The Legacy of the Founders

THE LEGACY OF THE FOUNDERS

Chapter Two: Scars of the Past

Draco stayed in bed for an hour after he had woken up, staring at the ceiling and sorting through his thoughts. He had dreamt last night; seen the same things he saw on other nights. His mind had clung to the details and he was worrying them like an open wound.

He got up and walked to his desk, where he opened a book he had borrowed from the library called Phantasms and Fantasies: A Dreamer's Guide. He had taken to flipping through it in the morning, in the hopes of finding something to explain the things he saw during the night. There were writings on how to induce lucid dreaming, how to interpret the images one saw, how to locate a place one had dreamt of, but there was nothing on how to tell if a person's dreams were true or not, nor why they were having them. Still, Draco looked each morning, and each morning he found nothing.

He shut the book with a weary sigh and checked the sky outside. The sun hadn't shown its face yet, but a soft, golden halo augured its arrival. It was too early to leave the room, too late to go back to sleep (even if he could have), so Draco sat down at his desk and started on some Arithmancy homework.

* * *

Harry sat in an armchair by the fire in the Gryffindor common room, warming his frozen fingers and waiting for Hermione to wake up. Luckily, she was usually one of the first Gryffindors to rise, and today was no exception. She came downstairs looking well-rested and cheerful, so that Harry felt reluctant to dampen her mood. But it had to be done.

"Morning," he said.

"Morning," Hermione replied, sitting down beside him. She, like Harry, stuck her hands out to warm them by the fire.

Harry turned towards her. "Um...can I talk to you?"

"Sure," said Hermione. "What about?"

"Voldemort."

Hermione's face paled and she dropped her hands. Harry held her gaze and waited until she blinked. "About Voldemort?" she asked apprehensively. "What do you mean?"

Harry cast a glance around the room to make sure they were alone, and then explained. He told her about the dreams he'd been having, about Voldemort and Lucius and the sword they seemed to be assembling. When he had finished, Hermione was looking at him with an anxious expression.

"Are you sure these are...real dreams?" she asked tentatively. "They're not just normal dreams?"

"I'm sure," Harry replied.

Hermione looked thoughtfully at the fire. "Well...I suppose we could do some research - try to find out what this sword is. Have you told Ron?"

"Not yet," said Harry. "But I will."

Hermione nodded. "We can go to the library after breakfast."

"Okay." Harry stood up and was about to leave the common room, when Hermione stopped him.

"Are you going to tell Ginny?" she inquired.

Harry thought about it for a moment. "No," he said. "I don't want to worry her."

"She'd want to know, Harry."

"Maybe. But it's better if she doesn't."

Hermione nodded, though reluctantly.

"I'll see you at breakfast," said Harry, and headed for the portrait hole.

* * *

Draco walked through the freezing cold corridors of the dungeons until he came to Snape's office. He knocked twice on the door and waited for it to open. The Potions Master's face appeared in the doorway, his black eyes shrewd and observant. "Mr. Malfoy," he said. "Come in."

Draco stepped inside and Snape shut the door behind him. As always, the interior of the Snape's office brought mixed feelings of curiosity and nausea. There were jars all around the room, filled with all manner of strange things. Newt eyes, chickens' feet, moke tongues, some long grey worm-looking things, and something that looked oddly like a brain. Draco surveyed the jars briefly before turning back to the Potions professor.

"You are here about your potion?" Snape asked.

Draco nodded. "Is it ready?"

Snape went to one of his shelves and took down a phial containing a dark purple liquid. He turned back to Draco, but didn't hand it to him. "I don't suppose you're going to tell me any more about this?"

"It's not important," said Draco.

"Important enough to seek magical aid, though..."

"They're just dreams," said Draco. "Dreams I don't really want right now."

"Dreams can be important," Snape said sagely. "They often tell us things our waking selves either cannot or do not wish to hear. You may be doing yourself a great disservice by taking this potion." He held it out nevertheless, and Draco took it.

"Thanks." Draco started towards the door and was conscious of Snape's eyes on his back the entire time. He pocketed the phial of potion and left the office, its weight both comforting and unsettling at once.

* * *

Hermione was sitting with Harry and Ron in the library, flipping through the pages of a book as Harry explained his dreams to Ron. Ron seemed more upset than she had been.

"Are...are you sure?" he asked anxiously. "I mean...your scar hurt and everything?"

Harry nodded. "It might be nothing," he added comfortingly. "But I think we should try to find out more." Ron nodded, though he looked far from appeased. "And you can't tell anyone else," Harry added. "This is just between the three of us for now, okay?"

Ron nodded once more. "I'll get some more books," he said, and disappeared into the stacks. Hermione took advantage of Ron's absence and looked up at Harry. "I think you should tell Ginny," she said.

Harry sighed. He looked tired; with the weight of his dreams and the potential threat of Voldemort looming, Hermione hadn't given any thought to how little sleep he must be getting. But she knew better than to ask him about it; he'd simply brush her concern aside and tell her he was fine. Always fine, Harry was.

"I can't tell her," Harry replied. "She'd just worry."

"So let her worry," said Hermione. "She's older than we were when we had to deal with this kind of stuff."

"Yeah, and look where it got us," Harry said, almost resentfully. It didn't sound as though he resented the question, or Hermione for asking it, but more the subject itself. He sighed again. "All we're ever doing is trying to stop Voldemort from taking over the world, only we can't stop him. Even his own death didn't stop him. We're just slowing him down."

"We will stop him," said Hermione, though she wasn't sure she believed it. "We'll find a way." She smiled encouragingly at Harry, who smiled back faintly.

Ron returned to the table at that moment, laden with so many books that Hermione felt herself laugh. "Ron! Where did you get all those?"

"From the shelves," Ron replied in a defensive tone. He dumped them onto the table and sank into a chair with an exhausted sigh.

"And you think we're going to find something about Voldemort in...'Modern Muggle Mannerisms'?" asked Hermione, peering at the spine of one of the books.

"We might," said Ron, opening up the book Hermione had mentioned and perusing it closely. He spent the next ten minutes frowning at the pages and then at his hand as he tried to form certain symbols with his fingers. He looked confused though, and when he held up his hand to show Hermione, she quickly pushed it away. "Ron! That's rude."

"It is?" Ron queried, looking more closely at the book. "Oh...sorry."

Hermione shook her head and looked down at the book she had open: Well-Known Evil Artifacts and What They Do. It held nothing of interest though, and certainly nothing about a disassembled sword that would likely be coveted by the most evil Dark Wizard on the planet. She looked up at Harry, hoping he might have had better luck. "Anything?"

Harry glanced up briefly, then looked down at his book again, which bore the title Whimwich's Guide to Wizarding Weaponry. "No, nothing," he said in a heavy voice. He shut the book with a sigh and opened another. Hermione, too, closed her book, but she suspected a different avenue of enquiry might be in order. "Is there anything else you remember about the sword?" she asked Harry.

Harry looked up and shook his head. "Just that it was silver, and it was in two pieces, and that there's supposedly a third."

"No inscriptions?" Hermione asked. "No designs or patterns or pictures?"

"No," Harry said bleakly. "Or if there were, I didn't see them."

Hermione exhaled a long breath and flipped open another book. It would be a long afternoon.

* * *

Ginny frowned briefly when she entered the common room. It was deserted. She had seen it relatively empty before, on holidays, and sometimes completely empty, though that had only been at night. Now, however, it was mid-morning and not a single Gryffindor was anywhere in sight.

She had slept late this morning, which she attributed to her dreams the previous night. Even now, she could still hear Tom ridiculing her, which was made worse by the kind things she also heard him saying. How could she have ever been so wrong about someone? But that was in the past, she told herself, and today was a new day...and where is everyone?

She left the common room and made her way down to the Great Hall. It too, however, was empty. She had obviously missed breakfast, which wasn't really a problem, as she didn't feel all that hungry anyway. If Harry, Ron and Hermione weren't in the common room or at breakfast, Ginny decided, then the only other places they could be were in the library or visiting Sirius. And as the weather outside looked particularly gloomy, she decided to try the library first.

The first thing she saw when she arrived was the famous Gryffindor trio sitting in a tight-knit group around one of the tables. Ginny's heart sank for a moment. She had seen that sight so many times before, and to see it again now made her reconsider just how accepted she had become. Maybe she'd been a fool to believe she'd broken into their inner circle; maybe she never would, and shouldn't even bother trying. She silenced the discouraging voice in her head though, and with a deep breath, approached the table.

"Hi," she said, a little too cheerfully in her opinion. She never could seem to get anything right around Harry. She was always speaking too quietly, or too brightly, or too nervously. Would there ever be a day when she could simply stroll up to him and announce in a confident voice that, "I like you, Harry, and I want you to be my boyfriend." No, Ginny thought with a horrible feeling in her stomach, that'll never happen.

"Hey, Ginny," the three of them replied in unison. God, they even speak together, she realised despairingly. Feeling suddenly awkward, she quickly sat down beside her brother and looked everywhere but at Harry.

"You okay, Gin?" Ron asked with concern. "You look tired."

"Didn't get much sleep," Ginny replied with a forced smile. She looked around at the books and bundles of parchment strewn across the desk. "What are you doing?"

"Er...doing a Potions essay for Snape," Ron replied. And there were indeed Potions books on the table and half-finished essays (completely finished in Hermione's case) on Extinguishing Draughts, able to douse all kinds of Muggle fire and most wizarding kinds too. "It's really boring," Ron added. "You don't have to stay if you don't want to."

I want to, Ginny was going to say, but she looked up at Harry first and found him staring intently down at his parchment. Perhaps it was the tense angle of his shoulders or the fact that he was barely moving, but Ginny had the impression that he was ignoring her, or at least refusing to look at her.

"We won't be long," Ron said as the silence stretched out. "It's probably warmer in the common room, too." Ginny got the hint. She nodded and, trying not to look resentful, stood up and left the library.

Once outside in the hallway, she realised that she was on the verge of tears. Damn it, she thought fiercely, and scrubbed at her nose and eyes before the tears had a chance to fall. She took a deep breath and composed herself, deciding that she wouldn't let this make her cry, because everything else did. I'm not going to cry, she thought calmly. I'm not. I don't care if they don't want me around. I don't want them around either. It was a lie, but it stemmed the tears.

With the castle as empty as it was, and her three phoney friends preoccupied with their three phoney essays, Ginny found herself feeling terribly lonely. She took to wandering the halls, as she used to, although now the castle was cold and quiet and the atmosphere as miserable as she was. What does it take? she wondered, definitely not for the first time. Don't they know what it's like to feel unaccepted? To feel like you don't belong anywhere?

As she rounded a corner, her feet carrying her where they would, Ginny saw a heap of black robes lying against a wall. Only they weren't a heap of robes, she realised on drawing closer, and there was a mop of dishevelled blonde hair protruding from them. "Malfoy?" she said curiously, keeping her distance. Draco raised his head and shook it as if clearing it of cobwebs, then turned to look at her.

"Weasley," he said thickly, as though he were surprised to see her there. Ginny knew that something must have happened to startle him, because his voice lacked all of its usual malice. Draco put a hand on the wall and pushed himself up, as elegantly as if he had chosen to collapse on the floor. He ran a hand through his hair and rolled his neck from side to side, looking, Ginny had to admit, none the worse for wear.

"What happened?" she asked him.

"Hmm?" Draco replied, raising his eyebrows enquiringly.

"You were on the floor," said Ginny.

"Oh," said Draco, looking down at the floor. "Yeah. I...um...thought I dropped something."

"You thought you dropped something?" Ginny echoed dubiously.

"Yeah," Draco replied defensively, and began fishing around in his pockets. "My - ah - my quill!" He took it out and held it up for Ginny to see. It was bent sharply in the middle. Draco seemed to have only just realised. "Oh," he said. "Bugger. That was expensive too." He shrugged. "I'll just have to order another." He stuffed the broken quill back into his pocket and folded his arms over his chest, fixing Ginny with that look that made her feel as though she were made of glass. He knows, she always thought when he looked at her like that. He's going to say something horrible about Harry and then tell everyone how I feel. But his bizarre quill episode - which Ginny didn't believe for a moment - seemed to have dulled his usual quick-witted manner.

"So," he began conversationally, looking at a complete loss for words, "are you, er, looking forward to Christmas?"

"Oh, don't start this," Ginny snapped. "You're even worse when you're pretending to be nice to me than you are when you're being mean to me."

Draco made a display of looking mildly surprised. "Well," he said, "aren't we a happy little elf today. What's got your knickers in a twist?"

Ginny was horrified. How dare he talk about her knickers! "Nothing!" she exclaimed. "Just leave me alone." She turned from Draco and walked away. She hadn't taken five steps, though, when he caught up to her and fell into step beside her. Ginny tried to ignore him and kept walking.

"It's Potter, isn't it?" said Draco. Ginny wondered whether that was simply his generic response to all her problems, or whether he was actually perceptive enough to be able to see what was bothering her. But that was preposterous. Draco Malfoy did not pay attention to other people's feelings.

"It's none of your business," Ginny snapped irritably.

Draco shrugged. "Maybe not, but if you're looking to throw callous insults at the guy, I'm your man." He beamed Ginny a bright smile, which made her stomach twist sickeningly. She was prepared to see Draco smirking at her, or glaring at her, or even pulling rude faces at her, but to see him smile like that - it was creepy. She also couldn't fail to notice how perfectly straight and white his teeth were. Why couldn't she have a smile like that?

"I'm not going to insult Harry," she replied, turning away from Draco and looking at the hallway ahead.

"No?" said Draco. "What about some revenge? You know - we could sneak bubotuber pus into his cereal, or hang him from the Gryffindor flagpole by his underwear. Oh!" Draco remarked, snapping his fingers as though he had suddenly been struck by a brilliant idea. "We could nail a plaque to the front doors that says 'Harry Potter - The Boy Who Never Got Shagged'." He finished with another brilliant smile.

Ginny looked at him with her eyebrows raised and her mouth twisted into a dubious smile. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"I've already got the plaque," Draco quipped. "And you'd be surprised how easy it is to find someone willing to engrave slander about everyone's favourite wizarding hero."

Ginny was beginning to feel the corners of her mouth twitching into a smile, so she stopped walking and turned to face Draco. She hadn't realised how much he'd grown over the summer; she had to look up to see his eyes now. "Why are you being nice to me?" she demanded, her hands on her hips.

Draco frowned. "Am I being nice to you?"

"Well, you're not being mean to me. And I think that's the closest you'll ever get to being nice."

Draco said nothing in reply. Ginny, however, remained where she was, and looked at him with what she hoped was an intimidating expression. Several moments passed, and then Draco began looking around expectantly. Ginny was ecstatic, that she was making Draco Malfoy nervous. He looked back at her though, and raised his eyebrows as if to say "What?"

"Are you going to tell me?" Ginny asked.

"Tell you what?" said Draco, impatiently.

"Why you're being nice to me."

"I am not being nice to you."

"Yes, you are."

Draco sighed and turned his gaze up to the ceiling. "You're impossible."

"I'm still waiting," Ginny persisted.

Draco looked down again, a very different expression on his face. Now Ginny was the one that felt nervous. She took her hands off her hips and straightened up, wondering how she could have thought to challenge Draco Malfoy like that. She felt self-conscious too, and quickly brushed her hair behind her ears.

Draco was still looking at her, as though trying to gauge whether he could safely tell her something. "I guess..." he began, and paused before he went on, "I guess you're just different to the others."

"Different?" Ginny echoed him.

"Different," said Draco. "You couldn't drive a nail between those three." He jerked his head in the general direction of the Gryffindor common room. "But you...you're not really part of that. You're an outsider."

Hearing Draco say the words was more painful than merely thinking them. If he saw the same thing Ginny did, then there was no way that she was imagining it. The only difference was that Draco saw it as a positive thing, whereas Ginny would have done anything to change it. An outsider. The words echoed inside her head, louder than they had before. She looked up at Draco again. "Like you?"

Draco nodded slowly. "Like me."

It was a strange sensation, but Ginny felt as though she'd made some kind of connection with the sharp-tongued Slytherin boy in that moment. She shared something with him now that no one else would understand. It confused her, but she decided not to dwell on it. Instead, she turned to look further down the hallway, in the direction they had been walking, before turning back to Draco. "Do you...um...do you want to keep walking?"

Draco looked down the hallway, as Ginny had, then back at her. "Sure."

* * *

"You really should tell her," Hermione told Harry as they walked back to the Gryffindor common room, books in hand. Ron had left them a few minutes ago, after his stomach had engaged in a rumbling chorus. He had said he would meet them back in the common room, after he nicked some food from the kitchen. Hermione wasn't sure why she avoided talking about Ginny when Ron was around, but then his reactions to his sister tended to be on either the "Who cares?" side or the "I'm going to kill anyone who touches her" side. It was better to speak privately with Harry, Hermione thought, even if she still had to tiptoe around certain subjects.

At her words, Harry merely sighed. "I'm sorry," said Hermione. "And I know I'm repeating myself, but I really do think you should tell her. Ginny's already insecure about these kinds of things."

Harry turned to her and frowned. "What kinds of things?"

"Things that involve you and Ron and me," Hermione replied. "I think she feels left out sometimes."

"Left out?" Harry echoed incredulously. "Why would she feel like that? We're not leaving her out. Are we?"

"Sometimes we do," said Hermione. "Not on purpose, but I still think it's hard for her. We've been friends for ages and Ginny probably finds it hard to fit in."

Harry sighed wearily. "Maybe it's better that way."

"I know you're trying to protect her," said Hermione, "but this isn't the right way. People are going to get close to you Harry and you can't just push them away."

Harry looked at her once more and blinked, and Hermione began to suspect that maybe this was too much for Harry. He had other things on his mind, so she couldn't expect him to think about his relationships with other people. Still, he would have to at some point.

"It's not like I don't want to tell her," said Harry. "I mean, she could help with the research if I did; but I just think it's selfish on my part. Anyone I tell is only going to be in more danger than they already were."

"You told me and Ron," Hermione pointed out.

"Well, you're not just anyone," Harry explained.

"Neither is Ginny," said Hermione.

Once again, Harry looked at her, and this time Hermione thought she saw some recognition in his eyes. "You really think I should tell her?" he asked.

"I do."

Harry sighed. "Okay," he conceded reluctantly. "I'll tell her."

Hermione smiled as they continued towards the common room. Hermione Granger, she thought proudly to herself, Matchmaker. She was still smiling when they stepped through the portrait hole to find the common room empty. "I'll go see if she's in her room," she told Harry, and started up the stairs to the girls' dormitories. She knocked on the fifth year girls' door, and called Ginny's name, but there was no answer, so she returned promptly to the common room. "She's not there," she told Harry.

"Oh," said Harry. "Well, I'll just wait till she gets back."

"No," said Hermione, nudging Harry towards the portrait hole. "Go and find her." Harry looked at her in confusion and spluttered indignantly as she ushered him along. "Go on," she urged him firmly. Harry sighed and stepped through the portrait hole, closing it behind him. Hermione let out a satisfied breath and headed back to her room. Hermione Granger, she thought with a smile, Professional Matchmaker.

* * *

Ginny still couldn't quite fathom the fact that she was sitting on the floor of a hallway with Draco Malfoy and not longing to rip his head off. She had spotted the cosy cul-de-sac as they walked past, and realised that it was the hallway she'd discovered last year with the painting of the unicorn in it. At first she'd been reluctant to take Draco there, because she had taken Harry there before and the place held fond memories for her. But she either hadn't thought quickly enough or hadn't minded, and before she knew it they were settling down against the wall like old friends. Ginny had immediately averted her gaze, staring at the floor or the opposite wall. She felt shy around Draco, as she did around Harry, though in a different way. The thing that made her feel most insecure was the fact that he was so handsome; she couldn't spot a single flaw in his face, other than the fact that he smirked a lot and his eyes always looked lazy. Even so, she felt ugly in comparison.

Draco had averted his attention too, though it was less because of any insecurity he felt and more because he was interested in the painting of the unicorn. "Bit of a lazy bugger, isn't he?" he remarked. He extended a pale finger and prodded the unicorn curiously, causing it to wake up and whiny indignantly.

"Don't," Ginny chided him. She reached out a hand to stroke the unicorn, but it stood up and trotted out of the frame, its head held high. "You're so mean," said Ginny. Draco merely grinned.

Ginny realised, all of the sudden, that the unicorn's presence had at least meant that she and Draco weren't alone. Now, however...

"So you don't want to talk about your Potter problems?" Draco inquired.

"Not really," said Ginny, then quickly added, "Not that I have any problems with Harry!" But even she didn't think she sounded convincing.

"Right," said Draco, though he spared her further ridicule, which was something.

Ginny stared at the opposite wall, and tried to ignore the occasional look Draco gave her when he thought she wouldn't notice. She had always felt a lot younger around Harry, Ron and Hermione, but around Draco, she felt like a kid. Perhaps she could change that though. "So what about Hermione?" she asked him, and noticed the way his body tensed up. It was the only reaction he had, but it was a reaction nonetheless.

"What about her?" Draco replied casually.

"Weren't you two friends or something last year?" Ginny inquired.

"No," said Draco. "We were never friends. We were just working on an Arithmancy assignment together."

"So will you be working on an Arithmancy assignment together this year?" Ginny asked him with a smile.

Draco didn't smile back however. "Can we not talk about Hermione," he said. "If that's all right with you."

"Sure," said Ginny. "As long as we don't talk about Harry either."

"Deal," said Draco. "No Harry and no Hermione." He paused for a moment. "Guess that leaves Weasley." He looked over at Ginny and added, "I mean, the other...Weasley."

"His name is Ron," said Ginny. "And we're not talking about him either because you're only going to insult him."

"Am I that predictable?" said Draco.

"Only when you want to be," Ginny replied, with no idea why she had said it.

Draco looked confused as well, but showed it only by raising an eyebrow. "So..." he said, "what should we talk about then?"

"We could talk about you," Ginny suggested.

"Me?" said Draco. "No...not me."

"Why not you?"

"Because I'm a very boring person and I've got nothing to say." Ginny looked at him incredulously, feeling her lips curve into a smile of their own accord. "Okay," Draco conceded, "I'm not boring. I'm incredibly interesting. But I still don't want to talk about myself."

"Why do boys always have to be so tight-lipped?" Ginny mused. "Is it just a macho thing...because you think that if you show any emotion people will laugh at you?"

"Ah," Draco said pensively, "so now we get to the heart of the problem, and a very black one it is." Ginny blushed and looked away, but Draco, apparently, hadn't finished. "So Potter isn't emotional enough for your liking, eh?"

"You said we weren't going to talk about Harry," Ginny reminded him.

"Yes, but I'm a Slytherin," said Draco, "so some lying is to be expected."

"Well, I'm a Gryffindor," said Ginny, "so some kicking in the ribs is to be expected."

Draco laughed, heartily and very un-Draco-like. Ginny felt herself smiling, to think that she could make him laugh like that. Did he really think she was funny? She decided it didn't matter, and tried to make her face impassive again, as Draco always did.

When he finished laughing, Draco stopped and looked at her for a long while, a curious smile on his lips. Whilst Ginny was still sitting against the wall, knees raised in front of her, Draco had sunk down it, so that his elbow was resting on the floor. It was a very casual pose, and one which Draco still seemed to pull off gracefully. How does he do that? Ginny wondered jealously. How good it would be to have that much grace and confidence around Harry.

Ginny opened her mouth to say something further, when she heard footsteps around the corner. She had time only to turn her head before Harry emerged into the hallway. He saw her straight away and smiled. "Hey, Ginny. I was looking for y--." He trailed off slowly as he noticed Draco half-lying on the ground behind her. Ginny retreated into herself faster than a mouse into its hole, and began to feel extremely awkward. She looked from Harry, to Draco, and back to Harry, all the while willing Draco to sit up. He wouldn't though; unlike her and Harry, he seemed completely unperturbed by the current state of affairs.

"Hey there, Potter," he drawled.

Harry looked at Draco with a bewildered expression, then turned back to Ginny. "What's he doing here?" For a moment - after which Ginny felt extremely guilty - she considered telling Harry the story she thought he wanted to hear, that Draco had been pestering her and following her around the whole morning. But she didn't want to do that to Draco, not anymore. "We were just talking," she settled for.

"Talking?" Harry echoed her faintly. "Oh." He looked disappointed, and part of Ginny was satisfied to see that, because it meant he might be jealous. Another part of her scolded herself, for feeling ashamed of what she and Draco were doing; she shouldn't feel ashamed, because they hadn't done anything wrong. But most of her simply hid as far down inside herself as possible, because she felt immensely shy sitting between these two boys like this, one of which she'd had a crush on for years, and the other of which could melt her knees with a simple look. This is not good, she thought.

Harry seemed to recover himself suddenly, and come to his senses. "Ah...I was...I wanted to talk to you," he said, "but...um...it can wait." And with that, he turned on his heel and walked out of sight. Although Ginny still derived some kind of pleasure from his reaction, she was aching to go after him and tell him that nothing had happened. She turned to Draco to tell him, but he spoke before she could.

"It's okay," he said. "Go."

Ginny let her mouth hang open for several more seconds before closing it. "Thanks," she said, and scrambled to her feet.

Harry had been walking, but Ginny nevertheless had to run to catch up to him. He had covered quite a bit of distance by the time she did. "Harry, wait," she called to him. To her surprise, he stopped, and turned around looking mildly curious. There was only the smallest trace of hurt in his eyes. There was much more in Ginny's, as she had suddenly realised that her expectations had been far too high. Harry wasn't burning with jealousy or demanding an explanation - he looked as though he didn't even mind. Ginny's hopes faded fast and she felt suddenly stupid for having run after him.

"What is it?" Harry inquired.

Ginny looked at him a while longer before she could speak. "I..." she began, "I wasn't...Malfoy and I weren't..."

Harry smiled. "I know."

"We were just talking," Ginny assured him desperately.

"It's okay," said Harry. "You don't have to explain." Ginny fell silent and they both looked at the floor. "So what were you talking about?" Harry asked at length.

"Um...just stuff," Ginny replied.

Harry nodded with resignation, obviously aware that she wouldn't elaborate. He looked back at the floor and a jaded smile crept over his face. "I didn't think you'd ever talk to Malfoy."

"I...didn't mean to," said Ginny, feeling guilty for saying it. "We just ran into each other and we were both bored and...." She stopped abruptly as Harry met her eyes again. His expression was unreadable to her, though Hermione or Ron might have been able to tell her what it meant.

"Ginny," he said, hesitantly, "do you... do you feel like you don't fit in with us? With Ron and Hermione and me?"

Ginny was almost positive she had heard wrong. How could Harry have picked up on that, after all these years? Maybe, Ginny thought for the first time, maybe he really does see all the things I feel for him and he just hides it. Maybe he knew that she liked him, and was aware of the fact that she was a blubbering mess whenever she was around him. If he did...Ginny didn't think she could live with herself.

"I..." she said, not knowing what else to say.

"You can tell me the truth," said Harry.

Ginny sighed. "Sometimes," she said, unable to look Harry in the eyes. "Sometimes I do."

"You shouldn't, Ginny," Harry said plaintively. "You're not an outsider."

Harry's use of the word struck her as odd, after hearing Draco use it a few hours before. Perhaps they were more alike than they thought. "I know," she said, though she didn't really know. "I just...I mean, I'm younger than all of you, and I'm Ron's little sister... It's just hard sometimes." She couldn't believe she was telling Harry this, opening up to him as she had never opened up to anyone before. Except Tom, of course.

"I'm sorry," said Harry, sounding remorseful. "We didn't mean to make you feel that way. We just weren't aware of it, I guess. But you are part of our group, Ginny. Please don't feel like you aren't."

Ginny's heart swelled with gratitude. Harry was making her feel welcome, going out of his way to make sure she felt accepted. That would have been momentous enough if Ron or Hermione had done it, but to have Harry himself comfort her like this... It was enough to bring back all her inhibitions and inappropriately timed blushes. As she looked at him now, out of the corner of her eye, she realised that he was far more handsome than Draco was, at least in her opinion. She was sure most other people wouldn't agree, but then that's what love was, wasn't it? Seeing one person as more beautiful than all the rest, seeing their imperfections as perfections? Maybe, thought Ginny. She didn't know enough about love to know what it was.

"Thanks, Harry," she said, feeling a giddy thrill at using his name. Harry smiled in reply, and turned around to leave. "Wait!" Ginny said quickly. It was easy to say it to his back, to tell Harry to wait when he wasn't looking at her, but once he was facing her again, she wondered why she had ever said it.

"What is it?" Harry asked, looking concerned.

"Um..." said Ginny, looking down and wringing her hands together. "W- we could...um...we could...maybe...go for a walk, if...if you liked." Oh, God, she thought with dread, the likes of which she had never felt before. Please tell me I didn't just say that. Please. She looked up apprehensively, dreading even more what Harry's reaction would be. But he was... Smiling?

"Sure," said Harry.

Immediately, Ginny began to regret what she'd said. She didn't want to walk around the empty castle with Harry! Was she mad? Oh, God, she thought, as she fell into step beside him and tried not to blush too deeply.

* * *

"Where are Harry and Ginny?" Ron asked through a mouthful of chicken as he came through the portrait hole. He was cradling a lot more food in his arms.

"I don't know," Hermione replied with a distasteful grimace. "Maybe you should finish that mouthful before speaking," she suggested kindly.

Ron came over to the fire, where Hermione was sitting, and dropped into the armchair beside her. "Want some?" he asked, holding his arms out with some difficulty.

"No, thanks," said Hermione, wondering how on earth Ron was going to eat all that food.

Ron shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Not particularly wanting to spend the afternoon watching Ron eat his way to indigestion, Hermione decided to return to the library and do some more research on Harry's mystery sword. Ron grunted something incoherent when she told him, as his mouth was full of apple pie. "Right," said Hermione. "Just...um...try not to make yourself sick." Ron attempted another unintelligible reply, but gave up halfway and shook his head in defeat. "Okay," said Hermione, "I'll see you later." She gathered up her books and headed out of the common room, leaving Ron alone with his food.

* * *

The library was empty, just the way Hermione liked it. Not a single other student was inside, and even Madam Pince seemed to have disappeared somewhere. The room looked a lot larger now, and much quieter; Hermione heard her footsteps echoing off the walls. She heard nothing else, however, once she had buried her nose in a book.

The first book she tried, Sir Swindon's Guide to Modern Weaponry, turned out to be a lot less modern than its title proclaimed, and contained little more than blow-by-blow accounts of how to slay a dragon. The second proved equally as useless, and the third contained some rather horrid pictures that Hermione never wanted to see again.

She tried books that were written only recently, and some that were so ancient they were falling to pieces. She tried popular wizarding guides and rare volumes whose only remaining copy rested in her hands. She even tried some Muggle tomes; though, as always, the author's knowledge of non-wizarding folk was frightfully inaccurate. How anyone could think that Muggles held knives by the blade and stabbed each other with the handle was beyond Hermione's understanding.

By the time she'd set down What To Do When You Know What You Want, But Don't Know Where To Find It - which was, again, completely useless - Hermione saw that the sky outside was a dark, slate grey and evening was fast approaching. She rubbed her temples with her fingers and let out a weary sigh, her eyes sore from all the reading she had done. She wondered whether Harry had found Ginny yet, and what Ginny's reaction had been to hearing of their new dilemma. Perhaps Harry was right and she would worry about it; but still, it was better that she knew.

* * *

Ginny had hoped her tongue would loosen up by the time she and Harry had started walking, but she felt as timid and insecure as she always did, almost more so. She also couldn't shake the feeling that Harry was hiding something. She didn't know what, and didn't even try to guess, but it stung her a little nevertheless.

They walked the halls at a casual pace, Harry's presence giving Ginny enough of a reason to feign an interest in the decor. Most of the hallways in the school were nondescript stone corridors, but a few held brilliant paintings and brightly coloured tapestries that almost made Ginny smile. Almost, but not quite.

She was furious with herself, not only because she had asked Harry to go for a walk, but because now that they were walking, she couldn't think of anything to say. The silence was extremely uncomfortable, to Ginny at least, and she felt that it was her duty to break it. But with what?

"So...um..." she began tentatively, staring at her shoes, "do you think we'll win the Quidditch Cup again this year?"

"I don't know," Harry replied thoughtfully. "We're still behind Slytherin, and Hufflepuff's catching up to us, but I'm sure we'll have a lot more time to practice after Christmas."

"Yeah," said Ginny, forcing a smile. However interesting her shoes were - and they weren't very interesting - they couldn't distract her from the awkward silence that seemed to settle over the two of them again. Say something interesting! she told herself. Something really smart or really funny. But she couldn't think of anything.

As she stole a glance sideways at Harry, she noticed that he seemed to be avoiding her gaze as much as she was avoiding his. He looked as though he were steeling himself to tell her something. Ginny almost cried out in delight. But, no, it was better not to get her hopes up. At least, that's what she told herself - she couldn't bring them down even if she tried.

Minutes passed and still Harry hadn't said anything. Ginny was aching for him to speak, to tell her exactly what she wanted to hear, to say that he liked her too and that he wanted to go out with her, like a boyfriend and a girlfriend go out together, like a date. But still he remained silent. Until...

"Are you okay, Ginny?"

"Hmm?" Ginny replied, taken completely off-guard. Where was the poorly worded speech, the nervous shaking of his hands, the heated profession of love? Where were they!

"Are you okay?" Harry asked again. "You look kind of tired."

Tired? thought Ginny. Oh, God. Did she have bags under her eyes? Was her hair messy? Was she slurring her words? She would have answered him no, but if she was experiencing any of those unfortunate signs of discomposure, then it was better to have an explanation. "I guess I am," she replied. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Me either," said Harry, and Ginny thought she saw his gaze darken. It was only for a moment, but it was the kind of moment that reminded Ginny of just how much older than her Harry was. Perhaps not in terms of his age, but in the things he had seen and the things he had to go through. She wished she could go through them with him, that he would let her bear some of the burden so that he wouldn't look so unhappy all the time. More than anything, more than wanting to hold Harry's hand and have him tell her how pretty she was, she wanted to hug him, and tell him that everything would be okay. But she couldn't, and she was miserable for it.

"How come you couldn't sleep?" she asked him.

Harry looked at her as though he was wondering whether it was safe to tell her the truth. Why do people always do that? Ginny wondered despondently. They always tried to gauge whether or not she could handle something, as though she was just a kid. Draco had done it, and Harry was doing it, and Ginny was pretty sure everyone else she had ever met had done it at some point. It's the Tom thing, she realised. She'd been duped by him so easily and gotten herself into such a mess that people doubted her strength. They saw her as delicate and fragile, something to be protected and looked after but never confided in. What if she never managed to shake that image? What if Harry saw her as a kid forever? Ginny was snapped out of her resentment, however, when Harry answered her. And truthfully, it appeared.

"I had another dream," he said, looking down at the floor.

"About Voldemort?" Ginny inquired. Harry nodded and Ginny looked back at the floor. "I had a bad dream as well," she said.

"You did?" Harry asked curiously.

Ginny nodded. She looked up to find Harry staring at her with concern, and wondered whether or not she should tell him any more. See! she thought at him. How do you like it when I do that?

On any other day, she would have said nothing, as she had said nothing to anyone since the dreams had started. How could she confide in anyone when the one person she had trusted completely with all her secrets had betrayed her? But this was Harry, she reminded herself; if you can't trust Harry then who can you trust? Ordinarily, even that wouldn't have been enough to sway her, but she was walking alone with him, and they were close friends now, so why not? And she did want to tell him - desperately.

"I dreamt about Tom," she admitted, avoiding Harry's gaze.

"Tom Riddle?" said Harry. Ginny nodded. "Oh," was all Harry said. He was silent for a while, and for the first time ever, Ginny forgot about his presence. She didn't worry about whether she was blushing or how her voice sounded or how messy her hair must look; she simply stared blankly at the floor and heard Tom's voice inside her head. Stupid, foolish Ginny - you never were very bright. Just a child, always just a child. Tears pricked the corners of Ginny's eyes, but she gritted her teeth and blinked them away. If only she could have blinked away the unhappy look on her face.

"Ginny?" said Harry, stopping in the middle of the hallway and turning to face her with what looked like alarm. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," said Ginny, sniffing once.

Harry paused, and asked softly, "Was it that bad?"

Ginny looked up, so that she could see his big green eyes, so full of concern. She could nod and look unhappy - which wouldn't require much pretending - and then maybe Harry would put his arms around her and whisper soothing things in her ear. She would have liked that, but to do it would only maker her seem more fragile in Harry's eyes. He would never trust her with anything important if she did.

"It's not bad," Ginny lied. "It just...happens a lot."

"So you've dreamt about him before?" Harry asked. Ginny nodded. To her surprise, Harry sighed and looked down at his hands in defeat. "I'm sorry," he said, sounding extremely contrite. "I'm sorry you had to go through that. I should have done something sooner. I should have stopped him."

No! Ginny thought desperately. This isn't how it's supposed to be! She had tried to be strong about it, tried to pretend it didn't bother her, but still Harry thought she couldn't handle it. "It's not your fault!" she said earnestly. "You saved me Harry."

He looked torn and full of remorse. "But if you have to live with this for the rest of your life...."

"I won't!" Ginny said desperately. "I can handle it. You handled it."

But I'm stronger than you, Ginny heard him saying in her mind. She knew Harry would never say it aloud, but whether or not he would think it, she wasn't sure. He exhaled a long sigh, and looked at her very closely for a while. Ginny had never felt so self-conscious in her life. It took every ounce of willpower she had not to look away, but she felt as though her heart were being laid open for Harry to see. His expression wasn't as intense as Draco's had been, but the fact that they were green eyes looking back at her instead of grey made her feel even more insecure.

"I'm glad you told me," Harry said at length. "And...if you ever want to talk about it...you know I'm here."

Ginny allowed herself a smile. "I know." Harry smiled back, and nodded, and they began walking again.

* * *

"Argh!" Hermione grunted in frustration, dropping the book she had been reading on the table. "I don't care how many ways there are to disembowel a person with a serving spoon."

Behind her, a lazy voice spoke. "See, now that's the kind of thing we should be learning in class."

Hermione turned around in her chair to see that Draco was standing behind her, arms crossed and a wry smile on his face. "Draco," she said, feeling a little flustered. She was horrified that he had heard her talking to herself like that. "What...what are you doing here?"

Draco shrugged and sat down on the opposite side of the table, looking not at Hermione but at the books she had out. He pulled one towards him and peered nonchalantly at the cover. "I was in the neighbourhood."

"You always seem to be in the neighbourhood," said Hermione.

"And I was looking for a book," Draco added.

"Which book?" Hermione asked, hoping that perhaps Draco would spill some information about what he'd been doing here last time.

"This book," said Draco, opening the one he'd been holding and leaning back in his chair. "'The Dagger of Extended Death'," he read aloud, in a voice that made Hermione feel stupid for ever having opened that book. "'Victims punctured by the dagger's exceptionally sharp blade will suffer a long and painful ordeal, during which they may experience: inflammation at the site of the injury, severe blood loss, acute headaches and nausea, violent spasms, and prolonged coughing fits. Death usually occurs approximately one year after the wound is inflicted.'" Draco looked up with a sadistic grin on his face. "You wouldn't happen to know where I can buy one of these, would you?"

Hermione felt herself smile back, even though she didn't want to. It was bad enough that Draco had stopped talking to her after last year, but to keep popping up unexpectedly and charming her with his relentless humour was just plain mean. Of course, Draco himself was just plain mean, so maybe she shouldn't be surprised.

"So is this for some kind of History of Magic project I haven't heard about," he asked her, "or do you just have a secret fascination with weapons of all kind?"

"If I did, I'd be fascinated by your tongue, wouldn't I?" Hermione retorted. A moment later, she realised what she'd said and turned scarlet.

Draco, as always, was able to elicit a great deal of enjoyment from her humiliation. "Why Granger," he said with mock surprise, "I never would have picked you as that kind of girl."

"Shut up," Hermione said weakly, and buried her head in her arms. Why? she thought miserably, why does it always have to be around him? She hid her face for a long time, and when she finally dared to raise it again, she found Draco still grinning at her. "Argh!" she grunted, throwing her hands up in the air and quickly getting to her feet. "I'm going to find another book." She hurried away from him before he could say another word, but the smile he was wearing was worse than anything he could say.

She spent as long as she possibly could in the stacks, mentally reciting all of the titles she came across, in order to calm her down. She hoped that by taking her time, Draco would have left when she returned to the table, sparing her further embarrassment. But it was not in Draco's nature to spare anyone embarrassment. He was there when she came back, though he was now writing something on a scrap of parchment with Hermione's own quill. A book was also open in front of him.

Hermione sat down in her seat again and craned her neck to see what Draco was writing. "Hey!" she exclaimed when she realised, and snatched the book back.

"Oh, come on," Draco said disappointedly. "I only got up to number eight. 'Slice from mouth to clavicles and scoop innards out through oesophagus. Rinse spoon afterwards.'"

"That's exactly what I'm going to do to you if you don't stop bothering me," Hermione said warningly.

"Am I bothering you?" Draco asked, suddenly serious.

"Oh...no," Hermione replied, feeling foolish. "Not really."

Draco leaned back in his chair and smiled again. "You need to work on your lies, Granger."

"I'm not lying," Hermione insisted.

"So you don't mind if I stay then?"

"No," said Hermione. "I just don't know why you'd want to."

She was still curious, even now, as to why Draco behaved so cordially towards her. He wasn't being forced to anymore, and she certainly couldn't have been his first choice for a conversation partner, so why was he doing it? Did he have other, as yet unrevealed motives? Or did he simply like spending time with her, which was even scarier? There was no point though, Hermione decided, in trying to discern Draco's reasons for doing something. Unless he wanted her to know, she never would. But does that bother me? she wondered, and decided to think about it later.

"Well," said Draco, "we could do some of our Arithmancy work. I tried to start it the other day, but I don't think even Professor Vector could do some of those questions."

"You want to do our Arithmancy work together?" Hermione asked dubiously.

"If you're going to make me repeat myself," said Draco, not unkindly, "maybe I should start writing things down."

Hermione exhaled an exasperated breath. "You don't have to be so sarcastic all the time, you know?"

"Oh, of course not," Draco replied, his voice oozing sarcasm. "Being serious is just as fun."

Hermione shut her eyes and counted to ten. When she opened them, Draco was grinning at her. I wish he wouldn't smile at me like that, she thought, her knees shaking.

"All right," she said, yielding mainly because she wanted an excuse to see that smile again. "We can do our work together. But no...." She trailed off, wondering what it was she wanted to say. No snide remarks? No bullying? Well, he didn't do that anymore. No humiliating me? No excessive sarcasm? No gorgeous smiles? But she couldn't very well say that to him. And besides, she didn't particularly want him to stop any of that. Without those things, he wasn't really Draco.

"No what?" Draco inquired of her.

"No...lazing about," Hermione settled for. "If we're going to work together we have to actually do some work."

"And what else did you think I was planning on doing?" Draco asked with his eyebrow cocked. Hermione opened her mouth to reply, then quickly shut it as she realised what he meant, and turned bright red. Not again. "Don't worry," said Draco, "I'll try to keep my mind on Arithmancy and off those little card houses I like to build so much."

Hermione recovered herself and quickly changed the subject. "We can't work in here, though," she said.

"Why not?" Hermione just looked at him. "Oh, right," said Draco, twigging, "Potter and the Weasel." Hermione fixed him with an angry glare but said nothing. "Well, I guess we could find an empty classroom."

"You think the teacher's would let us?"

"I was actually planning on taking the route where we don't tell the teachers."

"Oh," said Hermione, feeling stupid. "Right. So, um...tomorrow then?"

"Tomorrow's okay," said Draco, getting to his feet. "How 'bout the Charms classroom on the fifth floor?"

"You really don't want to be seen, do you?" said Hermione, with a small smile.

"No more than you," Draco replied, and Hermione wondered if it was true. "We could always use the Astronomy Tower," he added.

"The Charms classroom is fine," Hermione said sternly. "What time?"

"After lunch?"

"Okay."

"All right. I'll see you then."

"Bye." Hermione turned around to watch Draco leave. When he had, she let out a long breath and laid her head down on the table. She always felt so tense around him, as though she was holding herself a certain way that wouldn't permit normal breathing or posture. She wondered whether anyone else felt like that around him, or if it was just her, which, secretly, she hoped it was.

* * *

"Any luck?" Harry asked Hermione when she entered the common room. She looked as though she was deep in thought, and had to blink several times before noticing him.

"Oh, uh, no. No luck."

Harry's shoulders fell. He hadn't really expected her to find anything, but if anyone did, it would be Hermione.

"How did you go?" she asked him, sitting down in an armchair and drawing her feet up. "Did you tell Ginny?"

Harry avoided her gaze. "Um...no. I didn't."

"What? How come?"

Harry sighed heavily. "I just...didn't think it was the right time. I think she has some things on her mind at the moment." He didn't want to tell Hermione about Ginny's dreams. Even though Ginny hadn't sworn him to secrecy, he knew it was the kind of thing he had to keep to himself. She had looked reluctant enough just telling him, and he felt privileged in a way, to know that he was the one she had chosen to confide in. He only wished she didn't have to.

"Things on her mind," said Hermione, as though this were an interesting fact to note. "Really?"

Harry was confused by her tone, but he chose not to say anything. He was still worrying about Ginny - she had been in her room for a while now, ever since they'd returned from their walk. He couldn't shake the thought that maybe she was up there crying and thinking about her dreams again. He wished he could take those memories away from her, so that she wouldn't have to bear them any more. She seemed so fragile and sensitive. Why had it been her that Lucius Malfoy had chosen? Why couldn't he have put that stupid diary in someone else's schoolbooks? Harry filled with rage at the thought, but suppressed it as he always did.

Beside him, Hermione was yawning and stretching her arms. "Tired?" Harry inquired.

"Mmm," Hermione replied, nodding. "I didn't realise it was so late."

A fire was crackling in the grate, though it was too quiet to fill the empty silence in the common room. It was filled instead by shadows - long, gangly streaks of darkness that shifted as often as the flames did. Harry watched them play across the floor, and was aware of little else.

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked him, her head tilted thoughtfully.

"I'm fine," said Harry, mustering a smile.

"You're worried about going to sleep, aren't you?" Hermione observed, quite accurately.

Out of all of them, Harry suspected she was the best judge of emotions. "A little," he replied.

Hermione looked at him for a while, then smiled encouragingly. "Want me to stay up with you? We can roast some of Fred and George's Molten Marshmallows."

"And have my jaws stuck together all night?" said Harry. "No, thanks. You should get some sleep. Don't let me keep you up."

"I will be up though," said Hermione. "If you don't sleep."

"I'll be fine," Harry assured her. "Really. Now go to bed."

Hermione grinned and rose to her feet. "Good night," she said, patting Harry on the shoulder as she passed him. "Night," Harry replied. "Oh, and Hermione?" he called after her.

"Yeah?"

"Can you do me a favour and check on Ginny. Just see if she's okay."

Hermione smiled broadly. "Sure." Harry watched her disappear up the staircase before turning back to the fire. The room was much darker now, the shadows pressing in around him. The light from the fire failed to reach the rest of the room, and Harry imagined all sorts of things crouching in the corners. He was afraid, sitting alone like this in the middle of a darkened room, but he knew he would have to learn to cope with his fear. He had been more frightened before, and he was sure he would be again, so there was no use running away from it. Voldemort was out there somewhere, plotting his next move with the cold precision of someone used to waiting for what they wanted. Harry didn't think he'd wait much longer though; he had two parts of the sword now, and was awaiting only a third. Whatever the weapon did, it wouldn't be pleasant, and Harry supposed it was only a matter of time before they found out.

* * *