The Legacy of the Founders

THE LEGACY OF THE FOUNDERS

Chapter One: Troubled Dreams

Dreams surely are difficult, confusing, and not everything in them is brought to pass for mankind. For fleeting dreams have two gates: one is fashioned of horn and one of ivory. Those which pass through the one of sawn ivory are deceptive, bringing tidings which come to nought, but those which issue from the one of polished horn bring true results when a mortal sees them.

--Homer, 'The Odyssey'

* * *

Harry Potter sank restlessly into dreams. He found himself inside a large room; the walls made of stone and the floor of marble. One end was flat with a door set in the middle, the other rounded with a dais bearing a regal-looking throne. He had been inside a room like this before, though it lacked the splendour of his current surroundings. There were shelves on the walls, holding all sorts of instruments, both strange and familiar: a bowl made of silver, a golden knife with rubies glittering in the hilt, a shrunken head, a large circular medallion with a pentacle set within it. There were torches on the wall also, burning with a soft green fire.

On the dais stood a figure, its back turned to Harry, the torchlight refusing to illuminate its shadowed form. It was breathing hoarsely, not as though it was wounded but as though it drew its breath in an inhuman manner. The door on the other side of the room opened; a man walked humbly inside and dropped to one knee before the dais. The torchlight flickered across his anxious face, his eyes darting erratically.

"My Lord," said the man.

The figure standing before the throne turned around to face the kneeling man. If he hadn't been dreaming, Harry would have screamed.

"Do you have it?" Lord Voldemort hissed.

"N- no, my Lord. It was under guard, I could not--"

"Crucio." The man fell to the floor, screaming and writhing in pain. The Dark Lord ignored him and looked up as the door opened again. This time a tall, pale-faced man with sleek blonde hair and sharpened cheekbones entered. His eyes went briefly to the twisting figure on the floor before fixing upon Voldemort.

"You called, master?"

"Yes," Voldemort replied. He lowered his wand and descended the dais. The man continued to writhe in pain on the floor behind him. "I tire of failure, Lucius," said Voldemort over the man's agonised wails. "I must have it. Get it, and bring it to me."

Lucius bowed. "As you wish, my Lord." He turned around and started towards the door.

"Lucius," Voldemort said softly. Halfway to the door, Lucius stopped and turned around. The man on the floor was no longer screaming. "Send someone to dispose of Emery's corpse."

Lucius bowed once more and swept out of the room.

* * *

Harry woke up not with a start but with his head full of a mental haze. He sat up rigidly and kneaded the cramps out of his neck. The details of his dream faded fast, until only fleeting images and scraps of conversation remained. He had seen Voldemort, and Draco's father, and another man who had been killed, but what was it they had been talking about? Voldemort had wanted something and had asked Draco's father to get it for him. Harry couldn't remember if they had mentioned what 'it' was, but the dream was now no more than dregs in his mind.

He pushed aside the hangings of his four-poster and planted his feet on the floor, reaching out for his glasses. Dean, Seamus and Neville were all sound asleep, and he imagined that Ron would be too, in his Prefect's room. There was a pale golden light filtering in through the window that let Harry know it was morning, which he was grateful for, as he didn't think he'd be able to get back to sleep.

After taking his time to get dressed, he left the dormitory and went down to the common room, which was still deserted. The fire had been lit and was crackling happily in the fireplace, warming the room to a tolerable temperature. It had been a cold winter so far and it looked as though it would get colder.

Harry settled into an armchair and contemplated his dream. All he could remember now were the screams of the dying man and a voice hissing "Bring it to me." The words sounded over and over inside his head, until they lost all meaning and Harry gave up on them. He wondered if maybe he should talk to someone about what he'd seen - Dumbledore or Sirius perhaps. Lupin would listen too, and he could certainly tell Ron or Hermione if he wished, but it might be nothing and he didn't want to worry everyone so close to Christmas.

In the end, he opted to do nothing for now and settled further back into his armchair, staring absently at the fire.

* * *

As she did every morning at breakfast, Hermione cast a surreptitious glance at the Slytherin table, to see what a particular blonde-headed boy was doing. Draco wasn't in the Great Hall this morning, however, so Hermione was free to enjoy her breakfast rather than worry about how many of the Slytherin girls Draco was causing to laugh.

They had been back at school for more than three months now and still Draco hadn't said a word to her. It had seemed like some kind of unspoken pact when they arrived at their first Arithmancy lesson; they had both seated themselves next to other people and avoided each other's gaze entirely. When his gaze wasn't on her, though, Hermione looked quite frequently at Draco, with a tense anticipation. But the months had passed and he hadn't so much as smiled at her. At least now she knew it was finished, whatever fleeting accord they had had last year. Of course, that wasn't entirely true, as they weren't openly hostile to one another any more; but Hermione thought she would have preferred that to the silent treatment Draco was giving her now.

The Christmas holidays were approaching and according to the snatches of conversation Hermione overheard in the halls, almost all the students were planning on going home for the break. Perhaps it had something to do with the now increasingly accepted threat of Voldemort that so many parents were requesting their children come home for the holidays. Whatever the reason, Hermione was looking forward to the peace and quiet of the next few weeks.

Beside her, Ginny was poking listlessly at a bowl of porridge that hadn't changed its volume since she'd begun eating it. Every so often she would glance across the table at Harry, but the look would never last long and all it succeeded in doing was deepening the hunch of her shoulders.

Harry was maintaining a thoughtful silence, not openly discouraging conversation, but not doing much to initiate it either. He looked, as he usually did, as though he had something on his mind. Hermione knew he wouldn't tell any of them what it was unless he thought they needed to know, so the best she could hope for was that whatever was bothering him was a normal, teenage dilemma and not the kind that involved mortal peril.

Ron looked merely bored. He ate in silence and occasionally looked around at the others as though waiting for someone to speak, perhaps about Christmas or Quidditch or how much they still hated Draco, which rivalled Quidditch as his favourite topic for conversation. Hermione often felt like pointing out that Draco had died to save her life, but she usually restrained herself from speaking about him when she was with her friends. And why shouldn't she? Draco would never talk to his friends about her.

Hermione sighed inwardly and looked hopefully around the table. "So..." she said. They all looked up at her expectantly. "Um..." she continued, racking her brain for something to say. "Nice weather, isn't it?"

"I'm freezing," said Ron.

"Me too," Ginny added.

Well, that wasn't very successful, Hermione thought to herself. She looked from one to the other, irritated by their lack of enthusiasm. "Oh, come on," she said, "there must be something we can talk about."

Harry speared a sausage on the end of his fork and fixed it with a contemplative eye. "The sausages are stale."

"Not exactly what I had in mind," said Hermione.

"He's right," said Ron, spitting his own sausage into his napkin with a distasteful look.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well...has everyone done their Christmas shopping?"

"No."

"No."

"No."

"Well, tomorrow is the last Hogsmeade visit, so you'd better do it quickly."

"We will," Ron intoned, looking tired.

Hermione looked around the table again. "So I'm meeting Draco behind the greenhouse this morning for a wild snogging session," she announced casually.

Ron's fork fell out of his hand. "What?" he yelled, loud enough to attract the attention of the teachers.

"Ron, shh!" Hermione chided him, glancing nervously at the teacher's table and then back at Ron with an amused smile.

"You're kidding, right?" he asked. "Right?"

"Yes!" Hermione's smile widened. "I'm kidding."

Ron let out a deep breath, his chest falling with relief. "That wasn't funny, Hermione."

"Actually, I thought it was," Ginny opined.

"No one asked you," snapped Ron.

Ginny glared at her brother resentfully and turned back to her porridge, which still hadn't budged from its bowl. Ron turned back to his own breakfast, casting the occasional suspicious look at Hermione.

"Honestly, Ron," she said after several minutes of this, "you could be a bit less paranoid. Draco and I aren't even friends any more - and even if we were, what makes you think I'd do something like that with him?"

"Well...you don't have to keep calling him Draco, you know," Ron replied in lieu of a retort.

"I know," said Hermione. "But I can't shake the habit."

"Maybe you should try," said Ron, bitterly.

"Leave her alone," Ginny interceded.

"Thank you, Ginny," said Hermione, looking smugly at Ron. "Are we still going to the library this morning?" she asked Ginny.

"If you don't mind," Ginny replied.

"Not at all. Do you want to go now?"

"Sure." Ginny dropped her spoon in her bowl and stood up with Hermione.

"We'll see you at lunch," Hermione said to Ron and Harry, then followed Ginny out of the hall.

They returned to Gryffindor Tower first, to collect their books, and then headed for the library. Hermione had agreed to help Ginny with an essay she had to write for Snape on Detoxifying Agents, which Hermione remembered as a particularly difficult assignment. With Christmas just around the corner, most of the students had abandoned their schoolwork for the moment, and so the working conditions in the library would be ideal, or so Hermione had thought. Of course Draco had to be there, right when she didn't want to see him.

He was perusing the stacks with concentration, trailing a slender finger over the spines of the books. He looked sideways as Hermione and Ginny walked past, but after another step he was blocked from sight. Hermione led Ginny to the table furthest away from Draco and set her books down. Ginny was looking back over her shoulder. "What's he doing here?" she demanded.

"Probably just looking for a book," Hermione replied nonchalantly.

Ginny pulled out a chair, sat down and began unpacking her books. Above her head, Hermione saw Draco appear from between the stacks and walk casually out of the library, never looking back once.

"I'll go and get the books we need," Hermione told Ginny, and then hurried over to the shelf Draco had been examining. She read the names of some of the books (Lerstadt's Guide to Legilimency; The Sleeping Landscape; Overt Operations of Occlumency; Dreams, Visions and Other Spiritual States of Mind) and frowned. What was Draco doing looking at books on dreams and visions? Hermione thought for a moment, then pushed the knowledge to the back of her mind and set off to find Ginny's books.

* * *

Draco stalked the halls alone, grateful for the solitude. He found solace in it these days, and if the Christmas holidays would bring more of it, then he was looking forward to them. It would be one of the first holiday breaks he'd willingly spent at Hogwarts. He wondered to himself why he hadn't done so before. Of course, he knew the answer; he had always returned home like an obedient son to spend the holidays with his family, and maybe rub Potter's nose in it along the way. Now, though, he didn't have to worry about family customs or traditions or what was 'expected of him'.

His father was a fugitive now, thanks to the testimony Draco had given the Ministry over the summer break. The entire Ministry was on the lookout for Lucius and his demonic master. Dumbledore had told Draco that it was because of his statement that many sceptical Ministry wizards and witches now accepted Voldemort's rebirth as fact. Draco supposed he should feel a surge of pride at that, but he had always been taught that betraying a family member should reduce one's pride, and so the two cancelled each other out and he felt nothing.

His mother had adjusted quickly to the change. At first she had been distraught to learn of her husband's pending arrest, but once she learned that it would have little impact on her expensive lifestyle, she calmed down markedly. Draco was now the unofficial master of the Manor, to be made its official owner in two years time. Even so, Hogwarts still felt like more of a home than the Manor ever had.

Most of his housemates would be leaving for the holidays, which was a good thing, in Draco's opinion. For a scary few days, Pansy had insisted on staying behind to keep Draco company, but he had managed to talk her out of it. And even though Crabbe and Goyle would have stayed, they were no longer in school, having failed the previous year. In Draco's opinion, their departure had been long overdue. He didn't miss them at all. Gone were the days when Draco Malfoy relied on thick-necked cronies to harass and bully people for him. He could do that perfectly well on his own now.

He wasn't sure why he'd been surprised to see Hermione in the library; it was the one place you could put money on seeing her. But after the last few, somewhat awkward, months, he had forgotten most of her routines and habits that he had come to know so well when he was... Well, he didn't like to think about that.

He had come to terms with the fact that he no longer hated her, which was startling in itself. But then he didn't exactly like her or spend any time with her either. Now she was just another unknown student who he remained casually indifferent towards. How different things might have been if she had been willing to accept his apology last year. But then, he didn't like to think about that either.

He rounded a corner and continued down the subsequent hallway, pushing thoughts of Hermione out of his head. He didn't want to think about her, and it would be an unproductive venture if he did. Though as it happened, the one thing that he hated to think about the most had just emerged from around a corner and was walking directly towards him. Draco stopped at the same time Harry did, several awkward yards lying between them.

"Potter," said Draco with cold civility. Hermione wasn't the only person with whom his relationship had changed after last year. He still disliked Harry, still loathed and detested and abhorred him, but there was always the niggling reminder at the back of his mind that Harry and his friends had carried Draco's lifeless body back to Hogwarts, when they could have easily left him to die. But then Draco had helped them far more than they had helped him, and he had the fugitive father to prove it.

Harry was looking back at him cautiously, as though he expected to be ambushed or cursed or blown up. "Malfoy," he said by way of a greeting. They stared at each other for several moments, Draco with his upper lip slightly curled.

"If you're looking for Hermione," he said, "she's in the library."

"I wasn't," Harry replied shortly. "I was going down to see Sirius."

"Oh, right, the dog-man. Still living in Hagrid's shack is he? I would have thought a stuffy old cave would be more comfortable."

Harry's jaw tensed. "Maybe you should try to remember who it was that carried your sorry body out of that castle last year, Malfoy."

"And who was it that got your sorry body into that castle?" Draco retorted fiercely.

Harry sighed. "I don't have time for this, Malfoy." He brushed savagely past Draco and continued down the corridor. Draco turned around to stare coldly at Harry's retreating back. Several moments passed after Harry had disappeared from sight before Draco continued walking. He turned a corner and pushed thoughts of Harry and Hermione viciously out of his head. It wouldn't do him any good to think of either of them right now, especially when he had more important things to worry about.

* * *

The grounds outside the castle were covered in snow, several feet deep in some places. Harry wrapped his cloak tightly around himself as he trudged across the frozen lawns towards Hagrid's hut, which stood like a pebble amongst a sea of white. Once there, he raised his hand to knock, but the door swung open before his knuckles hit the wood.

"I saw you coming from the window," Sirius said, by way of a greeting. He moved aside to let Harry in, then shut the door behind him. "Bloody cold outside."

"Yeah," Harry agreed.

Hagrid's hut looked almost exactly as it had during the gamekeeper's tenure. The mouldy, oversized bed still took up an entire corner of the room, though Harry noticed Sirius seemed to be sleeping on one of the couches instead. In the opposite corner, Fang was resting his head on the floor, glancing up only briefly when Harry arrived.

"Tea, Harry?" Sirius offered.

"Thanks." Harry sat down on one of the chairs beside the fire, allowing the flames to melt the flecks of snow on his cloak.

"So how have you been?" Sirius inquired as he set the teapot to boil.

"I've been okay," Harry replied. His dream was sitting heavily on his mind, not because he was eager to tell Sirius about it, but because he felt guilty for not doing so. Still, there was no need to worry him over something that could prove to be a trivial matter.

The teapot sang shrilly for a minute or so before boiling. Sirius filled two cups and handed one to Harry, taking a seat on one of the couches. "And the others?" he asked.

"They're okay. Everyone's a bit bored, I think."

Sirius smiled. "That's what you get for living in mortal danger for so long. Can't go back to the quiet life."

Harry sipped his tea placidly. "How are you?" he asked.

"Me? I'm fine. It's taken a while to get used to sleeping on something soft and having a roof over my head though. And Fang's been sniffing me an awful lot."

The boarhound mewled softly from his corner at the mention of his name.

"Have you seen Draco much?" Sirius inquired casually.

"Malfoy?" Harry said stiffly. "I ran into him on the way here."

Sirius smiled faintly. "You don't like him very much, do you?"

"No, not really. He seems to have conveniently forgotten everything that happened last year. He won't even talk to Hermione."

"He's been through a lot, Harry," Sirius pointed out. "It's not easy being the one to sign your own father's jail sentence - might even be a death sentence. And with a family as proud as the Malfoys, Draco must feel as though he's committing the worst kind of betrayal. He doesn't have it as easy as you might think."

"I guess not," Harry conceded. "But that doesn't make him any less of a prat."

"No," said Sirius, grinning with amusement. "No, it doesn't."

* * *

"This is so boring," Ginny said in frustration, throwing her quill down on the table. "I don't care how many ways there are to cure a Lobalug sting."

"Well, you might if you were ever stung by one," Hermione said reasonably.

"Are you saying I should go out to the lake, stick my head under until I get stung and then write my essay?"

"No," Hermione replied, laughing. "I'm just saying it could come in useful one day."

Ginny folded her arms on the desk and rested her chin on them. "I need a break," she said, staring blankly at the far wall. It was snowing lightly outside, the sky a bleak, winter grey. It reflected Ginny's mood like a mirror, though she wasn't sure why. Hermione seemed to have picked up on it too.

"Are you okay, Ginny?" she asked kindly.

"Fine," Ginny mumbled back.

Hermione closed the book she had been reading and laid it gently on the table. She lowered her head to Ginny's level. "More Potter problems?" she inquired.

Ginny's ears turned pink as she straightened up in her seat; the rest of her face followed. Hermione seemed to take that as a 'yes', and smiled warmly. "Have you tried telling him again?"

Ginny was unable to meet Hermione's gaze. She set about pulling threads out of the cushion on her chair. "Not really," she replied. "I've thought about it, but...I just can't. Every time I try to talk to him I...freeze."

"Well, maybe you could write him a letter," Hermione suggested helpfully.

"Oh, no," said Ginny, looking up with horror. "I couldn't do that. I'm no good at writing letters. I wouldn't know what to say."

"Just tell him how you feel."

"I can't," Ginny replied morosely. "And even if I could, it wouldn't matter. He doesn't feel the same way about me."

"He might," Hermione offered supportively.

Ginny continued to worry the edges of her cushion. "Does he...does he ever talk about me?" she asked, looking up hopefully.

"Well," Hermione began contritely, "Harry doesn't exactly talk about his feelings very much." She saw the disappointed look on Ginny's face and quickly added, "But, that doesn't mean he doesn't have any for you."

Ginny smiled appreciatively, though it didn't reach her eyes. She picked up her quill again and tried to concentrate on her Potions essay.

"Don't let it get to you," Hermione said encouragingly. "If Harry likes you then he'll do something about it eventually."

"And if he doesn't?" Ginny queried.

"Well, then, he's not a very smart boy, is he?"

Ginny smiled again and turned back to her work.

* * *

After she had finished in the library with Ginny, Hermione took to wandering the halls, clutching her books tightly to her chest for warmth. Some of the hallways in the castle were lucky enough to have Warming Charms on them, but to cover an area the size of Hogwarts with the charms was no easy task, so many of the corridors remained cold and damp. The windows that Hermione passed were all fogged up and caked with snow. Even her breath occasionally rose in front of her as little puffs of steam. She was grateful for the cold though, if for no other reason than it kept most students in their common rooms and the castle quiet.

Eventually she found herself scaling the stairs of the North Tower, puffing with the effort. When she emerged on the landing, the first thing she saw was a pale, silvery head near one of the windows, contrasting starkly with the black clothes below it. Hermione knew straight away who it was - no other person she'd ever seen had hair like that, or could stand that straight and still. She caught her breath quietly and considered turning around and going back the way she had come, but Draco denied her that option when he turned around. His jaw tensed instantly and he raised his chin slightly, but his eyes weren't as forbidding as Hermione had imagined they'd be. She felt suddenly very self-conscious, standing there with her books clutched protectively to her chest and her hair no doubt a mess. She found, though, that she couldn't look away from Draco - his metallic grey eyes and soft blonde hair seemed to merit her attention. Snow was falling past the window behind him, and although Hermione quivered slightly from the cold, he looked completely unperturbed by it.

"Hi," she said, timidly.

"Hi," Draco replied. His voice was deeper than Hermione remembered it, though still as soft. She tried to look at him rather than stare at him, but it was hard. And why wouldn't he blink?

"I was, um...walking around the castle," Hermione said, regretting it immediately.

"Me, too," said Draco.

An awkward silence settled itself between them, like a sleeping beast that couldn't be roused. Draco continued to stare at her as though he were looking into her mind and flipping through her thoughts with interest. She hated the way he could make her feel like that, as though he knew more about what she was thinking than she did herself.

"Are you looking forward to Christmas?" she asked, to break the silence and deter him from his mind reading.

A faint smile crept across Draco's face, and Hermione found herself smiling back, unsure of why. "I've never been big on Christmas," Draco replied. "My family tends to frown upon any holidays involving love and forgiveness as their main themes. We're more about ill will and vengeance, really."

Hermione frowned. "Which holidays represent ill will and vengeance?"

"St. Patrick's day for one," said Draco, shifting his position slightly. "You'd be surprised how much vengeance people engage in once they've had a few drinks.."

Hermione's smile deepened and she lowered her face to hide it. She was aware, though, that Draco was still looking at her, still unblinkingly. And he had that same smile of curious amusement that always made her intensely uncomfortable. She decided to keep talking, to preoccupy both their minds. "Are you going home for the holidays?" she asked.

"No," said Draco. "Staying here."

"Oh. Are many of the Slytherins staying?"

"Three, I think," Draco replied.

Three? Hermione thought. That wasn't far off the number of Gryffindors that were staying, and the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw numbers wouldn't be far off either. The Great Hall would be deserted at mealtimes, and at the Christmas Feast - perhaps they would all eat at the same table. Hermione was filled with both dread and a strange anticipation at the thought.

"So...you're spending Christmas alone?" she inquired.

"In all probability," said Draco.

"Well," Hermione began nervously, "you could...I mean, if you like...you could spend it with us."

Draco raised an eyebrow, the amusement in his smile overtaking the curiosity. "And you'd enjoy watching Potter, Weasley and I trying to impale each other with andirons?"

"Well, I thought...you know...maybe you could try and...get along with them." The barriers behind Draco's eyes went up instantly, and his smile faded. He didn't look angry though, which was something.

"I think I'd rather spend it alone," he said, not unkindly.

"Oh, okay," said Hermione. "Well, if you change your mind...." She trailed off and let the offer stand, though she knew better than to think Draco would accept it. She probably would have received the third degree from Harry and Ron too, if he had. Perhaps it was better this way, even if the thought of Draco spending Christmas day alone in his room bothered her. "I should go," Hermione said, and Draco nodded. She turned away from him, reluctantly, and descended the stairs again, her shoulders falling and her breath escaping in a long sigh.

* * *

A visit to Hogsmeade was scheduled for the following day, a Sunday, and although it was freezing cold outside, the rain was at least holding off for now. Ginny found that part of her was dreading the trip, as, now that she was somewhat ingrained in the famous Gryffindor trio, she would be spending most of the day with Harry. Ron and Hermione would be there too, but she was still nervous. Another, smaller part of her was excited at the prospect, but it didn't receive much attention.

She made her way down to the Entrance Hall shortly after breakfast and looked around for her friends. (My friends! Ginny thought with a giddy thrill.) She found them close to the front doors, talking in a tight circle beside a suit of armour. She was even more thrilled when they made room for her as she approached. They exchanged quick greetings and then waited mostly in silence for Filch to arrive and begin ticking off names. Once every student had been marked against the roll, the doors were thrown open and they poured out amid a buzz of chatter.

The path to Hogsmeade had been cleared of snow, so it was easy going for the most part. Their boots crunched noisily on the gravel as they drew nearer the wizarding village. As always, it looked the perfect embodiment of Christmas. The rooftops were covered with snow, the doors hung with Christmas wreaths and the windows adorned with all manner of green and red and gold decorations. It resembled, more than anything, an enormous gingerbread village coated in icing. Ginny's heart swelled with delight just from looking at it.

She followed Harry, Ron and Hermione through the main street, looking left and right to take in all the wonderful sights. There were young children playing in the streets, engaged in furious snowball fights and constructing lopsided snowmen. The adults were standing on street corners or huddling in doorways and chatting jovially with each other, some warming their hands over conjured fires. And the Hogwarts students had dispersed quickly, entering shops or gazing through window fronts at the bright and colourful displays within. Ginny followed the others into The Three Broomsticks, where they could warm themselves up first with bottles of Butterbeer. They found an empty table and sat down. When Ron and Harry offered to get the drinks, Ginny hid a smile as she thought how very like a date this was. Not that she knew what a date would be like, having never been on one.

When the boys returned, Ginny took the Butterbeer her brother offered her and sipped it slowly, listening to the others talk with a calm, blissful feeling. Hermione spoke of exams, Ron of Quidditch and Harry of Christmas. Ginny said little herself, but she was grateful that they tried to include her. Most of her attention, however, was turned towards not spilling her Butterbeer, as she had the last time she'd spoken with Harry in The Three Broomsticks.

The talk flowed easily and extensively and soon they were all reluctant to leave, but Ron wanted to visit Zonko's and Honeyduke's and Hermione needed some new ink from Scrivenshaft's, so they finished their Butterbeers and emerged outside into the cold again. They walked up the main street towards Honeydukes, and on their way they passed an alleyway beside The Three Broomsticks, where a dark figure was leaning against the wall. It was a student, his palms flat on the stones and his forehead touching them also. His face was screwed up in pain, his blonde hair hanging loosely about his head.

"Is that Malfoy?" said Harry, curiously. "What's wrong with him?"

Hermione had rushed forward already. "Draco," she said. "Are you okay?"

Draco stepped away from the wall and straightened up, blinking several times. "I'm fine," he said, and in less than a second his eyes had closed and he was wearing his usual lazy expression.

Hermione was looking concerned. "You were--"

"I'm fine," Draco said more firmly. His jaw tightened and he raised his chin, discouraging any further questions.

"Okay," said Hermione. She kept her eyes on Draco as he walked past her and out of the alley, turning the corner and disappearing from view.

"What was that about?" asked Ron.

"I don't know," Hermione replied, looking after Draco with confusion.

* * *

It took a while for Hermione's concern to fade, but once they had reached the main street again, she looked as happy as ever. "So, should we split up for our Christmas shopping?" she asked them.

"Sure," said Ron. "We'll meet you back at the castle then?"

"Okay," said Hermione, starting up the street with Ginny and leaving Harry and Ron together. "See you later."

"Wait," Ron called after her. "What do you want?"

"Surprise me," Hermione called back.

Ron turned to Harry with his eyebrows raised. "Does that mean a book?"

"I think so."

"And no books!" Hermione shouted over her shoulder.

"Rats."

Harry smiled and led the way down the street. "Come on."

* * *

Hermione and Ginny stopped first in Madam Scrosby's, which contained everything from old antiques to Quidditch supplies to designer jewellery. It was the perfect one-stop-shop for any gift-giving occasion, as its slogan proclaimed. Hermione was rummaging through a box of interesting magical trinkets when she turned to Ginny and asked, "Have you thought about what you're going to get Harry?"

"I don't know," Ginny replied morosely. "I want to get him something special that no one else will get him, but I can't think of anything." She sighed dejectedly. "You'd think that after growing up with six brothers, I'd be more equipped to shop for boys." She stopped beside a box of jewellery and extracted a long silver chain. "What about this?"

Hermione saw that it was fixed with a round, circular disc on which the words 'I LOVE YOU' were engraved in large, blocky letters. "Ah...maybe something a bit more subtle," she suggested kindly. "What about a kit for his Firebolt?"

"No," Ginny replied glumly, dropping the chain and examining instead a collection of famous witch and wizard figurines (Dumbledore was squirming in her hands). "Everyone gets him Quidditch stuff. And besides, he got me a practice Snitch last year." She put the toy Dumbledore down and sighed heavily. "And I don't want to just get him chocolates or sweets, because that's what people get when they don't have any better ideas." Hermione bit her lip guiltily and tried to hide the Honeyduke's sampler box she had bought for Ron.

"And something like this would be okay," Ginny went on, picking up a bronze statue of a roaring lion, "but I don't want to pigeonhole him and make him think that I only see him as famous Harry Potter, because he probably already has enough people reminding him about the whole hero thing, and I don't know if he even likes lions, just because he's in Gryffindor, and what if I get him something that he hates and whenever he thinks of me he always remembers that crappy gift I gave him and he never wants to speak to me ever again?" She was breathing fast by the time she had finished, and looked even more miserable.

"Okay...I think you're overthinking this a bit," said Hermione. "Just get him a comb or something."

Ginny dissolved into giggles and soon Hermione followed suit, until the rest of the shop's patrons were giving them funny looks. It was a while before they could dry their eyes and regain some semblance of self-control. Once they had, they moved to the back of the shop and continued looking.

* * *

Harry and Ron, meanwhile, went into Honeyduke's first, for Ron's 'present to himself'. There were other, more expensive boxes of chocolates in the shop, however, and soon both Ron and Harry were searching through them for potential gifts.

"You think chocolates are okay?" Ron asked Harry. "They don't say: 'I got you a box of chocolates because I couldn't think of a better idea'?"

"No," Harry replied. "I think they say: 'I got you a box of chocolates'. Unless you get these ones," he added, quickly putting down a complimentary truffle which was shouting insults at him, "in which case they'll say a lot more."

Deciding that they'd come back to Honeyduke's after they'd visited the other stores, they made their way out into the cold again and up the street towards Gladrags, because, as Ron said, "Girls like clothes, don't they?"

Harry found himself thoroughly lost inside though, and even though the shop held more than just clothes, he was equally baffled by the jewellery and perfume potions that he saw. Perhaps he should have paid more attention to Hermione over the years; he was sure new quills and book bags wouldn't suffice for girls of Ginny and Hermione's age. Still, he had absolutely no idea what to get.

"So what are you getting Ginny?" Ron inquired at one point.

"I don't know," Harry replied honestly. "I'm no good at buying gifts."

"Well, she liked that Snitch you got her last year," said Ron. "She uses it all the time at home. She even keeps it on her bedside table when she goes to sleep."

"Well, I can't get her more Quiddtich stuff," said Harry.

"Why not?" said Ron, picking up a small pair of golden snitches that served as barrettes. They sparkled brilliantly and occasionally their paper-thin wings would flutter softly. Harry tried to picture Ginny wearing them and had to admit they weren't awful.

"They seem kind of small though," he told Ron.

"Well, you can get her a pair of broomsticks as well and she can alternate," Ron replied, holding up a pair of Firebolt barrettes. "And a box of chocolates," he added at Harry's sceptical look.

"I guess," said Harry, taking the barrettes from Ron to inspect them, and quickly realising he didn't know the first thing about girls' hair ornaments. Should they be sturdy or flexible? Big or small? Bright or inconspicuous? No idea, thought Harry. "I guess I'll get these," he said to Ron, and went up to the counter to pay for them.

After Gladrags, they tried Scrivenshaft's, Dervish and Banges, Zonko's (more for Ron than anyone else) and finally returned to Honeyduke's, where they bought half a dozen boxes of chocolates for Ron's parents, Sirius, Hagrid, Lupin and anyone else they could think of that didn't require something fancy. Once they'd left the shop, they were both thoroughly exhausted and began the long trek back to the castle, where dinner awaited them.

* * *

That night, Harry was dreaming again. He was in the same room as he had been the last time, its stone walls absorbing the green light cast by the torches and reflecting none of it. Despite the torches, the room was suffused with a shadowy air, as though Harry was looking at it through a pane of black glass. A solitary figure stood at one end of the room, on a raised dais staring out of a lancet window. It may have been night outside or it may have been day; the darkened hue of the room made it impossible to tell.

Harry had the faint impression that there was someone else in the room, though he could see no one. Presently, the door at the other end of the room opened, admitting a familiar figure. Harry looked at the man and saw once again his silver-blonde hair, his pale face and his cold grey eyes. Lucius was approaching the dais with a confidant gait, clutching a bundle of cloth in one of his hands.

"My Lord," he said, genuflecting at the foot of the throne. The figure on the dais turned and peered down at his subject with a burning curiosity.

"You have it?" the Dark Lord asked.

"Yes, my Lord." Lucius unwrapped the bundle he had been carrying and offered it up to his master. Voldemort descended the steps slowly and reached down to take something from Lucius' open palms. He held it up to admire, and Harry was able to glimpse it in the flickering torchlight; a cross, he saw - like a crucifix - made of silver. It was adorned with coiling serpents and small, glittering gemstones. Voldemort looked triumphant.

"Excellent," he said, never taking his eyes off the silver cross. "You have done well, Lucius." The blonde man allowed himself a smile. "There are two more pieces," Voldemort continued. "I must have them. Only with all three will I wield the power that is mine by right. And only then will I be able to remove the obstacles that have stood in my path for too long. Find them!"

Lucius stood and bowed, then turned and left the room. The room itself began to waver around the edges and Harry knew that the dream was fading. It remained only long enough for him to see the triumphant gleam in Voldemort's eyes, as he gazed at his new possession.

* * *

At the same time, elsewhere in the castle, Draco Malfoy was standing in front of a mirror, gazing at his own reflection with apprehension. These days, the boy he saw inside the silvery pane looked less like his own reflection and more like another person, a shadowy figure that bore little resemblance to him. He saw the same pale skin and silver-blonde hair, lightened further by the moonlight, and the same tense angle to his jaw, but the eyes... The eyes looked different.

He sighed and turned away from the mirror, then sat down on his bed, his back to the headboard. Through his window he could vaguely make out the outline of the forest and the canopy of stars above it. It looked impossibly still, and peaceful.

He turned away from the window and rested the back of his head on the wall behind him, closing his eyes. It was a mistake. The images returned instantly, along with the voices. His heart began to beat faster and he clenched his teeth together. The words seeped into his mind like poison, brushing against his thoughts and twisting them into monstrous wrecks of themselves. He gritted his teeth harder and managed to hold on for another few seconds before his eyes flew open and his breath escaped in a gasp.

Outside, the forest was still - as tranquil as ever. Draco watched it with envy, and stayed awake all night.

* * *

On the first day of the Christmas holidays, Ginny decided to take advantage of the quietude and make a proper start on her Potions essay. She had all the books she needed now, so she went without Hermione and found the library completely empty. She took her pick of the tables and spread herself out, thinking that she could get used to this. She chose a book from her pile (the thinnest one), flipped it open to the relevant section on Detoxifying Agents and began to read. How easy it was to lose herself in the words when there was no one else around. Ginny didn't think she'd ever seen the castle this quiet before. Soon she had forgotten all about her essay and was reading up on Exosium Potions, which dissolved the drinker's bones. She was so engrossed in the agonisingly detailed descriptions that she didn't notice the person standing behind her.

"Now that does not look pleasant," said a smooth voice, making Ginny jump. She clutched at her chest and spun around to face the person, her shock turning quickly into rage.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" she demanded.

"Nothing," said Draco, unperturbed by her reaction. "I was just reading some of your book there." He slid into a seat on the adjacent side of the table. "Very interesting."

Ginny looked at him as though he were crazy. "I'm doing homework," she said. "So if you don't mind..."

Draco reached out a lazy hand and slid her parchment towards him, surveying it with an equally lazy gaze. "Detoxifying Agents," he said. "Pretty simple stuff."

Ginny leant across the table and snatched her essay back, glaring at Draco. "It's not simple," she said crossly. "And I won't be able to concentrate if you're here."

"I could help you with it you know," said Draco.

"Well, I don't want your help," Ginny snapped irritably.

"No?" said Draco. "Well, then I suppose you'll just have to wait for Snape to find the mistakes."

Ginny looked up, her rage momentarily forgotten. "What mistakes?"

Draco shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "If I told you, that would be helping you, wouldn't it?" His lips twisted into a smirk and his eyes flickered with mischief.

"Do you have any idea how infuriating you are?" asked Ginny.

"Quite an accurate one, actually," Draco replied.

Ginny scowled at him and looked down at her parchment, reading the single paragraph she'd written. After she'd read it through twice, she still couldn't find any mistakes, so she lifted her eyes again and found Draco still smirking at her. She sighed. "Can you tell me where the mistakes are?"

"Maybe I don't want to now."

"Malfoy!"

Draco grinned and let his front chair legs hit the ground. He leaned forward and pointed at Ginny's parchment with a slender finger. "See here," he said, "you've said that an example of a Detoxifying Agent is Acromantula Antidote, but that's the potion. The actual agent is holly. And in the Lobalug Antidote it's a bezoar. Snape'll take marks off if you leave it like that. That's how he catches most students." Draco leaned back in his chair again, looking extremely satisfied with himself.

Ginny looked down at her parchment, blinked, then looked back up at Draco. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Why are you helping me?"

Draco shrugged. "Not much else to do around here. And I was in the area."

Ginny noticed for the first time that he was holding a book in his hand, a rather old looking book, bound in a dusty leather cover. She couldn't make out the gilded title though. She turned self-consciously back to her essay, tucked her hair behind her ear, and muttered, "Thank you."

"No problem," said Draco, getting to his feet. Ginny watched him out of the corner of her eye as he replaced his chair and stalked out of the library. Once he had gone, she inked her quill and crossed out her mistakes.

* * *

"So you don't think he's...I don't know...a bit quiet?" said Ron.

"I'm not sure," Hermione replied. "Harry's always quiet."

"I guess. But what if something's up? What if his scar's been hurting again?"

"I'm sure he'd tell us if that happened, Ron. Harry's not stupid."

"Debatable," Ron muttered with a grin, looking down at his History of Magic homework. Hermione smiled and inked her quill.

They were sitting at a desk in the common room, completing the History of Magic essay that Professor Binns had set them for the holidays. There was no one else there at the moment; Harry, Ginny and the four or five first years that had remained behind for the holidays were obviously occupied elsewhere. For a change, it hadn't been hard to convince Ron to start on the work; it was still miserable outside and there really was little else to do inside the castle. But they had been talking copiously for the last hour or so, and the subject of conversation had soon turned to Harry.

"You don't reckon he's still thinking about what happened last year?" Ron inquired.

"I can't imagine why," Hermione replied.

"But...all that stuff about his parents and his Gryffindor ancestry - that's got to be food for thought."

"Well, if he's thinking about that then I don't see a problem. That's something he has to come to terms with himself. We can't help him with that."

"I guess you're right," said Ron, shrugging. "He does seem distant though."

"Mmm," Hermione replied distractedly. She finished the last line on her essay and stacked it neatly on top of the others.

"You're finished already?" said Ron, incredulously.

"Mm-hmm."

"Help me with mine then."

Hermione sighed. "Ron - you're drawing pictures."

"So?" said Ron. "Diagrams are a valid form of explanation," he added loftily.

"Yeah, diagrams," said Hermione. "Not..." she twisted Ron's parchment towards her, "a talking pie."

Ron looked affronted. "For your information, I think a talking pie really helps to outline the persecution some non-beings faced in the early Middle Ages."

"Which would be all well and good if we weren't writing our essay on ancient Egyptian wizardry," said Hermione.

Ron's face slackened. "You're kidding?" Hermione stifled a giggle and shook her head. "Oh, hell!" Ron screwed his parchment into a tight ball and tossed it into the fire, then slumped onto the desk. "There goes that afternoon."

* * *

The Great Hall was eerily silent at dinner that night. There were perhaps twenty students in the hall and half as many teachers. The teacher's table was, for once, the noisiest of them all, though it still did little to lift the hush in the room. The sky above was an almost-black blue, studded with stars and lit only by the half-moon. After Hermione had filled her plate with food, she glanced over at the Slytherin table, where Draco was eating alone. Further down, two third year Slytherin girls were watching him and giggling quietly to themselves. Draco looked up and gave them a very rude gesture. The girls scowled at him and turned back to their food, while Hermione smiled. Draco turned away from them and caught her eye, and for a moment he smiled back. Hermione was the first to look away, and when she steeled herself to look up again, Draco was no longer watching her.

"So where were you today, Harry?" Ron said beside her.

"I was visiting Sirius again," Harry replied.

"How's he doing?"

"Pretty good. I think he feels a bit cooped up though."

"You should buy a leash take him for a walk," said Ron, and they all laughed.

The laughing made Hermione glance instinctively at the Slytherin table, and although Draco wasn't looking at her, she found that seeing him alone like that still bothered her. If she hadn't been so sure of the violent reaction she'd receive, and, if she hadn't been too afraid to do so, she would have invited him to eat with them. She had her doubts, though, as to whether he'd accept such an invitation. Unlike most people, Draco looked completely at ease when he was alone. There could have been a whole throng of chatty students at the other end of the table and he still would have looked more popular. Hermione wondered whether everyone saw him that way, or if it was just her.

Beside her, Ron was busy telling Harry of the slip-up he'd made regarding his History of Magic homework. "Yeah," he said, "and I'd written half of it as well."

"Oh, you had not," said Hermione, turning away from the Slytherin table. "You'd written five lines."

"Well," said Ron, defensively, "maybe I was planning on handing in ten lines."

Hermione smiled and was again drawn to the table on the other side of the hall. It wasn't anything that had been said this time so much as the movement she'd caught out of the corner of her eye. Draco had emptied his plate and stood up, and now he was walking not out of the hall, but towards the teacher's table. He stopped at the end, beside Snape, and said something to the Potions Professor. Harry and Ginny had turned around in their seats and Ron was looking up too.

"What do you suppose that's about?" said Harry. It was, after all, extremely rare for a student to address any of the teachers during a meal.

"Dunno," said Ron. "Probably plotting our gruesome deaths."

"Ron," Hermione chided him.

She was watching Draco and Snape's discourse with interest, her brow creased in confusion. It lasted about a minute, then Snape nodded slowly and Draco straightened up and left the hall. Harry, Ginny and Ron turned back to their plates, as did Hermione, a few moments later.

"Well," said Ron, spearing a potato piece on the end of his fork, "I'll sleep easier tonight knowing those two are in cahoots."

* * *

Harry was dreaming again. The dreams swirled and shifted and blended into one another, the images overlapping and melting together. He saw flickers of strange places and of stranger people, of dark skies and bright blood, of stone and flames. None of the images lasted long and none had much form, until, that is, one of them began to take shape. It crystallised into a torch lit room, one that he was beginning to become familiar with. The flames burned in brackets along the walls, but what they gave off seemed less like light and more like the absence of darkness.

Harry wasn't surprised to see the wretched, non-human figure sitting on the throne atop the dais. Voldemort's bone-white, spidery hands were curled around the edges of the armrests, his red and black eyes glowing as bright as the torches. He raised his chin, for the door had opened and Lucius Malfoy was walking inside.

"My Lord," said Lucius, kneeling at the foot of the throne. He held up a bundle of cloth, much like the one in Harry's previous dream. This one, however, obviously harboured something longer than the silver crucifix.

Voldemort rose to his feet and took the bundle. "There was no trouble?" he said.

"Some," said Lucius. "The Muggles became curious, but they were disposed of."

Voldemort exhaled an assenting breath. He began unwrapping the bundle, and once the layers of cloth had fallen away, Harry saw something long and slender lying in the Dark Lord's pale palms, gleaming in the torchlight. It was made of a silvery metal, like the crucifix, and like the crucifix, it was exquisitely polished. It alone radiated more light than all the torches around the room.

"Yes," hissed the Dark Lord, taking the object and holding it up to his face. It seemed to part the darkness as it moved, and Harry saw that it terminated in a sharp point. It was a blade, he realised; the blade of a sword without the hilt. And that, he thought, must have been what the silver crucifix was - a hilt. Voldemort was admiring the blade in the same way.

"You have done well, Lucius," he said. "Very well indeed. Now we have two, and there is but one remaining. One more piece to cement forever my power, and to seal the fate of this wretched world."

Voldemort lowered the blade and carried it towards the door, his gait full of purpose and direction. "Come," he said. Lucius rose to his feet and followed, both the master and the servant illuminated like ghosts by the gleam of the silver blade.

* * *

Ginny, too, was dreaming of Voldemort, though in her dreams the sinister Dark Lord took on a very different appearance. He was a young boy, a few years older than Ginny, his handsome features and soothing voice belying the cruel disposition that lay beneath the surface. Only his eyes, she thought, showed what he truly was, and what he would one day become.

She dreamt of him often, though not willingly. It was hard, she found, to shake the memory of that kind presence that had listened to her every troubled thought and charmed her so completely with his eloquent words. So like Harry he had been; the messy black hair, the sympathy-inducing past, the warm, natural smile. She'd been captivated by him the moment she saw him, this Harry that didn't ignore her but listened to and understood her deepest secrets. He had bewitched her, and she'd fallen for his act like a gullible little girl.

She remembered the pain, the betrayal, when he had taken her out of the trance and she had found herself in a place so cold and dark that she was sure she'd never see sunlight again. For a moment it had been Harry smiling coldly at her, Harry betraying her so callously and unexpectedly. She had trusted him, trusted him as she had never trusted anyone else, poured her heart out to him. And here he was; green eyes gone black, warm smile gone cold. That's not Harry, she'd quickly realised. Harry would never smile like that. Never.

She'd left that dank and dreary chamber four years ago, but it hadn't left her. It came back during the night, when she was alone and Tom had free reign over her thoughts. He doesn't love you Ginny. He doesn't even like you. Doesn't even see you.

No! Ginny thought fiercely back at him. You're wrong. He does - he does see me. But Tom would never listen; he would just laugh, and Ginny would wake up sweating and crying and cold to the bone.

* * *

When Harry woke, his dream had not faded but was burned clearly into his mind. He remembered everything he saw with a frightening clarity: Lord Voldemort, his servant, the silver blade. He sat up in bed and breathed deeply for several minutes before putting on his glasses.

It was early, again, and the other Gryffindor boys were still asleep. Harry changed quietly into his day clothes and left the room, descending the spiral staircase to the common room. He paced in front of the fire, warmed by the flames and chilled by the memory of his dream. That was the third one, he realised, and there was a definite progression to them. It was obvious that what he was seeing was something real, something taking place elsewhere in the world. He had refused to acknowledge it up until now, but perhaps it was serious. Voldemort certainly seemed to think so.

It was time he told someone - but who? Christmas was still around the corner and to let this information escape unchecked could ruin it for everyone. And besides, he didn't know anything about what these dreams meant, or what they were showing him. It would be better to know something first, before he went for help. And Harry knew just the person who could help him with that.

* * *