Gwaed Ddraig

The snow swirled thickly about the girl, cloaking her in white. She was walking resolutely up the steep, icy slope, ploughing through thick mounds of snow that blocked the mountain path. The cold was so intense her eyes stung and watered, the tears freezing as they fell. She pulled her fur-lined hood down, revealing thick brown hair curling around her red-raw cheeks

The echoing silence was like that of a tomb, macabre and eerie. She listened carefully, straining to hear... to hear what, though? The almost imperceptible tinkle of snow on ice? Or was it something else that whispered to her peripheral hearing? Faint... so faint... could it be?

"Pwy sy wedi dod? Oes gwaed o ddraig gyda chi? Byddi di aros yn eich mamwlad? Byddi di aros gyda ni am byth... a byth... a byth...?

Words. Yes there were words... but so soft that she dared not make a sound. What could they mean? She could only make out the vague outline of the sounds. Yet something deep inside her was drawing her to the words, shaping them, giving them meaning.

"Who has come? Do you have the blood of a dragon? Will you stay in your homeland? Will you stay with us forever... and ever... and ever...?"

The girl shivered. They were getting closer. Closer and louder. Their call was harsh and whispery. These voices were different from the last time, they were threatening yet so weak and... and... dead. They held only power in numbers and with each call there sounded more of them. A terrible rustling like the shuffling of tattered wings filled the air, accompanied by a low hum, like an angry swarm of wasps. But the noise was nothing to their voices, which were high and crackled like the ice beneath her feet. Her head was filled with their call. It was all she could hear, louder and louder.

"Will you stay with us? Stay with us forever? Will you live in the valley of shadows with us, daughter of Arianrhod?"

She opened her mouth to scream but her throat was constricted. She shook her head violently and shrieked "NO!" with her loudest mental voice.

Silence. Then...

"We will never let you leave."

The voice echoed and echoed around the oppressive mountains. The ground shook and snow began to slide beneath her feet. She slipped and fell heavily onto the ice-sharp rocks. Crimson blood seeped into the pure whiteness of the snow, befouling all it touched. The blood was everywhere, though she felt no injury, it was everywhere. The circle of red grew until she was surrounded, drenched in the cloying blood. It spread away from her, oozing through the crystalline snow and over the very peak of the mountain. It moved like a plague- insidiously, quickly and with sickening inevitability. Everywhere was awash with redness; the very sky seemed on fire. Far above her the sun blazed, red-hot in the distance.

"Help me!" she implored to this distant red eye. But she heard no reply. Only the rushing of the barren Winds across her prone body, broken by the menacing sound of heavy wing beats.

"Keep them from me!" she begged of the Winds. But they rushed past her without stopping. Leaving only an aching, desperate sorrow.

"Help," she whispered to herself.

At first there was silence, but slowly the ground began to shake, dislodging torrents of scarlet snow. The girl covered her silver eyes with her trembling fingers as a familiar, thundering roar filled the air.

"Pwy sy wedi dod?"

Who has come, the girl translated.

"Pwy feddio i deffro mi?"

Who dares to wake me, she translated again. She turned to face the imposing mountain above her, comforted by recognition of this voice.

"I do!" she threw to the wild Winds, who bore her message with winged feet.

"And who are you to disturb me?" the voice grumbled. "Return when you have something for me."

"What do you want of me?" the girl screamed.

"Prove to me that I can trust you. The treachery of men runs deep. It will not soon be forgotten" The voice fell silent, bitterness and sorrow evident.

"How can I do that?" the girl cried.

"Show me the thirteenth use of dragon's blood."

"What? There is none! I know there is none..."

"Show me the thirteenth use of dragons blood," repeated the voice and began to fade.

"What do you mean?"

"Show me... the thirteenth use of...gwaed ddraig. Dangoswch fi..."

"I don't understand! What do you mean?"

"Dangoswch fi'r defnydd...

"Tell me! Don't go! Please! Please don't go!"

...o gwaed ddraig." The voice faded away to nothing, leaving only an echo on the wind. Dark shadows flitted across her, getting larger and closer.

"DON'T LEAVE ME ALONE WITH THEM!"

* * *

"Hermione! Hermione!"

She woke with a start. Without thinking, she pulled her wand from beneath her pillow and pointed it at the first person she saw. Who just happened to be Professor McGonagall.

"Miss Granger!" exclaimed McGonagall in an exasperated tone. Hermione shook her head and stared blearily at her Head of House.

"What...?" she began, desperately trying to understand what was happening.

"You're awake then," McGonagall said in a kinder voice.

"What...?" Her memory was kicking her, very hard actually. But what...?

"You've been having a nightmare. The girls were worried about you." Hermione looked dazedly around her room, at the curious and alarmed faces of the rest of the female Gryffindor fifth years. At the door to their dormitory, other female faces were curiously peeking in.

"A nightmare?" she continued, still trying to remember whatever it was that was so important.

"You mentioned "them". You said you didn't want to be left alone with "them". Do you remember now?" The colour drained from Hermione's face, but she just shook her head in response. McGonagall sighed.

"Very well. You had all best be of to bed now. Come on, hurry up. And you, Miss Howell! Back to bed. All of you!" The girls shuffled off to bed reluctantly, disappointed by the end of their entertainment.

As the lights went out again, Hermione closed her eyes and slowed her breathing. The other girls did likewise, but not intentionally. Half an hour later, Hermione stood up. None of the other girls noticed her slip from the room clutching a piece of parchment and a quill.

* * *

"Where's Hermione?" Ron asked Harry, craning his neck to see above the people already sitting at the House tables in the Great Hall.

"I don't know," replied Harry listlessly. He was staring at his plate, but not eating anything. He picked the table knife up and began to twirl it idly between his fingers.

"It's not like her to be late." Ron continued to scan the Hall concernedly. Neville stumbled up to the table and sat next to Ron.

"I'm saving this seat for Hermione," Ron said hurriedly, without thinking. Neville jumped up from where he was sitting his face wrought with emotion. Without a word he turned and ran from the hall, knocking several first years to the floor without noticing.

"Oh, shit!" exclaimed Ron, jumping to his own feet. He looked at Neville's departing frame and mentally kicked himself. How could he be so insensitive?

"Leave him," Harry hissed in a whisper. Ron slowly sat down again, his cheeks bright red.

"Oh, damn it!" Ron exclaimed again. "How could I be such an idiot?" Harry did not look up, but continued to twirl the knife between his fingers.

"He's taking things to heart too much," muttered Harry. "He's not the only one with problems." Ron stared at Harry, shocked and worried by what he was hearing.

"Harry!" he hissed in a hushed voice.

"Yeah, what?" Harry said belligerently. He glared across at Ron.

"Well... it's just... that... well..." he spluttered, lost for words.

"Shut up, Ron," said Harry contemptuously. Ron stood up, giving Harry a black look.

"I'm going to look for Hermione. I'll come back when you're in a better mood." With that he followed Neville in storming out of the Hall.

Harry did not watch him leave. He just stared at his plate, his eyes smouldering like emerald fire. He put his left hand carefully to his forehead and traced the heat along his scar. He closed his eyes and tried to silence the noise inside his head. He tried to stop the screaming. To stop the terrible, heart wrenching pleading. To suppress the soft whispers in his ear... the iniquitous temptations.

He tightened his grip on the spreading knife in his hand. His palms were slippery with sweat and the metal was gouging ridges into his soft flesh. Suddenly he plunged the knife into the table in front of him and jumped up, knocking his chair backwards. He too, turned and charged from the Hall, the third Gryffindor that morning to storm through the ancient doors.

Across the room, Draco Malfoy watched his adversary stride angrily from the room. Draco raised an eyebrow at such tempestuous rage. He smiled to himself... it seemed all was not well for perfect Potter. He allowed himself a soft snort of contempt. Whatever was wrong with him would soon be resolved. People always made allowances for people like Potter. The world is not that easy for the rest of us, he thought bitterly.

Back at the Gryffindor table, Seamus and Dean had just arrived and were staring at the table.

"Bloody hell," said Seamus in awe.

"Who did this?" muttered Dean, his eyes wide.

Embedded in the age-hardened table up to the hilt was a plain, blunt butter knife. And smeared across the handle was blood.

Seamus and Dean moved down the table in silent, unanimous agreement. Neither looked at the knife. It was far too threatening a symbol for either of them. Instead they talked about the most potent subject of conversation that morning- Hermione. Seamus seemed especially keen to talk on this subject, but insisted that the rumours must be exaggerated. After all, the primary sources were Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil.

* * *

Hermione was in the library when Ron found her. She had books and parchment spread across the desk and seemed to be searching manically through the mounds of paper. He had never seen her so worked up before, not even when they were looking for Nicolas Flamel in the first year. People were deliberately avoiding her that morning. It was debateable whether this was because she seemed so irritable or whether it was due to the rumours abounding because of the night before. Ron approached her cautiously.

"Hermione?" he enquired as politely as possible. She did not seem to hear him her eyes flicking along the lines of an ancient yellowing book.

"Are you alright?" he tried again.

"Yes, yes. Of course I am, just a bit of a nightmare, happens to us all," she gabbled without looking up.

"What?" he asked, confused. He had not yet heard about her fit the night before.

"Look..." she began, finally looking up. She jumped when she saw Ron. "Oh!" she exclaimed, looking abashed. "Sorry Ron, I didn't realise it was you."

"What's that about last night?" he asked, looking concerned. He sat on the chair opposite her, shifting some books that had fallen onto it.

"Oh, nothing, nothing!" she exclaimed, mock-brightly.

"Really, Hermione?" he asked in an undertone. His eyes were boring into hers, forcing her to shy away. "You can tell me."

"Ron..." she began weakly.

"Or don't you trust me?" he asked, his face wooden. Again, Hermione was reminded of how strange Ron had been over the summer. She shook her head vigorously.

"Of course I do!" she exclaimed hurriedly.

"Then tell me."

Hermione sighed. "I dreamed that..." she began in an undertone. "Its easier if you read it." Without looking up she handed him a piece of parchment that was filled with her own rushed handwriting. Ron took it carefully and read it quickly.

"It was only a dream though," he said, striving to sound reassuring. She shook her head despondently.

"No. It was much more than that."

"Have you told anyone?"

"No." she suddenly looked at him, her eyes fearful. "And you mustn't either! Promise me, Ron! Promise!" He was taken aback by her scared tone, but quickly promised what she asked.

"Will you help me?" she said quietly.

"How?"

"Help me find the thirteenth use of dragon's blood."

"But there isn't one! Dumbledore himself discovered that there are only twelve uses. And he's a genius!" Hermione's eyes gleamed with challenge.

"That doesn't mean anything. Perhaps there is something he overlooked. Something ancient. Something that only certain people can find."

"Like you?" he said dryly.

"Exactly, like you and me," she said, not noticing his ironic tone. Ron sighed and picked up a book. It looked like it was going to be a long day.

* * *

They had Potions with the Slytherins all Wednesday afternoon. Hermione and Ron were late; they had been studying in the library.

"Miss Granger, Mr Weasley, so good of you to decide to join us." The snide tone of their Potion Master was unmistakable.

"Sorry Professor," they said in unison and hurried to sit by Harry, who had been in Quidditch training that lunchtime.

"Ten points from Gryffindor," Snape said coldly and threateningly. He paused; giving them the impression that even sneezing would result in more points lost.

"At least you're not me," Harry muttered dourly, "He would have taken fifty points from me." It was at that point that they noticed the other absentee.

"Where's..." began Hermione to Harry, but she was interrupted by the other late arrival.

"Mr Longbottom..." Snape began, his mouth twisting into a sadistic smile.

"Sorry I'm late professor," said Neville, with confidence that surprised everyone, especially the professor himself. He strode across the room and sat next to his cauldron. Snape paused, giving Neville a long and piercing look.

"Another ten points from Gryffindor."

Neville shrugged indifferently and took out his books.

"As I have already mentioned," Snape began, not taking his eyes off Neville. "We are studying truth serums for the next few lessons. Can anyone tell me the name of the most potent of these?" A few hands were raised into the air, including, of course, Hermione's.

"Can you, Mr Longbottom? Or would it be too much to expect that your mind has improved over the summer?" continued Snape icily. Neville's face was apathetic, his eyes dim.

"Veritaserum," he said disinterestedly, with a shrug. Snape's eyes narrowed.

"And can you tell me the key ingredient?"

"There are several," rejoined Neville calmly. "Dragon's blood is the most prominent."

"And can you tell me," Snape continued, with his angry voice harsh and his eyes glittering darkly, "why dragon's blood is so important?"

"Many aspects of the dragon are concerned with communication," Neville said factually, to the immense surprise of everyone. "The heart has qualities that allow people to converse with animals and the teeth can call up men from the Earth. When used correctly, the blood will be able to call the truth out of a person. It is the key that allows the words to be communicated coherently. Without it, the person will think the truthful answers, but will babble nonsense. The blood is also a binding agent and helps to draw the other ingredients together and combine them." He paused momentarily. "The blood is also..."

"That is enough, Mr Longbottom," spat Snape irritably. Neville shrugged again. Hermione slowly raised her hand.

"Yes, Miss Granger," he snapped at her. Ron had been shaking his head at her vigorously, trying to stop her from asking what he knew she was about to.

"Is there any evidence for a thirteenth use of dragon's blood?"

"Don't be stupid," he said angrily. "It is well known that there are only twelve. Even first years could tell you that." Hermione looked down, dejected. Draco smirked from across the classroom at her.

"Oh, go home to your sister Malfoy," she hissed across at him. Fortunately for her, Snape was not listening; he was angrily shuffling through parchment on his desk. Draco narrowed his eyes at her as he desperately sought a cutting reply.

"I don't have a sister," he said eventually, realising the silence was growing too long. Hermione smiled archly and cocked one eyebrow.

"That must be a great loss for the purity of your bloodline," she muttered back, accompanied by the snorts and giggles of the Gryffindors who were listening. Draco turned his back on her and began to write, apparently oblivious to the sniping laughter. He bit his lower lip. He was not sure if he was more humiliated or angrier. Upstaged by a common Mudblood! He bit deeper into his lip until he tasted the salty sweetness of blood. At least it's clean blood, he thought bitterly.

"Neville?" Hermione whispered across at him. He looked up, his expression closed.

"Yeah?" he said in a downcast tone.

"Are you ok?"

Neville smiled bitterly, his eyes glittering in a sinister way.

"Like you care," he hissed, "Like any of you ever cared." With that he turned his back on her. Hermione looked mournfully at his turned back, hurt by his pain. She had always tried to help Neville with his work, especially in Potions. She hated to see him so down. So unlike himself.

The lesson proceeded quietly after that, everyone making notes on truth serums. Hermione was not disheartened by Snape's rebuttal. She was determined to prove him wrong. His speciality was Potions, but the thirteenth use might not be in a potion. She pondered whom she could ask. Suddenly it came to her and she couldn't believe she hadn't thought of it sooner. He was so obvious when she thought about it. She smiled. Getting hold of him would be the difficult part.

* * *

"Professor Dumbledore?"

"Yes, Miss Granger?" he replied, mildly surprised but still welcoming. She'd had run to catch him up after dinner, knocking several disgruntled people out of her way.

"Could I ask you about your work on the uses of dragon's blood?" she asked breathlessly, astonished by her own bravery.

"Certainly, Miss Granger. I'm always delighted to discuss my research, but no one ever seems interested," he winked at her. "Perhaps you should come to my office, its quite crowded in these corridors." With that he led her off to his office, through the gargoyle ("liquorice allsorts!") and up the spiral staircase. Hermione was very nervous; she had never been to his office before.

"Do take a seat, Miss Granger."

"Thank you, professor," she said shyly.

"Now, how can I help you," he smiled over his half-moon spectacles at her.

"I just wondered whether you ever found evidence for a thirteenth use, sir," she gabbled quickly, her tongue tripping over itself. Dumbledore looked pensive for a moment.

"I wonder, Miss Granger, why you are asking me that." He raised his eyebrows at her and gave her a piercing look. She blushed and looked at her lap.

"I'm just curious and we've just started doing truth serums in potions and I wondered and I thought I'd ask seeing as you were the chief researcher and you would know better than anyone, sir," she said jumbling her words again. He paused for a moment and smiled at her.

"Well, there was some evidence for other uses of dragon's blood," he began gently. "Experimentation disproved many of them. However there were some that could not be proven either way." He paused thoughtfully and then added, "by me, anyway." Hermione looked excited for a split second and then looked down shyly.

"Why, sir?" she asked meekly.

"For several reasons, Miss Granger. Sometimes it would be too dangerous to try. Other times I could not access the other ingredients that would be required."

"Like what sir?" she asked eagerly.

"One use is supposedly in a ritual that opens the Grimoire." Hermione gasped. "I considered trying it, but decided that I would prefer it if no one ever found out how to open that particular book."

Hermione nodded, she quite agreed. The Grimoire was the most terrifyingly powerful magical book. It contained the most malignant of dark magic and could be used to summon the evilest of demons. It needed powerful magic to be controlled and no one had managed to open it in thousands of years. The knowledge of how to use the Grimoire was destroyed. And that did not just mean burning manuscripts. She shuddered. That book was far too potent to risk opening. Far too powerful to risk falling into enemy hands.

"The other use," Dumbledore continued, "is buried in legend." He smiled at her. "Unfortunately there is very little knowledge of this use. It passed away many centuries ago, shortly after Wales fell to English rule. It's an old Welsh legend, known only to the most dedicated of her historians."

"What is it?" Hermione asked anxiously, leaning forward in her chair. She was desperately hoping that this was the use she was searching for. She desperately wanted it to be something, anything that did not involve the Black Book. Not just from fear of the object itself, but also of the implications on her. Why were her dreams calling her to find the thirteenth use of dragons' blood? Surely not to open the most iniquitous of books, one drenched in evil. She could not... no... she would not use dark magic. She had promised herself that much. Though the thrill of magical power that tingled through her veins was tempting. The power that drove her to excel at her work, her motivation...

"It is hard to explain," sighed Dumbledore, "as not much is known. There is a long history behind this and I confess that I did not research as deeply as I should have. There is supposedly an affinity between certain magical people and dragons. Or at least, there was. There was a war of some kind that destroyed this connection. I think it was that all the dragons were killed... I'm afraid that I cannot remember. When the blood of these dragons was mixed with the blood of these special witches or wizards... no... it was just witches if I remember rightly. It did not pass onto men for some reason. Yes, but when the blood was mixed it made a special potion with extraordinary qualities. There is much debate as to what those qualities are, however. Something to do with communication, most probably. Either way, it conferred special powers to the witch in question, or it might have proved she had them. It was all very ambiguous. Much of it was written in an ancient Celtic and Welsh hybrid. It was rather difficult to translate." He paused, watching Hermione's face light up with every word.

"Do you speak Welsh, sir?" she asked.

"Yes, although I do not confess myself an expert. Now I must ask you, Hermione, is there anything that you wish to tell me?" Hermione did not meet his eyes, and she chewed her lip nervously.

"No, sir. Nothing."

"Very well, Miss Granger," he said, looking vaguely disappointed. "I hope I've helped you, but I must return to the pressing demands on my time."

"Thank you, sir," she said, standing up. "Are there any books on this in the library?"

"None on the Welsh legend. I'm afraid that most knowledge of it was destroyed in the war I mentioned. No one has looked into it much. Very few people even know basic Welsh history. It was not considered important by the English educational authorities." He smiled a slightly sad smile. "Books that describe the Grimoire in detail are all in the restricted section and I strongly recommend you do not try to access them. Even fully grown wizards do not like to read about it."

"Thank you sir," she repeated and backed away towards the door. She turned and hurried down the stairs, her mind busily assessing what she had heard.

* * *

Hermione felt unable to do her Arithmancy homework that night. She was too distracted. She was too afraid of falling asleep. She did not know whether she was keener for information or more afraid of what she might learn. Harry was withdrawn, unusually so. He just claimed to have a headache, which was preventing him sleeping. Hermione was not sure... he seemed so prone to bad temper these days. She had been reading about curse scars in the library, but there was very little that related to Harry. She was concerned that Voldemort's return to power had made the link between them stronger. That, maybe, they were influencing each other's moods. Perhaps even hearing each other's thoughts. But it sounded so far-fetched to her, much to much like Divination. Which was another thing. She truly wished she could have talked longer with Alice in Madam Malkin's. She sighed and rubbed her eyes. She was tired, she had better get some rest.

And as she slowly drifted away into sleep, the pure light of the full moon lit up her face. And for just a moment, her eyelids fluttered open revealing the silver glitter of her unfocused eyes. And to anyone observing, it would almost seem that they were following objects that were not in the room. And thus she slipped silently into the shadow land.