A Plague of Legends

Chapter Sixteen: Heavenly Creatures

Or, The Knight of Wands, Reversed

"Belief in the lunatic ramblings of the renegade Jesus has grown as the number of those who carry tainted blood increases. Has the capacity for rational thought and pride in wizardry fled in the face of this religious madness? It is one thing for Muggles to believe such lies (and perhaps even have need of them), but wizards? The spread of this disease makes me fear for the future. And though Britannia is still mostly free of this rash of angels and demons, I cannot bear to leave this, my home. 'Demons', indeed; has the true nature of [writing has been struck out] been forgotten already?"

- Demetrius Malfoy, 935 A.D.

***

"Who are the Lords of Hell, boy?"

"In the book of the Mad Arab, it is written that-"

"Incorrect. Try again."

"Um, according to Math the Younger- Asmodeus, Astaroth, Belial, and Beelzebub rule under Lucifer, the fallen one."

"Better. And what are their domains? Quickly, now."

"Yes, father. Asmodeus rules in the West, Astaroth in the East, Belial in the North, and Beelzebub rules in the South. Lucifer of course reigns supreme over all Hell."

"Good. You have remembered acceptably; see that you don't forget what you have learned. We are done for today- you may put away your notes."

"Yes, father."

". . ."

"Was there something else, father?"

"Draco, the time has come to see if you've inherited any of our family's other abilities."

"Other abilities?"

"Later. Now, look at this card. Tell me what you see."

"Father?"

"Tell me what you see, Draco."

"I see. . ."

"Draco, Draco?"

"Draco, what do you see?"

"I. . . feel something- my arms hurt."

The distant sensation of bruising shoulders and frantic voices.

"Forget that! What do you see?"

"I see. . ."

"Draco! Draco, wake up!"

"I see. . ."

Worlds within and without fuzzing in and out of focus, and through it all the grinning skull of a serpent laughed at him, its forked tongue flicking between the memory of lips as it basked in the sun's tentative first rays.

"What do you see?" it asked Draco, chuckling as only cold bone can, laughing out a mockery of mortality.

As Draco watched, the sun rose up behind the skull, coloring its porcelain shell a rare shade of crimson. The eyeholes glowed red.

***

Ron shifted in the doorway, resting his head against the wood of the doorframe, and stared at Hermione; at her ink-scabbed fingers, the blackened corner of her mouth. She twirled her quill in her fingers and then, scanning a thick book with her other hand, briefly rested its tip against her bottom lip. Ron doubted she noticed any of her new nervous habits or even the people around her. He knew she didn't notice him.

It was One of Those Things, something that he and Harry took for granted whenever Hermione got into one of these states; normally it was not anything to worry over and there was no reason it should bother him. Of course, reasons don't apply to feelings unless they're not your own, so it did bother him. A lot of things bothered him, and not just the fact that he was less than a ghost to Hermione now.

The shaking of her fingers bothered Ron- the way they trembled around her quill and dragged jagged and uncertain letters across the parchment beneath them- it was so unlike Hermione. Before, she'd always gripped her quill like a weapon, sweeping it across paper with firm strokes that might as easily have been penning declarations of war as composing essays. The sight of her hovering over some impossible extra-credit piece, brow furrowed in thought, was familiar and even comforting; now the lines in her forehead bothered Ron, how they had deepened to valleys in the past weeks. Even the creases at the corners of her mouth curved downwards more often than not, her laughter a thing of some forgotten, distant past.

Ron wondered if she even saw the changes in herself or if she had eyes only for Snape and the words she had spread out around her.

He wondered about her and worried, watching selfish and afraid as Hermione's eyes became glassy and her skin waxy. If these past few weeks had been nightmarish, then the last several days had been hell and Hermione was trapped in its depths. Ron cursed Snape and gave up the doorway, slowly making his way into Snape's office. Three days of this and it still made him uneasy, the free reign Hermione had here. Or perhaps it was simply that it was just wrong, all so very wrong. There should have been someone else sitting at that desk, someone else hunched over parchment and inkwell, sneering at the intrusion as they penned some obscure paper. But instead of someone else there was Hermione and she scowled as she wrote, her frown aimed at Ron.

"Has anything been found?

Ron winced. "No. No bodies, no news, nothing. But Parvati's holding up well; better than we thought she would."

"Damn. Well, is Snape back yet?" Hermione asked; the dying hope in her voice almost broke Ron.

Ron gritted his teeth and answered. "No, no word there either. See, I just got off my patrol, and I was thinking that-"

"Ron," Hermione said, dropping her quill and rubbing at her temples. "You know why I'm here."

Yes, Ron did. He'd heard it enough times over the past few days that he mimicked Hermione's pose and continued along with her:

"You know I don't want to be disturbed."

Hermione stopped and glared; it was about as halfhearted and tired as Ron's jokes, and they both knew it. Even so, the ritual was like breathing, and just as necessary. Ron performed an empty smirk and waited for Hermione to begin ranting.

Hermione took a deep breath and somehow stared down her nose at Ron, a definite accomplishment considering Ron towered over her. It would have been a formidable expression, were her eyes not tearing. "Ron. You know that what I'm doing here is just as important as what you and Harry and everyone else are doing. You know that we don't have the time to play around, especially now that there is only me. You know I'm not to be interrupted- I'm not the only one who has told you so, Ron. I'd really thought that between Professor Snape and now the Headmaster you'd understand. I need to be left alone. I wouldn't be here in his offices otherwise. Don't you understand?" Hermione brushed the liquid from her eyes with the back of her sleeve and waited, letting the silence between them deepen in accusation.

Ron crouched down beside her, saying, "What I understand is that you're no help to anyone if you kill yourself."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm not about to die, you know. I'm not as fragile as you think."

Ron made a face. "Yeah, maybe. But you're not as strong as you think, either." He pointedly scanned the desk. "You missed dinner tonight."

"I was busy." Hermione waved a hand in the direction of the pile of books heaped over her (Snape's) desk. "I had a potential lead and couldn't afford to leave it."

"So you have something?" Ron didn't bother to disguise the sarcasm is his voice. It was the same story as always, and he wasn't going to fall for it anymore.

Hermione pursed her lips then sighed. "No, it's turned out to be a dead end." She paused to glare at Ron, and the noise he'd been about to make froze in his throat. "But it could have been something." She stopped, sighed again, and looked back down at her desk, her fingers working circles into her temples. "You have to understand that."

Ron shook his head and grimaced. Understanding only went so far before it crossed a line. Ron considered that line well crossed. Ron folded his arms across his chest and began his own lecture: "I do. But I also understand you've said the same thing every day for the past three days. Holing yourself up in here and not eating isn't going to help anyone, let alone him. If he comes back, he comes back, and if he doesn't then he doesn't- there's nothing you can do about it." Ron took a breath, frowned, then continued aggressively, "And I don't know why you're remembering him sweeter than roses, because he wasn't. He was a nasty bastard, and his being maybe dead won't change that."

Ron stopped, shook his head. "Anyway, I didn't come to talk about Snape. I came to see how you were and bring you this," he said, reaching into his robes and pulling out a small handkerchief. It hung from his fingers, swinging heavily as the smell of honeyed ham and buttered potatoes seeped through the fabric into the air. Ron watched Hermione's mouth go slack and knew he had her.

"No matter what, you need to eat. If you think you're going to miss your meals I'll have Dobby bring something up. And no arguments about poor abused House Elves or anything. Dobby's a friend, and right now you're more a slave than any of the Elves here. Okay?"

Hermione scowled when Ron mentioned the House Elves, but her eyes remained fixed to the parcel dangling from his fingers.

Ron smiled at her reluctant nod. Ah, the power of food. "Good. Now why don't you unshrink this and tell me what you've been doing."

Unusually, there was no clear space on Hermione's (Snape's) desk, so instead Ron dropped the food into Hermione's lap. When the expected complaint didn't come, Ron closed his eyes and took a steadying breath, then turned away to search for a chair or bench or anything, really (Ron would have settled for one of the stacks of books lying around, but exhausted or no he knew exactly how Hermione would react to that).

Somehow, instead of dulling the sounds around him, Ron's worry only served to sharpen each noise Hermione made, until even the sound of her teeth grinding against food was like crystal shattering. By the time Ron had found and unearthed a small stool from under a pile of maps Hermione was sighing and stretching in her chair. The cracking of her joints popped like firecrackers in Ron's ears.

"So," Ron set the stool down beside Hermione's chair and clambered onto it. "Want to tell me what you've been researching since Snape left?"

A strange, hooded look passed over Hermione's face, but then it was gone and she smiled. "Why not. It will be nice to have someone listening for a change. Besides," Hermione's eyes darkened, "A different perspective might be just what I need."

Ron ignored the look and stretched his hands out palms faced upwards. "So tell me."

Hermione leaned back in her chair and stared up at the ceiling for a moment. Then, with one hand absently twisting at a lock of limp hair, Hermione began.

"Before Snape left, it became apparent that simply searching through thousands of legends, fairy tales, and myths was like searching for a needle in a haystack."

"'A needle in a haystack'?" Ron asked.

Hermione blinked. "Oh, right. It's a Muggle saying. It essentially describes an impossible search, or at least one very unlikely to succeed.

"Anyway, we came across some. . .information that led us to believe it might be good to look into Lucius Malfoy and the Malfoy family itself- that there might be a clue hidden in all of that family history. After all, Malfoy was one of You Know Who's main lackeys. And I'm sure you remember how steeped in the Project he was said to have been."

"So what did you find?" Ron eagerly asked. He'd always known the Malfoys were rotten to the core; this would prove it.

Hermione sighed in exasperation. "What haven't I found? Did you know the Malfoy family has been in England for over a thousand years? They were here before the Norman Invasion!"

"I think I remember that from Muggle Studies," Ron interrupted. "Didn't that happen about fifty years ago in some big Muggle war?"

"Ron. That was the Invasion of Normandy. I'm talking about the Norman Invasion. When the Normans, who lived in what's now France, crossed the channel and conquered Britain?"

Ron shrugged. No wonder Hermione was so tired, if this was what she was dealing with. Binns wasn't the only reason their History class was so boring.

"Ron. This is wizarding history too, you realize. Muggles weren't the only people who came over with the Invasion. The Norman Invasion sparked an early Renaissance in wizarding Britain which culminated in the construction of Hogwarts! If you'd only read A History of Hogwarts you would know this; it's common knowledge."

Ron shrugged again.

Hermione sighed and continued, "Anyway, the Malfoys left Normandy- ah, France- in 935 A.D. It had something to do with religious differences between them and most everyone else; it might have been Dark Arts trouble even then."

Hah! Proof! With that much 'family history' behind them it was a wonder Dumbledore even allowed Malfoy to come to Hogwarts. Of course, Dumbledore was notoriously forgiving (look at Snape), but still. If only Malfoy'd taken his disgusting self and his disgusting attitudes off to Durmstrang. He'd have been appreciated there, that was for sure. Ron's heart warmed at the thought.

". . . apparently this 'Demetrius Malfoy' was remarkably long-lived, even for a wizard. He was over two hundred years old when he died."

Demetrius Malfoy? What did some random Malfoy have to do with the Normal Invasion? Wait. Normal Invasion? That didn't sound right. . . Bollocks, Ron thought. He'd let himself get distracted by the admittedly glorious thought of Malfoy entombed far away to the north. With the way the brat complained about his hands chapping, the rest of him certainly wouldn't last an hour at Durmstrang. Ron resurfaced from his thoughts just in time to see Hermione glaring at him, one eyebrow raised.

"Are you listening? Because if not I should just go back to my research," Hermione said, disapprovingly.

"No!" Ron scrabbled frantically to remember the last thing Hermione'd said. "I was just, er, surprised. That's even older than Dumbledore."

Hermione's glare softened. Her lips even twitched a bit at the corners. Ron grinned at her and was delighted to see the twitching stretch into a real smile. "Yes, it is. But you should still pay closer attention."

"Yes, Hermione," Ron said, completely unrepentantly.

Hermione scowled, a tired light dancing in her eyes. "Good. Now, there is only one Malfoy 'legend' mentioned in any of the books on wizarding nobility. All of the books maintain that it began late in Demetrius Malfoy's life and since then has been an enormous force in the Malfoy family. The problem is it's never described in detail, only in title."

Ron leaned forward, intrigued despite the unfortunate subject matter. "A secret legend?"

Hermione nodded. Her fingers began tugging at her hair again. "So it seems. I was hoping that Professor Snape could some light to shed on it, but he's been gone ever since I began researching the Malfoys."

Ron noticed that she said 'gone', not 'missing' or 'dead'. If Snape ever did return, wouldn't he be surprised to find out that Hermione'd been the one to most believe in him. Strangely, Ron didn't much like that thought.

"None of the other teachers know anything, and when I asked Dumbledore about it he just smiled and offered me a lemon drop!" Hermione gave her hair one last violent yank before dropping her hands and fisting them into her skirt. "And I obviously can't ask Malfoy, so I'm at a real loss."

Hermione buried her hands into her skirt and blinked her eyes furiously. "I just don't know what to do anymore, and I keep thinking that if Snape were here we might have found the answer by now. Thinking that I'm not good enough by myself; that maybe I never was or will be. That I can't do this by myself," Hermione whispered, her hands shaking.

Ron leaned forward and took one of her hands in his own, carefully prying fingers free of fabric, and pressed her sweaty palm to his. "You don't have to," Ron said, and squeezed his hand tight around hers.

For a long moment Hermione's hand hung limp in his. Ron peered past clumps of frizzy hair into her shadowed face and waited, his chest clenched with an inexplicable tenseness. Then the damp hand between them squeezed back, and Hermione's face came out from behind her hair, shining with the promise of a smile. Ron felt full to bursting at the sight, but didn't have the time to wonder why before the sight of Hermione's lips parting knocked all thought from him.

"No, I guess I don't," she said, a sunrise fresh on her face.

"So ask me," Ron said, and if his returning smile was slightly disappointed neither of them noticed.

"Okay," Hermione whispered. "Ron, do you know anything about the Malfoy Silver?"

***

"Draco, wake up!"

"Drake! What's wrong with his eyes, Vince? They're-"

"Don't say it. He's in a trance, that's all."

"But they're-"

"Don't say it, okay? We need to wake him up. He just needs to wake up."

"You do it. I'll clean these up."

"Fine. Draco, Draco?"

Arms bruising, teeth rattling.

"Draco! Draco, wake up!"

Red-glazed bone fading away, Draco's eyes opened to Chaos, particles of peach and pink dancing into coalescence before his face. Vince.

"Stop shaking me, you fool," Draco rasped.

Contrary to his express order, Vince's hands only tightened on his shoulders. Draco shuddered at the touch, feeling somehow violated.

"Draco, you're awake!"

Draco grimaced. "What else would I be with you shaking me like that? Prat. Let go of me, will you!" he complained, prying off Vince's fingers. "What's wrong with you two?"

For a moment Vince and Greg just stood and stared at him, their faces carefully clean of all expression. They were so clear to Draco- so clear and pale. What had happened during the moments he had been traveling the spheres? Vince and Greg looked like they had seen a ghost.

Greg shuffled forward. "We were worried. I mean, you were just sitting there, tranced out with your eyes all-" He snapped his mouth shut at Vince's warning glare.

What was that about?

"With my eyes all what?" Draco asked, desperate to forget his dream, to understand it.

"Bloodshot," Vince said, and shot a look at Greg.

Draco barely stopped himself from snarling. Instead, he wrapped his words around his tongue, pondering them and their implications. Softly, he asked, "What are you hiding from me?" and watched the last remnants of color fade from their faces.

What could be so frightening about eyes? There had to more to the puzzle.

"I see," Draco murmured. "Then you won't mind if I take a look in the mirror, will you."

Vince and Greg shook their heads, their expressions steadfastly blank.

"Have it your way," Draco said tersely. "Greg, fetch me the hand mirror on my desk."

Greg's hand as he extended the mirror was steady and his grip on the mirror handle was sure. The mirror didn't even shake in his hand as he stretched it out to Draco. His smile pure venom, Draco reached out and wrapped his fingers over metal and flesh, tugging Greg close until his friend was near enough that Draco was able to lean forward and hiss into his ear. "I don't care what your reasons are, Greg. When I find out what you and Vince are hiding from me you'll wish your grandparents had never been born. Now, is there anything you want to tell me before it's too late?"

Out of the corner of his eye Draco could see Vince, how his arms were crossed almost too-tightly, how his revealed fingers tapped against his arms in a rare display of nervousness. What were they hiding?

"No Drake, there's nothing. Like we said, your eyes were just a bit red." Greg's voice was sincere and his gaze firm as he stared into Draco's eyes. If it weren't for his earlier display, Draco could almost have believed he was telling the truth. As it was- as it was, Draco wondered if he hadn't lost the only two people he trusted anymore. The jump Vince made when Greg answered didn't help allay his suspicions, either.

"Oh, really," Draco said, and dug his nails into Greg's hand. "Then I'll just have to take a look for myself, won't I?"

Draco ripped the mirror from Greg and brought it up to his face, scowling.

Nothing.

There was nothing to warrant their lies- their fear. Reflected back at Draco was nothing more or less than his face, certainly nothing unusual. He looked tired, and yes his eyes were a little bloodshot. His hair hung limp in his face and there were circles under his eyes. Really, Draco needed nothing more than a long bath and a good night's sleep; two things he was unlikely to experience any time soon. But there was nothing out of the ordinary reflected in the mirror, nothing to make Greg ball his fists or cause Vince to shake him until Draco bruised black and blue. Nothing. So whatever had been there was gone now: gone with his dream (his vision?) and gone with his trust.

Draco let out a harsh breath and laughed. "Fine. Keep your secrets. Keep them as long as you can, and know that from now on, I'll keep mine."

Draco watched as Vince and Greg exchanged a short, helpless look and sneered. It was in their power to tell him, and they knew it. This chasm was not of his making. Tired of waiting for them to make a move, Draco sank back against his pillows and contemplated his comforter. Tracing waves with one finger, he considered the nature of Chaos, Law, and all of the heavenly creatures contained in the space between. He had taken his friendship with Greg and Vince for granted, forgetting the very nature of Chaos, of himself. All things change.

"Draco," Vince said softly, his movements tentative as he sat on Draco's bed.

Draco watched the waves of Vince's arrival froth and crest against him; they swirled around the tips of his fingers. "Yes?" he said, tiredly.

"What were you doing here, before we came in? You had your cards- your father's cards- spread all around you. But when we looked at the cards, there was nothing on them. They were empty."

The cards! How could he have forgotten them? Draco looked up and stared daggers at his 'friends'. "What have you done with them?"

"I- we picked them up and put them on your desk." Greg's voice shook nervously. "You weren't waking up and they were in the way, so we just-"

Hissing out a stream of expletives, Draco jumped off of his bed and sprinted to his desk. Thankfully, there they were, piled in a careless heap on top of his Potions notebook. With uneven breaths Draco reached out and picked up the cards. They shone a rare shade of silver and their metal was still slightly warm beneath Draco's fingers. Afraid at what he might find (might not find), Draco sucked in a deep breath and turned the top card over, deaf to everything but the sound of his own breathing as it filled his ears.

Flip.

Draco sighed in relief. There, perched on a throne of light, was Lucifer. Eyes glowing blood-red he grinned at Draco, the curve of his lips a menacing message the contents of which Draco could almost understand, almost decipher. Clenched in his right hand were the chains that lead to and collared two people. Draco could almost see their faces. Almost. . .

"Draco, what are you doing?" Vince rumbled at Draco's shoulder.

Draco jumped and turned on Vince, sneering. "I'm looking at my cards. Even you should be able to understand that much." Draco deepened his sneer at the hurt look that passed over Vince's face. He'd brought it upon himself, the traitor.

Greg came forward, peering over Vince's shoulder. "But Drake, there's nothing on it. No drawing or anything." He then whispered something to Vince, his lips forming the word 'tantrum', and the tension flowed from Vince's body. Vince nodded, shrugged, and then the nervy git smiled.

Draco bristled at Vince's sudden, tentative offer and Greg's unfounded slur. Did they think him so temperamental, so naïve, that only a smile was needed to regain his trust? They could take their olive branch, take it and shove it where it belonged.

"I told both you louts that this tarot deck is a family heirloom, that no one but a true Malfoy can use them. Obviously, no one but a true Malfoy can even see what is on them."

Still sneering, Draco gathered up the cards' box and stalked to his bed. Once seated, he spread the cards out before him, entranced by their sparkle. Almost inexorably his eyes were drawn to The World, to where a strangely familiar man danced in darkness on the edge of the world. Draco barely registered the dip of his bed as Vince and Greg seated themselves, the Chaos of their arrival breaking against the cards and his thighs. The World beckoned to him, inviting Draco to dance among silver stars. From outside of himself, Draco heard himself whispering out the demon's name, "Astaroth."

"Astaroth?" Greg asked, breaking Draco's concentration. "What's that?"

Draco shook his head and focused on his friends. Former friends. They sat on his bed, hopeful and tentative, asking for his forgiveness. Well, they would not get it, not this easily. And yet- removing himself from them would be equally foolhardy; he would do better to sniff out their lies from the inside. That way he could better see the shape of their strange puzzle. That it existed was something Draco did not even think of questioning- even Potter could not have missed the guilt massed in their eyes. For now, though, Draco would play his part.

Draco heaved a long sigh and smiled bitterly, careful to exhibit only traces of anger. "Astaroth, you stupid prat, is a demon. You would know that if you ever bothered to study."

"And he's in your tarot deck because. . ." Vince inserted, his eyes dark, worried, and skeptical.

"Because the special nature of the Malfoy Tarot is that every card in the deck displays a different demon," Draco spat, careful to make it look good. Not that acting upset was difficult.

"Oh," Vince said, obviously not caring one whit about the cards. He looked pleadingly at Draco. "Draco, it really was nothing," he said, then stopped. Face creasing, he tried again, "Besides, it's not as though you haven't kept secrets from us- you and Potter, for example."

Draco closed his eyes and counted to ten. Then twenty. When that didn't work, he counted to one hundred. The red was coming stronger these days, and no matter what Vince didn't deserve that again. "Vince, we are now talking about my sex life. If I deserve any privacy at all, don't you think I deserve it there?"

"Not if it's with Potter," Greg mumbled.

"Oh?" Draco said, and the lift to his eyebrow dared them to take the matter further.

Vince punched Greg in the leg, obviously unwilling to disturb the precarious balance that had been regained between them.

The silence that followed was barely disturbed by Greg's heavy breathing, but to Draco's eyes the air between the three of them shimmered with unspoken threats and broken trust. He sat quietly, lazily awaiting Vince's inevitable attempt to breach the gap. Vince was always the one to make the first move, after all.

To anyone who didn't know Vince and Greg, they seemed almost indistinguishable in their mannerisms and appearance: slow giants who were too dull to make anything of themselves but were also too ambitious to see that. That was their strength- that people judged them by their appearance. Draco knew enough to understand the danger of underestimating them. They were complimentary in their strengths and weaknesses, and it was Vince's strength to take the first step into the unknown. Greg was the anchor that would follow.

Vince stepped forward. "Draco, what were you doing with those cards, anyway? I thought your Divination abilities had been tested as negligible."

Draco smirked. "They were and are. I have as much Sight as a stump."

Greg followed. "Then why?"

"Why did I try performing a reading with these?" Draco drawled.

Vince and Greg nodded.

"As I said, this deck is keyed only to true Malfoys. While using it we are endowed with powers we might not usually possess. There was someone I wanted to. . . know something about. I thought the cards could help me answer my question." Draco's voice choked slightly on the end of his sentence, and he looked away from them, down at his knuckles, and tried to regain his composure. Before he could stop himself he found his lips shaping a name:

Terry. . .

After that there was another moment of silence. Vince and Greg stared at the cards, their faces twisting as they peered down and tried to see the demons that frolicked across silver-dotted darkness. Suddenly, Vince looked up.

"Draco, before you tranced out you were doing a tarot reading with these cards, right?"

"Yes," Draco said, watching as The World danced before him. For him.

"Did you see anything in your trance?"

"Hmm?" Draco said, all thought driven away by the twirling figure.

"What did you see?"

What do you see, Draco?

Draco blinked, only then registering the desperate taint to Vince's face, how that desperation was echoed in the depths of Greg's eyes. Vince leaned over the cards, sending their silver into shadow, and Draco knew what they had done. He knew.

So with feigned honesty pouring from his eyes and lips, Draco wished them both a long road to Hell. Their journey was already well underway.

"I don't know."

***

Weaving in exhaustion, a slumped figure made its way out of the Forbidden Forest and headed towards Hogwarts. For a moment the pale moon overhead graced the stumbling figure with a dull light and illuminated the figure's bloody burden. Then, its curiosity satisfied, the moon hid itself behind its cloak of clouds, no longer desirous of seeing the Man or his prize. Besides, darkness would make a better gift than light on this night.

***

"Are there no more announcements to make?" McGonagall asked, obviously eager for the meeting to end. It had been longer than most, the hour was well past midnight, and exhaustion was tangible in the air. Even Hermione was fading; her head lolled against Ron's shoulder, and Ron's head rested lightly on top of it. Seeing that and their obvious comfort with each other, Harry could only hope that they had finally worked things out. Or at least begun to work things out.

Harry wished he could do the same with Draco, that their complications were as innocent as those of Ron and Hermione. While he waited for no one to step forward and for the meeting to be concluded, Harry gnawed on his thumbnail and remembered how Draco had looked in that closet, how close their lips had been to each other. In that moment they had seemed more like lovers and less like- less like whatever they were. He had known it then, that Draco really did care. Harry was sure of it, and that changed everything. Or maybe it changed nothing and there was nothing different between them; maybe that was what he'd been looking for from the beginning. With that thought, Harry absently tore off his nail and winced. Staring at his aching thumb, Harry sighed at his stupidity and lack of sense, (really, this was not the time to be thinking about Draco) and then stuck his thumb into his mouth and sucked at the blood. He tried not to remember how Draco had done the same thing to his shoulder, or how tender the other boy had been.

"All right there, mate?" Ron whispered, a silly tired grin on his face.

"Yeah, I was just picking at my nails. Bit tired, though," Harry replied, embarrassed. Oh, something had to have happened. Good on Ron.

"Good thing Hermione's not awake to yell at you, then. You know she hates it when you do that."

Sure enough, Hermione was fast asleep. A damp patch was even forming where her face was pressed into Ron's shirt. Harry smirked at the sight and rolled his eyes. Ron returned the gesture, and was obviously about to up the stakes when Dumbledore cleared his throat and began speaking.

"Well, then. If no one else has anything else to add to the discussion or to announce, I would like to make my own announcement. I have received news," Dumbledore's eyes caught the dim firelight and twinkled, "that Remus Lupin has been successful in gaining the aid of certain werewolf clans."

At the resulting explosion of voices, all of them more hopeful sounding than they had been in weeks, Dumbledore beamed and surreptitiously popped a small sweet into his mouth.

Then one voice pierced the vibrant cacophony, transforming it to silence. "Not that this isn't wonderful news, Albus, but what is your confirmation for this information?"

Dumbledore smiled around his candy and said, "Why, confirmation of the very best sort, Arthur." Still smiling, Dumbledore said, "Remus, would you please show yourself?"

If the explosion before had been cacophonous, the one that occurred now was deafening. A cloaked figure pushed away from the farthest corner and made its way to the center of the room. Fingers reached out from under the threadbare cloak to pull back on the cloak's hood, revealing the graying hair and golden eyes of one Remus Lupin. Seeing Remus, Harry felt a smile burst over his face, almost breaking it open. Remus! Remus was here! He hadn't seen Remus since the man left for the werewolves, over a year ago now.

Harry turned to see Ron sitting dumbstruck with a happy, disbelieving half-smile plastered to his face. "Ron, wake Hermione up! She has to be awake for this!"

Ron nodded and poked at Hermione, whispering softly in her ear. Harry was about to help when Remus whistled sharply and said, "Padfoot, heel!"

The sound of nails scraping on stone filled the room, and then Padfoot was sitting at Remus' side, his tail thumping a joyous beat against the floor as he stared at Harry and grinned. Padfoot's body quivered as he restrained himself from jumping Harry, and Harry could feel answering tremor wrack his own body. Instead, he just wiped at suddenly blurry eyes and whispered a heartfelt, "Welcome home," trusting the acuity of werewolf and dog ears. Remus spared a quick, gentle smile for him, while Padfoot just grinned wider, letting his tongue loll out the side of his mouth.

Beside him, Harry heard a quick gasp, "They're back!" and smiled. Seemed Hermione was up.

Eyes brighter than they had been in weeks, Dumbledore rose from his chair and moved to stand before Remus and shook the man's hand. After a brief pause, some insistent nudging of Padfoot's wet nose against his palm, and general laughter, Dumbledore gave in and patted Padfoot's head.

"Well done, Remus. We all owe a great deal of thanks for your efforts with the werewolves."

The rest of the room echoed Dumbledore's words, the dislike many people had for the ambassador outweighed by his accomplishments and the hope that his deeds granted.

Dumbledore continued. "Now, I know that it is late, but it seems as though we have some things to discuss before we retire." Dumbledore lightly clapped a hand against Remus' shoulder, "Remus, you have the floor. Would you please detail to these good people exactly what the conditions of our treaty with the werewolves are?"

"Of course," Remus said, bowing politely before the rest of the Order. "First, I would like to make it clear that- what is that?" Remus stopped and surveyed the room with glittering eyes that now glowed beyond yellow.

"What is what, Remus?" Dumbledore asked, the shine in his eyes somewhat dimmed.

Remus licked his lips, his nostrils flaring. "I smell something- it smells- I'm sorry, Albus, but I smell blood- blood and death."

Padfoot was on his feet now, and his lips were drawn back to show his teeth. A low growl rumbled in his chest, and Harry saw that only Remus' hand on his head kept him from- attacking?

"It's close, now. Almost here," Remus whispered.

Harry gripped his wand in hand and waited, noticing that everyone else was just as tense and ready.

The second passed like years, until Harry counted time not by the clock on Dumbledore's desk, but by Padfoot's pants. They waited, frozen and ready for war, but were still shocked when the door to Dumbledore's office burst open and a cloaked figure burst through.

"Albus!" the man gasped, for it was man, a man whose voice was almost familiar. It reminded Harry of broken wood; or maybe it was simply broken.

"Albus," the man said again, and reached one bloody hand up to pull down his hood. "You must come quickly, before a student sees or my cover is compromised.

"Severus," Dumbledore said, for that was who it was, "What has happened?"

"No time for that now!" Snape said, his voice snapping with exhaustion and desperation. "You must come now; I was only able to bring one of them."

And with that, Severus Snape knelt to the floor and let slip from his robes the lifeless body of Padma Patil.

**tbc**