Crown of Thorns

Chapter I: The Exile

What's coming through is alive.What's holding up is a mirror.But what's singing songs is a snakeLooking to turn this piss to wine.

They're both totally void of hate,But killing me just the same.

The snake behind me hisses

What my damage could have been.

My blood before me begs me

Open up my heart again.

-H. by Tool (Ænima)

The throne was tall and dark and empty. The old Death Eaters' meeting chamber was now just a chamber... just a chamber pulsating with memories of hate and blood and rage.

The Aurors had been over it a thousand times. And they had pronounced it clean.

But it wasn't. It was tainted with the vile past of terror, with the uncountable deeds of the Death Eaters and their master...

And the master that must not be named.

Yet there was a spell lurking in the chamber, one that had been missed by the Ministry. A long dormant spell, one that would soon bring grief.

Vincentia Nott, her angelically golden hair hidden behind the hood of a black cloak, tried to locate the spell. It eluded her, fleeing her grasp whenever she got near it. She could only feel it because she had been informed about it.

"I cannot," she said finally, turning to Lord Orion. "It is too quick. And it senses I am not of the Chosen's blood."

"That will be soon remedied," replied a rasping voice. The figure turned to Blaise Zabini, tendrils of her red hair escaping from beneath her raised hood. "Bring her."

Blaise left the chamber to do her lord's bidding.

"Sir," said Carl Rozier hesitantly. "He had no other children, and now he is dead. The Chosen's mother is long gone, other relatives are not close enough and those who are refuse to do what we want. Who is left that has the Chosen's blood?"

Lord Orion seemed to smile beneath the obscurity of his hood. "There is one," he said, his voice inexplicably sedate and mirthful. "There is one."

Blaise returned, gliding silently before a Botticelli angel whose eyes were unreadable, like the deadly vanguard of a storm that would make the precursor seem like a puff of a breeze. She was cherubic woman with dark eyes, the pupils silver-rimmed. Her hair was straight and glossy black, cut at the shoulder in a familiar (but unnamable) and simple style. A crown of thorns and silver roses glimmered in the dim light. It was imprinted directly onto her hair.

"How'd'you do that? To your hair, I mean." asked Eliza Grey, fascinated.

The woman smiled serenely, dimpling. "A secret," she said amiably.

Lord Orion ignored Eliza. "This is Eoduin of Silver Rose Druid College."

"I am no longer Eoduin," said the smiling woman. "But it will serve for these purposes." She was not tall, but she was far from diminutive. What could be plump on another was angelic on her.

"You are always what you were when born," replied the hidden lord.

"The Dark Lord is no longer Tom Riddle," she returned. Her black eyes glittered. "And I was also once Eoduin, and now greater."

Hapless Eliza Grey bit off a 'I don't understand,' as slowly, and creakily, Lord Orion knelt to the woman with the silver roses. A stunned silence emanated from the youthful Death Eater-wannabes, the Bloodstorm. A few had the self-possession to genuflect also. The rest copied those with shocked looks on their faces. They had thought none greater than Lord Orion was alive.

Quite apparently, they were wrong. Eoduin dimpled. "Now that's better. Let me take a crack at that spell."

The cherub crowned with silver roses gave another serene smile before concentrating on the darting spell. Come hither. I am of her blood. Give me the message. For this you were made.

The spell paused and dropped into her hand. It opened up into a ghostly image of a man.

The Death Eaters bowed their heads at the image, but they knew he was dead. Dead and gone forever.

He looked irritated. "Greetings," he said. "Terror must be wreaked."

******************

Things were stirring in the wizarding world.

Dumbledore reflected on this as he gazed out the window of the office that belonged to his friend, Prometheus Valerian.

He felt the waves and tensions of emotion that flowed and jerked in the mass aura of wizarding people. People wanted to feel safe, now that the Dark Lord was dead and gone. Except Dumbledore doubted he really was. Not until he saw with his own eyes, that vile thing's spirit writhing in Hell.

They had to finish off what was left of the Death Eaters. And the rising new band, the Bloodstorm.

And that wasn't all. Dean Valerian had admitted a girl with black hair and grey eyes into his university.

"She's smart," he had argued. "Why should the bloody Yanks have her genius in painting? She's even got skill in computers, something that we don't have at all!"

Dumbledore had let him admit her. He could without telling him information he had sworn to keep secret. Information that was dangerous. And surely she was not evil at heart. But things were stirring, and those things were not good.

Not good at all.

"Still sulking over the Malfoy girl?" asked Valerian as he came in with two steaming mugs of cocoa.

"Maybe," he allowed, accepting a mug. He took a sip. "I'm staying here to watch her. Hogwarts doesn't start for another two weeks."

"That's fine with me," said Valerian. "By the way, do you know where that Weasley fellow is? The one that taught Care of Magical Creatures the year before last? One of my dragon-keepers took off."

"Why?"

"Maternity leave."

"Ah." Dumbledore imagined a pregnant woman taking care of a dragon. The image refused to form. "Charlie's working at his camp, but I think he won't mind a post here." He gazed absently at two boys talking animatedly at each other. Then the blond one screamed in the silver-haired one's face. Silver hair. Oh no. Draco Malfoy. Then that one must be--Seamus Finnigan. Lovely.

"Are those two at it again?" asked Valerian, joining him at the window.

"Yes. Malfoy and Finnigan. Both with an eye for Ginny Weasley, I believe. I remember they got into a fistfight in their seventh year, in the Stonehenge Museum."

"Really?" Valerian looked amused. "This year they're roommates."

Dumbledore smiled briefly. "That will be very interesting, if not fatal to both of them."

"It's rather sadistic, but I couldn't help myself."

"Who are you putting the Malfoy girl with?" Dumbledore's eyes lit up with a sudden interest, one that surprised the dean of Druid College University.

"Ginny Weasley," he said, managing not to stammer.

Dumbledore's expression clouded. "Mm."

Prometheus Valerian ticked his points off his fingers. "One, she was exposed to the Dark Arts at a very young age and again later. She's used to Malfoys. Two, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter are close friends to Ginny so she's used to Magids. Three, she is a pure-blooded witch, which means that if Ms. Malfoy houses any pure-blood sentiments, Ginny will not be harmed."

"Mm," said Dumbledore. Valerian seemed satisfied. But Dumbledore wasn't. It never worked out very well when things shifted in the world.

******************

Unaware of what was happening beneath the window of the dean's office, Ginny Weasley had just moved into her dorm room.

"Yeah. Yeah. Uh-huh. OK. Yeah. Yeah, I'm at DCU. No, I haven't met my roommate yet. No. Yeah, I thought they had it all arranged, but it seems there was some person with veela blood who needed to be shuffled around to someone who had veela blood too. Uh-huh. And then a couple of allergies, and some latecomer, I suppose. No, Draco's not rooming with Harry. Actually, the veela person is a girl. So. Yeah, I guess that causes for some complications. Cool! So you accepted? Charlie, are you just doing this so you can watch over me? Geez, Charlie. Yeah, sure I believe. You and your professional interest. Uh-huh. Sure. See you later, Charlie. Bye."

Ginny Weasley hung up the phone and plopped down on her bed, exhausted from the move. "Gah," she said to the empty room.

The door swung open, and Ginny felt a tingle of Dark Arts in the pit of her stomach.

"Hello," she said, trying to be cheerful. "Are you my roommate?"

"I guess," said the Dark Arts girl, midnight hair hanging over her face. Ginny's new roommate was definitely spooky. She threw her only suitcase onto the empty bed. "And you are?"

"Ginny," she said, promptly extending a hand. "Ginny Weasley."

"Hesper," said the faceless girl. They shook. Hesper's hand was cool and dry.

"You got a last name?" asked Ginny, leaning back on her pillows.

"Malfoy."

The silence threatened to swallow every sound. Perhaps it did.

"So," said Ginny. "I see." She swallowed. "Um. Of any relation to Draco Malfoy?"

"My cousin," said Hesper. "But don't expect anything of it."

Ginny silently agreed. Hesper reminded her of a vampire, without something in her to be redeemed, like Draco had. Which, on the whole, was just what could be expected from Draco's family.

******************

The Ki-lin was a Chinese food place. The first magical Chinese restaurant that Ginny had ever seen. Hermione had taken her to some Muggle establishments, but this was something entirely new.

Amid the hordes of DCU students come to celebrate the last day of summer, Ginny ordered orange chicken and fried rice.

She was glad she had gotten into DCU along with the others. It had been a long and lonely seventh year at Hogwarts without Harry, Hermione, and Ron. And of course, Draco.

DCU had been established more than thousand years ago, when it was only the Green Mountain Druid College. Slowly, the other druid colleges had disappeared because of time and the increasing number of Dark Wizards opposed to the structure of the colleges, and soon only Green Mountain in Wales was left. By 1996, they were no longer a druid-style college (a society and center for scholars already with a good deal of education and experience) but a practicing college for 18 year old wizards. Needless to say, it quickly became the most affluent and prestigious of the three wizarding universities in the United Kingdom. The establishment of those other two colleges (Merlinus Ambrosius University and Stonehenge University) had quickly followed DCU. The first years of these colleges were hard. After all, standard wizarding schools provided all you needed to succeed in life. But there was a startling decrease in specialists in this decade, and Druid College was the first to realize that the patterns of the Muggle universities were the key to bringing back concentrated learning to the younger generation. By 1999, it was all the rage.

Harry was the Boy Who Lived. It was mostly Hermione's insistence that he go to college. (And of course, Draco and Ron were going too. He wasn't about to be outdone). With the most famous teenagers in the wizarding world going to DCU, everyone else decided they wanted to go too. They had finished their freshman year with a flourish, and Ginny was still Ginny, the little girl, left out of the sacred circle. She had hoped Hesper was going to be someone she could be friends with, but it was clear from what she had said that--

"Hey!" Seamus came to sit down next to her, breaking her reverie. His handsome face was interrupted by a few bruises, but being a Quidditch player herself, she knew that that was normal for an avid Quidditch player. "How are you doing?"

She smiled. "Great. I think my roommate is a vampire though."

"Really?" Seamus glanced over at a cluster of guys. "I got Draco," he said. "Much worse. Much more annoying, anyhow."

"Malfoy infestation," muttered Ginny.

"What's that?"

"Druid College is being invaded by Malfoys," she repeated. "My roomie's a Malfoy too."

Seamus grimaced. "That's a nightmare I never hope to see."

"HEY! SEAMUS! GET OVER HERE!"

He smiled apologetically. "Sorry, the gang's calling. Later." He got up, only to find himself in close proximity to Draco Malfoy. He growled. "Hello, Malfoy."

Draco smiled coolly. "Hello, Finnigan." Ginny found herself wincing.

"SEAMUS! WE'RE LEAVING WITHOUT YOU!"

"Better go," said Draco with a smirk. "Your little friends are calling."

Seamus cast a longing glance at Ginny, then an equally longing glance at the Quidditch players. He sighed. "So long, Ginny." He quickly bent over and kissed her cheek while glaring at Draco.

The silver-haired Magid sat down. "And how are you doing?" Ginny noticed a darkening bruise under his eye, and on his jaw. This was not normal.

"Draco..." she said warningly. "What have you been up to?"

He rubbed his jaw wryly. "Nothing."

Ginny rolled her eyes, but knew better than to ask. She decided to change the subject. "Do you have vampires in your family?"

Draco Malfoy shrugged. "I guess so."

"Living vampires?" she probed.

"God, no," he said, leaning back and putting his arms around the two empty chairs on either side of him. "Why's that?"

Ginny glanced over at the door of the Ki-Lin. "My roommate's a Malfoy, and she's really scary. She just blew me off when I asked if she wanted to come with me to the Ki-lin. She said, 'Why would I want to go with you?'"

"Well?" asked Draco lazily. "Did she give a name?"

"Something kind of odd," she said, racking her brain between bites of fried rice. "Like your name."

Draco looked pointedly at her. "Hey hey. At least it's not Seamus."

She ignored him. "I think... I think it was Esther. No, it was Hesper. Yes, that's it," Ginny chewed a piece of orange chicken meditatively. She noticed Draco had gone paler (if that were possible) than usual. "What's the matter?"

He clenched his jaw (which was now a lovely shade of eggplant green tinged with dark yellow). "Stay away from her, Ginny," he said stiffly. "Stay the hell away from her."

"I would if she weren't my roommate," she retorted, increasingly annoyed and at the same time concerned by his odd behavior. "And why?"

Draco looked right through Ginny. He was definitely not himself. Ginny felt a little queasy. "Draco," she said. "Are you still there?"

"Yes," he said tonelessly. "Just. Stay away. From. Her. Hesper. She's. Dangerous. Do you understand?"

"Draco," she repeated. "What's wrong?"

Abruptly, he got up and left the table. Ginny stared at her food. "God," she said. "She's not a vampire. And a werewolf couldn't be that bad. What is she?"

******************

"That'll be 599 galleons," said the chipper clerk as he wrapped the Firebolt Silver Edition in enchanted brown paper. The paper flashed randomly with advertisements. For example: 'Firebolt 7000: The Best Broom There Ever Was Updated!' and 'Cloudburst 909, The Fastest Broom Technology Today' and 'Chancy's Quidditch Supply: Found in Bristol, Carysaen, Cambridge, London, and Oxford.'

Harry handed over a bag of gold. The clerk looked down at the heavy bag. "We also take checks," he said hopefully.

"Sorry, I lost mine," Harry apologized. "I'm still waiting for the bank to owl another to me."

"Would you by any chance know a calculation charm?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm really bad at those," he said. "And even if I did know one, you wouldn't really trust me."

"I would," muttered the clerk, and set about the task of counting the coins.

Bored, Harry sat down on a creaky wooden chair and waited while the clerk counted.

'Chancy's Quidditch Supply: Coming Soon to Hogsmeade!' declared the brown paper.

"I wouldn't suppose you're getting up anytime soon," said the chair mournfully. "In me old age, I'm awful brittle."

"You'll live," said Harry. "You're spelled to."

"Not really," said the chair with a heavy sigh. "I was once a dining room chair of Mademoiselle Catherine St. Clair. A good woman. Very respectable. Very rich."

"Oh no," said the clerk in something much like panic. "He's going to recite the story of his life."

"Is it too much for an elderly chap to tell a nice gentleman an ins'stresting story?" demanded the chair.

"You could at least vary every time you tell it," said the clerk in a muffled voice.

"I never lie," said the chair, a paragon of virtue.

"Shut-up," replied the clerk.

"I will not!" The chair was quite indignant. "Anyway, Mademoiselle St. Clair was a very nice sort of lady. I believe she would have been a Countess of sorts if it hadn't been for the bloody Revolution in France."

"Mmph," said Harry. He shouldn't have said anything at all.

Greatly encouraged, the chair continued. "Her crest is a single silver rose. I used to carry her crest. But they enchanted it off of me."

"They should have enchanted the mouth off you," said the clerk. "And did you talk this much in the esteemed Mademoiselle's presence?"

"Oh no," said the chair, looking sly (or at least as sly as battered cherry wood can look). "She was quality, unlike the types I have fallen into."

Harry kept his eyes on the brown paper. 'Mer de les Licornes: Classy, French, and Absolutely Magical!' It flickered to 'Need Help? St. Mungo's Is There For YOU!'

"But Mademoiselle St. Clair moved to the United States, that horrible, horrible place." The chair shuddered. Harry clutched the windowsill in order not to fall off. "I was auctioned off. Over and over again, and finally I found myself here. In this desolate place." The chair sighed for effect. It was very dramatic. "The last I heard of her was that she got married to some well-to-do family. Melfate or whatever."

"Malfoy?" asked Harry, interested.

"Perhaps," said the chair with a shrug (Harry again reached out toward the windowsill).

"Five hundred and ninety-nine!" cried out the clerk triumphantly. "Here's your broom!"

Harry took it with relief. 'Quidditch Monthly!' proclaimed the paper. 'Keep Up-to-Date!' He already had a subscription to that magazine.

"Take care," called the chair. "I'll see you again sometime!"

The college student shuddered. "I hope not." He did not notice the brown paper advertisement. 'Ministry Armed Enforcement! Now Recruiting Broom Aviators and Battle Magicians! Sign Up to Protect the Wizarding World!'

******************

Draco found himself pacing the streets of Carysaen, hands thrust in pockets. There was no strict rule for robes at DCU, thank God. But for some reason he could not quite being himself to be happy about being able to wear his Armani just then. Hesper. Hesper Malfoy. Wherever did she come from? He thought she was in America, visa cut off. A sort of modern banishment. It was impossible. It had to be. An imposter, perhaps. A madwoman?

He hoped it really wasn't her.

Draco crashed into someone. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Wasn't looking."

"It's all right," said an American accent. Oh God.

Draco looked up into silver eyes. Just like his own. And hanging black hair. Black hair...

"You." Draco's eyes turned a darker grey. "You. Stay away from Ginny Weasley."

She regarded him with amused eyes. "I came back," she whispered. "I came back from where all of you stowed me away, ashamed. Your Dumbledore's more a fool than I thought."

Draco narrowed his eyes--now black. "Dumbledore? Dumbledore brought you back?"

"Yes," she hissed. "Albus Dumbledore. Headmaster of Hogwarts." She smiled suddenly, straightening, bright-eyed. "I think it's about time. Don't you? It's time for me to have my own little uprising. How about you?"

"You," he said with utter tranquility, sounding infinitely calmer than he felt. But then again, that was how he was. "Fucking bitch." Her long hair hung over her face. A faceless girl. A faceless fear.

"No need to call names," she said derisively. "'Stay away from Ginny Weasley,' what kind of a proper Malfoy threat is that? She's my roommate, did you get that through your blond skull? I don't associate with riff-raff anyway, the kind you hang out with."

"Me?" Draco raised his eyebrows mockingly, placing a hand over his heart. "I'm hurt, I really am. But I'm rather surprised. You aren't blond precisely because of the 'riff-raff' that your mother--"

"Don't speak ill of my mother," Hesper snapped. "Her ancestry is better than yours. And so were her friends."

"Who all died in prison with her," noted Draco with a subtle raise of his eyebrows.

"Not all," she said with an ironic smile. "Some were martyrs for the cause you betrayed."

"Betrayed?" Draco scoffed. "True Malfoys don't get so sentimental, bastard girl."

Her grey eyes glittered, as silver as ever even though Draco's were now midnight black. "I won't touch your Ginny. Or your Hermione. Or even Harry Potter." A long, pale finger poked him in the solar plexus. "But you. You traitor. I don't think you'll leave unscathed. The Dark Forces are gathering with me in the center and I'll bring all the wizarding world to its knees." She sounded bitter.

"Bitch," said Draco. "That's all you are. An ambitious bitch. And I should think security's tight about you."

"Oh," said Hesper Malfoy with a tinge of incredulity. "You put your faith in the Ministry?"

"No," said Draco in measured tones. "But others are watching. Other, powerful wizards. And I am watching you."

"Watch me all you like," said Hesper. "But you shouldn't really be. After all. I wasn't the one who asked to be here."

She shouldered him as she passed by. Draco was scared. Very scared. Hesper paused in midstep. "Oh," she said, in the tone of one recalling something. "I forgot. I'll see you at the assembly."

******************

Harry stepped onto Troy Avenue, only to find Draco looking a bit dead. Only he was standing.

"Why, hello, Draco," said Harry pleasantly.

"Hello," returned Draco listlessly.

Something was definitely wrong.

"What's the matter with you?"

"Americans."

"Huh?"

"Americans," he repeated, looking up into the sky. "I hate Americans."

"Does that include Natalie Portman?" Harry quipped.

"Actually, yes. She's all funny eyebrows."

"No she isn't."
"Do you want me to tell Hermione about this conversation?"

"OK, she is. But there's nothing wrong with people who have funny eyebrows. I think your eyebrows are rather funny myself."

Draco just looked at him. Finally, "Your effort at humor is endearing, but rather distressing."

"Earth to Draco! What the hell is the matter with you?"

"Nothing, really," said Draco, still looking a bit dead (and he was still standing). "Just some bloody American, coming and ruining my day. Not that it was wonderful. It was much better than it is right now. Which either means that God has a sense of humor no one appreciates, or ever will appreciate, or that Satan has been replaced by a particularly malicious American."

"Alright," said Harry, losing his patience. "Where's Ginny? I really need to learn that sobrietus charm."

"I'm not drunk!" protested Draco, as Harry dragged him up the Avenue.

"You might as well be!"

"If I'm drunk on anything, it's misery and hemlock!"

"Shut-up. Ginny can also do a hell of a Cheering Charm."

******************

Eight charms later, Ginny and Hermione helped Harry drag his stepbrother to the Welcoming Ceremony. The Ceremony was actually originally called the Summer's End Sacrifice, but sacrifices had ceased about five hundred years ago. Two years ago, they had ceased to call it the Summer's End Sacrifice.

The Welcoming Ceremony (dubbed by the first senior class in all of wizarding Britain as the Bloody Altar, a joke on incoming freshmen that the professors all frowned upon in public and encouraged in secret) took place in the Druid Grove. The tall oaks towered over the ninety-nine new freshmen and the 297 other students. Druid College was very particular about holy numbers. Whenever a student left (only twice, once in 1996, another only last year) they hastened to fill the gap within forty-eight hours.

The dress code for this assembly was wizarding robes (but the archaic heavy black kind), so the college students stood uncomfortably in robes reminiscent of the Grim Reaper, cowls over faces, heads bowed.

Dean Valerian, in like attire, stood at the center of the Grove that was reminiscent of Stonehenge.

"We are here today to welcome the freshman class," he intoned solemnly. "Standard magical education is seven years at a school. We are here to develop your skills further. You can cope with the world so far, but do you know your purpose?"

Hermione stood among the other sophomores, resisting the urge to lean against Harry. This was a ceremony, and she should not break the solemnity of the occasion.

Meanwhile, Draco searched the cowls of the freshman class, trying to figure out just where Hesper Malfoy was.

Harry yawned behind his hood, refraining from scratching at a mosquito bite on his wrist. So many bloody insects this time of year. Especially in Druid groves.

The student body murmured a chant that was half song, half spell to start the new school year. It was an ancient song, once sung by initiates in Wales.

With the conclusion of the song-spell, the wizards and witches threw back their hoods, revealing faces for the first time during the ceremony. Hesper's face was apparent with her pale skin and unnerving grey eyes. Long black hair flowed down her shoulders.

Draco's brow knitted with distaste, but no one but Hesper noticed. She smiled and winked.

"Hey," said Harry, nudging Draco. "Doesn't she sort of look like Rhysenn?"

Draco turned even paler. "Now that you mention it," he said. "Isn't that something."

"I'm pretty sure that's not Rhysenn though," continued Harry. "Too young. Are you OK, Malfoy?" he asked, noticing Draco's expression.

"I'm fine," he snapped.

"I was just--"

Hermione glared at the two. "Shh..."

"Albus Dumbledore will be staying here for a while," said Valerian. "Please welcome him to DCU. Most of you know him as the headmaster of Hogwarts, some know him as the greatest wizard of the century."

The student body clapped, the freshmen uncertain about this modern gesture in an ancient Druid Grove.

Dumbledore stood and bowed, but did not say anything.

Valerian continued. "It is my pleasure to welcome the freshman class of 2003. And to inform you about the classes that have been discontinued, and the new classes this year." He cleared his throat. "Spellweaving has been discontinued because Professor Athana Ruskin has decided to take a post in Australia. Magical Mythology has also been discontinued, but only for the first semester. Magical Computers with Professor Sutra Raymond has been opened this year, but it will only be available to seniors until next year because this is a developing study and we don't have enough computers to go around. Dragons with Professor Charles Weasley will also be taught, but will be open to all classes.

"Painting, due to its popularity last year, will continue." A cheer from the artists that were beloved of Muggle technique. Dumbledore smiled. "Sculpture has been opened also, since so many people asked for it." Another cheer.

"Wow, they're really expanding," murmured Hermione to Harry. Harry,

"That's pretty much it. Your rooms have been assigned, and you will find your schedules waiting for you in your rooms. Thank you."

The assemblage drained out of the grove as if someone pulled the plug out of the sink. Ginny appeared at Hermione's elbow, red hair reflecting the soft moonlight and giving her a bit of a halo that disappated as she moved away.

"Hey Ginny," said Hermione with a grin. "How do you like DCU so far?"

She smiled absently, her thoughts somewhere else. "It's not bad."

"How about a quick midnight snack at Mer de les Licornes?" offered Hermione, the only one able to pronounce the long French name without grimacing.

"Licornes is fine," said Harry, kissing her gently. "Ron?"

The red-haired young man nodded. "That's fine."

"Ginny?"

"Why not?"

"Malfoy?" queried Harry. No answer. Harry looked up. "Draco?"

Draco was gone.

Hermione tugged at Harry's sleeve. "He's fine," she said gently. "Don't worry about him. He has his reasons."

"Yes, but are they good ones?" asked Ron pointedly.

"Let's go," said Harry, choosing to ignore Ron's customary gripe about his stepbrother. "I bet dozens of other students have the same idea as we do."

******************

Lindskold Hall was a jovial-looking brick building, a relatively new one compared to the others on the campus. It had been built in 1749.

It seemed wrong that Hesper lived here. She seemed more of the sinister castle type of person.

Draco stood outside of the building. Hesper had entered about half a minute before. He clenched his jaw against the feeling of darkness assailing light. "Don't be ridiculous," he told himself, and plunged into the building.

Lindskold was lit with cheery sconces. Draco closed his eyes, using a Magid sense of direction to find where Hesper had gone. Since she had been here less than a minute ago, it was not difficult.

He went up the stairs.

******************

Draco Malfoy found himself in a brightly lit room. It was divided into two sides, with two beds. One bed had a bright green spread with pink and yellow daisies. The other was plain black with a border of intertwined dark green M's. It was pretty obvious which one was Hesper's, and which one was Ginny's. The sound of Hesper brushing her teeth drifted from the bathroom.

Hesper's side of the room had a computer on a Muggle-made desk and a great many knick knacks that mostly had to do with silver roses, emerald snakes, and ivory skulls. She also had three bookshelves. The wardrobe was the same battered one as Ginny's however, the one that came with the room and stayed with the room.

Ginny's side had a desk made by a wizarding company, and magical pictures of family and friends. There were two that had him. In one, taken perforce somewhere he did not remember, he was scowling as Harry waved half-heartedly. In another, taken at Harry's seventeenth birthday, he was smiling with pretty much everyone else. He noted that Seamus was in at least ten photos. Draco resolved to overcome his hate of cameras.

The room was like yin and yang, dark and light. Hate and love. Hesper's three bookshelves (portable Insta-shelves, sold on Diagon Alley, five galleons apiece) on her side of the room were laden with tomes and grimoires... and paperbacks. Draco selected one, curious. The tattered cover was disfigured beyond recognition. He opened it to the title page. Then he nearly choked with laughter.

Star Wars: The Thrawn Trilogy: Heir to the Empire by Timothy Zahn. This was too much. It also helped along his self-esteem immensely. Not that he was a closet Star Wars fan, but because Hesper now seemed a little more... ridiculous? Human? He never got to finish his thought.

So absorbed was he in trying not to laugh, Draco did not notice when she came out of the bathroom, arms crossed.

"Breaking and entering?"

He looked up to see her dressed in loose black pajamas with patterns of silver roses embroidered at the hems. Her black hair was gathered in one long braid. "Pretty much, yeah," he said. Then Draco waved the Star Wars book at her. "Nice reading material. I see your hatred of Muggles doesn't extend to Timothy Chan."

"I use it for study," said Hesper her words enunciated with extra care. "And it's Timothy Zahn. He's actually quite interesting."

"Sure," said Draco, tossing the book on her bed.

"You didn't come to read Star Wars books," said Hesper, arms still crossed. "That's obvious by your irreverence to one of the best books in the world.

Biting off a remark about the best books in the world and the obvious degeneration of Americans, Draco said quite frankly, "I want to know exactly what you're doing here."

She laughed mirthlessly. "I'm majoring in the Magical Theory with an emphasis in computer bewitchment."

Their identical silver eyes met. "What are you doing here?" Draco repeated, his voice going dangerously soft.

"I already told you," she said with equal menace. "And if you don't believe me, I really don't care." The cousins continued staring at each other.

The noise of drunken students on the stairs interrupted the summer night.

"Best go," she said in her deceptively soft voice.

Draco stared at her with an unreadable expression, wondering if he would have to kill her. He had done so much already. He couldn't let her just go, and allow another viper's nest to hatch.

"Later then," he said finally, leaving the room of contrasts. Yes. Later.