have known. He did know, somewhere, deep down, that the information wouldn't be at the hands of any sort of torture… but simple, unchanging, irreproachable… judgment.

Was he worthy? He didn't know.

It helped his anxiety somewhere deep down to know that his own flesh and blood had stumbled up this path years passed, and proven successful- however melancholy it may have made him. It helped him to know that these creatures let his uncle live, and even pointed him in a direction- right or wrong. He hoped this was not the end. His whole life would have been worth… nothing.

A river ran across the path before him; a river of shimmering, lilac waters… or was it simply a mirror image to the crystal ceilings above? He didn't know. But the cool consistency of the water was drawing in his hot brow, still sweat-dried from the desert sun. He walked to it, kneeled down. They would have to cross it in their clothes, but it was shallow—no more than knee's length. And was it ever beautiful…? A hundred reflections of the room around them made the pool look so engaging it was all he could do not to drink it in… become a part of it… let it take him... he shook off the feeling. Dehydration, he thought, did not suit him.

"I think we have to cross it to move on," Hermione said. He nodded, and she trudged ahead, thinking nothing of her shoes or clothing, he noticed. Brave little solider, indeed.

He reached both hands into the running stream and splashed some of the water onto his face. He felt a tingling, stark sensation as the water beaded and ran down his face. He sighed.

"Thank Merlin," he whispered. Hermione was already halfway across, ahead of him. He rose to follow her.

As he walked, a kind of weightlessness took him over. His fears stared to ease, and he felt something like a lukewarm fog drift over his brow. The energy around him, dripping and pooling in the corners, started to grow fuzzy. The colors were jutting out around him like a firework show. He felt suddenly as if he'd swallowed a type of hallucinogenic root, and was well on his way into a type of nirvana. His nerves began to fizzle, and die. No more did he feel the cool, damp air sitting in his hair and on his clothes… the lights around him blurred into a softness, no pain to his vision… there was no strain, no fight in him, whatsoever. That's when he saw them.

Is that my nephew?

Her eyes were unbagged, unbroken by age… she was young again, vibrant, and hair standing out all around her face in crazed but controlled tendrils not unlike his Hermione's. That pale skin, those dark features… his aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange looked the picture of youth, health, and peacefulness...

But she was a shadow, he could sense… some form of gray matter. There was no color to her skin or clothes. She was just a projection… a figment somewhere in time and space… and she wasn't alone.

Alongside her, he could see them all: family members, former classmates, political figures since passed… witches and wizards of the ancient days, gliding, being pushed by some unseen force along the coast of the steam, not a quarter mile wide… they were so close… but so very far away from him… and he was drawn to their outstretched fingers, their open arms.

Be with us, Draco… you belong to the old world… you belong with us.

He wanted to. He yearned for them, was pulled toward them with every fiber of his being. It wasn't a minute before he realized, he was in the middle of the stream, sitting down, the water up along his chest. He knew without being told… he had to lie down. Lie down, and die...

The water was licking up the sides of his abdomen as he fell backward… more powerful than the sea, itself, but more gentle than a deliciously warm bath. There was no pain, no sense of urgency, no desire to stand up, at all… and down he lay. The water reached into his ears where it pooled, blocking out any sound but the blood rushing inside his own veins, his heart steadily pumping like an age-old windmill… steady… slow… growing slower… the water in his nostrils didn't sting or burn… it was light and sensuous… and becoming a part of him.

His eyes under water, he could see them all, blurry, standing above him, surrounding him. He wanted to reach out for them, to let them know he was on his way… and then… they closed in around him.

He was sputtering, gasping, choking as their hands clawed for him, pulling and grasping, weighing him down and forcing him underwater. He tried to scream, to call out for help, but they were everywhere at once, and he was fading fast.

Draco…

He heard them calling him. He didn't want it anymore, didn't want to be with them, was sorry he ever tried. He wanted this life, whatever it was. He wanted his answers. He wanted her… and the child inside her. He couldn't die, yet. He couldn't abandon her in here. He wanted to stay.

Draco!

He pulled away, kicked, punched, pushed himself back. He hit solid mass. They must have been materializing, he thought. He was getting drawn in. With a final punch he drove himself away and up, and into Hermione's arms, worry on her face, her fingers tightly clamped on either side of his soaked shirt. It had been she who was shouting.

He vomited about a gallon of water back into the pool, which he realized, was drawing back, deflating, rushing who knew where as it disappeared around them to a dry ground. As water dripped from his hair, clothes and nose, into his eyes and down his front, his chest burning from lack of oxygen, and feeling heavier than he had in his life… he felt a hot hand come slashing down across his face.

"ARE YOU TRYING TO GIVE ME A BLOODY HEART ATTACK?!"

She was livid.

"TRYING TO KILL YOURSELF?"

He blinked up at her from her arms, the moist rock floor hard against her knees with his weight atop them.

"They… no, I…"

"Don't try to talk!" she warned, crossly. She was trying to shake the water out of him, her brows furrowed together, a mix of worry and anger. "What on earth were you thinking! –Don't answer me!" she cut him off as his mouth opened. She let him go so he could turn over, mouth facing down, and somehow even more of the water was coming out of him.

"Did you try to drink yourself to death?!" she accused, not yet rising, not yet willing to venture too far away from him… lest she need to beat the sense back into him.

He was heaving, sucking air deep into his lungs, and then he stood, shaking his hair out, searching his pockets, his shirt. He came out with his wand.

"Exaresco," he muttered in broken vocalization. His clothes and hair dried, instantly.

"I thought we weren't using magic," she said.

"They know we're here, already," he interjected. He placed his hands on his knees and allowed himself a moment to breathe. She watched him for a moment, waiting for the moment when she could sense he was himself again. Her heart was beginning to slow, at last. Feeling was returning to her legs. She rose.

"What happened?" she asked. He righted himself and looked at her.

"What did you see?"

She blinked at him. "Nothing," she said. "I saw… we were crossing the stream… and I got to the other side… and I said something to you, but you weren't there… and I turned around, and I called for you… and you weren't there, just… bubbles, on the surface of the water… and you were drowning. Did something pull you down? Why just you and not me? Where the Hell did the stream go?"

She was asking too many questions, she knew. She couldn't help herself. She was ready for any answer he might be able to give her. Imagine: a Slytherin trying to kill himself. She ought to call Adalbert Waffling, she figured, and make sure it made it into the next addition of Laws and Magic, because surely this was a first.

"It was a test," he said, at last. "Only for me."

"A test of what?"

"Doesn't matter," he said to her, striding past her and up the path. She was aghast.

"Doesn't matter?! Am I not to know the next time you disappear trying to hang yourself from a bloody tree—or standing on the edge of one of these cliffs getting ready to throw yourself down? How am I supposed to—"

"You can't... save me," he said, not turning to face her, continuing up the path. "I have to save myself."

She followed up after him. That was simply not an acceptable answer.

"Draco, don't be daft! Have you met me?! That's exactly who I am and what I do! I'm supposed to bloody save you!"

"Not from myself."

He was gone. Hermione was running toward open space, looking around for him, trying to discern what had just happened… but she was alone… all alone.

Her bottom lip quivered. Had they taken him? She wouldn't know where to go to look… was he up at the castle?

"Draco!" she called, to no avail. He may have been a Malfoy, but damn it, he was all she had in here. And she didn't want him to die, she realized… at least… not today.

She held her breath. She had to hold it together. It was a test, he had said, for himself… perhaps for her as well. She couldn't save him, he'd said. Was that the end game? Were they going to take him from her? Was that the price of the information she sought? Was it worth that? Was anything worth that?

She withdrew her wand.

"Point me," she said, whispering into the tip of her wand. Placing it in her open palm, she watched it spin like a top, unfaltering. She sighed, frustrated, and hastily placed it back into her pocket. Their magics were too old and strong. Her spells would have little impact, down here.

"Fine," she whispered, balling her hands into fists, and she strode up the path toward the Crystal Castle.

Out of the corner of her eye, on the edge of a ledge, she saw him, facing her, hands outstretched… she turned to him. His eyes were rolled back, the whites and red veins popping. His mouth was open, but made no sound, and slowly, he started to fall backward. She ran to him, wand at the ready, but spells only bounced off of him as his feet left the earth and he plummeted below. She reached the edge, hair whipping against her face, expecting to watch his descent to the bottom, but there was nothing. No one.

Still shaking, she turned, waiting, listening… a grave stone stood before her. His name was upon the granite surface. She walked toward it.

Draco Malfoy
Died in pursuit of fate
Never to reach his goals
Never to know his child

She stared at it, pondering those words, when the ground shook beneath her. The dirt was stirring, and in the blink of an eye, a hand, rotten, the flesh peeling back from the soft tissue underneath shot from the earth to grasp her ankle. She screamed and stumbled back, against the edge of the very ledge she'd watched Draco fall from. The arm pushed and clawed at the dirt and a second one joined it. Watching its hot pursuit, she took off in full sprint for the castle.

It isn't real she said to herself. It plays on your emotions. That's the test. She heard him calling for help behind her. She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth, and ran forward. The sounds of her rapid breathing were all she allowed herself to take in, apart from the direction of the winding path.

To her left she watched as a group of muggles strung him to a witches' antler and set the wood ablaze. His screams filled her ears and the visions of the flesh melting off his bones were too much for her to bear. The sights, the smells, he was everywhere, all around her, in all sorts of agony. She couldn't stand it. She merely took off in the direction of the castle best she could guess it and watched in horror as the many Draco Malfoys all died around her.

Silence. They were gone. She slowed to a walk, a crawl, and finally stopped, hands on her knees, choking, and catching her breath. Her hands and legs were shaking, badly. She could barely keep her feet.

"Hermione?"

She looked up… and there he was… in good health, standing before her between the castle and herself. She'd made it. She ran to him, throwing her arms around him and hugged him for just a moment.

"I knew it," she said, more to herself than to him. He released her. He looked her over.

"What's the matter?"

"They… they took you from me… I thought they might hurt you—try to kill you. But… you're all right, yeah? You look great. I mean you… you know. You're alive."

His face was melancholy as he took her in. A moment of silence passed between them. She looked down at the arms that encircled her waist… sliced open, like garish grins, wrist to elbow, and blood as if dried while pouring from him. She gulped. She looked back to his face, and saw only a slip of him… his lips a pale peach, eyes so cold, nothing there… nothing solid. She gasped and stepped back from him.

"I wanted to tell you…" he said, stepping toward her, reaching for her. She took another step back.

"It's… it's just a trick," she answered, voice shaking, desperate to stay away from his grasp.

"I should have told you when first I knew, Hermione, but… it was just too much…" he reached for her—not her hands, he realized… but her belly. His palm rested there as she shook and shivered, staring down at the bloody fingertips grazing her novel. She looked to his eyes and found their gaze was on her belly as well. She felt her heart stop beating. She wasn't breathing.

She found her footing at last and ran through him, up the path and passed the castle gates… she was so determined as he turned to smoke behind her and disappeared. The real Draco Malfoy was in here… he was alive, and the Sphinx had him. He was all right. And there was nothing—nothing- inside of her that the real Draco Malfoy would give a damn about.

She looked around… black, empty depth.

"H…Hello?" she asked. She took a step, heard it echo… she was confused. She'd MADE it. Where was he?! Where were they?

She heard that tolling-bell giggle they possessed in every tone and rhythm, echoing in the dusty castle, standing like a built set, empty and stoic, with no promise of life inside. They were… laughing at her.

She sank to her knees. She'd missed something, she was sure of it… but what? Where? She racked her brain…

A cave. They were in a cave. A castle in a cave at the end of a winding path… they were pitted against one another, being tested, and finally separated. She was being forced to act on her own, and judged, all the while… what did it all mean? And then she realized… not a riddle… a metaphor… a metaphor for her worst fears, come to be realized. The ones that deep down, she silenced as she always had… the ones that if she fully realized to be true… she couldn't do the type of work that she needed to do to survive. They needed her to face that fear... to realize it, live it, speak it aloud... to go on.

"There is no castle," she said at last… "There is no path… this cave we're in has no deeper treasure… the magic has no reason… fate is just a word… and it all… means… nothing."

Draco opened his eyes inside the Crystal Palace, seated in an elegant, lilac and blue chair carved by thought alone, with a definite rhythm and purpose, but unlike any design he'd seen on the surface. He faced a long, hall-type of room with purple flames in large, lamp-like structures giving the room light. With wide eyes, he watched as these massive creatures moved without shaking the earth, as if poised on the toes of a ballerina, with their giant, clawed feet on the front end… and sharp-clawed paws on the back. Long tails curled and flicked the mammal backside of them, almost sneakily so, their movements sensual and with purpose. Their bones worked to move a creature so clumsily slapped together, but with such grace and coordination; he felt he was in a dream-state. It didn't look real… but he knew that it was. Their fur folded into features round their midsections, features of light blue, robin's egg, and turquoise, and up into yellows and purples around their face, fanning out in every direction like a peacock's tail—or a lion's mane, he realized, remembering Hermione's words—and the feathers swirled to feature the face and neck, below, of a human. They had large, full lips, sensual, dark eyes, full, thick brows of the same fur that rolled over their hindquarters, and wide foreheads. Their jaws were sharp, rectangular and jagged. Their eyes opened and closed with full, long lashes. It was impossible to guess the sex of these creatures, he thought. Hermione was right. She was always right.

And only then was he able to pull his eyes away from the creatures and he noticed that there she was, beside him. He looked to her. She looked downright spooked, he decided. He wondered what they'd put her through, after he'd climbed out of the water and into her arms, dried himself and completely blacked out. He hoped she wasn't hurt. She looked okay.

The creatures were walking side by side, from opposite ends of their hall, toward one another, communicating in whispers, though their mouths remained closed. Draco looked from one to the next, expecting himself- or Hermione to be addressed. It seemed as though the creatures were untaken with the two of them, completely. He wondered if that was a good thing, or a bad.

"We have questions for you," he heard Hermione ask, suddenly. Damn, she was ballsy. Not one of the creatures was surprised to hear her voice, it seemed, nor did they turn to address her.

"We need to know, where… where does it all come from… and why?"

He wanted to urge her to lay off—let them come to her, or something… wasn't that what that buffoon, Hagrid was always saying? Creatures of pride, and all? Of course, that was a bloody Hippogriff—but then, these things had lion in 'em, too, right? So they'd be prideful too, no doubt.

"Where?" he heard Hermione ask again, barely above a whisper. He stared at her. Suddenly, it hit him… they were speaking… they were speaking only to Hermione. Was he… had he proved unworthy?

"Not unworthy…" he heard somewhere in the back of his head. "You ask questions The True Sphinx cannot answer…."

What questions?

"Life. Death. Where you belong. What this child will mean for you… these are human matters… and The True Sphinx has no place."

No, I… I want to know about the magic—

"You want to know if you are evil. One is not the other."

I need to know about… her.

"Is she worthy?"

No, I bloody know she's worthy. Merlin, she's the most able witch I've ever met. She's clearly OF magic. I need to know why… where did my people come from… why are we such bloody bigots… and which muggles are the ones worth having magic?

"He suffers from human conditions… needs words to be "absolute." Some ancient matters… cannot suffer such fate as being limited by words. Language does not predate magic. To set it in chains with this human label would be an injustice."

Right. Well since you're all about passing on 'justice,' where can I go to find someone who will, ya know, give me a label?

"Just like his uncle…"

Draco started. He swallowed.

You remember my uncle?

"The True Sphinx remembers all who have sought us… some living… most dead… we will always know their spirit. Only The True Humans can see The True Sphinx."

I'm true then, I guess. Bloody brilliant.

"Truer than you wish to be. But this is not for The True Sphinx to pass judgment on…"

Right. Where do we go?

"You need to find The Three Kings, of the Mountain… they have summoned you… there you must go."

How do we find them?

"You will know the way. To be True is to know these things… the magics within will guide you…"

And Hermione, she has these magics as well?

"Yes…"

What will we find when we get there? I mean… these kings… aren't they kind of… well, dead?

"The Kings, as we do, predate the concepts of mortal death. You will find them. They will guide you. But first, you must save them… from terrible peril."

Wait, the kings need our help?

"The Kings will not exist until you will them so… until then… they will suffer… eternal pain… and scarce existence."

So how do I—

"You have been given all the necessary tools from us, now. Do not test The True Sphinx… our patience is not infinite."

Oh, sure you can test us-

"Leave us now…"

Hermione's feet were on solid ground once again, with fresh air all around her, breathing hotly on her face. A beautiful night sky was above her: violets, blues and blacks with swirling cream-colored clouds were overhead. A blanket of stars tucked the night sky in to sleep. She was breathing quietly, enveloped in a sense of calm. They'd been pointed in the right direction, she could tell… and Merlin, she could write an entire book on the experience she'd just had in the caves with the True Sphinx. She only wished they could have answered more of her questions… where did they come from? Who made them? But perhaps, she reckoned, the answers The Three Kings were able to give her would prove to answer some of those questions as well.

There was, however, one burning question inside of her that The Kings didn't need to answer… a question that had been coming up, she realized, for the last several weeks… and she had just been too wrapped up in all that was going around her to ask.

Draco Malfoy stood beside her, taking in the night sky as she was. It was beautiful. She wanted to speak to him… to ask that question… but her legs were jelly underneath her, and her throat was too tight for words to fit through.

"Kinda can't believe I didn't die, in there…" he said, suddenly.

A nervous laugh escaped her. She was glad he hadn't, truthfully… not that that influenced the hopeful outcome of the question she felt she needed to ask him… because for some reason, she sensed that he knew—though how he would know, she had no idea.

She faced him. She looked down at his hands on either side of him… long arms… long fingers… he was relaxed. He wouldn't be for long. She pulled one up into her hand, so much bigger was his than her own, and she looked at it. She folded it over and finally looked up to his confused stare.

"I need to ask you something," she said. He held her eye contact. It was if he already knew what she meant to ask. For a moment, only the air and energy between them was moving… or making a sound. She opened her mouth to speak.

"Let her go," she heard from beside her. She jumped, turning, but not letting go of Draco's hand in hers… until her eyes fell upon Harry, wand raised, and she dropped his hand as if hot as coals.

"Harry?! What are you—"

Draco's wand was out now.

"What the Hell are you doing here, Potter?"

"I said let her go!"

"Not touching her!"

Harry pulled Hermione by the shoulder to him, rough, hastily, he was half-panicked, nearly out of his mind, she realized.

"Harry, let go! What are you—"

"You're not yourself-" he said to her, and without a word she'd been silenced, magically, unable to talk. Her body was weakening against him. She could do nothing to stop her friend from this gross miscommunication, if that was indeed what this was.

"Are you daft?!" Draco asked. "She's your bloody cohert! Put her down!"

"Can't do that," Harry said, levelheaded suddenly, and reaching to grip a suddenly compliant Draco by the collar. Hermione looked down to see a set of glowing, glittering yellow cuffs on his wrists… cuffs for obedience, she realized; a type of magical mind control, no doubt given to Harry by the ministry to issue an arrest… cuffs Hermione had always kept on her at all times when working for The Ministry's Department of Defense… an arrest made by an Auror… oh, Merlin what the Hell had they gotten themselves into?

She tried to signal to him, tried to let her body language speak for her… but the tiny pressure on his shoulder from her fists was nothing compared to the emotion she was pushing behind it, and he could barely sense her effort. With them both in arms, he looked to the sky, muttered something Hermione did not understand, and they were gone.