Two to Obey

LAST CHAPTER: While all the seventh-years-to-be partied it up at The Leaky Cauldron, the Death Eaters attacked. Harry broke out the wacky mojo powers, but Bellatrix still managed to get Hermione into her clutches. Luckily, Thera managed to not only get her out, but also rid the planet of Bellatrix LeStrange. In all of the battle confusion, Lucius happened into the path of a killing curse, taking his gorgeous head of hair with him. Balder and Dumbledore made an uneasy peace, and Thera received another visitation from her father, resulting in...renewed virginity. Learning about Instant Recall Potion, Ginny began plotting. Can Hermione really make any potion? Tonks went into labor and Ron showed his appreciation for Hermione's safe return by snogging her senseless, though he did let her come up for air long enough to tell him and Harry the real story about her escape. After hearing this, Harry had a chat with Thera that - like all chats with Thera - largely led nowhere. Consequently, Voldemort had a chat with Sakura that - like all chats with Guardians - also largely led nowhere. What will happen next?

Chapter 11: Friends and Lovers

If you'll be my bodyguard, I can be your long lost pal.

-Paul Simon, 'Call Me Al'

*******

The first rays of sunshine had barely begun to show over the tops of the trees when Draco heard Thera's voice calling him. He started, looking behind him. There was nothing there, and there shouldn't be. Thera couldn't get into Malfoy Manor right now; nobody could until he recalibrated the wards.

"Draco, the mirror. It's Thera. We have to talk."

He turned back around, determined to ignore her. He just wanted to sit here for a while longer. In an hour or two, all hell would break loose. He just needed some peace and quiet before he dealt with Aurors and solicitors and reporters.

"I know you're there. Stop being an ass and pick up the mirror."

Picking up all of the pillows from his bed, he piled them on top of the mirror and sat back down, heaving a sigh of relief.

Then he heard her voice calling his name again. The sound was only slightly muffled by the pillows and he gritted his teeth. He was not going to talk to her. He didn't want to talk to her. He didn't want to talk to anybody. He just wanted to sit here quietly for a few more fucking minutes. Was that too much to ask?

"Draco, you have five seconds before I start singing. Five."

Apparently it was.

"Four."

He'd just tune her out.

"Three."

He wasn't at her beck and call, for Merlin's sake.

"Two."

Maybe if he put all the pillows over his head, he wouldn't be able to hear her.

"One."

Draco braced himself.

"If I should stay,

I would only be in your way."

He relaxed a little. The trills were fussy and annoying and she didn't have the vocal ability to pull them off, but for Thera, it actually wasn't so bad.

"So I'll go,

But I know

I'll think of you every step of the way."

He directed his gaze firmly out the window. She'd have to do a lot worse than that.

And then she did.

"AND IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEIIIIIIIIIIII..."

Draco cringed and plugged his ears. It was like a banshee scream.

"WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOOOOOOOOUUUUUU..."

Enough was enough. Talking to her couldn't possibly be as bad as listening to this crap. Tossing aside the pillows, he picked up the mirror and snapped, "What do you want?"

"I knew that would get you," she said triumphantly.

"Is that an actual song, or did you just think up the most horrifically ear-splitting tune imaginable and then throw in the most heavy-handed, trite lyrics ever written?"

"Frighteningly enough, it's an actual song."

Draco shuddered. "Every once in a while, I think there's some wisdom to the Dark Lord's 'kill all the Muggles' policy. I recommend we start with whoever wrote that."

"If I learned how to apparate, I actually could," she said thoughtfully.

He returned to himself a little bit. "Why are you calling?"

She studied him for a second. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," he said tightly.

"Your hair looks kind of stringy."

Deep inside, an instinct screamed at him to get up and check his hair in the mirror. Draco shut it down. It didn't seem worth the effort.

"I was up all night," he explained.

She nodded slightly. "There are some things you should probably know about. For one thing, Granger escaped."

It took him a second to put that together. He'd forgotten about Granger, actually. "Oh."

"Which is to say that I helped her escape. And I kind of killed Bellatrix in the process. But officially, Granger did that. I just figured you should know."

Draco stared at her blankly as that sunk in. His mother didn't know about Aunt Bella yet, and she was going to go completely apeshit when she found out. And it began to dawn on him that he was probably the one who would have to tell her. Perhaps he could send her an owl or something, then peek his head out the door an hour or so later and see if the house was still standing. "Wonderful," he said flatly.

A house elf appeared in front of him. "Mistress requests your presence in the breakfast room, Master."

He blinked at the thing. "My mother's awake?"

"Yes, Master. Mistress is waiting for you in the breakfast room."

"I'll be right down," he sighed.

"Do you want to come over?" Thera asked.

"I can't," he said, reaching up a hand to run it through his hair, then thinking better of the action. It would only make things worse. "Maybe later," he amended. He might need to get out of here for a while. "I have a feeling it's going to be a seriously shitty day."

"Well, I'm sure you'll handle it with your trademark grace and humor."

"Fuck off."

"You really do need to come over, Draco. We have some serious shit to talk about."

"Alright, alright. I'm come over," he said, feeling harassed.

"Chin up, pretty boy."

Sneering, he threw the mirror aside and went downstairs, expecting to find his mother in even worse shape than he was currently in. She wasn't. Though paler than usual, his mother appeared as put-together as she usually was when not throwing a tantrum.

She glanced up at him. "My son does not attend breakfast looking like a homeless person," she said coolly. "Go back upstairs and groom yourself properly. I'll wait."

An argument was on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it when he saw her hand tighten around the coffee mug. His mother was hanging on by a very thin thread.

"Our name being dragged through the mud," she said in a tight voice, "is no justification for behaving like filth. We are still who we always were. I'll wait for you."

Grudgingly, Draco went back to his room and went through his entire morning routine. If his mother wanted to wait until he looked presentable, then she could wait the hour it took him to get that way. And he had to admit that it made him feel more ready to deal with the day once his hair looked impeccable and his clothes weren't rumpled.

"That's better," she said as he kissed her on the cheek and sat down.

"Mother," he said heavily as he poked at a slice of ham, not terribly inclined to eat, "aside from father, you should probably know that..."

"Bella's dead. I know already."

He blinked at her. "You do?"

Narcissa swallowed, looking down. "They contacted your grandmother. I just talked to her this morning. She's in an awful state. I'm going to visit her for a few days."

"Oh." He deflated a little. He couldn't imagine how his mother could possibly help with anything he had to deal with today, but he hadn't thought she'd just up and abandon him, either. And the idea of spending a night alone in Malfoy Manor wasn't a pleasant one.

"Call the solicitors, but don't reset the wards yet," his mother said, sounding suddenly businesslike. "If the Ministry asks, simply say that you don't know how. You can still floo out, but there's no need for anybody to floo in, and it will buy you some time to take all of the dark artifacts in the house to Shirag Castle. Once it's cleaned out, I recommend you allow the Ministry to do a search. It'll keep them from dragging you into this."

Draco felt his stomach tighten. A few days, my ass. She was cutting him off and running, separating herself from the entire mess, leaving him holding the bag.

"Right," he said coldly. "And I'll just tell the Ministry to look you up at grandmother's."

Something flashed in her eyes. "The most intelligent thing that we can do right now is distance ourselves from your father. Trust the solicitors. Do exactly as they say. Don't talk to the Ministry without them. They'll get you through this unscathed. Merlin knows they've done it enough times for your father," she said with a tinge of bitterness. "In the meantime, I'm going to see your grandparents, who will help us get through this without being shunned by the whole of magical Europe."

Draco looked down at his untouched breakfast. "You're right, Mother. I apologize."

"You'll be fine," she said stiffly. "We both will. Your father inherited under circumstances far uglier than this, and we managed to bounce back."

"Of course." Dangerously close to begging her to let him come along to visit his grandmother in lieu of dealing with all of this shit on his own, he jammed a piece of toast in his mouth, feeling her eyes on him.

"This isn't going to be pleasant for either of us. I regret that it had to happen this way, but you'll simply have to deal with it."

"Yes," Draco said, wondering wearily if he'd ever even see her again. His mother folded her napkin and stood. He automatically rose from his seat, also.

"You look just like him," she said. Draco remained silent and impassive. He'd heard it all before. "But you're smarter than he was."

Draco raised his head to look at his mother. She smiled a little. "And you're far more of a Slytherin than he ever was. You know what to do, Draco."

She air-kissed his cheek and floated out of the room, leaving him to stare down at his uneaten breakfast and try to figure out what the hell to make of that. He hadn't banked on her leaving, though he couldn't really blame her for doing so.

How had everything gotten so bloody complicated? It had all been so simple before. He found himself longing for the days when the Dark Lord was right and the Muggles had to die and the Weasleys were filthy blood traitors and Potter was a wanker.

Well, at least Potter was still a wanker. He had that to hold on to.

For one brief moment, every muscle in his body clenched, and Draco almost wished that he could just have his father back for five minutes, five seconds even. Lucius would know exactly what to do, and he'd do it. He'd always done everything before, and every other second something else occurred to Draco, something he'd have to do, some detail he'd have to take care of. It wasn't even the mess of his father's ignoble death, it was dealing with the Manor, keeping the house elves in line, handling their investments and business opportunities and it all faded into an incomprehensible mish-mash.

Funny how he'd been raised for this and hadn't the faintest clue how to actually fucking handle it. Figuring it was best to deal with the biggest problems first, Draco folded his napkin and trudged off to contact the solicitors.

*******

When Dumbledore walked into the Hospital Wing the next morning flanked by Kingsley Shacklebolt and Mad-Eye Moody, Hermione felt a wave of trepidation. It begins.

Harry stood up to greet them and Ron walked over from his seat on the next bed and put his hand on her shoulder, his eyes fixed warily on the Aurors.

"I see you're feeling better," Dumbledore said to her with a smile.

Hermione sat up a bit more. "Yes, sir."

"I don't suppose you're ready to tell us what happened, are you?" he said, conjuring up chairs for everybody. Ron stoutly ignored his, maintaining his position at her side.

Hermione glanced up at him, squeezing his hand to tell him she was okay. He squeezed hers back and then sat down, still looking unhappy. Hermione almost wished he'd come back. With all of them sitting down facing her, it felt a lot like an interrogation.

Which made sense, since that's basically what it was.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione directed her gaze at Dumbledore. "I'll tell you what really happened, but you have to promise me that it won't leave the Order."

She saw Kingsley and Mad-Eye share a quizzical look. Dumbledore remained impassive. "If that's what you'd like," he said.

"It is. I'm going to tell a different story to the Ministry, you see. I kind of have to because of what happened, and even if I didn't, I promised I would."

Ron made a strange face, but said nothing. The Aurors merely looked confused.

"It'll make sense once you hear it all," Hermione said, a bit desperately.

"Why don't you begin with what really happened?" Dumbledore prompted her.

So she launched into the real story, followed with the story she'd agreed upon with Thera Castelar. When she was finished, they were all silent for a moment.

"But why would you have killed them?" Kingsley asked. "You couldn't have even known if it would work; you've never performed the curse before."

Hermione stared at him for a moment. Then it occurred to her that he was helping her beef up her cover story. It was a distinctly strange feeling to have an Auror help her lie.

Luckily, she'd spent most of the night thinking this through. "They were taunting me, talking about all of the horrible things they were going to do to me and Harry and my parents and the Weasleys," she answered smoothly. "I could've just stupefied them and escaped, but they still would have been out there, killing people. I didn't have the ability to arrest them, certainly. I just wanted to make sure they wouldn't hurt anybody else."

"Not bad," Moody said, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. "It would have been more effective with tears, though."

"A few emotional, dramatic pauses," Kingsley added. "And at least a tad of remorse."

Ron looked at them as if they were from another planet.

"Just a few tips for your inevitable interview with the Daily Prophet," Moody shrugged.

She gaped at him. "Interview? I'm not giving an interview to that rag."

"You're better off telling your side of the story to them before they decide to just make it up themselves," Kingsley pointed out. "And we all know how creative they are."

Hermione sank her head into her hands as she finally felt the full weight of what she'd gotten herself into. "Oh, Merlin," she moaned.

"Kingsley, Alastor," Dumbledore said, "I presume you've gotten all of the information the Ministry requires?" They apparently got the hint, because she heard them leave.

"This ought to knock me off the front page," Harry said brightly.

Hermione raised her head to glare at him.

"If all goes as planned," Dumbledore said, with a twinkle in his eye that filled her with a sense of foreboding. "It is rather extraordinary for a teenager to come face-to-face with a pair of notorious Death Eaters and manage to overpower them and escape."

"Unless you're Harry, of course," Ron amended.

"But it's a lie!" Hermione cried.

"Yes, it is," Dumbledore said, smiling. "But a necessary one. And considering the position you're in at the moment, I think your best option is to exploit the opportunity."

Hermione couldn't believe her ears. "But, sir..."

He held up a hand, cutting off her argument. "Fear is one of Voldemort's greatest weapons. So long as people fear him and his followers, he holds the power. But if a Muggleborn teenage girl can best two of his Death Eaters, that's something else entirely."

"But aside from the fact that I didn't even do it, one of them was younger than me, for Merlin's sake! And she's not even really dead!" She sank her head back into her hands. "This is just all so remarkably messed up."

"You can hardly tell them the truth, Hermione," Harry said gently.

"Why not?" Ron asked stubbornly.

She calmed down a little. "I owe her a life debt. That's hardly the way to repay it."

"You don't owe her anything," Ron scoffed. "She only saved you to cover her own..."

"Ron!" she said sharply. He was not going to curse in front of the Headmaster.

"...tracks," he finished, sending her a quelling look.

Dumbledore fixed his gaze on him. "We have all been sworn to secrecy on the matter, if I recall. Do you doubt your ability to uphold that vow, Ronald?"

Ron turned pink, then pressed his lips together and shook his head.

"I trust every individual who is in the Order or affiliated with it," Dumbledore said gravely. "I know it is a great deal to ask, but we are only as strong as our trust in each other. Anywhere it does not exist is a weakness for Voldemort to exploit."

Ron hung his head, and Hermione saw Harry make an 'ouch' face.

Dumbledore slapped his hands on his knees, perking up. "Well, then. If that's that, I'll be off. You might want to owl your parents, Hermione. You don't want them to worry."

Hermione jolted before she realized that she'd been planning on spending the night at the Burrow anyway, so she had a few hours yet before they'd expect her home.

"Well, that was pleasant," Ron said dully, once Dumbledore was gone.

"He's right," Harry said.

Ron snorted. "Oh, come on."

The look on Harry's face was so uncharacteristically cold that Hermione's breath caught in her chest. "Ron, when the hell are you going to realize that this goes a bit beyond Gryffindors and Slytherins and schoolboy spats?" His voice was low, yet rock hard. "This isn't a fucking Quidditch match. Snape and Malfoy and Thera can all do things and go places that we can't. I understand that you don't particularly like it. I don't particularly like it myself. But that's the way it is, and if you care about everybody you love living through this sodding war, you're just going to have to accept it."

Ron's face went equally cold during Harry's speech and Hermione suddenly felt the need to stand between them, honestly worrying that they'd come to blows. Only she couldn't bring herself to move. She'd never seen them like this before.

"And what if they're really working for him? What then?"

Harry ran a hand through his hair, laughing bitterly. "Merlin, Ron. You still can't even say his name."

Ron's chair made a squealing sound as he stood abruptly. "I'm not you, Harry!" he shouted. "It's all easy for you to say, isn't it?! You've at least got a chance! We don't!"

Harry rose from his seat also, his face white with anger, obviously doing everything he could to keep from lashing out with his power and striking his friend down.

"Stop it, both of you!" Hermione said loudly as she scrambled off the bed to try to get in between them. Dear Merlin, they're going to kill each other.

Ron continued railing. "Maybe you don't think anything of prancing off to fight fifty Death Eaters or to have a duel to the death, but for the rest of us mere mortals..."

"I DON'T PRANCE!" Harry yelled, stomping his foot for good measure.

All three of them froze for a long moment. Then Ron's face slowly fell into amusement. Harry crossed his arms and scowled. "That's not what I meant to say."

Hermione seized her opportunity. "Can we all just talk reasonably now, or do you two still have a bit more testosterone to get out?"

"You pranced a little after Cho kissed you, I bet," Ron said, snickering.

Harry rolled his eyes grandly. "The point is that if we sit around all the time second-guessing everybody who's supposedly on our side, we're never going to get anywhere."

"I hear you, mate," Ron said, holding his hands up. "For all I know, Snape and Malfoy and your bondage-obsessed ex-girlfriend are as trustworthy as the day is long."

"Dumbledore trusts them. Why can't you?"

"Because..." Ron trailed off, looking pained. "Listen, I hate to point this out, but Dumbledore once trusted Peter Pettigrew, too. And we all know how that turned out."

Hermione expected an explosion, but Harry just sighed, hunching his shoulders up. "I know that. Just...Merlin, Ron. What do you expect me to do?"

"Be careful," Ron said simply. "And watch your back."

Harry looked miserable, and Hermione stepped forward and hugged him. Ron joined in a second later, and Harry chuffed a laugh. "If the Daily Prophet could see us now..."

"The Golden Threesome," Hermione said, imagining the headlines.

"Gross," Ron said fervently. "No offense, Harry, but gross."

"Not even if he wore his Quidditch uniform?" Hermione asked innocently.

The door to the Hospital Wing opened and they all sprang apart as Madame Pomfrey bustled in, levitating three trays. "I got the house elves to make you all up some breakfast," she said. Then she stopped, eyeing them suspiciously. "Just what exactly is going on in here?"

"Nothing," they chorused, quickly settling in for breakfast.

*******

"So you won't?" Ginny asked, carefully keeping her voice down so she wouldn't be overheard and wouldn't wake Charlotte, who was blissfully sleeping in her arms. The one nice thing about having all brothers was that they didn't compete with her for cuddling. Fred, George and Ron had each held Charlotte exactly once, looking uncomfortable and anxious before passing her off as soon as possible.

"I didn't say that," Hermione sighed. "It's not just about making the potion, Ginny. I can make the potion. I'm just not sure it's such a good idea to do it without supervision."

"I don't want supervision," Ginny said stubbornly. "If I mentioned a word of this to Mum and Dad, they'd revert back in time and I'd be eleven years old again. They'd never allow it, and even if they did..." She trailed off, brushing a finger against the silky-soft skin of her niece's cheek. "Well, you don't tell your parents everything about the magical world. Why is that?"

Hermione's mouth tightened. "It's complicated."

"You think they'd get all overprotective and yank you out of school, or they wouldn't even understand at all, right?"

"Okay...yes."

"Then it's not all that complicated, is it?"

"Fine. All right. I understand. But I still don't think..."

"This could be really important, Hermione," Ginny said, a note of pleading in her voice. "And imagine you're me. Wouldn't you want to know what really happened?"

It was the perfect question. Hermione Granger had never, in her entire life, desired not to know something. "Ginny, we don't know what we're messing with here. If it's a very strong memory charm, there could be side effects..."

"Wouldn't you want to know?" Ginny persisted, shifting the baby a little bit.

Hermione's internal battle was visible, and bloody. "Yes, I would," she said finally. "But I'm not doing it until I do some research into this Instant Recall Potion. And if we're going to do it, Harry and Ron are going to be there, too. Especially Harry."

"So he can blink and stupefy me if necessary?"

"Yes," Hermione said, in utter seriousness.

"Oooh! Oooh! Here it is!" Arthur Weasley yelled from his post next to the wireless in the living room of the Burrow. The entire family had turned out to hear the results of the Ministerial election. He turned the volume up high enough to wake up the baby.

A worried little crease formed between Charlotte's tiny auburn eyebrows at the sudden noise. Ginny shushed her, trying to stave off the inevitable, but Charlotte's face turned slowly red, and she opened her mouth to emit a wail of displeasure.

"Here, I'll take her," Tonks said, and Ginny gratefully transferred the unhappy infant over to her mother. Charlotte's cries quieted as Tonks carried her upstairs.

"The votes have been tallied, and now we await the arrival of Albus Dumbledore, Supreme Mugwump of the Wizengamot, who will announce the name of our new Minister of Magic..." the announcer said dramatically.

"Oh, Arthur, this is it," Molly said, squeezing her husband's hand, her eyes aglow.

"Yes, well it could be any of us candidates," he said, though Ginny noticed that he seemed nearly manic with excitement.

"Arthur Weasley!" George shouted heartily, holding up a fist, and the rest of them joined in, sharing grins. Harry looked especially ecstatic, and Ginny couldn't help but giggle as she recalled the horrified look on his face when her father had hauled him out of his chair at breakfast, kissed him on both cheeks and nearly broken into tears upon reading about Harry's endorsement in the Daily Prophet.

"And now we turn you over to Albus Dumbledore," the announcer announced. Dumbledore's name was followed by wild cheers from the Wizard's Council, to whom it was his duty to announce the name of the next Minister.

"Good evening, fellow magical citizens," Dumbledore began. "These past few years have been trying ones for all of us, and the years to come may yet prove even more so. It is a solemn duty our new Minister undertakes, and..."

"Just tell us who it is, already!" Fred yelled.

"That man is in love with the sound of his own voice," George added.

"George!" her mother said sharply.

"It's like right before the Welcoming Feast," Ron grumbled. "He always talks longer when you're looking forward to something."

"Ron!" both her mother and Hermione said simultaneously. Then they shared a momentary, almost fearful look.

"Don't hack off Hermione, Ron. She might up and kill you," George warned.

Hermione glared at him and George pulled Fred in front of him, looking fearful.

"I didn't say anything, Hermione!" Fred cried, waving his hands in supplication.

"HUSH UP, ALL OF YOU!" Molly Weasley roared.

"...nevertheless, it is our duty - as it is always our duty - to draw together against the threat currently posed to our world by Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore said.

There were gasps from the wireless and cringes in the Weasley living room as he said the name. "The Daily Prophet's going to have a field day with that," Harry commented.

"I hope, as I believe all of us do, that the next Minister of Magic will have the moral fiber to know what is necessary, and the strength of character to do what is necessary. And so, before all of your eyes glaze over in abject boredom, I hereby announce that the next Minister of Magic is..."

It was as if a sudden threat had been detected. Everybody in the room tensed simultaneously.

"...Amos Diggory."

The announcement was followed by wild cheers from the Wizard's Council and utter, dense silence in the Weasley household. Even Charlotte's cries from upstairs had died down. Ginny was grateful when her Mum reached over and turned off the wireless, but her heart sank when she saw the stricken look on her father's face.

It was only there for a moment before he gave a fake little laugh. "Well, there you go. Best send my congratulations to Amos, I suppose. Where's Errol?"

"Unconscious in the dirty dishes," Fred said flatly.

"You can use Hedwig," Harry said, standing up. "She needs the exercise." He jogged up the stairs and returned with the snow-white owl.

"Thank you," Arthur said as Hedwig flew over to land on his shoulder.

"It's nothing," Harry said. "I don't have many letters to write when I'm here."

Her father took Harry's hand and squeezed it between his own. "No, really. Thank you."

Harry looked distinctly taken aback. "Er...she's...I mean, it's just one delivery."

Ah, Harry and Guilt. They were never far apart, were they? A few weeks ago, her father wouldn't have minded not winning at all; he'd been too overwhelmed at being nominated in the first place. In fact, he hadn't even dreamed of winning until his campaign had gotten all that money, and Harry had come out to endorse him.

Her father thanked Harry again, Harry looked even guiltier, and her father finally left the room to send off his concession, her mother glancing after him worriedly. Harry scratched his head a little, then turned and walked upstairs.

"Go tell Harry this isn't his fault," Ginny whispered to Hermione.

"I'll try," Hermione whispered back, "but in Harry Land, everything's his fault."

"Yeah, well," Ginny shrugged.

"Come along. Please. He's better at taking advice from you than he is from Ron and me. Or at least, he's more polite about telling you where to shove it than he is with us."

"Maybe later," Ginny said. "I'm going to go talk to Dad first."

Putting on her best 'Getting Harry Back On Track' face, Hermione stood, and Ginny went outside, taking a moment to smell the wet earth and listen to the cacophony of crickets before deciding where to look first. She checked the broom shed with no luck. He wasn't at the pond, either. Climbing up the ladder to the treehouse, Ginny honestly didn't expect to find her father inside, and was rather surprised when she did.

"Oh," she said, spotting his dark silhouette sitting on the couch. "Hi, Dad."

"Hey there, Ginger Snap," he said, digging up her childhood pet name.

Ginny scrambled up into the treehouse and curled up beside him on the couch, feeling a surge of warmth when he wrapped his arm around her. "I'm sorry you didn't win, Dad."

She felt him shift a little. "It's not really important."

"I guess not," she said, thinking suddenly of Charlie. In the whole scheme of things, the disappointment of not winning Minister of Magic probably didn't mean much. But still, in the past month, he'd been given the sort of attention he'd always been denied. And now it was all over, back to business as usual. She'd thought maybe he shouldn't be alone right now, but maybe he wanted to be. "Do you want me to go?" she asked.

His arm squeezed her tighter for a moment. "Let's both go. I've moped long enough. And your mother probably still has some of that chicken from dinner left over."

He helped her stand and they both climbed down the ladder and began walking back to the house. "Perhaps this is a blessing in disguise," her father mused.

"Oh?" Ginny asked, glancing over at him. "How?"

"If I'd become Minister, I wouldn't have had time to finish my new project."

Ginny fought back a groan. "What project?"

His voice dropped down to a conspiratorial level. "Well, don't tell your mother, but I'm very close to perfecting a working Muggle electric plug," he said excitedly.

Oh, dear. "Why do you need an electric plug?" she asked, fearing the answer.

"To power the electric saw I bought last week," he said, with a gleam in his eye that made Ginny mentally lay odds on the possibility of her father still having two working hands when she came home for the Christmas holiday.

*******

Balder hadn't expected it to be a smooth interrogation, and his expectations were met. Draco Malfoy brought two nearly unbeatable legal representatives with him.

"Edgar Verity," one of them said, reaching out a hand. He was thin and elderly, his hairless head compensated for by a pair of white, bushy eyebrows.

"Yves de Mensonge," the other one said with a heavy French accent. He was young and swarthy with shifty eyes and a bristly goatee that he liked to stroke thoughtfully while cocking a disbelieving eyebrow for no particular reason.

Balder shook their hands with a sick smile. This was going to be an utter waste of time.

"This is merely a preliminary investigation," he began. "No charges have been brought against your...living client. We merely hope to ascertain whether or not he may be able to act as a witness in any of our other ongoing cases."

The Malfoy boy looked bored. The solicitors shared a glance.

"However," Balder continued. "It would aid your client's case if he were to submit to interrogation under Veritaserum..."

The objections were predictable, yet tiresome.

"Yes, yes, I have no real hope of that actually happening," he said dismissively. "In fact, I believe that considering your client's circumstances, he isn't exactly what we call 'material witness material.' If he could only provide some background information..."

Yet more objections, and Balder sank his face into his hands in frustration.

"The only way," he said slowly, "that your client can clear himself of any culpability..."

The word 'culpability' brought on even more objections.

"No, there aren't going to be any charges pressed in the near future," he said over top of them, "but that could all change if you lot prove yourselves uncooperative. Now, at the very least, we'd like to conduct a search of the Manor..."

Draco Malfoy finally spoke up. "You can."

Balder's mouth dropped open, but his two companions looked decidedly unfazed, which meant that there could only be nothing left there to find. Malfoys worked quickly.

"As soon as I get the wards recalibrated," the boy said, practically oozing sincerity. "I haven't quite figured out how to do it yet. It isn't safe. But I lived in that house my whole life. He never kept anything there, as far as I know."

"Where did he keep it, then?" Balder pressed.

"I don't know," Malfoy said. "If he had anything, he never told me where he kept it."

"Monsieur," Mensonge muttered to him, "z'ere is no need..."

"I knew he was a Death Eater," Malfoy said irritably. "I'd have had to be blind not to. But I'm not. Never was. And he certainly never trusted me enough to tell me anything."

"So we can search the house?" Balder asked.

"As soon as I get the wards down so you don't get chopped to bits in the process, yes," Malfoy said dryly. "But there's nothing there. He wasn't that stupid."

"Or perhaps you moved it all," Balder posited.

"What a fantastic allegation to make about a potential witness," Verity commented.

Balder felt his ire rise. "So he's a potential witness now, is he?"

Mensonge looked miffed. "No, 'e is not. 'E is just a boy. 'E knows nussink."

Obviously, the boy knew something. He was a part of the spell, after all, and though the logistics rather diminished his culpability, it certainly negated his status as a clueless child. And yet it wasn't even a matter of weighing the danger he'd be putting the boy in against the possible usefulness of his testimony. It was that there wasn't a chance in hell of getting past the two bulldogs guarding him, and the fortune paying their legal fees.

He hated to let this slide, hated to even allow one of the Death Eaters they'd captured slither his way out of justice, but the fact was that he didn't have much choice.

"When will we be able to search the Manor?" he asked, with little confidence. It wouldn't matter when they did. The Manor would be cleaned out by then.

"In a few days, I hope," Malfoy said. "As soon as I get the wards..."

"Would freezing your assets speed up the process?" It was a last-ditch attempt to get something out of this interview, though he wasn't surprised when it didn't work.

"You can't," Verity said with a thin smile. "Lucius Malfoy's assets have been in his son's name since he attained majority in January."

"Lucius Malfoy legally owned nussink upon his dess," Mensonge said, with false sympathy covered by a superior smirk, a well-stroked goatee and a pair of eyebrows that deserved overtime pay. "Z'erefore, z'ere is nussink to freeze."

Balder slapped a polite expression over his rage. "Well, then it seems as if this conversation is over," he said, shaking hands and taking his defeat as gracefully as possible. Then he walked into his office, shut the door and flooed Dumbledore.

*******

The Dark Lord's call woke Thera from an uneasy sleep, which seemed to be the only kind of sleep she got these days unless she drank herself into a passable blackout. She barely had time to get some clothes on before the pull became unbearable. Her left hand squeezed shut before she could even manage to get her hair into a ponytail.

In hindsight, it was a combination of blind denial and a latent sort of optimism that things couldn't really get any worse that made what happened next actually come as a surprise.

Thera's first worrying thought was that nobody else had been called. None of the other Death Eaters were around, and though there was hardly any comfort in their presence, it was still better than a one-on-one interview with the Dark Lord.

Her second worrying thought was that the Dark Lord looked pleased to see her, as if she'd stopped by on a social call, which seemed unlikely, since they were standing in a cavernous hall she'd never seen before. This must be Slytherin Castle, she realized.

"My dear," the Dark Lord said, his eyes glowing brighter for a moment.

Thera fought down a shiver. In general, it was hard to forget how chilling his very presence was, but the task was a great deal harder when one was alone with him.

"Milord," she said, kneeling down to kiss his robes. "You called?"

"Yes, I did." She felt his fingers touch her head briefly. "Arise."

Thera mentally slapped herself a few times, then stood, meeting his eyes, waiting for him to speak. His brief venture into her head was as blatant as usual, and she dug up all she could to throw at him - worship, fear and awe. He always liked that.

Visibly pleased, he lowered his wand, his long fingers toying with it.

"I was disappointed with how easily the Mudblood bested you," he said quietly.

As if they hadn't been through this same fucking thing the night before, Thera dropped her eyes, looking shamed. "I'm sorry, Milord. It will never happen again."

"No, it won't," he said, his voice sounding a bit distracted. "I never intended for you to take on so much responsibility so soon. I wanted you to have more time, to train with Bellatrix and Rodolphus, to learn their methods..." His voice trailed off, and he sighed. "But these are difficult times, and in difficult times, there is often no other choice but to place great responsibility on untested shoulders. Perhaps you are not yet ready to fulfill your destiny, Thera. That is no matter. Your Master calls upon you to do so."

Even then, she didn't quite get where he was going with this. "Milord?" she asked.

He placed a thin finger underneath her chin to lift her face, and Thera fought hard not to flinch at the smooth, cold, inhuman feel of his skin.

"You were made for this honor, Thera," he said, "and I fully expect you to prove yourself worthy of it." Only then did she realize why she'd been called.

"I will, Milord," she said, her voice steady.

Nodding, he touched his wand to her left forearm and muttered, "Morsmordre."

Oddly enough, it didn't hurt, though she had the impression that it should have. It didn't hurt when he dismissed her, or as she bent down and kissed his robes in supplication. It didn't even hurt when he sent her back to the entryway of Shirag Castle.

She didn't know how long she stood there, uncertain whether she wanted to go to her bedroom or go outside. But then Draco walked through the front door, looking wrung-out and uncharacteristically disheveled, and suddenly it hurt like a motherfucker.

*******

After his Ministry interview, it took Draco most of the day to gather up all of the dark items contained in Malfoy Manor. Many of them didn't want to come along, and he had to accio them from a distance directly into a sack. Others tried to attack him, despite the protection of the Malfoy ring.

Consciously, he left Lucius' office for last. He'd only ever been inside by invitation. The one time he'd tried to break in...well, the consequences had been unpleasant. Though not as unpleasant - or so Lucius had informed him - as what the wards would have done to him if he'd gotten any further in his attempt.

The door swung open as soon as he touched it, yet it took Draco a minute or two to enter. It still seemed like Lucius' domain. Fuck, the whole house seemed like Lucius' domain, but this office had always been his and his alone, cut off from everyone else.

There was still a parchment laid open on the desk, and a quill left out of its inkwell, as if his father had merely stepped out for a moment. It struck something in Draco, making him afraid to touch anything. It made it feel as if his father might suddenly walk through the door and hex the living daylights out of him for violating the inner sanctum.

Despite Thera's beliefs to the contrary, Draco found no live kittens ripe for sacrifice in the desk drawers, though he did find his missing vial of Slick 'n Shiny, the lousy bastard. There was also a hair diary, which Draco read with interest and more than a little respect.

December 16, 1974

A full dose of Smoothening Serum to offset harsh winter conditions seems to dull the sheen a bit. Recommend half-dose for tomorrow. Will report.

May 29, 1982

A dash of butterbeer in the morning wash seems to enhance the attractive, healthy glow.

August 2, 1990

Have been experimenting with Sparkle Wash on alternate weekends. Results pleasing.

Draco pocketed the book for further reading. The office housed a great many of the more dangerous items in the house, but they gave little resistance as he collected them. It became almost routine, so routine that he'd already shoved the ceremonial dagger into the sack before it occurred to him what the thing was.

It was the dagger the Dark Lord had used to reinitiate him. And beside it on the shelf in the previously locked cabinet was the chalice. Having already written them off as impossible to obtain, he was honestly shocked to realize that they were his now, to do with as he pleased. Well, not entirely as he pleased.

So far as he could tell, the Dark Lord was finished with them, but Draco immediately sat down, dug a pair of galleons out of his pocket and set about transfiguring them into replacements that would at least pass muster on a superficial level. It took him a good long while, especially on the chalice, so that he could get the runes perfect. Once he'd finished, he stuffed the fakes into the sack, picked up the original objects and flooed to Professor Wellbourne's office.

Only to be denied access. He swore loudly. She wasn't there. Maybe Snape.

True to form and all rumors regarding his social life - or lack thereof - Snape was, in fact, in his office when Draco tumbled out of the fireplace.

At his appearance, Snape closed the book he was reading and rose. "Draco?"

"Sir," Draco greeted him, brushing himself off.

Snape looked thrown off by his appearance. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I...you see, my mother recommended I get all of the dark artifacts out of the Manor, and I came across...well, I came across these," Draco said breathlessly, holding them out.

The Potions Master didn't seem to recognize them. "What are they?"

"They were used in the spell." Despite everything, Draco felt a miniscule kernel of hope awaken within him. "I was trying to get them to Professor Wellbourne."

"Oh," Snape said with sudden understanding, stepping forward to take the objects, giving them a once-over. "I'll see that she gets them."

Draco nodded. "Thank you, sir." He turned to floo back.

"Malfoy," Snape said sharply. Draco turned back around.

"Yes, sir?"

"You seem to be holding up well."

Draco lifted a noncommittal shoulder. "There's a lot to do."

"Obviously." Snape looked uncomfortable. "If you should require assistance..."

"I won't," Draco said firmly, turning back around and flooing back to the Manor.

But the encounter with the chalice and dagger had shaken him a bit. Draco found himself gathering the rest of the items together hurriedly, wanting just to be done with it, tossing things haphazardly into sacks upon sacks, finally just collecting all of his father's books and throwing them in, too bored with the process to sort through them.

Shrinking all of the sacks, he shoved them into his pocket and apparated to Shirag Castle. Walking in, he found Thera standing in the entryway looking conflicted.

"Who to fuck first, and who to save for later," he drawled. "A difficult decision, indeed."

She wrapped her arms around herself, watching him. "I didn't think you were coming."

"I said I would," he reminded her. "I need to drop off a few things."

"Drop them off, then."

"Can I leave them in your room?"

Thera made a sweeping gesture as if to say, leave them wherever the hell you want to.

He had half a mind to just toss them in a cupboard and be done with them, but some of the items were quite valuable, so he stashed them under her bed. Coming back down, he found her in the same state in which he'd left her - short-tempered.

"Let's get out of here for a while," she said, grabbing his hand and dragging him out the front door. Draco had no desire to go driving around again with Thera, especially if she was in a mood. But he had no desire to spend the night alone at Malfoy Manor, either.

"I've got a better idea," he said, digging his heels in.

"What?" She looked almost hopeful.

He smirked. "Lucius' liquor cabinet."

*******

"Well now. Look at this," Draco marveled, pulling a bottle of 120-year firewhiskey out of the locked cabinet near the bar that Thera hadn't been able to break into last summer despite her best efforts.

She admired it, then shook her head. "That's not for getting rip-roaring drunk."

Draco gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "It's mine now. If I want to get rip-roaring drunk with it, I will." Breaking the seal, he opened the bottle and prepared to drink straight out of it. Thera ripped it out of his hands, horrified.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

"Drinking it," he snarled, making a grab for the bottle. Thera held it away from him.

"This firewhiskey spent more time being finely aged than you'll probably spend on this planet," she admonished him. "And I'm not just going to stand by and watch you guzzle it like a frat boy on spring break. It's like fine wine," she explained. "You have to let it breathe." Pulling out a pair of snifters, she poured them both a healthy dose.

Staring directly at her, Draco downed the entire portion in one gulp and slammed his glass back on the bar. "Give me another."

"And you say I don't have any class," she muttered, complying. To her relief, he took a sip, studying her while he savored it.

"What did you have to talk about that was so bloody important?" he asked.

"The list just keeps growing," she grumbled, rubbing absently at her burning forearm. "For one, he gave me the Mark."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Really? Why? It's not as if you need it when he can..."

"I seriously doubt it's intended to serve a practical purpose."

"What purpose does it serve, then?"

"As a reminder," she said, taking a sip of the firewhiskey. It melted on her tongue like butter before warming a path to her stomach. Pure heaven. "I suppose he thought it was a bit more subtle than tattooing 'Property of Lord Voldemort' on my forehead."

"Great," he said, looking depressed. "I suppose I'm next, then."

"I don't think so," she said thoughtfully. "I mean, if Lucius hadn't had the Dark Mark, he'd have been sprung from Azkaban in a few hours, and the Imperius defense would've held a lot more weight. Plus, the Ministry's watching you right now, and they're mighty suspicious. No," she said, shaking her head. "The Dark Lord's not that stupid."

"Well, that's a bloody relief."

"Yes, once more, you're let off the hook," she sneered.

"Give me a day or two to sort through this fucking mess, and maybe I'll be able to drum up some sympathy for you," Draco sneered back, walking over to throw himself dramatically on one of the settees. "Though I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you."

Thera threw herself on the one opposite it. "Poor thing," she said sarcastically. "I'm going to have this stupid thing on my body for the rest of my life, and you're whining about a few days of paperwork, housecleaning and sedating your mother."

"Sedating my mother is hardly necessary, considering she's not here."

Thera glanced over at him. "Is she in St. Mungo's, or did she toss you and flee?"

"The latter," he said sourly, taking a long drink.

"Well, a lifetime of self-involvement doesn't end overnight."

"Apparently not."

They sank into silence, and Thera found herself creating reasons to put off her other brilliant announcement. Draco seemed to think the whole situation with her father was fairly ridiculous to begin with, and this certainly couldn't help matters.

"Did you know I was entailed to you?" she asked finally.

Draco hummed disinterestedly. "You're not anymore, thank Merlin."

She could lead him around the fringes without disclosing the truth. "How do you know?"

He was taking a sip and nearly choked on it. "Thera, your very name could probably be used as a workable antonym for 'virgin,' you realize."

She let that slide. "I meant - theoretically, of course - how would anyone be able to tell? Say I lied or something. How would anyone be able to prove that I was lying?"

"There are plenty of ways to figure out whether or not a girl's a virgin."

"Like what?" she asked, sounding only mildly interested.

"Well, this is the easiest one," he said. He waved his wand around in a complicated manner that looked suspiciously like he was drawing a picture of a naked woman in the air, then pointed it at her. "Revelatio."

Thera saw herself immersed momentarily in a white glow. Draco looked puzzled. "I must've done it wrong," he decided. "Hang on."

He did the movement again and Thera sighed and stared at the ceiling. She had a feeling he'd done it exactly right, and was honestly surprised at how unsurprised she was at that fact. Draco spoke the spell and she glowed white again, causing him to frown at his wand. "You're only supposed to do that if you're a virgin," he muttered.

"Never mind that," Thera said, turning over on her side to face him, an idea forming. "Suppose in some alternate reality, I was actually a virgin, and the entailment still held. Now, if I had sex with you and then killed you, would that negate the entailment?"

He was beginning to look worried. "Does the spell still exist in the alternate reality?"

"Yes."

"Then it wouldn't. I'd come back and..." he stood up, leveling his wand at her, silver eyes burning with anger. "What the hell is this, anyway?"

Thera rolled her eyes. "Oh, calm the fuck down."

"Been reading a few dark books, have you? Found a Revirginification Spell and decided to try it out now that I've inherited, is that it?"

"No, I haven't," she said, sitting up slowly and staring him down. "I may be a liar, a cheat, a thief, a slut and a murderer, but one thing I am not is a gold digger."

"Okay," he said warily. "Why'd you do it, then?"

"I didn't," she bit out. "My father did."

Draco lowered his wand, letting out a long breath. "Not this shit again."

Thera stood. "Do you really think I'm dumb enough to do this to myself? I was free and clear of the entailment until Daddy happened along and fucked it all up."

"Why would he do it, though?" he asked, crossing his arms and giving her his most condescending look. "Why would he want you under my control?"

"Because that's the way it was always supposed to be. 'Two to lead?' We're Slytherins, for crying out loud. Sharing power goes against every grain of our being. Why do you think I ended up a girl? Why do you think they entailed me to you? Because you're the one who's supposed to lead, and I'm supposed to..." Thera threw her arms up. "I don't even know what I'm supposed to do. Take over for Bellatrix, apparently. Wear pillbox hats and Chanel suits. Start a nation-wide task force about some social concern nobody really cares about. Serve tea and blow foreign dignitaries and attend ribbon-cutting ceremonies and give speeches to pre-teens about the dangers of illegal potions and..."

Draco grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her hard. "Shut up, already!"

She did, and he stepped back, swearing and running a hand through his hair, not even bothering to worry about messing it up. "If you're bullshitting me..."

"Yeah, things weren't nearly fucked up enough," she said sarcastically, "so I figured..."

"Would you just shut up and let me think!" he snarled.

Thera glared daggers at him. "If you're planning on screwing me just so you can get me to do whatever you want," she said in a warning tone, "I'll let you know right now..."

"Bloody hell," Draco moaned, sinking down onto the settee and gripping his head between his hands. "Will you please just shut the fuck up for five fucking seconds?"

Spinning on her heel, Thera walked over to the bar to refill her drink.

"When's your seventeenth birthday?" he asked tonelessly.

"November."

"That's when we'd be married, you know."

"Yeah." She filled the glass up some more. This was no time for moderation.

"I can't think right now," he said. "I'm so fucking tired."

Thera turned around to find him looking exactly that, and felt a bit bad for dumping all of this on him, not that she'd had much say in the timing. "Do you want me to stay?"

His eyes on his drink, he nodded slowly. Grabbing her drink and the bottle in one hand, Thera followed as he plodded slowly up to his bedroom. Once they got there, he kicked off his shoes and got under the covers, falling asleep almost instantly. Thera sat down on the other side of the bed, staring off into the darkness and polishing off as much 120-year firewhiskey as it took to make her throbbing arm fade into the distance enough to sleep.

*******

"These are the real things," Vivian breathed, running her hands over the chalice and dagger Severus had just brought to Number Twelve. "How on earth did you get them?"

"Draco Malfoy dropped them off a few minutes ago," Severus said.

Vivian winced a little. "How is he?"

"He's fine," Severus said shortly. "Will they help at all?"

"Of course they will," she said, as the meaning of the objects sank in a little further. "I can test them out, maybe even figure out a way to destroy them and end the spell."

Remus ambled in to the kitchen. "Severus," he greeted the Potions Master, pulling a vial out of his pocket. "I have the hippogriff urine you asked for."

"Good," Severus said, checking the vial and nodding his approval. "This will do."

"You're welcome," Remus said pointedly. Vivian hid a smile as she used a fingernail to scrape some dirt out of one of the carved runes on the chalice.

"My thanks is expressed by not inquiring about the details of how you managed to obtain it," Severus returned.

"I only did it because you asked me to, and I'd rather not ever have to do it again, so use it sparingly." Remus finally noticed the artifacts. "Are those what I think they are?"

"The real things," Vivian grinned, stroking a thumb along the hilt of the dagger.

"Can I have a look?"

"In a minute," she said, continuing her examination. "The runes are all in High Argorathic." Vivian was unable to keep the excitement out of her voice. The actual artifacts. For all she knew, she could be holding the spell itself right here in her hands.

"Why do I feel like I should I be jealous?" Remus asked.

"You knew what she was like when you married her," Severus reminded him.

"If the house were on fire, do you think she'd save those things first, or me?"

"Those things, obviously. You're replaceable."

"Shut up, you two. I'm not going to sleep with them or anything," Vivian said distractedly as she studied a symbol carved into the handle of the dagger.

"The question isn't whether or not you're going to," Remus explained. "It's whether or not you want to."

"I can't imagine it would be very satisfying," Severus mused. "But then, Ravenclaws are rather renowned for their...peculiarities."

"Oh, honestly," Vivian huffed. "Yes, there were some hijinks with Leonard Snodgrass' broomstick after we beat Slytherin sixth year, but..." she trailed off as she realized that both men were watching her with their eyebrows raised.

"I never heard about that," Remus said, not sounding as if he really wanted to.

Vivian gave a little cough. "The incident was completely blown out of proportion."

Severus looked distastefully from her to the decidedly phallic handle on the dagger.

"It wasn't me," she bit out. "It was Petra Plowshare, and I'm sure it was just a rumor..."

"Plowshare-And-Share-Alike?" Remus laughed. "I wouldn't be too sure."

"I'm going to Shirag Castle," Severus said, turning to the fireplace. "I'm probably in less danger of finding myself having a conversation about sexual relations with broomsticks there." He flooed away, and Vivian turned her attention back to the chalice.

Brushing her hair aside, Remus placed a line of kisses up the side of her neck, trailing a hand down to stroke her breast. Vivian tilted her head to the side, smiling.

"So broomstick sex turns you on? I'll remember that."

"No, seeing you get turned on by ancient magical objects turns me on." He pulled away a little bit and Vivian looked up at him. "Perhaps we shouldn't analyze that too much," he decided, sitting down and pulling her onto his lap.

Vivian glanced at the artifacts longingly. "I'd really like to start working on those," she said. "I mean, we haven't made much progress with the spell, and I..."

Remus was snickering. "Well, if you really want to start working on them, then I suppose I'll just have to take the high road and honorably step aside..."

Vivian cut him off with a kiss that told him quite forcefully what she was interesting in working on. Standing up, she led him out of the kitchen and they made their way upstairs, groping and kissing and shedding clothes.

"I hate that I'm barely going to see you once school starts," she sighed as they climbed up on the bed. "Maybe I can stay a few nights during the week."

"Not the first week," he said as he pulled her on top of him. "It's the full moon."

Vivian knew that it wasn't really the time to talk about relationship issues, but she'd been thinking about this for a while. "Maybe I could stay anyway," she proposed.

Remus paused, looking up at her. "Why would you want to?"

"Because I love you," she said simply. "And that's part of you. I always avoided it before because I know it's painful for you, but things are different now."

Remus sagged. "Do we really have to talk about this now?"

Vivian thought about it for a moment. "Yes," she decided.

With a frustrated sound, Remus crawled out from underneath her and sat cross-legged on the bed. "When it comes down to it, this is my decision to make, wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then my decision is no."

Vivian crossed her arms over her breasts. "Why?"

He ran an aggravated hand through his hair. "It's really not something you need to see."

"You'll have taken your potion. I won't be in any danger."

"That's not the point."

Half of her wanted to reach out and comfort him, but the other half was more than a little stung at this lack of faith. "It's not as if I've never seen a werewolf before, Remus."

He stared her down, his eyes flat. "You've never seen me as a werewolf."

"No, I haven't," she said slowly. "But I'd like to."

"I'm not very good company," he said sarcastically, looking away.

She was unable to keep the frustration out of her voice. "Why are you so against this?"

"Why are you so in favor of it?" he shot back.

"Oh, you know," she said casually. "Vows and whatnot. Better or worse and sickness and health and all the rest of it." He sank his head into his hands and Vivian reached out, brushing her fingers against his. "I'm hardly going to run screaming, Remus. The only reason I didn't do this before is because I know what it's like and I didn't think I could watch you go through it, but...that's kind of how it works, isn't it? If you have to go through it once a month, the least I can do is be here and help however I can."

"You being there," he said firmly, "will hardly help."

She hadn't really thought of that. It stood to reason that stress could hardly make the transformation easier. "If you really don't want me to, I won't. But I wish you'd let me."

"Don't say that," he said heavily, dragging his hands out of his hair, dropping them in front of them to play with the bedcovers. "It makes my sound like a prick."

Vivian captured his hands, bringing them up to her mouth to kiss them. "You're not a prick. I just wish you'd trust me," she said softly, tucking their entwined fists underneath her chin. "Not even me," she amended. "I wish you'd trust that nothing about you being a werewolf is enough to detract from everything else you are."

"Wow, you're really good at that," he said, his voice a bit unsteady.

She dropped his hands. "Fucking Merlin, Remus. I'm being honest here. When it comes down to it, I don't think anything that happened could be nearly as horrible as what I've imagined. And this could actually bring us closer, you know."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Why wouldn't it?"

Remus laughed bitterly. "There's no good to be found in this. There's no silver lining to the cloud, okay, Vivian? This is merely an unfortunate and unchangeable little part of my life that I'd rather keep as private as humanly - or inhumanly - possible."

It wasn't exactly a slap in the face, but then it was hardly a resounding statement of trust, either. "Will you at least think about it?" she asked.

"I'll think about it," he promised. "I just think that of all the things we have to share, this really doesn't need to be one of them. Can you understand that?"

"Of course I can. Can you understand why I want to?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it. "No," he finally said, "but I'll try to."

"If I tell you I love you, will it help?" she asked, smiling a little bit.

"Showing me works better," he said, smiling back, all mischievous little boy, so Vivian really had no choice but to push him back against the headboard and do just that.

*******

The Weasleys were just finishing up breakfast when Remus arrived to pick up Harry.

"Ready to go?" he asked. "We've got a lot of ground to cover."

Harry nodded, standing. "Do you want me to come along?" Ron asked through a mouthful of croissant. "It's not like I have anything better to do."

Remus felt a tiny stab of disappointment. Ron was a good kid and all, but this was his last chance to spend time with Harry before he left for school. Plus, they'd be visiting Godric's Hollow and James' parents vacation house, and both places held a lot of memories for Remus. He wasn't sure he wanted witnesses.

Thankfully, Harry turned him down. "There's not going to be much to see, I don't think. Maybe over Christmas, when I've been able to have them fixed up a bit."

"Where do you want to go first?" Remus asked as they ambled out to the front yard.

Harry grinned. "The vacation house."

"Good choice." Taking hold of Harry's arm, he apparated them there.

Harry's jaw literally dropped when he saw the villa. It was fairly large for a vacation house, perched on the side of a mountain on the French Riviera. It was prime real estate - from the veranda at the back of the house, all you could see was water for miles.

"I own this?" His face stretched into a smile. "I own this."

Remus chuckled. "Would you like to take a look inside?"

"Sure," Harry said happily, trotting down the pathway to the front door. The yard was overgrown and some of the cobblestones were gone, but the outside of the house actually hadn't faired too badly. Harry reached for the doorknob, then paused. "I can't help it," he confessed. "I feel like I should knock first or something."

"It's yours, Harry. Trust me."

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and walked inside a few steps before just stopping and taking it all in. The entranceway was fairly impressive - skylights and white walls and Spanish tile floors. Everything was covered in a coat of dust, but Harry didn't seem to mind. Growing up in a cupboard probably gave one a rather different set of priorities when it came to living conditions.

Harry walked forward slowly, his eyes huge, darting here and there. Once he got over the initial shock, Harry was like a kid in a candy store, running around picking things up and dusting them off. "Look at all these pictures of my Mum and Dad!" he cried, picking them all up in turn. "And here's me! Look!"

Remus took the dusty picture frame from him. It was a picture of James in a bathing suit, snoring on a lounge chair with his glasses askew. Lying on his chest was baby Harry, sound asleep. On the ground next to James was a half-full bottle of firewhiskey.

"Nice to know that my arrival didn't keep them from having fun," Harry said wryly.

"Well, they were pretty young. Suffice it to say, you slept through a lot of parties."

Harry squinted at the picture. "Was this taken here?"

"Yes."

The boy looked up at him, awe written all over his face. "There's a pool?" he whispered, as if saying the words aloud would make it disappear. Remus nodded, amused. "Where is it?" Harry asked excitedly.

"It's out back. Come on." Leading him down the stairs at the far end of the living room, Remus opened the doors to the veranda, ushering Harry through grandly.

The pool-cleaning charms must have worn off years ago; the water was brown and gloopy-looking, but Harry seemed dazzled nonetheless. He dashed to the edge of the large terrace, his head turning this way and that, taking in a multimillionaire's view of the Mediterranean. Remus hung back, content to merely bask in Harry's joy.

It was a rare thing, after all.

But when Harry came trotting back wearing a loopy smile, he had to look away. It was too close to James. Every time they'd all left here, they'd planned to come back, imagining their next trip, imagining that nothing would never change, that everything would stay the way it was forever. It wouldn't have, obviously. Even if James and Lily had lived, they wouldn't have all stayed nineteen forever.

Of course, they hadn't known that at the time, and maybe that was for the best. If ever there was an upside to dying young, it was that at least you got to die without regrets. If James and Lily had it to do all over again, they wouldn't choose Peter as their secret keeper, but aside from that, he honestly didn't think they'd have done anything differently. None of the rest of them could say that much.

These thoughts coupled with Harry's youthful exuberance made him feel a million years old. "How cold does it get here during the winter?" Harry was asking.

"It doesn't," Remus said, turning to point out the temperature charm regulator on the wall behind him. "It only gets as cold or as hot as you want it to."

"So we could have Christmas here, then?"

"If you wanted to, yes."

Harry walked back into the house, nearly babbling at this point. "Not just the Weasleys, either. I mean, you and Professor Wellbourne could come, and any of the Order members who wanted to. How many bedrooms are there?"

"A dozen, if I recall."

"D'you think that would be enough? D'you think anyone would want to come?"

"I don't think Christmas on the French Riviera is a very hard sell."

They walked through all of the rooms, Harry planning out how they could all sleep comfortably. When they'd finally seen everything, Harry seemed content to continue just walking around, and Remus felt a bit bad about having to speed things along.

"We still have two more places to go, remember. You'll be able to come back if you want to. I doubt Dumbledore would stop you. But the whole point of today is to just see what needs to be done to make them livable again."

"Right, right," Harry said quickly. "I'm just...it's a lot to take in."

"Where do you want to go next?" he asked as they walked back outside.

There was no hesitation. "My grandparents' house." Remus glanced at him. Harry was putting off Godric's Hollow as long as possible. Not that he could blame him.

"Okay," he said, taking Harry's arm and apparating them to the front gates. He couldn't get them any closer because of the wards.

"Nott Woods Manor?" Harry asked, reading the name off of the gates. "I own a manor? And I'm related to Nott? As in the Death Eater?"

"Your grandmother was a Nott," Remus admitted. Harry gawked at him. "This was her father's house. I think she was his only heir, though I'm not positive."

"But wasn't my grandfather a pureblood? Didn't he have a manor?"

Remus glanced at him. "Your grandfather was a half-blood."

"I didn't know that."

"His father was a Muggle. That's where 'Potter' comes from. I know that much. I honestly don't know who your great-grandmother was."

"Huh," Harry said, touching the gates. They sprang open, admitting them to the grounds. The grass looked parched, and the looming manor house appeared sadly neglected.

Harry touched the front doors, and they creaked open slowly and painfully, their hinges squealing in protest. Dust motes floated across the wedge of sunshine they introduced into the entryway, highlighting the manor's air of abandonment.

"This is awful," Harry said, pulling his t-shirt over his nose to fend off the dust.

All of the house-elves must have died, Remus figured. No self-respecting house-elf would let a manor house fall into this kind of shape while they still held a living breath in their body. No sooner had he thought this than a house elf appeared.

The thing was obviously near death, but it bowed low to Harry, its long nose touching the floor and wiping a clean stripe, its joints creaking all the while. "Master," it wheezed.

Harry took a step back. "Who are you?"

"Willy," the house elf croaked, still bowing. "I have waited for Master's return. The others died. I am sorry, Master. I did my best. I cleaned half of the kitchen today."

"Don't clean anything else."

Willy raised his head, puzzled. "Master?"

"I won't be living here. At least, not for a while. There's no need to clean it anymore. And if there is, I'll figure something else out. Just...rest, okay?"

Willy looked utterly scandalized by this proposition. "Rest, Master?" he asked.

Harry shrugged his shoulders up. "Or should I set you free?"

"No, Master! Please, NO!" Willy sobbed, falling on Harry's foot. "Please don't give Willy clothes, Master. Willy has tried. The others are dead, but Willy has tried to keep the house clean for Master's arrival. Please don't give Willy clothes."

"I won't give you clothes unless you want them," Harry said, squatting down and making an awkward attempt to soothe the upset house-elf. "I just...well, let's face it. This is a job you can't handle alone."

The house elf looked up at Harry imploringly. "Willy...Willy tries, Master."

"Of course you do," Harry said quickly. "It's just that it's a very large house and all. Just take a few days off and maybe I'll be able to get you some help."

"Days off?" Willy looked completely unfamiliar with this concept.

Harry sighed. "I'll send some help, okay?"

"Whatever Master desires," Willy said uncertainly.

"Er...yeah," Harry said, walking past Remus to open up the front door.

"Don't you want to see the rest of it?" Remus asked, following Harry.

"Not really," Harry said heavily. They walked a good way before he spoke again. "Hermione's going to kill me for owning a house elf."

"To be fair, you inherited him."

"He didn't seem all that interested in being set free."

"No, he didn't."

They walked a bit farther in silence before Harry spoke again. "How did they die?"

"The other house elves?" Remus shook his head. "I don't know."

"No. I mean my grandparents."

"Oh," Remus said. He supposed if Harry deserved nothing else, he at least deserved the truth without any euphemisms or half-truths. "Voldemort killed them."

They'd nearly reached the gates before Harry responded. "Because of my parents?"

Remus thought his answer through before he gave it. As ugly as the story was, he supposed Harry deserved to know what had happened. "Voldemort wanted your father on his side. When he wouldn't join up, Voldemort used threats. He never followed through, though. At that point, he couldn't. When your father married your mother, the threats were repeated, but none of us really worried about them. Your grandparents were protected. So were your parents. Nothing happened for a while. And then out of the blue, he somehow managed to get to your grandparents, to kill them. And we all knew that he couldn't have done it without inside information. There was no other way."

"So Peter Pettigrew didn't just set up my parents, he set up my grandparents, too."

As hard as Remus tried, there really wasn't any way to soften the blow. "Yes."

*******

Strangely, it was only when they were standing in Godric's Hollow, facing an expanse of overgrown lawn broken only by a short charred concrete staircase leading to nowhere that Harry put it all together. "They thought it was you, didn't they?" he asked.

"I'm sorry?" Remus asked distractedly.

"The traitor. They thought it was you."

Harry glanced at his old professor, who raised his shoulders in a shrug, looking away. And that gave Harry all the answer he needed. "I'm sorry."

Remus scratched his jaw. "There's no need to be sorry. They had good reason, after all."

"No, they didn't."

"A lot of dark creatures were joining up with him."

"That didn't mean that you were."

"No, it didn't. But I can hardly blaming them for thinking so."

There were two large stones guarding the pathway up to the stairway to nowhere. Harry sank down on one of them, studying his hands and feeling oddly guilty. "Why d'you think they picked Peter as their Secret-Keeper in the end?"

Remus kept his eyes focused away and it occurred to Harry that where he saw only overgrown nothingness, Remus was seeing the house that had once stood there. "Under the circumstances, I suppose they figured he was the safest bet."

"Why?"

His old professor seemed to tighten somehow. "You have to understand, Harry. It wasn't the best of times for any of us. Nobody looks back on it and feels good about anything they did. That's how war is, in its basest form. It's a collection of life-or-death decisions made in the heat of the moment to keep you alive for the next moment. There isn't anything noble or honorable in it, and you can't live through it without beating yourself up for the mistakes you made. It sinks in slowly, and you don't even really realize how far it sinks in until you're looking at your best friends and wondering if they're all enemies. I'll give that much to Voldemort. He's insidious."

Harry stared into the near distance for a few moments, taking that in, trying to imagine the house he'd lived in as it had once stood beyond the charred steps. He couldn't, really. "You didn't answer the question."

Remus sighed. "No, I guess I didn't. I honestly don't know why they chose Peter. I didn't have any contact with them once they went into hiding. But I suppose they chose him because Sirius seemed too obvious."

"Or maybe they suspected that Sirius was the traitor," Harry posited.

"I doubt it. His brother was dead at that point, so the Death Eaters had nothing to threaten him with. And Sirius had never made any secret of his contempt for Voldemort. Plus, he was your father's best friend. Would you suspect Ron so easily?"

"Of course not," Harry said, standing. He kicked his way through the overgrown weeds to the fire-blackened stairs. They'd led to a porch once. He couldn't have said how he knew that, but he did. There had been a swing, and bright curtains in the front room.

"Can we go back now?" he asked, turning away. It hurt too much to look at the bare landscape. He could almost see the house as it had been, but it was like something he saw out of the corner of his eye that was gone as soon as he turned to look at it full-on.

Harry took two steps before he noticed the cabbages. They were nearly unrecognizable as cabbage plants, having grown wild for the past sixteen years, but upon closer examination, he could make out the edges of what had once been a vegetable garden.

"Did my mother plant this?" he asked, tiptoeing into the plot.

"Merlin, has that survived?" Remus asked, picking his way over to take a look. "Your mother worked endlessly on that thing. Carrots the size of your head, I swear."

Kneeling down, Harry pressed his fingers lightly into the soil, feeling a strange bursting sensation in his chest that might have been love or grief or a mixture of the two. It reminded him of Zdenka, and her drive to get her vegetables planted.

And even more than that, it seemed so remarkably personal to touch the soil. It wasn't a showboat vacation house that his friends might enjoy or the proud knowledge that his father had also played Quidditch. It wasn't something to share, or something to live up to. It was something small and intimate, something that carried with it - in his mind, at least - a sense of stability and safety and domesticity. His mother's garden.

Suddenly, Harry could see himself building a little cottage here. He could see himself living out his life here, spending Saturdays in the summer tending to his plants, maybe putting up a tire swing on the other side of the lawn for the kids. A future, if he had one.

And he realized that he did want one, very much.

"Harry?" Remus asked from behind him.

Standing, Harry mentally mapped out the area.

"Are you ready to go now? I promised Molly I'd have you back for lunch"

With one last glance around, Harry nodded.

*******

On the morning of September 1st, Draco had half a mind to just stay in bed for the rest of the day. He'd been getting up later and later since Thera had started staying over, and it occurred to him as he turned over and squinted at the window through his hangover that the train for Hogwarts would be leaving King's Cross Station in a few minutes. Not that he intended to be on it. The Ministry would be here to search the house in an hour.

He turned his head to seek out Thera. Sometimes she was gone by the time he woke up. Other times she was in one of the two final stages of restless Thera-sleep: sprawled out on her stomach with the covers kicked off, or completely burrowed underneath them.

Draco took the lump beside him to be Thera, considering a few strands of black hair were poking out from underneath the covers. He tugged on one of them and the lump shifted, mumbling angrily. He tugged again and the lump called him a lousy cocksucker as a hand appeared from under the covers, slapping at him halfheartedly.

"The Ministry's coming," he reminded her. "You have to get out of here."

The lump shifted again, making a plaintive sound.

"Ther-a," he sighed. "Aren't all of the international bigwigs arriving tonight? Don't you have shit to do?"

"Alright, alright, I'm up," her muffled voice said as she negotiated her way out from underneath the covers and plodded into his bathroom, clad in one of his silk pajama tops. It hung to mid-thigh on her - which was necessary, considering Thera seemed to be allergic to knickers - and the sleeves swallowed up her hands. He'd made her wear it.

After all, he had a feeling sharing a bed with another girl was pushing the limits, even if they hadn't done anything. Sharing a bed with a naked one was definitely over the line, even if it was a girl he'd seen naked dozens of times. It just seemed overly intimate.

Of course, the line itself had become rather theoretical lately. Draco supposed he'd have to go back to Hogwarts this year - the Dark Lord would insist - but he was certainly in no hurry to do so, and he was feeling seriously conflicted about the situation with Red.

The whole thing was just too difficult, when it came down to it. And dangerous to boot, he reasoned as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing his eyes. Standing up, he stretched and yawned before giving his boys a hearty good-morning scratch.

On the other hand, it had been a long time since he'd had sex, period. And considering he seemed incapable of having sex with anybody but Red unless he wanted to be tortured by her bloody accusing voice in his head, going back to Hogwarts was a necessity.

But all the same, he'd be a lot better off - hell, they'd all be a lot better off - if he just kept his head down and did what he was told to do. Thera's situation had made it quite clear that she was now going to be taking over for Bellatrix, so it was only a matter of time before he would have to step up and fill Lucius' shoes.

The mere thought of it made him want to crawl back into bed for another hundred years. In fact, just about everything elicited that desire lately. Hogwarts, the Dark Lord, Red, the box he'd received yesterday containing his father's ashes, the yammering letter Granger had sent him with a list of issues they needed to address this year...

Thera came out of the bathroom and pulled on her clothes, looking a bit more awake. "Aren't you supposed to leave today?" she asked, buttoning her blouse.

He shook his head. "The Ministry's coming in a little bit."

She did up the rest of the buttons and twisted her hair into one of those messy half-assed buns girls make when they have long hair and nothing to pull it back with. "I can't come back tonight, you know," she said. "He'll want me to dance on tables or something."

"I think I'll survive," he said dryly.

Thera glanced at him. "Are you going to stop by before you leave?"

He shrugged. He wasn't fucking with her, either. He honestly didn't know.

"Well, assuming you aren't, can you return this for me?" she asked, extracting a comic book from her sack and handing it to him.

"Martin Miggs Goes to Manhattan?" he asked, reading the title with a raised eyebrow.

She smiled a little. "I borrowed it from Kim."

"Who the hell is Kim?"

"Korean kid. First year - well, second year now, I guess. Will you give it back?"

Right. Like he was going to talk to a second year. "I'll owl it to him."

"You're a peach," she said, patting him on the cheek, turning to go.

"Thera..." Draco trailed off. He didn't know what he intended to say.

She paused. "Go back to Hogwarts, Draco," she said flatly, without turning around. "Fuck your girlfriend and play Quidditch and worry about your N.E.W.T. scores."

He grimaced a little bit, wrapping his arms around his chest, feeling a sudden chill, wishing he'd worn a shirt to bed. "What's the point?"

"The point is that it's a hell of a lot better than this shit."

Contemplating that statement in the mirror, Draco decided that she wasn't entirely right. Even as he sat stonily at the breakfast table while Aurors yanked up floorboards and tore up walls in a fruitless search for dark artifacts, he held onto this belief. He held on as they ripped the place to shreds in frustration of not finding any dark artifacts. He held on even after they left, as he wandered aimlessly from room to room surveying the damage with a sort of detached shock, wondering where to begin, or if he should even bother.

The shit at Hogwarts wasn't any better than the shit here. It was all the same shit, really.

*******

Nothing could have prepared Harry for the scene that met them at King's Cross Station. There was barely any room to move between Platforms 9 and 10 for all of the reporters and well-wishers mixed in with the understandably confused Muggle travelers.

"They keep talking about 'Harry,'" he heard a middle-aged woman say excitedly, nudging her husband. "You don't suppose the prince is here, do you?"

"I don't think Prince Harry travels by train," her husband answered.

Non-royal Harry gulped. This was not going to be pretty. He suddenly recalled footage he'd seen of the Beatles, with police holding back the straining crowds of screaming, crying, fainting teenage girls while reporters snapped pictures of them. To be actually in the middle of it was frightening and disorienting. He'd assumed that the members of the Order sent to take him to the train station had been for protection. He hadn't realized that it wasn't protection against Death Eaters. It was protection against these people.

Harry could only gape open-mouthed as people reached over his protectors to touch him and grab his hair and questions were shouted at him from every direction while he was intermittently blinded by flashbulbs. With a sinking feeling, he realized that tomorrow morning, there would be pictures of him looking dumbfounded in newspapers the world over. Hermione had ended up behind him as they fought through the crowd, and she didn't fare much better. For every "What's your favorite color, Harry?" there was a "Were you ever scared during your escape, Hermione?"

"Come on," Moody growled at him, dragging him towards the nearest entrance to the platform by the front of his shirt. Hearing an angry squawk, Harry glanced back and saw a pair of young girls trying to abscond with Hedwig's cage. Reaching back, he pried it out of their grasp while Hedwig flapped her wings in outrage. "Sorry," he murmured to the owl as he tucked her cage securely under his arm. Even his first year when he'd feared finding it at all, he had never been so relieved to see the Hogwarts Express.

Hermione, Ron, Ginny and Mrs. Weasley came through behind him, Mrs. Weasley turning around to brandish an umbrella, shouting, "And I'll thank you to keep your hands off of my daughter's bum, you filthy animals!"

In the relative quiet of the Hogwarts platform, her loud statement drew stares. Raising her eyes to the heavens briefly, Ginny pulled her trunk towards the train with as much dignity as she could muster.

Looking as if she'd just been through battle, Hermione muttered an, "Honestly," and followed. Exchanging shrugs, Harry and Ron trailed behind to help load the trunks onto the train. Nearly the entire Order seemed to be present, and there was a great deal of hugging and well-wishing. Harry promised to write Remus and withstood a moderately uncomfortable amount of kissing from Mrs. Weasley before he was finally able to take his seat. Hermione had already left to set up the prefects' meeting and Ginny and Ron left soon after for the meeting itself, leaving Harry alone with the animals.

Letting out a long breath, he leaned his head against the back of the seat and closed his eyes. This wasn't exactly how he'd imagined starting his seventh year. Of course, the same statement could apply to just about any other year he'd spent at Hogwarts.

The door to the compartment opened and Harry looked over. For a split second, he thought the girl was Thera, but it was really just the long black hair that did it. This girl was taller, with blue eyes, a rounder chin, a slightly longer nose and much larger breasts.

"Hi," she said, her eyes sweeping the empty cabin. "Want some company?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably as her eyes settled on him once more. "No, not really."

The girl's mouth curved up into a smile. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," he said firmly.

She ignored his answer, walking forward and shutting the door. "My name is..."

And that's as far as she got before the door opened again, to reveal two Gryffindor girls in Ginny's year. He'd seen them before. He couldn't remember their names, but he knew they rhymed. Mary and Carrie or something. "Hi, Harry," they chirped.

"Hi," he said, relieved, as they muscled the other girl out of the cabin and shut the door in her face. His relief dissipated as soon as they gave him a matching pair of feral smiles. Once upon a time, Harry had imagined that the fear he felt when facing Voldemort was more or less reserved only for that situation. His life and possibly his death revolved entirely around Voldemort, so it didn't make much sense to fear anything else. Or it hadn't, until he saw the team of Mary and Carrie looking at him like that.

And then they were suddenly on either side of him, pressed against him.

With the threat of sexual assault introduced, Harry's first instinct was to flee, but he'd promised to stay in the compartment and look after Vendetta and Crookshanks and Pig.

Simultaneously, Mary and Carrie each placed a hand on his knee and Harry heard a strangely high-pitched 'eek' sound that he though might have come out of his mouth.

Then the door opened, admitting Orla Quirke, Vicky Frobisher and Sally Ann Perks. They all glared at Mary and Carrie. Mary and Carrie glared back.

Sod the animals. They'd be fine. The most they'd get is 'I heart Harry' written on their fur in lipstick. He, however, would be lucky to get out of here with his trousers on.

Shooting up, he waved his hand, sending Vicky and Sally Ann into chairs on one side of the compartment and Orla into a chair on the other. Then he ran out into the hallways and slammed the door shut, locking them inside.

Even if he had to ride the rest of the way to Hogwarts in the loo, it was better than this.

Halfway there, he spotted Luna, Neville, Dean, Seamus, Terry Boot and Ernie MacMillan in a compartment. Slipping inside, he shut the door, locked it and pulled down the blinds.

"All of the girls in this school have lost their minds," he announced.

"So Ginny's roommates found you," Ernie said, grinning. "I know they were looking."

"Two of them," he confirmed. "Is the third lurking or am I safe?"

"Sherry's not here," Luna said breezily. "The Death Eaters killed her this summer."

"Oh," Harry said, feeling a spurt of guilt as her face sprang into his mind. She was the tallest one, with curly brown hair. He hadn't known. He wondered if Ginny knew.

"Her mother was Muggleborn," Luna said, her voice turning solemn. "She worked in the Department of Magical Creatures. She's one of the officials who denied my father's evidence about the colony of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks currently residing in Sweden."

Harry blinked. "Oh. Er...right."

"You'd better stay here," Neville advised him. "Lavender and Parvati have staked out the boy's loo."

"If you get the chance, would you mind throwing a few of them my way?" Dean asked.

Seamus elbowed him. "Don't you mean our way?"

Terry cleared his throat. "Suppose - for example - I told a girl we were close friends. You wouldn't deny that, would you?"

"No, I guess not," Harry answered slowly.

Terry grinned. "Good. I mean, because I did."

There was a knock at the compartment door. "Should I unlock it?" Luna asked.

Harry heaved a sigh. "Go ahead." She opened the door and he braced himself. Thankfully, it was Ginny, looking relieved to find him.

"There you are," she said, snatching his hand and pulling him up. "Come on. I need to talk to you." Harry had little choice but to follow her down the hallway. "Why'd you lock all of those girls in our compartment?"

"To keep them away from me."

Ginny smirked a little. "You can unlock the door. I'll handle them." With some trepidation, he did so. Ginny strode in with him in tow, giving his fan club a look that could melt lead. "Beat it, Slut Brigade. Harry Potter's mine. I have his name tattooed on my arse and everything. And tell the rest of the girls that if I catch one of you so much as looking at him, I'll burn your beady little eyes right out of your head. That's not an empty threat, either. I'm completely unbalanced. Ask any of my ex-boyfriends."

With some grumbling and several dirty looks, the girls in their compartment began to file out. Harry looked down at Ginny with surprise and not a little respect.

She, in turn, grabbed him by the shoulders and kissed him. It took Harry a second to catch up with the proceedings. He heard the compartment door slam, at which point he shoved her away. "Oh, Merlin, Ginny. Not you, too," he moaned in horror.

She smiled. "Don't worry. I haven't reverted or anything. I just thought we should pretend to be going out," she said. "It'll keep you from being mauled and it'll keep people from even imagining that anything's going on with me and Draco."

"You...you could have told me that, you know," he spluttered, "before you just grabbed me and kissed me." He was beginning to feel like a topless girl at a heavy metal concert.

"It wouldn't have been as funny," she shrugged, grinning. "The look on your face right now is utterly priceless."

Harry sank down on a chair, wondering if he'd gotten on the wrong train. Perhaps he was dreaming. Yes, that must be it. The entire world didn't just up and go completely insane in the space of five minutes without good reason.

"Where are Ron and Hermione?" he asked vaguely, half-expecting them to walk in the door wearing clown outfits and wielding ninja swords.

"Last I saw, Hermione was in a snit and Ron was trying to calm her, so I imagine they've at least progressed to groping by now," Ginny said. "Erm...speaking of which..."

"Please, no," Harry begged, sinking his face into his hands. "I've had enough today."

"No, no, I didn't mean that," Ginny said quickly. "I meant that Draco's not on the train. He didn't show up for the prefect's meeting and nobody's seen him. That's why Hermione's in a snit."

Harry looked up, puzzled. "He's not on the train?"

Ginny shook her head, biting her lip. "I'm worried about him. Can you please call him and just make sure he's okay?"

"Call him?" he asked blankly.

"With the mirror. You can do that, can't you?"

"Yeah, I..." he trailed off, pinning her with a glare. "Hang on. How do you know about that?" Ginny gave him a 'Who do you think you're talking to?' look and Harry silently admitted defeat. "Fine. Whatever. And then I'm jumping off this bloody train and joining a monastery." Okay, he didn't say the last part, but he certainly thought it.

Muscling down his trunk, he dug through it until he located the mirror. Plopping back down on his seat, he called Malfoy's name. Over and over. After about five minutes, Malfoy's decidedly pissed-off visage appeared in the mirror.

"What the hell do you want, Potter?" the Slytherin asked rudely.

"Why aren't you on the train?" Harry asked. No need for small talk.

Malfoy stared at him for a second. "That's your big emergency?"

"Just answer the question," Harry ground out.

Not a chance. Malfoy smirked. "Aww, did you miss me, Potter? I'm touched, really."

"Hardly," Harry snorted. "Ginny was worried, I told her I'd find out if you were alive."

"Well - as you can see - I am." Harry clenched his jaw.

"And you couldn't have just told her that beforehand so she wouldn't worry?"

Malfoy sighed long and loud. "How would I have gone about doing that, Potter?"

Harry felt a muscle pulsing in his jaw as he clenched it harder. "What the fuck are you holding in your hands right now, genius?"

"Merlin's balls," Malfoy groaned, dropping his head back to address the ceiling, so that all Harry saw of him was the top of his robes and a great white stretch of neck. Malfoy had a ridiculously prominent Adam's Apple. "I abjectly fucking apologize to Red that what with my father dying as a proven Death Eater and the Ministry rampaging through my house like a pack of wild boars and all, I fucking forgot to send her proper assurance of my well-being. Will you just tell her that before she tries to break into the Manor bearing a casserole or whatever you fucking Gryffindors do to impose yourselves on the grieving when they're least desirous of visitors? Because she'll end up being chopped up into several pieces by the wards and dispersed to numerous and sundry locations if she does. So in the interest of some poor sod in Bangalore not getting beaned on the head by Red's left foot, can you just bloody fucking tell her that I'm fine? Can you do that?"

Ginny had spent this entire speech tugging at Harry's sleeve.

"Did you get in touch with him? Is he okay?" she asked.

"As much as he ever is."

She sat up. "Tell him to meet me in the Room of Requirement after the Feast."

"Oh, I didn't know she was right there," Malfoy said. "Ask her if she'll be naked."

"I'm not a telephone," Harry said loudly to both of them.

"And tell her to bring the kitty, will you, Potter?"

Big puppy dog eyes from Ginny. "Pleeeease, Harry."

"He's coming," he said to Ginny, stuffing the mirror back in his trunk and levitating it up to the luggage rack with far more force than necessary. Ron and Hermione were probably shagging by now, he'd just acted as a human booty-call mechanism for Ginny and Malfoy, and all he had was a passel of shrill, insipid teenage girls intent on screwing him just so they could sell the story to Witch Weekly.

"Harry," Ginny said, putting a hand on his arm, looking pained. "Thanks. And I'm sorry if it was...well, I mean, I know you don't like Draco much, and...anyway, thank you."

"You're welcome," he said, not turning around. "And I'll leave it up to you to tell Ron about your little meeting tonight with Malfoy."

Once he reached the hallway, it occurred to him that he didn't know where he was planning to go. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he headed for the loo. "I've got the wicked shits," he said to Parvati and Lavender by way of explanation as he breezed by them, slamming the door in their faces.

There would undoubtedly be a story in tomorrow's Daily Prophet regarding his fiber intake. Sinking down on the toilet, Harry couldn't really bring himself to care. He'd given the same damn interview so many times that he didn't even have to think about the answers anymore. Talking about his bowel movements would be at least be different.

And with that gloomy thought came another, then another. Unbeknownst to his millions of fans, bloody heroic and noble Harry Potter spent the majority of the train ride to Hogwarts locked up in the loo with his chin in his hand, feeling sorry for himself.

*******

Hermione Granger was cognizant of the fact that most people did not hold the same priorities that she did. She tried to be sensitive to this; she honestly strove to soften the edges of her often blunt and single-minded personality and to remember that the majority of the world functioned under a different definition of 'life or death' than she did.

But when a specific individual pissed her off as much as Draco Malfoy did, Hermione was also cognizant of the fact that she had a tendency to act rashly.

And that was how she found herself throwing parchments around in the middle of the prefect's compartment. "After all," she railed to Ron, "why should he bother to put forward the effort to attend the first prefect's meeting of the term? It's not as if he has any responsibility or anything. Merlin knows nobody else ever has to lift a finger when Hermione's around to take care of everything. Too lazy to wipe your own bum? No bother. Just ask Hermione. She'll do it. She does everything else. Why not that, too?"

"So - in other words - this would be a bad time to ask you to write my Defense Against the Dark Arts essay," Ron deduced.

Hermione rounded on him. "Ask away. I'm just a brain and a quill to you, anyway."

He gulped audibly. "I was joking, Hermione."

If looks could kill, his entire family would have been dead at that point.

"I...well, I never said it was a good joke."

Sinking her fingers into her stupid, bushy hair, she half attempted to rip it out of her head. "Why does this always happen? Why am I always the one who ends up having to do everything while everyone else has fun? Why can't I have fun just once?"

"Because you won't let yourself!" Ron said loudly, ripping the remaining parchment out of her hands and tossing it to the floor. "Merlin's teeth, Hermione. Relax, will you?"

Staring at the mess she'd made, Hermione mumbled an apology. It wasn't even just Malfoy that had her all worked up. It was the staring and the whispering and having to kick off her first prefect's meeting by telling the story of her great escape. No wonder Harry was so angry all the time.

"Hogwarts isn't going to crumble to the ground if the Head Boy and Head Girl don't meet before the Welcoming Feast. Not to disrespect your position or anything, but it doesn't require doing anything that's even remotely necessary to the actual functioning of the school. Ummm...you do understand that, don't you?"

"Of course I do," she snapped. "But that doesn't mean Malfoy should be able to just do nothing all year. There aren't going to be any Hogsmeade weekends, you know. So what are we going to do to keep everyone from going mad? These are the kinds of things I'd like to talk to him about. Only I can't, because he didn't bother to show up."

"Hermione," he said, clapping his hands on her shoulders and looking her in the eye. "We have this compartment all to ourselves."

"That's good, considering I have even more work to do than I thought I would."

Ron brought his hands up to cup her face, his thumbs stroking her cheekbones. There was a way he had of overshadowing everything else around him, of making everything seem much simpler than it really was. With distance, she completely forgot about it, to the point where she honestly wondered why on earth they were together in the first place.

But then he'd do something like this to gain her attention, and no amount of brain power could explain how a moderately attractive face covered with freckles and a pair of painfully clear blue eyes could evoke something inside her strong enough to render her silent. In these moments, she understood clearly how this had happened.

In the rest of the moments, she didn't, really. Her practical mind weighed in and judged them highly unsuitable for each other. And the rest of her agreed. He didn't understand what drove her, and she couldn't understand his carelessness about things she felt were truly important. When it came down to it, they had no business being together.

As much as she wanted to shrug it off as a teenage romance with no real substance, Hermione had a dreadful suspicion that Ron didn't quite view their relationship the same way. She was playing with sickles and he was playing with galleons, so to speak.

And more than anything, that made her reticent about taking things further with Ron. Every kiss gave Hermione the ugly sensation that she was only making things worse. She was spending more time trying to make sure they'd remain friends after they broke up than she was spending on the actual relationship itself.

And she didn't need to be to a genius to see where that was headed.

He leaned in to kiss her, and Hermione kissed him back. That much was honest. She always tried to be as honest with him as possible. But in the back of her mind, she always felt a bit guilty. The physical response was honest, but the emotional response was far too conflicted to yield a definitive answer on the subject.

And that, really, was proof in Hermione's mind that she wasn't cut out to be a teenage girl. She was highly in favor of making out, especially with Ron. She would even go so far as to say the she was ready to take their relationship to the next level, if the opportunity presented itself. Unfortunately, that was a very bad idea at the moment. Ron wasn't ready for it, and neither was their relationship. Sex was complicated, and things were complicated enough already without...

She sighed mentally. Despite her most desperate attempts to the contrary, Hermione Granger was incapable of shutting off her own brain.

So stop listening to it already, will you?

The thought came out of nowhere and was so surprising that she actually took a step back. "What?" she asked stupidly.

Ron looked confused. "I didn't say anything."

"I know." There was a beat of silence. Then Hermione found herself saying, "I get my own room this year."

"Yeah, I know," he said, eyeing her strangely. "Are you okay?"

So stop listening to it already, will you?

"You can come by whenever you want."

Ron blushed to the roots of his hair. "Uh...thanks."

Damn her inability to flirt. "Come by tonight." It was hard not to wince at the complete lack of sensual invitation in her voice. She just sounded like she was issuing an order.

Realization hit, and his eyes went wide. "Okay."

Feeling suddenly shaky, Hermione sat down and began gathering up parchments at random. "I have to get all of this back together and organize it," she said, having the sudden and urgent desire to be alone.

"D'you want me to help?" Ron asked, sounding tentative.

"No, no," she said quickly. "I can handle it. And I suppose one of us should be out there helping peel the girls off of Harry."

"At this point, it's probably just a matter of figuring out which loo he's hiding in."

Against her will, Hermione stifled a giggle, because he was probably right. "I'll come back to the compartment before we get to Hogwarts."

"Don't work too hard," he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before leaving.

The instant the door slammed closed, Hermione buried her face in her hands. What on earth had she just done? And more importantly, what on earth was she about to do?

*******

Severus Snape was not the sort of person who was ever really in a good mood. His state-of-mind largely operated on a spectrum. On one end was 'General Misanthropic Disaffection,' on the other, 'Murderous Rage,' and everything else fell in between.

As the seconds counted down to the arrival of the students for the Welcoming Feast, his mood edged closer to 'Murderous Rage.' Holding him back from arriving at that particular mood was the fact that he wouldn't actually be attending the feast. Pushing him unerringly towards it was the fact that instead of attending the feast, he'd be jollying around as Patrick O'Riordan all night, welcoming the Dark Lord's foreign guests.

The fact that these two events were to occur concurrently weighed on his mind, and for the billionth time since he'd become a spy, Severus wondered if the Dark Lord didn't know everything, if he wasn't just doing this to toy with him. This would be the most difficult part of the operation; he and Dumbledore had spoken about it at length. While Severus was off playing drunken Irishman, he couldn't be at Hogwarts, and that wasn't the sort of thing students wouldn't notice. He had a cover: potions accident.

It wasn't a cover Severus was fond of - him of all people having a potions accident- but he'd spread the story around the Death Eaters after the attack on Diagon Alley. It gave him a vague enough recovery time that his absence could extend for a week or so after the Dark Lord's visitors left, thus deflecting the strange coincidence of his 'accident' and their visit, and that was really the most any long-time spy could hope for in a cover.

Not that this edged him any further away from 'Murderous Rage.' Suffice it to say that he was not in the mood for Draco Malfoy to pay yet another unexpected visit. Especially a visit bearing his school trunk when he was supposed to be on the Hogwarts Express.

"Ten points from Slytherin," Snape said coolly.

The boy looked surprised. "Can you even take away points before term starts?"

"I can take away points whenever I damn well please. Why aren't you on the train?"

"I had to let the Ministry in so they could destroy the place. I just now got it cleaned up. I figured Dumbledore knew they were coming today." Severus ran a hand down his face. He knew firsthand the kind of damage the Ministry could do when properly motivated.

"Did you tell him they were coming today?"

"No."

"Then how would he have known?"

"I just figured the Ministry would have told him."

Snape felt his anger drain away a little. The point was that the boy was here. "Perhaps they did. I don't know. He didn't say anything to me about it."

Draco shifted. "Should I go talk to him?"

"You might as well put your things in your room. Then I'll take you up." Snape led him down the hall to the Head Boy's room, to the left of the entrance to the Slytherin dormitories. "It should be set up to open for you."

Draco touched the knob and it sprang open. "It's exactly like Thera's room," he commented. "No reason to get creative, I suppose."

"If they were different, I'd have to deal with people whining about who got more square footage and such ridiculousness."

The boy smirked halfheartedly. "Good point."

He dropped his trunk in the middle of the floor and they started walking up to Dumbledore's office. Halfway there, they met the Headmaster on his way down.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy. I was just coming to meet you. I trust you had no trouble traveling?"

"No, sir."

"Well, then. Shall we?" The Headmaster gestured in the direction of the dungeons. "How are you holding up?" he asked, in a carefully modulated voice. Snape had to give him a bit of credit. Dumbledore knew how to handle people.

"Fine, sir."

"There wasn't any difficulty with the Ministry?"

"No, sir."

"Good, good. You do realize that if you have any trouble, you can come to me."

"Thank you, sir." Malfoy's tone suggested that he'd sooner cut his own heart out with a spoon. Severus fought down a smirk.

"There's still some time before the other students are due to arrive. You'll probably want to unpack and get yourself settled. Undoubtedly Miss Granger will want to meet with you after the feast to discuss a few things."

Severus swore he could hear the boy's teeth grinding together. "Yes, sir."

They arrived at Draco's room and he quickly nodded at them and ducked inside.

"Do you suppose you made any headway?" Severus asked.

The Headmaster smiled a little. "I can never tell. Not that it stops me from trying."

"No student is beyond redemption, then?"

"Some are," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. Severus glanced at him, surprised. "I regret that it's true, but some are simply..." he sighed. "In any case, Mr. Malfoy is not."

Dumbledore stared at him for a moment. "He isn't Lucius. I think you forget that."

"Of course I don't."

"Don't you? Lucius made his choices before he ever left this school. There was nothing I could do to stop him. He was arrogant. He wouldn't have listened to me anyway."

"Draco's arrogant, too."

The Headmaster looked troubled. "He was. I'm not sure what he is right now. Frankly, I'm not sure he knows, either."

Severus made a noncommittal sound.

"Well, I seem to have a bit of free time," the Headmaster said brightly. "I think I'll take a stroll around the Quidditch pitch. I daresay I've had little opportunity lately to get outdoors. Would you care to join me?"

He shook his head. "I've got to prepare for tonight," he said.

"You can just say that you want to hole up in your office and be left alone," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. "My feelings won't be hurt."

Rather than responding, Severus nodded to him and fled to the safety of his office.

*******

"It's so good to be back," Gautham said dramatically, throwing himself on her sofa. "Figgy's house was so cramped. And she kept trying to get me to shave my goatee."

"Yeah? Well there wasn't a day I woke up when there wasn't a cat using my head as a claw-sharpening device," Amina scowled, patting down her frayed mini-fro.

"I didn't mind it," Fox said thoughtfully. "She had a croquet set."

"Hogwarts had jacuzzi-tubs," Amina pointed out.

"And better food," Gautham added. "Not that her cookies aren't superb, but...well, every night really doesn't need to be casserole night, you know?"

"Yeah. I mean, don't casseroles require leftovers?" Amina asked. "And don't leftovers require an actual decent meal to be served first before they become leftovers? Does a can of mushroom soup on top of whatever's left in the fridge count as a casserole anyway?"

"In Figgy's world it does."

Amina stuck her tongue out. "I hate Squib cooking."

"We should check everything out before the kids get here," Gautham said without much enthusiasm.

"Yeah," Amina answered just as excitedly.

"There's not a lot of time. We should really get started."

"Mmmm."

They sat there silently for a minute, neither of them moving. Fox rolled her eyes and magically stood them both up from the sofa. "Don't make me literally light fires under your asses. Just go do it already."

Grumbling, they trudged out. Fox toyed with the handle of one of her swords, then left.

It was never very hard to find Severus Snape. He was always in his office. Fox knocked, then walked in and sat down. "Did you have a good summer?"

He scowled at her. "There weren't any students, and there wasn't anybody around to bother me when I want to be alone. That's as good as it gets. And now it's over."

"Malfoy came through here?"

He heaved an annoyed sigh. "Yes. My office is now a train terminal, apparently."

Leaning back, Fox put her feet up on the edge of his desk. "You know, I think I missed you. Out of all the people I know, you're the most fun to mess with."

He sneered at her feet but chose to ignore them. "Please don't tell me you've come to dispense some more mystical, incomprehensible Guardian wisdom. I'd rather you shove this quill in my eye. It would be kinder."

It was hard not to smile. "I'd watch out for that death wish, if I were you," she said casually. "Sometimes wishes get granted."

"Not that one, unfortunately," he snorted. "You already told me it wouldn't."

Fox shrugged. "Nobody's right all the time."

He raised an eyebrow. "Not even Guardians?"

"Especially not Guardians. Look at how much Dumbledore's botched up over the years."

"Point taken," he murmured. "So what's the point of having Guardians, then?"

"Somebody has to keep the machine running. Failures do that as well as successes do."

He smirked a little. "Situation Normal: All Fucked Up?"

She smirked back. "More or less. It'll never be perfect. It can't be. By definition, something that's perfect can't change. And the whole purpose is change."

"Sounds tiring and thankless."

"It largely is. That's why we're all insane."

"So I guess that makes it true, then."

"What?"

"That the insane ones are really sane. They've just figured out how things work."

Fox smiled. "I love it when you teach yourself your own lessons."

Snape closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose briefly. "Get out of my office."

*******

It wasn't hard to figure out which loo Harry was hiding out in. Ron made an educated guess that it was the one with a crowd of girls gathered outside the door.

"Prefect!" he said loudly. "Stop clogging up the hallway. Back to your compartments, all of you." When they made no move to do so, he shoved his way to the front of the pack and stood with his back to the door, waving his arms up in the air. "Head Girl Hermione Granger just sent me down here to tell you all that she's on her way, and any student she sees loitering in the hallway will be murdered on the spot."

There was a mad rush to get away. If fear was respect, Hermione had earned it in spades. Chuckling to himself, Ron turned and knocked on the door. "Harry?"

"Ron?"

"Are you busy in there?"

"No. Are they gone?"

"Yeah."

The door opened to reveal Harry sitting on the toilet fully clothed, looking miserable. "I don't think I'm ready to come out just yet."

"I told you they're gone."

"I know. I'm not really in the mood to see any of the others right now, either."

Ron leaned against the doorway. "What's up?"

Harry waved an angry hand. "This. All of this. Yolanda said if I didn't give the public something, they'd chase me down and tear me to pieces. Well, I did. And they still are."

It was hard to sympathize with somebody when you didn't really think their problem was all that big a deal. "I think you would've gotten it either way. Just deal with it."

Harry shook his head. "This year is going to suck."

"If you keep acting like this, it will."

"I'm not acting like anything," Harry said irritably.

"You're acting a like a git. That's something."

"I did come in here to be left alone, you know."

"So you could get in a good sulk? How does that help anything?"

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "It doesn't, really."

Ron studied his friend for a moment. This wasn't just about his fan club. Harry didn't get this worked up about things like that. "What else is going on?"

Harry shrugged, which meant that there was no hope of getting any information out of him without resorting to torture. Ron decided to let it go. "Where's Hermione?"

"Head Girl-ing. Malfoy didn't show up for the meeting, and she flipped."

"Yeah, I know. Ginny told me."

Ron tried to bite his tongue to keep the words back, but they came out anyway. "She invited me to her room tonight."

Harry raised an eyebrow, grinning. "Oh, she did, did she?"

Glancing around to make sure the coast was clear, he stepped into the bathroom and shut the door. "I think it's about...I mean, you probably realize...what am I supposed to do?"

"Didn't you read the book?" Harry asked, looking amused.

"Yeah, I did, but it's not all that helpful. I mean, it's great about the geography and everything, but this is Hermione. This is about a lot more than geography."

"It certainly is," Harry agreed. "But you've known each other for years. Shouldn't that make it easier?"

Ron sent him a look. "No, it makes it harder. If I do a bad job with some girl I barely know, that's that. If I do a bad job with Hermione, I have to face her and remember it."

"I can't give you pointers or anything. All girls are different. They don't all like the same thing. You just have to pay attention. I just thought it'd be easier with Hermione, because it's not weird like it is with someone you barely know. You can talk to each other." Harry shrugged, grinning. "And if you mess it up, it's not like she has anyone to compare you to, at least. So there's that."

"True," Ron admitted, feeling a bit relieved. "Are you ready to come out now? We can't be far from Hogwarts." He opened the door and made sure nobody was around.

"Yeah," Harry said, standing. "Oh, and you should probably know that for all public intents and purposes, I'm dating your sister now." Shooting him a cheesy grin, he ducked under Ron's arm and dashed down the hallway.

Ron stood frozen for a moment as that sank in. It just made so much sense: Harry and Ginny together. Now all he had to do was take it from public front to reality, and he already had most of the plans set in motion for that to happen.

He just had to be patient. Smiling a little to himself, Ron followed Harry.