But Thy Eternal Summer Shall Not Fade

Day twelve.

The door is still in place. I told James to leave it alone, but he won't listen to me. He can be so stubborn sometimes. If Harry turns out to be like him when he's older, I'll have quite a lot of work to do keeping them quiet. I met one of the neighbours today, he seemed nice, and that was strange, since it's the first nice person I've met here. He is old, with snow white hair, that frames his face like a mane and a wrinkled face. I wonder how old he could be, very old indeed, but I couldn't tell his age. James doesn't like him, he said that he's strange. I'm not sure what he meant by that, but I think he's strange too, but that doesn't mean that he's not nice. He lives here on the main street of Godric's Hollow, on a house that I've never seen before. I invited him over for tea one of these days. He accepted. He said that he knows a lot about this place, and he'll answer all my doubts. I wonder how he knows that I have questions about this place. Maybe he's a wizard...

Day fifteen.

I can't believe it. I can't believe it. I can't believe it. Seriously, I can't believe that James got angry with Dumbledore. And I can't believe that I'm silently agreeing with my husband. But I better write down what happened in the last two days, because there are so many things that I can't understand, and that's very frustrating. Dumbledore came here two days ago. He didn't even telephone this time, he just knocked on our door with a little toy broom for Harry, and the latest edition of the Daily Prophet. It seems that people have been arrested, since the Ministry thinks they are Death Eaters. Dumbledore reckons that they should concentrate all their efforts on finding Voldemort himself, instead of these supposed Death Eaters. I used the word 'supposed' because I know some of the people that they have arrested, and I'm sure that they wouldn't have the heart to perform an Unforgivable Curse without feeling guilty for the rest of their life, let alone think about carrying out Voldemort's orders. They cannot be Death Eaters. And then, Dumbledore had insisted to see the cellar as well whilst he was here. James wanted to go with him, but the Headmaster preferred to go downstairs alone. He said that he had to control something, but that didn't explain much. Not at all. I just knew that it passed a couple of hours before he came back, and when he did there were spiders on his hat and webs entangled in his beard. He wore an odd expression over his face, like someone that has found what he was looking for, but now that he had found it, he has just realized that he felt better without knowing anything at all.

Hermione stopped reading. How was that possible that someone felt better without knowing something? She couldn't imagine Dumbledore not being happy for a new discovery. For a moment a smile played on her lips, if Harry would have read those lines he would have totally disagreed with his mother.

Dumbledore said that it was better if James left that door alone, he said that it was advice, not an order, but he was serious about that, he was telling us that for our own sake. Naturally James, who had spent the last days trying to open it, didn't want to hear Dumbledore's explanations. He was sure that he managed to open the door and that he had found something, but Dumbledore didn't say anything. And when James started to tell him that he couldn't always keep every secret for himself, and that we weren't at school anymore, I couldn't do anything else but silently agree. Dumbledore said that he would tell us, as soon as we were ready, but for now it was better if we didn't know anything at all. I think it's not fair, but I trust Dumbledore, and I don't think that he would ever do something that could harm us in any way. After tea, Dumbledore left us, he said that he would come back when there is news. I really hope that they'll find Peter, I'm seriously worried about him. Anyway, next Thursday will be Halloween, and I'm sure that Peter won't lose the chance of doing something funny with Remus and Sirius that day, I would love to be with them as well. But we can't. Anyway, this was two days ago, other things happened yesterday. Without even informing us, the old man that I met in the cemetery knocked on our door as well. We weren't expecting anybody at all, so we were at least a bit scared when we heard the knock. Oh my, I have to agree a hundred times with James, that man is strange. I offered him tea and biscuits, but he didn't touch anything. He seemed very interested in our story, he wanted to know everything. We had to make up our past and tell him a big fat lie. He was very interested in Harry, though. And Harry seemed to like him back. I don't know what to think about him, seriously, he didn't even say his name. He said that it was not important, for me it was. It looked almost like I've already seen him somewhere, and his name would have helped. James joked about that, he said that I could have seen him on a card in the Chocolate Frogs. I answered that it might be, maybe he's Bowman Wright, or better his ghost. James started to laugh so hard that he almost chocked on the roast beef I cooked.

Hermione raised her eyes. A ghost. She hadn't thought about that. Why didn't she think about that? Because all the ghosts that she had seen in her life didn't look like that man. Not at all. He was so solid, so substantial, he had placed his cold hand on her shoulder and she felt him, she felt its weight. And his face was pink and red from the cold and his clothes were brown. And his eyes, there had to be life behind those eyes. Nearly-Headless-Nick, the Fat Friar, the Grey Lady, Moaning Myrtle, the Bloody Baron, they were real ghosts. They levitate around the castle and if you looked at them you looked through them at the same time, and if their hands touched you, you would have felt as if you were taking a cold shower, but you wouldn't have been able to feel their weight. He can't be a ghost. James was right.

She turned the page, the next one was completely untouched. No writing, no drawing, and for a moment Hermione's heart skipped a beat as she thought that the diary stopped there. She turned another page, and then another, and another. They were all completely white. She let out a frustrated cry. There was nothing there, nothing about the curse, and nothing that she didn't already know about the old man. She was ready to throw that journal in a corner of the bathroom, when she noticed a wrinkled piece of paper, inserted between the last page and the cover of the diary. It was the same exact paper of that pages, and it seemed torn down from that very same journal.

Day twelve. Halloween.

Dumbledore has been here today. There's no way this is going to be a happy Halloween. Peter is still missing, the Death Eaters have killed two Aurors and I feel Voldemort's presence threateningly close to this place. James says that I'm imagining things, I don't think so. We fought this morning, he wanted to have a proper Halloween party tonight. I told him that I don't think Dumbledore would be too happy, better if we keep quiet and spend the evening at home. Dumbledore agreed with me. I also told Dumbledore about that old man. It was strange, but he seemed very interested, in fact he asked me to tell him everything I knew. Well, I didn't know much, anyway, he said that he would have paid a visit to the cemetery. Before he came back to Hogwarts, he told us something about what he found in the cellar: it was a journal, a diary in which there was what he called it 'another plan', in case Voldemort would find and kill us. Unluckily, he didn't want to say anything else, and apparently our death is required for this plan to occur. I don't think I would be able to find out what this secondary strategy is all about in the future, especially if we have to die. Oh! And he also added that the diary is from...

Hermione raised her eyes, the note stopped there, the paper was ripped, but she was sure that the name that was missing there was 'Hufflepuff'. The same name that Harry had found on that parchment and that now was lying in his pocket close to Dumbledore's note. She snorted with frustration as even that last page of Lily's diary didn't say anything useful at all. She had hoped to find out something that would have had the consequence to make the trip to the cemetery, the next day, an utterly superfluous thing. Instead, now, she was even more curious and confused than before. There was Hufflepuff's diary, there was a curse and there was that old man. How were these three things linked? What did Hufflepuff's diary say? Who was that old man? And above all, what was that curse about? So many questions, so few and inconsistent answers. And now, just like Harry, she couldn't wait for the next morning to come.

***

Ron bent over Draco's bed, and looked intently his chest. For a moment he had thought that he was dead, and for a moment his heart had skipped a beat. But Draco's breast was rising and falling gradually and almost imperceptibly; his breath was soundless, his eyes shut. He seemed very close to a slow and painless departure.

Ron stepped back from the bed and, as he turned, Draco whimpered. Ron turned again and looked at him. Draco had his eyes open and was trying to focus on the person that stood in the room next to him. His face seemed to pass from a hopeful one to a very deluded one, and Ron knew that he was expecting to see Hermione.

"My wand," grumbled Draco softly.

"What?" asked Ron rudely.

"My wand, Weasley," repeated Draco. His face was white, his lips dry and cracked. It looked almost like his body had been drained of all its energy and blood.

Ron smiled. An evil and sneaky smile. "I thought you were threatening me to tell Harry and Hermione that I stole your wand," he hissed with a smirk. "But neither Harry nor Hermione mentioned anything to me. What happened? Did you forget to go crying to them?"

"I don't need their help to get my wand back from your dirty hands, Weasley," snapped Draco wearily. He narrowed his eyes, trying to look threateningly, but he only caused Ron to raise his eyebrows disdainfully.

"Malfoy, why on Earth don't you just close your eyes and see if you can die slowly and painfully?" asked Ron calmly. "And silently?" he added.

Draco glared at him. "Give my wand back, Weasley," he repeated.

"What part of no is not clear to you?" asked Ron mockingly.

"The part where you don't give my wand back. It's mine, and you are not a thief," hissed Draco. "Little Harry Potter's sidekick would never do something so mischievous. He's one of the good guys, always doing the good things, always behind his best friends. Not enough smart, like Granger, or rich, like Potter, you--"

"Silencio!" Ron yelled, his wand was raised in front of him, his jaw set.

Draco's voice died in his throat. He glared at Ron with all his force, years and years of frowning and glaring had to be useful for something, but at that moment Ron didn't seem impressed at all.

"Look, Malfoy," Ron hissed, pulling out Draco's wand and pocketing it back in one of his jeans pockets. He stepped back from the bed and smirked. "If you can reach it, you can have it back."

Draco shook his head, as if he was talking to a wayward child who had deluded him. Ron didn't look like the Ron that he used to know at school, he was treacherous and too much self-confident for Draco's pleasure.

Draco was starting to firmly believe that he should have called his master, after all he wasn't so sure anymore that the situation wasn't slipping away from his hands. But he couldn't. For once in his life he should have bring to an end the assignment that he had been given. And this time he should have done that all alone.

"Well, Malfoy, what a pity." Ron's mocking voice snapped Draco out of his thoughts. "I think that if you survive this poison, you better pay a visit to Ollivander's. Too bad nobody knows where he is, right?"

Draco narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth for saying something, but no sound left his lips.

"What Malfoy? I can't hear you," mocked Ron. "Oh, sorry, I almost forgot. Finite incantatum."

"It's better for you if you keep me silent, Weasley; I have too many things to tell you and I don't think that you'll like any of them," hissed Draco. "Or maybe you are afraid that Granger will tell you something if she sees that you've hexed me?"

Ron looked at him, a glance full of hate and contempt. "I don't give a damn what that Mud--" Ron stopped. For a moment he seemed he was going to hate himself for what he was going to say. He shook his head forcefully, as if to clarify his thoughts, and finished, "Muggle-born. That damn Muggle-born."

Draco stared at him, his mouth slightly open in surprise. "You were going to call her a Mudblood, I know that, Weasley," he murmured. "Wow, what the hell is happening to you?"

Ron seemed ready to snap something back as an answer, but instead, he just stepped back and, before Draco could even think about something else to tell him, he has gone. The door that slammed downstairs was the last thing he heard before his mind was invaded by a thousand conjectures and thoughts about what was happening in that house.

***

Hermione knew that the water downstairs was already boiling, and she was sure that Harry would come knocking on the bathroom's door, soon or later. Maybe annoyed that she had not yet come downstairs, or maybe afraid that something had happened to her.

She turned on the water in the basin. She would have loved to take a shower, but she decided that it was better if she went downstairs and prepared the Healing potion for Harry, his wounds on his wrist didn't look like something that should be ignored. She looked at her reflection in the mirror. The blood on her cheek was already dry, and it looked like a crimson tattoo. She took out her wand from her pocket and healed her wound. She knew that Harry had volunteered to do that, but she didn't need him to cure that small cut.

When her cheek was healed, she washed it with freezing cold water and shivered. Then she remembered that her ankle was cut too. There was that little and annoying slash from when she jumped that bush early that morning. She kneeled down and as soon as she curved, she felt a blinding pain coming from her back. She stood up quickly and rubbed the source of that soreness. It was right under the elastic band of her bra, and it went from side to side of her body. She raised her tee-shirt and placed a hand on her bare skin; she took it away quickly, scared and disgusted. On her back there was a stripe of pulsating measles that seemed ready to break and soak her clothes with blood. She raised her tee-shirt above her head and turned her back towards the mirror, trying to have a better look of that mess from above her shoulder. The measles were huge and disgusting and she didn't remember where and how she got them. They are even more horrible than last time, she thought and her heart skipped a beat. Last time? When Ron had touched her, when Ron had tried to hug her in the living room, also that time her skin covered with measles. She glanced another time at that disaster, and tried to recall what had happened to her. When I was in the cellar did Ron touch my back? No, he didn't. But something else did. She let the tee-shirt fall and brought both her hands to her mouth.

"That thing touched my back, that thing that attacked me and Harry, it touched me in the exact place where these blisters are," she murmured to herself. "But it couldn't have been Voldemort, there is no reason for him to let us go almost undamaged and alive." She shook her head. "Whatever that thing was it had the same effect on my skin of Ron's touch, what's happening here? What's happening to me?" She looked at her reflection in the mirror, her long red hair framed her scared face, her greenish eyes fixed on her reflection as if she was looking to a ghost.

"Hermione, are you alright?" Harry's voice through the door seemed worried and annoyed at the same time, and it had the power to snap her out of her thoughts.

She shook her head vigorously as if to clarify her ideas, she turned towards the door and opened it. "Yes, I'm alright," she answered, lowering her eyes.

"You've been in here more than an hour, I thought you--"

"Yes?" she cut him off, without knowing why, she didn't want to know what he thought she could have done.

Harry shook his head and looked away. "I think that you have already checked on Malfoy, haven't you?" he asked calmly. "So, does he need it?"

Hermione frowned without understanding. "Does he need what?"

"The Healing Potion," answered Harry.

"I've not yet checked on Malfoy," replied Hermione. "I've just been into the bathroom. Washing myself a bit and healing my wounds. I'm going to see him right now."

"That's strange," said Harry, casting an odd glance to the door at his right. "Ron ran out of the cottage a few minutes ago. I thought that was because he had fought with you and Malfoy."

"He went out a few minutes ago?" asked Hermione, starting to understand what was happening there every moment less. "Where did he go?"

"How should I know?" snapped Harry back.

Hermione looked at him as if he was from another planet. "Didn't you ask him?"

"Hermione, maybe you're not exactly clear about the situation, here," answered Harry. "The only things that told me that Ron has left this house were his quick steps on the stairs and the banging of the front door, I didn't even see him."

"Okay, sorry," she replied. "I just thought that--never mind. I think I'll go and have a look at Malfoy and then I'll prepare the potion and heal your cuts."

"If you're too busy looking over Malfoy, then I can always heal my cuts by myself," snapped Harry suddenly heated.

Hermione gritted her teeth. If she weren't positive that it was impossible she would have believed that her friends were going through their periods these days. It was impressive how quickly they changed their minds about something, impressive how they could pass from happiness to jealousy to rage in less than five seconds. She was sure that she couldn't stand the situation much longer, soon or later she would jump down the throat of one of them or would have a nice long and liberating fight.

"I just want to be sure that he's still alive, okay? It won't take me more than five minutes, in the meantime, why don't you wash yourself a bit?" she asked, curling one long lock of red hair between her fingers. She would have bet that just a couple of days ago her fingers could fit perfectly well in her curls, but now she had to twist the hair herself around her fingers.

Harry looked at his hands. They were black with dirt, and covered with blood from the cuts on his wrists. Around the cuts there was also a thin layer of a sticky liquid that had dried on his skin, he looked at it with disgust. For a moment he frowned, earlier he was almost going to leave with those dirty hands and that wounded wrist, was his desire to understand what was going on so intense as to make him forget about the fact that he desperately needed a shower? Evidently, it was.

"I'll take a shower," he murmured. "I'll take a shower and then I'll come and have a look at Malfoy as well."

Hermione nodded and smiled. Harry nodded curtly, then he walked past her and Hermione didn't need to turn to know that he was locking himself into the bathroom. She took a deep breath, and turned towards the room where Draco should have been asleep. She took a couple of steps to her right and stopped right in front of the closed door, her hand pushed down the handle, but she didn't push open the door.

She smiled and thought about Draco. Strangely enough, she was happy. Happy to see him, happy that Harry was in the bathroom and that Ron had gone somewhere outside, so that she could talk to Draco all alone. Wait a minute, she wondered, what's wrong with me? Why am I feeling this way? She stomped her feet on the floor with rage. I don't like Draco Malfoy. I don't like Draco Malfoy. I don't like Draco Malfoy! I'm just happy that he won't be all sweet and nice with me and a moment later he won't verbally attack me, just like Harry and Ron seem to constantly do. Honestly, those two need to chill out a bit, at least Malfoy is a bastard, but he doesn't change his mind every second.

She nodded, pleased with her explanation. She didn't like Draco, it was already surprising the fact that that idea had brushed her mind for even considering something like that. She pushed the door open and walked cheerfully into the room.

Hermione stopped in her tracks when she didn't hear Draco say anything at all.

She looked at the bed, and for the first time in her life she hoped that Draco Malfoy was alright. Her heart skipped a beat when she noticed that Draco's half covered chest wasn't moving, and that his skin was as white as the sheets that covered his body.

"Malfoy?" she called hesitantly. "Malfoy, are you alright?"

There was no answer to her questions. Not a sound or a movement from the bed.

And then she didn't know what she was doing anymore. She just knew that a qualified Healer would have calmly taken out her wand and tried to reanimate the patient that looked like he wasn't going to breath anymore. But Hermione wasn't a qualified Healer, and she wasn't calm at all at that moment, so she simply collapsed on the bed next to Draco and, seizing his shoulders, she started to shake him lightly.

"Malfoy," she called again. "Malfoy, please, just tell me that you are alright."

As Hermione shook his upper torso Draco's head bounced on the pillow, the golden snake-shaped pendant that he wore around his neck fell behind his back and the chain deepened into his skin.

Hermione opened her mouth, but Draco's name died in her throat. Her vision blurred while her eyes filled with salty tears. She had never imagined it. Never thought even for a spare minute that she would have wept for Draco Malfoy. And there she was, shaking his motionless body and crying without even being able to call his name anymore.

Hermione lowered her eyes on the sheets that covered his chest. She felt a couple of tears caressing slowly her cheeks and there they were, fell on the sheets, like two stains of dirt. She couldn't believe that she had failed to save the life of the very first person that she had tried to restore to health, she felt a wave or rage against herself for her inconstant cures towards him. And then she couldn't help thinking about Ron and Harry who had been so childish to keep on saying that she was spending way too much time with him rather than with them. Evidently she hadn't spent enough time at all with him.

She bent over him and leaned her head on his chest. Then the sporadic tears that had watered her eyes turned into a salty river that soaked the sheets like the rain itself would do. She clasped the cover with her fingers until her knuckles turned white, and sniffled loudly before starting to cry.

"Draco, please, forgive me," she sobbed between tears. "I failed to cure you, but I would do anything if I could still save you."

"Even getting off me, Granger?"

"Anything, I..." Hermione's words faded away, and she raised her head so quickly that she heard a loud crack coming from her neck. She brought her hands to her mouth and looked at Draco. He was looking at her with weary grey eyes and his mouth slightly open.

"Y-you," she stammered, pointing a trembling finger towards him. "You--I thought you were--"

Draco took a sharp and deep breath. "I'm not, if dead is the word you were looking for," he murmured. His voice seemed to come from the hereafter.

Hermione nodded.

"But you were almost going to cut off all the air from my lungs," Draco pointed out weakly. He looked at her face and for a moment he thought he saw something of sparkling in her eyes. "Granger, what were you..." He let his sentence hung in the air as he stretched out a shaking arm towards her face and wiped away a tear from her eyelashes. He brought his finger in front of his eyes and studied the drop that was trembling on it, like a pudding that was carried to the table on Christmas day. Then, he brought the finger to his lips and licked it, feeling the salty savour in his dry mouth.

"You've been crying," he exclaimed, his voice was high with surprise and difficult from the pain.

Hermione didn't answer, nor did she nod. She stood up from the bed and took a couple of steps backwards, just like Ron had done an hour before, her eyes wide with shock. Draco was alive, and he had caught her crying for him. Was it possible for her to be in a more awkward situation than that?

"Granger, you've been crying," repeated Draco, and it wasn't a question nor an accusation.

"I thought you were dead," she whispered so softly that she wasn't even sure that he had heard her.

"You already said that," murmured Draco. Now his chest raised and lowered quickly for the effort of talking or maybe for the excitement to have surprised Hermione weeping over him. It was the most unexpected thing, yet he couldn't say that it was something unpleasant.

Draco opened his mouth for speaking, but he closed it without letting any word escape his lips. Then he slowly lowered his eyes, caressing Hermione's body with his gaze, and when he reached the floor he seemed to find the nerve to speak. "Were you crying for me?" he murmured hoarsely.

Hermione felt her cheeks going on fire, her mouth dried all of a sudden and her brain emptied as if every coherent thought had been sucked away from her mind. What was she supposed to say?

"Would you make fun of me if I told you that I was crying for you?" she asked back, not too keen to reply to his embarrassing question.

Draco closed his eyes. Would he make fun of her? He didn't know. He probably should have laughed at her behaviour, he surely would have done that back at Hogwarts. But back at Hogwarts Hermione would have never cried for him. Now, he didn't want to make fun of her, he wanted her to keep on crying for him forever, and at the same time he wanted her to stop and go away; because the sound of her cry was the most lovable and, at the same time, heartbreaking noise he had ever heard in all his life.

He raised his eyelids again, but didn't dare to watch Hermione. "No," he simply murmured.

"I was crying for you," said Hermione, flushing. "I thought you were dead."

"And you would cry for me if I died?" Draco asked, and only when the question was spoken he understood how stupid it should sound.

Hermione's eyebrows joined together on her forehead. "I was already crying for you," she whispered.

"I know, I know," said Draco quickly. "I--it was just--nothing..."

"No, what?" plied Hermione. Her cheeks were still on fire, but the fact that Draco was stubbornly looking everywhere but at her was slowly making her embarrassment fade away, because she knew that he was as uncomfortable as her.

"Nothing," repeated Draco. He sunk his head into the pillow and closed his eyes again, as if just keeping them open was a great effort for him. "What did you come here for?"

Hermione looked at him deluded. She wasn't waiting for a declaration of love, but she could have surely done with some excuses. Excuses? For what? For the fact that he caused me to worry? And because he caught me in the most embarrassing position he could find me? She snorted, being given excuses from Draco Malfoy was like receiving Galleons for free from the Goblins.

Hermione walked towards the window and looked outside, deliberately taking her time to answer his question. She turned towards the bed and looked at Draco. Now he was surely breathing, and if he was like that also before, it was a mystery how it was possible that she hadn't noticed it. She stepped towards him and stopped near the bedside-table.

"I came to check on you," she finally said. "Like I do every day. But you weren't breathing and so I thought that you were dead."

"A little sped up conclusion you came up with, didn't you?" asked Draco, and despite his serious tone of voice, Hermione was sure that his lips were slightly curled into a soft smile.

She looked around and her gaze fell on the plant in the vase on the bedside-table. It was lush and there were little shiny silvery buds coming up on the top of every stem. Without any reason, except to keep her hands occupied, she started to caress the leaves, which were smooth and warm under her touch. For a moment she understood that there was something strange about that plant, but her brain put aside every preoccupation about the little vegetable and her attention turned towards Draco. "Malfoy, you weren't breathing, what should I have thought?"

Draco's lips definitely curled into a smile. "No, you are right. I wasn't breathing, you did think right. I could have been dead. But I'm not."

"What happened to you, then?" she asked, and the curiosity to know something that was completely escaping her mind added a note of urgency in her voice.

Draco looked at her the way she had looked at Harry a moment before, as if she was coming from another planet, as if the consideration that he used to have for her intelligence was hastily decreasing. "I was holding my breath," he answered as if it was the most normal thing on Earth.

Hermione's mouth slightly opened in surprise. She seized the leaf that she was smothering a little bit too forcefully and a second later she found herself with the foliage in her hand. "You were holding your breath?" she asked, without believing that the answer was such an easy one.

Draco nodded in response.

"Why?" she demanded as comprehension still didn't strike her.

"I don't think you have ever had your stomach sliced in two, Granger, have you?" he asked as if he was talking to a little girl. Hermione shook her head, the leaf still in her hands. "Well, it hurts. It hurts even when you are talking, even when you are breathing. You can't even imagine how hard it is for me to keep on talking to you."

Hermione gulped. She knew that it wasn't pleasant to be practically split in two like Draco has been, but she couldn't imagine that he was suffering even with the simple act of breathing or talking. "You were just trying to lessen the pain, weren't you?" she asked, feeling suddenly guilty and stupid at the same time.

Draco nodded. "And you--" He stopped dead. His eyes widened as he stared at her hands, and for a moment he seemed to turn even paler than before, but that was surely impossible.

"What?" asked Hermione, still waiting for him to finish the sentence.

"Your hands," he murmured, without quite being able to take away his eyes from her fingers. "You're bleeding."

Hermione lowered her eyes automatically and stared. Her hands were covered with blood, a sticky crimson blood that her brain couldn't figure out where it came from. She didn't have any cuts, nor any bruises. And that leaf in her hand couldn't have cut her skin. And she didn't feel any pain at all, it was as if that blood wasn't coming from her.

"Granger, you're bleeding!" repeated Draco, and Hermione swore that he seemed a bit worried.

She raised her eyes on him and cocked an eyebrow. "I'm not bleeding, Malfoy, I'm not cut."

"That's blood on your hands, isn't it?" asked Draco sourly. "And since I don't think it comes from the--" He stopped and Hermione thought that his white skin was turning a ghastly shade of green.

"The--?" she questioned, but there was no need for him to go on talking. He meant the 'leaf', Hermione was sure. She turned her attention to it and then she glanced at the plant itself. The stem that she had broken was bleeding as well. She got closer and frowned. It looked almost like she had torn off the arm of a human being, it was exactly the same blood as a man or a woman's. She had heard that there were people who talked with the plants and that some of them answered to some stimulus like music or the changing of light, but she had never heard of a plant that bled. Not even in the Wizarding World.

"This plant is bleeding," she murmured, feeling suddenly stupid. She waited for Draco to snap, to manifest his incredulity in some way, but he didn't say anything. The plant was bleeding, what could he have said? If he didn't believe her, she could have placed the vase under his nose and made him touch the blood with his own fingers.

A plant can't bleed, she tried to reason with herself. A plant cannot bleed at all, it doesn't have blood in its veins--bloody hell, it doesn't have veins in the first place. She narrowed her eyes. Now that her attention was completely focused on that plant, she started to remember. Only a couple of days earlier that thing was dead. It seemed dead, evidently, but it wasn't, she thought sourly. It wouldn't be the first time that I think that someone is dead when he's not. She felt her cheeks burning with embarrassment as she thought that she had made the same mistake twice in a day.

She straightened her back and looked back at Draco. He seemed ready to throw up, Hermione had to suppress a fit of giggles as she thought that the very sight of blood was enough to have that effect on him. But her amusement faded away when she remembered that he hadn't reacted like that when he saw the river of blood flowing from his stomach. What was he so shocked about, then?

"Malfoy, what--" But Hermione's question was interrupted by Harry's entrance into the bedroom.

Harry's eyes wandered from Hermione to Draco, who were both looking back at him with big eyes and surprised expressions as if for a moment they had forgotten that they weren't alone in that house.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked sourly.

Draco opened his mouth to reply with something nasty, but luckily Hermione was quicker. "No, but there's something that you should see here," she said, raising her hands covered with blood.

Harry's lips parted in an 'oh' of surprise, and before Draco and Hermione could even see his movements he pulled out his wand and pointed it at Draco.

"What did you do?" he hissed dangerously.

Draco glared at him coldly. "You're crazy if you think that I did something," he replied tiredly.

"Why is she bleeding?" asked Harry, raising his voice.

"I'm not bleeding, Harry," broke in Hermione, stepping between Harry and the bed, in an almost protectively way. "I'm not bleeding, and Draco didn't do anything at all." She smiled. "How could he?"

"Hey!" protested Draco weakly.

Harry frowned. He looked reluctantly from her face to Draco, who was glaring back at him with all his forces. Then he felt a hand over his own stretched one, Hermione was trying to make him lower his arm-wand. He looked away from her and pocketed his wand.

"Than why are your hands covered in blood?" Harry asked, taking her wrists and observing her palms closely.

"It's the plant," she explained. "I broke a leaf and it started to bleed. I didn't know that plants could bleed, but this one is doing it right now."

"Are you sure that it's the plant?" asked Harry. He glanced at the plant in the vase and saw that there was blood on the bedside-table, and some was still dropping from the broken stem. "Plants can bleed?"

Hermione sighed. "I don't know. I didn't think so, but evidently I was wrong."

"Maybe it's some kind of Wizarding plant," commented Harry. "I think we should ask Neville, if we ever get the chance to see him again."

"Ask Longbottom?" snorted Draco. "That's really one of the stupidest things I've ever heard. What would he know?"

Harry looked at Draco over Hermione's shoulder. "Neville knows quite a lot about plants, he's very good in Herbology."

"And do you think he would know more than Granger, here?" asked Draco, nodding towards her back.

Harry glared at him. "Just shut up, Malfoy," he snapped.

"I will shut up when I want to, Potter," rebated Draco sourly.

"Maybe I should--"

"Okay, guys, I think that's enough," Hermione interrupted them. "I don't think we should make a fuss about this plant, evidently it's just a species that we don't know about. I think that if we look in a big Herbology tome we'll find something about it."

Harry and Draco glared at each other for the last time, then Harry turned his attention towards Hermione and nodded curtly. "Are you coming?" he asked her.

"Where?" she asked back, without understanding.

"Downstairs, remember you said you would have healed my wounds and prepared some potions, as well as something to eat?" he reminded her.

"Are you wounded, Potter?" hissed Draco in a cold tone of voice.

"It's none of your business, Malfoy," snapped Harry.

"Harry!" Hermione reproached him. "He was just asking."

"What does he care?" retorted Harry.

"Why do you have to jump like that for such a stupid question?" she questioned, shaking her head lightly. "He was trying to be nice."

"What?" exclaimed both Harry and Draco incredulously. They looked at each other and then Draco spoke first. "I'm not trying to be nice, Potter. I want you to know that," he said firmly.

"I really hope so, Malfoy, that would make my skin itch," replied Harry coldly.

Hermione looked from one boy to the other, her eyes wide in surprise and exasperation. She opened her mouth to reply, but then she seemed to think against it and closed it, she shook her head forcefully and rolled her eyes, a mixture of gestures that pointed out how annoyed she was.

Then she turned towards Draco and asked him, in her most serene voice, how his wound was doing. She just wanted him to answer her simple question so that she could go downstairs, heal Harry's wounds, brew the potion and eat something. And then she couldn't wait to lay down her weary head and sleep.

"It hurts," complained Draco.

"Tell us something we don't know," snapped Harry impatiently.

"Maybe you don't know that you are a big son of--"

"Did you drink the potion I gave you this morning?" Hermione interrupted Draco, her voice high.

Draco rolled his eyes. "I did, Granger, why do you keep on torturing me with all your questions?"

"Oh sorry, Malfoy, I think I'll just let you die, then. Maybe you'll be happier once you won't have to drink any more potions that I'm going to brew for you," she hissed.

"I'm sorry to delude you, but I wouldn't be too happy, and I don't think that you would be too joyful either," he said seriously, looking Hermione in her green eyes. Didn't she have chocolaty eyes?

Hermione blushed furiously, she lowered her eyes, bit her bottom lip and, turning away from Harry, mumbled something impossible to understand in response. Was he referring to her crying when she thought that he was dead? Obviously he is. For a moment she felt terribly exposed, and for a moment Harry felt like he was missing something, as if Draco and Hermione knew something that he didn't. And suddenly he felt a wave of jealousy invading his mind and blurring his senses. Being jealous towards Ron was normal, if not even legitimate, but Draco, he surely wasn't worth it.

"I'll bring you another potion, later," murmured Hermione to Draco. "Something for your wound."

"What about the poison?" asked Draco weakly. "Aren't you going to try another antidote on me?"

Hermione nodded. He was right, she couldn't forget that he had also been poisoned and time was passing too quickly. Seconds became minutes, minutes became hours, hours became days, and every single moment that passed the poison was taking its toll on Draco's body, like a high tide advancing up a beach. "I'll prepare another antidote," she answered.

Draco nodded. "Hurry up," he said curtly while Harry practically dragged Hermione out of the bedroom and closed the door behind them.

***

Harry lay with one arm behind his head. The moonlight filtered through the window in his parents' bedroom and hit the half-empty bed. Ron hadn't come home, and Harry hadn't a clue about where he could have gone, and he was too tired to wander around Godric's Hollow looking for him in the middle of the night.

Harry lazily stretched his right arm in front of him and studied his wrist. His skin was smooth and perfect, as if he had never had any cut at all. Hermione had done a great job, and he wondered what kind of evil poison was running through Draco's veins, rejecting any kind of potion or cure the way it was doing. If only Hermione had brought a Bezoar with her. Harry thought that there was a very good possibility that that was the only way to eliminate completely the poison from Draco's body.

Harry turned in bed, he was tired and excited, so excited that he couldn't sleep. He kept on thinking about the upcoming day and about what he would do when he saw the old man again. If I get the chance to see him, he thought bitterly. No! Be positive, Harry. You'll find him and this time he will answer all your questions. The time is ripe, and he can't avoid giving you a proper explanation; you'll let him read your mind and he'll see that you already know enough, he said to himself.

Harry had already planned every second of the next day from his very awakening to the moment in which they would see the old man. He would wake up Hermione, who was sleeping on the couch, with a kiss and then he would make her some breakfast and--. Harry shook his head. He wouldn't do something like that. Wake up Hermione with a kiss? Have I gone crazy? he thought, blushing in the darkness of the bedroom.

Hermione. Harry couldn't stop thinking about her. If he thought about the next morning, he imagined her sleeping figure; if he looked at his wrist, it reminded him of her skill with healing charms and potions; even if he meditated on Draco he couldn't help thinking about her in the end.

He had heard Draco's yell of pain when Hermione had gone upstairs with the potions, and for a moment he felt bad for him, but when he realized that while he suffered Hermione was with him, Harry couldn't help feeling a little jealous. He didn't know why, nor he was able to repress that feeling, but he didn't like it when Hermione was alone with Draco. He didn't want him to die, and he knew that Hermione was just trying to saving his life, but he wandered if she couldn't do that by standing at least a couple of miles away from him.

Harry hid his head in the pillow and let out a cry of frustration, muffled by the texture of the cushion. He knew that Draco wasn't indifferent to Hermione, how could he be? She was taking care of him, she was trying to save his life. Harry had once heard that saving someone's life was the greatest gift that a person could give to another. He frowned, his breath stiff and sharp. If Hermione saved Draco's life things would definitely change between them. He would owe her his life, she would become the most important person to him. And what about him? What about Harry Potter? She would forget him.

Harry hit the pillow with his fist. What was he thinking? Those thoughts were driving him crazy, he couldn't believe that he was seriously considering the fact that Draco and Hermione could have become more than just friends. Friends? They aren't friends, they hate each other, he thought forcefully. But the more he repeated that to himself, the less he believed in it.

At least I convinced her to sleep on the couch tonight, he thought sourly. I'm sure that Malfoy isn't too happy about that. And he couldn't help letting out a soft snort of laughter, which faded promptly away as he remembered that Hermione herself wasn't very happy about sleeping away from Draco. She just wanted to look over him, didn't she?

Harry tried to push Hermione to the back of his mind. He had to concentrate on something else, he had to take a break from her and think about something different. He knew that he could have gone on reflecting on her for the whole night, but he was sure that that would have ended up with him sneaking into the living room to simply have a look at her while she was sleeping. He wondered if Hermione thought about him as much as he thought about her.

He brought his fists to his temples and knocked on them. No! No! No! Stop thinking about her! Think about something else - think about Ron! Where the hell is Ron? His friend would have been of great help at that moment, they would have laughed together about Harry's fears about the possibility that Draco could turn out to be a rival for Hermione's love, and that would have dissipated a bit his worries. But, Harry was sure, this time Ron wouldn't have laughed, on the contrary he would have probably come up with a plan to get rid of Draco forever.

Harry closed his eyes. What was happening to him? What was happening to his friends? What was happening to Draco? Why did it look like the world had turned upside down? He and Ron were constantly fighting, and Hermione and Draco were becoming closer every moment that passed.

But maybe... Harry smiled sleepily, his eyes still closed and his breath regular. Now he understood; it was so clear, so easy that he felt terribly stupid for not having thought about it earlier. Now that he realized it, he would have surely been able to slip into a peaceful sleep... or did he?

***

Draco gritted his teeth. He didn't know why he was so angry with Harry. Apart from the fact that he's Harry Potter? He snorted. If he didn't know Harry better, Draco would have said that he was jealous that Hermione had slept in his bedroom the last few days, on the armchair next to his bed.

Hell, Potter! I'm wounded! he screamed in his own mind. He would have loved to hex Harry right at that moment, but unluckily he didn't have his wand, nor he could wake up from the bed, so he closed his eyes and started to imagine himself using the Cruciatus Curse on Harry. And imagining was even better than really doing it, because he knew that in the real life he wouldn't have been able to use an Unforgivable Curse on anybody at all.

He shook his head vehemently as if to clarify his mind and understand what was going on inside his brain for thinking all those things. And he didn't think it was the poison. He was seriously irritated with Harry because he convinced Hermione to go downstairs and sleep on the couch that night. What was he thinking? Did he think that Draco Malfoy was a threat to the innocence of Harry Potter's sidekick?

The only time that he had touched her while she was asleep had been the first night that he was there. She was sleeping on the armchair, and was shivering, her teeth were chattering with cold, and her lips had turned a nasty shade of blue. He had looked down at his bed, she had sacrificed her warmth for his since he was wrapped with several covers. He was sure that he didn't need so many covers, so he regained his strength, sat up from the bed and covered her. His hand had brushed her cheek delicately and he had felt how frozen she was. But that was the only time that he had ever touched her while she was asleep.

I did it because her chattering teeth wouldn't let me sleep, he said to himself stubbornly. But that theory didn't work for him anymore. Now he was sure that he did it because he was worried about her, and he was sure that he was angry with Harry because he was preventing him from sleeping with Hermione sat on the armchair next to him.

What was wrong with him? Why did he feel that way towards that Mud--. He shook his head, he didn't want to say that word. Not even in his mind. What's happening to me? he asked himself. How can I fancy Hermione Granger?

He gritted his teeth. There was no way that he could like her. He should have hated her. Damn Granger, how can I hate you if you cry for me? You should cry because of me not for me! How can I even try to hate you if you don't give me a reason for doing so?

He looked down at his stomach. The new bandage was already dyed with blood. He shook his head and wondered when all that reasoning would come to an end. He was becoming more tired every day of all these things, and he had been terribly imprudent with the plant. Luckily both Hermione and Harry didn't seem to be too much interested in that stupid incident, but Draco had felt the already almost non-existent colour draining from his face when he understood that the plant was bleeding.

He sunk his head into the pillow and grasped the sheets spasmodically with his hands. I can't take it anymore. I'm sure I won't be able to carry on with this much longer, he thought as tiredness got the better of him.

***

The street where Harry stood didn't have anything familiar about it. He couldn't remember if he had been there in the past. There was nothing, not even a sign, that pointed out the name of the road, and it looked like any other normal street that he had crossed in all his life, nothing recognizable, no details at all.

He walked towards a street lamp and looked down at his hands. He didn't recognize them. His fingers were longer and his nails were encrusted with dried blood and dirt. Harry frowned. He was sure that he had washed them. He tried to have a look at his clothes as well, but the light of the street lamp was turned off suddenly, causing him to narrow his eyes to get accustomed to the unexpected darkness.

Harry raised his eyes. The nightly sky was moonless and the stars weren't bright enough to let him distinguish anything except the vague profile of the houses that stood at his sides. He wondered what he was doing there, the last thing he remembered was that he was trying to fall asleep and he was thinking at Hermione.

Harry's heart jumped when a cat meowed and leaped on a bin. He heard the squeak of a mouse and the soft noise of the cat that landed on the ground chasing it. The top of the bin flew at Harry's feet and the dead body of the cat followed suit.

"I hate cats," grumbled a voice in front of Harry. He narrowed his eyes to try and distinguish the man that was talking, but he couldn't make out much of the figure in front of him. He was short and pretty fat, and his voice was rather familiar to Harry.

"I wonder why," said Harry mockingly and coldly at the same time. And then his heart skipped a beat and he just wanted to scream, to jump, to shake his head and yell at himself that he had to wake up. That was not his voice. And that was not his body. He wanted to have another look at his hands or at any other part of his body, but he couldn't, even if his eyes were starting to get accustomed to the dim light, he didn't have any power on that body.

The man growled. "You should pay more respect to your elders," he barked.

Harry raised his arm, a wand between his fingers. He felt a wave of depravity invading his mind and a moment later his mouth was murmuring 'Crucio!'. Harry felt the power of that curse taking away his breathe, and the pain that he was causing reminded him of the one that he had felt two years before in the cemetery at Little Hangleton.

As the red light invested the man, Harry saw his plump face and his metallic hand, the almost hairless head and the round evil eyes. The face of the man twisted in pain and he let out a desperate cry.

"No, p-please!" whimpered the man. "Stop it!"

Harry raised his hand, and broke contact with his victim. "Haven't I been clear about what happened, Wormtail?"

"Y-yes, master," stammered Wormtail.

Harry kneeled next to him and took a fist of his hair in his hand, pulling his face backwards. He neared his mouth to his ear and a stinking smell reached Harry's nostrils.

"Yes what, Wormtail?" Harry asked in a low whisper. "Yes, I've been clear; or yes, you have not understood?"

"Y-yes, m-master, you've be-been clear," sobbed Wormtail.

Harry let him go and stood up. "Very well, because I don't want to repeat it again," he hissed, and Harry knew that Wormtail had just avoided being cursed another time, because his hands were still caressing the wand dangerously. Harry looked down and a sparkle escaped the wand as if he was trying to make his threat even more effective. He narrowed his eyes. He knew that wand. He knew it and it wasn't Voldemort's. He knew that wand, but where had he seen it?

"Y-you said you had a message." Harry looked down at Wormtail again, he was kneeling in front of him, and for a moment Harry tasted the astonishing pleasure of being feared and respected.

"In fact, I have one," sneered Harry. "Tell your master that I've got them."

Wormtail raised his eyes on Harry's face. The surprised look on his face was very unflattering, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. Harry feared that Pettigrew would suffer under the Cruciatus Curse another time before that night was over.

"That's impossible," he whispered.

"Do you doubt my words, Wormtail?" Harry roared.

"N-no, master. No, never," he whimpered, covering his head with his hands. "It's just that we have looked for them for weeks, and we didn't find them. We have--"

"We, we, we," mocked Harry. "You are not me, evidently. I have them all. There's the boy and the traitor."

"And the girl," added Wormtail shyly. "There must be a girl."

Harry moved so fast that he thought he was going to fall. He seized Wormtail's throat and raised him from the ground, with a force that he didn't believe any normal man could have. "You must not touch the girl," he hissed. "She is mine. And I'll dispose of her as I prefer."

Wormtail let out a strangled cry and nodded. Harry let him fall on the ground while he coughed and sucked in some air, his face red and his throat slightly purple where he had kept hold of him.

Harry sneered, satisfied with himself. "You may go now, Wormtail." And he knew that it wasn't a suggestion, but an order.

"W-when shall we--"

"Your master will know when," hissed Harry. "I found the thing he has been looking for in these last months, but I still need to find out what the curse is about."

Wormtail nodded. "Y-yes, master," he said.

"Go now, and don't talk to anybody except to your master," Harry commanded, gesturing impatiently with his hand to go away.

Wormtail kneeled another time and then he Disapparated. Harry stood there in the darkness, with his eyes fixed on the place where he had heard the subtle 'pop', his mind racing and his heart beating furiously in his chest. Where was he? Whose was that body he was in?

The light of the streetlamp turned on suddenly. Harry looked at his feet, the dead body of the cat lay on the ground. Wormtail's little revenge. Then a door opened behind his back and someone dressed in a nightgown appeared and screamed...

Harry woke up suddenly. He sit up on the bed and looked in front of him, his breathe laboured, his heartbeat fast. The sheets slipped down his chest and he shivered. He passed a hand behind his neck, he was frozen and sweaty. Harry stood still, the bedroom was completely silent. He stretched an arm towards the bedside-table and turned on the light.

He was invested by the dim light of the lamp, he narrowed his eyes and wore his glasses. When he turned to look at the bed he wasn't all that surprised to find out that his friend still wasn't there.

He placed his finger on the floor and tried to stand up, but he couldn't. It was as if he had run for miles. He felt his lungs on fire, his legs were wobbly as if he couldn't feel his muscles anymore.

What was that dream? It didn't look like a dream at all, it looked more like--but no, Dumbledore had told him that Voldemort decided to block him out of his head. Why would he have changed his mind now? And if he has changed his mind, why had he decided to make him witness to such an important conversation? But maybe he hadn't done that on purpose. Could he have been distracted for a second that had let Harry enter his mind? And who was this other master Wormtail and Voldemort were talking about?

Harry shook his head forcefully, his breath was slowly going back to normality and his heart was finding its usual pace. That was not Voldemort, he thought. I've been in Voldemort's body, he's not like that. But then who was he?

***

Hermione blinked a couple of times in the sunny morning. She was wearing a grey skirt and a black jumper over a white shirt, and everything was well hidden by a long black coat; but Harry remembered her outfit pretty well, since that morning he had thought that she was the prettiest girl he had ever seen: he had always had a thing for red-haired girls. Hermione's hair is brown, he had to remind himself.

"Are you absolutely sure it was Wormtail that you saw?" she asked for the tenth time, as they walked past the church at the edge of the village.

"Hermione I didn't just see him," Harry told her. "I called his name. It was him."

Hermione nodded. When that morning Harry had started to tell her about his dream, she had to listen to it several times before understanding every single detail. She has been sitting at the kitchen table, with Crookshanks purring in her lap, and tea and cookies in front of her. Harry sat across from her, while Ron was still sleeping upstairs. Their friend had come back in the first hours of the morning, and without talking to anybody, he had gone to bed and fallen asleep.

"And you didn't recognize anything that you saw?" she asked, moving a straight lock of hair away from her eyes.

"Nothing," replied Harry frustrated. "Except for the fact that I had a vague sensation I've seen his wand before."

"But you don't remember where, right?"

"Right," answered Harry sighing.

"Or who that wand belonged to, correct?"

"Correct."

Hermione nodded again. The sun that August morning was almost pleasant, it wasn't warm, but it wasn't as cold as it had been the last few days either. And until that moment it was an incredibly nice day for her: she had woken up that morning, relaxed and rested after a night of sweet dreams about Harry; she had managed to have a civil conversation, without fighting, with Draco, when she asked him how he was feeling; and she was happy that Ron had come back home, safe and sound, even if she hadn't seen him at all.

"Are you sure that it wasn't just an ordinary dream?" she asked.

"I know how it feels to have an ordinary dream, Hermione," answered Harry a little impatiently. "And that was definitely not just a dream. I was there, in that body. I could feel the excitement when he used the Unforgivable Curse on Wormtail, and the satisfaction when Pettigrew kneeled in front of him. I could sense Wormtail's fear and I liked it."

Hermione bit her bottom lip. "But it wasn't you," she told him. "It was that person, you were feeling what he was feeling. It wasn't you."

Harry glanced at her. "So, you believe me," he murmured. "You believe it wasn't just a dream."

"You're sure, and that's enough for me," she said, lowering her eyes.

Harry looked at her and smiled. "Thank you," he answered her.

"Well, you saved Mr. Weasley when he was bitten in the Department of Mysteries," Hermione reminded him. "It's not like it's the first time that you saw through Voldemort's eyes. But you have to be careful, Harry. Remember in our fifth year when Voldemort let you believe that he had Sirius, but in reality--"

"Yeah, yeah, I remember," Harry interrupted her with a pained expression, the memory of his godfather made his throat heavy, and he didn't need to feel that way at that moment. "Anyway, I don't think I was in Voldemort's body."

Hermione ran a hand through her shining hair, she couldn't believe it was so straight, she would have jumped up and down with joy from having such beautiful hair, if the conversation with Harry wasn't so serious. "Well, Harry, you see," she started slowly, "that might actually be a problem."

Harry looked at her and cocked an eyebrow quizzically.

"Because," she continued, without waiting for his question, "you can enter into Voldemort's mind because you are linked with him since he used the Unforgivable Curse on you sixteen years ago, and - oh, Harry, you know it better than I do!"

Harry nodded. "I know, and I acknowledge that it could be a problem, but I've been thinking about this. Don't you think that maybe Voldemort could have charmed someone and passed on some of his powers to him?"

Hermione looked at him sceptically. "You mean like a human Horcrux?" she asked.

Harry's eyes widened in surprise. "I hadn't thought about that. Is it possible to create a human Horcrux?"

"I guess so," answered Hermione. "I mean it's not like I know a lot about Horcruxes and dark stuff like that. I think it could be a risk to create a human Horcrux, though, I mean you have to do a certain spell to destroy an object that has been changed into a Horcrux, but I don't think that you have to do much more than kill someone to destroy the Horcrux that has been placed in his body."

Harry nodded. He knew that talking to Hermione would have helped him understand what was going on. Her explanations were also having the effect of strengthening out the theories that he had elaborated the night before, now he just had to find a way to tell her what he'd thought after he'd woken up, in the most convincing way possible.

"Hermione," Harry started unsurely as they started to walk down the hill of the cemetery that led to his parents' tombs. "I've a theory about who that person could have been."

Hermione turned to look at him and almost tripped over a stone. Luckily, Harry caught her before she fell.

"You alright?" he asked, letting her upper arm go.

Hermione nodded and smiled. "What were you going to say?"

"That I've got a theory about who that person was," he said. "I mean, he said that he had the boy, the traitor and Wormtail added that there was also a girl."

"So?" asked Hermione. She didn't understand him, or maybe she was just pretending that she didn't understand.

"So, well, I thought that with 'the boy' he could have been referring to me - after all, when he said that Wormtail had to talk only to his master, he was surely referring to Voldemort, and... I mean Voldemort!" Harry looked at Hermione, waiting for her to say something, but she didn't open her mouth. He sighed and then continued, "With 'traitor' he could have been talking about Ron, I mean, didn't he say that Malfoy and the other Slytherins called him and his family blood-traitors because they talked with Muggle-borns and Half-bloods?"

Hermione nodded pensively.

"And you are the girl, naturally," finished Harry. He had deliberately avoided telling her the reaction that person had had when Wormtail mentioned the girl.

"So you're telling me the person is..." She looked at Harry and waited for him to finish the sentence with the name that she was afraid to hear. She wasn't stupid, she knew who Harry was referring to, what she didn't know was what her reaction would be when she heard his name coming from Harry.

"Malfoy," finished Harry. He stopped. They had reached his parents' tombs and now he was looking around himself without even knowing what he was searching for. He heard Hermione taking a deep breath, as if she was collecting her thoughts and was getting ready to reply. When he turned towards her, she was looking at him with a serious expression.

"Harry," she started, and Harry didn't like how his name sounded in her mouth at that moment, as if she was going to talk to a little child, instead of a seventeen-year-old boy. "You know that Malfoy can't even get out of bed, right?"

"I knew that you wouldn't agree with me," replied Harry sourly.

"Of course I don't agree," snapped Hermione. "It's a stupid theory. He can't walk, how was he supposed to meet Wormtail in a lane in the middle of the night? And anyway, I would have heard him closing the door."

"Hello, Hermione," replied Harry annoyed. "He's a wizard, he can Apparate."

"He can't," retorted Hermione. "He hadn't taken his Apparition test, yet."

"Oh, of course because he hadn't taken his Apparition test and he's a nice little wizard, he doesn't Apparate because he doesn't want to break any rules," hissed Harry mockingly.

"How can he Apparate if he can't walk at all? Apparition requires much more strength than walking," said Hermione, without noticing that her voice was gradually getting louder.

Harry narrowed his eyes and looked away from her, towards the distant mountains. "Didn't the fact that maybe what he's doing is all an act cross your mind at all?" he asked venomously.

Hermione felt the rage boiling inside of her. An act? How could he say something like that? Draco was suffering terrible pain, and she knew that he wasn't acting at all; when she poured the potions on his wound they really stung and his flesh burnt for real. "He's not acting," she snapped. "He's not acting at all. You should see his face when I touch his wound or when he moves. He's really in pain."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh, sure, because poor little Draco Malfoy simply cannot lie or be good at acting. Hermione, he's a Death Eater."

"He's not," replied Hermione forcefully, ready to say something definite. "He's not, I controlled his arm."

Harry turned to look at her. His mouth opened in surprise and his green eyes so dark that they seemed almost brown. For a moment he looked like he didn't know what to say to her. He hadn't controlled Draco's arm for the Dark Mark, the thought hadn't even brushed his mind at all. How could have I? How could have I forgotten something so important like this? Then his mouth slowly closed and his lips set in a thin and severe line. "Of course," he said bitterly. "Of course, you've controlled his arm and I bet you have controlled also somewhere else on his body, right?"

Now it was Hermione's time to be surprised, and shocked, and speechless. She couldn't believe her ears. Harry was accusing her of doing what exactly? Who did he think she was?

"What are you insinuating?" she hissed.

Harry lowered his eyes and kicked some cobblestones. "You and Malfoy have become rather closer lately," he murmured.

"You are not seriously thinking that there's something between Malfoy and I, are you?" she asked, crossing her arms on her chest.

"You said that," replied Harry coldly.

Hermione's jaw dropped. "I - what?" she screamed. "You're crazy, just like Ron lately. What the hell's wrong with you? Are you jealous?"

Harry turned his back on her, rolled his eyes and snorted. "And what if I am?" he asked her bitterly.

Hermione took a step back, she staggered slightly and had to sit down on the first thing she found to stop herself falling over. She found herself sat on a gravestone. She looked at Harry's back waiting for him to turn and look at her, but he didn't. She cleared her throat, which had suddenly gone terribly dry. "What?" she asked hoarsely.

"What if I'm jealous of Malfoy?" Harry questioned again, his voice trembled slightly, and Hermione could see that the base of his neck was turning a lovely shade of red.

"You can't be jealous of Malfoy," murmured Hermione.

"Why not? He's a boy, and you spend all your time with him, and he's changed a lot towards you these last few days. He always says nice things about you," said Harry, and he knew that he was exaggerating the truth a bit, because the best Draco did was not calling Hermione a filthy Mudblood anymore. "Why shouldn't I be jealous of Malfoy, then?"

Hermione shivered even if the sun was shining and she was well covered. She took her time to answer, she didn't want to give Harry a pretext to keep up the fight. She didn't like Draco in that way, right? And surely there was nothing between them, even if her heart had jumped in her chest when Harry told her that Draco has said nice things about her.

"Because you can't be jealous of Malfoy," repeated Hermione stubbornly.

"Why?" asked Harry another time, turning to face her.

She didn't raise her eyes from the ground. "Because you can't," she murmured.

Harry shook his head. He knew that he wasn't going anywhere with that conversation, so he just stood there, with his arms crossed on his chest and his eyes that wandered around the glen, lost in his thoughts rather than searching for the man.

Minutes passed slowly, the wind started to blow and some clouds began to cover the sun, then they disappeared again. Some leaves flew around them and they heard a crow cawing on a tree.

Hermione was playing with some stones that she picked up from the ground, and now she was throwing them at her feet. When a leaf landed on her lap, it had the power to snap her out of her thoughts. She raised her eyes on Harry and murmured, "What are we waiting for?"

Harry looked at her, surprised by the fact that she had spoken. "I don't know," he answered calmly. "That old man?"

"What if he doesn't come?" asked Hermione, throwing the last stone between her feet.

Harry narrowed his eyes and looked intently around him. He hadn't thought about that, when he'd left the cottage that morning, he was so excited that he was going to receive some explanations about the curse that he hadn't considered at all the possibility that maybe they wouldn't meet the man. "I don't know," he admitted.

Hermione sighed. "Have you tried to call him?" she asked, without being serious as she tossed a lock of hair behind her ear.

Harry looked away from her, he cupped his hands around his mouth and screamed, "Hey, old man!"

Hermione jumped on her feet, she stepped towards Harry and seized his hands in hers. "What are you doing?" she asked scandalized. "I was joking!"

Harry looked at her and smiled mockingly. "Really? I thought it was a great idea and that you were serious."

Hermione glared at him. "We're in a cemetery, you shouldn't scream," she scolded.

"Why? Everybody here is dead, is not like my screams will disturb them at all," replied Harry, freeing his hands from hers.

Hermione shook her head. "Okay, whatever, I still don't get why I--" She stopped, her mouth open and her eyes wide.

"Why you - what?" asked Harry.

Hermione didn't answer. She seized and pulled the sleeve of Harry's coat and nodded towards the oak that towered over the most ancient grave in the cemetery. Harry turned his attention towards the tree and stared. His heart skipped a beat as he couldn't believe his eyes.

The old man was standing there, and he was looking right down at them. He was wearing the same shabby brown clothes as before, and his untamed hair was framing his face like the mane of a wild animal.

Harry freed his sleeve from Hermione's grab and caught hold of her hand. He felt her putting up a little resistance as he started to walk up the hill towards the man.

"Come on," he encouraged her, without turning.

"Harry, wait," she said, seizing his arm with both her hands.

"Wait - what?" asked Harry impatiently, turning to face her.

"I don't like this," Hermione protested. "I don't like that you just screamed his name and he appeared, it's suspect and I--"

"Hermione, for once in your life, can you please ask your brain to stop thinking and trust me?" Harry interrupted her impatiently. "Maybe he was already there and we didn't see him. Let's just go there and ask him a couple of questions that have been burning in my throat since yesterday."

He practically dragged Hermione up the hill, deaf to her protests and concentrated on the doubts that he wanted the man to explain to him. As they walked up the hill, the fear that they would see the man disappear another time behind that tree invaded Harry's mind, but the closer they got to him the more improbable this seemed. The old man looked like he was waiting for them.

When Harry and Hermione reached the man, they stopped some feet away from him. Harry glanced at him with determination, and the old man looked back at him with a pleased glance.

"You've come." The voice of the old man was powerful, and it sent little shivers down Harry and Hermione's spines, they didn't remember it being so amazing.

Harry let go of Hermione's hand and stepped forward so that he stood between her and the old man. "Yes, we have come, and this time we want answers," he started to speak quickly. "We won't go away until you have answered all our questions, because the time is ripe and we are old enough to handle whatever you have to tell us. Bloody hell, you can't even imagine what we've been through in the last six years, I don't reckon that you'd think twice about telling us everything you know." Harry stopped to take a long breath before going on with the flow of words that were coming directly from his brain. "We are sure that you know something about this curse, and we want you to tell us everything you know, because the only other person that could have told us anything is dead, and we need to know everything about this damn curse, because we have to fight it, right now."

Harry looked at the old man, panting. He had told him everything that had come into his mind at that moment, and now he wasn't sure if he had forgotten anything.

The old man looked back at him, a serious expression on his face. "Is that all?" he asked, and both Harry and Hermione could swear that they heard a note of enjoyment in his voice.

Harry's eyes widened. He had waited for him to reproach him about his impoliteness or something like that, his reaction was absolutely unexpected.

"Y-yes," stammered Harry, glancing at him with suspicion.

"Very well," answered the man, standing there without moving. He looked past Harry and locked his eyes on Hermione, who didn't glance away. He narrowed his eyes and Hermione felt like her brain was split in two. She gasped softly, and broke eye-contact with the man. She was sure that he had tried, and succeeded, to read her mind. But she didn't know if he had used Legilimency or something else.

"So?" asked Harry a bit impatiently. Apparently he hadn't noticed anything. "Are you going to tell us?"

The man smiled, showing a line of perfect teeth behind his lips. "I'll do better," he said, and while Harry and Hermione looked at him without understanding, he disappeared.

Harry took a step back and his shoulder crashed against Hermione's. Finally they were sure, he was a wizard, but did they need that confirmation?

Then something seized their shoulders, firmly and almost painfully; and they heard the voice of the man between their heads. "I'll show you," he thundered.

Harry had just the time to notice how that scene reminded him of the episode with Tom Riddle's diary when he had been sucked in his pages the moment Voldemort showed him Hagrid, that the ground under their feet started to shake, as if they were in the middle of an earthquake.

Hermione let out a scared cry and, before he could even turn to look at her, the ground disappeared completely and they started to fall. Harry tried to catch Hermione's hand, but he couldn't reach for her. It was almost like falling into a Pensive, and Harry hoped that, wherever they were going to end up, the landing was gentle.

Suddenly the ground reappeared under them and they were slammed onto it with such force that it took away their breaths. Harry was on his back, and he had to close his eyes because the sun was blinding him, the sky was cloudless, just like the one they had left behind.

He tried to stand up, ready to find some aching bones, but he was surprised to discover that he was fine. He sat up and looked around, looking for Hermione. She was only a few feet away from him, and was trying to crawl towards him.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked her, his eyes travelling over her body, her tights were broken in several places, and there was soil on her coat, but she seemed fine.

Hermione nodded as she reached him. "I guess so," she answered. "But I feel like my stomach has been turned upside down."

Harry nodded, he knew the sensation. He pushed on the ground with his hands and stood up, then he helped Hermione get on her feet as well. They cleaned the soil from their coats, and Hermione smothered her hair, staggering a little because of the fall.

Once they were clean enough, they glanced around themselves and stared. They couldn't believe their eyes, was that man trying to fool them? Harry felt his rage rising inside of him. He opened his mouth to express his frustration, but a scream coming from Hermione stopped him from saying anything at all.

He turned towards her and saw that she was staring at his stomach, a horrified expression on her face. He was going to ask her what was wrong, but instead he glanced down at his belly.

There, like an iron and cold tongue, the blade of a sword was sticking out of his stomach, right above his navel. He looked at Hermione, scared and clueless about what was happening, and he saw that she was looking past him, at someone who he couldn't see. Then a savage cry captured his attention, and, as he raised his eyes in front of him, he saw a man throwing himself against him with his own sword raised towards his chest.

Harry hoped that, whoever they were, would have had a bit of mercy for Hermione, then he closed his eyes and got ready to receive the fatal stab.