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'I wonder what she could want,' Hermione says for what feels like the twentieth time as she and Harry trudge up the path towards the Hogwarts gates with Ron stumbling along behind them. The early morning dew soaks into the cuffs of Harry's jeans and through his trainers, making his feet cold and damp.

'I have no idea, Hermione,' Harry responds once again. 'She didn't say what she needed, just that it was urgent.'

'But it's just so strange, isn't it?' she asks, not even looking at Harry as her pace quickens.

She sounds put out and Harry knows that it is not the inconvenience of travelling the length of the country at half past seven on a Tuesday morning that has made her so. No, Hermione is put out because there is something that she doesn't know. It doesn't seem to matter that they are less than ten minutes from discovering the meaning of McGonagall's cryptic note, at this precise moment, she doesn't know and that is all there is to it.

Harry, on the other hand, thinks he's probably better off not knowing.  Summons from the head teacher of Hogwarts have seldom resulted in anything but complications.

'I know what the note said,' Hermione begins again, 'but are you sure you can't think of anything McGonagall would want to talk to you about? Maybe something she said after the battle?’ 

Harry grits his teeth and shakes his head, not trusting himself to answer aloud.

They walk in silence for a few minutes and Harry tries to let his irritation ebb away, breathing deeply and tasting the air. Summer has arrived at last, bringing with it a sweet, heavy humidity, but up here, the imposing mountains and the fresh breeze over the lake mean that it isn't as stifling as it has been down in Devon. The early morning sun filters through the trees and the low hanging mist, creating shafts of golden light as they make their way along the path towards the castle and, for a moment, Harry is able to forget everything that has happened and just enjoy being back in his first proper home.

Finally, they round the corner and the wide, sloping lawns stretch out before them, and Harry's contentment vanishes as the turrets and parapets of Hogwarts come into view. It looks so much worse than he remembers. Even from this distance he can see the hole in the roof of the north tower and it looks like part of the west wing of the castle is close to collapse. As they get closer, he can see the charred and splintered wood and piles of broken glass and rubble that litter the grass.

Even as he watches, however, a small group of people emerge from the castle and begin piecing back together a large stained glass window.  The pieces flash and glitter in the sun as they fly back into their frame like some elaborate jigsaw puzzle and Harry feels heartened. It's going to take time, but Hogwarts will be alright again; they will all be alright again.

As they pass the group, he recognises the familiar face of Oliver Wood who smiles and nods at him as he levitates a particularly large piece of glass.  Harry waves back and makes his way up the stone steps.

They walk through the great oak front doors and are met with the smell of bacon and coffee and freshly baked bread, and they watch as little knots of witches and wizards emerge from the hall, take small slips of paper from McGonagall and disappear off into the castle, chattering happily. 

The professor looks older than the last time Harry remembers seeing her, and he has no doubt that the rebuilding of the castle is taking its toll. Despite that, she smiles warmly when she catches sight of them and even reaches out to squeeze Harry's shoulder in an uncharacteristic show of affection.

'You're here,' McGonagall states, sounding relieved.  'At last, I may be able to use my office again, unhindered. Just go straight up to the head’s office; they're waiting for you.  The password is Ginger Newt. I'm afraid I have to remain here. There is so much still to do,' she says and then turns towards the next group.  'You're up in the north tower today, Hestia,' she says, handing over a small slip of paper to a witch Harry remembers from Order meetings and the kitchen of number four, Privet Drive, and who smiles broadly at Harry before rejoining her group and chivvying them in the direction of Trelawney's tower. 

**~*~**

'Ah, Harry, here you are. I'm very happy to see you again, and looking so well.'  The familiar voice strikes Harry somewhere raw and painful the moment they enter the office and he looks up into the twinkling blue eyes of Dumbledore.  'Miss Granger, Mr Weasley; I am delighted you have chosen to come along, too. '

'Professor,' he greets, tone wary. If it's Dumbledore who has requested this meeting, the chances of this being good news are very slim indeed.

'I think perhaps I had better let Severus explain; he is, after all, the one who discovered this current situation,' Dumbledore suggests, and Harry thinks he sounds sad.

A weary sigh issues from behind Harry and he turns, surprised, to see the portrait of Snape leaning against the wall. 

'If I must,' Snape agrees before turning his baleful gaze on Harry. 'You may as well sit down, Potter, this is bound to take some time; after all, we can't expect someone of your intellect to follow straight away.'

Harry prickles at the insult, but takes a seat anyway. He supposes it must be pretty dull being a portrait and one has to find their entertainment where they can.

'It is about the Horcruxes,' Snape says, his tone bored as though he has talked about them a hundred times before.

'We destroyed them all,' Harry interrupts, just for the pleasure of irritating Snape when there is nothing he can do about it.  If he thinks about it, it's a little pathetic for him to be exacting his revenge upon a portrait, so he decides not to think about it and instead just enjoys the exasperated scowl that replaces the bored expression.

'Please don't interrupt, Potter,' Snape responds, covering his momentary irritation, 'I should like to get this finished before my canvas turns to dust. And besides, you are, as usual, incorrect; you have not destroyed them all.'

Harry jumps to his feet, panic and fear flooding his veins as he stares around him like an animal caught in a trap; if they haven't destroyed them all then Riddle is still out there somewhere… could he be nearby? Could he already be threatening everything that they have fought so hard to protect?

'Do calm down, Mr Potter,' Snape says with disdain. 'The Dark Lord is not going to burst through the door; you can sit and hear what I have to say.'

Reluctantly, Harry lowers himself back into his chair, but this time he perches on the edge.  It's only been a month since this feeling had fallen away and now it's back.  Every muscle is tense. He is aware of every sound, every movement. He is ready to fight at a moment's notice.

'If that is the best approximation of calm you can manage, I suppose it will have to do,' Snape sighs. 'Now, what I was going to tell you was this,' he continues. 'Shortly after his re-birth, the Dark Lord became aware that his prize possessions, his Horcruxes, were in danger. Lucius Malfoy had told him of what had happened to the diary that had been left in his care, that it had been destroyed and that Dumbledore was aware of it.  He knew then that it would only be a matter of time before his secret was uncovered, but he also knew that, if Dumbledore followed the breadcrumbs, it would lead him to seven Horcruxes.  Horcruxes that could be discovered through careful investigation of his life.

'His solution was disappointingly predictable. He would make more; he would bring the number of Horcruxes up to thirteen, and this time he would hide them more carefully, not with people, who were fallible, but in places of great magical significance.'

'Do you know where?' Harry asks resignedly because he knows where this is going. They are going back on the hunt, or at least he is. He can't ask Ron and Hermione to continue to put their lives on hold even if secretly he hopes that they will offer.

'I'm afraid I do not.  All we know is that he has attempted to use locations where the magic has endured for centuries, though there is a chance that we can still access that information. I do know that he kept a record, left in the care of several Death Eaters and primarily Bellatrix Lestrange, in the hope that, should he fail, there would be someone who was willing to bring him back to life.'

'But Bellatrix is dead... were we able to recover the book?' Hermione asks eagerly, seeming to forget her first point.

Harry has to bite down on a smile as he waits hopefully for Snape's answer. No matter what happens, Hermione is with him and as a result the chance of finding these things has already improved significantly. Still, if there is a record of the locations, at least they won't have to figure out where these Horcruxes are hidden, it will just be a case of retrieving them and destroying them.

Just , he thinks bitterly.

'The book went missing not long after it was placed in Bellatrix's care, Miss Granger. From what I was able to surmise, she believes it was stolen, though this was never mentioned to the Dark Lord.  I believe some feared his retribution, should the absence of the book become known. That said, the one who took it will have been close to the Dark Lord, as only those who bear his mark would have had the means to retrieve it.'

'So they don't have it either,' Ron asks, sounding hopeful.

Despite everything, Harry smiles. He left behind the delusion that people were fighting, were dying, for him quite some time ago. The fact remains, though, that they aren't bound to help, but then, he supposes, neither is he.  Before, when he was a Horcrux, his fate was linked with Riddle's. As the prophecy said, neither could live while the other survived and that still rings true, though perhaps not as literally as before. He knows he will not be able to move on with his life while he knows that Riddle can return, but realistically, the events of the prophecy have played themselves out. This is something new and he could theoretically pass the responsibility to someone else. Not that he ever would, not until every possible chance of Riddle's return has been extinguished.

'They do not, but I do not doubt that they will be looking anyway. With a Horcrux in hand, they will be able to find their master. They will not want to risk not looking in case another should find him, should help him to rise again; they know now what will happen should they fail to seek their master.'

'I'm afraid you already know what I must ask of you, Harry,' Dumbledore says from behind him.

'I do, Sir,' Harry replies, turning to look at Dumbledore. 'Don't worry, we'll find them.'

'Believe me when I say, Harry, that I would ask others if I could, but your experience is our best hope of getting this done quickly and quietly. Those followers of Riddle who have as yet evaded capture need to believe that they alone are looking for these items. If they believe this, they will take their time, they will lie low and give you the chance to destroy them before they even begin to look.'

'Is he still out there?' Ron asks with a frown. 'Before, when he was gone, he was just without his body, he was in – was it Albania? Living off rats and stuff? Do we need to find that bit, too?'

'He will be out there somewhere, but at the moment he is too weak to do anything. Within the year, though, he will regain enough strength to be able to possess others again,' Dumbledore explains, 'at which point we will need to reconsider the plan. If, however, you can destroy them all before this point, then Voldemort's spirit, wherever it is, will no longer be anchored to this world, and all his work will be for nothing; he will have no choice but to move on to the next.’

'I think we should go back to Grimmauld Place, work from there,' Hermione suggests. 'After all, it's still a safe place, there are still lots of protective enchantments on it and besides, they won't be hunting us like before. Also, it's got a really impressive library, and we can tell people that we're helping you to do it up, so they won't wonder what we're doing there.'

'An excellent suggestion, Miss Granger.' Dumbledore smiles at them. 'Good luck, and if we come across any further information, we will send it your way.'

First of December – Sunrise

Harry moves across the kitchen on tiptoes in an attempt to allow as little of his bare feet to come into contact with the icy cold quarry tiles as possible whilst going through the familiar motions of making tea. He could, of course, light the fire and shut the window that has been left open for Crookshanks to come and go through, but if he does that he will no longer be able to hear the chirping of the first birds as they wake to greet the sun and the house will be plunged back into the oppressive silence that he loathes. Besides, truth be told, he likes the way the icy air feels against his face; it makes him feel alive.

He reaches for a cup and is given another forceful reminder of this as pain flares in his ribs, almost causing him to drop it.  He had been too tired when they had returned last night to do anything other than change into dry clothes and fall into bed, but when lifting the kettle shows itself to be a task that is almost beyond him, he thinks that may have been a little impetuous.  Carefully, he lifts the edge of his t-shirt and winces at the sight of the ugly purple and black bruise that has blossomed on his skin in the shape of a perfect horseshoe.

Scowling, he turns and banishes the notes, maps and sketches that litter the kitchen table. They're useless now, leading to nothing but another dead end.  The day before, they had all seemed so hopeful. Mermaids Pool in Derbyshire had seemed like a prime location for a Horcrux, with plenty of eerie local folklore and mysterious disappearances. From the moment they had arrived, though, Harry had suspected that it would prove fruitless. When they had Apparated in they had been a lot closer than Hermione had thought they would get and they hadn't been met with the tell-tale buffeting of anti-Apparition wards. They had looked out across the plateau by the late afternoon light and seen the pool laid out beneath them, its surface glowing pale gold in the sun, still and serene, and Harry had just known. The feel of the place was all wrong; it had all felt rather peaceful. Unfortunately, the only dark magic they had managed to uncover was a rather grumpy old kelpie with a fearsome kick.

Once again, they had retreated back to Grimmauld Place, tired and aching, to begin all over again with some new location. Just like they had after the Cait Sith on Skye and the Golem of Tullybrack. Harry sighs.  It is now exactly six months since they set out to find the new Horcruxes and they are no closer to destroying a single one. 

Reluctantly, Harry drags 'Ancient Sites of Britain and Ireland' towards him and flips to the index, running his finger down the yellowed page, just hoping a name will leap out at him. Alderley Edge, Altarnun Holy Well, Alton Barnes White Horse, Alton Priors, Arbor Low Stone Circle, he reads, considering each location without enthusiasm and then discarding it.

Tap, tap, tap.

Three knocks sound through the lower floors of the house and Harry looks up sharply, instinctively drawing his wand. There is someone knocking at the door of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. No one should be able to even see the door of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, let alone knock on it and Harry is immediately wary.  He scrapes back his chair and listens carefully for anything out of the ordinary. He can just about make out the sound of Ron's snores coming from two floors above and outside, the birds continue to twitter and chirp, but other than that, the house is quiet.

Tap, tap tap .

The knock comes again, louder this time, more insistent, and Harry edges his way out of the kitchen and down the hallway, past the large hole where Mrs Black's portrait used to reside, with his wand trained on the front door.

Silently, Harry spells the door transparent and almost drops his wand in surprise. Outside the sky is brightening, strips of cloud stained bright pink with the coming sun, and there on the doorstep is Draco Malfoy, looking straight at him.  He looks good, Harry thinks, certainly better than the last time. Admittedly he had been impeccably dressed as he had sat in the chair before the Wizengamot, but he had been thin. He's always been lithe, all sharp edges and angles, but back then his face had the hollow, sunken look of one who has been ill for a long time. He looks so much healthier now. His hair glints golden in the emerging sunlight and the cold has brought a slight pinkness to his pale skin. As always, he is perfectly put together, wearing a grey wool coat over dark coloured jeans and a pale blue scarf artfully arranged around his throat.  Harry glances down at his sleep-creased out fit of jogging bottoms and long sleeved t-shirt and feels like a slob.

He chews on his lip, unsure of what to do. Politeness insists that he answers the door; it's not as though Draco is a danger or anything like that.  Harry wouldn't have vouched for him if he were, but then again, there is a big difference between saving a person from Azkaban and inviting him in for a cup of tea.  He could, of course, just not open the door.

'I know you're there, Potter,' Draco says and Harry thinks he can detect a hint of irritation. He also has the feeling that Draco is looking straight at him, which is ridiculous. 'By the look on your face,’ Draco adds, ‘I can only assume you intended this to be a one-way transparency spell.'

Not that ridiculous after all. Harry sighs, just about managing to avoid closing his eyes with exasperation at his own stupidity. Defeated, he yanks open the door.

'What do you want, Draco?' he asks curiously, allowing his wand to hang loosely at his side.

'What do you think I want?' he asks, arching a pale eyebrow and withdrawing a slim leather book from the pocket of his coat. 'I'm here to help.'

**~*~**

Harry scrapes a generous helping of butter over the last piece of toast, adds it to the stack and carries the plate to the table.  Ron smothers a yawn and gives Draco a half-hearted glare as he accepts a cup of tea from Hermione, with a grumbled 'thanks.' He's still half asleep, they both are, but Hermione has always seemed to handle early mornings with slightly better humour than Ron and is now pouring and offering a cup of tea to a startled Draco with a slightly mistrustful expression on her face.

'Thank you, Granger,' Draco says seriously, as though Hermione has done something much grander than offer him a cup of tea, and he looks equally surprised when Harry nudges the plate of toast towards him with a muttered: 'help yourself.' He thinks he quite likes surprising Draco and he thinks it might be worth being nice to him just to see the look of confusion on his face.

Not that Harry is particularly averse to being nice to Draco these days, in fact, he's positively eager. After all, without Draco, there is no question that he would be dead right now. Even discounting his refusal to identify him to his psychotic aunt (and Harry knew that he had recognised him, he'd seen it in his eyes) there would still be the matter of the wands. Voldemort's Horcrux may have saved him the first time, but it was Draco who had saved him the second.  He hasn't told Hermione or Ron, but he knows that, at the last minute, Draco had pushed the hawthorn wand into his hand. He had risked his own life to help them escape, and that is the mark of someone that Harry would like to know better.

The kitchen is bright and warm now and a fire crackles in the grate as they sit around the scrubbed pine table in silence, crunching toast and drinking tea and taking it in turn to look at one another.  Eventually, Draco finishes his toast, brushes crumbs from his fingers and takes a deep breath, wrapping his hands tightly around his mug. Instinctively, Harry mirrors him, ignoring the sting of hot ceramic as he holds his breath, waiting for Draco to speak.

'So, I suppose you'd like an explanation,' Draco says, directing his words to his mug.

'It'd be nice,' Ron growls, and though Harry knows he probably didn't intend it, he can't help wincing slightly at the tone. He sees Draco stiffen and practically jumps to intervene.

'You said you wanted to help?' Harry encourages, trying to catch Draco's eye, to reassure him that they want to hear what he has to say.

'And you just let me in,' Draco says looking straight at Harry. 'I thought your hunt was supposed to be top-secret.'

'It was – is,' Harry corrects, stumbling over his words. 'So, how do you know about it and how did you know where to find us?'

Draco looks for a moment like wants to continue goading Harry, but a quick glance at the slim volume on the table in front of him and he seems to change his mind.

'I was informed of your location by the portrait of Professor Dumbledore; he believes I can be of some assistance to you.'

'Why?' Hermione asks, but Harry already knows why; he's suspected ever since he opened the door.

'You've got the book, haven't you?' Harry asks, allowing a little bubble of hope to expand in his chest.

Without a word, Draco slides the book into the centre of the table. Opposite Harry, Hermione twitches, as though she is having to fight the urge to reach out and snatch up the book.

'It was during the Easter holidays that I heard the Dark Lord speaking with my Aunt Bella and a few others of the contingency plan.  As you know, I had long since realised the mistake I had made by trusting in my father rather than Severus or Dumbledore, and I knew that if I were to have any chance of freedom, he would need to be stopped. Still, I knew it would be difficult to get my hands on the book. My opportunity came when my aunt, devoted and insane as she was, decided that if anyone was going to earn the Dark Lord’s eternal gratitude, it would be her and she removed the book. And then I stole it. I Transfigured it to look like a Malfoy History and hid it in the Manor's library.

'My aunt could not risk mentioning that it had gone missing, as she was responsible for removing it from the safe place, and as I understand it, when the others because aware of its absence, they vowed to recover it without mentioning it to the Dark Lord and my aunt just played along,' Draco finishes, all the while staring at the table and sipping his tea.

'So, what took you so long?' Ron asks accusingly and Harry winces again, beginning now to suspect that Ron’s harsh tone has been intentional all along. Draco, however, appears as calm as ever and Harry supposes that, compared to what he went through last year, Ron's sniping is nothing.

'I was unsure who to trust,' Draco admits. ‘I hoped I would be able to trust you,' he says, looking straight at Harry, 'but you proved to be rather difficult to track down without me telling people why I was looking for you. Anyway, a couple of days ago I was in the Three Broomsticks and I overheard McGonagall saying that she had been avoiding the head's office whenever she could just to escape Severus's snide comments. That was when I realised that Snape's portrait would be able to guide me and so I made an appointment to see McGonagall, and I was sent to you.'

'So this book contains all the locations?' Hermione asks and Harry can hear the tentative excitement in her voice.

'Yes, Draco confirms, 'though they appear to have been written in code. An ancient runic alphabet, though not one I'm familiar with.  I think I can translate it, given some time, but I'm going to need access to books of a more…' Draco pauses as though searching for the right word, 'dubious nature,' he says carefully. 'As you can imagine, the books I might have used have since been removed from the Manor's library, for obvious reasons.'

Harry doesn't try to hide the smile this time; Draco is offering his help and has brought with him the best chance they have of destroying the Horcruxes in time.

'Well, you can use the library here,' Harry says, getting up and stretching. 'We've been a little wary of it ever since I picked up a book on genealogy and it tried to drink my blood.’

'I suppose it won’t hurt,' Ron says, regarding Draco with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion, which is more than Harry had been expecting.

Harry refills the kettle and sets it to boil again. As he leans against the counter, listening to Ron’s somewhat theatrical retelling of last night's fruitless mission, an odd sort of warmth runs through his veins and he realises that for the first time in a long time he feels hopeful. Even the prospect of research doesn't seem nearly as daunting as it did half an hour ago, though they're definitely going to need more tea.

Second of December – A Slightly Charred Book

Hermione shifts from foot to foot as through she can't quite get comfortable and it’s not all that surprising; the library is always unnaturally cold, no matter how many fires they light. Right now, for example, Harry can see the flames dancing brightly in the grate but his breath still plumes in the chilly air.  Right now, however, he doesn't think the cold is the reason for Hermione's agitation. On the rare occasions she's ventured into the Black library, she has returned in a frustrated and restless state, though Harry can see by the dust on the floor that it's been some time since she last came to look and stare longingly at the many shelves of books. Books that she just can't use. 

It's been hard for her, Harry thinks, as he watches her edging further and further into the room whilst remaining behind Draco. Having so much research to do and having so many varied volumes so close at hand, but not being able to touch a single one of them because the books in this library aren't just dark because of the subjects they cover; no, the books themselves seem to have imbued themselves with the haughty superiority of the Blacks, and while some books will attack, others just refuse to allow themselves to be touched. It seems to have shaken Hermione's world slightly to have come into contact with a library that is really quite evil.

Draco just stands in the middle of the threadbare rug for a moment, looking around the room as though trying to get his bearings.  Harry and Ron, meanwhile, hang back in the doorway, unwilling to enter the malevolent library until Draco can assure them that none of the books will try to eat them this time. It's a shame, really, Harry thinks. The room is beautifully appointed with honey coloured wood and dark green leather. It would have been nice to be able to research in here, were it not for the persistent chill.

'You said there was a book,' Draco says and Harry drags himself from his admiration of the room to look at him.

'Which book?' Harry asks, unsure what Draco's talking about.

'A book on genealogy,' Draco explains. 'You said it drank your blood.'

Reluctantly, Harry enters the library, trying to make as little noise as possible; he is certain that something in this library doesn't like him and he really doesn't want to wake it up. 'It's over there,' he whispers, pointing to a small side table and rubbing at the phantom pain that shoots across the web of skin between the thumb and forefinger on his right hand.                              

Draco covers the distance in two easy strides.

'No, wait,' Harry hisses, realising what he is about to do, but too late, Draco has already snatched up the book. 'What are you doing?' Harry asks, feeling cross when Draco winces in pain. He'd told the idiot that the book bites and he'd just picked it up anyway.

A small curious smile crosses Draco's face as he looks at Harry and draws his wand. 'Sanguis crede,' he mutters, and for a moment the book seems to glow red and then it stops, and as it does so, Harry can feel the warmth from the fire against his back.

'What was that? he asks, as Draco draws his wand and heals the small cut on his hand.

'The library had gone into defence mode,' he explains. 'The book read your blood and it wasn't satisfied, though there must be some Black blood, otherwise the door would have probably sealed itself as well. I'm a more direct descendant, so it lifted the protective spells.  The books themselves will still be problematic, of course, but the room won't fight you any more.’

'It's a start,' Harry admits, dropping down into a chair by the fire and stretching his chilled toes towards the flames. 'So, where do we begin?'

**~*~**

'So, what sort of information do you think this book contains?' Hermione asks. She's sitting at one of the tables and looking longingly through the pages of the Horcrux book as though she is hoping that if she just stares at it hard enough, she'll be able to read it.

'I can't be certain,' Draco says as he moves among the shelves, pulling down a book every now and then. 'Though, from what I heard, it will tell you where to look and will give a clue as to what you might expect there.'

His sleeves are pushed up around his elbows and his pale hair falls elegantly across his face as he turns his head on the side to attempt to read the spine of a large volume bound in dark blue leather. Harry watches as he gives up trying to read the faded silver letters on the spine and pulls the book from the shelf, allowing it to fall open in his hand. He scowls slightly, draws his wand and raps it smartly against the open book before sliding it back onto the shelf and shaking his arm as though trying to recover from a nasty case of pins and needles.

'What was that?' Harry asks, curious.

'I had to freeze it,' Draco explains. 'It was trying to steal my magical energy.'

'Why would anyone want a book like that?' Harry asks, bemused.

'I couldn't even begin to tell you,' Draco says, shrugging.

'Draco, this looks sort of like the Northumbrian Furthork, see, this looks a bit like Aesc,' Hermione calls, apparently oblivious to the exchange that has just taken place.

'It is,' he tells her, moving over to peer at the book over her shoulder. 'They're from a much older set, however, one I haven't ever studied.  Babbling covered them very briefly last term, but only from an historical perspective, not as something we could translate, and so far I've had difficulty locating any books on this older set at all.'

'So, we're looking for rune dictionaries, then?' Hermione asks, getting up and moving to join Draco at the shelves, scanning the different titles and looking for anything that might prove useful.

'Yes, and I'm hoping we'll find quite a few.  My great-great-grandfather, Arcturus Black, was something of an expert on ancient runes.'

A tight silence falls once more as Draco and Hermione continue to search the shelves and Harry and Ron continue to trudge through the books on magical sites.  Every now and then, Hermione will find a book and suggest it to Draco and Harry is warmed to notice that it only takes a moment or two for Draco to start doing the same, and together they enthuse over dusty old volumes with tedious-sounding titles.

The thing is, as hard as he tries to understand the things Hermione gets excited about, he will never have the same academic drive as her.  It's not that he isn't interested, but as she herself has said on numerous occasions, he isn't a visual learner; he's an auditory learner, and when someone says something and he listens, he will remember it. It isn't that he can't enjoy a good book, but he's never been a particularly fast reader nor a particularly committed one, and if a book fails to hold his attention, like this one is doing right now, then he finds his mind wandering.  Ron is even worse with books than Harry. Draco, however, seems to share Hermione's love of ink and parchment and the printed word and Harry wonders if Draco’s ability to keep up with her intellectually may help them to eventually become friends.

Harry's attention is flagging seriously when Hermione picks up another volume and runs her fingers along the spine.

'What about this one?' she asks. 'Mysterious Runes of Tierra del Fuego,' she reads from the cover as she opens it.

Draco's panicked, 'No!' is heard at the same moment that Harry sees the first lick of flame emerge from the book's pages and catch at the cuff of Hermione's jumper. Before anyone knows what is happening, Hermione is standing there, soaking wet and sooty, with a smoking book hanging from one hand, having been hit with the Aguamenti charm from two directions. The whole room smells strongly of burned paper.

Harry glances across at Draco to see that he is wearing an identical apologetic wince to his own.

'Sorry,' they mumble, almost in unison.

'It’s fine,' Hermione says with as much dignity as she can muster.

She pushes her sopping wet hair off her face and Harry bites down on a smile.  He'd reacted instinctively at the first sign of danger but now that it has passed, relief coupled with the bizarre situation has made him feel quite giggly.

Across the room, Ron is hovering slightly out of his seat, having leapt up when Draco shouted, and is now staring at his girlfriend with wide eyes and lips tightly pressed together

'I can't believe they would keep a copy of this in a library.' Draco sounds incredulous as he crosses the room and gently tugs the charred book from Hermione's hand.

He closes it tight and, with a very focused frown, he inspects the book. Harry thinks he looks a little too focused, because Draco appears to be refusing to meet anyone’s eyes, and Harry wonders if he, too, might be having trouble holding on to his composure. In the end, Harry can't hold it any longer; his shoulders begin to shake and he closes his eyes, biting down harder on his lip. He must make a noise, however, because all of a sudden, Ron is looking at him and then they are gone.

Hermione looks at them both in disbelief and then turns on her heel and squelches from the room, announcing that she is going to take a shower.

This attempt at hauteur seems to be the final straw for Draco and he covers his face with his hands as he lets his amusement take him.

'As far as I know, there are only fifteen copies of this book left in existence,' Draco says when the laughter has died down to the occasional chuckle and they are attempting to dry the sodden carpet. 'We shouldn't laugh, really, that could have ended horribly. That book is so dangerous that the Ministry keeps them in a vacuum. It's rumoured that the last time one was read, it resulted in the Great Fire of London. Keeping one in a library is reckless and stupid.'

'But it's fine,' Harry says, watching as Draco vanishes the charred remnants of the book. 'All that happened is that someone got a bit wet,' he reasons.

‘Fourteen,” Ron says suddenly, speaking for the first time in several minutes.

“What?” Harry asks, puzzled.

“You said there were only fifteen copies of that book left in existence,” Ron says to Draco, shrugging. “Now there’s fourteen. Good riddance if you ask me.”

Draco stares at him for a moment. “Well said, Weasley,” he mutters. “Well said.”

Third of December – A Full Moon

The full moon shines brightly over the square outside Grimmauld Place, causing the heavy frost that has settled on trees and grass and fence posts to glitter and shine. It is bitterly cold tonight and as the chill radiates inwards from the window pane, Harry is more grateful than ever that this Horcrux hunt is being conducted from the warmth of Grimmauld Place.  His fingers tighten instinctively around his cup as he thinks of last year and the progression of forest clearings and rocky hillsides that had been their homes.  The constant hunger and the exhaustion had been hard going, and no matter how many fires or charms they had attempted, they had not been able to rid themselves of the lingering damp and chill.

Tonight, however, he stands in the window looking out at the cold night and his stomach is full with the excellent toad-in-the-hole that Ron had made for dinner, and across the cosy library, a warm fire crackles in the grate.  Not only that, but the awkward tension of yesterday has dissolved, and already it is beginning to feel like Draco has always been with them. Today, he has talked at length with Hermione on the finer points of rune translation and Harry is pretty certain that she is beginning to accept him into the group. For the first time, hunting Horcruxes is beginning to feel less like the gruelling and terrifying task it had once been; instead there is a small thrill of excitement that suggests that this time it will be, if not fun, then at least an adventure.

Behind him, Harry hears the heavy thump of a book being closed and he turns to look, watching as Hermione pushes back from the table and sighs. She and Draco have been at it all day, poring over book after book, scratching down notes and returning each time to the Horcrux book.  She stretches and Harry thinks she looks just about all in.

'No luck with that one?' Draco asks when she discards her book on the now almost hazardously tall 'no' pile.

'Nothing,' Hermione says irritably. 'It's so frustrating, all the information is right here and we just can't get at it.'

'To tell you the truth, I have no idea what the Dark Lord was thinking,' Draco admits.  'I've spent time in the company of the people who were intended to read this and not a one of them has ever demonstrated the intelligence nor patience necessary to crack this code,' he says, pushing his own chair back from the table.

Harry watches as he stretches his arms over his head, arching his back and allowing his head to fall back, exposing the pale skin of his throat.

Harry shakes his head slightly, attempting to dispel the confusing thoughts that crowd into his head and refocusing his eyes on Ron, who is now blinking owlishly, apparently confused at being woken from a nap he hadn't realised he was taking.

'Well, I suppose we'd better crack it, then,' Ron says, blinking away sleep and refocusing on his book. 'Personal pride and all that.'

Hermione smiles at him with affection, grabs the next volume and disappears behind it, apparently spurred on by Ron's words.

Harry abandons his window and goes to take his own seat at the table. Throwing himself back into studying, he picks a new site at random.

Dozmary Pool

Rumoured among Muggles to be the final resting place of the legendary sword of King Arthur, Excalibur, Dozmary Pool sits high on Bodmin Moor, south of the Cornish town of Bolventor and around twenty miles from Arthur’s supposed birth place of Tintagel. It is rumoured that the lake is bottomless, though this was disproved when, during a drought in the summer of 1859, it dried out, revealing nothing but a lake bed. The powerful magical artefact was, of course, removed many centuries before and is now kept safe by the Ministry of Magic.

Despite this, many Muggles still make pilgrimage to the legendary site and in 1940 a group of Muggles from the Black Forest, who looked to win favour with the Dark Wizard Grindelwald, travelled to Bodmin with the intention of retrieving the sword.

The Second World War, Harry thinks to himself, finding it interesting, as always, to read about something that he thought he knew about from the wizarding point of view. He wonders what those who fought against Grindelwald would make of the Muggle version of events, with parachute drops and Enigma machines and the like.

They could do with some of those code-breakers now, he thinks, glancing across at Hermione and Draco as they continue to flick through their books, pausing every now and then to scribble something down.

'Of course, code-breaking is supposed to be easy once you have the cipher,' he mutters under his breath.

'I was just thinking that,' Ron says and Harry startles slightly, not realising he had spoken loudly enough to be heard. 'This place,' he says, tapping his book. 'I think there might be something there.'

'Like what?' Harry asks, reaching for the book that Ron is now sliding towards him.

'Not a clue,' Ron admits, 'but it's got a magical reputation, and strange things have been happening there over the last few years.'

Hermione and Draco have stopped what they are doing now and Harry immediately slides the book over to them.  They will be a better judge of whether this is something worth investigating, after all.

'What sort of strange things?' Draco asks, eyes scanning the page.

'Well, and I know it doesn't sound like much, but it doesn't really rain there any more. This area is supposed to get about forty inches of rain a year.  In the last two years it's been about fifteen, that's the same as Athens,’ Ron says. ‘Also, it used to be a quite a popular tourist destination, it's in the Loch Lomond National Park, you see, but apparently, visitor numbers have dropped away to next to nothing, and there have been some really nasty accidents reported on the trails in the surrounding woods.'

'This is some really good research, Ron,' Hermione says, unable to keep the tone of surprise from her voice, and Harry can't say he blames her. If he'd been asked to choose someone to have presented this information, he wouldn't have picked Ron. He doesn't think Ron would have, either, given the way he seems to inflate slightly with the praise.

'Whilst this is all very interesting, and, yes, it's clear that something isn't right there, do you really think it's a good idea to just go barging in?' Draco asks sceptically. 'You have no idea what you’re going to be looking for, no idea what you would be facing. It seems dangerous and reckless.'

'It is,' Harry agrees, delighted by the look of surprise of Draco's face at his words, 'but dangerous and reckless is just sort of what we do. Besides, if we find one, you'll know one of the places that’s in that book and that might just be the key to helping you unravel the rest. I say it's worth a look.'

'Certainly beats another day with our heads in books,' Ron says, sounding quite energised by the idea.

Harry knows how he feels.  Yes, he's glad to have the nice warm house to return to, but sometimes things can get a little too comfortable.

Fifth of December – Chocolate Frog

The kitchen at Grimmauld Place materialises around them and Harry closes his eyes, focusing on staying upright, despite the waves of pain that are emanating from his shoulder.

He hears, rather than sees, the scrape of a chair and Draco's alarmed voice, 'You're back, what happened to him?'

'I think he's been poisoned. Mobilicorpus,' Hermione mutters.

Ron's weight lifts from Harry’s side and footsteps retreat from the room. With a deep breath, Harry opens his eyes and he finds himself alone in the dimly-lit kitchen. A chair has been pulled close to the fire that is now burning low in the grate and a book and a half-finished cup of tea rest on the arm. 

He thinks for a moment about trailing after Hermione and Draco, but the fact is that whatever is wrong with Ron, he is not going to be able to help.  Hermione and Draco, on the other hand, are probably well-placed to decide what he needs and Harry will just be in the way.  It's probably better if he just waits here in this chair.

He sits, cradling his arm gently against his body, and allows the fire to warm him. His skin tingles and aches as he begins to warm up.  He touches his fingers to the blue stripy mug that sits on the arm of the chair and is pleasantly surprised to find that it is still warm.  He wraps his fingers tightly around it and sips at the tea, letting it trail a warm path through his body and force away some of the horrors of the night. 

There is a clattering in the hall and Draco reappears in the doorway, potions kit in hand.  Draco glances briefly at him and Harry is touched to see the look of concern flit across his features.  He hesitates for a moment, biting his lip.

'Is Ron okay?' he asks, moving to rise from the chair.

Draco looks alarmed at this idea and holds up a hand to stop him.

'He's going to be fine,' he insists. 'He's been poisoned; you all have, by the look of it. I'm just going to knock together an antidote. What about you?' he asks and judging by the look on Draco’s face, Harry can only imagine how awful he looks.

'I'm fine,' Harry assures. 'Do you need any help?'

'No!' Draco insists when Harry begins to get up again. 'No, it won't take long, you just sit there, finish my tea,' he suggests and then turns away, opening up his potions kit and pulling things out. 

Harry decides that, on this occasion at least, he will just do as Draco says. He watches drowsily as Draco flits around the kitchen, finding cauldron and knives and chopping, grating and stirring together ingredients. The light from the fire makes Draco's hair gleam and Harry finds it mesmerising, losing himself in the sheen that glides across his head with every movement Draco makes as he focuses all his attention on the potion, brows drawn together in a look of concentration and lips pursed. The potion is giving off a light, shimmering steam that makes Harry think of ozone and the smell of the sea.

Moving quickly, Draco pours a little of the potion into two glasses and disappears from the kitchen again. Harry allows his eyes to fall closed.  He is so sleepy that despite the constant pain in his shoulder he thinks he must begin to drift.  He certainly isn't aware of Draco returning to the kitchen until he is crouching down in front of him and pressing a glass of potion into his hand.

'Here, drink this, it should counter the effects of whatever it was you breathed in,' Draco says, and Harry, too tired to ask questions, raises the glass to his lips and drinks. The potion is one of the more pleasant-tasting he has ever tried, herbal and salty with an aniseed aftertaste. Immediately, Harry begins to feel less sleepy. He's still tired, of course, but his mind feels clearer, and he struggles up from where he had slumped in the chair.

Draco takes the glass and presses another cup of tea into his hand before holding out the familiar pentagonal box of a Chocolate Frog. Harry rests the cup of tea on the arm of the chair and takes it as Draco draws another chair near to the fire.

'What's wrong with your arm?' he asks, watching as Harry struggles to open the box with his teeth rather than move his other arm.

'Oh, it's alright,' Harry lies. 'I just got whacked.’

He avoids Draco's eyes and instead focuses on the frog wriggling between his fingers. He takes a bite. The sweet, creamy chocolate immediately makes him feel better and the rich smell finally clears the memory of the dead forest from his mind.

'Uh huh,' Draco says, apparently unconvinced by Harry's explanation. He gets up and reaches out to place warm hands on Harry's shoulder. Harry flinches, despite the gentleness of the touch and Draco frowns. 'Is there any reason you have been sitting here for the past hour and a half with a broken shoulder, Potter?' he asks and Harry notes that the renewed use of his surname cannot mean anything good.

'It's fine,' he insists, though he is no longer certain why; he thinks it may just come down to stubbornness at this point but he lacks the energy to reason it through. 'It's not like I'm dying or anything. Ron was more important,' he adds for good measure, though without any real hope that this argument will make an impact on Draco.

'Give me strength,' Draco whispers under his breath before fixing Harry with a particularly fearsome look. 'Why do you have to be so self-sacrificing all the goddamn time?' he asks and he's almost yelling now. 'It would have taken three seconds. I asked you if you were okay, and you said you were fine.  Fine! Except for the fact that your arm’s hanging off.'

'That's going a little...' Harry trails off at the warning look on Draco's face as he moves his hands over his shoulder, apparently assessing the damage.

'Redintegro,' mutters Draco, flicking his wand at Harry's shoulder. 

Harry roars as a blinding pain sears white-hot in his shoulder. He feels the bone shift and click back together, mending itself instantly.  Immediately, the pain starts to ebb away and carefully, he gives his shoulder an experimental roll, and is relieved when the movement is met only with a dull ache.

'It will probably be sore for a couple of days,' Draco says, sitting back down and retrieving his own cup of tea. His voice is softer again now, kinder, and Harry thinks that perhaps he sees the pain of mending the limb as punishment enough. 

'Thanks,' he mutters, trying not to sound sulky.  'How's Ron?' he asks, suddenly remembering his friend’s critical condition.

'He's fine, he's resting. It will take a while for him to fully heal; he'll probably find the smallest of things exhausting for a while, but he'll make a full recovery.  Hermione's sleeping, too,' Draco adds, obviously pre-empting Harry's next question.

They sit in silence, sipping their tea, and Draco waits for Harry to finish the rest of his Chocolate Frog before he speaks again.

'So, are you going to tell me what was out there?' Draco says at last. 'I asked Hermione but she just went a funny shade of green and shook her head.'

'I have no idea what it was,' Harry says, shuddering as he pictures the creature once more and describes it, the forest and the putrid stench. Draco listens, calmly taking it all in.

'Well, it sounds like you're lucky to be alive,' he says at last, his tone matter of fact, and Harry can't help but feel that it is covering something else. If he didn't know better, he might think it was concern. 'What you met is a Nuckelavee.'

'Oh, good, I'm glad it has a name, I feel so much better,' Harry says, tiredness making him sarcastic.

'Happy to help,' Draco says with a curious smile. 'Traditionally they live in Orkney, though. It's strange to encounter one that far south. I wonder if perhaps it was drawn towards the Dark Lord, towards his malice, and then got lost once he had been destroyed.'

'Hmm,' Harry says, and he's interested, he really is, but he's also very, very tired. His eyes have closed and his head is resting against the back of the chair.

'Did you find one?' Draco asks, as though the reason for the mission has suddenly occurred to him. 'Did you find a Horcrux?'

'No,' Harry answers, feeling resentful.  'Two places this week, no Horcrux in either, and twice I've been attacked by an evil sodding horse.'

'Never mind,' Draco says and Harry thinks he can hear a smile in his voice. 'I'm sure we'll find one soon,' he reassures and his voice is softer, closer now. 

A warm hand wraps around Harry's wrist and tugs him to his feet. 'Come on, let’s get you to bed,' he says, pulling Harry's arm across his shoulders. Close up, Draco smells wonderful, clean like lemons and sage and Harry lets his head droop heavily on to Draco's shoulder. He barely registers the tight squeeze of Apparition before he is sinking down onto cool cotton sheets and drifting into sleep.

Seventh of December – A Noisy Cat

'Nyow!' Crookshanks announces his arrival in the library and Ron sighs loudly. 'Nyow,' he says again, ignoring everyone else in the room and making straight for the leather chair by the fire.

'Hermione?' Draco calls either unaware or unconcerned that Crookshanks - who Draco had banned from the library when his bottle-brush tail had whisked a cup of tea onto his copy of The Long Branch Younger Furthark and its uses in Ceremonial Magic - has used Hermione's entrance to sneak back in.

Hermione appears in the doorway, juggling the tea tray, and Harry winces. If he'd known that it was her turn to make the tea, he would have offered to do it instead. Surreptitiously, he Accios the tea caddy from the kitchen whilst she sets down the tray. Now if someone will just distract her, he can vanish the tea in the pot and use the nifty little boiling water spell Molly taught him to replace her pot of tea with one that won't taste like dishwater.

'Hermione, I think I have something,' Draco says, sounding excited.

Hermione bustles over to peer over his shoulder and they begin muttering to each other and using words that Harry cannot even begin to understand. '

'Nyow, nyow, ow, nyow ow,' says Crookshanks, plucking at the ancient carpet by Ron's feet. Ron attempts to push him away with his toes.

Hermione is now reading furiously and nodding her head as Draco explains something which Harry is certain is of great importance, if the frowns on their faces are anything to go by. Seizing his opportunity (under the guise of inspecting the plate of accompanying biscuits) he remakes the tea. Of course, it won't taste the same as it does with a warmed pot and freshly drawn, still bubbling water, but beggars can't be choosers.

'So,' he asks as casually as he can manage, 'have you found something?'

Draco looks at him, one pale eyebrow arched, and Harry knows that he is suspicious. Still, Draco's a Slytherin, they're naturally suspicious; it's Hermione he has to fool, and thankfully, she is too caught up in Draco's discovery to notice Harry's poor attempt at subterfuge. Harry looks at Draco significantly and gives a minute shake of his head.

Draco presses his lips together in a thin line and Harry can see that he is trying not to smile as he looks out of the window at the rain.

'Draco has,' Hermione says excitedly. 'He finally translated this rune here, I thought it was Laguz but Draco thinks that he must have been using a self-inking quill that was running out of ink. Look here, you can see the indentation it made, which means that this is actually Wunjo.'

'That's great,' Harry says, none the wiser.

'Nyow,' says Crookshanks. Apparently he, too, is unsure what this means and how it will affect them.

Draco takes pity on him and smiles, turning the book so Harry can see the strange, spiky shapes.

'It is good,' he explains, pointing at one particular word written twice in the middle of the page, ‘because now I know that he isn't speaking in cryptic messages. We've been trying to figure out for days what “later fall” could possibly refer to. ‘Waterfall’ is slightly easier to understand, however, and now we also know it's in Wales.'

'Great,' says Ron irritably from across the room. 'Wales doesn't have many waterfalls. There certainly isn't a whole fucking book of them.'

'Ron, if you could keep your unhelpful attitude to yourself for five minutes…' Hermione scolds.

'I will, if you sort out your bloody cat. He won't leave me alone,' he insists, and Harry looks across to see that Ron is right; Crookshanks, who has never been particularly taken with Ron before, is rubbing himself against his legs and trying, repeatedly, to climb into his lap.

'He only wants to help,' Hermione says, crossing the room and stooping down next to Crookshanks to stroke his ears.  The cat purrs loudly and miaows again, turning his large eyes on Ron once more. 'I'll bet you didn't know that a cat's purr is said to speed up the healing of broken bones,' she says, lifting the cat and dumping him unceremoniously in Ron's lap.

'Well, when I break my leg, he can sit on me,' Ron says, going to push Crookshanks off, and yelping when the cat digs in his claws and settles himself more comfortably on his lap.

'We've seen him do that before,' Harry says, interest caught. The last time Crookshanks had refused to move like that it was to try and prevent Harry from attacking Sirius. 'I think you should let him stay.'

'That cat has Kneazle in him, doesn't he?' Draco asks, glancing up from the book.

'Apparently,' Hermione says proudly.

'Then he should definitely stay with you,' Draco says, matter-of-factly. 'Kneazle purrs can retune the vibrations of the magical core. That will be why he's following you about; he can hear that you're off-key. I promise you, you will recover faster if you make your peace with the orange furball...' Draco pauses for a moment, and Harry catches a mischievous glint in his eye. 'And you should try to get on with Crookshanks as well, Weasley.'

'Oh, very funny,' Ron snaps but he gives up trying to push Crookshanks away. 'Blond git,' he adds under his breath, but the words are free from malice and, reluctantly, Ron begins to stroke Crookshanks's ears.

'See,' Hermione says, sitting on the hearthrug at Ron's feet and resting her head affectionately against his knee, 'you two have never gotten on, but the moment you need him he's right there,' she says and Harry is certain he doesn't imagine the rather pointed look Hermione gives him.

**~*~**

Six hours later, the sun has set and the rain has stopped. Beyond the window of the warm, bright library, the frosty sky is littered with stars, but inside, they are no further on.

'Tell me again, Ron. The list of waterfalls,' Hermione says.

Ron groans slightly and Harry takes pity on him; he is exhausted and his head lolls to one side. Harry takes the book from him and Ron smiles at him gratefully.

'Okay,' Harry says, beginning to pace. ' The terms ‘rhaeadr’, ‘sgwd’, ‘pistyll’ and 'ffrwd' all feature in the Welsh names of waterfalls,' he reads, stumbling over the unfamiliar pronunciation, and then he stops and he can feel his tired brain dragging itself into action. 'Wait... what?' he asks the book, trying desperately to identify the little light of recognition that has just sprung to life.

'You were the one who read it, Harry,' Draco says wearily. He is leaning on the table, head propped up in his hands and normally neat hair in disarray.

'Yeah, I know it's just...' he pauses and flicks to the index, 'there's something…' he mutters, running his eyes down the list of named waterfalls, just hoping he’ll know it when he sees it. Pistyll Du, Pistyll Gwyn, Pistyll Henfynachlog, Pistyll y llyn, Pistyll Rhaeadr. 'That's it!' he yells and Ron startles slightly from where he had just begun to drift off. 'It's this one,' he says, slamming the book down in front of Draco and Hermione and pointing to the entry. 'Pistyll and Rhaeadr are both common in Wales when naming a waterfall, but this is the only place both are used.'

'Waterfall, waterfall,' Hermione says faintly. 'You did it, Harry, you figured it out!'

'I did the easy bit,' Harry protests, uneasy with the praise. 'Draco did the hard work.’

'Still, you know what this means, don't you?' she says excitedly. 'We've found one! Now all we have to do is get it and destroy it and we're one step closer.'

Harry's smile fades slightly; he doesn't think laying hands on the Horcrux is going to be easy, but they know where they're going, they can research what they might be facing, and this time, at least, rotting horse men are unlikely to be involved. Draco has informed him that Nuckelavee are unable to deal with fresh water, so Harry doubts very much that one would chose North Wales as a holiday destination any time soon.

'And how do we do that, exactly?' Draco asks and Harry looks across at him, feeling like he's missed something.

'How do we do what?' Hermione asks.

'How do we destroy this thing?' Draco asks and Harry watches as Hermione shuffles in her chair for a moment, before getting up and wandering out of the room. 

All three of them turn to stare pointlessly at the door as though they have been paused, until she returns, carefully carrying something wrapped in dove grey silk. Gingerly, she places the bundle on the table and flicks open the wrappings to reveal a yellowed and aged Basilisk fang.

'We have this,' Hermione says.  'We know it works; Harry's used Basilisk fangs before, but...' she trails off, looking worried.

'But what, Hermione? What are you worried about?' Harry asks her gently.

'This is the last one!' she says, eyes wide, and it bursts out of her like a secret she's been trying to control for far too long. 'Oh, Harry, I'm sorry… I should have said sooner. The Chamber flooded; I don't think we'll be able to get down there again now.'

'It's okay,' Harry reassures, wondering why Hermione is so upset; it isn't as though he has the urge to visit the place on anniversaries or anything.

'But it's not okay,' Hermione says, sounding miserable. 'It's terrible because, well, look.' She reaches out and, with very little effort, she snaps a tiny piece off the fang.

'I'm guessing it's not supposed to do that?' Harry asks.

'Admittedly, I'm no expert on destroying Horcruxes,' Draco ventures, ‘but I'm guessing that this will not survive whatever it is you have to do to destroy one. And we will have six of them to deal with.'

'Exactly,' Hermione agrees.

'What happened to it?' Harry asks, thinking of the diary and how that fang hadn't crumbled into dust.

'It got old, Harry,' Hermione says, and Harry thinks she sounds apologetic. ‘It's been five and a half years since you destroyed the Basilisk. Bone becomes brittle over time.'

They stand in silence for a moment, looking at the fang.

'What about that fire stuff?' Ron asks and they all startle slightly, apparently under the impression that he had been asleep.

'Absolutely not!' Draco insists, and Harry sees the shadow fall over his face as he remembers the Room of Hidden Things. 'Didn't you say that Longbottom destroyed one with a sword?' he asks hopefully.

'The Sword of Gryffindor,' Harry says.  'The goblins have it now and there is no chance that they would lend it to us, not after what we did to Gringotts. I'm lucky they let me back in the door, to be honest.'

'But couldn't we use another sword?' Draco presses.

'No, it wasn't the sword that was fatal; it was the fact that it was goblin-made and I'd destroyed a Basilisk with it,' Harry explains.

'Goblin-made items only imbibe what makes them stronger, so it took on the properties of Basilisk venom,' Hermione adds.

'So, what you're saying is, if we had a goblin-made weapon, we could use this fang here to make something that could destroy Horcruxes,' Draco surmises.

'Well, theoretically, yes, but it's not like you can just buy goblin-made weapons,' Hermione says irritably, apparently under the impression that Draco isn't taking the problem seriously enough.

'Well, actually, you can,' Draco says simply. 'In fact, if you're my father, you buy a pair.'

Eighth of December – A Key in a Door

'I thought we were going to the Manor,' Harry says, looking around at the unfamiliar surroundings as Draco releases his arm from the side-along Apparition. Immediately, he misses the heat of Draco's touch and his hand flies up quite without his permission to rub absently at the spot Draco's hand has vacated.

'I didn't say that,' Draco says, turning and feeling the air in front of him as though trying to locate something invisible. 'I said we were going to see my mother; any assumptions you drew from that are your own fault.'

Harry opens his mouth, ready to argue, but nothing comes. Draco is right, he never said they were going to the Manor; he had just presumed that that was where they would find Narcissa Malfoy and now he's been corrected, he can't imagine why he would have assumed that.

Instead, Harry, Hermione and Draco have Apparated into a quiet forest beside a broad, slow-moving stream, the banks and shallows of which are encrusted with ice.  It is mid-morning and the sun shines through the bare, mossy trees onto a carpet of brown and yellow leaves which makes the forest look like it is glowing.

There is a rustle in some nearby bushes and Harry starts, immediately drawing his wand as he looks around for the source of the sound. Hermione, however, just smiles and places a hand gently on Harry's wrist, forcing him to lower his wand as the shaggy head of a pony comes into view and regards them curiously. 

'We must be in the New Forest,' she says, reaching out to scratch the pony's nose.

'That's right,' Draco says, finally locating whatever it is he is looking for and holding out his hands until the wards shimmer and melt away. 'Mother hasn't been back to the Manor since he left, as far as I know.' 

He beckons to them and Harry smiles as Hermione gives the pony a little wave before ducking through the hole in the wards ahead of him. As soon as he steps through, Harry's breath catches. Where before the trees had surrounded them, there is now a low red brick building with a grey slate roof and dormer windows.  It sits in a garden of smooth lawns and well-tended flower beds which are a riot of colour despite how late it is in the year.

Draco seems to notice Harry's look of surprise as he finishes sealing the wards behind them.  'Ah, yes, the garden,' he says and his voice is filled with quiet amusement. 'Well, my mother loves to garden and she won't be dictated to, not even by the natural rhythm of the seasons.'

The little wooden gate swings open and Draco starts up the tidy path. 'Come on,' he calls over his shoulder to Harry and Hermione, who are now standing nervously just inside the wards. 'She knows we’re here, and it's never a good idea to keep her waiting.'

Apparently the threat of a cross Narcissa Malfoy is as motivating for Hermione as it is for Harry and they jog to catch up, reaching Draco just moments before he knocks on the stable style door with its painted wooden plaque that reads ‘Jasmine Cottage’ in neat lilac-coloured letters.

Moments later, the door opens and Harry looks down to see a young-looking house elf wearing a crisp blue pillow case and beaming up at Draco as though he has just hung the moon.

'Master Draco,' the house-elf squeaks excitedly, 'Mistress is being so pleased to be seeing you,' she enthuses.

'Hello, Tinzey.' Draco smiles at the elf affectionately as she bows them into a modest hallway which smells comfortingly of fresh flowers and beeswax. 'How is she?' he asks, allowing the elf to take his coat and gesturing to Harry and Hermione to do the same.  Harry watches as Hermione very reluctantly hands her coat to Tinzey, though he can see that she is at least slightly placated by the affection Draco seems to show for the elf.

'Mistress has been attempting scones this week,' Tinzey says and Harry catches the weary tone in her voice.

'And how did that go?' Draco asks, sounding amused.

'Well, it was just a little fire,' Tinzey explains, sending the coats to hang neatly in the hallway cupboard.

'She's been trying her hand at all sorts of things,' Draco explains in a stage whisper.  'I don't think she really knows who she is without my father, so she's been trying to find out what it is she likes. Cooking, sewing, gardening, bee-keeping, knitting, painting, and wine making,' Draco checks each thing off on his fingers. 'It's how Tinzey came to work for us, in fact. She's from a rather well renowned wine-making family and she agreed to teach Mother some of their processes, didn't you?' Draco says, directing his last at the elf who nods her head, bat-like ears flapping.

'Right, well, we'd better not keep her waiting, otherwise she'll have taken up archery, or some such thing,' Draco says and he and Tinzey exchange significant looks before the elf leads them along the hallway and through a low door which requires Draco to stoop a little.

The sitting room into which they are shown is flooded with light from two floor-to-ceiling windows which look out over Narcissa's magically-enhanced garden. A bright fire crackles in the grate and Narcissa sits on the comfortable-looking sofa, clearly waiting for them to make their entrance.

'Draco,' Narcissa greets, her voice warm as she rises from her seat and steps forward, taking both of Draco's hands in hers and kissing him lightly on each cheek before turning her attention to Harry and Hermione.

'Mr Potter, so nice to see you again; Miss Granger, welcome to my home,' she says, and Harry hears Hermione's breath quicken slightly beside him.

He wonders if she has noticed it, too. There is something cautious and almost fearful in her voice as she greets them and Harry wonders if she really believes he would chastise and criticise her in front of her own son. If she thinks for even one moment that Draco would allow that? If he has learnt nothing else about Draco during their time at school, he knows that he is fiercely protective of his mother.

'Please, everyone, sit down. Let Tinzey bring us a glass of wine. I have some rather lovely elderflower which has just reached maturity,' she says, gesturing to the sofas.

'It's eleven o'clock in the morning, Mother,' Draco chastises as he takes a seat beside his mother, though Harry thinks his smile is rather indulgent.

'Oh, don't be a spoilsport, Draco, I have so few opportunities to share these things, and besides, we should celebrate; we are, after all, entering into a new condition of understanding. Please, Mr Potter, won't you raise a glass with me?'

From the corner of his eye, Harry can see Draco giving him a rather significant look that suggests he should refuse, but Narcissa is looking at him with such cautious hope that he doesn't have the heart to refuse her offer.

'Of course, Mrs Malfoy,' he agrees, and he just hopes against hope that whatever it is about the wine that Draco had been trying to warn him against isn't too horrible. No sooner has this though materialised in his head than Tinzey is clinking into the room with a tray bearing a tall, thin green bottle and several elegant glasses.

They sit in silence as the elf pours the wine and distributes the glasses. Harry eyes the golden liquid suspiciously, but he cannot detect anything out of the norm about it; it does, in fact, smell light and floral in a way that makes him look forward to tasting it.

When everyone has a glass, Narcissa raises her own to make a toast.

‘To freedom from tyranny, in all its forms,' she says.

Not wanting to appear hesitant, Harry quickly raises his glass and takes a large sip.

At first, he has no idea what Draco is talking about; the wine is light and crisp and, at least in Harry's opinion, very pleasant. The moment he swallows, though, he understands Draco's warming. The liquid trails a fiery path that takes away his breath and he has to struggle not to cough or splutter. He can feel Narcissa's eyes on him, waiting for some kind of comment, for his opinion, and it takes all his effort to make his voice sound normal as he tells her that the wine is just lovely and then of course he has to take another swallow, just to prove that he means it.  Already his fingers are starting to feel a little tingly and he know that he is going to have to finish what now feels like a very large glass.

'You are very kind, Mr Potter,' Narcissa smiles, and Harry can see that she is genuinely delighted by his praise. 'Now, what can I do for you all?'

'I was hoping you would let us have father's goblin-made long knives,' Draco says without preamble, and if Narcissa is surprised by the directness of the request, she does not show it.

'Do I want to know what for?' Narcissa asks.

'We're going to imbue them with Basilisk venom,' says Draco.

'I assume that this is in some way related to whatever it is you left to do?' Narcissa asks, though she does not wait for an answer. 'I told you then that I did not need to know the details of your undertaking and I stand by that.  I worry about you, as you know, and I think if I knew the specifics then I would worry more, not less. It is enough for me that you are doing it to prevent his return. 

'I cannot say whether the knowledge that you have merged paths with Harry Potter comforts me or not. On the one hand, if you will excuse me for saying,' she says, glancing across at Harry, who has just now managed to take another sip of wine and whose features are all starting to feel quite stretchy. He raises his hand to ask her to continue, but somehow manages to lose control of the gesture halfway through and narrowly manages to avoid hitting himself in the face. Next to him, he hears Hermione sigh wearily.

Narcissa, apparently unaware of any trouble Harry might be having with his wayward limbs, continues:

'Well, you seem to attract trouble to you like flies to sugar, though at the same time, you are clearly inordinately lucky to have made it thus far. I think on balance, Draco, you are probably safer with him.'

'So you will allow us to take the knives?' Draco asks.

'Of course I will, though obviously I do not have them here; one has very little need for antique weaponry when trying to master the intricacies of tea-time treats. We will need to return to the Manor to retrieve them.'

'You don't need to do that,' Draco insists, clearly concerned at his mother’s suggestion.

'Oh, but I do. The Manor has been sealed, Draco, not even you will make it past all the necessary wards and enchantments that are currently protecting it.' Draco seems a little affronted at this but his mother reaches out and places a quelling hand upon his arm. 'Don't be like that, Draco, it was not done out of a desire to keep you out of the home that is rightfully yours, but to keep the malevolence in, until such time as you could return to combat it.'

Draco relaxes a little at this but a shadow passes across his face, as though he is remembering of what his mother is speaking.

'Come,' Narcissa says, rising immediately, 'let us go and get the weapons you have asked for and then we may think of that place no more for the time being.'

She smiles at them all and steps out into the hall, calling to Tinzey for her cloak and leaving them staring at each other in the warm front room.

'Draco, I think your mother is a little odd,' Hermione says as they get to their feet and Harry stumbles slightly over something he is unable to identify. Draco catches him easily with one hand against his chest and an exasperated look on his face. 

'Hermione, you don't even know the half of it.'

**~*~**

This time, when the press of Apparition leaves Harry, Draco doesn't let go of his arm, and in fact he seems to hold tighter, as though he is concerned that Harry might fall down at any moment. He doesn't let go until Hermione steps forward, looping her arm through Harry's tightly.  Harry recognises this place. He knows the tall, dark hedges and the wrought iron gate, though it seems like a lifetime since he was here last. 

'I suppose it was,' he mutters to himself, and Hermione gives him a strange sidelong look.

Together they crunch along the gravel drive, past long sloping lawns and up towards the beautiful building.  The sun is bright and as Harry looks up at the Manor, he finds it hard to imagine anything horrible ever happening behind its pale stone walls and tall, stately windows. He cannot see Draco or his mother’s face as they approach the house for the first time in many months, but there is something in their posture, in the way they are holding themselves just a little too straight, that tells Harry that they are not at all happy to be home, if it can even be called that any more.

The wards on the front doors shimmer and fade and they step into a dark, damp entrance hall. Harry can't help but think that in years gone by, this would have been a warm space, filled with light and no doubt dressed for the coming season. Now, their footsteps echo on the cold stone and there is a chill in the air that seems to seep into his bones.  Narcissa lights the lamps with a flick of her wand, but while they can now see where they are going, the gloom still lingers at the edges of the room and it feels as though it is pressing in on them. 

Draco and Narcissa move on through the house, leading them past locked room after locked room. They head up a small stone staircase and come face to face with a pair of double doors. These doors are heavily warded and Harry can feel the magic repelling him from ten feet away.  He recognises them at once, of course. They all know what occurred in that room. A dark stain marks the pale stone door frame and he shudders, automatically pulling Hermione closer to him, wanting to hold onto her and protect her from the time he couldn't stop Bellatrix from hurting her.

At the far end of the corridor, Narcissa and Draco stop outside a door and, once again, Narcissa lifts away the shimmering wards with a careless wave of her hand.  Obediently, the door swings open and they all step into a long narrow room in which there are displayed many suits of armour and ancient weapons. Swords of all sizes hang on the walls as well as several wands.

'This is my father's collection,' Draco says, walking towards a large cabinet which sits halfway down the room. 

'My husband was a great collector of the more martial things,' Narcissa explains, casting a disinterested gaze over the display. 'He put great stock in the idea that this collection enhanced his masculinity in some way.' She pauses, wiping her thumb across a once shiny plaque to remove the dust. 'But then, when you're only a fraction of a man to begin with…' She turns to look at Hermione with a wry smile on her face. 'Always remember, dear, nothing times nothing is still nothing.'

The door to the cabinet is pale and faded and a large silver key rests in the lock.  Harry wonders why, if these are such important weapons, they are kept where no one can see them, and if it is for reasons of security, why leave the key in the lock?

He must say as much out loud because Narcissa laughs, though the sound is rather humourless and bitter.

'My husband relished the drama of a situation, Mr Potter. I am certain you have had dealings with him enough to understand that.  He kept them hidden, not for security, but so that he could unveil them at the right moment, for maximum effect,' she says and then turns the key in the lock. Sure enough, it makes a satisfying rasping sound as the latch is drawn back that is in no way natural and the door creaks just a little too musically as she pulls it open.

'Here you are, sweetheart,' she says to Draco, indicating a selection of gleaming knives within. 'Take whatever you like.'

'Just these.'

Draco reaches out and pulls a pair of long knives from the cabinet. He glances at Harry and then spins one of them impressively in his hand before passing it over.  For a moment, Harry has the feeling that Draco is showing off for him and he giggles, reaching out to take the knife and grinning broadly. He sees Narcissa look at her son and then at him with one pale eyebrow arched and then she looks away, covering a small, amused smile.

Tenth of December – A Winter Sunset

The sky is painted with vivid streaks of magenta and purple and Harry turns to face the low orange sun, his boots crunching on snow that has turned pink in the fading light. The sun hasn't been out in London all day; when he woke that morning the sky had been a blank, opalescent white and it had remained that way, promising snow that never came as they had waited impatiently for the last hour of daylight, to guarantee the absence of any adventurous Muggles. Here, though, on the rooftop of Wales, the snow lies in a clean blanket, only broken here and there by dark grey slate or golden bracken, and the sky is clear with just wisps of cloud trailing across the setting sun.

They all stare for a moment as though the magnificent sunset is the entire reason they are standing here with the wind cutting straight through them. If Ron were here, he'd be looking at them all like they'd lost their minds, Harry thinks and his absence hits him somewhere painful. He's certain that Ron will be feeling it too, at home by the fire, powerless to help and all the Deluminators in the world can't bring him back this time.

'Let's get moving before we lose all the light,' Draco says at his side, and Harry's attention snaps to him. And that is something, at least, he thinks as he pulls the Ordnance Survey map from his pack; Ron might not be here but Draco is, and no matter how much of an unknown quantity he might be, three is better than two. 

'I think I hear the river over here,' Hermione says, picking her way through the snow.

Draco follows her and Harry falls into step behind them both as the last of the sun slips below the horizon. In its absence a feeling of foreboding begins to creep through Harry. Now that they are here, it's like he can clearly see the other Horcruxes for the dangerous weapons that they really are. He thinks that he has been looking back all this time, with somewhat rose-tinted glasses.  Now, though, he remembers clearly the horror of the cave, the awful potion and the cold, clammy skin of the Inferi.  They haven't managed to discover much more about what they will face, other than that it will be a demonstration of Riddle's skill, but Harry is certain that it will be terrible.  After all, he already knew that his secret had been compromised by the time he hid this Horcrux.  It only follows that he will have upped his protection.

Ahead, Hermione disappears out of sight and for a split second, he fears she has fallen over the edge, but then he notices Draco picking his way towards where Hermione disappeared. He looks unconcerned and Harry calms, realising that she must have finally managed to locate the track down. He smiles to himself as he watches Draco lower himself carefully onto the trail and disappear as well.  He had spent most of the morning worrying about how the new dynamic would work. Where Draco would fit.  It wasn't, isn't, that he doesn't trust Draco, but he, Ron and Hermione have been doing stupidly dangerous things together for the better part of a decade now. They each know how the others will react to any given situation and will react accordingly, but Draco is an unknown, or at least he was.  Harry had looked to him to see if there was cause for alarm and his calm demeanour had reassured him. No, Harry doesn't think Draco will struggle to find his place after all.

When Harry reaches the edge, he discovers that Hermione and Draco are waiting for him just below the ridge of the hill and the moment he drops down next to them, he can tell why. Down here, the bitter cold wind that has been buffeting them since their arrival is blissfully absent. The snow is thinner here, too, clinging to the longer grass and bushes, but leaving the surprisingly overgrown trail almost clear. He knows immediately that they are on the right track. He can feel the Muggle-repelling magic wrapping around him, allowing him to pass.  Automatically, Harry takes the lead, picking his way carefully down the steep path as Hermione falls into Ron's usual place at the rear.

'Isn't that better?' Hermione says as they begin to move further into the shelter of the bushes. 'With a little luck, I might begin to feel my face again in a minute.'

'Yes, it was rather wuthering up there, wasn't it?' Draco adds and Harry risks a glance over his shoulder at Draco.

'It was wuthering?' he asks, barely able to contain his amusement. Hermione, too, is wearing a rather delighted smile at Draco's unusual word choice.

'It's something my governess used to say,' Draco says, sound mildly defensive now. 'Why is that so funny?'

The mirth bubbles up inside Harry, refusing to be contained and once he begins laughing, Hermione doesn't stand a chance.

'I don't understand why that's funny,' Draco insists.

'Heathcliff…' Harry begins in a rather unpleasant falsetto, 'it's me, oh Cathy, I've come home,’ he continues, twirling his arms above his head.

'I'm so cold! Let me in-a-your window,' Hermione joins in, warbling along. 'Oh-oh-oh-oh-ohhhh…'

'Fantastic, once again I find myself in a situation where I am the only sane one,' Draco says, throwing his arms up in exasperation, and immediately losing his footing.

With Seeker reflexes, Harry turns and catches him before he has chance to hit the ground, pulling him tightly against his hip and receiving a mouthful of cold, soft hair for his trouble.

'That's your fault, that is,' Draco scolds, though Harry can tell his heart isn't in it, 'you and your singing.'

'Possibly,' Harry admits, ‘or it could be the fact that you're wearing your pointy Italian boots on the side of a fucking mountain in December.’

'Look, these are the most robust piece of footwear I own. It was these, a rather beautiful pair of loafers that I'd rather not ruin, or my canvas boat shoes,' he snaps.

'You could have borrowed Ron's walking boots, you're probably about the same size,' Harry says, realising that this idea is showing up a little late to the party.

'Wear someone else's shoes?' Draco says, sounding scandalised. 'I think not.'

'Well, it's irrelevant now,' Hermione says, and she still sounds far too amused, 'so if you're quite finished cuddling…’

Harry starts, realising that though he is no longer holding Draco against him, they are still touching from shoulder to hip and his hand is resting in the small of Draco's back.

It takes everything he has not to leap back and try to pretend that nothing had ever happened. If he does that, Draco will either assume he's horrified by the idea of cuddling or that he is trying to pretend that he is horrified at the idea of cuddling, and Harry doesn't want to deal with either scenario right now. Instead, he takes a deep breath, allows his hand to linger on Draco's waist for one more second and then steps back calmly. 

'The problem with Hermione is,' he says, leaning close to Draco again conspiratorially and hoping that the rapidly-falling twilight will mask the flush creeping up his cheeks, 'she thinks she's funny.'

Draco lets out a huff of laughter and Harry turns to continue picking his way down the trail, but he can feel Hermione's knowing gaze burning holes in the back of his head.

 

**~*~**

'Oh, gosh, it's so beautiful,' Hermione whispers, the moment they round a corner and the waterfall finally comes into view. 

The falling water sparkles as though littered with stars as numerous icicles, down which the water still slides, catch and reflect the light of the moon. It really is stunning. The whole thing looks like something out of a fairy story, but as Harry's eyes scan the landscape, his awe at the beauty of the waterfall fades in the light of more practical issues.

'Yeah,' Harry agrees, 'very, very beautiful … and potentially problematic. For a start, the water-repelling spells will do nothing to help with all that ice.'

'Oh, I didn't think of that,' Hermione says, her face creasing as she realises that this will indeed be a problem. 

'Also,' Harry continues, 'if either of you can see a way of us getting up there, where we need to be, without having to wade through that plunge pool, I'm all ears.'

Silence. Just the rush of the stream.

'Why don't we just fly?' Draco asks and Harry just about resists smacking himself on the side of the head.

He has managed to completely forget the brooms safely tucked away inside his pack.  Eagerly, he yanks it open and withdraws his Firebolt and Draco's Nimbus Hermoth, but as soon as he does so he knows that this isn't going to work. As he passes Draco his broom, he can just feel it. It doesn't react to him at all, and when he releases it, expecting it to hover at his side, it clatters to the ground and he is forced to move quickly to prevent it from rolling into the swift stream. Draco doesn't even try his; he just hands it straight back again.

'I thought, even as I said it, that it would be too easy,' he says, watching Harry tuck the brooms back into the pack and then sighing. He stares again for a moment. 'Well, the falls themselves have started to freeze, perhaps the pool will have iced over and we can just walk across the surface.' Draco sounds uncertain but optimistic, as though he doesn't really think his idea will work but is hopeful that either Harry or Hermione will reassure him.

'I think I'd rather get into the water knowing it was going to be cold than suddenly fall through the ice,' Hermione says and Harry agrees, his chest suddenly feeling tight as he remembers the locket and the feeling of being trapped beneath the ice in that freezing cold lake.  Instinctively, he drags in lungfuls of clear, cold air which burn his throat and sting his nose, just because he can.

With a sigh, Draco lowers himself to sit on the bank and begins the lengthy task of unbuckling his boots.

'What are you doing?' Harry asks curiously.

'What does it look like I'm doing? If we are going to wade through that water, I am not doing it in these boots.  The Dark Lord has ruined quite enough; I draw the line at these boots.'

Harry smiles to himself as Draco carefully removes the boots and passes them to him to put in the backpack. Carefully, he tucks them inside, out of harm’s way.

'Right then,' he sighs and together they pick their way over the stone towards the sheer rock face which will bring them level with the stream running out of the plunge pool and begin to climb.

Harry's fingers scrabble on sharp rock, covered in moss and slick with ice and soon he can't feel his hands. He is so numb with cold that he doesn't even feel it when he slips and cuts his hand quite deeply. He almost falls and, below him, Hermione casts Arresto Momentum so forcefully that despite remaining on the cliff face it is a good few seconds before he can even begin to move upwards again.  Luckily, the cold slows the flow of blood and he is able to scramble up the last couple of feet before his palm becomes slick with blood.

Leaving Draco to supervise Hermione's climb, he perches on a rock in the hope of overcoming the wave of dizziness that hits him as he inspects and cleans the two-inch gash. He rummages in the pack for the dittany and is just watching the skin smoke and heal over when Hermione pulls herself over the top, mud streaked along one cheek and hair in disarray.

'Are you alright?' she asks as Harry approaches. She takes his hand and inspects the now healed wound.

'Just a cut,' he says, contorting himself to peer over the edge and watch over Draco's ascent without forcing Hermione to relinquish her inspection of his healing work. It feels not dissimilar to the way McGonagall would inspect a pin cushion to see if it were still afraid of pins.

Draco is surprisingly agile and seems to fly up the cliff face, clambering onto the ledge with easy grace in a surprisingly short space of time and Harry can see the irritated look on Hermione's face as he brushes the moss from his hands and swipes the hair from his face.  Harry can understand.  If he weren't so caught up in just how beautiful Draco looks, all ruffled from his climb, he would probably be envious at how effortless he had made that look, too.

Forcing his mind back to the task at hand, Harry approaches the stream reluctantly. He pauses only a moment before stepping into it, knowing that hesitation will only weaken his resolve. There is a moment when the icy water rushes around his calves and ankles, that his feet remain dry, but from the first step, the water starts to seep into the boots, making his feet heavy and cold until they, too, are numb and it feels as though he is walking on sand bags.

The bed of the stream is narrow as it cuts through the rock and they pass under what looks like a natural bridge, worn away by millennia of freezes, thaws and floods, and arching above their heads  On the other side of the archway, the plunge pool is visible and Harry is disheartened to notice that Draco is right, or at least partially right; it has begun to freeze over, though the movement of the water has prevented it from forming a solid sheet, making it look rather like a large drink with ice cubes floating in it.

Taking a deep breath, Harry reaches down with his foot, feeling for the bottom.  By the time he finds it, the water has risen right up to his waist, and he wades forward, breathless with the cold. The waterfall looms above them, kicking out a light spray which soon has them soaked and trembling as they assess the best way to get behind the icy barrier. 

'I'm sure he'll have built something in,' Hermione says, running her hand over the rock and looking for something, anything, which will provide a way in.

'If he has, it will be something that will make us enter on his terms,' Draco says warily. 'Why don't we just...' He points his wand, murmurs Diffindo and makes a slashing motion, and suddenly the sheet of ice is gone and the water falls in thin streams, revealing a narrow stone ledge and a low archway.

'Draco,' Hermione gasps, horrified.  'What will we do now? People will notice that!'

'Who's going to notice?' Draco asks, eyebrows raised. 'There are Muggle-repelling charms all over the place. No one has been here in at least a couple of years, judging by the state of the trail, and if it really bothers you that much, we can repair it when we get out.  I think right now, though, we should focus on the Horcrux.'

'You're right,' Hermione says, pulling herself together. 'Prioritise,' she agrees and starts wading towards the ledge.

Somehow being out of the water feels colder than being in it and Harry has trouble controlling the shaking of his hand as he attempts to spell himself warm and dry.  He manages damp, though the cold seems too much for his feeble warming charm and he decides that it’s probably as good as he can expect right now especially since neither Hermione nor Draco, who has now stooped down to put his boots back on, both still look quite damp and cold.

And they are so cold. Harry is not sure that he has ever known cold like this. He is shivering again now, they all are, and his limbs feel heavy and slow. He thinks longingly of his bed in Grimmauld Place. There is a grate in his room and though he has never done so before, he thinks that tonight may be the night to light a small fire before he crawls beneath the covers.  He closes his eyes and he can picture it; he can almost feel the heat on his skin.  His eyes snap open. He looks at Draco, still sitting on the ground; his boots are on but he has allowed his head to sink forward to rest on folded arms. Hermione is leaning heavily against the rock, head tipped back against the stone.

'Come on,' he says, bending and hooking his arms beneath Draco's and pulling him to his feet. 'Over here, Hermione, we need one of your warming charms.'

'They won't work on the move,' she sighs as Harry nudges Draco towards her.

'We aren't on the move,' Harry points out, 'we're standing right here.  Come on, just for five minutes, you can do it, 'Mione,' he says, scanning the ledge and selecting three medium-sized stones. 'Draco, you're good with Transfiguration, think you can turn these into mugs?' he asks and Draco just looks at him askance.

'Are we having a tea party?' he asks, voice dripping with sarcasm.

'That is exactly what we're doing,' Harry says, rummaging in the pack and producing a small plastic tub containing teabags.

'Where on earth did you get those?' Hermione asks, finally managing to cast the warming charm on the third attempt and Harry sighs in relief as he feels the temperature slide upwards. Draco, meanwhile, apparently spurred on by the sight of the teabags, manages to Transfigure three tin mugs.

'Where do you think?' Harry asks.

'Molly!' Hermione grins as Harry dumps a teabag in each cup and adds the hot water straight from his wand. The fragrant steam seems to revive them all a little and they huddle closer together for warmth.

'She knew we were leaving this time,' Harry tells them as he wraps his hands around his cup, leeching away the heat. 'She's obviously given up trying to stop us, she understands that whatever it is needs to be done and I think she accepts that, but I know she worries. When we got to Grimmauld Place this summer, she'd put a little tub of teabags and a large fruit cake in my pack.  We ate the cake, of course, but I kept the teabags in the pack. They always felt like a bit of a good luck charm.'

'They were,' Draco says and his eyes are downcast, peering into his mug, but Harry can feel his sincerity. 'Whatever is waiting for us in there is going to be hard to overcome and I'm not sure we could have done it in the state we were in.’

They stand there in silence, sipping their tea, and Harry is relieved to notice the colour beginning to come back into his companions’ faces. By the time Hermione's warming charm starts to fade, Harry has managed to focus enough to completely dry his clothes, and when the cold starts to creep back in, it no longer feels like it is cutting straight through him. It is with strengthened resolve that he makes his way towards the archway and ducks into the cave.

Lit wands guiding the way, they make their way along the narrow tunnel.  The stone walls sparkle with frost and the still, cold air is filled with the echo of their footsteps and the drip, drip, drip of water on stone.  They walk for quite some time, the twisting path leading them deeper and deeper into the hill.  The temperature drops lower and lower and more than once they pause and cast a warming charm against the sub-zero temperatures.  Eventually, they turn a corner and notice an eerie blue light flickering up ahead.

As they near the end of the corridor, Harry recognises the tall black candles with the blue flames that he had seen at the Death Day party in his second year. His heart sinks slightly when he notices the shimmering reflections of the light.  He might not be able to hear any thing, but that odd quality to the light suggests that there is more water up ahead and he really does not relish getting cold and wet again just yet. In the back of his mind, however, he knows there is only one way out of here and it the way they came.

'Can you hear something?' Draco whispers behind him and Harry listens carefully. 

Sure enough, he can hear a faint tinkling noise, like broken glass. Instinctively, Harry presses himself to the wall, throwing out his arm to instruct Draco and Hermione to do the same. His hand connects with Draco's chest and he leaves it there, feeling the warmth against his fingers and the strong heartbeat as he just listens. Eventually, he edges forward towards the room and he can hear Draco and Hermione creeping along behind him.  The passage ends and opens up into a cathedral-sized cave. Stalagmites and stalactites the width of oak trees reach between ceiling and floor and the thin black candles sit at regular intervals around the walls. 

Still keeping his back to the wall, Harry steps into the room and creeps around the edge, trying to figure out where the noise is coming from.  The problem is, in this large echoey space, the sound is all around.  Draco slips out of the tunnel and presses himself against the wall next to him and is followed quickly by Hermione. They both appear ghostly pale and they scan the room with wide eyes, pupils huge in the dim light. 

Harry peers into the gloom once more, seeking out movement, seeking out anything that might give him a clue as to what they may be facing.  It is Hermione who breaks the silence.

'Oh no,' she whispers, and when Harry and Draco look at her she just points. 

Harry looks in the direction she is indicating and squints, leaning forward as much as he dares in an attempt to identify what Hermione has seen. In the distance, he can just make out what appears to be a large rock, glittering in the pale light.  Harry edges forward, taking cover behind one of the natural stone pillars and it is then that he sees the head. The long muzzle makes it distinctive.

'Great,' he mutters more to himself than to anyone else. 'A fucking dragon.'

Carefully, they edge closer, taking cover behind the pillars and making as little noise as possible. 

Hermione stumbles slightly and sends a stone skittering across the floor. They pause, listening for any sound from the dragon.

'Maybe I should use a silencing charm,' she suggests in a whisper.

Harry shakes his head. He's not sure why, but he has the suspicion that any magic at this point will wake the dragon, 'and that is not something we want to do until absolutely necessary,' he tells them.

Finally, they are close enough for Harry to get a good look at the creature curled on the floor of the cave.  Its scales sparkle like diamond, blue-white in the flickering light, and Harry is at a loss. 

'I have no idea what sort of dragon this is,' he admits. 'You'd think with where we are it would be a Common Welsh Green, but it's obviously not that, nor is it a Hebridean Black. In fact, the only blue dragon I can think of is the Swedish Short Snout, but they don't…' He waves his hand illustratively, 'glitter.'

Next to him, Draco crouches down and then rises up onto tiptoes.  He leans left and he leans right, never taking his eyes off the dragon.  Harry is about to ask him what he's doing when Draco volunteers the information.

'I know why you can't figure out what this is,' he says, smiling slightly and Harry can detect the note of pride in his voice, borne of being the first one to figure it out. 'It's because it isn't a dragon.'

Harry looks at him, bemused.

'Um, well, it certainly looks like one,' he points out, feeling rather stupid.

'Yes, it's a good bit of spellwork,' Draco admits.' 'McGonagall would be impressed, but if you look, this dragon doesn't have a shadow.'

Harry mimics Draco's previous movements, trying to catch a glimpse of a shadow from any angle, but Draco is right.

'So, what is it?' he asks.

'Couldn't say,' Draco admits. 'I'll need to reverse the spell.'

'Any chance that it being just a Transfigured dragon will make it less likely to try and kill us?' Hermione asks hopefully.

'Not a huge chance, no,' Draco says, looking apologetic. 

'So, what are we going to do?' Harry asks, looking for direction from Draco.  He seems to have an idea of the way to defeat this thing, after all.

'Well, it could be that just a good solid finite will do for it, and that the trick is knowing that's what to do when you have a huge dragon trying to turn you into its evening meal, but I doubt it,' Draco suggests, 'but I think it’s more likely that it will have to be Transfigured back.  If I get close enough, I will be able to cast a spell to reveal its true shape and then I can change it back.'

'If the finite doesn't work, though, I suspect it will wake up the moment you cast,' Harry points out.

'I suspect so,' Draco agrees, but does not seem to have anything further to add.

'Okay then, Hermione and I will distract it, you stay out of sight,' Harry says, reaching into his coat, pulling free his invisibility cloak and passing it to Draco, 'and then, when you have a chance, you sneak forward and do whatever it is you need to do.'

Draco reaches out to take the cloak reverently, his eyes searching Harry's face in the ghostly light as though to ascertain if this is some sort of trick.  Harry just smiles as he hands over his father's cloak and allows his fingers to brush over Draco's in a moment of reassurance. 

'Okay,' Harry says, pulling free from the intense eye contact and looking around at Hermione, who appears to be smirking. 'Everybody ready?'

Both of them nod.

'Right, Draco, cast then leg it.  I imagine it will instinctively know where the spell came from,' Harry instructs, watching as Draco throws the cloak over himself and disappears from sight. 

Seconds pass like hours and then suddenly, from the mid-point between two pillars, Harry hears Finite Incantatem and then there is a flash of white light and the sound of Draco's footsteps retreating quickly across the stone. But there is no more time to worry about where Draco might be; he's just going to have to trust him, because the dragon is awake.

There is a low snarl and burst of blue and white flame pours out over the spot where Draco had stood seconds before and Harry can feel it. Not heat, but fierce, biting cold.  Slowly, the dragon gets to its feet and emits a low, vicious sound that tests Harry's nerves almost to their limits. Heavy feet shake the cave, dislodging small stones which shower down on them as the dragon peers around with brilliant blue eyes.

Harry takes a deep breath and pelts out of his hiding place, moving in the opposite direction to Draco.

‘Impedimentia!’ he yells, flinging a spell at the dragon and diving behind the next pillar as another stream of flame is released.

Hermione throws her own spell, releasing a streak of red light towards the dragon, which roars in irritation and belches flame in her direction. Harry uses the distraction to move further around. If they can turn the dragon in this direction, it will increase Draco's chances of getting behind it.

Harry breaks cover once more. 'Ignis!' he calls and the bright flames shoot from his wand.

The dragon turns towards him, bellowing furiously.  Harry dives back into cover to avoid the stream of fire, but it does not come. Peering out from his stone hiding place he sees the dragon flickering, as though it is little more than a television programme getting bad reception, and then it is back and Harry has to duck as the dragon attempts to swing round towards Draco.  The heavy tail sails over his head, crashing though the stalagmite he had been hiding behind and showering him in rubble.

Hermione, realising that she needs to do something before the dragon can unleash its fire at Draco, darts forwards with an Impedimentia of her own. Unfortunately, the dragon is facing her when she releases the spell and she is forced to dive and roll to avoid the flame.  As she scrambles to her feet in front of Harry, he can see that the flame has caught one side of her hair. It does not burn but remains for a moment as fine strands of frost, before it falls away.

'Well,' she says, her voice trembling slightly, 'now we know what happens if we get hit by the flame.'

The dragon bellows again, apparently frustrated at having missed her, and it swipes at them with sharp claws, sending stalactites crashing from the ceiling like felled trees.  Harry grabs Hermione's hand and drags her towards a new pillar and away from the dragon, which is now coming towards them, huffing flame and slashing through the air with razor-sharp talons.  Even as it comes towards them, though, it seems to be moving away, diminishing in size. It is changing colour, too, the bright white and pale blue being replaced with tones of copper and bronze, and then, before they know it, the dragon is gone and in its place lies an old rusty key.

On the other side of the cave, Harry sees Draco drag the invisibility cloak from himself and slump against the rock, exhausted.

Warily, Harry and Hermione advance on the key. It is heavy and rather oversized, but still just a key, and Harry reaches down to pick it up, pausing when his outstretched fingers are just inches away.  He can feel the cold radiating off the Horcrux and, in a moment of uncharacteristic caution, he levitates the key into the front pocket of his bag and seals it with a spell. 

Relieved and rather elated, he heads for Draco and pulls him into a tight hug.  'You did it!' he says as he releases him and Hermione hugs him, too.

'Well done, Draco,' she murmurs and Draco smiles, apparently surprised at their congratulations.

'Thanks,' he says sounding slightly startled. 

'Right,' Harry says, asserting himself once more, 'let's get home, and tomorrow, you can destroy a Horcrux,' he says to Draco, before leading the way back across the cave. 

They have found one at last, and though there are still plenty to go, the book has proved its value and, not only that, Draco is now truly one of them, or at least he will be tomorrow. Joy seems to swell in Harry’s chest and not even the knowledge of wading back through the icy pool can dampen his spirits.  When he hears Hermione's exasperated sigh at Draco's question about her hair, he can't help but laugh.

Eleventh of December – Leather Gloves

'Do you want me to do this or not?' Harry hears Draco asking as he comes down the stairs the following morning. 

It is already close to midday and Harry has been awake for the past hour but unwilling to leave the warmth of his bed. The memory of the night before is still too fresh to make him eager to abandon his warm cocoon.

They had all been frozen once more by the time they had made it back to the top of the hill and had managed to Apparate into Grimmauld Place's warm kitchen. Ron and Crookshanks had joined them for a blow-by-blow account while Harry had made hot chocolate and Draco had insisted that they all take some Pepper-Up to see off the lingering cold.

Ron had been caught somewhere between delight at the fact that they had managed to retrieve a Horcrux and frustration that he had been unable to join them, though Harry thinks that the part about wading through a semi-frozen pond in December had certainly lessened his disappointment.  He had reached over to cover Hermione's hand protectively as she’d described how close the freezing flame had come, reaching out to run a hand over hair which had looked rather uneven.

'It's okay,' Draco had said, passing her a small bottle of Pepper-Up. 'I can even it up for you tomorrow.  I used to charm Pansy's hair for her all the time, that girl could never settle on a style.'

Hermione had looked dubious but had acquiesced; now, though, it sounds as though she may well be having second thoughts.  Harry briefly considers leaving them to it, but his stomach rumbles, reminding him forcefully of why he had abandoned his bed in the first place and he heads in the direction of the kitchen. If nothing else, this could be amusing.

'Yes, Draco, I do, it’s just...' Hermione says as Harry descends into the kitchen, stuffs a couple of slices of bread into the toaster and sets the kettle to boil.

'Well, then, you need to sit still,' Draco interrupts, tone exasperated. 'Unless you're going for Filch chic.'

'That is not even a little bit amusing, Draco, and I will sit still, if you just give me some idea of what it is you're going to do.'

'So, you'll trust me to save you from a dragon with minimal details, but not to use a hairstyling charm, is that it?' Draco says, sounding slightly petulant now. 

'But how do I know it will suit me?' Hermione says, panic rising. 'I've never had a style before, I've always just tied it back… oh, god, will I still be able to tie it back?  I can't be having to style it every day.'

With a sigh, Draco pulls out the chair next to her and sits down, looking her directly in the eye.

'Listen,' he says, and Harry can tell that he is trying his best to be patient. 'I'm not going to do anything that will require you to do anything to it. Of course you're still going to be able to tie it back. I'm not trying to turn you into a fashion model or anything, I'm just going to make you a little less lopsided.'

Hermione hesitates and Harry decides that at this point, his opinion won't hurt anything.

'I think you should trust him, Hermione,' he ventures and she spins in her seat, having apparently been unaware of his arrival. 'After all, have you ever seen anyone with better hair than him?'  He says this with the intention of it being taken as a joke, but by the look on Hermione's face and the pleased little smile on Draco's, he thinks he may have sounded just a little too sincere.

'Okay,' she agrees as Harry turns his back and begins the job of buttering toast and making tea in the hope of hiding the blush that is creeping up his cheeks.

'Thank you,' Draco says with a sigh, and there is the scrape of a chair as he gets up. 'Now, keep very, very still, he says, and then there is silence. 

When Harry turns back it is to see Draco putting the finishing touches to a sweeping fringe which perfectly compliments the new style, not that he really knows about these things. 

'Looks good,' he says, placing two mugs of tea on the table and summoning a mirror for Hermione from the downstairs bathroom.  'Now, drink your tea and then we can go and destroy a Horcrux,' he instructs, grabbing up his toast and his and Ron's tea and heading up towards the library.

**~*~**

Using a tea towel to avoid touching the unnaturally cold metal, Harry retrieves the key from his pack and takes it up to the roof garden. The first few flakes of snow are beginning to fall as he lays it on the low stone wall that surrounds one of the neglected flowerbeds and he turns his face to the blank, white sky, relishing their soft kiss against his warm cheeks.

He steps back and watches the snow as he waits for the others to arrive. Below, London is going about its pre-Christmas business and the sounds of the city drift up through the frigid air, wrapping around Harry and easing his agitation slightly. He thinks it helps to know that, as they prepare to destroy yet another piece of Riddle’s soul, there are people below whose only concern is whether Argos will still have Furbys in stock.

The door opens and Draco steps onto the roof, followed immediately by Hermione.  He has the knife in one hand and is still carrying his cup of tea in the other.  Hermione, too, has bought her drink with her, hands wrapped tightly around her cup, and Harry regrets not bringing his.  They stand there for some time, just sipping their drinks and looking at the Horcrux and Harry knows that Draco is trying to prepare himself mentally.  He has heard Harry's story of the diary, Ron's retelling of the locket and Hermione's account of the cup and he knows that the Horcrux will put up a fight; what manner of resistance is yet to be seen, but Harry knows Draco is trying to achieve the impossible task of being prepared for anything.

'Are you okay with what we're going to do?' Harry asks, and he feels like this is far from the first time. 

They had discussed it at length the night before when Draco had asked the very valid question of how one destroys a key with a long knife.  It had been Hermione who had suggested a cushioning charm as a way of altering the solidity of the knife.  Of course, the moment they cast the charm, the Horcrux will know it is under attack and attempt to defend itself.

'I think so,' Draco says, placing knife and empty cup to one side. He reaches into his pocket and produces a pair of leather gloves which he pulls on with a flourish before taking a deep, calming breath.

'Try not to think about it too much, just do it,' suggests Ron, emerging onto the rooftop with Crookshanks following at his heels. 

He looks exhausted from climbing the stairs, pale and perspiring with dark shadows beneath his eyes, and when he sinks down the wall to sit on the ground, Harry suspects it is because his legs won't keep him up any more.  The moment he's seated, though, Crookshanks chirrups and springs lightly into his lap, whisking Ron's face with his tail and then settling down to watch the proceedings as Ron ruffles his ears, the two of them having apparently come to something of an understanding in recent days. 

Harry smiles at his friend’s resolve to be here for this, determined, despite everything that has happened, to be part of it, to not be left out.

'Okay,' Draco says, picking up the knife once more, the leather gloves creaking slightly as he tightens his grip.

Harry takes a steadying breath and casts the spell.

Immediately, the snow swirls around them, falling quite suddenly as a blizzard as the wind whips up and Harry can barely see Draco any more, let alone the outline of the key, and on the wind he can hear a high, cold voice.

'You're a disgrace, you have the power to restore me to take your place at my side, remember your vow Draco, you are mine,' the voice hisses and Harry shudders, the voice seeming to cut right through him.

'I was never yours,' he hears Draco spit, followed immediately by the sound of metal on stone and the snow dies almost as quickly as it had arrived. 

Looking around, Harry is amused to see that the four of them resemble nothing so much as a collection of half-finished snowmen and he laughs, unable stop himself, not only at the sight of them all, but with the bubble of relief that rises in his chest at the knowledge that they have managed to destroy another one.  That they are one step closer to finishing it, once and for all.

The laughter is infectious and soon Hermione is giggling, too, as she brushes snow from her hair and face. Ron grins and shakes his head like an enthusiastic Labrador and Draco smiles broadly as he vanishes the snow and bends to pick up the two pieces of the key. He spends long seconds turning the pieces over and over in his hand, even going so far as to tug off one glove to poke at the broken pieces with an uncovered finger.

'I never thought I'd be saying this,' Draco says at last, when the giggling has died down, 'but that was nowhere near as bad as I expected. I just kept remembering what you told me about the diary,' he says to Harry, 'about how that piece tried to kill you.  A miniature blizzard and a couple of insults are nothing in comparison, really.'

'I've been thinking about that,' Hermione says, stepping forward to inspect the pieces of key in Draco's hand curiously. 'I think that Voldemort made one major mistake when he was making his Horcruxes.’

'Well, tell us, then, don't keep us in suspense,' Ron insists.

'I think he forgot about the maths, ' Hermione points out, and Harry just stares at her, waiting for her to explain. 'Well,' she says when she realises that not even Draco can see what she's getting at, 'when you make a Horcrux, you split your soul in two and put a part of it in an object,' she continues and Harry can see the exact moment when Draco figures out what she's talking about; a small smile appears on his face and he looks deep in thought.

'I can't even figure out what the maths of that situation would be,' says Draco with a smirk. 

'I used a calculator,' Hermione says. 'It was something ridiculously small, like 0.00013.'

'No wonder he was so inhuman at the end,' Draco says, and he sounds stunned.

'Would you mind just telling us what you're talking about?' Ron says, sounding slightly irritated. 'For those of us who don't speak in code.'

'He thought he was dividing his soul into thirteen even pieces,' Hermione explains, 'but how could he?  By the time he came to make the second Horcrux, half his soul was already in the diary, and by the time he made the third, half of what had been left was in the ring. By the time he got to the diadem he only had one eighth of the soul that he started out with, and he didn't stop there, he kept splitting it and splitting it until there was barely anything left. Of course, the part that remained in him stayed strong, it had a life force to feed it, but not the parts that he has hidden.  They aren't going to be able to put up as much of a fight, certainly not as much as the first one did.'

'So, what you're saying is, old snake face dangle drawers wasn't nearly as clever as he thought he was?' Ron asks, cautiously.

'He certainly made a fairly significant oversight,' Hermione admits.

'Excellent,' Ron says, slapping his hands down hard on his knees and struggling to his feet. 'This calls for a celebration. Who's for hot chocolate?'

Twelfth of December – A Frosty Spider’s Web

Draco stands close to him and Harry can feel his warmth, can smell tea and ginger biscuits and lemons and the clean scent that is Draco's own and he breathes deeply, wanting more, closer, now. A hand strokes over his waist and under the hem of his jumper and he can feel cool leather and soft wool as Draco's fingers slide across his back and pull him close. Harry leans in, sliding his mouth against Draco's and losing himself in the brush of tongues and the way Draco's breath catches as Harry's fingers slide into his hair.

This time it is an obnoxiously cheerful whistling which forces its way into Harry's subconscious, turning his dream from the sublime to the ridiculous for a moment before he cracks open one eye and glares balefully at the window.  The sun is just beginning to creep up, sending long shafts of light into his bedroom and he wants to be cross at the stupidly upbeat milkman but he can't be, because without his tuneless wake up call, Harry has no idea how long he would have remained in bed, and today he has his own little mission to complete.

Slipping through the silent house as quietly as he can, Harry bundles up in coat and scarf and steps out into the chilly morning. The snow that threatened yesterday has failed to amount to much outside the confines of Grimmauld Place's roof garden, and the clouds have been chased away, leaving nothing but pale blue sky and a heavy crunchy frost on every possible surface, and once again, Harry delights in being out of the house and in the normal world. 

This morning he carries with him the memory of the rather wonderful if entirely too short dream and he smiles stupidly as he makes his way towards the centre of London. So much so, in fact, that he is scowled at several times, and given a rather wide berth, no doubt for breaking with conformity and wearing an expression other than the one of wary disinterest, which, is as far as he knows, is the only one acceptable during the London commute.

Not that he cares. People can wander along in their miserable little worlds as much as they like; this morning he is happy and everything feels right with the world and he really doesn't care who knows it.

They had managed to make some excellent progress on the journal the previous day, with Hermione managing to narrow it down to a wood in the south west of England, and Harry has a good feeling about today; he thinks that before too long they will have a new location and a new Horcrux to destroy.  And that is why his mission this morning is so important.  There is no way Draco is coming on another mission in those fancy Italian boots.

The idea has been in the back of his head since they returned from Wales but this morning seems like the perfect time to put his plan into action and he heads for Diagon Alley, confident that Madame Malkin will have something suitable.  Harry's grin hitches a little higher as he remembers the fact that the first time he ever met Draco had been in that place, as he had parroted his father’s politics in his clumsy attempt to make friends. 

Harry wonders where they would be now had he been a little bolder, a little wiser and a little less frightened. Would he and Draco have seen each other for what they really were sooner? Would they have gone through Hogwarts as friends? He doubts it, but he can't help but wonder what might have been, especially in light of the dreams. There have been so many dreams and Harry knows now, he is certain of what he had previously only suspected.  He is charmed by Draco's argumentative and spiky nature, by the confidence that covers all his insecurities, and, though he knows Draco doesn't see it, his strength, his bravery and his resolve. His desire to set things right and be more than everybody expects of him, and Harry thinks that there might be a very good chance that he is falling in love with Draco Malfoy.

And what is more, Harry is beginning to think that Draco may not be entirely indifferent towards him. No, they have held too many glances, brushed against each other with a little too much regularity to be accidental. Harry is almost certain that the attraction is not one-sided. Not that he's going to do anything about it at the moment. It's taken him a while, but he has finally realised that where he is concerned, relationships and being the chosen one just don't mix.  He wants to say something, to do something, to let Draco know how he feels, he really does, but he won't, not until he is certain that Riddle is behind him once and for all.  But on that day, well… things could get interesting, he thinks as he turns a corner and the Leaky Cauldron comes into view.

The warm, beery interior of the Leaky is so wonderfully familiar to Harry that he wants to stop and just drink it in, but he doesn't.  The pub is crowded with Christmas shoppers and Harry knows that if he stops and one of them recognises him he'll be lucky to make it back to Grimmauld Place before New Year.  Instead, he pulls up the hood of his duffel coat, buries his face in his scarf and strides across the busy bar and into the courtyard.

Diagon Alley, if it is possible, is even busier, and Harry keeps his head down as he battles through the shoppers to Madame Malkin's.  Despite the crush in her shop, the moment she recognises Harry, Madame Malkin's professionalism takes over and she ushers him into a private room where she listens to his request and eagerly starts trying to fit him for boots.  When he explains they are for a gift she just smiles warmly and picks out a rather large pair that she says have all the charms already built into them.

'All your friend will need to do is put the boots on, tap them with his wand and they'll adjust to his feet,' she says in a warm business-like manner that reminds Harry of the Hogwarts matron. 'Now, where are you heading next?' she asks with such natural authority that Harry answers her, telling her that he is heading for Weasley Wizard Wheezes before he can even figure out why he's telling this lady his shopping plans.

'Right then,' she says, chivvying him and his package out of the room and into a narrow passage that is decorated with floral wallpaper and leads into a warm-looking kitchen with a quarry-tiled floor and a scrubbed pine table. She opens the back door to reveal a neat little yard with a gate to either side. 

'There's a passage that runs along the back here, it's open access, three gates down and you'll reach your Weasley friends,' she says, patting him firmly on the shoulder and shoving a mince pie into his hand. 'Merry Christmas, young man,' she adds, and with that she disappears back inside to her swarm of eager customers, leaving Harry to ponder on the fact that, just occasionally, it is okay being famous.

Heaving his parcel more securely under his arm, Harry makes his way through a yard that is nothing but a blank, paved space, and another that is wild and overgrown.  When he reaches Fred and George’s yard, he smiles; it is at once everything he could have expected and nothing he could have imagined. There is a greenhouse full of exotic plants, no doubt for making some of their more unusual products, and he can hear the excitable squeaking coming from the Pygmy Puff enclosure.

At the bottom of the garden, near the back door, there is a dustbin full of scorched and brightly coloured cardboard tubes that clearly show that Fred and George have been expanding the wildfire whizz bang range.  A large, elaborate bell pull hangs beside the back door and Harry pulls on it before sitting down on the wall to wait beside a large frosty spider’s web, whose myriad ice crystals are catching and reflecting the morning light and sparkling. No doubt the twins will be even busier than Madame Malkin this close to Christmas but he doesn't mind waiting. 

As he thinks of this he remembers the mince pie she had thrust on him at the last moment and he takes a bite. It is delicious, sharp, sweet fruit and buttery pastry which practically dissolves in his mouth.  The spider, too, seems to be enjoying a mid-morning snack, and Harry wonders whether they find frosty webs more difficult to negotiate.  It doesn't appear so, if the speed with which this spider has restrained its prey is anything to go by.

'I'd like to have your feet whilst scrambling up icy rock faces,' he tells the spider conspiratorially.

'You here to see us, or did you just come to talk to Dora?' comes the sound of Fred's voice, and Harry looks up to see the twin grinning at him.

'Can't I do both?' Harry asks, pushing himself to his feet and crossing the yard to catch Fred up in a huge hug.

'You can indeed, though you certainly pick your moments. I think the whole of Hogwarts is on the shop floor at the moment.'

'I won't keep you,' Harry promises. 'I just wanted to pick up a couple of things.'

'Don't be daft,' Fred says, slapping Harry firmly on the back as he ushers him inside. 'Come upstairs and have a coffee, George'll want to see you, too, and the assistants can manage without us for a bit. To tell you the truth, they'll probably have an easier time of it if we aren't down here creating havoc.'

'Okay, that'd be nice,' Harry agrees, finding the idea of spending half an hour with the twins very appealing. In, fact the whole thing feels rather grown up.

'Have you got a list of what you need?' Fred asks, and Harry rummages in his pocket to find the list of Weasley products that he'd thought might come in handy and hands it over. 'Great, you go up and stick the kettle on, I'll grab George and your stuff,' Fred says and then disappears through a door into the shop. 

Harry climbs the narrow staircase and emerges in to a bright, warm and surprisingly tidy flat. Three large windows stretch floor to ceiling along the front of the building and flood the open plan space with winter sunlight.  He has barely managed to set the kettle to boil when the door is bursting open and he is being dragged into another rib-crushing hug.

'Harry, how’s our favourite recluse?' George exclaims, leading Harry over to a comfortable-looking sofa while Fred makes the coffee.

'I'm not a recluse,' Harry says, amused, as he sinks down onto the cushions.  'I'm just busy.'

'Ah, but busy with what, is the question on everyone's lips,' says Fred, passing Harry a mug.

'Don't worry, Harry, you'll get no questions from us,' George promises.

'Not even what you could possibly want with Peruvian Instant Darkness powder, Extendible Ears and Decoy Detonators,' Fred says, pushing an obnoxiously orange shopping bag in Harry's direction.

'Not planning another assault on the Ministry, are we?' George asks. 'Because if you are, can we come, too?'

'You always make the best trouble, Harry,' Fred grins.

'I don't try to,' Harry protests, amused. 'Trouble just finds me.'

'We know,' George says with something akin to awe in his voice, 'but just imagine what would happen if you did try to, just imagine what you could achieve.'

'I'll bear that in mind,' Harry snorts, 'just in case life ever gets too humdrum.'

'That's all we can ask,' says Fred seriously.

'Now, we may have no idea what it is you're doing, but we wondered if these might be any good to you? It's a new product,' says George.

'We got the idea from you, actually, second Triwizard Task,' says Fred, producing a small box covered in psychedelic colours and bearing the legend: Gillyweed Brownies: take a trip you'll never forget.

'We thought, what an amazing experience to be able to swim underwater for an hour, but no one wants to eat gillyweed, so we found a way to put it into cake without destroying its magical properties.  What do you think?' asks George.

'I think it's brilliant, I'll take four,' Harry says without thinking.

'Four?' asks Fred, looking at Harry suspiciously. 'Who's the fourth for?'

'You wouldn't believe me if I told you,' Harry says and he's right, no one is going to believe it when they get to the end of their task and Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are suddenly best of friends, or perhaps something else, he thinks hopefully.

Still, no matter how much he wants it, he knows that not everyone will be so accommodating. There is no question that they will face resistance, but Harry couldn't care less, he will deal with whatever it takes to have a chance with Draco when this is over and he hopes Draco will feel the same.

Thirteenth of December – A Snow Covered Christmas Tree

'Has anyone ever heard of a place called Wise Man's wood, or maybe Wystan's wood?  It's hard to make this out,' Hermione asks. 

She has been pacing up and down the library for some time now, closely inspecting the Horcrux book, tutting and muttering to herself so much that Harry has read the same paragraph five times and he is grateful for the distraction, even if he can't offer any kind of answer.

'There's a Wistman's wood on Dartmoor,' Ron says, coming out of his doze suddenly and in such a way that Crookshanks is forced to cling on, digging sharp claws into Ron's thigh and causing him to hiss in pain. Harry smiles when, instead of shoving the cat to the floor, Ron simply lifts the claws out of his leg and strokes Crookshanks to settle him down again.

'That could be it,' Hermione agrees, heading over to where Draco is sitting by the window and showing him the book. Draco trails long, elegant fingers across the page and studies it with draw-down eyebrows and Harry watches intently.

'Yes, I think so,' Draco says closing his book decisively and turning his attention to Ron, who is now rummaging in a pile of books, finally extracting a rather heavy volume. 

'Here it is,' Ron exclaims, leafing through the book until he finds what he is looking for.  'On the slopes of the West Dart is a wood of dwarf oak trees. A small and stunted wood, it has earned a large place in local folklore giving rise to tales of Druids, ghosts, the devil and many other supernatural beasts.  It is frequently called the most haunted place on Dartmoor.  To the north of the wood runs an ancient Lych Way or 'Way of the Dead' where corpses were transported for burial at the nearby town of Lydford.  There have been many reports of a ghostly procession of monastic men in white habits walking past the oak wood in silence,' Ron reads. 'That's all there is unfortunately,' he adds.

'Typical bad guy hiding place,' Harry murmurs and Draco laughs.

'So very lacking in originality,' he agrees, heading over to the shelves and scanning their titles once more.

'It is all a bit Bond villain, isn't it?' Hermione adds and Draco and Ron look at her, confused.

'Do you expect me to understand?' Harry asks in an accent that is barely recognisable as Sean Connery’s.

Ron and Draco look at him like he has lost his mind.

'No, Mr Bond, I expect you to die,' Hermione bellows, causing both Ron and Draco to jump.

'I think they've both lost their marbles,' Draco says, turning to Ron as Harry and Hermione burst out laughing. 'It looks like it's going to come down to us now; the pressure has obviously affected their brains.'

Despite Harry and Hermione managing to regain their composure, three hours later, they still have very little information about Wistman's Wood, although Ron does have a burning desire to watch a James Bond film following Hermione's explanation, and Harry suspects that Draco is more intrigued than his aloof front is letting on.

They have looked through every book they have which could conceivably discuss the legends of Wistman's wood, and all they have managed to unearth is that it is rumoured that every crack in rock and tree is filled with writhing adders. 'Snakes, so predictable,' Harry mutters when Hermione reads this out.

'Besides which, snakes aren't really that much of a threat with Harry around, are they?' Draco points out. ‘And by the time he was hiding these Horcruxes, he both knew that Dumbledore was looking for them and that you're a Parselmouth,' he says, looking at Harry in a way that makes heat curl in his stomach. 'I doubt he would have relied on a crack team of adders to protect part of his soul.  No, there has to be something else, something we're missing.'

Suddenly, Ron slams his book shut and growls in frustration. 'I can't believe I've been such an idiot,' he says looking around at his rather startled friends. 'I know where we can get this information—My Dad! He loves folklore and stuff like that, he loves all the stories the Muggles invent to explain away magic. And I know he'll know something about the wood, I remember him going there when I was little, it's only about forty miles away from the Burrow.’

'Brilliant,' Harry says. 'Let's go and see your dad, then.'

'Or maybe we could just keep looking,' Ron suggests, suddenly seeming to lose all enthusiasm for the idea. 'I'm sure there will be something we just haven't found yet.'

'Unless you know of a secret library, hidden away behind the fireplace,' Draco says, looking at him askance, 'I think we may have exhausted this one, on this subject at least.'

'Come on, Ron,' Hermione encourages. 'It's a great idea, I mean I understand you not wanting to put your dad at risk but it's not like that this time.'

'It's not that,' Ron insists.

'But then...' Harry begins but trails off when Ron looks at him with a pained expression.

'I can't,’ Ron insists, indicating with a brief sweep of his hand everything that annoys him about his current situation. 'If Mum sees me like this, well, you know how she is.'

Finally Harry understands. 'But we need to talk to him,' he reasons. 'If he knows about this wood, then he's the best chance we have of figuring this out. He'll know things that aren't in any book.'

'I know,' Ron agrees and sags in resignation. 'Wait,' he says, brightening as he seems to strike upon an idea. 'No one said I needed to go. You can go, Harry, you can speak to Dad and I'll stay here and make sure Crookshanks doesn't get into any trouble.'

'I don't think that's going to work. If you don't go, she'll assume something much worse than the reality,' Harry points out.

'She'll be unbearable,' Ron agrees. 'She'll be demanding that we all go back to the Burrow and work from there, she'll be checking we're wearing our vests and freaking out over every scratch.'

'I think you just need to face facts, Ronald,' Hermione says at last. 'You're going to have to go and see your mother.'

**~*~**

 

'I just don't understand why I had to come, too,' Draco whines as they Apparate into the snow-covered lane outside the Burrow.

'Because you're part of this,' Harry explains for what feels like the tenth time.

He had thought that convincing Ron to face his mother while injured would be difficult, but he hadn't realised that Draco's reluctance to visit the Burrow would be even worse.  At first he had refused point blank to accompany them, but after some gentle wheedling and some not-so-gentle cajoling he has finally bowed to pressure and agreed to come along, though he seems determined for everyone to know that it is against his better judgement.

'Mother Weasley will probably hex me on sight,' he mutters as he and Harry follow the others through the gate. They are moving slowly and slightly awkwardly as Hermione has wrapped an arm around Ron's waist in an attempt to hide the fact she is holding him up.

'She has a name,' Harry scolds lightly. 'It's Molly, you might want to consider using it.'

'Like that's going to happen,' he retorts.

A blanket of untouched snow lies across the garden, hiding the chaotic flowerbeds from sight, and beside the house a large spruce tree hung with many lanterns casts patches of coloured light over the snow. Warm light glows at the kitchen window and the delicious savoury scent of the Weasleys’ dinner still hangs in the air causing Harry's stomach to rumble and making him wish they had thought to eat before they had come out.

Ahead of them, Ron and Hermione appear to have stopped outside the kitchen door and are involved in one of their traditional squabbles.

'But why would I? It's my house,' Ron states and he sounds confused rather than angry.

'Yes, but they haven't seen you for six months, you can't just go barging into their kitchen,' Hermione hisses. 'Just knock on the door.'

'Fine,' Ron capitulates. 'It's still weird though,' he adds, knocking on the door.

'Wait till you have to remind your parents who you are, then we can talk about weird,' Hermione says, just managing to sneak in the last word before the door clicks open and Arthur stands there, framed in the light from the kitchen.

'I thought it was you,' he says calmly, as though he has been expecting them to all turn up out of the blue at half-past eight on a Sunday night. 'Well, come in, then.'

They edge their way into the warm kitchen, where Arthur has apparently been enjoying a solitary supper.  A large mug of tea sits half finished next to a plate with a couple of crusts of bread and a pork pie and, in pride of place, there is a Haynes manual for a VW Camper Van.

'I'm afraid your mother is out this evening,' he says to Ron whilst filling the kettle and setting it to boil.

Ron visibly relaxes at this news, sinking into a chair and resting his head in his hands. Draco appears as rigid as ever but then, Harry supposes, Arthur is probably something of an unknown quantity.  All he knows for certain is that Arthur and Lucius did not see eye to eye and there is no way he can know that Arthur is not the sort of man to hold a grudge.

'So, where is she?' Ron asks, calmer now, and he snatches a biscuit from the plate that Arthur slides onto the table.

'She's babysitting little Teddy Lupin. Andromeda has been attempting to build bridges with her sister and she wanted to have a chance to talk without the little one around,' Arthur explains, levitating the heavy iron teapot and a stack of mugs across to the table and retaking his seat.

Next to him, Harry can practically feel Draco's surprise; apparently, his mothers renewed relationship with his aunt is news to him. Though it does explain, Harry thinks, Arthur’s calm acceptance of a Malfoy in his kitchen. No doubt he has heard through the grapevine that Draco has joined them.

'Anyway, enough about us,' he says with a frown. 'How are you doing?'

Ron falls silent and looks to Harry, apparently unsure how much he should say.

'We're doing well, thank you, Mr Weasley,' Harry tells him. 'We're making good progress.' 

'I'm glad to hear it,' Arthur says and Harry is relieved when he leaves it at that.  'Now, what can I do for you?' he asks. 'Not that it isn't lovely to see you all in one piece…' He casts a quick glance at Ron, '…mostly, but I can't help but think that this isn't a social call.'

'We were hoping you could tell us anything you know about Wistman’s wood,' Hermione says and this time Arthur does look surprised.

'Wistman's wood?' he asks. 'Why –? Actually, I don't think I want to know the answer to that,' he says and next to Harry, Draco laughs softly. All eyes turn to him and he shuffles slightly in his seat, apparently regretting drawing attention to himself.

'Sorry,' he apologises, 'but that's exactly what my mother said.'

'I empathise with her, I really do,' Arthur says kindly. 'So, Wistman's Wood, well, there are lots of legends around that odd little place.  A lot of them stem from the fact that over a thousand years ago the wood fell within the boundaries of the Abbott fiefdom. Newton Abbot was actually named for the head of the family. Back then, the Abbotts were a strange lot and were very into their blood magic, which they would practice in the wood. But the family fell upon hard times and relocated north to Godric's Hollow some time in the middle ages when the Muggles were becoming increasingly concerned by the concept of witchcraft,' Arthur explains.

'Is that it?' Ron asks, sounding disappointed.

'That's as much as we know for certain,' Arthur says and he sounds slightly excited. 'As for legend and rumour, the wood is greatly feared in the local community. The locals won't go there after dark and it is said that evil creatures prowl the wood at night, looking to take the souls of wayward travellers.

'It's also said that Old Crockern, who is said to be the ancient spirit of Dartmoor, and is neither kindly nor benevolent, keeps a pack of huge, satanic black dogs, with blood red eyes, yellow fangs and an insatiable hunger for human flesh, and that he hunts with them through the wood.'

There is silence in the kitchen for a moment and then Arthur sighs, sitting back in his chair and smiling. 

'It's all just stories though, I've visited the wood myself, it was beautiful and quite interesting but there was nothing unnatural about it.'

'You visited it during the day, though, didn't you?' Draco asks.

'Well, yes, but, I can't think of any reason to go at night, you wouldn't be able to really see anything,'

Harry sighs.  They always go at night, because he knows instinctively that is when the Horcruxes will be accessible.  Dumbledore had told him once that Voldemort was afraid of the dark and there is no doubt that the only time that they will be able to access the Horcruxes is when every last reassuring ray of sunshine has disappeared from the sky.

'No, of course not,' Harry says to Arthur. There's no point in worrying him, after all. 'Thank you, you've been a great help,' he says, forcing a smile.

'No problem, anything I can do. Now, how about you let me fix you something to eat? There's plenty of leftovers from lunch, you know Molly, she always cooks for thirty… then you can get off before she gets back and mithers you all to death. And Ron, let's keep whatever is wrong with you between us, shall we?'

Seventeenth of December – Balls of Wool

Snow lies across the neat lawn outside Narcissa's cottage and Harry is amused to see the obvious evidence of winter juxtaposed with flowerbeds which seem to think it is the middle of June.

Just he and Draco have made the trip to the New Forest this time, Hermione having claimed that she had found something important that she and Ron needed to do and that only he could help with. Harry had smiled at her clear attempt to ensure Ron felt fully involved and even more so at her rather unconvincing apology at not being able to accompany them. 

'Please thank your mother for the card and tell her that I am so sorry about not being able to come and try her mulled wine,' she had said and Harry had raised his eyebrows at this pronouncement.  Hermione has always been a horrible liar.

'Well, I don't think I will tell her that,' Draco had said, smirking, 'otherwise, we'll end up coming home with a cellar full of wine and poor Harry may never be sober again.'

'Hey,' Harry had interjected, nudging Draco with his shoulder.

'But certainly I shall relay your thanks for the Christmas card,' he'd finished, ignoring Harry's assault.

'Are you okay?' Harry asks as he and Draco make their way up the front path. Draco seems nervous and keeps looking over his shoulder, scanning the trees. 

'It's just what Ron said yesterday,' he begins and Harry tenses. 'I know he didn't mean it,’ Draco reassures, 'but what if he was right?'

'He wasn't,' Harry says. 'The Death Eaters are still in hiding and, even if they weren't, they have no idea that we are even aware of the Horcruxes, let along looking for them.  They would have no reason to attack your mother.  Besides, the only people who know where she is are you, Andromeda, and us.’

With a look of resolve, Draco nods and knocks on the door. Tinzey opens it, full of enthusiastic welcomes for Master Draco and his friend, and ushers them quickly into the lounge before leaving for refreshments.  Internally, Harry groans; he's going to have to be a lot more careful about the amount of home brew he puts away this time, though Draco has promised to use the little spell that turns the rather potent mixture into fruit juice on Harry's cup as well as his own.

Narcissa is sitting on the sofa in front of the fire, looking more relaxed than Harry would ever have been able to imagine her.  She is dressed in robes of dusky pink and has her feet drawn up onto the cushions beside her, covered by the huge stripy blanket which she is currently knitting the Muggle way, balls of wool resting in a basket on the coffee table. 

'Draco,' she exclaims, smiling warmly at her son and reaching up to stroke the back of his head as approaches and stoops to kiss her cheek, 'and Mr Potter, too, how wonderful to see you both,' she says, and Harry has the feeling that she really is just as happy to see him. 'I hope you will excuse me,' she continues, 'I must just finish this row before I can set this aside.'

She doesn't wait for an answer but refocuses on her knitting, becoming a flurry of little movements and clicking needles, while Harry and Draco settle themselves on the second sofa. By the time Tinzey returns with the steaming jug of spiced wine, she is packing he knitting away and thankfully does not notice the quick spell Draco casts on each his and Harry’s glass.

'So, Draco, Mr Potter,' she says, taking her own glass from Tinzey. 'What can I do for you today? I can deduce from my son's heavy expression that this is not simply a social visit.'

Harry struggles slightly, wondering how best to introduce the topic, but Draco, it seems, is ready to cut straight to the heart of the matter. 

'We were hoping you might be able to help us with a rune translation,' he says, and Narcissa's face lights in excitement.

'It has been many years since I attempted one; I cannot say for certain that my skills are as sharp as they once were, but I would be delighted to take a look, of course,'  she says, as though Draco has just offered her an enormous treat.

'There's just one thing, Mrs Malfoy,' Harry says and Draco's eyes widen in alarm.  As subtly as he can manage, Harry slides a reassuring hand onto Draco's back.  He doesn't want to panic her, and he won't, but she needs to know what she is agreeing to. 'If you help us, you will know what it is we are trying to achieve, you'll know the details, and it could potentially put you in some danger.'

Narcissa frowns at this and Harry's heart drops a little.  They had not allowed for this.  All the concern had been for whether or not they should share the information with her; they had not considered that she might not wish to endanger herself.

She obviously sees the concern in Harry's face and she smiles reassuringly.

'Please do not for one moment think that any reluctance is borne out of a fear for my own safety. I am the wife of a Death Eater who, at the last moment, attempted to abandon his master and mother to another who seeks to destroy him entirely,' she says, and next to Harry, Draco shifts uncomfortably. 'And I couldn't be prouder of you, Draco, the choice that you have made wasn't an easy one, and we both knew the dangers that it would entail.  No, I am resigned to the fact that, so long as any Death Eaters remain at large and there is any chance of the Dark Lord's return, I and my whole family are in danger.  But really, that makes us no different from everyone else.

'My hesitation lies in the fact that, once I know what it is you are attempting, I know not how my mind will rest, until such time as you have achieved your goal. Any comfort I can draw from denial will be denied me. For example, right now, Mr Potter, I can choose to believe that it is paint, or perhaps spilled hot chocolate that has dried upon your shoelaces. With this knowledge I will not have that luxury. I will be forced to face the fact that one of you has suffered injury.'

'I'm sorry, Mother, we shouldn't have asked,' Draco says, hanging his head slightly. 

'Do not be foolish, Draco, it does not suit you. Of course I will help you. I only want you to know how much a mother worries; I hope you may take a little more care with your welfare as a result. I know the folly of youth, it takes health for granted.'

Her words hang in the air and guilt creeps up Harry's spine. She is right, of course; they're reckless, all of them, but then, he supposes, they need to be.  There has to be an element of recklessness, of throwing caution to the wind, otherwise they would never get anywhere.

'Right then,' she says, shattering the silence and unfolding herself from the sofa. 'Let us remove to the kitchen and have a look at this translation. The light is superior in there at this time of day.'

Eighteenth of December – Cinnamon Sticks

Harry glances up at the clock on the mantelpiece. Half past twelve.  They had returned from Narcissa's cottage by three that afternoon, laden with information extracted from the book, Compass points, ley lines, latitude and longitude, all combining to give the last four locations.  The table is covered with maps and books, empty tea cups and broken quills, but there is excitement in the air. They are so very, very close.

'I've got it, I've got it!' Ron yells suddenly and Draco hurries to cast the intricate webs of lines that overlay the map and point out the locations.  Blue first, then green, then red.

'Turn the red one forty degrees to the east and the blue fifteen to the west,' Ron says, reading from his paper. 

Draco complies and immediately it all lines up, intersecting at three points very clearly.  Two more sites are identified as well, though less strongly, but Harry is certain that the final Horcrux will be at one of them.

'Okay,' Hermione says, marking the points with a pencil and reading the locations off the map. 'Ludchurch in the Peak District is a definite. See, Ron, I said that you were onto something with that.' She beams at him and Ron blushes slightly at the praise. 'We've also got Gosmire Lake in Yorkshire and a neolithic tomb in Herefordshire that are both definite locations.  As for the last one, it's either Donnottar Castle in Aberdeenshire or Stone Henge in Wiltshire.'

'Probably Stonehenge,' Harry says, yawning widely. 'You know what he's like, flash git. So, shall I make some more tea to celebrate?' he asks and Draco groans.

'No, no more tea,' he says emphatically, pulling one of the books towards him and flipping through it to find one of the newly identified sites. 'I wouldn't say no to some coffee, though,' he says, smiling at Harry appealingly. 

Harry grins at him, trying not to feel too elated.  They are so much closer now, maybe they will have even finished by the time 1999 rolls around and he know what that means; it means that this longing that has been building day by day may finally have a chance of becoming something. Something real.

'I could go for a coffee,' Ron agrees, pulling Harry's attention back to the room.

'No!' Hermione states, sounding annoyed, and all three of them turn to where she is standing, arms folded crossly.

'It's alright, 'Mione,' Harry says, amused at her petulance. 'I'm having tea, I'll make both.'

'No, I do not want tea, I don't want coffee or chocolate or juice or Butterbeer or anything else that we can drink in this library whilst we carry on searching for information.  We have just solved the puzzle; what we need is to celebrate! Let's go out!' she declares.

'But Hermione, it's quarter to one in the morning. There's not going to be anywhere open,' says Ron gently.

Hermione looks at him as though he has lost his mind.  'It is the eighteenth of December, Ronald. It is the week before Christmas and we are in central London. I'd be more surprised if anywhere is closed,' she says and immediately begins chivvying them all from the room.  'Go get changed, all of you, you have fifteen minutes.  Muggle clothes, Draco; no trainers, Ron, I want to go somewhere fancy.’

Harry feels rather self-conscious in his smart charcoal suit and pale blue shirt as he makes his way downstairs some ten minutes later. He knows he looks smart; the moment he had emerged wearing it to attend the trials, everyone had fallen over themselves to tell him in surprised tones just how smart he looked, but he still feels ridiculously overdressed.  Draco, on the other hand, who appears on the stairs moments later, looks like he was made to wear this stuff.

He is also wearing a suit, though it is lighter than Harry's with a thin pinstripe and, despite the additions of waistcoat, dark green tie, pale green pocket square, and dull silver cufflinks, he looks a lot more comfortable in his suit than Harry does.

'Why do I look like I've borrowed this from my dad and you look like you were born wearing that?' Harry asks, choosing to concentrate on his envy rather than just how amazing Draco looks.

'You look very smart,' Draco says, stepping into the hallway and fixing a non-existent stray hair in the mirror.

'Thanks,' Harry says, brightening at the compliment. 'I don't look like you, though.'

'Of course you don't look like me,' Draco says, and Harry can tell he has deliberately misconstrued his point.

'I mean that you don't look like you're wearing your father's suit,' Harry clarifies. 

'Of course I don't, Lucius wouldn't be seen dead in Muggle attire,' Draco scoffs, laughing at the thought. 

Harry sighs, resigned to not getting a straight answer.

'It's all a matter of confidence,' Draco says at last, turning to look Harry up and down, eyes raking over his body in a way that makes Harry shiver, 'and posture,' he adds, placing one hand on Harry's shoulder and the other on the small of his back and pushing until his spine straightens. 'Chin up,' he adds, stroking a long finger up Harry's neck and under his chin. Harry's breath catches in his chest and he takes half a step towards Draco, caught in bright grey eyes.

'Come on, Ron,' Hermione chides from the top of the stairs and Harry springs back as though he has received a shock.

Hermione bustles down the stairs in a dark red dress and a pair of low black heels wearing a huge grin.

'This is going to be so much fun,’ she says, looping her arm through Harry's and squeezing excitably and Harry smiles at her, trying desperately to ignore the live eels that have suddenly taken up residence in his stomach.

As everyone struggles into their coats, Harry chances a quick look at Draco and is rather pleased to notice that he, too, looks rather more ruffled than he had descending the stairs just minutes before. At least he isn't suffering alone. 

**~*~**

They Apparate into a side street just off Covent Garden, Hermione guiding their flight, and the entire time Harry is aware of the way Draco's hand rests on the small of his back, almost protectively, under the guise of staying close for the Apparition.

The moment they land, they are caught up in the noise from streams of late night revellers, all in varying states of drunkenness and jubilant about the approaching holidays.  Hermione had been right, as she always is, and all around them music is pouring from open doors and lights sparkle as everyone tries to draw in the many Christmas parties that have descended on London. 

They wander along, caught up in everyone else's excitement.  Hermione leads the way and steers Ron and Harry, with whom she has linked arms, forcefully through the crowds. On Harry's left, Draco is a constant distraction, walking close enough that Harry can smell him. 

They walk along, just relishing being out in the cold air, teenagers doing the things that they are supposed to be doing, released for one night from the responsibilities they have taken on.  Just four more people enjoying the joys of London in the build up to Christmas.

'Over here,' Hermione says at last, turning them towards what looks like a normal Georgian town house but for the black railing dressed with little lights, the sandwich board and the two miniature Christmas trees, sitting either side of the gate. They follow her inside, down a short, straight staircase into a large basement.  The music here is softer, allowing them to hear the low rumble of chatter from the smartly-dressed people gathered around the enormous mahogany bar and stuffed into the booths that line the walls.

“Why don't you see if you can find an empty booth?” Hermione says to Draco and Ron, linking her arm through Harry's and propelling him over to the bar, where shelves of glass bottles in every colour of the rainbow gleam under the soft lights set into the ceiling.

'What can I get for you?' asks the impeccably dressed bartender, flashing a winning smile at Harry as he leans on the bar beside Hermione.  Next to him, Hermione giggles slightly and he glances at her appealingly. He has no idea what to order in a place like this.

'Um, why don't you surprise us?' Hermione says, patting Harry on the arm reassuringly. 'Something Christmassy, and four, please,' she says, holding up four fingers demonstratively.

'Coming right up,' says the guy and Harry thinks he winks before he turns and starts pulling bottles off the shelves, adding them to a large silver shaker.  Harry has to resist rolling his eyes as the guy mixes the drinks like he's in a movie or something, clearly trying to impress Hermione. Eventually, he slides a tray across the counter containing four martini glasses filled with clear liquid, each garnished with a single cinnamon stick, and Hermione pays him an obscene amount of money as Harry carries the tray to the booth in the far corner where Draco and Ron sit waiting.

'So, the day after tomorrow, you reckon?' he hears Ron ask as he draws closer, and a cold wind whisks around his ankles as another couple push their way into the warm bar.

'Yes, he should be fine by then,' Draco agrees as Harry slides into the booth next to him. Hermione is right behind him and she takes the seat beside Ron as Harry slides the drinks from the tray.

She takes her drink and lifts it. 'To success,' she says and they all join in, clinking their glasses against hers and repeating the toast.

'So, what are we talking about?' Hermione asks after taking a sip of her drink.

'Draco was saying that Harry should be ready to go out again the day after tomorrow,' Ron says.

'No, no, no,' Hermione says, shaking her head.

'He was, Hermione,' Ron says sounding confused.

'I don't doubt he was, and while I'm very happy to hear it, I'm calling a moratorium on all shop talk tonight,' she says.

Harry grins at her and lifts his drink, sniffing at it experimentally. It smells warm and spicy and he takes a tentative sip.  It tastes fantastic, like Christmas, and Harry grins, relaxing back against the soft, worn leather.

'So, what should we talk about then?' Draco asks, sipping his own drink.

'Well, we could talk about the way the barman was flirting with Harry,' Hermione giggles.

Harry's face heats and he shakes his head. Next to him, Draco seems to stiffen slightly.

'No, he wasn't,' Harry says firmly.

'Oh, no?' Hermione asks, producing a napkin. 'Then how come he asked me your name and told me to give you this?' she asks, passing Harry the flimsy paper. Scrawled across it in marker pen are the words CALL ME, a telephone number, and the name ‘Adrian’.

'He can't, he was flirting with you,' Harry insists, and Hermione scoffs.

'He barely even noticed I was there,' she says, grinning.

'Bad luck, mate,' Ron says with a frown.  'I wouldn't have a clue what to do if a bloke came on to me.'

'Oh, Harry doesn't care about that,' Hermione says, waving away Ron's comment. 

For a moment, Harry freezes. He's been comfortable with this view of himself for a while but he's never discussed it with his friends before and Ron's reaction will tell him everything he needs to know about how he will deal with it when it actually comes up.

'Whatever does it for you,' Ron mutters, sipping his drink. 

Opposite him, Hermione's eyes are glittering mischievously and Harry realises that she is telling him something in her own oblique way.  He is safe and he is loved, no matter what happens.  Beneath the table, he reaches out and takes hold of Draco's wrist, stroking his thumb against his pulse point reassuringly until he feels him relax at the silent promise.  It won't be long now.

Nineteenth of December – Tiny Gingerbread Houses

'It feels so strange doing this during the day,' Harry says as they stumble into the tiny teashop to wait for their charms to take effect.

A small group of students had been walking through the ancient crevasse when they had arrived, and they had been forced to resort to underhand methods to get them to clear out.  A few dungbombs littered along the trail should be sufficient to ensure that the geography field trip, with their macs, clipboards and compasses, don't linger over the natural phenomenon.

With mounting impatience, they retreat to a small café to wait out the expedition.  The teashop is packed and at first they think they will have to find somewhere else, which is a shame, Harry thinks, as there is a truly magnificent coffee and walnut cake sitting under a plastic dome on the counter and a vast array of teas written on to the chalk board in a neat, looping script.

'I'm afraid that last table is reserved,' says the young woman behind the counter, tucking her pencil into the tidy bun on the back of her head. 'We have some tables outside, if you like?'

'Outside?' asks Draco, sounding scandalised. 'It can't be more than three degrees out there.'

'It is chilly, but we can make you hot water bottles and there's a big basket of blankets by the door.'

Draco looks at the woman as though she has lost her mind for a few seconds and then asks: 'You provide your outside diners with blankets and hot water bottles?'

'Yes, well, it's lovely and sunny out there, it's just a little fresh,' she explains, obviously thinking that Draco is a difficult customer.

'What a marvellous idea, we'll take three!' he insists and Harry can't hide his smile.

It turns out to be a wonderful idea; the air is crisp and tastes divine, but with blankets and hot water bottles, they are cosy as they sit and watch the world go by.  Eventually, the woman appears to take their order and despite his initial enthusiasm at the tea, Hermione's request for hot chocolate, causes him to make a complete u-turn on the subject.  When it arrives, Harry is charmed to see that each cup comes with its own tiny gingerbread house hooked over the lip.

Draco's eyes gleam as he catches sight of the treat, and when it is set down in front of him, he wastes no time in picking it up and turning it in all directions, inspecting it carefully.

'It's so small,' he exclaims gleefully as he strokes a finger over the shiny patterned icing that decorates the roof. 'I feel like I shouldn't eat it.'

'Well, I'll have it if you don't want it,' Harry says, deliberately misunderstanding just that so he can wind Draco up.

'You will not,' Draco says, scandalised, and he holds his tiny house well out of Harry's reach.

Harry has to admit, the houses are beautiful, but he's much more interested in how they taste and he snaps off one corner and dunks it into his hot chocolate before popping it in to his mouth and savouring the combination of rich, creamy, sweet, and spicy.

As they sit there, squabbling good-naturedly, he wonders if perhaps it isn't supposed to be like this. They are doing such a serious job and yet he's having such a good time. In his pocket, he turns the little cinnamon stick in his fingers, a foolish memento grabbed as they had left the bar last night,  the reminder of a moment of normality and a silent promise between two people.

By the time they have finished their drinks, Hermione has purchased a tiny gingerbread house for Ron and they have made it back to the location, the sun has slipped lower in the sky, pale golden light shimmering against the banks of snow, and they know that this time they will have to be quick.

They have a little more information about this site.  Ron, absolutely convinced that this is a Horcrux site, has managed a little rune translation of his own and informed them that the last light of day will reveal the Horcrux and that they have to get back before darkness falls and the shadow consumes them.

The students are nowhere in sight as they make their way along this natural path.  Walls of sheer rock rise on either side of them painted with lichen and scattered with the ferns that enjoy this cool damp environment.  The path is not long and they reach the end in what feels like no time.  They search the wall at the end, even though they know it to be futile.  The sun is sinking now and it is this which will light their way.

'Harry,' Hermione says, nervously pulling his attention away from a ledge sticking out of the rock which he is using all of his strength to attempt to shift.

'Yeah?' he asks, leaning back to look at Hermione but not letting go of the ledge.  The rock face is blank and quite featureless and he isn't sure he'll find it again if he lets it go.

'I think I saw something move,' she says, backing towards Harry. 'It was over there,' she adds, pointing to a dark, shadowy overhang that sits some way back down the passage through which they have just walked.

'Perhaps it was a squirrel or something,' he says hopefully.

'I don't think so, Harry, it looked almost human.'

Adrenaline floods his veins and he draws his wand, completely forgetting his previous task. Wand raised, he approaches the area carefully.  The closer he gets, the more obvious it becomes that there is something wrong here, though there is no further sign of the figure Hermione had reported.

The shadow looks more solid than it should, though, and Harry has the impression that, were he to reach out and touch it, it would feel like water running through his fingers.  He doesn't hear Hermione approach, but he does hear her breath catch as the darkness ripples in front of them like wind on the surface of a lake.

'Shadow people,' she whispers, and Harry shivers at the name, though he knows nothing about them.

Harry turns to look at Hermione and notices that Draco also looks alarmed at her pronouncement.

'But they're just a story… something children say to scare each other,' Draco protests, as though by refusing to believe in them they will cease to exist.

Hermione shakes her head. 'They're real, but they're never found here. They live in the forests of eastern Europe, not in Staffordshire.'

'Well, they're here now,' Harry says, trying not to sound impatient. 'Come on, 'Mione, what do you know? How can we kill them?'

She shakes her head, mouth opening and closing silently. 'I don't know,' she says and she sounds close to tears. 'I've never read anything about one being destroyed.'

'But there has to be something we can do,' he insists.

'We might be able to hold them off,' she says at last, and though she does not sound as though she has much faith in the idea, Harry will take whatever he can get. 'They feed on magic,' she says, calmer now as she thinks it through. 'Perhaps, if we use Patronuses, they might feed off those instead.'

'Great,' Harry says, watching as the sun sinks lower and lower.  Any minute now, the Horcrux will reveal itself and they will have to grab it and flee before the darkness can fill the chasm.

'There's only one problem,' Draco says, sounding as nervous as Harry has ever heard him. 'I have never produced a Patronus. I mean, I've managed a bit of mist, but nothing sustainable.'

'Your happy thought isn't strong enough,' Harry says immediately, remembering Lupin scolding him for his feeble happy memory in his third year.

'I don't have a huge number to choose from,' Draco snipes.

Harry has no idea what possesses him in the next moment; all he knows is that Draco needs to be able to produce a corporeal Patronus if they have any way of getting out of here and he has only one way of giving him a happy memory in the next couple of minutes.

His feet carry him forward, quite without his permission, and next to him he thinks he hears Hermione squeak excitedly but he isn't paying attention to that any more, instead, he is stepping into Draco's personal space, fisting the lapel of Draco's coat in one hand while the other comes up to cup Draco's jaw.  He pauses for less than a second, searching the surprised silver eyes and looking for the approval he needs before his lips brush Draco's in their first tentative kiss. It doesn't remain tentative for long, however, and within moments, Draco is gripping his coat, pulling him closer as the kiss turns urgent, and Harry slides his tongue into his mouth, tasting chocolate and ginger and something that is just Draco.

They cling to each other for long seconds and Harry pours all of his impatient longing into deepening the kiss, tangling his fingers in Draco's hair. Next to him, Hermione shuffles pointedly and he pulls back, pausing momentarily to stare into Draco's eyes and convince him, silently, that this is far from the end.

'There,' Hermione says and reluctantly, Harry releases Draco and twists to look at the cliff face, which has turned bright gold in the setting sun, and there, to the right hand side, there is a glinting in the rock.

Harry moves over to it and strokes the rock, surprised when it falls away like soft plaster. He begins to scrabble at it, the stone coming away in chunks until, finally, something falls to the ground with a metallic tinkle.

Stooping, he sifts through the fallen rock until he finds it, a small silver teaspoon with a rather intricate filigree handle. He stares at it for a moment, trying to remember where he might have seen it before.

'Uh, Harry, have you got it?' Hermione asks, voice tight with anxiety, 'because I think it's probably time to leave.'

He shoves the spoon into his pocket and turns to see that the shadow has now stretched across the entire space, blocking their exit. It writhes, twisting and turning as its inhabitants begin to find their forms.

Harry swipes his tongue along his bottom lip, catching the lingering taste of Draco's mouth, remembering the press of his lips and the flick of his tongue, making the sensations sharp in his mind before he casts Expecto Patronum and the stag bursts from his wand in a shower of blinding white.

Beside him, Hermione and Draco repeat the spell and Prongs is soon joined by Hermione's otter.  It takes Harry a moment to recognise Draco's Patronus, taking in pointy ears and bushy tail and realising with interest that it is a fox. He is distracted, however, when as soon as they are cast they begin to fade slowly. They become wispy around the edges as the shadow people begin to feed, leeching the Patronuses’ energy rather than their own. In an instant, Harry unfreezes, catching Hermione by the elbow and propelling her forwards, towards the shadow, trusting in the stag, otter and fox to force them back and allow them safe passage.

The ground seems much less stable on their return than it had on their way out and they slip and slide over the small stones, focusing on maintaining their rapidly-fading Patronuses.   Harry can just about make out the pale purple light cast by the disappearing sun which marks the end of the corridor and it seems so much further away now, especially as he considers the rate at which their shields are vanishing. A hundred yards to go and the shadows ahead of them shrink away, reluctantly allowing them to pass, before joining the surge following hungrily behind.

They're going to have to hurry, he thinks, not daring to look behind him, but knowing that they are closing; it is like trying to outrun a wave. Just at that moment, Hermione's foot collides with a stone and she stumbles and would fall, were it not for Draco, who catches her by the back of her coat. He prevents her fall, but cannot prevent the damage done to her foot and her very next step sees it give way beneath her.

Harry thinks fast. Draco can heal her, but he'll have to stop his Patronus to do that, and they need all three; two will be consumed too quickly, especially as the otter has begun to fade as Hermione attempts to combat the pain.  Harry pulls the pack from his back and thrusts it in Draco's direction. He steps up to Hermione, flexing his knees and holding out the arm which isn't struggling to maintain the stag.

'Come on,' he calls, beckoning with his head and, with minimal reluctance, Hermione complies, scrambling onto Harry's back and clinging tightly to his shoulders. With the weight lifted from her foot, she is able to focus once more and as the otter reasserts itself, Harry knows that she is squeezing her eyes shut tight in order to block out the pain and focus on whatever memory she finds happiest.

They move more slowly now and Harry has to fight with himself not to tell Draco go on without them, not that he thinks for one moment that he would, but he isn't sure he could cope if Draco was consumed simply because he and Hermione were slowing him down. Fifty yards to go.

Hermione's Patronus is the first one to shimmer out, and around them, the shadows seem to swarm excitedly, convinced that they will get their meal.  She tries again and again, producing nothing but silver vapour and Harry can feel the fear in her rising as they stumble towards the exit and safety. Twenty yards to go.

The fox goes next, and if Harry is honest, he is impressed that Draco has managed to cling to the manifestation for as long as he has. Instinctively, Draco moves closer to him, relying on the rapidly-fading stag to maintain the last line of defence between them and the claustrophobia-inducing darkness, and in the pale light from his Patronus, he can see Draco's eyes, wide and fearful.  Determination rises up in Harry and he takes a deep breath and yells his exhalation, forcing himself forward faster, eyes trained solely on his target, relieved when he hears Draco's speed increase and feels him keep pace.

They are mere paces from the end when the stag begins to flicker and Harry can feel them now. The cold hands that slide over his face are caught somewhere between insubstantial and solid, and then they are breaking through into a wide landscape coated in a white blanket which has been stained pink in the last light of the day, just as the stag disappears.  He turns, he can't help it, and he catches the briefest glimpse of the shadow surging towards them before Draco is clinging to him and twisting them all into darkness.

Twenty-first of December – A Snowy Village

Twenty-second of December – An Oil Lamp

Ron is practically humming with excitement as he gathers with the others in the hallway and pulls on his coat.  Harry knows how hard it has been on him, or rather he suspects. Ron hasn't said anything, at least not to him, but Harry knows how he would feel in the same situation, having to sit on the sidelines and watch as his friends put themselves in danger.  He doesn't know how Ron has coped.

Harry knows that had it been a matter of pain, Ron would have been at their side all along, stoically managing any discomfort, but weakened magic is not something that one can simply grin and bear, and Ron would never put his friends in danger like that.  Now, however, he appears to be on the mend and has successfully immobilised Harry twice and once yanked him into the air by his ankle as he entered the library, just to prove that he can. 

He's still weak, but he can do enough to defend himself and today, that is all they need.  After a hard day’s research, he has finally managed to unravel the secret to entering the tomb, which is to do so unarmed.  Anyone wishing to enter the tomb must apparently surrender their wand, leaving it on the ancient stone, and there had been a protracted discussion this morning about who would descend into the catacombs and who would remain on the surface. It had all been threatening to get rather heated until Ron had spoken up, suggesting that he could come along, remain up top and act as a look-out, and, despite her initial reservations, Hermione had been relatively easy to convince.

'Are we all ready?' Harry asks, wrapping a scarf around his neck and hoisting the pack onto his shoulder.

'OWWW!' Crookshanks responds, winding himself around Ron’s legs and looking at him reproachfully.

'No, Crookshanks, you can't come!' Hermione says, smiling down at the fuzzy orange cat as Ron stoops to scratch the mismatched ears.

'Oh, but Hermione, you can't separate big orange and little orange,' Draco teases lightly, and she smiles, amused.

'You know, there's no reason he couldn't come with us,' Ron says, serious now, and Hermione looks at him like he has lost his mind.

'No, Ron, we are not taking the cat on the Horcrux hunt,' she says sternly.

'Oh, but he's been shut inside for so long, I bet he'd love to play in the snow,'  Ron pleads.

'No, he's not coming, and that's that,' she says decisively.

**~*~**

Ahead of them, Crookshanks scampers gleefully through the snow, kicking up white powder and attempting to catch it and Harry can't remember the last time he saw that cat behaving in such a kittenish manner.

As they walk across the snow-covered Dorstone Hill, the atmosphere is so calm and relaxed that Harry can almost forget that they are here on business.  The sun is high overhead and the area is deserted, the lower paths all having been blocked by the abnormally heavy snowfall.

The cat thunders back and forth past their feet, hopping high over the snow and looking so comical that Harry can't help but laugh. Ron is right—Crookshanks has spent his whole life thus far enjoying the sprawling grounds of Hogwarts and the endless countryside which adjoins the Burrow.  For the past six months, however, he has been restricted to the house and its tiny inner-city yard and Harry is certain that it can't have been much fun for him.

As they approach the stone, everything seems to become a little more serious and even Crookshanks appears to notice the change, lowering his bottle-brush tail and stalking over to stand at Ron's side.

'It's here,' Ron points, almost immediately identifying the hollow to which he will need to surrender his wand. Without preamble, he withdraws it and places it on the rock.  For a moment, nothing happens and Harry is about to suggest that maybe there is something else they need to do when a circle of previously invisible runes glows blue and there is a grinding, scraping noise as one of the stones draws back, revealing a pitch dark hole in the hillside. 

Without waiting for anyone to begin the discussion of who should go first, Harry steps up to the edge and into the darkness. He hears Hermione’s and Draco's protests as he braces for impact and he feels himself slow as Draco's Arresto Momentum spell wraps around him, allowing Harry to sense both his concern and his irritation.  He thinks that one of these days, his luck will run out and he'll jump into a hole that he cannot judge the depth of and he'll just keep falling, never reaching the bottom. 

Not today, though. Harry smirks as his feet meet solid earth no more than ten feet below and immediately a dusty old oil lamp roars to life next to him.

Tilting his head back, he sees both Hermione and Draco peering into the hole with reproachful looks on their faces.

'You could have been killed, you idiot,' Draco says irritably, and Harry just shoots him his most winning smile.

'But I wasn't,' he points out, though this just seems to irritate Draco further.

Sensing an argument, Harry opts to change the subject.  He is sure he will hear all about his reckless Gryffindor nature later; for now, they have work to do.  Glancing around him, he can just about make out the beginning of a tunnel, leading away into the hill.  He reports this to the others and watches as they lower themselves carefully into the tunnel. 

With poise, Draco drops to the ground next to Harry, brushes the snow and dirt from his hands and hits him with a wet-fish hex that makes Harry shake his head in protest.

'What was that for?' he asks, running his hand over the cold, tingling skin on his cheek.

'For making me worry,' Draco says, withdrawing from his pocket a snow white handkerchief and using it to wipe the last of the mud from his hands.

'Sorry,' Harry apologises and Draco nods once. 

When Hermione has also landed next to them, Ron's face appears in the entrance. 

'I'll just wait here then,’ he says, sounding slightly disappointed. Harry knows that whilst he is pleased to be able to do something, that doesn't mean he relishes staying behind.  'Remember, if you need me to do anything, send word with your Patronus.'

'We'll be fine, Ron,' Hermione reassures. 'Try not to worry.'

Not going to happen , Harry thinks but he smiles reassuringly and casts Lumos, ready to get a look at where they're going.  Except there is still no light.

'Lumos,' he tries again, and still nothing.

He hears Hermione try the same spell and then Draco, and still nothing, still the only light is the greasy, orange glow from the oil lamp.

'I reckon you'll have to take that with you,' Ron says, pointing at the lamp as he leans down through the hole.

'I reckon you're right,' Harry agrees and unhooks the lamp.

The light is feeble and even held as high as he can manage, it still refuses to show them more than a few feet ahead. With one last backwards glance at Ron, who is now hanging almost completely into the tunnel, they set off into the darkness. 

They have been walking for the better part of five minutes, shuffling along slowly in the heavy darkness, when they reach their first choice. In front of them the path forks. The left path remains flat and the right slopes steeply downwards. Harry looks at Draco and Hermione, hoping for some kind of idea as to what he should do. 

'Take the right,' Draco says immediately and Harry looks at him curiously.

'You should always take the path that looks the more dangerous.  The danger you can see is better than the danger you can't,' he explains and Harry smiles at his reasoning.

'With me, you're likely to run into all the danger, whether you can see it or not,' Harry points out, but heads down the right hand slope anyway.

When they reach the bottom, Harry is startled as Hermione pulls them both to a stop. 

'Can you see that?' she asks, pointing ahead of them, and Harry peers into the darkness, attempting to see whatever it is she has noticed.

'I can't see anything,' Harry admits but Hermione is still pointing.

'The air,' Draco says next to him, and Harry refocuses, staring at the space rather than through it and, at last, he sees it. The air is glittering.

'What is that?' Hermione asks, but Harry smiles confidently. He knows what it is.

'There was some of this in the Triwizard maze,’ he explains, and Hermione looks at him doubtfully.

'Are you sure?' she asks. 'Perhaps we should go back and try the other route.'

'Not a chance,' Draco asserts. 'This proves we're going the right way. After all, who booby-traps a dead end?'

'I promise,' Harry says, attempting to reassure Hermione, 'there is nothing dangerous about this gas; it's just a little disconcerting. All you have to do is remember that wherever you think you might be, you aren't. You're just here, in the corridor, with your friends,' he says and steps into the gas. 

He  is suddenly spun upon his x axis and finds himself stuck to the roof of the tunnel but quickly he pulls his foot away, allowing everything to return to it's place again.  He turns to look back and sees Draco and Hermione frozen in place. They are, however, still the right way up, and Harry reminds himself that only his perception has been altered.

'Harry?' Hermione calls. 'What do we do?'

'Just step forward,' he says, hoping that he sounds reassuring.  'It's only your perception that's changed,' he tells them and watches as they each take a tentative step. 

Hermione looks relieved. Draco, on the other hand, looks rather cross. 

'You know, if you know what something does, next time, would it kill you to tell us what to expect and how to get out of it before we step into it, rather than just letting us figure it out for your own amusement?' he snaps.

'Sorry,' Harry says, feeling slightly ashamed.

'Gryffindors,' Draco mutters irritably as they move forward once more.

They continue on, making two more turns and meeting nothing more terrifying than some rather large spiders which scuttle away from the weak light of their lamp and into the shadows.  The lack of obstacles has Harry beginning to feel nervous when the path dips suddenly and they come to a dead end.

Draco sighs in frustration and drops his head back, irritation written through every line of his body, and Harry wants to reach out and touch him, to reassure him. Draco smiles as if he has read Harry's thoughts and he is just reaching out to stroke Draco's hand when it jerks away from him, pointing towards the ceiling.

'I think our path continues up there,' he says and Harry looks to where he is pointing. 

Sure enough, six feet above their heads, the tunnel continues on. Harry takes a step back, trying to see if there is anything which may aid them in their ascent, or, at least, he tries to but his feet remain solidly fixed to the ground. Instead, he overbalances, crashing to the compacted dirt floor with enough force to knock the breath from him.

Hermione and Draco turn to look at him in confusion, but Harry is no longer confused; he can see the slithering vine which has looped itself around the shoes and ankles of all three of them and is now creeping towards him, sliding cold tendrils around his wrists and stomach. Harry thrashes violently, trying to free himself, but every time any part of him touches the ground, the vines creep back to wrap around him. 

Above him, he hears Hermione attempting to cast her bluebell flames, but nothing happens.  He hears Draco's Diffindo, but still nothing. With a sinking feeling, he realises that it would have made no difference had they all left their wands in the hollow atop the rock, because down here they don't work at all. 

'Draco,' he calls, attempting to rip his wrists free but unable to do more than yank his shoulder.  'There's a knife in my jeans pocket, cut us free.'

Draco drops to his knees beside Harry. As soon as he is down, his legs are being bound to the ground but he doesn't stop; he is sliding his hand into Harry's pocket, long fingers brushing over Harry's thigh in such a way that his skin crackles with electricity and heat pools in his stomach, and he can't help but be a little impressed that Draco is able to draw such a reaction from him at a time like this, or perhaps he should be ashamed of himself.

Either way, now is not the time, and Harry attempts to keep still for a moment to allow Draco to remove the knife from his pocket.  The vines, however, seem to think that he is giving up, and in those few moments, redouble their efforts wrapping him so tightly that breathing becomes difficult.

The musty, earthy smell of the tunnel is suddenly flooded with the bitter fragrance of chlorophyll as Draco begins to hack at the vines.  Harry feels them loosen and start to draw away from him and he struggles again, forcing them from his arms and chest as Draco begins to attack the vines holding his legs, allowing Harry so scramble to his feet.

The creeping vines retreat back into the floor and walls and Harry shakes his hands, wincing at the stinging pins and needles as his circulation revisits his extremities. Next to him, Hermione is focusing incredibly hard on a rock on the ground and muttering incantation after incantation under her breath.

'It's not going to work, Hermione,' he says, covering her hands gently with his own. She looks panicked.

'But how are we going to get up there?' she asks, pointing to the high ledge.

'Well, we only need to figure out a way to get one of us up there.  I have some rope in the bag,' he says and they stand there staring at the wall of the cliff for a moment.  Unlike the cliff at Pisyll Rheadar, the wall here is smooth and vertical with nowhere to put hands or feet.

'I'm wondering,' Hermione says at last. 'We had to surrender our wands, didn't we? But what about wandless magic? I know you can do a little, Harry, and if you keep the spells simple...'

Draco shrugs. 'We've nothing to lose, have we?' he points out. 

Taking a deep breath, Harry focuses on Draco and the very first spell he ever learned, eyes closing with concentration and tracing the movements through the air, swish and flick.

Draco yelps and Harry opens his eyes to see him hovering in the air perhaps six inches from the ground. 

'It's a start,' Hermione says.

Harry says nothing, just focuses hard on Draco as he manoeuvres him closer to the wall. Draco, now a little more accustomed to his floating position, stretches upwards, desperately trying to reach the edge but still coming up a good few feet short. Through sheer force of will, Harry manages to push him upwards another few feet and now Draco's fingers are just inches from where they need to be. Draco makes himself as long as he can and just manages to get his fingers over the edge.

'Drop the spell, Harry,' Hermione says, and above their heads, Draco squeaks. 

'No, do that and you'll drop me, I'm barely clinging on here,' he protests.

'If he drops it for a second, he can recast and give you the boost you need to get over the edge,' Hermione points out. 

Draco groans. 'Okay, but be quick. I'm built for speed, not strength.’

Harry complies, dispelling the charm and immediately recasting, sending Draco another foot into the air. Draco responds by pulling the top half of his body onto the ledge and then disappearing out of view. 

Harry shucks out of his backpack and calls to Draco, relieved when, moments later, his face reappears. 

'I can't cushion this, so you're going to need to catch it. I'm pretty sure there's some breakable shit in there,' Harry says as Draco lies on the floor and dangles his arms over the edge to catch it. 

Harry tosses it up and once more Draco disappears from view.  There is the sound of rummaging from above them and a muffled sound of triumph, and Draco re-emerges, lowering the rope. 

'You're going to have to send the lamp up next,' he calls, 'otherwise I'm not going to be able to find anywhere to secure this rope.'

Hermione looks nervous as the lamp disappears up towards the ledge, the gloom around them growing deeper and deeper until all Harry can see are her eyes, wide and frightened in the darkness.  Reaching out, he takes her hand and squeezes as they listen to Draco stomping about and searching for some way of securing the rope. 

'Got it,' he declares, and a moment later, the rope is dangled down the rock face. 

'You're next,' Harry insists, stepping on the end of the rope to make it taut and watching as Hermione begins to climb the rope with her eyes tightly shut.  She loses her footing more than once, each time clinging to the rope for dear life and refusing to move either up or down.

'This might go faster if you open your eyes, Hermione,' Draco says eventually, when she is almost three quarters of the way up the cliff.

Hermione just shakes her head, eyes remaining stubbornly closed.

'Hermione has a bit of a phobia when it comes to heights,' Harry calls up to Draco.

'It's not a phobia,' Hermione snaps, beginning her slow upward progress again.  'A phobia is an irrational fear.  Being afraid of being high up, in a position from which you might fall, is not irrational. It's just common sense.’

At the top, Draco lies on the floor once more, dangling over the edge and helping her to scrabble up the last few feet.  Finally, Harry makes it to the top, using an agility which apparently irritates Hermione, though he can't see why.  It is a skill he has learned out of necessity rather than desire.  At primary school, the top of a rope was always the best place to escape from Dudley during PE.

The moment Harry swings his legs over the top, Hermione begins to unfasten the rope and Harry has to stop her. 

'Won't we need it for later, though?' she asks when he tells her to leave it.

'I doubt it,' Harry says, 'and besides, we'll probably have to come back this way and we don't know how much of a rush we'll be in.’

Shrugging, she tightens Draco's knot once more and they make their way along the new corridor. 

Two more turnings later, Harry is once again beginning to think that they have made a wrong turn when Draco stops, stock still, and listens. 

'Can you hear that?' he whispers and Harry listens. 

Up ahead, something is moving.  Carefully now, they creep forwards, eyes straining for the first sign of movement, and then they see it: the flat head and long, sinuous body of a Basilisk sized serpent.  Harry relaxes slightly; snakes, he can deal with.  As they get closer, he notices that this isn't even a real snake.  It is spectral, made of what appears to be thick, black smoke but still solid enough to make a noise as it slides over the ground. 

It hisses at them, revealing long, dangerous fangs, and though Hermione trembles slightly beside him, Harry remains calm, having heard clearly what the snake has said.

'Only he who calls me friend may enter the final chamber.'

Summoning the instinctive language, Harry replies: 'I am your friend, please let me pass,' and immediately the snake lowers its head, flickers its tongue and slides away, revealing a narrow doorway at the end of the tunnel.

'That seemed too easy,' Draco says as they approach the door. 

'I'm sure it wouldn't to someone who came upon it in the dark and was unable to speak Parseltongue,' Harry points out, holding the lamp up higher.  The light seems to be fading slightly, not reaching as far ahead as it once had. 

'You have a point there,' Draco says with a curious smile and Harry longs to ask him what he is thinking as they reach the doorway but his attention is caught by the lamp which is now puttering and spitting, causing the light to flicker. He draws it close to his face and realises what is going to happen the moment before the light goes out, plunging them into darkness.

Instinctively, Harry gropes for both Hermione and Draco, catching their hands and holding tight before sliding a foot forward to feel their way onwards, into the room, wondering if perhaps there will be more light within, but as they enter the chamber, the darkness remains stubbornly dense.

'Looky, looky, looky, I have visitors,' says a cruel, mocking voice in the darkness, and Draco squeezes Harry's hand, panicked by the unmistakeable sound of Bellatrix Lestrange.

'She's not here, I promise,' Harry whispers, trying to reassure Draco. 

Hermione pulls her hand free of his and he doesn't stop to worry about why; he turns to Draco and grabs his other wrist, turning Draco to face him.  Harry can't see him, not even now that they are inches apart, so he closes his eyes and just focuses on the pulse that races beneath his fingers.

Bellatrix laughs at his words, her deranged cackle echoing off the walls and amplifying. Draco's breath quickens.

'I promise you, whatever this is, it isn't real.  She's dead.  I saw her die and so did you; Molly Weasley killed her,' Harry insists.

Draco says nothing, but steps closer, pressing his body to Harry's and his face to the side of Harry's neck, seeking comfort. Harry's blood boils as he imagines what this woman must have done to make Draco so afraid of even the echo of her voice, but he ignores it, wrapping his arms around Draco and holding him tight, listening as his breathing begins to slow and return to normal.

'Ignis,' Hemione whispers behind him and immediately the room is filled with flickering blue light. Looking around, Harry can see her grinning as the bluebell flames sit flickering in her hands.  'My first wandless spell,' she says, beaming at him.

'Well timed,' he tells her, and he strokes Draco's head as he feels him relax slightly and peer out into the room, eyes seeking out the source of the voice. And there she stands, at the end of the room, restrained by the two dimensions in which she has been rendered but still as large and imposing as she had been in life.

'Well, well, well,' she says. 'Potter, the Mudblood, and… oh my!' she says gleefully, spotting Draco for the first time. 'How disappointing for poor Cissy, her only son, a coward, a traitor and a sodomite.'

Instinctively, Draco steps out of Harry's embrace and stares at the portrait of his aunt, eyes flinty.

'I'll have you know that the only members of the family my mother is ashamed of are you and my father, you revolting old hag,' Draco spits.

'Ah well,' she says, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly. 'Dear Narcissa always was weak.'

Draco looks like he wants to respond but Harry reaches out, placing a hand upon his shoulder once more.

'There's no point arguing with her, Draco, she's dead. Nothing but an echo of a bitter old woman who was driven mad by unrequited love.'

'If he didn't love me then why do you think I'm here, eh, Potter? The only person to guard a piece of my master’s soul,' she crows triumphantly. 

'Oh, get over yourself,' Hermione scoffs.  'Do you know how many bits of old tat your master stored his soul in? You’re just a trophy, a symbol of all the little playthings who scuttled around, willing to do his bidding for nothing more than a moment's recognition.'

'Oh, destroy me, will you?' Bellatrix chides. 'And how are you going to do that? You must have noticed by now that the moment you remove my portrait this entire thing is going to cave in.'

For the first time, Harry looks carefully at the portrait and he can see she is right; the wooden frame and taut canvas are supporting more than just her image; they are connected to two wooden struts that are then connected to the beams in the roof, which in turns seems to be holding up the entire hill over their heads.

'We don't need to take you to destroy you,' Draco says, pulling the long goblin-made knife from inside his cloak. 'I took it from the pack when I got the rope in case we ran into any more of those vines,' he explains when he catches sight of Harry's surprised expression.

'I don't think you'll do it though, will you? Poor baby Draco doesn't have the stomach for the nastier things.  Do you really think you can look into my face and push a dagger into my heart?' she teases and Draco lowers the knife, unsure.

'That's right. No back bone, you're just like your father,' she says, smirking, and Harry winces as Draco's eyes turn hard, his face becomes resolved and the knife flashes in the pale blue light, slashing the canvas and freezing Bellatrix's face in a look of utter surprise.

There is silence for a moment and they all just stand there looking at the tattered edges of the portrait and then there is a creak and a groan.  The wooden supports are already beginning to bow outwards slightly now that the tension in the canvas has been released and Harry knows what is coming. 

'Run,' he yells, grabbing Hermione and Draco by the elbow and pushing them forwards.

They dart from the room just as the wood begins to splinter and the tear along the passageways, Hermione in the lead as she retraces their steps using the bluebell flames to guide them.  Harry hears a crunching sound and a loud rumble as they fly towards the cliff. They are plunged into darkness as Hermione descends, needing both hands to grip the rope as she rappels down the rock face and Harry wonders if it is easier for her, doing it in the pitch darkness.  All the while, the rumbling is drawing closer and when the passage is lit by the pale blue flames once more and Draco takes hold of the rope, Harry knows that he cannot wait for him to reach the bottom and instead lowers himself from the edge and allows himself to drop the remaining five feet or so, rolling on landing to prevent injury. 

He had not allowed for the fact that Draco might find this distracting, however, and he hisses in pain as he slides down the last couple of feet, shredding the skin on his hands and landing at the bottom in a crumpled heap.  Harry apologises repeatedly as he helps Draco up and propels him along the passageway beside him, following Hermione's pale blue silhouette as behind them the rumbling draws ever closer.

The mist sparkles ahead of them but this time there is no apprehension as they plunge through it, though Harry finds the reversal and righting of his world slightly nauseating when done at speed.  Finally, the tunnel starts to grow lighter and Hermione calls out, 'Ron! Ronald!' 

Harry is relieved when his untidy ginger head appears upside down through the hole, an anxious expression on his face. 

'You alright?' he asks as they skid to a stop and Harry immediately stoops, linking his fingers together to provide Hermione with a leg up.  Apparently realising that they don't have time to answer questions, Ron reaches for her, pulling her up through the hole before reaching back down for Draco as Harry repeats the manoeuvre. 

As Draco scrambles out of the passage, Harry glances back the way they have come and can see the dust cloud slowly advancing. 

'You two, hold my legs,' he hears Ron instruct and then he is leaning down into the tunnel as far as he can go. 

Harry jumps, catching hold of Ron's wrists, feet scrabbling against the wall as he is heaved upwards in a spectacular display of teamwork, then he is collapsing onto the snow and breathing hard as he blinks against the low winter sun, surprised to find that it is still daytime.

They lie there in silence for a moment, catching their breath, snow seeping into their clothes. Ron is the first to speak.

'So, where is it then?' he asks.

'It's still in there,' Draco says and Ron's face drops.

'We didn't get it?' he asks.

'We destroyed it, we just didn't bring it with us,' Harry explains and Ron relaxes slightly. 'I don't think any of us need to be reminded of Bellatrix Lestrange.'