Harry Potter & The Blade of Carmen-Eversor

She breathed the name in a voice that was broken with anguish. All eyes were on Voldemort now to see how he would respond, but he was oblivious to the attention. As Harry watched him intently, he saw a flicker in those callous red eyes, set in that pale face. It had been the brief glimmer of a shadow of Voldemort's former self. But then it was gone, leaving Voldemort's face devoid of any emotion as he replied low voice, "I don't go by that name anymore."

Camellia shook her head sadly as she surveyed him now, a despairing smile on her lips. "Oh Tom, what has happened to you? Where have you gone?"

Voldemort did not reply. He simply fixed Camellia with an impassive look. Harry observed him eagerly but no further hint of 'Tom' resurfaced. Not one of the Death Eaters seemed to know what to say or do. They all peered with burning curiosity between the two central figures; one the ambassador of love and life - the other the ambassador of discord and death.

The Dementors, Harry could see, were growing restless yet it appeared they did not have the nerve to disobey their orders, despite the fact that they out numbered the Death Eaters by about ten to one.

Apparently, Hermione no longer had enough strength to remain conscious and she fainted into Harry. As he had been propping her up ever since the arrival of the Death Eaters, Harry became aware that she had actually fainted by the small increase in pressure on him. He carefully scooped her up into his arms to prevent her slumping to the floor. However, his movement distracted Voldemort. He fixed Harry with a look of intense enmity before turning back to Camellia and said evenly, "It would be appear, Millie, that you have something in your possession that I would be most interested in having. Why don't you hand over the boy and girl? We are all old friends together so surely we can do this nice and civilly without any need to resort to hostility - what do you say?"

"Give me a little time," she murmured distractedly, pacing back and forth apparently perplexed and agitated.

Camellia then came to an abrupt halt and bowed her head, looking defeated. Harry was flabbergasted that she could even consider the suggestion, let alone consider it seriously. He stared at her in disbelief, words failing him as she temporarily balled her hands into tight fists. Her whole body seemed to tense up briefly before she just appeared to release and let go of an abstract emotion.

She looked up at Voldemort, who was surveying her in a lazy, almost careless fashion, and gave him a fleeting glance full of resolution before turning briskly on her heel and striding back over to Harry.

Harry watched with mounting tension, for the expression she wore was unreadable as she drew level with him. Warily, Harry caught her eye, unsure of what she was going to do yet desperately trying to refuse to believe that she would just hand them over to Voldemort.

The angel leant forward and kissed Harry deftly on his cheek. To all those watching, this simple gesture had the appearance of being a remorseful peck, which asked for forgiveness for what was about to happen. This was the intended effect Camellia had been hoping to have on the spectators. No one but Harry heard the whispered words that had preceded the gesture, so no one but Harry - and of course the angel herself - saw the true implication behind it.

"Be ready, Harry. When the time comes, be ready."

These were the words she whispered hurriedly before drawing back and gliding towards Voldemort once more, with the appearance of one who knows she is beaten but still intends to put up a little resistance. Harry watched Voldemort's face closely and perceived that such resistance from her was no less than he had anticipated.

As she came to a halt only about three feet in front of Voldemort, Harry noticed that the glow around her had become more pronounced, more intense and more concentrated. He then realised that this must surely mean her energies were fully focused for the intended journey home. This encouraged Harry profusely and he became alert and vigilant because of it.

"Well, what have you decided?" Voldemort asked again, a bite of impatience detectable in his once more high-pitched voice.

"Where is your heart, Tom?" she inquired softly, ignoring his question and taking a tentative step forward.

Voldemort let out a harsh, derisive laugh.

"Do you mean to tell me that after everything, after all this time, you still have those same romantic notions of a person's heart being more than a muscle whose function is to solely pump blood around the body? You still believe that the heart is where a person's emotions stem from? Dear me, Millie. I must confess that I had higher hopes of your sense than that. But then I see you have been condemned to retain the very ignorance and innocence you possessed at sixteen, for the rest of your eternity."

"Not condemned, Tom, but blessed," she replied quietly, the glow about her growing stronger than ever.

Voldemort shook his head derisively, but did not comment on what she had just said. Instead he merely remarked irritably, "I have already told you, my name is no longer Tom. Ha! What kind of name is Tom Riddle for a fearsome and powerful leader? It is a name that inspires nothing more than ridicule and contempt."

After the tiniest of pauses, Camellia made a bold return. "Scorn your name and you scorn yourself."

However, the Dark Lord dismissed her statement as he spoke in a cold, forbidding tone that told Harry he was growing tired of their little talk. "So - what are you going to do?"

At first Camellia did not reply. She simply fixed her adversary and former companion with a calculating look. Harry was under the distinct impression that she was trying to weigh him up. After a short time of charged silence, in which hardly an of the spectators dared to breath as they waited expectantly for her to answer, Camellia made her reply.

"If indeed we are as you say, 'all old friends together,' then why do we not meet as old friends? It would be more fitting, do you not think so?"

Harry barely had time to wonder what she meant when he began to perceive some alterations to her semblance. At first, the illuminated profile of the angel began to grow a little shorter. Then the figure became more solid, more real but less superlative than before. Her face too became noticeably changed, and whilst it retained the same features and characteristics it was no longer the picture of perfection and exquisite beauty it had been a moment ago.

Spellbound, Harry watched in unblinking captivation, unable to move even should ha have felt any inclination to do so. As he looked on, Camellia's now passably human form began to dim, the glorious glow enveloping her diminishing sadly until the only light upon her features was that pale, wan light cast by the moon.

Now the transformation was complete, Harry had no trouble in appreciating what it was Camellia had done; she had willfully adopted the appearance she had held in life. This was the Camellia before she had died; Camellia as the girl Voldemort had known as Millie.

For a moment longer, Harry surveyed the outwardly new Camellia and decided that, though not as beautiful as she had been as an angel, she was still captivating. But then, he supposed, even the most beautiful girl would appear flawed in the comparison to the divine beauty of an angel.

Harry was not the only one to have been enthralled when the transformation had occurred. All eyes had been on the angel - even the blind Dementors had sensed a change for they were now milling around in slight confusion at the alteration in their promised delicacy. Now that the change was complete, Harry found himself able to look elsewhere and immediately turned his eyes upon Voldemort, eager to know how he would react to Camellia's action.

For the second time that evening, Voldemort was stood motionless in shock. He stared in disbelief at the angle-who-no-longer-looked-like-an-angel, his chalk white face now whiter than the whitest snow. Harry peered attentively into Voldemort's eyes, enraptured to find them bearing a haunted look that Harry had never seem in them before. He was so engrossed in watching how this haunted look unfurled and spread across the whole of the pasty face that it took Harry some many minutes to realise that those pitiless red eyes were no longer red, but instead a warm hazel-brown.

He gasped, but his gasp went unnoticed for at the same moment Camellia spoke again, directing all attention onto her once more. "Well, Tom, here I am as I was. Will you not come out from behind that mask you wear and greet me properly?"

A silence so absolute that Harry was able to hear Hermione's light breathing in his arms and the whisper of the wind as it ruffled the coarse grass underfoot, followed her words. At first, it seemed to Harry that Voldemort was at a loss for words but after a moment he then appeared to recollect his wits and said in a faintly curt tone. "You are mistaken, Millie. I do not skulk behind a mask - why should I?"

"Perhaps," Millie began in what was undeniably an affectedly playful voice, "Lord Voldemort is afraid that should he let Tom Riddle resurface for even the briefest instant he may find that Tom is as willful and untamable as ever he was."

As her back was to him, Harry was unable to see the expression on her face, though he was prepared to bet all the money in his Gringott's vault that a vivacious smile that matched her manner had crept across her face. Voldemort on the other hand wore an impassive expression that did not quite extend to his eyes, which were alight with enraptured animation. Then suddenly, unexpectedly, the brightness vanished as though someone had just extinguished the blaze that had illuminated his eyes. The haunted look returned, more pronounced then before and in a marginally hoarse voice, Voldemort made his response,

"Tom Riddle cannot resurface; he died the day you did."

Harry saw Camellia make a sudden movement at his words. Perhaps she had wanted to reach out to him, but whatever reason was behind the reaction remained unclear because she refrained from doing the thing she had made to do. Instead she simply peered up into the eyes that were slowly obtaining their red hue again, though Harry knew not what expression lurked in her eyes for he could not see them from where he was standing.

At Voldemort's words a general outburst of quiet murmuring and muttering broke forth from the ranks of Death Eaters, but Harry hardly noticed. He avidly observed both angel and tyrant, realising as he did so that he knew so very little about Lord Voldemort, besides that he had once attended Hogwarts under his true name of Tom Riddle. He had been popular back then and Head Boy too, but once he had left school he had disappeared for many years before returning as Lord Voldemort, completely unrecognisable as the same likeable lad of the Slytherin House he had once been. How had such a dramatic alteration occurred? What was it that had happened to make the monster Riddle had turned into?

Harry could not even begin to imagine what it might have been, but presumed that it must have been something pretty horrific to bring about so drastic a change. However, had Harry actually thought for a moment longer, and taken the time to place one or two of the puzzle pieces he already had together, then he would have begun to see a corner of the big picture...

Voldemort and Camellia were still staring unblinkingly at one another. The atmosphere between them was so charged Harry could have sworn he had heard the crackling sound of electricity. Judging by the confused ripple that spread through the Death Eater, they were unsure of what was going on. It was plain to Harry that they had never seen their master behaving so out of character before and were awed by the amount of power the angle must possess to be able to have such a strong influence on him. They looked on in undistinguished wonderment, clearing wondering where the interview between the former friends was going to lead.

"You know what I'm going to do, don't you?" Camellia asked gently after the longest and stillest silence of the lot.

Voldemort nodded slightly, almost sadly. "And you know what I shall do, don't you? You understand what it will mean?"

Slowly, Camellia inclined her head and retorted, "Do you?"

He did not answer this question, but merely surveyed her carefully for a moment. Camellia then held out a hand and said matter-of-factly, "Will you not shake hands with me, this one last time?"

Voldemort looked down at the delicate little hand with an unreadable expression then returned his eyes to her face. "I cannot touch you."

Fleetingly, Harry wondered what Voldemort meant - why could he not touch her? Then the realisation hit him. A few years ago, Voldemort had been unable to touch him - Harry -because of his mother's love. Voldemort, who could not understand love and whose soul was full of nothing more than greed, ambition and hate could not touch someone marked by something so good. And now he could not make contact with the angel for she was all things great and good not merely marked by them.

Slowly, Camellia lowered her hand and murmured, "I understand - forgive me, I had forgotten."

For a single minute longer she looked up into the unfathomable red eyes, willing them without words to become the hazel ones she had known so well. But they stayed as they were, cold and merciless and red. Uttering the faintest of sighs she turned and swept slowly back over to Harry and Hermione.

"Harry, I cannot do this alone - will you help me?" she implored him in a desperate and hurried whisper.

"Of course," Harry replied fervently, "What do you want me to do?"

She looked at him cautiously, hesitating briefly. At length she answered him, "All I ask is that you do not resist. I need to borrow some of your strength, don't fear - it will be returned but I can only take it if you are entirely willing for me to do so."

"Alright," Harry replied slowly, eyeing her a tad warily for she looked mildly apprehensive. However, he trusted her unquestioningly and prepared himself to keep relaxed at what he anticipated would be an unpleasant experience.

As Camellia gently laid a hand on his shoulder, Harry looked at Voldemort once more and was astonished to see that he seemed to be having what looked like some sort of internal battle. For some reason he had not sent the Dementors to eliminate Camellia yet and Harry wondered if this was because of some invisible hold the angel had over the dictator or if perhaps the Tom Riddle side of Voldemort was not quite so dead after all. Well, for whatever reason, Harry was exceedingly grateful for Camellia had not yet begun to extract his strength and Voldemort's hesitation would hopefully give them the time they needed to complete the transaction.

The hand that was resting on him suddenly began to grow hot and Harry fought the urge to flinch or recoil back from it for he knew that would count as resistance and therefore jeopardise the whole process.

There was now a bright, incandescent light growing strongly on Harry's right side and he could only assume, for he did not turn his head to look, that Camellia had once more assumed her angelic form. This would account for the sudden glow.

The actual extraction of strength had yet to begin but still Voldemort hung back. Harry stared in wide-eyed disbelief at the still motionless form of Voldemort. There was a very odd expression in those eyes that Harry was fascinated by but could not even begin to interpret. Was Voldemort going to let them get away without putting up a fight? Surely he wouldn't just let them go? This was the man who had countless numbers of people without so much as a second's hesitation, yet he was purposefully not doing the one thing that would ensure his quarry did not escape. And the only reason that Harry could find was that, for some reason, the usually heartless tyrant could not bring himself to harm the angel. Harry's response to this was to wonder why? Why should this one being have so marked an effect on him that made him reluctant to destroy her?

However, before Harry had fathomed this enigma he was forced to stop thinking too deeply on it as the withdrawal of his strength began. It was not at all the painful and unpleasant experience he had thought it would be, in fact he felt blissfully happy and somehow light and carefree as the process continued. The heat was no longer intolerable and burning, but more a welcome warmth that threaded its way from his shoulder to every other part of him.

He watched Voldemort still, but no longer with much interest. He vaguely heard the triumphant words that Camellia spoke, but he did not really take much notice of them nor did he particularly care as he saw the pale, snake-like face contort in fury and send the Dementors forward. All these things were trivial now, compared with the glory of the sensations that swept through Harry as Camellia withdrew still more of his life-energy.

Harry felt faintly surprised about was that the process seemed to make him feel stronger rather than weaker. But the only thing that Harry really took any interested notice of was the sudden sound of many loud 'pops' and the unexpected sight of just short of a dozen people in scarlet and gold robes. These people appeared out of thin air opposite the seething mass of black that was made up of Death Eaters and Dementors.

However, Harry had barely registered some mild astonishment at the abrupt arrival of the newcomers, when the scene simply seemed to drift away before his very eyes. Afterwards, when he tried to explain to Ron and Hermione what it had felt like, the best way he found to describe the experience was that he had simply faded away; Camellia and Hermione along with him.

The confusion of the place Harry had just left behind melted away into a place that was simply rich, warm light. However, Harry did not appear to remain long in this place either, for he was just beginning to revel in the warmth after the intense cold the Dementors had brought with them when this cheerful world of light disappeared unexpectedly into a place of nothing. It was a place Harry had been before; the place he had got himself stuck in for ten days on that first time he had used complete soul-release.

Harry yelled in fright at the unexpected change and realised with a sickening jolt that he was alone. Camellia and Hermione were no where in sight. He fought against the panic that crept its way through him and called out, "Camellia, Hermione - where are you?"

"Where would you like us to be?" called a voice. It was strangely distorted, but after a moment's contemplation Harry recognised it to be Camellia's.

"Here - by my side," Harry called back. He looked all about him, for the voice had come from no where in particular but instead from every direction.

"Where are you?" said Camellia's voice calmly.

Harry frantically looked this way and that but was still unable to ascertain from which way the voice had come from. In a hesitant and small voice he replied quietly, "I don't know."

"Well, where would you like to be?" she asked him kindly, though Harry could hear a definite note of amusement in her tone.

"Hogwarts," he told her without thinking.

Harry blinked. The moment he had said 'Hogwarts', that was exactly where he found himself, and with Hermione and Camellia by his side. Hermione had now woken up and was peering bemusedly about her, evidently wondering how on earth they had managed to get back to the castle.

As it turned out, the three of them had appeared into the very corridor outside of Dumbledore's study, just at the same time as Ron and Dumbledore had emerged from behind the stone gargoyle.

The five people surveyed each other in surprise, then Ron spluttered, "What the -? How did you -?"

Harry laughed in relief and had been just about to say, "It's a long story," when Dumbledore, eyes widening as he recognised the angel opened his arms affectionately and said, "Can it be? Surely not my little Millie?"

Camellia nodded and darted forward into his outstretched arms, breaking down and bursting into tears, to Harry's utter amazement, as Dumbledore closed his arms around her and embraced her. There was a look of joy and look of the deepest sadness in his eyes as the sobbing angel clung to him desperately, burying her face in the shoulder of his deep purple robes.

Ron stared open mouthed in astonishment at them; he had not seen the angel before and was taken aback at her loveliness, but nor had he seen his idol look so happy and yet so pained before either. Hermione too peered at the two of them quizzically, but was distracted as Harry suddenly slumped to his knees weakly, landing on them with a dull thud.
"Oh Harry! Are you alright?" she cried in concern, causing the embracing pair to pull apart, each misty-eyed, and come over to Harry. Ron did not move. He had apparently not noticed that Harry had fallen to the floor for he was still staring in avid disbelief at the angel and Dumbledore.

"I'm fine," Harry muttered a little shakily. He was helped unsteadily to his feet and then puzzled over why he had suddenly felt so weak. What had made him fall to the floor was the sudden shock of a force that struck him as his strength returned, draining him profoundly. But that didn't make sense, he thought to himself in bewilderment. Why should the return of his strength be what made him feel weak? Surely he should have felt the complete opposite at the return of his extracted energy?

He shrugged to himself and turned to the tearful angel. "Was that supposed to happen then?"

She nodded mutely, all too aware of the four people all staring at her. Sighing softly, she turned to Dumbledore and said quietly, "Perhaps it would be best if I told you all that has happened - but first, would you mind if I had a quiet word with Harry?"

Dumbledore simply nodded gently, putting a hand on her shoulder and giving it an affectionate squeeze, "I'll be in my office."

And with that, he turned and swept silently back through the entranceway behind the stone gargoyle. Camellia looked imploringly at Hermione, realising that she would get more sense out of her than she would Ron, for Ron was still gawping at Camellia, oblivious to anything else.

"Could you guys give us a minute please? I'd like a private word with Harry, if that's alright."
Hermione eyed them both curiously, evidently wanting to know what Camellia was going to say to Harry. However, she merely nodded briskly and took hold of Ron's arm.

"Of course. We'll meet you back in the common room, ok Harry?"

Harry confirmed that this was fine with him and the two of them left. Hermione had practically to drag the spellbound Ron to the end of the corridor. Once she was sure they were completely out of earshot, Camellia turned to peer at Harry, who kept shooting her questioning glances. She then took hold of both of his hands in hers and looked him resolutely in the eye.

"What's going on?" Harry asked her quizzically, "what did you want to talk to me about?"

"I'm sure there are many things you wish to ask me," she began softly, almost sadly, "and there are many things I need to tell you, but most of them will have to wait a little while longer."

"Why?" Harry asked blankly as she paused.

"Because that is the way things work for me now. I only have short amounts of time to do more things that need to be done than the allotted time will allow. But there will be one night, Harry, when we will have all the time in the world. Then will be the time that I can tell you what I must and you can asked me what you have to ask me."

"When will this be? And why will there be no time limit?"

"I think you know when this meeting will occur," She replied, smiling slightly.

Harry thought for a moment then said, "What - you mean November 24th?"

"Yes. And we will have as long as we need because we will be meeting in the middle section - or the shadow lands - you'll understand what I mean when we get there. But there are one or two things I must say to you that cannot wait until then. I don't know if I will be able to see you again before then so I must tell you now. Please do not interrupt me, ok?"

Harry nodded obediently and the angel continued. "You remember the second part of the dream I gave you? With the werewolves? Good. Now, it did not actually happen and was simply a dream but it contained a warning. Think back to all that you learned in it and bear in mind what is said - it will relate to your trek to my fountain. And speaking of that journey, under no circumstances are you to turn back once you have begun. Do you understand me? No matter what happens to anyone else who goes with you, you must go on. Even if it is alone, ok?"

"Ok," Harry replied slowly, feeling more than a little at ease, for her words had sounded very ominous that something was going to happen on the way to the fountain; something he was not going to like...

Camellia looked at him impassively for a moment, then said, "I must leave you now - there is someone else I would very much like to see before my time here is done. I'm sorry that I cannot give you all the answers you want, but if you are patient you will be rewarded."

She then swooped down and kissed him lightly on the cheek before giving him another hug. She then straightened up and turned to go where Dumbledore had disappeared.

Before she too was gone from sight, Harry blurted out one of the things that he had to know there and then, "Camellia - how did the Death Eaters know where we are? Did someone tell them?"

The smallest of frowns creased her brow as she nodded.

"Who?" Harry asked quickly, knowing that he was taking up more than his fair share of her precious time.

"I think you know the answer to that, Harry." And with that she stepped onto the moving staircase and was gone, leaving behind a very dissatisfied Harry.

There were so many things he wanted to ask her, but now he was going to have to wait the best part of a month until he would find out the answers.

What was the task he was to perform? What had she meant when she had told him he was the 'Defender' and in what way was he going to be in danger when 'Freedom' would not be able to save him? Besides these questions, which he had already saved up from their last meeting, were one or two others.

His new questions comprised of, how had Voldemort and Camellia known one another? How had Camellia died and what did Voldemort mean when he said that Tom Riddle died the day she had? But to these two lists of questions he had still more to add; what was the warning in the dream? How did Dumbledore and Camellia know one another? And what was going to happen to his friends on the night of November 24th?

It was a few minutes before Harry realised that he was still standing outside the entrance to Dumbledore's quarters. As there was nothing left for him to detain him here, he felt he ought to head back to Gryffindor tower where Ron and Hermione would be waiting expectantly for him. So, with a whole set of new questions spinning around his brain, he set off.

While he walked he thought about what Camellia had said as she had departed. She had told him that he knew who had told the Death Eaters about he and Hermione being away from Hogwarts. But the only person he knew would have known they were there was Snape... Snape wouldn't have told Voldemort - he was only pretending to still be a Death Eater so that he could spy on them for Dumbledore, wasn't he?

And anyway, Harry thought, desperately trying to pacify the nagging doubt that there was something he had overlooked. When the Order of the Phoenix had turned up, Snape was still over with the Death Eater's and he couldn't be in two places at once...

Then a cold, harsh reality struck Harry painfully. When the Order of the Phoenix had turned up, they had apparated onto the rocky ground between him and the Death Eaters. He saw again the line of scarlet and gold clad figures in his mind's eye, standing shoulder to shoulder, straight-backed and tall. There had been only eleven of the twelve Order of the Phoenicians; their elusive and mysterious former Death Eater friend had not been among them.

Wearing a cadaverous expression, Harry gave the Fat Lady the password and clambered into Gryffindor tower. One or two people looked up as he entered, but the only people who were really interested in his arrival were Ron and Hermione. They motioned for Harry to join them at their habitual table in a secluded corner of the common room.

Harry made his way over to them dispiritedly, checking his watch as he did so and finding it was just after half past eleven. He sank into a chair across form Hermione and next to Ron. After the greeting s had been exchanged, Hermione asked casually, "So are you going to tell us what Camellia said to you?"

Harry nodded, but replied "Have you told Ron about the night's events then?"

"Almost."

"Well, to save confusion you finish telling him about what happened and then -" Harry began Hermione cut across him apologetically, "Um... Well, I was sort of hoping you'd take over because I don't really know all that much of what else happened."

"She got up to the part where the Dementors flanked by Death Eaters arrived," Ron put in helpfully.

So Harry explained everything that had happened on the hilltop, most of which was news to Hermione too. For though she had not fainted until after Voldemort's arrival, she had been in no fit state to absorb anything except the merciless waves of cold that poured out from the wall of Dementors.

As Harry told them about the Tom/Millie meeting he watched Hermione carefully to see Hermione's reaction. Initially she had been surprised and taken aback, but as his story progressed, Harry could tell that it was as though someone had lit the wick of an idea in her mind for she seemed to be piecing one or two things together far more quickly than Harry was. But then Harry was not to know that she had had a lot more of the pieces than he had to start with.

After he had finished telling them about the confrontation out on the moor or - more appropriately - the lack of one, he dived straight into a description of what Camellia had said to him after they had left. As his tale came to its conclusion, he found Ron and Hermione each looking as uncomfortable and anxious as he felt.

"Um... Harry? Did you say that You-Know-Who called Camellia 'Millie'?" Hermione asked, enlightenment in her eyes. At a nod from Harry she continued, "And - it wasn't just me was it - Dumbledore did address her a 'my little Millie', didn't he?"

"Yeah - why do you ask?" Harry inquired, watching her astutely. He could tell by her face that she had just worked out something, something that was pretty big.

Hermione shook her head, but it was more in disbelief than anything else. She turned distractedly to Harry, her face paler than usual in fright and nerves. "I'll tell you in a minute - but first, do you think I could have a look at the Procerius scroll please?"

Totally unsure of the relevance this had to the conversation, Harry nevertheless got up silently and strode over to the spiral staircase that led to his dormitory. Once he had entered the seventh year boys' room he made straight for his trunk and took out the scroll. He had not even looked at it properly and he had no intention of doing so either. He still couldn't see why Hermione should want to look at it but he supposed that the only way he'd find that out would be to oblige her and go fetch it, hence why he had gone to the trouble of retrieving it.

Still speculating to himself what possible reason she might have for wanting to view it, he returned to the table at which Ron and Hermione were sat at waiting patiently.

"Here you are," he muttered, depositing it on the desk in front of her. "So are you going to tell us what you want it for then?"

"Let me just see something first," she replied shortly as she unrolled the scroll. As she began to read it Harry looked up at Ron quizzically and he shrugged in return, telling Harry that Ron had no idea what Hermione was doing either. Harry observed Hermione's countenance as she read. To begin with her eyes roved across the words freely, but after a couple of minutes she seemed to stop reading and instead stared blankly at a long passage. He saw her eyes narrow as they tried to make something out and her face was sporting one of her characteristically thoughtful looks. Then her eyes suddenly widened briefly as she surveyed the writing on the scroll in a new light.

Before she had finished reading the scroll, however, Harry's attention was distracted by the sudden appearance of a fluffy ginger cat. Crookshanks sprang lightly onto Harry's lap and settled himself comfortably, purring as Harry absently stroked the long fur on his back.

After a moment Crookshanks decided to flex his claws, testing them on Harry's robes and catching his knees. Harry flinched as he felt two sets of needle-sharp claws sink into him and only ended up increasing the pain as the cat clung on for fear of falling off.

"Ok, now that we have ascertained that your claws are indeed sharp, Crookshanks, would you mind taking them out of my legs now?"

Crookshanks obliged but contented himself with retorting coolly, "Well, if you didn't fidget so much I wouldn't need to cling on; I've known constipated camels to sit stiller then you."

Harry snorted, "And how many constipated camels have you met?"

Harry, however, did not catch the reply the cat made for Ron and Hermione were staring at him.

"Er - Harry? What was that about?" Ron asked looking at him strangely. Harry reddened faintly as he remembered that Ron and Hermione would have only heard his half of the brief conversation.

"Well, it would appear that my new ability to understand cats is not exclusive to Marmite," he told them dryly.

Hermione appeared to have had a sudden brainwave, inspired by his words. She glanced down at the writing on the scroll fleetingly before turning back to Harry and asking casually, "When was it you found out you could understand French?"

"Today - when Fleur spoke. Why?"

"Do you know any German?" she asked, not bothering to answer him.

Harry shook his head, raising an eyebrow at her in an inquiring manner.

"Well, I've just had an idea - about the talisman around your neck. I think it allows you to understand any language." She told him thoughtfully, her eyes upon the cat-pendant that hung around his throat.

"Ok, my German isn't very good but Viktor taught me a little when I stayed with him and - "

"He taught you German?" Ron interrupted suspiciously. "I thought he spoke Bulgarian."

Hermione scowled at Ron impatiently, "He does speak Bulgarian. That's his first language but he can also speak reasonably fluently in German and English. Anyway, as I was saying he taught me a little German. I've forgotten most of it, but I just want to try something Harry, to see if my idea is right or not. I'm going to ask you something in German and I want you to tell me the answer, ok?"

"Ok," Harry replied slowly.

Hermione thought for a moment, her eyes resting n Crookshanks. She then said in hesitant German, "Wo ist die katze?"

"Curled up on my lap," Harry replied almost immediately, correctly answering her question.

"Well, it would appear that you can understand German too. See what you make of that bottom section," Hermione said, nudging the scroll over to him and indicating what looked like a lengthy verse written in a language Harry did not know. He read the first line of it but could make neither head nor tail of it. It was as follows,

Umro eakh demesariom

He looked up at Hermione blankly, "Sorry - it means nothing to me."

"Maybe you only understand languages when they are spoken - Hermione, why don't you read a bit out?" Ron suggested thoughtfully. He had looked over Harry shoulder at the peculiar writing while Harry had read it. The boys passed the scroll back over to Hermione, but not before noticing that the paragraphs at the top of the scroll were written in plain English and had the appearance of being some sort of instructions.

Hermione read and re-read the top two lines in her head a couple of times, then timidly read them out to Harry. " Umro eakh demesariom, Am heis oj loves it gosm."

Harry shook his head, "Still nothing."

However, his inability to translate the words did not dishearten Hermione - if anything it encouraged her. She reached for her bag and pulled out a notebook, in which began jotting down the letters of the alphabet.

"Hermione, what are you doing?" Harry asked, perplexed as he saw her then write down the vowels again, exactly beneath their corresponding letter.

"I may be completely wrong, but the style of the writing ha given me an idea." She muttered distractedly, now copying the words of the verse onto the paper a couple of lines beneath the alphabet.

"And are you going to tell Harry or I what this idea is, or not?" Ron asked her irritably.

Hermione put down her quill and looked up at them. Harry saw that she was looking slightly tense about something, but did not get a chance to ask her why just then for she began to explain her idea. "Well, let's just assume that Harry can understand any language because of this talisman. That must therefore mean that this is not a language because it makes no sense to him, right?"

Ron peered bemusedly at her. "But if it isn't a language, then what is it?"

"A code." She replied simply. Harry and Ron exchanged identical blank looks before Hermione continued. "Look, when I was in Primary school, I had this friend called Kirsty and we used to swap notes during class because our teacher wouldn't allow any talking at all.

"Then one day, our teacher caught us passing a note and read it out to the whole class, thinking that this would teach us not do it anymore. All it did was to teach us to be more careful. We wrote in code-form so that if she ever did get hold of one of our messages then she would at least not be able to read it out to everyone.

"Well, when we started off our code it was nothing more than the alphabet all jumbled up randomly. However, the big problem with this was that it took so long to decipher the notes that it almost seemed pointless to even bother. The we came up with the idea of keeping some of the letters the same, like all the vowels for instance and only transposing some of the others with ones that were reasonably similar - like 'S' with 'R' as an example. This then meant that the words had the appearance of being words rather than just a jumble of letters. And after years of doing that, the sight of this verse reminded me of it."

Ron was smirking at Hermione as she finished speaking, "I wouldn't have put you down as the type to exchange notes during lesson time. I'll remember that next time you start getting all disapproving because Harry and I are writing notes in class."

Hermione grinned guiltily then said, "Ok - my idea may be completely wrong, but there's no harm in trying it out I guess."

She then set to work at trying to decipher the suspected code-message once more.

"Hey! Harry!" Someone was calling him from across the common room. It was Eleanor Gavin, one of the chasers for the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

"Yeah?" Harry called back, not bothering to get up and go over to see what it was she wanted.

"What time is practise tomorrow?" She bellowed in her naturally loud voice.

A few people who had looked up from their pursuits at the start of the conversation now returned to whatever it was they had been doing, smirking as Harry said, "Early."

"How early is 'early'?"

"Dawn." Harry relied. He felt he could almost hear her groan in response to that even though she was sat on the other side of the room with Ginny, Colin and some other sixth years. Eleanor was not renowned for being an early-riser.

After the day's events, Harry was not anticipating being able to sleep at all that night so decided he may as well cut short the number of hours he would in all likelihood spend tossing and turning, unable to sleep. An early morning Quidditch practise was a good excuse for doing just that.

Harry turned back to his table and found that Hermione was still puzzling over the coded-verse. He observed her silently for a minute or two then said, "So are you going to tell us then, why you wanted to know if Camellia had been called 'Millie' by Voldemort and Dumbledore, and what the Procerius charm has to do with anything?"

Hermione did not look up, but merely stated somewhat evasively, "Let me finish doing this and then I'll tell you."

"Hmmm..." Harry muttered shrewdly, thinking that it was highly doubtful that she would tell them anything without a lot of persuasion and coaxing from them first. All the same, he decided that at least for the moment he would wait as she had asked him to. But he did content himself with just adding, "But what if this isn't at all in a code and so you don't work out what it says? Does that mean you won't tell us?"

"Oh, don't worry about that - it is the code. I've already worked out the first two lines!" She told him with a dismissive wave of her hand.

Ron and Harry were temporarily stunned, then at the exact same moment cried eagerly, "Really? What does it say?"

Hermione willingly passed the notebook over to the two boys. It was no longer as neat as it had been - there was much crossing out and scribbling where she had thought the letters had been one thing but had turned out to be in fact something completely different. Down one side of the age was the original wording of the scroll and next to it was the parts of the translation that Hermione had worked out.

The first two lines were,

Unto each generation, An heir of power is born

Beneath that they could see that she had made a start at the next line but had only got as far as, 'The heir...'

Harry slid the notebook back across the table, very much impressed. "You know, I doubt if I ever would have thought of doing what you're doing right now. To decode it, I mean."

Hermione looked very seriously at him and returned quietly, "I don't think many people would."

"Hey - you know Dumbledore performed the Procerius charm," Ron began thoughtfully. "Do you think he never worked out what it actually said?"

Hermione appeared a trifle apprehensive, "I don't know but I don't think so."

She then resumed the task of figuring out the verse. Harry thought he might as well make a start on some of his homework while she got on with that, seeing as he had mountains and mountains of it to get through. He did not think there would be any chance to do any tomorrow what with Quidditch practise, the Hogsmeade visit and the Halloween Dance.

Thinking of the Halloween Dance made him wonder whether Ron had asked Susie to go with him yet or not. "Hey Ron - did you catch up with Susie after she went off with Flitwick?"

The broad grin that suddenly spread across Ron's face told Harry plainly that his friend had indeed met up with Susie since leaving the hospital wing earlier.

"Yeah - she came and joined me at our table again. She did wonder where you guys had got to though..."

"So did she tell you what Flitwick talked to her about?" Harry inquired lightly, taking out his Apographonum notes.

Ron nodded darkly, but nevertheless looked very happy at the same time. "Apparently Flitwick had been to see Filch about this mornings fiasco regarding a certain drawer. Well, she told me that Flitwick had managed to persuade Filch to reduce her detentions to only three instead of a whole week's worth and also to let her go to the Dance. But on the condition that she remains to help clear up the aftermath of it."

Harry smiled, "I bet she's really looking forward to that! So did you ask her to be your partner for the Dance?"

Ron nodded, his face disappearing behind a toothy grin. He looked happier than Harry had seen him look for a long while. However, Ron's elated mood was short-lived for he sobered up immediately as he caught sight of Hermione's face. It was exceedingly white; all the blood had drained from it in shock and horror. She had finished translating the verse and it was apparent to Harry that she had discovered something she had not been expecting. Something she had not been expecting at all.

"Hermione, what is it? What does it say?" Harry asked her in avid concern.

She opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. She was now looking extremely nauseous as she stared at the paper before her in revulsion and abhorrence.

"Hermione?" Ron said urgently, leaning forward to take hold of the notebook. At his action, Hermione let out a frightened whimper and whisked the page out of his reach. In response to this he stood up and strode purposefully towards her with the obvious intention of taking the notebook from her by force if her had to. Realising this, Hermione moaned softly and murmured shakily, "Alright, I'll tell you - but I think you had better sit down first."

Ron halted and eyed her intently for a moment then returned to his seat. Both he and Harry stared expectantly at her as she blanched further - something Harry would not have believed possible.

"Well?" Ron prompted making to get to get up again after a minute of two of deeply tense silence between them.

Hermione looked imploringly from one to the other but saw that she had no choice but to tell them. She therefore took a deep breath a said in a frightened whisper, "Dumbledore created Lord Voldemort."

Ron, Harry could see, was so stunned by what she had just said that he did not even flinch or wince at the sound of the Dark Lord's name. Harry stared at Hermione uncertainly, vaguely wondering if this was her idea of some kind of sick joke. But he knew it was not. One look at her face was plentifully sufficient to inform him that she too was hoping it would turn out to be a hoax or just some big misunderstanding. Unfortunately, it didn't.

"What?" Ron hissed angrily, evidently refusing to believe that this could possibly be a correct conjecture.

Hermione cradled her head in her hands in despair and it took quite some time before she was able to speak again. While she was collecting herself, Harry sat motionless in shock, one or two lurking doubts surfacing at the corners of his consciousness as he began to see the connections between Tom Riddle, Millie, Dumbledore and the Procerius charm.

At the end of yet another awkward and suffocating silence, Hermione looked up with teary eyes and a sardonic smile, "Perhaps I ought to go back to the beginning."

"Yes - perhaps you should," Ron retorted sourly. "Now that we know the end, it might be nice to know how we got there."

Hermione nodded nervously, sighed deeply then began to tell them. "When Riddle was young, he lived in a muggle orphanage. He hated it there because he didn't fit in - he wasn't like all the other boys and at the time he did not know the simple reason why. It wasn't until he received his letter, inviting him to attend Hogwarts, that he found out he was a wizard.

"However, the faculty staff at the orphanage knew that he was a wizard before hand - they had had occasions of people receiving letters from Hogwarts before. This was why they had an arrangement with a wizarding family who foster a witch or wizard orphan in the summer just before they got their letters. Well, Riddle was no exception - he went to stay with this family in the July and August before he went to Hogwarts."

"Hermione - where exactly is this leading?" Ron snapped impatiently. It was clear to Harry that Ron's only interest was for Hermione to cut to the chase. Harry on the other hand did not share these sentiments - he was eager to learn about Riddle's past. Though he did wonder how Hermione knew all of this. However he did not worry too much about this point and simply supposed that she had found the information in some book or other.

"Look Ron, I know this doesn't seem relevant at the moment, but it is related to the whole remorseful situation. Please just let me tell you - you'll eventually see the significance." Hermione said to him in a small and pleading voice.

Ron nodded resignedly and after a little pause, Hermione picked up from where she had left off.

"Well, his time with the family was one of his happiest - or at least it was one of the first truly happy times for him. You see, the couple who took him in had an adopted son called Cai - Cai Potter, who was two years older than Riddle."

At the mention of his surname, Harry's rapt concentration intensified and he sought earnestly to catch Hermione's eye but she was determinedly avoiding his gaze.

"Cai and Tom soon became good friends, despite the slight age gap between them but Cai was of an easy, approachable nature and it wasn't long before some of this rubbed off on Tom. Whilst at the orphanage he had had no friends and had therefore been shy and reserved, however, his nature was naturally free and open so it was hardly surprising that he got on so well with CAI
"Well, the two of them remained firm friends - more like brothers - when they went to Hogwarts - I think the fact that they were in the same house helped a lot. But because of the age gap, CAI was in the third year when Tom was just starting in the first. So was forced to make friends with people of his own age, which turned out to be remarkably easy, all things considered.

"Anyway, the first of his close friendships was formed on his very first journey aboard the Hogwarts Express and it was with a blonde-haired, Tom-boy called Millie."

"Camellia?" Harry asked quietly at the same time thinking that he and Riddle had a lot more in common then he had at first thought. Unhappy childhoods that drastically changed when they arrived at Hogwarts - close friendships formed on the very first journey to Hogwarts... And countless other things Harry had not yet even considered.

"Yes; Millie is - was - Camellia. And so Tom flourished for the first four and a bit years while he was Hogwarts. He was popular - a great chaser for the Slytherin Quidditch team and he got top marks without much effort. He seemed to be set for life. But then something happened near the beginning of his fifth year that put an end to all that. Something that he could do nothing to prevent." Here Hermione let out a hollow, morbid laugh. "All this time we've all believed that it was Riddle's own doing that brought about his transformation into You-Know-Who, when in reality, he was simply the victim of cruel Fate."

Harry and Ron gazed raptly at her, willing her to continue. She paused for a moment, quietly reflective, then persevered with the story.

"Tom and Millie inevitably became more than simply just close friends and, though they were both only just sixteen, he resolved upon asking her to marry him. However, a series of events occurred that prevented his asking her. Oh - there is something else you should know else the next bit won't make a lot of sense. Millie was Dumbledore's only daughter.

"Well, first of all there was some trouble with an Austrian dark wizard, who was getting too power to control. It resulted in a scuffle between Dumbledore and Grindelwald and for a while Grindelwald seemed to have been subdued. But then he came back seeking revenge and he murdered Millie's mother, promising that Millie would be next.

"Dumbledore at this time knew about the Procerius charm, but refused to use it on the same grounds as you, Harry, that he felt it wasn't for him to decide when an innocent person should die. However, after the death of his wife I don't think he was quite himself and that's how Millie managed to persuade him to perform it.

"She was, of course, his most precious thing now that his wife was dead. Therefore it was her life that was sacrificed."

"Dumbledore killed his own daughter?" Ron whispered, looking terrified and almost revolted.

Hermione nodded sadly, "But it gets worse. The night she died was the night Tom resolved to propose to her and he followed them to the fountain, Camellia's fountain, where it was to be performed. When Tom realised what Dumbledore intended to do, he pleaded with him not to do it - that there must be another way of getting rid of Grindelwald Dumbledore went ahead and performed the charm anyway while Tom looked on helplessly.

"He watched her die, knowing there was nothing he could do to prevent it. However, Grindelwald and Camellia weren't the only ones who died that night. In a way, Tom Riddle died too. That was the night he began to become You-Know-Who."

Hermione stopped there - temporarily unable to say a further word. She looked as appalled as Harry felt, but Ron on the other hand still could not fully accept it.

"I still don't see why what Dumbledore did was what caused Riddle to turn bad. I mean, yes it must have been incredibly traumatic for Tom to watch - but Dumbledore was the one who performed it! And on his own daughter... He didn't turn bad because of it... After all Riddle was the one who chose to go bad - he could have grieved for her then got over her without thinking what happened gave him the right to slaughter and harm thousands of innocent people. It was his choice, Hermione, to react the way he did."

Hermione shook her head sorrowfully, "You don't understand - that's only half of it. When Dumbledore performed the Procerius charm he did not know the full extent of what he was doing else he would never have done it... Read this."

She then threw the notebook containing the translated verse at Ron, who caught it deftly and turned to the relevant page. Together, he and Harry began to read the translation.

Unto each generation
An heir of power is born
The heir will bring salvation
Or else enmity and scorn
None has a pre-established stance
Whether they be evil or good
Is left entirely to chance
Though one other thing could
Influence the way they turn out
Procerius is the charm
That could do so without a doubt
But it does less good than harm
For to rid all from a Dark One
By the simple means of this spell
Requires a change that can't be undone
The results of which none can tell
A Dark heir's evil can never
Be vanquished - simply transposed
So against every endeavour
In three years the harm will be exposed
The sacrifice will be made in vain
For the youngest heir's eyes will turn red
When the corruption comes to reign
Leaving his true nature dead
Thereby as I opt to recite this verse
I perform the Procerius Curse.

Harry did not look up straight away after he had finished reading the translated verse. Instead, he stared blankly at the page, all the while waiting for the words he had just read to be properly absorbed. However, after several minutes had crept cautiously by and still all he'd read had yet to sink in he decided that he perhaps ought to reread the verse.
As he did so many questions began to form in his mind and some phrases in particular stuck out the second time he read them. The three that leapt out most prominently were '...a change that can't be undone,' 'A dark heir's evil can never be vanquished - simply transposed,' and '...Leaving his true nature dead.'

He was still trying to fully comprehend all that he had just learned when he looked up to find Hermione resting her forehead on her arms, which were folded on the tabletop. She was totally oblivious to Ron, who was looking daggers at her.

Ron turned to face Harry as he looked up and his scowl deepened at the quizzical glance Harry was surveying him with. Ron then turned back to Hermione and asked coldly, "And what exactly is this meant to mean?"

Hermione raised her head, a baffled expression playing across her face as she asked timidly, "What do you mean? You read the translation didn't you?"

Ron glowered at her unresponsively then replied snappily "of course I read it! I just don't see how you came to the conclusion that You-Know-Who was created by Dumbledore from it, that's all."

A profound silence followed this remark, in which Hermione glanced fleetingly at Harry who responded by giving her the smallest of shrugs. He then peered at Ron in a calculating manner, taking in everything from his narrowed eyes to his surly demeanour. Harry could only suppose that Ron was having trouble coming to terms with the situation because Dumbledore was somewhat of a hero in his eyes.

"But - but I thought it was in clear in how it..." Hermione said tentatively, still looking exceptionally confused. However, she fell silent at a ferocious glare on Ron's part.

"So humour me," he spat impatiently, "go through how you managed to get your fanciful notion about the Dumbledore and You-Know-Who from the verse."

Hermione, Harry could plainly see, did not look particularly happy about the prospect of going over the stanza, pointing out what each line meant when the revelation itself was still painfully new. Though, despite her evident reluctance, she resigned herself to laboriously explaining it with a small shuddering sigh.

"What do you want me to do? Go over it line by line?" She asked softly, visibly affronted by Ron's brusque manner.

"Can do." He replied nonchalantly, almost carelessly.

Harry slid the notebook containing the translation back across to table to Hermione so that she could go through it with them. Casting one last uncertain glance at Ron, she read the first two lines, " 'Unto each generation an heir of power is born.' Well, that's simple enough, isn't it? It means that every generation has an 'heir of power' in it."

"But what exactly is an 'heir of power'?" Ron inquired, surveying his fingernails as though fascinated by them.

"Um..." Hermione began equivocally, "I'd guess a wizard - possibly a witch also - who has inherited exceptional powers. I can't give you a better definition than that, I'm afraid."

"And what does it mean by 'generation'?" Ron asked stonily, pointedly ignoring her last reply.

Harry turned expectantly to Hermione, wondering what she was going to say in response. She looked apparently confused as to what it was Ron was asking of her, for she peered at him, looking distinctly puzzled.

Upon noticing this, Ron elaborated upon his previous statement. "I mean, define generation. Every year, every ten years or each generation in a family - i.e. grandfather, son and grandson. Which?"

Hermione shrugged, sighing softly. "I don't know, Ron."

He shot her a withering glower but made no further comment. Instead, he folded his arms across his chest and waited for her to continue. Hermione sighed again softly, for she knew that he was going to make this as difficult as he possibly could. She then reverted back to the verse and read out the next two lines.

"Those basically mean that an 'heir of power' can either be good or bad - which is stating the obvious just ever so slightly... And then the ones after that mean the heirs don't start of as one or the other; hoe they turn out depends on what happens to them and how they react to their circumstances."

The verse of the spell had seemed pretty straight forward and easy to understand to Harry and so he wondered why it was that Ron was stubbornly insisting on making Hermione go over it all painstakingly slowly.

"...Then after that it says the charm is the only other thing that can have an effect on their nature -"

"But why is that?" Ron burst out, looking a tad bewildered as he cut across Hermione. Harry stared blankly at him, obliging him to expand upon his remark.

"I mean," Ron added rather irritably, apparently slightly bemused about something or other, "I thought the Procerius charm was a sacrificial charm that enabled a person to get the thing they most want to happen, by sacrificing the thing they most love. So, on that basis, what on earth has the Procerius charm got to do with 'heirs of power' and altering their natures?"

For the second time since reading the verse, Harry turned expectantly to Hermione, wondering as he did so how he could have failed to notice the connection - or lack of one - that Ron had just mentioned. Why did the spell alter the true nature of an 'heir of power' when the spell was as Ron had said, a sacrificial one that brought about what the person performing it most wanted in exchange for the sacrifice of what was most precious to them? When Siramad had given Harry the scroll he had not told him that it specified in defeating Dark Lords. He had simply informed him that as what Harry wished for was the demise of Lord Voldemort, he could bring it about by sacrificing what meant most to him. However, it struck Harry as distinctly odd that the only occasion he knew of in which the spell had been performed was Dumbledore's defeat of Grindelwald

"I'm guessing neither of you have read the introduction at the beginning of the spell?" Hermione asked calmly, looking from one boy to the other.

Their blank expressions made it evident that they had not.

"Well," Hermione continued in the same subdues tone, "at some point you might want to read it properly, but for now I might as well summarise it for you. It was basically to the effect of saying (besides how to perform it) that its function is to kill a Dark wizard - in effect, a dark heir - if this is what the person intending to perform the charm most wishes.

"It also mentions that the performer must be an 'heir of power'. It then elaborates on the part we already know about what must be sacrificed or, should I say who must be sacrificed. For it states that the most precious thing actually has to be a person."

Ron stared nonplussed at Hermione for a moment, then muttered "So does that mean Harry is an 'heir of power' too?"

A brief spark flickered in Hermione's eyes in response to Ron's remark. She slowly raised one of her hands, resting it upon her forehead in a manner that spoke more plainly than words. She had just realised something; something that would enable one or two more of the elusive jigsaw pieces to slot easily into place.

After a moment, Hermione looked up once more and met Ron's shrewd gaze. The light of enlightenment was slowly vanishing from her eyes, leaving in its wake an expression of deep composure and sudden calm acceptance. However, whatever it was about Ron's simple sentence that had sparked so marked an alteration in her demeanour, she was not yet going to divulge with them - much to Harry's extreme disappointment.

The only verbal reply she made was to say simply, "Yes; I suppose it must."

Harry felt somewhat shocked to learn that he was supposedly an 'heir of power'. If the spell's translation was to be believed, then surely that must imply that Grindelwald, Dumbledore and Voldemort were all 'heirs of power'. In that case, how could anyone possibly think that he too was one? He was not particularly academic, or wise. Nor was he what one might call powerful. In most of his classes he was pretty average - perhaps a little above the median but certainly no high-flyer. The only thing he felt he had any remarkable prowess at was Quidditch.

True, he had escaped the clutches of the mighty Lord Voldemort on numerous occasions, but that was due to little more than a combination of coincidences and a heck of a lot of luck. He had never exactly beaten or defeated Voldemort - just managed by various methods to evade his own inevitable defeat.

Take the very first time he had defied the Dark One. He had been only a year old, with no astonishing abilities that would allow him to save himself. Indeed, it had been someone else who had preserved his life. Had it not been for his mother's selfless sacrifice, the Boy Who Lived most certainly would not have lived.

Then there was the second confrontation, ten years later when Voldemort had set his sights upon stealing the Philosopher's Stone. While it was undeniable that he - Harry - had played a vital role in preventing Voldemort from acquiring it, it had to be understood that Harry would have failed had it not been for the aid and unwavering support of his friends. Even then, he had almost been killed and would have been too had Dumbledore not made the timely interference he did.

If Harry cared to, he could go over and recount each of his meetings with Voldemort, but he knew that for every instance he had been propped up and guided by others. There was not one single occasion for which he could claim full credit for his victory. Therefore how could he possibly be an 'heir of power'? He simply couldn't comprehend how anyone could entertain such a capricious concept. And yet, according to the Procerius charm, only an 'heir of power' was equal to performing the spell... Had Siramad known this when he had insisted upon thrusting the scroll upon him? Harry wanted to believe that Siramad hadn't, but somehow he couldn't. A little nagging doubt lurked just beyond his consciousness, eluding his grasp while maintaining in a prominent enough position to make Harry think twice about one or two things.

Reluctantly, Harry dispelled his musings and returned his attention wholly back to the present. Since Hermione's affirmative reply, no one had spoken and a kind of thoughtful and reflective silence had resided between the three of them. Ron was still looking surly, though Harry was almost sure that he was less so than immediately after they had discovered the unexpected disclosure about the Procerius charm's true function.

Hermione on the other hand appeared to be infinitely calmer and more collected at the moment; quite a contrast to her frightened and jumpy behaviour earlier. Harry briefly studied her mien and found to his quite considerable surprise that she was not looking pensive as he had expected her to. The expression on her face had assumed instead was difficult to read. It was not so much a complicated mixture of emotions, as it so often was, but merely the depiction of an unexpected and more obscure emotion. In short, the expression was one that Harry had rarely if ever seen her wear before, and so he was consequently experiencing more than a little trouble in determining what it meant.

After a little while, Harry gave up trying to establish what emotions Hermione was feeling and turned to see that Ron was now directing his calculating gaze upon him. Harry raised an eyebrow questioningly, but Ron did not explain himself. He simply turned back to Hermione and said in a mildly irascible tone, "Well? Let's get back to going through this verse then shall we?"

Hermione nodded shortly and turned back to her notebook. The sedate expression still playing across her face. She read out the four lines that followed the last ones she had recited and then looked up at Ron.

"They basically mean that though the spell will without dispute eradicate the Dark heir in question, it does more harm than good in the long run. For it to work an irreversible change must take place and the full extent of the damage this will cause no one truly knows."

Ron remained grave when Hermione had finished speaking. She was obviously waiting for him to comment upon something she had just said, but he didn't. He did nothing more than stare stonily at her. Hermione took this as her cue to immerse herself in the next section of the verse before Ron could come up with a flaw in what she had said. In her haste to return her attention to the notepad, she missed the preoccupied and meditative expression that crept across Harry's face. Something that Hermione had just said did not quite add up. However, Harry was at a loss at present as to what it could be.

Unfortunately the opportunity to establish exactly what it was became lost as Harry got distracted with what Hermione had to say about the next section.

" 'A dark heir's evil can never be vanquished - simply transposed...' well, that's pretty straight forward; by simply defeating a dark one, i.e. Grindelwald, doesn't mean that their depravity is eradicated also. The wording implies that Grindelwald's heinous attributes were switched with Riddle's true nature - whether ultimately his nature had been good or not is anyone's guess - so Riddle's nature will have died with Grindelwald"

Hermione looked up at Ron again, awaiting his critical response. It appeared to Harry that Ron was striving to find some weakness or other in Hermione's account but was seemingly unable to. Again, Harry had the feeling that there was something not quite right about part of what Hermione had said, but he still could not place his finger on exactly where the anomaly lay. He therefore decided it would be better all round if he held his peace and kept his doubts to himself until he at least had something to substantiate his claims.

Harry cast a sidelong glance at Ron. His friend looked deep in thought and Harry wondered if Ron too had realised that something was amiss. However, Hermione had once more resumed analysing the verse so he was forced to stop trying to determine what the note of discord was and whether Ron had noticed it as well or not.

It became apparent to Harry that Hermione had now grown tired of going over the lengthy stanza a line at a time, for she now read out the remainder of it together.

In a strained voice of almost forced patience she began to explain what she had just read. "The rest of it is basically to the effect of saying that no matter what is done to rectify the situation, it cannot be changed. The sacrificed person will have died for nothing because - though the original dark heir will be gone - another heir (the youngest one at the time the charm is performed) will take his place.

"However the alteration will take three years until it is complete, which is when the eyes of the youngest heir will turn red. It is at this point that his true nature is completely dead.

"Finally, the last two lines simply imply that by reciting the verse is how the PrÃ'cerius charm is performed. Happy now?" She frowned at Ron as she finished speaking and he scowled grumpily back.

"Do I look happy to you?"

Hermione opened her mouth, no doubt to make a snappy retort, all traces of her calmness now entirely evaporated, but was distracted by Harry.

"Hermione, would you mind if I read over your translation again?" he asked her quietly. She begrudgingly passed the notebook back across the table looking put out about something. Harry could only presume that she thought he too was sceptical about the translation being accurate.

However, the reason that Harry had wanted to look at the notebook once more was merely because he had his suspicions that the misshapen puzzle piece did not actually occur in Hermione's explanation of the verse, but actually in the verse itself. He was therefore of the opinion that should he read through the verse again, the words that did not quite ring true would jump out of the page at him.

While he was rereading, Ron and Hermione sat and glared at one another across the table. Seemingly unable to find further fault with Hermione's interpretation of the verse's meaning, Ron instead decided to question the reliability of her background knowledge regarding the scenario in question.

"Where did you find out about all that stuff about Riddle's past?" Ron asked in a sour voice full of suspicion, whilst eyeing Hermione dubiously.

Harry looked up at her abruptly, thinking as he did so that Ron had a point; where had she found all that out?

"Oh - I just found it in a book I was reading," she replied in an as off-hand and casual tone as she could muster.

Ron narrowed his eyes," Did Camellia know that Riddle was going to ask her to marry him?"

Harry saw Hermione's eyes widen slightly in surprise. She then lowered her gaze to the desktop and shook her head dejectedly.

"So where did you really find out about it? I mean, if Camellia didn't even know he was going to do so, it's hardly likely that that sort of information would be in someone's published work, is it?" Ron inquired softly, a suppressed gleam of triumph discernible in his eyes.

Hermione made no response - she merely stared at the scrubbed wooden surface of the table as though fascinated by it. Harry on the other hand peered at her shrewdly. He had a sneaking suspicion as to where it was she had found the relevant information.

"Well?" Ron prompted curtly.

Hermione let out a soft sigh and answered him in a small voice. "I did find the information in a book, but you're right - it wasn't in a published book."

"So which one was it in?" Ron snapped impatiently.

Hermione shook her head, "I'm not going to tell you that."

For a moment there was nothing but silence that followed this statement. Then Ron, his eyes narrowed once more said in a dangerously quiet voice, "Why not? Afraid that if Harry or I were to check we'd find nothing to confirm what you say?"

"What?" Hermione hissed, bristling at him. "What is it that you're saying? I purposefully made the whole thing up?"

Ron shrugged airily, "You tell us."

"You can't seriously think that I'd -"

"You're a clever girl, Hermione." Ron told her with savage coolness, "It would be easy for you to invent it all and the stupid thing is that I was temporarily taken in by you. Well, not anymore. I can't believe it took me so long to notice that you're the one who 'worked it all out'. I mean, you 'translated' the verse, you knew all about Riddle's past - or at least what you claim to be history - and you're the one who made all the connections that link Dumbledore, Camellia and Riddle."

Hermione was staring at Ron in disbelief, obviously affronted and mortified that he could even contemplate such a suggestion. Harry too was peering at Ron in surprise, but he knew only too well that Ron did have a tendency to lash out at those closest to him when something either angered or upset him.

Harry also knew that underneath the cool accusations Ron did not really believe that Hermione would be as deceitful as he was implying.

When at last Hermione seemed to recover herself enough to speak, she said in a quietly offended voice, "But why would I?"

"That I don't know. I was rather hoping you would enlighten us as to that yourself." Ron returned with a glower, but he did not allow Hermione to say anything in her defence for he had stood up suddenly. "I've had enough of this absurdity - I'm going to bed."

He then began to stalk furiously away. However, before he had even crossed half of the distance between their desk and the spiral staircase he was heading for, Ron turned abruptly on his heal and added one last after thought. "And neither you need to worry about Merula - I saw to him earlier when I went out to see Barraby."

He then proceeded to walk away without a further word. Harry stared, nonplussed, after him. Marvelling that Ron could think of something as trivial as that at a time like this when there was some slightly more engaging topics to absorb oneself with.

Shaking his head incredulously, Harry turned back to Hermione. She was once again resting her head on her arms dejectedly.

"Hermione?" Harry said gently.

She looked up at him with misty eyes.

"Are you alright?" he asked her softly.

She nodded dumbly then muttered. "Do you think I made it all up too?"

Harry waited for a few pregnant seconds before raising his eyebrows quizzically at her as he replied fervently, "of course I don't! How could you think I would? And Ron doesn't, not really. He is just having a little trouble in adjusting to the whole new light this throws everything into."

"So you believe me then?" Hermione said, unable to conceal the rush of gratitude she felt at his words.

"I said I did, didn't I?" He told her a trifle exasperatedly, then as the tears began to spill down her cheeks he added gently, "Hey - don't cry! Come here."

She got up and crossed over to him a little unsteadily where she then broke down on his neck. Harry put his arms reassuringly around her shoulders somewhat awkwardly, for he was still sat down with a certain fluffy cat curled up peacefully on his lap.

At an unexpected harsh lurch on Harry's part, Crookshanks got reluctantly to his feet and arched his back in a dignified sort of stretch.
"Don't mind me then, will you?" he mewed audaciously to Harry as he left gracefully onto Ron's now vacant and still warm chair.

"Don't worry, I won't." Harry muttered smilingly, as he pulled Hermione sideways into his lap instead.

She gazed at him questioningly with her baleful eyes and Harry gave her a half smile, saying shortly as he did so "Just Crookshanks, that's all."

"Oh."

Hermione then leant forward and leant her forehead lightly against the side of Harry's jaw as he absently peered at the open notebook. He did not really see the nearly memorised words that were written across it in her fair flowing handwriting for he was too deep in thought.

"Where did you locate the background on Riddle?" Harry inquired carefully. He still had his sneaking suspicion about the identity of the book she had mentioned, but all the same he was hoping for a definite confirmation from Hermione as to whether his supposition was correct or not.

Hermione straightened up edgily, enabling Harry to observe that she was apprehensively chewing her bottom lip as she eyed him warily. A tensely expectant minute slipped by before she made any response to Harry's question.

"I'm pretty sure you've worked out the answer to that already." She told him with a small shuddering sigh.

"I'm fairly certain that I have too," Harry replied in a still more gentle voice, looking her searchingly in the eye, "but I'd still like for you to tell me."

Hermione maintained eye contact a little longer, then dejectedly dropped her gaze. "Look, we both know where this is leading. Please let's just turn the subject to something else."

"Was it in Siramad's book?"

Hermione looked up quickly, a sharp expression flickering in her eyes fleetingly. Initially she seemed to be eyeing Harry shrewdly, as though sizing him up before finally relenting and nodding her head hopelessly.

At her confirmation of his suspicions, Harry experienced an almost irresistible urge to pursue the topic of Siramad's book for he desperately wanted to know what its contents were but he refrained from asking Hermione anything further about it. To which, he could clearly see, she was infinitely grateful.

However, while he was not going to mention the book, he had no scruples in deliberating upon it. He wondered with newly re-awakened interest what it was the book could be about.

All he knew for certain, was that it contained a photograph of his great-great-grandparents with his great-grandfather. According to Hermione it was not about him as such but he was 'sort-of involved'. Also that the book was not someone's 'published work' and, finally, that it had references to Riddle's past including information on Camellia (formerly known as 'Millie') and her connection to Dumbledore. The PrÃ'cerius charm also seemed to be involved. So now all Harry needed to do was piece these snippets of information together in order to fathom the mystery of what the somewhat battered, black leather-bound book contained.

He frowned grumpily, thinking as he did so that it would be far simpler if Hermione would just tell him out-right what he wanted to know. But he knew that this wasn't going to be a probable occurrence - at least not yet, anyway. So he therefore resigned himself to remaining in the dark on the subject for some time longer.

Though admittedly, despite his attention of saying nothing about the book, Harry did turn hopefully to Hermione and ask persuasively, "Well, can you at least tell me the title of the book? I mean, that can't hurt too much can it? Because if its not published then I won't be able to get hold of another copy anyway..."

Hermione tried not to appear too amused as she told him flatly, "No - you're right, it won't hurt to tell you the title at all; the book doesn't actually have a title."

"It doesn't have a title?" Harry repeated, feeling more than a little disappointedly, "This book grows ever more intriguing."

Hermione gave him a weak smile, then the two of them lapsed into a thoughtful silence. What with the temporary distraction of the book, Harry had for the moment forgotten all about discovering the anomaly regarding the verse. He was now reflecting on Riddle's past instead and wondering as he did so what other secrets might be concealed within the black leather cover of Siramad's book.

Harry got to thinking about the unlikely relationship between Riddle and Camellia; one now associated with goodness while the other was corrupted by evil. The contrast between what they had each become was infinitely more than striking, but then Harry supposed that in the beginning neither one was so very good or bad as they had grown to be.

It somehow seemed harshly ironic that it had been because of a valiant attempt to defeat a brand of evil that was the sole reason another far worse evil was brought into existence. And yet the already tangled web surrounding the events became further complicated, for the friendship between Riddle and Camellia was such that - to all disinterested observers - his change of stance could be credited upon his own inability to cope with the death of someone so dear to him.

But apparently few people had even made this presumption, for it was after three years had lapsed past that the transformation was complete. At which time he had left Hogwarts and disappeared without a trace. Indeed few people even realised that Tom Riddle was in fact Lord Voldemort.

Harry shook his head as he tried to fully appreciate the situation. A frown then crinkled across his brow as he pondered on what Hermione had said about how she supposed Dumbledore would not have known what he had unwittingly done by performing the PrÃ'cerius charm. Harry's chain of thought led him in turn to muse as to whether or not Camellia knew that she too had a hand in the creation of Lord Voldemort.

"You know, Dumbledore is only partly to blame for what happened to Riddle." Harry said thoughtfully to Hermione, as he turned to her still wearing his inquisitive frown.

"Oh?" Hermione inquired lightly, fixing Harry with a quizzical glance.
"Mm - you said the only reason he did relent and perform the charm was because Camellia persuaded him that it was for the best, didn't you?"

"Yes, so that must mean -" Hermione began, her eyes twinkling slightly, "She too is responsible."

Harry nodded in grim agreement, "that's what I was thinking."

There followed a brief and sober pause before Harry added, "It is all a bit of a mess, isn't it?"

"I won't argue with you there," she replied quietly.

For a moment or two there seemed to be nothing more for wither of them to say. Harry once more recollected that he had been perusing the writing in the notebook with the intention of hopefully finding out what it was that kept producing the nagging doubt in his mind.

As he turned back to the pad and was once more scanning the verse it turned out that his hope had not been in vain. Five words were all it took to set alarm bells ringing in his head, immediately alerting him to the section that did not quite ring true.

'Leaving his true nature dead...'

As Harry read the words he recalled vividly the hilltop scene, in particular the haunted look that swept across Voldemort's face after Camellia had adopted the appearance she had held in life. Not only had there been a glimmer of Voldemort's former self, Tom Riddle, but those callous red eyes turned briefly to a warm hazel hue.

So how could Riddle's true nature be dead, when he had seen a short glimpse of it this evening? Fleetingly, Harry wondered if perhaps he had imagined or even misinterpreted what he had seen. But he dismissed his doubts fairly quickly and stood stolidly by his conviction that he had seen some form of Riddle resurface earlier.

"Hermione?"

"Mm?"

Harry brought the notebook into her line of sight and indicated the line that had triggered his recollections. "You see here that it says, 'Leaving his true nature dead'? Well, I think there must be some mistake because Riddle's nature can't be entirely gone."

Hermione leant back and Harry saw that she was peering at him perplexed, "Why can't it?"

Harry considered how best to word his answer, uncomfortably aware that when the glimmer of Riddle's former self had resurfaced she had been unconscious in his arms. Therefore he realised that, with her logical mind, she was going to have trouble in accepting that the flicker of Tom Riddle had appeared in the eyes and mien of Voldemort.

"Do you remember much of when Voldemort appeared on the hilltop earlier this evening?" Harry asked curiously.

After shooting a curious glance at him, Hermione answered his question whilst at the same time appearing to wonder at its relevance. "A little - but it's all rather vague. To be honest, all I was really aware of was the cold of the Dementors."

"So you didn't notice anything - er - different about Voldemort then?"

Hermione shook her head, "Like I said, I was fairly oblivious to everything save the cold. And anyway, I've only actually seen him close to once before so in that respect I'm perhaps not the best person to ask. Why do you ask, just out interest? Did you notice some alteration in him then or something?"

Harry nodded slowly, wondering as he did so whether or not it would be entirely pointless for him to tell her what he had seen, seeing as she would only be exceptionally dubious about the whole thing. However, he decided that there was no real harm to be caused by telling her so why not? So long as he knew that he had caught a glimpse of the old Riddle, what did it matter what anyone else thought?

"You could say that. Listen, while we were there, only a little while before Camellia took us away, the angel made this change in her semblance and took on the form she had when she was alive.

"You were out cold at this point so you wouldn't have seen the effect this had on Voldemort, but believe me the change that took place was unexpected."

"Why? What happened?" Hermione inquired at a brief pause on Harry's part.

"The expression on his face was one Voldemort would never have worn; it was an expression Riddle would have worn. I don't know why - I'd guess because of the shock of seeing 'Millie' - but when Camellia changed it was as though she had re-awoken Riddle and it was he who gazed at the angel with a haunted look."

"But Harry," Hermione reasoned quietly, "it can't have been Riddle - for Riddle as he was is dead. The PrÃ'cerius charm says so."

"Well, it's wrong. "Harry replied determinedly, "I swear to you I saw Riddle. And it's not just the expression on his face that convinced me - Voldemort's eyes weren't red anymore; they'd turned to a hazel-brown."

Hermione looked a little taken aback by this news, "hazel-brown? But -"

She did not seem to know quite what to say to that for they both knew that Riddle's eyes had been of a hazel shade of brown. Seeing her unable to come up with any satisfactory answer, Harry continued "And there's more to it than even that. When we got away Camellia had to take some of my strength, which did not happen immediately. Several minutes slipped by, during which time Voldemort knew that we were about to escape, but he did not do the one thing that would ensure our capture.

"All he needed to do was send the Dementors forward to destroy the angel, but he couldn't do it. No, more accurately, Riddle would not let him do it. As I watched him it was exactly like there was some sort of internal battle going on inside Voldemort, one that lasted just long enough to allow us to escape.

"And also, the delay had to be down to some part of Riddle's old nature that is not entirely dead, for is Voldemort likely to allow anything - even the girl he once loved - to stand in his way? He's never thought twice before about killing, never mind who the victim is."

As his argument drew to a close, Harry surveyed Hermione with a steadfast earnest and resolved expression, which even she would have some particularly considerable difficulty in swaying.

"But Harry, the spell was right about everything else - so why would it be wrong about the part that relates to their nature being left dead? Are you sure that you really did see Riddle? I mean, couldn't you have been mistaken? All the Dementors were bound to have had an effect on your judgment and -"

"I know what I saw, Hermione." Harry cut across her calmly, his voice set with resolute determination. "Surely it is possible that whoever it was who invented the charm in the first instance could have misjudged the capability of it. Perhaps it was designed to kill the nature of the youngest heir, and they estimated that it would be able to, but in reality it did not quite work as thoroughly or efficiently as they had predicted."

Hermione was still looking sceptical and Harry knew that to persevere with his attempts to persuade her otherwise would be fruitless.

"Look," he said flatly," I can see that you're still looking doubtful, and I won't even pretend to entertain a hope of convincing you of what I saw. But equally, you are not going to dissuade me from my conviction. So how about we just leave it at that and both agree to disagree?"

Hermione shrugged her shoulders casually, then replied with a hint of playfulness, "Ok, fair enough. Since when did you become such a diplomat? Anyway - seriously, I just want to add one more thing before we let the conversation drop - do you mind?"

Harry shook his head mutely.

"Just supposing you did see some form of the old Riddle -" Hermione began soberly. She then held up an indicative hand to Harry (who had just opened his mouth to adamantly insist that he had seen some form of a pre-Voldemort) and thereby told him to allow her to finish what she was saying. This he did, though reluctantly, and so Hermione carried on.

"Well, might it be possible that it was actually a ghost or shadow or something? I mean, that way it would satisfy both points because Riddle's nature would still be dead, but you would still have seen a glimmer of it."

Harry thought carefully for a moment then shook his head again. "I'm fairly certain that it wasn't either of the things you suggested; though I am rather curious to know how you get a 'ghost' of a nature."

Hermione flushed faintly and mumbled, "Well, I don't know either - but it was just a thought..."

Harry said nothing more on the topic of Riddle's dead - or perhaps not so dead - nature and the pair of them lapsed into thoughtful silence. The stillness between them did not last long, however."

"I suppose the change this spell required really is irreversible?" Harry commented, looking distracted.
Having fixed him with another of her funny looks, Hermione replied, "I should say so - no spell can re-awaken the dead."

"Mm - I guess."

Hermione peered curiously at Harry, taking in his sudden preoccupied air, "Why do you ask? Have you thought of something?"

"Yes and no," Harry replied truthfully enough, reluctant to expand upon his contradictory answer. He had just received the beginnings of an idea that might just work, but it was at an early and frail stage of development, through which it needed careful nurturing. Harry felt that to disclose even the most meager piece of information would possibly be enough to starve it off entirely, so he held his tongue.

Hermione shot him a quizzical glance, "So are you going to tell me what this thought is then?"

Harry shook his head distractedly, "Not just yet."

If truth be told, Harry was aware that at present his idea - while perfectly feasible - was a highly improbable one. At so early a stage of development, he was reluctant to even believe himself that his plan could be pulled off. And at present he did not want to think on it further for fear that he would stumble upon some overlooked snippet of information that might cause the blossoming idea to wilt and die.

A solitary glance at Hermione was sufficient to inform Harry that while she was obviously curious and eager to know about his idea, she was not going to ask him about it if he did not yet want to tell her of it. To this Harry was exceptionally grateful for it allowed him to adopt a state of calm reflection, in which he could think cautiously about the details of his plan.

The starchy quiet that reigned remained unbroken for a considerable stretch of time and from it Harry was able to conclude that Hermione too had been doing some serious thinking. She turned to Harry with an anxious expression on her face, which had not been there earlier.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, faintly concerned by her sudden change of countenance.

At first Hermione did not answer, but instead peered searchingly into his eyes. Then at length she replied in a soft voice, "Harry, I want you to make me a promise."

Harry's brow contracted in surprise. However, he wisely did not commit himself to anything until he knew what it was Hermione was asking of him. "Well, what is this promise?"

"Promise me, Harry, that no matter what happens you won't ever perform the PrÃ'cerius charm."

Harry stared at her, nonplussed. When he had recovered himself he said earnestly, "Hermione, I would never sacrifice you - you do know that, don't you?"

She looked away, evidently unhappy. Harry watched her closely, amazed that she could suggest he could kill her in order to perform the charm.

"Yes, I know that -" she said in a quiet voice after a while, but there was a note in her tone, which told Harry that, although she had finished speaking, she had not finished her sentence.
"But?" he prompted.

Hermione leant forward and kissed Harry's cheek deftly before getting up and wandering over to one of the larger windows, by which she stopped and stared out into the grounds.

Harry got mutely to his feet and followed her, perplexity the paramount of his emotions. He stood a little behind her, to one side, and laid a gentle hand upon her shoulder.

"Hermione?"

She inclined her head to one side and surveyed his face intently, still apparently worried, before she went back to staring out of the window again. Harry too peered out into the night. He could see the grounds were calm and undisturbed, just as they had been a few eventful hours ago when Jean had pursued him and Hermione into the Forbidden Forest. It was then that Harry realised a calm exterior could be very misleading, very misleading indeed.

Without turning around, therefore meaning Harry was unable to see the expression her mien wore, Hermione spoke quietly. "But there may come a time when I'm no longer what would be sacrificed..."

Giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze, Harry said sincerely, "Hermione, I think I can safely promise you that you will always be what I treasure most."

Hermione neither acknowledged his words nor turned around and Harry wondered exactly what look her face had adopted, at that moment. He had no way of knowing what she was feeling unless she turned around, but that didn't look too likely. Even her voice had been level and impassive, giving no hint as to her frame of mind.

However, a new thought dawned upon Harry, which consumed all his attention leaving none for anything else. A curious smile began to play across his lips and it was lucky for him that Hermione did not perceive this smile for it would have frightened her very much. But Harry was not aware of this; he now knew what he was going to do and could think of nothing else.

Once more Harry saw the third of his premonitions from the incident with the talisman. The three figures trapped within the howling tornado were no longer difficult to identify. He had been right; the two standing figures were without a doubt he and Voldemort. For some reason the picture was crisper, clearer than it had been before and he was even able to see that the person on the floor was definitely Hermione.

What he was unable to ascertain was whether or not she was dead at this point, or just lying motionless on the ground. The answer to this did not much signify, for Harry had already asked himself his next question; could he sacrifice Hermione?

It took only a moment's hesitation before he could be certain on the fact that he could not and would not sacrifice her. Therefore he knew that her death would not be because he had performed the PrÃ'cerius charm. So this led him to ask himself his next question - if Hermione wasn't the most important person to him, then who was?

Again, a moment's hesitation then Harry was able to answer that question. So this naturally led him to wonder - would he be able to sacrifice that person?

The curious smile returned, as Harry was to answer that question without even a split second's worth of indecision. Yes, he could - easily. Though there were one or two things he would need to know before he seriously considered performing the charm...

"Hermione, you don't happen to know who the youngest heir is at the moment, do you?"

Hermione turned around abruptly, looking at him sharply, almost defensively. "No - why?"

"Well, if I had performed the charm the other week it would have changed someone's disposition, wouldn't it? I was just wondering who I almost did that to, that's all." Harry replied in a convincingly casual voice.

Hermione visibly relaxed and said quietly, "I don't know who the youngest heir is - I don't even know how to go about finding out."

"Dumbledore would know though, wouldn't he?" Harry mused thoughtfully.

"Probably - you're not seriously thinking of asking him though, are you?" Hermione told him sternly.

"Well, why not?" asked Harry, confused.

"Harry," she said seriously, "if you ask him, he's bound to want to know how you found out and -"

"You needn't finish your sentence," Harry replied, slightly abashed at having forgotten something so obvious. If he were to ask Dumbledore about the 'heirs of power' then Dumbledore would inquire where Harry had learned of them and as Harry had no desire to tell Dumbledore about the PrÃ'cerius charm's translation and true function, it would be infinitely better not to broach the subject.

"But do you think it's possible that I'm the youngest heir? If I really am one...

"I guess it's possible," Hermione responded looking worried again but also horrified, "I mean, Riddle was sixteen when Dumbledore used the PrÃ'cerius charm and you're only a year older..."

Harry was satisfied. He would of course have to be certain on the point, but he would under no circumstances perform the charm unless he was the youngest heir whose nature would be transposed. There was no way he would inflict the grief on anyone else...

He had been just about to put forward his next inquiry when Ginny joined them.

"You two are a happy pair," she commented dryly, peering from one to the other. She then added more soberly, "Are you guys ok? Has something happened?"

"No, no - nothing's happened. Everything's fine," Hermione lied in a reassuring tone. "We're just a bit tired, that's all."

"Maybe you should go to bed then," Ginny replied as she stifled a yawn, looking pacified. "It's quite late."

"Why - what's the time?" Hermione asked and looked around her. Harry did so too and found to his slight surprise that the common room held far fewer people then it had when he had entered it.

"Coming up for one o'clock," Ginny told them stifling another yawn. "Anyway, I just came over to say goodnight on my way to bed. Has Ron already turned in?"

Harry nodded, "Yeah, he went a little while ago."

"Someone sensible. I'm going to have really dark circles under my eyes now, just the look I was going for what with it being the Dance tomorrow," said Ginny, shaking her head.

"Later today, you mean," Harry retorted with a grin.

Ginny pretended to grimace, "Ok - I'm going to bed now. If I can stay awake long enough to get to my dormitory, that is!"

"Goodnight then."

"Night."

Ginny waved sleepily over her shoulder as she headed for the girl's staircase and out of sight.

"Urgh! I bet I'll have dark circles too," Hermione complained after Ginny's departure.

Harry smiled. "Well, dark circles or no you'll still look pretty to me."

For a moment, Hermione eyed Harry closely as though trying to determine whether he had been teasing her or not. When she came to the conclusion that he hadn't, she smiled sweetly and thanked him.

"She's right though - it probably would be the sensible thing to head off to bed now," Hermione said, suddenly looking very tired, not to mention drained. "We can finish talking about all this tomorrow if you want, but right now I need sleep!"

"Alright - I'll see you in the morning then." Harry told her softly, thoroughly relieved that he had managed to avoid making the promise she had requested of him. For if he had promised not to perform the charm, then he would have stuck to that promise. But as no such promise had been made, it meant everything was so much more straightforward. All he had to do now was wait. Well, there were one or two little things he would need to find out in the meantime, but that wouldn't prove to be too much of a problem. Then everything would be set or almost everything...

Hermione smiled at Harry, looking very eager to just be able to close her eyes and go to sleep, and said, "Are you going to turn in too? You look tired - but I guess that's hardly surprising considering the amount of sleep you've had lately."

"Nah - I think I'll hang about here for a little bit. My head's buzzing too much at the moment so I doubt very much if I'd get to sleep even if I tried." Harry told her casually, with no intention at all of going to bed anytime soon. What would be the point? All he'd end up doing was tossing and turning restlessly the whole night, so why not stay up a while longer and possibly get something useful done?
"Well, don't stay up too late, will you?" Hermione told him a she crossed back over to their table to gather up all her possessions that lay sprawled over it.

"No mummy, I won't" Harry replied, putting on a child-like voice.

Hermione shook her head at him and clucked her tongue mock disapprovingly. "You just make sure you've got lots of energy for tomorrow night, for so help you if you haven't!"

Harry raised his eyebrows at her, an impish grin on his face.

Hermione suddenly blushed scarlet as she realised how he had interpreted her words, "I can't believe I just said that! I meant so help you if you're too tired to dance - not what you were thinking!"

The grin on Harry's face broadened as he asked in an innocently curious voice, "And what was it that I was thinking?"

Oh - you - never mind..." She replied, blushing further.

Harry chuckled openly at her discomfort and she said shortly, "Ah - you're too tricky for me! I'm going to bed!"

"Night then," he said and leant over to kiss her lightly on her forehead, "I'll see you tomorrow."

Hermione nodded then scooped up her bag and strode over to the spiral staircase that led to the girl's dormitories. She disappeared from sight as Ginny had done a couple of minutes previously and for a long while afterward, Harry remained precisely where he was, staring introspectively in her wake.

He then sighed softly to himself and returned to his seat at the secluded table, where he delved into his bag and drew out a stack of books, scrolls and sheaves of parchment. His sudden desire to get on with his homework did not stem from a newly found diligence to his studies, but merely from the simple need to do something in an attempt to distract his tormented mind. The fact that the work needed to be done and he had few other opportunities in which to do it only seemed to be an added bonus.

Harry pulled his Charms books and notes towards him and decided that as he had all the things he needed at hand to do the homework Professor Flitwick had set, he might as well make a start on it. However, if Harry thought his Charms notes would be enough to distract him then he was sorely mistaken.

He read the title of the chapter in their large textbook entitled 'A Condensed Guide to Advanced Charms and Alternative Glamour Magic' which was 'Camouflaging Charms' and this proved enough to inspire recollections of the night's earlier adventures.

Hermione had used a Camouflaging charm to hide them from the Order of the Phoenicians. And while it had proved to be superbly effective in concealing their presence from three of the four that sought them, it had not been enough to fool Jean.

The recollection of the incident set Harry to wondering about the man who had been addressed as 'Jean'. Why had this man not been hoodwinked by Hermione's charm? Harry briefly pondered whether there might have been a small margin of error on Hermione's part, but in the end he dismissed this notion as not being particularly likely seeing as it had been sufficiently accurate to work on most of the people who had been present.

And then there was the question, why had Jean not given their whereabouts away? He had known that they were there and if he had chosen to tell his companions then it would have made it significantly more difficult for Harry and Hermione to escape. And that was another thing, why had Jean just let them escape?

The bolted door would not have been much of a problem to him seeing as he could either have apparated elsewhere or unlocked the door with his wand. After all the pains Jean had taken to bring them to the abbey, why had he just given them up? None of it made sense to Harry as he still stared at the title of the chapter, not having moved for the past five minutes.

Harry soon began to wonder what sort of a person Jean was. For, despite giving off the aura of an authoritative figure - an imperious one at that - he had not seemed to be a bad person. All right, he had abducted Harry and Hermione forcefully, taking them away from Hogwarts and its aegis. But he had at the same time been quite approachable - perhaps even likeable under different circumstances.

Jean had also been very astute, noticing everything and anything no matter how insignificant it may have seemed. For instance, he had been able to tell that the ropes, with which Harry and Hermione had been tightly bound, had been cut by a knife. The other Order of the Phoenix members had not paid any attention to anything other than the simple fact that the captives had apparently escaped.

There were other little things besides the analysis of the severed cords, which gave Harry the distinct impression that Jean's previous job in the Ministry might well have involved detective work...

Harry sighed exasperatedly to himself. Here he was musing over the strange man, Jean, when he had been intending on getting on with his homework without dwelling further on any of the unanswerable questions he had somehow managed to collect up. He shook his head at himself and made a conscious effort to concentrate solely upon his work.

*

It was about an hour and a half later when, having succeeded in focusing on his homework with only once or twice allowing himself to be side-tracked, Harry heard the sound of quiet footfalls approaching from the vicinity of the boy's spiral staircase.

A moment later, Ron stepped into view. He was wearing his paisley pyjamas, but although he was tousle-haired it was evident that he had yet to go to sleep. As he spotted Harry he nodded in acknowledgement and slouched over.

Harry noticed that he was in better humour than he had been earlier and was apparently wide-eyed and restless.

"Couldn't sleep?" Harry asked sympathetically as Ron sunk into a chair.

"Nah - my head's too full of what Hermione told us," Ron replied exasperatedly, "I couldn't go to sleep and I didn't hear you come up to bed, so I thought I'd come and see where you'd got to."

"My head's reeling too - it seemed pointless to turn in when I knew I wouldn't get to sleep, so I just stayed here."

There was a brief pause, then Harry added, "You were unjustly harsh on Hermione before. She would never have done something so deceitful as make up all that stuff about Dumbledore, Camellia and Riddle. But then I think you know that, don't you?"

Ron nodded and slumped back in his chair, gazing distractedly up at the ceiling. "Yeah, I know. I guess I just lost my cool with her - was she upset?"

"A bit," Harry admitted, putting down his quill and likewise leaning back in his chair.

Ron grimaced, then said with a sigh," I'll talk to her about it in the morning..."

Harry made no reply, for Ron's statement had not required one, and so yet another starchy silence followed. Harry was beginning to get used to awkward silences, what with the countless ones he had been subjected to of late. However, it seemed that Ron could not abide for there to be stillness, for it was he who spoke again first.

"Do you think Hermione was right? I mean, when she said that Dumbledore didn't know - and probably still doesn't - what the charm actually does?" Ron asked thoughtfully, continuing to stare absently at the ceiling.

"Probably. Well, it would make sense, wouldn't it? I can't see Dumbledore performing the charm, knowing that he's only going to create a different evil in place of the one he destroyed, can you?"

Ron was apparently satisfied on that point, "I suppose not. But it is a bit of a blow isn't it? Dumbledore being the one to have created You-Know-Who, I mean..."