Breakfast in the Great Hall was the noisy affair it always was. The lofty ceiling mirrored the late autumn sunshine perfectly and the cavernous walls allowed the happy sounds of diners to echo around.
"Hey, Hermione! I was told you were in the medical wing. Are you ok?" Neville looked at her with concern as she took a seat.
"Yeah, Neville, I'm fine. Just a cold that needed a pepper up potion," Hermione lied smoothly without hesitation.
If he thought it odd that a mere cold necessitated a trip to see Madam Pomfrey, he didn't say so. "Well, you look alright today. How are you finding your first weeks?"
"Erm, good, Neville. And you?"
"Professor Sprout is really doing her best with me and I'm loving every minute of it. Plus, it helps not having Professor Snape telling me I'm useless every day. I've hardly seen him, actually. I hear you have lessons with him twice a week. That must be horrible."
Instinctively, Hermione glanced up at the staff table and noted with a lurch that the professor being discussed was not there. Neville was staring at her, obviously expecting a response.
"Oh... Yes, you're right, it is horrible," she remarked, nodding in agreement.
"Morning, Luna! Saved you a spot!" Neville waved the spacey Ravenclaw over to their table.
Hermione's shrewd eyes noticed the faint flush on Neville's face as Luna approached. 'Well, that's not a complete surprise,' she thought as she watched the blonde girl greet her housemate like she had seen him not that long ago.
Harry strode into the hall, hand in hand with his girlfriend, and with a slight bitterness she mused, 'Everyone's a couple, except for me.'
When Harry passed by, she grabbed at his robes to get his attention. "Can we talk for five before charms revision?"
He smiled at her and nodded absently, then returned all of his focus to Ginny.
After a pleasant meal, the friends all went their separate ways to various N.E.W.T. lessons or studies. Harry and Hermione walked companionably to the library since she wanted to pick up a few extra revisions books.
As usual, Madam Pince did not seem to register their arrival, even though Harry knew the moment that he dropped a book or exclaimed too loudly, the witch would be screaming at him like a banshee. Choosing a nook as far away from the strict librarian as possible, they started to talk in lowered voices.
"So how did you get on?" Harry queried.
"Alright, I guess. I've got some research to do, but at least now I know what I'm looking for."
Hermione put the little statue of the fox down on the table and began to tell Harry all she knew about the kitsune.
"So, who gave you this?" Harry ran a finger over the statue, looking closely at the detail on the delicate figurine.
"My mum."
"Weird. Where would she get something like this?" he asked and handed the fox back.
"I'm not sure. I've had a letter off her this morning, telling me how well they are both doing. She also reminded me to wear this." Hermione placed a necklace with a pearl attached to it on the wooden surface before them.
"Nice. Does that hold any significance?"
"Only that mum said I need to wear it to make sure it retains its luster, but I did briefly see a reference in one of Professor Snape's books relating to it."
"Ok, then ask for the book," he said glibly.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, I think not. I risked death in his boudoir last night!"
"Really? Wow. What colour are his p.j.'s? Slytherin green?" Harry laughed at his own wit.
Irma Pince coughed in warning.
"No, Harry. He doesn't wear any," Hermione hissed scathingly.
"Oh my god! That is not the vision I want stuck in my head today. Ginny in lingerie... Ginny in lingerie… Yep, that's better." He grinned
"Well, neither image suits me, so let's be serious for a moment. I went to see Professor Snape as promised and he was covered ankle to wrist to neck in black cloth. Ok?"
"Now that I believe. Did you find out about the stone?"
The door to the library opened. Both of them heard it, but they did not look around and continued with their conversation.
"Yes, I did. Don't freak out, Harry…" She paused and he immediately sobered at her serious tone. "He doesn't have the stone."
The black clad person in the alcove behind them stiffened.
"I thought you said he got there first!"
"I was scared and I didn't see. The Death Eaters got it. But he did try, and he's going to help us get it back." For the second time that day, a lie dropped easily from her lips.
The figure retreated and Hermione shivered, turning towards the closing door. With a slight frown marring her expression, she twisted back to Harry.
"So, I risked death by Snape to gain this information. You, at the very least, can use your little map and break in and borrow it."
"You mean steal it?"
"No, we will return it."
"Think I would rather steal it. Borrowing means I've got to tell him I had it without permission. Yeah, I'll just nick it."
"Good, that's sorted then. Also, Professor Snape said that he has seen Narcissa Malfoy."
She proceeded to tell him of Snape's suspicion about Mrs. Malfoy's origins.
"I'm confused. Are you saying she is an animagus?" Harry scratched his head thoughtfully.
"No, that's not what she is. If the professor is correct, then she is an ancient magical fox from Japan, the one I just told you about. If so, she must be hundreds of years old. I have discovered that kitsune generally take the form of women, using their allure to manipulate men. They can also use mind control if the need arises and are said to have a profound understanding of all magic. They can be evil or they can be good. Once in a while, they will mate and adopt a family. This family, they will protect by any means necessary. But so far, that's all I've got. I need that book."
"This is really bizarre. If she is one of the kitsune that's settled with a family, why in Merlin's name has she left them?"
"I don't know. It doesn't really add up, but I'm determined to find out." Hermione stood and got ready to leave, grabbing the books she needed. "Alright, let's not be late for Professor Flitwick. We had better hurry."
They got the books checked out by Madam Pince and rushed off to their first lesson of the day.
Professor Snape had not made it to breakfast, having awoken with a pounding headache coupled with some very worrisome recollections of the night before. After going to his potions cupboard and swearing loudly about the Granger girl, who had vanished all of the decent pain draughts, he stalked off in the direction of the library to take out a book for his next class.
It was apparent to every student crossing the man's path that Snape was in quite the mood. The hourglasses in the Entrance Hall were tinkling with activity, with every house suffering a dock in points, including Slytherin, but to the trained eye it was clear that the red jewels of Gryffindor were depleted the most.
On arrival at the library, his first sight was of the two Gryffindors that were the main cause of his temper.
Practicing his usual stealth, he snuck up behind the couple, whose heads were bent close in whispered conversation. 'So much for constant vigilance.' He smirked to himself.
Part of their conversation floated towards him.
"He doesn't have the stone."
"I thought you said he got there first!"
"I was scared and I didn't see. The Death Eaters got it. But he did try, and he's going to help us get it back."
His body drew up in shock at the lie and he swiftly retreated out of the room, but in his haste, the door shut a little too violently behind him.
He sailed to his classroom, his mind whirling with confusion. Sweeping through the corridors, his robes flew out, giving credence to his bat nicknames. He threw open the door to the room and shut it with his back. Resting there for a moment, he replayed the exchange he had overheard.
'Why would she lie to Potter?' he pondered.
Snape had thoroughly expected her to tell the arrogant boy how he had just given up the stone, and yet she had not. He shrugged it off and went to his desk to await his morning class. With an irritated roll of his eyes, he realised he never picked up the book that he required.
The Hag's Head had few customers on a weekday afternoon. The punters that were in attendance gave the impression of being there for a long time; probably still sat by the bar from the night before. Sweating hops and rancid firewhiskey was the odour of the day.
"Perry?"
The barman turned slowly and looked at the newcomer. "Lucius Malfoy? It's been months since you have honoured this establishment with your noble presence."
The wizard before the bar wore long, dark, flowing robes, which in and of itself was nothing strange as everyone did in such a place, but his garb was exquisite in a manner the others lacked; the material thick and rich with little silver clasps that glistened in contrast. His elegant, nearly feminine hands caressed a black cane with a metallic top. The most unusual thing about this wizard was his hair, the white blond strands cascading in a perfectly styled wave to his shoulders.
For those that had known Lucius before the war, his expression was a surprise. His countenance was famous for its disdainful sneer, his aristocratic nose always appearing as though it had smelt something particularly nasty. His expression now, although showing remnants of haughty arrogance, appeared more to be resigned and beaten.
"It seemed wise to keep... a low profile," he said coolly
"Or in plainer words, it seemed wise not to hang around old Death Eater haunts," sneered Perry.
Lucius' poise left him for a moment as he looked around wildly. "Peregrine, do you mind? You may be comfortable brandishing past connections, but I, my old friend, am not. I am only here because you asked me to be by owl this morning. What do you want?"
"You're answering my summons? I wouldn't deem myself worthy of sending for one such as you. I wonder why you responded."
Lucius was taken back and he stammered slightly, "Well... I… I thought you may have news of Narcissa."
"Have you lost your wife? How careless of you. There's someone upstairs that might be able to help. He's taken a private room. I will escort you up."
The elder Malfoy was now completely perplexed. He merely nodded and then followed Perry across the tavern.
"Goyle! Mind the bar, and keep your thieving hands out of the till."
A young man lumbered up out of the gloom, giving a small grunt of assent, his long apelike arms seeming to drag slightly as he lurched to the bar.
Lucius shuddered faintly at the appearance of Gregory Goyle, his son's former best friend. He had avoided imprisonment due to his age and because of his mental diminishment. Personally, by the sight of him, he felt the wretch was lucky to escape a permanent stay at St. Mungo's.
These musings were quickly expunged by the pressing need to know who was waiting for him upstairs.
Ron Weasley scratched his head distractedly with his wand. The smell of burning hair awoke him to the hazards of such an action.
"Bloody hell," he muttered, patting his singed hair out.
He turned back to the owl that had him so perplexed.
Dear Mr. Weasley,
My wife and I are under the impression that you are a friend and coworker of our daughter Cho Chang.
Please forgive this unusual approach, but we are very concerned about Cho. She is not returning our owls and we have not heard from her since the end of August. We are wondering what is wrong and we are desperate for news.
We are currently staying with relatives in the Orient with the view to returning home in a few months. If our absence is the reason for our daughter's silence, we will return immediately.
Please, can you tell us how she is? Can you encourage her to get in touch?
We are hoping this message finds you well, and we eagerly await your response.
Yours Sincerely,
Mr. & Mrs. Chang
Ron was puzzled. Cho was always a thoughtful, caring sort of person, and certainly not the type to ignore the owls of her parents. In the past, he had assumed that Cho had a great deal of affection for her parents, but thinking about it, he realised she hadn't mentioned them at all for a long time. Frankly, he was concerned about her. He had the feeling that he was dating two girls because she could be so different from day to day. She forgot some things, or didn't mention others, that had occurred between them.
'Important things,' Ron thought.
Over the last week, however, her behaviour had been much more consistent. Thankfully, she had finally mentioned that first kiss, and then repeated it with enthusiasm.
He wondered if she was suffering from a mild form of post traumatic stress. Lots of people had it, and he was surprised that he didn't after all he went through during the war.
Ron folded up the letter and placed it in his pocket. They had a date later. He resolved to ask her about her parents then.
At the same moment Ron was puzzling over his owl, Harry was puzzling over a butterbeer. Today, he was meeting the youngest Malfoy on his terms at the Three Broomsticks.
'How do I tell Malfoy our suspicions?' he mused and took a sip from his tankard, savoring the sweetness.
"Potter."
Harry looked up to see the haughty face of his childhood enemy. He felt a strong, habitual desire to curse him straight between his eyes, but he was able to suppress it.
"Malfoy, take a seat. Want a butterbeer?"
"Go on then." The blond shrugged in distaste.
"I believe it's wise with how early it is. I really don't think I can cope with you on firewhiskey at this time of the day." Harry was smirking slightly.
"Shut up, Potter, and get the damn drinks."
Draco pulled up a seat as Harry went to the bar and waited for his return, casting apprehensive glances at the patrons of the pub while avoiding eye contact. The Gryffindor came back carrying a frothing jug and placed it on the table in front of him.
"So, what have you found out?"
"The words you're struggling for is 'thank you'," Harry said with a small sigh.
Draco picked up the beverage. "If it makes you feel better... Thank you for the drink, you are most kind. Now my mother, Potter!" His unlikely ally raised an eyebrow and he let his shoulders slump slightly as he pushed his hair back. "Fine," he murmured to himself, then asked in a tone of forced politeness, "Harry, would you please tell me what you know about my mother's disappearance?"
"Yes, Draco. I don't know that much, but she has been sighted."
His refined features immediately brightened. "By who?"
"Professor Snape." Harry paused to take a swallow of his drink.
"Go on," muttered Draco.
"Well, this is a bit weird. Have you any links with Japan or any Japanese relatives?"
"Have you gone completely mental? What colour is my hair, my father's hair, my mother's hair?"
"Yeah, I know you're all blond," Harry snapped in irritation.
"Not just blond, but Aryan blond, white platinum blond. Can you honestly believe that we have any Japanese genes at all?"
"If your family hadn't of been wizards and Death Eaters, Malfoy, you would have been muggle Nazis. So yeah, stupid question."
Draco looked slightly offended at this accusation, but could not help but acknowledge the truth in it. "What prompted that inane question?"
"Ok, this is bizarre, but your mother appears to have joined forces with the remaining Death Eaters. They have been looking for a powerful artefact. We think they want to use it to bring back Voldemort."
Draco shuddered. "Don't say his name... This cannot be right. My mother wouldn't do that! She hated the Dark Lord. He tried to kill me! He ruined our family. Why would she want him to return? No... You're wrong." He glared at Harry, searching for his denial.
"I don't know what's going on, to be honest. There's more to this than meets the eye, but regardless, we can't allow them to get the means to resurrect Voldemort." Harry watched his reaction closely.
"I've told you, don't say his name! I refuse to believe my mother is involved, but if something that can revive the dead is out there, the Death Eaters will be after it. They have to be stopped."
"Will you help, Draco?"
There was a short silence as the sounds of the tavern overtook their conversation.
The Slytherin hesitated and then grudgingly responded, "If I can. Why did you ask if we had Japanese connections?"
"Because Snape saw your mum transform into a Japanese kitsune. A fox," Harry clarified when he noticed his confused expression.
Draco spat out his mouthful of butterbeer in a coughing fit. "That's just ludicrous! If my mother could do that, I would know. Anyway, I saw her pursued by a fox, not turning into one! She couldn't be both," he said, wiping his lips with a serviette.
"You may have been mistaken in what you saw."
"I wasn't!" he snarled.
"Ok, ok, I'm sure we can find out. But for now, we know she's alive and in the vicinity. We need to draw her out of hiding or you do. It's the Heroes' Ball soon at Hogwarts. If your mother is on the side of the Death Eaters- I said 'IF'." Draco had made to interrupt him. "She will want to be at the ball somehow, I'm sure of it. So let's make sure you're there, too. I get a plus one invite and Ginny has an invite of her own. You can be my plus one."
"I'm not being your date, Potter!"
"Yuck! A little bit of sick just came up in my mouth at the very thought. Do you want to see your mother? Do you want my help? If so, shut up and turn up on the night, Malfoy!" Harry was frustrated by his lack of cooperation in the matter.
"Fine, but you're wrong about my mother."
"That may be true, but if you come, you can talk to Snape. He's always admired your family. I'm sure he will help you and explain what he saw."
Draco acknowledged the wisdom in this. He drained the last of his drink and shakily put the glass down. "I don't think I will be well received at Hogwarts. In fact, I think I may get hexed from every angle." He looked away from Harry, uncertain as to his next action.
"You'll be with me. People won't like it, but who's going to question the 'chosen one'?"
"Do you have any idea of how arrogant you sound?" Draco sneered.
"Yep! I sound like you. You don't want to be making friends with the wrong sort! I can help you there..." The spectacled young man broke off, shooting a rueful glance at his old classmate and letting his words sink in.
Draco, remembering his own words from so many years ago, turned slightly pink. "Right… It's a date then, Potter!" he growled out suddenly.
Back at the Hag's Head in Knockturn Alley, Perry pushed open a large door and revealed a gloomy, cobwebbed room with wood-paneled walls and creaky oak flooring.
Lucius looked around the room and his eyes fell on a tall, shrouded figure in the corner. He stepped forward hesitantly, and then flinched when the barman slammed the door behind him as he disappeared back to the lower level.
"Ahh… Lucius! How are you, my slippery friend?"
For a horrifying moment, he thought the Dark Lord himself had materialised in the confines of the little room.
"Expelliarmus."
His wand flew from his hand before he had time to recover from the shock and the realisation that it was not the Dark Lord, but Rabastan, who had disarmed him.
"What is the meaning of this, Lestrange?" blustered Lucius.
"What go you mean? We are practically family! Can I not enjoy a conversation with family?"
"Not by tricking me here and then unarming me like the enemy."
"And yet it was so easy to do. You're slipping! What has you so worried and negligible?"
"I'm tired, Lestrange. What exactly do you want?"
"Where's your wife, hmm?"
"I don't think that's any of your business. How dare you? What do you think you are doing?"
"We are looking after your wife, Lucius. She's very brave; no tears at all."
Lucius face was aflame with rage, but his demeanour remained calm. "What do you want?" he hissed.
"Why, your help is all I require, my dear friend," said Rabastan pleasantly.