"I'm getting seriously confused now. What's going on?" Harry irritably grabbed at the necklace and swung it to and fro like a pendulum.
Hermione tried to snatch the pearl from him, her fingers grasping fruitlessly as he swung the delicate chain further away and out of her reach.
"Is this a talisman? If so, put it on! Might stop the constant bedside visits Ron and I are having to pay you."
"Pass it here. Hermione, put it on this instant!" Ron deftly caught the jewel that Harry threw to him.
Hermione leaned back when her impulsive friend scrabbled over and attempted to hang the necklace about her throat.
"Get off, Ron! I can put a piece of jewelry on by myself!" She made a swiping gesture to ward the redhead out of her personal space.
Ron immediately stopped trying to get a hold of her, and blushing hotly, he handed the chain to the indignant young woman. Contritely, he muttered, "Yeah, you can. Sorry, Mione. Just put it on, will you?"
"Do you really think it's safe? It could be a trick." Hermione stared nervously at the orb nestled in her palm.
"I think if the necklace was cursed, we would be dead by now, but maybe wearing it will make it dangerous." Harry also glared at the innocent-looking object with deep suspicion.
"I keep wondering where my mum got it from. What if a Death Eater gave it to her somehow and she thought it would make a nice gift? But she did tell me that it's an ancient heirloom from Japan. Apparently, we had a Japanese ancestor many years ago. She said stories claim that the charm protects and brings help if it is needed. She smiled when she told me this, and I thought, at the time, it was a disbelieving smile. My mum didn't know how true the legend was but that my father noticed the necklace when she was young and said it was beautiful like her; that's why they started going out. I really can't see us having Japanese ancestors… Perhaps someone told her that to get her to accept this, but why?"
"That's just too weird! Hang on a minute, you said these fox thingies-"
"Kitsune!" interrupted Hermione and Harry in unison.
"Yeah, whatever. You said these fox thingies can alter minds and reality. Maybe Mrs. Malfoy planted a false memory in your mother, thereby getting her to plausibly accept the gift as being in her family for generations. You've never heard the story before this, have you?" Ron paused for confirmation. When Hermione shook her head, he continued, "And if it was an heirloom to be passed down through generations, why would you not have been given it when you came of age? That's traditional with muggles and wizards alike."
"Wow, Ron, that's very possible. You might actually be right! Don't put it on, Hermione, just in case a curse was put on it."
Hermione thought hard before she said, "I'm still confused... If she wanted to kill me, she could just do it. No need for all this nonsense, really. This is a symbol of protection and it's linked to the Kitsune's soul. But if that's true, why would Mrs. Malfoy want to protect me? I'm so confused." She played with the fastener on the chain distractedly.
"I just don't see where we go from here. What's next? What shall we do now?" As always, Harry looked at the intelligent young woman in front of him, confident in her decisions.
"We do nothing, Harry. We wait, we let events unfold. Then when the time comes, we need to be ready for anything, as usual. I'm going to put this on; I'm convinced I should."
She opened the clasp, brought the ends around to the back of her neck, and fumbled to latch it. She huffed in annoyance and Ron reached behind her to push her long hair out of the way and over one shoulder. Taking the necklace from her hands, he easily fastened it and then closed his eyes before allowing the chain to fall onto her bare skin.
All three winced in anticipation of something horrible happening.
Harry glanced about the still quiet bedroom and laughed. "Well, that was dramatic."
"Ok, what now?" Ron asked, opening his eyes in relief.
"I'm going to sleep. We still have N.E.W.T.s to try and pass. How's your revision going, Ron?"
He blushed for the second time that evening. "It is going, erm… It's a good thing I've got Cho."
Harry laughed again and patted Ron on the back. "Never mind that, mate. It's a good job I've got Hermione! What would we do without women?"
"Clearly, you would all fail your exams, have rubbish jobs, and play Quidditch all day." Hermione sniffed.
"Hey, that doesn't sound so bad; I haven't played Quidditch for months."
"Yeah, we need to arrange a match or something. I'm itching to get back on my broom."
The boys slid off of the very crumpled bed sheets and strode out of the room, talking excitedly about the last Quidditch match they saw.
"Good grief, how easily distracted are you?!" shouted Hermione after them, torn between amusement and exasperation.
"Very!" Harry yelled from the hall.
"Yeah, it's good that you were wearing a bra under your nightshirt, because we wouldn't have heard a thing if not!" Ron chimed in.
They chortled and went downstairs for a drink.
Hermione shook her head, then remade her bed and lay down in the fading light of day.
'I really hope I don't have any more incidents… I honestly don't thing my body can take it. I feel like an old woman,' she thought as her eyelids drifted close. She rubbed gently at the pearl resting just above her chest. "I hope you do keep us safe," she murmured sleepily.
Despite how early it was, almost as soon as the faint moonlight entered the room, she fell into a restless sleep filled with dreams.
Her sleeping visions floated in front of her eyes. She was running blindly, groping in the dark. There were shadowy shapes and moments of panic, of franticly seeking someone, anyone that could help. Then the oppressive feelings of unrequited love engulfed her, the weight and crush almost unbearable, all for someone she thought she knew, someone she couldn't find. The need to vent her fear opened her mouth and forced a soundless scream, but the frustration of the ineffective action alerted no one to her aid.
In the real world, the girl on the bed twisted and turned, entangled by the suffocating linen that wrapped around her limbs in a restrictive grip. Her eyelids fluttered slightly in the grip of REM and her mouth muttered a familiar name.
Then a voice, deep and calming, slow and calculated, placated her restless dreams and lowered words of poetry filled her mind, comforting her with their familiarity.
"The fountains mingle with the river
And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of Heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
All things by a law divine
in one spirit meet and mingle.
Why not I with thine?—
See the mountains kiss high Heaven
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth
And the moonbeams kiss the sea:
What are all these kissings worth
If thou kiss not me?"
The panic of the nightmare subsided and she melted into the poetry, her breathing now rhythmic, back and forth like the roll of the ocean. She could almost hear the sounds of the sea crashing against the shore, and she could imagine quivering moonlight playing across the rippling crystal saline.
The pearl that lay around the sleeping girl's neck gleamed in the waning illumination of the room.
She rolled face first into her pillow, the sheets falling to the floor. She slept with the words of Shelley caressing her ears. Her breathing slowed, her limbs became still, awash with sleep, and she slumbered.
Snape forced himself to attend the evening meal in the Great Hall.
He sat straight-backed, almost ignoring the food in front of him in his scrutiny of the pupils that were all eagerly tucking into the Hogwarts' fare. Occasionally, he paused from this occupation to push the contents of his plate around. He found his eyes flickering to the area that he had derisively named 'The Heroes Table', and the few there were quietly talking and clearly enjoying the banquet. The table looked empty, however, with the absence of two students. Snape briefly wondered if a certain Gryffindor was alright after her disastrous dueling session. A small pang of regret at the ferocity of his curses flickered in his mind and he quashed it immediately, but his attention still wandered in a very unfamiliar way.
"What do you think? Severus? ...Hello, Severus?"
"What? Pardon?" He glanced up and met the Headmistress' amused stare with a blank one of his own.
"Severus, you're away with the fairies. We've been talking to you for five minutes."
Snape grimaced at the expression. "I can assure you that the only person who's away with the fairies is the Divination apprentice."
They both turned to observe Luna, who was busy wafting wrackspurts away with a distant expression on her face.
"Yet she's always so happy and at peace, isn't she? Perhaps a dalliance with the fairies would do you good, professor," said McGonagall while she watched the young woman.
He snorted in response, causing Professor Flitwick to look up in alarm. "What were you saying to me, Headmistress? I apologise for my momentary lapse of concentration. I await with bated breath for whatever words of wisdom you were trying to impart… to me."
"I was merely discussing the need to reinstate some kind of Muggle Studies. Since our dear Professor Burbage was murdered, nobody wants the post. I think it is essential that we sort this problem out; we don't want the next generation to be raised under the Magic is Might banner."
Snape inwardly cringed at the thought of his colleague, Charity, and remembered how she had declared him to be her friend in front of Voldemort. He had been saddened and shocked at the time. He could not help her, and once again, he had watched a person die who he was unable to save.
"I think if we start up Muggle Studies again, it would be nice to include some muggle education. Filius and I were discussing literature. We have pupils here full of magic but with absolutely no soul in what they read."
"Are you telling me you want foppish boys and teary-eyed girls running around quoting Byron and threatening to drown themselves in the lake?"
"Nice though that sounds, you know full well that's not what I mean. I know you have a fair amount of muggle literature in your personal library. I'm thinking, for a start, we could arrange for poetry or classic book readings in the library."
Professor McGonagall turned to the diminutive Charms Master for support.
"Why, yes indeed, Minerva! Maybe, Severus, you could lend the library a few of your books. I would happily arrange a book club if you could provide the material." Flitwick's eager face nodded furiously at Snape.
He sighed and reluctantly agreed. "I see no harm in it. I will arrange some books for you, but don't ask me to attend, or read, at your 'hug me and cry' sessions."
"We wouldn't dream of it, Severus. Now please eat your food. I'm not spending any more time in the medical wing with you." The Headmistress then faced Flitwick and continued their conversation.
Snape scowled at the reference to his illness and forced a few mouthfuls of his nameless food down. He stood, gave a curt nod to his colleagues, and swept away down the Great Hall to be swallowed up by the corridors of Hogwarts.
Once in his rooms, he glanced at the countless books adorning his walls. The knowledge they offered was breathtaking, and the fact they were aesthetically pleasing to him as decoration was a bonus.
His long fingers stroked the spines of his leather-bound volumes. He began running his hands along the shelves as he scrutinised the titles, pausing occasionally to select one for closer inspection. Soon, he had a pile of muggle classics ready for his colleagues.
Weary from the incidents of the last few days, of the duels, drinking, and unwanted emotion, he decided to go to his chamber to sleep.
It was very like what the Room of Requirement had provided when he was sick. The dark ebony, four poster bed was grandiose and impressively canopied by deep green, velvet coverings. The walls were a warm cream reaching up with plaster moulding to clasp the lofty ceiling, upon which roses held the chains to black chandeliers that little crystals dropped from like rain frozen in time. A fireplace also adorned one wall and its flickering flame added colour and drama to the room. Bedside cabinets were nestled on either side of the four poster.
Snape sat heavily on the high bed and bent to take off his footwear. Having relieved his feet of the pointed dragon hide boots, he swung them up onto the mattress and collapsed fully-clothed into sleep.
His dreams were fitful and confusing. He was looking for someone; perhaps Lily, as it was usually her that haunted his slumber. He could feel another's horror and silent crying that he had witnessed before.
When someone shouted his name, he woke up with a start. The charmed window in his room showed the moon breaking through autumnal clouds, its beams resting across his bed in a wonderful recreation of the moonlight.
Rubbing a weary hand across his forehead, he mused, 'How did I fall asleep so quickly?' He groaned at the rude awakening and listened to his shortness of breath, feeling his heart seeming to punch against the wall of his chest. 'Damn nightmares! I need dreamless sleep.'
The professor sat up to retrieve the potion, only to remember that Granger had taken it. He fumbled in his bedside cabinet in the hope of discovering a spare vial, but could not find one.
"Lumos!" he snapped and directed the light at the drawer.
Nothing was there except for an old book. He picked up the worn, little tome and turned it over. The title glittered gold against the green backdrop, and it proclaimed itself to be Palgrave's Golden Treasury.
Sitting back against his pillows, he opened the book and read the inscription contained within quietly in his head.
'I will go with thee
and be thy guide,
In thy most need
to go by thy side.
Sev,
This is my gift to you. I hope it will bring you light when it's dark.
Guiding you in moments of need, if you have any.
Be careful when reading, it will bring out the muggle in you.
Lily
For the first time in years, he read those beloved words without a desperate pain. Just the sight of the book had calmed his racing heart.
Snape randomly opened the little book of poetry and the pages fell open near the middle, revealing a poem he had read many, many times; Love's Philosophy, by Percy Bysshe Shelley.
Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he again felt the tumult of his dream. Sighing heavily, he began to read the poem out loud in the hope of calming his nerves and bringing back sleep.
His hushed, resonant timbre flowed over the prose like velvet chocolate, throaty and full, and as he read, the words of the poet washed over him in a calming and soothing wave.
Indeed, kisses had always been worth nothing to him, and if Lily couldn't kiss him, then kissing was worthless. At least, he had always thought so, but as his eyes closed, his last thought was certainly unexpected.
The book slid from his hands and dropped to the floor.
The next morning was bright with autumn colours. Bronzed and golden leaves spun in the air above the iron railed street outside of Grimmauld Place, hovering for a moment, and then fluttering to the road as they were carried by the October breeze.
The occupants of number twelve were up and enjoying the luxury of a day off, for once all together.
Hermione had a slight headache from the fall the day before, but was otherwise in excellent spirits, having assured her friends that she slept surprisingly well.
Kreacher was happily placing breakfast on the table for his family. The house-elf looked clean, well kept, and cheerful.
A tapping at the kitchen window made them all look up. The bright yellow eyes that stared through the window and the sharp hooked beak that rapped on the pane declared it to be an eagle owl.
Ron stood up and opened the window. The owl swooped overhead to land gracefully at the table and lifted its talons with an aloof air. Harry untied the message attached to the bird's leg and began to read it.
After a few moments, he lifted his head up and said, "It's from Draco Malfoy, wanting to know if he can meet us here this afternoon. I'm fine with it. Do you two have any objections?"
"I object to his ferrety face, but I guess I can put up with it for an hour," Ron answered glibly.
Harry looked toward Hermione questioningly and she nodded mutely.
He grabbed a quill from the battered French dresser set against the far wall. Scribbling quickly, he penned his response and carefully tied it onto the waiting animal.
Hermione proffered an owl treat to the stately creature, which it ignored completely and flew through the window once again.
"Yep, that owl's got Malfoy written all over it!" Ron smirked.
Later that afternoon, the trio began to prepare for their visitor and at the elective time, Harry went outside of number twelve and waited along the street.
A wizard, well-heeled and wearing a tailored, grey jacket and a black, polo neck sweater, strolled up the street with his hands in his pockets, blond hair covering one eye.
The usual interchange of conversation between them flowed.
"Potter."
"Malfoy."
After an awkward moment, Harry began to speak, "Look, Draco, I'm sorry about this... I... Well, I have to do this. Obscuro!"
A blindfold immediately attached itself to Malfoy's head, covering his eyes, and he exclaimed, "What the f-?!"
"Honestly, I'm sorry. I will explain, but we need to get you off the street before a neighbour sees you," interrupted Harry before the vicious swearing tirade could start.
Grabbing Malfoy by the arm, he apparated them both into his own house.
"For the love of Morgana, you could have warned me, Potter! Or do you think vomit would be a nice addition to your floor?"
"Sorry, I forget some wizards are bad travelers."
"I am not a bad traveler, I just don't like side-along, and I really don't like it while blindfolded!"
"Bet you're a disappointment to your Slytherin girlfriends then." Harry snickered.
"Just take the Bloody blindfold off now!"
"Ok, Ok, calm down." He removed the blindfold with a swish of his wand and explained, "I had to do that. This house still has stacks of protection on it, and if you saw the house reveal itself, or entered as a willing guest, then its protections would be lost."
"What makes you think you still need protection?" asked Malfoy as he looked around the gloomy house with interest.
"There are still a handful of free Death Eaters that would love to finish me off."
"Surely not only Death Eaters want you dead!"
"Yeah, like you're Mr. Popular at the moment."
Malfoy scowled and conceded reluctantly, "Yes, well, that's what I want to talk about."
"Come upstairs; let's sit in the drawing room." Harry led the way up the old, creaking stairs, glad that Mrs. Black's portrait was keeping her ugly trap shut behind the curtain, for once.
As they stepped into the drawing room, Hermione and Ron glanced up from where they were sat talking.
Harry waved his hand at a vacant sofa, and Malfoy hitched the top of his trousers up as he sat down, placing an arm across the sofa rest with his fingers dangling over the side. He looked the picture of elegance, nonchalance, and confidence, but with close inspection, his right foot twitched and betrayed his actual feelings.
Despite his best intentions to remain civil, Ron glared at the Slytherin as though he was an intruder.
"Weasel, Granger," Malfoy acknowledged them in his habitual manner.
"Ferret," was Ron's equally charming greeting.
Hermione merely nodded and tried to form a smile.
Malfoy was surprised at the small effort from the girl whom he had tried to debase from every angle in school. He remembered hexing her teeth and making cruel jibes about her appearance, as well as the countless times he had called her a mudblood. He also remembered, with horror, how his aunt had cursed her viciously in his own home. Wincing at the memory, he knew too well how it had felt to be punished by aunty Bella. So, the tiny twitch of her lips was unexpected. He suddenly realised he had been staring at her for a little too long and he turned away sharply and waited for Potter to say something.
Harry didn't get the chance to speak further, though, as Kreacher could be heard hopping about outside the door in excitement. His precious locket, belonging to his dead master Regulus, was bouncing up and down on his bare, wrinkled chest. The scrawny house-elf was elated by the fact that one of the decedents of the Black family was back in his house.
Harry sighed and opened the door again. "Kreacher, stop jumping about! What do you want?"
"Would Masters like some tea?" the creature whispered hesitantly.
"That's very kind of you, Kreacher, we would love some," Hermione called to him.
"Yeah, that would be nice, thank you," said Harry quickly before Hermione could criticise his manners.
The old house-elf did his usual, funny, little wobble that was presumed to be a bow and slunk away.
"Ok, to business," Harry stated as he took a seat next to Malfoy. "What's the problem, Draco? I understand you're worried about the Heroes Ball."
"Yeah, a bit. I don't think my appearance there will be appreciated. To be honest, I normally wouldn't care, but at the moment, my father is not well, my mother is missing, and I really don't think I can handle the pressure." His face flushed a little in embarrassment at this confession of weakness. He cleared his throat. "However, I would like to speak to my godfather, and if the possibility is there that I can gain more information about my mother, I will go. It was just… Well… I was hoping you might lend me your invisibility cloak, Po- Harry," he finished quickly.
Harry sat for a minute in silent contemplation. "No, I'm sorry, Draco."
Malfoy immediately looked crestfallen and humiliated to have made the request.
"It's not what you think, but I'm sure your reception won't be as bad as you imagine. You need to face the world again. I've heard that, other then work, you go nowhere and have seen no one. It will ruin your whole life, Draco, if you hide. Go to the ball and pull the plaster off quick. It might hurt a bit, but then it will be over and you can heal. If I'm wrong, I will give you the cloak at the ball to disappear under. I honestly think you won't need it. As I said before, when you're with me, I doubt you will be questioned."
Malfoy's sharp features relaxed slightly while he listened to Harry's words.
Hermione cleared her throat nervously. "I would like to help. As lovely as the thought of you and Harry arriving hand in hand to the ball is, Ginny will probably hate it, and personally, I think people will be suspicious of both of your intentions…" She stopped to smirk slightly at Harry and Malfoy's mirrored looks of horror. "Precisely! I have a plus one invite, and no date. Maybe, Draco, you could play my date. Shut up, Ron!" She felt Ron start to bluster by her side and turning to the Slytherin, she waited for the insults.
"Erm, yeah ok, Granger, that might work," he responded, shocked at her offer.
Hermione was likewise startled by the acceptance.
"It won't do me any harm to be seen arm in arm with a war hero. It would be good if people saw it, especially when they know how I've treated you in the past. And it's definitely better than going with Potter. Thank you, Granger."
"Alright, you need to call me Hermione or this won't work."
"Oh, of course. Thank you, Hermione. I look forward to our date. Shut it, weasel!" Ron had started again and he rolled his eyes at him.
"It's a fake date, Ferret, don't forget!"
Hermione jabbed Ron in the ribs. "It's Draco, Ron, use his name. Same goes for you, Draco. Play nice, boys"
They both growled slightly at each other.
Kreacher bustled in with the tea as Malfoy stood to leave.
"Sit down, and have some tea with us. Tell us about your job," Harry said in an effort to make amends.
"Not much to tell," Malfoy remarked and sat back down. The extensive tapestry on the far wall caught his eye, and he exclaimed, "Hey, is that my name on that family tree?!"
"Yes it is, but if Mrs. Black was still alive, you would now be a singed scorch mark like Sirius. Just drinking tea with us would have had her blasting her wand at your picture, obliterating your name from the Noble House of Black! She was a lovely woman. We keep her portrait behind a curtain downstairs. You can meet her when you leave. I bet you've never had an old hag scream 'filth' and 'blood traitor' at you! It will be a novel experience for you."
"I will pass, thanks, although it sounds charming."
They all laughed, drank tea, and allowed Kreacher to fuss over Malfoy and they enjoyed the effects of forgiveness and friendship.
At the same time as this meeting took place, another meeting was being held in the Hag's Head.
Perry knocked on the door of a private room in the pub.
"Enter."
Opening the door, the barman greeted Rabastan and informed him that a young lady was desirous of a meeting with him.
The beautiful Chinese girl had startled Perry. She was too innocent in appearance to be wanting to meet a notorious dark wizard in such a den of iniquity. However, he merely raised his eyebrows in surprise and told her to wait for a moment. Further surprise awaited him with the discovery that Rabastan seemed to expect her arrival.
Bustling back to the bar, he escorted her up to the room. Rabastan greeted the girl cordially and Perry backed away, closing the door behind him.
Temptation got the better of him and he bent an ear to the keyhole. In all of the years he had known the Death Eater, he had never seen him so much as look at a woman and now, seemingly, he had invited a young girl into his hired room.
He heard the usual greetings, and then Rabastan said, "Excuse me a moment, there is an insect to dispose of."
There was a loud bang and a muffled yell. Soon after, Perry scuttled down the stairs holding his bleeding ear.
"I take it you are ready to fool that idiot Weasley boy a little more?" Rabastan looked Narcissa up and down in her guise.
"It is admittedly not difficult to do. I am still working on finding a way to Bill Weasley through the boy. Hopefully, tonight should be helpful."
"Does my brother know about your teenage date?"
"Do you want him to?"
"No, maybe not. I've had all the tantrums I can stand from him this week."
Cho's face arranged itself into an unfamiliar sneer. "Yes, they are regrettable."
"Enough of my brother! Did you get it?"
A pale white, delicate hand reached out to Rabastan and opened to reveal a tiny stone.
Erie laughter echoed round the room.