The coparceners by ardelis_fari

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance, Mystery
Relationships: Draco & Ginny
Book: Draco & Ginny, Books 1 - 6
Published: 13/10/2005
Last Updated: 12/12/2005
Status: In Progress

[post-Hogwarts] A grimoire, written by a notorious friar, contains secrets so deep that no human
has ever managed to decipher them. Neither Ginny nor Draco is too thrilled to unravel them. Until
they find out that their lives are mysteriously linked to the book. And there is no way out.
(Another gripping tale of love and hate from me to my faithful readers LOL!) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
CHAPTER 5 IS UP!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Excerpt: Her curly auburn hair was held up in a neat bun, and her pale aristocratic features were
slightly touched by make-up. A small black designer dress clang to every curve of her lean body,
not revealing much, but at the same time baring enough of her creamy flesh. She approached him with
feline grace, the four-inch stiletto heals of her shoes sinking in the thick carpeting.




1. The legacy of an old coot
----------------------------

**Author**: Ardelis_fari

**Disclaimer**: Anything you recognize, belongs to JK Rowling, various publishers including
but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc.
Everything else (general plot, ideas, twists and turns, etc.) is the product of my ingenious
mind!

**Classification**: Romance / Mystery / Suspense

**Pairing**: D/G

**Rating**: PG-13 (might go up in the later chapters)

**Summary**:

*Excerpt*:

“I don’t associate with Muggles, half-bloods and Muggle-lovers. Which part of this do you not
understand?” he jeered.

“I didn’t ask for this to happen,” she spat and glared at him so viciously that he involuntarily
took a step back. “But unfortunately we have to do this together.”

“Yes,” he gave her another contemptuous look, “and the sooner it’s over, the better.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more.”

**Warning**: I started writing this before the sixth book came out, so my story contradicts
it completely. There are two options we have: either accept the book and then modify its plotline
to our liking, or pretend that it never happened. Incidentally, I prefer the latter. So, just
ignore the HBP, i.e. Dumbledore didn’t die in it, Ginny never dated Potter, Malfoy never was a
cold-blooded bastard and coward, etc.

CHAPTER ONE

*The legacy of an old coot*

“Miss Weasley, please sit down,” a middle-aged man with a balding head motioned to a chair. “I’m
Philibert Greycliffe, the notary public representing Pembroke & Bells law firm.”

Ginny sat down and crossed her legs. Her elegant handbag was perched in her lap.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Greycliffe,” Ginny replied, inclining her head. “I must say I was
surprised to receive your letter. I’m still not sure what I’m doing here.”

“Yes, I realize that very well, Miss Weasley. I was going to discuss this in person, as it is a
very private matter.”

“You have the utmost of my attention, Mr. Greycliffe.”

“Well, I’m afraid we are missing someone else here. We cannot start until he appears.”

“Another lawyer?” Ginny inquired.

“Oh no, Miss Weasley. There is someone else involved in this delicate affair. As a matter of
fact, you might be acquainted with that fine gentleman. It’s Mr. Malfoy.”

Ginny raised a thin brow. “Mr. Malfoy? As in Draco Malfoy?”

The notary nodded stately.

“Are you sure?” Ginny asked in surprise.

“Yes, Miss Weasley. Mr. Malfoy is expected to be here too.”

“Well, we’ll have to wait for him then, won’t we? But I assure you, Mr. Greycliffe,” Ginny
snorted, “that the definition of a ‘fine gentleman’ does not apply to Draco Malfoy!”

She leaned back in her chair and prepared to wait. For the lack of a better pastime, she looked
about her. The office of Mr. Greycliffe was a very standard jurist’s office. Most of the space was
occupied by a large mahogany desk. Upon it tiny ink-bottles were arranged in a line and the finest
quills were kept in a silver case. High bookcases and filing cabinets were pushed against the
walls. Just like many Ministry offices, this one had a window that was charmed to look like it had
a view upon the street. Above Mr. Greycliffe’s head was hanging a portrait of substantial size in a
heavy gilded frame. It depicted an old wizard in a dark purple mantle and an odd-shaped hat. On
both sides of the portrait two framed diplomas were pinned, announcing that their holder had
received the best possible juridical education one could get in the wizarding England. When there
was nothing left in the office worth a curious glance, Ginny uncrossed her legs and crossed them
again, this time the left leg on top.

She glanced at her watch and smirked. “He’s late, of course. He’s so busy, he can’t spare a
minute. Obviously, good manners don’t come with a bank account at Gringotts.”

The notary shifted in his seat uncomfortably and dropped his eyes. He could sense a tinge of
animosity in her voice when she talked about Draco Malfoy and that made him feel slightly ill at
ease.

The next moment there was a knock on the door and in came Draco Malfoy. He greeted the lawyer
and shook his hand. The fact that Ginny Weasley was present in the same room had been barely
acknowledged. He didn’t even spare a glance in her direction and Ginny refused to look at him too.
When he didn’t even apologize for being fifteen minutes late, Ginny’s low opinion of him was
confirmed for good.

“Mister Malfoy, you are here at last. We can begin,” the jurist announced.

“Can you tell us now why we are here?” Ginny asked impatiently.

“Yes, certainly. The thing is that both of you are mentioned in the now deceased Albus
Dumbledore’s will. You, Miss Weasley and you, Mr. Malfoy, are the so called coparceners.”

“What???” they both exclaimed.

“It means,” Mr. Greycliffe explained patiently, “that you two are sharing the legacy left by
Professor Dumbledore, as mentioned in his will.”

“I don’t understand,” Ginny snapped. “Why Professor Dumbledore mentioned *me* in his will
is not surprising, considering how kind he always was to me and my family. But why he would mention
*him* as well is beyond me! And make us share some legacy no less!”

Draco Malfoy remained silent as he turned away from her accusing manicured finger.

“I am going to read his will, if you don’t mind,” Mr. Greycliffe suggested.

Ginny nodded and folded her arms in defeat. The lawyer cleared his throat and began reading:

________________________________________________________________________

LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT

OF

ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, a resident and citizen of Dolwyddelan,

Lledr Valley, North Wales, being of sound mind and disposing memory, do hereby make,

publish and declare this instrument to be my last will and testament, hereby revoking any

and all wills and codicils by me at any time heretofore made.

**Item I**

**Real Estate**

If I am the owner of any real estate at the time of my death, I instruct and empower

my Executor to sell such real estate, or to dispose of it, or any portion thereof,

as my Executor shall in his sole judgment determine to be for the best interest

of my estate.

**Item II**

**Instruction Concerning Personal Property**

I anticipate that included as a part of my property and estate at the time of my

death will be tangible personal property of various kinds, characters and values,

including all personal effects, books, paintings, magical implements and

other similar articles of tangible personal property held for personal use

and enjoyment. I hereby specifically instruct all concerned that my Executor,

herein appointed, shall have complete freedom and discretion as to disposal

of any and all such property so long as he shall act in good faith and in the best

interest of my estate, and his discretion so exercised shall not be subject

to question by anyone whomsoever.

**Item III**

**Instruction Concerning Specified Items of Property**

I hereby bequeath the rest of my property to Ginevra Molly Weasley and Draco

Lucius Malfoy. The said property includes a magical artifact called *Liber Mysteriorum*

or *The Book of Mysteries*, which is temporarily stored by my notary,

Mr. Philibert Greycliffe, and which I authorize to be given to the said beneficiaries

after my death. Under my last will and testament I appoint both Miss Weasley and

Mr. Malfoy to be coparceners of this item.

**Item IV**

**Executor**

I appoint as executor of this, my last will and testament, Minerva McGonagall.

I hereby direct that the said Executor shall be entitled by his last will and testament,

duly probated, to appoint a successor Executor of my estate.

If, for any reason, the said Executor be unable to serve or to continue to serve

as Executor, or if he be deceased and shall not have appointed a successor Executor,

by virtue of his last will and testament as stated above, then I appoint

Mr. Alden Pembroke of Pembroke & Bells law firm as successor Executor

of all estate required to be established hereunder.

In witness whereof, I set my hand this 25 day of March, 1998, at London, UK.

Testator: Albus Dumbledore

Witnesses: Philibert Greycliffe

Roland Bells

________________________________________________________________________

“You’ve got to be joking!!!” Ginny exclaimed and jumped out of her chair. “Give that to me!”

She snatched the paper from the stunned lawyer and read it herself. Her eyebrows knitted.

“I’m afraid this is genuine,” Mr. Greycliffe said with a nervous smile.

“I can see that now,” Ginny grumbled and threw the unsealed piece of parchment on the desk.
“Still, this is very bizarre.”

“I understand,” the man nodded.

“You haven’t said anything yet,” Ginny asked, turning to Draco. “I suppose you are enjoying this
farce?”

He looked at her for the first time. Long red hair. Freckles. Skinny, malnourished frame.
Nothing had changed.

“I’m not too thrilled about this either, Weasley,” he said through clenched teeth. “And you make
it sound like it was my idea.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Ginny snorted.

“I have to disappoint you, but it is very much a surprise to me too. Now, if you sit down and
keep quiet, maybe we can hear the rest of it.”

“Yes, Mr. Malfoy. You are quite right. There are very precise instructions in the addendum of
this will.”

“There is more?” Ginny asked, immensely relieved that some kind of explanation would follow.
Maybe last year’s 25th of March felt like the 1st of April to Professor
Dumbledore?

Philibert Greycliffe began to read:

________________________________________________________________________

Miss Weasley and Mr. Malfoy,

I realize fully that this might seem strange to both of you and you will probably

question my decision. However, this idea is not a whim of mine and

I suggest you take this seriously. What I’m leaving behind is not an ordinary

legacy, it’s more of a task. I bequeath you both with the most powerful

magical book of all times. This book, as the title implies, contains a mystery

that I entrust you to unravel. The condition of the will is that you two work

on it together. This mission might take a lot of your time and might at this

stage appear pointless, but I assure you that the results will be the most rewarding.

For now, I want you to think this over. If, for some reason, you are unable

or unwilling to work on this project together, then, alas, the secrets within

this book will remain undiscovered. If, however, you accept the conditions

laden upon you, you may begin on the book and quench your curiosity.

I sincerely hope that you will come to terms with this project some day and

maybe will even enjoy it. When you have made that decision, you will be

given the said book by my notary, Mr. Greycliffe.

I wish you the best of luck!

Yours truly,
Albus Dumbledore 
________________________________________________________________________
Now both Draco and Ginny looked confounded.

“What does this mean?” Draco asked for the first time.

“It means that you have time to decide whether you want to accept these conditions,” explained
Mr. Greycliffe.

“We have a choice then?”

“Um. Well, um…I share the hope of the late Professor Dumbledore in that you might like this idea
some day.”

Ginny and Draco shared a sour glance in each other’s direction.

“I shall give you five days for reflection,” the notary announced.

Ginny and Draco nodded.

“Well, I hope to see you soon,” he beamed at them.

His visitors did not return his smile as they said their goodbyes and left his office.

In the lift that was carrying them to the atrium, they occupied opposite corners, as far away
from each other as physically possible in such a limited space. The hostility between them was so
fierce that Ginny feared that the inter-department memo’s flapping above their heads would be set
on fire.

Once they were in the atrium, Malfoy marched past the spluttering fountain, towards the
fireplaces embedded in the wall. Ginny lingered behind. He took a pinch of the floo powder and
whispered the point of his destination. In a moment he was gone. Ginny breathed easily. After a
moment’s hesitation she Disapparated out of the Ministry into the Diagon Alley.

She Apparated right before the Gringotts Bank and almost got squashed by an overly excited gang
of Quidditch fans that was hurrying towards the Quality Quidditch Supplies shop. She slowly made
her way towards Florean Fortesque’s ice-cream parlour, which she found full of witches and wizards
who were chatting over a cone of ice-cream and showing off the goods they had just purchased in the
Diagon Alley. Ginny settled behind one of the tables and ordered coffee.

Slowly sipping from a beautiful china cup, she mulled over the testament. There was no way in a
million years that she would be collaborating with Draco Malfoy. She respected the memory of the
beloved headmaster, but he was pushing the limits. He was senile! To suggest something like that!
What was he playing at? The whole idea of coparcenary seemed rather foolish. But most importantly,
why did she have to share that bequest with Draco bloody Malfoy?! Did it have something to do with
The Book of Mysteries? She’d never heard of such book before. Maybe this was a book on dark magic,
which Malfoy was undoubtedly very skilled at?

It’s been a blissfully peaceful year since she last thought about Dark Arts and Death Eaters. In
June, last year, Harry had finally conquered Lord Voldemort and everything that was ever associated
with him fell into oblivion. From then on there were no ineffable names and no hooded figures in
the dark alleyways. People like Malfoy, who alleged their loyalty to the Dark Lord, had lost their
pivot and now looked more pathetic than intimidating. Most of them claimed that they pretended all
along, for fear of being murdered; others blamed it on the Imperius Curse through which they acted
upon Voldemort’s wishes. Draco Malfoy wasn’t either of those. He never admitted to have been
mistaken or otherwise beguiled into serving His Lordship. He never apologized to anyone. After the
death of his parents in the aftermath of Harry’s victory over Voldemort, he simply retreated to his
Wiltshire Mansion and rarely appeared in public. Only once Ginny saw him at a Ministry party that
was held in the honour of the inauguration of the new Minister for Magic.

She wasn’t surprised to see him there. While he was playing a recluse, he still was one of the
prominent members of the Ministry circles and often endowed it with lavish donations. Every time he
reappeared in public view, people resumed their speculations of his supposed remorse, then took in
the consideration the tragic death of his both parents, which would have aggrieved anyone, and
finally came to a conclusion that he wasn’t such a bed fellow after all and especially such a
handsome orphan deserved a second chance. Good looks or not, Ginny didn’t buy it. To her, he was
still a haughty, cruel bully who ruined her school years whenever an opportunity presented itself.
She heard many a tale of self-flagellation, she saw many crocodile tears and didn’t seem to care.
She just didn’t want to mingle with that sort of people ever again. And now she was made to do so.
In accordance with the will, she had to work together with Malfoy.

Seething with anger, Ginny emptied the third cup of coffee and left the ice-cream parlour.

***

It was Friday, and like every Friday, Ginny was supposed to show up at a weekly family dinner at
the Burrow. She welcomed these Friday evenings as a distraction from her strenuous work at the
Ministry. Ever since she left home after graduating from Hogwarts, she barely got a chance to visit
her family. She considered herself extremely lucky when she got a glimpse of her father in the
Ministry corridors during the week. That’s why she was always looking forward to the regular family
dinners.

“Is everything all right, darling?” Mrs. Weasley asked when she saw Ginny glaring at a spoonful
of mashed potatoes.

Ginny started and realized that she was attempting to use her spoon as a voodoo doll
representing a certain person. “I’m fine, mum.”

“Having a hard time at work?” her father asked, concerned. “By the way, I saw you leaving the
notary’s office on the fifth floor a few days ago. There isn’t any trouble, I hope?”

Ginny blanched visibly at his words. The twins looked at her, thrilled at the prospect of
hearing some gossip, but her parents looked worried.

“You’ll never believe what happened,” Ginny sighed.

“Someone is suing you?” Fred suggested with a wide grin on his freckled face.

“No. Someone has left me an inheritance,” she said sadly.

“If you don’t want it, we’d take it gladly. Wouldn’t we, George?” one of the twins winked
mischievously.

“I doubt you would,” Ginny grumbled.

“But who left you the inheritance, dear?” Molly asked.

“Professor Dumbledore.”

Everyone looked confused.

“What did he leave you?” Charlie wondered aloud. “A house?”

“It’s not real estate,” Ginny shook her head. “It’s not something I can sell or exchange.”

“Well, what is it then?” her brother was surprised.

“It’s a book.”

Her family looked puzzled.

“You inherited a book,” Bill ascertained calmly. “Anything special?”

There were no shortcuts and she had to start from the beginning. So she did. When she finished,
everyone at the table gaped at her.

“Why on earth did he make the two of you joint heirs of his property?” voiced Ron an obvious
question.

Ginny shrugged. “I wish I knew.”

“Are you going to accept it?”

She wasn’t anxious to see Malfoy again and she doubted that she would ever enjoy working
together with him.

“I don’t know,” she sighed. “But I’m curious to find out what Dumbledore’s intention was.”

That night when she lay awake in her old bedroom in the Burrow, she was still weighing the pros
and cons of their partnership. Professor Dumbledore had formulated that addendum in such a skillful
way that it was hardly possible to feel compelled and yet Ginny was sure that there was no way out
of this noose.

“Soon,” she promised to no one in particular. “It’ll be over soon.”

***

A long way off, a young man was anxiously pacing the sitting room of his two-storey mansion. It
started to rain. Tiny rivulets splattered against the window panes, as the thunder rolled overhead.
Three more steps to the opposite wall and then back. The anxiety was increasing and he found it
hard to just sit or stand still.

When he was crossing the room for the fiftieth time, he looked out of the window. For a brief
moment he watched the bleak hills around the mansion getting soaked in rain-water. Then he closed
his eyes. Agonizing thoughts raced through his head. Dumbledore. The Book. Ginny Weasley. It all
came like a bolt from the blue and disrupted his carefully constructed routine.

What should he do?

At last he turned away from the window and strode toward the door. The corridor beyond it was
dark and he lit his wand. He followed the familiar route, until he arrived at a door. He fumbled in
his pocket for a key, then finally fished it out and unlocked the door. It swung open with a creak
and he stepped inside. Then the door closed behind him and the corridor was once again
pitch-dark.



2. I hate you too
-----------------

**Disclaimer**: standard disclaimer applies.

**A/N**: here’s the next installment. The chapters tend to be a bit short, sorry about that.
Please, don’t forget to review!

Some of you asked about the mysterious door. I promise to explain it later. All I can say right
now is that it’s quite important for understanding Draco’s character. Good question though!

CHAPTER 2

*I hate you too*

Exactly five days later, Ginny found a letter from Pembroke & Bells in her letter-box. Mr.
Greycliffe was reminding her of their agreement and kindly asking her to step by his office that
same day, at noon. Mr. Malfoy had been notified too.

Mr. Malfoy had been notified, huh? Mr. Malfoy could go to hell, for all she cared.

Nevertheless, she dressed with extra flair that morning, a little unsure of whom she wanted to
impress. When both the hour and the minute hand were pointing to twelve, she left her office and
took the lift to the fifth floor. Before the door to the notary’s office, she paused, took a deep
breath and then entered.

Malfoy was already there. Ginny greeted Mr. Greycliffe and took a seat. As usually, Draco was
cutting her dead.

“What have you decided on this matter?” the notary asked kindly.

Ginny looked to her right and waited for Draco to respond. He was, however, studying the
cuff-links of his shirt and refused to meet her gaze.

“I am willing to give this a try, on the condition that Mr. Malfoy will behave properly,” Ginny
said as she stared hard at Draco.

He looked up at the notary, still ignoring Ginny, and nodded, thus giving his consent.

“I’m glad we’ve reached a decision!” Mr. Greycliffe rubbed his hands gleefully. “Professor
Dumbledore would be delighted.”

“So, what is this book about anyway?” Draco asked.

“Oh, I haven’t told you yet, have I? It concerns a well-known magnum opus. *Liber*
*Mysteriorum* was rumored to have been written by Fra Filippo, a prominent friar of the
Carmelite Order, somewhere at the end of the 12th century. Since no one knew for sure,
the sloppy handwriting had always been attributed to the infamous friar. Legend has it that it was
bought from an abbey in Kent by a 13th

century alchemist, who acquired it for his vast collection of ancient books. It had been kept in
his private library for many generations, until it was moved to Italy as part of the dowry of the
said alchemist’s great-great-granddaughter. It took place in 1521. I have not been informed as to
from whom Professor Dumbledore received or purchased this book. It is, after all, very rare and
valuable. There are currently three copies in circulation, but only this one is authentic. I
ascertained it myself. It is, as I have said, of great value and can only be compared to *The Key
of Solomon*, which was attributed to the legendary King Solomon.”

“It’s a grimoire,” Draco explained, turning to Ginny. “It means-”

“I know what a grimoire is,” she snapped. “I’m not ignorant!”

“Well, that’s a relief. So, you do have some brains after all. I was afraid that I’d have to do
all the work by myself.”

“You won’t believe this,” she hissed, “but I’d rather work on this project alone. It would spare
me from seeing your disgusting face every day.”

Ginny then turned back to the astonished notary with a sweet smile on her face and urged him to
continue his narration.

“Just like *The Greater Key of Solomon* and *The Lesser Key of Solomon*, otherwise
known as *Lemegeton*, this is one of the greatest grimoires in the history of magic.”

“What’s in it?” Ginny asked.

“That’s the question!” exclaimed Mr. Greycliffe. “No one knows, because it’s encrypted. So many
people have tried to decipher the book, but to a lay person it is just a number of words and
pictures. There is one thing they knew for sure: behind that all was wisdom and power!”

“Can I have a look at it?” Ginny asked, in awe of the mysterious story.

“Of course.”

The man walked to the wall and, tapping a particular spot with his wand, whispered an
incantation of the opening charm. The wooden panels slid apart and revealed a hollow space behind.
He reached inside and took out the book that was wrapped in a peace of canvas. Carefully, he
carried it back and put on the desk for Ginny and Draco to see.

When he unwrapped it, Ginny let out a sigh of reverence. Although the history of this folio
spanned many centuries, it didn’t look worn. It was bound with green-coloured polished shagreen.
The golden clasp on it was shining too. The title in the same golden letters said: *Liber*
*Mysteriorum*.

Unhindered, Ginny took it in her lap (while noting to herself that it was probably a few pounds
less heavy than herself) and opened it on the first page. It was written by hand, as any true
grimoire should be. The parchment pages were yellowed and the blue ink slightly faded. Like the
notary said, the handwriting was sloppy, but still very medieval, with fancy curlicues here and
there. She leafed through the book and noticed that the text alternated with colourful pictures and
odd-looking equations.

“Some of it is in Latin,” Ginny noted thoughtfully.

“I’m sure I can read it,” Draco claimed self-assuredly. “I’ve had *proper* education, which
includes Greek and Latin, of course.”

“Oh really? May I enquire where you have learned to speak these fine languages?” Mr. Greycliffe
asked curiously.

“At Pompous Git Institution,” Ginny grumbled.

“I had a private tutor,” Draco replied disdainfully.

“Very nice,” the lawyer said, trying to remain calm. He had noticed that there might be some
tension between those two and he wondered if they would get along some day, as it was essential for
the completion of the task.

Ginny ground her teeth in frustration. She could hardly resist the desire to stub Malfoy with
the nib of her quill. She shut the book and put it back on the desk.

“Any questions so far?” the notary asked again.

They shook their heads.

“All right then. The book is yours and you may begin whenever you wish, that is at your
discretion.”

He wrapped the book in the layers of fabric again and held it out.

“I’m keeping this,” Ginny anticipated his question and took the heavy lump from him. Draco
shrugged indifferently.

They all got up and Philibert Greycliffe walked with them to the door.

“I do hope you will enjoy it. If you encounter any problems, please, don’t hesitate to ask for
advice.”

Neither of them shared his enthusiasm. Ginny was already at the door, when a thought occurred to
her.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yes, certainly,” replied Mr. Greycliffe.

“When Professor Dumbledore made that will on the 25th of March last year, did he know
that he

would die three months later?”

His expression changed and he peered at her. At last he said: “He acted a bit strangely, I
thought. Mysterious and sad. Now that I look back, I suppose he knew or at least suspected
something.”

Ginny nodded and left the office after Malfoy. He strode down the corridor towards the lift,
without sparing her another glance.

“Wait!” Ginny ran after him. “Where do you think you are going?”

Draco stopped in his tracks, turned slowly and looked her over. Nope, nothing had changed since
yesterday. She was still the same ill-bred, annoying bint.

“What is it?” he drawled.

“We haven’t decided anything about the book. And I’d like you to make an effort and be more
civil when you talk to me!”

“I don’t associate with Muggles, half-bloods and Muggle-lovers. Which part of this do you not
understand?” he jeered.

“I didn’t ask for this to happen,” she spat and glared at him so viciously that he involuntarily
took a step back. She won’t let him victimize her in any way, she decided. “But unfortunately we
have to do this together.”

“Yes,” he gave her another contemptuous look, “and the sooner it’s over, the better.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more. So, when shall we start? And where?”

She’d rather choose a neutral territory. She had no intention of letting Malfoy come into her
apartment, and wouldn’t set her foot inside the Malfoy Mansion, if she could help it.

“We shall begin tomorrow then,” he nodded. “I’ll let you know what time and where.”

“Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And she walked off in the direction of the stairs, on the way to her office.

As the day was drawing to an end, Ginny awaited the upcoming meeting with dread and excitement.
While seeing Malfoy was the last thing she wanted to do, she couldn’t wait to get at the business
in hand. She had to admit that the lawyer managed to enthrall her with his story. And just in less
than a day she’d be unraveling a medieval mystery!

But that would be tomorrow. Until then she had a great deal of reading to do. She wanted to know
what exactly she got herself involved in, and besides, and most importantly, she didn’t fancy
appearing an ignoramus in the eyes of Draco Malfoy.

Once at home, she made herself a cup of strong tea and then went into her study. An omnivorous
reader as she was, Ginny never missed an opportunity to buy a few books whenever she was in the
vicinity of a bookshop. While she wasn’t rich enough to buy a lot, she still had a decent library
at home. Here was soft morocco, calf skin, wooden bindings and many a page beautifully illustrated
with vignettes, emblems and armorial bearings. And cheap books of spells were as equally treasured
as facsimile charters of medieval cities. Now she was gazing lovingly at the bookshelves that lined
the walls, treating each book to a special affectionate look, which, if directed at any man in
England, would have never gone unnoticed.

She finally rested her eyes on a particularly old-looking book on the leftmost shelf. She
removed it carefully and placed it in her lap. It was a beautiful roan-bound edition of *The
Complete Magical Encyclopaedia*, obtained at a recent sale at Flourish and Blotts. This cost her
a third of her monthly salary, but was still worth every Knut she had spent on it.

She opened it and first consulted the index, looking for ‘grimoire’.

“Grimoire,” she then read out loud, “which literally means ‘grammar’, is a book
of magical knowledge, written between the late-medieval period and the 18th century.
Such books contain

astrological correspondences, lists of angels and demons, directions on casting charms and
spells, on mixing medicines, summoning unearthly entities, and making talismans. Grimoires first
came into common use around the 13th century and are thought by some to have been linked to the
Knights Templar. Much of the material in grimoires is taken from Egyptian texts dating back to
around 100 A.D.”

The list of famous grimoires followed:

*The Key of Solomon*

Ars Steganographiae of Abbott Johannes Trithemius

*The Sworne Booke* of Honorius

*Liber* *Mysteriorum* of Fra Filippo

*Compendium Heptarchiae Mysticae* of Dr. John Dee

She curiously read the reference articles.

“…*The Key of Solomon* (*Clavicula* *Salomonis*) is one of many classical,
medieval and Renaissance magical texts, known as grimoires, claiming the authorship of King
Solomon, renowned for his wisdom and spiritual powers. According to the legend, it was written in
the 10th century B.C. The first mention of the grimoire dates back to the 1st
century. Another book, also ascribed to Solomon,

is *Lemegeton* (*The Lesser Key of Solomon*). It is the first grimoire to describe two
divisions in magic – Carmen (on spells and magical formulas) and Goetia (on evoking and conjuring
the demons).”

“Johannes Trithemius (1462-1516), the teacher of Agrippa and Paracelsus, wrote Ars
Steganographiae at the end of the 15th century. Some claimed it to be
co-authored by the notorious

Dr. Faust (1480-1540). On the surface it is a system of angel magic, but within is a highly
sophisticated system of cryptography. It claims to contain a synthesis of the science of knowledge,
the art of memory, magic, an accelerated language learning system, and a method of sending messages
without symbols or messenger. It’s also been said that he used cryptography to write down
alchemical processes. The method of concealing one text inside the other was very popular in
alchemy.

In private circulation, *Ars* *Steganographia* was highly valued. John Dee, whose
Enochian system of angelic magic was influenced by *Steganographia*, noted that one thousand
crowns had been offered for a copy of this work. On the other hand, it brought such a reaction of
fear that Trithemius decided it should never be published. He reportedly destroyed the more extreme
portions (presumably instructions for prophecy/divination) but it continued to circulate in
manuscript form and was eventually published posthumously in 1606.”

“*The Sworne Booke* of Honorius (*Liber* *Juratus*), which was most probably
written in the 13th century,

contains instructions on how to conjure and command demons, to work other magical operations,
and knowledge of what lies in Heaven among other highly sought information. Like many grimoires,
this one has lengthy dissertations for proper operation and seals to be used.

This is one of the oldest existing medieval grimoires as well as one of the most influential. It
is said that Dr. John Dee had this book in his private library. Another famous occultist, Heinrich
Cornelius Agrippa, has also been rumored to be influenced by this work. The *Liber*
*Juratus* can be classified as a Solomonic Grimoire due to its heavy use of angelic powers and
seals like those found in *The Greater Key of Solomon*.”

“*Liber* *Mysteriorum* is one of the most enigmatic grimoires ever written. Its real
name is *The Book of Mysteries*, but it’s often simply referred to as *The Book*. Even to
this day no one knows precisely what the book is about, all one sees there are astrological charts,
poems, mathematical sequences and pictures. For the lack of a unified truth, people believed that
this was an encrypted message (much like Trithemius’ work) on how to make the Philosopher’s Stone.
As the word got around, many other books followed, copying the mysterious nature of the original,
but they had absolutely no power whatsoever and were therefore useless. Some of them include:
*Corpus Mysterium*, *Trattata* *Anglesia*, *The Testament of Albertus the
Mage*, etc. The most curious book of them all was, however, *Secretum* *Secretorum*
(Secret of Secrets). It was an abridged version of *The Book* and therefore more truthful. It
was composed by one of the followers of Fra Filippo around 1214 in assignment for Duke William of
Rochester. It was extremely influential throughout the Middle Ages and Renaissance. But, alas, no
man ever succeeded in decrypting it. With time, like many other books of this nature,
*Secretum* *Secretorum* failed to hold the interest of the general public and settled
down in libraries and private collections…”

Ginny rubbed her temples tiredly. There was too much information already for her to grasp.
Besides, first she had to have a proper look at *Liber* *Mysteriorum* and try to analyze
it. And that she put off for later, meaning to start on it together with Malfoy, as planned. The
mound of work that she had pictured, grew steadily into a gigantic mountain. But she reassured
herself – what she had done already, was enough to share with Malfoy and from thereon they could
work together.

Satisfied with herself, she stood up from the sofa and stretched. After stashing the books away,
she contemplated running a bath.

When the bathtub was filled with hot water, she sank into the thick coat of foam. She leaned
back and closed her eyes, allowing her body to relax. Again, in her thoughts she recurred to the
subject of The Book. She had to admit that she was actually enjoying this project. Yes, the
*project*. Certainly not her partner with whom she reluctantly agreed to be paired up. Draco
was strong and muscular, but she didn’t care two straws about his brawny frame. She couldn’t forget
the atrocities he had committed at school with impunity. Every time he did something mean to her or
to her friends, he managed to get away with it! And that’s all because he was a Slytherin
*and* he came from an affluent family. And, perhaps, because he wasn’t particularly ugly, she
admitted unwillingly.

He was always popular, she remembered. For some reason girls always adored him and his scurvy
nature and he was never short of female company. Not that she cared. Still, she couldn’t help
wonder if he was still seeing anyone, now that he was playing a recluse. She, on her part, was
convinced that he was fooling everyone with that tale of remorse and guilty conscience, and all the
while was engaged in wild orgies with numerous concubines in the sumptuous bedrooms of the house.
She had never seen the inside of the mansion, but she imagined it to be grand. She laughed when she
pictured a real-life harem stationed there.

But, she told herself again, she didn’t give a damn about it. What she was really interested in,
was the reason why he agreed to collaborate with her. Even at Hogwarts he never rubbed shoulders
with base-born or otherwise unworthy of his attention. Why had he agreed to do just that now? What
made him say yes? Was he just curious about The Book? Or was there more to it? He could have
refused and, she was sure, he wanted refuse instantly. But he didn’t. This naturally made her a
little apprehensive. Was she in danger? What nonsense! Of course he wouldn’t try anything funny.
Nonetheless, she wasn’t too keen on seeing Malfoy more than it was really necessary.

He was absolutely right, the sooner this all was over the better.

***

When Ginny woke up next morning, she saw a beautiful grey owl outside her window. She undid the
latch and let the bird in. It alighted, thrusting the letter in its beak into Ginny’s hand.
Curious, Ginny tore the envelope.

Mr. Malfoy’s secretary was informing her that unfortunately Mr. Malfoy could not confirm their
appointment for that day as he was busy elsewhere. He would let her know which day would be more
convenient for him.

“That wretch!” Ginny roared, frightening the poor owl.

She jumped out of the bed and started pacing the bedroom, almost tripping on the hem of her
night-gown in agitation. She was fuming.

He was busy elsewhere?! How dared he cancel their appointment! He thought she could just put her
life on hold and spend all the time studying ancient books? What did he take her for?! Oh right,
she was one of those second-rate people – a blood-traitor!

“Now, we’ll just see about that, Mr. Malfoy!” Ginny thought maliciously, as she murmured
‘Incendio’ and the note in her hand burst into flames.



3. Mistery galore
-----------------

**Disclaimer**: standard disclaimer applies.

**A/N**: There are some famous names and titles which I will be using throughout this story
and which I will sometimes change or modify to better suit the plot. Fra Filippo was, for instance,
a former friar and a Renaissance painter, but the book I have falsely attributed to him, does not
exist. There is also no such thing as *Corpus Mysterium* or *Secretum* *Secretorum*.
It’s all made up. There is however a book called *Three Books of Occult Philosophy* which was
written by Agrippa and which partly served as a prototype for *Liber* *Mysteriorum*.

Oh yeah, many thanks to everyone who took time to review this story! Sorry that I had to keep
you waiting for so long.

CHAPTER 3

*Mystery galore*

Draco Apparated into the entrance hall of his luxurious mansion with a loud ‘crack’. He dusted
off his traveling cloak and slowly walked through the enfilade of dark abandoned rooms. A shadow
passed over his pale face when his gaze fell upon the slip-covered furniture and curtained off
windows. In the high-ceilinged hall he paused and leaned against the wall. He was tired.

Then, he sighed and pushed the doors before him open and entered the sitting-room. Still in the
doorway, he froze and stared before him.

“What the-?” he stopped in the middle of the sentence.

On the silk-upholstered settee next to the extinguished fire-place sat a red-haired vixen,
bearing an unmistakable expression of demonic fury on her otherwise pretty face. It was, as Draco
noted with shock and anger, the one and only Ginevra Weasley.

“Where have you been?!” she rounded on him.

“None of your business,” he muttered through gritted teeth, as he proceeded to plank himself on
one of the arm-chairs.

“Well, it became my business the moment we set foot in Mr. Greycliffe’s office! And I have a
right to know where you have been all this time when you should have been in London, working on the
bleeding project!”

“I was seeing to some urgent business on the Scilly Isles, if you really must know,” he replied
as calmly as ever. “And I don’t remember inviting you to my house.”

“You are the most irresponsible person I’ve ever met!” she exclaimed, ignoring his last remark.
“You have no consideration for others whatsoever! You dare to cancel our appointment, which I took
seriously and was preparing for, and then I don’t hear anything from you for more than a week,
because you’re too busy having fun on some ruddy island! What we are entrusted to do by Professor
Dumbledore is of utmost importance and I suggest you treat this mutter as such!”

Her nostrils were flaring and her chest was heaving. An infuriating delay in work, coupled with
his carelessness, maddened her even more.

Draco looked her over lazily from head to toe, taking in her lovely red hair and a tight-fitting
cloak of surprisingly good quality.

“We’ve wasted too much time. We should get started on the book,” Ginny stated, still glaring at
him.

With that she emptied her bag on the coffee table and sat down on the sofa. Draco had no choice
but to follow.

The contents of Ginny’s bag formed a pile of reference books, notepads and loose scraps of
parchment. *Liber* *Mysteriorum* lay however in a separate slip-cover. Ginny took it out
and put it on the table together with the rest of the books.

“Have you done anything yet?” Draco asked, scanning some of her notes.

“Yes, I have, as a matter of fact,” she replied coldly. “I’ve done some research to have a clear
view of what we are dealing with. But I haven’t worked on *The Book* yet, since we’re supposed
to be doing it *together*.”

Draco was about to say that she wouldn’t be able to do it on her own anyway, because she didn’t
know any Latin, but refrained from abuse. Instead he just nodded wearily.

“Well, I thought you needed to be as informed, so I made a short summary for you. Here,” she
thrust her notes in his hand.

He took them from her and, sighing inwardly, made himself read, though he’d rather take a nap
and forget all about Ginny Weasley and the bloody book. Ginny waited for him to finish and when he
was done, she opened *Liber* *Mysteriorum* on the first page.

The yellowed page had a slightly musty smell to it. In the upper left corner of it was a bright
illustration of a mage in star-spangled robes, with his wand drawn. His long hair and beard were
grey and his face was lined. A simultaneous thought occurred to both Ginny and Draco that the
wizard on the picture looked very much like the late Professor Dumbledore to whom they owned the
honour of working together.

The passage below was easily discernable and Ginny read it aloud.

*Magick* *is a faculty of wonderfull vertue, full of most high mysteries, containing the
most profound Contemplation of most secret things, together with the nature, power, quality,
substance, and vertues thereof, as also the knowledge of whole nature, and it doth instruct us
concerning the differing, and agreement of things amongst themselves, whence it produceth its
wonderfull effects, by uniting the vertues of things through the application of them one to the
other, and to their inferior sutable subjects, joyning and knitting them together thoroughly by the
powers, and vertues of the superior Bodies.*

Beside the passage, in the margin, the same hand had scribbled: Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa -
*Three Books of Magick*, bk. 1, chap. 34, p. 246.

Ginny stared at these words and then reread the passage. She frowned.

Draco looked at her across the table. Absorbed in thought, she was twirling a strand of her hair
around her finger. Her cheeks were still coloured from the argument they had had earlier. His eyes
moved across a thin sheen of the lip-gloss that covered her puffy lips. With amusement he realized
that Ginny was an attractive girl. He made a note of it for future, in case their research got too
boring and he’d want to have a little fun. He might as well kill two birds with one stone.

“This doesn’t make sense!” Ginny uttered at last.

“Huh?” Draco shook his head and stared at her. “What were you saying?”

“Read this!” she ordered and pointed to two short lines in the margin of the page.

“I already have,” Draco replied coldly.

“Well, haven’t you noticed anything unusual?” she was wide-eyed with surprise. “Urgh, of course,
you haven’t!”

Draco didn’t quite like that ‘of course’ bit. Was she implying that he was thick?!

“I suppose, it’s taken from a book written by Agrippa,” he gritted, “a famous 15th
century

magician.”

“Precisely!” Ginny exclaimed again. “A *15th* century magician! How could Fra
Filippo, who, I must remind you, lived in the 12th century, have known Agrippa, let
alone have read his book?!”

Now Draco got it too. He stared at her, open-mouthed. And that was a bad sign. Already Ginny
proved that she was much brighter and more sharp-witted and he desperately needed to come up with a
smart answer in order to at least measure up to her.

“That can only mean that he could foretell the future,” he blurted out.

“Hmm, I think you are right,” Ginny nodded thoughtfully. “That explains a lot.”

Draco’s spirits rose and he beamed proudly. He moved the book closer to himself and turned the
page. When he read the first sentence on the top of the next page, he felt once again that he was
gaining advantage over Ginny. For the words said:

*Saeculorum* *novus nascitur ordo*

Swelling with pride and smirking, Draco waited for Ginny to ask him what the words meant, since
she didn’t speak any Latin. Ginny didn’t keep him waiting for too long and looked at him
questioningly.

“Well, Mr. Polyglot, care to explain what it means?” she asked sarcastically.

“It means ‘a new time begins’,” he replied vainly.

“Very interesting,” Ginny murmured and proceeded to read the strophe that followed, which, she
noted gratefully, was written in English.

*Ten cranes guard the door under the stars.*

*The white and the red rose will travel*

*To the city of bridges before the sky turns black.*

*The waxing crescent will end the war.*

Neither of them understood what it meant. Ginny frowned and Draco looked at her hopefully.

“Any ideas?” he ventured to ask.

Ginny shook her head and repeated the lines in a low whisper.

“I don’t know what it means, but it sounds very familiar,” she said at last.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “I think it’s complete and utter nonsense. I mean, the white and the
red rose? Ten cranes? That friar was seriously off his rocker.”

“You’re right, the words don’t make any sense. But there is something about this quatrain, it…,”
she broke off. “Wait, it’s a quatrain…a quatrain…and it narrates the events that are about to
happen…,” she paused dramatically and then exclaimed: “It’s a prophecy!”

“A prophecy?” Draco echoed disbelievingly.

Ginny was gesticulating emphatically. “Precisely! And if this is a prophecy *and* written
in the form of a quatrain, then it must have been written by Nostradamus!”

Draco burst out laughing. “That charlatan?”

“He wasn’t a charlatan!” Ginny replied passionately. “His prophecies *always* came true! It
all fits! Michel Nostradamus was a notorious 15th century seer. Again, I can’t help
notice that Fra Filippo had a certain affinity with the 15th century wizards.
Nostradamus wrote quatrains in which he

prophesized major events in the future, like wars and calamities. And we’ve established that Fra
Flippo was a seer too. I wonder how it’s all connected.”

“But you’re forgetting that Michel Nostradamus never wrote his prophecies in English!” Draco
said. “They were mostly in Old French or Latin and they always rhymed.”

“Fra Filippo could have translated it in English,” she retorted.

“Why would he do that?”

“Oh, I don’t know!” Ginny replied venomously. “Maybe he wanted to make it easier for us, since
we don’t speak Old French?”

“Ha-ha. Funny,” he said sourly.

Ginny rolled her eyes at him and struggled to read the next portion of the text.

*Accipe* *quam primum, brevis est occasion lucri.*

*Respue**, quod non es.*

*Certum* *est et inevitabile fatum.*

*Aut* *amat aut odit mulier, nil est tertium.*

*Nec* *tecum possum vivere, nec sine te.*

*Urbs* *antiqua ruit multos dominate per annos.*

*Mea!*

“Well, what does it say?” she asked impatiently.

“I’m afraid it’s just another piece of gibberish,” he sighed.

“Let’s hear it,” Ginny urged.

A little reluctantly, Draco translated aloud:

*Strike while iron is hot.*

*Reject that what you are not*, in other words *be yourself* or *be what you really
are.*

*Fate is definite and unavoidable.*

*A woman either loves or hates, there’s no third option.*

*I can’t live with you, but I can’t live without you either.*

*An old city that ruled for so many years will collapse.*

*Hurry!*

“It’s not a poem,” Ginny said, looking utterly perplexed.

“Yeah, I’ve guessed that much,” Draco smirked.

“All right. Let’s just try to analyze this. From what I gathered it’s not a poem, since it has
no rhyme or meter. There are seven lines, which show no connection whatsoever. Am I right so
far?”

Draco nodded.

“Do these Latin aphorisms ring a bell?” she asked suddenly.

“What do you mean?” Draco blinked.

“You’re the one who studied Latin, not me!” Ginny sighed exasperatedly. “Maybe there is
something peculiar about them. A special meaning, perhaps?”

Draco shook his head resolutely. Ginny sagged in her armchair and looked disappointed.

“Ok, let’s think about this again,” she persisted.

“Why don’t we just skip it and move on?” Draco suggested with a tinge of annoyance in his
voice.

“We’ve already skipped a quatrain, remember? And we haven’t gotten far with this book yet. All
we know, or rather assume, is that Fra Filippo was a seer and that the quatrain was written by
Nostradamus. We can’t afford to miss out anything. Let’s just try to analyze it again.”

Sighing, Draco rose from the sofa. He approached a niche in the farthest wall and poured himself
some wine. Without turning around to face Ginny, he asked: “Do you think he did this on
purpose?”

Ginny tore her gaze from the book and stared at him. “What? Who did what on purpose?”

“Dumbledore,” Draco murmured. “I reckon he made us do this for a reason.”

“Duh, that’s a new one. He obviously had a reason in mind. Why? What’s wrong?”

“Well, I can’t stop thinking about it. I think it’s pointless. This book is full of
nonsense.”

“Are you saying you want to quit?” Ginny’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “We’ve just started!”

Draco returned with two glasses of wine and put one of them in front of Ginny. “No, I’m not
quitting. I just see no point.”

“Yeah, whatever. Let’s just focus on this rebus, shall we? I’m sure we’ll be able to figure it
out.”

Draco shrugged and took another swig.

Ginny began to copy the Latin sentences into her notepad. She scribbled furiously and then
crossed things out. She even tried to reverse the words, or make anagrams, but to no avail. Still,
she didn’t give up and started from the beginning.

Draco sat slumped in his plush arm-chair, weary, his head heavy like a cannonball. It felt so
heavy that it seemed to him that his neck could not support its weight anymore and any moment now
it would snap in two. He leaned back and cautiously put his head down on the antimacassar that had
been crocheted by his mother, back when things were different.

He craved sleep, but he didn’t want to chase Ginny away, for then he would be left alone with
the memories of his journey, his troubling thoughts. So instead he listened to Ginny’s voice
mumbling the results of her guesswork, letting her words penetrate his throbbing head.

She was copying the third line, when she stopped abruptly and stared at the page before her.

“I think I got it,” she whispered inaudibly.

“You know what it means?” Draco suddenly looked interested.

Ginny drew something on the page and gave it to him. “Have a look.”

**A***ccipe* *quam primum, brevis est occasion lucri.*

**R***espue**, quod non es.*

**C***ertum* *est et inevitabile fatum.*

**A***ut* *amat aut odit mulier, nil est tertium.*

**N***ec* *tecum possum vivere, nec sine te.*

**U***rbs* *antiqua ruit multos dominate per annos.*

**M***ea!*

“It’s an acrostic!” she smiled contentedly. “Acrostic is a series of lines, usually in a form of
a poem, in which the first letters in each line form a name or a word. If you read all seven
letters in sequence, you’ll get the word *arcanum*.”

“Arcanum? That’s a nice way to put it,” Draco snorted.

“I don’t quite remember what it means. Care to enlighten me?”

“Arcanum means ‘mystery’. It’s also another word for ‘elixir’,” he explained.

“Why…,” Ginny began to say, but was cut off.

“Hold on a second,” Draco interrupted quickly. “I have an idea.”

He rummaged in a pile of books and quills and grabbed Ginny’s copy of *The Complete Magical
Encyclopaedia*. He turned over the pages feverishly. When he found the right page, he handed the
book to her. Overtaken by curiosity, Ginny read the passage.

“…In alchemy, the Grand Arcanum describes the secret of the Philosopher’s Stone. The colloquial
name for the Philosopher’s Stone is The Great Red Elixir. An elixir was a substance believed to be
able to change base metals into gold. It was also believed by some to be able to prolong life, thus
making a person immortal. For this reason another name was coined for the Philosopher’s Stone –
elixir vitae (elixir of life).”

Ginny’s eyes widened. She looked at the poem in the middle of the page and then back at
Draco.

“You don’t really think…”

“I never said anything,” he replied shortly and stared at her for a long time. “But it does seem
very probable.”

“This is incredible!” she whispered. “They were right after all! I think we have a key to the
formula of the Philosopher’s Stone!”

They grinned at each other.

While Ginny was contemplating what she had just heard, her eyes registered dark shadows under
Draco’s eyes that made him look older and yet for some reason very appealing. Rough bristly stubble
covered his cheeks and Ginny wondered what it would feel like to the touch.

Then she abruptly pulled herself up sharp. Was she out of her mind, fantasizing about Draco
Malfoy’s pulchritude?

‘Our relationship is strictly business-like,’ she told herself. ‘We are coparceners. Merlin, I
hate that word. We are bound by a business agreement. Nothing more, nothing less. Nobody said I
have to like him, right?’

All the while Draco was thinking about how beautiful Ginny looked with her eyes glowing, all
happy and excited about their discovery.

Ginny was the first one to avert her eyes. She turned back to the book and leafed through
it.

“Erm, where were we?” she mumbled.

“Arcanum,” he said. “I think he meant the Philosopher’s Stone.”

“Oh yeah, isn’t it what people used to believe? That *Liber* *Mysteriorum* contained
an encrypted message on how to make the Philosopher’s Stone?”

“Yes, but I don’t really believe in it. It’s just a rumour.”

“Whatever,” Ginny replied stubbornly. “Let’s be more optimistic, shall we?”

She grabbed *Liber* *Mysteriorum* and observed closely the small drawings that
followed. One of them was a small drawing of a scarlet rose.

“See?” Ginny exclaimed with an expression of acute satisfaction on her face. “I was right! The
red rose is an alchemical symbol that stands for the Philosopher’s Stone.”

Excitedly, she rubbed her hands together. Draco looked over at Ginny and shook his head.

“I can’t believe I haven’t thought of it before,” Ginny went on. “These are all symbols that
stand for something. It makes sense now!

“It does?” Draco asked, for her deductions totally escaped him.

“Of course. Suppose this riddle *is* a key to the Philosopher’s Stone. Suppose it’s all
true. Then this picture here,” she pointed to the drawing of a dragon, “stands for hydrogen. See,
all alchemists used symbols to encode different stages of transmutation of metals. Dragon was used
as the symbol for hydrogen, which is used in making the Stone. And this,” this time she pointed to
the picture of a cave, “is a symbol of a crucible.”

“And what’s this?” Draco asked about the last picture, which depicted a grey-feathered
crane.

Ginny shrugged and then picked a book from the pile that read *Ars* *symbolica* by
Arnold Dempsey.

“Let’s see,” she murmured as her eyes roved the pages. “Aha! The ancient Egyptians used the
crane as a symbol of the astronomer because of high flight. Its astrological name is ‘Grus’.”

“Wasn’t the crane mentioned in one of the poems?” Draco asked thoughtfully. He got hold of the
*Liber* *Mysteriorum* again to find the poem. Then he read out loud:

*Ten cranes guard the door under the stars.*

*The white and the red rose will travel*

*To the city of bridges before the sky turns black.*

*The waxing crescent will end the war.*

“So ‘ten cranes’ means ‘ten astronomers’?” Ginny exclaimed in surprise. “And if the red rose
stands for the Philosopher’s Stone, does it mean that someone will travel with it to…the city of
bridges?”

“And what does the white rose stand for?”

Ginny shrugged. “I don’t know. But at least I know now that this is somehow linked to astronomy.
Or astrology, if you wish. Back in the Middle Ages people used to think that it was the same
thing.”

Draco took stock of her. “You are quite smart, aren’t you?” he asked, sounding greatly
surprised, as if he had just discovered that Ginny could fly without a broom.

Flabbergasted, Ginny coloured slightly. She was unaccustomed to his compliments and couldn’t
help wondering what made him say so. She also realized that the animosity between them began to
disappear and though she still thought he was a cruel bully, she had to admit that the day that
they spent in each other’s company wasn’t so bad at all. In any event, she was not prepared to give
in to his charms just yet.

“Um, can I use your bathroom?” she asked, for she couldn’t bear his stare any longer.

“Sure,” he said, breaking the gaze. “At the end of the corridor turn left, take another turn to
the left and then the fifth door on the right will be the bathroom.”

Ginny quickly ran to the bathroom and once she was inside, she sank on the marble floor and
buried her head in her hands. Her cheeks were glowing and a goofy smile played on her lips. She
didn’t know what intoxicated her more, the seasoned wine or the mellow timbre of his voice.

They were not becoming friends, were they? No parleys and no hatchets buried, right? He must
have spiked her drink, for such a ludicrous thought would never have occurred to her had she been
sober.

Or could they perhaps let bygones be bygones, that is, at least for the duration of their
research? Would she, could she forgive him? It would after all be sensible and would undoubtedly
facilitate their collaboration…But no, it was far too insane a notion to accept, and so she
dismissed it with utter resolution. That done, she continued despising Draco Malfoy with every
fibre of her being.

Very confident, she exited the bathroom and started walking down the corridor, back to the
sitting-room. Just like she imagined, the house had a somewhat lugubrious air to it. Everything
looked unused and abandoned and she doubted if any human being had set foot in this part of the
mansion in the last few years.

Suddenly, the corridor divided and she wasn’t sure which way she should go, as she hardly paid
attention to the surroundings on her way to the bathroom. She decided to go left, down a narrow
corridor. She took a turn and nearly tripped on the leg of a massive chest-of-drawers that was
occupying the dark corner. She examined it slowly and discovered quite a collection of gauds on its
dusty surface.

She took one of them to see what it was. It looked like a usual trinket box with a silver
decoration on a mother-of-pearl background. She lifted the lid and a slow, mournful music,
resembling a funeral hymn issued from within its depths. Suddenly, the dirge was over and the box
emitted a shrill, bray-like cry. Frightened, Ginny snapped the lid shut. She quickly put it back
and walked away.

Mortified, she now also realized that the walls of the corridors were lined with gravures of
ugly and dangerous-looking beasts, mostly indricotheres, mammoths and dire wolves. As she walked
on, her eyes fell upon a painting in a massive gilded frame. It depicted an ashet with a severed
human head on it. A few gobbets were cut off on the left side, mutilating the face beyond
recognition.

Ginny felt nausea wash over her and she hurried forward. The next thing she encountered was a
silver platter with elaborate decoration of a bird of prey picking at a rabbit. The acids in her
stomach were already making their way up and, fearing a sight of another gory artifact, she swiftly
took a turn, down another corridor.

As she was passing, a door on her right suddenly opened a creak. Ginny stopped and looked at it
curiously. Then she pushed it slightly. Squeaking, the door gave in and she found herself in a
small room with a low ceiling. The room was dark and she lit her wand. When she saw the inside of
the room, she gasped and nearly dropped her wand.

She stumbled upon Narcissa Malfoy’s parlour. Gabardine portieres were drawn, permitting no light
inside. There was a thin layer of dust on the cherry wood furniture, and Ginny realized that this
room had not been used or visited since its owner had left it for good.

The curiosity was almost overwhelming, as she studied the knick-knacks in the room - an elegant
assortment of opals, ivory and silver. She ran her fingers over small obsidian and porcelain
figurines on the griseous mantelpiece, over tassels and bolsters, scattered all over the sofa that
was upholstered with burgundy crushed velvet. She picked out a tune on the piano, just to hear what
it sounded like.

On the desk, Narcissa’s handicraft basket was still unpacked, with a hodgepodge of thimbles and
bodkins laid out, as if she took a break for a moment and was going to come back. She wondered if
Draco came here often, lay on this settee and maybe talked quietly to his mother’s things.
Imagining that she was there. She was suddenly overcome with pity for him, and that surprised her.
That wasn’t something she did out of her own volition. For the life of her, she could never imagine
how he could still live in this mansion that was about as cozy as a burial vault, and where
everything was painfully remindful of his deceased parents. One can, of course, seal off the rooms,
but one can’t shut off the memories. But now she understood. He *welcomed* these memories.
They were all he had left, just like this house.

She gave the room another glance and then walked out, closing the door behind her and leaving
her sympathy and pity for Malfoy behind that door. No truce or armistice, remember?

She found her way back to the sitting room, where Draco sat on the sofa, bent over a book. She
ignored a mighty tug in her chest, where her heart was, as if it were simply a skipped systole, and
settled on the sofa beside him.

“Found anything interesting?” she asked, pulling the book towards her.

“Actually, I did,” he said without looking up. “Have a look at this.”

Ginny bent over the page that he was showing her and saw the picture of the same bearded wizard
in the star-spangled robes right in the middle. He was holding an open book in his hands with a
strange inscription on it: *seititne* *lacigam*.

“You know I don’t speak Latin,” Ginny said, irritated.

“It’s not Latin. It’s English,” Draco retorted.

Ginny looked at him as if he was addle-brained.

“Then it’s the kind of English that I don’t understand.”

“Because you need this,” he explained and produced a small mirror from his pocket.

Ginny frowned, but took it from him. Intuitively, she brought it close to the page and looked at
the reflection. Now the words read in perfect English: *Magical Entities*. Ginny’s eyes grew
wider.

“Magical entities? But what does it mean?”

“I looked it up in one of the encyclopedias and I found this:

*On the Magical Entities* is one of the most enigmatic tractates on a variety of magical
beasts in the wizarding world, as well as some forms of half-animal life such as werewolves. It was
written in 1199 by Fra Filippo, shortly before his death. His main goal was to bring awareness
about these things that his contemporaries had little knowledge about.

Though this tractate is written in common English, being the first document of this kind not to
be written in Latin and moreover not encoded, many believed for some reason that this tractate
contained some ‘keys’ to understanding the higher forms of magic, often forbidden. It was therefore
often called *The Key* or *The Keys* by those who attempted to find something in the text
that would lead them beyond the original meaning. *On the Magical Entities* is now known by
the name of the Zenatti manuscript, after the person who had been known to own it last, Anselmo
Zenatti. It is therefore sometimes referred to as *Le chiavi*, the Italian equivalent of
*The Keys*. It is believed to have been lost in the fire that destroyed the Mancini Library in
1523.

“Hang on. You mean he hid a clue inside his other work?” Ginny asked at last.

“Yes, I think that this is a very explicit allusion to the tractate. To solve this, we need Fra
Filippo’s tractate,” Draco said, as his mouth curled in a half-smile. An idea occurred to him. He
had an old acquaintance that might just be of service.

Suddenly, they were interrupted by a thundering sound, coming from the other wing of the
mansion, as if someone dropped a four-poster bed with a baldachin down the stairwell.

There was a grimace of immense displeasure on Draco’s face, as he squinted in the direction of
the possible source of the sound. Ginny guessed that whoever was creating havoc would get it
hot.

“Well,” she said quickly. “It’s rather late and I’m tired. Why don’t we continue in the
weekend?”

Draco nodded wearily and insisted on walking with her to the entrance hall. Down the dark
corridors they went, and Ginny thought to herself that she couldn’t have possibly spent a more
enjoyable day.

Abruptly she stopped and looked around. Draco was right behind her. He stood much closer to her
than she had anticipated, and she took a few steps back.

“I’ll be off then,” she said curtly, and with a swirl she Disapparated.



4. Gambit
---------

**Disclaimer**: standard disclaimer applies.

The poems are not mine either, they belong to William Shakespeare and Lord Byron.

**A/N**: Finally, the next chapter for those who were dying to read it! Again, here I make
allusions to many important medieval works on alchemy, mostly the Ripley Scroll, as well as
medieval bestiaries and sources on folklore. I also shifted the events known as Bonfire of the
Vanities some 26 years. What happened then was actually very fascinating. I suggest you go to your
local library and read about it.

Thanks a bunch to everyone who reviewed!!! Those who have read this, but still haven’t reviewed,
will be severely punished! I’m not kidding! LOL

CHAPTER FOUR

*Gambit*

The door suddenly opened and the elf ushered in a young woman. Draco relished the sight of her.
She dressed and acted like a Muggle, but he didn’t mind that. It suited her. (He knew that many
would call him a hypocrite if he ever voiced his views).

Her curly auburn hair was held up in a neat bun, and her pale aristocratic features were
slightly touched by make-up. A small black designer dress clang to every curve of her lean body,
not revealing much, but at the same time baring enough of her creamy flesh. She approached him with
feline grace, the four-inch stiletto heals of her shoes sinking in the thick carpeting.

Her cinnamon eyes were fixed on him too, as she walked towards the table, taking in every inch
of his body. He was leaning back in his chair, his posture relaxed. The sleeves of his crispy white
shirt were rolled up, revealing his toned sinewy arms. The top button of his shirt was also undone,
and it gave him an air of nonchalant scruffiness.

“Catherine,” he smiled, rising from his chair, “you look ravishing!”

“Thank you, Draco,” she said, returning the smile. “You don’t look bad yourself.”

“Please, sit down,” he gestured towards the opposite seat.

She sat down gracefully.

“Wine?” he asked, uncorking the bottle of Veuve Clicquot.

“Yes, please,” she smiled appreciatively.

She leaned forward to take her glass, shrouding him with the refined scent of her Thierry Mugler
perfume.

His eyes followed the movement of her slim manicured fingers as she clicked the lighter and lit
her first cigarette. She inhaled slowly, and then looked at him with a hint of languor in her dark
lambent eyes. Oh, he knew that look too well!

“Why did you ask me to come?” she inquired, looking at him intently.

For a moment he watched her brush the tip of her cigarette against the rim of the ash-tray.

“I need your help,” he said, looking back at her.

A light smile twitched the corners of her mouth. “You’re straight-forward, I like that.”

“I want to make you an offer.”

“What kind of offer?” she smiled at him over the rim of her wineglass.

“I want you to get me a very important manuscript,” he replied.

“It must be a very extraordinary manuscript, if you’re asking me to get it for you.”

“You have the best antique shop in London,” he shrugged with a smile.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Malfoy,” she smirked. “What kind of manuscript are we talking
about?”

“The Zenatti Manuscript.”

She froze, the wine glass in her hand stopping half way to her mouth. “The only copy that still
exists is in a private collection. And I doubt that the owner would want to part with such
treasure.”

“Tell him that I can be very generous.”

“How much?” she asked.

“Fifty thousand Galleons,” he replied.

She raised her thin brow in surprise. If he was prepared to pay this much money, then the deal
was worth a try. But it was going to be difficult. She thought for a while, tapping a long,
polished fingernail on the clothed table.

“I’ll have the answer for you by tomorrow,” she said at last.

“Thank you.”

“I am always happy to help an old friend. Besides, I’m just returning a favour. You know, I hate
to be indebted.”

“Of course,” Draco’s lips curled in a smile.

“But what do you need it for, if you don’t mind me asking?” she asked curiously.

“It’s a good investment,” he replied laconically.

She understood that he didn’t want to talk about it, so she changed the subject. They sat
through three courses of a delicious meal, talking and laughing, until it was long past
midnight.

“It was nice seeing you again, Draco,” Catherine said before disappearing behind the door.

“It was nice seeing you too,” he replied.

He poured himself some more wine and watched the specks of the flickering candle-light glisten
on the glass. He was smiling contentedly. The evening turned out to be even more successful than he
had expected.

***

The note came on a piece of scented vellum paper, with the name Catherine Bergdorf stamped on
top.

*Dear Draco,*

*I’m pleased to inform you that the deal will proceed as planned. Mr. Leonard Trondle, the
owner of the Zenatti Manuscript, has seriously considered your generous offer and is willing to
sell it. I will owl you as soon as we work out the details. As of today your money pouch will feel
a lot lighter!*

*I’ll keep in touch,*

*Catherine*

Draco grinned at his own reflection in the mirror as he was tying his necktie. It was the best
deal he had ever had. Now that he had the manuscript, he could solve the mystery of the book and
get it done and over with. For good.

Of course, fifty thousand Galleons was quite a fortune. Just to think that Nicolas Flammel
purchased *The Red Grimoire of Orpheus* for just two florins! But what could he do with all
that money? His parents were dead and he didn’t have a family of his own. His father left him a few
vaults full of gold and he would have spent it anyway. He had enough to last a lifetime. Only he
had lost the spendthrift desire long ago. That is, until now.

***

The room was tiny and an average Muggle would undoubtedly wonder how it could possibly fit a
single bed, a dresser, a rocking chair and a desk and a chair by the window. Not to mention a
built-in massive fireplace. But Muggles are widely known for their naiveté and it would certainly
never occur to them to check the room for any signs of magic. To an average wizard, however, it
would be obvious that the room was shrouded by a tightly woven net of various spells that kept it
all together.

It was still dark outside and no sunlight filtered through a gap in the floral-patterned
curtains. The girl in the bed heaved a deep sigh and drew the blanket tighter around her. A light
smile played on her lips and her eye-lids trembled slightly – a sure sign of a pleasant dream.

Two bulky figures were hunched on either side of the bed, watching vigilantly over the sleeping
figure. One of them bent down over the girl and listened to her even breathing.

“You do that again, and she will wake up!” hissed the voice from the other side of the bed.

“She won’t,” replied the first and retreated, “she sleeps like a log. I just wanted to make
sure.”

The other figure shook his head disapprovingly.

“All right. Let’s be quick. You’ve got everything with you, haven’t you?”

The other nodded and took a small box out of his pocket. He grinned wickedly as he removed the
elastic band that was holding the lid in place. When it was open, he rapped the contents of the box
with his wand and whispered a quick incantation. A shimmering pink smoke rose from the box and then
spiraled down, towards the sleeping girl.

The pink cloud almost covered her face, when she, sensing something, jerked awake and pushed the
dark figure, and the pink cloud, away from her. Her arms and legs got entangled in the blanket and
she pummeled it violently, until she managed to throw it off her bed. In a blink of an eye she
grabbed her wand from under the pillow and pointed it towards the dark mass on the floor.

“Who is here?” asked Ginny, for it was her, in a trembling voice, trying to keep her wand
steady.

“I told you it was a bad idea,” came a growl.

“Fred?!!” Ginny whispered in shock. “What are you doing in my room? What time is it?”

She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was showing a little over six in the
morning.

The mass on the floor moved and in the light of her wand Ginny saw a tuft of familiar red hair.
Fred’s ginger head came into view as he managed to extricate himself from under the blanket. He
gave the rest of the dark mass on the floor a not so friendly push and said gloomily: “Come out.
She got us.”

The blanket moved again and out came an identical ginger head.

“George?!” Ginny exclaimed.

“Hey, Gin,” he grinned. “Nice pyjamas.”

Ginny looked furious and confused. “What are you two doing here?”

“Oh, right,” said George, avoiding her angry glare, “well, you see, eh…we were just…eh, you
know…”

“No, I don’t know! What’s going on?”

George was going to resume his awkward explanations, when Fred suddenly stared at him and then
started guffawing, having to bury his face in the discarded blanket, so as not to wake anyone in
the house.

“What’s wrong?” George asked, concerned.

“Look at your face!” Fred replied and then burst out laughing again.

George raced towards the mirror on Ginny’s dresser and stared in horror at his own reflection.
His freckled nose was covered in thick pink pollen and it dawned on him that he was breathing it in
as well.

“We haven’t got an antidote,” Fred informed him, still grinning.

“Can someone explain me what’s going on?” Ginny started to get impatient.

“The thing is, little sis, that we have developed a new product for our joke shop. We are
planning to launch it right before the Valentine’s Day. The perfect moment, wouldn’t you say,
George? We just haven’t tested it yet.”

“Hold on,” Ginny clenched her fists. “You mean, you came to my room at six o’clock in the
morning to test a dubious product on me while I was sleeping?!”

“In a nutshell, yes,” murmured George, who was still observing his nose in the mirror.

“And what does it do? Makes you grow a tail? Changes the colour of your skin?”

“Erm, well, if it works right, then it only makes you recite poetry for a day,” Fred
explained.

“What? You wanted to make me recite poetry? Somehow it doesn’t seem as innocent as it
sounds.”

She crawled out of bed and walked over to George. She stood next to him and together they
studied his pink nose.

“I’m glad I hurled the spell back at you,” she said with a smile. “I have to get to the Ministry
this afternoon and I don’t fancy being sacked over some ridiculous Valentine’s joke.”

George scowled at her, but didn’t say anything.

“What kind of poems does it do?” Ginny asked curiously.

“I don’t know. It’s never been tested before,” George said, turning away from the mirror.

“Let’s go and look it up in our books, George. Maybe we’ll find something,” Fred suggested,
taking pity on his twin.

“Good idea,” Ginny chimed in. “As for me, I’m going to bed. It’s still too early.”

“Yeah,” said George nonchalantly, “maybe if you’re lucky, you’ll have that dream again.”

“What dream?” Ginny looked at him puzzled.

“Must have been a good dream. You were smiling and whispering somebody’s name.”

Ginny looked mortified. “Whose name?” she asked slowly.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Fred, as he picked up the blanket and put it back on her bed. “Didn’t
quite catch it. Some foreign name, I reckon.”

With that both twins tiptoed out of her room, leaving Ginny perplexed and embarrassed. She had
strong suspicions about the ‘foreign’ name, but was afraid to admit it to herself.

She went back to bed and lay there thinking. She remembered the day she had spent at Malfoy
Manor. How excited she was at the progress they had made with the book! And what’s more important,
they hadn’t even exchanged a single cross word. What was happening? Was she growing soft on him?
She pondered this, trying to be as honest with herself as possible. She conjured Draco’s image in
her mind. His voice invaded her reverie. That coarse laugh. That determined profile…

“No!” she grunted, kneading the blanket in agitation. She got carried away again. No more
dreaming about Draco sodding Malfoy!

Time and time again, she tried to remember all his shortcomings that would sober her up a
little. That stupid laugh of his wasn’t sexy at all, it was a hyena’s laugh! As to the profile, his
features were too pointed! And that disgusting unshaved chin! Come to think of it, his grey eyes
were cruel and cold too! And he was too…too blond, Ginny decided lamely. And that petty creature
still treated her with his customary hauteur. Like he was somehow better than her! Argh!

As a result of all these reflections, Ginny could not sleep a wink. At long last, she gave up
and at half past eight she went down for breakfast.

Saturdays in the Burrow usually started late. Everyone, the family and the guests, often stayed
in bed until midday, weary after the long supper and the games the night before. Some even stayed
up to chat deep into the night. That happened, for instance, every time Hermione and Harry came
over. Ginny longed for some female company and the two of them would chat for hours on end,
giggling, whispering and sharing their girlie secrets.

This time Harry and Hermione, whom no one naturally treated as guests, joined them at the Burrow
for the Friday supper. As an exception to the rule, the girls went to bed soon after the meal.
Harry and Hermione were obviously looking forward to being alone at last in their bedroom. And
Ginny was secretly grateful for that, because she couldn’t bear Hermione asking her about her
‘collaboration’ with Draco Malfoy. She was sure that Hermione would inevitably find something out
and would either get very angry with her or would laugh at her. She didn’t know which was
worth.

In the kitchen she saw all her brothers, except Charlie, sitting at the table. Her father was
reading the Prophet, from time to time announcing interesting bits of gossip. Her mother and
Hermione were busy fixing breakfast.

“Good morning everyone,” Ginny yawned. “Where is Charlie?”

“One of his dragons, Betsy, is sick. He had to come over,” Ron replied between the helpings of
eggs and bacon.

“By the way, Ginny, what was that noise in your room this morning?” Mrs. Weasley asked as she
levitated the saucepan with her wand.

Ginny and the twins exchanged brief glances.

“My room? I don’t know what you’re talking about, mum. Maybe it was that ghoul in the attic
again,” Ginny replied carelessly.

“Right. We should do something about it. It’s getting out of hand!” Mrs. Weasley huffed
angrily.

The three of the young Weasleys sniggered.

“How’s Malfoy doing?” Harry asked Ginny jokingly, as she flopped in the chair next to him.

“He’s a hideous, loathsome bastard,” Ginny replied automatically.

Everyone nodded pityingly and Ginny smiled inwardly. How easy it was to fool them! For a second,
it seemed that she could convince herself too.

Her train of thought was interrupted by a cough. She looked up and saw George’s eyes flash
strangely. His face, like a face of a love-sick person, looked dreamy and altogether altered. He
suddenly turned to Hermione and recited in a clear voice:

*Shall I compare thee to a Summer’s day?*

*Thou art more lovely and more temperate.*

*Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,*

*And Summer’s lease hath all too short a date.*

“Oh, George!” Hermione blushed and dropped her eyes.

Everyone, including Harry, goggled at George. Even Mr. Weasley’s puzzled face appeared above the
newspaper. Mrs. Weasley was moved to tears: “He’s become so romantic, since he started dating
Angelina!”

Ginny and Fred were choking on their porridge, being the only ones who really knew what was
happening to their brother, and George turned puce. It was as if he was fighting something inside
him that was desperately trying to get out. At last, his breathing normalized, his face transformed
back to his own and he was the same old George again. Ron and Harry (who still eyed George
suspiciously, in case he decided to ask his girlfriend out as well) broke the awkward silence by
proposing a game of Quidditch.

Ginny had to decline the offer. She ate her breakfast as fast as she could in order to get to
the Ministry on time. When she was nearly out of the door, she heard George sing:

*She walks in beauty, like the night*

*Of cloudless climes and starry skies,*

*And all that's best of dark and bright*

*Meets in her aspect and her eyes;*

*Thus mellow'd to that tender light*

*Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.*

Outside, it started to rain. Puddles formed on the roads, in which the gravid clouds and
buildings reflected like in a mirror. Ginny sighed and closed one of the files she had brought from
the Ministry. She had a lot to do, masses of documents to look through. But the grey dullness
outside had a soporific effect on her, inducing somnolence and general laziness. In her mind, Ginny
debated an option of spending the rest of the day in bed, with a good book, preferably of a
non-scientific kind. Still unable to decide, she watched the dense stubs of pollards in the garden
through the curtain of drizzling London rain.

But it looked like someone decided for her already. She heard a rattling sound in her chimney
and out of the fireplace, amidst the dancing green flames, appeared Draco Malfoy. Ginny stared at
him disbelievingly as he stepped out of her fireplace. He dusted imaginary soot off his robes and
smirked at Ginny.

“I thought such a capable witch like you would think of putting a barrier on her fireplace.”

“What are you doing here?!” Ginny cried.

“I want to show you something. This can’t wait,” he said hastily.

He reached inside his robes and took something out. She glanced curiously at the object in his
hands. It was a round silver filigree case with a screw top. The surface of the case with finely
engraved finial pattern was polished, giving off an argent glow. A small silver ring was attached
to the top, presumably to hang from a chatelaine. The other end of the cylinder bore an intricate
family crest to be used as a seal.

Draco unscrewed the top and emptied the contents of the case into Ginny’s lap. What appeared to
be a shapeless dirty rag, turned out to be a scroll of ancient parchment.

“What is this?” she looked at it in awe.

“The Zenatti Manuscript,” Draco grinned.

“But I thought it got burned in 1523?” Ginny goggled at him.

“Luckily for us someone made a copy. And now I own it.”

“You bought it?!”

“Yes,” he nodded. “What’s wrong with that?”

“I didn’t know you were so dedicated to this project,” Ginny replied slowly, looking at him with
sudden interest.

“There is a lot you don’t know about me,” Draco said mysteriously.

Ginny raised her brows. She reckoned she could write a *Liber* *Mysteriorum* based on
his life, with plenty of mysteries and riddles in it.

“I don’t suppose you drink tea at this time of the day?” Ginny asked in her best hostess
voice.

“I don’t suppose you have any decent tea in the house?” he asked in the same tone.

Ginny gritted her teeth. “The best from Ceylon. I’ll fetch you a cup. You just sit back and
relax, feel at home,” she barked.

She went to the kitchen, glancing back to see what he was doing. Draco took off his heavy coat
and sat down on her couch, looking around himself with a tinge of scorn.

“Sorry, I don’t keep any mummified relatives in my closet,” Ginny said angrily, before storming
off into the kitchen.

Draco snorted.

Meanwhile, Ginny was pacing her tiny kitchen, on her way fetching cups and saucers. What she
wouldn’t give right now for a pinch of arsenic! She pictured Malfoy choking and gasping for breath
and she would be just watching him maliciously. Sorry, Draco dearest, just today I ran out of
bezoars. Bad luck, huh?

She poured some hot water from the sibilant kettle into her finest porcelain cups. She put them,
together with the sugar-basin and the milk-jug, on a tray and slowly entered the living room.

Draco Malfoy marked his presence in the room by lounging on her couch, his blond head buried in
the handbooks on alchemy. The whole picture looked so ridiculously odd, that Ginny nearly dropped
the tray. She carefully put it down on the small table before them and took place next to him,
never crossing the invisible line of demarcation between them.

“Well,” Ginny said, feeling very awkward because of his sprawling body next to her, and feeling
even more stupid because of feeling awkward *in her own home*.

“I’ve been doing some reading lately and I found this,” Draco said.

Ginny looked over his shoulder and read the following:

On 7 February 1523 followers of the priest Girolamo Savonarola collected and publicly burned
thousands of objects in Florence, Italy. This event is historically referred to as Bonfire of the
Vanities. This was done with one purpose: to destroy sinful objects and vanity items, such as
mirrors, cosmetics, fine dresses and musical instruments. Among these objects were also certain
books and manuscripts, considered wicked and immoral. Even some original paintings by Sandro
Botticelli suffered the same fate.

As people failed to contain the fire, it spread to the nearest building which happened to be the
Mancini Library. As a result, many valuable books and scrolls were lost forever.

“I just don’t get one thing,” Ginny said thoughtfully. “If Zenatti owned the manuscript, why was
it kept in the Mancini Library?”

“It was displayed there for everyone to see. Anyone who wasn’t ignorant knew what an amazing
work it was. So, naturally, everyone wanted to see it.”

Ginny nodded.

“Even these days many people realize how valuable it is. The funny thing is that most people
associate it with Zenatti and not with the author, Fra Filippo. Did you know that Anselmo Zenatti’s
portrait is hanging in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures?”

“No, I didn’t,” she shook her head.

She unrolled the manuscript which, against her expectations, was unusually short for a tractate.
About a meter-long roll of brownish paper was covered with writing in bright-red ink. It was topped
with an emblem depicting an Alphyn. The animal, which generally looked very much like a tiger, had
a sturdy hirsute body, thick mane, elongated donkey-like ears and a long tongue. The tail was
curled in a fanciful shape. The front paws were the ones of an eagle, with blade-sharp talons.

She scanned the text in a matter of seconds. Like the books she used to read for Hagrid’s Care
of Magical Creatures this one described the wizarding animal world that abounded in a variety of
species, many of which, back in the 12th century, were still relatively unknown. Fra
Filippo’s essay

was divided in half, dedicated to both tamed and feral animals. Ginny was surprised to find out
that even hundreds of years ago owls and kneazles made very good pets. A little portion of the text
in the end was solely dedicated to werewolves and their habits. On the whole, everything in it
looked very normal to her. No gnomic riddles this time. No long passages in Latin.

A few excerpts from the text made her very curious.

**Wyvern** – this rare variety of a dragon-like monster has, unlike dragons, only the front
paws, its hind part of the body forms a barbed tail. The brazen scales on the body have often been
used in making harnesses.

**Griffon** – a creature with the head and wings of an eagle and the body of a lion. It has
been believed to be very valuable since it is able to find hidden gold. Be sure to take one of
these with you when you’re going to hunt for leprechaun gold.

This animal likes basking in the sun and one can usually find it on the sunny pastures, chewing
on corn-flowers – its favourite food. My fellow magizoologists and I differentiate between females
(those who have large webbed wings) and males (those who don’t have any). Females lay eggs and are
very watchful of their offspring. The males, on the other hand, are not very devoted partners and
fathers and often leave the females after copulation takes place.

**Simplicissimus** – a cross-breed between a dragon and a Scottish Firebird. Has two legs of
an eagle and a split barbed tail. Bright plumage serves to attract the potential partners during
the mating season. Throughout the history successful attempts have been made to tame them and use
as a means of transportation. Several simplicissimi have been used in battle, but have all been
slain, together with the wizards riding them.

Ginny suddenly got a sniff of Draco’s eau-de-Cologne. They were now sitting side by side, both
absorbed in the manuscript. As if on purpose, today Draco looked extra sexy and desirable. He had a
new haircut that really suited him and his white shirt fit his torso so well that Ginny thought
that wearing one should be made illegal. Her head swam. Against her will, her mind was spelling the
word ‘concupiscence’ in huge fiery letters.

She took great pains to ignore him as best as she could, but she was failing miserably. Now,
whenever she was in his presence, she felt like her wrists and ankles were fettered and she
couldn’t move. His gaze paralyzed her and conquered her will. She gulped nervously and averted her
eyes.

Draco caught that slight movement of her head and looked at her. He was so close to Ginny that
she could feel his breath on her cheek. He slowly leaned in to kiss her. Ginny, in her transfixed
state, neither backed away nor moved forward. Their lips were just inches apart when Ginny regained
her senses and jerked away from him.

“If you are looking for a quick shag, you chose the wrong person,” she said angrily.

“If you don’t want it, fine. I won’t beg. Malfoys never beg,” he shrugged and moved away. His
arm was still resting on the back of the sofa, so dangerously close to her.

“Right, it’s me who’s supposed to be begging!” Ginny got to her feet impatiently, indicating the
end of his visit. He got the hint and, smirking, got up too.

“I suggest we call it a day. We’ll continue tomorrow,” he said, as he pocketed the
manuscript.

She shrugged indefinitely and turned away from him. She didn’t care about being civil to him
anymore.

“Good night then,” he said and Disapparated.

In the darkness of his bedroom Draco lay with his eyes open and watched the shadows move across
the ceiling. He was reflecting upon the strange circumstances in which he and Ginny found
themselves due to the work on The Book. First, he was perplexed and resentful about the whole
thing, but now he started to like it. And, he figured, being paired up with that fiery read-head
Ginny Weasley was not such a bad idea. Surprisingly, he totally lost his head over this girl. He
thought incessantly about her long, soft hair that reminded him of polished copper Knuts; about her
tender face with burning hazel eyes and her shapely legs, and whatever else she was hiding under
those robes.

He was actually very much attracted to her. So she was a Muggle-lover. Big deal! He used to bed
stupid Hufflepuffs without kith or kin, this wasn’t any different. It was just sex after all. So,
he wasn’t breaking any rules. And if he was, he didn’t care. He wanted her and he was going to get
her.

Meanwhile, Ginny was glumly devouring the contents of her fridge. She chided herself for being
do silly and naïve. How could she give in to the charms of that lofty bastard! She even served him
tea in her snug little home! She should have kicked him out the moment he stepped out of her
fireplace! First thing tomorrow she would buy some arsenic and board up the flue!

Ginny clenched her fists, feeling very helpless. She felt tears burning her eyes.

He’s had more than his fair share of girls at Hogwarts! His wild escapades were elaborately
described in nearly every issue of Witch Weekly! Why would he want to add her to his vast
collection as well? Was she just another trophy for him? What gave him the right to think that her
heart was a go-as-you-please area?! And she thought that he was changing for the best. Not he, she
thought bitterly. Once a Malfoy, always a Malfoy.

She finally dissolved into tears. She was crying because she was angry with him for treating her
like that, and at the same time she realized that she longed for him to touch her, kiss her, which
enraged her even more. Why did he have such an enchanting effect on her?

A few minutes later, she wiped away her tears and made up her mind to ignore him the next day,
and the day after that until he would beg for forgiveness. With that thought firmly established in
her mind, she allowed slumber to take over her.



5. Through the looking-glass
----------------------------

**Disclaimer**: standard disclaimer applies.

**A/N**: A big thank you to everyone who reviewed. I wouldn’t have the courage to continue,
if it wasn’t for you!

CHAPTER FIVE

*Through the looking-glass*

Working at the Department of International Magical Cooperation was, as Ginny Weasley always
thought, an ideal job. The only part of it that caused her a fair amount of discomfort was that her
alienated, pain-in-the-arse brother Percy worked in the same department, albeit in a different
office. He was demoted from his position of Junior Assistant to the Minister of Magic after a minor
conflict between him and Rufus Scrimgeour, another subject that was carefully avoided at the dinner
table on Friday evenings and which caused her mother a lot of grief nonetheless. Whenever Penelope
Clearwater was on the horizon Ginny skillfully dodged her as there was an even higher risk of
running into Percy. But luckily for Ginny the International Magical Trading Standards Body where
she worked was closer to the lifts and she could make a quick escape whenever she wanted.

That day, when she came to work she found it very hard to concentrate. She was drinking copious
amounts of coffee, brooding over the events of last night. Whenever her co-workers stuck their
heads inside her office, Ginny looked at them unseeingly, greeted them vaguely and went back to her
unhappy reflections.

She couldn’t sleep last night. Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw herself in a medieval
castle, looking out of the window onto a battlefield, where Draco was riding a fire-breathing
dragon. Then he would turn to her and shout: “Make me a cup of tea! Three spoons of arsenic, no
milk!” And the whole army under his command, including the dragons, would burst in a Homeric
laughter.

After tossing and turning in between the nightmares, she felt tired and angry. She was
considering going back home, completely ignoring a furious goblin before her who was screaming
something about extra thick cauldrons that he had ordered but never received.

Spit flying everywhere, he kept nagging her, until she finally focused her attention on him and
promised to fix his problem, whatever it was. The goblin shot her an angry look and marched out of
her office.

Ginny followed him with her eyes, forgetting all about his cauldrons the moment he left. The
clock struck twelve and she decided to go ask Harry to the lunch. But first of all, she opened her
door and checked the corridor for any signs of Percy or his fiancée. When she was sure that the
coast was clear, she made a beeline to the lift and, climbing inside, made her way up.

On the next floor, where the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was
located, the doors opened, but no one came in, save for the violet inter-department memos.

Ginny peeked out. She rarely visited other levels, especially those where she had no business to
be. Curiously, she stepped out and looked around. Immediately she was greeted by a whirl of
colours. Three bright-red arrows - Beast Division, Being Division and Spirit Division - pointed in
different directions. A beautifully drawn poster advertising new editions of *The Monster Book of
Monsters*and *Handbook of Hippogriff Psychology* occupied the wall opposite the lifts.
Another poster announced a sale of old, second-hand copies of *Encyclopaedia of Owls*,
organized together with Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, to be scheduled for the
5th of December. Across one of the adverts

someone wrote in purple ink: SAY NO TO THE IMPORT OF THE NEW

BREED OF THESTRALS! The lost pets section of the notice board had only one item: ‘Have you seen
this dragon?’ with a picture of a highly dangerous Ukrainian Ironbelly baby dragon underneath.

Portraits of famous magizoologists like Newt Scamander, Oswald Bigfoot and Cornelia Dragonheart
lined the walls of the corridor. Some of their occupants peeked curiously out of the heavy gilded
frames. The others were happily snoozing away.

“Ginny?” a surprised voice exclaimed behind her.

She turned and saw a former classmate, Colin Creevey, step out of the lift, with his arms laden
with photo equipment.

“I’m surprised to see you here. How are you?” he beamed.

“Oh, I’m fine. I was just on my way to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to see my dad
and Harry. I…erm…I saw this amazing poster and decided to stop by,” she smiled back at him.

“We’ve got a lot of nice things here,” he nodded enthusiastically. “Especially the portraits. I
haven’t seen so many since Hogwarts. Have you seen Scamander?” he asked, pointing to the author of
*Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them*.

Ginny nodded. “And how are you?” she asked him in turn.

“All right, I guess. Nothing much happens here. Pretty boring, really. Unlicensed kneazles,
sightings of a lethifold in Birmingham which I rather doubt, a missing dragon,” he pointed to the
writing on the wall. “I’m thinking of going to Wales for a while, gather some material on the local
grindylows. You know,” he continued, “Luna Lovegood supplied our Beast Division with really nice
pictures of merpeople. Wonder how she got them to pose for a photograph.”

“Luna’s very resourceful,” Ginny laughed.

“Yeah, I still have a picture of her wearing that stupid hat!” he snorted.

“You know,” Ginny asked carefully, trying not to sound too interested, “I’ve heard you have a
portrait of Anselmo Zenatti somewhere here.”

“It’s funny you should say that,” Colin exclaimed. “Draco Malfoy came here recently to have a
look at it as well.”

“What a coincidence,” Ginny muttered.

Colin led her further down the corridor, until they stopped before a very inconspicuous
portrait, depicting a man of high stature. His clothes conveyed his wealth in all its radiance. The
hem of his burgundy chemise was orfrayed in gold. Rubies and diamonds on his velvet vest coruscated
in the sunlight. His mantle, too, was richly adorned with gems and trimmed with sable fur. His
statuary features made him look somewhat cold and unappealing, Ginny decided.

Under the frame she read:

Anselmo Zenatti

(1470-1557)

“Why did you want to see it?” Colin asked.

Ginny didn’t want to set tongues wagging and she didn’t want to be associated with Draco Malfoy
in any way, be that romance or pure business. Besides, they haven’t made any earthshattering
discoveries and their concerted actions and efforts haven’t really paid off yet. So, there was
nothing to report.

“I just heard from someone that he owned a very valuable manuscript,” she replied.

“Oh, okay,” Colin said.

“Well, it was nice seeing you,” Ginny said hastily. “Good luck with the grindylows.”

“Thanks, Ginny!”

Ginny got in the lift again, this time really intending to reach the Department of Magical Law
Enforcement.

“Say hi to your dad and Harry!” Colin shouted after her, when the doors almost closed.

In the lift Ginny had to endure a few awkward minutes, having to stand next to a crying girl who
not only failed her Apparition test, but also lost her eye-lashes in the process.

When she finally arrived at Harry’s office, she knocked twice, but there came no reply. She
reckoned that he was so absorbed in his work, that he didn’t hear her knock. Carefully, she opened
the door and entered his office. Rather unexpectedly, she was treated to a sight of Harry and
Hermione engaged in a serious snogging/groping session.

Ginny coughed uncertainly. The two lovers broke apart and stared at Ginny in embarrassment.

“Hmm, hi Ginny,” Hermione said, disentangling herself from Harry. She readjusted her robes and
sat down in another chair. “What brings you here?”

“I…eh…sorry for interrupting. I was just thinking of inviting Harry to have lunch with me, but I
guess he’s…um…busy, so I’ll just disappear. Please, ignore me.”

“Oh, come on, Gin. Stay. We can order something to eat here,” Harry said, offering her a
chair.

He rather regretted having Hermione sitting in the chair next to him, and not on his lap. But he
was grateful that it was Ginny who caught them making out, rather than some Auror.

“So, what are you up to these days?” Harry asked, as he conjured three cups of tea and a dish of
cucumber sandwiches.

“Work,” Ginny mumbled.

“Oh, fun!” Harry exclaimed jokingly. “By the way, have you heard the last news? About your
partner in crime.”

“What partner in crime?” Ginny looked surprised.

“Malfoy,” Harry said, shaking his head in amazement, “nearly got himself exploded in an old
house somewhere on the Scilly Islands. Someone got him out of the rubble and got him transported to
St. Mungo’s.”

Ginny gasped, looking terrified. Her hatred towards Draco was long forgotten. Instead of feeling
gleeful at his misfortune, she was worried about him. And no matter how silly it seemed, she felt
slightly guilty. Was it her fault? Was it because she refused to sleep with him last night? And
then sudden realization dawned on her.

“Did you say Scilly Islands?” she asked.

“Eh, yes,” Harry stared at her, clearly surprised at her reaction to the news. “St. Martin, I
think. Why? What’s wrong?”

She remembered the day when she Apparated to Malfoy Manor and waited for him all morning. When
he returned, he looked very peaked and mentioned something about traveling to the Isles of Scilly.
He said he was seeing to some urgent business there. She never asked him what he was doing
there.

“I have to go,” she announced to the startled couple. “See you later.” And she left.

Ginny was determined to find out what had happened, but more importantly she wanted to see
Draco, to make sure that he was okay. Her heart bled when she pictured him maimed and burned. She
Apparated to the reception area of St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries and went
straight to the desk marked Enquiries.

“Could you please tell me where I can find Draco Malfoy? Apparently, he had been brought here
recently.”

The welcome-witch looked at her notes and said: “Fourth floor, Spell Damage, ward twenty-nine.
Please take the stairs on the left.”

Ginny thanked her and went up to the fourth floor. She entered the SPELL DAMAGE corridor and
started looking for Draco’s ward. Crystal bubbles full of candles floated up on the ceiling and
seemed to move along with her. A continuous drone came from the portraits on the walls. The last
time Ginny was at St. Mungo’s was when her father got bitten by Nagini and nearly died. Since then
she associated the hospital with unhappy events.

At the door of his ward she stopped, hesitating. What would she say to him? He probably didn’t
expect her to show up. Then she cast all her doubts aside and entered the sun-lit room.

He was obviously wealthy enough to afford a separate ward. Everything in it was clinically white
and neat. She saw Draco sitting up in his bed, reading a newspaper. He looked bruised and battered,
but other than that he was very much alive. When he saw Ginny come in, he stared at her
unblinking.

“I’ve just heard that you had an accident and I thought I’d drop by,” she said as she came
closer. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” he said. “Never thought I’d see you here.”

Ginny looked at him to see if he was joking, but he looked very serious. She sat down on the
only chair in the room, feeling very awkward. Draco folded the newspaper and leaned back against
the pillows.

“Can I ask you something,” she asked at last.

“Anything,” he replied with a grin.

“What were you doing on St. Martin?”

“Aren’t you clever?” Draco snorted. “By the way, it wasn’t St. Martin, it was St. Agnes.”

“You’ve been there before, the day I came to your house,” Ginny reminded him.

Draco nodded. “I have a house there.”

“A house?”

“It belonged to my father. He inherited it from his aunts Freya, Agatha and Octavia Dunsworth,
who lived in Lochow, Scotland and never really had any contact with him or any other members of the
family. Obviously, when my father died, I became the next owner.”

Ginny waited for him to go on, but he was silent.

“Something exploded there,” she said. “It wasn’t an accident, was it?”

He looked at her intently. “No, it wasn’t. I blew it up myself.”

Ginny gaped at him. “Why?”

He thought a while, then he said, “Have you heard of Horcruxes?”

Her face clouded over and she nodded gravely.

“Well, my father made one for himself. He knew his days were numbered. The other Death Eaters
were dying, deserting the Dark Lord. He knew he wasn’t going to be spared. So, he had made a
Horcrux before he was sent to Azkaban. Wanted to become immortal. He kept it in that house and I
was the only person who knew about it. He told me to try to resuscitate him in case he died.”

“Did you?” Ginny whispered.

He shook his head resolutely.

“Not only was a part of his soul stored there, but a part of his anger as well. I was his son.
His only child. When I decided not to go through with it and destroyed the Horcrux, his anger was
released. And I blew up the house to erase every trace of the Horcrux.”

His mouth was firm and his steel-grey eyes were flashing angrily. Ginny had to fight the sudden
impulse to kiss him. Kiss away the pain.

“I hope you won’t tell anyone. I don’t want people to know,” he said suddenly.

“Of course,” she nodded.

She wondered why he told her. He obviously trusted her enough to keep his secret. Did he…could
he feel something for her, other than sexual desire?

Draco’s voice interrupted her train of thought.

“Maybe we can continue working on the manuscript,” he suggested.

He reached for his cloak and took out the silver filigree case. Then he unscrewed the top, took
out the parchment and started reading. Ginny flinched. It brought back the memories of the past
day.

“Listen, about last night,” Ginny started uncertainly. “I hope it won’t influence our working
together in any way.”

He smirked and said, without even looking up at her, “I hope not.”

Ginny was vexed with him again. He tried to get her in his bed and never apologized for the way
he acted. She was the only one to visit him in the bloody hospital and she didn’t even get so much
as a ‘thank you’! She should have said no in the notary’s office!

Draco hemmed as he read, “I feel like I’m back at Hogwarts, with that brute of a-” he checked
himself, seeing Ginny ready to explode.

When he finished reading, he looked up at her questioningly. “Any ideas?”

“No,” she admitted, “I keep thinking why he made an allusion to this manuscript. What kind of
clues are we supposed to be looking for?”

Draco shrugged.

“This is so infuriating!” Ginny cried, her arms flailing in the air.

With her right hand she accidentally knocked down the glass with lavender-coloured potion that
was standing on the night stand. It fell, splashing, in Draco’s lap, right on the parchment.

“Oh, Merlin! I’m so sorry!” Ginny apologized, rising to her feet.

Draco didn’t hear her as he stared at the left bottom corner of the manuscript. A dark-purple
spot appeared there, growing and forming an oval shape. The blurry blob came into focus and a word
became visible: **DOLEROS**. Now Ginny saw it too and her mouth flew open.

“What is it?” she croaked.

All of a sudden, Draco started laughing maniacally, pointing at the purple blob.

“What is it?” Ginny repeated her question, this time in a much angrier tone.

“*Doleros* is Greek for ‘spurious’, ‘deceitful’. Comes from the word *dolos*, which
means ‘trick’,” he exclaimed.

“You mean this copy is fake?!” all colour drained from Ginny’s face.

“Absolutely,” he confirmed her words as he stopped laughing.

Ginny was almost on the verge of tears.

“We’ve done all that work for nothing?” she asked. “And you had to buy the bloody thing! By the
way, you never told me how much you paid for it.”

“A lot. But that’s beside the point.”

“Why are you laughing then?” she demanded.

“It’s the most expensive thing I’ve bought in years and it turned out to be absolutely
worthless! A third of my vault is gone!” he laughed again. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

Ginny gave him a strange look and then turned away from him. She was disappointed. It seemed to
her that the workload had increased, now that they had to take a step back.

“I wish we had the original manuscript,” she sighed.

“Ha! Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” Draco snorted.

“I guess, we’ll just have to work on the book and see what happens,” Ginny said.

He nodded wearily.

“Well, I’m going to go now,” she stood up again, “You need to get some rest. Besides, someone
else might come to see you.”

“I don’t know about that,” Draco replied.

“Say, are you seeing Zabini’s stepsister?” Ginny asked suddenly, casually inspecting the duvet
on Draco’s bed.

“Catherine?!” he burst out laughing.

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m just curious. I saw you two in a restaurant the other day.”

“Seeing, as in shagging each other’s brains out?” he smirked.

Ginny nodded as her mouth curled in a smile.

“No. Not anymore, that is. We used to though, a couple of years ago. She’s still a good friend
of mine.”

“I see,” she said. “Well, I hope you’ll get better soon.”

“So do I,” he replied with a sigh.

Ginny put her cloak back on and left the ward.

***

Three beautiful owls fluttered their wings as they alighted on her dining table and released the
parcel from their beaks. The box, which was the size of a cauldron, was heavy and Ginny pitied the
poor birds. The brown paper wrapping bore no marks, except for a warning on the side of the
box:

ADVISORY

*Dear customer,*

*Please take extra care in unpacking*

*this* *item as some parts will not withstand*

*rough* *handling.*

Apprehensive, Ginny put her buttered toast aside and pulled the box towards her. She turned it
around, and in the rays of the sun saw a small inscription in the corner. The name *Draco
Malfoy* was encircled in a ring and adorned with curlicues.

She eyed the parcel apprehensively, for she suspected it to be some maledict object from Burgin
and Burkes that had been sent to her with only one purpose - to get rid of her. Why Malfoy wanted
to kill her per se, she did not know, but in the light of the past days she reckoned that he would
do it just on principle. But then again, this was an odd way of murdering her, and besides not the
best moment. He could kill her later, after she will have completed the work on the project.

Casting all her fears aside, she tore the wrapping and opened the cardboard box. Inside it,
wrapped in three layers of black velvet, rested a looking-glass. Carefully, Ginny took it out and
placed it on the table. The oval frame and the pedestal of the mirror were made of delicately
carved cherry wood. The surface of the mirror was dull and opaque.

Ginny crossed her arms and stared at the object before her. It looked like an ordinary innocuous
mirror, and yet she doubted that Draco would send her a mirror, even if it was ancient and
beautiful. Upon some thought, she drew her wand out of the pocket and tapped the smooth surface. It
did not budge. Ginny was a bit surprised, but she rather expected something like this to happen.
Some complicated magic was involved. She nodded thoughtfully, then peered into its depths, bringing
herself closer, and waited for something to happen. Still nothing. She tried her wand again, but
the tarnished amalgam surface was adamant as ever and did not yield. She frowned and pocketed her
wand.

Then, as the last resort, she touched the mirror with her bare hand. A tingling sensation
traveled from the tips of her fingers through her body and before she realized what was going on,
she was sent flying across the kitchen. She landed right before her fridge, hitting her head on the
tiled floor.

She lay for a while, groaning and cursing the day Draco Malfoy was born. Then, at last, she got
up and straightened her clothes. She touched her head and felt a very painful bump.

“It’s time to pay someone a visit,” Ginny grumbled, taking the box under her arm and
Disapparating from her kitchen.

Within a second she was standing in the sitting-room of the Malfoy Manor.

“I suppose this is your idea of a joke!” she spat and hurled the package at Draco, who was
conveniently sitting on the couch.

“Ah, Weasley! You have an uncanny ability of imposing upon my hospitality.”

“You wanted to kill me!” Ginny shrieked.

“As attractive as it seems, I wasn’t planning to. And you might want to be a little bit more
careful with that thing, there is a very delicate object inside. Says so on the box.”

“Are you deaf?! IT NEARLY KILLED ME!” Ginny screamed. “What is this thing?”

“This is Speculum,” Draco replied. “It’s more than just a portkey or a time-turner, because it
has the power to get you to any place *and* any time. Because the copy of the manuscript we
have is fake, we have to get the original. You said so yourself. So, somehow we have to get to the
Mancini library before it gets destroyed in the fire. The trouble is, I haven’t figured out how
this thing works.”

“And the reason you sent it to me is?” Ginny asked viciously.

“Well, I figured that you might know the way to make it work,” he shrugged.

“Why should I?”

“Argh, because two heads are better than one! We are partners now, aren’t we?”

“Nice partnership, Malfoy! You spend a fortune on some artifact and I do the rest of the work!
Guess what, I’m not so eager to do it just yet, because when I touched the bleeding mirror, it sent
me flying across the room and now my head hurts like hell!”

Ginny flopped on the couch and put her head on the cushions. She closed her eyes and sighed. She
didn’t hear Draco get up and walk up to her, and only when she felt a warm feeling inside her head,
she opened her eyes. She saw him standing above her, with his wand pointing against the back of her
head, his lips muttering a spell.

“What are you doing?” she turned to him abruptly, surprised that the pain was gone.

“A simple spell,” he said, as he walked back to his place. “A perfect remedy against hangovers
and headaches.”

“Err…thanks,” Ginny muttered. “I feel much better now.”

He nodded and then said thoughtfully, “I wonder why it reacted that way.”

He took the mirror out of the box and set it down on the couch between them.

“Didn’t they tell you how it works when you bought it?” Ginny asked.

“I didn’t buy it. It belonged to my father,” Draco said, turning the mirror. “I found it
yesterday in his study.”

“I was sure you bought it at Burgin and Burkes,” Ginny said.

“To kill you, undoubtedly. I’m not that predictable, Weasley.”

Ginny rolled her eyes and watched Draco study every inch of the mirror.

“Tell me exactly what happened,” he asked her.

Ginny sighed. “I tried my wand first, but nothing happened. Then I touched it with my bare hand
and the next thing I know I’m lying on the floor of my kitchen.”

“Hmm, fascinating,” Draco muttered.

“It is, isn’t it?” Ginny glared at him.

Draco laid his hand on the mirror to see what would happen. Nothing changed. He looked at it
quizzically.

“Strange,” he said, putting the mirror aside. “I was hoping we could make it work and get that
manuscript.”

“Yeah, I wonder what it looked like, the Mancini Library. Right before the fire on the
7th of February

1523.”

“I think I’ve seen a picture in a book somewhere,” Draco said and stood up abruptly, heading
towards the bookcases.

The mirror that was standing on the couch between them fell forward and Ginny caught it in time.
The moment she touched it, mother-of-pearl sheen appeared on the surface, as if it was submerged in
thick glaucous fog. Ginny gasped as she felt the familiar sensation on the tips of her fingers. Her
body shook and her eyes watered. She tried to focus, but the room reeled. Until it vanished
altogether.

It wasn’t anything like Apparating at all. It didn’t feel like her body went through a mangle.
On the contrary, it felt rather pleasant. She tottered and her head felt fuzzy, like after a couple
of pints of Madam Rosmerta’s best butterbeer. Then the drunkenness faded away and her head was once
again clear and sober.

She looked about her, here eyes gradually adjusting to the dim light. She found herself standing
in the middle of what she assumed was an entrance hall or an anteroom of some sort. The simple
equilateral room was bare, save for the coat of arms above the heavy oaken doors in front of her.
Solely guided by her intuition, she put her hand on the knob and turned it. The doors yielded with
a creak and revealed a long winding corridor.

Her heart pounded. She had absolutely no idea where she was and how to get back to the manor.
She hesitated, wondering if she should stay where she was and wait for Draco to help her out. She
was afraid that maybe he didn’t know how to get her back either. Scared and hesitant, she stood
there and did not move. But the feeling passed off gradually and she became very curious like the
day she stumbled upon Narcissa’s boudoir. To alleviate some of her curiosity she decided to walk
down the corridor.

After a while she entered a spacious vaulted hall. High twisted columns of dark granite
supported the ceiling. The mosaic floor, stained glass windows, lancet arches and everything else
in the hall was so incredibly beautiful that Ginny just stood there, staring in awe. Something
caught her eye when she looked up at the vaulted ceiling. The central wedge-shaped voussoir bore a
tiny image of a crane. For some reason it seemed very familiar. Ginny wished she could stay there
longer and have a better look at it, but instead decided to move on.

She made her way down the passage that led out of the hall. She had a feeling that she was
walking round in circles. Lost in the labyrinth of the passageways that looked absolutely
identical, she paused. Suddenly, she felt something soft against her left ankle. She looked down
and saw a Maltese cat at her feet. It meowed and rubbed its silky, bluish-gray body against her
legs. Ginny bent down to stroke it, but the cat ran inside one of the corridors and meowed even
louder. She followed it and saw it disappear further down the corridor. She tried not to lose it
out of sight and had to quicken her steps. On the way, she barely had tome to admire the tapestries
on the walls and the latticework on the windows.

She turned yet another corner and arrived at an open space. Here, the floors were decorated with
back and white tiles and in the middle stood a sculpture of the Greek goddess Minerva, the patron
of sciences and crafts. In her right hand she was holding an owl. Ginny laughed, because the owl
looked exactly like Harry’s Hedwig. It was a very mysterious house, she decided.

She looked around to see where the cat had gone, but couldn’t find it. Moreover, she realized
that the room only had one way out – a door in the opposite wall. Ginny approached it and turned
the handle, but the door was locked. Puzzled, she wondered where the cat could go. She inspected
every nook and cranny, even looked under benches, but, alas, found nothing.

Ginny was so absorbed in her thoughts, that when she heard muffled voices coming from behind the
mazarine-blue banners hanging in the corner, she was paralyzed with fear. She was shaking as she
slowly approached the banners and looked behind them. She was surprised to find a small gap there
through which bright light filtered. Overtaken by curiosity again, Ginny plastered herself against
the wall and peered inside the tiny gap.

The voices she had heard belonged to ten men that were sitting around a round table. They wore
grey-and-white robes and most of them were aged and bearded, reminding her of a flock of peregrine
falcons. The man who was sitting the closest to Ginny had pronounced features. Hoary hair was
falling over his face. He was mumbling something and shaking his head. The rest watched him
intently, waiting for something. Suddenly, a door opened, somewhere close to where Ginny was
hiding, and another man entered the room. He had the same garments on, except he also had a tiny
black cap on his head. The other men rose at once.

Ginny was about to dash back into the corridor, when she felt a mighty pull and everything grew
turbid. The blurry images before her eyes were finally coming into focus. The marble mosaic floor
and the bearded faces were replaced by the sitting-room of the Malfoy Manor. Right before her was
sitting Draco Malfoy, an expression of immense relief lighting up his face.

She stared at him, her face ashen and her eyes wide with fear.

“You owe me an explanation!”

~~~

~> For a more detailed account of Ginny’s adventures at St. Mungo’s please read my other
story, *Endlessly*. LOL!



