Harry Potter and the Fifth Element

Chapter 64 - On Holiday

Oscar led Harry and Hermione (preceded by two goblins) from the carriage. Having brought them forward, Oscar quickly joined the near end of one of two lines of identically liveried men (mostly) and women. The entire staff - wizards and witches - of Château Blackwalls had turned out to greet the new Proprietor.

Harry was extremely ill at ease with this display. Instinctively, his hand found Hermione's. He had only taken a few steps - at best drawing even with the closer end of the lines - when all of the men in attendance bowed deeply. At the same moment, all the witches who had been waiting patiently in the lines appeared to be swooning.

"What the...?" Harry blurted as sought to assist the nearest of the suddenly stricken ladies, ignoring upper-class wizarding protocol. He felt a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"Leave it, Potter," he heard Mad-Eye whisper in his ear. "Nothing's wrong with 'er. That's just a court curtsey."

That sufficed to stop Harry in his tracks. He stood there, watching - waiting for whatever was supposed to happen next.

So did everyone else.

Before things became truly awkward, Hermione squeezed Harry's hand and Legilimenced, 'You'd best acknowledge them, Harry, before someone really does keel over.'

With a slight start, Harry responded with a goblin-style half-bow.

At that, things started moving again - and quickly. Harry had devoted so much attention to the lines of Château employees that he had quite missed their leader, who remained patiently standing, throughout, before the massive main gate and almost directly under the raised portcullis.

Jerry McAllister stepped briskly forward, crossed the drawbridge spanning the moat, and cheerily invited the new Proprietor and his guests inside. Most of the rest of the help dispersed, save those supervising the small swarm of house-elves - all dressed in identical (and identically ragged) black-stained burlap sacks tied around the middle with some sort of silver-coloured cincture - as they unloaded the carriage.

Dobby was nowhere to be seen.

After perfunctory introductions, all of Harry's guests, save Mad-Eye Moody, were "shown to their rooms" by some member of the Château's domestic staff. Even Hermione did not resist temporary separation from Harry. What would happen next, she wanted no part of - to the extent she could avoid it, at least for now.

"All right, where do I go to get this done?" Harry asked firmly.

Everybody knew what "this" was.

"Traditionally, investiture of a new Proprietor's control over the Château's magic occurs in the formal dining room, with every Black relative within six degrees of consanguinity in attendance," Mister McAllister told Harry.

Harry made an unpleasant face. He had no interest in that family's reunion.

"But your guardian has explained your reticence and its basis," he went on. "And I also appreciate that, in light of the unusual circumstances of your inheritance, you are not on particularly good terms with many Black family members who would ordinarily be invited. Thus, I have made alternative arrangements. Your ascension will occur in the Proprietor's map room, and will be quite private...."

Harry sighed with relief. "Lead the way."

Soon Harry, Mad-Eye, Mr. McAllister, and another retainer named Astra Disley cracked open the door onto a relatively small but luxuriously appointed room. Oddly, for a "map room," the space was dominated, not by maps, but rather by a large painting. It filled an entire wall - rather, it was the wall - being a full-colour depiction of a furious skirmish between several men on horseback, hacking at each other with swords, and struggling over some kind of flag. No magical combat was anywhere in evidence.

All of the maps and globes in the room were pushed to the walls and in some cases shrunk. In the centre, on an elevated platform, was a large, gilt, high-backed chair, almost a throne. And where it was not covered in glittering gold, it was bedecked in deep red and black lozenged velvet.

McAllister motioned for Harry to be seated, but Mad-Eye intervened, insisting upon checking both the chair and its surroundings. That inspection took several uncomfortable minutes, as Harry studiously avoided meeting McAllister's eyes. Eventually Mad-Eye grudgingly pronounced everything free from any malevolent magic.

"Can't be too careful," Mad-Eye added gruffly. "Constant vigilance, yeh know."

Relieved, Harry sat down as directed. "Now what?" he asked.

"Place your wand in the armrest insertion point," McAllister encouraged. "Grasp both armrests with your bare hands. I'll place the key to the Château - now primarily symbolic, though it still works - about your neck. When you're ready, I'll cast the Novus Erus spell, which causes the Château's wards and other magic to accept you as our new Proprietor."

Harry looked to Mad-Eye, who nodded that the procedure was acceptable from a security aspect. The old Auror kept his magical eye fixed on McAllister, and his wand drawn - just in case.

"I have two wands," Harry pointed out.

"You aren't the first to have more than one," McAllister took that news evenly. "Just place the first one in the insertion point. Then tap the butt of the second wand on the same armrest twice and a second insertion point will appear. That way, the wards will recognise both."

Harry did as instructed. A second hole appeared in the right armrest (Harry was right-wanded), and in went his "backup" wand - a composite of his father's and Sirius' wands.

McAllister recited a long and complicated spell whilst waving his wand in a horizontal figure-eight (infinity symbol). His wandtip was aimed over Harry's head. When finished, he brought his wand straight down vigorously and pointed it directly at the key Harry wore about his neck. The key to the Château glowed silver, then green (the Blacks were Slytherins). Finally, it flashed as Harry's body absorbed the magic. For a moment, Harry himself glowed. Then the magic faded away - draining into the special chair in which Harry sat.

Harry almost immediately noticed that the tips of both his wands were aglow. This glow quickly exploded into fountains, first of silver magic, and then of greenish magic. These releases spilled out in all directions, penetrated the walls, and were gone.

Harry began to rise, but McAllister signalled him to stay seated. In another ten seconds, a reverse wave of magic penetrated the walls, and, in reverse, was absorbed by Harry's two wands. The replay continued as the magic wave flowed into the chair, to reappear as a luminous haze surrounding Harry. Presently, the magical resonance found its home, once again, in the key to the Château.

Ultimately, once the glow from the key had faded, McAllister pronounced, "There, you are now the accepted heir and Proprietor of the Château...."

Harry's first words as Proprietor were unintentionally ungracious. "Can I get up now?"

"Aye, by all means, Your Lordship," McAllister answered whilst bowing deeply. The attending woman, Astra, sank into another, even deeper, curtsey. "Now there is some traditional and other long overdue Château business to attend to...."

"Such as can you all stop the bowing and curtseying?" Harry asked, not terribly pleased by yet another impediment to settling in for the holiday. "And I'd like not to have any more of those all staff greetings, for another thing."

"That can be arranged," McAllister said just a bit sourly. "But please understand that the staff appreciates those, since many rarely have any other opportunity to see their Proprietor."

"Umm ... okay," Harry replied unconvincingly. He had simply reacted, but as usual something else arose that he had not considered. Life was complicated.

"To start, we await your instructions for setting the anti-Apparition wards," McAllister turned to business. "That affects how all of us, including your guests, get around. The alignment that has proven most popular over the years is no Apparition within the Château itself, but Apparition allowed on the grounds within the boundary wards."

More complications. Harry was nonplussed. He looked to Mad-Eye, who returned a barely noticeable nod of approval. "That's okay, at least for now," Harry approved.

"There is ... umm ... a serious staffing question, as well," Astra added, a bit hesitantly. "We've three female domestic staff positions vacant. We're awaiting your instructions concerning the ... er ... hiring qualifications.... As to ... their availability..., your wishes...?"

She looked like she was under a Nauseous Curse, and Harry had not followed her rather elliptical presentation.

"Well, if we're hiring someone, shouldn't she be available?" Harry responded. He felt a restraining arm on his shoulder. Of the people in the room, only Mad-Eye would presume to do that.

In a low voice, Harry's guardian muttered into Harry's ear. "Don't think that's what she means," Mad-Eye told him. "Yeh're the Proprietor now. I think she means 'available for yeh're pleasure....' That comes up with these great wizard estates, 'specially when - like yeh - the Proprietor is, ahem, unmarried...."

Harry grimaced. He did not want that - well, he did, but only with a certain witch whom he hoped was, even then, waiting for him upstairs. Instantly, he decided the less Hermione knew about that particular privilege, the better. "No," he said firmly, but with quite pink ears. "There's no need for anyone on staff to be available to me - personally."

"Yes, your Lordship," Astra accepted his decision, then added. "A pity, though.... I reckon the positions'll be harder to fill."

"An' just how do yeh go about assurin' their loyalty?" Mad Eye intervened again.

"Every new hire must swear an Unbreakable Vow, which I administer, not to compromise the security of the Château and its inhabitants," McAllister immediately responded.

A pause ensued as the two wizards sized each other up. Finally, Mad-Eye grunted, "Good enough ... fer now. But I'll be wantin' ta review the wordin'."

McAllister relaxed, believing he had passed Moody's test. Then he again addressed himself to Harry. "And, I have a few other things...."

* * * *

"Here you are, poppet, the Proprietress' private suite," the housekeeper, Ima Hogg, spoke cheerfully as she opened the door. "I manage all the housemaids, so if you need anything, or heaven forbid you've any complaints, please call me immediately."

She led her guest and her guest's goblin escort into a set of rooms every bit as sumptuously appointed as Hermione had expected. Her luggage, including her Valkyrie, floated in behind her to a perfect landing on the plush Sphinx re'em-hide rug that covered most of the open floorspace in the main room.

"By all means make yourself at home," Ima continued. "To the right, you'll find a full bath with every convenience imaginable. To the left is an expandable closet that can handle everything you might have brought. Your personal house-elf should be along any moment...."

During that sentence, Ima's nostrils flared a bit, and Hermione detected something less than the good cheer that had suffused her guide's every word since Ima had taken charge of her. For some reason, Ima seemed irritated.

Hermione wondered. Was it possible that the Château's head housekeeper secretly shared an aversion to house-elf subjugation?

Hermione turned on her own charm. "Thank you so much," she gushed. "You've been more than kind."

"Think nothing of it, dearie," Ima chirped. "If you need one of the staff, send your Patronus, if you can. If not, pull the scarlet cord by the bed." With that she turned to leave.

"Where's Harry staying?" Hermione asked after her.

"The new Proprietor? Why, in the Château, I presume," Ima answered in her lilting voice. That response was not helpful.

"I meant in what bedroom?" Hermione clarified.

"Why, I suppose in the Proprietor's suite," Ima told her. "That's just opposite here."

Hermione considered saying something about not needing her suite, but thought better of it. She sensed that attitudes and expectations were rather behind the times up here ... by about a century, she estimated. The woman excused herself again, but just before she reached the door, Tonks' voice called from next to the bedchamber.

"What's this thing?"

Hermione and Ima turned as Tonks emerged, holding a battered looking book with a faded indigo ribbon in it.

"Oh, that," Ima reacted almost dismissively. "I'm sorry, I forgot. Some of the staff chose a welcoming gift for you, Hermione - something from the Muggle side of the library...." Her cold emphasis on the word was unmistakable. "...We hope you like it. Your bibliophile reputation precedes you. The Proprietor was adamant that your pass-spell include full access to libraries and literary collections." Ima excused herself and left.

Whatever the "Muggle" gift might be, Ms. Hogg's mannerisms made it quite clear that she barely tolerated the idea.

She probably did not support house-elf liberation either, Hermione supposed.

But other things were more pressing.

"Blimey!" Tonks exclaimed, shaking her head. "Your flat here is bigger than my whole house." Laying the book down on the bed, she added, "Don't worry, it's not charmed or anything, and it does appear to be Muggle."

"Pity I won't be using it much," Hermione mused, speaking as much to herself as to Tonks.

"Don't judge a book by its cover ... poppet," the mousy-haired Auror replied, gleefully employing the housekeeper's pet name.

"I don't mean the book, I mean this suite," Hermione shot back, giving her hair a half-petulant flip.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Tonks jibed.

"Just that ... I won't be sleeping alone this holiday," Hermione declared forthrightly. "You're my bodyguard, and my friend, but not my minder - not any more."

"Actually, I'm quite all right with it," Tonks told her. "I was rather cross with Harry at times, before he came to his senses."

"Well I'm glad...."

The two witches heard a scrabbling sound behind them. Auror instincts taking over, Tonks whirled, wand drawn.

"Dobby!" Hermione squealed - instantly recognizing the figure before them - and not coincidentally saving the poor elf from possible hexing at the hands of the young Auror.

"Miz Myown, I's being so glad to see a friendly face!" Dobby squealed. Undaunted by the wand still pointed at him, the elf rushed to Hermione and gave her a big hug about the knees.

Dobby burst into what passed for tears in house-elves.

"Dobby," Hermione reacted with shock, "whatever it is, it's all right. Harry's here now."

Mentioning Harry's name did not help matters. Dobby only wailed more loudly.

"Umm ... I'll just be going along," a somewhat embarrassed Tonks muttered. "Need to learn my way around this place."

"No ... wait," Hermione requested. "It's not your fault. He's just this way.... I was meaning to ask you...."

Tonks cocked her head. This was unexpected.

"...You ... you work with Professor ... er ... Remus for the Order, so maybe you'd know...."

Tonks mousy brown hair turned, if possible, mousier.

"...It's just, he's the last of Harry's father's friends, and.... Well, he's been making himself scarce lately - ever since Harry and I ... umm ... worked out our differences...."

Tonks' eyes seemed enlarged as Hermione explained herself. Hermione was uncharacteristically hesitant, and was difficult to hear over Dobby's wails.

The girl continued. "Harry told me that Remus gave him some rather poor advice about ... about me. I'm worried that Remus thinks I bear a grudge. I don't. I don't want to come between the two of them.... Harry doesn't have much in the way of family."

"Hermione, I'm sure you're okay on that score," Tonks replied crisply. "Remus just has to work, that's all. The Order's been investigating connexions to Dark wizards in the Orient and.... Let's just say that's his current area of expertise. Rest assured, it has nothing to do with you."

"You really mean that?" Hermione asked, feeling relieved. She had been bothered about this for some time.

"Absolutely," Tonks reiterated. "I'm absolutely certain that our good friend Mister Lupin is not staying away because he gave Harry bad advice about women. Heck, he probably doesn't even realise that...."

Dobby seemed to be calming down, so Tonks tried again. "Anyway, you seem to have things quite in hand. I really need to unpack my own things. I'll be right around the corner...."

With that, Tonks left - rather hastily it seemed.

Hermione turned her attention to Dobby, who still hung rather limply from her legs. "Dobby, what's wrong? I'm sure whatever it is...."

"I ... I is failing ... failing Master Harry," the house-elf choked out.

"I have a hard time believing that," Hermione replied, reaching down to Dobby's shoulders.

At her touch, Dobby jumped back - all the way under Hermione's bed. "Miz Myown! You is not being supposed to touch us elves - except to punish...."

"I just thought you needed a hug," she responded. "I'm sorry, but...."

"You's being a great and noble witch.... Keeper of my Master's heart. You's never to be sorry to Dobby." He crept out. "Especially when Dobby's being such a failure...." Dobby plucked the old book from the edge of the bed and laws ready to start whacking himself over the head with it.

"Dobby, don't," Hermione ordered. "Just tell me what the big problem is?"

Obeying, Dobby replaced the book. Then in a torrent of high-pitched, less than grammatical words, Dobby revealed how Harry had tasked him to go to Blackwalls and lay the groundwork for the Château's elves' eventual freedom. He made no headway at all with the field elves, who were both stupid and subservient by breeding. But the elves resident in the Château were little better. Now, most of them were hesitant even to associate with the bizarre newcomer - who wore clothes, spoke of things elves dared not imagine, and was supposedly following the equally bizarre (to their ears) wishes of the Château's new Proprietor of the Château.

Nor had Dobby received any encouragement or assistance from the Château's staff. Ima Hogg, in particular had been unhelpful, dismissing Dobby's plea for help in teaching elf literacy under her authority with a curt "Whatever for?" Dobby thought that she and some other staff members were encouraging (and maybe instigating) the elves to shun him.

In short, Dobby's advocacy of house-elf freedom at the Château had come a cropper, much like Hermione's similar effort backfired at Hogwarts. Dobby suspected that, as a consequence, he had been assigned to Hermione's service. Putting him with the newcomers removed an irritant from the Château's house-elf society.

Hermione wondered how much Ms. Hogg really knew about her.

Not much, that was clear.

Hermione not only had to give Dobby a much-needed pep talk, but also to discuss with Harry what strategy and tactics would be necessary to bring enlightenment to the underclass at Château Blackwalls.

But the first item on Hermione's agenda was acclimation to her new surroundings - and, as soon as feasible, to find Harry. Dobby, whatever his eccentricities, remained a cracker-jack house-elf. In less than five minutes he had all of her things squared away.

She asked him to find Harry and notify her as soon as Harry had completed whatever succession-related unpleasantness he was dealing with.

Once Dobby popped out, Hermione thought that drawing a bath would do her some good. Easier said than done; given the Château's over-elaborate contraption. The tub had five different sizes, the largest approximately matching Hogwarts' Prefect's bathroom, but without the diving board (and presumably the Silver and Gold spell). After selecting a manageable size, she had to decipher the system of magical faucets, taps and valves, which put even the ritziest Riveria hotels to shame. Eventually, she had the tub filling with mint scented water.

Harry liked mint.

Hermione hoped that its cool, relaxing properties would generate the opposite reaction in her fiancé.

Changing into the available white fluffy bathrobe (embroidered with the Château's chambered nautilus insignia), Hermione took a look at her mystery Muggle gift. Intrigued by the Greek lettering on the spine, she cracked the massive old tome open to where the ribbon had been left.

Hermione gasped. The last thing in the world she expected to see was her own name - written in Classical Greek letters - jumping out at her. Before Hogwarts, although Hermione attended a rigorous public junior school, in typical English fashion it had not bothered even with French, let alone including Classical Greek or Latin in the mandatory curriculum. But at her father's insistence, Hermione had received private tuition in those languages, as well as basic French. Not only could she participate fully in family holidays to ancient sites, but she would also have a head start for a career in the law or, even better, following them into medicine.

Whilst her facility with these languages had atrophied through years of disuse, Hermione still knew enough to recognise her name.

And, once she put her mind to it, quite a few other things came flowing back.

It was immediately obvious that this was an extraordinarily old book - a quick command to "Reveal Your Secrets" showed at least two still-active Preservative Charms of archaic provenance. This "Hermione" was some sort of play, in the classical style. Its pages were papyrus, not parchment, and had no top or bottom margins, which meant that the pages were actually cut-up and bound sections of what had once been a scroll.

Intrigued, Hermione closed the book and took a close look at the lettering on the spine, "Ολοκλήρωση έργων του Σοφοκλή." "Sweet Circe," she gasped as she deciphered the words. Immediately she flipped the front cover open. "I can't possibly keep this," she whispered to herself as she scanned a rudimentary table of contents with over one hundred entries - of which her name appeared on the forty-seventh line. "This is priceless."

Hermione knew one thing for sure. She really, really wanted to spend some time in the Muggle portion of the Château's library.

Her head still spinning, Hermione heard the clanging of a set of chimes. For an instant, she thought she had a visitor, but the signal merely indicated that the tub had finished filling. The water was magically maintained at the precise temperature she had set.

Hermione had enjoyed less than ten minutes' languid soaking, when Dobby popped into her suite much more loudly than normal. Tentatively, the elf rapped on the door to the bath. "Miz Myown," he called out in his high, little voice, "Master Harry, he's being on the way to see you. I's sorry for so little warning, but Harry, he sent me on an errand.... And I couldn't refuse...."

Hermione smiled. If Harry were coming to see her right now, there were worse ways to greet him than in a big fluffy bathrobe - with nothing underneath. She stepped out of the tub, cleansed, refreshed, and smelling distinctly of mint, and dismissed the unseen Dobby. "Dobby, you've done everything you can do. Don't even think of punishing yourself on my behalf. You can go, I'll handle this."

Dobby left, again noisily so Hermione knew he was gone. Deliberately trying for "sexy," Hermione sauntered into her bedroom swaying her hips in exaggerated fashion. She tied her robe loosely about her waist with a simple twist - no knot either needed or intended.

She wished Harry would hurry up and arrive, but a watched door never opens. Hermione had waited for this moment - when they could stay together after the deed however long they wanted - for almost as long as she had been intimate with Harry.

A low grinding, noise from behind made the short hairs on the back of Hermione's neck stand on end. As she whirled around, wand in hand, her robe fell completely open. The dormer windows, and their views over the Pennines, had disappeared, along with the sumptuous wall coverings that surrounded them. Only a solid stone wall remained. Backing up until she bumped into the doorframe leading to the bathroom, Hermione felt her heart thump against her ribcage.

With a series of dull bangs, the wall began rolling itself up - like the Leaky Cauldron entrance to Diagon Alley, only these were half-metre-square stone blocks, not bricks. "Finite," Hermione incanted, but her spell had no effect on the Château's magic.

Hermione shrieked as she tied her robe about herself as tightly as possible - easier said than done whilst still gripping her wand. Through the enlarging gap, she heard a familiar voice, Harry's, calling, "Hermione, are you in there? It's me."

"Of course it's me," Hermione yelled back, quite annoyed - more at the circumstances than at Harry personally. "You were expecting Lady Diana?"

"If I find Lady Di, I'll be disappointed," Harry shouted back over the din from the still retreating wall.

"If you're trying to flirt," Hermione continued their rather loud conversation, "then I sincerely hope you are alone."

"Umm ... actually, I'm not," came Harry's reply.

Hermione dove for the bedchamber and pulled the curtains about her, not even bothering with magic. With only her head emergent, she bellowed, "Then you bloody better stop this right now! Honestly! What were you thinking? Barging into my room when you had company...!"

She heard Harry saying something indistinct over the wall's clatter. Then, as abruptly is it had started, the noise stopped.

"Sorry, Hermione," Harry began once silence had returned. "It's just ... well, I just learnt from the staff that they'd put us in separate rooms ... umm ... not exactly rooms, but you know.... I didn't want that, and Emil here, he showed how to get the Château's magic to change those arrangements. I didn't realise the result is the complete merger of our quarters."

Hermione could barely keep from giggling. The explanation was so ... well ... so Harry. Once again, he had been wrongfooted by magic that had unexpected consequences. She called out, "You're forgiven, Harry. Does this mean that you're through with estate business - at least for the day?"

She could hear the relief in his voice as he confirmed, "Yeah, that's done for now." Then Harry instructed the staff with him (at least two, and maybe more) to make themselves scarce.

"That's good," Hermione responded as she let loose the curtains she had hidden behind.

"I know," Harry replied in kind. "I am really sorry, you know."

"Don't be sorry ... I just want to spent the rest of the evening, alone, with you," Hermione stated as she climbed out of bed and approached the irregular, five-metre wide passage between the Château's adjacent Proprietor's and Proprietress' suites, remembering to move her hips with what she hoped was fluid grace.

"So do I," Harry echoed, his eyes fixed on her hips. "Alone - for as long as we want."

"Amen," Hermione murmured, stepping through the open space in the wall. As she did, she let her robe flutter to the floor, and continued on, to Harry, without it.

* * * *

The sun rises late in mid-December in northern England. But today, the new Proprietor (technically Baron) of Blackwalls (and technically hereditary Lord of the Manor of Blackpool, as well) and his lady were still asleep as the first pallid rays of midwinter sunlight shone across the immense suite - a suite that had been considerably enlarged the previous evening.

The new Proprietor lay flat on his back mostly covered in a red satin sheet, and nothing else. By his side - or rather, draped over his side - lay the woman expected to become Proprietress of the great estate. Equally clad in nothing save the bedsheets, she snoozed, one cheek resting on his chest and her long brown hair splayed out in all directions.

Perhaps it was the light, or perhaps merely chance combined with inevitability. Whatever the cause, the young Proprietor's eyes fluttered reluctantly open. He needed a moment to recall where he was - and a while longer to believe it.

It was hard to believe, since a mere six months ago he had been marooned in a Muggle hellhole, alone, friendless ... godfatherless....

And now? He had just had the best night of his life.

For sure.

The first time was hard, fast, and practically uncontrollable. He had messed up, again, in trying to consolidate their rooms - without telling (or even asking) her first.

But she forgave him his trespasses.

Merlin, had she!

She had emerged, striding determinedly towards him, wearing nary a stitch of clothing. Well, except for a pair of fuzzy pink slippers....

And she had looked him straight in the eye throughout her approach - no false modesty for Hermione. For weeks, they had yearned for this night; to be alone together for as long as they desired. Both knew what they wanted. They had discussed it frequently, and thought about it constantly.

It had been worth the wait - truly amazing.

It is hard for anything - let alone an intimate encounter - to live up to so much anticipation. But their lovemaking had been exactly that, every minute and every bit of it.

Harry owned the place, so finally they were unconcerned with the return of the (if not feared, then at least bothersome) pink glow that had forced them to stagger their pleasures since that memorable first night.

Not this time. Harry was Proprietor of all 167 (or so it was said) rooms in Château Blackwalls.

Make that 166, at least for the duration.

They had quite enough rooms. If they wrecked one - or even two - bedrooms, they could move to another whilst those were repaired. Having four score and some house-elves, all eager to impress, at one's beck and call did have its advantages, even if Hermione would never admit it out loud.

So they had quite deliberately driven each other to ecstasy simultaneously - more than once.

Sex was truly nature's way of telling humankind that we are loved and supposed to be happy.

Even better - almost - their worries turned out to be groundless. With no mirrors to reflect and amplify their magical emissions, the glow had managed itself. Instead of an explosion, the two had found equilibrium.

And eventually equilibrium shaded into afterglow.

They never left their room that night, not even to look after their guests. For once Harry and Hermione allowed themselves to be totally, utterly, and decadently selfish.

They had ordered in - prime rib for Harry and tuna steak for Hermione. They never bothered to get dressed again, although Hermione did retrieve the robe she'd left pooled on the floor in her room ... no, side of the room. She wore it only when Dobby popped by to present their dinner, and only for Dobby's sake.

Harry did eventually finish the job of converting the Proprietor's and Proprietress' suites into one large chamber. Almost a century had passed since the Château's Proprietor had last been youthful enough, and sufficiently inclined, to share the same bed routinely with the Proprietress.

Too often, Black family marriages had been for status, not love. Sharing a bed with one's spouse was usually just to provide a son or two - an heir and a spare - to continue the line.

The necessary magic still worked, but after such a long hiatus its operation had been rather creaky.

These two neither had nor needed any long hiatus.

After dinner - and following a joint cool-down in Harry's walk-in shower that was anything but cool - they took pleasure in each other a second time. That time was long, leisurely, and somewhat silly. Hermione dipped into her bag of Samson's Option goodies, and Summoned the whole bag to Harry's side of the now quite huge room.

What had been his side of the room was now neither his nor hers, but theirs.

Eventually they had drifted off to sleep in each other's arms - but only after a couple of hours of playing around with Lovers Touch™ "Ebb and Flow" knickers; an always-full canister of pressurised whipped cream that changed colours (and flavours); a tube of scent-shifting massage lotion; and last but not least a charmed, self-bouncing trampoline that fit snugly over their mattress.

A few hours later he had awoken once again, with his body pressed along the length of hers. They fit together perfectly - so perfectly that, without any particular effort on either of their parts, Harry was once again outrageously in the mood.

But she had been sound asleep.

So for about three-quarters of an hour, he had gone about awakening her as slowly and gently as possible. Harry used his fingers, his lips, and his manhood slowly but surely to shift her dreams in erotic directions. Ultimately, he had roused - and aroused - her. Throwing her top leg over his hip, she had backed into him. Then he had spent an exquisite amount of time "over the target" whilst she moved against him. Finally, after nearly driving each other crazy, Hermione had shifted position just enough....

What followed was the most gentle and extended lovemaking either of them had ever experienced.

Especially for her. Harry presumed he was tapped out, so he gave his all for Hermione. Whilst physically expressing his love for her, he had discovered an unknown and untapped reservoir of strength.

When it was over, Harry had suggested that, whenever they were really sleeping together and unlikely to be disturbed, he saw no reason to wear any clothes at all. Hermione had readily agreed....

Returning to the present, Harry reckoned that the first time had been for passion, the second time for fun, and the third time for love.

Sure, Voldemort was still out there. Sure, Harry had to exert control over an estate with evil antecedents. Sure, he had to cope with prejudice against Muggle-born and Muggle-raised wizards.

But for once in his life, Harry thought - whilst aimlessly caressing Hermione's sleeping form with one hand - things genuinely seemed to be looking up. For the time being, all was well.

* * * *

Blub, blub, blub, blub ... Pfffoof!

In one furious boiling moment, the out-of-control potion exploded into a dark scarlet cloud of steam - spraying hot droplets in all directions.

"Bloodly hell!" the frustrated wizard swore as he jumped back in an altogether unsuccessful effort to prevent his wand hand from being scalded.

"Why did he have to make this formula so damn complicated?" he continued, the frustration oozing from his voice. "That's three times, now."

Quite put out, but grimly determined, he Vanished the mess and prepared the ingredients for another try.

"Oh, Merlin's balls, that was the last of the ruby dust," Draco Malfoy drawled angrily. He had more, but given how dear that particular ingredient was, he kept it elsewhere, in a protected location.

Oceanix, being his mother's property, was less secure. Draco did not employ the staff. But it had the advantage of remoteness. Out of the Ministry's sight it was - and also out of mind.

Malfoy Manor had its disadvantages. Half was a construction zone. And it all was now watched by the Aurors - not the erstwhile sluggards from the Escheats Office. Its major advantages were its wards (or what were left after the latest Ministry restrictions) and a staff that responded to him as lord of the estate. The Manor was a better place to conceal extremely valuable materials.

"But that doesn't make any sense," Draco mused aloud. "Snape was as poor as a Weasley when he was in school. Where would he get the Galleons for powdered ruby, no matter how powerful that made a Love Potion? It's just not...."

Draco's flaxen eyebrows almost retreated into his forehead as it came to him. "Father said he'd 'bought' a number of Death Eaters whilst still at Hogwarts," he mouthed to his audience of none. "I'll bet he bought Snape."

He had no idea whom Snape might have fancied enough at Hogwarts to turn Death Eater for. Nor could Draco have cared less. Leverage was leverage. Father kept careful records and, once the Malfoy patrimony had passed, Draco knew where they were. As soon as possible, without raising suspicion, he would check and see what he could learn about Snape.

Leverage was leverage.

For now, it appeared that when Snape was bought, at least he stayed bought.

Maybe, Draco wondered, he should adopt his father's tactics. Crabbe and Goyle, for all their failings, had been dead useful ....

But that was for the future. For the present, he needed more powdered ruby. And he remembered a couple of potions apparatus at the Manor that might assist in what was proving to be an extremely tricky brewing job.

Because of the Ministry presence, Draco could not Apparate, since he was still underage. To avoid other inconvenient questions, he dared not take one of Oceanix's Thestrals. Floo powder it would have to be.

Minutes later, Draco staggered out of a familiar fireplace, and into a cloud of fly ash and construction grit. Sneezing and coughing at the same time, he recalled why he hated traveling by Floo.

It was mid-morning. Burke should be there, playing at being a building contractor. Pulling the first wizard he met away from whatever he was doing, Draco sent him after Burke bearing a summons to meet.

Soon enough, the man turned up. He never forgot the hand that fed him (at the moment). Draco surprised him. "I'd like to inspect the work in the master's bedroom," He told Burke.

"But ... but the work in that area was finished weeks ago - at your request," Burke whinged. "You've already seen it. There's nothing, really, to inspect."

The man had not understood. "Well, I have a few more items on the tick list," Draco drawled, hoping for a recovery.

A fierce glare added to innocuous words produced the desired reaction, and soon the two of them, in silence, headed for that location. Reaching the master's bedroom, Draco signalled for silence. For his own part he chattered irrelevantly about imaginary faults in the plastering or the household enchantments. He produced an old key, which almost immediately Transfigured itself into a ring - yet another of the paternal bequests that mattered only if he retained Malfoy Manor.

Which he had.

Expertly, Draco waved his hand, wearing the ring, before a blank wall. It rippled and a hidden wall safe appeared. Draco inserted the ring's stone into a matching indentation in the safe and, almost magnetically, the door swung open as he removed his hand. Still mouthing construction-related inanities, Draco reached in, and pulled out a rack that was full of pouches, phials, and other containers for potions ingredients.

He selected what he needed, slipped them inside his robes, and after only a few seconds the wall in the master's bedroom was once again featureless.

"Now we need to discuss some of the work on the back lawn," he told Burke.

A few minutes later, a cold, drizzling rain falling, they stood uncomfortably in a brown-black swathe of mucky, disturbed earth. The locale was inauspicious, but all the disruption - magical and otherwise - ensured that it was a place, unlike Malfoy Manor itself, free from ubiquitous Ministry surveillance.

"So that's where the stuff goes," Burke remarked when, at last, they could speak freely.

"That's where it goes," Draco echoed. "That's how a Vanishing Cabinet works - and I was quite pleased that you were able to make it work, provided the right incentives...."

Burke's incipient smile fled with the reminder of the threat the boy had once made to arrange a visit from Fenrir Greyback if repairs to the magical device had not succeeded. "So, maybe a little something extra in the next progress payment, then?" he grumbled.

"We'll see," Draco responded vaguely. "That'll depend on the success of the potion."

"I hope you get to use it, then," Burke replied, equally vaguely.

"And why wouldn't I?" Draco retorted. "The Dark Lord himself wanted this ... although Merlin knows why. It's always puzzled me why he'd give this precedence over what I'd call the more important mission. Perhaps you can enlighten me?"

"I've told you before, I don't know why he wants Potter away from that Mudblood," Burke growled. "But he does ... or at least did."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Draco almost snarled. He hated it when Burke toyed with him.

"Apparently, he has something big planned that might toss everything we've been doing into a cocked hat," Burke answered warily.

"Well ... tell me," Draco pursued the evasive wizard.

"Unfortunately, I don't know. I just suspect it," Burke continued. "We're not in that loop. You know how the Dark Lord compartmentalises."

"Then what the bloody hell do you know?" a frustrated Draco grumbled.

"That your lovely aunt can't keep her blinking flapper shut," Burke revealed. "She's close to the Dark Lord and loves to lord that over all of us."

"Damn drama queen," Draco muttered. "What did she say this time?"

"Not much, only that she's working on something that might trump everything. She seemed quite serious. Although she only brought it up to taunt me ... and also you."

"Nothing of substance, of course," Draco commented.

"Of course," Burke confirmed. "Only she seemed excited - as if whatever this thing is, it'll happen soon."

* * * *

"Anything you really want to do today?" Harry asked Hermione when they finally decided they ought to get out of bed.

"Are you up for a swim?" she asked. "I studied the map of the Château yesterday, and it has an indoor pool."

"Sounds good," Harry agreed. He studied a breakfast menu Dobby must have left sometime that night. "Do you want to invite the others?"

"Maybe later," Hermione answered adding a lecherous smile. "I'd like to try it first with you - alone."

She had Harry's undivided attention. "Something I should know about?" he asked.

She nodded towards her "bag of tricks." "I realised I needed some new bathing costumes whilst shopping yesterday. I'm not keen on showing off that much to the rest."

"An excellent reason," Harry agreed.

His fiancée, however, was determined to be coy about the bathing costumes. She insisted that the "unveiling" wait until they were at the pool.

Trying not to be a rude host, Harry had arranged to go flying with Jazzy later in the afternoon, before the midwinter's darkness fell. Similarly, Hermione had invited Luna to investigate the Château's literary holdings. Neville had begged off from either activity. He had independently arranged a tour of the Château's greenhouses.

A little before noon Harry and Hermione - wearing identical Château Blackwalls bathrobes - arrived at what was designated "indoor pool" on the map. Stepping inside, both had the same reaction. "What on earth is that?"

The door opened into a very large, almost empty room, easily four high-ceilinged floors in height and equally spacious across. Except no pool - anywhere - was to be seen.

Not only was water not in evidence, but the room lacked even a basin for holding it. Lying on the floor was a circular deck that might well surround a pool - if it had something to surround. The deck featured folding chairs, towels, and other pool accoutrements.

Fortunately it also had a sign reading, "Caution: Entire party must be on deck before activating pool."

Beside the sign was a set of magical controls.

Hermione took a look, shot Harry a sly glance, and announced, "I'm game if you are."

"And you say I'm the fearless one," Harry gladly went along. Moving to the controls, Harry saw several differently shaped "configurations." The knob was set for the circle. That matched the shape of the deck, so Harry decided to leave things as they were.

The console had a red dot describe as "Activus natatus." Harry tapped it with his wand.

Something immediately began hissing. All along the inner edge of the deck a cloud of bluish magic arose. It swirled and formed as large a sphere as the quite large room could accommodate. Valves appeared in the ceiling and, with a whoosh, water poured in. The torrent flooded the sphere, and as it filled, the bluish glow faded, leaving nothing but water - a transparent (if still somewhat bluish) sphere suspended by magic between the floor, the ceiling, and the walls.

"Whoa," Harry exclaimed, as the deck began to rise as the magical sphere filled. Halfway up, the deck stopped. Its edges fit snugly around the centre of the hovering sphere.

"Umm ... I guess that's a pool," Harry commented, eyeing the watery sphere warily. "But how do we swim?"

Hermione probed the sphere's surface. Her hand penetrated easily, meeting no more resistance than with a normal body of water. She withdrew it, and her hand was ordinarily wet. Looking squarely at Harry, she remarked, "I suspect we just jump in."

With that, she let slip the robe she had been wearing since emerging from the bathroom back at their suite. That gave Harry an eyeful of what Hermione was wearing....

... Or not wearing.

"B-b-bloody hell, H-H-Hermione," Harry stuttered. "I at least thought you'd be wearing ... well, something."

Solely for Harry's benefit, Hermione saucily spun around on one foot - and nearly lost her balance.

"But I am, Harry," she laughed at his beet red expression.

Harry begged to differ. "What is it then? A costume visible to everyone except me?" That was an interesting thought.

"No, silly," Hermione squealed as she tossed her head. She considered twirling again, but thought better of it. "Take a closer look."

"I'd love to," Harry replied huskily. Instantly, she was in his arms.

Sure enough, he found a bathing costume. Upon closer inspection, it adequately covered her naughty bits. It was not even all that racy, except that it magically assumed the exact colour of the skin beneath. It was extremely difficult for Harry to tell the difference, except none of Hermione's ... well, fine details ... were visible.

Harry gave Hermione a big, sloppy kiss. Then he let go, shouted, "Last one in's a smelly troll," and dove head first through the side of the sphere.

Hermione let out a shriek and followed, only a step behind.

They had never experienced swimming like this before. Up or down meant nothing - only in and out. Dense objects sank to the centre of the sphere, and buoyant objects (like Harry and Hermione) floated outward to its surrounding surface. Momentum mattered much more than in an ordinary pool. Had they been inclined to exercise, they could have swum "laps" in the same direction forever, never having to turn around.

But the two teens were far more interested in fun than exercise. After several minutes frolicking, they broke out the pool toys - most notably a floating diving board from which they dove into the pool at what an earthbound observer would have considered impossible angles. Magic superseded gravity; from the diving board "down" was towards the water.

Splash!

Harry shot out of the water and landed somewhat awkwardly on the deck.

Splash!

Before Harry could recover his balance, Hermione followed and knocked him to the floor of the deck.

They laughed themselves out - Harry in his rather minute Speedo, and Hermione in her perfectly camouflaged flesh-tone bikini. "How about a Bubblehead Charm?" Hermione suggested as they untangled and stood up. "I'd like to try swimming through the middle to the other side."

Harry was amenable. "Good idea, tonight we'll come back with some Gillyweed and try something more...."

A familiar voice followed a barely audible pop, and. "Harry Potter, sir, there's being goblins wanting to see you. They have.... Miz Myown...!"

Dobby never finished that sentence. With a louder bang than they had ever heard from the diminutive house-elf, he popped out.

"Oh, dear," Hermione cried as she grabbed for her robe. "Poor Dobby! He must be so embarrassed."

Harry dove back into the water and swam to the bottom. From there, he pulled himself out and could touch the floor of the room. That overcame one aspect of the magic, and he managed to stand on solid ground again. Taking an alternative route, Hermione descended the rope ladder that hung from the deck to the floor. It was unnaturally stable, considering that it extended at an oblique angle that would have done M.C. Escher proud.

Neither had quite finished, when the door creaked halfway open. Dobby's fingers were just visible and there was a soft pounding sound.

"Harry Potter, sir, [thud] Miz Myown [thud]," Dobby whined in a pleading voice. "If youse could please be presentable. [Thud] There's being goblins [thud] at the gate...," [Thud]

Hermione realised seconds before Harry what was happening. "Dobby, stop punishing yourself this instant! You didn't see what you thought, and even if you had, you didn't do anything wrong."

The pounding stopped. Trembling, Dobby edged back into view, as if afraid of what he might encounter. Seeing Hermione in her robe, and that she and Harry were well more than arms-length apart, the elf spoke more confidently. "The Goblins.... They's being wanting to see Harry Potter, and they's not taking no for an answer."

"Then we'd better find out what they want," Harry said resignedly. "Invite them in and tell them we'll be down right away."

A few minutes later, fully and appropriately dressed, Harry and Hermione descended the formal black marble staircase to the Château's main foyer to greet a party of seven goblins, all dressed in grey travelling clothing. They were chatting with the goblins in Harry's personal guard, and none seemed bothered by the delay.

Hermione hung back. The goblins were primarily Harry's bailiwick.

After a nervous pause - none of the newly-arrived goblins would speak first - Harry addressed himself to the head of his guard. "Slamdor, what's going on?"

Slamdor (after bowing, but not prostrating himself) cheerfully undertook to make the introductions. "Good afternoon, Impratraxis. Head of our visiting party is Klambak. Met once you, told me has he. At Hogwarts."

A light bulb went off in Harry's head. He turned to Klambak,

"I remember ... you commanded the Basilisk rendering party."

"Honoured that remember me do you, Impratraxis, am I," Klambak responded. He also successfully fought the urge to prostrate himself before royalty in the usual goblin fashion. "And Savini as well. For any inconvenience apologise we. Is finished our promise to you, so come have we...."

That last bit of information left Harry at a momentary loss, but Hermione aided him with a telegraphed thought. 'I think he means the Basilisk skin armour you asked for.'

"You mean the Basilisk skin armour is finished?" Harry more or less echoed.

"Yes, precisely, Impratraxis," Klambak confirmed.

Klambak turned to his small entourage and barked some orders in Gobbledygook. Two large crates were brought in and opened. Reverently, Klambak reached in, and presented Harry and Hermione with two sets of goblin-forged armour, its surface covered with shiny, dark green Basilisk scales.

"Savini?" Klambak interjected nervously as Hermione examined hers. "In advance apologise must I. Arise do any imperfections because for a ... female, such a thing crafted never before have we. Fight not in our nation do females."

"I'm certain you did superbly," Hermione replied soothingly, as she examined the suit. "Harry, do you want to try these on?"

"Sounds like a good idea to me."

"Honoured as a squire in your service would be I," Klambak offered.

A few minutes later, Harry emerged, his leathery armour feeling stiff. His next task was to help Hermione. Not one female goblin squire existed, and none of the goblins present presumed to offer such intimate service to their Prince's mate.

Most of the delay in fulfilling Harry's request was due to its unique nature as to Hermione, Ginny, and Luna. Goblin society did not conceive of woman warriors. Their armourers had no experience in matching female specifications.

The result looked rather like male armour, except with what resembled a long skirt instead of male leggings.

As they reemerged, Harry told her, "Okay, hit me with your best shot."

"Harry, what are you saying?" Hermione blurted, frankly aghast. "You can't be serious."

"Of course I am," he insisted. "We won't know that this armour works unless we try it out. I'd rather find anything wrong with the goblins still here to fix it."

"Could it be that, because goblin-forged armour is reputedly the best in the world, and because you're a prince of theirs, maybe they've forged the best of the best," Hermione sniffed.

Hermione was probably right, but Harry needed to be sure. "We need to confirm for ourselves," he persisted. "We need to know not only that this stuff works, but to feel it work - so we're ready when the time comes.... Densaugeo."

Harry essentially tricked Hermione. Whilst chatting, he flicked out his wand but kept it hidden. Then, without warning, he cursed her with a relatively harmless fourth year spell.

"Harry!" Hermione shrieked. Here evasive manœuvres were belated, but the spell vanished harmlessly into the armour.

"Now, hit me with something," Harry repeated.

"Harry, I don't want.... There are people about," protested Hermione.

"They're staff and goblins. They won't intervene," Harry dismissed. "Incarcerous."

Hermione was ready this time, but Harry had cut the spell four ways. One of them caught her, but again the spell ineffectually bounced off her armour.

"Harry, stop it," Hermione demanded sternly. "You know what happened the last time we duelled. I broke your leg and felt horrible about that for days."

"If that's how you feel horrible," he made a reference only she would understand, "then I love you that way." He may have been teasing, but his wand was also pointing at her again. Without doing anything to conceal it, he began to cast another spell.

Hermione was practically forced to defend herself. "Impedimenta!" she incanted.

Her spell bounced off Harry's armour.

"Great, now you've gotten started," Harry said happily. His wand motion had been a feint - to get Hermione to react - and it had been successful.

"Conjunctivus remax!" he cried.

"Scintillius!" she parried.

"Relashio!" A red jet from Harry's wand pushed Hermione backwards but once again her armour repelled it.

"Harry!" she shouted impatiently - followed by, "Accio wand!"

Harry whirled halfway around, but did not bother to dodge. Hermione's spell hit him squarely, and completely ineffectually, in the back. He reversed direction. "Confrigo!" he spelled.

Hermione jumped out of the way, as a large marble vase full of tropical flowers exploded behind her. "Harry, that was a dangerous spell," she reproached. "Expelliarmus!"

Harry merely threw his arms wide, letting her disarming spell hit him full in the chest. It also had no effect. "Come on, Hermione, you can do better than that," he baited her.

"Concresus varo!" he shot one of several variants of the Jelly-Legs Jinx at her. It caught her in the right knee, but also did nothing. "Folliculus inverso!" he tried again.

"Two in a row isn't fair duelling," Hermione complained, once she rolled over to face him, having unsuccessfully tried to dodge the second spell. "And that was a Lesson 128 spell."

"Death Eaters don't fight fair, Hermione. C'mon, we have to make sure this stuff works," Harry pleaded. "Now have at it."

"Merlin, Harry, it's not like we have an appointment to duel Voldemort next week," Hermione replied hotly. "Look at this. We're wrecking the foyer.... Petrificus totalus."

The immobilizing spell glanced off the armour on Harry's leg. He called to her again, "You're not testing me hard enough. Use something a Death Eater might.... Reducto!"

Hermione dove out of the way, but was sideswiped because Harry split the spell five ways. Her armour protected her as plaster exploded all about. Angry, now, she came up firing, "Me 'chi ba bchad pa!"

She likewise cut her spell five ways. Arcs of purple fire slashed through the air. "Yeeaaahhh!" Harry yelled as three of them sizzled across various parts of his armour, chipping at its now not-so-shiny scaled covering. "Jeez, Hermione, I didn't know you knew that one..."

"Since it created our affinity, I had to learn it," Hermione puffed. She was getting tired of duelling. "You know I would have learnt Avada itself if I'd had too.... Now, are we quite finished?"

Harry seemed to relax. "Well, I suppose that ... Electrify!" In an instant Harry sunk into a classic dueller's stance. Hermione, slow to react, could not dodge a miniature lightning bolt rocketing straight at her. Her armour absorbed it with no problem.

"That was one of yours from our duel, as I recall," Harry observed tartly.

"You little sneak!" she snarled. "Have it your way, then.... Multiplicitus!" Suddenly twenty-five images of Hermione surrounded him. "Orgasimos!" she cried without giving him time to think.

Twenty-five Hermiones cut that spell twenty-five ways. Twenty four were, of course, figments of her magic. But there was no way Harry could possibly pick out the fake spells from the blizzard of light that came at him. But he counted on his armour to protect him.

Harry was almost right.

But one of the spells caught Harry in the neck, just under the clear Basilisk cornea visor he was wearing. Harry collapsed in a wave of indescribable, yet now familiar pleasure.

In an instant Hermione pounced. She pushed up Harry's visor and with her still glowing wandtip poked him in the neck hard enough to leave a bruise. "And as I recall, that was yours from an earlier duel," she hissed. "I think we've demonstrated quite sufficiently that the goblins' armour is as advertised."

She stood and turned to go. "And I'm going to freshen up. See you...."

"Oh, bravo! Well played."

The familiar voice stopped Hermione in her tracks. "Luna!" Hermione flipped up her plaster dusted visor. Luna was clutching the balustrade of the upper floor balcony, gazing down into the now thoroughly wrecked room.

"Yeah, the armour's grand, isn't it? You've a set as well," Hermione called. Then she grimaced, noticing the much shorter Jazzy also standing nearby.

"Actually, I meant the spell," Luna said airily. "One of your extras gave me a ... rather interesting ... experience."

She wasn't the only one. Four members of the Château staff, two goblins, and a stray house-elf were also recovering. The pair had drawn quite an audience for their little test.

After that test, if anyone on the staff still disparaged Hermione's heritage, he or she kept quiet about it. From that display, nobody could doubt her magical abilities.

But Hermione had her own amends to make. "Jazzy, I'm sorry, but we only have...."

"Save it," the Sufi witch cut over her elder. "Nothing I've done merits something like that. Good show, though. Glad you play for our side. Oh, and Harry.... Don't forget our fly this afternoon. There's an old pitch around the back."

Then, gritting her teeth to restrain her trembling jaw, Jazzy left.

Hermione was not leaving yet. With goblin help, she showed Luna sort out her set of armour. As Hermione finished, Harry was at her side.

"Hermione, I apologise for working you up like that, but we did give the armour a fair test...."

She turned to Harry, who seemed none the worse for wear. "Apology accepted, but you could have chosen a better locale."

Harry regarded the debris and the spell-pocked walls of the Château's formal entryway. "S'pose you're right. But can't do anything about that now ... well, except this...."

"A priori!"

Harry concentrated and magic began flowing from him in waves. Before the astonished eyes of the goblins, many of the staff, and the less astonished but no less appreciative Hermione, he caused everything in the room to right itself.

"Now you've tired me out, too," he panted when done. Let's get something to eat. Then we ought to find Neville, so he can try his on, too."

Somewhat later an unusually harsh, mechanical sound disturbed the Château Blackwalls carriage house. Harry had decided to kill two birds with one stone. He wanted to ride Sirius' old motorcycle (which Hagrid had delivered to the Château following Harry's inheritance), and he wanted to find Neville.

To entice Hermione into coming along - he was competing with the Château's library - Harry had agreed to use the motorbike in sidecar mode.

Soon they were cruising at about 100 metres. "Estus," Hermione incanted. It was quite cold in Lancashire in the latter half of December.

"Look there," Harry pointed to an overgrown field with telltale hoops at either end. "That's the old Quidditch Pitch Jazzy mentioned. I think I'll have it redone before summer."

Hermione was scanning the barren winter landscape for signs of Neville. The fields were fallow. The vines and trees were bare. The earth below was muted in shades of grey and brown. "That's fine, Harry.... It's yours to do what you will."

"By the end of the summer holiday, I'm hoping to change that," Harry said in a low voice - barely audible over the motorbike's rumble.

Hermione gave him a quizzical look. "I don't see how else it could be," she said. "You hold it free and clear. You won't even have a guardian much longer...."

"For the same reason, I'm hoping then to have a wife," Harry countered, giving her a meaningful look.

Hermione no longer needed a warming charm. Quite ignoring their location, she threw herself at Harry and enveloped him in a fierce hug. The motorbike wobbled a bit, but she never noticed.

"When did you become so romantic?" she asked once she finished kissing him thoroughly and retreated (mostly) to the side car.

Harry took her question seriously. "Since you, I guess," he told her. "Before you I was awful with girls.... Probably still am."

She smiled at him. "I should be thankful, I guess." Her sharp eyes spotted something - an unusual patch of green in an otherwise drab environment - off to their left. "Look there," she said, pointing.

"If it's green, it might be Neville," Harry agreed. He banked the bike in that direction.

"Umm ... Harry?" she inquired with a naughty gleam in her eye. "Do you we might be able, well, to do it up here some time?"

"You mean, it it?" Harry asked.

Hermione nodded her head. "I was thinking, maybe, in an Invisibility Cloak slung beneath the bike...."

Harry looked straight down, under the bike. "That wouldn't work very well," he estimated.

"Why not?" Hermione said tightly, betraying a degree of insult. "You told me you almost did it with her.... Why not me? I'm sure we could arrange it so we wouldn't have to look down."

"It's not that," Harry hastened to say. "It's more like looking up. You didn't see what I saw in the carriage house. The bike leaks a bit of oil."

"Eeeuuuww," Hermione reacted.

"But remember, I asked you specifically to bring your broom," Harry grinned. "With one on either side, nothing will drip on us. And we'd be more spread out ... not like being inside a great sack."

"My, my, my," Hermione replied. "You sound like you've thought this out."

"I don't believe it!" Harry mocked being surprised.

"Don't believe what?" Hermione sounded a bit put off.

"I finally thought of something before you," Harry declared.

"That's because you were using your other head," Hermione shot back.

"Sometimes it has better ideas...."

"Hey! That is Neville!" Hermione interrupted, changing the subject.

Harry put the bike in steep descent.

Neville was practicing with the Staff of Asclepius. An entire vineyard, which should have been in winter hibernation, looked like mid-summer. Beyond that, the vines swayed back and forth in time with his staff.

Neville must have been concentrating very hard, because he seemed genuinely surprised - and a bit red-faced - when Harry landed the bike and rolled to a stop nearby.

Hermione leapt from the sidecar as Harry shut off the motorbike's various charms. "Neville, that's really impressive!" she bubbled. "So this is what the Staff lets you do."

"Umm ... some of it," Neville replied modestly. "I can use the Staff to animate plants...."

"But on such a large scale," Hermione continued. "Have you been hiding what you can do from us?"

"Actually, you're right," Neville told that girl who was so often right. "The next time something happens, I don't want to be so useless. Pom ... Professor Sprout's been helping me. But it's hard to, well, expand my abilities at Hogwarts with everyone about...."

"Why be so secretive?" Harry asked, as he walked over to Hermione and slipped his hand into hers. "I think it's great. You should demonstrate at the next D.A. meeting. That would show people they can do things, too."

"Harry," Hermione said in a way that told him he should choose his words more carefully, "Neville can do...."

Neville shook his head with a resigned little smile. "He's right, you know. You guys do so much stuff.... I'm not insulted. I'm just trying to do my part."

"And it's a very good part," Hermione added. "What else can you do?"

"I've learnt to make plants - most of them, anyway - be obstructive," he told them.

"You mean, like, trip people up?" Harry followed.

"Yeah," Neville confirmed. "These vines here, I'm farthest along with them. Watch."

Neville made a motion with the Staff, and a couple of the grape vines reached out to Harry and started curling tightly around his arm.

"Yow!" he yelped at the sensation of being restrained. Pulling his arm away did not good. Instinctively Harry flicked out his wand. He was about to fire off a Severing Charm when Neville shifted the Staff in the other way and the vines retreated.

"Works only with vines, though," Neville admitted. "And some trees. But with barley, or wildflowers, things like that, the best I can do is animate them so they'd get in your way. What I'm trying to do is this...."

He twirled the Staff like a drum major. The grape vines rippled and began to change. For a bit, some of them Transfigured into something lower, leafier, and Hermione thought, decidedly deadlier than a source of alcoholic beverages.

Only for an instant.

POP!

With a sputtering sound, the grape vines returned to their prior state - as Neville fell heavily on his backside.

"Neville!" both Harry and Hermione called out. They dropped down beside him. Harry was about was about to hoist the heavily breathing and somewhat disoriented boy to his feet. With a firm hand to Harry's thigh, Hermione stopped him.

"Neville, are you okay?" Hermione asked gently. Expertly, she put her other hand to his neck to feel for his pulse. It was light and fast, signifying exhaustion.

"He'll be all right," she reassured Harry.

She was, once again, right. When Neville finished shaking the cobwebs out of his head, she asked him what he had done.

"It's ... It's something Pom wanted me to practice.... Getting them to change species ... to something that might be more ... useful...," he panted. "I'm not all that ... good at it, yet ... obviously...." His voice trailed off as he stared at the Staff, whilst shaking his head. "But I'll keep trying."

"Neville?" Hermione asked cautiously. "What transformation were you attempting? I thought I saw Devil's Snare for an instant."

"That's it, Hermione," Neville affirmed.

"But ... why that?" Hermione wondered, seeming somewhat disappointed in the choice.

"It could be protective," he said. "I'm trying to be useful."

Harry squeezed his shoulder. "You are, Nev. Don't ever doubt that.... And, speaking of protection, we came looking for you because the goblins just brought that Basilisk skin armour they measured you for...."

That brought Neville to his feet. "Great," he said. "I guess I ought to be heading back anyway."

"You can ride with us, Nev," Harry offered. "Be much quicker. You must be forty-five minutes away by foot, you can't Apparate yet, and I forgot to bring a Portkey."

"I could make one," Hermione offered, "but I'm a bit out of practice."

Neville regarded the sleek Gus Kuhn Norton suspiciously. "I've never ridden anything like ... like that."

"You take the sidecar, then," Hermione offered. "I'll ride pillion behind Harry."

"What ... what sidecar?" Neville asked.

"Show him, Harry," Hermione beckoned.

Harry revved up the motorbike, and turned a switch. Once again, the bike grew a sidecar.

* * * *

The - she would have called herself their servant - led the two young ladies through corridors that reeked of disuse. The old-style torches, supported by angular supports bearing the Château's distinctive chambered nautilus motif, provided mostly adequate light. The Everlasting Candles the two visitors brought were an excellent supplement.

The place was musty - the stale smell once a space was closed off for months, if not years, at a time.

"Here's where I go, milady," the liveried witch came to a halt. "The Muggle portion of the Black library has been kept here for the last several hundred years."

"How did you find it?" Hermione asked her. "Annie, isn't it?"

"Oh, that wasn't hard at all, milady," the witch known only as Annie told the de facto Proprietress of the Château. "The Muggle section is listed quite plainly on all the maps. It's just ... the family had such pure-blood prejudice so many generations that nobody bothers with it...."

"And you're different," Luna chimed in.

Annie appeared to be debating something with herself. She brought her forefinger to her lips in the universal symbol for quiet. "I've never told anyone, but I'm a Mudblood, milady," Annie whispered, unhesitatingly mouthing the slur as if it were ingrained. "I've hidden it all these years. I don't know why I was even hired, except I'm really good at Charms. Anyway, nobody's minded my going there as it's on my own time. And then ... it was so amazing and improbable...."

"What was?" Hermione asked.

Luna touched Hermione's wrist. "If you thought about it, I'm sure it would come to you."

Hermione felt the empath's power flow through her - and she knew.

"Milady, it's because...." Annie wanted to say it first. "...because all of a sudden, we've a new Muggle-raised Proprietor, and the ... I shouldn't make assumptions ... you're Muggle-born, like me, milady - and I knew you like books, since you wanted a comprehensive library ticket. I knew the play from my reading, that's why I chose it."

"And everyone let you make that decision?" Hermione asked, as she lowered the candle she was carrying. It seemed odd.

"Nobody cared strongly enough to veto it, and ... again, it's not my place, milady." Annie drew up short again, looking nervous.

Hermione thought she knew why, but thought better of saying so. She returned to her original question. "Do you know what you gave me?"

"It's a book of plays, milady," Annie answered, not sounding at all evasive. "And, forgive me, but your name's ... er ... distinctive, and since it matched the title.... It's in a foreign language, but I know a Translating Charm that works."

"It's rather more than that," Hermione told her - and Luna, too. "You haven't had a classical education, I gather?"

"No, milady, my father worked in the pits - until they closed," Annie revealed. "Mum did odd jobs when she worked at all. No money for that..."

"The play named 'Hermione' is by Sophocles, and you gave me his complete works," Hermione stated.

Still, Annie betrayed no sign of recognition.

"I'm sorry, milady, I know the name but vaguely," she confessed. "I know only that I like to read what's in there."

"I have a cousin named Sophocles," Luna added. "He liked to pull my hair when he was little. Oww!"

Her Everlasting Candle dripped a bit of hot everlasting wax on Luna's right hand.

"Well, I was more fortunate, I suppose," Hermione stated what was already obvious. "Sophocles was a famous ancient Greek playwright. He wrote over a hundred plays, but only Oedipus the King, Oedipus Colonus, Ajax, Antigone, Electra, and two others have survived. Seven - that's all that's left. In Muggle culture, that is. What you gave me is priceless ... or beyond value is a better description."

None of this registered particularly with Annie. Perhaps she was too far removed from Muggle culture to appreciate it. Having brought the two visiting witches to the collection, she begged off. "Anyway, I need to be going. I wish you luck, milady."

Hermione watched the woman leave, and shook her head.

Luna stood there, not paying much attention to anything. The blond Ravenclaw set her candle down, reached up to her right ear, removed one of her earrings - and suddenly ate it.

Hermione looked rather cross-wise at her companion. "Luna, did you just do what I thought you did?"

"That depends," the inscrutable girl answered. "What do you think I did?"

"Did you just eat one of your earrings?" Hermione asked pointedly.

"Yes, and it was quite good," Luna affirmed, whilst chomping away as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"But ... but aren't those Gurdyroots?" Hermione continued. "They're supposed to be really foul - like horseradish boiled in angostura, only worse."

"Actually, they're just onions," Luna replied with a vacant smile. "Although, now that you mention it, I really must try Gurdyroots some time."

"Onions?" Hermione asked as if hardly believing her ears. "That's all?"

Luna was rarely so mundane.

"Well...," she murmured, as if thinking hard. "They're mini-Vidalias, actually ... quite sweet, you know.... And only a rather modest Sticking Charm is involved."

"Luna, they're onions," Hermione repeated.

"Most Vidalias are," Luna deadpanned. She removed the onion from her remaining earring and offered it to Hermione. "Here, you can have the other...."

"Umm ... thanks, but no thanks," Hermione demurred, not entirely convinced it was not a Gurdyroot.

"Have it your way," Luna shrugged. She popped the other one in her mouth. "They're my favourites, now - much better than radishes."

"I'm sure of that," Hermione made conversation. "You wore something similar the other day."

"Umm hmm," Luna responded vaguely, trying not to talk with her mouth full.

With Luna having a snack, Hermione took an apricot granola bar from her bag and joined in. When done, Hermione carefully Vanished any crumbs. They turned to the matter at hand.

"We're probably the first people to review this seriously fashion in hundreds of years," Hermione told Luna. "Why don't I look through the shelves and you write down what I say I've found...."

"You don't need me, then," Luna commented. She pulled a Quik Quotes Quill from her robes.

"Sorry, I forgot," Hermione apologised. "I lapsed into Muggle mode. Just call out titles and authors, then. If there's anything in a language you can't read, let me know."

That happened frequently. Luna spoke only English, Celtic (including Keltoi), Færie, and a smattering of French.

Most volumes were in Latin or Greek, but hieroglyphs were common enough that Hermione suspected that much of the collection must have originated from Egypt. Interspersed, in no particular order, were texts in old Arabic, Middle German, and Maltese - none of which either witch could read.

It was a treasure hunt in every sense of the word.

Extant titles comprised the great bulk of the collection, but Hermione catalogued about a dozen works - mostly bound copies of cut up scrolls - by Aristotle that she was unfamiliar with. Luna found an equally antiquated copy of aphorisms attributed to Julius Caesar. Other works followed: Eratosthenes' book on cartography, a philosophical work by Anaxagoras, Euclid's Porisms, two of Pliny's missing histories, one of Strabo's, a set of about forty of Aeschylus' plays, and another batch of Menander's. Hermione also came across various religious texts that, being a confirmed atheist, she placed little stock in. The most notable were several volumes by Simon Magus (whom Luna claimed had links to the Druids).

These were just the works Hermione could recognise. Many other ancient texts either bore no titles or were too damaged to be identified.

"Oh, look at this!" Hermione cried, at her most exciting find as by anything she had discovered so far. "It's an astronomical work by Hypatia!"

"I thought she was a witch," Luna remarked.

"She was, at least we think so," Hermione agreed. "It's difficult to know because almost everyone was a wild talent back then. I don't know that any magical schools existed so long ago."

Hermione looked through the book - it was in Greek like most works of that time - enough to grasp what the book was about. She closed it reverently and was about to replace it when Luna stopped her.

"Before you do, you might want to check what that is."

Luna, standing and well to a seated Hermione's left, had a much better view of the end of the old bookshelf. The Hypatia text was the shelf's end tome.

Hermione squirmed around to examine what Luna mentioned. "Looks interesting. Good catch, Luna. How far back do these go?"

"Lumos," Luna lit her wand to supply better light. Out of the shadows emerged several sets of red dots painted on the bookshelf's inner wall - each set enclosed in a square. The first square was empty. The next one had one dot, as did the square that. Its successor doubled, to two. After that, the dots quickly multiplied, to three, then five, and then eight. The adjacent squares, and their patterns, looked vaguely like dominoes.

The final square had no dots, only a single small hole, deep enough to remain in shadow despite Luna's wand light.

"What's that all about?" Luna asked. "You're the one taking Analytic Arithmancy & Numerology."

"I don't know. I hadn't thought about it...." Hermione s voice trailed off. Holding her Everlasting Candle close whilst staring, she contemplated the pattern. "I know!" Hermione announced with a squeal. She removed a couple more volumes from the shelf, enlarging the space. "Take these!"

Luna did.

Soon Hermione had emptied about a quarter of the shelf. Putting her candle at floor level for best illumination, she doused her wand and inserted it into the hole, a snug fit. She pushed it in as far as it would go, about ten centimetres.

It made an audible click when it could go no further.

Hermione repeated the process and heard another click.

She did it again, repeating herself eleven more times. After the final click, Hermione declared, "Now, let's see what that does.... I hope that...."

A loud clunk resonated behind them, then a grinding sound - stone on stone - similar to the moving wall between her and Harry's bedrooms. Luna whirled about, wand at the ready. It was still lit and shone like a search light. Hermione yanked hers from the hole in the shelf so quickly she felt it flex, but did no lasting damage.

By then, Luna's wand light illuminated a newly visible crawlspace in the opposite wall, about a metre square. It went on for some distance, with no end in sight.

Hermione cautiously approached the entrance, her candle in one hand and her wand, its tip glowing brightly, in the other. The tunnel extended for maybe ten metres to access some sort of chamber. In that room's shadows, Hermione thought she saw something large, square, and solid - a box of some sort.

"What do you think?" Hermione asked Luna, her own eyes shining with the thrill of discovery.

"Shouldn't we get Harry?" Luna asked flatly.

"Logically, yes," Hermione agreed after thinking. "But ... it might turn out to be nothing, and he'd probably rather practise his Quidditch moves. Besides, we found this. We're competent to do something on our own, this once."

"So be it," Luna pronounced. "But I should go first."

"Why?" Hermione huffed.

"Because if something in there kills me, nobody would care much," Luna said airily - discussing her possible death in an oddly detached and clinical fashion. "If anything happened to you, I honestly don't know what Harry would do, and I wouldn't want to find out."

"You ... you think it might be booby-trapped?" Hermione asked, now alarmed at her own would-be recklessness.

"And you don't? Somebody took a great deal of trouble to hide whatever is in there," Luna replied, still sounding clinical and detached. "I wouldn't put it past them."

"Good point," Hermione agreed, her eyes carefully examining the passage, and their surroundings. "Let use some of these, for starters."

Hermione's candlelight illuminated some old boards lying in a corner, perhaps leftovers from constructing the bookshelves.

They stacked six boards at the entrance. Hermione aimed her wand and incanted, "Mobiliambulato."

The boards sprung to life, paired off, and walked down the low corridor. Sure enough, before they passed halfway through, a large wooden gate slammed shut across the tunnel. With a loud crash, it crushed the leading pair of boards, and smashed itself in the process. The ancient gate shattered on impact with the opposite wall.

The remaining boards easily strode through gaping holes in the thoroughly rotted gate, but a clatter sounded a couple of seconds later - the noise wood made when dropped a considerable distance onto a hard surface.

On their hands and knees, with their candles hovering in front, Luna and Hermione cautiously approached the gate. The floor was dry, dusty, and dirty. As they reached the splintered obstacle, Hermione noticed something embedded in the wall.

"It's another square with a wand hole," she observed, motioning her candle closer with her wand. She thought a bit, and inserted her wand in the hole, which seemed identical to that in the bookshelf. She heard an identical click. Hermione moved her wand in and out until producing a total of twenty-one clicks. She stopped and waited.

With a loud creak, a hidden counterweight attempted to slide the gate aside, but the timeworn wooden structure was too damaged. It broke in half, leaving a large piece lying haphazardly in the corridor.

Something else also happened.

Two dull thuds further in drew their attention. Their wand light revealed two large stones partially covering a deep pit. A cloud of disturbed dust was still visible from when the stones dropped into place.

"What did you do?" Luna whispered.

"Put the key in the lock, it appears," Hermione answered dryly. The pair had no reason to whisper, but did anyway.

By candle and wand light, they advanced cautiously, but encountered no more traps - only the stalest air either of them had ever breathed. Hermione was tempted to refresh the air magically, but feared she might damage whatever was inside the dull turquoise-green crypt they were approaching. That was the only sizable thing in the otherwise featureless, stone-walled cubicle.

Hermione carefully examined the crypt. It, too, had Greek letters and various symbols - runic, but not runes - worked into it.

"It looks like an address, or maybe directions," Hermione observed as she ran her fingers over the somewhat corroded metal surface. "That set here, Αμμόχωστος, references the old city of Famagusta."

"Where's that?"

"Don't know for certain. It's not in any magical history. I expect somewhere in Greece, or maybe one of the islands ... Crete perhaps?"

Stepping back, Hermione opened the crypt with a simple spell. Inside she saw a jumble of religious artefacts, including a menorah, all copper from the blue-green colour. Hermione Levitated these out. Underneath, wrapped in deteriorated leather covers, were pages of some sort, all with writing on them.

"Reveal your secrets," Hermione spelled, before disturbing anything further.

The incantation exposed several overlapping Preservative Charms of very ancient pedigree, probably dating back to Roman times. One leather covered folio was much more elaborately worked than the rest. It bore a title in both Greek and another language she did not recognise. The Greek inscription read: η αλήθεια για το σταυρό.

"What's it mean?" Luna whispered as Hermione gently Levitated the folio, until it rested atop the cover for the crypt.

"The two main words are 'truth' and 'cross'," Hermione told her. "Also a preposition that could be translated various ways - and a couple o articles. Don't touch...."

Hermione's last words brought Luna up short. She threw Hermione a puzzled look.

"I don't recognise these Preservative Charms - unlike those out there," she told her. "It's possible that the grease on our fingertips might damage what's here."

Hermione preferred to manipulate the pages magically. Circumspectly she turned the papyrus pages with her wand as Luna held both their candles.

"Jesus Christ," Hermione sighed after she had been reading for a few minutes.

"What's wrong?" Luna asked.

"No, that's what I'm reading about. It purports to describe how he grew up - things like that. I'm wondering...."

She skipped to the end, meticulously turning over all but the last few pages.

"Hmmmm."

She flipped back a couple of pages and read raptly.

Somewhat bored at being relegated to a mere source of illumination, instead of support, Luna discovered something interesting in the two incomprehensible languages. She saw cross-outs and interlineations, but only in the language that Hermione declared was not Greek.

"Oh, my!" Hermione gasped.

"What?"

"Later. Sorry"

...

"Whoa!"

"What?"

"Later."

...

"Shite!"

"What is it, Hermione?"

"Later."

Luna set down the candles. "Look, I'm right bored, Hermione. Either tell me why we need to keep doing this, or I'm ready to leave. You're not being fair to me."

"You're right." Hermione gave her wand a twist. The folio closed, and Hermione magicked it carefully back into the crypt. She assiduously replaced the various artefacts as she told Luna what she had read.

"Okay, I was mostly done anyway. It's a religious text, purporting to tell another version - what it calls the 'true' version of the life of Jesus. But ... it's much, much different than anything I've ever heard before...."

"Like how?" Luna asked. "Was he a Heliopath or something? That would explain a lot."

"No, nothing that ... er ... unusual," Hermione suppressed a slight chuckle. "But he didn't die on any cross, according to this."

"Really? Who did then?"

"He was crucified all right, but didn't die. It was staged. He had taken a potion, perhaps the Draught of Living Death. - I recognised a description of Sopophorous Beans."

"So Jesus Christ was a wizard, then? That makes sense."

"No, he wasn't. He was a great philosopher and apparently very charismatic."

"Well, somebody magical had to brew that potion."

"There was. Judas Iscariot was a wizard. He was trained somewhere, probably Egypt. He orchestrated Jesus' apparent miracles, but then...."

"They had a falling out?" Luna offered.

"No," Hermione answered quickly. "Jesus ... well, he fell in love and didn't want to do the prophet thing anymore."

"Mary Magdelene," Luna pronounced confidently, "even I've heard about that."

"No, actually," Hermione contradicted. "Ironically, Mary Magdelene ruined their plans. That woman was Mary Beth somebody or other. Anyway, Jesus tried to fake his death so he could escape with Mary Beth to Petra and live happily ever after. Judas, since he could perform miracles, would take over the sect - a Jewish sect, by the way, not a new religion. But after Judas sneaked into the tomb and gave Jesus the potion antidote, Mary Magdelene and her friends surprised them. Judas Stunned them, and Jesus made good his escape.... Apparently the whole resurrection thing was simply a mistake."

"Okay, but something else must also have gone wrong, because Judas obviously didn't take over the Church," Luna observed presciently.

"Judas was a lousy prophet. He became as arrogant as Draco Malfoy. Within a year Peter led some sort of revolt, caught Judas unawares, and killed him. Peter led the sect towards a whole new religion, and the rest is history."

"And if anybody were to make known this 'Truth about the Cross,' or whatever it's called...," Luna did not finish her sentence.

"Luna, you are not going to publish this in the Quibbler!" Hermione instinctively told her firmly, it slipping her mind that the publication was essentially extinct. "Not only might it overturn the foundation Christianity, but this work refers so often to magic - it undoubtedly would violate the International Statute of Secrecy."

"Can't blame me for thinking," Luna replied dreamily.

"Luna, listen to me," Hermione spoke with deadly seriousness. "Not a word to anyone. If that's a problem, tell me now, and I'll Obliviate you. It's a recent memory. I'm good enough to do that."

"No need." Luna took Hermione's arm and let her feel her honesty. "Not a word. I'm a Druid. Basically, it's not my concern."

"Thank you, Luna," Hermione breathed as she hugged the younger girl. "You're a great friend."

"As are you," Luna returned. "And did you see what I saw?"

"I can't answer unless you tell me," Hermione replied. She Summoned the remaining loose boards and made ready to leave.

"Somebody made additions and cross-outs," Luna mentioned.

"Yes, and all in the same hand, and accompanied by the same cartouche. Whoever it was, and I have my suspicions, wasn't literate in Greek, and made corrections in the language he could read."

"Or she," Luna added helpfully.

"I'm a signature collector," Hermione told Luna. "I'm ninety-nine percent sure that's a man's handwriting, and a rather aged hand at that."

"And your suspicions?" Luna added.

"This is just too big," Hermione spoke in a hushed voice. "I'd rather not say until I do a little more research."

61

C:\Documents and Settings\Owner\My Documents\HP & The Fifth Element.ch51 Padfoot's legacy.doc 8/3/2008