The term picked up quickly enough and between coursework, brewing, Quidditch, and apparition lessons, Hermione barely found time to open The Tales of Beedle the Bard at all. Her original intention to read the Malfoy copy alongside the library one and discover all sorts of linguistic contrasts quickly faded in lieu of propping up the ancient book against her knees at night-time in the hopes of reading a few pages before sleep. There just simply wasn't enough time.

As Draco had promised, the stories were much more explicit, sometimes to the point of gore, and while The Tale of the Three Brothers did include allusions to a supreme power borne of all three relics, it was the marginalia which captivated her most.

The script was tight but neat, and elaborately curled. She estimated seven generations would place this Malfoy around the mid-19th century; a Victorian gentleman, though perhaps with no notion of who Victoria was. And what was it that had drawn Agrius Malfoy to children's fables? She imagined a blonde wizard, middle-aged, sitting in a richly decorated manor, oblivious to the industrialisation radically evolving around him. Perhaps he'd simply had nothing better to do.

But while his musings on the potential incarnation of the "hallows," as he called them, and their supposed powers were all news to Hermione, it seemed old Agrius had never learned much beyond that basic premise.

When she told Draco this over the half-shaven deer hide, he laughed. "Well, I'm sorry a lifetime's research wasn't enough for you. I'll have to let Agrius' portrait know how disappointed you are."

"I'm not disappointed," she said as she dragged the little blade across the heavy skin, "I'm just amazed that despite all the people giving up their lives to find these things, there's so little we actually know about them." The accounts varied so wildly; some insisted the Elder Wand could kill a dozen people nonverbally; others, that its power was only derived from that of its master. And as for the Stone and the Cloak, it seemed there was no limit to their power. Some even claimed that the story was wrong, that the Stone could fully resurrect the dead, and the Cloak rendered one invisible simply by being in its presence.

All myths came from a little bit of truth, Hermione knew. As a child, she'd become near hysterical when her father had teasingly told her that the story of Hansel and Gretel had been inspired by the reality of children abandoned by parents unable to care for them, left to wander alone until they died. It was impossible that a legend like the Deathly Hallows could have come to be without at least a morsel of truth.

If she hadn't seen Harry's cloak, she might have thought otherwise.

"Look," began Draco as he swept the deer hairs into the little dish, "I'm sure there were three wizards a long time ago who did something similar to the brothers in the story. Scholars agree on that. But magic was so much less regulated back then. Honestly, the Cloak was probably the beginning of the Disillusionment Charm. Wandcraft was still a new art; he probably figured out how to seal a core for the first time, creating the first wand that actually cast a spell where you aimed it."

"And the Stone?"

Draco shrugged. "Maybe he accidentally created an inferius."

The deer hide was now completely bare; she gently brushed all the stray hairs into the little dish Draco held beneath it.

"What did you think of the list at the end?"

"List?" Hermione repeated. "I haven't got to the end yet!"

"Oh. I thought you would've found it by now. Agrius added an appendix at the end, a list he created tracing the heritage of the hallows. Well, as much of a heritage as anyone could come up with, at least."

Hermione huffed. Too many variables, and not enough time — never enough time…

"Hey." A hand came to her arm; she realised she had hunched over the table, propped on her elbows. "It's really not that important. Why are you letting this upset you so much?"

But it is important, she wanted to tell him. I just don't know how, yet.

"I'm just tired, I think."

Draco frowned at her. Did he think she was crazy? Or power hungry? About to go off the deep end hunting for mythological weapons?

"Then let's finish up so we can go to bed."

They prepared the Moonwater, set aside the deer hide, and checked the potion had responded correctly to their stirs. Draco did most of it, and Hermione didn't protest. Her head was so muddled she wasn't sure she trusted herself not to confuse the stirring rod for the knife and contaminate everything.

He let her go with a hug and a kiss to her temple and made her promise to get some sleep. The feeling of his arms around her unwound something inside her, and she watched him walk away with longing. If only he could keep holding her, she thought, everything would be just a little bit more bearable.


"Hermione?"

"I'll be right out, Harry —"

"Yeah, but — we've only got, like, half an hour before we have to go for Flitwick's lecture and I need to tell you —"

"I said I'll be right out!" Hermione gave him her best glare as the last of the Potions students filed out of the room. Harry looked desperate to protest, but she wouldn't budge, and he finally relented with a frustrated sigh and followed Ron out the door.

"Everything alright, Miss Granger?" asked Professor Slughorn happily as he put away some parchment. Hermione had been greatly relieved when the school had not been swept away by rumours of a staff member going mad, or becoming brain dead, or any other manner of mental oddness. He did seem a bit more jolly these days, though, and Hermione sincerely hoped the burden had been lifted.

"Yes, professor, thank you. I just wanted to let you know, er, I noticed last night that the cupboard — in the laboratory, I mean, our laboratory — we only have two plums, and one of them seems to have gone bad, actually, and the recipe tonight calls for three —"

"Ah, say no more, Miss Granger." Slughorn raised his hands. "I'll take care of it. In fact, I see no reason why you shouldn't be able to do so yourself! Now, let's see… what is his name… Dotty? Dolly? Doppy?"

"Dobby?"

Pop!

"Ah, that's it!"

"Dobby is here to help!" screeched Dobby, and Hermione nearly recoiled at the sight of him dressed in so many tea cosies he could barely see.

"Excellent, excellent… Now, as a Potions Master, I request your assistance. Would you, er, be so kind as to fetch Miss Granger whatever she needs for her potioneering?"

"Oh, yes, Dobby will!" Dobby cried and turned to face Hermione with eager, bulbous eyes. Slughorn eyed Dobby with amazement. Hermione wondered if he'd ever spoken to a free elf before; he looked utterly clueless.

"Thank you, Dobby. I just need some green plums, for now. Could you take them to the private lab I've been brewing in? The one —"

"Dobby knows!" He disappeared with a pop! that left Hermione momentarily deaf.

"Well," Slughorn clapped his hands together, "I suppose that takes care of that?"

"Yes, sir, thank you."

"Not at all, Miss Granger. Thank you."

She couldn't look at him anymore; the guilt was too much. Or was it guilt at all? She didn't know, but she didn't like it, so she hurried away to find Harry.

She found him with Ron, lingering near the Charms classroom, muttering about the odds of Professor Flitwick using either of them to demonstrate the day's lesson. When he saw her, however, his eyes brightened and he dragged her over to a more discreet corner, out of earshot of the other pupils anxiously swapping notes.

"So, Dumbledore had a meeting with me last night. About the memory."

"And?"

"And he says that basically the memory confirms everything we thought. Which is that Tom Riddle made Horcruxes. Dumbledore thinks seven —"

"Seven?"

"— and that that the last ones are probably things related to Hogwarts. So the cup he showed me, and probably the Slytherin locket, and that just leaves something of Ravenclaw's. Oh, and the snake…"

The snake too?!

Hermione listened with growing dread. It wasn't any new information, necessarily, but to hear it confirmed made it so much heavier. Something of Ravenclaw's? How on Earth were they meant to work out what that even was? Or where to find it? To say nothing of the others!

The thought haunted her throughout the rest of the day, even when Professor Flitwick asked her to demonstrate the Bubble-Head Charm. She went to bed early, tucked away behind the curtains whilst the rest of her housemates did homework and chatted. The heavy, ancient book was heavy against her knees. Beside her, she carefully set her diary and an inkpot on the bedding.

Right. Now, about this list…

As Draco promised, she found it in the back, neatly inserted as a supplemental appendix. At the top were the names of the three hallows, and beneath each of those was a name. The list continued downwards, sometimes with dates — some clearly generational, others with centuries missing — growing more and more complex as the descendants intermarried, or definite possession of the hallow was unknown between siblings. The most recent date was nearly a hundred years ago, and Hermione could barely make out the name. Almost none of them were familiar to her.

Irritated, she opened the diary and pulled it onto her lap. Ink dripped onto her sheets as she grabbed her quill; she hardly noticed.

Are you there? she wrote. I need your help.

The diary's binding quickly turned to a shimmering gold and Draco's words swiftly wrote themselves beneath hers. I'm here.

I found the list. None of these names mean anything to me. Do you know them?

I don't remember it exactly, but I probably know about most of them. Have you tried Nature's Nobility?

I don't want it from a book. I want it from you. She didn't want the sanitized, published version of whatever nefariousness these ancient families got up to. Draco would know the truth.

She re-inked her quill. What do you know about the Peverells?

Ancient family, he wrote quickly, neatly. Practically as old as Hogwarts. The name died out centuries ago. If they really did have the hallows, there's no way to know what happened to the line.

She went on, down the lineages, filling in the gaps of the marriages. He knew almost everything she asked, all the names, the dates, the tragic and mysterious ways the titles were lost to history...

I'm glad all my tutoring is paying off, he wrote. I never thought any of this would be useful.

Hermione smiled at that. It turned into a yawn; she felt ink smudge her cheek when she covered her mouth with her hand. She would need to sleep soon.

There's one name left I don't know. I can't make out the handwriting though. Douht? Donit?

What? None of these are familiar.

Dant? Dante? Could it be foreign?

What does it look like? Can you copy it out? I might be able to read it better.

Hermione did her best, carefully copying the shapes and lines as they appeared on the centuries-old parchment. She stared at it on the page and imagined Draco staring at it too, trying to piece the blobs and swirls into letters.

Gaunt, he wrote. Another old pure-blood family. Died out about a hundred years ago. I think the last of them went to Azkaban, actually. The last few generations weren't exactly society darlings. A pause, then: If they really did have the stone, I can't imagine where it would have ended up, even if it was that recent.

Of all the names, this was most familiar to Hermione, but she couldn't place why. And it was the last known (or suspected) home of any of the hallows.

A dead end. Quite literally.

Any more? asked Draco.

No, that's all. She bit her lip. Thank you.

My pleasure. I'm glad I could help. His writing had taken on a slant. Are you sure you're okay?

Hermione breathed out, long and slow. I'm tired, she wrote slowly. It's difficult for me to let go of everything sometimes.

Well, there's nothing you can do now. The world won't end if you stop thinking about it until tomorrow. Get some sleep, Granger, or I'll have to bar you from the lab tomorrow.

She smiled in the darkness. Fine.

And no more thinking about stupid old legends. I'm serious. It's not worth your time.

Alright.

Are you in bed?

Yes.

Good. Now put the book away and go to sleep.

Smiling, she put the heavy book in her bedside drawer and settled in beneath her duvet.

Alright, I'm ready. Are you going to sleep too?

In a little while.

Don't stay up too long.

I won't. I promise.

She couldn't stop smiling. Good night, Draco.

Good night. A little sketch of moon and stars appeared beside his words and she closed the diary feeling foolishly giddy about it all. She tucked the diary gently under her pillow and told herself she wasn't as silly as she felt.

Gaunt.

The name echoed in her head, but she ignored it. She really did need sleep, and Draco was right: She could afford to not think for the rest of the night. She deserved it, in fact. Why dream of Dark Lords and cursed artefacts when instead she could lose herself in imagining his smile, the way he kissed her, the way he would hold her now if he were here…

The mild throbbing across her chest which had been paining her all day finally gave way and she sighed, squirming on her bed now that she could stretch her front without pain.

Sleep nearly came, dragging her ever nearer to that final precipice before she would fall, effortlessly suspended, adrift in the nothingness she sought. Her thoughts began to run into one another, tangling up into nonsense as all the little things in her head came free.

Her eyes snapped open, her breathing stopped, and a sharp jolt of pain slashed across her abdomen.

Gaunt.