But Thy Eternal Summer Shall Not Fade

Ron kneeled quickly next to the armchair and brought a finger to his lips, gesturing to Hermione to be quiet. Hermione looked at him and dropped her hand, which was already half way towards the wand in her pocket. He freed her mouth slowly and she took a deep gulp of air, as if in fear she had forgotten to breathe.

"Ron, you scared me to death," she whispered. "What are you doing here?"

Ron circled the armchair and stood in front of her. "Just checking on you," he said, glancing at Draco's sleeping figure in the bed. "How are you?"

She shrugged. "Fine. I was sleeping."

"What's the point on watching over someone if you fall asleep?" he asked firmly.

Hermione tossed a loose curl behind her ear and looked at him. "Are you worried about Malfoy?"

"I'm worried about what Malfoy could do to you while you are sleeping."

Hermione flushed. "Thanks, but he's knocked out until tomorrow morning at the least. There's no need to worry about him," she answered. "What's the time?"

Ron shrugged. "Something between midnight and three," he said. "I'm not sure."

"Can't you sleep?" she asked gently.

"Not knowing that you're here with him alone," he said, jerking his chin towards the bed. "I still don't get why you gave him your bed."

Hermione shook her head. "He needs to rest more than I do. As soon as he gets better, we'll move him downstairs on the couch." She glanced at the bed. "And I'll wash my sheets with bleach."

Ron didn't answer. He gave her a peculiar look, kneeled down next to the armchair and bent over her. Hermione could feel his hot breath tickling her neck, and she shivered as he came nearer. "I don't trust him. If he tries to get close to you another time, I swear that I'll make him pay," he whispered, so close to her ear that she thought that next thing she would feel was his lips on her bare skin. She silently wished for that.

Ron stood up again. "I'm going downstairs, to get something to drink. Do you want anything?" he asked.

Hermione looked at him, her eyes shining in the darkness. She shook her head. "No, I'm fine."

Ron nodded and walked towards the door.

"See you in the morning, Ron," she called after him.

Ron didn't answer. He walked away from the bedroom and stood for a moment in front of the room he shared with Harry. No noise came from there; Harry was still asleep. Or maybe he was still dreaming. Ron didn't remember him being so noisy while he dreamt. Of course, when Harry's nightmares were about Voldemort, he used to wake up the entire dorm with his screams. This was completely different. He had never heard Harry moan the name of a girl, or better yet, two girls, like he had the last several nights. His moans were too quiet and jumbled to clearly make out which names he was calling, and Ron wasn't so keen to find out, especially if his supposition that Harry was calling his sister's name was true. Ron didn't want to know what Harry did with her, even in his dreams. But there was a problem, he wasn't calling Ginny's name at all. Not once he had muttered something that came close to it. On the contrary one name was long, while the other was extremely short. Ron was sure that he had already heard them both, because they sounded vaguely familiar. He couldn't quite manage - or better, didn't want - to attribute them to someone he knew.

Ron walked away from the door and started to climb down the stairs as slowly and noiselessly as he could. Strangely enough, there were no creaking steps on that stairs, even though the house was quite old. He reached the first floor and walked straight to the kitchen, his arms stretched out in front of him to keep from banging into a wall or a piece of furniture. He didn't want to turn on the light, because the glow would reach the second floor and waken Hermione, who had almost surely fallen already asleep again.

He walked confidently towards the cupboard over the sink, where he had discovered the glasses the day before. He opened the cabinet, and searched for a glass with his hands. But the shelf seemed empty: there was nothing, except for a spoon that was in the wrong place.

Ron decided to turn on the light and turned towards the kitchen door. He was positive that the glasses couldn't have disappeared. They had used and washed them, but where had Hermione placed them to drain? He couldn't remember.

As he turned, his eye caught a glimmer coming from the other side of the room. Ron stood very still and narrowed his eyes, hoping to improve his vision in the obscure darkness. He could see a little bit better now, since he was getting accustomed to the lack of light, but he didn't spot anything strange.

Ron half turned his head and, the glimmer captured his attention again. He was sure that it came from one of the glassy doors of the cupboard next to the back door, but couldn't say exactly what it was. He took a deep breath and started to step towards the cupboard. Ron didn't know why, but he felt uneasy, as if that sparkling object could be something dangerous. He shook his head forcefully. I must be imagining things. It's the middle of the night and it's dark.

When Ron reached the glassy cupboard, he looked inside, but there was nothing sparkling or strange there. Not that he could see very much, though. He pulled one of the doors open and peered inside, hoping he could see better without the reflection from the glass. Still he couldn't see anything.

Ron sighed deeply and for a moment he wondered what he was doing there, in front of a cupboard in the middle of the night, without having turned the lights on. He pushed the door towards the cupboard, but before he could actually close it, a dim light started to shine from an object inside.

Now Ron couldn't mistake the source of the glow. It was a small golden cup with two handles. It looked ancient, and was covered with a fine layer of dust. He picked it up, when the dangerously tempting glittering faded, and stared at it in the darkness. He didn't know how, but he could see its shape pretty clearly. The cup was made of fine gold, and it was quite heavy. There were some inscriptions, and maybe a drawing that he could feel under his fingers. As well as he could discern the material and shape, Ron couldn't see what was engraved on it.

"I was looking for a glass and I found this," he said to himself. "Maybe you are enchanted just for that, to capture the attention of someone who's thirsty." Ron smiled at his unexpected luck and walked towards the sink to rinse the glass. When he couldn't feel any more dust on the surface, Ron stepped towards the table, where a bottle of water sat, left over from dinner.

He filled the cup and drank the water in one long mouthful. The liquid seemed fresh and thirst-quenching, but Ron knew that the bottle had been opened the day before and was anything but fresh. He couldn't help pouring some more of it into the cup and drinking it again. And then again, and again; until the bottle was empty.

When there was no more water left Ron looked at the cup with a strange yearning in his eyes. He felt like he would never be thirsty again, but at the same time, he could never stop drinking from that cup. Ron felt strange, as if something new and dangerous was fluctuating in his head. He glanced around. His vision was growing dimmer, but he felt like he could see better than ever.

Ron decided to put the cup back into the cupboard, but it found it was almost impossible. He had to drag his legs towards the other side of the kitchen, and found himself closing the glass-door with the artefact still in his hands. Ron glanced at the cup, and an irrational fear invaded his brain. It lasted only a few seconds, then he felt his hand pocketing the cup. Before he realized what he was doing, he was climbing the stairs back to his bedroom.

***

The soft white curtains in front of the window couldn't prevent the sun's rays from creeping in, especially when all the windows of the second floor faced east. Hermione stirred on the armchair, her back hurt a bit around her shoulder blades, and she couldn't feel her right arm, since she had used it as a pillow. She stretched her legs out in front of her, and a small blanket fell on the floor. She picked it up and stared at it closely. Hermione was pretty sure that she didn't have anything when she had lay down the evening before. Was it possible that one of the boys had entered the room and covered her? She remembered that she was cold at some point in the middle of the night, but couldn't remember who wrapped her with the blanket. When Ron left, she was still coverless, of that she was sure. Hermione didn't know if he had come back again, when he had climbed up the stairs. She flushed slightly at the thought of one of them covering her in the middle of the night with a blanket stolen from Draco's bed.

Hermione folded the blanket, laid it on one of the chair's armrests, and stepped towards the bed. Draco was still sleeping, his breath was regular and soft. He didn't snore like Ron or talk in his dreams like Harry. She doubted that the potion she had given him would have him permitted any kind of dreams. He was clutching at the sheets, as if his life depended on them. His knuckles were white and his fingertips were still a light shade of blue, she noted. Hermione bit her bottom lip and gripped the sheets, freeing them from Draco's grasp. She started to pull them down slowly.

She let out a surprised shriek when Draco's hand grabbed her waist and pushed her away. He let go almost immediately and frowned, his eyes still closed. "My head," he complained, pressing his hands on his ears.

Hermione took a deep breath. "Sorry," she said, and she really was. "You scared me," she admitted.

Draco's eyes opened slowly and he gave her a nasty glare. "You were pulling away my sheets and you are the one that is scared?"

"I thought you were sleeping," she continued, her cheeks flushed.

"I was sleeping," he hissed through greeted teeth. "What were you going to do?"

"Just checking your wound," she said firmly. "Now, let me see it."

"Why?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and snorted. "Because I want to see how it's reacted to the potion."

"You saw it yesterday. That potion burnt my flesh like acid and caused me unbearable pain," he snapped.

"Yes, I told you that it might sting."

"Sting? That was a bit more than sting," he said grumpily.

"Oh, come on, Malfoy, don't be a child. Let me see your wound, I swear that I won't hurt you," Hermione said as if she was talking to a little boy.

He glared at her, but didn't do anything to stop her as she pulled the sheets down, until she reached his underwear. She gasped as she looked at his stomach. The cut was there, naturally, she hadn't expected it to be gone. What she had expected was to see it a pink and almost healthy colour, but instead it was still green and blue, just like the evening before. How could that be? Hermione couldn't believe her potion hadn't worked at all. At least he's not bleeding anymore. That thought didn't have the time to completely form in her head before a fine line of blood started to colour the middle of the wound. And as she watched it, the line grew wider and thicker, poised to drip on her pure white sheets.

The blood reached the edges of the cut as Draco's muscles contracted in his effort to sit up, and get a better view of what caused Hermione to gasp in horror. He leaned on one elbow and brushed the wound with his left hand. When Draco brought the hand up to his face, his fingers were covered with blood.

"I thought you'd stopped the bleeding," he hissed.

"I thought that too," she said frantically. The colour had drained away from her face, and her sporadic freckles stood out on her white skin like spots of paint on a virgin canvas.

"And it's still green and blue."

"The potion didn't have a permanent effect on the poison, maybe we could try again and--"

"And let you burn me again? No, thanks," he hissed stubbornly.

Hermione glared at him. "The problem is that I don't know what was used to make your flesh turn this colour."

"You said it was poison."

"Yes, very likely that it's poison, but the problem is that the venoms dangerous to humans are numerous and all very different one from the other. Every one of them needs its own antidote--"

"I know, I attended Potions classes for six years as well," Draco snapped.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Then, it should already be clear to you that I need more information about the poison they used on you," she said coolly.

"I didn't have the time to ask what kind of poison they were using, while they sliced me in two," he retorted. "Use a bezoar."

Hermione seemed ready to climb on the bed, and start jumping on his stomach with all her might. "I don't have a bezoar," she almost yelled. "Do you seriously think that I wouldn't have already used it if I had one?"

Draco shrugged and collapsed on the bed as the pain began to rise again. Hermione placed a hand on his forehead; the fever was back. She felt a wave of frustration as the knowledge that all her efforts had been vain hit her.

Draco looked at her with weary eyes. "Try something else, then," he said forcefully.

Hermione looked around the room as if the walls would give her an answer. She didn't know what to do. She didn't even know how much time she had. There were poisons that took months to kill someone, but in the meantime they made their victims go through hell. There were venoms that needed less than five seconds to send you to the grave, but she was sure that was the case with Draco. Hermione turned her eyes to his body, so white that it was painful to look at, and all of a sudden her attention was captured by something that she hadn't noticed before: a golden chain with a golden pendant in the shape of a serpent, which dangled loosely on Draco's chest.

She stretched her fingers towards it, and seized it between her thumb and index finger. Before she could actually bend over and observe it more closely, Draco slapped her hand away without much force. "Can't you stay still with those hands?" he asked angrily.

"Can't you stop pulling and pushing me?" she asked back. "What is it?"

"None of your business, Granger," he growled.

Hermione glared at him. But before she could think of something mean to say, Harry entered the room, rubbing his sleepy eyes behind his glasses. He looked from Hermione, who was rubbing her hand where Draco had hit her, to Draco, who didn't seem to be feeling very well.

"Good morning," he said, yawning. "Did you sleep well?"

"Oh yes, thank you, Potter," Draco answered mockingly.

Harry and Hermione ignored him. "Good morning, Harry. I think I could have slept better, you?"

Harry shrugged. "I didn't wake up until this morning."

"What about Ron?"

"I don't know, he wasn't in the bedroom when I got up."

Hermione nodded. "Harry, I think we have a problem," she said, nodding towards Draco.

Harry looked at him and frowned. "What do you mean?"

Hermione didn't answer, but pointed at Draco's wound, from which the blood was now flowing [Author ID1: at Fri Sep 29 15:46:00 2006 ]copiously. She wondered how much blood could his body possibly contain.

Harry made a face, the cut was, if possible, worse than the day before. "Didn't the potion work?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Okay, well, you can always try something else, can't you?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yes, of course, I can try every antidote I'm able to prepare, but it will take time. What if, at the end, he doesn't get better? I don't know how much time he has," she said.

"What do you mean with 'I don't know how much time he has'?" Draco asked as he narrowed his eyes.

"That I don't know how long it takes before the poison becomes lethal," she replied simply.

Harry would have loved to see Draco paling, but he was already so pale that he couldn't see any difference. Draco's eyes didn't show any sparkle of fear or despair, as he would have expected. Maybe the fever was already taking its tool on his faculties, because Draco didn't seem worried at all. Harry looked at him intently, but Draco seemed quite concentrated on Hermione or at least at avoiding Harry's eyes. "Malfoy, how did you get that wound?" Harry asked abruptly.

Draco smirked. "You know, Potter, I wanted it to be a secret, but since you are asking me so nicely, I think I'll tell you. I was walking in the forest, when I was attacked by an army of leprechauns that used their little wands to poke at me and cause this little cut you can see on my stomach and then--"

"You know Malfoy, contrary to what you might think, I don't find you even vaguely amusing. More annoying, actually. I don't have time to waste with you, not at all. So if you want to cooperate, just tell us what happened to you. Although, now that I think about it, I think that I'll follow Ron's suggestion," Harry said, taking a step towards the bed.

"Which would be?" Draco asked coolly.

"You don't want to know."

"Try me."

"Okay, enough," said Hermione, standing between Harry and the bed. "We don't need to excite him, Harry. It's clear that he can't remember what happened. Poor thing, he must have been impotent in front of whatever did this to him."

"Hey!" exclaimed Draco indignantly.

Hermione looked at him. "Maybe I chose the wrong word, Malfoy?" she asked mischievously.

"Yes, you certainly, did," he snarled. "And if you dare to - what?" He glanced at her face. She was pale and a frown joined her eyebrows together. Her eyes were fixed on his cut. As he looked down at his stomach, he saw his lower belly and his underwear covered with a thick layer of blood, which he hadn't even felt as it soaked his clothing and the sheets under his body.

Harry was too mesmerized by the mess to notice Hermione running out of the bedroom, an upset expression on her face. Only when Draco cried "Hey!" in what Harry thought might have been a slightly terrified voice did he turned to see a mass of bushy hair disappearing out the door.

"Hermione?" he called uncertainly, not knowing what to do.

Luckily Hermione didn't leave him alone with a bleeding and whimpering Draco. She came back, still running, with a voluminous roll of white gauze, a pack of Muggle sticking plasters, some disinfectant and cotton wool.

"Hold this, Harry," she said, more firmly than Harry would have ever expected from her white face. He took the plasters in his hands and looked at her as she bent over the bed and poured some disinfectant on Draco's wound.

"Hey!" cried Draco, pushing her hand away and causing the disinfectant to spill all over the bed. "That stings."

Hermione looked at him furiously, and if a glare could kill, Draco would have been dead faster than poison could kill him. "Stay still, you stupid little prat!" she yelled at him. "I don't have much of this with me."

"Then don't use it on me, I've never seen that potion before. And I don't trust what I don't know," he snapped.

"This," she said, indicating the bottle of disinfectant, "is a Muggle treatment for injuries. It won't do anything about the poison, but it's the first thing I found in my case. Now, don't move or I'll petrify you."

Draco glared at Hermione, his grey eyes were lit by sparkles of rage at the way she spoke to him. As if a filthy Mudblood would ever dare to talk to me like this without pay, he thought. He looked down at her and followed the movements of her long fingers on his white skin. She pressed one hand on his hip, and with some cotton in the other tried to mop the blood from the wound. It appeared that the blood would never stop flowing. Draco thought that Hermione was cold, extremely cold, or maybe she was just the right temperature for a human being, and he was burning with fever. He couldn't tell the difference.

He raised his eyes from her fingers up to her arms and shoulders, still wrapped into the jumper that she had been wearing the night before. It was still soaked with his blood. Draco looked up at her face, half hidden by her hair, which was somewhere between the colour of copper and chocolate, and saw the frown of concentration on her face. He was sure she was trying to do her best not to hurt him. Stupid caring girl, he thought with a silent growl.

Draco involuntary jerked his hips as she pressed a little bit further on his stomach, and Hermione looked at him. He would have bet she was going to say that she was sorry, but she didn't open her mouth.

Hermione stood up and asked Harry for the gauze. When she turned back towards Draco, she was biting her bottom lip. "Can you sit up?" she asked.

Draco looked from her face to the gauze in her hands. "Why?" he asked suspiciously.

"Because I need to wrap this gauze around you," she answered.

Draco made a face and tried to lift his torso as much as he could, but with the pain he didn't manage more than a couple of inches, before falling back down again with a hushed moan of pain.

"Okay," Hermione said softly. "You just have to stay up a little bit longer. Just the so I can wrap this gauze around your body a couple of times."

Draco gave a haughty nod and closed his fists at his sides, as waiting for something terrible to happen to him. But nothing like that took place. He felt her cold hand through the thin material of the gauze, as she pressed it lightly right above his underwear, and, despite his promises to never touch or be touched by a Muggle-born, he liked it.

Hermione uncoiled the gauze over his wound, and it instantly became dyed an intense crimson colour. Her hand was light and soft on him, as if he was made of glass and she was afraid to shatter him in a thousand of pieces. She reached his side and her hand disappeared under his body. Draco felt her hand on his back, and her arm as it pressed against his hip, her fingers gave a little push to the roll of gauze and it moved forward, almost reaching the other side of his back by itself.

Hermione stood up, and only when her hair slid away from his torso, did he understand just how closed he had been to her. Her cheek had almost touched his bare chest, and her hot breath on his skin. Draco shook his head vigorously, trying to push any thoughts concerning Hermione to the back of his mind. When he tried to do that, he started to feel the pain that his still open wound was causing, so he locked his eyes back on Hermione's face.

She let go of the gauze she was pressing on his wound, and it didn't move. It was already stuck to the blood, and Hermione shivered at the thought of the moment that she would have to take it away from him, tearing it from his dried blood. She thought that wouldn't have been very pleasant. It's all his fault, she thought angrily as she gripped the gauze under his back and started a layer. And then another, and another until Draco collapsed on her hand as she was wrapping the fourth layer.

"You said that you were only going to do that a couple of times," he snarled. Hermione thought that that should have been his way of saying that he was sorry.

"Do you want to die from loss of blood?" she snapped sharply. "Because a couple of turns wouldn't stop your bleeding at all." Hermione was pretty sure that even a hundred turns wouldn't have stopped the bleeding, but he didn't need to know that.

Draco glared at her, but didn't answer.

Hermione asked Harry for the plasters to fix the gauze in place, and he handed them over. She tried to do her best to keep the gauze still, but didn't have to do much as it was already stuck to Draco's body.

Hermione stood up and looked at the bandage that was already turning a vague shade of red. She took a deep breath and shook her head, glancing at Draco. He looked a bit annoyed by all the fabric that hid his stomach from view, but he didn't seem worried at all. That was something that irritated Hermione. She would have been upset if he died, especially because she was the one taking care of him, and that would have been a personal defeat.

She felt a weight on her shoulder, and as she turned, she spotted Harry's hand near her neck. He was looking at her with concern. "You did everything you could," he said. His words sounded almost like her patient had already died. "Better if you take a shower and-" She felt his hand brushing her back. "-change your clothes."

Hermione nodded tiredly. "And then, what about breakfast?" she asked, trying to sound cheerful.

Harry nodded and smiled. "What about him?" he asked, nodding towards Draco, who was watching them with impenetrable eyes.

Hermione hardly seemed to think, and then sighed. "Malfoy, do you want something to eat?"

Draco smirked. "Caviar."

"Funny," said Harry, without laughing. "Something else?"

"I think he should drink some tea and, maybe eat some cookies," Hermione broke in.

"If you already know what to give me, why are you asking?" he snapped.

"Because, maybe you haven't noticed, Malfoy, but we take enormous pleasure in teasing you," [Author ID1: at Fri Sep 29 20:17:00 2006 ]Hermione answered.

"Oh, you are wrong there, Granger. I know you take pleasure in teasing me. As much as I do in teasing you," he answered mischievously.

Hermione rolled her eyes and walked out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind her. A moment later she walked back inside, her cheeks flushed as she went towards the wardrobe and took out some clean clothes and all the necessities for a shower.

Draco followed her with his eyes as she opened the drawers that were filled with her belongings. When he finally understood his eyes opened wide. "Where am I?" He shuddered.

Harry looked at him as a nurse would look at one of the inhabitants of the long-term resident ward at St. Mungo's. "Godric's Hollow," he said, and for a moment the doubt that Draco honestly didn't know where he was hit Harry.

Draco shot him a dead glare. "I'm not stupid. I mean this room, whose room is it?"

"Why?" asked Hermione distractedly as she looked for her towels.

"Because all your things are here, Granger," he mumbled.

"This was my bedroom when I lived here with my parents," Harry replied matter-of-factly. "Hermione slept here last night, but she yielded it to you. Until you feel better."

"Am I sleeping on her sheets?" Draco was more than horrified at that thought.

Hermione sighed and walked out of the bedroom without answering. She left Harry to watch over Draco, or better yet, keep him quiet.

Hermione locked the bathroom door at her back and turned on the water in the shower. Leaning against the door of the bathroom, she felt the back of her jumper scratching against the wood. She lifted the hem of it, yanking it over her head, and looked down at it in disgust. Hermione threw the garment unceremoniously in a corner. When she removed her shirt, she was crestfallen when she saw that the fabric was irreparably covered in Draco's blood. She threw it angrily on top of the jumper and undressed quickly before stepping into the shower.

Hermione could have spent the whole day under the hot water. She was positive that the shower hadn't lasted for more than five minutes, before turning as cold as ice. She washed her hair quickly, and for some reason didn't find the usual resistance that her rebellious curls gave her when she stroked them. Her wet fingers slid through her hair, like a hot blade slides through butter.

As the water became colder, Hermione started to rub herself more quickly. When a sudden jet of icy water flooded down her back, she literally jumped out of the shower, wetting the floor without caring. Hermione wrapped herself in a towel and walked towards the basin, where she found the mirror blurred by the steam.

Hermione wiped her hand on the surface, removing the veil of vapour that obscured her vision and stared. The girl in front of her was looking back at her with the same expression of surprise and fear, but Hermione was sure that it wasn't herself she was looking at. I'm tired, she thought. She stretched an arm towards the mirror and the reflection did the same thing. As she brushed the fingertips of the girl in front of her, she felt a shiver going slowly down her spine.

The girl looking back at her had bright green eyes and long, wet red hair, which fell gently on her shoulders. She appeared afraid, just like Hermione was as her eyes followed the other's features. The girl in the mirror was wrapped in a towel as well, and seemed like she had just finished a shower. Hermione gripped the edges of the basin and she saw the shoulders of the girl contracting as well, while her hands disappeared out of view.

An idea, rather than a name, formed in Hermione's head, and she raised her eyes back to the face of the girl. Before she could actually see her, someone knocked at the door and Hermione found herself staring at her own features.

"Hermione, are you all right?" said Harry. "You've been in there almost an hour."

She gasped, as if she had forgotten to breathe for a while. "I'll be out in a moment," she said hoarsely.

An hour? The shower took her only five minutes, had all that time had passed as she looked at the mirror? She hadn't noticed the time passing, but now that she looked around, Hermione saw that there was no more steam in the bathroom, and the sun that filtered in from the curtains was brighter than before.

She dried herself with a charm and dressed quickly, without glancing back at her reflection on the mirror, too afraid of what she might have seen. She walked out of the bathroom, leaving her clothes behind, on top of Draco's shirt. She didn't mind, not at that moment anyway.

When she stepped into the room both Draco and Harry looked at her. Harry was standing a few feet from the bed, and they both seemed quite flushed either from anger or the screaming. Screaming? I didn't even hear them. In less than five seconds she decided that she wouldn't tell them about her 'vision'. She knew that Harry would tell her to rest, giving her a worried look, while Draco would have made fun of her for the rest of her life.

"Finally," said Harry. "Are you alright?" He cocked his head at her and narrowed his eyes. "What did you do to your hair?"

Hermione brought automatically her hands to her hair. "What?" she asked concerned that it was messier than usual.

Harry shook his head. "I don't know. It's different. Straighter."

Hermione couldn't help smiling. "Really? Thanks, Harry. That is one of the nicest compliments that you could have given me."

Harry flushed. "It really is. Ask Malfoy."

Hermione looked at Draco, who shrugged. "Yeah, well. There are thousands of charms for changing your hair, and this one, it looks like it didn't work properly, Granger, did it?"

Hermione glared at him. "What do you mean?" she hissed.

"I mean that your hair is half straight and half curly," Draco answered calmly.

"Mind your own business," Hermione snapped at him unexpectedly, as she walked out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

Harry glared at Draco one last time before following her downstairs. When he entered the kitchen, Hermione was preparing tea. After a few minutes, she shoved a cup into Harry's hands. "I'm not gonna bring it to Malfoy," she said curtly; so that Harry didn't have much choice but to shove some cookies in his pocket before returning to Draco.

He climbed up the stairs, paying careful attention not to spill the tea on the floor, and pushed the door to Draco's room open with his foot. Draco made a face when he saw the amber liquid in the mug, but Harry didn't care. He wasn't sure if Draco didn't actually like tea or if he was just trying to act like a spoiled brat - Something that he actually is, thought Harry - and he really didn't give a damn about it. Without waiting for any spoken comment, he put the cookies on the bedside-table, next to the mug, and walked out of the bedroom.

Harry walked into the kitchen and found that his breakfast was already on the table, opposite Hermione's cup. "Ron?" he asked, noticing only two mugs there.

"I've not seen him," she admitted, letting out a note of concern. "He's not upstairs, or downstairs - he wouldn't go out without--"

She turned towards the back door as it swung open, and Ron entered with a strange look upon his face. He looked from Harry to Hermione, who were apparently having a peaceful breakfast to which he hadn't been invited.

"Ron," said Hermione, looking him over. "Where have you been?"

"In the garden, why?" he answered coldly. "Did I disturb you?" Ron added, nodding towards the table.

Harry shot him a peculiar look. His hair was tangled with leaves, and there was dirt on his clothes. "No, of course not. We were wondering where you were," Harry replied.

"I was in the garden."

"We know, you just said that." Hermione frowned. "Would you like some breakfast?"

Ron's eyes darted to the table where the half empty kettle lay. He placed his hand in his pocket and for a moment looked like he was going to pull something out, but when his hand slid out again it was still empty. "No," he answered simply, sitting down at the table.

For what seemed like ages, the only noises where Harry and Hermione's sips from the mugs, Ron was looking at them like a lion would look at two gazelles. His eyes were steady and unreadable. "How is Malfoy doing?" he asked rather unexpectedly.

"Bad," Harry stated nonchalantly, as if he was talking about the weather. "He's still bleeding, he still has a fever and his wound is still infected."

Ron didn't answer, nor had he moved.

"I was thinking about something," Harry offered. "Today is a nice sunny day, what about going to the cemetery?"

"That's exactly the sentence that everyone would like to hear, 'today is a nice sunny day, what about going to the cemetery?', much better than going to the park or to the mall," Hermione said with a grin.

Harry grinned back. "Yeah, pretty odd, but what do you think? Do you think we can manage to leave Malfoy here all alone for the whole morning?" he asked.

"He won't be alone," Ron said, speaking before Hermione had the chance. "I won't come."

"Why?" Hermione asked, looking at Ron carefully. She had the strange feeling that Ron would have enjoyed being left alone with a defenceless Draco. She could just imagine what Ron could do to him. Nothing seriously evil, of course, just maybe walking back and forth in front of him with a glass of water without giving it to him, if Draco had asked for something to drink.

"Because I'm tired. I've not slept a lot this last night. But you should go," he said, seriously. "We forgot to ask for directions yesterday at the supermarket, though."

"If this is the main street, the church must be nearby," said Harry.

"But not on the main street itself, we didn't see it when we entered in Godric's Hollow, remember?" Hermione reminded them. "We should ask someone. Or follow the sound of the bells."

Harry smiled. "So clever," he chuckled.

"I know, thanks," answered Hermione, laughing softly.

Harry joined her laughter, but Ron didn't move nor he said anything. Ron seemed tired, as if he had been out all the night exploring the garden or digging around the house. There were shadows under his eyes, and his skin was almost translucent. The freckles now gave him the air of someone that had a very bad case of the measles. All in all, it didn't help to give him the look of a very healthy person.

"Is everything alright, Ron?" Hermione hoped that her voice didn't sound too concerned.

Ron looked at her, and for a moment a ghostly smile appeared on his lips. "I'm just tired," he said slowly.

"Maybe it's not a good idea if you and Malfoy stay here all alone for the whole morning. I mean, he needs someone that can prepare him some enervate potion, if he--"

Ron waved a hand in front of her face. "He won't die, Hermione. Evil never dies," he said, as a light sneer replaced the ghostly smile. "Just go and take all the time that you need."

"Thanks Ron," Harry interrupted, before Hermione could begin venting all of her preoccupations. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood up, glancing at Hermione. "I'll be ready in a couple of minutes, just the time to brush my teeth, okay?"

Hermione nodded and waited for Harry's steps to fade into the insides of the house, before turning towards Ron. "If he needs a potion you can look in my book, it's upstairs on the desk and--"

"I know what to do, Hermione," he said calmly. Ron stretched out a hand towards her and brushed her fingers. Hermione's eyes widened, and she would have withdrawn her arm, if she didn't think that act would have hurt Ron. He was as cold as ice, even colder than Draco was after she gave him the potion. But this was a different coldness, as if Ron might never be warm again.

She frowned and raised her eyes to Ron's face. For a moment, his blue eyes were lit by red light, but it disappeared almost immediately, and he smiled as his hand closed on her wrist with iron force. Hermione whimpered, but didn't try to struggle.

"Pay attention, Hermione," Ron whispered, his voice suddenly low and warm. "Pay a lot of attention."

Hermione nodded, and she felt a wave of relief when Ron let her go. She didn't know why, but she felt like the only person that she had to pay attention to, at that very moment, was Ron.

He stood up and, before Hermione could even understand what he was doing, Ron bent over her and pressed his lips on her forehead. They were cold as well, and she felt an electric shock spread from her head all the way down her body, reaching every limb and making her shake slightly. She didn't find it pleasant, and that made her heart ache.

Ron stood up, and, without a further glance, walked out of the kitchen, leaving a confused and frightened Hermione behind.

***

Harry shivered and tightened the coat around his shoulders. He felt Hermione next to him, her arm against his, and he knew that she was trembling as well. There was the sun, which was quite bright, but the coldness of that summer seemed almost unreal, almost magical. And that was exactly what it was: magical, both Harry and Hermione knew it perfectly well.

Their eyes wandered in front of them, to the sizable cemetery with its graves spread all around them. Godric's Hollow was a small village, but this graveyard could have competed with one in the London.

At the entrance gate there was also a sign that said that the oldest grave was more than a thousand years old, which made this place not only important for history and archaeology, but also unique. Behind the graves, hills and green fields spread without limit, as if beyond the borders there wasn't anything else other than grass and flowers, and the rest of the world just ended.

"I didn't expect it to be so large," said Hermione in a bare whisper that the wind carried away as soon as it escaped her lips. "Godric's Hollow is so small."

Harry nodded. He hadn't expected it either. It will take us days to find the right graves, he thought in frustration.

Hermione nodded as if she had just read his mind, and sighed deeply. There was something here, something strange. The more she looked around, the more she thought that she seemed to be in a dream.

Harry took a step forward, but Hermione was still following the line that separated the sky from the hills with her eyes. He turned his head towards her and offered her his hand. She took it, and followed him down the top of the small hill where they were standing.

They were right, the cemetery was huge. But they were also wrong, because it didn't take them days to find the graves, only what seemed like ten minutes of sleep-walking through the stones that stood up from the ground like forgotten pieces of dominoes. As if he knew exactly where he was going, Harry guided Hermione through them with incredible precision. If Ron had been there, he would have said that Harry was just remembering from his infancy. But that couldn't have been true at all, because Harry had never been there.

Eventually, both Harry and Hermione stopped, their minds suddenly filled with an irrational fear, their breath quick and heavy as if they had run for miles or swum against the current of a river. The tombs of Harry's parents lay right in front of them and they weren't different from the others. Nothing apart from the epitaph would have disclosed the fact that these were the graves of the people who had saved the Wizarding world sixteen years earlier.

For a moment the wind seemed to blow more forcefully, and all that reached their ears was the howling of the air between the graves. It was a ghostly sound even for them, and they were used to living with ghosts. Harry and Hermione lowered their eyes to the tombs and stared. It felt almost like being in one of those dreams where you stand there and see yourself some distance away from your own body, doing something, but you're unable to reach out or move your legs. Harry and Hermione both felt the world slowly blur around them; the only thing that anchored them to reality was each other's hand. Both of them tightened their grip on the other, in a needy, almost painful way.

Then, suddenly and noiselessly, they both felt the pressure of a hand on their shoulders, and the sensation of a head that bent down between them. Next to their ears, a hoarse voice rumbled, "It's odd, isn't it? Like watching your own grave."

And they couldn't do anything other than silently agree.