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Searching	By : avari20 Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 10921 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Searching
- 2-Part I
- 3-Part II
- 4-Part III
- 5-Part IV
- 6-Part V
- 7-Part VI
- 8-Part VII
- 9-Part VIII
- 4
- 5
- 6
Disclaimer: I don�t own the Harry Potter characters. I just play and pretend for awhile.

Part IV

England, present day

Hermione Granger sat back in her chair and stretched her arms above her head. Sighing, she slumped and contemplated the mountains of texts before her. There were times, she thought to herself, when school sucked.
Yes, it was a radical thought for such an avid learner, but over the years Hermione had reached the conclusion that there was a difference in school and learning. In her Hogwarts� years she had wanted to learn everything about the magical world she could. Well, except Divination, and she�d been able to get herself out of that one. So Hermione had never really experienced difficulty focusing on her studies.
It wasn�t until she�d decided to attend Muggle university to further explore her love of all things history that Hermione had first come upon the fine line between schooling and learning. Learning, she had discovered, was a wonderful thing that allowed you all the time in the world to examine and analyze and soak up information about your passion. School was an institution that compelled you to divert your attentions to things that you didn�t want to learn. All for the sake of getting to the thing you did want to learn about!
Which led her to her current position. Hermione glared at the never-diminishing pile of homework she had no interest in. If she had to write one more, just one more, essay about protons or electrons, she was going to hex somebody. Honest to Merlin, she�d do it! She was 25 years old, and the way she saw it, there wasn�t any single way she could cram all the things she wanted to learn about into her lifetime. So why, why was school wasting her precious time on things she cared nothing about?
She should be downstairs, enjoying time with her family. They had come to her grandmother�s home in anticipation of the yearly Granger reunion. Her parents, her aunts, her uncles, cousins, cousins� significant others, cousins� children, everybody was here and having a good time. Except Hermione. She had received last minute�s notice that her professor had pushed up the due date for her essay. Hermione was damned before she would miss her family conference, which meant she had had to take her work with her. So here she was, sitting in her grandmother�s attic, feverishly working away on an old desk in hopes of finishing in time to join in the fun.
Hermione glanced around longingly. Really, she could have chosen a better place to do it in. It was torture sitting among this treasure trove of Granger memorabilia and not be able to get up and look at any of it. Grandmama�s house had been built in the 1800s, and as such possessed an attic that was a History student�s dream. Trunks Hermione had never been allowed near before called to her silently, begging her to open them all and find out what was inside. Years upon years of Granger family memories were here, and Hermione was compelled to look but keep her hands to herself.
This was what she got for reenrolling in school, Hermione thought. She could have stayed in her nice little Magical job as an employee at the Ministry But no, she had to want more. She�d decided being valued as a war hero wasn�t enough. Hermione had seen firsthand how quickly life could end. She�d been overcome with the insatiable desire to complete all the things on the �Life Goals List� she�d made at the age of ten. She�d quit her job and started on number one, �Get a degree in History�.
She was getting a degree all right, but she was also getting a headache and twitchy fingers from the urge to run her hands over the dust covered trunks. Butterball, she noted with a jealous glance, was not helping one bit.
One of dear Crookshanks� many descendents (the beloved cat had since passed away) Butterball was a massive confection of gray fur that looked as though he rolled in a dust bin all day. Considering how fat he was (he ate everything, period), Hermione highly doubted Butterball could actually roll without hurting himself. But she loved him, even when he managed to bestir himself long enough to torment her.
Such as now, when he stretched and extended his claws, making as though he would scratch the trunk he�d scrabbled up on. �Don�t even think about it,� Hermione warned, giving Butter a look that promised death. Butterball smirked his little cat smirk and went on, lazily prowling over the multitude of things piled in the attic. There were times, Hermione thought to herself, that she wondered if she shouldn�t have named that cat Malfoy in honor of the King of Smirks.
She hadn�t seen that boy�well, man now�in years. Not since the end of the war. He�d become wrapped up in the high and fast life that came with the managing of the Malfoy fortune, last she�d heard. Hermione didn�t envy him. There was a lot to be said for being poor and anonymous. At least she only had her parents worrying over her single state. Malfoy had most of the Wizarding world monitoring him.
A crash jerked her out of her thoughts. �Butterball!� she cried, leaping from her seat. It took a moment to find him. He�d managed to get pretty far into the attic, almost to the back wall. No one ever went back there, given the extreme lack of light. Hermione had to pull out her wand in order to see what she was doing. When she did find him, Butterball was sitting on a trunk trying to look as innocent as possible. On the floor were several flimsy boxes, clothes from perhaps the seventies spilling out. �Blasted cat�s a menace,� Hermione muttered. Butterball looked offended, but he perked up when she ruffled his fur affectionately. He purred loud enough for the floorboards to shake and then sauntered off, leaving Hermione to clean up his mess.
Hermione bent and tried to collect as much as she could neatly. When she picked up the overturned cardboard box, however, she realized that there was something other than clothes inside. She stared at the small box, cardboard in hand. What in the world�?
She bent down and picked it up off of its side. �Beautiful,� she whispered.
It was old, much older than the house, if she wasn�t mistaken. It was made from a sturdy wood that defied the ages, with two rings for handles attached to the sides. Hermione couldn�t tear her eyes away from the lid, however. On it was a fantastically realistic carving of a rose. It was so intricately made that Hermione was afraid to run her fingers over it. It was the heart of the rose that held her attention, however. A single, perfectly rounded moss agate glowed at her from the whorls of wooden petals. What an odd choice for a center, she thought to herself. She had learned once in her Hogwarts� days that moss agates helped people let go of anger and bitterness, balancing his or her emotions. Why would someone choose it as a center for a rose, the symbol of love?
Still not touching it beyond the rings, Hermione looked for a way to open the chest. Her homework was forgotten. Her entire attention could not, would not leave this entrancing object. Hermione couldn�t say what drew her to it. She just knew that she couldn�t put it down until she knew what was inside. It went beyond normal academic interest--it was a necessity.
There was no lock that she could see. For all intents and purposes, this object was made of one solid block of wood. But Hermione just knew that it wasn�t. There was a way to open it; she just had to find it�
After a quarter hour of examining, cursing, and casting opening charms that sort of fizzled out mysteriously when they hit the wood, Hermione sat back and huffed. She had no idea how a magical object had made its way into her grandmother�s attic, but it was beginning to irritate her. It was extremely powerful. More powerful than much she had come across. So how, she thought angrily, did she open the sodding thing?
She tapped her chin in thought, her eyes on the agate. Taptaptaptaptap�tap� tap�tap� No, she thought, eyes widening. Surely it wasn�t that easy! Cautiously she reached out, one finger extended. It hesitated before making contact with the stone�s smooth surface. �Here goes nothing,� she said.
She pressed the agate.
Power shot up her arm like an electric shock, making her hair almost stand on end! Hermione gasped as she was suddenly enveloped in a warm cocoon that felt like a hundred arms hugging her closely. She felt soothed, yet strangely restless, wanting to run and stay all at the same time. The stone glowed brighter than it should have been able to for one endless breath, and then Hermione feel back, released from the connection. She scrambled backwards, wand out, ready to do battle.
Ensconced in the pile of forgotten clothing, the chest sat serenely. The agate still glowed, but now a burning ember rather than a fiery force. Hermione watched in silent awe while the glow left the agate and spread out lazily, engulfing the rose petals and traveling down to encompass where the lid should have been.
Without a single creak to belie its age, the lid appeared and opened of its own accord.
Hermione sucked in a deep breath. What was this feeling? Her hand went to her heart and fisted in her shirt. Peace had crept inside, easing an ache she hadn�t even known was there. But as she took one cautious step closer, Hermione became aware of a new ache. It was what a woman felt when she looked through her mother�s old things and found a letter she�d written as a child. It was what a man felt when he thought of his beloved wife, many years gone. It was the feeling of bittersweet regret, of memories and good feelings twisting together inside a person to create a small, wistful smile on lips.
It was the ache of missing someone very dear, and Hermione felt tears pricking her eyes.
She reached up and brushed away a tear, staring at it on her finger. Why was she crying? What was inside that made her feel like this? Abandoning caution, Hermione hastily went to her knees in front of the chest and leaned over, peering inside.

In the velvet depths lay a small book. It was no bigger than a journal, covered in leather that looked pristine despite the age Hermione sensed emanating from it. It was tied closed by a single leather thong, holding the secrets inside. And next to the book was� Hermione�s breath caught. She reached inside with a trembling hand, cupped the figurine gently and brought it up into the wand light.
Too realistic to have been created by anything else but magic, the figurine was made of stone, but painted in colors that had never faded. Hermione found herself staring into the faces of two women identical to one another�and to Hermione. They had her hair, her eyes, her figure. And whoever these women had been, they had loved each other fiercely. Between their bodies Hermione could clearly see that they were holding hands while they stoically looked across the centuries into Hermione�s face.
�Dear gods,� Hermione murmured. Her brain wouldn�t function. �Dear gods.�
She had heard of people strongly resembling ancestors, but this, this was too uncanny. And the feelings inside her�the twins were identical, but Hermione couldn�t look away from the figure on the left. The ache in her heart intensified until Hermione thought she would just collapse and bawl her eyes out.
She tried to put the figurine down, to get away from this overwhelming sadness. But she couldn�t release it and let it drop to the floor like an old toy. It didn�t feel right to let go of it for an instant. Close to sobbing, and unsure why, Hermione hastily stuck her wand irreverently in her mouth and held it by biting her teeth down, blindly reaching for the book that still rested inside the chest. Through tearful eyes Hermione read the one word engraved into the leather.

Memoria.

Remember.

~*~

Scotland, 1473

Plates crashed, food flew, and chaos reigned.
Hermione dodged a rogue goblet. Men and their stupid competitions! Seething, she tried to push the nearest man out of the way, struggling to make her way to the center of the cheering crowd. Nobody paid any attention to her efforts, too intent on pressing closer to see. Hermione found herself bumped back out. She stumbled back, stepped on a fallen plate and slipped. She caught herself before she crashed to the floor by waving her arms about madly for balance, but the incident only fueled her fury. Hermione pushed her unruly hair out of her face with impatient hands and looked at the impenetrable corporal mass. She growled at the mob in frustration. Some hopped up and down to see, others pushed to get closer, and everyone generally made fools of themselves over the two men fighting in the center.
Conall and Stranger were too busy pummeling each other to notice the attention they were receiving.
Hermione had tried to engage Stranger in another conversation on the way to the evening meal. The stubborn oaf had restricted his answers to monosyllables whenever possible. A faint stain on his cheeks and his studious avoidance of eye contact had immediately alerted her that he was embarrassed by his impassioned declaration. The realization made her relive the moment, and a blush had suffused her own face. Her heart had sped up, and she could no longer find her voice.

Simpleton, she mentally sneered at herself. Hermione snatched up a forgotten sword and dirk set from the table. Beyond the human wall Conall yelled something foul and half of the spectators bellowed in protest, while the other half cheered. Stranger must have landed a very good blow. Hermione wasted no time trying to penetrate the crowd again. What one cannot get through, she thought as she crawled beneath the table, ones goes under. She scurried as quickly as her gown and weaponry would allow, ignoring the multitude of legs shuffling around her. A few more lengths and she would reach the combatants.
And then there would be hell to pay.
If he had just been able to find a spine and talk to her, she thought, none of this would have happened. If he hadn�t taken the low road and challenged Conall to a game of dice, she wouldn�t have to do this. If Conall hadn�t risen to the bait and accepted the challenge, eager for a way to express his hostility toward the stranger, she would be even now enjoying a fine meal and basking in the recollection of her pleasant afternoon.

�But no,� she growled to herself, moving to the left to avoid a stray foot. �We had to start throwing insults as well as dice. We just had to beat our chests and show our manliness.�

Hermione wasn�t certain who had struck first, but the next thing she had known Conall and Stranger had been rolling on the ground like a pair of boys. They were quickly ensconced in a mass of spectators, all of which were much more interested in the outcome, than in ending the fight itself. Individual magics collided in the tussle and sent various objects flying in every direction, leaving her to crawl through the remnants of the meal and vowing to have ever inch of the Great Hall scrubbed when this was done. Oh yes, she thought grimly. There was going to be hell to pay.

~*~

Draco grunted when Conall�s fist drove into his stomach, but quickly retaliated with a one-two combination he�d learned during the war. Wands were not always within reach, forcing him and others to rely on wits and fists. Draco hissed when Conall�s teeth cut his knuckles, but viewed the split lip with satisfaction. The wanker stumbled back at least two feet. Draco smiled through his own split lip, enjoying himself immensely despite the anger that boiled inside. He hadn�t had a good, solid, down-and-dirty-I�m-going-to-beat-you-senseless fistfight in ages. It just wasn�t done for someone of his social stature.
Draco eyed Conall with dark humor. But when in Rome�..
Both men faced off over the few feet separating them, breathing heavily from exertion. Conall wiped his mouth with the back of his bruised hand, refusing to break eye contact. The crazed Englishman wasn�t half bad in a fight, he acknowledged with reluctant respect. There was power behind his blows, and he was quick on top of that. Conall decided that victory would be sweeter in light of his opponent�s skill. Draco was thinking similar thoughts, and the time had come to end this little skirmish.
They charged one another.
Bare inches apart, something caught Draco�s attention out of the corner of his eye. He almost moved too late, the stool clipping him on the shoulder as it sailed between him and Conall. Surprise had minimum time to register before he felt that all-too-familiar sensation of metal pressing against his throat. He froze immediately and stared into Hermione�s smoldering eyes.
�When I say stop fighting,� she said stoically, �I mean it.� She transferred her angry gaze to Conall, who had the sword at his throat this time. Draco smothered the surge of smug pleasure quickly. The knife he had at his own skin was still lethally sharp, after all. Conall�s face was red, but he looked right back at Hermione defiantly. �Perhaps ye need to be reminded who commands this keep,� she bit out.
She swept the crowd, letting everyone see her anger. �All of ye.�
Draco heard gulping, and not all were his own. Hermione was genuinely furious. It rolled off of her body in waves, permeating the air. Her teeth were bared in a primal show of dominance. If she had spoken in that exact instant, he knew she would have hissed like a cat. The expression on her face said clearly that she was seriously contemplating doing bodily harm.
Draco had never seen anything so sexy in his life.
Gryffindor Granger (and Draco was becoming quickly convinced that this woman was indeed Hermione in a past life) holding sharp instruments and debating their uses sent a thrill through Draco unlike any he�d ever known before. He found her anger entrancing, her sneakiness enticing, her aggressive stance intoxicating. In short, he was so aroused by the sight of her it was all he could do not to toss her over his shoulder and find the nearest bed.
Immediately.
Conall was eyeing him, trying to figure out why Draco�s eyes had that strange glint in them. He looked at Hermione like he was starving and she was his favorite food. Hermione ignored them both and tried to reach for calm. She held both blades with the steady hand of practice.
It was quite possible, Draco acknowledged to himself, that he had brought this moment on himself. Moments after making his little speech, Draco had become so embarrassed that he�d been surprised he hadn�t died right then and there. Really, could he have sounded just a little more like a man soothing his distraught girlfriend? The more he had thought about it, the more stupid Draco had felt. He was here on a mission, and what did he do? Spend precious time talking and gardening with the Gryffindor Princess of Yesteryear.
Draco had become so disgusted with himself that he�d ignored Hermione with a vengeance. Conall had provided the perfect opportunity to vent Draco�s anger. When the dice game had turned into something more, Draco had relished the chance to silence the confusing thoughts inside and focus on pounding Conall into the floor.
It hadn�t quite gone as he�d hoped, but Draco felt strangely satisfied with the outcome. Call him a true Slytherin pervert, but Draco wouldn�t have missed the sight of Hermione intent on mayhem for all the Desirous Deserting Danas in the world.
Which should have worried him, but the knife at his jugular demanded all of that particular emotion at the moment.
Focusing in on Hermione (he would deal with the stranger�s open lust later), Conall tried to reason. �Now, Hermione-�
�Hauld yer wheest,� the lady growled. Conall gulped before he could stop himself. So much for reason. All around the crowd watched nervously, too afraid to fidget. There were few times when their lady lost her temper, but when she did� If ever anyone had harbored any doubts that Hermione was perhaps too soft to lead, it disappeared after witnessing the complete transformation that overtook her in such times.
Laughing eyes hardened to amber points, piercing a person where he or she stood. Her cheeks, normally rosy from laughter, turned bright red with the blood that boiled. She drew back her lips and actually snarled. Her body went poker straight, her shoulders flew back, and when she opened her mouth, razor sharp words poured forth to slice an offender to pieces. Every man or woman involved invariably found themselves reduced to sniveling children at best, puddles of shame at worst. It was quite a phenomenon, one each and every resident avoided at all costs.
They had failed this time.
The worst of it was that they knew that they deserved her anger.
Hermione was struggling for control. She wanted nothing more than to knock someone�s block off, but that didn�t quite send the correct message that fighting one�s own was bad. So after a very tense moment, she casually lowered both blades and stepped back. �No one leaves this hall until it is spotless.� Unable to speak further (she was afraid she might start shouting), Hermione strode forward. Silently the crowd parted like a sea and watched her go. She didn�t pause until she reached the doors, casting a killing glance over her shoulder.
Just when everyone thought she would simply leave, Hermione drove the sword and dirk viciously into the massive door. Thunk thunk! �Clean!� she barked. People went running, scrambling over one another to obey. Only Draco and Conall remained where they stood, Conall glaring at Draco watching Hermione with blatant appreciation. �Stop looking at her,� he hissed at the blond.
The other man took his eyes off of Hermione�s retreating figure and glared at Conall. �Jealous?� he taunted.
�Stay away from her, Englishman, or it�ll be my knife at your throat.�
Draco looked at the knife and sword that still reverberated in their resting places. �That woman needs none of your protection, I think.�

~*~

Hannah was waiting for her. Neither said a word until Hermione walked right into her sister�s outstretched arms. �I hate men,� Hermione muttered into her twin�s hair. She was shaking from her suppressed anger.
Hannah laughed. �What did they do now?�
�Stranger and Conall got into a brawl right in the middle of the meal and no one would help me stop them.�
�Did ye make them regret it?�
�I think so. I threatened Conall and Stranger with death and made everyone stay and scrub the hall until it sparkles.� Hermione�s gaze darkened once more. �It had better blind me when next I enter. And as for those two miscreants-� Her eyes narrowed.
Hannah patted her back in sympathy. �I�m sure ye struck fear in their very hearts, dear,� she soothed. She was struggling to hide her wild grin. Hermione losing her temper had always been entertaining to Hannah. She�s always been of the opinion that the people took her sister for granted. Perhaps she overly worried, but Hannah couldn�t stand the thought of her sister appearing weak in anyone�s eyes. It was these little displays of temper that reassured Hannah that her sister had the castle firmly under her thumb, not the other way around.
Hermione huffed, but didn�t say anything more on the subject. She pulled away and flopped into one of Hannah�s chairs. �What have you been doing today?� she asked, picking up a bit of embroidery. Hannah hadn�t gotten any further on it then when she�d inspected it yesterday. Dismayed, Hermione looked over at her sister, who had sat as well. She looks so worn out, Hermione thought. Like she�s wasting away.
It was true. Hannah grew paler with every day that passed. It had been months since Duncan�s death, but her sister never seemed to be without her grief. Hermione didn�t know what a broken heart felt like. She would be the first to admit that she had never experienced the depth of pain that Hannah was going through. But that didn�t mean that Hermione didn�t hurt watching Hannah hurt. Duncan had been a wonderful man, much too young and too good to die like he had. He deserved every moment of mourning.
But her sister was wasting away. She was wane, little lines appearing around her eyes and mouth that had never been there before. The sparkle in her eyes had died out, leaving them flat and glassy. Hannah had a beautiful laugh, but no one heard it anymore. Hermione had thought that the thought of her child�s impending birth would give Hannah a reason to survive the sorrow. She still breathed, but now Hermione worried that she no longer had the spirit she needed to truly live.
Hermione got up and went to kneel before her sister, the incident of earlier a thousand miles away from her mind. She cupped Hannah�s face in her hands and stared deeply into her twin�s startled eyes. Two equally small hands cupped hers. They were so close that they breathed the same air. �Tell me what to do,� Hermione said in a low, urgent voice. �Tell me what you need, and I will give it to you. Anything, anywhere. Just ask me, Hannah.�
Hannah, surprised by the desperate note in her sister�s voice, couldn�t speak for a moment. Hermione looked so worried, as if she were afraid that Hannah would die at any moment if she didn�t do something. She was determined to do whatever it took to save Hannah.
A spark of something flared in Hannah�s heart. Regret for causing her sister concern. Warmth of gratitude for Hermione�s fierce determination to make everything all better. Whatever it was, it quickly grew and spread to every inch of Hannah. She leaned in and lay her forehead against her sister�s, relishing the contact. This was her rock, she thought to herself. When of the rest of the world mocked them, hurt them, scorned them, she and Hermione had always had each other.
They always would.
�There�s a full moon tonight,� Hermione told her. Hannah absorbed the information, images of so many full moons past, when they had thrown away their cares and danced into the early morn. Nights when it had just been the twins, the moonlight, the wind, and the stars. Oh, to feel that way again!
�Yes,� Hannah whispered. �Yes.�

~*~

�Don�t screw this up,� Draco told himself. �Just play it cool. Be smooth. No more picking fights. Oh, and try not to think about her and sharp objects. You know what it does to you.�
Did he ever.
Draco brushed away the suggestive images that leapt to mind and continued striding purposefully toward Hannah�s sitting room. It had been hours since Hermione had left the hall. As much punishment as she�d thought it would be, cleaning the hall had taken no more than a few flicks of his wand. He hadn�t wanted to go see her right away, however. He�d been too confused, too emotional, too damned horny to think straight.
He�d spent the last few hours pacing his room. At first he�d only raged at himself. It had gone something like:

When did you become such an emotional MORON?! What part of �life or death situation� don�t you understand? And let�s not forget it�s your bloody �life or death�! Letting yourself get distracted by a pretty girl is a major mistake. Never mind that she has a brain. You have to find a way to get the treasure, and you can�t do that by chatting her up!

Or could he?
It had occurred to him that Hermione was his best bet at finding the treasure. She had gone so far as to suspect him of lurking about for that very reason. But she liked him. Draco had seen the expression on her face, the hope and the hurt. It would be easy to talk to her, to get her to trust him, to work it into the conversation.
He couldn�t tell her why he needed to know. Besides the potential historical consequences, Draco found the notion of confession repulsive. He didn�t want Hermione to think that he was just using her. But that�s what you�re going to do, isn�t it? No, he was just, well, it was�Bugger. He was going to use Hermione. But surely saving his life was a noble cause? The thing about the whole situation was this--he liked Hermione, and it was getting in the way of his mission.
He freely admitted to himself, there alone in his room, that if he would allow himself to do so, it would be very easy to fall into his attraction to this girl. Without the stigma of hurtful, volatile encounters between their teenaged selves to separate them, Draco found himself drawn to Hermione to a degree he had never before experienced. He liked talking to her. She was a very pretty girl with a brain she wasn�t afraid to use. In fact she longed to use it.
And when she looked at him, she didn�t see his family name. Hell, she didn�t even know what it was. She had seen Draco. She had heard what Draco had to say. For the first time in his life Draco had been measured by his own merit�and he liked it too much.
So he�d come up with a plan--make Hermione like him, and pray that he had the strength to keep his feelings in check until he had the secret. It wasn�t much of a plan, but it was better than the one he�d had yesterday.
The nearer he came to Hannah�s room, from which Hermione had yet to emerge even after several hours, Draco became nervous and tried to smooth his new black shirt down and practice what he was going to say. Something about Hermione made him forget the glib lines he would need to get closer to her, so he needed all the practice he could get. He couldn�t do it in front of Hannah, either, with her all-knowing eyes and uncanny ability to discern the indiscernible.
He was almost there--good Merlin, how did people see with just torchlight?!--when the door creaked open. Draco opened his mouth to say something when Hermione and Hannah slipped out of the room silently. Something about the way they moved kept Draco quiet. They looked neither right nor left, but hurried down the hall as quickly and stealthily as Hannah�s pregnancy would allow.
Draco�s eyes narrowed. Where the devil did these two think they were going? It was well passed the time for being out. Most of the others had either gone to bed or were getting ready to. Draco had been counting on this when he had planned this little endeavor. Lots of alone time.
Maybe they were going to the treasure? Well, there was only one way to find out what was going on. Draco crept alone silently behind the women. They moved with purpose, whatever they were doing. They went down stairs, through doors, bypassing the Great Hall entirely. Draco began to get a little nervous when they went out into the courtyard. What kind of treasure would be outside? Was it in the stable?

He kept to the shadows, thankful for the black cloth of his shirt and mentally cursing his hair. He could change it with a spoken word, but he was afraid to break the silence and draw attention to himself. They didn�t seem to be too interested in their surroundings, however. In fact, they were heading straight for the--hidden door?
Sure enough, Hannah waved her hand over the bit of false wall that Draco himself had used 600 years into the future to enter the castle. It slid open with nary a sound, and the girls went through without pausing. He had to give up caution to run fast enough to reach the door. He was just about to slip through the opening when a hand clamped down on his shoulder and jerked him back.
Draco found himself slammed into the wall and staring into the angry eyes of Conall. He�d been so intent on hunting Hermione and Hannah that he�d completely ignored anyone following him! �What are ye doin�?� Conall growled.
Draco fought down his irritation at getting jumped and the urge to hex someone. He thought fast. �I�m trying to see that those two idiots don�t get hurt! Or is it common practice to let your women run around in the middle of the night?� he taunted, pushing Conall�s hand violently away.
Conall eyed him suspiciously. �They�ve done this before.� His tone implied that while he accepted the fact, he was still a little worried.
�So you�re going to allow them free reign to move outside the castle when you know they might very well be in danger? Right then. Run along, and I�ll do the protecting.� Draco grinned. �I might even get to save Hermione and be the hero. I hear women love to kiss heroes.� He pushed off the wall and made to open the hidden door.
He was stopped once more by a hand on his shoulder. Conall looked extremely determined, yet slightly ill at the same time. �I�m going with you,� he ground out. Smug, Draco returned to his task. Now he had an experienced, albeit reluctant, tracker. He�d find those girls in no time.
And maybe, just maybe, he would find their secret.

~*~

To Be Continued�.

___________________________________________________________________________

Author�s Dedications:

Thanks to my friend and beta Lorett, who always somehow manages to find the time to support while checking for grammar and commiserating at the same time. Thanks for being an awesome person!
To Sage, with whom friendship comes so effortlessly.
To the Three Keys Members (Rahnee, SlytherinsWench, Hafthand, Argosy, SJ, Accio, and all the others) who have so much fun and make me laugh even at the worst times.
To everyone who has reviewed this story in particular, and my other stories in general--to borrow a phrase Lorett uses, there�s nothing like the written word to encourage an author! Thanks so much!

References:

You can find the meanings of moss agate and many other gemstones at www.crystal-cure.com
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