in Draco's direction. 'We had all realized that we must take steps to protect ourselves against him. Together, we forged a magical weapon, each part crafted by one of us — Salazar must have discovered our plans. He struck first at Godric. Then he attacked us — Helga and me. We were ready for him.
We put up quite a fight, but he was too powerful. He struck down Helga as she fought against him, then came for me. But at the last, he hesitated — ' Rowena's voice shook slightly. 'And I was able to work our spell upon him. He was rendered powerless, but the drain on my Magid powers was so great that it killed me. Thus we are all here.'
'And so you want him dead,' reasoned Draco.
Rowena shook her head. 'If he can be killed, it is beyond my knowledge to say how. I can tell you only how to imprison him and strip him of his power. And for that, you need the other three Heirs, and their Keys. Tell me, do they yet live, the other Heirs of the Founders?'
Draco hesitated, looking around at the green bank and the dead gray bank opposite. 'Don't you know? Surely there must be other…spirits here who have died since you, who could tell you — '
Rowena shook her head. 'Without a living person to regard us, we are without form, almost without thought. Time has no meaning here, speech almost none.'
'You can't talk to each other?' Draco asked, revolted. 'That voice told me this wasn't Hell…but that sounds like Hell to me.'
To his surprise, it was Godric who replied. 'There is a difference,' he said. 'Hell is forever. We are here only until we are avenged.'
Helga had stepped away from the others, and turned back now, her dark eyes wide. 'There are spirits upon the bank who would speak to the boy,' she said.
Draco glanced behind her in surprise. The bank looked empty to him, gray and barren. 'There's no one there.'
'You cannot see them,' said Rowena. 'They are the truly dead. Only living blood can unlock their tongues.'
'They say,' said Helga, 'that you are the son of Lucius Malfoy, and that they knew your father.'
Draco glanced down at himself. His shirt was stiff with blood, but it had dried. He looked at Godric, who wore on his hip a sword that was the twin of Harry's. A millennium in the waters of the dead river did not appear to have rusted it. 'Cut my hand,' Draco said, and with a fierce and nasty grin, Godric took his sword and cut a thin jagged line across the back of Draco's knuckles. 'You enjoyed that far too much,' said Draco, taking his hand back.
Godric merely grinned.
Draco waded through the water to join Helga at the bank. His hand was bleeding freely now. He flung it out, sending a spray of scarlet drops flying onto the gray river bank.
He heard a sound, as if a thousand breaths were drawn at once. The riverbank seemed to surge upward, and on it appeared a thousand, a hundred thousand, a thousand thousands of twisted, grayish, translucent forms appeared before him. He had never imagined such a crowd, never imagined such a number of people. The huddled, struggling mass stretched as far as his eyes could see, and beyond.
I never thought death had undone so many, he thought.
'Undone,' whispered a woman's voice. Gray and shadowy like all the rest, she knelt on the river bank. Where his own blood had splashed across her chest, pigment was spreading like spilled watercolor paint. He watched as her long hair turned red, her eyes green. She held out her hand to catch the hand of the kneeling figure beside her, spreading the color to him, too.
He was a tall man with dark untidy hair and glasses, and his eyes, too, were dark. Draco fought back a gasp. Even if Draco hadn't seen the pictures that Sirius kept on his desk, even if he hadn't seen their faces in old Hogwarts yearbooks, he would have known who these two were.
He was looking at Harry's parents.
'Cross your hands. Put then on his chest and push down, hard.'
'Okay.'
'Harder than that.'
'I'm going to break his ribs, doing this — '
'You're trying to get his heart started, who cares if you break his ribs? Do it again.'
Another voice. 'What's going on?'
Harry looked up. 'Oh, hell. Ginny — '
'What's wrong with Draco?' Her voice wavered. 'Is he dead?'
Ron looked up. 'Maybe she should take over?'
'No, you're stronger,' said Harry positively. 'And don't stop, Ron, you're supposed to be breathing for him, come on — '
'You've lost it, Harry. He's dead.'
'Do it!' said Harry and Ginny together, and Ron complied.
Hermione bolted down the corridors that led to the dungeon, skidding on the uneven stone flooring, taking the corners with a reckless abandon that caught up to her when, rounding a corner, she slipped on an object that lay on the floor and fell headlong, slamming her knee into the ground. The pain was sharp and immediate and she rolled over, clutching her arm, scrambling up to her feet, and looked down to see what she had slipped on-A wand. It looked like Sirius' wand. She reached down to retrieve it, and nearly fell over again when a bloodcurdling howl split the underground air. It was like being hit in the face with an ice-cold wave of wind or water; like night and cold and loneliness made audible, and terrifying.
