Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at https://archiveofourown.org/works/6533983.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: F/M
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationship: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Daphne Greengrass/Theodore Nott
Character: Theodore Nott, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Severus Snape, Narcissa
Black Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Fenrir Greyback,
Kreacher (Harry Potter), Dobby (Harry Potter), Dudley Dursley,
Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Fred Weasley, George Weasley,
Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody, Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore,
Gellert Grindelwald, Gregory Goyle, Vincent Crabbe, Neville
Longbottom, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Lavender Brown,
Lucius Malfoy, Yaxley (Harry Potter), Avery Jr. (Harry Potter),
Mulciber Jr. (Harry Potter), Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Series: Part 2 of This World or Any Other
Stats: Published: 2016-04-12 Completed: 2016-08-12 Chapters: 39/39
Words: 178268

MARKED
by olivieblake

Summary

Two dead. Three missing. The Order is down a leader and another innocent takes the
Mark. Where is the Chosen One, and who killed Draco Malfoy? Dramione, sequel to
"Clean," book II in "This World or Any Other" series. COMPLETE, with a HEA.

Notes

a/n: This work is the second in the This World or Any Other series and must be read as a
companion to Book I, Clean.
 The Muggle
Chapter Notes

Story Summary: Two dead. Three missing. The Order is down a leader and another
innocent takes the Mark. Where is the Chosen One, and who killed Draco Malfoy?
Dramione, sequel to "Clean."

See the end of the chapter for more notes

This World or Any Other: Book II

MARKED

Summary: Two dead. Three missing. The Order is down a leader and another innocent takes the
Mark. Where is the Chosen One, and who killed Draco Malfoy? Dramione, sequel to "Clean,"
book II in "This World or Any Other" series. COMPLETE.

Disclaimer: These characters belong to J.K. Rowling. Credit where credit is due, Joanne.

a/n: This work is the second in the This World or Any Other series and must be read as a
companion to Book I, Clean.

Chapter 1: The Muggle

The tall, lanky Slytherin eyed his reflection in the mirror with displeasure.

The issue wasn't that he didn't look good in black; he did, without question - though he wasn't the
sort to note such things aloud. It was more an issue of what the black meant.

Because Theo Nott refused to believe that Draco Malfoy was really dead.

"Impossible," he'd said, blinking. "That's - it's just impossible."

Blaise had reached out a hand to comfort him, and Pansy had glanced up through her tear-
sprinkled lashes.

"I know, Theo," she'd said, her voice scratchy from crying. "It's heartbreaking. We all loved him -
"

"No," he corrected her roughly. "You wanted his last name, and you" - he snapped, turning to
Blaise - "you didn't even know what was going on with him all of last year, did you?"

Blaise looked taken aback. "Theo, what - "

"Don't pretend like you cared about him," Theo ranted angrily. "You didn't know. None of you
knew."

But Theo knew.

But Theo knew.

First, there was Potter.

Potter, kill Draco?

Only in a world where nothing makes sense.

Though nothing did make sense, honestly - Potter and Weasley and Granger were gone.

Theo had seen Draco's face when he looked at Granger at the House Ball, like he'd never seen
anything like her. Theo had seen Draco's face when he would glance up every so often, in the
library or the dining hall or the classroom, nodding thoughtfully to himself as though assuring
himself that everything was okay, because he'd assured himself that she was still in the room.
Theo had heard the shake in Draco's voice every time he'd denied it, denied her, denied
everything - only to hold firm when he finally told Theo to keep her safe.

And Theo had seen Granger's face, when Draco would look back at his books and she would
glance up nervously, biting her lip when she saw his bent head. Theo saw Granger run through
the castle with Draco's blood on her hands, watched her hold back her tears as she sat in silence,
hiding. Theo had seen the sparkle in her eye when he'd told her about a Draco she'd never known,
and he heard the regret in her voice when she spoke, knowing she'd never know him. Theo had
watched her look to Draco for strength and he'd watched Draco look to her for comfort and Theo
knew - he knew - that it was not fucking likely that she'd bail with his killer.

"She's Potter's best friend" - no, fuck that. if Granger was gone, Draco was with her. Theo was
sure of it.

Draco Malfoy was not dead. He couldn't be.

"Tell me what really happened up there," he'd demanded, throwing his books down angrily and
confronting Professor Snape.

He hadn't even had the decency to look cornered.

"You already know what happened, Mr. Nott - "

"Bullshit - "

"Theo - "

"Tell me the truth!" he yelled, thumping his fist angrily against his chest. Come at me.

It seemed like everything Theo did now was a challenge, a dare. Lie to me, his face said. Lie to
me, and see how I take it.

Snape's mouth had formed a thin, grim line.

"Death can be difficult to accept, Theo - "

"He's not fucking dead," Theo ranted through gritted teeth. "Draco's not dead - "

"Mr. Nott, perhaps I can recommend some counseling for you," Snape had said smoothly, not
looking up. "It seems you are losing control - "

"I don't like to be deceived, Professor," he'd said disdainfully, though truthfully, he was all
bravado. He couldn't blame Snape for seeing through it.
"Sit," Snape said firmly, gesturing to a chair. Theo complied with a miserable grimace, slamming
his back against the seat.

"I understand you are upset."

"I - "

"Listen to me," Snape interjected, cutting him off angrily. He took a deep breath before speaking
again. "Listen to me carefully."

Something about Snape's tone had piqued Theo's interest, and he sat quietly, though he pressed
his lips together tightly in an unconcealed expression of impatience.

"Draco Malfoy cannot be reached. He cannot be found. He is gone," Snape said slowly, before
adding morosely, "because he is dead."

"If," Snape continued, "if you continue to make noise - if you continue to follow smoke where
there is no fire, you will cause damage like that beyond your wildest imagination."

Snape cleared his throat quickly. "And again," he added, "I say this, because he is dead. Do you
understand?"

Theo nodded slowly.

His next move had been much more tactical. There was a lot less yelling, and no cursing, which
until then, had been about as tactical as Theo had ever managed.

"Father."

Nott, Sr. had turned unhappily at the sound of his son's voice.

"Theodore."

Theo coughed, clearing his throat.

"I want to take Draco's place," he said firmly, rooting his feet in the ground as he spoke, in the
hopes that he would be as immobile emotionally as he was physically.

His father had laughed at this.

"No you don't, Theodore," he said skeptically. "I understand you lost your friend, but I don't think
you can grasp - "

"I want to take the Mark, Father," he said, shaking his head. "And I'm of age. You can't stop me."

"You may be of age, but you're hardly a functioning adult," the elder Nott had snapped. "Draco
got himself killed. You would only do the same."

Theo held his tongue, wincing at Draco's name. "Still," he said evenly, trying not to argue. "I - I
want to do something. For his legacy."

Nott, Sr. snorted. "You've got another year of school - "

"I'm not going."

His father glanced at him sharply. "What do you mean - "

"I'm not going," Theo repeated. "There's no point. You think the Dark Lord has carefully thought
through his curriculum? No," he sneered sarcastically, and his father looked around suspiciously,
clearly paranoid about his son's mocking tone. "I don't need Hogwarts, Father - and you were the
one who encouraged Draco to take the Mark - "

"Yes, Theo, but that was Draco," Nott Sr. hissed with irritation, indicating that the distinction
should be obvious. "Draco Malfoy was not my son, and his own father was inadequate - "

"But Father - "

"Why, Theodore?" Nott demanded. "Why do you want this?"

Theo looked defiantly at his father before answering.

"To keep my friends close," he said, his tone cynical and unwavering.

That approach hadn't worked as he'd intended, but he had time. He was less angry now, or at
least, he didn't let it show; after about a week, he'd learned that rattling his chains wasn't going to
get him answers.

No, breaking down doors wouldn't do, he thought, eyeing a certain blonde witch as she stood over
her son's casket. He'd have to slip in through a window.

He smoothed his dark hair before sidling next to Narcissa, glancing around to make sure they
didn't have an audience.

"Narcissa," he said evenly. She had been Mrs. Malfoy for most of his life, but this seemed like a
first-name-basis kind of conversation. She only looked at him blankly, her eyes a vast, empty
ocean of misery.

"Theo," she replied. The edges of her voice were rough, like she was out of practice.

"Seems silly, burying an empty casket," he mused, looking at her pointedly. "Doesn't it?"

"Somehow, nothing about burying my son seems silly," she replied coldly, turning back to the
picture of him that had been placed on his casket. It was the same portrait that had been on the
cover of the Daily Prophet almost every day this last week - always a different story, but the same
message.

"Murder at Hogwarts: the Boy Who Lived Takes the Life of Malfoy Heir"

"Sacred Twenty-Eight Teen Massacred by Chosen One"

"Young Prefect Slaughtered in Hogwarts Mystery - Harry Potter to Blame"

"No, it doesn't." he acknowledged, nodding somberly. He sighed, allowing himself to share a

moment of sincerity with her. "I cared about him, you know."

"I know," she whispered, running a finger down Draco's portrait. The picture she had chosen
made Draco look somehow both innocent and cold, though the one Theo had known was neither.
"You two were like brothers."

"We were brothers," Theo grunted emotionally, dismayed at the unexpectedly sensitive tone that
erupted from his own voice. Narcissa looked at him fondly.

"I still can't believe he's gone," she said faintly. "I just thought - "
"You thought you would feel something," Theo prompted. He looked at her meaningfully.
"Right? You thought the bond between you was so strong, you'd feel him go."

"Yes," she said, nodding weakly. "I suppose that's silly of me."

"I don't think so," Theo said stonily. She looked at him. "I don't," he assured her. "I kind of agree,
actually." He leaned in, lowering his voice. "Doesn't something seem strange?"

She looked alarmed, glancing around furtively, and he placed his hand gently on her shoulder,
trying to calm her. "Narcissa," he said steadily. "I need you to get me an audience with the Dark
Lord," he told her quietly in her ear.

She shook her head. "Theo - "

"I need to take the Mark," he said, gripping her shoulder as she went rigid. "I need to be on the
inside."

"I won't be a part of this again," she said adamantly. "I will not send another young - " she
stopped abruptly, a dry sob suddenly heaving from her chest. "I will not be responsible for
another death."

"He might not be dead, Narcissa," Theo breathed quietly in her ear. "Do you really believe he's
truly gone?"

She shook her head furiously. "Theo - it doesn't matter, you still - "

"The Dark Lord confides in his Death Eaters and no one else, Narcissa, you know this," Theo
reminded her, his grip on her shoulder tightening even as he tried to keep his posture still. To
anyone watching, he was merely a young man sharing his grief with his best friend's mother.

"I need the truth," he added. "You need the truth."

She pursed her lips. "This is dangerous," she sniffed carefully, "and stupid."

"Those are your son's favorite ways to describe me," he said, his voice dancing as he tread
deliberately over the present tense.

She shuddered. "If I get you an audience - "

"I'll find him," he replied emphatically, and she turned, politely embracing him.

"Wait here," she whispered quietly in his ear.

Dudley Dursley had not been a particularly sound sleeper since the summer he and his cousin,
Harry, had run into those - what were they?

Dementors.

He shivered helplessly.

He'd developed a bit of squeamishness in the dark, and it was always worse when it was around
the time Harry was supposed to be home. Which, he knew, was supposed to happen shortly. Four
days, in fact. He had it circled on the calendar.

Dudley frowned.
Were those voices?

He crept down out of his bedroom. Yes, he was sure of it. There were voices coming from his
living room. He glanced quickly up at the clock - 5 a.m.

What was going on?

"Really, Harry? This is where you thought we should go?"

Dudley frowned. Harry?

"Look," his cousin replied evenly. "I don't want to be here any more than you do, I just don't
really know what choice I have."

"Are we safe here?"

It was a girl's voice. Dudley crept out onto the landing of the staircase, lowering himself to his
bottom and sliding slowly down each individual stair, until he could see three heads through the
slats in the railings.

There was his cousin, Harry, still lean and wiry with a head of messy jet black hair, a small, curly-
haired brunette with her back to Dudley, and a tall, skinny redheaded boy who was slouching.
Dudley vaguely recognized them from photographs he had seen, and he was sure he'd seen the
redheaded boy driving a flying car once.

Though, in general, he tried to convince himself those odd things he remembered here and there
had never actually happened. And that was certainly one of them.

"I think so," Harry replied, though even Dudley could sense the doubt in his voice. "Dumbledore
told me last year that I would be safe here, because of my mother."

"We can't stay, though," he added. "I mean logistically, the house is too small - "

"That, and I refuse to stay in such close quarters with Malfoy," the redhead said derisively.

Dudley squinted as a tall, slender blond boy stepped into his view.

"Don't make me say this again, ever," the blond drawled lazily, "but I agree with Weasley."

The blond boy had a strange accent that Dudley couldn't identify. It sounded a little bit like he was
a character in a movie Dudley had seen recently about prince during the medieval times, or
something. The blond seemed so . . . regal.

And he also looked familiar, Dudley thought, squinting.

"Well, on the one hand, it's probably best that we stay in the muggle world, don't you think?" the
girl asked thoughtfully, biting her lip nervously. Dudley thought she looked quite pretty when she
did that, and by the way he was watching her mouth, the blond boy seemed to agree.

The redhead looked queasy at the thought. "Where else would we go?"

"Well," she said uncertainly, though Dudley could tell she'd already thought about it, "I do need to
go see my parents." Her eyes flicked to the blond as she searched his face for a reaction, but he
didn't seem to give one. He didn't seem particularly expressive, the blond.

Why did his face look so familiar? Dudley could have sworn he'd seen it recently.
"What about any of the Order locations?" The redhead asked. "Grimmauld Place? Who is the
secret-keeper? I mean, now that Dumbledore's - "

He'd trailed off, and Dudley noticed that the girl looked immediately at the ground, while the
blond wordlessly touched her hand.

"Um," she said, biting her lip again. "I think we can all get in there, the whole Order, now that
he's dead."

Dead?

"So we could go there?"

"Yes," Harry said. "We could, technically - but so could they." He looked uncomfortable at the
thought. "Maybe we should try to send a message, first?"

"Dear Order of the Phoenix," the blond orated sarcastically, "I'm not really a murderer - "

A lightbulb went off in Dudley's head and he scrambled down the stairs.

"I know who you are," he said, pointing at the blond.

All four of the people in his living room swung around at the sound of his voice, instantly pointing
their wands at his chest. He raised his hands quickly, stuttering.

"S-sorry," he said. "Hi, Harry."

"Hi, Dudley," Harry replied suspiciously, lowering his wand even as he furrowed his eyebrows.

"What did you say?" the girl asked. She gestured to the blond. "Did you say you recognized
him?"

"Yeah," Dudley replied, nervous to have her attention. "I saw him in the newspaper."

"Newspaper?" the redhead asked, perplexed. "The muggle newspaper?"

Dudley felt himself turn scarlet. "No," he admitted, picking anxiously at his fingernails.

Harry wrinkled his nose with confusion. "Dudley," he asked, "are you trying to tell me you saw a
wizard newspaper?"

"Hold on," Dudley mumbled, heading to his room. He grabbed the first one off of a large stack
that he kept hidden in his closet, nodding with certainty as he verified his theory, and ran back
down the stairs.

"This is you, in't it?" he asked, holding it out to the blond. "Drah-co Malfoy?"

"It's Draco," the blond corrected him quickly, and the girl ripped the paper from his hands, her
eyes flitting miraculously fast over the words.

"I can't believe it," she said, shaking her head. "I can't believe how quickly they were able to print
this - they're saying Harry's on some kind of a murderous rampage - "

"Hang on," Harry interrupted, eyeing Dudley. "Since when do you - "

"I like that the pictures move," Dudley said, embarrassed. "I found one in your room, and I - I
asked your owl to - "
He stopped, feeling himself redden. "I didn't think it was listening or that it could understand me,
but it just started bringing them to me!"

Harry had an odd half-smile on his face. "Dudley, that is so bizarre," he said, though he bore
distinct traces of amusement. "But yeah, Hedwig's pretty smart - she definitely understood you."

Dudley grunted his agreement.

"Well obviously Dudley is an exception," the girl said, and Dudley caught a distinctly bossy
undertone to her voice, "but obviously with Malfoy's picture going around, we're going to have to
hide him and disguise him."

"Disguise?" the Dray-co boy wrinkled his nose with obvious distaste. "But I - "

"You are pretty distinctive," the girl pointed out, and though this was undoubtedly true, Dudley
suspected she'd said it to flirt with him. Draco seemed to know this, too - he bore a supremely
cocky smirk on his face the instant she said it.

"Fine, we'll add it to the to-do list," the redhead said obnoxiously. "1) Find somewhere to hide, 2)
Shave Malfoy's head - "

Draco's face contorted into a look of disgust. "Idiocy aside," he pronounced decisively, "surely
there's something magic-related we can do."

"It's actually incredibly difficult to change your appearance with magic," the girl said primly.
"Otherwise, I'm sure everyone would - "

This conversation was not interesting to Dudley.

"Why does it say you're dead?" he asked, pointing to the paper. Draco's face was clearly staring
back at them, looking somber.

"Have you read it?" Harry asked warily. Dudley shook his head.

"I really only like the pictures," he said honestly. Harry nodded, not entirely put off by this
statement, and Dudley felt slightly reassured.

"Well," Harry said, sighing. "They think I killed him."

"It's a long story," Draco added. "But it's really imperative that everyone think I'm dead."

Dudley blinked. "Imperative?"

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Yes," he said coldly.

"It means important," the redhead said, rolling his eyes. "You don't need to be a dick about it,
Malfoy," he added, leaning over to make a face at Draco.

Dudley liked him already.

"Well, look," Harry said, assuming the role of a general addressing his troops. "We're probably
going to have to split up. We can figure out what we're doing tonight, and then tomorrow,
Hermione and Malfoy can go to her house, and Ron and I can - "

He paused. "Er, well, I haven't quite figured out yet what Ron and I will do - "
 "We won't be at my house for long," the girl, Hermione, said, and Draco looked at her sharply.
Dudley privately agreed with Draco's immediate show of concern, thinking that something
seemed off in the girl's hesitation.

"Why not?" Draco asked, an edge of distress to his voice. "What is it that you need to do there?"

"I'll tell you later," she said quietly, and Dudley frowned. It was quite exciting, whatever was
happening, and he didn't appreciate being left out. Ron, the redhead, seemed to agree, narrowing
his eyes suspiciously as Hermione and Draco spoke in undertones to each other.

There was a loud bang behind them.

"What the devil is going on inside my house?" Vernon Dursley called loudly, waddling his way
into the living room.

The four wizards froze, and the way Harry's mouth opened and closed vacantly reminded Dudley
of an abnormally large goldfish he'd seen recently.

"These are my friends, Dad," he said quickly. "Ron, Hermione, and Draco," he said, pointing as
he named them.

"It's a bit early, Dudders," his father grumbled, but he seemed to soften. "Petunia!" he called,
turning to wake her. "Petunia, we have guests."

Ron groaned as soon as Vernon left the room. "What, are we having a family breakfast now?" he
sighed irritably. "Merlin's saggy left - "

"Ronald!" Hermione snapped quickly, and Dudley licked his lips as a slow smile spread over his
face.

What an unexpectedly interesting morning.

Chapter End Notes

a/n: This is a bit of an abnormal chapter as we have a guest narrator in the form of
Dudley Dursley, but you can look forward to hearing from Draco and Hermione
soon. Theo Nott will be joining the cast as a main character, but this is still primarily a
Dramione story.

This chapter is dedicated to the-uchiha-avenger, frederickgweasley, and

illholdthematches, a couple of marvelous tumblr reviewers who were really
encouraging during the last story and who I hope have made the jump here. Thanks
for reading and reviewing!

additional AO3 note: my stories are posted first in fanfiction.net, so most chapter
notes will be directed to those users.
 The Roots
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter 2: The Roots

Malfoy Manor, 1985

Draco watched the light flicker under his door as he heard the purposeful clicks of his mother's
stiletto heels.

"Is he asleep?" she asked harshly, as though steeling herself for the inevitable confirmation.

"Yes," his governess replied timidly. "I finished reading him some stories about half an hour ago."

"I told you that you were to inform me before he went to bed," Narcissa snapped, and Draco
instinctively cowered in his blankets. He knew his mother's face when she was angry, and it
would frighten anyone.

"I - I'm sorry, Madame Malfoy, I - I simply thought you were busy," the young girl squeaked
meekly, and Draco could see through the crack in the door that she was shuffling her feet
nervously.

Draco could already tell that this latest governess, a Parisian named Lydie, was unlikely to last.
Pity, really; she always read him an extra story at bedtime, always at least one more than his
mother. "Only one, Draco."

Lydie was very young, and a pureblood. This was important, Draco gathered. His parents had
taken to selecting their governesses out of Beauxbatons, as these purebloods seemed to be hard to
come by. "Hogwarts has considerably lowered its standards."

"I'm not too busy for my child," Narcissa replied coldly, and Draco saw another set of footsteps
join his mother's.

"Cissy, you'll make the boy soft," his Aunt Bellatrix interrupted, the heels of her boots sliding
across the floor as she pivoted to face Draco's mother and his governess. "You keep insisting on
kissing him goodnight and you'll smother him right into Hufflepuff."

"Oh go home, Bella," his mother said bitterly. "You can tell me how to raise my son when you
have any substantial evidence that you know how to do it - "

"Don't start with me, little sister," Bellatrix responded shrilly. "He's the only one left, you know.
Andromeda gone - Sirius gone - Regulus gone - all worthless, of course, but still - "

"Whatever aspirations you have for him," Narcissa said, and Draco pictured his mother's blue eyes
flashing, "he can still be the kind of child who has the comfort of knowing his mother loves him.
Merlin knows we weren't." He watched her turn sharply back to his governess. "What did you
read to him?"

"The Tales of Beedle the Bard," the young girl replied hesitantly. "He likes it - "
"I know what my son likes," Narcissa said defensively. "I was just making sure it was . . .
appropriate . . . for his station."

"Yes, ma'am," Lydie said faintly.

"Come on, Cissy, let the boy sleep," Bellatrix said, and the shadows under his doorframe
indicated that his aunt was trying to pull Narcissa along in her wake.

"Fine," Narcissa relented, sighing. "Is Lucius in his study?"

"Yes," Bellatrix said curtly. "Said he had some things to finish."

"Right," Narcissa replied absently. He heard his mother's skirts rustle. "Let me just - "

"Cissy - "

The dim light from the hallway flooded Draco's bedroom as his mother quietly opened the door,
slipping inside and padding softly to where he lay sleeping. The bed was far too big for him - far
too big for any boy of only five years old - but his parents spared no luxuries. He was where he
always was, curled up around his stuffed dragon in the corner closest to the door. The corner
closest to his parents. He was a child who slept comfortably in his overlarge quarters, safe in the
knowledge that his father would fight away his monsters, and that his mother would soothe away
his tears.

He shut his eyes quickly, pretending to be asleep, and Narcissa leaned over him, smoothing his
pale blond hair and kissing his forehead lightly.

"Goodnight, my love," she whispered, tucking the wisps of pale blond behind his ear. "Sweet
dreams, my darling."

He waited until the room went dark again and the voices of his mother, aunt, and governess had
faded before tossing the covers back and running to the door, pressing his ear against it for any
indication of sound. Satisfied that they had gone, he opened the door slowly, tiptoeing into the hall
and running quietly to his father's office.

The door was open and he could see Lucius bent over his paperwork, his long, silvery-blond hair
swept elegantly over his shoulders.

"Father."

Lucius glanced up quickly, his features knitting together to form a look of mild impatience.
"Draco, what are you doing up?" He glanced anxiously into the hallway. "Where is that blasted
girl - "

"I wanted to see you." Draco climbed into the chair opposite his father's at the desk, bringing his
knees to his chest and eyeing his father's work. "I'm not sleepy."

Lucius sighed heavily. "Draco, I'm very busy right now. Why don't you - "

"What are you doing?" Draco asked, eyeing his father hopefully. "Is it important?"

"Yes," Lucius replied irritably. "It's for the Ministry."

"What is - "

"Draco, please. Perhaps your mother will - "

"Is it the muggles again, Father?"

Lucius eyed his son sharply. "What?"

Draco leaned forward conspiratorially, excited to have gotten his father's attention. "Theo's father
said we've got to watch out for the muggles," he said. "Foul, filthy muggles," he imitated,
scrunching up his face to mimic the old man's sullen expression.

"Yes, well, it is often the muggles," Lucius replied, hiding his amusement at his son's precocious
mimicry. "Even when it's not, it usually is."

"What's wrong with muggles, Father?" Draco asked, squirming in his seat. "Are they like
monsters?"

"In a way," Lucius said coolly, eyeing his son's curious expression. "They're primitive creatures,
muggles."

"I've never seen one," Draco informed his father, in a tone of voice that seemed to suggest that in
his five years of life, he fancied himself to have amassed a certain level of experience.

"No, and you likely won't," his father told him sternly. "We're forced to hide from them - this
muggle-loving government fails to recognize that wizards are clearly superior, clearly meant to
govern - "

"Why are some people wizards and some people muggles?" Draco interrupted, unable to
withstand his curiosity. "Why would anyone want to be a muggle?"

"Nobody wants to be a muggle, Draco," his father said exasperatedly, with the same arrogant tone
that Draco himself would adopt later in life. "But not everyone is as favored as we are, to be born
wizards. And we who are must stick to our kind, and not sully it with the wretchedness of impure
blood."

"Blood?" Draco whispered, his small stomach turning.

His father walked quickly around the desk, kneeling at his son's side.

"Listen to me, Draco," he said urgently, clasping his son's hands. "You are special, because you
are a wizard," he said quietly, taking hold of Draco's chin when the boy tried to turn away,
uncomfortable with the intensity of his father's gaze. "And you are doubly special, because you
are a pureblood." Draco nodded, his cheeks squeezed together in Lucius's tight grip.

"But more than this," Lucius continued, "you are special because your mother is a Black, and I am
a Malfoy. You are precious, because you are a Malfoy."

"I am a Malfoy," Draco repeated, his large grey eyes wide.

Little Whinging, 1997

Draco Malfoy instinctively fingered the vacant space where his heavy signet ring used to sit as he
eyed the family at the table; the man, stout and neckless, gorging himself on a thick slab of bacon;
the woman, blonde, with neck enough for the both of them, tittering nervously over every
movement of her son; and the boy, this sturdy, oddly muscular Dudley character, who despite
being a bit slow, seemed reasonable enough.
Muggles.

He swallowed uncomfortably and Granger touched his hand softly, running her thumb across his
knuckles under the table.

"Eat, eat!" the woman urged. Petunia, she'd said her name was. Draco couldn't think of a name
that would suit her less - there was certainly nothing dainty or floral about this woman. Her face
was so horse-like that Draco had already absurdly wondered what it might be like to feed her a
carrot, or something of the sort.

"You're all so thin - not like Dudley here," she added, beaming at her son. "Heavyweight
champion, he is! But you'd all know that, of course."

Her eyes swept over them harshly as though daring them to disagree.

"Right," Granger said faintly. "We're all so proud of . . . Dudley," she added uncertainly.

Draco saw Potter stifle a laugh. "You mean Big D?"

Petunia's eyes flashed coldly. "And you of course, are exactly the same," she snapped at him.
"Just as skinny as your father, that gangly freak - "

Potter abruptly stiffened. "Don't talk about my father that way," he said, gritting his teeth.

Draco could tell this was a recurring disagreement between the two of them, and found himself
distressed at the thought of privately agreeing with Potter.

"Don't make this uncomfortable for Duddy's friends," Vernon barked loudly, taking less than a
moment to look up over his newspaper. His name, Draco thought, suited him perfectly. "We don't
need to slave over your breakfast just for you to sit here and be a waste of space - "

Draco could see Granger twitching with a need to respond and he grabbed her hand roughly,
squeezing it tight and giving her a look.

Vernon's squinty eyes flicked to Draco. "You haven't touched your food," he commented, eyeing
Draco's plate. "What did you say your name was?"

"It's Malfoy," Draco said, struggling to find his voice. "Draco Malfoy."

Vernon's nose wrinkled distastefully. "Bit of a strange name, isn't it?" Draco bristled. "Parents
hippies or something?"

"It's a family name," Draco said tightly, picking up his fork.

Vernon snorted. "Yes, well, some families are strange - "

The fork fell against the plate with a clatter.

"You think my name's funny, then?" Draco asked quietly, not looking up. He could feel Granger
and Weasley stiffen beside him, and caught Potter's wary glance from across the table. "You think
my name's funny, and that Potter's father's a freak?"

There was an icy pause as Vernon's already beady eyes took on a distinctively beadier quality.
"Where did you say you knew Dudley from?"

Dudley swallowed his bite of food loudly. "School," he said uncomfortably, not meeting his
father's eyes.
father's eyes.

Draco bit the inside of his cheek, fighting his frustration. "I apologize," he said after a moment.
"I'm just not feeling well." He stood, desperate to escape the stifling energy of the room. "I just
need some air," he said faintly, before nodding curtly to Petunia and heading out the front door.

He looked around at the rows of identical houses and sighed loudly, pressing his fingers to his
forehead.

"You really shouldn't be out in the open like this."

At the sound of Potter's voice behind him, Draco whipped around, startled.

"This is a muggle neighborhood," Draco mumbled, though he lowered his head.

"True," Potter replied, shrugging casually. "But at least one of my neighbors is a squib, so . . . "

Draco shook his head irritably, stepping back toward the house. "Fine."

Potter tilted his head slightly, gesturing behind him. "There's a backyard," he suggested, not
unpleasantly, and Draco nodded reluctantly, following as Potter walked through a narrow side
passage around the house.

"You can't let them get to you," Potter added, jerking his head to gesture to the muggle family
inside.

Draco snorted. "You're one to talk," he said, rolling his eyes. "You've lived with them your whole
life and they obviously get to you."

Potter's lips formed a tight, thin line. "I just don't like the way they talk about my father."

Draco bit his lip, regretting the words even before they came out of his mouth. "I know what you
mean."

They looked sharply at each other.

"What do you think your father would say, if he knew you'd just had breakfast with a bunch of
muggles?" Potter asked, raising his eyebrows.

Draco met Potter's mocking gaze with a cold stare. "I don't know, Potter," he said impassively.
"My father thinks I'm dead."

They both shifted awkwardly in the silence.

"They think I'm a freak," Potter commented flatly after a while. "Sometimes I think I'd give
anything, to have grown up a wizard."

Draco eyed him skeptically. "If you're waiting for me to make you feel better, Potter, I'm afraid
that's not going to happen," he said, eyeing his fingernails to emphasize his unwillingness to
engage. "Besides - obviously, growing up a wizard doesn't mean you come out a good one." He
kicked his heel against the ground. "Or that you get taught the right things."

When he looked up again, Potter was eyeing him closely.

"You're a blood traitor now," he commented, and Draco felt his pulse quicken.

He set his jaw angrily. "I guess so." He spun to face his nemesis. "And?" he demanded.
Potter shrugged. "And nothing," he said inconclusively. "I just wanted to see how you'd react."

Potter crossed his arms tightly in front of his chest. "I've loved her a lot longer than you have," he
said, and Draco realized that his unwilling ally was finally showing his cards. "I want to make
sure we're both clear on what loving her means."

"You want to test me, Potter?" Draco said with a hollow laugh. "You think what we've been
through in the last few hours alone hasn't been test enough?"

Potter shrugged again, still frustratingly cavalier. "Sure, it's easy to think you've changed when
your life is at stake, when she's making impossible sacrifices for you. But from here on out, it
might get mundane. You'll be hiding, and you only have her."

"I don't see the problem, Potter," Draco sniffed. "What is it you need to hear from me?" The dark
haired wizard raised an eyebrow as Draco shifted uncomfortably beside him.

"Not that I need your approval," Draco added hastily, and Potter grinned devilishly.

"Simple." Potter took a seat on the ground, gathering a clump of grass in his hand. "Tell me why
you chose her." His smile warmed slightly. "And just so you know," he added wryly, "I'm going
to be the easy one. Hermione's my family, so I'll give her the benefit of the doubt. But as far as
family goes, Ron's already got more than he needs."

Draco wrinkled his nose. "Certainly."

Potter rolled his shoulders back and leaned onto his elbows, looking up at the hazy sky. "I'm
waiting, Malfoy."

"Excuse me if I don't have a speech prepared," Draco snapped, unenthusiastically taking a seat
beside Potter. He rubbed his temple, trying painfully to put it all into words.

"You know," he said, after a moment, "I'm not sure I can give you an answer that you'll like." He
straightened abruptly, turning to face Potter. "For one thing, I'll tell you right now - if someone
were to offer me the ability to turn my feelings off, I honestly think I'd take it."

Draco stood, pacing. "Being in love with Hermione Granger is fucking difficult," he swore,
talking more to himself than to Potter, who simply eyed him with amusement. "I mean - let's say
we put aside for a moment the fact that she's a - I mean, that she's muggle-born," he said, stopping
mid-stride. "Without that - she's still bossy, and demanding, she has a ridiculously short fuse - and
she never seems to listen!"

Draco whirled to face Potter. "Does she listen to you?"

Potter was clearly holding back laughter. "No."

"Right!" Draco resumed his pacing. "Granted, you're a complete git, but still. I just feel like with
her, she'll always be putting herself in danger - I'll always be worrying about her, won't I? I'll
constantly be in fear that she'll do something stupidly heroic, at any given moment?"

Potter was turning red with effort. "Right," he managed.

"She's amazing - she's brilliant, she's beautiful, she's - she's awe-inspiring, she's terrifying in all the
right ways," Draco resumed fervently. "And everything that she is, she would throw it away
without a moment's hesitation, for me." He looked sharply at Potter. "For me, Potter! For me. And
I'm - "
" - essentially human garbage," Potter replied, nodding, but Draco's thoughts were otherwise
occupied.

"If I could take the feelings away, just to keep her safe, to force her to find someone worthy, I
would," Draco said adamantly, breathing heavily. "I don't care what it would cost me."

He sank to the ground beside Potter, suddenly defeated. "So if you take all that, and then add the
muggle-born part back in," he postulated, shaking his head, "that part suddenly doesn't seem like
anything at all, does it?"

"No," Potter said softly. "No, I guess it doesn't."

Draco shifted awkwardly, his emotions spent. "I can't believe these muggles treat you like that,"
he added coldly, desperate to change the subject. He jutted his chin out aggressively to gesture to
where they sat inside the house. "Don't they realize you could easily light their house on fire?"

Potter shrugged. "They're not a great first example of muggles for you," he said candidly. "They
are pretty terrible people in general, and they know I still have the trace on me."

"Pity," Draco said, pursing his lips.

London, 1985

"Hermione - Hermione, sweetheart, it's bedtime - "

"One more story, Daddy. Please?"

Her father looked at her adoringly where he held her in his arms, sighing deeply.

"Okay, love. One more story."

She grinned happily, reaching up to touch his face. "Thank you."

"Cinderella again?"

"Yes, please," she said, sinking further into the circle of his embrace.

"Okay," he said, taking a deep breath and picking up the book. "There was a young girl in a far
away kingdom - "

"You forgot the 'once upon a time' part," Hermione corrected primly. "Once upon a time - "

"I thought we could skip that part, since you know it so well," he teased, and she frowned.

"You have to do it right - "

"But you have the whole story memorized!" he insisted, squeezing her. "You don't even need me
to read it to you - "

"But I like it when you tell it," she said simply, and he tucked a bushy curl behind her ear.

"Why do you like this story so much?" he asked gently, kissing the top of her head.

"It has magic," she whispered, running her fingers down the pages of the book. She twisted
around to look at her father. "Daddy, do you think magic is real?"
"I think so," he said hesitantly. "Maybe somewhere, magic is real."

"Would you do magic, if you could?" she asked, watching him closely for a reaction.

He nodded slowly. "I think so," he said again, and even in her five year old mind she appreciated
the effort he was making. "Though maybe if magic were real, there would be fewer cavities, and
I'd be out of a job."

"You could do something else," she said helpfully, perking up slightly at the prospect. "What's the
fun in tending to people's teeth, anyway?" she added, making a face.

"Just to do something good for the world, I suppose," he said, tapping her cheek lightly with his
finger. "You should always find a way to do some good in the world, whatever it is."

She nodded somberly, taking this advice to heart. "What should I be?"

"Prime minister, I expect," he said with a shrug, and she shrieked happily as he started to tickle
her.

"David - David!"

Hermione and her father froze at the sound of her mother's voice. He put a finger lightly to his
little girl's lips, shushing her quietly.

"Yes, Helen?" he called back innocently.

"Darling, I thought you were putting Hermione to bed - don't rile her up!"

"Right, right," he said hastily, looking guiltily at his daughter.

"You said one more story!" Hermione reminded him quickly, pouting.

Her father sighed. "Yes, I know, but the queen says it's bedtime," he said, standing. "And so
bedtime it must be."

Hermione groaned, crawling under her covers. "But - "

"No buts, Hermione Jean." He tucked the blankets around her gently. "Are you comfortable?"

"Yes, thank you," she replied demurely, and he leaned forward to kiss her forehead.

She reached up, holding his face between her little hands. "Daddy," she whispered, searching his
brown eyes with hers, "do you really think magic is real?"

"I hope so, sweetheart," he whispered back. "I really do."

She waited until after he left before she threw her blankets over her head, concentrating. She held
her hands close together, as though holding a small ball in between them, and used all her energy
until she saw it.

There was a spark between her palms that glittered for a moment, and when she saw it, she knew
she had done it.

"Magic is real, Daddy," she whispered.

 London, 1997

Hermione apparated them both to a precise location behind a hedge in her front yard, with Malfoy
stumbling forward beside her.

"Still not used to that," he mumbled, looking around.

She laughed. "It's so rare that I get to see you so disheveled," she said affectionately, smoothing
his hair back from his face as she took in his ruffled appearance.

He smiled and caught her hand, turning his head to kiss her palm. "Enjoy it," he said with a smirk.
"It's rare that I abandon my signature refinement."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I know this."

She moved to step forward but he pulled her back desperately.

"Wait," he said, his tone pleading as he pulled her into his embrace, wrapping his arms around her
waist.

She reached up and set her arms lightly on his shoulders, looking at him with amusement.
"Feeling needy, Malfoy?"

"Don't mock me, Granger," he said, slightly taken aback. "It's been a traumatic couple of days.
Forgive me for wanting a moment with you."

Her mouth twitched as she fought a triumphant smile. Something about getting the arrogant,
proud, immovable Draco Malfoy to show vulnerability always made her feel supremely
victorious.

"Fine," she said, her impatient tone belying her true feelings about this concession as she buried
her face in the crook of his neck.

"You still haven't told me why you were in such a hurry to come here," he reminded her gently,
murmuring into her hair.

She grimaced. "There's something I have to do," she said uneasily. "And it can't wait."

She'd told Harry privately that she planned to be back in Little Whinging later that evening, and
despite his discomfort at having fewer human shields between him and the Dursleys, he'd agreed
to wait for her without asking questions.

That was the best thing about Harry - he knew when not to ask questions.

Malfoy eyed her suspiciously. "Hermione," he said, and waited.

The effect of using her name was strategic and effective. Damn you, Draco Malfoy.

"With me gone," she said quietly, "and with us not knowing how the Order will react to, you
know . . . everything," she started, biting her lip.

Malfoy nodded. "Go on," he prompted.

"I need to do something to keep my parents safe," she said, and even she could hear the tremor of
fear in her voice. "You-Know-Who and all his followers, they torture muggles for fun." She
swallowed painfully, burying her face in his chest. "I need to make sure my parents won't be
 found."

He wrapped his arms around her tightly, sighing into her hair. "Oh Granger," he exhaled
regretfully. "What horrible thing are you going to do to yourself now?"

She laughed sorrowfully, feeling the tears well up behind her eyes. "I don't have a choice," she
said weakly. "I can't hide them, not by myself, so . . . "

"So you need them to hide themselves," he finished, his voice wavering. "You're going to modify
their memories."

She leaned back to look at him. "I have to, right?" she asked, trying to keep her voice firm. "I'll
just - I'll just make sure they want to go somewhere else, and that . . . that they don't remember
me." Her voice faltered at the end of the sentence.

He shook his head. "Fuck no, Granger," he said vehemently. "You know modifying memories
can be permanent, especially if you want the modified memory to be powerful enough to
withstand the Dark Lord if he somehow manages to find them - "

"I just can't live my life knowing that they're vulnerable, Draco!" she frantically half-shouted. "I
need to be able to walk away with a clean slate, and I can't do that - not if I'm not completely
confident that they're safe."

"What about them, Granger?" he asked, gripping her arms urgently. "You're taking their daughter
away from them, their only daughter - surely you should offer them the chance to make this
decision for themselves - "

"I can't do that," she said tearfully, shaking her head. "I can't leave them behind unless I know
they're no longer a target. And the only way they're not a target is if they're not David and Helen
Granger."

When she finally snuck a look at him, his expression was clearly pained.

"You're sure," he whispered sternly. "You're sure this is what you need?"

She nodded, covering her mouth with her hand as a tear tracked its way down her cheek. "Yes,"
she said. "Yes, this is what I need to do. This is what's best."

He exhaled sharply, looking like he wanted to curse himself. "Fine," he said curtly. "Then I'll do
it."

She rubbed furiously at her eyes. "No, Malfoy, I can - "

"I know you can," he said roughly, pulling her chin up to look her in the eye. "I know you can,
but I won't let you do it." He kissed her slowly - tasting her, savoring her. "Let me save a piece of
your soul this time," he whispered against her lips, and she let her forehead fall against his.

Chapter End Notes

a/n: I am breathless with excitement about how kind you have all been about the start
of this story and the end of Clean. I am honestly speechless. I can never thank you all
enough, truly. I've gotten a lot more reviews than I'm used to (seriously, again, I can't
say it enough, thank you) so as difficult as this will be, I'm going to try to stick to
dedicating each chapter to one or two individuals (as much as it pains me not to send
all of you your own individual baskets of assorted pastries). Without further ado, this
chapter is for: mojowitchcraft. I love your support and am very pleased you
recognized how Dudley reading the Daily Prophet is basically the same as me
scrolling through tumblr for entertaining gifs.

Post-submission update: Why is Bellatrix Lestrange not in Azkaban in 1985? Perhaps

it has taken a few years for the Wizengamot to build up a case against her, as she is
extremely wealthy in addition to being protected by more than one powerful magical
families. Or perhaps the wizard court system is as slow as the muggle ones when
trying a suspect for multiple counts of aggravated assault in a case against multiple
defendants. Or perhaps a mortified writer, who now owes chaos-mikka a debt of
gratitude in exchange for suspension of disbelief, made an extremely regrettable error
in timeline. Pick two . . .
 The Last Time
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter 3: The Last Time

The man who opened the door had precisely her golden brown eyes.

"Daddy," Hermione breathed, her face lighting up.

His expression glowed with happy surprise. "Hermione!" he exclaimed quickly, drawing her into
a comfortable hug. "Weren't we supposed to fetch you from King's Cross on Saturday?"

"Oh, I'm of age now, I don't need to use muggle transportation," she lied, her voice taking on an
unexpectedly high pitch as she subconsciously took half a step back and sheepishly eyed her
shoes.

"What?" Her father tilted his head at her, looking confused. "But we picked you up at Christmas -
"

She felt Malfoy stir beside her and she nearly jumped. "Oh, Daddy, I almost forgot - this is
Draco," she said cautiously, shifting her shoulder back to allow Malfoy to step into view. "Draco,
this is my father, David - "

" - this isn't Draco Malfoy, is it?" her father interrupted, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.
Hermione bit her lip nervously; she'd had the luxury of managing to forget who Malfoy had been
before all of the turmoil of the the last six months. The last her parents had heard about the pale
blond standing beside her was very much a reflection of a rather unsavory Malfoy of the past.
"This isn't the Draco Malfoy? The one who called you a - "

She coughed loudly, looking down.

"I regret to see my reputation precedes me," Malfoy interrupted, his face showing rare traces of
genuine disappointment. She watched with fascination as Malfoy looked intensely at her father,
his eyes betraying the kind of sincerity that, until now, only she had been privy to. "Whatever
choice words you've reserved for me, I assure you, Mr. Granger, I deserve them."

Hermione's heart thudded as her father crossed his arms sternly, letting his eyes flick up and down
Malfoy's form. "Maybe you should go first," the older man prompted, waiting.

Malfoy glanced at her wearily and she gave him a weakly apologetic smile, suddenly
comprehending the uneasy expression that had blanketed his face just prior to her knocking on the
door.

"What are you hoping to accomplish tonight, Granger?" he had asked only moments before.
"Surely you're not planning to accost them - "

"No, no," she'd assured him softly. "I - I think I'd like us to have dinner with them, if that's okay."

He'd eyed her closely for a moment before nodding his impassive agreement. "Okay," he'd said
simply.

There had been no questions, no complications, despite her glimpsing a window of anxiety in his
stormy grey eyes. She only now understood that its appearance had meant he'd seen this coming,
even if she had not.

She felt another flicker of overwhelming gratitude to him - a moment of rapidly compounded
appreciation and adoration and affection and thankfulness and love - knowing he'd been willing to
brave the storm without complaint, and purely because she'd asked him to. That was the Draco
Malfoy she had so desperately wanted her parents to know, before she was forced to say goodbye.

Malfoy was still looking at her when he opened his mouth to reply.

"I was raised to believe in someone else's truths," he uttered quietly, the implications of the
statement ringing in the space between them as he finally tore his eyes away from hers to look
respectfully at her father. "She showed me hers, and now hers and mine are the same."

Hermione suspected Malfoy had more to say, but the way he shifted uncomfortably seemed to
indicate that this moment, as they stood warily on the threshold to her home, hadn't struck him as
the time or place.

"Okay," her father pronounced uncertainly after a moment's pause. "If Hermione can look past
your behavior - "

" - which I have," she interrupted hurriedly.

" - then I suppose for now I can accept your premise," her father finished, though he did not
appear to have made much of a concession.

Malfoy winced apologetically. "I suspect she's smarter than both of us," he admitted, his eyes
flicking back to her face. "She certainly knew something about me that I didn't."

"She's a bright girl, my Hermione," her father agreed, finally throwing an arm around her and
moving to grant them entry to the house. "She certainly doesn't get it from me."

"Oh stop, Daddy," Hermione said exasperatedly, though she clung to her father's side.

She didn't want to let go. After all, it could be the last time, she thought painfully. It could be the
last time he put his arm around her like that.

She had the same thought a little bit later. It could be the last time, she thought again, when her
mother held out her arms and marveled at how fine she looked.

It could be the last time, she thought as she took her seat across from her parents, pulling the ivory
cloth napkins her mother reserved for special occasions into her lap, laughing at her mother's story
about an unruly patient with a penchant for cavities.

"Cavities?" Malfoy had asked, and her parents had frowned.

"Do you have time for a checkup?" her mother asked innocently.

"No," Hermione insisted hastily, hoping to spare him the agony. "Malfoy has perfect teeth."

It could be the last time, she thought as she watched her parents share the knowing glance she'd
seen so many times before, the shared look between longtime romantic partners who were
coincidentally also dubious dental professionals.

"Of course he does," her mother tossed out noncommittally, smiling warmly even as her voice
carried hints of Hermione's own bossy air of general skepticism.
It could be the last time, she thought as she fought the urge to squirm in her seat, listening to her
mother tease her about her bookishness.

"I have to say, Draco," her mother said innocently, carefully placing her fork beside her plate. "I'm
surprised to see that Hermione stopped reading long enough to find a boy to bring home."

"Mum!" Hermione yelped, blushing, but Malfoy merely wiped his mouth delicately with his
napkin, replacing it nonchalantly in his lap.

"Your daughter does have a certain proclivity for academia," he acknowledged with a charming
shrug. "But I'm afraid I'm quite taken with her."

"Oh?" her mother asked, her hazel eyes dancing as she watched Hermione's cheeks flush.

"Yes," Malfoy replied seriously. "Quite taken, in fact." He glanced over at Hermione and she
rolled her eyes at him, entertained by his rhetoric. She had to hand it to him - the young Malfoy
heir certainly knew how to charm a mother. "And frankly it's been nothing but hardship, having to
undergo such a disruptive change of heart."

Her father chewed thoughtfully, eyeing the pale young man. "A change of heart?" he echoed,
waiting.

"Yes," Malfoy said somberly. "I won't pretend I wasn't cruel in the past." The glance he gave her
father was sharp and unyielding. "I won't pretend that I wasn't an intolerant bully."

Her father's half-smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. "That's certainly good to hear," he
replied airily, and Hermione watched both men closely, stunned silent with curious fascination.

"What Gr- I mean, what Hermione has done for me, it's more than I could have ever asked,"
Malfoy assured him. There was a barely perceptible tremor to his voice that served to indicate
sincerity without betraying a single trace of hesitation. "She's far too good for me, sir, but I
promise" - he paused, putting weight on the word and leaning conspiratorially towards her father -
"I will always take care of her. She'll want for nothing, so long as she lets me stay around."

"She is everything to me," Malfoy added quietly after a moment, sitting back in his chair with the
air of someone who'd betrayed the last of his secrets.

Hermione, dumbfounded, watched her father nod slowly as the two men reached an unspoken
agreement, the muggle and the pureblood finding unexpected common ground for the first time.

It could be the last time, she thought, her heart full and waiting to be emptied.

Ron Weasley was having an epically bad day, and that was saying something, considering he'd
once almost been murdered by giant spiders.

"I don't understand," he told Harry for the second or third or ninth time that hour. "I don't see why
we can't just go to the Burrow. My dad will sort everything out - "

"I just don't know if that's a good idea," Harry said impatiently. "I've already said this, Ron, I just
think we need to be very careful about what we do next."

"Since when is asking the Order for help not being careful?" Ron demanded irritably.

Harry closed his eyes as though trying to control his temper, which only served to infuriate Ron
further. "Come on, Ron," Harry repeated. "You know we can't, not when we haven't figured out
what to do about Malfoy - "

"Would you listen to yourself, Harry?" Ron snapped, standing up to pace through Harry's
crowded bedroom. "Since when do we concern ourselves with what to do about Malfoy?"

If Ron hadn't been sick of Malfoy before, to say that he was at this point would be a wild
understatement. It had been one thing when Malfoy had been merely the focus of Harry's
suspicious scrutiny. Harry's investigation into Malfoy's comings and goings had been an odd pet
project of sorts, but even when it had been at its worst, Ron had found it nothing more than simply
tiresome in spurts.

But where it came to Hermione . . . that was a different matter altogether.

"You'll just have to accept it, Ron," Harry said bluntly. He'd been significantly more
understanding the first time they'd had this conversation, but his patience was obviously wearing
thin. "What happened in that tower involves him, and there's just no getting around it."

"But doesn't it make more sense for Malfoy to be on his own?" Ron pressed, frustrated. "We can't
just run around hunting for horcruxes with a famously dead git on our hands - "

"Ron - "

" - we'd just be asking to get caught, honestly - "

"Ron, listen - "

" - you should really have a talk with Hermione, get her to see some bloody sense before this all
goes to shit - "

"RON!"

He blinked. "What?"

Harry eyed him wearily. "Do you really want to force Hermione to choose between us and
Malfoy right now?" he asked quietly. "Are you sure you want to know what her answer would
be?"

Ron drew himself up angrily. "What are you saying, Harry?"

"I'm saying she loves him, Ron," Harry said gently. "If you make her choose, you might not like
what she decides."

Ron shook his head adamantly. "No, Harry, she would choose us - of course she would choose us
-"

"I don't think she would," Harry interrupted sadly, naked pity filling his green eyes as he watched
Ron from where he sat. "I'm sorry Ron, but I think that right now, she would choose him."

Ron didn't want to admit the truth. That was obvious, of course, because if he did - if he could just
admit to himself everything that he'd already heard Harry say - he wouldn't be having this
conversation again.

Because the truth - the actual, real, painful truth, at the heart of it all - wasn't just that Hermione
would choose Malfoy, it was that Hermione had already chosen Malfoy. The very worst of it was
that Ron didn't even know how long she'd been choosing Malfoy. How long had she loved him?
When Ron had been telling her he loved her, finally expressing the feelings he'd been keeping to
himself for years, had she loved Malfoy even then? Had it been nothing to her, watching him bare
his soul for her? Had she watched him with pity? Had they laughed about it afterwards, the two of
them? Had they lain next to each other and laughed, the slimy blond bigot's hands pressing into
her naked hip? Had the secret, forbidden lovers whispered to each other about what a fool he was,
foolish Ron Weasley, to have found comfort in a love that he'd only imagined?

He'd known the whole time, somehow, even when it had seemed crazy that Hermione Granger,
brilliant and kind, would choose Draco Malfoy, arrogant and despicable. And not only had she
chosen him, but she'd had the nerve to make Ron, her oldest friend besides Harry, feel like a
monster for suspecting.

He wanted to hate her. And maybe part of him did.

"Maybe we should just imperius her," Ron muttered. "Or just physically remove her, she's not that
strong - "

"If you want to face lifelong wrath from Hermione Granger, you go ahead and be my guest,"
Harry scoffed with a shrug. "But you might be better off giving him a chance."

"Malfoy?" Ron felt his expression devolve into a mask of open disgust. "Since when do you side
with Malfoy?"

"I don't," Harry said quickly. "But I trust Hermione. And frankly, he's not exactly useless - you
saw him obliviate the Death Eaters, and he might be able to help us with the horcruxes. I mean, he
had access to the inside - "

"How can you say that so casually?" Ron said, horrified. "He didn't just have access to the inside,
he was a Death Eater - and now you think you can just blindly trust him?"

Harry barely bothered to conceal a look of frustration. "Ron, obviously I haven't forgotten - "

"You have! Evidently you have, and - and she has - but I haven't!" Ron yelled, clenching his fists.
"He has hatred in his blood, Harry!"

"So what do you suppose we should do then, Ron?" Harry argued pointedly. "Go without
Hermione? We wouldn't last a day."

Ron shook his head uncertainly, grumbling. "I can't believe you're not even willing to try to talk
some sense into her - "

"I talked to him, Ron," Harry said, broaching the subject delicately. "And I know you don't want
to hear it, but I think that whatever is going on between them is genuine - I believe him - "

"You talked to him?" Ron uttered blankly. "You talked to him without me?"

"You're hardly in the right state of mind to have that conversation," Harry reminded him. "And I
certainly don't blame you for that, obviously, but - "

Something about the way this conversation was progressing suddenly struck a nerve in Ron's
already fragile constitution. Losing Hermione was a blow to his ego; it was a strike to his heart,
but eventually, maybe, he could heal. But Harry . . .

"You support them?" Ron said, dumbfounded. "Are - are you and Malfoy like, friends now, or
something?"

"No, Ron, you're not listening - "

"Then what do you need me for?" Ron roared angrily, his pulse quickening. "What do you need
me for, if you've made nice with Hermione and you have her Death Eater boyfriend waiting in the
wings? He's clearly much more useful to you, so why should I even be here - "

" - Ron, please - "

" - I'm just your best friend who's almost died beside you so many times I've actually stopped
counting - "

" - Ron, you're upset, just listen to me - "

"What else is he going to take from me, Harry?" Ron demanded, his chest heaving as he struggled
to catch his breath. He ran his hand through his thick red hair, grasping the roots of it angrily in his
fingers. "What more will you let him take from me?"

Harry's features softened abruptly. "Ron, no - "

There was a tap at the window and they both jumped, startled. There was a large, official-looking
brown owl waiting expectantly in Harry's windowsill, and for a moment, both boys promptly
abandoned their argument.

"Harry," Ron said slowly, ignoring the dignified owl's impatient hoots, "were you . . . expecting
something?"

"No," Harry replied uneasily. He took a step forward, eyeing the large envelope that was attached
to the brown owl's foot.

"Harry," Ron said again, feeling his stomach turn. "Does that seal say - "

" - 'Ministry of Magic'?" Harry finished for him, turning the letter over carefully in his hands.

Harry looked up, his face colorless with panic, meeting Ron's fearful glance with a wide-eyed
stare of his own. "Yes, Ron," he said numbly. "Yes, it does."

After dinner, Draco found Granger in her living room, holding a small silver frame in her hand
and staring vacantly at the mantle.

He reached out to touch her elbow. "Granger," he said softly, pulling her gently to him and resting
his chin on her shoulder.

She cleared her throat, leaning her head back against his chest. "This was after my first ballet
recital," she said, gesturing to the picture in her hand. He took the frame from her, smiling.

"Funny," he commented. "I never saw you as the ballerina type."

"I wasn't," she croaked. "I'm not."

"Well then, maybe this isn't a memory you need to hold onto," he said matter-of-factly, replacing it
on the mantle. "Maybe you don't need any of this," he added, gesturing to the variety of images
and letting his hand rest on a picture of Granger as a toddler, frozen uncomfortably in an odd,
unflattering glamour shot.

She let out a tiny peal of laughter. "Maybe not that one," she agreed, wincing.

"I know this is hard for you," he added, running his fingers up and down her arm. "We don't have
to drag it out, if this is too difficult."

She blinked sadly. "It is difficult," she admitted. "I'm just trying to catalogue every moment, you
know?" She sighed, leaning into him again. "I'm so scared I'll forget."

"Forget what? That your parents love you? That they adore you and admire you?" he murmured
into her neck. "I won't let you forget, Granger."

And he meant it, too. He had suspected this would be a somewhat pointlessly torturous exercise
for her, forcing herself to behave normally while knowing precisely what she had to do before the
night was over. But he wanted to at least leave her with the comfort of knowing her parents had
approved of him - and so he'd struggled through every moment, trying to cement that belief in her
mind. He fought every instinct he had so as not to see the muggle strangers before him; he'd
fought to see instead the source of Granger's warm golden eyes, her voracious mind, her
pervading goodness, her indescribable light. He tried for her sake to see her in them, while aiming
to be what they might have someday seen in him - someone who could be worthy of her love.

But he wasn't perfect. He was no angel. And after seeing the hollow look in his witch's eye, he
resolved to take care of things his way, starting right now.

He turned her towards him, kissing her forehead and leading her gently to one of the plush
armchairs by the fireplace. "Stay here," he told her, pressing her into the seat.

The look she gave him was startled and pained. "Malfoy - "

"Stay here," he repeated, leaning over her and tucking a loose curl behind her ear. "Don't ask
questions."

"But - "

"I won't let you forget," he said again, and waited until her brown eyes registered a sense of
recognition and relief before he turned and walked into the other room, his fingers lingering on
Dumbledore's wand in his pocket.

The two muggles were cleaning up in the kitchen; Granger's father was washing the dishes while
her mother dried them, wandering around and placing plates in stacks behind cabinets. It was
almost fascinating to Draco, watching them do this. At his home, his mother had never lifted a
finger, and it was the elves who usually attended to after-dinner cleanup. But clearly, the Grangers
bore an indescribable warmth toward each other, and for that, he felt oddly comforted on
Granger's behalf. Her parents visibly loved each other; they wouldn't be unhappy, he thought. He
may have to deprive them of a daughter, but at least they wouldn't be alone.

He experienced a brief, squeamish moment of sadness as his mind leapt to contrast the muggle
couple in the kitchen with his mother, who he'd left behind with nothing but his ghost of a father
and their cold-blooded houseguest, but instantly shoved the feeling aside, steadying himself for the
task at hand.

"Dinner was lovely, Mrs. Granger," Draco said innocently, lingering in the corner as he watched
the muggle couple wander about the room. "What did you call the pasta dish?"

Draco had found that it was best, when it came to altering memories, to find a way to bring the
most pliable thoughts to the forefront of the subject's mind.

"The tagliatelle?" Helen asked. "Oh, it's a favorite of Hermione's."

"I have an Italian friend who also has a liking for pasta," Draco commented, thinking of Blaise.
"His mother is from Rome."

"Ah, we went to Rome once," David said, a smile flickering across his face. "A long time ago."

Draco ran his fingers uneasily along the curved edges of Dumbledore's wand, hidden discreetly
behind his back. "Did you enjoy it there?"

"I did," David said, sharing a smile with his wife. "We both did."

"I've never been," Draco said thoughtfully, though this was not technically true. There was a
Baroque-era Malfoy estate in Southern Italy that his mother had occasionally brought him to - not
that that fact was relevant at this particular moment. "Do you recommend it?"

"Oh yes," Helen said with an enthusiastic nod. "Rome is wonderful. Though David and I have
been thinking more recently of seeing Sydney."

"Yes," David agreed, nodding. "We've never been to Australia."

Draco knew that once the thought was planted, most of his work was done for him. He merely
had to craft the image properly and add a flick of his wand.

"That sounds wonderful," Draco said. "A trip for just the two of you sounds idyllic," he added,
his voice lingering deliberately on the word two.

Granger's parents looked at each other, sharing another warm smile. "True," Helen said.
"Hermione's a lovely travel partner, but we haven't gone on a trip together in a long time. Work,
you know," she added regretfully.

Draco was only half listening, thinking of details. Names? It would have to be something either he
or Granger would remember, once they would be able to track them down. He reached around the
corners of his mind for something that would be passable in muggle society, despite not quite
having a firm handle on what that would be.

There had been a muggle-born two years above her in Gryffindor whose family name was
Wilkins, he remembered . . . and he'd once had a governess named Monica, which he suspected
would suit Helen just fine . . . and his father had worked with a kind, stately man named Wendell
at the ministry, once, who had a similar good-natured air . . .

"Of course," Draco noted sympathetically, nodding as he mentally rejoined the conversation.
"Though my parents have always said it would be a travesty to put work before family."

"Truer words were never spoken," David proclaimed, nodding vigorously. "I suppose the teeth of
London could do without us for a few days."

Or longer, Draco thought with a grimace, gripping the wand tightly as he started to piece together
their vision.

Monica and Wendell Wilkins. He supposed they could still be dentists; even by muggle standards,
it seemed a commonplace occupation.

Monica and Wendell Wilkins, who want to go to Australia.

He swallowed uncomfortably.

Monica and Wendell Wilkins, who have no children.

"I'll take care of your daughter," Draco whispered, though neither David nor Helen heard him,
occupied as they were with the dishes.

He raised Dumbledore's wand.

Obliviate.

Theo followed Narcissa down a long hallway he'd been intimately familiar with for nearly all of
his life. It was the hallway leading to Draco's room - though it was really more like Draco's wing,
in reality. To say Malfoy Manor was expansive would be a heinous understatement. While Draco
had lived there, he had claimed multiple rooms for himself, designing among numerous things a
library - a more sparse version of his father's, filled with school books and literature rather than
rarities and heirlooms - as well as a room devoted to his quidditch obsession, complete with a
collection of high-end brooms. Each individual room was neat and minimalistic, like Draco
himself, but altogether they spanned at least a quarter of the Malfoy's estate.

Not that that on its own was enough to impress Theo, of course, who'd had his own fair share of
luxuries. After all, he was no less a pureblood aristocrat's son than Draco.

"It's like a shrine to him in here," Theo noted eerily as they walked, eyeing the way nothing was
out of place. "How can you stand it?"

"I don't come here," Narcissa replied flatly.

"Fair enough," Theo said, grimacing. He rubbed his left wrist uncomfortably.

Narcissa stopped abruptly in the hallway, catching his motion. "How does it look?" she asked,
more clinical than curious.

"Beautiful," Theo said darkly. "It really screams me, you know?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, impatient. "Show me."

He peeled back the cuff of his sleeve obediently, revealing the Mark. She yanked his arm up
roughly, looking closely at the broken skin.

"His reacted this way too," she commented coldly, running her cool thumb along the raw, raised
flesh. "It didn't take right away."

Theo did not enjoy the feel of her tight grip around his wrist. "Yeah, well," he shrugged. "Not
sure what I'm supposed to do about it."

"Remind me to give you a balm for it," she said, releasing her grip on his arm as her voice
regained a slightly maternal quality for the first time in days. "Draco's calmed down after a month
or so."

"A month?" Theo grumbled, rubbing his wrist unhappily. "Delightful."

"Don't let the Dark Lord see it," she said warningly. "It's not a good sign that it looks like that."

"Not for him, anyway," Theo agreed, smirking. They paused at the door to Draco's bedroom.
"Are you coming in?"

"No." She seemed to be having trouble even looking at his door, which was marked as everything
Draco owned had been, with an elaborate scripted M. "Just come find me when you're finished."
He nodded. "Thank you," he offered, though she didn't seem to have a use for his gratitude. She
walked away quickly and Theo sighed, pushing the door open hesitantly.

He half expected Draco to be sitting on his bed, looking up irritably, obnoxiously tossing out a
"Fucking knock, would you Nott?" or something of the sort. Instead, the painfully empty room
carried a thin, weak atmosphere of stillness, as though even the furniture knew its owner would
not be returning. It felt as though even the dust could not be bothered to settle in his absence.

Narcissa had placed Draco's wand in a glass case on his dresser; an odd choice, Theo thought,
given the more appropriate nature of Draco's library or study, but he suspected she hadn't put
much thought into it. The wand looked lonely and forlorn, and seemed to buzz morosely - or
maybe that was just the energy emanating from Theo himself.

Either way, it was not a happy occasion.

Theo picked up the hawthorn wand, eyeing it from all angles, as though there was any useful
information to be gained from that. It didn't work - he gleaned nothing, of course, but what the
fuck did he expect?

"Tell me your secrets," he muttered to the wand, placing it on Draco's bed and pulling his own
wand out of his pocket for the spell. "Prior incantato."

The wand seemed to sputter before releasing a thin, hologram-like vision of Yaxley, who
appeared to be in some kind of unconscious state. Theo frowned, racking his brain for every
possible version of the story that he'd heard; hadn't Yaxley said he was stunned by an Order
member?

The next to appear was Bellatrix, whose echo slipped out of the wand in a similar fashion, her
ghostlike image facedown on the ground. At this, Theo began to feel extremely uneasy; he knew
for a fact that Bellatrix had never mentioned being stunned in any capacity, whether by Draco or
by an alternate assailant.

By the time the strange, translucent bodies of Rowle, Greyback, and the Carrows began to form
around him, Theo had entered a thorough state of panic, looking around at the multitude of
unconscious echoed beings around him. Either Draco had been the one to stun all of these Death
Eaters - which was unlikely, given the volume alone - or he had done something to them while
they were unconscious. And as if that fact were not bad enough on its own, given the additional
fact that only Yaxley seemed to distinctly recall having been stunned, that likely meant that the
Death Eaters had to have had their memories tampered with.

Theo lowered his wand abruptly, breaking the incantation as Snape's warning registered in his
mind. Whatever had happened to Draco, the incantations on his wand seemed to indicate that he
had to have been more than just a cog in the machine, somehow - though to the best of his ability,
Theo couldn't think how. Was Draco even powerful enough to modify a memory with sufficient
skill to evade detection by the Dark Lord? Could someone else have used his wand to cast these
spells?

Theo's heart started to race remembering another key detail that had conspicuously been missing
from Draco's past incantations. There had been no Avada Kedavra echo on this wand, Theo
realized, eyeing it fearfully.

Who had killed Dumbledore, then?

The door opened behind him and he dropped Draco's wand clumsily, letting it clatter to the floor.
 "Narcissa," he breathed, relieved. "I thought you didn't - "

She was avoiding looking around the room. "I was told to find you," she said by way of
explanation, pointedly not watching as Theo bent to pick up her son's wand from the floor. "Did
you find what you needed?"

"Yes and no," he said fiercely, stepping forward and pressing Draco's wand into her hands.. "You
need to destroy this," he told her urgently. "You need to destroy it, fast, and make sure nobody
sees you do it."

She frowned, furrowing her brow. "Why? What did you - "

"You don't want to know," he said carefully. He was beginning to understand Snape's doctrine of
calculated ignorance. "Trust me, Narcissa. Leave this in my hands."

She took the wand from him uncertainly. "Are you sure?"

He nodded, his lips pressed tightly into a hard, thin line. "Do it. Do it now."

Her fingers curled around Draco's wand as she nodded her regretful assent. "Fine," she said,
though he could see her unwillingness to even consider parting with the last remaining piece of
her son. "But you need to go. The Dark Lord is asking for you."

Theo's eyes narrowed. "Why?" he asked ominously, knowing there was no possible good answer
for this.

Narcissa grimaced darkly. "He has a task for you."

Theo felt his blood run cold.

Chapter End Notes

a/n: Sorry this one was a bit later than normal - still planning to stick to an every 3
day schedule but this weekend got away from me a bit. This chapter is for Archive of
Our Own reader gay_briel (for those of you who prefer to read over there, Marked
will go up tonight) who so far is Theo's biggest fan, and for CheeseyBri as an
apology, because sadly, as you can see, Ron is still not as chill as you might have
hoped . . .
 The Reason
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter 4: The Reason

"Granger - Granger, wait, would you please just slow down - "

He sped up slightly to chase her as she trotted forward, her arms crossed protectively over her
chest. She released her rigid posture only once, to wipe her hand across her face furiously in a
single and only marginally effective sweeping motion.

"We can't apparate from here, Malfoy," she said distractedly. "And I have to think of where we
could go in Little Whinging that won't alert the Ministry - "

"No you don't," he reminded her breathlessly. "We already agreed on that - "

He collided into her stiffened form as she stopped abruptly. "You're right," she said blankly,
blinking. "You're right, I'm sorry, I - I forgot - "

He sighed, patting her shoulder. "It's okay, Gr- "

"Don't!" she yelped suddenly, bringing her hands to her face and shrinking from his touch as
though he had stung her. "Don't call me that right now."

He winced. "I'm sorry - Hermione," he said gently. "But it's okay - it's okay, you don't have to
apologize - "

"I just - I can't think right now," she said, a pale, anguished look taking over her face. "I - I can't -
"

"Of course you can't," he said sympathetically, trying to pull her towards him. "It's okay - "

"No!" she shrieked. "No, no, if I can't think - if I can't focus, and be perfectly logical about this - I
- I just can't - "

The tormented look on her face dealt him a hard blow right to the chest.

"You don't have to be logical right now," he insisted calmly.

She shook her head vigorously. "Don't patronize me, Malfoy," she snapped.

"I'm not patronizing you," he said indignantly, taken aback. "I'm just trying to - I don't know, ease
the burden - "

"I don't need my burden eased!" she said, teeming with frustration. "I can handle this." She
straightened, seemingly oblivious to the tears actively pooling in her eyes. "I'm fine. This was the
logical thing to do."

"Yes," he agreed hesitantly, physically made uncomfortable by Granger's emotional disturbance

and entirely uncertain how to proceed. "But - "

"This was the logical thing to do," she repeated determinedly. "And I am logical." She closed her
eyes briefly, letting a rogue tear escape down her face before looking at him with a startlingly
eyes briefly, letting a rogue tear escape down her face before looking at him with a startlingly
pleading glance. "Right?"

He furrowed his brow, frowning. "What? Of course - "

"If I'm not," she cut in, turning to him and placing both her fists against his chest, "If I'm not
perfectly intelligent and focused and rational, then what am I?" Her gaze filled with horror. "If I'm
not perfectly logical - then who am I?"

Draco gripped her arms tightly. "You're Hermione Granger," he said intensely. "It doesn't matter
who your parents think they are - you're still Hermione Granger, and you're the brightest witch of
your - "

She cut him off with a broken wail. "I'm not," she sobbed, collapsing forward. "I'm not, I'm - I'm
just a mudblood - "

He shook her forcefully. "No," he said furiously. "Don't you say that fucking word - "

"Why not?" she asked manically, laughing harshly as she narrowed her eyes. "You've called me
that a million times."

"How many times have I told you not to compare yourself to me?" he hissed bitterly. "I'm an idiot,
I always have been - "

"I'll never belong, Malfoy," she said sadly, a chilling fear filling her golden eyes. "I'm the product
of muggles and now they're gone - I've lost my family - "

"So have I," he reminded her swiftly, his heart leaping to his throat as his chest tightened. "So
have I."

She let out a rasping sob and hung her head guiltily.

He cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to look up. "What I just did to your parents was
fucking horrible, I know," he said. "And if you want me to go back and undo it, I swear to you, I
will." He paused, taking her hand. "But Gr- Hermione, you were right to keep them safe. And
you won't be alone. I'll be here, and I - "

He cut himself off, swearing. "Fuck," he said, running his hand through his hair. "Fuck."

She eyed him curiously, startled by his outburst. "What?"

He sighed irritably. "Just - don't make me say it. I've talked about my feelings so much today, I
swear - I'm worse than a fucking Hufflepuff - "

"What?" she said again, interrupting. "What is it?"

Draco rubbed his temple and grimaced, reserving all of his effort not to roll his eyes as he prepared
himself to say the foolish words out loud. "You belong with me, okay?" He sighed again. "It's
fucking cheesy but it's true. You just - I don't know." He shrugged. "You belong with me."

The weak smile she gave him was immensely gratifying and he eyed her sheepishly. "Do you still
have the ring I gave you?"

"Oh," she exclaimed, reaching into her pocket. "Yes - I meant to give it back to you - "

He held out his hand and she placed it in the center of his palm. "I don't want it back," he said
coolly, looking around to assure himself that nobody was watching before pulling out his wand.
He transfigured the heavy ring quickly, turning it into a small round pendant on a thin gold chain
and gesturing for her to turn around. "I just didn't think it would fit you that way," he said,
brushing her wild curls out of the way and fastening it around her neck.

She turned to face him, clutching the M pendant between her fingers and fixing him with a look of
adoration that was, frankly, quite fucking arousing. No wonder men gave women jewelry, he
thought, trying to suppress the feeling.

"You want me to wear it?" she asked, her voice hoarse.

He nodded impatiently. "I gave it to you," he reminded her, shrugging evasively.

She bit her lip. "Yes, but - "

"No buts," he said quickly. "Sorry if it's not to your taste," he added apologetically, suddenly
insecure about whether or not she'd wanted to wear it.

"No, no," she assured him quickly. "It's beautiful, and it's - it's perfect - I just can't believe that you
would - "

She stopped, her mouth opening and closing wordlessly as she tried to form cohesive thoughts.
"Why?" she asked finally, still gaping at him.

He smirked a little. Of course she needed to hear why.

"Because," he said vaguely. "You're Hermione Granger, and I'm Draco Malfoy, and we can do
what we want. Family or no family," he added firmly. "You're not alone."

She hung her head quickly. "Malfoy, I - I just don't even know what to do with you anymore,"
she said, wiping her eyes and sniffing. "To borrow a phrase, I don't know how to handle you
being nice to me."

He laughed, pulling her into his chest and dropping a kiss on her forehead. "I'll help you out
then," he said airily. "I need to talk about me."

She pulled back, eyeing him. "Sounds important," she commented sarcastically.

"Actually, it might be," he said, treading delicately. "It's - it's this wand."

She frowned. "What about it?"

"It's - " He stopped, not sure how to phrase it. "There's something about it that's kind of strange."

She had a blank look on her face. "I don't understand. Is it not working for you?"

"No," he assured her quickly. "It's definitely working - it's almost working too well." He rubbed
his thumb across the smooth wood. "It feels like part of me - like I don't even have to try."

"That's good, right?" she asked. "I would have assumed it would be the other way around,
considering it's someone else's wand."

"I thought so too," he agreed. "But when I was - well, in there" - he gestured with his head in the
direction of her parents' house - "it's like I couldn't feel where my mind ended and my magic
began. Like the wand was helping me, kind of." He frowned. "That's crazy, right?"

She paused for a moment, thinking about it. "Well, it was Dumbledore's wand," she said carefully.
"Maybe that has something to do with it?"

He shrugged. "It's probably not important," he said lightly, though internally he disagreed.

Something about the wand was strange, and became stranger still each time he used it. It was as if
the wand was learning him, somehow, and it left him vaguely uncomfortable. His own wand had
been a cherished possession - naturally - and he'd been hesitant to part with it, but even
considering the extensive advanced magic he had performed with it, it had still always felt like
little more than a vessel. This one, though - this wand felt like a limb. Even now, it seemed to buzz
contentedly in his palm, as though hungrily awaiting its next command.

What's next?

He could practically feel the question in the soul of the wood.

When he refocused on Granger, she was nodding her head with a smile, holding out her hand for
his. "Come on," she said, sighing deeply. "Let's go get Harry and Ron."

As soon as their fingers touched he felt himself sucked into the air around him and he braced
himself, waiting for the impact.

When she and Malfoy walked through the door of 4 Privet Drive, Harry, Ron, and Dudley were
sitting in the living room, not speaking.

Hermione nodded politely at Dudley before peering around the house. "Are they - "

"Asleep," Harry said quickly, and Ron grunted his agreement. Neither of them were looking at
her.

Beside her, Malfoy bristled. "What's going on?" he asked suspiciously, his pale eyes narrowing.

"This," Harry said bluntly, holding up a letter. "It's from the Ministry of Magic."

"What?" Hermione exclaimed, rushing to him and taking the letter from his hands. "Give me that -
"

Dear Mr. Potter,

I'm sure you are aware by now the rumors that have been circulating regarding the Battle of the
Astronomy Tower at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and your alleged participation
in the deaths of Albus Dumbledore and Draco Malfoy. We at the Ministry have always been
fervent believers in you

Hermione stopped to let out a harsh bark of laughter. "Fervent believers, indeed," she said
irritably, before returning her attention to the letter.

and we would like to offer you the opportunity to come forward of your own accord. As you
know, the influence of the Dark Lord has been pervasive, and I am not fool enough to ignore the
possibility that the Daily Prophet may have fallen into unsympathetic hands.

"Well, there's that," Hermione murmured to herself.

Please understand that my faith in you, while echoed within the more loyal corners of the
Ministry, is not exclusive of the understanding that you are the Chosen One. Establishing your
whereabouts, if my suspicions regarding your innocence are correct, is a matter of utmost
importance. Even with the strength that I bring to the Ministry, it does the public no favors to rid
them of what, to some, seems their only hope.

"True," Hermione muttered. "They need you to be innocent to serve their own goals. Politicians,"
she added skeptically under her breath.

Please know that while we do not currently know your whereabouts - here she sighed with relief -
if we are alerted, we will have to arrest you.

"Fair," Malfoy commented grimly, reading over her shoulder.

However, I am giving you the opportunity to surrender yourself to me. If this letter finds you,
please, I urge you to come straight to me. We find ourselves in dark times, Mr. Potter, and I must
urge you to take advantage of your allies, wherever you can find them.

Sincerely,

Rufus Scrimgeour

Minister for Magic

"Well," Malfoy said after a moment, looking up at Harry and Ron. "I assume you've both had
time to marinate on this."

"Yes," Harry said, pursing his lips. "Though we thought it was best to wait until Herm- er, until
you both returned," he corrected himself awkwardly, his eyes flitting down.

Hermione watched as Malfoy snorted indignantly. "You don't have to pretend you don't just mean
her, Potter," he said, as if Harry's hesitation was ludicrous. "Who gives a fuck what I think, she's
the brains of the operation - "

"At least we agree on that," Ron spouted bitterly.

"Look," Hermione interrupted. "Obviously we should all discuss this, it concerns all of us - "

"I think we should contact Scrimgeour," Ron offered quickly. "It's like he said, Harry should take
advantage of his allies - "

"I'm not sure Scrimgeour is properly motivated enough to be considered an ally," Hermione said
hesitantly, attempting to dismiss Ron gently. "But that's not the issue. More pressingly, if Harry
comes forward proclaiming his innocence - "

" - all that does is force an investigation into the events of the tower," Harry finished bluntly, and
Malfoy nodded his agreement. Ron, who was watching Malfoy, seemed to bristle at this. "And if
they do that - if it comes out what really happened to Dumbledore and Malfoy - "

"That's Malfoy's problem," Ron said angrily. "He's - "

"No," Malfoy said sharply, cutting him off. "It's a problem for my family, yes, but primarily for
Granger."

Ron rose hastily. "Are you saying I'm not thinking about her?" he demanded, throwing down the
proverbial gauntlet. "Come over here and say that to my face, Malfoy - "

Hermione sighed wearily. "Stop," she commanded, glaring at Ron and then returning her attention
to Harry. "What do you want to do?" she asked, lowering her voice.
He sighed. "There's - there's actually more that I need to talk to you about, first."

Hermione instantly felt a heavy weight sink into her gut. "What?" she said instantly. "What is it?
What's wrong?"

Harry reached into his pocket and withdrew a gaudy locket that everyone else in the room had
very clearly forgotten about.

"What's that?"

All four heads snapped around; they'd also forgotten Dudley was in the room.

"It's a horcrux," Hermione said, at the same time Harry replied "It's a locket."

She looked sharply at him, sensing something unpleasant in his tone. "What?"

Harry shook his head, an inexplicable anguish evident on his face. "It's not the horcrux," he said
bleakly, his voice breaking. "It's a fake."

"A fake?"

Even she heard the faint squeak in her voice. Harry stood, opening the locket and handing her a
small slip of paper. "Read it," he said morosely.

"To the Dark Lord," she said, reading aloud. "I know I will be dead long before you read this but
I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and
intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you
will be mortal once more." She looked up. "It's signed R.A.B. - do you know who that is?"

Harry shook his head, weary with disappointment. "No, I don't."

"Not that it matters," Ron sniffed coldly from where he sat, "but neither do I."

"R.A.B.," Hermione repeated, tapping her lip lightly with her finger as she thought. "Who could
that be?"

"Um." She felt Malfoy's fingers come to rest gently on her arm. "Can I see it?" he asked, holding
out his hand. She nodded absentmindedly, handing it to him.

"I think I know who this is," Malfoy said slowly, and Hermione looked curiously at him, stunned.
He had raised his hands cautiously, offering a vague "I could be wrong" gesture, but he looked up
to catch Harry's eye. "I think it's Regulus Black."

Harry frowned. "Sirius's brother?"

"Who's Sirius?" Dudley interrupted, leaning forward.

"My godfather," Harry said quickly.

"And a relative of mine," Malfoy pointed out. He walked quickly to Harry. "Look, the Black
family is a lot like the Malfoy family - we put our initials on everything," he said pointedly, and
Hermione's fingers came instinctively to the M pendant that rested delicately on her chest.

Ron narrowed his eyes, catching her movement, but Harry and Malfoy were transfixed in
conversation.

"R.A.B. - Regulus Arcturus Black," Malfoy clarified. "There's a family tree in my father's study,
and the Black family is on it. I've seen those initials a thousand times - I'm almost positive this is
him."

"Right," Harry said animatedly, sitting up. "Regulus was a Death Eater - "

" - and none of us know what happened to him," Malfoy finished triumphantly, a rare enthusiasm
coloring his tone. "I remember Bellatrix saying 'he'd gotten what he deserved' - maybe this is
why."

"Wonderful, you've saved the day, Malfoy," Ron snapped. "Thank goodness we have your depth
of Death Eater knowledge."

"What's a Death Eater?" Dudley asked loudly, and Hermione winced.

"Um - I'll tell you later, Dudley," she said gently, not daring to look away from the ongoing
attempt at telekinetic murder that was clearly shared between Ron and Malfoy.

Harry, though, looked deep in thought. "Maybe it's still in Grimmauld Place," he thought aloud,
looking quickly at Hermione. "Should we try to go there?"

She winced. The Order would be expecting that.

"There might be an easier way," she suggested hesitantly. "Though I don't think you'll like it."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "What?" he asked carefully.

"Well," she said, biting her lip. "You could always just ask Kreacher."

Harry fell back against the chair, throwing his head back. "No," he whined. "But - "

"Spare Granger the broom journey, would you, Potter?" Malfoy said drily, and Ron's eyes flashed
again.

Harry sighed, leaning forward. "Fine," he conceded, frowning at Hermione. "Kreacher - "

There was a loud crack as the elf appeared in the room, followed by a second crack and the loud
sounds of a scuffle.

"Kreacher," Hermione said, rushing to what looked like a mobile pile of filthy old rags in the
center of the living room. "What's - "

"Dobby?" Harry asked, eyes wide with disbelief. "What are you - "

"Shh," Hermione said hurriedly. She would have cast a muffliato but she knew it would set off
Harry's trace; she was concerned that Kreacher or Dobby might have done so, but remembered
that house elves could apparate without setting off any alarms. Provided, of course, they did not
magically levitate a pudding onto someone's head, which in this house had been known to
happen.

Ron took hold of Dobby as Harry grabbed onto Kreacher, pulling them apart. "Dobby," Harry
panted, "what are you - "

"Dobby saw Kreacher leaving and he knew Harry Potter had summoned him!" Dobby cried in his
high-pitched voice. "Dobby wanted to help - "

"Kreacher had no choice but to come when Master summoned him," Kreacher informed them,
croaking irritably as he adjusted his rags. He paused, catching sight of Malfoy.
croaking irritably as he adjusted his rags. He paused, catching sight of Malfoy.

"My mistress's great-nephew?" Kreacher asked with confusion. "The Malfoy boy is alive?"

"You can't tell anyone," Harry said quickly. "Or give any hints, or - you know what, just make
sure nobody can know, okay? It's for his safety."

Both Dobby and Kreacher looked curiously at Harry.

"Master is friends with the Malfoy boy?"

"Harry Potter is friends with Dobby's old master?"

"We've all asked ourselves the same question," Ron muttered, and Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"I - it's a long story," Harry said quickly. "But Kreacher - I have a question." He held out the
locket. "Have you seen this before?"

Kreacher let out a sudden and unexpected wail. "M-Master Regulus!" he cried, before launching
himself against the coffee table, banging his head against the solid wooden leg.

"Kreacher!" Hermione cried, running to him again. "Kreacher, stop - "

"The Mudblood is speaking to Kreacher - "

"Don't call her that," Malfoy and Ron snapped in unison, eyeing each other warily.

Dobby looked at Hermione, his eyes wide with admiration. "Dobby thinks Kreacher should not
say such things," he crooned. "Dobby would never say such things to Harry Potter's friends - "

"I know, Dobby," she said kindly, smiling weakly at the elf's earnestness. "And it was so nice of
you to come along, to help Harry - "

"Dobby does not have much work to do at Hogwarts," he said cheerfully. "There are no students
and so no work for Dobby or the other elves."

"I guess I hadn't thought about that," Hermione said thoughtfully, biting her lip.

"Just ask him about the locket, Potter," Malfoy interjected. "We don't want to stay here much
longer, and none of us have slept in a couple of days - " He paused, looking a bit stunned. "Holy
shit, when was the last time we slept?"

"Right," Harry said faintly, turning quickly to the elf. "Kreacher, do you know of another locket
that Regulus might have had?"

Kreacher instantly launched himself at the coffee table again, and was restrained - barely - only by
Harry catching the edge of his rags on his outstretched fingertips.

"Master Regulus's locket," Kreacher wailed hoarsely. "Kreacher tried, he tried to destroy it, but he
could not - "

"Does that mean that's the real horcrux, then?" Dudley interrupted. Hermione found herself
pleasantly amused by Dudley's enthusiasm, in addition to being highly impressed by his surprising
ability to have followed along. She supposed it must be the most interesting thing he'd ever
experienced, particularly after living in a house like this one.

"Mate, do you even know what a horcrux is?" Ron asked curiously, but Dudley's response was
cut short by Harry's continued interrogation of his house elf.
"Is it in Sirius's house, Kreacher?" Harry asked urgently. "Is it still there?"

"No," Kreacher replied, clearly full of anguish. "No - Kreacher lost it - it was stolen - "

"Grab him before he beats himself up again, Potter," Malfoy interrupted quickly, and Harry leapt
to comply.

Malfoy had started to pace anxiously across the room, which was not missed by Hermione.

She reached out to touch his arm, ignoring the gasps from both Dobby and Kreacher. "Malfoy,"
she asked quietly. "What's wrong?"

"The Mudblood is touching the Malfoy boy - he is a pureblood heir - what would Kreacher's
Mistress say, what would Miss Cissy and Miss Bella say - "

"Shut up, Kreacher," Harry shouted instantly, and Kreacher's mouth opened and closed
noiselessly.

Hermione felt Malfoy shudder at his mother's name and she encircled his wrist gently with her
fingers. "Malfoy - "

"I just think we should get out of here," he said brusquely. "The Ministry already found you,
Potter, I really don't think it's safe to stay - "

Dudley let out a disappointed whimper, but Harry inclined his head slightly, a tacit affirmation.
"Well, you're not wrong," he said, frowning. "And considering my aunt and uncle could wake up
any moment and see us with a couple of elves, we probably should continue this conversation
elsewhere - but I just can't think of another place - "

Hermione bit her lip anxiously. "I think I have an idea," she said slowly, shaking her head. "But
on the other hand, it's mad."

They all looked at her expectantly.

"Well," she said, pursing her lips. "Where's the last place the Ministry would look? Or You-
Know-Who, for that matter?"

Harry shrugged.

Ron frowned uncertainly.

Malfoy eyed her closely, waiting.

"Dobby," she said, turning to the elf. "You said there's nobody at Hogwarts during the summer,
right?"

A look of understanding washed over Malfoy's face. "No," he said in disbelief.

"Yes," she replied, smirking.

"What on earth could have possibly possessed you to think this was a good idea?"

Theo felt his face twitch uncomfortably as he sat across from the dark haired man, fighting to
maintain his composure. Despite his effort, his sunken cheeks involuntarily formed an unpleasant
grimace. "I have my reasons, Severus."
The older wizard flinched. "What makes you think you can use my name, Mr. Nott?"

"We're equals now, aren't we?" Theo mused darkly, slowly rolling out the kinks in his neck. "All
equally favored in his eyes?"

"So that's it, then?" Snape snapped coldly, his dark eyes flashing. "You want power, is that it?
Recognition?"

"No," Theo replied listlessly. "And frankly, Severus, I'm hurt that you would leap to such an
inelegant conclusion."

Snape threw him a look of such supreme impatience that Theo had to fight the urge to shrink from
him. "Don't toy with me, Nott," he spat. "This was incredibly foolish of you."

"I know that - "

"You don't know," Snape hissed. "You have no idea what's about to be asked of you."

Unfortunately, this was not true. It was, in fact, painfully untrue, categorically false, and
desperately inaccurate, because at this point, Theo had already been assigned his first task.

"My Lord," he'd said the day before, struggling with how to address the monstrosity before him.
"Narcissa says you called for me."

"I did," Lord Voldemort had replied, seemingly entertained. "I need you to do something for me."

Theo inclined his head, a poorly mustered show of servitude. "How could I refuse?" he'd
responded evasively, not meeting the Dark Lord's eyes.

It was an impertinent choice of words, and Voldemort seemed to hum quietly to himself, watching
Theo. "You're not much like your father," he commented drily.

Theo fought to contain an eye roll. "Just a younger breed, my Lord."

"No," Voldemort had said, tutting as though reflecting on something unfortunate. "I'm afraid your
heart's not in it."

Theo had looked up, startled. "What?"

"Why do you want to do this?" Voldemort had asked, his eyes becoming narrow slits of
suspicion.

Ah. That fucking question again.

"Well, I can't go back to school," Theo had replied vaguely. "There's no way - "

"My Death Eaters are not the Lost Boys," Lord Voldemort had snapped, flames of anger visible in
his dilated pupils. "If your goal is merely to escape school, you serve me no purpose."

"You already control Hogwarts," Theo had replied, trying to piece together a believable story
even as he attempted to keep his true motives guarded. "You don't need someone in the school.
You need a foot soldier. Someone young and - dare I say - charming," Theo added, smiling
smoothly for good measure.

This had produced a tiny smirk from the Dark Lord. "And why you, young Mr. Nott?" he had
asked nonchalantly. "What value do you bring to Lord Voldemort?"
"I'm a new face, and a non-threatening one to the public," Theo had said, looking the Dark Lord
directly in the eye. "And I'm smarter than my father," he tossed out breezily.

Voldemort had scoffed. "Why should I care about the merits of your mind?" he'd said
dismissively, waving his hand through the air as though shooing the idea from the room. "I am
Lord Voldemort. I am the greatest wizard who ever lived."

It was a statement without fanfare - not a boast; merely a casual reminder.

"Only a fool surrounds himself with fools," Theo had quipped under his breath, gripping the arms
of his chair. He hadn't been prepared for a test, and found himself absurdly confident that he was
failing it.

Without the ability to share his true intentions, without the skill to craft a believable lie, and
without the innate meekness to feign loyalty, Theo had been forced to turn to the one tool that
never failed him: his Slytherin cunning.

"My Lord, I am hungry," Theo had said, backtracking and drawing the Dark Lord into his web of
eloquence. "I hunger for knowledge and I seek greatness, and I bring you my considerable talents
because I believe you will take me there."

"You will take me there," he had repeated intensely, "or else no one will."

Theo watched smugly as Voldemort's face seemed to change in the light. There's not an ego on
earth that doesn't long to be stroked.

"Perhaps it would be wise to keep you close," Voldemort said, nodding pensively.

Theo did not answer.

Voldemort had straightened suddenly, as though remembering all at once that he was a supremely
busy man with numerous other engagements.

"I need you to find someone for me," the Dark Lord had said, his tone so offhanded that Theo
scarcely processed the official nature of the request. "Mykew Gregorovich."

Theo had frowned with confusion. "The German wandmaker?"

Voldemort had tapped his bridgeless nose lightly, a cheeky confirmation that was somehow more
morbid than anything else. "That's the one."

Theo had pursed his lips, thinking. "Why?"

"You'll need to do a lot more than accept a single task before you can gain Lord Voldemort's
confidences," the Dark Lord replied evasively. "He knows what I want. Make sure you get an
answer."

But it was only when Theo had turned to leave that he felt an ominous sense of the true dangers
lurking ahead.

"Mr. Nott," Voldemort had called after him. "I hope I make myself clear when I say to make sure
you get an answer," he'd said, smiling silkily. "Because if you do not - well." He shrugged, his
hollow eyes glowing eerily. "Let's just say I don't do well with disappointment - so if I were you, I
would employ any means necessary."

The many implications there were clear and unambiguous, and even now, Theo shuddered to
think of them.

"Well?" Snape snapped, drawing Theo's attention back to the present. "You clearly didn't seek me
out for counsel. I already gave you that, and to no quantifiable success." He sat back in his chair,
crossing his arms in irritation. "So why are you here?"

"Occlumency," Theo said simply. "I'm going to need it."

Snape's face contorted in displeasure. "Perhaps you should have opted to stay in school then, Mr.
Nott," he said derisively. "In case you forgot, I teach there."

"You were never going to teach that particular skill in school," Theo said flatly. "Headmaster," he
added, the word feeling strange when applied to the rather oily man before him.

Snape waited a moment before slamming his palm flat on the table in concession. "Fine."

Theo blinked. Somehow he had expected it to be more difficult. "Really?"

"Yes." Snape withdrew his wand in one slick motion, aiming it at Theo's chest. "Ready?"

"What?" Theo asked, startled. "But you - "

"Legilimens."

Theo felt his thoughts flood through his brain as though Snape had physically torn them out of his
eye sockets.

They were ten years old.

"Do you want to play knights again?"

"We can't - my father." Theo lowered his voice. "Last time, he was furious - "

"King Arthur wasn't really a muggle," Draco said, the bossy, cherished glow of childhood
restored in Theo's memories. "Anyway, you can be Merlin, if that's what you want - "

"No," Theo said quickly, wrinkling his nose. "Merlin's old."

Draco shrugged. "Who, then?"

Theo cocked his head to the side, considering. "Lancelot," he said finally. "If you're going to be
Arthur, then I should be Lancelot."

"Good," Draco pronounced, tossing him a broom. "Let's go slay a dragon."

There were no girls in their kingdom, of course. No betrayal. They wrote their endings differently.

They were eleven years old.

"What if I'm not a Slytherin?" Theo whispered.

Draco looked as though such a concept had never existed in the universe before; as though Theo
had plucked an impossible thought from thin air. "You're a Nott," he said blankly. "What else
would you be?"

"It's just - my father would kill me. He's - he's getting worse."
Draco looked saddened, but said nothing.

"I could end up somewhere else," Theo pointed out fearfully. "Your cousin Sirius was a
Gryffindor, and the Blacks are always Slytherins."

Draco wrinkled his nose. "Trust me, Theo, we'll be Slytherins," he said adamantly. "And Crabbe
and Goyle, too."

"Why do you like them?" Theo asked, suddenly disgruntled by their inclusion. "They're completely
thick."

Draco shrugged. "They listen," he said. "And King Arthur has lots of knights."

"He only needs one," Theo mumbled.

They were thirteen years old.

"Is it true, what your father did?" Theo asked.

He watched Draco clench his jaw tightly before answering. "Yes."

"Is it true that he was trying to bring back the Dark Lord?"

Draco smoothed a hand through his pale blond hair, glancing away. "I don't want to talk about
it."

Theo nodded, looking at his hands where they lay folded on his lap.

"How is it at your house?" Draco asked, an unusual gentleness ringing in his young voice.

"My father isn't speaking to me right now." Theo turned his face away from Draco. "He can't
believe I came in second to a Mudblood."

Draco leaned forward, trying to catch Theo's eye.

"Does he still - "

Theo unfastened three buttons of his shirt, revealing the fresh, dark slash across his chest. "It was
quick, this time," he said quietly.

"I'll bring you something for it," Draco whispered after a minute or so.

They were fourteen years old.

"Theo, don't - "

"Why not?"

Theo was sobbing. This was a wretched, wretched day.

"Don't do it," Draco repeated. "This isn't what Lancelot would do."

"Who gives a fuck about Lancelot, Draco?"

"You do," he said quickly. "And I do." He reached out, taking Theo's hand and drawing him off
the ledge. "I do."
 They were fifteen years old.

Draco's wand flew out of his hand and into the corner of the vacant classroom. "Nice!" he said
exuberantly.

Theo nodded with relief. "Thanks."

Draco walked over to him, casually picking up his wand. "Is it helping?"

"Yes," Theo replied curtly. "But he's also getting frail."

"No," Draco corrected him, shaking his head. "You're getting strong."

They were sixteen years old.

"When was the last time?"

Theo smirked triumphantly. "Months ago."

Draco nodded, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips. "And the knights of the realm live to
fight another day," he said whimsically, even as he rubbed furiously at his left wrist.

They were seventeen years old.

"I don't deserve it, you know."

"Deserve what?"

Draco shrugged. "Your loyalty."

Theo could think of nothing more absurd than that inane statement. "Fuck off, Draco," he'd said,
kicking his legs out and slouching down in the chair. "You're my brother."

Theo collapsed onto his knees, clutching his chest as a broken sob escaped him.

"Forgive me," Snape said, his face drained of color. "Forgive me, Theo."

Chapter End Notes

a/n: This unusually long chapter is for The Monster- The Hero for telling me about
re-reading Clean (because I am only human and it is a whole new world of flattery to
be told my work is worth a re-read, considering how many other great fics there are
out there) and to LoverGurrl411 for my favorite line in a review this week: "The
Order has more holes than old shoes, and they'd probably be betrayed."

So true.
 The Associate
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter 5: The Associate

Theo paused to straighten his tie before opening the door, only to realize the moment that he
walked through it that he was wildly out of place.

There were only a handful of people in the dark, damp pub, and they were mostly larger men - not
surprising, considering the generally bulky stature of the Durmstrang students he'd met during his
fourth year. Despite the fact that it was late afternoon, there were a variety of empty tankards
sitting around, indicating that most of the patrons had been there for several hours. While most of
the men were located in the center of the room, seated around a large, Bavarian style bench,
Theo's eyes flicked uneasily to the hulking forms of solitary men in the corners. In the event of an
ambush he would be cornered, and given his own slender frame and his expensive London robes,
he doubted anyone would think twice to name him a target.

"Um," he said uneasily. "Ich . . . ich suche Gregorovitch." He tried to think of the German word
for wand, but failed, instead pulling out his own. As he retrieved it, he realized the motion had
startled his audience, all of whom leapt to their feet and brandished their own wands, toppling
several pewter tankards in the process and strewing flatware across the table.

"No, no," Theo said quickly, raising his hands in a gesture of good will. "Gregorovitch
Zauberstabe - Mykew Gregorovitch - "

"Not here," the bartender informed him gruffly, and the remaining men grunted their agreement,
slowly returning to their seats.

Theo walked quickly to the bar, sidestepping the blatant stares and the various items littered across
the floor from the pub's patrons. "Do you know where I can find him?"

The bartender had a long, dark beard, dark brown eyes, and appeared to be in his mid-forties.
"No," he said after a moment, and although his tone was not necessarily rude, his demeanor was
distinctly unfriendly.

Theo drew himself up to his full height, channeling every ounce of superiority he possessed and
hoping it was sufficiently intimidating. It had already taken him quite a while to track this place
down, and he knew that if he left here without any answers or clues, he would be at a dead end,
and that was the last thing he could take back to the Dark Lord. "Did you find him?" "Nope, the
guy's a fucking ghost." "Then let me do the same for you."

It had been no simple feat, finding this place - or more accurately, uncovering the rumor that led to
the finding of this place. Gregorovitch wasn't a particularly public person to begin with, and on
top of that, Ollivander's disappearance the previous year had left most wandmakers wary. Nobody
really knew what Voldemort had wanted with Ollivander - Theo certainly didn't know, as the
events preceded his involvement - but many wandmakers took the hint to go into hiding.
Gregorovitch was particularly difficult; it had taken a matter of about a week and a hefty amount
of gold to identify the last place he was seen, but here the trail went cold.

"Are you sure?" Theo said, channeling every ounce of his long-buried aristocracy and staring
down the slightly shorter man.
The bartender snorted impatiently, unaffected by Theo's ineffective method of persuasion. "Ja, I'm
sure," he replied, his thick German accent containing a trace of mocking laughter. "Go somewhere
else, little boy - shoo."

Theo bristled, his fingers angrily tightening on his wand. Though he was not a particularly
prideful person - a quality that differentiated him from Draco, and from other hot-tempered idiots
like Potter - he was also not a person who took kindly to being treated like a child.

"If I were you," Theo began, his voice adopting a low, menacing snarl, "I would be a little more
careful to watch where I tread."

The bartender's eyes narrowed angrily and he opened his mouth to respond, but they were both
interrupted by a voice to their left.

"Abelerd," a voice called from one of the corners. "Pour the boy something - he'll be drinking
with me."

Theo followed the voice to the corner of the pub, startled, just as a hooded figure beckoned to him
with a single, sharp hand movement. Like the bartender, this man, too, wielded a heavy accent,
though Theo did not know enough about foreign languages to ascertain whether it was truly
German or something more Slavic.

"Come," he commanded to Theo, waving his hand at the vacant bench across from him. Warily,
Theo complied, sitting down uncomfortably as the bartender, Abelerd, slammed a foaming
tankard down in front of him.

"Ah, you upset him," the man said with amusement, watching as Abelerd promptly pivoted away.
"It appears you've been given a beverage of mostly foam."

Up close, Theo could see the man was much older than the other bar patrons, and had long since
surrendered to the effects of age. His thick, bushy beard was almost entirely white, and though he
had the air of someone who formerly had exceptionally dark features, he was quite pale, as though
he spent most of his time indoors. His dark eyes seemed observant but non-threatening, and Theo
relaxed - slightly.

"I'm good, I think," Theo commented skeptically, eyeing the drink in front of him.

The man's eyes sparkled for a moment, like he'd laughed internally. "Best to just drink it," he said
pointedly. "No need to insult Abelerd further."

Theo frowned but lifted the tankard to his lips, choking down a gulp of lukewarm, bitter witbier.
"Delicious," he sputtered, coughing.

The man smiled hazily. "You know Gregorovitch is retired, yes?" he asked, taking a sip of his
own, much more pleasingly poured beverage.

"Yes," Theo rasped, still recovering from the rancid taste in his mouth. "I don't need a wand. I
need to speak to him."

The man shrugged. "He hasn't been around for many years."

His tone of finality suggested that if Theo had hoped to glean any information from him, that
answer was meant to set him straight.

"Well," Theo said with a grimace. "That's shit news."

The man let out a bark of laughter. "What do you want with an old man and his wands?" he asked
jovially. "Surely, a handsome young man like you - you could find better ways to occupy your
time."

"I'm here for business, not pleasure," Theo said smoothly, raising his polished brow. "Otherwise,
you'd be correct."

The man took another sip of his beer. "Are you an associate of some kind?"

"You could say that," Theo quipped, nodding. It seemed as accurate a misnomer as any other he
could think of; somehow, he sensed that "member of villainous homicide tribe" wouldn't be met
with much enthusiasm. "But believe me when I tell you that my employer will not be happy with
my performance."

"You might get a bit further if you made even the slightest effort to blend in," the man pointed out,
gesturing to Theo's attire. "You give away too much."

Theo smirked. "Oh yeah? Tell me, then," he prompted casually, leaning back as though he didn't
particularly care to hear the answer. "What am I giving away?"

The man squinted slightly, considering him. "English, obviously, and wealthy. Using an
Ollivander wand" - he gestured to the item Theo had stowed in his left pocket - "so probably
Hogwarts educated." He paused, taking another sip of his beer. "Considering the state of things
over there, there are only a couple of people you could be working for - and by the looks of you,
you are not of the camp that is busy mourning Albus Dumbledore."

Theo gingerly fingered the handle of his pewter mug for several seconds before answering.
"That's a lot of presumption, my friend," he replied slowly.

The man looked disheartened, as though Theo's choice of words had only served to confirm his
theory. "I have a way of reading people," he said impassively. "And you remind me of someone,
once. A long time ago. A boy who looked very much like you, who worked as an associate as
well, procuring things for Borgin and Burke's."

At this, Theo's fingers began to tap impatiently on the curve of the tankard's handle. All things
considered, he had no time for an old man's anecdotes. "Regardless," he said airily, "I need to find
Gregorovitch. To ask him something."

"That seems an impossible task," the old man commented drily. "Perhaps there is someone else
you can ask?"

"Unlikely." Theo absentmindedly picked up the tankard to take a sip but stopped, remembering
the quality of its contents and shivering with anticipatory revulsion. "To be honest," he said,
sighing, "I don't even really know the question."

The man grunted inaudibly. "Seems a poor way to go about getting information, then."

Theo shrugged. "I work for someone who says Gregorovitch will know what he wants," he said.
"And I'm afraid I may not survive his displeasure, if he doesn't get it."

The man eyed Theo carefully, his eyes taking on a new, unidentifiable fleck of understanding
even as his tone shifted to indicate a purposeful disinterest. "Seems to me you should choose a
new employer," he said ambiguously, taking another sip.

Theo offered up a conspiratorial eye roll. "He wasn't my first choice," he admitted. "My situation
is . . . more of a byproduct of something else I'm working on."
The old man's thick brow arched curiously. "Oh?" he said, prodding gently.

"I'm looking for a friend of mine," Theo confessed after a moment, seeing no harm in disclosing
his true intentions to this stranger. By the looks of it, Theo chanced death on his return anyway.
"To find him, I needed to get closer to this . . . employer," he finished, settling on it as his choice
of words. It did seem a lot less of a threatening term than "Dark Lord."

The man offered up a sympathetic wince. "That's quite a bit of trouble to go through for a friend,"
he commented.

"He's - " Theo hesitated. "He helped me out, in the past." He tilted the large tankard toward him
again, eyeing its gurgling contents. He didn't much feel like going into details. Besides, if he'd said
he was going after a woman, nobody would question him. Why should a friend be any different?
Why should that kind of love merit any less effort?

"You owe him?"

The corner of Theo's mouth twitched into a crooked half-smile. "He saved my life," he said,
nodding once. "But it's . . . not really a matter of obligation."

The man nodded his understanding. "What do you think happened to him?"

"I don't know, exactly," Theo said honestly, laying his palms face up on the unfinished planks of
the dark wooden table. "But I know when I'm being lied to, and I don't like it."

"Ah, so you're a man of honor, then?" The older man's eyes sparkled again.

Theo scowled. Yeah, I'm a real knight of the realm. "I'm just a guy who doesn't like getting
fucked over," he said bluntly. "I don't enjoy being kept in the dark."

"I would warn you, then," the man said with an ominous shrug. "It's best to stray towards the
light."

Theo smirked as he sat back against the wall, stretching his arms up and resting his hands behind
his head. "Chalk it up to me being a victim of circumstance," he suggested grimly.

The man eyed Theo closely - regretfully, even - before nodding conclusively and rising
uncomfortably to his feet. He nodded to Abelerd, gesturing to the two mugs in front of him, and
the bartender nodded back wordlessly; it seemed the man had an ongoing tab of some kind, and
Theo watched with amusement as no currency was exchanged.

"You're leaving," Theo commented blankly, watching the man gather his things. "I suppose I've
bored you with details of my foolish life."

"Not in the least," he replied curtly. "But I'll be needing to make a quick exit."

Theo frowned, dropping his arms and leaning forward. "You'll 'be needing' to? What, are you
expecting someone?"

The man clasped Theo's shoulder firmly. "I no longer have what your employer seeks," he said,
allowing Theo's confusion to settle before he continued. "It was stolen from me many years ago,
when I was living my own foolish life."

Theo blinked, clarity beginning to register in his uneasy mind. "What? Are - are you
Gregorovitch?" He clambered to his feet, knocking the backs of his knees against the bench he'd
been sitting on. "What is it that he wants from you? Who stole it? Where - "

But there was a loud crack that interrupted Theo's flustered thought process, and his delayed
reaction launched him forward only in time to grasp the hollow suction of air that had swallowed
Gregorovitch's recently apparated form.

"Fuck," Theo swore, turning just in time to see Abelerd's face redden with withheld laughter.

"You could have warned me," Theo muttered irritably, gesturing to Gregorovitch's vacant seat.

Abelerd shrugged as he continued to wipe down glasses, entirely unfazed by Theo's frustration. "I
don't like you," he said, the flatness of his tone colored only by the thickness of his accent.

Theo adjusted his tie again, throwing his hands up in defeat for the benefit of the pub's patrons as
they watched him traipse to the door. "I don't like me much either," he said, turning to face his
audience and pausing before he exited. "But you've only made it harder for both of us, seeing as
I'll just have to come back."

Abelerd shrugged again, frustratingly cavalier. "Doesn't matter," he said matter-of-factly, reaching
for what looked like an unusual bar tap handle, a red and gold lever that Theo hadn't noticed
before, hanging upside down above the bar. "We won't be here."

With that, Abelerd pulled the lever and the pub dissipated in an explosion of smoke, knocking
Theo backwards. After about a minute, he finally blinked away the haze and looked up from
where he'd fallen on his back, eyeing the building that had contained Gregorovitch's rumored
favorite pub. Only a vacant plot of unfinished dirt remained in its former location, manifesting in
an unseemly gap between two quaint village shops.

"Fuck," Theo swore again, dropping his head back against the cobbled road and closing his eyes.

They stood inside the Room of Requirement, eyeing their surroundings.

"This is not what I expected," Harry noted with confusion. "What did you ask it for?"

"Somewhere to live for a month," Hermione said, shrugging. "I guess this is what it decided for
us."

The room was empty except for four relatively small tents, unadorned and arranged unassumingly
in a circle. Hermione walked over to the nearest one, catching a glint of gold out of the corner of
her eye.

"Hey," she called, gesturing to her three companions and the two elves. "This has my name on it."
She straightened, eyeing the other three tents. "It looks like they each have our names on them."

"Let's see yours first, then," Harry said, gesturing her forward, and she nodded, ducking inside.

While the tent was no larger from the outside than the muggle one she and her parents had used to
go camping during the summers, the inside was quite grandiose, and Hermione bit back an excited
yelp of surprise. The space was at least as large as the bedroom in Gryffindor tower that she'd
shared with her housemates, and had the same carpet that the Room of Requirement had produced
for her before, with the comfortable shag material that gave way under her softly padding feet.
The entire inside of the tent was lined with shelves, filled floor to ceiling with an innumerable
amount of books and paired with elaborate mahogany sliding ladders as though the entire room
were straight out of a period piece. She also opened a small door, realizing with delight that it
contained within it a private bathroom, and breathed a heavy sigh of relief.
"This is amazing," she announced happily, practically skipping to the nearest bookcase and
running her fingers along the spines of the books. "I knew this would be perfect - Harry's trace
won't be set off because there's loads of magic naturally occurring in this castle, nobody would
suspect - and we can gather all our research here, so we'll actually be prepared to hunt for the
horcruxes - oh, look, look, this one - and this one - this is just what we needed - "

She heard faint laughter behind her and whipped around, finding amused looks brushed over all
three male faces.

"Oh come on," she said weakly, her face reddening. "You can't deny how valuable these books
will be - "

"We know," Malfoy said quickly, stepping forward to touch her arm reassuringly even as he
continued to smile affectionately at her enthusiasm. "It's just . . . very adorable to watch."

She made a face, but regretfully moved to temporarily exit her new home. "Let's see yours, then."

Malfoy's tent, which the room had very considerately placed next to hers, also had an extensive
library, though not nearly to the extent of hers, and contained a dark, hardwood floor. It seemed to
contain duplicates of things that had been contained in his own home, including the family tree
he'd mentioned to Harry.

"Here," he said, gesturing for Harry to look. "R.A.B."

Harry was clearly distracted by the name next to it, and briefly let his finger brush against Sirius's
portrait on the tapestry. Unlike the one in Malfoy Manor and Grimmauld Place, this tapestry was
untouched, with Sirius's and Andromeda's names still intact.

If Malfoy maintained anything strange about the attachment Harry felt to his own family tree, he
said nothing. His grey eyes merely observed Harry quietly, until it was Hermione who prompted
him forward.

"Come on, Harry," she whispered, nudging him. "Let's see yours."

Harry's tent, which was next in the circle, was not lined with books, but instead contained shelves
covered with a variety of other items - brooms, Extendable Ears, Peruvian Instant Darkness
Powder, Decoy Detonators - a variety of things they were sure to employ, should they require any
mischief. But their eyes collectively slid over these things and leapt immediately to the item against
the back wall, protected in a seamless glass case - the tent's featured item.

"That's the Sword of Gryffindor!" Ron exclaimed, having been the first to reach it. He pressed his
hands against the glass, feeling for a handle, groove or hinge. "But how do we get to it?"

Malfoy walked around the glass casing, eyeing it from all sides. "I don't know," he admitted,
frowning. "It doesn't look like you can open it." He removed his wand from his pocket, pointing it
at the case. "Diffindo."

Nothing.

Hermione bit her lip, thinking. "What about you, Dobby? Or Kreacher?" she asked, turning to
look at them. "Can either of you get it open?"

"Dobby will try!" he squeaked, pointing a finger at the casing. This time, they heard a small tap,
as though Dobby's spell was a pebble that had bounced off of it.
Still - no effect on the glass.

Harry tilted his head quietly. "I don't think we can force it open," he said suddenly, as though
realizing something. "It's the Sword of Gryffindor. I think it has to be won."

"Won?" Malfoy echoed, smirking as he shook his head. "Gryffindors. Ridiculous."

"Yeah, too bad we didn't just do something easy," Ron said loudly. "Like store it in a hidden
chamber, somewhere reasonable like the girl's bathroom. Guarded by a bloody giant snake."

Hermione laughed in spite of herself, raising her hands innocently as Malfoy rolled his eyes in her
direction.

"Right," he said, sniffing haughtily as he moved to exit Harry's tent. "Well you three can get to
work on the whole bravery thing, then."

Ron's tent, between Harry's and Hermione's, also contained no books, and while it contained
some useful items - or at least, items Hermione would deem useful - it seemed to be in large part a
replica of his bedroom in the Burrow, containing within it duplicates of his Chudley Cannons
memorabilia, articles detailing his quidditch performances that season, pictures of him with his
family, pictures of him with Hermione and Harry - even a "Weasley is Our King" badge. The
inside of Ron's tent felt like a scrapbook page of their lives, containing within it almost every
moment of significance in their friendship, and every testament to their collective achievements.

Ron walked slowly to a picture of the three of them, arms around each other. It was a copy of an
image that Hermione remembered having been taken by Mr. Weasley at the Quidditch World
Cup, at the height of their excitement. Ron stood in front of it quietly, watching their smiling faces
with a look of indescribable longing in his eye; when Harry put his arm around Ron, Hermione
moved to do the same.

"Everything's changed," Ron croaked.

Hermione rested her head sadly against his shoulder. "No, it hasn't," she said softly. "Not as much
as you think."

There was a solemn pause as Harry stepped back slowly, rejoining Malfoy. "Come on, you lot,"
Harry said quietly to Malfoy and the elves. "Let's see if we can get some food."

Hermione wasn't looking at his face, but she could only imagine the look of disdain Malfoy must
have given Harry.

"Look, I'll give them a moment," Malfoy said loudly, "but I won't be doing any cooking, Potter,
and I'll be RIGHT OUTSIDE THIS DOOR - "

His voice grew louder as he exited the tent until it cascaded into a vaguely threatening yell.
Hermione shook her head with a smile, her head resting against Ron's shoulder until Malfoy,
Harry, and the elves finally made their way out.

"Ignore him," she said with a sigh, turning to face Ron.

Ron grumbled something inarticulate before sighing loudly. "He's done worse."

"Yes," Hermione agreed, nodding. "Yes, he has."

She looked around and walked to the bed in the center of the room, perched daintily on the edge,
and gestured for him to sit beside her. "Come on, Ronald," she coaxed him, trying to sound
upbeat. "Let's talk."

He sighed heavily - again - but joined her, sitting a couple of feet to her left. "I really don't know
what there is to talk about, Hermione."

She eyed him sternly. "You're one of my best friends, Ron," she said sadly. "The day we have
nothing to talk about will probably break my heart."

It was a poor choice of words, and she knew she'd made a massive misstep by the look he gave
her. "Really, Hermione?" he asked, his voice low. "And what about my heart?"

She looked down, unable to meet his soft blue eyes. "I - I wasn't thinking," she said
apologetically, eyeing her clasped hands. "I'm sorry. I can't imagine how you're feeling."

He stiffened. "No," he agreed. "No, you can't."

"Then tell me," she urged, turning towards him. "Tell me how you're feeling."

He shook his head uncertainly. "It's not that easy," he said helplessly, fixing her with a forlorn
look as he kept his body rigidly facing forward. "I can't just - I don't know," he said, tousling his
thick red hair. "I can't just say it."

"Fine," she said pertly. "I'll start, then."

He made a vague gesture, something like a "go ahead," with the flat of his palm.

"Okay," she said, throwing her shoulders back and taking a deep breath. She was still realizing,
even now, the difference between talking to Malfoy - or even Harry - and talking to Ron. For
some reason, she was nervous, slightly sick with concern that anything she said would sound silly
to him. "Listen, Ron - I do love you - "

"Stop right there," he said ardently, his flat hand slicing through the air as he turned to face her.
"You do not get to say that."

She recoiled slightly, taken aback by his reaction. "What? But - but Ron, it's true - "

"So, what, you love me like a friend, then? Like a brother?" he shook his head angrily, pure
revulsion on his face. "Don't you realize how that makes me feel? How sick it makes me?"

She bit her lip. "I didn't - "

"Maybe you don't think we were right for each other, Mione, but I did - I do," he corrected,
emphasizing the present tense. "I don't even know where to begin - I don't even know what's most
upsetting." His eyes on her were unsettling, and her heart fluttered anxiously in her chest,
knowing she was finally going to get what had long since been coming to her.

"You lied to me," he said flatly, the anguish evident on his face. "You told me there was nothing
going on - "

"It wasn't a lie!" she cried. "It wasn't a lie, at first - "

"Maybe not at first, but you still felt something. You must have felt something," he said
adamantly, "and don't deny it, because look how it turned out. And frankly," he added, the
expression on his face suddenly changing, "I would hope you felt something, and you didn't just
kill Dumbledore for anything less than absolute, definitive, bloody life-changing feelings."
She winced at the mention of Dumbledore. "I didn't want to admit it," she confessed. "I felt
something, but it felt wrong - you and Harry both hated Malfoy, so I didn't want to admit it to
myself, and I certainly couldn't admit it to you, either of you - "

"So you're blaming me, then?" he asked, tilting his head as though it were a challenge.

"No!" she exclaimed quickly. "No, not at all - there was just - " She sighed. "I just didn't know
how I could tell you, and by the time I got involved with him, I knew he was up to something, and
I - I had to protect him - "

"You killed a man for him, Mione," Ron said, his tone bordering on a whimper. "Would you have
done that for me?"

She flinched. "Don't make me answer that question, Ron, please - "

"So you never loved me, then," Ron interrupted, his voice hollow. He was nodding as though
he'd uncovered some hidden truth. "It was never mutual."

Hermione found herself suddenly very frustrated by this. "No, Ron, clearly it wasn't mutual," she
said, clenching her fists, "because in fourth year I waited for you to ask me to the Yule Ball and
you wouldn't. And I waited and waited for years for you to take notice of me, but you barely saw
me - "

"Well I'm sorry that the timing wasn't right!" he snapped indignantly.

"You don't have to be sorry!" she shouted, throwing her hands up in frustration. "This isn't your
fault, and it's not my fault - we just aren't right for each other, Ron!"

"BUT I THOUGHT WE WERE!" he roared, pounding his fists against the crimson duvet. He
hung his head, spent, and they both sat silently, their chests heaving from labored breathing. "I
thought," he whispered, his voice breaking, "I thought we were."

She placed her hand hesitantly on his shoulder, listening to him slowly regain his breath. "I know I
hurt you, Ron," she whispered. "But I can only be sorry for the things I can control. I should have
been honest with you, yes. I should have been kinder to you. I should have been a better friend.
But I can't be sorry about the way I feel for him," she said, seeking out his eyes. "I can't be sorry
for not being the right person for you." She sighed again, wishing there was more she could say.
"It's nobody's fault."

His watery blue eyes slid regretfully to her brown ones, a heart-wrenching ache evident on his
pale face. "I know," he said finally, dragging his tongue slowly over his bottom lip. "I know
you're right, Hermione, I just - I can't help being upset about it."

She nodded, rubbing her thumb in a small circle around his shoulder. "I understand," she said, and
she meant it. "You can take all the time you need." She shifted around, bringing her legs to her
chest and wrapping her arms around them. "To be perfectly honest, I'm just relieved you're still
here."

He chuckled weakly. "So am I," he said, his voice wavering. "Especially since it really doesn't
seem like you need me."

She made a face. "Look around you, Ronald Weasley," she said, gesturing to the pictures on the
walls of the tent. "Harry and I will always need you. You're our family."

His mouth twitched as though he were fighting a smile, and she felt a wave of relief flood through
her.
 "Malfoy's more useful," he muttered after a moment, and she could see on his face the effort that
concession had taken. "He knows more, and he's so bloody good at mucking about in other
people's minds - "

"Malfoy is useful," she said, nodding, "but you are the most important person in Harry's life." She
smiled at him. "Remember? You're the thing Harry would miss most."

Ron smiled back hesitantly. "So I should stay here for him?"

"You should stay here for us, all of us," she said, reaching out to take his hand. "We need you.
You're brave and fierce and loyal, Ron, and we need you." She squeezed his hand tightly. "I just
need Malfoy here, too."

He threw his head back with a dramatic sigh, though he didn't release her hand. "I hate him," he
said, closing his eyes as he tipped his face toward the ceiling.

She laughed in spite of herself. "He's changed," she argued, tugging Ron's hand to make him look
at her. "He really has. But if you give him a chance and you still hate him, so be it." She shrugged.
"I'm not going to ask you to like him. Just to give him a chance."

"Fine," Ron said curtly. "But only because it seems like he really does care about you." He
gestured to her necklace. "He gave you that, didn't he?"

She looked down, blushing. "Yes," she said, instinctively raising her hand to it. "It's his signet
ring."

Ron nodded, tossing out a final, audible sigh.

"That bloody romantic git," he muttered irritably.

Draco slipped in beside Granger, who mumbled sleepily.

"How did you - "

"Our tents have a connected entrance," he said quickly, sliding his hands under her shirt and
running his fingers over the bare skin of her waist. "I'm not sleeping alone."

He felt her smile against his cheek. "No," she agreed, kissing him softly as he tugged impatiently
at the waistband of her thin pajamas.

They took turns undressing each other under her heavy covers, his hands rejoicing at the feel of
her under his palms. "Finally," she breathed, the moment her naked chest pressed into his.

He smirked against her mouth. "You're telling me," he murmured, catching her lower lip gently
between his teeth as he slipped one hand between her legs.

"Muffliato."

Chapter End Notes

a/n: This chapter is dedicated to Little Chmura, who drew some fantastic images (that
rendered me entirely speechless) of Draco and Hermione from Chapter 11 of Clean
(wherein Hermione sees Draco's Dark Mark for the first time) and of Theo from
Chapter 1 of Marked (he is extremely handsome, go check it out). Both are on my
Tumblr (olivieblake) and Little Chmura's as well (littlechmura)! Thank you so, so
much!

I can't thank everyone in these notes (much as I really would like to) but please know
that all of you are extremely helpful in aiding the way I shape each chapter -
midnightweeds, UnicornShenanigans, and dorklover in particular come to mind
recently, but I do internalize a little bit from everyone in each review. If you have any
interest in talking to me directly, first of all - PLEASE DO! - and secondly, I'm quite
easy to reach on Tumblr. Hopefully I get the chance in some capacity or another to
recognize everyone who reviews while the story is active (probably impossible, but
I'll try), but if I don't, know that I am extremely grateful (and will definitely not
abandon you/this story).
 The Heartbeat
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter 6: The Heartbeat

Hermione could not remember ever having been more content; she sat on her comfortable floor
with a steaming cup of coffee in her hand, a series of books - her books - piled at her feet, and her
back resting against the chest of her extremely satisfactory pale blond companion. That there was
a war going on, or that her primary reading goal was to investigate the nature of ripping one's soul
to shreds, seemed for a moment little more than a minor triviality when compared to her newfound
bliss.

Malfoy stirred behind her. "Turn the page, Granger."

She shifted to smile over her shoulder at him. "I didn't realize you were reading, Malfoy."

He bore a feigned look of airy indifference on his face that she had to fight not to laugh at. "I
hadn't planned on it," he sniffed. "But I can only sit quietly and admire the back of your head for
so long."

The quiet, dignified laugh she intended came out as a girlish giggle. "As you wish, Mr. Malfoy,"
she replied, shaking her head and flipping the page. "Though I don't think this one is particularly
helpful."

He pressed his lips to her shoulder. "What are you looking for?"

"Right now? Nothing specific," she commented, her hand resting on the page. "Though I'm still
trying to figure out what the Ravenclaw horcrux could be."

"Wouldn't 'Hogwarts: A History' be the best place for that?" Malfoy asked pointedly.

There was a rustle at the entrance to her tent and they both jumped.

"She has that one memorized, Malfoy," Ron said smugly. "Don't forget it's Hermione you're
talking to."

She could feel the disgruntled blond wizard tense up behind her. "I know that," Malfoy replied
impatiently, his arm around her tightening possessively. "And you'd better learn to knock,
Weasley, or the next thing you walk in on might not be so innocent."

Ron made a face. "Spare me, Malfoy."

Hermione sat up slightly, though she let Malfoy entangle his fingers in hers. "Is there something
you need, Ron?"

"Yes," he said simply, inviting himself to sit on the edge of her bed. "I'm bored."

Behind him, Harry made his way into her tent, and she elbowed Malfoy sharply before he could
say anything.

"Hi Harry," she said, moving the book from her lap onto the floor. "You're bored too, then?"
He shrugged. "A bit restless," he admitted. "I don't much like sitting around while there are
horcruxes to be found."

She frowned unhappily. "This isn't a matter of sitting around," she reminded him, waving her
hand over the books. "There's still so much we don't know - what the Ravenclaw horcrux could
be, whether there are other Gryffindor artifacts - how to destroy a horcrux - "

"That one's important," Harry said thoughtfully. "I'll give you that one." He looked around her
tent, eyeing the many leather-bound spines that lined the walls and littered the floor. "Though do
you think you're going to find that here?"

"You're right," Malfoy commented drily. "Surely what she needs are more books."

"Actually," she said, biting her lip. "I've been thinking that there's one book in particular I'd like to
find, and I suspect it would be somewhere else."

Malfoy gave her a look. "Somewhere else?" he asked sharply, his tone edged with a poised,
aristocratic skepticism.

"Yes." She looked up at Harry and Ron. "Remember the curse I got hit by in the library?"

They nodded, while Malfoy went pale. "Curse?" he asked, clearly bothered.

"It was while you were . . . recovering," she told him. "I went to the restricted section to find out
what horcruxes were, and there was a book missing. When I tried to use a locator spell, I got
picked up and thrown across the room."

Malfoy looked appropriately alarmed, but Harry interrupted before he could say anything. "I
might know where that book is now," Harry said, his brow furrowed with thought. "Dumbledore
said there used to be a book about horcruxes in the library, but that he removed it after Tom
Riddle found it."

Hermione hummed thoughtfully. "That explains why Snape didn't know what book was there,"
she realized. "It would have been removed before his time."

Malfoy rubbed his forehead wearily. "You were cursed and talked to Snape while I was gone?
I'm never going unconscious again."

She patted his knee absentmindedly but returned her attention to Harry. "Where do you think it is,
then? Did Dumbledore say?"

Harry grimaced. "I'm almost positive it's in his office."

"You mean the new headmaster's office," Ron pointed out, grumbling.

Harry shrugged. "Whatever."

"That makes sense," Hermione said softly. She straightened. "Well. We'll have to go there, then."

Malfoy cleared his throat loudly. "Is this something you three do often?" he asked with labored
impatience. "You realized you're talking about breaking into Dumbledore's office, then, and
somehow not being seen by any of the elves or ghosts or - I don't know - cats?"

Harry grinned widely. "You haven't spent much time with us," he noted with amusement. "We
have things to take care of all that."
"An invisibility cloak," Ron said, ticking the items off on his fingers. "The Marauder's Map - "

"Right," Malfoy mumbled. "How could I forget."

"There's a reason you've always had such a hard time catching us, Malfoy," Harry reminded him,
a smug look on his face.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Look, I don't exactly relish the thought, but I think we need to get our
hands on that book." She pulled out of Malfoy's reach slightly, angling herself to be able to look at
both him and Ron. "And while Harry and I are gone - "

"Wait, I'm not coming with you?" Malfoy asked, rattled, just as Ron made a face.

Ron groaned. "You'd leave me here with him?"

Harry, on the other hand, looked happily entertained. "What are you planning, Hermione?"

She sighed loudly. "Well, I think Harry should come with me - he knows Dumbledore's office
really well," she pointed out. "And I don't want to be in there forever."

"Fair," Ron pronounced loudly. "But - "

"And," she continued, "I think Malfoy should have a look around the Room of Hidden Things."
She eyed him carefully. "I'd be willing to bet there's a horcrux in there."

"Maybe," Malfoy replied curtly. "But which one?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "But for you to be in there, nobody can be in this room, so you
might as well take Ron with you to have a look."

"Or," Malfoy suggested moodily, "the two of you can just take him with you."

Ron glanced at them sharply. "By all means, keep talking about me like I'm total deadweight," he
muttered. "I'm not at all offended."

Hermione rolled her eyes again. "Oh stop," she said irritably. "I think you should go with Malfoy
because it would be useful for both of you to be there."

"I agree," Harry said, nodding. "Another set of eyes would be helpful." He glanced at Ron warily.
"Especially since I can't be there . . . "

His voice trailed off and Hermione could tell Malfoy had latched onto an unspoken connotation.

"You want Weasley there to watch me, Potter?" Malfoy said, his expression placid. "What, you
don't trust me to be alone with You-Know-Who's playthings? Worried I might find a piece of his
soul and have a change of heart?"

"I just think it's better to have both of you," Harry replied stonily, and even Hermione could tell
that this was not a sufficient answer to the question Malfoy had asked.

The mood around them was abruptly tainted, the atmosphere soured. She realized they still had a
long way to go as a group, and sighed dejectedly. Things had been going so well just a matter of
minutes ago - but then, could she really be surprised? She'd taken three people who hated each
other - particularly these people, with their easily ruffled feathers - and forced them into an
enclosed space, all while their lives were at risk. Conflict was bound to fester.

"We trust you, Malfoy," she said vehemently, and she cut Ron off shortly as he made a vaguely
"We trust you, Malfoy," she said vehemently, and she cut Ron off shortly as he made a vaguely
protesting sound. "We all do."

But by then his face had taken on his signature cool, and she knew it'd be a while before he
softened to them again.

Theo eyed the door carefully for several minutes, wondering what had possessed him to make this
his first stop after leaving the disappearing pub. Shouldn't he have just gone home?

No, certainly not. He would only have been restless there, and agitated.

Couldn't he have found someone to comfort him? Someone who loved him?

Well. That was a fucking laugh.

This entire neighborhood - if you could even call it that - was dingy and disgusting, the very air
itself swampy and unpleasant, with all of the houses identical except for this one, the last at the
end of the row. Theo had never been in a muggle neighborhood, much less an impoverished one;
to be present at a residence that was unquestionably both, surrounded by perhaps the most
toxically littered river he had ever seen, was unspeakably repulsive.

It wasn't too late. He could just turn around and leave. He shifted his feet, too consumed by
second thoughts to notice the door cracking open.

"Theo."

He swallowed uncomfortably. "Snape," he replied, nodding his head.

Snape stepped aside to allow him entry, but Theo still hesitated.

"I don't mean to intrude," he said quietly.

Snape's dark eyes narrowed. "I wouldn't expect that you would," he noted calmly. "I can only
assume that if you've found yourself here, it must be a last resort."

Theo nodded, but didn't move.

Snape took a deep breath, his generally unfriendly nature visibly battling his sympathetic interests.
"Just come in, Mr. Nott," Snape said impatiently, sighing. "Personally, I would not confidently
trust your lungs to survive much longer in Spinner's End, should you choose to remain outside."

Privately, Theo agreed. "Fine," he said, as though he was making a concession, and followed the
dark professor inside.

The sitting room belonging to Severus Snape of Spinner's End had the distinct air of a place that
was not well kept, and Theo found he was surprised. Snape's Defense Against the Dark Arts
office at school had been relatively pleasant - or at least, it had certainly lacked the uncomfortable
feeling of solitary confinement that this house so regrettably possessed. But, Theo supposed, there
were only so many ways a person could make Hogwarts feel unpleasant, even for a young
Slytherin who'd spent six years in its dungeons.

The room was small, dark, and felt incredibly crowded, due to the shelves of black and brown
leather-bound books covering the walls, and Theo couldn't shake the feeling of being trapped
within a darkly padded cell, though he supposed it could be worse. It could always be worse. The
room, after all, was no more imprisoning than the confines of Theo's mind.
"Sit," Snape instructed, gesturing to an old threadbare couch near where Theo was standing, and
Theo complied. For his part, Snape chose to lower himself rigidly into an armchair that looked as
though on the brink of impending collapse.

No wonder the man was never comfortable.

"Would you care for something to drink?" Snape asked uneasily, his attempt at hospitality so
visibly unnatural that under other circumstances, Theo might have laughed. As it was, all he could
manage was a sullen shake of his impeccably groomed head.

"I wasn't able to procure what the Dark Lord wanted," Theo said flatly, weary of the charade. "He
sent me after something from Gregorovitch, and the guy disappeared before I got what I needed."

Snape's expression never wavered. "Which was?"

Theo grimaced. "Yeah - sure Severus, because the Dark Lord informed me exactly what he
wanted, in detail, and then we braided each other's hair and talked about cleaning spells." He
grunted irritably. "I don't fucking know what it was."

If Snape was annoyed by this answer - as he almost certainly was, or should have been - he didn't
betray himself. "And what did Gregorovitch say?"

"I didn't know it was him right away," Theo said guiltily. "In retrospect, I should have. But I
talked to him for a few minutes and right before he disapparated, he told me whatever it was the
Dark Lord wanted had been stolen from him a long time ago." He looked up at Snape hopefully.
"That should be enough, right? How can I help it if it was stolen, if Gregorovitch himself doesn't
know what happened to it?"

Snape looked uncomfortable, but not particularly sympathetic. "Unfortunately, the Dark Lord has
punished others for less," he commented gloomily. "I'd try to spare you the agony, but it hardly
seems worth it. I did warn you," he reminded Theo regretfully. "I warned you not to get involved
in this."

Theo looked down; he suddenly felt quite sick. "I know," he managed weakly.

Snape sighed. "But," he said, leaning into the echo of the word as it rang out in the silence
between them, somehow brightening the room, "the Dark Lord also has a pattern of forgiving his
favorites. Lucius Malfoy, for example, has committed unspeakable errors, as has Bellatrix
Lestrange, and yet he has spared them both multiple times."

Theo shook his head. "I'm not sure I consider Lucius Malfoy to have been spared," he said darkly.

Snape made a gesture that was difficult to interpret, somewhere between a grimace and a shrug.
"Ah, but to the Dark Lord, to keep one's life is the ultimate forgiveness," he reminded Theo
warily. "There is nothing the Dark Lord values more than life. His own life, of course," Snape
clarified, "but to allow someone to live is the extent of his mercy. The quality of life, the burdens
of the soul - those things he does not concern himself with."

"So you're saying that he might let me live, and punish me some other way, if he likes me?" Theo
asked, trying not to hear how ridiculous that sounded.

"Yes," Snape said curtly. "Though to be frank, sometimes death would be preferable."

The older wizard looked as though he knew what he was talking about, and Theo wondered for
the first time what Severus Snape must have done, what he'd had to have experienced, to be the
enigma that he'd so unquestionably become.
Surely he hadn't always been this way. A man without demons doesn't say such things - and being
himself a man with many demons, Theo felt he would know.

"I'm probably fucked, then," Theo deduced unhappily. "I'm not a groveler. I won't do it."

For once, Snape's eyes showed a flash of interest. "No," he agreed. "Though I don't necessarily
think that's a problem."

Theo looked at him sharply. "You don't?"

Snape shrugged. "No," he replied easily. "I think the Dark Lord has as many grovelers as he
needs, considering he's taken to killing off the ones who displease him. I don't doubt that you
possess other qualities that would appeal to him - though I would caution you not to lose yourself,
if you choose to focus on whatever those qualities are."

"Lose myself?" Theo echoed, uncertain.

"Older, wiser men than you have certainly done so," Snape said ominously. "The Dark Lord's
original Death Eaters were once powerful men - great leaders and skilled wizards. Mulciber,
Rosier, Lestrange - even your father," Snape pointed out, and at that, Theo found it difficult to
meet his eyes. "Constant fear and frequent exposure to unspeakable horrors wore them down to
faint shadows of themselves."

That, at least, must have been true. His father had not always been a monster.

"And you, Snape - you think that will happen to me?" Theo asked quietly. "You think I'll become
like them?"

Snape paused for a moment before answering, pursing his lips with careful thought, and Theo
braced himself for disappointment.

"The Dark Lord has the ability to affect us in ways we cannot necessarily predict from the start,"
Snape said warily. "All I can tell you is that you do, unquestionably, possess qualities he admires -
intelligence, ambition, and not insignificant skill - and he will try to leverage those against you.
Whether you submit to his expectations or not is just another facet of who you are, Mr. Nott," he
concluded, "and it is that which I encourage you not to lose sight of."

"What about you?" Theo ventured, suddenly curious. "Did you lose sight of yourself?"

Snape did not answer right away. "I am not half the man you are, Theo," he said quietly. "I would
not waste your time attempting to compare yourself to me."

Granger was shaking him awake, and it was only then that Draco heard the terrible sound of
screaming outside their door.

"It's Harry," she said urgently. "Come on!"

He hurriedly dressed and followed her, walking briskly as she sprinted to Harry's tent, ducking
inside. Weasley appeared in the doorway shortly after they did, looking pale and nervous.

"Harry," Granger cried, running to his side and shaking him awake. 'Harry - Harry, it's alright -
what's happened?"

"It's - it's him," Potter said, his hands shaking as he brushed his messy black hair off of his sweat-
slicked forehead. "He's - I saw him - he was torturing someone - "

"Harry!" Granger exclaimed nervously. "You're not supposed to be seeing these things -
remember what Dumbledore said - "

"He can't help it, Mione," Weasley snapped, jumping to Potter's defense. "He was bloody
sleeping - "

Privately, Draco agreed, though when Granger looked to him for support he wordlessly took hold
of her wrist, pulling her to him.

"Just let him explain what happened," he breathed in her ear. As much as he couldn't stomach the
thought of taking Weasley's side over hers, he felt anything else he said would be disingenuous,
and thus, unhelpful. Granger seemed to have forgotten that Potter wasn't the only person in the
room to have had his brain unwillingly invaded by the Dark Lord while he was trying to sleep.

"He's not supposed to let him in," she whispered back urgently. "You don't understand - "

"I know," he agreed, tightening his arms around her. "You can explain it to me later." She
whimpered slightly but gave in, her protestations fading as he held her.

When Draco looked up from trying to mollify Granger, Potter was eyeing him distrustfully.

"What?" Draco snapped, and Potter hesitated.

"I thought I saw - " he stopped, shaking his head. "Nevermind."

"What?" Draco repeated, annoyed. "You thought you saw what? My father?"

"No - "

"Then what - "

"Just tell us what you saw," Weasley urged, interrupting. "What happened?"

Potter took a deep breath. "Voldemort - he was in a house. A muggle house, by the looks of it,
and it was on fire."

Draco felt Granger's entire body shuddered violently in his arms. "Torturing muggles himself
now, is he?" she asked, her voice both angry and fearful. "I thought he left that to his minions."

Potter shook his head. "It wasn't a muggle. He kept calling him Gregorovitch."

Weasley frowned. "The wandmaker?"

"I think so," Potter said, nodding. "I assume so, since he didn't get what he wanted from
Ollivander. Voldemort was using legilimency on Gregorovitch - I saw a vision in his mind, one of
Gregorovitch's memories."

"What was the vision?" Draco interrupted. "What did the Dark Lord see in Gregorovitch's mind?"

All three seemed to be uncomfortable with the title he'd used for Voldemort, and Draco stiffened,
regretting his choice of words. He'd forgotten who he was with, and he was glad he couldn't see
the expression on Granger's face.

Potter looked especially uneasy, but seemed to choose to overlook it. "It was a young man, blond,
kind of mischievous looking, like Fred and George - I didn't recognize him," Potter said, his face
contorted in thought as he tried to call the image to mind. "He broke into Gregorovitch's shop and
stole something. Something small."

"A wand, I would assume," Granger said quietly. "Right?"

Potter shrugged. "Maybe," he conceded. He looked at Draco again, the same narrowed look on
his face.

"Spit it out, Potter," Draco said angrily, and did not take his eyes away from Potter's even as
Granger put a consoling hand over his. "Tell me whatever it is you obviously need to tell me. Was
You-Know-Who in my house? Was my father involved? Did he mention me? What is it?"

In response to Draco's escalating temper, Weasley moved closer to Potter, a silent warning.
Granger, Draco could tell, was holding her breath.

"There was someone else with Voldemort," Potter said quietly. "Gregorovitch was begging for his
life and Voldemort was laughing at him, telling the other person to torture him. And then - " he
stopped, swallowing nervously. "And then the other person cast an Avada."

Weasley let out a slow breath. "Gregorovitch is dead?"

Potter nodded solemnly. "Yes," he said faintly. "The person with Voldemort killed him."

Draco eyed him blankly. "I don't understand what this has to do with me," he said adamantly.
"Who was it?"

"I'm not positive - I couldn't really see his face clearly, or hear him," Potter said, and Draco felt a
chill travel up his spine as he waited, simultaneously wondering who Potter could name that
would hurt him the most while also hating him mercilessly for not just coming out and saying it.
He'd already said it wasn't Lucius - who else could it have been? There were so few people in the
world that Draco truly cared about that he could count them on one hand, and he felt quite certain
that none of them were capable of murder.

"I'm not positive," Potter repeated, his initially distrustful expression turning vaguely saddened as
he watched Draco wrestle with his anxiety. "But - I'm pretty sure it was Theo Nott."

Draco's knees unexpectedly buckled and Granger gasped sharply, suddenly forced to bear the
majority of his weight as he went limp against her.

"You know, Theodore," the Dark Lord mused, addressing his youngest associate while holding
his wand to Gregorovitch's face, "I am not often so quick to overlook it when my Death Eaters fall
short."

Theo was sweating profusely, and not exclusively due to the fire Voldemort had set to the muggle
residence where at last he had found - and trapped - Gregorovitch.

It had not been Theo who had forced Gregorovitch out. In a surprising twist, it had been
Voldemort himself. It seemed that torturing some of Gregorovitch's proximities had been sufficient
leverage for that purpose, and Voldemort, in his infinite wisdom, had brought Theo along for the
show. If Theo had been able to think straight, he would have been thinking about what it meant,
that the Dark Lord took it upon himself to run what had turned out to be a rather messy errand.
Clearly, whatever Voldemort desired, it was more than fleeting whimsy.

Theo had found at first that he couldn't meet the old man's fearful gaze, guilty as he was for
having any part in leading the Dark Lord to the wandmaker. But once he'd caught Gregorovitch's
eye, Theo found himself unable to look away, his conscience searing as he stood unwillingly
transfixed beside the soulless wizard who held the strings. He wondered whether one or both of
them would have to die that day - whether they might both be sacrificed, both being the
disappointing pawns in the twisted ambitions of lord without conscience.

"Normally I would not go to such lengths to test one of my Death Eaters. But," Voldemort
continued, "I have to admit, I'm curious about you, Theodore. You are obviously resourceful. But
more interestingly, you do not blame others for your failings."

Theo said nothing. How could he? There was nothing to say.

Nothing to do but wait and see.

"You do not fear my retribution, do you Theodore?" Voldemort asked, the corners of his mouth
twisting up eerily in a malicious smile. "You do not fear death, do you?"

Theo swallowed. "No, I don't," he said, and the moment he said it, he found it was true. He'd
grown numb to the thought, over time. Perhaps he'd been numb to it for years now.

Voldemort made a faintly contented humming sound, as though he was pleased with Theo's
anwer. "But that's not true for all of us, is it, Gregorovitch?" Voldemort said, turning to the
wandmaker. The Dark Lord's voice took on a high pitched whine as he toyed with his prey.
"Some of us do fear death, don't we?"

The old man whimpered as Voldemort's eyes glowed. "Please - I told the boy - I no longer have
what you seek - "

Gregorovitch turned to Theo. "Please," the old man begged. "Please - "

What had the wandmaker said to him? I would warn you, then . . .

"Don't talk to him," Voldemort spat, flicking his wand to lift Gregorovitch off the ground by his
ankle, leaving him suspended in the air.

It's best to stray towards the light.

Theo's blood went cold at the sound of the old man's agonized howl. "I don't have it - I told you, I
don't have it - "

"Do not lie to Lord Voldemort, Gregorovitch," the Dark Lord said coldly. "He knows . . . He
always knows."

The hanging man's pupils were wide and dilated with panic and Theo could only watch
helplessly, somehow numb amidst the horror.

"I'm sorry," Theo mouthed soundlessly, knowing that he was only making it worse as
Gregorovitch continued to plead with him for help. "I'm so sorry - "

"Who was the thief, Gregorovitch?" the Dark Lord interrupted, oblivious to Theo's haunted stare.

"I do not know - I never knew - please - please - "

He says he doesn't know, Theo thought urgently, willing himself to say it out loud. Find your
voice, Theo. Say it.

But he couldn't. He was paralyzed with fear.

 It's not his fault - he doesn't know - he's not lying to you, let him go -

"A little Crucio to loosen the tongue, don't you think?" Voldemort suggested, gesturing to Theo as
casually as though he were suggesting they play a little quidditch, or duck out for some tea. "Go
ahead."

Theo looked at him, speechless.

No, he thought violently, though his brain remained unable to move his mouth. No, no - I can't -
No, I won't -

"If you don't," Voldemort said simply, responding to Theo's unspoken thoughts as he gestured to
the weeping wandmaker before them, "I will."

No.

No.

"You got the answers you needed," Theo said finally, his voice hoarse and barely audible. "What
else do you want from him?"

Voldemort laughed coldly. "Oh, but you're only half right," he said, his tone harsh and grating
with cruel amusement. "I got as much from him as I'm going to, yes. But I hardly got what I
needed."

"Besides," Voldemort added, flicking his wand and ignoring the renewed screaming from his
tortured victim, "This isn't for him." His slitted eyes flicked dispassionately to Theo. "It's for you."

Voldemort made another movement with his wand and raised Gregorovitch higher in the air.

"Please!" Gregorovitch cried, his screams echoing in the blazing room. "Please - help me - "

No more. No more.

Theo raised his wand. "Avada Kedavra," he shouted, shuddering as the spell left him, closing his
eyes before the body hit the floor.

Finally, finally, the screaming ceased. In the wake of deathly silence, Theo heard nothing but the
sound of his own thundering heartbeat.

Chapter End Notes

a/n: This chapter does not have dedications; it broke me a little bit and shouldn't be on
anyone's head but mine. The next one will be lighter and contain more gratitude.

Because this one was late, expect another chapter a little bit sooner this weekend.
Also, I will be writing a one-shot of one of the days in Clean from Chapter 14: The
Seven for cigarettes-and-scotch-whisky and Little Chmura, which Little Chmura has
agreed to illustrate (!). Requests have been for Day 3, 4 or 6 but I haven't decided
between those three, so if you would like to weigh in, let me know your thoughts.
Thanks as always for reading . . .
 The Bargain
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter 7: The Bargain

"Theo Nott?" Hermione repeated, struggling to keep Malfoy on his feet as he swayed against her.
"You're sure you saw him?"

Harry hesitated. "I'm - I'm pretty sure - "

"'Pretty sure' isn't good enough, Potter," Malfoy snarled, stumbling as he regained his footing. He
abruptly pulled out of her grasp and took a couple of hasty steps back, something strange and cold
beginning to glitter in his eyes.

Hermione sighed. "Malfoy - "

"I don't want to tell you I'm positive, Malfoy, because I'm not," Harry interjected pointedly. "I was
focused on Gregorovitch, and I was caught off guard - "

"So it could be someone else, then," Malfoy said dazedly. "You could be wrong. It might not
have been him."

Harry hesitated, looking quickly to Ron, who shrugged helplessly, and then back to Malfoy. "I
guess there's a chance, but I really think - "

"It wasn't him," Malfoy said, shaking his head with finality as though daring them to disagree. "It
couldn't have been. There's no way. Theo's not a murderer."

Hermione's heart sank as she caught Harry glance guiltily at his feet. She could see that he was
considerably more certain than he was letting on.

"Malfoy," she said quietly, reaching for him. "Draco, if it was Theo - "

"It wasn't," he snapped instantly, his voice taking on a strange, childish tone. "It wasn't him, Potter
just said - "

"If it was Theo," she repeated, stepping in front of him and placing her hands coolly on either side
of his face, "there would have been a reason for it." His eyes were startlingly unfocused and she
pulled his face to hers, forcing him to look at her. "Draco, there would have been a reason."

"Voldemort was making him do it," Harry told them, and despite his best intentions, Hermione
fervently willed him to stop talking. "He probably didn't have a choice."

Malfoy winced, shutting his eyes forcefully as though he'd been physically struck by Harry's
choice of phrasing. "No - not Theo - "

"You didn't have a choice," Harry pointed out, and Hermione grimaced as Malfoy's eyes snapped
open.

"Yes I did," he seethed. "Don't think for a second that I didn't, Potter, because I did. I chose to
take the Mark for my father and everything that happened afterwards - whatever control I allowed
the Dark Lord to have over me - it always came back to that choice."
Harry shook his head apologetically, backtracking. "I didn't mean - "

"Theo knew what taking the Mark did to me," Malfoy said, visibly agitated. "He knew how bad it
was - he knew," he rasped, and Hermione was gutted, watching him. "He wouldn't have taken the
Mark, it wouldn't make sense, unless - "

He looked up, disturbed. "Unless this is my fault," he whispered, bringing his hand to cover his
mouth. "What if he's being punished for my mistakes - what if they know - "

"They don't," Harry said quickly. "If they did, we'd have heard something - "

"Draco," Hermione said, gripping his chin to return his gaze to hers, his grey eyes glazed over and
darkened. "Draco, we'll find out. We'll find out the truth, I know it."

She tilted his chin down to kiss him gently, unconcerned with the opinions of her uneasy
audience. "Nothing is as it seems anymore, Draco," she whispered against his lips, closing her
eyes for a moment before glancing up to look at his face.

She nearly screamed with relief when a brief spark of his usual self slowly began to resettle itself
in his eyes. "Okay," he mumbled inaudibly, his mouth forming the words while he struggled to
find his voice.

He blinked again, and after a moment she watched as his cooler demeanor began to spread across
his face like a frost. "Okay," he repeated, clearer, putting his hands on her shoulders and nudging
her gently aside so that he could resume facing Harry and Ron.

"If you're right - if it is Theo," he said, expressionless, "then I want to know what happened,
because this doesn't make sense." He took a deep breath, and they watched him with curiosity.
"I'm not on the same fool's errand that you three are. I'm not in this to fight a war or to bring down
the Dark Lord - but I'll go along with your stupid, reckless plotting as long as I know I can keep
her safe," he said, gesturing to Hermione and squeezing her fingers, "and on top of that, I want
your word that you'll help me find out what he's done to Theo."

It was an unexpected bargain, and Hermione questioned briefly whether she should be grateful
that he seemed to have found a purpose in their mission, however different from her motivation it
might be. Harry, too, considered him for a moment, his green eyes narrowed with thought.
"Okay," he said finally, before offering Malfoy his hand. "You have my word."

Hermione took a sharp, deep breath as Malfoy gripped Harry's hand tightly, offering a single
shake. "Tomorrow, then," Malfoy said, his eyes flitting briefly to Ron. "You and Granger get that
book from Dumbledore's office and Weasley and I will check the Room of Hidden Things. And
when the day comes that we get close to him - "

" - we'll get Theo," Harry finished, nodding.

Aware that he hadn't yet spoken, Hermione looked questioningly to Ron, who had an unreadable
expression blanketing his face.

"Well," Ron said, clearing his throat. "Should we talk about what You-Know-Who's after?
Whatever was stolen from Gregorovitch?"

Hermione's eyes slid back to Malfoy, frowning as he seemed to slip into an embattled trance. "We
can talk about it later," she said crisply. "We have time."

She held her hand out to Malfoy and he took it slowly, following in her wake like a man in a
dream.
"Draco," she said, putting her arms gingerly around his neck the moment they were alone in her
tent. "Are you - "

"I don't want to talk about it."

She bit her lip. "But - "

He cut her off with an urgent kiss, his fingers hungrily pressing into her hips as he slipped his
tongue into her slightly parted mouth.

Neither of them said another word that night, from that moment until they fell backwards against
her bed, enraptured. He was on some kind of dire mission with her that night, touching her with a
desperation she'd never seen in him before, an inexplicable voraciousness that somehow drove
him to take her hard, take her deep, take her fully - take her any way he could to make her cry out
with shaky pleasure. It seemed like hours before he finally shuddered in her arms, where she held
him the rest of the night. Despite her physically sated state she was wretchedly discontented,
pretending not to notice the way he tremored against her body, his eyes open and his mind clearly
restless.

"You're sure," she whispered to him in the morning. "You're sure you want to do this today? I
could just stay here with you - we could just - "

"I'm sure," he intoned emotionlessly. "Do what you need to do."

She nodded uncertainly, frowning, though she slipped out to find Harry as soon as she was
dressed. It seemed the room had produced a seating arrangement in the shared space between the
tents, and Harry was sitting in a soft leather armchair with his head bent over the Marauder's Map.

"How's Malfoy?" he asked, not looking up.

"Um," she said, glancing over her shoulder at where she'd just left him. "Not great, but that's to be
expected."

He raised an eyebrow. "I didn't realize they were close," he commented blankly. "Or that he
would take it that way."

She bit her lip. "I'm not sure I understand their relationship either," she said honestly. "Though I
know Theo is the closest thing he has to a brother." Her lips formed a hazy half-smile. "I suppose
you would have the same reaction, if you found out Ron had killed someone."

Harry's mouth seemed to pucker distastefully. "I think I would know how it feels to find out your
best friend has killed someone," he said drily, not looking at her, and she realized yet again how
superficially they had actually dealt with their problems.

"So," he said, clearing his throat. "Dobby says that Dumbledore's office isn't occupied right now.
Chances are the password hasn't been changed."

She frowned. "Can't Dobby just apparate us in?"

"Apparently not," he said, pushing his glasses back on his nose. "I guess that room in particular
has a variety of safeguards on it."

"I suppose that shouldn't be surprising," she said, sighing. "Is anyone around the castle?"

He lifted the map, eyeing it from a different angle. "I don't think so," he said, and she stepped
around to see the different labels that floated around on the parchment.

"Just the ghosts," she said, nodding. "Could be worse."

She looked up as Malfoy exited his tent, still dressed sharply in a black shirt and black trousers
even in their self-imposed exile, at the same time Ron emerged from his. The two offered
unfriendly nods to each other before joining Harry and Hermione.

"You have everything you need?" Malfoy asked her, touching the inside of her wrist.

She shrugged. "I imagine so," she replied. "It should be pretty straightforward. As long as we stay
under the cloak and watch the map, I don't foresee us running into any problems."

Harry nodded, and Malfoy was quick to fix him with a severe glare.

"Just so you know, Potter," he said flatly, "if anything happens to Granger while you're gone, I
won't hesitate to kill Weasley."

Ron snorted indignantly. "I hardly think you would - "

"I'll take care of her, Malfoy," Harry interrupted.

Hermione snatched the map out of Harry's hands with annoyance. "I can take care of myself, you
brutes," she said crossly, but she stood on her toes to kiss Malfoy's cheek.

"Well," Harry announced, standing. "Now's as good a time as any."

Hermione nodded. "We shouldn't be long, okay?" she said. "Make sure you're back in this room
in a couple of hours, or we won't be able to get back in."

Ron glanced up to find all three of them looking at him. "What?" he exclaimed, alarmed.

Malfoy shrugged. "She's not talking to me," he said brusquely. "I don't need reminding not to do
something stupid."

Ron gave him an unpleasant scowl. "Oh, bugger off, Malfoy," he grumbled indignantly.

Hermione shook her head, sighing. "Don't kill each other," she warned. "We'll be back in two
hours. No later."

"Still won't be soon enough," Ron mumbled.

Draco and Weasley had slipped under Potter's invisibility cloak only long enough for them to step
outside the Room of Requirement and wait for it to become the Room of Hidden Things, but it
somehow took less than that for Draco to miss Granger.

He wished, sometimes, that he could be better at telling her when he was grateful for her. He
straightened as the thought struck him, resolving to tell her he loved her as soon as she got back.
He didn't say the words enough, he thought, stepping through the door and navigating the tall
piles of junk that filled the room.

When it came down to it, he just really didn't want to talk about Theo. And she knew that,
somehow, and understood it. She knew him implicitly, loved him effortlessly, and it saved him the
effort of having to deal with his feelings - which was best, really, as he was currently a veritable
Pandora's box of feelings, of fear and doubt and guilt. The fear was for Theo; everything else was
on him.

Weasley was lagging behind him; Draco rolled his eyes irritably, whipping around to discern the
delay.

"What are you looking at?" Draco snapped.

Weasley's pale blue eyes were wide, staring at the piles of abandoned items that seemed to form
towers throughout the room. He had paused briefly in front of the collection of used potions items
that Granger had once said reminded her of her mum's pantry, and Draco remembered, watching
the redhead's face, that the room could be momentarily transfixing upon first entry. He, however,
was long past that stage.

"I don't know what you're in such a hurry for, Malfoy," Weasley said with irritation, barely
bothering to glance at Draco. "We don't even know what we're looking for."

Draco crossed his arms tightly over his chest. "Still," he replied. "No reason to dawdle."

Weasley sighed dramatically but stepped forward to join him. "I totally get what Mione sees in
you," he said sarcastically. "You're the total package - rude, impatient, inhumanly pale, a complete
bloody arse - "

Draco closed his eyes, trying to smother his temper. "Weasley," he said slowly. "I suggest you
stop talking. Immediately, if not sooner."

"You know," Weasley said, ignoring Draco's very reasonable request, "I'd like to know what it is
that you have to offer, Malfoy."

Draco turned to look at him, smirking. "I'm rich," he said drily. "And I'm great in bed."

Weasley pretended to gag. "Spare me," he said, rolling his eyes. "But I meant in general. You and
Nott were friends, apparently. Explain that to me."

Draco stopped suddenly, his entire frame going rigid.

"I don't want to talk about Theo," he said mechanically, clenching his jaw.

Weasley looked at him skeptically. "I'm no expert, but it seems like you probably should," he said
obnoxiously, gesturing to Draco's stiffened posture. "Look at you. You're not exactly at ease."

Draco scowled. "What do you care?"

"I don't," Weasley said, shrugging. "I'm just asking a bloody question. We never even saw you
with Nott that often. I wouldn't have known you were close if you hadn't practically fainted on
Hermione."

"Theo's not the social type," Draco said shortly. "But we grew up together. He's like a brother to
me."

At this, Weasley shrugged impassively. "I've got more brothers than I know what to do with," he
commented, leaning over to look at what appeared to be a small paper maché version of the castle.
"And frankly, I would hardly bat an eye if Harry told me it was Percy that killed Gregorovitch."

Draco let out an unwilling snort of laughter. "Fair enough," he agreed, equally put off by the
irksome former Head Boy.
"What I don't understand," Weasley said loudly, "is why you're so surprised that Nott would take
the Mark." He looked pointedly at Draco. "It's not exactly a secret that Nott Senior was one of the
original Death Eaters. And anyway, youtook it, didn't you?"

Draco felt his face contort into an angry grimace. "I've already explained to you why I took the
Mark, Weasley," he fumed quietly. "I don't appreciate being made to repeat myself."

"Yeah, but - "

"Look," he said, pivoting in place to face Weasley. "Theo's smarter than I am, okay? He always
has been. He wouldn't do something like that, especially after seeing what I had to do."

Weasley seemed unconvinced by this. "Well - maybe he's being pressured too."

"Maybe," Draco said, gritting his teeth through the concession. "But that's - that's not why I'm - "

He sighed. "Nevermind," he huffed brutishly.

Weasley frowned. "No," he warned, stepping closer to Draco. "You might as well finish that
thought, Malfoy." For some bizarre reason, he seemed to chuckle a little to himself. "It's not like I
could possibly think any less of you," he pointed out.

Draco ran a hand through his hair wearily. "You wouldn't understand."

"So?" he said, shrugging. "Try me."

"No," Draco said, making a face. "Are you trying to bond with me or something?"

"Bloody hell, no," Weasley said adamantly, before derisively turning away. "Don't tell me, then."

But of course, by that point, the question was nagging at Draco. The very thing he wanted so
badly not to discuss seemed to be boiling up inside of him, his failures facing him everywhere he
looked.

"He asked me if I needed anything," Draco said quietly, and Weasley had the decency not to look
startled. "He asked me if there was anything he could do for me, and I - I made him promise to
take care of my family - and - and I asked him to watch out for Granger - "

Draco swallowed painfully, and Weasley eyed him with confusion.

"So?" Weasley said, his brow furrowed. "What's wrong with - "

"I made him make promises to me," Draco said, his voice strained. "I never once wondered about
who would be there for him." He threw his head back, closing his eyes. "I didn't do a single thing
for him. I just left him. He's alone."

"He's - he's not alone," Weasley said hesitantly. "I mean - "

"No," Draco said, shaking his head. "You don't know Theo like I do. You don't know what he's
been through."

"Okay, fine. What has he been thr- "

"Hell, Weasley," Draco interrupted curtly. "He's been through hell and back. And when all of this
happened, when things got just a little bit easier for him and a little bit harder for me, I just - "

He sighed. "I never thought for a second about who would be there for him if I was gone. I had
Granger to save me, and I didn't think twice about him." He scuffed his foot against the wooden
floor, needing an outlet for his frustration. "I'll never forgive myself for that."

Weasley seemed stunned silent, for once. "Maybe it's not what it looks like," he ventured after a
moment.

Draco arched his brow wearily. "I suppose," he conceded. "After all, for all intents and purposes,
I'm dead."

"That's the spirit," Weasley agreed. He looked around, eyeing the many piles and tables and
shelves. "You know," he said, making an obvious - and not unopposed - attempt to change the
subject, "I'm not sure how Mione thought this was going to be a useful exercise."

Draco grimaced. "She had solid intentions."

"I just don't know what I'm even fucking looking for," Weasley vented. "You know, she's the
brains, Harry's at least got some sense of what we're after - "

"And we're here based on my expert ability to have been here several times before," Draco said,
his tone listless and bored. "Hope she's not too disappointed."

"What do you think You-Know-Who would put his soul in?" Weasley asked, wrinkling his nose
in revulsion at the thought. "You'd think it'd be somewhere covered in a black cloud of smoke,
with maybe a banner and some arrows pointing to it saying 'seriously evil shit' or something - "

"Ever the sophisticate, Weasley," Draco murmured, though he paused. "Though maybe you're not
totally wrong."

Weasley looked taken aback. "I'm not?"

"Don't let it go to your head," Draco sniffed. "But I used to have dreams about the Dar- I mean,
You-Know-Who. It was how he communicated with me."

"Like Harry's dreams?"

Draco shook his head. "I don't think so," he said pensively. "I think Potter is inside his head, and
in mine, he was talking to me. He'd be waiting for me." He shuddered, remembering.

"Well that's pretty fucking creepy," Weasley commented. "But how does that - "

"I remember the feeling of the dreams - the feeling of being near him," Draco said, frowning.
"There's an aura to him - like there's a kind of vacancy in the world right around him. It's - "

He couldn't think of a word, and Weasley looked at him hopefully.

"It's . . . bad?" Weasley suggested.

"Bad"? Clever, Weasley.

"It's eerie," Draco said, settling on a term. "There's a particular feeling that you get, being near
him." He looked around the room. "Maybe if I just looked out for that feeling, something might
come to me."

Weasley shrugged. "By all means," he said, gesturing forward.

Draco smoothed his hair back again, trying to focus on the types of magic that filled the room.
There was a slight buzzing in the atmosphere, though that could have been from multiple sources.
There was a slight buzzing in the atmosphere, though that could have been from multiple sources.
He tried instead to focus on the familiar feeling, the one he'd encountered - and suffered from - so
many times before.

"Are you - "

"Shut it, Weasley, I'm thinking," Draco snapped impatiently, closing his eyes. He tried to take
himself back to the dreams he'd had - there'd been the one with Granger, when he'd felt the air go
stale as the Dark Lord approached - and the one at his home, with the uncomfortable stillness, the
unsettling feeling like he knew what was waiting for him, in a place he should have felt safe.

He felt rather than heard a distinct, chattering vibration and opened his eyes, heading deeper into
the room. There was a particularly unwelcoming pile there, stacked as all the others were with a
multitude of items, and he squinted at the pillar-like structure. There was some kind of inherent
disruption somewhere in that area, as though the very air itself were conflicted. He pulled open the
door of an old, antique cupboard, not finding anything of interest, before turning his attention to
the table beside it.

"Weasley," he said, jutting his chin forward. "See anything?"

Weasley caught up to him, squinting at the pile. "No," he said uncertainly. "Maybe that stone
warlock over there is just giving you the creeps, Malfoy."

Draco rolled his eyes. The finest mind of a generation, he is. "No, I think there's - " he stopped,
seeing a faint metallic glint in the midst of a pile of unremarkable belongings. "What did you and
Potter say the other horcruxes were?"

"The locket," Weasley said, recounting. "A cup, a ring, a diary - "

"So small things, then," Draco said, brushing away an errant hair. "Valuable things. Jewelry,
possibly - maybe a - " he leaned over, eyeing the table again. There seemed to be an ancient,
discolored jeweled item of some kind, resembling a sort of gaudy trinket. He peered at it closely. It
might have been a crown of some kind, though he wasn't familiar with the terminology. "A tiara,
maybe?"

But before Weasley could open his mouth, a sudden thud rang audibly through the room, and
Draco looked at Weasley uneasily, bringing a finger to his lips. Something wasn't right.

"I don't know what he's been going on about."

It was a voice Draco recognized as belonging to Alecto Carrow, a Death Eater whose memory he
had modified while at the Astronomy Tower. "Obviously the cabinet works just fine - "

"Sure, sure, feel free to tell him that," came the second voice, a sour baritone that Draco assumed
had to belong to her brother, Amycus.

Draco groaned inwardly; he had forgotten to consider that the vanishing cabinet he himself had
fixed might still be in use. If any of the Death Eaters had been attempting to use it while they'd
been elsewhere in the Room of Requirement, their entrance would have been blocked. Now that it
wasn't, though, they had an entirely new set of problems on their hands.

Draco gestured frantically to Weasley from across the aisle that separated them, mouthing for him
to duck down and hide. Knowing as he did that the cabinet was a few corners away from where
he stood, he felt reasonably confident that they were probably fine.

Perhaps mildly confident.

 Slightly confident.

Provided that neither of them - nor the room's other magical occupants - made a sound, he was
somewhat confident that they would be fine.

"Where did he want it moved?" Amycus asked gruffly.

"Don't think it matters," Alecto called back. Draco's heart started pounding at hearing her
footsteps approaching his hiding place. "He just wants it somewhere convenient."

"What's wrong with this room?" Amycus asked testily. "I don't see why we have to do the grunt
work when it's obviously unnecessary."

"I don't know," Alecto replied. "I've never even been here - are you seeing all of this?"

Weasley's eyes grew to the size of saucers as Alecto turned the corner and into their line of sight,
wandering aimlessly in Draco's direction. Draco pressed himself against the closest tower of items,
trying desperately to blend in, while Weasley watched from a few feet away, concealed in a
particularly shadowed corner.

Alecto strode through the labyrinth that was the room's cryptic organization, eventually passing
each row that led to theirs. She had just stepped into their row, her boots clicking against the floor
as she remained oblivious to their presence, and had moved on by the time Draco released a thin
stream of air, relieved.

Though of course, that would have been too easy. As though the room itself meant to punish him
for his numerous misdeeds, the barely attached door of the creaky cupboard he'd searched earlier
now resumed its boisterous path, the hinge falling open and emitting the faintest of unwelcome
sounds.

Alecto spun on the spot. "Who's there?" she demanded, returning at a gallop to step within a foot
of Draco's face.

Weasley, who was standing behind her, instantly drew his wand. "Stupefy!"

She collapsed on the ground.

"Did she see you?" Weasley mouthed, and Draco shook his head, his mind racing. After all, she
hadn't been alone . . .

A second purposeful stride seemed to grow louder as the stunned Death Eater's companion
headed their way.

"Alecto?"

Draco brought his hand to his face.

"Weasley," he breathed. "What the fuck have you done?"

Chapter End Notes

a/n: a little shorter today, but a variety of hijinks await. Dedicated to MrsMorgan813,
who was wondering how Draco's processing was going . . . not well, I'm afraid.
I also posted a fluffy one-shot today called "The Story," which is an extended scene
from Clean, Chapter 14. Little Chmura's amazing illustration of happy Dramione is
up on tumblr, so take a look!
 The Big Picture
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter 8: The Big Picture

The halls of the castle were deathly quiet. Hermione, who had usually gone home for the holidays,
had never experienced Hogwarts outside of its full occupation, and found herself unnerved by its
uncharacteristic lack of exuberance.

It was hard for her to see the castle the same way after everything that had happened there. For
everything that she was able to recall about her first moments at Hogwarts, each seemed to be
followed by a darker, corresponding moment in her psyche. For her delight in the pictures that
moved, there was the jolting image of Harry clutching Cedric after the Triwizard Tournament. For
the wonder of the staircases that shifted, there was her glimpse of Malfoy's haunted reflection in
the bathroom mirror. For the very first magic that she'd performed within its walls, there was a
vision of Dumbledore's gentle blue eyes, looking up at her from the point of her wand.

When she'd first arrived at Hogwarts, it had welcomed her like an old friend. Now . . . now it
seemed to give her something of a cold shoulder, and she knew it was her fault. She'd emptied the
castle of what had perhaps been its finest headmaster, and frankly, she wouldn't blame the place if
it never forgave her.

"This way," Harry murmured quietly, nudging her. She nodded.

She was happy to let him do the leading and the navigating; she had other things on her mind,
after all. With how quiet Malfoy had been, she could only assume he was internalizing his turmoil,
as usual, and she was fairly distressed at the thought. Leaving him alone with Ron, who was
already not the most sensitive of companions, was probably not the best idea she'd ever had - not
that she could do anything about that now.

Thankfully, her concentration wasn't necessary. They'd made their way down the stairs to the third
floor without any problems, and it didn't even appear that any of the ghosts were currently active.
Many of the portraits were vacant as well, their occupants wandering elsewhere or napping
quietly.

Speaking of portraits . . .

"Harry," she said, gripping his arm. "I just realized something."

"Yes?" he asked, pausing to look at her.

"Dumbledore's office - it has portraits of previous headmasters, doesn't it?" she asked tentatively.

To her relief, Harry's face seemed to show clarity right away. "You think Dumbledore's portrait
will be in there?" he asked hopefully. "You think I can talk to him?"

"Maybe," she said. Her mood suddenly darkened. "Yes, I suppose he would be in there."

Harry grimaced. "Do you think you can face him?"

She felt a jolt go through her, a mix of indignation and distress. "What do you mean?" she asked,
her brows furrowed together anxiously. "You think I can't face him?"
Harry looked uneasy, but not apologetic. "Well - you did kill him," he reminded her.

"I haven't forgotten," she snapped. "Though maybe you've forgotten why I had to."

"I'm very clear on everything, Hermione," he replied coolly. "I know you thought it was what you
needed to do - "

"No," she said abruptly, pursing her lips. "No. Stop right there. It was what I needed to do - "

"I get that you wanted to save Malfoy," he said calmly, his voice irksomely patient. "I understand
why you thought it was your only option."

It was whatever he wasn't saying that was nagging at her.

"Are you trying to say that you think I had other options, then?" she asked furiously. "Tell me,
Harry, what do you think I should have done?"

"Nothing," he said unconvincingly. "Nevermind - "

"No," she said fiercely. "No, just say it. Say it - "

It was already boiling to the surface. "You didn't have to KILL him, Hermione!" he shouted, his
green eyes flashing. "We could have hid him, the same way we hid Malfoy - "

"Right, because it's believable that there would two dead people and no bodies to prove it?" she
prodded, her temper rising. "Because You-Know-Who would have just, I don't know, taken our
word for it?"

Harry's deep, patronizing sigh rattled Hermione to her core. "I'm just saying that I'm sure we could
have come up with something - "

"He was dying, Harry!" she shouted. "He had maybe days to live, he said so himself - and he told
me to tell you he was sorry, he said that's all he wanted you to know - "

"He was sorry?" he echoed, and she stopped, seeing his face go blank. "What was he sorry for?"

She felt her shoulders sag. "I - I don't know, Harry," she said sadly. "I think he was just -
reflecting on his life, maybe." She winced. "He wasn't more specific than that. Just that he wanted
you to know he was sorry."

Harry was quiet for a moment before he gave her an agonizing look of accusation. "Why didn't
you tell me sooner?" he demanded. "Why didn't you tell me he'd said something?"

She blinked at him, knowing by the stiffness of her face that she was giving him a vacuous look.
"I don't know if you're aware of this, Harry, but quite a few things came up in between now and
then," she said drily. "The fact that he told me to pass on a vague apology must have slipped my
mind, in between - "

"In between what?" he interrupted, visibly fuming. "Reading?" His tone was dripping with
sarcasm. "Shagging Malfoy?"

"In between obliviating my parents, Harry!" she yelled back, the words stinging her chest. She
had to stop for a moment, trying to steady her labored breathing. "I'm sorry that Dumbledore's last
words to you weren't exactly my priority after I erased my entire existence from my only family - "

"You - you did what?" he asked, stunned. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"You're not the only one who's lost someone, Harry," she said bitterly, tugging her hand across
the corners of her eyes where a collection of stinging tears had begun to pool. "You're not the only
one who's suffering."

His gaze seemed to soften. "Hermione, I - "

A faint sound from down the hallway caught her attention and she slapped her hand across his
mouth. "Sh- do you hear that?"

The sound of a mischievous cackle was quickly growing louder throughout the hallway.

"Peeves," Harry breathed, eyeing the map.

There was a soft popping sound above their heads before a little man appeared, a broad smile over
his wide mouth.

"Who's there?" he called, peering into the vacancy where Harry and Hermione stood under the
cloak. "Is that you, Potty?"

Hermione fidgeted uncomfortably beside Harry as Peeves continued to eye the area precisely
where they stood.

"I heard your voice, Potty!" Peeves cackled. "Are you under your cloak? Scampering off to
another murder, ickle Pottykins?"

Peeves produced a pocketful of chalk and began throwing it in their general direction, the pieces
scattering off them where they stood.

"So rude you are, Potter, not to show yourself to Peevesy!" the poltergeist said in his sing-song
voice. "Oh Potty, Oh Harry, a-murderin' he's been, Oh Potty, be wary, Avada's a sin - "

"Can't you do something?" Harry muttered to Hermione, raising a hand to shield himself from an
errant bit of chalk.

She rolled her eyes. "Waddiwasi!"

It was the same spell that Professor Lupin had used to shove gum up Peeves' nose in their third
year; Hermione smiled as Peeves clutched his face. It was hard not to admire her own poeticism as
he suddenly disappeared from view, cackling as he went.

"There," she said triumphantly, brushing dust off her robes. When she looked up, Harry was
watching her with a strange look on his face.

"I've got a lot to say to you," he said warily, and her heart sank as she recalled what they'd been
talking about. "But let's go inside first."

She nodded, gesturing forward to the gargoyle in front of them. "Go ahead," she prompted.

He eyed the ugly gargoyle carefully. "Is it Acid Pops?" he asked tentatively.

The gargoyle seemed to offer up an unpleasant frown, though Hermione was sure that was in her
imagination. "No," it croaked.

Harry looked back at Hermione, uncertain. "Well then."

She frowned, stepping forward to stand beside him. "Is it 'Dumbledore'?"

"Seems reasonable enough," the gargoyle muttered, stepping aside.

Harry looked at Hermione and shrugged. "After you," he said, gesturing forward gallantly.

She walked tentatively into the large, circular room, not knowing precisely what to expect. Unlike
Harry, she'd never been summoned here, and was unfamiliar with the office.

"Does it look the same?" she asked quietly, looking around at the snoozing witches and wizards
on the walls and the grubby-looking Sorting Hat sitting wearily behind the elegant claw-footed
desk.

"No," he said, frowning. "There used to be a bunch of . . . I don't know what you'd call them.
Knick-knacks, I guess." He walked over to the bare shelves, running his hand across the ledge.
"They're gone, and so is Fawkes."

"The phoenix?" she asked. "Did he belong to Dumbledore?"

"I'm not sure," Harry said with a puzzled look on his face. "Normally I would assume yes, but it
doesn't strike me as likely that an immortal firebird would really belong to someone."

She nodded at this. "True, I suppose."

She caught sight of a large frame immediately behind the elaborate desk.

"Harry," she said, nudging him. "I think that's supposed to be his portrait."

He walked over to it, eyeing the neutral canvas. "I think so," he agreed, brushing a finger against
Dumbledore's name at the base of the frame. "But it's empty." He took a step back, sighing
regretfully. "Dumbledore's not here."

Hermione let out a shaky breath, not having been aware she'd been holding it. She knew that for
Harry's sake she should be disappointed, but she found herself rather relieved.

"Well, maybe he'll come back," she offered feebly. "In the meantime, help me find the book." She
looked around the room, trying to ascertain where the professor would have hidden a forbidden
item. "Did he tell you what it was called?"

"Secrets of the Darkest Art," Harry said. "I'm guessing he wouldn't have left it out in the open."

She grimaced. "No, probably not." She walked over to the desk, starting to pull open the drawers.
"You check that side," she called to him, gesturing, and he nodded.

They busied themselves in silence for a few minutes as they searched; Dumbledore's desk had
expansion charms within the drawers, and each one was far less innocuous than it seemed. It took
her a few tries before she climbed down a trembling wooden ladder that was propped against the
inside one of the middle drawers, identifying a stack of books against a cavernous-looking wall.

"Found it!" she called up to Harry, blowing dust off the book's cover. It clearly hadn't been
touched in years, and it positively vibrated with unpleasantness. "I'm coming up."

"Good," he said, and she noted with alarm the distinctly unsettled tone in his voice as she
clambered out of the drawer. "Because I found something with my name on it."

"What?" she asked, startled. "What is it?"

He held up a small glass vial that appeared to be filled with a glowing, hairlike substance. "It's a
memory, I think."

"A memory?" she echoed. "Whose?"

He shrugged. "We'll have to find out, I suppose," he said, taking her arm and leading her to the
side of the room where a private cupboard sat with the door ajar.

She squinted at the stone basin. "Is this - is this a pensieve?" she asked, marveling at it. "I've read
about these, but I've never seen one."

"Yes," Harry said, nodding. "Are you ready?"

"I - I guess so," she said hesitantly, and as he leaned forward after pouring the contents of the vial
into the pensieve, she quickly did the same, tumbling headfirst into a memory of that very room.

She looked around at the office in awe, realizing that Harry was correct in his assessment of
Dumbledore's belongings. They were indeed knick-knacks of sorts, a variety of moving silver
instruments, some of which seemed to emit puffs of steam at random intervals. The effect was
nearly that of an old-fashioned muggle toy store, though she was quite certain that none of these
items ran on batteries.

"Severus," Dumbledore said pleasantly from his chair, smiling as the dark professor swept into
the room. "I wonder if you wouldn't mind doing me a favor."

"Please, your excellency," Snape replied sarcastically. "As you know, I live to serve."

"Good," Dumbledore replied, his eyes twinkling. "I need you to record something for me." He
gestured to the chair in front of him, where parchment and quill sat waiting. "I should not keep
you long."

Snape sighed testily. "I suppose you've asked for worse," he mumbled, picking up the quill and
dipping it callously in the waiting ink pot. "And may I ask why you can't just record it yourself?"

Dumbledore raised his blackened hand patiently. "I'm afraid I'm just not feeling up to the task,"
he replied softly. "Are you ready?"

"Yes."

"Excellent." He cleared his throat. "I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, do hereby
bequeath - "

Snape held up his hand without looking up. "Excuse me, Professor," he said silkily, "but if I'm not
mistaken, you've now asked me to write out your will?"

"Yes," Dumbledore said, a faint twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

"So, to clarify," Snape said, straightening in his chair. "First you would like me to record your
last will and testament, and then you would like me to kill you?"

"Well, not all in one day's work, Severus, that would be excessive," Dumbledore replied jovially.
"Besides, perhaps the Malfoy boy will murder me after all, and you'll be spared the second half of
the task."

Harry looked up at Hermione with a jolt, but she shook her head, still intently listening. "Not
now," she mouthed.
Snape was looking at the elderly professor with curiously narrowed eyes. "There is no reasoning
with you, is there?"

"No, no, I'm afraid not. You know," Dumbledore said thoughtfully, "you can really just skip
ahead. Most of my possessions belong to Hogwarts, anyway. I need you to record three - no, four
things in particular."

Snape sighed again, bending his head to the parchment. "Go ahead, then."

"To Hermione Jean Granger - "

Snape looked up abruptly just as Hermione's heart flipped in her chest. "You're leaving something
to the Granger girl?"

"Yes, yes, of course," Dumbledore said hurriedly. "Please, Severus - "

"Why would you - "

"Severus." Dumbledore's tone was suddenly very authoritative. "Please." He waited for Snape to
make a small shrug, the tiniest prompting gesture, before continuing. "To Miss Hermione Jean
Granger, I leave my copy of the Tales of Beedle the Bard, in the hope that she will find it
entertaining and instructive."

Snape made a vague sound as though planning to interrupt, but Dumbledore cut him off.

"To Ronald Bilius Weasley, I leave my Deluminator, in the hope that he will remember me when
he uses it."

"That is quite a valuable thing to leave for the Weasley boy, of all people - "

"And to Harry James Potter," Dumbledore interjected, "I leave the Snitch he caught in his first
Quidditch match at Hogwarts, as a reminder of the rewards of perseverance and skill." He
paused for a moment. "I also bequeath a second item: the Sword of Gryffindor."

"You can't give the boy that," Snape scoffed, finally succeeding in being heard. "There's no way
the Ministry will let you - "

"Come now, Severus, I didn't realize you were such a stickler for the rules," Dumbledore said,
adding the faintest brush of an arrogant smirk. "It is currently in my possession, and is mine to
bequeath."

"But the Ministry - "

"Oh, they'll have other things on their minds, I'm sure," Dumbledore replied with a smile. "Got
all of that, then?"

"Yes," Snape muttered irritably, adding a final flourish to his transcript.

"Good," Dumbledore said quietly. "You know, Severus, you really are a good man . . . "

Hermione took a deep breath as they vacated the memory.

"I have so many questions," she said, allowing the briefest moment of silence before launching
into a tirade of curiosities. "Where are the bequests he left for us? Does the Ministry have them?
How will we get to them? Why would he leave us those things? Whose memory was that? Why -
"
"Did you hear him say Snape was supposed to kill him?" Harry said, his voice barely above a
whisper. "He was supposed to die that night. He was always planning on it." He looked up at
Hermione, shaking his head. "I'm so sorry, Hermione - I shouldn't have blamed you."

She raised her hands quickly. "To be fair, I didn't know that," she said, uncomfortable with his
sudden apology. New information had certainly changed Harry's ability to process, but it did
nothing to assuage her guilt, nor should it. "How can you forgive me now, if the foundation of my
decision remains? Whether he had arranged to die or not, I still made my choice." She looked at
Harry solemnly. "I still took a life."

"But I shouldn't have said what I said," he told her earnestly. "I think I convinced myself
somehow that you didn't care - that it was easy for you - "

"None of this has been easy for me!" she said with frustration. "None of it. Not lying to you, not
anything that's happened with Malfoy, not killing Dumbledore, not obliviating my parents - none
of it has been easy."

"You really obliviated your parents?" he asked, and she saw a glimmer of worry in his eye.
"Why?"

"You know he's killing muggles, Harry," she said tearfully. "I - I just didn't want them to be at
risk."

He seemed speechless for a moment, as though not sure what to make of her. "So you modified
their memories?"

"Actually," she said, sniffling. "Malfoy did." She smiled weakly. "He said he wanted to save my
soul this time."

Harry shook his head in disbelief. "I don't know what you saw in him, Hermione," he said
adamantly, "and I have no idea what you did to him. But whatever it was, you did the world a
considerable favor."

"Oh, he's really not so bad," she said with a smile. "He's oddly sort of wonderful, deep down."

"Very deep down," Harry agreed. He put his arm around her shoulder, steering her towards the
door. "Come on," he said, pulling her in for a brief hug. "Let's go make sure our boys are still
alive."

"Stupefy!"

And with that, Amycus hit the floor, collapsing over the limp form of his sister.

"Damn it, Weasley," Draco said through gritted teeth. "Now what's your plan?"

"Oh, I'm sorry Malfoy," Weasley said venomously. "Should I have just let them see you, then? So
they could take that story back to the rest of the crew? Because I'm sure that's just what your
family needs, to find out you're alive and a traitor - "

"Fine," Draco barked. "I get it, I'm sorry."

Weasley blinked vacantly at him. "You are?"

"Yes," Draco hissed, seething. "Why are people always so shocked to hear me say that?"
"Are you serious - "

"Now is not the time, Weasley!" Draco shouted, gesturing to the bodies on the floor. "In case it's
managed to escape your attention, we're in a bit of a jam here."

"Fine, fine," Weasley said, pulling absently at his thick red hair. "Well - can't you just alter their
memories again?"

Draco grimaced. "I could, yes," he said, pausing to think it through. "But too many memory
charms can really addle a person's brain - it might be a little bit suspicious." He frowned. "Besides,
that doesn't address the issue of them trying to use this cabinet."

Weasley eyed the cabinet from where they stood. "Is - is that the same cabinet that Fred and
George put Graham Montague in?" he asked incredulously. "The one he got trapped in for
weeks?"

"Yes," Draco replied curtly. "I fixed it last year."

"Well," Weasley said ominously. "Let's just break it."

Moron. Draco opened his mouth to speak, but was abruptly cut off.

"Hear me out," Weasley said quickly. "My dad works in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts
department at the ministry - "

" - so - "

" - but sometimes the artefacts that come to him aren't just muggle-related, they're other things that
don't work. I know for a fact he's dealt with vanishing cabinets before," Weasley said animatedly.
"They're bloody unreliable, they are - anything can go wrong to break the connection, especially if
the people operating it are as daft as these two," he added, gesturing with his foot to the Death
Eaters who lay face down on the ground.

Draco stood quietly for a moment, struggling with himself. The foundation of Weasley's point was
solid - vanishing cabinets were finicky items at best, wholly unreliable at worst. If Alecto and
Amycus were to destroy the cabinet of their own accord, it would certainly be within the realm of
possibility. Unfortunately, the last thing he wanted was to agree with the redhead beside him, and
it was still little more than a shaky plan.

Weasley squinted at him, trying to read his expression. "Malfoy, are you - "

"I know, I know, I'm thinking," Draco said with irritation. "They know they made it here, they
know they were stunned - "

"Yes, but the smallest window of time has passed, right?" Weasley said hopefully. "You wouldn't
have to totally derail their memories, just sort of - give them an explanation, you know?" He
gestured to his head. "Fill in the blanks, or something."

Draco buried his face in his hands, sighing. It literally pained him to take an idea from Weasley,
but it seemed there would be no getting around git had finally produced a worthwhile thought,
much to Draco's chagrin.

"So what do you suggest, then?" Draco asked tiredly, not looking up.

"Modify their memories," Weasley said flatly. "Make it so that - I don't know, so that they only
remember showing up and leaving. And just make sure one of them breaks it on the way back."
Draco straightened. "It would only be a small adjustment," he said, nodding to himself as he tried
to justify it. "Amycus already didn't want to move it - it wouldn't be a stretch to convince them that
they just decided to turn back."

He looked at Weasley, a determined look taking over his face. "Here's what you're going to do -
first, you'll have to obliviate them. Easy enough, and then an imperius on one of them - Amycus,
probably - "

"Wait," Weasley sputtered quickly. "What do you mean what I'm going to do? I can't - "

"Listen, I can't give you a whole lecture on this right now, Weasley, but magic leaves traces,"
Draco said urgently. "If the Dark Lord figured out that their minds have been altered before and
he discovers the same trace once again, that will take him straight to me. If you do it, there's some
element of confusion - he won't recognize a pattern, because there won't be one to recognize."

Weasley looked both alarmed and unsettled, his face contorted as though he were about to vomit.
"I can't," he said breathlessly. "A memory modification and an unforgivable? I - I can't - "

"Think about Granger," Draco urged, taking hold of Weasley's shoulders. "Think about what's at
stake here - think about the big picture, Weasley - "

"You're making monsters of us all, Malfoy," Weasley growled, a darkened look taking over his
freckled features. "How can you - "

"I'm not a monster," Draco said angrily. "And Granger's not a monster and you're not a monster,
even if you go through with this." He nudged Amycus's foot with his own. "These are monsters,
and we're just doing what's necessary."

"I'm not a Death Eater, Malfoy, and I'm not a Slytherin," Weasley said, flinching. "Even if I
thought I was capable of the magic involved, I wouldn't have it in me to do this."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "It really doesn't strike me as particularly Gryffindor of you not to,
considering how pleased you were with the idea when you thought I'd be the one doing your dirty
work."

Weasley said nothing - nor should he, Draco thought.

It was time he learned a little bit about the world outside his restricting frame of morality.

"Pick up your wand, Weasley," Draco said, after the other wizard remained silent. "We don't have
a lot of time."

Weasley's expression looked pained. "I - I really can't - "

"Look, I'll help you," Draco said, trying another approach. He of all people knew what it felt like
to be forced to do something involuntarily, and the pressure certainly wouldn't help. "It's not that
hard, really. Just focus on what you want them to know - focus on the thoughts they already
expressed out loud."

Weasley took a deep, heavy breath. "Still, Malfoy - I'm just - "

Draco chose to disregard the redheaded wizard's continuing uncertainty. "What did Amycus say?"
Draco said, stepping forward and prompting him. "He said he didn't think it was worth it to move
the cabinet, right?"

"Right," Weasley said, his mouth twisting into a hesitant partial frown. "Right, he didn't want to
 move it. He thinks it should stay here."

"Right," Draco said encouragingly. "So focus on that thought, since it already exists. Focus on the
noise that startled them, that made them uncomfortable. Focus on them deciding to leave."

Weasley raised his wand. "And then what?" he asked, his voice barely audible.

"And then you say it," Draco said. "Obliviate."

Weasley nodded, taking a shaky breath. "Okay," he said, appearing to shake an unknown weight
off his shoulders with a twitch of his neck. "Okay. I've got it."

"Yes," Draco said firmly. "Yes, you do. And when they get in the cabinet, the imperius will be
easy. You'll just make Amycus say 'harmonia lacere passus' instead of 'harmonia nectere passus.'
Instead of binds, breaks."

"Okay," Weasley repeated, nodding mechanically. "Okay. I can do this."

"You can do this," Draco agreed.

They both turned as one of the bodies began to stir.

"Wand up, Weasley," Draco said in a low voice. "Let's get to work."

Chapter End Notes

a/n: This chapter is dedicated to ellaeterna and ErisAceso, who both started reviewing
at around the same time and who are both wonderful commentators whose views I
look forward to every chapter. Thank you for reading!
 The Exposure
Chapter Notes

a/n: Ask and you shall receive. Rated M for a reason.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 9: The Exposure

Dudley Dursley knew something was wrong the moment his mother answered the door.

There was a man standing there, a very haggard looking man who appeared aged beyond his
years, as though he'd long ago had all hope drained from his face and the color stripped from his
prematurely grey hair. He was sporting violet circles under his weary, kind eyes, his pale skin host
to countless thin scars across his face - and if his natural physical appearance weren't off-putting
enough, Dudley could practically sense the movement of his mother's upturned nose in response
to the man's shabby, abnormal clothing.

"Yes?" she asked coldly.

"Hello, Mrs. Dursley," the man said, his voice exceedingly gentle. "I wonder if I might be able to
come inside and have a word with you and your husband."

Dudley watched his mother shift anxiously. "And who are you?"

"My name is Remus Lupin," the man replied steadily. "I'm a member of the Order of the Phoenix,
an associate of Albus Dumbledore, and I was once a close friend of your nephew Harry's
parents."

Petunia's body immediately went rigid. "That boy's not here," she hissed, "and I'll not have my
home be taken over by any of your sort again."

"Mum," Dudley interjected, bounding quickly to the door. "Mum, I think we should see what he
wants."

He eyed the man carefully, wary of his presence. Harry and the others had made it very clear that
they had purposely chosen not to tell the Order of the Phoenix - whoever they were - what had
really happened when they'd come back from that wizard school. But as much as Dudley worried
this man's motives might be suspect, he felt it was worth the effort to find out.

It was a quiet night, after all.

"You must be Harry's cousin, then? I'm Remus," the man said politely, extending his hand.

Dudley frowned, but clasped the man's hand in return. "Dudley," he offered flatly.

Petunia glanced around guardedly, her brow furrowed over her watery blue eyes. "You can come
into the living room," she said, her harsh tone serving as a warning. The translation was obvious:
he was an unwelcome intruder, and the living room was, quite definitively, as far as he would get.

"That's more than fair," Remus replied kindly, and Dudley led him inside with a grunt, taking a
seat in one of two matching armchairs while gesturing for the stranger to sit on their very formal,
very floral couch.

There were several moments of silence before anyone spoke.

"You're looking for Harry," Dudley said pointedly. "Why?"

Remus looked uncomfortable. "Well - have you seen him recently?"

Petunia was perched on the arm of the other chair, looking as though she very much wanted to get
the whole exchange over with. "Yes, about a week ago, I'd say," she told him impatiently.

"Was he with anyone?" Remus asked cautiously. "A redheaded boy, perhaps, or a girl with very
curly hair?"

Petunia's eyes instantly narrowed. "But you're describing Duddy's friends," Petunia said, puzzled.
"Those two, and the third, the boy - "

Remus leaned forward curiously. "Really? A third?"

"They're my friends," Dudley interrupted quickly. "Not Potter's."

"Yes, of course Duddykins," Petunia squawked immediately, her hands flapping.

"And you said they were here a week ago?" Remus prompted, and Dudley frowned. It seemed to
him that the man was fishing for information, and frankly, Dudley didn't care for the feeling that
he was being tricked.

"Yes, for a couple of days," Petunia said. "Funny, they left the same day he did - "

Dudley growled a little to himself in frustration over his exceedingly unhelpful mother. "Mum," he
said loudly. "Would you mind getting some tea?"

She pursed her lips for a moment and looked hesitantly at Remus, who offered her an awkward,
tentative smile, but made an eventual soft hum of agreement.

Only after she left did Dudley turn to face their guest.

"You're a wizard, aren't you?" he asked softly, hoping not to attract his mother's attention from the
kitchen.

"I am," Remus replied, his voice colored with the faintest note of surprise. "And Harry was here
with Hermione and Ron, wasn't he?"

Dudley didn't see the harm in divulging this information if it meant he might be able to ask
questions of his own, particularly since his mother had essentially confirmed it already. "Yes."

Remus raised an eyebrow. "And the third friend your mother was talking about?"

This, Dudley knew, could be harmful. He distinctly remembered his cousin's warning to their
funny little elf - You can't tell anyone, or give any hints - as well as Draco's early warning - It's
really imperative that everybody think I'm dead.

"My friend," Dudley grunted. "Not Potter's."

Remus seemed to be aware that Dudley was lying. "Was he - "

"Why are you looking for Harry?" Dudley interrupted. "Shouldn't you know where he is?"

The older man seemed agitated at the question. "Perhaps I should, yes," he admitted, inclining his
head in defeat. "But unfortunately, Harry doesn't seem to have much faith in the Order of the
Phoenix right now."

There was something about this man that Dudley inherently wanted to trust. He had the kind of
haunted look in his eye that usually indicated the character of someone who meant no harm,
whose desperation was driven by something other than malice. Dudley fervently wished he could
ask one of the four wizards what to say - particularly the bossy Hermione girl, since she really
seemed to have a handle on what they should do at any given time. Though, given Harry's ability
to take control of a situation, Draco's cool head, and Ron's comforting assurance, any of them
would have been useful. Certainly more useful than Dudley on his own.

He was not prepared for this, he thought, swallowing nervously.

"Has Harry told you about what's going on in our world?" Remus asked carefully. "Has he
warned you of the dangers?"

"Dangers?" Dudley asked, leaning forward. "You mean, to me?"

"Yes," Remus said, nodding solemnly. "The dangers for mug- apologies," he said, correcting
himself, "non-magic folk, are formidable. And as Harry Potter's only family, I would hazard a
guess that you and your parents are singularly at risk."

This wasn't actually news to Dudley. His cousin had already mentioned it once.

"We're still safe until Harry comes of age," Dudley said stiffly, repeating his cousin's words.
"We're safe until he turns seventeen."

"And then?" Remus asked, delicately skeptical. "Aren't you worried about what will happen after
that?"

Dudley fidgeted uncomfortably. His cousin did not want to be found, he reminded himself. If he
had, then he would have told this man where he was.

Right?

"No," he mumbled.

"No?" Remus repeated, raising an eyebrow. "You're not worried about your safety?"

He seemed to be watching Dudley closely. Too closely. Dudley found he could not look up,
purely out of fear of revealing too much.

Despite this - or, perhaps, because of it - Remus's eyes seemed to illuminate suddenly, and Dudley
recognized with a jolt that this signal of acute comprehension was not a good sign.

He stood abruptly, still avoiding the older man's gaze. "You should go - "

"You're not worried about your safety because you know that Harry's coming back here, isn't
he?" Remus asked, his mask of exhaustion suddenly lifting as he took on the tone of a clever
detective hot on the trail. "He told you he'd be back, didn't he?"

"You should go," Dudley repeated, walking briskly to the door. "Mum," he called loudly, trying
to be heard in the kitchen. "Mum, nevermind the tea - "
"When is he coming?" Remus asked urgently, gripping Dudley's shoulders. "When will Harry be
back here? His birthday?"

"I don't know anything," Dudley insisted irritably, wrenching the front door open. "Mum," he
yelled again. "Remus is leaving - "

"Dudley, Dudley, listen to me," Remus said feverishly. His voice was hushed as he spoke, and his
face was uncomfortably close to Dudley's. "Dumbledore - you've met Dumbledore before, right?
Dumbledore is gone - and with Harry gone, the Order has no one - we have nothing - "

"I don't know where he is," Dudley said stubbornly. "I already told you - "

"Please, Dudley, you can trust me - "

"How do I know that?" Dudley asked, his eyes narrowed. "Why should I believe you?"

Remus's grip on him tightened. "I've known Harry since he was a boy, I was his father's best
friend - I have nothing but his best interests at heart, I swear it - "

They were interrupted by a loud clatter behind them. "Take your hands off my son!" Petunia
shrieked, coming into view with a frying pan held aloft in her right hand.

Remus instantly released his grip on Dudley's shoulder, his face mottled with panic. "Please - if
you just tell me where he is, I swear, I could help - I could keep you safe!"

"You need to leave now," Dudley said matter-of-factly, giving the man a not entirely gentle shove
out the door. "It was nice meeting you."

"Dudley," Remus pleaded, facing him and leaning into the doorframe. "Dudley - wait! "

But it was too late; Dudley shut the door firmly, turning to lean his head back against it and
emitting a heavy sigh.

"What did he want, Duddy?" his mother asked, fretting over him as usual. "Did he upset you?"

"No," Dudley said sluggishly. "I just couldn't help him, that's all."

He felt bad for the man, this Remus person. He seemed sincere, but what did Dudley know? He
thought nervously back to the conversation he'd had with his cousin.

"Look," the dark haired boy had said, "We've got to go back to Hogwarts."

"Can't you all just stay here?" Dudley had asked, though he immediately looked away,
embarrassed by the unexpectedly pleading lilt to his voice. "Didn't that Dumbledore person say
you were safe here?"

Harry frowned. "Well - yes, we're safe here - and you're safe here, at least for now - but still, I
can't stay. People will be looking for me here."

Dudley stared at him. "Why? Why do they want to find you?"

Harry hesitated. "It's - it's complicated, Dudley." He gave his cousin a wry smile. "I'm surprised
you wouldn't rather be rid of me, honestly."

Dudley shrugged. "You saved my life," he replied easily, a bewildering, naked exposure in his
clear and unwavering voice.
"Well, I didn't save your life, I saved your soul - but, that's not the point," Harry said hurriedly.
"The point is you're safe here until I turn seventeen. And then I'll come back and make sure you
get out of here, okay?"

"But that's in a month," Dudley said, beginning to grow anxious. "What if that Lord Voldy-thing
comes here before you're back?"

"He won't," Harry said quickly. "He can't - at least not until I'm of age." He paused. "I'll be back,
okay? I promise."

Dudley wished he'd thought to ask more questions. Why hadn't he asked his cousin what to do if
one of the Order showed up? He wished he could just call one of them, just to make sure. Had he
already given too much away?

He felt helpless, uncertain.

Still - it was a lot better than the usual boring summer in Little Whinging.

There was a crack as Theo appeared out of thin air, taking off at a run through the neatly polished
lawn of the Greengrass Estate. He was headed straight for the balcony on the second floor, the
one he'd visited so many times before, and had not stopped running since he'd left the Dark Lord's
side.

"Pity," the Dark Lord had said, tutting after Gregorovitch's body had fallen to the ground. "I was
rather hoping to keep him around a bit longer."

"Why," Theo had intoned blankly, unable to garner the energy to properly phrase the question.
"You already had everything you were going to get from him, didn't you?"

"Theodore," the Dark Lord had said, fixing him with a darkened stare, "Do you recall me telling
you that your heart wasn't in it?" He'd glided forward, stepping gracelessly over Gregorovitch's
contorted form. "I can't put faith in you if I doubt your intentions. It is important that I be able to
determine what you are capable of."

"And are you pleased with the result?" Theo had asked through gritted teeth. "How have I fared,
then, in the eyes of my Lord?"

"You are pragmatic, Theodore, and that's useful to me," Voldemort had commented offhandedly.
"You are willing to do what is necessary, and that is what puts you in our ranks."

Theo's stomach churned now, thinking about it. That is what puts you in our ranks.

Our ranks.

He'd vomited twice before disapparating.

He levitated himself onto the balcony, putting both feet gingerly on its wide railing. It was a cool
summer evening, and she'd left her bedroom door open.

"Daphne," he said quietly, stepping down onto the hard floor of her bedroom and padding softly
inside. He spotted her suntanned arm, tossed carelessly across her crisp white bedding, and sighed
with relief when he saw her raise her hand to her face.

She sat up swearing. "Shit, Theo," she exclaimed, breathing hard. "Is that you?"
"I can't be alone tonight," he said, standing a few feet away from where she lay in bed. "I - I need
you."

She sighed deeply, tossing her thick auburn hair over her shoulders. "Theo, it's the middle of the
night, you can't just show up here. Honestly, my parents would kill you - "

"I wouldn't be here if it wasn't important," he said, his voice breaking. "Please, Daphne. Please
don't let me be alone tonight."

He could see the outline of her slowly blinking lashes, even in the dim moonlight of her doorway.
"What do you mean, Theo?" she asked, her voice breathy in the quiet room. "What happened?"

He could feel hot tears welling up behind his eyes but willed himself to stay in control. "I did
something terrible," he told her, his lower lip starting to tremble. "I've made a terrible mistake."

She tossed her thin duvet aside, stretching out her long legs and walking towards him as her thin
nightgown clung to her elegant form.

They'd always been an odd pairing, Daphne and Theo, and everything that had happened
between them had mostly been scattered and furtive. He had never been the most desirable in his
year, despite his birth and status. He had always been too skinny, too introverted, too unpleasant
for a girl like Daphne, who unquestionably belonged on the arm of someone like Draco - someone
with charm and finesse, and who was heir in more than just name and coffers. This, their sporadic
affair - this was not true love. There would be no cleansing, no healing here.

But fuck, did he need to be touched. He just needed to forget himself, to not be a monster, and at
the moment, Daphne Greengrass was the only escape that came to mind. She would forgive him
the indiscretion. She always had.

"What have you done, Theo?"

He lifted his left wrist, where he'd already pulled his sleeve to his elbow. The Mark was raw and
red and he realized he'd been digging into it with his fingernails, clawing at it to stop the pain that
emanated from within it.

"Why?" she cried, running forward to catch his wrist in her hand. "Why would you do this? After
everything? After Draco - "

"Because of Draco," he snapped, yanking his hand out of her reach. "And that's not why I'm here.
I don't want to talk."

She glared at him. "I'm not here for you to use, Theo, I never have been - "

"I know," he said wearily. "I know. I'm - I'm asking." Unexpectedly, he knelt at her feet,
collapsing out of a mix of exhaustion and fear, and wrapped his arms around her knees. "Please.
Please, Daphne, help me - "

"Theo," she said, a warning tone in her scratchy alto.

"He's not dead," he whispered against her thighs. "He's not gone, I have to find him - he saved my
life, he saved me, all I have to do . . . all I have to do for him is find him . . . "

"What happened tonight?" she asked, her voice low.

He squeezed his eyes shut. "The Dark Lord asked me to - to torture someone, and - and I couldn't.
But I couldn't stop him, either, I was - "
He swallowed hard. "I was afraid," he murmured, and he sighed deeply as she started to let her
hands run through his hair, her cool fingers scraping lightly against his scalp. "He wanted me to
torture someone, but I - I killed them instead. I just - I wanted to end it, I wanted to end the pain,
but - but I - "

He pressed his hands to his cheeks, feeling moisture, and it took him a moment to realize that the
combination of this revelation and his inability to speak meant he was crying, detonating, erupting
with pain, his hasty breaths a hurricane against her slender frame.

Somehow, he was fully exposed.

She sank to her knees beside him and held him for several moments, allowing him to ride out the
last of his convulsions with his head against her neck, his lips pressing shakily against her skin as
he gradually careened to a quiet, desolate stillness.

Daphne took his hand, raising it quietly to the thin strap on her shoulder and using his fingers to
brush it away, letting it fall against her arm and cause the neckline of her nightgown to drape
against her breasts.

"Take what you need from me, Theo," she whispered to him, and he crashed his lips to hers.

Hermione held her breath before opening the door.

"What are you expecting?" Harry asked her curiously, his eyes dancing.

"I don't know," she said, exhaling loudly. "Carnage, I suppose."

He shrugged. "Certainly a possibility."

She took a deep breath before pushing on the door. "Okay, here we go - "

Of all the possibilities she'd expected, this had not been one. Ron and Malfoy were lounging
comfortably in the armchairs that the room had put in the common space between their tents, both
seemingly absorbed in the other's company. Ron was draped casually over his chair, his legs
hanging off of its arms, while Malfoy had his chin propped up lazily on his knee.

"Oh," Ron said brightly, turning to face them. "You're back."

Hermione looked quickly to Harry, who also seemed to be temporarily dumbfounded.

"Hi," he replied uncertainly, while Malfoy rose to his feet, coming to Hermione's side and kissing
her coolly on the cheek.

"Well," she said breathlessly, "how did it go?"

"Reasonably well," Ron said, his mouth twitching.

"Actually," Malfoy said, slinging an arm around Hermione's shoulders, "Weasley here is a
criminal now."

"Malfoy!" Ron exclaimed irritably, crossing his arms. "You little shit."

Hermione frowned. The words were the same, but the tone of the exchange, somehow, was
different. "I don't understand," she said slowly. "What happened?"
"Well, the Carrows showed up while we were there," Malfoy said nonchalantly, "and Weasley
here" - he paused, jerking his head to reference the redhead - "decided it would be best to stun
them, so he modified their memories, we broke the vanishing cabinet, and we might have found a
horcrux."

Harry looked taken aback. "You found a horcrux?"

Hermione whipped an arm out, cutting him off. "Ron modified their memories?" she asked, her
voice emerging at a significantly higher volume than she intended. "Ron did that?"

"Excuse me," Ron said with mock indignation. "I do not appreciate your tone - "

"How, though?" she asked. "Since when - "

"Malfoy taught me," Ron said with a shrug, and Malfoy nodded.

"I thought it was best that I not leave too many of my own magical traces," he said smoothly.
"And Weasley did a relatively adequate job of managing to not completely fuck it up."

Her eyes jerked to Ron in anticipation of a predictably explosive reaction, but he only seemed
vaguely amused, a half smile etched across his face.

"Which was, of course, due in large part to you taking a five minutes recess from being a bloody
waste of space, Malfoy," he said musically, and Hermione watched as the pale blond merely
tossed him an eye roll and a smirk.

"You taught him?" she repeated, her eyes wide. "You taught him, and - everything's . . . fine?"

"That we know of," Malfoy said with a shrug.

"Everything's fine?" she said again, blinking in disbelief.

Ron walked over and nudged Harry in the ribs. "Brightest witch of her age," he said solemnly,
nodding to Hermione.

She whipped around to face Malfoy. "I need to talk to you," she said urgently. "Now."

His already colorless complexion seemed to pale significantly. "Okay," he said uncertainly,
following her as she stomped into her tent.

Of course, he hadn't been able to see the smile that had spread across her face after she'd turned,
and thus, was taken entirely by surprise when she threw her arms around his neck the moment the
flap of her tent shut behind them.

She pressed her lips to his, kissing him deeply, and he brought his hand around, gripping the curls
at the back of her head.

"What was that for?" he asked when they broke apart, eyes closed.

"For . . . I don't know," she said, her cheeks flushing. "For not killing Ron, I suppose."

"Well," he murmured, his breath dancing across her lips, "I suppose I can let him live tomorrow
then, too."

She laughed, leaning away. "I just - I don't know, it can't have been easy," she said with a wistful
smile. "I know you were upset, last night and this morning - so I - "
"About that," he said, his expression taking on a more serious edge as he reached for her hands. "I
wanted to tell you something."

"What's that?" she asked, pulling him backwards to sit beside her on her bed.

He hesitated, his grey eyes flashing as he let his eyes flit over her face. "I - I just wanted to tell you
that I love you," he said quietly, bringing the pads of her fingers to his lips. "I know that I don't
make it easy - and that I don't like to talk about what's going on, even though I know you want me
to - but I do love you, and I'm - " he sighed. "I'm doing the Hufflepuff thing again."

She laughed. "Why, because you have feelings?" she asked, poking his chest playfully. "I love
you, you know. It doesn't have to be a big production when we say it. I know how you feel."

"I know," he said seriously. "But I don't want every time I say it to be the result of some life or
death experience. I want you to know, without a doubt, that I would do anything for you, and not
exclusively because we're constantly in danger."

She couldn't help but stare at him. There was an element of playfulness to his words, but even
then his piercing grey eyes bore into her, an obvious hunger visible in them as he bared his
feelings. Those eyes - despite everything, despite months of being tortured by them and devouring
them and somehow finding meaning in them, she found she was not immune to them yet; even
now, she felt a flicker of something in the base of her belly, watching his tongue drag across his
lower lip.

She'd yet to lose the taste of him, but she wanted it all the same. She was in the mood to be
worshipped - and he always did it right, that Draco Malfoy.

Hermione stood slowly, stepping in front of him and pulling her t-shirt slowly over her head.

He inhaled sharply. "What - "

"Be quiet, Malfoy," she said in a low voice, biting back a smile as she watched him shiver.

She unbuttoned her jeans carefully, deliberately, pulling them slowly over her hips and sliding
them down her legs, watching his eyes follow the curve of her arse and relishing the way his
breath caught in his throat. She unfastened her bra, letting it fall gingerly from the tips of her
fingers, before slipping out of her underwear and stepping between his legs.

She could practically see his heart pounding and she could feel her blood rushing in her ears,
standing openly before him like she never had before. She might have expected to feel vulnerable,
exposed at the very least - but she felt nothing but adored, coming to life with his eyes traveling
over her.

He reached out for her waist, running his hands over her hips and her arse before bringing them
up to cup her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples gently as she bit her lip.

"Granger," he said, giving her name his usual growl. "You know how I feel about that."

"About what?" she managed, his thumb dragging from the flat of her stomach down to her clit,
tracing circles around it as he slid his finger against her opening.

"That little lip bite you do," he informed her, leaning forward to whisper in her ear. His breath was
hot against her neck and she moaned a little, thinking about how it felt on her lips, on her breasts,
on her thighs. "Don't act like you don't know what you do to me."

She tilted her head back and he scraped his teeth against her throat, sucking lightly at her clavicle.
"Tell me again," she gasped, grabbing his collar to pull his head against her chest.

She felt him grin as he brought his lips to her nipple, flicking it lightly with his tongue before
taking it in his mouth, then pulling back to look at her. "Why don't I just show you?"

Her breathy moan turned into a whimper as he nudged her legs apart with his knee, slipping two
fingers inside her and sliding his thumb against her clit. She arched her back to press herself
against his fingers and he turned her suddenly, bringing her bare arse against his lap and kissing
her neck and shoulders as he continued to pump his fingers in and out, teasing her each time. She
could feel him under his trousers, his hardened shaft straining against the fabric, and she pushed
his fingers away impatiently, turning around and yanking at the opening of his pants.

He wasted no time pulling his shirt over his head as she tugged his trousers and boxer briefs to the
ground, leaving them in a pile on the floor. He grabbed her by the waist, pulling her to him, and
she eagerly wrapped her legs around his hips, her breasts pressed against his chest where they sat
at the edge of the bed, his tip poised at her entrance.

Her small cry of pleasure met his hiss of satisfaction as he slid inside her, instantly filling her as he
took hold of her arse and slid his hand along the curve of her thigh. With him it was always
rhythmic but now their syncopated motions were feverish, and with each thrust he brought her
closer and closer as she ground against him, driving her to her climax as he tugged at her lips with
his, his tongue dancing with hers before she pulled away gasping, burying her head against his
neck.

He held her tightly around her ribcage as she came, her teeth sinking into his shoulder as she felt
the explosion burst through her. The moment she relaxed against him, shuddering from the
release, he stood, hiking her up on his hips and carrying her the short distance to the nearest wall,
pressing her against the bookshelves. At this angle, with her leg hiked up over his hip, he was
positioned perfectly - deliciously - against her clit and she threw her head back within minutes as a
strangled cry ripped itself from her lips, her legs shaking perilously around him as she came a
second time.

He pulled out of her, tossing her gently on the bed, but she could see in his eyes that he was
almost there - there was always a rapturous moment where she could see the storm in his grey
eyes settle into a delirious calm, and she knew it was because he was hers. There was always a
clarity, a stillness that arrived in his stormy eyes, because body and soul - he was hers.

She locked eyes with him and watched his face, fascinated, as she felt the urgent throbbing inside
her bubble to the surface for a third time.

"Draco," she breathed, writhing as he yanked her hips up and towards him. "Draco - oh - "

She came just before she felt him pulse inside her, his pale silvery hair falling into his eyes as he
pressed his forehead against hers, groaning. They were sweaty and breathless and her two best
friends were little more than feet away - but still, oh, the satisfaction. She smiled, knowing the
moment could get no sweeter.

He pressed his lips to her ear. "I love you," he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper. "I love
you, Hermione Granger."

Well, she thought with satisfaction. She had been in the mood to be worshipped. And that Draco
Malfoy - well.

He never disappoints.
Chapter End Notes

a/n: For UnicornShenanigans, smut complimenter extraordinaire.

Also, for those of you who mentioned you don't normally follow WIPs, thank you so
much for deciding to give this one a chance. I know it's frustrating to not be able to
finish a fic all the way through, but there's still a pretty great experience to be had
going through it together, and I promise to update frequently.
 The Brothers
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter 10: The Brothers

"You're doing better," Snape said in a tone that he must have meant to be encouraging, though the
effort at positivity was visibly straining him.

Theo grumbled irritably. "I think I've found the secret to occlumency," he said with a grunt. "Just
don't care about anything. At all. Ever."

Snape looked unimpressed. "I can see that you're joking," he commented flatly. "But truly, that is
the secret."

Theo leaned forward, burying his face in his hands. "Brilliant," he said wearily. "I'm fucking
brilliant. A thousand points to Slytherin."

"Theo, the less you have to lose, the better off you are," Snape told him, his voice ringing with a
sense of finality. "Believe me. Use it to your advantage instead of letting it defeat you."

"You think I'm defeated?"

"I think you think you're defeated."

"You say that like there's a difference," Theo said with a grimace. He sighed dramatically. "What
a great time to be alive."

"I take it things aren't going well at the Manor?" Snape broached delicately.

"He's not happy," Theo remarked grimly. "I'd stay away from him, if you can help it. The
Carrows were supposed to move the vanishing cabinet somewhere more accessible but shit-for-
brains Amycus broke it." He shivered. "The imbecile's lucky he got to keep his fucking head."

Snape blinked in surprise. "The Dark Lord did not punish him for it?"

"He has something else on his mind these days," Theo said with a frown. "He's got me running
around after some other project of his. Besides," he added, "with you in charge, it's not like he
needs a vanishing cabinet to get into the castle. He can get there any way he pleases."

"He didn't find it odd that Amycus would be fool enough to break such a valuable connection?"
Snape asked, leaning forward. "You don't find it odd?"

Theo shrugged. "Why should I care? Amycus is a third rate wizard at best, and you know as well
as I do that those cabinets were hardly reliable to begin with."

"True," Snape said, though his furrowed brow seemed to indicate an entirely different set of
emotions. "I suppose it also helps that the cabinet is no longer a necessity."

"Not that I care," Theo said with a smirk, "but I suppose it makes sense to limit access to the
castle. Best that only the Death Eaters who used it that night know that it exists, don't you think?"

"You know it exists," Snape noted quietly, his dark eyes calculating. "I take it the Dark Lord has
seen fit to trust you, then."

"With little things, here and there," Theo admitted. "Not nearly as much as I'd like, but with
Amycus essentially demoted - "

"This is something you want?" Snape asked, cutting him off. "You wish to be close to the Dark
Lord?"

Theo tossed him a dismissive eye roll. "Of course," he said with a lazy wave of his hand. "That
was always the purpose to this. I'm not here to be one of his minions, I need to get close. I need to
know what's happening." He paused, biting his lip. "I need to know what happened," he added,
his voice low.

Snape raised one carefully arched brow. "You think he is hiding something from you?"

"The whole thing is like a puzzle where the pieces just don't fit," Theo said with a scowl.
"Whether he's hiding something from me or not, I want to know everything he knows."

"Ah," Snape said, leaning back to consider Theo as if through new eyes. "Well. I didn't take you
as the type of wizard who aspires to be a sidekick."

"Is that how you see yourself?" Theo asked pointedly. "Are you his sidekick?"

Snape flashed him a look of utter revulsion. "In essence."

"Something to aspire to, then," Theo said, giving him a devilish smile.

Snape returned the smile tightly. "Quite," he said unpleasantly, before looking at the clock on the
wall. "You should get going," he said, standing from behind his desk. "I have somewhere I need
to be."

"I don't get to spend the night, Severus?" Theo drawled, rising slowly to his feet. "Darling, please.
I feel so used."

"Nott, you are a walking death wish," Snape muttered under his breath.

"Nah," Theo said brightly. "It's just smoke and mirrors, really. A decoy, if you will."

"A decoy?" Snape echoed skeptically.

Theo looked over his shoulder before wrenching the front door open, flashing Snape one last
trademark smirk. "Yes," he said casually. "So you never know what you're really aiming at."

"Tell us about the horcrux."

They were eating dinner together in the space outside their tents, comfortably feasting on the latest
of what Dobby and Kreacher had prepared for them.

Draco swallowed, thinking back to the item he'd seen. "I can't be certain," he said carefully. "But
it looked to be a tiara of some kind. Some kind of silver crown."

Granger's eyes seemed to light up. "No," she breathed. "Not the lost diadem of Ravenclaw?"

"The found diadem of Ravenclaw," Weasley corrected her, his mouth full.

"That's amazing," Potter said, setting his plate aside and leaning forward.
It hadn't taken much time with Potter for Draco to learn his motivations. The dark haired wizard
was twitchy and anxious when he was directionless, entirely incapable of functioning when he
wasn't assigned some monumental quest. In retrospect, it came as no surprise that Potter had been
so insistent on following Draco throughout the duration of their sixth year. He simply wouldn't
have known what to do with himself otherwise.

"We'll have to take another look, of course," Draco said evenly. "But that should be easy
enough."

"How did you say you broke the cabinet again?" Granger asked, struggling with the last bit of
food on her plate.

Draco and Weasley exchanged glances.

"Amycus broke it," Draco said, and Weasley offered him a single nod.

Granger set her fork down, furrowing her brow. "But - "

"What did you find in Dumbledore's office?" Weasley asked loudly, turning to Potter.

Potter seemed to light up again. "Dumbledore left behind a memory," he said animatedly. "He's
left us some" - he paused, looking to Granger - "bequeaths?"

"Bequests," she confirmed, nodding. "Apparently he left behind a will with items for us. Though
if the Ministry has them, I doubt we'll see them. At least not until they've gone and searched
everything."

Weasley frowned in confusion. "Did he say what he left us?"

"I can only assume you mean that he left bequests for the three of you," Draco said, taking a sip of
gilly water. "A shame, really, since that hat of his would really suit me."

That garnered a small snicker from Potter. "Yes, the three of us," he said, though he smiled. "He
left me the snitch I caught in my first quidditch match, he left Ron his deluminator, and he left
Hermione - a book, I think." Potter's forehead creased as he struggled to recall the title. "The
Beetle Tales, I think?"

"The Tales of Beedle the Bard, you mean?" Weasley asked, his blue eyes bright with amusement.

Granger looked at him sharply. "You've heard of it?"

"Of course he's heard of it," Draco said quickly, puzzled. "Every wizard child in the world has
heard of it."

The look she gave him was a mix of wonderment and sadness. "I can't believe I'm saying this,
Malfoy," she said softly, "but I think you've forgotten that I grew up with muggles."

He blinked. He had forgotten. She reached for his hand, smiling. It was a small mistake, but an
important one, in the grand scheme of things.

Potter cleared his throat. "I know you're having a moment," he said awkwardly. "But I also grew
up with muggles, so if you could fill me in - "

"They're children's tales," Draco said with a shrug. "My mother used to read them to me as
bedtime stories."
"Same," Weasley said. "You really haven't heard of them? There's Babbity Rabbity, and the
Hopping Pot - "

" - and the Tale of the Three Brothers," Draco added, nodding. "That one was my favorite."

"Well," Granger said with a smile. "Tell us the story, then."

He rolled his eyes. "No."

"Oh come on," she said, laughing. "I know you're doing that thing where you try to be difficult on
purpose."

"Come on, Malfoy," Potter agreed, nudging him. "Tell us a bedtime story."

Draco sighed irritably. "Fine," he said curtly. "Though you should know that I hate all of you."

"Cheers to that," Weasley said, raising his cup of pumpkin juice.

"Stop it," Granger said, taking a seat on the floor at Draco's feet. "Come on, Malfoy."

Potter and Weasley joined the chorus. "Yeah, come on - "

"Okay!" he snapped. "Okay, fine. So there's three brothers - "

"You forgot 'once upon a time,'" Granger said, tilting her head back to smile at him. He put his
hand over her face.

"Shh," he said, trying to ignore the leap he felt at having her lips under his fingers. "So there's
three brothers, and they come across a dangerous river at twilight - "

"Midnight," Weasley interrupted. "Mum always said midnight. Scarier," he added.

"By all means, let's insert some Weasley to this and see where that gets us," Draco snapped
irritably. "So they're crossing the river and because they're all wizards - presumably this is rare, I
suppose - they make a bridge to cross it."

"And then Death comes for them," Weasley said solemnly. "He felt cheated, because the brothers
were supposed to have died in the river."

"Yes, wonderful, thank you," Draco said impatiently. "Would you care to finish the story, then?"

"No," Potter said, grinning. "You tell it, Malfoy. Your voice is so soothing."

"You are all the fucking worst," Draco muttered under his breath. "Fine, so Death pretends to be
impressed with them, and he offers to grant them each a wish. The eldest brother wishes for a
wand that can defeat all others, and so Death fashions one out of an Elder tree and gives it to him.
The second brother was a bit of a shit, so he wishes for a way to bring back the dead, trying to
make Death look stupid - "

"Malfoy calling a fictional character 'a bit of a shit' is almost poetic, somehow," Weasley said
dreamily.

" - and the third brother, who didn't trust Death, asked for a way to avoid him," Draco said loudly,
ignoring him. "And Death gives the third brother his own cloak of invisibility."

"I feel like I see where this is going," Granger said pleasantly, "But continue."
"Right, well, you should," Draco said, raising a carefully arched brow. "The first brother
immediately kills someone with his unbeatable wand, and then promptly gets murdered, so Death
came to claim him for his own. The second brother brings back his dead fiancee but she's
essentially a ghost, and just overall not thrilled with him - "

Potter smiled. "Ah, the elegant tales you spin, Malfoy - "

" - so he kills himself," Draco said gravely, "and despite the continuous and exceedingly rude
interruptions of this story, it's really quite tragic."

"Hmm," Granger said, smiling. "And the third brother?"

"Death searches everywhere but can't find him," Weasley said.

"Yes," Draco said, and then stopped. They all looked at him.

"What?" he asked. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said sarcastically, "were you wanting me to finish the
story?"

"Don't be a dick, Malfoy - "

"So Death searches everywhere, can't find him, and after he lived a long life, the third brother took
off his cloak and gave it to his son, and then he and Death walked off together as old friends,"
Draco concluded loudly. "The end."

Granger clapped quietly. "I liked it," she said cheerfully. "You have a way with words."

"I loathe you," he told her, dropping a kiss on her forehead.

"I wonder why Dumbledore would want you to have a bunch of children's stories," Weasley
remarked, pointedly looking away from Draco's show of affection. "I know you like books,
Mione, but that seems an odd choice."

"I don't know," she replied thoughtfully, leaning her head onto Draco's legs. "He said he hoped I
would find it informative, though I don't know why I would."

"Unless, of course, in addition to the horcruxes, he wants you to find the Hallows," Draco said
offhandedly. "Because sure, why not? You've got nothing else going on."

"Hallows?" Potter echoed. "You mean the things from the story?"

"Yes," Draco said. "The wand, the cloak, and the stone. The Deathly Hallows."

Weasley gave him a look. "I've never heard them called that."

"I'd hazard a guess that my copy was slightly less commercialized than yours," Draco said
smugly. "Mine was a first edition."

"Well, whatever they're called, they're obviously not real," Potter pointed out, cutting off
Weasley's inflammatory response. "Though what's so impressive about an invisibility cloak?"

"One that holds invisibility for an entire lifetime?" Draco said, snorting derisively. "Sure, that's
easy to come by. Get back to me in a few years when the charm on yours has worn off."

"My dad had this cloak," Potter said with confusion. "It was his, and he left it with Dumbledore."

Draco frowned. "That's impossible," he said slowly. "No charmed cloak lasts that long, or works
that well. My father was always having to replace his, and I know for certain he would have
bought the best that money could procure for him."

"Well, seeing as we are currently living in a magic castle with a room that produces anything we
need it to," Weasley pointed out dryly, "are we really capable of saying with certainty what's
impossible or not?"

"Still," Granger said. "It's a longshot. If that wand were real, for example, I'm sure it'd have a
horrifically bloody history, but I've never read anything about it."

"We have more important things to worry about," Potter concluded, nodding. "Like the diadem, if
that's really what you found. Our priority should be destroying it."

"Looks like it's time to hit the books, Granger," Draco said, before being forced to fight a brief
moment of alarm at the feverish look of unadulterated excitement that filled her warm brown eyes.

"You talked to Harry's cousin?"

"Yes," Remus replied, pacing.

He was finding it difficult to face the other members of the Order, all of whom seemed to be
regarding him with looks of unfathomable disappointment in their eyes. Even his new wife, who
seemed intent on supporting him despite her own reservations, seemed to be able to offer little
more than skepticism at his reply.

"Why?" Mad-Eye asked. "What did you think you were going to get out of that?"

"Look, I got more than I expected," Remus said hurriedly. "And I wasn't there to talk to him, I
was there to find Harry - "

"Harry wouldn't stay there," Fred interrupted. "He hates the place. We broke him out of there
once."

"We haven't forgotten," Arthur said shortly from across the room, and Molly offered her son a
sharp glance.

"Still, it would have been careless not to at least follow up," Remus explained wearily.

"How is the cousin?" Molly asked, fretting. "That family - they always kept Harry so thin, and he
was always so unhappy - "

Remus nodded grimly. "I thought the same, but his cousin is surprisingly loyal to him," he
admitted. "And as it turns out, Harry, Hermione, and Ron did go there, and from the sound of it,
they went right after the altercation at the Astronomy Tower."

"That was his first stop?" Molly said in horror. "He went to them? Not to us? Who've always
loved him, and cared for him, and - "

Arthur stood abruptly, pulling his wife into the circle of his arms as she sputtered helplessly
against his chest. "Carry on, Remus," he said softly.

Remus hesitated. Should he mention the fact that there might have been a fourth person present?

He decided against it after a moment. Harry's cousin had been particularly adamant about there
being a friend of his there. He was uncharacteristically possessive about whoever the other person
was, which didn't seem to fit the narrative, if the fourth was someone from Hogwarts. Not to
mention that it seemed exceedingly unlikely, as from the very beginning the trio had been loath to
introduce anyone else into their circle. Harry had not even bothered to tell Ginny where he'd gone,
and it was obvious by the swollen eyes and lingering tear tracks that had been featured on the
girl's face for weeks that something had to have been going on there.

"Dudley insisted he didn't know where Harry was," Remus said, sighing. "I don't know if that's
true, although I did get the impression that Harry was planning to be back. He seemed to have
warned Dudley at least minimally as to the damage he and his family faced."

There was a knock at the door, and they all turned their heads sharply.

"Probably Snape," Remus said, gesturing, and when George opened the door, they found that it
was.

"Evening," Snape offered tightly, before taking a seat in the corner.

Remus nodded brusquely. "Anyway," he said, turning back to the group. "Dudley seemed to be
fixated on Harry's birthday." He eyed them all carefully before continuing. "Now, it's just a guess,
mind you, but I suspect Harry may be coming back on his 17th birthday, presumably to remove
his aunt, uncle, and cousin from their home once the protections on it run out."

"The Dark Lord has hinted at plans to strike that day," Snape said in a low voice, his dull baritone
slicing through the thick tension in the room's atmosphere. "He also suspects Potter may be there,
and at this point I have done nothing to discourage the idea."

"Perhaps you should," Kingsley suggested. "If Harry does decide to visit his former home that
night, he would be in grave danger, and we would have no way of warning him."

"I can still try to reach him," Remus said hopefully. "I can search for him - there's only so many
places he could have gone, considering he still has the trace on him - it wouldn't take that long - "

He caught the flash of displeasure in his wife's eye and looked away instantly.

"Or," Fred said loudly. "What if we all just show up anyway?"

George stood suddenly, slamming his hands on the table. "PLOT TWIST!"

"Really, hear me out," Fred said quickly. "Aren't you all getting a bit tired of moaning after
Dumbledore and fretting over where a scrawny little teenage git's gone off to? Maybe we're not
privy to some grand plan, but can't we at least take a piece of You-Know-Who where we can get
it?"

"Yeah," George said, nodding, and the look of panic that crossed their mother's face was hard to
ignore. "Maybe we don't need the Chosen One just to make a dent in You-Know-Who's forces.
We can at least take out some Death Eaters, can't we?"

"He can't have all that many waiting in the wings," Fred added. "There's not that many
purebloods, after all."

"Frankly," George continued, the entire two-person exchange feeling much more like a single,
well-rehearsed monologue, though it clearly was not, "I'm getting a bit tired of sitting around here.
I may not have a bloody scar on my forehead, but I can cast a spell or two, I think."

"Right you are, Georgie," Fred proclaimed. He paused to look around the room. "What say you,
Mad-Eye? You in?"
The wizened auror was looking at him carefully, his chin placed thoughtfully in his hand. "Sounds
like a death trap," he said flatly. "Not that I haven't played around with a few of those in my day."

"You can't possibly agree to this, Alastor," Molly said, pulling free of her husband's grasp. "This
is madness! You can't encourage this!" She whipped around, turning to face Remus. "Say
something," she pleaded. "These boys, I swear - it's like they have a death wish."

"Smoke and mirrors," Snape murmured suddenly from the corner.

Remus turned to look at him, startled. "What?"

Snape straightened. "I agree that it's unwise, but only if no precautions are taken," he said warily.
"But perhaps if you employed some kind of . . . method of disruption. A decoy of sorts, perhaps."

Remus could tell there was something to this idea, but he didn't want to look overeager. Neither
Molly nor Tonks were giving him particularly supportive glances. "What do you mean?"

"The Dark Lord will be looking for Potter," Snape said simply. "His followers will all be given
instructions not to harm Potter. But if the Death Eaters cannot identify which one he is - "

"So you're saying we do what, exactly?" Kingsley asked. "Trick them into thinking one of us is
him?"

"I'm saying you trick them into thinking several of you are him," Snape said moodily.

"How?" Remus asked. It was a wild idea, but his interest was piqued. "Polyjuice? But how would
we manage that?"

"It's Potter's house, is it not?" Snape said, shrugging. "Surely he would have left a single strand of
hair at some point in seventeen years of residing there."

"But what if Harry is there?" Remus asked. "Kingsley's already said it - we have no way to warn
him. We'd only be putting him in danger."

"The boy's in danger no matter what he does," Snape said impassively. "Precautions can be taken,
and candidly, though I am loath to admit it, I agree with the Mr. Weasleys," he sniffed. "You are
all exceptional wizards, are you not? Surely you can improvise."

"I see you're not including yourself in that generalization, Snape," Mad-Eye pointed out gruffly.
"Is that because you won't be joining us, or because you're not an exceptional wizard?"

"Clearly I will not be joining you," Snape snarled. "I hardly think it'd do me much good to show
my cards now. Not while there is so much left in the game to be played."

"It's true, we've got to do something," Tonks said suddenly, speaking up for the first time. "I'm not
in love with it but the twins are right, we can't just sit around - "

"Well of course you can say that!" Molly spat passionately. "You're the one who thinks Harry's
capable of killing someone!"

"I don't see why we can't further our cause while we wait to see what comes of Harry's situation,"
Remus said quickly, placing a comforting hand on his wife's shoulder.

"It's a big risk, mobilizing now," Arthur said uneasily. "We've got no leader, no Chosen One, no
plan - "
 "You'll have to come to some conclusion," Snape said, his tone bored. "As you know, every
moment I spend here is another one in which I open myself to the possibility of being brutally
murdered, so I'd rather not drag this out."

Remus grimaced, looking to Kingsley for guidance.

"What do you think?" he asked quietly.

Kingsley gave a small shake of his head. "I don't see that we have any other options," he admitted.
"The Death Eaters may soon gain control of the Ministry, and they already possess Hogwarts - if
we don't take the opportunities that come to us, we may find ourselves out of options."

Remus brought his hand to his face, trying to wipe away the exhaustion he felt at having to fight
this war a second time. The first time, he'd lost everything. He'd lost his best friends - James and
Lily gone, Peter brutally murdered and Sirius at fault (or so he'd thought), Harry placed with the
muggles - Remus had been alone, and he had suffered what he thought at the time would be the
height of all possible loss. This time . . .

He let his thumb circle his young wife's shoulder.

This time there was so much more to lose, he thought, taking in the charming curves of her
delicate face.

"Okay," he said after a moment. "I think we should do it. We should set a trap for Voldemort."

Molly shuddered at the statement and Remus turned away uncomfortably, not wanting to deal
with the trepidation that settled instantly in the base of his stomach.

He could hear the uproar around him; he saw the twins immediately leap to action and he watched
Snape slip out the front door, but he could do nothing other than stare forward blankly,
contemplating what he had done. Was he even fit to make these decisions? He was no Albus
Dumbledore, no great leader with one defeated dark wizard already under his belt. He wasn't even
a Harry Potter. He was not and had never been a youthful inspiration with courage to spare, not
like Harry. Not like Sirius. Not like James.

His wife was watching him with her dark, twinkling eyes.

"It's not a bad idea," Tonks whispered to him.

He sighed, bending to kiss the top of her head. "At times like these, everything's a bad idea," he
told her, closing his eyes as he took in the scent of her hair. "Fortunately, I've had a lifetime's
worth of dealing with bad ideas to know when one's got teeth."

Chapter End Notes

a/n: This chapter's dedication was chosen by my best friend (with my vehement
approval): danielap, thank you for making us laugh. Also glindafied, because I often
forget to dedicate to my AO3 readers, but you are always wonderful.

To answer questions: is Hermione using contraception? Yes, though I'd rather not get
into it, for the same reason I don't make a point of removing shoes and socks (it gets
into it, for the same reason I don't make a point of removing shoes and socks (it gets
in the way!). But yes, she/Draco are using a contraceptive spell. How many chapters?
Honestly, I'm afraid I have no idea. This story will likely be longer than Clean, but
probably not by much. Feel free to reach out to me if there's anything else you want
to know!

I also created a "Review Hall of Fame" on my ffn bio page because I really do
treasure some of the things you wonderful humans have said to me since I started this.
It's by no means complete and sadly I can't include some of my favorites (Sora Loves
Rain, yours mostly have spoilers so I'll have to comb through again and see if I can
find a semi-innocuous clip because I love them) but still. Thank you to all of you for
bringing me endless joy.
 The Dosage
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter 11: The Dosage

"Well," Hermione said, pursing her lips. "This is definitely the lost diadem of Ravenclaw."

Ron opened his mouth to correct her and she cut him off swiftly. "You can stop making that
'found diadem' joke, Ronald," she told him loudly. "You're the only one who thinks it's funny."

She watched as Harry nudged Ron, giving him a tiny apologetic smile. "It's kind of funny," he
whispered to him.

Hermione sighed loudly. They'd retrieved the diadem from the Room of Hidden Things earlier
that day to little fanfare and had chosen to bring it into their iteration of the Room of Requirement,
deciding it was best to transport the object within the reach of Hermione's library rather than the
other way around - which, logistically, might have taken days.

It wasn't a particularly long verification process. For one thing, the item they'd produced from the
Room of Hidden Things matched the only known likeness of the diadem, a hand drawn image
that was buried within the many yellowed pages of Hogwarts: A History, and for another, the
phrase "Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure" was very clearly etched into the metal. If
that were not enough, there was also the lingering unpleasantness of a distinctly disturbing air to
the object. It seemed to be making a wailing noise, as though the forces trapped within it were not
sitting particularly well together, and Harry had sworn he'd heard a woman's voice emanating
from it. They'd all quickly come to the agreement that they collectively did not feel the need to
take a closer listen.

"Okay," Malfoy said uncomfortably. "Now that we've found it, what are we supposed to do with
it?"

"How dangerous is it?" Ron asked uneasily. "I mean, are we going to all end up with decaying
body parts like Dumbledore, or - "

"Maybe just avoid trying on the diadem, Ron," Harry said wearily. "Not sure if you were
planning to, but I advise against it - "

"Well for fuck's sake, Potter," Malfoy said, pouting with bitter disappointment. "I was fine before,
but now I want to see him wear it."

"Moving on," Hermione interrupted, putting her hands up to circumvent whatever nonsense
would surely come of that exchange, "Let's talk about how to destroy it. You know, something
productive," she reminded them, sniffing primly.

"Right," Harry said, frowning. "Well, I was hoping we would be able to use the sword, since
that's what Dumbledore used, and presumably why he left it to me - "

"Bit of an issue with that," Malfoy said smugly, collapsing into one of the oversized chairs and
propping his legs up on the arm. "None of you Gryffindors seem to have done anything brave in a
while. Pity," he added unconvincingly.

"Yes, because hiding out in this room has really presented us with a lot of opportunities for that,"
Harry snapped. "Believe me, I'd rather be able to move freely." His expression darkened
ominously. "I'd like to finally be able to make something happen."

"I'd be careful saying things like that," Hermione said anxiously. "Once we leave here, we may
never have a place this comfortable again."

She and Malfoy instinctively met eyes from where they were sitting. It was a sentiment that she'd
already mentioned to him the night before, a rare fearful moment in the midst of her cloud of
contentment. He'd had his arms around her, nuzzling his face into her neck, when she'd finally
said out loud what she'd been thinking.

"Are you worried about what it will be like, once we've left here?" she'd asked nervously. "I
mean, what are the chances we'll be able to be alone together like this?"

He'd run his fingers smoothly over her arms. "I'm sure we'll find a way. And if not, well," he'd
chuckled against her skin. "We can always just not concern ourselves with defeating an immortal
dark wizard. That remains an ever appealing option."

She'd made a little tsking sound and turned to face him. "Don't tempt me," she'd said, touching her
finger to his lips.

"Believe me, I couldn't if I tried." He'd shrugged, unperturbed. "You are a stubborn one, my
lovely witch."

It was an innocuous statement, something that could have easily been dismissed in passing. But at
that moment, hearing him say that - to say that he understood who and what she was, that he
accepted her that way, and that he somehow still chose to call her his own - it had been difficult to
breathe. She'd touched her M pendant where it lay against her heart, bringing her lips to his.

He'd caught the motion, something flickering in his grey eyes as he touched the hand that held the
necklace. "Mine," he'd said softly, tucking a loose curl behind her ear.

"Yours," she'd agreed.

She'd taken a long, deep breath then, wondering how she could possibly process her feelings -
feelings she hadn't been prepared to endure, for him or any other. She couldn't imagine finding
any more room in her heart, and yet she did, for him. Every day he meant more to her. Every day
she was a little more bound to him.

"Draco," she'd whispered to him, watching as his eyes fluttered open to regard her carefully. "Do
you believe in soulmates?"

He'd taken a moment before answering. "I never much liked the concept," he admitted, though he
reached for her hand, lacing his fingers lazily in hers.

"Neither do I, really," she'd told him. "Or at least, not in the classic, mythological, 'bound to
wander the earth searching for each other' sense, anyway." She'd smiled wistfully. "I don't
particularly like to think of myself as less than whole, you know? As just one half of a soul. I
would like to think of myself as a complete person, of my own accord."

"Maybe that's not what it means," he'd said pensively, propping his head up on his elbow.
"Maybe a soulmate is just someone who . . . I don't know." His grey eyes settled on hers, causing
her breath to hitch a little in her chest. "Maybe a soulmate is just someone whose soul you're
drawn to. Maybe - "

He'd stopped, laughing a little at himself, as though he found the thought that occurred to him to
be somehow foolish. "Maybe it's not about whether your soul is complete on its own or not.
Maybe it just matters that a soulmate is someone who follows you in all your lives."

She'd let herself mirror his smile. "You think this is just one of our lives?"

"Well, I hardly think that matters, Granger," he said casually. "This life or any other, you'd have
me." He'd kissed her fingers slowly, pulling her towards him again. "This life or another, you
won't be alone."

Thinking about it now sent the most delicious shiver up her spine, leaving her tingling as though
the all of the obscure corners of her heart and the very depths of her soul had found pleasure in his
promise. She coughed and Malfoy looked down, serving to bring her attention back to the present.

"What does the book say, Mione?" Ron asked, prompting her for what should have been her
instinctive reaction.

"The - book?" She sat up, startled. "Oh, right. Secrets of the Darkest Art. Well," she said, biting
her lip, "It does say how to create horcruxes and I have to say, it's really not pretty. But as for
destroying them, it's not much of a guide."

Harry frowned. "Is there anything to go off of?"

She winced. "Not as much as I'd hoped," she said regretfully. "There's a lot of very abstract things
about horcruxes - like, for example, the fact that the only way to reunite body and soul is to
genuinely feel remorse, and apparently, that's extremely painful."

"Ah," Malfoy said skeptically. "I suppose we can cross just presenting You-Know-Who with a
list of grievances off the list, then."

Harry sighed unhappily, taking a seat. "We know house elf magic can't do it, since Kreacher
already tried. And we can't get to the sword." He seemed shaken with discouragement. "And if
the book's not helpful - "

"Alright, so we're having a bit of a rough go of it," Ron said spiritedly. "I'm sure our luck will turn
around."

"Unfortunately, luck is probably exactly what we need," Harry grumbled, and Hermione felt a
sickening jolt as she realized where the conversation was likely heading. "I really wish I hadn't
lost the Felix Felicis that Slughorn gave me last year. I mean, I didn't even get a chance to use it."

She instantly felt queasy. "Um," she said tentatively. "About that."

Harry turned to look sharply at her. "What?"

"Don't be mad," she pleaded. "I mean, you will be. You should be. But - "

"Hermione," he said warningly, and she sighed heavily.

"I already dosed you with Felix once."

The mottled purple that slowly came over his face was startling, if not unexpected. "I'm sorry!"
she said quickly. "But you needed to get the memory from Slughorn - Malfoy had told me the
Death Eaters were coming, I had to make sure you got the information you were going to need - "

"Well," Ron said with strained amusement. "Clearly we haven't quite dealt with everything, then."
"You used Felix Felicis on me?" Harry asked, his voice tight. "You dosed me with a potion and
you didn't tell me?"

"I didn't use all of it!" she said defensively. "And you can't be too upset, anyway, why else do you
think the opportunity presented itself for you to kiss Ginny - "

"Yeah, well, I would have liked to know I'd done that of my own accord!" Harry retorted,
fuming.

"Harry, Felix Felicis only provides you with luck, it doesn't make you a different person," she
reminded him. "And I already told you, I had to, I needed to make sure you got that memory, and
Ron certainly wasn't helping - "

Harry's lips were sealed in a sullen scowl. "So you thought it would be easier to go behind my
back than just to tell me what was going on?" he asked her, his voice dangerously low. "That's
how little you trust me?"

They eyed each other suspiciously for a moment, wondering who would be the first to break.

"Pardon the interruption," Malfoy said smoothly, though not at all regretfully, "but I rather dislike
you attacking Granger like that, so maybe if we could turn this around? Make a bit of an effort to
get something useful out of it?"

"True," Ron agreed softly, though Hermione was disheartened to find that he, too, seemed
disturbed by the news of what she'd done to manipulate Harry.

"Okay, well, I'm not sure how knowing this actually serves to change anything," Harry said in
frustration. "It's not like I have it anymore - "

She grimaced. "About that," she repeated tentatively, offering him a weak smile.

"You're joking," Harry said flatly. "You still have the Felix potion?"

"Well, obviously I wasn't just going to leave without taking a few things!" she cried. "I - I packed
it in my bag, just in case we might need it."

"Look at that, Potter," Malfoy said with a smirk. "Looks like your luck is turning around already."

She retrieved it from her small, magically expanded bag with an accio, placing the small vial in
Harry's palm.

"I really am sorry, Harry," she said truthfully, looking up into his bespectacled green eyes. "But
who would I be, if I didn't do what was necessary?"

He sighed. "I should be thanking you, I know that," he told her. "And I am grateful, just in a sort
of . . . slightly betrayed and used sort of way."

She put her hand on his shoulder. "I'll take what I can get," she conceded grimly.

They all watched Harry as he held the vial in his hand, contemplating it.

"You know, if I'm remembering correctly, you were a bit off kilter," Malfoy commented. "This
really does explain a lot."

"It really, really does," Ron agreed, and Hermione laughed in spite of herself.

"There's only a couple of drops in here," Harry noted, squinting at the vial. "Is that enough?"
"There's only a couple of drops in here," Harry noted, squinting at the vial. "Is that enough?"

"I only gave you one drop, so you should have more than enough," she told him. "I don't know
what would happen if you took more."

"Maybe since you're trying to destroy an evil wizard's soul instead of just making an old man feel
guilty, you might consider doubling the dose," Ron suggested warily.

Harry nodded, raising the vial to his lips before stopping abruptly.

"Hermione, when exactly did you - "

"At dinner," she said, sighing. "The night you got the memory."

He was still frowning with confusion. "But how did you - "

She felt her eyes flick subconsciously to Malfoy, a motion which did not go unnoticed by Harry or
Ron.

"Really?" Harry said, aghast. "Really?"

"To be fair, I didn't know what she was doing," Malfoy said defensively. "Though now I'm not
surprised." He flashed her a knowing smirk. "Clever minx."

"Ugh, just take the bloody potion," Ron exclaimed, making a face. "Otherwise I'm going to have
to ask more questions about what exactly these two got up to last year, and I don't think I'm going
to like the answer."

"Oh believe me, you won't," Malfoy said curtly, looking extremely pleased with himself.
Hermione fought not to roll her eyes.

"Well, here we go then," Harry said, tipping the vial into his mouth and swallowing. "We'll see
what Felix has to say about the horcrux."

They all waited expectantly - which made for an awkward minute or so - until a strange, glassy
look came over Harry's face.

Hermione took hold of his inner arm, trying to gently capture his attention. "Harry?"

He blinked. "Yes, Hermione?"

She bit her lip. "Is - um, is there anything you . . . feel you need to do?"

"Yes," he said, his tone oddly formal. "I think I would like to take a walk with Malfoy."

"What?" Ron erupted loudly, leaping to his feet. "We're here to destroy horcruxes and you think
what you need is a little stroll with Malfoy?"

"As wonderful as my company is, Potter - and truly, it is - I hardly think that seems wise," Malfoy
echoed testily. "I'm not sure I see how that would accomplish anything."

"Where would you even go, Harry?" Hermione asked nervously. She was a little concerned about
where his Felix-induced wanderings would take him, an added bonus to her natural distrust of any
situation in which Harry and Malfoy were left alone. "You can't seriously be thinking of leaving
this room?"

"I've got a good feeling," Harry said cheerfully. "Seems right. I suppose I could go alone, if
Malfoy is otherwise occupied - "
"Yes," Malfoy said briskly. "I'm very busy."

Hermione sighed with frustration, yanking the pale blond aside. "You have to go with him," she
said in a low voice. "I don't know what he's planning, but for one thing, I think we have to trust
the potion, and for another, he obviously needs someone to make sure he doesn't do something
stupid."

"Granger, this is already something stupid," Malfoy muttered under his breath, his eyes trained on
Harry's unfocused expression.

She gave him a look that didn't require words - something of the "do it or else" variety that she
tried to use sparingly, saving it for occasions like this one - and he sighed audibly.

"Fine," he said roughly. "Let's go for a walk then, Potter."

"Are you sure?" Ron was looking at her with a vague expression of desperation on his face. "Are
you absolutely sure this is a good idea?"

"Of course not, Ronald," she snapped. "I've never been less sure about anything in recent memory
- it obviously sounds like a terrible idea, but Felix worked last time - "

"And Felix knows best!" Harry said happily, taking hold of his invisibility cloak and gallantly
offering his arm to Malfoy. "Shall we?"

Malfoy stiffened. "You aren't actually expecting me to link arms with you, are you, Potter?" he
asked suspiciously, his eyes narrowed. "If this is some kind of joke, or a twisted exercise in
friendship where we're going to skip through the halls together - "

Harry clapped his hands gleefully. "Not this time," he told him. "We've got somewhere to go.
Grab the diadem," he added, gesturing to where it sat before he turned to walk to the door.

Malfoy picked it up uneasily, slowly dragging in Harry's wake as he flashed Hermione a

questioning look. "Are you sure - "

She kissed his cheek quickly. "Go," she said simply. "And whatever you're doing - good luck."

Malfoy gave her one last pleading glance - one she tried desperately to ignore as the door revealed
itself and Harry stepped through it, gesturing for Malfoy to catch up - before they disappeared, the
entrance to the room sealing itself behind them.

"I don't have a good feeling about this at all," she said distressfully, beginning to pace through the
room. "I don't have a clue what Harry's purpose is to this, and I don't like it. I do not like it."

"I wouldn't worry about it," Ron said with a shrug, his blue eyes dancing as they followed her
back and forth. "I mean granted, Harry's a good looking guy, but Malfoy seems relatively fond of
you."

She leaned back in the chair, tipping the back of her head against it and closing her eyes wearily.
"Ronald Weasley, you are the living worst."

Theo apparated into the front room of Malfoy Manor and began strutting quickly through the
house, stopping only when he heard the cold voice behind him.

"Where have you been?"

He paused mid-stride, pivoting slowly where he stood. "Narcissa."

She was sitting in one of the uncomfortably formal chairs, her posture as rigid as the spine of the
antique furniture, her pale fingers sitting restless in her lap. She looked as immaculate as always,
not a single platinum hair out of place, and she appeared so collected and focused that Theo
wondered for a moment if she was breathing.

He often thought about what his own mother had been like, or would have been like, had she not
died when he was born. She was almost certainly no Narcissa Malfoy - he doubted any woman
was, and when it came to his mother, he was fairly confident that there was no comparison. To his
knowledge, Aria Nott had been little more than a pretty, young pureblood heiress, with so little of
her life lived and such a formidable age gap between his parents that he might have assumed the
marriage to be loveless had he not witnessed his father come undone in her absence. She would
have been about Narcissa's age now, if not a bit younger, but he could hardly imagine her having
Narcissa's poise, or the intangible edge Narcissa so inherently possessed.

There were not too many women like Narcissa Malfoy, he guessed.

"Where have you been?" she said again, gesturing for him to sit with her.

He walked over to join her, perching uncomfortably at the edge of his seat. "Nowhere of
consequence," he said vaguely.

She gave him a darkened scowl. "You'll have to do better than that."

"You seem upset," he commented blankly. "What are you - "

"Muffliato," she said quickly, flicking her wand around them before fixing him with a bitter stare.
"I am upset. I'm disappointed in you, Theo."

He blinked. "What?" he asked, ignoring the twitchy feeling that paired with her words. "Why?
What have I done?"

"Don't you think the more appropriate question is what haven't you done?" she said evasively. "I
brought you to the Dark Lord against my better judgment. I destroyed the last piece of my son I
had left at your deliberately vague request. And now I watch you come through my home serving
him, the man responsible for the disintegration of my husband and the loss of my only child, and I
have to wonder, Theo - have you forgotten your promise to me?"

He felt as though she was boring holes into his soul somehow, and he found himself shrinking in
the intensity of her gaze.

"I haven't forgotten," he said fiercely, wincing as he heard his voice crack. "Believe me, I haven't
forgotten. There is a purpose to this, Narcissa, I promise you - "

"Is there?" she demanded. "Because from my vantage point, all I can see is the boy who grew up
with my son, now simply throwing his life away." Her mouth twitched into a bitter frown. "Or do
you think I don't know what you've done?"

"I had to," he said quietly. "You know that."

"Do I?" she asked mockingly. "Do I know that, Theo? Do I think you need to come at his beck
and call, to lower yourself to the point of killing for him?"

"I don't kill for him," Theo spat defensively. "He asks me to torture and - I can't, I can't bear to
watch - "
"How gallant of you," she said coldly.

He found her disappointment chilling.

"I'm still searching for Draco," he said softly. He knew there was a muffliato around them but he
still felt uneasy saying the words out loud, having come to terms with the effort it took to bury his
motivations somewhere in his internal vault. Occlumency lessons with Snape had taught him to
push his true intentions out of the frame of his thoughts, and it felt markedly unwise to express
them, even to his truest ally.

"You're doing a terrible job," she told him flatly. "I assure you, you will not find him by simply
busying yourself with the Dark Lord's every whim."

"I do as he asks so that I may get close to him," he said urgently, leaning towards her. "Surely you
understand that - "

"Theo, you're too smart to settle for that as your course of action," she said impatiently. "If you are
waiting to gain his trust, to simply arrive at information instead of forcibly uncovering it, you may
never get the answers you need."

"What exactly do you propose I do, Narcissa?" he asked, tossing out her name as though he was
privy to it, fighting to remind her he was not a child. "You clearly seem to see some obvious
answer here that I don't, so please, please, save us both some time and just tell me what it is you
think I've overlooked."

She didn't hesitate. "Harry Potter," she said simply, and Theo blinked vacantly.

"What?"

"Harry Potter," she repeated, and he scowled.

"I heard you the first time, I just don't see what he - "

"They say he murdered Draco," she said impassively. "Whether or not that's true, he almost
certainly knows what happened that night, and that foolish boy always leaves traces. He quite
literally still has the trace on him."

Theo frowned. "Yes, but - "

"You know things about him," she reminded him softly. "You know his friends, you know where
he would go - "

"I - I don't know him that well," Theo stammered. "I mean, I know about him what any other
student in our year knows about him, that he's a bit of a pompous git, Dumbledore's fucking pride
and joy - perpetually with Weasley and Granger - "

He paused, feeling a twinge of sadness at her name.

"What?" Narcissa asked, catching his hesitation. "The muggleborn? What about her?"

"I - " he stopped, shaking his head. "I don't think you want to know."

She narrowed her eyes. "Is this about you?" she asked pointedly. "Or is it about Draco?"

"This is really not a conversation I want to have," Theo said quickly, standing. "Look, okay, I'll
try to figure out what happened to Potter - "
"Theodore Nott, you will sit down immediately," she said, her tone sharp and unwavering, "and
you will tell me whatever it is you aren't saying. Now."

He slowly complied, sinking back to the chair, imagining that he finally grasped what it felt like to
have a mother. "You're not going to like it," he told her frankly. "Really, you won't."

She sniffed. "So Draco had a dalliance with a muggleborn," she guessed, unimpressed. "I don't
pretend to be ignorant of my son's - " she paused, pursing her lips. "Indiscretions."

Theo gave her a vaguely apologetic look. "Well, Narcissa, I am extremely unhappy about being
forced to be the person to break this to you, but I think calling it an 'indiscretion' would be a wild
underestimation of the truth."

She seemed to have gone a bit pale. "What do you mean?"

"Well," he said again, fighting off the awkwardness of the conversation, "before he left for the
Astronomy Tower, he asked me to do two things. He asked me to watch out for you, to make sure
you were okay."

He paused, hesitating, and she widened her eyes. "And?" she prompted sharply. "What else?"

Fucking Draco, he thought vigorously. I hate this. "He asked me to - to keep an eye on her."

"On her?" She looked at him numbly. "On the Granger girl?"

"Yes," he said with a grimace. "I mean, that was the only outright confirmation he ever gave me.
He did everything he could to keep it quiet - but he couldn't hide it completely, not from me." He
swallowed uncomfortably. "I asked him once, actually, if she was helping him. I suspected it for a
long time."

Narcissa was quiet for a few moments, her face colorless and her expression blank.

"I - I know, obviously, you must not approve," he preempted gently. "But she really is quite
brilliant, and I know he wouldn't have done it, knowing how much he cared about you, if it hadn't
been for a good reason - "

"I don't care about that," she said at once, her brow furrowed. "You think at this point in my life,
my son taken from me, my husband unrecognizable, people arriving in my house only to bleed all
over my floor - you think I care about the birth of the girl my son chose to be with?"

Theo shook his head uncertainly. "I - well - "

"No, Theo, you must realize what this means," she said urgently. "If you think she might have
been helping him, then it's her trail you must follow." She flashed him a look of supreme
disappointment. "Surely you should have thought of that by now?"

"If I already don't know anything of consequence about Potter, I know considerably less about
Granger," he said indignantly. "If anything, she was somehow more of an enigma, she rarely
ventured outside their little circle - "

"You have to start somewhere, Theo," Narcissa said in a sharp whisper. "Start with her. I can't, I
can't even leave this house - but you, it would be easy enough to explain - surely following her
trail will lead you to Harry Potter, and he could only reward you for that - "

"That's not what he has me working on right now," Theo said uneasily. "I have other things I
 need to find, I'm not sure - "

"You made me a reckless, thoughtless deal, Theo," Narcissa said harshly. "You can't now expect
to find safety in it."

"Believe me, it's been a while since I felt safe," he muttered, though he met her gaze with resolve.

She'd won, of course. He'd do as she asked.

"Fine," he said courteously. "We'll play it your way, then. When I'm not searching for whatever it
is he wants, I'll be hunting down Granger."

Narcissa nodded, her posture resuming its regal command. "Good," she said, preening regally.
"And what exactly is it that he has you looking for?"

Theo smirked ominously. "You wouldn't believe it," he said with a trace of amusement. "But it
seems he's after a wand."

Chapter End Notes

a/n: These chapters have a lot of necessary setup so I'm trying to get them to you as
quickly as possible before the plot picks up and I can offer a bit more meat. I have
officially sketched out the ending though so you can rest assured that I shall not
abandon you or this story, though it is quite a ways off.

This chapter is for cosmoswithchaos - I finally sat down to really look at everyone's
responses and you are so consistent about giving me feedback. Thank you!
 The Reconciliation
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter 12: The Reconciliation

"I'm not happy about this," Draco said flatly, stooping awkwardly in his attempt to keep his
distance from Potter while also remaining hidden under the invisibility cloak.

"Shame, really," Potter said, unfazed. "I'm really quite a delight."

Draco snorted softly, getting yanked to his left as his companion turned the corner unexpectedly.
"Careful, Potter," he muttered under his breath. "You're starting to sound like me."

He glanced quickly at Potter's slightly glazed expression, wondering once again - for perhaps the
fourth or fifth time in the last minute - where the Felix Felicis-addled wizard was taking him. Since
leaving the seventh floor, Potter had seemingly done nothing but meander through the castle,
abruptly changing directions and taking an irrationally lengthy path down the constantly changing
stairs.

"Okay, this is getting ridiculous," Draco finally pronounced irritably. "You've got to tell me where
we're going."

Potter didn't spare him a second glance. "Hush, we're almost there - "

"Don't tell me to hush, Potter, really - "

Potter came to an abrupt stop, thrusting his arm to the side and smacking it directly into Draco's
abdomen.

"Fuck, what - "

"Stop for a second," Potter said, his ears trained on something Draco couldn't identify. "Do you
hear that?"

Draco held his breath, listening. "No," he said finally, after a moment of complete and
uninterrupted silence. "What are you - "

"Ah, I know what the problem is," Potter declared, tearing the cloak from over their shoulders.

Draco shivered as the cool air hit him. "What are you doing?" he demanded angrily, his voice
echoing in the hallway. "I'm supposed to be fucking dead, Potter, this isn't exactly the time to go
for a casual stroll - "

"I've got a feeling," Potter said with a lazy grin. His glassy eyes slid to rest on Draco's, his entire
countenance blissfully unconcerned with his pale companion's very reasonable fears. "Trust me,
Malfoy. Or at least, trust Felix."

"I don't trust either of you, and certainly not the both of you combined!" Draco snapped, whipping
around to face him while brandishing the diadem in his right hand. "This is insane - "

Potter ducked as Draco carelessly waved his arms around. "Careful with that, Malfoy, or you'll
take my head off - "
"If I want to kill you with this diadem, so help me, Potter, I'll do it!" Draco informed him loudly,
swinging it about for emphasis.

"Where did you get that?"

Draco turned at the sound of the harsh whisper behind him. "Who's there?"

"The Grey Lady!" Potter gushed, clapping as he spotted the silvery figure of a very tall, very
elegant female ghost. "Excellent. Really, really excellent." He bowed deeply, his wild black hair
falling into his eyes. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm Harry Potter, this is Draco Malfoy - "

Draco rounded on him, cursing through clenched teeth. "What the fuck - "

"What are you doing with that?" she asked furiously, gliding swiftly beside them and nearly
startling Draco out of his wits. "What have you done to it?"

"What do you care?" Draco asked defensively, yanking it closer to his chest. Up close, the ghost
was quite beautiful, and very familiar, both in that she reminded him a bit of his mother - she had a
haughty, proud look to her, the kind that came from a lifetime of careful, meticulous cultivation -
and in that he'd seen her before, though they'd never interacted.

"It's mine," she said bluntly, though she instantly looked down.

"You're lying," Potter commented buoyantly, placing his hands jauntily on his hips. "Secrets don't
make friends, you know."

She looked questioningly to Draco. "What's wrong with him?" she asked, jutting her chin out with
a lofty pout.

Draco rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't know where to begin to answer that question," he said with a
mirthful smirk. "Though he's right. You are lying."

"Fine," she snapped. "It's not mine. It's my mother's."

Draco was startled. "You're Ravenclaw's daughter?"

"Yes," the ghost replied airily. "I'm Helena Ravenclaw. And you've done something to my
mother's diadem."

"Oh, no, that wasn't us," Potter assured her, a perplexingly absent grin still slapped across his face.
"That was Voldemort, actually, but you know, that's really neither here nor there - "

"You have to fix it," she said with alarm, backing away from the item where it sat in Draco's
hands. "It's - it's been corrupted - "

"That's sort of what we're doing," Draco said wearily. "I mean, that's what I assume we're doing,
though once again I find myself with very little control over the situation - "

"It was nice running into you," Potter interrupted cheerfully. "Malfoy here is correct, we really
should get going. Goodbye."

He started walking suddenly, and Draco leapt to catch up. "What are you - "

"Shh," Potter said out of the corner of his mouth, gesturing for him to turn the corner. Draco
begrudgingly complied, though he wasn't happy about being shushed a second time.
"Wait - "

Following Potter's lead, Draco turned, and the Grey Lady - Helena Ravenclaw - swept forward to
catch them. "You don't want to ask me what I know?"

Potter turned nonchalantly, continuing to walk. "Oh, it's up to you," he said absentmindedly, as
though he wasn't particularly concerned with her decision. "If you feel up for sharing, we've got
nothing going on."

Draco scoffed loudly, following him. "Oh, all right then, I had thought this might qualify as
something, but if you think otherwise - "

"What are you going to do with it?" Helena asked, gliding between them and rotating to face
them. "Seeing as it's my mother's, I think I have a right to know."

"Well, you're welcome to come along if you like," Potter said coolly, shrugging. "Maybe in
exchange for you telling us how you came to possess it, we'll tell you what we plan to do with it."

Draco eyed Potter's uncharacteristically expressionless face closely, feeling both slightly stunned
and highly amused. He'd never found his childhood nemesis to be the manipulative type, and yet
here he was, the crafty Gryffindor artfully playing the Ravenclaw ghost like a true Slytherin.

"Fine," the ghost conceded moodily, gliding in concert with their long strides as they descended
the stairs. "I stole it from my mother. Long ago, of course. I hid it at the time of my death."

"Your death?" Draco echoed, finding himself curious against his better judgment.

"Yes," she said curtly. "When my mother was dying - after I'd already stolen the diadem, and she
was pretending she still had it - she sent an old suitor to find me. Despite the fact that I'd taken her
prized possession from her, she wished to see me one more time. To reconcile, I suppose."

"That's a beautiful thought," Potter sighed whimsically, and Helena flashed him a darkened glare.

"Not that it worked out," she sniffed irritably. "The Baron lost his temper and stabbed me, making
the entire thing wholly fruitless - "

"The Baron?" Draco repeated, startled once again. "The Bloody Baron?"

"Yes," she said impatiently. "He was overcome with remorse at what he'd done and used the
weapon he'd stabbed me with to take his own life." She raised her chin haughtily. "Not that it did
me any good, of course."

"Arsehole," Potter agreed, nodding.

"Well, then what happened to it?" Draco said, voicing the obvious. "Where was the diadem when
you died?"

"In the hollow tree where I'd hidden it," she said regretfully. "And I never told a soul where it
was."

"I'm going to venture a guess that you did eventually tell one soul where it was," Potter mused
obnoxiously.

Draco nodded slowly. "You didn't happen to share its location with a certain evil Dark Lord, did
you?"
A furious glare swept over her translucent features. "I had no idea at the time," she said sharply.
"He was - flattering. He . . . he sympathized with me." She turned her face away quickly. "I made
a mistake," she whispered, clearly an attempt to comfort herself.

"Which part was that?" Draco asked skeptically. "Stealing the diadem from your mother, or telling
an evil psychopath where to find it?"

"You wouldn't understand!" she cried frantically, a cool rush of air blowing past as she brought
herself to face him. "You have no idea what it was like . . . it was impossible to please my mother.
I just wanted to make myself clever, you know, I just wanted to be good enough, for once - "

"Oh really?" Draco said mockingly. "You think I don't know what it's like to have a parent that's
difficult to please?" He stopped abruptly, suddenly irate with her explanation, as though he took
her defenses as a personal insult. "You think you're the only person in history to have that
particular problem?"

"You dare speak to me with such insolence?" she demanded, drawing herself up to her full
ghostly height. "How dare you - "

"What exactly is it about you that you think commands my respect?" Draco retorted harshly. "You
stole something from your famous mother and got yourself murdered, and you think I owe you
any deference?"

"You have no right!" she shouted. "I have lived with my guilt for hundreds of years - you know
nothing of which you speak!"

"I know what it's like to make a stupid decision to please a thoughtless parent!" he yelled back. "I
know a thing or two about feeling inadequate! But thanks to you, it's now the container of an evil
wizard's soul, so now I've gotten dragged in somehow, as we're the ones who've got to go about
figuring out how to destroy it - "

"You can't just destroy it!" she said desperately. "You don't understand it - "

"Well then by all means, fill us in!" Draco said bitterly, sweeping his hand out roughly in an
exaggerated prompting gesture. He wasn't sure what exactly he found so agitating about this
spoiled, petulant Helena Ravenclaw, but he was certainly put off by her meager excuses.

"That diadem brought knowledge to whoever wore it because there is a piece of my mother in it,"
she told him flatly.

"What?" Draco asked, caught off guard. "Wait, are you saying there are two souls in there?"

"No, of course not," Helena said indignantly, flashing him a look of impatience. "It's enchanted
like a portrait - it carries with it a version of her, possessing all of her wisdom. You can't just
destroy it," she repeated sadly. "You'll - you'll destroy the only thing left that carries any trace of
my mother."

"Well then what are we supposed to do with it?" Draco asked testily. "It's a horcrux, it's got a
piece of the Dark Lord's soul, we'll have to do something - "

"Have you even given any thought to what you'll do?" she asked accusingly. "Do you have any
idea how to handle an item like this?"

Draco inhaled sharply, hesitating. "I - well, I - " He stopped, turning abruptly to face his rather
uncharacteristically quiet companion. "Potter!" he barked. "Where are we going?"
"No need to yell, Malfoy," Potter said spiritedly. "We're here."

"The . . . girl's bathroom?" Draco asked, eyeing the door unhappily.

"Actually, the Chamber of Secrets," Potter corrected him, in the same voice Draco might have
said "Actually, I'll have another helping of treacle tart," or "Actually, I rather like bunnies."

Helena shuddered. "I dare not enter," she said fearfully.

"Why not?" Potter said brightly, holding the door open for them and gesturing inside. "The giant
killing snake is dead, you know." He leaned towards Draco. "Because I killed it," he whispered
gleefully.

"I know," Draco said with a tight-lipped eye roll. "How could I forget?" At Potter's careless
shrug, he shook his head. "No, seriously. How could I forget. Because I'd very much like to."

Potter let out a swift, barking laugh and clapped him on the shoulder. "Malfoy, I cherish you!" he
said jovially. "But really. No more killing snake."

"That's not why," Helena said testily, glancing around.

A gurgling sound came from one of the toilets, followed by a high pitched giggle.

"That's why," Helena grumbled.

"Ooooh, visitors!"

The shimmering, opaque form of Moaning Myrtle came floating out of a nearby stall, eagerly
coming to join their odd trio.

"Hello, Harry," Myrtle said shyly, batting her lashes at him before looking at Draco with surprise.
"Oh, and you, you're - "

"We've got to go," Helena said briskly, offering Myrtle little more than a disapproving glance.

Myrtle pouted obnoxiously. "You don't get to have both of them," she whined. "You could at
least share."

Helena made a loud, unpleasant scoffing sound. "Get out of here," she said hotly, flicking her
wrist, and Myrtle made a face, retreating to her toilet with a disappointed slurp.

Draco frowned, looking back to the Grey Lady. "Can you use magic on other ghosts?"

Helena stuck her nose in the air, rather unappealingly. "That wasn't magic," she informed him
bluntly. "That was hierarchy."

"Good to know death hasn't held you back," Draco muttered under his breath. "Potter?" he said,
louder, gesturing for him to lead.

Potter nodded, turning to the sink and beginning to make a variety of hissing sounds, speaking the
snake language Draco hadn't heard the other wizard use since second year but that he recognized
from being forced to live with Voldemort and his pet, the charming and effervescent Nagini.

The sink began to move, sloshing downwards out of sight and leaving a large, human-sized pipe
exposed.

There was a brief moment of silence as the two wizards and the ghost looked uneasily at the
passage.

"I have a few things I'd like to say," Draco announced loudly. "One, it's a little disturbing that you
even found this, Potter, considering it's in the girls' lavatory. Two, if you think I'm going in there -
"

"Oh, you're going in there," Potter interrupted with a hearty chuckle. "Live a little, Malfoy."

Helena bristled. "Rude," she declared, pompously averting her gaze.

Draco sighed, walking over to the pipe and lowering himself into it. "You better not be wrong
about this," he said grimly, before letting go and sliding out of sight as Potter leapt to join him.

It was like going down an endless slide, countless smaller pipes appearing in all directions as he
continued to fall, while he pointedly made an effort to avoid rubbing against the slimy metal
surface and struggled to maintain a tight grip on the diadem. As unpleasant as Draco found
crowds and enclosed spaces, he quickly discovered that damp, enclosed piping was infinitely
worse - not that he ever would have questioned it, otherwise.

He felt a mixture of disgust and relief as he finally shot out of the tunnel, landing on his back as
Potter hurtled past him and Helena's shimmering form suddenly flickered beside them out of
nowhere.

"Lovely," Draco said, dusting off his trousers with his free hand.

Potter shrugged. "This is your founder's doing," he commented with a smirk.

Helena sniffed. "Salazar was awful," she pointed out - unnecessarily, in Draco's opinion. Anyone
choosing to locate their secret chamber in a place like this was clearly not a much of a people
person.

"Lumos," Draco muttered, illuminating the tunnel.

Even with the limited light provided by his wand, Draco was able to see very little in front of him,
though his stomach flipped at the sight of an extraordinarily large discarded snake skin.

"I love this," he announced sullenly, and Potter winked at him.

They eventually reached a solid wall with two intertwined serpents, each with hardened, carved
eyes made of eerily glittering emeralds, and Potter was quick to offer a faint hiss, the halves
splitting slowly and moving out of sight to allow them entry.

They were standing at the end of a very long, dimly lit chamber, the entire room - if you could call
it that - filled with towering stone pillars that featured countless carved serpents, all rising to
support a ceiling that was lost in darkness. Potter maintained a brisk pace, walking forward
confidently with Draco and Helena in his wake until he reached an ancient, exceedingly creepy
statue, presumably of Salazar Slytherin.

"Oh, hello," Helena said in a low voice, glowering at the likeness. "Candidly, Salazar, I haven't
missed your face one bit."

Potter swept forward, gesturing to a loose fang on the ground.

"Here it is," he said happily, as though he was greeting an old friend. "This is what I destroyed the
first horcrux with."
"Is that a basilisk fang?" Draco asked in horror, stepping up and squinting at it. "The venom," he
realized, feeling foolish. "Of course."

"Yep," Harry said, punctuating the statement with a nod so exaggerated that it almost sent his
unstable head careening backwards. "So all we have to do is stab it."

"That easy, is it?" Draco asked, setting the diadem on the ground and taking a step back. He
glanced warily at Helena, who gave him a ghostly version of a half-hearted shrug.

"What about what's left of my mother?" she asked tentatively. "Will that be destroyed too?"

"I don't know," Potter said vacantly. "I've never had to destroy half a horcrux before."

Draco gestured forward. "Now's your chance," he said with a smirk, and Potter nodded, squaring
his shoulders.

"Here we go," he said, letting the fang hover for half a second over the diadem before the entire
chamber suddenly filled with a blinding white glow.

"Mione," Ron called. "Mione, get in here."

She sighed, setting aside her books and coming reluctantly to her feet.

"What?" she asked hazily, walking into his tent as her mind remained elsewhere.

Harry and Malfoy had been gone for quite a while. An uncomfortably long while, she thought
with a grimace.

"What's this?" Ron asked, picking up a sleek silver object that she would have guessed - had she
not known better - to be a thin, muggle cigarette lighter. "I found it in here," he explained, waving
his hand to indicate the shelves that contained a variety of small and relatively unassuming objects.

"I don't know," she said uncertainly, walking towards him to take the object in her hand. "Do you
know what it does?"

"Click it," he told her, and she did, watching as the lights in his tent seemed to flee towards the
item in her hand, leaving them both in darkness.

She clicked it again, causing the light to flood back to its former position. "Do you think," she
ventured, her tone hushed, "this might be the deluminator Dumbledore left you?"

"Um," he said tentatively. " . . . Yes?"

She shoved it back in his hand, pivoting quickly to run back to her tent.

"If that was in there for you," she shouted over her shoulder to his grudgingly following form,
"then maybe the book is in here for me!"

She picked up her wand and pointed it in the direction of the closest shelf. "Accio Tales of Beedle
the Bard!" she commanded, nearly yelling with excitement.

A slim book seemed to leap towards her from across the room, its battered binding landing lightly
in her waiting palm.

"This is it," she said exuberantly, running her fingers across the runes that decorated the cover.
"Ron, this is it! This is the book he left me!"
"Good," he said wearily, curling up on her bed and yawning widely. "Read me a story, Mione. I'd
like to take a nap."

Draco was knocked backwards by the force of the sudden burst of unexplained magic, looking
around for Potter as soon as his vision cleared.

"Potter," he sputtered, blinking away the dust from the rubble that had exploded around him.
"Potter, where are you?"

There was a dark-haired wizard standing before him, but it wasn't Potter. This wizard seemed to
actually own a comb.

"Who are you?" the stranger asked suspiciously, a single brow arched pointedly as he eyed Draco
from where he lay on his back. "What are you doing here?"

His voice seemed eerily familiar. "I hardly think it matters who I am," Draco said stiffly, rising
uncomfortably to his feet.

The stranger was extraordinarily good-looking, to the point where Draco found himself feeling
uncharacteristically inadequate by comparison. He was older - perhaps in his late teens or early
twenties - as tall as Draco, though dark where Draco was light, and with an intriguing air to him, a
kind of magnetic force that other people might have deemed charisma, though it had a distinctly
slippery edge.

"You're a Malfoy," the stranger said quietly, taking in Draco's appearance. "That hair and those
eyes are unmistakable. Abraxas's son, perhaps?"

"Grandson," Draco said coldly. "And you are?"

The stranger flinched. "Tom Marvolo Riddle," he pronounced arrogantly. "Though lately I prefer
to be called - "

" - Lord Voldemort," came the voice behind Draco.

"Ah," the Dark Lord said, his mouth creeping into a thin smile. "Helena."

She seemed both fearful and accusatory. "What did you do to my mother's diadem?" she asked
him, her voice low and threatening. "You - you destroyed it, you perverted it - "

"I didn't think that would matter to you, Helena," he said smoothly. "We both know how you felt
about your mother." He grinned at her, his teeth flashing in the dim lighting. "You hated her."

"That's - that's not true," Helena said, though her protestations felt to Draco to be too hesitant to be
taken seriously, and Voldemort seemed to agree.

"Perhaps not," he said delicately. "Though envy and disappointment can look a lot like hate."

He turned back to Draco. "If you're here, then I assume it's time to reopen the Chamber?" he
asked, searching Draco's face for his agreement. "You are a Slytherin, of course."

Draco caught movement from behind the Dark Lord's younger iteration, realizing Potter was
stirring. "I am a Slytherin," Draco confirmed, nodding slowly. "Though we are currently in the
Chamber, and as you can see, you appear to be down a monster."
Voldemort looked around, startled. "Who did this?" he demanded. "Who is responsible for this?"

"Me," came the voice behind him, and Draco was relieved to find that the tint of absurdity that
Felix Felicis had brought to his expression and tone had disappeared somehow in the awakening
of the horcrux. "I did, Tom."

Voldemort swiveled to look at him. "You dare call me by my name?" he asked vehemently.
"Who do you think you are?"

"I'm Harry Potter," he said, his jaw clenched painfully, "And I'm here to destroy you, Tom."

Voldemort paused a moment before bursting into laughter. "Whoever you are, little boy, you can't
kill me," he said, his eyes flashing. "I have done the impossible - "

"Yes, yes, I know," Potter said brutishly, and Draco was a little stunned by his gall. "You've split
your soul into tiny little pieces. But guess what," he said venomously, taking a step towards
Voldemort, "I've already destroyed one of them, and this diadem is next."

The Dark Lord blinked once at the mention of the horcrux, but quickly broke into a malicious
grin. "Did you," he said softly, turning back to Helena. "And I suppose you're all right with this,
Grey Lady? You've no qualms about destroying a piece of your mother?"

"So she's in there, then," Helena said faintly, her phantom lip quivering. "That piece of her - it's
still in there?"

"Yes," Voldemort crooned softly. "Yes, she's here . . . what's left of your dear mother. Her
wisdom, her magic. It is preserved."

"Don't listen to him, Helena," Potter said quickly. "He'll only use you - don't listen to him, he can't
harm you - "

"Oh I would never harm you, Helena," Voldemort purred reassuringly. "I only want what's best
for you - you know that. I always have," he added, and Draco could see why a creature as proud
and insecure as Helena Ravenclaw would have disclosed the information to him that she'd kept
quiet from all others for so many years.

"Don't listen to him, Helena," Potter repeated. "He's never wanted what's best for anyone but
himself, you have to believe me - "

"Wouldn't you want just one more conversation with your mother, Helena?" Voldemort
interrupted gently. "Haven't you regretted her death for so long, doomed to wander her home, her
school for eternity, carrying with you the pain of knowing what you did?"

"She's really in there, that piece of her?" Helena asked tentatively, gliding forward. "I could - I
could talk to her?"

"Of course," Voldemort said with a knowing smile, as Potter rushed forward to block her path.

"No, Helena," he said panting. "Let us destroy the diadem - you know the monster that he is, you
know what he became - "

"But if you destroy it, what's left of my mother will also be destroyed," she said sadly, her ghostly
arm outstretched as though she hoped, somehow, to lay her fingers on the small silver crown.

"Listen to me, Helena," Draco said quickly, stepping forward to plead with her. "I know, I know
what it's like, to want to apologize to your mother - to want to talk to her one last time - I know
how important that goodbye is - "

"Then you must know how I feel," she said sharply. "You must understand, then, why I need to
speak with her - just one last time - "

"You said it yourself, Helena," Draco said urgently. "It's not her, it's not even a piece of her soul,
it's just a portrait - it's just a shadow of her - it won't give you the forgiveness you need, or the
acceptance you never got, I promise you - "

"You said you understood," she told him, offering him a bleak, apologetic glance. "You said you
understood what it was like, to disappoint a parent - "

"I do," he cried. "I do, believe me, I do - "

" - then you'll understand this," she said forcefully, reaching out to grasp the diadem.

"NO," Potter roared, leaping towards her, and Draco stumbled forward too, watching in horror as
Helena's ghostly form seemed to be sucked into a vacuum, the diadem glowing on the floor as
Voldemort bent to pick it up, holding it gingerly in his hands.

"There," he said menacingly. "She's only a ghost, so it won't be much. But it's enough," he said
with a harrowing smile. "I really only need to kill one of you first, after all."

"That's not happening," Potter snarled. "You can't do anything to us - you don't have a wand, you
don't have a body - you're not even human - "

"Oh, I may not be capable of an Avada," Voldemort mused. "But I can always sit back and watch
you destroy yourselves."

"Not happening," Draco said coolly, lifting his chin and stepping to Potter's right side. "Potter's
right. There's nothing you can do to us - "

"Oh, I wouldn't pretend to know anything, Mr. Malfoy," Voldemort said smugly. "You see, I've
had the benefit of coexisting with a powerful source of knowledge - true wisdom, you see - and
I've gained a little bit of insight into what exactly makes a man." He looked between them
hungrily, as though he couldn't wait to begin. "Between the two of you, I can read your demons -
and for one of you, I can see your darkness - "

"Malfoy's changed," Potter said hoarsely, and Draco looked at him, surprised. "He turned his back
on you, he's changed - "

"Oh how interesting," Voldemort said breezily. "I didn't mean him at all - but of course, if you're
that eager to give me material, then by all means - "

"It's me you want," Draco said recklessly, nodding. "He's - Potter's wrong. I can't change. I'm the
one with the demons. I'm the one with the darkness." He looked meaningfully at Potter, his fingers
wrapped tightly around his wand in his back pocket. The basilisk fang, he thought, putting as
much effort as he could into formulating the image in his mind. Behind you.

He watched Potter blink rapidly in succession, waiting for the tell-tale look of sudden clarity,
before Draco returned his attention to the Dark Lord. "Take me," he said, a challenge of sorts.
"You want darkness? Then take me."

Voldemort's smile twisted into a revolting laugh. "You see how easy that was?" he sneered. "Oh,
I'll be happy to take you, Mr. Malfoy - if only because you asked so nicely," he said mirthlessly,
as a wave of magic seemed to rush over Draco, rooting him to the spot, countless thin, unseen
tentacles of power seeming to worm their way into his chest, ripping apart his heart.

"Potter," Draco said, struggling. "Potter! POTTER, NOW!"

He felt his head snap back, his body thoroughly invaded by whatever crude, raw powers that the
horcrux version of the Dark Lord had managed to harness, hearing rather than feeling his entire
body smack violently against the cold, damp ground.

"POTTER!" he bellowed. "PLEASE!"

All at once, the Chamber was filled with an unearthly roar, the pain suddenly subsiding as the
strands of magic Draco had felt corrupting his heart suddenly retracted, his body going limp.

The instant he regained control of his limbs he stumbled onto his knees, crawling towards Potter's
crumpled form, beginning to shake him. "Potter - Potter, what happened - "

He could see that the basilisk fang had made contact with the diadem, leaving behind a crumbling,
quivering piece of metal, the buzz around it slowly subsiding as only a small ball of light seemed
to remain.

Potter creakily rolled onto his stomach, coughing. "What is that?" he managed.

The little sphere of light seemed benign, somehow, and the chattering that had always seemed to
come from the diadem seemed resolved, as though only the light forces had remained. Draco
watched, breathless, as the light seemed to suddenly separate from the diadem itself, dancing for a
brief moment before their faces, before shooting up and through the bewilderingly high ceiling,
only to leave them behind in the dim shadows that remained.

"I think it was Helena," Draco said, though he couldn't explain where that idea had come from.

Potter nodded, rising slowly until they were both hunched over on their knees, sputtering and
shaking from the ordeal.

"Are you okay, Potter?" Draco asked, watching the dark-haired wizard struggle to sit upright.

"It's - it's Harry," he said, taking a deep breath. "I'm Harry."

He held out his hand, and Draco eyed him carefully before taking it. "Draco," he said back,
meeting the bespectacled wizard's bright green eyes. "Though I should warn you," he added
regretfully, "you don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort."

Potter - Harry - laughed slightly, his hand still gripping Draco's. "I think I can tell the wrong sort
for myself, thanks," he replied quietly, and they smiled at each other for a moment before Draco
quickly yanked his hand back.

"Disgusting," he said with a sniff, though they both knew he didn't mean it.

"Did you hear that?" Ron asked, sitting up straight.

"Yes," she said, turning pale. "It came from Harry's tent - go, go - "

They both ran, coming to an abrupt stop as they threw open the entrance.

"Bloody hell," Ron whispered, and Hermione mutely nodded her agreement.

The room looked like a hurricane had gone through it - or more accurately, a very tiny, very
 precise hurricane had struck the object that used to occupy the prominent location against the back
wall, leaving behind a littered mess, a chaotic mosaic of shattered glass.

Though it wasn't the mess that caught her eye, of course - that was secondary. It was much more
difficult to look away from the gleaming object that seemed somehow crowned by the broken
shards.

"The Sword of Gryffindor," she breathed, before releasing a meekly frustrated sigh. "Those stupid
boys," she said vehemently, stomping her foot with annoyance and causing Ron to nearly jump
out of his skin beside her. "Those idiots have gone and done something brave."

Chapter End Notes

a/n: This chapter is dedicated to Mangodress and oblivion.baby - thank you so much
for always leaving thoughtful reviews on every chapter! I love it, and I love you.
 The Neighbor
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter 13: The Neighbor

Draco was the second to enter the room and Granger threw herself into his arms the moment he
stepped in through the door, knocking him flat against the wall.

"Oof," he said fondly, smiling into her hair and placing one hand back to use the wall behind him
for support. "Nice to see you too."

She pulled away quickly, her golden brown eyes scanning his face and then moving rapidly over
his body as though checking for signs of damage. "You're okay," she said, sighing with relief.
"You're okay."

"Yes," he agreed. "Albeit filthy."

"Heroic, though," Harry commented with a grin.

"Filthy heroic," Draco said smugly.

Granger's eyes darted between them, a curious expression coloring her face before she suddenly
backed up, smacking a thin book against Draco's forearms.

"Ouch!" he exclaimed, swatting her away. "What was that for?"

"You two!" she proclaimed shrilly. "I was worried sick - I thought something had happened to
Harry - "

"What, you thought I couldn't take care of him?" Draco said, feigning an air of indignation. "How
fucking rude of you, Granger."

"No, no, it's just that - " she took a deep breath, her eyes dancing excitedly. "Ron and I saw that
the sword was out of its case - "

"What?" Harry said blankly, blinking with surprise before he suddenly launched himself towards
his tent, practically shoving Weasley out of the way in his attempt to reach it and subsequently
appearing to tumble headfirst through the opening.

Draco gripped Granger's hand, offering her a mirthful smirk before following quickly in the dark-
haired wizard's wake. He brushed the tent flap aside and gestured her in first, inhaling sharply at
the sight of the sword's former home, the glass shards splintered across the wooden floor.

"Oh," Draco said blankly, a lackluster choice of reaction for his genuine surprise.

"I know," Granger said back, her voice an excited whisper. "I saw the sword and I just knew
Harry had to have done something absolutely stupid - "

But Harry was in a daze, crouching amongst the bits of glass. "It wasn't me," he commented
grimly, taking the sword in his right hand. "I wasn't the brave one. It was Draco."

"Draco?" Weasley echoed distastefully from where he loitered quietly behind them. "Is that
something we're doing now?"

"Evidently," Draco replied stiffly. "Though that's hardly the point - Ronald."

"What?" Granger asked, ignoring the exchange and rounding on Draco. "What do you mean?
What happened? Tell us everything!" Her eyes instantly searched both his and Harry's hands,
presumably for the diadem, before looking up in amazement. "Did you destroy it?"

"Yes," Harry said, nodding stonily. "And helped a ghost find peace, if I'm not mistaken."

"Though that fucking diadem very nearly took a piece of us on the way out," Draco pointed out
with a shudder.

"We brought the horcrux to the Chamber of Secrets, to use a basilisk fang like I did with the
diary," Harry explained at Granger's horrified expression, and both she and Weasley tentatively
nodded their understanding. "We were with the Grey Lady, who, it turns out, is Helena
Ravenclaw, Rowena's daughter - "

"Blimey," Weasley said, shaking his head. "Who'd've thought?"

"That one we owe to Felix," Harry said with a shrug. "But Helena wanted to touch the horcrux, to
be with the piece of her mother that was still there, and Voldemort - er, well, Tom Riddle, in a
sense - used her, somehow, to garner just enough power to try to kill off one of us - "

"One of you?" Granger interrupted, turning to eye Draco skeptically. "You're not seriously telling
me you volunteered?"

He sighed dramatically. "I may not be a Gryffindor, but I have my moments," he told her placidly.
"Harry was closer to the basilisk fang, so I was the distraction." He paused, raising an eyebrow.
"Really, a rather cunning Slytherin moment, all things considered."

"Hmm," Granger said, a charming look of pride on her face as though she were particularly
pleased with him. "Well, perhaps the sword doesn't have to go to a Gryffindor after all. Maybe it
can appear for anyone who shows courage."

"Maybe," Draco admitted vaguely, albeit indifferently, and Weasley threw him a dubious look.

"You're much less smug about this than I might have thought you'd be, Malfoy," he commented.

Draco smirked. "Yes, well, perhaps some people are just more suited to heroism," he returned
airily.

Harry was glancing down darkly at the blade in his hands, the strange look on his face giving
Draco a distinctly unsettled feeling.

"Granger," Draco said loudly, shifting awkwardly and clearing his throat. "Potter - ah, Harry and
I have had what some might call a particularly trying day," he told her cautiously, hoping she'd get
the message. "Maybe you and Weasley wouldn't mind seeing if Kreacher can bring up something
to eat?"

She gave him a tentative nod. "Okay," she said uncertainly, her gaze flicking to Harry's vacuous
expression. At Draco's pleading glance, she offering him a small sigh of concession, gripping
Weasley's arm and dragging him along behind her.

"Wait," Weasley protested, frowning. "But we - "

"Not now, Ronald!" she hissed, yanking him along in her wake.

Draco waited for them to leave before crouching gingerly beside Harry, where the bespectacled
wizard sat somewhat limply on the ground. "You want to tell me what's going on?" Draco asked,
jerking his head roughly towards the sword in Harry's hands. "Seems like you should be a bit
happier about this."

He watched Harry's mouth twist into a regretful grimace. "I know," he said, after a moment. "I
should be. But I just - " he paused, sighing, running his finger along the hilt of the sword. "I guess
I thought - I don't know." He looked up, offering Draco an unconvincing shrug. "It's nothing."

Draco shot him a harsh, impatient glare. "Just say it," he commanded matter-of-factly, dipping into
the reserves of his Malfoy superiority. "You thought you would be the one to win the sword."

Harry hesitated for a moment as though he might try to argue, before sighing loudly in resignation.
"Yes," he said, suddenly vehement. "Yes. And I feel like I've failed, somehow - because I'm the
one Dumbledore left the sword to, in his will." He let out a bitter, animalistic sound of frustration.
"I'm the one that's supposed to be leading us on this horcrux hunt, and what does this say about
me? If I'm not even worthy enough to possess the sword?"

Draco let his head fall back lazily, wondering how to proceed.

"Look," he said stiffly, after a moment. "I think there's a lot of ways to show bravery."

Harry offered a half-hearted snort. "I think offering yourself to Voldemort is considered brave in
any context."

"Maybe," Draco said roughly, inclining his head. "But I think there's something brave about
making amends, you know." He shrugged, meeting the curious glance of his former nemesis.
"There's something to be said for offering someone a second chance."

A brief smile flitted across Harry's face. "You think a handshake might have freed the Sword of
Gryffindor?" he asked skeptically.

Draco grunted irritably. "Maybe," he said. "But if you tell Granger or Weasley I said that, I'll deny
it. Forcefully."

"It's a nice gesture," Harry said, grinning wickedly. "So sweet of you."

Draco stood abruptly. "Well, fuck," he pronounced loudly, stretching his arms overhead and
wearily working out the kinks in his neck. "I just wanted you to stop pouting - "

"No," Harry said quickly, rising to his feet. "No, sorry - thank you, I mean." He gave Draco a
look so endearing it was almost childlike. "Thanks for trying to help."

"Potter, please," Draco said irritably, feeling uncomfortable with the change in dynamic. "I just
think you could do with reminding that magic isn't always so obvious," he clarified briskly. "And
anyway, whatever it was that got that sword out of its ridiculous case, it's definitely meant to be
yours. I think you've pulled enough stupidly reckless stunts to have earned it by now."

Harry nodded. "That's probably true," he admitted in a low voice.

"I don't just say these things for my health," Draco sniffed, turning abruptly to pursue what he was
sure would be a well-deserved shower.

He'd barely taken a step outside the tent when Granger came barreling into him again.
"I almost forgot," she said breathlessly. "There's something I have to - "

She stopped, her brow furrowing curiously. "What were you talking to him about?"

"Hair potion," Draco replied solemnly.

Granger made a face. "Come on," she said, attempting to turn him around and pull him in behind
her.

"Later," he said firmly, gripping her waist and pulling her into him. "Right now, you'll have to
accept that you chose a man who isn't well suited to a life of escapades if it means he can't clean
up when he'd like to."

She giggled a little in his ear, a delightful feminine sound that forced him to bite back a groan.
"Okay," she agreed, brushing her lips against his cheek.

She hadn't meant to get in the shower with him. At first, it was just the way he'd rubbed the back
of his neck, a brief window of complete and utter exhaustion appearing on his face as he roughly
yanked his shirt over his head, that made her want to help him. It made her want to hold him.

So she did, and she ran her fingers along the angles of his back as the day's trauma fell away,
slipping further and further out of reach.

She hadn't meant to do anything. She'd just been watching the pearls of water traipse down his
skin, growing fixated on the drops that fell down his throat as he leaned his head back, leaving her
to stare at the slick, pale hair that clung to his face until he ran his fingers through it, closing his
eyes. It made her want to touch him.

So she did, and she kissed him, softly, letting her tongue linger delicately on the drops of falling
water that collected on his lower lip.

She hadn't meant to stay so long. He'd tugged his hands through her wet hair, pulling her chin up
to graze his teeth across her neck and then he'd turned her aggressively, pressing her against the
cold tiles that made her gasp out loud, his entire body hard against her back as his hands traveled
down her breasts, her ribs, her stomach, and down and lower and blissfully settling into her until
she could think of nothing but his chest, his lips, his hands.

So she stayed, closing her eyes at the sound of his ragged whisper in her ear. "Hermione."

"Hermione."

She jumped, startled. "What, Harry?"

"Sorry to interrupt," he said casually, and she looked down, blushing. "You said you had
something you wanted to tell me?"

"Yes," she breathed excitedly, suddenly recalling what she'd been so desperately eager to show
him before Malfoy had so unwillingly invaded her mind. "Yes - I'd forgotten."

"Mind elsewhere?" Malfoy asked leisurely, his lips curling into a knowing smirk.

She reddened, ignoring him. "Ron and I found the bequests from Dumbledore's will in our tents,"
she told Harry, picking up the book from where she'd placed it next to the foot of her chair.
"Look, this is his copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard."
"What?" Harry said, leaping to his feet. "Hold on - "

He ran to his tent quickly, leaving the three of them to sit awkwardly, waiting.

"So," Ron said noncommittally. "Should we revisit the subject of shaving Malfoy's head?"

Malfoy scowled. "Shut up, Weasley."

Harry came rushing back, a small item clutched in his right hand.

"I've got it," he said excitedly. "The snitch that Dumbledore left me!"

He held it out for them to see, though Hermione found herself thoroughly unimpressed.

"Oh," she said, her voice creaking with disappointment. "I thought something would happen
when you touched it." Harry and Ron looked at her blankly, and she shrugged. "You know,
because of the flesh memories," she said elusively.

"Right," Ron said, nodding with sudden understanding. "It should have recognized your touch,
since you were the one that caught it."

Malfoy snorted distinctly from where he sat, and they all turned to look at him, startled. "Have you
three forgotten that particular match?" he asked dryly, adopting a disdainful smirk. "I certainly
haven't - it was utter fucking bullshit, we should've won, I'd hardly call it a fair catch - "

"Shut up, Malfoy," Ron groaned instantly, though Hermione caught Harry's eyes as they
widened.

"That's right," he said slowly. "I didn't catch it in my hand - "

" - you nearly swallowed it, you git," Malfoy said pointedly, adjusting in his chair to face them.
"Luckiest catch of the century."

"We get it," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "You're boys, you're rivals, you like quidditch - "

"Blimey, Mione," Ron said, eyeing her with disbelief as though she were utterly blaspheming.

"Obviously I am a fan of Harry's," she reminded him curtly, "And Gryffindor, but really, this is
hardly the time - "

"I'm hurt," Malfoy announced sulkily. "You know that we play the same position, right?"

"Not getting involved," she muttered under her breath, and Ron barely managed to stifle a snicker
at Malfoy's expense.

Thankfully, Harry had ignored all of them, pressing the snitch to his lips and breathing on the cold
metal.

"Look," he said excitedly, pointing to the indistinct script that had spread over the tiny metal
sphere. "It says something here - 'I open at the close.'"

They paused, looking at each other. None of them showed any signs of recognition at the phrase.

"Oh good," Ron said grimly. "Silly me, I was worried Dumbledore was going to be vague about
it."

"Okay," Hermione sighed, biting her lip. "So it's not clear to us right now - that's fine. We'll figure
it out. We've got the sword," she reminded them, nodding in its direction, "so I'm sure we'll figure
this out as well."

"You will, anyway," Harry said, smiling gratefully at her before tucking the snitch in his pocket.
"You always do."

"In the meantime," Ron said ominously, "we should probably discuss a few other things."

"Right," Harry agreed, nodding at him and turning to Hermione. "We were talking earlier about
how we should probably do something about Draco's appearance."

She nodded her fervent agreement, though Ron made a face. "I'm still not used to this whole
'Draco' thing," he said grumpily, looking to her. "Are you going to start calling him that, too?"

"I already do, sometimes," she said evasively, and Malfoy threw her a merciless grin, knowing
exactly which times she was talking about.

"I think it's probably best that we start calling each other by our first names," Harry said pointedly.
"Once we leave here, it would be that much more obvious something was wrong, if someone
heard him call Hermione by her last name."

Malfoy - Draco? This would be difficult, she thought - frowned. "But she's Granger to me," he
said moodily, as the two wizards on either side of him shared a skeptical glance. "It's essentially a
pet name," he added defensively, though it garnered no sympathy from the other two.

"Certainly more of a pet name than the other words you've used," Ron grumbled under his breath.

Hermione looked at him sharply, and he sighed.

"Harry's right," Ron admitted with a wince. "I think we should use first names, though obviously
none of us should be referring to Malfoy at all once we leave here."

"How exactly are you thinking you're going to explain me?" Malfoy - Draco, she thought again,
forcing herself to adjust - asked impassively. "Say you change my appearance, change my name -
still, everyone who knows anything about you three will know you didn't have a fourth member in
your little club at Hogwarts, and isn't it only a short leap from there?"

"Chances are, we won't have to worry too much about that," Harry said quickly. "I mean, it
should just be the four of us, anyway. It's not like we're going to be able to blend right back into
wizard society, with or without you," he added glumly.

"We really should make a final decision on where to go," Hermione pointed out. "Whatever story
we concoct to explain Malf- er, Draco," she sighed, already struggling, "would be highly
dependent on what we were doing."

"Assuming you're still not willing to go to the Burrow" - here Ron stopped, looking around as
though to offer one last chance to do what he clearly deemed the most sensible thing - "then
maybe we should go somewhere in London. Near the Ministry, maybe."

"Grimmauld Place is still out," Harry said unhappily. "Everyone in the Order can get in there."

"My family has a rather large flat in London," Draco said thoughtfully. "But there's a chance one
of my parents would notice if I let the blood wards down."

"Then no, not that," Hermione said hurriedly. "That would be too risky."
She paused. "There's always my parents' house," she ventured quietly, looking down at her neatly
folded hands.

Harry looked startled. "Didn't you - "

"Well, the house would be empty now, wouldn't it?" she asked primly. "They're not there."

Draco looked suddenly very troubled. "There might be a problem with that," he said uneasily.

Theo knocked sharply on the door of what he supposed was a charming muggle home, though he
wished very much he could simply let himself in with an alohamora. It seemed very obvious to
him that nobody was home, and judging by the amount of post that had gathered outside the door,
there had not been someone home for quite some time now.

He sighed loudly, deciding to give it another few minutes. This muggle neighborhood was
certainly an improvement over Snape's, he noted, looking around. The houses were very similar,
conforming almost rigidly to one another, but this at least had the air of being a somewhat pleasant
home. Theo looked around at what must have recently been a particularly well-manicured garden
and sighed again, impatient to move on.

He hadn't doubted that the Grangers would be gone by now. If Granger were smart - and she was,
obviously - she'd have moved them, and it appeared at this point that she had. Good, he thought
vigorously. He didn't want to be responsible for whatever would have to come to them.

In the same moment he realized with a sudden, harsh blow to his conscience that he surely would
have had to be the one responsible for whatever misfortune the Dark Lord wished for them, and it
hit him like a swift knife to the gut.

He buried the thought with a heavy swallow, looking around once more and feeling supremely
out of place. He wished that for once he could go to a house where he could safely break in
without fear of being watched, instead of having to bribe every last one of his sources for
information.

Though, speaking of being watched . . .

Theo squinted at a brief movement from across the street. If he wasn't mistaken, someone was at
the kitchen window, and he knew enough to comfortably assume that if they were doing it now, it
was likely to be a bit of a hobby.

He sighed, crossing the street quickly and knocking lightly on the door.

"Hello," he said in his most un-Theo voice as the door creaked open, attempting to appear both
respectful and pleasant despite his natural feelings of derision. "Have you, ah - have you seen the
family that lives across the street any time recently?"

The woman at the door could not have been over five feet tall, and was certainly no less than
eighty years old, her clothes pressed neatly and her face coated in a thick paint of whatever
makeup older muggle women seemed to tend towards. "Are you the police?" she asked
suspiciously.

Theo was obviously a wizard, not a "police," but he sensed this woman would not be difficult to
convince. "Yes," he said briskly. "I'm looking for the Grangers."

The woman threw her hands up as though to indicate she'd suspected this, turning to enter her
house. "Come in," she said impatiently. "Do you want some tea?"
"Ah," Theo muttered uncomfortably, looking around as he stepped just inside the door frame. The
house had more decorative urns than he felt comfortable being around. "No, thank you. I'm afraid
I can't stay long."

"Suit yourself," she said with a shrug, pouring herself a cup and gesturing for him to sit at the
small round kitchen table, just to the left of the front door.

"Have you seen them recently?" he asked again, perching as daintily as possible at the edge of his
chair in a desperate attempt to touch very little of what existed in this strange, cluttered house.

She only offered him an indifferent shrug. "Do you know the family?" she asked, slurping loudly
on the lip of her small porcelain mug.

He narrowed his eyes. She wanted him to prove himself first.

"Only basic details," Theo said after a moment. "Husband, wife. Daughter."

"Ah, the girl." The woman wrinkled her nose. "An odd one, that girl. Rarely ever saw her face - it
was always stuck in some book or another, from the time that girl could walk."

Theo fought to suppress an eye roll. "Right."

"The girl's almost never home," she commented thoughtfully. "Nice enough when you talk to her,
but a bit strange as a child - some odd things happened around her, and the other kids never quite
took to her - and then she was almost entirely absent. At some fancy boarding school,
supposedly." She made a face. "Hard to believe two dentists could afford such a thing."

Theo, an aristocrat in his own right, caught the derogatory intent, if not the muggle reference.
"Mmm," he agreed vaguely. "When was the last time you saw the girl?"

"Quite recently, actually," the woman said, raising her cup to her lips again. "Right before David
and Helen suddenly disappeared."

"They disappeared?" Theo leaned forward in his chair, momentarily forgetting his feelings of
revulsion about his surroundings. "Where did they go?"

The woman shook her head. "I don't know," she replied placidly. "One day they were here, the
next they looked right through me, like they didn't know who I was."

"Didn't know who you were?" Theo echoed, the sentiment seeming eerily familiar.

"Yes!" she exclaimed, suddenly quite put out. "And I've lived across the street from them for as
long as their daughter's even been alive. Poor thing, they must have left her behind. I asked what
they were doing with her - you know," she explained, "because they were so obviously moving,
and they just said they didn't know what I was talking about, that they didn't have a daughter."

Theo frowned. Almost certainly a memory modification, then.

"Odd," he commented, though he tried not to show any indication of recognition. "And they
didn't say where they were going?"

"No," she said, curling her lips into a distinctly disgruntled frown. "Wouldn't tell me anything, and
now they're just gone." She waved her hands around. "Poof! No explanation."

So Granger had likely obliviated her parents, then. The clever little witch was much more ruthless
than he'd expected, and he found he liked her a bit more for it. Maybe she's a good match for
 Draco after all, he thought with amusement. He'd guessed she had some redeeming qualities, of
course, as he'd given Draco the benefit of the doubt, but still. Comforting to know she wasn't such
a fucking swot all the time.

"Well," Theo said, coming to his feet. "That's a shame." He gave the woman one last look, his
green eyes sweeping over her a final time, from her oddly formal coif to her pale, stockinged feet.
"Thank you so much for your time."

"Are you trying to find out what happened to them?" she asked, her eyes searching him greedily.
"Have they committed some kind of crime?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Theo assured her smoothly, losing interest and heading to the exit.

She looked crestfallen. "Oh," she said softly, before shifting to sit up straighter. "Well, it's a shame
the Grangers didn't approve of the girl's boyfriend," she remarked, her voice echoing with feigned
sadness.

Theo spun around to face her, interrupting his travel to the door. "What boyfriend?" he asked,
feeling his eyes widen against his will and subsequently kicking himself for dropping what had so
far been such a productive and expressionless cover.

"I assume it was a boyfriend," the woman said, smiling conspiratorially at his attention. "She
never had any friends, poor girl, and she showed up one night with this boy, stayed for maybe a
couple of hours, and the next thing I knew, I saw her running out of the house, him following
right after her." She seemed lost in thought for a moment. "About as soon as she left, the Grangers
started packing. And when they told me they didn't have a daughter, well. I just knew it had
something to do with that boy."

A boyfriend and a memory charm? That sounded a bit too familiar for Theo's liking.

"What did he look like?" Theo asked, trying to remain casual. It could easily have been Potter or
Weasley, he reminded himself, attempting to fight his growing curiosity.

"Oh, I could never forget," the woman said adamantly. "He had the most distinctive look to him -
very tall, very pale. Very light blond hair. Almost white, I'd say."

Theo felt his stomach flip.

"Wealthy?" Theo asked, battling a broad, triumphant grin. "Well groomed? Sort of stupidly
handsome? With a look on his face to make you suspect he might be a bit of a prat?"

"Something like that," she agreed, nodding. "Pointy features, you know," she said, gesturing to
her own nose.

"Interesting," Theo said vaguely, turning to resume his walk to the exit.

"Wait," she cried after him, rising unsteadily to her feet and clearly loath to lose her audience. "Do
you know him? Is he someone you're looking for?"

Theo paused, placing his fingers lightly on the doorknob. "Nope," he said cheerfully, taking his
wand in his right hand. "Sorry love, but I've never heard of him."

Chapter End Notes

a/n: This chapter is for brigittar - I'm so glad chapter 12 was there to make you feel a
little better on a bad day, and thank you so much for your reviews. The little bit of
lemonade in here was for you, oblivionbaby, and cool bnr, if you're reading, happy
belated birthday!

Chapters 14 and 15 will come out shortly and in quick succession. Shenanigans
await.
 The Knight
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter 14: The Knight

Hermione hurried into Draco's tent, trying to maintain a grip on all of the small boxes she clutched
clumsily in her hands. She'd never spent very much time in his room - it was hardly a comfortable
environment, with the dark hardwood floors and his family tree staring her in the face, a silent
reminder that she was hardly sacred by any significant wizarding definition - but since she'd
already packed up her tent to prepare for their imminent journey, his would have to do.

"I had Dobby smuggle in some muggle hair color for me," she announced, frowning slightly as
she held up the labels, trying to read them in the dim lighting of his room. "What would you
prefer, 'cinnamon,' 'mocha,' or 'chocolate'?" She paused. "I'm leaning towards 'chocolate,'
personally, though I think I might just be hungry."

Normally he would have laughed at this, or more likely, given her a smug "oh, Granger" with a
corresponding eye roll, but he didn't look up. He had his back to her, and his pale blond head -
which would remain pale and blond for only a matter of hours now before being altered into some
kind of dessert-inspired tone - was bent over something she couldn't see.

"Hey," she said quietly, letting the boxes spill out of her hands and onto his emerald green duvet
as she slid over next to him. "What's this?" she asked, eyeing the book he held open in his lap.

It was a leather-bound volume entitled King Arthur, a collection of Arthurian legends including Le
Morte d'Arthur, that she distinctly remembered having seen twice before. She pulled the book
gently from his hands to angle it towards her, leaning her head against his shoulder.

"It's nothing," he assured her softly, though she could see the hint of pain that struck his features
as he did so.

"That's not true," she said, biting her lip and leaning back to meet his grey eyes. "You had this
book in your room last year. And the Room of Requirement showed it to me before, when we
were here alone." She ran her hand down the page, letting her fingers hover delicately over the
calligraphy. "This book means something to you."

He seemed to cringe slightly. "It's stupid, honestly," he told her, smoothing his hair back
pensively.

She nudged his shoulder gently with her chin. "Try me."

He seemed to search her face for a moment before looking back at the book in his lap, sighing
heavily. "When Theo and I were kids, we used to pretend we were in Camelot," he explained, his
eyes repeatedly jumping tentatively to hers as though he expected her to laugh at him. "I was King
Arthur, and Theo was Lancelot."

He shoved the book away. "It's nothing," he said again.

"It's not nothing," she said quickly, cupping her hand against the nape of his neck. "I - I didn't
know."

"Well, why would you?" he sniffed. "I'm hardly a child anymore. And I certainly didn't turn out to
be King Arthur," he added distastefully. "I think I fell a bit far from that a long time ago."

"You're making up for it," she said earnestly, biting her lip as a smile crept across her face. "After
all, you did make a sword appear, even if it was the Sword of Gryffindor instead of Excalibur."

He grimaced. "I don't care so much about the glory anymore," he said with a smirk. "It doesn't
really matter, if I never become a hero. I guess - " he paused. "I guess it's more that having the
book around just helps me feel closer to Theo, somehow."

This was the first time they were discussing this and Hermione instantly felt queasy with nerves,
never sure how to handle him when he was in a sharing mood. After all, it happened so very
rarely, and he was usually much more willing to let her magically dive inside his head rather than
to speak his emotions out loud.

"Whatever he's doing, I'm sure there's good reason for it," she murmured quietly. "Whatever he
had to do, I'm sure it was necessary."

Draco grunted unenthusiastically in response. "Maybe."

She hummed softly to herself, thinking. "The kind of friend you are to him," she said, "it's
different, isn't it? There's something about your relationship that you haven't told me."

He hesitated. "It doesn't feel right," he told her, though he twisted around to kiss her softly on her
forehead. "It doesn't seem right to talk about, even with you. It's more his story than mine."

"I understand," she said faintly.

But she knew the man she loved. She knew him quite well, in fact, and she knew he would talk, if
she just gave him a moment.

Several moments, it seemed.

He swallowed hard before speaking and the motion in his throat looked exceptionally
burdensome, as though he were wracked with guilt. "It was Theo's father," he said, and she nearly
shivered at his haunted tone. "I can't say much about it - I don't want to - but there was a time
when Theo thought it would be easier to - to give up."

Her eyes widened. "You mean - "

"I don't want you to think that he's weak," Draco said adamantly, a tremor of frustration reaching
his voice. "He's not. Theo's the strongest person I know - "

"I don't think he's weak," she said instantly. "I really don't. It must have been horrible, whatever it
was, whatever he felt he needed to do - "

"I was there for him then," Draco said with a shudder, shaking his head vigorously as though to
forcibly rid himself of the memories. "And he was there for me, through all of last year. And I just
-"

He stopped abruptly, hanging his head. "It's just . . . it's just my turn, Granger."

"We'll get to him," she said, swiveling to place herself between his knees and face him. "I promise
you, Draco, we'll find him, and we'll help him." She held his face between her palms before
kissing him softly. "I promise," she repeated.

He closed his eyes, and she watched as the signature cool of his, that glacial impassivity that she
had so long admired, began to settle itself over his features. "I know."

He stiffened, sitting up and pulling her into his lap. "What was that you said about muggle hair
products?" he asked, and as much as she wished he'd been able to continue their conversation, she
knew she would have to move on.

"If there were a spell to change your appearance, I'd use it, but there's not," she said wistfully. "It's
very rare to be able to change appearance with magic - or else really, I'd have much better hair -
and only metamorphmagi can do it. Our only options were polyjuice potion - "

He shook his head. "Too complicated."

"Right," she said, nodding. "Or these," she said, gesturing behind them to the small boxes on the
bed.

He leaned back, picking one up. "Chocolate, you say?" he ventured with a smirk, raising one
eyebrow. "Sounds delicious."

She laughed. "I also transfigured a pair of glasses for you," she added, gesturing to where they lay
in the pile. "The lenses are clear."

He made a face. "Glasses, really?" he said derisively. "And dark hair? Do you want me to look
like Harry?"

She rolled her eyes. "Hardly," she said fervently. "And you could never look like Harry."

"I know," he agreed. "I'm much too refined."

She laughed again and he tightened his arms around her, burying his face in the hollow of her
neck.

"We should think of a name for you, you know," she said thoughtfully, brushing her lips against
the smooth strands of his hair. "A knight, perhaps?" she suggested, gesturing to the copy of King
Arthur. "Not Arthur, of course - that's Ron's father's name."

Draco made a face of supreme revulsion. "No," he agreed, shivering dramatically. "Probably not
Lancelot, either."

She flipped open the book, searching the pages until she reached a portrait of the knights at the
round table. "What about Tristan?" she asked, her finger lingering on the drawing.

"Eh," he said, shrugging. "He's got a bit of a tragic story."

"We certainly don't need that following us around," she said, vetoing it quickly. "What about
Geraint?"

"Geraint," he echoed. "Hm." He tilted his head, seemingly trying on the name in his head.
"Geraint could work."

She tried it on as well, wondering how it would feel on her tongue. "Geraint," she agreed. "I think
it suits you."

"What about my surname?" he prompted. "As fitting as it would be, 'Pendragon' might not work
out."

She bit back a smile. "Darcy," she said instantly, her cover slipping as she grinned broadly. It fit
him perfectly, of course. Handsome, noble, proud, forbidding - subject to no one's control. Stoic.
Indifferent. Extremely disagreeable. "You make a fine Mr. Darcy."

He was ill-equipped to recognize her reference, of course, and shrugged irreverently. "A bit more
feminine than I'd like," he noted. "But Geraint Darcy it is, then."

"It's no Draco Malfoy, but it'll do," she said with a smile.

They had a relatively simple plan; they'd meant to make their way into Hogsmeade, where they
could safely apparate to the house at Privet Drive at precisely 12:01 a.m., the moment Harry's
trace no longer applied. From the Dursleys, Kreacher was to help orchestrate the transfer of his
aunt, uncle, and cousin to Grimmauld Place via the Floo Network, after the four of them apparated
there first to make sure the coast was clear. It wasn't a particularly neat plan, but it would do.
Considering they'd all been missing - or dead, of course - for over a month, they collectively
doubted anyone would expect them to be making any of those stops, much less all in a row.

The details became fuzzy once the plan reached the stage of progressing past Grimmauld Place,
where they'd all agreed they likely couldn't stay. Hermione had a muggle savings account that she
planned to empty, and surely at the very least they could find a hostel somewhere to stay, albeit
temporarily. It seemed the muggle world was possibly safest, despite not being altogether safe.

Until then, they'd taken a moment to pursue a moment of pure and utter normalcy, deciding to
throw Harry a birthday party. The haphazard celebration was complete with a long
experimentation with the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and Zonko's items that had been in Ron's
tent - thankfully, nothing in the room was flammable -and culminated in the presentation of a
homemade cake provided by Dobby, a delightfully magnificent creation of a large, technicolor
pastry in the shape of - what else? - a sock.

"Oi! Geraint!" Ron called obnoxiously, digging shamelessly into the cake. "Get out here and stop
fiddling with your bloody hair."

Draco tossed the tent flap open moodily and stepped out with displeasure. Hard as it was for
Hermione to see past the signature Malfoy smirk, she certainly had to admit she'd done a good job
transforming him.

He had traded his oddly formal black shirts and trousers for a pair of dark muggle jeans and a soft
crewneck sweater, giving him for the first time a look of worn-in comfort that would normally be
suited to a teenager, rather than his usual variation of a look Hermione liked to call "aristocrat on
his way to a business meeting taking place on someone's terrace." His newly darkened hair, now
tinted the color of warm mahogany, was parted to one side but not slicked back, and the black
frames she'd provided him gave him a slightly professorial look that was, frankly, not entirely
unappealing.

She, Ron, and Harry broke out in a quiet applause.

"Well done," she said with a satisfied nod, grinning devilishly. "How do you feel, Mr. Darcy?"

"Plebeian," he replied, scowling, though he took a seat next to her. "Please tell me I can change
back soon."

"You're still you," she reminded him with a laugh, kissing his cheek. And he was. To an outsider
who believed Draco Malfoy to be dead, the person beside her was certainly convincing enough to
not be him. But to her, of course, who had lived her best moments in his arms, there was no
suppressing the shiver she felt at the sight of his eyes, the curve of his lips. He was still Malfoy,
that was for certain - just not quite so dangerously so. "You're still quite handsome."
"Yes," Ron agreed, his mouth full of cake. "A real dreamboat."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Well, regardless," he said, lifting one of the goblets that Dobby set out for
them. "To Harry," he pronounced, raising it, and the others picked up their glasses to join. "May
he not die tonight. Though if he must," he clarified, "may we not be dragged along with him."

"Malfoy!" she exclaimed, forgetting herself in her rush to admonish him. He only grinned into his
goblet, emptying the remaining pumpkin juice into his mouth.

"Hear, hear," Ron trumpeted brusquely.

Harry grimaced. "It's what I wish for every year," he said, sighing dramatically.

"Don't go to your dark place, Potter," Draco said impassively. "Cheer up and have some cake
before we all endanger our lives."

Harry shook his head. "And yet, somehow, this is one of my better birthdays," he commented
grimly, leaning forward to begrudgingly take Draco's sound advice.

Dudley turned sharply at a sound coming from outside the house.

"Is that him?" Petunia said impatiently.

Dudley looked at the clock. "It shouldn't be," he said slowly.

"Stay here, Duddy," Petunia insisted, watching fearfully as Dudley started to make his way to the
door. "Vernon!"

"Dudders, stay back!" Vernon bellowed, leaping in front of his son before he could reach the
doorknob. "It could be - it could be one of them - "

"You remember the letters, don't you?" Dudley asked pointedly, frustrated with their coddling.
Harry had never been coddled, and look how much adventure he always got up to. "If they want
to come in, they're coming in."

He wrenched the knob and cracked the door slightly, jumping back at the face he saw on the
stoop.

"My sweet baby!" Petunia wailed quietly behind him.

"What are you doing here?" Dudley asked, surprised.

It was Remus, looking more haggard than ever.

The older man frowned. "Dudley, I'm going to need your help with something," he said solemnly.
"And if you don't listen to what I have to say, your whole family will be in danger."

Dudley said nothing.

Remus cleared his throat. "Did you hear - "

"I'm listening," Dudley said flatly.

"Right - well," Remus said, looking over his shoulder. "Maybe I could come inside?"

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Dudley said hesitantly, but at the sight of Remus's eyes darting
nervously at his surroundings, he felt he was being unfair. "Fine," he sighed, stepping out of the
way. "Come in."

Remus looked as though he might collapse in relief. "Thank you," he breathed, flashing him a
grateful look. "Really, Dudley, thank you."

Dudley had never really worked out whether or not he was able to trust Remus, but since nothing
bad had happened to him - or to Harry, from anything he could tell - after the man's last visit, he
figured he could at least let him in the house.

It was unfair, really, that all of Harry's birthdays were so much more interesting than Dudley's. His
own birthday had come and gone with only his parents fussing over him. There were certainly no
strange visitors. Or anything of interest, really. He'd thrown his new video console out the
window, just to experience a thrill.

"What are you doing here?" Vernon called suspiciously from the living room, his beady eyes
narrowing to slits. "I thought that - "

"We're talking, Dad," Dudley interrupted loudly, taking Remus's arm and pulling him into the
kitchen.

"Tell me what's going on," Dudley commanded brutishly, once he felt somewhat confident his
parents wouldn't interrupt.

Remus gave him a withering look. "How much do you understand about the wizard we call Lord
Voldemort, Dudley?"

Dudley frowned. "He's dangerous," he said. "Killed Harry's parents." He paused, trying to
remember everything he knew. "He's after Harry, in't he?"

"Yes," Remus said grimly, offering him a single nod of confirmation. "He is a very powerful dark
wizard who believes that Harry is the only one with the power to destroy him."

Dudley blinked. Harry? He'd come to find his cousin to be an alright bloke, but that seemed a
stretch.

"Oh," Dudley said evasively.

"Voldemort does not care for mug- sorry, non-magic people," Remus explained. "And because he
thinks Harry is staying in this house, he may try to use you. Torture you," he clarified. Despite the
ominous nature of the statement, his tone seemed academic, and Dudley merely nodded.

"Right," Dudley said. This, he knew, was familiar.

"If you'll allow it," Remus began hesitantly, "the Order of the Phoenix would like to offer you and
your family protection - "

"We don't need it," Dudley interrupted flatly, and Remus regarded him with careful curiosity.

"Perhaps not," he said softly. "But there's a bit more to it than that."

Dudley paused, waiting for him to go on.

"Despite the fact that Voldemort believes Harry to be the one destined to destroy him, the truth is
that this is not simply Harry's war," Remus said, obviously choosing his words with caution
"Since we are not able to communicate with Harry" - here he paused, eyeing Dudley carefully as
though he might suddenly yell out his cousin's exact coordinates - "we have decided it would be
best if we, the Order, launched an offensive."

"You mean, attack the - the Voldy-thing?" Dudley asked, astounded. "But if only Harry can beat
him - "

"This war, like any other, is about much more than just two men," Remus said, a distinct coldness
reaching his eyes. "We may not be able to kill Voldemort, but we can certainly weaken him, by
attempting to take out some of his troops."

Dudley nodded. He had played enough video games in his time to understand where this strategy
was coming from.

"You want to do this - tonight?" Dudley asked, trying to shake off the fear that had suddenly crept
into his voice. "Do you have a plan?"

"Yes, we have a plan," Remus replied, seemingly encouraged by Dudley's understanding of the
situation. "One that we need your help with, if you'll simply allow us the use of your house."

"Who's us?" Dudley asked suspiciously. "You haven't brought anyone with you."

"No," Remus agreed. "But they're all waiting for me to give the okay. They can be here any time,
if you'll allow it."

Dudley's parents wouldn't like this one bit. Strangely, that made it much more appealing.

"How do you know Volde- whatever his name is," Dudley started, "how do you know he'll even
be here tonight?"

Remus grimaced. "Well, I suppose I haven't been quite as straightforward as I should," he said
wearily. "The truth is, Dudley, that whether you want to or not, we'll have to use your house, as
you're not safe here much longer."

Dudley was startled. "What?"

"We have someone on the inside of Voldemort's inner circle," Remus explained. "We've asked
him to give Voldemort false information, that Harry has been staying here, in this house."

"But he hasn't - "

"I know," Remus interrupted. "But it was as safe a lie as we could manage, since because of
Harry's mother, and because of your parents agreeing to take Harry in, Voldemort has not been
able to broach the defenses of this house. However," Remus said, and the air rang heavy with the
frightening implications of whatever he was about to say, "once Harry turns 17 - in a matter of
hours - Voldemort will be able to attack."

"He's not looking for us, though," Dudley said, furrowing his brow. "He wants Harry?"

"Yes, though he'll use you to get to him - "

"I don't care about that," Dudley interjected. "But - "

He paled. Was it time to trust this man? Perhaps he had no choice.

"What?" Remus asked, his eyes searching Dudley's. "What is it?"

Dudley swallowed uncomfortably. "It's Harry," he whispered, the words creeping out of his
Dudley swallowed uncomfortably. "It's Harry," he whispered, the words creeping out of his
mouth softly as though if he only spoke the words quietly, he might somehow be able to lessen the
damage. "Harry is coming here tonight."

Remus straightened, his mouth forming a tight, grim line. "I was afraid of that," he admitted.
"That's why you're not worried about Voldemort? Harry's coming to protect you?"

"He said he'd take us somewhere safe," Dudley said, the words rushing out now that he'd revealed
the secret he'd been struggling to keep. "He's supposed to be here right after midnight - but now -
"

Dudley was panicked. "Is there no way to warn him?" he asked desperately.

Remus shook his head. "I'm afraid not," he said delicately, remaining tight-lipped. "We have not
been able to locate Harry since he left the school. I thought you might be in communication with
him?"

"No," Dudley said vigorously. "I only know he's coming because he told me he would." His head
snapped up to look at Remus with numb apprehension. "He's in danger now, isn't he?"

"We can help," Remus said. "We can protect him, we can protect all of you - "

"Then bring them," Dudley said quickly. "Bring your Order here. I'll - I'll explain it to my
parents."

Or not. Honestly, that seemed like it'd be too much work.

Remus breathed a sigh of relief, appearing to unload a burden he'd been wrestling for a long, long
time. "Thank you, Dudley," he said earnestly. "Thank you for trusting me."

Dudley tried to smile, though it seemed to leave his face as more of an uncomfortable grimace.
"How are you going to get them here?"

"Like this," Remus said, pulling out his wand. Dudley jumped back instinctively, but Remus held
out his hands in a cautioning gesture. "It's okay," he said soothingly. "I'm just going to call them."

"Expecto Patronum," he said, and Dudley watched as his wand sparked, emitting a silvery light
that seemed to rush out of the thin, wooden tip in the form of a glossy, translucent wolf.

"Harry's is a deer," Dudley remarked as the wolf took off into the night, then balked with surprise
at his own memory.

Remus smiled faintly. "I know," he said sadly. "So was his father's."

Dudley opened his mouth to ask more questions, but within moments the air filled with a series of
cracks and pops and suddenly there were a number of oddly dressed witches and wizards filling
Dudley's kitchen, all looking around with puzzlement and surprise.

"Zis is a bit . . . cramped," a very attractive blonde woman said, sniffing disdainfully from
Dudley's left.

Dudley looked sharply at Remus, stunned. The blonde was perhaps the most beautiful woman that
Dudley had ever seen, prettier even than Hermione, which he had not imagined would be the case
for a bunch of odd magical folks that his mother called "freaks."

"I know," Remus whispered under his breath. "That's Fleur."

Two smiling redheads who looked quite a bit like Ron and essentially identical to each other
sidled up to Dudley. "Hello, mate," one said cheerfully.

"Pleasure to finally meet you, Dudley," the other said, his mischievous grin lighting up his pale,
freckled face.

"Er," Dudley replied stiffly. "Welcome to our home."

"I'm Fred," one said.

"George," said the other.

"Don't confuse the poor boy!" a woman exclaimed, stepping forward. She was rather small, with
a pair of dark, twinkling eyes and short, strikingly purple hair. "Don't listen to them, Dudley," she
said exasperatedly, stepping into the circle of Remus's arms. "This is Fred, and this is George."

Not that it mattered. He doubted he'd ever be able to tell them apart.

He turned to the couple on his right, not sure what to do about the volume of people who had
suddenly filled his kitchen. "Are you Remus's - "

"This is my wife, Tonks," Remus explained quickly, and she smiled happily at Dudley.

"It's quite a new thing, still," she said, her face alit with pleasure. He figured she also must be very
pretty, though with Fleur to contend with, that was easily overlooked.

Just then his mother and father stumbled into the kitchen, Vernon's face purple with strangled
frustration.

"What are you all doing here!" he barked. "Out, now! Out with the lot of you!"

"No, Dad," Dudley said hurriedly. "No - "

"Diddykins, darling, these people," Petunia gasped, clutching her chest. "These people are not -
they're, they're - "

"Don't say it!" Dudley yelled, and there was a clatter as one of the twins dropped the toaster he
had picked up to investigate.

His mother was aghast in shock. "Duddy," she crooned. "Sweetheart - "

"Don't call them freaks, Mum, they're not," he replied stonily. "They're here to help Harry, and I -
well, I want to, too."

Remus looked startled. "Oh, no, Dudley, we would never put you in any danger," he said
hurriedly, albeit kindly. "We can get you and your parents out of here safely right away - we
wouldn't want anything to happen to you - "

"You don't understand," Dudley said, embarrassing himself slightly with the hint of pleading that
crept into his voice. "Harry, he - he saved my life, and - I owe him."

He watched his mother collapse against his father. "Oh Duddy, my sweet, sweet boy!"

"Dudley," Remus said sternly, taking hold of his shoulders and turning him so that he looked him
directly in the eye. "It is a very noble thing, to want to help your cousin. It is certainly very
honorable to want to protect your family - but Dudley, you - you're not well equipped to defend
yourself - "
 yourself - "

"Then you defend me," he said quickly. "That's what you said you were going to do, anyway."

A terrifyingly large man with a wandering eye grunted from the corner. "Well, if the boy's so keen
on putting himself in danger, why stop him, Remus?"

"Yeah," one of the twins - Fred? Dudley decided he would just call both of them Fred - said
giddily. "If he wants to drink a disgusting potion and be a sitting duck for an evil wizard, is it
really fair not to let him?"

"What?" Dudley asked, his eyes widening. "What's your plan?"

Remus sighed heavily. "We will be using a potion to take the form of your cousin, so as to
separate and draw out Voldemort's forces." He gave Dudley a blistering look. "Trust me, Dudley,
you do not want to be part of this. As much as you want to help, you do not want to be a target for
Lord Voldemort."

"Unlike us, of course," the other Fred said. "We're in love with the idea."

"Come on, sweetheart," his mother said, gesturing to him. "Come with us, love. Stay here with
mummy."

Perhaps if she hadn't done that, if she hadn't reminded him how much he hated to be coddled, to
always be the one who needed saving - if he hadn't seen the laughing way the twins had shared a
mocking glance, or noticed the way Fleur flashed his mother a disgusted look out of the corner of
her eye - well. Then he might have made a different decision.

He squared his shoulders, standing his ground. "I want to help," he said gruffly. "Whatever you
have planned. I want to help."

A slow grin spread over Fred's face, one that seemed to express for the first time a genuine
measure of pleasure at making Dudley's acquaintance. "Excellent," he said quickly.

His twin joined in. "You won't regret it," he added.

"Well, you might," Fred said jovially. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves."

Remus clapped his hand firmly on Dudley's shoulder. "It's a brave thing you're doing," he said
quietly. "Foolish, but brave." He grimaced. "Unfortunately, it seems those are the only qualities
necessary to be a part of this resistance."

Eyeing the motley crew that surrounded him, Dudley privately agreed.

"Well, in any case," Remus sighed, extending his hand. "Dudley Dursley - welcome to the
Order."

Chapter End Notes

a/n: This chapter is for susiequeen300 - your reviews are a delight and you've long
deserved a dedication - and for jperks, for always taking the time to thank me, which
isn't necessary, of course, but much appreciated. Chapter 15 will come out within the
next couple of days.
 The Conflict
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter 15: The Conflict

Harry had been the one to apparate them; he was the best one to do it, of course, since he was
most familiar with the location.

Not that the wand in Draco's pocket seemed inclined to agree. For the past few days it had been
buzzing feverishly as though itching from underuse, which had never happened with Draco's
previous wand. He thought about mentioning something to Granger, but then thought better of it.
It was probably his imagination.

The four of them landed with a loud crack inside of Harry's rather small bedroom. It was cramped
enough on its own - and that was without accounting for the amount of items that carelessly
littered the floor. With the four of them suddenly landing in it, it was solidly at full capacity.
Draco, unsteady on the landing, took a step backwards and almost immediately felt his heel
crunch down on an old, dried up ink pot, subsequently swearing loudly.

"Shh!" Granger said instantly, holding her hand up to Draco's mouth.

"How is this my fault?" he grumbled, trying to steady himself by grabbing onto her shoulders.
"And what are you shushing me for, there's nothing - "

"No, she's right," Harry said quickly, a shadow of anxiety passing over his features. "I hear
voices."

"Not snake voices, I hope," Draco muttered under his breath, though he begrudgingly
acknowledged that both Granger and Harry were correct. There were a number of voices coming
from outside the bedroom.

"I - I think I hear Fred and George," Weasley - who, despite Draco's best efforts, remained
Weasley in his mind - said incredulously. "Harry, do you think the Order is here?"

"Do I think my aunt and uncle would have let the Order inside this house?" Harry asked, dripping
with sarcasm. "Don't be thick, Ron, really - "

"No, he's right!" Granger hissed, leaning against the door. She backed away, opening her small
bag and pointing her wand into it. "Accio extendable ear," she whispered, catching the item as it
flew up to her hand and shoving it under the door.

It wasn't as effective as lowering the ear down to the first floor would have been, but it certainly
helped. Draco's heart was pounding nervously as he waited, straining to make out the
conversation. He was disguised, obviously, which would be helpful enough with strangers, but if
they were to encounter someone from Hogwarts who knew full well what he looked like, well.
Colored hair and fake glasses could only do so much.

"What else do you need for the polyjuice, Alastor?"

"Mad-eye," Weasley mouthed, and they all looked sharply at him, chastising him for the
unnecessary interruption.
"Something of Potter's, of course," Moody grunted back, and Harry's eyes went as wide as Draco
had ever seen them.

Another voice entered the exchange. "I'll get it."

"Was that Dudley?" Granger whispered, panicked. "Was that Dudley's voice?"

"I think so," Harry replied in an undertone. He looked down, grimacing. "Shit."

"He's coming up here, right?" Weasley asked nervously. "I assume this is where he'd get
something of yours?"

"Hopefully he comes alone," Draco commented, trying not to fidget with his irritating glasses.
"What are they doing with polyjuice potion?"

Harry shook his head grimly. "No idea," he said, frowning. "Whatever it is, I don't like it."

Granger yanked the ear back from under the door. "He's coming," she said fretfully, and they all
retreated to the back of the room, collectively holding their breath as the door opened.

Dudley burst in carelessly and stopped dead in his tracks.

"Oh," he said. "You're here."

"Yes," Harry said emphatically. "I am, like I told you I would be, remember?"

"Are my brothers here?" Weasley asked, stepping forward. "Was that them?"

Granger, the only one who seemed to be able to keep her head in this situation, slammed the door
shut behind Dudley. "Better that nobody else knows we're here," she said breathlessly as they all
turned to look at her.

"Why?" Dudley asked, startled. "The Order - are they - "

Harry took a deep breath, shaking his head. "They're the good guys, Dudley, that's not the
problem, it's - "

His eyes wandered to Draco, and Dudley's gaze followed.

"Draco?" he asked, squinting with confusion. "Is that you?"

"Yes," Draco admitted reluctantly. "Not my best look, I know."

Dudley frowned. "I don't understand," he said slowly. "If the Order are the good guys, why are
you still hiding?"

"Let us ask the questions first, Dudley," Harry said, managing somehow to step toward him
despite the chaotic state of the items on the floor. "Why is the Order here?"

"Remus," Dudley said by way of explanation, throwing in a vaguely helpless shrug. "He told me
they were planning an attack on that Lord Voldything, and they're here to - "

"The polyjuice," Weasley interrupted suddenly. "What do they need polyjuice potion for?"

"Hold on, go back - they're attacking Voldemort tonight?" Harry said, his face going pale. "Did
you tell them I was coming?"
"I only told Remus," Dudley said, letting his gaze drop hesitantly to his feet. "He told me about
their plan and - I - "

"We need to talk to Lupin," Granger said, cutting him off and biting her lip. "Alone, probably."

Weasley gave her a sharp look. "Not Fred? George? Or, I don't know - what if Bill's here?"

"He is," Dudley said quietly, and Weasley's eyes flashed with something Draco assumed had to
be excitement.

She grimaced. "We can't chance anyone recognizing Malfoy," she said frantically, starting to
pace.

"Lupin will know who I am," Draco reminded her, but she waved her hand carelessly, as though
that wasn't relevant.

"You look different and it's been a long time," she said briskly. "And even if he does, I think we
can trust him to stay level-headed about this." She looked to Harry for approval. "Don't you think
Lupin is our best bet?"

He cringed dubiously, but nodded. "Certainly not our worst option," he agreed uncertainly.

She turned to Draco. "Just don't say anything," she told him. "Don't do any talking or smirking."

He rolled his eyes, giving her a look of haughty indignation. "Really, Granger, you say that like
I'm some kind of cheap caricature - "

"None of that!" she exclaimed, her hands fluttering to her face as though she were already
regretting her decision. She pivoted abruptly to face Dudley, who looked suspiciously happy to
see her. "Dudley, you have to call Draco Geraint now, okay? Just trust me. And do you think you
can get Remus up here quietly?"

He cocked his head to the side, processing her instruction. "I think so," he said, nodding. "Give
me one second - "

He slipped out the door and was gone, leaving the other four to fidget nervously.

"I don't like this," Draco said quietly.

"You! Don't say anything," Granger instructed sternly. "Don't say anything, don't react to
anything, don't make any faces - I love you but honestly, you've got so many identifiable
mannerisms - "

"How are we explaining him?" Weasley cut in bitterly. "I would rather trust my brothers with his
real identity than just sit here hoping Lupin doesn't recognize him - "

"We agreed on this already," she hissed impatiently. "Not every wizard goes to Hogwarts, we say
he's homeschooled, we tell Lupin we stayed with him while we were on the run - "

"What the fuck are they doing with polyjuice potion?" Harry demanded explosively.

They all turned to look at him in shock. Harry was not the cursing type, but he looked enraged.

"You realize if they have polyjuice and they're looking for something of mine," he spat angrily,
"that means they're replicating me."

Granger paled. "They must be trying to make themselves targets," she breathed fearfully. "Right?
Granger paled. "They must be trying to make themselves targets," she breathed fearfully. "Right?
What else could they be doing?"

"This is insanity," Harry said vigorously. "They can't do this, I won't let them - "

"You don't know what they're planning," Draco reminded him stiffly. He wouldn't normally
intervene, but this situation seemed to call for it. "Don't jump to conclusions."

"How can I not jump to conclusions?" Harry half-shouted, his voice coming out strangled in his
meager attempt to lower his volume. "Don't they realize how dangerous it is to be me? Don't
they?"

The door opened again and Granger leapt in front of Draco, trying to obstruct him from view. Not
that it worked, of course, but it was certainly a valiant effort.

"What are you doing here?" Harry and Lupin asked in unison.

"You first," Harry said, scowling. He'd crossed his arms angrily over his chest, a challenge of
sorts.

"It's good to see you too, Harry," Lupin replied smoothly, shutting the door behind him with
exaggerated care after Dudley shuffled in. The muggle certainly seemed to have an unhealthy
need to be involved, Draco thought, pursing his lips distastefully before he remembered Granger
had explicitly told him not to emote in any way.

"What are you doing with the polyjuice?" Harry asked coldly, his eyes narrowed behind his
glasses. "Tell me," he commanded.

Lupin inclined his head in concession. "As you wish," he said curtly. "Since you did not find it
prudent to inform the Order where you have been for the past month, we decided it would be best
for us to launch an offensive, to draw Voldemort and his Death Eaters out here and attack them
first."

He paused, but Harry's expression did not falter. "Keep going."

"The polyjuice potion is to help us create a diversion," Lupin said matter-of-factly. "Half the
members of the Order will take on your appearance so as to draw the Death Eaters away and to
make them easier targets."

Death Eaters . . . Theo. Draco instinctively gripped Granger's waist.

"No," Harry said flatly. "No. You can't do that."

"Might I remind you," Lupin said impatiently, "if you wanted to have any input on the actions of
the Order, you could easily have come to us anytime over the past several weeks." He eyed Harry
carefully for a reaction. "Or is there a reason you felt you could not?"

When Harry didn't answer, Lupin sighed heavily. "So it's true then. About the Malfoy boy."

Draco's heart was thudding wildly in his chest.

Harry looked swiftly to Granger, who gave the slightest nod.

"I didn't kill him," Harry said, and Lupin's shoulders noticeably relaxed. "It wasn't me." Lupin's
mouth opened to ask the inevitable follow-up question, but Harry cut him off swiftly. "I can't tell
you who did it. You just have to trust me."
"Asking for that amount of trust is no small matter," Lupin replied delicately. "I imagine it's only
fair that I should be able to ask you for the same."

"I'm asking you to trust that I didn't commit murder, something that you should have believed in
the first place," Harry said bluntly. "Do you really think that you asking me to trust you not to get
a bunch of people killed is really the same thing?"

"Who's here?" Weasley asked quietly, cutting in anxiously as though he could no longer prevent
himself from asking.

"Most of the Order," Lupin replied. "Your brothers and father are here, among others." He turned
to the door. "I can go get them, if you're willing to tell everyone what really happened - "

"No," Granger said instantly, and Weasley gave her a pained look. "No, Professor Lupin, we
need to keep this between us."

His gaze finally fell on Draco, who immediately looked down.

"Who's this?" Lupin asked suspiciously.

"Geraint Darcy," Granger replied handily, reminding Draco once again how dangerous she was
with the speed and confidence of her lie. "He's who we stayed with after we left Hogwarts."

"I see," Lupin said, though he looked exceedingly dubious. "Well, I don't know what you want
me to do, if you're not willing to come forward - "

"I'm here to get Dudley and his parents to safety and you can handle Voldemort however you
want to," Harry said loudly, "but not by impersonating me." He seemed to be growing angry
again. "Don't you realize how dangerous that is?"

Lupin's eyes flashed angrily. "Do not - ever - accuse me of not being aware of when I put my
loved ones in danger," he spat. "Obviously, Harry, you are not thinking clearly. You know that
the Death Eaters all have instructions not to kill you - if anything, they are safest while assuming
your form - "

"Sure, until one of them gets taken to Voldemort!" Harry shouted, his messy hair nearly standing
on end. "I won't let you do this! I won't let you let anyone die for me!"

"This is not just your war!" Lupin yelled back, and even Draco instinctively recoiled, having
never seen the man lose his temper. "You may be the Chosen One, Harry, but we all have a stake
in this! You do not get to decide what is or is not worth dying for!"

"Harry," Granger said gently. "Harry, he's right - it's obviously dangerous, but it's not a bad plan -
"

"I want to help," Weasley said quickly. "I want to be there with them. I want to be with my
family."

Harry was silent, a thousand thoughts clearly cycling through his overactive mind. Draco knew it
would be hard for him to resist this, the opportunity to be part of a mission. The opportunity to
protect the people he loved. It would be hard for Harry not to agree with Weasley.

But try, Draco thought desperately, willing Harry to see the bigger picture.

"We can't," Granger said sharply, always the voice of reason. "We can't be part of this. We can't
risk losing one of us - we already have a task, it would be foolish to participate - "
"Hermione, you can't be serious!" Weasley said fervently. "We have to fight, we have to - "

"We have a different fight, Ron," she said sternly. "This one's not it."

Weasley was clearly struggling with this but Draco kept his eyes on Harry, who had yet to speak
since his outburst.

"Who are they," Harry asked resignedly, his voice an impassioned monotone. "Who is taking the
potion?"

"Fleur, Fred, George, Mundungus, Tonks" - Lupin breathlessly paused his enumeration - "and
Dudley."

All four of their reactions could not have been more synchronized. "What?"

Granger elbowed Draco sharply, a reminder not to speak. "Professor, you can't be serious," she
said, aghast. "Dudley - he has no way of defending himself - "

"You can't let Dudley do this," Harry agreed, shaking his head adamantly. "You can't. It's
insane."

"It was my idea," Dudley interjected brutishly, jutting his chin out haughtily. "I want to help. I can
help. And you saved my life before - "

"Your soul, Dudley, I saved your soul, and that doesn't mean you owe me," Harry said hurriedly.
"You have no idea what kind of danger you'll be in - "

"'S worth it," Dudley said, shrugging, and Harry tugged his hand through his hair, groaning with
frustration.

"I tried to talk him out of it," Lupin said gently. "It seems that loyalty to you extends far beyond
the wizarding world, Harry."

Harry shook his head slowly in disbelief. "I don't even know what to say."

"There's nothing to say," Lupin said frankly. "And we're running out of time."

"Who is going with Dudley?" Granger asked fearfully, and Dudley gave her a syrupy look of
open adoration that Draco had to fight not to laugh at.

"Hagrid," Lupin told her. "Dudley can't fly and I'd rather not put him on a thestral, so he'll be in
the sidecar of Hagrid's motorbike."

"Hagrid?" she echoed, her face panicked. "Hagrid doesn't even have a wand - "

Harry pinched the area between his eyes, looking as though he'd aged significantly in the last few
minutes. "Kreacher," he called, and the elf appeared with a crack.

"Master called?" the elf croaked, crouching awkwardly in the center of the room.

"Yes," Harry said irritably. "Kreacher, there's been a change of plans."

"Kreacher is listening," he replied morosely. Despite having grown considerably more

accustomed to them after seeing them nearly every day for a month, Kreacher still maintained an
odd, depressing formality that was in so many ways Dobby's opposite.
"Maybe get Dobby, too," Harry said thoughtfully, and Kreacher snapped his fingers, causing
Dobby to appear on the bed in a matter of seconds.

"Harry Potter!" he squeaked, bouncing on the mattress with excitement as though he had not just
seen him within the last couple of hours. "And his friends!"

"I need a favor," Harry said quickly, and the others watched the interaction curiously, not privy to
his thought process. "I need to get my aunt and uncle to Grimmauld Place."

"Kreacher was already instructed to transport the muggles," Kreacher reminded him irritably.

"Yes," Harry agreed, sighing. "But - I also need one of you to go with my cousin Dudley."

Dudley looked up, startled. "What?"

Granger looked concerned. "Harry," she admonished him quietly. "That's a lot more than a favor -
"

"I know," he told her quickly, turning back to the elves. "I'm only asking, and you can say no. But
Dudley can't do magic, and in case something happens, I need someone with him. To make sure
he gets out of there."

Dobby puffed out his chest. "Dobby will do it," he said proudly. "Dobby is honored to protect
any friend of Harry Potter's - "

"Listen to me, Dobby," Harry interrupted urgently, touching the elf's shoulder. "If any danger
presents itself - any at all - just get out of there, okay? Don't be a hero," he added vigorously.

The irony of this statement coming out of Harry Potter's mouth was overwhelming, and Draco
was forced to bite back what would surely have been an extremely Malfoy-esque retort.

"Okay," Dobby said happily, his expression belying the fact that he'd just signed up for a starring
role in a complicated death trap.

Lupin had been watching the exchange carefully, nodding his tentative approval. "And you?" he
asked Harry quietly. "What will you do?"

"Leave," Harry said firmly, and Weasley emitted a strangled cry of frustration.

"But - "

"Hermione's right," Harry said, cutting him off swiftly. "We have other things we need to take
care of."

This was extremely out of character for Harry. Draco knew it, and he was sure the other people in
the room knew it as well.

What Draco also knew, though, and what was obvious to him by the way his former nemesis was
deliberately not looking in his direction, was that this out of character decision had a lot to do with
him. It was obvious that Harry had not enjoyed lying to Lupin and did not want to do it again to
the people he cared about. Whether out of protection for Draco's sake, Granger's, or for the sake
of Harry's own integrity, he obviously did not wish to share any version of the events of the
Astronomy Tower. It struck Draco that he would need to thank Harry later, and he fought back a
scowl. He didn't much like the idea of being in anyone's debt, though it was becoming somewhat
easier to stomach. As much as he hated to admit it, Harry Potter was not altogether the insufferable
martyr he'd always assumed.
Weasley, on the other hand, was visibly shaken. "Harry," he said pleadingly. "Harry, this is my
family we're talking about."

"I know that - "

"My family, who took you in, no questions asked - "

"I KNOW THAT!" Harry roared, pointedly looking away. "If you want to stay, then stay."

Draco felt Granger gasp. "No - "

But Weasley had already deflated in defeat, clamping his mouth shut angrily and crossing his
arms.

Lupin glanced uneasily between the dark-haired wizard and the redhead. "What do you want me
to tell the Order?" he asked hesitantly.

Harry yanked a hand through his hair, catching some strands and stepping forward to deposit them
in Lupin's hand. "There," he said bluntly. "Take it."

He turned to Kreacher and Dudley. "I'll check in with you to see how it went," he said, and even
Draco could tell how unhappy he was to have to ask for updates rather than be part of the action.

"Where will you go?" Lupin asked hopefully. "You're sure you don't want to entrust any part of
your task the Order? We can keep you safe - "

"I can keep myself safe," Harry said brusquely. "I have a job to do, or I'd stay here and fight." He
gave Lupin a withering look. "You know that."

"Yes," Lupin agreed gently. "You are your father's son, and I don't forget that."

The pain on Harry's face at hearing that was obvious, but he jerked his shoulders back and turned
to his cousin.

"Dudley," he said sternly. "This - what you're doing. It's stupid."

Dudley gave him a half-hearted shrug. "I owe you," he grunted back.

Harry shook his head. "You don't." He stepped forward, offering his hand. "But I'm grateful to
you anyway."

They clasped hands solemnly, and Draco fought back yet another eye roll at the fond, teary look
on Granger's face.

"Well," Harry said, exhaling loudly and gesturing to Hermione. "We're out of here." She nodded,
raising her wand as Draco, Weasley, and Harry all put their hands on her shoulders. "Good luck,
Professor - go take down some Death Eaters, I guess."

Draco stiffened, remembering the context of the situation, and opened his mouth to say something
- Granger's warning be damned.

But it was too late. By the time his mouth opened he felt himself twisted away from the room, his
desperate pleas swallowed into an invisible vacuum as thick, unidentifiable bands of magic
wrapped themselves around his chest and yanked him out of the room.
They landed outside of a small restaurant near her parents' home, one that had been Hermione's
favorite as a girl, and Malfoy began to pace furiously the moment his feet touched the ground.

"What?" she asked, following his angry stride. "What is going on with you?"

"They're going after Death Eaters, Granger!" he shouted, turning sharply. "That means Theo!" He
paused, a conflicted look crossing his face. "That means my father," he added, his brows furrowed
in confusion.

She bit her lip, suddenly understanding. Whatever he felt for his father, he still wouldn't want him
to die at the hands of the Order. She could understand that, as conflicting as it might have been for
him.

"Okay," she said soothingly, gripping his arm. "Okay, I know, you're upset, but there was nothing
we could do - "

"I could have said something!" he said, running his hands through his hair roughly. "I should have
told them - "

"Told them what?" Ron asked bitterly. "What could you have said?"

Malfoy threw his head back. "I don't know!" he sighed. "Something."

"You can't have divided loyalties," Ron snarled. "You can't be on our side and still worry about
your Death Eater friends - "

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed. "Ron, really - "

"No, go ahead, Weasley," Malfoy snapped, rounding on him. "Go ahead, remind me that you'll
never trust my loyalties, no matter what I do - "

Ron didn't back down. "You don't have the right to tell the Order to be careful with your family,"
he spat testily. "They picked the wrong side - "

"So what, then?" Malfoy asked, yanking his shoulder back as Hermione reached for him,
attempting to step between them. "So if your father kills my father, that's just an easy win for
you?"

"YEAH!" Ron roared, savagely thumping his fist against his chest. "Yeah, it is, because my father
is a good man, and yours is a total shit!" His face was nearly as red as his hair. "Because of your
father, my sister almost died. Because of your father, you took the Mark - are you honestly telling
me he'd be missed?"

"That's not the point!" Malfoy hissed between clenched teeth. "You're missing the point - "

Just then, the server from the restaurant stepped outside, eyeing the two angry teenagers
scornfully.

"You need to leave," she said abruptly. "This is a business - "

"Sorry," Hermione said quickly, flushed with panic and embarrassment. "I'm so sorry, really,
we're leaving - "

She took Malfoy's hand and Harry grabbed Ron's arm, yanking them away and beginning to walk
aimlessly down the street until they reached an opening to the alley behind the restaurant.
"Stop this," Harry said wearily. "Stop."

Malfoy's expression was stony and his hand was limp in Hermione's, even after she squeezed it
reassuringly. Ron, though, was still fuming.

"How could you?" he asked, rounding on Harry. "You, of all people? How could you just
leave?"

"I couldn't explain what happened to Lupin," Harry said tightly. "I wasn't about to lie to everyone
else, too."

"But Harry - "

"Do you think I'm happy about this?" Harry asked, his arms falling limply at his sides. "I'm not. I
hate this." A look of anguish darkened his features. "I hate this."

"Ron," Hermione said gently, "I know you're upset. I understand - "

His jaw clenched angrily. "Do you - "

She held up her free hand sharply. "Don't," she cautioned him. "You need to see reason right
now, Ron."

"Mione, the only thing that I can see right now is that because of him" - he jerked his head at
Malfoy - "I can't be there to defend my family!"

It was hard for her not to laugh scornfully at this, though she did emit an irritated tsking sound
with her tongue. "Ronald Weasley, you are a teenager who probably just dropped out of school,"
she reminded him impatiently. "You have a family full of talented witches and wizards that you're
just going to have to trust."

He scowled. "But - "

"No." She had to squash this, immediately, before it festered - as it was so likely to do with Ron.
"It's not Malf-" she looked around, lowering her voice - "it's not Geraint you're mad at. You just
feel helpless." She looked at Malfoy. "And so do you," she told him softly.

Malfoy was watching her pensively, offering only a single nod before he averted his gaze.

She squeezed his hand one more time before releasing it, walking to Ron and putting one hand on
his shoulder and one on Harry's.

"I know that it's hard for you not to run into this situation wand-first," she said sympathetically.
She did, after all, know her two best friends like the back of her hand. "I know it's hard, but the
heroic thing to do this time is to complete the task we were given." She looked back at Malfoy,
gesturing for him to step in closer, and he cautiously complied.

"I know we come from different worlds and this is hard," she said, feeling her voice tremble. "But
honestly, it's probably only going to get harder."

She sighed, wishing she were a more convincing orator. She'd never been much for motivational
speeches; in fact, the only thing she knew how to do was to remind them who they were. To her.
To each other.

"Harry," she said, reaching for his wrist. "We need you to focus on the horcruxes. It's the only
way we'll win. And Ron," she added, looking meaningfully at him, "we need you, too. You're the
 glue here," she said, laughing a little. "As strange as it is, you keep us together."

Ron gave her a withering look of unwilling concession. "Fine," he sighed.

He turned to look up at Malfoy, a trace of a challenge in his gaze. "And you're here for . . . ?"

Malfoy shrugged. "For her," he said grimly, gesturing to Hermione. "I really don't give a fuck if
that's the only thing I bring to the table."

Harry snorted. "It's not," he assured him quietly, though he moved to reach an arm over Ron's
shoulder, turning them both to meander slowly out of the alley.

Hermione hung back, slipping her arm around Malfoy's waist. "You know, if that's all you're here
for, that would be good enough for me," she said with a smile. "But the truth is, you're honestly
more useful than I could have ever predicted."

He said nothing. He didn't look at her. And he hadn't lost his ashen hue.

She frowned. "Are you okay?" she asked him, stretching her arm out to rub circles across his
upper back.

He shut his eyes. "Theo."

Chapter End Notes

a/n: Well, rats. I thought I would cover much more in this chapter and then take a 3
day break, but it appears not. In chapter 16 we will check in with our favorite pair of
Death Eaters who are not what they seem. This chapter is dedicated to JuliST, for
your wonderful reviews!

I started a short muggle Dramione AU for UnicornShenanigans called Fortuna Major

that can now be found on FFN and AO3 - many thanks to those of you who have
already read it. That story is totally independent from the Clean/Marked universe and
is meant to be light-hearted and fun, so feel free to read if that sounds up your alley. It
will update once a week and will not change the update schedule for Marked.
Summary: She's with Ron, he's with Astoria, and nothing a cheap psychic on the
Venice Boardwalk says is going to change that. Or will it?
 The Hurricane
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter 16: The Hurricane

Theo's Mark was burning again and it was more than a little distracting. Not that it mattered. None
of these Potters were the right Potter. He could disapparate now and be done with the whole thing.

Not really, of course. And he was getting ahead of himself.

There was nothing he could do about the Mark. Narcissa had given him something for the
irritation and the pain when he'd first taken it, and it had, as she'd predicted, calmed down after
about a week. But since discovering the muggle who'd seen Draco, the Mark had gradually
become inflamed again, and Theo had scratched relentlessly at it until the entire expanse of his
inner arm was raw and red. It had gotten so bad that the balm that Narcissa had given him no
longer had any effect, and he'd almost failed to notice when the Dark Lord had used it to summon
him.

It seemed his true feelings were starting to break the skin.

Not very good timing, considering the danger he would be in, hovering above the muggle
neighborhood that contained Potter's only living family.

"He will be leaving the home of his muggle relatives the moment he turns seventeen and his trace
is broken," Snape had informed them the previous week, his voice a silky monotone and his face
equally expressionless. "I believe that he will attempt to leave the home of his aunt and uncle as
soon as he is without the trace, and that he will be defenseless at such time," Snape had added.

An unpleasant smile had slithered its way across the Dark Lord's face. "Of course," he'd said
softly. "Harry Potter will not be able to resist a fight the moment he is able."

Theo had agreed, though he wasn't happy about it then and he certainly wasn't happy about it
now.

A number of potential problems had flitted in and out of Theo's wary mind. For one thing, there
was the vague possibility that Draco might be somewhere near Potter. The Grangers' muggle
neighbor had not mentioned any knowledge of Weasley or Potter being around, so it was certainly
a possibility that Draco and Granger had split off from the other two - but frankly, Theo doubted
Potter would be willing to be without Granger for long. It was fairly common knowledge, even
for Theo, that Potter was essentially incapable of doing anything without Granger's assistance. If
Potter were indeed staying with his muggle relatives, how likely was it that Draco and Granger
were very far away?

The thought had given Theo an uncomfortable pang in his chest.

Please, he'd thought fervently, trying to suppress his nerves as the Dark Lord continued to plot,
going as far as to take Lucius Malfoy's wand. Please let Potter not be stupid enough to walk right
into an obvious trap. Please let that fucking arsehole be smarter than he looks.

He had hoped they would show up and nobody would be home - something like what had
happened at the Grangers' house. He figured he could handle another brief conversation with a
nosy neighbor - though if that were the case, any muggle the other Death Eaters encountered
would almost certainly find themselves facing a far harsher fate than the innocuous obliviation
he'd performed. Still, it was a favorable option, considering the many darker possibilities.

Unfortunately - or fortunately, he supposed, depending on one's stake in the whole mess - that was
not the case; the house was obviously occupied and even Theo had been able to feel the pulsing
evidence of the numerous magical wards preventing their entry. He and the others had been
hovering in the air on brooms, keeping a distant watch on the ongoing activity, waiting with
reasonable patience for the inevitable lifting of the blood wards on the home.

Which of course brought him to this moment - to his bitter realization that they'd been conned.

From where they'd all lain in wait - mounted on brooms and hidden behind disillusionment spells
that would have looked, to a muggle or even an unsuspecting wizard, like an evening enshrouded
with fog - it had come as no surprise when known members of the Order had surfaced from inside
the house en masse. It was even unsurprising to see the whole lot of them mounting a variety of
flying implements, including creatures Theo had never seen before - fuckingwinged horses with
terrifyingly skeletal bodies. Panic had struck, though, when each of those in his party seemed to
identify more than one Potter.

"There," Selwyn had grunted first from behind his mask, gesturing down below. He was the first
to spot the famously unkempt jet black hair as Potter exited the muggle house, slouching
unhappily beside Mad-Eye Moody.

Crabbe Sr. had thrust an arm out, stopping him. "No," he barked, pointing a duplicate Potter that
appeared next to a vaguely familiar man that Theo suddenly realized - unhappily, considering
where their respective sides now placed him - was yet another of his former Defense Against the
Dark Arts professors. Lupin, he recalled. "Look."

Realizing something was amiss, Theo had glanced nervously at Snape, narrowing his eyes when
he caught the man's expression. Snape was certainly a man who betrayed little evidence of his true
feelings - which, as a rule, made him exceedingly difficult to read. But Theo, being a person who
regularly pushed others to their limits, and which he did masterfully with Severus Snape, knew the
man's face when he was registering shock, or surprise - or even grim disappointment. This - his
blank look of mild bemusement - was as false as any Theo had ever seen from him.

"There are six of them," Snape had remarked, his calculating eyes flicking from one form to the
next as they spilled out of the house, his voice low over the sound of the scattered mutters between
Death Eaters.

"Which is the real one?" Rabastan Lestrange had demanded, and they'd watched as the Order
members began to take to the sky in pairs.

"Who cares," Bellatrix had cackled, her hands clasped in delight as they all brandished their
wands. "Why not kill the lot of them, and ask questions later?"

"Bella," Snape had said warningly. "Calm yourself. You know he wants Potter brought to him
alive."

Theo pursed his lips. Interesting that Snape was so quick to point this out.

The first in the air was a Weasley, the oldest, Theo had to assume, who was aboard one of the
nightmare lizard horses. The Potter he was traveling with was clutching him tightly, a look of both
fear and adoration on his face that mingled together in a way the real Potter's never would.

That wasn't him.

"Go!" Snape yelled to Crabbe, jabbing his wand hand to gesture in the direction of the first false
Potter. "We'll have to split up."

Crabbe and Rabastan took off, quickly catching the beast that carried the order members, and
sparks immediately began to shoot from their wands as spells were cast by both sides.

The various pairs, each consisting of one Potter and one high-profile Order member, took to the
sky within perhaps a minute of each other, but Theo, the only one managing to keep his head,
made an effort to look closely at each of them in order as he floated uncertainly next to Snape.
Theo had a lifetime of experience sitting quietly and observing others, and it certainly paid off in
dividends as he did so now. Two of the Potters were Fred and George Weasley, he was almost
positive; they each wore insane, giddy faces that beamed mercilessly with mischievous delight.
The memory of watching the twins ride away from Hogwarts during Umbridge's reign had floated
instantly to Theo's mind upon seeing them; whether the features were Potter's or not, there was no
disguising those expressions.

A fourth Potter was on a broom, but not particularly comfortable there; if they were smart, which
they obviously were, the Order would put Potter on some other kind of flying mode of transport,
so Theo dismissed that one as well, even though he was paired with Mad-Eye Moody.

The one traveling with Kingsley Shacklebolt on the nightmare horse was a possibility, but that
one, too, did not seem to have quite the right Potter-esque quality to him. In fact, Theo thought he
saw that Potter's hair begin to change color, as though he could not help it. Either the polyjuice
was not especially well-brewed, or that one was a metamorphmagus who wasn't quite able to
focus.

The last Potter was the most promising, as he was traveling in the sidecar of a flying motorcycle
with Hagrid, famously protective over the Chosen Git - until Theo noticed he wasn't carrying a
wand. Of course, that didn't preclude the possibility that it was Potter, as wands could certainly go
missing; but it seemed an easy enough task to face a wandless opponent, and Bellatrix was quick
to go after them, so Theo turned to consider his options.

He couldn't actually disapparate, of course. That was one way to turn up murdered later on. He'd
have to participate, somehow. Snape, on his left, took off after Selwyn and one of the Weasley
false Potters, and Theo turned his broom sharply, following discreetly.

The Order members were cleverly drawing their squadron apart, taking off in six different
directions, but the entirety of the air was a minefield of errant spells. Theo narrowly avoided both
an Avada and a particularly well-cast stunning spell, jerking his broom around to stay on Snape's
tail.

It was more than a little challenging, trying not to get killed; Theo watched as the Potter with
Hagrid suddenly vanished, and noted with amusement the way Bellatrix screeched angrily into the
night just as he ducked a curse that had been meant for Lupin.

"Got him?" Goyle Sr. yelled, pulling up alongside Theo and gesturing to Lupin.

"Yeah," Theo shouted back, watching Goyle nod firmly and pull away, chasing one of the other
Potters.

Theo pulled up slightly so that he was hovering somewhat above Snape, watching the dark
professor as he hung back behind Selwyn. Curiously, Snape had not cast a single spell, though he
raised his wand now.

"Sectumsempra," Snape shouted, and Theo's breath caught as the curse barely nicked the false
Potter's ear.

"Nice, Severus," Selwyn yelled over his shoulder, speeding up to catch them as Lupin reached out
to grab the twin, who'd fallen limply over his broom.

But of course, Selwyn hadn't seen. He was in front of Snape; he didn't know that the man he was
so quick to congratulate had actually been aiming elsewhere.

But Theo did.

Snape hadn't been aiming for the Order member. Snape had an easy target - two easy targets -
whose backs were to him, and Theo knew Snape didn't often miss. Say what you wanted about
the man, but his spells usually landed.

Snape had been aiming for Selwyn.

What did this mean? A number of things. They had always known Snape was a member of the
Order but they'd assumed his loyalties remained with the Dark Lord. Not assumed - trusted. This
meant they were wrong. This meant Snape was not who they thought they were. This meant that
Theo's own life might be in danger if he admitted to Snape what he had seen. But what it really
meant - the one thing in particular that Theo wasted no time addressing - what itreally meant was
that Theo was being lied to.

And if there was one thing Theo couldn't stand, it was a lie.

He sped up abruptly and turned the tail of his broom, coming to a dead stop and cutting Snape off
sharply.

"Move," Snape snarled, trying to speed past him.

"I saw that," Theo accused harshly. "I saw what you just did."

Snape's lip curled angrily. "You saw me curse a member of the Order?" he asked, his eyes
narrowed humorlessly. "Look around you, Nott. You're missing the show."

"No," Theo snapped. "Not that. I'm telling you that I fucking saw what you were trying to do. I
saw what you were really aiming for with that curse. Who you were aiming for."

Selwyn was long gone, and they were alone; Snape leaned forward on his broom, snatching
Theo's arm, and then suddenly Theo felt himself pulled into the air against his will, his feet hitting
damp ground in a swampy, deserted field.

"What the fuck," Theo shouted, his feet ankle-deep in an unpleasant marsh. "Do you fucking think
this is funny, you fuck - "

"What are you going to do now, Theo?" Snape replied bitterly, seemingly indifferent to his own
discomfort as he stood facing the younger Slytherin, his feet aggressively parted and his arms
crossed. "Turn me in? Kill me?"

Theo gaped at him. "Are you fucking kidding me, Severus?"

"If you're going to call him, do it now," Snape said bluntly. "Otherwise, I have somewhere I need
to be. I have something I need to fix."

"I'm not going to call him," Theo exclaimed, throwing his hands up exasperatedly. "I'm not going
to tell on you, I just want some fucking answers, Severus - "
"Now isn't the time," Snape snarled back, beginning to clamber his way awkwardly out of the
marsh. "I told you, I need to be somewhere - "

"Where?" Theo asked, following. "I'm fascinated to know where you think you're going, Severus,
deciding this was the best place to show up - "

"Not now, Theo," Snape said again, stumbling forward and beginning to walk on hard-packed
ground.

"There's nothing here!" Theo yelled after him, kicking away the thick mud that was collecting on
his shoes. "And - and I'm not done with you!"

Snape pivoted furiously. "Yes," he hissed. "Yes, you are. We can talk about this later - "

"No," Theo said stubbornly, crossing his arms. "We're going to talk now."

Snape let out an angry growl. "Nott - "

"So you're loyal to the Order," Theo prompted angrily. "Does that mean you've known this whole
time that Draco was alive?"

"I already told you," Snape said, closing his eyes wearily. "I told you to leave that alone - "

"I know he's not dead," Theo snapped. "I went to the Grangers' house and somebody saw him -
he's alive - and you knew this entire time and didn't tell me - "

"To keep him safe!" Snape shouted, clenching his fists. "To keep them safe!"

"You knew," Theo accused. "You knew he was alive - and you knew Potter wouldn't be there
tonight, didn't you?" At Snape's telling silence, Theo let out a harsh, barking laugh. "Did you
know where Draco was this whole time?"

"No," Snape admitted quietly, and at Theo's skeptical eye roll he drew himself up angrily. "I have
no idea where Draco is," he hissed. "I don't, and purposefully so. It would be far too dangerous
for me to have any knowledge of his whereabouts. I left them on the Astronomy Tower and told
them to disappear."

"Them?" Theo echoed. "So he's with Potter?"

Snape growled in frustration. "This is not a conversation that I can indulge right now, Nott! I told
you - I have somewhere to be - "

"The Order, right?" Theo prompted. He gestured past the swamp they were standing in. "I'm
guessing I can't see it because the wards are up." He grimaced. "Do you even think they'll let you
in, after what you just did?"

"Tell me, Theo, do you consider this to be helpful input?" Snape exclaimed, frowning in
frustration. "I need to get in before they - before they change the protection spells - "

"How long?" Theo asked incredulously. "How long have you been a member? Since last year?
Since before Draco had to - "

"Sixteen years," Snape said irritably. "Now, please, Theo, I beg of you - "

"Holy fucking shit, Severus," Theo shouted. "But - the vow, with Narcissa, the unbreakable vow
-"
"I swore to protect Draco," Snape replied tightly. "Which I did. And now, I have to go - "

"Take me with you," Theo said quickly, pointing himself aimlessly in the direction Snape had
been heading and walking feverishly towards the meeting place that was concealed from him. "I'm
coming."

Snape lunged forward, grabbing his arm. "You have no idea how much danger you would be in -
do not forget the expectations of the Dark Lord, do not underestimate the anger with which the
Order could react - "

"You do it every day, don't you?" Theo interrupted, yanking his arm free of the man's tight grip.
"If you can do it - "

"I am atoning for my innumerable sins, Theo," Snape snapped coldly. "I would never, never wish
this life upon another. Certainly not you."

Theo stopped walking, turning slowly to face the dark professor as he bit the inside of his cheek,
considering how to respond.

"If Draco's with Potter, that means he's switched sides," Theo commented quietly. "I'm on his
side." He looked meaningfully at Snape. "I'm on your side."

Snape sighed wearily. "You might think you know what you're doing, but I assure you, you do
not," he said curtly. "We can talk about this later - you must get back to the Dark Lord
immediately or there will be questions - "

"I told you," Theo insisted stubbornly. "You have to take me with you."

"Theodore Nott, you spoiled, arrogant, selfish little toadstool, there is a young man over there who
could be dying at my hands!" Snape snarled furiously, pointing to something Theo couldn't see. "I
do not have the luxury of time to waste - "

"There's an easy solution here, Severus," Theo drawled obnoxiously, inspecting his fingernails.
"Take. Me. With. You."

"And be forced to explain to the Dark Lord where you've been? A tempting offer, but I'm afraid
I'll have to pass," Snape replied sarcastically, turning to walk forward.

"Nobody saw us," Theo reminded him, stumbling forward to catch up. "We were behind
everyone else, nobody would know - "

Snape cut him off swiftly, not pausing his purposeful stride. "There would still be questions."

"WAIT," Theo panted, grabbing the man's shoulder. "The curse you used, the sectumsempra - the
same one Potter used on Draco - you know the countercurse, right?"

"Yes," Snape said impatiently, pausing. "And I am also the only one who does, which is why I'm -
"

"Well, you can just tell the Dark Lord that I was delayed due to life-threatening injury," Theo said
breathlessly. "He won't blame you. There was nothing you could have done to prevent it."

Snape blinked. "What?"

Theo sighed. "Fuck me," he muttered under his breath, pointing his wand at his chest.
"Sectumsempra."
Are those my veins? he thought whimsically, watching with fascination as they burst open. The
side of his face was introduced to the hard-packed ground with a deafening smack right before
everything went black.

Severus Snape let out an enraged yell as Theo fell to the ground.

"Nott, you little fuck," he swore furiously, clenching his jaw as he knelt to mutter the
countercurse. He made quick work of it, of course, and as soon as all the blood had reentered the
boy's body, he slung the idiot over his shoulder with difficulty and started in towards the Burrow.

The boy was going to be the death of him, Severus thought as he trudged through the marshes
surrounding the Weasleys' family home. Not the Dark Lord. Not Dumbledore. Not his ongoing
desperate attempt to make up for what he'd done to Lily. Not even the cruel, unforgiving reality of
being forced to live without her. No, it would be this, the teenager whose elegant head bobbed
awkwardly from where it had been thrown over his shoulder. This would be the death of him.

Fucking Theodore Nott, that goddamn little shit.

"Severus, you can't be serious," Remus said in a low voice.

"Tell me, Remus, do I look happy about this to you?" Snape replied sullenly.

No, he certainly doesn't, Remus thought, eyeing the normally expressionless man's distinctly
infuriated scowl.

Remus sighed heavily. "Are we just supposed to trust him, then?"

"That's assuming we can still trust you," Fred said loudly from where he sat by his twin. They'd
been able to stop the bleeding before Snape had arrived, but there had been no saving the ear.
George now sat very still on the Weasleys' couch, his eyes warily resting on the shallow breathing
of the young Nott boy's chest from where he lay across the room.

"It was an accident," Snape snapped instantly. "I realize how this must look - "

"Do you?" Fred spat accusingly, rising to his feet. "You curse my brother's ear off and bring in a
passed out junior Death Eater and you think you can brush us off with a simple 'it was an
accident'?"

"Freddie," George said softly, pulling him to sit beside him on the couch. "Let the man explain."
His eyes narrowed slightly, despite his encouraging tone. "If he can, that is."

"There's nothing else to explain," Snape told them flatly. "I was aiming for Selwyn's wand hand
and he moved. Unfortunately, I was unaware that Mr. Nott saw my original target. He cornered
me and then he - " he paused, sighing. "This is difficult to explain without you understanding the
human hurricane of chaos that is Theo Nott."

"What's to understand?" Fred said harshly. "He's a Death Eater and a Death Eater's son. A
Slytherin through and through - "

"It is difficult to grasp what he would want from us," Arthur interrupted gently, a welcome relief
from Fred's uncharacteristically rising temper. The boy was particularly defensive after witnessing
the damage to his twin.

"They're not wrong," Remus agreed, nodding to both Arthur and Fred. "Theodore Nott, Sr. was
one of Voldemort's original followers - he's notoriously brutal - an unapologetic bigot - "

"I'd rather you didn't confuse me for my father."

They all whipped around, seeing that the younger Nott had raised himself unsteadily onto his
elbows. "I understand I'm not exactly in the position to make requests, but I'd love it if you just
focused on my own sins, thanks," he said, his eyes dancing mischievously. "They're numerous,
but perhaps more to your liking."

The boy struggled to sit up fully but when he did, Remus felt a blow to his chest that he could not
have predicted. He recalled teaching the boy when he'd been a child, but he had clearly come into
his own more recently; Remus took one look at the black hair, striking eyes, the air of casual
elegance and the easy grace with which he carried himself - combined with the cheeky response
and the reckless endangerment of his own life to bend others to his will -

Remus swallowed painfully, a long-buried familiar face rising to the surface of his thoughts.
Whether he was aware of it or not, the boy shared far more features with a young Sirius Black
than he did with the elder Theodore Nott.

Not that Remus could allow that fact to alter his judgment. He straightened awkwardly.

"Theodore, you must understand - "

"Theo," the boy cut in smoothly. "I'm Theo."

"You're unwelcome here is what you are," Fred said irritably, just as Bill returned, walking into
the living room like he'd just seen a ghost.

"Mad-Eye's dead," he said dully, his voice haunted. "He's gone."

Fred, George, and the others hung their heads.

"What happened?"

"Dung," Bill replied scornfully. "Mundungus took one look at the Death Eaters and disapparated
on the spot, leaving Mad-Eye to take the Avada."

From behind them, Theo snorted coldly. "Fucking coward," he spat, and Remus watched Molly's
eyes widen as though she was considering chiding him for language.

"Easy for you to say," Fred said bitterly. "You're a Death Eater. It's your side that's responsible."

"You don't know me," Theo shot back. "You haven't earned the right to judge."

"Theo," Snape said, his voice a warning. "We should go."

"No," Theo said urgently, moving to plant his feet on the ground as though he planned to stand.
Remus understood now what Snape had meant; the boy certainly had a mind of his own. "No. We
can't go until I have some answers."

"What makes you think we have any answers for you?" Fred snapped. "There's not a person in
this room who trusts you - "

"Fine," Theo said curtly. "I'll make the unbreakable vow, then - "

Snape groaned. "Theo - "

" - not that I should even need to," Theo continued loudly. "Since I could easily be killed just for
being here." He eyed Fred boldly. "Or was nearly killing myself once tonight not enough of a sign
for you?"

The boy was so like Sirius.

"That only proves you're an idiot," Fred said bluntly, and George nodded his vehement
agreement.

"Where's Potter?" Theo demanded. "And where's Draco?"

Remus frowned.

"We don't know where Harry is," George said pointedly, answering for him. "And Malfoy's dead.
That's common knowledge."

Curious, Remus thought, eyeing the quick glance shared between Snape and the boy. For the first
time he remembered the wizard he'd met earlier that night - Darcy, Hermione had said. Could he
have been . . . ?

No, Remus thought, dismissing the thought. Impossible.

"Oh," Theo said blankly, though Remus sensed something else in his tone. Disappointment,
maybe. "You don't know where anyone is? Granger, even?"

"No," Remus said gently. "They're gone."

Theo turned to Snape indignantly. "You could have told me they didn't know anything," he said
sharply. "Could have spared me the blood loss."

"You could have spared us all that particular insanity," Snape said impassively. "I can hardly hold
myself responsible."

"I hate to point out the obvious," Kingsley said, rising from where he'd been quietly observing in
the corner. "But what are we now going to do with young Mr. Nott?"

"Easy," Theo said breezily. "I'll go rogue." He yawned widely, and Remus had the faint
impression the gesture had been for show. "Just call me Severus Snape: The Sequel."

Snape muttered something incoherent under his breath.

"Theo," Remus said, walking over to him. "This is a big risk - "

"This already sounds familiar," Fred interrupted, impatient. "It's the muggle all over again. If
people want to get themselves killed, why must we continue to stand in their way?"

"Wait - what happened to Dudley?" George asked, forgetting momentarily about Theo, and they
all looked questioningly to Bill.

"Dobby disapparated them when Bellatrix got close," he said briskly. "Dudley's fine. He's with
his parents."

The scoff from the young Death Eater caused them all to turn sharply.

"You dressed up a muggle as Potter and sent him off with Draco's old house elf?" Theo said
incredulously, his voice several decibels louder than necessary. "You're all fucking maniacs." He
struggled to his feet. "I want in."
 struggled to his feet. "I want in."

Snape looked as though his head might explode. "Theo - you can't - this isn't - "

"Save your speeches, Severus," Theo said pompously, swaying slightly where he stood. "Your
sweet nothings have no effect on me."

"I should have let you die," Snape told him casually, and Theo offered him a dramatic, irreverent
bow.

"How do we know we can trust you?" Fred asked. "You've given us no explanation for your
being here."

"Oh, well," Theo said musically, casually unbuttoning his left cuff and pulling his sleeve up to his
elbow. "Let's just say that last club I joined didn't quite suit my sensibilities."

When he raised his wrist the entire room could see from afar that his Mark had been corrupted
somehow; the skin was brutally inflamed, the entirety of his inner arm red, and the Mark itself
rendered almost unrecognizable.

Remus was the first to speak amidst the uncomfortable silence. "So . . . you're not much like your
father at all, then," he commented blandly.

"No," Theo said, his eyes flashing. "Not so much."

There wasn't much left to say. Snape cleared his throat loudly. "We're leaving, Theo. Now."

"Fine," Theo sighed dramatically, bracing himself on Snape's shoulder. "They probably need time
to recover from my sparkling wit and winning personality."

Snape looked at Remus sharply. "We'll talk later," he said coolly, before disapparating with a loud
crack.

The remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix looked at each other warily, wondering who
would speak first.

"Alright," Fred grunted unenthusiastically. "Maybe he can stay."

"Oh, he can definitely stay," George said brightly. "Anyone who sasses Snape like that is alright
in my book."

"We really need to establish much more selective recruiting guidelines," Remus said sadly, even
as a smile crept across his face.

Kingsley surprised everyone with a gentle shrug. "Perhaps a little chaos on our side is precisely
what we need," he rumbled quietly.

Remus found he quite agreed.

Chapter End Notes

a/n: So reviews have not been working (I got them in my email but that can be harder
to sift through) but today's chapter goes to poisonivy160911, for your excellent
analysis of why Harry is often very ridiculous. I very much agree with you.
Quick plug: I was asked by Witch Way Magazine to write an original magic-themed
story in installments, and chapter one of my new story "A.U." will be available
exclusively through the magazine. You can find more information on my tumblr or at
their website, witchwaymagazine dotcom. It is an amazing, independently run digital
production and I was totally floored and beyond honored to have been asked to write
for them; whether you have interest in my story or not, I encourage you to support the
publication. I can't say too much about the plot without giving away spoilers, but the
summary is: Laurel Finn is not what she seems . . . and neither is the story she's been
asked to write.

Brigittar left me one of my favorite reviews (and probably my most flattering one),
which is that I could write an AU where everyone were snails and they would still
love it, so I took the bait and wrote a little Harry Potter snail AU drabble. It's on my
tumblr.

I love all of you so much. Thank you for your messages and kind words and
encouragement and gratitude . . . you have no idea how much it means to me.
 The Bodies
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter 17: The Bodies

She wasn't sure who had started screaming first, but the way their voices blended together sent a
maddening chill through the depths of her soul.

The four of them had decided to spend the night in a cheap muggle hotel using the money
Hermione regularly carried with her in case of emergencies. Given the night they'd had, they
weren't willing to spend much time searching; the first place with a vacancy was where they'd
chosen to stay the night, completely exhausted and heavily burdened with issues that remained
rather painfully unresolved.

It had to have been early morning when it started, but it was still dark out – 5 a.m.? Earlier?
Malfoy was shaking beside her, the sounds of pain and anguish ripping from his throat.

"What is it?" she cried anxiously, roughly tossing the scratchy comforter aside. He was curled into
a ball, clutching something she couldn't see.

His loud bellow of pain was virtually indistinguishable from Harry's disorienting screams in the
other double bed and the moment she saw Ron sit up to grip Harry's arm, she turned her full
attention to Malfoy, clutching his shoulders desperately. She'd clambered over him, straddling him
and shaking him out of pure, raw fear, and simple inability to process.

"What's happening?" she begged, a desperate plea, as she frantically searched his body for the
source of the pain. "What is it?"

"The . . . it's – " Malfoy was gritting his teeth painfully, unable to answer her; Harry, across the
room, was practically convulsing in torment. "The – the M-Mark – Hermione – Hermione, help –
"

Helpless tears started to fall from her eyes as she reached for his left wrist; she could see the
abhorrent snake twisting in and out of the dark, graphic skull and she felt his pulse thud under her
grip as it throbbed savagely beneath starkly pale, translucent skin. Inexplicably, she saw a flash of
herself covered in his blood, the aftermath of Harry's sectumsempra, and she felt now what she
had suffered then - a debilitating panic, an inability to save him.

"I don't know what to do," she sobbed hysterically, wincing as he let out another horrible yell. "I –
I can't make it stop – "

Ron, meanwhile, was shaking Harry, jostling him violently as though he thought he would wake.
"Harry!"

Harry sat up with a loud gasp, clutching his chest. In the same moment, Malfoy's breathing
seemed to slow, transitioning abruptly from gasping and sharp to shallow and ragged. Hermione,
in turn, collapsed over him, breathless. Her tears dripped silently down her nose, soaking into his
t-shirt and pooling on his chest.

"What the bloody hell just happened?" Ron demanded after a moment, his face colorless with
worry. He had one hand on Harry's shoulder, the other curled into a tight fist.
"It's him," Harry pronounced grimly. "Voldemort. He's - he's furious. He knows he was tricked."

"Damn," Ron muttered, cringing. "What did you see?"

Harry held up one hand, still trying to catch his breath. "Give me a minute," he said, visibly
reacting to a shudder that shot violently up his spine.

Hermione hazily lifted her chin to hazard a glance at Malfoy, who was pale and sweating.
"Draco," she whispered, pulling herself up over his chest to bury her face into his neck, placing
her lips near his ear. "Draco, are you okay?"

In answer, he only moved his arm limply under her, as much an attempt to pull her closer as he
could muster.

"I'm not surprised," Harry said, pursing his lips as he watched. "I've never seen the Cruciatus
Curse applied to an entire room at once before, but it seems he is that angry."

"It was a crucio?" Hermione whispered, aghast. "He did that through the Mark?"

"I hope it doesn't go both ways," Ron said ominously. "Or can he know Draco's still alive if he
tries to reach him through his Mark?"

Hermione didn't know the answer. She didn't know the answer, and it killed her. The room was
silent.

"It was fading," Malfoy commented stiffly, his voice hoarse. "The Mark. It was fading."

Harry grimaced. "And now?"

Malfoy held up his wrist weakly, allowing them to see from a distance the scarred and blackened
mess that was left behind, as though the skin had been partially burned away. Ron turned away
immediately, averting his gaze in discomfort.

Hermione leapt up. "I'm sure I have something for that," she said frantically, reaching for her
purse until Malfoy put a placid hand on her forearm to stop her.

"Don't bother," he said quietly. "It's - it's over now."

But it wasn't, was it? She bit her lip, pained at the thought. She was growing a bit tired of
uncovering new fears every day.

Harry had not taken his eyes off Malfoy. "Theo was there," he said quietly. "He and Snape got
there later - Theo had taken a curse and they'd fallen behind."

Malfoy closed his eyes, swallowing painfully. "Was he - "

"Fine," Harry said quickly. "As fine as you are, anyway." He looked down, eyeing his hands
where they sat clasped regretfully in his lap. "He and Snape were both still alive."

Ron looked startled. "Were other people - "

"Yes," Harry said curtly, squeezing his eyes shut. "There were bodies."

Hermione bowed her head sadly, her long curls falling forward over her shoulder. Death Eaters or
not, they were still people. They were still people murdered in cold blood. And Malfoy could have
been one of them. He was almost one of them.
Part of her wanted to shut her eyes, to curl into a ball in his arms and never leave, to build a wall
around them of steel and magic and iron and diamonds and any and every material she could find
and create and invent to barricade them inside, protected from the darkness around them, him for
her and her only for him and the rest of forever in his arms for always, the rest of the world be
damned.

But the other part of her - the part she hesitantly sided with - wanted to let her eyes wander over
his pale, trembling form, to sweep his hair out of his eyes and run her hands over the scar on his
chest and down the sharp curves of his abs and take his face between her palms and tell him that
they had to fight, they had to pick a side in this wretched war, because of everything that was
wrong with the world, and because it was bigger than them. It was bigger than them. It was bigger
than them.

She rested a hand on his cheek and he turned to shakily brush his lips against it, closing his eyes.
If only he could actually manage to convince her not to be so foolish as to think she could change
this world. If only he could just say "Stop being such a fucking Gryffindor and come with me to
Italy or Morocco or some island in the middle of the fucking ocean but let's just go, Granger,
now, because what has the world really done for you lately?" and maybe she would agree and
they would be safe. And together. And safe. And together.

But no. He was different now.

She loved him for it.

"I'll get you some tea," she said suddenly, standing. "Both of you."

Harry sputtered out a laugh. "You don't need to do that, Hermione," and Malfoy nodded his
agreement.

"Stay here," he said urgently. "We're not children, or . . . or I don't know, moping houseguests . . .
"

"It'll just be two minutes," she said primly. "Just out into the hallway - there's a tray out there - "

Malfoy struggled to sit up. "I'll come with you," he said hurriedly, his face contorting in pain as he
attempted to rise.

She rolled her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous," she admonished him. "You can barely move. I'll be
right back."

All three boys eyed her skeptically. "I will!" she said crossly. "I'll only be just on the other side of
this door. It's fine."

"Famous last words," Ron grunted, and Malfoy glared at him.

"Granger, are you sure - "

"I'll be right back," she said firmly, tucking her wand into her pocket and shutting the door behind
her.

The truth was, Hermione needed a minute to herself. Seeing Draco suffer the effects of
Voldemort's anger had not only reawakened her feelings of helplessness at not being able to save
him from the sectumsempra, but also served as a harsh reminder of all the feelings that had
followed - the loneliness, without him. The void, the desolation, emptiness, the bitterness, the
ringing hollowness of being separated from him - it had been seven days but it had consumed her
every breath, her every thought. Temporally it had cost her only a week of her life, but it had felt,
for a time, like she'd relinquished the entirety of her being.

She needed a moment to herself just to feel everything that was happening to her, and it seemed
this was how she was going to do it - with her eyes flicking between instant coffee packets and
bags of cheap Earl Grey, while her mind raced elsewhere.

It wasn't objectively unreasonable, she knew, for her to struggle watching him while he suffered.
At its most innocuous that was empathy; under the guise of love, it was understandable. But the
raw way she experienced his pain - he had invaded her, body and soul.

Soul.

"This life or any other, you'd have me."

It was him, wasn't it? It was him for her.

She reached for the pitcher of hot water and smiled to herself. It was definitely him. She didn't
care if it was science or magic or hormones, but something told her definitively that it was him and
she trusted it, wholeheartedly.

"Happy to see me again, love?" a voice purred in her ear.

She froze with one arm extended, chills running down her spine. She knew that voice.

"Do I know you?" she said coldly, wondering how long she could distract him until she could
reach for her wand.

Fenrir Greyback made a low tsk-ing sound in the back of his throat. "Oh, come now," he said
firmly. "You're hurting my feelings." He was standing only a few feet away from her and she
turned, the ridge of the counter pressing into her back as she shrank against it. He was
accompanied by a haggard looking man who took her wand deftly from her front pocket, holding
his own steadily as he applied it roughly to the side of her head.

"I thought I had made more of an impression," Greyback added silkily. "You certainly did."

"You're - " she started, furrowing her brow and fumbling behind her back to reach for something,
anything of use. "You're not supposed to - "

" - remember?" he finished for her, grinning and baring his teeth. "Funny, a wolf's mind isn't quite
. . . the same," he said ambiguously.

She reached her hand a little further back, getting punished for her recklessness with a jab to her
temple from the other man's wand. "Why didn't you tell him?" she asked, teeth gritted.

His companion frowned. "What's she talking about, Fenrir?"

The werewolf ignored him, fixated on Hermione. "Why didn't I tell the Dark Lord, a man who is
loath to count me among his followers and who permits me neither a Mark nor a wand, that a little
girl and her friends tricked him?" he asked scornfully. "Well, that just doesn't suit." He tossed her
a wolfish grin. "Hunting rebel scum and mudbloods, though - well. That's just a life calling, now
isn't it?"

"How did you find me?" she spat bitterly, her fingers closing on the handle of the hot water
pitcher. There, she thought triumphantly. She had it, now to figure out how to use it - and get her
wand -
"You called me, love," he told her with a laugh, and she frowned, not sure what to do with this
information.

"Get on with it, then," the other wizard snapped, jabbing Hermione's face with his wand a second
time for good measure.

At this, a look of weary frustration crossed over Greyback's face. "Don't forget our deal - I'll have
none of your pointless interruptions - "

Her attackers spared a moment to glare at each other and it was all she needed, winding up to
swing the heavy pitcher across Greyback's face and letting the hot water spill down his chest. He
let out a roar of pain, jumping backwards instinctively and knocking into his accomplice, giving
Hermione time to wrench her wand from his hand and point it at them both.

"Two on one, sweetheart," Greyback snarled. "What are you going to do?"

"Incarcerous!" she yelled, binding them both to the stuffy, faded furniture behind them. "Stupefy!"

She watched both their heads slump to the side before tucking a loose curl behind her ear,
straightening her sweater.

"I've had about enough of you," she said coolly, aiming a disgruntled kick at the werewolf's left
boot.

Draco's hands had not stopped trembling and he felt extremely uneasy, as he always did when
Granger was out of sight. Knowing what Harry had just experienced certainly did nothing to help.

"How bad was it?" he asked quietly, knowing Harry would be less willing to share details with
Granger in the room. "How many bodies?"

Harry swallowed with great difficulty before answering. "Dozens," he said flatly. "Not sure if
they were all . . . " his voice trailed off, and Draco nodded slowly, understanding. "But still.
Dozens."

"Bloody hell," Weasley whispered. "He's a monster."

He looked pointedly at Draco.

"What?" Draco snapped, pulling himself up to rest his back against the headboard. "What is it
now, Weasley?"

"You've got his Mark on your arm, mate," Weasley said with a condescending shrug. "You tell
me."

Draco growled. "I'm never going to get through to you, am I?"

"You say you had no choice," Weasley mused, "but - "

"No," Draco said sharply. "I had a choice and I made the wrong one. But I also didn't - I didn't
know," he said, his voice softening. "If I'd known - "

"What, you thought it'd be fun, get matching tattoos and dress up like dementors, spouting
'mudblood' every chance you got?" Weasley asked irritably.

Harry seemed to bristle, sensing tension. "Ron - "

"Yeah," Draco said angrily. "Yeah, that's it."

Weasley scowled. "I'm not looking for sarcasm - "

"You're being a fucking dick, Weasley, and I'm willing to let that slide," Draco shot back. "But if
you want the truth, then yeah, that's close enough to it."

"I didn't - "

"You were lucky," Draco spat. "You were fucking lucky you were born on the right side,
Weasley. Ever think of that?"

"Really, so I'm a blood traitor for six years, but now that you're down and out, I'm lucky?"
Weasley snorted skeptically. "Think you'd have traded your Sacred Twenty-Eight family name for
mine a year ago?"

"That - that is the problem," Draco said furiously. "You can't seem to grasp that a year ago was a
different time. For all of us."

"Last I checked, You-Know-Who was evil then, too - "

"It was different," Draco said coldly. "It was different, and you know it - "

"He's right," Harry interrupted softly. "It was different. Or at least, it felt different. At least with
Dumbledore - "

He cut himself off, letting his head fall forward with a sigh.

Draco never had understood Harry's connection with Dumbledore. The man seemed to clearly
possess a hidden agenda at all times, and Draco found he struggled to forgive the elderly wizard
for knowing the Dark Lord's task for him, and yet doing nothing to intervene.

Of course, he also came from a world with a preconceived notion about the once formidable
headmaster - and really, that was precisely his point.

"I was raised to believe everything I've been regurgitating for all those years, Weasley," Draco
reminded him. "I lived a sheltered life and nobody but Granger ever got me to see outside of it."

Weasley grunted a little at that.

"I'm lucky now, honestly," Draco said, and at Weasley's vaguely disgusted face, he shook his
head. "No, that's not meant to be about Granger, though that is true - I mean I'm honestly better off
now, even if I die because of you idiots," he said gruffly. "Look at Theo. He's facing torture and
death every day, and if the Dark Lord continues to win this war, that's all he'll face, every day.
And if your lot wins, well - then Theo likely loses everything. His freedom, his home, his status,
his inheritance - "

"Like those things matter," Weasley said with an eye roll.

"They matter when you have them," Draco said firmly. "Are you honestly telling me you
wouldn't choose to protect your fortune if you had one? If you knew it was your whole future?"

Weasley grimaced. "Wouldn't know, would I?"

"Theo and I were raised to believe that family was always right," Draco said harshly. "That blood
was always right. And look what it got us." He laughed coldly. "A homicidal overlord."
"I don't understand the appeal," Harry said quizzically. "Why, honestly, why would your father be
so loyal to Voldemort?"

Draco shrugged. "Father never liked that the Ministry was so protective of muggle rights," he said
simply. "Always told me wizards were never supposed to have to hide, like animals."

"D'you think that's all it is?" Harry asked, a genuine curiosity evident in his expression. "That
people just didn't want to hide, and he tricked them into this hatred?"

Draco shook his head wearily. "Doubtful," he said plainly. "Hatred is always there, isn't it?"

"You hated Hermione," Weasley pointed out.

"No," Draco said, sighing. "I hated you two gits. And I wasn't allowed to have any thoughts
about her."

"Well, you were a right prick - "

"I'm aware," Draco said irritably.

And he was. It never stopped being a miracle that she forgave him the way that she did. He
suspected it would always color his interactions with her. Somewhere inside him, he knew he
would spend the rest of his life making it up to her. Making her feel like she was everything -
because she was, and he had kept that from her for too long. He hoped she'd never allowed herself
a high enough opinion of him in the past for his insensitive words to have made an impact. But if
she had, he would atone for it, day after day, night after night.

Because it was her for him. Her, or nobody. Her or nothing.

"You can think whatever you want about me," he said finally, his voice clear and unwavering.
"But don't you doubt for even one fucking second that I don't regret what I did to her all those
years."

Weasley considered him for a moment, but nodded slowly. Approvingly.

He knew Draco was telling the truth. How could he not? Draco was a fucking open book these
days. It would be embarrassing if he bothered to care about such things anymore. But he didn't, of
course. Because of her.

Because of Granger. She'd exploded into his life and changed his mind and warped his reality and
opened his heart and cried on his shirt. He felt it now, where her tears had been, still damp against
his skin.

"Where is she?" he demanded suddenly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed with a grimace.
"How long does it take to make muggle tea?"

Harry frowned. "Not this long," he said uneasily. "Should we - "

"Go!" Draco barked, ignoring the blood rushing to his head as he lunged to his feet, wrenching
the door open.

He heard a loud rustle from down the hall and started running, catching the sound of her voice.

"I've had about enough of you," he heard her say coolly, aiming a disgruntled kick at what
appeared to be Fenrir Greyback's left boot.
He gaped at the scene in front of him; the werewolf and his companion, a stranger to Draco, were
knocked out and restrained, a puddle of steaming water spilled across the floor and what looked to
be a steel dispenser of some kind thrown haphazardly across the room.

"What the fuck happened, Granger?" he asked, barreling into her. His eyes searched her for
damage, giving in to the same impulse she always had with him. "Are you - "

"Bloody - fuck," Weasley swore, arriving behind him with Harry in tow. "What happened here?"

"Greyback," she said fearfully. "Tried to - I don't - "

She looked frantically to Draco. "He remembered me," she said, biting her lip. "The memory
modification didn't work on him, he said something about being a wolf - "

"Who's that?" Harry asked, squinting at the other man. "Is he - "

"He's not a Death Eater," Draco said, eyeing him. "Certainly not anyone of any particular . . .
worth," he said warily.

"How did they find us?" Harry exclaimed. "This is a muggle hotel - could I - I don't know, could I
still have the trace?"

"He said that I called him," Granger said, her brow furrowed with retroactive confusion. "I don't
know what he meant - "

"We need to get out," Draco said instantly, turning to the closest body. "Weasley, go throw
everything back in her bag and grab it - "

For once, the redheaded wizard was quick to listen, taking off at a run.

"Where will we go?" Harry asked solemnly. "If they found us here, they could find us anywhere,
can't they?"

"The wizarding world is out," Hermione said bluntly. "None of us have any access to money."
She made a face. "A shame, really, since between the two of you, we could live like kings."

"The muggle world is probably out too," Draco said, gesturing with a swift kick to Greyback's
foot. "What does that leave?"

"Nowhere," she said. Her eyes lit up suddenly, a signature motion that always caused Draco a mix
of adoration - for her clever, clever mind - and instant dread - for her dangerous, dangerous mind.
"Nowhere is exactly where we'll go. The middle of it, to be precise."

Weasley caught up to them, holding her bag and wheezing slightly. "What?" he asked vacantly,
panting.

"Hold on," she instructed, and they jumped to comply, disapparating with a loud crack.

They landed half a moment later in the middle of the woods - an environment that Draco certainly
wasn't particularly well-versed in, though he understood now what she'd meant by "middle of
nowhere."

She immediately raised her wand and Draco came quickly to her side, fighting the exhaustion
from the day's experiences. The sun was only now starting to rise.

"Which protective enchantments?" he asked delicately, trying to soothe her.

"Muggle repelling," she replied, biting her lip. "Disillusionment, sound cancelling - "

"I've got it," he said gently.

His generosity was twofold - three, really. The first two were for her - he wanted her to have a
moment to recover from her experience, and he wanted to be helpful, knowing she seemed
frenzied and overwhelmed. The third, though, was the blasted wand in his pocket that was
practically tugging at his belt loops, begging him for the chance to be put to work.

She nodded gratefully, and the moment the pads of his fingers met the wand he felt a rush of
magic course through him, vibrating in his bones.

"Repello Muggletum," he said, and he could have sworn he heard the wand sigh with contentment
in his hand. "Muffliato, Cave Inimicum, Fianto Duri, Protego Maxima, Salvio Hexia . . . "

When he finished, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that she had somehow already gotten the
tent set up, and looked over his shoulder just in time to see Weasley and Harry wander inside.

"Now for breakfast," she said, a dazed look in her eye. "I suppose I can look - "

"Stop," he said quickly, pulling her into a tight hug and resting his chin on her head. "Let one of
those two figure it out."

She sighed into his chest and he wrapped one of her golden brown curls around his finger,
burying his hands in her hair. "Are you sure that's wise?"

"Weasley will figure out how to feed himself," he replied easily. "He has a gift for that."

She laughed weakly and he pulled away, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her,
lifting her off the ground so that her toes of her shoes brushed against the tops of his.

"What was that for?" she asked breathlessly, after they'd broken apart.

"You fucking beat a werewolf," he said adamantly. "For the second time. You're a goddamn
savage, you are."

She laughed again, almost hysterically, and after a moment of clutching at her stomach, she
suddenly started to cry, tears cascading down her face. Draco, frozen in terror, merely stared.

"Um," he said uncomfortably, "Hermione, are - are you - "

"I'm fine," she sobbed, her face a confusing amalgam of emotion. "I'm - I'm fine, you're here, and
I - I just - "

"Yes?" he asked awkwardly, tilting her chin up with his finger.

"I just - I love you so much," she cried, gripping tightly to his wrists with both hands. "I was so
afraid - and then I was so angry, and scared, and now I'm - I'm so tired, but I - I love you - "

"Shh," he said quickly, awash in bemusement, pulling her toward him again. "Hermione, I've got
you - and I love you - "

He felt her go slack against him and he sighed, bending to scoop her up. "A nap, maybe?" he
suggested, carrying her toward the tent.

"Mmm," she murmured, burying her face into the crook of his neck and sniffling.
 Oh, it was definitely Hermione Granger for him, he thought with a smirk as he ducked his head to
enter the canvas dwelling.

Merlin help him, it was only her.

Chapter End Notes

a/n: Just so you guys know, I am not dying but I did write out the ending to Marked
as summarized into 2 pages and sent it to my best friend with instructions on how to
post just in case I do die, so if anything happens to me, you will still have a completed
story! I wanted to make sure I made good on my promises to those of you who don't
normally follow WIPs. I have said it before and I'll say it again: I shall never abandon
you. Take this as the extent of my dedication.

Marked passed Clean in reviews today (crazy) and my first thought was . . . I need to
bring back some of those Dramione feels! So, this chapter is for drvmionetrvsh/Julie,
because I could think of nobody better to dedicate a Dramione chapter to.

Last thing - if you haven't seen littlechmura's fanart on tumblr, you must. Especially if
you love Theo.
 The Defense
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter 18: The Defense

Ron frowned. "You're sure that's all he said?"

"Yes," Hermione said adamantly. She leaned back against Malfoy's chest and he put his arm
across her torso, possessive as always. "I've already told you, that's it. All Greyback said was that
I'd called him."

"Did you say anything out loud?" Harry asked, vaguely amused. They seemed to be enjoying the
highly redundant question-and-answer period she'd unwisely indulged.

"You mean was I talking to myself?" she asked crossly. "No, obviously. And I highly doubt I
managed to call him in any sort of magical way, either. I hadn't done anything."

"Maybe he didn't mean you specifically," Malfoy postulated, his fingers drumming absently
against her collarbone.

She twisted around to look at him. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Malfoy said, leaning his head back against the wall, "maybe it was something more like
trace magic. With the trace, the Ministry only knows where magic took place, not who cast it."

"That's true," Harry said, sitting up. "That's what happened to me when Dobby used magic at the
Dursleys' before second year."

Hermione frowned thoughtfully. "Okay," she ventured hesitantly. "Let's say for argument's sake
that that's true. Then could one of you have called him? What were you all talking about?"

The three boys looked at each other.

Harry sighed. "We were talking about Volde- "

"Don't!" Ron shouted, scrambling forward onto his hands and knees to forcibly knock Harry
sideways. "Don't say it!"

"Ronald!" Hermione admonished him, scowling. "Dumbledore always said, 'fear of a name - "

"No, he's right," Malfoy interrupted, nodding slowly. He looked sharply at Harry. "I agree with
him. I wouldn't say it, if I were you."

Ron looked relieved, and Hermione caught a shockingly sympathetic glance between him and
Malfoy. A very rare alliance, she thought curiously, waiting to see how the situation played out.

"You think it's his name?" Harry asked incredulously, his green eyes wide. "Did we somehow
call Greyback by saying it?"

"I obviously don't know for sure," Malfoy said shortly, shrugging - with difficulty, of course,
since Hermione was leaning on him. "I know that it's certainly possible. There's a spell for that."

"It's called a taboo," Ron said quickly. "You put a type of trace magic on a word." At their
"It's called a taboo," Ron said quickly. "You put a type of trace magic on a word." At their
surprised glance, he rolled his eyes. "You don't need to look so bloody shocked that I know
something!" he said, disgruntled.

They looked at him skeptically.

"Fine," Ron conceded. "It's another thing Fred and George tried to do to me as a child. They tried
to put a taboo on 'Ron'," he explained grumpily, and Harry smothered a laugh.

"Taboo," Hermione repeated, considering the concept. "Interesting. Muggles use that word."

"Makes sense, I guess," Harry commented. "I mean, nobody but people in the Order actually say
his name."

"It's ingenious, really," Hermione admitted reluctantly. "That could certainly be a possibility."

"If that's what the Dark Lord has done, then Greyback wouldn't have known it wasn't you that
said his name," Malfoy commented academically, pushing his glasses up from where they'd
slipped down his nose. She knew perfectly well that he hated them, but he seemed to be quite
amused by - and unfortunately, highly aware of - the rousing effect they had on her. "He would
have assumed it was you, because you were the only person in sight."

"Who do you think was with him?" Harry asked Malfoy. "You're sure it wasn't a Death Eater?"

"I'm positive," Malfoy said steadily. "Despite how it would appear, he's actually quite selective
with his followers, and the man with Greyback would not have met the Dark Lord's standards."

"Who could he have been?" Harry wondered aloud. "And why?"

"Should we have done something with them before we left?" Ron asked, rather squeamishly. "Is
there anything we could have done?"

"A memory modification wasn't going to work on Greyback, obviously, since it didn't work the
first time," Hermione said, pursing her lips. "And he only saw me, anyway. It's Harry and Geraint
here," she said, patting his knee, "these two are the only ones we really need to hide. Since it was
only me, there was no point. And really, there's nothing we could have done that would have
made much of a difference."

"Unless, of course," Draco cut in bluntly, "you think we should have killed him."

The statement lingered unpleasantly in the stale air for almost a full minute.

"Maybe we should have," Harry said grimly.

Ron sat forward abruptly. "You can't be serious," he said, his face pale. He looked at Hermione.
"That's not an option, right? Tell me you agree with me, Mione."

She hesitated. "I - I don't know," she said honestly, feeling a quick jab to her gut as she watched
Ron's face transform in horror. "I mean, I wouldn't want to, obviously, and clearly I didn't - but
doesn't it bother you a bit, how many other people might die because we left him alive?"

"Hermione," Ron said sharply. "We are not - we are not like You-Know-Who, we don't just take
lives - "

"Stop," Malfoy said, wrapping his arms around Hermione as though in doing so, he could
somehow shield her from Ron's judgment. "It's not that simple."
"It's not," Harry agreed. "Ron, obviously none of us want to do it, and again, clearly we already
chose not to - but what if that was a mistake? What if - what if he were to threaten one of us
again?"

Hermione felt Malfoy shudder behind her, his grip on her tightening instinctively.

"This war is complicated, but murder is not," Ron said flatly. "They kill. Death Eaters, they kill.
We don't."

Hermione cleared her throat uncomfortably. "I've already killed," she said in a low voice, and
Ron, in response, failed to meet her eyes.

But he would have to. She would force him to.

It was time they had this discussion.

Malfoy stiffened. "You don't have to defend that decision again, Granger - "

"No. I do." She sat up, disentangling herself from Malfoy. "I need to defend it and we need to
have it out. Right here. Right now."

She looked around the room sternly. "Do it," she said, challenging Ron and Harry. "Ask me your
questions. Tell me whatever it is that you've not been saying."

They couldn't look at her.

"Are you wondering how it felt?" she asked, her volume rising. "Let me tell you. Let me tell you,
since you're both clearly too afraid to ask me." She was angered, somehow; their silence agitated
her. "Before it happened, I felt torture. I felt my insides like they were yanked out of me and about
to be crushed. I felt my heart pounding and I heard this roar, this - this screaming inside my brain,
asking me 'are you sure, are you sure' - and I thought - I could have sworn. I thought my chest
was going to rip itself apart."

Harry's eyes rose to meet hers, his expression pained. "Hermione - "

"I'm not done," she snapped coldly. "I knew what I had to do," she continued, lowering her voice.
"I knew it would save Draco's life, it would save his soul, and I knew - I knew for certain that if I
did it - if I killed him - I could eventually forgive myself, because I spared him the suffering he
might have faced at the hands of someone else. Of Bellatrix," she spat. "Or Greyback. Or Vold-
or You-Know-Who himself.

"And then when I cast the spell, when I finally just did it, I felt - "

She stopped, suddenly struggling to breathe. It was more painful to relive than she'd imagined; she
suspected she'd pushed it all aside for far too long.

"Nothing," she managed finally, and as Malfoy reached for her hand she turned her head sharply,
looking away. "I felt nothing."

Nobody said anything. Good, she thought.

Let that sink in.

"I have a question," Ron said after a moment, finally looking up. "Have you?"

She bristled. "Have I what?"

His gaze softened. "Have you forgiven yourself?"

She looked at Malfoy, who had laced his fingers in hers. His grey eyes swept over her face, taking
her in, waiting for her answer. She could see he was holding his breath.

"Yes," she said finally. "I have."

Looking at him, there was no doubt in her mind that it had been worth it. For him, there was never
a doubt. She could have stomached far worse.

Malfoy leaned forward, cupping her face with his right hand and kissing her slowly. She touched
her forehead to his, closing her eyes.

Ron nodded. "Good," he said bluntly.

She and Malfoy both looked over, startled. "What?" she asked.

"Good," he repeated, shrugging. "I think that - well. I believe that you did what you had to." He
sighed heavily. "I couldn't have done it. And I still don't think killing Greyback would be the same
thing - "

" - well, nobody said they were, but - "

" - but," he continued, ignoring her interruption. "I think you did what you needed to, and you
shouldn't have to suffer for that." He shook his head fervently. "Far be it from me to make you
suffer for that."

Harry nodded his agreement; Hermione, for her part, found herself speechless with gratitude.

"That," Malfoy said slowly, "is exceptionally reasonable of you. Ron," he added, giving the
redheaded wizard a firm nod before making a face. "Ech," he said irritably, making an incoherent
sound of disgust. "I don't like that."

"Yeah," Ron agreed, wrinkling his nose. "That'll take some work."

"Well," Harry said. "We know that what happened in the tower had to happen that way. If it
wasn't going to be Hermione, it would have been Snape," he reminded them. "But the question
now is what we're doing to do moving forward."

"I'm quite concerned about what it means for us if I'm now serving as our moral compass," Ron
said pointedly. "Surely if we took a step back for a moment you would agree with me. Well," he
said, his eyes flicking to Malfoy. "Two of you would."

"I never said killing him would have been the right thing to do," Malfoy said impatiently. "But I
resigned myself to having to kill a long time ago, and I've learned since then that that's just
reality." He gave Ron a stern, aristocratic look. "We can't live our lives in a bubble. This is war,
Weasley. We have to be realistic about our choices."

"And the four of us are not alone in that," Harry pointed out. "The Order set a trap for Vold-
sorry, for You-Know-Who, and I doubt their intent was merely to stun," he said thoughtfully.
"With Azkaban under the Death Eaters' control and probably the Ministry too, there's no other
avenues to take."

Harry sighed regretfully. "But," he conceded, a sense of finality evident his tone, "for our
purposes, ultimately, I think all we could have done was what we chose to do. Leave them both
behind. And alive," he finished conclusively.
Ron furrowed his brow. "So wait - are you back to not wanting to kill people, then?"

"I never left," Harry said indignantly. "I just - I think that we needed to make a point of
considering all of our options, and those are it."

"It's called intelligent discourse, Weasley," Malfoy said obnoxiously, and Hermione rolled her
eyes. "I expect it's a first for you."

"So we're in agreement," Ron said loudly, ignoring him. "We're not here to kill people?"

"We're in agreement that we were right not to kill Greyback and his partner," Harry corrected him.

Ron gaped at him. "Okay," he said uncertainly. "And in the future - "

"Listen, if that fucking werewolf threatens Granger again, I will tear him limb from limb," Malfoy
growled. "I make no promises for mercy, I swear - "

"That's a bit much," Hermione told him kindly, patting his arm. "But the point is, I'm not sure we
can make a blanket statement like that, Ron." It was a sad thing to admit, but an unavoidable one.
"I know it sounds horribly wrong, but we have to be prepared to do what's necessary."

Ron looked away uncomfortably. "I'm not sure I like what this is doing to us."

"I, for one, hate it," Harry spat venomously. "Believe me, I thought I was better than this. I
thought it was simpler than this."

"It's not us," Malfoy said quietly. "It's necessity, it's the world we live in. It's the job you were
given," he said, looking pointedly at Harry before letting his eyes travel to Hermione. "It's the lies
my family taught me, and it's everyone like me who believed them," he added apologetically.

She sighed, squeezing his hand in hers. "Nothing will ever be easy again," she said sadly, and
Malfoy's sudden laughter was dark, ominous.

"It never was," he said tightly. "We just didn't know that then."

"What does he want now?"

"The same thing," Theo said brusquely. "He's still chasing that fucking wand."

Snape grimaced. "It's certainly a longshot," he pronounced solemnly.

"You won't believe who he thinks stole it from Gregorovitch," Theo mused with a particularly
obnoxious smirk. "Fucking Grindelwald."

To his surprise, the older wizard's face seem to register agreement.

"That," Snape said slowly, "is not nearly as ludicrous an idea as you are making it sound."

Theo snorted. "I don't know anything about Grindelwald," he said loftily. "That little debacle was
just a bit before my time, don't you think, Severus?"

Snape let out an impatient sigh. "I am so very relieved to see that you still have the energy to
antagonize me," he commented evenly.

"No thanks to him, of course," Theo said bitterly, drumming his fingers anxiously on the desk.
Theo had returned to Spinner's End for his regular evening occlumency lessons - which he needed
now more than ever, unfortunately - but it seemed unlikely that this meeting in particular would be
very productive, as they'd done little but sit in silence since he'd gotten there. Considering his
mood, Theo's time might have been better spent with Daphne, who he'd only been able to see
once that week.

"I hope you've given more thought to your stance on the Order," Snape told him sternly,
unexpectedly changing the subject. "Perhaps it's best that you've been reminded of the dangers of
crossing him."

"I hadn't forgotten," Theo growled. "I hardly think I needed the Cruciatus Curse to refresh my
memory."

"And yet, how fortuitous," Snape noted darkly.

"I'm glad you're pleased," Theo snapped. "But I haven't changed my mind."

Snape sat up abruptly. "What?"

"I haven't changed my mind," Theo repeated. "Severus, honestly - do you even listen to a word I
say?"

"Don't," Snape said shortly, his hand slicing through the air. "I need you to be serious for a
moment, Theo. You need to understand the reality of what it would mean, what you would have
to sacrifice - "

Theo kicked his chair back loudly and stood, beginning to pace through the house's cramped
study. "Why do you always assume I don't know what I'm doing?" he asked, frustrated.

"You're a child," Snape said bluntly.

"I'm not," Theo countered childishly.

"You are," Snape said. "Though my more pressing concern is less your age than it is your
mentality," he grumbled. "You are far too eager to throw your life away, and your recklessness
has reached an exceedingly dangerous level - "

"You think that's what this is?" Theo asked, momentarily stunned. "Just me flitting around,
throwing my life away?"

"Isn't it?" Snape asked, his brow arched skeptically.

"Honestly, Severus," Theo sighed dramatically. "It's like you find endless pleasure in
oversimplifying me. You can't seriously think that's all this is."

"Theo. Is it strictly necessary to remind you that you chose to inflict a very dangerous curse on
yourself, and for no other reason except to ensure you got your way - "

"That wasn't reckless," Theo snapped. "That was calculated - "

"That was the height of stupidity, Nott!" Snape spat. "You could have died for any number of
reasons, and for what? I know you're concerned about Draco, but that's not enough!"

"Not enough? It's not enough?" Theo echoed, placing his hands on the desk and leaning forward
furiously. "What would be enough for you then, Severus? What motives do you have that are so
fucking pure that you feel you have the right to judge mine?"
Snape recoiled instantly. "This isn't about me."

"It fucking is now!" Theo said, slamming his whole body back down in the chair. "You're so
fucking convinced you know what's best for me? Then give me a reason you think is good
enough. Tell me why you do it."

"No," Snape said coldly. "You can leave."

"I'm not fucking leaving," Theo said, his teeth gritted painfully. "And I can make this a whole lot
messier if that's the route you're interested in - "

"I am responsible for the murder of Harry Potter's parents," Snape said curtly, shocking Theo into
silence. "I delivered a prophecy to the Dark Lord which convinced him to target them and as a
result, their blood is on my hands."

Theo gaped at him. "Pardon my insensitivity," he said bluntly, "but so fucking what? There's
blood on everyone's hands - "

"Her blood is on my hands," Snape interrupted, shutting his eyes abruptly.

Oh.

"You - you were in love with Potter's mother?" Theo asked, confused.

"Were?" Snape asked, sniffing irritably. "No."

He stood suddenly, turning his back to Theo. "You'll think me a fool, of course."

Theo almost smiled at that. "Try me," he suggested drily.

What seemed like several minutes passed before Snape spoke again.

"I only loved one person my entire life," he said. The statement was fluid and casual - as though if
the man had only ever known one truth, that was the one. "I loved her, but poorly. I was never
worthy enough to do it." He looked sharply over his shoulder at Theo. "I don't know why I ever
thought I was."

Theo bit back a sarcastic comment about Snape in his teenage years; now was clearly not the time.

"What happened?" he asked quietly.

"She was . . . of muggle descent," Snape said tentatively. "We met as children and once we
arrived at Hogwarts our friendship was tested, and I'm afraid I did not perform well." He hung his
head slightly. "She was a Gryffindor; I was, of course, a Slytherin - and her friends, Potter and his
ilk - they were arrogant, self-righteous." He paused. "Cruel."

Theo caught a glimpse of fear in Snape's gaze and he knew the man was reliving it, whatever hell
they'd brought upon him.

"Potter used a spell of my creation to torment me and - Lily, she stepped in - " Snape shut his
eyes, the memory clearly painful. "I was humiliated. I said something I shouldn't have."

"You called her a mudblood," Theo said, suddenly recalling Snape's disdain for the word.

He looked down. "Yes."

"But she was your friend," Theo pressed. "Surely she forgave you?"

"I'm afraid that was merely the tip of the proverbial iceberg," Snape said regretfully. "I was . . .
rather influenced by my peers. Lucius Malfoy, Avery, Mulciber - I was blind to the Dark Lord's
true motives," he added. "Perhaps intentionally so. Either way I was, I admit, fascinated by the
dark arts, and when Lily questioned my associations - "

He fell silent. The implications were obvious. Theo knew the end to this story.

"Draco was a Death Eater," Theo commented. "He must have called Granger a mudblood a
thousand times, at least. And yet - "

"Draco is a far better man than I, despite the similarity of his choices," Snape said, returning to his
seat with a heavy sigh. "And a far luckier man, as it were."

Theo eyed him carefully. "They reminded you of you and Lily, didn't they?" he mused. "Draco
and Granger - you knew about them. Did you arrange it?"

Snape made a face of complete revulsion. "I am not a matchmaker, Nott," he scoffed irritably.
"Facilitating the relationships of my students has never been either my interest or my intent."

"Still," Theo said, smirking. "You knew about them."

The older wizard sighed again. "Yes," he said curtly. "I did."

"What was the difference, do you think?" Theo asked curiously. "Draco and Granger hated each
other, and you and Lily - you were friends. Why couldn't she forgive you?"

"I wouldn't make the mistake of confusing Miss Granger for anyone," Snape remarked, and Theo
sensed a shadow of admiration in his tone. "She is ruthless for those she loves."

Theo thought to respond, but the dark professor seemed lost for a moment.

"Lily was always torn between worlds," Snape said sadly. "When I failed her, it was a natural
enough option for her to turn to James Potter, who had always been, as it were, a more suitable
match." Theo made a face, naturally choosing a side. "Miss Granger, on the other hand, is rather .
. . unbending."

"Good," Theo said adamantly. "Draco needs that."

"He did," Snape agreed, then shook his head slightly, correcting himself. "He does. Though I
would not discount that the man he became for her was vastly more deserving than the man I ever
was for Lily, and that, truly, is the difference."

"I wish I'd known about them," Theo said softly, glancing down at his hands. "I mean, I knew,
technically, but I wish you'd told me, or that they'd come to me for help. I could've been there with
them - I could be helping them now - "

"I, too, regret that your cards did not present a more tolerable future," Snape said, sharing a rare
moment of something resembling affection. "But there is little to be done about it now. Except, of
course, to prevent you from making any further mistakes."

Theo sighed. "Are we back to this?"

"What do you foresee happening with this defection, Theo?" Snape asked, leaning forward.
"Have you truly considered that - "
"Defection?" Theo repeated. "No, I'm not useful at all as a defected Death Eater." He snorted
derisively. "I don't want to hide, Severus, really. Honestly! It's like you don't know me at all - "

Snape sat back, exasperated. "By all means, Theo, share with me your grand plan," he sneered
dubiously. "Tell me how you foresee coming out of this alive."

"I don't give a fuck whether I do come out of it alive or not," Theo said airily. "I don't know what
I'd do, specifically - I'd be an information source, maybe, a pipeline of some kind, I don't know - "

He was floundering a bit and he paused, trying to reroute his train of thought. "Look, if you think
I can just blindly serve the Dark Lord after - after everything, surely you've not been paying
attention - "

"Your search for Draco, your need for retribution, it's not enough," Snape told him forcefully.
"You cannot - you should not - stake your life on that."

"You joined the Order for one person, didn't you?" Theo countered. "Who are you doing this for,
if not for Lily?"

"It is hardly that simple," Snape said wearily. "Albus Dumbledore was the only person to ever
forgive me for my sins. Whatever his motivation, he gave me another chance, and however he
chose to use me, he still allowed me the opportunity to become the man Lily hoped I'd be - and I
cannot forget that, just as I cannot forget that the Dark Lord has always believed I could simply
find it in me to forgive him her murder."

"But when it started," Theo protested. "When you chose this route. It was for Lily, wasn't it? It
was for just one person." He leaned forward, forcing Snape to look him in the eye. "It may be a
different kind of love, but I've only ever loved one person, too," Theo reminded him. "And you
can be the person who gives me my chance to be who I want to be," he added. "You can be the
person who puts his faith in me. The one to trust that I will do what's right."

Snape looked at him for several long moments, his dark eyes expressionless.

"Lay low for a bit," he instructed after a moment, and Theo's face fell. "Speak to Grindelwald."

Theo sighed, shaking his head in defeat. "Fine," he muttered.

"And . . . I will speak to Lupin," Snape said. "For you," he clarified.

Theo felt his heart swell and looked up gratefully, wondering how to express it.

"Severus," he began, and Snape rolled his eyes.

"Yes?"

"Albus Dumbledore is not the only person to forgive you your sins," Theo said hesitantly.

Dark, hooded eyes met bright, earnest, green ones, and they stayed that way for several seconds.

If Severus Snape were a man to smile, Theo suspected he might have done so. As that was not,
however, the case, the two men merely looked at each other, feeling for the first time a kind of
kinship that, if they were being honest, they both rather needed.

"Go home, Nott," Snape said, relatively fondly.

Theo stood dramatically. "Oh Severus," he drawled, feigning a swoon. "Home is wherever I'm
 with you."

Snape sighed.

"Get out of my house."

Chapter End Notes

a/n: I had it in my head that this chapter was going to the reviewer who had a cold . . .
and then I realized it was Neakco, who got the Fortuna Major chapter from
yesterday! So this chapter is still for you, but you can share it with Martine, whose
final exams are coming up. I hope you are studying, Martine!
 The Thieves
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter 19: The Thieves

Draco couldn't sleep again; he was exhausted, but he hadn't quite recovered from the pain that
continued to throb steadily throughout his body, emanating viciously from his left wrist.

He didn't want to look at it. He didn't want to acknowledge its existence. But he also didn't want
his tossing and turning to keep Granger from her much-needed heavy slumber, so he'd slipped
outside, pausing only to kiss her cheek and listen to her contented hum of satisfaction, a girlish
sigh escaping from her lips.

Good dreams, he hoped.

He'd been outside for perhaps five minutes, conjuring a small jar of flames that he'd seen Granger
use before, when he heard a sudden rustling behind him, catching the opening of the tent flap.

"Sorry," he murmured, turning around. "I didn't mean to wake you - "

"You didn't."

It was Harry. Not what he had been expecting, though it could have been worse.

"What are you doing up?" Draco asked, eyeing the raven-haired wizard skeptically.

Harry shrugged. "He's . . . excited about something," he said, gesturing to his scar. "I can't see
anything, but I can tell. Something's got him all worked up."

"Granger doesn't trust that connection," Draco noted warily.

"I know," Harry said curtly. "But I figured you'd keep it to yourself."

"Did you?" Draco smirked. "Trying to bond with me again, Potter?"

The other wizard grinned, moving to sit comfortably beside Draco. "Always," he said, stretching
his legs out and leaning back. "What about you?"

Draco grimaced. "Why am I awake? Same thing," he muttered. "Kind of."

Harry nodded, looking at Draco's wrist. "Have you told her?"

"What would be the point?" Draco asked, shrugging. "She'd only worry. And there's nothing she
can do."

"That's why I haven't told her, either," Harry said grimly. "And how I know you'll keep it
between us."

Draco stiffened. "I'm not - it's not like I'm keeping a secret from her - "

"No," Harry replied, smiling. "Of course not. But that's just it, isn't it?" he asked softly. "You
don't need to explain it to me."
They sat for a moment in silence, considering their respective scars.

"We should talk about the horcruxes," Draco pondered aloud after a while, kicking his legs out in
front of him. "Right?"

Harry seemed to hesitate. "I've got a better idea," he said bluntly, rising to his feet. "Wait here."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me what to do, Potter - "

But he'd already disappeared inside the tent, emerging only a few seconds later with his cloak in
one hand and Draco's glasses in the other.

"Here," he said, handing him the frames. "Put these on."

Draco stood, sighing loudly. "What are you playing at?"

"I'm sick of talking," Harry said listlessly. "Let's go for a walk."

"A walk?" Draco asked, wrinkling his nose.

"Yes," Harry said, speaking slowly and patronizingly. "A walk."

"Where?"

"Just come with me."

"But why - "

"Just come with me."

"If you're asking me to run away with you, that's very fucking romantic, but unfortunately - "

"No thanks," Harry said curtly. "But I need to get out of here." He looked pointedly at Draco. "So
are you coming?"

Draco smoothed his hair back nervously. "What about Granger?" he asked, gesturing to the tent.
"She'll be alone - "

"She won't be alone," Harry said testily. "Ron's here, and you did the protection spells. She'll be
fine. We won't be gone long."

"Shouldn't we - "

"I wrote a note," Harry interrupted. "But she probably won't even wake up." He took a few steps
forward, turning briefly to gesture for Draco to follow. "Come on," he said, beckoning. "You're
bored too, I can tell. And you clearly won't be sleeping tonight."

Draco did not like this plan at all. There wasn't a world that existed in which he felt comfortable
leaving Granger behind, and especially not with Weasley. Even Granger by herself was better off
than leaving her with someone as wholly inadequate as Weasley.

But - and this was a resounding but - something told Draco that Harry would be going with or
without him, and Granger would never forgive him if something happened to the bespectacled
lunatic when he could have done something to intervene. Besides, the git wasn't exactly wrong,
Draco thought, eyeing his buzzing wrist. He certainly would not be sleeping tonight.

"Fine," Draco conceded reluctantly, taking a tentative step forward. "But only because you need a
babysitter."

Harry shrugged. "Whatever works for you, Malfoy," he said pleasantly, waiting until Draco had
donned his false glasses before tossing the cloak roughly over their shoulders.

"Not far, right?" Draco asked nervously.

Harry gripped his wrist. "Sure," he said evasively, a vacant smile appearing on his face just as
Draco felt himself sucked uncomfortably into the air around him.

Draco cursed angrily, realizing with frustration that Harry had apparated them elsewhere. He
kicked himself mentally as he felt his lungs collapse and then suddenly refill with air, his knees
buckling slightly as their feet hit the ground. Draco had once again managed to forget the cardinal
rule - never, ever trust Harry Potter.

"What the fuck?" Draco yelled over the sound of traffic, nearly toppling into the street from the
corner they were standing. Considering the still-bustling population at this time of night, it could
only have been somewhere in London. "I thought we were going for a walk - "

"We are," Harry said impatiently, taking off at a brisk trot. "See? We're walking."

Draco groaned, taking three long strides to catch up. "Why not bring Granger?" he demanded.
"Or Weasley?"

"We don't all need to go," Harry said casually, his eyes trained forward. "And you were awake."

"Yeah, but - "

"You're useful," Harry added suddenly, like he'd given the explanation a little more thought. "And
you keep things to yourself. But mostly, you were awake."

"Fine," Draco grumbled, clutching his side of the cloak anxiously and sidestepping pedestrians
who looked directly through him on the sidewalk. "At least tell me where we're going."

Harry turned to grin at him, nearly doubling his pace. "My house."

So, Theo thought, taking in the high walls of the fortress. This was Nurmengard.

His eyes strayed from the high, stone walls to the eerily ominous slogan carved over the prison
entrance. "For the greater good," he translated roughly, feeling an irksome twisting in his gut at
the thought of the damage inflicted under the pseudo-righteous banner of those lofty words.

This was Nurmengard?

Theo found himself subconsciously curling his lip with disgust. It was a giant fucking shithole, is
what it was. The entire thing was entirely made of a smooth, black stone, minimalistic in all
aspects, with no allowances for luxury. As a prison, that seemed about right; as the headquarters
of a once powerful wizard, less so.

"Ich bin hier, um den Gefangenen zu sehen," he said uncertainly to the front guard nearest to him,
having researched a total of one phrase before arriving. The guards, two on either side of the
towering but otherwise unassuming stone doors, wore plain grey robes and strange, medieval-
looking helmets that obstructed Theo's view of their eyes.

The overall effect left Theo with the distinct impression that nobody was listening. "Speak
English?" he asked, his tone drifting against his will to his usual sarcastic lilt. "I'm here to see the
prisoner."

Neither guard spoke, but the one to Theo's right twitched forward almost imperceptibly, and Theo
leapt to take advantage of his interest.

"I know you're listening," Theo said smoothly, stepping forward casually and eyeing the guard.
They were nearly the same height, and while the left guard was perhaps twice Theo's girth, this
one was rail thin. Lanky, like Theo himself. "Trust me, you're going to want to let me in."

The right guard looked anxiously to the left; clearly that was the one in charge.

Stupefy.

The left guard dropped instantly in a pile of dingy grey robes and the right guard quickly
brandished his wand, aiming it at Theo.

"What are you playing at?" he said, his English clearly flawless. He seemed nervous; perhaps they
didn't get many visitors. Funny that, Theo thought with amusement.

"There's more guards inside," the guard said quickly, jabbing his wand in the air at Theo. "Even if
you get past me - "

"I just need to talk to you," Theo interrupted, waving his hand impatiently to shoo away the
guard's concerns. "Obviously you were going to be entirely unhelpful while he was listening."

Theo couldn't see the guard's eyes, but he caught the anxious frown that crossed his face. "What
do you want?" the guard asked crossly, almost childishly. "If you think you're getting inside - "

"Oh, I'm getting inside," Theo said, laughing humorlessly. "The Dark Lord sent me. I assume
you've heard of him?"

"You're a Death Eater?" The guard's voice was troubled. "Prove it. Show me the Mark."

There was no way Theo was revealing his Mark in the state it was now; not that he felt it was
necessary. He'd already picked up on something important about the guard he was speaking to.

"You're a kid, aren't you?" Theo asked, stepping forward. "Who's this? Your father?"

The guard jabbed his wand forward threateningly. "Stop!" he commanded, but there was a telltale
squeak in his voice that was unmistakable.

"Listen, kid, I don't have time for this," Theo snapped. "I need to see Grindelwald now or you're
going to have a lot more trouble on your hands."

"You - you can't!"

The guard was clearly panicked. Good, Theo thought. If there was one thing he'd learned about
being a Death Eater, it was how to use panic to his advantage.

"You think one Death Eater at your front door is the worst thing that could happen?" Theo asked,
taking another step forward. "You don't know much about the Dark Lord, do you?"

The young guard was clearly struggling against his better judgment. "They say he is more
merciless than this prisoner," the guard said, his tone hushed. "Is it true?"

"Everything you've heard is true," Theo said stonily. "So I'm going to tell you one more time - I
"Everything you've heard is true," Theo said stonily. "So I'm going to tell you one more time - I
need to talk to Grindelwald. If I don't - believe me," he warned darkly, "you will not like whatever
happens next."

"He is not permitted visitors," the guard said, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "My father
would not - it would be improper, and I - I can't - "

"Is this entire prison a family affair?" Theo asked, waving his hand upwards to gesture along the
impressive height of the fortress. "Who are the other guards?"

The guard hesitated. "We are the Protektoren," he said in a thin voice. "Raised to guard this
castle."

Theo lifted an eyebrow. "Raised to guard it?" he asked, thinking. "You're all kids, then?" He
snorted a little to himself. "Low security, don't you think?"

The guard straightened, disgruntled. "We are highly trained, from birth - "

A young mind. A weak mind. Theo had been taught to use this to his advantage as well.

Expelliarmus.

"Not trained enough," Theo said grimly, catching the guard's wand deftly in his left hand. "Where
I'm from, training starts with disarming the other person."

The guard raised both hands as though to challenge Theo physically. "Where you're from, people
are monsters," he spat, and Theo could only imagine the boy was glaring at him from beneath the
visor of his helmet.

Now that assessment, at least, was indisputable.

"Sorry kid," Theo said regretfully, raising his wand. "Imperio."

Theo stepped forward, removing the guard's archaic helmet; the boy had curly brown hair, and his
wide brown eyes appeared dazed and unfocused. He couldn't have been older than fifteen or so.

Biggest threats first. Theo knelt and pointed his wand at the father, the still-collapsed guard on his
left.

"Obliviate," he muttered. "Thanks for agreeing to let us in."

Theo came slowly to his feet, the young Protektoren's eyes following his movements vacantly.

"You're going to take me inside, do you understand?" Theo asked, and the boy nodded. "You are
taking me to see the prisoner, and if anyone asks, you will say you have permission."

"I am taking you to see the prisoner," the boy repeated. "I have permission."

"Take your wand," Theo said, handing it to him. "Point it at me, but do not use it."

"I will not use it," the boy said, taking his wand and nodding slowly.

Theo gingerly replaced the helmet on the boy's head. "Take me to the prisoner," he said, gesturing
forward.

"I am taking you to the prisoner," the boy replied stiffly, and the gate behind them creaked open.
"This is a muggle neighborhood," Draco commented with confusion, looking around at the
townhouses. "This is where the Blacks lived?"

"Shouldn't you know that?" Harry asked curiously. "It's your family's home, isn't it?"

Draco made a face. "That whole part of the family is a mess," he said haughtily. "The Black name
is impressive, of course, but the family itself was far from it. Mother was all too happy to be a
Malfoy."

Harry shrugged. "Sure," he said noncommittally, moving to step forward.

"Don't," Draco whispered sharply, throwing a hand out to stop him.

"What?"

"Over there," Draco murmured, gesturing to someone standing conspicuously outside what
appeared to be number 13 Grimmauld Place. They were still a significant distance away, but the
brief time they'd spent in muggle London had somehow sharpened Draco's ability to recognize a
dark wizard when he saw one. "Death Eater."

Harry exhaled sharply. "I knew you'd be useful," he muttered. He grabbed Draco's shoulder and
disapparated on the spot, landing them directly inside the house's front door. Harry nudged Draco
quickly, putting a finger to his lips.

Sure, Draco thought, rolling his eyes. As if he needed reminding to be quiet.

They faced a long hallway, lit by a large chandelier and a series of gas lamps. The home seemed
clean enough, if not particularly well taken care of; Draco's own mother would have shuddered to
see it, surely, but it maintained some distant, far-off sense of former stateliness. Perhaps that was
Kreacher's doing.

"Keep the cloak on," Harry warned, stepping forward.

Draco nodded. "What's that?" he breathed quietly, gesturing to some heavy, moth-eaten curtains
that covered part of the wall.

Harry shuddered. "Your grand aunt," he said, a distinctly unpleasant grimace on his face. "I
assume you're okay with not seeing her."

Draco made a face. "I'll pass, thanks."

Harry nodded his vehement approval, continuing to walk forward. "I think I hear something."

Draco paused to listen, then nodded his agreement.

"Back there," he said, pointing down the hall at a small window of light. "What's that?"

"Kitchen." Harry increased his pace anxiously, pulling Draco in his wake. "Come on."

They made their way through the hallway, finding a narrow staircase and descending at a glacial
pace, trying not to overstress the creaky wooden floor. When they finally stepped into the kitchen
- a warm, exceedingly cavernous room, much to Draco's surprise - both Harry and Draco sighed
with relief.

"Dudley," Harry said, shrugging the cloak from their shoulders. "What are you doing up?"

The muggle was perched on the large kitchen table, surrounded by what appeared to be a variety
The muggle was perched on the large kitchen table, surrounded by what appeared to be a variety
of elaborate desserts.

"Harry," he said with surprise, his mouth full.

"Harry Potter!" Dobby squeaked, appearing from behind Dudley with an arm full of some kind of
bread pudding. "An honor!"

They heard a shuffling to their right and Kreacher appeared, levitating a large treacle tart. "Master
is home," he croaked, his voice failing to reveal any particular emotion about the finding.

"What on earth are you doing?" Harry asked, his eyes following the movements of the two elves.
Despite Dobby's excited welcome, none of the three seemed particularly fazed by their arrival.

Dudley swallowed a mouthful of food with great difficulty. "Dobby and Kreacher are having a
baking competition," he said, throwing in an expressionless shrug.

"Harry Potter's cousin is the judge!" Dobby squeaked, and Draco fought a smile. That much was
obvious.

"Well, I'm certainly glad to see you're all still alive," Harry commented, his eyes crinkling with
silent laughter. "Have you been here since my birthday, Dobby?"

"Yes!" Dobby said, bouncing off the table and landing at Harry's feet. "There is nothing to do at
Hogwarts, and with Harry Potter's cousin needing food - "

"Is that what he calls you?" Harry asked, looking at Dudley.

The large blond shrugged. "I've gotten used to it," he admitted. He looked up and past them
hopefully, finally acknowledging Draco with a brief, heavy nod. "Is Hermione here?"

Draco shook his head, biting back a derisive laugh. The muggle was so horrendously transparent.
"No," he said shortly. "Just us, unfortunately. We're just running a brief errand." At that, he turned
to Harry, reconsidering the accuracy of his assumption. "Right?"

"Sure," Harry said, the unconvincing word leaving Draco with a distinctly unsettled feeling. "I
actually wanted to talk to Kreacher."

Dobby looked crestfallen, his ears drooping slightly.

Kreacher, for his part, appeared unenthused. "Master could have simply summoned Kreacher," he
said matter-of-factly.

"I know," Harry said quickly. "But we needed to get out for a bit. And of course, it's good to see
Dudley and Dobby," he added, and a spark returned gleefully to the elf's overly large eyes.

"Perhaps Dobby can help?" he suggested hopefully. "What does Harry Potter need?"

"Do you remember a long time ago when I asked if you could find Regulus's locket? I was
wondering if - "

"When did you do that?" Draco interrupted, rounding on him. "We haven't discussed the locket in
- what? A month?"

Harry huffed irritably. "Just because we haven't revisited the subject anytime recently as a group
doesn't mean I haven't been trying to do something about it - "
"You've been investigating it and haven't said anything?" Draco pressed. "This feels very
sudden."

"It's not sudden," Harry snapped impatiently. "I spoke to Kreacher about it ages ago, and anyway,
I don't have to explain every detail of everything I do - "

Kreacher cut in swiftly. "Kreacher has it," he said casually.

Harry and Draco both turned rigidly to stare at the aged house elf. "What?"

"You have the locket?" Harry asked, dumbfounded. "How long - "

"No," Kreacher corrected sharply. "Kreacher has the thief."

Harry seemed to be having trouble formulating words. "Wha- "

"You have him?" Draco repeated, troubled by the phrasing. "Where?"

Kreacher gave what appeared to be a rather exhausted sigh and led them to a dingy door in the
corner opposite the pantry, yanking the door open to reveal a small den. Most of the space was
taken up by a very large, old-fashioned boiler and what appeared to be a small nest of rags and
blankets, but it also conspicuously contained a cramped, makeshift cage that contained a knocked
out human being who was very clearly too large for the space.

"Kreacher!" Harry yelped, jumping back. "Is that - is that Mundungus Fletcher?"

"Yes," Kreacher confirmed, unperturbed. "The thief."

"How long have you been keeping him in a cage?" Draco asked, rather shocked.

"Two days," Kreacher informed him, still brandishing the same absurdly clinical tone with which
Granger might choose to answer a question in class. "Kreacher was holding the thief until Master
needed him."

They all stared for a moment at the man in Kreacher's cave; he was curled into the fetal position
and his breathing appeared shallow, though thankfully existent.

"Remind me to make sure Kreacher never teams up with Hermione," Harry muttered to Draco.

"What?" Draco asked, startled. "Why?"

"Did she not tell you about keeping Rita Skeeter in a jar?" Harry asked, shrugging as Draco's
mouth fell open. "Ah, well. You'll get to it."

"Wait," Draco asked, "when you say in a jar - "

"Kreacher," Harry said loudly, turning to the elf. "Does Mundungus have the locket?"

"No," Kreacher croaked morosely, clearly tormented with anguish at having to answer in the
negative. "Kreacher thought Master could question him."

Harry frowned. "Well, he's - is he awake?"

Kreacher snapped his fingers and Mundungus took a sharp, gasping breath.

"What - what's going on?" he shouted, beating at the bars of his shoddily constructed cage.
"GETMEOUTOFHERE - "
"Damn, Kreacher," Harry said, shaking his head. "You can probably let him out."

Kreacher sighed but snapped his fingers a second time, the cage around Mundungus vanishing.
The thief instantly got up to run, but he was met with the human barricade that was Harry Potter
and Draco Malfoy, each wizard taking one arm and hauling him into a chair.

"Incarcerous," Draco said, binding him to the chair.

"Nice, Geraint," Harry said, patting him on the shoulder. "Now," he said, squatting so that he was
face to face with the dingy older wizard. "Dung. Let's have a chat, shall we?"

"I never wanted to do it!" Mundungus shouted. "I was - I was coerced - it's not my fault Mad-
Eye's dead - "

"Mad-Eye's dead?" Dudley echoed, his voice strangely haunted.

They were always forgetting about the muggle, Draco thought, finding himself startled once again
by his presence.

Mundungus narrowed his eyes. "I thought that's wha' this was about," he grunted, looking
questioningly to Harry. "What'd you set your bloody elf on me for?"

"We didn't know about Mad-Eye," Harry said, shaking off the moment of agony that had
registered on his face and discarding it, steadily pummeling forward. "Though whatever that's
about, you might have deserved the temporary capture. But we're here about the locket you stole."

The thief's eyes narrowed. "Why?" he asked, a strange lilt in his voice. "Is it valuable?"

Draco turned, hearing a skeptical snort from behind him.

"He doesn't have it," Dudley intoned emotionlessly.

Draco frowned. "How do you know?"

"Listen to him," Dudley said, shrugging. "He's figuring out he didn't get enough for it."

An unusually salient point for the muggle.

"Yeah, well," Mundungus grunted bitterly. "Didn' have a choice, now, did I?"

Harry stood, straightening. "And why is that?" he asked coldly.

"Ministry hag," Mundungus mumbled under his breath. "Took a shine to the locket," he said,
louder. "Said she'd let me off the hook if I'd give it to her."

"Ministry worker?" Draco asked. "Who? I might know who she is, if you can describe her."

Mundungus made a face. "Dressed all in pink," he said, cocking his head to think. "Looked like a
toad."

Dudley made an incoherent sound of excitement. "Toad face - damn, where's that paper - "

"Here," Dobby squeaked, handing Dudley a copy of the Daily Prophet that had gotten buried
under the plates of desserts.

"Ah, thanks," he said, looking it over.

"Still enjoying the Daily Prophet?" Harry asked, thoroughly amused.

"Dobby is teaching Harry Potter's cousin about the wizarding world!" Dobby exclaimed proudly.
"Dobby is happy to teach - "

"Her?" Dudley interrupted, holding out the paper. "This . . . Umbridge woman?"

Draco felt a weight in his chest, unwillingly flashing back to a past life he rather wished he could
forget. "Oh."

"Look," Harry said, pointing to her image and grinning devilishly. "Your favorite - "

"Don't remind me," Draco snapped. "Just what I need - "

"She's wearing it," Harry mused. The picture was from earlier that morning, and an oversized,
gaudy locket was very clearly hanging from around her neck. "She certainly wasted no time with
that."

"She's wearing it?" Draco asked, shaking his head in disbelief. "Idiot. Can you imagine what
would have happened if we'd put that diadem on?"

Harry grimaced. "I hope never to find out."

"Give me the paper," Draco said, reaching out, and Harry placed it in his hand. Draco skimmed
the article quickly, muttering to himself. "Dolores Umbridge . . . muggle-born commission -
Harry," he erupted, the words he was reading starting to sink in. "Harry, they're making muggle-
borns register - "

He glanced up, feeling the blood drain from his face. "Harry - what about Granger - "

Harry shook his head fervently. "We can't worry about that right now," he warned. "She's with
us, anyway, and we can't - "

"Look," Mundungus interrupted loudly. "Now you know I don't have the bleedin' locket - maybe
you can let me go - "

"Oh no," Harry said, leaning over to put his nose close to the restrained wizard's face. "Oh, no
you don't. See, you're a thief," he declared. "And as it turns out, that's precisely what we need,
isn't it?"

Draco scoffed loudly. "You can't be thinking you can trust this piece of garbage," he said
pompously. "Though, if you're thinking an imperio - "

"That's an idea," Harry said, making a show of entertaining the thought.

"No," Mundungus said quickly. "No, you - you can't - you're supposed to be good - "

"Ah, not quite," Draco tutted, leaning forward menacingly. "He's supposed to be good. I,
however, am . . . flexible."

"You can't put me under the Imperius curse," Mundungus said adamantly. "I can't help you,
anyway, I don't know how I would - "

"I think, with the right motivation, you might find yourself more amenable to the idea," Draco said
smoothly. "Don't you agree, Harry?"
"I certainly do, Geraint," Harry said whimsically. "Maybe all he needs is a little push to make up
for what he's done - say, a chaperone?"

"A chaperone!" Draco agreed. "What would you say to an elf chaperone, Harry?"

"Why, Geraint," Harry said, turning to wink mischievously at Kreacher. "I think I know just the
one for the job."

"You're going to let that bloody elf keep following me?" Mundungus demanded, his face
reddening. "I can't just wander into the Ministry with an elf!"

"Oh, Kreacher can be invisible when he needs to be," Harry said thoughtfully, turning to the elf.
"Can't you, Kreacher?"

The elf disappeared for a moment, then reappeared on the opposite side of Mundungus. "Yes,
master," he said obediently, though for the first time, the aged house elf's voice carried traces of
enjoyment in his task.

"Dobby will help!" Dobby proclaimed grandly.

"Me too," Dudley said, nodding.

Harry hesitated. "Well - I hardly think that's - "

"Dobby will protect Harry Potter's cousin!" Dobby said quickly. The elf and the muggle looked at
each other quickly, a moment of solidarity. "Dobby has done it before!"

"Well," Harry said tentatively. "I suppose . . . I suppose I can't actually stop you."

Something about the way the situation was playing out struck a deliriously wonderful chord for
Draco.

"You know," he said loudly, a wide, genuine smile crossing his face for the first time that night.
"It really would be such sweet revenge, to see the Dark Lord destroyed in part by house elves and
muggles," he said vehemently. "It has a refreshing air of cosmic justice to it, doesn't it?"

"You know, Geraint," Harry mused, smirking impishly. "I do believe you're right."

The man before Theo was emaciated beyond belief; his bones looked as though they might rip the
pale, tissue-thin skin.

"Gellert Grindelwald," Theo said quietly. "How the mighty have fallen."

Grindelwald blinked slowly, adjusting to the image before him. Theo would not blame him, if the
man thought he were some kind of mirage. From the amount of effort it had taken to reach the
highest cell, the man surely received no visitors.

Grindelwald's mouth opened and closed several times before a thin, rasping voice finally emerged.

"Who - " he said, his voice immediately breaking. "Who - "

"I'm Theo, but that's not important," Theo said nonchalantly, inclining his head quickly in
greeting. "I'm here about - "

"Wand," the man managed, and Theo noted that he was missing most of his teeth. "You - wand -
"
"Yes," Theo said. "Yes, he is looking for a wand."

"He," Grindelwald echoed, his face showing a regretful recognition. "Lord - Lord Vol- "

"Don't bother," Theo interrupted. "There's a taboo on his name. Save your energy."

He took a few steps forward, squatting down to get a better look at Grindelwald. The old, decrepit
face showed torture beyond the reaches of Theo's understanding.

"Where is it?" Theo asked, an unintended kindness settling itself in his voice. "I can only assume
you no longer have it."

"No," Grindelwald said, shaking his head. "But - he should not - "

"What's the deal with this wand?" Theo asked, taking a seat on the ground. The man was
cowering in a corner, and Theo, for some reason, felt a need to commiserate. "Why does he want
it?"

Grindelwald offered him a vaguely sympathetic look. "Power," he said simply. "Power."

"That's why you stole it?" Theo asked. He wasn't sure why he was dragging this out, other than to
permit the man what was perhaps his only conversation in decades. "You were the thief, weren't
you? And you stole it from Gregorovitch for its power?"

"Yes." Grindelwald closed his eyes. "Unbeatable."

Theo smirked. "Not quite."

"No," Grindelwald said quickly. "No, no - "

Theo raised his hands vacantly. "No what?"

Grindelwald was gesturing to himself, to his chest. "Not - not worthy," he said. "I - not worthy."

"You weren't worthy of the unbeatable wand?" Theo asked, and Grindelwald nodded vigorously.
"That's why it didn't work for you?"

"Hallows," Grindelwald said, reaching out a skeletal hand to grasp Theo's wrist. "The Hallows -
death - "

"Yeah," Theo said uncomfortably, slowly disentangling himself. "Sure. So," he said backing out
of the older wizard's reach. "Where is it now?"

Grindelwald looked vacantly away, like the memory had transported him elsewhere.
"Dumbledore," he said in hushed tones.

Theo nodded slowly. Well, that should have been obvious.

"You lost the wand in the duel with Dumbledore," he said, nodding. "Well. He's dead too, so. Not
a very productive trip, overall."

"Dumbledore - dead?" Grindelwald asked, and there was a flash of pain filling his eyes that Theo
could scarcely comprehend. "When?"

"Weeks ago," Theo said. "Murdered."

 "Who?" Grindelwald pressed desperately, tumbling forward onto his knees to grasp the hem of
Theo's robes. "Who - "

"I - I don't know," Theo said, hesitating.

He didn't. Draco had supposedly killed the former headmaster, but as Theo well knew, Draco's
wand had failed to show any evidence of casting a killing curse. Dumbledore's death was a
mystery - but that was hardly something he could take to the Dark Lord.

"I have to go," Theo said quickly, his mind already elsewhere. "I have to - "

"Wait." Grindelwald was holding tight to his robes. "Please - "

"I can't help you," Theo said slowly, and it pained him, though he knew it shouldn't have. "You
know what you've done. Only recently unseated for 'most dangerous dark wizard of all time,'
aren't you?"

"I - regret it," he said, the first full sentence he'd spoken. "I regret - it all."

Theo nodded, unsure what to do. He tried to pull his robes from Grindelwald's grasp, but the man
held on.

"Please," he begged, leaning forward and pressing his head to Theo's shoes in a pathetic gesture
of pleading. "Please - kill me - "

The words were chilling, and Theo stumbled back.

"That's - I'm not - "

"Please." There were tears in the old man's eyes. "Please. End this."

Theo turned his back on the man sharply, trying not to hear the aged, crackling sobs. This was not
what he came here for, he thought vigorously. It was neither his place to determine the man's
punishment, nor his duty to deliver the man's release -

"Please - end it - end this - "

Theo turned, hating himself. "Avada Kedavra," he shouted, closing his eyes.

Silence.

Silence, and then the sound of his heart beating.

At the end of the day, that was all there was. It was all there ever was.

Just Theo. Alone.

Alone with his savage heart.

Chapter End Notes

a/n: This one is for Fandom_Trash16, for your enthusiasm, and Estrunk, for your
always thoughtful responses.
 The Women
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter 20: The Women

The crisp white duvet - along with the majority of their clothes - lay in a heap on the floor. Theo's
head rested comfortably against the smooth expanse of Daphne's stomach and he had his eyes
closed, enjoying what he knew would be as little as five minutes of comfort before his mind once
again became foggy with the ongoing torment that was his oppressive, disjointed life.

"Theo," she murmured, running her fingers through his hair. "Something happened again, didn't
it?"

Fine. Less than five minutes, it seemed.

"Yes," he said, dragging his tongue roughly across his swollen lips.

Her fingers paused their gentle path against his scalp. "Should I ask?"

He twisted around to face her, pulling himself up and kissing the spot between her breasts. "No,"
he replied firmly, looking her in the eye.

She lifted her head to stare at him for a moment, her hazel eyes intently searching his face, before
relaxing back against the pillow. "Just as well," she remarked easily, giving him a half-hearted
shrug. "The less I know, the better, I suppose."

He slid further up along her body, kissing her neck. "Believe me," he sighed. "You have no idea
how true that is."

She turned her head, her mouth next to his ear. "Are you okay?" she whispered.

He nodded. "Fine, now," he said, grimacing. "For the time being, at least."

She patted his shoulder, beginning to trace lines down his spine. She was always moving, and her
movements were always restless. Perhaps that was the one quality they shared.

"How is it around here?" he asked casually, trying to imagine a life in which he might have
openly shared her world.

"Ugh." She wiggled underneath him and he readjusted, laying on his side and tugging her towards
him by the waist. "Boring. You'd think that - I don't know - considering everything that's
happening, my mother might have the decency not to force me into these archaic pureblood
mating rituals, but - "

"Are you engaged yet?" Theo interrupted, sliding his hand over her hip. He felt a slight pang at
the words, but they'd both always understood this was a possibility.

"My parents were devastated to lose Draco as an option," she said flatly, her tone bored. "They're
a bit uninspired at the moment, though I think they've moved on to Marcus Flint."

Theo made a face. "That fucking arsehole's not already married?" he asked skeptically. "You
should tell your parents that that probably means there's something wrong with - I don't know," he
said, nudging her chin up with his nose and nipping at her neck. "His equipment."

She giggled. "You can't blame him for not being married yet," she pointed out, stretching herself
out against Theo's narrow frame. "Or need I remind you how many families have been waiting
impatiently for me to come of age?"

"No," Theo admitted. "It . . . sounds familiar."

Daphne and Astoria were easily the most desirable pureblood witches available in Britain; Theo's
own father had said so on numerous occasions. Pansy was up there as well, but based on looks
and pedigree alone, Daphne had the slightestedge. Besides, Pansy's mother was notoriously
conniving and unpleasant; it surely pained every Sacred Twenty-Eight patriarch to have to face
the possibility of negotiating with her.

"It's unfortunate that you took yourself out of the running," Daphne noted regretfully, not meeting
his eye.

Theo propped his head up on his elbow, looking at her. They could both clearly see the damaged
Mark on his wrist, though neither chose to acknowledge it.

"What do you mean?" he asked, his lips twisting into a mischievous smile. "You can't be telling
me that Papa Greengrass is somehow opposed to having a Hogwarts dropout as a son-in-law."

"For the benefit of the Nott fortune, I think he would have found a way to make that work," she
said plainly. "It's the other thing, I think."

Theo smirked. "My inexcusable incorrigibility?"

She laughed, her eyes dancing as she looked up at him. "He doesn't know about that part, so no."
She rolled onto her stomach, catching his left wrist in her hand. "Your Mark," she murmured,
running her thumb across it.

"Funny," Theo commented humorlessly. "I thought your family were sympathizers."

"Sympathizers, yes," she agreed, nodding. "Fools that they are." She rolled her eyes. "No, their
bigger concern is what happened to Narcissa Malfoy. Surprisingly, they don't want that for me."

"They don't want you breeding more little Death Eaters? Or playing house with the Dark Lord?"
he asked mockingly. "Silly, really. He's such a delightful houseguest. Really makes the house a
home, you know."

"I'm sure," she said, pursing her lips delicately. He caught her chin and kissed her swiftly, letting
his nose linger beside hers before he pulled away. She had her eyes closed and he paused to take
in the image of her face, her dark lashes contrasting elegantly with the fair skin of her cheek.

"Are you sure you don't want to come back to school?" she asked, her eyes fluttering open. "It
wouldn't be the worst thing, would it?"

"I think I'm a little past the point of being able to do that," Theo replied grimly, removing his hand
from her face and letting it hover on her lower back. "And anyway, I don't want to get in the way
of your escapades."

"My escapades?" she repeated dubiously, raising an eyebrow. "I don't escapade, Theo."

He shrugged. "You might," he said smugly. "You probably should, as you could end up with a
ring on this finger" - her hand had been traveling up his chest and he picked it up now, pointedly
nipping at where said ring would go - "any day now."

"It's a shame you're such a terrible match for me," she said lightly, tapping her fingers against his
lips. "I may never forgive you for turning out to be such a disappointment."

"I know," he agreed vehemently. "So insensitive of me."

"You know," she said, sitting up cautiously. "I - I would be rather insulted, if you were to - I don't
know." She clearly did know, but he waited quietly, allowing her a momentary indulgence in her
not-insignificant pride. "I don't think I'd relish the thought of knowing you'd replaced me while
I'm away at school."

Ah. What an adorable concern, given the circumstances.

He sat up, turning to sit back on his haunches as he pulled her chest to his. "Daph," he said
seriously, "I do not say this lightly." He put his hands on either side of her face, forcing her to look
at him. "I am at least a thousand times more likely to die than I am to fuck anyone else."

She let out what seemed to be an unwilling giggle. "Well," she said sternly, knocking him onto his
back and letting herself fall forward on top of him. "I don't want you to die, either." She looked
away, feigning indifference. "Not that I'm all that partial either way."

"You, on the other hand, can feel free to do whatever you'd like," he told her, though he didn't
particularly savor the thought. "You're a free woman, Daph. For now, anyway." He smiled at her,
knowing with a sudden pang that he'd miss her face. "And it would be best to make sure nobody
knows about me."

She shrugged. "Nobody would believe it anyway," she said haughtily. "You? With me?" She sat
up and straddled him, gesturing boldly to her enviable curves. "Please."

He laughed, rolling her over roughly. "You're the worst," he told her, dipping to kiss her. "Just
make sure you take care of yourself, Daphne Greengrass."

"Likewise," she agreed, kissing him back with equal fervor. "Be careful, Theodore Nott." She
held him still for a moment. "Don't turn out like Draco," she whispered, the slightest hint of a
fearful tone revealing itself in her normally charming alto.

"He's alive," Theo reminded her. "And in all likelihood, he's with Granger."

She made a rather dubious face. "That still shocks me," she commented offhandedly, seemingly
eager to change the subject. She was tapping her finger against his shoulder absently. "I mean -
they hated each other, didn't they?"

"Hate is a relative term," Theo remarked. "And the more I think about it, the more I'm pretty sure
she was good for him."

"True," Daphne said, smirking wickedly. "He wouldn't be happy unless he was the pretty one in
the relationship."

Theo rolled his eyes. "You're being hard on her, Daph."

Not that he really reserved the right to lecture her on such things, of course, as he himself had said
more than enough terrible things both to and about Granger over the last six years; but, that being
the case, Theo felt in a rare moment of introspection that he should probably make an effort to
atone for his insensitivity rather than encourage it.
Daphne responded to his admonishment with a listless shrug. "I know, I'm - I'm just joking," she
said, sighing dramatically. "I suppose she's pretty, in her way." She shuddered. "Feels weird to
say that," she admitted. "Disloyal, somehow. I'm pretty sure out there, somewhere, Pansy just
woke up screaming."

Theo grinned. "Let her scream," he said impassively. He'd never been a fan. "Pansy can go and -
"

"Careful," Daphne warned. "That's my best friend you're talking about."

"Well, she's no Granger," Theo said, and at Daphne's pout, he kissed her quickly. "And neither of
them are you."

It was as close to affectionate as anything he'd ever said, and she seemed pleased with it.

"I will admit that Granger would be a good ally for him," Daphne said softly, thinking, and Theo
felt an enormous rush of relief. He figured he could count on Daphne to not be overly emotional
in her opposition to Granger, like Pansy had always been. Theo had always liked that about
Daphne. Despite everything, she was fair.

"I agree," he said casually.

"She's always done everything for Potter and Weasley," Daphne mused. "Everything." Theo
nodded his agreement vigorously, unable to prevent a momentary expression of disgust from
crossing his face at the thought of that particular pair of insufferable idiots. "Draco would be
lucky, considering, to have her on his side - "

Theo sat up rigidly. "Fuck," he swore. "Fuck, you're - fuck - you're right, aren't you?"

Daphne raised herself onto her elbows. "Theo - what? What are you - "

"Fuck!" he shouted again, launching himself off the bed. "I don't know how I missed this - I have
to go, right now - "

"Theodore Nott," Daphne said sternly, stepping gracefully off the bed and taking hold of his
shoulders. "If you think you can just walk out of here without explaining this - this outburst - "

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, putting his hands on her bare waist and pulling her towards him. "I'm
sorry but - I need to talk to someone, and it can't wait."

She frowned. "And I suppose you can't tell me what it is, either?"

He pressed his lips to hers urgently but took a step back, yanking on his underwear. "No, I really
can't," he said, panting. "It's - believe me, I'm so fucking dangerous for you, I shouldn't even be
here - "

"It's a little late for that now," Daphne said pointedly, handing him his pants from where they lay
tossed around the post of her bed.

"I know," he said breathlessly, giving her a look of gratitude and pulling them on. "I know, but I
shouldn't do anything to make it worse - "

"Theo." Her name on his lips made him pause abruptly. "Theo, I just - I need you to know that I
understand," she said, stepping forward and helping him button his shirt. Her fingers felt light
against his chest and he almost smiled, wondering what it would be like if Daphne Greengrass
helped him put on his shirt every morning. The gesture was intimate, familiar, and beautiful
somehow in its ordinariness. "Whatever you're doing, I'm sure you'll do what's right."

She kissed his cheek coolly and took a step back, perching on the edge of her bed. "I believe in
you, Theo Nott."

He stopped to look at her. "Thanks, Daphne," he mumbled, his chest aching. "Though you'd be
better off putting that faith in someone else."

She sniffed. "Don't tell me what to do, Nott."

He choked on an unexpected laugh. "I would never," he agreed, fighting a broad grin. "And I'll
be back before you leave for school," he promised her.

She handed him his wand. "Yes," she agreed. "Yes, you will."

Her lovely, contented smile was the last thing he saw before he disapparated, though he couldn't
dwell on that right now. He was headed straight for Malfoy Manor, and directly to Narcissa
Malfoy.

Hermione sat up with a start, sensing an unusual vacancy next to her. She immediately felt around
the cool area where Malfoy normally curled himself around her, and finding it empty, she felt her
heart start to race. Where was he? It had been months since she'd slept alone. She was finding she
didn't quite like the feeling of waking up that way.

She quickly took stock of the opposite side of the tent, where they'd squeezed in the beds from
Harry and Ron's tents; Ron was there, mumbling in his sleep. Harry was gone.

She threw the covers off her body and stumbled clumsily to the opening of the tent, conscious of
the thundering roar of her blood rushing to her head. The sun was coming up, but only just.

Were those voices?

She stopped before fully exiting the tent, hesitating.

"I'm glad you're happy, you know."

Harry. She could just barely hear him; he was talking very quietly. Private conversation, it
seemed, and rather far away.

"You mean you're glad she's happy."

Malfoy.

"Can't I mean both?"

"You could. But even for the rapid advancements we've made, I doubt I'm your priority."

"After everything we've been through, you think I'd waste my time lying to you?"

"I don't know, Potter. After tonight, I'm not sure I know you at all, honestly."

"Oh please. You set one house elf on one thief and suddenly you're a stranger - "

They laughed, but Hermione frowned. She didn't understand the joke.

"I'm sorry you have to go through this alone."

Was that Malfoy expressing sympathy? That was . . . rare, to say the least.

"I'm not alone. I have the three of you."

"It's not the same and you know it. I couldn't stand the week I had away from Granger, and I was
unconscious for probably half of it, if not more - "

"It's different with Ginny."

"Is it?"

A personal conversation. About girls. They were bonding.

How odd. As far as Hermione knew, Harry hadn't said a word about Ginny to either she or Ron
since they'd left. Not addressing the issue with Ron, of course, made sense. It was his sister, after
all. But Hermione was only now realizing how insensitive she had been, given that she and
Malfoy were so open about their relationship, and Harry had never once seemed bitter or
uncomfortable. How had she not thought to ask how he was feeling?

She kicked herself mentally. What kind of world was it when Draco Malfoy was a more
considerate friend to Harry than she was?

"She's . . . independent, you know?"

"And Granger's not? I'm not?"

"Ginny's spent a long time waiting for me. She understands that I need to do this on my own - sort
of. But you and Hermione . . . it's different, I think."

"How do you figure?"

Yes, Hermione thought curiously. How did he figure?

"It's - it's hard to explain. But with me and Ginny - I just have this vision for myself, for my life,
you know - so, say we find these horcruxes, right? We all survive, somehow, and when things are
calm, and when I can focus on her - that's when things will work out between Ginny and me.
She's my reward for . . . everything. For when it's over. You know?"

Pause.

"No."

Hermione bit back a laugh. Oh, Draco.

"Yeah, well - exactly. You don't get it, because of the way you are - you and Hermione. You're
not calm. Nothing about you two is calm. You're - you're like a storm, the both of you. You're
chaotic but you're - you're bound, somehow. I know that sounds stupid."

She waited for Malfoy to agree.

"No. It's not stupid."

Well. He'd warned her from the start, hadn't he? He was full of surprises, that Draco Malfoy.

"Oh. I expected you to tell me I was being ridiculous."

"Well, I'm hardly that predictable, Harry."

"Still."

Another pause. Then Malfoy spoke.

"You're right about us, I think. About what we have."

"Yeah. It's different than anything I've ever seen. I think you're better together, honestly."

"I'm certainly better with her."

"No arguments there."

They paused again. Malfoy cleared his throat, something he typically did right before he said
something he considered excessively emotional.

"Well. I hope you get that happy ending you want. Even if it is with a Weasley."

For Malfoy, that was as close to a proclamation of undying friendship as anyone could expect.
Hermione's heart was nearly bursting.

"Thanks, Draco."

She let them have a moment before she burst out of the tent, unable to contain herself.

"You stupid boys!" she exclaimed loudly, her lip trembling with pride.

They turned to look at her, startled. They were sitting opposite each other at the base of a large
tree a little ways from the tent, looking comfortable and familiar as though they'd been friends for
years.

"I've done nothing wrong," Malfoy insisted airily, taken aback. "Whatever's upset you, you can
take it up with Potter."

She laughed and swung herself into him, collapsing onto his lap and kissing his cheek. She didn't
need to explain herself. Best not to tell them how much she'd heard.

"Why are you up?" she asked, curious now how long they'd been awake.

Malfoy held her tightly but looked pointedly at Harry. "Do you want to tell her?"

"Throwing me under the bus, are you?" Harry asked drily.

Malfoy's smug response was cheerful. "Every chance I get."

Despite their banter, this did not sound promising. "Did you two go somewhere?" she asked,
looking between them. She tried to exit Malfoy's lap but he held her still, pulling her back against
his chest. "What have you idiots done now?"

"Don't be mad," Harry said instantly, "but we went to Grimmauld Place last night."

"What?" she shrieked, looking from Harry to Malfoy. "Tell me you're joking. Tell me you did not
do something as incredibly foolish as going - "

Harry sighed. "I said don't be mad - "

"I did not and will never agree to that, Harry James Potter!"

"Well, we're obviously fine," Harry said exasperatedly, though he seemed a bit bashful. "And
really, I think you'll be pleased - Draco had a rather ingenious idea - "

"I want nothing to do with this, Potter," Malfoy growled, burying his face between Hermione's
shoulder blades. "This was all you."

Harry sighed heavily. "Fine," he conceded. "I tricked Draco, who was innocent in every
conceivable way, into coming with me to Grimmauld Place, where we found out Kreacher
kidnapped Mundungus Fletcher, who had given the horcrux locket to Umbridge, so - "

"To Umbridge?" Hermione repeated. "Well how on earth are we supposed to - "

"We . . . persuaded Mundungus to repay his debt to the Order," Malfoy said smoothly. "Kreacher
will let Harry know when Mundungus has stolen back the locket."

Hermione narrowed her eyes skeptically. "How?"

Harry held up a coin. "Protean charm," he informed her, his eyes sparkling with both triumph and
mischief. "You think I've learned nothing from you?"

"By the way," Malfoy said curiously. "What's this I hear about keeping a reporter in a jar - "

Hermione was grateful for the distraction of Ron stumbling through the tent entrance, though the
pleasure was short-lived.

"What's this?" he asked bluntly, his eyes blurry from sleep.

All three of them had traces of laughter on their faces, but each visibly seemed to experience an
anchor of unexpected guilt that showed prominently in their expressions.

"Um," Harry said.

"They went to Grimmauld Place last night," Hermione explained. "Sounds like Harry is close to
getting the locket. Right, Harry?"

"They went?" Ron asked suspiciously. "Just . . . you and Malfoy?"

"I was up," Malfoy explained quickly. "Couldn't sleep."

Ron looked accusingly to Harry. "You could have woken me," he mumbled. His posture was
rigid.

Hermione sighed loudly, sensing trouble. "Don't take it personally, Ron, they didn't wake me
either - "

"I'm not talking to you," he snapped. His accusing blue eyes never left Harry's.

"Weasley," Malfoy started, drawling lazily as he always did when interacting with Ron, but
Hermione clapped her hand over his mouth, preempting whatever insensitive remark was on the
horizon. He licked her palm playfully and she stifled a giggle.

Malfoy sat up straighter, remembering something. "Granger," he said, his voice reverting to a
more serious tone. "I nearly forgot. Umbridge is heading up some kind of muggle-born
registration."
She felt herself go pale. "What are they doing now?"

Malfoy shook his head. "I don't know the details," he admitted. "But they'll be looking for you
now. We'll have to hide you just as much as Harry and me."

"Greyback said something like that," she recalled, frowning. "Something about hunting 'rebel
scum and mudbloods' - "

"Don't call yourself that," Malfoy interrupted, a fiery color erupting around his pale face.

"You're going to have to choose a more levelheaded way to respond to that word," Hermione said
impatiently. "Something other than hurling it at me or becoming extremely oversensitive whenever
it is mentioned - "

"I will not," Malfoy declared stubbornly, though he kissed the spot behind her ear.

"Can you not?" Ron said loudly, reprimanding them. "I'm still waiting to hear what happened last
night, and it's too early for me to have to gauge my eyes out - "

"Do you think that's who the wizard with Greyback was?" Hermione cut in, her eyes widening.
"Could the Ministry be - I don't know, hiring people to round up all the muggle-borns?"

"Seems like something Umbridge would do," Harry noted bitterly. "I swear, sometimes I think
she's more a monster than Vol- "

"Don't," Ron reminded him, giving him a harsh stare. "Be a little more careful, would you - "

"I am careful," Harry snapped defensively, seething with frustration. "I - I just forgot - "

Trouble. Definitely trouble.

"Come on, Granger," Malfoy whispered, gesturing for her to stand. "Let's let them have it out."

She frowned. "But what are we - "

He bit down lightly on the side of her neck. "I have a feeling I can occupy your time until they're
done."

She stood up at once, taking his wrist and pulling him along behind her.

He didn't have to tell her twice.

She was awake, of course; Theo couldn't remember the last time Narcissa had slept.

"What is it, Theo?" she asked formally, blinking at the light coming from his wand. "Put that out,"
she added, sniffing airily. "It offends."

"I need to talk to you," he said urgently. "Now. Somewhere private."

The disdainful expression on her face evaporated immediately and she nodded, coming instantly
to her feet. The woman was always quick - always fearless. "Come with me," she whispered,
beckoning for him to follow.

Malfoy Manor was quiet, and Theo focused intently on the rhythmic clicks of Narcissa's heels as
the two of them walked swiftly through Draco's wing of the house.
"I thought you didn't come down here," he said curiously, looking around. He knew better, of
course, but he still hoped Draco might somehow appear around a corner, his forehead creased
impatiently. "For fuck's sake, Nott, what are you doing in my house?"

"I don't," she said flatly. "But if you want privacy - "

"Understood," he said, hurrying along in her wake.

She pushed open the door to Draco's study and sealed it behind Theo, casting a quick muffliato
before finally pausing, her face wild with anticipation.

"Is it Draco?" she asked breathlessly.

"Yes and no," Theo said, his stomach plummeting as he wondered now if he'd overreacted. "I just
- I realized something."

Narcissa frowned. "What is it?"

"I didn't tell you this before, but I think you should know now," Theo said hurriedly. "The reason
I had you destroy Draco's wand is that he wasn't the one who killed Dumbledore. At least - his
wand didn't do it," he clarified, his voice hushed. "It wasn't him."

She seemed to know there was more to the story than this; her expression remained unchanged.
"And?"

"There's something you need to know about Hermione Granger," Theo said, still trying to piece
together the hypothesis that had struck him as a result of Daphne's scattered musings. "She's
muggle-born, right? And the top of our year - "

"Yes," Narcissa interrupted impatiently. "Draco has referenced her on occasion, as has Lucius.
The brains behind Potter's operation, isn't she?"

"Yes," Theo said, nodding emphatically. "Without question. Potter would be dead a hundred
times over if not for her."

"And?" Narcissa asked again, her brows arched haughtily. "What does that have to do with
Draco?"

"You have to understand - Granger is fucking ruthless," Theo said, thinking back to everything he
remembered about her. "She used a Confundus Charm on another student just to get Weasley on
the Gryffindor quidditch team - she put an incurable hex on another student's face for being a
snitch - "

"And?" Narcissa repeated indignantly. "Get to the point, Theo."

"I think Granger killed Dumbledore for Draco," Theo finally blurted out, a strange hush falling
over the room after the statement left his lips. "Think about it," he said hurriedly. "Potter took the
blame for killing Draco, but that obviously never happened - why wouldn't he fucking dispute the
accusation? There has to be another reason they couldn't go to the Order."

Theo paused, waiting for a reaction from Narcissa; when it didn't come, he forged ahead wildly.
"They have to be hiding because Granger killed Dumbledore - and there's no way they can tell
the Order that, which must be why they're not fighting the rumors about Potter - "

He frowned, eyeing Narcissa. "Are you listening?"

She seemed to be staring into space, and her answer felt very far away. "Yes."

He gaped at her. "And?" he asked, echoing her impatient tone. "Do you have a response?"

"Yes." Narcissa straightened, nodding slowly. "I agree with you," she said coolly, suddenly
drawing herself rigidly to her full height.

"What?" Theo said tentatively, having expected the woman to require much more convincing.
"You do?"

"Yes." She nodded conclusively. "If Miss Granger and my son are indeed in a relationship, and it
is as serious as you suspect, then I have no doubt that your estimation is correct."

Theo gaped at her. "I - really?"

"Yes."

"But - "

"It's what I would have done if it were Lucius," Narcissa explained, a softness reaching her voice.
"If it were me, it's what I would have done. And if she's anything like you say, I'm willing to
believe the same of her."

Theo shook his head, dumbfounded. "That's . . . impressive," he commented. "I honestly didn't
think you'd take to the idea of her."

Narcissa made a face, like it was Theo who was somehow being ridiculous. "I love my son," she
insisted steadily. "I love my son, and by extension, anyone who will fight for him." She quieted
for a moment, something clearly arising to cross her worried mind. "And now, it seems, Miss
Granger will need someone to fight for her."

Theo's brow furrowed darkly. "What do you mean?"

"Have you not been paying attention?" Narcissa asked impatiently. "The muggle-born
registration, Theo."

He still wasn't quite catching her meaning. "What about it?"

"I can't do much for my son from here but this," she said thoughtfully. "This I can fix."

"Fix?" he echoed blankly.

She gave him an impatient glare. "Yes," she snapped. "We must protect her at all costs, especially
if she's with Draco. She need not be on that list of muggle-borns."

"People will still know - "

"Let me do what I do, Theo," Narcissa snapped regally before softening. "You, on the other
hand," she said, her voice wavering. "At the moment, it would be best if you concerned yourself
less with what I'm doing than with what you're going to tell the Dark Lord."

Did she really think he was that fucking stupid?

He bristled. "I'm obviously not going to tell him about this - "

"I don't mean this," she said, and her voice became gentler, more maternal as she placed her hand
on his shoulder. "Theo, darling, I am capable of thinking of more than just my son."
 It felt strange, having her even hint at concern for him. "Then what is it?"

"There is talk of Grindelwald's death," she said pointedly, and he knew the expression on his face
confirmed her suspicions. "You know as well as I do that the Dark Lord will know you are
responsible."

Theo stiffened. "Yes, well - "

"No need to explain yourself to me," Narcissa told him, an uncommon kindness finding its way to
her voice. "Just give it some thought, before you see him. Make sure you're prepared to face him."

Theo offered her a forced, unpleasant smile that was more of an exaggerated grimace. "At this
point, I'm prepared for anything," he said glumly.

"I know you are," she told him, and for once, the firmness of her voice felt comforting rather than
intimidating. For once, she seemed more mother than queen - and for just one moment, it was
what he found he needed.

The love of a strong woman was a very, very powerful thing, Theo realized, stepping into the
warmth of Narcissa's unexpected embrace. Theo, who'd experienced nobody but his father, Death
Eaters, and the Dark Lord, had seen nothing but men who had destroyed themselves and each
other out of vanity, pride, and hatred - men who'd brought death and destruction and somehow
still saw it in themselves to masquerade as leaders and soldiers.

Real strength, Theo was realizing, seemed to manifest itself elsewhere - in Narcissa, who had been
so quick to put aside her prejudices, purely out of love for her son. Granger, who had likely
sacrificed her own conscience and safety for Draco's. Even Daphne, who seemed, somehow, to
have faith in Theo, despite having little to no reason to do so.

Theo hoped - rather fervently, in fact, as he hugged the only mother figure he'd ever known, and
the only woman who seemed to be willing to play the role - that one day, the men who'd raised
him would find themselves undone by the Daphnes, Hermiones, and Narcissas of the world.

After all - the love of a strong woman was a very, very dangerous thing.

Chapter End Notes

a/n: This chapter is for my latest girl crush, bentnotbroken1, with thanks to
UnicornShenanigans for the inspiration. Also, a few plugs for some Dramione WIPs,
if you're in the market for such things. In no particular order (and all on FFN):

Come for the smut, stay for the plot: "The Pitfall" by bentnotbroken1

Dramione marriage law, but also pure poetry: "The Silk Thread" by lovergurrl411
(chapter 6 is not posted yet but I have read it and it is masterful)

AU 7th Year that feels like JKR herself wrote it: "Revival" by elleaeterna

There is also my non-magical AU, Fortuna Major, in case you've ever wondered
what would happen if Hermione were a muggle living in Los Angeles. It will have
another chapter later today. Be warned, it is an AU, so don't read if that's not your
style! But it is a fun little piece of fluff, if that is your style.
 The Distraction
Chapter Notes

a/n: Smut ahead. blame and/or thank oblivionbaby, for whom, it seems, I just can't
say no.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 21: The Distraction

It seemed that Harry and Ron would never stop fighting. Not that it bothered Hermione all that
much, and that was precisely the problem. She should have seen trouble coming from a mile
away, but she didn't, and that was entirely Draco Malfoy's doing. She probably could have
prevented things from happening the way that they did if he hadn't been so -

Well. In any case, it had certainly started out innocently enough.

"Ron," Harry snapped crossly. "Are you ever going to stop fussing with that radio - "

"Oh I'm sorry," Ron spat back sarcastically. "Is there something else we should be doing, oh
Captain? If you're so unhappy with everything I do then why don't you try, oh, I don't know -
checking in with the Order? Seeing how my family is doing?"

"How many times do I have to tell you - "

"I'm not sure, Harry! At least one more time, it looks like! I'm having a hard time believing that
you even care about Ginny, considering that you haven't even tried to reach her - "

"Don't question my feelings about her!"

Hermione sighed. The two of them were at it again, bickering inside the tent while she and Malfoy
had stepped outside to gather more firewood.

She could have just conjured flames for warmth, of course, but she didn't like to rely exclusively
on magic for survival. Despite the countless protective spells they'd cast, she still fretted that an
excessive use of magic might attract unwanted visitors. The compulsion to revert to muggle
methods was likely spurred by nothing more than paranoia on her part, but the others were either
too distracted to argue with her, or they were Malfoy, who seemed quietly entertained by her
primitive mechanisms for survival and was, strangely enough, happy to indulge in her neuroticism.

Now, it seemed, she would have to hurry back. Once again, her two best friends needed a referee,
and though it was not her favorite role in their relationship, it was a necessary one. Just the thought
of reverting to the cold silence of their fourth year and the entire Goblet of Fire debacle was
enough to make her want to tear her hair out, but she steadied herself to enter the tent as a
mediator, ever the patient friend. Or sacrificial lamb, as it were.

"Wait," Malfoy said, grabbing her arm and pulling him into her. "Let them, would you?"

"Let them what?" she asked skeptically. "Kill each other?"

"Think of it this way," he said casually, putting his hands on her hips. "It means they're occupied."
"Think of it this way," he said casually, putting his hands on her hips. "It means they're occupied."

"Malfoy!" she said, swatting his hands away. "They're in the tent - "

"So?" he asked, grinning. He manoeuvred her against a considerably sized tree, pressing her hips
back against it and slipping his fingers into the waistband of her jeans.

She could still hear Ron and Harry arguing - "Would you get off my back about Ginny? You know
we can't go there!" "Well, you could at least pretend to care!" - and she did put in a concerted
effort to reach the two of them, to stop them from fighting - she did, really, she did - but Malfoy's
breath on her neck was more than a little distracting.

"Let them be," he muttered in her ear, slowly undoing the button on her pants and dragging the
zipper down, his fingers gently tracing an agonizing path under the band of her cotton underwear.
"There's nothing you can do."

"That's not true," she breathed, though his fingers sliding along her clit gave her a shiver so
thunderous she had to fight back a moan. "I - I can't - just - "

"You can, and you will," he growled in her ear, turning her swiftly so that her chest was pressed
against the tree with her back to him, pausing to roughly part her legs with his knee and holding
her hips firmly against his. "You're not their babysitter, Granger."

She was panting now, his fingers slipping inside her while she instinctively ground against the flat
of his hand. "Still - "

"Tell me, Hermione," he murmured in her ear. "What would you really rather be doing?"

He tangled his free hand in her hair, pulling her head back so that he had access to her neck, biting
down gently on the soft, sensitive skin and letting his breath linger where his lips had been.

"I - I don't think that's - entirely fair - "

Oh but she was close. So close. He flicked his thumb across her clit and she nearly buckled
against him, letting his name escape from her lips in an urgent whisper.

"More?" he asked, and she could feel him smirking near her ear.

"More," she agreed breathlessly, closing her eyes as he turned her around and pushed her back to
the tree, sliding her jeans over the curve of her arse and lifting her up against it.

Needless to say, she forgot her concern about Harry and Ron. Temporarily, at least. She'd never
really considered herself outdoorsy before, but she did feel rather fondly about that tree.

The next time that Harry and Ron started to argue, they had all been outside; they had managed a
couple of days of awkward, uncomfortable silence, but there was always a sense of instability in
the air. At any given moment, their very foundation threatened to crack.

"Are you sleeping better?" Hermione had asked, eyeing Harry carefully. She'd woken up at odd
hours to Malfoy sitting up beside her on occasion, sometimes reading one of her books or
scribbling down useful spells he'd found, and she knew things had not improved for him. She
figured the same was probably true for Harry.

"Not particularly," Harry said irritably. It had been days since he'd heard from Kreacher, and she
knew he was getting anxious. "You know, if we could just go check on - "

"Really? Are we going to have this discussion again?" Ron interrupted. "Why are we even
bothering to hide, if you're still just planning to run around putting yourself at risk - "

" - you can't be serious, Ron - "

" - and anyway, if you're going to go off by yourself, I should be able to see my family - "

Malfoy nudged her. "Come on, Granger," he muttered, exiting the conversation and discreetly
pulling her into the tent.

She didn't fight him this time, and his lips were claiming hers the moment he got her inside.

"Malfoy," she said, struggling to focus. "One of these days - we're really going to have to do
something about them - "

"We have time," he growled, swiftly removing her pants. She sighed and gave in, figuring that
allowing one more argument between Ron and Harry wouldn't hurt. At least the two were
speaking to each other. All things considered, it could have been worse, and most certainly had
been in the past.

She shoved Malfoy into the bed and he chuckled a little, propping himself up on his elbows.
"Eager, are we?"

"Shut up," she replied primly, straddling him and yanking her shirt over her head. "Or would you
rather we just sit around and have a chat?"

"I couldn't be less interested in anything you have to say right now," he told her, smirking as only
he knew how.

Her body's response was powerful - visceral, even. He was so fucking attractive.

"Are you sure about that, Draco?" she asked, slipping her hand down his abs. "Not even if I tell
you" - she leaned down, putting her lips next to his ear and whispering - "how good you feel?"

He groaned loudly at that, sliding down slightly to take her right breast in his mouth, sucking
lightly on her nipple and continuing a trail of kisses down her stomach. He positioned himself
under her until she straddled his shoulders, propped upright and bracing herself on the headboard.
The moment his tongue swept across her clit, she threw her head back, choking back a whimper.

"Tell me," he murmured, turning his head to bite down on her inner thigh.

"I - yes - "

He slipped his tongue inside her and she gasped.

"Inarticulate today, Granger?"

"Shut up," she panted, her knuckles white where she gripped the bed frame. "Don't - don't stop - "

He chuckled and continued working into her with his tongue, his fingers digging into her hips and
arse and depriving her of any ability to function. She was barely conscious of the escalating
argument outside - "What do you even need me for?" "If you want to leave so badly, then go!" -
and focused instead the sound of her blood rushing in her ears as she came, hard, crashing into her
orgasm with an audible cry.

"Draco - "

He flipped her onto her back, entering her with the kind of urgency that always made her see
He flipped her onto her back, entering her with the kind of urgency that always made her see
flashes of light behind her eyelids. He seemed to find her spot - that spot - instantly, and it was
hard, fast, unadulterated bliss.

"Tell me," he said again, his teeth gritted from the effort of relentlessly driving into her.

"So good," she told him. So close. "You feel - so good - Draco," she raised her hips, tightening
her legs around him. "Draco - more - "

Ever the expert, he made sure she didn't have to say it again. She almost didn't hear Ron swearing
at Harry over the sound of herself crying out in Malfoy's ear.

Thank god for magic, she thought, congratulating herself breathlessly as Malfoy collapsed against
her. She'd had the foresight to silently cast a muffliato when they'd entered the tent, and they'd
certainly needed it.

They didn't call her the brightest witch of her age for nothing.

Things did not improve between her two best friends, and unfortunately, neither did her focus.
Her initial need to intervene between Harry and Ron waned pitifully against her increasing
enjoyment of her stolen time with Malfoy.

"Should I stop them?" she asked, wriggling out of her jeans as Harry snapped at Ron yet again for
his intolerable brooding.

Malfoy yanked her into his chest, their bodies colliding with a hard smack. "Give me fifteen
minutes," he said gruffly, picking her up and tossing her on the bed.

She made a muffled sound of protestation as he clambered over her, his lips on hers as she fought
to breathe. "Make it twenty," she managed, and the smirk he mischievously tossed her way made
her entire body throb in anticipation.

It was entirely Draco Malfoy's fault that things happened the way they did.

Draco had tried to avoid actually leaving the bed when he was awake at night - he knew Granger
had been rather panicked when it had happened the first time, and in a rare moment of empathy,
he thought he would feel the same, thus determining it was poor form - but as he saw Harry slip
out the tent entrance, he didn't hesitate to follow.

The dark-haired wizard was wandering aimlessly, and Draco feared for a moment he meant to
run.

"You look rattled," Draco commented, stopping Harry in his tracks.

"I am," Harry said, his voice clipped. "I saw him talk to Theo."

Draco felt his breath leave him temporarily. "Is Theo okay?"

"Yes." Harry nodded. "It seems he brought You-Know-Who some good news."

"Oh." Draco looked down. "So he's that kind of Death Eater."

"I wouldn't jump to conclusions," Harry warned, and Draco took a seat, sighing.

"Tell me what happened," he said grimly.

"Vol- Sorry, You-Know-Who is after a wand," Harry said. "That's what was stolen from
Gregorovitch. And it turns out that Grindelwald stole it."

"Grindelwald?" Draco echoed. "The dark wizard?"

"That's the one." Harry was picking up rocks from the ground and tossing them, a pointless action
that seemed to indicate that he didn't know what to do with his excess frustration. "Theo killed
him."

"Theo killed Grindelwald?" Draco asked, stunned. "After Gregorovitch? Is he doing this all on
the Dark Lord's orders?"

"No, actually," Harry said tentatively. "Vol- You-Know-Who was actually really displeased to
hear about it."

Draco frowned. "I thought you said Theo brought good news?"

"He did."

"Okay - and?"

"Well, I think You-Know-Who sent Theo to talk to Grindelwald initially," Harry said slowly, his
brow furrowing slightly. "And then You-Know-Who was surprised to find out that Grindelwald
had been killed, and not on his orders - and he also couldn't see into Theo's mind, which means
Theo is using occlumency - "

"I bet Snape's involved, then," Draco muttered uneasily. "Why wouldn't Snape prevent Theo from
taking the Mark?"

Harry shrugged. "Don't know," he said blankly. "I'm still not totally sure what to make of Snape."

"I'm with you there," Draco agreed, grimacing. "But anyway. Theo?"

"Yeah. So Theo - he just said he killed Grindelwald to get information from him."

Draco's stomach churned uncomfortably. "Am I crazy?" he asked Harry, looking to him for the
kind of reassurance he would normally have sought out from Granger under different
circumstances. "Or does that not sound at all like something Theo would do?"

"I don't know," Harry said quickly, raising both hands. "I don't know Theo, and I don't know
what it's like for him, either. He's living a nightmare," Harry added, shuddering.

"I know," Draco whispered, fighting a wince. "He's living the nightmare I was supposed to have
faced."

"That could change a person," Harry ventured, nodding. "It changed you."

"Would it drive a person to murder, though?" Draco asked skeptically. "I - I just don't see it. Not
Theo."

Harry shrugged. "Well, with Gregorovitch, I think it was a mercy kill," he said slowly. "Which
could easily have been the case with Grindelwald - I mean, the guy's been in prison for decades,
hasn't he?"

"It's more feasible," Draco admitted. "Though still difficult to wrap my head around."

"We'll get to him," Harry said, looking up to meet Draco's eyes. "I promised you that, and I stand
by it. We'll get to Theo, and then you can ask him yourself."
by it. We'll get to Theo, and then you can ask him yourself."

Draco grunted gratefully in response; he didn't want to say the words that struck him, though
Harry seemed to understand. The words would have been simple enough.

Thank you. I needed to hear that.

"So what did he get from Grindelwald?" Draco asked, shifting away from Harry. "You seemed
upset when I came out here."

"The wand that You-Know-Who is looking for used to belong to Grindelwald and was taken by
Dumbledore after their duel." He looked pointedly at Draco. "And we both know where that
wand is now."

In Draco's pocket, of course. Excellent. How convenient.

"Why didn't you open with that?" Draco snapped, leaping to his feet. "Did it slip your mind that
now the Dark Lord is going to be hunting - " He stopped. "Wait. I'm dead."

Harry gave him an impatient look. "Right."

"Well - " Draco frowned. "Now he's definitely going to look into what happened in the tower. I
don't think he's going to assume the wand was destroyed in the fire - do you?"

"If he can believe the explosion took out a body - your body - then I don't see why he would
question that it could take out a wand," Harry said tightly. "But - I have some other reservations."

"I may never not have reservations," Draco snapped. "Perhaps for the rest of fucking time."

Harry flashed him a look. "Draco."

He sighed. "Fine," Draco replied irritably, sitting down. "What else?"

"First of all," Harry said, taking a deep breath. "Can you tell anything different about the wand?"

Draco shifted uncomfortably. He hadn't told anyone but Granger.

"Yes," he admitted reluctantly. "It's - well, there's definitely a relationship between me and this
wand that wasn't there with my old one."

Harry expression drooped ever so slightly. "I was afraid of that."

"You think that means something?" Draco pressed. "You think he wants this wand because of . . .
of something it can do?"

Harry leaned in. "I know this sounds ridiculous," he said in a low voice. "But what if it's the
unbeatable wand from Hermione's book? From 'The Tale of the Three Brothers'?"

Draco blinked. "You think it might be one of the Deathly Hallows?" he asked, frowning. "That's -
that would be - "

"Crazy, I know," Harry said, nodding fervently. "But doesn't it seem coincidental? Dumbledore
had the wand Vold- ugh, You-Know-Who wanted, and then he left Hermione that book - "

"The pieces do seem to fit," Draco said, slightly sickened. "Fuck, and I thought I was making a
clever joke when I said he wanted you to find the Hallows."

"What if Vol- damn," Harry swore, forgetting himself. "What if You-Know-Who is after the
Hallows?" he asked anxiously. "Could he become Master of Death, like the story says? Do you
think that's a real thing?"

Now that was a nightmare.

"I hope not," Draco said warily.

"And do you think I'm supposed to find the Hallows?" Harry asked, his voice barely above a
whisper. "Is that what Dumbledore is trying to tell me? Do I need to become the Master of Death
to defeat Vol- him?"

There was an odd, bright flicker in Harry's eyes that gave Draco a distinctly uneasy feeling. He'd
never seen the expression before in the other wizard's face - not in all the years they'd known each
other - and Draco found he vehemently distrusted it.

"Dumbledore never said that, did he?" Draco said quickly. "He just wanted you to destroy the
horcruxes, right?"

"That's all he said," Harry noted. "But he was never all that good about giving all the instructions
-"

"Maybe he just wanted you to prevent the Dark Lord from getting his wand," Draco said, treading
carefully. He didn't want to lose Harry's confidence, but he felt an inexplicable need to put him off
the idea of possessing the Hallows. "I wouldn't go chasing the idea."

Harry grimaced. "You're probably right," he agreed, slightly deflating. "Is there anything else you
know about the elder wand from the story? Do you think it's even real?"

"There's been rumors of powerful wands before," Draco said thoughtfully. "Surely wandmakers
used to claim they could make unbeatable wands - "

"It must be more than a rumor if You-Know-Who is chasing it though, don't you think?" Harry
asked. "He doesn't seem the type to believe in a children's tale."

"Maybe he doesn't know about the Hallows, then," Draco commented, subconsciously taking on
Granger's academic tone. "If he's only chasing the wand."

Harry nodded slowly. "You're probably right," he conceded, sighing heavily.

The more Draco thought about it, the more uncomfortable he became. "That wand," he began
nervously. "In the story. Someone kills the first brother to take it from him - do you think that the
Dark Lord will have to kill to possess the wand, or is that just part of the story?"

"Well, Grindelwald didn't kill Gregorovitch, and Dumbledore didn't kill Grindelwald," Harry said,
frowning. "So unless all you have to do is beat the owner of the wand, maybe anyone who has it
can use it?"

"One way to find out," Draco said, taking the wand from his pocket and holding it out for Harry.

Was that a miscalculation? He hoped not.

Fuck, did he hope not.

"What should I do?" Harry asked, taking the wand gingerly between his fingers. "Just - cast any
spell?"
Draco watched closely, waiting to see if the unnerving spark would appear in Harry's eyes a
second time. "Wave it a bit," he suggested. "Like getting a wand from Ollivander's."

He did; nothing.

"Would I feel something?" Harry asked, biting his lip. "Do you feel something?"

Draco put his hand out and Harry deposited the wand in his palm, seeming to exhale
uncomfortably as he did so.

"Yes," Draco admitted, feeling the wand pulse steadily even now. "It - I can feel its magic. Even
when I'm not using it." He smoothed his hair back, trying to make sense of his thoughts. "It feels
like an extension of my own magic, somehow."

"And you did disarm Dumbledore," Harry murmured, thinking. "Tell me the truth," he said
suddenly, his tone uncharacteristically ruthless. "Do you think this could be that unbeatable
wand?"

Draco sighed uncomfortably. "It . . . could be," he permitted, bowing his head. "There's - there's
definitely something inexplicably off about it."

"Okay," Harry said, starting to piece together the scenario at hand. "So Voldem- fuck, You-
Know-Who thinks you killed Dumbledore, and that I killed you - so in his mind, I'm the one who
would have the wand."

"Fuck," Draco swore, fighting back a laugh. "It's always you, isn't it? Potter, you are such a thorn
in the Dark Lord's side."

"Am I fucked?" Harry asked, sitting up rigidly though he seemed to be in a daze. "Be honest. I'm
fucked, aren't I?"

"You've been fucked since long before this," Draco reminded him. "You've been fucked since
birth, and really, nothing has changed. The only way this gets any worse - since I assume you
never planned to have the Dark Lord kill or disarm you to begin with, unbeatable wand or not - "

"No," Harry said loudly. "Not really part of the plan."

" - then the only way this gets worse is if he investigates the Astronomy Tower," Draco said,
feeling himself go pale. "The only way this gets worse is if he figures out I'm alive."

"Then we're all fucked," Harry said, clapping Draco's shoulder. "And I'll be in good company."

Hermione woke up to Malfoy at her side, though he felt cold when she burrowed herself into him;
she assumed he'd been outside.

"You didn't go anywhere, did you?" she whispered, looking hopefully into his uncharacteristically
agitated grey eyes. "Tell me you didn't do anything stupid."

Malfoy paused before answering. "No," he said after a moment. "I didn't do anything. But I need
to talk to you."

His eyes traveled across the room to where Harry was playing with the snitch Dumbledore had
left him, and Hermione followed his gaze warily.

"Did you and Harry talk last night?" she asked, her voice still quite hushed. She didn't want to rile
Ron up first thing in the morning.

Malfoy was hesitating. Something was wrong.

"I have to talk to you in private," he replied uneasily, his lips forming a tight, grim line across his
handsome face.

He seemed nervous. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him that way - if ever. Maybe
his lack of sleep was getting to him.

"This isn't private?" she asked, gesturing to where they lay tangled together under the covers.

His eyes flicked to Harry. "No," he pronounced grimly. "I need to talk to you alone."

The exchange left her feeling restless and apprehensive; she attempted to busy herself with her
usual morning tasks - she had been trying to make a daily effort to get dressed despite the lack of
necessity, just to give herself a sense of purpose despite their aimless lounging - but her mind was
elsewhere. As soon as Ron and Harry were up and moving around, she sent them out of the tent
for water.

"More?" Harry said, giving her a dubious look.

"For tea," she explained hurriedly, rushing them out. "Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration,
you can't just create it out of thin air - "

"We know," Ron sighed, having heard this from her several times before. "We've got it, Mione."

She should have caught the look of exhaustion and frustration in his eye. She knew him better
than anyone, other than Harry; she should have known. She should have known better than to
send him out, but she was distracted. She had Malfoy to think about, and that clouded her
judgment.

"Tell me what's going on," she said, the instant they'd left.

"The Dark Lord is after this wand," Malfoy told her, taking it out of his pocket and setting it down
in front of her. He was certainly not wasting any time; it was clear he'd been thinking about it all
morning. "That's what he's sent Theo after."

"Okay," she said uncertainly. "But we're already hiding from him, so - "

"I think that this is the wand from the 'Tale of the Three Brothers'," Malfoy explained. "I think it's
one of the Deathly Hallows."

She gaped at him. "And - is that why he wants it?"

"I don't think so," he replied curtly. "I doubt he would put any stock in a fairytale, and I told Harry
as much."

She frowned. "Then what's the problem?"

"Hermione," he said, smoothing his hair back distressfully. "I think we might already be in
possession of all three Deathly Hallows."

"I - what?" she asked, blinking at him. "What - "

"The wand, the cloak, and the stone," he said, enumerating them on his fingers. "This is likely the
wand. Harry's cloak has to be the cloak from the story - there isn't a cloak in the world that does
wand. Harry's cloak has to be the cloak from the story - there isn't a cloak in the world that does
what his does, I'm sure of it."

She swallowed with great difficulty, finding her mouth suddenly quite dry. "And the last one?"
she asked. "The resurrection stone?"

"I'm not positive," he said hesitantly, though the look on his face told her otherwise. "But I think
Dumbledore put it in that snitch he gave Harry."

Well. That certainly seemed right out of Dumbledore's playbook.

"So what does that mean?" she asked anxiously. "If Harry has all three - "

"Correction," Malfoy said gently. "Harry might have two of the Hallows, if my estimation is
correct. I have the third, and if I'm not mistaken, he'd have to kill me or disarm me to take
possession of it."

"Well, he obviously wouldn't do that," she said indignantly. "Unless - " she paused, giving him a
horrified look. "Is that why you wanted to talk to me alone? You think he might try to take it from
you?"

"Granger, the story goes that whoever possesses all three Hallows becomes the Master of Death,"
he said, parsing his words out carefully. "Master of Death," he repeated, as though he thought she
might have had trouble comprehending the significance of these words. "For someone who is
trying to defeat the world's most dangerous dark wizard, it's obviously a rather tempting title."

"Still!" she exclaimed. "This is Harry we're talking about - "

"He thinks Dumbledore sent him to get the Hallows, Granger," he said, and she saw again the
flash of anxiety that came over his features. "And - and I know he's your friend, and you want to
see the best in him, but - you didn't see his face, Hermione. Something strange happened to him at
the thought of mastering the Hallows."

That was a chilling thought.

"Well - what did you tell him?" she asked, her hands fluttering nervously as she brought them to
her face. "Does he know about the stone?"

"The stone being in the snitch is just a guess, and no, I didn't share that with him," Draco said
curtly. "And I also told him that if Dumbledore wanted him to possess the Hallows, he would
have instructed him to do so."

"I don't know about that," Hermione noted skeptically. "I mean, Dumbledore never took a very
reasonable stance as far as explaining his intentions - "

"I know that, and it's only a matter of time before Harry decides the same thing!" Malfoy said
urgently, beginning to pace in front of her. "It was a stalling tactic at best, but I just - I'm not sure if
it's wise - "

"What do you want to do?" she asked quietly, taking his hands in hers. He calmed at her touch, as
he always did. "If you're really worried about this, tell me what you think we should do."

He opened his mouth to respond, but a loud noise from outside drew their attention, and he
hesitated.

"Maybe we shouldn't have let them go out alone," he said, pulling open the tent flap and hastily
stepping through it. "Fuck, I think Potter's down - "
 "What's going on?" she asked, following him. She couldn't quite see Ron and Harry from where
she was standing, and that in itself was enough to worry her significantly.

"Go back," Malfoy said suddenly, retreating while facing forward and keeping his eyes on
something she couldn't see. She tried to move past him but he threw an arm out, blocking her
movement.

"Do not move," he hissed, his eyes wild. "Do not make a sound - "

"What - "

He clapped his hand over her mouth but pulled her forward, tucking her entire body protectively
under his arm.

Without the obstruction of Malfoy standing in her way, she could see what had attracted his
attention; Ron and Harry were several feet away, both sitting on the ground as though they'd
recently been knocked down. They had also - quiteunwisely, she thought furiously - vacated the
perimeter of the wards that Malfoy had set up.

There were, of course, other issues, and she felt an immutable panic bubble in her chest the
moment she identified them.

For one thing - they were not alone.

Chapter End Notes

a/n: Well, I would estimate we are halfway through Marked at this point. Next
chapter is the start of a 5-ish chapter plot arc that launches us into new and important
territory.

This chapter is dedicated to Nichole O and Mistress-Cinder. Endless thanks for your
frequent reviews!
 The Manor
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter 22: The Manor

Ron Weasley was not a bad person. Really. He wasn't.

Okay. So things had gotten out from under him a bit. It wasn't his fault. Why couldn't anyone see
that?

Every summer, every Christmas, practically every moment of any significance whatsoever in their
lives that hadn't taken place at Hogwarts had taken place at his home. With his family. And it was
like Hermione and Harry had suddenly forgotten that.

Those two - and fucking Malfoy, who was no help whatsoever - might have been only children,
but Ron wasn't. He had grown up learning from and leaning on his siblings, finding support in his
family and learning that they could be relied on for anything. For love, and for comfort. For
strength. For support.

For help.

But Ron was so wildly outnumbered, wasn't he? With Malfoy here, there was no convincing the
other two to see reason. Hermione was . . . well, she was bloody giddy, wasn't she? And Harry . .
. Ron never thought he would have to question his importance to Harry. But now the important
conversations, the ones Harry used to have alone with Ron, he was having with Malfoy. Had both
Hermione and Harry forgotten what Malfoy had done? The judgment call he'd made? So he was
reformed. Fine. Good for him. So what? Why did that make him the voice of reason all of a
sudden? And when, exactly, had Ron lost his standing as Harry's confidant?

He couldn't help but question Malfoy's motives. Malfoy had instantly dug his heels in at the
thought of going to the Order, but that was selfish, wasn't it? He didn't want his mother and father
at risk, and Ron could certainly understand that, even as he found the idea of protecting Lucius
Malfoy to be thoroughly distasteful. But for Malfoy to pretend he was doing it for Hermione, who
had always been safe there . . . it was unconscionable.

And then there was Harry. Ron certainly had more brothers than he knew what to do with, but
even then, he had never questioned a brother was precisely what Harry was to him. But now . . .

Hermione had asked them to get some water and the only thing Ron could think about was the
way Harry was loath to meet his eyes. Ron had woken up in the middle of the night and seen that
both Harry and Malfoy were out of bed once again and he knew, he knew, that yet again, Harry
was choosing Malfoy over him. A couple of months ago, perhaps even less, Harry would have
woken Ron and Hermione. They would have huddled together, trying to figure out what it all
meant. Hermione would have still looked at Ron with affection and Harry would have turned to
him for advice.

But that was not the case anymore, was it? Not even remotely. Now it was Harry and his
bewildering faith in Malfoy. Now it was Harry's need to turn to the former Death Eater without
batting an eye to how Malfoy was changing him, to how Malfoy's influence was destroying the
person Harry had once been. Nevermind how many times Ron had been there for Harry.
Nevermind the friend Ron had always been.
Ron wanted to leave, he really did. And he didn't think anyone would miss him if he went,
honestly. He couldn't remember the last time Hermione had even given him a second glance; she'd
never needed Ron for his brain and now she didn't need him for his company, either. As for Harry
. . . he wanted to think Harry would come around, that there might be a time that Harry would
need to fall back on the relationship he'd had with Ron. But was he willing to bet on it? He no
longer knew. As if it wasn't enough that Malfoy was fucking Hermione every goddamn chance he
got, now he was fucking Ron over, too.

That wasn't even the worst part, either. The worst part, unquestionably, was that even with all of
that, even with all the resentment he felt towards Malfoy, Ron still couldn't fully hate him. He
couldn't hate him, he couldn't blame him, and he certainly couldn't turn on him. They'd been
through too much, whether he liked it or not.

Ha. Well. He certainly didn't like it - and now, of course, looking at Harry, Ron's brain was
buzzing with fear and dread. When had talking to his best friend become so bloody difficult?

"So," Ron attempted, his voice unintentionally gruff. "You were up last night."

"Yeah." Harry didn't look up. "I don't exactly sleep anymore."

"I noticed."

He was trying to sound sympathetic, but by the look Harry gave him, he knew it was coming out
all wrong.

"Watching me, are you?" Harry asked coolly, his shoulders thrust back.

This wasn't the Harry that Ron knew. It wasn't the Harry he'd grown up with. This was a Harry
that had been exposed to Draco Malfoy a little too long.

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered. "Would you relax? I'm just trying to see how you're doing."

"Are you?" Harry snapped. "Or are you just going to remind me what a terrible friend I've been?
What a horrible choice I am for Ginny?"

Ron sighed irritably. This again, and it was Ron's fault. He'd been repeatedly insensitive toward
Harry against his better judgment, and now, as he attempted to reconcile, he was paying for it.
"No - "

"Or better yet," Harry said angrily, his volume rising. "Going to tell me for the hundredth time
how much you miss your mum and dad?"

There was a sing-song quality to his voice that stung bitterly, striking the depths of Ron's ego.

"Hey," Ron said abruptly, fighting the growl in his tone. "Don't - don't mock me - "

"Is it too much to ask that you might support me a bit more?" Harry's frustration was building. "Is
it too much for you to grasp that I might be in a bit of a tough situation? Maybe a little bit tougher
than your situation?"

"Don't act like you understand what I'm going through," Ron spat, feeling the familiar rush of his
temper beginning to escalate. "Just because you don't know what it's like to have a family to
worry about - "

Oh no. Oh no, no no. He felt it, the way something broke between them as soon as the words left
his mouth.
"I'm sorry," Ron said instantly, his cheeks flushed as he stepped in front of Harry to slow his
progress. "I'm sorry, really - I didn't mean that - "

"Didn't you, though?" Harry said, his own face mottled with rage. "I think you did, Ron, and
maybe you've always meant it - maybe you're only now being honest with me - "

"No! I - it was careless, I shouldn't have - "

"No, fuck you, Ron!" Harry shouted. "You're right! I've never had parents or any family to give a
shit about me so you're right, I wouldn't know how you feel, would I?"

No. No. Ron's thoughts were frenzied. Chaotic. Filled with resentment towards himself and his
stupid mouth. Why had he said that? He hadn't meant it. He didn't mean a word of it, and now -

"Stop, Harry - please - let's talk about this - "

"I think I'm getting a bit sick of talking about it, actually," Harry said coldly, trying to shove Ron
aside.

He didn't budge. "Hear me out, please, please, for the sake of our friendship - "

"You don't even understand how lucky you are, do you?" Harry asked pointedly. "Hermione
obliviated her parents to keep them safe. Draco let his parents believe they had buried him, just to
protect them. And you think you live in a world where we can all just waltz into the Burrow, and
nobody will suffer for it?"

"I never - "

"You're just playing at war, Ron," Harry said brusquely. "But really, you've lost nothing. You
haven't a clue, do you?"

That stung. Ron had sacrificed, too. Hadn't he?

"Harry, I know that I - "

"People are dying, Ron, people are hunting me, they're hunting Hermione - "

"I know - "

"And you're just so fucking naive, Ron! I can't even talk to you without feeling like you don't
have a fucking clue what the world is really like!"

Ron shook his head, deflating. "That's not fair - "

"You refuse to see that it's not all black and white anymore - so of course I couldn't even come to
you after everything, especially not after I saw Volde- "

"Harry, NO!"

" -mort last night - "

"Harry!" Ron grabbed his shoulders, shouting and shaking him. "Harry, his name - the taboo -
you can't - "

But it was too late.

There was a loud crack behind them and Ron knew that whoever had just apparated there was
undoubtedly not a friend. He also realized, his stomach plummeting, that over the course of their
argument, he and Harry had managed to stray past the protective wards that Malfoy had set up.
There was no hiding, and Ron remembered with a twisting, sinking feeling that he had no wand.
One glance into the startled bright green eyes confirmed his worst suspicions - he had no wand,
and neither did Harry.

The footsteps were growing louder, the hazy human forms were getting closer. There was no
running back to the wards - once he and Harry disappeared from sight, the intruders would know
where they were, and then Malfoy and Hermione would be at risk, too.

The first voice was a high, thin sneer. "What do we have here?"

Ron knew he had perhaps seconds to do something.

"I'm sorry about this," he whispered to Harry, wincing as he curled his hand into a fist.

Harry gaped at him. "What - "

Ron wound up and punched Harry, hard - as hard as he possibly could - with every ounce of his
strength, his fist hitting Harry's cheek and swiftly breaking his nose.

"Fuck!" Harry swore, doubling over.

"Stay down," Ron grunted quietly, shaking out his fist and grimacing in pain. The impact had
likely broken his thumb; he'd never managed to learn his lesson about how to throw a punch
properly, despite Charlie teaching him as a child. Harry, meanwhile, had collapsed on the ground,
clutching his face. Ron could see the blood streaming from his nose, and he just hoped he'd done
enough damage to make Harry's identity even the slightest bit questionable.

"Ah, look at this, Greyback," one of the men said brightly, his wand trained on Ron. He was the
same wizard who had been with Greyback at the muggle hotel in London. "Looks like we've
interrupted a bit of a brawl, haven't we?"

"That'll explain the shouting," another man said, his face distinctly gnarled and greasy. His lips
were curled into what appeared to be a permanent sneer, and he poked his wand threateningly to
the back of Harry's head.

"No wands," the first wizard noted, eyeing them carefully. "But muggles wouldn't feel so free
saying the Dark Lord's name, now would they?"

"Not muggles," Greyback said bluntly, stepping out from behind the other two. "Just unlucky, it
seems." He smiled at them, his teeth flashing a little as he came closer. "Names, if you don't
mind?"

He was wildly unpleasant, despite playing at manners.

"Barny," Ron said quickly. He glanced down at Harry, whose hand was still covering the
majority of his face. "Barny Weasley."

"A Weasley?"

The shared laughter between the three intruders was uproarious.

"A blood traitor, then," Greyback said smoothly. "Fair enough." He nudged Harry's ribs with his
toe. "And this is?"
"Stan Shunpike," Ron said instantly, spouting off the first name that came to mind.

The second, scowling wizard aimed a swift kick at the back of Ron's knees, causing him to come
crashing forward. "Like hell it is," he said brutishly. "We know Stunpike - and anyway, nobody
asked you - "

"Dudley," Harry said quickly, before the first wizard could shove his wand any further into his
head. Harry's voice was thick and came out with difficulty from the violent impact his face had
taken. "Vernon Dudley."

Greyback snorted. "Check the list," he told the first wizard. "Though I have a sneaking suspicion
you won't find his name." He started to wander, and Ron realized the werewolf was headed
straight for their tent.

The second wizard's eyes followed Greyback as he explored the area. "Oi," he shouted.
"Where're you headed, Fenrir?"

"These two don't have their wands on them," Greyback said, sniffing the air. "Which means
they've left them somewhere nearby." He reached a hand out, and Ron knew that he had found
the perimeter of their magically encased camp.

"What do you brainless shits want with us?" Ron spat, trying desperately to keep Greyback from
Hermione and Malfoy. "Do you plan to give us a reason for this - this brutality - or is it a crime
now to wander about the woods, minding our own business?"

Greyback turned swiftly. "You insolent - "

"'Ey," the first wizard called. "No Dudley on this list." He jabbed his wand into the side of Harry's
head. "They're lying."

Greyback walked back, crouching next to Ron. "Interesting," he said, and Ron tried desperately to
quiet his thudding heart. "Very interesting indeed."

The werewolf turned sharply to Harry. "Move your hand," he commanded. "Let's see that
glorious mug, shall we?"

Ron held his breath as Harry begrudgingly complied. Harry's nose was crooked and covered in
blood, and the flesh around his eye was so swollen as to nearly disfigure the right side of his face.
Ron had done surprisingly well, he had to admit. It wasn't a perfect disguise, but it was better than
nothing.

"He really did a number on you," Greyback said silkily. "But . . . not quite enough, did he?"

Ron's chest ached as Greyback pushed up Harry's fringe, revealing the scar on Harry's forehead.
Idiot, he cursed himself. He should have aimed for the other side.

"Look familiar, gents?" Greyback asked, his eyes glittering coldly. He brought his face close to
Harry's, snapping his teeth together in a disturbing, stomach-turning snapping gesture. "Looks like
we caught Potter."

The other two whooped loudly and Greyback stood, yanking Harry up with him.

"Do we take him to the Ministry?" the first wizard asked, his eyes glinting greedily at the prospect.
"The reward must be substantial - "

"No," Greyback snarled. "These two we take right to him." He looked over at Ron. "These two
are going to the Manor." He looked over at the first wizard. "Care to do the honors, Scabior?"

The Manor?

"You're taking us to Malfoy Manor?" Ron shouted loudly, hoping Draco or Hermione were
listening.

"Shut up, vermin," the second wizard said, scowling. "Get going, Scabior."

The first wizard - Scabior, as it were - grabbed Ron, and Greyback, who held Harry tightly by his
collar, grasped his shoulder. "See you on the other side."

"What are you doing in my house?"

The cold tone in Narcissa's voice stopped Theo in his tracks, halting him from where he'd been
passing through the Manor. The Dark Lord was traveling - Hogwarts, Theo guessed, either
preparing the school for his unwelcome takeover, or searching again for that fucking wand - and in
his absence, Theo had stopped at the Manor, which he still preferred to his own home.

"What is it?" he asked, turning into the front room. Narcissa looked slightly stunned, and Theo
frowned in confusion.

"Call the Dark Lord," Greyback barked, barging forward. "We've got - "

Theo held back a condescending sneer as he rudely interrupted. "If I were you, I'd be a little more
gracious with the lady of the house," he advised coldly. "Greyback," he added, his tone deeply
skeptical. The name alone was distasteful in his mouth.

Greyback's eye twitched. "You nasty little - "

"Careful," Theo advised, stepping forward to join Narcissa. There were two men behind
Greyback that he recognized as Snatchers - bounty hunters, essentially, and the very lowest of the
low, in Theo's haughty estimation - and they were holding two would-be prisoners whose faces
were presently obscured by Greyback's hulking form. "Surely you're aware you're owed no favors
in this house."

"Not yet," Greyback said triumphantly. "But you'll want to watch your attitude, little Nott, as I've
finally brought the Dark Lord what no other servant could manage." He yanked one of the
prisoners up by a tuft his jet black hair, and Theo's eyes widened.

Greyback grinned at the telling change in Theo's expression. "I've brought him Harry Potter," he
proclaimed, looking as though he were practically salivating with anticipation. "So call him."

Narcissa exchanged a look with Theo. "Is it him?" she asked, her voice hushed.

Theo focused on the prisoners for the first time. Potter's face was swollen and his nose was
broken, and if Theo hadn't spent six years with the git, he might not have noticed right away that it
was him; as it was, there was no mistaking him. And behind Potter, it was clearly Weasley that
was being restrained.

Yes, this was certainly Potter. Which meant Draco could be nearby.

"What makes you think this is Harry Potter?" Theo asked, feigning boredom even as his heart
began to thud in his chest. "Where did you find him?"
"None of your business," Greyback spat, but Narcissa shot him a frosty glare.

"Alone?" she asked sharply. "And without wands?"

"Not my fault if he's an idiot," Greyback replied steadily.

Theo noticed that Potter wasn't meeting his eyes. Foolish that he would be so hesitant, Theo
thought - particularly considering Potter had gotten about as lucky as it was possible for a person
to get. It could have been any other Death Eater waiting in this room - it could have been anyone
else to open the door, and surely he'd be dead by now - but as fate would have it, it turned out to
be the only two allies that the deeply fortunate git had available to him in this house.

Theo looked up and smirked at Narcissa, giving her a look that made her smile slowly with
recognition.

Yes. Potter had gotten very lucky, indeed.

"Personally, I think Greyback's mind is going, don't you?" Theo drawled. "And such a
humiliating error, too."

"Error?" Greyback barked, yanking back Harry's fringe. "Look, the scar - "

But there was nothing there - they were ready for him. Theo grinned at Narcissa, whose wand
was ever so carefully held between the tips of her fingers.

"I don't see anything," Narcissa said smoothly. "Do you, Theo?"

"Not a thing, Narcissa," Theo said casually, reaching forward to yank Potter towards him by the
collar. "Such a fucking shame, Greyback. Scurry on out of here, would you?" Theo winked at the
werewolf. "That's a good boy."

Greyback was stunned, blinking rapidly as though his eyes were playing tricks on him. "I - you
can't - "

The other two maintained their hold on Weasley but narrowed their eyes at Greyback, growing
outraged by his presumed error.

"We'll take the other one, too," Narcissa said, gesturing for Weasley to be brought forward. When
they failed to comply within her reasonable expectation of urgency, she gave a small, nearly
imperceptible flick of her wand, and the two Snatchers released their hold on the redhead, yelping
as though the pads of their fingers were burning. "Thank you ever so much for your time,
gentlemen."

One of the Snatchers - Scabior, if Theo recalled correctly, though he didn't really give a fuck
whether he was correct or not - furiously kicked at Weasley, causing him to fall onto his hands
and knees. "Whoever they are, they're not on the list - we deserve some compensation - "

"And I'm sure you'll get some," Theo agreed, pointing his wand at Scabior. "Next time."

He stepped forward anyway. "But - "

Clearly they were not going to play nice, but Narcissa was nothing if not reliable. The quick flick
of her wrist had Scabior on the floor within the same breath of his ill-advised interruption, and
neither of the others had the capacity to outpace the motions of her wand. She turned effortlessly,
stunning Greyback as Theo took care of the third, all three falling within moments of each other.
It was hardly the most furtive course of action, and the sound of multiple unconscious bodies
seemed to echo throughout the Manor; it was a matter of moments before they heard rapid
footsteps approaching the front room.

"Take care of that, Theo," Narcissa commanded, lifting her chin regally and raising her wand to
point it at Potter. "Now."

She was certainly putting on quite a show, Theo thought, grinning, though he was quick to
comply with her request. He trotted purposefully to the door, catching sight of Yaxley just as he
tried to enter the front room. Theo stepped smoothly to block his entrance and flicked his wand
from behind his back, casting a hasty, silent imperio.

"It's a lovely day for a walk in the garden, isn't it Yaxley?" Theo said loudly, his voice faintly
melodic.

Yaxley's dazed expression barely registered comprehension. "It's a lovely day for a walk in the
garden," he agreed, turning vacantly to head in the opposite direction.

Satisfied that nobody else was coming, Theo returned to the front room. Narcissa was standing
over Scabior and the other Snatcher, murmuring as she pointed her wand to their heads.

Theo nodded to Potter, flashing him an impertinent smirk. "Good to see you, Potter," he said
offhandedly. "You look gorgeous."

Potter frowned. "How did you - "

"Foolish men," Narcissa announced, straightening. "They'll wake to realize they can't very well
accost me in my home. Particularly for no reason," she added, smiling coldly.

She moved to point her wand to Greyback and Potter made a strange, strangled sound in his
throat.

"Yes?" she asked sharply, her gaze sliding abruptly to his.

"It - it won't work on him," Potter said nervously. He was fidgeting; clearly he wasn't sure how
forthright he could be with his unlikely rescuers. "We - er. Well. It's just - memory charms don't
work on him."

"Had a run in with him before, did you?" Theo asked, grinning.

"Hermione did," Weasley grunted. "Twice."

Narcissa looked at him with alarm. "He threatened Miss Granger?"

"More than threatened," Weasley said, his tone hard with disgust. "Attacked her. But since
memory charms don't work - "

"Killing curses do," Narcissa said flatly, and there was a flash of green light as Greyback's head
lolled to the side, his eyes glassy.

Theo's heart stopped momentarily and he swallowed with difficulty. That's a reminder never to
fuck with Narcissa, he thought feverishly.

"What - " Weasley was sputtering. "Did you - "

"I don't care for messes," she said, waving her wand a final time to make all three bodies
disappear. "Nor do I appreciate those who threaten the girl my son loves."

Potter gaped at her. "How could you possibly know - "

"Not here," Theo said hastily, glancing at Narcissa. "Somewhere more private, don't you think?"

"Fair point," she said haughtily, her skirts rustling as she pivoted. "Come."

Theo nudged Potter and Weasley and gestured forward. "Follow the nice lady," he prodded, and
they warily complied. Theo, for his part, held his wand out at their backs, ever the showman.

Narcissa led them to the cellar, descending the narrow, steep staircase and shutting the door
behind them.

"Really?" Theo asked skeptically, his nose wrinkling distastefully at the dank and musty room.
"This is where you felt we should go?"

She held up a hand, silencing him. "Muffliato," she muttered, then "lumos."

The cellar filled with light and she looked up, satisfied. "Easier to explain this way," she said, with
an airy shrug. "In case anyone asks questions, it makes sense that we'd take them here."

"Brilliant and beautiful," Theo declared, smirking.

"What happened back there?" Weasley demanded, looking at them both suspiciously. "What's
going on?"

"If you haven't already figured that out, Weasley, I'm afraid I just don't have time for you," Theo
said, sniffing. "Now. Where's Draco?"

Weasley and Potter exchanged glances.

"Dead," Potter said after a moment, and Theo sighed heavily, scowling.

"He is not - " Theo paused before his temper flared, attempting to collect himself. "Honestly, I
can't have this fucking conversation again, I swear - I just can't."

"We know he's alive," Narcissa interjected impatiently. "Obviously. Or do you really believe our
assistance is purely coincidence?"

"I can't tell if this is a trick," Weasley said slowly, and Theo held back a disdainful snort. "You're
a Death Eater now, Nott, aren't you?"

Theo stiffened at that. "How did you know that?"

"I saw you," Potter said softly, and Theo's head swiveled to glare at him. "I saw you in You-
Know-Who's mind - I saw you kill Gregorovitch, and Grindelwald - "

Theo grimaced. This was not information he was particularly proud of. "Does Draco know?"

Potter took a deep breath, glancing wearily at Weasley before sighing and casting his eyes down.
"Yes."

The thought made Theo more than a little agitated. "Does he think I'm - "

"He's alive then," Narcissa breathed, interrupting. "He is alive, and you've been hiding out with
him?"
"Yes," Potter said, nodding slowly. "He's been with us."

"And now?" Narcissa said, leaning forward excitedly. "Where is he now? And where is Miss
Granger?"

Weasley opened his mouth to protest and Narcissa brought her hand down in a firm, slicing
movement. "Nevermind how I know," she snapped, preempting his concern. "You will answer
my questions first."

"We were with him," Potter explained quickly. "We've been moving around - the last place we
were was a campground in the woods, but Ron and I were outside the protective spells - "

"So he's okay, then?" Narcissa said, her chest heaving as though she was only just regaining her
ability to breathe. "He's alive, and he's all right?"

"Yes," Potter assured her. "Yes, he's alive - though I don't know where he is now - "

"They didn't get caught," Weasley clarified. "I yelled that we were being taken here, but I don't
know if he - "

"He can't come here!" Narcissa exclaimed, aghast. "If he enters the Manor, Lucius will know - the
blood wards - "

"But then you'll know too, won't you?" Theo asked, lifting an eyebrow. "You can intervene, can't
you?"

The look she shot him was cold - glacial, even. "You have no idea what you're asking of me,
Theo," she told him, her voice low.

He had never seen that particular expression on her face, and it was fucking terrifying. After
seeing her kill without a second thought merely minutes earlier, Theo thought it best to remain
silent, murmuring his quiet assent and ducking his head.

It was telling that she feared Lucius's reaction. What would her choice be then, between her
husband and her son?

"I wouldn't be able to reach him," Potter told Narcissa tentatively, hesitant to upend the exchange.
"I don't have my wand, and to be honest, it was Hermione who chose the location, I don't know
precisely where we were - "

"What have we done then?" Theo demanded. "Inadvertently set a fucking trap for Draco?"

"I still don't know what to make of this," Weasley interrupted bluntly, eyeing Theo carefully. "Are
you a Death Eater or not?"

"Ever the simple mind, Weasley," Theo snapped in frustration. "You're so reliable, even after this
-"

"Well what exactly is this?" Weasley exclaimed, his hands flailing as he gestured wildly. "I have
no bloody idea what's going on - and in case you haven't noticed, this is all a bit sudden!"

"I don't owe you a fucking explanation," Theo retorted indignantly. "I saved your life already, the
least you could do is not oversimplify me like I'm some kind of evil caricature - "

"I don't particularly relish being at your mercy, Nott," Weasley snorted. "I hardly think you can
blame me for that - "
 "Well you'll have to get comfortable, Weasel, as clearly you're - "

Narcissa's sharp inhalation cut him off swiftly. "Theo."

"What?" he said, huffing, before he softened, remembering who he was talking to. Her eyes were
closed, and she was concentrating on something that he couldn't identify.

"Draco's here," she breathed after a moment, her face going pale as her eyes fluttered open. "In his
bedroom." She took a deep breath and smiled triumphantly. "Would you fetch him for me?"

Theo's heart stopped. "I think I can manage that," he said, his mouth suddenly quite dry.

Chapter End Notes

a/n: If you have doubts about how much an impact to the nose/face can temporarily
disfigure a person, take it up with me on tumblr - trust me, it can be jarring! Sadly, I
know what I'm talking about.

Regarding updates for the week: I will be gone for four days this coming weekend so
I'm going to try to fit 3 or 4 chapters into the next four days, including a Fortuna
Major chapter.

And lastly, of course, this chapter is for tomfleton, who is just the sweetest, and
veleittyy, whose review gave me an epic smile for the day.
 The Heir
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter 23: The Heir

Malfoy Manor, 1991

"Are you nervous, Draco?"

He looked away. He was, of course, but he was hardly going to disclose that fact to his mother.
He was practically an adult now, for heaven's sake.

"No," he sniffed haughtily. "I just hope Hogwarts hasn't actually tumbled in prestige the way you
and Father seem to think it has, or else I don't see why I'm not going to Durmstrang."

"Oh, don't listen to your father," Narcissa said gently, touching her hand softly to the silvery
strands of her son's hair. "He and I both loved our time at school, and so will you."

He sighed loudly, parroting his father's words. "Well of course you did, you got to go to Hogwarts
before the Ministry was taken over by this wretched muggle-loving government - "

"Darling." Narcissa knelt to meet his eyes, lifting his chin with her finger. "Draco, my love, your
father worries about grown-up things. It's nothing you need concern yourself with." She smiled at
him, her blue eyes uncharacteristically warm and filled with the look of adoration she reserved
only for him. "You just enjoy it, won't you?"

"Yes, Mother," he said obediently, ducking his head as she kissed his cheek. "And - "

He hesitated, and her lips curled up in a knowing smile. "Yes?" she asked. "What is it, Draco?"

He leaned forward, lowering his head as though he worried someone might hear. "What if I don't
like it?" he asked softly, his voice fearful. Expressing insecurity or concern was hardly the Malfoy
way, and his father would surely be horrified to hear him be so humiliatingly foolish - but it was a
moment of weakness he reserved only for her. "And what if they don't like me?"

"Darling, everyone will love you," she assured him, taking his small hand in hers even as her eyes
flashed dangerously. "Anyone who doesn't is a fool," she added sharply, "and I pity them for
breathing."

He sighed. "Yes, but - "

"And you'll be home again for Christmas," she reminded him, her tone softening again. "You'll be
back here before you know it." She crouched down once more, strangely unconcerned with the
placement of her skirt as the expensive material trailed on the ground. "This will always be your
home, Draco. Remember that. You will always be home here."

He ducked his head against hers, putting his lips near her ear. "I'll miss you, Mother," he
whispered, embarrassed by the statement despite being confidently assured that she wouldn't tell a
soul.
She smiled. "Oh Draco," she said fondly, tucking a stray hair behind his ear. "Oh darling, you'll
never know how much I'll miss you."

Forest of Dean, 1997

"Check the list. Though I have a sneaking suspicion you won't find his name."

Fucking Greyback, Draco thought furiously. They should have killed him when they had the
chance.

"What do we do?" Granger whispered fearfully in his ear, fidgeting. "I - my wand - "

"Mine's in the tent, too," Draco hissed between nervously clenched teeth. "See if you can move
back there - "

She took a step behind her but her heel came down heavily on the unbalanced ground, landing on
something with a loud, disruptive crunch.

"Stop," Draco said instantly, gripping her arm. "Stop, don't move - "

"But Harry!" she breathed, her voice hushed. "We have to - "

Draco clapped his hand over her mouth as Greyback started to wander in their direction.

"Don't," he mouthed to her, and she nodded, her eyes wide.

"Oi," one of the wizards shouted from afar. "Where're you headed, Fenrir?"

Greyback was stepping in closer, his hand raised to the edge of their protective spells; Draco was
paralyzed, knowing any movement could give them away.

"These two don't have their wands on them," Greyback called back, sniffing the air, "which
means they've left them somewhere nearby."

Draco wondered if the werewolf could feel the threads of the spells that were cast around them,
hoping with every fiber of his being that his magic had been strong enough to withstand the
intrusion. Draco shifted slightly, angling his hip so that he blocked Granger from sight. Any
moment now, their defenses could be breached, and there would be scarcely a moment for him to
react. Wandless, up against a werewolf, Draco barely stood a chance - but his thoughts were only
on her. Protecting her. Protect her, or die trying.

That was his life now, it seemed.

She fidgeted against him and he held her closer, holding his breath. Greyback moved to bring his
hand down - any moment, his fingers would brush the wards, and then -

"What do you brainless shits want with us?" Weasley spat loudly, and Greyback turned, enraged
by the insult. "Do you plan to give us a reason for this - this brutality - or is it a crime now to
wander about the woods, minding our own business?"

Draco let out a strangled, gasping sigh of relief as Greyback turned swiftly, stalking back towards
Weasley. "You insolent - "

The freckled git had managed to distract his captor. "Fuck," Draco breathed, his heart suddenly
thundering in his chest. "Fuck, I'm not going to enjoy thanking Weasley later - "

"Look at Harry," Granger whispered anxiously, pointing.

Draco couldn't hear the conversation clearly, but it was obvious that despite Weasley's attempt to
distort Harry's face - Draco hated to admit it, but Weasley did seem to be quick enough when it
counted - Greyback had managed to find Harry's scar, triumphantly revealing it to his fellow
captors.

"No," Draco breathed, feeling a sharp pain in his chest at the prospect of Harry being discovered.
He was riveted to the spot, his attention unyielding - but he could see out of the corner of his eye
that Granger, too, was struggling, trying desperately to fight back tears.

Where would they take him? Greyback didn't have the Mark, so there was no calling the Dark
Lord; the other two were clearly also not Death Eaters. They would have to bring him to the Dark
Lord, and that could only mean -

"You're taking us to Malfoy Manor?" Weasley shouted, and Draco's stomach lurched. For a
moment, he lost the ability to take in air, his body suspended in time as his mind suddenly raced
through everything he should have realized before this moment - but hadn't.

Of course it had come to this. It had been too easy so far, hadn't it? Granger had even said so once
before. The potential for suffering had been unspeakably great and Draco had barely scratched the
surface of all the possible pain there was to be had. Clearly, that was about to change. Of course
that mentality couldn't last. Of course Draco would have to choose between two equally terrible
options.

And they were equally terrible, weren't they? On the one hand: save Potter, cross the Dark Lord,
endanger himself and his family. Or else what?

Run.

Run with Granger, of course. He was confident he could hide her, and he was sure beyond a
shadow of a doubt that she was everything he would build his world around. Build his life around.
They could build a life together, somewhere far from here.

Against the backdrop of the moment he saw flashes of a life with Granger. He saw her holding his
hand, relaxed and peaceful - just the two of them. Somewhere in the sun, maybe. On the beach, if
they were lucky. In a white dress - someday. There was Granger, holding a baby. Granger smiling
at him, a little older. A little older, but happy. Every image in his mind was calm and happy, the
scattered pieces of a life in front of him that he knew he could choose if he wanted.

But then he heard her voice in his head.

"I'm going to fight for you, Draco," she'd said, and his chest ached to remember. "Wouldn't you
fight for me?"

Why?

He'd asked her then and he asked it now, too. Demanded it, actually. Why would they have to fight
at all? Was this even their fight?

He watched her now, fighting back tears at Harry's expense, hearing her response. "You think that
I could live with myself, leaving Harry and Ron behind?"

His heart ached, pulsing between brutal thuds - but her voice wouldn't fade.
She'd been so small, so vulnerable. "Don't you see that you'll have to choose?"

And what had he done, when she'd said that to him? He'd told her they shouldn't talk about it.
Like a fool - and a blind one, at that - he'd told her they would get through it. One day at a time,
he'd said.

But that had to end today, didn't it? Today, he'd have to choose. Today he'd have to stand for
something, because it was about more than just a happily-ever-after with Granger, much as it
pained him to admit it. There was a right and a wrong side in this war and he had to find the line
and cross it. It was bigger than him, bigger than both of them. It had always been bigger than
them.

Fuck. It had always been, hadn't it? He just hadn't noticed it until now.

His ears were ringing, his eyes were burning. Fuck.

Within moments of Weasley's outburst, the three intruders yanked Harry and Weasley into a small,
tight formation and there was a loud crack as they disappeared.

Granger looked up at Draco, her face pale. "What do we - "

"We're going after them," Draco said firmly, smoothing his hair away from his face. He tried to be
strong for her, despite the storm that was swirling in his head.

Fuck. "Pack the tent, would you?" Fuck. "And grab Potter's cloak." Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck
everything. "We'll need it."

"Draco." If she wasn't crying before, she certainly was now. "Draco, it's so dangerous - are you -
are you sure?"

"I'm sure," he said gruffly, not wanting to question it further. If he gave it any more thought, he
would surely change his mind. Fuck. But the reality remained the same. "We can't leave them."

She threw her arms around his neck, her body shaking for a moment in his tight embrace as she
fought a heart wrenching sob - before she suddenly straightened, managing somehow to pull
herself together in a way that left him awestruck and stunned.

Heart of a lion. Always.

"Right," she agreed, nodding. "Okay," she murmured to herself, hastily listing off their needs.
"The tent - the cloak - your wand - "

She hurried away but paused to turn over her shoulder, breathless. "I love you," she told him
firmly, biting down hard on her lip. "Draco Malfoy, I love you."

"Get what we need, Granger," he muttered hurriedly, shaking his head, and she nodded. "Before I
change my mind."

He was a few steps behind her as she flew around the tent, grabbing things as she went and
quickly collapsing things down to return them to her small handbag.

"I love you," he murmured from afar. Busy as she was, she wasn't listening, and he found he was
grateful. He doubted she would even understand.

"You'll never know how much," he whispered, quietly resigning himself to his fate.
Malfoy apparated them directly into his bedroom while they were under Harry's invisibility cloak,
and the instant his feet touched the ground, she could see in his eyes the horribly crushing reality
he faced at being back in his former home.

"Welcome to Malfoy Manor," he said grimly, his voice vaguely haunted at the thought.

Hermione felt somehow like she'd been there before, realizing now how similar the interior of his
tent had been to his childhood bedroom. As always, the space was neat and organized, like
Malfoy himself; the massive, mahogany four-poster bed was unreasonably large for a single
person, and was covered as everything else had been in an emerald green duvet. It was clearly a
space he used only for sleeping, and she remembered now that he had mentioned spending most
of his time in his study, or else outside, on a broom.

The room seemed cool and aloof, somehow, like he himself had once been. Like him, it was a
room that reeked of privilege, even as it seemed strangely impersonal.

He was different now, she realized again, looking at him. Softer, a bit. He seemed out of place in
the room, and she found she was glad of it.

"How do the wards work?" she asked, watching the impassive expression on his face as he
scanned the room, presumably for changes. "Can you tell where they are?"

He smoothed his hair back. "In a way," he confirmed, nodding. "I can tell where people are,
though not Harry and Weasley, specifically."

She frowned. "Will we have to walk through the house?"

The look he flashed her contained faint traces of his arrogant smirk. "This house is much too large
to just aimlessly wander, Granger," he said obnoxiously, and despite the light backhanded swat
she aimed at his upper arm, she smiled.

"Will they know you're here?" she asked him, trying to keep her voice steady despite her nerves.
"How do you think your parents will react?"

"I don't know," he told her honestly, frowning. "But they will know, yes. And we will need to be
very careful when they do."

She heard the unspoken meaning in his voice and remembered the reality of their situation. She
was unwelcome in this house. Not everything had changed.

"We?" she echoed. "Or just me?"

He gave her a pained look. "Granger - "

"Should I take this off?" she asked, her hand instinctively coming to the M pendant around her
neck. "I understand, if that would make it easier for you. Should I - "

"I have no plans to deny you, Granger," he said, his voice husky. "To deny us." He gave her a
long, searching glance, resting his hand over hers. "Leave it," he told her fiercely. "You're mine."

There was a possessiveness to his voice that provided her a profound, albeit ill-advised, moment
of intense satisfaction. "Thank you," she whispered, brushing her lips against his cheek.

There was a noise outside the door and he thrust an arm out, shoving her behind him and
brandishing his wand.
"Quiet," he mouthed over his shoulder - quite unnecessarily, of course - and she nodded, holding
her breath.

The door opened slowly, revealing the slender, lithe form of the very tall, very elegant Theo Nott.
He looked older somehow, and more serious; Hermione looked at Malfoy curiously, wondering
what his reaction would be.

"Draco." Theo's voice was quiet, though the name carried with it a tinge of affection, like he'd
been waiting a long time to say it. "I know you're in here."

Hermione looked at Malfoy and nodded encouragingly. "Go," she mouthed, and he gave her a
brief, hesitant smile, shedding the cloak from their shoulders.

"For fuck's sake, Nott," Malfoy said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "What are you doing in
my house?"

Perhaps not the sentiment I would have chosen, Hermione thought exasperatedly, though she
watched Theo's face go temporarily blank as he stepped further into the room, letting the door shut
behind him.

"You're here," Theo said breathlessly, stepping forward slowly as if he suspected it might be a
dream. "It's really you. You're really here."

Hermione found she was holding her breath as the two young men finally came face to face.

Malfoy nodded solemnly. "It's really good to see you, Theo."

Without warning, Theo wound up and aimed his fist at Malfoy's face, his knuckles colliding
loudly with Malfoy's nose and resulting in a loud yell from both parties.

"You couldn't have left a note, motherfucker?" Theo asked pointedly as Malfoy doubled over and
groaned, clutching his face.

"Theo!" Hermione exclaimed, hurriedly bending to check Malfoy's face. "What - "

"Oh hello, Granger," Theo said smoothly. "Sorry, but that's been coming for a while."

"Are you crazy?" she exclaimed loudly, but Malfoy had straightened, and Theo yanked him into a
tight hug, thumping him firmly on the back.

"How dare you," Theo muttered, clearly fighting back tears. "How fucking dare you - "

"I'm sorry," Malfoy was saying, over and over. Hermione couldn't see his face from behind
Theo's but she could tell that his voice, too, was choked with emotion. "I'm sorry - I had to go, I
thought it would be safe for you - "

"You've always been such a fucking idiot, Draco, you could have trusted me - "

"I know, I should have - I know, I'm sorry - "

" - I took the fucking Mark to find you, you unbelievable arsehole - "

" - that's insane, you're a fucking idiot - "

" - you don't know the fucking half of it - I've been looking for you - "

" - I was going to find you, I swear, I was fucking coming back for you - "
" - and you look fucking stupid with this hair - it's not your color at all - "

" - it wasn't my choice, none of this was, I fucking swear - "

" - you fuck, I've - I've missed you, I needed you here - "

" - I'm sorry," Malfoy said breathlessly, finally leaning away to look Theo in the eye. "I am so, so
unspeakably sorry, for everything - "

"But you're okay," Theo interrupted, grasping Malfoy's shoulders and giving him a firm shake.
"You're alive?"

"I'm alive," Malfoy confirmed, nodding emphatically, and he turned to Hermione, his very
swollen eyes coming to linger affectionately on her face. "Thanks to Granger," he added, putting
his arm around her. He turned to glare at Theo defiantly, as though daring him to comment.

But Theo only grinned broadly. "Oh, I know," he said mischievously. "I always knew about her,
if you'll recall." He leaned towards Hermione, offering her a tiny wink. "I've always been the
smart one."

She smiled nervously at him, unsure how to respond. Not that it mattered. She was hardly the
focus here.

"Potter and Shit-For-Brains are downstairs with your mum," Theo told Malfoy, straightening as
though he'd only just remembered. "Narcissa just killed Greyback."

Malfoy looked momentarily stunned. "What?"

"Why?" Hermione gasped. "Did he - did he do something to them?"

"Not exactly. But he deserved it," Theo declared loudly, "and being the fucking genius that I am, I
figured out that you had been with those two. Narcissa took it from there, especially after hearing
how Greyback had threatened you before. I also figured out what Granger did for you, Draco," he
added, giving her a meaningful look. "Thank you, by the way," he told her curtly. "And I'm sure
Narcissa will thank you, too."

Hermione gaped at him. "She - she knows?" she asked nervously. "She knows about Draco and
me?"

"She does," Theo said, nodding. "I did not enjoy being the one to tell her," he said flatly, looking
pointedly at Malfoy to emphasize this before turning back to Hermione, "but she knows, and she
killed Greyback for you. And she fucked with the muggle-born registration records for you, too."

Hermione was speechless. "She did?" She looked at Malfoy. "But - but I'm - " a mudblood, she
thought painfully, more aware of her status than ever as she stood in this ancient old house. "Did
you think she would - "

"No," Malfoy admitted. "But I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. My mother is . . . formidable.

And protective of those she loves." He pulled Hermione in quickly, kissing the top of her head.
"Not unlike another witch I'm quite fond of."

Theo gave them both a haughty look of impatience as Hermione turned to kiss Malfoy's cheek.
"This is what I've been missing?" he asked, his tone bored. "Tremendous. You're disgusting, and
frankly, I've never been so pleased."
"Fuck you, Theo," Malfoy snapped, rolling his eyes, though Hermione could see on both his and
Theo's face how relieved they were to be reunited.

Boys. She would never understand them.

"Well, are you ready to see your mother?" Theo asked, a casual easiness returning to his posture.

"Like this?" Malfoy asked skeptically, gesturing to the faintly bloody mess Theo's fist had left.
"Fuck no. Somebody fix my nose or she'll never forgive me."

The only thing Theo loved more than having Draco back at his side was the satisfying buzz of
reassurance in his head, the ongoing flush of pleasure at finally receiving evidence that he'd
fucking been right all along. Theo spent the whole walk down to the cellar silently congratulating
himself.

"Can't believe you have an invisibility cloak," he murmured to his right, where he knew Granger
and Draco were walking.

"It's Potter's," came Draco's hushed voice, though he was thoroughly concealed by the cloak. "It's
even worse than we thought, he's got this map, too - "

They chattered quietly to each other, falling back into an easy rhythm as they started to creep
down the cellar stairs. Granger, though, had been uncharacteristically quiet - not that Theo could
blame her. He could hardly claim to have ever been a friend, much to his chagrin.

Ah, well. She'd adjust, eventually.

"Narcissa," Theo said, stepping aside as Draco removed the cloak from over his and Granger's
shoulders. "You mentioned you were missing a son?"

The beautiful witch's eyes lit up with a warmth Theo hadn't seen in months - perhaps ever. She
moved towards him quickly, abandoning Potter and Weasley where they sat.

"Draco," she breathed, walking up to him and touching the dark strands of his hair softly, as
though she feared he might break. "Darling - "

"Hello, Mother," he said somewhat stiffly, clearly not wanting to be emotional. The instant
softening of his expression, though, gave him away, and Narcissa pulled him into a tight embrace.

"Draco," she whispered again, bringing her hand up to caress the nape of his neck. "I can't believe
I'm seeing you again."

Theo noted with amusement that Granger's shoulders were hunched over awkwardly as she
watched. The poor thing was thoroughly panicked when Narcissa's eyes suddenly fell on her.

"Miss Granger," Narcissa said, stepping away from her son to come face to face with the much
smaller witch.

Granger bit her lip. "It's Hermione," she said softly. "If - if you want."

Narcissa nodded slowly. "Hermione," she agreed, and Theo caught Draco's breathless exhalation
of relief. "Thank you." She reached out and grasped her son's wrist, looking at him with fondness.
"Thank you for what you did for my son."

Granger shifted, still fighting insecurity. Theo could hardly blame her. Narcissa - taller, older, far
more stunning, and infinitely more poised - was wildly intimidating, even at her softest.

"I love him," Granger said, raising her chin defiantly, almost defensively. Her tone surprised
Theo, though he found himself nodding appreciatively. Good for her. "I would do it again."

"Good," Narcissa pronounced instantly, her eyes flashing. She reached out a hand, gesturing to a
pendant around Granger's neck that Theo hadn't noticed before, and turned to her son. "Is this - "

"Yes," Draco said, nodding curtly as it slowly dawned on Theo the meaning of the pendant's M
inscription, and the significance of its placement around Granger's neck.

Good, Theo thought vigorously. Draco had certainly come a long way from the unending
choruses of "there's nothing going on with Granger."

He seemed better for it.

Narcissa, surprising everyone, opened her arms and swept Granger into an awkward hug, holding
her there for several moments and whispering something into her ear. Granger, who slowly
relaxed into the embrace, nodded, her eyes teary, while both women held each other for a
moment, sharing what Theo could only assume was their mutual love of Draco, the lucky fucking
arsehole.

It was a touching, improbable moment. And one that Theo itched to interrupt.

"Well," Theo said loudly, his volume equating almost to a shout in the acoustics of the room.
"Now that that's over with - "

"Harry!" Granger exclaimed, suddenly remembering he was there as she pulled tearfully from
Narcissa's hold. "Harry, are you alright?"

"Fine," Potter managed, flashing her what seemed an exceedingly painful grin.

She knelt in front of his face, holding her wand out. "Episkey," she said primly, nodding as his
nose resumed its normal shape. "And with that, please stop breaking each other's noses," she
added, giving Theo an admonishing glare.

Narcissa scowled. "Theo!"

"I'm fine too, if anyone is curious," Weasley proclaimed loudly, coming to his feet as Draco
walked over to him, smirking.

"Please know how much it pains me to say this," Draco muttered, offering him his hand. "But
thank you. You saved us, and I am very much in your debt."

"Really?" Weasley remarked drily, a smile twitching across his face as he clasped Draco's
proffered hand. "Out of everyone, Malfoy's the only one that's gracious?" He glared at Potter and
Granger. "You should all be ashamed of yourself."

"That's true," Draco agreed, nodding airily.

Potter rolled his eyes. "We should go," he said, looking up. "Shouldn't we?"

"Yes," Narcissa said, her voice quiet. "Yes, you should."

The thought clearly pained her, and Draco rejoined her side, ever the dutiful son.

"Thank you, Mother," he said, and she kissed his cheek, the gesture both cool and affectionate.
"Thank you, Mother," he said, and she kissed his cheek, the gesture both cool and affectionate.

"You need to leave," she told him firmly, even as she struggled to let go. "Now. Before anyone
else notices."

Draco nodded, and Potter, Weasley, and Granger all gathered around him.

"Are you coming?" Draco asked, looking expectantly at Theo.

Theo blinked. "Me?"

Draco frowned. "Yes, you," he said, perturbed. "Unless you'd rather stay and be a Death Eater?"

"Go with them, Theo," Narcissa urged, moving to put her hand on his shoulder.

Theo could only manage a hesitant stammer. "But - "

"I'll come up with something to tell the Dark Lord," she said faintly. "I could blame Greyback,
perhaps - "

But it wasn't that.

Theo turned to Draco, swallowing with difficulty. "The Dark Lord wants something that you
have," he said flatly, more a statement than a question despite the phrasing. "Doesn't he?"

Potter looked questioningly to Draco, but the Malfoy heir didn't waver. "Yes," he confirmed
briskly, meeting Theo's eyes.

Theo shook his head. "Then I have to stay."

"That's not true," Draco insisted, stepping forward anxiously. "You can come with us, you'll be
safe - safer - and we can worry about the other thing later - "

"No," Theo said, frowning. "No, someone needs to maintain your cover. Someone needs to
continue that little sleight of hand you pulled."

"It doesn't have to be you," Draco said adamantly, aghast. "Theo, he'll kill you if he finds out - "

"I could say the same for you!" Theo snapped indignantly. "Look, I have to stay. I've - " He
abruptly dropped his voice, leaning in to mutter information that was meant for Draco alone. "I've
been working with Snape - I'll be helping the Order, and I'll be here, you know, for your mum - "

"I can't leave you behind again!" Draco exclaimed, panicking. "Theo, I can't - I can't let you put
yourself in danger like this, I can't let you live this - this nightmare - "

"I chose it," Theo said, brutishly shoving Draco towards Granger, whose eyes were wide with
indecision. "If this is where you stand, then so do I! This is bigger than me, Draco, and it's bigger
than us - "

"I know it is," Draco rasped, pulling from Theo's grip. "I know it is, but you can't ask me to do
this - you can't expect me to leave you behind, not again - "

"Do it," Theo said angrily. "Fucking do it, Draco, you don't owe me anything - "

"I'll always owe you!" Draco shouted, his motions frantic. "I'll always owe you - "

"SO WILL I!" Theo roared, and the two of them finally fell silent, chests heaving. "So will I,
Draco. So just let me," he said, swiping furiously at his eyes. "Just let me protect you."
 The door of the cellar flew open and they all turned, startled.

"Remember your promise to me, Hermione!" Narcissa shouted, casting a blinding protego around
them. "Go! Now!"

"Draco!" Hermione shouted, grabbing him by the collar and disappearing with a loud crack.

The last thing Theo saw was the pained, hesitant look on Draco's face.

Fuck off, Draco. You're my brother.

Theo raised his wand and stepped forward.

"I've got your back," he murmured to Narcissa, and she nodded coldly.

"Good," she said, her voice clipped. "I'm going to need it."

Chapter End Notes

a/n: Draco/Theo reunion chapter has to go in part to brigittar. It is only right. But it
also goes to drsallysparrow, because unfortunately, there is no big reveal about
Theo's parentage. He is, in fact, the biological son of the elder Nott, despite his
resemblance elsewhere. This chapter is the next best thing, I think.

To answer other questions/speculations: the timeline of this story will not follow
Deathly Hallows, and will shortly begin to stray even further from canon; for the
curious, it is currently late August of 1997. As for some of your suspicions/guesses
about the plot: some of your fears are justified, some are not. But I promise to warn
you if there are tragic chapters ahead.

IF, she says, with a wry, telling smile . . .

 The Promise
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter 24: The Promise

"Well," Theo muttered as Lucius Malfoy's thin, pale face revealed itself at the bottom of the cellar
stairs. "Can't say I didn't see that one coming."

The look on Narcissa's face silenced him instantly.

"Draco is here," Lucius said simply, aiming his wand defensively at the space between Theo and
Narcissa. It was a statement of fact, not a question, and Theo wondered if Narcissa would deny it.
By the look on her face, he guessed she hadn't quite landed on her chosen course of action.

It was very strange for Theo to see Lucius this way, he thought, eyeing the man carefully.
Growing up, Theo had imagined Lucius to be a man with no flaws, who effortlessly carried
himself with prestige, who always provided for his wife and son, and who was every inch the
pinnacle of wizard nobility. Theo's own father - who was rarely complimentary, given his own not
inconsiderable standing - had often said as much about the Lucius Malfoy of the past.

This man, however, was nearly unrecognizable. This Lucius Malfoy had long since abandoned his
signature practice of elegantly pulling back his long, silvery hair, and his haggard tresses had since
trained themselves to do little more than settle hazily about his shoulders, giving him an
unbalanced, slightly deranged look. His grey eyes, once as piercing and thoughtful as Draco's,
were now dazed and unsettled.

Unsettling, really, Theo thought. Lucius's brief stint in Azkaban had made him somehow less than
half the man he'd once been, and frankly, Theo no longer knew what to expect from him. Lucius
had been broken several times over by the Dark Lord in the past year alone, and there was no way
of predicting what his reaction to the truth of his son's whereabouts would be.

Broken men were dangerous. Theo himself would know.

In response to Lucius's accusation, Narcissa said nothing, but she also did not budge. Her wand
remained impassively at the level she'd initially aimed it - straight at her husband's chest.

A very mixed message, Theo thought grimly.

"Draco is here," Lucius repeated, his voice breaking. He jabbed his wand forward, puncturing the
air around them. "I felt him. How is that possible?"

"Put your wand down, Lucius," Narcissa said quietly, her voice a low warning.

"Answer the question!" Lucius shouted. "Is my son alive?"

"Our son," Narcissa corrected him, her voice cold. "My son, too."

Lucius was shaken. "If he is here, we must call the Dark Lord," he said instantly, and Theo caught
the flicker in Narcissa's eye that told him she had always known, somehow, that someday it would
come to this. This reaction, Theo realized, was precisely why she hadn't lowered her wand. Not
even for her husband.
Lucius was adamant. "If Draco is here, we must come forward at once," he said robotically. "We
risk everything in keeping this from him - "

Narcissa's expression never wavered. "You will do no such thing."

"Did you know?" Lucius's face went ghostly pale and he lowered his wand, stumbling forward to
take hold of his wife's narrow shoulders. "This whole time - did you know?"

Ever the aristocrat, Narcissa did not allow herself to be affected by either her husband's harsh tone
or his uncharacteristic brutality, though Theo could see how tightly Lucius's fingers pressed into
her slender arms.

She addressed him calmly, almost serenely, as though she meant to show him that his reaction was
little more than a tantrum. "Let go of me, Lucius," she instructed, pulling away.

"You knew of his deception?" Lucius asked, shaking her slightly. "My wife, my son - " he
lowered his face to hers, snarling in her ear. "Have you conspired against me? Have you both
betrayed me?"

"This is not a betrayal," she said tightly. "Keeping my son alive is no betrayal - "

"You know who we serve," Lucius reminded her through gritted teeth, and Theo could see his
nails digging into her skin. "You know by whose mercy we still live - "

"I know who you serve," Narcissa hissed. "He is no lord of mine."

Lucius looked around wildly, his eyes blazing. "Be careful what you say," he cautioned her, and
there was something dangerous in the way his expression was so unhinged. "Be very careful what
you say, Narcissa - "

"I don't fear him, Lucius!" she exclaimed, her own expression starting to take on an element of
instability as her blue eyes flashed. "There are worse things - there are much worse things than
death - "

"He is capable of all those things, and more!" Lucius shouted. "You foolish woman, you think the
worst he could do is kill you?"

"He already took my husband from me," she said dispassionately, trying to yank herself out of his
grasp.

"I am your husband," Lucius snarled, the muscle in his jaw twitching as he shoved her backwards.
"You will do as I say."

Something inside Theo roared angrily at this. The Lucius Malfoy that he remembered, the one that
Draco had idolized and worshipped and the one that Theo, too, had admired from afar, had loved
his wife and cherished her above all else. Not once in Theo's time of quietly observing the
Malfoys had he ever heard Lucius berate Narcissa, even in times of difficulty, and the man had
certainly never laid a hand on her.

It wasn't just his treatment of Narcissa that seemed to rattle Theo to his core. "You will do as I say"
- No. That wasn't him. The Lucius Malfoy that Theo remembered had never needed to make
demands, nor had he needed to force his agenda. He had never needed to openly declare his
authority, brandishing it like a weapon he could scarcely control. He'd simply exuded it; for as
long as Theo could remember, Lucius seemed to naturally possess a presence that made others
stop to listen. To heed, and to obey. Lucius Malfoy had always had a way about him that drove
others to loyalty, to reverence. To fear, at times, but Lucius had never been unreasonable.
But this . . .

This man wasn't Draco's father. This man wasn't Narcissa's husband. And when Narcissa, who
never showed weakness or fear, suddenly winced under the pain of Lucius's grip, Theo felt
something snap inside him.

"Let her go," Theo said, aiming his wand at Lucius's head. "Let go of her. Now."

Lucius's unsteady gaze landed on Theo's face as though he had just remembered the young Death
Eater was still in the room. "You," he seethed. "You dare - "

"I said let go," Theo repeated, louder, raising both his chin and his wand.

"Theo," Narcissa cautioned, but Theo could not be deterred.

He jabbed his wand at Lucius. "Stupefy!"

The response to the unsuccessful spell was quick, and Lucius promptly abandoned his attempts to
manhandle his wife, turning on his new target. "Expulso!"

Theo tried again, darting out of the reach of Lucius's curse. "Stupefy!"

Lucius gritted his teeth angrily. "Avada - "

"Lucius, no!"

There was a flash from Narcissa's wand and Lucius dropped to the ground, unconscious. Narcissa
was breathing heavily and for several moments she remained still, her eyes never straying from the
shallow rise and fall of her husband's chest.

"That escalated quickly," Theo said flatly, lowering his wand.

Narcissa, though, looked haunted. Her wand slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor as
she hurriedly bent to kneel beside her husband, smoothing the hair back from his face.

"I need you to do something," Narcissa whispered, and Theo's heart ached for her.

He nodded slowly. "Anything."

"Modify his memory for me?"

The question was posed so hesitantly that Theo almost reached out to hold her, feeling the need to
steady her somehow. To remind her who she was.

"Of course."

"And," she said, closing her eyes. "And mine, too."

Theo blinked. "What?"

She sighed, taking her husband's hand and holding it tightly. "Just do it, Theo."

"No!" Theo exclaimed. "I'm not - I can't do that to you, Narcissa, you can't be serious!"

"Theo." Her eyes were glinting in the dim light and he wondered if she was holding back tears.
"The man who just came in here, who threatened me, and my son, and who attacked you - that
was not my husband. That was not the man I married." She leaned forward, cupping Lucius's
cheek in her palm. "I can't live my life knowing that's the man he is now. I don't want to know
that. I don't know what I'll do."

"Narcissa," Theo said softly, coming quickly to her side and touching his hand gently to her
shoulder. "These are difficult times. He's - he's been . . . different."

"I know," she whispered. "I know, but I can't lose my son and the love I once had." Her gaze slid
to Theo's and he almost gasped, seeing the pain in her eyes. "This is my fault, you know. I failed
him."

"You had nothing to do with this!" Theo insisted, somewhat angry on her behalf.

"I failed him," Narcissa repeated. "I let him go down this path."

"It was never your fucking job to stop him! He - this was his choice, and he - "

"Regardless." She closed her eyes again, trying to steady her breathing. "The Dark Lord has taken
everything from me, but please, Theo, not this. Not Lucius. Theo, just - just let me keep my heart.
Please."

Theo sighed. "But - "

"I can't live my life knowing the man I loved is gone," she told him. "There are some things . . .
there are some things I just can't live with."

She was pleading, and as a rule, Narcissa Malfoy did not plead. Theo certainly wouldn't let her
start now.

Fuck. Nothing ever got easier, did it?

"If you're sure this is what you want, I'll do it," he agreed reluctantly. "If this is really what you
want."

She gave him a weary smile. "You're a good son, Theo."

He found he couldn't speak.

Obliviate.

"I'm going to tell you the same thing Lucius's mother told me."

Hermione hugged her knees to her chest as she watched Malfoy, sitting alone outside their tent.
He hadn't wanted to speak to anyone upon their arrival, and Hermione felt it was best to give him
his space.

"Malfoy men are softer than they seem, and more loving than they reveal to others. I'm sure you
know this, by now. I'm sure you've seen the goodness in Draco's heart, despite his clever
defenses."

Yes, Hermione had seen it.

Felt it.

Fallen in love with it.

"I was not so different from you, you know. Oh, I was a pureblood, of course, but I was the
youngest daughter of a crumbling house. Nearly penniless by the end, truth be told, and with
nothing to offer. Lucius chose me anyway."

It wasn't the same, of course, but the intent was there.

"Be strong, Hermione. Be strong because you'll need to be. He will need you to be. Don't let him
be a hero. Be selfish. Be selfish with your love, with what you build together. Fight for it, selfishly
if you must, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Put each other first. Keep each other safe.
Keep each other alive."

Narcissa must have known she might never see her son again. There was no other explanation for
the caution in her voice, or the resignation in her words.

"Be the one to make the difficult choices. Be as ruthless as I know you are, Hermione, and don't
ever be ashamed of that. Don't be ashamed of the savagery with which you love, or the fierceness
of your heart. Be the one to fight for the goodness in his soul."

Hermione had started to cry then, knowing the woman she held in her arms was the only person
on earth who would ever understand.

"Promise me. Promise me, Hermione, that you will protect his heart."

"I promise," she whispered again, wondering if she could have said more. Could have done more,
somehow, to assure Narcissa that her son was in good hands. The right hands, mudblood or not.

But she'd already said as much as she needed to, didn't she?

I love him. I'd do it again.

Yes. She'd said enough.

"Mione," Ron said softly, joining her. "Has he said anything yet?"

She shook her head, and she felt Harry put his arm across her, settling himself on her other side.

"He'll come around," Harry told her, and she leaned her head onto his shoulder.

"I know," she said softly. "I just don't want to interrupt his thoughts right now. I wouldn't even
know what to say." She sighed. "I can't imagine what he must be feeling."

They nodded, and in spite of her conflicted emotions, she almost smiled. She looked at Harry's
arm slung around her neck, Ron's hand gently resting on her knee, and she remembered how good
it felt, to have a moment of solidarity with her two best friends.

There used to be hatred here, she remembered, looking at them as they watched Malfoy. There
used to be resentment, jealousy, and spite.

But this was what they were fighting for, wasn't it? For this.

For love.

"I owe you an apology," Ron said, straightening and angling himself to face Harry.

Harry stirred lazily. "Hm?"

"I owe you an apology," Ron repeated. "I was wrong."

"Well, so was I - "

"No." Ron held up a hand. "Just - I need to say something, okay?"

Harry nodded, making a bemused 'go ahead' gesture with the flat of his hand. "Okay."

"I was wrong before," Ron told him. "Seeing Malfoy with Nott reminded me how lucky I am to
be here. To be here, with you, and how much I could never leave. How much I would regret it, if
I did." He took a deep breath, releasing a shaky sigh. "I shouldn't have threatened you with
leaving."

"Ron," Harry said gently. "Ron, you really don't have to - "

"No, listen - this is important, okay? I need you to know that I'm not going anywhere," Ron said
fiercely. "I'm not walking out on you." He looked at Hermione. "I'm not walking out on either of
you."

She paused for a moment to smile at him, feeling a rush of affection that reminded her of the friend
she'd once had.

"Oh Ronald," she said fondly, playfully tapping his cheek with her fingers. "There you are."

Harry seemed both relieved and grateful. "Ron, I - " He stopped, abruptly starting to dig through
his pockets. "Whoa."

Ron lifted an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Kreacher," Harry said excitedly, jumping up and fishing the charmed galleon out of his jeans.
"He's got the locket! He's got it!"

Harry's enthusiasm was infectious. "Do you want to summon him here?" Hermione asked,
scrambling to her feet. "Should we call him?"

"Ah, the touching rewards of baring my soul," Ron commented whimsically.

"Sorry, Ron," Harry said quickly, giving him a hand and helping him to his feet. "Really. Thank
you for saying that, and I'm - I'm sorry too, I really am - "

But Harry's eyes were darting outside.

"Why don't you just go get the locket yourself," Ron suggested, a smile creeping across his face.
"Hell, bring Malfoy along. That'll cheer him up. You two seem to like destroying things together."

"I - are you sure?" Harry asked, eyeing him suspiciously. "I'd only need to go fetch it, of course,
not a long trip at all, and - it would just be nice, you know, to get out and about, like last time." He
frowned. "But of course, we could all go - "

"We don't all need to go," Hermione said firmly. "If you apparate in under the cloak, having all
four of us isn't exactly furtive." She glanced over at Malfoy's bent head. "And Ron's right," she
added softly. "It might make him feel a bit better. If he's anything like you two" - and he was,
surprisingly, at least in this regard - "a task will be a good distraction."

Harry looked at Ron. "Are you sure?" he asked quietly.

"I'm sure," Ron said, smiling. "I'll stay and take care of Mione."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Other way around, I expect."

"Honestly, it's like you've already forgotten that I saved your life!" Ron said indignantly, his brow
creased.

Draco was miserable. Which didn't make sense.

They'd made it to the Manor and back, and alive, somehow. He should be grateful. And Theo was
okay - he knew that now. He should be relieved. He'd finally had the chance to say goodbye to
his mother. He should consider himself fortunate.

So why did he feel so terrible?

Maybe because when he'd left the first time, he'd thought his death would keep them safe. Theo
was supposed to go to Hogwarts and be safe. His mother was supposed to no longer worry about
him, to focus on herself and be safe.

Now he knew precisely how much danger they'd both gotten themselves in, and all because he
hadn't been bothered to try to tell them the truth in the first place. He'd underestimated them both,
unknowingly put them in situations with even higher risk, and then abandoned them to face an
unknown foe. Had it been his father at the cellar door? Another Death Eater? The Dark Lord
himself? Draco didn't know. And who knew how long it would be before he found out.

Draco might never know, and the thought pained him more than he could have imagined.

Harry asking him to come along to Grimmauld Place was so fucking transparent; Draco didn't
need legilimency to see what he had been really getting at. But the effort, despite its vaguely
patronizing feel, was meaningful enough. And the hopeful look on Granger's face - well. If she
was happy about the idea, then he wasn't about to say no.

Maybe they were right, anyway. Not what they'd said, of course - that was a heap of nonsense.
They'd given him some ridiculous excuse about Weasley being tired and Granger wanting to read
more about the Sword of Gryffindor, none of which was convincing to Draco - as he was not, as
it were, an idiot. But their intent was clearly to encourage him to focus on something else, and that
was hardly an unwelcome prospect.

By the time his and Harry's feet landed with a soft tap against the dark, hardwood floors of the
house at Grimmauld Place late that night, Draco was already feeling a bit better, as Granger
clearly knew he would.

She knew him too well, he thought, sighing as they headed for the kitchen. He'd lost his best
friend, his mother, and now probably all that broody intrigue that had likely enticed Granger in the
first place, too.

"Dudley," Harry called, pulling the cloak from over their shoulders. "Oh, and Dobby - what are
you doing now?"

The muggle and the house elf were bent over a deck of cards - not wizarding cards, Draco noted
with interest. The insignia on the faces were strangely frozen in place.

"Playing Scabby Queen," Dudley muttered, giving them a short nod of acknowledgement before
looking behind them. "Is Hermione - "

"Just us," Draco interrupted loudly, brushing off an unreasonable rush of possessiveness.
"Harry Potter's cousin is teaching Dobby to play muggle games!" Dobby exclaimed, gesturing
wildly to his cards. "Look, Harry Potter, Harry Potter's cousin has given Dobby all these cards!"

Harry squinted at Dobby's handful. "Dobby," he said, frowning slightly. "This card - you're
supposed to get rid of it, you know - "

"But it is Dobby's!" the elf said, panicked. "Dobby must pair cards and return them to Harry
Potter's cousin - but not this card, it would be improper - "

Draco did not recognize or understand the game - partially due to the fact that the cards themselves
seemed to be holding freakishly still, something he found offputting - but he sensed that the
muggle had not been entirely forthcoming with the rules.

"Dudley," Harry said, turning to give his cousin a wry smile. "Have you been playing this game
because Dobby lets you win every round?"

Dudley ignored the question. "So what're you doing here, anyway?" he said loudly, a failed
attempt at distraction.

Well, that was a yes. Draco rolled his eyes.

"Kreacher called me," Harry said, looking around. "Where is he?"

"Dobby doesn't know," the elf said nervously. "Perhaps Harry Potter should call him?"

Harry shrugged his agreement, but looked quickly to Draco. "Cover me, would you?" he asked
quietly. "Just in case."

Draco nodded. It did seem strange that the elf hadn't been waiting for them in the kitchen, like last
time. The summons now felt rather suspect when put in that context, and Draco raised his wand,
aiming it over Harry's shoulder.

"Kreacher," Harry called, and the elf appeared with a loud crack, clutching the arm of a bound
and gagged Mundungus Fletcher.

"Master is home," Kreacher noted with a ringing disinterest, releasing Mundungus with disgust.

"Yes," Harry said, his brow furrowed. "What are you - "

"Master did not seem to like Kreacher keeping the thief in his own quarters," Kreacher said, as
though he found that particular concern to be both trivial and laughable. "Kreacher has been
watching the thief in a spare bedroom, waiting for Master's call - "

"Go ahead and let him talk, Kreacher," Harry said quickly, and the elf snapped his fingers,
allowing Mundungus a large, hacking, cough.

"'Bout time," Mundugus said irritably. "I got the bleedin' locket - now would you let me go - "

"Where is it?" Harry asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Here," Kreacher croaked, producing it in his palm and formally presenting it to Harry. "Master
Regulus's locket."

Harry picked it up and brought it closer to himself and Draco, both of whom could feel it buzzing
with the same distinctly manic quality that the diadem had once possessed.

Draco shivered. "This is it, alright," he said, wrinkling his nose. "Just as fucked up as the other
Draco shivered. "This is it, alright," he said, wrinkling his nose. "Just as fucked up as the other
one."

"How'd you manage to get it?" Harry asked the group, eyeing the locket from all angles.

"Your blasted elf wouldn't let me sleep until I found that Umbridge woman," Mundungus said
irritably. "She's bloody inconsistent, she is, took days of loitering outside the Ministry before I
even saw her - "

"She takes the fireplace to get places," Dudley said, not looking up from his cards. "The floop
network - "

"Floo network," Harry corrected, stifling a laugh. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense."

"Couldn't go in the Ministry, of course," Mundungus grunted. "Had to wait for her to leave, best
to surprise her in the open, you know - I've barely slept in weeks - "

"Kreacher has not slept at all," Kreacher boasted proudly, swaying where he stood.

"Whoa," Harry exclaimed, bending to steady the elf. "You can sleep now, Kreacher, you've done
an excellent job - "

"Wha' bout me?" Mundungus demanded, flailing against his ropes. "I've been tortured this whole
time, wouldn' you say - "

"Your debt is satisfied," Draco told him indifferently. "Though I suspect you had very little to do
with it. Who actually procured the locket?"

Mundungus looked down sheepishly. "The elf."

"I presume you at least thought to modify her memory?" Harry asked.

Mundungus mumbled something incoherent.

"What was that?" Harry said loudly. "Couldn't hear you, Dung - say it again?"

"It was the elf," Mundungus repeated, scowling. "He did it."

"That's what I thought," Draco said, pursing his lips with the arrogance of person who fucking
knew it, Mundungus, don't even try.

"Well, we did get what we came for," Harry conceded, turning back to Draco. "I think we can cut
him loose, don't you?"

Draco held out his wand, bending to press it lightly against Mundungus's temple. "Depends," he
murmured, grinning as the thief met his eyes with panic. "How much do we want him to know?"

"Take it all away," Harry instructed, a coldness reaching his voice. "Except Mad-Eye's death."
The dark-haired wizard's normally amiable expression darkened significantly. "Let him live with
that."

"Wait," Mundungus said, fidgeting. "I won't tell anyone - there's - there's no need for this - "

Funny how attached people become to their memories, Draco thought, smirking at the thief's
pathetic resistance.

"Knock him out, would you, Kreacher?" Draco asked, and the elf nodded soberly. "I'll do the
memory charm and then you can return him wherever you found him." He sneered at Mundungus
as he stood. "The gutter, I'd guess."

"Knockturn Alley," Kreacher supplied, and Draco smirked again.

"Some people are so predictable," he mused, raising his chin as he pointed the wand at
Mundungus. "Ready?"

Mundungus's eyes widened. "Wait - but I - "

Kreacher snapped his fingers and Mundungus's head lolled to the side.

"Obliviate," Draco said, not bothering to modify much at all. An erasure of time was sufficient for
this heap of garbage.

He nodded to Kreacher and the elf offered him a bow, turning formally to Harry.

"Kreacher will return the thief," he croaked. "And then sleep?"

"And then sleep," Harry said, nodding adamantly, and the elf disappeared along with Mundungus.

"I won't miss him at all," Draco declared, wrinkling his nose in distaste after the resounding crack
of Kreacher's spell echoed through the kitchen.

"He wasn't so bad," Dudley commented, his eyes still on his cards as he set a pair down on the
center pile. "Kind of entertaining, really."

"He let a man die," Harry reminded his cousin, but Dudley shrugged.

"He's a coward," Dudley noted. "A lot of people are."

Another salient point from the muggle, Draco thought, always surprised by him.

"Dobby," Harry said, turning to the elf as though he'd just remembered something. "Doesn't
Hogwarts start soon? Like, in a couple of days?"

The elf nodded hesitantly and Draco frowned. Was it the end of August already?

"Are you headed back?" Harry asked.

"Dobby thinks he might stay with Harry Potter's cousin," Dobby admitted slowly, looking shyly
back at Harry. "The new professors - " Dobby shivered, and Draco realized that he was likely
recalling what it had been like to serve in a Death Eater's home.

Draco felt a deep sense of shame at that, and glanced quickly to his feet. Surely Dobby would not
want to repeat the harrowing experience of his father's authority with someone even more cruel -
like, for example, the Carrows.

"It's okay, Dobby," Harry said quietly. "If you want to stay here, you can. You're free, remember.
You can do whatever you'd like."

Both Dobby and Dudley looked up with relief, and Draco realized the unlikely pair had probably
become accustomed to each other's presence, if not partially reliant on it. With nobody but
Dudley's awful muggle parents in the house and nowhere else to go, they likely needed each
other. Or at least, Dudley needed Dobby - though the muggle really didn't seem the type to admit
such things aloud.

"Harry Potter is so kind!" Dobby wailed, throwing his tiny body at Harry's feet. "Harry Potter is
so generous, and so understanding - "

"Okay," Harry said, patting Dobby's head absently. "Let's not get carried away, now." He looked
up at Dudley. "Are you okay with Dobby staying here?"

"Yeah," Dudley said, a faint smile crossing his face. "He's - it's not bad, you know." He shrugged.
"I don't mind having the little guy around. Better than being alone."

Harry nodded. "Yeah," he agreed softly, turning to let his green eyes fall purposefully on Draco's
grey ones. "It's better to be with friends."

Bonus: here is a little drabble about Theo I posted to tumblr that likely will not fit into the broader
scope of the story, but is potentially interesting nonetheless.

Theo Nott and the Sorting Hat

Theo fidgeted nervously where he stood, trying to maintain the stiff, formal posture his father had
drilled into him since birth. Draco had already been sorted and now Theo stood alone, helplessly
watching as the other Slytherins, regal and poised in their emerald green, clapped his best friend
on the back. Draco wasn't looking at Theo, not that Theo blamed him. The young Malfoy Heir
had far more enjoyable things to think about.

Like, for one, the fact that unlike Theo, Draco no longer had to fear the wrath of a stupid,
worthless hat's decision. Theo barely contained a snort at the thought of his wretched nemesis. It
was just a hat. A hat!

A fucking hat, Theo thought, trying on the dirty word in his head.

He glanced around. Nobody noticed.

The deceptively innocuous decider of Theo's fate had barely touched Draco's head before it knew.
Draco was going to be able to owl his parents that evening and tell them with pride that he'd be a
Slytherin, just like them. Just like every Malfoy had been, and every Black. Well, almost every
Black.

Theo shivered to think about it. Being sorted anywhere else was practically a death sentence. His
father would never forgive him.

What if he wasn't good enough? Wasn't refined enough to follow in the footsteps of his ancestors?
What if he wasn't worthy of the Nott name? What if he had never been? What if he never would
be?

His stomach twisted itself in knots as nightmare scenarios flashed before his eyes. He might as
well jump out the Astronomy tower now rather than hear that blasted hat yell out Hufflepuff.

Theo glanced out the window. Maybe he could run, he thought longingly. He could live in the
lake with the squid. He could make that work.

"Theodore Nott," McGonagall called. and Theo snapped to attention. He walked the distance to
the stern professor and settled himself under the hat, awaiting his fate like a doomed man sitting
trial.
 "Hmm," the hat whispered in his ear. "Very interesting."

Don't you 'very interesting' me, Theo thought, scowling. Put me in Slytherin, you damn hat.

"My goodness," the hat commented. "Language."

Theo wrinkled his nose. Fuck this hat.

"Plenty of sass and very little sense, I see," the hat mocked him. "We can safely rule out
Ravenclaw. Bravery in boatloads, obviously. And loyalty … "

Slytherin, Theo thought feverishly. Just put me in Slytherin, damn it …

"Very little regard for authority, clearly," the hat muttered indignantly. "Yes, certainly you do
have cunning to spare, but are you sure that's what you want? You won't fit in, you know." The
hat hummed quietly. "But you're not one to make a habit of fitting in, are you?"

Theo frowned.

"Your courage will take you far, Theodore Nott. You are chivalrous at heart, and kinder than you
let on. Determined, too. Perhaps more determined than you give yourself credit for. Are you sure
you do not wish to be among your kind, in Gryffindor?"

Put me in Slytherin or I will fucking cut you, Theo thought vehemently.

"As you wish, young Theodore," the hat said, giving the equivalent of an ambivalent shrug.
"SLYTHERIN!"

Theo sighed with relief and ran to Draco's side, though there was no room for him at the table. He
was one of the last to be sorted, and Crabbe and Goyle already flanked his best friend where they
sat. Draco met his eyes with an apologetic shrug, mouthing 'sorry' as Theo took a seat on the end.

Oh well. At least he was a Slytherin. At least he hadn't let his father down.

He grimaced. Not today, anyway. But there was still plenty of time for that.

Chapter End Notes

a/n: This chapter is dedicated to mcb426, because I know what you mean about
relating more to Narcissa as we get older. I'm not a mother, but I fully expect to be a
Narcissa Malfoy of sorts if/when I am.

Chapter 25 will come out tomorrow and that will be all for Marked updates until June
6th.
 The Prophecy
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter 25: The Prophecy

"Did you get it?"

Draco felt a rush of affection at the sound of her voice and smiled as Granger shoved her book
aside to run to him, excitedly clutching his hands. "Do you have the locket?"

"Yes," Draco replied, smirking at her enthusiasm. "Harry's got it."

"Let me see!" She reached out for it, her fingers animatedly grasping at the air. "Is it - does it seem
much like the diadem?"

"It's quieter," Harry said, offering the locket to her from where it sat in his palm. "It doesn't have
that weird chatter of voices."

"Only dark forces in there, I'm guessing," Weasley commented, looking discomforted at the
thought. "Easier to get along when they're all on the same team."

Granger held it to her ear. The locket was large and ornate and seemed larger still in her small
hand, the many tiny green stones glinting dully in the dim light that glowed from their tent.

"Hoping to hear the ocean, Hermione?" Harry asked, grinning.

"It's just so fascinating," she said, her voice hushed. "These horcruxes, I mean - they're awful, of
course, but - "

"'Fascinating' isn't exactly the word I would use, Mione," Weasley said, nose wrinkled. "I mean,
there's a piece of him in there - "

"A piece that will try to kill us, probably, if the diadem was any indication of habit," Draco said,
pursing his lips with displeasure.

"The diary was that way, too," Harry agreed. "These are not exactly safe items."

Granger inspected the locket closely.

"We have to open it," she murmured, looking up at Harry. "How?"

He grimaced. "Not sure," he admitted. "I thought you might know."

Draco shook his head. "Are you serious?" he asked, giving Harry a look of wary disappointment.
"This is Slytherin's locket. I imagine you would open it the same way you opened his chamber,
right?"

Harry cocked his head, considering. "Parseltongue, you think?"

Draco shrugged. "Are you surprised?"

"I shouldn't be," Harry admitted. "You're right, I should have thought of that sooner. But then
what? I guess if we use the sword - "
"Which we should," Granger interrupted, addressing Harry with the exceedingly swotty air that
Draco had once found unbearable and now considered among her most charming features. "I've
been doing some reading, Harry, and it seems to indicate that the basilisk venom is now
impregnated in the metal." At Harry and Weasley's blank stare, she huffed impatiently. "The blade
is goblin-made, which means the basilisk venom actually made it stronger," she explained. "It
should be even more effective than the fang you used to destroy the diary and the diadem."

"Right," Harry agreed, nodding vacantly. "Well - since Draco was the one who made the sword
appear - "

"Oh fuck no," Draco interjected, vehemently shaking his head. "Don't put this one on me. We
don't know that for sure, anyway, and I hardly think you need to play so close to the rules - "

"Scared, Malfoy?" Harry asked, using Draco's signature smirk against him.

"Fucking yes, Potter, sure, if that's what you want me to say," Draco snapped. "I'm not in the
business of volunteering to die today, and I'm pretty sure Granger likes my pretty face the way it
is, honestly - "

"I do," Granger said, nodding soberly as a pert smile flitted across her lips. "That's true."

"This is your horcrux hunt, isn't it?" Draco asked, giving Harry a look. "I mean, you are the leader
here, are you not?"

"Git's got a point," Weasley said, nodding smugly as he flashed Harry a knowing smile.

Harry managed a short, barking laugh. "Fine," he conceded. "You're probably right, anyway. I
suppose the sword could really belong to either of us."

"Yes, I know I'm fucking right," Draco told him, raising his chin. "Now get it over with, Potter."
He shuddered at the sight of the locket. "If that thing's going to try to kill us, I'd like to have it over
with sooner rather than later."

"What exactly happened last time?" Granger asked, wringing her hands fretfully. "Did You-
Know-Who actually come out of the diadem?"

"As far as I could tell, yes," Draco told her. "He seemed pretty solid to me."

"He was definitely solid after the diary," Harry said, cringing. "But that's also because he'd
basically used up all of Ginny at that point, so - "

"Don't remind me," Weasley said grimly, a shadow passing briefly over his face. "I keep trying to
forget."

"Should we all be out here?" Granger asked. "Is that wise? Maybe a couple of us should watch
from afar, just in case - "

"Not a terrible idea," Draco mused, tilting his head to consider it. "Having a distraction worked
well for us last time."

"Best not to show all our cards," Harry agreed, nodding. "Okay." He sighed heavily. "So I'll just -
open it, then. And stab it."

"It sounds so easy," Weasley said, and then frowned. "Too easy?"
"It's not as easy as it sounds," Draco told him, shuddering at the memory. "The horcrux, it can - "
He sighed. "It sounds so fucking stupid, I know, but the horcrux can see into you, somehow."

"It?" Granger echoed, giving him a startled look.

"Well, he, I suppose," Draco corrected himself, shrugging. "Even a small piece of the Dark Lord's
soul is still something to be reckoned with, magically."

"You'll stay here with me," Harry stated flatly, looking at Draco. "Right? Since you know what
he might do."

Draco nodded, though he was queasy at the thought. "Yes."

"And you'll have my back?" Harry asked, pivoting to face Weasley. "You and Hermione will stay
in the tent, and come out if we need you?"

"Which, chances are, we will," Draco grumbled, and Granger reached for his hand, squeezing it
tightly.

"Of course," she said, and Weasley nodded. "We'll be right here."

Harry looked at Draco. "Should we do this, then?"

"The sooner we get it over with, the better," Draco said hurriedly, trying again to quell the rising
anxiety in his chest.

Granger kissed his cheek. "You've got this," she told him, giving him a brief smile. "And you,"
she said, reaching out to put her hand on Harry's shoulder. "You did say you wanted to
accomplish something."

"I know, I know," Harry said, clearly fidgeting with nerves. "Okay."

He looked up at Weasley and Draco could see from the brief, shared glance that the foundation of
their friendship - the loyalty that ran unfathomably deep - had not faded, despite their weeks of
tension.

"You're good, mate," Weasley assured him quietly, and a momentary flicker of relief glimmered
for a moment in Harry's eyes. "Easy. Just open the locket and stab it. We'll be right here."

Harry nodded firmly. "Easy," he repeated, flashing Draco a small, hesitant smile.

This was only making it worse.

"Open the fucking locket, Potter," Draco growled, raising his wand combatively in preparation for
the horrors that lay within it. Granger pulled Weasley along behind her, backing into the tent as
Harry set the locket on the ground.

"Ready?" Harry called, taking a step back.

"Ready," Weasley returned, concealed behind the tent flap, and Draco nodded.

Harry took a deep breath. "Okay."

Draco watched Harry focus on the locket, giving himself a quick shake for nerves as the item
started to rattle from where he'd set it on the ground. "Okay," he said again, and then a foreign
sound escaped him. A hiss, followed by a snarl, and the golden doors of the locket swung open,
emitting a tiny click.
emitting a tiny click.

Behind the doors was a set of eyes; the distinctly dark and handsome eyes of the once charming
and alluring Tom Riddle.

Harry didn't move, and Draco looked questioningly at him.

"Stab it," he instructed, furrowing his brow. "Harry - "

But Harry was pale, his eyes unfocused. "Malfoy," he said, panting. The locket continued to rattle
on the ground and Tom Riddle's cold, unfeeling eyes watched them through a glacial, relentless
stare. "Malfoy - "

"Harry." Draco stepped towards him. Harry no longer commonly used his surname; something
was wrong. "Harry - what - "

This wasn't the horcrux's doing; Harry was shaking, convulsing wildly, before he suddenly
doubled over, collapsing on the ground.

"Harry!" Draco yelled, falling to his knees beside him and shaking the other wizard. "Harry,
what's going on?"

"Malfoy - " The sword had fallen out of Harry's hand, landing on the ground with a thud. The
bespectacled wizard kept clutching his forehead, his body sprawled awkwardly on the ground as
he reached out to take hold of Draco's collar. "Malfoy - you need - to see - "

"Granger!" Draco roared, and she immediately ran out of the tent. "Get the sword! Stab the locket,
now!"

He saw her running to his side, heard a hissing sound coming out of the locket. "Stab it," he
repeated to her, trying to hold Harry's head still. "You have to do it, Granger - "

"Hermione Granger - I have seen your heart - "

"Draco," she cried, her voice panicked. "I - I can't - "

"You have to!" he shouted, picking up his wand as Harry yanked him closer, grabbing Draco's
wand and dragging it to his forehead. "I have to - I don't know, I don't know what this is -
legilimens!"

He felt himself hurtled into Harry's mind, falling and falling until he felt himself suddenly landing
within a thought - a vision - that was neither his nor Harry's. A voice in Harry's head - and Draco's
now, too - was high, clear, and cold, mixing with a loud, harsh cry, a sound he did not recognize,
though it came from a familiar face.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"BEWARE. THE ONE YOU NEED IS NOT THE ONE YOU PRESENTLY SEEK."

"Hermione Granger - I have seen your heart - "

"What do I do?" she asked, wringing her hands as she glanced at Harry, who was convulsing
wildly on the ground, and Malfoy, who was now suffering beside him. "Ron, what do I - "

"Take this," Ron said instantly, picking up the hilt of the sword and shoving it in her palm,
covering her hand with his as he forced her fingers around it. "Take this, and stab the bloody
thing!"

She looked helplessly at him. "But - "

"Do it," Ron said, his blue eyes wild. "Do it, Hermione - you can do this, I promise you - "

"Hermione Granger, I have seen your heart, and it is mine."

The beautiful eyes from inside the locket were swiveling around to face her, the voice hissing
from behind the golden doors.

"I can see your dreams, Hermione Granger, and I can see your fears. All you desire is possible,
but all that you dread is also possible - "

"Hermione!" Ron shouted, torn between running to Harry and keeping his hand firmly on her
shoulder. "Stab it! Don't listen to it!"

She raised the sword shakily, its heavy weight poised above the locket. It's so easy, she thought.
Just stab . . .

But the voice - Tom Riddle's voice - was relentless.

"An outcast, always, rejected by your peers . . . an outcast as a muggle, an outcast as a witch . . .
not enough for your friends, who would choose each other over you . . . not enough for the one
you love, who will always see through you to your dirty blood . . . an outsider, always, never to
belong . . . "

"That's not true, Mione!" Ron yelled. "Don't - don't listen - "

" . . . there is darkness in your heart, Hermione Granger . . . there is darkness you do not
understand, that you will never understand, and that you will always fight . . . you do not belong,
and despite how hard you struggle . . . despite what you tell yourself, you know . . . you know in
your heart that you never will . . . "

"STAB IT!" Ron shouted hoarsely. "Mione, PLEASE!"

She was paralyzed. How did it know? How could it know?

Out of the locket's two windows bloomed two grotesque bubbles, the heads of Malfoy and
Dumbledore, strangely distorted and sinister. She yelped and stumbled backwards, panicking as
the figures blossomed out of the locket.

"HERMIONE!"

She could vaguely hear Ron bellowing her name, but she was entranced. She couldn't look away.

"What do you fear more?" the Riddle-Malfoy asked her, his face somehow eerily beautiful in this
ghostly, haunting form. "My rejection? You should, you know . . . you should fear my loss,
because someday, when I'm done with you, I will remember my place . . . I will realize that you
were beneath me . . . that you are less than I, and you will never be enough . . . never enough . . .
"

"Or is it me you fear?" the Riddle-Dumbledore posed darkly, his normally smiling blue eyes
strikingly cold and distant. "The memory of me, and the emptiness you felt at my death? The ease
at which you could strip me of my last, shallow breath . . . your enjoyment at finally possessing
power . . . you, always the powerless . . . the faceless brains behind the Chosen One . . . finally
pulling the strings . . . finally setting your terms . . . "

Finally setting your terms . . .

She heard her own voice in her head, echoing through her conscience as she recalled with a pang
the words she had spoken to the fragile headmaster.

"Your death will be the one to launch a war," she'd said to him, standing over him with her wand
aimed at his chest. "I intend for it to be on my terms."

"No," she whispered, her fingers loosening on the hilt of the sword.

"HERMIONE! STAB IT!"

She looked at Ron, trying to force herself to focus. "It's not true, Ron . . . it's not true . . . "

"I know that, Mione - STAB THE FUCKING LOCKET!"

Riddle-Malfoy was sneering at her, and his expression was cruel. He was arrogant and cold;
Riddle-Dumbledore, though, was smiling - smiling triumphantly, condescendingly, like he had
seen into the depths of her heart and knew that he was victorious. That he was right about her.

"You fear yourself, Hermione Granger," Riddle-Dumbledore said mockingly, and Riddle-Malfoy
tipped his head back, laughing mechanically at her expense. "You fear your own soul, and well
you should . . . well you should . . . "

Ron's voice near her ear was desperate. "MIONE!"

"IT'S NOT TRUE!" she yelled, raising the sword above her head and crashing it down on the
locket, feeling a fire burning in her lungs as she heard a loud clang of metal and a long, drawn out
scream, the dying sound of the Dark Lord's corrupted soul.

"It's not true," she choked out, falling to her knees and retching, suffering the toxicity of the
locket's glimpse into her soul. "It's not true."

Ron's arms were around her, covering her like a shield, leaving the vacant horcrux to lay broken
and abandoned on the ground. "I know, Mione - "

"It's not true . . . my heart, Ron, my heart - "

She fell forward onto her hands, raking her fingers through the dirt and bringing her arms around
to clutch herself tightly, shaking, as a loud yell ripped itself from Harry's throat. It was the only
sound to tear through the desolate stillness of the night. It was the only sound other than the echo
of her broken sobs.

Draco looked around, recognizing the familiar stone walls, the comforting feel of the castle even
as it was warped and distorted from inside Harry's mind.

Hogwarts.

He looked down; Harry wasn't there. Unless . . .

Draco looked sharply to his left and saw his reflection, recognizing himself as the source of the
high, cold voice, belonging to the heavily robed and guarded form of the man who was once Tom
Riddle.
The Dark Lord. Draco, by virtue of Harry, was inside the Dark Lord.

"What is this?" Voldemort asked, sneering at the witch, the foolish Professor Trelawney who
cowered fearfully before him. "I hardly think it's necessary to force a contemptible farce like
divination down the throats of these students." He turned to swoop darkly out of the room,
stepping close to the cloaked form that Draco realized was Professor Snape.

"Really, Severus," the Dark Lord hissed, his tone slippery with restrained displeasure. "I thought
you understood that I would be ushering in a new era to Hogwarts, not a continuation of these
foolish, archaic imitations of power. I would have thought you, of all people, would be more in
tune with Lord Voldemort's wishes - "

"My Lord, I - "

A voice erupted from behind them.

"BEWARE."

Voldemort turned sharply, narrowing his already slitted eyes. "What is the meaning of this?"

Trelawney had gone slack in her chair, slipping down rigidly as her eyes became hazy and
unfocused. Her mouth sagged open, and the harsh, grating voice that escaped it could scarcely
have been her own.

"BEWARE. THE ONE YOU NEED IS NOT THE ONE YOU PRESENTLY SEEK."

"Silence," the Dark Lord seethed irritably, jabbing his wand in her face. "Stop this at once, I have
no patience for - "

"THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD DOES NOT TRAVEL
ALONE."

Voldemort moved so quickly to swoop over Trelawney's limp form that Draco was startled by the
rush of air. "Harry Potter? Do you speak of Harry Potter?"

"THE EVENTS ONCE PROPHESIED ARE POISED FOR DISRUPTION. THE OUTSIDER
BORN OF ANOTHER WORLD IS NOT WHAT SHE SEEMS . . . ETERNALLY
UNDERESTIMATED, SHE IS NOT THE IDLE THREAT THAT SHE APPEARS . . . SHOULD
THE MALFOY HEIR FALL, A POWER GREATER AND MORE TERRIBLE THAN THIS
WORLD HAS EVER BORNE WITNESS WILL BE HERS . . . THE CHOSEN ONE WILL FAIL
BUT THE DARK LORD WILL FALL INTO OBSCURITY . . . HIS DESTROYER WILL
BECOME HERSELF A CONDUIT OF CHAOS AND SUFFERING . . . BEWARE . . . THE
ONE YOU NEED IS NOT THE ONE YOU SEEK . . . THERE WILL BE GREAT SUFFERING
FOR ALL, SHOULD THE MALFOY HEIR FALL . . . "

Draco understood now why Harry had been repeating his name. His heart was pounding
relentlessly, beating him to death with its merciless hammering.

Should the Malfoy Heir fall, a power greater and more terrible than this world has ever borne
witness will be hers . . .

It was Granger. It had to be Granger.

But it couldn't be Granger, he thought, feeling his blood run cold. Chaos and suffering? He
pictured the soft glint of her golden brown eyes, the sound of her laugh in his ear. It couldn't be
her.
"The Outsider" could be a misnomer, he assured himself. It might not be her. He satisfied himself
with the ambiguity of the thought, comforted in the benefit of his doubt.

As for the rest of the prophecy - unfortunately, there was no mistaking the meaning of the Malfoy
Heir.

Trelawney's head fell forward onto her chest and she made a deep, grunting noise; remembering
her surroundings, she looked up, the dreamy, distracted quality slowly returning to her eyes.

"Crucio," the Dark Lord intoned blankly, aiming his wand at her chest and watching with a
senseless pleasure as she writhed in pain, her body nearly rising off the armchair where she sat.

"My Lord," Snape said hesitantly, stepping forward. "Would it not be better to ask her what she
has foretold - to speak to her, regarding her Sight?"

"I'm merely loosening her tongue, Severus," Voldemort said smoothly, aiming another curse at the
whimpering seer.

"Are you sure you wish to assign credence to such a far-fetched premonition, my Lord?" Snape
asked, his tone carefully dispassionate. "Surely my Lord will not be swayed by such baseless
nonsense. You did wish to cease the practice of Divination as an area of study, did you not?"

Voldemort lowered his wand from Trelawney's shaking form and pivoted slowly, aiming it at
Snape's head.

"Do you wish me to ignore it, Severus?" the Dark Lord asked curiously, his eyes glinting
manically in the dim light of the classroom. "Do you, perhaps, wish that I not press the matter of
the - " he paused, licking his lips hungrily in a way that turned Draco's stomach. "Malfoy Heir?"

"The boy is dead," Snape said flatly. "You know that as well as I do."

"Do I?" Voldemort asked mockingly. "Interesting, then, that such a statement could arise . . . after
all, who could question such an ironclad story, with no body left behind . . . and the item I seek
conspicuously missing . . . "

"You think the Malfoy boy might be alive?" Snape posed dubiously, and Draco tried desperately
to ease the noisy thudding of his heart in his chest. "You doubt the collective accounts of every
Death Eater who witnessed it?"

From the vantage point Draco was given inside the Dark Lord's mind, he could see that
Voldemort was using occlumency on Snape; the silence was palpable, with only a tiny whimper
from Trelawney, who had collapsed at the foot of her armchair.

There was nothing questionable, Draco gathered, as Snape's limited visions of the night on the
tower floated to the forefront of his mind; Snape had been wise to vacate the tower when he did,
allowing him the plausible deniability that now likely saved his life.

"Perhaps," the Dark Lord said finally, lowering his wand. Draco exhaled quietly, releasing a
strangled sigh of relief knowing that Snape had managed to craft himself some kind of modified
alibi.

"It will be easy enough to uncover," Voldemort murmured, a menacing smile spreading across his
inhuman face. "And until then - " the smile disappeared, and his expression suddenly filled with
rage. "I have more tongues to loosen."
Hermione could see that he was finally starting to stir.

"Draco." She crawled over to him as he moved to sit up.

He held out his arms for her, yanking her into his chest. "Granger," he breathed, kissing the top of
her head firmly and burying his face in her hair as she fell into him. "Did you - "

"Yes," she said, adjusting herself into his lap so that she was fully in his arms, shivering again at
the memory of Riddle's incarnation of him. He had been beautiful, cruelly beautiful - but this, the
real thing, was better. She touched her fingers to the dark circles that had amassed under his eyes,
rejoicing in his flaws. "Yes. It's gone. It's destroyed."

"I'm sorry," he told her. He looked shaken. "I'm so sorry - "

Having something to be sorry about was never a good sign, particularly not from Malfoy.

She frowned. "What happened?"

"Him." Harry was sitting up now, looking pale and unsettled. "I - he - " Harry sighed audibly,
failing to complete his thought.

"Bad timing," he managed finally, his gaze lingering on Malfoy's pale face.

Hermione looked between them, her intuition roaring with displeasure. Cloaked looks between
Harry and Malfoy were another terrible sign. Something was definitely wrong.

"What happened?" Hermione demanded, sitting upright.

Ron's hand was tentatively on Harry's shoulder, holding him steady as he gave Hermione a
warning glance. "What did you see?" Ron murmured, attempting a gentler method of procuring
information.

Harry's eyes flicked to Malfoy again, who gave a tiny shake of his head.

"What?" Hermione asked, twisting to look at his face. "What is it?"

"I don't know," Malfoy said slowly, though he was clearly reluctant to meet her eye. "It's too early
to tell."

"You-Know-Who knows," Harry said pointedly, a correction of sorts, and Malfoy nodded.

"Well, there is that," Malfoy agreed bitterly. "He knows."

"About what?" Hermione clambered out of his hold and turned, holding his face in her palms.
"Knows about what?" Her heart was pounding. "About you?"

"Trelawney made some kind of prophecy at Hogwarts," Malfoy said, his voice low. "Some kind
of vision, and - something about a power, some 'great and terrible' power, if - " he swallowed
painfully. "If," he emphasized, letting his voice linger on the word. "If the Malfoy Heir falls."

No.

She gaped at him.

No.

Voldemort couldn't know. After everything - after narrowly escaping Malfoy Manor with their
lives - after all the sacrifices they had all made - after all the people they'd endangered, after the
lies they'd told, just trying desperately to protect the truth - how could it come to this? How could
their lives be held so perilously in the hands of a half-witted pretender to a scarcely credible
offshoot of unreliable magic?

Hermione's heart ached. How could fate be so cruel?

"Could it be anyone else?" she asked, feeling her pulse thud in her veins. "Could there be any
other explanation?"

"I am far and away the only heir for generations," Malfoy said quietly. "He would have to assume
it means me."

"What about the power, the 'great and terrible power' in the prophecy - could it be You-Know-
Who that might possess it?" she asked fearfully. "Was it a warning? Could it - could it be the - "

She looked between Harry and Malfoy, not sure if she wanted to bring up the possibility that one
of them might currently hold in his hand the Elder Wand, and in so doing, possess the unbeatable
weapon that Voldemort so desperately sought.

No. Now wasn't the time.

"Who was the prophecy about?" she prompted breathlessly, deciding to gloss over the subject of
the wand until she'd decided how to address it.

Malfoy and Harry exchanged another furtive glance.

"I don't know," Malfoy said, and she couldn't tell if it was a lie. It didn't feel like a lie, but it
seemed, somehow, to be less than the entire truth.

"But - "

"What about the locket?" Harry interrupted, and Ron handed him the broken horcrux.

"Mione stabbed it," Ron said simply.

He looked at her. She nodded.

Good. She found herself relieved that he wasn't going to say anything about what else he'd seen.

Not that any of it was true, she reminded herself. None of it was real. It was dark magic, just a
ploy to destroy her defenses, to poison her mind. Nothing more.

"Anything else?" Malfoy prompted, catching the glance.

"Yeah," Ron declared, stiffening. "Horcruxes are fucking awful."

Malfoy nodded, tightening his arms around Hermione where he held her in his lap.

"Did it try to kill you?" Malfoy asked in her ear, the question posed only for her.

Worse.

"No," she replied, sighing. "It was just - unpleasant."

"I'm sorry," he told her again, smoothing a loose curl behind her ear. "I didn't mean to abandon
you like that - "
 "You did the right thing," she assured him. "And whatever it was that you saw - however bad it
was - I'm sure we will get through it." She picked up his hand, threading her fingers between his.
"We'll get through it."

He suddenly shifted her around, wrapping his arms around her and crushing her head against his
chest. It was a rough but strangely protective gesture that she could see no reason for, but also had
no opposition to. She breathed in the smell of him, masculine with the hint of sweetness, burying
her face into his neck as he held her.

"I love you," he whispered, his lips next to her ear. "I love you, Hermione, and I will always love
you. No matter what. I promise you."

The sentiment, of course, was beautiful. But the timing was poor, and the context was chilling.

"Draco," she whispered back, pulling away to look at him. "Draco. What did you see?"

He glanced up at Harry.

"Nothing," he said, and she barely caught a flicker of understanding in Harry's eye.

Draco was in his father's study. How did he get here? He hadn't been dreaming much recently.
Dreams, after all, necessitated sleep, which wasn't a luxury he was permitted anymore.

Well, he was only human, wasn't he? He supposed he could have managed a few minutes of rest
out of the long, torturous night. He wandered through the study, running his fingers across the
titles of his father's books, wondering why his mind had taken him here. He'd never been allowed
here, much to his disappointment. He'd really only been here when he was called.

He paused abruptly, the heavy weight of the sudden realization settling sharply on his shoulders.
He had only been here when he was called. Surely that was no coincidence.

There was someone sitting at the desk and Draco stopped, sickened.

"Father," he attempted, cringing first at the startlingly juvenile ring to his voice, and then at the
embarrassingly hopeful lilt of word as it emerged from his throat.

The chair at the desk turned to face him.

No such luck.

"Ah, young Draco Malfoy," the Dark Lord uttered coldly, his voice barely audible through the
stiffness of his sallow grimace. "Welcome back from the dead."

Chapter End Notes

a/n: for ellaquil. Thank you for reading!

Welcome to the thickening of the plot. I'll meet you back here in 4-5 days.
 The Traitor
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter 26: The Traitor

Theo fidgeted nervously beside Snape. He was making a considerable effort not to allow eye
contact with anyone, while actively fighting not to appear suspicious. He doubted he was
successful on either count. Theo was not a particularly gifted actor – unlike Severus Snape, of
course. Theo would never understand how the man could be so inexplicably calm in the face of
the storm that they both knew was undoubtedly coming.

Maybe it came from a lifetime of weathering storms, Theo thought, eyeing Snape's hooded eyes.
The rather unfortunate professor had certainly had enough practice.

"What do you mean Malfoy is alive?" Fred demanded, rising to his feet. "How is that possible?
And if that's true – "

" – if that's true, why wouldn't Harry deny the murder accusations?" George prompted, joining his
twin.

Lupin, who was standing beside Theo and Snape, let his head loll back wearily. "Oh, no," he
said, sighing quietly. "Oh no."

Theo's eyes flicked to his former professor, smirking at the rather morose reaction. "Something
you'd like to share?"

The heads of every Order member in the room swiveled to face them.

"Go on," Theo prompted airily, lifting his chin with impatience.

"I saw him," Lupin mumbled, his eyes falling to his rather weathered shoes. He shook his head
and then looked up, addressing the others. "I saw Draco Malfoy, but I didn't realize it at the time –
"

" – you didn't realize?" Fred echoed, his voice rising. "You saw a rather notoriously dead person
and didn't think to tell anyone?"

"Where was he?" George asked drily, casually leaning back to feign disinterest. "In line at
Flourish and Botts? Just having a pint at the Three Broomsticks?"

"No." Lupin looked down again, and even Theo felt himself frown suspiciously. "I saw him with
the others." He shook his head. "He was with Harry, Ron, and Hermione."

"What?" Molly shrieked, promptly dropping the cup of tea she was holding. "You saw them?
You saw Harry and Ron?"

The twins spoke in unison. "When?"

Lupin looked supremely uncomfortable, and Theo might have paused to pity him if he weren't
rather eager to hear his response. "The night of the attack," Lupin said quietly. "Harry, Ron, and
Hermione were upstairs, with a fourth person I'm realizing now must have been the Malfoy boy."
"It didn't seem worth mentioning?" Theo asked skeptically, and the twins nodded vigorously.

"Yeah - "

"Let Remus explain himself," Arthur interrupted coolly, flashing his sons a quieting look.

Theo had to hand it to him; Arthur Weasley was a rather unexpectedly impressive figure, an
observation which occurred to Theo even in the face of his significantly more pressing concerns.
The Weasley patriarch, despite his rather soft demeanor, certainly possessed the kind of admiration
from his sons that Lucius had once commanded from Draco.

A very long time ago, of course.

"Harry asked that I not alert anyone to his presence," Lupin explained defensively. "It was not my
place to do otherwise - "

"You followed the instructions of a teenage boy?" Molly chided him, scowling. "You should have
brought him here, to us - "

"It was not my place to do so," Lupin repeated coolly, cutting her off. "He was no more willing to
share the truth of his situation that night than he was when he left Hogwarts."

"How did they explain Draco?" Theo asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. "Who did they
say he was?"

Lupin pursed his lips, thinking. "They must have coloured his hair," he commented. "And given
him glasses. I hadn't seen him since I taught at Hogwarts, of course, so it was hardly likely I
would recognize him without his signature features - "

Theo privately disagreed. Draco's hair was darkened, yes, but there was no disguising the grey
eyes, or the distinctly haughty air that were widely known as the Malfoy birthright.

" - and they called him Darcy, I think - Geraint Darcy - "

Theo smiled, just as Snape snickered.

"What?" Fred asked, frowning at them.

"Geraint," Theo said, warmed at the thought. "It's a reference to one of the knights of King
Arthur. A game we played as kids." He looked at Lupin and shrugged. "If you'd told me that, I
would have known it was him."

"Darcy is a character from popular muggle literature," Snape contributed, flinching a little as
though reacting to a painful memory. Theo realized that Snape, who still resided in a muggle
neighborhood, would likely have been the only one to recognize the reference. "The character is a
rather famously unpleasant aristocrat," Snape added, and at the comparison, his expression
changed, taking on a faint haze of general amusement. "Miss Granger's influence, I'm sure."

"Ah." Lupin looked down shamefully. "I didn't question it at the time - there were too many other
things going on - "

"I'm sure they were counting on that," Snape said in a low voice, and if Theo hadn't known better,
he might have thought Snape was attempting to reassure the man. The grumbling around them
seemed to indicate that Lupin's decision to support Potter's demand for silence was unanimously
unpopular, and Theo could hardly blame them.
Lupin looked at Snape gratefully. "Speculation wouldn't have helped," he added, an attempt at a
defense. It was a very solid point, though he was fumbling rather helplessly in Theo's estimation.

"Still seems like it would have been worth mentioning," Fred muttered, and George nodded his
stoic agreement.

"They're only children," Molly reminded Lupin, wringing her hands. "If you had just told us - "

"I'm not sure it's in our best interest to focus on whether or not Remus should have shared his
suspicions," Arthur told his wife gently, turning to look at Snape. "Perhaps we should focus our
attention on what, if anything, this changes for us."

"Yes," Bill said, nodding vehemently. "Agreed."

Lupin looked at Snape. "What does he know?"

Snape cleared his throat carefully before answering, giving Theo a telling glance. "Sybill
Trelawney delivered a prophecy while in the company of the Dark Lord that indicated that the
Malfoy Heir remained alive and at large, traveling with Potter," he said robotically. "Employing
his prodigious use of legilimency, the Dark Lord was able to ascertain that Draco Malfoy is,
indeed, still alive."

Lupin looked sharply at Theo. "You had suspected he was alive," Lupin prompted. "Did you
know any of this?"

"No," Theo said simply.

They waited, but Theo did not elaborate. He knew better.

"This only brings us back to the question that if Harry is with Malfoy," Fred said slowly, "and,
presumably, covering for him - "

" - then why take the blame for his death?" George finished, nodding. "I doubt Harry would do
something like that if Malfoy had actually killed Dumbledore - "

" - which means it must have been someone else," Fred concluded. "It can't have been Malfoy."

"What reason would Harry have for not coming to the Order?" Bill asked thoughtfully. "Remus,
did he give you any explanation?"

"He would not disclose any version of the events," Lupin admitted gloomily. "In retrospect, it did
seem like he was protecting someone."

"Or distrustful of someone," Theo ventured. Snape looked at him, and he shrugged.

"Explain that," Fred demanded, and his twin nodded.

"Harry knows he can trust us," George said warily, a warning of sorts.

"Evidently not," Theo pointed out. "Otherwise, what reason would he have for not coming to
you? He wasn't seventeen yet, which means he spent a month hiding, with the trace on him - do
you really think that was by choice?"

Lupin looked troubled. "If the issue was only that he was protecting Draco Malfoy, surely he
would have been able to rely on us."

"Which means," Theo said emphatically, "that there has to be something else he didn't want you
"Which means," Theo said emphatically, "that there has to be something else he didn't want you
to know about."

"Someone else killed Dumbledore," Fred suggested, his voice hushed. "Could it have been
Harry?"

"No way," George said vigorously. "Couldn't have been. Couldn't have been any of them."

"Who else would he cover for?" Bill asked, somewhat dazed. He looked to his father, who looked
haunted. "Who else would he risk his life for?"

"Or," Theo said loudly, his heart thudding in his chest as he turned to Snape. "Who did he have
doubts about?"

The air seemed to suddenly grow cold.

"Severus," Lupin said quietly. "What does he mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean," Theo said loudly. "Who told you lot about what happened that
night? Who reported to the Dark Lord? Who do both sides get their information from?"

"Theo," Snape warned, his voice dangerously low.

"There's only one person who was there that night who saw what happened and came out
unscathed. Only one fucking person could have known." He tried not to fidget, his stomach
plummeting as he rounded on Snape. "Tell the truth, Severus. Tell us the fucking truth."

Fred leapt to his feet. "He's right," he said, chest heaving. "Nott's right - you know who really
killed Dumbledore, don't you?"

"You must," George added, his blue eyes flashing. "And Harry must know that you know."

Theo could see the sudden nods as the members of the Order of the Phoenix began to look at each
other, instinctively recoiling from where Snape stood; Theo could hear the collective gasps, the
whispers - all the telling indicators of viral, festering mob mentality as it caught on and spread
throughout the room.

Theo stood his ground, plunging the knife.

"It was you," Theo said through his teeth. "You killed Dumbledore."

There was an uproar.

"Severus!" Lupin gasped. "You - you didn't - "

"Do you deny it?" Theo asked, crossing his arms. Snape looked around the room, his eyes darting
from one loud, accusatory figure to another.

"Theo," he attempted coldly. "You forget yourself - "

"We trusted you!" Fred said, his fingers tightening around his wand. "He trusted you!"

George was shaking his head. "We let you make fools of all of us," he said, grimacing, coming
slowly to his feet.

"Boys," Arthur said, his face pale. "Boys, wait - surely - " he looked at Snape, his glance
pleading. "Surely there's an explanation - "
"Can you explain it?" Theo asked menacingly, taking a step towards Snape. "Can you? Try,
Severus," he snarled. "Just try."

The situation was unraveling. There was a collective surge of panic that had caught fire through
the room, and the atmosphere was distinctly unsettled. Unhinged. Explosive.

Precisely as they had intended.

"They can't know," Snape had told Theo, standing in the dark, unpleasant living room of the
house on Spinner's End.

"About the prophecy?" Theo asked, seating himself. "You'll have to tell them. They'll need to
know. They'll need to be prepared."

"But if it means Granger - " Snape stopped suddenly, his teeth gritted. "If the prophecy is about
Granger, and they find out what she's done, with Dumbledore - what she did - "

"You want to protect her," Theo realized, nodding. "Of course." He shivered. "That whole
prophecy is fucking - I don't know. Disturbing."

"Yes," Snape agreed, his lip curled in disgust. "Yes, and the Dark Lord is likely to be unduly
influenced by it - " He was pacing. "It would not be the first time - "

"Are you sure it's about her?" Theo interrupted, running through the content of the prophecy in
his mind. What had it said?

She is not the idle threat that she appears.

Should the Malfoy Heir fall, a power greater and more terrible than this world has ever borne
witness will be hers.

"Are you positive it's Granger?" Theo asked again. "It could be - I don't know - it could be
Narcissa, couldn't it?"

A conduit of chaos and suffering.

He was thinking of the way the blonde witch had been a shell of herself, wandering her home as
though a piece of her soul were missing.

"It could be, or it could be someone else entirely," Snape snapped impatiently. "Claiming to
possess knowledge of a prophecy's intent is a fool's endeavor, Theo, I would hardly deign to do so
now - "

"Then why not just let it be?" Theo asked, shaking his head. "Why not let the situation play itself
out?"

"This is not my first experience with prophecies," Snape retorted angrily. "I know how others will
react. I know what others will choose to believe."

Theo understood implicitly that the man was dealing with a painful reminder of his past, and
though he hated the effort, Theo chose to refrain from provoking him. He hated even more to
have to admit to himself that Snape was probably right.

"We can't let the Order turn on Granger," Theo said adamantly, beginning to seriously consider
their options. "We have to do something."
"Once they discover that Draco still lives, they'll question Potter's decision to hide," Snape said.
He was fidgeting anxiously, which was thoroughly outside the realm of normalcy for his eerily
collected nature. "They'll want to know why."

"So we'll give them a reason," Theo said coolly. "We can manufacture one."

Snape nodded. "We'll have to."

"Okay," Theo said, sighing. "So if, hypothetically, Granger didn't kill Dumbledore, and neither
did Draco, for obvious reasons - who else could have done it?"

"Whoever it is, they will surely find it exceedingly difficult - if not thoroughly impossible - to
forgive," Snape mumbled. "Whoever it is, it has to be someone who doesn't need the Order's
protection."

Theo threw his hands up helplessly. "Who could that be, then?"

Snape stopped mid-stride.

"What?" Theo demanded, eyeing the man's cloaked back. He felt a preemptive rush of
displeasure, knowing he wouldn't like the answer.

"Me." Snape spun on the spot. "Me. We'll say it was me."

"What?" Theo exclaimed, leaping to his feet. "You can't - you're their source of information, and
you - you've devoted your life to them - "

"They have you now," Snape reminded him. "They don't need me."

"They'll turn on you!" Theo shouted. "They'll - they could fucking kill you!"

Snape shook his head. "They won't kill me." He sighed. "Or at the very least, I'll leave before they
try."

"You can't make yourself a traitor," Theo said fearfully. "Fuck, Severus - haven't you gone
through enough shit in your life without creating more?"

"It has to be me. It should be me. I am the best option, and the only believable one."

"But - "

"And you will have to be the one to accuse me. I do not doubt they could arrive at the conclusion
on their own, unpopular as I am - but to ensure that you have their trust, it will have to be your
idea."

"Severus - "

"Don't."

"Fuck. I can't - "

"This way, the Order will have no reason to have any lingering doubt in Potter, Granger, or
Draco. Potter will finally have the option to turn to the Order for help. There will be one fewer
target on their collective backs."

"Yes, yes, fine - but you - "

"I will be fine."

"But - "

"I will be fine."

"Severus!" Theo was yelling. "You'll undo everything you've done - every sacrifice you've made, it
will be for nothing - nobody will know, nobody will understand - "

"You will," he replied flatly. "And I will."

"But - "

"They have you now, Theo. They'll be fine. You'll be in danger, certainly, but no more than
before. And you'll have their trust."

Theo gaped at him. "And you?"

"Me?" Snape shrugged. "I will survive." He sat down wearily, looking as though he'd aged
several years in the last few minutes alone. "I always do."

"Fuck!" Theo yelled, helplessly aiming a kick at one of Snape's hideous armchairs.

"Be sure to make it convincing," Snape advised, pressing his fingers to his temple.

Which brought them to now.

They looked at each other.

"Well played," Snape mouthed.

"Fuck you," Theo said.

Snape disapparated.

It was over.

"What do we do?" Hermione asked frantically, beginning to pace through the tent. Malfoy had
woken them from his nightmare and now she was cold at the thought. "If he knows for sure you're
alive - "

"We do nothing," Malfoy said flatly. "There's nothing we can do."

"He's right," Harry agreed, absentmindedly touching his hand to the scar on his forehead.

"What is it?" Hermione demanded, rounding on him as she caught the gesture. "Is he - "

"Nothing," Harry said, wincing. "He's just - kind of agitated."

"You'd tell me if you saw Theo?" Malfoy asked quietly, and Harry nodded.

"He's fine," Harry assured him. "He wasn't there that night. There's no reason for You-Know-
Who to suspect him."

"Right," Malfoy agreed, nodding.

"Forget Theo for a minute!" Hermione exclaimed, stomping her foot on the ground. The childish
gesture was both a cathartic release of frustration and a means by which to force Malfoy, the very
distracted, veryendangered love of her life, to refocus. "What about you? What do you mean do
nothing?"

"It's just a prophecy, Granger," Malfoy said disdainfully, rubbing at his left wrist. "It doesn't mean
anything."

"How can you say that?" Hermione asked, fuming. "And you!" she rounded on Harry. "You of all
people should know how seriously You-Know-Who takes prophecies - I assume the Department
of Mysteries might still ring a bell - "

"Look," Malfoy interrupted. "The only thing we know for sure about the prophecy is that bad
things will happen if I die. Right?"

She hesitated. "Yes, but - "

"Well, good fucking news, Granger, I have no interest in dying," Malfoy declared, sniffing. "The
prophecy doesn't change that."

"He's right," Harry said slowly. "As far is we're concerned, nothing has changed."

"The Dark Lord knowing that I'm alive is bad news, yes, but we would always have been in
danger if he found any one of us," Malfoy reminded her, reaching out to grip her hand and pulling
her gently towards him. "The only thing we can do is to continue to not get caught."

"And destroy more horcruxes," Ron added. He was sitting on the floor, distractedly fiddling with
the silver deluminator.

"That's true," Hermione said softly, putting her hands on Malfoy's shoulder as she vacantly
chewed her lip. "I guess we should really talk about that."

"We should," Harry agreed. "We still have the element of surprise, if he doesn't know we're
hunting them. Once he does - "

"Once he does, every horcrux will become a trap," Malfoy said sharply. "So it's best we figure it
out now."

"Okay," Hermione agreed, nodding fervently. "Okay, so what do we have?"

"Four destroyed," Harry said. "Locket, diadem, diary, and ring."

"Which leaves the Hufflepuff cup," Hermione said thoughtfully. "And what else?"

"One more," Harry noted glumly.

"And the Dark Lord himself," Malfoy reminded them. "I assume we'll be saving the most fun for
last."

"Yes," Harry said, grimacing. "Dumbledore said we should destroy the horcruxes first so that he
will be mortal when I face him."

The phrase "when I face him" did not sit well with Hermione, though she could not put a finger
on why.

"Where could the cup be?" Hermione asked, shaking off the lingering moment of doubt. She
looked at Malfoy, her usual source for inspiration. "Do you have any idea?"

"Not really," Malfoy said, smoothing his hair back as he marinated on the question. "Old
wizarding families like mine usually keep their wealth close to them," he suggested.

"That wouldn't apply to him," Harry said, snorting derisively in response. He was playing with the
snitch Dumbledore had left him, tossing it in the air and catching it one-handed. "Tom Riddle was
a far cry from a Malfoy."

"Well, where were the others?" Ron asked, frowning with thought. "What other places meant
anything to him?"

"The orphanage was one, but I doubt he used that. The cave where the locket was would have
been the closest thing," Harry said, shrugging.

"Hogwarts was the most special place to him," Hermione said. "You're sure he wouldn't have
kept it there?"

"Doubtful." Malfoy shrugged. "Certainly not in the Room of Hidden Things, and where else
would he have put it?"

"The Chamber of Secrets, but I doubt it," Harry added.

"Not every wizarding family keeps their things close to them," Ron said, suddenly reflecting on
Malfoy's earlier comment. "What if he just put it somewhere safe?"

Hermione frowned. "Like where?"

"Gringotts." Harry sat up. "Could he have put it in a vault?"

"That is where people tend to go to keep things safe," Malfoy agreed, nodding tentatively.

"Hagrid told me Gringotts was the safest place in the world besides Hogwarts," Harry said,
suddenly animated. "And for Tom Riddle, who would have been told the same thing as a muggle
kid finding out he was a wizard, he probably thought so, too."

"He wouldn't have his own vault, though," Hermione said skeptically. "Would he?"

"No, and I bet he wanted one," Harry scoffed. "No. But he could be using someone else's."

"Mine." Malfoy sat up rigidly. "Fuck. What if he's using mine?"

"You think?" Hermione asked, wincing as Malfoy's grip suddenly tightened on her hand.

"Well, he's using my house, isn't he?" Malfoy exclaimed loudly, coming to his feet. "He's using
my house, using my parents - and I don't doubt for a second that my father would let him use our
vault - that's nothing, compared to every other fucking thing the Dark Lord has commandeered
from us - "

"That's a rather significant leap, Malfoy," Hermione chided him, putting her hands firmly on his
hips and attempting to steady him. His grey eyes were wild with fury.

"He would use my family," Malfoy seethed. "We are everything he wanted to be - everything he
pretended to be - "

"It could be someone else," Harry reminded him. "Hermione's right - I mean, it makes sense for it
to be your family, but it's still a leap - "
to be your family, but it's still a leap - "

"Who else does he trust?" Ron asked. "Anyone else? The Carrows? Yaxley? Snape?"

Malfoy shook his head. "The only other person would be my aunt Bellatrix," he muttered, still
enraged. "The others - maybe, but my guess is that it's in an older vault." He threw himself down
onto the bed, resting his head on his hands. "A Sacred Twenty-Eight vault."

Hermione bit her lip. "I hate to agree with that," she said faintly, turning to Harry. "But it does
seem his style."

"Let's fucking go to Gringotts," Malfoy erupted violently, picking his head up. "Fuck that
psychopath - "

Hermione put her hands on either side of his face, forcing her to look at him. "Draco!"

His grey eyes were unfocused. "What?"

"Draco." She waited until his breathing normalized, lightly stroking her thumb across the smooth
line of his jaw. "What happened to staying alive?"

He scowled. "I didn't say anything about - "

"She's right," Ron interjected offhandedly, and Harry nodded.

"We can't just show up at Gringotts," Harry said flatly. "I assume you know that."

Malfoy looked for a moment like he might argue, but ultimately sighed, deflated. "Yes, I know,"
he conceded, his expression drooping. "But if he already knows I'm alive - and if it's in my vault -
"

"If it's there, then yeah, maybe it's worth it," Harry agreed, though Hermione shot him a sharp
look of impatience. "If it's there."

She vehemently disagreed - not that it seemed worth saying at this particular moment.

"How would we even figure that out?" Ron asked. "It's not like we could - I don't know - ask
someone - "

"Could we get in touch with Theo?" Hermione asked nervously. "Would he know?"

"Doubtful," Malfoy mumbled, still slouched on the bed. "And if he decided to look into it, and
then got caught - "

Hermione shivered. "Right," she said quickly. "Scratch that."

"What if we asked someone at Gringotts?" Harry suggested, his gaze sliding curiously to Ron.

"My brother," Ron realized excitedly. "Bill works for Gringotts - "

Hermione did not like this idea in the slightest. The more people who knew their whereabouts, the
easier they would be to find, and at the moment, she was finding it difficult to prioritize anything
else above keeping Malfoy alive.

Without him . . .

She bristled. She couldn't stomach the thought.

 "I highly doubt he has an itemized list of the vaults!" she interrupted, hoping to derail the idea
before Ron got too swept up in it.

"Still," Ron said, unable to fight a smile at the prospect. "He could help us figure out who to talk
to - put us in touch with a goblin, maybe - "

"Go to the Order?" Malfoy asked, looking questioningly at Harry. "Are you sure about that, after
the prophecy?"

The sudden look of doubt that darkened Harry's face was very worrisome to Hermione, despite
Malfoy's cryptic statement accomplishing precisely what she'd intended. As much as she wanted
to prevent the idea of turning to Bill Weasley from taking root, she found herself doubly
concerned by the unknown meaning that Harry seemed to have derived from Malfoy's very
ambiguous statement. Once again, she had the distinct feeling that the two of them shared some
unspoken vantage point of knowledge that she, for reasons that confounded her, wasn't fully privy
to.

"Let's think about this first," she urged, taking a seat next to Malfoy and placing her hand on his
knee. "Agree to sleep on it?"

Ron looked disappointed, but offered her a half-hearted nod.

Malfoy shuddered. "Only metaphorically," he grumbled, burying his face in her shoulder. "I'm not
sure I ever want to sleep again."

She felt a sudden, inexplicable sinking in her stomach as she kissed the top of his head, feeling the
soft strands of his hair against her lips as she wrapped her arms around the broad angles of his
shoulders. It was the first of many times that such a feeling would occur over the next few days,
though ultimately she would stop counting. She ignored it.

They should have just run.

Chapter End Notes

a/n: this chapter is for Sara. Hope you had a happy birthday! Very sorry for the delay,
but I needed a longer recovery from my trip than I thought. There will be no such
lengthy gaps ahead.

As a palette cleanser, I will begin providing brief drabbles for any darker chapters. If
you choose to review this chapter, please let me know whether you would like the
first one to be 1) clean or lemony (aka fluff or smut), and 2) Dramione or NottGrass
(which is what I've decided I'm calling Theo/Daphne).

FYI: Marked will end on Chapter 37, and you will get at least 3 chapters a week until
then.
 The Leverage
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter 27: The Leverage

"No," Draco said stiffly, shoving the tent flap aside as he swiftly moved to exit. "We have to tell
her."

Harry was chasing after him. "Draco," he panted, reaching out to grip his arm. "Draco, you can't,
okay?"

"Why not?" Draco demanded, pivoting quickly. "It's just a prophecy, Potter, it doesn't mean
anything - "

"If that's the case, then why give her a reason to doubt it?" Harry asked pointedly, looking around
and lowering his voice.

Granger was sleeping, but clearly, Draco was inclined to yell. He was unraveling, and had been
since the extremely unwelcome visit from the Dark Lord. His mind was invaded. Nothing was
safe.

"What do you want from me," he'd said, teeth gritted.

"Nothing, yet," the Dark Lord replied silkily. "Though you really should have just stayed dead."

"It doesn't necessarily mean her," Draco said, jaw clenched. "Just because it might be doesn't
mean it is."

"If you tell her, the prophecy might become self-fulfilling," Harry pointed out. "Dumbledore told
me that You-Know-Who made me the Chosen One by killing my parents. But it was never
necessarily me."

"She's smarter than that," Draco snarled, not sure what was making him so aggressive. He felt -
prickly, somehow. "She won't just - mindlessly believe it - "

"If you really think that's true, why didn't you just tell her right away?" Harry asked sharply,
crossing his arms over his chest. "If you really believe that, why doesn't she already know?"

"I'm fucking scared, that's why!" Draco shouted, and Harry shot him a warning glance. "That
prophecy is about my death, Harry!" He started pacing, his hands shaking. "I don't want to
imagine something happening to her if I'm not even there!"

"Either you think it's about her or you don't," Harry said coolly, watching him through
dispassionate eyes. "Which is it?"

Draco dragged his hand through his hair, tousling it in his frustration. "I don't want to believe that
the girl I love could become a 'conduit of chaos and suffering' but damn it, Harry, everything else -
the outsider piece, the 'born of a different world' bit, the connection to you - " He sighed angrily.
"I don't know."

"So you want to do what, exactly?" Harry asked, setting his jaw in frustration. "Tell her you think
there's a chance she's, I don't know - evil?"
"No," Draco spat. "No, that's - that's not what I think, not at all - "

"Are you hoping she'll tell you it's not her?" Harry demanded, stepping forward and gripping
Draco's shoulders. "Is that what you want? Her reassurance?"

"No!" Draco turned his face away, knowing he was fighting a losing battle.

"Then what - "

"I just - I - I love her," Draco stammered, sinking to the ground. "I told her a long time ago that I
would never lie to her - I promised I wouldn't keep anything from her - "

"This is purely speculation, not a secret," Harry reminded him. "You told her as much about the
prophecy as she needed to know."

"But - "

"If this were reversed, would you expect her to tell you?" Harry prodded.

A fair point. Historically, Granger had always been choosy with the information she shared.

She'd said it herself once - Can you maybe trust that there are some things that I need to figure
out before I tell you, then?

"She would never have believed this of me," Draco countered himself, his voice breaking as he
shook away the thought. "She's never doubted me - not once, not ever - "

"You're not doubting her," Harry insisted. "You're just . . . being cautious."

"You think it's her, don't you?" Draco asked sharply. "That's why you want to keep it a secret."

Harry looked around before answering, a bitter grimace slapped across his face.

"I do," he confessed. "I think the prophecy means her."

They were silent for a moment, letting the gravity of the statement sink heavily over their heads.

Draco nodded numbly. "So do I," he admitted, feeling a crushing blow in the pit of his stomach; it
was the unmistakable pain of his repugnant disloyalty. "But I don't - I don't want to believe it of
her - "

"But Dumbledore," Harry supplied casually. "Right?"

Draco remembered her voice, the darkened tone with which she'd revealed her private fears to
him.

I thought it would be harder than it was.

Shouldn't I have felt something?

Shouldn't it have hurt me?

"I didn't think she was capable of that," Draco said, his voice hushed. He looked up at Harry,
expression pained. "I knew she was strong, I knew she was protective - I even knew she was
ruthless - "

"But you didn't know it went that far," Harry finished for him, clearly echoing his own opinion on
the matter. "You didn't know it ran that deep."

"What does that say about me?" Draco demanded. "What does it say about me, that I would hold
something she did for me - to protect me - against her?"

They both fidgeted for a moment.

"You want to tell her your suspicions because you don't want to feel guilty about why you're
keeping it from her," Harry pronounced definitively. "Selfish, don't you think?"

"I'm a selfish man, Potter," Draco muttered, cradling his head in his hands.

"You're not," Harry corrected sternly. "But if you tell her you think it's her, you'll only plant doubt
in her mind. You'll only make it inevitable."

"It might not be her," Draco attempted, his head bent. "It might not."

Harry scoffed. "Now say it like you mean it."

Draco looked up, glaring at him. "I do mean it."

"Well I suggest you spend a little longer convincing yourself before you decide she needs to
know," Harry warned.

Over the tops of the trees, the sun was coming up. Another night gone without fanfare.

Should he start counting them?

"Don't let me die, Potter," Draco managed, his voice rough with fear. "Don't let it come to that."

Harry put a hand on his shoulder, and for a moment, Draco was comforted.

But only for a moment.

"What if there was something we could do?" Harry suggested, a strange glittering returning to his
expression.

Draco felt a renewed chill float up his spine, the hairs on his neck standing on end as he looked at
his former nemesis. "What do you mean?"

"The Hallows." Harry's eerily darkened eyes slid vacantly to Draco's. "If I had them - "

"They're not real," Draco cut in swiftly, alarmed once more by the flicker in Harry's gaze. "You
know that. You know they're not real."

"But the wand - "

"All speculation," Draco interjected. "And didn't you just lecture me on speculation?"

The unearthly light in Harry's eyes abruptly went out. "Right," he breathed, color slowly returning
to his face. "Right. You're right."

Draco nodded encouragingly, trying to stifle the panic that was pulsing through his veins.

For fuck's sake. Was nothing safe?

He needed to get Granger. He needed to get Granger and run.

She wouldn't, of course, a small voice in his head reminded him. She has a war to fight.

Fuck.

Fucking - fuck.

The sooner this was over, the sooner he could focus on keeping her safe.

"Wake Weasley," Draco muttered gruffly. "We need to get that horcrux. Now."

"I was really hoping this would not be your decision," Hermione said grumpily, tossing her messy
braid over her shoulder. She looked sharply at Malfoy. "You're sure you've thought this through?"

He was clearly very agitated. "Yes," he said, his expression glacial and cold.

She knew that look.

"What are our options?" Ron asked excitedly, sprinkling enthusiasm all over Hermione's terrible
mood. He was clearly overjoyed that they were finally willing to reach out to his family.

Hermione scowled; of course he would be. Ron was always the one with the least at stake; for just
a moment, she hated him a little bit for it.

"We could go to the Burrow," Harry muttered, though his avoidance of eye contact with
Hermione spoke volumes about how realistic he actually found that suggestion.

"No," Hermione said, her hand slicing through the air. "Absolutely not."

Ron looked hurt. "But - Mione - "

"No!" she snapped, coming to stand beside Malfoy. The room was now divided, with the two of
them on one side, and Harry and Ron on the other. "Too dangerous."

"Meet somewhere else?" Harry suggested, rubbing his neck wearily.

"And how would we get him the message?" Hermione prompted, lifting her chin defiantly.

Ron opened his mouth, and she cut him off. "Don't," she scolded. "You're too eager. You'll only
be full of terrible ideas."

He was taken aback. "Mione!"

Malfoy put his arm around her but said nothing. She calmed slightly at his touch.

"What about a Patronus?" Harry offered. "That's what the Order uses."

"To deliver a message?" Malfoy asked tightly. "They can do that?"

"Yes," Hermione said tentatively. "And you can't trace or follow them." She sighed at her own
logic. "Fine. Maybe a Patronus. But I'll have to read more about the spell." She glared at Harry.
"Unless you already know how to do it?"

He held his hands up in mock surrender. "By all means, Hermione," he mumbled. "Hit the
books."

She looked at Malfoy. "Draco," she said in a low voice. "Are you sure this is what you want to
do?"

He said nothing.

This was not acceptable.

"Come on," she said, grabbing his wrist and pulling him outside. "Put yourself to good use, Harry,
and grab the book on Patronus Charms," she called over her shoulder.

"Which one - "

She groaned, tossing the tent flap aside and stepping through it. "Figure it out!"

"Feisty," Malfoy murmured, though without the signature smirk she'd come to expect.

"What's going on?" she demanded, putting her hands on her hips. "This isn't like you. This is
reckless - it's dangerous, and you know it - "

He looked away. "Granger - "

"Don't 'Granger' me!" she exclaimed impatiently, backhanding his shoulder. "What is this? What
is wrong with you?"

He looked warily over his shoulder, gesturing a little further from the tent. "Come on."

She followed. "What is it? Is it Harry?"

He hesitated. "I - "

"Draco." She leaned forward onto her toes, holding his face between her hands and kissing him
softly. "Draco. You loathsome cockroach." She felt him smile under her hands. "Tell me what's
going on."

He pressed his forehead to hers, closing his eyes. "Okay."

"Is it the prophecy?" she prompted, smoothing his hair back affectionately.

"It's . . . a few things," he said, though he straightened abruptly. "We need to destroy these
horcruxes, Granger," he announced firmly. "We need to do this as quickly as possible."

"Why?" she asked, brows furrowed. "What happened?"

"Harry brought up the Hallows again," Malfoy admitted wearily. "The closer we get to destroying
the Dark Lord, the more I'm - " he hesitated. "The more I question what he'd be willing to do.
What he's capable of."

"Why?" Hermione asked, perplexed. "I mean - it's Harry - "

Malfoy looked up at the tent and back at her; it was an unusual level of paranoia for him. "When
we destroyed the diadem," he began slowly, "the piece of the Dark Lord's soul that came out -
Tom Riddle, he said that he could read our demons - see our darkness - "

Hermione bristled. "It's a horcrux," she said quickly, relieved now that she hadn't shared her own
harrowing experience with him. "Dark magic. It's only a trick."

"Right," Malfoy agreed tentatively. "Harry defended me - but Tom Riddle said that wasn't what
he meant." He took a deep breath. "He didn't mean me."
"He said that Harry had darkness in him?" she asked skeptically, frowning. "Not you?"

He gave her a look. "Thanks," he said wryly.

"No, no," she hastily assured him. "I just meant - I mean," she stammered, "I assumed horcruxes
saw darkness in - I don't know - in everyone - "

"Why?" he asked, squinting curiously at her. "Did it say something similar to you?"

She offered him what she hoped was an ambiguous shrug. "Oh, you know," she said faintly.
"Something like that. But anyway," she insisted, pressing forward. "Back to Harry - "

"He brought up the Hallows again and I just have a bad feeling," Draco said flatly. "We have to
destroy the others, Granger. We can't afford to wait." He bristled. "The sooner we destroy the
horcruxes, the sooner I can get you away from all this."

"This is about me?" she asked, startled.

"Hermione," he sighed impatiently. "Everything for me is about you," he told her, his grey eyes
stormy with sincerity. "I just want a life with you. No hiding, no prophecies, no pieces of souls - "
he broke off. "I want to do all the normal things with you. I want to worry about things like
whether or not I've made your tea properly. I want to forget our anniversary and be forced to come
home with expensive jewelry. I want to be bored to tears after half an hour of you going off about
- I don't know - books. I want to argue with you over house elves - "

"I'll win that argument," she interrupted, choking a little on the tears she was fighting.

"I just want to settle into obscurity with you," he concluded, taking her hands. "I can't wait
another fucking day, Granger. Fuck my safety," he added, "fuck everything else but you."

"You can't just throw caution to the wind, Draco," she warned, ignoring the heavy thudding of
her heart. "I want those things too, you know - but I won't have them without you." She yanked
him close to her, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in his chest. "I need
you."

She felt him melt against her. "Let's just try the Patronus thing and see if it sticks," he murmured in
her ear. "I won't go charging into Gringotts, okay? But we have to do something." He kissed her
cheek. "And we have to do it soon."

She remained a little concerned by his haste, but dismissed it easily.

"Okay," she agreed, taking his hand. "Let's go."

It wasn't actually that difficult to figure out the talking Patronus Charm. Not to undersell herself, of
course, as she wasn't called the brightest witch of her age for nothing - but the added complexity
to the charm was minimal.

"So what do we want to tell him?" Hermione asked, hands on her hips. "Have you two thought
about this?"

"No," Ron drawled sarcastically. "We thought it would be best, you know, if we just kept the
thinking to a minimum - "

"We decided that arranging a meeting is too dangerous," Harry said loudly, glaring at Ron. "It
could always be a trap. But since no Death Eaters could produce a Patronus, and certainly not
Bill's, we can ask for a return message."

"Is that true?" Malfoy asked, frowning. "You mean - I couldn't?"

"I'm going to hazard a guess that you're an exception, mate," Ron said lazily, as though he didn't
particularly care one way or another.

Hermione smiled. He clearly did.

"I'll teach you another time," she assured Malfoy. "So," she said, turning back to Harry, "the
message, then?"

"We can't give away too much, obviously," Harry said, his forehead creased in thought. "Perhaps
just to ask if there have been any notable activities in the Malfoy vaults in the last few months?"

"Year," Malfoy corrected. "We rarely access our vault."

Hermione frowned. "A bit of an odd question out of context, don't you think?"

"Does it matter?" Harry asked, shrugging. "Any more than that isn't exactly safe in a message."

"True," she conceded, nodding. She looked at Malfoy. "Last chance," she said warily.

"Do it," he said, an aristocratic flex of authority in his tone. "It's our best option."

In the tingling silence of the moment she wondered if that were actually true, at least where
Malfoy was concerned. Did Harry really need her? Couldn't they just -

She squeezed her eyes shut. No.

Hermione allowed her mind to drift, sifting through her happiest memories in preparation for the
charm.

There was the day she discovered she could do magic. The day she got her Hogwarts letter, and
found out she was a witch. The day she first picked up her wand, and knew for sure it wasn't a
dream.

The day she covered for Ron and Harry, and learned what it felt like to be someone's friend.

The day she went to the Yule Ball, and felt beautiful for the first time.

The day that Draco Malfoy told her the stories from his past, and she could suddenly see in him a
glimmer of hope and happiness that she was drawn to like a moth to a flame. The day she fell into
his arms, when she knew with all her heart that she was his. The same day, his haunting fears
finally revealed, peeled away and bared for her alone, when she knew that he was hers.

The day he told her he loved her, lives on the line and bodies on the floor, and still he had nothing
but her in his eyes. The day he forgot, even for one second, the difference in their birth; when
what used to mean everything finally - and rightfully - meant nothing.

The day, someday - not yet, but someday - when they'd finally have it out about house elves, and
she'd tell him he was wrong, and he'd listen, mostly because she was right. But also because he
loved her.

Because he loved her.

"Expecto Patronum," she said, and the translucent, full-bodied otter slipped out from the tip of her
wand, turning to face her. "Bill," she said slowly, trying to enunciate. Her Patronus tilted its head
adorably, listening intently. "We need your help." She looked up at Harry, who nodded
encouragingly. "We need you to find out if anyone has accessed the Malfoy vault in the last year."

She looked up. "Anything else?" she mouthed, and they shook their heads.

"Reply with a Patronus," she instructed. "And Bill - " She looked up, meeting Ron's eye. "Be
careful."

Ron nodded his gratitude, and she flicked her wand, sending the otter off with the message.

"Now we wait?" she suggested primly, and Malfoy came to stand behind her, wrapping his arms
around her.

"Now we wait," he agreed, and they all took a collective, shaky breath.

All was not well in the Manor.

More than just 'not well,' really. It was actually pretty fucking terrible, considering Theo's father
was there. Not exactly Theo's choice of company. His presence could only mean that somewhere
within the far-reaching, spiny tendrils of the Dark Lord's control, something had gone horribly
awry.

Voldemort had removed them from the room, but failed to take precautions. Knowing Malfoy
Manor like he did, Theo was both secured from sight and well within hearing distance.

"What do you mean there have been questions?" the Dark Lord seethed, and Theo could tell his
knuckles were white where he gripped the arms of his chair.

"You asked that the goblin you Imperiused be sent to warn you if anyone tried to access the
Malfoy vault," Theodore Sr. began tightly.

"Was it the Malfoy boy?" the Dark Lord interrupted, rising to his feet with a clatter. "Was it
Draco?"

Theo, listening from the other room, was greatly concerned that Draco would have indeed done
something so exceedingly stupid. He'd certainly done stupid things before, and the company he
now kept was not exactly careful. Though what good was Granger, exactly, if not to temper the
stupidity of Potter and Weasley?

"Nobody has physically entered the vault," Yaxley said carefully. "But there were questions about
the vault's activity from a known Order member."

"Which one?" Voldemort snapped impatiently.

"The eldest Weasley," Theo's father supplied. "He was previously a curse breaker."

"What would a curse breaker want with the Malfoy vault?" Voldemort demanded - not
unreasonably, Theo thought with a mirthless smirk.

Please let Draco not have been behind this.

"He's no longer a curse breaker, my Lord," Theodore Sr. corrected loftily. "He took a desk job
when he aligned himself with the Order of the Phoenix."
"Get rid of him," the Dark Lord said impatiently, flicking his wrist as though shooing an irritating
fly. "Why has nobody thought to do so by now?"

"He has almost no security clearance," Theodore Sr. said pointedly. "He is not a threat in the
slightest. You merely asked that we - "

"Any member of the Order of the Phoenix is a threat to be eliminated," Voldemort interjected
testily, rolling out his neck as though physically irked by the news.

The Dark Lord seemed exceedingly agitated, though Theo could not possibly imagine why. As
much as he hated to admit it, his father was right; Bill's job at Gringotts was of little significance,
even with regard to the covert operations of the Order. Bill was not a threat by any stretch of the
imagination; at least, not in this capacity.

Theo looked at his watch. Late evening. He'd be able to catch Bill before he returned for work in
the morning. Unfortunately for Bill, the man would likely have to disappear entirely. The timing
was a bit too coincidental for him to have simply come down with dragon pox.

Easy enough to arrange; the Order had hiding places all over. If Theo left now -

"Get Snape," Voldemort barked suddenly, and the urgency in his order caught Theo's attention.
"Get Severus, Lucius, and Bellatrix - " he paused, considering something. "Get Nott, too, and
bring them here - now- "

Theo's father stepped forward. "Sir, I - "

"Not you," Voldemort hissed. He jutted his inhuman chin at Yaxley. "Younger Nott. Get him."

Fuck.

Theo disapparated quickly, placing himself in the front room.

"What's going on?" Narcissa asked, rising from her chair in the corner.

"Don't know," Theo admitted, looking around for Yaxley, who would inevitably appear within
moments. "Someone at Gringotts asked about your vault."

"Our vault?" Narcissa asked, frowning. "We rarely enter it."

"Is it unusual for someone to want to?" Theo asked. He was curious now, despite his better
judgment. "What do you keep in there?"

"Gold," Narcissa said plainly.

"Anything else?"

She pursed her lips, giving him an unpleasant glare. "No," she said uneasily. "Heirlooms and
other items we keep . . . nearby."

The thought made Theo a bit squeamish - what exactly was in this house? - but he overlooked it.

"Who would access your vault?" he asked. "And why would it matter?"

"Normally? Lucius," Narcissa said. She frowned slightly. "Actually . . . "

Her voice trailed off and Theo stepped forward, watching her face change. "Actually what?"
"Lucius put something in our vault a few months ago," Narcissa said. "At the Dark Lord's request,
if I'm not mistaken."

"Nott!"

Theo turned, giving Narcissa a silencing glare before his gaze left hers. Not that he needed to, of
course; he was pretty sure the woman was born with an instinct for secrecy.

He heard the words 'conduit of pain and suffering' rocketing around in his mind in his mind and
fought a violent shudder.

Yaxley was walking quickly towards him. "Nott," he repeated, louder.

"What?" Theo asked, feigning ignorance.

"He wants you," Yaxley returned breathlessly. "You're to come immediately."

"My father is here," Theo commented, testing the waters.

Yaxley shrugged. "He asked for you."

Theo glanced at Narcissa. "Duty calls," he said apologetically.

"Be careful," she mouthed.

"Not my first day," he returned, offering her a pert, shallow bow and turning on his heel.

The Dark Lord was in the dining room, pacing furiously.

"Lucius," he snapped, and the pale, blond man looked up. "You will go with Bella. The item in
your vault - I need it moved."

Lucius's expression never wavered. "Yes, my Lord."

"Go," Voldemort said. "Now," he snapped, and Lucius and Bellatrix hurried out of the room.

Theo's presence went unnoticed while the Dark Lord continued calling out orders for his Death
Eaters.

"Severus - " Voldemort looked up. "Where is Severus?"

"Hogwarts, my Lord," Yaxley said, looking confused. "Preparing for the new school year."

"Yes, yes," Voldemort murmured to himself, increasing the speed of his pacing. "Yes, of course .
.."

If Theo gave two shits about the psychopath before him, he might have wondered what was
wrong. The normally calculated general seemed to be unraveling rapidly before them.

"My Lord?" he attempted, calling attention to himself in the most respectful fashion he could
muster. "You asked for me?"

"Yes," Voldemort said, bristling. "I need you to bring me something."

Theo's father, who Theo had not realized was still in the room, cleared his throat. "My Lord," he
rumbled, dignified in his dishonor. "Perhaps I can assist you instead?"
Voldemort turned to glare at him. "You've been out of the game too long, Nott," he spat
venomously. "Your son is the only one left who hasn't managed to disappoint."

A compliment? Fuck.

Theodore Sr. took a step backward, nodding slowly as he seemed to blend into a tapestry. Theo
found it difficult to care.

"You need me to bring you something?" Theo prompted, waiting expectantly for what would
surely be the newest set of regrettable instructions.

"Yes - but first - " Voldemort spun, addressing Yaxley. "What is the name of the eldest Weasley?"

"William," the Death Eater supplied.

"Him," Voldemort said, turning back to Theo and nodding. "Get rid of him."

Get rid of him. Thank fucking Merlin for ambiguous wording.

"Done," Theo replied steadily. "And?"

"I need you to go to Little Hangleton," Voldemort said, his face contorted with displeasure at the
thought. "To the former home of Marvolo Gaunt."

Just the latest fucking scavenger hunt, it seemed.

"And the item?" Theo prodded.

The Dark Lord seemed to be battling with himself in the decision.

"You'll know it when you find it," he snapped, looking at Theo with irritation as though it had
been his youngest follower who'd wasted his time. "Get rid of the Weasley, and - "

A slow, unappetizing smile spread across his face. "Bring me the lady of the house," the Dark
Lord crooned sonorously.

Alarm bells sounded in Theo's head at this, but there was nothing he could do.

"My Lord," he managed, inclining his head and heading swiftly for the door.

"Take a little free wisdom from Lord Voldemort, young Theodore," the Dark Lord advised
coldly, and Theo turned back to face him, looking back at where Voldemort was eyeing him
carefully. "When given the option, it is always best to eliminate an early threat, particularly
whenever one has the benefit of . . . leverage."

"Leverage?" Theo echoed, his stomach sinking.

"Yes," Voldemort said, leaning back in his chair. "And today, leverage goes by the name Narcissa
Malfoy."

"What is it?"

"I don't know - he's been screaming - "

"How long?"
 "Minutes, I think, a few minutes - "

"Harry - "

"Yeah, him too - "

"NO - "

"Harry!"

"Draco - please - "

"Is he breathing? I can't see - "

"Ron - Ron - give me my wand - "

"He's screaming, he hasn't stopped screaming - "

"Draco - Draco, can you hear me?"

"Look at Harry!"

"No - no, no - "

"What is it? What's happening?"

"My mother! HE HAS MY MOTHER!"

And in the silence that followed, time and sanity ceased to exist.

Chapter End Notes

a/n: This one is long overdue for jhuffy. Thank you so much for your reviews! And
thanks to oblivionbaby for inspiration. (Psst she wrote a one-shot with RooOJoy
called Out of the Flames under the penname PhoenixTwins, go read it, it won lots of
stuff)

In conjunction with chapter 28 (which is coming shortly) I will begin posting

Amortentia, which will be a collection of romantic drabbles beginning with a smutty
NottGrass and a fluffy Dramione as per request. Some, like the first one, will take
place inside the Clean/Marked storyverse, but some will be AU. A little fluff in case
you need it.

Also, Fortuna Major is now complete! I am overloading you with fluff while we get
through some difficult times in Marked.

If you follow me on tumblr, you know that I am obsessed with It is the Cause, My
Soul by DrSallySparrow. It is complete and highly recommended. Go.

[all recommendations posted to fanfiction.net]

 The Fall
Chapter Notes

a/n: Trust me. Trust that I am going somewhere with this. This is still 100% a
Dramione story and it will not end in tragedy. But this chapter . . . this chapter is
going to hurt.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 28: The Fall

"You have no idea what you've set in motion," Draco growled mutinously as he sank slowly to
his knees, arms rigid at his side.

"Ah, but I do," the Dark Lord replied smoothly. "Every possible person that the prophecy refers to
is in this room. And at my mercy," he added, pointedly nudging his wand into Harry's forehead.
"None of you will be walking out of here."

"You're making a mistake," Draco said flatly. "Not to mention that you're being baited by a fraud
-"

"Do not bore me with your amateur stalling tactics," Voldemort threatened, twisting his wand
further into Harry's temple. "You only waste my time and yours."

"You could at least have the decency to kill me yourself," Draco snarled back, trying not to look
at the wand that was pointed to his chest - or the arm it was attached to.

The Dark Lord shrugged his heavily robed shoulders. "Why get my hands dirty?" he asked,
grinning devilishly. "Do it," he hissed, addressing Draco's assailant.

"My Lord," Lucius whimpered, cringing. The wand he held to his son's chest was shaking
perilously in his hand.

"Father," Draco said quietly, focusing his attention on the thin, pale ghost of a man that stood
uncertainly before him. "Father. Look at me. Don't do this."

"You don't understand," Lucius told him, his voice hushed and frightened. "You don't know what
he'll do to me - "

"I do," Draco corrected his father. "Yes, I do. Are you ready for this, Father?" he asked, looking
directly into the grey eyes that were so like his own.

Is this what he would look like, if he made it through this day? Is this what he would become?

Lucius was muttering indistinctly. "Draco - you know not what you speak - "

"I do, Father, I do," Draco repeated, suddenly calm. "But what will you allow to destroy you,
Father? Him?" He shook his head in numb, detached disbelief. "Or you?"

"Do it!" Voldemort repeated, his voice a grating cry that cut through the eerily quiet room.
Draco let his eyes stray to Granger; she was crying, the tears dripping silently from her eyes. It
was always his fault, wasn't it? The tears. He was always making her cry.

"I'm sorry," he told her, and it was only when he licked the salt from his lips that he realized he
was crying too. "I love you. Only you, Hermione. Always you."

"Lucius!" Voldemort shouted. "Lucius - do it!"

Draco let his eyes slide back to his father's, preparing himself for whatever came next. If he was
going to die, he wasn't going to beg. There was only one more thing to offer.

"I forgive you," Draco said, and he watched something break inside the once proud Lucius
Malfoy before he slowly turned away, looking back at Granger.

He took in the familiar flecks of gold in her eyes, the flush of her cheeks and the bow of her lips,
and he closed his eyes, the image of her face burned permanently into the backs of his eyelids. If
they never opened again, he wanted her to be the last thing he saw.

A few hours earlier

"I have to go," Draco begged her, his voice shaking. "I have to."

"I know you do," she told him, biting her lip as she struggled to breathe.

She was the only reason he hadn't disapparated on the spot. She was his better judgment. He no
longer trusted his own; but even then . . .

"I have to go to her," Draco repeated, pained. "I know, you think it's stupid - I know it's
dangerous - "

She didn't seem able to speak.

"We have to think this through," Harry said carefully, beginning to pace through the tent.

"You shouldn't come," Draco said quickly. "It should just be me, really - "

"No." Granger cut him off without reservation, slowly shaking her head. "No. I won't let you go
alone."

He hesitated. "But - "

"I'm coming with you," she said firmly, and he caught a flicker of relentless determination in her
eye, even as her slender fingers shook. "I'm coming."

"Me too," Weasley said, and Draco turned, shocked.

"No!" he half-shouted. "No, you - you and Harry, you have no part in this - "

"It's kind of what we do," Harry said quietly, giving Draco a silencing look.

"No," Draco repeated, aghast. "Potter, you know you can't go anywhere near him - you know you
can't put yourself at risk - "

"Don't 'Potter' me," Harry retorted, pursing his lips. "If you're going, we're going. You're not
walking in there alone."
"Granger!" Draco spun, facing her. "Granger, tell him he can't come - "

"He doesn't listen to me," she said faintly, and Draco huffed in frustration.

"You can't do this - "

"You're not going in there alone," Weasley said matter-of-factly, standing and stretching. "So we
might as well just skip this bloody nonsense and work out what we're going to do before we all
get ourselves killed."

Their stubbornness was dizzying, but Draco didn't have time to waste.

"Fine," he said hazily. "You three - you three can stay under the cloak. It'll look like I'm alone."

Granger's eyes flashed warningly. "You can't do that."

"I can," Draco said seriously, "and I will. He won't kill me. He can't. The prophecy."

"That's true," Harry said, brows furrowed. "The prophecy says if you fall, the Dark Lord will
fail."

"Though he doesn't seem to actually be very good about listening to prophecies," Weasley
grunted.

"He definitely expects me to come and I think he means for you to come, too," Draco said warily
to Harry. "Maybe if he thinks I'm on my own - "

"Maybe," Harry agreed, nodding thoughtfully. "And we can cover you from under the cloak."

Draco shot a look at Granger, who looked devastated. He was sure she was battling with her more
reasonable judgment, and somehow in the process, everything about her seemed to have gone
limp. Even her hair, normally an ill-behaved cloud that accosted him after sleep, only floated
hazily around her face, one soft brown curl resting near her cheek and bringing out the golden
tinge in her eyes.

He tucked it smoothly behind her ear, holding her cheek in his hand. Fuck, she was beautiful.

"Hermione," he said softly. "I have to go."

She bit her lip. "I made a promise to your mother," she whispered. "I promised her I'd keep you
safe - "

"You'll have to do it some other way," Draco told her apologetically. "I'm not leaving her in his
hands. I won't do it."

She nodded solemnly. "You wouldn't be the man I love if you were any other way," she told him,
and he felt an absurd flutter in his chest at that.

"Okay," he said decisively, standing. "I'm going to apparate us in under the cloak. I'm not going to
address any of you," he reminded them, giving them each a firm, thorough glare, "and it will be
like I'm alone. Okay?"

They nodded.

"Anything you do from under the cloak could give you away so don't do anything unless
completely necessary," Draco instructed.
More nods.

"Okay," Draco said again, willing himself not to falter. "Let's go."

Theo landed softly in the woods, bracing himself as he stumbled into a nearby tree. The woods
were thick with branches and he looked around, wondering if he'd come to the right place; the
Dark Lord's description had been vague, but there was only one shack owned by Marvolo Gaunt,
whoever the fuck he was.

'Shack' was certainly an appropriate term; Theo's eyes took a moment to adjust in the darkness,
but after a few blinks, he could see that there was indeed a haphazard dwelling placed half-hidden
among a series of tangled tree trunks.

The Dark Lord really knew how to pick his destinations, clearly.

Theo fought his discomfort and plowed forward, heading quickly for the door. Whatever the Dark
Lord wanted, Theo had better get to it, and fast; his stop at Bill's cottage had been lengthier than
he'd hoped. Molly Weasley spent entirely too much time wringing her hands and wailing once
she'd arrived, all of which had been more than a little distracting while Theo had been trying to
stage a murder - a fucking shame more women weren't like Narcissa Malfoy, Theo added in his
head - and he needed to get back to the Manor. He felt around for wards, but there were none.

Curious.

Not only were there no wards, but it felt as though the home - 'home' being a very loose term for
the dwelling, Theo thought grimly - had been broken into, and not all that recently. The door was
wide open.

For Theo, who had learned to trust nothing - least of all his own safety - there was nothing more
worrisome than an open door. He'd have preferred a fight.

"Hello?" he called, stepping through the vacant doorframe. He leaned back, peering at the exterior
of the house, but there was no seeing inside through the nettles and the grime that coated the
windows.

Fine. Fucking into the shack, then.

The interior was mostly stone and ruins - nobody lived here. Doubtful that anybody had lived here
anytime even close to recently. The fucking floorboards were ripped apart.

Theo stopped abruptly. The fucking floor -

He rushed over, catching a glint of gold in the midst of the shattered floorboards, the damp, rotting
wood splintered around a golden box that lay empty and disinterred.

Empty.

You'll know it when you find it.

"Fuck," Theo said aloud, kicking himself at his stupidity.

It was a trap, wasn't it? Just a trap to get him out of the house. Away from Narcissa, and - fuck -
probably away from Draco -

He had to get back. Fucking -

"Please tell me you stayed with Granger," he growled at a non-existent Draco, disapparating on
the spot.

The house was empty.

"Can you tell where she is?" Granger breathed in his ear, and Draco closed his eyes, using the
blood wards to locate his mother.

"Yes," he returned, his heart pounding. "She's in the ballroom."

He could feel Weasley grow tense beside him. "I didn't realize this would be a formal affair," he
muttered, and Draco swallowed, unable to see the humor in the situation.

"I'm going to step out from under the cloak," Draco murmured, and Granger gripped his arm.

"Wait," she whispered urgently. "But - "

"We're not exactly well-hidden like this," he reminded her, gesturing to where their feet were
visible. "And I'm sure they're expecting me."

"Wait!" she cried again, lifting her wand. "Homenum Revelio."

Nothing.

He kissed her quickly, a careless brush against her parted lips, the lower one swollen from her
relentless nervous chewing. "Don't do any other spells unless absolutely necessary," he cautioned,
and slipped out from under the cloak.

Nothing happened. No lightning, no flashes, no unsettling voices, no Dark Lord appearing out of
thin air.

Yet.

He turned quickly, willing himself not to look behind him. She was there. He'd just have to trust it.
He'd just have to trust her.

The route from his wing to the ballroom was convoluted; the Malfoys were private creatures by
nature, and the numerous personal rooms in the manor were located away from the more social
parts of the house, pointedly separate from the front room, used for entry and entertainment, and
the formal dining room, connected to the concealed ballroom. During parties, his mother would
whisk away that center wall at the end of the meal to great and enthusiastic fanfare, revealing her
latest elaborate creation as her guests were led open-mouthed into the room, charmed as Hogwarts
had been to mimic the stunning night sky. It wouldn't look that way now, of course. This was
hardly a party.

Certainly a cruel one, if it were.

He came to the grandiose double doors and took a deep breath, his shoulders shaking as he
pushed them open.

His mother was inside, alone, a tiny, bent figure in the too-large room, her pale blonde hair loose
for perhaps the first time that he had ever noticed.

"Mother," he breathed, running to her.

She looked up at him and her blue eyes went wild, flashing with something like anger. She was
shaking her head adamantly, though she was clearly silenced somehow.

"Dicerio," he said quickly, and she gasped, her mouth falling open.

"No, Draco, no!" she shrieked. "No - "

"Expelliarmus," came the voice behind him and he turned abruptly, coming face to face with his
father as his wand flew out of his hand and clattered to the floor, out of reach.

"Father - "

"Are you alone?" Lucius asked, his eyes frantically darting around the room. The doors had fallen
shut behind him.

"Yes," Draco said flatly, stepping in front of his mother. "I'm alone."

Lucius grimaced. "I don't think you are," he said bitterly, raising his wand to Draco's chest as
though someone else were forcing his hand. "Cruc- "

"Stupefy!"

Draco closed his eyes, his heart sinking as Lucius quickly repelled the spell. They'd given
themselves away.

At once, dozens of faces became visible from around the room; Draco looked on helplessly as a
glint of Granger's curls suddenly became visible from underneath the cloak, yanked from around
her shoulders, the silvery material falling abandoned on the ground; the black, all the darkness, the
heavy robes of their assailants and the grim expressions of the Death Eaters that surrounded them
and blocked their passage to the heavy ballroom doors; the flashes from spells, fruitless and frantic
as the Gryffindor trio made every effort to fight their way out.

"Stupefy!"

"Expelliarmus!"

"Stop," came a cold, high voice, and Harry, Granger, and Weasley instantly fell silent, their wands
forcibly ripped from their hands by hardened, sneering Death Eaters, all unplaceable and blurred
from behind Draco's panicked vision.

"Kneel," the Dark Lord commanded, and Draco watched Harry's face contort with effort, the
bespectacled wizard's body fighting his own control until he finally crashed unceremoniously to
the ground, dragged down with a force that might have shattered his kneecaps. Granger and
Weasley, too, resisted, their faces marked with effort, but Draco knew the spell. He'd been there.
There was no way they could fight.

"The Malfoy Heir," the Dark Lord said musically. "Home at last, are we?"

"Can't say I like what you've done with the place," Draco retorted, making every effort to
maintain his control on reality. Surely there was something they could do. Not a wand between
them, but surely there was something . . . someone . . .

"Pity," the Dark Lord replied, unfazed. Voldemort glided purposefully to Harry, crouching down
to face him and lifting his chin with one spindly, overgrown fingernail. "And Harry Potter, the
Boy Who Lived." His face twisted itself into a grotesque, chilling smile. "How I never tire of the
irony."
Draco looked at his father, taking in the manic haze of the unrecognizable man who had once
been Lucius Malfoy.

"Father," he croaked, but Lucius only winced, his wand still aimed at Draco's chest.

The Dark Lord was still preoccupied with Harry. "Oh, how I have longed for this," he murmured,
rising and jabbing his wand into Harry's head, prodding at him like a calf for slaughter.

"Leave him alone," Draco spat, helpless in his anger. "You don't know what you're doing."

"Quiet, Mr. Malfoy - "

"You won't get what you want, you know," Draco attempted desperately, resorting to a frantic
stab in the dark. "I know what you're looking for, and you won't find it - you won't get it - "

Voldemort looked sharply over his shoulder, a glint of curiosity appearing in his gaze before it
quickly sputtered. "A vain attempt, Draco," he remarked, straightening. "Lord Voldemort always
gets what he wants," he concluded, a haughty show of hubris. "None of you will be necessary."

"You're making a mistake," Draco spat, and the Dark Lord laughed.

"I've made one mistake, yes," he agreed, flicking his wand. "I've left you standing."

I wish I'd known it would be the last time. I wish I'd stopped to cherish every moment. I wish I'd
held him a little longer, kissed him a little slower. I wish I'd never set foot in this house. I wish I'd
run. I wish I'd lived a thousand lives with him, and I wish that had been the story.

Hermione watched as Malfoy sank to his knees, his jaw clenched from effort.

"You have no idea what you've set in motion."

She couldn't move. Every muscle in her body was paralyzed and still, the screams trapped
helplessly in her throat.

"Ah, but I do. Every possible person that the prophecy refers to is in this room. And at my mercy.
None of you will be walking out of here."

"You're making a mistake. Not to mention that you're being baited by a fraud - "

"Do not bore me with your amateur stalling tactics. You only waste my time and yours."

"You could at least have the decency to kill me yourself."

Malfoy's wand was on the ground; she could see it. Too far to reach, even if she could move.

"Why get my hands dirty?" and then, "Do it."

No. No. No.

"My Lord."

It was a whimper. A plea.

A chance?
"Father. Father. Look at me. Don't do this."

Don't do this, please, I beg you, don't do this . . .

"You don't understand. You don't know what he'll do to me - "

"I do. Yes, I do. Are you ready for this, Father?"

Of course he understood. How could he not? How could Lucius believe that his son had
forgotten?

"Draco - you know not what you speak - "

He does, he does . . . trust him . . .

"I do, Father, I do. But what will you allow to destroy you, Father? Him? Or you?"

Listen to him . . . please, please, listen to him . . . there has to be a man in there still . . . there has
to be a father in there, somewhere inside him . . . there has to be . . .

"Do it!"

She could feel her own tears - she could taste them. She could hear the echoes of her sobs from
where they shook inside her head. She was breathless, ravaged by fear, and as his grey eyes
strayed to hers, she thought - absurdly - of the way he must be tired . . . he must be so exhausted .
. . he must be tired of the fight, the war she dragged him into . . . what had been so important that
she had let it come to this?

"I'm sorry."

No, no, I'm sorry, I'm the one that should be sorry!

"I love you. Only you, Hermione. Always you."

Always, always - I love you, I love you, I love you - please - please just let me say it -

Her throat stung with effort but nothing, not a sound.

Hear me, please, hear me, Draco - I love you -

"Lucius! Lucius - do it!"

No, no, no.

"I forgive you."

Those are dying words - no, Draco, no - it's not over, it's not over for us yet -

His eyes met hers right before he closed them.

"Avada Kedavra!"

There was a green light as he crumpled to the floor and with a howl that only she could hear,
Hermione broke inside, the shattered pieces of her soul ricocheting inside her body, every inch of
her a useless shell that had betrayed her with its callous obedience.

NO, NO, NO -
Voldemort was turning to Harry with a triumphant grin but Hermione could not see, blinded with
tears - not Draco - please, not Harry -

Take me first, take me instead, take me -

There was a piercing scream and a flash of gold and Narcissa Malfoy - who had perhaps been
paralyzed as well, by a spell or by fear or by some other cruelty, Hermione did not know -
Narcissa Malfoy was leaping in front of them, she was tearing at Voldemort - she was wandless
but she fought, she clawed, she scratched, and then she, too, fell to the floor, protecting them - her
blue eyes were facing her son as her head hit the ground and Lucius Malfoy let out a primal
scream, falling to his knees -

And then Hermione realized her lungs were working and she dove, blinded with fury, reaching
for Draco's wand - the wand, she could see it, and then she could feel it, she felt her fingers close
around it - Voldemort was shouting, hex after hex, curse after curse, but she was fighting it
somehow, nothing would stick - nothing could touch her - wand in hand she knew what came
first, she heard herself say the words, she saw the green light as Lucius collapsed to the floor with
a slash of the wand -

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Was that her voice? It was her voice - there was running, everyone was running, she was pointing
the wand and words, so many words she hadn't known she knew, ripped themselves from her
throat over and over - how many times had she spoken? How many bodies on the floor? Didn't
matter, nothing mattered -

Where was he? Voldemort, where was he? She stepped over the body of Bellatrix Lestrange,
taking care to crush her chest under the weight of her foot - where was he? She wanted to see him
bleed - horcruxes be damned, his soul be damned, she wanted his body, she wanted to see it bleed
- she wanted his entrails on the floor, she wanted his skull reduced to particles of dust in her hand,
she wanted his laugh extinguished forever, she wanted blood - she tasted blood -

"Where is he? Where is he?"

"He's gone - "

Arms around her. Let go. LET GO OF ME.

"Where is he?"

"Gone, Hermione, gone - Hermione, breathe - "

"Draco," she said, her lip shaking. "Draco - "

"Gone," Harry whispered, and she realized it was him, she touched his face and remembered,
remembered for a second who she was -

"No," she said stubbornly, clutching the wand in her hand. It was slick with blood. "No. No."

Harry crushed her against his chest and Ron reached out to hold her and she was pressed between
the two of them, sandwiched between her two best friends, the only remaining pieces of her heart,
but - ouch, something - something pressing into her chest -

The bag. The small beaded bag she'd tucked under her shirt. She'd lost the love of her life but she
still had the tent.
She started laughing, laughing hysterically. The fucking tent! She saved the tent! Draco was gone
but the tent was here, safe -

The cloak - she saw it on the ground - she should gather their things - she was the responsible one,
after all, she was the one who kept them in order - she led her lover into a war he'd never wanted,
after all, she'd led him to slaughter - but she could at least pick up the cloak, maybe straighten up a
bit -

How many bodies?

So many bodies. Were they stunned?

No. Dead.

Good.

The cloak. The wand in her hand. She had it now, didn't she? It was hers. Could she give it back
to him? No, had to keep it - had to keep it from Harry -

For someone who is trying to defeat the world's most dangerous dark wizard, it's obviously a
rather tempting title.

His voice. The title? What was it?

Master of Death.

Say it again.

Master of Death.

His voice. Harry might have two of the Hallows.

She bent to pick up the cloak.

Master of Death.

Make it one of the Hallows.

"Harry," she croaked, pointedly looking away from Malfoy's outstretched hand. He had fallen
towards her. He always fell for her. "Harry. The Snitch. Do you have the Snitch?"

"Yes," he said, confused, but she had no time for his confusion. "Why - "

"What does it say," she demanded, her breathing ragged. "What does it say?"

She knew. She knew what it said.

I open at the close.

"Hermione - "

"Tell it you're going to die," she said, fixing him with a wild stare. "Tell it you're about to die."

"Hermione," he said, his voice gentle. "Even if that's what it means, I don't think it works that way
- I don't think I can trick it into opening - "

It's not a trick.

She held her wand to his forehead.

"Then tell it to open, or I'll kill you."

Did she say that? Did she mean that?

Yes.

I need you, Draco. You promised me. You promised I wouldn't be alone.

"Hermione, you can't be serious!"

A loud crack. A jab of her wand, and both Harry and Ron on the ground.

Master of Death.

I need you, Draco. I need you. You promised.

Theo Nott. Theo Nott, skinny, pale, alive, standing in a sea of bodies. Theo Nott.

Theo, help.

"What the fuck is going on?"

Theo was too late.

Granger was covered in blood. The floor was swimming with it. Bellatrix, Yaxley, Mulciber,
Avery, his father, nearly every Death Eater but the ones at Hogwarts and the Dark Lord himself
lay broken and slain on the floor.

He saw the glimmer of silvery blond and he understood in an instant, numb to his own thudding
heartbeat.

Not Narcissa, then, he realized, swallowing. Conduit of pain and suffering. Not Narcissa at all.

"What the fuck is going on?" he asked, trying not to think about the emptiness he now felt, the
pieces of him that were now torn away. His brother. His mother.

He couldn't process that right now.

The scene before him was enough to distract him, if only temporarily. It was grim, to say the least;
Granger had her wand to Potter's head, Potter and Weasley both sat defenseless on the ground, all
three of them caked in blood. Granger's eyes were unfocused.

"Voldemort killed Draco," Potter said slowly, not taking his eyes off Granger's wand where she
pointed it between his eyes. "She wants me to give her something."

"Is that - " Theo looked at the wand in her hand and then back at her. "Is that it? What he's been
looking for?"

"Yes," she said, her voice still prim and academic. She was so clearly broken.

Fuck. Everything was so fucked up.

"What does Potter have, Granger?" he asked, taking a slow step towards her.
"Don't call me that," she snapped sharply, her voice shaking. "Don't - "

"Hermione, then," Theo said quickly. "Hermione. What does he have?"

Her lip shook. "Something that will bring back Draco."

Theo shook his head and took another step, approaching her, arms out cautiously, like she was an
animal out of her cage. "I - I don't think that's possible - "

Her chest was heaving. Theo had almost reached her. He could almost steady her, if he just
reached out -

"Draco did," she spat harshly. "Draco believed it."

Theo paused.

"He didn't," Potter said, aghast. "He said it was all speculation - "

"He didn't want you to have it," Granger interrupted, her voice hard with anguish. "He lied to
you. But I need it." She glanced up at Theo and all he saw was pain in her darkened brown eyes.
"I need it."

Theo realized he had frozen in his tracks. He could reach her; one more step and he could
probably take the wand from her. But -

Keep an eye on her, would you?

Draco's voice.

Fuck off, Draco. You're my brother.

Making a decision, Theo raised his wand, pointing it at where Weasley was slowly moving
towards a discarded wand, abandoned on the floor of the once grand Malfoy ballroom.

"Stop moving," Theo said, gritting his teeth. He held his wand steady at Weasley's temple, jerking
his head at Potter. "Give it to her."

Weasley gasped. "Nott - "

"You don't understand," Potter argued, and Theo didn't know if he meant to argue with either
Granger or with him, but it didn't matter. Theo didn't care.

"Give her whatever she fucking wants, Potter, fucking give it to her!" Theo shouted, jabbing his
wand at Weasley's face. Fuck them. Fuck them both. Draco was gone and Granger was all there
was left of him. Theo wasn't willing to spare a moment for second thoughts.

Potter and Weasley glanced reluctantly at each other. They were out of options and they knew it.

Potter slowly pressed a small golden object - a Snitch? - to his lips, whispering something to it.
Theo watched, awestruck, as it opened, revealing inside a small, black stone.

"Give it to her," Theo commanded, not having a fucking clue what it was, and Potter reached out
tentatively, dropping it in Granger's waiting palm.

"Destroy the other horcruxes," Granger instructed them coldly, clutching the stone in her hand.
"Keep going. Go on without me."
 She took a step back, putting her hand on Theo's arm, her stained fingernails digging into his
wrist.

"Get me out of here," she commanded frostily, her voice breaking as she looked pointedly away
from the pale, blond head that lay motionless in the center of the room.

Theo nodded.

They were gone.

Chapter End Notes

a/n: A fluffy drabble available for you in Amortentia. Chapter 29 coming shortly.
 The Killers
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter 29: The Killers

Theo was supporting all of Granger's weight by the time he got them to Nott Manor. Theo himself
hadn't spent much time there recently, but hey - it was fucking his now, wasn't it?

So much darkness around him and all he wanted to do was laugh until he threw up.

"It's okay," he coaxed her, turning her and awkwardly wrapping his long arms around her narrow,
shaking shoulders. "It's okay."

"I'm fine," she said mechanically, and the metallic quality to her voice felt wrong to him. So very,
very wrong.

"You're not fine," he said brusquely, pushing her away and holding her at arm's length. "You
know what you've done, right? You know what just happened?"

She blinked at him.

"Draco," she said, as if that were enough.

Fuck, Granger. If only that were enough.

"Come with me," he said, grabbing her arm roughly and leading her down the hall.

"Where are we going?" she mumbled, stumbling over her own feet. Theo was half dragging her,
and he might have felt bad about it if he weren't completely certain she was still in shock.

"Bathroom," he said, not looking back. "Have to clean you up."

"I don't want to," she replied, shivering.

"Don't fucking care," he retorted, swallowing the regret that bubbled in his gut from handling her
so aggressively in her fragile state. "You're getting blood all over my fucking expensive floors."

"Blood?" she asked, and he stopped.

"Blood," he repeated, holding her hands in front of her face so that she could see them.

Her eyes widened.

"Theo - "

"Shower," he said, grabbing her arm again and yanking her into the bathroom. Sorry, Draco, he
thought, but she fucking needs it.

"Get in," he told her, waving his wand and turning it on. "Now."

She looked at him helplessly. "I'm fully dressed."

"Then undress yourself," he told her.

She looked pained.

"Or don't," he said, shrugging, and gently pushed her inside.

She didn't even argue. That's how far gone she was. She stood in the shower fully clothed, her
face tilted up towards the steady stream of water, the blood trailing into her hair. She still gripped
the wand. She still didn't move.

Fuck. He was going to have to keep an uncomfortably close eye on her, wasn't he?

"Listen," he said, getting in and turning her to face him. They were both soaked through within
seconds, but he found it strangely cleansing. "You need to let me help you."

"Help me with what?" she mumbled, closing her eyes.

"You need to face this," he told her, sighing heavily and starting to scrub at the skin that was
showing - her cheeks, her neck, her wrists. "One killer to another," he added, feeling the gravity
of that statement settle into the pit of his stomach. "Trust me. Let me help you."

"Killer," she repeated, opening her eyes.

"Yes," he said, pointing his wand at her fingernails. "Scourgify."

There. Now her hands were clean.

"You killed my father," he commented, bending to remove her shoes. "Did you notice?"

"Your father?"

Fuck, she was totally adrift.

He remembered the look on her face when he'd seen her after Draco had been hit by Potter's
curse; she'd been covered in blood then, too. He remembered how vacant her eyes were.

Perhaps she did not deal too well with trauma.

"Yes," he said firmly, tossing her shoes onto the bathroom floor and standing. "You killed my
father." He studied her, eyeing the multiple layers of clothes now clinging to her slender, shivering
body, wondering where he should draw the line. "Do you want to take off the rest of this?" he
asked, waving his hand vaguely over her general area.

She blinked, dazed. "I don't remember it," she told him, presumably about his father. She looked
down at her hands. "Am I bleeding?"

"No," he said, inhaling sharply. "This isn't your blood."

"Whose blood, then?" she asked, and despite the insanity of the question, the brief flicker of
recognition that appeared in her eye seemed human. Theo relaxed a bit.

"Take these off," he said, gesturing to her muggle trousers. "I won't look, if that makes you feel
better."

It wasn't sexual, anyway. There was nothing sexual here.

She obediently bent to unbutton them, removing the heavy, slick material that had clearly
suctioned itself uncomfortably to her legs.
"Whose blood?" she repeated, holding the pants in her hands. Theo took them from her, blindly
tossing them in the direction of her shoes.

"Gonna go ahead and get rid of these," he muttered to himself. "Um." He studied her. "A lot of
people." She was blinking vacantly. "What do you remember?"

She seemed mentally stuck, somehow, and he sighed again, unzipping the sweater she wore and
peeling it from her shoulders.

"Talk to me, Gr- Hermione," he said, catching himself. "Keep talking."

"He wanted to go," she said, her arms dangling limply as Theo ripped the sweater over them and
then placed them atop his shoulders, yanking her shirt over her head.

"Who?" he grunted, trying to keep her talking despite his wrestling match with her clothes.
"Draco?"

"Yes," she whispered, and then blinked. "He's - "

Gone.

"I know," he told her, and to his shame, he felt thick buds of hot, stinging tears well up behind his
eyes. "Later, okay? Tell me in order."

"I'm sorry," she told him, and he saw it again, the faint glimmer of her that reappeared in her eyes.

"Don't," he managed, swallowing, choking back his own anguish to deal with hers. "Just tell me
what happened."

"His mother," she said faintly. "The Dark Lord had his mother."

The way she said it made Theo feel like she was parroting Draco's own words from somewhere
inside her head; surely she had never referred to Voldemort as the Dark Lord before, at least not of
her own volition.

"Right," Theo said, nodding. He turned her around, conjured some soap, and started scrubbing
her hair. He had to get the blood out. He couldn't let her go on like this. "Was it a trap?"

"Yes," she said, her head bobbing slightly as he roughly massaged her scalp. "A trap. In the
ballroom."

"Why did you go?" Theo asked. "Why were all three of you there?"

"Love him," she said simply.

No arguments.

"The Dark Lord killed Draco," Theo prompted.

"No," she said, and she turned to face him. "No. Lucius."

"Lucius?" Theo echoed, suddenly irate. "No." Should have killed him that day in the cellar. "No."

"Lucius," she said, nodding. There was a brilliant flush to her cheeks now, and he realized that
she, too, was angry.

Good. Feel something, Granger. You need to feel it.

"Then what?" Theo asked, still absentmindedly running his fingers through her hair. Almost
clean. "What happened next?"

"Narcissa," Granger said. "Threw herself in front of us."

"You were under some kind of spell, right?" Theo asked, furrowing his brow. "That's why you
couldn't do anything?"

"Yes," Granger said. "Silencing spell. Paralysis."

"What happened?" Theo pressed. "Why could you suddenly move?"

"Narcissa," she repeated, and for a moment he thought it was nonsense, that perhaps her mind was
on some kind of mindless track of redundant, one-word answers, but she continued. "Harry lived
because his mother died to save him," she explained, and Theo felt his lungs relax at the
complexity of the full sentence. "I think we survived because Narcissa died to save us."

That swotty tone. She was almost back.

"Okay," Theo said. "So his curses didn't work on you?"

"They didn't stick," she agreed, her forehead creasing. She was likely only now realizing what
had happened. It had been that way for him, too. Gregorovitch. Grindelwald. Same thing. "I had
to get to his wand."

"The wand," Theo remembered, and realized it was still in her hand. "This wand. What is it?"

"The Elder Wand," she said, and then her eyes went wide. "Why I had to kill Lucius."

"That wasn't just revenge?" he asked, and she blinked.

"No," she pronounced slowly. "The wand. You have to earn it." She looked curiously at it,
turning it over in her palm. "You have to make it yours."

Theo frowned. "So - "

"Lucius disarmed Draco," Granger explained, her voice clipped. "I had to get rid of him to
possess it."

Fuck, she was terrifying. Blinded with grief and still capable of master manipulation.

"You killed Lucius," he said. "Your first kill."

"Second," she reminded him. "Dumbledore."

"Right," Theo said, nodding. "First of the day, though."

"Avada is bloodless," she realized, and then started to panic. "My god, oh my god, Theo - all this
blood - "

Hysteria. Another thing he was familiar with.

"Stop," he told her, pulling her into his grip. She tried to push him away but he held tight, his arms
unyielding as he held her. Not a hug. Not compassion. A means of containment. To suppress the
panic. To repress it.
She fought him for a good couple of minutes, but then slowly let her shoulders droop.

"Theo, what did I do?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "But it was a lot more than Avada."

"I did that," she said, her words restrained and deliberate, but he could hear a shadow of regret
slowly reach her voice.

"There you are," he said, pulling away to look at her. "Feel it, Hermione. You have to feel it."

"I don't want to," she whispered. "I can't - "

"Do you feel yourself coming apart?" he asked her. "Do you feel the tearing inside you?"

"Yes," she gasped. She looked at him. "How did you know?"

"I told you," he said, teeth gritted. "One killer to another."

"What - "

"Your soul," he told her. "Your soul is - I don't know. I can't explain it, but - "

"It's ripping, isn't it?" she asked, a haunting look on her face. "It's damaged now."

Fight it, Granger.

"You have to feel it," he said again. "I don't know what else to tell you - you just have to feel it.
You have to feel everything."

"But - "

"You have to stay whole," he told her. "You have to find a way to stay whole."

Finally, tears appeared in her eyes.

"There you are," he whispered again, roughly tilting her face up to watch her regain her humanity.
"There you are."

"I don't want to be whole," she said, her voice breaking. "I don't - I don't want to - "

"You told me you could bring Draco back," he reminded her, and now his own voice felt strange.
"You told me you'd bring him back, and he'll want you to be whole."

"What do I do?" she sobbed, grabbing onto his arms and doubling over. "What do I do?"

"Come to terms with what you've done," Theo said flatly. "You killed a lot of people. You
threatened Potter."

"No," she gasped, starting to hyperventilate. "No - "

Best to get out of the water under these shitty breathing circumstances. He flicked his wand,
removing the water, drying her off, wrapping her in a towel, crushing her under his grip.

"Stay with me," he warned, shaking her a bit. Don't regress. "Stay with me."

"I didn't - what - what was I doing - "

"You needed something from Potter," he reminded her. "Remember? You needed something."

"The stone," she said, her breathing ragged. "The Hallows."

He let her gasp a few more times, waiting until her chest stopped heaving, before he asked the
inevitable question.

"What," he began slowly, "are the fucking Hallows?"

"The Elder Wand," she said, raising it in her right hand. "The Resurrection Stone. The Cloak of
Invisibility."

He desperately fought every instinct to laugh. "The Tale of the Three Brothers?" he burst out,
choking in disbelief. "Those?"

"Where are the other two?" she asked, suddenly jerking her head up.

"Right there," he said, turning her so she could see where he'd placed them, right outside the
shower. "But seriously, that's - that's a fucking children's story - "

"Vold- " she looked at him, biting her lip. "Is there still a taboo?"

"Doubtful," he said, shrugging. "After Greyback went missing, no scavengers wanted any part of
it. Besides," he added. "The Dark Lord certainly won't be showing his face here anytime soon,
not after the fucking fireworks show you put on earlier."

She suddenly attempted to pull from his grasp. "He's alive!" she shrieked, launching herself
forward as though she meant to hunt him down, now, to blindly tear him limb from limb. "He's
still alive - how, how did he escape - "

"Yes, yes, he's alive," Theo tutted impatiently, yanking her back to his chest. "Stop trying to fight
me. Stop it."

"I have to find him," she hissed, and he saw something manic in her gaze. "I have to find him, I
have to destroy him, I have to make him pay for what he's done - "

"You fucking will, okay?" Theo snorted. "But put some clothes on first."

She glared at him, and then she relaxed.

"Damn, Hermione," he said, slowly releasing her once he felt certain she'd regained control.
"You're fucking terrifying."

"The prophecy," she said hoarsely. "If the Malfoy heir falls, someone else - someone else will take
over - "

Ah, so she knew about that.

"Yeah," Theo said, fighting an eye roll. "I'm pretty sure that bit has come to pass."

"What do you mean?" she asked, flipping to face him. "Who is it? Who - "

He blinked at her.

"You do know what's in the prophecy, right?" he asked, not sure what to make of her reaction.

Was it denial? Was she still in shock?

"Draco" - she broke off, her face contorted in anguish, and then he knew for sure it wasn't shock -
"he said that there would be a 'great and terrible power' if he were to fall - " She gaped at Theo. "I
assumed it was Voldemort, right? Who else - "

Fuck.

She caught the look on his face. "What?" she demanded. "What is it?"

"Draco didn't tell you the full prophecy," Theo said flatly, shaking his head in disbelief.

Draco must have suspected it was Granger all along; why else would he hide it from her?

"I - I thought he might have left something out," she admitted, frowning. "He and Harry - they
were keeping something from me - "

"The prophecy is about a woman," Theo hastily explained, irrationally furious at Draco for once
again forcing him to deliver bad news on his behalf. "An outsider, 'born of another world,' - " He
stopped. "Here, listen to it yourself," he offered, picking up her wand hand and gesturing to his
forehead.

She nodded. "Legilimens."

He heard the shrill voice echo in his head, a second-hand memory from Snape.

"THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD DOES NOT TRAVEL
ALONE. THE EVENTS ONCE PROPHESIED ARE POISED FOR DISRUPTION. THE
OUTSIDER BORN OF ANOTHER WORLD IS NOT WHAT SHE SEEMS . . . ETERNALLY
UNDERESTIMATED, SHE IS NOT THE IDLE THREAT THAT SHE APPEARS . . . SHOULD
THE MALFOY HEIR FALL, A POWER GREATER AND MORE TERRIBLE THAN THIS
WORLD HAS EVER BORNE WITNESS WILL BE HERS . . . THE CHOSEN ONE WILL FAIL
BUT THE DARK LORD WILL FALL INTO OBSCURITY . . . HIS DESTROYER WILL
BECOME HERSELF A CONDUIT OF CHAOS AND SUFFERING . . . BEWARE . . . THE
ONE YOU NEED IS NOT THE ONE YOU SEEK . . . THERE WILL BE GREAT SUFFERING
FOR ALL, SHOULD THE MALFOY HEIR FALL . . . "

When he opened his eyes, her face was ghostly pale.

"He thought it was me," she said breathlessly. "He thought - " she broke off. "He thought I could
-"

"Personally, I thought it was Narcissa," Theo admitted. "Maybe it would have been, under other
circumstances."

She glanced sharply at him. "What do you mean?"

"I know a guy that's dabbled a bit in prophecies," Theo drawled, imagining the look on Severus's
face at the heinous understatement. "Told me they don't really have any meaning until someone
acts in a way that makes it self-fulfilling."

She frowned. "What?"

"Nevermind," he said quickly, waving it away. "My point is that if the Dark Lord hadn't done
everything he did - killed Draco and then Narcissa, in that order - it might not have been you.
But," he added, leaning heavily on the word, "now that events have played out this way, I'm not
sure we can deny that the events are already set in motion."
"That's what Draco said," she murmured. "'You have no idea what you've set in motion'."

"Obviously," Theo began airily, "if your suspicions are correct and the Hallows are - I don't
know, whatever the fuck you think they are - then you do possess 'a power greater and more
terrible than this world has ever borne witness,' wouldn't you say?"

"'The Chosen One will fail, but the Dark Lord will fade into obscurity'," she repeated, humming
thoughtfully to herself. "What do you think that means?"

Theo shrugged. "Don't know," he admitted. "Don't think it's worth it to think about."

By the anxious, skittish look on her face, she clearly disagreed.

"Was Draco afraid of me?" she gasped suddenly. "Was he - "

"No," Theo said sternly. "Don't spiral. You know he wasn't."

"Then why - "

"Ask him yourself," Theo told her bluntly, shrugging. Perhaps the more he said it, the more
possible it would become. "You said you could bring him back, Granger. So tuck that little
thought in your pocket for later, and fucking ask him yourself."

This time, she didn't flinch when he used her surname, though she went silent for a few moments.

"This is my fault," she said, suddenly reticent. "I made a mistake when I pulled Draco into this."
She sighed. "He didn't want to be part of this war, and I forced him into it."

Funny, Theo thought humorlessly. She accepted the guilt of murder with barely a second thought
but it's this she can't forgive herself.

"Not true," he told her. "He needed to make a choice, and he did."

"I should never have dragged him into this," she repeated, more vehemently this time. "Narcissa
was right - I should have been selfish, I should have insisted we just get out - "

"No," Theo interrupted. "If there's one thing I've learned from all of this, it's that the decisions you
make have to be about more than just one person."

"But - "

"Don't interrupt," he snapped, admonishing her with a gravely pointed finger. "You can't live in
this world and pretend there's not something wrong with it." He gave her a very stern glare, the
most authoritative look that he could muster. "You can't have honestly expected Draco to just
stand by and watch you try to survive in the same world where everyone like you was being
hunted down and tortured."

She looked away, pained. "Still."

"Don't," Theo warned. "There are a lot of things you need to feel. Regret is one of them, but not
for this," he scolded. "You could never have prevented him from going. You couldn't have
stopped him."

"I know," she said sadly. She seemed to droop, which wasn't helpful to Theo. He wanted her
useful. He wanted her angry, if necessary; he wanted a fire lit under her, because if she mourned,
he would be forced to do the same. Considering he hadn't dealt very well with Draco's death the
first time around, he wasn't likely to do so now, either.

"Focus," he said, snapping his fingers. "Bring him back. What do you need?"

She bit her lip. "I don't know," she confessed. "I have to admit, I was never all that sure it was
anything more than a children's story." She tilted her head. "I'll have to re-read it."

"I know that story through and through," Theo said, thinking. "Not sure it really reads as a how-to
manual, but if anyone could figure it out, it's you."

That much was true. It wasn't flattery, though she seemed to appreciate the sentiment.

"Master of Death," she commented, her voice hushed. She shrugged. "Mistress of Death, I
guess?"

"Master sounds better," Theo told her. "You're the Master of Death."

Smaller than he might have thought, looking her over. And yet, somehow, also scarier.

"A far cry from 'brightest witch of our age'," she muttered.

"Disagree," Theo said airily. "Two sides of the same coin, Granger."

She sighed. "You should call me Hermione, you know," she said gently.

He only managed to let a moment pass between them before the words bubbled to the surface.

"You're all I have left of him," Theo blurted out, hanging his head. "You're it."

Difficult to say. Harder to swallow.

"He thought of you as a brother, you know," Hermione said gently, reaching up to smooth her
small hand through Theo's hair.

Conduit of chaos and suffering.

Nah.

"I think that makes you my sister," Theo said, gesturing to the M pendant around her neck.

She nodded tearfully, clutching the towel around her shoulders. "I've got nobody else."

"Neither do I," Theo said, alarming himself with an unexpected rush of affection. "Especially
since you killed my father," he added, surprised by how little the statement affected him.

She looked down.

"I should be sorry, I know," she said hesitantly. "But Draco told me what he did to you."

Theo didn't blink. "He was a monster who won't be missed," he told her bluntly, and he meant it.
"You've done the world a favor."

She eyed him carefully, tilting her head. "You've got a little darkness in you, don't you, Theo
Nott?"

Ominous, coming from her.

 "We've all got light and dark, Hermione," he told her seriously. "It's what we do with it that
counts."

Chapter End Notes

a/n: Dedicated to pgoodrichboggs; thank you for your always thoughtful reviews.
And waterproof88, for the beautiful Kafka quote that nearly made me cry. And lastly,
to the guest reviewer who didn't like Chapter 28 - bummer, of course, but you were
the 1,000th review, so a landmark all the same. Always, a heartfelt thank you to
everyone for reading.
 The Figure
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter 30: The Figure

Her body wanted her to sleep, but she couldn't.

Draco.

She'd try to take a breath and partway through she'd forget how to do it, his face flashing in front
of her eyes. She'd open a book and feel his touch on her shoulder, the way he used to sit behind
her, placing his chin in the crook of her neck.

Draco.

When she closed her eyes, it only got worse. Her memory fought back. A blur of color.

Grey eyes. Black cloaks. White walls.

And then only red. Blood red.

Draco.

Her brain wasn't forming cohesive thoughts but she knew Theo was watching her, his sharp green
eyes following the movements of her fingers every time she turned a page.

Pressure.

Draco.

"Anything?" he asked, his voice quiet.

"No," she confessed, trying to fight off the stab of disappointment in her chest and then choking
on the memory of his image. "This version of the story doesn't even refer to them as the Deathly
Hallows. There's no mention of the term 'Master of Death.'"

"It's a children's book," Theo reminded her. "Though the copies that Draco and I had growing up
were a bit more," he paused, considering the proper term. "Ambitious."

It was an exceedingly generous choice of words given the many alternatives - menacing, perhaps,
or ominous - but there was no missing his intent. Hermione had learned first from Draco and now
from Theo that the children of Death Eaters were regularly exposed to a number of dark
"ambitions."

"Do you think the Hallows are dark magic?" Hermione asked, frowning as her eyes flicked to the
wand at her side. Even now it called to her, buzzing quietly where it sat beside her on the floor,
pulsing steadily as though in tune with the blood in her veins. Draco had been right.

Draco.

"Maybe," Theo said grimly. "I'd never thought of it that way - fairy tales and all, you know," he
reminded her, "but I guess they could be." He shrugged. "I mean if you take it literally, either the
character of Death is some kind of tangible, far-fetched thing that really did produce them
character of Death is some kind of tangible, far-fetched thing that really did produce them
organically, which doesn't exactly scream innocence to me - "

She grimaced, struggling to view Death as a humanitarian. "No."

" - or someone else created them to be this way," Theo concluded, "and the idea of an unbeatable
wand that necessitates death to solidify ownership feels a bit dark to me."

"It doesn't necessitate death," Hermione corrected faintly.

He gave her a look. "There are exceptions," he permitted evasively.

The implication was clear. Not for you.

"I was hoping that just possessing them would bring some kind of inherent clarity," she told him,
and then frowned. "Do you still have your copy?"

He paused, considering. "I think so," he returned abruptly. "Hold on."

She'd thought being under his watchful eye was stressful, but his absence was far worse. The
moment he left the room, she felt her lungs constrict, suddenly forcing her against her will to bear
the weight of what she'd done.

She shut her eyes, but then she only saw faces. Narcissa. Lucius. Harry. Voldemort.

Draco.

"Hey."

Theo gripped her shoulder and she realized she had been rocking back and forth, whimpering to
herself.

"Hermione." His voice was patient. "Take a breath."

Don't want to.

"Okay." A little shaky. "Did you find it?"

"Here," he said, sitting beside her on his bedroom floor and nudging the large book her way. The
cover was made of scratched, black leather, its innards consisting of thick sheets of hastily cut
parchment and each page filled to the margins with spindly, heavily scrawled handwritten runes.

"This is what you were read as a child?" she asked, her stomach turning slightly at the unpleasant
pulsing she felt from the book.

"This is a first edition," he explained. "Written by Beedle the Bard himself."

"How old is this book?" she asked, turning it over in her hands. "15th century?"

Theo shrugged. "I don't know," he admitted. "I know the stories because my governesses told
them to me, but they never used this version of the book." He slid over next to her, looking at the
words on the page. "The stories have been . . . softened over time."

Hermione hummed with understanding at that, nodding slowly as she suddenly remembered
something about her own childhood. "There's a muggle story about a mermaid who falls in love
with a prince and trades her voice to be able to be with him," she told Theo. "In the version of the
story that we tell children, they fall in love and get married."
Theo preemptively grimaced. "And the real story?"

"In exchange for her time on land, she gets her tongue cut out and the legs she gains feel like
knives, stabbing her with every step she takes," Hermione recited mechanically, still haunted by
the memory. She'd always been a voracious reader and had been devoted to referencing original
texts, but to this day she heavily regretted having sought out Hans Christian Andersen's original
work. "To win her prince's heart after he marries someone else, she has to kill him, but she can't.
She loves him." She shivered. "So she kills herself."

"Delightful," Theo said, his face a tinge green. "More a cautionary tale than a bedtime story,
then."

She nodded absently, though by then she had refocused on the text before her.

"This version of the story looks to be about the same," she commented, scanning the now familiar
phrases in the runes of the handwritten work before her. "Wait - "

"Found something?" he asked, leaning over to look.

"There's an extra line in here that isn't in Dumbledore's copy," she said, squinting as she translated
aloud. "It was only when the third brother had attained a great age that he finally took off the
Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son. He then greeted Death as an old friend, and went with
him gladly. They departed this life as equals, knowing between them that only he who possessed
the power to conquer all foes and unite the Hallows would ever truly be Master of Death."

They paused for a moment, letting the words sink in.

"Conquer all foes and unite the Hallows," she mumbled, running her finger over the symbols.

"All hail the conqueror," Theo deadpanned, nodding at her.

"A distinctly darker tone," Hermione commented in discomfort, feeling an eerie chill float up her
spine. "Though still not much of an answer."

The look he gave her was somehow both dispirited and empathetic.

"Maybe it will make more sense to you after you've managed to get some sleep," Theo suggested
warily, his voice painfully forced.

Sleep? Sleep? She thought at first to snap at him, to admonish him for his nonsense; but then she
realized he was only trying desperately to temper his own excruciating disappointment, and so she
held her tongue.

Though there was only so much she could do.

She shook her head slowly. "I won't be able to sleep."

Draco.

"I thought you might say that," he sighed, and withdrew a small vial from his pocket. "Sleep
potion," he said, offering it to her. "I think you should take some."

She hesitated. "But maybe if I just keep reading - "

"I'm going to be honest with you, because you seem like the kind of person who appreciates that,"
Theo interjected bluntly, and though his sudden shift in attitude was jarring, Hermione did feel a
sense of relief.

"I am," she agreed tentatively.

"I need to go do some things," he continued, and she sensed he was being purposefully vague.
"But I can't leave you here by yourself like this, and I also can't take you with me." He held the
potion out to her. "This will let you sleep for at least a couple of hours. You need it," he reminded
her forcefully. "And right now, I need you to, too."

Infallible logic. She couldn't argue with that.

"You're sure this will work?" she asked resignedly, feeling fear shake her voice as she reached out
to take it from him. He seemed to sense her apprehension.

"I won't leave until I know you're asleep," he said solemnly.

She bit her lip, eyeing the potion in the vial. "Promise?"

"I wouldn't fucking chance it, Hermione, if I weren't totally sure," he said, an unshakable firmness
entering his voice that reminded her of someone.

Draco.

She supposed she was just going to have to trust him.

She sighed and wordlessly removed the vial's stopper, tipping it back against her lips. It felt warm
and soothing going down, the way that chamomile tea felt before bed, or like the moments just
before sleep when she would feel Draco's arms tighten around her.

Her head bobbed forward slightly, her eyelids drooping.

Draco.

But now, he was smiling.

"I've got you," Theo said, catching her as she fell forward, ducking under one of her arms and
helping her to the bed. She felt herself fall against the softness, murmuring his name, not wanting
to open her eyes, not wanting to remember where or who or what she was.

"Sleep, Hermione," Theo mumbled, throwing the heavy duvet over her and bending to gently
stroke her hair.

Theo scribbled a quick note to Hermione - If you wake up alone, just call me with this; I'll be there
in an instant - and placed it next to her on the bed, along with one of the two-way mirrors from his
father's study. He'd scoured the room thoroughly when he'd gone down there at her request,
having the foresight not to limit his search exclusively to the copy of The Tales of Beedle the
Bard. The elder Theodore Nott was a horrifying human being but he did have a number of
beneficial items in his possession - potions and communication devices included - all of which
now belonged in their entirety to his only son and heir. Theo tucked the mirror's twin in his pocket
and pricked Hermione's finger quickly, using the drop that appeared at her skin's surface to alter
Nott Manor's blood wards.

Yeah, fine. So the house was fucked up. At least he could control it now. At least now it only
answered to him.
She'd be safe here.

He disapparated quickly before he could change his mind, landing on the soft marsh outside of the
Burrow and eyeing the odd dwelling from the outside. What could he possibly say for himself?

Nothing. He'd have to just say nothing.

He knocked on the door. Lupin appeared, his face as drawn and haggard as always.

"Potter," Theo said instantly. "I have to talk to Potter."

The former professor nodded gravely. He was a man who understood when there was a time and
place for secrets.

"Wait here," he said, and then Potter appeared.

Fucking Potter. All clean. Shiny and new.

His green eyes were narrowed. "Where's Hermione?"

"Not fucking telling," Theo retorted, and Potter frowned. Weasley joined him in the doorframe.

"Nice to see you without your wand in my face," Weasley said stiffly, his arms crossed
aggressively over his chest.

Theo shrugged. "Necessary evil. You understand."

"I do not understand," Weasley spat. "And we are her friends. She should be with us."

Theo nearly rolled his eyes at Weasley's naïveté.

"You can't bring her here," Theo warned. "They won't understand."

Potter seemed to uneasily agree; Weasley, though, argued.

"It's not like anyone would hurt her - "

"They won't fucking forgive her, either," Theo snapped harshly. "Can you?"

Their silence was answer enough.

"She didn't mean it," Potter argued hollowly after a moment, clearly referencing her threat on his
life. Never mind the very forgettable massacre, Theo thought bitterly. "She - she wasn't herself - "

"Oh, she meant it," Theo replied in a low voice, almost laughing at Potter's lack of grasp on the
situation.

"But - "

"She loves you," Theo interrupted. "Be absolutely fucking clear on that. But she also meant every
fucking word," he said coldly. "And that's what you don't understand."

The narrowed eyes that faced him spoke volumes.

Don't tell us what we don't understand.

Theo's posture provided the rigid reply.

Don't pretend you don't see a monster where Hermione once stood.

They each shifted uncomfortably, crushed under the weight of the things they shouldn't say.

"How did you know we were here?" Potter asked, abruptly slicing the tension.

Theo shrugged. "Nowhere else to go but home," he said, jutting his chin at Weasley. "You're out
of hiding. For now."

"What about - "

Voldemort. They didn't want to say it. Neither did Theo.

"With nearly all his followers wiped out? He'll be laying low for a while," Theo growled. "Not
forever. But long enough for this to seem like a temporarily good idea," he said, waving his hand
to indicate the warmth of the home and the reassuring smell of home-cooked food behind them.
"Obviously you two were coming here. But she can't," he reminded them.

"Mione was out of her mind," Weasley insisted. "She - she lost it - "

"That," Theo spat. "That is why you can't be around her right now," he said bluntly. "She doesn't
need to see her two best friends treat her like someone who lost their mind."

"I'm not sure it's a good idea for her to have the Hallows," Potter began tightly, and Theo glared at
him.

"She told you to keep going," Theo announced loudly, attempting to change the subject. "Why?
And what did you send Bill after? Whatever it was, it was moved," he added, remembering the
events of the day before. "To the Lestrange vault."

Potter shook his head. "So Draco was right," he muttered to Weasley, and Theo's chest burned at
the reference.

"Not that we can get to it now," Weasley said back, and they both looked troubled.

"What is it?" Theo asked dully.

Potter hesitated. "I'm not sure we should - "

"Fine," Theo said, smirking. "Don't." He shrugged, feigning disinterest. "Just one less thing that
could get me killed."

Granger would tell him. He was sure of it.

"You have to bring Hermione here," Weasley said firmly, revisiting his argument. He was, as
Theo already knew, a daft and stubborn git. "She needs to be with us."

In Theo's estimation, Weasley's phrasing sounded quite a bit more like his actual feelings on the
matter were that Hermione was better off caged.

"She does," Potter agreed, nodding vigorously. "Not to mention that we need to get the Hallows
away from her."

There was something strange in Potter's eyes, a glimmer of sorts.

"No," Theo said stubbornly, reacting instinctively.

Potter fixed him with a glazed, unsettling stare. "You heard the prophecy, didn't you, Nott?" he
asked coldly. "Whatever it is they can do, she shouldn't have them."

He wants them, Theo realized. But is it out of fear?

Or hunger?

"I'm not bringing her here," Theo said again.

Weasley's brow was heavily furrowed. "Why do I get the feeling we can't trust you, Nott?"

Because you can't.

His loyalty was to her, not to them. His loyalty was to Draco.

"What did you tell the Order?" Theo asked, skirting the question.

"The truth," Potter said warily, though Theo highly doubted that.

"What did you tell them about Dumbledore?" Theo pressed.

The two Gryffindors exchanged glances.

"Nothing," Potter said.

"Good," Theo replied tightly. "Keep it that way. Let them believe it was Snape."

He turned to leave.

"Why?" Weasley called after him, indignant. He was a man who liked his answers, though Theo
was not a man inclined to give them. Especially not the way Weasley liked them - clear cut and
unambiguous.

Theo paused, keeping his back to them as he struggled to frame it in words they might understand.

"It's easy to blame Granger's actions on the prophecy if you only look at what happened at the
Manor," he said, his voice carrying in the stale night air. "It's less easy to put aside if you know
what she's already done." He looked pointedly at them. "Isn't that right?"

"What are you saying?" Weasley said, his eyes narrowed accusingly.

"I'm saying she has no fucking chance of redemption with you, or with the Order if they find out,"
Theo spat, stepping within inches of Weasley's face. "You never saw her for what she was
before," he added. "So now you think she's corrupted."

Quite mistakenly, of course. Eternally underestimated, she is not the idle threat that she appears.

"I know better," Theo continued, snarling at Weasley. "I won't let you convince her to hate
herself."

Weasley scowled, but Potter's voice was fearful.

"What are you going to do, Nott?" he asked, and the implications were boundless.

Whatever it fucking takes.

Hermione blinked, looking around her.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Hermione Granger."

It was a deep, throaty male voice that Hermione didn't recognize and she whipped around
instantly, blinking to try to clear her vision. She realized after a moment that she was once again in
the elaborate Malfoy Manor ballroom, but the walls and fixtures were now so polished and gilded
that the brightness of the room amounted to no less than blinding.

"Who are you?" she asked, shielding her eyes to take in the figure before her.

"Who do I look like?"

Under other circumstances she might have assumed that to be a mocking question, but the stranger
seemed sincere, and she considered him carefully. He was inhumanly tall and wearing a thick dark
cloak, accented by an almost comically large hood that he wore pulled low over his darkly
concealed eyes. His facial features - at least from what she could see - were skeletal and pale.

"Death," she replied hesitantly, frowning.

"Well," he said, chuckling darkly. "You would know, wouldn't you?"

She shivered. Yes, she certainly would.

"Is this a dream?" she asked bluntly, crossing her arms over her chest.

He laughed again. "For your sake, I hope so."

Unsettling.

"You're really Death?" she asked, taking a tentative step towards him.

"Among other monikers," he replied, and he appeared to shrug.

Did Death shrug?

"Tell me about the Hallows," she said quickly. Even if this was some twisted episode of her
subconscious, maybe she could still manage to arrive at an answer. "How do I use them?"

"Are you really asking me for instructions on how to become my own master?" he asked, and she
watched his thin, reptilian lips curl into a smile. "And yet you are heralded for your mind, Miss
Granger."

"Did you really make the Elder Wand?" she pressed. "The Stone? Was the Cloak really yours?"

He sighed dramatically. "Do you really think I would create such things, instill in them a
legendary power that would bring about my own demise, and then distribute them?" He scowled,
lowering his face to glower at her ignorance. "I am not a fool."

She felt a sharp pang of fear strike her squarely in the chest. "Are they not real?"

"Oh, they're real enough," Death said airily, and she let out the breath she hadn't known she'd
been holding. "Though they never belonged to me."

She frowned. "But the story - "

"Oh believe me, I had some choice words for Beedle when his time came," Death sniffed. "A
teller of tales indeed - "

"Then what are the Hallows, if they're not yours?" Hermione demanded, suddenly frustrated.

"They are the life's work of the very dangerous and very unhinged Peverell brothers," Death told
her, as though he felt this was obvious. "The likes of which have thankfully never come along
again," he added, muttering under his breath. "A blessing for humanity if there ever was one."

She gaped at him. "What does that mean?"

"The world does not need more unbeatable weapons, Miss Granger," Death replied indignantly.
"Nor any resurrection stones, nor cloaks, nor any prizes that drive men to bloodshed."

Fair, though the entire conversation was dizzying.

"I don't know who the Peverell brothers are," she realized, crestfallen.

"An unpleasant set," Death assured her comfortingly, as though to presume her disappointment
was in not having been able to make their acquaintance.

"No, no," she said hastily, wringing her hands. "No, I mean I don't know who they are - " she
looked up, pained. "Which means you're not a product of my own imagination."

"I feel as though the alternative would be much more alarming," Death said, treading carefully. He
seemed absurdly polite, considering. "Wouldn't it be best if I were real? Your mind has already
managed to slip out from the grips of your control once," he reminded her.

As if she needed reminding.

"If this is real," she began slowly, "and there really is no Master of Death, then - "

"What did you think that 'Master of Death' meant, exactly?" Death interrupted her, leaning
forward eagerly as though his own curiosity was getting the better of him. From what she could
see of his face, his thin lips were pursed into a disapproving frown. "Most people assume - oh, I
don't know. Invincibility," he said, waving his skeletal hand around as though to indicate that he
found the idea laughable. "Which, arguably, you now possess."

"I thought I could bring someone back," she whispered, and to her horror, he laughed. Not
unkindly, but there was a sense of incongruity to his response that took her roughly by the
shoulders and proclaimed her an utter fool.

"Took it quite literally, then," he mused, cocking his head to regard her with a perplexing
sympathy. "Thought you'd just, what - point a wand and a rock at me and insist I give him back to
you?"

The cruel absurdity in his tone sliced through her heart and she crumbled slowly to her knees,
losing the will to remain upright.

"So he's gone then," she said, her voice breaking. "He's - he can't be - "

"There, there," Death said awkwardly, creating a cool draft around her head as he patted the air
above her shoulder. "It is a bit of an overblown title, I'm afraid - but the power, though - the power
is real enough - "

"What power?" she asked, suddenly angry at him. "What power, if I can't even get the one thing I
want?"

She could tell she was shouting, as Death seemed particularly sensitive to her volume. He was
cringing slightly, his shoulders hunched over and brought close to his ears - or at least, where she
assumed his ears would be.

"So you don't have power over me," he shot back, and if she had been even a little less
devastated, she might have been amused by his childish tone. "But there's not a person alive on
earth who can stand against you!" He straightened, crossing his arms authoritatively. "Isn't that
worth something?"

"I only want Draco," she said. "That's all I want."

"Well, you're going to have to want bigger," he sniffed. "You'll have to branch out a bit."

"That is a ridiculous thing to say," she argued, and the bottom half of Death's skeletal face
darkened unpleasantly.

"You already have the Resurrection Stone," he reminded her. "Don't be greedy."

"But that will only - "

"I said don't be greedy!" Death snapped, but he instantly softened, seemingly disappointed with
himself. "Apologies." He turned. "I think we're done here."

She raced to catch up with him. "Wait!"

"I'd rather not," he said irritably, continuing his path away from her. "I've rather disappointed
myself this go-round, I have to say, and I've no interest in continuing to lose my temper - "

"What do you mean 'this go-round'?" she asked, slightly tripping over her feet as she tried to cut
him off and failed. For such a stooped, heavily robed creature, he moved rather swiftly and
effortlessly across the elaborate ballroom floors.

He reached the heavy double doors and threw them open, the force of the doors knocking her
backwards in the process. From where she lay stiff on the ground, she lifted her head, managing to
catch his attention as he paused momentarily in the doorframe.

He turned to consider her with a long, hard stare and she, sprawled out on her back from the fall,
waited helplessly, hoping for something useful.

"Think of something bigger," he reminded her, and then he flashed her a smug look from over his
shoulder, his final gesture before disappearing through the doors.

Draco sat alone in the classroom, eyeing the golden potion in front of him. Sanare Pura, probably,
or else a very convincing lookalike. The implication was pretty clear. Take the potion, move on.

Wherever 'on' was.

But this was their classroom. She would be here any second, he was sure of it.

Draco slid down from the desk, moving to make another slow circle around the potion,
considering it. Oh yes, he thought about it. He thought about it a lot. It was tempting, of course. It
called to him.
 Thought nothing was as tempting as seeing Granger.

He missed her. Time was relative here, and he wasn't sure how long he'd been gone. There wasn't
much for him to do, but it was easy enough to occupy his mind. How many memories did he have
in this room, after all? He'd fallen in love with her here. Every moment was a reminder. Every
square inch contained a memory of her laugh, her mind, and her good, good heart. Her
unshakable faith in him.

He could wait for her, he reminded himself, nodding.

Yes.

He'd wait.

He settled himself back on the desk, running through everything in his mind, trying to play it in
order. From the beginning - her hands on her hips when she'd yelled at him about their potions
assignment. Her wand to his head when she finally put him in his place. Her eyes meeting his
when he knew she had chosen him. Good.

The time in the library. He closed his eyes, smiling. He should slow that one down, he thought to
himself, fighting to control the pace of the memory. He wanted to really savor it.

The door opened, and Draco sprang up hopefully.

"Oh," he said, dejected. "You again."

"Trust me, you don't want it to be her yet," Death said snottily, and Draco merely sighed.

"I know," he managed.

Death pointed to the untouched potion. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes," Draco said crisply, crossing his arms. "I already told you. I'm sure."

Death shrugged - a humorous gesture, coming from him. "It's your decision," he said loftily, and
turned to exit the classroom.

Draco sighed again. "Bye," he said lamely, closing his eyes to return to his mental wanderings,
wondering how much longer he'd be alone.

He heard the shuffle of Death's feet as the exceedingly odd hooded figure paused in the
doorframe.

"I'd cheer up a bit if I were you," Death warned, and Draco opened one eye curiously. "She'll be
calling you soon."

Then he left, and Draco's heart soared.

Chapter End Notes

a/n: A reminder that there are 7 chapters left to go in this story, which likely means
roughly 2 weeks. This chapter is for Kyonomiko, who reads pretty much everything I
write and regularly fills me with joy, and Brightki, who is herself an amazing author
that I recommend.

If you're in need of fluff, give Amortentia or Fortuna Major a try. For more angst,
head to Out of the Flames in fanfiction.net, where you can now follow the expanded
version of the PhoenixTwins' award-winning one-shot.
 The Soulmates
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter 31: The Soulmates

Hermione opened her eyes slowly, knowing she was waking, wondering what she would tell
Theo about what she'd seen.

I know I promised I could bring him back, Theo, but Death appeared in my potion-induced
dream and told me I'd been a fool all along . . .

She rolled over, seeing a note on the pillow next to her. If you wake up alone, just call me with
this; I'll be there in an instant. She noted that rather than signing with his initials, the way she had
been given to understand pureblood wizards normally did, he instead wrote a hastily scribbled
Theo; perhaps he'd never liked how many qualities he shared with his father. Or perhaps he had
been less than attached to his family name, unlike Draco.

Draco. She winced. The overall state of being without him was an unending, intangible pain. A
tireless burning. A dull roar.

And then sometimes - like now - it was a sharp and penetrating stab. The twist of a knife, straight
to the chest.

She looked around the room at the dark walls and the elaborate, richly threaded tapestries and
pondered calling Theo; she didn't want to be alone, but she also dreaded the moment she would
have to tell him the truth.

I can't do it. I can't bring him back.

She blinked painfully, fighting tears of rage and disappointment. Master of Death. What a cruel,
heartless joke. What an excruciating overstatement. What an arduous lie.

Her mind whispered to her, reminding her. Don't be greedy.

The stone. Her eyes focused on it next to her, sitting innocuously on the table beside the bed.
Theo had an uncanny understanding of her needs; he'd clearly been careful not to remove the
Hallows from her sight.

She bit her lip, considering it. She knew the story, and she knew the moral as well; there would be
no satisfaction from its use, surely. But perhaps . . . perhaps if she only used it for a short time . . .

She slid out from under the heavy duvet, picking up the copy of the book that had been sitting on
the floor and running her finger over the text - not that she needed to. She already knew what it
said. Every word of it was still seared into her recent memory, a remnant of what felt like so long
ago when every line had still been a glimmer of hope.

Here he took out the stone that had the power to recall the dead, and turned it thrice in his hand.

Thrice in her hand. Her palm was moving before she even realized she grasped the stone, her eyes
shut so tight as to force small explosions of light behind her lids.

She heard a soft thud, a small movement. Or was that just her heart? It kept beating, didn't it?
Despite her best intentions.

"Granger."

So close it made her ache.

"Granger. This is very rude."

"This isn't real," she whispered, sliding to the floor and bringing her knees to her chest. "I'm going
crazy."

"You're not going crazy. You are not crazy."

"I am," she said, burying her face in her arms and refusing to open her eyes. She couldn't face
him, nor the phantom of him, nor whatever version of him she had managed to call. Maybe it was
all in her head. Maybe everything was in her head. "You don't know what I've done."

"It doesn't matter."

"Yes," she insisted, fighting the crimson tint of her memories. White walls. Red floors. "Yes, it
does - "

"No. It doesn't matter. You're not crazy."

She started to feel her shoulders shake, fighting the burning in her throat and the threatening tears
that stung behind her eyes.

"Granger. Hermione, please."

She whimpered a little at the sound of her name in his voice. "I shouldn't have called you," she
managed hoarsely. "I know how the story ends. I know you don't want to be here - "

"This is different." The statement was forceful and gruff. "I was waiting. I was waiting for you to
call me."

She shook her head vigorously. Childishly, all things considered. "I'm being selfish."

"You're not," he said flatly. "I want to be here. I don't want to be anywhere else but with you."

"You shouldn't be here," she admonished him, and now she could taste the salt on her lips again.
Tears, always. The acknowledgement of sadness only made it worse. The fact that she was still
breathing without him, that her heart still worked, that it continued pump blood through her veins -
it only made everything worse. "This isn't where you belong, Draco. You should - I don't know,
move on - "

"I know where I belong."

"But - "

"I already told you, Granger. In this life or any other, you won't be alone."

At those words, she slowly allowed her eyes to open, lifting her head to take in the hazy form
before her. The unwelcome tears had distorted her view of her surroundings; she could only
manage to take in the darkness of the walls, the pale brightness of something glowing before her.
She blinked, allowing her vision to clear.

Pale brightness. His hair.

Her eyes were swimming with tears, but she could make out the form of his lips moving.

"You're not alone. I'm here."

"Are you?" she whispered, reaching her hand out. He was more solid than a ghost, certainly; he
was much more than translucent, though he wasn't quite . . . there.

He reached his own hand out and at the point when they should have touched, an odd, electric
current ran through her and she shivered; at that impossible contact she could imagine, for a
moment, that he was real.

"You're not alone," he said again, and she saw him clearly for the first time since she'd lost him.

His hair was that silvery, pale blond again, no trace of the muggle dye that they'd used; in life it
had been fading but now it was gone completely, and he was as she remembered, his dark
collared shirt worn rolled up to his elbows. He was precisely as he was in her mind, preserved the
way she always imagined him, but without the signs of exhaustion and wear. His skin was
flawless and unblemished, and the Mark was absent from his wrist.

It seemed in death he was freed from his flaws, wholly cured of any evidence of his prejudices.

"Draco," she breathed, and he smiled.

"I've been missing you," he said. A fact, not a sentiment.

Her mind suddenly flooded with all the things she needed to say. "I love you," she said frantically.
"And I'm sorry for everything, I'm sorry that I brought you into this, I'm sorry that I made you
think that you needed to be sorry - " she broke off in an angry sob and he hastily moved next to
her, sitting so their shoulders would have touched.

If they could have touched.

"Stop," he said. "You shouldn't be sorry. You couldn't have prevented it from happening."

"That's what Theo said, but - "

"What happened?" Draco asked, and she looked up to see his forehead crease with worry. "Why
are you with Theo? Where are Harry and - " he hesitated. "Ron?"

She felt a moment of panic. She'd have to say it out loud, wouldn't she?

"Hermione," Draco said, his jaw tense as he waited. "Please. Tell me what happened."

Few things could have been more painful than gathering the strength to tell him. Losing him, of
course, would always top the list, and so she sighed, complying.

"Your mother saved us," she said, not meeting his eye. She thought she saw him droop sadly, but
couldn't bear to look. "She fought Voldemort and - and he killed her. And then - "

She choked a little, and he sighed. "It's okay," he assured her gently, though she could tell he was
mourning his mother. "Whatever happened next. I know that it was . . . a bad situation." He was
clearly struggling to reassure her, though in the moment, she would have given anything to be the
one to comfort him. "I have some conception of what must have happened for you to be alive
right now. And to have that," he added, gesturing to the Elder Wand at her feet.

She hesitated. She couldn't do it. He wanted to hear it, but she couldn't say it.
"You killed my father, didn't you?" he pressed gently. "To get the wand?"

"Yes," she said softly, wondering if she might spontaneously burst into flames from the weight of
her misdeeds, or as some episode of grand celestial displeasure. "Yes, and I'm so sorry - "

"Are you?" he interrupted roughly, and she paused abruptly, her breath caught.

"What?" she asked vacantly.

"Are you really sorry?" he repeated, looking intently at her. His grey eyes bore into her soul the
way they always did. The way they always would.

He always knew her, through and through, even when she'd fought it. She'd been a fool, hadn't
she? A thousand times over. So many wasted days fighting to convince herself she hated him.
She'd do anything just to have one of them back.

"No," she choked out, compelled to confess. "I'm not."

He nodded. He always knew her.

"You don't have to lie to me," he told her. "You never have to lie to me."

"I'm not sorry," she said, feeling a rush of strength in his confidence. She'd always looked to him
for strength. "Theo wants me to feel everything, but - "

"You don't have to be sorry," Draco said, shrugging. "He killed me, remember?"

She shivered. Yes.

I'll never forget.

"I killed Theo's father, too," she said hoarsely, and Draco looked curiously at her.

"I thought about doing that many times," he said, and she realized he was confessing something
that must have once been a heavy burden.

"But you didn't," she said pointedly.

"Because I'm not as strong as you," he replied.

She scoffed at that. "I'm a murderer, Draco," she said stiffly. "I'm not a hero."

"That's not true," he said softly. "You realize if the tables had been turned, if it had been you in
my place, I'd have died with you on the spot," he said, and she shook her head.

"You're being dramatic," she told him firmly.

"I know for sure I wouldn't have been quick enough to get to the wand," he admitted, and his lips
slipped into a pained grimace. "I couldn't kill Dumbledore, you know. I couldn't bring myself to
do it - and not because I'm a good person," he spat furiously, anticipating her response. "Because I
couldn't do it. I'm not as strong as you. I hesitate." She opened her mouth to speak but he cut her
off. "I should have killed him, I knew how much danger the whole school would be in if I didn't,
but I couldn't do it. I wouldn't have been able to."

She didn't like where this was going.

"Don't glorify me," she said vigorously. "Don't you dare glorify what I've done, Draco - I did
horrible things, I've committed crimes against humanity - "

"I'm not glorifying anything," he said bluntly. "You did what you had to do to get out of there."
He gave her a pointed look. "Did you save Harry and Ron?"

"Yes," she said, though she felt an abrupt drop in the pit of her stomach, a painful reminder of
what she'd done to get the stone she now held in her hand.

"Whatever you had to do to save them - and you - it was worth it," he said vehemently. "And I
love you for it," he added. "I love that you are fearless and strong."

"I'm not strong," she whispered, looking at the stone in her hand, analyzing its angles and curves,
eyeing her splintered reflection in its polished surface. When she glanced up again, Draco was
watching her closely.

"How did you get it?"

No implications. Just an ordinary question of fact.

"The Snitch said 'I open at the close,' and - " she paused. "It's just Dumbledore's style, you
know," she reminded him tearfully. "It's just like him to use such opaque wording, when what he
actually meant was that Harry couldn't have the stone until he was about to die."

Draco paused. "How did you get it?" he repeated, though there was certainly an implication now.

"I told Harry to tell the Snitch he was dying," she said, and she could hear a strangeness reveal
itself her tone, a brittle hardness that found its way to her voice. "And then I put my wand to his
head to make it true."

She watched a muscle tense anxiously in Draco's jaw. "Did you mean it?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, and this time, the truth found her without hesitation. "I wanted to bring you back.
I would have done anything to bring you back."

Draco was silent for a moment, processing her words.

"I'm sure he knew that," Draco murmured, and she wondered if it was something he needed to
reassure himself to make sense of it. He looked up, meeting her eyes. "But you can't?"

"Master of Death is a bit of an overblown title," she replied, quoting Death himself. "I can't bring
you back."

They shared a moment of collective disappointment, and then she shrugged. "Turns out I'm just
invincible," she added, unable to fight a laugh at the absurdity of the thought.

"How did you find out you couldn't do it?" Draco asked, frowning.

"After I got the Hallows, Theo apparated us here, and I was looking through all the versions of the
text," she said, waving her hand over the open books. "But nothing. So he gave me a potion to
help me sleep - "

"Is he here?" Draco interrupted, looking around like he'd just realized that they were in Theo's
house.

"No," Hermione said, shaking her head. "He needed to do something. But while he was gone - "
she paused, something inside her roaring in disapproval at the ridiculousness of her answer. "I had
a dream. I spoke to Death."

To her surprise, Draco smirked a little.

"Ah yes," Draco said, nodding. "Death. An interesting character."

"He is, isn't he?" Hermione agreed, half-smiling. "But unfortunately, he told me there is no
bringing you back."

"What else did he tell you?" Draco said curiously. "Did he know who you were?"

Hermione blinked vacantly. "Yes, but, well - he's Death, isn't he?" she said, thinking that much
would be obvious. "He would, wouldn't he?"

"I guess," Draco said, frowning. "When I saw him, he just said 'not you again,' or something like
that, but I - " he shook his head, dismissing the thought. "Anyway, continue," he instructed her,
waving his hand about carelessly to refocus her attention. "What else did he tell you?"

"I told him that all I wanted was to bring you back," Hermione explained. "But he said I should
want something bigger. That I'd have to 'think of something bigger,' though I don't know what that
meant." She sat up, looking intently at Draco's partial presence. "Do you think he meant that I
need to do something else to bring you back?" She stopped, thinking. "Maybe if I took the
Hallows to the veil at the Ministry, or - or maybe if I could find a time turner - "

"Hermione." Draco's voice was gentle, but aristocratically firm. "I don't think he meant me."

She blinked. "What?"

"I don't think he was talking about me," Draco said again. "I think he was telling you to do
something bigger with the Hallows." He shrugged. "I don't know. Something important, I guess."

"Like what?" she asked, slightly dizzied by the thought.

"Maybe you need to be the one to defeat the Dark Lord," Draco said thoughtfully. "Or maybe
with the Hallows, you can change things around here - change how people see muggleborns, or, I
don't know, change things in the Ministry - "

She burst out laughing, laughing so hard it made her gut ache, so hard it nearly ripped apart her
chest, and then without warning it crept up into her throat and choked her, the laughter abruptly
turning to sobs.

"What?" Draco exclaimed, panicked. She could tell he was trying to touch her, to reach out, to
comfort her, and then she watched him let out an infuriated groan when he remembered that he
couldn't. "What's going on?"

"You want me to just live my life," she said, tears streaming down her face as she struggled to
breathe. It was the punchline of the joke, the hilarious joke that she would fight all odds to find
him, to be with him - only to lose him and then somehow be expected to manage without him.
"You think I can just - keep going?"

In an instant, there was no trace of laughter. She was swallowed up in her own darkness. "You
think I can just do this, by myself?" she said again. "Without you?"

"Hey." He moved to reach for her cheek and then scowled with frustration, remembering the
circumstances of their limited reunion. "Granger. Hermione. I told you, you're not alone - "
It's not the same. It's not the same and you know it.

"You know how the story goes, Draco!" she sobbed, rubbing at her clavicle where the M pendant
fell. "You know how this story goes - "

"That's not true," he said firmly. "That was a different story. That was some other person's story,
from some other time and place. Not this," he said, fixing her with a look of pure determination.
"This is our story."

"But - "

"I don't want to be anywhere else but by your side," he said, and the way his voice hardened, it
almost sounded like a threat. Not to her, of course - to anyone else, to the unknown, anonymous
third party, whoever it was that would dare to tear them apart. Death himself, as it were. "I'm
going to be with you, Hermione, always. You're not alone."

She looked at him helplessly. "But I can't - "

"This power you have, Hermione - it's yours for a reason," Draco told her sternly. It was a lecture
of sorts. "You have to do something with it. Death is right," he said, blinking a little at the
absurdity of the statement. "You need to do something bigger than just bring me back."

She sniffed a little, trying to quiet the storm that was still raging inside her. "But the prophecy,"
she said, remembering. "The great and terrible power - "

He waved his hand around like that was a trivial detail. "Don't trust prophecies," he said glumly.
"Power is always great and terrible." He offered her a small, tentative shrug. "But in your hands,
maybe you can do something. Do some good in the world."

Her entire body tingled a little at that, the memory of a piece of her that used to exist before
yesterday.

"Why didn't you tell me about the prophecy?" she asked quietly, bringing her knees to her chest.
She hugged herself tightly, preemptively shielding herself from the pain of his answer.

"I wanted to," he confessed, and she could see that this, too, had weighed on him. "But the truth is
that I was afraid of what it meant for you."

"Are you still afraid?" she asked nervously,

"No," he said, and she found herself surprised by his lack of hesitation. "Death has brought me
some clarity, I think."

"It seems like you should fear me more after what I've done," she said, swallowing painfully.

"I don't fear you. I never feared you," he clarified. "I just didn't want to think about a world where
I wasn't there for you."

"Like this one?" she said, smirking unhappily at the irony.

He paused for a moment, smoothing a hand through his hair as he tried to put his thoughts in
words.

"Hermione," he said, and she almost smiled, watching him try to piece together the means by
which to inspire her. "Do you remember that night when you asked me about soulmates?"
"Of course," she said, feeling her heart race a little.

Maybe a soulmate is someone who follows you in all of your lives.

"I had been trying to get you to ignore all of this," he said, motioning to her Hallows and her
books where they lay spread before her on the ground. "To forget about the Dark Lord. All of it."

"Yes," she said, cringing. "And you were right - "

"No," he interjected roughly. "In this singular instance," he added, sniffing with his usual
affectation, "I was wrong. I was still making the mistake of thinking that my happiness was more
important than everything else that was crumbling around me."

She didn't know what to say to that. Wasn't it, though? Isn't it?

"Look at what he's done, Hermione," Draco urged her. "The Dark Lord poisoned so many minds
- so thoroughly that he convinced a man to kill his only son. His only son!" The statement was
loud and violent and Draco's breathing was labored, even in his pseudo state of being. "He created
an environment so toxic as to necessitate the deaths of countless people that he doesn't even take
the time to mourn," he said, the painful bitterness palpable on his tongue. "He spreads hate like a
virus and you - you can't let him, or what he's done, or anything - rob you of your will to
intervene. To make things better."

His tone softened, and he looked down, eyeing his hands. "I wish I'd had a life with you,
Hermione - believe me. I thought about it every moment I was with you. I think about it, always,"
he corrected himself. "I wish I'd had a hundred lives with you - "

"At least," she agreed faintly.

" - but that wasn't in the cards for me," he finished. "I am not important to this part of your story,
Hermione." He shook his head helplessly. "You don't need me to finish what you've started."

"I do need you," she told him, biting her lip. "I always will."

"You don't need anyone, Hermione Granger," Draco told her firmly, and he moved his hand
forward, letting it hover above her heart. "You are more than enough."

She let that statement linger between them, grateful again for him, for every ounce of him that
brought him back to her. He never let her forget who she was.

Even when she wanted to. Especially when she wanted to.

"Did you think about what our life could have been?" she asked softly, meeting his stormy grey
eyes. "You know," she said hazily, motioning with her hand to reference their past. "Then."

"I was going to marry the fuck out of you, Granger," he said loftily, and she laughed tearfully at
that, the statement somehow both unspeakably touching and yet so inarguably Draco Malfoy.
"We were going to live to be a hundred years old and die peacefully in our sleep after being
poisoned by angry house elves with a vendetta against you for heartlessly robbing them of their
purpose in life."

"Draco!" she exclaimed, half sobbing. "Don't - "

"We would have had children," he added. "One would have been fine, but at least one," he said,
and his voice took on a soft caress of affection. "Because you should be someone's mother."
It was heartbreakingly sweet and impossible to fathom. Not now. Not without him.

"That's enough," she managed weakly, and he nodded.

"You have some other things to occupy your time right now," he reminded her. "Master of Death,
for one."

She shrugged impassively. "It doesn't actually mean anything."

To her surprise, he grinned at her, his eyes flashing conspiratorially. "It does if nobody knows it
doesn't mean anything," he said, and his tone hinted vaguely at mischief.

She stared at him. "What?" she asked, trying to process his meaning.

But before he could answer, the door behind her burst open and Theo walked in, white-faced with
anger.

"Hermione," he growled. "I need your help."

Theo apparated inside Nott Manor and strode quickly to his bedroom, hoping Granger hadn't
woken up without him. His conversation with Potter and Weasley had dragged on longer than
he'd hoped; that seemed to be a common theme. He made a mental note to stick to much more
rigid timelines wherever Weasleys were involved, lest he miss another Death Eater bloodbath the
next time he showed up late.

He heard Granger's voice and his heart sank a little, wondering how long she'd been awake;
clearly she hadn't left the room, though. Maybe she'd managed to make the Hallows work?

Maybe Draco -

Theo stopped outside the door, his heart pounding. Was Draco in there? Should he interrupt? He
leaned in, trying to hear the conversation.

"You want me to just live my life. You think I can just - keep going? You think I can just do this,
by myself? Without you?"

Theo waited for a response, but there wasn't one.

"You know how the story goes, Draco! You know how this story goes - "

She was crying.

"But - "

Theo frowned. She was definitely carrying on one side of a conversation, but he was fairly
positive it was only one side.

"But I can't - "

Who was she arguing with?

"But the prophecy, the great and terrible power - "

Had he failed to notice something? Was she fucking hallucinating? Was she still in shock? He was
almost positive she was alone in the room. She'd said Draco's name though, hadn't she?
He put his hand on the knob, poised to open the door, when a loud flapping distracted him. He
turned and realized that an owl had perched on the narrow hallway table, holding a letter
addressed to him with handwriting that made his heart stop.

"Thanks," he said quickly, patting the owl's head absently and ripping open the letter. His eyes
scanned the page rapidly.

Theo,

I know you said not to contact you and that nobody should know about us, but things are not safe
at Hogwarts. I can't say much in this letter but please know that I wouldn't come to you like this if
it were not an absolutely dire situation. I would never put you in danger, Theo, you know that, but
I'm afraid for Astoria. I'm afraid for everyone. I'm afraid for myself, Theo, and you know that
never happens. I'm more afraid than I feel I can tell anyone but you.

I've heard rumors that things are terrible where you are, too, and I hope you're okay - I hope this
reaches you. Please answer me, Theo, somehow. Any way that you can. I need to know you're
alright. I can't eat, I can't sleep - I just need to hear from you.

I know we agreed not to say this but to hell with everything I've ever said. I love you, Theo. Be
safe.

It wasn't signed but he knew who it was from. He looked anxiously at the owl, contemplating
scribbling a postscript and sending it back, anything, a word, a rune, a pictogram - just something
to reassure her - but based on her own wording, he didn't trust what might result from him sending
it in writing. The last thing he needed was to put a target on her back.

"I'll find a way to reach her," he told the owl, and then squared his shoulders, clutching his fists
tightly in anger.

Things are not safe at Hogwarts.

I wouldn't come to you if it were not an absolutely dire situation.

He was fuming. What the fuck did you let happen to her, Snape?

He burst through the door, interrupting Granger's imaginary conversation.

"Hermione," he growled, and she looked up at him, her golden brown eyes wide and a touch
fearful. "I need your help."

"What is it, Theo?" she asked, instantly coming to her feet. She looked briefly to her left. "No, I
don't know where he's been."

"Who are you talking to?" Theo asked bluntly, not willing to spend the time on coddling her that
he would have attempted only five minutes prior to receiving Daphne's letter.

"Draco," she answered, and she uncurled her fist to show him the black stone in her hand. "I only
managed to bring him back with the Resurrection Stone - " she paused, tilting her head in
confusion. "Can you not see him?"

"No," Theo said flatly, and he ignored the sinking feeling in his chest at the burning realization
that she could. "Are you sure he's - there?"

Granger looked to her left, coughed a little to fight a smile, and then turned back to Theo. "He
says fuck you, Nott, for not sensing the room's increase in refinement from his inhabitation of it,"
 she said, her cheeks turning pink. "I'm sure he actually means something much more affectionate,"
she said hastily. "I can only presume the crudeness is to prove it's him and not my imagination - "

"I - " Theo's disappointment was unfathomable, and his ability to form words diminished.

"Maybe if you use the stone," she suggested, holding it out to him. "Here. Take it," she offered,
though he could see a light douse in her eyes at the thought of losing even Draco's partial
presence. "You can talk to him."

It was tempting.

"No," Theo said after a moment. He couldn't take Draco from her; not in any form. "It's - no. You
keep it."

"Okay," she said softly, but he could see relief in her expression. "What happened?" she asked,
suddenly remembering his dramatic entrance. "What's going on?"

He was hit with a painful jolt of reality. "Daphne," he said tightly, gesturing to the letter.
"Something's wrong at Hogwarts."

"I forgot the school year had started," Granger said, frowning. "What day is it?"

Theo shrugged. "September 10th?" he guessed. "Term just started."

"And something's already wrong?" she asked, starting to nervously bite her lip. "What did she
say?"

"Just that things weren't safe," Theo said, his voice clipped. "And I know Daphne. She wouldn't
ask for help unless things were more than just unsafe." He shivered. "She wouldn't ask for help
unless things were actually life threatening."

Granger went pale. "Snape's there, and McGonagall," she said, aghast. "How could it get bad?
What could be happening?"

They seemed to realize it at the same time.

"He's there," she gasped, and Theo nodded.

"The Dark Lord must be at Hogwarts," he said, feeling an uncommon rage pulse through him at
the thought of those long, inhuman fingers reaching anywhere near Daphne, or even existing in
the air she breathed.

Granger looked to her left, nodded grimly at where either Draco or her imagination spoke to her,
and then began to pace throughout the room, mumbling a little to herself.

"Sit down, Theo," Granger commanded sharply, suddenly pivoting to face him. "I have to tell you
about something called a horcrux."

Chapter End Notes

a/n: This chapter is for cara0511 and WeasleyGirl12333. Thank you for your reviews
and for sharing your thoughts on the story!
I am thinking either a new Dramione AU or a requested Hinny (for UnicornMist) in
Amortentia, to be posted shortly. If you have a preference, feel free to weigh in.

I see many of you are still highly skeptical of me. Alas, she sighs helplessly. A pity.
 The Master
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter 32: The Master

"So. What the fuck is a horcrux?"

"Well . . . "

She had hesitated. "A person is made up of body and soul, right?"

He nodded brusquely, eager for understanding. "Right."

"With a horcrux, you add in another element. You bind a piece of your soul to an object. So that
even without a body - "

"Ah. You . . . live on."

The normal cracking sound that accompanied apparation was considerably louder when Granger
transported them directly into Snape's office; it was a deafening explosion, as though she had
physically fractured the castle's wards.

Perhaps she had. She certainly looked angry enough to have done so, and with the Elder Wand in
her hand, she definitely had the fucking equipment.

The metallic ringing in the aftermath of the shattered wards slowly eased and Snape looked up
from his desk, squinting at the spot where they stood.

"My Lord?" he asked tentatively, frowning.

"As long as the horcrux remains intact, so does a piece of the maker," she explained. "And
Voldemort split his soul into seven pieces."

The number hit him like a slap to the face. "Seven?"

"Seven. And we've chipped away at his soul four times."

"Four times. You destroyed four fucking horcruxes."

"Yes."

"You've done enough to end him four times over, and there are still three pieces of him left?"

She'd practically growled in response.

"Yes."

Theo looked over at Granger, whose lips were physically trembling with fury. It seemed that her
discussion with Theo, in which she'd finally revealed the details behind the Dark Lord's horcruxes
and the steps necessary for his defeat, had rekindled an uncommon rage that being in close
proximity to the subject of her anger did little to assuage. She gave Theo half a steadying glance
before tearing the cloak off their shoulders, revealing them both in the room.
"So we need to wipe out the other containers of his soul before he is reduced to the one residing in
his body."

"Right."

"So Potter has to destroy the remaining horcruxes before he can beat him."

"Correct." She paused. "Though, I wonder if that's really true."

"Where is he?" she hissed through her teeth, her stance oddly powerful even as she stood dwarfed
by Theo's height.

"Ah," Snape said, slowly lowering his quill and letting his hooded gaze fall impassively on her
where she stood. "Miss Granger." His brow furrowed slightly with surprise, noticing Theo as he
stood beside her. "Nott."

Theo allowed a momentary smirk at the man's apparent confusion. "Please try to contain your
enthusiasm, Severus," he sniffed loftily. "You're embarrassing me."

"Where is he?" Granger spat again, striding forward and slamming her hands down on Snape's
excessively large desk.

"Out," Snape replied stiffly, rising to his feet. "How did you get in this office?"

"She can do pretty much anything she wants to," Theo said airily, gesturing to the cloak draped
over her arm, the wand in her hand, and the stone that now hung around her neck, resting against
her clavicle beside the golden M pendant. "Master of Death and all that."

Snape's forehead creased in wonder. "Are those - "

"Yes," Granger snapped. "And now it's your turn to answer our questions."

Snape scowled. "I hardly think this bravado is necessary, Miss Granger," he said wryly. "It
doesn't particularly suit you."

She glared at him. "You don't want to see what I can do," she warned, and Theo quite agreed.

Snape sighed, taking a seat and leaning back in his chair. "What is it?" he asked indifferently,
gesturing for her to carry on with her interrogation.

"Voldemort's been in the castle," she commented, waiting to see if he would deny it.

He didn't, and she pressed him. "Have you been sheltering him?"

"He is the Dark Lord," Snape replied grimly. "He hardly requires sheltering."

She glowered at him. "He does now," she said tightly.

"What do you mean, you wonder if that's really true?" The ambiguity of her statement was
distressing. "Isn't it a fact? He's immortal, isn't he? Unless you destroy his horcruxes."

She'd paused, attempting to slowly piece her thoughts together.

"A horcrux doesn't possess the inherent ability to awaken itself," she said carefully.

He bristled, unsure where she was going with that. "What do you mean?"
"Even if Voldemort were reduced to the two horcruxes he has remaining, without his body,
someone else still needs to bring him back," she explained.

Theo nodded slowly. "Okay. And?"

"There has to be another piece in the equation. For him to truly be immortal - for the horcruxes to
work - there has to be someone left who is willing to be the channel between his body and soul."

A pregnant pause.

"Hermione. What are you saying?"

"I have been cut off from the Order," Snape reminded them, waving his hand to reference Theo as
if his existence were a sufficient explanation. "And regardless of the events that took place at the
Manor, the Dark Lord is very much in control here."

"Nearly all of his followers are - " Theo stopped, glancing hesitantly at Granger. "Gone," he said,
coughing and eyeing the floor.

"This is a man who's been brought back from the dead - in various forms - more times than I care
to catalogue," Snape reminded him grimly. "He maintains control over this school and the
Ministry."

"Voldemort requires someone else to bring him back," she said finally. "His power is dependent
on loyalty. You strip him of that, and you strip him of his immortality."

"And how exactly would you strip him of that?"

The look on her face was unsettling.

Theo caught Granger glancing to her left, like she was listening to something. She gave a nearly
imperceptible nod, and then returned her attention to Snape.

"Where is Daphne Greengrass right now?" she asked sharply, and Theo wondered if she had even
been paying attention to Snape's warning.

"The Great Hall," Snape said curtly, sitting back as though he meant to carefully observe her
reaction. "Dark Arts instruction."

Theo managed an incomprehensible half scoff. "Defense against the Dark Arts, you mean?"

Snape shook his head, his lips pursed tightly. "No," he corrected, his voice clipped. "The Dark
Lord felt that was no longer" - he paused, a hollow silence ringing in the chasmic space between
the words - "necessary."

"The Great Hall?" Granger repeated, and Theo frowned, feeling a jolt at the choice of venue.

"Yes," Snape said shortly, hissing through his teeth. "They need . . . more room."

It was an ominous statement, though Theo couldn't put a finger on why.

"We're going there," Granger announced, her face darkening as she quickly turned to walk out of
the office, gesturing for Theo to follow. "Are you coming?" she asked Snape pointedly, pausing
for a moment to look over her shoulder.

He only looked at her. "I think it's best that I not interfere," he said slowly, and Theo stumbled
hurriedly after Granger, wondering what specific horrors they were about to stumble upon.
hurriedly after Granger, wondering what specific horrors they were about to stumble upon.

The doors to the Great Hall were thrust wide open, the entire space emptied of its tables and
benches. Obviously the class was now compulsory for all students, and all four of the houses;
what should have been a N.E.W.T. level course now clearly contained everyone in their year.

"Stay under the cloak," Hermione warned Theo, whose limbs seemed twitchy with nerves. "Let's
see what we're dealing with first."

He nodded, though she could see his jaw was clenched tightly. On her left, Draco was waiting in
silence, his own posture rigid with tension.

The two of them had agreed not to draw too much attention to his presence, and she'd simply
added the Resurrection Stone to the necklace she already wore. At a time like this, his partial state
of being was actually quite advantageous. His quiet reminder to her in Snape's office - that
ascertaining that Daphne was not in any immediate danger was more important than both her own
desire for revenge and her fervent wish to throttle Snape for his hesitancy to take a stand against
his cruel taskmaster - had been a necessary reality check.

He was keeping her sane, despite the fact that her consultation of an apparition that nobody else
could see might have indicated the opposite under other circumstances. She'd caught Theo's
uneasy glance and considered reassuring him, but, ultimately, she was not willing to address his
concerns once she'd managed to refocus her attention on finding Daphne.

"She's there," Theo managed hoarsely, gesturing weakly with his chin, and Hermione's heart sank
for both him and the image before her.

The students were all standing around in a circle, Daphne at its epicenter. Hermione realized with
a jolt that the person opposite Daphne was Neville, and she felt her stomach lurch at the sight of
the Carrows slowly circling the two students like greedy, overfed buzzards, eagerly sizing up their
remains.

"What's the matter, Greengrass?" Amycus sneered. "Needing a refresher on the incantation?"

Even from a distance, Hermione could see that Daphne was shaking.

"No," she whispered. "I - I can't - "

Neville was looking at Daphne closely, his eyes filled with sympathy.

"Do it," he seemed to be mouthing. "Go on. Do it."

"No," she whimpered back, and Hermione realized with a jolt that she'd never seen Daphne reveal
much of anything but a serene, indifferent tranquility.

Until now. And now, her fear was palpable.

"Do it," Amycus spat, and Hermione saw Neville swallow heavily, nodding once at Daphne.

Daphne raised her wand, appearing to comply with the pressure, but Hermione could tell almost
immediately that she was already losing her nerve. Daphne's will was visibly waning the moment
her wand evened with Neville's chest.

"No," she gasped suddenly, looking at her hands like she didn't recognize them, finally letting her
wand clatter to the floor. "No. I can't." She was shaking her head, tears coming to her eyes. "No, I
won't."
The look of sorrow that filled Neville's face was startling, and Hermione exchanged worried
glances with Theo.

What were they being asked to do?

"Very well," Amycus said, and he grinned at his twin sister. "Alecto?"

She scanned the crowd. "Crabbe," she said finally, pointing at him. "Do Greengrass."

Hermione heard a gasp on her left, and turned to look at Draco. "No - " he was anxiously
clenching his fists. "Granger, no - you have to stop this - "

"What is he doing?" she whispered back to him, and Theo snuck a look at her, confused.

Crabbe waddled to the center of the circle, pointing his wand at Daphne without hesitation.

"Remember," Amycus warned, though he was grinning manically at the pair of young Slytherins.
"You have to really mean it."

Hermione's stomach flipped. Oh no. No, no -

"Crucio," Crabbe grunted, and Daphne sank to the ground, releasing a blood-curdling scream that
seemed to echo through the castle, chilling Hermione to the bone.

Theo immediately jerked forward, something oddly feral appearing in his sharp green eyes at the
sound of Daphne's pain. He managed to hold himself back for a moment to look wildly at
Hermione, his eyes widened in anguish; his glance was a question, a plea for permission, but
Hermione knew better than anyone the hollow ache of helplessness in the face of a lover's
torment.

"Go!" she shouted, tearing the cloak off their shoulders, and Theo didn't hesitate, taking off at a
sprint and pointing his wand at Crabbe.

"Stupefy!" he shouted, barely glancing at Crabbe's disintegrating posture before dropping to catch
Daphne as she fell forward, her arms too weak to brace her own fall. He held her in his arms,
cradling her as she shook, bending his head to hers, and Hermione thought she saw him crying,
clutching at her like he might be able to hold the pieces of her together, to spare her the pain if he
just held on tight enough.

The look on his face, the convulsing girl in his arms - it tore Hermione apart and enraged her. It
shredded her soul and inflamed her, renewing her drive and propelling her to his side, confident
again in what she had decided only hours before.

Draco shouted to her from where he stood by her side. "Alecto!" he warned, pointing.

"Cruci- "

Torture, of course. Always the Death Eaters' first line of defense. Dominance through pain,
savagery before humanity.

"Hermione." Theo had been agitated, perhaps guessing what was passing through her mind.
"What are you saying?"

Oh, Theo. Wasn't it obvious?

"Voldemort requires someone to bring him back. His power is dependent on loyalty. You strip
him of that, and you strip him of his immortality."

"And how exactly would you strip him of that?"

She felt her breath catch in her throat before she answered.

"Wipe out his supporters," she said simply, and she felt a comforting tingling from the wand in
her hand at the words, the immensity of the power at her fingertips blissfully united with her
cause. On her left, she saw Draco nod his approval.

A slash of her wand and a flash of green light, and Alecto fell to the floor in a heap. There was a
gasp from the crowd and a wail from Amycus, who fell to his knees beside his sister.

"Either wipe out the horcruxes or wipe out the supporters. If you strip him of loyalty, you strip
him of immortality."

They looked at each other, considering what that meant.

"'The Chosen One will fail but the Dark Lord will fall into obscurity,'" Theo recited, nodding as
he quoted the once ambiguous prophecy.

"Careful, mudblood," Goyle warned, raising his wand to her chest as he stepped out of the crowd,
a lazy smile on his piggish face. "I'd watch my step, if I was you."

She let her eyes flick questioningly to Draco, who shrugged. "He might try an Unforgivable,"
Draco cautioned. "By the looks of it, he's capable."

Amycus stumbled towards her, his wand poised to strike. "How dare you - "

She cast an effortless protego, throwing them both backwards and disarming them in the process.
The wand hummed ecstatically in her hand, fulfilling her commands before the spell even fully left
her mind.

"A conduit of chaos and suffering," Hermione quoted back to Theo.

Theo looked at her, his chest heaving. "Granger - "

It was a warning. I want to help you, but I can't leave her.

"I've got it," she assured him coolly, pointing her wand at Amycus. "There's just something I need
to say first."

Amycus was snarling, nearly frothing at the mouth with rage. "Just wait," he threatened, lifting his
left wrist to flash her his Mark. "Just wait - "

"His Mark doesn't mean anything anymore," she snapped, flicking her wand to magically knock
Amycus's hand to the side. "It is not Voldemort that you should fear," she added, and she felt the
collective stiffening in the room as she spoke his name. "It's not Tom Riddle that you should fear."
She gave Amycus a hardened stare, jabbing her wand in his face. "It's me."

She had their attention; Draco offered her a single nod of encouragement, and she squared her
shoulders, walking a slow, deliberate circle around Amycus with her wand pointed at his head.

"Tell them," Draco urged. "Do it."

"It's me you should fear," she said again, her voice low and clear. "It's my retribution that you
should concern yourself with. Not his."
should concern yourself with. Not his."

Amycus spat at her feet. "You dare - "

She struck without a word. The wand was more than happy to oblige, the green light positively
blinding in the already dim and stormy room.

Theo's mouth had twitched into a wry grimace. "Chaos and suffering indeed," he said softly. "But
for whom?"

She felt herself smile. "Anyone I decide."

"I am the Master of Death," Hermione said coldly, spurred on by the gasps and murmurs that
resulted. "Voldemort no longer has power here. And if you turn on each other," she added,
spinning to point her wand in Goyle's face. "I will personally make sure you regret it."

Goyle cowered at her wand and in the face of his fear, she smiled.

"Good," Draco said quietly, walking over to whisper in her ear. "Good, Hermione. Convince
them."

"You let his hate poison you," Hermione continued, glaring around her at anyone who dared meet
her eye, Slytherin or not. "You let him convince you that you could claim superiority in blood.
Not anymore," she seethed, and she could tell the wand was sparking in her hand. "He let you
convince yourselves that I and everyone of my birth were frauds, that we were yours to play with
- he spoke to your prejudices, and you, you built a sanctuary in your hate - but that's over. That
time is over."

"A horcrux is not enough. A container of his soul is not enough. I want to see him bleed. I want to
see him fall. I want to do it, and when I look him in the eye, I want him to know that his fate will
be worse than death."

"And what fate is that?" Theo asked.

"I want him to know when he falls at the hands of a mudblood - alone, and abandoned - he will
have already been forgotten."

"I'm sucking the poison out," she concluded, louder, stepping close to look at Goyle directly in the
eye. "So you either change - or you go," she said, pointedly stabbing her wand into the air around
Goyle's face.

It was both more than a threat and less than; it was a fact, and there was no need for drama. It was
a fact. It was her they should fear.

Goyle didn't move.

"Anyone else?" she called, spinning to look at them.

She caught Neville's eyes; she caught the many looks of disturbance from Lavender, from Seamus
and Dean, from Pansy and Blaise - she saw their horrified looks, and it gave her a momentary
pause, her breath hitching temporarily in her chest.

"You're okay," Draco assured her, his breath soothing in her ear. "This is what you have to do.
You have no choice."

She shifted, trying to adopt his confidence.

Draco was right. She was right, even if they didn't understand. Neville and the others that watched
her where she stood, they didn't understand what the world was really like. What Voldemort was
really like. They were like Ron and Harry, so comforted in their beliefs of what amounted to right
and wrong. They hadn't been handed her power. They hadn't been handed her trauma, or her
pain. They didn't understand her cause, couldn't comprehend her abilities. And she had neither the
time nor the ability to assure them of her morals, or her sanity, or what had ultimately become her
path.

What else would she have done?

She asked them silently, daring them to respond. What would you have had me do?

There were no other options. What would have been the result, leaving Amycus and Alecto to
live, to continue to serve their hate, their prejudices, their Lord? They were unhinged, and while
Voldemort still controlled the Ministry, there would be no justice for them.

There would be no justice without her. No justice without the Master of Death.

"They'll all be writing their parents tonight," Draco murmured to her. He was still speaking to her,
still reassuring her, even as her mind vacillated with doubt. "They'll be telling their parents that the
Dark Lord no longer controls things here. Word will spread. His cause will diminish."

She swallowed.

"I know it feels wrong, but trust me, Hermione," he said gently. "This is for the best. They needed
a show of strength, and you are strong."

Was she?

The doubt was crippling.

"Longbottom."

She looked up to find Snape standing in the door of the Great Hall.

"Yes?" Neville asked, and Hermione was surprised to find rebellion glittering in his once-fearful
eyes.

Oh right, she thought hazily, her gaze falling back to Snape. He's been the one letting this all
happen.

"Get everyone to their common rooms," Snape said slowly, then looked around the room.
"Everyone back to their dormitories. Now."

They all looked nervously at Hermione.

"Perfect," Draco breathed in her ear. "Now they answer to you."

"Go," she said carelessly, gesturing, and like cattle, they slowly obliged. Goyle helped a stirring
Crabbe to his feet. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Theo half-carrying Daphne.

"Go with her," she said quietly, walking over to put her hand on his shoulder. "I'll find you."

He nodded gratefully, and the remaining students ambled out of the hall, unsure what had just
taken place. A victory, in a sense - but then, why did Hermione's victories always end with bodies
on the floor?
She and Snape were left alone in the room.

"I'm afraid I was too late to stop you," Snape said hazily, and Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"Plausible deniability," she commented. It was praise, of sorts; or congratulations, at the least. He
shrugged carelessly in response.

"Not a great loss," he jeered drily, gesturing to the siblings that lay on the cold floor. "Though,
logistically, I find myself inconvenienced by the lack of available replacement."

"Get Lupin to do it," Hermione replied easily. "He was the best Defense professor we ever had."

The more Order members in the castle, the better.

Snape gave her a look. "And you recall the outcome, I'm sure."

"That was your fault," Hermione reminded him sternly. "But you can prepare his potion. And if
parents have something to say about it - " she allowed herself a grim, darkened smile. "Send them
my way."

He frowned a little, eyeing her with skeptically pursed lips. "Are you entirely sure you know what
you're doing, Miss Granger?"

A fair point, and she bristled.

"Ignore him," Draco muttered rebelliously in her ear, and she fought a smile.

"I know that students will not be torturing each other at this school anymore," she remarked with
confidence. "I assume I can now count on you for that?"

He managed a half-hearted shrug. "What gives it away?"

"I know a survivor when I see one," she said softly.

And the winds have shifted, haven't they? Allegiances have changed.

He gave her a nod at that. "As do I," he replied, and she felt it again, that odd sense of kinship
with Severus Snape that she had never known whether to embrace or to fear. "And where will
you go next?" he asked, shifting his stance. "The Ministry, I presume?"

"The details are as yet undetermined," she said back, and he somehow heard the unintended
implication. The details were undetermined, but she had something in mind.

"The larger goal?" he pressed.

The words bubbled inside her, scratching and clawing for release.

"I'm going to chase him until he has nowhere left to run," she said slowly. Venomously. "Then
I'm going to kill him with my unbeatable wand, and I'll make sure there's not a soul alive on earth
with any lingering desire to bring him back."

The words were chilling, even to her.

"Thorough," he mused, and she met his dark gaze without hesitation.

"Are you okay?" Theo asked, cradling Daphne in his arms where they sat in the Slytherin
common room.

"It's not the first time," she said back, her eyes squeezed shut. "I just hope it's the last."

"It's the last," Theo said firmly. "Or so help me, I'll - "

"Will you stay?" she interrupted hopefully, wriggling in his arms to tilt her head towards him.
"Will you stay here?"

Yes, yes, absolutely, I'm not letting you go, I'll never fucking let you go -

"I can't," he sighed tightly, burying his face in her hair. "You saw Granger. I can't leave her
alone."

"That's true," she replied, shrugging weakly. "She needs you."

"But things should be safe for you now," he murmured against her ear. "And if they aren't, I'll be
here. I'll come back."

Granger would surely blow the castle to rubble before letting another episode like this one happen
again. He was fairly confident in that.

"Thank you for coming," Daphne whispered, leaning up to kiss his cheek.

"I love you," he replied, startled at how easily the words found him. "I'll always be here for you."

She smiled, slowly disentangling herself from him.

"You should go," she said quietly.

He smirked. "Done with me already, Greengrass?"

"No. Never," she replied, bringing her hand up to run her fingers through his hair. "But by the
sound of it, you have a Dark Lord to defeat."

"Something like that," he agreed.

"Best to go about it quickly," Daphne said, shrugging. "You know. Try to make it back for
second term."

She wasn't looking at him as she spoke, and he found himself smiling. She never was one to admit
her feelings.

"Are you suggesting I take my N.E.W.T.s?" Theo mused, lifting an eyebrow. "I'm independently
wealthy now, you know. I hardly think I need the diploma."

"Graduate for a laugh, then," she said, running her slender fingers across his lips. "Or just be here
with me," she offered, filling his gaze with her wide hazel eyes.

Ah, don't fucking tempt me.

"I can't have you," he reminded her, picking up her left hand and tracing her finger where
someone else's ring would someday go.

"Oh, Theo." She sighed heavily. "You already do."

By the time he managed to leave her, he was filled with a new sense of purpose. Perhaps
Granger's explosive departure from the rails of sanity wasn't such a bad thing. Perhaps with his
help, she might build a world that would have been easier on them - on all of them. Without blood
prejudice; without subscription to the old ways. Perhaps in whatever world Granger cobbled
together, Theo might manage to win the hand he was dealt. Perhaps a world with Granger at its
helm meant he might find solace.

And Daphne.

"Nott," Crabbe snarled menacingly, stepping in front of Theo as he exited the dungeons. "Your
father would be ashamed - "

"Avada Kedavra," Theo intoned dispassionately, watching Crabbe crumple to the floor.

He had been concerned at first that Granger might have overlooked a piece of her retribution-
driven plan in leaving Crabbe behind, and was now relieved at the opportunity to amend her
oversight. Crabbe was fucking menace, a bully and a thug, and his was a prejudice that was
hardly curable, under even the best of circumstances. Granger wanted to wipe out the Dark Lord's
supporters? Well. In this case, at least, Theo was more than happy to oblige.

"Anything else?" he asked Goyle, waiting.

"No," Goyle grunted, his mouth shaking.

"Behave yourself, Gregory," Theo taunted, stepping in close and whispering in the slightly
shorter, stockier boy's ear. "Don't give us a reason to come back."

He clapped Goyle's shoulder aggressively and left him staring blankly at his compatriot on the
floor, not bothering with the mess that was left behind. Crabbe was a brute and a threat, certainly;
but Goyle, in Theo's personal estimation, was redeemable. More thick than evil, really. Only time
would tell, of course; but for now, Theo had none. For now, he had to find Granger.

Theo heard her voice as he traversed the first floor, heading back towards the Great Hall. She was
inside a classroom, perched daintily on the desk, and he paused in the doorframe, listening.

"Are you sure I'm doing the right thing?"

Silence. She was alone in the room.

She frowned. "Yes, I know, but - "

He wondered what she was hearing. He still wasn't entirely sure it was really Draco.

"I know. I know."

She was nodding quietly, swinging her legs comfortably as though in the presence of an old
friend. Or an old love, as it were.

A perpetuating love.

"Doesn't this make me as bad as he is? Even if my intentions are better, do the ends justify the
means?"

Theo wished she were having this conversation with him instead, though he wasn't entirely sure
what he would say.

"What do I do after this? The muggle-born registration commission has to go, of course.
 Thicknesse has to go."

Thicknesse. He had been under Yaxley's Imperius curse, which would have lifted at his death;
perhaps that was why the Dark Lord had left Hogwarts.

She looked alarmed. "Me? You can't be serious, Draco."

Draco.

"But - I'm, I'm - only seventeen - "

She laughed a little.

"That's right, I'd forgotten. Eighteen, soon. Happy birthday to me."

Happy fucking birthday, Theo thought, grimacing. Love of your life's dead but hey, you're only
half insane.

"Still. That's - a lot. This is all just . . . a lot."

Theo felt a pang of sympathy; she had never asked for this. It certainly was a lot.

"I love you too," she whispered. "Thank you for staying with me."

Theo could see she was crying, and he slowly entered the room, stepping between her legs where
she sat on the desk and slowly putting his arms around her.

"I've got you," he said quietly, rubbing her back in small circles. "I've got you."

"I know," she said, sniffling. She buried her face against his shoulder and they stood still for a
moment, alone together.

When she had calmed a little, he sighed, leaning back to look at her. "Well," he said quietly.
"What should we do first? Take over the Ministry, or take out a Dark Lord?"

"Why don't we flip a coin?" she suggested drily, wiping her eyes on the back of her sleeve.

They smiled at each other.

"Let's go fix this fucked up world, Granger," he said gruffly.

"Sounds like a plan," she murmured.

Chapter End Notes

a/n: This chapter is dedicated to rebelsaurus29 and lakelady8425. Thank you, thank
you, and all the many thank yous for reading. New Amortentia to be posted soon for
a little mood boost.
 The Regime
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter 33: The Regime

WIZARDING WORLD UPENDED BY UNEXPECTED REGIME CHANGE

Big changes are ahead for Britain's wizarding world, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent.
Many wizarding families have been struggling to understand the bizarre changes that have taken
place over the past few weeks, all of which seem to stem from the previously reported and deeply
disturbing massacre that took place at Malfoy Manor in early September, which led to the deaths
of several loyal followers of He Who Must Not Be Named. Many of those fallen in the attack at
Malfoy Manor, home of the once powerful so-called Sacred Twenty-Eight bloodline, were those
previously broken out of Azkaban prison, a number of whom were among the suspected Death
Eaters responsible for the overthrow of Rufus Scrimgeour in July of this year.

There has been speculation for some time regarding the possibility of a return to power by He
Who Must Not Be Named, whose true identity is that of half-blood Tom Marvolo Riddle, former
Hogwarts Head Boy and Borgin and Burke's employee whose meteoric rise to power was
predicated on beliefs in blood purity and other decidedly anti-muggle views. This reporter can
now confirm that the death of Rufus Scrimgeour, and his subsequent replacement by the former
Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Pius Thicknesse, were indeed orchestrated
by Riddle in an attempt to gain control of the Ministry. However, since the deaths of the suspected
Death Eaters as a result of the Malfoy Massacre, the strike at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and
Wizardry, and the mysterious disappearances of all known Riddle supporters within the Ministry,
it seems the political tide has shifted in favor of the dark vigilante figure who, until now, has been
reported only as the Master of Death.

Who is the Master of Death? This reporter has managed to uncover the true identity of the
shockingly young and muggle-born Hermione Granger, known familiarly to many while at
Hogwarts as the brightest witch of her age and a close friend of Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.
Little is known about how Granger came to possess the powers that she now wields, but sources
say that her possession of the legendary Deathly Hallows, initially detailed in the 'Tale of the
Three Brothers' as told by Beedle the Bard, is the source of her foreboding title. Those who know
of Granger's true identity are struggling to come to grips with what this means for the future of the
wizarding world, and many wait restlessly to discover whether this new ideologue, who
unilaterally demands fair treatment of all wizarding citizens and magical creatures, will truly
mark an improvement over the previous despot.

The changes that have been implemented since the fall of Riddle and his influencers (specifically,
former Minister Thicknesse and Senior Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge) have been staggering.
As the so-called Master of Death and ouster of He Who Must Not Be Named, Granger managed
to single-handedly topple the growing corruption of Riddle's prejudicial policies, later seeing fit to
declare a state of emergency that named herself as the interim Minister for Magic. As of now,
there is no formal succession plan in place, and it seems that Minister Granger is likely to be a
more permanent fixture at the Ministry, for at least the foreseeable future.

Since taking office, Granger's policy reform has been voluminous to say the least. She has
publicly dismantled the Muggle-Born Registration Committee, openly rebuking former
undersecretary Umbridge's "archaic and tyrannical abuse" of muggle-born witches and wizards
and implementing a full reversal of all corresponding decisions by the Wizengamot. Each
Wizengamot seat is now also under close scrutiny, with many seats expected to be replaced due to
suspicion of dangerous prejudicial beliefs in line with those maintained by Riddle and his school
of thought. With regard to the fallen Death Eaters and Riddle supporters, many of these ancient
families that are now without heirs - Lestrange, Crabbe, Avery, Yaxley, Rowle, among others -
are expected to have their coffers turned over to the Ministry for inspection. There is no word yet
on what is to become of the Malfoy fortune or estate.

Granger has also made an immediate push for the repair of relations between wizards and other
magical species, including giants, house elves, and werewolves, among numerous others. There is
no word yet as to how these negotiations are progressing, but with the decreased support for
Riddle, representatives for these species are expected to cooperate. Granger's own unique history
with magical creatures gives every indication that her attempts at cross-species amicability may
work in her favor.

Strangely, despite the rampant changes to the policies and personnel within the ministry,
suspected Death Eater Severus Snape has been permitted to remain Headmaster at Hogwarts
School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This reporter is given to believe that Headmaster Snape and
Minister Granger may have some kind of personal understanding, though there is no indication
as of now as to what that understanding may be. Changes to Hogwarts curriculum include a
return to Defense Against the Dark Arts, now taught by Professors Remus and Nymphadora
Lupin, a werewolf and a metamorphmagus respectively, as well as a new compulsory muggle
studies practicum. History of Magic has also seen numerous changes to its course syllabus, and
now includes detailed instruction on the many lives lost during the reign of Gellert Grindelwald -
who, ironically, once sought the Deathly Hallows himself - and the corresponding muggle epoch
known as the Second World War.

Minister Granger has asked through her administrative sources that all be vigilant in the ongoing
investigation of Tom Marvolo Riddle, who is currently at large. Granger assures all that Riddle,
previously feared as perhaps the most prolific practicer of the Dark Arts in history, has found in
her a "natural enemy," and that the Ministry, under her leadership, remains "not only strong, but
dedicated to the rebuilding of what once was, and a better world to come."

In the question of how the wizarding world should prepare to move forward in this midst of this
startling regime change, this reporter can only answer that we should remain vigilant, though
there is reason to have hope. We are a people torn apart by warring ideologies, and though the
dawn of a new era is clearly upon us, it is up to us to continue to live with our eyes open to the
realities of the times we live in.

- Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent for the Daily Prophet, October 1997

"I take it you interfered a bit with the way this article was written," Theo mused, refolding the
copy of the Daily Prophet and tossing it back onto the table.

"A little," Granger admitted, standing on tiptoe to replace a jar that she had borrowed from the
kitchen. "I have always had a way of . . . motivating Rita Skeeter."

Somehow, Theo did not find that surprising. He had always known implicitly that Granger hadn't
become this ruthless overnight.

"I see you left out quite a few details," Theo noted, watching her for a reaction. "Leaving the
'mysterious disappearances' unexplained, are you?"

"It seemed the prudent thing to do," she said tiredly, pulling out a chair and sitting across from him
with a steaming cup of tea. "No need to overload the Molly Weasleys of the world with my
conquests."

"Conquests," Theo echoed, humming with amusement. "Interesting choice of words."

"Draco's, actually," Granger said, pursing her lips in a very Malfoy-esque smirk. "I consulted him
about the content of the article, of course." She shrugged. "He seemed satisfied with it."

Theo still struggled to hear Draco's name said aloud so casually. He and Granger were . . . in
different stages of grief, to say the least, and it took a considerable effort to continue the
conversation.

"This last bit, here," Theo said after a moment, picking up the paper and pointing to the final lines.
"'We are a people torn apart by warring ideologies' - am I to assume this is your voice?" He
hesitated. "Or possibly Draco's?"

He had been trying to take her lead, to play to her realities, but the name burned through him so
painfully he wondered if he'd be able to swallow. She didn't seem to notice.

"Actually," Granger said, biting her lip. "That was Rita herself."

Well, that was a fucking surprise.

"You're joking," Theo said, smirking. "Fuck. Really?"

"She's not always a terrible writer," Granger assured him. "She has her poetic moments."

Yeah. Sure.

"How much of it did you have to change?" he asked, flashing her a knowing smirk.

She offered him a merciless grin of her own. "Let's put it this way - this is the short version," she
said airily, picking up the paper and gesturing to its limited column size. "There were a few more
paragraphs about my hair and love life in the article's original form."

Love life. He wondered if that had hurt.

"You didn't mention Draco," Theo said pointedly, eyeing her expression.

To his surprise, she shrugged. "Not the place for it."

True enough.

"What about the gratuitous use of the name Tom Riddle?" Theo pressed. "Surely that's not
Skeeter's work."

"No, that was me," she sighed, and he sensed that had been a point of contention. "Believe me,
she was resistant."

"Do you think there's still fear there?" Theo asked, a little concerned at the prospect. "I had
thought initially you would have wanted - I don't know - more of a show of strength - "

"Of course there's still fear," Granger cut in bluntly, bristling. "There's no erasing what he's done,
or what he's taken from people." She fidgeted for a moment - remembering her own loss, Theo
was sure. She picked up the cup of tea and cradled it between her hands, letting the steam warm
her lips.

"I just didn't think it would be helpful for the general public to fear me," she said finally.
"Though they should," Theo challenged, lifting an eyebrow and watching her take a sip of her tea.

Her lip twitched. "Yes," she agreed. "Some should. But I felt it would be better to chip away at
him, you know," she said, tilting her head appealingly. "Make him less of an enigma."

A valid point. Even Theo could attest that the article's copious use of the Dark Lord's given name
had been effective - and likely infuriating, should it fall into Riddle's hands.

"Smart," Theo commented, nodding at her. "Though I'd expect no less."

She flashed him another Draco-esque smirk. "Nor should you," she said loftily, taking another sip.

Dudley watched Harry nervously chew his thumbnail, waiting for him to finish reading the article.

"How bad is it?" Ron asked, sitting across from them and nervously tousling his thick red hair.

"Hold on," Harry murmured, his eyes still flitting across the page.

Dudley looked over at Ron, wondering how to ease the tension.

"So," he said slowly. "No Hermione, then?"

Ron shot him an impatient glare. It looked like he hadn't been sleeping well, Dudley thought,
eyeing the dark circles that contrasted starkly with the redhead's pale skin.

"We still haven't heard from her," Harry said, sighing as he set the paper down on the kitchen
table. "I have no idea how she's doing."

"And the article doesn't say?" Ron asked, leaping to grab it from him. "Surely Rita Skeeter would
have something to say about it - something to read between the lines, at least - "

"This reads a bit like Hermione's already gotten to it," Harry said, grimacing. "She's certainly
clever enough, and it's a bit too politically correct for Rita Skeeter."

"Not nearly enough gossip," Ron agreed, his blue eyes sweeping anxiously over the page.
"What's this about Hermione's 'administrative sources'?"

"Honestly?" Harry asked, laughing mirthlessly. "I think it means Theo."

"Theo?" Dudley echoed. That was a new name.

He still wasn't totally clear on what was happening, as nobody had really bothered to fill him in.
Ron and Harry had showed up about an hour earlier, looking particularly haggard and adrift;
Harry in particular had been mostly pacing nervously throughout the house since his arrival, not
really answering any of Dudley's questions.

"Theo Nott," Ron clarified, looking as though the name were ever so slightly distasteful in his
mouth. "Malfoy's best friend."

Malfoy - speaking of him -

"Hey," Dudley said, sitting up. "Where is - "

"You know, it must mean Theo," Harry interrupted. "Your dad mentioned that he's seen Theo
several times at the Ministry, but never Hermione."
Dudley furrowed his brow, confused. "Why would Hermione be with - "

"What do you think of this bit," Ron interrupted, pointing to a spot midway through the article.
"About the Ministry inspecting the vaults for the families without heirs?"

"I don't have any thoughts about it," Harry said irritably, standing up again to pace through the
room. "Why? Should I?"

"Harry, the Lestrange vault is going to be inspected," Ron said urgently. "Theo already said the
horcrux had been moved into the Lestrange vault. If Hermione can get us access to it - "

"You think she would?" Harry asked, his face darkening with doubt.

"Harry," Ron admonished him sternly. "Of course she would."

Dudley frowned, his eyes flitting between them. Clearly something had happened between the
four of them.

But what?

"We'll probably have to go through Theo," Harry grumbled, still pacing so vigorously as to make
Dudley concerned for the durability of his footwear.

"I don't think Theo is going to interfere in this," Ron said firmly. "He didn't want us taking her to
the Burrow but he was right, wasn't he?" It looked as though it pained Ron to admit this. "Even
we couldn't stay."

"That's true," Harry muttered back. "It was . . . difficult, having them fuss over us." He flinched.
"And doubt us."

Well, that at least explained why they were here.

Sort of.

Dudley cleared his throat. "So, where exactly - "

"Look, Mione's gone off the rails, obviously," Ron interjected. "But surely she wants us to beat
You-Know-Who just as badly as she's always done - "

Well, that was a startling choice of words, wasn't it?

Dudley made an impatient noise in his throat. "What do you mean she's gone off - "

"Does she?" Harry asked sharply. "Because it certainly seems like she's formulated her own plan,
doesn't it?" He tossed the newspaper onto the floor in a fit of frustration. "I don't know what's
going on in her head, Ron - I just don't know anymore - "

That was about enough.

"OI!" Dudley shouted, leaping to his feet and slamming his fists on the table. The other two
looked up at him, startled, and Harry, lost for words, sank slowly to his seat.

"Yes?" Ron asked apprehensively, waiting.

"Where is Hermione?" Dudley demanded. "Where's Draco? Why is Hermione with this - " he
floundered. "Theo person?"
There was a moment of uninterrupted silence wherein Dudley gathered that he wasn't going to
like the answers to his questions.

Ron rubbed his temple. "Harry?" he asked helplessly, gesturing for him to answer.

"Draco's dead," Harry replied stiffly, his voice breaking.

Dudley hung his head at that. Draco had never been particularly pleasant company and of the
four, he had easily been Dudley's least favorite, but Dudley thought they'd grown to have an
understanding over time. Dudley could see quite clearly that Harry in particular had been deeply
affected by the loss, his normally bright green eyes hazy and dull at the admission.

"Voldemort killed him," Harry added. "And then Hermione - "

He broke off.

"Hermione took some things and made herself really powerful," Ron explained slowly, cutting in
when he sensed Harry could no longer continue. "She wanted to go after You-Know-Who
himself, and - " he paused. "She thought she could use something called the Deathly Hallows to
bring Draco back."

It hurt Dudley's heart just to think about it, to think about whatever must have been going through
her mind.

"And Theo?" he croaked, wondering if he still wanted to hear the whole story.

"Theo showed up after it happened, and we think he's helping her," Ron said. "He came to see us,
and, well . . . "

He trailed off.

"You don't trust him?" Dudley guessed, squinting at them. Ron wasn't making eye contact with
anyone else in the room, and even Dudley could tell that something important wasn't being said.

"It's not that," Ron said hastily. His eyes flicked helplessly to Harry, who in turn stared listlessly at
a spot on the table. "It's just that - we, er." He looked around. "We don't know what to do with
Hermione," he finished lamely, wincing at his own statement.

Dudley blinked at him. "What do you mean, you don't know what to do with her?"

"She killed a lot of people," Harry said roughly, still staring down at the table. "And she
threatened us to get what she needed."

Ron was nodding slowly, looking rather downtrodden at the words.

"We just don't really know who she is anymore," Ron concluded, his blue eyes sad as he looked
at Dudley.

Dudley shifted uncomfortably where he stood, trying to figure out what to say. He knew he wasn't
the smartest person in the room, not by a longshot - he never really was. He was comfortable with
that aspect of himself by this point in his life, and never really bothered to question it. But there
was something very strange to him about how he couldn't seem to make the connection that the
other two were making.

"What do you mean you don't know who she is?" he asked vacantly, blinking. "She's Hermione.
She's the same. She had her - " he paused, feeling a blow to his own chest at the thought. "She
had her heart broken," he continued softly. "She's - she must be broken." He shook his head at
them. "Why aren't you with her? Why aren't you helping her?"

Harry and Ron exchanged a glance.

Ron hesitated. "She wouldn't want us - "

He broke off abruptly, but Dudley could tell that wherever that statement was headed, it was full
steam towards a ridiculous conclusion.

"Of course she would!" Dudley erupted, frustrated.

He'd been watching her all this time, hadn't he? Yes, she had obviously loved Draco, and Dudley
knew she must be shattered without him. She had looked at Draco with an adoration that Dudley
could only envy from afar. But her connection to her two best friends - how could they doubt it?
How could they doubt her?

"She's alone!" Dudley half-shouted at them, feeling himself grow frustrated with their deeply
unsatisfactory reactions. "She's alone, and - and she's probably sad - and - "

He waited for Harry and Ron to react, to say something, anything - but they only stared helplessly
at him. Dudley was somewhat pleased, at least, to see that they both bore vaguely guilty
expressions, each loath to meet the other's eyes.

"She's alone!" Dudley shouted again, louder, banging his hand on the table for emphasis.

Dobby suddenly appeared with a crack, perching lightly atop the table. He was holding a rather
dainty feather duster, and Dudley gathered that he must have been in the process of cleaning with
Kreacher.

"Harry Potter!" Dobby squeaked in surprise, bowing low and then turning to do the same for Ron.
It must have been Dudley's sudden outburst, though, that had attracted the elf's attention, as
Dobby wasted no time turning anxiously to meet his muggle companion's hardened stare.

"Something is wrong, Harry Potter's cousin?" he crooned in his earnest way, his big eyes wide.
"You are upset?"

"Yeah," Dudley said gruffly, trying to shrug off the growing irritation he felt.

"Dobby can help!" he said cheerfully, hopping off the table to stand at attention at Dudley's feet.
"What can Dobby do?"

"Er," Dudley replied, thinking. Harry and Ron were still sitting quietly in what was either guilt or
grief - Dudley couldn't quite tell which.

Hermione needed them, Dudley was sure of it. And by the looks of it, they needed her, too.

He straightened. "Do you know where Theo Nott lives?" he asked the elf, crouching slightly to
even the distance between them.

Dobby nodded. "Dobby has been to Nott Manor many times," he squeaked, then shivered.
"Terrible place," he added, though he looked mortified with himself at the admission. Dudley
patted the elf's shoulder placidly, looking up to challenge Harry and Ron and gesturing roughly to
Dobby with his chin.

"That's got to be where Theo is, right?" he asked the two wizards. "Hermione might be there?"
They nodded back uncomfortably.

"It would make sense," Ron mumbled, his eyes flicking up to catch Harry's. "The house is Theo's
now."

"There'll be blood wards," Harry countered flatly, openly resistant. "If he doesn't want to let us in,
we won't be able to."

Dudley was dismayed at this. When had his cousin become so thoroughly defeated? The
resignation in his tone was disturbing, to say the least.

"You still have to try!" Dudley insisted vehemently, and Dobby, who kept looking back at
Dudley to mirror his stern expression, solemnly nodded his agreement. "You have to try."

They were all silent for a moment, and then it was Ron who finally stood, turning to Harry.

"It's been a month, Harry," Ron said quietly. "We - " he paused, his face contorting into a pained
half-smile. "We missed her birthday," he intoned softly, and despite the intended triviality of the
statement, Dudley could tell this had pained him.

"She hasn't reached out to us," Harry grunted in argument, though Dudley questioned internally as
to the validity of his excuse. "She knows where we are, but she hasn't come looking for us - "

"Dudley's right," Ron cut in, jerking his head in recognition of the stocky blond to his left. "She
got her heart broken." He sighed heavily, letting his head fall back over his shoulders. "Maybe we
need to reach out to her first," he suggested to the ceiling, though he seemed less than convinced
at his own statement.

A pause passed between them.

"She would have done it for us," Ron added wearily, and at that, Harry creaked slowly to his feet
in resignation.

"Yes," he sighed finally. "Yes, I suppose she would."

Dudley wasn't sure yet what the root of his cousin's apprehension truly was, and had no real way
of telling whether it lay in sadness, or fear, or even perhaps in anger. All of that would make
sense, and at the same time, none of it did. Not that Dudley found his own confusion very
surprising - he was only a muggle, after all, and had no understanding of whatever those Deadly
Hollows were, or what they needed to do with the hair-crucks, or why blood wards would matter.

It did, however, seem to him to be quite obvious that whatever Harry was feeling, it would likely
remain unresolved until he faced Hermione himself. Dudley wished he could be there, of course,
but he was only a muggle, after all. Hardly likely they would want him along, he thought with a
pang.

Dudley watched Ron come to Harry's side, gripping the bespectacled wizard's shoulder fiercely
with something that looked a lot like sympathy, and Dudley wondered again what they must have
gone through, to tear them apart like this. He was relieved, as he often was, to find a consistent
ally in Ron; the redheaded wizard was quite understanding when given the opportunity, and it was
obvious he could appeal to Harry's better nature, even if Dudley himself could not.

Though he'd still managed it, hadn't he? He was cheered by the thought. He had, even if it had
taken an assist by Ron.

Dudley smiled smugly to himself, feeling a moment of triumph despite Harry's feelings of
trepidation.

It felt good being right, even if he was just a muggle.

It wasn't until she shut the door behind her that Hermione finally allowed herself to let out a shaky
breath, falling onto her back against the bed that was now hers.

"I'm a fraud," she said aloud, and Draco sighed, draping himself across the bed next to her.

"Are not," he said, sniffing indignantly. "I wouldn't waste my time with you if you were."

"Draco." She sat up, turning onto her side to look at him. "What am I doing?"

"Changing things," he replied evenly, his eyes falling longingly on her lips. "Or had you not
noticed?"

"Am I?" she asked wearily, wondering if she had the energy to cry.

He watched her for a moment, his expression thoughtful.

"You're in your dark place," he commented, letting his fingers hover above hers on the bed.

Maybe.

She let her fingers flutter against the air where his would be, imagining she could feel him.

"You have to focus on the good you're doing," he reminded her, now raising his fingers to trace
the outline of her face. "Everything is a means to an end. Someone has to make the difficult
choices."

"Does it have to be me?" she asked, alarmed at her own whimpering as she slid forward to rest her
cheek against the duvet with a heavy sigh. "Maybe I was 'eternally underestimated' for a reason,"
she whispered. "Maybe I don't have the 'necessary morality' that Snape thought I did," she added,
remembering the dark professor's estimation.

Draco raised his brow skeptically. "You're going to bring Snape's opinion into this?" he asked
sharply, making a face. "You're really reaching, Granger."

She struggled not to smile at that. "I'm just borrowing his phrasing," she said quietly. "The
sentiment is all my own."

"Always discounting yourself," Draco tutted in response, pursing his lips in disapproval. "We've
had this talk, remember?"

"Which one?" she muttered, burying her face in the bedding.

"Remember our conversation before your duel with Ron?" Draco asked pointedly.

He had taken to calling him Ron now, as if in death he could finally release the scattered remnants
of any animosity he'd had in life. Hermione hadn't decided if that was heartbreaking or not.

No, she countered internally. It was definitely heartbreaking. Tragically so.

"Remind me," she sighed, turning to look up at him.

"I was angry at you because you were going to let him win," he said clinically, his piercing grey
eyes searing through her. "And what did I tell you?"

"You said 'why do you need friends, you have me,'" Hermione replied, smiling.

Draco rolled his eyes. "I never actually said that," he grumbled.

Hermione shrugged jauntily. "It was pretty obvious."

"In any case," he said airily, continuing. "I said not to let me be the only one of us who knows
who you are," he pressed. "Remember?"

"I remember we fought about it," she replied, though she couldn't help but smile sadly.

Because there was a time when they fought. Because they could always make up.

He seemed to be thinking the same thing.

"I'm sorry this is how it turned out," he said, revealing a rare moment of weakness that was less
common now that he was gone. She turned her head back to the bedding, forcing her eyes shut
painfully to try and block out the burdensome sorrow that had momentarily filled his face.

She didn't like to see him sad.

"It's his fault," she murmured after a moment. "Not yours."

"It's mine too, I'm sure," Draco retorted bitterly. "Somewhere along the way, there must have been
something I could have done differently."

"Don't," she warned, lifting her head to look at him. "Don't do that. You know that's not helpful."

"This isn't helpful either," he urged, moving closer to her on the bed and laying down to face her.
"You can't internalize this. You can't hate yourself."

She sighed, not wanting to have this conversation again.

"Can you do something for me?" she asked, bringing her hand to the pendant around her neck and
touching it lightly to her lips.

"Anything," he replied, reclining casually. "Within reason, of course."

Reason was so limiting.

"Can you tell me a story, or something?" she asked, stretching out alongside him. "Something to
make me forget about all the . . . conquests," she said, wincing.

He hummed to himself, considering her request. "A true story?" he clarified.

She shrugged. "If you want."

He paused for a moment, running his hands through his pale blond hair. She wished more than
anything to have felt those strands beneath her fingers, and she shivered at the thought of what she
would give, just for that.

Anything.

"Once," he began, somewhat unsteadily, "there was a beautiful Gryffindor Princess."

"Once upon a time," she corrected, and he tossed her an arrogant smirk.

"Fine," he conceded. "Once upon a time, there was a beautiful Gryffindor Princess, and a
handsome Slytherin Prince."

"How handsome?" she pressed.

"Granger, honestly," he exclaimed indignantly. "Do you want a story or not?"

"Fine," she sighed, looking down at where their legs might have been tangled together, if this had
been another life. "Go ahead."

"Very handsome, to answer your question," he said. "Obviously."

"Obviously," she agreed, nodding solemnly. "Continue."

"The Slytherin Prince was born in a castle where he was raised with fear and hate," he managed,
his face twitching sadly. "And the Gryffindor Princess was born away from her kingdom, not
knowing who she really was. But," he said, his eyes hungrily scanning her face, "they had
something in common."

"What's that?" Hermione asked, looking up at him hopefully.

"When they were born, there was an invisible red thread of fate that connected them," he said,
tracing a line from his heart to hers. "And because of the thread, they were destined to meet.
Regardless of time, or place, or circumstance."

"How was the thread both red and invisible?" she asked quietly, trying not to focus on the way the
sentiment was making her heart pound with longing.

"Hush," he said flippantly, waving her concern away. "Because of the castle the Prince was born
into, he pulled so hard at the thread that it became stretched and tangled, and even when he was
close to the Princess, he was far away." He looked saddened. "Too far to know what he had."

"Did it break?" she asked, knowing the answer.

"Never," he replied. "It's the red thread of fate," he added pointedly. "There's no breaking it."

"Fair," she managed weakly.

"The Prince didn't see the thread that connected them right away, but when he did, he was afraid,"
Draco continued. "Too afraid to know what to do. Too afraid to know whether to believe what he
saw."

"And did he?" she asked, seeing a flash of his face in the mirror's reflection, that day in the
seventh floor bathroom when she caught her first glimpse of his soul.

"Because the Princess had a good heart, and a kind one, she showed the Prince the parts of him
that weren't filled with hate or fear," he said, his throat straining as he managed to swallow with
difficulty. "She showed the Prince how to love."

The truth of the statement rang in the silence between them.

"Please," she begged him, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Please give them a happy ending."

The look he gave her was touching and warm and tragic, and all of those things at once.
 "The thread bound them," Draco said firmly. "It brought them to each other. But because they had
love, they didn't need fate." He brought his face close to hers and she closed her eyes,
remembering the feel of him. "They had a love that was stronger even than death."

"They got married," she whispered, urging him to give her the happily ever after that had been so
carelessly taken from her. "They lived a long life together."

"Yes," he agreed, sensing her need. "And when they had their own princes and princesses, they
brought them into the world they created - a world without the hate that nearly kept them apart."

"A better world," Hermione said softly.

He always knew her, didn't he? Through and through. He never let her forget.

"You have to make it," he told her forcefully. "Even without me. You have to make it."

"Okay," she whispered. "For you."

He shook his head. "For you," he told her. "For us."

Chapter End Notes

a/n: dedicated to NMDon and McKenna. You both left very personal reviews that left
me speechless. Thank you for taking the time to share your feelings with me, and I
hope you continue to find meaning in the story.

Credit to UnicornShenanigans for the Red String of Fate inspiration, which, for
reference, is based loosely on the East Asian proverb.
 The Supplication
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter 34: The Supplication

Hermione knew they were there the moment they arrived on the doorstep. The wards on Nott
Manor were particularly sensitive, for one thing, and for another, she knew her best friends.

They may not know her anymore, but she certainly knew them.

"What's the matter?" Draco asked quietly, watching her face change as she looked up from her
notes. She had been tracking rumors of Voldemort's latest movements, a rather consuming
diversion she now employed to occupy the majority of her spare time.

To absolutely no avail, of course - which was only making her slightly unhinged.

She bit her lip. "Harry and Ron are here," she said tentatively, suffering from a wave of
immeasurable dread where she was quite sure she should have felt relief.

"Good," Draco breathed, coming to stand beside her. "I've been wondering how they're doing."

She shifted uneasily at that. It appeared that between the two of them, their respective gut reactions
were somewhat contradictory.

"I've been keeping an eye on them," she insisted stiffly, but he tossed her a look of undiminished
skepticism.

"Scouring articles of the Daily Prophet for news about Harry doesn't count as keeping an eye on
them," he said softly. "You know that."

She frowned.

"I don't know what you expect me to do," she replied sourly, suffering from a particularly painful
tremor of remorse. "After everything I did - "

"I don't expect you to do anything," he cut in quickly. Too quickly.

"It's your choice," he added, his expression neutral.

They paused, and she fidgeted.

"But?" she asked, looking pointedly at him, scouring his face for whatever he wasn't saying.
"Clearly you have some input."

He shrugged innocently. "Nothing of consequence," he said hazily. "Besides. They're here now."

She was tearing at her lower lip with her teeth. "I wonder why."

Draco shrugged again. "Does it matter?" he asked, lifting a carefully arched brow.

"Of course it matters!" she exclaimed, coming to her feet and beginning to pace through the room.
"I haven't heard from them in over a month - I have no idea what they're thinking - "
His grey eyes were wide and incredulous as they followed her around the room. "So?"

"So!" She stomped her foot for emphasis. "So, it means I don't know how they're going to react to
me!"

There. She'd said it.

Draco pursed his lips indignantly, which was not the reaction she was looking for.

"Hermione," he started, opening his mouth to argue.

"Don't," she warned, resuming her pacing. "I just - I don't think I can see them, you know - not
without knowing - "

She trailed off.

"Knowing what?" he asked, his eyes still boring into her from where he watched her frantic
motioning. "If they forgive you?"

Yes.

The thought alone stung.

"There's no way they forgive me," she managed hoarsely, starting to chew on the cuticle of her
thumb. "There's no way."

He sighed. "Hermione - "

"No," she said frantically, whipping around to face him. "There's no way I can face them - I'm just
- " she broke off. "I'm not ready - "

"This is Harry and Ron we're talking about," Draco insisted, walking over to look her in the eye.
"How can you doubt them?"

Well. It wasn't really them she was worried about, was it? If she were being honest, she might
have managed to admit that she didn't want to see herself through their eyes.

Unfortunately, the more she thought about the prospect of doing so, the more she felt an
insurmountable fear pulse through her.

"We have to go," she said abruptly, feeling her heart pound as she increased the speed of her
pacing. "We have to leave."

He gaped at her, and from the way he was agitatedly clenching his white-knuckled fists, she
guessed he was frustrated yet again by his inability to grasp her by the shoulders and physically
force her to confront her apprehension.

"What is this?" Draco demanded, moving to follow her around the room. "Is this fear?"

She shook her head furiously. "It doesn't matter - "

"Yes, it matters," he growled in frustration, his grey eyes narrowed. "Of course it matters."

She huffed impatiently, wishing he would leave it alone. "Don't psychoanalyze me right now,
Draco," she snapped, pausing to face him with both hands on her hips.

He blatantly ignored her.

"If you're afraid, you need to just confront this," he admonished her, grimacing. "You need to face
them, Granger, and you should do it now."

"I can't," she replied, and she cut him off briskly when his mouth opened again to argue. "I can't!"

He, in turn, looked unspeakably frustrated. "Hermione - "

"I'm leaving," she repeated, cutting him off. Whatever his argument was, she didn't want to hear it.
"We're leaving."

"Where?" he asked helplessly, his shoulders limp. "Where are you going to go?"

"I don't know," she retorted angrily. Did it matter? "Just - somewhere." She bent to gather her
notes, tossing them onto the bed. "Somewhere that's not in this house."

"Don't run," Draco chided her, his temper rising. "Do not run - "

"I'm not running!" she shouted, letting the scattered handwritten pages fall from her grasp as she
fell limply against the bed, burying her face in her hands.

She heard a voice come from behind her in the open doorframe.

"Yes you are," Theo said drily, and Draco jumped, startled.

Great, she thought furiously, dreading another lecture.

"I'm not," she whimpered back, a flagrant lie.

"You are," Theo corrected again, coming over to where she sat on the bed. "Move," he said
brusquely, gesturing with his chin.

Draco, for his part, settled himself across the room, watching.

"I'm not ready," she told Theo, the words muffled behind her hands. She purposefully avoided
making eye contact with him. "I can't see them yet."

"That's all well and good," Theo replied loftily, and she felt him lean back against his elbows
beside her. "But you have to see them sometime, Hermione."

Draco frowned. "It is not well and good," he argued fiercely, but Theo cut him off.

"If not now, then when?" Theo asked pointedly, watching her guarded expression. "If you're not
ready now, when will you be ready?"

"I don't know," she said bitterly. And she didn't. "But not now. Not today."

Draco huffed in frustration. "Granger - "

"Don't," she snapped at him, finally looking up, and she caught a flicker of dismay in Theo's eyes
before he seemed to put it aside temporarily, shaking his head and turning back to her after
glancing at the empty spot where Draco was sitting.

"Look, don't go anywhere," Theo said gently. "If you're not ready today, fucking fine - not today,
then." He gave her a pleading glance. "But just don't go anywhere."

Draco, who was clearly displeased with the turn of events from Theo, made a disgruntled noise of
impatience.

"He's coddling you," he growled to Hermione, and she glared at him. "Don't listen to Theo. Just
go talk to them," he urged her.

She shifted uncomfortably, not enjoying being the subject of his scrutiny.

"Did you let them in?" she asked Theo, knowing the answer.

"Yes," he replied steadily. "They're waiting downstairs."

Draco looked hopeful at that, but she shook her head, avoiding his gaze.

"Talk to them," she implored Theo, swallowing her immediate guilt and looking pleadingly into
his green eyes. "I can't. Not now."

"Hermione!" Draco exclaimed, rising to his feet and walking up to her, trying to force her to make
eye contact with him. "Hermione, you need them - you need to talk to them - "

"Will you tell them?" she asked Theo, fighting to ignore Draco's sputtered protests. "Just tell them
I'm not ready yet." She bit her lip. "Not yet."

"Okay," Theo agreed soothingly, putting his hand on her shoulder.

"Theo!" Draco shouted, looking as though he might pull his own hair out in frustration. "Theo,
you fucking arse - "

"Thank you," Hermione breathed gratefully. "Really. Thank you."

He nodded. "If you're not ready, you're not ready."

"Theodore Nott," Draco seethed through his teeth, shaking his head. "You little - "

"What does Draco think about it?" Theo asked wryly, and Hermione wondered for a moment if
he was mocking her. There was a momentary lilt to the question that struck her like a sharp jab to
her chest.

"He's very upset with you," she replied evenly, finally glancing up to meet the full, punishing
blow of Draco's piercing grey eyes.

"I'm going to kill him," Draco corrected her, crossing his arms and drumming his fingers in
agitation. "I'm going to come back to life just to slap him."

"Ah, well," Theo said, shrugging. "He never listened to me anyway." He came slowly to his feet.
"Much to his detriment, I might add."

At that, Hermione smirked at Draco.

"Granger," Draco said, giving her a look of haughty skepticism. "Do not listen to him. About this
or anything else," he added, making a face.

"Mm," Hermione replied, shrugging noncommittally.

Theo walked slowly to exit the room, giving her a lingering look from over his shoulder.

"If you change your mind," he started, and she nodded, preempting the remainder of the
statement.
"If I change my mind, I'll come down," she assured him mechanically.

She hadn't even tried to make it convincing, she realized, letting her head loll back with a sigh.

Theo, ever the observer, frowned in disappointment. "You won't, though, will you?"

She shook her head. "Deeply unlikely," she said flatly, and beside Theo, Draco dramatically
threw his hands in the air, resigning from his many failed attempts to convince her otherwise.

"Someday," she added for both their benefit, and she meant it. She was pretty sure she meant it.
"Just . . . not today."

Theo nodded. "Fair enough," he said, his voice ringing with defeat as he slowly shut the door
behind him.

The moment he was gone, Hermione sighed loudly, turning to upend the heavy duvet and then
slipping under the covers. Draco, though, remained standing across the room, staring at the door
Theo had just exited as though he fervently wished he could blow it down.

"This is all kinds of wrong, Granger," Draco told her firmly, his voice raw with emotion. "You
should be there with them."

She didn't want to hear it.

"I only want to be with you," she replied sadly, curling into a ball and hugging herself tightly.

Draco let out a heavy sigh, but by the time he slowly rotated to face her, she could tell he was no
longer angry with her. It was fruitless, anyway. Surely he knew that.

He crossed the room and positioned himself next to her on the bed, unabashedly drinking in the
features of her face.

"I miss you," he said.

Hermione shut her eyes, too tired to cry.

Theo sauntered into Snape's office, throwing himself dramatically into the chair opposite the
excessively large desk with a loud, disruptive clatter.

"Yes?" Snape drawled slowly, not looking up.

"Not very secure around here, Severus," Theo remarked, eyeing his fingernails. "The password is
Lily? Really?"

"This may surprise you," Snape began drily, turning the page of the book he was potentially only
pretending to read, "but people don't normally seek me out."

"You should have warned me to sit down for that one," Theo said, smirking.

"You are sitting," Snape informed him, lips pursed. "Uninvited, I might add."

"But not unwelcome," Theo said spiritedly, adjusting to sit up straight. "Besides," he said,
shrugging. "I'm told I have a tendency to make myself at home."

"Is that by chance a quote from the Ministry of Magic?" Snape asked coolly, leaning back in his
chair. At Theo's pointed silence, the corners of the dark professor's mouth twitched into a knowing
smirk. "You've been busy," he intoned flatly, and Theo could see a copy of the Rita Skeeter
article peeking out on his desk.

"Indeed," Theo agreed, attempting to evoke a more fluid nonchalance than he actually felt. "I
hope you haven't been too put off by my extended absence," he added, ever the showman.

"The tears have since stilled," Snape replied in his seasoned monotone.

They eyed each other carefully, a brief stalemate of wit.

"So," Snape pronounced impassively. "Do you plan to tell me why you're here, or must I continue
to fall victim to your whimsy?"

"Both," Theo proclaimed loftily, though he sobered a bit at the reminder of the topic at hand. "As
it turns out, Severus, I'm rather in need of some guidance."

Snape looked as though he was fighting to contain a vigorous eye roll. "Nott, on the few
occasions that you have come to me for assistance, not once have you ever followed my advice,"
he reminded him. "Why should this be any different?"

"If at first you don't succeed?" Theo offered, raising his shoulders in a juvenile shrug.

Snape glared at him.

"I figure you've taken on the role of my mentor, Severus," Theo added. "Why stop now?"

"Not your best decision, Mr. Nott, using me as a point of reference," Snape commented darkly.

"Not my worst, either," Theo countered.

"No," Snape snorted derisively. "Certainly not."

They considered each other carefully for another minute or so before Theo finally gave in.

"Fine," Theo conceded, sighing. "I'm out of my element and I need help. With Granger," he
clarified, waiting for the headmaster's expression to change.

It didn't.

"And?" Snape prompted.

Theo hesitated, letting his mind wander to the conversation he'd had just hours ago as he
wondered how to proceed.

"What do you mean she won't see us?" Weasley had demanded, though Potter had looked less
than surprised.

"I don't know how to put it in small enough words for you to understand," Theo snapped in
response. "I cannot make it any simpler: she's just not ready."

It had been a hard position to argue, of course. Theo didn't exactly consider it to be in her own
best interest to segregate herself from the world, and particularly from her friends - but in true
Theo Nott fashion, he had resolved to stay quiet a long time ago.

"What's to be ready for?" Weasley had protested, his face nearly as red as his hair. "Are you sure,
Nott - "
"I don't have the time or the energy to bother lying to you," Theo had retorted, though he softened
a bit at the subsequent dual looks of disappointment.

"Look," Theo had admitted after a moment, "I do think it would be best for her to talk to you, but
she can't do it yet." He looked at both of them, hoping for once they would manage to recognize
his genuine earnestness. "I'm not going to force her if she's not ready."

Weasley had grumbled a little, but Potter nodded steadily, a gesture that warmed Theo slightly, as
both Gryffindors had appeared to have come around in at least some measurable way. They'd
proceeded to ask for his assistance in procuring whatever horcrux was previously in the Lestrange
vault - which Theo had agreed to, of course, because fucking why not? - but when he saw the
disheartened way the two had practically dragged themselves away from his house, still looking
around as though they expected Granger to turn the corner any second, Theo had sensed there
might be some action required on his part.

He could not, after all, disregard Granger's admission after he'd left her to her thoughts. I only
want to be with you, she'd said to nobody, and to no answer.

It had been pretty fucking saddening, to say the least.

The more Theo thought about how far she'd traveled from reality, the more he realized he was in
well over his head. Fearing for her sanity - and what was left of her heart, among other things - he
had decided to seek counsel elsewhere.

Unfortunately, there was only one person to go to when such things occurred to Theo; the
unfortunate bit being, of course, the rather inarguable unpleasantness of said person, particularly
where it came to matters that pertained so closely to the heart. Theo was grateful, at least, that the
furniture in this iteration of Snape's dwelling was a considerable improvement over the pieces
which outfitted the living room of Spinner's End, any and all of which would surely collapse from
strain and poor construction sooner rather than later.

Which would have been unpleasant foreshadowing, to say the least.

"She's losing herself," Theo remarked finally, identifying a place to start. "She talks to what she
thinks is Draco all the time, and so far, she refuses to see Potter or Weasley."

Snape pursed his lips, thinking. "She has the Resurrection Stone, does she not?" he asked
vacantly. "What makes you believe it's only what she thinks is Draco?"

"Well I don't know, do I?" Theo asked, bristling. "I can't see him. And even if he really is there,"
he added, quite adamant in his defense, "he's still not fucking there." He waved his hands around,
attempting to clarify his point by emphasizing the physical state of Draco's being.

"Historically, I have not had much difficulty appealing to Miss Granger's ability to see logic,"
Snape pointed out.

It was an unusual defense, Theo noted with surprise, but he shook his head, still not quite
managing to convey his point.

"That's the thing," Theo said bitterly, flailing as he tried to explain himself. "She's still, I don't
know - functioning, I guess - "

"She is Minister for Magic," Snape said pointedly, tapping his fingers absentmindedly against the
desk.
"Yes, I mean, she's fine, technically," Theo conceded, bowing his head. "But she's also a fucking
mess."

"This coming from someone who once took the Dark Mark to chase a ghost," Snape countered,
his eyes wide and mocking.

"Yes, fine, I'm an idiot," Theo snapped in retort, waving his hands around wildly as he spoke.
"Still. I need help." He looked imploringly at Snape. "Please," he added hopefully, wondering
how many times in one day he would have to beg people to see his sincerity.

Snape considered him carefully. "Who are you concerned for?" he asked, cocking his head
curiously. "Miss Granger?"

"Yes, her," Theo said, nodding. "Among other people."

Snape gave him a look. And?

"I'm concerned for everyone!" Theo erupted, leaning forward. "She isn't exactly stable, and she
has more power than a person in that position should," he said, frustrated. "She spends most of her
time alone, usually trying to figure out how she can find the Dark Lord so she can fucking - I don't
know," he said, pausing, "tear him to shreds or something - and even if she hasn't done anything
too terrible yet - "

"'Too terrible' remaining in the eye of the beholder," Snape remarked.

" - the fact that she refused to see Potter and Weasley has not been reassuring," Theo finished.
"Look, I fucking know what it's like to not want the life you have anymore," he added quietly,
looking at his hands. "I know what happens when you get reckless with your own life."

There was a brief pause as Snape's expression softened.

"You certainly do," Snape agreed, his tone more gentle than Theo would have predicted.

The younger wizard sighed helplessly in response. "If the only person she wants to be around is
the ghost of Draco, I don't know what's going to happen to her," Theo said grimly. "She's -
unpredictable." He shook his head. "I have to do something to fix it."

"And if you can't?" Snape posed.

"Not an option," Theo muttered, looking up to meet Snape's eyes.

Snape, in turn, nodded slowly, considering him.

"She trusts you, does she not?" he asked.

"To some extent," Theo admitted. He was, after all, perhaps the last person on earth that Granger
willingly indulged. "But she's just going to slowly drive herself mad this way - it's all just chipping
away at her soul, and I'm - "

He swallowed.

"Grown to care for her, then, have you?" Snape supplied obnoxiously.

Fucking Severus Snape. As if Theo didn't already feel weak enough at being forced to reveal his
better nature.

"Granger's the only family I have," Theo muttered back. "She's all I have, and I'm . . . afraid for
"Granger's the only family I have," Theo muttered back. "She's all I have, and I'm . . . afraid for
her."

Saying it out loud was surprisingly cathartic. I'm fucking afraid for her.

"Just help me save her," Theo finally begged, leaning forward and abandoning his signature mask
of bravado. "Just help me."

Snape considered him through hooded eyes.

"I would like to help you, Theo," he said slowly.

Theo hung his head. "But," he muttered, glancing up expectantly.

"I don't know if I can," Snape concluded, and he seemed genuinely regretful. "Who you become
when you lose a love can be - "

He trailed off, shaking his head. "The effects can be quite diminishing," he managed after a
moment.

Theo stirred, protesting. "But - "

"I'm not saying there's nothing you can do," Snape amended sharply. "I would certainly not
suggest that the situation is hopeless. However," he said, and the word had a devastating ring as it
hung in the acoustics of the room, "I'm not sure there's anything available to either of us as things
are now."

"So, you're saying I do nothing?" Theo interpreted dully. "That's . . . it?"

"Be a friend to her," Snape advised. "Perhaps not a silent friend, as she might need guidance - but
a friend nonetheless."

"And just fucking cross my fingers that things turn out well?" Theo mocked, disgusted by the utter
absurdity of the thought.

Snape's dark eyes glimmered sadly. "In essence."

"Well," Theo proclaimed loudly, coming to his feet. "I can't say this has been a pleasure, Severus,
as I find myself rather unsatisfied."

Supremely unsatisfied.

"I will wait to weep," Snape intoned flatly.

Theo thought to respond, but by the time he opened his mouth, Snape had returned his attention to
the books that littered his desk. Theo could tell the conversation was over, and that he'd gotten as
much as he was ever going to, at least for the time being.

Theo backed out of the room slowly, wondering what the future would look like. From where he
currently stood, it was bleak to say the least; he snuck another glance at Snape, but the man had
not looked up, his eyes continuously scanning the pages before him even after Theo slipped out
the door. Theo, then, left the headmaster's office a little heavier, downtrodden from bearing the
weight of a new and resounding hopelessness, the depths of which he could not fathom.

Draco gone. Narcissa gone. Granger half gone, by the looks of it.

For someone who was still standing, Theo could barely manage to breathe.
As soon as Theo had left the office, Severus turned pointedly to the portrait behind him.

"You were conspicuously silent," he commented.

Albus offered him an airy shrug. "I was visiting Armando," he said in explanation, gesturing with
his chin at one of the other portraits that lined the walls. "Surely you did not want to be
interrupted," he added, a devilish glimmer appearing in his eyes.

Severus did not buy this for a second.

"The Granger girl is falling apart and yet you have nothing to contribute?" he countered, irritated
with the false coyness. "Albus. Please."

"I thought your advice to Mr. Nott was quite lovely, Severus," Albus replied demurely. "Though,"
he said heartily, and at that, Severus fought an internal groan. "Now that you ask, of course - "

"Out with it," Severus snapped, glaring at the portrait of the man who had been his mentor.

Albus's blue eyes continued to twinkle mischievously.

"There is, perhaps, something at your disposal," Albus suggested, evasive as ever. "If you don't
mind fetching it," he added.

Severus could only manage a rather juvenile sigh of consummate exhaustion. "Yes?" he
prompted, awaiting what would surely be extremely hazy instruction.

"Third drawer," Albus replied, pointing. "On the right."

An actual item? Not a metaphor?

Severus blinked. "Oh," he replied vacuously, pulling open the drawer and squinting into the
cavernous space. "What am I looking for, exactly, oh wise one?" he asked, his voice carrying as
he poised himself to descend the narrow ladder that was propped against the lip of the drawer.

"You'll see it," Albus said, and Severus cursed internally as he slowly made his way down each
rung.

"Lumos," he said, looking around at the area inside the drawer, which consisted largely of
polished shelves that gleamed against a rocky, mountainous interior. There were a variety of
books, a number of odd items, most of which were innocuous and - frankly - uninteresting; but as
Severus squinted at a small item in a crimson pouch, he realized his name was written delicately
alongside it, the familiar handwriting glittering in the dimness of the drawer.

The small pouch was exceedingly light and he picked it up quickly, remounting the ladder and
emerging into the now startling brightness of his office.

"This?" Severus asked wryly, setting the small item on the desk as he shook loose dust from his
robes and resumed his seat.

"Ah, you found it," Albus proclaimed merrily. "Excellent work, Severus."

"Thrilled my talents are being put to such productive use," Severus muttered back, unfastening the
ties of the pouch and letting the small item slither out onto the wooden surface of the desk.

The metallic object was silver, hanging on a rather ornate chain and bearing the same distinct
markings that had existed on the deluminator that Albus had willed to the Weasley boy. They
 markings that had existed on the deluminator that Albus had willed to the Weasley boy. They
were markings, of course, that would only be known to a trained eye, but Severus had one such
eye; he could tell immediately that it was an object of Dumbledore's own invention - or at least,
the man's own particular brand of tinkering.

Of course, there were only so many ways to disguise a magical item of this significance, and in
this case, Albus had scarcely tried. Severus found himself disheartened at the immediate - and,
frankly, quite unsettling - knowledge of what, exactly, he now held in his hand.

"Albus," he said stiffly, turning back to the portrait. "Exactly how many times have I uncovered
this particular item?"

For there was no mistaking it. Severus Snape was currently grasping tightly within his fingers
what was undoubtedly, in some form or another, a time turner.

A fucking time turner, Severus swore internally, unrepentantly channeling his inner Theo Nott and
struggling to fight the rising color in his cheeks.

"Well?" he demanded, looking up into the blue eyes that were always so staggeringly omniscient.
He had never much appreciated the reminder that in Albus Dumbledore's hands, even the brightest
were pawns.

"I think you'll find it's already set to where you need it," Albus replied casually, sidestepping the
question in a way only he could manage.

Severus, in turn, glared at him. "But - "

"See you soon," Albus interrupted jovially, and Severus sighed.

Fucking Albus Dumbledore.

Chapter End Notes

a/n: Dedicated to Relent1ess; your review was incredibly moving and I was honestly
so affected by it. I can only hope you continue to find meaning in the story. And to
turbulenthandholding - it has been all kinds of fun watching you catch up with
Marked.

My fluff well's been a bit dry the last few days but I'm hoping to post in Amortentia
shortly. Otherwise, some fun things on tumblr: DrSallySparrow and I are currently
writing epically bromantic letters to each other while in character as Harry Potter and
Draco Malfoy, respectively. The posts are titled Epistles and I highly recommend
them (and her, for she possesses wit for miles). Her new WIP Gin n Tonic fic (Ginny
x Tom Riddle) is fantastic and imaginative - so go read How Do You Solve a
Problem Like Ginevra (fanfiction.net) and thank me later.
 The Maestro
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter 35: The Maestro

Albus barely looked up from his desk at Severus's frantic entry.

"What is this?" Severus demanded, holding up the silver time turner in his tightly clenched fist.
The more he'd thought about the implications of the object's existence, the angrier he had become.

"Obviously, Severus, you are fairly clear on what it does," Albus replied primly, closing the book
he was browsing with a slow, painstaking deliberation before looking up to meet the eyes of his
rather winded associate.

Severus huffed impatiently at his inattention. "Do not patronize me, Albus!" he snapped, rattling
the silver object in the process. "I want an explanation - "

"So," Albus interrupted coolly, leaning back in his chair. "How did I die this time?"

Severus nearly choked on his gasp of surprise.

"What?" he asked dully, sputtering. "What - how - "

Albus's blue eyes were, as always, twinkling mischievously.

"Why don't you take a seat, Severus?" he suggested placidly. "If I know you - and I do," he
clarified, raising a pale, silvery brow, "this will be a lengthy conversation."

Severus fidgeted where he stood.

"I do not enjoy being made to feel foolish, Albus," he warned in a low voice, agitatedly glancing
at the proffered chair.

The old man considered him thoughtfully.

"I'll answer your questions," Albus assured him after a moment, gesturing again. "Sit, Severus.
Please."

Severus moved unhappily to comply, yanking out the chair opposite the Headmaster's own and
perching uncomfortably at its edge.

"How many times have you already answered my questions?" Severus posed tightly. "How many
times have I come back here?"

"It's quite fascinating to me that you seem to have no interest in where in time you are," Albus said
loftily. "Your priorities are really quite intriguing."

Severus grunted in irritation. "How many times?" he repeated, clenching his jaw tightly.

"Three," Albus replied, sighing. "This being the third."

"Three?" Severus said haltingly. "Do you mean to tell me that you have been running this same
time scenario three times?"
"Of course not," Albus said, and Severus relaxed for a moment.

"This is your third time asking me these questions, Severus, but this is my sixth attempt," Albus
delineated, purposefully disregarding the frustration Severus openly exhibited at his initial
misleading answer.

"Sixth?" Severus stood, moodily pacing to try and find an outlet for his heightening
disgruntlement. "Sixth. Albus. You can't be serious."

Albus lifted an eyebrow thoughtfully, as though he did not feel it worth his time to respond to his
younger associate's outburst.

"How did I die?" Albus asked instead, revisiting his initial question.

Severus brought his hands to his face, abruptly halting his pacing. "How would you even know
that?" he asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

In answer, Albus lifted his right hand and set it roughly on the desk. It was as blackened and
charred as it had been when he had first come to Severus for help, and Severus guessed the
damage was perhaps less than a week old.

"I've died in the last two rounds of this," Albus said quietly. "It seems that is my fate."

The older wizard's voice was rough, his speech halted and regretful. Severus, in turn, let his hand
slip slowly from his face.

He frowned, his mind racing. "How - "

"Sit down, Severus," Albus said again, a weary chipperness returning to his tone. "Please," he
added. "And I'll tell you the whole story."

"Everything?" Severus asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes.

"Everything," Albus replied, nodding.

Severus grumbled internally but threw himself down in the chair, a sulky, childish motion that was
not missed by his wizened mentor.

"Come now, Severus," Albus said consolingly. "However you're being made to feel, you know as
well as I do that you are no fool. And," he added pointedly, "surely you know that there is no time
to waste."

"Seems like there's plenty of time," Severus remarked tightly, his eyes flicking to the time turner
on the desk. "Clearly you have more than enough of it."

"Severus," Albus warned, his tone dangerously low.

Severus sighed. Fine.

Let the discussion begin.

"What happened the first time?"

Albus's face seemed to brighten. "Funny you should ask," he said gaily. "Really, they're quite
interesting stories. All of them."
Severus jerked his head in impatient acknowledgement.

"Well," Albus began, "all of this turns on Harry Potter, of course."

Severus fought to contain a sneer. "Of course," he echoed irritably.

"When Harry first fell into my care, I was hesitant to leave him with his muggle relatives," Albus
explained. "They were . . . unpleasant, to say the least."

Severus's eyes widened. "You left him in the care of someone else?"

"Sirius Black," Albus replied easily. "The obvious choice, of course." He shrugged. "It was quite
clear to me after Peter Pettigrew's disappearance that Sirius had had nothing to do with any of the
events that occurred, either surrounding the Potters' death" - Severus winced at that - "or the
subsequent finger incident." He leaned back in his chair, settling into the story. "I intervened on
his behalf."

"So the Potter boy grew up a wizard?" Severus asked, feeling the strange blow of a vastly
different reality. "And a Black?"

"Yes," Albus said, nodding. "He befriended a number of other wizarding children, including
Ronald Weasley, and - " he paused, smiling. "A certain young Mr. Malfoy."

"Potter and Malfoy?" Severus asked, blinking in disbelief. "Friends?"

"Close friends, once Narcissa and Sirius reconciled," Albus confirmed, nodding. "Housemates as
well."

"Slytherin?" Severus guessed, mouth agape.

Albus shook his head. "Gryffindor," he corrected. "Along with Mr. Nott and Miss Granger."

"No," Severus said instantly, blinking. "Potter in Slytherin - possible, at a stretch. But Malfoy, a
Gryffindor?" He shook his head, unable to process. "Absurd."

"As it turns out, due to their friendship prior to attending Hogwarts, Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter
chose to intercede on Mr. Nott's behalf when his relationship with his father soured," Albus
explained. "The subsequent bond and taste for rebellion against authority rather . . . infected Mr.
Malfoy, one might say," he added, his eyes glittering with pleasure at the thought. "A quality that
only festered over time after he grew quite close to Miss Granger."

Severus was beginning to wonder if he was being read a rather elaborate bedtime story. "And
when did such a relationship begin?" he drawled skeptically. "Did Potter play matchmaker for
them?"

"Merlin, no," Albus said, waving his free hand carelessly as though it were Severus who were
being foolish. "Harry and Hermione were only friends as a result of her relationship with Draco,
and even then, they were only in each other's orbit."

"So the Golden Trio, then - "

"Not a trio at all," Albus confirmed. "Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy began a relationship in their
fourth year, and things were quite peaceful between all of them." He paused, saddened. "Until
Draco's death, of course."

Severus felt an unwelcome jolt. "His death?"

"Yes," Albus replied, drooping at the memory. "Draco's relationship with both the Boy Who
Lived and with a muggle-born witch made him a tool by which to manipulate his father," he
continued. "He spent a number of years as a target of hatred and mockery by Lucius Malfoy's
former associates, and the boy was killed by Lord Voldemort when his father failed to return to
the Dark Lord's side."

Severus bowed his head sadly. "And then?"

"Things had begun to unravel long before Draco's death," Albus said, seemingly struggling with
the memory. "Because Harry arrived at Hogwarts already possessing close friends and having had
a comfortable childhood, he was not as fierce a protector as he could have been." Albus paused,
correcting himself. "As he later was, I should say."

"You made him that way," Severus said in disbelief. "You changed his past to make him, what?"
He spat in anger. "More useful to you?"

"Severus, you know as well as I what Lord Voldemort was capable of at the height of his power,"
Albus replied evenly, though Severus could see that he was perturbed by the accusation. "By the
time Harry was killed, the wizarding world was again in disrepair." He shook his head adamantly.
"I had to go back. I had to change things."

"How?" Severus demanded. "All of the time turners - "

"This, as you can see, is my own invention," Albus explained, nodding at the time turner that
Severus had placed on the desk. "Surely, Severus, I don't need to convince you that I possess such
abilities."

Severus bit back a retort; he was curious, yes, about how the older wizard had managed it, but he
was more interested in uncovering the results of the original timeline.

Priorities, he reminded himself.

"So," he grunted, returning to the story. "Potter died."

"Harry died," Albus agreed, nodding.

"So you allowed Black to go to Azkaban for a crime he didn't commit, and then put the boy with
the muggles," Severus intoned blankly, hoping Albus could hear in his voice precisely what he
thought about that decision.

"I am not a monster, Severus," Albus countered, pursing his lips. "No. I attempted, then, to
convince Lord Voldemort to select Neville Longbottom as the subject of the prophecy, rather than
Harry."

"What?" Severus asked blankly. "How?"

"As it turns out, Voldemort is not particularly level-headed when it comes to prophecies," Albus
said carelessly, waving his hand.

True enough, Severus thought venomously. But that would mean -

"Lily lived?" Severus asked, launching himself forward at the realization and gripping the arms of
his chair. "Lily survived?"

Albus hesitated. "Unlike Harry, Neville was not as successful in making friends," Albus
tentatively explained, though Severus was bothered by the indirectness of his response. "He was
killed in his first year at Hogwarts after he tried to go after the Sorceror's Stone by himself." Albus
cleared his throat. "Lily, James, and the remaining members of the Order were killed shortly
afterward."

His blue eyes settled uncomfortably on Severus's. "Many of them by you," he added.

Severus sputtered, his chest aching at the thought. "But - "

"Because Lily survived, you never came to me," Albus informed him tightly. "You were a Death
Eater in every sense."

Severus's entire body fought viscerally at the thought.

"So you went back again," Severus said sluggishly, not interested in hearing more about that
version of himself. "You went back a second time."

"I did," Albus confirmed. "I am aware now that that particular timeline was the bloodiest of them
all, and even then, I knew I could not afford to make the same mistakes."

Severus felt his stomach plummet.

"So Potter went to the muggles," he said listlessly, his knuckles white on the chair.

Albus nodded silently.

"But how did you know to change things so drastically?" Severus insisted, leaning forward.
"How did you - "

"Did you never wonder, Severus, how I managed to attain the vast amount of knowledge about
Lord Voldemort that I did?" Albus asked pointedly. He frowned. "Do," he corrected himself, as
though just recalling that he was still alive.

Severus gaped at him. "But still - there would have been multiple versions of you - "

"Severus, do you want me to bore you with the details of time travel, or can we agree to
acknowledge that magic is a rather enigmatic thing?" Albus interrupted. "And, in any case, I have
the very great benefit of being a person who is able to trust myself implicitly," he added, smiling
slightly.

"Yourselves, you mean?" Severus asked drily.

"The third timeline," Albus said loudly, ignoring him, "was what helped me identify the
difference. You see, in the first timeline, Harry was able to procure the Sorceror's Stone with the
aid of Mr. Weasley, Mr. Malfoy, andMiss Granger - "

"Why not simply prevent the sequence leading to the events surrounding Sorceror's Stone?"
Severus interrupted. To his highly logical perception, this seemed a major flaw. "If you knew it
was coming - "

"Not every event can be prevented merely by toying with certain aspects of the past," Albus
explained. "Did Mr. Potter by any chance injure Mr. Malfoy with a spell of your creation in your
most recent timeline?"

Severus bristled. "Yes."

Albus nodded knowingly at that, his mouth curved up in a smile of tacit amusement.
"It seems the sectumsempra incident cannot be prevented," Albus declared. "Even as friends,
Harry did quite a bit of unintentional damage to Draco," he added, his eyes glittering merrily.
"And vice versa."

"Fine," Severus conceded, itching to return to the untold timelines. "Some things can't be
prevented," he permitted, acknowledging the point and gesturing for Albus to carry on.

"It became clear to me that Miss Granger was integral to the defeat of Lord Voldemort," Albus
continued, picking up where he'd left off. "Her aid is irreplaceable. Unfortunately," he stressed,
"Mr. Malfoy's suffering is equally irreversible."

"What happened to him in the third timeline?" Severus asked dully.

"In the initial times I went back, I chose to prevent Harry from participating in the Triwizard
Tournament," Albus said. "It was quite clear to me that the entire scheme was orchestrated by
someone with" - he paused, pursing his lips - "questionable intentions."

"How astute of you," Severus muttered. "And?"

"Disaster," Albus said bluntly, leaning back to summarize. "Voldemort always returns. He always
kills Draco. And in doing so," he explained, "something in Hermione always snaps."

Severus grimaced, thinking of the girl's face after she'd killed the Carrows. "Fair."

"I had to delay their relationship," Albus explained. "In every timeline up to that point, she grew
too close to Mr. Malfoy too quickly," he said. "It prevented her from developing the loyalty she
would later reserve for Harry."

"You prevented their relationship?" Severus asked, his forehead creasing in confusion.

"When I went back the third time - the fourth timeline," he clarified, and Severus nodded. "I saw
Mr. Krum eyeing her, and I encouraged him to make an introduction," Albus said mischievously.
"This was the last time I personally went back, of course. And I had no choice but to make Harry
the champion." He shut his eyes briefly, like he was fighting the lingering pain of something.
Guilt, maybe, Severus guessed. "Unfortunately, it had become obvious by that time that the boy
only becomes better equipped to defeat Voldemort when he struggles."

"And you made him struggle," Severus said pointedly.

"As did you," Albus snapped, and at that, Severus fought the impulse to flinch.

"So you made Potter a champion," he continued coarsely. "You kept Draco and the Granger girl
apart - then what?"

"By that time, I had put together a number of pieces regarding Voldemort's past," Albus said. "I
initially tripped over the concept of Voldemort's - insurance, one might call it - "

"Horcruxes," Severus supplied.

"Yes," Albus said, sitting back in surprise. "How did you - "

"Granger," Severus said simply, and Albus chuckled.

"She is something," Albus mused, shaking his head. "In any case, I had wondered whether
horcruxes were a possibility from the start, but I didn't actually see the first one - the diary - until
the third timeline."
"Why?" Severus asked. "Because of Lucius?"

"Yes," Albus confirmed. "When his animosity towards the Weasleys was permitted to flourish."

"Okay," Severus said, frowning. "So - "

"In the fourth timeline, I discovered the ring for the first time," Albus said hesitantly. "I put it on
and told no one."

"But that would have killed you," Severus exclaimed.

"Yes," Albus agreed. "And it did. Almost immediately."

Severus gaped at him. "But if it killed you - "

"I'm afraid that in death, my portrait was somewhat freer with information than I ever particularly
was in life," Albus admitted. "The time turner was brought to your attention, and you returned to
this night, in time to forcibly administer me the potion."

Severus looked around, presumably for himself. "But then - "

"Oh, I learned from that," Albus said airily, shrugging. "You did not prevent me from putting on
the ring, but the subsequent round, I was able to call you sooner."

"Why not just go back further?" Severus pressed, beginning to lose track of all the recurring
events. "Why not save yourself?"

"And upend the time loop you established?" Albus said, scoffing. "No. Order is important to me,
Severus," he sniffed.

"More important than your own life?" Severus asked in disbelief.

"Funny what I can manage from beyond the grave," Albus remarked easily, waving away
Severus's concerns. "More relevant to your question, though, is the importance of not interfering
in one's own personal affairs."

"But that's ludicrous," Severus snapped harshly. "What have you been doing then, if not
interfering in your own life?"

"I'm interfering, yes, but not for the purposes of affecting my life," Albus corrected. "Many a
witch or wizard has gone mad attempting to prevent their own demise."

"Are you really so sure you're not mad?" Severus scoffed.

"Oh Severus, be kind," Albus admonished him lightly. "I'm quite sane. I just happen to also be
quite destined for death," he qualified. "It continues to be of utmost importance that I not employ
the use of time travel for my own selfish purposes."

Severus sensed they had reached an impasse.

"What happened in your most recent timeline?" he asked slowly, returning to his due diligence.

"Well," Albus said softly, "after I confronted Draco about his involvement in the incident with
Katie Bell, I was able to convince him to defect," he explained. "I later died as a result of the
cursed ring's slow poison."
Severus frowned. "So then, why - "

"Why did you return for a sixth timeline?" Albus guessed, preempting his question. "As you later
informed me, Draco's defection led, as always, to his death." He frowned distastefully. "It seems
that he joined Harry and company on their pursuit of the horcruxes, wherein he began a
relationship with Miss Granger." He fought a smile. "Again."

"Okay," Severus said, frowning. "Then what would make me go back for a sixth time?"

The older wizard was eyeing him curiously.

"I have a suspicion that there is one particular event that would force the continuation of this
particular time loop," Albus said carefully, leaning forward. "So if you wouldn't mind indulging,
perhaps you might first share with me what happened in your timeline." He shrugged. "A little
brain teaser, if you will."

Severus narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but cleared his throat, complying.

"Very well," he permitted stiffly. "This time, you died at Miss Granger's hands."

Albus looked taken aback. "Really?"

"She and Mr. Malfoy had been involved in secret for several months prior," Severus admitted, and
Albus nodded slowly at the connection. "Presumably, he shared with her the details of his . . .
assignment."

Albus sighed. "And then?"

"He joined the trio for the horcrux hunt," Severus summarized. "He died at the Dark Lord's hands
and then - "

He broke off.

"Yes?" Albus prodded.

"She took the Hallows," Severus said sourly. "She killed every known Death Eater and took over
the Ministry."

"With Harry?" Albus pressed.

"With Theo Nott," Snape said. "It was at Theo's behest that your portrait saw fit to inform me of
your delightful invention," he added, nodding bitterly at the time turner. "Which brings us to
now."

Albus was nodding vacantly, and Severus peered at him, waiting.

"Well?" he prompted. "Were your suspicions accurate?"

Albus hesitated.

No doubt trying to figure out the most opaque way to answer the question, Severus thought
vigorously.

"What you must understand about Hermione Granger is that it is crucial, firstly, that she develop a
friendship with Harry Potter, and equally crucial - if not more so," he amended, cringing, "that she
not be permitted to find herself in a relationship with Mr. Malfoy."
Severus frowned. "How can you be sure?"

"The girl is inherently dangerous," Albus supplied bluntly. "Logical and brilliant, but with a
ruthless capacity to love," he said, his expression caught between open admiration and hardened
dread. "Draco's suffering cannot be prevented as a result of his father's choices, and he only serves
as an accelerant for her."

At that, Severus raised a questioning brow. "The fifth timeline is the same as the sixth?" he
deduced.

"In essence," Albus said flatly.

"Why?" Severus pressed. "How can she be both necessary for Potter and dangerous with Draco?"

"Harry is impulsive by nature," Albus explained. "He needs her in order to see logic, and she
steadies him. But," he continued, "when Draco becomes involved, she is too quick to uncover
information. Too likely to take things into her own hands." He shrugged. "As I said, he pushes
her. He ignites her."

"Why not just tell her everything?" Severus urged. "Why continue to be cryptic?"

"It is crucial that Harry Potter know the Deathly Hallows exist, but he must not possess them
while he still contains a piece of Lord Voldemort inside him," Albus insisted urgently. "He must
not be permitted to possess the Hallows until all traces of Voldemort are removed, or he would be
no better a possessor than Miss Granger herself, who only seems to pursue them when she is
corrupted by her own grief."

Albus's tranquil reaction seemed to indicate that Severus should have found this explanation
soothing in some way, or at least satisfying at some fundamental level - but Severus's mind had
been caught on one singularly jarring detail.

"Potter contains a piece of the Dark Lord?" Severus asked, aghast. "But then - "

Neither can live while the other survives.

At the compulsory realization, Severus abruptly leapt to his feet, upending nearly everything that
was within reach on Albus's desk.

"You've kept him alive so that he can die at the right time?" he accused angrily. "You've replayed
the same scenario, raising him like a calf for slaughter each time - only to ensure that he still dies?"

"Calm down, Severus," Albus replied placidly.

"How dare you - "

"Calm down, Severus," Albus repeated, and there was a hard flash in his blue eyes that prompted
Severus to slowly - and unwillingly - retake his seat.

"The only reason that I am able to effectively repeat the events of the past without completely
upending my own mental capacity is that none of this is for my personal benefit," Albus said
quietly. "None of it is for me, for you, or for Harry - it is for the world." His face hardened. "It is
all for the greater good."

His choice of words was chilling.

"Albus - "
"Hermione must not be permitted to find her way to Draco," he interrupted, returning to his
overarching thesis. "When he is involved, she suspends her own impeccable logic in her vain
attempts to save him or avenge him," he explained. "If he is removed from the equation, however,
she will be the one to slow up Harry, to prevent him from attempting to possess the Hallows
himself."

"Why not just tell her?" Severus asked again, and he was startled with the pleading in his voice.
"Why choose to delude her about her own nature?"

Albus considered him from behind his half-moon lenses.

"Terrible things happen to witches and wizards who try to prevent their own demise, or who
attempt to alter their own futures," Albus warned. "Such things are only self-fulfilling, and
ultimately, destructive."

Cryptic, as always.

Severus glared at him. "Do you truly believe yourself to be the only person above such
weaknesses?" he demanded. "Are you truly the only person you trust?"

A pause.

Albus's eyes glimmered condescendingly. "Yes."

"Then what of me, Albus?" Severus asked coldly. "If I've been here twice before, what have you
done to ensure my silence?"

"Severus," Albus sighed tiredly. "Don't - "

"What have you done to me, Albus?" Severus repeated, feeling his heart begin to hammer wildly
in his chest. "What have you done? If you don't trust me - "

He leapt up.

"Severus," Albus said, leaning forward. "Severus, please - "

Severus quickly launched forward to reach for the time turner, his fingers brushing the silver chain
just before he fell to the ground with a heavy thud.

Albus sighed, lowering his wand and walking around the desk to where Severus lay facedown on
the ground.

"Every time, Severus," he muttered irritably. "It's really getting quite exhausting."

Nothing.

"Don't you think there are things I'd like to do?" he continued to the younger man's back. "Don't
you think I'd like to save my sister? To change things for Gellert? To go back and throttle eleven
year old Tom Riddle's neck myself, that day in the orphanage?"

Silence.

"It's for the greater good, Severus," Albus said, bending weakly to nudge the man onto his back.
"Perhaps one day you'll understand."
Chapter End Notes

a/n: This chapter is for paffrin and worththerisks. Thanks to everyone for being the
best and most supportive readers of all time!
 The Parallel
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter 36: The Parallel

Ron and Harry were late; no surprise there. Hermione drummed her fingers absentmindedly on the
desk, simultaneously bored and anxious. As much as she disliked being late, she especially
disliked tardiness in others.

She glanced up, biting the inside of her cheek as she narrowly avoided the direct blow of
Professor Snape's signature scowl. His eyes darted quickly from her to the empty seats beside her,
and she shifted uncomfortably to avoid his sullen glare.

It was happening again, she thought, blinking away a strange feeling that she couldn't quite place.

Hermione was given to vague, opaque metaphysical shifts at times, not that she had ever told
anyone about them. They were nothing more than feelings of déjà vu, she supposed, though that
was more a muggle term for the sensation; nothing alarming, of course. Just instances where she
would hear a familiar voice in her head - whispering to her, consoling her, like a conversation
from a dream; or she'd see a bright, pale flash in her mind that would momentarily tear her
attention away from whatever she was looking at or thinking about.

She attempted, as always, to shake the feeling, still averting her gaze. Perhaps she was permitting
herself to indulge in some kind of meaningless whimsy, but she had an inexplicable feeling that if
she were to meet Snape's eyes - however innocently - she would surely tumble into one such
distracting recollection.

"Not minding Potter and Weasley quite so successfully this term, are we, Miss Granger?" Snape
drawled lazily. "Perhaps the Christmas holidays have had a detrimental effect on their ability to
travel through space and time?"

She heard a snicker behind her and she turned sharply to glare at Theo Nott and the Slytherins that
made up the minority of the class. As soon as she did, she regretted it; she should have known that
the simple act of acknowledging Nott's derision would have been fuel enough for his usual taunts.

"Temper, temper," Nott mused condescendingly. "Or are you upset that Gryffindor's golden boy
and his weasel boyfriend have finally chosen each other and left you on your own?"

She felt it again, the strange jolt at his words that she hadn't been expecting. The sentiment itself
was void and worthless as far as she concerned; neither Nott nor any other member of his house,
frankly, were worthy of her time or attention. She was troubled, though, by the strange internal
shifting she seemed to be experiencing yet again - the odd, ringing haze, as though she'd had this
precise dream before. Even the way Nott's green eyes flashed seemed somehow eerily familiar,
which didn't make sense. As far as she could fathom, they'd rarely spoken; and if they had, it
would have been wholly unremarkable.

Surely she would have remembered a dream featuring Theo Nott, wouldn't she?

It was only at the sound of Nott's intolerable snicker that she realized she was staring.

"Hit a nerve, have I?" Nott mused, garnering the appreciative jeers of his fellow Slytherins. As he
turned to the seat next to him, however, his haughty face twisted in surprise to find that its usual
occupant – his teammate in pathetic sneering and derogatory heckling – was absent.

"Malfoy not so perfect either then, Nott?" Hermione scoffed, turning her back on him decisively.
She grinned slightly to herself then, relishing in the moment. She didn't expect much wit from
Theodore Nott, and was pleasantly surprised by the ammunition of Malfoy's absence.

She had had just about enough of Malfoy this year; his absence was out of character – he had,
after all, come close to her performance in his O.W.L.s and seemed to find a bit more value in
academia than did her two best friends – but Harry simply would not stop talking about him since
their run-in on the train. Hermione found Harry's preoccupation with Malfoy utterly laughable; at
his best Draco Malfoy was competent. Maybe intelligent. Possibly – and this was already a major
stretch - skilled in some areas of wizardry. But capable of carrying out serious damage to anyone,
particularly while under Dumbledore's watchful eye?

Something itched inside her, somewhere inside her chest.

What do you think it will do to me?

She heard herself answer.

To your soul, you mean?

At the sound of feet shuffling in quickly behind her, she turned to meet the eyes of the red-faced
and breathless Harry and Ron, violently shaking away the leap she'd experienced at the words that
felt so heartbreakingly familiar.

"What did you do, run here from Surrey?" she hissed quietly to Harry as he sat on her left,
scrambling for his notes. "Where –"

"We got distracted," Ron interrupted, sitting on her right. She took a moment to look at him, a
jarring wave of uncertainty suddenly washing over her, uninvited.

Does he excite you? Does he push your limits, does he test you, does he keep you on your toes?

She shivered. Where had that come from?

She gritted her teeth, straining to concentrate. "Obviously, Ronald, I have eyes –"

"Miss Granger. Surely your lecture can wait until after mine is through," Snape said curtly, "and
Potter, Weasley – perhaps we should start class on your schedule? Or better yet, perhaps excuse
you from my instruction, seeing as you have dealt so many crushing blows to the Dark Arts
already."

His words were positively dripping with sarcasm and still they felt wrong - somehow. Something
felt wrong.

Hermione fought through the dizzying, oncoming haze to let her eyes flick nervously to Harry,
noting that his posture was alarmingly erect while he stubbornly maintained an insubordinate
glare. He didn't speak, and a small part of Hermione fought the urge to check if he was breathing.
The rest of her, though, was jittery and unfocused, her mind racing.

It was unsettling. All of it - and yet none of it.

"This year," Snape began slowly, "Professor Slughorn and I decided to attempt a collaboration
between Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts. I, of course," he continued airily, "will be
the one to determine your success, though if you have any questions pertaining to his subject, you
are free to approach Professor Slughorn for . . . assistance."

Hermione could hardly hear him over the sound of a faint ringing in her ears, a slight interference
in her airwaves. Like she was tuning into a frequency that didn't yet exist.

"The assignment is to create a draught that would aid or cure a curse, if you are ever to endure one
at the hands of the Dark Arts."

She had an image now of something, of someone . . . face down on the ground, a river of blood.
She shuddered violently, and at the same time she heard it -

Only you, Hermione. Always you.

"Both the curse and its corresponding potion are open to your choosing."

Snape's ongoing words were little more than a whisper against the boisterous rush of the images
flooding her mind. Dreams?

Or memories?

A copper cauldron, the shattered glass of upended vials, a golden hue, a flash of stormy grey,
white walls, and then the red - dark, viscous, and she was drowning in it -

"You will have one month to complete this assignment with a partner, as potions of great difficulty
can require some additional time and skill. I advise you to push the limits of your ability, as I will
not award points to lazy or unoriginal work."

She could barely look up; her chest was painfully tight, her breathing labored.

If something happens to me -

No!

It's not your outcome to control.

But -

You know, don't you?

Her heart was pounding. Snape was saying something, his narrative continuing but she couldn't
hear him over the sound of voices. The sound of fear - of true, bodily, visceral fear, flooding
through her, drowning her -

The classroom door opened and she didn't dare look up, knowing - somehow - who it would be.
Who it must be.

Let me save a piece of your soul this time.

I won't let you forget.

Protect his heart.

Promise me.

I promise.

They had a love that was stronger even than death.

You're not alone.

I miss you.

You're not alone.

Please give them a happy ending.

You're not alone.

I wish that had been the story -

Ron reached out to grip her wrist. "Are you okay?" he whispered, but she couldn't answer, she
was doubled over in her seat -

You're not alone.

I wish I'd run.

Why didn't we just run?

You're not alone.

This life or any other -

"Ah, Severus."

At the sound of the new voice, the pain in Hermione's chest slowly ebbed, the ringing in her ears
gradually subsiding.

Snape looked up. "Headmaster?" he asked, his tone uncharacteristically betraying surprise. Harry,
too, leaned forward, curious at his presence.

"Ah," Dumbledore said, looking around the room. "Assigning partners, are you?"

"Clearly," Snape mumbled irritably. "Were you interested in participating?" he posed, gesturing.
"Does selecting class assignments now fall under the Headmaster's purview?"

"Oh, surely it was never exempt," Dumbledore said merrily. "Actually, Severus, I wondered if I
might borrow Mr. Potter?" he asked. "Conveniently, then, Miss Granger can be paired with Mr.
Weasley."

Hermione looked up to see Dumbledore looking curiously at her; at the back of the classroom, she
caught a glimpse of Malfoy and shuddered.

"Are you okay?" Ron asked again, and she nodded slowly. Her knees felt weak, but the lingering
pain was starting to fade.

"Oh you think so?" Snape asked Dumbledore drily, glaring at Harry as though he had somehow
made this happen.

Dumbledore shrugged. "If it suits you," he said primly, though Hermione could tell the decision
had been made.

"Fine," Snape barked, grimacing. "Potter, go with Dumbledore. Granger and Weasley - Malfoy
and Nott - "
Abruptly, any lingering trace of dizziness was gone from Hermione's mind; she took a cool breath
of air, like the wind in the classroom had somehow changed.

Harry stood, edging his way from behind her chair. "I'll tell you guys about it later," he muttered,
and Hermione nodded vacantly.

"Anything else?" Snape asked, crossing his arms and continuing to glare sulkily at Dumbledore.

"Yes," Dumbledore replied, turning over his shoulder. "The secret duelling tournament that the
school has no doubt heard about has been canceled," he said, nodding pleasantly. "That's all!"

With a final sweep of his heavily robed arm, he and Harry disappeared behind the classroom door,
any lingering trace of her episode of mania gone with them.

"So," Ron posed, laying his head down on the desk and looking rather adoringly at her. "Which
potion do you want to do?"

Her mind whispered to her. Sanare Pura.

Hermione frowned. Where had that come from?

"Um," she started.

No. Too difficult, she determined, eyeing Ron's eyes as they drooped sleepily.

"I'll just do it," she muttered hastily, and Ron gave her an approving nod, patting her knee
affectionately.

Across the room, Draco's pulse slowly returned to normal.

Hermione watched Harry's pale, sickened expression from where she sat in the common room.

"I won't say 'I told you so,'" she said hesitantly, and Ron glared at her.

"Leave it, Hermione," he snapped angrily.

She sighed, reminded once more whose team Ron would always choose. But really, Harry was in
the wrong here, wasn't he? It was foolish. Beyond foolish. Trusting that spell. Trusting that book.
He'd nearly killed Malfoy, hadn't he?

Malfoy. She'd heard he nearly bled out, and she couldn't stop her brain from formulating the
image, the river of blood that sometimes invaded her thoughts.

The crimson tint, and a pale white hand - a flash of gold -

"I told you there was something wrong with that Prince person," she muttered, fighting to draw
herself away from whatever threatened to seep from the crevices of her mind. "And I was right,
wasn't I - "

"No, I don't think you were," Harry said stubbornly, but she could barely hear him.

"Harry," she said groggily, her head suddenly heavy with fear.

The amount of blood was astonishing, staggering -

It was like something out of one of his nightmares -

She felt a primal scream erupt from her lungs as she desperately tried to cover his wounds,
scrambling to stop the bleeding -

"How can you still stick up from that book when that spell - "

He shouted at her and she responded, answers reaching her tongue in a practiced way; for she was
rehearsed, wasn't she? It was her job, wasn't it? Protect Harry, help him see things clearly.

Harry.

Harry first.

This life or any other -

She slowly caught her breath.

They were coming. They were coming, and it was his fault.

Draco heard a whisper in his mind, the smell of something familiar.

Vanilla. Gardenia. Rose.

Strength and comfort. The peaceful cadence that occasionally traipsed through his thoughts.

I love you.

He'd never understood it. It was painful and soothing, crushing and comforting, strident and
fulfilling, and all of it at once.

I want you to feel it, the way it beats for you.

He'd never understood it.

But now he raised his wand.

Albus opened his eyes, blinded momentarily until a shadow came over him.

Severus . . . please . . .

He remembered now.

"I was falling," he explained, and he thought he saw the shadow nod.

"I'm beginning to think you're taking advantage of my hospitality, Albus," Death rumbled in his
stuffy, formal way, and Albus closed his eyes.

"You again," he sighed, comforted by the presence of an old friend.

The drawing room dazzled after the darkness outside, but alarm bells were going off in
Hermione's head, growing louder with each step as she was shoved inside the Manor.

Something horrible is about to happen here, she thought, her breathing labored with fear.

No.
She closed her eyes, seeing it again - the river of blood. The flash of a silvery pale glow that was
suddenly and violently extinguished.

This life or any other -

No, the voice said again.

Something horrible has already happened here.

"Look, Draco, isn't it the Granger girl?"

Vanilla. Gardenia. Rose.

"I . . . maybe . . . "

Of course it was her. Everyone knew it was her. The Dark Lord would know it was her, and then
who would be punished?

His mother's blue eyes were wide.

Bile erupted in his throat, his heart searing through his chest.

" . . . yeah."

I'm sorry.

The glint in her eyes was so familiar.

Vanilla. Gardenia. Rose.

So were her screams.

So was the pain.

But the volume of his shame - that was new, and he might have reveled in it, in the concept of
finally uncovering a tangible newness, a departure from the haunting haze of vague familiarity that
he'd never been able to explain - if he hadn't wanted so badly to die from it. To be struck down
because of it.

Vanilla. Gardenia. Rose.

He'd never understood it, but today it brought him to his knees.

When the pain became too much and her throat was hoarse from screaming she wearily turned her
head, catching the blurry form of his dark robes from where she lay on her back.

"Hi," she whispered, straining the tips of her fingers to reach him. "I know you."

He seemed saddened at that, if such a thing were possible.

"Not yet," Death said grimly, his reptilian lips pressed thin.

She felt a tear slip from the corner of her eye.

"It hurts," she told him, ashamed.

He shook his head. "Hold on," he said softly. "You've been through worse."

This life or any other -

She sighed. "Okay," she agreed, a glimpse of red hair coming into view.

Theo's hands were shaking.

"I won't do it," he said, his voice breaking. "I won't do it."

The first year Ravenclaw had big hazel eyes, just like Daphne.

"I won't do it," he said again, turning to walk out of the room.

"Coward," Crabbe spat from behind him. "You're worthless, Nott - not 'alf the man your father is
-"

Theo whipped around instantly, stalking forward with his wand aimed steadily at Crabbe's throat.
From across the room, Amycus Carrow curled his hand around his mouth, silently observing.

"Do it," Theo hissed through his teeth, grabbing onto Crabbe's collar. "Give me a reason."

Crabbe grunted his amusement. "You don't 'ave it in you," he snarled. "You're soft - "

"Crucio," Theo said blankly, holding Crabbe up with one hand as other pressed his wand against
the folds of thicker boy's skin. He watched Crabbe convulse dangerously, felt him start to
extinguish - but he didn't let go, didn't relent.

So this is how it feels to make someone else suffer.

Theo felt a rough shove and stumbled backwards unsteadily as someone took him by the
shoulders, backing him against the wall in time to see Crabbe crumple to the ground.

I would warn you, then . . .

"Don't," Draco said, his voice firm. "Don't lose yourself like this."

It's best to stray towards the light.

Theo gritted his teeth, watching the shallow rise and fall of Crabbe's chest. "He asked for it - "

"Don't," Draco said again, his grey eyes downcast. "Stay with me, Theo."

Theo swallowed heavily.

You're my brother.

"Stay with me, Lancelot," Draco muttered in his ear, and Theo slowly relaxed.

Severus was pacing the floor of his office, his face tight and tortured.

"Students are receiving the Cruciatus Curse," he said bluntly, his overlong robes flapping as he
turned. "They are disappearing - "

He looked up, desperately facing the portrait of his predecessor. "What do I do?" he demanded.
"Surely there is something I can do?"

Albus looked glum.

"It's too soon to tell," he pronounced flatly, and Severus sank helplessly into his chair.

Hermione's breathing was slowly returning to normal, even as Harry's agitation seemed to be
rising.

"The Dark Lord no longer seeks the Elder Wand only for your destruction, Mr. Potter,"
Ollivander said, his pale, emaciated face in stark contrast with the soft, faded sheets. "He is
determined to possess it because he believes it will make him truly invulnerable."

"And will it?" Harry asked tightly.

"The owner of the Elder Wand must always fear attack," said Ollivander, "but the idea of the
Dark Lord in possession of the Deathstick is, I must admit . . . formidable."

Hermione felt something at that, something residual, and deep. A yearning. A calling, like her
blood had suddenly begun to pulse in tune with something out of reach.

Perhaps it was only the chilling thought, or the particular choice of words, Hermione thought,
eyeing the glint that had appeared in not only Ollivander's eyes, but in Harry's as well.

"You - you think this wand really exists, then, Mr. Ollivander?" she asked tentatively, fighting a
rush of blood in her ears, a tingling in her extremities.

He grimaced. "Oh yes."

She felt something in her hand, like her fingers themselves were remembering. The slim curves,
the slickness of the wood.

Slickness?

The crimson tint, the river of blood.

Her knees buckled.

"You have one hour."

The words were ringing in his head as Draco and the other Slytherins marched slowly out of the
hall. To what? To the dungeons? To the Death Eaters?

Or just to death?

Something weighed heavily on him. Something. Like always.

Something he couldn't explain.

What will you allow to destroy you? Him?

Or you?

Draco turned abruptly, reaching out for Theo.

"I have to go," he said, and he knew his face must have looked tortured.

"I can't - " Theo looked helplessly to Daphne, who was shaking beside him and gripping her
sister's slender form so tightly there were white outlines surrounding the pads of her fingers. "I
can't leave her - "

"Don't leave her," Draco agreed adamantly. "Get everyone safe."

Theo's face was pained, his entire posture torn with indecision. "But - "

"Just do it, Theo!" Draco shouted, turning to run. He had no idea where he was going, what he
was running to, but it was there, that feeling - the feeling of being pulled - being yanked by
something -

He turned the corner and swiftly collided with what felt like a padded brick wall.

"Where're you 'eaded, Malfoy?" Crabbe drawled, his mouth slipping into a grotesque, silky grin
as Goyle crossed his arms wordlessly.

His stomach sank. "I - "

"I thought so," Crabbe replied brusquely, throwing an arm over his shoulder and leading him
away from the others. "Now. Where're we off to?"

Draco didn't know. He'd never known.

"Potter," he lied.

Vanilla. Gardenia. Rose.

"Hermione Granger, I have seen your heart, and it is mine."

The voice was strangely transfixing, she thought, holding the fang above what had once been
Helga Hufflepuff's cup. There was so little light in the Chamber, she thought, squinting in the
darkness, and any that existed seemed to come somehow from the cup itself, the golden sheen of it
twisted and corrupted.

"I can see your dreams, Hermione Granger, and I can see your fears. All you desire is possible,
but all that you dread is also possible - "

She was paralyzed for a moment, her body responding to the familiarity of the words.

"An outcast, always, rejected by your peers . . . an outcast as a muggle, an outcast as a witch . . .
not enough for your friends, who would choose each other over you . . . not enough for the one
you love, who will always see through you to your dirty blood . . . an outsider, always, never to
belong . . . "

"That's not true, Mione!" Ron yelled. "Stab it!"

It isn't true, she agreed, frowning. Ron had never once questioned her blood.

The bloody thing wasn't just evil. It was wrong. And if there was one thing Hermione Granger
couldn't abide, it was a wrong answer.

She plunged the fang deep into the heart of the cup, feeling a fire burning in her lungs as she heard
a loud clang of metal and a long, drawn out scream, the dying sound of the Dark Lord's abhorrent
soul.

A horcrux is not enough - I want to see him bleed -

She jumped back, letting the fang clatter to the floor.

"What was that?" she asked, panting.

"What was what?" Ron asked, taking her hand.

Let go of me - LET GO OF ME -

"Probably just the residual effect," she said, dazed. "Like an aftershock, maybe."

Only you, Hermione. Always you.

"Let's get out of here," she managed hoarsely, turning and taking off at a run.

Face to face with Potter and Draco could barely stand to look him in the eye.

"So how come you three aren't with Voldemort?" Potter asked coldly, and Draco wished he had a
better answer for why he'd come.

I don't know. I've never known.

"We're gonna be rewarded," said Crabbe. "We 'ung back, Potter. We decided not to go. Decided
to bring you to 'im."

"Good plan," Potter mocked.

It felt like a cruel dream being back here. Draco was ill at the thought.

"So how did you get in here?" Potter asked, obviously trying to distract them. Not that Draco
needed the distraction.

"I virtually lived in the Room of Hidden Things all last year," he choked out, his voice ragged. "I
know how to get in."

He knew very few things, but he knew how to get in.

Goyle was babbling and then Crabbe was pointing his wand - the fool - but Draco could feel it,
whatever it was - the pull. Whatever it was.

He'd never known.

The near collapse of the mountain of old furniture, the books and junk that were so quintessential
to this room, woke Draco from his reverie.

"No!" he shouted, staying Crabbe's arm as the idiot moved to repeat his spell, trying desperately to
think of a reason the piggish thug might understand. "If you wreck the room you might - " he
paused, breaking off. "You might bury this diadem thing - "

"What's that matter?" Crabbe grunted, tugging himself free. "It's Potter the Dark Lord wants, who
cares about a diadem?"

"Potter came in here to get it," said Draco tightly, still feeling the swell of whatever he couldn't
reach. "So that must mean - "

"'Must mean'?" Crabbe turned on him. "Who cares what you think? I don't take your orders,
Draco. You an' your dad are finished - "

More babbling from Crabbe, Draco thought desperately, tuning him out. It was all a blur - Don't
kill him! - STOP! - He wants him alive - sounds and spells and then fire -

"It's that Mudblood! Avada Kedavra!"

Vanilla. Gardenia. Rose.

"NO!"

"But don't you realize?" she whispered. "If we can just get to the snake - "

But there was no time for realizations, no time for whatever was pulsing around her, whatever was
orbiting her and just within reach.

She saw him again in his hooded robe, out of the corner of her eye - and she turned, questioning -

"I thought you said - "

"Not you," Death said simply, cutting her off. "Not you. Keep going."

She felt for the blood where it was caked in her hair, felt the slow trickle of it dripping down her
neck.

"But if it's not me - "

"KEEP GOING!" Death shouted, and she struggled to her feet in the wreckage.

Dudley looked up from his magazine, the seventh time it had been read since they'd been holed up
for their protection.

"Do you ever wonder if there's something . . . more?" he asked his parents. "Something different
we're supposed to be doing?"

They exchanged a look.

"Eat your bacon, Duddy," his mother said cheerfully, reaching out to pinch his cheek.

Death watched the boy and the girl where they stood apart from each other, their eyes on the
Chosen One where he was carried, tiny and limp in the arms of the giant. Harry Potter, the Boy
Who Lived.

Who continued to live, despite the calculated charade.

Death did not feel cheated, despite what tellers of tales would say.

The girl looked to Death first, her eyes dripping with tears he guessed she did not know she was
weeping. How telling, he thought, that she would look to him for comfort. How indicative of the
struggles she scarcely knew she'd lived, that she'd learned to recognize Death.
No, he told her silently. I'm not here for him.

The boy glanced over repeatedly, his pale blond head shining amidst the darkness - the robes, the
bodies, the broken bits and rubble. Everything was dark, including Death himself; he knew he did
little but contribute to the chaos, but his presence there was purposeful.

He was here for something. Someone, in particular.

For Death was not an envious being, nor was he possessive. How could he be, when men like
Albus Dumbledore were permitted to bend time and history to their will so long as they walked
the earth? The boy himself continued to live long past his time, and Death could not hold that
against him. Would not hold that against him. Death did not suffer the trivialities of greed. Of
selfishness.

But while Death could appreciate a skillful hand, he had never learned to like a cheater. And a
man who need be destroyed eight times to be his? Who challenged his authority as though Death
himself did not know the rules?

Well.

Death had come to personally collect.

It was over, Draco thought with relief, his arm around his mother. She was clutching at him
desperately. Pulling him away.

"Come, Draco," she beckoned softly. Pleadingly.

She was pulling him away. From what?

Vanilla. Gardenia. Rose.

He'd never known.

"How did we survive?" he croaked, feeling the grime on the tips of his fingers. "Why did we
survive?"

"That's not ours to question," she whispered back.

Dumbledore's portrait was looking at her strangely but she didn't care. She felt emptied and sick.
Hollow and swollen. The wand in Harry's hand was generating a buzz in the room that she
couldn't ignore but she couldn't possibly focus, her mind pulling her elsewhere. Her hand was in
Ron's but she could barely feel it, like her limbs belonged to someone else.

"And then there's this," Harry said, raising the wand.

Hermione slipped her hand out of Ron's, suddenly remembering the feel of the wood against her
palm.

The slickness of the wood against her palm.

She swallowed the urge to vomit, suppressed the desire to run.

"I think Harry's right," she managed softly.

But she could feel her heart beating in the wood.

 Moving on.

Moving on - from what?

He'd never known.

"Go back," Narcissa urged. "Go back to Hogwarts."

"I can't go back," he muttered. "I can't."

All was well? Not hardly.

She sat up straight, her heart racing.

You think this is just one of our lives?

This life or any other -

"What is it?" Ron mumbled sleepily, blindly reaching for her hand.

"I don't know," she whispered.

She'd never known.

Something about her hair under his fingers . . . it wasn't quite right.

"I love you," Astoria said sweetly.

Only you. Always you.

Not quite right.

"I love you," he replied.

She smelled like the air of a summer night, she was the feeling of freedom under his fingers. Like
a splash of cold water in a moment of crisis.

Still -

Vanilla. Gardenia. Rose.

Not quite right.

Chapter End Notes

a/n: Dedicated to MoonNott and LawlietHanabi. Chapter 37 very shortly.

 The Beginning
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter 37: The Beginning

Three years later and they still lived there, still together, still clinging to each other. It was perhaps
because of the dreams that she and Ron couldn't last. He wanted her to need him, he wanted to
hold her when she shook in the night; but his arms only made it worse, and so she'd eventually
moved down the hall.

Hermione woke before the sun, as she had grown accustomed to doing over the last month or so.
She padded quietly to the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, trying desperately not to disturb Kreacher
in her wake, hoping fervently that nobody else would be around.

No such luck.

"The dream again?" Harry murmured, leaning against the counter and sipping a cup of coffee.

She jumped at the sound of his voice, her hand pressed protectively against her clavicle.

"Harry," she stammered. "I - "

"Sorry," he said quickly, taking a mug from the cupboard and pouring her a steaming cup. "Too
early to startle you, I suppose."

"A bit," she agreed weakly, though she slid in easily beside him, letting the warmth of the
beverage radiate against her hands as it passed from his fingers to hers.

"The dream again?" he prodded.

"Yes," she said, closing her eyes and taking in the scent of it. Another day. "It's been . . . rather
insistent, lately."

He sipped his coffee quietly. "Insistent?"

"It's more than just the voice now," she clarified, biting her lip and working out the kinks in her
neck from her scattered hours of restless sleep.

"Have you told Ron?"

He wasn't looking at her. He knew the answer.

"He knows I've been having dreams," she said slowly. "But he thinks they're nightmares. From
the war," she explained.

Harry nodded.

"How long?" he posed, taking another sip.

"Since I agreed to take the job at the Ministry," she said, sighing. "I suppose it's just stress."

"But you've been having the dream since before that," Harry pointed out carefully. "Haven't
you?"
She closed her eyes, feeling the caress of the words as they flitted through her mind.

This life or any other -

It had never been a nightmare. That's what Ron had never understood. He wanted simple, cut and
dry, but she could never explain it.

"Yes," she said weakly, finally raising her own cup to her lips.

They sat together in silence. She knew why Harry was awake; he never slept much, really. There
had always been something in both of them, some itching, nagging thought that they had
somehow outlasted their own purpose. It was better for him when Ginny was here, when he had
something to care for; something to protect. But Ginny was with the Harpies at the moment and
the odd feeling of displacement had never really eased for Hermione, so it was times like these,
both of them in a dull state of wakefulness - or a wakened state of dullness - that kept the two of
them helplessly bound to each other.

"It could be stress," Harry said finally, harkening back to her initial point. Neither of them really
believed it.

They only knew how to bear the gravity in silence.

"Probably," she agreed, letting her lips linger on the edges of the cup.

"You start today, don't you?" Harry asked, though he knew the answer.

They'd be working in the same building now that she'd ended her purview at Hogwarts - first as a
student, finishing her final year and taking her N.E.W.T.s, and then as a research assistant, an aid
to Professor Binns - which was to say she had been teaching History of Magic in his stead.
McGonagall - "Call me Minerva, dear," "Oh no, Professor, I couldn't possibly" - had encouraged
her over time to step away from academia, as Hermione didn't care for the lifestyle. She had little
patience for those students who had lacked her own relentless drive, and McGonagall had
suggested "a calling elsewhere, perhaps - something more fulfilling?"

And so when Kingsley had come calling - "Please, Hermione, just consider the offer; you'd be an
asset to the Ministry, and surely a credit to the department" - she decided she'd been hemming
and hawing for long enough.

She'd had fewer misgivings than she thought she would about accepting the position, especially
considering how resolutely she'd once rebuked Scrimgeour; but after quietly observing the
proceedings following the post-Voldemort war trials that were, in truth, little more than bloated
auror tribunals, her conscience had roared for justice. When the legal department offered her a job,
she found she couldn't refuse, and her mind had tingled, both sharp and unfocused in a flurry of
anticipation.

"You'll be fighting again," Harry had said that day, clapping her proudly on the back.

"Don't get carried away," she'd replied brusquely. "It'll be paperwork, mostly."

"Still," he'd said, shrugging. "You'll be fighting for someone."

She had wondered if the dreams would fade. There was a piece of her that clung to the idea that if
she could settle on the right circumstance, if she could somehow pull herself in alignment with
where the universe wanted her to go, she might finally rid herself of the strange, mismatched
feeling she'd been living with since the war; the lingering sensation that she'd gone off course.
Traveled too long down the wrong track, to continue the railway metaphor.

But it had only gotten worse, and the effect of the dreams more visceral. She could almost see it
now, the form around the voice, but the more she strained to reach it, to make sense of it, the more
isolated she felt.

"The sun'll be up soon," Harry commented, though she had no idea how he could tell. There were
no windows in the kitchen.

"How do you know?" she murmured, taking another sip.

He shrugged. "I just have a feeling," he said, leaning his head against her shoulder.

Draco Malfoy had once been unaccustomed to toil, a stranger to what he later learned was deemed
a hustle - until three years ago, of course, when everything had come to a head. At first he'd just
been floating around the Manor, feeling himself a ghost adrift in a sea of memories he wasn't able
to shed, resigning himself to a life of bitter solitary confinement. His father, similarly, had resigned
himself to death shortly after the war, which Draco had found none too surprising. Lucius had
nothing left. Neither did Draco, and he likely would have continued that way, if it weren't for his
mother and the goddamn shoes.

"Come with me," she'd coaxed him gently, trying to get him outside.

"No," he'd grunted back, but she'd given him a look - that look - and he'd conceded, dragging
himself to Diagon Alley so that she could buy some shoes. An excuse, of course.

Clever Narcissa.

It was the first time he'd seen how the world had changed, how hate still existed; how it was only
that the tide had turned and not that it had ebbed.

"We don't serve your kind here," the store associate had said, voice clipped.

"My kind?" Narcissa had asked, an eyebrow raised coolly. "The paying kind?"

"You know," the associate said back, eyes flicking to Draco. "His kind."

Narcissa had straightened angrily, her voice low and dangerous. "If you so much as look at my
son that way again - "

"You'll what?" the associate interrupted pointedly, crossing his arms. "Torture me? Kill me?" His
sour expression was rigid and cold. "Try, Mrs. Malfoy," he said testily. "Just try."

Draco hadn't needed to try another store to know that this was the way of the world now, that the
avenues that had always been his without question were now hopelessly blocked. He'd seen the
tiniest light in his mother's eyes flicker and extinguish, he'd caught the smallest percentage of
bowing in her shoulders, and it had been enough to determine his path.

Though he could find little comfort now he was on it.

In the end, he'd chosen magical law to defend his mother - to defend himself, really, though it no
longer affected him how he was treated. No, it was Narcissa he had in mind, the image of himself
armed with the legal tools for righteousness, sharpening them against the store associate that day
instead of feeling paralyzed, stunned silent at her side. He'd written McGonagall and demanded to
sit for his N.E.W.T.s, insisted upon his good standing at the school, submitted scroll after scroll of
requests until it was finally granted. McGonagall had been blocked by the school board at every
turn, he knew, but it was his first lesson in the new era that was to become his life: fight hard
enough and they cannot ignore you.

Second lesson, which he learned as McGonagall patted his shoulder upon leaving his exams: be
grateful for those who forgive.

That was just the beginning, of course. If they hadn't wanted a former Death Eater sitting for
exams, they had wanted even less to have the same former Death Eater walking the halls of their
Ministry. It was a year of visits and owls, countless appeals that fell on deaf ears - disinterested
ears, he should say, for he knew they could hear well enough - for even a glimmer of a chance.

It was only when the Ministry clearly became desperate for bodies that he was given even half a
chance; he walked into the interview room to see nothing but glazed over eyes, dispassionate
faces. There was to be a red stamp across his name before he even left the building, but something
had murmured in his ear to stay.

It halted him in his tracks and he felt for the first time in years - that strange pull, that yank that told
him unequivocally that if he left the Ministry now, he would live to regret it.

And so he'd hung around the Floo, pacing until he knew someone would have to walk by.
Someone of importance would have to.

It turned out to be the Minister himself.

"Minister," Draco said quickly, sidling up to him on his way out of the building. "If you could just
give me a chance - "

"I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy," he rumbled in his deep voice, barely sparing a second glance. "You'll
have to go through Wizard Resources - "

"Are you going to lunch, Minister?" Draco asked desperately, lingering before the Floo entrance.

"Yes," he acknowledged, polite even as he remained unflinching. "Which is why you must - "

"Are you confident they'll serve you, Minister?" Draco interjected loudly, and at his heightened
volume, people began to stare.

He looked taken aback. "Of course, Mr. Malfoy," he said, brows knitted in confusion.

"How fortunate you are, then," Draco mused pointedly, "because they would slam the door in my
face, sir, just like you're doing now." At that, Shacklebolt halted abruptly in his path, and Draco
took advantage of his pause.

"You want people to believe that the Ministry is strong, that it is functional, that the war that was
waged for hate is over," Draco intoned evenly. "And yet you champion a Ministry that
perpetuates - no," he interrupted himself, "that provides ample means for the same unambiguous
divide!"

Shacklebolt's shoulders went rigid, his grim expression slowly revealing itself as he turned. "What
is it that you want, Mr. Malfoy?" he asked carefully, every inch of him ablaze with nerves for the
benefit of the audience Draco had garnered.

Third lesson: no ego is safe from judgment, no conscience impervious to doubt.

"It's not what I want, Minister, it's what I deserve," Draco said plainly, gesturing to the
propaganda that lined the walls.

JOIN THE MINISTRY - HELP US REBUILD!

"You need candidates for the Ministry," Draco said stiffly. "I completed my N.E.W.T.s with
unanimous Outstandings and I outqualify nearly all those you've tried and failed to recruit. This
isn't a favor," he added, narrowing his eyes. "I am owed a chance because that's the Ministry you
said you'd build."

The papers were signed within hours.

"I'm proud of you," Astoria said, standing on tiptoe to brush her lips against his cheek. They'd
cooled somewhat, focused as he'd been in his tireless attempt to earn a position his father would
have only scoffed at.

She should have been enough. She could have been enough, in another time, perhaps, if he'd
remained unswayed in his own nobility, unsullied by the lessons that he'd learned. He could have
lived a life like his father, a king in his castle, if his mother had not needed shoes.

But it had never been quite right, had it?

"Astoria," he'd said, taking her hands. "We need to talk."

"This way, Miss Granger," Mafalda said cheerfully, leading her past a series of desks, all covered
in mountains of paperwork. "You won't be out here in the bullpen, dear."

"Oh," Hermione said, feigning brightness as she tucked an errant curl behind her ear. "Do I
actually get an office?"

"Of course!" Mafalda exclaimed, though her eagerness noticeably deflated. "Though, I hope
you're not too offput - you'll have to share," she said apologetically. "Only for the time being - "

"Why only the time being?" Hermione interrupted, frowning. "Renovations or something?"

It seemed laughable that wizards might require such things, but no other explanation came to
mind.

"Oh no," Mafalda said quickly, a slight scowl crossing her face. "It's just - we don't really expect
him to last."

Hermione felt a rush of something that nearly swept her off her feet and she paused, gripping the
corner of a nearby desk.

"Sorry," she managed, blinking through the haze. "Got a bit off-kilter for a moment - "

"Oh, it's fine, dear," Mafalda assured her, doubling back to join her. "Are you quite alright?"

"Um - " There was a vacant ringing in her ears. "Nothing serious, just - "

The sound began to sharpen.

This life or any other -

"Miss Granger?" Mafalda said nervously. "Are you perhaps - ill?"

"No, no - "
They had a love that was stronger than death -

"Just - just keep walking," Hermione managed, slowly releasing her grip on the desk and
wobbling forward. "I'll - just have a seat, you know - when we get there - "

"Well, he's already made it in this morning," Mafalda said regretfully, wrinkling her nose slightly
as she turned to continue her path. "Not the most pleasant of company, or so I've heard - "

Give them a happy ending -

"Who is he?" Hermione gulped, reaching for the handle of the open door to steady her.

She surely needn't have asked.

This life or any other -

"Granger," he said stiffly.

You won't be alone.

Draco had gotten there early, knowing if he were even a moment late it would surely be grounds
for dismissal. Perhaps not immediately, but he'd learned not to trust in the goodwill of others.

Fourth lesson: goodwill only lasted so long.

He was jittery, anyway, unusually afflicted with nerves; it was only once he was inside the
building that his head started to clear, his thoughts pulsing with the same calming cadence that had
once been his pacifying guide, like revisiting a dream.

Vanilla. Gardenia. Rose.

That same pull, only not a pull. This time it rooted him to the spot as he walked in the room,
facing the empty desks and shelves.

"Where should I - "

But the Ministry aid was gone before he looked over his shoulder. He sighed, beginning to
carefully lay out the few things he'd cared to bring with him.

He'd never been the type to decorate, per se, and he had always been exceptionally neat. But there
were some things he hated to be without, and he was a man who liked things a certain way. For
practical purposes, of course, there were the law books - mountains of them, and scrolls. He
arranged them sparsely on the shelves, alphabetized and coded, marred only by his meticulous
annotations. Each scribbled marking was a reminder of a hard night, spent alone with his head
bowed over it.

Room for one more thing. He slipped his leather-bound copy of King Arthur on the middle shelf,
right at his eye level from where he sank into his chair.

It was comforting, somehow.

He heard voices approaching and felt a leap in his chest, wondering how she'd react. Oh, he had
some guesses as to who she was, of course. Nobody would tell him - nobody had time for him -
but he could certainly guess from the amount of whispers, and the obvious reverence by the staff.
It was the same awestruck reaction that had once been the result of hearing the Malfoy name, but
now could only be tied to one thing - to the war that had changed everything. And if it was a she,
there was only one she it could be.

Hermione Granger.

He felt a stirring in his chest. Nerves? Perhaps.

And yet he was strangely consoled by the sound of her voice as she approached, his breath
unexpectedly caught in his throat.

She appeared unsteadily in the doorway, partially reliant on the frame for support.

"Granger," he said, and the golden brown flash of her eyes was achingly familiar.

Vanilla. Gardenia. Rose.

"Malfoy," she replied tightly, though she seemed to be having trouble speaking.

Mafalda looked nervously at Granger, disregarding Draco's presence to the same extent he had
come to expect.

"Do you need a chair, Miss Granger?" she squeaked, and in another time, Draco might have
thought to mimic her. Do you need a chair, Miss Granger? A foot rub? A fucking endowment of
sainthood?

To Granger's credit, she didn't seem to appreciate the fuss.

"I've got it," she muttered, waving the older witch away. "I'm fine."

Mafalda glanced nervously to Draco. "But - "

"He won't bite," Granger said irritably, her eyes flicking to him. "Will you?"

"Certainly not in the first week," he offered, and she glared at him.

"I'm fine," she informed Mafalda, thrusting her shoulders back and putting on a rather good show
for his benefit. "Thank you."

Mafalda turned to leave, but Granger stopped her, calling over her shoulder. "You know,"
Granger said testily, "he should be treated the same as me. It's what we're here for, isn't it?" she
added, and Draco was temporarily in awe of her as her expression carefully darkened. "To do
some good in the world?"

Mafalda nodded feverishly but backed away without a word.

"I'm not your pity project, Granger," Draco said briskly, careful to handle her with skepticism the
moment Mafalda had gone. "I don't need you to come to my defense."

"Oh shove it, Malfoy," she replied, crossing the room to lean shakily against the vacant desk. "It's
not about you, anyway."

"Oh it's not?" he asked mockingly. "Some other coworker you have to share an office with,
then?"

She rolled her eyes. "I didn't agree to work here just so that I could deal with the same blind
prejudice we almost had to die for," she said angrily, and he felt a tiny leap at her use of the word
we.
"That hero complex, then," he grunted. "Haven't changed at all."

She regarded him carefully for a moment, her delicate lips pursed in thought.

"You've changed quite a bit," she commented, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Able to tell that from the five minutes you've been in the same room with me?" he asked snidely,
leaning back in his chair and resting his head against his hands. "Your magic truly knows no
bounds."

She was focused intently on him, biting her lip in thought.

"I know what you had to do to get this job," she said seriously, and he stiffened.

"Don't believe everything you hear," he murmured, but she shook her head.

"Arthur was there," she informed him. "Saw you stick it to Kingsley."

She was grinning a little now, and he found it difficult to look away.

"You sound impressed," he commented drily.

"I am," she agreed, shrugging loftily. "Though I'm surprised you could tell," she added, "as I
expect you've never heard that inflection before."

He felt it again.

The pull.

The achingly familiar.

"Hilarious," he wanted to say firmly, but it barely emerged as a whisper.

She seemed a certain degree of wobbly herself.

"Arthur, was it?" he asked loudly, shoving aside the dull thudding in his chest and straightening.
"I would have expected you to be calling him Father by now."

Color rose in her cheeks and he found he reveled in it. "You know perfectly well that Ron and I
aren't together anymore," she said tightly.

She was right; not that he'd give her the satisfaction. Somehow he knew he'd enjoy playing such a
game.

He made a careless gesture. "Why would I concern myself with such things?" he asked, knowing
full well the exact degree of the smirk that had traipsed across his lips.

"Don't play this game with me, Malfoy," she warned, though she seemed relieved at the break in
tension. "You won't like it."

"What game?" he said innocently, leaning forward to rest his chin in his hands.

A sly smile spread across her face and tugged at something in his chest.

"This, of course, coming from the man who's so conveniently dating his best friend's sister-in-
law," she told him pertly. "Give Nott my best, by the way," she added, somehow injecting snark
into what would otherwise be little more than propriety. "I do so love an elopement scandal."

"Miss Granger, you gossip," Draco said airily. "I've no idea why you think such things would
concern me. Except," he said, snapping his fingers as though he'd just remembered, "to distract
me from the point."

"Which is?" she asked primly, perching atop the desk.

The pull again.

The achingly familiar.

"To draw me away from discussing you and Weasley," he drawled, shoving the feeling aside. "A
valiant effort, Granger, but I'm rather persistent when I need to be."

"Now who's a gossip," she said crossly, making a face. "What are you, my gal pal?"

The phrase poked delicately at his brain.

"Not true love, then?" he asked, feigning solemnity. "A pity."

The look she gave him was positively withering.

"And you and little Astoria Greengrass are what, then?" she asked pointedly. "Soulmates?"

The word on her lips lingered in the air between them, everything suddenly coming to a halt. She
appeared to have stopped breathing, and something in his chest throbbed too.

The words were out of his mouth before he even fully understood what they were.

"I don't particularly like to think of myself as half of a whole," he said, and the pull he'd always
felt evolved to a collision.

He didn't know why he said that, as he'd never said it before. He didn't know where it came from,
or how she knew to respond.

"You think this is just one of our lives?" she whispered, and by then everything had changed.

He only realized he was out of his chair when he felt himself catch her in his arms.

Vanilla. Gardenia. Rose.

He'd never known.

Until that moment.

The steady rush that had sighed away contentedly at the sound of his voice had violently returned,
thudding in her ears as soon as she'd said the word.

Soulmates.

"I don't particularly like to think of myself as half of a whole."

The dream.

The flashes of silvery pale, the stormy grey -

Maybe it's not about whether your soul is complete on its own or not.

Maybe it just matters that a soulmate is someone who follows you in all your lives.

She recognized the words the moment she spoke them, though she was nearly positive she'd never
heard them before.

"You think this is just one of our lives?"

This life or any other -

"Granger," he said, and the deafening roar was silenced as soon as he spoke in her ear, replaced
instead by a singular, unified hum, like a violin that had finally managed to tune itself. His grip on
her was gentle and demanding all at once, an impact that shook her to her core; it was the rejoicing
of a lifetime's worth of stories, embedded in the places where they touched, more permanent than
if they'd been branded.

They would look back on it later, even after all the years that passed, and still feel that odd shiver,
that tingle of something they couldn't explain. But he always felt it in her arms, and she could
always taste it on his lips, that hazy bit of nothing that had never made sense.

They never would learn to explain it, how what appeared to be little more than a few minutes and
an innocuous jab changed everything and nothing at the same time, and how it led to what they
built.

Happiness. Fulfillment.

Love.

They fell in love because they were always in love, of course. Something cyclical like that, which
they would never learn to explain.

"It's magic," she would decide one day, because she could decide things that way, and he would
let her. He would nod, his fingers laced tightly in hers.

"Mine," he'd say.

"Yours," she'd agree.

There could be no other explanation than that. No other way to express what she knew must have
always been true. For a person who cherished logic, who found satisfaction in explanations, she
was surprised to find that after a time it no longer bothered her what she would never be able to
formulate in words.

She didn't need them. She had him.

After that day, she no longer had the dreams, either; she never had them again, though somehow,
the pieces of her life assembled a waking dream. She would hear his voice, throaty from sleep,
fitted perfectly next to her ear like the bow of his lips had been molded to rest there, and he would
say the words like he'd said them a thousand times before - until, after a time, he had, and
thousands more after that.

"This life or any other - "

"You won't be alone," she would tell him, always, arching her back against him and humming in
consummate satisfaction.
 They fell in love because they were always in love.

But they would never learn to explain it, and in the moment, when it happened - you think this is
just one of our lives? - they could only manage to stare at each other.

Did you feel that? she imagined asking him, and for a moment she wondered if she had. Did you
feel the earth shift?

His eyes gave her the answer. She heard his voice in her soul.

Yes.

FIN

Chapter End Notes

a/n: dedicated, with all the love that I possess, to my best friend who shall remain
nameless. And to Kyonomiko, who is quite literally having a baby right now! The
best of fortunes to you and your little one.

[Edited on July 16th, 2016 to add: you can now find an epilogue to this story in my
drabble series, Amortentia, as Chapter 10: Epilogue, and edited again on August
12th, 2016 to note that it is now available here as Chapter 38.]

I have a lot of gratitude to share but first, an introduction to my new WIP: Youth.

"Whatever this life brings us, my youth will have always been yours." Amidst the rise
of an imminent threat, some people fall together as others fall apart. Love, power,
Marauders, and everything in between. Year 7 with opening Snily and eventual Jily;
one slow burn, one gutted flame, and one hell of a political upheaval. Prequel to
"Clean" and "Marked."

It is now published, along with a preview available to you here as Chapter 39. It will
be written in the same style as a Hogwarts Dramione and will feel very similar to
Clean; it's a Head Boy/Head Girl shared common room trope + love triangle +
Marauders shenanigans + background Voldemort comes to power. It will not have
the same intensity of Marked and predates any manipulation of time, so if you
enjoyed Clean, hopefully you will also enjoy Youth. It will feature a very Draco-
esque James and a Theo-esque Sirius, while Severus and Remus will remain in
character from this storyverse.

If you enjoyed Theo and Hermione as Masters of Death, stick with me, because I'll
be working on some original stuff that you might like. Follow me on tumblr for more
of that ilk and other original work - olivieblake dot tumblr dot com.

I only ask, as always, that if you enjoyed this fic, please consider recommending it to
any blogs, groups, etc. that you follow. I have never been particularly good at self
promotion, but it is always comforting to know my work is appreciated.
On to the gratitude -

Thank you to the four who reviewed every chapter: bentnotbroken1, Sora Loves
Rain, Estrunk, and turbulenthandholding;

To the remaining most regular reviewers: UnicornShenanigans, cosmoswithchaos,

elleaeterna, jperks, brigittar, susiequeen300, and ErisAceso;

And to my muses: MahoganyJinx, oblivionbaby, and DrSallySparrow.

Thank you to every single person who read this, and to all the friends I made along
the way; my heart is so staggeringly full and I'm actually crying as I write this
because I can't believe this journey is over. This was a very demanding story to tell,
and I sincerely hope you are not disappointed.

Feel free to reach out to me if you have thoughts or questions; if you want to talk
about Dramione or anything else, I am always here.

It has been an honor to put these words down for you, and I hope you have enjoyed
the story.

Olivie Blake
 Epilogue
Chapter Notes

a/n: This was originally posted as a one shot in my drabble collection, Amortentia, in
July. It contains my original notes as to why the epilogue was posted separately and is
being added to Marked now because I have come to understand that some people
find the closure necessary. If you are one of those people, please enjoy.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Epilogue

Pairing: Dramione (Draco x Hermione)

Universe: This World or Any Other storyverse (Clean and Marked)

Rating: M for language, though mostly just because Marked is M

Summary: This is the drabble that will serve as an epilogue for Marked. I am not generally a
believer in epilogues (Joanne Rowling taught me that a terrible epilogue can ruin a story) and as
far as I am concerned, that story is complete as it was written. That being said, for those of you
who wondered what happened to the other characters, or who want a glimpse of what Draco and
Hermione's life is like together, this drabble is my gift to you.

It wasn't long before they began to piece things back together, fixing each other like they were
playing with a puzzle of pieces they couldn't see. He started with her.

"Granger," he said, watching her stare at nothing. "For fuck's sake."

"Mm?" she replied, startled, fixing him with a hasty look of innocence. "What?"

"You haven't moved in several minutes," he informed her, setting down his quill and crossing
their office to take a seat at her desk. "What is it?"

"Oh," she said, running the tip of her quill across her lips. "Nothing, really."

It had only been a few months but he knew better than to accept that as an answer. He knew her
gaps and rhythms like he knew his own pulse.

"What kind of nothing?" he asked, kicking his feet out in front of him and nudging her under the
desk.

She sighed. "It's my parents' anniversary," she said quietly.

He already knew where they were: Australia. Knew what happened to them: she couldn't undo
the memory charm. He knew there was almost nothing he could do to fix it for her, but he also
knew something about himself: he'd watch the world burn before he gave up trying.

"Get up," he instructed, walking around the desk to take her by the hand and pull her along
behind him. "We've been in the office too long anyway."
"Where are we going?" she squawked helplessly, dragging her feet behind him.

"Australia," he replied curtly, tossing her things in her bag and rummaging through his desk for
his own necessities.

"But - "

He looked up, catching the startled glimmer in her golden brown eyes.

"I'd like to meet them, Granger," he explained stiffly. "They don't need to know why."

Her lip trembled, but he had not yet progressed to the point of knowing whether that was a good
or bad sign.

"But," she said, choking out her reservations. "But they're, they're - " she bit her lip. "They're m- "

Muggles. He was still having to teach her that such things no longer mattered to him; only she did,
in the end.

"Don't dawdle, Granger," he instructed, tucking an arm around her waist and leading her out of
the office. "We have places to be."

Wendell and Monica Wilkins had been going on long jogs on Saturday mornings for as long as
memory served; though, in all fairness, memory did not serve them particularly well. It was a
common joke among their friends, that neither of them seemed to be able to recall things from their
distant past; though everything was clear enough from the last three-odd years.

Better diet, Monica supposed. After all, everyone was saying such things about gluten.

"Hurry up," she called over her shoulder to Wendell, who appeared a little dazed. "Is everything
quite alright?"

"Um," he said, reaching back to feel the back of his head. "I - "

"What is it?" she asked, circling back to jog alongside him. "Something wrong?"

"I just thought I felt something," he said, frowning, bringing his hand forward as though
examining it for damage. "I think I'm fine, though - "

"Excuse me," a young man called, waving to them from a short ways behind. He was
accompanied by a rather petite girl with wild brown hair, and Monica, normally quite serious with
her exercise, came to a sudden stop at the sight of a nervous glimmer in the girl's warm brown
eyes, a sparkle that was somehow both slightly familiar and hauntingly distant.

"Hi," the young man said, a little breathless as he caught up to them. He had an exceedingly posh
British accent and startlingly pale hair; quite handsome overall, though perhaps in his mid-
twenties. "So sorry to bother you, but my, er - " he looked down at the girl, whose eyes were wide
with indecision - "my wife and I are here on holiday, and we're a bit lost - "

"Draco," Monica said suddenly, and then clapped her hand over her mouth, startled by the violent
hurtling of a memory she couldn't explain.

She knew him, this boy - he had been younger, she was quite sure, and in her kitchen - but not her
kitchen at all, was it? A conversation about pasta - which she didn't even eat -
"What?" he asked, rattled, his face paling in shock. Beside him, his partner's mouth had fallen
open, and Monica turned to find Wendell was looking at her much the same way.

"I - I'm so sorry," Monica said, her voice shaking as she tried to clear her head. "I don't know
what's come over me, but - " she squinted at the young man. "We have met before, haven't we?"

"I - " he hesitated, looking down at his lovely young wife, who seemed familiar to Monica as
well, though there was some kind of obstruction in the way; a blockage of sorts, and the more she
strained for recognition, the less she could identify the feeling. "I am Draco, yes, but - "

"I'm quite sure we've never met," the girl cut in slowly, her fingers tightening around his arm.
"After all," she asserted, straightening. "This is our first time in Australia."

The blow of the girl's particular shade of brown eyes nearly sent Monica reeling. "Not Australia,"
she said faintly, though she couldn't imagine why. She had never remembered living anywhere
else, despite the mockery she received for her distinct London accent -

"Nevermind," Monica declared, shaking her head as Wendell moved to pat her shoulder
comfortingly.

"Everything alright?" he murmured to her, though she could see there was something odd in his
expression as well.

"So sorry," the young man - Draco - said kindly, extending his hand with the kind of formality
normally afforded to Victorian society, or so Monica imagined. "I'm Draco, and this" - he looked
at her, offering a reassuring smile - "this is Hermione."

"Hermione," Wendell said, and there was a throaty humming sound to his voice, a vibration that
poured into the name like honey. "Daughter of Helen." He smiled. "Beautiful."

The girl looked as though she might cry. "Thank you," she whispered, offering him a shaky hand.

"Wendell," he said quickly, taking her proffered grip and appearing to realize with a start that he'd
entirely abandoned proper manners. "And my wife, Monica," he added, placing a hand on her
shoulder as the four of them exchanged greetings.

"Lovely to meet you both," Draco said, his tone taking on a caress of warmth that Monica guessed
did not come easily to him. He had a certain coolness to him, a glacial impassivity of sorts that she
couldn't quite identify, but she attributed something to him; a comfort, perhaps. Something like
that.

"You said you're lost?" Monica recalled, looking around. They must have gone pretty far out of
their way to end up here.

"We tried to, you know, get off the map a bit," Draco suggested airily, shrugging his arm across
his wife's shoulders. "But if you could help us - "

"How about a coffee?" Wendell suggested, gesturing to a place he and Monica usually passed,
just up the road. He nudged his wife with a grin. "If this one is willing to forego the rest of the run,
of course."

"I suppose," Monica permitted, leaning into his touch. "Yes," she decided, nodding slowly at first,
and then resolutely. "Yes. Let's stop and have a chat," she determined firmly. "We're quite good
hosts, after all, aren't we?"

Wendell nodded, ever the pleasant extrovert.

"Excellent," Draco said firmly, a smile secured on his face. He looked down at his wife, who
looked joyfully relieved even as she tentatively nipped at her lip.

"Thank you," the girl said softly, and they all began to walk.

"You're a lovely couple," Wendell added, turning over his shoulder to address them before
nudging Monica, stepping ahead to lead them up the road.

Monica walked quietly beside Wendell, finding it difficult not to repeatedly sneak looks behind
her at the girl, Hermione. There was something about her; her eyes, mostly. The familiarity in
them was startling. And her hair was quite like Wendell's had been, once - when he was much
younger, of course. Monica remembered the way it felt under her fingers, how it had been
scratchy against her face the moment she woke in their first apartment; how it had been so
helplessly askew and the rest of him not much better, still wearing the clothes they'd fallen asleep
in the night before, the whole place badly lit and horribly decorated -

Monica stopped mid-stride. She had never remembered that far back before.

"Everything okay?" Hermione asked gently, and Monica felt herself smile even as her heart
continued to pound.

"Fine," she said quickly, taking in the hopeful expression on the young girl's face. "I think
everything's going to be fine."

"I'm surprised you wanted to come to this," Draco said quietly in her ear, brushing a kiss against
her cheek as he gestured for her to sit. "I'm happy you did, of course - "

"It's only fair," Hermione assured him, though she felt considerably less confident than she
sounded. "You've met my parents, after all, and it is her birthday - "

"She'll love you," Draco cut in smoothly, tucking a stray curl behind her ear.

Hermione sighed. If only she and Narcissa could have had the great fortune of being able to meet
as strangers the way her parents and Draco had; if only Hermione didn't still feel so small, so
insignificant in this world that she knew without question would never have welcomed her. It was
a strange, paradoxical reversal of how she normally felt at work. In the stately gardens of the very
vigorously - vigorously - renovated Malfoy Manor, seated among the very people she was so often
called on to defend, she only felt trapped in their bubble of propriety, dwarfed by the eminence of
their venerable old ways.

Hermione let her gaze flick nervously to the stunning older witch where she stood only a few feet
away, wondering what the two of them might ever have in common. Narcissa Malfoy was the
picture of elegance, the pinnacle of poise, and by comparison, Hermione felt like a strange,
nonsensical afterthought; she was grateful Draco had not left her side.

Had not left her side yet, in any case, though she should have known it was coming.

"Darling," Narcissa said, calling to Draco as she approached. "I wonder if you might say hello to
your Aunt Andromeda," she suggested, gesturing to a woman across the gardens that nearly gave
Hermione a disturbing start; Andromeda Tonks, while decidedly not Bellatrix Lestrange, certainly
carried a strong resemblance, alike in nearly every way aside from the general aura of being
entirely unhinged.

Initial shock aside, Hermione was surprised to hear that such a reconciliation between severed
sisters had been attempted, though by the look on Draco's face - a nod of placid understanding, in
stark contrast to her own startled gaping - it was not entirely out of character for Narcissa.
Hermione felt a sudden leap in her chest, a wild hope that clanged around inside her at the
thought; perhaps things were not as bad as she had expected.

Perhaps Narcissa was not at all what she had expected.

"I've tried to convince her to join the fray, but she's a bit hesitant," Narcissa added, her tone taking
on a steady, somewhat facetious musing, like the idea had just occurred to her and was not, as was
much more likely, a broader manipulation. "I thought you might make her feel welcome."

Narcissa was smiling fondly at her son, but Hermione could see with alarming certainty that this
was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a request with the option of denial.

"Yes, Mother," Draco said, dutifully rising to his feet and gesturing for Hermione to join him,
offering her his arm. She reached up to take it, but Narcissa made a gentle cough of disagreement.

"Perhaps Miss Granger might prefer to remain in the shade with me," Narcissa ventured, though
this, too, was no request. "Andromeda and I have only recently reconciled, you know, and it's
perhaps best not to overwhelm her."

Likely not entirely true, though not necessarily disingenuous, either, Hermione noted. Narcissa's
expression was delicately guarded, artfully dispassionate; there was no territorialism there, no
skepticism. In short, nothing Hermione might have expected from the courtly Lady Malfoy, and as
much as her first instinct was to question the other witch's intentions, she felt a strange sense of
calm.

Some sense of unspoken assurance, some unsubstantial figment in her mind, whispered to her that
this would be okay.

"I'm intrigued, Mother," Draco noted, not unkindly, though he was hesitant to leave Hermione's
side. "Surely you don't mean to tell me that you initiated the relationship."

"She's my sister," Narcissa insisted firmly, glancing quickly at where Andromeda stood apart from
the other guests. Hermione thought she could sense something in Narcissa's tone, a subtle
veneration that served to indicate that perhaps the older witch had longed for the reunion for a
considerably long time. "And," Narcissa added, lifting her chin as she made her point, "times have
changed."

It was a challenge, Hermione realized, watching Narcissa's stance as she straightened. Times have
changed, Narcissa had said, but what she meant was I have changed - and let no one question my
choices.

Hermione found herself rather impressed.

"They certainly have," Draco replied, his voice colored with amusement.

He bent to kiss Hermione, stroking his thumb against her jaw with a slow, easy reverence; it was a
surprisingly intimate gesture, particularly given the audience, and Hermione couldn't help a glance
at Narcissa, giving in to a nervous impulse to see if she was bothered by Draco's show of
affection. Hermione stiffened in preparation for a look of haughty disapproval, but found she
needn't have bothered. Instead, she was surprised to find a faint smile on the lovely witch's face.

Don't be ashamed of the savagery with which you love, or the fierceness of your heart.

She heard the whisper in her mind, familiar and out of reach, and she felt herself relax, the breaths
coming a little bit easier.

"I've learned that forgiveness comes easily enough if you only make the effort to ask for it,"
Narcissa said once Draco took a step towards her, reaching up to touch the pale blond strands of
his hair. "I had an excellent role model for that," she added, her eyes straying to Hermione's.

Even that statement, as confessionary as it was, as vulnerable as it might have been, sounded like a
fact that was not to be questioned when delivered with Narcissa's inarguable poise, and Hermione
met her gaze easily. There was a sincerity to the statement, an essence of truth, and it struck
Hermione as trustworthy. A truce, of sorts.

Slowly, Hermione's doubts seemed to ebb, left only with a trace of curiosity as to who she really
was, the enigma wrapped in elegance that was Narcissa Malfoy.

Draco nodded once, his glance following his mother's to Hermione - are you okay? he seemed to
ask; I'm fine, she assured him - before he turned away, beginning to cross through the gardens.

"He's softer than he seems, you know," Narcissa murmured once he'd gone, taking a seat beside
Hermione and letting her eyes follow her son's long strides. "More loving than he reveals to
others." She straightened, clearing her throat as though ridding herself of her pesky sentimentality.
"He looks and behaves quite like his father, of course, but his inner nature is far more like mine,
I'm afraid."

Hermione couldn't help a tentative smile, watching as Draco smoothed his hair back
absentmindedly, preparing to tap his unsuspecting aunt on the shoulder. "Is that such a bad thing?"

"Ah, well, he's secretly a romantic," Narcissa assured her. "And it must be my doing." Her lovely
face became somehow even lovelier, the affection for her son catching the light and blossoming in
her features. "I used to tell him this foolish story - Lucius would always get so angry with me."
She shook her head, laughing a little at the memory. "Said it would make him soft."

"What was the story?" Hermione asked, leaning forward with a smile.

Narcissa opened her mouth, but then, to Hermione's disappointment, clamped it shut again,
resolute in her stoic aristocracy. "It's foolish," she repeated unconvincingly, and she moved to turn
away.

"Please," Hermione said, and before she realized what she was doing, she'd reached out to rest her
palm against the older witch's arm, stopping her in her tracks. "I'd love to hear it."

The motion, as unexpected as it was, had a vague sense of familiarity to it that they both seemed to
recognize at the same time. For a moment, Narcissa looked as though she might protest, but at
Hermione's touch, she softened.

Promise me.

Hermione drew her hand away, but the lingering comfort remained.

I promise.

"It's not really a story," Narcissa amended. "Just something my mother used to say."

Hermione waited. If Draco was as similar to Narcissa as she claimed, it was best to allow space
for her thoughts; she was rewarded for her patience when Narcissa spoke again.

"My mother wasn't particularly warm," Narcissa ventured, and there was something girlish in her
voice that Hermione recognized; a yearning of some kind, a lonely kind of craving that Hermione
herself had once known quite well.

"Andromeda was mother to us all, mostly, though Mother did have one thing," Narcissa said
carefully. "One thing she always said."

Hermione nodded, feeling the caress of a cool breeze, content with waiting. Narcissa, after a
moment of pause, let her hand rest beside Hermione's, cutting the space between them.

"My mother used to tell us about an invisible red thread of fate," she explained softly, and
Hermione could see it was a story she'd never shared outside of her son; a hidden lining of sorts,
concealed by her polished exterior. "I don't know how the thread was both red and invisible, of
course - "

"Of course," Hermione agreed, smiling.

" - but she told me that the thread bound two people from birth. Soulmates, you know," Narcissa
added wistfully.

"It was a beautiful thought," Narcissa went on, looking at Hermione as though to beg forgiveness
for her whimsy. "That the thread could twist and wind and pull but never break, so that regardless
of time or place or circumstance, those who were connected by the thread would find each other."

This life or any other.

"I think I've heard that story before," Hermione whispered, and Narcissa squeezed her hand
tightly.

Across the garden, Andromeda pulled Draco into an embrace, and all the worlds collided.

Their friends had been different, of course, and both easier and more difficult.

Harry had been first, as it was hard to avoid him; he seemed to prowl Grimmauld Place at all
hours of the day and night, and the very first morning that Draco and Hermione had stumbled into
the kitchen, sleep-deprived and satiated, he had been there, coffee in hand.

"Oh," Draco said, and Harry lifted an eyebrow.

"You two are not very covert," Harry noted, glancing between them and then letting his eyes
travel first from the empty wine glasses on the table to the coats that lay in a crumpled heap on the
floor.

"Lack of auror training, I expect," Hermione attempted faintly, and Harry snorted softly in
response, removing a mug from the cupboard and handing it to her.

"Give us a minute, would you?" Harry suggested, not taking his eyes off Draco.

Hermione emitted a muted squeak of protest, but Draco's expression never wavered.

"We're fine, Granger," he said tersely, crossing his arms.

She sighed. "No curses," she warned them, but she quietly backed away.

As it was Harry's house, Draco was gallant enough to give him the first blow, jutting his chin in
challenge.
"Go ahead," he said simply.

Harry poured a cup of coffee, handing it to him; Draco accepted it, though he couldn't help
sniffing it preemptively.

"I'm not poisoning you, Malfoy," Harry said, smirking. "Have some coffee."

"Shall I make myself comfortable, then?" Draco asked drily, taking a conciliatory sip.

"First," Harry said, taking a sip of his own, "tell me why you love her."

Draco sensed that had this been another time, or perhaps some other life, he might have done
nothing more than scoff at the question; at the ridiculous notion that such a question could be
answered, firstly, and then a secondary scoff at the idea that Potter merited an answer. As it was,
however, Draco was a little exhausted at the thought of pretense; he'd hidden enough things in his
lifetime to know that Hermione Granger needn't be one, and so the answer came easily.

"How could I not?" he offered weakly, shrugging in defeat.

To his surprise, Harry seemed to accept this explanation, nodding slowly in response.

"I suspect that if the circumstances were any different, I might put up more of a fight," Harry
proposed, and Draco fought a smile at the harmonious parallelism of their respective reactions.
"But she's different now, you know," Harry noted. "Happier."

Draco sensed something in the sentiment - something that rattled around in the timbre of the
bespectacled wizard's voice, unable to stay hidden despite his best efforts. If Draco had been any
less skeptical, he might have guessed it was gratitude.

"I'm not going to get in the way of that," Harry concluded after a moment, and then there was no
mistaking the white flag.

Still, Draco never liked a quick surrender. He let a fair amount of silence pass between them,
taking several sips before he responded.

"Good," he replied simply, and Harry cracked a smile.

"Now you can make yourself comfortable," the dark-haired wizard pronounced, and Draco rolled
his eyes.

"Friends now, are we?" he drawled, taking another audible sip.

"Unfortunately," Harry replied, his voice resigned and grim.

From just outside the door, Hermione ducked her head to cover a smile.

"Hermione and Draco are dating," Harry said casually, and Ron looked up from his dinner.

"Oh," said Ron, managing a swallow with difficulty. "Hm."

He squinted into nothing for a moment.

"Feels sort of normal," he grunted, his brow furrowed. "Sort of like I already knew that."

Harry nodded, and they both returned to their meal.

"So," Draco said, settling himself down beside Theo. "What do you think?"

"I like her more than you already," Theo replied.

In truth, there had always been something strange about Granger; not necessarily about her, per
se, but something that surrounded her. When Draco had first brought it up - casually, and slipping
it into conversation as though he were asking Theo to pass the salt - he had felt some kind of
settling in his brain, some unidentifiable sense of ah yes, that's right, a sigh of recognition that had
soothed him as much as it startled him. Like a piece of him could finally rest.

He wasn't sure he could explain it, and there were even more strange occurrences over time. Like,
for example, the time Theo just happened to know that Hermione preferred Earl Grey in the
afternoons, and that she liked it taken with lemon; he swore up and down that she must have told
him that at one point, but she insisted it had never come up. There was the time, too, that
Hermione seemed to know that a room in Nott Manor had once been a library before his father's
death, though Theo knew for certain she had never been there. And of course there was no
overlooking the very strange time that Draco asked for Theo's help in choosing Hermione's
birthday gift; inexplicably, his first thought was to suggest transfiguring Draco's signet ring to a
pendant, and the moment the words were out of his mouth, he realized the idea had just been
lounging in his brain, waiting to be invited out for conversation. Once she started wearing it, Theo
realized he couldn't imagine her without it.

And she called him Lancelot, once. It seemed innocent enough, though he had still looked
accusingly to Draco; not even Daphne knew about that. The other man only shrugged, insisting
he'd never said anything, and for whatever reason, Theo was inclined to believe him. There were
certainly a number of very strange things about Granger.

Though, mostly, it was how quickly she felt like family.

"Ah," Draco said, entering the kitchen at Grimmauld Place and nodding. "You're up."

"Always," Harry replied, grinning. "Going to be weird when I'm the only one."

"You should consider sleep potion," Draco suggested loftily, taking a seat across from him. "You
need your beauty sleep, Potter."

"I do pretty well without it," Harry countered and Draco chuckled. "Besides, it's really only like
this when Ginny's with the team." He looked up, giving Draco a knowing glance. "You, on the
other hand, are nocturnal all the time."

Not exactly true. In reality, Draco had grown quite comfortable with the late night chats in the
kitchen, and it had felt like a habit long before it had actually been habit; he suspected that without
the option of Harry's company, he would sleep just fine in their new flat, though he would likely
never admit it.

He shrugged.

"What's this?" Draco asked, eyeing the parchment in front of Harry.

"Guest list," Harry said tersely, frowning. "Ginny needs me to decide who I want to invite." He
rolled his eyes. "And apparently it needs to be done tonight."

"Hardly fair to blame her," Draco pointed out, thinking of the witch's positively violent opposition
to wedding planning. "That's got Molly written all over it."
"True," Harry conceded, making a face. "I hate this."

"Oh, don't act like it's so difficult, Potter," Draco said, feigning irritation. "Besides me, Theo, and
the Weasel clan, who do you even know?"

"You should really stop calling them that," Harry admonished him, though Draco could see he
was fighting a smile. "You're just still upset Molly forced you into a jumper last Christmas."

"As if I can be expected to participate in matching jumpers," Draco grumbled, still not fully
recovered from the horrifying ordeal. "And in Gryffindor colors, honestly?"

"I thought you looked lovely," Harry said, his face reddening with contained laughter.

"I did," Draco sniffed. "But that's hardly the point."

Harry's festering laughter continued. "Honestly, I'm not sure anything beats your mum's reaction
to it - "

"She has truly never looked so revolted in her entire life, I'm sure," Draco agreed, picturing the
blanched look on Narcissa's face. "I think she might have had Granger obliviate her after seeing
me in it."

"You should get her to join in this year instead of splitting the holiday," Harry pointed out. "I'm
sure Molly can make one more - "

"Don't you dare threaten my saint of a mother with one of those monstrosities," Draco warned
stiffly, and Harry's laughter erupted in peals. "I think she might've burned mine - "

"I just hope Ron gets Pansy in one this year," Harry choked out. "Can you imagine?"

"Fuck, that would be ideal," Draco agreed, picturing the look on her face and mimicking her.
"Weasley, you twat, I'll kill myself and you before I let you put that on me - "

Harry was practically convulsing with laughter, and Draco smothered a chuckle, pleased with him
himself.

"Anyway," Draco said, once Harry regained his ability to breathe. "What's the issue with the
guest list?"

"Well," Harry said, removing his glasses to wipe the mirthful tears from his eyes. "I'm not sure
whether I should invite my cousin."

"The muggle one?" Draco asked, feeling a faint tug in his mind at the thought. "What was his
name?"

"Dudley," said Harry, and a hazy image formed in Draco's mind.

"I think you should," Draco pronounced slowly. "Just a feeling."

"My, my, Draco Malfoy," Harry drawled mockingly. "How very progressive of you."

"Just a feeling," Draco grunted back, but Harry seemed pleased with his answer.

"Dudley it is," he murmured, scribbling the name on the parchment.

"Merlin's bollocks, that's illegible," Draco exclaimed, snatching the list and the quill from him.
"You dictate, Potter," he instructed. "I'll write."

"Godmother?" Hermione echoed. "Really?"

Daphne opened her mouth to answer, but Theo cut her off.

"Fucking obviously, Granger," Theo said, shaking his head.

"I'd have gone for something more like 'of course,' or, 'who else would be better,' but that works
just as well, I suppose," Daphne murmured, shaking her head in amusement.

"Draco is obviously godfather," Theo pointed out, jutting out his chin to reference him.

"Obviously," Draco drawled, eyeing his fingernails, and Theo turned back to Hermione.

"And you're, you know - " Theo faltered helplessly.

Draco was his best friend, of course, had always been; but Hermione was something to him too,
and of her own accord. Theo had quite enjoyed being independently wealthy for a time, but found
that ultimately there were too many demons to wrangle and far too much free time. It had been
Hermione who'd convinced him to start writing, to comment one day that his thoughts merited
recording, and in a bizarre twist of successfully taking someone else's advice, Theo had complied.

It was Hermione who had patiently read his drafts, listened to his thoughts, encouraged his
madness. Draco had saved his life but it had been Hermione who helped him learn how to live it,
who'd recognized something in him and trusted it, believed in it with a confidence that Theo
would never understand. She seemed to know things about him that nobody else had ever
comprehended; she was the one to convince him that even his dark thoughts, twisted and
abhorrent as they were, were still somehow beautiful.

The way it feels to hurt someone, he told her, nervous at first. It's -

Like your soul is ripping, she finished for him, a strange glimmer appearing in her eye.

She was the one to teach him that everyone had light and dark, and he had only to choose the
brush with which he painted.

Hermione coughed quietly, looking expectantly at him. "I'm what?" she prodded.

"You're my lawyer," Theo declared, finally settling on a term as his wife rolled her eyes.

"You're important to us," Daphne supplied kindly, reaching out to pat her husband's knee.

Hermione smiled, leaning in as Draco kissed her temple. "I can't wait to meet to meet our
godchild," she said, radiant at the thought.

Theo and Daphne exchanged glances.

"Actually," Theo corrected. "Make that godchildren."

Dudley Dursley saw the owl approaching and felt a stirring in his chest; it had been such a long
time, he thought, wondering what had happened to his cousin Harry's owl. He thought about the
stack of Daily Prophets that he kept in a box in the back of the linen closet and considered digging
them out, wondering whether it was worth going back for another read.
Well, not read, exactly, he thought, recalling his fascination with the pictures.

"Stepping outside for a minute," he called to Gabrielle, attempting to intercept the owl before she
saw it. He wondered if it might startle her; he hadn't told her about the circumstances of his cousin
- hadn't told anyone, of course, for who would even believe him? - and he certainly wasn't about
to start now.

"Here," he muttered to the owl, waving it down awkwardly as he stepped onto the balcony of his
flat. The owl, a brown one he'd never seen before, landed gracefully on the railing, a letter tied to
its leg.

"Thanks," Dudley muttered, giving it an awkward pat. "Can you, er - wait?"

Either the owl nodded at him, or Dudley was going mad; he chose to believe the former.

"Thanks," he said again, tearing open the envelope and scanning it quickly.

You are cordially invited to attend the wedding of Mr. Harry James Potter and Miss Ginevra
Molly Weasley -

"Dudley!"

He spun around quickly, hiding the letter behind his back. "Yes?" he asked sheepishly, reticent to
meet the dark blue eyes of his stunningly beautiful girlfriend.

"Dudley," she said again, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Is zat - "

"Nothing, nothing," he mumbled incoherently, shuffling his feet. "Just an, um - " he swallowed,
looking to the owl, who was no help at all.

"But you are not - " Gabrielle herself seemed to be at a loss for words. "You are not a wizard, are
you?"

Dudley gaped at her. "Not me," he managed weakly, and she stepped forward, holding her hand
out in her very commanding way.

"Show me," she instructed. "Show me zis."

He sighed; he was never really able to resist her. He handed her the invitation, watching as her
eyes went wide.

"'Arry!" she exclaimed, nearly squealing with excitement. "'Arry Potter? You know 'im?"

"Do you?" Dudley asked incredulously, squinting at her.

"Yes, yes!" she seemed ecstatic, her accent thickening. "Oui, I know 'im!" She faltered. "But, you
- you are not - "

"No," Dudley cut in sadly. Just a muggle, he reminded himself, sighing. "Harry's my cousin but
I'm . . . not." He stepped forward, taking Gabrielle's small hands in his. "But - you?"

"I am a witch," Gabrielle confirmed slowly, giving him a tentative smile.

Before he could stop himself, Dudley burst into a line of manic questioning. "You can do magic?"
he said excitedly, and she blessed him with her tinkling laugh. "Can you make things fly? Do you
have an owl? Did you go to Hogwarts, too?"
"Yes, yes, yes, and non," she said, her pretty lips curled in an utterly bewitching smile. "Not
'ogwarts, I attended Beauxbatons - "

"There's another school?" he interrupted happily, grasping her face in his hands and kissing her
soundly. "Tell me everything," he insisted, and she let out another deliciously enticing laugh.

"They've offered me a seat on the Wizengamot," Hermione said breathlessly, her eyes the size of
saucers as she scanned the letter. "I'd be the youngest member in at least a century - "

"Take it," Draco said simply, eyeing her from across the room. "Accept. Right now."

She frowned. "But - "

"Take it," he repeated, giving her one of his silencing glares.

"But why me?" she insisted, standing up to pace their office. "You should be on it - "

"Take it," he said again, his tone bored as he bent to flip the pages of the case law before him.

"But - "

"Take it."

" - I've no experience, and really, I - "

"Take it."

" - can't imagine this is a good idea - "

"Take it."

" - you know how I hate politics - "

"Well you'd better get used to them," Draco interrupted, abandoning his work with an audible sigh
and crossing the room to put his hands on her shoulders. "I fully expect to live a comfortable life
as the husband of the Minister for Magic someday, you know - "

"You'd better find someone qualified to marry, then," Hermione teased, putting her arms around
his neck and nuzzling into his chest.

"Funny you should say that," Draco commented wryly, and she pulled back to look at him. "I
mean, considering that I've been carrying a very heavy engagement ring around in my pocket for
several weeks now."

Hermione seemed like her first instinct was to laugh, but she cut herself off abruptly as she caught
the seriousness of his expression.

"What?" she said blankly, blinking at him. "Really?"

"Yes," he replied, tightening his grip around her waist with one arm as he reached into his pocket
with the other. "Haven't found the right time to ask," he explained, holding the small box in front
of her.

The look on her face was torturously entertaining, but he managed to fight back a laugh.

"And" - Hermione swallowed, her throat seemingly quite dry - "you decided this was the right
 time?"

"Well, I'd hoped to use it as an opportunity to steal someone else's thunder out from under them,"
he replied airily. "The birth of Theo's twins was my first thought - "

"Oh Draco - "

"Harry and Ginny's wedding was my next idea - I was thinking mid-ceremony - "

"Draco!"

"Well, I didn't, did I?" he insisted pointedly, grinning devilishly at her. "So, now that I've found a
natural segue - "

"And to think your mother considers you a romantic," Hermione grumbled, shaking her head as
she mimicked his dispassionate expression. "Natural segue - "

"I'm not not romantic," Draco murmured, kissing her cheek. "You know what today is?"

"Thursday?" she guessed, and he flashed her a disapproving glare.

"Today marks two years from the moment I knew I loved you," he informed her, and at her
softened expression, he broke out in a triumphant smirk. "Bet you feel like a real dickhead now,"
he added snottily. "Don't you, Granger?"

"Two years ago was our first day here," she remembered, ignoring his snarky comment as a smile
flitted its way across her lips. "Did you really know even then?"

"Didn't you?" he prompted.

Her eyes gave him the answer. He heard her voice in his soul.

Yes.

"So," he managed hoarsely, after a minute or two of silently taking in the way her golden brown
eyes caught the light. "What do you think, Granger?"

This life or any other.

"Not to be indelicate," Hermione replied, fighting a smile. "But I think I'm going to marry the fuck
out of you."

Chapter End Notes

a/n: Not to be excessively Joanne, but this is for you - for taking this whole journey
with me.
 Prequel Preview: Youth
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

"Youth" Preview

Summary: "Whatever this life brings us, my youth will have always been yours." Amidst the rise
of an imminent threat, some people fall together as others fall apart. Love, power, Marauders,
and everything in between. Year 7 with opening Snily and eventual Jily; one slow burn, one
gutted flame, and one hell of a political upheaval. Prequel to "Clean" and "Marked."

July 1, 1978

Dear Severus,

While I can scarcely presume to know how you feel, know that it hurts me at least as much to
write this as it does for you to hear it. I'm not perfect, you know, and perhaps I'm being selfish, but
I can't imagine a world where I don't say these words to you. So forgive me, Sev, in advance.

I know you don't understand the choices I've made, and in the interest of not dragging us through
any more suffering, I won't try to explain them to you. I could easily say the same for yours, you
know, but I won't. Not now. I want us to end where we started -

With love.

I know that my choosing James must feel like a betrayal to you, and I hate to say I understand,
though I can assure you that he's changed. I can see your face as I write that and I don't know
whether to laugh or cry, knowing I'll probably never see you that way again, your dark hair falling
into your eyes while you give me that moody stare of yours - but I'll get to that. I'll get there.

It's important to me that you know that what I have with James will never diminish anything I
shared with you. You're my first love, Severus, and while that may not be good enough, it will
still always be good. It will always have been consuming and raw and a defining piece of me, and
a light with which to look back on everything that's happened. I prefer to preserve you that way,
in the stolen moments before everything got so horribly contorted in the midst of all this. This war.

We can't come back from what's happened, nor would I want to. We aren't who we were, and I
like to think that's because there's something out there for who we're going to be. Both of us, Sev.
For both of us.

I'm rambling, I know. I know you hate that. You love a concise point, and I've always had too
much whimsy for you, haven't I? I'll make my point now. You would want me to. I can see your
face, like always; I can hear my name on your lips. Just say it, Lily.

Alright, Severus. I will.

It comes to this, in the end: my future belongs to James. I have grown up, and I've made my
choice, as you've made yours. But I beg you, Severus, to look back on us with fondness, because
whatever this life brings us, my youth will have always been yours.

There. I've said it, and now maybe my heart will let me rest. Be safe, Severus, and be happy; for
everything that's passed between us, I sincerely hope you find what you're looking for.
 Always,

Lily

Chapter End Notes

a/n: For the full chapter, you can find the new story, Youth, in my profile. Thanks for
reading!

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