destroyed his old room. Then he had remembered that he'd never really liked it, with its ugly heavy dark furniture and gloomy black curtains. (He had once had somewhat fond memories of the wardrobe, but Harry had reduced that to matchsticks.) So he'd gathered up what belongings he wanted and relocated to a room farther down the hall, one he had always preferred. It had dark wood wainscotting, and the walls were painted a blue so light it was almost gray. It reminded him of winter sky, which he liked. He also liked the sizeable marble fireplace along the north wall — Harry had been right, Malfoy Manor could have used a better central heating system. The fireplace was hooked to the Floo Network, which had proved, lately, to be very useful.
'Are you listening to me, Draco?' Hermione's voice had taken on a slight edge of impatience.
Draco rolled over onto his stomach and rested his head on his crossed arms. 'Do I ever do anything else?'
Hermione scowled at him through the flames. He supposed he didn't blame her; he knew it cost money to use the fireplaces at the Leaky Cauldron for private Floo Communication, and the service wasn't the best.
Occasionally they would be interrupted by other people's conversations, and the day before, Hermione had reported to him, pink-faced, that she'd been taken to 'quite the wrong fireplace' where she'd seen 'really shocking things.' To his great disappointment, she refused, despite being plied with curious questions ('Did they involve balloons, marmalade, or a live marmot?') to elaborate on what the shocking things had been.
'All right then,' she sniffed, 'what was I saying?'
'You were,' said Draco in a bored tone, 'telling me about Rhysenn and Nicholas Flamel.'
'Oh, right, and the Four Worthy Objects…you know he was the last person ever to have assembled them all together?'
'Yes, you told me that.'
'And then he was robbed and the objects were scattered and lost — '
'Was this before of after she died — Rhysenn, I mean?'
'Oh.' Hermione consulted a book he could not see. 'After. Although, like I told you, she did die in 1616 but that's not the last reported sighting of her.'
'Considering that I sighted her last week, I'd think no, it wouldn't have been.'
'Hmph!' said Hermione. 'I meant the last historical sighting.'
'Oh, did you?' Draco drawled.
She smiled despite herself. 'I did.'
'Well, then, tell me a bit more about these historical sightings.'
She did. It appeared that Rhysenn, who had other surnames besides that of Malfoy, reappeared again and again in the illustrations of the books on alchemy Hermione had checked out of the big library on Diagon Alley.
She was often in crowd pictures behind one Malfoy or another, dressed in the fashion of the day, instantly recognizable with her narrow pale face and waist-length black hair.
'So she trails Malfoys around, leaving a trail of blood, death and devastation in her wake, is that it?' Draco asked when Hermione was halfway through her recitation. 'That's encouraging.'
'The question is,' Hermione said, 'what does she want?'
'No,' Draco countered, 'the question is, how do we get her to leave us alone?'
'Maybe if we give her what she wants, she will,' Hermione said.
Draco thought of Harry in the graveyard, being sick after Rhysenn had touched him, and the drugged look in his eyes. 'You might not want to give her what she really wants.'
'I've been thinking what she wants must be something in the possession of the Malfoys, since she seems so fascinated with your family. There are all sorts of examples of people being magically linked to objects, unable to be away from them. Souls can be embodied in various heirlooms, precious stones — '
'Like Epicyclical Charms,' Draco said.
Hermione sighed. 'Yes, Like Epicyclical Charms.'
'Mmm.' Draco plucked at his duvet cover. 'What's the last recorded sighting of her?'
'In 1824, she was engaged as a nanny for the children of Octavian Malfoy
— some great-uncle of yours — in Romania. She left when…oh, dear. The manor house he was living in burned down.'
'More death and destruction?'
'Only Octavian died. He went back into the house to save his children…they all survived.'
There was a short silence. Draco lay where he was, gazing dreamily at the fire. It licked up around Hermione in tendrils of blue, green, and dark violet. 'I'd like to die like that,' he said, a little distantly.
Hermione dropped what she'd been holding. 'Burned to death? No you wouldn't, Draco, it's an awful way to die.'
'No, not burned to death. Saving someone else's life — if you have to die, that's the way to do it, isn't it? Saving someone else's life.'
Hermione's intake of breath was so sharp it sounded like snapping firewood. 'Don't say that. Don't talk about death like that.'
Another wave of tiredness rolled over Draco. 'I guess you haven't had any luck researching…'
'Your injury? No,' Hermione said in a small voice. 'I'm telling you, I'm about reduced to cross-referencing 'injury' and 'magical things that glow' and just seeing if I come up with anything.'
'Not a bad plan,' Draco said equably.
'You said you were going to see a mediwizard — '
'I've got an appointment to see one tomorrow.'
She squinted narrowly at him. 'Are you really or are you just saying that to shut me up? And are you still having those dreams?'
'The ones about Snape's heart pajamas? No, thank God.'
'Draco…' Hermione's voice came out on a wail. 'Honestly, I don't even know what aspect of your life to worry about first.'
Draco was spared answering as his bedroom door swung open with a bang, and Harry came in, scowling. 'Malfoy, have you seen — '
He broke off, his eyes widening fractionally at the sight of Hermione in the fireplace. Hermione herself paled but said nothing. There followed several moments of a Very Uncomfortable Silence.
'I'd better be going,' Hermione said finally. 'They close the library at five o'clock, and I wanted to get in a few more hours of research. Give Sirius my best,' she added, and with a slight wave, in the general direction of both Harry and Draco, she vanished.
Draco rolled into a sitting position and looked at Harry, still half-in and half-out of the doorway. The stricken look was gone from his face; now he looked as if he'd forgotten what he'd come for.
'It's all right, Potter, she's gone,' he said. 'Cue the sulking.'
'I'm not going to sulk, it's just…I thought…her house wasn't connected to the Floo Network.'
'It's not. She's in Diagon Alley at the Leaky Cauldron. She told her parents she had a research paper to work on. Which, I suppose, is partway true.
She's looking into the Four Worthy Objects. Life goes on, you know.'
'Right.' Harry finally seemed to make up his mind, and came into the room, shutting the door behind him. On the small table by the door stood a collection of antique toy wizard soldiers; Harry picked up one desultorily and pretended to examine it. 'So how often do you talk to her, then?'
'Every day,' said Draco, who saw no reason to lie about it. They did talk every day; today had been the first time that the majority of the discussion hadn't been about Harry.
'Ouch,' Harry said. It was a moment before Draco realized Harry wasn't reproaching him, but was in fact reacting to the fact that the toy wizard had stabbed him in the thumb with its wand. He dropped it back on the
