I am not J.K. Rowling. I'm also not Philip Pullman, Joss Whedon, or any author that I'd really like to be. You know, the ones with money.
Chapter 12: High Tea with Uncle Mordred
"Ow!" Harry quickly withdrew his hand from Hedwig's cage, swearing under his breath as he did so. His knuckles had just been violently pecked by a very sharp beak that belonged to one extremely angry owl. "What was that for?"
His snowy white owl hooted haughtily and turned her head to face the window. She hadn't taken much to life at Grimmauld Place and had not been particularly friendly toward Harry ever since he had left her alone while Hermione and he had went off to Hogwarts. Apparently, giving her more owl treats wasn't enough to buy back her affections.
"But it wasn't my fault!" Harry protested on his own behalf. "I had to go. I didn't have a choice! If I could have come back and taken you, you know I would have."
Another dismissive hoot was all the reply Harry received. "Is this about Hermione bringing Crookshanks here?" he asked with a half-amused smirk. When Hedwig merely ruffled her feathers, a knowing grin spread across Harry's face. "It is, isn't it? You're jealous."
Hedwig spread her wings quickly, as if she were denying Harry's completely unfounded accusation. "Well, you'll have to make nice. Crookshanks is going to be living here for a while." The half-kneazle in question was sunning himself near the window, lazily enjoying the bright rays of morning sunshine. Hedwig's bright yellow eyes narrowed as she looked spitefully at the cat.
"Hedwig," Harry began soothingly, "you know that nobody could ever take your place, don't you? You're the best owl any wizard could ask for." Hedwig inched closer to Harry, examining him warily from her perched position. "Hermione's important to me, Hedwig. She always has been, really, but now…well, I think you and Crookshanks will have to learn to get along, because Hermione's going to be living with me for a while, too. I'm hoping for a very long while." While Harry had not been watching Hedwig, the owl had moved to within a few centimeters of his still-outstretched palm. "Are you sure you don't want these owl treats? I've heard they're quite tasty." He grinned devilishly. "You know, maybe Crookshanks would like them instead."
With an air of reluctance, Hedwig began slowly eating the treats from Harry's hand, taking care not to bring her beak down too hard, lest she hurt him again. "There's a good girl," he told her softly. "Just because you're not the most important girl in my life anymore doesn't mean I don't care about you, you know. I do and I always will." As Hedwig finished her food, Harry gave her a pat on the head. 'Hey, that was a pretty good speech. Maybe I could give it to Ginny, too,' he thought seriously. 'Although I'd have to leave out the part about the owl treats.'
As he went to return Hedwig's food to its proper place next to his bed, he noticed Hermione standing in the doorway, watching him with a warm smile on her face. "You're back already?" Harry asked in genuine surprise. "You work fast. Wait, how long have you been standing there?"
Hermione entered the room slowly, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and looking a little guilty. "Long enough to hear your little speech to Hedwig." Harry was unsure whether to feel ashamed or proud that she'd overheard him. "Did you mean it?"
Harry returned the box of owl treats to the shelf, deliberately not meeting Hermione's gaze. "Er, mean what?" he asked.
Hermione's smile faltered, just a little. "Harry, I don't expect our relationship to be dramatically changed by a heartfelt conversation you had with your owl, but…I'd like to know how seriously you're taking this." When Harry turned to face her, she was anxiously examining her hands. "I mean, is this just…"
"No," Harry interrupted, his voice emphatic. "Whatever you want to say about what's between is, it isn't 'just' anything. It's everything to me, Hermione." Her brown eyes rose quickly to meet his. "Do you want me to be honest with you?" Hermione nodded as Harry sat next to her. "I've been thinking a lot about the future lately; about what life will be like after Voldemort's beaten," 'if that's what happens', he added only to himself, "and the only thing I can really decide on is that I want you to be there. Not just as my best friend anymore, but as my girlfriend. Maybe even my wife." Harry watched her eyes carefully as they widened. "Is it too soon to be talking about this?"
"No," Hermione replied breathlessly. "I definitely think we should be talking about this now. And if you want me to be completely honest with you, I've been thinking about exactly the opposite." Harry's heart suddenly began to race. What was she talking about? Were her feelings for him not as strong as he'd hoped? "Harry, what if you change your mind about me? What if we break up?"
Harry sighed. 'Not this again'. "You asked me that last night, too, you know."
Hermione folded her arms and shot him a stern glare. "And you didn't answer me."
Harry smiled back at her cheekily. "No, but we did kiss a lot. I thought maybe that was answer enough." Hermione returned his smile, her eyes fluttering closed briefly, but it was clear she wanted a real answer. "I don't know, Hermione. I don't think I could stand to cut you out of my life completely. Maybe we could still be friends?" Hermione gave him a deeply skeptical look. "I'm still friends with Ginny, aren't I? And she's my ex-girlfriend."
"I don't think she sees herself that way," Hermione grumbled. A thought struck her suddenly. "Maybe we should make a pact. That whatever happens in our relationship, we'll always be best friends."
Harry considered that for a moment, then nodded his acceptance. "Alright, that sounds fair."
Hermione bit on her lower lip, her mind deep in thought. "Although I suppose there should be an escape clause or two."
"An escape clause?" Harry asked in confusion. "What do you mean?"
"Well," Hermione countered in a playful tone, "I'm not sure I could stay best friends with you if you left me for one of your adoring fans." She batted her eyelashes for emphasis and gave Harry her best doe-eyed look.
"I would never leave you for…" he began indignantly. "Fine. Then I don't think I could stay best friends with you if you left me for a guy who's smarter than me."
"What?" Hermione exclaimed. "First of all, I wouldn't and secondly, that's entirely subjective."
"Oh and being my 'adoring fan' isn't?" Harry asked as he moved closer to her, wrapping his arm around her waist.
"No," Hermione protested, valiantly pretending that his embrace wasn't affecting her, "because I'm not talking about just any kind of fan girl. Someone like Romilda Vane or…" He began to quietly nuzzle her neck. "Or…"
"Or maybe we could make a different sort of pact," Harry said between tender kisses planted along her neckline. "One where we don't break up at all."
"Mmm," Hermione responded in a moan. "That sounds…good. Terribly unrealistic, but good." Harry's lips had left the nape of her neck and had found their way nicely to her lips, capturing them forcefully. Minutes passed unnoticed, as a flurry of tender and passionate kisses kept them holding onto each other, their fingers weaving gently through each other's hair and their bodies pressed close together. "Harry…" Hermione said once she was no longer being thoroughly kissed, "there's something we need to talk about."
"Talk," Harry repeated dumbly, his brain having temporarily vacated the scene. "Yeah, we can do that." Actually, he wasn't completely sure he could, but had never seen Hermione unable to.
"Don't take this the wrong way," she began, uncertainty heavy in her voice, "but I think maybe I should move out." Harry's eyebrows rose. "I don't mean out of Grimmauld. I mean out of this room."
"Really?" Harry asked, his disappointment at the idea obvious. "Why?"
"Well, the occlumency lessons clearly aren't helping," Hermione retorted matter-of-factly. "In fact, your dreams only seem to be getting more frequent and vivid. And," here her cheeks began to flush, "there's also the matter of… temptation."
"What sort of temptation?" Harry asked her in mock confusion, his hand reaching out to brush her cheek lightly.
"Well, I…" she began to stammer, "I can't speak for you, of course, Harry, but as for me, I was very tempted last night to, uh, to…that is to say…"
"Go on," Harry goaded with her a wide grin. "You can say it."
"Havesexwithyou," she finished quickly, looking up at him with an expectantly wary expression. "Weren't you tempted at all?"
Harry made a show of considering this. "Hmm. A seventeen-year-old bloke lying next to his girlfriend, who he's completely crazy over by the way, all night without feeling the urge to have sex?" He shook his head. "Sorry, Hermione. I already survived the killing curse when I was a baby. One miraculous event in a lifetime is enough, don't you think?"
Hermione blushed a deep shade of red at that. "So, you agree with me then?"
"I agree that we're both extremely attracted to each other and that it's going to be hard not to have sex, but I think we can handle it." Harry held Hermione close to him, her head resting on one of his shoulders as he ran his hands along her legs. "Then again, if we can't, that wouldn't be so terrible either, would it?" Before Hermione could reply, Harry felt something in one of her jeans pockets. He withdrew and unfolded it before Hermione could snatch it back from him. "Wait, what's this? Your other boyfriend's name and address?"
Hermione punched him lightly on the arm. "No, you git. Not unless I'm dating Professor Quirrell's Uncle Mordred." Harry put a hurt look on his face. "Which I'm not, of course. Honestly!"
"You didn't tell me you found this," Harry protested only half-seriously. Now they would be able to question Mordred Quirrell about Hufflepuff's cup and possibly get their hands on another of Voldemort's horcruxes.
"Well, I was a bit…distracted," Hermione claimed with a coy smile. "Pleasantly so, I might add." Harry stared at the piece of paper as she continued speaking. "I didn't think you'd be so impressed by an address. Perhaps I shouldn't tell you what I did to the Animus Signatus potion to help us identify the horcruxes. You might faint."
"Very funny," Harry replied dismissively. "I was just realizing that I know where this place is. It's only a short distance away from a city park where the Dursleys used to take Dudley and I to play, at least until ickle Duddykins broke their jungle gym."
Hermione was looking just a little bit impressed herself. "Well, I suppose that saves us the embarrassment of asking directions." She scratched her chin thoughtfully. "Do you have a plan for how we're going to retrieve Hufflepuff's cup?"
Harry grimaced. "Is knocking and asking for it politely a plan?"
"It's not a very good one," Hermione replied with a smirk. "Luckily for you, I already have one in mind that's better." Harry gave her a curious look as her index finger poked him in the chest. "Although you might want to stop acting like a jealous prat, because we're going to be asking a favor from someone who might be just a little bit more handsome than you are."
***
Harry had never seen a professional team's Quidditch pitch before and couldn't help but be awed by the sight of it. Awultune Stadium rose majestically over Dorset, with thousands of seats forming over a dozen tiers running far up into the sky. Of course, the stadium only appeared this way during matches and practices. The rest of the time it was a rather unimpressive shack lying along the banks of the River Frome. Or so the team guide informed him.
Still, despite the thrill of visiting his first ever professional Quidditch pitch, there were other things on Harry's mind. "Do you really think Oliver Wood's better looking than I am?" he asked Hermione, the question bursting forth seemingly from nowhere.
"What?" Hermione asked in what must have been nearly complete confusion. They were standing just below a set of practice hoops, waiting to have a word with the starting keeper for Puddlemere United when Harry suddenly asked her a question about his own relative attractiveness. "Oh, I…I don't know, Harry. I suppose I haven't given it much thought." She gritted her teeth impatiently. "You know, I did floo ahead and tell him we would be coming. You'd think he could at least stop flying about on his broom for a moment or two."
"Right. I'm probably being silly," Harry replied lightly. After a few more moments of silence as Hermione impatiently watched Oliver Wood block yet another quaffle, he opened his mouth again. "But you've given it some thought, haven't you? Otherwise why would you have said he 'might be a little bit more handsome than I am'?"
"Are you likely to be on about this all day?" Hermione asked with a sigh. When Harry didn't answer her immediately, she turned and kissed him. It was a kiss that was neither tender nor short and Harry felt himself fighting for breath almost immediately. As soon as they separated, he could only stare after Hermione in shock and awe. "I love you, Harry James Potter, and I think you're gorgeous. Now would you please leave me alone for a moment so that I can try and get the attention of…?"
"You wanted to see me, Harry?" Oliver Wood asked innocently as he descended to Earth, his hair windswept and his Comet looking newly waxed and polished. Apparently, the entire team had turned to watch Harry and Hermione make out and the coach, in audible frustration, decided to end practice a few minutes early.
"Yeah," Harry answered with a nervous gulp. After what nearly happened to Luna and her father (and what had happened to Ron), Harry was reluctant to involve anyone else in the horcrux hunt. Oliver Wood had offered to help him, however, and Hermione's plan was far better than anything he could have devised. "I was wondering if you might do me a favor."
"What kind of favor," Wood asked simply as he slung his broom over his shoulder.
At this point, Hermione stepped in. "Do you remember an essay you wrote called 'An Unconventional Defense of Hogwarts'?"
Oliver nodded slowly. "Yeah, I think so. In fifth year, wasn't it? For Professor Quirrell's class? I diagrammed all of the castle's defensive magical properties and explained how they worked in tandem. Had to get special permission from Dumbledore."
"Right," Hermione answered happily. "Well, it seems that Professor Quirrell checked it out of the library and no one thought to return it after he died. We were wondering if you would go with us to ask his Great Uncle Mordred to give it to us."
Wood frowned. "You want an old essay of mine that badly? I didn't know that anything I wrote was that good."
"Oh, it was. It was completely brilliant," Hermione enthused.
"You've read it, then?" the Puddlemere Keeper asked as he entered the team's locker room.
"Well, no," Hermione admitted reluctantly. "But I've heard nothing but good things about it…from…from…Professor Quirrell himself."
Harry wanted to hide his face in shame. He didn't know how Hermione, who was otherwise one of the smartest people he'd ever met, could consistently come up with such completely implausible lies. "Really?" Oliver Wood inquired skeptically. "I got the impression the three of you weren't on good terms before he died."
Hermione shot Harry a desperate look. Feeling honor-bound to help her out, he chimed in, "Well, no, we weren't. Obviously, since he was working for Lord Voldemort." Wood winced at the use of the name. "But, erm, whenever we were both in front of the Mirror of Erised, it was all he could talk about. Except for the Sorceror's Stone, that is," Harry finished in a mutter.
Oliver seemed to debate the matter for a moment, then nodded his head. "Alright. If it's that important to you, I'll be glad to help." As he returned his Comet to his locker, he tossed his jersey on a nearby bench and walked shirtless across the room. "Just let me take a shower first."
Harry scowled after him. "You know, if you look at him in direct sunlight, he's not all that handsome. You can barely even see the dimples on his face."
Hermione, however, wasn't looking at his face. "Oh Harry, do shut up."
***
"So explain to me again why you two are hiding under an invisibility cloak?" Oliver Wood asked, his
expression perplexed. Harry and Hermione were indeed beneath James Potter's old cloak, and all three of them stood
outside the front door to Mordred Quirrell's palatial estate. In fact, 'palatial' was putting it mildly; it
had taken them fifteen minutes just to walk through the front lawn.
"Well, you know," Hermione hedged, "there are certain… people…who still hold Harry responsible for Professor Quirrell's death. We wouldn't this to become awkward or uncomfortable."
"It's already become awkward and uncomfortable," Harry whispered huskily in her ear, the two of them hunched over and hiding behind a large column, "and I was responsible for Professor Quirrell's death." Hermione shushed him and turned back to face Oliver Wood, even though he could not see her.
"I get the feeling that there's something you're not telling me," Wood declared with a frown. Harry and Hermione shared a quick look of guilt. "Don't worry, I know when not to ask too many questions. Just tell me one thing: is this Mordred Quirrell bloke likely to be dangerous?"
Harry shrugged, an act only Hermione could see from underneath the cloak. "We're not sure." He stepped closer to the door. "Look, Oliver, if you want out of this…"
But Oliver Wood's knuckles were already rapping on the front door by the time Harry spoke. "Hey, I wasn't sorted into Gryffindor for nothing, you know," Wood replied with a nervous smile. "I just like to know what I'm up against."
In a few moments, the overly large wooden door began to swing open slowly. Oliver Wood swallowed his fears and put on a wider, but obviously fake, smile. Harry and Hermione both had their wands at the ready. "May I help you?" a raspy voice asked.
All three of them had to lower their gazes. A short, scrawny little man stood before them, grasping a knobby cane that stood taller than he did. With the other hand he held a foggy-looking monacle over one eye. His hair was curly and silvery-white and his face was clean-shaven, although Harry wondered how someone with so much sagging skin on his face could manage to shave. Quirrell looked at Wood expectantly. "Oh," Oliver answered him in embarrassment, realizing that he would be the one who was expected to speak, as Mordred Quirrell could not see the others. "Yes, right then. My name is Oliver Wood and I think you have something that belongs to me."
"Wood," Quirrell repeated in a curious whisper. "Wood. That names sounds familiar."
"You, uh, may have heard of me," Oliver went on, a decidedly immodest smile on his face. "I play Keeper for Puddlemere United."
"Ah. That's it, then," Mordred retorted enthusiastically and with a wheeze in his voice. "I knew I recognized you. You work for Madame Puddlefoot. She's after more of my 'romantic magic' collection, I'd wager."
As the elder man ushered him into the house, Oliver Wood began to explain to Mordred Quirrell as politely as he could that he did not in fact work for a Madame "Puddlefoot", but was a professional Quidditch player. "This wasn't exactly what I was expecting," Harry told Hermione in a whisper.
Hermione smirked. "What were you expecting, then? An older version of Professor Quirrell? A man with a long white beard wearing a turban?"
Harry nodded. "No, nothing like that. I'm just not picking up on the family resemblance." Hermione's smirk had not vanished. "Alright, maybe I was expecting the turban. And that obviously fake stutter…" By the time the elder Quirrell had closed the front door, the two of them had crept inside unnoticed. The task of searching for Hufflepuff's cup seemed quite daunting, as the house was completely filled with magical items, and all of them of the ancient and rare variety. The walls were lined with old cabinets and dressers which promised to be full of the same.
Further complicating matters was Mordred Quirrell himself, who kept darting about the house, searching frantically for something he called a 'Cupidon fountain'. For an old man, he was surprisingly quick. "I always keep it here in the sitting room," he complained to himself. "Where in Albion could it be? Madame Puddlefoot's always had her eye on that fountain…"
"Mr. Quirrell," Wood interjected impatiently. "I hate to contradict you, but I didn't come here about a fountain. I think you may have an old essay of mine." A puzzled frown formed on Quirrell's wrinkly brow. "I wrote it for a school assignment while I was at Hogwarts. It would probably be with your nephew's things."
"Nephew," Mordred repeated mindlessly. "Nephew, nephew. Ah, you mean my nephew. Yes, what was his name? Something with doors, I believe. Yes. Yes." Without warning, he drew a length piece of parchment from his pocket. In rapt curiosity, Hermione peered over his shoulder to discover that it contained the complete Quirrell family tree.
"Ah, here he is," Mordred Quirrell proclaimed with an air of triumph. "Janus Quirinius Quirrell. My nephew, the Professor. How about that?" Mordred looked at Oliver expectantly. "How is he these days?"
"I'm afraid he's dead, sir," Wood answered him as solemnly as he could. "That's why you inherited all of his things, you see. He left them to you in his will."
"He did?" Quirrell queried, a look of genuine surprise on his face. "Well, I suppose it must be buried in some of these papers over here. Let me look. This will only take a moment." Then, as slowly as humanly possible, he began pilfering through some of his desk drawers, shuffling papers aimlessly as he slowly whistled a tune that sounded roughly like 'Yankee Doodle'.
"This is hopeless," Hermione complained to Harry in a soft whisper. "We'll never be able to go through all of these things in a few hours! We're going to have to come up with another…" But before Hermione could complete that thought, every single cabinet, curio and dresser in the house flung itself open as a cacophony of slamming doors threatened to deafen everyone inside it. In the space of a moment, every magical object in the house haphazardly arranged themselves on the plush carpeted floor. "…plan," Hermione finished in a squeak.
After that, neither Harry nor Hermione spoke. They were almost afraid to breathe. Oliver Wood appeared frozen in place. "Don't worry about that, lad," Mordred Quirrell casually assured them all, never once looking up from the various stacks of papers. "It happens all of the time. Although I never can figure out which one of these doodads is the one that causes it." His head shot up suddenly. "The clock!"
"You think it's the clock?" Oliver asked bemusedly.
"It's tea time!" Mordred exclaimed.
"It's only two thirty," Oliver pointed out.
Professor Quirrell's elderly uncle ignored him, choosing instead to remove an antiquated tea set from the floor. He then carefully placed two chairs and a table near where they were standing. "You just make yourself at home," he instructed warmly, "while I go and brew us up a spot, hm?"
As Mordred Quirrell disappeared into the kitchen, Oliver Wood's calm demeanor vanished. "What the bleeding hell is going on?" he demanded of thin air.
"Accidental burst of wandless magic, I think," Harry explained apologetically. "It's been happening a lot lately. I dunno why."
"How much longer am I going to have to distract him?" Oliver Wood wondered aloud, a bit of a whine entering his Scottish brogue. "He's…odd."
"He is a bit eccentric," Hermione agreed sympathetically. "Just keep him busy for as long as you can. There are a lot of things here to go through." As she said this, she picked up a pair of omnioculars that had been disguised as opera glasses.
"Here we are," Mordred Quirrell said cheerfully as he emerged a few moments later, carrying a tray of tea and biscuits. Wood politely took a seat at one end of the table, allowing the older gentleman to sit in the chair nearest the kitchen. To make room for the new tea tray, Quirrell casually flung the tea set that had been sitting on the table across the room. "I'm so sorry these biscuits aren't fresh. My house elves are completely useless things. I don't why I haven't had them all stuffed and mounted." Hermione began to move toward him threateningly, but Harry held her back. "Now, why don't you tell me all about working at Madame Puddlefoot's?"
While Oliver Wood and Mordred Quirrell made what might generously be called 'small talk,' Harry and Hermione began quietly searching through everything on the floor, looking for Hufflepuff's cup. After about fifteen minutes of frustration, awkward silences and more than a few off-color jokes featuring every wizarding world stereotype you could imagine, the couple were nearly ready to concede defeat.
"What about checking some of the other rooms?" Harry asked in a soft voice. "The kitchen, maybe?"
Hermione quirked an eyebrow. "If you had Hufflepuff's cup, would you keep it in a kitchen?"
"No," Harry admitted. "But then I'm not a raving loony, either." It was then that he spotted a door on the other side of where Mordred Quirrell and Oliver Wood were sitting. Once they stealthily crept across the room, Harry tried the handle, only to find it locked.
"Alohamora," Hermione said as she waved her wand at the door handle. Perhaps unsurprisingly, it had no effect. "This has to be where he's keeping it."
"Brilliant deduction, Hermione," Harry whispered only half-jokingly. "That still leaves the question of how we get inside without drawing the attention of…" Harry stopped speaking as he snuck a glance at Mordred Quirrell and Oliver Wood, only to see the former Gryffindor Quidditch captain yawning widely, his eyes beginning to droop. "Is he falling asleep?" he asked Hermione in disbelief.
"It looks that way," Hermione answered in a grim mutter. "Did he seem tired to you before we came here?"
"No," Harry answered her honestly. "But then again he didn't seem handsome to me before we came here, either, and you disagreed with me on that…"
Hermione held her hand delicately over Harry's mouth. "The tea. He's drugged the tea."
"Who? Mordred Quirrell?" Harry asked in a muffled voice, Hermione's hand still over his mouth. "But why?"
As the two of them looked on from underneath the invisibility cloak, Mordred Quirrell's curly white hair began to change to a shade of blonde. "I think we're about to find out." As Quirrell moved to examine the now slumbering form of Oliver Wood, Harry and Hermione crept up behind him, their wands pointed at the back of the red velvet bathrobe he was wearing.
"Mobilicorpus," a familiarly disdainful voice incanted, as the body of 'Mordred Quirrell' began to metamorphose in front of them. Not willing to take any chances, Harry leveled his wand and prepared to cast a disarming spell.
'Quirrell' was too fast for him, however. "Petrificus totalus." The now taller figure had spun around quickly and aimed the body-bind curse exactly where Harry and Hermione were crouching. Ever the hero, Harry threw himself in front of Hermione, taking the brunt of the spell. In an instant, he was frozen stiff.
With some effort, Hermione disentangled herself from Harry's petrified form. "Expelliarmus," she yelled as she emerged from the invisibility cloak, which was still draped around Harry.
The person pretending to be Mordred Quirrell fell limply to the floor, the wand that had been in his hand now lying halfway across the room. Hermione kept her own wand trained on him as his skin began to contort and change, eventually revealing a face she had half-hoped never to see again. "Draco Malfoy?!" she exclaimed in disbelief.
"Nice to see you again, too, Granger," Malfoy replied sarcastically. "You Gryffindor imbeciles really have no idea how to use an invisibility cloak, do you? You made enough noise to raise an army of inferi." Draco rose slightly and dusted himself off, his nose screwing up in disgust. "Merlin, I'm even starting to smell like the old codger. What took you so bloody long anyway?"
"What took me so…?" she repeated, clearly not understanding the question. "What are you talking about? Where's the real Mordred Quirrell?"
Hermione's look of befuddlement was mirrored on Draco's face. "What? You mean Snape didn't tell you?"
"Snape's at St. Mungo's, under Auror guard," Hermione reported coldly. "Unless you'd care to join him, I would suggest you start talking."
Draco may not have been the smartest young wizard Hogwarts had ever produced, but he knew when to take a threat seriously. "Snape left me here to guard something. He wouldn't tell me what, but it's being kept in Mordred Quirrell's old wine cellar. That's the door you tried to open earlier," he pointed out with a smirk. "As for the real Mordred Quirrell, he's tied up downstairs." Hermione gave him a look of incredulity. "I know you don't trust me, Granger, but think. I need the old bat alive to keep the polyjuice from making me look even more like a corpse than I already do." Draco sent a sneer in the direction of the door Harry and Hermione had been unable to enter earlier. "Dunno why I bother to keep him tied up. Snape's had him under the Imperius Curse for months now. All he does is drool and mutter useless rubbish."
"Well, then, I suppose when I turn you in to the MLE, they won't be able to charge you with murder. They will, however, charge you with attempted murder. I might even get a reward for my troubles." Draco's face went paler. "What? You mean you didn't know? You're one of the most wanted wizards in Britain."
"You can't turn me in," Draco replied, his voice panicky. "I…I have information."
"Do you really think you can make a deal with me?" Hermione asked angrily. "You almost killed Dumbledore!"
"But I didn't!" Malfoy protested, his voice sounding oddly human and frail for the first time. "Please, you have to believe me, I'm here to help you. That's why Snape left me here. I'm supposed to show you something." He gave a slight nod of his head, careful not to make any sudden moves. "Downstairs."
"Oh and I suppose you have no idea what it is," Hermione posited with a scoff.
Draco confirmed this with a nod. "Snape was pretty clear on that. I expect he's set up some especially nasty traps down there, if anyone starts snooping around." While Hermione shook her head in disbelief, Malfoy continued, "I can disable the wards and lead the way myself, if that would make you feel better about it."
"The only thing that's going to make me feel better about this is seeing you in Azkaban, getting exactly what you deserve. For right now, though, I think I'll settle for getting out of here, dropping you off at the Ministry's doorstep and then coming back to see if you're telling the truth. But first…" Hermione turned slightly to point her wand at Harry, who was still paralyzed and invisible. "Finite…"
In a flash, Draco Malfoy withdrew another wand from the back of his ill-fitting robe. "Expelliarmus!" he cried.
Hermione cast a shielding charm just in time to deflect the disarming spell. "You were hiding a wand in that thing?" she asked with a frown.
Draco shrugged. "It was a bit of a tight fit. But the expression on your face when I whipped it out makes it well worth the effort." His smile was wicked. "New arrangement. We don't hex each other into oblivion, you don't go screaming your head off to the Ministry's stooges and we leave Wood and the Weasel behind to see what Snape's got waiting for us in the wine cellar."
"What if I don't like this 'arrangement'?" Hermione asked, trying her best to hide her surprise that Malfoy thought Ron, rather than Harry, was under the invisibility cloak.
Malfoy sniffed. "You know, Granger, I always thought you'd be the second toughest Gryffindor in your year to duel. Although considering that the toughest would be Potter, that's not really saying much. Still, I think I could take you."
Hermione gave a soft laugh. "No you don't, or you'd be hexing me instead of trying to make deals. Still…" Curiosity and concern for Harry warred in her mind with her natural distrust of Draco Malfoy.
Draco seemed to sense that he'd have to tip the scales. "Does the word 'horcrux' mean anything to you? Because it's written all over the pieces of parchment downstairs." Hermione shot him a scathing glare. "Yeah, I know what Snape said. But I only follow the rules when they suit me. Now are you coming or not?"
Harry desperately wanted to beg her not to, to scream at her not to trust Malfoy, but he could only watch in mute frustration as she reluctantly said, "Alright." As if on cue, they both lowered their wands, although they did not pocket them. "You should know…if anything happens to us, there are people who know we're here."
"People?" Draco asked skeptically. "You mean, other than your boyfriend and the Scot with the broomstick up his arse?"
"Yes, of course," Hermione assured him confidently. "Why, erm, there's…Luna Lovegood."
Malfoy hooted with laughter. "Ha! You've told Loony Lovegood where you're going! That's rich. Everyone will believe her when she says you've gone missing."
Harry winced inwardly. He and Hermione would definitely have to work on her deception skills. Although, being her boyfriend, he didn't want her to become too talented at lying. Just good enough to fool idiots like Malfoy. As he watched the two of them descend the staircase, he hoped fervently that Hermione knew what she was doing.
To be continued...in a chapter called "Down in the Hollow"...I sincerely hope you enjoyed...if you wish to review you can...I'll try to have the next chapter out before and/or around the end of the month...thank you and good night!
ITL