Olivie Blake

Marked
This World or Any Other
Vol. 2

Typeset by Lauren Thomas

California
 “Marked” by Olivie Blake

Fandom: Harry Potter

Relationship: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Rating: M

Published on April 12, 2016

178,268 Words

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?
 Chapter 1:

The Muggle

T
he tall, lanky Slytherin eyed his reflection in the mirror with dis-
pleasure.
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 heartbreak-
ing. 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.
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

3
the shake in Draco's voice every time he'd denied it, denied her, denied every-
thing - 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 truth-
fully, 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 - "

4
 "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 im-
patience.
"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, be-
cause 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 man-
aged.
"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

5
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 pic-
ture she had chosen made Draco look somehow both innocent and cold, though
the one Theo had known was neither. "You two were like brothers."

6
 "We were brothers," Theo grunted emotionally, dismayed at the unexpect-
edly 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 some-
thing 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 danc-
ing 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.

7
 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, low-
ering 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 pho-
tographs 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 re-
membered 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
-"

8
 "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.

9
 "S-sorry," he said. "Hi, Harry."
"Hi, Dudley," Harry replied suspiciously, lowering his wand even as he fur-
rowed 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 Mal-
foy?"
"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
-"

10
 "You are pretty distinctive," the girl pointed out, and though this was un-
doubtedly 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 excit-
ing, whatever was happening, and he didn't appreciate being left out. Ron, the

11
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 va-
cantly 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. "Pe-
tunia!" 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.

12
 Chapter 2:

The Roots

M
alfoy 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 gath-
ered. His parents had taken to selecting their governesses out of Beauxbatons, as
these purebloods seemed to be hard to come by. "Hogwarts has considerably low-
ered its standards."
"I'm not too busy for my child," Narcissa replied coldly, and Draco saw an-
other 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 -
"

13
 "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 worth-
less, 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 qui-
etly 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 be-
hind 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.

14
 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 im-
portant?"
"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 at-
tention. "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 inter-
rupted, unable to withstand his curiosity. "Why would anyone want to be a
muggle?"

15
 "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 Mal-
foy."
"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 could-
n'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.

16
 "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, grit-
ting 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.
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.

17
 "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 Pot-
ter 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 break-
fast 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 bet-
ter, 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.

18
 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 sacri-
fices 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 uncom-
fortably 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, unenthusias-
tically 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 feel-
ings off, I honestly think I'd take it."
Draco stood, pacing. "Being in love with Hermione Granger is fucking dif-
ficult," 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

19
- 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 some-
thing 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?"

20
 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.

21
 "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 whis-
pered, 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 affec-
tionately, smoothing his hair back from his face as she took in his ruffled appear-
ance.
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."

22
 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 trau-
matic couple of days. Forgive me for wanting a moment with you."
Her mouth twitched as she fought a triumphant smile. Something about get-
ting 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 con-
cession 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 be-
tween him and the Dursleys, he'd agreed to wait for her without asking ques-
tions.
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 follow-
ers, 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 . . . "

23
 "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 franti-
cally 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 be-
hind 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.

24
 Chapter 3:

The Last Time

T
he 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 re-
served for me, I assure you, Mr. Granger, I deserve them."

25
 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 win-
dow of anxiety in his stormy grey eyes. She only now understood that its ap-
pearance 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 des-
perately 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 im-
plications 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 uncom-
fortably seemed to indicate that this moment, as they stood warily on the thresh-
old to her home, hadn't struck him as the time or place.
"Okay," her father pronounced uncertainly after a moment's pause. "If Her-
mione 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."

26
 "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 pain-
fully. 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 par-
ents, 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 pen-
chant 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 long-
time romantic partners who were coincidentally also dubious dental profession-
als.
"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 skepti-
cism.
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 acknowl-
edged 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.

27
"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 was-
n'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 unex-
pected 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 every-
thing 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.

28
 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 Mal-
foy'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 signifi-
cantly 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."

29
 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 cho-
sen 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 tell-
ing 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, fool-
ish 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 re-
move 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."

30
 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 use-
ful 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 en-
velope 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 care-
fully in his hands.

31
 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 mat-
ter-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, winc-
ing.
"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

32
for her sake to see her in them, while aiming to be what they might have some-
day 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 reg-
istered 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."

33
 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.

34
 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 ex-
pansive 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 liter-
ature rather than rarities and heirlooms - as well as a room devoted to his quid-
ditch 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 uncomforta-
bly.
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."

35
 "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. "Dra-
co'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, obnox-
iously 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 be-
gan to feel extremely uneasy; he knew for a fact that Bellatrix had never

36
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. Ei-
ther Draco had been the one to stun all of these Death Eaters - which was un-
likely, 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 warn-
ing 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 con-
spicuously 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 under-
stand 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."

37
 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.

38
 Chapter 4:

The Reason

“G
ranger - 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 mar-
ginally 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 - "

39
 "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 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 in-
tensely. "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 for-
ward. "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?"

40
 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 watch-
ing 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 eva-
sively.
She bit her lip. "Yes, but - "
"No buts," he said quickly. "Sorry if it's not to your taste," he added apolo-
getically, 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 Mal-
foy, 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."

41
 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 sarcas-
tically.
"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 work-
ing 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 - natu-
rally - 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.

42
 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 unsympa-
thetic 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.

43
 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 pre-
tend you don't just mean her, Potter," he said, as if Harry's hesitation was ludi-
crous. "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 con-
cerns 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 inno-
cence - "
" - 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, lower-
ing her voice.

44
 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 cu-
riously 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 Reg-
ulus 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

45
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 thou-
sand 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 trium-
phantly, 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

46
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 pud-
ding 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.
"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.

47
 "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 re-
strained - 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. Hermi-
one found herself pleasantly amused by Dudley's enthusiasm, in addition to be-
ing highly impressed by his surprising ability to have followed along. She sup-
posed 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 Dud-
ley'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 consid-
ering my aunt and uncle could wake up any moment and see us with a couple

48
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 disbe-
lief.
"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."

49
 Unfortunately, this was not true. It was, in fact, painfully untrue, categori-
cally 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 qui-
etly to himself, watching Theo. "You're not much like your father," he com-
mented drily.
Theo fought to contain an eye roll. "Just a younger breed, my Lord."
"No," Voldemort had said, tutting as though reflecting on something unfor-
tunate. "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."

50
 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 pen-
sively.
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.

51
 "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 quan-
tifiable 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 ra-
ther oily man before him.
Snape waited a moment before slamming his palm flat on the table in con-
cession. "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.

52
 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.

53
 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."

54
 Chapter 5:

The Associate

T
heo 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, in-
dicating 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, Bavar-
ian 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 re-
trieved 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 vari-
ous 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.

55
 Theo drew himself up to his full height, channeling every ounce of superi-
ority 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, uncover-
ing the rumor that led to the finding of this place. Gregorovitch wasn't a partic-
ularly 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 aris-
tocracy 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.

56
 "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 infor-
mation 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 mis-
nomer 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?"

57
 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 impas-
sively. "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. "Re-
gardless," 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 ques-
tion."
The man grunted inaudibly. "Seems a poor way to go about getting infor-
mation, 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 work-
ing 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

58
. . . 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 rest-
ing his hands behind his head. "Chalk it up to me being a victim of circum-
stance," 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 need-
ing' to? What, are you expecting someone?"
The man clasped Theo's shoulder firmly. "I no longer have what your em-
ployer 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."

59
 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 Grego-
rovitch'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 mat-
ter-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 un-
seemly 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?"

60
 "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 nod-
ded, 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 pro-
duced 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 reas-
suringly 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

61
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 Androm-
eda'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 qui-
etly, 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, Ex-
tendable 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 re-
moved 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. Ridic-
ulous."

62
 "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, contain-
ing 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, Hermi-
one 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."

63
 "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 feel-
ing."
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

64
begin - I don't even know what's most upsetting." His eyes on her were unset-
tling, 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 some-
thing," 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 any-
thing 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 Mal-
foy, 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 whim-
per. "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."

65
 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 un-
derstand," 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

66
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."

67
 Chapter 6:

The Heartbeat

H
ermione 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 read-
ing, 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.

68
"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 arti-
facts - 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."

69
 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 plan-
ning, 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 - "

70
 "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 play-
things? 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 - particu-
larly 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 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.

71
 Theo eyed the door carefully for several minutes, wondering what had pos-
sessed him to make this his first stop after leaving the disappearing pub. Should-
n'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 iden-
tical 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 res-
idence 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 conces-
sion, and followed the dark professor inside.
The sitting room belonging to Severus Snape of Spinner's End had the dis-
tinct 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 pleas-
ant - 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

72
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 him-
self 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 disappa-
rated, 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. "Unfortu-
nately, 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 com-
mitted unspeakable errors, as has Bellatrix Lestrange, and yet he has spared them
both multiple times."

73
 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 what-
ever 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?"

74
 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, un-
questionably, possess qualities he admires - intelligence, ambition, and not in-
significant 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 some-
one - "
"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

75
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 Grego-
rovitch."
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?"

76
 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. "Grego-
rovitch 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 won-
dering 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 as-
sociate while holding his wand to Gregorovitch's face, "I am not often so quick
to overlook it when my Death Eaters fall short."

77
 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 soul-
less 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 Eat-
ers. But," Voldemort continued, "I have to admit, I'm curious about you, Theo-
dore. 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 . . .

78
 "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 sug-
gested, 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.

79
 "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.

80
 Chapter 7:

The Bargain

“T
heo 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 re-
gained 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 inter-
jected 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 mur-
derer."
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."

81
 "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 af-
terwards - 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, un-
less - "
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

82
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, how-
ever 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.

83
 "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.

84
 She shrugged. "I imagine so," she replied. "It should be pretty straightfor-
ward. 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 ex-
claimed, 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.

85
 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?"

86
 "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 any-
way, 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 some-
thing?"
"Bloody hell, no," Weasley said adamantly, before derisively turning away.
"Don't tell me, then."

87
 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 frustra-
tion. "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 un-
opposed - 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
-"

88
 "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 disap-
pointed."
"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 some-
where 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. 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

89
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, resem-
bling 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. "Obvi-
ously 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 Require-
ment, 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

90
cabinet was a few corners away from where he stood, he felt reasonably confi-
dent 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 some-
where 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 pres-
ence, 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 Eat-
er's companion headed their way.
"Alecto?"
Draco brought his hand to his face.
"Weasley," he breathed. "What the fuck have you done?"

91
 Chapter 8:

The Big Picture

T
he halls of the castle were deathly quiet. Hermione, who had usu-
ally 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 mo-
ments at Hogwarts, each seemed to be followed by a darker, corresponding mo-
ment 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 sensi-
tive 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.

92
 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 re-
minded 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, Hermi-
one!" 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 bod-
ies 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 - "

93
 "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 ac-
cusation. "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 sting-
ing her chest. She had to stop for a moment, trying to steady her labored breath-
ing. "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, tug-
ging 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 ap-
peared, a broad smile over his wide mouth.
"Who's there?" he called, peering into the vacancy where Harry and Hermi-
one stood under the cloak. "Is that you, Potty?"
Hermione fidgeted uncomfortably beside Harry as Peeves continued to eye
the area precisely where they stood.

94
 "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 unfa-
miliar 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?"

95
 "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 unpleasant-
ness. "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?"

96
 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, mar-
veling 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 va-
riety 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.

97
 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

98
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 plan-
ning on it." He looked up at Hermione, shaking his head. "I'm so sorry, Hermi-
one - I shouldn't have blamed you."
She raised her hands quickly. "To be fair, I didn't know that," she said, un-
comfortable 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 con-
vinced 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, Her-
mione," he said adamantly, "and I have no idea what you did to him. But what-
ever 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 won-
derful, deep down."
"Very deep down," Harry agreed. He put his arm around her shoulder, steer-
ing 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!"

99
 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 cab-
inet 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 Mug-
gle 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 oper-
ating it are as daft as these two," he added, gesturing with his foot to the Death
Eaters who lay face down on the ground.

100
 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. Unfor-
tunately, 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 hope-
fully. "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 - "

101
 "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 pres-
sure 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 al-
ready exists. Focus on the noise that startled them, that made them uncomfort-
able. Focus on them deciding to leave."
Weasley raised his wand. "And then what?" he asked, his voice barely audi-
ble.
"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."

102
 "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."

103
 Chapter 9:

The Exposure

D
udley 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, ex-
tending his hand.

104
 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 flap-
ping.
"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 unhelp-
ful mother. "Mum," he said loudly. "Would you mind getting some tea?"
She pursed her lips for a moment and looked hesitantly at Remus, who of-
fered her an awkward, tentative smile, but made an eventual soft hum of agree-
ment.
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 moth-
er'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?"

105
 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 Dud-
ley 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?"

106
 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 compre-
hension 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 com-
ing 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.

107
 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. "Dud-
ley - 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 Dumble-
dore 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 ex-
posure 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.

108
 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 grace-
lessly over Gregorovitch's contorted form. "I can't put faith in you if I doubt your in-
tentions. 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 - "

109
 "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 moon-
light 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 trem-
ble. "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 finger-
nails, 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.

110
 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 in-
stead. 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 mo-
ment 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 hurri-
cane 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 com-
mon 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.

111
 "Hi," he replied uncertainly, while Malfoy rose to his feet, coming to Her-
mione'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 hap-
pened?"
"Well, the Carrows showed up while we were there," Malfoy said noncha-
lantly, "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 mem-
ories?" 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 - eve-
rything'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."

112
 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.

113
 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 gen-
tly 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 stom-
ach 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 sud-
denly, bringing her bare arse against his lap and kissing her neck and shoulders

114
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 mo-
tions 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.

115
 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 wor-
shipped. And that Draco Malfoy - well.
He never disappoints.

116
 Chapter 10:

The Brothers

"Y
ou'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 wea-
rily. "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 some-
where 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?"

117
 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 look-
ing 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.

118
 Theo looked over his shoulder before wrenching the front door open, flash-
ing 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, comfort-
ably 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 would-
n'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 - "be-
queaths?"
"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."

119
 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 awk-
wardly. "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 - "

120
 "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, some-
how," 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.

121
 "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 af-
fection. "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 Hal-
lows."
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 de-
risively. "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."

122
 "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, nod-
ding. "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

123
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 sput-
tered 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 pos-
sessive about whoever the other person was, which didn't seem to fit the narra-
tive, 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 in-
troduce 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 plan-
ning 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 atmos-
phere. "He also suspects Potter may be there, and at this point I have done noth-
ing 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."

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 "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 moth-
er'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?"

125
 "The Dark Lord will be looking for Potter," Snape said simply. "His follow-
ers 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. "Pre-
cautions 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.

126
 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, every-
thing'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."

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 Chapter 11:

The Dosage

“W
ell," 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 dis-
turbing 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 - "

128
 "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 disappoint-
ment. "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 appeal-
ing 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 dis-
missed in passing. But at that moment, hearing him say that - to say that he

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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 re-
gard 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, mytho-
logical, '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 some-
one 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.

130
 "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 unex-
pected. "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, an-
yway, why else do you think the opportunity presented itself for you to kiss
Ginny - "

131
 "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 dif-
ferent 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 regret-
fully, "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 any-
thing," 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 bespecta-
cled 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?"

132
 "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. "Other-
wise 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 accom-
plish 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

133
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 despera-
tion 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 any-
thing 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.

134
 "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 clos-
ing 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 Nar-
cissa 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 intan-
gible 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 - "

135
 "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 muf-
fliato 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 - "

136
 "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 va-
cantly.
"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, stand-
ing. "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, un-
impressed. "I don't pretend to be ignorant of my son's - " she paused, pursing
her lips. "Indiscretions."

137
 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, "be-
fore 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 confirma-
tion 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 con-
siderably less about Granger," he said indignantly. "If anything, she was some-
how 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 - "

138
 "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."

139
 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.

140
 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, Pot-
ter, 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 com-
panion'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 re-
minded 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 ques-
tion," 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."

141
 "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 re-
ally 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, shrug-
ging. "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 nem-
esis to be the manipulative type, and yet here he was, the crafty Gryffindor art-
fully 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."

142
 "Your death?" Draco echoed, finding himself curious against his better judg-
ment.
"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?"

143
 "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 your-
self 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 par-
ent!" 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 impa-
tience. "It's enchanted like a portrait - it carries with it a version of her, pos-
sessing 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.

144
 "Why not?" Potter said brightly, holding the door open for them and ges-
turing 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. "Mal-
foy, 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 Volde-
mort 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.

145
 "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 Dra-
co'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

146
Helena in his wake until he reached an ancient, exceedingly creepy statue, pre-
sumably 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 dia-
dem 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 else-
where.
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 con-
tained a variety of small and relatively unassuming objects.

147
 "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 excite-
ment.
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 unex-
plained magic, looking around for Potter as soon as his vision cleared.
"Potter," he sputtered, blinking away the dust from the rubble that had ex-
ploded 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 point-
edly 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

148
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 flash-
ing 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 ap-
pear 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."

149
 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, Hel-
ena?" 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.

150
 "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

151
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 seem-
ing 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 subsid-
ing as only a small ball of light seemed to remain.
Potter creakily rolled onto his stomach, coughing. "What is that?" he man-
aged.
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.

152
 "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 agree-
ment.
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 cha-
otic mosaic of shattered glass.
Though it wasn't the mess that caught her eye, of course - that was second-
ary. 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 frus-
trated 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."

153
 Chapter 13:

The Neighbor

D
raco 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 follow-
ing 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.

154
 "Oh," Draco said blankly, a lackluster choice of reaction for his genuine sur-
prise.
"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 distrac-
tion." He paused, raising an eyebrow. "Really, a rather cunning Slytherin mo-
ment, 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.

155
 "You're much less smug about this than I might have thought you'd be, Mal-
foy," he commented.
Draco smirked. "Yes, well, perhaps some people are just more suited to her-
oism," 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 be-
hind 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 sigh-
ing 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."

156
 "Maybe," Draco said roughly, inclining his head. "But I think there's some-
thing brave about making amends, you know." He shrugged, meeting the cu-
rious 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 Wea-
sley 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.

157
 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 exhaus-
tion 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 wa-
ter 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 desper-
ately 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 Dumble-
dore'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 - "

158
 He ran to his tent quickly, leaving the three of them to sit awkwardly, wait-
ing.
"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 some-
thing 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 rec-
ognized 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 man-
aged 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.'"

159
 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 go-
ing 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, nod-
ding 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 ap-
pearance."
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 merci-
less 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 an-
ything 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?"

160
 "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, look-
ing 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 judg-
ing 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 an-
other, 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.

161
 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 mis-
taken, 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, at-
tempting 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 cer-
tainly 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 to-
wards. "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 in-
side the door frame. The house had more decorative urns than he felt comfort-
able 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 pos-
sible at the edge of his chair in a desperate attempt to touch very little of what
existed in this strange, cluttered house.

162
 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 forget-
ting 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 recog-
nition. "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

163
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 boy-
friend," 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 ex-
pressionless 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 grow-
ing 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?"

164
 "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."

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 Chapter 14:

The Knight

H
ermione 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 environ-
ment, 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 defini-
tion - 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 light-
ing 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-in-
spired 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

166
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 cer-
tainly 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 will-
ing 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."

167
 "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 ex-
ceptionally 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 vig-
orously 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."

168
 She laughed. "I also transfigured a pair of glasses for you," she added, gestur-
ing 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 dramat-
ically. "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. "Ge-
raint," she agreed. "I think it suits you."
"What about my surname?" he prompted. "As fitting as it would be, 'Pen-
dragon' 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, for-
bidding - 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 ir-
reverently. "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

169
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 appa-
rated 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 pro-
vided by Dobby, a delightfully magnificent creation of a large, technicolor pas-
try 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 busi-
ness 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

170
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 dramati-
cally.
"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 birth-
days," 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 adven-
ture 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.

171
 It was Remus, looking more haggard than ever.
The older man frowned. "Dudley, I'm going to need your help with some-
thing," 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 inter-
esting than Dudley's. His own birthday had come and gone with only his par-
ents 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 ex-
perience 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 some-
what 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.

172
 "Oh," Dudley said evasively.
"Voldemort does not care for mug- sorry, non-magic people," Remus ex-
plained. "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, obvi-
ously choosing his words with caution "Since we are not able to communicate
with Harry" - here he paused, eyeing Dudley carefully as though he might sud-
denly 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 Volde-
mort, 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 under-
stand 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.

173
 "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 ex-
plained. "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 mouth softly as though if he only spoke the words quietly,
he might somehow be able to lessen the damage. "Harry is coming here to-
night."
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?"

174
 "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 un-
comfortable grimace. "How are you going to get them here?"
"Like this," Remus said, pulling out his wand. Dudley jumped back instinc-
tively, 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, emit-
ting 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 dis-
dainfully 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 iden-
tical 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."

175
 "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 pur-
ple 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 - "

176
 "Then you defend me," he said quickly. "That's what you said you were go-
ing 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. "Excel-
lent," 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. "Unfortu-
nately, it seems those are the only qualities necessary to be a part of this re-
sistance."
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."

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 Chapter 15:

The Conflict

H
arry 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 un-
deruse, 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 be-
grudgingly 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

178
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 situa-
tion, 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.

179
 "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 fran-
tically, 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

180
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 nerv-
ously.
"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 recog-
nize 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 ex-
plosively.
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? 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 ob-
struct 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.

181
 "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 cer-
tainly 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 nar-
rowed 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.

182
 "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, Pro-
fessor 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 Volde-
mort 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.

183
 "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 mono-
tone. "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 sig-
nificantly in the last few minutes. "Kreacher," he called, and the elf appeared
with a crack.

184
 "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 consid-
erably 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 re-
minded 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 shoul-
der. "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 over-
whelming, 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 ap-
proval. "And you?" he asked Harry quietly. "What will you do?"

185
 "Leave," Harry said firmly, and Weasley emitted a strangled cry of frustra-
tion.
"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."

186
 "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 shoul-
ders 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 - "

187
 "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 miss-
ing the point - "
Just then, the server from the restaurant stepped outside, eyeing the two an-
gry 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 - "

188
 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 meaning-
fully 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."

189
 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 pre-
dicted."
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."

190
 Chapter 16:

The Hurricane

T
heo's Mark was burning again and it was more than a little dis-
tracting. 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 mo-
ment 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

191
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 any-
thing without Granger's assistance. If Potter were indeed staying with his mug-
gle 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 an-
other 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 per-
formed. 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 reason-
able 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 unsus-
pecting 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 - fucking-
winged 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.

192
 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 sud-
denly 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, nar-
rowing 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 Pot-
ter 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 di-
rection 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

193
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 merci-
lessly 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 dis-
guising 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 fo-
cus.
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 stun-
ning 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, chas-
ing one of the other Potters.

194
 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 else-
where.
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 - "

195
 "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 exas-
peratedly. "I'm not going to tell on you, I just want some fucking answers, Se-
verus - "
"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 him-
self up angrily. "I have no idea where Draco is," he hissed. "I don't, and purpose-
fully 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?"

196
 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 mem-
ber? 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 dan-
ger 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 furi-
ously, pointing to something Theo couldn't see. "I do not have the luxury of
time to waste - "

197
 "There's an easy solution here, Severus," Theo drawled obnoxiously, inspect-
ing 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 counter-
curse, 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-threat-
ening 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

198
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 - "

199
 "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 lik-
ing."
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 re-
turned, 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."

200
 "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 impas-
sively. "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.

201
 "Dobby disapparated them when Bellatrix got close," he said briskly. "Dud-
ley'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."
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 ex-
planation for your being here."
"Oh, well," Theo said musically, casually unbuttoning his left cuff and pull-
ing 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 leav-
ing, Theo. Now."
"Fine," Theo sighed dramatically, bracing himself on Snape's shoulder.
"They probably need time to recover from my sparkling wit and winning per-
sonality."
Snape looked at Remus sharply. "We'll talk later," he said coolly, before dis-
apparating 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," Re-
mus said sadly, even as a smile crept across his face.

202
 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.

203
 Chapter 17:

The Bodies

S
he 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 emergen-
cies. 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 ra-
ther 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 disori-
enting 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

204
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

205
partially burned away. Ron turned away immediately, averting his gaze in dis-
comfort.
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 al-
most 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.

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 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 help-
lessness 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 be-
ing 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.

207
 She reached for the pitcher of hot water and smiled to herself. It was defi-
nitely him. She didn't care if it was science or magic or hormones, but some-
thing 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 reckless-
ness 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 per-
mits 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.

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 At this, a look of weary frustration crossed over Greyback's face. "Don't for-
get 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 let-
ting the hot water spill down his chest. He let out a roar of pain, jumping back-
wards 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 be-
hind 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 ex-
perienced 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 head-
board. "What is it now, Weasley?"
"You've got his Mark on your arm, mate," Weasley said with a condescend-
ing 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 de-
mentors, spouting 'mudblood' every chance you got?" Weasley asked irritably.

209
 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 Sa-
cred 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 dif-
ferent. 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.

210
 "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. Some-
where 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 fuck-
ing 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.

211
 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?"

212
 "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 environ-
ment that Draco certainly wasn't particularly well-versed in, though he under-
stood 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 start-
ing to rise.
"Which protective enchantments?" he asked delicately, trying to soothe her.
"Muggle repelling," she replied, biting her lip. "Disillusionment, sound can-
celling - "
"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 some-
how 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
-"

213
 "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.

214
 Chapter 18:

The Defense

R
on frowned. "You're sure that's all he said?"
"Yes," Hermione said adamantly. She leaned back against Mal-
foy'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 for-
cibly knock Harry sideways. "Don't say it!"
"Ronald!" Hermione admonished him, scowling. "Dumbledore always said,
'fear of a name - "

215
 "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 dif-
ficulty, 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 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. Mug-
gles 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 ac-
tually 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?"

216
 "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 in-
stinctively.
"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."

217
 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 contin-
ued, 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 - "

218
 " - 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 fer-
vently. "Far be it from me to make you suffer for that."
Harry nodded his agreement; Hermione, for her part, found herself speech-
less 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 hap-
pen 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 for-
ward."
"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 peo-
ple, 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?"

219
 "We're in agreement that we were right not to kill Greyback and his part-
ner," 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 mak-
ing 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.

220
 "No thanks to him, of course," Theo said bitterly, drumming his fingers anx-
iously on the desk.
Theo had returned to Spinner's End for his regular evening occlumency les-
sons - 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 - "

221
 "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 fuck-
ing 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

222
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 re-
gretfully. "I was . . . rather influenced by my peers. Lucius Malfoy, Avery, Mul-
ciber - I was blind to the Dark Lord's true motives," he added. "Perhaps inten-
tionally 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

223
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 - af-
ter 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."

224
 "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."

225
 Chapter 19:

The Thieves

D
raco couldn't sleep again; he was exhausted, but he hadn't quite recov-
ered 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. "Al-
ways," 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?"

226
 "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 pro-
tection 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."

227
 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 some-
thing 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, wait-
ing 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 walk-
ing."
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."

228
 "Fine," Draco grumbled, clutching his side of the cloak anxiously and side-
stepping 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 Nur-
mengard.
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 ob-
structed 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.

229
 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 Grin-
delwald 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 need to talk to Grindelwald. If I don't - believe me," he
warned darkly, "you will not like whatever happens next."

230
 "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 ad-
vantage 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 per-
son."
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 pris-
oner," he said, gesturing forward.

231
 "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, look-

ing 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 haugh-
tily. "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 conspicu-
ously 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 dis-
tant, 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.

232
 "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 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 partic-
ular emotion about the finding.
"What on earth are you doing?" Harry asked, his eyes following the move-
ments 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 expression-
less 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 hor-
rendously transparent. "No," he said shortly. "Just us, unfortunately. We're just

233
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 sum-
moned 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 conspicu-
ously 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?"

234
 "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 con-
structed 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 tak-
ing 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.

235
 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 for-
ward. "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 fa-
vorite - "

236
 "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 Um-
bridge . . . 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 wiz-
ard'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 gar-
bage," 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."

237
 "You're going to let that bloody elf keep following me?" Mundungus de-
manded, 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 thought-
fully, 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 - "

238
 "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 Grindel-
wald. The old, decrepit face showed torture beyond the reaches of Theo's un-
derstanding.
"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 Grego-
rovitch 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 Grindel-
wald 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.

239
 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 fill-
ing 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 Grindel-
wald'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, crack-
ling 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.

240
 Chapter 20:

The Women

T
he 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 be-
tween 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 whis-
pered.
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.

241
 "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 some-
thing 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 avail-
able 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 un-
pleasant; 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.

242
 "Funny," Theo commented humorlessly. "I thought your family were sym-
pathizers."
"Sympathizers, yes," she agreed, nodding. "Fools that they are." She rolled
her eyes. "No, their bigger concern is what happened to Narcissa Malfoy. Sur-
prisingly, 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 con-
trasting 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 esca-
pade, 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."

243
 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, dip-
ping to kiss her. "Just make sure you take care of yourself, Daphne Greengrass."
"Likewise," she agreed, kissing him back with equal fervor. "Be careful, The-
odore 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 off-
handedly, 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 un-
less 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 mo-
ment 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, some-
how. 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 - "

244
 "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 mo-
mentary expression of disgust from crossing his face at the thought of that par-
ticular 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 fuck-
ing 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

245
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."

246
 "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, hon-
estly."
"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 real-
izing how insensitive she had been, given that she and Malfoy were so open
about their relationship, and Harry had never once seemed bitter or uncomfort-
able. 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.

247
 "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 to-
gether, 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 Wea-
sley."
For Malfoy, that was as close to a proclamation of undying friendship as an-
yone 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 con-
tain 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?"

248
 "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 some-
where?" 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 jok-
ing. 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 inno-
cent 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.

249
 "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 Har-
ry's.
"Weasley," Malfoy started, drawling lazily as he always did when interacting
with Ron, but Hermione clapped her hand over his mouth, preempting what-
ever 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- "

250
 "Don't," Ron reminded him, giving him a harsh stare. "Be a little more care-
ful, 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 nod-
ded, coming instantly to her feet. The woman was always quick - always fear-
less. "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."

251
 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 occa-
sion, 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 Dumble-
dore - 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.

252
 "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."

253
 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 kind-
ness 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 ex-
perienced 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, de-
spite 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.

254
 Chapter 21:

The Distraction

I
t seemed that Harry and Ron would never stop fighting. Not that it both-
ered 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.

255
 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 relation-
ship, 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."
"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 ra-
ther 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 - "

256
 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, some-
times 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 conver-
sation 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 go-
ing 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 consid-
ered, it could have been worse, and most certainly had been in the past.

257
 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 attrac-
tive.
"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 or-
gasm with an audible cry.
"Draco - "
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 driv-
ing 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 - "

258
 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 Mal-
foy's ear.
Thank god for magic, she thought, congratulating herself breathlessly as Mal-
foy 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.

259
 "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 occlu-
mency - "
"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."

260
 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 your-
self."
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 Grindel-
wald 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 hap-
pened 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 differ-
ent 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."

261
 "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 coin-
cidental? 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 Hal-
lows."
"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 giv-
ing 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 - "

262
 "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 chil-
dren's tale."
"Maybe he doesn't know about the Hallows, then," Draco commented, sub-
consciously 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 some-
thing?"
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."

263
 "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 bur-
rowed 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 stu-
pid."
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.

264
 "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 Ele-
mental 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 fin-
gers. "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 what his does, I'm sure of it."

265
 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 master-
ing 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, Dumble-
dore 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."

266
 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 keep-
ing 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.

267
 Chapter 22:

The Manor

R
on 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 signifi-
cance 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.

268
 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 Hermi-
one 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."

269
 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 frus-
tration 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 to-
wards 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 -

270
 "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 point-
edly. "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 feel-
ing 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

271
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.

272
 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."

273
 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 take-
over, 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, essen-
tially, 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."

274
 "Not yet," Greyback said triumphantly. "But you'll want to watch your at-
titude, 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 sali-
vating 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 mis-
taking 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."

275
 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, cast-
ing 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.

276
 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, stran-
gled 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 pri-
vate, 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.

277
 "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 sus-
piciously. "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 dis-
dainful 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 Grin-
delwald - "
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, preempt-
ing his concern. "You will answer my questions first."

278
 "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 Hermi-
one who chose the location, I don't know precisely where we were - "
"What have we done then?" Theo demanded. "Inadvertently set a fuck-
ing 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 ges-
tured 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 - "

279
 "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 talk-
ing 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 trium-
phantly. "Would you fetch him for me?"
Theo's heart stopped. "I think I can manage that," he said, his mouth sud-
denly quite dry.

280
 Chapter 23:

The Heir

M
alfoy 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 uncharacteristi-
cally 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 inse-
curity 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 weak-
ness he reserved only for her. "And what if they don't like me?"

281
 "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 sof-
tening 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 expen-
sive 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 unbal-
anced 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 protec-
tive spells; Draco was paralyzed, knowing any movement could give them away.

282
 "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 Grey-
back 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 thank-
ing 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 be-
fore this moment - but hadn't.

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 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 could-
n'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, some-
where 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. Some-
where 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.

284
 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 re-
mained 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 list-
ing 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.

285
 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 spend-
ing 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 - "

286
 "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, brush-
ing 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; Hermi-
one 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 exasperat-
edly, 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 sus-
pected 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 Mal-
foy 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.

287
 "How dare you," Theo muttered, clearly fighting back tears. "How fuck-
ing 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 Her-
mione, 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 al-
ways 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 Mal-
foy, 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 fuck-
ing 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

288
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 re-
turning 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 con-
cealed by the cloak. "It's even worse than we thought, he's got this map, too - "

289
 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 uncharacter-
istically 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 Wea-
sley 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 emo-
tional. The instant softening of his expression, though, gave him away, and Nar-
cissa 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. Nar-
cissa - 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 - "

290
 "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 inter-
rupt.
"Well," Theo said loudly, his volume equating almost to a shout in the acous-
tics 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 your-
self."
"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.

291
 "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 shoul-
der.
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 - "

292
 "Do it," Theo said angrily. "Fucking do it, Draco, you don't owe me any-
thing - "
"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."

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 Chapter 24:

The Promise

“W
ell," 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 de-
ranged 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.

294
 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 for-
ward, puncturing the air around them. "I felt him. How is that possible?"
"Put your wand down, Lucius," Narcissa said quietly, her voice a low warn-
ing.
"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 in-
stantly, and Theo caught the flicker in Narcissa's eye that told him she had al-
ways 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 be-
trayal - "
"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."

295
 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 cer-
tainly 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 remem-
bered 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.

296
 He jabbed his wand at Lucius. "Stupefy!"
The response to the unsuccessful spell was quick, and Lucius promptly aban-
doned 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 re-
mained still, her eyes never straying from the shallow rise and fall of her hus-
band'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, smooth-
ing 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."

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 "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.

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 "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, Hermi-
one, 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 shoul-
der.
"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.

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 "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, re-
leasing 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 Her-
mione. "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 gal-
leon 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
-"

300
 "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 trans-
parent; 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

301
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, hard-
wood 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 forth-
coming 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?"

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 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 Mun-
dungus 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 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 loiter-
ing 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 - "

303
 "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 dark-
ened 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.

304
 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 al-
ready?
"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 un-
likely pair had probably become accustomed to each other's presence, if not par-
tially 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?"

305
 "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.

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 "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 apol-
ogetic 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.

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 Chapter 25:

The Prophecy

“D
id 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 dis-
comforted 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."

308
 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 exceed-
ingly 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 gob-
lin-made, which means the basilisk venom actually made it stronger," she ex-
plained. "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 prob-
ably 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 fret-
fully. "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."

309
 "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."

310
 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 com-
batively 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 nod-
ded.
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.
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, be-
fore 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 - "

311
 "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 PRES-
ENTLY 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 be-
side 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 . . .

312
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

313
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 crash-
ing 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.

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 "Really, Severus," the Dark Lord hissed, his tone slippery with restrained dis-
pleasure. "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 Volde-
mort'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 PRES-
ENTLY 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 DISRUP-
TION. 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 CHO-
SEN ONE WILL FAIL BUT THE DARK LORD WILL FALL INTO OB-
SCURITY . . . 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.

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 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, aim-
ing 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, per-
haps, 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 state-
ment 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

316
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 qui-
etly, 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 disap-
peared, 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. Some-
thing was definitely wrong.
"What happened?" Hermione demanded, sitting upright.

317
 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, at-
tempting 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 Mal-
foy 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 des-
perately sought.
No. Now wasn't the time.

318
 "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 bro-
ken 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?"

319
 He glanced up at Harry.
"Nothing," he said, and she barely caught a flicker of understanding in Har-
ry'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 per-
mitted 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."

320
 Chapter 26:

The Traitor

T
heo fidgeted nervously beside Snape. He was making a consider-
able 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 wea-
rily. "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 Mal-
foy, but I didn't realize it at the time – "
" – you didn't realize?" Fred echoed, his voice rising. "You saw a rather no-
toriously dead person and didn't think to tell anyone?"
"Where was he?" George asked drily, casually leaning back to feign disinter-
est. "In line at Flourish and Botts? Just having a pint at the Three Broomsticks?"

321
 "No." Lupin looked down again, and even Theo felt himself frown suspi-
ciously. "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 im-
pressive 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 Lu-
cius had once commanded from Draco.
A very long time ago, of course.
"Harry asked that I not alert anyone to his presence," Lupin explained de-
fensively. "It was not my place to do otherwise - "
"You followed the instructions of a teenage boy?" Molly chided him, scowl-
ing. "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 com-
mented. "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 - "

322
 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 unpleas-
ant aristocrat," Snape added, and at the comparison, his expression changed, tak-
ing 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, trav-
eling with Potter," he said robotically. "Employing his prodigious use of legili-
mency, the Dark Lord was able to ascertain that Draco Malfoy is, indeed, still
alive."

323
 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 Dumble-
dore - "
" - 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 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?"

324
 "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. Un-
hinged. 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.

325
 "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 se-
riously 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?"

326
 "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?"

327
 "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 ges-
ture. "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 rea-
son 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?"

328
 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 al-
ways 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, dis-
tractedly 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 mo-
ment 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."

329
 "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 some-
where 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, nod-
ding tentatively.
"Hagrid told me Gringotts was the safest place in the world besides Hog-
warts," 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 prob-
ably 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 - "

330
 "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, de-
flated. "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 Hermi-
one 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 - "

331
 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 con-
founded 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.

332
 Chapter 27:

The Leverage

“N
o," 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 point-
edly, looking around and lowering his voice.
Granger was sleeping, but clearly, Draco was inclined to yell. He was un-
raveling, 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 warn-
ing 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!"

333
 "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 frustra-
tion. "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 for-
ward 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 any-
thing 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 infor-
mation 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 - "

334
 "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 ech-
oing 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 de-
cide she needs to know," Harry warned.
Over the tops of the trees, the sun was coming up. Another night gone with-
out 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 glit-
tering 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 - "

335
 "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 spec-
ulation?"
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 Mal-
foy. "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 will-
ing 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 - "

336
 "No!" she snapped, coming to stand beside Malfoy. The room was now di-
vided, 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 your-
self 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?"

337
 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 par-
anoia 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 for-
ward. "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.

338
 "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 pro-
duce 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?"

339
 "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 fi-
nally - 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 be-
cause she was right. But also because he loved her.
Because he loved her.

340
 "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, con-
sidering Theo's father was there. Not exactly Theo's choice of company. His
presence could only mean that somewhere within the far-reaching, spiny ten-
drils 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."

341
 "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 de-
manded - 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 possi-
bly 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, con-
sidering 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 in-
evitably appear within moments. "Someone at Gringotts asked about your
vault."

342
 "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 immedi-
ately."
"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.

343
 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 pac-
ing. "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 un-
raveling 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 expect-
antly 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 irrita-
tion as though it had been his youngest follower who'd wasted his time. "Get
rid of the Weasley, and - "

344
 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 al-
ways 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.

345
 Chapter 28:

The Fall

“Y
ou have no idea what you've set in motion," Draco growled muti-
nously 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 walk-
ing 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 as-
sailant.
"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?

346
 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 perma-
nently 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 - "

347
 "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 proph-
ecies," 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, eve-
rything 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,

348
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 prom-
ised 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, won-
dering 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,

349
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' be-
ing 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 floor-
boards, 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."

350
 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 - "

351
 "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 under-
neath 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, fruit-
less 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 con-
tort 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 . . . some-
one . . .
"Pity," the Dark Lord replied, unfazed. Voldemort glided purposefully to
Harry, crouching down to face him and lifting his chin with one spindly,

352
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.

353
 "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."

354
 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 run-
ning, 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

355
had she spoken? How many bodies on the floor? Didn't matter, nothing mat-
tered -
Where was he? Voldemort, where was he? She stepped over the body of Bel-
latrix 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.

356
 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?"

357
 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 suffer-
ing. Not Narcissa at all.
"What the fuck is going on?" he asked, trying not to think about the empti-
ness 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 Wea-
sley 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 cau-
tiously, 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."

358
 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 op-
tions and they knew it.
Potter slowly pressed a small golden object - a Snitch? - to his lips, whisper-
ing 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 cen-
ter of the room.
Theo nodded.
They were gone.

359
 Chapter 29:

The Killers

T
heo 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 hap-
pened?"
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 com-
pletely 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.

360
 Her eyes widened.
"Theo - "
"Shower," he said, grabbing her arm again and yanking her into the bath-
room. 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 an-
other," 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 remem-
bered 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.

361
 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 re-
laxed 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 remem-
ber?"
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 Volde-
mort as the Dark Lord before, at least not of her own volition.

362
 "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. Grego-
rovitch. 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.

363
 "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 ma-
nipulation.
"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 shoul-
ders 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 - "

364
 "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 Broth-
ers?" 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 scaven-
gers wanted any part of it. Besides," he added. "The Dark Lord certainly won't

365
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 furi-
ous at Draco for once again forcing him to deliver bad news on his behalf. "An

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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 UNDERESTI-
MATED, 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 BE-
COME HERSELF A CONDUIT OF CHAOS AND SUFFERING . . . BE-
WARE . . . THE ONE YOU NEED IS NOT THE ONE YOU SEEK . . .
THERE WILL BE GREAT SUFFERING FOR ALL, SHOULD THE MAL-
FOY 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 Hal-
lows are - I don't know, whatever the fuck you think they are - then you do

367
possess 'a power greater and more terrible than this world has ever borne wit-
ness,' wouldn't you say?"
"'The Chosen One will fail, but the Dark Lord will fade into obscurity'," she re-
peated, 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 fin-
ger. "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."

368
 "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. Consid-
ering he hadn't dealt very well with Draco's death the first time around, he was-
n'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. "Mis-
tress 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 bub-
bled 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 af-
fection. "Especially since you killed my father," he added, surprised by how little
the statement affected him.
She looked down.

369
 "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."

370
 Chapter 30:

The Figure

H
er 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 watch-
ing 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. Hermi-
one had learned first from Draco and now from Theo that the children of Death
Eaters were regularly exposed to a number of dark "ambitions."

371
 "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 tangi-
ble, 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.

372
 "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 cen-
tury?"
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 sud-
denly 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 vora-
cious 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, scan-
ning 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.

373
 "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 apprehen-
sion.
"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.

374
 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 soft-
ness, murmuring his name, not wanting to open her eyes, not wanting to re-
member 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 in-
cluded - 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.

375
 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 refer-
encing 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 ten-
sion.
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

376
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 ar-
gument. 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?"

377
 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 con-
vince 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?"

378
 "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 com-
ically 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 mas-
ter?" 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."

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 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 inter-
rupted 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.

380
 "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

381
ground, she lifted her head, managing to catch his attention as he paused mo-
mentarily 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 con-
tained a memory of her laugh, her mind, and her good, good heart. Her unshak-
able 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.

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 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 deci-
sion," 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.

383
 Chapter 31:

The Soulmates

H
ermione opened her eyes slowly, knowing she was waking, wonder-
ing 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 . . . per-
haps if she only used it for a short time . . .

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 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."

385
 "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 every-
thing 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 vi-
sion 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 im-
possible 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

386
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, com-
plying.
"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 displeas-
ure. "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

387
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, remem-
ber?"
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.

388
 "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 some-
thing 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 absurd-
ity 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.

389
 "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 re-
focus 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?"

390
 "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. "With-
out 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 prophe-
cies," 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.

391
 "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, swal-
lowing 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 to-
gether 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 think-
ing that my happiness was more important than everything else that was crum-
bling 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 poi-
soned 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 any-
thing - rob you of your will to intervene. To make things better."

392
 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 hun-
dred 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, meet-
ing 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 with-
out 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.

393
 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, hop-
ing 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 man-
aged 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 Dra-
co'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.

394
 "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 word-
ing, 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 receiv-
ing 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?"

395
 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 hap-
pened?" 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 any-
where near Daphne, or even existing in the air she breathed.
Granger looked to her left, nodded grimly at where either Draco or her im-
agination 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."

396
 Chapter 32:

The Master

“S
o. 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 deaf-
ening 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,

397
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 of-
fice?"
"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.

398
 "What do you mean, you wonder if that's really true?" The ambiguity of her state-
ment 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 regard-
less 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 main-
tains 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 some-
thing. 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 care-
fully observe her reaction. "Dark Arts instruction."
Theo managed an incomprehensible half scoff. "Defense against the Dark
Arts, you mean?"

399
 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 com-
ing?" she asked Snape pointedly, pausing for a moment to look over her shoul-
der.
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.

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 stu-
dents, 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 re-
venge 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 appari-
tion that nobody else could see might have indicated the opposite under other
circumstances. She'd caught Theo's uneasy glance and considered reassuring

400
him, but, ultimately, she was not willing to address his concerns once she'd man-
aged 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 Her-
mione 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.

401
 "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 Hermi-
one 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 hes-
itate, taking off at a sprint and pointing his wand at Crabbe.
"Stupefy!" he shouted, barely glancing at Crabbe's disintegrating posture be-
fore 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.

402
 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 loy-
alty, 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 ret-
ribution that you 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.

403
 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, Her-
mione. 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 aban-
doned - 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, point-
edly 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 horri-
fied 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.

404
 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 Min-
istry, 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."

405
 "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 Her-
mione'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 congratu-
lations, 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 pre-
pare 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 any-
more," 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 em-
brace or to fear. "And where will you go next?" he asked, shifting his stance.
"The Ministry, I presume?"

406
 "The details are as yet undetermined," she said back, and he somehow heard
the unintended implication. The details were undetermined, but she had some-
thing 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 epi-
sode 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 al-
ways 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."

407
 "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 eye-
brow. "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 pur-
pose. 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 sub-
scription 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 support-
ers? 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."

408
 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 esti-
mation, 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."

409
 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.

410
 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 bi-
zarre 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 decid-
edly 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

411
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 unilater-
ally 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 Um-
bridge) 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 cor-
ruption 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 rebuk-
ing 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 with-
out 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 wiz-
ards 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 min-
istry, 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 understand-
ing, 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

412
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 in-
cludes detailed instruction on the many lives lost during the reign of Gellert Grindel-
wald - who, ironically, once sought the Deathly Hallows himself - and the correspond-
ing 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 implic-
itly that Granger hadn't become this ruthless overnight.
"I see you left out quite a few details," Theo noted, watching her for a reac-
tion. "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."

413
 "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 con-
siderable 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 lim-
ited 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 con-
tention. "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

414
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 loft-
ily, 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 red-
head'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."

415
 "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 Her-
mione 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 hap-
pened 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.

416
 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 for-
mulated 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 Hermi-
one 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 ex-
plained 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.

417
 "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 mak-
ing 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, winc-
ing 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, blink-
ing. "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 con-
nection to her two best friends - how could they doubt it? How could they
doubt her?

418
 "She's alone!" Dudley half-shouted at them, feeling himself grow frustrated
with their deeply unsatisfactory reactions. "She's alone, and - and she's proba-
bly 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 atten-
tion 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 him-
self 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. "Hermi-
one 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."

419
 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 sug-
gested to the ceiling, though he seemed less than convinced at his own state-
ment.
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 wiz-
ard's shoulder fiercely with something that looked a lot like sympathy, and Dud-
ley 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 red-
headed wizard was quite understanding when given the opportunity, and it was

420
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 Har-
ry'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 do-
ing?"
"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.

421
 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 de-
cided 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 clini-
cally, 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, smil-
ing.
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 burden-
some 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."

422
 "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 pen-
dant 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, winc-
ing.
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 tan-
gled 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 con-
nected 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 circum-
stance."

423
 "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 for-
get.

424
 "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."

425
 Chapter 34:

The Supplication

H
ermione knew they were there the moment they arrived on the door-
step. 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 ma-
jority of her spare time.
To absolutely no avail, of course - which was only making her slightly un-
hinged.
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.

426
 "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 look-
ing 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.

427
 "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 psychoana-
lyze 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, grimac-
ing. "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."

428
 "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 ex-
pression. "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, try-
ing 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 - "

429
 "What does Draco think about it?" Theo asked wryly, and Hermione won-
dered 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 drum-
ming 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 lis-
ten 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 re-
mainder 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 stand-
ing across the room, staring at the door Theo had just exited as though he fer-
vently 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 hug-
ging herself tightly.

430
 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, unabash-
edly 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 finger-
nails. "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. "Be-
sides," 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 in-
toned 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."

431
 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 juve-
nile 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 Pot-
ter 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 partic-
ularly 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 re-
torted, 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 go-
ing 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

432
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 dis-
heartened 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 oc-
curred to Theo; the unfortunate bit being, of course, the rather inarguable un-
pleasantness 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 iter-
ation 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 fuck-
ing there." He waved his hands around, attempting to clarify his point by em-
phasizing 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 absent-
mindedly against the desk.

433
 "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 ex-
actly 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 reassur-
ing," 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 hap-
pens 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.

434
 "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 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 abandon-
ing 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 an-
other 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,

435
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 expla-
nation, 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 ap-
pearing 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.

436
 "Lumos," he said, looking around at the area inside the drawer, which con-
sisted largely of polished shelves that gleamed against a rocky, mountainous in-
terior. 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, re-
mounting the ladder and emerging into the now startling brightness of his of-
fice.
"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 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 casu-
ally, sidestepping the question in a way only he could manage.
Severus, in turn, glared at him. "But - "

437
"See you soon," Albus interrupted jovially, and Severus sighed.
Fucking Albus Dumbledore.

438
 Chapter 35:

The Maestro

A
lbus 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 implica-
tions 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 con-
versation."
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?"

439
 "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 flick-
ing to the time turner on the desk. "Clearly you have more than enough of it."
"Severus," Albus warned, his tone dangerously low.

440
 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. "Re-
ally, 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 sur-
rounding 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, nod-
ding. "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. "Ab-
surd."
"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 rela-
tionship 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."

441
 Severus was beginning to wonder if he was being read a rather elaborate
bedtime story. "And when did such a relationship begin?" he drawled skepti-
cally. "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, seem-
ingly 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.

442
 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 at-
tempted, 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 indi-
rectness 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 - "

443
 "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 inter-
rupted. "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 gestur-
ing 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 irre-
placeable. Unfortunately," he stressed, "Mr. Malfoy's suffering is equally irre-
versible."
"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

444
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 al-
ways 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 won-
dered whether horcruxes were a possibility from the start, but I didn't actu-
ally 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."

445
 "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."

446
 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

447
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 bril-
liant, 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 dan-
gerous 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 in-
volved, 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 - "

448
 "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.

449
 Albus sighed, lowering his wand and walking around the desk to where Se-
verus lay facedown on the ground.
"Every time, Severus," he muttered irritably. "It's really getting quite ex-
hausting."
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."

450
 Chapter 36:

The Parallel

R
on 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.

451
 "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 atten-
tion. 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 pre-
cise dream before. Even the way Nott's green eyes flashed seemed somehow ee-
rily 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 carry-
ing 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?

452
 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 mo-
ment 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 stub-
bornly 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 at-
tempt 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 -

453
 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 drown-
ing 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 uno-
riginal 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 contin-
uing 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 - some-
how - 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.

454
 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 be-
traying 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 Head-
master's purview?"
"Oh, surely it was never exempt," Dumbledore said merrily. "Actually, Se-
verus, 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 sulk-
ily 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!"

455
 With a final sweep of his heavily robed arm, he and Harry disappeared be-
hind 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 ador-
ingly 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 mut-
tered, 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 - "

456
 He shouted at her and she responded, answers reaching her tongue in a prac-
ticed 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 com-
forting, 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.

457
 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 la-
bored 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.

458
 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 crum-
ple to the ground.
I would warn you, then . . .

459
 "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 re-
laxed.

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 agi-

tation 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.

460
 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 remember-
ing. 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 Eat-
ers?
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 sur-
rounding 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.

461
 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 cor-
rupted.
"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."

462
 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 de-
cided 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!"

463
 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 wreck-
age.

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.

464
 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 chal-
lenged 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 fin-
gers. "Why did we survive?"
"That's not ours to question," she whispered back.

465
 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 gen-
erating 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.

466
 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.

467
 Chapter 37;

The Beginning

T
hree years later and they still lived there, still together, still cling-
ing 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 sip-
ping 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.

468
 "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; some-
thing 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 life-
style. 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?"

469
 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 eve-
rything 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, resign-
ing himself to a life of bitter solitary confinement. His father, similarly, had

470
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. "Tor-
ture 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 righteous-
ness, sharpening them against the store associate that day instead of feeling par-
alyzed, 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

471
Eater walking the halls of their Ministry. It was a year of visits and owls, count-
less 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 build-
ing. "If you could just give me a chance - "
"I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy," he rumbled in his deep voice, barely sparing a sec-
ond glance. "You'll have to go through Wizard Resources - "
"Are you going to lunch, Minister?" Draco asked desperately, lingering be-
fore 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 gar-
nered.
Third lesson: no ego is safe from judgment, no conscience impervious to doubt.

472
 "It's not what I want, Minister, it's what I deserve," Draco said plainly, ges-
turing 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 apologet-
ically. "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.

473
 "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, wrin-
kling 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.

474
 "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 excep-
tionally 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 Ar-
thur 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 every-
thing. 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 ap-
proached, 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 fa-
miliar.
Vanilla. Gardenia. Rose.
"Malfoy," she replied tightly, though she seemed to be having trouble speak-
ing.
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."

475
 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 stiff-
ened.
"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.

476
 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?"

477
 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 every-
thing 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.

478
 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 noth-
ing 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 hap-
pened - 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.

479
 Chapter 38:

Epilogue

I
t 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."

480
 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 for-
ward 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.

481
 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 fa-
miliar 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 tighten-
ing 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 im-
agined. "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, of-
fering 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, Mon-
ica," he added, placing a hand on her shoulder as the four of them exchanged
greetings.

482
 "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 at-
tributed 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 Mon-
ica 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 ad-
dress 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 help-
lessly 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."

483
 "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 con-
fident 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 peo-
ple 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; An-
dromeda 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

484
had just occurred to her and was not, as was much more likely, a broader ma-
nipulation. "I thought you might make her feel welcome."
Narcissa was smiling fondly at her son, but Hermione could see with alarm-
ing 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 Her-
mione 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," Nar-
cissa 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, Her-
mione 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 An-
dromeda 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 au-
dience, 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 stiff-
ened in preparation for a look of haughty disapproval, but found she needn't

485
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 sin-
cerity to the statement, an essence of truth, and it struck Hermione as trustwor-
thy. 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, be-
ginning 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 shoul-
der. "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, laugh-
ing 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.

486
 "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 ex-
plained 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 circum-
stance, 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.

487
 Their friends had been different, of course, and both easier and more diffi-
cult.
Harry had been first, as it was hard to avoid him; he seemed to prowl Grim-
mauld 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 concil-
iatory 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 no-
tion 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.

488
 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 paral-
lelism 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 pro-
nounced, 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.

489
 In truth, there had always been something strange about Granger; not nec-
essarily 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 occur-
rences 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."

490
 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 actu-
ally 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 posi-
tively 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 monstros-
ities," 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 - "

491
 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 an-
swer.
"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 bet-
ter,' 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

492
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, won-
dering 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 inter-
cept 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.

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 "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 girl-
friend.
"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 for-
ward, 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 invita-
tion, 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. "Har-
ry'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 bewitch-
ing smile. "Not 'ogwarts, I attended Beauxbatons - "

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 "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 shoul-
ders. "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, put-
ting 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 en-
gagement 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?"

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 "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 de-
cided 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-cere-
mony - "
"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."

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Fin

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 Author’s Note
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.
It has been an honor to put these words down for you, and I hope you have
enjoyed the story.

Olivie Blake

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