'Yes, thank God she's agreed to lighten your load of crushing responsibility,' said Draco sarcastically. 'And once again, I wonder why they ever let you have this position in the first place. Was it one of those
'Collect twelve crisp packets and become Head Boy' mail-in deals?'
Ron ignored him, and spoke to Hermione. 'I'm off, actually — I've got to head into Hogsmeade. You need anything?'
Hermione shook her head. 'No.' She smiled. 'If I don't see you by the match, good luck and all that.'
'Thanks.' And Ron jogged off down the corridor, vanishing from sight amongst a knot of approaching Ravenclaws. Hermione looked after him thoughtfully, then turned back to Draco.
'I've been doing that research we talked about, and I found out some things I think you might want to know,' she said, pitching her voice low.
'Do you want to hear something really weird?'
'I always want to hear something really weird.'
Hermione smiled. 'Can you come to the library with me?'
He nodded, and they walked to the library in silence, keeping a good distance between them so that it was not obvious to the casual observer that they were together. Only when inside the library did Hermione relax.
She was always comfortable there, in her safe, known place. It was decorated for Christmas now, as was the rest of the castle, the long dark wood tables adorned with tiny Christmas trees bearing singing sugar angels. Tiny red, gold and green circular lights levitated in the air like will-o-the-wisps, darting back and forth above their heads. She looked over at Draco, who was watching the flitting lights with Seeker-like concentration, the gold, scarlet, and emerald colors reflected in his eyes.
He glanced sideways, as if he felt her gaze on him. 'So, what did you find out?'
'Look at this.' Hermione reached into her bag, withdrew a small gilded volume, and spread it open on the table in front of her. She flipped to a bookmarked page, and tapped it excitedly with her finger. 'Does she look familiar?'
Draco leaned close and whistled. The page showed a woodcut engraving, very detailed and lifelike, of a young woman in dark wizarding robes. Her hair was also black and cascaded nearly to her feet: her pale oval face was familiar, as were the upturned eyes and the smiling mouth. Hermione remembered her as the girl who had walked downstairs with Charlie Weasley at Harry's birthday party; Draco obviously remembered her rather better. The girl held a wand in her left hand, and what looked like a jewel on the end of a chain in the other. Along the bottom of the illustration wound six words in block calligraphic letters: Rhysenn Malfoy. In the Year 1357.
'Six hundred years,' said Draco, and laid a hand on the page. 'Well, she said she was older.' The engraved Rhysenn stretched and winked at him, swinging her jewel on its chain. 'In fact, she said she was immortal.'
'That's a bit odd,' said Hermione, 'because here it says she died when she was twenty.'
'Did she?'
'Yes, of goblin fever. Before that, though, she was engaged to be married…'
'Ha!'
'…To Nicholas Flamel.'
Draco blinked, looking as if were grasping at strands of memory. 'And he was…?'
'A friend of Dumbledore's. He created the Sorcerer's Stone.' Hermione shook her head. 'I never would have thought he would have been the sort of person who would have married a Malfoy.'
Draco looked injured. 'Why not a Malfoy? We're extremely personable, you know. And then there's the sex- appeal…'
'Oddly, her biography here doesn't say anything about sex-appeal.'
'They probably called it something different back then,' said Draco unflappably.
Hermione snorted. 'Like what? Ye Olde Sex Appeal?'
Draco ignored this. 'Well, I suppose it helps to know who she was…even though I don't think that the woman I've been talking to really is Rhysenn Malfoy. At least, not this same girl. Could they have brought her back from the dead, I wonder…'
'Shhh,' hissed Hermione, although the library was deserted. 'Ugh.
Necromancy? That's the worst magic there is. Anyway, it never works properly. There'd be…bits falling off her and things. Are there?'
'What? Bits falling off her? No. She's…complete.' Draco looked thoughtful.
'She's pretty spry for a corpse, in fact. Prettier than most live girls.'
'Hmmph,' said Hermione, and shut the book. 'I'll keep looking for information on her. Now that we know when she lived, I can cross-check her in the Flamel biographies.'
'Thanks,' said Draco, glanced up, and with a quick Seeker's precision, caught a glowing red light that was whizzing by in his cupped hand. He held it for a moment, the illuminated globe throwing a rosy shadow over his face, then let it go. He reached into a pocket then, drew out a folded square of newsprint, and handed it to her. 'Take a look at this,' he said.
'A Muggle newspaper? Draco, where did you get this?'
'Never mind that. Look at the picture.' Draco came to stand beside her, glancing down at the newspaper as well. 'That mirror, the one that was stolen. That was the mirror in my dream.'
Her head snapped up, and she stared at him. He was still looking down at the photograph, his profile intent and serious. His eyes were lowered, the long lashes casting longer shadows over the pronounced cheekbones, like fine pen strokes. 'Are you sure?'
'I'm sure,' he said, and explained, swiftly but thoroughly, the means by which he had assured himself it was the same mirror, and his conviction that Voldemort had sent Wormtail to steal it. 'Now the question is, what does he want it for? Obviously it can be used to see me with, but there must be a bit more to it than that. Any mirror could be tuned to see me, if he really wanted to make the effort. Why that one?'
Hermione shook her head. 'I don't know. The workmanship looks rather like the workmanship on Harry's scabbard, doesn't it? I know I can check back to see who made that, see if the maker ever created any other enchanted objects. This mirror must be special somehow.'
'And if Voldemort really wants it,' Draco said, straightening up, 'then we should know why.'
'Right.' Hermione took the piece of newspaper, and slid it into her bookbag. 'I can get some books out now and bring them to the match.'
She glanced around. 'At least, I can if Madam Pince ever comes back.'
Draco followed her gaze around the deserted library, and a thoughtful look came into his eyes. 'There's one more thing I wanted to show you,' he said. 'It's a bit strange…'
'All right,' she said, and glanced around again. 'There's no one here…'
'No.' He clamped his hand around her wrist. His fingers felt warm against her skin. 'Someone might come in…here, come with me.' He drew her after him, past the stacks of books, and into a shadowy alcove lined with small volumes. The hovering lights were the main illumination here, casting distended shadows of emerald, ruby and gilded light against the stone walls. Draco let her wrist go, and she drew it back, instinctively clasping her hands together. She wasn't sure why she felt uneasy: perhaps it was Draco's set, tense expression, or the fact that it was so cold in the library, or something else altogether.
'Draco, what is it? Are you all right?'
His gray gaze slid over her face, almost as if he were calculating, evaluating something. Testing her. Whatever it was, he seemed satisfied.
He took a step away from her, reached down, took hold of the hem of his black sweater, and pulled it off over his head in one quick motion. He was wearing nothing under it.
Hermione heard herself gasp, and she stepped backwards so quickly that she hit her head on the stone wall. Wincing, she exclaimed, 'Draco! What are you doing?'
He looked at her in surprise, and then his lips curled into an amused smile. 'I said I wanted to show you something.'
She regarded him with deep mistrust, trying not to look at the way his narrow waist flared up into a broader chest, at the flat planes of his torso, the faint tracery of muscles under the skin. Harry had much the same build, of
