The Legacy of the Founders

THE LEGACY OF THE FOUNDERS

Chapter Three: The Tragic History of the Hogwarts Founders

During lunch in the Great Hall, Hermione kept her eyes down and her attention focused solely on her plate. It wasn't that her toast was particularly interesting; it was that she felt slightly guilty, sitting here with her friends when she was about to sneak off for a clandestine study session with their mortal enemy. She didn't like that she felt guilty, and she wished she could be open about her meeting with Draco, but she couldn't shake the feeling, so she said very little and avoided the others' gazes. Luckily, Harry, Ron and Ginny all seemed sunk in stupors of their own, and said as little as Hermione did.

"Well," said Hermione, when she had finally tired of both her toast and the awkward silence, "I have to go and see Professor Vector about some Arithmancy work, so I'll see you guys later, okay?"

They all glanced up briefly and muttered half-hearted replies. Hermione didn't mind their lack of interest, of course, because it made sneaking off easier. "Bye," she said, getting to her feet and hurrying out of the hall. She breathed easier when she was outside, though that didn't last. Her stomach was twisting itself into knots at the prospect of spending time alone with Draco, and although Hermione told herself she was being stupid, she couldn't untie them. He's just Draco, she thought calmly to herself, Draco Malfoy. Nothing special. Why should I be nervous about spending time alone with him? I shouldn't! And I'm not. And I hope my hair's okay today. She checked it briefly in a window as she passed, and realised it was as bushy as ever.

Once she had retrieved her bag from her room, Hermione began the (very) long walk to the Charms classroom where she had agreed to meet Draco. When she arrived on the fifth floor, puffing slightly and supposing her hair was even bushier now, she was struck by just how empty the castle was these days, and just how foreboding the door of the Charms classroom looked. She imagined that the whole floor was deserted, and yet waiting inside one of the rooms was well-dressed, blonde-haired, pale-skinned Draco Malfoy. Waiting for her.

Hermione approached the room slowly and paused outside the door to regain her breath and swallow the ball of anxiety that had formed in her throat. She smoothed her skirt down and checked that there were no loose threads or tags showing, and was about to open the door when she heard a voice speak from inside. "It's open," said Draco.

Suppressing the urge to flee in horror, Hermione turned the handle and stepped inside. It was a typical Hogwarts classroom; blackboard at the front of the room, students' desks arranged in rows and columns, pale wintry light filtering in through the windows. It wasn't dark inside, but it wasn't very bright either. Draco himself, possessing the same contradiction of darkness and light, was sitting on one of the desks with his feet resting on a chair.

"Hi," said Hermione, glancing back at the door and wondering if it was too late to make an escape.

"Hey," said Draco, hopping down from his desk with a graceful gesture. No, Hermione thought desperately, don't come towards me. Luckily, he didn't; he merely seated himself more properly at one of the desks and took out his Arithmancy books. Hermione took the seat beside him and emptied her own bag, taking as long as she could to do so.

"Any trouble getting away from the Cuddly Club?" Draco asked.

"No," Hermione replied stiffly, resenting the insult to her friends. See, she thought to herself, he's still the same old Draco, even if he does smile at me sometimes.

"So," Draco said, throwing open his textbook with a thud, "where do you want to start?"

And with that, they fell into the pattern Hermione thought they would both have forgotten by now. It was just as easy and just as productive as it had been the year before. Once she put her mind to the complicated questions and number charts in her book, Hermione found that she wasn't the least bit nervous - not because she was now comfortable around Draco, but because her schoolwork allowed her not to think of him too much. She could always lose herself in academics, and for once, she was thankful for it.

It took Draco a while to start making jokes and poking fun at her again, but once he did, Hermione felt even more at ease. It was always better when she could predict his behaviour. And it didn't hurt that he made her laugh more than a few times. She always attempted to hide it though, because if there was one thing Draco didn't lack, it was an inflated opinion of himself. He could also be quite defensive, Hermione discovered, when she tried to turn the tables.

"It is not a girly quill!" he exclaimed indignantly at one point.

"I didn't say it was girly," Hermione replied. "I just said it looked a bit...feminine."

"Feminine?" Draco cried, looking at her with horror, and then at his quill with the same expression. Finally, he shook his head and said, "You don't know what you're talking about."

Hermione shrugged. "If you say so."

After that, they both bent their heads over their work, Draco looking upset and Hermione suppressing a grin. Several minutes passed in silence before Draco, without looking up, muttered, "It's not a girly quill."

Hermione burst out laughing and it was a while before she was able to regain her composure. She put her own quill down (which Draco said looked like something she had scraped off the bottom of a birdcage) and stretched her arms tiredly. "What time is it?" she asked Draco.

"Five-thirty," he replied, lazily consulting his silver Rollex. Hermione had learnt, in her time with Draco, that the wizarding counterpart of Rolex watches was, in fact, spelled with a double 'L', and it was because the watches required a slight input of magic from the user that they tended to malfunction when worn by Muggles. She thought it was an interesting fact to note, but she was more surprised at the time.

"Five-thirty?" she exclaimed. "We've been here for four hours?"

"Guess so," said Draco, turning to look at her. "Is that a problem?"

"What?" said Hermione, caught off-guard. "Oh, no...no problem. I just didn't realise we'd been here that long."

"Well, let's just hope none of your little buddies decided to check in with Professor Vector," said Draco, starting to pack away his books. Hermione had, of course, told him of the excuse she had used to get away from her friends. Draco, being one of only three Slytherins in the school, had no need of an excuse.

"So...are we doing this again?" Hermione asked him tentatively as she packed her own books away.

"That depends," said Draco.

"On what?"

"On how gullible your friends are." He flashed a smile that made Hermione narrow her eyes.

"My friends are not gullible," she said sternly. "And seeing as I'd be making excuses for you, the least you could do is answer me."

Draco turned completely around and looked at her fixedly. Hermione cowered instantly under his gaze, so piercing as it was. "Do I want to do this again?" he echoed her. Hermione nodded. He's going to say no, she thought glumly. He had a really boring time and he doesn't ever want to talk to me again. "Sure," said Draco, breaking Hermione's reverie. "That is, if you want to."

"I want to," Hermione replied - a little to quickly, judging by Draco's amused smile. "I mean," she added hastily, "we got a lot of work done and...and there's not much else to do these days, so..."

"So we will," Draco finished for her. "Same time tomorrow?"

"Okay," Hermione breathed, feeling flustered. Now that they were no longer working, she could feel the full effect of Draco's proximity. She could even smell his cologne: sharp and spicy and so like Draco himself. She didn't think that either Ron or Harry wore cologne, and it was strange to realise that after growing up with the two of them all these years, she knew so little about boys. Ron and Harry certainly never made her feel light-headed. Perhaps that was Draco's cologne though, and not Draco himself. It did smell good. Blech, Hermione thought to herself.

"Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow then," she said, getting to her feet and waiting for Draco to do the same. He didn't though. "Aren't you...."

"I'll wait," he replied simply. "We don't want any nosy little first years catching sight of us leaving together. Or any nosy little sixth years, for that matter." His mouth twisted into a smile. The impact was even more pronounced when he was sitting down, so that he was looking up at her from beneath his long eyelashes. Apparently, Draco never raised his head for anyone.

"Right," said Hermione. "Well I'll get going then."

Draco nodded slowly, still watching her and still smiling. It made Hermione feel extraordinarily insecure, like an animal in a zoo that was being observed and scrutinised by this hypercritical young boy. She brushed her insecurity aside though, and headed for the door.

"Granger," Draco called after her. Hermione stopped and turned around, her hand on the doorknob. "It's not a girly quill."

Hermione grinned broadly and turned the handle. "Good night, Draco."

"Night."

* * *

The moment the door to his room opened, Draco dropped his bag on the floor and quickly leaned against the wall, pinching the bridge of his nose and screwing his eyes shut. "Bloody hell!" he exclaimed to himself. He breathed deeply until the pain in his head had subsided and he was able to safely open his eyes. The room swam back into focus around him, dark shapes moving across the ceiling, which Draco quickly realised were only shadows. He didn't bother to light the torches, and relied on the light of the moon to illuminate his room. He always preferred the darkness, just as he always preferred the cold. He didn't think he'd ever met anyone else with such peculiar inclinations.

He stripped out of his clothes and pulled on his pyjama bottoms, forgoing a shirt once more because, even though it was cold, he knew he would wake up covered in sweat. He gazed at his darkened reflection for a while, in the claw-footed mirror in the corner of his room, then poured himself a goblet of Snape's horrible potion and choked it down. Personally, Draco didn't think the Potions Master was capable of brewing a pleasant-tasting potion. What he couldn't doubt, though, was Snape's skill, and so it was odd that the potion didn't work. Perhaps it simply required a certain amount of time before it took effect, or perhaps Draco wasn't taking the right dosage. Whatever the reason, the dreams still came, and he still couldn't get any rest.

* * *

Over the next few days, Hermione met Draco in the Charms classroom after every lunchtime, and soon she was looking forward to her time with him more than any other part of the day. When she was honest with herself, she had to admit that Draco was one of the most interesting people to be around. He was also incredibly smart, made her laugh quite a lot, and never once neglected their work. He was, quite possibly, the perfect study partner. Of course, the moment Hermione realised that, she felt sick and immediately took a shower.

Afterwards, feeling a bit cleaner, she made her way to the fifth floor and found Draco standing outside the Charms classroom. "What..." she began, but broke off as Draco put a finger to his lips. Hermione frowned and listened carefully; there were some strange sounds and the occasional cackle of laughter coming from the room. "Peeves?" she mouthed. Draco nodded. Hermione sighed in irritation and cast an angry glare at the door. Why did he have to ruin everything? "Should we find another room?" she asked Draco in a whisper.

"I think Filch is prowling around," Draco replied.

Hermione barely stopped herself from groaning. Now what were they supposed to do? Filch could move between the floors as quickly as any of the Hogwarts ghosts; he might walk right into the classroom they were using and land them in detention.

"What about the library?" Hermione inquired.

"Couple of fourth years in there," said Draco. He shrugged. "Guess we have to call it off." There was the tiniest hint of disappointment in his voice, which Hermione took pleasure in hearing. She didn't want to call it off though.

"What about..." she began, and trailed off. Draco merely raised his eyebrows. "Well..." Hermione continued, averting her eyes, "Harry, Ron and Ginny are playing Quidditch, and...we're both Prefects, so...you know...we could just use one of our rooms..." She lifted her gaze apprehensively and prepared herself for the fit of laughter she was sure Draco would respond with. He did look amused, but there was no laughter, at least.

"You want to come to my room?" he asked dubiously.

"Or you could come to mine," said Hermione. "I mean, the others will be gone for hours, and it'll be quiet..."

She didn't particularly want Draco Malfoy inside her room (something she was sure the other girls at Hogwarts would scold her for thinking), but she did want to study with him, and she would rather do so in an environment she was familiar with, rather than his bedroom. But would he go for it?

"Sure," said Draco. "If that's what you want."

"I...I mean, if you want...then we could." Hermione stammered.

"Lead the way," said Draco. Hermione turned around, gave the wall in front of her an anxious look, and started walking towards Gryffindor tower with Draco following close behind.

They said nothing to each other until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, who was dusting her dress off with her pudgy hands. She looked up when Hermione arrived. "Hello darling, have you got the pass--" Her words trailed off as she caught sight of Draco, and suddenly she looked far more interested. "Well, isn't he handsome," she said, eyeing Draco up and down, who looked rather horrified at being hit on by a painting. "Ooh, if I were twenty years younger and corporeal..." the Fat Lady continued.

"Yeah, um...we're just studying together," Hermione hastened to explain. "He's a Slytherin."

"A Slytherin?" said the Fat Lady, sounding enthralled. "Well, aren't we taking a walk on the wild side."

Hermione rolled her eyes and turned to Draco, who, for the first time in Hermione's memory, looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Can you block your ears so I can give her the password?" she said.

"Why do I have to block my ears?" Draco asked petulantly.

Hermione sighed gruffly. "Just do it." With an irritable sigh, Draco put his fingers in his ears and glared back defiantly. "Do it properly," Hermione reproached him. Draco's glare deepened, but his fingers fit more properly inside his ears. "Fortes fortuna adiuvat," Hermione whispered to the Fat Lady.

"Hmm?" the Fat Lady replied, still staring at Draco. "Oh, yes...right you are. I don't want to keep you too long. Just be careful, dear," she whispered, "they say the Slytherin boys know all sorts of tricks."

Rolling her eyes again, this time in disgust, Hermione stepped through the portrait hole and waited for Draco to follow. "She's...uh...interesting," he said once he was inside and had removed his fingers from his ears.

"That was the most disgusting thing I've ever seen," Hermione said sharply.

"Really?" said Draco. "Well, you obviously haven't seen my Uncle Ignatius." He beamed her a smile that Hermione couldn't help but return.

"Come on," she said, before Draco had a chance to ridicule the décor of the common room. She led the way across the room and started up the girls' staircase with Draco following behind. He had only reached the fourth step, however, when it and the three steps below it slanted abruptly and Draco went sliding to the floor. Hermione broke into a fit of giggles as Draco straightened up elegantly and started mumbling oaths to himself. He made a rather ostentatious display of dusting off his sleeves. "Sorry," Hermione laughed. "I forgot about that."

Draco narrowed his eyes at her. "You did that on purpose."

"Oh, I did not," said Hermione. "I just have to invite you up, that's all. So...you can come upstairs, Draco." Still looking at her through narrowed eyes, Draco placed a tentative foot on the bottom step as if to test how solid it was. Apparently satisfied, he followed Hermione up to her room. Along the way, all the portraits whose occupants were currently in their frames turned their curious eyes on Draco and mumbled all sorts of things to each other.

"A Slytherin, I think..."

"Don't know what he's doing here..."

And, from most of the females:

"Lucky girl, she is..."

"Look at that hair..."

"I wish someone would paint him in with me. Oh, the fun we could have..."

Hermione was gritting her teeth by the time she arrived at her door. She cast an appalled look over her shoulder at the fawning portraits, and said to Draco, "You seem to have a way with weirdoes."

"What can I say," said Draco, in a smug tone of voice, "people just can't resist my charms."

"They're not people," Hermione pointed out as she held her door open for Draco. "They're mixtures of oil and water."

"Well, when you put it that way..." Draco said distractedly, now looking around the room. Hermione felt distinctly uncomfortable now, and a little self-conscious. Draco Malfoy, the most critical person she knew, was standing in her room and admiring the décor. She felt sure that he would spot an inordinate amount of faults and she wasn't particularly eager to hear them, so she mumbled something about needing a book from the library, which was true, but she took more time than she needed in getting it.

* * *

With Hermione gone, Draco was free to examine her room more closely, and continue to marvel at the fact that he was standing inside a Gryffindor Prefect's bedroom, and Hermione Granger's no less. He wasn't sure what he had expected - mouldy wallpaper, bad colour clashes, a hideous painting or two - but her room looked rather...elegant. It wasn't overly decorative or fancy, but a definite appeal lay in its simplicity. And she seemed to be colour co-ordinated, at the very least.

Draco crossed over to her desk, extracted a book called The Journey from Muggle to Witch from the towering pile that lay there, and began flipping through its pages. As he did, a smaller, leather-bound book fell out of it and onto the floor. Draco stooped down and picked it up. On the scarlet cover there was an inscription in gilded letters: Ex Adyto Cordis. A diary, Draco realised. Hermione's diary! What he would have given only a year ago to get his hands on this, to know her secrets, her deepest fears and insecurities; it would have been more valuable to him than gold. But now...now he wouldn't feel right reading it. He opened the larger book again to put it back inside, but as he did, he heard the door open behind him. He spun around, a book in either hand.

Hermione shut the door behind her and turned to face him. "Sorry I took so long," she said. "Some idiot put this in the Transfiguration section and I..." She trailed off; her eyes dropped from Draco's face to the diary in his left hand, and grew wide. She looked up again with shock. "You read my diary!"

Draco looked from the book in his hand to Hermione's incredulous face. "Wh- no," he spluttered. "I--"

"I can't believe you would do that!" Hermione cried, walking forward and snatching the diary from Draco's hand. She yanked open a drawer at her desk and shoved it inside before rounding on him again. "How could you do that?" she demanded, looking torn between unbridled anger and a deep sense of betrayal. "That's my diary! My most private thoughts!" The betrayal suddenly overtook the anger, and she looked at a loss for words. Her face was red, too. "I... you don't even know what I was writing about!" she cried. "I mean... 'hunk' can mean a lot of things, you know. And where it says 'penetrating' eyes, I meant to write 'bulging'."

"Hermione--"

"And 'D' doesn't even stand for Draco, for that matter. It stands for...um...Dean! Dean Thomas! From Gryffindor! That's right...it stands for Dean." She finished with a false laugh.

"I was reading this," Draco said carefully, holding up The Journey from Muggle to Witch. "Your diary fell out of it. I didn't read it, I swear."

Hermione's anger faded. "You...didn't?"Draco shook his head.

"Oh," Hermione said tonelessly.Draco raised an eyebrow, a smile playing on his lips. "Dean Thomas?""Oh, shut up!" Hermione sank heavily onto her bed, staring dejectedly at the floor.

Draco put her book back on the desk and looked around the room. "So," he said conversationally, in an attempt to distract her from her humiliation, which struck him as an odd thing to do, "this is chez Granger."

Hermione looked up. "Aren't you going to make fun of the décor?"

"No," said Draco simply. "I hear colossal stacks of books are all the rage this season. Plus it's clean," he added, running a finger along the desk. "Extraordinarily clean. And you've got the coup de grace right here on the bed." He sat down beside Hermione and smiled at her. For one scary, and exciting, moment, Hermione thought he was talking about her. But she soon realised that he was looking down at her bedspread. "I mean, who wouldn't want to sleep underneath a gigantic panda?" He flashed her another winning smile that made Hermione turn as scarlet as her diary."So, would it be okay with you if we forget the last five minutes ever happened?" she asked."No problem," Draco replied casually, reaching out for the book Hermione had brought back from the library and flipping it open. "So you want to get some work done?"

"Yes," said Hermione, desperately seizing the chance to change the subject and recover at least some of her dignity. She walked over to her desk and sat down, expecting Draco to take the seat beside her. When she turned around, however, she saw that he was reclined on her bed. He was on his elbows with his feet somewhere near her pillow and his face hidden behind the book she had borrowed from the library.

"This does have some good stuff on Ternauld equations," he said. "Nice find, Granger.""Um...aren't you...don't you want to sit up here?" Hermione asked falteringly."No, this is much more comfortable," Draco replied from behind the book. Hermione wanted to say something further, to tell him to please get off her bed because she didn't like the idea of sleeping in it when Draco Malfoy had lain on it, but she thought that would be rude so she said nothing. Still, it made her stomach squirm every time she looked at him.After another minute, Draco put down the book he'd been reading and got out his Arithmancy work. Despite the awkward positions, Hermione found that they still worked as well together, and was even pleased to see that Draco leaned on one of his books so that he wouldn't make any marks on her giant panda. He did ask her if he could give it a moustache at one point though.

"No!" Hermione had told him firmly.

"Oh, come on," Draco had persisted. "Just a little one - like Millicent Bulstrode's."Hermione had burst into such loud gales of laughter that soon even Draco joined in. They were both of them quite incapable of regaining any semblance of composure, and it was only after Draco fell off the bed and knocked his head on Hermione's bedside table that he stopped. Hermione, however, only laughed harder.

"You know, I could really be hurt," Draco told her."I know," Hermione gasped through tears. "That's what makes it funny."Draco glared at her, though without any malevolence, and settled back down on the bed. Instead of starting on his work again, he laid his head down, yawned profusely, and shut his eyes. It was then that Hermione began to suspect his real reason for wanting to lie on the bed. "You look tired," she said, noticing it for the first time. Perhaps Draco had hidden it before, but now... now Hermione wasn't sure how he was managing to keep his eyes open.

"I'm fine," said Draco, though he kept his eyes closed.

"You've got bags under your eyes," Hermione informed him."WHAT?" Draco bellowed, his eyes flying open. "I do not!" He leapt up and checked himself in the mirror on Hermione's wall, stretching and prodding his eyelids until he was satisfied there were no bags. "You don't know what you're talking about," he said as he lay back down on the bed.

"Okay, so no bags," Hermione conceded. "But you do look tired.""I know," Draco replied, in a rare moment of candidness. "I haven't been getting much sleep lately."Hermione put her quill down and turned further around in her chair. "How come?"

Draco looked up, as though considering whether he ought to answer her question. "I've...been having these dreams," he said."What kind of dreams?" Hermione asked, intensely curious, though she didn't want Draco to know that.

Once again he gave her a considering look, and once again he seemed to decide there was no need to hide the truth. "Strange dreams," he said, looking down at the bedspread and fiddling with one of the corners. He seemed to be talking more to himself now. "I mean, they seem like dreams, but then they don't at the same time, which is weird I guess, but..." He trailed off and looked out of the window. They were so high up that only the sky was visible: a uniform grey-white covering of clouds, whose only remarkable feature was the lack of rain. "I see Voldemort," Draco continued. "And my father. They're...looking for something - a sword I think. I..." He broke off, noticing Hermione's flabbergasted expression. "What?""A sword," she echoed. "In three pieces? And they have the hilt and the blade already?""Y- how did you know?" Draco asked in confusion."Because Harry's having the same dreams!" Hermione said excitedly. "We've been researching them all week!""Potter and I are sharing dreams?" Draco demanded, looking far more horrified at the idea of Harry being present in his dreams than Lord Voldemort.

"You must be," Hermione said slowly, as though she was puzzling out a particularly difficult Arithmancy problem. "But why would you be having them? Unless..." She looked up suddenly, clearly on the cusp of an enormous revelation. Draco merely raised his eyebrows. "The curse!" she exclaimed, jumping to her feet. "The Avada Kedavra curse. Voldemort used it on you and...." Her eyes and mouth suddenly widened and she stared at Draco in astonishment. "You have a scar!" she proclaimed, half-smiling.

"I do not," Draco said defensively, sitting up on the bed and making sure that his shirt was secure.

"Yes, you do!" Hermione cried jubilantly. Draco didn't see why it was a cause for celebration. "Ooh, let me see it," she said. "Is it shaped like a lightning bolt?""You're not seeing anything," Draco said firmly, but Hermione just broke into peals of laughter.

"Oh, this is too funny! All those years of hassling Harry and now you've got one too." She became quite unintelligible after that, and Draco didn't bother trying to pacify her. He merely turned his gaze up to the ceiling and tried to block out the sound of her laughter. It wasn't easy though, and eventually he had to say something.

"Are you done yet?" he asked sharply.Hermione's laughter was coming less frequently now, though that was perhaps only because she was struggling to breathe. She held onto her chair and pushed herself off the floor, swaying perilously on the spot. "I'm sorry," she said, wiping tears from her eyes. "I know it's not a laughing matter, I just...." And off she went again, for another five minutes."Okay," she said at last, clearing her throat. "I'm okay. I'm fine. So, um, do you want to keep working?""No, thanks," said Draco, getting to his feet and packing his bag. There was a hint of resentment in his voice.

"Oh, come on, I'm sorry," Hermione said earnestly. "I won't do that again, I promise.""It's okay," said Draco, though he wouldn't look at her."You're not upset, are you?" Hermione inquired carefully, in case he exploded.

"No," said Draco, though Hermione couldn't tell if he was lying or not. "I'm just tired." He hoisted his bag onto his shoulder and headed for the door. "I'll see you tomorrow, if Peeves isn't around." Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but Draco was already speaking again. "And Granger?""Yeah?""The next time you research my - our - dreams...try a book on the Founders."Hermione looked back at Draco in confusion, her brow furrowed. "Why would there be something in a Founders book?""I don't know," Draco said, mostly to himself, and he looked just as confused as Hermione felt. "But just try it."Hermione nodded slowly. "Okay."

"All right. See you tomorrow," said Draco, and left the room.* * *Ginny was having a ball on the Quidditch pitch. It was getting late, and the sky was darkening rapidly, but she didn't care. Ron was circling the goal posts at one end of the pitch and both she and Harry were trying to score with the Quaffle. It was the most fun she'd had in months.She was somewhat grateful for Hermione's complete lack of interest in Quidditch, because it meant that the famous Gryffindor trio didn't exist on the Quidditch pitch, at least, and so Ginny had no problem joining in Ron and Harry's routines. She did wish she wasn't the only girl present though, especially when Ron and Harry lavished her with praise and she turned as red as her Quidditch robes.

"You're a monster, Ginny," Ron laughed at one point, after she had put five consecutive shots through for goal. And when she turned upside down on her broomstick to avoid a collision with Ron, and then scored, Harry had asked her to teach him how to do that. It was a good thing they were up in the air with so much distance between them, because Ginny was sure her permanent grin made her look like a maniac. She had some trouble getting rid of it, even when they stopped at the end of the day.

"It's getting late," said Harry, floating slowly to the ground. "I can hardly see.""Clean your glasses," Ron called out, though he too had drifted to the ground. Ginny was the last to hit the grass, and she couldn't help noticing how sweaty Harry was. She hoped she wasn't sweating that much, because she didn't think it would look as good on her. Or smell as good, for that matter."Well, I say we've earned dinner," said Ron, his voice unnecessarily loud. The three of them traipsed across the lawn and into the castle, where the smell of baked chicken and steamed vegetables was wafting into the Entrance Hall. Ron followed his nose into the Great Hall and plonked his broomstick down on the floor before filling his plate with a little of everything. Ginny was starving too, but she made sure she ate slowly in case Harry was watching. When she saw him tearing into a drumstick though, his eyes riveted on his food, she quickly stole several large bites from her own drumstick and choked them down before anyone would notice.

Hermione joined them a minute later, by which time Harry, Ron and Ginny had already consumed what could be called a normal-sized serving of dinner, and were still going. "Quidditch good?" Hermione inquired succinctly."Mm-hmm," Ron said through his mouthful."Fantastic," Harry said through his. Ginny burst out laughing and had to cover her mouth to prevent her food from falling out. Unfortunately, that left only her nose as an escape route for her laughter, and she gave several embarrassing snorts before pretending to blow her nose with a napkin. No one else seemed to notice though, which was good."So what were you doing?" Ron asked Hermione, after he had finished his mouthful."Oh, I was in the library doing more research on...." Ginny thought she saw, for the briefest moment, a warning look flash across Harry's face. "...Scouring Charms...for Flitwick," Hermione finished. Neither Ron nor Harry said anything more to that, but Ginny felt all the joy and happiness she'd experienced an hour ago flood out of her body as if she'd been squeezed by a giant hand. They still have secrets, she realised glumly. They'll always have secrets.Instinctively, she looked across the hall at the Slytherin table, expecting to see Draco sitting on his own and sharing some of her pain (though she didn't think Draco saw his remoteness from the trio as a bad thing). He wasn't there, however, and the table was completely empty, save for the two third year girls who now harboured an almost Gryffindor-esque dislike for Draco. Ginny spent the rest of the meal trying to decide if they were prettier than her, and then wondered whether Draco thought they were pretty.* * *Although Hermione was itching to get to the library and follow up on Draco's suggestion, she told herself it was best to wait for the morning, when she would have a clear head and all day to peruse the books. Well, not all day, because she would have to meet Draco in the afternoon, but then she could always take some books with her, now that he knew what she was doing.

She finished dinner mostly in silence, staring at Draco's empty chair and wondering why he wasn't at dinner. She hoped he hadn't been too offended by her reaction to the news of his scar, but... She didn't finish the thought, because she was laughing again.

"What's so funny?" Ron asked."Oh, nothing. I was just remembering something I read in the library."Ron rolled his eyes, as expected, and turned back to his food. Once they had all finished, and Ron had managed to stuff several more spoonfuls of gravy inside his mouth, they returned to the Gryffindor common room and stretched themselves out like a bunch of lazy cats. Crookshanks soon joined them, and curled himself up on Hermione's lap, gazing into the fire with half-lidded eyes. Hermione stroked him absent-mindedly and thought about the books waiting for her in the library. One of them might contain the answer to Harry and Draco's dreams, but Hermione wasn't sure if she wanted to find it. She yawned slowly, announced that she was going to bed, and made her way to her room.After she had changed into her night attire and put Crookshanks in his basket, she gingerly sniffed her bedspread and realised, with a sinking feeling, that she could smell Draco's cologne on it. "Oh, great," she said aloud. She lifted up her covers, climbed beneath them and tried to go to sleep, but it was too weird. "Damn Malfoy," she said irritably, throwing her bedspread off and turning over to face the wall.* * *The next morning, Hermione woke up even earlier than she usually did. She supposed that the urge to visit the library had woken her, and it was the first thing she set off to do once she was dressed. She wasn't sure why she was so convinced that Draco knew what he was talking about, but there had been something in the way that he'd said it, as though he hadn't realised it himself, that made her believe him.The library was predictably empty when she arrived; only Madam Pince was in sight, lurking vulture-like as usual behind the counter. She gave Hermione the merest of nods when she saw her, which was the only display of recognition Hermione had ever seen the old librarian show a student. Even though they never spoke to each other regarding anything other than books, Hermione felt that Madam Pince held a strange respect for her, using the library as often as she did. It probably also helped that Hermione left the books in impeccable condition and always kept her voice down.

She could have uttered a squeal of excitement now, though, because she felt as though she was on the verge of something big. The answer was in here somewhere, she was sure of it. Taking Draco's advice, she went straight to the section dedicated to the Hogwarts' Founders and carried as many books as she could back to a desk. There were a lot of them, even by her standards.

The first was a very accurate and slightly boring account of the lives of the Founders; the second was a fantastical and sometimes far-fetched account of the same thing. The third was dedicated more to Hogwarts itself than its creators, and the fourth had something to do with obscure magical philosophy, which Hermione understood nothing of. She tried several more books, and came up with the same results every time. The closest she came - and she thought she had stumbled upon the answer at the time - was the frequent mention of Godric Gryffindor's sword, which had all sorts of strange rumours attached to it. But that sword was residing in Dumbledore's office, and it was in one piece, so that couldn't be it. Hermione sighed and opened another book, unwilling to give up.

Around that time, Harry entered the library, and Hermione realised that the sun was fully up now. "You're in here early," he said, sitting down opposite her. He pulled a book towards him and opened it to read. A moment later, he frowned and checked the cover. "'The Hogwarts Four'?" he queried. "What are you reading this for?"Hermione looked up from her book. "Oh, I...uh...just had a hunch.""You think the sword has something to do with the Founders?""It might. Can't hurt if we look." Harry shrugged and opened the book again.They made their way, slowly and ponderously, through most of the books at the table, sometimes only skimming the indexes and sometimes searching manually in case they missed something. Hermione was sure they hadn't though, and soon she was resting her head on her palms and staring at the books in the restricted section. "It might be in there," she said.Harry followed her gaze. "You think? Should we ask a teacher for a note or something?"Hermione shook her head and looked around. Madam Pince was nowhere in sight, and the rest of the library was still empty. "I could run over and look," she whispered to Harry.

"What? Now?" Harry replied. "You can't do that. Let's wait until tonight - we'll get the Invisibility Cloak."Hermione shook her head again. "I don't want to wait. I know where the Founders books are - there aren't many of them - I mean, they wouldn't exactly have dangerous information in them. I could be back in two seconds."Harry was looking at her with his mouth open. "You realise that would be breaking a school rule, right?" he asked with a smile.

"Yes," said Hermione, "and you can be shocked later, but right now I think I should get those books.""All right," said Harry, glancing around nervously. "I'll keep a look out for Madam Pince. Just be quick, okay?""Okay," Hermione said, getting to her feet and grabbing a random book from the table. She felt a strange thrill at the prospect of breaking into the restricted section during the day, and she almost felt like making it a dare. But she wanted to see what was in those books and had no desire to waste any more time. She walked across the library to the rope that separated the restricted section from the rest of the library, and then, with a last look back at Harry, who nodded, ducked under it and quickly found the section on the Founders. She had known there wouldn't be many books on them in this section, but she hadn't realised there would only be one. The Tragic History of the Hogwarts Founders, it was called, bound in black leather with the title scrawled in silver across the front. Hermione couldn't help flooding with curiosity now that it was in her hands. She heard Harry whispering sharply to her however, so she quickly shoved the book she had taken from the table into the new empty spot, ducked back underneath the rope and returned to the desk. "Got it," she said, breathing heavily.

"Well done," said Harry, sounding impressed.Hermione looked around to make sure Madam Pince hadn't returned, and opened the book. It was old, that much was for certain. The pages were torn in places and yellowed all over; some of the text wasn't even readable anymore and it appeared to be written in...

"Latin," Hermione sighed heavily."Are you serious?" Harry asked. Hermione nodded and bit her lip. "But...you can read Latin, right?" Harry asked hopefully."Yeah," said Hermione, "but this... There are five hundred pages in this book! I wouldn't know where to start.""Well, look for a picture of a sword," Harry suggested."That's a good idea," said Hermione, flipping through the pages carefully. She saw lots of pictures, some of them engravings that had been copied, some of them pictures of tapestries that she recognised. Some were of scenes or people she had never even seen before, and although she was eager to stop and read about them, she kept flipping pages. It was at the very back, only a dozen or so pages from the end, where she found it: a picture about a quarter of the size of the page, showing a sword that was broken into three separate pieces. "I found it!" she exclaimed. "Look!" She spun the book around for Harry to see, who squinted intently at the picture.

"The third piece is kind of small," he said thoughtfully, "whatever it is."

The picture wasn't in very good condition, but Hermione had to agree. "We'll know more when I translate it," she said."How long will that take?" Harry asked.Hermione shrugged and looked down at the book again. "Well, it only looks like two pages, so...maybe a day.""A day?" said Harry, his voice almost a groan.

"Well, do you know Latin?" Hermione demanded.

"I didn't mean--" Harry began, then thought better of it and settled for, "A day's fine.

"Good," said Hermione, with finality. "Well, I'll get started then, so you can go if you want."

Harry got to his feet and replaced his chair. "Good luck," he said, and left the library.

Hermione spent all morning translating the text, often having to consult other books for clarification. It was slow going, made even slower by the fact that she had to hide the book whenever Madam Pince was around. Luckily though, the librarian didn't seem to find the need to patrol the library when it was almost empty. Thank God it's Christmas, Hermione found herself thinking.

She had translated only the first two paragraphs when Harry came back, followed by Ron. "You found it?" Ron said at once, kneeling down beside her and propping his elbows on the table. "Is this it?"

"Yes!" Hermione snapped irritably. She never liked being interrupted when she was engrossed in a book. Ron, however, didn't seem to notice.

"Harry said you took it from the restricted section," he said, with as much surprise and admiration in his voice as there had been in Harry's. "Did you really?"

"Yes," Hermione replied, more calmly and with a slight blush. Ron's grin was full of respect.

"So have you gotten very far?" he inquired.

"I've translated two paragraphs so far," Hermione replied.

"Anything we should know about?" Harry asked gravely.

"No, nothing yet," said Hermione, continuing with her translation as she spoke. "Most of it's about Gryffindor and Slytherin and how they didn't like each other. It hasn't mentioned the sword yet, but I think that...." She trailed off, because she had just raised her head and noticed someone standing behind Harry and staring at them all with a wounded expression. Harry and Ron, registering Hermione's silence, turned around and followed her eyes.

"Ginny..." Harry said, but before he could say any more, Ginny turned on her heel and hurried out of the library. Harry sighed repentantly and dropped his head in defeat. "Damn."

"What are you doing?" Hermione cried incredulously.

Harry looked confused. "Wh--"

"Go after her, you git!"

"But--"

"Now!"

"Okay!" cried Harry, sounding scandalised. He turned around, crossed the room and disappeared through the doors.

Hermione sighed to herself and looked up at Ron. "You think she'll be okay?"

"She'll be fine," said Ron, waving away Hermione's concern. "So you need help with that or...."

"No, Ron," said Hermione, hearing his stomach rumble. "Go and raid the kitchens if you like."

Ron gave her a guilty smile and left, finally leaving Hermione in peace.

* * *

Harry was prepared to guess which way Ginny had gone when he left the library, but luckily he saw her skirt disappearing around the left-hand corridor and headed in that direction. "Ginny!" he called to her, breaking into a jog. "Ginny, wait."

He caught up to her in the middle of the corresponding hallway and grabbed her arm. "Ginny, wait, please." She stopped, but refused to turn around. Her shoulders were shaking and although she was doing a good job muffling it, Harry could tell that she was crying. "Ginny," he said, turning her around to face him. His entire stomach gave a sickening lurch when he saw her face, tear-stained and miserable-looking as it was. He felt awful. "Ginny, I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Ginny replied, sniffing and wiping a hand across her eyes. "It doesn't matter."

"It does," said Harry. "We left you out again and I'm sorry."

A fresh sob racked Ginny's body. She swiped furiously at her eyes. "I'm fine," she said, her voice thick with tears. "Just...don't worry about it."

"I am worrying about it," Harry said, aggrieved. He dropped Ginny's arm, confident that she wouldn't run away, and tried to ignore the gut-wrenching pain in his chest. It wasn't easy though; she looked so small and unhappy though. Tendrils of her fiery red hair were pasted to her cheeks by the tears she'd shed and she was pressing her lips tightly together to prevent more from falling. Harry found that he also had to resist the urge to hold her arm again. "Listen, Ginny," he said, "I'm sorry that I didn't tell you what we were doing. I won't pretend it was all of us, because it wasn't. Hermione told me to tell you, and I was going to, but then when I heard about the dreams you were having... I just didn't want you to worry about this too."

"Why not?" Ginny demanded through her tears. "You have to worry about it, and you've been having dreams."

"I know," Harry said gloomily, looking down at the floor. "But I don't have a choice. You do."

"Well, then I want to know," said Ginny, wiping her face clean. "If it's my choice, then I want to know about this stuff. I'm not a kid, Harry - please don't treat me like a kid."

"I know you're not," said Harry. "I just...."

"What?"

Harry sighed deeply. He didn't know what he wanted to say. "Nothing," he said in the end.

Ginny's shoulders hunched and she stared down at the floor. Harry looked up and down the hallway they were in, and then back at Ginny. "Let's go for a walk," he said. "I'll tell you what's happening."

Ginny sniffed and looked up, her big blue eyes shining like the surface of the lake in summer. "Okay," she said simply, and turned around to walk beside Harry.

* * *

Hermione exhaled a long breath and put down her quill. She rubbed at her tired eyes with the heels of her palms and checked her watch. "Bugger," she said, when she realised what time it was. She was supposed to have met Draco ten minutes ago, but she'd lost track of time translating the book. And although she did want to see Draco again, especially to tell him that she'd found something on the sword he and Harry had seen in their dreams, she was marginally more interested in finishing her translation. In the end, she decided that she'd take the book with her, so she slipped it surreptitiously into her bag and hurried out of the library, making directly for the Charms classroom on the fifth floor.

Draco was there, as expected, leaning back in his chair with his legs stretched out in front of him and his hands clasped over his chest. He had his eyes closed, and his face turned up to the ceiling. There was something so serene about him and yet at the same time he was still as guarded and remote as he was when he was awake, which, Hermione soon realised, may have been due to the fact that he was awake.

"You're late, Granger," he remarked without opening his eyes. He was grinning though, which was something.

Hermione jumped and quickly scolded herself for staring. "Uh...yeah," she spluttered awkwardly. "I was...um...in the library and I lost track of time. I found a book with information on the sword you saw in your dreams and...."

"You did?" said Draco, raising his head and opening his eyes at last. His smile was gone, and he looked intensely curious.

"Yeah," said Hermione, taking a seat beside him and setting her bag on the floor.

"In a Founders' book?"

Hermione nodded, fishing around for the book inside her bag. "How did you know?" she asked.

"I'm not sure," Draco replied, in that same strange tone that made it sound as though he was talking to himself. "I just did."

"Well, you have some good instincts then," said Hermione, hoisting the large tome up onto the table. "But it's in Latin."

"Latin?" said Draco, opening the cover and looking at some of the text. "Well, I can translate it if you like."

Hermione looked at him quizzically. "You understand Latin?"

Draco seemed confused. "Of course I understand Latin," he said. "Most pureblood wizards do. And every Malfoy does."

"So can you read it directly?" Hermione inquired with interest. "And speak it?"

Draco shifted in his seat. "Well...I'm supposed to be able to, but...." He trailed off.

"You're a little rusty?" Hermione finished for him, with a smile.

"Something like that," Draco replied. "So, you want help?"

"Sure." Hermione pulled out her notes and set them on the table. "So...how about if I do these two paragraphs and you do these two?"

"Okay," said Draco, taking out his own quill and parchment.

As always, Hermione found it much easier working with Draco. She had brought some of the translation books with her, but she hardly ever needed to consult them. Her knowledge and Draco's knowledge of the language seemed to compliment each other perfectly. Whenever Hermione was stuck on a word, Draco would know it, and whenever Draco was puzzling over a passage, Hermione could help him out. It made for much quicker progress and soon they were able to talk as they worked.

"Gryffindor sounds like a real prat," Draco remarked at one point, without looking up.

"He does not," said Hermione. "Slytherin was the prat, with all his sanctimonious preaching on half-bloods and the 'purity of the wizarding world'."

"The guy was just looking out for his school," Draco said simply.

"Well, if he'd had his way then I wouldn't be here," said Hermione. She felt Draco's eyes on her after she said that, but he turned back to his parchment just as quickly and Hermione realised, for the first time, what a sensitive subject her lineage was for Draco. It almost looked, or felt, as if he was guilty. That made Hermione smile, but she said nothing else about it.

They lapsed into silence for a while, until Draco broke it again. "Anything interesting yet?"

"No. You?"

Draco shook his head. "Who writes this dross anyway? Talk about being over-worded. Wouldn't it be simpler to say, 'Slytherin hates Gryffindor, Gryffindor hates Slytherin, they argued a lot, the end'?"

"You have a remarkable talent for simplifying things," Hermione commented as she double-checked the passage she was translating.

"So, you think Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw hated each other too?" Draco asked conversationally.

"I can't imagine why."

"Oh, I don't know," said Draco. "Maybe Hufflepuff stole Ravenclaw's man, and Ravenclaw slapped Hufflepuff, and then they got into a huge argument which culminated in a pillow fight in their underwear."

Hermione gasped indignantly and nudged Draco in the side. She was smiling, however. "You're a sick little boy, you know that?"

Draco snorted sceptically. "I hardly think I qualify as 'little'."

"Oh, yes," said Hermione, "that was the part you should be worried about rebutting."

Draco smiled and continued translating. By the time they had finished, they had translated far more of the text than Hermione had expected, and she was almost reluctant to leave.

"Well, I'll finish the rest tomorrow morning," she said, packing her books away and getting to her feet.

"All right," said Draco, staying where he was, as usual, and watching her. "Let me know what it says when you do."

"Okay," said Hermione, smiling at him. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Draco simply nodded.

* * *

"So...you understand?" Harry asked gently.

Ginny nodded. "I think so. Voldemort's trying to put this sword together and you think it has something to do with the Founders."

Harry laughed. "I guess it's not that complicated."

Ginny smiled and sniffed a little. She was sitting on the floor of a little-used hallway with Harry beside her, both of them leaning against the wall. She still couldn't believe she'd broken down in front of him like that, but if he was now willing to open up to her, maybe it had been worth the embarrassment. If only she could control her tears a little better.

"And Hermione's trying to translate the book now," Harry continued. "She said she'd be done tomorrow, so I guess we'll know then."

Ginny nodded again, feeling that her composure was finally back to normal. No doubt her eyes were still red and her hair a complete mess, but at least she wasn't sobbing uncontrollably and having to wipe her nose every five seconds. Why did Harry have to see her like that? Why couldn't it have been Ron or Hermione that came after her? And then, once she had calmed down, they could have found Harry again to explain things to her. Oh, well, Ginny thought, at least I'm sitting with Harry. Her mood brightened after that, though she still had trouble looking at him.

"So, did you sleep okay last night?" Harry inquired. Ginny nodded. "You didn't...ah...."

"Dream?" said Ginny. "No. Did you?"

Harry shook his head. They fell into silence after that, though it wasn't too uncomfortable. There were two windows in the hallway, and the light seeping through both of them was beginning to fade. It must be late, Ginny realised, and felt suddenly tired. "I...um...I think I might go to bed," she told Harry, hoping that it wouldn't undo what had happened in the last hour by admitting that she was going to bed early.

"Yeah, me too," said Harry, struggling to his feet with a yawn. "Will you be okay?"

"I'll be fine," said Ginny with a smile. "Thanks, Harry."

"No problem," he replied, smiling back. They walked together to Gryffindor tower and into the common room, where they bade each other good night and went to their separate rooms. Ginny collapsed fully clothed onto her bed and curled up with a smile. She didn't have to wait long for sleep to greet her, and when it did, she dreamt, but not of Tom.

* * *

The next morning in the library, Hermione was busy translating the last paragraph of the Founders' book. "Oh, my," she said to herself. She hadn't taken much of it in so far, as translating the text required most of her concentration and left her with only a fragmented grasp of its content. But odd words did occasionally jump out at her, and some of them were not inspiring. "Oh, my," she said again.

When finally she had finished, she took a deep breath, closed the book and surveyed what she had written. "This is bad," she said to herself.

Harry came in at that point, looking anxious. "How's it going?" he asked.

"I've finished," Hermione told him.

Harry nodded. "I'll get Ron and Ginny," he said, and turned to leave.

"Wait...Harry," Hermione called to him.

He turned back around. "What?

"Um...." Hermione looked down at the desk, feeling her stomach clench tightly. "I think we should get Draco, too."

"Malfoy?" Harry exclaimed incredulously. "Why should we get him?"

"Because," said Hermione, "he's part of this too. He's Slytherin's heir and...and he's the one that told me where to look for information on the sword."

Harry's brow creased in confusion. "He did?" Hermione nodded. The expression on Harry's face changed from one of bewilderment to one of righteous indignation. "So you told him about this?"

"I didn't tell him," Hermione replied fiercely. "He knew."

"How did he know?" Harry demanded.

Hermione sighed. "Because he's having the same dreams."

The anger on Harry's face fled and the confusion returned once more. "What do you mean he's having the same dreams?"

"I'll explain later," said Hermione. "But can you please just trust me - this involves Draco too."

Harry stared at her a moment longer, searching her face for any sign of a joke. When he apparently found none, he sighed and waved his hand dismissively. "Fine, get him. But if he starts acting like an idiot--"

"He won't," Hermione interrupted hastily.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Can you guarantee that?"

"Well...no," Hermione admitted. "But he's not as bad as he used to be."

Harry snorted dubiously. "That's like taking an inch off the castle and claiming it's not as tall as it used to be." Hermione sighed with frustration and fixed Harry with an impatient look. His scepticism faded fast. "Okay, yes...I said he could. We'll meet you back here then."

"Okay," said Hermione, jumping up from her seat and hastily packing her bag. She followed Harry out of the library and parted with him at the marble staircase, where she headed down to the Entrance Hall. She entered the dungeons - which were exceptionally cold - and after making several turns, each leading her into another generic grey corridor, stopped halfway between two torches that were burning lazily in their sconces. "Er..." she said out loud. Although she knew where the Slytherin common room was, she had never had any need to visit it before, and without the password, she couldn't do much. The entrance to the Gryffindor common room was at least sentient, so you could inquire about the person you wished to see, or, failing that, could knock on the relatively soft canvas. But the entrance to the Slytherin common room looked like very solid stone, and Hermione had no penchant for grazed knuckles.

She did try knocking though, using the flats of her palms. After she received no answer, however, she swallowed her shame and cleared her throat. "Um...Draco?" Still no answer. "H- hello?" She prodded the entrance stone with a finger. "Do you talk?"

"He does," said a voice from behind her, "but he's a bit shy." Hermione whirled around and saw Draco standing there with his arms folded over his chest and his usual amused smile in place. She flushed instantly.

"Draco," she said breathlessly. "I didn't...." Her voice failed her and she dropped her shoulders in defeat. "...see you there."

Draco grinned. "It's okay. I see lots of people talking to walls around here."

"Like who?" Hermione inquired.

"Well, like you, for one." Hermione mustered a smile and took several deep breaths to regain her dignity. "So were you after something?" Draco asked before she could speak.

"Um, yes," Hermione replied. "I was after you actually."

"Me?" said Draco, thankfully no longer smiling. "What for?"

"The book," said Hermione, "I finished translating it. We're meeting in the library now."

"We?" said Draco, a single eyebrow cocked.

"The others are coming too," Hermione said delicately, hoping that Draco wouldn't pull out his wand and hex himself on the spot.

"Right, Potter and Weasley," he said dourly.

"And Ginny."

Draco looked up, a different expression on his face. "And you're meeting now?" he said. Hermione nodded. Draco sighed. "Okay, I'll come." Hermione smiled pleasantly and, after an awkward moment in which she and Draco simply stared at each other, led the way back to the library.

* * *

It was a tense scene. Hermione was seated at the table, her notes and The Tragic History of the Hogwarts Founders lying open before her. Harry was sitting on an adjacent side with his chair pulled out from the table and his arms folded and Ron was sitting on the table behind him, his feet resting on a chair. Ginny was on the other side, sitting prudently with her hands in her lap, and Draco was on the remaining side, half-lying in his chair with his long legs extended in front of him and his arms crossed over his chest. Although all of them were looking expectantly at Hermione, Draco was clearly the focus of attention, which Hermione supposed was due to the fact that Harry, Ron and Ginny's dislike of him seem to be channelled in that direction. The strange thing was that he made the others look out of place, and not the other way around. Hermione broke the silence quickly.

"Okay," she said, quailing slightly under everyone's gazes, "well...I translated the book, and I've read through what it says and...well," she looked up at the others, "I guess you'll find out."

"Why's he here?" Ron demanded, jerking his head towards Draco.

"Because he's having the same dreams as Harry is," Hermione replied frankly.

"What?" said Ron, looking confused. "How's that possible?"

Hermione opened her mouth to explain, but Ginny beat her to it. "The spell," she said absent-mindedly. It didn't look as though she'd realised she had spoken, and when the others all turned towards her, she looked up and blushed furiously. "I- I mean, Voldemort's spell," she said tentatively. "The Avada Kedavra. He used it on Draco, and...."

Hermione noted with a strange pang the use of Draco's first name. Since when did Ginny refer to him as Draco? She brushed it aside, however, and turned back to the group. "Ginny's right," she said. "Voldemort used the Avada Kedavra curse on Draco, and now he feels and sees the same things Harry does."

Draco remained perfectly still as Hermione spoke, no longer smiling and with his jaw set rigidly. Ron turned towards him. "Does that mean you have a scar?"

Draco turned his grey eyes on Ron and narrowed them coldly.

"That doesn't matter," Hermione piped up quickly. "What's important is that both Harry and Draco are having these dreams." She noticed though, that Ron wasn't the only one staring fixedly at Draco - Harry seemed to be too.

"It was you," he said simply, still staring at Draco. "I felt you in my dreams."

Draco's eyes narrowed even further. Hermione turned to Harry in confusion. "I felt his presence in my dream," he explained to her. "I didn't know what it was at the time."

"So you were in each other's dreams?" Ron asked incredulously, his face contorted into a grimace. "That's just...blech!"

"Okay, Ron," Hermione interjected sternly, before people started drawing their wands. The entire situation felt extremely delicate, like some kind of bomb that could go off at any minute, and Hermione was the glue holding it together. "If we can get back to the book..." she said.

"Right," said Ron. "So what did you find?"

"Well," Hermione began, now in her element, "most of it was just about the feud between Gryffindor and Slytherin, which you all know about anyway from History of Magic."

"Er..." said Ron, looking at Harry and Ginny, who looked just as guilty as he did. Draco merely shifted in his seat. All of them avoided Hermione's gaze.

Hermione sighed in frustration. "Don't you listen to anything Professor Binns says?"

Ron and Draco snorted in unison, and then glared at each other.

"Anyway," Hermione said hastily, "it's not really that complicated."

"So tell us then," said Harry, looking interested. "What happened between Gryffindor and Slytherin?"

"Well," said Hermione, "as you all know - and I am sure you all know this - after the Founders set up Hogwarts, it was Slytherin's view that they should only teach pureblood witches and wizards, and reject all Muggle-borns and half-bloods." She paused for a moment and chanced a look at Draco, who was sitting as still as ever. "After a while," she went on, "Slytherin got so fed up with the other Founders' attitudes that he left the school and started down a...much darker path."

"He became a shoe salesmen?" Ron ventured.

"No," Hermione replied with a smile, "he became that millennium's Voldemort, basically."

"Oh," said Ron.

"Now, the other Founders were pretty upset by Slytherin's defection, but they didn't think he would ever do some of the things he did, so they didn't see the need to keep tabs on him."

"Let me guess," said Ron. "Big mistake?"

"Right," said Hermione, nodding. "Slytherin resented the other Founders deeply and pretty much right away he decided that he was going to destroy them and everything they'd worked for. So he began raising an army in secret, of all sorts of creatures, some of which he created specifically for this purpose. The Dementors, for one, were Slytherin's creation."

"Slytherin created the Dementors and now the Ministry's using them to guard Azkaban?" said Harry in disbelief.

"I guess so," Hermione replied. "But Dementors aren't monsters," she added. "They're people."

"People?" said Ron, his mouth hanging open.

"Yes," said Hermione. "Haven't you ever wondered what happens to you after a Dementor kisses you?"

"You develop a bunch of nasty cold sores?" Ron hedged.

Hermione fixed him with a disapproving look.

"You lose your soul," Harry supplied grimly.

"Yes, and that's what a Dementor is - a soulless person. You don't become a Dementor right away, of course, but after years and years of emptiness and decay, you'll eventually come to crave happiness again, and you'll take it from whatever source you can."

"And then they pop a cloak on you, hook you in with excellent dental coverage and you're stuck guarding a jail for the rest of you life," Draco quipped.

"Well, pretty much," said Hermione.

"So, what's-his-name," said Ron, obviously casting around for information, "Crouch's son - he'll become a Dementor one day?"

"Eventually," said Hermione. "Unless they kill him first."

Ron raised his eyebrows in a shocked expression. "So then how did Slytherin create them, if they're people?"

"Well, he was the first to experiment with soul stealing, wasn't he?" said Hermione. "And then once the first few were created, all their victims became Dementors too. But we were supposed to be talking about the Founders, so...where was I?"

"Slytherin's army," said Harry.

"Oh, right. Well, anyway, Slytherin raised this army in secret and one day, as you can imagine, he unleashed it on the other Founders."

"And what happened to them?" Ron asked, looking far more engrossed by the story than when Professor Binns had told it. Perhaps I should consider History of Magic professor as a career, Hermione thought to herself.

"Well, they didn't get wiped out straight away, if that's what you're thinking. Even though Slytherin's army surprised them, they still fought and they fought well. The other Founders had all sorts of powerful friends and creatures, and they were no push-overs themselves. But..." said Hermione, relishing the way Ron, Harry and Ginny seemed to be hanging on her every word (Draco looked as though he knew it all already), "once the other Founders began winning battles, Slytherin decided to seek drastic measures, so he made..." she picked up The Tragic History of the Hogwarts Founders and held it open to the page with the picture of the sword on it, "...this. The Sword of Slytherin."

Harry, Ron and Ginny stared at her with dumbfounded expressions. After a while, Harry found his voice. "So Slytherin had a sword too?"

"Yes," said Hermione, putting the book down again. "A very powerful one. I'm not sure whether it was stronger or weaker than Gryffindor's sword - or it might have been the same - but they were both extremely powerful. The book says that once Slytherin was in possession of his sword, it took a whole army to stand against him."

"And what happened?" Ron asked eagerly.

"He - er - destroyed them all."

Both Harry and Ron's eyebrows shot up, and Ginny looked horror-struck. "All of them?" she asked in a tiny voice.

Hermione nodded. "But there's more. After Slytherin used the sword, the other Founders realised that they'd have to destroy it, if they ever hoped to defeat Slytherin. Only--"

"They couldn't," Draco interposed.

"No," Hermione agreed. "They couldn't destroy it."

"So what did they do?" Ron asked, still looking enthralled.

"They broke it apart," Hermione replied plainly. "Into three separate pieces, and they hid them."

"And now Voldemort's trying to bring them together," Harry said gravely, almost to himself.

Hermione nodded forlornly. "I think he is."

"Wait, what happened to Slytherin?" said Ron.

"Godric killed him," said Hermione. "They fought in Slytherin's castle and Slytherin lost."

Ron looked astonished. "So a whole army got obliterated by Slytherin, and Godric killed him on his own?"

"Yes," Hermione replied shortly.

"Wow," Ron said wistfully, grinning from ear to ear. Hermione had the faint impression that Ron now had another hero, and she was sure he'd become a great wizard if his role models were Godric Gryffindor and Albus Dumbledore.

"The sword's in three pieces," Harry said, his voice grave and nothing at all like Ron's. "Voldemort has two, which means there's one more. What is it?"

They all turned back to Hermione. "It's a pommel stone," she said. "It fits into the hilt of the sword and it's the most important piece of the weapon. The book says that Slytherin poured some of his own life-force into it. But...."

"But what?" said Harry.

"Well," Hermione began contritely, "apparently Slytherin managed to get the stone back after the other Founders took it, and he hid it himself. Not only that but...the pommel stone was the one piece of the sword the Founders thought they could destroy." She looked up, letting this information sink in.

Harry was the first to respond. "Voldemort doesn't have the stone yet," he said, speaking, oddly, to Draco. "So we have to find it first, and destroy it."

Draco jerked his chin towards the book in front of Hermione and looked up at her. "Does it say where it is?"

"Uh..." Hermione began, shifting nervously in her seat. "It says where it's rumoured to be, but seeing as this is the only book that even mentions the sword, I don't know how reliable it is."

"Where is it rumoured to be?" Harry asked bluntly, leaning forward in his chair and gripping the edges with white knuckles. The others, along with Harry, appeared to be holding their breaths.

Hermione took a deep breath of her own. "In the Chamber of Secrets," she said.

* * *