The Summoning of the Dragons

Chapter 4 "The Oracle"

Ron contemplated a moment after owling his sister. The date at the top of her scroll was yesterday afternoon ...

"That means I'm to meet Ginny TODAY in Hogsmeade!" he realized with a start. His watch said it was ten minutes past four. He grabbed his cloak from a peg by the door and left immediately, knowing Ginny would expect him for dinner the same time as family dinner at the Burrow. She had better not let Parvati tag along, he thought grumpily. And she'd better not stand me up. Harry and Hermione were already on his bad side for mid-day meal.

***

Ginny pulled a brush frantically through her golden red locks and looked over at Parvati Patil, who was laying on her stomach on the bed across the room, leafing through the Daily Prophet. Like the Divination classroom at Hogwarts, the Promethean Academy's dormitory and classrooms were rather dark and posh. Parvati's duvet was violet and velvet, her robe the finest Indian silk, her closet overflowing with Abercrombie and Witch and other fashionable magic wear.

Ginny still preferred her bedspread from the Burrow, a thinning winter-white floral with pink camellias and bright green ferns. She also frequented vintage shops in Hogsmeade. At first she shopped those places because her family could only afford second-hand clothes. Now she did it as an act of defiance and, simultaneously, proud acceptance of her family's position. As a budding Diviner, Ginny paid her own way through school with odd jobs like predicting the weather for Quidditch matches at rival schools so teams could prepare ahead of time for the conditions. She could spend it on clothes, but Ginny considered it frivolous. She preferred to save.

"Ginny, have you got a starlighter pen? I left mine in the library," Parvati questioned, twirling her hair.

"Sure Parvati, it's right there in my drawer."

Parvati looked at her and sighed.

"I'm on my way out the door, Parvati -- if you want it you're welcome to it but you'll have to get it yourself!"

Parvati was accustomed to house elves catering to her every whim at home and sometimes she failed to remember Ginny was not her dasa. Ginny watched as Parvati dragged herself lazily from the bed and reached into the desk drawer. She shuffled through some papers, looking for the starlighter.

"Accio shoes!" Ginny called, and one black boot zoomed into her hand from behind the wardrobe door, another arched up from under her bed. She put them on, grabbed her green bag and started for the door.

Parvati couldn't find the starlighter. But a scroll in scarlet ink caught her eye ...

"GINNY WEASLEY! You didn't tell me you were going to see Ron - are you going today? Are you going right now? Ginny! GINNY!" But all Parvati saw was Ginny's backside as she ponced off out the door, giggling a little, pulling on her golden cloak as she went.

She strolled down the Promethean Hall of Estimation, adorned with exquisite paintings of famous diviners through the centuries. Some sat primly on plush purple pillows, gazing into their crystal balls. Nostradamus ran in and out of his painting as if chased by demons. He was quite mad in the end, of course. And there, at the very end of the hall near the corner ...

"Delphia - I'm so glad you are in. I need your help."

***

Until Harry asked about Declan, Draco had handled the confrontation like a Malfoy; cool and confident. But he nearly fell from his perch on the banister when Harry missed the Declan reference. He was silent, processing the fact that Hermione had decidedly not told Harry about Declan's plans to kill him and ...

"Tell me. Who is Declan Malfoy?" Harry demanded, his anger not replaced by curiosity as Draco had hoped. Why was talking to Potter always so bloody difficult? Behind them, the banister spiraled and wound its way from the highest tower at McGregors to the bottommost dungeon. The edge was precariously close. Draco did not pause. "He's my brother."

Harry dropped back. "You don't have a brother."

Draco ignored him. "My twin in fact. He went to Durmstrang at my father's insistence. He always was father's favorite son" -- Draco spoke with no emotion -- " and father wanted the very best education in Europe for him. He's quite corrupt."

"Your father or your brother?" Harry asked.

"Both, actually, but father is dead. You played no small part in that, Potter, and thus Declan's plan for revenge was born. He hated you and everything you stood for. Now he'll probably kill you, you bloody idiot."

Draco paused and ogled Harry's slightly stunned expression for a moment. Then he seized the opportunity. "My turn to ask a question, Potter; why the hell did you come here to talk to me if you are a complete ignoramus and know nothing about evil plots brewing right under your unforgivably pugged nose?"

Harry's hand flew to his nose on instinct, then he realized Draco was baiting him. And he'd bitten. "Sod off Malfoy. I didn't kill your father. And this brother of yours, if he exists, sounds like a real winner, a real ... nancy, actually." He pulled a deadball Snitch from his pocket and bounced it idly. "Say, does this stone floor bring back memories?"

"Arsehole."

"Git. Remember when Ron was the Super Bouncing Ferret Boy for Halloween Ball sixth year -- "

"POTTER. MALFOY. If this is a private conversation, please take it somewhere private." Harry was interrupted by a tall, stern witch who knew both young men quite well. Minerva McGonagall left Hogwarts after The Dark War to take up a position as Headmistress at McGregors where she ruled with much the same seriousness as she had in her days under Dumbledore. She had loved her position at Hogwarts, but could not pass up the opportunity to sit at the top position at such a prestigious institution as McGregors. The new Minister of Magic specially requested her.

"Minerva, the wizarding world needs you at McGregors," he had said, and she had packed her things and moved farther north. Now McGregors was home, and she reveled in her position, quickly guiding college operations so they were as fine-tuned as Scottish parlour pipes. She retained her staid demeanor, although she was known to flirt with the school mascot at Quidditch games when he tempted her. She often wound up doing the macarena or electric slide on the field at halftime.

Draco and Harry separated and Draco nodded briefly in the direction of the dormitories. Harry followed him wordlessly, wondering at last what Draco was on about with the talk of death and bloody brothers.

All was about to be explained. But they were not heading to Draco's dormitory. They were going to Hermione's.

***

Ginny had only a moment before she needed to make her portkey to Hogsmeade, but she had to talk to Delphia first.

"Del, I'm so grateful you're here. I have to go meet my brother, but I have a question. Dear Delphia, will you help me?"

"Help I cannot promise. But I will answer you," the portrait girl intoned; her long, straight blond hair immaculate, hands in her lap, her eyes pools of wisdom, beautiful in their sorrow and light grey like a clear morning. She was no older than 20, encased in the portrait, a ghost of her former self.

Ginny looked relieved. "Many thanks, wise one." She curtseyed, then her tone changed from formal to friendly. "My brother Ron said Harry Potter's been having dreams, waking up sweating and talking in his sleep about dragons. What is the symbology of dragons, Del? Ron says at times Harry ... he appears to be having conversations with them. Talking to dragons. Does that mean anything to you?"

Delphia's face showed no surprise. "He is hunted," she said simply. "Preyed upon by the Imperial Dragons of the East.

"They are coming."

Ginny stared, perplexed. Who is hunting Harry? she wondered. Why would anyone hunt Harry now?

But the portrait girl had tired, and gone to her velvet sofa and lain down.

Ginny felt a sudden flood of apprehension, and knew a vision was tugging at her subconcious, but she had no time right now. She pushed down the calling and rushed off to catch her portkey.

***

Hermione decided to work on her Arithmancy homework first to take her mind off her spat with Harry. Her desk faced the wall, where Harry's picture sat propped against a stack of books. He smiled demurely and raised his hand in greeting. She took off her silver-rimmed reading glasses and rubbed her eyes. The outside light was starting to dim already. In autumn in the Scottish highlands dusk often fell early. Hermione shivered. Maybe it was time to take that hot bath.

At that moment Crookshanks jumped onto her scroll and arched his back. "What's the matter sweetheart?" she asked, and tried to console her pet. But Crookshanks leapt away and spat.

"Crookshanks! Honestly! Whatever has gotten into you today?" At that moment Hermione felt rather than heard a soft chilling wind behind her. She froze.

"Well, well, well. Hello Hermione. You should really lock your door -- an unwelcome visitor could waltz in any time." Hermione suddenly released the tension in her shoulders and turned around, annoyed.

"Draco, what do you think you are doing sneaking up on me like that?" She rolled up her homework scroll. "You almost scared Crookshanks half to death." Hermione didn't like to show weakness in front of Draco. Regardless of the fact that she had apparently earned his respect, he always acted as if he were doing her a favor even when asking her for help. That was Draco. She sarcastically referred to it as "Malfoian charm" in her mind.

When she tried to remember the moment she gained his trust, she failed. With Draco it was a gradual phenomena, happening in small, defensive steps since he turned up in her summer Potions tutorial. At first Draco was defiant and subdued, never supporting her theorems or experiments, instead preferring to find the one distant possibility that would undo her work, no matter how unlikely:

"And so, when the infusion of wormwood is added at the fifteenth hour tonight, our Shrouding Serum will do what?" Hermione had asked in a class just before midsummer.

Silence.

"Anyone? Carly? Draco?"

Carly, a freshman, spoke up uncertainly. "It ... solidifies?"

"Correct. Now ..."

"No it doesn't." Draco had decided to participate after all.

"Excuse me?"

"If you add that infusion of wormwood tonight you had better have a mop handy. It has to be on the full moon -"

"It is a full moon."

Draco continued as if he hadn't heard her. " - when the barometric pressure is below 40 percent or the experiment will fail."

Hermione walked to the desk to consult her text. "Oh, you won't find that in your book," Draco pointed out smugly. "It is something one can only learn from experience. I see you have none."

Nothing fueled Hermione's desire like a challenge. Draco had provided her one, and as always, she rose to the occasion. Eventually, Draco started losing arguments. She proved to him that Tantaline Tea was not used only by house elves to wash windows, but actually served a multitude of functions including short-term memory enhancer. Somewhere midsummer, they continued a discussion over lunch. Then it happened again the next day. Then it became habit.

It was a week before term started when things changed. Draco had been home for a long weekend before exams and came back subdued. Harry, Ron and the rest of the upperclassmen were due back in three days. He and Hermione were enjoying one of their last meals together alone. She sensed Draco was distracted, but waited for him to reveal whatever it was. She filled the silence with chit-chat.

"I can't believe Harry didn't sign up for Potions this semester; it's definitely his weakest subject and I would be there to help him out. I'll bet he regrets it when he sees the Potions Pre-RHAT. I took it as a sophomore and it was -"

"Granger, Potter didn't take Potions precisely because you are the TA. For someone who fancies herself a bright girl, you are appallingly naïve." Draco sipped his coffee.

Hermione refused to make this exchange enjoyable for him, and had learned how to avoid his linguistic traps. She waited silently for him to continue.

"He doesn't want to be with you."

Oh sod it. She nibbled at his carrot. "Why wouldn't Harry want to be with me? Do tell, since you know so very much about my relationships."

Inwardly Draco smirked. Perhaps outwardly, too. He said, "Because he wouldn't want you lording your superiority over him. He pretends to admire your intelligence, but secretly he wants you to bleach your hair, bat your lashes and play dumb for him. He has a hero complex.That's Potter."

"No he doesn't."

"Yes he does." Draco took another dreg, leaned back in his chair, and waited for her argument. Relishing it. Wanting it.

But this was Hermione's home turf. Draco might have beat her in debates about Shrouding Serums and even the ingredients in a Mai Tai (he INSISTED they were green when mixed properly and convinced her that pink Mai Tais were imprecise, Muggleistic concoctions). But love she knew something about.

She leaned forward and searched his face. "Draco, have you ever had a girlfriend?"

"Multitudes."

"Have you ever had just one girlfriend at one time for more than a week?"

He sniffed. "I have a 24-hour expiration date on monotonous relationships."

"You mean monogamous."

"Whatever."

"Well, Harry thinks of me differently. He's proud of me. He told me about the TA position last year and encouraged me to apply. He wrote a letter of recommendation for me. Harry isn't jealous of my success. He likes it." Draco looked at Hermione as if she were a simpleton, or a poor lost little kitten.

At that moment, a white owl dropped to Hermione's side bearing a scroll. It was from Harry.

"Hermione, I owled the registrar about adding Potions, but the class is full. All those ickle freshmen boys must have heard who the new TA is going to be. I'll be at the station Sunday with Ron.

Miss you,

Harry."

Hermione felt so justified she planned to let Draco win, but he had another thing to discuss with her.

He had watched her face as she unrolled the scroll and could tell immediately it was from Potter. Draco couldn't know precisley what it said, but it didn't matter. The adoration showed all over her face. She glowed.

It was true that Draco hadn't ever had a girlfriend for any period of time, but there was something else he had never had until this summer. Hermione had become his very first friend, as much to his surprise as anyone's. He had never named it before, but the feelings were imprinted in his heart. And there was something he needed to tell her.

Before it was too late, he revealed to her a secret plan that day, and a brother, and a potion. Hermione had listened at first with disbelief; then horror; then, finally, resolve. Draco had laid out a plan and she agreed to follow him.

Now, today, Harry had picked this time to be a prat, just as she was ready to reveal everything to him. She wanted to talk to someone about it. She wanted to talk to Draco. As if he read her mind, here he was, in her room.

"Draco, did Harry find you? He said he was going to look for you earlier today. I tried to talk to him before midday meal, I really did, but he wouldn't listen."

The blonde wizard started to walk slowly across the room towards her.

Hermione busied herself putting away things on her desk. "Sometimes I wonder if you are right and he isn't a huge prat," she giggled tiredly, "but at least he didn't go off half-cocked like I figured he would and try to find you. Challenge you to a duel or something. He can be such a dork."

"No. Harry Potter has not sought me out. Yet." His steps were soft and deliberate. Hermione turned around to find herself face to face with him.

He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. His fingers felt like icicles melting into the warmth of her face. "Such a plain girl. Clearly you must have valuable attributes besides beauty to be so important to Harry Potter. What those could be, I can't imagine."

A powerful wave of nausea suddenly flooded Hermione's body. The back of her throat burned with the realization ...

"Declan Malfoy. It's you."