Harry Potter and the Isle of Mists

Harry Potter and the Isle of Mists

Disclaimer: I can only hope to attain the creative brilliance of J. K Rowling.

AN: Please review. This is my first Harry Potter fanfic, so be kind.

Chapter One: Don't Shoot the Messenger

Harry Potter languished in the grudging shelter offered him by his only living relatives, the Dursleys, just as he did every summer between terms. He lay on his flimsy bed in his tiny room (“that he should be bloody well grateful for!” according to Uncle Vernon), and stared longingly out the narrow window.

Hedwig would have been welcome company, but she was on an errand, having flown to the Burrow that morning. Harry was hoping that his snowy owl would return with good news tied around her ankle: a missive from the Weasleys, extending an invitation for him to spend the remainder of the summer with them at their snug and homey little cottage.

He missed Ron. He missed the comforting lopsided smile of his red-headed best friend, the knowing that there would always be someone who accepted him, no matter what. He missed the happy chaos of the Weasley family, the constant clatter of people moving about and scattering belongings everywhere.

He missed Hermione. Now this was a little more difficult. She was a study in contrasts, a colossal intellect, yet insecure socially, a heart of gold, but a snappish temper. Quite frankly, she baffled him, but he couldn't imagine life without her. He had even baffled himself, toward the end of last term, by suddenly noticing that she twiddled with her necklace while she was thinking, and that her eyes sparkled when she laughed… He imagined the three of them, strolling around the corridors of Hogwarts…

He missed Hogwarts. From the misery and deprivation of the only home he'd ever known, Hogwarts had been like Shangri-La. He hadn't known places like this existed. If only he had been just a normal wizard, not the Boy Who Lived, he could've been completely happy. But he was that Boy, and it made him feel isolated, separate, someone who had been set apart, someone with a “destiny”, someone who would forever be on the outside looking in. Nothing had brought on that feeling more than the events at the Ministry of Magic… and the loss of Sirius.

Harry rolled over on his back, and stared unhappily at the ceiling. After the emotional upheaval he had undergone during fifth year, he had been far too jumpy and volatile, and was trying to counsel himself to not be so easily antagonized by people.

“Not by Draco, not by Uncle Vernon, not by Dudley,” he murmured out loud. Although at this point, he would have loved to have been antagonized by Draco Malfoy, because it would mean that he was back among his wizarding friends. “They aren't worth it, they aren't worth it, they aren't worth it.” It had almost become a mantra to him, and he had kept his temper surprisingly well so far that summer.

His cool head had not come without a price. Annoyed by his nephew's placidity, Vernon Dursley seemed determined to find new and imaginative ways to make his life miserable. Dudley mostly avoided him, and it was painfully obvious that Harry scared the bejeebers out of his oversized, dull cousin. Although at times, Dudley's mere presence tried Harry's patience, and his fingers itched to pick up his wand and hex Dudley into next week.

He shifted position again, sitting up slightly to lean back against his headboard. His eyes fell on his school trunk. His mind idly sifted through its contents… wand, schoolbooks, invisibility cloak, the other half of Sirius's mirror. His few prized possessions would be found in that trunk, with the key to its lock safely hidden underneath a loose floorboard. Except for one. A picture of him, Ron, and Hermione on the Hogwarts Express was propped against the lamp near his bed. They were laughing and waving and acting like fools. Every now and then, Harry had noticed his photo self sneaking quick glances at Hermione, who would blush and look away. Watching the picture and missing his friends was not improving Harry's mood, so he tucked the picture back under his mattress, where it generally resided.

He sighed. He was bored, bored, bored. His relatives hated and feared him. He was trapped here by whatever mystical protection they somehow offered. He couldn't do magic. He was --

There was a scratching at his window.

Hullo, what's this? Harry thought, sitting up with interest. He heard the scraping again, and leaned over to unlatch the window.

Hedwig scrambled in, barely able to fly. Her feathers were ruffled and tattered, and areas were matted with blood. She was holding one talon up close to her body, and tried not to land on it with all her weight.

“Hedwig, what happened?” he gasped. Hedwig let out a pitiful chirp. Harry took her over to the bed, and began probing her with careful fingers. “Nothing's broken,” he said. She was bleeding from several gashes that looked like they were from…

“Talons,” Harry said dully. Hedwig looked at him with knowing eyes. “Who attacked you?” Hedwig squawked. “It looks like it was big. Like an eagle.” Harry speculated aloud.

He only knew one family who was ostentatious enough to use an eagle as a courier.

“Malfoy.” He spoke the name calmly, but rage simmered underneath the surface. Fear accompanied it as well. What possible motive could the Malfoys have for ordering Hedwig watched and attacked? To intercept his mail? To keep tabs on his whereabouts? To trap him?

Harry paused to consider this last idea, for he was now trapped, unable and unwilling to use Hedwig to communicate, unable to do magic while out of school. He was as surely cut off, as if he were thousands of miles away.

He snuck to the bathroom, hoping to avoid confrontation, knowing he would be unable to elicit sympathy for Hedwig's condition. When he returned, he proceeded to clean Hedwig's wounds, and she meekly submitted to his ministrations.

His mind was racing, and he kept looking nervously out of his window, as if he expected Death Eaters to be converging on Privet Drive.

“Ohhh, bloody hell!” He finally ground out, coming this close to wringing his hands, but he caught himself and clenched his fists instead.

“Did you get to the Burrow, Hedwig?” he asked. She squawked, and held up a leg in response. The sheath used to carry messages was shredded and empty. “They took the letter then?” Hedwig looked at him mournfully. “Then the Burrow's not safe either. If they read the letter, then the Weasleys are being watched too. If they try to send me a message, or try to come pick me up, they could be stopped. But who's watching? Is it Malfoy? His father? Or are they acting under orders?”

He stopped talking when he realized he was pacing in the meager space his room offered.

“If only I could send a message to Dumbledore!” Hedwig made a chirp of apology. “It's not your fault. I'm only sorry you got hurt.” Hedwig hopped gingerly up to the windowsill, and scratched at it with her good talon.

Harry shook his head. “Hedwig, I'm not sending you out. You're hurt, and anyway, it's too dangerous. Whoever's watching will --” Harry stopped, as Hedwig squawked more insistently and scratched at the window again. She peered intently out, and Harry stepped toward the window, with some trepidation, to see what.. or who… she was looking at.

There was nothing there, but rows of tidy, cookie-cutter houses lining the neat little streets of the neighborhood. There was the sound of a lawnmower somewhere far off, but not much else moved.

Hedwig looked at Harry pleadingly, and then looked back out at the houses.

The houses… the neighborhood…. Muggle London spread out like a panorama.

Muggle London…

Hermione lived in Muggle London. If he could get to Hermione undetected, perhaps she could send a message. He wasn't sure how - she generally used school owls to send any mail - but his mind was whirling too quickly for him to think straight.

When he forced himself to sit down and breathe, he found all he could think about was Hermione. He had to see Hermione. She would know what to do. That thought spun stupidly through his mind, as he unlocked his school trunk and pulled a few essentials from it.. Hermione always knows what to do. He removed his wand, the mirror, and the invisibility cloak, and stood for a moment, looking uncertainly at the meager pile of possessions on his bed, debating what to do.

Money…I need money. He had galleons and sickles in abundance, but muggle money he had none. Aunt Petunia kept some in the flour jar though, he remembered suddenly, spending money that she didn't want Uncle Vernon to know about. Would it be enough to call a cab?

He picked up the invisibility cloak, and swirled it around, his eyes dark and solemn, his face brooding and older than his years.

“I'll be right back,” he whispered to Hedwig, and threw the cloak over his head, vanishing from sight. The bedroom door opened and closed, moved by an unseen hand.

Harry crept noiselessly down the stairs. Uncle Vernon was asleep, sprawled out in an overstuffed chair, snoring loudly. He could hear the faint clack of Aunt Petunia's shears in the garden. Dudley was nowhere to be seen, probably out with some of those thugs he called friends. He slinked into the kitchen, and leaned across the counter, reaching for the tin of flour.

The kitchen door clattered open and hit the wall. Harry hit the floor.

“'Ere now, be quiet!” came Dudley's voice. Then, more quietly, “Mum keeps a few quid in here. She won't mind if I borrow it.” There were some ghastly hushed giggles from two doughy boys that had accompanied him. He reached for the flour tin, and Harry made himself as small as possible. Dudley was now angled directly over him, and one toe of Dudley's boot was planted firmly in his ribcage, although Dudley appeared not to notice.

Harry didn't move. Didn't breathe.

He saw a fistful of powdery money float over his head, clenched in Dudley's fat fist. A sprinkling of flour sifted down and landed on Harry's head. The goons in the kitchen did not seem to see the fine granules apparently sitting in mid-air.

They left again, and Harry exhaled the air that had been burning in his lungs. He sighed in despair. Had Dudley left any money? He lifted the lid off of the tin, and saw, with some surprise, that Dudley had had the forethought to leave some money behind, to make the theft more likely to go unnoticed.

Harry did not care about such niceties. He removed all of the money, hoping it would be enough for him to hire transportation to Hermione's.

He snuck back upstairs, unnoticed, and went into Dudley's room. After filching a small leather duffel bag from Dudley's closet, he went back to his room. He thrust his belongings into the bag, except for his wand, which he stuck in the pocket of his jeans. He picked up Hedwig carefully, and she gave a protesting chirp that described her dislike of being placed in said bag.

“There's plenty of room, Hedwig. Don't worry. You certainly can't be seen, and I can't leave you here.” Hedwig squawked with resignation, and Harry carefully lowered her into the bag. He had discarded the idea of using the invisibility cloak, knowing that there were some people, and maybe some of them unsavory, who could see through invisibility cloaks. He had a better chance trying to blend in to the Muggle world. He shouldered the bag, and, as an afterthought, grabbed the picture from underneath his mattress, and stuffed it in his other pocket. He jammed a battered blue baseball cap low onto his head, and left his room behind.

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Harry took long strides down the sidewalk lining Privet Drive, and tried to act nonchalant. He had trouble restraining himself from looking nervously over his shoulder, seeing danger hiding in every hedgerow. A sad half-smile slipped across his face, and just as quickly disappeared, as he thought of Padfoot peering at him from the bushes. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

He had no clear plan in his head. Mrs. Figg had crossed his mind, but he did not want to put the kindly Squib in danger. He could go to Grimmauld Place, but if someone were keeping an eye on him, he didn't want them anywhere near the headquarters of the Order. Hermione. Hermione. Hermione. It thrummed in his head like a pulsebeat.

He turned in a large circle, while still walking, holding the satchel onto one shoulder. He saw nothing. There were shrieks of laughter from children, and somewhere, a sprinkler chuffed water onto a green square of lawn.

Well, what do you bloody expect? He thought angrily. The bloody Dark Lord himself? A great ruddy eagle diving at you from the sky? Lucius Malfoy with a pitchfork and a flaming brand?

He lengthened and loosened his gait, which had become tense and choppy. He was just a teenager, a carefree teenager out for a stroll. A bitter chuckle escaped him, as he wondered if he was really fooling anybody. Had he ever been one of those?

But Hermione…. Hermione had always understood him, even while giving him no quarter for his self-pity. Coming from Muggle society herself, she knew and had grappled with the selfsame demons that he had. She understood, as no one else really did, that being the Boy Who Lived was not an enviable position, despite his celebrity, but was, in fact, a burden. And one that had become that much more cumbersome since he had found out about the prophecy.

He wanted to tell someone about the prophecy. Once again, his isolation seemed complete and absolute. He wanted to tell Hermione.

He had a vague idea of where Hermione's house was, and began to work out a circuitous route in his head, including hopping on and off various forms of Muggle transportation. He rolled his eyes at the thought of acting like some hero from a Muggle spy movie.

He boarded a train that took him into downtown London, where he rambled around for blocks, trying to stay in the most crowded areas, often ducking in and out of shops. He no longer felt the oppressive fear of being watched, but instead an urgency had filled him, a feeling that an unseen hourglass was dripping sand somewhere, and he was running out of time.

Out of time for what?

He didn't know.

He got on the Tube, and took it back and forth on several crisscrossing routes, keeping a careful eye on his dwindling supply of money, and trying to work his way closer to Hermione's neighborhood.

Panic was pressing on his chest. His heart was jackhammering against his ribs. His lungs were in a vise. He felt like he couldn't get enough air with the harsh noisy gasps he was taking. Hermione. Hermione. Hermione. It pounded in his ears.

Was he under some kind of spell?

He swallowed hard, and tried to calm himself down, but the feeling of dread would not be squelched.

He was up on surface streets again, and the urban chaos of London had faded into a more quiet, orderly residential neighborhood… Hermione's neighborhood.

Haaaarrrrryyyyyy! It was a wailing shriek in his head, in Hermione's voice. He quickened his stride, forgoing all attempts to look casual, even though his heart was beating so rapidly that he could barely think.

He had just started to wonder how he was going to determine which house was hers, when he saw it. He could identify his best friend's house from over a block away with no trouble at all.

The Dark Mark floated above it.

TBC

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Harry Potter and the Isle of Mists

Disclaimer: I can only hope to attain the creative brilliance of J. K Rowling.

AN: Please review. This is my first Harry Potter fanfic, so be kind.

Chapter Two: Are You Thinking What I'm Thinking?

Harry set his bag down gently on the edge of Hermione's lawn, and pulled out his wand, not caring who saw it. He approached the house carefully, but could hear nothing. Had everyone been killed?

When he edged in the front door, he could see Hermione's crumpled form at the far end of the corridor. He started toward her in alarm, but stopped when he saw the ghastly apparition suspended in front of her.

“What in bloody hell?” he began, stepping toward it. His wand was at the ready, but there was no need. It was a phantasm… unmoving, unreal, a terrible projection meant to intimidate and frighten.

It had obviously done its job well.

Harry eased around it, pressing his back into the wall, unwilling to let any part of himself come into contact with it. As he moved past it, he noticed that the figure was in Hogwarts robes, with Gryffindor colors, and obviously intended to be dead. A broken pair of glasses lay in the apparition's outstretched arm. The figure was toppled forward, bent over itself, and a mop of dark hair obscured the face, but cold chills crawled over Harry as he realized who it was obviously intended to be.

Hermione had evidently realized it also.

When Harry reached her side, he knelt beside her and made sure she was breathing. She didn't appear to be injured in any way, and so he shook her shoulder gently.

“Hermione, Hermione, wake up,” he said urgently. She stirred and her lashes fluttered, as she struggled to sit up. “Wait, wait, slowly,” he said. Her eyes opened. “Do you remember what happened?” he asked.

He watched her, as her eyes became focused and she saw him for the first time.

“Oh, Harry!” burst from her in a gasp, and she nearly throttled him in a tight embrace that almost knocked him backwards. “I thought - for a moment - they wanted it to look like you,” she stammered, adding in disgust, “I think I fainted.” Her mortification at the involuntary display of weakness made Harry grin, despite the seriousness of their circumstances. Her eyes narrowed at him, when he smiled, and she socked him in the arm.

They both stared at the phantasm again in a kind of horrified awe. Harry lifted his wand.

“Sc—” he began, but Hermione pushed his wand arm down.

“No, the Ministry of Magic will be here soon, and they'll need to see it,” she said earnestly. Harry realized that she was right. With the Dark Mark displayed, and magic occurring at the Muggle home of an underage witch, Cornelius Fudge would definitely be sending wizards to investigate.

“Good, that solves the transportation problem, then,” Harry thought aloud, and Hermione looked at him questioningly. He quickly told her about the attack on Hedwig. He omitted the parts about the sensation of panic and dread he felt, and how he heard her screaming in his head. She'll think I'm out of my mind, he thought.

Hermione's hand shot out and grabbed his sleeve. When he looked at her curiously, she dropped her hand, her cheeks burning bright red, and said only,

“Let's get out of here. I don't want to see that thing anymore.” They retreated into Hermione's living room, leaving the phantasm where it was, in the corridor outside the kitchen.

“Why would anyone attack Hedwig?” Hermione exclaimed. “It doesn't make any sense. And why would I have a letter delivered that blew up into that - that thing when I opened it? And they happened at nearly the same time.”

“It came in a letter?” Harry asked, seizing onto that particular detail.

“Yes, I found it on the stoop when I got home. I had lunch with Mum and Dad near their office.” Harry's shoulders slumped.

“So, you didn't see who delivered it, then?” Hermione shook her head apologetically.

“Why do you think that's important?”

“Hedwig had huge talon slashes on her. It had to be Malfoy's eagle. I just wondered what brought your letter.”

“But nobody's been hurt. Nothing's been done to us… not really. All they've succeeded in doing is driving you out of the Dursley's house, and …” Hermione trailed off and they stared at each other in horror.

“I left, and came to find you,” Harry said hoarsely. “They would have known I didn't have any options… Muggle home, no magic, no owl… it's a cinch I would come to you.”

“They're manipulating us into some kind of trap,” Hermione murmured. “I hate being bullied!”

“How do we know what to do next?” Harry asked.

“Let's ward the room and wait for the Ministry to arrive,” Hermione answered firmly, and Harry looked at her with some surprise.

Quit looking at me like an arse and start warding! You act like I've never broken rules before!

“I'm not an arse,” Harry said, half-sulking. “And I know good and bloody well you've broken rules… I was usually there!”

Hermione dropped her wand. Her face paled.

“How - how -” she stuttered, incoherently. Harry just stared at her stupidly, not understanding what had upset her so much. But Hermione was quicker.

I didn't say any of that out loud, Harry heard in his head, as clear as a bell. Hermione's mouth had not moved.

Oh shit, what's going on? was the most useful thing Harry could think.

Don't swear, Hermione-in-his-head said automatically.

“What in bloody hell?” Harry said, swearing out loud this time.

“How can you hear my thoughts?” Hermione demanded, with a nearly accusing tone.

Harry was affronted. “I certainly didn't bloody do it on purpose!” Awareness dawned on him. He remembered the shriek he heard in his head just before he saw the Dark Mark.

You didn't tell me that part, Hermione thought.

Quit snooping! I just remembered it! Harry was defensive.

We need to ward the room, she remembered and picked up her wand. Seamlessly, they moved to various areas of the room, and cast guarding, locking, and shielding charms.

“So is this thing permanent?” Harry finally asked aloud.

“I don't know. I mean, it's telepathy right? That's not unheard of in the wizarding world, but I think it's usually something you're born with. I've never heard of anyone just becoming telepathic,” Hermione said, with a frown. “I need to do more research on the subject.”

Harry groaned mentally. He was well aware of Hermione's tenacity once she began “research”.

I heard that! Hermione thought at him in a sweet sing-song voice.

Damn, Harry thought. This was going to take some getting used to.

Something near the door shimmered and sparked, and someone beyond the door muttered an oath. Harry and Hermione both had their wands at the ready. There was a crash, and then a sound like something shattering. Someone yelped.

“This is the Ministry of Magic. Lower your wards or face the consequences!” A strident voice called. It was Nymphadora Tonks.

“Tonks!” Harry called out gratefully.

“Harry?” Tonks said in disbelief. Hermione was muttering something under her breath, reversing the wards. A moment later, Tonks stepped in, followed by several officious looking bureaucrats, and Cornelius Fudge himself.

Be careful what you say, Harry, Hermione warned.

That prat will be lucky if I tell him anything at all!

You can't afford to get into trouble. Fudge already doesn't like you, Hermione said knowingly. Harry sighed. She was right.

“Mr. Potter,” Fudge said sourly. “I should have known.”

”Minister,” Harry said, by way of greeting, somewhat sullenly.

“There are violations all over the place! The Ministry was getting them so fast, we couldn't decide who to send. Of course, you would be the party responsible.”

“We're sorry about the underage magic, but it couldn't be helped,” Harry said. “Hermione got a threatening letter, with a phantasm in it. I'm sure you saw it, and the signature left behind.”

“Someone sent you a Fantasma?” Tonks asked. Hermione nodded.

“It was my understanding that you were not to leave your residence with your Muggle relatives, for your protection,” Fudge put in, evidently determined to get Harry in trouble.

“My owl was attacked and stripped of her message. I was afraid I was a target, and -”

“And so you decided to endanger your friend?” Fudge interrupted him. Harry felt rage beginning to simmer below the surface.

He's baiting you, Harry. Don't let him win, came the calm voice of reason from Hermione. Harry felt instantly soothed.

“I was merely seeking a way to communicate. I was cut off from the wizarding world,” Harry said, refusing to rise to the occasion.

“Is Mr. Weasley here? Or Professor Dumbledore?” Hermione asked. “We'd very much like to speak to them.”

“I'm afraid Albus Dumbledore is -”

“Right here,” a voice from behind Fudge cut him off. Harry saw the diminutive form of the venerable wizard, and had never felt so glad in his life. Fudge looked flustered, and then annoyed.

“Professor!” Harry and Hermione exclaimed in unison.

Should we tell him about the mind-reading thing? Harry asked her.

Not here, she replied.

“Perhaps Mr. Potter and Miss Granger can tell us the whole story. From the beginning,” Dumbledore suggested, and his eyes twinkled when he met their gazes.

Harry began with the attack on Hedwig, and his subsequent flight from Privet Drive. He edited out the feelings of doom and panic, as well as Hermione's cry in his head. Then, he related how he found Hermione and the phantasm. Next, it was Hermione's turn to tell how she found the Fantasma on her doorstep.

Dumbledore's face was grave. He regarded them, seriously, and Harry had the sneaking suspicion that the Headmaster knew they were keeping something from him.

“Miss Granger, would your parents object if you ended your summer holiday prematurely?”

“I don't think so, not if it was for safety reasons,” Hermione said cautiously.

“Good,” Dumbledore stated, as if the matter were settled. Fudge looked apoplectic, but said nothing. Ministry officials swarmed over the house, searching the premises and investigating the phantasm,along with its shredded envelope. “If you two will come with me, we'll go back to Hogwarts until we can muster a plan.” He turned to Tonks. “Go to the Weasleys. If Harry's right and they are alsobeing watched, then the youngest Weasleys might be safer at Hogwarts as well.”

Harry and Hermione looked at each other with undisguised delight.

Ron! And Ginny!

It beats Privet Drive any day of the week, Harry agreed.

“How are we going to get there?” Hermione asked. “We don't have a Floo…”

“We'll apparate to the Ministry. You'll have to file a report. We'll use their Floo network to get to Hogwarts. Miss Tonks will see that your school things arrive as well.”

“Thanks, Tonks!” Harry called out. Tonks saluted, and turned her hair green in farewell. Fudge looked disgusted.

This is going to be weird, Harry noted. Are we going to tell Ron and Ginny about this?

I don't know. It might make things awkward, if they think we're talking to each other in our heads all the time, Hermione replied.

We probably shouldn't tell anyone. At least, not yet.

I think you're right, Harry, Hermione agreed.

What if this is all part of the plan? He asked nervously. Hermione cocked her head at him, questioningly. He clarified, what if whoever had Hedwig attacked, and sent you that Fantasma wants us at Hogwarts?

I guess there's no way to know. We can't walk around, wondering if everything we do is what he wanted us to do. We'd go mad.

True, Harry acknowledged. I don't like this feeling, like he sees a bigger picture, and he's -

Pulling our strings? Hermione finished for him.

Yeah, Harry said, basking reflectively in the comfortable feeling that resulted in having someone so important to him understand him so completely. He looked sidewise at Hermione, wondering how much of that she picked up. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, but she said nothing.

“Is there anything you want to take with you, Miss Granger?” Dumbledore asked, after he had finished speaking in a low voice to Minister Fudge.

“Just a couple of things,” Hermione answered. “I'll get a bag.” She disappeared upstairs, and Harry lingered in the stairwell, not really wanting her out of his sight.

He was just about to follow her, when he heard,

I can feel your worry all the way up here. Will you quit? You're making me nervous.

Wait a minute, you can feel my feelings too? Not just my thoughts? Harry asked. Has it been like that the whole time?

I don't think so. I just noticed it this second, Hermione sounded concerned. Harry's worried feeling seemed to intensify.

I can feel your worry now too, Harry said. This isn't good. We're going to end up in a bloody panic.

Maybe if you try to think of something else, Hermione's “voice” was higher pitched, like she was approaching hysteria.

I bet Occlumency would help us with this, Harry thought, his training with Snape drifting into the forefront of his mind. The panicked feeling abated somewhat. I think we're probably going to have to tell someone, Hermione.

Okay, she conceded. But not until we get to Hogwarts. She appeared at the top of the stairs then, with a small satchel slung over her arm. Dumbledore and Harry were waiting at the bottom of the stairs, and she could see Arthur Weasley out the arched window over the front door, apparently Obliviating neighbors who had seen the Dark Mark.

“I'm ready,” she said. Instinctively, Harry reached out and grabbed her hand, in the instant before they Disapparated.

TBC

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Harry Potter and the Isle of Mists

Disclaimer: I can only hope to attain the creative brilliance of J. K Rowling.

AN: Please review. This is my first Harry Potter fanfic, so be kind.

Chapter Three: Dream a Little Dream of Me

When Harry and Hermione arrived at the Ministry, they were taken into separate rooms immediately by two dour-faced Ministry aides.

Ha! Hermione could hear Harry's laughter in her mind quite clearly. They don't want us to be able to coordinate our stories.

Harry, we don't have to coordinate our stories. We have the same story, remember?

I know, but even if we didn't, separating us wouldn't do those gits any good anyway. Harry was gleeful. Hermione sighed.

Honestly, you're such a child. She rolled her eyes, and realized that her escort, a tall pasty young man that reminded her of a glass of milk, was regarding her with some curiosity.

“What?” she asked blankly. The aide's expression was such that he clearly believed himself to be above this kind of duty.

“Miss Granger, will you please relate the details, as best as you can remember them, of this afternoon, beginning at 12:30.” With a surly look at the Ministry employee, to assure him that she loathed this as much as he did, Hermione began repeating her story yet again.

Two doors down, Harry was doing the same thing to a wet-behind-the-ears aide, who was clearly terrified of him.

I'd rather be in Professor Binns' class. Harry sent to Hermione. With intellects like these in positions of authority, it's amazing that Voldemort hasn't taken over yet! I bet if I said `Voldemort', this bloke would wet himself.

Harry! Hermione's disapproval of his flippancy was clear; her tone was scathing even in his head.

“Excuse me?” the Glass of Milk said. Hermione looked at him stupidly for a moment, before realizing that she must have said Harry's name out loud.

“Oh, um…” Hermione blushed and smiled crookedly at him. “Harry - er - is Harry going to be released when I am?”

“Unless either one of you gives us a reason to keep you here,” Glass of Milk said, looking at her with a threatening glower.

“Right,” Hermione said, trying to look sufficiently cowed, but not quite achieving it.

Harry, you're right, these people are completely idiotic. This one practically threatened to detain me here.

Don't worry about it, `Mione. You'd have to pledge allegiance to Voldemort before Dumbledore would let you stay here.

I know. A pause. Harry?

Yeah?

I'm glad you're here. I mean - I - I'm glad I can -

I know what you mean.

Laughter rippled through Harry's mind like sweet music.

Of course you do!

“Are we quite finished here?” Harry asked imperiously to the aide cowering across the table from him.

“Yes, I believe we're done,” said Terrified, in his best officious tone, stacking his paperwork up, and transporting it somewhere out of sight with a tap of his wand.

“Good. I'm sorry to have wasted your time,” Harry said politely, although the implication that his time had also been wasted was quite clear.

Terrified bared his teeth to smile in an obsequious manner. “If there are any further questions, Mr. Potter?”

“I'll be at Hogwarts,” Harry said. “You can contact Dumbledore, and he'll let me know.” Harry's voice was short and business-like.

“Thank you, sir.” Terrified said.

Hermione heard a snort of laughter in her mind.

Hermione, this prat just called me sir! He's got to be at least 10 years older than I am.

Oooh! Scary Harry Potter, intimidating poor hapless bureaucrats wherever he goes!

I do not! And you aren't funny!

Sure I am, Hermione said gaily, that's why you love me.

I do not! Harry protested childishly. That was when Hermione felt a heat seep into her subconscious, causing her own cheeks to flush. Harry was embarrassed. What had she said to….ohhhh.

Harry cringed, as he waited for Hermione to respond, and soon enough an answering wave of embarrassment reached him.

Sorry, Harry, Hermione said in a very small voice. I -

Forget about it, Harry said, in what he hoped was a matter of fact voice.

They exited the interrogation rooms at the same time, and met each other in the connecting corridor, suddenly not wanting to meet each other's eyes.

“We're going to have to tell Dumbledore about this!” Hermione hissed out loud. “What if you—if I—” she gave up and started over. “There are some things that maybe I don't want you to know! My thoughts are private.” The last sentence was Hermione at her haughtiest.

Harry felt a flash of a mental image, before it was violently yanked away, like the picture of a television going dark when the plug is pulled out of the socket. He tried to recapture it, but it was gone.

“And quit doing that!” Hermione was angry now. “You think I can't tell that you're doing that?”

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled, jamming his hands in his pockets, and shuffling his feet. He did not look at her.

“Well,” said Dumbledore, rounding the corner, and smiling at them, while rubbing his hands together with a rasping sound. “Are we ready to depart?”

“Yes sir,” they mumbled in unison, and then glared at each other briefly, before dropping their gazes.

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

The Floo network deposited them in the expansive fireplace situated in Dumbledore's private office. They stepped out, and, as Hermione was brushing soot from the collar of her jacket, Harry headed for the door.

“Professor Dumbledore, there was something we wanted to tell you,” Hermione began quickly, stopping Harry in his tracks.

Hermione, I don't think we should tell him yet!

Well, I do! she fired back. She could feel his irritation hit her like the blast from an open oven door.

Well, I don't! he responded.

I don't care! she said, and for some reason, felt a surge of hurt from him. It hurt him that she didn't care what she thought?

Yes, he replied, and she swore at him mentally, hating that he could read her so easily. You're my best friend. Shouldn't it hurt? Hermione felt guilty, and then felt angry because he made her feel guilty.

During the non-verbal exchange, Dumbledore had been standing quietly, observing them.

“Are you two finished?” he asked calmly. Hermione and Harry gazed at him, dumbfounded. They said nothing. “Please, take a seat. Tell me whatever it is you wish me to know.” Harry and Hermione sat in the matching leather chairs arranged facing Dumbledore's desk. Harry noticed that they were a different color from the last time he had been there.

“Harry had a premonition about me,” Hermione burst out all at once. She cleared her throat, and tacked on, “sir.” Harry tried not to stare at her as if she'd lost her mind.

Hermione, what in the hell are you doing? She darted a look at him.

We're trying it your way. Work with me here.

“That—that's right, sir. Before I got to her house,” Harry managed to add, feeling thoroughly unconvincing.

“I see,” Dumbledore replied, raising both eyebrows. “And what form did this premonition take?”

“It was just an—an overwhelming urge to find her, and then I started to feel her - I started to panic.” Harry corrected himself quickly.

Be careful, Harry.

“You became aware that she was in danger, even though you were not yet at the scene?” Dumbledore restated. “That's very interesting. Thank you for telling me.” He opened a drawer in his desk, and fiddled with something inside.

“That's it? You can't tell us why that happened?” Hermione asked.

“Premonitions are very difficult to explain. They come in many different forms, visual, auditory, in dreams. Even Muggles have them from time to time. If this was just an isolated incident, there's nothing to be concerned about,” the headmaster said placidly, but gazed at them with eyes that missed nothing.

Hermione looked like she was going to ask something else, but Harry grabbed her arm and steered her toward the door, all the while thanking the professor for his time. As soon as they descended the spiral staircase, and the gargoyle moved back to block the entry, they began bickering again.

“What were you doing in there?” Harry asked, in frustration.

“You didn't want to tell him, so I didn't tell him.”

“You can't make up things like that at the last minute. I can't adapt that fast!”

“I didn't make anything up! You did have a premonition before you got to my house, didn't you?”

“It wasn't a premonition, and you know it.” Hermione stopped, and blew a breath of air out between her lips, fluttering a few tendrils of hair. “Besides,” Harry added, moving in for the kill, “you just lied to the headmaster.”

Harry felt dread and shame sweep over him, and he had an urge to go back to Dumbledore's office and confess all. He was momentarily confused, but realized that he was feeling Hermione's emotions again.

Oh no you don't! he said, pulling her down the hall toward Gryffindor tower. There was a vague protest from Hermione that she hadn't been about to do any such thing. She just heard a snort of disbelieving laughter in her head, in response.

“Damn,” said Harry, when they got to the portrait of the fat lady. “I didn't ask Dumbledore for the password.”

It's Firebolt, Hermione said.

“Firebolt,” Harry murmured, and the portrait opened.

How'd you know that? he asked her.

I pay attention. He rolled his eyes at her smugness, and she punched him playfully in the upper arm. He grabbed her hand as she was going for a second blow, and was surprised to feel sudden warmth shoot up his arm from his fingers.

They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, and then Hermione staggered unevenly away from him as if she'd been burned. They were both breathing heavily.

“Hey, mate!” came Ron's cheerful voice from the stairwell that led to the boys' dormitories. “I thought I heard somebody down here, and - ” he rounded the corner and stopped short. “What's going on?”

“Nothing,” Harry and Hermione said together, and Hermione winced at how uneven and breathless her voice sounded. They were both breathing hard.

“We thought - we thought we heard something,” Harry said, and his voice cracked in the middle of his sentence. Ron sniggered, and Harry shot him a dirty look.

Are we going to tell Ron? Harry asked.

I don't think so, not yet. We need to figure out exactly what it is, and if we can reverse it. I need to go to the library… Harry felt a dreamy bliss waft his way, and he shook it off, annoyed.

I can't believe that's the way you feel about the library! Hermione glared at him, and Ron looked bewildered.

“Am I missing something here?” he asked, looking back and forth between the two of them.

Damn! Harry thought, this is not going to be easy.

Did you think it would be?

“No, Ron, we just thought we heard a noise, but it must have been you… or Ginny. Is Ginny here?” Hermione fled up the girls' stairs at Ron's nod. He watched her go, and shook his head.

“She's nutters,” he said succinctly. Harry shrugged, in what could have been construed as agreement, not knowing what to say that Hermione wouldn't pick up on. They sauntered over to the sofa and sat in front of the fireplace, which was roaring beautifully. The weather outside was warm, and they were in short-sleeves, but the drafty dampness that was ever-present in the castle made the fire welcome.

“So, what happened today? Dumbledore talked to Mum and Dad, but they wouldn't tell us much. Just shipped us here.”

Harry gave him a condensed version of the story, editing, as he had for Dumbledore, the part about his and Hermione's hearing each other's thoughts.

“Someone intercepted Hedwig on her way to the Burrow?” Ron asked. Harry nodded. “So someone is watching us too?”

“Probably.” Harry leaned his elbows on his knees, and put his head in his hands. “You're here because you could be in danger. You're in danger because you're my friend. Was your mum upset?”

“Not a bit of it!” Ron said vehemently. “Safety's boring, anyway. Wouldn't trade it.”

Harry managed a smile then. “Thanks, mate.”

“Don't mention it.” They sat in silence for a moment. “So, Hermione's okay and everything?” Ron asked.

“Yeah, Dumbledore thinks whoever put the Fantasma and the Dark Mark at her house was trying to warn her or make a point, but not to actually hurt her.”

“Yet,” Ron finished gloomily. “She's just as much your friend as I am.” Harry realized that this was Ron's off-beat way of telling him that he was concerned about the danger Hermione was in.

“I know,” Harry rubbed his scar with one hand. It ached vaguely; he had had a long day.

“D'you mind if I turn in? I'm fried.”

“I'll come too,” Ron agreed, standing to his feet and stretching. As they ascended the stairs, he felt Hermione's gentle touch in his mind.

Are you okay? she asked. She had obviously felt his dejection from her room.

Yeah, I'm all right, he replied, just trying to figure out how to have friends without getting them killed. Hermione said nothing else, but he felt her comfort, and was grateful.

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The room was a sickly green, flickering in the unearthly light of charmed torches. The walls were of rough stone and damp with moisture of the ages. Somewhere, in the distance, water dripped. The shadowy figure of a rat scurried along the edge of the room, and darted out of sight into a dark corner.

A figure in a black cloak was facing away from Harry, but he knew who it was before he turned. Voldemort. His lips thinned in the approximation of a smile, and he appeared to move toward Harry as if to greet him. Harry recoiled.

Then he whirled at the sound of a voice behind him.

“It is good to see you again, my Lord,” came the smooth refined tones of Lucius Malfoy, standing with his black-gloved hands on the head of his walking stick. Harry's heart began to hammer in his chest, but it was obvious that neither man could see him.

“We are pleased that you arrived so quickly, Lucius,” Voldemort said regally. Lucius bowed his head in obeisance. “Tell me what happened.”

Lucius began to speak, but Harry no longer heard him, as the pain in his forehead became like white-hot shards driving into his skull. Voldemort knew he was there, could feel his mind…was driving him out. Far away, someone screamed.

Harry sat up in bed, drenched in sweat, breathing as if he'd just run a sprint. His scar felt like acid on his skin. He looked around wildly, his eyes dilated in fear, and for a moment, could not tell where he was.

“Harry! Harry!” Ron was in his face, shaking him by the shoulders.

“R—Ro—” Harry tried, his best friend's face swimming in and out of focus in front of him. He blinked, willing his vision back into focus, and scrabbled for his glasses on the side table.

That was when they heard the screaming from the girls' dorm. Harry sprang from the bed, untangling himself from the twisted sheets, and both boys left the room at a dead run.

TBC

Feedback is much appreciated.

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Harry Potter and the Isle of Mists

Disclaimer: I can only hope to attain the creative brilliance of J. K Rowling.

AN: Please review. This is my first Harry Potter fanfic, so be kind.

AN2: Argh! You people worrying about Hedwig! ;) If the truth must be known, I completely forgot about her there on Hermione's lawn. Hopefully, this chapter will help!

Chapter Four: You Take the High Road, and I'll Take the Low Road

In the hallway outside the girls' dormitories, Harry and Ron were stopped short by the wards keeping boys out of the girls' rooms. They could hear Ginny yelling.

“Hermione! Hermione, what's wrong?”

Harry was nearly hysterical. He was swearing and speaking almost incoherently, trying in vain to get past the wards. Ron watched him curiously for a moment, his eyes narrowing in thought.

“Ginny!” Ron finally yelled, taking matters into his own hands. “Ginny, unlock the wards. Let us in.” Ginny padded out into the hall, in her pajamas, and twirled her wand in their direction, muttering a few unintelligible words under her breath. Something flickered around the edges of the corridor.

“You can really do that?” Ron was fascinated.

“Only for an emergency. It notifies Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore,” Ginny admitted.

Harry had torn past both of them, and careened into Hermione's room. She was sitting up in bed, her chest heaving, her eyes wild and unfocused. He sat on the edge of her bed, and cradled her head on his shoulder.

Hermione, are you okay? It was just a dream. He felt Hermione begin to draw herself together, as her mind tried to focus on his mind.

It was not just a dream, she observed astutely. It was real. It was like I was there. He was there. He felt a shiver of fear in his mind.

Who was there? Harry asked, even though he knew the answer.

V—V - V She couldn't even say it. Her teeth clattered together. Harry felt despair tug at him, and whether it was hers or his, he didn't know. This was his fault. He was going to drag her down into all his nightmares and visions, and Voldemort was going to find out about her, and then… the rest did not bear thinking about.

You saw it too? Hermione asked, obviously eavesdropping on his musings.

I always do, Harry answered simply. Hermione reached up to touch the side of his face, her brow crinkling in compassion.

These are the nightmares you have? Oh God, Harry, how do you function?

With help from people like you. Hermione smiled and blushed a little.

Ron and Ginny watched from the doorway, and the other two were completely oblivious to their presence.

“What in bloody hell are they doing?” Ron muttered to his sister, from the side of his mouth.

“I don't know…” Ginny murmured, appearing a little dazed. Hermione and Harry were in each other's arms, and appeared to be reassuring each other somehow, but they weren't speaking at all. “Hermione had a nightmare.”

“So did Harry,” Ron noted. “I had just barely snapped him out of it, when we heard Hermione screaming.”

“That's odd. They both had a nightmare at the exact same time?”

“You should have seen Harry too. He was acting like he was going mad…trying to get in here, when he heard Hermione.”

“Maybe he thought someone was in here with us,” Ginny wondered.

“I don't think so,” Ron said seriously. “I got the impression that he knew exactly why Hermione was screaming.”

“How would he possibly know that?”

“I don't know,” Ron squinted at the couple thoughtfully. Harry had leaned a little away from Hermione now, and was looking seriously into her eyes. Ron felt a twinge of discomfort creep up his spine, but was too occupied with the mystery before him to properly identify it. “D'you think that they're … together?”

“Surely one of them would have told—” Ginny was interrupted by the arrival of the aforementioned professors. Minerva McGonagall managed to look as regal as ever, even in a sleeping attire and a headscarf. Professor Dumbledore was still in regular robes, as usual, and Ron wondered vaguely if he slept at all.

“What's going on in here?” McGonagall asked, her eyes flashing. “You four may be the only students here right now, but this is highly irregular.”

“Harry and I woke up to hear someone screaming in the girls' room. Hermione had a nightmare. Ginny let us in to see if we could help.” Ron told the two teachers. McGonagall looked slightly mollified.

Harry and Hermione had stood to their feet when the adults came in. “Professors, I can explain,” Harry started to say. Hermione deferred to Harry, in a most uncharacteristic way, watching him with large brown eyes that still held a hint of remembered fear. Her hair was stuck to her neck and forehead in damp ringlets.

“If you two are quite recovered from your fright,” Dumbledore interrupted calmly, “perhaps you would like to accompany me to my office, and tell me what precisely occurred.” Hermione and Harry exchanged glances.

Was it just me or was he emphasizing the word “precisely”? They wondered at the same time. They trooped out the door wordlessly, and Hermione managed a smile, small and tight-lipped, at Ginny.

“There now,” McGonagall said, in a matter-of-fact voice. “Everyone's all right. Harry and Hermione will be back shortly. You two go on back to bed.”

Ron and Ginny did as their Head of House suggested, albeit a little sulkily. Both of them had a sneaking suspicion that they were being deliberately kept out of the loop about something that was important.

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

They were back in Dumbledore's office for the second time in twenty-four hours, this time in the nightclothes. Hermione had collected herself enough by this time to feel some mortification.

“Now then,” Dumbledore said, as if it weren't the middle of the night. He settled comfortably in his chair, and proffered the jar of lemon drops. Hermione shook her head, but Harry took one and tucked it in the corner of his cheek. They each sat in the chairs they had been in earlier that day. When Dumbledore continued to stare fixedly between them, looking slightly amused, they finally followed his gaze. They were holding hands.

When did that happen? They dropped each other's hand, as if they were red-hot. Dumbledore was clearly waiting for one of them to begin. He gazed at them in turn, although he tended to still avoid looking directly at Harry. Harry felt a flare of the old distrust return, almost against his will, and guilt immediately followed. He hadn't felt that way since Umbridge had been deposed.

Harry? Hermione said in disbelief. Professor Dumbledore would never hurt you, you know that.

He's afraid that Voldemort might possess me, and that I would endanger the Order, Harry said dully. Besides, now who's snooping?

Well, you're thinking it loud enough for anyone to pick up on, Hermione said, defensively. Harry did not point out the ridiculousness of her statement. Are we going to tell him? she asked.

Harry instinctively wanted to say no. He was tired of being a celebrity and a curiosity. This new development, whatever its origin, was just another reason to have teachers look at him funny. He was weary of it, and wished, not for the first time, that he was just Harry Potter, not the Boy-Who-Lived. Then he remembered Hermione, shaking and wild-eyed, exposed to the mind of Voldemort, and his resolve strengthened.

We'll tell him.

You don't have to do this because of me, she protested.

He only said, Yes, I do.

“Professor, something else happened when I went to visit Hermione,” Harry began. “I didn't have a premonition, not really. I felt her panic; it made me start panicking. When I got to her house, we found out we can - we can read each other's minds.”

“We can talk to each other without speaking,” Hermione added. “And feel each other's emotions.”

“I had another dream about Voldemort, saw him talking Lucius Malfoy,” Harry chimed in. “Hermione had the same dream at the same time. That's what woke us both up, upset.”

Dumbledore had been sitting quietly, listening to them, but his eyes were serious and a little troubled.

“Who did this to us?” Harry asked. “Was it the same person that left the Fantasma?”

“It could be,” Dumbledore said thoughtfully. “However, I am not convinced that anyone `did' anything to you.”

“How is that even possible? Suddenly I could just read Hermione's mind?” Harry sounded irritated.

“It may have to do with your ability to speak Parseltongue.”

“What - that -” Harry sputtered.

“Tom Riddle was a telepath,” Hermione said calmly. Both men stared at her for a moment, Dumbledore raising his eyebrows in surprise.

“You are quite right, Miss Granger,” he said. “Tom Riddle had a very strong mind, and was an extremely skilled Legilimens. It's one reason he was able to impress his personality upon the diary and control Miss Weasley. Now, as Lord Voldemort, it's also one of the reasons he can exact so much control over his Death Eaters.”

“So, it was transferred to me… along with the Parseltongue… the day my parents were killed,” Harry said slowly.

“It is quite possible,” Dumbledore confirmed. “It was apparent that you were an extraordinarily strong wizard the day you thwarted Voldemort. It is also possible that you already had an innate ability toward Legilimency, and your clash with Voldemort merely strengthened that talent.”

“Why now? I never knew about it before. Why Hermione? Why not everybody?”

“The mind is a complex and fragile thing. You probably could read other minds, if you concentrated. You would find it extremely fatiguing, however.”

“Hermione and I can talk to each other. We've held entire conversations in our heads. I haven't noticed any fatigue,” Harry countered.

“Miss Granger is not just anybody, as I assume you've noticed,” Dumbledore said with a wry smile. Hermione blushed. “Your mind has chosen to link with Miss Granger's. These kinds of mental links are very rare, but generally occur with someone that you're … attached to,” he finished delicately. Hermione felt her cheeks flame hotter, as Harry's embarrassment magnified her own.

“Is it permanent?” Harry blurted, before he could stop himself.

“I believe that bonds have been broken before, but it would take great skill in both Legilimency and Occlumency for that to occur. It isn't advisable for outside parties to break the bond, it could break your minds in the process. You would have to learn the art yourselves.”

“And what about Voldemort…does he know about Hermione?” Hermione felt her body shiver with fear, and realized with surprise that it was Harry's fear washing over her. He was afraid for her.

“Tell me exactly what occurred in your dream,” Dumbledore instructed. Harry related to him the details of the dream, including the feeling of being pushed back and the pain in his scar. Dumbledore frowned thoughtfully, and sat silently for quite some time.

“Voldemort was obviously aware of your presence. Of course, that would be no surprise to him… he knows you can see into his thoughts from time to time, as he can in yours. He may not have been aware of Miss Granger's presence, but at the same time, it may be something he realizes later, and returns to more thoroughly examine.”

“I've put her in danger, then?”

“I put myself in danger by being your friend, Harry,” Hermione interjected. “And I wouldn't change it for the world.”

Dumbledore appeared pleased by Hermione's admission.

“I would like for you to resume your Occlumency lessons from Snape. There is now an additional reason to keep Voldemort away from your mind,” Dumbledore said in a placid tone that somehow brooked no argument. Harry wanted to protest, but knew it would be futile. “Miss Granger will, of course, join you,” the Headmaster added.

Hermione and Harry looked at each other in a kind of surprised delight.

“In addition to reducing the danger that this kind of access to your minds presents to the Order, Occlumency lessons will also help you both control this ability. You would find it tiring, for instance, to be constantly sensing Miss Granger's thoughts while she is in Arithmancy and you are in Divination.”

The two friends exchanged glances. They had not thought of this.

“There are also, perhaps, private thoughts that you both wish to keep precisely that…private?” Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. Their glances bounced off each other and shied away.

“Yes, sir,” they murmured together.

“Very well, Professor Snape is still on holiday, but I shall owl him to return to Hogwarts as soon as he can. He can begin giving you both lessons in Occlumency when he arrives.”

Harry was simultaneously struck by the idea of Snape away on holiday, perhaps in great flowered swim trunks (Hermione shot him a disapproving look), and by how thrilled Snape would probably be to not only have his holiday cut short to come tutor the Boy-Who-Lived, but his know-it-all best friend as well.

He's going to make us sorry, just you wait, Harry predicted darkly. And we can't even have fun with him, because he'll know we can read each other's minds.

Harry, he's a professor, Hermione said in a scandalized tone.

He's Snape, Harry countered irritably. To Dumbledore, he said,

“Will Sn - Professor Snape even agree to teach me again?”

“Severus knows that putting aside his personal feelings for the good of the Order is of utmost importance,” Dumbledore said, with an air of finality.

Great! Harry said sarcastically. We're toast.

Sshhh, Hermione hissed. Dumbledore was speaking, something about their long day, and how breakfast would be sent up to the Gryffindor common room when they were ready for it. He ushered them toward the door, adding gravely,

“I don't think I need to remind you the importance of keeping this… quiet.”

“Ron?” Harry asked quickly.

“As few people as possible. I defer to your judgment.” Dumbledore left it at that. “Get some sleep.”

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The next morning found Hermione and Harry waking at nearly the same time, and staggering blearily down to the common room, where Ron was already tucking in to the appetizing spread.

“I'n't this great?” Ron enthused, with his mouth full of eggs. “We shou' eat up here alla' time.”

“Ron, that is disgusting,” Ginny noted, rolling her eyes. Harry and Hermione both smiled, but seemed somewhat subdued.

“You two look like hell,” Ron noted tactfully, swallowing his food.

“Thanks Ron,” Harry said, with a half-smile, scrubbing one hand over his face and sitting down at the breakfast table. He thought about how different this was from eating in the Great Hall…it seemed homier, more intimate, no bloody owls swooping over your head while you ate…owls….bloody Hell!!

I've left Hedwig in a bag at your house, Harry said in a bewildered fashion to Hermione.

No, you didn't, Hermione answered placidly, serving herself some fruit. Dumbledore sent her to Hogwart's before he came inside at my house …she's in the Owlery. Harry stared at her, agape. Your mouth's hanging open, she said, and he closed it with a snap.

How d'you know? He asked.

Like I knew the password, Harry, honestly! I listen! Harry frowned at her, and would have pursued this particular line of argument, but Ron made a noise, as if he were going to speak again, as soon as he had swallowed.

“So what happened last night, mate?” Ron asked, with all the subtlety of a freight train.

“Weird nightmares,” Hermione said quickly. “Dumbledore said it might be an aftereffect of the Fantasma we saw yesterday.”

You clever little liar, Harry said with admiration. She slanted a sideways look at him, and quickly asked Ginny for the pumpkin juice.

“So, now wha' happens?” Ron was stuffing his face again. Ginny made an apologetic face, and passed Hermione the pitcher.

“Well, Dumbledore's making me start taking Occlumency with Snape again,” Harry groused. “And Hermione too, since she had a nightmare as well.”

Hermione made a protesting noise in his mind.

It's going to come out eventually that you're taking Occlumency with me, Harry defended. Nobody's going to believe that you're taking Remedial Potions.

“Remind me never to let on to you two when I've had a bad dream,” Ron replied. “Extra classes with Snape? That's enough to keep me awake at night,” he mock shuddered.

“Yeah, lucky me,” Hermione chirped, with a laugh, rolling her eyes.

“Oy, `arry?” Ron said, moments later, swallowing a gargantuan amount of food. He then spoke more clearly. “Want to hit the quidditch pitch for a bit?”

“We've three Gryffindor team members. It seems a shame to waste the chance,” Ginny piped up, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. Ron looked less than thrilled to have his “kid” sister tagging along, but did not protest.

“Sounds great!” Harry said, with real pleasure, filling his mouth with an entire sausage.

“Hermione, you come too,” Ron said, with a generous air. “You can officiate.”

Oh, hooray! Hermione's voice in Harry's head was dripping with sarcasm.

Harry ate another sausage.

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They spent a quite enjoyable forenoon running quidditch plays. Part of the time, Ron practiced scoring, with Ginny as the keeper. During that time, Harry practiced his nosedives, screeching halts, and hairpin turns, all very important in the maneuvering of a seeker.

Hermione sat on the bleachers and read a thick book she'd brought from the library.

What's that you're reading? Harry asked casually, as he zipped by her astride his broomstick.

It's called Legilimency and Mind Control, Hermione said absently, not really listening.

That sounds like a restricted book, he observed.

It is, she replied, but Professor Dumbledore let me take it out.

Harry practiced a couple of lazy loop-de-loops that encompassed the entire pitch. He gripped the broomstick with his knees, and waved at her, upside down, with both hands.

She looked at him blandly for a moment, and returned to her book.

So, y'found anything useful? He asked a bit later.

Not yet. There have got to be other instances of this problem though. It can't be that rare.

Parseltongue is pretty rare, he pointed out.

And there are books on it, she responded like quicksilver.

Oh.

Harry decided to amuse himself by trying a couple of diving corkscrews. He had done a couple, ending with an abrupt halt on the surface of the pitch, when Hermione said suddenly,

Stop that, you're making me dizzy.

Dizzy?

Yes, dizzy! Her voice was impatient, and she sounded a little worried.

Okay, I'll stop. Harry acquiesced, and stopped the plunging spiral, coasting gently in to land near the bleachers where she sat.

Harry!

What? he asked defensively. “I stopped.” He spoke this out loud, as he came up beside her.

“I'm having physical symptoms in reaction to something you are doing!” She said in a hushed and intent tone. “That hasn't happened before.”

“Do you think we should go tell Dumbledore?” Harry asked, his brow crinkling with concern. Hermione nodded, tight-lipped.

“We probably should.”

They waved a farewell at Ron and Ginny, who were still practicing scoring and blocking maneuvers. Ron shouted something at them, but it was lost on the wind. They began to walk back up to the castle, Harry carrying his broom slung across his shoulder.

They had entered the castle through a side door, and were approaching the corridor with the gargoyle, when they heard a slippery and familiar voice.

“I must inform the Headmaster that I've arrived. You may go on down to the dungeons,” it said.

Snape's back, Harry thought with some disappointment.

Who was he talking to? Hermione wondered. Even as he heard her in his head, they rounded the corner, and came face to face with the last person they wanted to see.

“Well, if it isn't Potty and his Mudblood!” Draco Malfoy said, with a leering smile.

TBC

Please please please review!

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Harry Potter and the Isle of Mists

Disclaimer: I can only hope to attain the creative brilliance of J. K Rowling.

AN: Thanks for all the reviews so far. They are really encouraging, and help me fix details (like poor forgotten Hedwig!) I appreciate it, and keep `em coming!

Chapter Five: I Don't Like the Cut of His Jib

“Malfoy,” Harry snarled, his eyes like chips of green glacial ice. Malfoy jutted out his chin, and they faced each other down for a moment, tension and hatred crackling between them like electric energy.

Hermione felt the red heat of Harry's anger creep up her face and flush her cheeks. She saw Harry's fingers flex instinctively toward his wand.

Harry, no! she called out. His hand clenched into a fist, and then lowered to his side. Malfoy noticed the twitch - did he ever miss anything? - and his upper lip curled into a sneer.

“Well, little Potty shows some sense, for once,” he said witheringly. Harry's jaw worked back and forth.

“Discretion is the better part of valor, Malfoy,” he said smoothly, pulling a Muggle quote from memory. Malfoy's eyebrows arched up.

“That is quite a lot of big words, Potter. How long did it take your little Mudblood to pound them into your skull?”

Harry felt Hermione wince with the utterance of the derogatory label. His ire increased.

Harry, calm down! He wants you to pull your wand on him! Hermione cried out urgently in his mind.

Malfoy sauntered closer to Harry, a knowing smirk on his face. He seemed to know exactly how to get under Harry's skin. He also appeared to know exactly how close Harry was to losing it completely.

“Tell me, Potty,” Draco bit off the end of the epithet, leaning close to Harry's face. “What kind of … favors… do you exchange for all that homework help?” His meaning was unmistakable, the last question a mere hiss.

Without warning, Harry shoved Malfoy back into the wall, his left forearm across Malfoy's throat. His right hand held his wand, tip pointed at Malfoy's chin.

Harry, stop! He's not worth it! Hermione called, even as Snape exited Dumbledore's office, and quickly pulled Harry away from Draco.

“You puerile pathetic little monsters,” Snape snarled, baring his teeth. Harry took momentary comfort from the fact that Snape used the plural, including Draco in his disdain. Draco looked slightly surprised. “I suppose I had the foolish hope that students about to enter their sixth year could control themselves … or at least attempt to do so. It appears that I have once again grossly overestimated you.” Snape's gaze raked over Harry, dripping with utter contempt.

Harry glared daggers at Draco, breathing heavily. “Why is he even here before term…sir?” He tagged on the term of respect at the fire that flared in Snape's dark eyes. He did not particularly sound as if he really meant it, and that surprised no one present.

“I do not believe that is any of your affair, Mr. Potter,” Snape sneered. Draco smiled in a superior fashion over Snape's shoulder. Harry felt the loathing surge through him again, and saw Hermione quick-step back, as if she'd lost her balance. He struggled to control himself.

Sorry, Hermione, he sent quickly. He felt her reassurance, and he smiled.

Snape glanced behind him toward the Gryffindor girl, noticing that he no longer had Harry's full attention. That seemed to remind him exactly why he had returned to Hogwart's early. The corners of his mouth turned down even more than usual.

“Mr. Malfoy, you are free to go. Since Mr. Potter seems to be completely incapable of behaving like an adult around you, I suggest you…avoid him whenever possible.” It was not really a punishment, but more like a suggested restriction; however, this was more reaction than Malfoy usually got from Snape. Harry and Hermione exchanged surprised glances.

Draco opened his mouth, as if to make a rejoinder, but something in Snape's expression must have made him decide against it. He turned and stalked down the corridor toward the Slytherin dungeons, muttering something about “bloody Mudblood lovers”.

Snape did not admonish him for his departing epithets, and neither Harry nor Hermione expected him to. They had turned to go, forgetting all about their errand to Dumbledore.

“Mr. Potter, Miss Granger,” Snape's tone was smooth as silk. “A moment of your time, if you please.” The veneer of politeness fooled no one.

Here it comes, Harry thought glumly. They turned back to face their Potions master.

“Professor Dumbledore has made me aware of your new… connection with each other. He has expressed the desire to have both of you schooled in Occlumency,” Snape looked less than thrilled, “an unwelcome event that I have obviously brought on myself by wondering what could be worse than tutoring James Potter's spawn.” He spat the last phrase.

Bloody git! Hermione thought with vehemence. Harry turned his head sharply toward her, surprised at her language. Snape's eyes darted back and forth between them for a moment.

“I assume Miss Granger is being quite complimentary?” Snape asked blandly. Color flooded Hermione's face, and Snape smiled. It was not pleasant. “Perhaps you can also work on being a little less obvious with your telepathy? A first-year could tell you were reading each other's minds…although I do use that term loosely!” The contempt was back. “I will see you on Thursdays immediately after lunch. We will move the time to evening when the term begins.” He swirled his black cape over his shoulder, and strode down the hall in the same direction Draco had gone.

Hermione and Harry stood motionless for a moment, watching the hulking black figure make his way down the corridor, and swish out of sight.

Wordlessly, they began heading back to Gryffindor tower, when Hermione's arm shot out across Harry's chest, checking his forward motion.

“We didn't see Dumbledore,” she remembered suddenly. Harry was glum, his encounter with Malfoy and Snape sucking all of the joy out of his day.

“What does it matter?” he asked, kicking at the carpet with the toe of his sneaker. “I don't really feel like it anymore.” He plucked at his sweaty Quidditch practice gear, now cool and damp, and clinging to his skin. “I'd really like a shower.”

Hermione regarded him for a moment, thoughtfully.

They're both biased, she said, her voice ringing in his head with decisive clarity. Snape hates you only because of who your father is. Malfoy hates you because if you weren't around he'd be the biggest name at school. They're not worth it.

He remembered what he'd tried to tell himself during his most recent sojourn to Privet Drive. He let a half-smile drift across his face.

I know, he admitted. Thanks, Hermione. She smiled at him, a very shy, un-Hermione-like half-smile, and reached hesitantly for his hand, threading her fingers through his.

Harry looked down at their joined hands with something like surprise, and felt warmth begin to thrum through his fingers and up his arm. He looked at Hermione, who appeared to be as surprised as he, and was gazing at him with limpid eyes. Her lips were parted slightly.

What…? Harry managed to think, leaning towards Hermione almost imperceptibly.

“There you are!” he heard Ron's cheerful voice, as Hermione and he careened apart. “Where'd you go?” the red-head asked, and then looked at his two friends more carefully. “What's going on? Were you... holding her hand?” There was an incredulous note in his voice, and he looked at Harry quizzically.

Harry threw one arm around Hermione's shoulder in a comradely fashion, patting her on the arm with sympathy. “We ran into Malfoy,” he said, as if that explained their odd behavior, trying to give the indication that he had been comforting their friend.

Ron bit instantly.

“Why is that bloody prat here?” he asked indignantly.

“He came with Snape,” Hermione answered, her brow furrowed in genuine curiosity. “I wonder why…” she spoke mostly to herself, and trailed off.

“What did he say to you?” Ron asked, looking quite concerned. Harry's eyes became steely.

“He made some rather nasty implications about homework…and favors done in exchange,” Harry said, not having to fake any of the loathing in his voice.

“That filthy little - ” was all of Ron's tirade that Harry heard, because Hermione interrupted him.

Is that what he said to you? Before you knocked him into the wall? Hermione had shock and hurt in her voice.

Yeah, Harry said, in an apologetic tone.

Now I wish you had hexed him! There was an angry sigh at the end of her sentence. Harry laughed involuntarily, and Ron paused in mid-rant to stare at him.

Just say the word, milady! Harry said with mock gallantry.

I could do a lot worse than having you for my hero, Harry, Hermione said with a warm note in her voice. The melting sensation was back, even though neither of them was touching the other.

“Harry?” Ron asked, in a confused tone. Harry realized that he was probably gazing at Hermione, with a ridiculous dreamy smile, and he hadn't been paying the slightest bit of attention to anything Ron had said.

Snape's right, he admitted with chagrin. It would be obvious to anybody that something weird's going on.

“Harry, are you all right?” Ron's voice was solicitous, and his eyes darted over to Hermione.

“Yeah, Ron, I'm fine. Sorry, my mind wandered a bit.”

“Is there - is there - ” Ron's voice was hesitant. “Is there something going on? Between..?” He gestured at them with both hands.

Harry and Hermione looked at each other for a moment. Harry forced a laugh past his lips, and even to him, it rang falsely in the corridor. Hermione managed to tilt her mouth upward in a smile.

“Really, Ron,” she smirked. “Wherever did you get a notion like that?” She rolled her eyes as if it were the most ridiculous thing she'd ever heard.

“Yeah…” Harry echoed, but his heart wasn't really in it.

“Right, then,” Ron ran his fingers through his hair, with a `silly me' grin. “Sorry.”

Hermione felt a little trickle of hurt seep her way. Harry was not looking at her.

You - you didn't think I meant it, Harry? She sounded flustered and embarrassed; saying that was giving away more than she really wanted to.

Harry felt stupid. You sounded awfully convincing, he pointed out.

Her cheeks flushed, as the trio turned by unspoken consent to return to Gryffindor Tower.

I didn't mean it, in a very small voice. Walking a few paces behind Ron, Harry let his fingers reach toward hers, and caress them momentarily, before his hand withdrew back to his side. Hermione's heart thudded in her ears, and she didn't dare look at him.

Hey! Harry interjected suddenly, as if an idea had just occurred to him.

What is it?

You remember how Dumbledore said I could probably read other people's minds if I tried? Hermione looked at him warily.

Yeeahhh…she said reluctantly.

We could find out why Malfoy's really here…what he's up to. He'd never even know.

Hermione looked at him for a long moment, knowing already that nothing she could say would change his mind, or deter him from this course of action. Still, she had to try.

Harry, I think that is a really bad idea…

TBC

I really had trouble with this chapter. It is a little short and kind of a transition-y chapter, and I'm still not thrilled with it. More plot development to come.

Come on and review… pretty please?

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Harry Potter and the Isle of Mists

Disclaimer: I can only hope to attain the creative brilliance of J. K Rowling.

AN: Please review. This is my first Harry Potter fanfic, so be kind.

AN2: This story is AU after OOTP.

To Nrogara42090: I just sort of assumed that Harry and Hermione could apparate, if they were with Dumbledore. When I read it again, after your comment, I realized it wasn't very clear at all, but that's what I was thinking when I wrote it. Sorry about the confusion, and thanks for the very kind review!

Thanks to all who reviewed….it is so very much appreciated!

Chapter Six: Poor Little Rich Ferret

Harry didn't mention his idea of reading Draco's mind any more that week. However, that didn't mean that he had forgotten. Hermione would have known that whether she could read his mind or not. But they were finding it difficult to extract themselves from the Weasleys' company, and they both had the added distraction of Snape's upcoming Occlumency lesson.

He also hadn't mentioned their almost-kiss in the corridor outside Dumbledore's office. But that didn't mean that he wasn't thinking about that either. He had used his slight edge in Occlumency to try and bar some of his thoughts from her. But the emotion behind the thoughts was a little harder to squelch. Hermione would suddenly feel her cheeks flush and her heart rate accelerate, and look up to feel the glancing blow of his gaze, as he swiftly returned his attention to whatever had been previously occupying it.

After one such incident, when the four Gryffindors were amiably occupying the common room, each involved in his or her own venture, Hermione turned a page with such force that it nearly tore.

Will you stop doing that? Her exasperated voice rang in his mind. He was, she noted, careful to keep his eyes on his Firebolt, which he was polishing carefully.

Stop what? He asked innocently, but there was nervousness, embarrassment, and … something else… behind his query.

Honestly, Harry, she huffed, you know very well what! Following his example, she picked up her quill and looked down at her half-filled roll of parchment.

I - I can't help it, he stammered slightly. You look…pretty…sitting there…by the firelight. His words were tentative and unsure, and Hermione felt his embarrassment through her bones as if it were a low-pitched vibration in the room. Her eyes crinkled at the corners, as if she were going to smile, and she said simply,

That's nice of you, Harry. Something thrummed dangerously at the edge of her consciousness. Her throat felt suddenly dry, and her stomach was fluttery. She chanced a glance at him, although Ron and Ginny, immersed in a game of Wizard's Chess, - that Ginny was losing handily - had not noticed any aspect of their interchange.

I didn't say it to be nice. I said it because it's true. His gaze had darkened, his pupils dilated until they had drowned out the green. The image of the two of them, locked together in a passionate embrace, flashed in her mind briefly. She suddenly felt as if much of the oxygen in the room had fled.

She stood abruptly, and said, apropos of nothing, “I'll just be in the library.” With a flash of brown curls and lavender wool, she was gone through the portrait hole.

Ginny and Ron threw Harry a curious look, and Ginny might have said something, but Ron moved his bishop, and said, “Checkmate.” Ginny began protesting that he had cheated, and Harry sat there, mute, wondering how long he had to wait before he could gracefully extricate himself, and find Hermione.

Hermione, he called out, gently, please don't run from me…from us.

He felt her anxiety, her self-doubt, her hopeful anticipation that she was trying unsuccessfully to keep from him.

Her-mi-o-ne, he was cajoling now. Don't forget that I can say that I truly know how you feel. I'm scared too. I know how much we've got stacked against us. I know that friendships are at risk. I know that lives are at risk. But in spite of everything, I want this. I want you. I love you.

He waited, with baited breath, to see if she would respond. He lowered the barriers that he had clumsily attempted to raise with Occlumency, so that she could know everything that he was feeling.

There was a long silence.

I'm in the corridor, outside the portrait hole, she finally admitted softly and a little reluctantly. Harry stood up, and tried to nonchalantly propel himself, not a very graceful combination, from the common room.

He saw her instantly…she had not gone far. She was slouching, with her back against the wall, and he saw the glistening path that a tear had taken down her cheek. He brushed at it with his thumb, and the lightning was back. They both shuddered slightly, as if an electric shock had run through them.

“Why does it keep doing that?” Harry murmured.

“If we can hear each other's thoughts and feel each other's emotions, then maybe physical sensations are amplified as well,” Hermione said in her “lecturing” voice. They both paused, embarrassed, considering the implications of what she had said.

“Did you mean it? What you said?” Hermione asked, after a beat.

“What about what you didn't say?” Harry countered, feeling childish.

“I…” she trailed off, and a flush crept up her cheeks. “I…” She lifted her hand, to brush her finger tips along his cheek and through the dark strands of his hair. Gryffindor courage, he heard her think to herself. “I think I was born to love you, Harry,” she finally managed. “Somehow, I think I've always loved you.” She flashed a glance at him through her eyelashes. Harry felt his knees turn to water.

Hermione, you are about to get kissed. He cupped the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair, and thumb caressing her jawline. The kiss was brief, just a brushing of lips, and he pulled back to question her briefly with his eyes. He must have found what he sought, because after an instant, his lips were on hers again.

This kiss was long, slow, and languorous. Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck to keep from falling. Sparks were showering down on her, she felt; she was hot and cold at the same time. She wanted to laugh at the completeness of it, and cry at the beauty of it. She wanted to…

“Bloody hell!” Someone blurted from just behind them.

Harry and Hermione jarred apart, eyes wide. As almost an afterthought, Harry reached up and wiped his mouth with the back of one hand.

Draco Malfoy stood in the corridor, a scornful smile playing across his lips, and a calculating look in his eyes. Harry knew he was trying to decide how to best play this to his advantage.

“I guess what I said about homework favors hit a little too close to home, eh, Potter? Or did it just give you ideas?” he smirked. Hermione felt Harry's ire begin bubbling beneath the surface.

“You shouldn't jump to conclusions about what you couldn't possibly understand, Malfoy!” Hermione replied in a ringing tone.

“Of course, a Slytherin snake like me could never grasp the meaning of true love!” Draco's voice dripped with sarcasm. “However, I do know the value of a good shag, and while I normally wouldn't sully myself with a mu—" He didn't get the offensive word - or the rest of the insult - out of his mouth, before Harry pushed himself away from the wall and assumed a more confrontational posture.

Harry…. He heard Hermione's cautionary tone in his head. Draco arched his eyebrows at Harry's sudden movement, smirking that he had elicited a reaction from his rival. Harry tried to force himself to relax.

“You should be careful about who you insult in my presence, Malfoy,” Harry said, in a quiet voice that sounded more dangerous than if he'd yelled.

“Or what, Potter?” Draco said, rolling his eyes and sounding bored. “Are you going to grab your scar and have a fit? Sic me with a nightmare? Or just cry about your dead parents?”

Harry had an instantaneous desire to deck the Slytherin, but he felt Hermione's presence in his mind like a soothing balm. He calmed down.

“I wouldn't give you the satisfaction, Malfoy,” Harry said emphatically, as he reached for Hermione's hand and turned to leave.

“Don't forget, Potter,” Malfoy's voice echoed loudly in the corridor behind them. “My father has … connections. They might be interested in …things you're interested in.” There was an unmistakable insinuation in his snide tone. He watched with pleasure as Harry's spine stiffened, and his stride visibly faltered.

Hermione, d'you think he meant…? Harry's anxiety was apparent.

I think he's a pathetic little ferret, Hermione was scathing.

He's a dangerous little ferret, Harry added seriously. I'm going to find out what he's up to. Let's go to the library.

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

“Harry, I don't know if this is a good idea. You heard what Dumbledore sa -" Hermione tried to say warningly, but Harry cut her off.

“He said it would make me tired. I've been tired before. I want to know what's going on with Draco,” Harry dismissed her worries, with an airy wave of one hand. “This could be important.”

Hermione looked doubtful. “Something tells me you just want one up on Malfoy.” Harry gave her a dirty look, as if he were insulted that she would think that of him.

But then she felt, Might be nice, drift through her mind lazily, and was sure that it was unintentional. She couldn't suppress a smirk. Harry looked at her with annoyance.

Thank Merlin, that Occlumency lesson's today, he said vehemently, glaring at her.

“Okay,” he said, a moment later, obviously trying to decide how best to begin. He looked at her, and she stared back.

“What?” she finally asked, impatiently.

“Come here,” he said, as impatient as she. Hermione's glance darted between his chair and her chair, and her brow furrowed. He rolled his eyes at her.

I mean, come here. With your - your mind. Hermione felt stupid.

Right. She shrugged sheepishly, and closed her eyes, concentrating on Harry.

I guess…since this - this ability started with me, that I'll have to initiate this, and you'll have to follow me.

Okay, she replied simply. Harry glanced at her, and then followed her example by closing his eyes.

There was a kind of stretching sensation, and everything became misty and shrouded. It wasn't exactly an out-of-body experience, as he was still dimly aware of himself seated in one of the library's hard wooden chairs. However, he was distinctly cognizant of the sensation of leaving his own memories and thoughts behind, his mind traveling through nothingness.

Draco… There was a flash of pain in Harry's temple that slowly began to flare.

A first-year cried, dangling upside down, as Draco, Goyle, and Crabbe laughed.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron walked into the Great Hall laughing and talking. Seething rage licked around the edges of the scene.

Professor Snape stood at the front of the Potions classroom, praising Mr. Malfoy for a particularly well-done Bafflement potion.

Draco and Pansy were hiding behind a statue of Winifred the Whimsical on their way to the Astronomy tower, as Hermione strolled by on patrol. He snickered when she did not see them.

There was fear, laced with curiosity, as Hagrid brought out his newest lesson from a gigantic metal crate.

Harry dimly realized he was seeing some of Draco's memories, apparently at random. How am I ever going to find what I'm looking for?

He tried to speak to Hermione, but found that he couldn't. Lucius… he tried thinking…Lucius and Narcissa…Professor Snape…

Suddenly he was standing in a large room, opulently decorated. It was instantly evident that every furnishing and accessory in the room was of the highest quality, from the plush carpeting to the brocade sofa to the crystal chandelier.

Narcissa Malfoy, a doting expression on her pretty face, was levitating clothing into an open trunk. Harry looked around, and realized that Hermione was standing at his elbow. He felt instinctive panic, but remembered that this was Draco's memory, and so they would not be able to interact with anybody in any way.

“Where were you?” he hissed at Hermione.

“Sshh…listen,” was all she would say.

“Draco, darling,” Narcissa called out. Harry made a disgusted face at her saccharin tone. She was talking to Malfoy like he was five.

There was a bang, and Harry jumped. The white door slammed backwards into the wall, leaving a visible dent. Draco entered the room sullenly.

“Yes, Mother,” his tone belying the respectfulness of the words.

“Have you got your broom? And your owl?” He nodded twice. “I expect Severus will take you into Diagon Alley at some point for your schoolbooks.”

“I s'pose,” Draco mumbled, sounding bored. He stared over his mother's shoulder, out a window. Narcissa paused in her packing.

“Draco, precious, what's wrong?” she simpered. Harry felt like throwing up.

“I've still got weeks of holiday left. I don't know why I can't go with you and Father. I don't want to go back to that bloody school yet.”

“Draco, dear, we've been over this already,” Narcissa said patiently. “Your father has…business … in Europe. I'm afraid it would be far too dangerous for you to go. Severus has been called back to Hogwart's early, and has kindly offered to watch over you there.”

“Good God, I'm not some stupid child that needs to be `watched over',” Draco knocked her hand, which had rested lightly on his shoulder, away angrily. Narcissa fluttered her hands a little, but did not reprimand him.

“Draco.” The aristocratic voice lanced through the room, instantly attracting attention, even though it was not loud. Harry and Hermione looked to see Lucius Malfoy standing in the doorway, impeccably dressed, tapping the head of his ornate cane into one gloved palm.

“Father,” Draco acknowledged, and Harry noted the greater amount of respect in his tone.

“Details,” Lucius said, apropos of nothing. Harry thought that he and Draco must have similar befuddled expressions on their faces. “Once again, Draco, you get too caught up in your own petty emotions to notice details.” He glanced at his wife, almost as an afterthought. “Narcissa, your incessant coddling of the boy is going to ruin him.”

“Ha!” Harry said, in an aside to Hermione, “Like that hasn't already ha—" Hermione pinched his arm for him to hush.

“Leave us,” Lucius said imperiously. Narcissa waved her wand, and the trunk lid closed with a snap. She left the room without another word. Harry could see Hermione bristling at this treatment of any woman, even Narcissa Malfoy, as a subject.

“Draco, how are you ever going to be a part of the Dark Lord's inner circle, if you do not pay attention!” Lucius asked, banging his cane down on the fine mahogany desk. He obviously considered this a good time for some sort of object lesson. “Now, what important piece of information did your mother give away?” Draco looked uncertain, possibly the first time Harry had ever seen that particular expression on his face. There was a moment of silence.

“Father, I already know why you're going to Europe. He's sending you to…” His words were cut off as Lucius whipped his cane around, shoving the handle under his son's chin.

“Your fool of a mother said, `Severus has been called back to Hogwart's early'.” He leaned down, until he was inches from Draco's face. “Next. Time. Pay. Attention.” He bit off each word as he spoke. He straightened up, replacing his cane by his side, and when he spoke again, it was in a normal tone of voice.

“The Dark Lord is interested. He wants to know why.” Harry felt Hermione stiffen beside him at the mention of Voldemort.

“Why doesn't he just ask Professor Snape?” Draco wondered. Lucius whirled around, one hand lifted, as if to backhand his son.

“You have the insolence to question the Dark Lord?” He indicated his upraised hand. “Consider this a warning against further foolishness. The Dark Lord is vigilant and ever-watchful. Constant tests of fealty are to be expected…even desired. If you intend to take the Dark Mark when you come of age, you will be expected to prove your loyalty. You should be honored that the Dark Lord is already noticing you.” Lucius allowed a fond, if smug, look to cross his face. He seemed to debate about how much else to say.

“The Dark Mark was exploded over that Mudblood Granger's house a few days ago. Severus was called back to Hogwart's soon thereafter. The Dark Lord wants to know why,” Lucius repeated. “You are going to find out for him.”

Draco looked into his father's eyes, his face resolute.

“Yes, Father.”

The memory began to swirl and fade. Harry and Hermione once more found themselves seated in the otherwise empty library. They slumped forward against the table. Hermione was breathing heavily, but let out a shriek as she looked at Harry.

“What?” Harry managed, suddenly so fatigued that he could barely form the words. The pain in his head was terrific. He was suddenly aware of a sticky wetness on his face and sleeve.

“You're bleeding.”

TBC

Will be getting into the meat of the story soon…you know, the reason the story is titled what it is…

Please review!

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Harry Potter and the Isle of Mists

Disclaimer: I can only hope to attain the creative brilliance of J. K Rowling.

AN: Please review. This is my first Harry Potter fanfic, so be kind.

AN2: This story is AU after OOTP.

Good Fences Make Good Neighbors

Harry looked down stupidly at Hermione's exclamation. Warm, red blood pooled onto his arm that was resting on the table. It was streaming from his nose; he could taste it in his mouth.

“My nose…” he said dazedly. He felt like every limb was filled with lead. He felt like he had fallen off his broom…and hit every bleacher round the Quidditch pitch on his way down. He wiped at his nose, and the red of his blood looking jarring against his white sleeve.

“It's not stopping,” Hermione said, watching him anxiously. “We should go to the hospital wing.” She seemed to have recovered far more quickly, and stood to her feet in one lithe motion, holding out her hand for Harry to take.

He stood with effort, pushing himself up, his hands flat on the table. Once he was upright, he wavered on his feet. Blood continued to issue from both nostrils, unabated. The room spun around him as he tried to take a step.

“'Mione, I—can't…” he said, unable to even form complete sentences. Hermione sighed, pursing her lips together, her brow crinkling with concern.

“Mobilicorpus,” she said briskly, waving her wand, and began levitating Harry to the Hospital wing.

Once there, he was laid gently on a bed, where Madame Pomfrey clucked her tongue over his state.

“Nothing's broken,” she said, after examining his nose, while spooning a Coagulation potion into his mouth. It tasted like rotten bananas, and Harry grimaced involuntarily. “What have you done to yourself this time, Mr. Potter?”

“Nougat…” Harry said with effort, referring to the Weasley twins' Skiving Snackboxes.

Good show, Harry! Hermione thought, admiring the effortless lie. Harry's lips turned up in the approximation of a wan smile.

Madame Pomfrey looked at him reproachfully.

“Mr. Potter, I would have thought you would know better, by now. What were you trying to skive off of anyway? Term hasn't even started.” Harry shook his head; it felt like swinging a hundred-kilo weight back and forth.

“Accident. Found an old one…thought it was a ordinary…sweet,” he managed to say. Madame Pomfrey appeared to accept his explanation, though she clearly doubted his intelligence.

“Well, have some Pepper-Up potion,” she said, giving him a small vial. His hand shook with the effort it took to hold up his arm, and Hermione quickly took the vial and held it to his lips. “You'll probably be fine after a rest. I'll be back with some Blood Replenisher. Stay here and sleep,” the mediwitch was Scourgifying his clothes and the sheets while she was speaking, removing the bloodstains.

“Yes, ma'am,” Harry was only too happy to comply. He had never been so exhausted in his life.

She exited the ward, and Harry looked at Hermione with wary expectation, which was satisfied as soon as the door shut.

“I told you that was a bad idea!” Hermione hissed at him, her eyes flashing.

Harry was affronted. “Why? It worked.” Speaking was still an ordeal, so he kept his sentences short.

“It worked?” Hermione was clearly working herself up into one of her states. “It worked?! You nearly bled to death and you can hardly move.”

Harry would have rolled his eyes if it had been possible. “I most certainly… did not...'nearly bleed to death'. And besides… we found out…”

“We may have found out what Malfoy is up to, but we still don't know why. We don't know why Voldemort wants to know… or why he didn't just ask Snape,” Hermione said matter-of-factly.

Harry felt his head begin to clear somewhat, even though his skull was still pounding. He was thinking furiously. Something was niggling at the back of his head, and he couldn't quite figure out what it was.

“Voldemort was behind that attack at your house. We know that. I think it was for me…I mean, to get my attention. They were searching my mail…attacked Hedwig. He wanted me to come to you.” Harry's eyes were far away, as he thought aloud. “I don't think Voldemort knows about this new telepathic thing,” he concluded finally, looking at Hermione to see what she thought.

“Maybe not,” she finally agreed, after musing quietly for a moment. “He didn't know he was passing on his Parseltongue abilities…he probably wouldn't know about the telepathy either. Although, you and he have been in other's heads enough…he should have guessed.” Harry couldn't help but smile at the temerity of Hermione's criticism, when most people wouldn't say his name.

“If he doesn't know about the telepathy, then at least we have that advantage,” Harry said slowly. “He's got to be up to something… what was he trying to accomplish when he had Hedwig attacked, or sent that Fantasma? Dumbledore sent for Snape, but Malfoy came with him.” He narrowed his eyes with suspicion. “I don't trust either of them.”

“Honestly, Harry! Malfoy's a nasty little bugger, but he's just a student like we are. It's not like he's a Death Eater.” she said, emphatically.

“His father is a …” Harry trailed off, as the thing that had been bothering him since his invasion of Draco's mind finally burst into his consciousness. “His father! Hermione, in Malfoy's memory, Lucius was at Malfoy manor….what was he doing there? He's supposed to be in Azkaban!”

Hermione's eyes widened, as she realized what Harry was saying. “But—but why hasn't it been in the Prophet? Sirius made headlines with his breakout…why didn't we know he was out?”

“He didn't escape. He was let go. Somebody was bought,” Harry concluded grimly. “Maybe even Fudge himself. I think it's a safe bet that not a lot of people know about it.”

“What about what Malfoy said…about `his father having connections'?” Hermione wondered darkly.

“Malfoy is such a bloody idiot,” Harry said in some amazement. “He practically announced that his father was out of Azkaban. Giving away that kind of information, just to threaten you!” His tone was incredulous, but his face was worried. “It makes me wonder how valid the threat is, then.”

“Snape must know,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “I wonder if Dumbledore knows?” Harry said nothing, but gave a snort that indicated just how little he thought of Snape's loyalty.

“Harry, Dumbledore trusts Snape, you know that,” Hermione lectured.

Harry did not look convinced. “Just wait until a round of Occlumency with him,” he predicted darkly.

Hermione's eyes grew wide. “We have a lesson with him this afternoon!”

Harry closed his eyes in exasperation, and swore under his breath. Hermione looked at him reprovingly.

Harry James Potter, you ought to be ashamed. Harry thought a few more impolite words, and grinned as her face flushed a dull red. With a huff, she got up, and turned toward the door of the ward.

“Hermione,” Harry said, trying to quell the laughter in his voice, “Hermione, wait! I was only kidding.” She turned to look at him, lancing him with a look, and he grew serious. “I was kidding,” he repeated, holding out his hand. “Come here.”

She took his hand, and stepped back to his side. Harry brought her hand up to his lips, and kissed it softly. She felt a smile tug unwillingly at her mouth. But then Madame Pomfrey bustled back in with the Blood Replenisher, and the two teens stepped quickly away from each other.

“We're supposed to meet with Professor Snape this afternoon,” Harry began.

“That's fine dear,” Madame Pomfrey said. “Give this potion a half-hour or so to start working, and you should be fine,” she gave him a reproving look. “I should not eat any more creations of the Weasley twins if I were you.”

Harry managed to look properly repentant. “Yes, ma'am,” he said meekly.

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The arrival time for their Occlumency lesson came much too quickly, and soon Harry and Hermione found themselves approaching Snape's dungeon offices with a certain amount of trepidation.

Snape was at his desk, quill flying across parchment, when they entered the dank and gloomy room. He did not acknowledge their presence, but continued writing, the only sound in the room being the scratch of his quill. They sat there for what seemed like an incredible amount of time, occasionally shifting, whispering, or coughing, but none of this elicited any reaction whatsoever from Snape.

At long last, he laid down his quill, and looked up at them.

“Miss Granger, Mr. Potter,” he said, as if he'd only just realized they were there.

“Sir,” Hermione replied politely. Harry said nothing.

“Sit,” Snape directed tersely. They both did. “Now, Miss Granger, I assume that you are fully versed in what Occlumency is?” He said this in a long-suffering way, as if preparing for a long definition from Hermione.

“Yes, sir, I've read about it,” Hermione said quietly.

“Then you know that the key to Occlumency is a strong mind and, above all, emotional control?” He cast a withering look at Harry as he said this.

“Yes, sir.” Harry looked sidewise at Hermione, wondering why she was being so meek about all of this.

“Good,” Snape enunciated, baring his teeth in a mirthless approximation of a smile. There was a moment of tense silence. Then Snape drew his wand in one smooth, startlingly quick motion. “LEGILIMENS!” His voice rang out loudly.

Hermione flinched, her eyes wide at the unexpected onslaught. She closed her eyes, and Harry could feel her furiously trying to concentrate. He felt caught up in the riptide of her memories, swirling around; he was going to drown in them.

Hermione was standing by herself on a playground, pressing herself against the chain-link fence. Two pretty little girls whispered and giggled behind their hands.

An owl circled in through an open kitchen window, dropping a sealed envelope in front of Hermione. Her mother and father were reading the letter, exchanging baffled glances. “Hermione, what does this mean?”

Hermione was flinching, as Draco Malfoy leaned threateningly in her face. “Mudblood,” he spat.

Hermione and Viktor Krum were walking around the grounds at Hogwart's. “I'm sorry, Viktor,” Hermione murmured in a low voice, “I'm in love with someone else.”

Harry seized onto this memory, like it was a life preserver. He grabbed onto it with all the force his mind possessed, and visualized pushing Snape out of Hermione's mind, slamming and locking it shut behind him.

Snape actually took a couple of steps back, and looked at Harry in surprise. Harry's green eyes blazed with fury, as he took in the white strain of Hermione's face.

“Well, well, well,” Snape said, in that tone that contrived to make even a compliment sound backhanded. “I'm surprised at you, Mr. Potter…seeing as how you could not shut me out of your own mind.”

“What happened?” Hermione asked, looking bewildered.

“Mr. Potter came to your aid, assisting you in forcing me from your mind,” Snape said in his characteristic drawl. “This…ability…of yours could be useful. The combined forces of two people trained as Occlumensi could be…formidable.” Harry was dumbfounded. Was Snape being complimentary? Judging from the constipated look on his face, Harry thought, the answer was yes. Harry tried to bite back a grin, and Snape must have seen the flicker of it in his eyes, because the trademark glower had returned.

“Miss Granger, I want you to try and assist Mr. Potter,” Snape ordered, and said quickly, “Legilimens!”

Harry was sitting bewildered on top of the school roof, as a teacher reprimanded him below. The boys who had been chasing him were nowhere to be seen.

Harry sat in his cupboard under the stairs. Dust sifted down onto his head, as Dudley threw some kind of temper tantrum because he had scratched the paint on his new racing bike.

Harry watched with a pang, as the white queen smashed Ron's knight to bits, sending him hurtling across the room.

Harry felt the dead weight of Cedric in his arms, as he struggled to reach the TriWizard Cup. Stinging tears of rage and grief were pricking at his eyes.

Bellatrix Lestrange aimed her wand at Sirius…he fell through the veil, slowly, a look of surprise on his face.

Hermione wasn't moving, and Harry knelt beside her, panic etched in every feature.

Harry felt the sudden warmth of Hermione's presence, and her additional strength helped him shut Snape out.

Snape's lips twitched in a kind of sneer. Clearly, Hermione's first attempt at Occlumency had been impressive, but Snape would rather die than say so. Harry felt a thrumming heat in his arm, and realized that he and Hermione were holding hands again. He dropped her hand like a hot coal, not appreciating the mocking gleam in Snape's eyes; it made him self-conscious and irritated.

Snape looked as if he were contemplating some comment, but said only, “Again,” leveling his wand at Harry.

He was at the bottom of the lake with the merpeople. He looked anxiously over his shoulder, wondering about the others, still in enchanted sleep. Was anyone else coming?

He scrawled “I must not tell lies,” on the parchment. His hand burned, as the words etched into his skin.

There was a flash of sparks in the Department of Mysteries. Hermione wasn't moving. Tonks had fallen. And Sirius plummeted through the fluttering veil.

Hermione and Harry were riding in the starry night on the back of Buckbeak the hippogriff. The shrillness of her scream blended and echoed with the sound of Harry's laughter.

And they were out again. Even more quickly this time. Hermione looked quietly triumphant.

“Potter, move over there,” Snape said tersely, gesturing across the room with his wand. Harry looked at him questioningly. Snape indicated their joined hands, with a look of disgust on his face. Hermione flushed red, and let go of his hand. “Let's see how you perform without the … contact,” their professor spat the last word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.

Looking askance at Hermione, Harry moved to the spot to which Snape had pointed.

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Over an hour later, Harry and Hermione trudged back toward Gryffindor Tower from the dungeons, exhausted.

“You look tired,” Harry observed, taking her hand in his, without even really noticing.

“I never realized what a toll this kind of thing could take on you,” Hermione replied. “And you had to go to these lessons all the time, plus the nightmares….” Respect for him tinged her voice. “I think I was a little too hard on you.”

“Wait! Can you write that down? And sign it? What time is it? I need to make note of this!” Harry said, teasing her. She narrowed her eyes at him, even as a smile tugged at her lips.

“Shut up, Harry,” she said companionably. They meandered in friendly silence for awhile.

Malfoy can't know you're taking Occlumency, Harry said suddenly, as if the thought had just occurred to him.

You certainly weren't concerned about keeping it a secret earlier, Hermione said, referring to his revelation to the Weasleys.

That was different, Harry answered. We've seen Malfoy's memory now. Voldemort wants to know why Snape is back. He probably already knows I'm taking Occlumency…he certainly knows I can sense his thoughts sometimes. If Malfoy tells his father that you're taking Occlumency, Voldemort will want to know why. He doesn't need to find out why.

What are we going to say? Hermione asked, skeptically. You were right before. Nobody would believe that I need Remedial Potions.

Maybe you could be tutoring me…be Snape's teaching assistant or something.

Hermione laughed aloud at this.

I'm sure Professor Snape would just adore that!

Harry allowed himself a moment to enjoy the mental image of Snape's mouth pursing in disgust, as he had to admit that little know-it-all Granger was assisting him.

Hey! Hermione protested.

His words, not mine! Harry said, raising his hand up in a gesture of innocence.

There was another moment of silence, in which Hermione could feel a delicious warmth flowing from Harry. He was sneaking sidewise looks at her, she could tell without looking, and she flushed slightly.

Hermione? He said hesitantly, his voice low in her head.

“What?” she said out loud, stopping suddenly and looking him square in the face. He backed up a few steps, and looked at a loss. “I want you to say whatever it is you want to say out loud.”

“It's so much easier to do it the… the other way,” Harry admitted. Hermione smiled, but didn't bite. “What I said earlier, when you were outside the portrait hole… I meant it.”

“Meant what?” she asked, her smile teasing, but her voice soft.

“I love you, Hermione,” he murmured, and Hermione's face glowed with happiness. She bit her lip.

“I love you too,” she replied. He leaned down and kissed her then, a gentle soft kiss, which quickly deepened into more, as she opened her mouth slightly. Hermione felt like she couldn't breathe, like she'd never want to breathe again. Neither of them seemed to realize or care that they were kissing in the middle of a corridor.

“Harry! We've been looking for you! I -" came a cheerful voice that caused Harry and Hermione to jerk apart quickly. Ron came into full view an instant later, and took in Harry and Hermione standing very close together, looking flushed and rumpled and guilty.

“Ron!” Harry said, trying to sound normal, while moving away from Hermione as subtly as possible.

“Bloody hell,” Ron exclaimed, looking stunned.

Why do people keep saying that? Harry asked in exasperation. Hermione was still anxiously watching Ron, who was looking at them like he expected them to sprout another head or spontaneously combust.

Should we tell him? Hermione asked.

I think he knows already, Harry answered with chagrin. How upset d'you think he is?

I didn't mean about us…well, not just about us…about the telepathy, Hermione was insistent.

Yeah, guess now is as good a time as any, Harry said, a little reluctantly. He'd rather liked sharing this secret with Hermione.

We'll have loads of other secrets, Hermione said, with a gleam in her eyes.

Harry grinned, as Hermione stepped forward and cleared her throat,

“Ronald, there's something we've been meaning to discuss with you.”

TBC

Thanks for the reviews so far. Keep `em coming!

Next chapter: Ron finds out everything. Draco harasses the Trio. And a trip to Diagon Alley.

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Harry Potter and the Isle of Mists

Disclaimer: I can only hope to attain the creative brilliance of J. K Rowling.

AN: Please review. This is my first Harry Potter fanfic, so be kind.

AN2: This story is AU after OOTP.

The Enemy of My Enemy is My Friend

“I think I can figure it out for myself, thanks,” Ron said a little stiffly, looking like he'd been hit with a bludger. “Were you planning on telling me at all?”

Harry took a deep breath. Ron was actually being fairly normal about this. Maybe it'll be okay, he thought.

Of course it'll be okay. Hermione said, indignantly, throwing him a rather scathing look, as Harry began to speak.

“Ron, we - " Harry began, but soon stopped. Ron was still looking at Hermione, in a rather bewildered fashion, since she had basically glowered at Harry for no reason.

“That's part of what we need to tell you,” Harry said, jerking his head in Hermione's direction.

“It's a long story,” Hermione interjected. “Let's go to the Room of Requirement.”

“Agreed,” Harry said, “There's less chance of ferret ears overhearing.”

“What on earth does Malfoy have to do with the two of you…snogging?” Ron asked, bewildered. He made a kind of choking noise over the last word.

Hermione and Harry exchanged glances, but remained silent until they reached the corridor with the tapestry. When they were safely in the Room of Requirement (which had thoughtfully furnished them with a sofa, two chairs, roaring fire, and a tea tray), Ron looked at both of them coolly and expectantly, both eyebrows arched.

Harry sensed difficulty. “Ah, c'mon Ron!” he began.

“Are you going to tell me what's going on?” Ron asked. Harry eyed him dubiously for a moment, as if he were unsure whether or not Ron was going to start throwing things…like hexes, for instance.

Honestly Harry! Hermione interposed, what kind of person do you think he is?

The kind of person whose best friends have been lying to him! Harry shot back, and knew an instant of satisfaction when Hermione fell silent.

“You - you remember about Hedwig being attacked - " Harry began hesitantly.

“Harry was coming to find me, hoping that somehow he could get word to someone in the Order,” Hermione added.

“While I was on my way there, I started feeling panic, just all of the sudden - "

“And that was when I found the Fantasma, and I … fainted…” Hermione mumbled the last word, self-consciously.

“I heard her scream my name - "

“—in his head! - "

“—and that's when I saw the Dark Mark above her house. When I found her, we started warding the doors, because we didn't know what was going on.” Harry took a deep breath. This was the hard part. “She thought something, and I heard it - "

“—he answered me, and I thought - "

“Merlin's Beard, Hermione!” Harry finally said. “Who's telling this story?”

“I was wondering that myself,” Ron said, who had been watching the interchange like a tennis match. Harry watched him closely; Ron's expression was too bland, and it made Harry uneasy.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at both of them, but subsided, letting Harry continue the narrative, leaving nothing out.

“So you can talk to each other…in your heads?” Ron ventured, when Harry had concluded. Harry and Hermione both nodded. Ron held up three fingers, positioned where Harry could see them and Hermione could not. “Tell her how many fingers I'm holding up.”

“Oh, Ron, for crying out loud -” Harry said, exasperated.

“Just do it,” Ron's voice was heated.

Harry made a great show of rolling his eyes, as he said Three without looking at Hermione at all.

“Three,” Hermione answered. “There, now are you satisfied?”

Ron chuckled mirthlessly. “Not likely.” There was a pause. Hermione and Harry watched Ron expectantly. “When were you going to tell me? Were you ever going to tell me?”

“Of course we were going to tell you,” Harry hastened to say.

“We've been trying to get adjusted to it, that's all. It's all rather odd, actually,” Hermione added.

“That's why you had nightmares at the same time? That's why you're,” he gestured to Hermione, “taking Occlumency too?” Ron asked these questions rapid-fire.

Harry and Hermione both nodded.

“So why did this…thing…happen in the first place?” Ron waved his hand between his two friends.

“Apparently, I've had the ability all along,” Harry said, half-shrugging, “or at least since I was one. Tom Riddle was a telepath.”

He and Hermione spoke the last sentence in perfect unison. Ron gave them a “you did not just do that” look.

“You've always been able to read minds?” Ron looked a little alarmed.

“No, no…for some reason, it showed up now…. I think because we were both under mental stress at the exact same time.”

“'We'?” Ron echoed, delicately. “So your mind just `decided' to … link up with hers?”

“I guess,” Harry drew out, looking askance at Ron, who, after a moment of uncomfortable silence, finally asked,

“What is this going to mean for us?”

“Us?” Harry echoed stupidly. “Why would it change anythi—?”

“I'm not talking about the mind-reading stuff, I'm talking about the snogging,” Ron interrupted, waving his hands impatiently.

“Ron, it's not going to change anything between us,” Hermione answered him, quietly. “Why would it? You and Harry are my best friends, and always will be.”

“Yeah, and it didn't change anything when you dated Krum, or Harry dated Cho,” Ron observed, sarcastically. “It definitely won't change when you date Harry…when you want to be alone together…or when you break up, and aren't speaking to each other anymore… yeah, that won't wreck the Golden Trio at all!”

Harry and Hermione looked nonplussed at Ron's outpouring.

“Ron, have you been - ?” Harry began.

“Thinking about this?” Ron cut him off. “Yeah…I sort of suspected that something was going on.” He said, adding, as an afterthought, “I'm not an idiot, you know.”

“Oh, honestly, Ron,” Hermione huffed in trademark fashion, “nobody ever said you were. I mean really!”

“Listen, mate,” Harry said, leaning forward and speaking earnestly. “I'm still going to need you two.” He made a conscious decision to look Ron squarely in the eyes, as he spoke. “Just because I've got this new link with Hermione, it doesn't change why I need you, or mean I'll need you less.”

“Or me either,” Hermione added emphatically. “There's a reason we're a Trio… we all have something different to offer that benefits the group as a whole. Our strengths complement each other's. We work best as a team.”

Harry made a snoring noise in her head. She whirled on him with a venomous look, whacking him in the arm, as his too-innocent expression made her smile in spite of herself.

“Quit being a prat, Harry!” she huffed. Ron had been watching the interplay with a bemused look on his face.

“This is going to take some bloody getting used to,” he said, shaking his head, as if trying to clear water from his ears.

Hermione looked at him apologetically. “We'll try not to do that. Sorry.”

There was a silence, in which the three best friends looked at one another awkwardly. Ron slapped his hands against his thighs, and stood to his feet.

“Well, thanks for that, then,” Ron said heartily, as if he were taking his leave from a dinner party. “I'm just going to go on…” he chucked his thumb at the door.

“Ron, don't leave,” Hermione pleaded, standing up and starting towards him. Ron held up one hand, deterring her.

“I've got…I've got to - to think about this. I - you -- " He stammered something unintelligible, and fled from the room.

Hermione watched him go, and turned back to Harry, a worried expression on her face.

“Will he - ?” she asked, turning toward Harry, who had come to stand behind her.

“Eventually,” Harry said, looping his arms around her waist. She leaned back against his chest. Her expression remained troubled.

Hey, Harry said gently, why the sudden reversal?

I dunno, Hermione replied, I guess I just expected him to blow up in one of his Ron-rages, and then be over it. Ron being all quiet and thoughtful is a little scary. Hermione heard Harry's chuckle resound through her mind.

I guess you're right. He kissed her softly on the temple, as she stood there, pensive, hoping that this would not change things between the three of them forever.

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Harry trudged drearily up to his dormitory in Gryffindor tower, and stood outside the door, balancing uncertainly on the balls of his feet. The dorm would be empty, except for Ron, and he wasn't sure what kind of reception he was going to receive. After a long moment, he took a deep breath, steeling himself, and entered the room in one fluid motion.

Ron was leaning against a pillow propped on his headboard, reading his dog-eared book about the Chudley Cannons.

Harry paused rather idiotically in the doorway, obviously expecting something else. Ron looked askance at him.

“What?” he asked. The coolness was still in his tone. He was still mad. Harry sighed, and turned to his bed, pulling his pajamas out of his trunk.

“Nothing,” Harry responded dully, his face a little sullen.

“Oh, no!” Ron cried out, sitting up straight on his bed. “You do not get to be the injured party, Harry, not this time! You and Hermione were lying to me!”

“We never - " Harry began, but Ron was ready for him.

“What about that day after we played Quidditch, when I caught you in the hallway holding hands? Ha ha ha,” Ron let out a falsetto laugh, and spoke in a high-pitched tone, “'Wherever did you get a notion like that, Ronald?'” He was quoting Hermione.

Harry felt his stomach sink toward his shoes. He had forgotten about that.

“We were trying to figure out the best way to tell you,” Harry said, and winced at the way his voice sounded, cracking and desperate, the excuse lame to even his own ears.

“Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think that telling me you're not together is the best way to tell me you're together!” Ron paused, looking up at the ceiling briefly, and appeared to be making sure that his statement had come out right.

“You caught us off-guard!” Harry protested, and wished that he could get the defensive, pleading note out of his voice.

“I think I caught you off-guard when you were snogging in the corridor earlier!” Ron retorted, and muttered something untelligible under his breath.

“What was that, Ron?” Harry asked, falsely polite, a dangerous undercurrent threading through his statement.

“I. Said.” Ron overenunciated emphatically. “And I thought Krum was bad!”

Harry blinked at him for a moment, stung.

“Who would you rather she date then?”

Ron opened his mouth, as if to make an angry rejoinder, but thought better of it, and snapped his mouth shut.

“I… I dunno….but not you!” He had gone red to the tips of his ears.

“Don't tell me you still fancy her?” Harry asked sarcastically. Ron's face flamed even hotter, if that was possible, and he buried his face in his book, evidently intent on stonily ignoring Harry.

Fine with me, Harry thought angrily. Stupid prat can't even…

Harry, I'm trying to read…Hermione's voice broken into his head, amiably.

Sorry, he answered. Ron's such a—

Why are you two fighting?

Why do you think? he answered wryly. I don't want to talk about him right now.

I was afraid of this, her voice was anxious. I don't want to mess anything up between you two. Maybe…

No no no no no no, Hermione. No maybes. Harry said frantically.

But your friendship…

He'll get over it eventually… I hope.

And if he doesn't? she asked. He could practically see her eyebrows drawing together in concern.

Then he wasn't worth it in the first place, he replied.

You don't mean that.

Harry didn't suppose that he really did, but he was thwarted from a reply by Ron's Chudley Cannons book narrowly missing the side of his head, and hitting the wall behind him with a hard thud. He rounded on Ron.

“What the hell was that for?!”

“Everybody in the bloody school is going to be able to tell you're doing that!” Ron shouted. “Telling her what a prat I was being, were you?”

“If the shoe fits…” Harry said venomously. Ron narrowed his eyes, and stood to his feet. Tension crackled across the silent room.

We didn't tell him about Malfoy's memory, Hermione blurted suddenly. Harry was a little confused by the non sequitur.

“What?” he said, turning his head to one side and looking at nothing.

“Oh, bloody brilliant!” Ron said sarcastically, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation.

“Shut up, Ron!” Harry yelled.

Tell him about Malfoy. Maybe it'll help…we need to stick together. Hermione's voice was pleading, and Harry felt wretchedly guilty for causing her distress.

He turned back to Ron, his posture altered, the fight gone out of him.

“There's something else we want you to know about,” he began. Ron watched him guardedly, but slowly sat back down on the edge of his bed.

“I'm listening.”

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The next two weeks sped by with relative ease. Ron was still stilted and awkward around them, and Harry really couldn't figure out if Ron had been in love with Hermione, in love with the idea of Hermione, or was just terrified of being left out or behind or something.

Hermione had told Ginny. She had accepted it with much more aplomb than had Ron, perhaps because she didn't have as much emotionally invested. She did stare at Harry and Hermione like they had suddenly turned blue for most of one morning, after which Ron had irritably told her to knock it off. She had blushed crimson, and tried to act more normally thereafter.

Both Weasleys had been sworn to utmost secrecy, and Harry didn't really feel that it would ever be a problem, unless Ron's tendency to jealousy overrode his better judgment.

Harry and Hermione continued to go to Occlumency, and had begun to grow more adept at blocking Snape from their minds. Neither of them was as skilled alone, as they were together, but Hermione still bested Harry regularly. Their mental strength was much higher if they were touching, but they were still able to act collectively, if separated. Snape had even had Harry go down to the kitchens, and try to block Snape from Hermione's mind from there.

It had worked, but had been tedious and exhausting, and they had all agreed that proximity, at least when practicing Occlumency (distance had so far not seemed to affect their ability to speak telepathically), was best.

Malfoy had made himself scarce, evidently deferring to the wishes of his Head of House. There were only 5 students and 3 professors rattling around in the gigantic castle, so avoiding people was not exactly difficult. Their only trouble had come on the Quidditch pitch, where Malfoy often went to practice his flying.

Ron's stride faltered, as he saw the dark shape swooping over the Quidditch green. “Aw, not again!” he moaned.

Harry and Ginny stopped just behind him, brooms in hand. All three Gryffindors were outfitted in Quidditch practice gear.

“I would swear that he does that just to piss us off,” Ginny said.

“That, and he wants to keep us from practicing…so we won't have an advantage over the other House teams,” Harry added. They stood there for a moment, pondering what to do. Malfoy dove and spun on his broom.

“Bloody Slytherin show off,” Ron muttered.

“Let's go ahead,” Harry finally said, resuming the walk toward the pitch. “It's not term yet, we don't have to book the pitch. We have as much right to be there as he does,” his voice was matter of fact.

“And there are more of us than of him,” Ron added, with a conspiratorial smile, and Harry grinned back at him, feeling a surge of warmth in his chest.

“'Lo, Weaselking,” Draco said idly, diving just low enough to skim the top of Ron's head with the bottoms of his shoes.

“Sod off, Malfoy,” Ron answered back, in a lazy tone.

“That's the only way Ron would ever be beneath someone like you,” Ginny observed, mounting her broom and shooting off into the sky, Quaffle tucked under one arm. Ron followed her, getting in position in front of the hoops.

Malfoy looked back at Harry, who had flown a few feet into the air, and was clutching a writhing Snitch in one fist.

“What about it, Potter? Race you to the Snitch,” Draco raised one eyebrow, and looked at Harry inquiringly.

“I thought the idea of practice was to challenge yourself, Malfoy,” Harry replied. “I can't see that you'd be much of one.” Harry grinned to himself, when Malfoy's face hardened Slowly, he raised his hand over his head, and opened his fist. The Golden Snitch lay on his palm, glinting in the sun, for only an instant, and with a whir of lacy wings, it was gone.

The two Seekers soared up into the air, and began slow circles of the Quidditch pitch; Malfoy had muttered something, probably profane, under his breath, and gone deliberately in the other direction.

He had just gotten distracted by a particularly deft save by Ron, and had shouted,

“Well done, Ron!” His fiery-haired friend acknowledged the comment with a wave of one hand, but suddenly shouted,

“Bloody hell, Harry!” Harry swung his broom around to see Malfoy in a full-out dive, and kicked his Firebolt into high gear. Harry flattened himself onto his broom handle, and felt the exhilaration of the wind racing past him.

He was almost even with Malfoy, when the Slytherin suddenly jerked his broom to the right, colliding with Harry at an incredible speed.

“Malfoy, what the hell are you doing?” he shouted, as he tried to compensate. He would not allow himself to shout “Stop!”, which is what he felt like doing, but was trying vainly to keep from crashing.

Harry? He heard a quiet voice in his head, tinged with a little panic. Are you all right?

Malfoy's trying to bloody kill me! Harry managed, as the handle of Malfoy's broom caused Harry's own broom to tilt downwards. He felt his grip begin to loosen.

Ask him about his father! Hermione said hurriedly, her words tumbling out over each other.

Harry looked up at Draco's face, which had something like a fiendish expression of satisfaction, and tried to muster up a casual tone.

“Nice having your father back at the manor, Malfoy?” He said, as if mentioning the weather. Malfoy's head jerked up, and the look on his face was unmistakably that of shock. The movement was enough to slow the dive, but both boys still tumbled roughly onto the Quidditch pitch.

Harry had just enough time to smile, and tell Hermione It worked!, as well as to realize that his nose was bleeding…again… when Malfoy was up with one hand clenching Harry's collar, and the other pointing his wand at the Boy Who Lived.

“What the bloody hell are you talking about?” Malfoy said, through gritted teeth.

“Easy, ferret!” Harry said, looking nervously toward Ron and Ginny, who, it appeared, had finally noticed something was going on, and were headed in their direction. “You'll confirm too many guesses, if you keep getting your knickers in a twist like that. You're getting too caught up in your petty emotions!”

Draco was still breathing heavily and red in the face, but seemed to be trying to calm himself down. He smoothed his robes with the haughty air that he wore like a garment, and stood up to his feet, replacing his wand.

“I don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about, Scarhead,” Malfoy said, spearing Harry with a death look, as he picked up his broom.

“Keep telling yourself that, Malfoy!” Harry said, retrieving his own broom, and flying up to join Ron and Ginny, assuring a frantic Ginny that he was fine, and agreeing with a livid Ron that Malfoy was a complete git.

He did not see Malfoy standing at the edge of the Quidditch stands, just in the shadows, watching him thoughtfully.

TBC

Okay, this chapter annoyed me a bit, but here it is. It was getting long, so Diagon Alley will come in the next chapter….and that, my friends, is where the fun begins!!

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Harry Potter and the Isle of Mists

Disclaimer: I can only hope to attain the creative brilliance of J. K Rowling.

AN: Please review. This is my first Harry Potter fanfic, so be kind.

AN2: This story is AU after OOTP.

You Cannot Judge a Book by its Cover

After their encounter on the Quidditch pitch, Malfoy seemed to completely vanish. Harry knew he had hit a nerve with the blond Slytherin, and the thought made him smile to himself, even as Madame Pomfrey muttered under her breath while she repaired his broken nose.

“Honestly, Mr. Potter,” she said gruffly, “if two visits to the infirmary before term even begins are any indication as to your health during the school year…I'll turn in my resignation to the headmaster right now.” Harry had tried to look properly repentant, but then he thought of Draco again, trying to recover his lost loftiness. I don't know what you're talking about, Scarhead, even while his eyes held a flicker of discomfiture.

So they knew that Lucius Malfoy was out of Azkaban. And Draco knew that Harry knew. What else to do with this information? He wondered to himself.

We should tell Professor Dumbledore, came Hermione's voice suddenly.

“Mr. Potter!” Madame Pomfrey exclaimed, quite at the end of her patience. Harry had jumped, when Hermione spoke in his head, and jostled the mediwitch, causing her to spill the Bone Fusing Serum.

Hermione! Harry growled, annoyed. You scared me. And now Madame Pomfrey thinks I have a tic or something!

Oh, right, Hermione said, adding belatedly, sorry about your nose.

Anyway, don't you think Dumbledore already knows? If Snape knows, then surely Dumbledore knows.

I thought you didn't trust Professor Snape, Hermione teased.

Just because he's probably sharing information with the Order now, does not mean I trust him, Harry harrumphed. Hey, he continued, suddenly as a thought occurred to him. Ron up there?

No, not yet. Why?

Well, how'd you know I broke my nose?

Because you've been sitting in the infirmary thinking about it, Hermione said, a little impatiently. Besides, it hurt.

It hurt you?

Yes, it just kind of throbbed a little, but some pain reliever potion took care of it.

“You're free to go, Mr. Potter,” Madame Pomfrey said, corking her bottles, and gathering them up. “Please don't let me see you again, for at least a little while.”

“Yes ma'am,” Harry mumbled. He left the hospital wing, and began to head back toward Gryffindor tower.

Is this going to put you in danger? Harry asked, a note of panic beginning to thread into his tone. If I get hurt again…if Voldemort..?

Harry, this isn't going to change anything, came Hermione's voice, calmly.

Why not? If it's no fun feeling your own pain, it certainly won't be fun to feel someone else's. We should ask Dumbledore about breaking the link…this is too dangerous, Harry said hurriedly.

Harry, don't be ridiculous, Hermione said, in her most authoritative tone.

How exactly is that ridiculous? Harry said, huffily. If we're more powerful because of this link, then we're also more vulnerable. This is dangerous. I could fall off my broom playing Quidditch. I don't want you hurt.

There was silence in his head for a moment. Harry could feel Hermione's astonishment at his vehemence.

Wait! She said suddenly, and it was in her I-have-an-idea voice. There's a Muggle saying…something about joy shared being joy doubled, and pain shared being pain halved.

What?

Maybe if we can feel each other's pain, there's a way to draw it off…make it more manageable.

That would mean that the person drawing off the pain would be taking some of it on themselves… I don't like it. Harry was resolute.

Harry, think about what that would mean for something like the Cruciatus curse! Or even…

Avada Kedavra? Harry finished for her dully. She could feel his mind working furiously, as he mulled this over. Maybe you have something there.

We could mention it at our Occlumency lesson tonight.

And have Snape cast Crucio on me to test it? I don't think so, Harry replied quickly.

He could tell she was rolling her eyes.

Maybe we could practice with Ron. He could stun one of us, and we could see if the other could fight it off.

“I'm sure Ron'll be thrilled,” Harry said out loud, as he climbed through the portrait hole. Now he actually had the pleasure of seeing Hermione roll her eyes at him.

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

“Again,” came the implacable voice of Professor Severus Snape. He was forcing the two of them to wall up their minds, blocking them from sensing the other, while trying to perform Occlumency.

Hermione's hand was trembling slightly as she held her wand, but she had effectively ousted Snape from her mind three times, and each time, was doing it more rapidly.

Harry sat, glad for a break from his ordeal with Snape, which had been even more relentless. What was occupying his mind more now was keeping the mental barrier up between him and Hermione. It took a surprising amount of concentration. He had also noticed how bereft he felt without her presence in his mind…he kind of missed it.

He saw Snape stagger backward, almost imperceptibly, as Hermione forced him out again. She was breathing heavily, and was leaning with one hand on a desk. The Potions master recovered quickly, and moved into Hermione's mind again, as soon as she looked up at him, before she'd straightened her posture or lifted her wand. Harry watched her visibly struggle.

His mind poked itself over the wall he'd built, as he stealthily tried to reach out for Hermione's mind. He felt his mind stretch slowly, pulling taut like an elastic band.

Then - WHAM! He was forced backwards, and found himself on the floor blinking around the Potions lab in a bewildered fashion.

“Mr. Potter,” Snape enunciated, clearly annoyed, his black eyes snapping. “I believe you were given your instructions.”

“But sir - !” Harry protested, eying Hermione's tired features with some concern.

“I'm afraid we have no time for your misbegotten…romantic overtures, Mr. Potter,” Snape said, curling his lip in disdain. “You will keep your mind out of Miss Granger's training, do you understand?”

Harry glared at him, sullenly, “Yes sir,” he said, in as disrespectful a manner as possible.

His mental wall was in place once again, as he slumped in a desk, and watched Snape stab his wand at Hermione. “Legilimens!” the professor intoned. Hermione took a half-step backwards, but rallied, and Harry could see rather than feel her trying to repel their teacher.

The seeds of an idea began to form in Harry's mind, and he tried to smother the small smile that formed. Picturing the mental wall that made up the barrier he had erected between his mind and Hermione's, he visualized himself tunneling under it.

There was a drifting foggy nothingness, similar to what had happened that day in the library when he entered Malfoy's mind. Then suddenly he was there.

Hermione was crouched in a stall in an abandoned bathroom. The echoing sound of dripping water reverberated around the chamber. There was a loud bang as the door crashed open, and a looming shadow hovered in the doorway. A rumbling growl issued forth.

Harry reached out with all his strength to help Hermione force Snape from her mind. Snape and Hermione looked up, their mental link broken, and Harry hurriedly wiped away the trickle of blood dripping from his nose. His head ached faintly, and thankfully, Snape decided that that was enough for today.

Harry dropped the mental block, and felt the comforting warmth of Hermione's presence surge back into his mind.

Harry, was that you just then? Harry couldn't keep a self-satisfied grin from his face. Apparently Snape had not noticed a thing. Hermione glowered at him.

I was doing just fine on my own, thank you! She said haughtily. Harry hastened to extract himself from the danger zone.

Oh, c'mon, Hermione. He was wearing you out…anybody would be from repeated attempts to block Legilimency! I was just helping out a bit. Besides, we learned something new…we can sneak around our own blocks, and even Legilimensi can't tell!

Hermione's look moderated somewhat at the new bit of knowledge. Well, I knew you were there, she gave as her parting shot.

He gave her a look that was part annoyance, part smirk, as they gathered their wands and parchment and scrolls, and departed from the dungeons.

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

“So, er…Ron?” Harry asked, awkwardly, as the three of them sat in the common room. Harry and Ron were playing a game of Wizard's chess, at which Harry was doing spectacularly badly. Hermione was reading the latest edition of Hogwarts: A History. Ginny had nipped down to the kitchen for a snack, and Harry figured that now was as good a time as any to broach the subject of practicing with Ron.

Ron looked up at him, arching his brows in question, as he moved his queenside rook to take Harry's remaining bishop. “What?” he asked. Harry stared despairingly at the board. How did Ron always manage to beat him at this game?

“We .. er, that is - Hermione and I…found a new thing that we can do… it's - " Hermione had put her book down, and was watching him fumble around along with Ron.

Finally she took pity on him, and said, “When Harry broke his fingers…and then his nose…I felt it too, although it was reduced in magnitude. We were hoping you could help us test it…find out if this can be used to reduce the effects of hexes or …”

“…Unforgivables,” Harry finished. Ron was staring at them, his eyes bugging nearly out of his head.

“You want - you want me to use - Unforgivables on you?” The last part of his statement was only a squeak.

Hermione's eyes soared to the ceiling. “Oh, honestly, Ron! Do you really think we would ask you to do that?”

“Of course I don't!” Ron replied hotly. “And even if you did ask, I wouldn't do it!” Harry bit back a smile, as his two best friends pursued their favorite pastime.

“Stun me,” Harry said, cutting cleanly into their bickering. Ron looked at him doubtfully. “You heard me,” Harry repeated.

Ron looked askance at Hermione, but raised his wand. “Stupefy!”

The spell hit Harry square in the midsection, and Harry staggered sideways, looking as if he were sure to topple over.

But he didn't fall. Ron watched with wide eyes, as Harry regained his balance and remained standing. Two sets of eyes went anxiously over to Hermione.

She was still standing as well, though looking a little pale and strained. “You okay, Hermione?” Harry asked solicitously. She nodded.

“I'm fine.”

“I don't think this will work,” Ron observed. “Instead of a spell affecting one person, it affects two. Why do you want two people to be unable to cast?” Harry and Hermione exchanged glances.

“He's right,” Hermione observed. “We're going to have to be able to cast again almost immediately, or it won't be worth it.”

“But even if there is a second of delay, that's better than one of us on the floor completely out of commission,” Harry argued.

“We're going to have to work on it,” Hermione said stalwartly. Ron's shoulders slumped at the thought of more work. “We'll need to know exactly how fast we can get at casting afterwards…and how many times we can draw off of each other before it gets to be too much.” Harry nodded in agreement.

“If we stayed in a group of three, if we had to fight,” he said thoughtfully, “Maybe Ron could fill in the gap, if there was too much of a delay.”

“If the delay is more than a couple of seconds, I don't think we should try it,” Hermione countered.

Harry opened his mouth to contest, and Ron wondered if there was going to be a row.

“What about shielding charms?” he asked suddenly. Harry and Hermione's heads turned to stare at him.

“What?” Harry asked, mystified.

“If your…er…that thing you have can… you know, reduce the effect of a curse, maybe it can make a shield stronger,” Ron colored as he said this, a little abashed. He was not usually the one making strategy.

Hermione looked impressed. “That just might work.” She looked at Harry a little shyly. “You want to give it a go?”

Harry looked at Ron, with a shrug. “Stun me,” he said again.

“Stupefy!”

“Protego!” They shouted in unison, over the top of Ron's incantation. The curse bounced off of a shimmery shield, with a gong so resounding that the Trio had to cover their ears.

“Wow,” Ron uttered. “That is definitely a stronger shield.”

“What are the chances of us being able to shout in unison?” Harry asked. “Try it again, and I'll use the shield charm, and Hermione see if just linking up with my mind will work.”

They tried, and the gong that echoed when the spell collided with the shield rattled the pictures on the walls. Hermione looked beside herself with glee.

“There are going to be so many ways that this could be useful!” Harry looked less convinced.

“Don't forget about the nightmares…and the pain,” he said darkly. “We cannot let Voldemort find out about this.”

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

The days rolled by swiftly. Harry and Hermione continued to have Occlumency lessons with Snape, and each became at least moderately efficient at closing his or her mind against the Potions master. Their ability when working together, however, was like nothing Snape had ever encountered. He didn't tell them that, of course.

Harry and Hermione also practiced with Ron, and sometimes Ginny, working together to strengthen spells or decrease the effects of curses. They were really growing quite adept at it.

Because of Harry's worry that Voldemort would discover their link, and exploit it, he and Hermione had also gotten into the habit of raising their mental walls before they went to sleep at night. Harry hoped that that would block the worst of his nightmares from Hermione. It seemed to work, although the walls seemed to falter somewhat, once the mind was relaxed in sleep. Hermione could always tell if he had had a nightmare, but usually did not actually experience it herself.

It also had the added benefit of blocking some of Harry's more embarrassing dreams about her.

She had never mentioned to Harry that she had also shared in other dreams he had, knowing that it would mortify him beyond measure, seeing as how they usually involved her, with not very many clothes on.

She felt her face flush, as she remembered the wobbly feeling in the pit of her stomach that she often awakened with, after a dream about him…or his dream about her. Their attraction often seemed magnified, especially when they kissed or touched, and neither had broached the subject of … other things.

Hermione smiled to herself, as she gathered her belongings together, in preparation for the day's trip. They were going to Diagon Alley today, to get their supplies for the school year.

Hermione, are you ready? Harry's solicitous voice rang comfortingly in her mind. She wondered if he had been listening to what she'd been thinking, but decided that surely she would have felt his embarrassment. Then again, their blocks had gotten much better lately.

“OY, Hermione!” called Ron from the stairs. Hermione blew air out through her mouth in exasperation.

Tell that prat that I'm coming!

“Hey, prat!” she heard Harry call, before the rest of his voice faded unintelligibly. She smiled, before heading down to the common room.

They met Ron's parents in Dumbledore's office, and took the floo to Diagon Alley. Much to Harry's discomfiture, Dumbledore had informed them that Aurors would be stationed throughout Diagon Alley, just in case.

What's wrong? Hermione asked, as Harry's irritation seeped through.

Here we go again! Now the Boy Who Lived has to have an Auror escort. Hermione noticed that Harry's face had turned a dark red.

Oh, honestly Harry! Hermione replied. Dumbledore said they were stationed in Diagon Alley, not that they would be following you around.

Harry stiffened slightly, as their turn came to take the floo. Ever since his unfortunate first trip by floo powder, when he'd ended up in Knockturn Alley, the floo had made him more than a little nervous. Dumbledore tossed the powder in, and the flames glowed green.

“The destination has already been set, Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore said, encouragingly. “Just step through and you're in Diagon Alley.” Harry felt Hermione's fingers slide between his own, and together, they stepped into the fire.

Harry stumbled out into the Leaky Cauldron, but did not fall, dragging Hermione clumsily behind him.

Tom was behind the counter, polishing glassware. He raised a beer stein in salute to Harry. “Good to see you again, Harry,” the barman said, cordially. “Shopping for school?”

Harry nodded, and still clasping Hermione's hand tightly, pulled her out into the bustle of Diagon Alley.

After over two hours of shopping, Harry and Hermione found themselves at Flourish and Blott's. The four students had split up, but agreed to meet back at the bookstore last, saving the heaviest items for the end of the trip. The Weasleys and the Grangers were there as well.

“Mum! Dad!” Hermione cried, hugging them gratefully. She looked anxiously up at them. “You haven't had any other trouble, have you?” She asked, obviously referring to the Dark Mark.

“Not a bit of it, dear,” her mother replied. “We're just glad you've been doing well. Hello, Harry, how are you?” She asked, spotting Harry lingering nearby, pretending to look at a display of travel books.

“Fine, Mrs. Granger, thanks,” he mumbled. “Are you doing well?”

“Yes, Harry, quite well. Don't worry about us,” she replied. Harry drifted off, while Hermione caught up with her parents, looking for what seemed an enormous amount of books on the sixth-year list.

“Oy, Harry,” Ron called out, his arms filled with books. Flourish and Blott's had gotten more crowded, though Harry thought that they had beaten most of the Hogwart's students here.

“What?” Harry called irritably. “Are you done? I'm still looking for this stupid book,” he gesture toward the title at the bottom of the list.

“Accessing the Inacessible?” Ron asked. “I can't find it either.”

“Why would they already be out? Aren't we a little early this - oh bloody hell!” Harry said suddenly, as the little bell over the door rang.

“Wha - oh, for the love of - " Ron said incoherently, as he turned.

“Don't everybody look so happy to see me. I'll be overwhelmed!” Draco Malfoy muttered, as he entered the bookshop.

“Like there would be a chance for you to be overwhelmed by affection of any kind,” Ron said scornfully.

“I don't know,” Draco said in a thoughtful voice. “Now, Pansy, she can - "

“Oh, sod off, Malfoy,” Ron said, disgustedly, before Malfoy could go into detail. “Why are you even here?” Draco arched a brow at him.

“To get my books for school, of course,” he said, his tone too-innocent. He strolled casually back among the displays, looking at the shelves. Ron and Harry's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“If he's here for his books, who brought him?” Ron muttered. A hulking figure of black caught Harry's eye, as it entered a chemist's shop across the street.

“I guess Snape did,” Harry said, pointing at the shop.

“How bloody lovely,” Ron said sarcastically.

“Hey, you haven't had to have extra classes with him,” Harry said, rolling his eyes.

“Well, you were the one going and making a mental link with Hermione. Bloody well serves you right. Like she wasn't mental enough already!” Ron said, but he was smiling, and Harry grinned back. Maybe things were almost back to normal between them.

The little bell jangled again, as a wisp of a blond girl sauntered into the shop, looking around as if she didn't exactly know how she had gotten there. Harry and Ron exchanged pleased glances.

“Luna!” They chorused. She looked up at them, blinking at them for so long with her big blue eyes, that they began to think maybe they had confused this girl with someone else.

Finally she smiled. “Sorry,” she said mistily. “I was checking your auras, making sure you weren't Oscillating Ranglerants, in disguise. You can't be too careful, you know.”

“No, that's true,” Harry said, so seriously, that Ron looked at him in amazement.

“Are you getting your books?” Luna asked politely.

“We've gotten everything but the last one,” Ron said, showing her the book-llist.

“Make sure and get the new ones. Secondhand books are often infested with Fibrous Burrowworms,” Luna said serenely, drifting off to one of the bookcases. Ron watched her go with a kind of bewildered fascination.

“She is completely mad!” he said, somehow making it sound like a compliment.

Harry was not listening, having begun to dig around in a bin of discount books.

“What are you doing?” Ron asked.

“Looking for that stupid book,” Harry replied in irritation.

“It's not going to be in a discount bin,” Ron pointed out dubiously. Harry turned away from the bin, and rounded on Ron.

“It's not anywhere else in this store, Ron! What else do you suggest I do?”

“You could always whistle,” came a voice at his elbow, and Harry jumped. Luna had somehow made her way soundlessly to his side. “Some rare Austrian mindwipers have been known to come when whistled for.” Harry wasn't even sure how to respond to this.

“Look, get Hermione and look in the discount bins,” Ron said. “I'll go ask the manager if he's got any in the back. We have to hurry. The automatic floo back to Hogwart's leaves starts in 10 minutes.”

Hey, Hermione, where are you? He called.

Looking at the rare books in the back shelf, her voice sounded dreamily content, and Harry laughed.

Have you found Accessing the Inaccessible yet?

No, actually I haven't, Hermione said, sounding puzzled.

The floo starts up again shortly. Ron went to ask the manager. Come help me look through these bins.

Okay…

A moment later, Hermione and Ginny joined Harry at the large barrels that sat waist high, full of books in no particular order. Luna had begun sifting through the books as well.

“We're never going to find that book, especially not before the floo,” Ginny said grumpily, burrowing down with her arm, in the same barrel as Harry, on the opposite side. “A new schoolbook's not going to be in here anyway.”

And then several things happened at once.

Luna picked up an odd looking book, black-covered, with no words on it at all. “Here it is,” she said calmly.

“Let me see,” Hermione said, and tapped her wand to it. “Accessing the Inaccessible wavered across the front cover of the book, in shiny gold letters, and then disappeared, leaving the book once again featureless.

Harry saw another black cover, down at the very bottom of the bin, and pulled it free, only to discover that Ginny was holding the other side.

“We've got another one,” she said.

“Oy,” Ron called, holding a plain black book aloft, “He found one in the back…it was under a crate of those awful snarling books Hagrid made us use third year. There's only one though.”

“Let's buy your books and go,” Mrs. Weasley called out. “We're going to be late. It's nearly twelve now.”

Draco had turned at her announcement of the time, and bolted across the room, where the others stood, holding their odd, dark books.

“Give me that!” he said, trying to snatch the book from Hermione and Luna, who were each holding a side, and looking at it curiously. The pages appeared to be blank.

“Get your own, Malfoy!” Hermione shouted back angrily, holding onto the book more tightly.

“I said, give it to me…now!” Harry stood, he and Ginny still dumbly holding onto their copy of the book, looking bewildered at Malfoy's vehemence. But then…

The book glowed and shuddered briefly in his hands. He looked down at it, and awareness flooded his mind.

“Drop the books now!” he called frantically, even as he felt the familiar tug behind his navel.

Flourish and Blott's disappeared from around him, and he fell heavily to the ground.

TBC

Next: Where is Harry? And who managed to make it there with him?

This got a little longer than I usually run, but Luna showed up unexpectedly, and I had to accommodate her.

Enjoy, and review.

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Harry Potter and the Isle of Mists

Disclaimer: I can only hope to attain the creative brilliance of J. K Rowling.

AN: Please review. This is my first Harry Potter fanfic, so be kind.

AN2: This story is AU after OOTP.

I Don't Think We're in Kansas Anymore

Harry hit something hard face first, and the first thing he was cognizant of was that he had a mouth full of sand. The second thing was that his arm was wet. He sat up slowly, and spat out sand, grimacing when he felt it grit between his back teeth. He shook his hair out of his eyes and looked around.

He was on a beach. The sun was not out, but the bright whiteness of the clouds made his eyes water. Thinly swirling fog did not completely obscure the view, but did make it difficult to see a great distance. He dusted his sandy hands off on his jeans.

“What the hell?” he muttered.

“Where are we?” came a bewildered voice from his feet. He held out one hand to help Ginny to her feet.

“Our book was a portkey,” he said, wishing he didn't feel at so much of a loss.

“You think so?” Ginny said sarcastically. Harry didn't appear to notice.

“But were they all portkeys…or just ours? And why? And how could anyone possibly know that I would have that book at a certain time? Or was it an accident? And where are we? Do you - ?” Harry was rambling, pacing back and forth a little ways in the sand. Waves washed up placidly, just inches away. They were slate gray.

“Harry,” Ginny cut into his myriad of questions. “Have you talked to Hermione yet?” Harry stopped short and stared at her, feeling more than a little foolish.

Hermione? Hermione, are you there? There was a moment of silence.

Ow! was the first thing he heard in his head. Then with a note of panic, Harry, where are you?

On a beach…somewhere. Ginny's with me, but there's not another soul here. Are you still in Diagon Alley? Was your book a portkey too?

Yeah, we're in a …ow, I think I landed on a rock. Wait! I think I see…

She trailed off, and at the same time, Harry saw three figures break from the mist, at the edge of a wooded area.

“Harry!” she cried, and started running. Harry met her halfway and swept her up in his arms.

“Are you okay?” he asked, concerned. Over her shoulder, he saw Luna, eying their surroundings without much interest. “Luna, are you all right?”

“I've read about this,” she said, “we're may have to watch out for the Senghali Pygmy Mages.”

“Do you have any idea where we are?” he asked, smothering a smile in Hermione's shoulder.

“Oh, this is lovely. Potter and his blood trash reunite,” came a snide drawl. Harry spotted the third figure with Hermione and Luna.

“Aw, no!” he said, in disgust, but carefully moved away from Hermione. He wanted to keep their relationship as low-profile as possible, with Malfoy watching.

“Nice to see you too, Scarhead,” Malfoy said, imperiously, dusting at his sleeves.

He was grabbing the book when the portkey went off, Hermione said, almost sounding apologetic.

Well, it certainly wasn't your fault that he was being a complete git! Harry's eyes narrowed in thought. Why did he grab the book right then?

“See where your nasty, grabby ways got you, Malfoy?” Ginny snarled, having just come up to the other group.

“Yes, stuck here with you lot,” Malfoy sounded disgusted, as his gaze took in the motley group disdainfully. “I'll just be going now,” he said.

He's going to Apparate, Hermione said quickly.

“But Ginny and Luna can't - " Harry interjected, but Malfoy did not vanish. The Slytherin swore under his breath.

“This place must have anti-Apparation wards up,” Harry observed, unable to keep himself from smirking at Malfoy, despite the gravity of their situation.

“And it has the weird effect of making people state the obvious!” Ginny said, her eyes wide in mock wonder. Harry glowered at her.

“You just…really needed that book, eh, Malfoy?” Harry asked momentarily, all innocence.

Real subtle, Harry, Hermione snarked in his mind.

Malfoy's features were smooth and bland. “I'm a sixth-year just as much as you are, Potty. You had obviously had trouble finding it. I wanted it. Without all the effort, you understand.”

“That's obviously the preferred Slytherin method!” Hermione said hotly, her contempt for anyone unwilling to work for what they wanted quite clear. Malfoy shot her an amused look.

“Quite true, Granger. Did you expect me to be ashamed of it? It's not as if I were a Mudblood.”

Hermione flinched visibly, and her jaw clenched. Harry tried to send her a wave of soothing calm, but found it difficult, his attention preoccupied with how much he'd like to clobber Malfoy.

Malfoy seemed to be able to read his thoughts, and he lifted his chin like the arrogant aristocrat he was, appearing to say without words, “Do your worst.”

Whatever rejoinder Harry had intended was forgotten when Luna waved and called out, “There's Ronald! He must have used an Alternative Quadri-dimensional Portal.”

The other four students stared at her for a moment. Malfoy coughed something that sounded like “Mental patient,” into his hand.

“I - I think he just had the other portkey, Luna,” Hermione stammered, looking askance at the Ravenclaw.

“That's what they want you to believe,” Luna nodded sagely. Hermione decided against further argument.

“What in the bloody name of the four Founders is going on?” Ron said, having gathered a full head of steam as he trudged down the beach, after being deposited in a small tidal pool. He was completely wet - and now coated in a fine layer of sand. “Where the hell are we?”

“You know as much as we do, Ron,” Harry said with chagrin. He took his wand out of his pocket. “At least we still have these,” he said. “Point Me.” His wand spun in his hand, at a dizzying speed, and then rolled off of his hand into the sand at his feet.

Malfoy started laughing. Hermione tried the spell, as well, and watched in befuddlement as her wand did exactly the same thing as Harry's. She stared at it for a moment, with an air of betrayal.

“This place is Randomized,” Luna said, as casually as if she were discussing the weather…or Nargles in the mistletoe. The others gazed at her, clearly uncertain how seriously to take this pronouncement. Harry wondered if he was the only one who noticed the sharp, thoughtful look in Luna's eyes.

“It can't be Randomized,” Malfoy said contemptuously. “You can't send someone by Portkey to somewhere that's Randomized.”

“Wait,” Hermione said, looking from Luna to Draco. “Wait - that's real?”

“It's like something being Unplottable, right?” Ginny said tentatively, looking at Luna, rather than Draco. Hermione and Harry stood there, looking completely out of their element.

“I suppose if that's the cleverest comparison you can come up with,” Malfoy drawled, managing to make his statement sound insulting. Ginny bristled.

“It's a place that moves around magically. If you find it, it's really an accident…like finding a Velvet-veined Darklex. There are only a few of them in the world, and nobody's ever been able to figure out when and where they'll move next. There's no pattern,” Luna spoke clearly, but her eyes were vague and dreamy again. Harry tried to figure out if she was talking about Randomized places or Darklexes.

“Well, then how would you send someone there via Portkey?” Hermione asked. Luna shrugged, giving off the air that it would be nice to know, but she wasn't going to worry about it overmuch.

Harry would have pursued more along that vein, but Ron, who had been standing and listening silently to their discussion, burst out suddenly,

“Well, the one obvious thing is that we have a traitor in our midst!” The other students' eyes flitted instantly to Malfoy, who rolled his eyes.

“Been hit too many times with Bludgers, Weaselby?”

“Why else would you be here, Malfoy?” Harry asked acidly. “Certainly not of your own free will.”

“Of course it wasn't of my own free will, you stupid sot! It was a portkey.”

“That you ran up and grabbed. After you heard Mum call out that we were going to be late because it was nearly 12,” Ginny said evenly, lancing him with a look. Harry looked alarmed.

“They were timed,” he breathed. “This was all planned. But why?”

“Probably so the Dark Lord can put a proper hole in your head this time,” Malfoy said, and his wand suddenly flew 8 or 10 meters in the air, as Hermione, Ron, and Ginny all cast disarming hexes.

Ron caught the wand easily, and for a moment, Malfoy's smirk looked less than certain.

“Care to say that again, ferret?” he said, skewering Draco with a dangerous look. “If V - You-Know-Who has something planned using you as his little stooge… then your master will find pieces of you all over this place.”

“You're not going to do anything to me! You're too bleeding soft-hearted!” Malfoy's glare was withering. “And the only person who is the master of Draco Malfoy is Draco Malfoy!” Ginny snorted, then coughed, obviously trying to look like she wasn't laughing.

“Incarcerous!” came a soft tone, with elements of steel in it. A rope shot from Luna's wand, and spiraled around the proud Slytherin. Luna calmly picked up the loose end, and began to lead Malfoy towards the wooded area.

“You really are crazy!” Malfoy said, looking at her with some trepidation.

“Luna, what are you doing?” Harry called after her.

“I always wanted a pet,” Luna said, looking at Malfoy fondly, “Although, I'd rather have had a Banded Snicklehorn. There should be a castle up here, I think.” The intelligent, confident look flashed back for a moment. “We ought to find it before it rains.” And she wandered into the treeline, leading a bewildered Malfoy behind her. She walked so gracefully that she almost seemed to be floating above the ground.

Ron watched her go, and then turned to the other three. “Well, come on,” he said.

“Ron, you can't possibly - we don't even know - she could be - " Hermione sputtered, unable to form a complete sentence. Ron speared her with a look.

“Do you have any better ideas?”

Hermione opened and closed her mouth several times, looking around her helplessly for some sort of inspiration. Harry looked at her sympathetically.

Come on, he said, reaching for her hand. Maybe she knows what she's talking about.

It began to rain.

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Harry wiped the rain off of his face, and tried to look up through the strands of damp hair that hung over his forehead. He wished that riding a broom was a more athletically demanding pastime. The rain had quickly turned in to a woeful drizzle that just seemed to add to the amount of mist around them. The woods were overgrown and difficult to maneuver through, and, given the haphazard behavior of Harry and Hermione's wands, no one was overeager to try a cutting spell. By the time they had come out of the woods, after more than a kilometer, everyone was thoroughly out of sorts. They had finally seen a castle as well, high up on an outcropping of gray rock.

The slight clammy chill, combined with the heat caused by the exertion of effort managed to make the hike quite unpleasant. Ron was ahead of him, with Ginny, and they seemed to be having a better time of it than he was, although a swear word floated back to Harry on the breeze, every now and then. Luna was in the lead, placidly leading Draco Malfoy by a length of rope. Every now and then, Malfoy would move unexpectedly or try to trip Luna up, but she seemed to instinctively know when those were coming. Harry hadn't seen her stumble yet, even while she seemed to lead Draco along the most difficult routes, places where he would be most likely to step in mud, trip over rocks, or get hit in the face by slender tree limbs.

He turned to help Hermione up to the next boulder. She had long since tied her wet sweater around her waist, and tied her hair in some kind of knot atop her head.

“This is ridiculous…” she panted. “She doesn't know anything about…this place. She could…be leading us…anywhere.”

Harry shrugged one shoulder in what could be construed as agreement. “I don't know, Hermione. I don't know how Luna knows things, but I trust her judgment.”

“Her judgment?” Hermione looked at him with askance. “Judgment implies…logical and rational considerations of all the facts. Luna doesn't deal in facts.”

“No, she doesn't,” Harry agreed, grinning. Hermione glared at him. “Yet, she's managed to wrap up Malfoy for us…and he's definitely going to have to be dealt with.”

“She got him tied up because we disarmed him!” Hermione said, and Harry snickered, deciding to let the subject drop. Hermione, a lover of books and all things dealing with concrete knowledge, had a clear blind spot about Divination, other fuzzier arts, and the people who dealt with them. To her, Luna was clearly one of those people, and could not be trusted with any kind of intellectual reliability.

As they finally reached the top of the outcropping, which had been tall, but not terribly steep, they got a much closer view of the castle, which appeared to be carved from the same rock on which they were now standing. Behind and far below the castle spread the same gray ocean that they had seen from the beach. Everyone stood motionless, regarding the building without speaking. Set upon the crag as it was, with the fingers of cloud wreathed around it, the castle was a desolate and formidable sight.

“Are we just going to stand here and wait to be invited inside?” Malfoy said sarcastically.

“By whom?” Luna asked innocently. “Nobody's here. At least, not the kind of people who answer doors.” She said it with such absolute certainty that Ginny got a shiver up her spine. Luna smiled at Harry with an almost impish look. “Try a spell now, Harry,” she said.

Harry hesitated for a moment, before raising his wand, and saying, “Lumos!” With an audible rush and crackle, a bright white beam shot from his wand, blazing enough to cause everyone to turn their faces away.

“Magic is stronger here,” Hermione said, looking at the castle with fascination.

“Well, there's no way in hell Malfoy gets his wand back now,” Ron muttered.

“How did you know that?” Hermione demanded, throwing her hands up in the air in exasperation, her patience quite gone. “Do you even know where we are?”

By way of answering, Luna pointed her wand at the door, and said, “Alohamora.” The giant double doors flew back with a speed that belied their size, and hit the walls behind them with an echoing boom.

“I suppose she wants us to go in there,” Ron said, with an air of resignation.

“Ynisvitrin,” Luna said, and a wind seemed to come up and swirl her hair in a bright nimbus around her head and shoulders. The word seemed to echo off of the craggy rocks around them, giving her voice the timbre of someone imbued with power.

Harry took an unconscious step toward Hermione, and Ginny looked around her nervously, like someone who feels that she is being watched. Draco's smirk looked slightly more wary than normal, and Ron gaped at Luna with wide eyes. Hermione's jaw dropped at the word that flowed like poetry from Luna's lips.

There was a moment of complete and utter silence. Luna's hair settled softly around her shoulders once again.

“W - where?” Harry finally stammered, nonplussed. He had the same uncomfortable feeling that he had when he had once hidden from Dudley and his friends in a church. He crouched low behind a wooden pew on a thick carpet, while light filtered down through a beautifully designed window, crouched there in his flopping, dirty shoes and his mismatched, worn clothing. He had felt utterly unworthy.

“Avalon. The Isle of Mists. The Isle of Glass. Ynisvitrin is its Celtic name.” This time it was Hermione who spoke. Luna darted an amused glance at her, and Ron rolled his eyes. The wind seemed to swirl around them once again, when Hermione said the names.

“The last time I checked, Avalon was not mentioned as being out in the middle of the ocean,” Draco said in a superior tone.

“Well, of course it wasn't when Merlin brought King Arthur's body there,” Luna said, in her customary placid voice, but Harry noticed that the bright intelligent gleam was back in her eyes. “But since it's Randomized, it's moved around since then.”

Hermione looked at Luna with cautious admiration. “That actually makes sense. Lots of places have myths about mysterious, mist-shrouded mountains.”

“But - how did we get here?” Harry asked helplessly, barely understanding what they were talking about.

“You're asking the wrong question, Harry,” Hermione said. “Why are we here? Someone planted portkeys, somehow figured out how to find this place that's supposedly Randomized,” here she shot a dubious glance at Luna, “and sent us here. Sent you here. Why?”

“Well, it couldn't have been Voldemort who sent me here,” Harry said, in a weak attempt at jocularity. “Why would he send me somewhere where magic is stronger?”

Is it just me, or did the fog thicken when you said Voldemort's name? Hermione asked him, a trifle nervously. Magic may be stronger here, but I don't trust this place.

Neither do I, Harry said, and smiled a little, as he felt Hermione tuck her arm in his.

The sky had darkened since they left the beach, and Luna finally said, seemingly back to her normal off-kilter self, “Let's go inside. Thistle-backed Winglorns come out after dark in places like this.”

Harry felt like he was being given a choice between the frying pan and the fire, and the others' faces mirrored that thought. Looking back at the crag they had just traversed, now growing shadowy in the dim light, they followed a complacent Luna through the gaping double doors.

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

“I don't know why I'm telling you this again!” Molly Weasley cried, her voice blurred with emotion. Arthur Weasley patted her arm, soothingly. The Auror sat across the desk from her, with a mostly fake look of sympathy on his face. “I looked up and they were all gone. Just that quickly,” she snapped her fingers.

“And where were the children standing?”

“Flourish and Blott's keeps several bins of discount books over to one side of the store,” she said, with the sing-song air of one who has repeated oneself many times. “They were around those.”

“And you spoke to them?”

“I told them to hurry up; it was nearly 12, time to go. And then that horrid Malfoy boy just ran up, and tried to snatch Hermione's book right out of her hands.”

There was a restless movement behind them. Narcissa Malfoy sat in another chair, in elegant repose…and as far away from Hermione's Muggle parents as she could get.

“Really, Molly,” Narcissa sniffed in an injured tone, her cultured voice falling smoothly into the room. “My son is among those missing. I would have thought you would have a little sympathy, as I am in the same heart-wrenching predicament that you are.”

Molly said nothing in response to this, but her expression spoke volumes.

“I would not find it surprising,” Mr. Granger said fiercely, from where he was standing in one corner, “if it became known that your son had something to do with the disappearances! We've heard the things he's said about our daughter…and her friends.”

Narcissa smiled at Hermione's father, as if humoring a small child. “Draco? He and Harry are quite good friends. Any spats must be chalked up to childish high spirits. Draco is very spirited.”

“He's called our daughter a Mudblood on more than one occasion,” Mr. Granger said clearly. Narcissa smiled a sparkling smile at him. She really was quite beautiful.

“Perhaps he fancies her,” she said, “Boys do tease girls they fancy.” The gleam in her eyes seemed to say that even she found this to be patently absurd.

The Weasleys gaped at her, as if they could not believe what they were hearing. Arthur had turned back to the Auror, who had been watching the scene with thinly-veiled boredom.

“It should be known that Draco Malfoy was not a friend of any of the other children who disappeared. In fact, he seemed to have especially singled out Harry, Ron, and Hermione as enemies,” he said. The Auror looked as if he did not at all care about the particulars of in-fighting at Hogwart's.

Narcissa cleared her throat delicately, and smiled a tight little smile. “If what Arthur says is true…and I have never heard anything that would lead me to believe that… then my son is outnumbered. His health and safety should be of paramount concern.”

“My children and their friends would not hurt anyone!” Molly seethed. “Even your son!”

“Really?” Narcissa said, looking reproachfully at Molly. “It was your daughter who hit my son with some vulgar kind of hex involving bats, wasn't it?” Her face was vaguely amused. “Children do such vicious things at times, don't they?”

“I'm sure that any altercations between them were provoked by your son,” Molly said through gritted teeth.

“So many parents say that,” Narcissa said. “It must be so hard to see one's child or children grow up and turn out badly.”

A tremor shuddered through Molly, and Arthur must have been afraid that something bad was about to happen, because he placed a placating hand on Molly's arm.

“It probably is difficult…especially when the child is picking up pointers from Death Eaters like Lucius Malfoy,” Molly said angrily.

Narcissa stood abruptly, but her face never wavered from its smooth placidity. “My husband is in prison,” she said, her voice holding a hint of ferocity. “Draco is all I have now.” She slanted a knowing look at the Auror at the desk. “Please keep me informed. And if there is any need for further funding…” she trailed off. The Auror tried to look like he didn't know what she was talking about.

Narcissa elegantly exited the room, closing the door with a sharp snap, and leaving a trail of expensive perfume in her wake.

“I cannot believe the nerve of that woman!” Molly began, showing all the signs of beginning a rant.

“Now, now, Molly…” Arthur said, soothingly.

The Auror slid the paperwork across the desk, and handed Arthur a quill. He was eager to get these people out of his office.

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The six students wandered slowly into the large vestibule, looking around them warily. The huge double doors slammed shut, and the echo bounced around the cavernous entryway several times. Everyone jumped, and Malfoy looked visibly upset.

“Look, Lovegood, I demand that you untie me!”

Ron made a noise of protest.

“Sod off, Weaselby! I haven't got my wand, and I can't Apparate! What am I really going to do?”

“Finite Incantatem!” Luna said, in a bored tone, and the rope vanished from around Malfoy.

“Luna!” Ron exclaimed, looking at her in disbelief.

“What harm could it do, Ron?” Harry said, in an irritated tone. “He's just a miserable little wandless ferret. At least this might shut him up.”

“We aren't that lucky,” Ron muttered, still casting suspicious glances at Malfoy, who was straightening his clothes with a self-righteous look on his face.

They had wandered into a large chamber, empty except for a gigantic fireplace at one end. A fire was already crackling merrily in the grate. Their footsteps rang out hollowly on the polished floor.

“Do you think we could find out how to make Floo powder?” Ginny asked, eying the fireplace.

Any replies to her statement were cut off, as Harry and Hermione crossed the center of the room, seemingly oblivious to the fact that they were hand in hand again. There was a loud crack, like a thunderclap, and golden words that blazed like fire began to write themselves in the air in front of the startled group.

Welcome to Avalon, Heir of Gryffindor and his Chosen One.

TBC

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Harry Potter and the Isle of Mists

Disclaimer: I can only hope to attain the creative brilliance of J. K Rowling.

AN: Please review. This is my first Harry Potter fanfic, so be kind.

AN2: This story is AU after OOTP.

Let's See What's Behind Door Number Three

Everybody gaped at the writing in the air, which faded and shimmered out of sight, leaving behind only letter-shaped traces of smoke that eventually wisped into nothingness.

Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Er…who were they talking about?” The other students looked at him as if it were extremely obvious.

“I think I'm going to be sick,” Malfoy observed, rolling his eyes. “Hail, Scarhead, Heir of Gryffindor! Do you want me to kiss the hem of your robes?”

“But - but I - I'm not - " Harry stammered.

Does that make me your Chosen One? Hermione put in somewhat shyly, and her cheeks flushed prettily.

But wouldn't someone have told me if I was the heir of Gryffindor? And how would the island know that anyway?

We're dealing with very old, very strong magic, Harry. I don't think you'd be here if…someone didn't want you here.

And then, as if someone else was privy to their internal conversation, the fiery letters flared up in the room again.

The Castle of Avallach has been opened by the Faerie for the Heir. May the light of Myrddin shine upon your quest.

“Well, that certainly clears things up!” Ron quipped laconically. “What's Avallach?”

“It's another name for Avalon,” Hermione supplied mechanically.

“How many names does this damn island have?” he retorted.

Harry noticed that Ginny looked pale, and he guessed that the writing in the air reminded her somewhat of bloody writing on a wall….Enemies of the Heir beware. He smiled sympathetically at her, and she flushed, embarrassed that she had been read so easily.

So, first I'm the Heir of Slytherin…now I'm the Heir of Gryffindor… Harry said jokingly. I'm sure Ron could make something really dirty out of that.

Harry! Hermione said in a scandalized tone, looking around like someone would materialize and take him to task for his blasphemy.

“So, you have another quest, Potter?” Malfoy spoke. “Who are you planning on getting killed during this one?” Harry flushed red, and Malfoy grinned, knowing he had hit a nerve.

“Sod off, Malfoy,” Ron answered for Harry. “I've been wondering where to put your wand.” Ron's withering stare made his implication unmistakable. Malfoy glowered at Ron, but there was enough sincerity in Ron's eyes to make Malfoy shut up.

“So, we're stuck here, right?” Hermione said, ticking off her points on her fingers. “We can't Apparate out, we have no portkeys, our map spells don't work, and we're in the middle of the ocean. And nobody could Apparate to us even without the wards, because they don't know where we are.”

“There's my Little Miss Sunshine,” Ron cracked, patting her on the head. “We don't know that anyone brought us here for something bad. Maybe we're here so Harry can learn how to defeat Voldemort.” He gave Malfoy a dirty look as he said this.

“What makes you think that this had anything to do with me?” Harry protested weakly. Everyone gave him a “yeah, right” look.

“It always has to do with you, Harry,” Ron answered, rolling his eyes.

“What about the writing?” Ginny said. “It talked about the Heir of Gryffindor, his Chosen One, and the Faerie. I guess it's pretty obvious that they mean Harry is the Heir of Gryffindor, but who are the other people?”

“Well…the Chosen One is…I guess it's Hermione,” Ron said reluctantly, his eyes darting nervously to Malfoy, unsure of how much he should say in front of the Slytherin.

Malfoy coughed and sputtered, before beginning to laugh. “Granger? Granger is Potter's Chosen One? And I thought I was going to be sick before!”

“Just jealous because it isn't you, Malfoy?” Hermione asked sweetly, her face a mask of innocence. Ron and Harry looked at her with a mixture of disbelief and admiration.

“We could sit around and insult each other all day,” Ginny's voice cut concisely through the heated attitudes rising in the room. “I think the ferret realizes that there are more of us than there are of him, and if he keeps being a prick, then we can just silencio him and lock him in a closet for the duration.” She smiled sweetly at Malfoy, but there was danger in her gaze.

“Ginny!” Ron said, aghast at the crude language coming out of his baby sister's mouth.

“This castle probably has a dungeon,” Luna said, adding barmily, “and if there are any Shrinking Fenkelrods, we could use them on him too.” Malfoy's pallor became even more pronounced, and Harry thought to himself that he did not even want to know what exactly a Shrinking Fenkelrod did.

“We ought to take a look around,” Harry said, drawing his words out slowly. “See what's here, where we're going to sleep…”

“Where the kitchens are,” Ron put in energetically.

“Trust Ron to have his priorities in order,” Ginny remarked sarcastically.

“Should we split up?” Hermione asked, looking to Harry. All eyes went to him, and Harry flushed uncomfortably at the leadership people seemed to always bestow upon him.

“Yeah, Ginny and Luna should go with Ron, and you and Malfoy can stay with me,” Harry said, wanting either him or Ron to stay with the Slytherin.

Harry, I'll have you know… Hermione began, picking up on his thoughts, and instantly diagnosing them as sexist.

Aw, save it, Hermione! Harry complained, more sharply than he meant to. I just want someone watching him who is bigger than he is…is that okay?

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, but appeared to accept his answer. If you feel that this chest-pounding, testosterone-laden competition is absolutely necessary, I'll go along with it.

The six of them walked to the entryway that they had come through earlier. Harry's group went right, and Ron's group headed to the left.

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“What did you find?” Harry asked Ron, when they met back up in the large, empty room some time later. Ron shrugged noncommittally.

“Not much. A couple of rooms with old stuff in them. No kitchen,” he added in disgust. “How about you?” he asked hopefully.

“There were several bedrooms - "

“—and a library - " Hermione interjectedly excitedly.

Harry rolled his eyes, “and a library,” he echoed. “One door leading up to the turret was locked. We tried every spell we could think of, but couldn't get it open.”

“No kitchen?” Ron asked, dismay evident in his voice. “I'm getting a little hungry!”

Before anyone could laugh at the idea of Ron being a “little” hungry, there was a flash of light and a sound similar to a thunderclap.

In the center of the room, sat a round burnished table, set for six, and laden with all manner of food. With one casual look, Harry could see a gigantic platter of roast pork sitting in the center of the table, adjacent to huge silver carafe of something that was steaming. Ron's eyes lit up excitedly, and he hurried to the table, sitting down so quickly that his chair clattered noisily across the marble floor.

“Ron!” Ginny shouted, as her brother began to dish food onto his plate. “Don't you remember anything from your second year? Never trust anything if you can't see where it keeps its brain!”

“Such words of wisdom, Weaselina,” Malfoy snarked. “And if it doesn't possess a brain at all…like your darling brother here?”

Ginny whirled on Malfoy, her high Weasley temper making her cheeks redden and her eyes flash. Ron stood to his feet, forgetting the food, in his ire.

“It's quite safe,” Luna said, and that resonant tone was back in her voice again. The tips of her hair, glowing white-gold in the firelight, wafted slightly in a nonexistent breeze.

Harry and Hermione exchanged glances, and took seats at the table.

If this is done by house elves… Hermione said forbodingly.

Hermione, somehow I don't think Avalon needs anybody to do things for it, Harry argued.

Now you sound like Luna, Hermione sniped, but without the normal conviction in her tone that was usually present when she talked about Luna.

They sat and ate in a somewhat strained silence. What could have been a jovial atmosphere was constrained by the mystery of their trip to Avalon and the presence of Draco Malfoy. Ron had quickly discovered that he had only to request a food or beverage, and it would appear before him with a small flash. Harry could see by his best mate's blissful face that he probably wouldn't mind if he had to stay on the island forever.

What if we really can't leave? Hermione asked, having been not so surreptitiously eavesdropping.

Then it'll be another item on the list of “Things That Are All Harry's Fault,” Harry answered somewhat glumly. Hermione gave him a withering look, and ignored his last comment.

Well, there's got to be a reason that we're here, she said in a matter of fact way. It's either a good reason or a bad reason.

Thanks for clearing that up, he said sarcastically, and she rolled her eyes.

It was then that they both noticed Ron looking meaningfully at them, and flicking his head toward Malfoy, who was doing his best to ignore everyone else present.

Snape's words echoed in Harry's mind. A first year could tell you were reading each other's minds. He and Hermione exchanged sheepish glances.

We're going to have to work on that, he said needlessly.

Yeah…Hermione agreed.

When everyone had finished eating, everyone - except Malfoy, who Harry suspected was being contrary just for the sake of contrariness - decided to go on upstairs for the night. The long dim corridor was somewhat daunting, especially to the three that hadn't yet been up there. Malfoy trailed along behind, clearly trying to look casual, and not like he didn't want to be left downstairs by himself.

“Do you think we should all stay together?” Harry asked, looking at the uncertain faces of the others. Malfoy grimaced.

“As if I would share a room with any of you Gryffindor dung.”

“I'm in Ravenclaw,” Luna protested mildly. Malfoy made a whatever face, and strode confidently to the first door, wrenching it open. He was thrown backwards on his arse, before he could fully cross the threshold. Ron snorted and got choked.

“That's my room,” Luna said, pounding Ron on the back as he doubled over, gasping.

“How do you know?” Malfoy said, getting up gingerly and rubbing his rear end. At his question, the same faint wind swirled through the hall. Realization dawned on Harry.

“You -" he began.

“Luna, you're the Faerie?” Hermione finished for him, causing Ron to roll his eyes. Luna smiled enigmatically, and suddenly looked wise beyond her years.

“I merely descend from her line…much as Harry descends from Arthur.” All eyes turned back to Harry.

“But - but the - the…writing…downstairs said I was the Heir of Gryffindor,” Harry protested, feeling quite confused.

“So you are,” Luna said regally. “You descend from Godric Gryffindor, who descended from King Arthur himself.”

Malfoy muttered something that sounded like “bollocks”.

“Then who's the Faerie?” Ron asked.

“The Lady of the Lake,” Luna said.

“Nimue,” Hermione responded.

“Viviane,” Ginny answered at the same time. Ron's eyes widened.

“Bloody hell! Did anybody just have one name?”

“Like you do…Ronald Bilius Weasley?” Ginny snorted.

“Wouldn't Harry be descended from Merlin…rather than Arthur?” Hermione asked, turning back to Luna.

“Magical blood also ran through King Arthur's veins,” Luna said. “I think it has been mostly edited out of Muggle legend…but remember his sister.”

“Morgan LeFay,” Ginny whispered. “She was a witch.”

“So that makes Granger…Guinevere?” Malfoy said, with a smirk, his glance roving around the circle. “And that makes Weaselby…”

Lancelot. The word was unspoken, yet seemed to resound loudly around the corridor.

“Don't even finish that sentence, Malfoy,” Harry said. Hermione flushed crimson, and Ron looked embarrassed.

“The parallels simply are what they are. Some apply and some do not. Attaching too much meaning to them would be folly,” Luna said, then added, “Just look at what happened to the Spark-winged Wood Nymphs.”

Ron did a double take, and then laughed suddenly, looking relieved that Luna was once again making oddball statements. “This is all very interesting, but do you realize that we're just standing around out here? And why did Malfoy get thrown out of that room,” he sniggered slightly, as if picturing again Malfoy flung backwards to the floor.

“I told you, it's my room,” Luna explained patiently. Malfoy rolled his eyes, but the others appeared to take what she said at face value.

“Then, who's is that?” Ginny asked, pointing to the one across the hall. Luna opened it with a refined air.

“That's Ronald's.”

“And that?” They moved on like that to the end of the hall, and almost everyone was presented with a room that did not throw them across the way.

“Where's mine?” Hermione asked quietly. Luna smiled at her, a little impishly.

“Your place is with the one who chose you,” she said. Everyone froze. Ron wrinkled up his nose, and Malfoy was leering. Harry could feel the heat begin to emanate from his cheeks.

“I want a room,” Hermione enunciated, a little stubbornly, her own face beginning to glow.

“There aren't any more,” Malfoy grinned, obviously enjoying her discomfiture. “Unless you'd like to try one,” he gestured toward his own room. “I wouldn't mind seeing you fall on your arse.” Harry made an involuntary movement toward him, which Hermione checked with one upraised hand.

“Don't worry about it, Harry. I'll sleep downstairs.”

“You most certainly will not!” Harry said hotly, before he thought, and danger flashed in Hermione's eyes. Ron had made a noise of protest as well, but subsided when he saw Hermione's anger.

“I most certainly will not?” she repeated, her tone politely disbelieving. Harry could feel her anger crackling toward him.

“Hermione…” Harry began, placatingly. “I'm not going to let -" he stopped to rephrase. “You shouldn't sleep downstairs alone in a strange castle, where magic is amplified. It's too dangerous.”

“He's right, Hermione,” Ginny said. To her chagrin, Hermione felt tears prick the backs of her eyelids.

This is so embarrassing, she admitted, giving Harry the real reason for her anger. They'll all be thinking…

When have you ever let what somebody thought bother you? Harry answered reasonably. Please…if you were downstairs alone, I wouldn't be able to stay up here, and they'd talk anyway.

“All right,” she said softly. Harry stood to the side of his doorway, and gestured with one arm for her to enter. She stepped in, a little hesitantly, but nothing happened.

“See you all in the morning, then?” Harry said, trying to sound natural, daring anyone to say anything.

“Night-night, Potter. Sleep tight. Don't let the Mudbloods bite,” Malfoy simpered, as the doors was shutting behind Harry. He turned back toward the door, but heard the sounds of a scuffle. Malfoy let out a cry of pain, and Harry heard him say,

“Weaselby, how about you control your sister?”

Harry grinned, but the smile faded from his face, when he saw Hermione standing uncomfortably in the center of the room, looking for all the world like she'd rather be anywhere else but there.

“Hermione?” he said, stepping uncertainly towards her.

“W - what?” she stammered. He held a hand up, as if to stroke her hair, but stopped short.

“What's wrong?”

“I - I don't - I don't know what's going on,” she finally got out. “I don't like not knowing what's going on.”

“We seem safe enough,” Harry answered, his eyes roaming around the large chamber. A large stone fireplace was situated on the back wall, directly opposite a gigantic four-poster bed, completed with canopy and hangings. It was so high that there were two little stepstools on either side to use to climb in the bed. To one side, there was a door that Harry guessed let to a lavatory, in between two identical high, narrow windows, framed with heavy draperies. A large elaborate tapestry hung above the fireplace.

“That's not what I'm talking about,” Hermione said evenly, wiping at her eyes with one sleeve. “I'm talking about this situation. What do they want of us? What are we supposed to do? What does being your Chosen One mean? Are they going to watch?”

“W - w - watch? Going to watch what?” Harry stuttered, and felt his throat close up.

“Us…” Hermione said, as if it were obvious, and then her mind picked up on where his mind was going, and her face flamed. “Honestly, Harry,” she said, trying to sound normal. “Is that all you ever - ?”

“Yes,” Harry finished for her, and her cheeks burned even more brightly, if that was possible.

He closed the remaining distance between them, and pulled her somewhat clumsily into his arms. She held herself stiffly, uncertainly, at first, but then allowed herself to relax against him. He breathed in the clean scent of her hair, and thought that there was nowhere else on the planet that he'd rather be.

Really? Hermione said wonderingly.

No contest at all, he answered. She looked up at him then, and their eyes locked. He felt his heartbeat accelerate, and saw her lips part in expectation.

“Harry, I - " she began, but was cut off as his lips met hers in a deep, plunging kiss. He wrapped his arms more tightly around her, nearly lifting her off her feet, as he pulled her against him. She twined her arms around his neck, and grabbed onto his shirt, as if it were the only thing keeping her on her feet.

Desire flamed through him, and hers echoed back; the sensation magnified and amplified and looped back in on itself, until Harry no longer felt anything, tasted anything, wanted anything but her.

Sweet Merlin, somebody thought, and he wasn't sure who it was.

The fire flared up brightly in the fireplace, making a whooshing noise as the flame soared upward. The wood beneath splintered with a loud crack, and fell loudly onto the grate. The wind was back, and somewhere there was music, and …

Harry and Hermione broke apart with difficulty, both breathing heavily, and looked around bewildered.

“Did you hear that?” she asked, pressing her palms flush against her burning cheeks.

“The music?” Harry verified, thinking that he'd like nothing more than to throw her on the bed right that second, and…

“Harry!” Hermione said, and for an instant, Harry got the flicker of requited desire, before Hermione tamped it down. She had really gotten rather good at Occlumency. “Do you think someone is watching us?”

Harry looked around the room again, his eyes following the lines of the vaulted ceiling. “I don't know,” he answered truthfully. “The answer's got to be behind that door,” he said, after a moment of thought.

“The door to the tower?” Hermione asked, dubiously. “Why?”

“Because it's locked,” Harry said, shrugging. “Nothing else in the castle has been locked.”

“Maybe Luna could open it,” Hermione put in. “She opened the front door.”

“She knew right where the castle was too,” Harry interjected. “If the Faerie's …job…is to bring the Heir of Gryffindor to Avalon, maybe she was the one to bring us here.”

“Well, why didn't she say so?” she protested, but Harry just lifted his shoulders in an I can't explain Luna Lovegood kind of way. “The magic it would take to do that…” she shook her head, and didn't complete her sentence. “How do we figure out how to get home?”

“Well, there's always the library…” Harry began.

“Hey, isn't that my line?” Hermione teased, nudging him in the ribs with one elbow. Even that casual, silly contact shot sparks through both of them. Harry took several steps away from her hastily.

“I think we ought to look at the similarities between Arthur and Gryffindor and … and …” me. It seemed so ridiculous to add himself to that distinguished list that he couldn't bring himself to do it.

“Well, they both faced epic battles,” Hermione began, in her best lecture voice. “Arthur against Mordred, and Gryffindor against Slytherin.” She met his gaze, her eyes wide. “And you're the Heir of Gryffindor and Voldemort's the Heir of Slytherin…” She looked excited. “Oh, Harry, if we found -"

Harry smothered a smile at Hermione's ever-present thirst for knowledge. “We'll look in the morning. We ought to sleep right now.” Her eyes flickered uncertainly to the bed, and then back to him.

“Okay,” she agreed, rather bashfully.

They both found nightclothes inside a small cupboard in the lavatory, gender appropriate and the correct size. They exchanged glances, but no comment was made about how the castle or the island or whoever was in control knew who they were.

Harry let Hermione have the bathroom, while he changed out in the main room. He looked longingly at the bed, which was easily big enough for both of them to sprawl to their heart's content, and never touch each other at all. He grabbed an armful of the bed covers and one pillow, and began to spread them out in between the bed and the fireplace.

“What are you doing?” Hermione said huskily from behind him. He turned around, and dropped everything he was holding. She was wearing a long, white gown. It looked quite old-fashioned, but draped her body gracefully. Her hair was pulled back into a braid, and her cheeks flushed girlishly under his perusal.

“I was going to - sleep - " he said, stammering, and finally just gestured at the pile of bedding.

“You'll do no such thing, Harry Potter,” Hermione said in her best no-nonsense voice. “That bed is huge. We could all six of us sleep in that bed.” Harry winced.

“Mental pictures, Hermione!” He chastised her. She grinned, and clambered up into the bed, sitting up in the middle of it, and tucking her feet beneath her.

He watched her carefully, but remained where he was, standing in front of the fireplace.

I don't want to sleep on the floor. I want to sleep with you, he thought involuntarily.

I can read your thoughts, Harry, she reminded him.

Good, he said, and brought the full force of his blazing green gaze on her. A tremor shuddered through her frame.

“Harry…” she said hesitantly. “This - the way it - the way it feels when we…anything… is it - I mean, would you - " She dropped her eyes to the coverlet, and finished in an embarrassed mumble. “Would you like me anyway, even if we didn't have that link?” Her face burned brightly at the juvenile way her words sounded.

Harry was up on the bed with her in two strides, and he caught up both of her hands in his.

“Hermione,” he said, his voice a protesting caress. She twisted her hands nervously, and tried to pull them out of his grasp, but his grip tightened. He closed his eyes, and she was able to briefly wonder what he was doing, before she felt the rush of his emotion.

He had swung open wide the doors of his mind and his heart to her, and she felt as if she'd been caught up in a tidal wave of feelings. It was heady and exhilarating, but comfortable and safe. It was the adrenaline rush of fear and giddiness; and it was being safe and warm, wrapped up in something comforting and cherished.

She felt his love for her, pure and undiluted. It surrounded her, it enveloped her, it surged through her, it became part of her. She felt like something that she hadn't even known was missing had just been replaced, and one part of her mind wondered what she could do in return.

Remembering her Occlumency lessons and the visualization of a wall, she instead pictured a large gate, which she then heaved open with all the force she could muster. She was distantly aware of Harry's hands trembling convulsively around hers, as their souls and minds merged, as their very essences danced together.

When they were once again aware of their surroundings, they were both breathing heavily and perspiring. Hermione's fingers ached from where Harry's hands had gripped hers. They looked at each other, starry-eyed and dazzled, unable to attach words to what they had just experienced.

“What…” Hermione finally gasped with effort, “was that?”

Harry was glancing around the room, as if he heard something that she did not. Sparks were spiraling brightly up into the fireplace flue. “The music…” he said softly. She strained her ears, but heard nothing. “A bond?” he asked, as if speaking to someone that she did not see.

Hermione lay back on the pillows, pulling Harry down alongside her. “What?”

“You didn't hear that?” She shook her head at him impatiently, and he pulled her up against him, resting his chin on her shoulder. “I could have sworn somebody said...we just bonded…”

“But we didn't - " Hermione faltered, confused. “Harry, who? Who said it?” she was looking at him anxiously, her brow creased. His green eyes looked vaguely troubled.

“I don't know…”

TBC

-->

Harry Potter and the Isle of Mists

Disclaimer: I can only hope to attain the creative brilliance of J. K Rowling.

AN: This story is AU after OOTP.

If I Could Save Time in a Bottle

When Harry awakened, the sun was streaming in both high windows, golden beams of light splashing across the bed and floor. The first thing he registered was that his arm was asleep, closely followed by the notice of the mop of brown hair on the pillow next to his.

Memories of last night came flooding back…to his face, by the feel of the heat emanating from it. He blinked his sandy eyes and stretched, trying to work his arm gently and unobtrusively out from under Hermione's head. She mumbled something inarticulately, and rolled over, her eyes still closed.

Harry watched her peaceful face, the dark lines of her lashes smudging her cheeks. He remembered the surging incredible emotion of the night before, the powerful connection between the two of them, and checked under the covers to make sure his pajamas were still on. They were. He sagged back down onto his pillow, slightly relieved. Not that he wouldn't want to… with Hermione, if the opportunity were to present itself, but he certainly didn't want it to happen, if he wasn't going to remember it afterward. His gaze wandered down the curve of her neck to her smooth bare shoulder exposed by her gown being disarranged by sleep.

Hermione's eyes suddenly flew open, and she stared at him in amazement, wide awake. Belatedly, Harry remembered that she could read his mind. He felt himself flushing. She sat up slightly, shyly looking away from him as she straightened the shoulder of her gown, and ran one hand self-consciously through her tousled hair.

“Harry, what - what was that…last night?” she finally said.

“I wish I could tell you,” Harry said frankly.

“You said something about our being bonded. Aren't we already? Except for… well…” she shrugged and looked away, embarrassed.

“Dumbledore said we could reverse the bond, if we wanted to,” Harry said, speaking slowly as he thought out loud. “Maybe now it's permanent.” He watched Hermione closely, as if gauging her reaction.

“I suppose there are worse things than being able to read the mind of the Boy Who Lived,” Hermione laughed. “Although, if we…” she stopped talking suddenly, clamping her mouth shut.

What? Harry finally prodded.

If we…if we end up with other people… I mean, in a relationship…won't that be terribly awkward that we can read each other's thoughts?

I don't know about you, Harry said, reaching under the covers and gathering her into his arms, but I don't plan on getting involved with anyone else…ever. He paused for a moment to let his meaning sink in. He stroked one hand down her cheek, and Hermione felt her body involuntarily arch toward his. Besides Avalon said you're my Chosen One. You can't back out now.

They smiled at each other, but Hermione's eyes were serious.

I wouldn't want to back out, Harry, even if I could.

I love you, they heard simultaneously, and she lifted her lips to his.

When their lips touched, it was as if Hermione had been catapulted to some new level of sensory awareness. She was intensely aware of every inch of her body that was touching his, and somehow, she could feel his desire and his emotions and what it felt like to him, with his body touching hers. Everything was enhanced, magnified, amplified, and she thought maybe she would be unable to contain the emotion thrumming through her.

Harry's thoughts were blurred and incoherent; she could barely make sense of them, but she could feel his mind scrambling for a toehold, close to plummeting over the edge of a cliff, and trying to maintain control, propriety warring with desire.

Then his lips trailed liquid fire across her jawline to nuzzle in the crook of her neck beneath her ear, and she felt everything inside her gel. Her hands were splayed across his back, and his fingers quested at the edge of her collar.

We have on too many clothes, Hermione thought suddenly, all rationality gone. What she said was,

“Har-ry,” in an urgent breathy gasp.

“Hmmm?” he murmured, his chest vibrating against hers. He pulled the neckline of her gown aside, exposing the smooth length of her collarbone.

Someone knocked at the door.

Harry swore under his breath, as Hermione rocketed away from him, flinging herself across the room into the lavatory, whose door closed with a decisive slam. He sat up in the bed, drawing his knees up to his chin, and said, “Come in.”

The door swung inward, and Ron peered in cautiously.

“It's not going to throw you out in the hall,” Harry said, sounding irritated. His eyes flickered toward the lavatory door.

“No, it's not that, mate,” Ron assured him. “I was making sure…you know…everybody was decent…” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Would I have said `Come in', if I wasn't dressed?” Harry's voice was pure exasperation.

There was an awkward silence. Now it was Ron's gaze that darted over to the closed lavatory door.

“Well…” Ron said, hesitantly, drawing out the word, “We're about to go down to breakfast. You coming?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, reluctantly sliding to the edge of the bed, and reaching for the stepstool with one foot. Ron had moved toward the door, as if to leave, but turned at the threshold.

“Did you hear music last night?” he asked suddenly. Harry whirled to look at him, alarm in his widened eyes, and fell off the bed.

Ron arched his brows in amazement, snickering audibly, as Harry struggled to stand up and disentangle himself from the coverlet, which he had pulled off the bed with him.

“You all right there, Harry?” Ron said, clearing his throat. Harry stood to his feet, his mouth taut, trying to gather together shreds of dignity.

A light laugh wafted through his mind like a soap bubble, and Harry felt his mood grow a little more sour.

This is all your fault, he grumbled. Looking at Ron, he said, “We'll be down in a minute.”

There was another silence, clearly pregnant with questions that Ron wanted answers to, but did not want to ask. “Right, then,” Ron said finally, scuffing the floor with the toe of his shoe. “See you downstairs.”

Almost as soon as the door closed, the other door in the room opened, revealing Hermione, fully dressed in her clothes from yesterday, which looked freshly laundered and pressed. She was grinning at him. He narrowed his eyes at her, trying to repress the smile that wanted to spread across his face.

“Traitor!” he said, tossing a pillow at her. “You ran away!”

“You fell off the bed!” she countered, a laugh burbling underneath her voice. “Did Ron really hear music?” Harry shrugged, and shoved the coverlet back onto the bed.

“He asked if I heard it,” he replied.

“That's really embarrassing,” Hermione said, in a tone that just bordered on being a groan. “Is that going to happen every time we - we get close?”

“Close?” Harry asked, amused at her word choice. “I don't know, Hermione,” he said in answer to her question. “But so far, this castle hasn't seemed very subtle in the matchmaking department.” He entered the lavatory to get dressed, and closed the door behind him.

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

All eyes went to them, as they entered the large hall a few minutes later. The conversation going on between Ron, Luna, and Ginny dwindled to a halt. Draco continued eating, although there was clearly malicious amusement dancing in his silvery eyes. Hermione and Harry sat, exchanging glances at the silence.

“So, what are we going to do today?” Ginny asked, trying to get rid of the weird tension that hung over the breakfast table.

“I thought about going to the library and doing some research,” Hermione said. Ron and Ginny looked a little disappointed, but Hermione continued, “Harry and I were talking last night, and - " She was interrupted by a snicker from Draco.

“Something you have to say, Malfoy?” Harry asked levelly.

“Talking?” Malfoy said elegantly, one eyebrow raised. “Is that what you call it?” Ginny was wide-eyed, and her gaze darted back and forth from Malfoy to Hermione, who brought her fork down to the table with a bang.

“For the love of Merlin!” she exclaimed. “We didn't do an - that? Okay? Not that it's any of your business!”

There was a strained silence following Hermione's outburst, as everyone but Malfoy became extremely interested in what they were eating. Malfoy merely eyed them arrogantly for a moment, appearing unfazed, before he returned to his meal.

“Well, someone brought us here,” Ginny finally stated, in a somewhat normal voice. “I don't know about the rest of you, but I'd rather not still be here, when whoever it is comes to…well, do whatever it is being planned.”

“It could have been an accident,” Ron offered lamely, though nobody really believed that. Hermione felt as if they were retreading old conversations.

“If it had been anybody else, I might think it was a fluke…a random spell left over in a strange book,” she said. “But since it's Harry…”

“Yes, since it's Potter,” Malfoy spat, interrupting her. “Almighty Potter, on whose shoulders the fate of the world rests. That does not help me sleep at night, by the way.” He smirked, as four pairs of hostile eyes turned toward him. (Luna was gazing dreamily at the ceiling.)

“If it was only intended for Harry,” Ginny put in, trying to stonily ignore Malfoy. “Then why were there three?”

“The Dark Lord was probably trying to use good time management skills,” Malfoy pointed out. “Why not do the world a service and rid the world of the entire Golden Trio…all at once?” His voice simpered sarcastically around the phrase `the Golden Trio'. Ron looked like he was trying to plan out how to best separate Malfoy from his nether parts.

“It mightn't've been Voldemort at all,” Hermione said. “Ron, you said so yourself yesterday. What if it was someone who wanted to help Harry defeat him? Avalon is a powerful source of Light magic. Why would Voldemort send him here?”

“Then why's he here?” Ron asked sourly, jerking his chin toward Malfoy.

“Because he's supposed to be,” Luna said abruptly, in an absent way. Everyone turned to stare at her, waiting for further disclosure. “The path of Fate winds where it will.” There was a moment of silence, as the others waited for something more illuminating, and when it did not come, they turned back to the meal before them.

“Do we know that Avalon is a powerful place for Light magic?” Ginny asked suddenly. “I mean Nimue wasn't exactly a paragon of virtue, was she? She imprisoned Merlin.”

“Power is neither good nor evil,” Luna said, in that resounding, ethereal voice. “It is those who wield it who bend it to their own purposes, for good or ill.”

“So that means…” Harry said slowly.

“That if Voldemort came here, his magic might be just as amplified as yours,” Hermione finished for him in a voice dark with trepidation.

“Bloody hell,” was Ron's contribution.

“But if everybody's magic is amplified, then - I mean there are six of us, and only one of - of him,” Ginny said hesitantly, and then her eyes fell on Draco. “There are five of us, anyway.”

“We know Harry's and Luna's magic has been amplified,” Hermione corrected. “But they're more connected to this place than anyone else. It might not necessarily follow that everyone's magic is more powerful here.” The group exchanged glances. “Try something,” she suggested, holding up her wand, and saying, “Lumos.”

Light blazed from her wand tip, streaming in a white-hot gleam that poured from the end of the wand almost audibly. Harry lifted one hand to shield his eyes.

However, when either Weasley tried it, they managed to produce only the normal amount of light that one would expect from a Lumos spell. Ron looked slightly glum, as if he felt inadequate - only average, where everyone around him was exceptional. Malfoy merely raked them all with an arrogant glance, and refused to perform a spell at all.

“Wouldn't want to make the Weasleys feel badly about themselves,” he said soberly, fooling no one.

“I'd think that would rank right up there on your wish list,” Ginny muttered. “The only reason that you aren't doing a spell, is because you think that you'll be as lousy at it as we are.”

“You're not lousy,” Hermione protested quickly. “You cast a perfectly good Lumos spell. Ours was just - more.” She seemed uncertain which word to use. Ginny and Ron both gave her `don't try and make us feel better' looks.

“Well,” Harry said at length, pushing his plate back and standing up to disrupt the tension that seemed to snake into the room. “Should we check out the library?”

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

The castle library was enormous, nearly the size of Hogwarts', but looked twice as old and much more neglected. Hermione gazed around the room like it was a travesty.

“Why would someone put all these books here, if there isn't anyone here to read them?” she asked, looking as if someone she loved had died.

“I cry myself to sleep at night about it, Granger,” Malfoy sneered.

“Leave her alone,” Harry demanded, spearing the Slytherin with a glare. Draco subsided, but not before raising both hands in a `help me!' gesture and making an exaggeratedly fearful face.

“Stupid git,” Ron muttered to Harry, as they wended their way through towering shelves of books. “Why doesn't he come down off his high-horse and help us out a bit? You can't tell me he really wants to be stuck here forever?” The redhead peered through a gap in the shelves at Malfoy, who had settled himself comfortably into a wing chair and propped up his feet.

“I wouldn't think he'd want to be stuck here forever with us, at any rate,” Harry agreed, his eyes scanning the spines of the books for titles.

“Can you imagine anyone he'd want less? Two blood traitors, a Muggle-born, Luna, and you. It's like something out of a Malfoy nightmare.” Ron snickered, his good humor returning at the thought of irritating Malfoy in any way.

“Here's one on Gryffindor,” Harry said suddenly, pulling a large leather-bound volume from a shelf above his head. He handed it to Ron without even looking.

“One minute,” Ron interposed suddenly. “How are there books about Gryffindor here? The castle's - when did people stop living here?”

“Maybe the island restocks itself?” Harry shrugged. “How does the food get on the table?” Ron's expression looked vaguely troubled, and Harry could tell that he was thinking of his father's warning to Ginny. Never trust anything if you can't see where it keeps its brain.

Harry and Ron had wandered all the way to the back corner of the library, and had pulled down several more selections, when Harry cocked his head, as if hearing something beyond normal range.

“Hermione says to come back. She's got some stuff to show us.” Ron rolled his eyes.

“I don't envy you, mate,” he said, clapping Harry on the back sympathetically and shaking his head. “Bad enough the way she nags when she's around us. It'd be worse if you couldn't ever get away from it!”

“It's not that bad, actually. When Snape was having us block each other from our minds, I - I - I kind of missed it.” Ron shot him with a knowing look, and snickered.

Back in the center of the library, Hermione and Luna had pushed two tables together, and pulled wing chairs up around the sides, to make a large workspace. Harry and Ron deposited their stack of books on the table, and saw that the girls had done the same. Malfoy was sitting off to one side, his feet crossed at the ankles and propped up on the table. He appeared to be asleep, although Harry doubted that he actually was.

“Look!” Hermione said, as they approached the table. Her eyes were snapping in excitement, as she pointed to a page in a battered, old book. Harry and Ron leaned curiously over her shoulders to see what she was indicating.

It was a hand-drawn diagram, with messy sketch lines still in place, of some kind of crystal, its points and facets clearly visible. Below the drawing, in intricate calligraphy read the caption:

The Claviomnis

A small notation followed, “The Claviomnis, as it is rumored to look, disappeared around the beginning of the second millennium. Whether or not it existed at all is a matter for debate. Legend tells that the Claviomnis was last owned by the Gryffindor family, and, if used properly, could be a receptacle for nearly unlimited quantities of magical power.”

Hermione was looking at them expectantly, obviously thinking that they should have gotten something significant from that information.

“What?” Ron said blankly. “Have you seen that crystal around here somewhere, then?” Hermione's shoulders slumped, and the hopeful expression was replaced with one of scorn.

“No, but isn't it interesting?”

“Er…sure, Hermione,” he ventured, insincerely. Hermione sighed.

“It was owned by Gryffindor's family! Harry, maybe it's in your vault at Gringotts!” Harry looked at her doubtfully.

“I think I'd remember something that looked like that, Hermione. And besides, this says that it disappeared.”

She did not answer, but flipped a page, looking a little despondent. There was silence, while they skimmed aimlessly through various books, searching for some way that Avalon could send them home.

“Hey!” Ginny remarked suddenly, her voice echoing in the stillness, making Ron and Hermione jump. “Avalon has an Oracle.”

“An Oracle? Where?” Hermione asked. Luna stopped perusing her volume, and turned her attention toward the conversation, listening placidly.

“It doesn't say. Only that there is one, and that it's supposedly one of the most powerful ever in existence.”

“An Oracle - like a Seer?” Ron said hesitantly. The thought that another person might be wandering around the castle without their knowledge made him rather uncomfortable.

“No - no, not necessarily,” Hermione said, nearly stammering in her excitement. “An oracle can also be a place… supposedly where a deity reveals hidden knowledge or purpose, through a - a - ” Her face fell.

“Through a Seer!” Ron said triumphantly.

“Merlin, I hope not!” Ginny snickered irreverently. “Can you imagine batty old Trelawney floating around this castle moaning about the Inner Eye?”

“Ginny!” Hermione hissed, looking scandalized. Normally, she had no problem whatsoever poking fun at Trelawney or Seers in general, but this did not seem like the place for it. Avalon seemed … alive, for lack of a better term, and she felt the heavy weight of unseen eyes, of unseen powers regarding them.

“So, where is this Seer then?” Harry asked, closing his book, and speaking up for the first time in a while.

“What about that locked door?” Ginny asked, in a voice of trepidation.

“Yes, what about that locked door?” Harry echoed, a strange tone creeping through his words. He looked at Luna, who was watching them with interested, unblinking eyes, elbows splayed casually across the book she'd been reading.

“What is it, Harry?” She asked, in response to his look. She smiled at him, and it was an amused, adult smile.

“Can you open that door?” he asked shortly. Her smile grew broader.

“Of course I can,” she said, without dissembling. The other teens exchanged startled glances.

“Luna,” Hermione said carefully and politely, “why didn't you say anything before?” Luna shrugged, slowly and languidly.

“You didn't ask me.” Hermione sputtered for a moment, but dwindled away to silence.

“Luna, will you open that door for us?” Harry said, phrasing his question carefully. The otherworldly wind blew through the library gently, ruffling Luna's hair and fluttering book pages.

“If it is what the Heir of Gryffindor wishes.” There seemed to be an edge of warning in her voice.

Harry, maybe we should - Hermione began, her worry seeping into his mind.

“It is,” Harry stated firmly, before Hermione could finish her thought. She shot him an anxious look.

Luna stood, elegantly and gracefully, and seemed to nearly float from the room, obviously expecting them to follow her. As they rose, Ginny swatted Malfoy across the back of his head, and he came suddenly awake, protesting vehemently.

Harry and Hermione had once again joined hands, without really realizing it, as they followed Luna up to the tower. The door in question was battered with age, weathered, almost as though it had been exposed to elements. It appeared sturdy and daunting, however, and did not look like it could be opened under any human strength. It was studded with brass-headed nails, had elaborately wrought hinges, and a gigantic golden ring for a door handle.

Luna turned to Harry, and the two of them seemed to share some kind of moment, apparently communicating out of the realm of human speech or thought. Hermione realized that, oddly enough, she felt jealous.

Malfoy shifted uneasily, but did not speak, evidently deciding that this was a moment that did not require sarcastic reprisal from him.

At length, Luna turned toward the door again, tapping her wand in an intricate, rapidly weaving pattern on the door itself. She muttered something unintelligible under her breath, and the door began to glow brightly, emanating an actual heat that made everyone instinctively step back.

Except Luna, who stood just in front of the door, completely encased in the aura of light, without apparent effect. Ron made an involuntary movement forward, but it was checked by Harry's vise-like grip on his arm.

Slowly and with a ponderous creak, the heavy door opened, revealing a rutted and nearly broken stairway leading upward. Harry laced his fingers more tightly through Hermione's and took a deep breath, pushing the door open wide, and proceeding through it. Hermione went with him, her mind whirling with questions, not the least of which was why Harry's mind seemed suddenly closed to her.

Ron and Ginny made as if to follow, but they were blocked at the door by Luna.

“Only the Heir of Gryffindor and his Chosen One may pass,” she said, in a voice that seemed to have suddenly broadened and deepened in timbre.

“Luna!” Ron protested, real fear tripping suddenly into his blue eyes. “It's Harry and Hermione! We don't know what's up there. We can't let them go alone.” Luna's eyes flashed with sympathy, and for a moment, she seemed to be the Luna Lovegood they were familiar with again. But she shook her head firmly.

“So it was written, long before you were born. You cannot pass.”

Ron knocked her arm aside, and tried to shoulder past her, over the threshold of the door. Already, Harry and Hermione's footfalls echoed distantly on the stone stairs far above them. Luna made no movement or angry protest, but Ron suddenly found himself flung nearly the length of the hallway. Draco let out a short, unintentional, rather nervous burst of laughter, which he quickly quieted.

As Ron picked himself up from the floor, he saw Luna pull the golden ring, with as little effort as if the door were a square of paper. The door clanged shut with a resounding thud, and the very walls of the castle seemed to tremble.

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Harry and Hermione looked at each other with some trepidation as the door closed loudly, and Hermione wanted to shout with happiness when she felt Harry's warm presence in her mind once again.

What happened back there? She asked tentatively.

I'm not sure, he said, shrugging. This though - I feel like something higher than me is driving my steps. Somehow, this is tied in to what I'm meant to do.

They continued to climb, for what seemed like endless minutes, picking their way carefully up the worn stone stairs. Finally, the staircase opened out into a vast chamber, much bigger than what should have been in the apex of a castle turret. They looked around in awe, straining to see the cavernous ceiling that yawned above their heads.

“What the hell?” Harry murmured.

“Maybe the Claviomnis is in here,” Hermione speculated, but the chamber seemed to be mostly empty.

However, there was a giant configuration of encircling gold rings that, at first glance, appeared to be adorning the far wall of the chamber. As they got closer, Hermione saw that it was, in fact, nearly in the center of the room. She wondered if this optical distorting was part of the room's magic…for they could both feel it, causing the atmosphere of the room to thrum with nearly physical vibration.

At the center of the rings was a large bulbous glass structure, seemingly hollowed out, and filled with a strange cloudy substance. Harry craned his neck, but the top of the structure was lost to view, another side effect of the powerful magical presence.

“Is this the Oracle?” he asked curiously, reaching one hand out tentatively to touch the artifact.

“Don't touch it!” Hermione warned suddenly, but before Harry's hand could even make contact, there was a low groan, and the rings began to move. They were within the orbit of the outermost ring, and they both ducked their heads instinctively, unsure which way to go or if they even had time to get away safely. But then the ring passed them by, and they only had to jump as the metal hoop swept near their ankles, to be able to safely move away.

Not that it matters, Hermione thought darkly, as they moved back from the rotating structure, and she noted the details. The rings were concentric, each rotated on a different axis. The glass structure was beginning to swing upward, and it looked as if the top half was as bulbous as the bottoms half. The smoky stuff within it sloshed around, swirling in a multitude of colors.

“Sweet Merlin! Harry…” Hermione said in a uncertain voice, grabbing for his sleeve without looking at him. The rings began to swing faster, until the very room around them was a blur. “It's a time turner. I've never seen one of this size.”

“That's not possible,” Harry said, the very presence of the thing in front of him denying his assertion. They backed hastily toward the staircase, finally turning around to run, as the empty end of the hourglass swung down ponderously. We're not going to make it, Harry thought frantically.

And then, they were out of time.

Literally.

TBC

Hmmm….well there it is. Not sure the pay-off will be worth the wait you had to put up with, and for that, I am profoundly sorry. I did have a brain-wave though, so hopefully, the next chapter will not be so long in coming.

I have a feeling that the chapter title kind of gave it away, but it was too great not to use, so I did it anyway.

Hope you enjoyed.

You may leave a review on your way out, if you like.

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Harry Potter and the Isle of Mists

Disclaimer: I can only hope to attain the creative brilliance of J. K Rowling.

AN: This story is AU after OOTP.

Blast From The Past

Ron stood back in front of Luna, poised on the balls of his feet, as if preparing for sudden movement, but he did not move. The four remaining began to look warily around at the walls and ceiling, as they began to tremble slightly.

“What the hell is going on?” Ron asked, confusion and frustration evident in his voice, but not really expecting an answer. Luna was standing serenely in front of the door, a small enigmatic smile curving her lips slightly. “Luna! They could be in trouble! Let me go in there!” He made a move as if to charge the door again, but Ginny's hand on his arm gave him pause. “Ginny, what are you doing? Don't you understand - Harry and Hermione are up there!”

Just as suddenly the rumbling slowed and then stopped. There was absolute silence in the castle.

“Luna - ” Ron began again, warningly. In reply, Luna gestured with her wand and the large door swung inward on its hinges. Ron darted through it, pulling out his wand as he ran, but Luna stopped him with her voice, before he could even place one foot on the bottommost stair.

“They're not up there,” she stated calmly.

“What the hell are you on about?” Ron exclaimed. “Of course, they're up there. They just went up there…unless - what did you do to them?” he asked, narrowing his eyes with suspicion.

“Ron!” Ginny said suddenly in a horrified tone. Luna appeared to take no offense at his question.

“What has happened has been foreordained. It has happened before, and will happen again,” she said, in a lilting way that was very nearly a chant.

“What do you mean `it has happened before'? We've never been here before!” Ron said angrily, choosing to take Luna literally. Before anyone else could comment, he dashed up the stairs. They heard his footsteps fade away as he ascended the rough steps.

A moment later, he returned, his face ashen and dejected. “There's no one up there. I don't understand - where could they have gone?” He glared daggers at Luna, as if she had somehow been personally responsible for their disappearance. She looked unfazed at his accusatory glance.

“They're in Avalon,” Luna said simply, as if that explained everything. Malfoy coughed something that sounded like “nutters” into his hand.

Ron looked as if he were evenly divided between the options of laughing, crying, or throttling Luna Lovegood.

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

It was as if the entire universe, as they knew it, was rotating, and they were standing stationary in the center of it. Harry was aware of Hermione's tight grip on his sleeve, but was not conscious of much else, other than the interminable whirling.

Then it began to slow down, and finally it stopped, causing Harry and Hermione to waver slightly on barely bent knees, like people standing carefully on a floor prone to lurching suddenly and unexpectedly beneath their feet.

Hermione brushed a recalcitrant strand of hair from her eyes, and looked around, her eyes watering a little in the brilliant light.

“Where are we?”

“We're still here,” Harry said in wonder, looking around. “We're still in Avalon.” The enormous time turner stood before them, still appearing to be on the far side of the room, when it actually was not.

“But - but we're not…” Hermione protested, squinting at the sun slanting in the window. “It was late morning. Look at the sun! It's late afternoon now.”

“Well, we only lost a few hours then,” Harry said cheerfully. “The others are probably frantic. I wonder why nobody followed us up here,” he frowned, as the thought occurred to him. Hermione had walked slowly over to the window, in such a distracted way as to look almost like someone other than herself was controlling her footsteps.

She laid her hands, palm down, on the warm stone of the sunny windowsill, and leaned forward to look out. The glass was weather-stained and blurry with age. The sunlight sparkled off of the water, which appeared very blue, and beyond that, verdant green fields, dotted with trees extended as far as she could see.

Harry! Avalon has moved! We're not in the ocean anymore! She called out urgently, and Harry walked to the window to peer over her shoulder.

“Well, bloody hell,” was Harry's useful comment. “At least now we're…” he stopped abruptly, and leaned further over her shoulder, squinting into the sunlight that glared off of his glasses. She could feel his breath on her neck. Hermione saw it at the same time.

“People!” she exclaimed suddenly, nearly breathlessly. “There's someone over there! We could find out where we are… we could get word - I know Mum and Dad…and the Weasleys! They must be frantic with worry by now.” She was rattling on at a breathtaking pace, and was nearly to the top of the curving stone staircase, when Harry stopped her with a simple wordless command.

What? She sent to him, her tone unmistakably annoyed.

Hermione, we still don't know why we came here. We don't know where we are, and we also don't know when we are, Harry said calmly.

But we're still in Avalon…it looks exactly as it did when the time turner activated, she thought hesitantly, feeling a little foolish.

And how old is Avalon? Harry countered, bringing Hermione to a standstill. Color crept up her cheeks, as she silently berated herself for not thinking of that.

And of course, Harry heard every word. He held his arms out to her, and she came willingly into them.

“Harry, I - I wasn't thinking…” she admitted softly, staring out the window behind him, with her cheek against his arm.

“Listen, I don't think we can stay up here forever… but we ought to check the lay of the land, before we go revealing ourselves to anyone. It probably won't be a big deal - or wouldn't, if Avalon hadn't moved. I mean, time turners can't send people back very far, can they?” He phrased the question almost as a rhetorical one, but one look at Hermione's face made him wonder what he'd said wrong. “Hermione?” She was still staring out the turret window, and the color had fled from her face.

“Look,” she said, unable to get her voice above a whisper. He turned from where he was half-leaning, half-sitting against the window. Very distantly, on the shores of the lake in which they sat, was a regal figure on a horse. The horse was clad in vivid saddle blankets, and the person atop it glinted in the sun.

“Is he wearing…armor?” Harry asked cautiously, pressing his forehead to the glass. The sheer brilliance of the sun precluded some of their ability to see clearly.

“That's not possible,” Hermione uttered hoarsely. “Time turners can't - ”

“Obviously they can, Hermione!” Harry said, more sharply than he intended. “Portkeys aren't supposed to be able to send people to a place that's Randomized either.” He recalled their conversation from when they had first arrived on the island.

“How do we get back?” Hermione asked, her eyes drifting over the impossibly huge form of the time turner.

“Maybe if we…” Harry trailed off, walking back over to the time turner, gently touching one of the now motionless rings. Nothing happened. The time turner stood as imposingly still as if it had never moved at all. He took a little more confidence, and this time, gripped the ring, its circumference too wide for his fingers to completely encircle, and shook it with all his strength. Nothing happened - he hadn't even caused so much as a quiver of movement.

“It's not going to move until it's ready to move,” Hermione said, sounding suddenly like Luna. At Harry's dubious look, she flushed defensively. “I know how it sounds. But the time turner brought us here for a purpose…I guess we have to fulfill that purpose before we can go back.”

“That doesn't sound like analytical, by-the-book Hermione,” Harry remarked. “How do we know that this wasn't something completely random? We stumbled on some kind of ancient super-powerful time turner and accidentally activated it.”

“Because it's you, Harry,” Hermione said, matter-of-factly, staring him down. “Nothing involving you has ever been a coincidence. Why did Luna wait to open that door? How did she know how to open that door? Because someone told her when it was going to happen and how to open it! I wouldn't be a bit surprised if she had arranged the portkeys as well.”

“Luna - but she - she doesn't seem like the type to - I thought she was on our side…” Harry said, in a surprised and betrayed tone.

“I never said she wasn't on our side,” Hermione continued calmly. “But, look Harry - time is involved here. Someone who already knew this was going to happen told Luna what to do, to make it happen. Do you see?”

Harry nodded vaguely, though he wasn't sure that he did actually see. “Who could know it happened - er, was going to happen?” He shook his head suddenly, as if dispelling an unwanted mental image. “This is giving me a headache,” he added.

“Maybe it was us!” She exclaimed suddenly, her eyes lighting up. “Maybe we tell Luna that…” she trailed off, looking slightly bereft.

“How are we going to tell Luna - or anybody, for that matter - anything? Correct me if I'm wrong, Hermione, but it doesn't exactly look like we're in our own century anymore!” Hermione could feel the waves of frustration buffeting her lightly, but she knew they weren't really directed at her, but at their situation.

“Well, we're not going to get any answers holed up in here,” Hermione said in a clipped tone. “Let's go.”

Hermione! He called out in protest, but got no reply. With a resigned sigh, he followed her down the staircase.

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

The horseman was nearly directly opposite them as they exited the castle from its wide front doors. At a point near the doors, the island reached out to nearly touch the mainland, spanned by a short footbridge without a railing, probably not even 20 meters across. Harry thought he saw the rider give the castle a nervous glance, and spur his horse on faster.

Hermione calmly walked out onto the green, her feet scarcely leaving imprints on the grass, and began to cross the footbridge.

Hermione, will you wait just a second? Harry hollered out after her, and kicked himself into a fast walk to catch up. But it was too late; the horseman had seen them both, and had drawn his horse up sharply, causing it to rear and neigh shrilly. His eyes were wide with fear and disbelief, and Harry's hand groped for his wand, as the rider drew his sword.

“What manner of devilry is this?” the man said; his voice was strident, but his eyes were wary.

What the hell are you planning on saying? Harry asked Hermione challengingly, as he too crossed the bridge, and stepped up beside her on the mainland. Hermione's eyes were brilliantly alert; she seemed to be taking in much more information than he was even capable of processing. But then he saw her glance over her shoulder and pale visibly.

He looked back as well, and saw the island, no longer clear and brightly visible, as the mainland had been from their vantage point, but shrouded in fog, so that the castle was completely obscured. The wooden footbridge appeared to vanish into the thick mist.

“What business have you on the forbidden island? Naught but madmen venture there. And how came you across the water?”

Harry looked over his shoulder again, in confusion. The bridge was in plain sight. He opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione quickly intervened.

It must be invisible to Muggles or something.

What the hell? Harry exclaimed helpfully. So he thinks we bloody well walked on water? That's perfect.

The knight lowered his sword, so that it was more directly pointed at them. “Speak quickly. The lord Gryffindor will not take kindly to such oddly dressed vagrants wandering about his lands - especially those that commit such heinous acts of sorcery.”

Harry and Hermione exchanged bemused glances. Gryffindor? Heinous acts of sorcery? Harry echoed.

We've got to get him to take us to Gryffindor… obviously the fact that he is a wizard is not known. I didn't think about the possibility of his being noble in the Muggle world too. Hermione thought quickly.

We don't know that it's Godric Gryffindor - what if it's one of his resentful Squib descendents? Harry said, only half joking. Hermione gave him a dirty look.

“Might we see Lord Gryffindor, good sir?” Hermione ventured, a little awkwardly. “We have journeyed quite far to bring him a message.”

The knight's eyes darted suspiciously from Hermione to Harry. “You let your lady speak for you, sir?”

“It is always such a pleasure when she speaks, sir,” Harry replied, unblushingly, but not looking at Hermione. The knight's features softened.

“Ah, yes, I remember when I was in the bloom of new love as well. Hearing my wife's voice does give me much pleasure even still.” Then his eyes roamed back to the mist-enshrouded island, and he seemed to remember what he had seen them doing.

“I will take you to Lord Gryffindor, if only so that you both be under his watchful eye - and the swords and horse of his garrison. Come, you must needs walk, but the distance is not great.” He spurred his horse to a slow trot, circling around so that he was behind Harry and Hermione, and could keep them under watch.

Was that his way of warning us not to try anything funny? Harry asked.

I think so, Hermione replied, worry creasing her brow.

They walked on in what seemed like total silence, although they were occasionally communicating with each other. Not much time had passed before they topped a small rise, and saw the snapping pennants and gay banners fixed upon the stone walls of a large house just on the top of a hill opposite. A small river wound its way between the keep and where they stood, and they could see guards standing on the small bridge that spanned it. The stone wall enclosing the main building, also surrounded many thatched outbuildings of various sizes. The distance seemed vast, and Harry sighed.

Wish we could just Apparate. But I guess we'd be burned at the stake or something.

Wrong century, Harry. Hermione chided, absent-mindedly, watching the bustling keep, her eyes squinting against the slanting late afternoon sun.

“Behold Gryphon Keep,” the knight intoned in a solemn and ceremonial way. Harry and Hermione exchanged glances.

If he's so very attached to Lord Gryffindor, how is it that he knows no magic? Hermione wondered.

Maybe he does, and he thinks we're Muggles, Harry posited. Hermione slanted him a dubious look.

Yeah, we're Muggles who came from Avalon and walk on water, she said sarcastically. Harry shrugged and conceded her point.

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

They made it past the guards on the bridge with very little fanfare or inquiry. It seemed that the knight escorting them, whom they heard addressed as Aetheryd, was someone held in high esteem by the Lord Gryffindor. Harry could tell that Hermione was really starting to tire, as they covered the vast flat field, dotted with small houses, on their way to the main house.

How ironic would it be if Harry Potter spent the rest of his days languishing in the dungeons of Godric Gryffindor? Harry thought idly.

Harry, that's not funny. Hermione said; she was frowning.

Sure it is. Can you die before you're born?

Harry! The reprimand was sharper this time, the retort echoing shrilly in his head. He reached over and took her hand in his, by way of apology.

They walked the rest of the way to the castle in silence, and when they arrived at the gate, Aetheryd spoke to the guards there in some quick dialect that neither of them understood.

Could be Welsh maybe, or Gaelic, Hermione supposed, as the gates swung open with an almost ominous creak.

The hall was made out of huge rough stone, adorned with tapestries and wall sconces, bearing already lit, flickering torches. Rushes were strewn on the floors, and gave their feet an odd shuffling sound as they stood before another large, metal-studded door, presumably leading into some kind of Great Hall.

“Wait here,” Aetheryd said tersely. He seemed anxious, though not with the dread of a subservient reporting back to his master, but with the anticipation of someone seeing another much beloved person, after a protracted absence.

A moment later, he reappeared, holding the door open for them, and ushering them into the large room, rather formally. A hale-looking, well-built man sat in a large, carven wood chair at the far end of the hall, the floor of which was lined with a long, faded runner, richly woven, but obviously very old.

“The Lord Godric Gryffindor,” Aetheryd intoned, and Harry and Hermione exchanged amazed glances as they proceeded up the length of the hall to where Gryffindor sat. Hermione curtseyed, as if she did it every day, while Harry gawked at her for a moment, before attempting an only slightly clumsy bow. They hesitantly stammered their names.

“Aetheryd tells me you've been on the misty isle?” He said, without preamble, somehow not really phrasing it as a question. “And you bring a message?”

Yes, and tell us what the message is? Harry said a little snippily, looking pointedly at Hermione.

“We - we've come - ” Hermione was obviously groping for words, but then took a deep breath and finished with a rush, as inspiration hit. “We've come to speak with you regarding Hogwarts.”

Something - excitement, incredulity? - flared quickly in Gryffindor's eyes, and he leaned forward in interest, before catching himself and abruptly dismissing Aetheryd.

“How do you know of Hogwarts?” he asked, his voice low and intense, as the large doors clanged closed behind his knight. “I've only begun to discuss the matter with - ”

“Helga and Rowena?” Hermione interrupted boldly. Gryffindor opened his mouth and then closed it again.

“I'll ask you again: how do you know of Hogwarts?” His voice was more guarded, and Hermione wondered if she'd said too much too soon.

“We go to school there,” Harry said abruptly, looking the nobleman straight in the eye. There was the flash in Gryffindor's eyes again, as he regarded Harry carefully.

He did not ask, “How is that possible?” but a rather odd question for anyone save a wizard to ask in this situation. “When?”

“About a thousand years from now,” Harry said faintly, sure that they would be thrown in the dungeons for this overt madness.

Gryffindor stood suddenly, and began to pace around his large wooden chair, apparently deep in furious thought. “How?”

“There's - there's a time turner…on the misty island,” Hermione ventured. “The - the castle on the island is - is Avalon.”

“Avalon?” Gryffindor seemed to have a habit of speaking in quick, clipped sentences. “King Arthur's Avalon?” Harry and Hermione both nodded in response. Gryffindor paced a moment longer, and then turned suddenly, spinning on one heel, and came up to Harry, grabbing him roughly under the chin, and looking intently into his face.

“You have - you are - but that's not possible!” He asked suddenly, looking oddly overcome, and somehow angry. Harry and Hermione exchanged bewildered looks. “You have Lilliane's eyes,” the lord said tersely, as if that explained his outburst. Harry and Hermione remained silent, unsure what was safe to say.

Lilliane's eyes? Hermione asked, enunciating the first syllables of the name.

The blood of Gryffindor runs on my mother's side? Harry said, uncomprehendingly. But she - she was Muggle-born.

She must have been descended from a long line of Squibs, so long that the magical blood had been forgotten, Hermione theorized.

“Please milord,” Harry said, “Who is Lilliane?”

“She was my sister,” Gryffindor replied, in the tone one uses when one wants to close the door to a topic of discussion.

“I have my mother's eyes,” Harry ventured, unsure why he was telling the nobleman this. “Her name was Lily.” The two men looked at each other, seeming to simultaneously sympathize and take one another's measure. “We - I - my mother was - ” Harry floundered, finally finishing, “her parents had no magical powers. But - but - when we - we arrived at Avalon, I was singled out as the Heir of Gryffindor,” Harry admitted this hesitantly.

“It is not possible,” Gryffindor said, turning away from them and staring out the window, his eyes glazing over, as he suddenly seemed to be very far away. “I can have no magical heirs. My son, he who brought you in here today, is a Squib.” His face looked weary with much pain, and he suddenly seemed older. “My elder son died three years ago. He had no children.” Sadness floated in his eyes, and Hermione instantly got the impression that it was not that he was upset or embarrassed because his son was a Squib and somehow inferior, but that he was sad and worried and afraid of how difficult his son's life might be as a result of this. “Aetheryd has changed his name from that given to him at birth. We thought it might be easier on him, perhaps no expectations - no taunting - no bigotry against him…if he was simply thought to be a Mûr-gahl.”

Harry had time to half-form a question about the unfamiliar word Gryffindor used, before Hermione quickly supplied,

He means Muggle. It must have been corrupted down to what we say today. And if Aetheryd changed his name… then that must be how Gryffindor's line was lost, it's why no one today realizes you're related to him, she told Harry.

“Perhaps then, sir, if Aetheryd had - has - is going to have children, the magical strain traveled with them, even though they had no manifested magical power of their own,” Hermione offered, struggling with her verb tenses.

Gryffindor appeared to mull this over.

“And in your mother and then you, the magic reasserted itself?” He said thoughtfully.

Imagine Aunt Petunia's face, if she knew, Harry thought a little gleefully. My mother wasn't a freak, the rest of her family are just Squibs!

Hermione remained very quiet, and was regarding Lord Gryffindor gravely. Harry got the impression again that she was taking in more information than he would even be able to notice.

“Sir…milord?” she began hesitantly. “Did you know we were coming?” Both Harry and Gryffindor turned toward Hermione so quickly that she very nearly laughed.

“Pray tell, lady, how could I have possibly known of your coming?” he said, gruffly, not answering, she noticed, her question. She decided not to press him for now, knowing that the whim of this great lord could have them in the lowest cell available in this castle.

“Of course,” Hermione merely replied, and she felt Harry's suspicious gaze on her.

If you think he knows something, why are you letting it go? He asked.

He does know something, and I'm letting it go, because we don't necessarily have to know that now. But that flicker in his eyes - when we told him where we came from - it wasn't surprise, it was recognition…as if something finally made sense.

Hermione, nothing about this makes the slightest bit of sense, Harry remarked with frustration.

“What did you come to tell me about Hogwarts?” Lord Gryffindor asked suddenly, breaking into their apparent reverie, and causing Hermione to start violently, caught as she was in her lie.

“We - we don't have anything to tell you, sir,” Harry admitted, while Hermione wouldn't meet his eyes. “We just knew that mention of Hogwarts would get you to listen to us.”

“I must admit that it is most gratifying to know that Hogwarts is in existence, and has continued to exist for more than a millennium,” Gryffindor murmured, almost to himself, stroking his chin absent-mindedly. “And,” he added, spearing Harry with a sharp, discerning look, “to know that against all evidence otherwise, I do have powerful magical heirs.”

“How d'you know I'm powerful?” Harry asked, a glint of something odd in his glance that Hermione could not quite make out.

“By the Sword and Staff, boy!” Gryffindor swore, looking at him disbelievingly. “You've done naught but exude magic since you made entrance into this room.”

Harry glanced at Hermione, with a look that clearly said, “do I really?” even as the words rang in her mind. Hermione shrugged noncommittally.

“Have you a staff, Harry?” Gryffindor asked.

“I - I've a wand,” Harry replied tentatively.

“Well enough,” the lord conceded. “Can you perform a lighting spell?” Harry nodded, and performed a Lumos spell, once again greeting the room with the dull rush of white noise and almost blinding light pouring from the tip of his wand.

Gryffindor's eyes shuttered with some kind of secretive knowledge, and flustered, Harry Noxed the spell, coloring slightly. Hermione reached out and squeezed his hand reassuringly.

At least we know it's not just because of Avalon, she said in a serene voice.

Suddenly the lord's face cleared, and he threw back his head and laughed heartily, for so long that Harry began to wonder if he had suddenly gone mad.

Everyone would believe I'm the Heir of Gryffindor, if it turned out he was mental, he said sardonically.

“This does bring mirth back into my heart, something I've not felt these three years, since Irminric died,” he said, his smile dying, but the light remaining banked in his eyes. “You, from a long line of Squibs, so long that you were thought to be descended from the Mûr-gahl, and now one of the most powerful wizards to ever step into this hall.” Disappointment flashed across his face. “If only Salazar could - ” he seemed to remember in whose presence he was, and abruptly stopped talking.

“Salazar Slytherin?” Hermione asked quickly. Godric Gryffindor looked at her oddly and smiled.

“Yes, that is - but of course, you would have knowledge of him.”

“We know all about him,” Harry said flatly, his eyes grim, thinking of the Chamber of Secrets, as well as the nightmare who was the last of Salazar's line. Hermione squeezed his hand again, this time in warning.

“His is a noble line and a noble house, strong of blood and might of mind. He is blind to the idea that strength and talent and intelligence may not be dependent on blood. We have tried to reason with him, but - alas! - I wonder if it would be better if - if Hogwarts were founded without the aid of Slytherin gold,” Gryffindor seemed to be speaking to himself again.

Harry found himself wondering ironically what Lord Gryffindor would think of the once-human monster that now marked the end of the Slytherin line. He wondered if it would help the lord to know how their respective lines fared a thousand years in the future, that Gryffindor and Slytherin contended once again - this time for the fate of all wizardkind.

A sudden thought froze him, with his mouth half-open. He shut it quickly with a self-conscious snap.

What if we prevent Slytherin from co-founding the school? He turned to Hermione with a light in his eyes.

Lord Gryffindor was speaking, “Surely you find your journey long and tiring with its bemusement. Would you care to refresh yourselves in the guest chambers before dinner?” he asked, formally, in the manner of a host speaking to an honored guest.

Hermione elbowed him sharply in the side, her eyes bright, giving absolutely no inkling that she had heard his thought at all. When it became apparent that Harry was incapable of speech, having no idea what question had been asked of him, she answered smoothly,

“My husband and I are very honored by your hospitality, my lord.”

Harry jerked his head sharply in her direction, staring at her like a man confounded, as Lord Gryffindor ushered them out the large doors through which they had entered.

Your what? He said, thoroughly confused. She smiled at him brightly, and tucked her arm through his, as they started up the wide stone steps to the upper floor of the castle.

TBC

I promise I am going somewhere with this! I'm not sure about this chapter, but I hope you liked it anyway!

You may leave a review on your way out, if you like!

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Harry Potter and the Isle of Mists

Disclaimer: I can only hope to attain the creative brilliance of J. K Rowling.

AN: This story is AU after OOTP.

Oh, What a Tangled Web We Weave

They proceeded up the stone stairs behind both Lord Gryffindor and Aetheryd, who had joined them just outside the doors to the Hall. Harry wondered briefly how much Gryffindor's son had overheard, but then he was once again distracted by Hermione's blatant lie.

Why did you say that? Harry said. There was no response, just a blank, white silence from Hermione's mind. How the hell does she do that? He thought to himself, not caring if she picked up on it, and half-hoping that she did. HERMIONE! He said again, thinking it with blistering force.

She slammed the door in his face.

He blinked, startled, and nearly tripped up the next two stairs, saved from falling only by her arm around his. She had shut him out of her mind. She hadn't done that deliberately and intentionally during the entire time that this bond had existed between them. The warm, comforting presence of her mind coexisting with his was gone, and he felt bereft, abandoned, rejected…for just a moment.

Then he got angry.

By the time they had traversed a long corridor, lined with tapestries and artwork - and the odd storage case of armor and weaponry here and there - and reached the door to the guest chambers, Harry had worked himself up into a towering temper.

By the time they had entered the suite and the heavy wooden door had closed decisively behind them, he was spoiling for a fight.

“What the hell did you do that for?” he shouted, deciding that - unless she plugged her ears - a verbal approach would be more effective.

“You were yelling at me. I didn't have to listen to that,” Hermione answered primly, and her self-righteousness annoyed Harry further.

“I was asking a legitimate question!” Harry retorted, incensed.

“You were shouting a legitimate question,” Hermione corrected him.

“I didn't shout until you ignored my question!”

Hermione pondered this for a moment, and then opened her mouth and said only, “Oh. What was your question?” Harry waited for an apology, but none was forthcoming. He was irritated, but the curiosity was overwhelming.

“Why did you tell Gryffindor that I was your husband?”

“Is the idea so repulsive to you?” she non-answered.

“Of course it isn't!” Harry retorted, not about to fall into that trap. “Will you stop being such a girl, and just answer me? I know you had some kind of reason!”

“I didn't want them to separate us!” She blurted suddenly, and then looked oddly embarrassed.

“You don't trust him?” Harry asked, in an incredulous way.

“No, I - I don't,” Hermione admitted hesitantly.

“But he's - he's Godric Gryffindor - it's our House,” Harry pointed out, and Hermione shrugged in an “I know” sort of way.

“He's still just a human being, like everyone else. He's not infallible, just because he's legend in our time,” she said, with a little note of accusation in her tone.

“I wasn't - ” Harry began defensively, but came to an ungainly halt.

“He's hiding something from us, I can tell. It may not be anything important, but one can't be too careful in a situation like this.”

“Did you read that in a guidebook for Time Travel?” Harry snarked, sitting down heavily on the edge of the bed. Hermione glared at him.

“Actually I did. I picked up a book on Time Travel in the library last term for - ”

“A bit of light reading?” Harry interrupted, his eyes twinkling a little, as his anger ebbed slightly. “I reckon you were right,” he said, his eyes tripping around the room, taking in the long narrow windows, stone walls, and gigantic fireplace. It was quite similar to Avalon, and he wondered again exactly how old that castle was. “In a place like this, we shouldn't be separated.”

“We should also watch what we say,” Hermione reminded him, in a school-teacherish way. “We don't want to give too much away.” Harry was silent, and Hermione sat down next to him, and nudged his foot with hers. “That last thing you thought? Preventing Slytherin from helping create Hogwarts? Harry, you almost said something out loud about it.”

“So? At least Gryffindor would have fair warning.”

“Have you thought about what could happen? If Slytherin doesn't help start the school? What if it doesn't last a thousand years? What if your parents never meet and fall in love? What if - ?”

“What if it's better?” Harry said, turning on her ferociously. “What if it is a school where anyone can learn magic, without any prejudice against their blood status? What if - what if…” he trailed off suddenly, his eyes alight with a strange fire, as a thought suddenly occurred to him. “If we - if we … got rid of Salazar Slytherin, then Voldemort could never be born. If we - we - we could stop all of this before it ever started, convince Gryffindor of what is at risk, make sure he starts the school, and then we get rid of that snake, end his line now!” Color had risen in his cheeks and green flame flickered in his eyes.

“Harry, we can't! Do you realize what we could alter irreversibly? When we got back, it might be to a future that we couldn't even recognize, or had no place in!”

“But wouldn't it be worth it if we - ?”

“No!” Hermione was shaking her head, real fear in her dark eyes. “No, we couldn't do it. It's too dangerous, too unpredictable. What if killing Slytherin meant someone worse would rise up as a Dark Lord?”

“We've already altered enough just by being here,” Harry countered, stubbornly.

“No, I don't think so,” Hermione argued. “Only Lord Gryffindor knows who we are. And he's a canny enough wizard to realize the possibilities and consequences. If no one else knows, then we could get out of here, without upsetting the balance of things too much.”

“Which begs the question: how do we get out of here? And if we're here for some `purpose', then how do we fulfill that without altering the future? Surely our purpose here is to alter the future in some way,” Harry said, still sounding a little sulky and defensive.

“It probably is…but maybe we're meant to alter the future that hasn't happened yet,” Hermione thought aloud.

“Which means…” Harry prodded.

“Maybe we came here so you could find the way to defeat Voldemort.”

There was a long silence, broken by nothing but the crackle of the fire in the grate.

“That's a pretty fair leap, Hermione,” Harry finally said.

“The last few days haven't been anything but fair leaps,” Hermione pointed out quietly. Harry heaved a sigh, and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and his head in his hands.

“Why can't - just every now and then - my life be uncomplicated?” he asked, rhetorically. Hermione cocked her head to one side, and regarded him compassionately.

“That wouldn't be any fun, now would it?” she asked lightly, a smile curving her lips upward subtly.

“Who sent us here?” Harry said, thrusting himself up to his feet suddenly, in a jerky movement borne of pure frustration. “What are we supposed to do? And how are we supposed to know what that is?” His eyes were beseeching, as he glanced back at her, still sitting on the edge of the rather lumpy mattress.

“I don't have answers, Harry,” she answered apologetically. “I wish I did.” He looked at her longingly, and came back toward the bed, to sit next to her again.

“I'm sorry I yelled at you,” he said finally, breaking another lengthy silence.

“I'm sorry that I left,” she responded, referring to her closing off her mind.

“Don't do it again…please,” he asked. “Even when you're mad at me…I'd rather know about it.” She shook her head, and in her eyes shone all the reverence of a benediction.

“I won't,” she whispered solemnly. She felt her heartbeat accelerate as a light flared brightly in his green eyes, and his gaze dropped deliberately to her mouth.

“So,” he said, in a deceptively casual voice, leaning toward her in an almost imperceptible way that made her stomach clench with anticipation and longing. “Husband and wife, huh?” His lips were only millimeters away from hers.

“Harry,” she said his name in the most interesting way. Was it in protest or pleading? “Don't think that this means - ” A smile curled his mouth - it was so close to hers - and she felt her stomach liquefy and drop into her shoes.

“Too late,” he interrupted, speaking in a throaty whisper. Hermione felt like she was on fire and melting all at the same time, and by the shining look in his eyes, she could tell that he knew and felt everything that she was realizing and feeling too.

“You certainly,” she swallowed, “can turn on the charm when you want t - mmff.” What she had been going to say was cut off suddenly and quite pleasurably, when his lips covered hers. She wound her arms around his neck, as he deepened the kiss, and they had just begun to ever so slightly lean toward the horizontal surface of the bed, when a knock sounded on the door. Harry smothered a curse in her hair, and Hermione tried not to laugh.

“Why does that keep happening?” he asked rhetorically.

“It's probably time for dinner,” Hermione pointed out, practically. “We supposed to be `refreshing ourselves'.”

“I would have felt quite refreshed if I hadn't been interrupted,” Harry said grouchily, causing Hermione to laugh again, as she rose to go to the door. A servant stood there, clad in brilliant scarlet and gold, and informed them, in quite formal language, that the Lord Godric Gryffindor requested the honor of their presence in the dining hall for the evening meal.

“We'll be there shortly,” Hermione said, as graciously as if she addressed servants everyday. Harry watched her with some amazement, recalling her curtsey for Lord Gryffindor earlier.

“How do you know this stuff?” he asked, incredulously, as she shut the door again.

“I read a lot,” Hermione suggested, making it sound more like a question than a statement. She went to the large rough-carven wooden wardrobe, and opened it, perusing it for a moment. After a bit, she pulled out something made out of quite a bit of flowing yellow material, and slid through the small door adjacent, to what Harry assumed was a dressing room.

“Hermione, what are you doing?” he asked, eying the wardrobe dubiously.

“Well, I can't go to a fancy dinner in jeans, now can I?” her voice rang back to him, though slightly muffled by the door.

“How are there clothes in here for us?” he said, examining some of the articles of clothing more closely. There were several pairs of rather tight breeches, as well as tunics and even boots.

“He's a wizard, Harry. What do you expect?” she snorted, and Harry felt a little foolish even for asking. He felt even more foolish when he selected some and retreated to the other side of the wardrobe, where it would be blocking the door that Hermione had gone through, to change.

They finished changing at almost the same time. Harry came around the side of the wardrobe, right as Hermione exited the dressing room, and they both stared at each other in a dumbfounded way.

“Hermione, you - you look…” Harry trailed off, unable to put into words what he was feeling, but Hermione got the gist of his thoughts, and blushed prettily. Her hair was tamed and tucked neatly under some kind of beaded cap. The yellow dress left plenty to the imagination, but it made her look so foreign and elegant and - and not Hermione that he was flummoxed.

Thanks a lot! He heard her comment dryly.

“Shall we?” he asked, turning toward the door and crooking his arm toward her. He felt, rather than saw, her eyes travel over him.

You're not so bad yourself, Potter, she teased.

Were you checking out my arse? You were, weren't you? Harry said, feeling more than a little pleased with himself.

Don't flatter yourself, she retorted, but he felt the burning warmth of embarrassment exuding from her.

Surprising even himself, he pulled her up against him in one smooth motion, and kissed her deeply, until she was leaning against him, limp and breathless.

“When we get back here tonight…” he whispered, the unspoken promise reverberating around the room.

“All right…” she gasped back, and her outright acceptance startled them both. Harry's eyes darkened with desire, and he ran one finger along her hairline, and around the curve of her jaw.

“I don't know how I'm going to make it through dinner,” he admitted with chagrin.

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Hermione was startled and slightly flustered when a servant announced their names in a ringing tone, as they entered the dining hall, giving her Harry's last name. She felt Harry's arm tighten around hers, and knew that he had not forgotten what had transpired a few moments ago in their chamber.

Lord Gryffindor stood to his feet when they entered, as did the other men at the table, including Aetheryd. There was only one other lady present, and Hermione gathered, after a few moments of conversation, that she was the wife of one of Gryffindor's knights.

The servants dispersed large goblets of deep red wine, and then began to serve the first course. Gryffindor introduced Harry as a distant cousin, and revealed no more about their background. Hermione wondered idly how many at the table were actually wizards.

They had nearly finished the first course, when the doors to the dining hall opened again, and the servant stationed nearby announced the arrival of,

“Lord Salazar Slytherin.”

Hermione placed a calming hand on Harry's leg, as he visibly reacted, his head jerking towards the door abruptly, and his eyes widening. She tried to school her features into those of bland interest, as she lifted her eyes to the newcomer's approach.

“Accept my apologies for my tardiness, Godric,” Slytherin said smoothly, speaking in precisely enunciated, educated tones. “Some unexpected and yet unavoidable business occurred when I meant to make my departure.”

Hermione watched him with veiled curiosity. His refined voice did not seem to fit with his appearance. He was well-dressed, in the finest of linens, and his entire being bespoke wealth. But he did not seem to walk as much as shamble, and his arms appeared to be too long for the rest of his body. His features were thick and dull-looking, and dark eyes were piercing, but hooded under heavy brows. A dark shadow of beard blurred the planes of his face.

Gryffindor stood as his latest guest approached, and Hermione was struck instantly by the marked contrast between the two men. Gryffindor was tall, especially for men of the time period, and his chest was broad and well-muscled. His hair was a shiny, chestnut brown, and flowed neatly around his shoulders. His features were not exactly handsome, but chiseled and ruddy with health.

He was coolly polite, but Hermione felt that she would have picked up on the mutual dislike, even if she hadn't heard Gryffindor's reservations about Slytherin earlier.

I always thought Slytherin must have just had a really bad artist make that statue of him in the Chamber, Harry said, obviously observing Slytherin as closely as she had been. But he really is that ugly.

He already looks like he's the product of years and years of inbreeding, Hermione agreed. He's positively simian.

Who's Simeon? Harry said, turning his attention from Slytherin to her, confusion etched on his face. Hermione cast a look of mock disparagement at him, and rolled her eyes.

S-i-m-i-a-n, she spelled for him. It means -

“I have not had the pleasure of being introduced to your new guests, Godric,” Slytherin said suddenly, spearing Harry and Hermione in his gaze. Hermione flushed unwillingly, and had the uncomfortable and slightly paranoid thought that he was aware of their telepathic conversing.

“This is Lord Harry Potter, a distant relative of mine, and his wife, Hermione,” Gryffindor said formally. Slytherin bowed in greeting, and Harry and Hermione both inclined their heads politely.

“The pleasure is all mine,” the future Founder said, and still Hermione got the impression of insincerity. His eyes tripped over Harry and darkened slightly. Hermione's misgivings grew.

We're going to have to be very careful, Harry, she warned him. Slytherin either knows or suspects that something about us isn't right. He's going to try to find out what it is.

Maybe he just doesn't like me because I'm related to Godric Gryffindor, Harry suggested. Although you would think that going back in time a thousand years might help people stop disliking me because of my family, he added, with a pointed reference to Professor Snape.

Possibly, but I doubt it, Hermione replied crisply. And no more of this…if he's a Legilimens, then he might be able to pick up on our talking. I think Dumbledore was, at least partially.

Harry said no more, but Hermione felt his acquiescence in her mind. Slytherin was seated, and another serving of food and wine was quickly brought in.

“Lord Potter,” Slytherin said immediately, sipping his wine. Hermione groaned inwardly. Slytherin obviously had no intention of leaving things alone. Harry looked up at the man, his eyebrows raised politely in inquiry, his knife pausing above his plate. Hermione could feel his nervousness buffeting her like crashing waves, and his hand in hers under the table was clammy. “In which part of the country do you normally reside?”

“The Continent,” Hermione blurted, without thinking, even as Lord Gryffindor had opened his mouth to speak, and Harry threw a helpless, frantic glance toward her. Slytherin's thick brows arched in surprise, and amusement glinted in his shadowed eyes. Hermione knew he was questioning her temerity in speaking out at a table full of men, and her eyes flashed momentarily before she remembered their plight, and dropped her gaze to her plate.

“I thought I heard a tone of Normandy in your voice,” Slytherin said casually, and some of the knights at the table shifted uneasily in their seats.

Oh no! Hermione thought frantically. Have I put us right in the middle of the Norman/Saxon fighting? What year is it? Harry didn't look at her, but his confusion told her that he was completely at sea.

“The Gryffindor family has long held land in Normandy, as you well know, Salazar,” Gryffindor remarked blandly, skewering meat on his knife and eating it, as if it were the most important thing occurring in the room. “Now must you encroach upon my guests during their meal…even if they are related to me?” He smiled, but there was an undercurrent of warning in his tone. Hermione noticed that Aetheryd's hand was under the table, and she wondered if he gripped his weapon.

“It was not my intention to disturb your family during their repast,” Slytherin said silkily, but kindled anger smoldered in his gaze.

“We have not been disturbed overmuch, Lord Slytherin,” Harry said glibly, finding his wit again. Something like a smirk glimmered in his green eyes, and Hermione pinched him under the table warningly. However, he merely continued to eat, and the conversation passed on to more innocuous things.

When the meal had concluded, Godric Gryffindor excused himself with apologies, citing serious business discussions to be had with the Lord Slytherin. Hermione watched them go, feeling no small amount of relief when Slytherin's calculating, penetrating gaze was removed from their vicinity.

I wish I could hear what they're going to talk about, Harry thought wistfully.

We don't know enough about this place to go skulking about, Hermione replied practically. Besides, if we got caught…

Hang on! Harry said suddenly, every fiber in his being going alert. She followed his gaze toward the doors, and saw that Aetheryd was leaving as well, having made his farewells. I'd be willing to bet that he was listening in on our conversation with Gryffindor this afternoon too. It's probably an arrangement between them…but secret, because nobody knows that Aetheryd's his son.

Harry… Hermione did not sound convinced. If we follow Aetheryd and get caught, what reason will we give? We don't have one.

We have plenty of reason, Harry argued back. You saw for yourself that Gryffindor doesn't trust Slytherin as far as he can pitch him.

There's no telling what kind of damage we could do. Dumbledore - Hermione said, starting to recall her instructions about her Time Turner third year.

Dumbledore's not here, Hermione! Harry interrupted her. There's no precedent for being sent this far back. And you said that we were here for some purpose. Maybe this is it.

We don't have enough information yet! She said insistently. There was a flare of increased concentration from him, and he said,

I've got an idea. A glimmer of the idea reached her mind, before he quickly tried to conceal it, and he stood abruptly to address the rest of the party.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, his voice slightly hesitant, as he tried not to trip over the more formal phraseology. “But we've traveled quite a distance today, and will take our leave early. My… wife is fatigued.”

Hermione had come to stand beside him, and had a feeling that she did not look at all fatigued, with her eyes flashing brilliantly.

Harry, what the hell are you planning to do? She demanded and he ignored her, struggling to keep his mind on the conversation, while she reprimanded him inside his head.

“How long have you been wed, milord?” one knight asked, after exchanging a knowing look with another.

Harry! Hermione demanded stridently.

”Three months,” Harry blurted, throwing out the first amount of time that flew into his mind. The knight nodded.

“Such `fatigue' is common so early in a marriage,” he replied, in a congenial way. Harry's face flushed.

“Quite so,” he said in a strained voice, clearing his throat loudly, and causing the men in the room to laugh.

Harry, they think we're leaving because we're - we're - we're randy! Hermione's voice sounded nearly apoplectic with embarrassment.

It was true enough before dinner. Better that than why we're really leaving, don't you think? he retorted, as they moved toward the exit, arm in arm.

I don't think it's a good idea, Harry, she said, as they made their way up the staircase. Remember what happened last time? And we don't have a hospital wing to go to.

I'll be fine,” he insisted, but her brow remained creased with worry.

They reached their room, and he held the door open for her, allowing her to pass in front of him.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked, reading his silence as stubborn intent. He climbed up on the bed, sat cross-legged, and held his hands out to her. She took them, and sat opposite, heedless of the billowing material that she was now crushing.

“What can go wrong?” he asked lightly. Hermione could think of plenty. “No one can catch us out, because we're right here, where we're supposed to be.”

“And what if Slytherin is a Legilimens?” she asked, raising one eyebrow at him.

“You think Draco hasn't had mind training?” Harry shot back, recalling their first attempt.

“Draco Malfoy is a child,” Hermione retorted hotly. “This is Salazar Slytherin we're talking about.”

“Look,” Harry said, in a placating way that annoyed Hermione immensely. “If there's any hint of anything wrong, we'll stop. Okay?” Hermione shook her head and sighed, in a way that said that she wasn't at all pleased with this situation, but would not say anything further against it.

He closed his eyes, and once again, felt the sensation that he was floating away from his body, though he was still distantly aware of Hermione's hands in his. He felt the muscles in his face tighten in concentration, as he tried to find Aetheryd.

Aetheryd? He heard Hermione query.

I thought it might be… better to have… an observer's point of view, he said with effort, and he felt her relax a little at the thought that no one would be having any contact with Slytherin's mind.

He felt himself drifting around the castle, and was beginning to feel the dull origins of a headache, when he heard voices.

“Salazar, this grows tiresome,” came the angry voice of Godric Gryffindor.

“You seemed perfectly willing to accept our arrangement earlier,” Slytherin hissed.

“Just because you are as slippery and fork-tongued as the hideous beast you claim to honor, it does not mean that everyone is so. My family is no threat to you.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Slytherin replied. “But some of your family is indeed a threat to you. Isn't that why you keep it such a desperate secret?”

The room swam into focus in Harry's mind, and he could see Gryffindor's fist clench tightly at his side.

“I love my son,” Gryffindor countered, and Slytherin laughed. It was an unpleasant sound.

“Of course you do, Godric,” he said, in a patronizing tone that held an undercurrent of amusement. “That's why you deny his very existence!” There was a loud thump, as Gryffindor brought his staff forward, and banged it down on the stone floor in clear challenge.

“You go too far, sir!” Gryffindor said, danger dripping from every syllable. Slytherin eyed him contemptuously, cool mockery clear in his eyes.

“Do not forget this, Godric,” he said, in a low intense voice. “We have an arrangement. You will allow me a portion of this school, or the consequences will be of the direst kind. You say you love your son? Then I suggest you act on his behalf.”

Slytherin turned suddenly, his eyes seeming to bore straight into Harry, who tried to step backwards, before realizing that he was not really there. Where was Aetheryd? Was he discovered?

Harry tried desperately to recall the feel of the mattress on which he sat, the clasp of Hermione's soft hands in his. She had not accompanied him. Where was she?

Hermione? He called out desperately. He felt blind, lost, and wondered what would happen if he could not ever regain himself.

The image of a lunging snake filled his vision suddenly, as it sprang toward him with an audible hiss, red jaws wide, fangs dripping with venom. Harry cried out, stumbled - stumbled? - backwards. He couldn't get away in time. The snake would have him.

His scar throbbed as if he'd been stabbed, and his eyes flew open, as his protesting lungs filled noisily with air. He looked around frantically, his vision cloudy, his arms groping for Hermione.

Then he saw her, perched above him - he had fallen supine on the bed - tears trailing down her face, as she shook his shoulders.

“Harry! Harry! Oh, thank Merlin!” She sniffed, her voice cracking. He tried to sit up, as his head reeled, and fatigue began to seep through every part of his body.

“What - what - ” he stammered. “Where were you?” He reached cautiously up to his nose, and found only slight dampness there. He had not been gone as long this time, and Harry took the scarcity of blood as a good sign.

There was a flash of a staircase, blurring under running feet. Tapestries flew by, unheeded, on the walls. There was a clamor of voices and footfalls.

Harry clutched Hermione's sleeve urgently.

“Shit, Hermione!” he swore frantically. “He's coming. He's coming here! Now!”

TBC

Okay, I know the cliffhanger was evil, but it was a good stopping point, and continuing would have made the chapter too long.

I sort of liked this chapter. I hope you liked it too, and hopefully, this update was more timely. The wheels will really start rolling toward resolution now, and I hope that y'all will hang on and enjoy the ride.

Let me also apologize for any anachronisms in this part of the story. I'm doing my best, but I don't claim to be an expert on the 11^th century. I do know that the battle where William conquered England was in 1055, and I'm trying to place the story at some point before that happened. Anyway, details like that shouldn't overly affect the plot.

You may leave a review on your way out, if you like!

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Harry Potter and the Isle of Mists

Disclaimer: I can only hope to attain the creative brilliance of J. K Rowling.

AN: This story is AU after OOTP.

Heart and Mind Sang On Together

“Wh - what?” Hermione stammered, frozen where she was seated on the bed, staring at Harry uncomprehendingly. She had felt his hands go limp around hers, and then he had just collapsed. Next, she had tearfully tried to rouse him for at least one heart-stopping minute, when he had suddenly revived, shrieking at her that someone was coming. “Who?” she asked, trying to gather her muddled thoughts into some kind of order.

“Slytherin,” Harry said insistently. “He knew I was there. It - it - a snake, and the corridor - he's coming…” He was practically incoherent, but his green eyes were blazing, and Hermione felt his contagious panic seeping into her mind as well. She clasped her hands together to prevent their trembling.

“He - he can't - we're in Lord Gryffindor's house,” she tried to say logically. “What could he do? He wouldn't get away with - ” She stopped abruptly, as Harry turned, alert and cat-like toward the door. Every line of his body exuded tension, and Hermione suddenly had an image of hordes of angry, shouting men…with torches…. She shook away the ridiculous picture - whether it came from his imagination or hers, she did not know - and found Harry lunging toward her, pulling the beaded cap from her head, and tossing it carelessly across the room. Her hair tumbled down around her shoulders, and she looked at him in bewilderment, sputtering confused protests.

“You're going to have to play along, Hermione,” he muttered in a low voice, a twinkle managing to appear in his eyes, despite the precariousness of their situation. “How do you get this damned dress off?”

She stared at him for a fraction of a second, her eyes widening in disbelief, before she finally realized what he was doing. He nodded at her sudden cognition, and began to unlace the front of his tunic.

She quickly kicked off her soft shoes, and reached around behind her to pull at the tie of the dress. It gave, and she felt the material loosen around her considerably, sliding off of one shoulder. The flash in Harry's eyes as he noticed, made her stomach flip. She heard two muffled thumps on the floor, and realized that he must have shed his boots.

He scrambled back onto the bed then and reached for her, and something like uncertainty leapt into her eyes.

“Harry, I never - ” she began, twiddling self-consciously with the loose neckline of her dress, unsure of how exactly she meant to complete that sentence.

“Follow my lead,” he whispered, his mouth suddenly quite close to hers. She felt his breath hot on her cheek, and felt a thrill of anticipation thrum through her, which was suddenly amplified and returned.

You're enjoying this! She accused.

What's not to enjoy? He replied cheekily, and then kissed her suddenly, sweeping all other thoughts from her mind. He began to trail kisses down the side of her neck, to the new expanse exposed by her unlaced gown, and she struggled to keep her mind on their predicament, as she further unfastened the lacings on his shirt, and found her hand wandering to his waist to unfasten his pants.

Harry stopped what he was doing, and looked at her suddenly, his breath hitching unevenly in his chest.

“Just - just - you know, because they're coming. We should make it look real,” she explained, blushing brilliantly.

“Right,” he breathed abruptly, covering her mouth with his again, as he ran his hands over her sides, feeling the heat of her skin radiating through the soft linen of her dress. Outside, they could hear a clamor, though it sounded distant through the thick stone. There seemed to be an entire army mounting the wide stone stairs, and men's voices were raised in what sounded like angry protestations.

Someone beat on their door with such force that Hermione thought it would collapse in on its hinges.

“What in God's name!?” Harry said loudly, for the benefit of the listening ears outside, as he rose and made for the door. Hermione watched him admiringly, as he stalked to the door, with a wrath that was more than just put on, she was sure. He certainly made a picture, rumpled, half-dressed, with mussed hair and lips that looked like they had been thoroughly kissed - and recently so. He opened the door, and leaned between it and the jamb, blocking whoever had interrupted from her view. “I beg your pardon?” Harry said, in the most affronted tone he could manage.

“Where is she?” came the smooth, yet unmistakably angry tones of Salazar Slytherin. Harry shifted his weight slightly from foot to foot, and Hermione could just see the shoulder and sleeve of Slytherin's tunic.

“I beg your pardon,” Harry repeated, his voice carrying a lower, much more dangerous tone the second time.

“Salazar, in the name of all that is decent - how can you have the effrontery to act in this manner in my house!?” came Gryffindor's voice from somewhere further away. He must have chased Slytherin to their room, when he realized what his business partner was going to attempt. There was a murmur of voices, unseen in the hall, that Hermione supposed must be some of Gryffindor's men.

“I will ask you again, sir, where is your wife?” Slytherin enunciated, his dark eyes flashing menacingly. Harry made no reply, but opened the door wider, enough to allow part of the tumbled bed, and his own sad state of dress to be seen. Hermione shrank toward the bed linen, unsure of how much the intruder could see.

“Where do you think she is?” he asked.

“Someone attempted to invade my mind as I was in conference with Lord Gryffindor. That manner of insult, I will not tolerate, especially from some foreign sorceress - for I believe it was she.”

Hermione was startled by Harry's sudden laugh; it was jarring in the thick tension which permeated the room.

“We have been wed but three months, sir,” Harry said. “And I can assure you that, at this moment, she has no interest in anyone's mind, most especially yours.” Slytherin's lip curled slightly at the pointed insult, and Gryffindor finally muscled his way forward, having evidently hoped for a politic resolution, but seeing that it was unlikely.

“Salazar, you go too far! You have disturbed my guests, my family, and made scurrilous and unfounded accusations against a lady. If there were not - ” Gryffindor stopped abruptly, and Harry wondered if he was thinking of Slytherin's knowledge of Aetheryd's genealogy. “You have worn out your welcome this night. You will apologize to Lord Potter, and quit this place at once.”

Slytherin's eyes had lit unpleasantly, as Gryffindor spoke, and Harry had the uncomfortably feeling that he knew of their subterfuge, though he was not in a position to do anything about it presently.

“My apologies, sir. It appears that I acted hastily and under mistaken impression,” Slytherin said, bowing slightly. “I ask pardon from your lovely wife, and will nowise further disturb your evening.” His lips curled in a mirthless smile of obsequy, even as his eyes remained flat and fathomless with insincerity.

He must have disappeared from the doorway, for Hermione heard Gryffindor bark, “Escort him from the keep immediately.” Harry then had a short, whispered conversation with someone, presumably his ancestor, and then, closing the door quietly, returned to the bed.

“He is an Occlumens,” Harry said ruefully, as he sat back on the bed, gathering Hermione into his arms, almost absent-mindedly. “I felt him try - try to see into my mind. I don't think he succeeded.” Hermione curled up next to him, with her head on his chest.

“He didn't.” Harry chuckled softly.

“Of course, you were there,” he said, with a smile in his voice that also sang through her mind. “You helped, didn't you?” he asked. Hermione shrugged in an off-handed way. “No, you did, didn't you?” Harry said, finding this line of questioning worth pursuing. “Did you hear me? I sounded like a - like a - ” Harry was at a loss. “Well, I didn't sound like a normal bloke from the twentieth century!”

Hermione's eyes twinkled. “I told you I read a lot.”

“No wonder he thinks it was you. He obviously thinks I don't have the mental capacity of a flobberworm,” Harry said. Hermione looked at him with apology, but he smiled at her and took her hand, kissing it. “It's a good thing you're here,” he said, enunciating every syllable and infusing his words with sincerity.

“He knows something,” she said, presently, worry clouding her dark eyes again. “I can't think how, but I'm almost sure of it.”

Harry nodded his agreement, kissing her temple. “When Gryffindor ordered him out, he looked at me, like - like he knew what I was doing, even though he couldn't do anything about it right then, like he was promising to finish this later.” Hermione shook her head, deep in thought.

“It looks like Gryffindor's and Slytherin's relationship with each other wasn't very sound to begin with. If our coming here destroys that…” she trailed off, and Harry sighed.

“We've been over this, Hermione. We could have been sent here to do just that.” She sighed against him.

“Maybe you're right,” she finally admitted quietly, trying to imagine Hogwarts without the fourth school, if Slytherin left prematurely or never helped at all, or Hogwarts as something they would not even be able to recognize.

“I think this really embarrassed Gryffindor,” Harry said, after a moment. “He was tripping over himself to apologize to me. He said that the practice of mind-invasion was Dark Magic, and that to accuse me of being a Dark Wizard openly was the highest degree of insult.”

“Actually,” Hermione countered in a prim voice, “I believe I was the one being accused of performing Dark Magic.”

“That's right,” Harry realized suddenly. “I guess being married to a Dark Witch would make me Dark by association.”

“It's odd, though,” Hermione mused, “how Legilimency isn't seen as Dark Magic anymore. I mean, in our time. I think that - ” but she was interrupted by a particularly elaborate yawn from Harry, and she elbowed him in the ribs at his teasing.

Something flickered in his eyes as she fixed him with a mock glower, and he reached up to run his fingertips ever so slightly under the still-loosened neck of her gown. A tremor shivered involuntarily over her body in response.

“I want to finish what I started with my wife,” he whispered, smiling over the last word, the desire in his barely audible voice rendering her weak in the knees.

“Harry, we're not really married,” she reminded him weakly.

“But we are bonded,” he countered, tugging at the gown playfully. “Avalon said so.” Hermione swallowed, trying to think of a response, and wondering why she was arguing with him. “Besides, what if Slytherin came back?”

“He can't come back,” Hermione answered, with a distinctly distracted air. “There are anti-Apparation wards up. Why do you think everyone ran up here, instead of just Apparating?” Her hands had penetrated his open tunic and were wandering lightly over the smooth planes of his chest.

“It's probably best to be sure, to be…safe…” was the last thing she heard him say before his lips crashed into hers. Material slid away, and the heat of his skin seared and delighted her.

The charm? She heard him ask quickly, as he fought for control.

I did it in the dressing room while I was changing for dinner, she admitted, flushing scarlet.

You little tramp! He grinned, and the transparent affection in his voice washed over her, warm and familiar, as he kissed her deeply yet again. She felt his rapture and his reverence, and he felt her anticipation and her pleasure. The awkwardness was minimal, since they could so clearly read and respond to each other's emotions and desires. She was able to wonder wildly why they hadn't done this before, and then she gave herself over to ecstasy.

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The four students remaining at Avalon walked slowly away from the studded, heavy door, as if they were uncertain what to do next, but had decided that this action would be as good as anything else. Ron and Ginny, in particular, looked dazed, and Draco appeared to wish that he was almost anywhere else. Luna was nearly floating down the hallway, an ethereal half-smile playing across her face, her eyes dreamy and distant.

Those eyes darkened and sharpened back into awareness when Ron yanked her into an alcove, his hand tightly gripping her upper arm.

“I want to know what is going on, and I want to know it now,” he demanded, his face only centimeters from hers. Luna's eyes searched his face without fear, and she stepped back from his grasp, and said,

“What do you want to know?” Ron blinked at her, startled. He had been ready for a fight, for some kind of bizarre duel with words, and the ease with which she acceded to his request nonplussed him.

“Where do I start?” he asked sarcastically. “Where did Harry and Hermione go? Why wouldn't you let me follow? How did you know what's going to happen? Did you bring us here?” He paused. “D'you want me to keep going?”

Luna looked vaguely troubled, and she shrugged.

“You're not going to believe me. Nobody ever does.” She said this without regret or despondency, but merely as if it were a slightly unpleasant, but inescapable reality. Ron leveled his blue gaze on her, with as much seriousness as she'd ever seen from him.

“Try me,” was all he said.

“Three weeks ago, I had a dream,” she began, stopping when Ron's eyes began to roll heavenward, almost of their own accord. Luna said nothing, but her face clearly said, See? I knew you wouldn't believe me.

“No, wait, Luna!” he said, catching her arm again - though more gently this time - as she made a move to leave. “Please! I'm sorry. Please tell me.”

“I had a dream,” she repeated. “Harry and Hermione were in it. At least, I think it was them. They were wearing odd clothes, and looked… different - more grown up somehow. Harry told me to make the portkeys - three of them - and when to do it. He told me how to set them to go to Avalon, said that I'd be able to do it, but he didn't say why or how he knew this. But when I tried, I was able to set them - I guess now because I'm descended from the Faerie. He told me that I'd need to go with them to Avalon, and that I should wait until the next day to let them into the locked room.”

“So, you dreamed that Harry told you to do things, and you - you just said `okay', and went and did them?” Ron sounded flabbergasted.

“Wouldn't you have?” Luna asked serenely, sounding mildly surprised. Ron opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, trying to formulate an answer. Harry's my best mate. Would I have accepted anything a dream-Harry told me, and followed its instructions? He shook his head. No sodding way!

“So how do we get them back?” he finally asked, trying to sound matter of fact.

“We don't,” was Luna's chilling answer. “We wait for them to come back.”

“Wait?” Ron gaped. “How long?”

Luna shrugged, as if the whole thing were no big deal. “Harry didn't tell me that.”

“Harry didn't tell you - ” Ron muttered to himself, and broke off abruptly, shaking his head. “Do you mean that there's nothing we can do?”

“We can go back to the library,” Luna suggested mildly. “I think Hermione would like us to continue researching the Claviomnis.”

“The Clavi - ” Ron said, his mind groping desperately for what that was. They had just talked about it this morning. Some ruddy great rock, with powers...I think. “Why? What's that got to do with Harry and Hermione being lost?”

“They aren't lost,” Luna corrected, and Ron watched her for a moment, his eyes narrowed in concentration.

“Then you know where they are,” he said. It was not a question. “Where are they?”

“I already told you that they're in Avalon,” she said, with maddening calm.

“They're not - I went up there - they - ” he paused, deep in thought, the odd contraption in the tower room flitting through his mind. It looked sort of like a… “When are they?” he asked, finally putting all the pieces together.

“I don't know,” she said, honestly. “But the Claviomnis has something to do with it.”

“How do you know that?” Ron asked, desperation fraying the edges of his voice.

“Because, in my dream, Hermione was holding it.”

“But - but that book Hermione was reading said - said it - ”

“Disappeared a thousand years ago,” Luna finished for him.

“D'you think they've gone back…” The redhead's eyes widened as the concept sank in, no longer doubtful of Luna's story.

“So, shall we go to the library?” Luna asked, as if she hadn't just told Ron that his two best friends had traveled a thousand years into the past. Ron swept her with a dazed glance, and moved back out into the corridor.

“Yeah…sure…” he said. As they walked in silence - Ron was still trying to process the information that Luna had given him - Ginny came careening suddenly around the corner.

“Where have you two been?” she said dramatically. “I look up, and suddenly I'm alone with the ferret? He's - ” She noticed the look on Ron's face then, and paused. “What's going on?”

“That thing was a time turner,” Ron said dully. “Harry and Hermione have gone back in time a thousand years. We have to wait for them to get back.” He said this in the same way that one would say, “we have to pick them up at the airport.”

Ginny's eyes flicked back and forth from Ron to Luna, as she too assessed the situation. She did not ask how Ron or Luna knew what they knew, but merely accepted it as a given.

“So what do we do to help them?” she asked, so matter of factly, that Ron had a sudden urge to hug her tightly.

“Luna thinks we should do more research on the Claviomnis,” Ron said, clearing his throat as he tried to adopt a more business-like tone.

“I don't know where Malfoy's got to,” Ginny grumped, as she fell into step with them. “We don't have to invite him to our party, do we?”

“Stupid git,” was all the reply she got from Ron.

They reached the library, but Ginny had not yet touched the shiny, worn door handle, when a horrible, wailing scream wended its way to their ears, rising and falling like the shriek of some hideous siren. The three of them exchanged alert and frightened looks, and Luna's eyes looked suddenly ablaze.

“Malfoy?” Ginny wondered.

“Where the hell is he?” Ron asked. Luna's hair was blowing about her face again, and she seemed to quiver slightly, like the disturbed surface of a pond of water, in an unseen breeze.

“He's found the Oracle.”

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Harry awakened slowly the next morning, a smile playing across his face before he was even conscious enough to remember why. Then he did recall, and the smile widened.

“You look like the cat that got the canary,” Hermione said, her voice still rough from sleep.

“Got you….'sbetter,” he mumbled, scrunching up and then stretching languorously, finally relaxing again with an audible groan. His eyes flickered open to find her watching him. She smiled at him, a lazy smile that did funny things to his heart…among other things. “Damn, Hermione,” he finally said, making her laugh out loud.

She scooted over closer to him, and reveled in his warmth, as he wrapped his arms around her.

“Do you regret it?” she asked, her eyes looking simultaneously hopeful and uncertain.

Not for a second, came the unhesitating answer, resonating through her mind. Tears sprang to her eyes, and her smile was watery, as she tried to blink them away.

I love you. It wafted through her thoughts like a gentle caress, and she closed her eyes to better enjoy the sensation. When she opened them, he was still looking at her, and she leaned over and kissed him thoroughly.

“It feels early,” Harry said. “But I'm hungry. Is there some kind of rope you pull to get breakfast around here?” Even as he completed his sentence, a house-elf suddenly appeared in the room with a slight crack. Hermione self-consciously pulled the coverlet higher up around her neck.

“Do the lord and lady desire food to be brought to their chambers, or will they break the fast with the Lord Gryffindor in the Dining Hall?” the elf asked, formally, his eyes fixed at some point to the left and above their heads.

“Is Lord Gryffindor eating now?” Hermione asked.

“It is the Lord Gryffindor's custom to have his morning meal an hour after sunup,” the elf answered. “He is expected in the Dining Hall in a quarter-hour.”

“Then we shall eat with him,” she said, and the elf bowed and vanished. “What?” Hermione said, a little defensively, at Harry's questioning gaze. “I think there's a lot that needs to be discussed.”

“Mm, I suppose,” Harry said, somewhat noncommittally. “Why do you reckon Gryffindor has house-elves and regular servants?”

“He's a Muggle nobleman,” Hermione said. “He probably has the servants for when the Muggles visit. But I bet the house-elves do the dirty work.” Her brows lowered and her face puckered into a frown.

“They probably do,” Harry answered. “Hermione, remember when we are.” He was half-afraid that she'd start off on some elf crusade while they were there, and if she thought house-elf equality was an unwelcome subject in their day… he couldn't imagine how much worse it would be a thousand years earlier.

“I know,” she replied, the dark look passing from her face. She sat up, still holding the sheet to her front. “Shall we get dressed?” she asked. He was looking at her lasciviously.

“I'd rather you didn't,” he replied candidly. She colored, but smiled, and marched into the dressing room, as regally as a queen, even with the sheet wound round her body.

When she exited the dressing room, Harry had dressed as well, opting for clothes that looked more casual, at least to his admittedly inexpert eye. Hermione was wearing a light blue dress, with some kind of long sleeveless overdress on top of it, made of some kind of heavy brocade-like material. Her hair was pulled back in a long plait, and had ribbon woven in it.

Harry raised his eyebrows when he saw her, and Hermione laughed a most un-Hermione-like laugh.

“I love these clothes,” she admitted girlishly.

“They suit you,” Harry said warmly, his obvious regard for her nearly palpable in the room. Exchanging fond looks, they went down to breakfast.

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Gryffindor stood as they entered the room, obviously glad to have them down to break the fast with him. He did still look rather uneasy, because of the events of last night, Hermione supposed. She was proven right, when he determinedly approached her, took her hand, and kissed it.

“My lady, I beg your pardon for the intrusion to which you were subjected last night. That it happened in my own house is a perfidy from which I shall not soon recover. You have my humblest and most sincere apologies,” he said, so eloquently that he rather annoyed Harry. Hermione felt his irritation and smiled cheekily at him.

“No offense is taken, my lord,” she answered graciously, and he escorted her to her chair. The two men were then seated as well.

“Salazar has long had a suspicious and furtive mind,” Gryffindor said, as he began to eat. “He supposes that since his own mind is worm-eaten with lies and calculations, then so must the minds of all others be as well.”

“What has Slytherin against you?” Harry asked curiously. Gryffindor let out a short bark of mirthless laughter.

“I embody everything that he despises. And he likewise that which I despise,” the lord replied. “He believes that bloodlines are paramount, that who one's ancestors were matters more than any intellect or wit or innate ability. He also believes in the usefulness of some forms of Dark Magic, and I believe he has been experimenting with them on the Mûr-gahl. There is rumored to be a curse he has developed, a curse that is said to kill without a wound, a curse which is impossible to block or defend.”

“Avada Kedavra,” Harry said quietly, without thinking, as Hermione flashed him a warning look. Gryffindor's lips thinned, but he spoke without anger.

“We do not speak the words that compose the curse,” he said. “It saddens me much that you still know of this curse, even so far into the future.”

“How can you let this happen?” Hermione burst out suddenly, ignoring Harry's quelling hand on hers under the table, and quite forgetting the warning that she had been the one to give him. “Why have you done nothing to stop him?” Gryffindor's eyes flashed defensively, and Hermione suddenly wished she had tempered her passionate words.

“It is not as simple as the lady believes,” he said coolly. “Salazar Slytherin is a highly intelligent and cunning wizard. Wits and quick thinking are commendable traits, traits that should be cultivated in the next generation of young wizards…and witches,” he added, nodding at Hermione. “His gold can bring much to the school that we wish to create, and his instruction likewise. He is also too dangerous to dismiss summarily. There is much that he knows, and would use destructively to his advantage, if he were pressed.” Gryffindor's eyes suddenly appeared distant and troubled.

“Your son?” Harry asked, as if he had not witnessed their conversation the night before. The mighty lord nodded.

“You will understand,” he said to Harry, “when you beget a child, how difficult it is to make wise decisions regarding their welfare. One constantly doubts oneself, wondering which decision would ease the path down which their child is destined to walk. Though the Mûr-gahl concern me as well, with regard to Lord Slytherin. I would not leave them to his perfidious devices. It may be better that he is kept on tight rein and watched closely, than cut off and so persuaded to perform evil at will.”

“The most difficult choice to make, sir,” Harry offered, “is between that which is right or that which is easy.” Hermione squeezed his hand tightly, as he echoed their venerated Headmaster's words.

Gryffindor speared Harry with an inscrutable look, and rose abruptly, clattering his knife noisily on his plate.

“Come,” he said in a friendly voice, though it was clearly not a suggestion. “You have not yet seen the Gryffindor treasury. Would that you would inherit some of these things, if the line were not to be lost. Still, there is much to admire.” He stopped at the door, and turned, beckoning them to follow.

They proceeded down a meandering passageway, taking so many turnings that Hermione quite lost track of where exactly in the castle they were. Finally, Gryffindor stopped before a heavily barred door, with an armed guard standing before it. At the sight of Gryffindor, he stepped aside and bowed low. The lord of the castle placed his hand on a metal plate just above the doorknob, and, in response to his touch, the latch dislodged with an audible clank. Gryffindor stood to one side, enjoying their awe and wonder, as a parent would enjoy a child's.

The very air of the room seemed to shimmer metallically with the amount of gold that lined the walls. Brilliant swords with elaborate hilts leaned on the walls, next to shelves full of jewel-encrusted goblets. A beautifully wrought pensieve stood on a marble pedestal in one corner. There were also many trinkets of indeterminate origin, some of which were moving of their own accord. Harry noticed a large, ornate mirror standing in the corner opposite the pensieve, an odd language flowing around the top of its frame, and he caught his breath.

“Erised,” he said, in a disbelieving whisper, wondering what it would show him if he were to look into it now. He also wondered how in the world Dumbledore had come by it, a thousand years hence.

He took an almost unwilling half-step toward the mirror, feeling the pull of it much as he had during his first year, but Hermione distracted him with a gasp of her own.

She pointed toward a large, many-faceted crystal on a smaller pedestal and pronged stand of its own, which seemed to pulsate with the reflection of all the flickering light and color in the room. Harry could feel the magical power emanating from it, much as they had with the Time Turner in the tower at Avalon.

He heard her voice in his mind, even before she spoke aloud.

It's the Claviomnis.

TBC

Finally! No more interruptions for our favorite couple. I hope you liked this chapter. I thought it was okay.

Thanks to all those who corrected me about the year of the Battle of Hastings being 1066, not 1055. I feel like a moron, especially since I was mainly using the year to make a point. Oh well.

I would really appreciate a review, after you read this chapter. The feedback is both really helpful and encouraging. I don't have a lot of time to reply to every review, but I try to answer any questions, if they don't require me to give away the plot in advance. So anyway…review as your conscience leads you, I guess!

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Harry Potter and the Isle of Mists

Disclaimer: I can only hope to attain the creative brilliance of J. K Rowling.

AN: This story is AU after OOTP.

What You See Is What You Get

The last resounding echoes of the mysterious scream had not yet faded away before Ron, Luna, and Ginny were all moving toward the source of the noise, their faces determined, but set.

“If I get myself killed because of that ruddy git…” Ron muttered, not finishing his threat, but leaving his implication clear.

“He's in no danger,” Luna said calmly. “He just saw something that he did not wish to see.” They descended the staircase, and rounded the corner into the large room in which they took their meals, their footfalls echoing loudly on the marble floor.

Ron stopped abruptly. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting to see - Malfoy curled up in the fetal position, sobbing, maybe, with something seven feet tall and really freaky-looking looming over him - but it wasn't Malfoy standing at the large window, with his back to them, hands casually in his pockets. Ginny did notice that while the arms were slack and relaxed, the hands hidden in his pockets were knotted into fists.

Malfoy's suddenly more alert stance made Ron fully aware that the other boy knew of their presence, but the Slytherin did not turn.

“You all right, Malfoy?” Ginny finally ventured, her voice sounding high and hollow, as it carried across the cavernous room.

“What do you care?” Malfoy said rudely, his voice somehow less strident than it usually appeared.

“Look, you sodding git,” Ron exclaimed, finding his tongue, “she was just asking, because we heard you screaming your head off like a bloody girl. We just wanted to make sure you weren't dead.” Ron's tone made it clear that he had been sorely disappointed in this matter.

“What did you see, Draco?” Luna said, in that dark, elegant voice. The sourceless wind wound around the Hall, ruffling everyone's hair. Malfoy turned then, wheeling furiously, as if he would attack Luna, but he reined his emotions under iron-tight control. Ron squinted at him, curiously. From this angle, it looked almost like - like Draco Malfoy had been crying. Not bloody likely! Ron thought, shaking his head with disbelief.

“Does the - that thing - foretell the future?” Malfoy asked, not answering Luna's question, as he tried to sound as apathetic and disdainful as he usually did.

“Sometimes,” Luna said cryptically. “At other times, it shows that which is possible, or that which is most desired, or….”

“Okay, I follow your general idea,” Malfoy said sarcastically. “We have no bloody way of knowing what it shows.” Luna leveled him with an icy gaze that would have sent Ron fleeing for his room, quaking in his trainers. “It could be a bloody hallucination.”

“Yes, a blot of mustard or a crumb of cheese,” Luna replied with unbelievable equanimity. Everyone else in the room stared at her with undisguised bemusement. “Perhaps I could enlighten you,” she continued, “if you would tell me what you saw.” Malfoy looked at her dubiously, and sighed, his gaze seeming to ask what he really had to lose at this point.

“I saw my mother,” he said, with a quick look at Ron, as if daring him to laugh. “She was - someone was hurting her.” A strange kind of spasm passed over his face. “She was being… ripped apart.” His voice was strangled, as his throat closed over the hideous phrase.

Ron was looking at him with a sort of disgusted fascination. Ginny's face was that of begrudging sympathy, and Luna's face was a mask, completely unreadable.

“Where was she?”

“At Malfoy Manor.”

“Who was hurting her?”

“My father.” At this bald admission, Ginny gasped audibly, and Malfoy was refusing to meet any of their gazes.

“Why?”

“How the hell should I know?” Draco burst out angrily. Luna merely blinked at him placidly, keeping her eyes fixed on him. Ron watched this battle of wills with undisguised amazement.

“You do know…don't you?” the blond girl insisted serenely. Malfoy moved so quickly that Ron was forced to lunge between the boy and Luna. Even as Ron arrived at his destination, though, Malfoy had checked his movement, and was standing once again at the window, staring out at nothing, apparently.

“He was doing it because he told him too,” Malfoy finally said, in a weary voice that sounded a thousand years old. There was no need for him to elaborate about the antecedents to his pronouns. They all knew who he was talking about. “My family has always been loyal to the Dark Lord, always,” he said.

Yeah, except when your sniveling cowardly hides were in danger, Ron thought derisively. Malfoy turned and met his gaze with such a quelling stare that Ron worried suddenly that the Slytherin had read his mind.

“We know how to protect our interests,” he said stiffly. “But as soon as he'd returned, my father was at his side! It got him arrested!”

“We already know where your lousy father was the night Cedric died, and the night Sirius died,” Ron sneered.

Malfoy's eyes were wide and glazed, as if he were still seeing the vision from the Oracle, and he spoke as if he had not heard Ron's rejoinder at all.

“If this is how he rewards loyalty, faithfulness, and aid, then…” his voice trailed off, and became so low that Ginny was not sure that he'd intended to speak aloud at all. “Then what's it all for?”

The two Weasleys stared at him, unsure how to respond to that comment. Luna hummed a tuneless song, and picked at a loose thread on her sweater sleeve.

“You've a choice, Draco,” the nymph-like girl spoke suddenly, her eyes focused on the wayward strand of yarn. “You can change that vision, keep it from happening,” she looked at him then, and her wide blue eyes were intent, seeming to produce a light of their own.

“And just how I am supposed to do that?” Draco inquired, trying to scoff, but not quite succeeding.

“The path on which you now walk leads you to that end,” she said, and drifted from the room still humming.

“Well, there you have it, Malfoy. Clear as crystal,” Ron said cheekily, an irrepressible impish part of him still rather enjoying Malfoy's discomfiture.

“Go to hell, Weasley!” Malfoy snarled, before striding angrily from the room as well, his hands still buried deeply in his pockets. Ginny's eyes followed him, before returning uncertainly to her brother.

“Maybe I should go talk to him,” she ventured, rocking on the balls of her feet.

“Why would you want to do that?” Ron was incredulous. “He'll just insult you, me, our family, wonder why in the hell you'd want to help him, and assume that you've got something to gain by it.” He sniffed disdainfully. “Just because that's the way he operates.”

“Look, Ron, he's obviously upset. He's apparently seen something terrible. Why shouldn't I go try to make him feel better?” Ginny asked, sounding for the moment more plaintive, than angry.

“Because he's - he's - he's Malfoy!” Ron spluttered, swinging his hands wide as if it were patently obvious. “He's practically not even human. And you just heard him admit to backing Voldemort.”

“I heard him admit that his father backs Voldemort,” Ginny answered, a little more stridently.

“Great Merlin's Ghost!” Ron swore. “You're not going to start being nice to him too? Where is Harry when you need him?”

“He is a complete and utter git,” Ginny admitted. “That's never been up for debate. But he's stuck here, just like we all are, and he probably just wants to go home, and he just saw - just saw his mum…” she trailed off.

“He says he just saw his mum,” Ron muttered. “How do we - ”

“I'm going now!” Ginny sing-songed, in an “I'm not listening” tone. She walked purposefully from the room in search of Malfoy. Merlin, that's weird, Ron thought, as the click of his sister's shoes died away.

Only then did he realize that he was standing alone in the middle of this enormous room, where Malfoy had been screaming bloody murder only a few moments ago. He cleared his throat somewhat nervously, and tried to nonchalantly stroll for the door. He had covered about half the distance to the entrance, when there was a sudden noise like rushing wind or water and a blinding purple light.

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Hermione walked toward the pulsating crystal slowly, as if transfixed. She reached out her hand, fingers extended, but stopped before actually touching it. She was actually able to feel the power that emanated from it.

“You know of the Claviomnis then?” Gryffindor asked, from where he leaned against the doorjamb. Hermione nodded, uncertain about saying anything further, and definitely not wanting to say anything about the disappearance of the artifact. “It is a highly powerful magical object, rumored to have been made by Merlin himself.” He said this with a distinct air of pride, and Harry suddenly remembered their mutual supposed descent from King Arthur.

“What does it do, my lord?” Hermione asked, and Harry could see her neck muscles quiver as she swallowed hard, trying to sound casual.

“There are many rumors…” Gryffindor smiled. “I confess there have not been a large number of incidents wherein it has been used. In fact, there have been none at all, in recent memory…save one.”

“Why?” Hermione asked.

“The stone is so powerful that only the very powerful can control it. To safeguard against its misuse by one of evil intent, Merlin placed within it the constraint that four of pure bloodlines must use it with harmony of purpose. This would also prevent a Mûr-gahl from being able to wield it unknowingly.”

Harry could feel the thoughts in Hermione's mind flow past him at a dizzying speed. Her eyes were narrowed, as she thought furiously.

“You've already built it!” she blurted suddenly, her voice a little wheezy from excitement. Gryffindor looked mildly surprised, but nodded.

“Hogwarts?” Harry said, with somewhat more than mild surprise.

“Yes, and there, unfortunately, was where our harmony of purpose ended. Thus, the establishment of the school has gone no further than the erection of a structure.”

“Slytherin?” Harry said, his voice grim and certain. Gryffindor nodded.

“Slytherin,” he affirmed.

“What will you do now?” Hermione asked quietly, her hand still outstretched toward the Claviomnis, as if she'd forgotten about it.

“I know not,” Gryffindor replied, looking uncharacteristically glum. “After what the fiend did to you both last night, besmirching both the honor and the hospitality of my house in the process, I must confess I wonder whether any school with which he is associated can ever hope to be a positive force in the world.”

“No!” Hermione said quickly, startling both of the men. “Slytherin may be many things, but he does - will have important insight to offer young minds. He must be associated with your school.”

If he ousts Slytherin, there is no telling what Hogwarts would look like or be like when we get back, she said, in response to Harry's mental question. We've already risked enough alteration.

“We shall see,” Gryffindor said, looking unconvinced. She decided to drop the subject for the time being.

“But this?” Hermione said, gesturing again toward the stone. A slight smile graced her face. “You never did say what it did.”

“It serves merely as a focal point for magical energy. The more power that is channeled through it, the more power it can emit. It can be used for anything its wielders desire: creation, destruction, life, death….”

Voldemort, Hermione spoke suddenly in his mind, causing Harry to jump.

What? He said, with utter lack of comprehension. Gryffindor was still speaking.

“In fact, I've thought of moving it to my estate in Normandy. There are several who know of its residence here, and there are those among that number who are…less than trustworthy. There are many places there where it could veritably disappear.”

At his last word, Hermione reached out and clutched Harry's arm, gripping through his sleeve so painfully that he winced.

Disappear! This is it, Harry. Don't you see? This is what we're supposed to do. He saw her face grow brilliant with excitement, and knew that she desperately wanted to speak to him alone and aloud.

Harry moved toward her side, somewhat convincingly managing to mold a look of confusion into one more like concern.

“I fear my wife has overtired herself, sir,” he said, looking up at Gryffindor respectfully. “Pray, allow me to escort her back to our chamber for a period of respite.”

“As you wish,” Gryffindor said, with a small bow, standing aside so they could pass from the treasury. As Harry moved near to the door, he saw another curious object, shining silver, lying atop a small table. It was whirring softly to itself.

“I beg your pardon, but what manner of magical device is this?” Harry asked, curiously, reaching over and picking it up, unable to say quite why this drew him so.

“It is a Dream Beacon,” Gryffindor said, cocking one eyebrow at his descendant. “Through it, one can supposedly channel one's presence into the dreams of another, though I have never personally heard of an instance where it worked. It is a curiosity…perhaps, a trinket or a novelty for a child. There are very few in existence.”

Harry and Hermione's eyes had met and locked during his speech, and in this instance, at least, Harry knew exactly what was going on.

“How is it supposed to work?” he pressed further.

“In theory, if one holds it in moonlight and focuses on a certain person, one will project oneself into that person's dream. But I do not see - ”

“Might I take it, my lord?” he asked tentatively. “For a closer examination?” He tried to keep the desperation out of his voice, sounding casual. Gryffindor looked amused, as if he could not understand why Harry would want to waste his time looking at a child's plaything.

“Certainly, if that is your wish,” Gryffindor answered, inclining his head magnanimously.

“Many thanks,” Harry said, trying not to look inexpressibly relieved. Straining to keep their steps light and their faces calm, they made their way back up to their room. Gryffindor left them on the main level, citing business of the keep that needed tending to, and added that he would see them at the noon meal.

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

By the time they made it back to their chamber, Hermione was practically bouncing up and down from excitement.

“What on earth is the matter with you?” Harry teased, watching her sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks with something more than a teasing air.

“Don't you get excited when you figure something out?” she retorted, managing, at the same time, to look rather self-conscious. “Or does that not happen very often?”

“It happens quite a bit, if you're around to enlighten me,” he admitted, pulling her into his arms, and smiling down at her.

“Well, obviously we're going to use the Dream Beacon to contact Luna, and let her know about making the portkeys to set all of this in motion,” she began.

“Well, obviously,” he snorted, mocking her tone.

“And then we need to steal the Claviomnis,” she added. Harry looked at her dumbfounded.

“Excuse me?” he asked, shaking his head, as if there had been water in his ears.

“You heard me,” she answered stiffly, not meeting his eyes.

“Hermione, have you seen that treasury? It's under guard. It's warded against anyone other than Gryffindor. How do you think we'd get in there anyway?”

“I thought that maybe you could open the door,” she said, suddenly sounding tentative and uncertain. “You are of Gryffindor blood.”

“I have his blood, not his palm print!” Harry replied sarcastically.

“We don't know that it was keyed to his palm print!” Hermione sounded shrill. “Don't you see? We know it disappeared a thousand years ago…which is now. Maybe we're the ones who made it disappear!”

“And maybe we're not!” he retorted, feeling odd at being the one to take this side of the argument. “Maybe Gryffindor makes it disappear to Normandy!”

“What if Slytherin takes it? Gryffindor all but said that he expects Slytherin to try and steal it.”

“He didn't say anything of the kind!”

“He most certainly did!” Hermione's voice was getting prim now, and she was aghast to find her eyes welling up with tears.

“If - if Slytherin was able to steal it, don't you think we'd know?” Harry countered. “Wouldn't he have taken over the world or some such rubbish?”

“Don't you think his heir's been trying?” Hermione asked archly, giving him a rather desultory look. Harry sighed in annoyance.

“What I'm trying to say is that if he had it, wouldn't Voldemort have succeeded already?”

“I don't know!” Hermione said, in very nearly a wail, sitting on the bed with such force that the blue material of her dress billowed and rippled around her.

“Look,” Harry said hastily. “I don't want to fight with you about this. So let's focus on what we do know. We know we need to use that Dream Beacon to contact Luna, so how do we do that?” Hermione shrugged expansively.

“All I know is what Gryffindor said. But we'll have to wait until tonight.”

“What could we do with all this intervening time?” Harry said, eying her suggestively. She glowered at him.

“Don't you even try. I'm still mad at you. Besides! Going and telling Gryffindor I was `overtired' when the whole keep probably knows what we did last night, thanks to Slytherin's interruptions! It's completely mortifying…” she stopped when Harry laughed.

“All these knights probably think I'm the luckiest bloke on the planet!” he said, with a triumphant grin, but his eyes suddenly sobered. “I am the luckiest bloke on the planet.” Hermione felt her stomach lurch pleasantly at the look on his face.

“Still mad at me?” he said, with a hopeful little boy look on his face. Hermione slumped, as if disappointed.

“How can I stay mad at you when you say lovely things like that?” she asked. Harry assumed it was a rhetorical question, because she was kissing him before he could have even hoped to postulate an answer.

They spent the remaining time until the noon meal in quite a pleasant manner indeed.

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Draco Malfoy's shoulders stiffened as he heard the soft sound of footsteps on the stone of the front steps of Avalon. The wind whipped through his blond hair, and carried his haughty words quite clearly back to the intruder.

“Go away, Weaselina.” But instead of going away, Ginny ventured closer, until she had sat down beside him on the cool gray rock. He looked imperiously at her. “What part of that don't you understand? I would have thought it was fairly self-evident, but then you are a Weasley.”

“Don't feel you have to insult me just to keep up appearances,” Ginny said companionably. “There's nobody here to impress - nobody that's ever been impressed by you, at any rate.”

“Have you ever thought that it's not to keep up appearances at all, but just because I don't like you?” Draco rejoined.

“Look,” Ginny sighed, her voice sounding hesitant. “I just thought, if you wanted to talk about it at all, then I'll listen. I mean, Ron probably couldn't speak civilly to you if his life depended on it, and Luna just - well, she's Luna. She'll tell you some cryptic nonsense about the flight of the Tufted Warblebeak along known migratory routes, and it won't help you at all. Trust me, I know.” Draco snorted suddenly, and appeared to be trying to compose his features as Ginny looked at him closely.

“Did I just make you - ?” she began, but Malfoy cut her off hastily.

“Shut up, Weasley,” as the tips of his ears turned red. Ginny's smile broadened into a grin, but she wisely said nothing more.

“So, what are you going to do?” she asked in a conversational way. Draco looked at her sharply, as if he were surprised that she was still there.

“About what?”

“About the - the vision you saw,” she prodded carefully.

“What do you mean `what am I going to do'?”

“For Merlin's sake, Draco, this is not a N.E.W.T.-level question!” she burst out in exasperation.

“What do you think I'm going to do? What am I supposed to do?” Malfoy asked, throwing his hands up theatrically. “I'm too far down the path now. There's no turning back.” He smiled mirthlessly, extending Luna's metaphor.

“There's always time to turn back,” Ginny said softly.

“No! No, there's not. I don't know what sodding fairy tale world you live in, but sometimes you make choices, and there's nothing you can do to fix them or change them or undo them. You just have to live with the consequences.”

“Or try to escape them?” Ginny suggested mildly, her face bland. Draco glared at her.

“There is nothing wrong with trying to make the best of a bad situation!” He sounded defensive. He hated that.

“Oh, lemons out of lemonade?” Ginny sounded amused. He didn't like that either. “Is that what your family does? How very optimistic of them!” A muscle in his jaw quivered, as he looked at her with barely concealed fury.

“You don't know a damn thing about my family, Weasley!” Ginny felt her the last shred of her timidity melt away, and she looked Malfoy straight in the eye.

“Neither do you about mine, Malfoy,” she countered. “You take a few facts, more assumptions, and your own selfish, arrogant, slanted perspective on life, and you think you've got me all figured out.” She paused thoughtfully. “And I suppose I do the same thing to you. Sort of.” Her admission startled Malfoy, who looked at her curiously. “What?” she asked. “Didn't expect me to admit it? I'm not that much like you.”

“What do you think I should do?” he asked, mostly trying to startle her as she had him. She didn't react visibly, but stared off into the slate gray ocean, twirling a strand of copper hair around her fingers.

“I think you should stay allied with Voldemort,” she said softly, after a moment. Draco's eyes widened. Whatever he had expected her to say, it was not that.

“But you - you heard what happened in the vision!” he stammered slightly. “You should have seen it, heard it. She was screaming,” he sounded haunted. “Why would you - ?” he stopped, as he looked up and saw the small, enigmatic smile playing about her lips. The wind spun her hair around her shoulders like a fiery nimbus. His eyes narrowed, and his lips twitched in grudging admiration.

“Well played, Weasley,” he muttered. “I suppose now you're going to say something about how I exposed my true inclinations on the matter, in my protests of your pretend opinions.”

“But you just said it so well!” Ginny smirked, and Draco felt an unwilling smile tug at the corners of his mouth. She could be a worthy adversary when she set her mind to it. His mind flitted back to the horrors he had seen, and his eyes darkened again.

“You don't know how it is,” he said in a hollow voice. “You don't just - just cut ties with - with him. He wouldn't content himself with just hunting down and killing me. He'd kill my family too. As many of them as he could. And while most of them probably wouldn't be a great loss, I wouldn't - wouldn't want anything to happen to them. Maybe changing sides is what gets my mum killed.”

“When I said you should stay allied with Voldemort,” Ginny began, speaking slowly, as if she were choosing her words carefully. “I meant it. To openly oppose him at this point is dangerous for anyone. It'd be especially dangerous for you. You'd be more useful if you - ”

“You think I should become a traitor and report to your side?” Draco asked.

“An agent,” Ginny protested.

“A turncoat.”

“A spy for the Light,” she insisted, and Draco looked at her ruefully and gave up the word game.

“What makes you think anyone on that side would even trust me as far as they could hex me? I know Potter wouldn't. And neither would your illustrious brothers.” The last sentence was tinged with sarcasm.

“People would do what they had to do, for the greater good of the Wizarding World. If making an alliance with you helps defeat Voldemort, then they'd do it without question.”

“They wouldn't like it,” Malfoy muttered. Ginny shrugged.

“I never said they would like it.” Draco conceded her point, and a long moment of silence followed. They could hear the faint whistle of the wind, as it blew down the beach.

“Why did you come out here? Why do you care at all what I do or how that vision makes me feel?” He finally asked. Ginny looked at him suddenly, her eyes seeming deep and penetrating.

“Because I know the effect that Voldemort can have on someone's mind,” she said clearly, but the look on her face forestalled any progression along this line of questioning. Draco saw it, and didn't even bother trying, though he was mightily curious.

She stood to her feet, then, and Draco found himself at eye-level with the faded legs of her jeans. He also, inexplicably, found himself wishing that she wouldn't go.

“If you did,” she blurted quickly, “Decide to switch sides, I mean - you know everyone - we'd - we'd watch your back, even if we couldn't show it. Harry already is.” He'd been ready to dismiss her statement with a derisive smile, “yeah, right,” but her last sentence caught him off-guard.

“What do you mean, `Harry already is'?” he asked imperiously.

“He hasn't told anyone about your father being out of Azkaban.” Draco covered up his surprise by asking rudely,

“Then how do you know about it?”

“Well, he did tell Ron - and Hermione too, I suppose. He tells them everything,” she shrugged. “And I listen at doors.”

“How very Slytherin of you, Weasley!” Draco drawled. Ginny narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, but a smile glinted there as well.

“Coming from you, Malfoy, I'll take that as a compliment.”

He sat out on the front steps of the ancient castle long after she'd gone inside, sat out there deep in thought, until the chill wind and darkening skies drove him inside.

Could he really turn spy for the Light? Did he even possess within himself the courage it would take to do so? Draco Malfoy wasn't sure at all that he did.

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The moon slanted white beams of translucent light through the window in Harry and Hermione's room, leaving milky splashes of shadow on the floor. They were both seated on the bed, watching the window pensively, the Dream Beacon on the mattress beside them.

“Well, are you ready?” Hermione asked, looking worriedly at Harry.

“I guess. Do you think it'll be like when we went into Draco's memories?” he asked anxiously.

“I think so,” she replied, trying to sound confident, and not as if she had already answered this question four times since they arrived back in their room after the evening meal. “It's the Beacon itself that channels it into the dream. You just have to come up with the person. And the time, I guess, since this is the future we're talking about.”

“Should I think of a date?” Harry sounded even more uncertain.

“Do July. It's got to be before we go to Flourish and Blotts for the schoolbooks, so make it July, just to be safe. I don't know if this thing is very accurate.”

“We don't know if it even works,” he retorted.

“But we do know it works!” She told him triumphantly, as the parallel occurred to her. “It's just like you casting the Patronus charm third year. You knew it would work because you saw yourself do it. We know this will work, because Luna got us here.”

His green eyes gleamed as he thought of the truth of her words, and he stood up with more alacrity than he'd displayed since supper.

“All right,” he said, holding out his hand to her. “Let's do it.”

They stood in the wash of moonlight by the window, holding the shiny, swirling, engraved tubing of the Dream Beacon in between them. Harry looked at Hermione somberly, noting how the light flecked her eyes with silver and gilded the ends of her hair. She nodded at him seriously.

“Go,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “I'll be right behind you.”

Harry closed his eyes, concentrating on the feel of the smooth metal surface beneath his fingers, and reached out with his mind. He was aware of the stretching-rubber-band sensation as he focused with all of his mental and magical power on Luna Lovegood and July 1996. The tension grew as the rubber band grew taut.

Suddenly, they were in a room, painted blue-white in moonlight, with a small brass bed in the center of it. There was a person curled up in the bed, on her side, and pale hair cascaded over the pillow. A necklace of butterbeer corks hung on the bedpost.

Harry looked excitedly around for Hermione, who was standing behind him.

“We did it!” he said, sounding both surprised and elated. She grinned at him, but her eyes were dark and purposefully serious.

“Yes, we did,” she conceded. “But I don't think we have much time. Remember what happened with Malfoy.”

“Right,” Harry said, with determination. He stepped over to Luna's bedside, as his eyes fell on the bulletin boards lining her walls. Each board was covered in newspaper clippings, both Muggle and Wizarding, as far as he could tell. It sort of looked like her walls were done in papier maché. He found himself looking at one bulletin board, trying to make out the articles in the dimly lit room. He would be interested in what Luna Lovegood found interesting.

“Harry!” came a whisper from behind him. He shook his head, trying to recall himself to the task at hand. He reached behind him, and pulled Hermione up beside him. His head was beginning to ache.

“Luna!” he called, in a stage whisper. “Luna!”

And just like that, they were in her mind. It was sort of like being adrift amid all kinds of flotsam, Harry thought to himself. There was probably some pretty brilliant stuff in here, if one could get past all the bizarre minutiae.

“Harry, focus!” came Hermione's voice, and he could just barely feel the cold Dream Beacon still beneath his fingers. It all seemed very far away.

-Luna, it's Harry!-

-Hello, Harry.- Luna did not sound at all surprised or upset to see him suddenly in her mind.

-Please listen very carefully… - he outlined for her everything that she would need to do, hoping against hope that her dotty, distracted air was just that - an air - and that she would be paying very close attention. Several minutes passed, and as he came to the end of his instructions, Luna interrupted him by asking placidly.

-What's that in your hand, Hermione?-

Harry looked back at her, and could barely look at the glowing light she held. The brightness of it almost blinded him, and swathed her entire figure in a white glow. She was staring down at her own hand in bewilderment, as if she had no idea how it had gotten there.

They both promptly let go of the Dream Beacon.

It clattered noisily to the floor, and Harry immediately began trying to stanch the copious flow of blood from his nose with his sleeve. Hermione was staring at the Claviomnis with something like confused horror.

“How the hell did that get there?” Harry asked, his voice somewhat muffled by his arm. Blood was dripping on the floor.

“I - I don't know!” Hermione said. “I was just thinking that it would be nice to have it here, so Luna could see it, and know what we were talking about. And then - then it just was here. Merlin, Harry, your nose!”

There was a sudden very loud pounding on their door.

TBC

Getting close to the end now. Hope you've enjoyed this chapter, even though they've been getting really long!

You may leave a review on your way out, if you like.

Oh, and Luna's line about the `blot of mustard' was from Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol!

Happy Reading.

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Harry Potter and the Isle of Mists

Disclaimer: I can only hope to attain the creative brilliance of J. K Rowling.

AN: This story is AU after OOTP.

He Has Descended Into the Secrets of All Minds

Harry and Hermione exchanged alarmed looks, as the pounding on the door repeated itself. She looked somewhat helplessly down at the glowing crystal cupped in her hands. Throwing a frantic look over his shoulder, Harry moved toward the door and opened it, one sleeve over his mouth and nose, as he tried to stop the flow of blood.

It was Lord Gryffindor. And whatever he'd been about to say was halted at the sight of his guest's decidedly bloody clothing.

“Harry, what's happened? Has there been an accident?” He asked, taking Harry's shoulder, and looking into his eyes.

“I'm okay,” Harry said, in a voice slightly muffled by his sleeve. “Is there something wrong?” His eyes flitted over to Hermione as he said this; she was standing near the window, with her hands behind her back.

Don't you think we should tell him? Harry asked her.

About his family's most prized possession that we somehow got out of the treasury, with no plausible explanation of how we did that? Hermione's tone was dry and sarcastic.

I'm his family. He'll trust me, Harry defended, but Hermione's shuttered expression told him without words or other communication that she did not believe that to be necessarily true.

“The wards in the castle were just triggered. The men are mustering at the front gate. I wanted to ascertain your safety for myself, considering Lord Slytherin's bias against you.”

“Slytherin's attacking your home?” asked Harry, looking somewhat dumbfounded, glancing at Hermione, who seemed equally as bewildered. Did Slytherin ever attack Gryffindor openly? He threw at Hermione, even as Gryffindor replied verbally.

“We have not yet been able to discover that. In truth, I have not been informed what caused the alarm. I merely came to converse with you, and am now bound for the treasury to ensure that it has not been breached.”

Harry literally felt all the color drain dramatically from his face, and he was sure that guilt was emblazoned across it where the color had been.

“Can it - can it be breached?” he asked, stammering a little, and trying to keep his voice calm and mostly disinterested. “It certainly looked secure enough earlier.”

“The likelihood that any person has the magical ability to penetrate the wards on the treasury and abscond with any artifact is quite small. However, the fact remains that doing so would cause an alarm to be issued. It must be checked.”

Can you put it back? Harry asked Hermione suddenly, sounding a little panicky.

I don't know how I got it out! Hermione responded, just as shrilly. What happened to telling him?

I - I don't - Harry was torn between defending the point of view he'd held earlier and ditching it completely. He looked up at Hermione and saw that she'd closed her eyes in concentration, but opened them again almost immediately. Her hands were still behind her back. She shook her head slowly at him, and Harry did not need telepathy to tell that it hadn't worked.

Gryffindor had bowed his farewell to both of them, and was nearly to the door, when Harry blurted suddenly,

“Could this have triggered the alarm?”

Show it to him, he told Hermione, nodding at her. She withdrew her hands from behind her skirts, and held out the Claviomnis.

Something in Gryffindor's face twitched slightly, and his heavy eyebrows drew together to hood his eyes.

“Pray, how did you come by this? In what sort of Dark sleight of hand did you engage to retrieve this from my treasury? Are you in league with Lord Slytherin?”

“No!” Harry and Hermione cried almost in unison. Gryffindor stood motionless, his arms crossed over his muscled chest, clearly saying Prove it, without words.

“We were using the Dream Beacon, trying to communicate with some of our friends in our time, and - and it just appeared in my hands.” Hermione spread her hands wide in an appealing gesture.

Yeah, he's going to believe that, Harry snorted. I almost don't believe it, and I was here the whole time!

You're not helping, Harry, Hermione said in her panicky voice of dismissal.

“You took it?” Gryffindor said, almost as if he didn't understand. Harry braced himself for a hex or banishment to the lowest dungeons.

“Please,” Hermione said evenly, trying to calm down. “You can look into my mind, if you want. And you'll see that it's the truth.”

“My skills do not equal Slytherin's,” Gryffindor said, almost apologetically, before looking intently into Hermione's eyes. Harry felt the alien presence in her mind almost as soon as she did, but strove to keep his mind still and unobtrusive.

After a moment, Gryffindor's eyes cleared, and he appeared satisfied.

“I believe you,” he said heavily. “But you can see why I must take such care in these times of treachery.”

“Of course,” Harry murmured absently, thinking of the particular `times of treachery' in which they lived. He checked his nose to find that it had finally stopped bleeding, but his sleeves were rusty and sodden.

“I apologize for my intrusion,” Gryffindor said, half-bowing toward them. “I must go and tell my men to stand down, for surely it is this that has caused the stir in the protections.” He held out his hand for the Claviomnis, and looked alternately startled and amused when Hermione hesitated.

“Lord Gryffindor, sir,” she began a little shakily.

Hermione, don't! Harry said, with a warning tone.

“The - the Claviomnis - it - Harry and I have great need of a magical device that wields that kind of power. Might we not borrow it?” Her voice quavered slightly, and she swallowed as she stopped speaking abruptly.

“Borrow it to what end?” Gryffindor asked blandly. Hermione's eyes were flickering nervously toward Harry.

How much can we tell him? She asked.

This is your show. I told you not to do it, Harry said in a disapproving voice.

“Harry has been destined to defeat a Dark wizard,” she blurted, almost all in one breath. Lord Gryffindor's eyes went slowly from her to Harry.

“Harry is a quite powerful wizard. I felt the intensity of it when first he stepped into my keep. I do not think he would need a magical device to aid him. You two, forgive me, are also quite young. I would be remiss if I were to entrust something to you that could so easily fall into hands that would use it ill.”

“You don't understand - ” Harry began, almost laughing at the thought of Voldemort being lumped in with any old run of the mill Death Eater.

“Then, pray, enlighten me,” Gryffindor interrupted, the amusement gone from his face and his tone almost sharp. Harry opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again.

“I - I can't,” he said. “I'm sorry. It puts the entire future of the Wizarding World at risk.”

If you were to tell him that the most powerful Dark wizard ever known was descended from Slytherin, who knows what he would do? Hermione said, looking at him with approval. Harry did not appear terribly happy with his decision.

I hold Slytherin's fate in my hands, and he is still going to live long enough to continue his line.

Harry, he could already have children! Hermione reprimanded him. Gryffindor does. Would you kill them too? Harry looked at her, and sighed. Of course he'd not be able to be responsible for the deaths of children - or the children of those children, for where did it end?

Blood feud, he thought dismally.

You're doing the right thing, Hermione told him, although the glumness that still permeated her mind revealed that he didn't really believe her.

“I believe that you are descended truly from my line, and I do not question the miracle which revealed to me that magic in my family will not forever vanish. But I cannot in good conscience give you the Claviomnis. It is too powerful, too dangerous. In fact, it has been present at Gryphon Keep for much too long.” Gryffindor's face was grim, and he bowed perfunctorily at them again. “I will take my leave, and travel at once to Normandy. I should be back by break of day.”

The look on his face did not encourage any opposition. Harry and Hermione both remained silent, as the Founder exited the room.

“Why couldn't he - ?” Harry began, but Hermione was ready for his questions, practicality always reigning supreme.

“The Claviomnis is powerful, Harry. It built Hogwarts! We don't know what it's capable of - I don't think even Gryffindor knows. What if we couldn't control it? What if Voldemort took it from us?”

“He couldn't use it. It can't be used without harmony of purpose. That's how the Founders were able to create the school.” Harry protested, feeling out of sorts and nervous. Hermione had seemed convinced that the Claviomnis was their key home, their reason `why', and she generally seemed to come out on the correct end of these things.

“People can have harmony of evil purpose, Harry,” Hermione reminded him gently, and Harry supposed that she was right again. Voldemort could surely find enough pure-blooded Death Eaters to control the Claviomnis. Even though he couldn't use it himself, he thought, unable to suppress a smirk at the tainted bloodline that probably continually caused Voldemort vexation.

“I thought this was it,” he said quietly, looking at her, where she stood by the window, frosted in the silver moonlight. “I wasn't sure about your methods, but I thought the Claviomnis…maybe you were right - it did disappear around now, and -”

“No, you must have been right,” Hermione argued. “He's taken it to Normandy. And somehow it - it - is never seen again.” Harry appeared lost in thought for a moment, but he suddenly looked up at her, eyes blazing, and said,

“Come on!” She looked at him in bewilderment. “He's got to get past the Anti-Apparation wards before he can leave. We can catch him. Let's tell him the story. He doesn't have to know that Voldemort is of Slytherin's line.”

“Harry - ” Hermione sounded unsure.

“I really think you're right. The Claviomnis is our reason for being here. We've got to make Gryffindor see that.” Hermione looked doubtful, but having no other viable options, she followed Harry from the room.

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Ron emerged from the Great Hall of Avalon, shaking his head, and looking around in a manner of confusion, as if he had emerged someplace he hadn't expected. As he turned to go in search of Ginny and Luna in the upstairs portion of the house, he nearly collided with Draco Malfoy, who had entered the house from the front.

“Watch where you're going, Weasley!” Draco snapped, brushing at his clothes as if Ron had somehow soiled them. He took in Ron's dazed expression, and said, a little less rudely. “What the hell is wrong with you? Other than the obvious, of course.”

“That thing - I saw - ” Ron stammered, clearly trying to force the pictures in his head into some kind of coherence. Malfoy's eyes suddenly flickered with added alertness.

“You're not going to do anything girly like faint, are you, Weasley?” he said with distaste. That jab roused Ron enough for him to respond in kind.

“'Least I'm not screaming like I've had my nether parts injured. If you even have any.”

“What did you see?”

“Why should I tell you?” Ron's face held a look of wounded belligerence.

“Then, let's find Lovegood and your sister, and you can tell them,” Malfoy said, after debating whether or not to engage in a verbal duel with Potter's lanky best mate. He gave Ron a rather rough shove toward the stairs, and Ron glowered at him before trudging toward the library.

Green grass tufted around the large, smooth stones of a ruined castle.

Ron shuddered, and put one hand to his forehead. The images that the Oracle had shown him were incongruous and disconnected, seemingly random. He had been trying to form them into some kind of whole, and could not.

“Weasley, will you walk please, if you've not forgotten how?” came Malfoy's acid voice from behind him. Ron could not find the energy or desire to respond, and finished climbing the flight of stairs.

“Ron, what's wrong?” came Ginny's alarmed voice, as the two boys entered the library. “What have you done to him?” This accusation was leveled at Malfoy.

“You wound me, Weasley,” Malfoy snapped, placing a hand to his heart sarcastically. “And after our tête à tête outside and everything.” Ginny glared at him, her jaw jutting out angrily, and Luna watched the scene with interest. “It's not what I've done to your wooden-headed brother, but what the Oracle's done - ” His admission was cut off by a gasp from Ginny, who came closer to her brother, remembering Draco's testimony about his vision. She laid her hand lightly on his arm.

“Ron, what did you see?” she asked him gently. Ron took a deep breath, appearing more confused than shaken.

“I - ” he stammered, clearly at a loss.

A man dressed in scarlet closed a small box.

Luna tripped over one of the paving-stones in the ruins. Her head was bleeding.

“There was a … castle,” he said, grasping for anything, and speaking with difficulty. “You fell, you were bleeding…” he looked at Luna, who was regarding him with a kind of subdued intensity, her eyes like glowing coal embers.

“Was it Avalon?” Ginny pressed. “Is Luna in danger?”

There was a brief glimpse of Harry. Four people stood in a circle.

“Harry - ” He raised his hands in frustration, which burst forth from his mouth in a rush of words. “It's like trying to catch hold of mist. I - it was like a dream. It didn't make any sense at all. Harry was there. And there was white light, and - and a castle. But it was all - all ruins. And - and - ”

Luna's eyes were shining.

“You were seeing the future.”

“Figures that Weasley gets a true read on the future, not just some `well, this might happen' nonsense, and the git doesn't even have the brains to tell us what is going on,” Malfoy snapped.

“Mindy!” Ron blurted suddenly, and the silence that fell was nearly comical.

“Who?” Ginny asked, one eyebrow raised, and Ron colored a little.

“I don't know. I kept hearing that name, over and over again - Mindy - I think it was Hermione.”

“You think Mindy is some kind of kinky nickname of Granger's?” Malfoy was not even trying to hide his laughter. “Is this from some personal experience?” Ron flushed painfully again.

“It was Hermione's voice saying the name, you great sod!” Ron said, annoyed beyond words.

“Maybe that means they're coming back,” Ginny said hopefully, looking to Luna for validation. The blonde's blue eyes were as enigmatic as ever, and they subsided into an uneasy silence. “Well, I - ” Ginny began again, a little awkwardly, shoving her hands into her back pockets.

She was cut off by an exclamation from Ron, who knocked an open book off of the library table, with one flailing arm. He scrambled for the book, which had fallen pages down and been knocked beneath the table, and stood up with it cradled in his arms, smoothing the bent and wrinkled leaves.

“Weasley, what the hell?” Malfoy said, his expression clearly thankful that his vision, though bothersome and frightening, had not made him completely mental.

“This!” He said, pointed at an engraving in the book. “I saw this!” Malfoy leaned around Ron's arm with poorly concealed interest.

“It's a box,” Malfoy said flatly, and lifted the book to examine the front cover. It was the tome about Godric Gryffindor, the first one Harry had pulled from the shelves and handed to Ron.

“I saw this box. A man in red had it - he was - he was closing the lid.” Ron said, with some elation.

“He was closing a box?” Malfoy returned, deadpan. Luna and Ginny had taken the book from Ron, and were reading the caption that went along with the picture.

“Not any box, that box,” Ron said stubbornly. Malfoy put his fingertips to his temples, as if he had a headache.

“Merlin save us,” he muttered.

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Harry and Hermione clattered out a side door, finding themselves rather abruptly on the lawn, Harry all but dragging Hermione behind him. There was no one in sight.

“I told you we should have gone out the front gate,” Hermione said dryly.

“Gryffindor said there were men stationed at the gate. What if they hadn't let us out? It was easier to Stun that one guard by the side door.”

“Except here, there's no Lord Gryffindor,” Hermione said, as if she were pointing out a patently obvious fact to a very small, rather slow child. Harry shot her an annoyed look.

“There's only one way he would have gone - toward the bridge,” Harry said, pointing in direction from which they had first arrived.

“We don't even know how far the wards extend,” she protested, as they hurried toward the front corner of the castle. “He could already be gone.”

They peered around an outcropping of stone, and Harry smiled triumphantly at her. “But he's not,” he said, and Hermione followed his gaze, to see Lord Gryffindor striding through the front gate at that very moment, headed for the bridge. Hermione could just barely make out motion on the bridge, a glint of moonlight on armor.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, and Hermione could feel his presence stretching out.

“The wards stop at the river,” he said, opening his eyes. Hermione stared at him wide-eyed, the question clear in her gaze, how? “I can feel them.” He cocked his head for a moment, as if assessing the ability. “That's new,” he added, laconically.

“When he crosses the bridge, he'll be gone,” Hermione supplied the bottom line.

“Look,” Harry said, suddenly, pointing to a place where the river looped round, a silver-white ribbon in the moonlight, much closer to them than to the bridge toward which Gryffindor was making. “If we can get across the river before he does…”

“Harry!” Hermione said with a long-suffering tone. “I - ”

“Come on…it's summer! That river is tiny. How deep could it be?”

“Haven't you had enough underwater escapades to last you your lifetime, since the Second Task?” Hermione asked, even as they began sprinting toward the river, a small orchard between them and their goal providing them with some cover.

They slid down the pebbly banks of the river before Gryffindor had covered even half of the distance. The rocks seemed to rattle very loudly in the stillness. They could just barely hear the murmur of the soldiers on the bridge, their voices being carried on the slight breeze.

“Come on,” Harry said, tugging at Hermione's hand, as she hesitated on the bank. He put one foot into the water, where it lapped about halfway up his shin. He winced at the temperature.

“Consolido!” Hermione said suddenly, pointing her wand at the surface of the water, where it shimmered slightly and seemed to fog over. She stepped over a small area near the shore that had remained liquid, and walked lightly and gracefully on the surface of the water to the other side. She was unable to keep the gleeful smile from her face, as Harry followed her.

“You couldn't have done that before I stuck my foot in it?” he asked her petulantly, and she laughed softly.

The far bank was steeper, and both Hermione and Harry had to use their hands to clamber up, clutching at rough stones protruding from the dirt as hand- and footholds. Harry climbed up, giving Hermione a hand, and then turned toward the bridge.

He could hear the murmur of voices again. Someone was emerging from their end of the bridge, still many meters away. Even as Harry made the conscious decision to Apparate to Gryffindor's side, and had communicated it to Hermione, there was a loud crack that seemed to resound off of the surrounding hills.

Lord Gryffindor had Disapparated.

Harry and Hermione stood there, motionless, hand in hand, near the riverbank, both of them unsure of what to do next.

“So,” Harry said, “do we Apparate to -?” He turned to Hermione who was a little behind him, and stopped abruptly halfway through the motion, as he was now staring down the long, metallic shaft of a sword.

It was Salazar Slytherin, and he had his staff in his other hand. His teeth glinted in the moonlight, as he smiled mirthlessly at them. There were several men behind him, all dressed in dark cloaks, clearly making effort to go unseen.

“Well, well,” Slytherin said smoothly, not removing his sword from its proximity to Harry's breastbone. “Lord Potter and his new wife venturing out for a rendezvous?” Harry met his leering comment with silence and a level, defiant gaze. “It is ill-advised to go beyond the boundaries of the keep after nightfall. Who can foretell what manner of untrustworthy brigands might be about?” His lips jerked upward in a tight-lipped smile, and one of the cloaked men behind him snickered.

Hermione, we've got to get out of here. Apparate to the bridge. Surely the knights there would help us fight. He could feel her doubts, her fears that they had unwittingly begun a war between Slytherin and Gryffindor, but she did not heed them.

All right, she answered back simply.

When they tried to Apparate, they were knocked to the ground by the repercussive shockwave. Slytherin and his men were laughing, as Harry got back to his feet, and helped Hermione up.

“I always find it beneficial to prepare myself for all eventualities. Especially when dealing with those of whose loyalties I am not certain.” He looked not at Harry, but at Hermione, who lifted her chin, but remained quiet.

“You don't need to question the lady's loyalties,” Harry remarked calmly, drawing Slytherin's full attention for the first time.

And yours? Do I need to question yours? The voice rang suddenly in his mind, reverberating in his skull so loudly that he had to bite back a cry, bringing his hands up to the sides of his head.

Harry? He could hear Hermione's frantic voice in his head as well, and the sensation of it abated some of the pain.

Does your Lord Gryffindor know you been conspiring against him using covert magical powers? came Slytherin's voice again. Harry felt as if he were drowning; his scar throbbed, and Slytherin's voice pulsed painfully inside his head.

Not… conspiring… Harry ground out, struggling to remain conscious. Slytherin thrust the staff he carried under Harry's chin, and forced his head up, so Salazar could look him straight in the face. Harry was on the verge of collapse, and grunted with pain and effort, as the cloaked men dragged them further downriver, away from the bridge, to the secretive darkness of a copse of trees.

Once they were under the cover of the trees, Slytherin lit the tip of his staff, and shone it near Harry's face.

“Lilliane's eyes,” he commented clearly, a myriad of disparate emotions parading across his normally guarded face. “So it is true.”

“What are you talking about?” Hermione cried out, quite forgetting herself, wrapping her arms around Harry, and trying to help him stand.

Harry, are you okay? What happened? Harry's eyes rolled up whitely in his head, as he tried to look at her.

Can you hear him? He's so loud. My scar…

It doesn't hurt me, Hermione admitted quietly, but any further comment was forestalled by the foreign, unwelcome presence of Slytherin in his (their?) mind.

Yes, your scar. It is curious. I have never seen its equal, Slytherin said in a soft voice of fascination, or at least, so it seemed to Hermione. Harry cried out loudly, and slumped to the ground, his dead weight too much for Hermione to hold up.

“Harry!” Hermione said in a distressed voice, kneeling beside him. He roused again, and struggled to communicate. “Can't you see you're hurting him?”

“Did it concern either of you so much when you invaded the recesses of my mind?” Slytherin asked, his voice low and dangerous, with a petulant note in it.

“Is that what this is all about?” Harry rasped, finding and clutching desperately at the power of speech. Slytherin looked amused, and he sheathed his sword, draping his arms behind his back, as he prepared to pontificate.

“Initially yes, Lord Potter,” he said, his smooth cultured tones betraying him only when he bit off the title. “I must admit that now, it is merely my curiosity that overwhelms me. Who are you? Gryffindor's line is dead. His living son is a Squib, his other son killed in battle. His only sister died long ago.” The curious shadow passed across his face again.

“You were in love with her,” Hermione observed in a wondering voice, and a spasm of emotion contorted Slytherin's already unlovely face.

“I imagined myself to be so, yes,” he replied, mastering his feelings once again, evidently pushing anger to the forefront. “Love is for the weak.”

But about you there is much I wish to know, came the unrelenting voice. Your scar? Why does my presence in your mind channel pain through that scar. Who gave that scar to you?

The abrupt question sent a stab of fear through Harry and Hermione that was so instinctive and unstoppable that they both knew Slytherin had felt it too. Harry tried desperately to close his mind, but even with Hermione's strength bolstering his, they were not fast enough.

Slytherin's intrusion into his mind was even more painful that the projection of his thoughts, and Harry arched his back, sending air hissing through his teeth reflexively. Slytherin sifted Harry's thoughts and memories like they were grains of sand sliding through his fingers. Harry was struggling to keep up, doing his best to send innocuous and irrelevant material to the forefront. The pain in his scar was livid and white-hot, and he felt his efforts grow feeble.

A faceless voice cried out, eerie and disembodied, “Not Harry! Not Harry!”

Draco Malfoy stuck his hand out to shake Harry's, clearly put off when Harry refused to return the favor.

A blue and white Ford Anglia landed in the branches of a writhing willow tree. There was a sound of splintering wood.

Sirius fell through the veil. Harry strove to push that thought away, but Slytherin sensed his hesitation and followed that line relentlessly. Sirius… Sirius fell through the veil. He was standing with Dumbledore in the main atrium of the Ministry. The wizarding statue serenely spouted water behind them. And then Voldemort was there.

There was a sudden commotion and Harry opened his eyes, drawing one hand across his pale, clammy brow. Two of the cloaked men were helping Slytherin up, and two others loomed menacingly over Harry.

Slytherin was no longer in his mind.

Did you… did you…? Harry asked. He could feel the soothing hum of Hermione's satisfaction buzzing in his mind. Thank you.

He stood to his feet, albeit in a wobbly fashion, and Hermione resumed standing next to him as well. Slytherin faced them down once again, calmly donning his veneer of civility and dignity again. He clasped one hand around his staff, almost casually, and examined the fingernails of his other hand with studied concentration.

Hermione's eyes narrowed, and she did not remove her gaze from him. Harry was gauging the wards.

Two meters, he said. The wards go out two meters. Do you think you can run? Get out from under the wards?

Where would I go? Gryphon Keep isn't going to be safe without Lord Gryffindor there, and we don't need to cause open warfare between two Founders. Besides, I'm not leaving you!

Go back to Avalon. Maybe the castle itself would help protect you.

I'm not leaving you! She repeated again, and her voice in his head sounded a little shaky. Harry looked at the two men standing so close that they were nearly touching him.

They're not watching you as closely. You could possibly get that far. They'd be on me before I could move a muscle or draw my wand.

Harry, I -

Agony. Unbelievable, soul-shredding, muscle-ripping agony. Harry felt as if someone had buried a cleaver in the middle of his head. And just like that his contact with Hermione was gone. Not repressed, not blocked, but gone.

When he had voluntarily blocked himself from her, during their training with Snape, it had felt odd, vaguely disquieting, unusual - like the socket of a missing tooth that one is accustomed to having there.

Now, it was as if he'd had a limb severed. Blackness floated around the edges of his vision. He felt as if consciousness was a cliff's edge, and he was hanging on by his fingertips. His mind flailed about frantically, looking for the presence that he had grown so used to.

Hermione? Hermione? He asked.

Low, malevolent laughter was his only answer, and the pain in his scar began to throb anew. Slytherin casually buffed his fingernails against the soft, dark green cloth of his cloak.

There is no need in either of you listening in on a private conversation, Slytherin said loftily.

Please, Harry pleaded, beyond pride, please, just let her go. Your quarrel is with me. I was the one entering your mind.

As you are the one destined to try and eradicate my heir? Slytherin asked calmly. Have you traversed a millennium to begin the feud with me? Harry was startled and badly frightened that Slytherin had somehow managed to glean that out of his mind.

I have no wish to kill you, Harry replied sullenly.

Your mind says otherwise, Lord Potter, Slytherin hissed, full of venom. The pain was becoming intolerable. They had started moving through the trees, and Harry stumbled, barely able to stay upright. I see I am causing you discomfort. Perhaps I should speak with your lovely wife - ah, but you are not actually married! How unutterably common of you.

Leave her alone! Harry gathered all of his effort, and used it to thrust Slytherin from his mind one more time, imagining the gigantic steel doors clanging shut decisively.

Then he heard a little voice, Harry? It whispered.

Hermione? He replied cautiously, half-afraid he'd be calling Slytherin's wrath back down on them both. He felt her wince as one of Salazar's knights pulled her along behind him roughly.

Is - is this what you did that day in training with Snape? Her mental presence was not as strong, her connection sounding forced, tinny, and far away.

I think so. What are we going to do?

He underestimates you, she said contemptuously. They haven't even tried to disarm us yet. He thinks we're no match for him.

Aren't we? He sounded fatigued. If we even take a couple of them out, the others will disarm us. We can't take on all of them. You shouldn't be here. Slytherin could break back into my mind any time now.

Did it hurt very much? She sounded apologetic. I'm awfully sorry.

It's okay, Hermione.

I was thinking… she began, talking slowly, as she was wont to do when she was thinking aloud. Harry could feel the strain in his mental shields growing. Slytherin was going to get through.

Hermione, he's coming. He stumbled again, and nearly fell, as the knight guarding him pulled him up with brute force. Out of the corner of his eye, from where she was flanked by a pair of knights, he saw her fall, landing heavily on her right side, apparently unconscious.

The labor to gain entry into his mind had ceased, as Slytherin's attentions were occupied with the fallen form of Hermione.

“What did you do to her?” Harry cried angrily, fighting against the restraining arms of his captor.

Harry, I'm okay, came the far away voice of Hermione's secret connection.

Thank Merlin! he breathed gratefully, relaxing for a moment, only to remember that he'd better keep up the ruse by continuing to struggle.

Here's what we do, she said clinically, and he marveled at her calm. In a moment, I'm going to rouse. While they're all occupied with me, you need to draw your wand. One of the knights said,

“She's fainted.” Slytherin instructed him to pick her up, and the knight did so, slinging her over his shoulder carelessly. Harry didn't see how she was remaining so limp.

Hermione, we aren't going to be able -

Listen to me! Her voice was sharp. We need a Stunner. But don't fixate on it as a narrow beam aimed at one person. We need to make it a broad field spell, like a Protego shield…only not... She trailed off, at somewhat of a loss to explain herself clearly.

You mean one that will widen out like the Patronus charm, and get everybody at once? Harry asked. Can that even be done? The strain was growing again; Slytherin was trying to penetrate the walls blocking off Harry's mind.

Not normally, but these are not normal circumstances, and you are not a normal wizard. There was admiration in her tone. I'll add my magic to yours. It probably won't be a very strong Stunner, but it will at least buy some time.

Hey, won't it Stun us as well? The thought occurred to Harry rather suddenly, and he waited expectantly for Hermione to negate it. Instead she merely said in a worried tone,

I hope not. Before he could properly reply to this disheartening piece of information, he heard her groan and stir, struggling against the knight who was carrying her and nearly toppling him over. He muttered a curse at her, as the others laughed, and dropped her unceremoniously to the ground.

Harry felt a hiss of pain in his mind.

Hermione, are you all right?

Now, Harry! He did not stop to question her, but whipped his wand from his pocket in one fluid motion. He could fill the surge of magical power coming up from the “tunnel” between Hermione's mind and his.

“Stupefy!” he called. Hermione ran to his side, as the knights - Slytherin included - -began to converge on Harry. A bright light that swelled quickly into a translucent membrane emanated from the end of Harry's wand. He pulled Hermione protectively behind him, and watched with amazement as the glowing field took out every last man.

“It worked!” Hermione said, leaning against Harry, and sounding a little more surprised than Harry would have been comfortable with. Harry dropped his wand to his side, feeling inexpressibly tired. That had been very draining magic, and the pain in his head from his encounters with Slytherin was still a dull, persistent ache.

“Get a sword,” he said, disarming the soldier nearest to them. She did so, and neatly began tying the men up, with quick, precise flicks of her wand, as if she were conducting an orchestra. Slytherin was already beginning to stir.

“Come on!” she hissed, fluttering her hands frantically at Harry, who stopped a few paces away from the cluster of restrained knights, and turned back. He hesitated for only a moment, before returning to the scene of the fray and picking up Lord Slytherin's staff.

Hermione eyed him questioningly, but he could not give voice the reason that had compelled him to pick it up.

“Okay, now let's go,” he said.

“Where?”

“Back to Avalon.”

TBC

I hated to have it so much longer than my other chapters, but I figured if I put a cliff-hanger anywhere, people would start hunting me down. One more chapter ought to wrap this up - and it looks like there's going to be plenty of room for - dare I say it? - a sequel.

But this story has really tasked my patience, so I'm going to take a break from this `verse, and finish “Resistance” before beginning a sequel.

There was a lot of “mental” stuff in this chapter. I hope it wasn't too weird.

Cheers!

lorien

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Harry Potter and the Isle of Mists

Disclaimer: I can only hope to attain the creative brilliance of J. K Rowling.

AN: This story is AU after OOTP.

Thus We Play The Fools With Time

Ginny, Ron, Luna, and Draco sat listlessly in the library, unsure of what to do next. Ron was staring at the engraving of the box in the book avidly, as if merely looking at it would cause answers to leap from the page. Luna was twirling a strand of hair around her finger, and Ginny yawned, leaning toward Ron to more carefully examine the picture in which he was so interested. Draco leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head, attempting to look bored out of his mind. This was made slightly less successful by the alert manner in which his eyes were darting around the room.

“Look at the dimensions of the box, Ron,” Ginny said suddenly, pointing to a caption with one finger. “Do you think it could hold the Claviomnis? Maybe we're destined to find it.”

“I saw a man in red - a man in red had the box,” Ron argued, shaking his head slowly.

“Red is certainly not my first choice in colors, but did you ever stop to think that you might have seen one of us in red robes?” Malfoy drawled, raising his eyebrows coolly at Ron. “Or are you going to confirm my suspicions that you neither bathe nor change clothes very often?” Ron leaned forward in his chair with a growl, stopped only by Luna's calming hand on his arm.

“Okay, then how about this?” Ginny suggested calmly. “Maybe the man in red is the person who hid the Claviomnis, and we are to find it?”

“What is the obsession with the Claviomnis?” Malfoy said, suddenly speaking with more irritation than the situation warranted. “Just because Granger suddenly got a wild hair about it? How do you even know the Claviomnis matters? It might not be relevant at all…did any of you ever stop to consider that? Or do you just jump on the bandwagon alongside whoever has the first sorry excuse of an idea?” He struggled to calm himself down. If he didn't get a handle on his annoyance, he was going to make somebody suspicious.

Ginny was looking at him oddly, her head cocked inquisitively to one side.

Damn. Too late, Malfoy grasped for his suave veneer, and ran one unconcerned hand back through his white-blond hair.

“You sound terribly certain that it's not relevant, Malfoy,” she said in a carefully bland voice. “How would you know that, I wonder?” Luna's eyes became murky and troubled. Ron's gaze was going back and forth between his nemesis and his sister, as if he were watching a tennis match.

“Don't be ridiculous, Weasley,” Malfoy sneered. “You're looking for conspiracies where there aren't any. You probably believe that Fudge has Grindelwald locked in a super-secret dungeon underneath the Ministry too, don't you?”

“Actually, there have been several witnesses who attest to the presence of a mysterious doorway beneath the lower Courtrooms that - ”

“Oh, sod off, Lovegood!” Malfoy interrupted, rolling his eyes.

“Hey!” Ron said, drawing his wand, and standing to his feet, so that he loomed menacingly over Malfoy.

“Ron…” Ginny said warningly.

“I just knew that you had to be hiding something. That somehow you were in on all this. I had started thinking that I was mistaken, but I really was right!” Anger and triumph struggled for mastery on Ron's face. He pointed his wand at Malfoy, jabbing it in his direction with short, sharp thrusts, punctuating his words. “Tell us what you know.”

“I assure you that I had nothing to do with our journey to Avalon,” Malfoy said, standing and facing Ron, with challenge in his eyes.

“No, Luna did that,” Ron answered, his eyes flickering over to where the girl in question sat, her hands tightly clasped and her face anxious. “But - but somehow you knew we were going - you knew what was going to happen. And you arranged it so that you would come too. Why?” Malfoy's face closed itself off, a smirk teasing at the corners of his mouth.

“I don't have to tell you anything.” Ron lunged toward him with an inarticulate roar, as Ginny and Luna both strove to hold him back.

“Draco, why are you doing this?” Ginny cried. “Were you lying - when you said what you said outside, were you lying?” Ron stopped struggling, and turned to look at his sister, with an air of betrayal on his face. A muscle jumped in Malfoy's jaw.

“I - I don't know…” he finally managed to say, the sophisticated mask dropping suddenly to reveal a confused and uncertain youth.

“What Ron said - was it the truth?” she asked, her eyes never leaving his face. “Did you know what would happen?”

“I - I didn't know for sure. Most of it was only theory. But - but once Granger and Potter stopped being able to keep their hands off each other -” He made a disgusted face. “And when I saw the books - I knew - I knew what was going to happen, and I knew that I had to go.”

“Who told you that you had to go?” Ginny asked, dropping Ron's arm, as he stood stock-still, as dumbfounded as she.

“My father said the order came straight from Lord Voldemort.”

Ginny let out a sort of breathy wheeze, as if someone had punched her in the stomach. Ron sank slowly onto his chair, his eyes wide with shock, trying to cope with the ramifications of what Malfoy had said. Only Luna still stood, regarding Malfoy thoughtfully, her blue eyes inscrutable.

“So, we've walked right into a trap. A trap for Harry set by Voldemort - have I gotten it all?” Ginny said slowly, after a moment, false brightness in her voice.

“No, no!” Malfoy hastened to tell her. “We're - we're not in the trap … yet.” Ron snorted, cutting off whatever else he'd been about to say.

“Why should we believe you?” Malfoy slanted a sudden, calculating look at him, and a most unpleasant smile creased his face.

“What other choice have you got?” Ron looked as if he would leap across the table and throttle Malfoy with his bare hands, but Luna's calm voice cut through his rage and panic.

“Tell us what we can expect.”

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

The twin cracks of Apparation split the still night air, sounding much more loud and intrusive than they actually were. Hermione flinched and looked around nervously. They were at the bridge to Avalon that Aetheryd had been unable to see.

“Damn!” Harry cursed furiously under his breath. “I'd hoped that Avelon's wards didn't extend out this far.” Hermione followed his gaze across the bridge and the wide lawn up to the castle. It suddenly seemed very far away. He shoved Hermione rather roughly toward the bridge. “Slytherin was already stirring when we Apparated away. Run!”

Hermione did as he said, hurtling blindly across the planks of the footbridge, struggling to keep her voluminous skirts out of the way of her feet. Her hair was coming loose from its fastenings, and strands of it were brushing across her face, getting in her eyes. She batted at it with one irritated motion of her hand.

She heard a sound of ripping fabric as she fell, the rough wood scraping painfully across both palms as she tried to catch herself. Only Harry's Seeker reflexes kept him from tripping and falling on top of her. There was a wrenching pain in her foot.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked, leaning down to help her up. She stood, only to have one leg refuse to hold her up.

“Oh, dammit! Dammit, Harry, I've sprained my ankle!” Her voice was high and strained, fury with herself for such an untimely accident evident in her wavering tone. Her entire foot, complete with its pretty, soft slipper, was wedged in the gap between two planks. Harry knelt beside her, working to free her foot, while Hermione stood awkwardly, with all her weight on her other leg.

Even as he roughly wrenched her foot loose, prompting a low hiss of pain from her and a hurried apology from him, they heard multiple Apparations. It sounded like a crackle of distant gunfire.

“They're making for the Forbidden Castle!” they heard one of Slytherin's men cry.

“I'm going to have to carry you, Hermione. I don't think I can levitate you and fend them off at the same time.”

“Quit thinking like pre-Avalon Harry,” Hermione told him sharply. “Remember the Lumos spell?” She cast a quick Cushioning charm around her foot, and tested it, wincing a little. “I think that will work.” Harry nodded at her, and squeezed her hand briefly. The first of Slytherin's men were nearly to the bridge.

“Go!” he shouted and she began to run awkwardly, nearly falling again when she transitioned from the bridge to the lawn of Avalon. When Harry made it to the end, he cast a Reducto on the bridge, intent on blasting it to splinters right under the feet of their pursuers.

Nothing happened.

Harry could hear the carefully modulated chuckles of Salazar Slytherin waft toward him on the breeze.

You foolish, upstart boy! The voice rang in his head, and the unbearable pain reverberated through his scar. Did you really think a mere reductor could destroy something that has been so long rooted in the truly Ancient Magic?

He stood motionless for so long that Hermione, who was about halfway to the castle steps, turned to see what was causing the delay. The knight leading the charge brandished his staff.

“Expelliarmus!” he called out.

“Harry!” Hermione shrieked, and reached out with her mind, merging with Harry's at the same time that he cast a Protego. The Disarming spell bounced harmlessly off of it, ricocheting with enough force to knock the knight who had cast it - as well as the one behind him - into the water.

“Stand aside!” Slytherin said angrily, pushing his henchmen out of the way, up to the end of the bridge where the Protego shield whorled serenely. Rather than dissipating as most Shielding charms did, it remained, a shimmering vortex of color, blocking their path.

The shield was translucent enough so that Harry could see a distorted version of Salazar Slytherin reaching with both hands up to the shield. The emerald-topped staff that Harry still held in his hands began to slide through his grip, inexorably pulled toward the tableau at the bridge. The colors in the Protego barrier began to swirl and throb more quickly, as if pulsing with actual life.

Harry, come on! He felt Hermione's mind ringing in his with urgency, even in its muted state, in their secret “hideaway” beneath their minds. He wondered if the link could ever be reestablished in its entirety. As if struggling with a heavy weight, Harry brought his other arm up slowly to strengthen his hold on the staff. He turned to run up to Avalon, sprinting quickly across the downy turf to where Hermione was already climbing the steps to the castle.

Behind them, the Protego shield shattered, and they both clung to the stairs as the shockwave sped by them in a rush of wind and sound. Harry struggled to maintain his control on the staff, but he could feel the pull of magic trying to remove it from his grasp.

“Alohamora!” Hermione called, in a slightly breathless voice, and the doors of the great stronghold Avalon sprang open noisily. They fled inside, and Harry flung a hasty spell over one shoulder to close the doors back.

They were halfway down the corridor, heading for the tower door, when Slytherin gained entrance to the castle. Avalon itself seemed to shudder. The pull on the staff was terrific, and the scar was a white-hot knife in Harry's head.

Harry, let the staff go. It's not worth it! He felt Hermione's voice in his mind.

I can't, he projected with difficulty, as they careened around the corner. A viciously fired curse narrowly missed them as they moved out of the line of fire, and coarse powder rained down on them, as the curse took out a chunk of the stone wall instead.

Why not? she pleaded. She felt the momentary hesitation in his mind.

I don't know, he finally admitted. They were standing before the door, which Hermione was pretty sure they had left open on their hasty removal from Avalon. It was now shut.

“Bloody hell,” Harry swore quietly. “How did Luna open this?” Hermione tried a few complicated passes with her wand, but it availed nothing. The pursuit was getting closer; Harry could see the faint flicker of spellflash.

Reductor on three, Harry, Hermione said, her voice calm, even though her face was white with strain and pain from her injured ankle.

He'll be able to follow us, Harry pointed out, as he raised his wand in tandem with hers.

That can't be helped now.

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Malfoy eyed the other three somewhat warily, before retaking his seat. He was twiddling his wand nervously between his fingers.

“Whenever Potter and Granger went to…they ended up meeting some of the Founders. Lord Slytherin in particular took an instant dislike and mistrust to Potter.”

“There's a big surprise,” Ron snorted, rolling his eyes.

“Slytherin deduced that Potter and Granger had come from about a thousand years in the future. Lord Gryffindor called Potter family, but Slytherin was never able to find out if they were related or if that was just a ruse on Gryffindor's part. The story has been passed down for generations, as the Slytherin family looked for any evidence that the Gryffindor line had been reborn.”

“Gryffindor's line ended with Gryffindor. There's never been any proof that any heirs even existed,” Ron argued automatically.

“There's been loads of proof cited in the Quibbler,” Luna pointed out with remarkable equanimity.

“Then why do you think Avalon called Harry the Heir of Gryffindor, you prat?” Malfoy asked Ron, having ignored Luna with aplomb.

“I thought it might have been a figure of speech!” Ron protested, as Malfoy began speaking again.

“Nobody even paid attention to a supposed Mudblood named Lily Evans until she got to Hogwarts. Then some of those that knew of the tendency of distinctive green eyes to run in the Gryffindor family began to take notice of her.”

“And of course, thanks to Harry and Hermione's time travel, Voldemort already knew this entire story,” Ginny finished for him. “Why didn't he just kill Lily?”

“He wasn't sure of anything until Lily married James Potter. Then, I'm afraid, she sealed their fates,” Malfoy said. There was a long moment of hesitation, where he seemed to be visibly debating over how much to say. He reached into his robes, while Ron instantly reacted, training his wand unwaveringly on the blond Slytherin. But while what Malfoy drew out resembled a wand, it was not one.

It was thicker than wands tended to be, made of dark wood obviously worn and smoothed by the passing centuries. It was finished at one end, but at the other end, it had been broken violently, and sharp splinters frayed out from the main shaft.

“And just what the hell is that?” Ron said, not lowering his wand.

“Oh, put that away, Weasley, before you put someone's eye out,” Malfoy replied, disdain dripping from every syllable. Ron glared at him, and let his wand rest down at his side, but did not pocket it. “It's Lord Slytherin's staff, or part of it anyway.”

“What happened to it?” Ginny asked, looking at the talisman with mixed fascination and fear.

“Potter happened to it,” Malfoy said witheringly, and there was a moment of silence, in which the other three teens tried to take in the concept. Ron rubbed the bridge of his nose, as if he felt a headache coming on.

“Oy, I wish Hermione was here,” he mumbled under his breath.

“When Potter comes back, he'll have the top half of this staff with him.”

“How powerful is that staff?” Ginny asked, still eying it with some measure of trepidation.

“Very,” Malfoy told her quite seriously. “Magical essence was far more potent back then than it is today. Slytherin had a large emerald atop his staff that housed some of his magical essence. A person who got their hands on that staff could be quite powerful indeed.”

“Then that means you're here, to ambush Harry as soon as he gets back, and take the two pieces of the staff back to your Master, right? Let me guess, you know how to get out of this mess, and it's going to take us right to him.” Ron asked coolly, raising his eyebrows in his best Malfoy-esque manner.

“Try not to be a complete moron, Weasley,” Malfoy replied. “If I was going to do that, why would I tell you any of this? I may have not had the … erm…purest motives when I got here, but that - that vision that the Oracle showed me? I did not make that up.” His eyes were troubled, evidently still seeing visions of his mother tortured at his father's hand.

“There's one thing that I don't understand,” Luna asked suddenly, her serene voice somehow finding a way to cut through the rest of the conversation.

“One thing?” Ron and Ginny chorused in bafflement.

“Why not just prevent Harry from going back in time at all? If he never goes back, he never breaks the staff. The Slytherin family keeps the power of Slytherin, and probably goes on to terrorize millions of Muggles in the name of purebloodedness.”

Malfoy drilled them all with a particularly quelling look.

“Why do you think Voldemort's tried to kill Harry so many times?” Ron froze in place, his mouth agape, in the perfect picture of one presented with an answer that was never considered, or even dreamed of. “And somehow the idiotic prick kept surviving, and kept nearly killing the Dark Lord. So it was decided - ”

“To get someone to do Voldemort's dirty work for him, and that someone was the son of his bestest little stooge,” Ron's voice was sing-song with sarcasm. Malfoy jerked his head up violently to glare at Ron, his grip tightening around the ancient staff so tightly that his knuckles were white.

“Weasley, I'm warning you - ”

“Is that why Voldemort broke your father out of prison? I bet your father'd had that staff hidden away for years, after Harry defeated Voldemort the first time. Maybe somewhere in Europe?” Ron said, before remembering that Malfoy didn't actually know that Harry had been in his mind and seen the domestic bliss that was the Malfoy household. Oops, he thought belatedly.

Malfoy's eyes flickered toward him in confusion, as if he were on the cusp of understanding something, but couldn't quite take the final steps there.

“Your father had to check the staff, didn't he?” Luna said suddenly, thankfully taking Malfoy's attention away from Ron's slip. “He was keeping it safe for his boss, and it was his job to see if the staff was whole again. If it became whole again, it would mean that the latest attempt on Harry's life, or to keep him from going back in time, had worked. But you still have just half a staff. It's all very Back to the Future.”

“Back to - to where?” Ron asked, completely at sea from Luna's latest monologue. Malfoy was not to be thusly distracted.

“Weasley, what the hell are you trying to say about Europe?” Ron opened his mouth, as he groped for some kind of believable lie, not wanting to turn Malfoy's admittedly dubious alliance against them until they were all safely back where they were supposed to be.

He was interrupted by a low, rumble that vibrated the floors, seeming to originate from the bowels of Avalon itself.

“What the bloody hell was that?” was what Ron actually ended up saying. They drew their wands and careened out into the hallway, expecting some kind of confrontation. Instead what they saw was a sudden chunk blasted from the corner of the wall, as if hit by an invisible hex. Ginny cringed as the loose rock fell towards them, but the debris vanished in mid-flight. Even as they watched, the sharp, clean edges of the new break became dull and worn with age. Ginny and Ron exchanged glances of utter befuddlement.

“Wha - ?” was all Ron got out, before he noticed that Malfoy was very pale. He was moving his fingers reflexively around the staff, apparently not even noticing that he was doing it.

“It's nearly time. They'll be coming back soon,” he said, and began sprinting toward the door that led to the tower.

“How do you know that?” Ginny called after him, as the others pelted in the same direction that Draco had gone.

They found him in front of the door that Luna had opened earlier, wand in one hand, staff in the other, apparently trying to suss out exactly how to get it open. He did not react at all to the sudden clatter of footfalls behind him, although he had to have known they were coming.

“Lovegood, can you open this?” he asked perfunctorily, without turning around.

“You've seen me open it before,” Luna answered somewhat icily.

“Don't do it, Luna,” Ron said in a warning tone, laying one hand on her arm.

“Spare me your feeble attempts at courtship, Weasley,” Malfoy said, turning towards them and rolling his eyes. Ron flushed a vivid red. “Open the damn door.”

Luna opened her mouth to speak, but before anyone could discover if she was planning to agree or decline, there was another rumble through the very foundations of Avalon. A ripple ran through the door and ancient cracks threaded through the brass-studded finish. Draco swore under his breath.

“They've made it as far as the tower. For the love of Merlin, Lovegood, open the door!” Luna looked visibly uncertain, and Ron felt real fear watching her hesitance. She had been the one person that he had been able to take on complete faith, the one who somehow, inexplicably, had a handle on what exactly was going on. The key word being had, of course. Her gaze darted nervously from Malfoy to Ron.

She raised her wand, and tapped out the correct sequence on the door. It creaked open noisily, having obviously been repaired at one time, long ago.

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Harry and Hermione were halfway up the stairs, as the wooden splinters were still clattering noisily to the stone floor. Hermione was having a rough time of it, lagging noticeably behind Harry, even as he still clung to her hand.

Hermione, sweetheart, come on!

I'm - I'm trying, she gasped, her voice still sounding tinny and small in the tunnel of their minds.

Wingardium Leviosa, he thought, and she lifted gently into the air. He cast another Shielding charm about halfway up the stairs, hoping to buy them some more time. Time…he thought, with a sardonic grin.

They had finally reached the open room containing the large Time Turner, when Harry heard the stealthy scrape of a foot on stone. Slytherin was coming alone.

How are we going to turn this thing on? Harry asked, shaking the outermost metal ring with one hand. Hermione limped through the intertwining circles, and tapped the hourglass with her wand.

Nothing happened.

I don't know, Harry, she answered, looking back at him with pleading and apologetic eyes. She saw his jaw set, as that look of hopeless determination - never say die - flashed across his face.

He turned to face the door.

They heard the Protego blow apart. Harry couldn't help but be amazed at Slytherin's skill. If he's like that without his staff…he didn't finish the thought.

The footfalls began a frenzied staccato up the stairs, no longer trying for stealth. Harry squared himself toward the door, wand raised. Hermione was leaning on one of the rings, trying to keep her weight off of her injured leg.

Stay behind me, Hermione, he instructed her tersely. He felt her bristling, but there was no time for her to respond, before Slytherin's hunched, ungainly form had gained the doorway.

ssssssssssssssssssssssssss

If Draco Malfoy was at all amazed by the sheer size of the Time Turner in the tower, he did a good job of masking it. He stood in front of the outermost ring, and raised his wand.

“What the hell are you doing?” Ron said, pushing down on Malfoy's arm so that the wand pointed to the floor.

“Get out of my way, Weasley,” Malfoy snarled, knocking Ron aside. They both watched as gouges and nicks appeared in the stone. The glass in one of the narrow windows cracked, and a searing scorch mark appeared on one of the rings of the time turner, marring the shiny finish with a vivid black line.

“What's going on, Draco?” Ginny called out, somewhat tremulously.

“Potter dueled Lord Slytherin,” Malfoy responded, unable to quite keep all the admiration out of his voice, much to his chagrin.

“How are we seeing that now, if it happened a thousand years ago?” Ron bellowed.

“Avalon is a hub of time, a central gathering place from which spokes of time emerge in every direction,” Luna said serenely, as the mysterious wind suddenly appeared to swirl around the tower room. The other three stared at her for a moment, without comprehension.

“Thanks for clearing that up,” Ron said in a dazed voice. Malfoy raised his wand again, and Ron took exception to it a second time. “What are you going to do?” the Gryffindor demanded.

“I'm trying to save your bloody friends' pathetic lives. Is that quite acceptable to you, Weasley?” Ron subsided, clearly not happy about it, but seeing no other options. Malfoy aimed his wand at the center of the Time Turner, and shouted, “Tempus fugit.”

There was a mechanical sounding groan, and the rings of the Time Turner began to grind into motion.

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Harry wove neatly between the rings of the Time Turner, using the metal as a shield from Slytherin's attack. Hermione was, of course, not staying behind him, but, favoring her injured ankle, was trying to provide Harry with some cover. They were working seamlessly as a team, speaking only telepathically, and anticipating each other's every move. Their link seemed almost restored.

Even with their advantages, the power of a still-staffless Slytherin was almost overwhelming. Harry felt the heat of a curse whiz by his ear and crash into the wall somewhere behind him. He could hear wind whistling through a new crack in a window. They had very nearly pinned Slytherin down, having him all but trapped in a small alcove, while they were able to use the body of the Time Turner as cover.

Hermione, I want you to duck down and try to -

Harry, we've got to get away from the Time Turner!

What? Why? He cast a frantic look at her, as he fired another spell, and heard Slytherin curse in response. He smiled grimly.

Have you thought about what happens if Slytherin breaks it?

Utter blankness wafted through Hermione's mind, followed by little ripples of shock. Evidently, Harry had not thought about it until just now.

All right, you cover me, and I'll go -

Whatever Harry had been about to say was cut off abruptly and painfully by the reappearance of the cleaver in his head. The agony drove him to his knees; he dropped his wand, but managed to retain hold of Slytherin's staff.

So, you think you're cleverer than Lord Salazar Slytherin? You think you can converse in the dark recesses of your pitiful minds without fear of discovery and reprisal? The words were thunderously loud, echoing in Harry's head with such force that Hermione's cries to him went unheard.

Blackness began to stain the edges of his vision like spilled ink, and his lashes fluttered vainly as he clung to consciousness.

“Harry! Harry, get up! Harry, please!” he could dimly hear Hermione pleading, as if from very far away. Deep, rattling footfalls echoed across the stone floor. He could feel the vibrations through the floor.

Slytherin was coming…

Hermione raised her wand, defiance flashing in her dark eyes. Harry lay crumpled at her feet.

The rings of the Time Turner slowly began to move.

Salazar Slytherin lifted one hand, almost airily, and blasted a hole in the side of the Time Turner.

“Accio staff!” he shouted, as Hermione sent a white-hot beam from her wand to melt the glass back together. The Time Turner had shuddered violently, but resumed its motion, after only a moment's hesitation.

The rings were turning, gaining speed.

Harry stirred, groaning, and struggling to open his heavy lids.

“Harry?” Hermione said. The staff soared through the air.

It clanged against one of the twisting rings, causing a gong-like sound, as if a very large tuning fork had been struck.

Slytherin lunged for it.

And with the lightning quick reflexes of a born Seeker, Harry's arm shot straight up, and plucked it from the air, even as it tumbled from its interrupted Accio. Slytherin had the other end firmly in his grip.

Hermione could feel the magic crackling between the two of them, wishing that she could somehow add her magic to Harry's. But the link had been completely severed by Slytherin's second mental attack.

The rings picked up speed, and Hermione saw what neither Slytherin nor Harry had yet noticed. The outermost ring was going to come up between them and would probably knock the staff from Harry's hand. The younger wizard was still obviously in pain, and was at a very bad angle to keep hold of the staff.

“Expelliarmus!” she shouted suddenly, and Slytherin pinwheeled backwards from his own staff.

The inner body of the Time Turner began to glow. Harry exchanged grateful glances with Hermione.

They were going home.

“Shit!” Harry swore, as a heavy weight hit the end of the staff. Slytherin had grabbed it again, but even as he did, the ring hit the staff loudly. The sound of splintering wood filled the room.

Both Harry's and Slytherin's bodies hit the floor with audible thumps, on opposite sides of the Time Turner's rings. Each had half of the staff.

The rings began to move at a dizzying pace, and the glow from the hourglass became a blinding white. The room melted away from around them.

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Hermione didn't know where they were, and she didn't care. She knelt over Harry's prone body, and caressed one side of his face.

“Harry? Harry, are you all right? Harry, come on, love, wake up.”

“For the love of Merlin, Granger, get a room!” came a snide voice that she well knew.

“Malfoy,” she said sourly, by way of greeting. “As much as it pains me to admit it, I'm glad to see you.” Her eyes traveled gratefully to the others, standing anxiously nearby.

“Is he all right?” Ron asked anxiously, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat. Hermione's brow knit with anxiety.

“I don't know. Slytherin - he - he did something to Harry's mind. He - ” her eyes darted uncertainly to Draco, unsure of how much to disclose. “Harry could feel him through his scar too.”

“Bloody hell!” was Ron's singularly helpful rejoinder. “So, you really were back in time with the Founders.” Hermione nodded, shrugging slightly.

“Slytherin's just as vile as I always suspected he was,” she replied, with a pointed look at Draco Malfoy. Her eyes fell to the fragment of the staff in his hand, and she stood to her feet, fury blazing from her eyes. “And just where the hell did you get that?”

Malfoy raised his hands, disarmingly, one still clenching the staff.

“Easy there, Granger.”

“He's known you were going to bring it back the whole time. His end's been passed down through the Slytherin family. All the way to Voldemort… and his lackeys,” Ron supplied helpfully.

“Voldemort wants it?” Hermione said questioningly, extracting the emerald-topped end of the staff from Harry's unresponsive fingers.

“Yes,” Malfoy admitted, with as much forthrightness as he'd ever displayed. “And it's our ticket out of here. P - please, Granger,” he spat the last two words, as if they sickened him physically, but held his hand out for the staff, meeting Hermione's gaze squarely. Hermione seemed uncharacteristically subdued; she contemplatively eyed the green glow of the brilliant, flawless emerald.

And with a sudden, violent movement that surprised everyone in the room, she wrenched the staff in an upward motion, next swinging it down and smashing the emerald against the stone floor. There was a flash of light and black smoke, and the vivid light swirling inside the emerald died. A vicious crack now marred the side of the gemstone.

Draco was watching her with real fear stamped on his pale face.

“You don't know what you've just done, Granger.” Hermione regarded him levelly.

“I believe what I've done is prevent Voldemort from getting his hands on a very powerful, magical artifact,” she returned.

“Look!” he said, thrusting the shattered end of the staff he carried toward her, seething with frustration. A small green button rested within the fragmented hollow. Ginny and Ron crowded forward for a look as well.

“What is it?” Hermione asked, trying to maintain her unruffled tone.

“I connect the two ends of the staff together, and the Portkey activates… and we get out of here.”

“You mean, you get out of here,” Ron said belligerently.

“I said we, Weaselby, and I meant it,” Malfoy said pointedly, glaring at him.

“And we Portkey right to where Voldemort and all his lovely, hooded friends are waiting for us, right, Malfoy?” came Harry's weary voice from behind them. Everyone whirled, and their collective gazes fell on Harry, struggling to sit up.

“Harry! Are you all right?” Hermione exclaimed. Harry nodded heavily, and she helped him to his feet.

“Would you prefer to stay in this godforsaken place forever?” Malfoy retorted, throwing his arms out to the side, melodramatically.

“Better that than being dead,” Ron muttered.

“I think I would've been able to talk us out of the situation, if Granger here hadn't destroyed our only bargaining chip!” Malfoy snarled. For the first time, Hermione looked slightly uncertain of what she'd just done.

“That's assuming any of us trust you further than we can throw you, Malfoy,” Harry replied coolly.

“And assuming that Voldemort understands any kind of bargaining that doesn't end in Kedavra,” Ron drawled.

“If Draco was going to turn us over to Voldemort, why would he tell us all this?” Ginny said, her pleading voice cutting into the increasingly hostile conversation.

“I couldn't even begin to guess the underlying motives of a Slytherin,” Ron retorted, glaring at his sister.

“I'll take that as a compliment, Weasley,” Malfoy said lightly.

“If you're so bloody anxious to leave, then just go. Take the staff, and get out of here. We'll wait for more savory heroics,” Ron said. Malfoy looked disgusted, and opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione interrupted him.

“His life isn't worth a plug Knut if he shows up with a dysfunctional staff and no Harry… is it, Draco?” The emphasis on his little-used first name was unsettling. Malfoy's arrogant gaze faltered.

“The fact is that I need you as much as you need me,” he replied stonily. “As much as it pains me to admit. If the Death Eaters no longer have the element of surprise, I think we have a real chance to elude them.” His eyes tripped over the stunned, slightly suspicious faces of his peers. “Granger, Weasley,” he nodded to Ginny, “do you think you could make this emerald whole again? We only need it to look authentic.” Hermione and Ginny exchanged glances and nodded guardedly.

“And what are you going to do, Malfoy?” Harry asked, handing the top of the staff carefully to Hermione, letting his fingers caress her hand briefly before withdrawing.

“We,” Malfoy said the word with sarcastic and deliberate smarminess, “are going to see if the lovely magical room downstairs can conjure up items other than food. We're going to need every tactical advantage we can get.”

Harry and Ron exchanged dubious looks with Luna, as they warily followed Malfoy from the tower.

TBC

Okay, this got a little longer than I meant for it to. I had so much fun writing the chase scene, and alternating between the two times. Anyway, one more chapter - possibly two - should finish it all up.

I also got to have a little fun referencing some of my favorite time travel movies… just good, fun stuff like Back to the Future and Frequency (which I highly recommend, for more than just the luscious Jim Caviezel). I know that there probably are plotholes the size of supertankers in here, but I think this is generally the case with any time travel story. I tried to cover most of the ones I could think of, without it getting really awkward and exposition-y. Dumbledore will cover some others at the end, as well.

Now, here's my question. This will be where their affiliation with Avalon ends. I have some more ends to tie up (Draco's redemption, the meaning of Ron's vision, the Claviomnis, Harry and Hermione's romance and their dead mental link, and the final confrontation with Voldemort), but am wondering if this is enough to warrant a sequel? Should I just continue the story on, even though it's no longer about the “Isle of Mists”? I'd love to hear your opinions about this.

Hope you're enjoying it. Thanks for reading. You may leave a review on your way out, if you like.

lorien

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Harry Potter and the Isle of Mists

Disclaimer: I can only hope to attain the creative brilliance of J. K Rowling.

AN: This story is AU after OOTP.

The World About You Devastated By Evil Lunatics

“So what do we do now, genius?” Ron asked with a sarcasm that would have made Malfoy proud, had it not been directed at him. Malfoy cut his eyes toward the red-head with a glare, but evidently decided not to waste words on him.

“Look, we're going to need -- ” Draco began, but Harry was not really listening to him, his attention focused, as it was, on the tower above, wherein Ginny and Hermione were reconstructing the emerald atop Slytherin's staff. He reached out with every yearning desire and recalled feeling of oneness that he'd ever had for his brilliant best friend, and in return felt …

Nothing.

Harry delved his hands into his pockets, and jogged casually down the stairs with the others, posture slumped ever so slightly. At that moment, he hated Salazar Slytherin more sincerely than he'd ever hated anyone. The link, the link that he had come to treasure and rely on was gone, severed as easily as a thread snipped with scissors. Hermione… he thought longingly.

“Sod it, Potter!” Malfoy said angrily, snapping Harry out of his gloomy reverie. “No wonder Professor Snape loathes you. You haven't heard a word I've said, have you?”

“He say anything worth hearing?” Harry asked Ron out of the side of his mouth.

“Only if you're him,” Ron responded in kind. They were rewarded with a faint pink flush of ire on Malfoy's otherwise pale face.

“I would've expected you, of all people, Potter, to understand the stakes we're playing for here,” the Slytherin said cuttingly, fear only barely discernible around the edges of his voice.

“I understand quite well, Malfoy,” Harry retorted, “seeing as how I've played this game - successfully - several times now.” Malfoy's eyes flitted over Harry's face, as he -oddly enough - appeared to take Harry seriously. It was, the Gryffindor thought, terribly discomposing, to say the least. “Besides,” he added, “You're only looking to save your own filthy hide. Let me be the judge of how seriously I'm taking things.”

“You've just more to lose,” Malfoy sniffed loftily, the brief searching look vanished from his face as if it had never been there at all.

“You're damn straight,” Harry said quietly, a determined expression settling over his features like a mask. Ron was looking from one to the other, as if watching a tennis match, but said nothing. Luna drifted regally along behind them like a royal ghost.

In silence, the four of them rounded the corner and entered the large empty chamber that had greeted them on their initial entrance into the castle of Avalon. Harry reflected that it seemed much longer ago than the space of a few short days.

Malfoy stuck his hands casually into his pockets, and looked around the room curiously, as if he were a prospective buyer.

“We… could use some invisibility cloaks,” Ron offered hesitantly, making it almost sound like a question. The perimeter of the room seemed to vibrate slightly under a sudden surge of magical power, and a tidy stack of shimmery fabric appeared on the floor nearby. Ron swore under his breath, and reached down to touch the cloaks, as if he could not actually believe in their existence.

“Oh ye of little faith,” Malfoy snarked, and Harry looked at him in mild surprise.

“You have a battle plan, Malfoy?” he asked, with raised eyebrows, “Or were you planning on flying by the seat of your pants?”

“I thought that was your job,” Malfoy replied pleasantly, albeit with a tight smile. Harry opened his mouth to counter, but was diverted by Luna's gaze going somewhere over his head. Ron followed her look as well, and Harry noted with amazement that all the color drained from Ron's face.

“Oh….no…” his best friend said, and when Harry turned, he was rewarded by a brief flash and vague cognizance of a sort of purple light, before everything exploded in a brilliant haze of glory.

Harry was walking in the very vestibule through which he had just crossed. When he came over the threshold, however, he was not in the large marble-tiled hall, but in a small rustic room, reminiscent of Hagrid's hut. It was rough, low-beamed, and reflective with warm orange firelight.

A lean young man lounged in a wooden chair, his long legs stretched out before the fire. When he saw Harry, he immediately stood, and did so with a kind of feline grace that seemed effortless.

“Hallo,” he said, off-handedly, as if unexpected strangers showed up in his cabin all the time.

“Where the hell…?” Harry managed to say, his voice trailing off, as he noted the detailed pictograms on the walls, drawn with what looked like chalk. “Who are you? And how did I get here?”

“The Oracle sent you here. She often operates under knowledge to which not all are privy. She has obviously seen fit to send you to me.” The young man said casually, lifting the lid of a vast cauldron, and peering inside curiously. He must have been satisfied with what he saw, for he stirred it once, and lowered the lid again.

“And who are you?” Harry repeated the question that had been ignored. The man - who had the indeterminate good looks of someone who could have been anywhere from 25 to 35 - looked at him in surprise.

“I'm Myrddin, of course.” He seemed taken aback, as if it should have been patently obvious.

“You - y - you - ” Harry stammered stupidly. “But you're - you're not - ”

“Very articulate. Nice to see what the schools are doing these days,” Myrddin said. “I'm not old…is that what you were trying to say? Not old, with a long white beard, and tall pointy hat?”

“Yeeess…” Harry drawled hesitantly, feeling a little stupid.

“That's what I'll look like in Arthur's time, apparently. This is not Arthur's time…this is yours.”

“But I - ”

“Backwards, boy. I'm living through time backwards. I don't suppose you've ever read T. H. White? Well, he didn't get it all right, but he was close.”

“So, you're getting… younger?” Harry ventured, wondering it was the heat of the fire making his face blaze.

“Right in one!” Myrddin said, in a triumphant tone. “It is the twentieth century, is it not?” Harry hesitated for a moment, as if making sure that it, in fact, was the twentieth century. “So, what did you want to see me about?” He consulted the cauldron again.

“I didn't want to see you about anything. I just - I went in the Great Hall at Avalon, and then I was here.”

“Right…the Oracle,” Myrddin said, in a tone of remembering something that had slipped his mind. Harry wondered whether or not Myrddin was a little cracked.

“You try living like this,” Myrddin said suddenly, as if Harry had spoken aloud. “You know where the entire world is headed, but they know where you're headed. See if you don't end up a little barmy.” Harry knew that his face must have been scarlet.

“Well, there's this dark wizard named Voldemort…” Harry began slowly, but stopped when recognition flashed in Myrddin's face.

“Yes, Voldemort… I've heard of him. You're prophesied to be the one to take him on, aren't you?”

“Do I succeed?” Harry asked, in a sudden flash of inspiration, as he realized that Myrddin had already been in the future.

“Do you really think I can tell you, boy? What if I told you that you defeated him, and then you get all arrogant and swell-headed, thinking that it's a sure thing. Then he defeats you. Or I say that he defeats you, and you run away, and Voldemort takes over the world. There's too much uncertainty there to be playing with time. Plus it'll be all my fault, and I have enough complications in my life, thank you very much. I certainly don't need the guilt.”

Harry just blinked at him, feeling as if he'd been walloped upside the head with a bludger bat - or was he having a conversation with Luna Lovegood?

“So, what was it you needed?” Myrddin asked him again, and Harry felt the sudden urge to shake the powerful wizard until his teeth rattled. Myrddin looked at him, with one eyebrow cocked, and Harry felt himself reddening again.

“You seem to have me at a disadvantage,” he mumbled.

“What's the point of becoming the greatest wizard in the known world if it doesn't come with perks?” was Myrddin's philosophical response.

“Listen,” Harry said, tiring of the rigamarole, “we - some friends of mine and I - are trapped on Avalon. We've a way out, but it will lead us straight to Voldemort. We could use some help.”

“If you could have anything in the world right now, what would you choose?” Myrddin said suddenly, as if he'd not heard Harry at all.

Harry sucked in his breath, and the delicious communion of his mind with Hermione's, emotions intertwined and interlocked, flashed briefly in his thoughts. He replied instead,

“To rid the world of Voldemort, of course,” he said.

“Liar,” Myrddin crowed, stirring the cauldron. “It was this - what was her name - Hermione?” Harry finally nodded a little reluctantly.

“The defeat of Voldemort is what I should want,” he said. “It - it benefits everyone. Our future together won't be worth much, if he's still around.”

“Nevertheless, the heart wants what it wants,” Myrddin said airily. He fluttered his hand in Harry's direction, asking, “Was there anything else?”

“Anything else?” Harry said, his tone clearly conveying that Myrddin hadn't done much of anything yet. Myrddin smiled at him, and Harry was very uncomfortable with the fact that the wizard could apparently read his mind without thinking twice.

“What do you know of the Claviomnis?” he asked, more out of desperation than a sincere desire to learn anything.

“The what?” Myrddin asked blankly, and Harry belatedly realized that he wouldn't have invented it… yet. The Boy Who Lived rubbed his temples to ward off a headache. “Is that the device that I'm supposed to create in honor of Viviane? From the stones of Avalon itself? I've read that I'll do an excellent job of it.” His voice was merry.

“Wait…it's from the stones of Avalon?” Harry said.

“That's what I've heard. Haven't actually made it yet, of course. But then again, I already have.”

“Yeah…” Harry said weakly.

“There are many beautiful caves in Normandy, you know. You should see them, if you chance to go there.”

“To… Normandy?” Harry said. Myrddin jumped around too much for him to be able to keep up properly. It was amazingly like a conversation with Dumbledore, actually. The other wizard looked at him critically.

“You do seem rather dull. I fully blame the educational system. If you're the one destined to take on Voldemort, I rather hope you move faster than you have today.” Harry wrinkled his brow, taking offense at Myrddin's off-hand insults.

“Harmony of purpose,” the wizard mumbled to himself, adding something green and sparkly to the cauldron. “It's a lovely concept, isn't it? Powerful, yet so hard to achieve.”

“I don't - ” Harry began, but the purple light began to swirl around him, and Myrddin's cabin began to rotate, as if it were being sucked down some kind of cosmic drain. “Can I find you - in my time? You're still alive?”

“Oh yes, I'm very much alive. But you won't be able to find me. I've read that no one has yet - or will be able to.” He shook his head. “This whole time thing is very much a bother.”

“Wait! If I - could you - ” Harry stammered. Myrddin was very far away, and seemed not at all concerned that Harry was disappearing.

“It's your destiny, not mine. Mine's already happened, you see - or will happen, depending on how you look at it. Can't help you.”

The last thing Harry heard was the noisy clank of the cauldron lid as it was set back down into place.

He staggered a little on the marbled floor of the Great Hall, sucking in a great noisy breath of air.

“Bloody hell, Harry,” Ron said. “Where the hell'd you go?” Malfoy and Luna were watching them with detached interest.

“I saw - I saw - Merlin… Merlin himself,” Harry said. “Only he was young, and he - he's, I mean he's young now, and he gets old…before…” He trailed off, as he saw the befuddled look on Ron's face. His mind sifted frantically through the various odd things Merlin had said, hoping to find something useful.

“Normandy,” Harry said suddenly, fastening onto that word with all the mental strength he could muster. He whirled toward Draco. “Is that where the Portkey takes us?” Malfoy raked him with a sardonic glance.

“How the hell did you know that?” the Slytherin asked, not even bothering to deny it.

“Merlin said - Merlin said the caves - there were caves. It - and the Claviomnis… Gryffindor took it to his family estate in Normandy… right before the Time Turner brought us back.”

“Then Hermione was right,” Luna said quietly, darting a rather smug glance at Malfoy. “The Claviomnis is important. Voldemort wants it.” She looked at Harry pensively. “And he wants you to get it for him.”

“What makes him think I can get it?” Harry asked, thinking about the way Hermione had called it to her, when they had been contacting Luna. He met the Ravenclaw's gaze, and knew that they were both thinking the same thing.

“You are the heir of Gryffindor,” Luna said placidly, her dark blue eyes practically boring a hole in Harry. “Who would be able to get it, if not you?”

Ron had been standing motionless, a puzzled look on his face, and appeared to be mouthing something over and over.

“Ron?” Harry asked. “You all right?”

“Normandy!” Ron said, with an air of excited realization. “It wasn't Mindy at all. In my vision, the voice said Normandy. There was a man, in scarlet robes, hiding a box.”

A memory of Gryffindor striding across the footbridge, his red robes gleaming in the torchlight, floated into Harry's consciousness.

“Then we've got to go…soon,” Harry said determinedly. “If Voldemort already suspects where the Claviomnis is hidden - ” he shook his head. “He cannot find it first.” The other three students looked back at him, even Malfoy looking uncharacteristically solemn and worried. “At least we've got a bargaining chip… we know he wants the staff. And - and there's always - always - ”

“Always what, Harry?” Ron asked curiously.

“Always him, Weaselby,” Malfoy snorted. “Most Noble Potter, heir of Gryffindor, is willing to give up his sorry life, if it means keeping Voldemort from the Claviomnis. Aren't we lucky to know him?” He had one hand on his breastbone, as if giving an oration.

Harry was distracted by Hermione's horrified cry from the doorway, and turned toward her, so missing Ron lunging for Draco and punching him in the jaw.

“Ron!” shrieked Ginny, and together, she and Luna struggled to separate them. Harry stood motionless, staring at Hermione, transfixed, watching in mute agony as her eyes filled.

“Hermione, I - ” he began, wanting desperately to explain that he did not desire to throw his life away, but that he understood that some things were bigger than oneself - and this was one of those things.

“I know, Harry,” she whispered, hoarsely through her tears. “If you didn't feel - if you weren't willing to - to - ” she couldn't say it. “Then you wouldn't be the Harry Potter that I love so much.”

“I love you too,” Harry replied, reaching for her, as she moved willingly into his arms. He kissed her gently and longingly on the lips, a kiss born of desperate yearning.

“Nice to see you're worried about me,” Ron quipped. They broke the kiss, slightly embarrassed, and looked over to see their other best friend straightening his shirt. Luna and Ginny had their wands out, and were looking menacingly at Draco.

“He's the one who hit me first,” Draco protested, in the lofty manner of one feeling the inequity of the situation. He rubbed the swiftly reddening mark on his jaw, with an injured air.

“You deserved it,” Hermione said flatly, surprising Harry. Malfoy's eyes narrowed.

“Is the emerald ready?”

“It's perfect,” Hermione replied, glowering right back at him. “I defy you to find anything amiss with the copy.”

“I'm not the one who's going to be looking at it,” Draco predicted darkly, and the ominous thought gave everyone in the room pause. “Now, Potter, I believe you were asking me about my battle plan,” he added pleasantly. “I'll have the staff, of course. Lovegood, you've done it before - if I pull the coordinates out of this portkey, can you make one? With slightly different coordinates?” Luna nodded with confidence. “Better if everyone doesn't appear at once - you'll be better able to assess the situation, and figure out where you're needed. They know where I'll appear, but we won't know where they are. We need every advantage we can get. And everyone but Potter should be under the cloaks.”

“If I'm not under a cloak, then where will I be?” Harry said, almost as if he already knew the answer.

“You'll be my prisoner, of course.”

A loud cacophony of voices greeted Draco's pronouncement with utter disagreement and disbelief.

“Like bloody hell he will!” Ron said hotly. “You're bloody well taking us to Voldemort, and we're going to put Harry at your mercy? Like hell!” he repeated.

“If it makes you feel better, Weasley, you can have me in your sights under that cloak,” Draco said in a long-suffering voice. “Voldemort's going to have to be convinced that everything's going his way. If he suspects anything, I'll be AK'd before I can blink twice.”

“Big loss,” Ron said bitingly, and Malfoy froze. The two of them stared at each other for a long moment.

“He's right,” Harry finally said heavily, breaking the tension. “Voldemort knows that Malfoy'd have to fight me to get the other half of the staff. It only makes sense that he would present me to Voldemort, once he had me under control.”

“What if that is what he's doing, Harry?” Ron protested. “He's playing like he's on our side, but what if that's been his plan all along?”

“There's no way to know for sure, Ron,” Harry admitted. “But we've really no other choice.”

Malfoy held his hand out to Ginny, who rather reluctantly handed him the staff. Luna began to hand people invisibility cloaks.

“Potter, give me your wand,” Malfoy said imperiously, tucking the staff into a fold of his robes.

“You can't leave him unarmed!” Hermione said in alarm. “Let him have it in his pocket or something.” She hated the pleading tone that entered her voice, but begging Malfoy was a small price to pay for Harry's safety.

“If Voldemort has wards up, they'll detect whether or not Harry has his wand,” Malfoy said stubbornly. “If he finds that I allowed Harry to keep it, the game's over.”

“If there are wards up, they'll detect our portkeys as well,” Hermione informed him levelly. Draco met her gaze squarely and without faltering.

“So they will,” he admitted, continuing as Ron opened his mouth to protest again. “That's why you have the cloaks, after all.” The others regarded him for a moment, clearly not liking the piecemeal fashion in which they were receiving information. Malfoy hesitated for a moment, his eyes darting over them all, and drifting back to Harry and Hermione. “He wants the Claviomnis. Badly. He knows Potter is the Heir of Gryffindor now, or at least, he will once he has the staff whole. He thinks that Potter can find it for him.” Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but Harry stepped squarely on her foot, and Malfoy continued without noticing. “Whether or not you can, I surely hope that you can bluff long enough for us to extricate ourselves from this situation.” The last sentence was said in that bland Malfoy drawl that they all knew so well.

“Isn't extricating sort of your forte?” Ginny asked lightly, and Ron smirked.

“We don't have a lot of time,” Harry interrupted. “Voldemort might have gone to Normandy as soon as we disappeared. He cannot find that stone.”

Icy gray eyes met brilliant green ones. The usual dislike and contempt simmered in the air between them, as well as something else that Hermione could not quite put her finger on.

“Then I guess we're done talking,” Malfoy said casually, striking out with a lightening-quick reflex, punching Harry twice in rapid succession. With the second hit, there was an audible crunching of cartilage, and blood spurted from Harry's nose. Harry made a kind of strangled exclamation in the back of his throat, and Hermione and Ginny both let out incoherent cries of protest. Luna's sparkling eyes flitted from one to the other, enigmatically, while Ron twitched toward them, but did not otherwise move. Malfoy deftly disarmed Harry, and tucked his wand away in the folds of his robe, then grabbed Harry by the hair, twisting it around to bring Harry toward him, eliciting an involuntary cry of pain.

“Your wand is in my right pocket,” he hissed in Harry's ear, never letting go of his tight grip on Harry's hair. Harry's knees buckled slightly, trying to ease some of the pressure on his scalp, even as blood trickled over his mouth and chin.

“It might be easier if you weren't enjoying this so much,” he rasped, reaching up to try to stanch the blood flow with the back of one hand, but not making it before Draco used Incarcerous on him.

“I would have let you hit me too, Potter,” Malfoy said in a tone of faint disappointment. “But Weasley saw fit to take care of that for you.” With Harry bound, he removed the staff from his robes, and pulled a long glowing strand from the cracked place, with his wand. Tiny numbers gleamed faintly in the light. “Here's a copy of the coordinates. Find a couple of things you can use as portkeys - ” As he spoke, a small cup and an inkwell shimmered into view on the marble floor. Malfoy paid them no heed. “And try not to come in on top of us, will you?”

He moved back to Harry's side, and grabbed his hair again, forcing him to stand at an awkward angle. Harry saw the pain in Hermione's gaze, and felt his eyes swimming with the force of everything he wanted to give voice to, and yet could not.

“Harry, I - ” Hermione cried out, but Draco had slammed the end of the staff into the floor, where it thudded resoundingly, activating the button concealed within.

Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy vanished.

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

They reappeared in a wooded area, where the dull orange of the dying sun glinted through the trees, and made it difficult for them to see. Malfoy gripped Harry's hair painfully, as they both struggled to reorient themselves.

And then came a voice that Harry had hoped futilely to never hear again.

“Mr. Malfoy,” said the high-pitched voice, sounding unmistakably pleased. “I see you have brought at least part of what I requested. Now where is Slytherin's staff?”

“Here, my lord,” Malfoy replied, in a voice that was carefully steady. He reached inside his robe, and withdrew the staff, handing it to a masked Death Eater, without releasing his grip on Harry. The aide carried the staff across both hands, parallel to the ground, and dropped to one knee before Voldemort, offering it to him deferentially. Harry thought he was going to be sick.

Voldemort caressed the top of the staff, lovingly, watching the way the emerald reflected the rays of the waning sun.

“And now, Mr. Potter, there is something I'd like you to do for me - before we get around to the business of that prophecy,” he said politely, as if asking Harry for a favor.

“What prophecy?” Harry blustered, spitting blood out of his mouth, and trying to lower his head enough to look at Voldemort directly. Malfoy's grip on his hair was making his eyes water.

“And still we pretend…” Voldemort replied with an almost paternal smile, a tsk-tsk tone evident in his voice. “There is a certain artifact. I know that you - ” He was interrupted in whatever he had been on the verge of saying by a sudden clamor behind him.

“Master!” Another anonymous Death Eater stepped up, whispering something in the Dark Lord's ear that neither boy could catch. Harry figured it was word that something - multiple portkeys, to be exact - had tripped the wards. Voldemort had jerked his head up violently, and muttered some orders that had the lackey moving quickly back into the shadow, where, Harry assumed, more Death Eaters were waiting.

Then Voldemort's red eyes flitted carefully back to where Malfoy stood, ostensibly still guarding Harry. Malfoy had finally released Harry's hair, but from their close proximity, Harry could see the increased pace of Draco's breathing.

“Mr. Malfoy, suddenly I am reminded that we have business together that has never been taken care of.” The tone of his voice was low and dangerous, and Harry felt a lead weight in the pit of his stomach. His palms grew clammy.

“Business, my lord?” Draco managed to say without stammering. Surreptitiously, Harry began to reach towards Draco's side, hoping that the billows of his robe mostly concealed his straining fingers. The ropes held his arms fast at his sides though, and he was afraid to go much further, and risk falling over.

“Your father tells me that you have not yet taken the Mark. Shall we do that now?” His red eyes gleamed malevolently, reflecting the last dull red rays of the sun, as it began to sink beyond the horizon.

“Now, sir? But, with Potter here, I - ”

“Do you dare to question me?” The voice was still polite, but had started to take on a distinctly flinty edge.

“Of course not, my lord. If that - if that - is your wish, then…” He brushed carefully by Harry, and for one instant, Harry felt the smooth wood of his wand beneath his fingers. He clasped his hand around it, and pulled, trying quickly to push it beneath the ropes, out of sight. Malfoy, for his part, never looked back at him, walking steadily toward the Dark Lord himself, whose face was darkening with deepening suspicion. There was commotion unseen in the woods, apparently Death Eaters hunting for those who had triggered the alarms.

Hermione, where the hell are you? Harry found himself thinking plaintively.

We're here, Harry. The beloved voice rang in his ears like the most familiar and soothing of melodies. The shock and delight ran through him like electric current, and he knew that Hermione felt it too, for she asked in concern:

Harry, are you all right?

He did it, Harry thought with wonderment. He could sense Hermione bewilderment, and explained. Myrddin - that's who I saw in the Oracle's vision. He asked me what I wanted most in the world, and he gave it to me. A pang of sadness and guilt went through him. If only he'd wanted - really wanted - Voldemort's defeat above all else.

Harry, please tell me you're okay, Hermione asked again, feeling his sadness, but not understanding the reason behind it.

I'm fine. Voldemort knows something's up though. He's making Malfoy take the Mark.

Now? He felt the waves of horror from her.

Now, he thought grimly. He clutched his wand more firmly, and thought fiercely, Finite Incantatem. Almost instantly, he felt the ropes loosen, and sweet relief flooded him briefly. However, he was still in the clear line of sight of more than one Death Eater, plus Voldemort, and he was sure there were anti-Apparation wards up.

Just as he was contemplating what to do next, he heard Voldemort's hissing voice say,

“Bring Potter to me.” One of the Death Eaters grabbed Harry roughly above the elbow, and all but dragged him up to where Voldemort and Draco stood together. “I'm sure by now you've figured out what I want,” he said cordially to Harry.

“I can't say I have the privilege,” Harry said loftily, causing Voldemort's eyes to flash with annoyance.

“I want it,” Voldemort whispered menacingly, leaning down close to Harry. “And you're going to get it for me.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Harry said with effort, trying to keep the loosened ropes from falling down around him. He finally had to perform a wordless Incarcerous on himself, and felt the bonds tighten around him once again.

Hermione, you need to get the others and just get out of here. I don't think we can take on all of them. You should go, quickly - please!

I'm not leaving you, Harry, came her reply, tinged with panic. His eyes roved randomly in the growing twilight, wondering where she was concealed.

If you love me, Hermione, you'll go. If anything happened to you… Her disappointment seeped over to him like a bitter wound.

Then we'll go… she said slowly, and he felt her presence fade away from his mind.

“Is that your final word, Mr. Potter?” Voldemort asked, sounding almost jovial.

“It's the truth,” Harry ground out from between clenched teeth. His nose was throbbing, and he was sure that his eye was blackening and starting to swell.

“Very well then. You have elected the harder way to accomplish this, it would seem. Draco!” He called out suddenly, and the Slytherin snapped to attentiveness. “Your first task as one of my most trusted followers, after taking the Mark, will be to get that information out of Harry Potter.” Malfoy's eyes swung over Voldemort's shoulder to meet the horrified gaze of his long-time nemesis.

“My lord, I would - wouldn't someone more experienced be - ” Malfoy stammered, and Harry found himself feeling almost sorry for his erstwhile archrival. Voldemort smiled, a tight-lipped, unpleasant affair, and said, almost lightly,

“You seem to be under the mistaken impression that I made a request. I've had my doubts about where your allegiances lie for quite some time, Mr. Malfoy.” He made a quick gesture with his wand, and a struggling figure was brought into the circle. A Death Eater held her tightly, with his wand pointed at her slender white neck.

“Mum…” Draco breathed in horror, and Harry knew true fear. Malfoy looked at the Gryffindor with a detached, vague gaze, and said distantly, “Expelliarmus!” Harry felt his wand slip from his ineffectual fingers.

“Crucio!” Voldemort said suddenly, pointing at Draco, who went down into the fetal position, writhing in pain and screaming helplessly.

“Stop it! Stop it!” Narcissa Malfoy sobbed, fighting the one who restrained her. Voldemort lifted the curse, and smiled down at the quivering, panting boy at his feet.

“Perhaps you'll learn to be more careful about letting prisoners have access to their wands. Stand up!” Malfoy got shakily to his feet, barely able to remain upright. Voldemort grabbed his arm, and twisted it abruptly, revealing the smooth white skin of his forearm. Harry watched in sickened fascination, as the Dark Mark was etched on the unmarred skin by Voldemort's wand. The acrid smell of burning flesh reached Harry's nostrils, and he noted that Draco was biting his lower lip so hard that he'd drawn blood.

Hermione, Harry thought wistfully. If only he hadn't sent her away.

“Now, Lucius,” Voldemort said, almost cheerfully. “Show your son what you'll do to his mother, if he does not succeed in his appointed task to break Harry Potter.”

The cries of Narcissa and Draco Malfoy blended harshly and horribly in Harry's ears, drifting upward to a deaf, uncaring twilit sky.

TBC

AN: I can't apologize enough for the long delay before this update was posted. My muse just abandoned me completely. I had to threaten it with bodily harm just to get this written. In any case, there should be one more chapter, with an epilogue following.

(And no, Hermione's not really gone. Did you really think she was?)

lorien

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Harry Potter and the Isle of Mists

Disclaimer: I can only hope to attain the creative brilliance of J. K Rowling.

AN: This story is AU after OOTP.

Caught Between a Rock and a Hard Place

Harry's ears were ringing, and his mouth tasted of metal. Draco Malfoy seemed to loom largely above him, from his position on the ground. Malfoy's gray eyes were like chips of flint, and his jaw was clenched tightly. The sky and treetops in the backdrop of Harry's view whirled and tilted crazily, as if he were on some kind of carnival ride. He wondered if he was going to throw up.

With seemingly renewed zeal, Malfoy had been cursing him for what felt like forever, but, with no hint of apology in those cold eyes, had somehow avoided doing him any permanent harm. He'd yet to strike with an Unforgivable, but Harry was afraid that Voldemort and Lucius would be out of patience soon. Malfoy Senior was standing off to one side, with one hand wound through Narcissa's golden hair, and his wand at her throat. Her body was quivering with silent sobs, but she was making no sound through a lower jaw that had been grotesquely dislocated.

“Tell us where the Claviomnis is, Potter,” Malfoy ground out from between clenched teeth. Harry regarded him owlishly. Either the Slytherin was one hell of an actor, or he had misjudged badly by trusting his classmate.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Harry bit back. “I don't even know where we are.”

“We're in Normandy, Mr. Potter,” Voldemort interjected almost languidly. “On the grounds of the ancestral home of Godric Gryffindor. Why do you suppose that is?”

“You tell me,” Harry retorted. “If you've got it all sussed out, then why bother with me at all?”

Voldemort moved with catlike swiftness, and Harry thought for a moment that the older wizard was going to backhand him as his Uncle Vernon had been wont to do. But instead, Voldemort whipped out his wand, and Crucio'd Harry within an inch of his life.

Compared to this, Malfoy's hexes had been tickles. The pain was like being flayed alive, like having skin slowly separated from bone, organs twisted into knots, and muscles turned inside out. It was pain that he had hoped never to feel again. There was a harsh, rasping sound echoing in his ears, and he realized with some surprise that it was coming from him.

When the electric current of agony mercifully ceased, Voldemort was regarding Harry almost appraisingly, as if attempting to ascertain whether or not Harry had changed his mind. Harry decided to disabuse him of that notion quickly.

“I'd never tell you where it is - even if I knew,” he said hotly, almost gasping through bared teeth.

“At least now you're admitting your knowledge of the artifact to which I'm referring,” Voldemort observed icily, and Harry realized his slip. Voldemort's wand stabbed downward again, and Harry's world was obliterated of everything but pain. Malfoy's cool features, watching detachedly, whirled and blurred. He was losing consciousness. He was …

There was a sudden, agonizing presence thrust into his mind. His body convulsed as he vainly tried to force it out, but Voldemort's insidiousness would not be denied, and his nimble fingers began to sift through Harry's mind, even as his ancestor's had in Harry's all too recent memory. He pushed his hands outward, arms crossed, as if to ward something off, but the intrusion he was fighting against had already happened. He struggled desperately to close off everything dealing with Hermione or the Claviomnis, but he was terribly afraid that he wouldn't be able to do it. Voldemort had been waiting for just such an opportunity, where Harry's defenses were lowest.

And then it was as if there were a blinding light behind his eyelids. He felt a surge of strength and wholeness flood his mind, and the doors of his thoughts shut decisively. Voldemort's presence had been cut off.

Harry? The bell-like tones of Hermione's voice resounded in his pain-clouded mind, and he clung to them as salvation, even as he tried to figure out exactly what had happened.

I thought I told you to leave, he managed to say.

Honestly! She sniffed, but her voice sounded a little ragged. As if I'd ever leave you. No matter what you said. Are you all right, Harry? He brushed off her concerned question.

There's not much time, Harry said, squinting through his eyelashes at Voldemort, who had been approached by a frantic Death Eater, reporting something that he couldn't hear. He'll try again, and I don't know if I can stop him. I don't want you to put yourself at -

Harry, I've got it, she blurted suddenly, cutting him off.

Got -- got it? Harry said carefully, not even wanting to think the word.

I'm not sure. I tried to summon it, and this box - well, it just came. I can't open it, but I'd wager the Claviomnis is inside. Hermione sounded as bewildered as he felt.

Are the others with you? Harry said. Blackness was seeping around the edges of his consciousness, and he did not want to pass out now.

Yes, they're here. We're still cloaked. The Death Eaters are widening their search though. We won't be able to stay here much longer.

Harry shifted and the movement sent spasms of pain throughout his body. He struggled to stifle a groan, not wanting to call attention to himself. Draco was standing nearby, holding his wand, Harry's tucked in his back pocket. He looked down then, and their eyes met, an obvious question in Malfoy's gaze. Harry brought his chin down once, in an approximation of a nod, and flicked his eyes towards Malfoy's mother, almost completely out of his range of vision. He hoped Malfoy understood, and the hope surged through him, as Malfoy slowly moved away from him, toward his parents.

Hermione, are there any caves nearby? He couldn't help but wonder if there had been more to Myrddin's batty conversation than he had first thought.

There's a small cliff face behind us… Hermione spoke slowly, as if she were thinking out loud while surveying her surroundings. And it looks as if … there could be - yes! There is… I can see the crevice in the rocks. But why … ?

Get the others inside the cave. Give Luna the Claviomnis. Try to break the Anti-Apparation wards. I think if I concentrate on you, I can get through them.

Even if you could get past them, who knows what it would do to you, Harry! You don't know how to -

There's no way I can get out of here under my own power. I wouldn't get halfway to the woods, before I'd be cursed within an inch of my life. But if we can punch through the wards together, we might just make it. Besides, don't you remember that we Apparated while escaping Slytherin?

There was a moment of silence. Apparently, Hermione had not realized this during that flight for their lives.

I don't think I could do it just anywhere, he clarified. It must have something to do with my connection with you.

And - and what of Malfoy? She asked, for lack of anything more articulate to say.

Leave Malfoy to me.

Voldemort turned back toward him, having issued some orders that dispersed many of the Death Eaters that had remained at the site. Harry was Crucio'd again, and this time, Voldemort really appeared to be enjoying himself. Harry's breathing was ragged and noisy in his ears, and something wet dripped from both nostrils, running down over his lips and chin. He tasted salt.

Come on, Hermione. I'm not sure how much longer I'll be good for this. In truth, he wasn't entirely sure that it wasn't already too late.

There was a sudden ear-piercing clap of thunder and a column of fire rose upward some distance away in the trees. There were muffled exclamations from Death Eaters, and a contingent of them immediately headed in that direction. A diversion, Harry thought, and looked at Malfoy.

Now.

He squeezed his eyes shut and thought of Hermione, thought of the link they shared, thought of the way she tasted, the way her skin felt under his, the music of her laugh in his ears.

And then he moved. He could think of no other way to describe it. There was a faint noise as he appeared in the forest, obviously distant enough to obscure the campsite completely from view.

Hermione? He asked, afraid to speak aloud.

Behind you. He turned. Follow me.

He could not see her, but could see where she passed, in her invisibility cloak, by the way the vegetation bent and sprang back. However, he did not follow her, but crept back toward the camp quietly. In the distance, he could hear the shouting; it would not be long before the Death Eaters began to search.

He raised his arm, lifting his wand, and pointed it in the direction of the uproar.

Harry, what the hell are you doing?

My saving people thing, he replied shortly, and murmured,

“Accio Malfoy.” He stood poised, as if for flight, should a Death Eater happen upon him, waiting, wondering if he'd been close enough, if he'd pointed his wand in the right direction, if…

There was the sound of rustling leaves and snapping limbs, as something - someone - was propelled toward him. Something quite heavy collided with him, hard, and they hit the ground. All the air was driven from Harry's lungs, as he was sandwiched in between the person and the earth.

For a brief moment, there was silence. Then,

“Very smooth, Potter.” Derision was evident in Malfoy's words.

“Next time, I'll just leave you to be tortured by Voldemort and his minions, then,” Harry said with equanimity. “Now get off.” He shoved Draco away from him and stood up, for the first time seeing the additional person who'd come with his Summoning spell. Draco leaned over his mother, and deftly healed her jaw.

“Draco, what is the meaning of this?” Narcissa Malfoy began to pick herself up carefully from the ground, and dusting bits of forest bracken from her clothing.

“There's no time to explain, Mother. We'll discuss it later, now let's go.” Harry turned back in the direction where he'd last seen Hermione, searching for any kind of movement at all.

Here I am, she said, and at the same time, he saw a branch snap in half, breaking the muted sounds of the forest with a click. Harry followed, keeping a sharp eye on the movement of the undergrowth, and Draco followed, leading his mother with one hand under her elbow.

They had picked their way through the forest for quite some distance, and all sounds of pursuit had dwindled to nothing. Harry was beginning to feel the effects of the curses catching up with him. There was a stabbing pain in his head, and he brushed ineffectually at the blood, now beginning to congeal and crust over, caked in his nose. It was making breathing difficult. He wobbled slightly, causing Malfoy to swear, and look at him with what might have been concern. He knocked Malfoy's hand away from him, prompting a haughty,

“Well!” from Narcissa.

And then he saw the crevice in the rock, barely a black crack on the gray face of the stone. Just at the entrance, it was as if the air flickered slightly, and he thought he saw a flash of brown curls. Harry sucked in a deep breath, forced the pain to the back of his mind, and began what he hoped was the last leg of the journey.

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

The crack was barely wide enough for a person to slide in sideways, and it meandered along in a narrow path in a leisurely way, before finally widening out into a small cavern. There appeared to be no way out, but it was as good a place as any to hide - or to make a last stand - since the narrowness of the tunnel would allow only a single-file procession.

“Harry?” Hermione murmured, as he staggered into the larger chamber, almost clinging to the wall in order to remain upright. “Are you all right?” The smooth gray walls tilted and spun around him.

“I've been better,” he told her, his voice slurred. Most of the group clustered around him watching anxiously, though Luna squatted back on her heels, cupping a small, ornately carved box in her hands. Her eyes glittered brightly, and there seemed to be millennia of knowledge lurking therein.

“I can't believe you Summoned me, you brainless wanker,” Malfoy said, though the words didn't carry much heat. “I'm not a bloody roll of toilet paper.” Ginny snorted.

“Shut it, Malfoy,” Ron said hotly, “or you'll think being a ferret was a picnic.” Narcissa Malfoy had been watching the exchange with a politely horrified look of disbelief.

“Draco, I don't understand. Are you working - with these people?” She said the last phrase in the same way that one might refer to animal waste. “A family of known blood traitors and - and Harry Potter?” Her eyes grazed coolly over Hermione and Luna, as though they were something she'd found beneath her shoe.

“Mother, I've come to see that the Dark Lord's agenda no longer meshes with my own,” Draco replied levelly, and Narcissa backpedaled from him, one hand to her breastbone, looking upward as if fearing reprisal from a offended deity.

“You're - you're betraying…” She couldn't even put it into words. Draco looked as if he could not believe his ears.

“Mother, after what they did to you - you're just a pawn in their game…a way to manipulate Father and me. And he doesn't even - that sodding - he just hurt you, without thinking twice. Now you're defending him?”

“Your father has always looked after me. I respect him for maintaining his allegiances - in spite of difficult circumstances.” Everyone in the cave, Draco included, was staring at her incredulously. Difficult circumstances? When everyone knew that Voldemort was a madman?

“I wanted to take you away from that,” Draco blustered on, feeling the ground figuratively slipping away from beneath his feet. “I don't want him - them - to hurt you anymore. You deserve better than that.” Narcissa sighed, and looked at him tiredly.

“Your father is going to be so disappointed in you.”

The others in the group looked more than a little uncomfortable, and began to move away slightly from the intra-familial conflict. Together, Ron and Hermione helped Harry down into a sitting position, casting a Cushioning charm on some jutting rocks, so that he could recline. He appeared to be staying conscious with difficulty, exhausted from the physical and mental strain.

“They're going to come, you know,” Hermione told him soberly. “Are we still under the wards?” He reached out with his mind, to discern where the wards ended, and shuddered with the effort.

“Doesn't matter,” he rasped, as he failed to properly read the wards. “We might be able to manage it - together… but we can't leave them.”

“I hate to tell you this, mate, but I don't think you're going anywhere,” Ron chided him gently, coming up to the two of them. “You look like hell.”

“Try being… Crucio'd by Voldemort a couple of times… and see how you look,” Harry replied in kind. Hermione waved her wand over him, and some of the pain was replaced by a delicious warmth. She magically cleaned the blood from his face, and healed his nose from where Draco had broken it.

“That is the second time that … git has broken my nose,” Harry complained, putting one hand up to the injured feature. Hermione suddenly got very still, and she got that look on her face, as if she'd just had a breakthrough on an Arithmancy equation.

When Draco broke Harry's nose out on the Quidditch pitch, she'd felt it. When Draco hit him in Avalon, before dragging him before Voldemort, she'd felt it. But since then, even as the entire debacle unfolded, even as he'd been Crucio'd by the Dark Lord himself, she'd felt nothing.

“You've been shielding it from me, haven't you?” she said quietly.

“Hermione - ” he tried to defend himself, but was startled to see furious tears standing in her eyes.

“I thought we were a team!”

“I didn't want to put you through that. I wanted to spare you. I - ” Desperation made Harry sit up, even though it spun his stomach with nausea to do so. His head throbbed.

“I could have helped you bear it. Remember with Ron and the hexes? The effects were lessened. Why didn't you let me help you?” Hermione sounded more sad than angry now. Harry reached up to touch her cheek gently, but his arm dropped back to his side, short of its mark.

“I can't stand the idea of ever causing you pain,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. Hermione's face crumpled a little as she tried to smile, and she leaned closer to him, propped on one hand, using the other to brush his sweat-dampened hair away from his forehead.

“Don't think you can sweet-talk your way out of this, Harry,” she said, but her voice was low and heavy and soft. His lips moved. Even as he spoke it, she heard his voice resounding in her mind.

I love you.

They touched foreheads, smiling at each other beatifically, able for a moment to forget about the precarious situation in which they now found themselves. The others in the cave had been a rapt and unashamed audience to the entire display.

“I think I'm going to be ill,” Draco snorted. “Makes me wonder if maybe my mother wasn't - ” Whatever he'd been about to say was lost, as he began to look around, curiously at first, and then frantically. “Where's my mother?”

Narcissa Malfoy was nowhere to be seen. Draco plunged from the cavern, and they could hear his disembodied voice echo back to them, as he looked for her.

The search did not last long. When he glumly arrived back in the main body of the cave, the others were standing - except for Harry - and they had their wands trained on him. Draco's face was nearly gray.

“She's going to bring them straight to us,” he said, in a tone of utmost certainty.

“Is this what you had planned, Malfoy?” Ron hissed. “Put on a show of fighting with us, until the Death Eaters have bloody well killed us all?”

“Sod off, Weasley!” Draco shouted, startling everyone. “I told you what I saw in the Oracle. I didn't want that to happen to my mother. I wanted to take her away from that. I thought we'd be able to - ” He shook his head, a spasm passing across his face, and changed tack. “I had no idea that she'd - that she'd willingly…” His eyes looked dazed and vague, as if he couldn't fathom how his life had taken this unexpected veer from course.

“Then - then we should go now, shouldn't we?” Ron said tentatively. “Before they trap us in here?”

“Go where, Ron?” Hermione retorted, and her voice sounded sharp in its anxiety. “Shall we climb the cliff face, with Harry in this condition? Or go back to the forest where the Death Eaters await? Besides,” she gestured toward the narrow opening where the tunnel issued into the cavern. “Only one Death Eater is going to get in at a time. Maybe we can hold them off.” Ron skewered her with a glance, his eyes flickering knowingly to Harry.

“For how long?” he asked, and Hermione did not have an answer.

Harry had remained quiet up to this point, struggling not to exert himself, with the knowledge that he probably would have to before the day ended.

“Luna, can you open the box?” he asked suddenly, causing the blond girl's eyes to fly to his face in surprise.

“Hermione called it,” she said slowly. “I don't see why I'd be able to - ”

“You opened the door in Avalon. The one no one else could open. And Merlin made it for your ancestor . He said so. Why couldn't you open it?” Luna looked at him for a long moment, and tapped her wand on the ornate box in an intricate pattern.

Nothing happened, and Ron swore under his breath.

“Harry, what exactly did Merlin say about the Claviomnis?” Hermione asked urgently. Harry pushed himself into a more upright position against the rocks, and thought furiously.

“He said it was made from the stones of Avalon and that he made it in honor of Viviane,” he said after a moment. “What?” he asked. Hermione was shaking her head.

“He made it in honor of her, not necessarily for her,” she said. “Hand me the box.” Luna passed it over quickly, and she held it out to Harry. He took hold of the two corners nearest to him, and looked mildly surprised when she did not relinquish the box. She knelt beside him, and they held the box suspended between them.

Close your eyes, Hermione instructed, and when Harry looked at her in befuddlement, he saw that her eyes had already shut. He followed suit, and found himself only barely aware of the tips of his fingers in contact with the box. His mind hummed in harmony with Hermione's, and he felt an abatement of some of his pain, as he pictured in his mind the carved lid of rich wooden box springing open.

From very far away, a voice sounded in his head - one that was not Hermione's, but one that sounded vaguely familiar to him, Myrddin's voice, albeit more cracked and wizened with age.

The Heir of Gryffindor has returned with his chosen one. The Claviomnis yields itself to its master.

There was a click, barely audible, yet it pulled Harry fully back into the real world. The box was open. It had been so simple, and yet somehow Harry knew that only he and Hermione working in tandem could have opened that box.

The Claviomnis, looking like it had not been a thousand years since he'd seen it last, hung suspended in the center of the box, held in place by a Cushioning charm that tinged it a shimmering blue.

Everyone stared at it, transfixed, and Draco reached one hand toward it, as if unable to help himself, before arresting the movement abruptly. Harry and Hermione lifted reluctant eyes from the Claviomnis to regard each other somberly.

Maybe we can -

Harry, it's too dangerous - we don't know what it's capable of. We can't use it!

Harry parted his lips to speak, to tell her that maybe they didn't have a choice, that maybe this is what they were destined to do, but all of that was cut off when a copper-colored spell zipped through the narrow entrance to the cavern, striking Ginny, who fell forward onto her face with a cry, then lay there, unmoving.

Ron swore wrathfully, as he and Malfoy moved to check on her. Hermione gave a sideways glance to Harry, and they raised their wands, blasting a white-hot spell in the direction of the tunnel opening. There was a commotion and a muffled cry. A tight, mirthless smile lifted the corners of Harry's mouth.

“Is she okay?” Harry called out to Ron, who had gently turned her over. Ginny was bleeding copiously from a laceration at her hairline, made when she had struck a rock as she fell.

“She's breathing,” Ron said with some relief, trying to stanch the flow of blood with a spell from his wand. Draco had reassured himself of Ginny's life, before moving to the mouth of the cave, where he and Luna began picking off the Death Eaters who maneuvered themselves toward their quarry.

“Can you seal off the door?” Draco asked her, and Luna, after throwing a hex that covered the approaching fighter's face with sprouting daisies, nodded seriously. “Do it,” he said perfunctorily, looking over his shoulder at the corridor. The bodies of disabled and/or unconscious Death Eaters had begun to pile up in the tight space, further hindering the others from progress. Assisted as they were by their vantage point and ability to maneuver with more ease, Draco and Luna had made easy work of their pursuers. However, if even one of them were taken out of the fray, their numbers were such that one Death Eater breaking through would almost certainly finish the fight for them.

Malfoy moved across to where Harry was, kneeling down beside him, and looking at him with as serious an expression as Harry had ever seen on the Slytherin.

“We can't hold out forever, Potter,” he said, not mincing words. “They'll keep coming; the Dark Lord will keep sending them, until they've killed us all or starved us out.” He darted a glance over to where Ron was tending his sister. “Although we could always eat the Weasel.”

“Surely you'd be too good to eat a blood traitor, Ferret,” Ron shot back blandly, not taking his eyes off of Ginny, as he clumsily healed her head wound with his wand.

“We need to get out of here,” Hermione said. “If there's not another way out, could we make one?” Draco shook his head thoughtfully.

“We'd be risking bringing the entire cave down on top of us,” he said. “Maybe we could hold off the rockfall, but maybe not. It'd be like fighting enemies from two different directions.”

“I don't think we could do it,” Harry responded. “Plus there's Ginny to worry about. We don't even know what hit her.”

“It looked like a Stunner,” Draco said, “Death Eater style, of course.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Ron's worry for Ginny and distrust of Malfoy made him sound especially belligerent.

“It's designed to incapacitate the victim, even after return to consciousness. Ginny probably won't be able to do magic for a couple of hours.” Ron's eyes widened, and Harry swore.

“Our best bet is to try and burrow our way out of here,” Hermione said practically, “while keeping the Death Eaters occupied over there at the same time.” Malfoy looked dubious, but conceded.

“It's better than staying here to die.”

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

“Oy!” Ron called out, from his position near the tunnel entrance. “Here they come again.” He nodded to Luna, who looked at him from her position at the opposite side of the tunnel mouth, and she saluted him with her wand. They had had a good ten minutes of reprieve, while the Death Eaters apparently assessed probabilities and moved their wounded, figuring out what to do next.

Hermione and Draco had busied themselves beginning a new tunnel on the far side of the cave, in the curvature of the same wall into which the other passage opened. This seemed to be the most stable wall in the cavern, and its position made it extremely difficult to see from the entrance. All they needed, Draco had said, was for the Death Eaters to cotton on to what they were doing, and then it really would hit the fan.

Harry had tried to stand up, and had just made it before being extremely sick in front of everyone, something that made his face burn with embarrassment, even in the direness of their current situation. He had finally convinced Hermione to let him help, from his position propped against the wall, and she had agreed, while looking somewhat doubtful. The three of them were making slow progress, having carved out approximately four meters of tunnel, with only the occasional sifting of fine powder down on their heads.

“We've got to go at more of an angle,” Hermione said, in her lecture voice. “It won't do for the tunnel to come out to close to the other one. They'll see us break through.” Draco muttered something under his breath about know-it-alls, but adjusted the trajectory of his wandfire, and did not use the word “Mudblood”. Harry smiled to himself, as he shifted his position slightly to change his point of impact as well. He considered that progress.

Ron and Luna was holding their own at the cave mouth, using their advantages to their maximum potential. Luna had managed to hold a Protego shield for a impressive length of time, winking it in and out to allow Ron to spellcast through it. They were working almost seamlessly, and Ron allowed himself to flush with the pride of their success.

Ginny lay near to Draco, close enough that he could cover her in the event that the Death Eaters. Hermione noticed with interest the concerned looks that he intermittently flashed in Ginny's direction. Ron would have a coronary.

About what? Harry asked curiously. Hermione screwed up her face in chagrin at Harry's eavesdropping, and blew out a large chunk of rock to cover her non-response. About what? Harry asked again, more intently.

Don't tell me you haven't noticed the way Malfoy's been looking at Ginny?

Ginny and the Ferret? Not in this lifetime! Was Harry's assertive response. Ron would - Ron would -

But what exactly Ron would or would not have done was left to Hermione's imagination - and then quickly driven altogether from her thoughts, as the cave let out a dangerous rumble of protest.

The three of them stopped carving out the tunnel, and looked at each other with anxiety.

“What the hell was that?” Ron called out unnecessarily.

“That shouldn't be happening,” Hermione said in a somewhat panicky voice. “We've calculating the - nothing we've done should - I - ” She was cut off, as a particularly and jagged edge of rock dislodged itself from the roof of the cave, and plummeted toward the floor. It smashed against its sister rock, spraying debris and powder everywhere, stinging their skin upon impact.

Another rumble, and this time the cavern floor shook violently, knocking Hermione from her feet. Malfoy flung himself over Ginny, as more crumbled stone rained down on them. Parts of the archway began to collapse, half-filling the doorway. Luna yelped as she narrowly escaped being pinned, and Ron let out a hoarse cry of alarm.

“I'm all right,” she assured him, and they stopped as a hoarse challenge from Death Eater rang up the passageway, made up of words with fell intent. Ron went ashen, and turned to the others, crouched carefully near the mouth of the fledgling tunnel.

“You lot aren't doing that,” he informed them carefully. Relief had only begun to wash over Hermione's face, when he continued, stopping the emotion as quickly as it had come. “They are. They mean to bring the whole mountain down on top of us, if they can.”

TBC

My sincerest and humblest apologies for the long delay. It's been harder than I thought to tie up all the ends to conclude this story. I had intended for this to be the final chapter, but it was starting to get long, so I figured that it'd be best to post something now, and leave the conclusion for an additional chapter.

The cliffhanger is unfair, but it was as good a place as any to have the chapter end. Hope you enjoy.

You may leave a review on your way out, if you like.

lorien

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Harry Potter and the Isle of Mists

Disclaimer: I can only hope to attain the creative brilliance of J. K Rowling.

AN: This story is AU after OOTP.

A Silent Hidden Thought in the Folds of Oblivion

The small group stared at each other in horror, as they struggled to keep their feet on a cave floor that suddenly seemed to be afloat on an unseen sea. A couple of other outcroppings of rock bade farewell to the ceiling, and crashed on to the hard surface beneath, shattering and putting out copious amounts of dust and debris. The fine powder stung Hermione's eyes, and she heard Ron coughing.

“We could be in serious trouble here,” Draco finally said off-handedly, still crouching protectively in front of Ginny.

“You think so?” Ron said sarcastically, wheezing slightly, but still managing to eye Malfoy with furtive suspicion.

“Damn,” Hermione said tiredly, as most of their tunnel collapsed in on itself with the latest tremor. Harry and Draco looked at the destruction somewhat dispassionately. Hermione could feel Harry's mind whirling in furious tandem with hers, as they desperately tried to think of what to do next.

A crack began to thread its way across the floor, as sinuous and deadly as a viper. Others joined it, and the entire cavern began to pull apart, being rent in half by malevolent intent. Rock began to rain down on them in jagged chunks, larger now, and Ron let out a yelp as a sizeable piece hit his shoulder, rendering him unable to lift his left arm.

“If you're going to break out the incredible super-weapon, now would be the time, Potter,” Malfoy called over the roar of protesting stone.

“It won't work,” Harry said, looking glumly at the box that Hermione had retrieved from a small pile of rubble. “With Ginny out, we've only three purebloods. There are supposed to be four.”

“At least,” Ron posited, trying to sound hopeful, “Voldemort can't open the box. It looks like only you and Hermione can.”

“You know what that means he'll do to them?” Malfoy asked him pointedly, and Ron's face grew grim, as he thought of the obvious and unpleasant implications.

“Maybe we should just…” Harry trailed off, as he stood to his feet with difficulty, swaying visibly. Hermione swallowed a protest, as he sidled closer to the rapidly widening chasm, the bottom of which was not visible, and peered in.

“I'm not willing to jump just yet,” Malfoy protested.

“I was going to suggest that we chuck in the Claviomnis,” Harry retorted, looking witheringly at the Slytherin.

“You don't think he'd send people after it? After he killed us all for making his life more difficult?” Malfoy raised one skeptical eyebrow.

The cave was really coming apart now, and Malfoy just managed to spring across the gap to join the others, with Ginny tossed over one shoulder. Now, at least, there was a deep rift between themselves and the cave entrance, although spellfire, unfortunately, would still be able to cross with no problems. Harry looked anxiously across to the still empty opening into the tunnel. It was not a comforting thought. The rattle of raining rock began to slow, and they exchanged worried glances.

“They'll be coming soon,” Ron and Malfoy said in unison, then looking mildly disgusted with themselves for doing so. Harry felt his mind spinning as uselessly as tires in mud. His eyes flitted around the disintegrating walls, the chipping, uneven ceiling, and the sides of the deep chasm, descending into a shroud of shadow.

Then he thought he saw it. A sudden hope flared so suddenly within him that Hermione turned to look at him sharply.

“Look there! Do you see it? A darker outline…” he pointed down the chasm. Hermione followed his finger, squinting her eyes slightly, aided by the picture in his mind, and her face cleared, her eyes lighting, as she saw to what he was referring.

“I do see it. But what - ?”

“I need a rope. Can someone transfigure me a rope?” Harry was saying quickly. He could see the movement of shadows and the low rippling murmur of voices. They were coming.

Almost before he'd finished his question, Luna had deftly removed a shoelace, using her wand, and transfigured it into a stout line of rope. Harry used a Sticking charm, and lowered himself over the side of the gaping hole in the cave floor. His face was the color of chalk, and beads of perspiration broke out on his upper lip.

“What about Ginny?” he asked perfunctorily.

“I've got her,” Malfoy returned, meeting his gaze squarely. Ron looked back and forth between them, affronted, but knew that his arm would prevent him from carrying his little sister. He finally settled for a warning in the form of,

“If you drop her, I'll kill you.” Something almost human flickered briefly in Malfoy's eyes, but he said only,

“If I drop her, I'll let you.” He waved his wand at Ginny, evidently doing something to secure her to him, and was second down the rope behind Harry. Ron followed, lurching unsteadily onto the rope, favoring his arm, and causing Luna and Hermione to gasp in alarm.

“Ronald, do be careful. Durin's Bane has been known to inhabit the deeper places of the earth,” Luna warned limpidly, following him down the slender length of rope, as blithely as if she did it every day.

“You read Tolkien?” Hermione blurted, unable to stave off her curiosity, even in their dire situation. Aided by Harry's magic, she threw a Protego toward the mouth of the cave, hoping that it would at least delay their pursuers a little.

Luna blinked up at her curiously.

“Who?” she asked, and Hermione decided to drop the subject. They descended slowly, in a halting and uncertain manner, and Hermione was sure that if they'd been doing this the purely Muggle way, all six of them would have fallen, especially Draco with his added burden of an unconscious Ginny, and Ron, who was trying to climb down on one good arm.

The rope flailed slightly, signaling that Harry had let go, and then pulled taut, as he held it, bracing himself inside the small corridor he had spied. Malfoy soon appeared, outlined against the lighter shadows of the chasm, and he handed Harry Ginny as he gingerly released the rope, finding himself on solid ground once more.

Ron teetered precariously at the lip of the new tunnel, and Malfoy had to catch him by one elbow. As luck would have it, it was the injured limb, and Ron hissed several impolite words under his breath, less happy about having Malfoy save him from a plummeting death than anything else.

The three boys waited tensely just inside the opening. Distantly above their heads, they could hear muffled shouts, and he willed them to go faster.

We're almost there, Harry, he heard Hermione's voice in his head. She sounded a little panicked, and he imagined that the noises sounded closer and louder, and therefore more frightening to her. He shouldn't have let her go last.

Don't be ridiculous, she sniffed. We're the most powerful, so one of us should have gone last. And you're the most valuable - Harry snorted mentally - well, you are! - so you needed to be secured first.

I was feeling a bit off on the way down, Harry admitted, I figured that if I fell, at least I wouldn't have knocked anyone else down with me. He could feel Hermione's irate worry at his off-hand comment.

Luna's ankles and slender legs soon dangled down, and within a moment, she had swung inside the corridor, landing as lightly as a trapeze artist or a ballet dancer. Ron watched her with some amazement, wondering how he had not noticed how lightly and gracefully she walked; it was elfin, the movement of faeries, and he had no doubt in his mind that she was descended from Nimue.

Harry could not help the flood of relief that swamped him, when the dim outline of Hermione appeared in the opening, swaying slightly from the serpentine rope.

They've just gotten in, she informed him breathlessly, landing unevenly and collapsing into his arms.

The rope! Harry said. From the circle of his arms, she aimed her wand at the rope and muttered an incantation. It released from its Sticking charm at the top of the chasm, and began to fall. Ron was standing closest to the opening, and he reached out and grabbed it, jerking it within the shadow of the overhang.

“Thank you for retrieving my shoelace, Ronald,” Luna told him ethereally. Ron tipped a smile at her, and they all fell silent as the voices were louder.

It won't be long before they suss out where we went, Harry said, unnecessarily. We should go.

They hurtled, in an ungainly mass of arms and legs, led by the dimmest of lights from the tip of Harry's wand, unwilling to risk further light until they had turned a sharp angle in the corridor and the entrance was out of sight. When they had done so, Harry leaned against a wall, slightly bent, hands braced just above his knees, breathing heavily.

Harry… Hermione began tentatively.

I'm fine, he replied, before she had a chance to say anything more. There was near total silence, as the group listened intently for sounds of pursuit.

They heard nothing.

“I think we can risk a little more light,” Hermione said, addressing everyone, though her eyes still cut concernedly over to Harry. “We should still move quickly though.” She flicked her wand with a short, impatient snap of her wrist. “Lumos!”

They couldn't help but gape at the corridor in which they found themselves. It was not a rough, meandering, naturally carved tunnel, like the one which had led to the cave. The walls and floors were too squared to be natural, the passage ran straight as an arrow, and there were intermittent nooks in the wall, like stone shelves, that Hermione could only assume were for clay lamps or torches.

“Where the hell are we?” Malfoy murmured, having retrieved Ginny from Harry, and appearing no worse the wear for it.

“No bloody idea,” Harry replied, gazing round at the signs of civilization. “But it's better than where we were.”

They moved again, continuing to see bits of humanity, scattered coins, occasional shards of pottery. Once, they passed a dark chamber to one side, the air from which was cooler and had a faint odor of plastic. Malfoy paused.

“There used to be a Cooling charm cast on this room,” he remarked.

“How do you know?” Ron asked quizzically, almost not sounding derisive.

“Can smell it,” the Slytherin replied laconically.

“We're in someone's cellar,” Hermione hypothesized, as they continued to move, passing sporadic openings in the main passageway, all leading to small rooms of indiscriminate purpose, though one's numerous carved crannies seemed to suggest a history of wine storage.

There was still no sound of pursuit, as they came to a parting of ways, where the corridor split off to the right and left, with a crooked flight of flagstone stairs straight ahead.

“I guess we need to go up,” Ron said, as they stopped at the junction. Hermione held up one hand.

“Wait! Look,” she pointed to the right, and they could dimly see another flight of stairs at the end of the hallway.

“How do we know which ones?” Ron wondered. Luna wandered briefly in each direction, her head cocked, as if listening intently to something nobody else could hear. Finally, she turned back to the group, and said,

“This way,” indicating the staircase to the right. “The air smells cleaner this way. And there have definitely been Fire-Breathing Cave Newts nesting that way,” she swung her arm to the left. “We do not want to run into those. They like to nest in hair.”

“Toss `em Granger then. That should house the lot,” Malfoy snickered, and Harry's hand moved reflexively on his wand.

Don't rise to the bait, Harry, Hermione reminded him calmly, though he could see the flush staining her cheeks, even in the wandlight.

They started toward the far staircase, led this time by Ron, who had turned toward the indicated corridor almost immediately upon Luna's recommendation, a fact that Harry found both amusing and revealing.

The staircase was crooked and uneven, but unmistakably fashioned by human hands - or wands. Each stair had a shallow bowl shape in the center, worn down by centuries of human feet.

We've got to be at the ancestral home of Lord Gryffindor, Hermione said. It had to be nearby, if I was able to call the Claviomnis, and who else would have Cooling charms in the cellar?

You're probably right, Harry answered, but his voice was grim. But that also means that Voldemort probably knows where this comes out. He's likely already been here looking for the Claviomnis.

The flight of stairs ended in another corridor, this one more liberally paved with stone. It wound upward to two other staircases, leading in opposite directions, and Luna again pointed the way. At the top of that staircase, they paused.

The air had changed subtly, and all of them could tell, though they would have been hard-pressed to describe exactly what they found different. The ratio of light and shadow also appeared slightly altered. Harry met Hermione's hesitant gaze.

We're almost to the top, she guessed, and he nodded. Malfoy cursed suddenly, as Ginny moaned and shifted on his shoulder, throwing him off-balance. Gently, he lowered her to the floor, propping her against the wall, and leaving his arm around hers for support. Slowly, she blinked her eyes open, and he brushed away strands of hair clinging to one cheek.

“You all right, Weasley?” he asked, almost solicitously. Ron's eyes were like skewers.

“Feels like a Bludger…bouncing around in my skull,” she said thickly. “What happened?”

“Death Eater Special,” Ron muttered darkly, still glaring at the Slytherin, and kneeling down next to Ginny. “Can you cast anything?” Ginny looked at him without comprehension, her brow rumpling quizzically, but she attempted a Lumos charm. Weak light sputtered from the end of her wand, before disappearing altogether.

“Evidently not well,” she answered tiredly. “Are they behind us?”

“Actually,” Harry said, clearing his throat awkwardly, “we think they're in front of us.”

“And you were planning on telling us this when, exactly?” Malfoy queried, his eyebrows soaring.

“We're obviously in the ruins of Godric Gryffindor's Norman castle,” Hermione spoke quietly. “You don't think Voldemort's already scoured this place looking for the Claviomnis? He's probably cut off our access to the cave, and is just waiting for us to emerge at one end or the other.”

“We're going to have to use it,” Harry blurted suddenly, surprising even Hermione, as the thought bloomed rapidly in his mind.

“Harry, I don't think - ” Hermione began, but he interrupted her.

“You said it earlier - the Power He Knows Not. What if this is it? The Claviomnis may be our only way of getting out of here alive. I'm pretty sure that all of us - ” His gaze raked over all of them, and came to rest on Malfoy. “ - could muster up enough harmony of purpose to destroy Voldemort.”

“If we need four purebloods, and Ginny can't - ” Hermione said, but was this time cut off by Ginny.

“What about Harry? If he's the Heir of Gryffindor, surely his blood can't get much purer than that.” Harry and Hermione exchanged wondering glances; neither of them had thought of this, but almost immediately, Harry was shaking his head.

“No,” he said, “even if - if I could, I think - I think I'm going to be needed elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere?” Ron sounded incredulous. Harry looked at Hermione again, wordlessly transmitting his thoughts to Hermione and watching her slowly nod, wide-eyed but determined.

“While the four of you activate the Claviomnis, Hermione and I will draw their fire.”

“Like hell you will!” Ron burst out. “The two of you are going to take on Voldemort and his Death Eaters?”

“Ron, with this - this bond we have…” Hermione said haltingly, but Harry said,

“It's not up for debate, Ron, and there's no time to - ” Malfoy threw up one hand with a warning hiss, and they all fell silent. There was indistinct noise somewhere ahead of and above them.

“Should we stay down here?” Malfoy asked, “With the -” he gestured toward the wooden box housing the artifact.

“We're not sure what it's going to do,” Hermione whispered back. “It might be safer if you were out in the open, rather than in a subterranean passageway that could fall in on you.”

“Out in the open where people will be trying to kill us,” the Slytherin pointed out acerbically, but he appeared to agree with Hermione's assessment. “Are you sure you two can - ”

“We can read each other's thoughts and magnify each other's magic,” Hermione informed him bluntly. “I think we have a good chance.”

“Are we going to be able to count on you, Malfoy?” Ron asked roughly.

“Have you forgotten what house I'm in, Weasel?” Draco smirked, enjoying pushing Ron's buttons because he could, despite the situation. Ginny made an involuntary noise in the back of her throat, and Harry and Hermione looked at each other again, as everyone's attention was drawn to the redhead sitting against the wall.

Do you think we could - Harry wondered.

I think we should try, she replied, and by common consent, they knelt before Ginny, each placing a hand on her arm. Moving in perfect synchrony, their eyes slid shut, their mouths moved, but no sound was heard. Ginny stiffened, and her eyes shot open in alarm or shock.

“What are you doing?” she dimly heard Ron, but couldn't fasten onto his voice because of the warmth that was pouring into her, diffusing out of her. She felt as if she were alight from within, pure light streaming from her fingers and her hair, painlessly surging, life thrumming through her with such force and intensity that she could feel the power of it. It was thrilling, frightening, bewildering, like hanging from the edge of a precipice, but somehow knowing you weren't going to fall.

When her vision focused again, once more aware of her surroundings, she saw two pairs of concerned eyes fixed on hers.

“Merlin's Beard,” she heard herself say, “what was that?”

“That was - that was us,” Harry said lamely, for lack of a better explanation, looking apologetically at Hermione, who rolled her eyes at the inadequate description.

“You should be able to cast now,” Hermione added helpfully, patting the other girl's arm, as she put her hand in Harry's. He lifted her easily to her feet, and they both pretended not to see Malfoy giving Ginny a hand up as well.

They repeated the maneuver they'd conducted in the cave to open the box, and handed it gravely to Luna.

“You know what to say?” Harry asked the Ravenclaw seriously. She looked at them, her blue eyes as somber as they'd ever seen.

“I've always known,” she replied cryptically, and together, the six of them made their way toward the surface of the earth, where death surely waited watchfully.

ssssssssssssssssssss

They clambered over rubble to emerge from a half-buried doorway set into the side of a hill. A quick Freezing charm by Hermione fixed the scattered debris in place, so that the Death Eaters wouldn't be alerted by the scuffing sound of skittering stones. With unspoken consent, all of them crouched in defensive postures, wands ready, eyes searching for those who would do them harm.

They saw no one.

Carefully, Harry moved beside the low opening that they had just vacated, and peered over the crest of the hill. A large moon clearly defined the Death Eaters, who were strewn about the top of the hill, most of them appearing near a set of large, half-toppled columns. They seemed to be waiting for something. Moving slowly and silently, Harry rejoined the others.

They're waiting for us at the top of the hill, Harry informed Hermione. I think they're waiting for us by a main entrance, maybe where that other staircase came out - thank Merlin for Luna. And they've set up Anti-Apparation wards - so it wouldn't matter even if we could all Apparate.

Hermione turned away from him, looking down the sloping shoulder of the hill, searching for a place with enough cover that they could allow the Claviomnis to do its work. And then she saw it.

Jerking her head up, she turned to see that Harry was whispering intently to Luna, obviously relating to them what he had just told her. She hurried to his side.

“There,” she whispered to them, pointing a short distance down the hillside, where a spur of land jutting forward to join it, creating a small, sheltered green bowl that would be hidden from all eyes, unless one happened to be looking straight down from the top. She saw the grim looks in their eyes, as they followed the meandering line of the hill and realized the same thing. Her gaze collided with Harry's meaningfully.

It would be their job to make sure that didn't happen.

Quickly, Harry and Hermione joined hands, palms up, interlacing their fingers like a woven basket, and cupping the box therein. The click of the latch unfastening sounded to them like the report of a rifle. The wind carried voices to them from the summit, but the words were tossed together, indistinguishable.

Harry nodded to the other four, while Luna hastily attempted a healing charm on Ron's injured arm. Go, Hermione saw him mouth. As they began to pick their way the short distance down the slope, Harry grabbed Ron's elbow, and whispered something intently in his ear.

Harmony of purpose, Ron, don't forget, she could feel him saying, though she was hearing his voice within her head, rather than via her ears. It won't work if there's no unity. Ron nodded seriously, and then turned, moving downward, lithe and quiet, his hair a dash of color in the gray tones of the landscape that slowly faded with distance.

Hermione faced the top of the hill, looming above her in stark relief with the sky. As she took a step, she felt Harry catch her arm, and she looked at him curiously. He inclined his head in the direction of the doorway, almost rendered impassable with debris.

What are we going to do? She asked him, her brow furrowing quizzically.

We're going to exit where they think we're going to exit. And she understood. If they were seen at this point, if the battle was joined on this side of the hill, then the discovery of the other four would be almost inevitable.

How long is it going to take for them to activate the Claviomnis? Harry's responding sigh was grim and fatigued.

I have no idea.

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The four purebloods were nearly to the small pastoral clearing that Hermione had indicated. Ron noticed that there were flat white stones arranged in some kind of pattern, the darker grass tufting between them. He wondered if it was a path, or perhaps the remnants of a foundation of some kind of outbuilding.

“It was a chapel,” Luna said quietly, as if he'd spoken aloud, and he visibly started.

“How - how do you know?” he stammered, trying to speak nonchalantly.

“See the cross shape? It was built years after the Gryffindors left Normandy, but this place was a place of worship, even before they built the chapel here.” She pierced Ron with a searching blue gaze. “I was here once… long ago.” The hair on the back of Ron's neck stood on end, and he felt as if ghostly fingertips had just tripped up the length of his spine. Luna seemed at once both young and old, whimsical and terribly wise. Ron felt like a sodding, shallow git, awkward, lanky, and stupid, completely unaware of the large, interrelated, and complex world of space and time in which he resided. He felt himself shrinking under her gaze.

And then the feeling vanished completely, as the toe of Luna's shoe caught between two of the stones, and she fell, with a surprised cry that she tried to bite back, curling the box bearing the Claviomnis in toward herself, but unable to keep from striking her head.

“Merlin's Beard, Luna!” Ron said in alarm, springing after her to help her to her feet. “Are you all right?” He lifted her gently, as she pressed her fingertips to her scalp and they came away red. “You're bleeding!”

“I'm all right,” she said vaguely, seeming a little dazed.

A man in scarlet robes was closing a box…

Luna tripped on a paving stone and hit her head…

Four people stood in a circle…

Ron must have made some kind of noise, because Luna looked back at him with detached curiosity, her fingers playing over the surface of the magical stone, assuring herself that it was intact.

“What is it?” she asked.

“This!” he exclaimed, incoherently. “This is what I saw.” A thin, enigmatic smile danced briefly across Luna's face.

“Good,” she said. “That means - ” she turned back towards the main body of the ruined chapel, but her movement was arrested by the point of a wand stuck in her face.

Sssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

The small square of night sky stood out starkly against the blackness of the passageway they traversed.

Are you ready? Hermione asked anxiously, squeezing Harry's hand in hers.

No, Harry said honestly. Haven't you heard the part of me screaming that I'm a bloody idiot and about to get myself killed?

I thought that was me, Hermione joked, and felt Harry's laughter at her gallows humor in her mind.

They're going to try and disarm us as soon as we're in sight, he said, more seriously now. We need a Protego charm up before we're even fully out of the passageway.

They'll detect it….

Can't be helped.

They were closer to the entryway now. They pressed against the wall, as the dark shadow of a Death Eater crossed in front of the opening, momentarily blocking the nearly negligible light. Hermione could feel his eyes graze her face lightly, even in the shrouding darkness. The touch of his mind to hers was like a caress, a kiss.

Ready? A slow nod. She closed her eyes and pushed outward, feeling her magic mesh with his. She could feel his wand in her fingers; he could feel her heart hammering in his chest.

Now!

The resultant outswelling of the Protego charm blew the sentry out from in front of the ancient doorway.

Sssssssssssssssssssssssssss

“Malfoy!” Ron's voice was a frightened, angry shriek. “What the hell are you doing?” He could feel his pulse roar in his ears. Were they wrong? Had they really been so wrong about Malfoy this whole time?

“Draco, don't!” He heard the steady, warning tone of his sister, and relief poured into him as he realized that her wand was trained at the back of his head.

“She lied,” Malfoy said, speaking as if the thought had only just occurred to him. He was still keeping his wand on Luna, though Ron had raised his as well. He had no chance of succeeding.

“She has not!” Ron defended angrily.

“Drop your wand, Draco,” Ginny said, her voice sounding resigned, sad, angry at him for doing this, and angry at herself for believing he could change.

“Ginny, wait,” Luna's cool voice interrupted all of them. “Let's hear what Draco has to say.” The Weasleys were incredulous.

“This is not exactly the time for tea and conversation, Luna,” Ron spluttered.

“Ron's right, and we've no tea right now anyway,” Luna said, almost apologetically, to Draco. “So… you'd better hurry.”

“You said that - you said that backing the Dark Lord would lead to my mother's torture. You said that turning away from that path would prevent it. She was tortured anyway. She - she - ” The extent of Narcissa's betrayal was so raw and deep and new that Draco couldn't even articulate it. Luna had been nodding affably the entire time he was speaking.

“Luna, we don't have time for this!” Ron could feel his heart rate increasing as blood poured into his face.

“Turning away from that path prevented the instance of torture which you saw in your vision,” Luna answered, her voice maddeningly calm. “And I never said that turning away from that path would result in your mother's love and blessing, did I?”

Ginny's arm dropped to her side, bonelessly, her wand no longer pointing at Malfoy, but at the ground. Ron snapped his mouth shut with a click of his teeth, once he realized that it was hanging open. Malfoy's eyes were glazed, and his fingers trembled convulsively around the handle of his wand.

“You knew,” he said, in a hoarse whisper. “You knew what would happen.”

“I didn't know,” Luna said, almost inaudibly. “One never knows; one just sees the myriad of … possibilities.”

“Possibilities…” Malfoy said, dropping his wand in the grass. He let out a harsh sound that might have been a laugh or a sob. He felt his knees give way, and he was sinking, the soft grassy glade rushing up toward his face.

A sharp hand was under his elbow, wrenching painfully, yanking him upward. His blurred vision sharpened until he could see the glowing visage of Ginevra Weasley, all frightened eyes, wind-tousled hair, and determined mouth.

“Draco, for the love of Merlin, pull yourself together and pick up your wand!”

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The fallen sentry immediately garnered the attention of the Death Eaters, and Harry and Hermione knew that it was now or never. When they burst into the open spaces of the hilltop, the Protego charm already in place, the pain that shot through Harry's scar like a knife-slice felt blinding. He saw white stars in his vision, and would have gone to his knees, if not for Hermione in his mind, siphoning off the pain, her presence a soothing balm.

Okay? she questioned.

Better... he offered up shakily.

They moved intricately, in perfect unison, never misstepping or blocking the other's shot. When the Death Eaters began to realize that it was Hermione who held the shield in place, winking it out rapid-fire so Harry could cast, they switched.

But the end was not assured. The sheer number of Death Eaters kept them constantly on the move, so that they could not be outflanked. The pain in Harry's scar told them he was near, but so far, they had not seen him. Harry began to worry, and Hermione could feel the uneasy ebb and flow of his concern.

Where the hell is he?

sssssssssssssssssssssssss

“What?” Draco stammered, staring at Ginny as if she had not spoken English.

“You heard me,” she said, biting off the words clearly. “Pick up your bloody wand.”

“Why?” he asked, mostly just to be obtuse, just to punish someone else since his entire life was spinning out of his control, headed down the wide, welcoming maw to Hell. “What's the point anyway? We're all going to die.”

“Don't you want to take some of them with you, if we do? Damn it, Malfoy, you great sodding ponce,” Ron said theatrically, if not particularly helpfully.

Ginny regarded Malfoy for a moment, with large, somber eyes. She appeared divided for a moment, but then stepped toward him, laying one hand softly on his arm. She leaned toward him, and whispered something in his ear that neither Ron nor Luna could hear.

Ron didn't know what his little sister had told Malfoy - and wasn't sure he wanted to know, truth be told - but the Slytherin's icy eyes seemed to clear somewhat, and he did retrieve his wand.

He flicked his eyes toward where Luna stood, holding the carved box, and swallowed. The muscles moved reflexively in the column of his neck.

“Let's do this then.”

sssssssssssssssssssssssss

The curses flew swift and deadly, resounding off of Hermione's shield with a satisfying noise, like a majestic chord of music. It was clear that they were quickly approaching a stalemate. The Death Eaters never seemed to run out of spellcasters, but few of their spells could make it through the Protego shield. The ache in Harry's forehead had increased to a throbbing pitch that was impossible to ignore, even with Hermione's help, and they were both aware of the knife's edge on which they danced.

Move to the left, Harry, Hermione instructed. We're too close to the edge here. Harry had felt the expanse of gaping nothingness behind him, and was only too glad to comply.

And that was when the cleaver reappeared in his brain - the one that he had felt both a thousand years ago and yet only a couple of days ago, the one that he had hoped to never feel again.

The scream of agony resounding in Hermione's mind, and she tried frantically to ease it, to take some of it onto herself, but every other sense she had seemed overwhelmed by it.

The Protego shield dropped.

Their wands soared through the air away from them.

Someone laughed.

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

The four teens stood in a circle, each touching a face of the stone with his or her right hand. Nothing was beneath the stone, but it was held in place by the pressure of fingers, bracing the stone against fingers of the others.

The eerie wind appeared in the glade, ruffling the grass and the trees. A soft, sighing sound swelled up around them.

Luna's hair floated and rippled around her head and shoulders.

She opened her mouth and began to speak.

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

“So we come to the end of all things, Mr. Potter,” came Voldemort's snake-like voice, sounding sibiliant and satisfied.

“Yes,” Harry said calmly. Inwardly, his mind was whirling. Hermione sat beside him quietly, her mind focused on keeping Voldemort out of Harry's.

What the hell is taking them so long?

“Tell me where your friends are.”

“You know I won't do that. You're going to kill me whether I tell you or not.” Voldemort's lips split over yellowed teeth, and he smiled.

“You're right,” he said candidly. “Your fate is certain. But what of hers? She is as doomed as you are, but… I can make it painless, or I can make it agony.” He leaned almost casually on Slytherin's staff, and pointed his wand at Hermione. He flicked it upward, and Hermione began to rise through the air.

Hermione!

Don't tell him, Harry. I don't care what he does to me.

Limbs trembling and eyes stinging with hot tears, Harry turned his attention inward, focused on keeping that excruciating, severing pain out of his mind, knowing that if he failed - if Voldemort discovered and stopped the empowering of the Claviomnis, then he'd condemned them all to death

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

A flowing, unearthly sounding language tripped from Luna's tongue, as sweet as phoenix song. Ron could not understand any of it, but a strange, triumphant feeling coursed through him. He could feel the smooth surface of the Claviomnis beneath his fingers, he could feel the silver-white heat of Luna's quizzical gaze on his. He realized that his eyes were closed and hers were too, but he could see her as clearly as if she were in his mind with him.

And maybe I am, Ronald, came her musical voice, echoing in his mind, even as he distantly heard her voice, rising and falling in the cadence of the ancient language.

He realized that he could feel the presences of Ginny and Malfoy as well, that he could see them in his mind's eye.

White light was everywhere, surging through them, around them, over them. Ginny's hair was flame, Luna's spun gold and Malfoy's shining white. Images begin to spin past him, as if unraveling from a large spool. Ron felt strong, invincible…he could do anything, he could make anything happen. Anything and everything and nothing was possible - if he willed it to be so.

It made him feel dizzy. Euphoric. Alive.

There was a large manor house on an expanse of green lawn that he somehow recognized as his own. Arthur Weasley was the Minister of Magic. He had Luna twined in a sinuous embrace, kissing her passionately. The Gryffindor house cup - no, it was the Slytherin house cup. Lucius Malfoy lay at his feet, eyes wide in the stare of unmistakable death. Someone was kissing his sister, he couldn't see who. A beautiful blond woman smiled radiantly, enfolding Luna into a tender embrace.

The images moved faster, and Ron realized suddenly that they hadn't all been from him. He could only catch glimpses of things now, out of context and hodgepodge. A Death Eater's mask, a vault at Gringott's, a baby, destruction of Hogwarts, destruction of the Muggle world, Muggles cheering, Harry Potter's wide grin, a sunset, a wedding, a….

Focus!

Luna's voice called him back, and they all tried to remember what they had been doing in the first place.

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Harry felt real fear rise up into his throat, as Hermione floated away from his side and into the circle of Death Eaters. There was laughter, interspersed with a few lewd comments.

Someone cast a Crucio, and Hermione screamed.

Harry thought his heart was going to rip from his chest, as he clumsily tried to ease her pain and keep the mental shields up at the same time.

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

The green-topped staff of Slytherin suddenly slammed into sharp relief in the mental circle of the other four. Ron seized onto it gratefully, as he remembered what it was they were trying to do.

He visualized the destruction of Voldemort, as the twisted, snake-like excuse for a human exploded outward in a bloom of light, mouth open, fingers splayed wide, denying what was occurring even as he ceased to exist.

The picture was going to spin past them, whirling on some surreal and never-ending carousel like the others, but he reached out and caught it. The four of them held it fast, and the colors grew brighter, more defined, more real.

The Claviomnis began to tremble.

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Hermione's mind groped her way back to Harry's, trembling and shaky.

Are you all right? he asked, trying to draw off some of her fear and pain.

I'm - I'm okay. But he could feel the tendrils of pain that still curled around her.

And then something caught his attention, something hot and pure and bright and ferocious with energy.

Hermione, I think they're doing it.

There was no response save for wails of agony, as they cursed her again.

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

The heat from the stone seared the pads of their fingers, but no one drew away. A new scene was added to the destruction of Voldemort - the destruction of the Claviomnis itself.

There was a mental scuffle. Malfoy seemed against it, unwilling to give up access to that kind of power. Ron knew instinctively that it would be what Harry and Hermione wanted.

He pushed for it. There's no time. Harmony of purpose, you git.

No time.

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Even as Harry felt it building, felt the magic moving toward Voldemort with invisible purpose, he knew it wasn't going to be enough.

Voldemort looked up, slit-like nostrils flaring, eyes alert. He could feel it too.

Hermione, are you with me, love? Can you hear me? Push everything you've got at him…everything - or it's not going to work.

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

The light was everywhere, liquid fire, blinding, and they could not escape it, could not shut it out by the closing of eyes. The picture grew clearer, almost lifelike, and then began to split apart.

Luna's voice moved faster, rose higher, spitting out syllables at an unrelenting pace.

The pain in Ron's fingertips was agony.

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

“What are you doing, you fool?” Voldemort spat, but Harry had seen the flicker of worry in his eyes.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Harry said calmly. The surge was building; Harry could feel it; Voldemort could feel it.

The Dark Lord raised Slytherin's staff toward the moon, shouted an incantation.

Nothing happened.

Smoke began to billow from the hem of his robes.

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

For an instant, Harry got a flash of four people standing in a circle. He could see Ron, Ginny, Luna, and Malfoy. He could feel their determination; he could see the white-hot power of the Claviomnis spewing out in all directions. He took that power and amplified it, built upon it, magnified it, and…

He could feel Hermione's welcome presence in his mind, as she began to add her magic to his own.

Ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Suddenly, there was silence. Luna's voice stopped, and Ron felt as if he were suspended in a strange vacuum.

The light extinguished; the heat snuffed out.

Four pairs of eyes snapped open, wide with uncertainty and amazement. The Claviomnis fell to the earth unheeded, a dull dark glass, where it had once been fiery scarlet. It splintered into several thick, dull pieces.

“Did it work?” Ginny asked anxiously.

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Voldemort's step faltered, when the hem of his robes began to smoke more copiously. His eyes snapped to the useless staff and then over to Harry, almost accusingly, and Harry smiled.

Voldemort's howl of rage echoed off of the surrounding hills.

And then the light consumed him, licking at his robes, streaming from his eyes and ears and fingers, muting the cries of fury and denial.

He dove at Harry. The edge of the cliff was so close…too close.

Hermione scrambled to her feet with a noisy scuffle of gravel. Nobody seemed to be paying her any mind at all.

Harry and Voldemort seemed to hover together for one moment in a glowing prism of light, before they vanished over the edge of the precipice.

TBC

Okay, here we go. This got really long, but I didn't feel it warranted two separate chapters. Hope you enjoyed it.

Epilogue left.

(And don't anybody freak out… you know I didn't kill Harry!)

lorien

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Harry Potter and the Isle of Mists

Disclaimer: I can only hope to attain the creative brilliance of J. K Rowling.

AN: This story is AU after OOTP.

Epilogue: All's Well That Ends Well

Harry fell for what seemed like forever. Wind shrieked at his ears. He was being buffeted in the face with a cloak, but he hadn't had on a cloak. He seemed to have left his stomach on the hilltop.

His heart couldn't help but be exultant. They had done it. Voldemort was gone - or would be as soon as they hit bottom. He couldn't regret his death overmuch, though he would miss Hermione.

The ground seemed to be rushing up to him with terrible speed. He closed his eyes.

Distantly a voice rang in his mind.

Arresto Momentum!

The first thing Harry was truly cognizant of was that he desperately wanted a sip of water. Without opening his eyes, he tried to take inventory. He ached all over, but nothing appeared to be irreparably damaged or agonizingly painful.

Arresto Momentum.

Someone had stopped him…or at least slowed him down, the dull discomfort in all his joints reminded him. It was like the time he'd fallen off of his broom because the Dementors came to the Quidditch game.

He was on a bed, he could tell that much. And it was daylight beyond his eyelids; he could feel the brightness of it pressing in on him almost physically.

Then he heard a shriek of joy.

“He's awake!” It was Hermione.

“Er, how do you figure, Hermione?” Ron.

Did you think I wouldn't notice? Her reproving voice rang like music in his mind, and he couldn't stop a smile from overspreading his face, as he slowly blinked his eyes open.

“You really have to ask, Ron?” he said, in a scratchy voice, and then stopped, looking with surprise at his surroundings. He was in the hospital wing at Hogwarts. “How'd we get here?” he blurted.

Hermione and Ron exchanged glances and grinned.

“Harry, do you really think that you could destroy Voldemort, as well as wield the Claviomnis, and Dumbledore wouldn't be able to tell on one of his little magical devices - regardless of where in the world we were?” Hermione's voice was strangely jocular. Harry wasn't sure he'd ever heard it so lilting and musical.

You've never been free before, either, she said softly, just for him, and he stared at her, as if stunned.

Free? He'd never thought about it before. He'd been thrown into the wizarding world, almost simultaneously finding out about his symbolic importance to these people, and had later found out that his importance wasn't symbolic at all, but actual. He'd never known life in this world without it.

Without it… without danger, without constant mortal peril, without the stress and pressure of people's expectations…without the certainty of impending death…

“It's over?” he said, phrasing it like a question, even though it really wasn't one. Hermione's eyes were shining. She nodded, her lips pressed together tightly. He shifted in the bed, swearing under his breath at the growing twinge of pain.

“I feel like I've - ”

“Fallen off a mountain?” Ron supplied, with a grin. “Everyone's meeting in Dumbledore's office. I'll go tell them you're up.” He shambled out the door, and after watching him go, his eyes turned back toward his love.

“It is hard to fathom, isn't it?” she agreed, correctly reading his mood, without reading his mind.

“I can't believe it,” Harry admitted, rubbing at a sore spot at the back of his neck. “I remember feeling the power of the Claviomnis, and trying to - trying to enhance it, I guess. Voldemort leapt at me - he must have known what was happening, and then we fell. What happened?”

“I feel like I died a thousand times in that one instant before you went over the cliff,” Hermione said softly, her eyes clouded with the memory. “I ran to the edge. The Death Eaters were all still gaping at the spot where you'd both been. None of them even tried to stop me. I cast Arresto…”

“You saved me,” Harry interrupted, laying on hand over hers on the mattress. Hermione shook her head.

“I missed,” she said. “Ron and Ginny managed to slow you down enough so that your injuries weren't terribly dangerous. If you hadn't fallen in precisely that direction, where they were gathered - ” She shuddered, as if she did not even want to think of it.

“And Voldemort?” Harry queried.

“He was dead before he hit the ground. By the time, they'd finished fussing over you, and come to check on you, there was nothing left but some dessicated bones, his cloak, and his wand. Malfoy snapped it.”

“But you?” Harry realized suddenly, his eyes growing wide with alarm. “You were up there with the Death Eaters. How did you get away?”

“I thought about Apparating,” Hermione answered. “But I wasn't sure I'd be able to with you - with you out of commission. And I didn't like the thought of all of them getting away, so I - so I - ”

“So you…?” Harry prodded.

“I tried one of those wide-band Stun fields, like we sent out to Slytherin and his men. It didn't last very long at all, but it was long enough for me to Stun and restrain them individually.” Harry gaped at her.

“You single-handedly took out over two dozen Death Eaters?” He asked, remembering the overwhelming numbers that had been on the ruined foundation of Gryffindor's castle.

“It almost wiped me out,” Hermione said, trying to downplay her role. “I barely finished before I passed out. I woke up here, just like you did, a few days ago.” She nodded over toward the adjacent bed.

“How long have I been out?”

“Nearly a week. Dumbledore said your magical expenditures were enormous.”

“But the Claviomnis!” Harry protested. “It wasn't me. It was Ginny, Luna, Ron, and - ”

“We weren't strong enough,” Ron said, reappearing in the door, with a whole slew of people. “Dunno if some of us were doubting, or what.” He rolled his eyes, clearly thinking of Malfoy, “But it was your magic that did it, that put the final step in place and made it all possible.”

Dumbledore was the first one at Harry's bedside, patting Harry's shoulder gently, with a twinkle in his blue eyes that rivaled the sun on the water at Avalon.

“Thank you for finding us, sir,” Harry managed, feeling words to be somewhat inadequate.

“Thank you for saving our world, Harry,” Dumbledore replied. “Your ingenuity and your unity with your classmates has accomplished what many thought could never be done.”

“I couldn't have done it without them,” Harry offered humbly. “Even Malfoy proved that he - what's going to happen to him?” He changed tack, as the thought occurred to him.

“He's going to be well looked after,” Dumbledore said. “Professor Snape has offered to take him in, though he may not be able to remain in Slytherin House. There is precedence for a re-Sorting, should that become necessary.”

“Where is he?” Harry wondered, his eyes scanning the group present. There was Lupin and Tonks, all the Weasleys, McGonagall, and Luna, but neither Malfoy nor Snape were present.

“He's at the Ministry,” Dumbledore said, with a hint of regret in his tone. “He'll likely be `encouraged' to testify against both his mother and his father. Your friends here have already given their statements, and young Mr. Malfoy will not go to prison, though there is still the matter of the Dark Mark on his arm…”

“Voldemort forced him to take it. He didn't want to!” Harry protested, even as part of him was amazed - and a little aghast - that he was standing up for Malfoy.

“Shall I notify a Ministry official to come take his statement, Albus?” Professor McGonagall asked, her eyebrows raised in question.

“That would probably be wise, Minerva,” Dumbledore said thoughtfully, looking back to Harry. “You have more influence than you know. Especially now.”

Harry felt his face fall, at the thought of what awaited him: press conferences, news coverage, interviews, reporters stalking him, mundane details of his life plastered to glossy magazine covers. He looked woefully at Hermione.

I never will be free, will I? Not really, he sighed. I'll understand if you don't want to deal with the insanity. It's going to be worse now than it ever was before.

Don't be ridiculous, Harry! Hermione sniffed in the pragmatic way that he'd come to know and cherish. I'd read all about you before I even saw you on the Express, remember? I knew what I was signing on to when I became your friend. I've never been more proud of you or loved you more than I do right now, and I certainly don't intend to quit now, just when the journey's really beginning!

To his dismay, Harry felt his eyes flood with tears, and he clamped his fingers around her hand tightly. She raised her other hand, and ran her fingers softly through his disheveled hair. It was like they were the only two people in the room, and Dumbledore must have made some wordless gesture, for when they came out of their reverie, they were the only two people present, save for the venerable Headmaster himself.

“I'd also like to speak to the two of you about - about your relationship,” Dumbledore began, evidently choosing his words carefully. “I suspect that is something you would rather discuss in private.” Harry and Hermione both nodded their agreement. “It is unusual, but not unheard of, to have students still at Hogwarts with your… social status. There are arrangements that can be made, I'm sure, to the satisfaction of everyone concerned.”

“Excuse me, sir,” Harry interrupted. “But what social status are you talking about?” Dumbledore's eyebrows soared in surprise.

“About your marriage to Miss Granger, Harry,” he answered. Harry was sure that the shock in Hermione's face only mirrored his own, but a tendril of jubilation began to snake up from somewhere. He wasn't sure if it was from him or her, or both.

“But we're not married. I just told Lord Gryffindor that, so we wouldn't be separated in the keep. I told you this already,” Hermione explained, with the air of one repeating herself.

“Indeed, you may not have known it, but you were already married before you entered the tower room and were sent back by the Time Turner,” Dumbledore said. He opened a large, black leather-bound book with an official-looking Ministry crest stamped in gold on the front. Pages toward the end were blank, but most of them appeared to be filled with a spidery black script, detailing information in neat lists and columns.

“What is this?” Hermione asked, leaning over Harry's legs to see better.

“It's the Ministry record of marriages,” Dumbledore replied, tapping one finger on a particular place on the page, near the end. There appeared to be only three or four names following. Harry and Hermione both bent over it curiously.

Harry Potter/Hermione Granger, date marriage registered: 29 August, 1996, place of marriage: Avalon Castle, date consummated: 14 April, 1064.

Hermione felt heat flood her face so emphatically that she was sure she was giving it off in waves. One look at Harry told her that his face was crimson.

“The music…that - that voice…is that when we - ?” Harry stumbled, close to incoherence.

“It said we were bonded…in Avalon,” Hermione continued dully.

If you don't want to be… she began. I didn't know it would be for real.

Now you're being ridiculous. I love you. I don't mind this at all - especially if these `arrangements' mean that you can sleep in my bed all the time.

Honestly! Is that all you think about? Her tone was one of remonstrance, but a smile had started to creep back onto her face. I'm more worried about this being a matter of public record.

Harry looked at her in astonishment. He hadn't thought of that.

How's it going to look, Hermione continued, both of them oblivious that Dumbledore still stood there, in bemusement watching them communicate telepathically, when everyone finds out that we had sex 932 years before we got married?

That's a long time to go without a shag, Harry pointed out in a sage voice, and Hermione skewered him with a glance.

“Is there any way that can be changed? It was one day later - chronologically,” Hermione said, trying to speak calmly. “The other just looks odd.” Dumbledore smiled at her.

“I've already obtained authorization from the Wizengamot. Given your celebrity, and what is certain to be a life on some level always in the public eye, they've agreed.” The Headmaster tapped their entry with his wand, and the date in question shimmered and changed to 30 August 1996.

Harry still felt uncomfortable with anyone knowing the details of his sex life - such as it was.

“Why does that have to be in there at all?” he grumbled childishly.

“It has not been so long ago that arranged marriages were quite common in the Wizarding world,” Dumbledore informed them. Hermione was nodding. “They are not unheard of even today. In the past, the registry was quite useful in ascertaining the legitimacy of a marriage or even if paternity ever came into question. Now, it is more a tradition, automatically recorded much like Magical Births and Deaths, since it is such an intimate encounter between two people's magical essences. There is magical output you see, when a bond is made, as you two had in Avalon, and more still when the actual act of - ”

“Thank you, Professor,” Harry said, cutting him off. He did not want to have this conversation with the Headmaster. He felt Hermione giggle in his mind.

“Yes, I'm sure that Madam Pomfrey will be wanting to examine you thoroughly, now that you've awakened,” Dumbledore continued as if he had not been rudely interrupted. “My heartiest congratulations to you both.”

I can't believe you interrupted him like that, Harry. Hermione sounded scandalized, but there was laughter in her voice, as Dumbledore left the room.

Do you really want to have `the talk' with Professor Dumbledore? Harry said grumpily. What could he tell us anyway? Hermione quirked a sardonic eyebrow at him.

One shag, and you think you're that good? Harry gave her a withering look, and pulled her next to him on the bed.

“I love you, Hermione,” he said, meaningfully, before his lips covered hers in a searing kiss.

“I love you too,” she whispered breathily, before adding, “Do you mind at all?”

“Mind?” he asked incredulously. “I just found out that I'm married to the most wonderful girl that I have an amazing, incredible connection with, and who's my best friend. I'm ecstatic.”

She sank into his embrace on his words, and he reclined back onto the bed, tucking her into the crook of his shoulder as he did so.

Freedom… he thought about that word again. Voldemort was gone. He had fulfilled his destiny, and now Hermione - his wife - lay in his arms, bonded to him in every way possible. Ecstatic wasn't even enough of a word to cover how he was feeling.

And somewhere, far away, a castle sat atop a misty mountain in the middle of the ocean, and a joyous chord of music played…

…for the Heir of Gryffindor and his Chosen One.

The End

Okay, well there it is. I'm not sure that I'm terribly happy with this story, but it was the first one I'd ever started, and I didn't have a really clear idea of where exactly I was going with it when I began it. I felt the frustration of this many times, which is why it took me so long to complete. I do feel that my other stories are giant improvements over this one - which is good, I guess - and I just feel very humbled and grateful that so many of you stayed with it for so long.

“Resistance” is probably 4/5 of the way completed, and <shameless plug> I've got a new one in the works that I'll probably be beginning to post soon. I'm really excited about it, and very curious to see what everyone thinks of it.

Thanks so much for staying for the journey. It's been fun. Hope to see you back someday!

lorien

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