Hermione opened up the book letting out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding.
"It's the – it's the author's note," Hermione whispered.
"What's it say?" Hermione made herself comfortable on the floor, leaning against the bookshelf behind her.
She cleared her throat and began to read.
"It's with a heavy heart that I collate my findings and publish them here. The mystery of Commander Edward James is one that has taken me on many adventures that I hardly dreamed possible.
I have long pondered the massacre of Highwall End, where a small contingency of 20 men mysteriously lost their lives. Legends speak with fear of the attack, the horror of the decaying bodies bearing wounds that no beast or man could have inflicted. Given the time's penchant for the fanciful and the ever-increasing belief in witchcraft and the dark arts, I am inclined to question such tales. A massacre it may have been, but I am of the mind that it was not an unearthly event, but a very real, very tragic attack perpetrated by nothing more than men.
One mystery of Highwall End has, I admit, kept me awake at night: the case of the missing Commander. Commander Edward James. His name was listed in all the records that still survive from Highwall End, but whose body was never recovered. Several theories have arisen over the years. Some of them are as simple as his body been overlooked, hidden in amongst the remains but never rightfully identified, others theorize that the Commander's remains could have been dragged away from the scene by some scavenging wild animal, or, less likely, a vengeful demon. A more positive and romantic theory is that he simply abandoned his post to be with the woman he loved.
My research has led me to align myself with those that believe Commander Edward James was never found. In all writings of the time, he is a popular figure, having successfully waged war on numerous occasions - the Battle of Black Lake being the most famous. The Commander was a more than capable leader, fearless and unmatched on the battlefield. So how did someone so famed just disappear?
I have searched endlessly for answers to this question, travelling the entirety of England in search of clues. Now I present this book, wherein I aim; to bring the name, Commander Edward James to life, debunk several theories that have circulated with annoying popularity, and lastly present my own theory of what transpired that fateful night at Highwall End.
I cannot explain why have dedicated so many of my years to finding a man that died hundreds of years ago. I can only say that I believe it is the destiny of every human who has ever wondered, to find that one mystery they cannot solve and sink their lives into it regardless. Highwall End and Commander James are my mystery. I can only hope that this book has done both the man and the event some semblance of justice, casting light on that which was in shadow. Enjoy. Charles W Knight."
Both Draco and Hermione remained silent after she finished reading. The sound of children's laughter filtered in from outside, feeling strangely light in the heaviness of the air.
"What massacre?" Draco asked finally, tipping his head back and turning to look at Hermione.
"I don't know. Perhaps we haven't seen it yet." Hermione closed the book, climbing to her feet and glancing around the room. "How did you find this?" Draco looked down at the book then back up at the Gryffindor.
"It was glowing."
"What?"
"I looked along the shelf, and that was- well it was glowing." Draco shrugged as if it were no big deal but reeled back when Hermione squeaked rushing forward and dragging him to his feet, "Woah? What the fuck?" Hermione pushed him into the centre of the room.
"Look around."
"I'm looking," He said, dryly.
"Annnnnd?"
"And what, Granger?"
"Annd do you see anything? Is there anything glowing?"
"You cannot be serious, Granger. Books do not just go around glowing. What happened was a one-time thing."
"You don't know that."
"On the contrary, Granger. I do."
"Come on, it's at least worth a try. Stop complaining and look."
"Fine,' Draco sighed, "but I don't think this is going to work."
"Less talking, more looking," Hermione sing songed.
Draco began wandering between the shelves, half-heartedly glancing at the spines of books that were definitely not glowing. He ran his fingers along the shelf in front of him watching the thick layers of dust collect in little clumps and fall to the floor in grey flakes. As he lifted his hand, to dislodge yet more of the many years' worth of dust, something glimmered in his peripheral.
Sucking in a breath he turned, glancing down at a small pile leaning precariously against the side of the shelf. Many of the books were in various stages of disrepair, pages sticking out at odd angles, spines only just managing to hang on. In amongst the wounded was a single book with no cover; binding on display, its delicate pages more dogeared and weathered than most. And in the dimness of the attic room, it glowed.
Hermione Granger was right again. He almost rolled his eyes at his own stupidity. Of course, she was right. Hermione Granger was always right, that was what made her so unbelievably infuriating. He knelt down, easing the worn book from the pile.
Tharin Morax: Witch Trials and Executions. The writing was in bold black ink, a crude drawing of a woman hanging from a tree beneath it. Draco gulped, bile rising in his throat as he remembered Sonyea and mutilated the creak of wood as the rope swayed in the breeze.
"Granger." She turned and he lifted the book for her to see.
"Was it glowing?" She asked, gently taking it from him.
"Maybe." He laughed when she gave him a pointed look before continuing her perusal of his find.
Suddenly she held it out to him, her fingers shaking as she pointed at one of the pages. Notice of execution was stamped across the top and below it were several names, listed with a devastating finality. Draco looked up at Hermione, his forehead furrowed in confusion.
"It's the notice of execution, the one that Mina had." Draco's eyes widened in realisation, he glanced down the names again, finding Sonyea in amongst them, as lost to time as all the others.
"You know what this means?"
"What?" Draco asked.
"It means it's real. All of it. All the memories, everything. It's all true."
"Well, we knew that."
"But here's proof. Actual, real tangible, proof." Hermione waved the book in his face and he snatched it from her, at least to limit the amount of dust falling off it and into his face.
"It think you're forgetting the wand, the ring, and the book we found. Not to mention the big stone carvings that lead to a persistent bow -" Draco trailed off, "What the -"
'What?" Hermione asked, standing on her tiptoes, gripping his arm as she tried to peer at the page. "What is it?"
"It can't be." Draco shook his head.
"What? What can't be?"
Hesitantly, Draco handed it back to Hermione.
"Arden, he was working with Tharin."
"That's not possible, they went to war, they - they hated one another," Hermione spluttered. But even as she said it the evidence was there, black and white and impossible to ignore. Her eyes furiously scanned the words, sickness churning in her stomach as the reality of their meaning sank in.
Of particular note are the numerous missives, sent between Lord Tharin Morax and Lord Arden Masarvas during the time of Lord Morax's famous witch hunts. In many of the letters, Lord Arden details the whereabouts of several practitioners of the Dark Arts. Many of these individuals were later executed.
Several of these letters were recorded, all of them short and all of them damning. Hermione sucked in a breath when she saw the name Demon's Tooth in Arden's elegant hand. That particular letter had been annotated, the author believing the information to be false, Demons tooth being inhospitable and so treacherous to climb. But Hermione knew better, she could see Sonyea sitting near her small fire, making a pot of tea as she waited for Mina to return.
"He knew." Hermione's voice wobbled as she said it, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears as she looked up at Draco, "He knew where Sonyea was hiding, and he - he told Tharin. Can you believe the nerve of him, his own people?" Tears fell from her eyes and she brushed them away angrily. "He would give up his fellow witches and wizards, for what?"
"Hey, hey, hey, Granger, calm down," He soothed, gently grasping her arms and pulling her to a standstill, willing her back into the musty room and not in her mind murdering Arden a thousand different ways.
"I just, I can't believe he would do that. She loved him." Draco pulled her into his arms when she began to cry, resting his chin on her head.
"The man was a shitter." Hermione let out a laugh full of tears.
"You can say that again."
"The man was a shitter." She pulled away, looking up at him with a small smile. Without thinking, he wiped her tear-stained cheek gently, removing a smudge of dirt that had been smeared when she'd tried to fend off her sadness.
Breathlessly he realised just how close they were. He glanced at her, gulping heavily when their eyes met. The mark had gone, but he brushed her cheek one last time with the pad of his thumb, enjoying the softness. His heart raced in his chest when the action made her breath catch, lips parting invitingly.
"It's - it's gone." He mumbled quietly, not daring to move in case whatever spell they were under broke.
"What? Oh, did I have -"
"Yeah." He leant forward wondering if she could feel the gravity between them too, searching her eyes for the recognition of it, for the sweet irresistible pull.
"Malfoy?"
"Granger."
"Tea." The gruff voice of Mr Rowland called from the doorway and both of them jumped away from each other, quickly creating as much distance as they could. Draco ran his hand through his hair pretending to be perusing a shelf of books, all the while silently berating himself for his stupidity. What had he honestly planned to do? Kiss Hermione Granger and hope she didn't hex him into oblivion?
"How are you two getting on?" Mr Rowland asked, taking a book from the floor and placing on a pile that looked ready to fall.
"Pretty good," Hermione stated, but Draco was sure he heard her voice shake as she met his gaze. "We've managed to find a couple of really helpful books," Draco nodded in agreement and the old man smiled, his small beady eyes shimmering in the dimness of the attic.
"Well, just to let you know, I'll be shutting up shop real soon." With that, the old man shook his way to the door, waved once, and left.
The air was heavy with questions that Hermione wasn't voicing. Draco felt like he should say something, but was sure that anything he did say, would only serve to make things more awkward. Especially when his explanation consisted of 'I'm sorry but I wanted to kiss you.' He couldn't see Granger taking that one very well.
He sat down next to the tea tray balanced on the chest and stared at the floral-patterned cups, desperate to find something to say, something that would clear the air.
"You sure Mr Rowland isn't a wizard?" He finally asked, and Hermione turned to him, her forehead furrowed adorably in confusion.
"Yes, why?"
"That man shakes when he's breathing, how in Merlin's name did he make it all the way up here, without spilling anything?" Hermione smiled slightly, a small chuckle escaping her. It wasn't much, but it was a start.