Two to Obey

Chapter 3: Stay in the Game

So little time...

Try to understand that I'm

Trying to make a move just to stay in the game.

I try to stay awake and remember my name,

But everybody's changing and I don't feel the same.

--'Everybody's Changing,' Keane

"We didn't lose the game. We just ran out of time." -Vince Lombardi

*******

If the Ferrari possessed genitalia, Thera would be making it a very happy car right now. They'd spent the morning fine tuning the spells that worked to replace the electronics in the automobile. Thera had complained that the little thingy that played music didn't have good sound quality and after tinkering with the spell in about a hundred different ways, they'd finally managed to make it work better. Thera was celebrating.

Actually, she was singing along badly to the moaning woman's voice issuing forth from the speakers and rubbing her ass along the bumper.

"Ain't misbehavin', I'm savin' all my love for yoooooooou." Thera climbed up on the bumper and began gyrating against the shelf-like thing on top of the trunk that didn't actually serve a purpose, so far as Draco could tell. It did look nice, though.

His right palm came alive and Draco looked down at it. "Oh, shit. Thera!" he said loudly. She paused, glaring at him.

"I'm busy!"

"He's calling me!" She stood up and waved her wand to turn off the music. Draco said a silent thanks. "What about you?"

She glanced at her hand and shook her head. "Come back when you're finished."

Draco nodded as his hand formed a fist and he went hurtling through space. He landed in a low-lit room filled with Death Eaters. There must have been quite a hue and cry at Shirag Castle when the call went out, but Thera had been playing the music rather loudly.

In any case, he felt decidedly off-kilter. He had no idea where the hell he was, much less what was going on. The Death Eaters were all rumbling amongst themselves. His father stepped forward and thrust a mask at him.

"They've attacked the dark creature compound. We apparate in two minutes."

Draco took the mask, an odd feeling sweeping over him. As a small child - well, up until a few years ago, actually - he had believed his father was all-powerful. He obviously didn't believe that anymore, and he was fair enough to allow that Lucius didn't relish bowing and scraping and selling his own son out to the Dark Lord; he did it because he felt it was necessary. Draco couldn't forgive it, but he understood.

And he wondered what his father would do if he ever found out about the steps Draco was taking to get out of this whole mess. He was, after all, only doing what any Malfoy would do. Malfoys did not serve. Malfoys did not live by the rules of others.

Malfoys made their own rules and created their own destinies.

Wormtail began counting down as the Dark Lord paced angrily at the front of the room. "I want prisoners!" he roared. "I want to know how they found the location!"

"Stay close to me," he father muttered as they put their masks on. "The rank-and-file will be taking the brunt of it. By all rights, we shouldn't even have to fire a curse."

With a jolt of fear, Draco finally realized that he was about to be sent into battle. He'd had plenty of practice - in Dueling Club, with his father and with various tutors - but he'd never fought in an actual battle before. He knew the Dark Lord was hardly going to risk him by sending him off to be cursed or captured, but still...battle?

Well, Longbottom had fought at the Department of Mysteries, for Merlin's sake. It couldn't be that hard.

They apparated as a group, which was dangerous. There were no splinching incidents, and Draco wondered if the Dark Lord did something to make it go smoothly.

He arrived next to his father at the back of the group. Almost immediately, an alarm sounded and Draco saw a flash of red hair as the lookout fled in some considerable amount of haste, managing to dodge the volley of curses sent at him as he dove into the woods that surrounded the path. It was the Weasel.

Oh, fuck. Belatedly, Draco realized that Red's entire family was probably in there, and while he didn't particularly care if one of them ended up on the wrong side of a killing curse, she did. Especially if he was the one doing the cursing.

"Three of you go after him!" the Dark Lord barked, walking to the front of the group and waved a dramatic hand before stepped back. "I've put up the wards," he announced, turning back to them. "You won't be able to apparate out, but then..." a hideous smile crossed his face. "Neither will they."

So everyone inside was a sitting duck and there would likely be heavy casualties. Fuck fuck fuck fuckity fuck. Draco hadn't the faintest clue how to disarm an anti-apparation ward, and even if he did, it's not like somebody wouldn't notice him doing it.

An echoing cry rose up from the Death Eaters as they surged forward. Draco followed with his father, his heart pounding, his hand gripping his wand tightly. Death Eater masks were charmed to stay cool, but even so, his face felt hot, and he couldn't even bring himself to think about what was happening to his hair.

They reached a crossroads at the center of the compound where the pathway led off into three directions to the living quarters for the dark creatures. To the right and left stood signs marking "Vampires" and "Werewolves". The path in front of them led down a hill to what looked like a swamp. Draco wasn't surprised that those quarters belonged to - according to the sign - "Everybody Else". Aside from the banshees and the leprechauns, the swamp also housed the dementors, who probably felt right at home.

Here it comes, Draco thought bracing himself.

*******

When the Death Eater alarm sounded, the chain of command broke down entirely. Everybody's orders were to escape immediately, but nobody did. The Aurors and the Order corralled separately, making sure everybody was accounted for. Then the Aurors began organizing to apparate away, and another problem was discovered - they couldn't. Thus commenced a jockeying for portkeys. Only a few people still had one, having used up their supply on the dark creatures.

"Alright, alright, can everybody please just shut up for a moment?!" Remus finally yelled over his chattering brethren. Somebody needed to take charge, and he supposed it might as well be him. Slowly, they quieted down and looked at him and Remus rubbed his face, trying to fight off the fatigue that threatened to overwhelm him.

"Who still has a portkey left?" he asked in a more reasonable tone of voice. Bill Weasley, Mundungus Fletcher and Lee Jordan all raised their hands. "Okay, then. Let's form three groups and portkey away. This isn't that complicated."

"Remus," Charlie said as the others grouped up, "we don't know if Ron got away."

"Have you tried to call him?" he asked vaguely, a good deal of his concentration focused on remaining upright.

"Twice," Bill said, his face grim and tight. "He hasn't answered."

"He's supposed to call Moody if there's any trouble," Remus muttered, digging his communications device out of his pocket and calling the man. Moody hadn't heard from Ron, and he could see the two brothers exchange a look.

"We're not leaving without him," Charlie said flatly. Remus nodded, looking over the rest of the group.

"I can't keep the others back. Assuming Ron's still here," and hasn't been captured yet, he added silently, "we're better off with a small, stealthy group than a large noisy one."

Bill nodded. "We've got a portkey."

"I'll stay with you," Remus said. "Though depending on where he is, we might not even be able to get to him."

Charlie was already shaking his head. "No offense, Remus, but you look like shit."

He rather felt like it, too. As much as he hated to admit it, he wasn't going to be an asset to any operation right now.

"Go with Dung," Bill said, nudging him away. "We'll stay in contact."

A battle cry sounded faintly in the distance, coming closer. The entire group visibly tensed, their eyes drawn to the center of the compound, where the Death Eaters would appear any moment.

"Head to the woods," Remus urged them.

"Yeah," Bill said slowly, "I think that might be a good idea."

Remus wished them luck and huddled together with Mundungus and Emmeline Vance, fighting off nausea as they portkeyed to Azkaban.

If he'd thought the dark creature compound had been chaos, it was nothing compared to Azkaban at that moment. The portkeys were designated to particular cells, which meant that upon arrival, Aurors and Order members alike needed to be let out. Beyond that, more than a few of them arrived in cells already inhabited by the dark creatures they'd captured earlier, who were not too pleased with their new home.

The cell they arrived in was empty, but across the hall, Lee Jordan was rattling the bars of the cell and yelling for help as a banshee advanced on him with a very nasty smile on her face. He had personally taught Mr. Jordan how to subdue a banshee during his tenure as the Hogwarts Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, but apparently meeting one in the flesh had caused the boy to forget. The banshee opened her mouth.

Remus poked his wand through the bars and quickly silenced her. With sulky a look on her skeletal face, the banshee closed her mouth and drew back.

Lee nearly collapsed in relief. "Thanks, Professor."

As many times as he informed his former students that he was no longer their professor and they could call him Remus, it still warmed his heart a little when they forgot.

"I was just about to silence her, Lee," Angelina Johnson said sheepishly. "Really."

The banshee bared her teeth at Angelina, who gulped and scooted away.

It appeared as if it was going to take the guards a while to let them out, so everyone took a seat and settled in to wait. Mundungus took out a copy of Witch Weekly and his pipe, which Emmeline Vance promptly yanked out of his mouth.

"It smells foul in here already," she said shortly. "No need to make it worse."

Remus silently agreed, leaning his head against the wall and closing his eyes. Azkaban's unique odor alone was enough to offend his werewolf senses to the point of illness. It smelled putrid and rotting and...it was really best not to think about it too much.

*******

Ron gritted his teeth as the charmed knut in his pocket vibrated again, knowing he couldn't answer it. Assuming he could even reach his pocket - stuffed, as he was at the moment, inside a dead tree trunk - he couldn't answer it with one of the Death Eaters almost right on top of him. If the guy bothered to bend down, Ron was dead.

He held his breath as the Death Eater passed by, then heaved a sigh of relief as the man kept walking. Dropping his forehead down to rest against the rough, mossy wood of the trunk, he listened as the crunching footsteps grew fainter, wondering if it was safe to come out yet. He couldn't stay here forever, but he couldn't apparate away, either.

Everyone else must have escaped already. If a few hundred Death Eaters hadn't suddenly appeared in front of him and begun firing curses at him, Ron would have, too. But he'd been forced to run and they'd gotten the wards up, and he had no idea how he was going to get out of here.

Or really, how he was going to get out of here alive.

Slowly, he scooted back, wriggling out of the tree trunk as quietly as he could, his ears alert to the sounds of anyone approaching. He crouched behind the trunk and dug the communications device out of his pocket. They'd told him to call Moody if he got into any trouble, so he whispered the man's name and waited.

"Moody here," a grizzled voice finally answered.

"It's Ron," he said, his eyes darting around for signs of any movement, uneasy as the leaves rustled in the breeze. "I couldn't apparate out. I'm in the woods."

"Werewolf side or vampire side?"

"Werewolf side. Not far from the entrance, a dozen or so yards from the pathway."

There was a short pause before Moody spoke again. "Bill and Charlie are already on their way. Just stay put. Call one of them if there's any trouble or you have to move."

"Thanks, Moody." Ron put the communications device away, trying to ignore the fact that his hand shook. He felt like a stupid kid, hiding out and forcing Bill and Charlie to risk life and limb to come save him, but it was nice to know that they were on their way.

There was nothing to occupy his mind, other than the fact that a bunch of Death Eaters and two of his brothers were prowling around the forest looking for him. He jumped at every noise, his eyes continuously glancing around, especially over his shoulder.

Ron had never been in a situation where people were actively trying to find him and kill him before, and found it to be fairly terrifying. It was a miracle Harry wasn't barking mad after all this time.

Thinking about Harry calmed him down momentarily. Harry ended up in tight spots all the time, and he always came through it all right.

Well, yeah, his brain answered as the fear returned, 'cause he's Harry Potter. You're not.

Ron nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a twig snap behind him. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into the tree trunk and hide again, but he forced himself to stand and point his wand in the general direction of the noise.

"Who's there?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Ron?" Bill's voice answered back, and he nearly went limp with relief.

"I'm here," he said, picking his way across the undergrowth to where he saw the welcome sight of his brother's head poking out from behind a tree. He made it almost halfway there when a curse hit the tree next to him, blasting a hole in it.

Ron dropped as another curse zinged over his head. That curse was followed by more. He'd wanted to take part in a battle. It looked like he was about to get his wish.

Funny, he wasn't quite so keen on the idea anymore.

Carefully, he raised his head to see Bill motioning him over with one hand while he shot curses back at the Death Eaters with the other. "Stay low," Bill hissed.

Rising up on his elbows, Ron crawled forward as quickly as he could. Once he got close enough, Bill hauled him the rest of the way.

"Come on over," he called to Charlie, who was crouched behind a tree a few feet away. "I'll cover you."

On his belly, Charlie scooted over to them in much the same manner Ron had while Bill shot curse after curse in the direction of the Death Eaters.

"They're getting closer," Charlie said, glancing over his shoulder. "Let's go."

Bill held out the portkey and they all touched a piece of it.

"Azkaban," Bill said, but he only got the first syllable out before Ron saw the curse hit Charlie. It was red - a stunner. Charlie fell back, and Ron and Bill portkeyed away.

As soon as they arrived, Ron grabbed Bill's shoulder. "They stunned Charlie," he said urgently. "We have to portkey back." His brother glanced around the room, his face going pale, but he made no move to comply with Ron's request.

"Bill, come on!" Ron shouted, shaking him. "We have to go back and get him!"

"We can't," his brother said, looking down at the portkey, his voice hollow. "These were for the dark creatures. We didn't want them coming back."

"What do you mean?" Ron asked, a strange buzzing in his head.

"It's a one-way portkey, Ron," he said in that same voice. "We can't go back."

"Well, we have to call somebody, then!"

"And have them do what, exactly!?" Bill yelled. Ron stepped back at the force of his brother's anger. "If the wards are still up, nobody can get in! And even if the wards are down, then the Death Eaters have already left!"

Ron gaped at him, feeling as if he were about to fall over. This couldn't possibly be happening. "So that's it? We're not going to do anything?"

Bill bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut, either to regain control of his temper or to think - Ron couldn't tell. Then he pulled out his communications device and held it up to his mouth. "Severus Snape."

*******

The attack Draco expected didn't come; in fact, the main pathways through the living quarters all seemed to be deserted. Perhaps the Aurors were hiding in the cottages themselves, hoping for an ambush.

The Dark Lord must have thought the same thing, for he split the group into quarters, sending three groups down the pathways and holding back the group with Draco and his father in it to defend the central compound.

It wasn't long before Death Eaters began trailing back, shaking their heads, disappointed.

"Just a couple of dark creatures hiding out, milord. The rest are all gone," one reported.

"Portkeys," his father sighed. "I ruined my hair for nothing."

Would that it had been for nothing. At that moment, the three Death Eaters who had pursued the Weasel came out of the woods dragging a limp body with red hair. From his vantage point, Draco couldn't discern the Weasel's mortal status one way or the other.

"Found him," one said proudly as they dropped him in front of the Dark Lord.

"Alive, I hope," he said, prodding the prone body with a toe.

"Stunned," another one assured him.

"Take him to the dungeons at Shirag Castle. Bellatrix! Rodolphus!" the Dark Lord called.

"Right here, milord," his Aunt Bella purred, stepping forward.

The Dark Lord's face curved into a very nasty smile. "You know what to do."

As if he'd been slapped in the face, it occurred to Draco just then that everything he and Thera and Red and the Potterites had been up to for the past year was about to become common knowledge, and that...well, it would be so fucking bad that he couldn't even think of a snarky way to describe it. It would be bad. Bad beyond bad. Bad infinity.

He had to do something.

"Er...do you suppose I could give him a good kick, father?"

Lucius had taken off his mask and hood and was currently trying to wrestle his hair into a braid. "I suppose," he said irritably. "But just one, Draco."

Draco took a deep breath. The wards might be down now; maybe he could apparate them away. Maybe it would be kinder to kill the kid right now and claim Weasley-hatred. He'd pay for it, but at least it wouldn't expose everything.

He still wasn't certain what he was going to do when he kicked the Weasel onto his back. And then he looked down and froze in surprise. It wasn't the Weasel.

Before he could recover, the three Death Eaters picked the redhead up. "Now, now, that's enough," one of them said. "He'll be getting plenty of that in a little bit."

They apparated away before he could blink and Draco just stood there for a second, his knees weak with relief. It was a dangerous game they were playing; he hadn't even realized how dangerous until just then. Draco did not like the idea that his continued well-being was - for better or worse - contingent upon Potter and the Dull Duo staying far the hell out of the Dark Lord's path, especially when the less intelligent half of said duo had been within spitting distance of said Dark Lord not fifteen minutes ago.

And Draco really detested the idea that he was now forced to be thankful that the Weasel was alive. It grated. It grated enough that he tried to focus on it, to keep from wondering whether the man they'd captured was another one of Red's brothers.

It didn't work. His brain dwelled on that thought, and on the split second after he'd flipped the man over, realized that it wasn't the Weasel, and chosen to do nothing.

Draco had immediately sized up the consequences and decided it wasn't worth it. That was all. There was too much at stake. Potter would have just grabbed the guy and apparated away without any thought as to the consequences, and prior to facing the situation himself, he'd thought it was because Potter simply wasn't capable of that much foresight. But now he couldn't shake the uncomfortable feeling that even knowing the consequences, Potter would have done it anyway.

And Draco couldn't understand why some tiny part of him wished he had done it, too. It would have been brave, he supposed. It also would have been incredibly stupid. But in that moment, he had felt like he had when his father had been in prison: simultaneously exhilarated and terrified. It had been a choice, and he had chosen wisely. That was that.

But he still wondered what would have happened if he'd chosen differently.

*******

Remus must have dozed off, because he was startled awake by his communications device. Blinking a few times, he reached into his pocket and dug it out.

"Lupin," he said groggily.

"Remus, are you alright?" He smiled at the sound of Vivian's voice, the first pleasant thing he'd encountered since he'd apparated to the compound. It surprised him sometimes how much he loved her, how simple it really was, that four words could improve his entire mood.

"I'm fine. I'm cooling my heels in a cell. How about you?"

"Alive and kicking and back at Headquarters." She sighed. "David got away."

His mood darkened immediately. "What? How?"

"It's a long story. Listen, they'll be along to let you out soon. There are some things I have to deal with here."

Remus sat up. "Ron. Have they found him yet?"

There was a pause before Vivian answered, and when she did, her voice sounded odd. "Yes, they have."

"Well, what's wrong, then?"

"Hopefully nothing. Don't worry about it. I'll see you soon, okay?"

With that aggravatingly cryptic message, Vivian clicked off. Remus sank back against the wall. Whatever it was, he'd deal with it once he got out of here; he was too tired to think right now.

Despite the smell and the discomfort, he must have dozed off, because Emmeline had to shake him awake when the Aurors finally came by to release them. They apparated back to the courtyard across from Number Twelve and went inside. Deafening silence greeted them, and Remus braced himself as they walked solemnly down to the kitchen.

He recognized that silence. He didn't have to hear the news, just the name.

Somebody was dead.

*******

Nobody seemed to want to talk after the Order members left the kitchen of Number Twelve. Ginny held Vendetta in her lap, petting him and watching her mother bustle around the kitchen doing small unimportant tasks, occasionally muttering to herself, trying to keep her mind off of things, Ginny supposed. Professor McGonagall sat stoically, her eyes on her communications device sitting on the table, waiting for news. Tonks had stayed in the kitchen for a few minutes, shifting around in her seat, before finally declaring that she had to go pee. Ginny had no idea how long Tonks had been gone, or how long the Order had been gone, but it felt like forever.

Vendetta rose and stretched, jumping to the floor and trotting off. Ginny twisted her hands in her lap and stared at the communications device, willing it to sound. There was something painful about watching her mother wash the same dish over and over. Everyone moved around as quietly as possible, as if someone in the house were very ill and they were trying not to disturb them.

Ginny rubbed her temples. She'd had a nagging headache since she woke up this morning, long before her mother sat her down and told her what was going to happen today, dropping the news heavily and carefully, as if Ginny didn't already know.

"Do you have a headache, dear?" Professor McGonagall asked.

"No," Ginny said, dropping her hands. "I'm fine." Considering everything else that was going on, it seemed fairly silly to complain about a headache.

"You have a headache?" Molly asked, turning from the sink, patently ignoring her denial in that way only mothers seemed to be able to get away with. "I'll get you a potion."

"I'm fine," Ginny said firmly as her mother bustled over to the potions cabinet, ignoring her yet again.

"Here you go, dear," her mother said, plopping a vial on the table in front of her and stepping back with crossed arms and a stern glare. "Drink it up."

Grumbling, she did, handing the vial back to her mother just as Professor McGonagall's communications device vibrated on the table. For a second, they all stared at it.

Then, suddenly businesslike, Professor McGonagall picked it up and answered.

"Minerva, is Molly there?" Moody's voice sounded.

The professor's eyes flickered briefly to her mother. "Yes, she is."

"We got most of the dark creatures, but the Death Eaters showed up," Moody said.

Ginny felt her mother's hand on her shoulder, clutching tightly.

Professor McGonagall swallowed. "Did everyone get away?"

"They got apparation wards up, so we all had to portkey out. Ron didn't get out before the wards went up, but I've heard from him, and he's fine. Bill and Charlie have a portkey. They'll have him out in a few minutes. Vivian's on her way to headquarters."

"Thank you, Alastor," the professor said, her eyes moving above Ginny's head to focus on her mother as she placed the communications device back on the table.

"Ginny, can you go find Tonks and bring her down here?" Molly asked.

She glanced up at her mother's pale face and rose wordlessly. She found Tonks coming out of the loo and updated her on the situation. They met up with Professor Wellbourne on the way back down to the kitchen. She looked fairly haggard, her usually neat hair in disarray, her face appearing old and worn-out. For once, Ginny could believe that she was the same age as Professor Lupin.

"How'd it go?" Tonks asked.

"Well, I'm still alive. But then, so is he," Professor Wellbourne sighed. "I guess you'd call it a draw, but it feels a lot like a defeat to me. Have they found Ron yet?"

"Dunno," Tonks said, glancing at Ginny, who was actively watching both of them, trying to figure out what on earth they were talking about. "We were just on our way to see."

Professor Wellbourne looked at Ginny, then Tonks, then nodded, and Ginny turned to lead the way down the stairs. One would think that members of a reputedly secret organization would be better at disguising the fact that they were hiding information.

"Just say that you can't tell me, don't throw bloody obvious glances over my head as if I'm too thick to notice them," she muttered.

"What was that?" Tonks asked from behind her.

"Nothing," Ginny said. She reached the bottom of the stairs and froze. Her mother was sitting in a chair with her face buried in her hands. Professor McGonagall was crouched in front of her, holding on to her shoulders, murmuring to her.

Tonks plowed into her from behind, sending her to her knees. Professor McGonagall and Professor Wellbourne helped an apologetic Tonks up from the floor, but Ginny kept her eyes directed on her mother, too stunned to move. Something had happened. After all of the theoretical worrying and the what-ifs, something had actually happened.

"Mum?" she asked, her voice coming out all quavery. She didn't even know what else to ask. There were too many possibilities to consider, all of them horrible.

Her mother flew off of the chair. Ginny only got a glimpse of her tear-stained face before she was swept up into an embrace more painful than it was comforting. She couldn't even hug her mother back, and felt somehow that she didn't need to. Ginny wasn't Ginny, she was a substitute for whoever her mother wanted to be holding just then.

Distantly, she could hear the others talking in the background. Discussing the details, no doubt. Her mum was sobbing into her shoulder and Ginny couldn't make out what they were saying, but a tiny dart of agony hit her in the chest, spreading wider and wider until it threatened to swallow her whole. It was formless, and too vast for her to even make sense of it. Others had lost people, but not them. It couldn't be one of them.

"It'll be okay, Mum," she said, pressing her nose into her mother's curls, inhaling the scent that always brought back memories of safety and security. But even as she said the words, she knew they were untrue. As many of them as there were, it just made them all the more fragile - a house of cards. The loss of one only brought that many more tumbling down. Oh, Ron.

Ginny screwed her eyes shut. She couldn't even begin to imagine everything else: not seeing him at prefect's meetings or making a face at the maroon sweater he got every Christmas or shoving an entire poached egg into his mouth at breakfast.

Dear Merlin, had he still thought she was angry with him about yesterday?

The pressure left abruptly and Ginny opened her eyes. Her mother was standing up. "Have you heard from Severus?" she asked someone at the door.

Ginny turned. It was her father, looking tired and aged, far more than Professor Wellbourne had. If fact, everyone appeared less collected and more vulnerable, as if their everyday veneers had all been stripped off. "Not yet, Molly. It might take him a while."

"We don't have that long!" her mother said sharply. Ginny winced, as did everyone else in the room. Her father sagged against the doorway.

"At least Ron and Bill are fine." He looked at the floor and ran a hand through his thinning hair. "If there's any way to get Charlie out, Severus will find it," he said finally.

Ginny stared at her father, faced with the completely new situation of shifting gears mid-grief. On the one hand, Ron was alive and well, and that was cause alone for celebration. On the other hand, Charlie was possibly not alive, and certainly not well, and...

"So the Death Eaters have him?" she asked, astonished at the coldness of her own voice.

Her father looked at her, surprised, as if he hadn't noticed her presence until she'd spoken. "Er..." he said, his eyes going between his wife and his daughter.

Fairly certain they were about to lie to her again, pat her on the head and send her out of the room, Ginny stood. "Do they?"

Her father didn't speak, but his face fell into harsh lines and he pulled her mother closer. Ginny supposed she had her answer.

*******

The Death Eaters returned in a celebratory mood that initially gave Thera the impression that they'd won the battle, which they hadn't, really. The evil side had lost most of their dark creatures and the good side had managed to escape, but nobody seemed to care. This being a group for whom the mere act of waking up in the morning was a valid excuse for getting drunk, they immediately started up the revelry.

Thera knew from experience that it was better for her to escape before her ass became common property, or - Merlin forbid - somebody suggested another game of 'Let's See if We Can Fit Thera in There.' Unfortunately, Rodolphus and Bellatrix caught up with her in the hallway.

"Come with us," Rodolphus said, radiating excitement. He'd just taken off his mask and his dark hair stood up at odd angles. Thera was wary of this side of Rodolphus. She'd come to view him as sort of a grumpy, Al Bundy kind of sitcom dad. He didn't mess with her and seemed as weirded out by Bellatrix as she was most of the time.

It was easy to forget that Rodolphus had earned his sentence in Azkaban, too.

"We've got a prisoner," Bellatrix gushed, an insanely gleeful light in her eyes that Thera recognized all too well. Here we go again... She hesitated, not trusting the fact that Bellatrix was being nice to her after what had happened earlier that day.

Rodolphus pulled on her arm to hurry her along. "Come on. He's in the dungeons."

Thera dug her heels in. No way. She was not going down there with the two of them. Or if she'd had a choice, she wouldn't have. As she didn't have a choice, however...

"We'll show you how it's done," Bellatrix assured her, practically licking her lips in anticipation. Thera didn't share her enthusiasm. She'd never tortured someone without the Dark Lord in her head. She wasn't exactly aching to try it, either.

There were two guards outside the cell, both fairly young. Bellatrix raised an eyebrow and the taller one let them inside, locking the door before motioning with his head to the other one. Both guards walked out of sight.

"Well, well, well. We've got ourselves a Weasley, Bella."

Thera's head snapped around. Sure enough, tied to a chair with a gag in his mouth sat a twenty-something wizard with the trademark red hair. She'd never seen him before, but he bore a close enough to resemblance to Ron to peg him as an older brother.

She didn't know him, but she knew people who did, and that made it personal in a way Thera didn't like one bit.

"Which Weasley, though?" Bellatrix asked, frowning.

Rodolphus shrugged. "I don't know. I could never tell them apart."

"Let's ask him, shall we?" She removed the gag. "What's your name, little boy?"

Mouth firmly shut, the man glared back at her in a show of defiance that was diminished by the shallowness of his breathing, the pallor of his face and his white-knuckled trip on the arms of the chair. Fear practically dripped off of him. Undoubtedly he recognized the LeStranges, and the fact that he was about to join their list of victims.

"The strong silent type, eh?" Bellatrix said, smirking as she stroked his face. "I was only trying to be friendly. Perhaps I should explain the rules of the game. We're going to ask you questions. Every time you don't answer, you lose a body part." She patted him on the head. "Don't worry. We'll start small. Now, what's your name?"

"Charlie," he rasped, apparently deciding that it wasn't worth holding out. Thera winced inwardly. He had a name now. He had a bloody name.

If they really wanted to get information out of him, they'd be using Veritaserum, and they probably would eventually. But this part of the interrogation was only superficially about getting information, and Charlie Weasley knew that as well as she did.

"Very good," Bellatrix said, clapping her hands. "Your turn, darling."

"Thank you, dear," Rodolphus said, stepping forward and crossing his arms. "How did you learn the location of the dark creatures?"

Charlie Weasley screwed his eyes shut for a moment. Finally, looking resigned, he opened them. "I don't know," he said dully, obviously lying. Thera wondered for a moment why he bothered. They'd get the information out of him one way or another; there was nothing to be gained by dragging it out. He must be a Gryffindor.

"I see," Rodolphus said slowly. "Torturing wizards and witches is entirely different from torturing Muggles." It took Thera a moment to realize that he was addressing her. His eyes never strayed from his captive. "Muggles don't put up much of a fight. But pain tends to bring out instances of accidental magic in wizards. You should always cast a containment charm on them before beginning, lest they break a window or something."

He pulled out his wand and Charlie Weasley gulped audibly. Rodolphus cast the charm, then turned to look at her, his eyes blank and empty. "It doesn't last more than a few minutes, though. You have to recast it regularly." He smiled at her vaguely as he flicked his wand, as if wanting to see her reaction. The red-haired man screamed and Thera felt an automatic visceral reaction, as if she'd just been doused with cold water. Holding his gaze, Thera forced a smile even as something inside her curled up in a feeble attempt at self-preservation. I can't do this, she realized with dawning horror. I can't pull this off.

She'd wondered many times whether the sadistic enjoyment she felt when torturing somebody was entirely courtesy of the Dark Lord. She'd just gotten her answer. It was 'yes,' and it couldn't have come at a more inopportune time.

"Your turn, dear," Rodolphus said to his wife.

"Thank you, Dolphie. Now, you have to understand that interrogation is an art form, Thera. Everybody has a breaking point, and they're all different. The trick is to find it without killing them or driving them insane first. Charlie here is young and strong, brave and proud. One would think he'd be difficult to break, but appearances can be deceiving," she said academically. "I've been surprised more than once."

"Charlie?" Bellatrix placed a hand under his chin and raised his head. "Up here, sweetheart." Thera had refrained from looking at him as long as possible, and was sorry when she did. His face was chalk-white and covered with a sheen of perspiration. A bloody, gaping hole marked the spot where his left ear used to be.

"Eye contact is essential," Bellatrix continued, sounding entirely coherent and sane for the first time in Thera's memory. "At the beginning, it helps you establish dominance. Our Charlie's no fool. He knows he's going to die, but he doesn't know how or when. Only we know that. And therein lies the power."

"At the end, they'll seek out eye contact, hoping you'll take pity on them. That's when you have to deny it to them," she finished.

"Okay," Thera said lamely.

Bellatrix flashed her a grin. "Enough lecturing. I'm boring our guest. It's time to resume our game, I think. Where is the headquarters for Dumbledore's group?"

Charlie Weasley showed no reaction. "None of us can give away the location."

"How unfortunate for you," Bellatrix said with false regret, slicing off a pinky finger.

"He expected her to go for the other ear, symmetry and all that," Rodolphus said, raising his voice so she could hear him over the screaming. "Always keep them guessing."

Charlie Weasley took a long time to break, and an even longer time to die. He talked - with the aid of Veritaserum - but there wasn't a lot of useful information they could get out of him. Just because he couldn't lie didn't mean he had to volunteer anything. The Order had found the dark creature compound because of Dumbledore's tracking charm on some vampire. Bellatrix and Rodolphus tried out the names of a few people they suspected of working for Dumbledore, but Snape wasn't one of them.

Her mind didn't leave all at once, but incrementally. Thera fell into mirroring Bellatrix and Rodolphus, smiling when they smiled, laughing when they laughed. Imitation became automatic, and it must have been believable. They appeared pleased by it.

"It's so nice that we can do things like this as a family," Bellatrix said, patting her on the cheek. Thera matched her grin, freezing her facial muscles into place as she looked over the many pieces of Charlie Weasley spread across the floor.

"Maybe next time, we'll even let you join in," Rodolphus said, clapping her on the back.

Against her will, Thera imagined gazing upon the obscenity staining the stone floor and having it be her handiwork. As quickly as she could, she closed the thought down. It was a truth she knew well: just when you think it can't get any worse, it generally does.

"You were fantastic, darling," Bellatrix said, grabbing her husband around the waist. "I'm so hot for you right now. You have no idea."

Oh, look, her mind chimed in, it's already started to.

"I think I might have an idea," Rodolphus said, his mouth curling into a smile.

"I'm going to..." Thera said before it occurred to her that she didn't know how to finish the sentence. "Drive," she said eventually. "After that, I need a drive. Adrenaline and all." Turning around, she fumbled her way out of the dungeons, her mind filtering back no matter how many roadblocks she put up against it. She had to get Charlie Weasley's death out of her, and she couldn't do it in Shirag Castle. They'd see through her.

She made it through the side door and took off running, trying to make it to the carriage house for some privacy. She couldn't lose it, not here. Not yet.

It was an admirable effort, but it wasn't enough. Halfway there, her stomach went into full-scale rebellion and Thera fell flat on the ground, heaving out everything inside of her, including her toenails, possibly. It seemed to take forever, and when it finally abated, she didn't even have the strength to roll away, much less to get up.

This, she decided, trying not to think about what she was lying in, is rock bottom.

"I suppose asking if you're all right is rather irrelevant at this point," a cold voice said.

I've really got to stop doing that.

"Fuck off, Snape," she whispered, largely because a whisper was all she was capable of.

"She curses, therefore I suppose she's alive." A pair of strong hands grabbed her shoulders and flipped her over. Thera could see Snape's face clearly in the moonlight, the planes sharpened, the black eyes glistening with malice or perhaps simple disgust at the fact that she was covered in vomit. Thera tried to bring herself to care and couldn't.

"Why are you lurking in my yard, anyway?"

"Charlie Weasley - is he here?"

"Yeah." Thera shut her eyes. "He's dead." She didn't know if Snape gave a rat's ass about Charlie Weasley, but she didn't want to see his reaction either way.

He released a breath. "Are you sure?"

"Well, he's in fifty separate pieces and one of them is what's left of his head, so..."

"A simple yes would have sufficed."

"Yes, then."

"Were you there?"

"Yeah." Thera raised a hand to wipe off her face, then realized it, too, was covered in gook. "Would you mind cleaning me off?"

He did, then squatted down beside her. "Did he give anything away?"

"How you found the dark creatures," she said faintly, tiredly. Merlin, had she ever been this tired? She didn't even think she had the strength to sit up, much less make it back to the castle. Thera imagined just lying here while the world went on without her, Death Eaters stepping over her, birds and insects making use of what was left of her until she rotted away and the ground took her. It didn't sound that bad, comparatively.

"What else? Did he give name names?"

"No. They asked him about some people, but he said they weren't in the Order."

"Whom did they ask him about?"

Thera processed the question, but no answers came forward. "I don't remember." Empty, that was it. She'd puked everything up. Her soul might be in there somewhere, which would be helpful. Who needed one, anyway? It just got in the way.

His face settled into a mask of anger and he chewed her out, questioned her, she didn't even know what else. It was like listening to one of the grown-ups on Peanuts.

"Wah wah wah?" Snape asked, looking at her strangely. Thera giggled.

He rolled his eyes and grabbed her shoulders, sitting her up. Then he slapped her.

"Ow!" Thera rubbed her cheek and scowled at him. "What was that for?"

"To regain your attention, Castelar. Here, take this." He held a vial under her nose.

Thera recoiled at the scent. "Ugh, no. I'll throw up again."

"I could," he said silkily, "make you take it."

At that moment, he most definitely could. "What is it?"

"Blood Replenishing Potion. I don't have any calming draughts with me, but it ought to put you in fair enough shape to go back inside."

Oh, lovely. The last place she wanted to go. Nevertheless, she took the potion, gagging and coughing the whole way through. Thera had never actually licked the inside of a dumpster, but she now had a fair idea of what it would taste like.

Snape wrestled her into a standing position and then tentatively let her go. Thera swayed a little bit, but managed to remain upright. "Thanks," she said grudgingly.

He nodded. "Go back inside before they notice you're gone."

She looked over in the direction of the carriage house. "I told them I was going driving."

"Well, drive then. Do whatever it is you're supposed to be doing right now. Just remember that I was never here."

"Yeah, I kind of figured that." The potion began working its way into her system and Thera felt warmer, stronger. He sent her one of his patented glares and whipped out his wand, preparing to apparate away. "Professor Snape," she said quickly, stopping him.

He sighed. "I'm in a hurry, Castelar. I have to notify the family."

'Notify the family,' like he was a police officer, or a doctor. He'd probably done it dozens of times. He'd probably been where she was right now dozens of times.

And that's why she'd stopped him. "Does it get any easier?" she asked, before pride had a chance to step in and stop it from coming out.

Snape looked at her for a moment, as if surprised at the question. The corner of his mouth lifted in the closest approximation Snape had to a smile. "Unfortunately, it does."

Expecting a grim 'no, it doesn't,' Thera absorbed that. "Unfortunately?"

His near-smile collapsed. "The easier it gets, the more they own you."

He apparated away and Thera stared at the ground, wanting nothing more than to just sit down and have a good cry. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a good cry. Actually she could - quite vividly - but felt no desire to think about it. Dragging up old shit in an attempt to put new shit in perspective only made her feel really shit on.

So she went out to the carriage house, fired up the Ferrari, put in Dr. Feelgood, cranked the volume up until the windows rattled and her ears rang and peeled off into the night.

*******

Despite the fact that she desperately wanted to flee the kitchen, Vivian remained, as did Tonks and Minerva, each of them standing around awkwardly as Molly, Arthur and Ginny huddled by the doorway, clutching each other tightly. She wanted to go to the upstairs parlor and have an actual, private conversation with Remus, one that wasn't carefully censored to take into account the grieving family in her presence. But she should probably leave her communications device open in case they heard from Severus.

Merlin, you'd think after all of these years, they'd all be better at the sympathy and grieving thing. They were all a bit stymied in this situation. The Weasleys were a self-contained unit. Molly and Arthur didn't need sympathy. They needed the rest of their children back, surrounding them.

They all still entertained the possibility that Charlie was alive, and he very well might be. Realistically, however, he probably would not be for long, and the Order hadn't the means to rescue him. Whatever the Death Eaters were doing to Charlie Weasley right now, Vivian only hoped that Molly and Arthur never found out about it.

She'd never been happier than when Remus walked in, despite the fact that he looked like death not quite warmed over enough to be believable. After speaking briefly with Molly and Arthur, he gave her a tired smile and sank into a chair. Vivian sat next to him, stroking his hair as he crossed his arms on the table and rested his head on top of them.

"What happened with David?" he asked in a low voice.

"He knew we were trying to draw him out. I went after him, he tried to trap me, I portkeyed away. His castle - we don't know where it is anymore. He moved it."

"I'm sorry."

She shrugged. "In the whole scheme of things, it's not really worth worrying about."

"I know," he said simply. "But I'm still sorry."

She smiled at him briefly, looking around the room. Molly and Arthur had taken up a perch at the hearth in front of the fireplace, sitting with their arms around each other and their heads bowed together. Ginny Weasley lay with her head in Molly's lap, staring into space as her fingers toyed with the lace edging on her mother's apron. "I can never get used to this," she murmured, turning her eyes back to Remus. "I guess none of us does."

"No, we don't," Remus answered. "And the worst part is thinking that if it had to happen to someone..."

"I know," Vivian said heavily. It was better that it was someone who didn't know very much. The biggest danger from Charlie was blowing Severus' cover, and even that could be damage controlled. After all, as far as the Death Eaters were concerned, Dumbledore was supposed to think that Severus was working for him.

For a moment, she let the worries out of the box, more to keep her mind busy than for any other reason. Within the Order, only Dumbledore knew everything, but what if Remus were captured? Or Ron, with his knowledge of Harry's thoughts and movements? What had happened to Charlie could have happened to any of them.

"Oh, no. What sort of awful things are happening to me in your imagination now?" Remus asked, catching her hand and kissing her knuckles.

Vivian raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think I'm imagining you?"

"You have that worry crease going on between your eyebrows, so you're obviously fretting about something really awful."

Her hand flew up to her face, rubbing vigorously at the spot. "What worry crease? You mean a wrinkle?"

"Keep worrying, and it will be," Remus said, pulling her hand away and settling it back down on top of his head in an obvious invitation for more petting.

Vivian complied, frowning at the gray in his hair. All of those years...she wanted them back now. David escaping and Remus looking like shit and Charlie missing all stabbed at her in places she wasn't very good at defending. Was this all any of them ever got? Small moments of peace sandwiched in between war and death and everything else?

Another wave of Order members arrived, including the Weasley twins. They were noticeably subdued, submitting to their mother's hugs almost uncomfortably, as if they weren't entirely sure how to behave in a situation that didn't require things to explode.

Molly and Arthur sat back down together, and the twins flanked their sister on the hearth. More Order members came, all of them gathering in small groups. There was little discussion; even the younger ones were quiet. Bill and Ron arrived, and Molly burst into tears, pulling them both into a fierce hug.

Vivian looked away, her throat tightening. Sometimes she was extremely glad that she'd never had children. What a world to bring them into.

It occurred to her rather the same time it occurred to everyone else: the only two Order members not in the room were Dumbledore and Snape. The next person to come through the kitchen door would come bearing the news most of them already knew.

*******

Severus paused in the entryway of Number Twelve, bracing himself for what was sure to be a scene. He honestly, truly could not stand scenes. There would be weeping and wailing and he would be forced to remain silent even though he'd take the Dark Lord's Cruciatus over a shrill emotional display any day.

Having borne the news of his parents' deaths with a nod and a stern, tearless façade, Severus found it grotesque that most of the adults with whom he aligned himself could not display the same amount of self-control as a fourteen-year-old Slytherin.

And yes, he was stalling.

Sighing, he plodded down the stairs to the kitchen. Upon his arrival, all of the inhabitants within snapped to attention much like his students generally did when he entered the classroom. His eyes sought out the Weasleys, clumped together around the fireplace.

Arthur Weasley's eyes met his and Severus saw that the man understood immediately.

"Severus?" Molly asked.

He kept his gaze fixed on her husband. "Perhaps we should speak in the upstairs parlor," Severus said, hoping to at least avoid a public scene.

No such luck. "Severus...Charlie? Is he...?" Molly's voice caught.

Arthur tightened his arm around her, looking dazed. "Let's go upstairs, Molly."

She stared up at her husband, then over at Severus, and he saw when the reality hit Molly Weasley, when it quite literally knocked her back a step. "No," she whispered.

"We have to go after him," Ron Weasley said suddenly, his face tight and pale, in clear denial. "We should've gone right away. We've got to get him out."

Severus turned a glare on the boy, to no effect. "Don't, Ron," Bill murmured, appearing shell-shocked, his eyes never straying from their focus on the far wall.

The younger boy turned on him, his cheeks flushing crimson. "That's just what you said before, that there's nothing we can do!" he said, his voice rising. "But we've all just been sitting here, when we should've been bloody well doing SOMETHING!"

"Stop it, Ron," Ginny Weasley said on a half-sob as she pulled her brother against her.

"There was nothing any of us could have done," Severus said evenly as the boy's eyes blazed in rage and more than a little hatred.

"I'm sure there was plenty you could have done," he hissed. "You just didn't."

"Ron, please," Arthur said quietly, doing his best to hold up his wife, who had closed her eyes and was leaning heavily into him, her hands gripping the front of his robes.

"He's not, though. He can't be," one of the twins said, wide-eyed, for once lacking any immediate plans for wreaking havoc.

"I still owe him five galleons," the other one said pointlessly, furrowing his brow.

"Arthur, can we...?" Molly Weasley asked in a small voice, her eyes opening, one hand releasing its death grip on her husband's robes to cover her mouth as a sob burst forth.

"Let's go upstairs," Arthur said shakily. Bill stood to help his mother, the other children quickly latching on until it seemed as if a large, redheaded, many-legged monster were trying to fit through the kitchen door with Tonks trailing behind awkwardly.

"Thank you, Severus," Minerva said, the corners of her mouth pinched, "for bringing us the news. Would you like some tea?"

As if he wanted to stay in this dreadful situation any longer than necessary. "No, thank you," he said briskly. "I've got to be getting back."

Not wanting to encounter the grieving family on the staircase, he instead chose to floo back to Hogwarts, to the familiar privacy and utter quiet of his office. It was welcome after the day he'd had. Sitting back in his chair, Severus closed his eyes. Then he shifted. Then he took a deep breath and let it out. Then he shifted again.

Opening his eyes, he gave up, and somehow without even really thinking about it, he knew that she was in the castle, and that she - like him - was restless. At this time of night, the two of them deserved each other.

*******

Fox was not necessarily hiding, but she had no desire for human companionship at the moment, either. She was perfectly content to remain where she was, lying in the withered grass in her own little corner of South Dakota. She had not escaped to the Ministry with the Aurors and the members of the Order; she'd come here.

Her one and only job during the attack had been to hold off the dementors. There wasn't any known way to kill them and magical shields didn't work against them, so all she could really do was keep sending patronuses and hope the battle didn't last too long.

Because dementors affect other beings physically - as opposed to magically - they had affected Fox, too. Due to her purpose on the planet, she carried around quite a few unpleasant memories - her own and those of her predecessors - and not so many happy cuddly ones. And so she'd needed a little bloody peace and quiet.

In other words, Professor Snape's knock was highly unwelcome.

It did, however, manage to break her train of thought. Knowing she wouldn't be getting it back anytime soon and figuring that she'd probably cowered in her little corner long enough, Fox finally dragged her ass over to the door and opened it.

"It's a bit late to be knocking on people's doors, don't you think?"

He raised an eyebrow, making no move to enter, largely because she was blocking his way. "It's not as if I awakened you."

"You disturbed me."

"My apologies," he said flatly. "I'll leave you to...whatever on earth it is you do."

He made no move to leave, and Fox finally took a step back. "You might as well come in, seeing as how I'm already disturbed."

"For once, we're in agreement," he said, gliding over to the sofa and sitting down.

Fox watched him. "So you actually do have a sense of humor. Are you not allowed to let it out until after midnight or something?"

"I've found that nearly everything is humorous, if you think about it long enough."

She joined him on the sofa, still conducting her study. Professor Snape was not himself tonight; that much was plain to see. Despite his otherwise hawkish and spare appearance, he had very elegant hands, slender and graceful with long fingers. Whereas generally he - like herself - preferred stillness over action, his hands couldn't seem to keep still. They smoothed his robes over one bony knee and picked idly at the edges of the sofa cushions.

He didn't seem nervous, just...antsy. "I never would have pegged you as a proponent of the Har-Dee-Har-Har Philosophy of Life," she said lightly. "Quite the opposite, in fact."

Snape turned his head to look at her. "Humorous isn't the same as hilarious."

"No, it isn't. Dark humor, then."

He seemed to realize what his hands were doing and stilled them immediately. "I'm not entirely certain there's any other kind."

Fox shook her head, smiling a little bit. "See, that's your problem right there. You even take your own sense of humor too seriously."

"Easy for you to say," he sneered, turning his head back to face forward.

"You're awfully touchy tonight."

"Thus far tonight I've advised a teenage girl that she can either become a monster or live each dayin hell, and informed the Weasleys that their son is dead while delicately leaving out the fact that what's left of him is probably at this very moment being fed to Lucius Malfoy's Man-Eating Scaraptula. So...yes, a bit touchy."

Fox glared at him. "And you think you're the only who had a bad day?"

"I made no such claim," he said, teeth gritted. "I merely explained the touchiness."

"I sincerely hope you're not looking for sympathy."

"Believe me. I'm not." If he gritted his teeth any further, they were going to snap.

"Good, because I spent the day surrounded by fifty dementors having my conscience dragged over the coals for everything from the Trojan War to the genocide in Rwanda."

"Your surprise at the fact that I have a sense of humor is nothing compared to mine at the idea of you having a conscience," he spat, teeth still gritted, turning an angry gaze on her.

Fox smiled back humorlessly. "Touché."

Snape merely stared back, making her feel oddly uncomfortable. She had felt accountable for her actions as a Guardian before, and still did. Fox didn't particularly like the human cost of her duties, but she knew there was a point to it all. She couldn't blame mortals for not quite seeing things the same way, considering they were the ones who paid the price. Still, she'd never faced a mortal before who honestly made her question the ways in which she had employed the power she'd been given.

It wasn't the same things as pitying the mortals, going soft, shying away from her Guardian duty to create the circumstances for them to progress. It was pitying one single mortal, who had simply had enough of being run over roughshod by circumstance.

And that...she could kind of relate to.

They both moved forward, but Fox was still slightly surprised to feel the sharp ridge of his shoulder blade under her hand, his mouth on hers, as hard and unyielding as the rest of him. There was no romance and not even the merest pretense of foreplay, because this wasn't about sex. Or - more correctly - it was about sex in its basest terms.

They wasted no time divesting each other of their clothing. No moments were spent gazing at each other's naked forms, because...well, to be frank, Fox wasn't all that attracted to Snape, and she doubted he was very attracted to her. Attraction had nothing to do with it. Every move they made was dedicated to the goal of resolving their individual vulnerability, their humanity, by touching and owning another human being.

It was really that simple. She crawled over him and he came into her and they both paused for a moment, catching their breath, staring at each other. It was an act of frustration and desperation, to feel alive, or at least connected to life.

They began moving quickly, almost frantically, grabbing onto each other wherever their hands found a place to grab. Their eyes remained on each other until Fox sat up, curling one hand in the sparse, dark hair of his chest, her fingers sliding against the sweat on his chest. Her head dropped back as she drove him right where she needed him to go. His fingers tightened on her hips.

The climax came with little warning, and Fox moved her hand up, digging her nails into his shoulder as her forehead came to rest against his chest. Her hair had come loose and it spilled around her as he drove her to maintain the rhythm. He came soon after, arching under her, tangling his fingers in her hair, forcing her head up.

Fox watched as his tightened features relaxed, suddenly finding the situation funny. Merlin, they really brought out the worst in each other, didn't they?

"So now you can say you've fucked an immortal," she said, pulling away from him.

Snape opened his eyes. "And an American," he said distastefully as he sat up. "I never would have thought myself capable of it, honestly."

"What's wrong with fucking an American? We practically invented sex. Or at least we've done a fairly good job of convincing the world that we did."

He snorted. "Yes, one wonders how the rest of us ever got on without you all."

"You mean the Europeans? Largely by organized thievery and plundering. Everyone else kind of made do with whatever was left."

"I am far too tired to point out the hypocrisy in that statement," Snape said, standing so that he could pull his trousers on and do up his robes.

"Then I'll refrain from pointing out how hypocritical it would be for you to point out the hypocrisy," Fox shot back, pulling her sweatshirt over her head.

Snape glanced at her. "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone?"

"Something like that," Fox said, tying her hair back into her ponytail.

His mouth tightened sourly. "In my opinion, it would be impossible to find anyone worthy of casting a stone at all."

Fox stretched her legs out on the sofa, crossing her hands behind her head. "Yes, it would be. That's the point."

Snape's eyes narrowed briefly before he turned with a dramatic swish of his robes and left. Fox found herself smiling after him. That was the most entertaining thing about Snape. Sometimes, he got it right away, spot-on. Other times he missed it completely.

*******

"Oh, my," Mrs. Polkiss said, removing her hat and tossing it away. "It's hot, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," Harry answered, wiping his forehead.

"I can't stand it," she whispered, flipping her hair over her shoulder and reaching her fingers down to the buttons of her blouse. "It's just far too hot." Her fingers plucked open one button and Harry sucked in a breath. Her fingers reached for the second one...

"Harry," a voice spoke in his ear and his eyes snapped open. Completely disoriented, Harry reached for his glasses on the bedside table, but they weren't there. Whoever had just woken him up was holding them in front of his face.

"Er, thanks," he said, putting them on and looking up at...himself.

"Don't worry," himself said, smiling. "You'll have that dream again."

It took a few seconds for his sleep-dulled mind to put that together. I'm me, and I'm here, right? Yes, I seem to be. Okay, that person looks like me, but they can't be me, because I'm me and I'm here, so I can't be there. Therefore that can't be me. Harry's eyes darted to his bedside table, but his wand was missing.

The person who appeared to be him held it out, still smiling. "Sorry. Couldn't have me cursing myself. If I were a Death Eater, I certainly wouldn't be giving it back to you, so take it as a sign of faith and just hear me out, okay?"

Harry took his wand, wrapping his hand around it and placing it in his lap as he took the other him in. "So who are you, then?" he asked tentatively.

"I'm you," his other self said a bit sheepishly, lifting his shoulders. Harry could almost feel the gesture; he'd done it a million times. "From the not-too-distant future."

"Ah," Harry said, because whether he believed this or not, what else was he going to say?

His other self's face broadened into a bemused smile. "You can't imagine how odd this conversation is from my perspective, because I remember being where you were, and..."

"And what?" Harry asked, his hand tightening on his wand. There was no chance that this was really him, because he knew the rules of time travel, and he'd never...

"...go back in time knowing all of the risks involved," his counterpart finished.

Against his will, Harry felt his jaw drop.

"Listen," other Harry said, sitting down on the bed, "I...you...well, we, I guess...know all of that, and yet here I am."

"But...why?" Harry asked, more confused than he'd ever been in his entire life.

"Because when I got the opportunity, I already knew it had happened, because once upon a time I was you," his other self answered, shrugging. "So I knew it worked out alright."

"Ah," Harry said again.

"Just listen to what I have to say. Believe me, it'll be useful."

Might as well stick with what works. "Ah."

The other him cocked his head. "This is as weird for me as it is for you, you know."

"Somehow, I doubt that," Harry muttered.

"I know what I'm going to say before I say it, because I've heard it before. And I obviously I know what you're going to say, because I've said it before."

"Oh, do you?" Harry asked, at the same time the other him did.

"Well, that doesn't prove anything," he said in the same exasperated tone his other self used as he said the same words at the same time.

"This is bloody fucking ridiculous," he decided. Even that was a duet. His anger grew.

"Knock it off!" his counterpart said a beat before him. Finally, Harry threw up his hands.

"Alright, alright, you're me! So why are you...me...back here anyway?"

"Like I said, I have to tell you a few things. You won't think much of them now, because I can't tell you anything terribly important or else I run the risk of changing the past. And yes, I know that I'm changing the past just by being here, but...well, d'you remember when you cast the Patronus third year to save yourself and Sirius?"

"I knew I could do it because I already had done it," Harry said, looking down as an unexpected wave of sadness passed over him, followed closely by guilt. He didn't think about Sirius much anymore. And yet he felt like he should somehow.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked over at himself. It was strange to see his own expressions displayed so readily. Thera and Hermione were right. He wasn't very good at hiding what he was thinking. And did he really look that spastic when he moved?

"Do more people die?" If he hadn't been talking to himself, he never would have asked the question, but...well, who on earth was going to understand him better than himself?

Future Harry seemed to close up entirely, looking older all of a sudden, wearier. "We really shouldn't get into stuff like that," he said, his voice blank.

Harry nodded. Stupid question.

"So what did you come back here to tell me?" he asked, reaching up to rub his eyes underneath his glasses. He was still half-convinced this was a dream.

His counterpart looked down at his hands, his demeanor warming slightly. "Just when you think it's over, it's not. At least not entirely."

"But you can't give me any details, of course," Harry remarked sarcastically.

Other Harry sent him a quelling look. "I don't remember being such a prick about this."

He rolled his eyes. "What else?"

"You're going to need everybody you can get. And when I say everybody, I mean everybody." His other self made a sour face. "Whether you like it or not."

Harry sagged. "Why do I get the nasty suspicion you're talking about Malfoy?"

"Among others," the other him sighed. "I'm not saying you have to like it. I'm just telling you that you're going to have to do it."

"Do you actually have any good news?" Harry asked.

His future self smiled wryly. "Well, I'm still alive, aren't I? For now, at least."

"You don't look much older than me. For all I know, you're me two weeks from now."

"It's a bit further on than that," his counterpart hedged.

Harry gritted his teeth. Talking to his future self was more frustrating than talking to Dumbledore. "Right. So is that it?"

"No, and this is important. Remember the mirror Sirius gave you?"

"Yeah," Harry said slowly. "It's in my trunk."

His other self nodded. "And the other one is in Sirius' room at Number Twelve."

"Okay," Harry shrugged. "What about it?"

Now it was Future Harry's turn to roll his eyes. "Well, didn't it ever occur to you to use it? I mean...I know it didn't, because...yeah, anyway. Get the other mirror."

"Should I give it to Dumbledore or something?" Harry asked.

"No, just get it. You'll know when it's needed."

"Like everything else," Harry said scowling. "I'll just know."

His future self stood. "You've taken about as much as you can handle. I'll go now."

"No," Harry said, standing also. His future self had a few inches on him. Well at least I grow a little at some point. "You haven't even told me anything important. Am I to believe that someday I'll risk life and limb in order to illegally travel back in time just so I can spout a bunch of vague crap and tell myself to get a sodding mirror?"

His other self looked at him, and Harry was once more struck by the oddity of standing in his bedroom talking to a second embodied version of himself. Do I really blink that much? "I told you more than you think I did," Future Harry said. "You have everything you need right now to defeat him, you just have to get ready to do it."

"But you just said when I thought it was over, it wasn't really. Do I defeat him or not?"

Older Harry half laughed. "It's stupid to tell you not to forget about the spell, because I know you will, but I'll do it for appearance's sake: Don't forget about the spell."

"So he completes the spell?" Harry pressed.

"Listen, it's far too complicated to get into right now," his other self said, running a hand through his hair. "I don't even understand most of it myself, frankly. Suffice it to say that there's a whole hell of a lot more going on here than you know about right now."

Harry thought about that, gazing out the window at the neat, identical houses across the street with their neat, identical dark windows. "So it means nothing, then," he said numbly. "Killing Voldemort. After all of this, it means nothing."

"Of course not," his companion said, his voice firm and resolute, what Thera would call his 'Dirty Harry' voice. "Killing Voldemort is everything."

Harry looked back at him. "What did you mean when you said that, then?"

His other self looked pained. "You're going to have to trust me, okay?"

Harry grunted, turning his eyes back to the street. "Is that all?"

"One last thing and then I'll go." Annoyed, Harry tore his gaze from the window to find his other self holding a time-turner in his hand, nearly identical to the one Hermione had used during third year. He also seemed to be grinning at it, if Harry wasn't mistaken.

"The next time you see this," Future Harry said, holding up the timeturner, "just know that she's lying."

Harry blinked at him. "Who's lying? About what?"

His other self only grinned wider. "You'll understand. And believe me when I say that that's the most useful piece of information I've given you."

Before Harry could protest, the other him had turned over the time-turner and disappeared. For a good long time, he stared at the now vacant spot, his mind running in little streams and trickles, chasing down a hundred different thoughts at once without really getting anywhere. Finally, he got back into bed.

He made sure that his alarm was set so that he could meet Mrs. Polkiss on time, then crossed his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling, trying to make his brain calm down enough to get some sleep and not quite managing it.