'Not necessarily,' said Hermione. 'I don't think it's a dead end. I think it's an obstacle.'
'And the difference would be?'
'That there's a way to get past it.'
'This looks like writing,' interrupted Ginny, leaning closer with her wand. Hermione bent down, tracing the grooves in the stone with her finger, and brought the light close to the foot of the wall. There was a design there, etched into the corner of the stone: it looked like a tiny weasel or a badger, wearing a crown on its little head.
Hufflepuff, she thought, stepping back and raising the Lycanthe in her hand. Golden light spilled from it, illuminating the carving of the little animal, and beside it, several scratched lines in a language she didn't know.
Hermione lowered the Lycanthe, biting her lip.
Ginny glanced up irritably. 'Why did you do that? I was reading it.'
'But Ginny, it doesn't make any sense! It's just lines and squiggles.'
Ginny looked up at her, shocked. 'It makes perfect sense. It's some kind of poem, or a riddle. Bring the light back down here.'
Startled, Hermione knelt down next to Ginny, and Charlie crowded down next to them. 'It looks like gibberish to me,' said Ron, looking doubtful, and Charlie agreed.
Ginny shook her head, her red hair catching the wavering wandlight in darting red points of fire. 'No. It's a poem. Here-' And she read it out:
When there is fire in me then I am still cold
When I own your true love's face then you will not see me.
To all things I give no more than I am given.
In time I may have all things, and yet I can keep nothing.
There was a long silence. Hermione expelled her breath in amazement. 'It's a riddle,' she said.
'What kind of riddle is that?' Ginny demanded, sitting back on her heels. 'It's not even a question.'
'The question is implied,' put in Charlie. 'It's describing a thing, or a person we have to identify.'
Ron grinned. 'And it couldn't just have asked 'what's red and green and goes round and round?'
Hermione squeezed his arm impatiently. 'Shh. Everybody think. To all things I give no more than I am given. In time I may have all things, and yet I can keep nothing….so it's not a person, then…'
Ron looked at her with concern. 'Herm, if you answer wrong, you don't know what will happen. It could be dangerous.'
'Ron's right,' agreed Charlie, looking nervously up and around at the wet, cold walls, the heavy-hanging shadows.
Hermione ignored them both. When there is fire in me then I am still cold. When I own your true love's face then you will not see me… At the words 'true love' she had of course thought of Harry, and was thinking of him still, of looking into the Mirror of Erised and seeing Harry there, his arms around her reflected image, looking down at her, both their faces cast back at her…
'Hermione,' said Ron. 'Are you listening?'
Hermione raised her head. 'A mirror,' she said.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a creaking noise, the door swung wide, revealing a long, narrow, deeply-slanted passageway twisting down into darkness.
What is she doing here? Harry demanded, his eyes like dinner plates.
Draco was still staring at Fleur. She looked much the same as she had the last time he had seen her; if anything, she was more beautiful now, and certainly she was more ticked-off looking. I dunno, he thought back. She's a veela, isn't she? Maybe she got Called here. Either that, or she's here because she's in love with me.
She's in love with you?
Obsessed with me might be a bit more accurate. She can't go five minutes without trying to get her hands on my -
I get it, Harry interrupted hastily. No need to elaborate. You can't honestly think she's come all the way here just to get her hands on your scrawny body?
Draco looked insulted. Is that so hard to believe?
'Oh!' With a cry of what sounded very much like indignation, Fleur flew across the room, and, with an almighty crack! slapped Draco hard across the face. So hard in fact, that he staggered backwards and almost tripped.
Both Draco and Harry looked at her in astonishment, Draco with his hand clapped to his cheek, on which the mark of Fleur's blow stood out like a scarlet handprint. 'What was that for?' he cried indignantly.
Fleur stood with her hands on her hips, her chest heaving (which, in Draco's opinion, couldn't be considered all bad), her eyes bright with rage. 'You!' she spat, glaring at Draco. 'For one thing, I can hear everything you two are saying! I am a Magid, remember?'
'Oh,' said Draco, exchanging astonished glances with Harry. 'We didn't know-'
'Slytherin couldn't hear us,' said Harry, looking startled. 'Could he?'
Fleur ignored this. She had worked up a good head of steam and was still glaring at Draco, her eyes spitting agate-blue sparks. 'For another thing, it is not very nice to give someone a gift that just disappears!'
