The Hogwarts passages were cold and dark in the hours preceding morning- cold and dark and silent and damp. Her footsteps echoed impossibly loud on the old, dark stones and more than once she was sure one of the ghosts or Filch's cat or some stray ghoul would be drawn to their piercing sound. None came.
She made her way slowly through the corridors, needing some warm milk when no dreamless sleep was available. She had that dream again tonight; the triad. It scared her in its detail and unmentioned knowledge. Three figures standing on a hilltop, the grass around them stained red, all three staring each other down. One clad in green, another in black, the last in a dark red. Each holding a wand or weapon.
What she did not see, but knew and felt, was that these figures on the crest of manhood held the wizarding world's future in their hands. In this, they were kin, in all else, enemies, and divided none would ever win. One a servent, one a puppet and the third confused and hesitant. The black one would not be swayed to leave his master, the green too slow in growing into the role of leadership. The red, however, the red could be pulled to either side. He must be pulled to one or fall forever when his puppeteer's strings untangle.
“Some milk, Dobby, if you could,” she answered, as the ever-enthusiastic elf asked what he could get her when she entered the kitchen.

The milk he gave her did not help as much as she had hoped, and slowly she made her way up to the astronomy tower. She needed some air to shake the dream. Maybe that would help. She climbed the staircases slowly, not as worried of being cought out after curfew as she probably should be, not registering that she should be anymore, either. Instead, she walked up the steps half-awake, almost in a trance. She embraced herself when the high wind enveloped her near the window, eyes looking further than they should. She did not see the grounds or the lake, or even the face of the forbidden forest. Instead, she saw what she couldn't possibly see; her neighborhood and family home.
Except, it could not be her home. People did not run around frantically around her neighborhood. No one wore robes around her neighborhood... not black robes, especially. Curses were not thrown near her house, people did not scream. Her house was not alight with fire; it did not have the Dark Mark above it.
Except... it did.

She screamed out from atop the tower, nearly throwing herself off in an attempt to reach her family. Then, when her lungs could be purged no more, she collapsed into a heep on the stone floor. There, she remained shaking until running footsteps sounded.
“Are you alright?” someone asked, whom she did not care.
“N-no.”
“What happened?”
She just shrugged her shoulders, shaking her head.
“Come on Hermione, talk to me.”
“Ginny?”
Ginny nodded,
“Get Draco.”
“Come down with me,” the younger girl insisted, checking her over, “I'm not leaving you alone.”
She did not want to move. She did not think she could get up even if she did want to- but she certainly did not want to be left alone.
“You want to go down to your snakes? They could get Mal- Draco for you.”
“Get Draco.”
“Come on Hermione, we'll get Draco.”

Another set of hurried footsteps sounded, and Ginny let go of her gently. She sat down again, aware of some mumbling but little else before Ginny was back and holding onto her again.
“Hermione, Hermione,” was repeated until she forced herself to focus and look at Ginny, “what happened?”
“I dont' know,” Hermione admitted at last, “get Draco.”
Draco could make it better. Draco would come, tell her no raids had happened tonight... that no one was hurt, that her parents were fine and waiting for her to come home soon. Or at least that the Asps had saved her parents, foiled the Death Eaters' plans as always, and her parents were waiting for her at Snape Manor... shaken, but alright.
She heard Ginny deal with a few other people while she waited, the Gryffindor sending them away with varied amounts of difficulty. Hermione only listened enough to know it wasn't Draco or some other Asp Ginny was dealing with, not caring who else reacted to her scream.

 “Where is she?” he asked as soon as he saw the readhead, who just as swiftly pointed him into the room. Wolf had come running to him, saying one of the Slytherins had said Hermione was hurt by something. He came as quickly as he could, fearing the Death Eaters had attacked both her and her parents at the same time. He was on his way to see her anyway, admittedly stalling somewhat before Wolf had come with the news. Honestly, the only reason he did not check on her right away was that he dreaded telling her she was now an orphan.

He injected some healing and sleep venom while checking her injuries, determined to take her back to where it was safe before anything else could happen.
“Where are you taking her?” the tabbycat of a Gryffindor demanded,
“The Manor. She isn't safe here.”
“Not safe?”
“Her parents have been attacked,” he informed the youngest of the Wesley clan, “they're dead.”
“When?”

“Look,” he huffed, frustrated, and shifted Hermione's weight to minimize the strain on his still-injured leg, “I am not about to go into details here. I'm damn well not about to dally here just to satisfy your curiosity. You want answers? Come along.”
“You want me to go with you?”
Draco kept walking, figuring her curiosity would get the best of her or she'd drop out of hearing distance. Either way, Wolf would be telling her of the raid... Draco would be busy dealing with Hermione; that was hard enough.
“Why cant' anyone just tell me when I ask them? I feel like a clingy puppy always following your lot around all the time.”
“You coming or not?” he huffed, not breaking stride, managing to smirk slightly at the younger girl's indignant huffs despite the situation.

As they entered the Manor through the mirror in what used to be his dorm room, he directed Ginny to Dean without stopping, going right to Hermione's room. There, he layed her on the bed, settling himself in a chair while waiting for the venom to wear off. He could have woken her with a touch, but in all honesty he was glad to get a chance to organize his thoughts. Even though she seemed to know something, based on the state he found her in, he still had to prepare himself; prepare to tell her she he had failed her. Again.
She looked so peaceful, sleeping there. It broke him to think of how she would probably not sleep so well for a long time after this. This, unfortunately, led him to simply watch her instead of preparing to give her the news, and all too soon she was waking. A glance outside proclaimed it just past sunrise, the sky still locked in the lingering gray of twilight as the sun barely peaked above the overcast horizon.

“Good morning,” he greeted gently, managing a slight smile as she looked his way.
“Draco? I've just had the most awful dream.”
“Hermione...”
“It... it wasn't a dream... was it?”
“There's been an attack, Hermione,” he told her as gently as he could, leaning forward in his chair, “I'm sorry.”
“They're dead.” It was not a question.
“We did everything we could, Hermione... we were too late though, most were apparating out when we got there.”
“But the wards! Dumbledore-”
“They weren't even triggered.” Draco told her, feeling her slip into information reconnaissance mode, “we think Voldemort used someone they knew, someone they invited in or who had been keyed to the wards all along.”
She just sat there for what felt like an hour, looking at a spot somewhere just over his left shoulder. He knew she was trying to figure out the same thing that had him stumped on the whole situation- whom could her parents have invited in that was working for Voldemort? Which of their number was working against them?

“I need to be alone.” she stated finally, snapping him from his own circular questions.
“I don't think-”
“Now, Draco. Please,” she insisted, “I need to be alone.”
She did not want anyone to see her break, he realized immediately, and it hurt to know she did not accept the support she had given to them all from him. She was sniffling already, the emotional trauma catching up with her and overtaking her analytical mind.
As she had so often done for him, he pulled her into a hug against her wish for him to leave, starting to rub circles on her back. Her head fell onto his shoulder almost immediately, the last of her barriers breaking as she began to cry in earnest.

Dean left Ginny in the rooms she had stayed in previously while at the Manor, having given her a rundown of the attack. She knew where Hermione's rooms were already, though he did ask that she refrain form seeing her until later. He assumed Draco would let her sleep a while, probably telling her the sad news in the morning. He wondered if he should contact the Professor or wait for Draco to do so. In some ways, everything had suddenly shifted. Dean knew Draco had hoped to work on the Phoenix before anything else, but now Hermione would have to take center stage. The Professor- the Professor too would have to be seen to. Soon the people they had invited for the winter holidays would come; Remus, Sirius, the Professor's sister and so on. They would not be easily kept in the dark, specially since Dean knew each and every one of them would want to see Horris.

Before he knew it, his feet had led him towards the room they had put the Phoenix in. He did not want to be here... though apparently he did. Now that was something he really did not want to analyze, though he quickly moved back towards the regularly used parts of the manor. Maybe he could take over for someone... Marcus, perhaps?
The boy had been feeling quite weary as of late, being the youngest Asp left. Of the three who had been fourth years (who would have been fifth years now, he realized with a grimace) Lisa had fallen in the same battle which took Horris from them, and Emily had died alongside Blaise not even two weeks ago. Dean had heard from Cho that Marcus was sure he'd be next to die- the youngest and thus the weakest. Not that he was, in all honesty... during practice the young Slytherin actually faired very well.

Dean hoped all the boy needed was some time to relax and calm himself- rediscover his center. He had Cho keep an eye on him, either way... just in case.
“Marcus!” he called, spotting the boy walking past, “where are you off to?”
“Zack asked me to feed the Vamp; said he couldn't do it today.”
“Why?” Zack should know better, “I thought you had patrol duty right now.”
“That was yesterday... it's my day off.”
“Then go relax,” Dean insisted, “I'll take care of the Vampire... and don't let Zack toss his chores on you.”
He got Marcus to agree easily enough, though Zack really did annoy him. There were reasons why only certain Asps were supposed to feed the Vampire. Some of which applying to those like Marcus especially. The boy was not detached enough- especially not now. He was only fifteen for Merlin's sake, and though Dean was not two years older, it felt like a terrible gap. Marcus also experienced a far more sheltered childhood despite being an Asp and a Slytherin. A quality Dean hoped the boy could keep some semblance of for as long as possible.

As he went through the motions he'd become so used to he noted only somewhere between a dozen and twenty Death Eaters left in the holding cell. He'd have to tell Draco, when he saw him.
“I was not expecting you today,” the Vampire announced in way of greetings,
“Disappointed?” Dean asked back, smirking slightly. He knew how the Vampire hated Zack.
“No, not so much.”
He fed the Vampire mechanically, only slightly put off by how passively he could watch the thing feed.
“You are unusually introspective today,” the vampire noted after finishing his meal, “has something happened?”
“Yes.” Dean acknowledged sharply, unwilling to say anything more specific.
“And did this event occur before your Dragon and you had a chance to speak on your little Phoenix dilemma?”
“As we spoke, actually.”
“Was anything decided, then?”
“You are awfully curious today,” Dean huffed, not really wanting to be speaking of this now. It had to be done however... and Dean might be otherwise occupied for a while hereafter. “Yes, we did manage to figure out one of the conditions.”
“And what condition would that be?”
“Dragon wants your name.”

“Well,” the Vampire smirked after a heavy silence, “the boy is apparently smarter than I gave him credit for.”
“You agree, then?” Dean asked hopefully, though he kept his voice flat.
“I agree to think on it. Anything else?”
“We did not get through much more before the attack.”
“Ah. Well, your Dragon should know that if I do agree, I will want you to hear my name, not him.”
“Why me?” he asked. Anyone who knew the name was given a way to influence the Vampire, but it was the one to whom the Vampire gave his name to that could really make life difficult for the creature. “You must realize telling me would mean more people around here would know it.”
“I trust your discretion.”
“I follow orders.” Apparently, that made the Vampire laugh. It was a strange sound coming from the undead creature; unnatural.

“Zygmund,” the Vampire said after settling from his laugh.
“What?”
“Zygmund Bromasz Stal. My Name.”
“You're serious? Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“Zig-mond Bro-moosh S-tall,” he trield it out, “quite a mouthful.”
“Not a half-bad pronunciation, Pup.”
“Can I just call you Brom?”
“It would not have the power of my full name, Pup,”
“It doesn't always need to, I hope,” Dean countered, to which the Vampire smiled slightly, “and my name is Dean.”
“It suits you, Pup.”
“I'll speak with Dr-Dragon, soon as he's available,” he assured, “though he'll want to know why you agreed so quickly.”
“You are easy to trust. That is all, though I have a feeling this Dragon of yours knows more of Vampires than I had previously assumed.”
“He knows his share, Brom,” Dean told him cautiously, feeling quite a bit better that he was now able to call him something other than 'Vampire'.

Dean left shortly after that, figuring he needed to see if he could speak with Draco. He hoped he would find the Beta unoccupied- maybe having already spoken with Hermione. He found him, oddly, wandering the halls, looking pointedly depressed.
“She just went to sleep,” Draco told him without prompting while staring out a window, “I don't know how much more she can take.”
“She knows we're all here for her- she knows we won't think any less of her if she breaks down or needs us for once.”
“I hope so. Everything just piles up right now.”
“We'll survive,” Dean insisted, “we always do.”

“I just spoke with Cho; she said Remus wants to see me tomorrow.” Draco told him, changing the subject.
“He must have heard something from Dumbledore; Ginny told me the Headmaster was acting off lately.”
“Think he told his Order we stole his 'Phoenix' weapon?”
“Seeing as half of them saw us do so, it would be the only prudent course of action,” Dean replied simply, nodding. “Best way to make us out to be evil, after all.”
“Should I tell him?” Draco asked, sounding far less sure of keeping the Professor out of the know than he did when last they spoke.
“Let the Vampire do what he can, first,” Dean cautioned, “we can have him look the body over before Remus gets here.”
“Not before I have his name.”
“I just spoke with him, he already agreed.”
“Did he?”
“Apparently, he finds me trustworthy. I was surprised he gave it up, as well.”
“I suppose we should not delay, then... not with his natural enemy meeting with us soon.”
“Want me to get him?”
“Hermione will be sleeping for a while yet, so now would probably be best.”
“I'll fetch him.”

Brom had another laugh at his expence when Dean showed up for the second time that day.
“You work fast,” Brom told him,
“You'll behave, I hope?”
“As I've assured you. I'm surprised you know such thorough solar-protection spells... few wizards bother with them.”
“I'm an Asp.”
He kept Brom's shackles on, mostly in case someone saw them.
“So this is your Phoenix, Dean Pup?” Brom asked when they arrived in the room, “and the Dragon.”
“You should not have told him your name, Wolf,” Draco scolded,
“It doesn't carry the weight for mortals; you said so yourself,” Dean reminded, liking the way Brom had come to favor him. “Zigmoond Bromash Stall,” he introduced him, making sure Draco memorized it.
“Wolf said you will not tell me yourself,” Draco remarked to Brom,
“He said you accepted this.”
“Yes, I have. See what you can make of that,” Draco ordered, pointing to the still form on the bed.

“The blood sample I asked for?”
“Take it yourself.”
“No, it will not work if taken directly.”
“Wolf, go to the lab and bring a couple vials.”
“If there's a cup, Dean Pup, that'll do,” Brom amended.
With a nod from Draco Dean took the cup in the room, scourgified it, and cut the Phoenix's wrist as swiftly as he could to collect some blood. The cut closed easily before the cut was fully filled, and he handed it to Brom.
“Why can't you take it right from him?”
“Too concentrated, Dean Pup, and I would not know if what I tasted was in the blood or on the body.”
“Well?” Draco prompted, impatient,
“Don't rush me, Dean's Dragon,” Brom insisted before taking slow sips like Draco did when savoring vintage wine.