The temple of UR was awash with sunlight in the late afternoon of the desert. The rust colored steeple stretched toward the sky in flawless architecture, and the soldiers upon it walked up and down, always in rhythm, performing the rites they had done for centuries. Occasional civilians walked past, dressed in their Islamic garb, but the soldiers took no notice. They were there to serve and protect, and as long as everyone was in line, so were they.

It was of no concern of theirs at all when one man broke from what should have been a common route, and went East instead of West, the route most people took from the surrounding fleshy jungle and into the city… instead, he was walking toward the less-known parts of the jungle itself, though he didn't seem to walk from there in the morning. They may have taken note of this, may have thought it seemed a bit odd, had the people in the city and surrounding jungles not been dressed so particularly similar. One man hardly stood out unless he was committing serious acts of treachery against the temple or the desert, itself.

So when the stranger walked from Point B to Point A, the soldiers merely put one foot in front of another and continued on their daily task. The stranger breathed a sigh of relief.

What neither the stranger, nor the soliders knew, however, was that there were others… not in Point A or B, but deep in the recesses and valleys of the jungle… and though they did not care of the soldiers, and could not see the stranger… they knew that he was coming… and they were ready for him.

Draco Malfoy had wrongly assumed it would have been difficult to get past the muggle guards without question. The lifestyles in the East were so very different to the way he was raised, he thought he'd be spotted as an outsider for certain. Once he was out of sight, he lowered the loose-fitting, lightweight blue rags from around his head and felt the sun shining on his neck. His hair was pulled back at the nape, out of his eyes, and sweat was beading upon his brow. He had also believed these robes would have been Hell in the desert sun, but he was pleasantly surprised that the little breeze that did waft through the air was able to hit him evenly all over in this dress. He soldiered on.

He wasn't sure what precisely he was looking for. He had his notes and the notes in his uncle's diary in a satchel slung over his shoulder, and the words of The True Sphinx rolling around in his head. He and Hermione never had found a true location for the mountain called, "Hursagmu," in Ancient times of folklore, monsters and myth. The only concrete fact he knew was that it was Sumerian… and Sumeria had become Iraq. He knew based on images that it was none of the mountain ranges in Northern Iraq… and he knew based on the beliefs of those in the Ancient cities that the mountain couldn't have been there either—if it still existed, at all.

That left a wide range of jungle locations off the far southern corner of the country… so he'd apparated to the outreaches of Ur, the Ancient city, still preserved, changed to normal dress, and began to explore. He received a decent lay of the land from the man who sold him his dress—that's when he found out about the soldiers. He debated apparateing past them, but not knowing how far the range was, or how suddenly Hursagmu may be upon him, he decided against it… and left it to chance. On the horizon, he was looking for mountain… one so large, it overtook the sky, and appeared to climb into the Heavens; the Mountain of the Sky Chambers… in the Valley of the Kings.

All the while, he thought about her.

I love you…

The words danced around his head, between his ears, shivered down his neck and brought a grimace to his face. How had it happened? When? Why her?

He'd flattered himself that he had the emotional control of a Psychopath. Apparently not. The nut had been cracked, and there was no healing him just yet—if ever. He was a changed man… damn her.

She was just the kind of woman that made a man cry, "Witch."

But he didn't fault her… after all, he had the good deal, didn't he? He didn't have a thing inside of him, growing, changing him, forcing him to remember her… something that would never let him forget her name….

At least… nothing that was human.

She had planted something far different than a seed in Draco Malfoy, though it took its roots in a very similar way. It would never learn to walk or talk or attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry… but tearing its way from his body in a painful and traumatic ordeal that may or may not cost him his life?

That he could probably count on.

He sighed.

I love you…

"Come on, Crook!" she bellowed, pushing his tabby self off her books for the fourth time in a row. He meowed at her ruefully. He missed her, she realized. Tough. She was on a mission, and her cat was not a part of it right now.

"Go eat," she told him as he climbed back on top of her pile, once more. He hissed at her and she rolled her eyes. Where was she on the page? He was making her lose her place. Her eyes scanned past columns and numbers. She was arse-deep in an Ancient Text on the Anunnaki—Gods of the Ancient Sumerians who taught them and their influence on the myths and legends of Ancient Sumeria. She had to hurry. She was damn-well certain at least a few of her friends would be hot on her trail.

"Crookshanks, you are nearly fifteen years old. Where has this energy come from?!" He was tearing now at her desk leg and ankle, mewling and shaking his head. He stopped for a moment just to lick his lips, then paw his ear, cleaning himself. Then, he was back at it.

"I'm going to put you in the bedroom if you keep it up." He hissed at her again and took off into the kitchen. She sighed, flipping through the pages, again. It was no use. She was thoroughly distracted.

There was a knock at the door. She looked up sharply, caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror… freshly showered, hair drying wild and loose around her face, glasses on her head… she was wearing a new tee-shirt and panties, no shoes, no pants. She dove into the office closet, catching her ankle on a book. She sucked in a breath, gritting her teeth. She pulled her wand in front of her chest.

"Don't make me hex you, Harry…" she whispered under her breath… when to her astonishment, it was not Harry Potter that stepped through her office door.

"I know you're here," Ron said, looking down at her things sprawled all over the desk. Crookshanks hissed at him from the kitchen doorway. "I do know you better than the rest of them, even if you don't want to admit it. They figured you'd go straight out. They all would have… I knew... you'd want your books." He was close to her desk now, fingers touching the pages inside, looking over the Ancient Sumerian texts.

"Sumeria… you two really have been at it." His face went red. "That's not what I… look. I came here to tell you… I'm not angry with you… it just kills me… whatever hit you-"

He looked sharply up to the wooden wand inches from his nose, pointed at an upward angle, in the much shorter arm of Hermione Granger, no pants on, no shame, just a stony look of decision on her face.

"I'm so very glad that you're not angry with me, Ronald. It was me, after all, who just nearly died because of you."

Draco was sitting along the edge of the first stream he'd seen in hours. He was boiling in sweat, the dust of the land stuck along his skin, and the water was crisp and pleasant against him after the long walk. He found himself laying on the bank, staring up at the sky as the dusk finally began to join him in the jungle. The temperature had dropped a whopping five degrees and he was already starting to relax.

Footsteps quickened his heart and he sat up. He closed his eyes, felt the cooling sensation as he chugged his hood back over his head, but as soon as he did, he realized he shouldn't have.

The people in this part of the jungle were far from Islamic in their dress and hygiene… Two men stood before him now, and they were quite tribal. They wore things they had fabricated in the wilderness and vibrant red, black and yellow paints on their tan bodies. Instantly they sensed that he did not belong… and they stared at him. More concerning to him were the long, winding staffs they carried that did not hold spears as he might have guessed they would have… but crystals. He swallowed. These were not typical muggles, at all.

The two men stepped away from one another to each side and from behind them, a third stepped forward. Draco allowed himself some brief relief to see that the man behind them, though not Islamic by any means, did wear a similar woven fabric as Draco had chosen. He too had a staff, longer than the other two, and at the head of it was a marvelously carved spherical stone the color of a snake's eye. He knew. He'd spent a lot of time around snakes. He had medium-length, curly brown hair that hung in his eyes and over his neck, and beard was equally long. He wasn't dirty, but it was clear that there wasn't going to be plumbing where he was starting to realize he was going to end up. The man stepped before his two fellows and he let his staff rest against the ground. Draco looked down to notice… the man was barefoot… but not a mark marred his feet. He felt his brow furrow.

"You are alone?" he heard the man ask. He was amazed the man spoke English, at all.

"I am," he answered. The man's accent was something between Arabian and French he decided. It was curt, hard, and raspy like the movements in the Arabic language… but it carried the way a French tongue might have. It was not decidedly "Middle-Eastern," and it made him wonder if he had stumbled upon something entirely foreign to his plight.

"You must come with me," the man said. Draco looked from one man to the other. He remembered that his wand was in his back pocket. He wouldn't be penalized by anyone for using magic to get his way out of this, he knew… but he didn't want to alert whatever was dangering the kings to his presence. He debated for only a moment, before he watched his wand slide out of his pants and into the hand of the man summoning him, his staff now focused on Draco.

"We will not hurt you, brother We have been expecting you."

Ron's hands were quickly in the air as he went red on his neck and ears. He was looking her over carefully, taking deep breaths with wide eyes.

"Now, just… hold on a sec—"

"You're in my house. I think I should be making the demands."

"Blimey, Hermione, I just… I just came to tell you how… can you put your wand down, for Merlin sake?! Who are we right now?"

"I don't know. You appear to be the wizard who came in without cause to my personal residence, went after a wizard you haven't seen in years without knowing of his guilt, disobeyed the laws we worked so hard to set in place, nearly killed me, brought me back from the brink of death, and now… you appear to be standing in my office without an invitation, all red and flustered. You've been a bit unpredictable, Ronald. I don't think I will put my wand down."

"Come off it! It was Malfoy for pitty's sake!"

"Did we or did we not also use the testimonies, bodies and services of other Slytherin rivals while we settled the Order? You know things have been different these last seven years. Don't try to fool me. I was there. This was personal. He was your bloody "nemesis."

"Like he wasn't yours?! You can talk circles around me- and probably spells as well- Hermione, but don't you DARE pretend that if this situation had been reversed… that you wouldn't have come for me the exact same way."

"Really?! Under just WHAT circumstances would I have found you pregnant with Draco Malfoy's child?!"

He looked green. She would have laughed had this been a normal situation… but it was so far removed from anything she would have called normal.

"Now you listen to me, Ronald Weasley. I was very clear with the lot of you in the Hospital. I'm going after him. We set out to do this thing together. What's going on with me… it has nothing to do with what's going on out there. Draco and I—"

He winced when she said his name. She raised the wand higher into his face. It was nearly touching him.

"Draco and I… are business partners."

She saw the distinct eye roll, and watched him shake his head.

"That's all this is, Ron. It's business."

"Right. Sure. Because business, I've heard… usually does lead to babies."

"Who I do and don't shag is none of your business."

"Because I left?"

"Because I'm not in love with you. Because I never was. Because after you went off with Elsa… it didn't matter how many times I told you that we were okay… that we were still friends… you couldn't believe it. You were so bloody guilty that you took her across the ocean to get away from me. Of course I was hurt when I saw you together, at first… I won't lie… but that pain, Ron? Seeing you together? It was replaced very quickly by happiness for you both. Don't you get it? It's CHANGE that hurts… but you want the best for the ones you care the most about. No… I'm not in love with you… but I will always love you, Ron. And Elsa. Always. And you want to know something? It's a little bit fucking irritating that you can't be as happy for me over some prejudicial boyhood rivalry."

"Elsa is your FAMILY. Draco Malfoy is a KILLER."

"You think it's so different? Watching someone choose your family over you? What if I was shagging GEORGE?!"

"What if I left you for Bellatrix Bloody Lestrange?!"

"But you didn't, Ron. And I didn't leave YOU for anyone. Apples and sodding oranges."

"Since when do you say, "Sodding?"

She swallowed, took a deep breath. She lowered her wand. Ron cleared his throat.

"Hermione… the reason I'm here… I need you to know that… for fuck's sake, I would do ANYTHING for you… and I'm a bloody prat, and I went in there half-cocked. I wasn't thinking—well… not with my head. And you're right, it was… selfish. It was territorial. It was… personal. I just… I have to know something… if you're gonna be out there in the bloody desert with him, I just… I love you too much not to ask… do you love him?"

Her heart rate accelerated, and she felt her face color. She licked her lips and pulled them into her mouth… she averted her eyes. After a moment, he smiled at her.

"Then go, Hermione," he nearly whispered. He leaned over her, kissed her on the forehead, and as she closed her eyes against this near-forgotten feeling, and rejoiced in her heart to be close to a friend once more… he was gone; apparated. She blinked as a tear fell from her eye and began to roll down her cheek. She wiped it away and took a deep breath. She turned to face her desk and saw Crookshanks sitting on her text, flicking his tail across the chair… staring at her; judging her. She made a face at him.

"He's not always an arse," she said to him, mussing his head. He did not immediately jump down and her brow furrowed. She looked behind him at the pages. Her page had changed. She picked the book up from under him and as he jumped to the ground, she scanned the page.

"Merlin…" she whispered, drinking in the knowledge. He meowed to her as she ripped that and the next three pages from the book. She stared down at him in awe.

"Who says you can't teach an old cat new tricks?"

Draco was padding between the two tribal warriors several feet behind the man who appeared to be the leader of whatever group of people he was on his way toward. He envisioned his uncle those 23 years ago, following this same man… and hoped this was not the prison he had ended up in… especially now that he was wandless, and had no conception of the type of magic these men were capable of.

"So, uh… mate," he began, motioning to the man to his left who was stony and unresponsive.

"Been expecting me, have you? Little bird told you I was coming?"

"Birds do not speak to us," the man replied, his eyes and face staying forward on his course. Draco nodded.

"Right. And, erm… what is it exactly that you've been expecting me to do besides meet you here?"

"We do not ask questions of the The Great Eye."

Draco's eyes widened, looking away from them.

"Great," he said, sarcastically. "This 'Great Eye' fellow… he has the rest of a face too, yes?" He was only half sure that he was kidding. The warriors on the other hand, were of complete and total seriousness. It was unnerving.

"He has many things," the man answered. Draco sighed, adjusting his pack on his back, avoiding a branch that was threatening to slap him in the chest.

"Not much of a conversationalist, are you, Cowboy?"

"We work as hands, not mouths… and I am no-parts cow."

"Of course you're not." He looked ahead of him to the man in front… the man with the magical staff. He wondered if the two bearing crystals had any power at all, or if they were just for show.

"Hey, chief!" he called. The man did not turn around, but led them on in silence. "Almost there, now?"

"Patience, my friend."

"Friends, are we?"

"I hope so."

"Friends usually let friends hold onto their magical bits, though, I think."

"Yes. I mean to say, I hope we can be friends. As now, we are strangers… and strangers do not have… trust."

"Not as luck would have it, no."

"You are new to these parts," the man ascertained. Draco nodded.

"That obvious?"

"Yes, you smell of… I don't know… something entirely… fabricated."

"Well, I don't shower in volcanic clay, so… probably right about that one."

The man ebbed on through the jungle, never looking at Draco or showing him any sign that he was interested at all… but he was, Draco could tell. He was not their prisoner… but he was also not their guest. He wondered if the soldiers had alerted these men that he was nearby? Is that why he was expecting him?

The man held up his hand suddenly, and the two warriors stopped moving. Draco looked back and forth between the two and cleared his throat.

"Me too, then? Stopping?" They didn't answer. He let out a deep breath. "Stopping works for me," he surmised.

The leader of the three men walked toward a rock that was littered with ivy-like plants. He edged his staff into a nook inside the stone and it turned around 180 degrees to reveal a keyhole shape. The man removed from inside his robes a long key about the size of his fist made of wood, most likely. He fit it into the hole. Without turning it, but with a click from somewhere inside this archaic mechanism, Draco heard the wheels start turning, and he watched in awe as what appeared to have been more trees lining the jungle before him, endlessly, fell down to reveal that it was actually a wall around a village… a flat, grassy village, on the edge of a large steam of water. There were men, women and children all around the village, doing chores… making food, tending to their gardens, baking, grooming their children, making clothing, and even building shelters. He felt as if he'd donned a Time Turner. It was unreal.

And in the middle of the water, he saw… a towering, winding mountain… making its way into the dusky sky until it was surrounded on all sides by whiffs of cloud. It was magnificent, and Draco knew immediately that he was upon it.

"Welcome, my son," the leader said, "to The Valley of the Kings."

And with that, a sack came down over his head.

Hermione apparated into the middle of a vast, sweeping jungle with the map clutched in her two hot hands. Her hair was hanging down her back in sweaty clumps with anticipation, and she traced her place on the map with her forefinger, chasing her tail to find her way. She had marked with a quill where she needed to go, and she was sprinting down the path, full velocity.

"Come on, Draco," she whispered through her heavy breaths. "Couldn't have lumbered too far on your own."

She was ducking in and out of harm's way, feeling the scratch of plants, branches and rocks as she trod on, eyes on the map all the while. Her hiking boots made dull flops against the earth and her hair slapped her back, up and down, all around, knotted and stringy against her. She had to keep going, even as the sweat stung her eyes and her throat began to tighten… this jungle was infamous in the old tales… the beasts that lurked here were quite formidable. Through all fault of his own, she knew that Draco knew little about such creatures, and wouldn't care to even if their existence suddenly became pertinent. If one of them were to sink its claws into him, she feared…

She stopped herself along the edge of a stream, catching her breath. She couldn't keep fearing the worst… he'd gotten himself to his late twenties in one piece… maybe he'd be all right, after all.

Right.

She scolded herself and lapped up some water from the canteen in her bag. Night had fallen, but it wasn't any cooler just yet. She wondered if it was ever really cool here, in this tumbling jungle, where the humidity had risen. She prayed for the mountain ranges, where the air was sure to be more crisp and clean.

Wiping the sweat from her brow, she felt a change in the earth… she felt as if she had stepped into a hole, but looking down, saw that it looked just the same as the rest of the cleared path. She took another step… another… and then on the third, she felt it again. She bent low to peer, and had a sudden thought. Snatching her wand, she pointed it at the earth.

"Revealo." Footprints, as if carved by magic, revealed themselves to her eyes, lit all up in light blues and turquoises. She smirked. He may be leaving a trail of breadcrumbs for her, she reckoned… or, she decided… he'd been captured by something… and was hoping she was on her way to rescue him. She sighed. They weren't broad enough for him to be running… but she wasn't sure if that were a good thing, or if that made it worse... she imagined she had a long way ahead of her.

Much of the Wizarding world was aware by now of the disappearance of Miss Hermione Granger—through no fault of her friends. The healers, once having discovered her missing and her friends gone, at once alerted The Ministry of Magic. They put Mr. Potter and Weasley in charge at once in the task of finding her and Mr. Malfoy, however, it didn't stop The Daily Prophet from gobbling up the story of just why the now infamous Miss Granger had disappeared so suddenly from her Hospital bed, and what exactly had put her there in the first place…

The Healers didn't tell them, naturally, but speculation could never be stopped, and the community was rife with theories about Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy, and what they were really up to out there….

Ginny Potter, for one, had had enough. She slapped down the paper and gathered her robe more tightly around her shoulders. She was unshowered, unfed for the morning, and Lilly was humming quietly from her high chair where she pushed around bits of cereal on her tray. She hadn't even seen her husband yet, since her best friend's disappearance… and she was more than a little miffed that he hadn't updated her in person before the story broke out. It had been a very long night without him… and she was nauseated and tired as her body used much of her energy to cook up her second child, deep inside her. She sighed as her belly rumbled, and once again debated whether or not she was going to be able to eat something.

"Daddy?" she heard Lilly ask.

"No, baby. He's not home, yet," she answered, a slight edge of annoyance to her voice—but not with her beloved daughter.

"Yes he is," came a voice from behind her. She frowned, not facing him.

"You're lucky I didn't change the Apparating Allowance Codes."

She felt him reach her, felt his warmth, and his hands on her shoulders. He began to rub them for her. She could feel her resolve ebbing away.

"I'm sorry," he said. He leaned down and kissed her gently on the cheek.

She pushed the newspaper with one finger to the center of the table. "I assume of course, that this is all rubbish?"

Harry glanced at it. The paper's big headlines were, "Table of Conspiracy: Set for Two." The picture was a shot of a red-faced Hermione and a rather debonaire looking Draco Malfoy, seated together at a small café. They appeared to be traveling, and were flirting shamelessly for all the world to see. Harry cleared his throat. He pushed is glasses up and broke free of Ginny.

"I haven't exactly read the article," he said, vaguely. Ginny's eyes snapped to him. Bugger. He never could get away with one with her.

"What does that mean?" she asked, one eyebrow raised. Harry took a slow, deep breath and let it back out, debating how far he was willing to stretch his sense of confidentiality with his best friend… with that of the all-knowing senses of his wife.

"Harry…" she began. She was rising from the table, following him to the counter where the dishes were waiting to be washed and the Pumpkin Juice was still open from Lilly's breakfast being served. "Tell me what's going on."

"Gin… she's fine," he said. She blinked at him.

"She's physically fine?"

"For now,"

"Emotionally?"

"Well that remains to be seen, she is missing after all—"

"What happened to Malfoy? What did he do to her? Or—Ron? Do they know? Merlin, he must be devastated."

"None of us knows. The Healers couldn't tell due to the… errm… nature of her injuries."

"What does THAT mean?! You said she was fine!"

"I didn't say she wasn't HURT—"

"Harry James Potter—you'd better tell me what the bloody HELL is going on right now."

"Look," he said, facing her. "Ginny… this is sensitive material." She looked like she wanted to slap him.

"What am I? The bloody prophet?!"

"It's not that—"

"Who am I going to tell?!"

"It's not about that, Ginny. It's… she's one of my best and oldest friends. If she confided something in me… or if I know something that I'm not sure she'd be ready to share with other people… I owe her my silence. It's as simple as that."

Ginny turned an elegant shade of fuchsia. He realized suddenly, that he had embarrassed her. He grasped hold of her hands.

"Listen, in your place… I'd feel the same way… and I think you'd make the same decision I'm making now."

Ginny swallowed, looked away and nodded.

"No, you're right," she said. "I'm sorry."

He brought her toward him and held her for a moment.

"Trust me, Ginny," he said as he ran a hand over her back, through her hair and let the other circle her waist. "Wherever she is, she's in good hands."

And he hoped against hope that he was right.

Hermione was puzzling over a break in the jungle where the trees had changed their texture… slight colors had been removed… there was a force-field here, and it was directly in line of where her map was pointing her. She immediately set toward trying to bring it down. She had fired jinx after spell after curse at the thing to try and move it—or get it to reveal its secrets… to her great dismay, she was having no luck.

But, on a positive note, she reminded herself… the fact that it was being so stubborn, yet living up to its original self, told her that she was on the right track… no ordinary, non-magical object would have withstood her spells without change. This was definitely an object of great importance.

She sat down before it, wet with perspiration, and drew her arm across her brow. She drank some water. She watched the moon dabble against the skyline as it began to rise.

She found then that she was perched directly before a rock with a small hole inside. She studied it. She crawled toward it and put her eye against it… could it be a keyhole?

She immediately set to looking for a long stick. Once had, she pointed her wand tip at the hole in the rock. "Effortmente!" she said clearly. A cloud of wispy white smoke filled the hole. She turned it, withdrew it, and came out with the perfect markings of a key. She smiled. She brought it toward the stick. "Speculi Obiectum," she whispered against hope. The stick transformed to take the shape of the smoke. Her wisp of white cloud dissoved and she pressed the new wooden key into the hole in the rock, and felt it click inside.

She heard the wall clink as it began to come down. She held her breath, mouth slightly agape. Her wand was out. She closed her eyes, then opened them, cursing herself, forcing herself to look. She had to know… how close was she? Was he here? Damn him if he'd found the bloody mountain without her. If he was dead… she was gonna bring him back just to kill him, herself.

"Ah," she heard. She whirled around. A small, gentle man with a staff and something like bungled Wizarding robes was smiling at her.

"The other half," he said. She narrowed her eyes.

"What?" she asked.

A sack was drawn over her eyes at the same time that her wand was liberated from her hand. She tried to shout, but to who? All she knew was that for the moment she needed to play her cards carefully, because as these people- whom she had yet to see- marched her in some unknown direction… she knew the game had most certainly been changed.